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                    THE INTIMATE LETTERS OF HESTER
                     PIOZZI & PENELOPE PENNINGTON
                              1788-1821




                          BY THE SAME AUTHOR

                        AN ARTIST'S LOVE STORY




  [Illustration: _M^{rs}. Hester Lynch Piozzi._

  _Engraved by H. Meyer_,

  _from an original Drawing by J. Jackson._]




                       THE INTIMATE LETTERS OF
                      HESTER PIOZZI AND PENELOPE
                         PENNINGTON 1788-1821
                      EDITED BY OSWALD G. KNAPP
                      WITH THIRTY ILLUSTRATIONS


                  LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
                     NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY
                   TORONTO: BELL & COCKBURN. MCMXIV




                 Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
                  at the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh




                                  TO

                               MY WIFE




                               PREFACE


The letters included in this volume have been printed without
alteration, except that some of Mrs. Piozzi's redundant initial
capitals have been suppressed, and that her somewhat erratic
punctuation has been, to a certain extent, systematised. Her spelling,
save for the correction of obvious slips, which are very rare, has not
been altered. The omitted passages, which have been indicated wherever
they occur, mainly consist of formal "compliments" at the beginning
or end of letters, to which she was much addicted, unsavoury medical
details, or casual allusions to insignificant persons and trivial
events of no interest in themselves, and having no direct bearing on
the story of her life.

For the outline of her career before her second marriage I have
to acknowledge my indebtedness to previous writers, particularly
Hayward and Mangin, and the more recent works of Mr. Seeley and
Messrs. Broadley and Seccombe; not forgetting the indispensable
_Dictionary of National Biography_, for the identification of many
persons incidentally mentioned. I have also to express my thanks to
Miss Thrale of Croydon for interesting information respecting her
family; and above all to Mr. A. M. Broadley, not only for his generous
permission to make use of Mrs. Piozzi's unpublished Commonplace Book,
now in his possession, but also for allowing me to draw freely upon
his unrivalled collection of prints, &c., relating to this period,
from which the greater part of the illustrations has been taken.

    INWOOD, PARKSTONE,
    _July 1913_.




                               CONTENTS


                              CHAPTER I

                                                                  PAGE

    Introductory--Mrs. Piozzi and the blue-stockings--Penelope
    Weston--The Salusbury family--Early years and
    education--Marriage to Thrale, 1763--Widowhood--Marriage to
    Piozzi, 1784--Foreign travel--Return to England, 1788            1


                              CHAPTER II

    The Piozzis in Hanover Square--Scotch tour, 1789--Visit to
    Wales--Return to Streatham Park, 1790--Harriet Lee's
    romance--Nuneham and Mrs. Siddons, 1791--French
    Revolution--Cecilia's admirers--Apprehensions for Cecilia--The
    September massacres--Miss Weston's engagement                   18


                             CHAPTER III

    Miss Weston marries Wm. Pennington, 1792--Execution of
    Louis XVI--Reconciliation of Mrs. Piozzi and her daughters,
    1793--Irish Rebellion--_British Synonymy_--Fleming's
    prophecies--Cecilia's flirtations--Residence at Denbigh,
    1794--Building of Brynbella                                     73


                              CHAPTER IV

    Cecilia's engagement and marriage to Mostyn, 1795--Her
    dangerous illness--Friction with the Mostyns--Disturbances
    in Italy and Ireland--Death of Maria Siddons--Visit
    to Bath, 1798                                                  121

                              CHAPTER V

    Adoption of John Salusbury Piozzi--The _Canterbury Tales_--Bath
    Riots, 1800--Chancery suit with Miss Thrale--Bach-y-graig
    restored--_Retrospection_ published, 1801--The Blagdon
    controversy--Political epigram                                 169

                              CHAPTER VI

    Attacks by reviewers--The Peace, 1801--Visit to London--South
    Wales--Mrs. Pennington's troubles--Bath again--Breach
    with Mrs. Pennington, 1804                                     218

                             CHAPTER VII

    Renewal of friendship, 1819--Weston-super-Mare--W. A.
    Conway--Birthday fête, 1820--Conway's love affair--Penzance--The
    Queen's trial--More law--Land's End--Return to Clifton
    and death, 1821--Mrs. Pennington's obituary notice--Her
    relations with the daughters and the executors--Epitaph        270




                        LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


    MRS. PIOZZI                        (_Photogravure_) _Frontispiece_
        _By_ Meyer, _after_ Jackson, 1811, _from the Collection of_
           A. M. Broadley, Esq.

                                                          TO FACE PAGE
    CATHERINE OF BERAIN                                              7
        _By_ W. Bond, _after_ J. Allen, 1798.

    SIR RICHARD CLOUGH                                               8
        _By_ Basire, _after_ M. Griffith.

    DR. JOHNSON'S BIOGRAPHERS (MRS. PIOZZI, CAREY?, AND BOSWELL)    16
        _From a caricature_, 1786, _in the Collection of_ A. M.
           Broadley, Esq.

    STREATHAM PARK                                                  28
        _By_ J. Landseer, _after_ S. Prout, _from the Collection
            of_ A. M. Broadley, Esq.

    ANNA SEWARD                                                     34
        _By_ W. Ridley, _after_ Romney, 1797, _from a print in
           the British Museum_.

    HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS                                            44
        _From an engraving by_ J. Singleton, _in the British Museum_.

    MRS. THRALE AT THE AGE OF FORTY                                 58
        _From the original picture by_ Sir Joshua Reynolds,
           _about_ 1781.

    MRS. SIDDONS                                                    70
        _By_ R. J. Lane, _after_ Sir Thos. Lawrence.

    MARIA SIDDONS                                                   80
        _By_ G. Clent, _after_ Sir Thos. Lawrence.

    SARAH MARTHA SIDDONS                                            89
        _By_ R. J. Lane, _after_ Sir Thos. Lawrence.

    MRS. PIOZZI                                                     95
        _From an engraving by_ Dance, 1793, _from the Collection
           of_  A. M. Broadley, Esq.

    ARTHUR MURPHY                                                  107
        _From a print in the Collection of_ A. M. Broadley, Esq.

    CECILIA MOSTYN                                                 126
        _From the Collection of_ A. M. Broadley, Esq.

    ELIZA (FARREN) COUNTESS OF DERBY, 1797                         141
        _From a print in the British Museum._

    CECILIA SIDDONS                                                144
        _By_ R. J. Lane, _after_ Sir Thos. Lawrence.

    JOSEPH GEORGE HOLMAN                                           150
        _By_ W. Angus, _after_ Dodd, 1784, _from a print in the
           British Museum_.

    SOPHIA LEE                                                     160
        _By_ Ridley, _after_ Sir Thomas Lawrence, 1809, _from
           the Collection of_ A. M. Broadley, Esq.

    MRS. PIOZZI (ABOUT 1800)                                       180
        _By_ M. Bovi, _after_ P. Violet, 1800, _from the
           Collection of_ A. M. Broadley, Esq.

    BACH-Y-GRAIG HOUSE IN 1776                                     199
        _By_ Godfrey, _after_ J. Hooper, 1776.

    HANNAH MORE                                                    228
        _By_ Scriven, _after_ Slater, 1813, _from the
           Collection of_ A. M. Broadley, Esq.

    MRS. PIOZZI (ABOUT 1808)                                       250
        _By_ J. Bate, _after a medallion by_ Henning, 1808,
        _from the Collection of_ A. M. Broadley, Esq.

    WILLIAM AUGUSTUS CONWAY AS HENRY V                             280
        _By_ Rivers, _after_ De Wilde, 1814, _from the Collection
           of_ A. M. Broadley, Esq.

    THE LOWER (KINGSTON) ROOMS, BATH                               296
        _By_ W. J. White, _after_ H. O. Neill, _from the
           Collection of_ A. M. Broadley, Esq.

    PROGRAMME OF MRS. PIOZZI'S CONCERT, 1820, WITH MS. NOTES.      299
        _By_ Mrs. Pennington _and_ Maria Brown

    MISS FELLOWES AS HERB STREWER AT THE CORONATION OF GEO. IV,    314
        1821
        _By_ M. Gauci, _after_ Mrs. Baker, _from the Collection
           of_ A. M. Broadley, Esq.

    "FRYING SPRATS" AND "TOASTING MUFFINS"                         342
        _From a caricature by_ Gillray, 1791, _in the Collection
           of_ A. M. Broadley, Esq.

    TICKET FOR MRS. PIOZZI'S FÊTE                                  355

    THE BURNING OF THE KINGSTON ROOMS                              355
        _From a ball ticket, 1821, in the Collection of_
           A. M. Broadley, Esq.

    THOMAS SEDGWICK WHALLEY, D.D.                                  376
        _By_ J. Brown, _after_ Sir Joshua Reynolds, _from a print
           in the Collection of_ A. M. Broadley, Esq.




                    THE INTIMATE LETTERS OF HESTER
                     PIOZZI & PENELOPE PENNINGTON
                              1788-1821




     THE INTIMATE LETTERS OF HESTER PIOZZI & PENELOPE PENNINGTON




                              CHAPTER I

   Introductory--Mrs. Piozzi and the blue-stockings--Penelope
   Weston--The Salusbury family--Early years and
   education--Marriage to Thrale, 1763--Widowhood--Marriage to
   Piozzi, 1784--Foreign travel--Return to England, 1788.


In the course of the last hundred years the horizon of woman's work
and interests has been extended so widely, and in so many directions,
religious, educational, political, economic, and social, that already
the Blue-Stockings of the eighteenth century seem almost as far
removed from us as the Précieuses Ridicules of Molière. The student of
the period takes note of them as products of a social and intellectual
movement characteristic of their day; and the general reader knows a
few of them by name, though chiefly as satellites revolving round the
greater luminaries of the age: but their works are, for the most part,
unread and forgotten. This is not, perhaps, a matter for surprise,
seeing that they were not profound or original thinkers, and even
their works of fiction are too stilted and prolix for our impatient
age. Indeed their contemporaries were probably less impressed by the
learning, even of the leaders of the movement, than by their brilliant
conversational powers, in which, perhaps, they have never been
surpassed; though this is a matter on which, from the nature of the
case, we have, for the most part, but imperfect materials with which
to form a judgment.

If there be an exception, it is to be found in the case of the writer
of the following letters. Of the literary society in which she moved
she was an acknowledged queen, who hardly yielded precedence on her
own ground to Mrs. Montagu herself. Indeed Wraxall was of opinion that
she possessed "at least as much information, a mind as cultivated, and
even more brilliancy of intellect"; while Madame D'Arblay thought that
her conversation was "more bland and more gleeful" than that of either
Mrs. Montagu or Mrs. Vesey. "To hear you," wrote Boswell (before their
great quarrel), "is to hear Wisdom, to see you is to see Virtue." It
may be said that this was merely the partiality of friendship, or
an example of the mutual admiration which was rather characteristic
of the coterie. But Anna Seward, who roundly condemned her literary
style, declared that her conversation was "the bright wine of
intellect, which has no lees"; and the great Lexicographer himself,
who was not wont to be unduly lavish of his praises, vouchsafed on one
occasion to tell her that she had "as much wit, and more talent," than
any woman he knew. And what is still more remarkable, her power of
pleasing continued, with but little diminution, to the end of her long
life. Sir William Pepys, who had known her for many years, writing
after her death, says he had "never met any human being who possessed
the talent of conversation to such a degree."

And more easily than in the case of most of her contemporaries, the
charm of her conversation can be gathered from her letters. To it
Fanny Burney's criticism seems to apply as fitly as to the record
of her Italian tour, of which it was originally written: "How like
herself, how characteristic is every line! wild, entertaining,
flighty, inconsistent, and clever!" The spontaneity and freshness of
her style is the more remarkable when we remember the taste of the
circle in which she moved, and compare her letters with the laboured
and formal productions of her friend Anna Seward, the much-admired
"Swan of Lichfield," and particularly when we recall her intimate
relations with Johnson for a period of nearly twenty years. The fact
is that he found her mind already formed, and though it was for a time
"swallowed up and lost," as she says, in his vast intellect, it was
not absorbed, but emerged later on, strengthened and clarified indeed,
but with its original characteristics little changed.

A good many of her letters have already seen the light. Those written
to Dr. Johnson she herself published after his death. Her friend,
the Rev. Edward Mangin, included about thirty, written for the most
part to himself, in his _Piozziana_; while Hayward, in the so-called
_Autobiography_, gives about a hundred and forty, of which a few
were written to the brothers Lysons, and nearly all the remainder to
Sir James Fellowes. But these differ in some important respects from
those in the present volume. They were nearly all written to men, and
though they may possibly be somewhat more brilliant, and make rather a
greater show of learning, they are hardly so frank and unaffected, and
do not reveal the personality of the writer so clearly as those which
she wrote to an intimate friend of her own sex; in whose case she had
no temptation to pose, even unconsciously, nor any lurking thought of
a reputation as a wit to be kept up.

Their recipient was fully alive to their importance, and in a letter
in Mr. Broadley's collection, dated 1821, quotes her as saying that
she had "a larger and perhaps better collection of dear Mrs. Piozzi's
letters than any other correspondent." And she backs her opinion by
that of Dr. Whalley, who had probably seen most of them, to the effect
that "was any publication intended, they would be a most rich and
valuable addition, and altogether form a collection of letters more
eagerly sought after, and more agreeable to the general public than
any that have been ever published."

The letters in question, some two hundred in number, begin in 1788,
not long after Mrs. Piozzi's second marriage, and continue (though
with a break of fifteen years) to within a few days of her death in
1821. The friend to whom they were written first appears on the scene
as Penelope Sophia Weston, a friend of Mrs. Siddons, Helen Williams,
and Anna Seward, whose published letters contain many addressed to
"the graceful and elegant Miss Weston," who was then the leading
spirit of "a knot of ingenious and charming females at Ludlow in
Shropshire," where Anna paid her a visit in 1787. She was then living
with her widowed mother, who had not much in common with the literary
proclivities of her daughter. She writes in 1782: "My mother is a very
good woman, but our minds are, unfortunately, cast in such different
moulds--our pursuits and ideas on every occasion are likewise so--that
it is of very little moment our speaking the same language. Indeed I
see very little of her; for she is either busied in domestic matters,
praying, gardening, or gossiping most part of the day; while I sit
moping over the fire with a book or pen in my hand, without stirring
(if the weather is unfavourable), for weeks together.... Remember me
to your charming Mrs. Siddons." This passage appears in the published
correspondence of her "dear cousin Tom," the Rev. T. S. Whalley, D.D.,
who was not, strictly speaking, related to her at all, but had married
her first cousin, Miss Jones of Longford. As he had a house at Bath he
may have been the means of making her acquainted with Mrs. Piozzi.

It does not fall within the scope of this work to give a detailed
account of Mrs. Piozzi's life: this has been done, though in a
somewhat piecemeal manner, by A. Hayward,[1] and more recently by
Mr. H. B. Seeley.[2] But for the better understanding of the letters
it will be necessary to give a brief outline of her career up to
the date at which they begin; and this may fitly be preceded by some
account of her family, a matter in which she was keenly interested,
and to which she frequently recurs in her correspondence.

[1] _Autobiography, Letters, and Literary Remains of Mrs. Piozzi_, 2
vols., 1861.

[2] _Mrs. Piozzi: a Sketch of her Life, and Passages from her Diaries,
Letters, &c._, 1891.

Mrs. Piozzi was the last of an old knightly Welsh family, Welsh by
long residence, if not by blood, called in the early records Salbri
or Salsbri, and Englished as Salesbury or Salisbury, and in more
recent times as Salusbury. It produced a goodly number of soldiers,
scholars, and divines; the latter chiefly in a younger branch seated
at Rûg in Merioneth in the sixteenth century. Among these were William
Salesbury, "the best scholar among the Welshmen," who compiled a Welsh
dictionary, and made the first translation of the New Testament into
that language; Henry Salesbury, a noted doctor and grammarian, and
John Salesbury, a Jesuit, Superior of the English Province. In the
same century the elder or Llewenny line boasted of John Salesbury, a
Benedictine monk who forsook his vows and married, but was made by
Queen Elizabeth Bishop of Sodor and Man; Foulke Salesbury, first Dean
of St. Asaph, and Thomas Salesbury, who was executed for his share in
Babington's Plot.

In the course of centuries a goodly number of romantic legends had
attached themselves to the earlier generations, particularly in
connection with their armorial bearings, in which Mrs. Piozzi was
an enthusiastic believer. As far back as the sixteenth century the
Salesburys had claimed as their eponymous ancestor a certain Adam,
believed to be a younger son of Alexander, Duke of Bavaria, hence
known as Adam de Saltzburg, who made his way to England, and was
appointed by Henry II Captain of the castle of Denbigh. Another
and less probable version of the story, favoured by Mrs. Piozzi,
makes him a follower of William the Conqueror, and gives him a fair
estate in Lancashire, on which he built a seat called Saltsbury or
Salisbury Court. Of her descent from this Adam she says: "I showed
an abstract to the Heralds in Office at Saltzburg, when there, and
they acknowledged me a true descendant of their house, offering me all
possible honours, to the triumphant delight of dear Piozzi, for whose
amusement alone I pulled out the Schedule." This may be satisfactory
evidence for the existence of Adam, but of course the Heralds had
to take the descent on trust. The fact appears to be that Adam of
Llewenny was an Englishman who settled in Wales after its conquest
at the end of the thirteenth century, and was a member of the family
of Salesbury of Salesbury, co. Lancs. Adam's descendant, Sir Henry
Salesbury "the Black," "having taken three noble Saracens with his
own hand on the first Crusade, Cœur de Lion knighted him on the
field of battle, and to the old Bavarian lion which adorned his shield
added three crescents." This Henry is supposed to have built Llewenny
Hall. The name of another Henry, who fought in the Wars of the Roses,
"stood recorded on a little obelisk, or rather cippus, by the roadside
at Barnet, ... so long that I remember my father taking me out of
the carriage to read it, when I was quite a child. He had shown
mercy to an enemy on that occasion, who, looking on his device ...
flung himself at his feet with these words--'SAT EST PROSTRASSE
LEONI.' Our family have used that Leggenda as motto to the coat
armour ever since." The arms of the present Piozzi-Salusbury family
are: Gules, a lion rampant argent, ducally crowned or, between three
crescents of the last, a canton ermine, with motto as above.

We are on firmer ground when we arrive at Sir John Salesbury of
Llewenny, Kt., M.P. for Denbigh in the sixteenth century, and his
family of fourteen children, of whom the eldest and youngest sons
were the ancestors of Mrs. Piozzi on the maternal and paternal side
respectively. John, the eldest, married Catherine of Berain, a lady
who deserves a paragraph to herself. Their grandson, Sir Henry
Salusbury of Llewenny, was created a Baronet by James I, but this
line came to an end with his granddaughter Hester, who married Sir
Robert Cotton of Combermere Abbey, co. Chester, Bart., ancester of
Lord Combermere. Their granddaughter, Hester Maria Cotton, was Mrs.
Piozzi's mother.

  [Illustration: CATHERINE OF BERAIN

  _By W. Bond after J. Allen, 1798_]

Catherine of Berain above mentioned, called from her numerous
descendants Mam y Cymry, or Mam Gwalia, "Mother of Wales," was a
great-granddaughter of Fychan Tudor of Berain, a personage claimed by
Mrs. Piozzi, though not acknowledged by the genealogists, as a younger
son of Sir Owen Tudor, Kt., by Queen Catherine, widow of Henry V.
That the Mother of Wales (who would, on this hypothesis, be a cousin
of Queen Elizabeth) was a lady of great attractions, both in person
and in purse, may be gathered from the story of her four matrimonial
ventures, which cannot be better told than in the words of Pennant,
the historian and naturalist, who was himself one of her descendants.
"The tradition goes that at the funeral of her beloved spouse (Sir
John Salesbury), she was led to Church by Sir Richard (Clough), and
from Church by Morris Wynn of Gwydyr, who whispered to her his wish
of being her second. She refused him with great civility, informing
him that she had accepted the proposal of Sir Richard on her way to
Church; but assured him--and was as good as her word--that in case she
performed the same sad duty, which she was then about, to the Knight,
he might depend on being her third. As soon as she had composed this
gentleman, to show that she had no superstition about the number
three, she concluded with Edward Thelwall of Plas y Ward, Esq.,
departed this life Aug. 27, and was interred at Llanivydd on the 1st
of Sep. 1591."

For the paternal ancestry of Mrs. Piozzi we must return to Roger, the
youngest son of Sir John Salesbury, M.P. He married Anne, one of the
daughters of Catherine of Berain by her second husband, Sir Richard
Clough, Kt., another picturesque figure who deserves a separate
mention. He was the youngest son of a Denbigh glover, who became a
prosperous merchant, and was a partner of Sir Thomas Gresham, whom he
assisted to found the Royal Exchange, and whose continental business
he superintended. This necessitated a residence at Antwerp, where he
also acted as a kind of unofficial agent of the English Government.
His mercantile pursuits were not, however, so absorbing but that he
could make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, where he was made a Knight of
the Holy Sepulchre, and thereafter bore the five crosses of Jerusalem
in his arms. During one of his brief visits to England, about 1567,
he married, as we have seen, Catherine of Berain, then widow of Sir
John Salesbury of Llewenny, and began building two mansion-houses, one
called Plas Clough and the other Bach-y-graig, both in Flintshire, and
both in the Dutch style, perhaps by means of imported workmen. The
former was inherited by his son Richard, by a former wife, an Antwerp
lady named Van Mildurt, whose descendants still possess it. The latter
he bequeathed to Anne Salesbury, one of his daughters by Catherine of
Berain. It thus became the seat of the younger line of the family down
to the time of John Salusbury, Mrs. Piozzi's father, and came to her
on the death of her parents.

Mrs. Piozzi herself was born 16th January 1740 (Old Style), or 27th
January 1741 (New Style), at Bodvel, near Pwllheli, and was christened
Hester Lynch, the names being derived from her mother, Hester Maria
Cotton (granddaughter of Hester Salusbury, the last of the elder
line), and from her maternal grandmother, Philadelphia, daughter of
Sir Thomas Lynch. Her father, John Salusbury of Bach-y-graig, left
an orphan at four years old, was high-spirited and attractive, but
careless and extravagant, and even before his marriage had succeeded
in heavily encumbering his property. His wife's fortune of £10,000
barely sufficed to pay his debts and to provide a modest cottage in
which to start housekeeping. Before long she and her only child found
a more comfortable abode at Llewenny Hall with her eldest brother,
Sir Robert Salusbury Cotton, who took a great liking for little
Hester, and being himself childless, promised to provide for her; but
his sudden death before he had carried out his intention left them
in great straits. John Salusbury had been sent out by Lord Halifax
to assist in re-settling the colony of Nova Scotia, but it was not a
lucrative employment, and his wife sought a home for her child first
at East Hyde, Beds., with her own mother, Philadelphia, then the widow
of Captain King, and afterwards at Offley Hall, Herts., the seat of
her brother-in-law, Sir Thomas Salusbury, Judge of the Admiralty Court.

  [Illustration: SIR RICHARD CLOUGH

  _By Basire after M. Griffith_]

So far Hester's education had been of a very desultory kind, though
she had been well grounded in French by her parents from a very early
age. At East Hyde she learnt to love and manage horses, startling,
and somewhat shocking her grandmother, by driving two of the "ramping
warhorses" who drew the family coach round the courtyard. But her
first systematic instruction she received at Offley, where she
learnt Italian and Spanish, apparently from her uncle's wife, Anna,
daughter of Sir Henry Penrice, and "Latin, Logic, Rhetoric, &c." from
a Doctor Collier, for whom she had a warm regard, and who did more,
she considered, to form her mind than anyone with whom she afterwards
came in contact, Johnson not excepted. Greek she did not learn from
him, for she laments her ignorance of it some years later, when, in
the course of her Italian tour, she was unable to read an inscription
in that language which was shown to her. So Mangin was no doubt
unconsciously exaggerating when he wrote that she had "for more than
sixty years ... studied the Scriptures ... in the original languages."
But it seems fairly certain that she acquired some knowledge of Greek,
and possibly also of Hebrew, in later life, though she makes no parade
of her acquirements. The stray words in these languages which are
found in her letters are not conclusive evidence, as they may have
been merely copied from some work which she had been reading. But in
her Commonplace Book, now in the possession of Mr. A. M. Broadley, and
written only for her own amusement, occur several Greek phrases, and
an epigram of some length, with a translation, apparently her own. And
it is noteworthy that the Greek is written with the breathings and
accents, in the clear, firm hand of one well used to the script, very
unlike the tentative efforts of a beginner.

By this time suitors for the hand of the prospective heiress began to
arrive, among whom was Henry Thrale, proprietor of a lucrative brewery
in Southwark, who commended himself to the uncle as being a "thorough
sportsman," and to the mother by his assiduous attentions to herself.
But he does not appear to have taken the trouble to be more than
barely civil to the bride elect, who naturally resented his attitude,
and heartily disliked the idea of a marriage with him. She appealed to
her father, who had now returned from America, having no aptitude or
liking for a colonial career, and who sympathised with her feelings,
but his sudden death in 1762 put an end to any hope of intervention
on his part. Her mother and uncle pressed on what they considered a
desirable match, and she was married to Thrale, 11th October 1763.

At this period, at any rate, Henry Thrale was by no means the dull,
heavy, self-indulgent being that some accounts of him in later life
might seem to suggest. His father, Ralph Thrale, a shrewd, self-made
man, used the fortune he had amassed at the Old Anchor Brewery to
give his son the best education the period could afford. Much of his
boyhood he spent at Stowe in Buckinghamshire, where his associates
belonged to a group of great county families; for Ralph Thrale's
cousin, Ann Halsey, had married Sir Richard Temple of Stowe, created
Viscount Cobham, whose sisters had married into the families of
Grenville and Lyttelton. As some of them were indebted to the father,
motives of policy may have had something to do with their friendship
for the son. At the age of fifteen he was sent to Oxford, which he
left without taking a degree, though he was afterwards created a
D.C.L. Then he was sent on the grand tour, on an allowance of £1000
a year, with William Henry Lyttelton, afterwards Lord Westcote and
Lyttelton, whose expenses were also paid by the elder Thrale, and
at the time of his marriage he was a finished "man about town."
His artistic and literary tastes are indicated by the gallery of
portraits by Reynolds which he formed at Streatham Park, and by the
literary society he loved to entertain there, from Johnson downwards.
The latter spoke of him as "a real scholar," and said that "if he
would talk more, his manner would be very completely that of a
perfect gentleman"; and he had, what Johnson entirely lacked, a keen
appreciation of natural scenery. His religious and moral principles
might be expected to be those of his associates, who at the time of
his marriage, with the exception of one Romanist, all seemed to his
wife to be professed infidels. But his outward conduct was at least
decorous, and she remarks that his conversation was wholly free from
all oaths, ribaldry, and profaneness. In 1779 she wrote in _Thraliana_
(her private diary): "Few people live in such a state of preparation
for eternity, I think, as my dear Master has done since I have been
connected with him: regular in his public and private devotions,
constant at the Sacrament, temperate in his appetites, moderate in his
passions,--he has less to apprehend from a sudden summons than any man
I have known who was young and gay, and high in health and fortune."

Their usual residence was a pleasant country house known as Streatham
Park, standing in grounds of about a hundred acres, but in winter
she was expected to live at his business premises in Deadman's
Lane, Southwark, a stipulation which had put an end to several of
Thrale's previous matrimonial negotiations. Her acceptance of it she
believed to have been the determining factor in his final choice of
a wife. He possessed also a hunting-box near Croydon, where he kept
a pack of hounds, and a house in West Street, Brighton. But with all
the comfort, and even luxury of her surroundings, she enjoyed no
confidence and little sympathy from her husband. He required a wife
to do the honours of his table and to bear his children; other forms
of activity were frowned upon or banned. Riding to hounds was too
masculine to be tolerated; she was not permitted to have any voice in
the management of her household, and she did not even know what there
was for dinner till it appeared on the table. She was not allowed to
know anything of his business affairs till a serious crisis occurred,
when she saved the situation by her promptitude in raising some
£20,000 from relatives and friends to meet pressing demands. This, and
her energetic canvassing of Southwark when Thrale was standing for
Parliament, seems to have convinced her husband of her capabilities,
and to have generated in him a certain amount of respect, if not of
affection.

The sphere of her activities being thus restricted, and having no
taste for gay society, she was driven to occupy herself with her books
and her children, of whom she had twelve, though only four survived
their childhood. While still in her teens she had contributed verses
anonymously to the _St. James' Chronicle_, but at this period she
probably had little opportunity and no encouragement to practise
composition. Thrale, however, was interested in men of letters, and
the introduction of Johnson to Streatham Park in 1764 helped to make
it a meeting-place for many literary and artistic celebrities, such
as Murphy, Reynolds, the Burneys, the Sewards, and others. Johnson
himself came to be looked upon as one of the family, having a room
reserved for him at Streatham and Southwark, and accompanying them
as a matter of course on their visits to Bath and Brighton, and on
longer expeditions to Wales in 1774 and to Paris the following year.

Thrale retired from Parliament in 1780, and died 4th April 1781, of
apoplexy, largely the result of over-indulgence at table, to which in
his later years he had become addicted. Both his sons had predeceased
him, Henry, the elder, in 1766, and Ralph in 1775; and his widow was
left with five daughters, all under age. Harriet, the youngest of
these, died at school in 1783, shortly before Mrs. Thrale's second
marriage; the four survivors were as follows.

Hester Maria, born 1762, known in her childhood as Queeny, a name
given her by Dr. Johnson, who supervised her education, and with whom
she was a great favourite. She inherited much of her father's strong,
but cold and reserved character, and was never on very affectionate
or sympathetic terms with her mother. She married at Ramsgate, 10th
January 1808, Admiral Lord Keith, G.C.B., then a widower, son of the
tenth Lord Elphinstone, and who was created Viscount Keith in 1814.
She died at 110 Piccadilly, 31st March 1857, leaving an only daughter,
the Hon. Augusta Henrietta Elphinstone, who married twice, but left no
issue.

Susannah Arabella, born 1770; who died unmarried at Ashgrove,
Knockholt, 5th November 1858, and was buried at Streatham.

Sophia, born 23rd July 1771; who married, 13th August 1807, Henry
Merrick Hoare, son of Sir Richard Hoare of Barn Elms, Bart. She died
at Sandgate, 8th November 1824, leaving no issue, and was buried at
Streatham.

Cecilia Margaretta, born 1777. She married, 1795, John Meredith Mostyn
of Segrwyd, who died 19th May 1807. She survived him half a century,
dying at Sillwood House, Brighton, 1st May 1857. They had three
sons, of whom the eldest was christened John Salusbury, but all died
unmarried.

Her widowhood, 1781-4, was the most stormy period of Mrs. Piozzi's
life. Her first anxiety was to dispose of the brewery, which neither
she nor the executors felt competent to carry on. After some
negotiation it was purchased by the Barclays for £135,000, and so
provided a respectable portion for each of the girls. Bach-y-graig,
her ancestral abode, had come to her on the death of her mother, and
Thrale had left her Streatham Park for life, but the one was ruinous
and the other expensive, and on the score of economy she determined to
let Streatham and live at Bath. This course also had the advantage--in
her eyes at least--of removing her somewhat farther from Johnson's
sphere of influence. His eccentric habits and domineering temper had
for many years been somewhat of a trial to her, though delight in his
conversation, admiration for his talents, and regard for his character
had hitherto induced her to bear them with patience. She was anxious
to avoid a rupture with him, but it was more than probable that, both
as an old friend and as one of her husband's executors, he would
strongly disapprove of the second marriage which she was now beginning
to contemplate with Signor Gabriel Piozzi, an Italian musician and
singer.

He had been recommended to her in 1780 as a man "likely to lighten
the burden of life to her, and just a man to her natural taste," by
Fanny Burney; but it is recorded that on the first occasion on which
they met in company, when he played and sang at Dr. Burney's in 1777,
Mrs. Thrale stood behind him as he sat at the piano, and mimicked his
gestures and manner, to the mingled amusement and embarrassment of
the company. From this unpromising beginning grew a friendship which
gradually ripened into love, and in 1783 it was apparent that Piozzi
was seriously courting the widow, and that she was not ill-disposed to
his suit. Then the storm burst. Mrs. Thrale was in no sense a public
character, but she was violently attacked in the public prints, which
had previously amused themselves by announcing her engagement to
Crutchley, to Seward, and even to Johnson himself. Her friends were
horror-struck, and remonstrated each after their kind. Johnson went
so far at last as to charge her with abandoning her children and her
religion, and with forfeiting both her fame and her country. But, as
might be expected, her worst foes were those of her own household,
and the opposition of her children, and more particularly of Hester,
was the hardest thing she had to bear. It is somewhat difficult for
us who are so far removed from the controversy to grasp the reason
of all this outcry. But it must be remembered that Piozzi was a
Papist, a foreigner, and a singer, a combination which to the average
Englishman of the eighteenth century meant an untrustworthy and
contemptible mountebank. The irony of the situation was that Piozzi
met with similar objections from his own family, who were scandalised
at his proposed alliance with a heretic, and could not conceive that
a brewer's widow could be a lady, or a fit mate for a member of an
old and well-connected family. Years afterwards, when Cecilia was
travelling on the Continent, she made the acquaintance of the Piozzis,
and wrote that she "liked them above all people, if only they were not
so proud of their family." "Would not that make one laugh two hours
before one's death?" is her mother's comment in 1818.

For some time she held out, but at last the combined opposition was
too much for her; Piozzi was dismissed, gave up her letters, and
went abroad. But the strain was too great, her health gave way, and
her physician, considering her condition serious, recommended that
Piozzi should be recalled, as the only hope of saving her life. Miss
Thrale reluctantly acquiesced, and they were shortly afterwards
married in London, according to the Roman rite, on 23rd July, and
in St. James' Church, Bath, on 25th July, 1784. From this date her
worst troubles were over, and she entered on what she describes as
twenty years of unalloyed happiness. Having made what she considered
suitable arrangements for her daughters, by providing a trustworthy
companion for Miss Thrale, and placing the younger ones in a school
at Streatham, she started, with her husband, on a long-projected
Italian tour. Hayward says that Cecilia accompanied them, but this is
contradicted by Mrs. Piozzi's own statements in the _Autobiography_.
They had not long left England when Miss Thrale removed her sisters to
another school, dismissed her companion, and retired with an old nurse
to the Brighton house, where she shut herself up and spent her time in
the study of Hebrew and mathematics. Shortly afterwards, on coming of
age, she rented a house in town, and took her younger sisters to live
with her.

Meantime the Piozzis travelled via Paris, Lyons, Turin, and Genoa
to Milan, where they wintered, being everywhere well received both
by Italian friends and by the English colony, including the Duke
and Duchess of Cumberland; a fact which probably had a good deal to
do with the attitude of society at home on their return to England.
The following summer they spent at Florence in the company of
Merry, Greatheed, and the other Della Cruscans, to whose _Florence
Miscellany_, published in 1785, she contributed some verses. Her
literary instincts, long repressed, were at last encouraged, and
Johnson being now dead she compiled at Leghorn in 1786 her _Anecdotes
of Dr. Johnson during the last twenty years of his Life_; much to
the annoyance of Boswell, who regarded everything relating to his
hero as his own peculiar preserve, and resented her refusal to add
her reminiscences to Johnson's Pyramid, as he styled his own great
work. The book, for which she got £300, was well received, the whole
edition being sold out in three days, and four editions appeared the
same year; but Boswell's strictures on her alleged inaccuracy led to a
lively "Bozzy and Piozzi" controversy, with accompanying caricatures,
which amused the town, and doubtless helped to keep the author in
the public eye. The Piozzis returned to England through Germany in
1787, and lived for a time in Hanover Square with Cecilia, the elder
daughters at first keeping aloof, though they often met in public. But
society had forgiven her if her children had not, and sooner or later
the old friends who had protested most loudly took the opportunity of
making their peace.

  [Illustration: DR. JOHNSON'S BIOGRAPHERS (MRS. PIOZZI, CAREY? AND
  BOSWELL)

  _From a caricature, 1786, in the Collection of A. M. Broadley, Esq._]

About this time, as it would seem, she made the acquaintance of Miss
Weston, now about thirty-six years of age, who had moved with her
mother from Ludlow to London, and was living with a relative in Queen
Square, Westminster, and therefore not far from the Piozzis. A letter
she wrote to Dr. Whalley in 1789 shows that she was then in charge of
a young pupil, with whom she had but little in common, as the girl was
interested in nothing but dress. She adds that the kindness of dear
Mrs. Piozzi towards her, on all occasions, exceeds all expression.




                              CHAPTER II

   The Piozzis in Hanover Square--Scotch tour, 1789--Visit
   to Wales--Return to Streatham Park, 1790--Harriet
   Lee's romance--Nuneham and Mrs. Siddons, 1791--French
   Revolution--Cecilia's admirers--Apprehensions for Cecilia--The
   September massacres--Miss Weston's engagement.


In July 1788 the Piozzis took rooms at Exmouth, from which they had
views "of sea and land, Lord Courtney's fine seat and Lord Lisburne's
pretty grounds all facing us." But though there was "a very pretty
little snug society" there, Mrs. Piozzi votes it "a dull place,"
where "if one is idle, one is lost." Idleness, however, was not one
of her failings. Early in the year she had published her _Letters to
and from the late Samuel Johnson, LL.D._, which made £500, and had
a large sale. Some allusions in the correspondence, more truthful
than complimentary, to Joseph Baretti, who had at one time acted as
tutor to Miss Thrale at Streatham, roused him to make a coarse and
violent attack upon her in the _European Magazine_, which caused her
much pain. He also satirised her in a farce entitled _The Sentimental
Mother_, in which she figures as Lady Fantasma Tunskull, and her
husband as Signor Squalici. Yet she forgave him, and when he died in
the following year, sent a kindly notice of him to the _World_. This
year too, as she records in her Commonplace Book, she wrote a dramatic
masque called _The Fountains_, which was much admired by Miss Farren,
and which Sheridan and Kemble "pretended to like exceedingly," but
contrived to lose the copy. She adds: "It has often been in my head
to publish it with other poems--but 'tis better let that alone."
About this time she must have been engaged on a more ambitious task,
the record of her continental tour, which appeared in 1789 under the
title of _A Journey through France, Italy, and Germany_. This was well
received by the general public, though some of the Blue-Stockings
objected to its colloquial style. Anna Seward, for instance, gently
reproved "the pupil of Dr. Johnson" for "polluting with the vulgarisms
of unpolished conversation her animated pages," and wrote as follows
to Miss Weston, who defended her: "You say Mrs. Piozzi's style, in
conversation, is exactly that of her travels. Our interviews were
only two; no vulgarness of idiom or phrase, no ungrammatic inelegance
struck me then as escaping, amidst the fascination of her wit, and
the gaiety of her spirit; but inaccuracies and ungraceful expressions
often pass unnoticed in the quick commerce of verbal society, that
are very disgusting after their deliberate passage through the pen."
The critics found fault with her matter as well as her manner, as did
Gifford in the often quoted lines:

    "See Thrale's grey widow with a satchel roam,
    And bring in pomp laborious nothings home."

But she bore him no malice, and took her revenge by obtaining
an invitation to a house where he was dining, to his obvious
embarrassment, from which she relieved him by proposing "a glass of
wine to their future good-fellowship."

As long as the Piozzis and Westons were living close together in town,
there was naturally little occasion for letters, but they recommence
in 1789 when Sophia had gone to Bath after an illness. On 13th April
Mrs. Piozzi writes from Hanover Square, after a visit to Drury Lane:
"I have scarcely slept since for the strong agitation into which
Sothern and Siddons threw me last night in Isabella"; while her
husband adds a P.S.: "I assure you I cried oll (_sic_) the Tragedy."
This was no doubt Sothern's _Fatal Marriage_, in which Mrs. Siddons
took the part of the heroine Isabella, a character in which she was
painted by William Hamilton. Mrs. Piozzi was much interested in the
thanksgiving for the King's recovery after his first illness, "the
most joyful occasion ever known in England"; for which she wrote an
Ode, which was printed (with emendations that greatly annoyed her) in
the _Public Advertiser_. For the State procession to St. Paul's on
23rd April, Miss Weston had secured them places in a balcony, "which,
if it tumbles down with our weight, why we fall in a good cause, but I
wish the day were over."

This summer the Piozzis went northwards, intending, as it would
seem, to emulate Johnson's Highland tour. On 11th July she writes
from Scarborough: "We like our journey so far exceeding well, but
'tis as cold as October, and just that wintry feel upon the air;
a Northern Summer is cold sport to be sure, but Castle Howard is
a fine place, and the sea bathing at this town particularly good.
What difference between Scarbro' and Exmouth! yet is this bay by no
means without its beauties, but they are more of _Features_ than
_Complexion_." They made their way north as far as Edinburgh, but the
projected Highland tour was given up; the biographers say on account
of Cecilia's delicacy, but in a letter in Mr. Broadley's collection,
written from Glasgow, 26th July, she says: "Our weather has been so
very unfavourable here, and my own health so whimsical, I fear Mr.
Piozzi will not venture far into the Highlands." The first letter of
sufficient interest to be quoted at length is written from the Capital.

    EDINBURGH, _10 Jul. 1789_.

   And so you will not write again--no, _that_ you will not, Dear
   Miss Weston,--with all your mock Humility!--till Mrs. Piozzi
   answers the last letter, and begs another. Well! so she does
   then: I never was good at _pouting_ when a Miss; and after
   fifteen years are gone, one should know the value of Life
   better than to _pout_ any part of it away. Write me a pretty
   Letter then directly, like a good girl, and tell me all the
   News. The emptier London is, the more figure a little News
   will make, as a short Woman shows best at Ranelagh when there
   is not much company. Echoes are best heard too when there are
   few People to break the sound, you know, so let the Travelling
   Trunks, Hat Boxes, and Imperials that pass over Westminster
   Bridge every Day at this time of the Year, be no excuse for
   your not writing. We have had a good Journey, and the Weather
   cannot be finer; a Northern Latitude is charming in July, and
   the long Days here at Edinburgh delightful--but no Days are long
   enough to admire its Situation or new Buildings, the symmetrical
   beauties of which last quite exceed my expectations, while the
   Romantic Magnificence of the first is such as gives no notion
   at all of the other. So I like Scotland vastly; and as we have
   Engagements for every Day, one should be ungrateful not to
   like the Scotch too. But for that my heart was always equally
   disposed.... I am much flattered with finding my Book read here,
   and everybody talks about _Zeluco_, but I hope no one more than
   myself, or with more true esteem of its Author....

The full title of the work just mentioned was _Zeluco, various views
of Human Nature, taken from Life and Manners, Foreign and Domestic_,
its object being "to trace the windings of vice, and delineate the
disgusting features of villany." Its author, John Moore, M.D., an army
physician, tutor to Douglas, eighth Duke of Hamilton, and father of
General Sir John Moore, is frequently mentioned in the letters. He was
in Paris during the massacres of the Revolution, and published the
Journal kept during his residence there in 1793.

The Piozzis returned southward by Glasgow and the Lake District to
Liverpool.

    LIVERPOOL, _Sat. 22d Aug._

   So dear Miss Weston, and her Hanover Square friends, have shared
   all the delights that _Water_ can give this hot weather, while

    "A River or a Sea
    Was to us a Dish of Tea," &c.

   Meantime I do not tell you 'twas judiciously managed to run from
   Lago Maggiore to Loch Lomond, and finish with the Cumberland
   Meres, any more than it would be wisely done to put Milton into
   the hands of a young beginner; and when good taste was obtained,
   lay Thomson's charming _Seasons_ on the desk; then make your
   Pupil close his studies with Waller's poem on the Summer Islands.

   Beg of Major Barry to make my peace with his countrymen; some
   one told me the other day they were offended at a passage in
   y^e _Journey through Italy_, and I should be very sorry on one
   side my head, and much flattered on the other, _that they should
   think it worth their while_....

   We spent a sweet day at Drumphillin, near Glasgow, in
   consequence of Dr. Moore's attentive kindness, and even from
   that charming spot continued to see the majestic mountain which
   attracted all my admiration, and which still keeps possession
   of my heart. I took _my_ last leave of it from the Duke of
   Hamilton's Summer House, but at a distance of seventy or eighty
   miles it may be discerned. If you ask me what single object has
   most impressed my mind in this journey of 800 miles round the
   Island, I shall reply BEN LOMOND....

   If I promised you an account of Glasgow, I did a foolish thing;
   what account can one give of a very fine, old-fashioned,
   regularly-built, continental-looking town?--full as Naples, yet
   solemn as Ferrara: after Glasgow too, everything looks so little.

   I think Mr. Piozzi must write the account of _this_ town, he
   is all day upon the Docks, and all night at the Theatre; both
   are crowded, yet both are _clean_: the streets embellished
   with showy shops all day, and lighted up like Oxford Road all
   night; a Harbour full of ships, a chearful, opulent, commodious
   city. Have you had enough for a dose? and will you give all our
   compliments to all our friends, and will you love my husband and
   Cecilia?

The Major Barry above mentioned, apparently a member of an Irish
family, is frequently referred to in the letters. He became a Colonel
in 1790, and acted as A.D.C. to Lord Rawdon (afterwards Marquess of
Hastings) in the American War, in which capacity he sent home "the
best despatches ever written." Retiring from the Army in 1794, he
settled in Bath, where he was a prominent figure in literary and
scientific circles till his death, which occurred shortly after that
of Mrs. Piozzi.

From Liverpool they went to inspect Mrs. Piozzi's Welsh property, and
the next letter gives the first hint of the idea of building a house
on it, which was carried out later on. Perhaps the postscript was
hardly meant seriously, as no steps were taken in the matter for some
years, and Mrs. Piozzi herself states that the suggestion was made by
the Marquis Trotti, who does not appear upon the scene till 1791.

    DENBIGH, _Tuesday 1 Sep._

   DEAR MISS WESTON,--I thank you for your invitation
   to pretty Ludlow, and shall let you know when we are likely
   to arrive there, that all possible advantage may be taken of
   your friendly hints. Mr. Knight is an old acquaintance of my
   Husband by the description you give of his taste and elegant
   conversation; at least it would be strange should there be _two_
   such men of any _English_ name. Scotch and Welsh families are
   disposed in a different manner: _we_ have but so many names, and
   all who bear those names are related to each other. I find a
   great resemblance between the two nations, in a hundred little
   peculiarities, and the Erse sounded so like my own native tongue
   that I wished for erudition to prove the original affinity
   between them.

   The French nation was never a favourite of mine, and I see
   little done to encrease one's esteem of them _as_ a nation.
   Their low people are very ignorant, their high ones very
   self-sufficient: you now read in every Paper the effects of
   that self-sufficiency acting upon that ignorance. Fermentation
   however will, after much turbulence, at length produce a _clear_
   spirit, though probably 'twill be a _coarse_ one. They will know
   in a dozen years what they would have, and I fancy _that_ will
   be once more an Absolute Monarchy....

   Mr. Piozzi adds a _P.S._ "In a few days I intend go to see
   our little estate, and choose the place to building a little
   Cottage, and a little room for our dear friend Miss Weston....
   G. P."

In her remarks on surnames Mrs. Piozzi does not display her usual
acumen. There is hardly any English name of which it can safely be
predicated that all the individuals who bear it are related to each
other, and assuredly this is not the case with a name like Knight.
She shows more penetration in her estimate of the trend of events in
France, where the mutterings of the coming storm were already making
themselves heard. The States-General had assembled in May, in June the
Commons had constituted themselves the National Assembly, the Bastille
had fallen on 14th July, and on 4th August the nobles had relinquished
their hereditary privileges. Well within the twelve years which she
postulates, the Revolution of Brumaire (1799) had practically put the
supreme power in the hands of Bonaparte as First Consul, though he was
not proclaimed Emperor till 1804.

From North Wales they went, by way of Ludlow, to Bath, probably for
the benefit of Piozzi, who was already beginning to suffer from the
attacks of gout which finally proved fatal.

    BATH, _2 Nov. 1789_.

   DEAR MISS WESTON,--Not _one_ letter do I owe you, nor
   _three_ nor _four_, but forty if they would make compensation
   for your kind ones to Ludlow, where Miss Powell's politeness
   made the time pass very agreeably indeed, spight of rain, which,
   however provoking, could not conceal the beauty of its elegant
   environs, even from an eye made fastidious by the recent sight
   of richer and more splendid scenery.

   Mrs. Byron read me the kind words for which Mr. Piozzi and I
   owe you so many thanks: she gains strength daily, and will be
   quite restored if kept clear from vexation, and indulged in her
   favourite exercises of riding and the Cold Bath. My husband and
   she have many an amicable spar about _Bell's Oracle_, on account
   of his savage treatment of dear Siddons, whose present state of
   health demands tenderness, while her general merit must enforce
   respect. I wonder, for my own part, what rage possesses the
   people who wish to see, or delight in seeing, virtue insulted.
   Let us not learn to tear characters in England, as persons
   are torne in France, and drink the _intellectual life_ of our
   neighbours warm in our Lemonade.

   Major Barry has written me a charming letter, Do tell him that
   he shall find my acknowledgements at Lichfield; I mean to write
   a reference to Miss Seward, about a critical dispute we had here
   at Bath some evenings ago, concerning the two new novels, which
   I find are set up in opposition to each other, and people take
   sides. You will easily imagine that _Zeluco_ and Hayley's _Young
   Widow_ are the competitors.

   Give my kind love to Miss Williams when you see her, and tell
   her that she is one of the persons I please myself with hoping
   to see a great deal of this winter.

   We are all going to the Milkwoman's Tragedy to-morrow; I fear
   with much ill will towards its success. Her ingratitude to Miss
   More deserves rough censure, but hissing the play will not mend
   her morals.

   Miss Wallis is to play Belvidera next Saturday. She is scarcely
   more of a woman than Cecilia Thrale, and quite as young looking;
   very ladylike though, and a pretty behaved girl in a room. I
   advised Dimond in sport to act Douglas to her Lady Randolph,
   as a still more suitable part than Belvidera. Here's nonsense
   enough for one pacquet. 'Tis time to say how much I am dear Miss
   Weston's affect^e servant

    H. L. P.

Mrs. Byron, whose name frequently recurs in the letters, was a
daughter of John Trevannion, who married, "pour ses péchés," as Mrs.
Piozzi elsewhere remarks, Admiral the Hon. John Byron, known in the
Service as Foulweather Jack, the grandfather of the poet.

The attack on Mrs. Siddons in _Bell's Oracle_ was one of the rare
exceptions to the general chorus of praise she commonly evoked from
the Press; it seems to have been quite undeserved, and her reputation
was far too firmly established to be shaken by it.

_Zeluco_ has already been referred to. Its competitor, _The Young
Widow, or a History of Cornelia Sudley_, was the work of William
Hayley, the poet, of whom Southey said: "Everything about that man is
good, except his poetry." Yet it hit the popular taste, and he was
even offered the Laureateship in succession to Warton.

The Milkwoman, Anna Maria Yearsley, otherwise "Lactilla," was a rustic
genius discovered by Hannah More, who brought out a volume of her
poems, for which she wrote a preface. But her action in investing the
proceeds for the benefit of the authoress, without giving the latter
any control of the money, produced a rupture between them, and the
quarrel was carried on in the Press "to a disgusting excess," as their
contemporaries thought. Besides her play of _Earl Godwin_, she wrote
a novel called _The Royal Captives_, which met with some success, so
that she was enabled to set up a Circulating Library at the Hot Wells,
Clifton.

Miss Wallis, whose career began in the Smock Alley Theatre, Dublin,
had just made her first appearance in England at Covent Garden, where
she played Belvidera (in Otway's _Venice Preserved_) and other leading
parts, with some success. But she seems to have found provincial
audiences more appreciative, and played regularly at Bath and Bristol
for five years.

In 1814, several years after his death, Mrs. Piozzi writes in her
Commonplace Book: "Dimond the Bath Actor was, of all _common mortals_
I have known, completely the best. So honourable that he left no debts
unpaid, so prudent that he never overran his Income, Pious in his
family, pleasant among his friends. Temperate in his appetites, and
courageous to conquer the passion which no man could have felt more
strongly."

With the return of the Piozzis to Town the letters cease until the
summer of 1790, when the tenant vacated Streatham Park, and Mrs.
Piozzi found herself again established there, but under happier
auspices. In May and June she scribbles hasty notes of invitation
to Miss Weston, explaining that "the Hay is carrying, the Weather
changing, and even the Master of the House going to Town on horseback,
because Jacob must not be disturbed." The special attraction held
out was the presence of Mrs. Siddons, but illness prevented Miss
Weston from coming till it was too late to meet her. Mrs. Siddons was
herself suffering from some trouble, apparently rather mental than
physical, for she adds at the end of one of Mrs. Piozzi's notes: "I
fear my heart will fail _me_ when _I_ fail to receive the comfort and
consolation of our dear Mrs. P. There are many disposed to comfort
one, but no one knows so rationally or effectually how to do it as
that unwearied spirit of kindness."

    STREATHAM, _12 Oct. 1790_.

   I am watching the Moon's increase with more attentive and more
   interested care than ever I recollect to have watched it since
   your project of coming hither with the Colonel has depended on
   her getting fat. I am glad he is much at Lord Sydney's, and
   hope it bodes well for us all, and that he will soon have his
   orders to fight these hateful French, whose pretended love of
   England and English Liberty--in good time!--ends at last in
   real attachment to Spain, and to the ratification of old Family
   Compacts. I never expected better for my own part, and long for
   you to come and tell me all the harm of them you know. My Master
   looks better, and gains strength every day....

The Colonel here referred to was Colonel Barry, who had recently
obtained promotion, and was hoping for active service. His patron was
Thomas Townshend, second Viscount Sydney, who was Paymaster-General
1767, and Secretary for War 1782.

    STREATHAM, _10 Nov. 1790_.

   Dear Miss Weston is always partial to _me_, but I think she
   now extends her kind thoughts, very charitably indeed, to the
   whole race of Authors, when a finely written book so convinces
   her of his virtue who wrote it. I do believe however that Mr.
   Burke has, in the glorious Pamphlet you so justly admire, given
   us _his own true and genuine_ sentiments; and 'tis on such
   occasions that a writer shines, like the Sun, with his own
   native and unborrowed fire. This book will be a most extensively
   useful production at such a moment! and from such a man! Tell me
   what charming Miss Seward thinks of it....

  [Illustration: STREATHAM PARK

  _By J. Landseer after S. Prout. From the Collection of A. M. Broadley,
  Esq._]

The Pamphlet was, of course, Edmund Burke's _Reflections on the
Revolution in France_, published this year, which ran through many
editions, and was translated into several foreign languages.

Anna Seward, though a constant correspondent of Miss Weston's, was
never very intimate with Mrs. Piozzi, whose literary style, as
previously mentioned, she detested, though she admired her wit. This
year she lost her father, the Canon of Lichfield, who had long been
an invalid, but she continued to live at the Palace, which he had for
many years occupied.

For the first half of 1791 only two letters are preserved, the first
being written just as the Piozzis had decided to set out on a visit to
Bath.

    _Tuesday, 11 Jan. 1791._

   My dear Miss Weston did not use to be so silent, I hope it is
   not illness or ill-humour keeps her from writing. Here have
   been more storms, and very rough ones, since you left us; Lady
   Deerhurst apprehends the end of the World, but I think her own
   dissolution, poor dear, is likeliest to happen, for she is
   neither old nor tough like that, but very slight and feeble....

Peggy, Lady Deerhurst, was the daughter of a neighbour of the Piozzis
at Streatham, Sir Abraham Pitches, Kt., and became the second wife
of George William, then Lord Deerhurst, and afterwards seventh Earl
Coventry. In spite of her feeble health she outlived her husband, and
the dissolution which Mrs. Piozzi anticipates did not happen for near
half a century.

Early in February the Piozzis went to Bath, from which place the next
letter is written.

    _11 Feb. 1791, Fryday._

   My dear Miss Weston must be among the very first to whom I give
   an Acct. of our safe arrival at a comfortable House, corner of
   Saville Row, Alfred Street. We ... ran hither in one day from
   Reading, but I found a strange Giddiness in my Head that was
   not allay'd by the noisy concourse of young Gamesters, Rakes,
   &c., at York House, where we staid till this Lodging was empty:
   and here I have good Air and good Water, and good Company--and
   at last--_good Nights_; so that I mean to be among the merriest
   immediately. The Place is full, and the pretty girls kind, as my
   Master says, so you must write pretty eloquent letters to hold
   his heart fast....

   Miss Hotham's accounts of our sweet Siddons are better than
   common, so when things are at worst they mend, you see. Mr.
   Kemble's illness, gain'd only by shining too brightly, and
   wasting the Oyl in the Lamp, while here at Bath, is recovered by
   now I hope, and his spirits properly recruited....

   Cecilia was fourteen years old three days ago, and all the
   ffolks say how she is grown, &c....

The letters cease after their return to Streatham, until Miss Weston
in her turn went to stay with friends at Bath. Those which follow are
full of an incipient romance which appealed strongly to Mrs. Piozzi,
inasmuch as it bore a strong resemblance to her own. An acquaintance
of her husband's, a certain Lorenzini, Marquis Trotti, their guest at
Streatham, had been struck by the charms of Harriet Lee (afterwards
joint authoress of the _Canterbury Tales_), who was now helping her
sister Sophia in the school at Belvidere House. But considerations
of worldly prudence, which had so far held him back from an actual
declaration, seem finally to have prevailed, in spite of Mrs. Piozzi's
well-meant encouragement. The final act of the drama is somewhat
obscure, but from hints let fall in subsequent letters Harriet Lee
would appear to have had rather a fortunate escape.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Thursday, 28 Jul._

   MY DEAR MISS WESTON,--I was happy to find the
   Prescription, which, after all, I did not find, but made little
   Kitchen copy. Do not forget Streatham, nor remit of your
   kindness towards me, or towards those I love, dear Harriet in
   particular: I hope you will contrive to see her very often.

   Marquis Trotti is sensible of your partiality, and deserves all
   your esteem. His behaviour is such that were he my son I should
   kiss him, were he my brother I should be proud of him, and as
   he is only my good friend, I pity and respect him. There is
   much tenderness, joined with due manliness, in his character;
   he is a very fine young fellow.... But as Hermione says in the
   _Midsummer Night's Dream_:

    "I never read in Tale or History
    That course of true Love ever did run smooth,
    But either it was crossed in _Degree_," &c.[3]

   [3] _Midsummer Night's Dream_, I. i, 134.

   Well! if 'tis of the right sort, opposition will but encrease
   it, and as Marquis Trotti said to Buchetti in my company
   yesterday, "The time is approaching when aristocratic notions
   about marriage will fall to ground, and then those who have
   sacrifized their happiness to such folly will look but like
   Fools themselves."

   Show this letter to our lovely and much beloved Harriet; she
   is, I think, the object of a very honourable and a very tender
   passion, and to a mind like hers that ought to be a very great
   comfort....

   Write to me only in general, not _particular_ terms. Write very
   soon tho', or I shall be gone to Mrs. Siddons's.

The great actress was seeking retirement and country air at Nuneham
Courtney, on the banks of the Thames below Oxford, and thither all
the Streatham household shortly betook themselves.

Buchetti, whom Mrs. Piozzi had known for some years, was evidently
a friend of Trotti, but seems, in spite of his Italian name, to
have been a Frenchman. There is a letter from him in Mr. Broadley's
collection, dated Paris, 11th June 1789, written in English, and
signed Abbé de Buchetti, telling Mrs. Piozzi that he had written to
her from Cadiz in October 1788, giving an account of his travels in
Andalusia, &c. He goes on to mention the forthcoming meeting of the
French Estates to debate on the new Constitution, which he expects
will be very interesting, and at which he hopes to be present. He adds
compliments from Trotti.

The following lines by Mrs. Piozzi, dated Streatham, 6th July 1791,
occur on a loose sheet among the letters:

    "By Friend Howard instructed our Virtue t' advance,
    The difference is found 'twixt Great Britain and France;
    Old England her Pris'ners to Palaces brings,
    While the Palace in France makes a Prison for Kings."

    RECTORY HOUSE, NUNEHAM,
    _6 Aug. Saturday_.

   I promised my dear Miss Weston a long Letter from sweet
   Siddons's fairy Habitation, but had not an Idea of finding
   as elegant a Thing as it is. England can boast no happier
   Situation; a Hill scattered over with fragrance makes the
   Stand for our lovely little Cottage, while Isis rolls at his
   foot, and Oxford terminates our view. Ld. Harcourt's rich Wood
   covers a rising Ground that conceals the flat Country on the
   Left, and leaves no Spot unoccupied by cultivated, and I may
   say peculiar Beauty. How I should love to range these Walks
   with my own dear Streatham Coterie!--but now it is all broken
   up. The Marquis and my Master with M. Buchetti left us this
   Morning in search of Sublimer Scenes: I have given them a Tour
   into Wales--Cecilia and myself sit and look here for their
   Return--_that is for my Husband's_--unless Miss Owen's summons
   or Signal of distress lures me to Shrewsbury, where I could wait
   for _him_ and be nearer. They will reach Worcester to-night, and
   visit Hagley to-morrow I trow. Never did mortal Nymph speed her
   _polish'd_ Arrow more _surely_ than has our Harriet done: never
   did stricken Deer struggle more ineffectually against the Shaft
   which has fix'd itself firm in his Heart than does her noble
   Lover. He has however no Mind, I fancy, to give up without an
   Effort--but no one better knows than I do the difficulty, up to
   impossibility, of such an Operation. _She_ too feels, and feels
   sincerely, I'm sure; these are the true lasting Passions; when a
   serpentine Walk leads they _know not whither_: for in Love, as
   in Taste, I see

    "He best succeeds who pleasingly _confounds_;
    Surprizes, varies, and _conceals_ the _Bounds_."

   Console and sooth her, _do_, my charming Friend, she will find
   these five or six Weeks as many Years--but by then she will have
   her Admirer at the Hot Wells, where he may drink the Water to
   advantage. He is already much altered in countenance, but _so_
   interesting!...

   There is nothing like living near a Nobleman's house for making
   a _Democrate_ of one: here has been such a deal of Ceremony
   and Diddle Daddle to get these Letters frank'd as would make a
   plain Body mad--and I see not that you or Harriet will get them
   either quicker or cheaper for all the Ado we have made at last,
   but now I am out of Parliament myself I will beg no more Free
   Cost directions. Oh! would you believe the Gypsies have told
   Truth to Marquis Trotti? They said he would have a great Influx
   of Money soon--_Yellow Boys_ you know they called them: and he
   said what stuff that was, because his Fortune could not easily
   admit of Increase, as it was already an entail'd Estate--and
   all his expectations well known to himself. But a few days ago a
   Letter from Italy informed him of unclaimed Dividends found in
   the Bank of Genoa, which might be his for asking. _He will not
   go over_ to ask for them however; but sent his Father word he
   was indifferent about the Matter--he had enough &c.--he is of
   Aspasia's mind entirely--

    "Love be our Wealth, and our Distinction Virtue."

   His Income can be in no Danger though, do what he will: at
   least a very considerable one, of which I am glad: he is a
   deserving Character indeed, and will, I hope, lose very little
   by his Sentiments of Dignity and Sensibility of Heart. Let our
   Harriet read all this, I had no room for another Word in that
   I sent _her_. How beautiful a bit of writing did she send me
   upon leaving Streatham! I wish, when her Hand's _in_, some
   clever verses would but drop from it: tell her I say so: this
   is Inspiration's favourite Hour. How pleased it would make me
   if I were but addressed in them! Her Talents have really made a
   glorious Conquest, and she ought to cherish them. I long for the
   sight of her dear pale Ink, that I do....

   It appears so strange and so shocking to put up my Letter
   without speaking of Miss Seward, that I can't bear it; nobody
   has such a notion of her Talents as I have, though all the world
   has talked so loudly about them. Her Mental and indeed her
   Personal Charms, when I last saw them, united the three grand
   Characteristics of Female Excellence to very great Perfection: I
   mean Majesty, Vivacity, and Sweetness.

   Well! you may speak as ill of Bath as you please, but I wish
   I was there, and never look at old White Horse Hill, which
   one sees from the Terrace, without sighing to pass it on the
   Road--but Fate calls to Shrewsbury--and thither I shall hie me
   on the 20 of this Month. And now remember Missey, that to kindle
   and keep up a Man's Love so as to make him ardent enough
   for the _overleaping_ Objections, is the true duty of prudent
   Friendship; not to make him _talk_ of those _very Objections_
   which we know already, and which will only strengthen by talking
   of. So God bless you all, and love your

    H. L. P.

The Aspasia here quoted appears to be the heroine of Beaumont and
Fletcher's _Maid's Tragedy_.

  [Illustration: ANNA SEWARD

  _By W. Ridley after Romney, 1797. From a print in the British
  Museum_]

Harriet Lee, as desired by Mrs. Piozzi, wrote the verses on Streatham
Park which are given below.


VERSES TO MRS. PIOZZI,

_10 Aug. 1791._

(BY HARRIET LEE)

    From the bright West the orb of Day
      Far hence his dazzling fires removes;
    While Twilight brings, in sober grey,
      The pensive hour that Sorrow loves.

    Tho' the dim Landscape mock my Eye,
      Mine Eye its fading charm pursues:
    Ah! tell me, busy Fancy, why
      Thro' the lone Eve thou still would'st muse?

    More rich perfume does Flora yield?
      Blows the light breeze a softer Gale?
    Do fresher dews revive the Field?
      Does sweeter music fill the Vale?

    No, idle Wand'rer, no!--in vain
      For thee they blend their sweetest Powers;
    Thine ear persues a _distant_ Strain,
      Thy gaze still courts far distant Bowers.

    To that loved Roof where Friendship's fires
      With pure and generous ardor burn,
    Lost to whate'er this Scene inspires,
      Thy fond affections still return.

    E'en now I tread the velvet plain
      That spreads its graceful curve around;
    Where Pleasure bade her fairy train
      With magic influence bless the ground.

    Now, on that more than Syren song,
      Where Nature lends her grace to Art,
    My Sense delighted hovers long,
      And hails the language of my Heart.

    And thou, much loved, whose cultured mind
      Each Muse and every Virtue crown,
    If aught to charm in mine thou find,
      Ah, justly deem that charm thine own!

    From thee I learnt that grace to seize
      Whose varying tints can gild each hour;
    From thee that warm _desire_ to please,
      Which only could bestow the _power_.

    Then let me court pale Fancy still,
      Still bid her bright delusions last,
    The present hour she best can fill
      That kindly can recall the past.

    And oh! that past!--fond heart forbear!
    Nor dim the Vision with a Tear!

Having successfully invoked her friend's muse, Mrs. Piozzi herself
felt inspired to pay a poetical tribute to the absent Piozzi and
Trotti; both poems, as it happened, being composed on the same day.
It will be noticed that her fourth stanza contains a pretty pointed
allusion to the marriage she hoped to bring about between the Marquis
and Harriet Lee.


STANZAS TO THE TRAVELLERS

(Marquis Trotti and Mr. Piozzi)

_Written at the Rectory, Nuneham, 10 Aug. 1791_

1

    While you your wandering footsteps bear
    To harsher climes and colder air,
      Nor once our absence feel;
    Here still beneath the shady tree
    We sip our solitary Tea,
      Or turn the pensive Wheel.

2

    Yet oft our thoughts recur to you
    As the rich landscape lies in view,
      And spreads its beauties wide;
    Such beauties once were found, we cry,
    In our loved Friends' society,
      By us 'ere while enjoyed.

3

    In the pure current as we gaze,
    Where Isis through the valley strays,
      Far from her silvery source;
    From Pride and Prejudice as clear,
    We read our _noble Traveller_,
      Refining in his course.

4

    Like him she haunts the rural shade,
    Nor loves the clam'rous, proud Cascade,
      Loudest in stormy weather:
    Nor scorns to mix her _ancient Name_
    With honest, artless, _British Thame_,
      And seek the Seas together.

5

    But if around we turn our eyes
    Where Learning's lofty turrets rise,
      Dropping their classick Manna;
    How swift does fancy back reflect
    The hours devoted to collect
      Our fav'rite Buchettiana!

6

    When Cynthia swells with silver light,
    Lending new lustre to the night,
      If Philomel we hear,
    Pouring her wood-notes o'er the plain,
    How does our Piozzi's sweeter strain
      Still vibrate in our ear.

7

    Too empty then your projects prove,
    To run from Friendship and from Love,
      And call it Separation;
    Reason admits of many a cheat,
    But never yet was found deceit
      Cou'd trick the Imagination.

With regard to her own compositions she writes in her Commonplace
Book: "Grave verses have seldom, I think, dropt from my pen. Poor
dear Jane Hamilton, afterwards Holman, used to say she was at a loss
to decide whether the ground work of my character was seriousness
embellished with gaiety; or a blythe, pleasant temper, shaded with
very serious, and not seldom melancholy, reflexions."

The next letter, though undated, was evidently written before that
dated 18th August, and within a few days of receiving Harriet Lee's
verses.

   I know not, my dear Girl, whether the great Dictionary is a
   good incentive to Love or no, but if agreable letters produce
   it the Gypsie prophecy towards _you_ will not surely be
   long in completing. I never read any Book so interesting or
   entertaining, therefore recommend no Novels, but write again,
   and that directly....

   Dear, lovely, sweet Siddons is better; and at last tolerably
   reconciled to parting with me for the relief of those whose
   anguish is of the soul, while hers, I thank God, is confined
   wholly to the beautiful clay that fits it so neatly with its
   truly well suited inclosure....

   And now my beloved friends do not think me wanting in my duty
   about our Lorenzini; I never was remiss in bringing the subject
   forward, never lost sight on't but from thinking it prudent so
   to do; as Adriana says,

    "It was a Copy of our Conference,
    Alone it was the subject of our Theme,
    In company I often glanc'd at it,
    Still did I place it in his constant view."[4]

   [4] _Comedy of Errors_, V. i, 62.

   The _verses_ I dispatched after them to Denbigh, which they
   cannot yet have reached, a proof I never shrunk one instant from
   the cause, and as this moment has brought me a _cold, stiff_
   letter from him, dated Shrewsbury,--this moment shall carry one
   back from me to tell him _I think it such_. Meantime you know
   I never said that it was likely he should marry in this manner
   unless from irresistible impulse; the obstacles I _know_ to be
   _all but_, if not _wholly_ insurmountable. Only my notion of his
   _Love_ is stronger than yours can be, who have seen so little of
   him; and proportionable power will vanquish proportionable, or
   rather disproportionable resistance. If Gunpowder _enough_ is
   put under Mont Blanc--_it must give way_. Such was my reasoning
   always, and I still think it just. The last evening he spent
   here, crying over Piozzi's Song, and applying every word on't,
   as I could see, mentally to his own situation; looking all
   the while like _very Death_, and never sleeping in the night,
   but employing himself in penning his Journal forsooth, which
   consisted only of tender sallies at the sight of the Bath Road;
   at thoughts of leaving Streatham; &c., till his very heart
   was breaking with passion, apparently increased instead of
   diminished by absence. Vindicate my hopes and even _belief_ that
   he will relieve his anguish, when become totally insupportable,
   by a union which every _natural_ friend he has in the world will
   certainly disapprove. As to the letters which he brought down to
   the Library in his hand the morning we left Streatham, they were
   letters he had himself _written_, not _received_: I suppose to
   say that he was resolved on remaining another year in England.
   They had, as he confes't, cost him even _tortures_ to write
   them. O my sweet Sophy! I know most fatally from experience
   every pang that poor young man is feeling; yet I was an
   _Englishwoman_! of a country where no such aristocratic notions
   are acknowledged as taint his hotter soil; and yet three years
   did I languish in agony, absence, and lingering expectation.
   "If fortune," said he to me one day, (dancing to the tune in
   his own head, for I had not mentioned fortune,) "If fortune
   were the only obstacle, I hate it, I despise it; I have been
   offered fortunes enough, the first in Lombardy I may say; but I
   abhor them all." "One may see," was the reply, "you have no such
   mean notions." "My Father pleased himself," said he, "I made no
   objections. If _people were generous_! but----" "But what, my
   Lord?" quoth I. He put his handkerchief to his eyes, and changed
   the conversation. Who would have pressed him further to tell
   that which I know already, and which no power on earth can cure;
   the difference of Birth, Religion, and Country? If however he
   has but _love enough_, all those three things which would drown
   him if he tried to swim across, may be _leaped_ over; and I, who
   have taken the jump before him, never cease to show him how well
   I feel myself after it. For the rest, he is now in bad company
   for our cause to be sure; but I shall have another sight of him
   at Shrewsbury, before he gets to Bath, and will send thither all
   the particulars....

    NUNEHAM, _Thurs. 18 Aug. 1791_.

   One more long letter, dearest Miss Weston, and then away to
   Shrewsbury, whither direct your next. This last has been just
   as long reaching Oxford, whence I almost see myself within
   five hours of you, as a letter yesterday received from Marquis
   Trotti at Wrexham, a place not less, surely, than 140 miles
   off. They make a mighty slow progress, which tires my spirits
   to follow; and seem exceedingly well amused, a thing I was not
   absolutely dying to hear. Meantime, what he has written, tho'
   cold, has pensive passages in it which keep my hopes alive; and
   'tis not cold neither, but _guarded_. Now I tho't it my duty to
   keep Harriet ignorant of nothing I knew, and as I have told her
   every good and desirable symptom, so have I left in no doubt his
   present disposition, for the first letter I _copied_ for her,
   and this last I _enclosed_.

   Was there ever such a storm seen in England as this last
   dreadful one of the 15th? Our December lightning that frighted
   you so was nothing to it. Where was my poor Husband _then_, I
   wonder? Perhaps on Snowdon, incumber'd with a horse no less
   confounded than himself. We were all here much alarm'd indeed,
   though Mrs. Siddons has mended ever since, I think....

   Now for more public concerns, of which your last letter but one
   gives me the best information. It does really appear, contrary
   to my predictions, that all Europe will joyn to re-instate a
   descendant of that House of Bourbon, which, when represented by
   his ancestor _Louis Quatorze_, all Europe united to humble: but
   this should be considered as justice, not caprice. That last
   mentioned Prince sought openly to seize the rights of others,
   while his wretched successor has been cruelly deprived of his
   own; and the world will not look on, it seems, while the Crown
   of France is trampled on, though none stir'd a step even when
   the Sacred head of an _English_ monarch was sever'd from his
   body by the _Democrats_ of that day.

   Helena Williams is a courageous damsel, and will, I hope, never
   be a distressed one in consequence of that conduct, which, if
   anything happens but good to her, will be condemned as rashness;
   and if she returns safe will be applauded as curiosity after
   the great objects in life, while we are listening only to hear
   how go the small ones. I find that fierce doings are expected,
   and I am much delighted with your _nine thousand_ men: 'tis an
   admirable anecdote of old Marshal Saxe, and to me a new one. It
   will, may be, divert you to hear that he married a Lady he did
   not much like, merely because her name was _Victoria_, and that
   when he died, one of the female French wits said, what a pity
   it was that no _De Profundis_ should be said for him who had so
   often made France sing _Te Deum_. He was a Lutheran, you know.

   You never sent me word you liked my Verses, and they were
   really ingenious ones too; did Harriet ever shew them to you?
   If much applause ensues, I shall be tempted to copy over some
   stanzas made for pretty Siddons's little red book, where she
   keeps everything y^t has been ever said or sung in her praise,
   _unprinted_....

   I expect a letter from my Travellers before I send this:
   meantime Heaven forefend that I should meet the Marquis at
   Shrewsbury. He will quit my Master at Denbigh, _sure_, and
   go thro' S. Wales to Bristol. Say everything that expresses
   esteem, love, and gratitude, to Mr. and Mrs. Whalley, and tell
   Miss Seward how valuable her health is even to _me_, who see so
   little of her: if she neglects it, she is doing public injury,
   and is worse than a Democrate....

French affairs, as reported in England at this juncture, were no doubt
very confusing. The King's attempt to leave Paris in July had been
frustrated, but he had been making overtures to most of the crowned
heads in Europe, and intervention on the part of some of them must
have appeared imminent.

It seems likely that Mrs. Piozzi made the acquaintance of Helen Maria
Williams through their common friend, Dr. Moore. She was a girl of
great natural ability, but of scanty education; for though born in
London, she was brought up at Berwick-on-Tweed. She returned to
town with her mother in 1781, being then about twenty years of age,
bringing with her a romantic poem, "Edwin and Eltruda," which, like
several subsequent works, met with considerable success. In 1788 she
went with her mother to France, on a visit to a sister who had married
a Swiss Protestant minister; and having enthusiastically adopted
the principles of the Revolution, she made that country her home,
and wrote a good deal on French politics, as will be noticed later.
These proceedings, and her intimacy with J. H. Stone, who had been
separated from his wife, provoked a good deal of hostile comment, both
among her acquaintances, and in the papers like the _Anti-Jacobin_,
of which she was not aware till much later. It was currently reported
that she was living under Stone's protection, a view accepted in the
_Dictionary of National Biography_. But it is not quite fair to judge
her conduct solely on such _ex-parte_ evidence, though perhaps it was
all her biographer had to go upon. Her own letters, written to Mrs.
Pennington, put a somewhat different complexion on the case. In the
first of these, dated 2nd July 1803, she mentions that she is taking
charge of the orphan children of her sister, who had died suddenly.
She lives with her mother and another relative, Mrs. Persis Williams,
whom she has never quitted for three days together since she left
England, except for her journey to Switzerland, which was undertaken
to save her neck. Stone procured her passport, but she travelled,
not with him alone, as had been represented, but with three other
gentlemen, one of whom was an English M.P., and on her arrival was
placed under the charge of her brother-in-law's relatives. In 1811 she
writes that her mother is dead, but that she is still living with Mrs.
Persis Williams and her nephew. In another letter, dated 26th January
1819, after Stone's death, she mentions that his matrimonial troubles
had begun before she knew him, and that it was his wife, "an odious
woman," who provided herself with gallants in Paris, and then, seizing
on the new Law of Divorce, "in spite of all our counsels," separated
herself from her husband, who had by this time lost his fortune. After
this they took Stone in, and he lived for twenty-five years as a
member of the household.

Mrs. Piozzi, who abhorred her books, though she never quite lost her
affection for their author, writes in her Commonplace Book: "I think
Helen Williams turned wholly foreigner, and considered England only
a place to get money from." Though her poems, novels, and politics
may alike be forgotten, she has a certain claim on the gratitude
of generations of play-goers, for it was her tale of _Perourou the
Bellows Mender_ that the first Lord Lytton adapted for the Stage as
the _Lady of Lyons_.

    SHREWSBURY, _29 Aug. Monday_.

   You are a noble girl yourself, dearest Miss Weston, and a true
   friend; if to be an elegant letter writer was praise fit to
   mix with this, I think you the best in England. _Both_ the sweet
   Epistles came safe; the _first_ pleases me best tho', because
   most natural. But if the thing is _credible_, believe it, they
   have been come a little bit, and no enquiries has he made; but
   he treats me with a haughty reserve, in consequence perhaps of
   my verses, or I dream so: for when Buchetti praised 'em, he said
   nothing. We are _none_ of us going through S. Wales to Bath and
   Bristol. He has _business in London_, he says, and God knows we
   have little pleasure here; so we all set out on Thursday morning
   together. You will be sadly hurt at all this, but 'tis true.
   No more does he follow me fondly about, as at Streatham or the
   Rectory, but I think apparently avoids me. Bad symptoms these;
   while poor Miss Owen, polite by habit, and desirous of keeping
   her own anguish down by hospitable attentions in which _the
   mind_ has no share, though the kind heart wishes it had, leaves
   me not an instant to myself or to him.

   Oh! but I have caught my Spark at last. He began talking to
   me of the Assizes, "Where," said I, "Marquis Trotti shall
   be indicted on a new Statute, for Heart-stealing without
   intentions of payment." He coloured, laughed, and stared,--well
   he might,--but asked my proofs, and I produced _your letter_.
   We should have made a good picture enough. "And what," says
   I, "is to be the end of all this?" "A ride to Bath," replied
   he. "I have begged Jacob to buy me a horse, and I will go, and
   _go alone_; and I will see S. Wales and all. As to the letter,
   Miss Weston is charming, but, I hope, has embellished a good
   deal. And who is going to sea-bathe?" "Only her sister-in-law,"
   answered I. "Oh! that sea-bathing frighted me!"--We were
   interrupted, but I find by Mr. Piozzi that this matter has been
   discussed among them, and my husband _thinks now_ that there is
   _somewhat in it_. But he is always right friendly and charming,
   and says just what he ought, but wishes our Harriet well too,
   and is reading your letter _now_.

   No description can tell what I have suffered in another friend's
   cause since I came here; but my death is not catched, and my leg
   is not broken, so I'll say as little as possible on a subject
   of more horror than one can express in words, though dear Miss
   Weston chose them....

  [Illustration: HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS

  _From an engraving by J. Singleton in the British Museum_]

From the next letter it appears that all the party had returned to
Streatham Park.

    _Monday 5 Sep._

   Kind! charming Miss Weston! your letter was a sweet cordial
   after the journey, for I did get home very tired and fatigued
   and latish on Saturday evening, after suffering something, sure
   enough, in the cause of friendship....

   The Marquis is making Jacob buy him a horse, to ride over _South
   Wales_, and Mr. Davies tells him that Bath and Bristol is the
   nearest way thither; sure he will never _ride_ that way, however
   earnest to rid himself of his companion's good advice, which his
   head probably applauded while his heart resists it. There is a
   cold reserve about the man, mixed with fine qualities too, but
   he has only a half confidence in me certainly; and seems, odd
   enough! to like teizing my curiosity with conjecture about his
   intentions towards Harriet, which I have not yet penetrated.
   He waits in this neighbourhood for his servant from Paris,
   whither he has sent him to fetch all his goods away. So far
   looks well, and runs as he told me long ago, when he said "I
   can at least give you _that_ satisfaction, that I do not leave
   England this year." For my own part he puzzles me completely,
   and _so_ confounds my conjectures, that were I to hear within a
   month that Harriet was Marchioness Trotti, or were I to hear he
   had informed her that such an event was impossible, I should in
   neither case be surprised. He is gone to London this morning,
   under promise to return o' Thursday, and says his servant will
   not be here before the end of the week. So much for Lorenzo.

   My own health has been shaken, but will tie up again with use
   of the tub, or perhaps we may try the Sea too. But I feel so
   glad to get home that scarcely will pleasure or profit tempt
   me out again in a hurry. Harriet talks of going to Weymouth or
   Southampton: if he should go to find Belvidere House without
   his favourite Bird, how would he feel? Yet will I not tell him
   the project, lest he should make that an excuse for not going:
   let him go, and hear, perhaps see that she is ill, from those
   whom he will believe. Better so; she may change her mind too,
   and I hope she will; but I only give her information always,
   not advice. I have this day acquainted her with all he says and
   does, 'tis she must act accordingly. My dear Master is pleased
   to find me at Streatham Park once more in a whole skin; the
   danger will be better to talk than write about, and we shall
   meet again some time, I trust, and exchange minds....

   Dear, charming Siddons is better; we stopt at her _village_, not
   at her _house_, returning, and heard y^t Sheridan and Kemble
   were with her; on _business_ no doubt, so we would not go in,
   but sent com^ts. They may see I do not want any favours they
   have to bestow.

   Adieu! my charming friend! Poor Harriet laments your loss most
   pathetically, and I am very, very sorry for her: yet let us
   remember 'tis not now above six or seven weeks suspense. I
   should, from the first, have thought it very fortunate if she
   had not to count by _months_ at least, if not _years_. Adieu and
   love your

    H. L. P.

John Kemble, Mrs. Siddons's brother, became manager for Sheridan
at Drury Lane in 1788. His sister's retirement during the season
of 1788-9, though mainly due to ill-health, was not altogether
unconnected with the difficulty of extracting her salary from the
brilliant but unbusinesslike Sheridan.

At this date Miss Weston was staying at Corston, near Bath, with the
Rev. F. Randolph, D.D., Canon of Bristol, who afterwards acted as
Domestic Chaplain and English Instructor to the Duchess of Kent in the
little Court at Amorbach, shortly before the birth of the Princess
Victoria.

The Rev. Reynold Davies, M.A., of Streatham, who is frequently
referred to in the later letters, was much esteemed by Mrs. Piozzi,
who entrusted him with the education of John Salusbury Piozzi for some
years after he was brought to England. In the Oxford Matriculation
Registers he is described in the usual way as Reynold Davies, son
of David, &c.; but on the monument he erected to his parents it is
stated that he was the son of David Powell of Bodwiggied in Penderyn,
co. Brecknock, an unusually late instance of the old Welsh system of
nomenclature, by which the father's Christian name was taken as a
surname by the son.

    _Tues. 28 Sep. '91._

   Your letters, my lovely friend, are like the places they
   describe, cultivated, rich, and various: the prominent feature
   elegance, but always some sublimity in hope and prospect....

   Our Italian Friends are still with us; the Marquis talks
   seldomer than ever of his intended tour through S. Wales to
   Bath, yet may mean it ne'er the less; and I dare say he will go
   and refresh his passion. Make Harriet Lee tell you Cecilia's
   saucy trick; it will divert her to tell it, and I won't take the
   tale out of her hands: her spirits mend, I see, as to her heart,
   it scarce _can_ receive improvement; and the strong sense she
   posesses, with such variety of resources too, will guard those
   passes where tenderness prevails over prudent apathy....

   My Master went last night to Town with good old Mr. Jones, to
   see what sport the transmigration of Old Drury can afford. We
   hear that all goes well, and that the Town accepts Kemble's new
   terms willingly and generously....

During 1791-2 Drury Lane Theatre was rebuilding, and Kemble and his
company were acting at the Haymarket until the new house was ready for
occupation.

"Good old Mr. Jones" was a connection by marriage of Mrs. Piozzi's,
having married a daughter of Sir William Fowler, her mother's cousin.
He was instrumental in bringing about the public reconciliation
between Mrs. Piozzi and her daughters, as narrated later on.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Sat. 15 Oct._

   My dear Miss Weston's letter contain'd more agreeable
   descriptions of the places I love, than of the people. I must
   hear better accounts of our sweet Harriet before my heart is
   easy, yet I doubt not her command over a passion which no longer
   appears to disturb the tranquility of her once half-frantic
   Admirer; who told my Master, in confidence _no_,--was his
   expression to me,--but in common discourse, that if he married a
   woman of inferior birth, such were his _peculiar_ circumstances,
   that exactly one half of his estates would be forfeited. He
   remains constantly with us, but the world seems a blank to
   him: he takes no pleasure, as I can observe, and either feels
   no pain, or pretends to feel none. If he ever does marry an
   Italian lady he will be a very miserable man however, from
   being haunted by our Harriet's form, adorned with talents, and
   radiant with excellence. Should he renew his attachment to her,
   and sacrifice half his fortune to his love, every child she
   brings will seemingly reproach him for lessening an ancient
   patrimony.--_Such is life._

   Mrs. Siddons is at Harrogate, and, we hope, mending. Poor Sir
   Charles Hotham is going to change the _Scene_, I hear: his state
   of existence, so far as relates to this world, draws to an end.
   Yet though the Physicians send him to Bath, he and Lady Dorothy
   resolve, it seems, to see the _new_ Drury Lane Hay Market before
   their curtain falls. Who says there is no ruling passion? It
   appears to me that _any_ passion, or even inclination, nursed
   up carefully, will rule the rest, tho' naturally larger and
   stronger; as our little Flo lords it over the out-door dogs,
   merely on the strength of being his Mistress' _favourite_.

   Chevalier Pindemonte has written me a long letter. He sends
   particular compliments to all our Friends and Coterie almost,
   and says a vast deal about dear Siddons. "What," cries Mr.
   Buchetti, "does he say of Helena Williams?" "Oh! not a word,"
   replied I, "men never speak at all of the woman whom they really
   like." A painter would have enjoyed Marquis Trotti's countenance
   at this conversation. Meantime our little democratic friend
   is not doing a foolish thing at last by leaving England, I do
   believe. Such is the advantage of exchange between London and
   Orleans, that they say the very difference may make it worth her
   while; nor is that position a weak one, if it be true that a
   British Guinea is worth thirty-two French Shillings; and it was
   a man just arrived who told it me for a fact....

   Della Crusca has married a Woman of elegant person and address,
   and who will bring him perhaps £500 o' year, with an unblemished
   character, as people tell me: the husband meantime will
   congratulate himself charmingly on his own _superiority_, no
   small pleasure to some minds; and the world will always be on
   his side in every dispute, tho' he had neither character _nor_
   fortune when they met. His family, I hear, are very angry.

   The Kembles get money apace. Mr. Chappelow says he is sure
   that the Pit _alone_ pays every night's expence, and people in
   general seem highly satisfied. _Here's_ a long letter from your
   ever affectionate

    H. L. P.

Sir Charles Hotham lived long enough to see the new theatre after all:
his curtain did not actually fall till 1794.

It was during her Italian tour that Mrs. Piozzi had met Mr. Chappelow,
who remained her firm friend till his death. Her connection with
Robert Merry ("Della Crusca") at Florence has been mentioned in the
Introduction. He returned to England in 1787, and published some
rather turgid poems of a sentimental character, which were satirised
by Gifford in the _Baviad_. At some time in the course of this year he
was in Paris, being, like Helena Williams, an ardent sympathiser with
the Revolution.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Tues. 8 Nov._

   My dearest Miss Weston would readily forgive my long silence,
   if she knew how heavily my hours are passing, and how happy a
   moment I think even this that I have stolen to write at last.
   Poor Mr. Piozzi has been, and _is_ as ill with the Gout as I do
   believe a man can possibly be. Knees, hands, feet,--crippled in
   all, and unable even at this hour to turn in the bed....

   Marquis Trotti and Mr. Buchetti have both been excessively kind
   indeed, and I shall feel eternally obliged by their attentive
   friendship. The Marquis has delayed his journey till he sees our
   Master on his legs again, and Mr. Buchetti keeps his courage up,
   as nobody but a countryman _can_ do in a strange land....

   I rejoice in our dear Harriet's recovery, which _you_ say
   proceeds from her fate's being decided, a position I never
   believed, yet cannot contradict, for to me he never names her;
   notwithstanding I am confident he thinks of her still, nor would
   I bet a large wager he does not yet marry her; but it was not an
   event ever likely to happen in three months, and in three years
   she may, for aught I see, still be his, tho' I never more will
   tell her so.

   Agitation of spirits is the worst illness, of which my present
   situation is a proof, and too much love is good for nothing, as
   I see, except to make one wretched. Mr. Piozzi has had Gout upon
   his throat, his voice, all that could agitate and terrifie me,
   but now _Safe's_ the word, and I care little for his _pain_,
   poor soul, if we can but keep away danger....

    STREATHAM PARK, _Sat. 20 Nov._

   My dear Miss Weston deserves twenty letters, yet can I scarce
   write her _one_ somehow. That all have their vexations is
   very true, and perhaps my share has been hitherto not quite
   equal to my neighbours'. Notwithstanding they would make no
   inconsiderable figure if prettily dressed up,--I mean _my
   own_. Poor Piozzi gets on as the Crabs do, he says, backward.
   Yesterday no creature could bear to see his agony, and tho' we
   all dined in the Library, we wished ourselves back a'bed....

   I have had a letter from sweet Helena [Williams] this very post,
   telling how she is got safe to Orleans; 'tis however written in
   a strain less triumphant than tender, I think; and if as she
   purposes, we may hope to see her next Summer, I shall have few
   fears of her return to France.

   As to our dear Harriet, you know how much I love her, but old
   Barba Jove and I have a vile trick of laughing at Lovers'
   resolutions. No matter, my heart wishes her sincerely well, and
   I have too many obligations to Marquis Trotti's politeness and
   attention while Mr. Piozzi was ill, not to wish and desire all
   good for him which he can desire for himself....

Owing, no doubt, to Miss Weston's return from Bath to Westminster,
there are no letters for the next three months; the next, though as
usual, undated, is shown by the postmark to have been written from
Bath in 1792.

    _Monday 5 Mar. No. 15 Milsom Street._

   My dearest Miss Weston will not wonder I write so little while
   my hands are full of engagements, my heart with anxiety, and my
   head,--as old Cymbeline says,--amazed with too much matter.[5]
   Harriet will have let you into a great deal of my story, and you
   will be surprised less at the behaviour of a man who, it seems,
   had no birth nor education to found good manners upon. The only
   difficulty is whether we shall tell the lady what we know, or
   suppress it. I am for the latter, because like Zara she may care
   little whether he is Osmyn or Alphonzo, for aught I know. But my
   Master, ever steady to the care of _his own honour_, says she
   shall be told _that which we have heard_, because 'tis our duty
   to speak as much as hers to listen. Send me some good counsel,
   and continue to love your

    H. L. P.

[5] _Cymbeline_, IV. iii. 28.

So ends Harriet Lee's romance. No clue is given as to what had been
heard to Trotti's prejudice, but it must have been something serious,
and as Harriet had met him, as a friend of the family, at Mr. Piozzi's
house, the latter felt bound to clear himself of any suspicion of
collusion. The Marquis, if not altogether an impostor, was clearly
not what he seemed; the curious thing is that the Piozzis had not had
their suspicions aroused sooner.

The characters alluded to by Mrs. Piozzi occur in Congreve's _Mourning
Bride_, in which Osmyn, otherwise Alphonzo, son of the King of
Valentia, is wrecked on the coast of Africa, where Queen Zara falls in
love with him.

The next letter, undated, but bearing the postmark of July '92,
alludes to a pecuniary loss Mrs. Weston had sustained, apparently
through the fault of her son. Perhaps as the result of this they left
the house in Queen Square, and till September the Westons took up
their abode at Lewisham.

   I would not, dearest Miss Weston, for the World, add to your
   torments. Comfort your poor Mother, and present her my cordial
   good wishes and compliments. Tell her that I say one good child
   out of only two is a good proportion, and I am sure God Almighty
   will not forsake her if the World does. While I have a house
   you command an apartment; consider it as your own, and come
   when it suits you. Cecilia will get her arm again, but 'twas
   a dreadful accident; that Girl is always saved from the brink
   of a precipice somehow: nothing could be more painful or more
   dangerous, she must wear it in a sling for a week at least....
   Could not Mr. Vandercorn be useful? he would make a point of
   serving you, I'm sure; but I fear, I fear the poor £1000 is
   irretrievably gone. Despair not of Fortune however, she is never
   long in a mind, and will not be always so cross, I am _sure_ she
   will not....

   Marquis Trotti was here yesterday, to _my_ amazement, who
   concluded him gone abroad; he brought Zenobio, Merlini, and
   Buchetti with him, and we had no manner of talk: he looks very
   well, says he leaves London for Paris next Wednesday,--I will
   not tell Harriet for fear of keeping her away. Would he had
   never come! We wanted him not, Heaven knows....

No sooner is one romance ended than another begins, destined, like the
last, to give Mrs. Piozzi a good deal of anxiety to equally little
purpose. Cecilia's first admirer appears upon the scene, in the person
of a Mr. Drummond, and prosecutes his suit with an ardour which for a
time carries all before him.

Whatever faults the Marquis may have committed, he did not consider
himself in any way cut off from intercourse with the Piozzis, or
feel any difficulty about keeping up a correspondence after he left
England, which he did just in time to be present at Paris during the
September massacres.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Tues. 17 Jul._

   Mr. Piozzi has so many things to call and to hurry him--he can
   only come on _Monday_ next to fetch his dear Miss Weston and
   mine. Be ready then kind creature and come away....

   I am wholly of your Mother's opinion, that 'tis best be _near
   the spot_: and if _she_ is contented with her situation, what
   need you care to change it?... My vote is for doing nothing, it
   commonly is you know, if one stirs, 'tis always to hurt oneself,
   I think, literally and figuratively and all....

   No news has been heard of the Federation, but all is supposed to
   be quiet in France, as an effect of the late coalition between
   the King and Jacobins. We shall see how matters end; I wonder
   one has no letter from Marquis Trotti.

   Mr. James Drummond has pranced over the Common now with comical
   effect enough; for he half frighted a quiet old Gentleman of
   our Village here by stopping him on his ride, and telling his
   tender tale to most unwilling ears, as no man could like a love
   story less: and he had no claim to his confidence, for he could
   not guess who he might be. Mr. Thomas--a man you have heard Mr.
   Davies call his Oracle--was the person so unwillingly trusted,
   and while they were together, Drummond called to Miss Lees, who
   were walking on the lawn, and renewed his acquaintance with
   them: he likewise halload to Jacob in a gay tone. Such Geniuses
   are entertaining and comical as Larks, but I like them not about
   my house, and shall feel uneasy on the 25th lest some frisk may
   be performed.

The elder daughter of Mrs. Siddons, Sarah Martha, known among her
friends as Sally, was just now staying with the Piozzis, as a
companion for Cecilia, who was her junior by about two years.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Sun. 9 Sep. 1792_.

   My dearest Miss Weston, this is my last letter from home; we go
   to morrow, and I am now so glad we are going, because Kitchen
   looks and talks as if Cecilia's cold had fastened seriously
   upon her breast and lungs. She certainly does breathe with less
   freedom, and the cough, though the slightest possible, is not
   removed. Lord! Lord! what an agony does it give me to think
   on possibilities! But change of air is the first thing in the
   world for such disorders, and _she_ must have Asses' milk now,
   instead of Sally Siddons, who grows fat and merry. Be happy
   if you can, sweet friend, 'tis a hard task, even with all _I_
   have to make me so: but let us never provoke God's judgements
   by repining even at his _mercies_. Accept the present offer as
   such, if you _do_ accept it; and carry this kind hearted man a
   chearful countenance, for that he has deserved. What does Mrs.
   Weston say? Write me all, and write me soon, remembering how
   truly I am yours

    H. L. P.

This letter gives the first hint of Miss Weston's approaching change
of condition. That it had not occurred before was not due to any lack
of admirers. In 1779 she was indulging in a semi-Platonic friendship
for the half-genius, half-charlatan, and wholly egotist, long
patronised by the Whalleys, who signed himself Courtney Melmoth; who
wrote to her from Longford Court letters of seven foolscap sheets,
filled with rhapsodies about his charmer, or rather about his own
feelings for her, in which he seems to have been much more interested.
This extraordinary being, who in real life was named Samuel Jackson
Pratt, was a man of good family and education, being a graduate
of Cambridge, and son of a High Sheriff of Huntingdon, had in his
life already played many parts, having been by turns priest, actor,
fortune-teller, bookseller, playwright, poet, and essayist. He was a
thoroughly untrustworthy person, as Sophia seems to have discovered
in time, though he was the only one of her admirers whose letters
she was at pains to preserve. William Siddons had reason to believe
that he was the original author of the anonymous attacks on his wife,
previously alluded to, and the Swan of Lichfield was convinced of
similar duplicity on his part towards herself. It is from her letters
to Sophia that we get some information as to the latter's more serious
admirers.

Of these the first was Major Cathcart Taylor, who evidently made some
impression on her heart, but proved himself "unworthy," and was
dismissed before 1784. Later on a strong mutual attachment grew up
between her and Mr. W. Davenport; but the engagement was broken off
by what Anna Seward terms "the rascality of a parent." The last of
the series, who made the Swan his confidante, and whom she calls "the
gentle Wickens," had a "little temple of the Arts" at Lichfield. But
"prudence laid a cold hand upon his hopes"; the lady was far above
him, and he gave her up for her own sake. "He admires the brightness
of the Star, but will not draw it from its habitual sphere."

The match she was now contemplating was not brilliant, or even
romantic, and probably her head was much more concerned in the
decision than her heart. But the suitor, in spite of a somewhat
scandalous story retailed to Sophia by her cousin Mrs. Whalley, was
evidently an honourable man, and certainly his suit was not prompted
by mercenary motives. William Pennington probably belonged to a
Bristol family, for a merchant of these names was living there earlier
in the century; but he himself, according to the editor of Whalley's
correspondence, was a loyal colonist ruined by the American War of
Independence. This account goes on to relate how, on the way home, he
made the acquaintance of another colonist returning to find relations
in the Old Country with whom he had long lost touch. The latter fell
ill on the voyage, and, in spite of all Pennington's care, died before
they reached England; but not before he had made a will leaving
everything to his new friend. Pennington's first care on landing was
to seek out the dead man's relations, and then, having torn up the
will, to put them in the way of obtaining the property.

This must have been before 1783, as in January of that year Sophia,
writing to Whalley, incidentally mentions that Mr. Pennington is
sharing a house with "cousin Somers." In 1785 we find him acting as
Master of the Ceremonies at the Clifton Hot Wells. A contemporary
Guide Book informs us that he was "inducted" to this important
office "under the patronage of the Archbishop of Tuam, and the
Bishop of Cloyne, and with the unanimous voice of a numerous circle
of nobility and gentry." Here, "distinguished by a medallion and
ribbon," he presided over the Assemblies, and legislated for the
better preservation of their dignity, ordaining, _inter alia_: "That
no Gentleman appear with a sword or with spurs in these rooms, or, on
a ball night, in boots. That the Subscription Balls will begin as soon
as possible after seven o'clock, and conclude at eleven, on account
of the health of the Company." He continued to officiate as M.C. for
twenty-eight years.

  [Illustration: PORTRAIT OF MRS. THRALE AT THE AGE OF 40

  _From the original picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds about 1781, in
  possession of Mrs. Hugh Perkins of Fulwood Park, Liverpool This
  was just about the time of her first meeting with Piozzi_]

    CROWN INN, DENBIGH, _15 Sep. Sat._

   I make haste to assure my kind friend that all apprehensions for
   Cecilia are at an end. The change of air relieved her oppression
   the first day, and carried off what remained of cold, or cough,
   or whatever it was, the _second_. But soon as arrived here,
   after the rainyest journey ever seen, I suppose, poor Sally
   Siddons was taken ill of an excessive sickness and pain, and
   our whole night has been spent as yours was, when I was just
   as ill at Streatham Park.... She is now risen and better, and
   eating Chicken Broth. I am very sorry to think you have been
   suffering the same torture, but do make haste and get well, and
   take Bark; it is the best thing after all for _you_ who have,
   I think, few complaints except what proceed from irritated
   nerves and perpetual anxiety of heart. A decided situation
   will tranquillize every sensation, and calm the tossing of the
   waves, which keep on their turbulent motion very often long
   after the storm is over. Yours is surely past, and so Dear Coz,
   (as Cecilia says to Rosalind,) Sweet Coz, be merry.[6] Your
   Mother is right, I daresay, about going to London, Lewisham
   is a dull place, it were better live here at Denbigh. We have
   Coals at 10_d._ per C.--and they say how _dear_ it all is!
   and Chickens 1_s._ a couple,--and _such_ a prospect! Well! I
   do think my own poor Country a very pretty one, that I do: and
   cheap, for though we are called the Squire and his Lady, who
   live upon _the best_, and pay _for the best_, they cannot for
   shame ask more than seven Guineas o' week for our lodging and
   boarding and linnen and china and all included;--four people and
   three servants, and we have one very long _staring_ room and
   clean beds.

   [6] "Sweet my Coz, be merry."--_As You Like It_, I. ii. 1.

   So much for Wales, meantime our letters from France will come
   slowly, for though they boast their brisk intelligence, I
   believe the Duke of Brunswick may be in quiet possession of
   Paris, or beaten back to Coblentz, before we shall hear a bit
   about the matter, as this town lies in the high road to no
   town, and smaller events than the deposition or restoration of
   Sovereigns make much ado here. We shall be quiet to morrow, and
   go to Funnen Vaino on Monday, if Sally recovers quite well, and
   I doubt not her doing so; our Medical Man here is very kind and
   comfortable.

   Helena Williams should mind who she keeps company with; so
   indeed should Hester Piozzi: that fine man she brought to our
   house lives in _no_ Emigrants' Hotel at Paris, but a common
   Lodging, in a place where numbers lodge. He carried _no_ wife
   over with him, nor _no_ children; they are left at Hackney I am
   told. Her mother and sister are at Montreuil....

   _P.S._--(by Mr. Piozzi.)

   Dear friend, we are arrived at Denbigh very safe; the Crown
   Inn is prety comfortable, and I've got a very fine room for
   Company; next Monday morning we'll go all togheter to see our
   place for the new House, and I hope in two years she should be
   finisd to receive our selves, and our dear friend; be merry and
   comfortable if you can, and believe me for alway your

    G. P.

If letters from France came slowly, yet they did arrive. Mr.
Broadley's collection contains two written from Paris by the Marquis
Trotti, who found himself in the thick of the September massacres, of
which he speaks in guarded terms. In the first, dated 3rd September,
he says: "I did not run any risk in the terrible bloodshed of
yesterday. It was an horrid havock: but I forbear to come into any
detail, as it would very likely prevent your receiving this letter.
The King and Queen are still living.... I am a Traveller, and
never meddled in anything, and as such I trust to come out safe."
He writes again on 13th September: "So it is, Madam, I long to be
in some peaceful, retired place, where people are happy and free
without such violent exertions to be so. What I saw lately in Paris
is quite enough for me, and I would hate myself if I was to grow
familiar to such horrid scenes. Slaughter in cold blood, and murder
without provocation, bring us straight back to the state of a brute,
which would be ten thousand times worse, living as we do now in
populous cities, than as we did formerly in forests.... O how often
shall I remember the sweet tranquillity of Streatham Park, and the
circumstances which will always endear it to me."

He goes on to allude to the project of building a house in Wales, and
assuming the rôle of Prophet, foretells the founding and growth of a
"New Salisbury" around Brynbella, greater and more imposing than the
old one, with a monument to the "Illustrious Lady" erected in its
great square.

The constituent Assembly, having framed the new Constitution, had
dissolved itself, and left Louis to work it with the aid of the
Girondins, who declared war on Austria in April, but were soon
dismissed by the King. A threatening manifesto by the Duke of
Brunswick helped to bring the Jacobins into power, who deprived the
King of what little authority he possessed, while the new Assembly
was succeeded by the Convention. These changes were speedily followed
by the imprisonment of the Royal family, and the massacres by the
Paris Commune in August and September; but of these Mrs. Piozzi had
evidently not yet heard.

Helena Williams' friend was evidently John Hurford Stone, whose name
occurs several times in the succeeding letters. He was a Unitarian,
and originally a coal-merchant in London, and a prominent member
of the Society of Friends of the Revolution. He had thus brought
himself to the notice of Fox and Sheridan in England, and had made the
acquaintance of Talleyrand and Madame de Genlis in France. He was now
paying a visit to Paris from which he returned early in 1793, but soon
took up his permanent abode in France, where, on the outbreak of the
war, he was imprisoned as an Englishman. In 1794 he was divorced from
his wife, and thereafter lived with Helena Williams. His tombstone
in Père Lachaise styles him an "enlightened champion of Religion and
Liberty."

The idea of building a residence on Mrs. Piozzi's Welsh property,
first mooted in 1789, was now taking shape. The old mansion of
Bach-y-graig, besides being inconvenient and ruinous, occupied a low
and rather damp situation on the banks of the Clwyd, so a higher and
drier site was chosen for the new house.

Sally Siddons soon recovered, but in a few days Cecilia had a serious
relapse.

    _Sat. 29 Sep._ [1792].

   My head full of opium, my heart of anguish, I will write to
   my valuable friend about _her_ affairs, my own I cannot trust
   the pen with; dear Sally must write _them_ for me. Mr. Whalley
   is angelick, you should be happy to call _him_ cousin, sure;
   and the sweet, artless, _hoping_ man's letter enclosed, that
   quotes my verses--in good Time!--and gives the lye to all old
   maxims which say that we lose our Lovers when we lose our
   fortune. How can you be so cold to him? But 'tis illness makes
   you so; be well, sweet friend, and reject not Heaven's offer
   of temporal happiness in its _natural form_: that of a good
   husband. Every hour shows me there is no other comfort in this
   world but what we receive from indissoluble union with a soul
   somewhat like one's own. Even in my case I feel consolation in
   my Husband's disinterested goodness. Your Husband, I am sure,
   has a heart in which meanness will not make its abode. Then why
   should you scruple to honour or obey him? _I_ honour him from
   my heart. Have him! Have him! and try not to disappoint his
   romantic expectations of felicity never to be found. Cecilia
   mends hourly, or I could not write thus much; yes, hourly!--and
   yet,--Sally takes the pen. Show Sir Lucas Pepys this letter; if
   mortal pow'rs can save her, _his_ will; he saved her once, why
   was he out of Town?

   Ah! dear Miss Weston, what affliction have we all been in! what
   anxious days and sleepless nights has poor Mrs. Piozzi pass'd!
   Cecilia has been ill, _very_ ill, a Physician from Chester
   has been call'd; we now hope to God she will recover, sure,
   almost, that there is no immediate danger. _Not immediate_, but
   dearest Miss Weston, how afflicted will you be to hear that
   Dr. Hagarth indicated but too plainly that Cecilia, whom we
   thought so strong, so free from every complaint, will fall into
   a consumption. Dear Mrs. Piozzi has fear'd this since the first
   day Cecilia ail'd any thing, which was last Sunday, when she
   directly sent for Mr. Moore the Apothecary of Denbigh. He said
   nothing was the matter but cold; she cough'd and complain'd of
   a pain in her shoulder and side, Monday she was worse, Tuesday
   and Wednesday she still got worse, Thursday she kept her bed,
   and Dr. H. was sent for. That day she spit a good deal of blood
   and was bled. Dr. Hagarth and Mr. Moore differ'd in opinion
   concerning what part the blood came from. Dr. Hagarth feared it
   was from the lungs, and that was a bad symptom,--they let her
   blood again at night. Yesterday Dr. Hagarth left us, and Cecy,
   after a good night was surprisingly better; she was in better
   spirits, sat up some time, and was very well disposed to talk
   and laugh, but she is ordered not to do either. To-day she is
   still much better, and we hope soon to see her well. In the
   meantime dear Mrs. Piozzi through anxiety and grief has caught
   a violent cold, to-day she seems better. Oh, my kind friend,
   how would your tender heart have bled for her! Mine was ready
   to burst, in the midst of her affliction on Cecilia's account,
   to see her compose herself, and assure Mr. Piozzi that for his
   sake she would bear all patiently, and take care of her own
   health: indeed, indeed, it was a heart breaking sight. Cecilia
   does not in the least suspect her complaint, she was only
   frighten'd when she spit the blood. Tho' to be a spectator of
   such affliction is a sad thing, yet am I happy in being here.
   Cecilia is pleas'd to have me near her; she turned everyone but
   me out of the room when she was bled, and me she held fast and
   close to her. I think I am a small comfort to poor Mrs. Piozzi
   too,--at least she told me so. What melancholy reflections does
   Cecy's illness bring into one's mind; that one who yesterday was
   young, healthy, strong, prosperous in her fortunes, belov'd by
   her Parent and friends, in short, with every thing conspiring
   to render her happy, should to-day be within an inch of death,
   and quitting for ever all these blessings, is a sad and striking
   lesson. To make things still more vexatious, poor Jacob has had
   a terrible fever and sore throat; he is to-day mending. Mr.
   Piozzi is all tenderness; he is, you may easily conceive, low
   spirited enough. Let us pray to God that Dr. Hagarth has been
   deceiv'd, or at least, if he has not, that the complaint may be
   got the better of. I am sorry indeed to hear how ill you have
   been, do, dear Creature, get well, and accept of the comfortable
   independence which is offer'd you by so amiable a person. Will
   it not in some measure soften the affliction the former part
   of my letter must have given you, to tell you that my belov'd
   Mother is at length cur'd of her complaint, and quite an alter'd
   woman? What a happy being was I when I received this charming
   news from herself, in her own handwriting! The intended journey
   to Guy's Cliff must, I fear, be given up, I will hope that when
   dear Cecy is recover'd, we shall yet pass some happy days there
   together. The weather has prevented our enjoying this lovely
   country sufficiently; I have seen enough to make me never forget
   the beautiful Vale of Clwydd. The new house is to be call'd the
   Belvedere. Yours sincerely,

    S. SIDDONS.

This letter is addressed to 14 James Street, Westminster, where Mrs.
Weston had taken rooms, and where she remained at any rate till her
daughter's marriage. Sir Lucas Pepys, in whom Mrs. Piozzi reposed so
much confidence, was the leading physician of the day. He had been
created a Baronet in 1784, was President of the Royal College of
Physicians, and attended the King in several of his illnesses.

The suggested name of Belvedere for the new house was not adhered to.
The one finally chosen was a hybrid Cambro-Italian form, Brynbella,
meaning the Beautiful Bank, or Brink.

    CROWN INN, DENBIGH, _1st Oct. Monday_.

   I write myself now, kindest Miss Weston, and I write with
   steadier fingers. The cough has yielded to repeated bleedings,
   and she mends as rapidly as she grew ill. Dr. Haygarth it was
   who threw me in that agony, by pronouncing Cecilia in serious
   danger from the blood spit up, which _he_ said came from the
   lungs; and never did twenty Guineas purchase as much affliction
   at one dose, I do believe, as those we gave to him. Dear Mr.
   Moore, an agreeable Practitioner settled here as Accoucheur,
   Surgeon, &c., who cured Sally Siddons, had repeatedly assured me
   that it was _not_ from the lungs.... Her quick recovery gives
   great reason to think _him_ right; and he _so_ smiles, and _so_
   rejoyces, yet insists on my telling nobody that he differs from
   Dr. Haygarth, who is a man of very high reputation, and in
   earnest a very pleasing Physician--skilful too I dare say--and
   fully perswaded of his own opinion, which is supported by
   Science, as the other's by Experience.

   Dear Cecy's recovery will, if complete, prove the old adage that
   an Ounce of Mother is worth a Pound of Clergy; meaning that good
   Common Sense, or _Mother Wit_ as we call it, beats learning out
   of doors.

   So may it prove! I will now pluck up courage and write to Sir
   Lucas myself. Doctor Haygarth recommended us to take Cecilia
   to a warmer climate, and that _instantly_: at the same time
   he said she must not be _hurried_, or even suffered to _talk_
   much, or move. _Naples_ was the first place that occurred: but
   how should we get to _Naples_? Thro' France? They would refuse
   Passports, perhaps _hurry_ her into _worse apartments_ than
   these we are in: a prison, and present her with the sight of
   heads streaming with blood. Thro' Germany? Through marching
   armies into miserable towns, where want of horses to get forward
   would detain us in a climate worse than that of Great Britain; a
   German inn to escape catching cold at is a good joke to be sure.
   'Tis a residence for Pigs only, not delicate Damsels, sure.

   Let it be _Lisbon_ then! Very well, Lisbon be it; but now do
   not you open your lips, or black one bit of paper with this
   intelligence, for if she really ails nothing--which Mr. Moore
   says will very soon appear to be the case--all these phantoms
   vanish, and poor Mr. Piozzi and I are _not_ to be driven
   forcibly, expensively, dangerously, and suddenly from all our
   comforts, all our friends, present enjoyments, and future
   projects. The little _Belvedere_ may yet go forward at Funnen
   Vaino, and we may yet be merry with _you_ in many a beautiful
   spot, but none like the _Vale of Llwydd_. My health, tho'
   horribly shaken, _may_ tye up again, and I may kiss my pretty
   black Cock and Hen (that I forgot to thank you for,) at poor old
   Streatham Park. They are of the Polish breed; we will call them
   the King and Queen of Poland, there will never be any other, I
   fancy....

   Jacob's dangerous sore throat and fever has been a great
   addition to my agony, but he will live, poor fellow, I thank
   God; and so the favourite horses got lamed with neglect
   while he was sick, and Phillis came to evil, and all went
   _consistently_. I expect my poor Husband to get a fit of the
   gout every day, and that would _do_ for me. I should remind
   myself of the Welch Parson's letter saying

   "Dear Sir, as I was passing the heights of Snowdon last week,
   with Mrs. Jones behind me, I got in much distress, for night
   came on, my horse tired, and my Wife fell in labour...."

   Of Sally Siddons I say, like as Imogen says of Pisanio, "thou
   art all the comfort the gods will diet me with."[7] Her mother's
   recovery is however one solid and certain felicity to us all. I
   do thank God for that: she is an invaluable Creature.

[7] _Cymbeline_, III. iv. 183.

    _Thursday 4 Oct._ DENBIGH.

   Well! My dearest Miss Weston, you are a _true_ friend if ever
   any one had a true friend, and you will think of nobody but me,
   and of nothing but my miseries; from some part of which however
   charming Sir Lucas's letter and yours together have relieved me.
   I write to him to-day, and I beg'd Dr. Haygarth to write. _His_
   will doubtless be a _despairing_ letter, he despair'd even of
   Jacob, who, Mr. Moore protested, was never in actual danger. No
   matter now tho', for he certainly is recovering; and I earnestly
   _hope_ I did not neglect my duty to him, while my heart was full
   of everything else in the world.

   Indeed, indeed, Cecilia has, between her lovers and her illness,
   worked my poor heart very hard this year. I marvel Drummond is
   not come down yet, for he knows all that happened, but the same
   avarice which prompted his original pursuit of her restrains him
   from spending seven Guineas to follow _her_, and fret _me_. Some
   certain comfort every state affords, you know. Cecilia does mend
   to be sure as fast as ever anybody did mend: ay, and as fast as
   she grew worse, which was with a rapidity I never before was
   witness to....

   Dear Piozzi does _not_ get the gout, so we shall surely move
   hence o' Monday, but Haygarth is very good, that he is, and
   comes at a call very quickly too. He has made two visits, and
   kind Mr. Moore nurses, and sends his wife to nurse, and help sit
   up, and everything,--that is, he _did_ do so when wanted,--as if
   he were one's oldest and sincerest friend. He _never_ thought
   her in danger, and is now the happiest person, except myself, in
   the Town of Denbigh. The neighbouring Gentlemen send in baskets
   of fruit and sallads, and all they think she can want: so if she
   _does_ hate Wales, which I do believe she does most heartily,
   the People could do no more to make her love it.

   Remember, that tho' the Dr. came twice, she spit blood but
   once; remember too that I did not wait till she spit blood
   before I sent for him,--_that_ agony was while he was coming
   hither,--this day sennight, and Mr. Moore had just bled her as
   he walked in. The state of her blood however, and of her case,
   made Haygarth order the operation to be repeated; and 'tis to
   bleeding alone that I impute her cure....

   She was as well, as lively, and as handsome as ever you saw her
   just before this attack: she lost the cold _you_ had observed
   by the time she reached Meriden. I remember her running up and
   down the garden slopes like a school-girl; so she ran up and
   down the Castle Hill here, to fright me and Sally Siddons at the
   heights she shew'd herself from,--for mere sport and frolick.
   The disease was sudden and violent. She had caught the cold when
   Jacob caught _his_, riding in the rain to the Belvedere, and
   then coming home in the chaise with us, her habit wet thro'. She
   _would_ ride that day tho' it was showry when she set out, but
   the roads are so bad for a carriage that every body will ride
   that _can_; and she is not used to mind a cold, poor soul....

   This is, I think, my most rational letter yet.... Sally Siddons
   is my darling daughter, and _so_ affectionate. Farewell; beg
   dear Mr. Whalley's prayers for me, and write to Chester to yours
   _gratefully_,

    H. L. P.

    _Sat. 6 Oct. 1792._

   My dearest, truest, kindest Miss Weston's sympathizing letter
   makes a nice contrast to cruel Doctor Haygarth's, this moment
   received,--wherein he bids me not relax my caution, for that
   diseases of these kinds are peculiarly insidious;--says Miss
   Thrale ought to be watched with the most sedulous attention,
   &c., and brought to him, if able to move, next Monday, to
   Chester,--where however he _despairs_ again of finding us any
   comfortable accommodations.

   How can dear Sir Lucas Pepys love a man so unlike himself?--and
   how can a creature who witness'd my anguish suspect, or pretend
   to suspect, my care of a child whose welfare precludes every
   other thought and consideration?

   Well! Cecilia has no sweats, no febrile heat, no chills, no pain
   in the breast _at all_. She sleeps uninteruptedly seven hours
   at a time, and coughs only _now and then_, as we say, but it
   certainly is not cured. This morning we try her with an airing,
   but I'm forced to send my letter away, because our Posts come
   and go very slowly, as you see. Sally Siddons scolds me for
   crying over Haygarth's letter, because she says _she_ sees Cecy
   mend every moment.

The remaining page and a half is filled up by Sally, who enlarges
on this text in great detail, and with much common sense. She seems
to have converted Mrs. Piozzi to her opinion, for the next letter,
instead of being written at Chester, is dated from Guy's Cliffe, near
Warwick, then the seat of the Greatheeds. Mrs. Piozzi had become
intimate with Bertie Greatheed at Florence, and wrote the Epilogue for
his blank-verse tragedy, _The Regent_, which was performed at Drury
Lane in 1788. It was not a great success, in spite of the acting of
John Kemble and Mrs. Siddons. Here the object, though not the nature,
of Mrs. Piozzi's anxiety suffered a change; for Sally had a bad
attack of the spasmodic asthma from which she suffered all her life,
and of which she eventually died.

    GUY'S CLIFFE, _Sunday 14 Oct. 1792._

   Never, my dearest Miss Weston, never _try_ to oppose the
   immediate dictates of Heaven. I was miserable, yes _miserable_
   at coming to this sweet hospitable house, because I wanted to
   be at home with Cecilia, to see and embrace my kind, my true
   friend--and to endeavour at sleep in _my own_ bed--for from
   every other it has long been flown. On the road hither however,
   for we came softly, not to hurry poor Cecy, only 44 miles o'
   day, Sally Siddons was taken _illish_. I hop'd it was the
   Influenza, for cold she could not have catch'd, and I have kept
   her at all possible distance from my own girl ever since she
   threw up blood at Denbigh. Here however was she seized yesterday
   with _such_ a paroxysm of Asthma, cough, spasm, _every_ thing,
   as you nor I ever saw her attack'd by.... But as God never
   leaves one deserted, _here_ most providentially was found Mr.
   Rich'd Greatheed, who you know practised physick many years in
   the West Indies; and under his care we are now _existing_, not
   living. He is very charming, and so is his dear sister, who
   desires her love to you, and all possible happiness. I told
   her _my_ infinite obligations to your generous friendship, and
   she says how good, and clever, and how much admired you always
   were. Sally in her bed begs to be remembered to you, who have
   so often watched her bedside. She has reason to adore Mrs.
   Greatheed though, who ransacks the country for relief to the
   dear creature, and we expect her mother every instant to add to
   our agony.

   Meantime Cecilia remains _just the same_ as when Haygarth
   pronounced her _well_; but she is _not_ well, no nor _ill_
   neither.... Well, her sisters had the best of my flesh and of
   my purse; poor Cecilia can but pick the skeleton of either, and
   she is welcome to _that_. I knew from the Lloyds that Drummond
   was acquainted with all; he doubtless attributes her illness
   to disappointed love of _him_. I knew it from them, but they
   did not _tell_ me so, mind: oh, had I never known anything of
   Drummond but what I had been _told_, my information had been
   very shallow, sure.

   Adieu! if no new affliction arises we shall be at Streatham Park
   on Thursday night, 18, and you shall see what yet remains of
   your poor

    H. L. PIOZZI.

Mrs. Siddons was no stranger at Guy's Cliffe. More than twenty years
before, when her parents were trying to break off her engagement to
William Siddons, she had lived there for two years, nominally as
lady's-maid, though it is said that her chief employment was to read
poetry to the then master of the house, Mr. Samuel Greatheed. After
her marriage in 1773 she often stayed there as a friend of the family.

    STREATHAM PARK. _Wensday, 7 Nov. 1792._

   I am truly delighted, dearest friend, with your charming
   pacquet....

   We are all in the right to love Mr. Pennington, 'tis for all our
   credit to love him, and will be ever so to yours. Never were
   so many knowing ones taken in at once as would be if he proved
   worthless. You will follow _him_ soon, and the moment we have
   half a crown _in hand_ we will follow you. Let mine be the first
   letter sign'd P. S. P. Siddons says you must say nothing from
   her, but you may tell Mr. Whalley from me, that I think her as
   yet neither well nor happy, soon to be so however, as we all
   hope; that's enough, she will always do right, we are sure of
   her principles, _unbending_ as her best admirer said they were.

   So you are a widow when this reaches you, and your true love is
   gone away. What mistakes he will be guilty of till you come, I
   am thinking; for he, poor soul! dreams only of his Sophia.
   May your Mother end her days peaceably under his protection and
   your care, and quite forget she ever had any other son! _'Tis
   best_.

   My Master will call some day, if he _can_, that is. Mr. Ray
   has given him tickets for Lord Mayor's Feast, so he is to see
   London's Glory,--_in good time_; he has seen the Apparitions,
   which he greatly approves.

   Helena Williams should not be sick now all goes her own way; Is
   this a time, brave Caius, to wear a Kerchief? &c.,[8] as Brutus
   says. I will write to her some of these days....

[8] "Oh what a time have you chose out, brave Caius," &c.--_Julius
Cæsar_, II. i. 315.

  [Illustration: MRS. SIDDONS

  _By R. J. Lane after Sir Thos. Lawrence_]

In France the Prussians had been driven back, the National Convention
had abolished Royalty, proclaimed the Republic, and were now preparing
to try the King, though it is not likely that the last item of
news had yet reached Mrs. Piozzi. The Republic at once took up the
offensive, and its troops occupied Savoy and Nice, which no doubt gave
rise to the expectation of an attack on Rome, as mentioned in the next
letter.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Wensday 21_.

   My dear Miss Weston's kind letter came safe to my hand, 'tis the
   last I shall read with that signature. Do pray tell me whether
   your Brother knows how matters go, and when he found it out.
   Does good Mamma set out at the same time you do? Yes, I dare
   say. Give my truest regards to charming Mr. Whalley, and your
   _real_ cousin, his amiable Lady, and tell my Harriet Lee how I
   expect her, and long to see her, and tell all my tales of sorrow
   and of joy about poor Cecilia, whose kind and wise Physician
   came here out of pure good will two days ago, and signed a _good
   Bill of Health_ for all the family,--honest Jacob included; and
   said moreover that sweet Siddons would recover in due time, and
   that time not distant. He is one of _us_ her adorers....

   How happy Mr. Pennington must be in Mrs. Tryon's admiration of
   his Sophia's fine qualities. These are the bright moments, the
   lucid spots of life, which those who never marry never see. Mr.
   Whalley's is really a lucky house, I seldom have seen it without
   a courting scene upon the foreground. Tell him, (if you can
   remember,) that his democratic friend, Count Andriani, asked for
   him the other day, tho' I perfectly recollect his turning quite
   pale with passion while they disputed about politics. Meantime
   the French are expected hourly at Rome, and at Loretto, to pay
   their troops with the rich spoils of Palaces and Churches. Some
   Italian noblemen dined here last week, and actually wept with
   reflexions upon past terror and apprehended injuries. Excellenza
   Pisani in particular, at whose throat, and at those of his
   little girls, ten and eleven years old, they held knives and
   pikes for the space of _four_ hours, surrounding his coach as
   he came away, and loading him with the bitterest curses; adding
   Rogue and Rascal, etc., till his daughters' Gouvernante, in
   perpetual fits, seem'd wholly dead from fright, and his Steward
   came out in a spotted fever with the agony. I never heard
   anything so dreadful. Little Lady Caterina says she thought they
   would kill Papa every minute. Remember that Pisani is one of the
   first families in Europe, and that his person ought to have been
   sacred as Ambassador from one of the first Republics in it.

   Poor Marquis Spinola has the same tale to tell; but he had
   lived twenty years in France, and acquired kindness enough for
   the Nation to be sorry for _them_. Well! we will now think of
   nothing but private happiness, and rejoice that 'tis still
   within our reach. May you, my kind friend, long remain a proof
   and pattern of it, prays your truly affectionate and obliged

    H. L. PIOZZI.




                             CHAPTER III

   Miss Weston marries Wm. Pennington, 1792--Execution of
   Louis XVI--Reconciliation of Mrs. Piozzi and her daughters,
   1793--Irish Rebellion--"British Synonymy"--Fleming's
   prophecies--Cecilia's flirtations--Residence at Denbigh,
   1794--Building of Brynbella.


By the time the next letter was written Miss Weston had become Mrs.
Pennington, and had taken up her abode at the Hot Wells, in a house in
Dowry Square. It points to a serious estrangement between Mrs. Siddons
and her husband, though nothing is said as to the cause. Mr. Siddons,
like Mr. Thrale, seems to have been reserved, and somewhat lacking in
sympathy for, if not actually jealous of, his brilliant wife; but so
far as one can judge, his conduct as a husband was outwardly quite
correct, and even exemplary.

Mrs. Piozzi's Commonplace Book, now in the possession of Mr. Broadley,
contains a note on Count Andriani, whom she describes as "a Milanese
nobleman, a bold dashing fellow, who went up in an air-balloon about
1781-2, when such exploits were rare." She goes on to relate how
his outspoken preference for Killarney as compared with Loch Lomond
offended Helen Williams, who, though born in London, chose to consider
Scotland her native country, on the strength of having been brought up
at Berwick-on-Tweed.

   My dear sweet friend rates my little tokens of goodwill too
   high.... But let us talk of nothing but _your_ happiness, and
   _my_ comfort in the thought of it. Dear Mr. Pennington is
   already sensible of your worth, and will be more so, when he
   knows you as I do! He has won all our hearts here, and his
   charming wife will do the same with his friends wherever they
   are....

   Poor Siddons pities my very soul to see her: an indignant
   melancholy sits on her fine face, and care corrodes her very
   vitals, I do think. God only can comfort her, and His grace
   alone support her, for she is all resentment; and that beauty,
   fame, and fortune she has now so long posess'd, add to her
   misery, not take from it. I am sincerely afflicted for her
   suffering virtue, never did I see a purer mind, but it is
   now sullied by the thoughts that she has washed her hands in
   innocence in vain! How shall I do to endure the sight of her
   odious husband? I suppose he comes to-morrow.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Thursday, 10 Jan. 1793_.

   Who is silent and sullen _now_ of these two scribbling Mrs.
   P.P.'s? not Mrs. Piozzi, sure. No, nor her poor Husband, who,
   tho' now laid up with the gout worse than ever I knew him,
   thinks of you often, and added a Postscript to my last letter
   with the Ballad in it. Oh, but the Church and King Ballad is a
   great deal better than mine; 'tis really a sweet copy of verses,
   and _you_ will cry over it. Enquire and get it to read. I doubt
   not of its being the production of some very capital hand.

   Our Master is too bad to be diverted by anything: 50 hours has
   that unhappy Mortal lain on an actual rack of torment, nor ever
   dozed once except for 7 or 8 minutes, not ten. 'Tis truly a
   dismal life, and Mrs. Siddons has called home Sally, and Mr.
   Davies is making holyday at Brighthelmston, and there is nobody
   to make out Whist with good old Mr. Jones. I just had a peep of
   the Lees and Greatheeds, it was however _but_ a peep. We went to
   Town one night and saw Euphrasia, and caught a cold which Piozzi
   attributes to the Kanquroo, etc., that we carried the children
   to look at next morning. "Ah! those Ferocious Beasts are been my
   Ruin" quoth he....

   Marquis Trotti writes from Vienna, where he is retired, like
   Isabinda in The Wonder, to avoid matrimony, as the Italians here
   tell me; and they fancy him attached to Miss Hamilton, who, they
   say, is highly accomplished, tho' plain, and a prodigiously well
   known and admired authour. When we talk of people's affairs, I
   hope and suppose we always make just such wise assertions, for
   who at last _really_ knows the affairs and thoughts of another?
   You are however ignorant of nothing belonging to _my_ family
   concerns, you'll say; 'tis true; but one reason may be there is
   nothing I wish to conceal. We have no money for Bath this year,
   Brynbella drains all away; and Cecy prefers a week's flash in
   London to a month at Bath, she says. And she perhaps knows why
   better than she will tell to you, or to yours ever,

    H. L. P.

   Say you are alive, and well, and happy, and tell Mr. Pennington
   how much we all wish him so. Adieu! My Master's bell rings, I
   run. Farewell.

By "Euphrasia" she probably meant to designate Murphy's play, usually
known as _The Grecian Daughter_, in which the heroine Euphrasia,
daughter of Evander, saves her father's life in prison by suckling
him. In her reference to Isabinda she seems to have suffered from a
momentary (and unusual) lapse of memory. The name of the heroine in
_The Wonder_, otherwise _A Woman keeps a Secret_, by Mrs. Centlivre,
is Isabella; Isabinda is a character in _The Busybody_, by the same
writer.

The Miss Hamilton here referred to seems to have been Eliza, sister
of Captain Charles Hamilton, a member of the Woodhall family, who was
living in London shortly before this date; but her most successful
work, the _Letters of a Hindoo Rajah_, was not published till 1796.

Mr. Broadley's collection contains a letter written this year to
Mrs. Piozzi by Harriet Lee, which shows that the latter had not
quite banished Trotti from her thoughts, though she does profess her
determination to live and die an old maid. "Should you have any
letter from Vienna,--and I know not why, but am disposed to believe
you have had the last,--pray be so good as to ask in your answer
whether he knows anything of the fate of Gen. de Paoli, and if he is
really dead. You may, if you please, add that I begg'd you to make the
enquiry."

Just at this time Mrs. Pennington fell ill, and Mrs. Piozzi writes
an anxious letter of enquiry, but of no particular interest, to her
husband on 14th January; but by the time it reached him, the invalid
was sufficiently recovered to answer for herself.

    STREATHAM PARK, _17 Jan. 1793_.

   Oh what pleasure did the sight of your handwriting give us all,
   my ever kind, my ever partial friend! Poor Mr. Piozzi really
   suffered for you in the midst of his own pains, and they have
   been great and serious. He is now just trying to crawl, and that
   very miserably indeed, and his hands, etc., so entirely useless
   for a whole week he could not even use the pocket handkerchief
   for himself. Are not you very sorry? 'Tis my fear that it will
   be long before he can ever play the Pastorale, etc.

   Here is bitter weather too, and that retards both his and your
   recovery, and sweet Siddons has relapsed, and Sally is with
   her, as bad as bad can be, and Pepys attending them both. I'm
   told London has a violent Influenza in it, and will keep my
   Miss out while I can, but one's arms do so ache with pulling at
   an unbroken Filly that longs to hurt herself by skipping into
   some mischief or other, that, like the old Vicar in Goldsmith's
   Novel, I get weary of being wise, and resolve to see people once
   happy in almost any way.

   Meantime Harriet Lee quits London, after making me only one
   pityful visit or two. I gave her the elegant verses called a
   Ballad for Church and King, she may copy them for you; I fancy
   them written by Bishop Porteous, without knowing very well
   why. Poor Louis' fate was decided on last Monday, but we know
   not yet what that fate is. Your anecdote is very interesting,
   I shall read it to all the Democrates. Meantime 'tis supposed
   that a plague is begun in Austria. Long live the Turnep Cart,
   say you. If things go on so rapidly I shall become a list'ner.
   The King of Naples has really behaved very paltrily, and poor
   Pius Sextus is forced to solicit help from his excluded and
   excommunicated brother Martin at last. I suppose we shall send
   a fleet into the Mediterranean for protection of Italy; they
   will all be contented to see us pay the expence of a war they
   have not spirit to fight for themselves. Fye on 'em all! _Tutti
   Compagni_, says yours,

    H. L. P.

Dr. Beilby Porteous was now Bishop of London, to which see he had
been translated from Chester in 1787. He had a greater reputation as
a preacher than as an author, but was said to have had some share in
Hannah More's _Cœlebs in Search of a Wife_.

Hugues Basseville, an envoy of the French Republic, having been
murdered at the foot of Trajan's Column in Rome on 13th January, Pius
VI was charged with complicity, and so was driven in self-defence to
join the League of the Germanic States against France. Martin, as
typifying the Lutherans, is as old as Dryden's _Hind and Panther_, and
stands for Luther himself in Swift's _Tale of a Tub_, but Mrs. Piozzi
probably had in her mind its use by Dr. Arbuthnot in his _History of
John Bull_.

Ferdinand I, King of Naples, was at first disposed to sympathise with
the Revolution, but the execution of Louis drove him to join the
league of Austria and England against the Republic.

    STREATHAM PARK, _24 Jan. 1793_.

   MY DEAR FRIEND,--It _is_ very vexatious that we cannot
   come to Bath this year, and I am excessively grieved at it for a
   thousand reasons....

   I _hope_ we shall make a point of showing our attachment
   to Royalty and Loyalty by wearing black for the poor King
   of France, whose murder is meant only as prelude to still
   more extensive ruin and destruction of all things most dear
   and sacred in the eyes of Christian and civilised nations:
   destruction to the Arts, the Altar, and the Throne. Have you
   seen the large spot upon the Sun's disk, discernible to a naked
   eye, and large as a button on a man's coat? None was ever seen
   without a telescope till now; and last Sunday, when London's
   caliginous atmosphere had stript old Titan of his rays, and
   render'd his face as you have often seen it, red and round,
   like a piece of iron heated in the fire, a considerable crowd
   gathered about St. Paul's, and viewed the phenomenon distinctly.
   So at least Mr. Greatheed informed us, who was himself among the
   starers....

   Piozzi continues immovable; he says "I advance towards recovery
   indeed like the Lobsters--I go backward. Tell so to Mrs.
   Pennington." You see I have not changed his mode of expression.
   Sweet Siddons has been here to careen and refit after her
   terrible cold. She returns to duty this moment, and carries this
   letter to the Post Office, only waiting while I assure you of
   the continued affection of your ever faithful and affect^e

    H. L. P.

Mr. Pennington's turn came next; for it appears that an attack of gout
had prevented his directing some special entertainment, perhaps in the
nature of a benefit, at the Hot Wells.

    STREATHAM PARK, _30 Jan. 1793_.

   Poor, dear, kind Mrs. Pennington!

   I am glad and sorry and all in a breath from what your letter
   tells me: had we been at Bath, matters would have gone just the
   same....

   Why does not that hapless Queen of France dye of grief at
   once, and spare Frenchmen the crime of murdering an Emperor
   of Austria's daughter, whom they have already reduced to the
   disgrace of begging a black gown of his murderers, to wear for
   her Consort's death? I never heard anything so horrible as the
   account of the King's execution, and I fear there is no war
   to be made upon the wretches neither. Mrs. Mackay gives us to
   understand that Rome is ripe for rebellion, and Ireland is half
   under arms. All private concerns seem lost in public amazement
   somehow. But dear Miss Owen's brother has got a large windfall,
   it seems, by his crazy cousin of Porkington's burning himself to
   death, airing his shirt: and that nasty Mr. Stone, that we all
   hate so, is come away from France; I'm glad of that too....

   Marquis Trotti is safe at Vienna. I want a letter from him
   concerning the plot there. Mrs. Siddons is in her business,
   and Sally with her; Maria coming home. Major Semple was one
   of the active men, I find, at Louis XVI's execution. His wife
   returns to England with her little flock, on pretence of broils
   in France, but I suppose in order to avoid her husband. I have
   read the 5th edition of Village Politics, but I had seen another
   thing written before that, called Liberty and Equality, prettier
   still in the same way, and fancy it the production of Mr. Graves
   of Claverton. 'Tis in his style, and very interesting and very
   clever indeed....

James George Semple wrote his autobiography in Tothill Fields Prison
in 1790, from which it appears that his wife was a daughter of
Elizabeth, the "amazing" Duchess of Kingston, that he had served in
America and on the Continent, and being then on General Berruyer's
staff, had witnessed the execution of Louis XVI. But this was the more
respectable side of his career, against which must be set the fact
that he had found it convenient on certain occasions to pass under
four or five different aliases, and that he had been twice sentenced
for fraud, and once to transportation, which he narrowly escaped. So
his wife may have had good reasons for putting the Channel between
them.

"Village Politics, by Will Chip," was the work of Hannah More,
published in 1792, which was thought so highly of that it was
distributed gratis, not only by patriotic societies, but even by the
Government. The proceeds of its sale enabled her to begin her series
of Cheap Repository Tracts. The Rev. Richard Graves, who held the
living of Claverton, near Bath, till he was nearly ninety, had been
a prolific writer of poetry, but was best known as the author of a
novel, _The Spiritual Quixote_.

  [Illustration: MARIA SIDDONS

  _By G. Clent after Sir Thos. Lawrence_]

Maria, the second daughter of Mrs. Siddons, now about fourteen years
old, had been educated at a boarding-school in Calais. She, like her
sister Sally, was beautiful but delicate, and was carried off by
consumption a few years later.

    _Thursday, 7 Feb. 1793._

   And so your kind heart beats still for those helpless ladies
   in the prison at Paris: so does Mr. Piozzi's; he cannot rest
   for thinking on the accounts (I hope greatly exaggerated,) of
   insults offered to their persons,--the _young_ Princess Royal's
   in particular. Can such things be, and no lightning fall yet?
   The Sun may well hide his head....

   Dear, charming Siddons goes on as usual, and another fair
   daughter is come home to give her something more to do; and
   an old Tragedy, written ages ago by Mr. Murphy, is coming out
   at last, a mythological play of the dark days, Theseus and
   Adriadne, and _that_ old ware. I guess not how it will be liked.
   Meantime we hear no more news than you do. You know that the
   King and Nation cry War! War! glorious War! while Opposition
   longs for Peace and dull Delay, and an Ambassador to the
   Fish-women of Paris. _You_ know that Mr. Grey would not wear
   black for the King of France; and _you_ know the story of the
   Dauphin running out and crying "I'll go, and beg, and kneel to
   them to send home my Papa alive"; and the brutal centinel
   catching up the child, and thrusting him in with "Get back,
   you troublesome Bastard, he's no Papa of yours." The insulted
   Sovreign only said "_Too much! too much!_" and stept into the
   coach. This anecdote from _Mr. Ray_, who had it in a private
   letter from a friend at Paris: I call that good authority.
   _Everyone_ knows he rode _backward_ in the coach: two impudent
   Officers of the National Guard sitting in the front seat; and
   how oddly they must feel the while, methinks! Well! if we live
   we shall see some signal vengeance overtake these gallants, that
   I do believe; and in the meantime war is hourly expected by
   all, desired by the Court no doubt, and wished for by the bulk
   of mankind in general. It will be good sport for Naples, Spain,
   etc., to see France humbled, and England impoverished, and their
   dastardly selves sitting snug; but I believe Holland will be
   lost if we don't stir, _and those things must not be_. Dumourier
   has promised to plant his tree in Amsterdam on the 17th, and
   none but ourselves can hinder it. Venice has been overflowed
   with a high tide, so has Rotterdam; "the sea and the waves
   roaring, men's hearts failing them for fear, and for looking on
   those things that shall come upon the earth." What says dear Mr.
   Whalley? Miss More has written very sweetly, and is applauded by
   all the world for her nice Village Politics. 'Tis more read than
   that little Pamphlet _I_ like so, called Liberty and Equality;
   but the more of those things go about the better; if one misses,
   another may hit. _My_ stuff will please perhaps: I sent a sheet
   to the Crown and Anchor for distribution this morning,--a
   threepenny touch, but you shall not be told till you find out
   which is mine. Mr. Greatheed being asked which side Mrs. Piozzi
   was of quickened my zeal. I hope it cannot be ever asked again.

   Farewell, dear Friend; wish my rheumatism well,--if it is
   rheumatism, I take James' Analeptic Pills for it, they cannot
   hurt me, and while I remain above ground, most gratefully and
   affectionately shall I ever be yours,

    H. L. P.

The "old Tragedy" was that of the _Rival Sisters_, written in 1786,
but not acted till 18th March 1793, when it was staged for the benefit
of Mrs. Siddons, who took the part of Ariadne. Its author had in
his own life played many parts, having at one time or other been a
bank clerk, an actor, an author, a barrister, and a commissioner in
bankruptcy. He was an old friend of Thrale, who was indebted to him
for the introduction of Johnson to his circle; and about this time he
was the means of making the Piozzis acquainted with Samuel Rogers the
poet.

Though Mrs. Piozzi does not seem aware of it, the French had declared
war on England on 1st February; but just then the Republic was more
engaged on the regeneration of Holland by means of the army of
Dumouriez, which, after the defeat of the Austrians, had occupied
Belgium.

    LONDON, _12 Mar. 1793_.

   Do not despond so, dear Friend, all will be well. I saw Mr.
   Parsons lately, who was full of your praise, and said how that
   conduct which always did please the World, now pleased it more.

   Public matters have at length taken the wished for turn, and
   France must soon be humbled. No longer will our worthless
   Democrates boast the friendship of a _powerful_ and _victorious_
   Republic, as they called her: she will be tatter'd and torne in
   pieces now very soon, I doubt not.

   Meantime here are we, _amusing_ ourselves, and the weeks _do_
   fly so heavily, compared with what I find them in the Country,
   while Flo barks, and the Parrot takes him off. Well! but I
   really have neither been sullen nor sick. I have covered Cecy
   with finery, and sate up till morning at every place without
   repining, while she was diverted, I hope. Drummond took no
   notice of her at the only Public Place we saw him at, so I
   trust that foolery is finished, and nine days more shall see
   me counting my Poultry, and kissing my _Canes_ at home, where
   Spring pours out all her sweets to tempt us back, and there will
   I finish this letter.

    STREATHAM PARK THEN, _20 Mar. 1793_.

   Here we are again, and in new characters somehow, or else old
   ones revived. Last Saturday, at Mr. Jones's, Piozzi received a
   Billet from Miss Thrale, requesting to see him next morning. He
   attended her summons while I went to Church, and heard, at my
   return, her intention of coming to see me the day following,
   _at my own hour_, with her Sisters. I appointed 12, and she
   promised for the other Ladies and herself. My Master saw only
   the _eldest_, but our good hospitable Landlord, rejoicing in
   this new and strange event, (which gives every one's curiosity
   an air of _tender interest_ that it would be ill manners in me
   to repress,) spread his finest tablecloths, and invited them
   to _breakfast at ten_, an hour they appear'd eagerly to catch
   at, and coming to their appointment, sate down with us and Mr.
   Rich'd Greatheed, and Baron Dillon, who came in by chance; while
   each, _thinking_ I trust on everything else in the world, agreed
   to _converse_ only on popular topics. Susanna felt nervous,
   however, and left the room with Cecy for a moment, but Miss
   Thrale and I stood our ground admirably, and I beg'd Mr. Rich^d
   Greatheed to tell dear Siddons how well (like Rosalind,) I had
   _counterfeited_. Night carried me to _her_ Benefit, and Company
   crowded round all day, so that my spirits were so oddly kept
   afloat that, upon my honest word, I have never been _sleepy_
   since Saturday that Piozzi received the letter, and this is
   Wednesday morning.

   Well! we returned the visit, and invited the Ladies here on
   Easter Monday to _Dinner_. All the Town would buy _tickets_ I'm
   sure, with pleasure, could they procure 'em, and pass through
   danger itself willingly, _to see the sight_. I told my Master
   it would have been best to take the little Theatre, and give
   them the whole show at once. Nothing does revolt me so as that
   true British spirit of tearing out every private transaction for
   public discussion and amusement: it makes one's feelings appear
   affected if indulged, and annihilated if they are repressed. But
   this luxurious Nation longs to learn what cannot be known, and
   see what its own very light renders incapable of being clearly
   discerned. For when they _have_ stared in our _faces_ on such an
   occasion, how much do they find out of our _hearts_?

   Farewell! and do write to me: I can talk of nothing but _this_,
   and will talk no more about that, so Adieu, and love your true
   friend

    H. L. PIOZZI.

    _Easter Tuesday._

   My dear Mrs. Pennington has often seen people talked into
   misery, 'tis the way now to talk me into happiness; but I am
   content to be happy the way other people please, and I am sure
   _they are right_. I returned the visit I told you of next
   day, and they all din'd and supped here last _Monday_,--oh!
   yesterday--after an interval of fourteen days, in which I saw
   nothing of them. However all is vastly well, they are contented
   to take me up, as they set me down, without alledging a reason;
   and I am contented to be taken and left by _them_ without
   reasoning on the matter at all. We had a brilliant day, with
   feast, and dance, and song, and broke not up till four o'clock
   in the morning. Our elastic house pulled out to embrace _them_,
   and the Hamiltons, kind and sweet, the Greatheeds, Miss Owen,
   dear old Mr. Jones, and all the Siddons family. One of my
   delights was to see Cecilia dancing with Mr. Richard Greatheed,
   who, when he felt her pulse at Guy's Cliffe, I feared would
   never have made Allemande with her. Everybody seemed pleased
   however, and we all _were_ pleased. Our acquaintance will
   henceforth be theirs, and things will shake naturally into their
   proper places. Nothing could exceed the kindness of our common
   friends, except my sensibility of it. The Girls seemed less shy
   of Mr. Piozzi than of me, comical enough! But he is _so_ good,
   and _so_ attentive to them! How you would love him! And public
   concerns were prohibited the conversation, so Mr. Greatheed was
   quite charming. The dear Broadheads could not come, their uncle
   is dead, and has disinherited them, leaving £50,000 to a little
   Currier's boy, who as I say will jump out of his _skin_ for joy
   I suppose, while they fret as I once did on a like occasion....

The reconciliation thus unexpectedly brought about was perhaps a
little too formal to be permanent, being the result of policy rather
than affection. The daughters seem to have inherited a large share
of their father's cold and reserved nature, and never to have been
sufficiently in sympathy with their mother to understand her impulsive
disposition. There was never any open rupture, but as causes of
friction arose, chiefly in connection with business matters, they
drifted gradually apart; more rapidly after Piozzi's death, when his
widow found another and more absorbing interest in the career of
their adopted son. She, on her side, does not appear to have made
any sustained effort to keep in touch with them, and at the close of
her life she was almost a stranger to her own children, who seldom
wrote--she mentions Lady Keith's "annual letter" on 1st January
1818--and never visited her at Bath.

    STREATHAM PARK, _21 Apr. 1793_.

   I am truly sorry, dear Friend, that things go no better, but
   'tis a sad world, and so we always knew it was: kind Piozzi is
   quite grieved for Mr. Pennington's long continued illness.

   Joe George, the sick labourer, was turning the earth over
   this morning among the clumps, and saw me feeding your black
   cock;--"And pray, Madam" (said he,) "what is become of Miss
   Weston? I never see her now,--and so good she was!" "Didn't
   you know, George, that Miss Weston was married, and lived
   at Bristol?" "No, Madam, because they never tell poor folks
   anything,--and I am as glad as the best of them, and I'll drink
   her health." You may guess how the dialogue ended.

   We are to dine in Town and meet charming Siddons at Mr.
   Greatheed's on Fryday next; our own Ladies too--alias
   Titmice--will be there. Nothing serves them but fagging me
   out, that we may show ourselves together _in public_, Susanna
   says; so out I march, and do not laugh nor cry, though under
   perpetual temptations to both, for why did we not always do so?
   or what has happened to make us do so _now_? My comprehension
   reaches not these wonders. Cecilia thinks 'tis a merry life,
   and when she is in a calm, as mine Hostess Quickly says by Doll
   Tearsheet, she is _sick_.[9]

   [9] "An they be once in a calm, they are sick."--_2 Henry IV_, II.
   iv. 40.

   Drummond follows us about with his baffled countenance, making
   my words good, who told him the Girl would never be nearer
   marrying him than she was that day, when I had the honour of
   predicting how I should see them pass each other in public,
   saying to their separate parties, "That's the man who was
   troublesome to me,"--and "That's the girl who jilted me." Just
   so was it at Yaniwitz's Benefit....

   Your favourites in the Temple tower are yet alive, but help
   is further off than we thought for. Dumourier's army were
   not of his mind, you see; France will not yet be quiet under
   kingly government, her convulsions must be yet stronger before
   the crisis comes on, and this frenzy fever abates. Madame
   Elizabeth's character rises upon one every day; had you heard
   Mr. Stretton, who saw it all, tell the tale of the 22^d of June,
   I think you would have cry'd till now; so sweet yet so steady a
   creature! Sure, she will not _yet_ be sent after the brother she
   alone can ever resemble.

   Adieu dear soul! My arms ach with putting the Library to
   rights. The old work, say you, and I would I had my old
   assistant, says your faithful

    H. L. P.

The allusion to Dumouriez recalls a curious episode in the history
of the Revolution. That general had for some time been distrusted
by the Jacobins, and after a defeat at Neerwinden he made terms
with the Austrians, by which he agreed to abandon Belgium. This of
course meant ruin, if not death, and as a last desperate resource
he started to lead his army on Paris, hoping, with the aid of the
Gironde, to overthrow the Jacobins, as a preliminary to setting
up a constitutional monarch in the person of the Duc de Chartres.
But the Girondists were not prepared to adopt such a scheme, which
only served to throw more power into the hands of the Jacobins, who
proposed the creation of the Committee of Public Safety to deal with
the situation, and summoned Dumouriez to give an account of himself
before the Convention. At this critical moment his army failed him;
his old troops might have followed him, but the new Jacobin Volunteers
mutinied, and he was driven to take refuge, with the Orleans princes,
in the Austrian camp.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Fryday 26 Apr. 1793_.

   I hasten to thank dear Mrs. Pennington for her kind letters. We
   have got a man, and his name is _Goodluck_, and I hope it will
   be ominous.... You know the state of my heart pretty exactly,
   how then can you say that you are ignorant of my political
   opinions. God forbid that, among Christian people, there should
   be _two_ opinions concerning the impiety of these French rebels,
   who trample under feet every sentiment of honour and virtue,
   everything sacred and everything respectable.

   Lady Inchiquin, who met us at Mr. Macnamara's yesterday, has
   seen a letter from Miss Edgeworth, sister to the late King of
   France's Confessor. Her brother told _her_ that the poor injured
   Sovreign said, when they drowned his voice on his attempt
   to harangue his subjects from the scaffold, "They will not
   listen, well! I shall be heard in Heaven," and so to prayers;
   where Mr. Edgeworth, kneeling down and endeavouring to collect
   his thoughts, felt himself suddenly covered with the royal
   blood, so speedy was the execution of their guilty sentence. We
   see however divine vengeance overtaking them daily; and 'tis
   _my_ belief that no _men_ are to have the punishing of these
   crimes, but that the perpetrators of them will fall by their
   own or their companions' hands, or perish by famine, storm, or
   other dreadful judgements. You see we take no ships, yet all
   their fleets are ruined. The combined armies gain few signal
   victories, yet their forces moulder away.

   Lady Inchiquin told a tale of the poor victims in the Tower, not
   exactly, but much like yours; and if 'tis sure that they are to
   be seen for sixpence thus, everybody will have a tale to tell,
   and we shall hear as many false as true. Mr. Stretton said _he
   was shown them_; but I had not, when he said so, a notion of the
   sight being a thing paid for....

   Harriet [Lee] says in her last letter that the fellow who stole
   an heiress, Miss Clarke, from a Boarding School in Bristol,
   is afraid the girl will hang him after all; a pretty youth he
   must be to have obtained no more tender interest than _hanging_
   in a lady's heart of thirteen or fourteen years old all this
   while, for no one but _she can_ hang him, that's sure. Do send
   me some particulars, I forgot to bid Harriet write concerning
   it. Bristol has always some wonder to exhibit, an impostor, or a
   poet, or a devil, or some _strange creature_....

  [Illustration: SARAH MARTHA SIDDONS

  _By R. J. Lane after Sir Thos. Lawrence_]

The Lady Inchiquin here referred to must have been the wife of
Murrough, fifth Earl of Inchiquin, afterwards created Marquess of
Thomond, who married in 1792, Mary, daughter of John Palmer of
Torrington, and niece of Sir Joshua Reynolds. Abbé (Henry Essex)
Edgeworth de Firmont, who belonged to a junior branch of the
Edgeworthstown family, was confessor to the Princess Elizabeth, and
to Louis XVI on the scaffold, and after the restoration became
chaplain to Louis XVIII. He was granted a pension by Pitt, and died in
1807 of a fever contracted while ministering to the French prisoners.

    _Wensday, 22 May._

   I am always ready to converse with my dear Mrs. Pennington,
   and always ready--so is Mr. Piozzi--to love your excellent
   Husband.... I rejoyce Mrs. Weston is so happy, and hope her good
   son will lure away all her affection and even remembrance from
   the bad son.

   We were all together at Ranelagh two nights ago, and staid till
   morning, Mrs. Greatheed and the young Siddonses with us; Sally
   quite outlooked her sister by the bye, and was very finely
   drest. Of _our_ Misses, Susanna is ever most admired, but I
   think the eldest and youngest very pretty dears too.

   Meantime the young King of France is dying, poysoned I suppose;
   but to quiet the peoples' minds about him, he and his mother
   are removed to a better place than the Temple, the Palace de
   Luxembourg. Well! and we none of us hear a word from Helena
   Williams since I wrote last. Dr. Moore got £800 for his book,
   so we cannot doubt its excellence. I wish I could give you just
   such a proof of the merits of our poor Synonymes. Streatham Park
   does look beautiful, my Master has new gravelled the walks, and
   _your_ Lilac is in _such_ beauty.

   Sweet Siddons will be quite well. Farquhar, like a wise
   fellow, goes to Sir Lucas to ask how he shall manage her; let
   a Scotchman alone for doing nothing, and yet keeping every one
   pleased. That man knows the mind's anatomy nicely, whether he is
   skilled in the body's or no.

   Brynbella goes on; the water surrounds the house in a full
   stream ten feet deep, and the maids may catch the Trout in the
   frying pan, Mead says, without more ado; while the men may cart
   home the coals from a pit two miles off.

   If Cecilia would marry and take Streatham from us, I should like
   to hie _home_, and dye, like a Hare, upon the old _form_, near
   the place I was _kindled_ at. We should be as near you there
   as here. Cecy is very naughty; runs bills of £40 at Bague the
   Milliner's, and hides the dresses she sends home, hashing them
   about, and spoiling the look and appearance of them that _we may
   not know_. Silly little Titmouse! Always in a secret, and always
   in a scrape, and no Miss Weston to preach her over. Oh dear!...

   Adieu! I shall be very happy to receive Harriet Lee. You will
   be all of one mind, and ask that fellow to supper at last, as
   I said you would. If the girl is contented no one alive has a
   right to call his conduct in question, after she comes of age
   and acknowledges him, which I never doubted her doing....

Dr. Moore's successful book must have been his "Journal during a
residence in France, from the beginning of August to the middle of
December, 1792," containing an account of the massacres, a work which
is often quoted by Carlyle.

Mrs. Piozzi was just now bringing out a somewhat ambitious work in
two volumes, under the title of "British Synonymy, or an attempt to
regulate the Choice of Words in familiar Conversation." It was a
chatty, discursive book, "entertaining rather than scientific," as
the _British Critic_ said, its chief interest lying in the store of
anecdotes introduced as illustrations; but it contained some rather
acute distinctions and clever analysis. Her old adversary Gifford
and others again fell foul of her style, charging her with bringing
to her task "a jargon long since proverbial for its vulgarity, an
incapability of defining a single term in the language, and just so
much Latin, from a child's Syntax, as suffices to expose the ignorance
she so anxiously labours to conceal."

    _Tuesday, 10 June._

   My dear Mrs. Pennington's accidents and afflictions have really
   given us very serious concern.... Mrs. Siddons is handsomer and
   more charming than ever. Lady Randolph took leave of the stage
   last Fryday, and I saw the exertions she made with some little
   anxiety; but here she is, as well and as chearful as can be.
   Mr. Murphy too is now almost perpetually in our society, and my
   own Lasses beat up our quarters whenever London affords little
   of that tumultuous amusement which delights the first 30 years
   of life. Mrs. Greatheed has not _yet_ done delighting in them
   however; Susan Thrale says _they two_ are the last in every
   publick place, the last in every great Assembly. Well! I tried a
   little raking myself this year, but it does not suit me somehow,
   I can make too little sport out on't, and the people tell me
   nothing which I did not know before, and _that_ is what _I_ want
   from company always.

   Mr. Stone at Paris, the man who went over with dear Helena
   Williams, is guillotined. 'Tis now said he ruined a good wife,
   who brought him £20,000, and did a hundred shocking things, I
   know not how truly; but his worthy brother here is a horrible
   fellow, and will soon make a most dishonourable exit, I am told.
   You must read a Pamphlet, translated from the French, a very
   short one, called _Dangers which threaten Europe_. I have seen
   nothing as wise a long time,--always excepting my own stupendous
   performances, of course. Apropos, the European Magazine speaks
   very kindly of my little Synonymes, very kindly indeed, and
   selects the Adieu and Farewell as a specimen. Harriet Lee never
   writes to me hardly, and her Marquis, who used to be punctual at
   _Whitsuntide_ and _Christmas_, supposing her _here_, has failed
   these holydays. How all the Foreigners must wonder at the fate
   of their heroe, Horne Tooke! That fellow was a great seducer,
   I am happy he is out of the way. Farewell _and_ Adieu, dear
   Friend....

The report of Stone's execution was unfounded; he lived, as stated
above, till 1818. His brother William justified Mrs. Piozzi's
prognostications, being tried for high treason along with Jackson in
1796. Horne Tooke is best known, apart from the stormy politics in
which he was immersed, as the opponent of Junius, and author of _The
Diversions of Purley_. The son of a poulterer named Horne, he took the
name of Tooke in compliance with the terms of a will in 1782. He was
educated at Cambridge, and entered as a student at the Inner Temple,
but relinquished law to take holy orders, though he soon abandoned
both the dress and duties of his office. A friend of Wilkes, he was
drawn into politics, became a member of the Corresponding Society, and
founded another known as the Society for Constitutional Reform. His
republican and revolutionary views brought him under the notice of the
Government, who decided to make an example of him. He was accordingly
arrested on a charge of high treason by a warrant from the Secretary
of State, and brought to trial, but was acquitted in 1794.

    STREATHAM PARK, _16 Jun. 1793_.

   Every letter I receive from you, my dear Friend, not only
   convinces me most unnecessarily of the loss I sustain in wanting
   your conversation, but shows me that we do not understand each
   other half as well at a distance. What could I ever have hinted
   to make you suppose I consider'd the diminution of your just
   dislike of Mr. Drummond as possible? He looked like a baffled
   Blockhead at Yaniewitz's concert; and if he had any memory might
   recollect what I said to him early in the business, when my
   tongue pronounced his fate precisely as it happened that night.
   "Sir," said I, "the child is but a child, and knows not what
   love is: she may be amused with having a _Lover_ for aught I
   can tell, but in two years I shall see you pass each other in a
   Public Place,--she saying to her friends 'that's the man that
   was troublesome to me,'--you saying to yours 'that's the girl
   that jilted me?'" And so the matter ended....

   The dear Siddons left me yesterday. She has charming daughters
   now, and so have I, so we can see little of each other. The
   currents of life draw those who delight in mutual and friendly
   chat apart from one another, without fault or blame of anyone's,

    But busy, busy still art thou
    To join the joyless, luckless vow;
    The heart from pleasure to delude,
    And join the gentle to the rude....

   Sally is exceedingly well, and just as pretty as every pretty
   girl of the same age, and prettier than Maria, because her face
   looks cleaner.

   You are lucky in Lady Asgill's friendship, the Miss I count
   little upon. A conversible companion of six and thirty years old
   is a good thing, and an infant under seven a delightful thing;
   but a Miss of 17 can charm nothing, as I should think, but a
   Master of 27. I grow too old for either, but the last is far
   most agreeable....

   Do not you enjoy the thoughts of our late discovery that
   this famous Anacharsis Cloots, so well known in the National
   Convention for forwarding the cause of apostacy and rebellion,
   is no greater nor no less a man at last than _Dignum_, our
   thief, who worked on the Justitia Hulk about 15 years ago,
   and people used to go and see how daintily he fingered the
   wheelbarrow, I remember. Well! this is the hero of modern
   Democracy, the legislator of France, the renouncer of his
   baptismal vow, the champion of Atheism, and _orator of the human
   race_. Mr. Lysons came over from Putney late one evening o'
   purpose to tell it me, and is it not a capital anecdote?...

   Not a word of poor Helena in all this long letter; that's a
   shame, yet I think _her_ much more sincere than Dr. Moore, who,
   while he condemns every fact, justifies (you may observe,)
   every principle on which the facts were committed....

The identification of the English thief with the French orator, though
doubtless a "capital anecdote," seems to be of the _ben trovato_
rather than of the _vero_ order. The individual in question was the
Baron Jean Baptiste Clootz, who assumed the prenomen of Anacharsis to
suggest his resemblance to the character of Anacharsis the Scythian in
the Abbé Barthélemy's Romance.

   [Illustration: MRS. PIOZZI

   _From an engraving by Dance, 1793, in the Collection of A. M.
   Broadley, Esq._]

The Lady Asgill here referred to would seem to be the wife of Sir
Charles Asgill, who succeeded to the Baronetcy in 1788, and in the
same year married Sophia, daughter of Admiral Sir Charles Ogle.

    _Fryday 19 Jul._

   My dear Mrs. Pennington is a good Girl to write as often as she
   does while so many avocations call her: may the Ball turn out
   everything she wishes, and far away fly the Gout! Dear Siddons
   has had an alarm for her husband and Maria, who were overturned
   somewhere, and a little hurt; she keeps well herself however,
   and Mr. Gray, (who has been there to see,) says that she and
   Sally are as charming as ever....

   The French are in a sad plight, but you may observe that God
   Almighty resolves to punish them without our meddling. The
   offences were certainly greater towards Him than towards us,
   and I perceive as yet that the combined armies have done France
   nothing but good. All the union they have shown among themselves
   has been occasioned by the Princes who invade them. Meantime
   it was meet, right, and our bounden duty, to oppose their
   principles and practice; I only mean that they will at length
   (as it appears,) fall by their own swords, not ours.

   Mr. Este, more democrate than ever, is going to Italy, and asked
   me for letters. You may be sure I refused them, tho' so much
   obliged to him, and so full of personal good wishes for his
   welfare as an individual. It hurt me at the moment, but

    Beyond or love, or _friendship's sacred band_,
    Beyond myself, I prize my native land.

   And so I refused letters of recommendation to a man whose only
   business and pleasure is the dissemination of principles I
   abhor, and who goes out of England only to return with those
   principles more firmly adhering to him. He was a delightful
   creature before ever he went to France, and Abate Fontana will
   not mend his notions in Italy. Mr. Dance the profilist is making
   a collection of celebrated heads; I have sate, but nobody knows
   me, they say, so I am to sit again. Lysons runs about with
   great zeal on the occasion, and I fancy they will go down to
   Nuneham....

   Poor Barron Dillon has had his Daughter in law killed, and his
   house in Ireland torne down by the rabble who call themselves
   Defenders--I am exceeding sorry. Piozzi talks about going down
   with Mr. Ray, or Mr. Chappelow, or both, to see Brinbella, and
   come back without delay; how dull we shall be the while! Cecilia
   without her sisters,--they are gone to Southampton,--and I shall
   have lost Harriet Lee....

   Here is rain at last,--we were all burn'd up till it came, and
   I really found London, when we dined there and took leave of
   our fair Daughters three nights ago, as cool, and almost as
   _green_ as poor Streatham Park. No fruit, no afterpasture, no
   milk have we had this long time, and shall actually kill and eat
   the fatted calf on our wedding day next Thursday, because nobody
   would buy it to feed....

"Baron Dillon" was Sir John Dillon, M.P., who had a free Barony of
the Holy Roman Empire conferred upon him in 1782 by the Emperor
Joseph II, which title he was authorised to bear in this country.
He was created a Baronet in 1801. His murdered daughter-in-law was
Charlotte, daughter of John Hamilton, who had married his eldest son,
Charles Drake Dillon. The "Defenders" were the Roman associations
corresponding to the Protestant "Peep o' Day Boys": both were now
beginning to be merged in the "United Irishmen."

The Rev. Charles Este, Reader at Whitehall Chapel, published in 1785,
_A Journey through Flanders, Brabant, and Germany, to Switzerland_,
which the _British Critic_ describes as "chatty, and brightly
written." He was subsequently proprietor of the _Morning Post_, the
_World_, and the _Telegraph_.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Sat. 10 Aug. 1793_.

   MY DEAREST MRS. PENNINGTON,--Nothing was ever so well
   or so truly said as your observation concerning public notions
   in France, except what you said likewise about private notions
   in England, and _my_ Husband and _your_ Husband's true taste for
   an elegant Knick-Knack.

   I have had a letter from an old acquaintance, Helen Williams,
   my eyes could scarce believe it; but she says it was with
   difficulty she found means to get it over, and certain is the
   case, it came hither by Penny Post. No tenderness was ever so
   seducing as her tenderness, no lamentation ever so pathetic;
   begging and intreating to know how we all do, and whether we
   still recollect her with kindness, etc. Many sweet words to
   Harriet, many to Mrs. Siddons, with enquiry if she remains still
   upon the Stage, "for not even _her_ fame can reach me now at
   this sad distance," is the expression. Poor soul! she adverts to
   our felicity at Streatham Park, and says how happy we all are
   here, (I think so truly,) while she listens only to the sound of
   the Tocsin, in which "_more is meant than meets the ear_." Such
   is her quotation, and it impresses me strongly, for on this very
   day, the 10th of August, my heart tells me dreadful deeds will
   be performed in that theatre of massacre and madness--Paris.
   God keep her in personal safety! Meantime I will not write to
   her: she has given me directions, but as I told dear Mr. Este
   the other day, who put me to similar pain by begging letters for
   Italy, I will not help those forward who are doing, or trying to
   do, mischief,--

    Beyond or love, or friendship's sacred band,
    Beyond myself, I prize my Native Land.

   And our sweet Master, whom the King has lately been graciously
   pleased to make an Englishman, in act and effect, as well as in
   true heart and firm loyalty, says I am in the right....

   I shall scold Mr. Pennington if he suffers moody and still
   pensiveness to petrify your active qualifications, and I
   understand even the situation of your affairs requires a
   chearful carriage, and gay manners. Assume them, and they will
   cling to you. Miss Farren tries that trick, and it succeeds too,
   notwithstanding her _real_ health and looks are much impaired,
   but I hope bathing in the sea may in some measure restore
   them. We hear that Miss Burney has a Tragedy acted,--accepted
   I mean,--and _to be_ acted by Sheridan's Company, who are
   all delighted with it. We hear too that she is married to a
   foreigner of fashion; and we _did_ hear her brother was dead at
   Bath, but he contradicts the report himself in the Newspapers;
   so, perhaps will his sister to-morrow. Adieu....

Elizabeth Farren was the daughter of George Farren, a surgeon of Cork,
who joined a strolling company of players. After acting at Bath and
elsewhere in the provinces, she appeared at the Haymarket and Drury
Lane, where she played leading parts till her marriage with Lord Derby.

Fanny Burney had married M. D'Arblay, a French refugee officer, 31st
July and 1st August 1793. Her tragedy of _Edwy and Elgiva_ was not
acted till 1795, when Mrs. Siddons and her brother assisted at its
production. The breach between her and Mrs. Piozzi, which dated from
the latter's second marriage, was not healed for many years. The
reconciliation is thus recorded in the Commonplace Book. "Madame
D'Arblay, always smooth, always alluring, passed two or three hours
with me to-day. My perfect forgiveness of l'aimable Traitresse was not
the act of Duty, but the impulsion of Pleasure, rationally sought for,
where it was at all times sure of being found--in her conversation."

    STREATHAM PARK, _19 Sep. 1793_.

   My dear Friend, and your letter says I must call you my _old_
   Friend too. "_Ma'am I'm sorry._" ...

   Helena Williams's situation is a strange one, but though my
   affection and esteem is all for her, my compassion leans towards
   the poor Mother and Sister whom she has dragged into this
   Hornets' nest. Mr. Chappelow is of your mind, that they will
   never come out on't....

   Your namesake was always scrupulously steady never to wear
   rouge, so that may account for _her_ ill looks,

    Though Rouge can never find the way
    To stop the progress of decay,
      Or mend a ruined face.

   Miss Farren alters terribly too, and dear Siddons, after all her
   lamentations about ill health, looks incomparably handsome, I am
   told....

   Those [events] which occur in this part of the world are not
   exceedingly important; the best thing I know is dear Siddons's
   return to it, though for so short a time; the worst is her
   setting off for Ireland in this stormy season, but it will
   answer to her husband and family, _she_ has fame and fortune
   enough without running further hazards. All will go well
   however, I doubt not, and if they ask why she tears herself to
   pieces so, she must say with Abigail in the Drummer,

    I'll clap my hand upon my purse, and tell 'em
    'Twas for a thousand Pounds and Mr. Vellum.

   _More_ news from the Continent. Now if the Royal Family can
   'scape their murderous pursuers but a few months more, one may
   pronounce them safe, I think, and they may be permitted to dye
   in their beds by the effect of past terrors and ill-usage,
   instead of expiring by the hand of sudden and immediate
   massacre....

The "namesake" who abjured rouge (which Mrs. Piozzi always used) was
very likely Sophia Lee. _The Drummer_ was a play by Addison, otherwise
known as _The Haunted House_.

    STREATHAM PARK, _4 of Nov. Monday, 1793_.

   My dear Mrs. Pennington's handwriting always gives me
   pleasure.... We shall surely come to you, at least I doubt it
   not, the end of next Autumn, and shall visit the Cottage, and
   see how like Streatham Park is to Longford Court, etc.... We
   shall by then, I fear, have to talk of poor Helen Williams in a
   way that shocks me. She said _here_ she could dye with pleasure
   for French Liberty, but she will fall by French Tyranny at last.
   I verily think when those wretches have spilt all the Blood
   Royal, they will call out our Country Folks to feed the popular
   fury and turn the current of it from themselves.... The Queen's
   murder has some circumstances of horror belonging to it which
   I fancy you have not heard, and which I will not be the first
   to tell. I gained them by conversing with the foreigners. My
   imagination often leads me to think that matters are tending
   forward towards some great event, interesting to all the
   Christian world, which is almost in serious danger _now_ by the
   Turk's preparation for assisting these Atheists to destroy us....

   You will have my Book soon, Mr. Robinson and I are bargaining
   for it now, but they shall pay me a just price; I have enlarged
   it considerably. Dear Marquis Trotti will come _home_ to his
   English friends again; I am glad on't. He is at Warsaw this
   moment by what appears, and after a Polar winter will find Bath
   a nice warm place, and old Belvedere House will look _so_ pretty
   after Petersburg, and he and Harriet may read my Synonymes of
   _Love_ and _Friendship_ together. I told you he had the arrow
   fast in his heart. I _told_ you _so_....

   All the neighbourhood borrow Helen's last publication from me,
   so that I scarce have read it, but 'tis as you say. Come what
   will, dear Friend, let you and I hold fast by our Christian
   principles, assuring ourselves that this is not the world for
   remuneration, but for tryal; and satisfied that happiness will,
   in the next state of things, be consequent upon Virtue. Let
   every misfortune it meets with _here_, strengthen our assurance
   that _there_ it will be finally and lastingly rewarded. I verily
   and from my soul believe that admirable girl will lose her life
   by violence among those cruel creatures. They have abolished
   Sunday now, and every sign and form of worship in France is at
   an end. In that frantic Nation _chaos is come again_....

It is not quite clear what work by Helen Williams is here referred
to. She does not seem to have written anything of importance since
her _Letters written in France_ in the summer of 1790, which were
published the same year, and would probably have reached Mrs. Piozzi
long before this date.

    STREATHAM PARK, _2 Dec. 1793_.

   MY DEAR FRIEND,--Having got a Frank by chance, I sit
   by Mr. Piozzi's bedside, and tell you, for my own amusement,
   how ill he is. Lame, hand and foot, with Gout, and torne with
   spasms beside, which we know not exactly on what account to
   place.... You can probably give me as good and chearful a
   history of _your_ Husband's case, possibly too, from the same
   cause--a Ball. Our Royal Surrey Bowmen gave a grand one at
   Richmond, where Cecilia danced till five o'clock in the morning,
   and whence, of course, we came not home till seven. A member
   of _that_ Club being also a member of some other Club, we had
   another invitation for Fryday in the same week, and were at home
   by six, which I believe we thought too late, and Cecy too early.
   So differs the appearance of things between Spring and Autumn.

   Well! we have had a crazy man in our neighbourhood lately, who
   imitates Goldfinch in the Road to Ruin: talks precisely his
   dialect, and drives four thoroughbred horses of _different_
   colours in hand, with six lamps to the Phaeton. He is a
   Welch Baronet of good family; we dined with him at my Lord
   Deerhurst's, and whilst all the world was interesting themselves
   about the present state of Europe, he raved about his Phaeton,
   and talked of the _Tipee_, the _Stare_, the _Go_, and a heap of
   jargon such as one never heard.

   How like you Madame D'Arblay's Book? Pray tell what is said of
   it. Mine is in good forwardness, I am only afraid the title may
   prove a millstone round its neck: no one will think of looking
   for Politics in a volume entitled _British Synonymy_.

   Can you figure to yourself a more execrable triumph than that of
   the Convention in this _forced_ disgrace put upon the old House
   of Bourbon by _connecting_ the last Princess of it with a brutal
   soldier, and proclaiming her pregnancy--poor child!--amidst the
   hootings of the Jacobins. Has not her aunt, the virtuous and
   hapless Elizabeth, _now_ lived too long, and do you not wish
   her dismission to the brother she so justly loved? We are all
   gasping with hope of charming Lord Moyra's Expedition. I think
   he will bring the rogues to terms by cutting off internal
   communication with their Provinces through means of the Seine,
   and when they are starving, submit they must....

   Lord and Lady William Russell make us pretty neighbours enough,
   but Mr. Chappelow is always in Norfolk, and we have no Whist
   Players....

_The Road to Ruin_, by Thomas Holcroft, who shared Horne Tooke's
prosecution, appeared in 1792. Its hero, Goldfinch, thus describes
himself: "Father was a Sugar Baker, Grandfather a Slop Seller, and I'm
a Gentleman."

Madame D'Arblay's "Book," which would be more correctly described as a
Pamphlet, was on the subject of the French emigrant clergy.

Francis Rawdon Hastings, who had recently succeeded to the title as
second Earl of Moira, was sent in December to Brittany, in charge of
a force designed to co-operate with the Royalists, but had to return
without effecting anything.

Lord William Russell was the posthumous son of Francis, Marquess of
Tavistock, and grandson of John, fourth Duke of Bedford, his wife
being Charlotte, daughter of the Earl of Jersey.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Sunday Morning 15_.

   Dear Mrs. Pennington is exactly in the case I concluded she was.
   Mr. Piozzi _tried_ to be well three or four days ago, and came
   downstairs, but has relapsed, and the Gout has laid fast hold
   of him again in both feet. He is in bed now again, incapable of
   motion, and pierced through with pain. We had begun to call the
   croud about us too; so here is Miss Hamilton, and here is a new
   man from Italy that sings divinely, and here is Cecilia's new
   Flirt, who draws caricaturas, and here is poor Dr. Perney for
   the benefit of them all; and here am I in one perpetual fever
   with fretfulness, and Mr. Murphy coming to talk upon business,
   about Cator, and his Answer to our Bill--in good time!--with Mr.
   Piozzi, who is scarce in his wits for very agony. But these are
   always my months of misery. Don't you remember what a winter I
   pass'd with that Drummond? It was just the same season of the
   year.

   Well! public affairs do yet claim some attention, tho' private
   ones be never so pressing. You are an odd Girl to talk of
   Fleming's famous Sermon _now_ for a newish thing. Were we not
   all raving about it last winter? And have not I mentioned it
   in my Synonymes? And did not I read you the passage? Or did
   all that I allude to pass between me and dear Mrs. Siddons? I
   thought it was with you. Michael Fleming was a Calvinistical
   preacher, and in the year 1701, when Louis XIV was in the
   plenitude of his power, did most ingeniously, from his skill
   in calculating, predict the downfall of the French Monarchy,
   and ruin of that nation, _before the end of the year 1794_. The
   Sermon in which this odd menace was made some of his hearers
   preserved, for its rare confidence and uncommon predictions,
   little thinking they would ever come to pass; and a few copies
   being printed, the discourse was kept in Sion College Library,
   and Sir George Young likewise had it in _his_. They have now
   reprinted it with remarks, induced, no doubt, by the striking
   situation of affairs upon the Continent. Fleming however did
   not _pretend_ to _prophecy_ what has followed, as claiming any
   peculiar insight into the schemes of Providence. He explained
   a passage in the Revelations of St. John, and by dint of mere
   calculation _predicted_ what is now very nearly fulfilled.

   Enquire, do, what went with that extraordinary story of a poor
   fellow of Bristol, one George Lukins, who made the people
   believe, (perhaps himself too,) that he had Devils inside
   him. I remember some pamphlets upon the subject, and how Mr.
   Easterbrook, a Clergyman, but not of the Anglican Church,
   exorcised and cured him. What was all that stuff? Was the man
   cured at last, or did he ever ail anything, or was it all an
   imposture? You live near the spot, and might glean me out the
   truth by diligent search, and it would divert you besides. The
   affair was some time in the year 1788, as I recollect. We were
   in Devonshire.

   Nothing was ever heard of equal to the atrocities committed, and
   blasphemies pronounced, by our horrible neighbours the French.
   There is to be one more grand effort made for subduing them this
   New Year, which brings down 100,000 Austrians, 50,000 Russians,
   50,000 Prussians, and 30,000 English, all new-raised troops,
   beside what are already in the field. And if, upon this proof,
   with all that Spain can do beside, we find them invulnerable,
   the project will be given up, and they will be considered
   as having gained their invulnerability by dipping in Hell's
   best river, as Achilles did. They are a dreadful race. Mr.
   Rogers tells me Helena Williams _would_ not come away. She is
   translating Marmontel. Mr. Stone is expected to make use of the
   times, I find, and be a _free man_. If his wife gets guillotined
   he _will_ be so; but we will hope sweet Helen would not _have_
   him, were he so freed to-morrow. She is not in prison, only
   under arrest, with a Grenadier at the door of her apartment,
   relieved every six hours....

   Mrs. Siddons is doing delightfully in Ireland, and when she
   returns is to shine out in Sophia Lee's new Tragedy.

Robert Fleming, who died in 1716, was a minister of the Presbyterian
congregations at Leyden and Rotterdam, and afterwards in Lothbury,
where he published in 1701 the sermon entitled "The Apocalyptical
Key, an extraordinary discourse on the Rise and Fall of the Papacy."
In this he fixes the close of the period of the fourth Vial of
the Revelation about the year 1794, and supposes that "the French
monarchy may begin to be considerably humbled about this time." The
fifth Vial he expected to end about 1848, and this date coinciding
with the widespread revolutionary movements on the Continent, caused
another extensive reprinting of his work at this period. His other
predictions, relating to the "drying up of the Euphrates," which he
interpreted to mean the destruction of the Turkish Empire between 1848
and 1900, have not had quite so remarkably accurate a fulfilment;
though the war now in progress in the Balkans certainly suggests that
the process has begun.

Mrs. Piozzi was not so fortunate in her forecast of coming events. The
great combination which she anticipates, against the French, never
came off. Prussia abandoned the cause of the Allies, Spain and the
German States followed her example, and England and Austria alone
remained in the field against the Republic.

Sophia Lee's new tragedy was _Almeyda_, but it was not actually
produced on the stage till 1796.

The Bill here alluded to was in connection with the Chancery suit
between Lady Cotton and herself, respecting her interest in the Welsh
estates.

There is a brief allusion in the Commonplace Book to "that poor
innocent" whom Cecy Thrale and Sally Siddons taught the Streatham
parrot to call "Sweet Dr. Perney," which was called forth by the news
of his having been seized by an apoplectic fit in 1814.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Tuesday 14 Jan._

   Dear Mrs. Pennington asks what is become of Mrs. Mackay?... You
   ask too who is Cecy's new Flirt? I answer, every man who comes
   to the house; he who franks this letter is the Gentleman I
   alluded to, but he makes no proposal of marriage, because he has
   no pretensions in point of fortune. Mr. Rogers, whose father's
   death has left him, in the City phrase, a warm man, does make
   proposals, and Cecy makes of him Caricaturas.

   So we go on, and I am almost weary of keeping an expensive house
   and table to entertain Lovers who glide by like Figures in a
   Magic Lanthorn. Mr. Murphy, having found his way to the old
   house, likes it, and comes often, and stays long. Dear Siddons
   is yet in Ireland. Miss Farren was here last week, sadly
   altered.... Davies has taken a trip to Bath, and expected some
   attention from my fair Daughters there, who, I fancy, shut the
   door in his face. Doctor Perney supplied his place here, read,
   and preached, and played on his long neck. Young Bartolozzi,
   and Cimad'oro too, made us some sweet musick for two or three
   days, but Mr. Piozzi said no young man of _his_ Country should
   have the entrée here, for obvious reasons; so there's an end of
   _them_.

   So much for domestic felicity, and the happiness of individuals
   in this workyday world,[10] as Rosalind calls it. Public affairs
   go on much worse than they, and the fog thickens round us both
   literally and figuratively. Beating the French is kicking at
   a woolsack; 'tis elastic, and rises against every pressure,
   but perhaps emptying the bag may cure it of this elasticity:
   the captures of St. Domingo and Pondicherry are the only real
   advantages the Allies have had yet.

   [10] _As You Like It_, I. iii. 12.

   Lord Moyra and Col. Barry get no opportunity of shewing _their_
   prowess, on which I should however make no small reliance, could
   they once get footing in the Country; but seeing how hard it is
   to effect an invasion _with_ ships, should cure us of fearing
   one from the French who have _no_ ships: altho' I am perswaded
   that the hand of God is in all, and that these people come forth
   to scourge all Europe with his permission. Why does nobody quote
   a more immediate prophecy and less equivocal than any which have
   been mentioned, at least which _you_ have mentioned? "And the
   second Angel sounded, and as it were a great MOUNTAIN
   burning with fire was cast into the _Sea_, and the third part
   of the Sea became _Blood_": etc. etc. etc. This prophecy is to
   be found in three passages of the Holy Scripture, but I can
   recollect only that in the 8th chapter of S. John's Apocalypse.
   Mr. Greg showed it me in the old Testament,[11]

   [11] Jer. li. 25; Ezek. xxxviii. 20.

   I have forgot where: but every one seems to think strange
   times are coming. There is a report of the Jews in Holland
   having sent circular letters to the learned of their Nation
   in every Country, to collate the evidences of our Saviour's
   mission, and to examine them against the prophecies contained in
   the Bible, spoken by his acknowledged precursors. Such a measure
   would prepare them for conversion, the moment God shall be
   pleased to remove the film which has been so long before their
   eyes....

  [Illustration: ARTHUR MURPHY

  _From a print in the Collection of A. M. Broadley, Esq._]

The subject of Cecilia's caricatures was evidently no other than
Samuel Rogers, the poet, best known as the author of _Italy_. He
was now about thirty years of age, and had published in 1792 his
_Pleasures of Memory_, which was probably his passport into the
Streatham circle. But as a possible husband for Cecilia, Mrs. Piozzi
evidently attached more importance to the fact that he was a partner
in a flourishing London bank.

She notes in her Commonplace Book that Murphy was "the _only_ man
among the Wits I foster'd who did not fly from his colours, unless
prevented by death." And so his portrait was the only portrait she
saved when Streatham was broken up, and the Reynolds Gallery sold.

    [_Post Mark, Feb. '94._]

   I hope Mr. Piozzi _is_ recovering, dear Friend, that he is
   already recover'd, cannot yet be said. With regard to Cecilia,
   she does lead a life much like that of _Sweet Anne Page_ in the
   Merry Wives of Windsor, but I suppose she likes it. Did I tell
   you Mr. Rogers had made formal proposals, or that Count Zenobio
   offered himself to _her_, before he was seized by Bailiffs, or
   dismissed by Ministry. I expect a man (as handsome as neither,
   nor as rich,) to ask her every day.

   We go to Town however once o' week, to our once clean house in
   Hanover Square, now the dirtiest lodging in London, and dine
   with friends who will ask us; but make no return, as 'tis too
   odious to do anything but sleep in, and 'tis the present plan
   to go up on Tuesdays, and come _home_, as I call dear Streatham
   Park, on Saturdays. Those who I leave in care of it the while,
   do not give us any reason they can help to make it pleasant.
   For in my last four days absence they lost me two Asses, one in
   foal, _twenty_ beautiful Ducks, one Guinea Fowl, one favourite
   Cock and Hen; so you see domestick cares and vexations prey upon
   everybody. They serve meantime to keep one from thinking on
   calamities which threaten us all, nor shall the Infidels have it
   to say that they had no warning of approaching confusion, while,
   in Dr. Johnson's phrase, used by Demetrius,

    A thousand horrid prodigies foretold it.

   Among the agreeable and consolatory events however, let
   Christians congratulate each other on the resolution taken by
   the Jews to examine into our evidences of Messiah's birth and
   passion. They have called a solemn Assembly at Amsterdam, and
   sent circular letters among all their brethren. Conversion will
   soon follow, and the other Tribes will hear it, and be found.

   My Book is at the Press, and I correct the sheets very
   diligently, it will probably be devour'd, among other _Lambs_,
   about Easter. I may then run to Brinbella myself, for if
   _Sansculottism_ prevails here, my neck will be one of the first
   to exercise the new Guillotine upon. Before that time comes,
   do you read the Articles Symbol, Device, etc., likewise Name,
   Nominal, Distinction, etc., with care, and you will see my
   sentiments completely. There are two or three more on which your
   favourite subjects are touched, but I forget 'em. I shall send
   you the first set that comes out.

   Mrs. Siddons looks healthier and handsomer than ever. Her purse
   is heavy and her heart relieved.... Her daughters spent this
   last Saturday and Sunday with Cecy....

   (_P.S._ by Mr. Piozzi.)

   I am alive still now, but, dear Friend, I cannot recover myself,
   the Gout never will go away, and so I am rather low spirits. God
   bless you, and remember me. Adieu.

"My Book" was the work on British Synonyms, previously referred to,
which made its appearance before the next letter was written.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Sat. 26 Apr. 1794_.

   My dear Mrs. Pennington's two kind letters came together. I
   am delighted that you like my Book, if Mr. Whalley should not
   praise it, spare me the mortification of hearing so.

   One would think the honest Lazzaroni at Naples, when they
   rescued their Monarch from that nest of noble traytors he was
   falling into, had resolved upon realizing my notions giv'n just
   in the Article so much your favourite, _Seditions, Troubles,
   Disturbances_. Briareus came in there, sure enough, with his
   hundred hands, and unloosed the knot. Mrs. Montagu is an enemy
   to my Synonymes after all, a declared one, and I wonder at it
   somehow, but they have many gallant friends.

   Has not the young Emperor won your heart? He is really a fine
   fellow, and I sincerely hope will set his little nephew on the
   throne of France yet,--his first cousin I mean. Strange and
   dreadful events flow in upon us, (at least the _current_ reports
   of them,) now every hour: and the rapidity with which this tide
   of Democracy rolls forward, shows the downhill of regal and
   aristocratic days to perfection. I think all Europe is at length
   in arms, and my heart tells me that some great battle, siege,
   or massacre will distinguish this Summer beyond all the rest,
   and take up the attention of mankind from observing that first
   of wonders, the Jews' Restoration; which otherwise would so
   alarm our whole Christian world, that much mute expectation of
   Messiah's coming would pervade their minds, and in some degree
   militate against the suddenness of his appearance and the end
   of the world being, as he himself expressly tells us, totally
   unprepared for and instantaneous, like a thief in the night.

   Meanwhile I had like to have been made a speedy end of, Thursday
   last week, by a bone in my throat, which called Surgeons and
   Doctors round me, and all in vain, for three long hours. Poor
   Miss Farren, who was with me, seemed half killed by the fright,
   but all is safe and well again.

   Since then we have had Easter friends as usual; the dear
   Hamiltons,--who are going to Clifton this Summer full of
   friendly dispositions towards you,--the three Thrales, kind
   Kitty Beavor, with occasional Beaux and Belles, and as the
   Parrot now says, _Sweet_ Doctor Perney. All of them left us
   to-day, contented with their entertainment I hope, and with the
   weather certainly. Never was so celestial a Spring....

The Emperor Leopold, brother of Queen Marie Antoinette, had been
succeeded in 1792 by his son Francis II, who was therefore first
cousin to the Dauphin. When Mrs. Piozzi wrote, a combined force of
Austrians, Dutch, English, and Hanoverians was operating against the
French in the Netherlands, at first with some measure of success.

It is remarkable that while Ferdinand himself had been cured of his
incipient republicanism by the execution of Louis, revolutionary
principles continued to spread among the Neapolitan nobility. The
Lazzaroni, however, who were devoted to the King on account of his
easy and familiar manners, were ready to give active support to the
Dynasty against the plots of the aristocratic party.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Fryday 16 May, 1794_.

   Dear Mrs. Pennington will believe me sincerely afflicted for
   her accident and terror, the circumstances of which, so far as
   I am yet acquainted with them, we had from Harriet Lee. Will
   your Mother be well again soon? I hope and trust she may. My
   Grandmother broke her arm at 73 years old, and recovered so as
   to go out and enjoy herself again in three weeks time; tho' it
   was set by a common Farrier in the country, when surgery was
   less studied there than now.

   The good news from our Armies on the Continent, and hopes of
   success by sea, will contribute to keep up your loyal spirits
   to enjoy them: and I verily hope our mad Democrates will be so
   crush'd by these late detections of their folly, as to attempt
   the sale of themselves to either the Devil or the French no
   more, when they find hanging their best payment, and contempt
   from the very People they profess to serve, their just and sole
   reward.

   Were not my Synonymes right, when they said that our enlightened
   populace wanted no such friends or friendship? And have not the
   Neapolitan Lazaroni, (dear creatures,) come in like Briareus to
   unloose the knot in which some rebellious nobles would willingly
   have held their honest, single-hearted, well-intention'd King;
   who was always as much an object of my esteem as he appears
   to be of Dr. Moore's contempt. But _he_ loves a more _subtle_
   character than _I_ do.

   Farewell, the guns are firing for some new successes; God
   continue them to this yet favour'd nation, and grant us
   gratitude, 'tis all we have to pray for....

Mrs. Piozzi's somewhat misplaced admiration for Ferdinand of Naples
dates from her Italian tour, when she was much struck by the easy
bonhomie he showed in his intercourse with the poorest of his
subjects.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Fryday 11 Jul._

   MY DEAR MRS. PENNINGTON,--I was glad to see your
   handwriting, tho' it tells me little good. Be chearful, and a
   hoper, like myself. Things are never so bad but one may bear
   them; your Mother will get well, I fancy, had anything power
   to kill her, would she, nay _could_ she have recovered that
   overturn? I hear of _your_ pleasing everybody, and I hear it
   even from people whom I should scarce expect to have taste of
   your accomplishments. Be pleased yourself then; whilst one is
   liked there is always somewhat worth living for. What would your
   dear Husband wish me to say in your praise that I am not most
   cordially willing to join in? How few people are there in this
   world of whom I think more highly?...

   Miss Mores told you no more than all our Town have told one
   another for these many months. Stone escaped, they say, from
   fear of jealous rage, more than from consciousness of any injury
   done to the _charming_ Constitution of France, which he was very
   fond of. Much good may it do both himself and fair _Helena_,
   whose love to _Paris_ will, I trow, prove fatal to her _at
   last_. But she has proved her partiality in a variety of ways,
   and it repays her _at present_ with a splendid situation, I am
   told, for her family as well as for herself....

   Direct your next to Denbigh, N. Wales; my Master says we go
   about this day sennight. He sends his love, etc. with Cecilia's.

The "splendid situation" of Helen Williams seems to be explained in a
letter written by her to Mrs. Pennington in 1819. From this it appears
that a friend in power put in the way of Stone and herself "an easy
and honourable means of obtaining a fortune, and an ample fortune
was soon obtained. We had a fine Hotel in Paris, and a delicious
Country House in the English Taste." But they had not reckoned on
two occupations of Paris by the Allies, which, with the knavery of
some one they trusted, dissipated the fortune as rapidly as it had
been acquired. Litigation was then pending, but she expected to lose
everything, and become dependent on her nephews.

    DENBIGH, _4 Aug. 1794_.

   How glad was I to see your handwriting here, my good Friend! It
   was like saying "Dear Mrs. Pennington, welcome to Wales!" Not to
   Brinbella tho'; we are not got _there_ yet, but in a temporary
   residence here at Denbigh, in sight of the House, and perhaps
   little further from it than Dowry Square is from Rodney Place.

   I am glad Mrs. Hamilton keeps so well, very glad indeed; this
   hot Summer has been good for _her_, however it has been bad for
   many things. No water in Thames to float away the ships at the
   great fire; no sluices with which to inundate the frontiers of
   Holland, I understand, and poor Sabrina's green hair all burn'd
   and dryed away. Shrewsbury Quarry looked over an empty ditch
   when I was there, to the amazement of all its inhabitants. But
   rain is coming forward in plenty, much more than Cecy likes,
   for riding is her only chance for amusement here, and if wet
   weather hinders _that_, what will become of her? Mr. Piozzi's
   Forte-piano is now as near us as Chester, I think we shall all
   be out of our wits for joy when it arrives. Would I could hear
   Miss Hamilton sing _La Dolce Campagna_ to it, as I often have
   done with rapture.

   Here is very little society indeed, half a dozen people, I
   believe, that like reading, not more, and _they_ suffer sad
   intellectual famine. I reproach myself daily that I forgot to
   bring them down The Mysteries of Udolpho: it would have had
   such an effect read by owl-light among the old arcades of our
   ruined Castle here. Truth is Mrs. Radclyffe might find scenes to
   describe in this part of the world without rambling thro' the
   Pyrenees. Many detached parts of the valley of Llangollen are
   exceedingly fine indeed, very like Savoy; and from the rock
   above Brinbella, heavy with the gather'd winters of a hundred
   years, is seen Snowdon frowning in sullen majesty, like the
   _Gros St. Bernard_, but not over as rich a foreground. Ours is
   however admirably diversified; we have Cathedral, and Castle,
   and Country Seats, and _Sea_, which last is inestimable, and one
   _can_ contemplate _that_ yet, and say 'tis a Subject of England.

   I feel sincerely grieved for the state of Europe, and must needs
   say that altho' it is the fashion to reproach our Allies without
   any mercy, they seem much greater sufferers on the whole than
   ourselves, who have gained both East and West Indies, and six
   ships of war in the scuffle; while the poor Emperor sees his
   coffers exhausting, his dominions diminishing, and his whole
   family upon the very verge of utter extinction. Our brave cousin
   Stadtholder too will soon, as it appears, have no _states_ to
   _hold_, and has, for aught I see, a fair chance to outlive the
   celebrated name of Nassau. An event so improbable twenty years
   ago, that whoever had predicted it must have been accounted
   deranged in his understanding. I am sorry the Bristol people are
   so sullenly resolved to wish for peace with these spoilers, they
   are mistaken in thinking it _better than war_; it is _worse than
   war_, because peace will bring over full tides of Jacobinical
   principles, to the _ruin_ of their _interest_, and _destruction_
   of their _property_. War at least keeps that infection at a
   distance. So much for politics.

   Our dear Master did well to build a house in Flintshire; _he_
   never looked so well since I knew him as since we came here, I
   think, never had so good an appetite certainly, and provisions
   are excellent in their kinds, particularly fish....

   Can you tell aught of Harriet Lee? _Our_ correspondence is
   cool somehow, and unfrequent. What wonder? The _old_ topick is
   lost, nor can I guess what is become of it, no _new_ one can be
   interesting to her, and I feel as if ashamed, without any cause,
   God knows.

   Mrs. Siddons' little Cecilia will, I hope, inherit her mother's
   beauty; virtue will, I fancy, be quite out of fashion before she
   can possess any. Sweet Helena's defection from the right path
   hurts all her friends exceedingly; but parents never appear to
   love children the worse for any ill behaviour. I suppose Mrs.
   W[illiams] sees nothing in her daughter's conduct that does not
   deserve admiration.

   You are very good indeed in feeling for me about the little
   Spaniel. Immortal Phyllis, to the astonishment of physicians,
   friends, and nurses, now promises to be once more _her own dog
   again_. I never did see so surprising a recovery. The fall was
   above four yards perpendicular height.

Mrs. Radcliffe, née Ward, was an old acquaintance of Mrs. Piozzi's.
For the _Mysteries_, which was just published, and made a great
sensation, she received £500.

The state of Europe was indeed sufficiently gloomy as viewed by
English eyes. We had, it is true, scored some successes. Howe's
victory on "the glorious first of June" was to be the prelude to many
others, and we took Ceylon and the Cape from the Dutch. But in France
the "Great Terror" was at its height, and the news of its collapse
after the death of Robespierre, at the end of July, had not yet
reached Denbigh. The French generals acting against the Continental
Powers were almost uniformly successful. In Holland, at the beginning
of the year, under the eyes of the Emperor Francis himself, there had
been a concentration of English, Hanoverian, and Austrian troops,
with a view to check the French advance, but they were hampered by
disaffection in the country itself. The Stadtholder William, with his
English leanings, had never been popular with his own subjects, and
indeed had only retained his authority in 1787 by the help of Prussian
troops. Though the first Republican expedition under Dumouriez had
failed, the new one under Pichegru was a brilliant success. Amsterdam
was occupied by the French, and the Batavian Republic proclaimed. The
Stadholder fled to England, not to be recalled till 1813, and he was
soon followed by the remnant of the now useless English force under
the Duke of York.

    DENBIGH, _Thursday, 11 Sept. 1794_.

   I had not a notion that _our_ correspondence was grown languid,
   dear Friend, and am now rather disposed to think a letter has
   been lost....

   Marquis Trotti has written, he forgets no one old Streatham
   acquaintance, but enquires very particularly for _you_. His own
   affairs at home go no better for these disturbances upon the
   Continent, yet will he not be drawn thither to see how they
   stand. The direction we are now using towards him is Hamburgh.

   Kitty Beavor marries Dr. Gillies, and sets out for Scotland next
   week. I said to her once that all my single lady friends found
   husbands, and so I lost them. "_Oh_," says she, "_you will keep
   Kitty Beavor tho'_, for I shall never change _my_ condition."
   But so the world wags, and the _old way_ is the _best road_ too.

   Meanwhile, as you say, love seems banished from the novels,
   where _terror_ (as in the Convention,) becomes the _order of
   the day_. Miss (_sic_) Radcliffe however plays that game best
   which all are striving to play well. I am often weary of her
   descriptions, but she possesses great power over the fancy. Her
   tricks used to fright Mrs. Siddons and me very much; but when
   somebody said her book was like Macbeth, "Ay," replied H. L. P.,
   "about as like as Peppermint Water is to good French Brandy."

   I have written a Ballad for the Blackguards to bawl about the
   streets, imitated from Newberry's well known Chapter of Kings;
   written at first to teach Babies the English History, but lately
   set and sung at Catch Clubs, Bow Meetings, etc.

   Here is the Chapter of King Killers.

The nine stanzas which follow, though doubtless good enough for the
purpose which the writer suggests, are hardly worth preserving. One
verse will probably satisfy the reader's curiosity.

    "When France, mad for Freedom, her King controll'd,
    At first she was awed by Fayette the bold,
    Then came the Assemblée Nationale,
    And then she was governed by nothing at all.
        But after all pother of this, and t'other,
        They all lose their heads in their turn."

    DENBIGH, _19 Sep. 1794_.

   Be not alarmed for me, kind Friend, I shall do as well as my
   neighbours, perhaps better, but nothing shall make me tell
   fibs,--I am not well....

   Doubt not meantime that my old iron constitution will get thro'
   this business very stoutly. Think of your own affairs, and get
   thro' _them_, and we will be _old_ friends twenty years hence.
   For look you, my dear, whether we think so or not, I, when my
   health shall be gone, and you, when your money shall be spent,
   are happier than half the human race collectively; and I know
   not how we have deserved the preference. We might have been
   born savages in America, condemned to hunt, and fish, and dress
   our game when caught, sick or well. Or we might have been some
   of those Begums, that Burke says were insulted and plundered
   by English Harpies in the East. Or we might have been African
   Blacks, stow'd in a slave ship. Or we might have been Mrs.
   Brown, or Lady Ann Fitzroy. I think we are very well off, with
   each of us a good husband, and safe in the only country where
   rational liberty prevails, true religion resides unmolested, and
   talents are valued according to _desert_.

   What becomes of poor Helen Williams, I wonder! There is a strong
   rumour of Barrere's having followed his old colleague....

   Marquis Trotti began travelling so early that he will now,
   perhaps, never leave it off. You may find some _sage and grave_
   reflexions upon that subject at the close of a _famous fine_
   book, called Piozzi's Observations made in Italy and Germany.
   I'm glad you like my Ballad. The worthy French are making the
   words of it good as fast as ever they can....

   My maid fell from a horse two nights ago, scampering to see
   Brinbella, that at least was the excuse, and has disabled
   herself in a terrible manner; bruised and strained her wrist,
   etc....

    DENBIGH, _20 Nov._

   MY DEAR FRIEND,--So completely was I engaged, it seems,
   nursing my sick Husband, that even writing to you was forgotten.
   Mr. Piozzi's annual fit of Gout has caught him here, and will
   prevent all further journeys of business or of pleasure, save
   that which leads home the nearest way, when he shall be able to
   travel....

   The times wear a very threatening aspect, indeed they do; and
   here are storms ready to blow my Lord Howe's ships to pieces,
   when they shall have been damaged by engagement with an enemy
   hourly increasing in ferocity and force.

   Horne Tooke's tryal is a most curious and interesting business;
   when Piozzi can listen, I translate him the passages which must,
   I think, arrest attention, even from pain and anguish.

   Cecilia is _toujours gaie_, and helps to keep up all our
   spirits; she is young; so is no longer dear Mrs. Pennington's
   sincere friend and Faithful servant

    H. L. PIOZZI.

Lord Howe's fleet was cruising between Ushant and the Scilly Isles
from August till the end of October, when he was driven into Torbay by
stress of weather. He put out to sea on 9th November, but was again
driven back for shelter on 19th November.

Horne Tooke, Thelwall, and Hardy were arrested in November on a
charge of high treason, for having issued invitations to a "National
Convention," designed to bring about serious constitutional changes
in the government of England. Though it was clear that they had been
coquetting with treasonable practices, the jury did not consider their
action justified a conviction which must have resulted in the penalty
of death, and returned a verdict of "not guilty."

    DENBIGH, _17 Feb. 1795_.

   What puts it in dear Mrs. Pennington's head that I wish to
   forget her? My only reason for writing nothing was that I had
   nothing to write. Mr. Piozzi had a long fit of gout certainly,
   and a sharp fit, but without one bad symptom, thank God; and his
   recovery was better than ever. Among other comforts, Denbigh
   possesses that of an excellent Physician.

   All you say of public matters is more than true, but we are
   still further removed here from the talking world than you
   are, and what little we have heard of London and its environs
   in these late months, only contributed to keep us away, while
   many people suspect a tendency to sickness in the Metropolis,
   not of any one contagious distemper, but a disposition towards
   mortality in general. This _may_ be exaggerated evil, but Beef
   and Mutton at 8_d._ o' pound is a real one, so is Bread at 9_d._
   the quartern loaf, with coals at _six_, or at best, _four_
   Guineas the Chaldron. Strange allurements these to housekeeping
   with 18 or 20 servants at Streatham Park. At Easter however we
   _must_ begin. You and I have often said that such times would
   come, and worse; _our_ predictions are only verifying, others
   foretell fearful things indeed, but we are sure that neither
   they nor we know anything about the matter....

   The rival Wits say that Helen Williams is turn'd _to Stone_,
   and tho' she was once second to nobody, she is now second
   to his wife; who it seems was not guillotined, as once was
   reported, but remains a living spectatress of these political
   and _im_-politic revolutions.

   Kemble's advertisement, so like that of a penitent Hackney
   Coachman under the threatened _Lash_ of a sharp prosecution,
   excites much notice, I understand; but am shocked to find his
   offence, though actionable, considered by the fashionists more
   as a jest than as an enormity. Harriet Lee seems to fancy her
   Sister has a play coming out, which Madame D'Arblaye's, late
   Fanny Burney's, Tragedy retards.... Dear Siddons is sick again,
   but of a complaint common to many, as her family tell me: she
   must have been hurt by her brother's frolick I should suppose.
   _She_ loved the girl, and thought her, as she proved, most
   excellent....

   Cecilia is young, and gay, and frisky, and flighty, and so is
   her horse: I wish they were come safe home from a long ride to
   their and your

    H. L. P.

   _P.S._--Dear Mrs. Pennington, don't forget your best friend, and
   come to see us at Streatham Park in the Spring.

    G. P.

John Kemble's trouble arose from his having made advances to Miss
Maria Theresa de Camp, afterwards wife of his brother Charles, who was
acting with him at this date. For this he had to make a public apology
in the newspapers.




                              CHAPTER IV

   Cecilia's engagement and marriage to Mostyn, 1795--Her dangerous
   illness--Friction with the Mostyns--Disturbances in Italy and
   Ireland--Death of Maria Siddons--Visit to Bath, 1798.


While the Piozzis were staying at Denbigh, and superintending the
building of Brynbella, Cecilia, still in her teens, met her future
husband, John Meredith Mostyn.

    DENBIGH, _March 24, 1795_.

   My dear Mrs. Pennington will excuse her old Friend if, having
   long forborne to write because she had nothing to say, she
   continued that forbearance lately because she had too much. My
   heart has been very full: Cecilia seems to have seen the man
   she likes at last, and thinking about them occupies very, very
   much of my mind. As my Countryman is no Lord, nor no Wit, nor
   no Beau, nor no man of _monstrous Fortune_, I know not how the
   connection will be relished by London Friends, or by Cecy's
   Sisters, Guardians, the Chancellor, etc. But that she should
   pitch upon a youth of ancient and respectable family in my own
   neighbourhood, grandson to an old intimate of my own Father,
   with a clear estate of £2000 pr. Ann.; independent in mind,
   manners, and fortune, with a _beautiful_ person, and character
   highly esteem'd, cannot chuse but be agreeable to me. Meantime
   the World is _so_ wicked, and one is _so_ terrified at the
   thoughts of what _may_ happen in it to two creatures, neither of
   them quite 20 years old, that I live in a fever....

   Write soon--directly if you can; we don't go to Streatham till
   the 14th of April. Adieu! I cannot make my pen obey me, it will
   neither stop nor run. Cecilia is out on horseback with her
   Sweetheart, but she bid me tell you all. And now I have forgot
   to add his name--'tis John Meredith Mostyn--of Segroid. We call
   the people by the names of their country seats, as in Scotland,
   'tis necessary where there are so many old aristocrate families
   branch'd out into many separate houses and establishments.

   Once more Adieu! Give my best regards to _your_ Husband, and
   pray for a good one to Cecy, or what will become of your H. L.
   P.?

   Mr. Piozzi is out at Brinbella. Building and planting, marrying
   and giving in marriage, you see we _do_ go on till the very end
   of the world, undeterred by false Prophets which precede it.

   This rascal Brothers will be _seriously_ listen'd to, if the
   Prince of Wales's match goes off. He rested the truth of his
   mission upon that event, but we are expressly told that some of
   them _will_ do signs and wonders; yet are we commanded strictly
   _not to go forth after them_,--as I find many do.

The Mostyns of Segroid (now of Llewesog, co. Denbigh) were a branch of
the Mostyns of Mostyn, Barts., who claimed descent from Tudor Trevor.
In previous generations they had intermarried with the Salusburys and
Pennants, and J. M. Mostyn's sister Maria married Colonel Salusbury of
Galtfynan. His grandfather, John Mostyn, was of Capel Gwyddelwern, co.
Monmouth, and died 1731.

Richard Brothers was originally a Lieutenant R.N., but retired
from the service, and set up as a prophet in London about 1787.
His vegetarian diet, and conscientious objection to oaths, helped
to bring him into notoriety, while his scruples about drawing his
pay brought him into the workhouse. But he soon found admirers and
supporters, and was enabled to publish his "Revealed Knowledge of
Prophecies and Times, wrote under the direction of the Lord God," in
1794. Some of his predictions had a remarkable fulfilment: _e.g._ in
1792 he foretold violent deaths for the King of Sweden and Louis
XVI, but others, such as the destruction of London by fire, were less
successful. He now developed megalomania of a religious type, styling
himself "Nephew of God" (explained as in virtue of descent from one of
the "Brethren of the Lord") and the "Prince of the Hebrews" who was to
lead the Jews back to Palestine. Some wild political utterances led
to an examination before the Privy Council on suspicion of treason,
but the fitting result was his confinement, not in a gaol, but in a
lunatic asylum.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Tuesday, 5 May_.

   My dear Friend will, I am sure, be pleased to hear that we
   are safe arrived here, and our children about us: Mr. Mostyn
   grows every day dearer to me, and the connection with him
   more desired as we make closer acquaintance. Cecilia seems to
   resist, for his sake, all temptations from her Sisters to a
   London Spring; and Mr. Piozzi, in return, treats us all with
   frequent excursions for amusement, so as to render a _week's
   stay in Town_ less necessary to her happiness. What a Town
   'tis! And what strange events occur in it every hour! Prophets,
   Traitors, Lunatic Ladies who elope from their husbands, even
   without Gallants to seduce, or even feigned ill-usage to impell
   them. They run to _Bristol_ however, you know I say that all
   the Wonder-doers, Conjurors, Poets, Impostors,--every one have
   something to do with Bristol.... Mr. Jackson, tho' guilty, is
   recommended to mercy I perceive, but his condemnation will, in
   a certain manner, implicate Mr. Stone. Apropos, Helen Williams
   finds a defender in Col. Barry, who is as amiable, as clever,
   and as eccentrick as possible. Lovely Siddons is set out for
   Scotland in this moment, she will have cheated herself of Summer
   completely....

   Whilst I am writing come my three Daughters, two of them at
   least, from Town, and bring the news of Jackson's suicide. What
   astonishing times are these! and the World, tho' wicked, is so
   enraged against my Lady Jersey, that people expect her to be
   hissed in her carriage, or at the theatres. Our new Princess's
   popularity daily encreases, I think, and if she _should_ bring
   us a little boy the World would really be quite charmed with
   her. Is it not astonishing that she never learned English, when
   that study is grown even fashionable upon the Continent?

   This is one of those days which Brothers pitched on for the
   Earthquake. Do you take any interest in his abettors and their
   pamphlets, Wright, Bryan, Halhead?...

William Jackson was an Irish clergyman, who had held a curacy in
London, and acted as chaplain to the "amazing" Duchess of Kingston:
afterwards, taking up journalism, he was editor of the _Public Ledger_
and the _Morning Post_. Espousing the cause of the United Irishmen, he
went over to France as their envoy, with a view to procure assistance
for the projected Irish rising. Being brought to trial and convicted,
he took poison, and died in the dock while sentence was being
pronounced. His suicide was perhaps designed to save his property,
which would have been forfeited to the Crown on conviction for high
treason.

Frances, daughter of Dr. Philip Twysden, Bishop of Raphoe, and wife
of George Bussy, fourth Earl of Jersey, had created considerable
scandal, even in that lax age, by her relations with the Prince of
Wales, afterwards George IV. The shameless way in which he forced her
into the household of the Princess, was no doubt largely responsible
for the sympathy so widely felt for the erring but injured wife. The
Prince's marriage took place in April 1795, but the only child, born
in 1796, was the Princess Charlotte, who married Prince Leopold of
Saxe-Coburg, afterwards King of the Belgians.

Nathaniel Brassey Halhead, M.P. for Lymington, was a man of
considerable attainments, as shown by his Bengali Grammar and "Gentoo
Code of Laws"; but his learning did not save him from becoming the
disciple, not to say dupe, of the mad prophet, under whose influence
he wrote a treatise on the millenium, and a "Testimony to the
Authenticity of the Prophecies of R. Brothers."

    STREATHAM PARK, _Monday, 11 May 1795_.

          *       *       *       *       *

   Mrs. Siddons is gone to work her brother out of a gaol at
   Edinburgh, and was forced to leave her husband,--who, being
   security for him, is most deeply interested in his success,--_a
   cripple upon crutches_. Such stuff is this world made of, and
   'tis time to look sharp about money matters _now_, when a common
   fowl is paid seven _shillings_ for in Carnaby Market, and a leg
   o' mutton at the same place _eight_ pence o' pound. For these
   uncommon misfortunes I refused to take common report; so left
   the carriage in Marlborough Street, and walked in my black
   bonnet and cloke all over that eminently cheap and plentiful
   market myself, in order to ascertain the real truth, and I now
   write down what I saw and heard in letters, not figures, to
   prevent the possibility even of _supposed_ mistake. What however
   most amazes me is, that our Batchelor Friends say the prices are
   not raised yet in eating-house or tavern, nor are the dinners
   worse; and Virgo the poulterer told me he never sold more
   articles than since they have been at this unexampled price.
   Make these facts agree as you can.

   With regard to Spring, all _order and gradation_ seem as
   completely abolished as if the _Elements_ had experienced a
   _Revolution_. The Walnut is now contemporary with the Primrose,
   a thing I never saw before, and all our Oaks are in broad leaf,
   before the Pear trees have shed their blossoms, a circumstance
   wholly new to me. Not a Blackbird is seen or heard in our
   desolated shrubbery, which, as you know, used to resound with
   them: and nobody but myself (who am ever on the watch,) has seen
   any Swallows. I observed six yesterday. But what strange times
   are these, with our false Christs too, and false Prophets! Mercy
   on me! but I do think Cecilia is beginning the World just in
   the _last Act_ of it. May she at least play _her part_ well!
   Mostyn and she are trying to get married, if possible, before he
   comes of age, and so they will amuse the time till he _is_ of
   age, I suppose....

Apparently the Chancellor proved obdurate in the matter of the
marriage of the legal "infants," so the impatient Cecilia indulged
in one more characteristic escapade by eloping to Gretna Green; an
unnecessary proceeding which must have been very annoying for Mrs.
Piozzi, though she makes no allusion to it in the letters. Their
married life was but short, as Mostyn died 19th May 1807. His widow
survived him just half a century, and died at Silwood House, Brighton,
1st May 1857, æt. eighty.

Mrs. Siddons' brother, Stephen Kemble, had taken the Theatre Royal,
Edinburgh, in 1789, but from the first was involved in disputes
with his intended partner and an unsuccessful competitor. He tried
to escape from these by opening the New Theatre in 1793, only to
find that the legitimate drama was altogether prohibited there, as
infringing the rights of the Theatre Royal. He returned to the latter
in the following year, but disputes and litigation still continued, so
that in spite of his sister's assistance it could not have proved a
very profitable situation: but he did not resign till 1800.

  [Illustration: CECILIA MOSTYN

  _From the Collection of A. M. Broadley, Esq._]

    STREATHAM PARK, _Sat. 13 Jun. 1795_.

   My dear Mrs. Pennington will be pleased to hear that our Cecilia
   is married, and happy, and gone down with her very amiable
   husband to Llewesog Lodge, near Denbigh, N. Wales, the seat of
   _his_ mother, Mrs. Wynne. A letter from you, so directed, will
   be a pleasure to her. We cannot get down as early as we wish,
   tho' things here are so high-prized, _that_ circumstance alone
   might drive one if one's heart were not, as much of mine now is,
   in the country with Mrs. Mostyn. These really are sad times,
   are they not? A cessation of hostilities without any peace,
   a pause somehow more shocking than war, like the pause in a
   pulse lately hurried on by _fever_, now stopt by a symptom more
   dreadful than the fever itself.

   The elements too are really very severe of late; the Park is
   converted into what farmers call a Lay--_our_ Park; it will not
   pay the haymaking. It is a new sight to me, and a mournful one,
   and the weather is like a cold October.

   What becomes of our friends the Whalleys? I never hear of them,
   and what do they say to these terrifying moments? They will be
   sorry for those who are starving. My daughters tell me that
   the little sheds about St. George's Fields are full of Emigrée
   French dying of actual want; having exhausted the Charity so
   much--indeed so _justly_ admired in our beneficent nation. Poor
   things! They expire quietly now, and say nothing; but stirring
   up Oatmeal and Cold water together, live on _that_ while they
   can get it, and then--perish. Countesses and children of high
   quality in France, thus lost amidst the crowds of thieves
   and blackguards that infest the environs of London. How very
   dreadful! How very poignant the reflexion!...

   Charming Siddons is somewhere in the North, setting up the
   individuals of her family, like Ninepins, for Fortune to bowl
   at, and knock down again. _She_ meantime secures glorious
   immortality in both worlds....

    STREATHAM PARK, _Fryday 26 Jun._

   My dear Mrs. Pennington may assure herself I know no more of
   Helen Williams's actual situation than I do of Colonel Barry's
   address. I have seen him but for five minutes since I saw _you_,
   and 'twas his diversion then, (in his clever way,) to make out
   her defence against some of the company who sported the reports
   you mention.

   Mr. James, whom you have heard me speak of, died in a French
   prison, poor fellow! His widow and children are returned; they
   have suffered greatly, but the pressure is nearly general, and
   these last riots truly tremendous. If we do not catch the Corn
   Fleet going from America to France--the Lord have mercy upon us!

   Turning towards individuals is the likeliest method to find some
   happiness, yet _you_, my dear Friend, complain, and poor Mr.
   Whalley's sufferings will be _too_ great, if his wife really
   should _die_ in consequence of his Niece's naughtiness. Oh
   surely I hope that will never be. Can any beside parents feel
   _mortal_ anxiety? I hoped not.

   Sweet Cecy is loaded with comforts and pleasures; the family she
   falls into adores her, and the peasants take off the horses and
   draw her about in triumph. Her sisters too are _now_ contented,
   and express their approbation, etc., in bridal presents. May she
   but be sensible of her felicity! The lot she has drawn is indeed
   a very great one; personal beauty, birth, unblemished character,
   and gentle manners in one man united, is no common prize....

   My Girls always say how they wish for your acquaintance. I will
   not yet despair of seeing you next Spring, for we _have_ a
   project, but I must not mention it yet.

Mr. James was a portrait painter at Bath, who was elected A.R.A. in
1770. He was imprisoned during the Terror, but was apparently released
after the fall of Robespierre, as he actually died at Boulogne.

Lord Howe had put out in the spring to find the French fleet, but
returned on hearing that it had been damaged by a storm, and had put
into Brest to refit. Though in failing health he remained in nominal
command, but the English fleet was actually led by Alexander Hood,
Lord Bridport, who, three days before Mrs. Piozzi wrote, gained a
notable victory, with a much inferior force, over the French Fleet of
twenty-two ships off L'Orient.

A letter of thanks from Cecilia for Mrs. Pennington's congratulations
follows. Her condolences on Mrs. Whalley's supposed death were
somewhat premature. Subsequent letters show that she made a
satisfactory recovery from the effects of her niece's "naughtiness,"
whatever it may have been.

    LLEWESOG LODGE, _July the 2d._

   MY DEAR MRS. PENNINGTON,--I am extremely obliged to you
   and Mr. Pennington for your kind congratulations, and should
   have written to thank you sooner had I been quite well. Now the
   correspondence has begun, may I hope it will continue, for I
   have now not the same means of knowing how you all go on. I am
   not likely to see my dear Mother for at least two months, as
   their house goes on very slowly here. Wasn't there a talk once
   of your coming into Wales? Sure it would be a good as well as an
   agreeable plan. How glad we should all be to see you. Do let me
   know if there are any hopes of such a thing; or to have a pretty
   little cottage--how nice it would be. Any body may live here
   without money almost, every thing is so cheap.

   I have this moment heard of poor Mrs. Whalley's death. How
   grieved you must be, and poor Mr. Whalley; indeed I am very
   sorry. That dreadful Mrs. Mullins was, I suppose, the cause; do
   you know what is become of her?... Ever yours,

    CECILIA MOSTYN.

By the autumn the Piozzis were established in their own house, which
Mrs. Piozzi for some time continues to write as Brinbella. Though
commenced only as a "cottage," Mrs. Piozzi states in her Commonplace
Book that the total cost was over £20,000.

    BRINBELLA, _Wednesday 21 Oct. 1795_.

          *       *       *       *       *

   My Master is just recovered from a fit of gout, which, coming at
   so very untoward a moment, left me no leisure for thinking at
   the time of any thing else:--but _now_ I am glad that 'tis over.

   We were scarce warm in our house before he was laid up, and
   'twas cruel to have him disturb'd at such an hour by Workmens'
   hammers. _To them_ the less disagreeable noise of pretty ladies'
   prattle has at length happily succeeded; and Mr. Piozzi gallants
   his wife's four daughters to Holywell Assembly to-morrow.
   Meantime Mrs. Mostyn _is_ settled at her husband's old Family
   Seat at Segroid, near Denbigh; his Mama lives with _her_
   husband, Major Wynne, at Llewesog Lodge, about four miles from
   them,--I think we at Brinbella measure eight or nine. Mr. Mostyn
   means to build another summer, but resides in the old Mansion
   while that work is going on. I hear no talk of any young ones
   coming as yet, but we need not despair. Harriet Lee's hour of
   felicity will come to me, I doubt not; she _says_, you know,
   that no human being is truly happy but a _Grandmother_.

   Marquis Trotti is married, and Annette is gone to Manchester. I
   think the latter a lucky incident, she will have no one to talk
   the other event over to, and it will fade away the sooner from
   her memory. Friendship has its thorns like any other rose; a
   person to whom you can speak freely is a perpetual reflector of
   your own sensations, and if they are not agreeable, serves to
   double the pain. The younger sister too may make conquests in
   a new place, where her accomplishments are likely to strike as
   rareties. Such companions as our lovely Nancy will not easily be
   found in a trading town.

   _My_ young ladies mean to spend the winter at Clifton, I
   understand, but all seasons begin late now, and we shall of
   course endeavour to detain them here as long as possible. They
   have been prospect-hunting ever since June, and confess these
   environs very beautiful notwithstanding that Mount Edgecumbe
   and Penfield have been taken into their tour. They have heard
   much of dear Mrs. Pennington, and I dare say you will like one
   another exceedingly; the Siddonses and they are grown quite
   intimate....

   The public news is dismal indeed, but my Master says _'twill
   mend_.

The dowager Mrs. Mostyn took for her second husband Edward Watkin
Wynne, of Llwyn, co. Denbigh, the representative of a younger branch
of the Wynnes of Gwydir.

    BRINBELLA, _24 Nov. 1795_.

   My dear Mrs. Pennington will receive this letter from an old
   Friend by the hand of her Daughters; they will be pleased with
   your acquaintance, and you will have it in your power to shew
   them some attentions.

   Streatham Park will serve as a common theme for the beginning
   of conversation, tho' Heaven knows the present times afford
   ample scope for talk which can scarcely avoid interesting us
   all. Meantime Miss Thrale has seen so much beautiful scenery
   in the Western Counties of our Island, England and Wales, that
   you will delight in making her recapitulate their peculiarities
   of excellence. Nobody I ever knew, who loved London society
   with your degree of fondness, continued to possess so strong a
   taste of Nature and her solitary charms; but I know not whether
   Clifton Hill makes you any amends yet for loss of Hanover Square.

   I heard that poor Mrs. Whalley was dead, but 'tis not true, I
   hope; if anything will make dear Siddons sit down to write a
   letter, it must be asking her that question....

    BRYNBELLA, _Monday 7_.

   My dear Mrs. Pennington does me wrong in thinking I forget her;
   but though we live an apparently retired life, being far distant
   both from Bath and from the Capital, I do not perceive that
   more time to be disposed of falls to one's share here than at
   Streatham Park. Our walks, being more varied, are pleasanter,
   and tempt us out much more. So many _improvements_ too, with
   _Chickens to peck, and Pidgeons to flee_, as the Fool said to
   Mr. Whalley; I am, I think, quite tired by 10 o'clock at night
   always, and yet impatient for another day, that something may
   get forward. We have a way too of going to dinner with our
   neighbours here perpetually, and of sleeping at each other's
   houses in good familiarity, which takes up some not disagreeable
   moments. Of London acquaintance we cannot be supposed to see
   many, but Miss Thrales and Mr. Chappelow, who have been among
   us, will, I flatter myself, make a good report. For conversation
   we talk of peace, and war, and fashions, with great success;
   and the price provisions bear, principally corn, is a matter of
   serious moment, to _us_. Strange to me how 'tis endured in the
   Metropolis, and stranger how the evil will be cured.

   You had more need write to _me_, dear Friend, than think of
   letters from one who, for all topics of thought or talk, depends
   upon distant intelligence, and I depend upon good forage in
   the _Bristol quarter_. There is always somewhat going forward
   _there_.... Send me a yard-long letter....

The "Fool," whose sayings are several times referred to, was doubtless
the "famous mechanic, Merlin," of whom Mrs. Piozzi relates in her
Commonplace Book that, hearing a discussion on the possibility of
stopping the expected French army of invasion, he inquired, "Could
they not stop them at the Turnpikes?"

    BRYNBELLA, _Fryday 18 Dec. '95_.

          *       *       *       *       *

   Well the changes and chances of this world are many and various,
   and sometimes happen for the better, as they do now upon the
   Continent. The French run very well indeed;--I _told_ you that
   vengeance awaited them, and 'tis coming at last.

   Meantime you must do me a favour. You must enquire me a
   Housekeeper such as you _know_ will suit us; a good country
   housewife, who can salt Bacon, cure Hams, see also to the
   baking, etc., and be an active manager of and for a dozen
   troublesome servants: in a word, _Abbiss_ without her faults.
   The London women of this profession hate to leave the Capital;
   I should hope better from a rough inhabitant of Bristol or
   Liverpool, where the people keep good houses, and good order in
   their houses, and give excellent dinners, be the times scarce or
   plentiful.

   You see Helen Williams advertises a new Book; _her_ friends
   are uppermost in Paris now, but if these foreign affairs run
   counter so, I much doubt their ability to _stand_ when general
   enthusiasm begins to _fall_.

   Adieu, my kind friend, and do look me out a servant such as
   I have described; the torment these people cause me here at
   such a distance is intolerable; fetching and carrying them is
   as expensive as can be, and then the others won't live with
   them,--and there is no end of their worrying one. Ask your good
   Mother if she knows one likely to do.

Helen Williams about this time published _Letters containing a Sketch
of the Politics of France, 1793-4_; she had also employed herself
in making a translation of _Paul et Virginie_ while in prison under
Robespierre. After his fall, the party of the Gironde to which she
belonged framed the new Constitution, which came into force 28th
October 1795. The Convention dissolved itself to make way for the
Directory, which served as a stepping-stone for Napoleon's rise to
power.

    _Wednesday, 20 [Apr. 1796]_, BRINBELLA.

   What a world it is, dear Mrs. Pennington! But the amiable
   Whalleys have found better than they expected in it. Everybody
   will be glad, they are people I think particularly beloved: and
   since Mrs. Mullins has scamper'd off so, I hope _you_ will be
   the only favourite, and then good will come out of evil.

   Cecilia and her husband are gone to London. I am sorry for it;
   but she felt very tired of Wales, and he felt disposed--not to
   _indulge_ but to _obey_ her. I am sorry for _that too_, a little
   bridle is not amiss for a young Filly Foal like her. If she
   had been bringing a pretty Boy, instead of driving to Town in
   a dangerous Curricle, I should have liked it better, but they
   think of themselves, not of us.

   I congratulate you upon the new Tax: there will be _many dogs
   the fewer for it_. Do you remember saying upon Streatham Hill,
   one day when I thought my neighbour's favourite Spaniel in
   danger from old Browney, "Let him alone; if he kills it there
   will at worst be _one_ dog less in the world"?

   The dear Lees will, I hope, be all well and happy in the success
   which is expected to attend Almeyda. Sweet Siddons does not
   write as if she was encumbered with either health or happiness,
   but things will mend sometime, _sure_. I wish she had done with
   her profession, and could buy a pretty little house and farm
   just by us here,--_that I do_: she would like this place better
   than you would. Mr. Chappelow came and spent three weeks with
   us, and said how beautiful the country was, and the people how
   agreeable. But I caught him at last rejoicing in the sight of
   a man that _had seen Wandsworth_; and when I observed he was
   a knowing fellow in his way,--"Why, yes," says he, "you may
   perceive he has English notions; he was bred at _Wandsworth_,
   etc." ...

   You must direct your next to me at Dr. Wynn's House, Beaumaris,
   Anglesey. A dip in our Irish Channel will do me good, and I
   shall see some waves that have been at Bristol. If we can either
   get or save half a crown, we will visit you next year, but these
   sweet grounds round the new house take up all our money. They
   are beautiful, however, and I do not grudge it. If we live, it
   will repay us in pleasure certainly, perhaps in profit. Mr.
   Piozzi mends the estate every day. I wish you could _but_ see
   it. Miss Thrales like Streatham better, of course....

   Nobody ever writes me word whether Marquis Trotti has
   perpetuated his family by marrying this pretty young Countess,
   and _he_ has done corresponding with me now. So melt away our
   quondam society, my dear Mrs. Pennington, and so melt we away
   ourselves, none of us quite what we were I believe, but none
   less changed, (tho' not well neither,) than your ever equally
   faithful

    H. L. P.

The above letter is franked, a very unusual circumstance in Mrs.
Piozzi's correspondence, by "R. W. Wynne," probably her neighbour
Colonel Robert William Wynne of Garthwin, who was High Sheriff for the
county.

    BRYNBELLA, _1 August, 1796_.

   Well! dear Mrs. Pennington! this next winter, if we all live so
   long, will we shake hands, and tell old tales of other times
   over a fire together. Our dear Master has had a fit of Gout in
   Anglesey, and he has a fancy to have the next at Bath, and will
   go thither--if it please God--on the 1st of Jan^y 1797. How
   many things, foreign and domestic, shall we find to chat about!
   How many odd and new incidents have claim'd attention since we
   parted! And how comfortable will it be to talk all matters over
   in the old way!...

   Cecilia and her husband were in London this Spring with their
   sisters, but as they went without taking leave of us, so they
   returned without taking any notice. These are _some_ of the odd
   things.

   Some of the odder still are that Mr. and Mrs. Mostyn went to
   Streatham Park, when tired of Town, called their friends about
   them there, and nobody said or wrote a word to Mr. Piozzi or me
   about the matter, except Miss Thrale, who beg'd permission for
   Susan and Sophy. Since then Lord and Lady William Russell have
   wished us _to let it_, and Lord and Lady Clonmel have wished
   us _to lend it_. My Master says he'll go next Spring and live
   awhile in it to spite 'em. I shall be glad when we return, for
   dear Brynbella has full possession of her heart who is ever
   faithfully yours,

    H. L. P.

    BRYNBELLA, _17 Aug. 1796_.

   MY DEAR FRIEND,--This very post brought me your kind
   letter; see then, if I am slow in answering it, though every
   day makes me hate writing more than the last day did. What can
   one write freely? Not about one's children, unless they were
   good as mine are, and giving no cause of complaint. Nor about
   one's friends certainly, for if they did wrong, or disgraced
   expectation of right, _they_ are the very people one would not
   blame. Enemies--less still; for in that blame _some_ envy or
   some ill-nature would very likely be mingled, and _more_ be
   suspected at all times. Of the French, and the French only, may
   one write freely, and blame liberally; for though all fear, I
   think all (even the maddest,) begin to abhor them. 'Tis too late
   however, and unless some decisive blow be soon struck in Italy,
   (of which I am not wholly without hope,) all must go, and then
   politics will cease to be, as now, an extraneous subject, to
   keep us from talking of what truly interests our heart or purse,
   it will be what most immediately touches our nearest and dearest
   concerns. May the great battle likely to take place before
   beautiful Verona's gates _avert_, by the success of General
   Wurmser,--at least _defer_, that very dreadful moment! But
   there are other hopes. We _may_ take Leghorn ourselves. The old
   Empress _may_ think y^e time come when she ought to rouze from
   her Northern torpor, that keeps all animals asleep till late in
   the season by its cold, and the whole human race _may_ unite
   against that portion of it which so seeks the utter ruin of the
   rest. Any of these will do; and if nothing of y^s should happen,
   we must revere and acknowledge the _visible_ finger of God, and
   prepare for what's to follow. So much for public matters....

   I fancy Madam D'Arblaye lives much with foreigners. She talks
   of _demanding_ and _according_ in a way English people never
   talk; and of _descending_ to breakfast, and says one sister
   aided another to rise, or lye down, as English people never do.
   We say _ask_, and _grant_, and _help_, and _go down stairs_,
   you know; the other words are French. The characters however of
   Mrs. Arlberry and Mrs. Berlington are surely well contrasted,
   and both likely enough to strike a young creature of Camilla's
   cast. Mrs. Mittin too has much of my applause, and Bellamy
   frighted me with his feigned character and his false friendship,
   and his _pouncing_ upon Eugenia, so like "_one Hawk with one
   Pidgeon_,"--do you remember?

   Cecilia is very well, and looks prettier than she used to do....
   She has been to see us since I wrote, both with and without her
   Husband. They are going into Westmoreland on a shooting party,
   and propose visiting my oldest friend, Mrs. Strickland. Her
   sisters are at Tunbridge.

   Helen Williams's conduct seems to astound Harriet Lee, whose
   own sweetness hindered her from seeing what led to it long ago,
   but we must yet suspend our judgments. I expect some Harlequin
   escape from censure will yet be performed for our delight and
   her benefit.

   Dr. Moore battles the Ladies on their own ground, I see. Mr.
   Cumberland and he come forward with novels contesting the palm
   against very formidable antagonists. I never saw Henry, but have
   heard many commend it, and from Edward I really expect a good
   deal.

   The epilogue to Almeyda pleased me more than even the prologue,
   some lines of which are however exquisite. The play itself
   half broke my heart in reading, 'twas so tender, and somehow
   I had expected terror more than pity would have been produced
   by Sophia Lee. Like yourself, I was all for _Orasmyn_. When
   will these dear creatures cease their combinations of calamity?
   There is so much in the _real living_ world at present, 'tis
   surprising how one can find tears for _nothing_ so, and for
   _nobody_.

   Charming Siddons has been silent ever since I refused running
   after her from Beaumaris to Liverpool, but such an expedition
   was more impracticable than she dreamt on. Mr. Pott, who I met
   in Anglesey, said she had lost much of health and something of
   good looks. Oh! for those two things, if true, _I am really and
   sincerely sorry_....

Mrs. Piozzi's hopes of successes against the French were doomed
to disappointment. The command in Italy had now been entrusted to
Bonaparte, who won the battle of Lodi and entered Milan in May. His
opponent, General Wurmser, though at the head of 10,000 Austrians, and
aided by the disaffection of the States newly subjugated by France,
was driven out of Italy in a week; and on attempting to retrieve his
fortunes by a second campaign, was shut up in Mantua, and compelled to
capitulate. Nor had the English forces fared any better, having been
driven out of Leghorn and Corsica in the course of the summer.

Madame D'Arblay's new novel, _Camilla_, which had just been published,
proved highly successful. Besides 1100 subscribers at a guinea, 3500
copies were sold in three months. The contemporary reviewer in the
_British Critic_ was struck by the genius required to bring together
such a number of distinctly characterised persons, and make them act
consistently, and singled out, like Mrs. Piozzi, the character of Mrs.
Arlberry as one of the most highly finished portraits.

The scope of Dr. Moore's work is sufficiently shown by its
title--_Edward; various views of human nature, taken from life and
manners, chiefly in England_. This, being devoted to the better side
of human nature, was considered much less thrilling than _Zeluco_. His
third venture, _Mordaunt_, published in 1803, was tamer still, being
the conventional story of a workhouse foundling, recognised by his
parents through the happy accident of a strawberry-mark.

Dr. Richard Cumberland, son of the Bishop of Clogher and Killaloe,
and a grandson of Dr. Richard Bentley, professedly modelled his
_Henry_ (published 1795) on the style of Fielding. His work was
fairly well received by the public, but his peculiar temper made him
unpopular with his fellow authors, of whom Goldsmith drew his portrait
in _Retaliation_, while Sheridan in _The Critic_ caricatured him
unmercifully as Sir Fretful Plagiary.

    BRYNBELLA, _Shortest day, 1796_.

   How, my dear Mrs. Pennington, shall I begin a letter which is
   sure to be so truly disagreeable to us both? How shall I tell
   you that we are not coming either to Bath or Bristol? Harriet
   has a commission from us now to un-order the lodgings we meant
   to take.

   Business, and that of a mortifying nature, _drags_ not _draws_
   us to the neighbourhood of London; it is Cecy's business
   chiefly, but must not be neglected. There are now but thirteen
   short months to her coming of age, and those who are most
   earnest that she should be taken care of, call to us for that
   assistance, which, at any rate, we are anxious to give. She
   has never called here, or I fancy thought of such an exertion
   these nine or ten weeks; but if she does not know her duty, we
   know ours, and will endeavour to do it:--but let us talk of
   something,--of _anything_ else.

   The pleasantest subject is the new Loan: whilst the Metropolis
   can subscribe half a million an hour she will _fear_ no invasion
   I suppose, although such treasures might tempt plunder from less
   unprincipled robbers than the French. People make comfort out of
   the pecuniary distresses of our enemy too; but a wolf becomes
   more formidable from being hungry. I am not among the warm
   _hopers_ yet.... My Master and I are nearly as much rusticated
   as you consider _yourself_ to be: we shall open our eyes and
   ears and hope to bring both back full.

   The Rebellion at the Hot Wells was a vexatious circumstance, did
   you conquer or compromise at last? The days of obedience are
   over; old Nash was the last who governed, like Elizabeth, by
   nicely blending love and fear together, and by so exalting the
   force of influence that I believe _they mistook_ it for power of
   authority, and their subjects would not undeceive them.

   Have you read all these new Romances? The Knights of the Swan
   for example, the terrific Lenore, and a Ballad of Alonzo the
   Brave? I think a great change has been made in taste of popular
   literature,--or rather, popular _reading_,--since we parted.
   People were tired of Master Jacky and Miss Jenny I suppose,
   and flew from insipid diet of water-gruel and chicken broth to
   Caviare and Cayenne, and Peppermint water for drink. The other
   extreme was wholesomer, and 'tis better be studying stories of
   little Eugenia tumbling off the plank, out from old simple Sir
   Hugh's arms, than follow the frightful Monk to his precipice.
   Send me word what your Mother says when you read these horrible
   tales to _her_. Sure we shall see Colonel Barry again sometime;
   it seems to me long since I enjoyed his conversation, his
   criticism is always ingenious, and commonly exact, and by
   perpetually filling and continually emptying his mind, it
   acquires peculiar clearness, like a cold bath where the stream
   runs _through_....

To meet the expected French invasion, the Government raised a loan
of eighteen millions, which was all subscribed before the close of
the second day. The price of issue was 112, which at the time was
considered low.

Beau Nash had been dead for more than thirty years when Mrs. Piozzi
wrote. His reign at Bath, which made the reputation of that town as
a fashionable resort, lasted for over half a century; but though
his prestige suffered little diminution, he fell on evil days, and
towards the close of his life lived on a pension voted by the grateful
Corporation, who also accorded him a public funeral in the Abbey.

  [Illustration: ELIZA (FARREN), COUNTESS OF DERBY, 1797

  _From a print in the British Museum_]

_The Knights of the Swan_, a romance of the Court of Charlemagne, was
translated from the French of Madame de Genlis by the Rev. Mr.
Beresford in 1796. In the same year appeared some half-dozen English
versions of August Bürgher's _Lenore_; those by Stanley, Pye, and
Spencer are reviewed in the _British Critic_. The poem of "Alonzo the
Brave" occurs in the romance of _The Monk_, by Matthew Gregory Lewis,
commonly known as "Monk" Lewis, and served as a basis for the play of
_Alonzo and Imogene_.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Wed. 26 April 1797_.

   I have long promised myself the pleasure of sitting down to send
   dear Mrs. Pennington a long letter, but long things and little
   people ill agree, and I never could find time till to-night....

   Of charming Siddons every Paper can inform you. I really never
   saw her _so_ charming; but she has a mind to exhibit age,
   avarice, and bitter disappointment instigating the most horrible
   crimes, for her Benefit, when Lillo's Fatal Curiosity will be
   acted. Miss Farren is bride-expectant, and everybody appears
   to applaud Lord Derby's choice. The Greatheeds are going to
   Germany next Summer on their son's account; Buonaparte is there
   already--on his own. His Banditti have committed dreadful
   ravages in the Venetian State, and among the rest of their
   exploits, have frighted Mr. Piozzi's good old Father out of what
   _remained_ of life at fourscore years of age. Dreadful deeds I
   must confess, and horrible times in every sense of the word.
   But as we were speaking of individuals, I must add that Helen
   Williams is given up here by her most steady adherents. I am
   sorry....

   I have been told that Cecilia Mostyn and her husband are at
   Bath, but since she wrote Mr. Piozzi a letter with heavy charges
   against me in it, we have ceased corresponding. If you meet
   with her, tell me how she looks, and if there are hopes of a
   child; it would be the likeliest means of assuring her domestick
   happiness. My husband is more hurt than I am at her accusations
   of him for setting her horse to plough, and of her mother
   for wearing her clothes, and charging them as accountable to
   herself, besides a general charge of penurious niggardliness
   observed in her education, which one knows not how to contradict
   but by a general appeal to her own accomplishments,--and to her
   own high-bred horse,--most incapable of being set to plough.
   Mothers and daughters remind one of poor Lady Pitches, who dropt
   down dead in earnest conversation with one of her young ladies'
   sweethearts, or the father of one of them, the other day. I
   did not do so with Drummond, tho' very near it I do think in
   Milsom Street, Bath. So you see I am better off than some of my
   neighbours. The Three Thrales are at Brighthelmstone, refreshing
   from the fatigues of a gay winter by sea-bathing. Sophia hinted
   that they should like a country house near Town for summer
   residence, and Mr. Piozzi has requested them to _accept ours_,
   which he could have easily have let, I trust, for £500 o'year;
   but generously--as I think--preferred the future possessors as
   present inhabitants of old Streatham Park, which will not now
   look melancholy because we live in Wales. And when all debts are
   paid we _may_ perhaps return; but my own heart being fixed on my
   own Country, I shall never more wish to leave it, except for a
   short visit to Bath and Hot Wells, a happiness I still keep in
   sight for a motive to go forward.

   As this is a letter of all fact and no sentiment, I will tell
   you that poor old Flo died since we came hither, and lies buried
   under the tree that has a seat round it. Not only a dog the
   fewer as you used to say, but in his tomb lie my affections
   buried; I feel that I shall never fondle dogs again. Belle went
   to live with Mrs. Mostyn long ago, old Loup is dead, and Brown
   Fox struck by the palsy;--Phyllis alone remains, and is no more
   a parlour favourite. So fade away one's pleasures and one's
   plagues; but Mr. Piozzi still retains his gout, and so I dare
   say does Mr. Pennington.

   My health is much as usual, and 'tis the speech to say that I
   look very well. Let me hear good from _you_; from individuals
   we may yet hope to find some, public calamities go on increasing
   in velocity and strength, like a wheel downhill. A stone or
   hillock may stop it for a moment, but to the bottom it must go
   at last.

The Lord Derby here referred to was Edward, the twelfth Earl, who
created considerable sensation in fashionable society by marrying,
within two months of his first wife's death, the popular actress Eliza
Farren.

By this time Bonaparte had accomplished his invasion of Austria from
Italy, and the Emperor, seeing his capital threatened by French
troops, was compelled to cede Belgium and the left bank of the Rhine.
On his return to Italy an insurrection in Venice gave him a pretext
for replacing the ruling oligarchy by a republican form of government,
while the territory of Genoa was transformed into the Ligurian
Republic. It was no doubt the confusion consequent on these changes
which hastened the end of Mr. Piozzi's aged father.

    STREATHAM PARK, _1 June 1797_.

   MY DEAR MRS. PENNINGTON,--I feel your good-natured
   expressions very sensibly, and so does our poor dear Master; he
   is grown a sad invalid, always having the Gout, and crying out
   with pain. But the sick people _live_, whilst the well people
   _dye_, you know; so sings the sublime Mrs. Piozzi in her Journey
   to Italy, and so experience teaches.

   Your Brother came here one morning last week, and brought some
   gentlemen with him to see the pictures in our Library. He is
   not altered in person, perhaps not in _anything_. I think
   character never changes; the Acorn becomes an Oak, which is
   very little like an Acorn to be sure, but it never becomes an
   Ash: and if Mrs. Mostyn is, as Miss Lees say, the same Cecilia,
   I may add that that same Cecilia never cared a pin for me nor
   my husband,--and cares not now. I have not done caring for her
   however; somebody says she is at Bristol, tell me if 'tis
   for health or pleasure she goes there, and how she looks, ...
   and whether her husband is with her or no, and how they live
   together. I can trust your information and your friendship....

   I have been to the Exhibition. Lawrence is the Painter of the
   day; and to prove that he can shine equally in describing a
   _rising_ and a fallen Angel, he has seated _Mrs. Siddons at
   Lucifer's feet_. There is a little thing of somebody's, I forget
   who, representing Cassandra predicting the fall of Troy, which
   few admire as I do, but it bears the true marks of genius and of
   taste. The next best thing I saw was a drawing of Pellegrini's,
   and no inelegant or worthless portrait of the Queen for la
   Duchesse de Wirtemberg.

   Mr. Piozzi's state of health has hindered my waiting upon Lady
   Derby, but we met her in a Phaeton one day, and she stopt and
   spoke very prettily and kindly indeed. All the world seems
   pleased with _her_ good fortune, and Lord Deerhurst's, to whom
   an old, distant relation has left no less than £80,000. It
   came at a nice moment to comfort them, for Lady Pitches, who I
   perhaps never told you, dropt down dead as she was stirring the
   fire, about six or eight weeks ago, and the breaking up of that
   house was a sad thing upon all her children....

   When we go hence, Miss Thrales will enliven the spot, they are
   to succeed us in old Streatham Park. Whenever a loose half-crown
   lies in our pockets, it pays a mile's Postage towards the Hot
   Wells, you may assure yourself. Mrs. Siddons will see you first
   however, for Sally says her plan is to meet her husband and
   children at Mr. Whalley's, when she has been at two or three
   places alone. The little Baby Cecilia is the most extraordinary
   of all living babies; many have I seen, but none of such
   premature intellect. It is a wonderful infant, seriously....

George William Coventry, then Lord Deerhurst, afterwards seventh
Earl of Coventry, married in 1783 Peggy, daughter of Sir Abraham
Pitches, Knt., a neighbour of the Piozzis at Streatham. The Lady
Pitches here mentioned was therefore his mother-in-law.

  [Illustration: CECILIA SIDDONS

  _By R. J. Lane after Sir Thos. Lawrence_]

Lawrence's great picture of _Satan summoning his Legions_, exhibited
this year, is now the property of the Royal Academy. Contemporary
opinions differed widely as to its merits. His admirers pronounced it
sublime, but Pasquin described it as "a mad Sugar Baker dancing naked
in a conflagration of his own treacle." Fuseli branded it as "a damned
thing certainly, but not the Devil"; but Lawrence turned the laugh
against him by proving, from his sketch-book, that the idea of Satan
was taken from Fuseli himself, while posing on a rock near Bristol.
Nearly thirty years afterwards Mrs. Pennington saw it exhibited at
Bristol, but it failed to impress her. "It is only monstrous in my
mind," she writes, "it gives no idea of Lucifer son of the morning."

Mrs. Piozzi's interest in the "Baby Cecilia" is, to some extent,
accounted for by the fact that she was her godchild; but her portrait
by Lawrence, drawn this year, certainly suggests a remarkable and
precocious infant. She was the only one of Mrs. Siddons' daughters to
survive her mother.

    BRYNBELLA, _10 Jan. 1798_.

   Before the long threatened Blister is put upon my right arm,
   I will use it once more to assure my very tenderly remembered
   friend that she has never been a moment _forgotten_. But I
   wrote so exceeding long a letter to Harriet Lee a great while
   ago, upon the odious subject of _self_ and family affairs, and
   she answered me so coldly and drily, that I thought _nobody_
   would like a correspondence of that kind; and felt unable to
   try at others more entertaining. Desire to see our place and
   our acquaintance brought us hither for three months' amusement
   on the 10th of Oct^r,--I mean of _August_ last, and the first
   thing we heard was that Mrs. Mostyn had [returned home]--no
   doubt, said I, that she may be attended by Mr. Moore, who was
   so comfortable and attentive when she was in the same country
   confined by illness seven years ago, and dear Miss Weston
   offered to go with us to Lisbon upon Haygarth's saying her
   health required Continental air. We sent, and went, and were
   received _civilly_, and not _un_kindly; so I thought we were
   upon terms, as 'tis called, and a servant was daily dispatched
   to know how she went on. Miss Thrale, who was with her, always
   returned for answer y^t all was going as well as possible. So
   we went out as usual to visit our neighbours, and at one Lady's
   house heard _suddenly_, and _accidentally_, not only of her
   illness, but her extream danger. Mr. Moore was in the room where
   we heard it; she was attended by people from Chester and Ruthyn
   whom neither she nor I had ever seen, but tho' so oddly thrown
   aside, Mr. Moore, to calm my inquietude, ran away to learn
   particulars, and I sate in agony at bottom of Denbigh Town,
   while the footman galloped forward to request my admission. It
   was refused. Disastrous scenes ... followed; and Mr. Piozzi
   shed tears at the account of her severe sufferings. In due time
   I was admitted, and warned to make my visit _short_, and so I
   did. The visit was coldly, but not _un_civilly, in course of 3
   months, returned,--and all passed off quietly. The Litigation
   for recovery of money spent on Cecilia while she remained with
   us went on of course; and the other day almost, the Master
   made Report against Mr. Piozzi, who, he said, could _compel_
   no payment, but y^t Mostyn must be a _strange_ man (was his
   expression,) to endeavour so at squeezing his wife's necessary
   expenses out of a Father-in-law's pocket; and added--"I can tell
   you, gentlemen, that had you come to me as John Wilmot, not
   as Master in Chancery, I should have decided very differently
   indeed." The Counsellors on _both sides_ beg'd him _even yet_
   to stand between us and y^e Chancellor, and act as _Referee_.
   "If your clients please," replied he, "so I will." Mr. Piozzi
   wrote to express _his_ consent, but when we asked Miss Thrale
   concerning her brother and sister's determination, she said it
   was a subject that had _never employed their minds even for
   a moment_. I requested her to remind 'em of it, and at night
   came a Billet with "Proper Com^s; Mr. Mostyn will take time for
   deliberation." And so he does, for that's a fortnight ago.

   So much for the superiority with which your poor mortified and
   severely humbled friend has been treated; now for domestic
   _comforts_. On the 20th of October my Master went to bed with a
   raging fit of Gout in breast, side, back, and collar bone, but
   soon fixing in one heel and one toe, it _tore them open_ into
   the most frightful _ulcers_ I or poor Mr. Moore ever did behold.
   There has the Gout gnawed and bitten for 12 entire weeks, during
   which time has the truly wretched patient suffered torments
   inexpressible, and I believe rarely endured: his letters from
   Italy irritating even _that_ anguish by narrations of what
   brothers, sisters, friends, etc. endure from the rapacity of
   these vile French,--false as they are cruel, and insolent as
   they are successful. His own particular Town has been the
   immediate scene of distress, and all these are completely and
   inevitably _ruined_. Let us thank God they have not yet been
   _called_ hither, they will do us no harm _till they are called_.
   'Tis our own traytrous Vipers I am afraid of,--not the French:
   and of the taxes I am not afraid, except as it gives a handle
   for abuse to those who object to everything proposed, and
   propose nothing themselves.

   We are in a leaky ship, we must pump or drown, and those are the
   greatest enemies to general safety who cry, "Oh, don't fatigue
   the poor men at the pumps with such hard work; see how cruel you
   are to urge them thus beyond their strength!" Not at all cruel;
   let us pump now with spirit, and the vessel _may yet_ get into
   harbour, but 'tis no moment this for general relaxation.

   When I was going over the Alps with Mr. Piozzi, the sight of a
   dreadful precipice made me afraid, and I said I would walk: it
   was very late in a fine summer evening. "Sit still," cried my
   Master. "I cannot sit still," replied I, "_stop, stop!_" "You
   disturb the drivers, you will make them overturn us, pray sit
   still." No, I would _not_ sit still, I would _walk_. "Well,
   walk away then," said Mr. Piozzi, "if you _will_ walk; there
   are troops of wolves ranging the mountains now, I was told so
   at the last inn; they will find their prey out in an instant."
   Oh you can't imagine after that how still and quiet I sate in
   the carriage. Britannia, in a similar situation, must act like
   H. L. P. She must let the driver alone, and he will avoid the
   precipice; she must not expose herself to this troop of wolves.

   But my rheumatic arm aches with even _thus_ much writing, and
   my heart aches for my own mental, and my husband's corporeal
   sufferings; my loyal soul too aches for the general pressure
   upon our brave King and skilful Minister; but tho' Cecilia does
   refuse to repay the £1400 she owes Mr. Piozzi, I will _not_
   grudge the taxes nor will he try to evade them. We raised two
   puppies I meant to drown, that _they_ likewise might be entered.

   Mr. Mostyn's Mother, not _much_ better treated by our haughty
   Cecy than I have been, has sold one of her estates for £10,000,
   and given the money to her _daughter_. She is gone to live at
   Bath, I'm told....

   When Mr. Piozzi recovers our meaning is to go to Streatham Park,
   and wind up our affairs, and come back hither, and live snug,
   and save money enough to pay our just debts, and _bury_ us. If
   we _could_ live 3 years more, we should have our income clear of
   every incumbrance, and I should publish another _Jest Book_: but
   both our healths are visibly declining. Love us, and pray for
   us, and write again soon....

The friendly Master in Chancery was John Wilmot of Berkswell Hall,
F.R.S., M.P. for Tiverton and for Coventry, who assumed the additional
surname of Eardley in 1812, and was ancestor of the present Sir John
Eardley-Wilmot, Bart.

The "skilful Minister" was of course Pitt, who had been driven into
the war against his convictions, and though carrying it on to the
best of his ability, lost no opportunity of working for peace. This,
however, now appeared to be farther off than ever by reason of the
general dread and hatred inspired by the projected French invasion.

    STREATHAM PARK, _27 Feb. 1798_.

   My dear Mrs. Pennington will like to see a letter dated from
   old Streatham Park. We got there on Fryday, after a journey
   made pleasant by repeated visits on the way.... Two days were
   delightfully disposed of with the Recluses at Llangollen
   Cottage, where you would, I think, leave _your_ heart a willing
   prisoner. They conquer and keep in their enchanted Castle all
   travellers passing that particular road--at least all those
   for whom they spread their nets. Harriet Lee escaped by some
   poetical chance, but they like her book. We were hungry for
   pleasure after so long a fast, and enjoyed everything with
   double delight.

   My nerves are however terribly shaken, and I do believe we must
   and shall return home to Wales through Bath and Bristol, and
   embrace our dear Mrs. Pennington.... But we will not talk of
   declining health. Individuals are now of less consequence than
   ever, while the Nation, the Continent, the World itself, seems
   in its last convulsions. Can too many efforts be made to keep
   these marauders out, these pests of Society, who have shaken
   such a fabric to its foundations? I think no efforts great
   enough, though our Ministers and Soldiers and Sailors do set a
   sublime example, sure; and we must all follow at distance.

   We have advertised Streatham Park to be let for three years: if
   Miss Thrales would have accepted it rent-free, only paying the
   taxes, they should have had it for nothing; but some Grandee,
   who is reducing his establishment, shall pay us £500 o'year. I
   thought Mr. Piozzi most paternally kind in his offer of it to
   the young ladies, but they refused with disdain. They are used
   to _refuse good offers_, as people tell _me_.

   Mr. Mostyn's Lady is of age now, and in possession of £40,000,
   but nothing can we get from _them_ except bills of tradesmen,
   from whom Cecy took up articles without our knowledge or
   consent, whilst in our house; and those bills Mostyn meanly
   refuses to pay, because, as minor's debts, the people cannot
   arrest him. So runs the world, need one wonder if God Almighty
   is tired of it? I am nearly tired of it myself.

   The weather however is charming. You mistake in fancying
   Brynbella a cold spot. The Gardener brought me in two pots of
   the finest Carnations I ever saw in my life upon my birthday,
   27 Jan., this year; and we have no hothouse. The side of our
   hill is particularly warm, quite a _côte-rotie_.... Surrey looks
   marvellous dull and dreary compared to the brilliant scenery
   from our parlours and bed-chamber windows in Wales. But the
   bustle here amuses me, and I like the sight of London, looking
   like an Ant-hill suddenly stirred with a stick, well enough.

   I have not seen dear Siddons yet, but rejoice sincerely in what
   I hear of her happiness. Being a lucky darling of Fortune, we
   got her to buy us a Lottery Ticket this year, and chuse us
   the number. _Joy will come well in such a needful time_,[12]
   as Juliet says. And apropos to Juliet, Miss Hamilton seems
   perfectly happy with her Romeo. Nothing was ever so kind as her
   parents have been. They gave her away, and they strip themselves
   to furnish her house, and they now add to their excessive
   fondness for _her_, their adoration of Mr. Holman, who, I really
   believe, will behave most sweetly and honourably to all....

   [12] "And joy comes well in such a needy time."--_Romeo and Juliet_,
III. v. 106.

   A curious account of discoveries made in the interior parts
   of Africa, where large Cities and Civilised Nations are now
   supposed to have long resided, attracts _my_ attention
   forcibly; and much chat will we have together when we meet upon
   these subjects and a thousand more....

  [Illustration: JOSEPH GEORGE HOLMAN

  _By W. Angus after Dodd, 1784. From a print in the British Museum_]

The celebrated ladies of Llangollen were Lady Eleanor Butler, sister
of John, seventeenth Earl of Ormonde, who had retired from society
about twenty years previously with her friend Sarah, daughter of
Chambre Brabazon Ponsonby, a cousin of the Earl of Bessborough. They
took a cottage at Plasnewydd in the Vale of Llangollen, where they
lived for half a century, and were visited by most of the celebrities
of the time. About two years before this date Anna Seward wrote her
poem of "Llangollen Vale" in their honour. Lady Eleanor died in 1829
and her friend in 1831.

Joseph George Holman, a member of Queen's College, Oxford, though he
never took a degree, made his début on the stage in 1784 at Covent
Garden, where he acted till 1800. His wife, so frequently referred
to in the letters, was Jane, daughter of the Rev. the Hon. Frederick
Hamilton, a scion of the Duke of Hamilton's family.

In 1795 Mungo Park started from Gambia to explore the course of the
Niger, and subsequently visited the States on the southern edge of
the Great Sahara, returning, via America, in 1797. An account of his
expedition was drawn up for the African Association in 1798, which is
probably what Mrs. Piozzi had seen, but his own detailed account was
not finished till 1799.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Tuesday, 27 Mar. 1798_.

   My dearest Mrs. Pennington is too good a woman to wish me to
   make promises I cannot keep, and too kind a friend not to be
   sorry that I have no certainty of one day after another. _If_ we
   let this house as we hope to do, we may possibly, and I hope we
   shall be able to spend next Winter or Spring at Bath, Bristol,
   and its environs; _perhaps_ we shall be able to coax you away
   with us to pretty Brinbella, where our final and favourite
   residence seems to be fixed. But everything is so uncertain.
   England, Europe, the whole World seems so convulsed, and so
   incapable of judging its own destiny for 3 or 4 years to come,
   that I absolutely consider it as presumption next to madness to
   promise anything about coming here or going there. We must all
   do what suits us at the time I fancy.

   Dear Mr. Whalley above all people verifies the prophecy that "a
   man shall seek to go into a city, and shall not be able." He
   himself proposed setting out for Ireland as this very day, in
   company of Sir Walter James; but they will neither of them go
   _now_, I trust, when whole families are flocking _from_ thence
   to Wales, etc. for refuge. We dined in his and Mrs. Whalley's
   company at Mrs. Siddons's last week, and went with them at night
   to the Eidouranion, a pretty Astronomical Show. Maria dined in
   the room, and looked (to me) as usual, yet everybody says she
   is ill, and in fact she was bled that very evening, while we
   were at the Lecture. Shutting a young half-consumptive girl up
   in _one unchanged air_ for 3 or 4 months, would make _any_ of
   them ill, and ill-humoured too, I should think. But 'tis _the
   new way_ to make them breathe their own infected breath over and
   over again now, in defiance of old books, old experience, and
   good old common sense. Ah, my dear friend, there are many _new
   ways_,--and a dreadful place do they lead to. You should read
   Robinson's book, and I should translate and abridge Barruel's,
   if I did my duty to the Public, but I really have not time. My
   own long, heavy work, in which I am engaged, takes every moment
   that can be spared from family concerns. Mr. and Mrs. Mostyn
   however give me _no_ trouble, I have neither seen nor heard
   anything from them these many months....

   I wonder if the pretty Misses go in _self_ coloured drawers
   and stockings, and Brutus Heads with you as they do here. It
   is a horrible sight: but no one in this part of the world is
   considered as ridiculous, except the Bishops and Lords who
   commanded the Opera Dancers to put their clothes on again, or
   leave the Country. _My_ fair Daughters have made a league with
   the House of Siddons, which I feel rather cooler to me than
   usual. Never mind! Those who know the World wonder at nothing:
   those who _do not_, must learn the World, or leave it. My ever
   kind Mrs. Pennington is of the Old School still, and remembers
   the precept given by old Father Homer 3 or 4000 years ago,
   saying that

    A gen'rous friendship no cold medium knows,
    Burns with one love, with one resentment glows;
    The same our views, our int'rests still should be,
    My friend must _hate_ the man that injures _me_.

   But we will talk of public calamity, if you please, it swallows,
   or ought to swallow up private concerns completely. I wish
   you to read the True Briton of March 8. There is a letter
   from Venice in it which _we know but too well to be genuine_.
   I translated and printed it myself, that none might remain
   ignorant of the manner in which France treats those who never
   offended her. What are _we_ to expect from French generosity?
   Let us, like the Swiss, sell our lives as dear as we can. They
   oppose, and are cut to pieces. Italy complies, is pillaged and
   undone; like what Pope says of the famous Duchess of Marlborough,

    Who breaks with _her_ provokes revenge from Hell,
    But he's a bolder man who dares be well.

   I wish they would put their armament in motion; 'tis possible
   that God Almighty may permit us to destroy it, and then the
   Continent may be delivered from y^s dreadful scourge. Their
   Italian and Dutch subjects would soon rebell, and they would be
   driven about finely. Distress at home would follow ill success
   abroad, and they would end like one of their own air-balloons,
   set on fire, and blazing, and burning out, and falling to
   ground. _This is our only chance--the only hope_ of yours ever
   affect^ly

    H. L. P.

The exodus from Ireland was due to the apprehended rising of the
United Irishmen, which was then preparing. The principal conspirators
had just been arrested when Mrs. Piozzi wrote, and martial law was
proclaimed shortly afterwards.

Mrs. Piozzi's apprehensions about Maria Siddons proved but too well
founded. A change of treatment was tried soon afterwards, and she was
sent to Clifton in June, in the hope that a change of air and a course
of "the Waters" might benefit her complaint. For a time she obtained
relief, and as her mother was unable to be with her, Mrs. Pennington
undertook the charge. But the disease had progressed too far, and four
months later she died, tended to the end by her sister Sally and Mrs.
Pennington.

John Robinson, secretary to the Royal Society of Edinburgh, and
Professor of Natural Philosophy in the University, was an important
contributor to the third edition of the _Encyclopædia Britannica_.
The work alluded to was published in 1797 under the title of "Proofs
of a Conspiracy against all the Religions and Governments of Europe,
carried on in the secret meetings of Freemasons, Illuminati, and
Reading Societies, collected from good Authorities." The book, which
contemporary critics describe as "a hasty production," was chiefly
concerned with French and German societies.

The Abbé Barruel, Almoner to the Princess of Conti, had written in
1794 a history of the clergy during the French Revolution. In 1797
he published his _Mémoires pour servir â l'Histoire du Jacobinisme_,
designed to show that the Revolution was the work of Voltaire and his
friends, and was aimed primarily at religion, and only secondarily at
the Government. An English edition, of which Mrs. Piozzi does not seem
to have heard, appeared about the same time.

The brothers Montgolfier had discovered the principle of the fire
balloon in 1783, and in the same year the brothers Robert (also
Frenchmen) inflated a balloon with hydrogen gas. What Mrs. Piozzi
no doubt had in her mind was the tragic fate of Pilâtre de Rozier
(the first human being to entrust himself to the air), who in 1785
attempted to combine the two systems, with disastrous results. The
balloon took fire, and he and his companion lost their lives.

Having humbled Austria, Bonaparte had turned his attention to England.
An army was raised and marched to the Channel, to await a convenient
moment for crossing, when sufficient transport had been collected.
But larger schemes of an Eastern campaign were now occupying his
mind, and the project of invasion was not vigorously pushed forward.
Indeed it may have been designed rather to draw off attention from the
preparations for his Egyptian expedition.

    STREATHAM PARK, _last Sunday in April 1798_.

   Well, dearest Mrs. Pennington! we have been to London since I
   had your last kind letter. And what did we see in London? Why
   we saw some pictures, the spoil of Italy and Flanders, which
   the French sell to those who bid highest;--and we saw charming
   Siddons, the boast of our own Country, more admirable than ever
   in this new play of the Stranger. _She_ is not cold to her old
   friends, Heaven knows, yet there _is an iciness in the house_
   that I cannot describe. One reason may be that as everybody
   takes sides now, and many go there that are not on _your side
   and mine_, it _must_ be as it is; and I always meet Mr. Twiss
   there, a fierce man who married her sister, with a brown Brutus
   Head,--I feel afraid of all the men that wear it.

   Have you seen my Three Warnings made political use of in a new
   Pamphlet? It will soon be at Bristol, no doubt, as it seems a
   favourite with the Public.

   Mr. Whalley will soon leave these busy scenes for his Cottage,
   and we shall soon get _home to Brynbella_, I hope. My poor
   Master is too lame to _march_ in the King's service, but he is
   a good loyalist, and a better _hoper_ than his wife, though
   I really do think things are mending. People seem _aw'd_ by
   the _times_, without being _afraid_ of the _French_: and that
   is exactly the spirit I would have them show. Our sailors and
   soldiers are true to the cause, and an armed nation (tho'
   small,) is irresistible. If it should please God that the
   descent should be made now, and fail, England would be happier,
   and I fear, prouder than ever; for there is no other place left
   for France to conquer, and Lord Bridport promises to defend us
   bravely.

   Mr. and Mrs. Mostyn were invited to meet us for a short dinner
   at Miss Thrale's the day we were _all_ engaged to dear Siddons's
   Benefit. So we curtsied, and smiled, and drank each others good
   health, and ran to our _separate Boxes_ at the Theatre, and
   'scaped all explanations; and that did nicely.... Lady Derby is
   so altered you would not know her,--grown so immensely _fat_,
   and _white_, and her hair changed,--but not her sweet character
   and pleasing manners, which remain still superiorly lovely.
   Mrs. Holman is grown actually _handsome_, and seems happiest of
   human beings; so here are _Braave Alteraations_, as the Fool
   said to Mr. Whalley. Mr. Holman is a very pleasing, and very
   unaffectedly agreeable man.... Your old acquaintance Mr. Rogers
   remains single yet....

   Helen Williams's last Book is beautiful, but she is a wicked
   little Democrate, and I'm told, lives publickly with Mr. Stone,
   whose wife is still alive. Nobody tells me anything of Dr.
   Moore, but Cumberland keeps on writing plays and romances; and
   I'm in the middle of a _big_ book, Heav'n send it may not for
   y^t reason be a _dull_ one; but I will be a good hoper myself.
   Harriet Lee never sent me the Heirship of Roselva,--tell her I
   say so. When come out the next Canterbury Tales? People surprize
   me by turning their heads so to fancy compositions--I never
   could do it.

   Adieu! We have let this place for £550 per annum for 3 years;
   and if we beat the French away, and things begin to _right
   again_, as the Seaman's phrase is, we will come to Bath and
   Bristol the very first months of the next New Year....

_The Stranger_ was a spectacular drama adapted from a tragedy by
Kotzebue, dealing with the Spaniards and Indians in America, which had
a great vogue in England owing to its patriotic sentiments, which were
interpreted as bearing on current history. No less than four English
translations, one by "Monk" Lewis, appeared in the course of this
year. Sheridan's adaptation was not published till 1799.

Francis Twiss, son of an English merchant in Holland, married in 1786
Frances (Fanny), second daughter of Roger Kemble, and sister of Mrs.
Siddons, who then retired from the stage and, assisted by her husband,
kept a girls' school at Bath. She is described after her marriage
as being "big as a house"; while her husband, who took "absolute
clouds of snuff," was thin, pale, and stooping, but very dogmatic. He
compiled in 1805 the earliest concordance to Shakespeare.

The political version of Mrs. Piozzi's poem was entitled "Three
Warnings to John Bull before he dies, by an old Acquaintance of the
Public," wherein John is exhorted to show "a unanimous spirit in
assisting Government, a just and manly regard for our Established
Religion, and an immediate amendment of Manners." The authorship does
not seem to have been disclosed.

Helen Williams' latest work was "A Tour in Switzerland, or a view of
the present state of the Governments and Manners of those Cantons,
with Comparative Sketches of the present state of Paris." The tour was
taken in company with Stone, who had been sent thither on a mission by
the French Government.

In _The Mysterious Marriage, or the Heirship of Rosalva_, Harriet Lee
introduced what she claimed as an original feature, viz. a female
ghost; but this does not help the plot, which the _British Critic_
dismisses as "ordinary," while the characters, whether angelical
or diabolical, were but commonplace, and the verses were the worst
part of the performance. The _Critic_ allowed, however, that _The
Canterbury Tales for 1797_, published this year, showed much ingenuity
and fancy, and expressed a hope for more.

Cumberland's five-act play, _False Impressions_, appeared in 1797 at
Covent Garden, and had a moderate success. The _British Critic_ sums
it up as "only a sketch, but a sketch by a master, which might have
been worked up into something much better."

Mrs. Piozzi herself had evidently now embarked on _Retrospection_, her
most ambitious, and probably her least successful work, which was not
completed till 1801.

    SHREWSBURY, _Thursday, rejoycing day, 1798_.

   MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,--Your sweet cordial letter should
   have had earlier thanks, tho' warmer I possess not, but I really
   dreaded having it to say we could not come; so many vexations
   and combinations happen'd which often and often did I think
   would hinder us. We are however so _far_ on our road.... My
   Master's heel is very poorly, but we shall come _hopping_; and
   Mr. Pennington is most excessively kind in giving us so generous
   an invitation. You shall do whatever you please with us for one
   whole week, and then we will get, if possible into a nice house
   at Bath, where you shall return the visit _for a month_.

   And now, that things may look, may _really_ look as they _used_
   to do, Allen is returned to my Service.... We have neither of
   us been well settled or happy since we parted, so we are come
   together again. The Maid who succeeded Allen in my place was
   a _Lady_ of good family and agreeable accomplishments; but I
   believe neither she liked _me_ much, nor I _her_. To my much
   amazement and distraction, three days before we left home, a
   fortnight ago, the _Lady_ married our _Welsh Gardener_.... This
   moment however I have the comfort of seeing myself once more
   with my old Attendant, who, after living seven years in _my_
   house, hated every other.... She will rejoice to see _Dear
   Miss Weston_ again, but whose joy can be like mine? 'Tis seven
   years now since I was in Somersetshire, and six years since we
   embraced our dear Sophia. May God give us a happy meeting! but
   my poor Master is as lame as a tree....

    [_P.M._ "DENBIGH"]

   I will write a very long letter to dear Mrs. Pennington this
   1st of August 1798, in defiance of Miss Owen, who says she came
   hither for my company, and will lose none of it. She must lose
   some however, for I will not part with old Friends for want of
   pen and ink conversation. If it _should_ please God that we
   might meet this next year, we would have much chat,--and I will
   not despair.... I do _think_ we shall meet--and talk over the
   false and fading hopes which we see people entertain of Europe's
   peaceful re-establishment after all these commotions....

   Of _my_ heavy work I can give a better account by word than
   letter; you shall see it if we come to the West. But with regard
   to translating Barruel, my heart has wished to do it twenty
   times, only that some one has always stept in before me somehow;
   and rendered my trouble unnecessary.

   You have Robinson's book, no doubt, and the strange coincidence
   between that and the French one must necessarily convince
   the whole world of those dreadful truths which they both
   assert. People should stand upon their guard at such times of
   enormous wickedness. Have you read Mr. Godwin's life of his
   deceased Lady? There's a _morality_ worthy the new lights of
   philosophical religion: _pray_ read it.

   Helen Williams's Book is not without its danger. She infuses
   _her_ venom in such sweetness of style, and in such moderate
   quantities; I think no corruption has a better chance to spread.

   The two Emilys are delightful. Ever on the verge of
   impossibility, Sophia's charming pen leads one to read on,
   and to persuade oneself for a moment, from line to line, that
   a woman made completely ugly should be able to inspire the
   tenderest passion, and have power beside to keep a man from
   enjoyment of all those pleasures his rank, and that of their
   children, entitles him to. This _may be so_, but Lothayre's
   story of the skeleton is nearer to my _credence_. A wonder
   for _ten minutes_ one's heart revolts not from, be it ever so
   contrary to nature and experience, a wonder for _ten years_--is
   a wonder indeed. The denouement however is exquisitely managed,
   and that return to y^e subject, as Musicians call it, which
   marks all the last pages, bringing back the first to your
   remembrance, appears to me a chef d'œuvre of art and skill.
   'Tis a very beautiful book.

   I think Miss Seward never writes now. The Recluse Ladies at
   Llangollen, who pick up every rarety in literature, are much her
   admirers. Are _you_ in correspondence with her now?

   Here is my paper exhausted, and not a word of politics. But what
   does it signify? There are but two ways. Either you must creep
   to the French, as other nations do, or you must spend all your
   money to oppose them. I should not hesitate for _myself_; I
   had rather be taxed till I was forced to dig Potatoes and boil
   them, than I would see the Abbé Sieyes in _our_ King's Drawing
   Room: and I hope His Majesty would rather be killed fighting
   at the head of his true subjects against these Atheists, than
   receive them into his confidence who are unworthy to stand in
   his sight. _He_ alone, except the King of Naples, refused to be
   an Illuminé. You shall see _they_ will last longest....

  [Illustration: SOPHIA LEE

  _By Ridley after Sir Thos. Lawrence, 1809

  From the Collection of A. M. Broadley, Esq._]

The correspondence with Anna Seward had ceased in 1791 or 1792, when
the "Swan" felt it her duty to write to Mrs. Pennington, as she
tells Mrs. Powys, "with an ingenuousness on my part which I thought
necessary to her welfare, but which her spirit was too high to
brook." The breach in their friendship was not healed till 1804.

William Godwin, author of _An Inquiry concerning Political Justice_,
made the acquaintance of Mary Wollstonecraft, after she had been
deserted by Imlay, in 1796, and in March 1797 they were married,
though the ceremony was incompatible with the opinions they both
professed. She died in September the same year, shortly after the
birth of their only child Mary, the second wife of Percy Bysshe
Shelley. _The Memoirs of the Author of The Vindication of the Rights
of Woman_ were published by her husband in 1798, as were also her
own posthumous works. He afterwards proposed to Harriet Lee, but was
rejected.

Emanuel Joseph, Comte Sieyes, Canon of Treguier, having adopted the
principles of the Revolution, became Deputy for Paris, assisted
to form the National Assembly, and was one of those who voted for
the King's death. He declined a seat on the Directory in 1797, but
accepted it two years later, and along with Bonaparte plotted the
Revolution of Brumaire.

    BRYNBELLA, _Fryday 24 Sep. 1798_.

   My dear Mrs. Pennington was very kind in thinking of old
   friends, when so much present matter, and so important too, was
   filling up both mind and time. May all end for the best!

   I can no more guess where Mrs. Siddons actually is than where
   Buonaparte is. The Papers announce her at Drury Lane, acting
   for Palmer's family. A letter from a friend at Brighthelmstone
   tells how she is playing Mrs. Beverley for the amusement of the
   Prince of Wales, Lady Jersey, Lady Deerhurst, and Lady Lade;
   and how she lives there in a house I often inhabited before I
   had the pleasure of knowing _her_. What you say induces me to
   believe her at the Hot Wells. Wherever _she_ is, there is the
   best assemblage of beauty, talents, and discretion that ever
   graced a single female character. She will have much to suffer
   I'm afraid, but she will suffer with gentleness and submission,
   propriety and patience. _You_, my dear Friend, will have your
   consciousness of well-doing to support you thro' the trying
   scene: but my heart bleeds for you, and my best comfort lies in
   the hope that we shall meet soon after Christmas....

   Meanwhile 'tis nearly miraculous that 400 sail should thus have
   _slipt unperceived_, away from Admiral Nelson and his fleet of
   _observation_. The Bishop of S. Asaph says that while we are
   gazing after them in the Levant, tidings will arrive that they
   are on the coast of Ireland. He may be right for aught I know;
   things happen so very wide of all expectation. You remember the
   meeting at Tyre, where he who first saw the rising sun was to
   be saluted King. All stared towards the East, of course, except
   one man, and he, with his back to the rest, first discerned
   the rays shooting upward against a high tower, in the contrary
   and opposite direction. We will salute our Bishop wisest of
   conjecturers if Buonaparte attempts the Sister Kingdom; but I
   shall not account the Invaders wise in delaying their invasion
   so long. They would _now_ give Lord Cornwallis a complete
   triumph, and give us an opportunity of showing the world that
   France makes no impression upon King George the 3rd's dominions.

   Did you read Mr. Siddons's incomparable Ballad upon the Great
   Nation? 'Tis really excellent in its kind....

   If you are all _tolerably_ tranquil at Dowry Square, do ask what
   became of an agreeable Mr. Crampton, in whose company I supped
   last Spring in Great Marlbro' Street, who said he was going
   thither, and gave me the first idea how matters really stood. I
   concluded him a Lover of one of the young Ladies. Pray present
   me to them _both_, if with you, and assure them of my sincerest
   wishes and _prayers_, (_they_ are old-fashioned things;) and do,
   my dear Mrs. Pennington, keep up your own spirits, if possible,
   for your Mother and your Husband's sake, and a little for the
   sake of your ever faithful

    H. L. PIOZZI.

It is clear that Mrs. Pennington had informed Mrs. Piozzi of the
grave condition of Maria Siddons, and had let her see something of
the anxiety she was suffering; but regarding the principal cause of
this anxiety, and the tragedy which was being enacted before her
eyes, she evidently maintained a strict silence--even to her most
intimate friend--or some mention must have been made in the course
of the correspondence of Thomas Lawrence. That artistic but erratic
genius, after having been for some time the accepted lover of Sally
Siddons, suddenly transferred his affections to Maria, not long before
her fatal illness, and what is most remarkable, obtained the consent
of all parties concerned. But while Maria was at Clifton he began
to realise that he had made a mistake--that his heart was Sally's
after all, and the fear that Maria might exact a death-bed promise
from Sally (as indeed actually happened) that she would never marry
him, for the time being almost overturned his reason. His agitated
letters, and still more agitating interviews, did much to add to Mrs.
Pennington's anxieties during this trying period. The whole tragedy,
as revealed in the letters of the persons most nearly concerned, has
been told by the present editor in _An Artist's Love Story_.

John Palmer, a son of the doorkeeper at Drury Lane, was an actor of
some repute. His sudden death in August 1797 while acting at Liverpool
in _The Stranger_, aroused much sympathy for his family, and benefits
were arranged for them at Liverpool, the Haymarket, and Drury Lane,
at the latter of which Mrs. Siddons seems to have assisted. Sally's
letters show that Maria's condition had caused her to abandon her
professional engagements and hasten to her daughter's bedside.

The Lady Lade who is included among the Prince's entourage was
Thrale's sister, who in the crisis of his affairs, as mentioned
in the Introduction, had lent him £5000 to help him to tide over
his difficulties. Fanny Burney describes her as having been "very
handsome, but now I think getting quite ugly, at least she has the
sort of face I like not."


The explanation of the French fleet's escape from Nelson's watchful
eye is that it went to the north of Candia, while he took the more
direct course to the south of the island, and so arrived first at
Alexandria, which he left in pursuit of the French only two days
before they arrived.

Lewis Bagot, Bishop of St. Asaph, more successful as a divine than
as a prophet, was one of the two whom Cowper (in the _Tirocinium_)
excepts from his scathing condemnation of the episcopal bench.

    "For Providence, that seems concerned t' exempt
    The hallowed bench from absolute contempt,
    In spite of all the wrigglers into place
    Still keeps a seat or two for worth and grace;
    And therefore 'tis that, though the sight be rare,
    We sometimes see a Lowth or Bagot there."

    BRYNBELLA, _Oct. 4, 1798_.

   Your letter, dearest Mrs. Pennington, came three days before
   the public prints announced the fatal tydings. I can give
   no consolation certainly; that which I receive is from the
   consciousness of the charming parent's perfect resignation
   to his almighty _will_ who disposes everything for the best;
   who _snatches_ Palmer from the stage of life, by means which
   most _impress_ mankind, in order y^t general compassion may
   be excited for his offspring, which, had he dyed in any other
   manner, would have been wholly forgotten by the world, although
   not a whit less distressed than now. That Pow'r which in a short
   time after _steals_ by slow degrees the long-sinking life of
   Maria Siddons from her friends, by means best calculated to
   fatigue their feelings, and blunt that acute grief which is
   ever caused by the sufferings of a youthful patient. I am quite
   confident that if Admiral Nelson by his prodigious victory could
   purchase peace for Europe, he might in four years time die in
   his own house, and not be _half as much regretted_ as is the
   lovely object of your late attention. Every letter I receive
   from every creature is filled with her praise, and breathes an
   unfeigned sorrow for her loss. Virtue well tried through many a
   refining fire, Learning lost to the world she illuminated, and
   Courage taken from the Island protected by her arms, excites
   not as much sorrow as Maria Siddons, represented to every
   imagination as sweet, and gentle, and soothing; as _young_ in
   short, for in youth lies every charm.

   When will mankind have done hoping and expecting from a
   generation not yet mature that excellence which cannot be found
   among our own contemporaries: at least not found but with
   drawbacks so heavy the character can hardly carry them? Never.
   When Harriet Lee says no state is so enviable as that of a
   Grandmother, she means that life will not last long enough to
   disappoint expectation of happiness to the object of attention.
   But poor Mrs. Hamilton can tell another tale. She is grandmother
   to a Lady whose husband is a frolicker; rides round his own
   Billiard Table on his own poney, and performs a thousand feats
   that may delight _his own_ grandmother for aught I know, (if he
   has one,) but frightens his wife's ancestress out of her wits.

   Well! we shall meet some time I do think, and talk all matters
   over, merry and sad. In the mean time tell dear Mrs. Siddons how
   truly I love and pity her, and accept my venerating regard for
   that prodigious friendship _you_ have evinced, thro' the scenes
   I can easily imagine....

The reference to Nelson's "prodigious victory" shows that the news of
the battle of the Nile, fought on 1st August, must have penetrated
to Wales when Mrs. Piozzi wrote, though Nelson's despatch dated 3rd
August was not published in the _London Gazette_ till 3rd October.

The next letter was doubtless a reply to one giving a more detailed
account of Maria's last moments, such as Mrs. Pennington sent to
several of her correspondents, and in which she dwelt at some length
on the courage and resignation shown by Maria in the last days of her
life.

    BRYNBELLA, _22 Oct. 1798_.

   I was exceedingly glad, dearest Mrs. Pennington, when I heard
   _you_ were released. Such fatigues fall very heavy on such
   feelings, but the consciousness of what you condemned yourself
   to suffer for the sake of a friend will act as a cordial through
   your whole life,--a long one, I hope and pray,--and at its end,
   will return warm and consolatory to your own tender heart.

   Meanwhile I would not wish your indulgence of a fancy which,
   if not erroneous, is at least liable to gross error: and my
   dear _Sophia_ should be _wise_, and prefer dry wisdom to
   brilliant imagination. There is no real inference to be drawn
   from peoples' behaviour in their last moments to the character
   they would sustain in life, was their recovery permitted. No
   inference at all. The great Duke of Marlborough was known to
   show pusillanimity at the parting hour, and people are not
   yet weary of saying how Samuel Johnson was afraid of death. I
   read in the Medical Transactions one day the account of a Mr.
   Bellamy, Mercer in Covent Garden, his extraordinary illness,
   and composed resignation, which would have done honour to a
   Saint, a Scholar, or a Hero. Yet was dear Mr. Bellamy quite a
   common man, _like the next man_, and had he recovered, would
   undoubtedly have returned to the same undistinguished mediocrity
   in which he had already lived 30 years. But his complaint itself
   tended by some means to remove the cloud from that celestial
   spark which _dwells in all_; whilst those disorders of which the
   Warrior and the Man of Knowledge died contributed to keep that
   spark from being seen. Had Heaven restor'd all three to pristine
   vigour, _they_ would once more have shone as soldiers and
   instructors,--men who protect and benefit their species,--_the
   other_ would once more have stood behind a counter and sold
   silks by the yard. We will not rate the dignity even of
   _Bodies_, much less of _Souls_, by the figure they make at their
   departure: nothing _goes out_, as we call it, more brightly than
   a fire of deal-shavings.

   Now let me request you my kind, generous friend, not to suppose
   me deficient in concern, either for lost Maria, or her surviving
   admirers. The Father's sensation of loss will not abate so
   readily as that of our transcendant and now doubly-dear Mrs.
   Siddons. _She_ must return to the duties and cares of life, and
   in them, as in her own pure heart, will find a med'cine for her
   grief. But _his_ expectations from a daughter's beauty, _his_
   purposed pride in those charms which 'tis now clear that she
   posess'd, are blasted in the most incurable manner. I am sorry
   for Mr. Siddons from my very soul.

   Let us now take some leisure to rejoyce in the triumphs of
   our own Country, and the just punishment of those perfidious
   enemies who, having sown the seeds of misery in every Nation,
   will soon see all united against them, and owing their internal
   safety to their outward exertions for destroying them; like
   poyson'd Princes in a Tragedy, who just live long enough to make
   the Tyrant fall, and end the Drama by a proper catastrophe.
   The moment we have crushed these odious French, and obtained
   a general peace, in that moment will the venom they have
   disseminated begin its work, and set a Revolution going in every
   kingdom. But I do think that they will be destroyed first....

   I cried over your charming letter for an hour, notwithstanding
   I answer it so coldly, but Truth is always _cold_, from being
   _naked_ perhaps, and what I have said is the _truest_, though
   not the _prettiest_ thing you have heard upon the melancholy
   subject....

    BRYNBELLA, _Sunday 11th Nov. 1798_.

   MY DEAREST MRS. PENNINGTON,--I have got your sweet
   letter, and do now verily and indeed hope, trust, and believe
   that I shall embrace the kind writer on, or very nearly about
   the 6th day of December next. There is our plan _told clear_, as
   my Master says, and bids me _scrivere una Lettera_, (don't you
   remember?) and tell our true friend that we are coming.

   Thus 'tis. I am appointed Queen of our County Assembly, with
   Lord Kirkwall who is King Consort. We take it by Quarters
   here, and _our_ Quarter expires next Thursday sennight--the
   full moon,--'tis our third and last night, and I shall come
   home at five in the morning,--change my dress and drink my
   Coffee, and set out for the famous Cottage of Llangollen Vale,
   where dwell the fair and noble Recluses of whom you have heard
   so much, Lady Eleanor Butler, and Miss Ponsonby.... Well! we
   spend two days with them, and then away to dear Miss Owen at
   Shrewsbury.... On the 3rd therefore we start from her to you,
   from Shrewsbury to Bristol, and I suppose Wednesday or Thursday
   will see our meeting, hitherto deferred for six long years....
   We must stay a week, no more, for I really want Bath Waters....
   I hope you will come to Bath, and that sweet Siddons will meet
   us there; her husband gives me hopes of it, and that will be
   _too much_ felicity: to see her where I saw her _first_ with
   admiration, and now to see her again, with beauty unimpaired,
   talents improved; see her in _your_ company at Bath, and call
   her Friend!!! Oh, then I _should_ say the tide was changed, of
   private as of public affairs....

    I can talk of nothing else, so will not try.
          Call up the Chaises then, make no delay,
          Accessible is none but _Bristol Way_....




                              CHAPTER V

   Adoption of John Salusbury Piozzi--The _Canterbury Tales_--Bath
   Riots, 1800--Chancery suit with Miss Thrale--Bach-y-graig
   restored--_Retrospection_ published, 1801--The Blagdon
   controversy--Political epigram.


The Piozzis were at Bath on Christmas Day, when she invites Mrs.
Pennington to their lodgings for the New Year. The date of the next
letter indicates that their visit lasted about four months.

    BRYNBELLA, _Sunday, Mar. 10, 1799_.

   _First_ of friends in every sense of the word, dear and kind
   Mrs. Pennington! what a charming letter have you written me! and
   how consoling it was to receive such a compensation--although a
   small one--for the converse I have so great reason to regret.

   Our journey was excellent, and mended on us ev'ry Stage, till
   the sun lighted up our lovely Vale of Clwydd, and never seen
   before ascending the last hill, has smiled upon us ever since.

   I shall not begin work till after Easter, we have enough to
   employ us now in surveying our sweet place, and recounting the
   _Braave alteraations_, as the Fool said to Mr. Whalley....

   Are not you sorry for the poor tricked and betrayed, but ever
   courageous Neapolitans; of which those were happiest who left
   their dead bodies in the street, defending their lovely city to
   the last? Vesuvius seems to have half a mind to save further
   disgrace on that country, and will perhaps swallow it up,
   _from_ the French, or _with_ the French; who knows?

   Well! I got dear Dr. Randolph's blessing, and a kind squeeze
   by the hand of his amiable Lady, before we left Bath: and then
   I resolved to mind my own business, and let the Public think
   of its own affairs. They mingle so with _mine_ however, that I
   cannot separate them, as Siddons does. Her little girl seemed
   bent upon shewing me, that day we dined at Miss Lee's, and made
   our Partenza, how well you were versed in the knowledge of her
   family character. She is sure enough no common child, no healthy
   child, and no good-humoured child. If she remains at Belvedere
   House, she will not long be a spoiled child; for those Ladies
   _have the way_, and will make her a charming creature. _We
   parents_ meantime seldom think our nestlings _can_ be improved.
   It is therefore _very seldom_, (never I think,) that we feel
   obliged to those who bring our Babies into what the world calls
   _good order_. I should think it happiness for Cecilia to remain
   where she is, and felicity for Miss Lees to return her safe home
   again in April....

   Mrs. Mostyn sent the old Nurse I told you of, over here in
   a Post Chaise, to see Brynbella while we were away. "What a
   place!" exclaimed she, "and what fools the builders to plan a
   thing it is impossible they should live to finish. But they have
   an heir now, come from Italy I find." This is the only domestic
   news which could interest _you_; and I know Mr. Pennington is
   kind enough to care about whatever concerns us and our little
   boy....

As far back as October 1798 King Ferdinand of Naples had raised an
army to act under the Austrian General Mack, for the expulsion of
the French. Nelson's arrival in December encouraged him to make an
expedition against Rome which was, for the moment, successful; but in
a short time the French retook it, and marched on Naples, which they
occupied in January, after sixty-four hours street fighting with
the Lazzaroni, the regular troops being away. The King took refuge
on Nelson's ship and escaped to Palermo, General Mack and the army
had to surrender, and the territory became, for a short time, the
Parthenopean Republic.

The Rev. Francis Randolph, D.D., Prebendary of Bristol, and afterwards
Vicar of Banwell, was a preacher of some note, and for some time acted
as chaplain and tutor in English to the Duchess of Kent, at the little
Court of Amorbach, shortly before the birth of the Princess Victoria.

One result of the disturbances in Italy was the bringing over to
England and adoption of a son of Mr. Piozzi's brother Gianbatista,
merchant of Brescia, born in 1783, and christened John Salusbury. He
assumed the additional surname of Salusbury in 1813, and was knighted
while High Sheriff of Denbigh a few years later. On his marriage Mrs.
Piozzi gave him Brynbella and her Welsh estate, a proceeding which
probably completed the estrangement of her daughters, though they had
been well provided for by their father's will, and Miss Thrale had
declined the offer of it as a dowry for herself.

    BRYNBELLA, _5 Apr. 1799_.

   My dear Mrs. Pennington's letters are always delightful, and the
   little gleam of sunshine given by the Archduke's victory strikes
   across the middle of your last so prettily! So like the darling
   brightness that illuminates our valley just now, with gloom and
   gathering storm all round it....

   You see [Mrs. Jackson's] conjectures about the Play were right
   after all. Mrs. Radcliffe owns herself Author, as Susan Thrale
   writes me word, and Jane de Montfort will come out immediately.
   She says not a syllable of Mr. Whalley's performance. Lord bless
   me, my dear! His unfortunate niece, cydevant Fanny Sage, sent
   to me yesterday for £20; and said she was _detain'd_, (for debt
   I trow,) at our poor, petty town of St. Asaph, two miles off. A
   tall, ill-looking man on horseback brought the letter, but will
   not, I hope, revenge my refusal of his Lady's request, when
   Dumouriez shall have set all the wild Irish at full liberty. I
   was half afraid, sure enough, yet little disposed to give what
   would make 40 honest cottagers happy, to a gay lass whom I never
   liked in her _best days_, and who never had any claims on my
   _friendship_, which she now talks so loudly of.

   Well! and your little favourite John Salusbury! Susanna Thrale
   has been to Streatham on purpose, I fancy, to gratify hers and
   her family's curiosity. So she saw a little boy with my _name_,
   and my husband's _face_; and I know not which was the greatest
   recommendation of the _two_--to her....

   With regard to public affairs, our domestic traytors terrify
   me most; but if French valour should, by this late victory,
   get into discredit abroad, perhaps it would not be so much the
   _Ton_ to imitate their proceedings here at home, and we should
   remember Hannah More's prediction of the _Crane-neck-turn_. If
   they _can_ be made to _run_ they will find no place that will
   receive them I believe. All honest men, and women too, are their
   natural enemies: and a Grison girl said to a gentleman I know
   something of--"Why, dear Sir, what should we sit still for, like
   figures made of Papier-machée, till our houses are burned down,
   our parents mangled and our free will violated? Better go out
   with the troops, and sell our lives at least at as high a price
   as we can." The same gentleman wrote his sister word that the
   high roads were covered with _female corpses_, which he gallop'd
   over. These are, far as my reading goes, new notions, and new
   occurrences....

The victory was no doubt that won against Jourdan and the French army
of the Rhine, by a vastly superior force under the Archduke Charles,
at Stockach. His despatch is dated 25th March, but the full account
did not reach England till April.

Miss Thrale's information about the new play was not quite accurate.
_De Montfort, a Tragedy of Hate_, was one of a series of Plays on
the Passions by Joanna Baillie, but it was published anonymously,
and several well-known writers, including Sir Walter Scott, were
suspected of its authorship. There is a note about it in Mrs.
Piozzi's Commonplace Book as follows: "I remember a knot of Literary
Characters met at Miss Lees' House in Bath, deciding--contrary to my
own judgement--that a _learned man_ must have been the author; and
I, chiefly to put the Company in a good humour, maintained it was a
woman. Merely, said I, because both the heroines are Dames Passées,
and a man has no notion of mentioning a female after she is five and
twenty. What a goose Joanna must have been to reveal her sex and
name! Spite and malice have pursued her ever since.... She is a Zebra
devoured by African Ants--the Termites Bellicosus."

    _Wensday 29 May 1799._

    _Not one Oak in Leaf._

   On the very evening of the day I receive your last kind letter,
   dear Friend, I write to acknowledge both. The _home_ post will
   tell you nothing you like tho', except that our accounts of
   little Salusbury are all good: but _poor Uncle_ is always having
   a bad foot, and as you say, if it were not for the comfortable
   news from Italy, he would be low enough.

   This blowing, blighting weather ruins us all; my poor cottagers
   are sick, with Agues chiefly, and Dropsies; with broken hearts
   too, poor things, when their horses drop under even empty carts,
   for full ones they cannot drag. Our Hay here has been at _one
   Penny_ o'pound, our Beef at _ten Pence_. This approaches very
   near to famine, but may justly be termed scarcity; and the same
   dreadful wind which retards the growth of all vegetation, and
   restrains the hand of industry in _our own Island_, has driven
   our protecting fleet from Cadiz harbour, and let the French and
   Spaniards form a junction.

   Meanwhile charming Hannah More was right in her conversation,
   as in her book; there has been a Crane-neck-turn, as she
   expressed it, and things are certainly mending on the Continent.
   If Ireland should come to her senses, and _unite_ with us in
   abhorrence of French principles and French seducers, who could
   promise them assistance and never carry it, but go on another
   scheme, while the rebels _there_ were waiting the Fleet's
   arrival--it might be lucky that Lord Bridport _did_ let them
   escape. Poor fellow! how you do hate that man! Very comically,
   and very unreasonably indeed; for when we saw him he was, as the
   phrase is, out of his element, and looked to be sure something
   like a _fish out of water_. But I never heard anything amiss
   of him in my life, and believe he will not be found, at the
   critical moment, to carry "Two Faces under _a Hood_."

   Have you seen Dr. and Mrs. Randolph lately? What do they say
   about these _Riflers of Sweets_ that we hear so much of? Bath
   has been a scene of _odd robberies_ by gay Lotharios, "who
   scorn to ask the lordly owners' leave." It makes me only laugh,
   but I trust Hannah More would say, like Benvolio, "No, Coz, I
   rather _weep_."[13] Glorious creature! How she writes! Finding
   new reasons to enforce old Virtues, and adorning her sacred
   sentiments with brilliancy that throws _rays_ round all her
   periods. It would be doing her too much wrong to suppose _her_
   capable of regarding the nonsense talked against her by Misses
   mad to see their Mammas reading the new book with approbation,
   and looking at _them_ over their spectacles at every interesting
   passage. She must be invulnerable to wounds from such weak
   hands, sure. The old heroes in Homer,

   [13] _Romeo and Juliet_, I. i. 189.

    By Pallas guarded thro' the dreadful field,
    Saw swords beside them innocently play,
    While darts were bid to turn their points away.

   All they can say and do only contributes to shew how greatly
   such a book was wanted. Mr. Whalley's thinking he has
   contributed to Siddons's fame is pretty enough; she thinks _her_
   contribution useful to him, no doubt. The writer of Pizarro is
   censured for giving _her_ part to Mrs. Jordan....

   The intelligence concerning Mrs. Radcliffe's having written
   that play on hatred seems to have been premature. Oh, how your
   account of Mrs. Jackson's domestic situation presses Hannah
   More's book upon one's heart! The Italians have a proverb to
   say that there are only three things worth caring about, La
   Salute, l'Anima, and la Borsa; one's Soul, one's Health, and
   one's Purse. _We risque all three_ to make our fair daughters
   _accomplish'd_. Doctor Johnson said that whoever found their
   mothers admired and reverenced by that circle which forms a
   little _silk-worm world_ round every individual, would add
   their admiration and reverence, merely because they saw other
   people pay them theirs. "I cared," says he, "nothing for _my_
   parents, because nobody cared for them." Mrs. Jackson's children
   cannot make that _their_ excuse. She has been a woman--since I
   have known her--particularly _petted_ by her friends, and those
   friends have been people eminent for good taste and good sense.

   Are the Canterbury Tales come out yet? Nobody has sent them
   _me_, and I will not write again to Harriet Lee till I have read
   them. Sophia is in town with her little protégée, who, if she
   cannot conjure down

    The pale moon from the sapphire sky,
    May draw Endymion from the moon,

   perhaps; and I really wish her good luck. Tickell's _Ætherial
   Spirit_ is a new med'cine much in fashion, it is so finely
   _dephlegmated_, the Apothecaries say. I think there is as much
   pure spirit, and as little _phlegm_ about the tiny Bath Belle as
   can be imagined. Some rich man may _take_ her, I hope.

   Have you felt an interest in these African discoveries? They
   are things of prodigious _curiosity_, rate them at the lowest.
   I think very seriously about them for my own part, but none of
   my correspondents seem caring much concerning that subject,
   unless 'tis Miss Thrale, from whom I get about 4 or 5 letters
   in a year,--and she has been ill this Spring. So has everybody.
   I watch the weathercock all day, but the cold blight continues.
   The leaves which _try_ to come out look like fry'd Parsley round
   a dish of Soles....

In April 1797, when it was expected that the Spanish and French fleets
would effect a junction, Lord St. Vincent was ordered to blockade the
former at Cadiz. He held his post under many difficulties, caused
by the mutinous spirit which had spread from the Nore and Spithead,
through 1798, but broke down under the strain, and in June 1799
resigned his command to Baron, afterwards Viscount Keith, and husband
of Hester Thrale. Meanwhile the French fleet was blockaded in Brest by
Lord Bridport, now Commander-in-Chief of the Channel Squadron, but in
April the French slipped out and sailed for the Mediterranean, while
Bridport went to look for them off the coast of Ireland.

Mr. Whalley's play was a five-act tragedy called _The Castle of
Montval_, performed "with universal applause" at Drury Lane. The
_British Critic_ reviewer, though he had not seen the performance,
thought it interesting enough to deserve a permanent place on the
stage. But the measure of success it obtained was due to the acting
of Mrs. Siddons as the Countess, which the author acknowledged by
dedicating the second edition to her.

Elizabeth Anne Tickell, the pupil whom Sophia Lee evidently
expected to make a sensation in London society, was the daughter of
Richard Tickell the dramatist and Mary Linley, the sister of Mrs.
Sheridan, who had died in 1787. With regard to her beauty there
was little difference of opinion, but Sally Siddons, who knew her
well, describes her as an "every-day character," without talent or
originality, and "never heard anything so tiresome" as her singing.
She was never "taken," but died unmarried in 1860.

The "Ethereal Anodyne Spirit" was a quack medicine invented by William
Tickell, a surgeon, who also lived at Bath, and may have been a
relation of Richard.

    BRYNBELLA, _Wensday 17 Jul. 1799_.

   Your letter, dearest Mrs. Pennington, is like yourself, full of
   true friendship, honest loyalty and sound criticism. Freedom
   from _prejudices_, as principals are called now o' days, we
   must not come to you for.... I do believe you were right in
   that _unjustifiable_ conjecture of yours concerning the death
   of those Deputies at Rastadt.... But _Retrospect_ of past ages
   can shew no perfidy beyond _that_, if so it should prove upon
   investigation. The Archduke now seems to act with his hands
   untied, and co-operates with Suwarrow in everything, yet I
   suspect something behind the curtain still. The Emperor is
   willing enough to see Italy freed, but does not want Louis
   Dixhuit on his throne again, I suppose; whereas the Russians
   and English are trying to accomplish y^t purpose with all
   their might, and no lasting peace can be obtained but by his
   restoration. We shall see how 'twill end.

   You are droll indeed in your account of the New Canterbury
   Tales, I have not read them yet.... When Romances first were
   written they went by the name of Incredibilities; but people
   soon found out that Fiction looks best the more she endeavour to
   resemble Truth. It grows however a mighty tedious thing, after a
   certain age, to keep filling one's head with flitting dreams so,
   turning one's mind into a Magic Lanthorn for Shadows and Ombres
   Chinoises to pass over. If incredibilities are desirable, _we_
   can hear enough of Mr. and Mrs. Mostyn. As that Lady told you at
   some place that Mrs. _Moyston_, as she called her, made all the
   talk,--_and so she does, God knows_.

   Well, any nonsense but _dishonourable_ nonsense, _disgraceful_
   folly such as Honoria Gubbins has exhibited. You know I always
   said she looked like a Bacchante Girl, but she admired nothing
   except _Siddons_ I remember. In good time. Dear, charming
   Siddons! How triumphantly must she have looked in the first and
   last scene of Pizarro! And what a happy contrast Sheridan has
   made between her artificial character, and Cora's natural one!
   Yet I cannot seriously approve of a _Heroic_ Tragedy in _prose_.
   _Domestic_ Tragedy, George Barnwell, or the Gamester, or the
   Stranger, would lose the interest they now gain in our hearts,
   if they spoke any but colloquial and domestic language. Poetry
   is made on purpose to adorn the lofty sentiments of Rolla, and
   Cora's song is the sweetest thing in the whole play,--only
   because 'tis _verse_.

   Poor Cora! She is not of _your_ mind, that love is of no
   consequence compared with a hundred other things; and that she
   should have completely no _other_ idea present to _her_ mind,
   makes her so natural, so interesting, and so adorable. What is
   stranger than love itself, and love is strange enough too,--is
   that one should never have done admiring that _selfish_ passion
   when represented in works of fancy. I remember an old Alderman
   of London, who, when there was loud talk of invasion 20 years
   ago or more, said among a dozen people once at my house:
   "Well! I care not, for my part, if the _Island_ was _devoured_
   to-morrow, so as my wife and child were safe, and I had enough
   to keep them with." This _patriotic_ sentiment met with no
   approbation at all from an old Alderman in real life; yet this
   is the sentiment that Cora expresses all through five acts, and
   not only her auditors in the Pit and Boxes, but Rolla himself
   likes her the better for it. So you see Fiction may resemble
   Truth in some things, while if Truth resembles Fiction we hiss
   her out of doors.

   Poor dear old Mr. Jones is very bad, and like to die, or has
   been like to die, and I am very sorry indeed; for though there's
   but little poetry or criticism about old Mr. Jones, he is a good
   friend and a valuable member of society, and wishes well to my
   Master and to me....

   Mrs. Siddons goes to Edinburgh, I hear, but by what you say of
   Sally, I trust she cannot be of the party. Miss Thrale is in
   Scotland, and will have the pleasure of seeing her, as I saw her
   at Bath. No letter have I ever received from Marlbro' Street but
   one, and _that_ was from the Master of the Mansion....

   The little boy comes next week, next month I mean, with Davies.

Austria, having signed the Treaty of Campo Formio, and received
unexpectedly favourable terms from Napoleon, agreed to hold a
conference at Rastadt, and (by secret articles) to induce the German
States to cede the left bank of the Rhine to France. While the
conference was proceeding the Directory had occupied Switzerland,
though Massena, Jourdan, and Scherer had all suffered defeats. The
French envoys were ordered to leave the town, and were murdered on the
road by Austrian hussars. The Emperor expressed deep abhorrence of a
crime which aroused general indignation, and helped the Directory to
fill up their depleted armies.

Alexander Vasilievitch Suvoroff or Suwarrow, a Russian general, had
been sent to help the Austrians. He took command of the army in Italy,
where he beat Moreau, Macdonald, and Joubert, but owing to jealousy he
was transferred to Switzerland, and believing himself betrayed by the
Austrians, he retired to Russia, and died in disgrace.

    BRYNBELLA, _21 Aug. 1799_.

   MY DEAR FRIEND,--Your letter is like yourself, wise and
   kind, and I am willing to join in your wish for early meeting
   this year, but not for an early winter. Oh! little do you _Towns
   folk_ know how prejudicial is this weather to Country Farmers,
   Labourers, etc. The Shoemaker and his apprentice at Bristol make
   so many more boots and clogs, and some Bath Chairmen get a few
   shillings extra: but _my_ honest neighbours have but just barely
   _bread_, in the _strictest_ sense; mere bread, and that made
   of Barley too, for their families, during such winters as this
   cruel summer will infallibly produce. Mr. Piozzi and I shall
   scarce be suffered to get thro' the Village, they will so cling
   and cry round us, and beg we will stay another month, another
   week, etc.

   When the Gardener came yesterday, scratching his head, and
   saying there would be no wall-fruit this year, I could hardly
   answer him civilly; but I _did_ say, "For God's sake, think
   about the hay and corn, and hang the fine people and their
   wall-fruit." The produce of whole meadows may be seen swimming
   down our over-flooded River to the sea this moment, and carrying
   with it the subsistence of hundreds of innocents.

   May this fine Expedition make amends for all! It _will_, if
   peace and abatement of necessary exertion be its consequences.
   English pride will be bravely swelled, that's certain, if we
   can thus give law and order and happiness to Europe. Are such
   blessings within hope? People _say_ they are almost within
   _grasp_. Meanwhile let us try to live that we may see these good
   days. Mrs. Bagot, the Bishop's wife's death has affected my
   spirits strangely. I got a pain in my stomach on the _instant_
   Allen told me the news, and it has never wholly left me since.
   She din'd here in high spirits on our Wedding day, three weeks
   ago, and expired on Saturday morning. The Ton men and Ton women
   bear these things without concern, and prove that fashion can
   do more than philosophy towards hardening one's heart, but my
   nervous fingers shake while I write about it....

   To divert thought I took up the Canterbury Tales which Mr.
   Gillon had just brought me. Harriet's management of the
   _pretty Mamma_ making the man miserable so unconsciously is
   very good, and in _this age_, scarcely violates probability.
   The other story is too romantic, and the ghost part too
   in-artificial, one sees it could be only Carey. For love, it
   abounds but little with _that_, I think. Julia keeps her passion
   very quiet; one is most interested about Agnes and Carey.

   Real life meanwhile affords stranger occurrences than any novel
   can show. Mr. Conant, the London Magistrate, told Mr. Gillon,
   who told us, the following tale not a fortnight ago. Some little
   London shopkeepers sent out their girl of eleven years old, with
   a baby 8 _months_ old in her arms, upon some errand, I forget
   what, but no further off than the short street's end. A young
   woman, genteely dress'd, stop't the girl, and beg'd her to cross
   over and ask the price of a gay coloured handkerchief hanging
   at a window, promising that she would hold the infant till his
   sister returned. When she came back however, both little boy and
   young woman were vanish'd; and the girl ran back, half wild,
   to her parents, and told the story. They flew from the Counter
   in search of the thief, and desperate with rage and terror,
   exhibited to the neighbours a certainty that the shop might be
   easily plundered while their distress employed every thought.
   Accordingly the _man_ returning home at night, found his poor
   dwelling robbed of many valuable articles, while the girl, to
   whom all this confusion was owing, had hid herself under the bed
   for fear of a beating, and the father was persuaded _she_ too
   was lost. The mother, parting from her husband, who had wandered
   over six parishes, swore she would never see home again without
   her baby, and remained out the whole day and the whole night in
   search. Morning found her, much exhausted, at a chandler's shop
   door in Edgeware Road, and when it opened she went in to buy a
   bit of cheese. A little wench went in with her, and the mistress
   of the house, seeing her anguish, kindly asked the cause. "I've
   lost my child," said she, "my dear little boy." "My mammy has
   found one," says the wench, "and don't know what to do with it."
   They ran together to a Green-stall, and found Baby safe in that
   woman's possession, who said a young _gentlewoman_ had pretended
   to buy Sellery of her, and while she went backwards to look for
   some, threw down the infant, and was seen no more. Mr. Conant
   was applied to, and found a cause for all. The well-dress'd lady
   was a Chambermaid, who had a child for whose maintenance she was
   paid, altho' it died during the first week; and the father had
   resolved, that hapless day, to see his son. Molly had nothing
   for it but to borrow one, and when the purpose was served,
   to rid her hands on't, and no Novel can bring to a reader's
   fancy more perfect distress than these poor parents suffered.
   Their girl, however, who lay concealed till mother and brother
   returned, told her tale so well that a subscription was raised,
   and all went better than before in the little shop in Silver
   Street, Carnaby Market.

   So instead of our best com^s to Dr. and Mrs. Randolph, instead
   of affec^te regards to Mr. Pennington, or Bon Mots of our
   little John Salusbury, here's a page from y^e Romance of Real
   Life, unadorned by your true friend H. L. Piozzi, and for this
   you will pay 8_d._

  [Illustration: MRS. PIOZZI (ABOUT 1800)

  _By M. Bovi after P. Violet, 1800. From the Collection of A. M.
  Broadley, Esq._]

    BRYNBELLA, _17 Oct. 1799_.

   Do you know, dear Mrs. Pennington, that Mrs. Randolph and I are
   in correspondence? We are indeed, and 'tis all about Bath, and
   Laura Place, and No. 1, and Christmas Holidays, and our dear
   Friend from Dowry Square: and not a word of the dismal, the more
   than dismal gloom, which these last accounts from abroad have
   thickened round us once again on approach of foggy November....

   _We_ are at this instant trembling from apprehension that the
   French will fall upon Milan, and make an example of those that
   called in their enemies. I'm glad my little boy is far away
   from them all. I think you will find him improved, unless he
   falls off this half-year, and begins to change his nice little
   teeth, etc.... All the Jacobins will _be up_ now, and happy I
   suppose; but let them remember we have taken Surinam in one
   Continent, and Seringapatam in another. The money is ours, and
   the Commodities (which their friends the French _must_ buy,) are
   all ours; and the very warehouses in every port are too little
   to hold our riches. Few of them are thinkers deep enough to know
   that wealth, at such a moment as this, is a mere invitation to
   plunder; and I wish not to remind _them_ of so fatal a truth,
   tho' I scruple not to tell it to _you_. While it can purchase
   Russians to find _them_ in employment, the money is useful
   however, and well bestow'd: and I would rather hire foreign
   troops with it than send out our own, who will be necessary when
   the war _draws nearer_. And I feel sorry the Ministers did not
   make more bustle in London about the capture of Surinam, for it
   is undoubtedly fair to rejoyce when _we_ reap solid advantages
   from a war whence no other Country, not even that of the
   Victors, gains any advantages _at all_. Said I well and wisely?

   Mrs. Siddons's situation does not please me, for _her_ sake;
   for my own 'tis well enough, for we are the more likely to meet
   at Bath. Being at Doncaster so late in the year is a dull thing
   indeed. I wish she had some method of getting paid at Drury
   Lane, because _seceders_, if they are not called back to their
   seats, only look silly: and when Mr. Garrick left London for
   his health one year, when in the fulness of public favour, I
   remember he was disgusted at his return, to find the receipts of
   the theatre had suffered nothing at all, during an absence he
   thought would have broken all our hearts....

The bad news from abroad doubtless related to the Dutch expedition,
in which the English troops had suffered a good deal. On 10th October
the Duke of York reported the conclusion of an armistice with the
French, on the conditions of withdrawing the English and Russian
troops, surrendering the fortress of Helder, and restoring the French
prisoners.

Seringapatam had been taken in the spring by General Harris, under
whom Colonel Arthur Wellesley was serving, and Tippoo Sahib was slain.
The despatch giving the details, dated 7th May, appeared in the
_Gazette_ of 14th September.

Sheridan's habitual unpunctuality in the matter of payments had at
last driven Mrs. Siddons to revolt. She writes on 18th September:
"I have just received a letter, in the usual easy style, from Mr.
Sheridan, who, I fancy, thinks he has only to issue his Sublime
Commands, and that they will of course be obeyed. _This_ time I
believe, however, he will find himself mistaken, for Sid [her
husband,] does _at last_ seem resolutely determined not to let me play
till he has sufficient satisfaction, at least for the money which is
my due; and unless something is immediately done to that end, I shall
go to Doncaster to play at the Races--they begin the 24th of this
month." This decisive step soon brought Sheridan to reason; there was
only one Siddons, and before long she was back again, practically on
her own terms.

    [_P.M._ BATH.] _Saturday Night. [Dec. 1799.]_

   I shall expect and prepare for my dear Mrs. Pennington, to begin
   what her company will make it, a happy commencement of 1800....
   I shall feel glad _this_ year to see December close upon me,
   which for some time has carried with it a sensation more awful
   than pleasing. When the sand was high in the hour-glass, I well
   remember longing for a New Year as if it had been a new gown;
   and there was a _gloss_ on every 1st January _then_, that seem'd
   as if all misfortune would _slip over_ and not stain it....

   We leave our little boy with Davies because he himself (Mr.
   Davies,) said that staying at Streatham in holyday time, when he
   could attend and tutor him with personal and _undivided_ care,
   would bring him forward, and I call that _true regard_: but
   everybody must be allowed to love their own babies their own
   way....

   With regard to the people in power, I firmly believe they do
   their best, neither interest nor ambition can be gratified by
   failure; and tho' a dapper Postilion may injure those in the
   chaise by driving to an _inch_, for a wager or for a frolic,
   I'll trust a Coachman, because he runs equal risque with
   myself....

   I wish this embargo on Levantine goods was over tho', for people
   bring none from Turkey now: true Mocha coffee sells for 12_s._
   the pound, it was at 3_s._ three years ago....

The expected meeting was for a time deferred on account of Mrs.
Pennington's ill-health. Save for one or two notes of no particular
interest, the correspondence ceases till the Piozzis return to Wales.

    BRYNBELLA, _Sunday 9 Mar. 1800_.

   I hasten to fulfil my promise to dear Mrs. Pennington. We came
   home but last night, and I write to say that we are come home
   well, and find our Household well too, and truly glad of our
   safe and early return.

   The time past at Shrewsbury was full of amusement; Miss Owen
   feasted and fondled us, and called all the people round to feast
   us and fondle us, and detain us till Thursday, which had been
   long bespoke, and Fryday beside, by the charming Cottagers in
   Llangollen Vale. _They_ asked me much after that Mrs. Pennington
   who writes such beautiful letters, and insisted on my describing
   your person to them, and said they knew Miss Seward esteemed
   you highly, though all intimacy between you was at an end. The
   unaccountable knowledge those Recluses have of all living books
   and people and things is like magic; one can mention no one of
   whom the private history is unknown to them....

   Let me therefore talk of Mr. Pennington, and ask how he does.
   You may be certain how I do, and what I do. Looking out my
   books, setting my places to rights, ladling out the soup to
   30 families round, feeding the dogs with what _they leave_,
   mixed up with Potatoe peelings and so forth, is mine and my
   Master's and Abbiss's employment; whilst Allen blows her nose
   in consequence of cold catch'd in a damp bed at Worcester--and
   thanks God the evil ends there.

   The little three-legged cur jumps into my lap, licks my face,
   and runs to his Master to tell the good news, how the family
   is come home to the Hall, and everybody and everything looks
   pleased to see us.... I have had a civil letter from Susan
   Thrale, who bids me direct to Cumberland Street, and makes
   commonplace lamentations concerning the _times_, but _nothing
   further_, nothing I mean tending towards confidence or
   communication.

   We broke our chaise between Llangollen and Ruthyn,--no wonder!
   Such roads! 'Tis really frightful: but neither Mr. Piozzi nor I
   were hurt.

   Here are no Members of Parliament, no Franks of course, so I
   shall write very seldom; for the joke is a good one two or three
   times o' year, but no oftener, when 14_d._ is to pay for 44
   lines about nothing: and friendship is a fine thing, but so is
   fourteen Pence....

   There is a Lady at Shrewsbury, born the last day of 1699, and
   she is very well, and plays upon the Piano e forte, as you
   describe Mr. Whalley's mother to do; but poor Mrs. Montague's
   sun is setting apace I hear. She has left her fine house, and
   retired into a smaller, giving up the grandeur to her Nephew,
   and Lady Oakley said, the estate too, but I hope she has had
   _more wit than that_. Lady Oakley is very agreeable.... I saw
   her in a robe embroider'd (as she said,) with the wings of an
   Indian Fly; there is no describing its beauty or lustre....

Mrs. Montagu does not appear to have left Montagu House permanently,
for she died there the following August. Lady Oakley was the wife of
Charles Oakley, Governor of Madras, who was created a Baronet in 1790.

Needless to say Mrs. Piozzi's economical fit in the matter of letters
did not last long, the correspondence continues much as usual; but
as a matter of fact the letters from Wales to Bristol only cost the
recipient 8_d._, not 1_s._ 2_d._

There is no date or postmark to the next letter, but Mrs. Pennington
assigns it to April 1800.

   What in the world, dear Mrs Pennington, has been doing at Bath?
   I wrote to Dr. Randolph about a book of his which I wanted, and
   his letter in return has affected me very deeply. Yours gave a
   hint of something like a riot, but nobody seems sensible that we
   live out of the world here, and know nothing of what passes in
   it. The newspaper we take, though it swelled and raved so about
   Mr. King's fire, said nothing of _this_, or so little we quite
   disregarded it: and yet Dr. Randolph says that _our_ quarter
   of the Town was saved by miracle from being even now a heap of
   cinders.

   Thank God we were come home. The slight shock of earthquake
   that usher'd in our Fast Day _here_, and frighted many of our
   neighbours, not _us_, is a light matter compared with mobs and
   insurrections. Let us, as King David said of old, fall into
   the hands of God, and not into the hands of men. The noise
   accompanying even this trifle of a concussion was such as to
   alarm Mrs. Griffiths exceedingly. She said it was like a hundred
   carts of lime stone overturned close by her bed. Mr. Piozzi and
   I never waked to hear or feel it.

   Miss Thrale had not then (as now,) kept our eyes wholly
   sleepless by a new and violent attack on our feelings and
   property: sending, without notice or introduction, to our
   Oxfordshire Tenant, a requisition to pay _her_ the rent I have
   hitherto received for 19 years since my first husband's death,
   in consequence of the Marriage Settlement signed by him in 1763,
   confirmed again by Will in 1781, and claim'd now, A.D.
   1800, with threats (to our afflicted friend Mr. Gillon,) of
   making me refund all I have _unjustly taken from my daughters_.
   It will be soon refunded. No ass, as Moses says, of theirs did
   I ever take, nor no present at their hands for bribe. How cruel
   'tis to sit down and accuse me so! Miss Thrale says Streatham
   was given me to _make up_ £400 o' year, but that Crowmarsh is
   not liable. Now it will turn out upon examination that Crowmarsh
   is _first_ liable, and that if my due from that estate is not
   paid me, I have a right to make _forcible_ entry, and _take_
   it, _without impeachment of waste_. This, being provided in the
   Marriage Settlement, I understand _must_ be secure, so do not
   you nor dear Mr. Pennington be uneasy; we shall _lose_ nothing
   but appetite and sleep. And I was _so_ well after the Bath
   waters! and proposed being _so_ diligent at the Book: and now
   nothing but law, and letters, and Chancery suits, and false
   accusations and every evil plague.

   No news from abroad yet that we can depend upon. Will it be good
   when it arrives? The times, as Dr. Randolph says, are signally
   aweful, and I verily think that Daemons are roaming about among
   us, with enlarged permission both to tempt and terrify. God
   preserve us! even from our own bad passions, He only can. _Mine_
   are sometimes ready to run away with me now, for Welsh blood
   heats over a fire of sharp thorns thus, till it boyls again. Oh
   dear! how dreadful are these days! A Lady in this neighbourhood
   made a grand entertainment on the Fast appointed by Government,
   by way of spiting that Government. They must leave off
   appointing such solemnities: the time is over when they did any
   good....

   I wish Miss Case would tell me what they have suffer'd at Bath,
   and what they have escaped, for I cannot now make it clearly
   out. If harm comes to Hannah More we are all undone, _her_
   health is a public concern....

   This earthquake was not so slight a thing as I thought it; some
   houses at Conway and Caernarvon were much injured, and it spread
   a general alarm from the _unfrequency_ of the thing. Yet to
   people who have lived much in Italy, an earthquake that did not
   _wake_ one seems laughable enough....

   Much may, and probably much _will_ happen this summer, to give
   us a little further insight into what's coming in earnest. The
   best is our seasonable and salutary change of weather; had we
   corn _to sow_, the ground will be in fine order for putting
   it in. I am glad Buonaparte sends us no corn, I was afraid of
   contagion in the sacks; and the thought of an expedition to
   Egypt and Syria frights me, lest some pestilential disease
   should be brought home from places so constantly infected....

    BRYNBELLA, _1st May 1800_.

   My dear Mrs. Pennington is _too_ apt to be right. You do not, I
   perceive, think us safe from this new attack upon our property,
   and we are _not_ safe....

   _Thus it stands._ If we litigate, such is the dubious position
   of Mr. Thrale's words in my old Marriage Settlement, that years
   will roll away, and Empires be overthrown, before the affair can
   be decided, and in the meantime Crowmarsh rents will be retained
   till the decision. A circumstance very unpleasing to _us_ for
   every reason; the strongest of all, because to Miss Thrale
   the estate _must_ go at my death, so that unless my life is
   prolonged beyond the usual limits of humanity, Mr. Piozzi _can_
   hope for nothing from a law dispute, except Attorney's Bills
   to pay with a diminished income. Of all _this_ our fair enemy
   cannot be ignorant, and does not profess to desire anything
   but profit from the contest; so we may be _sure_ she will make
   great terms for herself. The parley of eloquence on Mr. Gillon's
   side, supported by Butler's Opinion concerning our Case, is held
   to-day I think. The best thing is that Mr. Thrale confirmed his
   Marriage Settlement by his Will, adding the bequests in that
   Will to what formerly was provided in the other Instrument; but
   nothing has been _worded_ so as to preclude discussion among
   eager disputants, diligent to catch and cavil, and endowed with
   Marianne's powers and delight in wrangling. We are in a Wasps'
   nest, and must make haste out, and be stung as little as we can.
   Resistance is vain, and will be impolitic, in my mind....

   That people are quiet, and the fires accidental, I would
   willingly perswade myself, but cannot. That your friend Paul,
   Emperor of all the Russias, is a true friend and firm ally, may
   now reasonably enough be doubted. He wants an excuse for falling
   upon Turkey, and takes that of quarrelling with Great Britain.
   It is exceedingly offensive to be forced into submission to his
   caprices; but I suppose George the III at close of life will not
   find new enemies a good thing any more than poor H. L. P. does,
   or will be able, any better than H. L. P., to find _supplies_
   for a new contest which, like her's, _can_ terminate in no
   advantage, and will be attended with _certain_ loss abroad,
   increase of poverty, and of course ill-humour, at home. You may
   see how spiteful the people are, even by their opposition to his
   private conveniency in making a new road to Windsor from London.
   No want of spite in this world, I'll warrant, either to princes
   or to people; my Book will have proved that new and wise remark
   by this time next year. If we go to London with it, I shall
   vote for an apartment in the Adelphi Hotel; such a place will
   do well enough for November, and our income _must_ be reduced,
   and I will not suffer _my_ business or pleasures to retard my
   husband's long projected happiness of not having a debt in the
   world. The very journey is expense enough. We shall be near Mr.
   Gillon there, and I shall not have an acquaintance in London
   but Mrs. Siddons and Mrs. Holman, perhaps not the first even
   of those, as the seasons seem to change so; everybody makes it
   Summer till after Christmas, and Winter to July.

   There is great talk of a new book written by Hannah More, The
   Progress of Pilgrim Good-intent through the Land of Jacobinism;
   have you read it? and is it charming?...

   The Rheumatism has caught my shoulder before Gout seized my
   Master's toe this year. I was to have gone in the Cold Bath this
   morning, but the pain prevents me....

After the battle of the Nile, England, Russia, and Turkey had entered
into an alliance against France. But the Emperor Paul, annoyed at
his treatment by Austria, and accusing the allies of treachery, came
to terms with Bonaparte, with whom he concerted a plan for a joint
invasion of India.

    _Sat. 16 May_, BRYNBELLA.

   My last letter was a wretch: how could you, dearest Friend,
   commend it so? If I remember anything about it, it was low,
   cold, and flat. The usage I had received sunk my nerves down,
   they were not irritated. Use of the cold bath, meant to
   strengthen them, threw me all out in _nettle-stings_. And _now_,
   for crowning of all, my poor Master's torment, villainous Gout,
   has, as you once observed of Mr. Pennington's, watched the
   due time, and thrown in _his_ assistance to the fair Ladies'
   cause. Their cause is cold though, and notwithstanding our
   defenders cannot bring matters to a decision yet, they give
   us hopes that little will be lost, except the arrears, worth,
   Mr. Gillon says, £1000. He has behaved divinely to be sure,
   and deserves all your generous praises of him. Nobody applauds
   Miss Thrale's proceedings I think. Mrs. Holman and you inveigh
   _loudest_ against her, and it _was_ a cruel thing to fly so
   upon that estate, which her Father would never have left _her
   at all_, had I not so requested him, because I thought it was
   unfair that, from accumulation of fortune after they lost _him_,
   the youngest daughter would be richer than the eldest: but I
   meant her to have Crowmarsh after my death, and so he meant it
   too. Well! one has always heard some nonsense how two negatives
   make an affirmative, so I suppose in _Law_, when a man gives a
   thing twice over, it turns out _no gift at all_. Mr. Thrale
   tried _three_ times to secure his Oxfordshire property for me,
   and if I miss it at last, no blame can attach to _him_. The
   flaw was in the _Settlement_ you see, and the Will confirms
   the _Settlement_, so God knows how 'twill end at last. The
   Mr. Butler employed on our side has a high character in his
   profession as _Chamber Council_, etc. Being a Roman Catholic he
   cannot reach the honours of his calling, but rests contented
   with the profits....

   Here's much to do with _Hate_ and more with _Love_,[14] as
   Juliet says in Shakespear. Apropos to Hatred, I am delighted
   that we know the author of De Montfort: she must be a fine
   creature, and will excite no small share of the hatred she
   describes. I _felt_ it was a woman's writing, no man makes
   female characters _respectable_--no man of the present day I
   mean, they only make them _lovely_. We must except _Dr. Moore_:
   his Mrs. Barnett and his Laura Sedlitz are all that women ought
   to _wish_ to be.

   [14] "Here's much to do with hate, but more with love."--_Romeo and
Juliet_, I. i. 181.

   Don't you admire at my sitting here to criticize Plays and
   Novels, like Miss Seward, while my Husband is lame, my fortune
   is crippled, and my favourite dog has but _three legs_?

   Farewell, dear Friend, ... 'tis five o'clock in the morning, I
   was up at _four_, shall call the men and maids at six, send away
   this scrawl at seven, jump into the bath at 8, breakfast at 9,
   work at the book till 1, walk till 3, have dined by 4, fret over
   Gillon's dispatches and Piozzi's misery all the rest of the day:
   a pretty biographical sketch of your literally poor H. L. P.

Charles Butler, Mrs. Piozzi's counsel, was a brother of the Rev. Alban
Butler, the hagiologist. As Roman Catholics were not permitted to
be called to the Bar when he began his professional career, he took
up conveyancing business, and helped to edit _Coke upon Littleton_.
Taking advantage of the Enabling Act, he became a Barrister in 1791,
and took silk in 1832.

    _4 Jun. 1800._

   ... The Book goes on, _lamely_ perhaps, now my better half has
   the _Gout_, but it does go. My Master mends too, and everything
   mends. Miss Thrale _withdraws_ (somewhat disgracefully,) the
   claim she could not _substantiate_: a tedious suit against this
   never-dying Mother would have eaten up all the profits of her
   hoped-for estate, and nobody would have benefited _but_ the
   Lawyers. _Her_ friends were therefore persuaded by _our_ friends
   to _give in_, as the Boxers say, and so the battle ends; and on
   the last of May she writes to the Oxfordshire Tenant to pay £400
   to us as usual,--that very £400 which, on the first of March,
   she wrote the same man word--_was incontestably her own_....

   Miss Bayley, a Lady who lives with Mrs. John Hunter, and is
   related to her, has at length modestly owned herself Author of a
   Drama that every one would have been most happy to have written:
   but Mr. Chappelow (no bad mirror of the fashionable world,) says
   people think it too _solemn,--they are not amused_. _I_ say they
   are like old Polonius: see Hamlet's character of _him_ as a
   Critic.[15]

   [15] "He's for a jig, or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps."--_Hamlet_,
II. ii.

   Kemble is in high favour with the Beau Monde, I am told, and
   his Sister declines; but she will pick up some more guineas,
   and then no matter. I reckon her as having only _one_ daughter
   to portion out; Sally will never marry, I suppose, if _half_
   of what I have _heard_ of her ill health be true. Mr. Siddons
   will be a long-lived man, as sick as he is always said to be;
   nothing runs on like a life subject to one chronic and regular
   complaint, Gout, or Rheumatism. Siddons will repeat over to two
   or three generations the lamenting strains I heard him recite in
   1788, and his Daughter will think herself young when everybody
   else sees her grown old, because she has a father to nurse.
   There was a Mrs. Shelley in Sussex, her sneering neighbours
   called her Epistle and Gospel, who had two maiden daughters. One
   broke her leg, and died at about 40 years old, but the other
   departed not till 5 years ago. The Doctors informed her _Mama_
   there was no hope, and she piously resigned to the loss. "But
   tell me at least," cried she, "what ails my poor child, and
   of what _can_ she possibly be dying?" "Of age, dear Madam,"
   answered her Physician. "Miss Shelley was never strong, and 76
   years have nearly worne her out." "Oh dear! Is she really? Why
   I am but 94 myself, and I am not dying of age!" She spoke true,
   and outlived her little girl, as she called her, six years.

   Adieu, dear Mrs. Pennington, and tell my _old Friend_ this
   story....

The asthmatic complaint from which Sally Siddons had suffered, almost
from childhood, proved fatal in 1803, and she died, as Mrs. Piozzi
anticipated, unmarried. Though her heart was given to Lawrence, the
promise made to her dying sister, and her own strong common sense and
knowledge of his character, prevented her from giving her hand. The
prognostication respecting her father proved very wide of the mark, as
he died at Bath only two years later.

    _13 June 1800_, BRYNBELLA.

   My dear Mrs. Pennington is a true friend, and has acute
   feelings of friendship and of Injury. All is over between me
   and my _beautiful_ and _deserving_ Daughters--_those_ were Mr.
   Ray's epithets.... With regard to _our cause_, mark me! Mr.
   Gillon, dear creature as he is, did not stop its proceedings by
   _perswasion_; it was carried by law, though not by litigation.
   Mr. Cator and Mr. Richards on _Miss Thrale's_ part, and Mr.
   Gillon and Mr. Butler on _our_ parts, talked the matter
   over; and they really _withdrew_ the claim they could not
   _substantiate_, or make creditable to carry into a Court of
   Judicature.

   Gillon tells a laughable story of Miss Thrale's standing hard
   for £10 which he advanced her, of his own money, to stop
   further absurdity. And now let's hear no more on't, and do not,
   Sweet Soul! make me in love with _resentment_; for except in a
   friend's cause like your own, 'tis an unpleasing quality, and
   productive of nothing but evil. We must quote our own Book of
   Knowledge after all, and in the Article "Forgiveness," as I
   _think_, you read these words. "A _wise_ man will make haste to
   forgive, because anger is a painful sensation, and he wishes to
   be rid on't. A _great_ man will pardon easily, because he finds
   few things worthy his resentment; and a _good_ man will never
   resent at all, knowing how much he has himself to be forgiven."
   I wrote to the girls by yesterday's post, exactly as if no such
   transactions had passed among us: so long live British Synonymy!

   Well! Robinson refuses my labour'd Work. He has been at Bath and
   Bristol, and cannot recover his health sufficiently to _enter
   upon new engagements_: he is going to leave off business, and
   cannot prevail upon himself to undertake so large a book, he
   says. Did _you_ see or hear of him? Or did he pass any time at
   Belvidere House? And does he undertake any _smaller_ works, I
   wonder? _Lesser_ is a word I will not use, but it would gratify
   me to know. I sent him a letter to put him in better spirits, if
   possible, and better humour: for tho' I despair not of selling
   my stuff, I shall hate hawking it about London, which will at
   last be the case....

   The incomparable Coterie you mention as loving and remembering
   us with kindness, will make me rich amends in their society if
   I can wind up my little matters, and come to Bath in Spring.
   But here is a degree of scarcity and dearness, both present and
   expected, that worries my Master and his House Book horribly....
   Everything costs double, besides double Taxes, double necessity
   of expence, and so forth. London will be much my terror indeed,
   but I hope our stay will be a short one.

   Oh! what would have become of my wretched nerves, had I been
   in the Theatre that awfully impressive night? What would have
   become of _your_ nerves? of dear Mrs. de Luc's? The tryal would
   have been _too_ great. Susan and Sophy were there; so was Mr.
   Gillon. It will go hard with the Traytor, I am told, if the Jury
   do not find him guilty. The King's _Guardian Angel_ must appear
   in _person_ to protect him next time, because it will be such
   encouragement to the Jacobins to attempt his life, that nothing
   _less_ can save him....

George Robinson, the "King of Booksellers," who had a villa at
Streatham, was born in Cumberland, and coming to London in 1755,
began his career in the house of Rivington. He set up for himself in
Paternoster Row in 1764, and died in 1801. It is somewhat remarkable
that Mrs. Piozzi's principles allowed her to patronize him, seeing
that he had been fined, not many years before, for selling Tom Paine's
_Rights of Man_.

The King was shot at in his box at Drury Lane on 15th May, but the
assailant, James Hatfield, proved to be a lunatic, and the attempt had
no political importance.

    [_July 1800._]

   ... I am sorry Mr. and Mrs. Whalley are declining so; their
   pretty cottage will be a shady retreat for them this hot
   weather. We are roasting here on the sunny side of a high hill,
   but never was such hay made before; 40 acres cut and carried
   in 12 days is really curious, and without _one_ shower. Did
   you observe the odd Phænomenon exhibited on Trinity Sunday in
   the evening? It alarmed those who _did_ observe it, and our
   Caernarvonshire and Anglesea neighbours, who understand not how
   many tricks Electricity can play, were frighted to see the sun
   apparently go _back_ when he set, no fewer than three diameters
   of himself.

   Mr. Lloyd of Wickwar, whom you have heard me mention as an
   astronomer, and a man well known at Sir Joseph Banks's, etc.,
   said it was a surprizing thing, and, for what he had observed,
   wholly _new_: he attributed it to the state of atmosphere. The
   same appearance was noticed likewise at Shrewsbury. _I saw it
   not_; I was not looking....

   What is this story of Harry Siddons? Is he really to marry Miss
   Scott, the great fortune of the North? If he does, the Sun may
   set in the _East_ if it will, without attracting our charming
   Friend's attention I suppose, and no wonder. Miss Lees say
   nothing, perhaps think the _more_. What a thing it would be!

   My Book must go to the public market and take its chance in
   October. Buonaparte will possibly finish it for me, and destroy
   the Empire as he did the Papacy. Our Ministry keep feeding
   Francis with money, for which he will sell, not his birthright,
   like Esau, but all _except_ his birthright, and content himself
   with the old Crowns of Bohemia and Hungary, resigning even the
   name of King of the _Romans_ to those Gauls who invaded 'em
   2000 years ago, and have never lost sight of a hope so late to
   be accomplished as poor Rome's utter destruction. The sun may
   well be seen to shew signs and wonders when such occurrences are
   coming forward.

   Meanwhile what say you to Bishop Horsley's denouncing the
   _Schools_ of impiety and sedition? Did even our dear Dr.
   Randolph think that London was so far advanced in wickedness? or
   even Hannah More? It is truly dreadful....

   Mr. Piozzi and I have been married now 16 years, and we are
   used to keep our anniversary, but it happened at a perverse
   time of y^e week and month this year. And so instead of feeding
   the rich, we fed the poor, and every one of our 35 Haymakers
   had a good noggin of soup, and a lump of beef in it, and a
   suet dumpling; and they were like the people in The Deserter,
   who sing--"Joy, joy to the Duchess wherever she goes." And
   my Master's health was _sincerely_ drank, though not very
   _copiously_: for bread and beer are yet considered as _luxuries_
   in our poor skin and bone Country; while the Lords and Ladies
   round the Capital are paying five guineas for a Peach, etc.,
   and Daughters of Liverpool spend, in one entertainment, what
   frighted all France when requested for a frolick of poor
   Antoinette,--Daughter of the Cæsars.

   Well! Mr. Piozzi has gone to a little--not a very
   little--expense, in repairing old Bach-y-graig for the new
   tenant. Our neighbours advised him to tumble the venerable ruin
   quite down, and build a snug farmhouse with the materials; but
   he would not. And so, poking about, we found some very curious
   bricks with stories on them, composed in 1500, and one large
   one with Catherine de Berayne's arms, derived from Charlemagne.
   'Twas she whose husband built y^e house, you know, (Sir Richard
   Clough--_see Pennant_;) and being descended immediately from
   fair Catherine of France, whom Shakespear makes us familiar
   with, and who married Owen Tudor after her first husband's
   death, heroic Harry the Vth, drew her descent by the Mother's
   side from Charlemagne. I have set her achievement in front now,
   and a stone to say the Mansion was repaired and beautified
   by Gabriel Piozzi Esq. in the year 1800. It will last to the
   World's end now, I believe.

   The dear little boy whom you used to love has spent his vacation
   time at Streatham again. He will, I hope, be wiser in proportion
   as he is less happy, and less spoiled: _safer_ he certainly is,
   and we hear a good character of his scholarship....

The report of Henry Siddons' engagement to Miss Scott seems to have
been mere gossip, as he married Miss Murray in 1802.

The account of the surrender of his titles by the Emperor Francis
also seems to have been somewhat premature. He proclaimed himself
hereditary Emperor of Austria in 1804, and it was not till 1806, after
the formation of the Confederation of the Rhine, that he formally
resigned the imperial crown, and so brought to a close the Holy Roman
Empire, founded by Charlemagne, and the Kingdom of Germany. Bonaparte,
however, had anticipated his resignation, and had himself appointed
Emperor by decree of the Senate in 1804.

  [Illustration: BACH-Y-GRAIG HOUSE IN 1776

  _From a drawing by J. Hooper, 1776_]

Samuel Horsley, Bishop successively of St. David's, Rochester, and St.
Asaph, was the great opponent of Priestly and the Unitarians, against
whom several of his charges were directed.

Pennant's account of the home of Mrs. Piozzi's ancestors runs thus
(_Tour in Wales_, vol. ii. p. 22). "In the bottom [of the Clwyd
Valley] lies, half buried in the woods, the singular house of
Bachegraig. It consists of a mansion, and three sides, enclosing a
square court. The first consists of a vast hall and parlour; the
rest of it rises into six wonderful stories, including the cupola,
and forms from the second floor the figure of a pyramid: the rooms
small and inconvenient. The bricks are admirable, and appear to have
been made in Holland; and the model of the house was probably brought
from Flanders, where this species of building was not unfrequent. The
country people say that it was built by the Devil in one night, and
that the Architect still preserves an apartment in it; but Sir Richard
Clough, an eminent merchant of Queen Elizabeth's reign, seems to have
a better title to the honour. The initials of his name are in iron on
the front, with the date 1567, and on the gateway that of 1569." It
is stated in _Piozziana_ that the vane bore the date 1537. An account
of Sir Richard Clough and Catherine of Berayne has been given in the
Introduction, to which the reader is referred.

    BRYNBELLA, _Sat. night, 6 or 7 of Sept. 1800_.

   Dear Mrs. Pennington's eyes yet serve her, I find, to write the
   very charmingest letters in the world, and Dr. Randolph is of
   the same opinion; that to the travellers was admirable, and my
   own, just received, most excellent. They left Wales yesterday,
   and have carried ugly weather home with them; but I hope and
   _think_ that the bright sun illuminated their last glimpse of
   Denbighshire, from the heights round romantic Llangollen. I
   never saw people so well, or so happy, or so good humoured, on
   a journey where inconveniences must necessarily arise, such as
   would teize many tempers accustomed to _home life_....

   What the meaning can be of _bread rising_ is past my power to
   divine. Wheat falls, and grass grows, and these rains have put
   out the fires which injured the hilly grounds. Nothing is truer
   than your observation on men's counteracting Providence in all
   they can, but of late times some permission seems to have been
   given them that it _should be_ counteracted. Victory bestows
   honour on our arms, but produces no good to our nation. Plenty
   creates no peace, and opulence no wealth among us: I cannot
   fathom it. We seem upon the eve of a general pacification thro'
   all Europe, but I scarce expect _quiet_ in _any_ Country,
   much less our own, to be the consequence of such extensive
   treaties....

   Poor dear Jane Holman complains of the Greatheeds that they were
   _too fine_ to visit her in London. She is recovering from her
   severe illness, and will, I hope, be happy, though the world
   was all _displeased_ at her connection. Mrs. Siddons will have
   a cruel loss if her husband dies, though he was no professed
   wit, nor beau, nor _Damon_, and tho' I doubt me much if he was
   even the _very prudent_ man folks take him for. Yet will he be a
   loss, and "_Seldom comes a better_" is no bad proverb. Her son
   was expected to make his fortune among the fair at one time,
   but I now hear no more on't.

   Mrs. Wynne, Cecilia's Mother-in-law, is come home to Wales
   ten years younger than she left it, and infinitely handsomer
   of course. I do not think that will be _my_ case when I leave
   home next; but selling my Book advantageously will, I suppose,
   heighten my _bloom_. We must have _things as they are_, as
   Baretti used to say, when he threw ill at Backgammon. My
   Master's capital health must keep mine up. I never saw _him_ in
   better looks, and Mrs. Randolph will tell you how smart he has
   made old Bach-y-graig, the name of which they both forgot, I'm
   sure, before two miles were past; and Lord Mountjoy only saw
   Lleweny.

   Whenever Lady Hesketh crosses your walks, say to her how much I
   respect her, and how glad I feel that the sweet little Princess
   is to be happy in virtuous and wise attendants on her infancy,
   Lady Elgin and Miss Hunt.

    "Never harm, nor spell, nor charm
    Will come _that_ Faery's pillow nigh,
    While _they_ sing her lullaby."

   Brynbella is _the fashion_. We have people coming to take views
   from it, and travellers out of number,--_Tourists_, as the silly
   word is. Miss Thrales are among the Lakes, I believe these are
   modish places now for summer, as for winter modish _Streets_.
   Comical enough! Yet the general face of things must be confessed
   very gloomy, though Stocks rise, and _that_ comforts many who
   look superficially, or never _look at all_ beyond Finsbury
   Square and Hyde Park Corner. My fear is lest Mr. Pitt may be one
   of those: if such the case, _he_ will be _amazed_ whenever the
   evil moment comes, which would only give grief, not amaze, yours

    H. L. P.

John, fourth Earl of Bute, son of the Minister, was made Viscount
Mountjoy, Earl of Windsor, and Marquess of Bute in 1796.

The Lady Hesketh here mentioned seems to have been Harriet, daughter
and coheir of Ashley Cowper, who married Thomas Hesketh of Rufford,
afterwards created a Baronet. She was the cousin and favourite
correspondent of Cowper the poet, and died at Clifton 1807. Lady
Elgin, the other attendant of the little Princess of Wales, was the
wife of Thomas the seventh Earl, best known as the collector of the
Elgin Marbles.

The prospect of a general peace proved fallacious. After the battle
of Marengo in June, operations were suspended by the armistice of
Alessandria, but peace was not concluded, and Austria, urged on by
England, recommenced hostilities at the end of the year.

    STREATHAM PARK, _6 Nov. 1800_.

   Dear Mrs. Pennington will like a letter with this date, though
   it tells her nothing except that we are not at home here; it
   is however exceedingly difficult for us to find that truth out
   from our good Tenant's behaviour to us, or that of his servants.
   They are all wonderfully kind and civil, and I fancy we shall
   go on as we _have_ done; nothing is as yet finally settled, but
   we have every pleasing expectation in _prospect_. _Retrospect_
   is already disposed of, and you will be pleased that 'tis
   launched from a good aristocratic House. How does Col. Barry
   excuse himself _to_ himself, I wonder, for his so long and so
   wide deviation from the train of opinions he seemed as if well
   rooted in, when we were first acquainted? An agreeable talker is
   a great loss to the good cause, and I shall be happier when you
   tell me that he is tired of the bad one.

   We have been but once in Town yet, and that for two hours only,
   one spent with Stockdale, and one with Siddons, who is lean and
   nerve-shaken, but lovely as ever, and was preparing to shine in
   Elvira the evening of our visit. Her husband walked in with his
   two sticks, and chatted chearfully; her eldest daughter appeared
   to _me_ in high health and spirits, and Miss Lee, who was there,
   made a good report of the youngest....

   We live among the Commercial men here, not the professed wits,
   yet more love and esteem for literature it would be hard to
   find. Perhaps familiarity, even with _that_, lessens regard.
   Here has Mr. Giles laid out a Thousand Pounds (no less,) in
   books for our Library; and Mr. Gillon grieves when a second-hand
   Shakespear slips from his hand at an auction for want of courage
   to give beyond 20 Guineas for it. Who says money is not plenty?
   Truth is England contains more money than meat just now, I mean
   in proportion, but corn is coming in, and rice, from every
   quarter of the world; and I hope people will forbear to fly out,
   and increase their own distresses. The Coachman will get them
   through every bog, and safely by every precipice, I think, if
   they will but let the _check-string_ alone, and not hinder him
   from saving them and _himself_, who runs _more_ than an equal
   risque with all of us, and is in haste to find the carriage
   clear of embarrassments as _we_ are. If we believe our eyes, all
   will be well; if our ears, all will be dismal. Offers of peace
   are talked of, and no wonder. France is afraid of being driven
   from Egypt, whence she means to fright our East India Company,
   if incapable to injure it. I hate their insidious offers,
   resembling those magical deceptions we used to talk about,
   where a friendly hand appeared as if presenting a nosegay, but
   no sooner was it reached at than a dagger started forward in
   its place. Remember that all our journey has been thro' loyal
   places; Sir Rich. Hill's fine seat, Lord Bradford's, and the old
   abiding place of virtue and learning, Oxford.

   Two days the first of these sweet scenes delay'd us, and Mr.
   Piozzi clambered thro' the Grotto. Three days were given to
   the hospitalities and comforts of Weston Park, and Mr. Gray
   was unwilling to let me leave _their_ curiosities unexamined;
   so kept us three days more among the Museums etc. of far fam'd
   Rhedycina....

   Will it raise your spirits to hear that I expect release early
   in January? After business must come pleasure, and for that
   _our_ eyes turn naturally to Bath. Till then a Hotel and Tavern
   must be dear Mr. Piozzi's residence, in order to accommodate his
   wife by living close to the Bookseller's, who assures us that if
   we will come to Jermyn Street and mind our work closely, it may
   be launched with the New Year, and 8 weeks of confinement finish
   all. Wish it success kind Friend, and make Miss Powell and Mr.
   Pennington--ay and good Mother too,--drink a glass to the health
   of the two Quarto Vols. you saw advertised this morning under
   the name of your

    H. L. P.

Though Stockdale's publications may have had aristocratic tendencies,
the publisher himself was of humble origin and rough manners. Like
Robinson he was a Cumberland man, and is reputed to have been
originally a blacksmith. In London he worked his way up from the
position of a publisher's porter to that of the head of a successful
business. It may have been a recommendation to Mrs. Piozzi that he had
printed, and partly edited, Dr. Johnson's works.

Hawkestone, near Shrewsbury, was the seat of Sir Richard Hill,
Bart., M.P. for Salop, who was the elder brother of the Rev. Rowland
Hill, the celebrated preacher. Lord Bradford's seat was Weston Park,
near Shifnall. Its then owner was Orlando (Bridgeman), Baron, and
afterwards Earl of Bradford.

Mrs. Piozzi's cicerone at Oxford was, in all probability, the Rev.
Robert Gray, D.D., of St. Mary Hall, Bampton Lecturer in 1796, who was
afterwards Prebendary of Durham, and appointed Bishop of Bristol in
1827.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Monday Morng._ Dec. (8) 1800.

    (Franked "E. Russell.")

   I received, my dear Friend, your melancholy letter, and am sorry
   to agree with you in that croaking duet which we have long kept
   up together, both by letter and conversation. Things do go on
   very shiningly, and even brilliantly, but like the ice-island
   you liked so in my book, there is an unseen thaw below, and we
   shall topple over when 'tis least expected. Be perswaded however
   of England's _comparative_ happiness. Every other nation suffers
   more than we do, more than perhaps the deepest croaker amongst
   us gives him leave to apprehend; and so singular is the state
   of Europe just now, that sudden peace would accelerate the ruin
   of France, of Germany, of Russia, and of the Britannic Islands.
   The first would then be repaid her ravages over poor dear Italy,
   by seeing her own hungry and desperate plunderers come home
   clamourous for rewards they never can receive, and food which
   the neglected lands could not produce for them. The second
   would inevitably split into divisions productive of certain
   annihilation to the _Empire_, leaving Francis King only in
   Hungary, Bohemia, etc.; while Russia, left the theatre of Paul's
   caprices, would heat itself into rebellion soon, and throw the
   North of Europe into confusions much worse than those consequent
   on the present war. Great Britain would feel herself restrained
   in her commerce, cut off from power of adding to that wealth for
   which she is now envy'd by all mankind. Nor could cessation of
   hostilities benefit any of the belligerent powers, except Rome
   and Turkey: and they, poor things! fated to fall, and falling,
   expiate their predecessor's crimes and follies, continue to
   foment those troubles to which, whoever conquers, they are sure
   to be the destined victims. I think you recollect Mr. Lanzoni;
   his accounts of Italian distress, public and private, would half
   break your heart....

   Dear Siddons' story is a tragical one, but the ending has been
   happy, she will now, I flatter myself, be no more tormented.
   [Having undergone a painful operation] she is now thin as a
   lath, and light as air, but safe, as every body thinks. Her
   behaviour--angelic creature--was on _this_ tryal as on _all_ her
   tryals, exemplary; firm but unostentatious. Sir James said she
   was a _real_ Heroine, and no Actress on the occasion.

   Lysons called at the Hotel, and got me a sight of some
   manuscripts kept in the British Museum, which I wanted for my
   work; but he is gone to Bath now. The work is coming quick to a
   conclusion, and will have a print of the Authour on its first
   page. My heart delights not in the notion of being Bookseller
   so, as well as Book_maker_; but one cannot have all as one
   likes, and I hope people will _buy away_. Those friends who
   mean to serve me _in earnest_ write to Stockdale even now,
   desiring to be "put down for an early copy." I shall _present_
   you with one, but do canvass your rich friends, and get them to
   purchase for honour, and for profit's sake, and all. The darling
   Randolphs have done me all possible kindness in that way, so
   has Mr. Chappelow; and Stockdale shows his numerous _orders_ as
   nest-eggs or decoys....

   Meanwhile Miss Thrales drove thro' London to Brighton, the seat
   of gayety till Town revels commence. We dined together, and
   parted at the lodgings of the Show Woman called a Nyctalope or
   Albina, with red eyes like a white Rabbet, very curious!...

The prospect of sudden peace was the result of further French
successes. Moreau and Ney had beaten the Austrians at Hohenlinden
on 2nd December and an armistice was signed at Steyer ceding the
fortresses of the Tyrol, &c. Another was signed in Italy, as the
result of further victories there, ceding the North Italian ports.
And when Murat threatened Naples, a third armistice, closing the
Neapolitan ports to England, practically ended the war.

    STREATHAM PARK, _Sat. 10 Jan. 1801_.

   My dear Mrs. Pennington's two charming letters waited my arrival
   at old Streatham Park, whence a variety of things detained us,
   but people are certainly never so busy as when they have nothing
   at all to do. My Book, once written, was not a bit more off my
   hands, for Stockdale and I are partners in the property, and if
   he is an honest man--so much the better for your H. L. P.

   Of all active, and diligent, and highly successful friends, the
   first must be acknowledged to wear the name of John Gillon. That
   extraordinary man brought a list of private orders from people
   of his own particular acquaintance to our _business dinner_ upon
   New Year's day, and the list took away Stockdale's breath,--much
   more _mine_. It consisted of 80 gentlemen, to which ten have
   been added since. Not content with _that_, he made a little
   feast for drinking success to it at the London Tavern, and set
   the people all wild for _Retrospection_. This is good news, is
   not it? And the consequence will be great, for I shall expect
   a letter before the first of February to say that the first
   edition is wholly run off. That day will probably rise on us at
   Bath, if my Master keeps clear of Gout, and our plans are not
   broken in upon by vexations unforseen....

   Things are never as good as one is led to hope, but they are
   seldom as bad as we are impelled to fear. The bread is at its
   dearest, the Enemy is arrived at its utmost pitch of insolence.
   France is less dangerous to Britain, altho' more formidable to
   other countries, than she has been. Buonaparte will not long
   outlive the peace, let him make it how and when he pleases. No
   Buonaparte _can_ satisfy _his troops_ when they return into the
   bosom of their native country, pamper'd by promises, and flushed
   with conquest. A furious outbreak at Paris must necessarily
   ensue, and you may rely on my prediction being verified.

   Pretty Siddons told me about Hannah More, but I never
   understood the merits of the cause clearly till your letter
   explained it; my [heart] grieves lest it should affect her
   health. Our charming friend in Great Marlborough Street has
   never been so free from complaint since I have known her; and
   her appearance in the character of Constance transcends all
   which the stage ever shew'd _me_. The dress is so _appropriate_,
   and so _becoming_, that its first impression is prodigious,
   and would be disadvantageous to one who could not keep up the
   interest it excites. Kemble seems much out of health this
   winter, and has a _slowness_ upon his manner which I do not
   like; but the public is in high good humour with him....

   Adieu, dear Friend, send me another pretty kind letter, and a
   _true_ account of what people say to my Book....

Hannah More's trouble arose through a Sunday school which she had
opened at Blagdon in 1795, at the request of Bere, the curate, who
soon afterwards complained that the master she had appointed was
holding a Conventicle. This was stopped, but fresh complaints in 1800
led to an inquiry by the Chancellor and Rector, and Hannah closed the
school in November. The Rector, however, thinking his curate had been
too officious, tried to dismiss him, and the school was reopened in
January 1801. But the curate declined to resign, and the school was
again closed. When a new Bishop (Beadon) was appointed to Bath and
Wells, Hannah applied to him for direction, and obtained his sympathy
and support: and so after she had been, as she said, "battered,
hacked, scalped, and tomahawked for three years," the unedifying
controversy came to an end.

    _Wensday Night_, READING, _21 Jan. 1801_.

   We are coming, dear Mrs. Pennington, as your good husband says,
   but very tardily, and much like the journey of Catherine and
   Petruchio; so dirty are the ways, and so many our crosses,
   when travelling with Rat and Mole driven by a sick coachman,
   who makes himself a little more sick at every stage by doing
   more than he is able, and by crying lest we should at length
   be provoked to leave him on the road. He is in no danger, poor
   soul! Mr. Piozzi has just sent him our chicken broth, and we
   wait here a day for Miss Allen to go kiss her father and mother,
   an errand so few folks want to go upon.... I think the beds will
   be _aired_ at least, for never were so many people crowding from
   one city to another as now from Bath to London.

   How it rejoyces my heart to hear you _really like the book_!
   and that Miss Jane Powell approves of the contrasted character
   visible in those excellent Roman Emperors. The other volume will
   be most read, and the 19th chapter of _that_ will perhaps be
   most liked. I will correct the typographical errors in _your_
   book with my own hand, if you will bring it with you to Bath....
   Stockdale was hurrying to drive out a new edition before we
   left London, and I was forced to _hold him in_. We shall hear
   all _our_ faults, and the printer's too, when the Reviews make
   their appearance.... Charming Hannah More will tranquillize her
   mind soon, and only dislike the Established Church a _little_
   more than usual, for this ill-timed bustle some individuals have
   made against one of the most valuable members of Society. For as
   Dr. Johnson says of Watts,--Such she was that every Christian
   Communion must have been proud of her.

   Do not fear the Northern combination: we can hurt _those_
   fellows more than they can hurt us. And as to a French invasion,
   it was, in my mind, never less likely, nor ever less to be
   feared. That Europe is running to ruin I see plain enough, and
   we must go after the rest, but it will be _after_ a good many of
   them are gone, I think....

The combination of the Northern Powers, Russia, Sweden, and Denmark,
organised by the Emperor Paul against England, was the result of
the irritation caused by our insisting on the right to search even
neutral vessels for enemies' goods; but was soon broken up by the
battle of Copenhagen and the death of Paul.

    [_P.M._ BATH] _31 Jan. 1801_.

   My dear Mrs. Pennington's is indeed a dismal letter, and our
   Master is truly sorry, and so am I. The amusement I get at Bath,
   when without your conversation, is feeling myself benefited by
   these darling waters, and hearing the Circulating Library men
   say that the book sells very well. Stockdale tells me of praises
   bestowed on it by the Briton, Times, and Porcupine, but I have
   never seen any....

   Miss Jane Powell must be left, I think, to cut out her own
   happiness. She is very sensible, and very charming, but you may
   remember that Dr. Johnson says in his tale of The Fountains,
   "You may be lovely, but 'tis not a necessary consequence that
   you should therefore be beloved." We must hope she will not
   fling so much merit and beauty away: but if she does, let us
   remember she could not have been happy _without_ changing her
   mode of life; and those who enter on family cares now, have
   need of strong affection on one side or the other, to support
   them thro' so rough a journey as what is left of life's road is
   likely to afford them. The people who are _indifferent_ now are
   truly unwise to marry.

   We shall look to your _coming home_ for much chat on all
   subjects, and principally the book which has so long plagued your

    H. L. P.

    [_P.M._ BATH] _Tuesday, 10 Feb. 1801_.

   ... To your enquiries how things are going here, my reply is,
   _never so bad_. Fish, flesh, and fowl, all are double price,
   and tho' we live as retired as 'tis possible, the little red
   book you remember of marketing expences goes on worse and worse.
   Even Laura Chapel is raised one third, and the journey hither
   cost double what it used to do. These are facts. It is equally
   true indeed, that the waters do my health good, but 'tis a heavy
   charge, _this same health_, upon one's husband, though _he_ may
   not _say_ or even _think_ so. Bachelors live at immense costs
   however. Mr. Roach or Roche told us yesterday that he and his
   son paid £200 for 5 weeks eating and sleeping at York House:
   his servants at board wages all the while. Tea alone stood them
   in six shillings o' day. Fine times! And Mrs. Mores, our next
   neighbours, tell me Mr. Pitt has already quitted the helm, and
   old Britannia is left to weather the storm how she can, without
   pilot, rudder, or compass; and tow a troublesome sister after
   her besides. God send her safe to port! He only can....

   My own book, though much diffused, and rapidly sold, has not yet
   brought me a _shilling_, and it was upon that I fully depended
   for our reimbursement of these few weeks' charges here in Bath.
   _Six_ only of those weeks yet remain: some of them I still
   flatter myself we shall still pass together....

After the union with Ireland, Pitt had become convinced that it was
necessary to carry a measure of Catholic Emancipation; but as the King
felt scruples about breaking, as he believed, his Coronation Oath,
by giving his assent to such a Bill, Pitt resigned, much to George's
distress, and was succeeded by Addington.

    BRYNBELLA, _5 April, 1801_.

   My dear Mrs. Pennington will be delighted to hear that we are
   got home safe, in spite of my _nose_, which is restor'd to its
   original size, colour, and shape: having transmitted all ill
   humour to the shoulder, more fit for carriage of a burden so
   oppressive.

   Some heaviness has reached my heart tho', and some weight hangs
   on my spirits. The first intelligence that struck us upon the
   very confines of our Principality, smiling as it seemed with
   hope of future plenty, was the death of a friend. You have,
   I am sure, heard me mention as an agreeable acquaintance and
   excellent preacher, a Mr. John Mostyn, Curate of Denbigh. He
   _perished_, it seems, poor soul, in the hard weather which
   succeeded that day on which we dined with Dr. Randolph, walking
   home from his Father's house to his own:--perish'd of _cold_!
   and was buried in drifts of snow,--

                      How sunk his soul!
    What black despair! What horrors fill'd his heart,
    When round him night resistless closing fast,
    And o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold,
    Lay'd him on the wild Heath a stiffen'd corpse,
    Far from the track and blest abode of Man.

    [Thompson.]

   These verses have almost haunted me ever since; so has his
   figure, chearful and gay, not 38 years old. But we will change
   the subject and the side of paper.

   Tell dearest Siddons, when you see her, that _her_ picture was
   the first thing we unpacked, and _her_ handkerchief the finest
   thing I appeared in while at Bath: the _only_ thing I shall wear
   here till--till what? I can't answer that question.

   Poor Harriet Lee's lowness, the day we dined at Mrs. Stratton's,
   affected everybody present, and she ran home, unable to bear
   company. Can you tell whether the conversation of approving, nay
   _admiring_ friends, has been yet able to reconcile her to past
   vexations, for they scarce can be accounted calamities.

   We have contagion even at St. Asaph, but 'tis occasioned by want
   of wholesome food. When the plenty I still predict shall once
   arrive, there will be no distemper but _ill-humour_. Meanwhile
   some cause for _that_ does doubtless exist, when the ports are
   filled with grain, and the poor perishing of hunger. Our Bishop,
   detained in London by illness, is much wanted, and we came home
   too late to save our old favourite labourer, Edward Davies, who
   expired eight hours before our arrival; saying that if we made
   haste he _yet_ should live, because we should send him something
   _nice_ from our own _plates_, as we did when he was sick once
   before. When _such_ things present themselves to one's mind,
   how vain must be the hope of Reviewers and Critics to draw it
   on their empty abuse! I would there were no worse afflictions
   to lament than those created by buzzers and stingers like
   _them_. Nevertheless _pray_ tell me how Hannah More supports
   _her_ torrent of scurrility. She was a kind soul, and came to
   see us for five minutes before we got into the Chaise at Laura
   Place, looking very well, thank God! apparently not worse for
   her long illness and confinement. Her sister is _too_ right tho'
   concerning the general distress for _victuals_....

   I carry this letter with me to S. Asaph Cathedral, Easter
   Sunday, and put it in the Post Office there after service. The
   Ladies at Llangollen enquired much for you. They have more news
   and more stories than one could dream of. Their _best_ however
   is concerning their own old Maid Mary, from whose character one
   would think Sophia Lee had pourtray'd that of Connor in her tale
   of the Two Emilys. Mary, seeing her Ladies' eyes fix'd, one fine
   night lately, upon the stars, said to Miss Ponsonby, "Ah! Madam,
   you once showed me a fine sight in the heavens, the Belt of
   _O'Bryan_; but I suppose we shall see it no more now, since the
   _Union_." To this nothing, sure, can be added.

    (_P.M._ DENBIGH), _26 Apr. 1801_.

   What a letter! What a pleasure to have such a Correspondent! You
   really can scarce imagine, my dear Friend, how completely your
   kind Frank-full set before my eyes the scenes I was so wishing
   to have witness'd. Peace and plenty are coming, and dear Dr.
   Randolph's first sermon after the Victory at Copenhaguen, must
   have given a foretaste of all the felicities in their train to
   his enraptur'd auditors, I doubt not.

   The effect of national fervour and national happiness upon Sweet
   Siddons charmed me; and it was so nicely accompanied too by her
   maternal exultation. The child in your account had suffered
   scarce anything from y^e alarming symptoms which so frighted the
   whole house of Belvidere....

   Why, you have had a nice Holyday time indeed! And _you_,
   like the dear King, will recover by dint of good news. My
   rheumatism has mended ever since you said how Mr. Whalley liked
   Retrospection, and a kind letter from Mr. Gray, saying it was
   well thought of at Oxford, made me throw off a little fur
   tippet, which, till to-day's _post_, I wore to ward off these
   early winds. Ods Blushes and Blooms! The poor Cherry trees have
   dropt their pretty flow'rs in one night. A sturdy Pear tree or
   two resist all Northern Combinations against _them_: but Peaches
   and Nectarines we shall have none of this Summer, content to
   see wheat falling, Stocks rising, and damaged Rice coming in by
   shiploads to feed _those Pigs_ which my friends on the South
   Parade so talked of.

   Meantime it was well done of the wise and good men to go out and
   harangue the rioters; they will go underground again now, and
   give their instigators _fresh_ trouble to find _fresh_ arguments
   to set them on _fresh_ mischief _in due time_. Well! God save
   great George our King! While he lives many a Laurel bush will
   be used to decorate our doors.... By the time this reaches your
   Hot Wells, good accounts may possibly arrive from Egypt. The
   death of Paul will sit _heavy on the soul_ of Abdallah Menou,
   like the Ghost in Shakespeare's Richard, and _fall his edgeless
   sword_.[16] May he _but_ hear that news before the battle,
   _I'll_ answer for its success.

   [16] _Rich. III_, V. iii, 135.

   Great credit ought really to be given to that amiable creature,
   the Duchess of York, for being able to make everybody love
   _her_, while they naturally and necessarily abhor her brother.
   And it was pretty of her husband to cry at the tragedy: they
   very seldom _do_ cry.

   When you write tell me how Sotherby's play went off; our
   Newspaper never names the Theatre, so Mrs. Siddons's name
   reaches me only through your letters. When our Bishop returns
   I shall get free'd covers, and write oftener, for the sake of
   goading your pen to an answer.... With regard to Mr. Pennington,
   he hardly _can_ come to any real harm. The complaints of gouty
   men are sure to end, however they may begin, in a fit of Gout;
   and _better_ assurance of long life is granted to no living
   mortal. He will quarrel with the man, and vex about the maid,
   and they will leave him, and then he will get others;--all will
   lead _uneasy_ lives, but no lives will be shorten'd, except
   _your own_, by fretting concerning what can neither be helped
   nor mended....

Success had attended English efforts abroad in more than one
direction. The Northern Confederation having adopted an attitude of
"armed neutrality," and laid an embargo on British goods, a fleet
was sent to Copenhagen under Sir Hyde Parker, with Nelson as second
in command. The latter grew impatient of the cautious tactics of his
chief, and his daring attack on the Danish forts and fleet on April
1, resulted in the capture of the latter, and the detachment of
Denmark from the League. In Russia the assassination of the Emperor
Paul on March 24 (which Buonaparte in the _Moniteur_ ascribed to
the machinations of England) placed Alexander on the throne, who at
once reversed his predecessor's policy, and so the Confederation
collapsed. In Egypt General Menou had succeeded Kleber in command of
the French army, which was unable to prevent the landing of Sir Ralph
Abercromby's expedition on March 2: and though the English General
fell at the battle of Alexandria, that city and Cairo fell into our
hands, and it became evident that the French could not maintain their
hold on the country.

The shock of Pitt's resignation, and the prospect of Roman Catholic
emancipation, had again unhinged the King's mind. But the attack was a
brief one, and by March 14 he was sufficiently recovered to accept the
formal resignation of his ministers.

Frederick, Duke of York, had married in 1791 Frederica, Princess Royal
of Prussia, a state whose partitions of Poland and timid attitude of
neutrality to France during two reigns, were not calculated to render
its rulers popular in England.

    BRYNBELLA, _22 May 1801_.

   My dear and valued Friend now receives a letter of _business_
   from Brynbella. The trunk with all our clothes, books,
   papers,--_everything_,--which Hodgkins saw booked ... upon the
   22d of March, is never arrived yet, and this is the 22d of May.
   I have heard of it just now, though, and in an odd manner. A man
   who says he signs for some Mr. Lye, the date, Bristol, tells me
   it is gone by sea to Liverpool. What madness! It was meant for
   _Chester Waggon_, the old conveyance by which Mr. Wiltshire has
   regularly sent it these three years. Could you be kind enough to
   enquire about it?...

   And now do, dear Friend, find me out another thing. We are told
   Miss Thrale is at Bath for her _health_; and the idea keeps me
   very uneasy, the more as she never writes. _You saw_ the last
   letter I ever received from any of them. I dare say Dr. Parry
   is her Physician, and you could know from _him_, without any
   immediate enquiry as if _I_ wished to hear, which she would
   consider as if intrusive and inquisitive, and would _say_ it was
   affectation....

   Let us thank God for the happy change in public affairs at
   least, peace and plenty are not far off.

    From Egypt old Rome in the days of Domitian
      To make her tyrannical Emperor smile,
    Fresh roses brought over, for Winter provision,
      That bloom'd on the Tyber as once on the Nile.

    But bold Abercrombie, whom Britons confide in,
      _His Flora_ sent home with far different spoil;
    The invincible army of Frenchmen deriding,
      Their standards he seiz'd on the banks of the Nile.

    Thus end the exploits of renown'd Buonaparte,
      Who fell upon Egypt with force and with guile,
    Throwing dust in the eyes of each Mussulman hearty,
      Dust pregnant with plagues on the banks of the Nile.

    Of warriors ill-fated if England must tell soon,
      Her losses, though deep, she'll repair in a while;
    With Moore, Smith, and Berry, Ball, Trowbridge, and Nelson,
      A hero we'll count for each mouth of the Nile.

   Mr. Pennington will see an allusion to an Epigram of Martial[17]
   in the first stanza; but never mind, 'tis a good Ballad to roar
   at a club, and the tune, Rural Felicity, or Ellen o' Roon. But
   what fellows those old Romans were after all!! Fetching (as they
   actually did) Oysters from England and Roses from Egypt for one
   winter evening's entertainment....

[17] Martial, _Epig._ vi. 80: Ad Cæsarem de rosis hibernis.




                              CHAPTER VI

   Attacks by reviewers--The Peace, 1801--Visit to London--South
   Wales--Mrs. Pennington's troubles--Bath again--Breach with Mrs.
   Pennington, 1804.


The next letter is directed to "Longford Cottage, the Seat of the Rev.
Thomas Sedgwick Whalley, near Bristol," where Mrs. Pennington was
staying for a few weeks.

    BRYNBELLA, _3 June 1801_.

   ... I do assure you that between your own house and this no
   greater anxiety has been felt for Mr. Whalley; he is our very
   true friend, and we have sense enough to know it. He is so much
   Miss Hannah More's friend that I am convinced of his fretting
   at Sir Abraham Elton's officiousness. Will you have _proof_ how
   wrong those things are? I am frequently asked after celebrated
   characters when we return home to so remote a neighbourhood as
   this is: and to the questions asked about these exemplary Ladies
   I made such replies as a friend is expected to make. Some of
   our neighbours, however, within these three months, have had a
   fancy to take in a Bath newspaper, and "Oh!" says one now, and
   "Ah, ah!" says another, "why you never told _us_, Mrs. Piozzi,
   concerning this _paper war_ between Miss Mores and Mr. What's
   his name! As good as you say they are, those who live in the
   world see spots in the sun, we find," etc. etc. Now would it not
   have been better far to have left these dear creatures round
   Brynbella nothing to talk about but the _going off_ of Lord
   Kirkwall's marriage with Miss Ormsby, the _coming on_ of Mr.
   Piozzi's gout, just at Laburnum season, the hopes of famous news
   from Egypt, and, blessed be God, the near certainty of immense
   crops to feed our poor, and damaged rice from India to feed
   our pigs? Would it not have been better? But we will talk of
   something else, if you please.

   The trunk is not come, but coming, and it was kind in you to
   let me know how I might look after it. I had no thought of its
   taking such a voyage. The comical preference, shown in your
   letter, of a trunk to a Lady, is _more_ than classical. In
   Homer's time they preferred a tripod to the fairest: when the
   tripod was chas'd, though, and the damsel a slave.

   I have had a civil letter from Miss Thrale now. She is retired
   to a friend's Country Seat, I understand.... The noise and
   racket of London was grown painful to her, and she longed for
   sight and smell of green fields. I wrote her word that if chance
   should bring you and her together, it would be very pleasant
   to you both, who have many ideas, and many expressions too, in
   common. I would the love of H. L. P. lived in her heart as in
   yours, but of _that_, as Sciolto says, "_as of a gem long lost,
   think we no more_."

   Do you recollect that agreeable morning dear Mr. Whalley gave
   us at Laura Place this Spring? and how he talked of the River
   Euphrates, and said it would be one day _literally_ dried up
   for the Jews' return? And do you remember what you said, after
   he was gone, upon the subject? and how I exclaimed "Why, you
   are talking just like Miss Thrale?" Well! and I begin--since
   he open'd my own mind,--to think that it _may_ be so; ay,
   and without contradiction of your humourous asperity against
   the talkers and hearers either. Beg of Mr. Whalley, when he
   is better, and can amuse himself with such stuff, to look in
   Plutarch's Life of Lucullus, 'tis an early life, first volume,
   I think, and if my memory fails me not, he will find something
   like a confirmation of his own opinion,--and of yours. Now
   please to observe that I have no Plutarch _here_, nor have seen
   one since I saw _you_. In such an act of mere reminiscence,
   therefore, the mind may be mistaken, but my heart tells me that
   Lucullus perceived some property in the River Euphrates,--some
   quality rather, which would (he observed) make it fordable
   upon a future day, altho' so deep when he was wishing to pass
   over.[18] All this seventy years before our Saviour's appearance
   in the flesh.

   [18] Vol. iii. p. 258 of Clough's translation.

   I am always ready you know for a bit of _old Stilton_, as Dr.
   Johnson called profane History. "Thou dost love," said he, "my
   dear, to play the part of Swift's Vanessa, who

    Nam'd the ancient heroes round,
    Explain'd for what they were renown'd, etc.

   and I have _as_ steadily resisted that mode of
   conversation;--now pray, _pray_ let's have no more of it."
   In obedience to _his commands_, as well remember'd, sure, as
   Plutarch's lives, I leave this, and begin saying a good word
   of Mr. Murphy's book, and feel delighted that you take an
   interest in it too. There was some danger lest it pleased _me_
   merely by bringing old scenes to view, but I will trust _your_
   criticism. The work has more merit as Garrick and he certainly
   never loved each other, and you may see his praises of the man
   he celebrates are dictated by _duty_, while those bestowed on
   Barry spring from _fondness_. I had rather he had been kinder
   to sweet Siddons. What a thing it is that her husband cannot
   at least count and keep together the money she gets for him.
   That man has, I fear, some rage for speculation; a dangerous
   game. The prudent people are, for aught I observe, no better
   calculators than we open-pursed fools, who are cheated out of
   20_s._ perhaps, by Bett Lewis the vagrant; while they lose £200
   sterling in the management of a puppet-show that _takes fire_,
   or sink three times as much in a Canal that _lets out water_, or
   some nonsense.

   We have had an earthquake here, as they say, for I felt it not,
   tho' I am confident I was wide awake at two o'clock Monday
   morning. Lady Orkney's Canary Birds fell from their perch
   however, and some of our Denbigh friends fancy they heard a
   noise. I was thinking about my master's Bavanda, and he was
   thinking how thirsty the gouty pains made him; so Brynbella was
   unconscious of the shock.

   Buonaparte is supposed to be all this time under the influence
   of poyson administered three months ago, but I believe _that_
   as I do the earthquake. Poor Selim's death of the Continental
   Apoplexy is less improbable; so is young Constantine's hope of
   restoring the Greek Empire. No matter! Live our own dear King, I
   care for none of them. Here is his 63d birthday, and the value
   of his life is increased 63 times since it began. But y^e grand
   climacteric passed over, I count him safe, and would rather have
   an annuity upon him than on the dangerous dame we fear so justly.

   Oh! I forgot to tell you, Stockdale sends word we have a wicked
   enemy at _Bath_, who injures the sale of Retrospection by
   spiteful and ingenious censures. _Who is it, I wonder!_ ...

Swarms of pamphlets on the "Blagdon Controversy" were making their
appearance about this time. Those which Mrs. Piozzi had in view were
probably "A Letter to the Rev. Thomas Bere ... occasioned by his
late unwarrantable attack on Mrs. H. More," by the Rev. Sir Abraham
Elton, Bart.; which was answered by "An Appeal to the Public in the
Controversy between H. More, the Curate of Blagdon, and the Rev. Sir
A. Elton," by the Rev. Thomas Bere.

Murphy had just published his _Life of David Garrick_ in two volumes,
which was not very well received by the contemporary critics, who
found fault with its clumsy arrangement, and its excessive padding
with prologues, epilogues, etc. Mrs. (Ann Spranger) Barry, who died
this year, was a popular actress in London and the Provinces, and was
considered by the critics to equal, if not to surpass Peg Woffington
and Mrs. Cibber.

Sultan Selim did not die of apoplexy, but lived to be deposed in
1807. The Empress Catherine of Russia had conceived the idea of
extinguishing the Turkish power in Europe, and placing one of her own
family on the throne of the restored Greek Empire. For this purpose
she chose the second son of her own son Paul, had him christened
Constantine to fulfil the prophecy that a Constantine should again
rule at Constantinople, and educated him to carry out her plan. There
seemed to be some chance of its success when the Emperor Joseph
gave it his support in 1788; but Turkey was saved by Pitt's triple
alliance of England, Prussia, and Holland, to restore the Balance of
Power. About this period Constantine had gained some distinction as
commander-in-chief in Poland.

    [_Dated, by Mrs. Pennington, Jul. 1801._]

   Dr. Randolph is a wise man for not caring what these foolish
   fellows say, and Mrs. Randolph is a sweet lady for caring. On
   the like principle H. L. P. is a dunce for being _angry_, and
   dear Pennington is a kind friend for being _enraged_ at these
   odious Critical Reviewers. Those who say my book is merely good
   for nothing cannot be answer'd. The book says something like
   that of itself,--but its worthlessness consists in telling
   people what they knew before, not in telling what is _false_,
   for that is the charge that offends me. Much of this obloquy
   might have been avoided certainly, by quoting authorities, but
   they would add more to the work's weight than its value, were
   the deed done to-morrow: and I thought it a mere insult to the
   Public sitting gravely to _inform_ them of what they may read in
   the 7th Period of the 3rd Chapter of the 1st Part of Mosheim's
   Ecclesiastical History, edited by our friend Macleane, who,
   in a note, _confirms_ the fact of Tiberius desiring the Roman
   Senate to deify our Saviour. One would really wonder at a man's
   assurance who, like our Critical Reviewer, boldly asserts that
   "this is an exploded fiction." It stood on the testimony of
   Eusebius and Tertullian for sixteen centuries before it was
   disputed: and M. Iselin, with Hase the Hebraist, and numbers
   more since the year 1700, have proved its truth beyond all power
   of denial. I saw Miss Case with Macleane's Mosheim in her hand
   when I last visited her. _She_ need not be deceived, _she_ can
   enquire and _see_ the truth of my position. When I wrote to Mr.
   Gillon expressing my uneasiness under a charge of ignorance
   ill-deserved, he said my antagonist was a man of immense
   abilities, and I had better _let him alone_. But Robson the
   Bookseller, who sent me down the Review, liked my refutation so
   well that he requested leave to print my angry letter to _him_
   on the occasion. I suppose it resembles that I wrote to you, and
   you will see it in the Gentleman's Magazine for July.

   I am sorry about Hannah More: these things are, upon the whole,
   very mortifying, and injure the cause of Religion, Virtue, and
   sound Literature _too much_, at a moment when enemies to all
   three are ready and keen to take every possible advantage.

   I have a cold and reproachful letter brought me just now from
   Harriet Lee, accusing my heart of alienation because I made no
   enquiry concerning _her_ state of mind, altho' I saw, she says,
   that it was an uneasy one. How unreasonable the people all are!
   I thought myself acting delicately to make no enquiries, where
   nothing was avow'd as capable of being construed into more than
   a past vexation about the children's sickness.... Nothing would
   be less pleasing to me than the thought of having offended any
   of the house of Belvidere. Never did I say a slight word, or
   write a peevish one, about _them_. Never did I fail to express
   my just admiration of their talents, or even suffer myself to be
   provoked to more than sorrow--not anger--when I had reason for
   believing that Robinson was better disposed to y^e purchase of
   my book before his visit to Bath, than he was afterwards.

   I hope she will write kindly and make all up. I am ready. If
   she does not--we must sing Ralph's song in the Maid of the Mill,
   I think.

    Nothing's tough enough to bind her,
    Then agog when once you find her,
        Let her, let her go, let her go, never mind her, etc.

   Poor dear pretty Siddons! What has she been doing to her mouth?
   Picking it, my master says, as I do my fingers, which, he
   threatens me, are one day to resemble poor Mr. Pennington's
   toes. But in earnest and true sadness, what can be the matter
   with her lips? Lips that never were equalled in enunciation of
   tenderness or sublimity! Lips that spoke so kindly _to_ me and
   _of_ me! Dear soul! what can ail her? She dreamed once that all
   her teeth came out upon the stage I remember; I told her she
   would go on acting till age had bereft her of them; but God
   forbid that she should lose them _now_. Her husband will mend
   at Bath.... Sally's death will be no _loss_ to her dear mother,
   altho' a very poignant affliction without doubt; and Cecilia
   will be her delight I dare say: but Sally and her Father both
   will yet last many years I am confident. Shall we have a Bath
   Winter all together and be comfortable? Or will they pay her,
   and lure her back to Drury Lane? You must get her mouth in good
   order, that she may look like my _little_ miniature of the
   _greatest and only unrivalled_ female this century last expired
   has pretended to produce. When her lips close, what good will
   our ears do open? Yes, yes, they will hear Randolph preach,
   Piozzi sing, and Pennington converse. Comfort the charming
   creature all you can tho', and get her into her accustomed
   beauty, and tell her how she is beloved at pretty Brynbella....

   _P.S._ by Mr. Piozzi.--

   ... Well! I think it time to forget the Critical Review,
   and Mrs. P. she is persuade to do so. The writer is a
   poor miserable wretch wanting bread, and so _sufficit_.
   Belvidere people they can write, but they cannot understand
   _Retrospection_. Next week Little John we expect him at
   Brynbella....

James Robson, like Robinson and Stockdale, was a Cumberland man, and
began his career in the shop of Brindley, whom he succeeded.

Bickerstaffe's opera, _The Maid of the Mill_, was based on
Richardson's _Pamela_. Ralph was the son of Fairfield the Miller.

Mrs. Siddons's trouble seems to have been erysipelas, from which she
suffered a good deal in later life.

    [_Dated, by Mrs. Pennington, Jul. 1801._]

   You are a dear Friend, and a wise Lady, and--"Conscience" (says
   I) "you counsel _ill_": and "Pennington" (says I) "you counsel
   well."[19] See the learned Lancelot Gobbo. But my heart tells
   me that the Gentleman's Magazine will exhibit a letter of more
   anger than good sense at least, being written on the spur
   of the moment, the very day I read my antagonist's spiteful
   accusations. _'Tis most likely_, for it never entered my head
   that Robson would print what came to him in form of complaint,
   just as I wrote it to you. Yet when he asked leave to show it up
   before the public, and said several friends in his shop advised
   the measure, I would not shrink from it.

   [19] "'Conscience,' says I, 'you counsel well.'"--_Mer. of Ven._, II.
ii. 21.

   Harriet Lee has sent me a making up Epistle; so we make up, but
   it is a cold and flat paste we make on't at last, and as little
   George Siddons said of his brother's friends, whom he _had_ been
   half afraid of, "_I know what they are now_." I know what she
   is, too; and worded my answer accordingly. She lamented the ill
   nature of the Critical Review to me with due and proper pathos.
   I replied lightly that they were not half as ill-natured as
   they were ill-informed, and that if charming Hannah More valued
   such abuse as little as H. L. P. did, she would live long a
   _champion_ of religion's cause, and not dye, as they wished her
   to do, a martyr to't. The truth is her controversy gets very
   stale now, and like her torment _Beer_ (_Bere_)

    Though _stale_, not ripe, tho' thin, yet never _clear_.

   I will hasten to expose my Gentlemen's ignorance, and then
   release people to think and care about matters more worth their
   attention.

   The loss of those two fine ships was vexatious enough, but we
   must have a few knocks. _Hannibal_ lost one eye early in life
   you know: so these fellows came on the _blind_ side of him,
   _that's all_. Our cutting the Corvette from Camaret Bay was an
   exploit worthy to be preserved in History till Time shall be no
   more. But nothing ever equalled the hardihood of Naval Officers
   shown in course of this war. It is a tissue of heroism, and to
   attempt shores so guarded would seem frenzy, had one not to
   recollect apparent impossibilities conquered by Buonaparte:
   particularly his passing Mount St. Gothard in winter, never
   relaxed; which however _did_ yield (God only knows how) to the
   French Artillery, suffer'd to cross that Mountain for the sake
   of gaining a decisive battle at Marengo. We must have more
   sense, if they _do_ land, than fight any battle at all with such
   troops; our business is to harrass them and thin their numbers,
   not easily repair'd; and attacking them only by _night_, assure
   to ourselves the advantages accrueing from our own knowledge and
   their ignorance of the country. Mr. Pennington will tell you I
   am _quite right_, and it was for want of knowing as much in old
   times that Harold foolishly set his Island on the hazard of one
   grand battle, which he lost at Hastings.

   Our Secret Society men who buy up the corn and fling [it] by
   night into the river or sea, are far more dangerous enemies; and
   will, if matters ripen into reality of bustle, be less afraid
   of acting openly. Their present intentions tow'rds irritating
   our lower ranks, and making them willing to rebel, are happily
   counteracted by the enormous quantity of corn in the field, and
   ports, and harbours. _They too are known_, and people see into
   their machinations pretty clearly.

   Bath is a well-judged place for the King during times of
   apprehended turbulence, and the waters may do him good, as
   they do me.... 'Tis a nice place beside, for a man of his open
   character and manners to attach individuals, and delight common
   folks with his familiar way. I am glad he will see _Captain_
   Dimond play Lothario at three score years old, to our lovely
   friend's inimitable Callista....

   We have got a dear Member of Parl^t now close by us in Denbigh
   Town; so Heaven have mercy on the correspondents of your

    H. L. P.

The loss of two ships here mentioned seems to relate to the vessels
which grounded at the commencement of Nelson's engagement at
Copenhagen. On his return home he was set to watch the French armament
collecting for the invasion of England, under the protection of the
fortified camps at Boulogne, Brest, &c. There was no opportunity
for any decisive action, but Camaret Bay, near Brest, was the scene
of one of the numerous cutting-out engagements in which the British
commanders distinguished themselves at this period.

The "gallant, gay Lothario" was a character in Rowe's _Fair Penitent_,
his victim, Callista, being one of Mrs. Siddons's favourite
impersonations.

   [Illustration: HANNAH MORE

   _By Scriven after Slater, 1813. From the Collection of A. M.
   Broadley, Esq._]

Mrs. Piozzi does not seem to have made much use of her "dear Member,"
for this is the only letter this year which he can have franked.

    BRYNBELLA, _August 1801_.

   Be in better spirits, dear Friend, or at least in the best
   spirits that you _can_: things will draw cross sometimes, we
   _know_ they will:

    We know that all must fortune try,
    And bear our evils, wet or dry.

   My master's misfortunes are few, but _dry_ ones; he has now
   a chalk-stone on his _ear_, but Siddons's _mouth_ is a more
   important ailment by half....

   What is the meaning of Hannah More's marriage being thus
   _gravely_ announced in every newspaper, and resounding here in
   N. Wales from every mouth, while you say not one word upon the
   subject?... Give me an answer to the thousand enquiries buzzing
   round me, and give it quickly that the talk may end....

   Our little boy is blithe as a bird, almost as wild; a model of
   gayety and good-humour.

    With smiling cheeks, and roving eyes,
    Causeless mirth, and vain surprise,

   as Hawkesworth describes childhood, such is he: may he get
   safely thro' the _next stage_!

   I have not yet seen Harriet's tale, and without your information
   should never have heard about Belinda. These soft'ning books
   greatly encrease the dissolution of manners, tho' each,
   unexceptionable in itself, cannot be complained of. The youth of
   our present day however _read nothing else_, and how they should
   escape such melting relaxers, added to their own feelings in the
   warm season of life, I guess not. Literary arrogance and early
   ambition are the only antidotes which _this_ world will supply.

   Education is a mere word now for a theme or subject on which
   to display the eloquence of teachers, and the teachers
   themselves--Miss More perhaps excepted,--are drawing boys and
   girls into Love's labyrinth with one hand, while they are
   pointing to distant Wisdom and Virtue with the other.

   The Curate and Barber who burned Don Quixote's Library of
   large romances[20] would have been frighted to see them thus
   epitomized into the power of a school boy to purchase, as
   India's fragrance is happily compress'd into a Guinea phial of
   Odour of Roses.

   [20] _Don Quixote_, Bk. I. chap. vi.

   Our Novel-writers have a right to hate _me_, who set my face so
   against fiction, and who have endeavoured (tho' fruitlessly)
   to make truth palatable. But when they boast that _my_ book is
   liked only by the old Heads of Houses at Oxford and Cambridge,
   and chained up in the _Bodleian_ or _All Souls_, 'tis such a
   vaunt as the French make when they chain their ships ashore.

   It is in the meantime very surprising that Nelson should try
   again after seeing that he attempts impossibilities. I think he
   has play'd double or quits too often, and tempts good fortune
   too far. Egypt is our own at last, and will bring its _plagues_
   with it. For how should _we_ garrison such distant possessions,
   which the French may disturb whenever they are disposed to rid
   themselves of a troublesome General and 40,000 open mouths? I
   wish the East Indians, for whose sake we drove these fellows
   out, would be pleased to keep them away now they are gone.

   So my Lord de Blaquiere is run away to make drawings beyond
   Snowdonia, and the Bishop is in Anglesey, and no Frank, for love
   or money, can I get.... I hear Mrs. Mostyn has a son _Arthur_.
   He will, I hope, fill his round table with Knights, and revive
   the spirit of Chivalry. M[ark] L[ane] is the great Dragon which
   devours us all, and 'tis said there is a train laid to rid the
   Kingdom of a combination so strong, that relying upon its force,
   a Gentleman offer'd yesterday to bet a wager that Corn would be
   as high priz'd next November as it was last January. But this
   is croaking worse than Mrs. Pennington, and I believe that the
   Gentleman will lose....

This month Nelson had made an attempt to cut out the French flotilla
at Boulogne by a boat attack, which failed owing to the fact that the
French had chained their vessels together, and were able to defend
them by a heavy musketry fire from the shore.

       *       *       *       *       *

Lt.-Col. John de Blaquiere, son of an Emigré, who had been M.P. for
several English and Irish constituencies, and Lord-Lieutenant of
Ireland, was created a Baronet in 1784, and advanced to the Peerage in
1800.

    BRYNBELLA [6] _Sep. 1801_.

    (_Franked "de Blaquiere"_)

   ... Our Barometer begins rising while I write, and the
   plantations drink their fill from the Horn of future Plenty.
   Ploughing and preparing ground for next year's crop will _now_
   be all done by Michaelmass, and the dwellers in _Mark Lane_ may
   pray for their own _safety_: it will be in more danger than our
   purses and stomachs. God Almighty will send _victuals_, and
   the---- may take care of the _Cooks_.

   I know not how you gather'd from my letter that _I_ believed in
   Hannah More's change of condition, tho' my neighbours did. Yet
   never having heard that Dr. Crossman was a married or a single
   man, and seeing no jokes accompany the intelligence, which came
   in the regular list of weddings for the week, I own myself
   stagger'd, and now the Papers are filling with epigrammatic
   nonsense which will confirm people in their credence, if no
   contradiction is given.

   With regard to our dear charming friend, _her_ tormentors
   _must_ be private ones. The _Public_ would not suffer their
   truly deserving favourite to be insulted; and she should run
   _to_, not from the _Theatre_, for protection. I guess not what
   _character_ it was in which, you say, she will appear no more.
   _Tell_ me, and tell me what she thinks of the enclosed. Oh! how
   you and I must for ever hold abhorred of our whole souls, the
   human creature who can thus delight in torturing a heart like
   hers! Have I ever _seen_ him, think you? Has he made advances to
   her, and been refused? Or does he protect a rival Actress rising
   into fame? Or _what_ inspires such horrible malignity? I pretend
   not to trace, as Fanny Burney and as Harriet Lee can do, vile
   passions to their source, but such characters prove the Play of
   Hatred and feelings of de Montfort not out of nature....

   My packet of macaroni came down without the book in it, so I
   still remain ignorant of all but what you tell me.... Well!
   I shall read it some time, and will learn (even without its
   assistance) to give my esteem where confidence would be ill
   bestowed. I wish all the Lees very well, notwithstanding what
   has passed in my own mind concerning their conduct towards _me_.
   We must take people as they are, and _such_ people are, at any
   rate, extremely difficult to meet with.

   Our little Boy left us yesterday, and for Mr. Davies's credit
   and his own, left us chearfully. A sweeter temper'd creature
   lives not, nor one better disposed to smooth down life's
   asperities before him, either by well applied strength, or by a
   power happier still, of rolling over them, and suffering little
   hurt.

   Miss Thrale has written to me very civilly from Lowestoffe. We
   have the whole island between us; for Mr. Piozzi promises me a
   dip in our Irish Channel next week, and we go on Thursday next
   to a Bathing Place called Prestatyn, about 14 miles off. Now do
   not exclaim "What! are you 14 miles from the sea?" because we
   are scarcely 4 miles; but from any conveniences we are at least
   fourteen. The invasion seems to keep nobody inland, and by the
   King's giving up Bath entirely I gather the Ministers no longer
   feel apprehensions. If French chicanery cannot raise a famine or
   a sedition among _us_, and if "even-handed Justice does indeed
   return the ingredients of that poyson'd chalice to themselves,"
   and set on foot a mutiny among their own soldiers,--_peace must
   follow_. I told you it was coming, and plenty too; _and what I
   told you then my heart adheres to still_....

Dr. Crossman, to whom the newspapers had married Hannah More, was
rector of Blagdon, the parish in which her controversy with Bere, the
curate, arose.

    BRYNBELLA, _Fryday Oct. 9, 1801_.

   Well! my dear, tardy Friend! your letter is come at last, and a
   nice letter it is. I have one too this post from Mr. Whalley,
   so kind! He has had enough to do with his Lady Writers, but he
   loves both Hannah More and myself, and the least we can do in
   return is to be _merry_, love our friends, forgive our enemies,
   forget offenders and offences, and light up our windows for
   the Peace. The terms are certainly in no sense disgraceful,
   and since we have all been saying so repeatedly, "Let us heal
   our own wounds, limit our own expences, and care no longer
   for Allies who, 'tis sure, care not for _us_;" I pronounce
   our Ministers fully justified to _this_ Country for quitting
   their post, and leaving every _other_ Country to the fate they
   would none of them resist. While France, having enlarged her
   own territory beyond the proudest hope of their own proudest
   Monarch, has prudently bought us off from fighting Europe's
   battles, with two eminently rich, useful, and valuable Islands:
   well knowing that an Englishman will always be quiet while his
   palate is pleased and his pockets full.

   The Gold, and Silver, and Rubies, and Rice from Ceylon,
   sweeten'd by Sugar from Trinidad, will keep Great Britain in
   perfect good humour, and the Commercial Treaty will keep her
   employ'd; and in the meantime Alexander and Buonaparte mean to
   divide the Globe. Such is apparently their project for 1801; how
   and by what means God Almighty will render it abortive remains
   to be seen. The internal politics of our United Kingdoms here
   at home offer a _fair shew_ certainly, for if people are not
   pleas'd with seeing their ports fill'd with foreign corn, and
   their stack-yards groaning under the weight of our own harvests,
   what _will_ please them? Not the price of Mutton in the markets
   I trow; for between the inclosing commons, and _improving_ the
   breed of sheep in Counties where such large animals cannot find
   pasture, with many other reasons, their flesh will sell for
   6_d._ _an ounce_ next year, and we shall have more mouths to
   feed after the War is over, unless the mortality at Liverpool
   goes on. Ah! dear Friend! I told you how it would be, and true
   did I tell you, but no matter,

      For other thoughts mild Heav'n a time ordains,
      And disapproves that care, tho' wise in show,
      That with superfluous burden loads the day;
      And when God sends a chearful hour, refrains.
    Let us light up our windows and be merry....

   Little did I dream seven years ago of seeing peace proclaimed
   between Great Britain and the _Consular State_ of France.
   Little could I _ever_ have dreamed that I should see Venice
   annihilated, Genoa forgotten, Piedmont's Alpine barrier
   insufficient to keep out invasion, even in the depth of winter;
   and old Rome, divided against herself, dropping into her enemy's
   mouth almost without invitation. The world, as it appears,
   consenting to all this, and even happy to think things have gone
   no worse. We shall see more yet, but shall not see _all_. _All!_
   no, nor _half_....

   I wrote Harriet Lee word how much her tale impress'd me. 'Tis
   a characteristic of this age, I think, to shew what forcible
   impression may be made by setting only our _mean_ passions to
   work, avarice, fraud, and fear; instead of generosity, love, and
   valour. What she has done, however, is very striking; and every
   one I lend the book to is amazed to find Conrade the murderer of
   Stralenheim....

The long-expected Peace, which gave us Trinidad and Ceylon, was not
finally arranged till March, but preliminaries were signed October 1.

    BRYNBELLA, _30 Nov. 1801_.

   No, thank you, my dear anxious Friend; we are pretty well, and
   pretty happy, as health and happiness in this world go. I have
   had _more_ than my share of both, blessed be God. My master has
   an addition to _his_ torments, St. Anthony's fire, in and out,
   but much less afflicting than troublesome. It keeps him from
   going to neighbours' houses, and without _that_, there is no
   hope of Autumnal society at Brynbella: it will keep him from
   going to _yours_, and then he must learn to swear of dear Mr.
   Pennington. Lord de Blaquiere, who used to free my covers, is
   gone to London, and my prudence (for the first time in my life)
   overbalanced my tenderness, and so I made you uneasy: and so I'm
   glad you _were_ uneasy, and there's an end.

   We have written about the house to Mrs. Garrart and to Harriet
   Lee both. They say my Lord Kenmare is in now, and will be out on
   the 12th Jan. That time will do nicely, and the poor folks round
   here are glad he does not quit sooner, tho' Mr. Piozzi has given
   a dozen of them good warm winter jackets, and a petticoat each
   to the wife: and barley, which last year was at 32_s._, they may
   have now at 18_s._, and good wheat at a guinea. So I shall leave
   them with less regret this year than last for all those reasons;
   and we employ a vast many hands in planting....

   Something is the matter at Belvidere House, I do _think_.
   Harriet says she has the Black Dog upon her back, and writes
   as if wishing to be courted out of the secret. Instead of
   doing which, I wrote her a rhodomontading letter, all mirth
   and no matter[21] (as Beatrice says) to turn the course of
   her ideas: for I wish not confidence where real kindness has
   ceased to reside: and if these novel-writing Ladies fancy that
   they, and they alone, can read the human mind,--'tis a mistake.
   Your imagination is bound by the Juggler who rattles and talks
   while he ties a knot in your pocket-handkerchief, as surely as
   by the sly Thief that steals it, only the intention is more
   honorable....

   [21] _Much Ado_, II. i. 344.

   Oh do tell the Doctor that Lord Kirkwall did _not_ marry Miss
   Ormsby, and that everybody says it was because he felt that he
   liked Miss Blaquiere better; certain it is the first match went
   off; and if this second does not come on, I shall wonder.

   You were always more sanguine about the benefits of peace than
   I was, but tranquillity is the best consequence it _can_ have;
   let's not therefore disturb that by putting monopoly in people's
   heads, or in their mouths. Such talk leads to nothing but riot.
   If there is no scarcity there will be no monopoly: the people
   _can_ monopolise nothing that is not already scarce. A peace
   which leaves unresisted France mistress of more territory than
   was ever hoped for by her proudest Monarch in his proudest day;
   which annihilates before her grasp principalities and powers,
   and leaves her tributary Republics secur'd to her services by
   the cheap garrison, _Opinion_, cannot be viewed without horror
   by the mere writer of Retrospection. Tho' such were the miseries
   of war, and such the acquisitions by treaty to Great Britain,
   that peace has a right, not only to please, but to console, and
   even _delight_ a true English subject....

    BRYNBELLA, _Tuesday Night, 15 Dec. 1801_.

   ... Well! Time passes away, and so do torments, and poor Mrs.
   Whalley will have no more in this world. I shall have that of
   telling you that there will not be any _habitable Brynbella this
   Summer_, that is coming. We shall be thrown on the wide world
   ourselves, and mean to pass the early part of it at Streatham
   Park, on a visit, the latter end in Caernarvonshire, where my
   lease of a little estate is out, and then call here for a month
   or two in our way back to _Winter Quarters_.... On this hope of
   real comfort let us live till then, and pass some chearful hours
   together at dear Bath, where I would I were this moment! Mr.
   Piozzi playing on the Piano e forte to Mrs. De Luc, you and I
   listening, and hoarding up chat for the half hour after he and
   his auditress are abed and asleep....

   I cannot yet rid myself of this Bristol quarrel. If the Mores
   are, and have been always Sectaries, why do they deny it?
   Where's the harm done? I had rather they were good High Church
   folks like you, and like myself, but the religion that was good
   enough for Isaac Watts need not be shrunk from. What are they
   afraid of?...

   Mrs. Hamilton tells me sweet Siddons is _alive_, but I fancy she
   is on no stage now. Poor Mrs. Whalley's death will grieve her
   unaffectedly. I was never intimate enough to _feel_ her loss,
   but she was no common character, that's certain. Half a dozen
   Gentlemen who lived much together abroad were so sincerely vex'd
   when she left presiding at their public table, that they quitted
   the house; a surprizing testimony to the conversation talents of
   one so wanting in youth or beauty....

    [_P.M._ BATH.]

   My dear Mrs. Pennington's friends will learn to _hate_ poor H.
   L. P.'s name, and that of her _family_, I fear, when I have told
   her how my little John Salusbury and his Preceptor, Mr. Davies,
   are coming for ten days in the _middle of January_, to occupy
   our _only apartment_, and that, as you know, a bad one. The time
   is past when he was _Piccolino_ and slept with Allen, and play'd
   with the men and maids; he is a great boy now, and I would not
   trust him out of my own sight, except with his Tutor, for all
   the territory of Venice.

   And now let us talk of sweet Siddons, who, next to immediate
   home concerns, is dear to you and me. Here is her letter back,
   and truly sorry am I for her. Be perswaded now, and remain
   convinced that neither fame nor fortune can make happiness....

   How people _do_ study to prolong their own existence _in_ this
   world, and their own enjoyment _of_ this world, through their
   offspring, may be learned by the strange tale, now revived, of
   Hugh Capet's being told by an Astrologer that his descendants
   should reign over France _not quite_ 800 years. "Will it," he
   said, "add to their time of sitting on this throne if I do not
   reign at all?" "Oh! yes," replies the man, "your dynasty will
   then continue 806 years." Hugh Capet was, for that reason, never
   crowned. And if you will add those 806 years to A.D.
   987, when he asked the question, they will make 1793, when his
   last descendant was deposed and murder'd. This story now comes
   in peoples' heads because of the surprising Labrador stone dug
   up in Russia, and containing Louis XVI's profile delineated
   upon it by the _hand of nature_. Miss Thrale has seen it, and
   there is a facsimile handed about this town; yet many think it
   an imposition, and those who think otherwise are ashamed to
   say they think so. I wish to look at it in your company, which
   always adds to every intellectual gratification bestow'd on
   yours truly,

    H. L. P.

   Accept our Christmas Wishes, and hope of a happy New Year.

    _Sat. 22 May 1802_,
    GEORGE ST., MANCHESTER SQUARE, LONDON, _No. 5_.

   My dear Mrs. Pennington will begin to expect _accounts_, and I
   think the first thing to give account of is our house; wherein
   was no bed, no fire, and no spit, upon our first arrival. Here,
   therefore, none save a negative inventory of felicities can
   be given; but we hire, and we croud, and we dine out, and we
   endure the inconveniences with the more philosophy as neither
   house, nor lodgings, nor room even in a Hôtel can be got nearer
   to Christian dwellings than Cecil Street in y^e Strand, where
   Governor Bruce has housed himself. So much for _residence_.

   The cards of visitors and inviters, however, cover our little
   table, and we have already pass'd three pleasant evenings
   enough! The first at dear Siddons's, where Lady Percival, Mrs.
   Barrington, Mrs. FitzHugh, and Mr. Whalley all met us; and we
   talked of you, and everyone talked as you would have wished to
   hear; but Mrs. Siddons disclaims letter writing, and says her
   _friends_ must be contented without being her _correspondents_.
   Among them they perswaded us to push for places at the Theatre
   next night, where Hermione's statue was exhibited for the last
   time. I never did see anything so admirable, or so much like a
   _statue_ of our lovely Actress, for it really did _seem stone_;
   and the whole was got up with such taste and splendour that I
   wished for Garrick to witness the magnificence of modern Drury
   Lane. He would have wonder'd tho' what was become of his old
   Florizel and Perdita--Barry and Mrs. Cibber. Kemble played
   Leontes better than I ever saw him do anything since the Regent.
   Apropos to which, here is the Author; looking as well as ever,
   handsome, gay, and brilliant. Mrs. Greatheed alters, and becomes
   very fat. Their habitation is said to be fixed at Guy's Cliffe,
   though they are hastening to Paris as I understand, where Helen
   Maria Williams and the famous Polish hero Koschiusko attract
   general notice. Buonaparte is consider'd as tott'ring on an
   unfix'd seat of pow'r; if he can once convert it into a _throne_
   it will perhaps stand firmer.

   We dined with Miss Thrales yesterday, the party particularly
   agreeable, and very good _talkers_ in it. We women retired to
   Coffee as the clock struck _nine_; the men followed in less than
   an hour, and when tea was taken away at 11 _o'clock_, we came
   home to sleep, and the rest went out to various parties for y^e
   _evening_.

   Fryday was pass'd at Streatham; little Salusbury seems much
   improved. I heard his whole class say their lesson, and made
   observations like those of Mrs. Quickly in the Merry Wives of
   Windsor. It was in those characters Susanna and Sophia shone,
   it seems, at the last Masquerade, dress'd exactly alike, for
   Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page. I wish my rich tenant Mr. Giles would
   get a wife, that one might with better grace accept his kind
   invitations to Streatham Park, which never was so fine before....

Charles Edward Bruce, Governor of Prince Edward's Island, was third
son of Charles, fifth Earl of Elgin, and brother of the seventh Earl,
who collected the Elgin Marbles.

Susanna Maria Cibber, a daughter of Mr. Arne, first made her mark as a
singer, Handel's contralto solos in the _Messiah_ and _Samson_ being
written for her. She obtained even greater reputation as an actress,
and played with Spranger Barry at Drury Lane in 1748, and at Covent
Garden in 1750.

Tadeusz Kosciusko, after having been educated in France, had a
chequered military career in America, where he fought for the
Colonists, and at home. After the second partition of his country he
formed a Provisional Government, but was soon after captured by his
enemies. On his release he visited England and America, but finally
settled in France, where, about this time, he was forming an estate
near Fontainebleau.

    _No. 5_ GEORGE ST., MANCHESTER SQUARE.

    _Wensday, 2 Jun. 1802._

   My dear Mrs. Pennington's beautiful letter is the picture
   of her mind, a mind which only this vast Town can fill: and
   she starves at pretty _Bristol_, as I call it, like a large
   fish put in a small pond, pining for more space, and more of
   something to occupy that space. My taste is different. I really
   feel more confounded than amused at every public place, more
   stunned than informed by every conversation, and more generally
   perplex'd than pleased with the multitude of faces, voices,
   and caprices that surround me. Banti and Billington sang three
   nights ago at Viganoni's Benefit,--we heard them,--not a duet,
   two separate songs of the same class, Italian Airs, and both of
   them Bravura. When they had done,--"I am a Bantist," says one
   Critic. "Ah! long live Billington!" exclaims another, "Her's is
   the only straight road to fortune and to fame." _All_ appeared
   quite _distracted_ with the delight they had enjoyed, yet none
   seemed _satisfied_; for scarce a female in the room except
   myself went home to bed at midnight. But some at Ranelagh, some
   at my Lady Pomfret's, disposed of the hours _once_ consecrate
   to sleep: while many filled the back rooms of Fancy Dress
   Makers, who this year keep houses open all night for _various
   purposes_. The ostensible one, (and that rational enough too,)
   is that the women may chuse Habits unobserved by each other for
   these innumerable Masquerades, where two or three different
   characters are supported every evening by Ladies of y^e Haut
   Ton; increasing expence, and facilitating intrigue in a manner
   hitherto unexampled. _One_ consequence of all this is our paying
   half a guinea for chickens,--the _couple_ I mean,--and 9_d._ o'
   pound for what I should have termed _soup-meat_ at Bath Market.

   _Another_ happier consequence to Country Rustics like _us_
   will be reconcilement to quieter scenes and far more tranquil
   pleasures. I grow very much to resemble the ill-bred fellow
   you and I used to laugh about, who, when Lord Mount Edgecumbe
   showed him the glories of our grandest sea view, from our most
   cultivated spot of earth in Devonshire, commanding the exits
   and entrances of fleets, armies, commerce, etc. from Plymouth
   Sound and Dock, declared that he had been exceeding happy at
   _The Leasowes_, for that he liked _inland_ prospects, (for his
   part,) and _river_ fish. In no unsimilar ill-humour do I vaunt
   the comforts of Bath society and a Sedan Chair, when the pole
   of some gay carriage runs into our pannel, or when, to avoid
   _that_, I take a run in the rain, and wet my feet upon their
   wide trottoirs.

   Apropos to Bath conquests made, it appears I have retained
   but one. Gen^l. Smith is _faithless_, and has so completely
   forgotten us he never has left a card. Mr. Simmons is a fav'rite
   among the Great, and we humble Lodgers are not likely to be
   remember'd while suites of splendid apartments in every grand
   street and square are open to talents--of whatever kind. Edmund
   Charlton alone _is true_. I have a letter from _him_ signed
   my very _dutyful and affectionate friend_, and saying he is
   _less unhappy_ now than when he wrote his Mama word he was
   _miserable_.... Our own Titmouse bids fair to possess abilities
   for bustle, and by y^e time he comes into y^e world, it will be
   a mad world enough.

   Well! I can yet make _new_ conquests. Lord _Stanhope_ professes
   himself my admirer, and the admirer of _my books_. Lady Corke
   call'd him and about 300 people more round her last night, on
   the spur of a moment, because Mr. Piozzi, who had met her in
   Cumberland Street, had promised to sing at a _very private
   party_ for her Ladyship's amusement: and there was H. L. P.
   caressed by all the _Liberty-Lovers_: sweet Lady Derby more
   lovely than them all, and protesting that my husband never
   looked younger nor sung better. There was a Mr. Moore, a
   new favourite with the public, who makes his own music and
   poetry, and pleases people very much,--a sort of English
   Improvisatore,--and there were the Abrahams, and there was
   everybody: and all our talk was the terrors and riots of a
   Mask'd Ball held the night before at Cumberland House, now
   the Union Club. Many women were hurt, and many frighted. My
   Susan Thrale came off with a black eye, but her fingers were
   well, and she played on y^e harp at Lady Cork and Orrery's.
   Sophia went for a Comic Muse, but said the end was very nearly
   tragical; those who fainted from fear were trode upon. Lady
   Derby stood still and _cried_, and succeeded better in obtaining
   compassion. The men's brutality, Mr. Andrews protests, was
   quite unexampled in a civilised country: but Mrs. Greatheed, a
   jocund young Shepherdess, went thro' the whole unhurt, under
   the protection of such a husband and such a son as are rarely
   seen, and both striving which shall most _pet_ and most adore
   _her_. They are now all of them repairing their charms for Mrs.
   Drummond Smith's Assembly, and Beedle's grand Ranelagh Fête to
   be held next Fryday. So much for flash intelligence....

   Political matters do not run quite so _even_. Buonaparte tho'
   is likely as we hear to be made all he wishes; and if he lives
   to coin the money, Apollion Buonaparte _Dei Gratia Imperator
   Gallorum_, it will be very curious indeed....

Elizabeth Billington, considered to be the finest singer England ever
produced, was engaged both at Drury Lane and Covent Garden. This year
she sang in Italian opera at the King's Theatre for Banti's farewell.

Lord Stanhope must have been Charles, third Earl Stanhope, the
scientist, who married Lady Hester Pitt.

The English Improvisatore was, of course, Thomas Moore, who had lately
come into notice by his translations of _Anacreon_. The _British
Critic_ described him as "a young man of elegant and lively, though
not sufficiently regulated imagination"; and predicted that if he
applied himself to "more important subjects, and of a more moral
tendency, few poets of the present day will equal, and perhaps
scarcely any excel him."

After the Peace of Amiens the Senate proposed to appoint Bonaparte
First Consul for ten years. He artfully referred the question to the
people, but in the form of a consulship for life, which was adopted
9th May.

    _No. 5_ GEORGE ST., MANCHESTER SQUARE.

    _Sat. 19 June 1802._

   ... Cecy Mostyn indeed is no steady intelligencer; she says but
   little, and that little speaks good of but few. I could not
   dig from her one word, good or bad, concerning _you_, tho' Mr.
   Piozzi and I both mentioned Mrs. Pennington's name on various
   occasions, while we were _all_ enjoying Mr. Giles's kind
   hospitalities _together_ at old Streatham Park.

   We are returned now like Stella, to _Small Beer, a Herring,
   and the Dean_. Apropos to Deans, we have lost our Bishop at S.
   Asaph, and the learned Dr. Horsley is expected to reign in his
   stead. But you had rather hear about Mara and Billington. We
   were at the grand Concert and Benefit when they sung a _Duet_
   with immoderate applause, tolerably impartial too, because
   Mara shone there with her _low notes_. _Agitata_ however went
   off very coldly, under visible tremors of jealous anxiety. I
   could have cried almost to see 60 struggling so against six
   and thirty, with so little hope of success in a professional
   contest; whilst in all those where merit is not look'd to, _the
   Filly loses every heat_. Our gay Prince of Wales, gayer than
   ever, shines the charm of society, his charmer by his side. When
   his fair cousin _does_ appear in public, she retires thence
   unnoticed except for her beauty and dress, which is always
   singularly rich and grand. Pretty women are common, as far [as]
   I observe, who think so very little about them, but I see none
   strikingly handsome.

   Sophia Streatfield is much alter'd in person, but her manner,
   little changed, secures to her, even yet, _some_ pow'rs of
   fascination. At _her_ request, we _visit_; odd enough! But as
   Callista says, "It is no matter; she can no more betray, nor I
   be ruin'd...."

   Well! I am really haunted by _black shadows_. Men of colour
   in the rank of gentlemen; a black Lady, cover'd with finery,
   in the Pit at the Opera, and tawny children playing in the
   Squares,--the gardens of the Squares I mean,--with their Nurses,
   afford ample proofs of Hannah More and Mr. Wilberforce's success
   towards breaking down the _wall of separation_. Oh! how it falls
   on every side! and spreads its tumbling ruins on the world!
   leaving all ranks, all customs, all colours, all religions
   _jumbled together_, till like the old craters of an exhausted
   volcano, Time closes and covers with fallacious green each
   ancient breach of distinction; preparing us for the moment when
   we shall be made _one fold under one Shepherd_, fulfilling the
   voice of prophecy.

   One of the things most worthy of remark here is the surprizing
   increase in population. You would be astonish'd to see the Town
   as much _fuller_ (in all appearance,) as 'tis larger. On an
   evening when common people come forth for amusement, all these
   new streets leading up almost to Hampstead, are thronged like
   Cheapside upon a busy day: and when I enquire if Westminster and
   Southwark suffer from the change of fashion, as I deemed it, the
   reply is that rents never were so high in _both places_, and
   that fresh outlets are daily forming, and ground contended for
   on building lease....

   Mr Piozzi says the Music Carts are a proof of all I say. They
   are so numerous now it makes one wonder. Yet he dislikes the
   style in which that art is carried on; and though Vinci is a
   pleasing singer, she is no favourite for want of striking airs
   to shew her voice. Mr. Braham sang "Every Valley" so as to
   remind me of _old Johnny Beard_--the _manner_ I mean--quite
   _exactly_, and you will trust my remembrance of a performer I
   liked so much....

On the death of Bishop Bagot, as Mrs. Piozzi anticipated, Samuel
Horsley, who had previously been Bishop of St. David's, was translated
from Rochester to St. Asaph.

As Mara was born in 1749 she was not really much over fifty. She is
said to have made over £1000 by her farewell benefit this year, after
which she retired to Russia, and lived at Moscow till it was burnt
during the French invasion.

Sophia Streatfield was one of those women who are not only
irresistibly attractive to the other sex when they choose to exercise
their powers, but seem impelled to exercise them on every man with
whom they are brought in contact. Thrale had fallen a victim to her
fascinations, and the undisguised admiration he showed for her had
caused his wife much heart-burning many years before, as she describes
in her _Autobiography_.

John Braham, the tenor, son of a German Jew, had been singing at Drury
Lane and the Festivals of the Three Choirs for about six years. His
predecessor, John Beard, born about ninety years before, began as a
singer in the chapel of the Duke of Chandos at Cannons. He made his
reputation in _Acis and Galatea_, and appeared at Drury Lane in 1737.
His first wife was Lady Henrietta Herbert, daughter of James, Earl
Waldegrave, and widow of William, Marquess of Powis.

    LONDON, _16 July 1802_.

   You will wonder, dear Friend, what has delayed us here so
   long. I will tell you now that we are delayed no longer. In
   the first place our letters from Wales tell us hourly of the
   impropriety--impossibility I might call it--of being comfortable
   at Brynbella. In the next place we are paying only 4 guineas o'
   week here for a whole house, _such as it is_, so I see not where
   we could be cheaper, and many Friends that leave this Town very
   late, have made it agreeable to us by letting us live _in_ our
   house very few days in every week. Mr. Piozzi says we have dined
   from home no fewer than 30 times....

   England seems quite on fire with these odious and foolish
   elections. The scenes exhibited in my young days by Johnny
   Wilkes could alone equal the raging uproars at Brentford during
   this last week. Mr. Bradford dare not go through the place
   to Henley on his necessary business, and the Sans-Culotte
   Candidate at Covent Garden keeps Westminster all in a ferment.
   An intelligent acquaintance newly returned from France describes
   that Country very differently. The people's spirit is totally
   broken down, he says, and any government is welcome to them that
   will leave quiet individuals in peaceable possession of _their
   lives_. Not a Country Gentleman's seat is left standing, he
   tells me, between Calais and Paris, nor any place of worship,
   except what is filled with shops, raree-shows, etc. Buonaparte's
   declaration, that he will absolutely hear a Military Mass
   four times per annum, has made them clear out one church in
   the Capital: but force will be found necessary to oblige his
   subjects to marry, as they have learn'd to live without conjugal
   shackles, till the gross licentiousness of French behaviour
   is deemed positively dangerous to population. Our Streatham
   neighbour, a wealthy and well accomplished friend of Mr. Giles,
   hasten'd to bring back again his wife and daughter: tho' when
   they were come home he protested that no _modest_ woman was left.

   What else shall I tell to amuse you? Our talk is only how
   unfavourable the weather is for Vauxhall: I got more rational
   converse at our own good Tenant's table last Sunday than I
   have heard now for some time.... Something is however always
   going forward at London, and Mons^r Garnerin's Balloon called
   all its inhabitants into the fields here one day, when such an
   exhibition of umbrellas darken'd the air as I could not have
   conceived without seeing. Our country servants' amazement at
   the numbers flocking round contributed exceedingly to _my_
   diversion. Little Betty was half out of her wits with wonder,
   and even Tom takes interest in the appearance of five or six
   hundred soldiers on a field-day in Hyde Park. They are going
   back to Brynbella immediately.... Mr. Piozzi has bought a nice
   cart here, and a horse which draws them down in it, whilst we
   proceed to Tenby through Oxford and Cheltenham....

The Brentford election riots were the result of the candidature of Sir
F. Burdett, who had attacked the New House of Correction in Coldbath
Fields as the "English Bastille," giving rise to the following squib:

    "Ho! Ho!" cries the Devil, "come, bring me my boots!
    Here's a kettle of fish that my appetite suits,
      To Brentford an airing I'll take;--'tis past bearing
    That my friends should be fettered by Justice Mainwaring.
    But young B----tt I like; and will form a connection
      To abolish jail, gibbet, and House of Correction."

André Jacques Garnerin made the first successful descent by a
parachute. He demonstrated his invention in Paris in 1797, and this
year came to London, where he ascended from North Audley Street, and
descended from a height of about 8000 feet, near St. Pancras.

    TENBY, S.W., _Tuesday, 3 Aug. 1802_.

   What can be the matter, dear Mrs. Pennington? When _you_ do
   not write something must be the matter I am afraid. We were so
   near you at Cheltenham; I expected letters _there_ from all the
   living world, but nobody's pen stir'd, and after having drank
   water for a whole week, without any of the usual effects from
   it, we drove on through South Wales to the Sea, which always
   looks _homeish_ to a subject of Great Britain. The beauties of
   Brecknockshire never seem to have been praised half enough....
   Our little salt water cup here is the prettiest thing possible,
   a caricatura in miniature of the Bay of Naples, and I hope Lord
   Nelson will be struck with the resemblance if he comes hither
   with the Hamiltons next Thursday, as we expect. Four thousand
   people collected in a trice to give him welcome at Caermarthen,
   and sung the _Conquering Hero_ as he past. It was the greater
   proof of their gratitude because a temporary frenzy had seized
   all the inhabitants, who were battling an Election contest with
   fury unexampled, till _he_ arrived, who united Reds and Blues in
   a momentary procession, accompanying and applauding the warrior
   who, by his prowess, had purchased them leisure to display
   their folly. The disgraceful scenes exhibited at Brentford and
   Nottingham are however of a far different complexion....

   I dined among profess'd Democrates just before we left London,
   but it seemed to me as if their fondness for Paris was
   rather diminished than increased by their last visit to that
   Metropolis, where they described Buonaparte as living in a Camp
   rather than a Court, and with a careful brow receiving, not
   enjoying, the homage paid him. By their talk I gather'd that
   Helen Williams lives in the same Hotel with Stone; but that no
   scandal or idea of connection subsists for that reason; that
   Koschieffsky, the Polish chieftain, is her hero,--much as Miss
   Lee venerates General Paoli;--and that her house (Helen's) is
   the resort of a Literary Coterie, all _malcontents_, who tell
   those that get into their circle what a short duration the
   present order of things will be granted, and what happy days
   await France when the next change takes place. Was not Lord
   Lyttleton right enough when, walking round Ranelagh, he observed
   that pleasure was always _in the next Box_?

   Miss Hamilton is said to be writing somewhat very entertaining
   in a cottage near some of the Lakes. Miss Edgeworth makes
   everybody laugh but me, with her Essay on Irish Bulls. Hannah
   More is suffering from her Pamphlet Fever still. And they tell
   me Helen Williams thinks of nothing with real delight except
   London Society, and an unsullied reputation for female honour.
   Her mother, yet alive, curses the atheistical notions that
   surround her, teaches Cecilia's Babies Dr. Watts's Hymns and our
   Church Catechism, prays for King George the Third morning, noon,
   and night, and centres all her wishes in that one of seeing old
   England (forsooth,) once again. Why upon earth did they leave
   it?...

Pasquale de Paoli had been elected Generalissimo of Corsica in 1755,
and held the post till the Genoese sold the island to France in
1768, when he escaped to England, and was granted a pension. He
accepted the Governorship at the Revolution, but being disgusted
at the proceedings of the Convention, organised a revolt, and was
again elected Generalissimo. Finding himself unable to maintain the
independence of his country, he agreed to hand it over to England,
and when we evacuated the island, retired to London, where he died in
1807. His remains were conveyed to Corsica in 1889.

Miss Hamilton's "something amusing" would appear to be her _Letters
on Education_, published 1801-2. The _Essay on Irish Bulls_ was the
joint work of Richard Lovell and Maria Edgeworth. The _British Critic_
deemed it "a kind of peace-offering to the Irish nation for the
harmless satire of _Castle Rackrent_."

    TENBY, _Friday, August 6, 1802_.

   This is indeed a dismal end to the long silence of poor dear
   Mrs. Pennington. Your letter kept us both awake last night, yet
   I have fixed on no mode of consolation to be offer'd you in the
   morning. Should it please God that you were to become once more
   a _Single Woman_, I hope _we_ should always be able and willing
   to afford you shelter. In the mean time it is your duty to be
   careful of your health, your Husband, and your Mother, who, of
   the three, is really most to be pitied. There is always some
   brighter part than the _rest_, of every cloudy sky; and that
   part gets more luminous as one fixes one's eyes upon it....

   Be perswaded to anticipate possible, though distant, good;
   you _will not_ believe in ills till they are near _indeed_.
   My croaking with regard to public matters you rejected, as
   disturbing your rejoycing in the peace, and the plenty, and the
   taking away of the Income Tax: but what I said _then_ might now
   be _seen_, if we were not _blind_: it will shortly be _felt_,
   for feeling is a sense that will remain long after the others
   are blunted.

   If the Parliament, by finding Sir Francis Burdett's votes
   illegal, make the Westminster election void, who will stand
   forward to oppose him? Mainwaring? And if he does, will that be
   very advantageous, (think you,) towards the peace of the Country
   and our Sovereign Lord the King? Or will his _next_ opponent,
   if Mr. Mainwaring be weary, have any better success? And will
   you give the Democrates a fresh triumph, because this last is
   not sufficient? If he is _outed_ at a stroke, and Mr. Mainwaring
   called in, the consequent violence will be great indeed, and the
   uproar deafening. It was an ill-managed business....

   What _you_ have lost, could not, I suppose, have been saved;
   what Government loses, they do not much struggle to keep.
   Everything is done in a new way, and we who lived in former
   times do not much like it. But as Baretti said, when losing at
   Backgammon, "These are bad dice, but we must play them as they
   are." ...

   Sea bathing is beautifully pleasant in this little place,
   fertile in fish beside, but seeing no fruit makes one feel as
   if summer was quite over.... Mr. Piozzi waits here very good
   humourdly till Brynbella has made her toilette. What a mercy
   'tis that Gout has not yet laid hold on him!...

  [Illustration: MRS. PIOZZI (ABOUT 1808)

  _By J. Bate after a medallion by Henning, 1808_

  _From the Collection of A. M. Broadley, Esq._]

Mrs. Pennington's troubles were of a financial description, and seem
to have been brought about, for the second time, by her scape-grace
brother.

    BRYNBELLA, _30 Aug. 1802_.
    (Franked "Kirkwall.")

   Sick or well, sorry or glad, nobody sure does write such letters
   as our dear Mrs. Pennington. It is because nobody else writes
   from the heart, I suppose.... Mr. Pennington was always an
   _honourable_ character, and since you are to be a dependent
   wife, be thankful your dependence is upon a _Gentleman_ who,
   while he deems himself such, will never desert you. Be thankful
   too, that you have no young family. You _cannot now_ I think,
   be parent of two children, and live to see the one rob the other
   and run away. These are sins against _Nature_! My heart recoils
   from thought of them. Poor Mrs. Weston!! I, who am a mother,
   must feel for _her_!

   After long wanderings and washings, like the Lady in Hannah
   More's Village Politics, with hot water and cold water, salt
   water and fresh water, here am I returned to Brynbella, and if I
   thought it would divert you for a moment, I would tell you how
   sublime and beautiful a journey we had across this Principality
   from South to North. Fine Alpine scenery between Machynlleth
   and Bala, varying at every step; and presenting now a rough,
   high, uncultivated rock, and now clusters of small corn fields
   round a tiny village, that for aught I see _need_ not be so
   poor, because the grass and grain are really plentiful. Small
   lakes among volcanic fragments are perpetually occurring, and
   our guide showed us one which had _literally no bottom_. From
   Bala Pool indeed the River Dee takes its source, and winds about
   with very elegant bends till it reaches Chester; but Kader Idris
   is the chief feature of the whole Country, and tho' far smaller
   than Snowdon, it is much more impressive. Our weather likewise
   on that day was gloomy;

    The winds were high, the clouds low-hung,
    And drag'd their sweepy trains along
        The shaggy mountain's side.

   Apropos to _Verses_, you must read the British Critic for last
   April, and what he says of Retrospection: it has entertained me
   exceedingly, and will amuse Gen^l. Smith and Dr. Randolph. I
   hope those two friends will join to console you; what talents
   and literature can do, _they_ are, above all men I know, capable
   of administering: but it is a grievous thing to think how very
   little can be done by either talents or literature. Piety and
   business will effect in a month what the other two could not
   perform in a year. Fly to _those_, dear Sophia, and be not
   solitary or idle for an instant. Your situation is happy in that
   too it forces you on Company. Nor is it wise at any time to be
   fastidious; you may receive from _very plain people_ very good
   hints, and one comes away having learn'd something where 'tis
   least to be expected, much oftener in this life than you would
   think for....

Sir Francis Burdett, a friend of Horne Tooke, had been elected for
Middlesex by a large majority over Mainwaring, a magistrate who had
opposed the inquiry into prison abuses. He sat for two years, when the
election was declared void, but litigation went on, at an enormous
expense, till 1806, when Burdett resolved not to contest another
election.

The _British Critic_ describes _Retrospection_ as a work "perfectly
singular,--a Universal History from the beginning of the Christian
Era, translated into chit-chat language, alternating with passages
in an elevated style"; and inclines to think that it was originally
written in blank verse, but disjointed by the printer or the author,
_e.g._ (p. 76):

    "Chased many Vandals from their ancient seats,
    And so increased his wild and wide domain,
    Soon to be called after his name, their founder,
    That all the Northern districts of the Empire
    Felt justly fearful of these gathering storms."

"Many, like M. Jourdain, have talked prose half their lives without
knowing it, but few have written half a large book in harmonious
heroics, when they meant to write mere prose. If we might advise, the
ingenious Author should turn the whole into blank verse, and republish
it."

    BRYNBELLA, _Thursday 7 Oct. 1802_.

   When a Member of Parliament says to me, "Shall I give you a
   Frank?" "Oh yes!" I always reply, "for Mrs. Pennington." Lord
   Kirkwall's generosity is the cause of _this_ letter, because
   in these hard times one likes, you see, to get a little chat
   gratis. The next thing to be considered is,--what shall I ask?
   and what shall I tell? That my Master has had a smart fit of
   gout in his hands, and that I expect him to have one in his
   feet, may be told with truth. That the Countess of Cork and
   Orrery drove up to our door while he was confined, may be told
   with some degree of vexation, because I knew not how on earth to
   amuse her, but she was good humoured, and gave little trouble,
   and after a fortnight's visit--went away. What she related of
   her adventures among the crags of Kader Idris, her admiration of
   that wild mountain scenery, and the contrast _our_ gay prospect
   afforded her, will, I suppose, be served up in many a London
   Assembly next May.

   Ladies appear now to travel all Autumn upon a foraging plan of
   gleaning talk for their Spring parties. They who spend June
   and July in London can never perswade me that they are really
   in search of rural pleasures the remaining part of the year in
   _our_ cold climate, or that rural pleasure is really to be found
   where deformity is sought. Miss Thrales have been looking for
   _both_, as I understand, among the _Western Islands_, described
   by every traveller as barren, bleak, and dangerous. Had Mr.
   Piozzi and I known that they were navigating the stormy Sound of
   Mull when we heard the wind roar so a fortnight ago, irritated
   by Equinoctial Gales, we should have been in pain for _them_,
   not for the furniture expected from Mayhew and Ince to decorate
   pretty Brynbella.

   _All is safe_ however. Mrs. Bagot used to say it was superfluous
   to wish anybody a good journey, because, said she, _everybody_
   has a good journey. "Ah! dear Friend!" I hear you exclaim,
   "many have a good journey through life too; yet is it not
   superfluous to wish their neighbours one likewise; for surely
   mine has been a very bad one." Come, courage! The next stages
   will be smoother, for you shall not predict of your own fortune
   with that unlucky acuteness you show in discerning the future
   lot of others....

   Sweet Siddons ... writes me word from Belfast that she will call
   here in her hurrying journey back to our Metropolis....

The next letter was written the same day, and was evidently called
forth by the announcement of an unexpected visit from Mrs. Pennington;
but neither this, nor that of Mrs. Siddons, ever came off.

    BRYNBELLA, _Thursday 7 Oct. 1802_.

   My dear Mrs. Pennington will have the sincerest _welcome_
   possible, but she will have nothing else. My volunteer letter,
   franked by Lord Kirkwall, will shew you that we have _no_
   curtains, and _no_ blinds up, no anything but, as Buchetti
   used to say of a Spanish Posada, "Four walls! no more." Those
   walls will however resound with joy at your arrival, and dear
   Siddons's. How good and charming she is! I have a letter--three
   lines long--from _her too_....

The next is written while on the way to pay their winter visit to Bath.

    GLOUCESTER, _Sat. night 4 Dec. 1802_.

   And so I lose Hannah More, and so I lose Mrs. Siddons, and so I
   lose dear Mrs. Pennington, and so I lose my fav'rite house at
   Bath.

    Still drops some joy from with'ring life away!

   But 'tis _all for their good_, as the children say, and I resign
   to my fate. Let us hope at least that increase of health and
   fortune may make _them_ happy. My Master comes better from
   Brynbella this year than I scarce ever saw him....

   You caution'd me, dear Friend, not to tell of your arrangements.
   Assure yourself I am incapable of any such breach of trust. If
   one lets the Maid comb one's _own_ secrets out of one's _head_,
   (and I have none in,) those _confided_ to me are in a safer
   place, lodged in my _heart_. I hope your new projects will
   answer, and that you will tell me so on New Year's Day, after
   dinner....

    _No. 5_ HENRIETTA STREET,
    _Thursday 16 Dec. 1802_.

   Dear Mrs. Pennington is always right,--the letter was a mere
   nothing. Such will, I hope, prove the more rationally alarming
   report of Constantinople's sudden and unlooked for destruction.
   Be that as it may, our charming Dr. Randolph took occasion
   to draw thence a most beautiful and impressive sermon last
   Sunday, when he preached better than ever I heard him, to a
   heterogeneous congregation, which attracted my notice as much as
   the discourse did: Mr. Pitt, Dr. Maclean, the Duchess of York,
   and Bishop of West Meath....

   Harriet Bowdler is a sad loss to me, and so are the Mores. Bath
   is scarce Bath this year somehow: were it not for Laura Chapel
   and Pump, I should regret leaving solitude and Brynbella; but
   then Laura and Pump are two good things for soul and body, and
   what is all the rest?...

The Mores removed this year from Bath to a new house they had built
at Barley Wood, in the parish of Wrington, and which became their
permanent home. It would seem that a similar move was responsible for
the loss of Harriet, (properly Henrietta Maria) Bowdler, sister of the
editor of the _Family Shakespeare_. She herself was a writer of poems
and essays, and also of a volume of sermons, published anonymously,
which were so good that Bishop Porteous is said to have offered
preferment to the unknown author.

Pitt, who was now living in retirement at Walmer Castle, was much
harassed by debts, and in October visited Bath for his health. It was
for his birthday dinner this year that Canning wrote the song, "The
Pilot that weathered the Storm."

The Bishop of Meath, Thos. Lewis O'Beirne, had been educated for the
priesthood in the Roman Church, but received English Orders and was
made Bishop successively of Ossory and Meath. He appears to have been
an excellent prelate, reviving the office of Rural Dean, and carefully
examining his Ordination candidates.

    _Tuesday, 21 Dec. 1802._

   _Well, well!_ as Sir George Colebrooke says, if we must not meet
   we may write, I suppose; and I really will _try_ to rejoice if
   my absent friends are happy. Dear Siddons's letter was of more
   real value than you seem to think. All our News Papers and News
   Talkers have been telling how she was hissed in Dublin, and how
   ill it had made her.... But all is well, and so that wise man
   Mr. Twiss, with his clear, straightforward understanding, said
   it would be; and February will bring her home with all her money
   safe I hope....

   Our weather here is wondrous mild and soft, good for Brynbella
   planting, and very good for the _very poor_ people, who cannot
   keep themselves and their one cow alive in hard frost....

The hostile reception of Mrs. Siddons at Dublin was the result of an
unfounded report that she had refused to act for a local charity. It
appears that she gave her assent when the manager suggested it, but
the latter, for some reason, failed to arrange for the performance.

The remaining letters from Bath have no particular interest, but it
appears that just before her departure Mrs. Piozzi had rather a sharp
attack of illness, apparently influenza.

    _Thursday, 14 Ap. 1803._

   ... Dr. Parry and Mr. Bowen both called yesterday to _bid_ me
   go out at noon this memorable Thursday. So I went, but found
   no enjoyment, except in returning without any apparent harm,
   or fresh access of Fever, which they had all so imbued my
   mind with, that I felt nothing while from home but fears of a
   relapse. It does not appear however that such an accident has
   happen'd to _me_ as yet: and perhaps God Almighty will permit us
   to see Brynbella once again.

    _Sunday, 17 Apr. 1803._

   ... We shall set out, if it please God, to morrow sennight, and
   sleep at Fleece Inn, Rodborough....

   My airing in the carriage did me good, and the _knocking knees_
   took a walk with me yesterday, up Pulteney Street and down
   again,--no more. To-day I will go _twice_ up and down, and so
   season myself by degrees....

    BRYNBELLA, _19 Jun. 1803_.

   Assure yourself, dear Mrs. Pennington, that my thoughts towards
   you are in no wise changed: and if I always thought you the
   best letter writer in our King's dominions, (before _they_ were
   contracted by loss of Hanover,) how much more do I think so
   since your last arrived, full as it is of pungent and tender
   reproaches....

   There are two Bishops and one Dean dead, you see, and their
   families left low in the world; yet the Democrates keep on
   stripping clergymen of every reason for becoming such; and tear
   away tythes etc. without mercy....

   Sweet Siddons is at Cheltenham healing _her_ honourable heart
   I hope, and washing away its cares. Mr. Whalley is happy, it
   is a cordial to hear of _somebody_ being happy. You are too
   nervous--as the phrase is; meaning that your nerves are too
   irritable to be placidly content; and that is the best state to
   be in....

The next letter is addressed to Miss Hannah More's house, Barley Wood,
but has been re-directed to Hotwells.

    BRYNBELLA, _31 July 1803_.

   Such is the present situation of everybody and everything, that
   even _your_ lovely description of Nature and her beauties,
   in some place which you, dear Mrs. Pennington, call Bower
   Ashton--but of which I never heard in my life before--fail to
   detain my mind from events in prospect, and near prospect _now_,
   of enormous importance indeed.

   Poor Jane Holman, cydevant Honourable Miss Hamilton, is running
   hither for refuge from murder and massacre. She has written
   to-day to bid us expect her every moment; and though the ground
   _is_ covered with wavy corn, and the trees are loaded with
   apples, pears, and all useful fruitage, my heart at this instant
   feels more bent on their defence than on their admiration.

   I defer'd writing till the time that your letter gives me leave
   to suppose you are under the half sacred roof of a Lady, to
   whom, if we direct _in Europe_, it will find the destined way.
   Present me with truly respectful attention where I wish so
   sincerely never to be forgotten; and in return I will enclose
   you some Impromptu verses, which I threw across the table to
   Mr. Piozzi last Monday. We had no company ... only one friend
   from Denbigh, and the Parson of the Parish, who translates Miss
   More's admirable stories into Welsh, for benefit of his poor
   and ignorant parishioners. But here are the lines to Gabriel
   Piozzi, 25 Jul. 1803.

    Accept, my Love, this honest Lay,
    Upon your twentieth Wedding Day.
    I little hoped that life would stay
    To hail the _twentieth_ Wedding Day.
    If you're grown gouty, I grown gray,
    Upon our twentieth Wedding Day,
    'Tis no great wonder; Friends must say
    Why 'twas their twentieth Wedding Day.
    Perhaps there's few feel less decay
    Upon a twentieth Wedding Day:
    And many of those who used to pay
    Their court upon our Wedding Day,
    Have melted off, and died away
    Before the twentieth Wedding Day.
    Those places too, which, once so gay,
    Bore witness to our Wedding Day,
    Florence and Milan, blythe as May,
    Marauding French have made their prey.
    If then of gratitude one ray
    Illuminates our Wedding Day,
    Think, midst the wars and wild affray
    That rage around this Wedding Day,
    What mercy 'tis we are spared to say
    "We have seen our twentieth Wedding Day."

   If Helen Williams, ever lovely, and once so beloved! is looking
   towards England now in preference to France, it is a great
   testimony to our Island's felicity and honour. For such suffrage
   is not mean, and Helena has had experience of _both nations_,
   since she published that little book in which she charged our
   Londoners with harshness, avarice, and want of feeling, because
   they suffer'd some Monsieur de Fosseè to wear straw boots.
   The Londoners' behaviour _now_ does them vast credit in the
   opinion of all thinking people, and Mr. Bosanquet's speech
   will doubtless be handed down to posterity as giving [a] great
   example. Should not you be struck with the sight of a Metropolis
   you lived so long in, _fortified_ against _hostile force_? It
   would to _me_ bear an extremely awful appearance....

   Mrs. Mostyn is said to meditate her return to the rustics of
   N. Wales, who will receive her as if she came to confer on us
   both benefit and honour. Such is the consequence of that lofty
   conduct which forces people into their _places_, as the Ton
   Ladies call treating their humble servants with distant and
   scarce lukewarm civility. Well! those who take the _other_ way
   are worse used in _this_ world, and I suppose will stand no
   better in the _next_ for directing to _Miss_ White instead of
   plain _Sarah_. I cure every day of some prejudice or other....

The short-lived peace had come to an end, the English Ambassador
quitting Paris on 12th May, and the old scare of invasion was at
once revived. Mrs. Holman was flying from Ireland, always a likely
landing-place for a French expedition. After a quarrel with the
management of Covent Garden, her husband had, for a time, transferred
himself to the Dublin Theatre, and subsequently took up farming.

The verses, at any rate as to their form, are modelled on those
written by Dr. Johnson to celebrate her own thirty-fifth birthday, and
which will be found in Hayward's _Autobiography_, i. 31-2.

The reference to Helen Williams was evidently occasioned by Mrs.
Pennington having communicated the contents of a letter received
from her early in the month, in which Helen justifies her journey to
Switzerland in company with Stone, as previously mentioned. After
expressing her regret at hearing of the death of Maria Siddons, and
offering condolences to the afflicted father and mother, she proceeds:

   "Mrs. Piozzi's heart is then changed towards me! I am afflicted
   to hear it, because I cannot cease to love her. If she could
   look into my heart she would be very sorry for her error: she
   would not, I am sure, be willingly unjust to any one. Yet I
   should have conjectured, I own, that having suffered so much
   from calumny herself, she would have been slow to believe ill of
   others!"

    _Saturday, 5 Nov. 1803._
    (Franked "Kirkwall.")

   Our correspondence has languished miserably of late, dear Mrs.
   Pennington, but though your letters may be unacknowledged, they
   cannot be forgotten....

   I have heard ... how much notice you attracted from the Duke
   of Cumberland, while he was remaining in or near Bristol, and
   heard it with a great deal of pleasure. Indeed _I_ ever thought
   it a consolatory circumstance to live where a Royal Family
   is established, and posessing a large stake in the country
   one inhabits. They are the most likely people to be active in
   protecting it; and the present situation of affairs in England,
   added to the exemplary conduct of our British Princes, makes me
   cling closer to my old opinions.

   We have had the Duke of Gloucester's son in _this_ Country; he
   spent some time at Llewenny Hall, and Lady Orkney came here
   herself to insist on my dining with him there. But Mrs. Holman
   was just come from Ireland, and I would not leave an old friend
   for a young Prince, you may be sure. His behaviour was much
   admired wherever he appeared.

   The festivities that have _since_ taken place on account of
   Lord Kirkwall's birthday, and his Baby's christening, had _us_
   for sincere admirers. It was a pretty sight to see the four
   generations of an ancient and noble family all in one room so:
   the Marquis of Thomond kissing his _great grandson_, and dancing
   himself at the Ball.

   I hope Buonaparte will not disturb our happiness in _this_
   Country, which never looked more beautiful....

   We have got a Clergyman to our mind besides, and Mr. Piozzi has
   permitted me to pick up all my poor old Ancestors' bones, and
   place them in a new vault under the church, which he kindly
   repairs, and floors, and beautifies at no small expence. So here
   is a fair given account of my long silence.

Ernest Augustus, fifth son of George III, afterwards King of Hanover,
had been created Duke of Cumberland 1799; he was now in command of the
Severn District. The Duke of Gloucester was William Henry, third son
of Frederick, Prince of Wales. His son, William Frederick, known as
Prince William of Gloucester, Colonel of the 1st Regiment of Guards,
was appointed Lieutenant-General in 1799.

The four generations at Llewenny Hall were: (1) Murrough (O'Bryen),
Earl of Inchiquin and first Marquis of Thomond, who had married Mary,
Countess of Orkney. (2) Their daughter and heir, Mary, now Countess
of Orkney, who married the Hon. Thomas Fitzmaurice of Llewenny. (3)
Their eldest son John, Viscount Kirkwall, who married, 1802, the Hon.
Anna Maria de Blaquiere. (4) Their infant son, born 1803, Thomas John
Hamilton, afterwards fifth Earl of Orkney.

    BRYNBELLA, _3 December 1803_.

   When other things go pretty well, let us not, dear Mrs.
   Pennington, despair of the Commonwealth. If the Ministry cannot
   or will not take care of us, we must take care of the Ministry:
   and sure I am that hitherto History affords no example of a
   nation enslaved, whose inhabitants resolved to be free.

   For the rest, I am ready enough to confess that unprecedented
   occurrences are, in these strange times, to be witness'd every
   day, and God only knows what may happen; yet I do surely hope
   and trust old England will never disgrace herself.... This
   famous Armada however, and its Xerxes, do not seem in haste to
   try the courage of their _only_ opponents, tho' backed with the
   assistance of our old Allies, and gilt with the trappings torne
   from our Sovreign's immediate family and possessions. _He_ will
   be right to say as Macduff does, "Within my sword's length set
   him,"[22] etc.... Mrs. Holman staid with us 8 weeks exactly, no
   more.... Her husband is writing for the Stage....

   [22] _Macbeth_, IV. iii. 234.

   The Colonel's old Papa seems likely to outlive all he ever
   heard of in his youth, I think; the monarchy of France, the
   haughtiness of Spain, the papacy of Rome, the riches of Holland,
   the independence of Switzerland, _and the prosperity of Great
   Britain_. While _one_ general pulse however keeps beating, my
   hopes will live, and beat too. Buonaparte's fate draws towards a
   dreadful Crisis, let him _but come out_, and our Admirals will
   give good account of him. Miss Thrales are at Broadstairs under
   Lord Keith's protection, who fears them not; they row out to
   sea for purpose of looking at the _Wolves over the Water_, and
   say it is an enormous preparation sure enough, but our sailors
   have no doubts of the event, and Mr. Gillon's letters are
   encouraging. _He_ likes what has been doing in West India very
   well. Oh! how it must provoke the Tyrant of Europe to think he
   cannot likewise tyrannise in America.

   The seizure of Alexandria too, proves the active secresy of our
   Government; and I remember Ministers who would have [been] much
   praised for such a step. Once more adieu, and do not despair of
   the Commonwealth.

   Our plans must wait permission from above. If these Marauders
   come, home is the proper place to be found in: besides that my
   Master must see some weeks over before he becomes _portable_,
   and in those weeks!!! Oh Heavens! what is there dreadful in
   this world that may not happen before the 1st January 1804?

   God preserve _you_, dear Mrs. Pennington, and have mercy on the
   anxious heart of your

    H. L. P.

Though the much-talked-of invasion still hung fire, the French were
able to inflict some loss on England by the occupation of Hanover this
year. On the other hand, many of the French and Dutch colonies in the
West Indies fell into our hands, mainly through the energy of Sir
Samuel Hood, who helped to capture St. Lucia and Tobago, with Demerara
and other places on the mainland.

    BRYNBELLA, _Thursday 5 Jan. 1804_.
    (Franked "Kirkwall.")

   Enjoy your Ball, dear Mrs. Pennington, and be assured that all
   is at _least_ as well with your particular Friendships as with
   that one great public Family to which we all belong.... Mr.
   Piozzi has weather'd this fit, and is come down stairs once
   again.... My own health will do all that is wanted from it, and
   as to wishing myself at Bath, _I do not_. Dr. Thackeray gallop'd
   over from Chester, and what he did afforded more immediate and
   visible relief than anything I could hope, more than I ever saw
   done either by London or Bath Physicians. There is besides one
   comfort in a country Doctor one can never have from a town one.
   They stay and sleep at your house, and have time to observe the
   progress of your complaint, and the power of their own medicines
   over it....

   Shew Dr. Grey this letter.... I am all of his mind that England
   _can_ be no better prepared for defence, or France for attack.
   'Tis a grand Tournament, on the decision of which the world
   waits as composedly as it did 2000 years ago, when the plains of
   Pharsalia determined the _names_ of their sovreigns. The issue
   of _this_ contest will settle what _Nation_ the others are to
   serve.... I do really wish the crisis was come now; for after
   the Dinner is once ready you know, be it little or much, it gets
   worse for waiting. Our Volunteers will make _themselves_ work,
   if Buonaparte finds them none of the right sort. Let _him_ once
   appear and we know who to turn our swords upon....

    _No. 11_ HOLLES ST., _Tuesday, 6 March, 1804_.

   So many things have occur'd since I received your last letter,
   dear Mrs. Pennington, that this will of course be a long one.
   The King's illness and recovery, the continued talk of invasion,
   the widowhood of your fair friend, cydevant Honoria Gubbins, the
   correspondence of those French Noblemen so fêtè and so admired
   in Bath and Bristol, and these present conjectures concerning
   Sir Sydney Smith, fill every mouth, and render me still more
   enraged when toothach hinders my list'ning to such interesting
   circumstances.

   Never was there a moment more favourable for rusticated folks
   like myself to pick up opinions, facts, etc., and _fill my
   little bag_. But Lord St. Vincent's ill-timed ill health is
   among the things I should like to fling out of it.

   Dear Mrs. Siddons is in great beauty this year: her Zara was
   never more passionately admired. The Kembles look happy too, and
   so do Miss Lees; but when I was introduced to Mr. Cumberland
   at Lord Deerhurst's dinner yesterday, I did not know _him_,
   nor he _me_. The public will not however fail to recognize
   him, I suppose; he tries them in a new Play very soon. Poor
   Holman is---- poor Holman!!! and everybody seems grieved at his
   _double_ disappointment.

   Miss Thrales are well and gay; Mrs. Mostyn plump and pretty,--so
   are her sturdy little boys.... Oxford will be rendered a fine
   amusing place for the gay fellows by Mrs. Lee's accusation of
   the Gordons: it was always a good place for those who liked
   looking over books, conversing with scholars, etc. We staid two
   days there on our journey to London, for me to make my respects
   to the Eleusinian Ceres; but she, alas! was gone to _the other
   House_, as the Players say, Lord Elgin, who sent her over, being
   a Cambridge Man.

   The weather has been very odd this year. We enjoyed Spring at
   Brynbella, where birds were singing, and trees coming out, every
   day before we came to Town _for the Winter_. It has snowed and
   _blow'd_, and hail'd and rained, ever since, I think; and the
   Thames looked all in a storm to-day from dear Lady Orkney's
   beautiful apartments at Chelsea....

The King had a slight return of his malady in January. On his recovery
Addington, who had lost his majority, resigned, and Peel succeeded to
the Premiership in May.

Sir Sydney Smith had been appointed in 1803 to a small squadron acting
under Lord Keith off the coasts of Flanders and Holland. He now seems
to have been watching the French preparations for invasion. Lord
St. Vincent's suffering was probably more mental than physical. His
exposure of the gross corruption prevalent in the Naval Administration
had drawn down upon him a storm of abuse and misrepresentation, in
which even Pitt joined.

    HOLLES ST., _Monday Ap. 16, 1804_.

   Dear Mrs. Pennington's beautiful letters shall lie no longer
   unacknowledged. Mr. Parsons brought me the first.... Dr. Gray
   came to see us since that, for the first time, but _his_
   appearance spoke happiness, and his _conversation_ unaltered
   friendship to you and to ourselves. He is a good man, and he
   liked our little Boy, who was at home just then for Easter
   Holidays.... As to dear Lady Orkney, she takes her lodgings on
   a Milestone, I believe, for there is no catching _her_, Town or
   Country.... Lady Hesketh will be amused to hear that the people
   who have seen her cousin Cooper's snuff-box, or the seat his
   favourite Mary sate in, cry "Touch me, touch me, that you may
   say you have touched the person who sate in Mrs. Unwin's chair,
   or handled Cooper's snuff-box." This is all good, is it not?
   for Mr. Hayley.

   Cumberland's Play keeps the stage, in spite of younger wits who
   wanted people to laugh at the Author instead of the Comedy; but
   Mrs. Abingdon and I,--veterans like himself,--are glad that he
   succeeds; for as she expresses it, "He has a graceful mind."

   Miss Lees and we have met twice or thrice, but either the Life
   of a Lover, Sophia's new novel, is not out, or I have not seen
   it. Holcroft's Paris, and Miss Edgeworth's Popular Tales are the
   only books found in windows, on toilettes, etc.

   No tales of wonder, and such are _not_ hers, can equal the death
   of Le Duc D'Enghien, or the apprehensions seriously entertained
   at present for Mr. Drake, British Ambassador in Bavaria, and our
   good friend, as you remember.... He married Miss Mackworth, and
   now we expect him to be _hanged_, as he surely will be, poor
   Fellow! if Buonaparte catches hold of him. These are novelties
   at least, though not novels; yet few romances would have
   ventur'd such an incident....

   Mrs. Mostyn is full in feather, and high in song, as the folk
   say who keep Canary Birds, and her immense Aviary put me in
   mind of the phrase. She has three very sturdy Boys beside. De
   Blaquieres, Kirkwalls, all Holles Street I believe, dined with
   her yesterday, and among the rest my gay Master, and his and your

    H. L. P.

Harriet, wife of Sir Thomas Hesketh, was a daughter of Ashley Cowper,
the uncle of the poet. The latter died in 1800, and his biography by
his friend William Hayley was published 1803.

In 1803 Sophia Lee gave up the school at Belvidere House, and devoted
herself to writing. Her first important work, published the following
year, took the shape of six volumes of letters, entitled _The Life of
a Lover_.

Thomas Holcroft, shoemaker, actor, and dramatist, had been living for
five years on the Continent to escape his creditors. On his return
he published in 1804 his _Travels from Hamburg through Westphalia,
Holland, and the Netherlands, to Paris_, in 2 vols. 4to.

It was apparently with the idea of arousing prejudice against
England that Bonaparte brought an unfounded charge of plotting his
assassination against Mr. Drake and Mr. Spencer Smith, our envoys at
Munich and Stuttgard, and procured their expulsion by the courts of
Bavaria and Würtemburg.

The treacherous seizure of the Duc d'Enghien in March in the neutral
territory of Baden, his condemnation by a court-martial on no specific
charges, and hurried execution, was a tragedy which shocked all
Europe. It was this inexplicable incident in the career of Bonaparte
which gave rise to the well-known _mot_ of Fouche, "It was worse than
a crime, it was a blunder."

    BRYNBELLA, _Sunday Morng, 19 Aug. 1804_.

   I am the wretchedest Quarreller on earth, dear Mrs. Pennington,
   and not the most ingenious Reconciler. Like mine Hostess
   Quickly, I am the _worse_ when one _says_--quarrel[23]: nor
   did ever the Country Gentleman in Ben Jonson need London
   instructions in the art of angry reciprocation more than I do.
   Let us leave a subject I really understand so little, and lament
   that the universal Quarreller, Death, has been so busy among our
   common acquaintance since we parted.

   [23] "By my troth, I am the worse when one says Swagger."--_2 Henry
IV_, II. iv. 113.

   How senseless, not to say offensive, must yours and my Master's
   mutual complaints appear in the eyes of poor Mrs. Dimond just
   now! Such a son!--the parents' just pride and joy--so snatched!
   And that unhappy Mrs. Adams who, you may remember, said she had
   heard the bell ring for her own execution; she has lost the
   daughter she alone desired to live for. Few people find the
   way of being happy, and those who throw little Hedgehogs in one
   another's paths, like the rioters, to make them stumble and roll
   about, have none of my approbation....

   You will not be talked to (you say), of the Cat, and the Dog,
   and the times, and the weather; tho' really the first of these
   subjects is not amiss for you quarrelling disciples, and I will
   not, like Grumio, talk to _you_ of how bad my poor Master was
   when your letter came to _him_, and in what a shocking situation
   his fingers have been placed by the last fit of gout, no nor
   what a loss we have sustained in poor Hodgkins, nor what a
   successor we picked up for him. But all these wonders, as old
   Shakespeare says, shall now be buried in oblivion,[24] as shall
   all my true expressions of admiration at your letters, which
   still exceed every one the last received. Farewell then, and
   be merry, and believe me with every possible good wish, your
   ancient Jigg-Maker,

    H. L. P.

[24] "Things of worthy memory which now shall die in
oblivion."--_Taming of the Shrew._, IV. i. 85.




                             CHAPTER VII

   Renewal of friendship, 1819--Weston-super-Mare--W. A.
   Conway--Birthday fête, 1820--Conway's love affair--Penzance--The
   Queen's trial--More law--Land's End--Return to Clifton and
   death, 1821--Mrs. Pennington's obituary notice--Her relations
   with the daughters and the executors--Epitaph.


The last letter shows the appearance of the little rift in the lute
of friendship, which was destined to silence its tones for so many
years. Its origin remains obscure. If Mrs. Pennington received no
letters between April and July, she doubtless had some reason to feel
aggrieved, but the reference to the "mutual complaints" of Mr. Piozzi
and Mr. Pennington suggests that they had met in the interval, and
that some disagreement had arisen, which had been taken up by their
respective wives, and it is probable that some letters during this
period may have been destroyed. Mrs. Piozzi clearly had no desire to
keep up the quarrel, whatever it was; but it may be that her attempt
at reconciliation was not worded in a way which would commend itself
to the sensitive mind of Mrs. Pennington, smarting from some real or
fancied slight to her husband or herself. And so the correspondence
was not resumed for fifteen years.

Meantime much had happened. In 1807 Sophia Thrale married Henry
Merrick, third son of Sir Richard Colt Hoare, Bart., of Stourhead;
and in the following year her elder sister, Hester, became the second
wife of Viscount Keith. The marriages seem to have brought mother and
daughters more closely together, for they paid a visit to Brynbella
this year. In 1809, the gout from which he had suffered so long
and so severely proved fatal to Mr. Piozzi. He had for some years
conformed to the English Church, and in his last illness received the
sacrament at the hands of a clergyman at Bath. He was buried 26th
March, in the vault he had constructed in what Mrs. Piozzi calls
Dymerchion, now Tremeirchion Church. She began her Commonplace Book
the same year.

The "little boy," John Salusbury Piozzi, had finished his education at
Oxford, and having grown to man's estate, and assumed the additional
surname of Salusbury, married in 1814, Harriet Maria, daughter of
Edward Pemberton of Ryton Grove, Salop. In 1816 he was appointed High
Sheriff of Flint, and was knighted in the following year. To provide
for the young couple, Mrs. Piozzi made over to them Brynbella and her
Welsh estate, and retired to her beloved Bath, to live on the income
from the English property settled on her by Thrale, and some £6000
which Piozzi's careful management had saved from their income. She had
therefore--on paper--something like £2000 a year, but her generosity
to her adopted son, and to her daughters in the re-fronting and
fencing of Streatham Park, added to her love of entertaining, and a
carelessness in money matters perhaps inherited from her father, left
her in continual monetary difficulties.

Living so near Mrs. Pennington, and with so many common friends, it
was hardly possible that they should not be brought together again,
though there is no evidence as to how the reconciliation was effected.
The correspondence was resumed in July 1819, but letters written by
Mrs. Pennington somewhat later show that it was equally desired and
equally genuine on both sides.

On Mrs. Pennington's side the rupture of one old friendship almost
coincided with the renewal of another. On 18th October 1804, Anna
Seward wrote to Mrs. Powys that she had been staying at Mendip Lodge,
and that Dr. Whalley had undertaken to bring about a reconciliation
with Mrs. Pennington, after twelve years of estrangement. "She
received me with tears of returning love, and our reconcilement was
perfect. She made me promise to stay with her a few days on my way
back."

Her husband had a serious illness in 1813, as the result of which he
resigned the office of M.C. at the Hot Wells, which he had held for
nearly thirty years, in an address which "powerfully affected the
feelings of all present." But his successor turned out to be quite
unfitted for the post, and as Pennington's health had been improved
by a stay at Weymouth, he was induced to take up the work again for a
short time. Not long afterwards Mrs. Pennington's mother died at the
age of ninety-seven. She had lost nearly all her faculties, and had
been for some time unable to recognise even her daughter.


_Mrs. Pennington to Maria Brown_

    WESTON-SUPER-MARE, _9 Oct. 1819_.

   ... I shall not be sorry to return, tho' I leave dear Mrs.
   Piozzi behind, with whom I have passed some hours of every day,
   and our evenings _always_ together, in the most perfect harmony.
   We seem entirely to have regained our _former footing_, and
   to revert to past times, persons, and anecdotes with _mutual_
   pleasure. She has sought no other, indeed sedulously avoided
   all other society since we have been here, and is happy and
   chearful when with us, as I ever saw her. It is not however with
   _me_ exactly the _same_ thing. I _was Prima Donna_, I now feel
   that many new friends and new connexions, with new interests
   and novel attractions, occupy the ground that _I_ exclusively
   possessed; and I can only expect, in future, to be _one_ of this
   larger groupe. I think the character of her mind was always
   rather _kindness_ than _attachment_. I know not whether you
   admit the distinction; I _feel_ it, and that I must henceforth
   be satisfied with such general proofs of this sentiment as
   opportunity may _throw_ in our way.

The friend to whom this was written came to occupy much the same
position with regard to Mrs. Pennington as the latter had done to Mrs.
Piozzi. After Mrs. Pennington's death, the whole of her carefully
treasured correspondence passed into her hands, including, besides
the present series of letters, those relating to the Siddons-Lawrence
tragedy, which were published in _An Artist's Love Story_, and others
from Anna Seward, Helen Williams, the Randolphs, and Whalleys, and
others of her correspondents.

In a letter to Miss Brown's mother, dated 28th February 1820, she
pursues the same theme. "You judge," she writes, "very correctly of my
feelings respecting my dear _restored_ friend. It gives an interest
to my life that nothing else could, and what is better, it seems to
be felt mutually. We never are so happy as when together, and her
letters, which come twice or thrice a week, are a perpetual source of
amusement."

    WESTON-SUPER-MARE, _July 1819_.

   Sick or well, dear Mrs. Pennington is ever kind and obliging,
   but why empty her veins at such a rough rate? Were they bursting
   with heat? A Bath friend writes me word that the people _there_
   do feel themselves heavily oppress'd by a weight of atmospheric
   air, and walk about, he says, like somnambulists, with
   salmon-coloured faces. We have sea-breezes here that refresh
   our spirits, and send us out at night to stare after the Comet,
   which looked very pale last evening I saw it, but not, I hope,
   for anger.

   There are other fiery fellows in the _North_, more dangerous by
   far, of whom I feel more afraid; but the Regent went safely,
   and was applauded it is said, and the Reformers will work no
   reformation at Smithfield under Mr. Hunt's guidance. He tried
   in vain to make the Basket Women at Bath hate _Sinecures_; tho'
   one of them said she knew he meant the _Signing Curs_, kept by
   Ministers to _sign_ whatever they bid them,--comical enough!

   If all goes on regularly and well, I shall certainly call on
   you, dear Madam, in my return. When that will be, however, is
   hard to say, for I have just hired myself a clean Cottage,--the
   Hotel is very noisy, and surprisingly expensive,--and since the
   Bathing agrees, I mean to try another tide or two by the way
   of making myself young, or making myself _believe_ that I am
   younger than my neighbours of the same standing....

   People are visiting-mad here, as everywhere else. Do you
   remember Mr. Pennington saying he hoped there were no Evening
   Parties in Heaven? He will not escape them till he gets thither,
   nor shall, without the utmost difficulty his and your ever
   faithful and obliged

    H. L. PIOZZI.

   I saw Miss Williams spreading the Bread Fruit with butter, and
   eating it at her tea, ten days before I left Bath,--but it was
   kind in you to send me some.

The comet of July 1819 was that now known by the name of Winnecke,
who, in 1858, identified it with one previously observed by Encke.

Henry Hunt had for many years been associated with the leading
agitators of the time. He made the acquaintance of Horne Tooke in
1800, shared imprisonment with Cobbett in 1810, and allied himself
with Thistlewood and his friends in 1816. He took part in the Spa
Fields meeting, presided at the Reform meeting at Smithfield which
took place on July 21, and at the "Peterloo" meeting, held on August
16 this year.

    WESTON-SUPER-MARE,
    _Saturday Night, 4 Sep. 1819_.

   Dear Mrs. Pennington's letter came late last night; our poor
   Postman cannot get his walk finished,--how should he?--till near
   12 o'clock, which is one of the discomforts incident to our
   fav'rite Weston. This morning the Grinfields of Laura Chapel,
   Bath, left us, and you may have half their house for two guineas
   and a half o' week. They paid five for the whole, and had 7 or
   8 Babies inhabiting it, with a proportionate number of nurses,
   etc. But send an immediate answer, or it will be gone.... If you
   come quite alone, our Baker, Mr. Cooper, will accommodate you
   with one chamber up a ladder-like staircase, and one sitting
   room: but such a lodging too nearly resembles that in Coleman's
   Broad Grins;--one guinea and a half is, I think, _too much_ for
   that, though 'tis struggled for!!...

   Oh! what heavenly weather here is! And oh! what fools is it
   flung away upon! who will not gather up the harvest, but run
   about reforming errors in the State. They have got a wiser head
   now, who is better qualified to do mischief, and accordingly we
   read that yesterday's meeting passed off without any mad frolics
   on which to fix the stigma of treason or insanity:--two things
   so difficult to prove they oblige us to adopt Elbow's method
   in Measure for Measure, who says, "they must continue in their
   courses till we can tell what they are."[25] ...

   [25] "Let him continue in his courses till thou knowest what they
are."--_Measure for Measure_, III. i. 196.


    WESTON-SUPER-MARE,
    _Tuesday, 7 Sept. 1819_.

   Your letter came too late last night, dear Mrs. Pennington, for
   me to take any measures concerning the House.... You will have
   it, as a favour, for three Pounds o' week;--cheaper than mine
   certainly.

   The list of things wanted is just _everything_: knives, forks,
   spoons, plate, linnen: Weston affords only beds, tables, and
   chairs. Yes, yes, they do give us crockery, and there were _two_
   books in the town when I came, a Bible and a Paradise Lost. They
   were the _best_ you know.

   I am no better pleased with the complexion of the times than you
   are, but feel much more sympathy with the Mob than with their
   Galvanizers, who mean to give just the portion of excitement
   they choose, in order to deplace, _dis_place I mean, one set
   of Ministers, and put up another set in which they take deeper
   interest. In this _virtuous_ cause they care not what lives,
   or whose peace they endanger. But let them be cautious, or the
   Mob will make them _their tools_, to help break down the gates
   which, when thrown back as those of Hell in Milton, _they_ will
   start to see

    Before their eyes in sudden view appear
    The secrets of the hoary deep, a dark
    Illimitable Ocean without bound,
    Without dimension: where length, breadth, and height,
    And time and place are lost.[26]

   [26] _Paradise Lost_, ii. 890.

   Noblemen and Gentlemen are of _necessity_ Aristocrates in
   _earnest_: and the numbers who now stand aloof, looking
   how it will end, and being--as we used to say of dear
   Siddons--no-_crates_ at all, will even _die_ with terror, and
   the conscious certainty that the great folk who assisted in
   the work at first, broke _open_, but to _shut_ excelled their
   power. An ambitious Sovreign meanwhile, _might_ while his army
   continues true to him, make them all _his_ tools; suffering them
   so to destroy the House of Commons that he could reign in future
   without a Parliament, only just cajoling the Reformers between
   to-day and the year 1820. And _such_ madmen are those who wish
   the overturn of constituted authorities....

   Poor dear Mrs. Lambart can hardly _hear_ these strange tales,
   I believe; she is at least seven years older than myself, but
   does not like, it seems, to tell her age. _My_ Register, clearly
   written, as Bishop Majendie says, points out 1740.

On September 12 Mrs. Pennington writes to Miss Brown that she is going
to Weston. "Dear Mrs. Piozzi is there, we shall be within two or three
doors of her. She has been as active and anxious to serve us in this
particular as she could have been at any former period.... If the air
of that place, the fine weather we _seem_ likely to have, and _her_
charming society, does not restore me to something like health and
spirits, I shall give up the point altogether."

The Card Table Riddle, which appears in the next letter, is taken from
Mrs. Piozzi's Commonplace Book; where she remarks that "it has been
plundered, and played tricks with, and published in Pocket Books, &c.,
but these are the genuine verses."

    _Sat. Oct. 17, 1819._

   My dear Mrs. Pennington charged me to send her the Riddle,
   and Miss Camplin asking for commands, I thought it a good
   opportunity, therefore

    A place I here describe, how gay the scene!
    Fresh, bright, and vivid with perpetual green.
    Verdure attractive to the ravished sight
    Perennial joys, and ever new delight,
    Charming at noon, more charming still at night,
    Fair Pools, where Fish in forms pellucid play,
    Smooth lies the lawn, swift glide the hours away.
    The Banks with shells and minerals are crown'd,
    Hope keeps her court, and Beauty smiles around.
    No mean dependance here on Summer skies,
    This spot rough Winter's roughest blast defies.
    Yet here the Government is curst with change,
    Knaves openly on either Party range;
    Assault their Monarch, and avow the deed,
    While Honour fails, and Tricks alone succeed.
    For bold Decemvirs here usurp the sway,
    Now all some single Demagogue obey,
    False Lights prefer, and curse th' intrusive day.
    Oh! shun the tempting shore, the dangerous coast,
    Health, Fame, and Fortune, stranded here, are lost.

   This Riddle I gave Salusbury when he was a boy, "But what _is_
   it, Aunt? What can it be?" "Why, replied I, can't you perceive
   that

    A Card-table's green is perpetual and bright,
    A Card-table charms men from morning till night;
    Where, angling with skill for some innocent fool,
    Their thoughts are still fixed on the Fish and the Pool;
    While Guineas and Counters, promiscuously heap'd,
    With hope fills those pockets whence pelf has escap'd.
    Thro' Winter and Summer and demi-saison,
    This occupies Ladies and Lords de Bon Ton.
    For Knaves are successful at Limited Loo,
    At Whist the odd Trick makes all Honours look blue.
    The Ten, at Casino, Decemvir we call,
    And Aces, at Commerce, take tribute from all.
    Wax Candles superior to Sunshine they boast,
    While Time, Fame, and Fortune for ever are lost."

    BATH, _29 Oct. 1819_.

   I certainly do not remember a word about Siddons, and probably
   I did not get dear Mrs. Pennington's letter. It is no joke that
   my feelings grow torpid; I have had so much of the torture in my
   life that it is really a natural consequence, and if some odd
   things (kindness is one) _do_ keep me awake _this_ year, I shall
   certainly sleep out the next....

   Conway's name is on the Posts as having renew'd his engagements,
   but he possesses many perfections, and leaves writing letters
   to you and me. Cecy Mostyn is a most entertaining correspondent.
   She is at Florence now, making good sport of her Cavaliere
   Servente, the Marchese Garzoni, but remembers your Mother still,
   and says I must mind and keep as bright as _she_ did to 90 years
   old.

   All you say of these horrid Blasphemers is said with truth and
   wisdom, but Dr. Gibbes and Mr. Mangin both protest to _me_, and
   they are no strait-laced moralists, that Carlisle and all his
   crew are white to Lord Byron; whose book is so seducing, so
   amusing, and so _cheap_, it will soon be in every hand that can
   hold one. Upham sent it me, thinking of course it could not hurt
   an old woman; but I held my crutches fast, for 'tis no fun to
   have them kicked from under one at fourscore--and the Scriptures
   _are_ my crutches. If these gay fellows delight in obliterating
   the direction posts for Youth in the journey through life, they
   some of them _may_ get into the road again; but as Carter said,
   my religion is my freehold estate, and whoever tries to shake my
   title to it is an enemy.

   Dr. and Mrs. Whalley seem to have been giving la Comedie gratis
   here while the Theatres were shut up. Incidents are certainly
   not wanting, and the Catastrophe kept quite out of sight, as
   Bayes recommends, for purpose of elevating and surprizing.
   Those who come to hear what _I_ say on the subject, go home
   disappointed, for I say nothing, and have indeed nothing to
   say....

   Helen's sinking into oblivion is no proof of the people's good
   taste, for she is a clever creature, though no one less approved
   of her Classical Elopement--Helen to Paris--than I did. Is Mr.
   [Stone] dead, or only his wife? He was a _Radical_ before they
   had taken _root_....

   Lady Baynton has not improved her beauty by living in France:
   her son however does surprize me. A Titmouse scarce out of
   the egg when last we met, a Boy now of elegant carriage and
   behaviour; not a little _manieré_, perhaps too much so for rough
   England....

In this letter occurs the first mention of William Augustus Conway,
who engrossed such a large share of Mrs. Piozzi's interest, and
even affection, at this period of her life; filling, it may be, to
some extent, the place formerly occupied by her adopted son, now
launched on an independent career. That she felt a great admiration
and real affection for the handsome young actor is obvious, and she
set herself to forward his interests with as much assiduity and
enthusiasm as if he had been her son. It has been suggested that her
feelings towards him were quite other than maternal, and certain
"Love Letters," purporting to be written by her, have been adduced
in support of this theory. But the way he is spoken of in this and
other genuine correspondence of hers should be sufficient to disprove
the suggestion. It must be admitted that her admiration led her to
credit him with talents which were not obvious to other eyes. He was
a man of striking appearance, of gentlemanly and attractive manners,
and a tolerably good actor, but gave little indication of the genius
which she discerned in him. He had acted with some success at Dublin
and Covent Garden before he came to Bath in 1817, where he acted in
tragedy and comedy for some three years. Only a few days before her
death, according to Macready, she sent him a cheque for £100, but
this he returned to the executors. The same year (1821) he left the
stage, on account of an attack attributed to Theodore Hook, and sailed
for America. He played again at New York in 1824, but seems to have
intended to devote himself to the ministry. For some unexplained
reason he threw himself overboard, while on a voyage to Charleston,
in 1828, but the seven "Love Letters" above referred to were not
published till 1843. They are, in the main, undoubtedly from the pen
of Mrs. Piozzi, though possibly touched up in places to make them a
little more sensational. But, taken by themselves, and without any
reference to the circumstances under which they were written, they
might easily be misunderstood--as it was perhaps intended they
should be. For the editor was either unaware of, or ignored the facts
which appear plainly enough in the present correspondence; that Conway
was at the time engaged to a lady at Bath; that Mrs. Piozzi was deeply
interested in this little romance, and promoted it to the best of
her power; and that the most emotional of the letters was written to
console him at the moment when the engagement had been broken off. Her
attitude all through is that of an anxious mother, seeking to ensure
the happiness of a dearly loved son.

  [Illustration: WILLIAM AUGUSTUS CONWAY (AS HENRY V)

  _By Rivers after de Wilde, 1814. From the Collection of A. M.
  Broadley, Esq._]

Doctor, afterwards Sir George Smith Gibbes, physician to Queen
Charlotte, and author of a Treatise on the Bath Waters, was one of the
first explorers of the Bone Caves of the Mendips. He attended Mrs.
Piozzi on her death-bed, as described by Mangin.

The Rev. Edward Mangin, who had been a naval chaplain, and Prebendary
of Killaloe and St. Patrick's, was a notable dramatic critic, and at
this time a recognised leader of the literary coterie of Bath. He was
thus brought into close touch with Mrs. Piozzi, and the result of
their intimacy was his _Piozziana_, published anonymously in 1833, now
rather a scarce book, which contains many of her letters as well as
his personal recollections of her later years.

Carlisle was the publisher of Tom Paine's _Age of Reason_, and other
works of a like character.

Dr. Whalley's first wife had died in 1801, and two years afterwards
he married a Miss Heathcote, who died in 1803. In 1813, when nearly
seventy, he made a third venture by marrying the widow of General
Horneck. The lady was of extravagant habits, and came to him in
debt to the extent of some thousands, for which he found himself
responsible. Mutual recriminations followed, and in 1814 he went to
France, leaving his wife behind. A formal separation took place in
1819, after which he again went abroad, and died at La Fleche, 1828.

Of Byron she remarks in her Commonplace Book: "My own idea is that he
resembles the Dead Man's skull animated by a Toad, and made to hop,
in such a manner that it attracted notice from the Lord Chief Justice
Willes, enabling him to detect a murder."

    _Sat. Night, 6 Nov. 1819._

   Dear Mrs. Pennington will believe the torpor when I confess the
   Siddons' story not new to me, and it is quite in his character
   who once quoted Cowley's verses to me in conversation as
   descriptive of his wife's person.

    Merab with spacious beauty fills the sight,
    But too much awe chastis'd the bold delight:
    Like a calm sea, which to the enlarged view
    Gives pleasure, but gives fear and reverence too.

   "_Too grand a thing._" I hope some one will take your Grand
   Thing off your hands. We shall be wondrous rich if seven's the
   main. Your friend's fancies about _seven_ are few in comparison
   with mine. Why seven is the perfect number, and the word implies
   and expresses perfection in Hebrew. Everything indeed goes by
   septenaries among us all day long. At seven years old the Baby
   becomes a Boy, changes his teeth, and his evidence is taken in a
   Court of Justice. Two sevens produce the change from Childhood
   to Youth, and the third emancipates the Minor. Don't ask me to
   go on; my conjectures would take 7 days writing, and all would
   not be finished this day _seven-night_. I enclose a Pound Note,
   and for the _seven_ shillings it will be good luck to wait.

   One would be frighted at your prognostics if you were a
   _seventh_ son instead of an only daughter,--so sadly have
   the Rogers family justified your odd predictions.... Conway,
   poor fellow! will sure enough come to the case you assign
   for him:--work, and die nobly, or starve, and pine away. Old
   Bartolozzi, a veteran servant of our English Public, was
   censured for leaving us in the last years of his life. "It is
   because I know them," he replied. "Whilst I can work for them,
   and do what no one else _can_ do, they will pay me liberally,
   and when my eyes fail, I may retreat to an Hospital erected for
   the _Indigent_ Blind. I will," continued he, "go to Portugal,
   and accept a moderate annuity from the Sovreign." So he did, and
   died there,--out of an Hospital:--but Waltzing is better sport;
   so

    The three black Graces, Law, Physic, and Divinity,
    Walk hand in hand along the Strand, and hum la Poule.
    Trade quits his Compter, Alma Mater her Latinity,
    Proud and vain with Mr. Paine to go to School.
    Should you want advice in Law, you'll little gain by asking it,
    Your Lawyer's not at Westminster, he's busy Pas-de-Basqu'ing it:
    D'ye want to lose a tooth, and run to Waite for drawing it?
    He cannot sure attend, he's Demi-queue-de-Chating it.
    Run, neighbours, run; all London is Quadrilling it,
    While Order and Sobriety dance Dos-a-dos.

   Brackley or Brockley Combe I know by heart, and very pretty
   'tis, and Cheddar Cliffs: more like good genuine mountains
   than most _British_ imitations are. For your complaints, I do
   pronounce them the effect of shocks upon the nerves, and sorry
   am I that the sea air did you so little good. _I_ certainly
   liked it, and found Weston very agreable, and 'tis the true Ton
   to say how the place agreed with Mrs. Piozzi. So it will now
   become the fashionable retreat for old-age and _haggardism_,--a
   new word of my own making.

   Mr. Stone was a raging Democrate, an Enragé; so he is not
   wanted, we have enough such. I fear Helen deserves some
   _whipping_, but so we do all: as Hamlet says, "Give us our
   deserts, and who shall escape whipping?"[27]


   [27] "Use every man after his desert, and who should 'scape
whipping?"--_Hamlet_, III. ii. 556.

   What, I wonder, put me in mind of poor old long-dead Demosthenes
   Taylor, a Doctor in the Commons? The torpor, I suppose, for I
   can tell but one story of him,--who told no stories at all.
   Johnson said once, "That man had credit for knowledge, perhaps
   he possess'd it, but I have dined six times in his company, and
   never heard him utter but _one word_, and that word was Richard."

   My story must necessarily be this. He lived a Scholar's life,
   you may conclude, threescore years ago at Amen Corner, near
   St. Paul's Churchyard; studying Greek books and collating
   manuscripts all morning; smoking his pipe at night, and
   indulging in a game at All Fours with a distant and dependant
   relation,--a young Surgeon in the neighbourhood. One evening
   they were at play together. "Doctor," exclaims old Taylor, "I
   have got the _Belly-ache_ so bad, we won't above finish this
   game." "Right, Sir," was the reply, "take something very hot,
   and go to bed. If you are worse, call me. If not, I shan't come
   till Wednesday, for very good reasons." "Ay, ay, my lad; mind
   thy business," was the monitory answer; and they parted at 10
   o'clock Monday night. On Wednesday young Stevens came, according
   to custom. The pipe was smoked, and the game played, and
   "Doctor!" exclaims our old Demosthenes, "dost remember how bad
   my Belly ached o' Monday night?" "Yes, sure, Sir; and I beg'd
   you to take something hot, and go to bed." "Why so I did, a
   great rummer-full of hot Brandy." "Heavens!" cried the Surgeon,
   laughing, "I did not mean _so_." "Well, young man, it cured me.
   I went to sleep, and lay very late in the morning, and have no
   feeling in my Belly now _at all_: none in the least." "Lord!
   Sir, how you alarm me! _No feeling?_" "No, on my honour." "Good
   God! Let me look at it directly." So he did. The mortification
   had spread rapidly, and good old Taylor was a corpse in four and
   twenty hours.

   Dr. Whalley has seen me at last, and told his tale. The loss
   of Mrs. Lutwyche's good opinion hurts him; as to mine, it is
   nothing impair'd. What astonished me was his saying that he
   was annoyed by Creditors when we were at Mendip in the year
   1813;--living like the Dukes of Bedford or Marlborough. Mr.
   Arnold or Almond, his fine Man, shewed Bessy and me twenty
   Pounds _worth_, not 20 lbs. _weight_ of meat in the Larder one
   day, design'd, _he said_, for the stew-pan. Is it not time to
   beg and pray for torpor? Sensibility would drive one distracted,
   sure. So good night, and give my true regards to those you love
   best; believing me your fast-asleep Friend,

    H. L. P.

Francesco Bartolozzi came to London from Florence in 1764, as engraver
to the King, and was one of the Foundation Members of the Royal
Academy. He left England to take charge of the National Academy at
Lisbon, where he died 1815.

The Rev. John Taylor, LL.D., F.R.S., and F.A.S., was the son of a
barber at Shrewsbury. He gained a Fellowship at St. John's, Cambridge,
and became Chancellor of Lincoln, Archdeacon of Buckingham, and Canon
of St. Paul's. His great work, from which he gained his sobriquet, was
what was intended to be a complete edition of Demosthenes, published
between 1748 and 1757.

The origin of Dr. Whalley's matrimonial troubles has already been
explained: it was about this period that the final rupture took place.
In the first of the so-called "Love Letters," written 1st September
1819 from Weston, to Conway at Birmingham, she alludes to the recent
scandal of "old Mr. Whalley's wife running away from him, and settling
in Freshford."

The reference to Helen Williams is no doubt connected with a letter
written by her to Mrs. Pennington, dated 26th June 1819, mentioning
that Stone was "now reposing in his grave," and giving an account of
her life and connection with him, as previously quoted. She then
proceeds to refer to the reconciliation of the long-parted friends.
"How much in contrast with my sad details is your brilliant account
of Mrs. Piozzi;--what a privileged mortal! But really you seem to me
to love her much better than she deserves; what excuses the 16 years
of separation? The fault must have been hers: she always seemed to me
kind and warm-hearted, but with no deep sensibilities."

The lines on dancing are quoted from her Commonplace Book, where she
assigns them, on the authority of Mrs. Hoare, to "Smith, author of
_Rejected Addresses_."

    _4 Dec. 1819._

   To no one else in the world would I have written, dearest Mrs.
   Pennington; but you are so good and so partial. Other friends
   can find signs enough of torpor. Miss Williams's Beau, as we
   call him,--Mr. Wickens,--found me fast asleep on the sopha; he
   is a good creature and was sorry:--said the world was now coming
   to an end most surely, when such symptoms attacked, in the
   middle of the day, your H. L. P. If it goes on, my favourites
   must contrive to do without me. Our old King came into the world
   but a short time before his dutyful subject who writes this, and
   who hopes to get away in his train--if possible.

   I have little thought to bestow on Dramatick Exhibitions; but
   Mr. Mangin, who is a classical Scholar, and has leisure to amuse
   himself with those who provide pastime for the rich and idle,
   said, when Conway acted Coriolanus here, that he had never seen
   the Roman Toga worne so gracefully. He has not yet left London.
   Macready was a fine promising Actor when I saw him last, three
   or four years ago: a very gentlemanly man too. We dined together
   at dear Dr. Gibbes's.

   Mr. Pennington has, I hope, taken a new lease. Gout is a pledge
   of long life, if long life be indeed desirable. I begin to find
   it very burthensome to myself and my attendants, out of whose
   power it is to alleviate anything I feel. Dr. Whalley will do
   well enough among nieces and nephews, devoted to him of course,
   if he has retained any thing to divide among them at the hour of
   dissolution.

   The Dipper at Weston super Mare came here on a visit yesterday,
   bringing me Fish and Poultry; how good natured! But I hear of a
   still cheaper and more charming place along the Cornish Coast,
   where chickens for 6_d._ each may yet be had, and Fish for
   almost nothing.

   Meanwhile the Great are not exempt from ill-health or cares, any
   more than we. A general mourning will come, consequent on the
   Duchess of Gloster's death as on that of the King, and both will
   alike ruin my wretched Fête;--a foolish promise! but I must keep
   it now, and it will be the _last folly_.

   With regard to Politics, they go very ill no doubt. My long life
   can call up but one year in which the machine went so as to
   please everybody: and there was printed at the beginning of the
   new Almanacks these words, observed perhaps by no one but myself,

    In seventeen hundred and sixty--tis written,
    All strife and contention shall cease in Great Britain.

   In effect there was but this dispute in Parliament, whether our
   Success was the cause of our Unanimity, or our Unanimity the
   cause of our Success. And Garrick's song ending every stanza with

    Cheer up, my Lads, with one heart let us sing
    Our Soldiers, our Sailors, our _Statesmen, and King_,

   shews the same spirit. I believe they were never so praised
   _en masse_ but that _one_ time, which nobody recollects
   except--Yours and Mr. Pennington's

    H. L. P.

In 1760, the year of George the Third's accession, Pitt's vigorous
administration had, for the moment, annihilated party feeling.
Wolfe's victory at Quebec had terminated the French rule in Canada;
the battle of Plassey had given us Bengal; the French power in
Southern India was broken by Coote; the engagement in Quiberon Bay
testified to our power at sea; and England stood forth as the first
maritime and colonial power in the world.

    _Tuesday, 7 Dec. 1819._

   Threatening me as you do, dear, nervous Mrs. Pennington, I
   will, I must write directly. But surely we are neither of us
   such younglings as to fancy things at 80 years old can go on
   as they did at 40. We might then be shown for a show. It would
   be silly to believe my inside possessed its pristine strength,
   and the want of that strength leads to various uneasinesses,
   ill-described in a letter. We will do as well as we can.

   Meanwhile assure yourself that _one_ wonder _does_ wait upon
   your newly-restored friend. At fourscore years old her _outside_
   is the best of her. Dr. Gibbes is too wise a man to wish to
   _attend_ much; he knows there is nothing to be done, and what
   would you have him do? Mr. Cam the Baby Catcher would have
   suited me better to-day. The late Duke of Glo'ster kept one in
   the house the last six weeks of his wretched life's wretched end.

   Weston did me nothing but service; gave a power to the unelastic
   nerves, and consoled body and mind. All is as it should be,
   though I do not think Conway's all-expressing countenance showed
   him contented with the looks of his Patroness yesterday, when
   he dropped in among other morning callers. I will mind Mr.
   Pennington's good advice and yours, and not disappoint the Boys
   and Girls of their Gala.

   Salusbury and his wife will soon be here, I hope you will like
   them....

   There is a pretty Book come out, very pretty indeed, against the
   Blasphemers; but I will not put _my_ feeble hand to the Ark,
   assure yourself. That women should keep silence in the Church is
   a good injunction, and should be obeyed now more than ever....

    BATH, _10 Dec. 1819_.

   Well now, dearest Mrs. Pennington, I have got a complaint I
   _can_ talk of, or write about--a sore throat!--tho' never
   out of this warm room since Sunday. I fancy it is caused by
   relaxation,--talking about _you_ to Mr. Conway, who saw your
   charming letter.... Tho' I did say, in a prudent humour, that
   he should see as little as possible either of your letters or
   yourself....

   How is your fortune going forward? Smilingly I hope; and how
   will my Gala get forward if I do nothing but write funny letters
   to Mrs. Pennington, instead of calling names over to fill up
   the Cards with, or sit and chat with dear Conway concerning
   past sorrows and future prospects. He says he is come to act
   Master _Slender_: and _thin_ he is most certainly: but so
   young-looking, _never_. I hope we shall make a full house to
   witness his first performance in _Coriolanus_ next Monday. Can't
   you come over anyhow without serious risque? It would be pity to
   miss such an exhibition, and your retentive memory has Kemble's
   mode of acting it well impress'd. Mine reflects back only one
   Scene, I think, and _he_ never saw Emperor John in _his_ short
   life.

   The Salusburys come next Tuesday sennight, and where shall I get
   them lodgings? I am all in a _fuss_, as the Ladies say; and wish
   you were helping me to do the nothings I busy myself about.

   The world looks white, but it is not the robe of innocence; gilt
   and gloom lie under, and will burst out--upon the thaw. Conway's
   account of Carlisle's tryal froze me with horror....

The last appearance of John Philip Kemble was at his Benefit at Covent
Garden in 1817, so there is no reason why Conway should not have seen
him, though perhaps not in the part of Coriolanus.

    _Fryday night, 17 Dec. 1819._

   .... On Wednesday Conway acts Iachimo to Warde's Posthumus.
   They neither of 'em ever performed the characters, and it will
   be a pleasure worthy of Mrs. Pennington. How will you manage?
   Better make business subservient to enjoyment, and _come_.
   The Coriolanus electrified us all; and my amiable friend gets
   admirers and invitations every day. We spent our _last_ evening
   at the Fellowes's. The Hon. Mr. Burrell _there_ promised to
   introduce him to some Club of Gentlemen, who will all attend
   when Benefit time comes on, and will, I hope, compensate him in
   some measure for his past sufferings....

   I suppose [the Salusburys] will just come time enough for my
   Foolery, which plagues me to death already. "Would it were
   night, Hal! and all well!"[28]

   [28] "I would 'twere bed-time, Hal, and all well."--_1 Henry IV_, V.
i. 125.

John Prescott, who assumed the additional stage-name of Warde, had
appeared at Bath in 1813, and till shortly before this date had been
acting at the Haymarket. Mrs. Piozzi had a great admiration for his
talents, and had helped to organise a Benefit for him in March.

    _Monday, 20 Dec. 1819._

   Well, dearest Friend, I sent your letter to Conway, who is
   already in love with you, and wishes the impression he has
   already made _not_ to be taken off by Iachimo. His wishes of
   being presented to you are most warm and cordial; he thinks
   you love his little Patroness, and _I_ feel happy in the fancy
   that you will one day love each other, and talk confidentially
   concerning your poor H. L. P. when she is supposed to be far out
   of hearing....

   My winter is not tedious for want of engagements. I am torne to
   pieces with invitations, and am forced to dine at Archdeacon
   Thomas's on Thursday, when I wished to be in the Theatre: but
   our Friend says we have time before us. So _he_ has, if it
   please God, and so have _you_; but 80 years of my life are past,
   and I wish this winter was past too, that spring might make our
   intercourse more easy.

   My Ball and Supper begin to be a plague to _me_, but I somehow
   hope and fancy that they may be of use to _him_ whose welfare is
   really very near the heart of yours faithfully,

    H. L. PIOZZI.

In a note written three days afterwards Mrs. Piozzi announces that she
and Conway are hoping to pay Mrs. Pennington a visit the following
week, and then goes on: "Mrs. Stratton bore true witness to your
impatience of our Separation; and indeed when the fine Statue we
disagreed about has been pulled down a dozen years!!! 'tis fit the
cobwebs should remain no longer." Can this really have been the origin
of a misunderstanding between two sincerely attached friends, which
lasted for fifteen years? It seems almost too ridiculous, but is the
nearest approach to an explanation of the mystery afforded by the
letters.

In spite of a snowstorm, the proposed visit was duly paid, and Mrs.
Pennington writes to be assured that Mrs. Piozzi had taken no harm,
and to express her pleasure at the meeting. "It was an hour of true,
intellectual enjoyment, of _real_ happiness." Conway evidently made
a very good impression. "Of your Friend and _mine_, since so kindly
permitted to use the, to me, always _sacred_ distinction, I can
only say he appears worthy of all the esteem and regard he has been
so fortunate to obtain in your opinion. If that fine, ingenuous
countenance, conciliating voice, and gentle, elegant demeanour deceive
me, I will never trust to those tokens again. There is a certain
_something_ in his appearance that interests me more strongly in his
happiness, than I ever felt on so short an acquaintance; and I long
for an opportunity of discussing with you, dearest friend, those
points that are most immediately connected with this object."

    _P.M. Dec. 30, 1819._

   My dear Mrs. Pennington is a kind and generous friend, but
   her _anxiety_ was superfluous. We got home without an atom of
   anything resembling alarm, or _cause_ for it; and found the
   way short--I speak for myself--it was shorten'd by talking of
   you. Conway does certainly merit all our care, and all our
   admiration; may he be as happy as deserving!...

   How good Mr. Pennington was to us! and all your friends: and how
   far from cold it was going home with that Eider Down bag that
   covered us so. I wonder where such things are to be had!...

   The Salusburys will not come this fortnight, the _Ladies_ God
   knows when....

In a letter, dated "Friday the last of 1819," Mrs. Pennington writes:
"Remember me kindly to dear Conway, towards whom I feel disposed to
indulge more kindness than I ever thought to entertain again on so
slight an acquaintance. I hope _personal_ knowledge has not injured
the impression your partial friendship sought to create on _my_
part. On his, the materials, all in prime keeping, are too excellent
and admirable to admit any doubt on the subject. But we are, alas!
something fallen into 'the sere and yellow leaf,' and cannot cope
with these summer blossoms. If however not downright _scarecrows_
to the young, 'the beautiful, and brave,' we may at least be useful
land-marks and monitors, if they will permit us. Pray tell him from
me, that in the experience of more years than I think it necessary at
this moment to enumerate, I never knew either man or woman _compleatly
ruined_ until they were _married_. Observe, I do not say nor _always_
so then, and I heartily wish him the best luck in the world in that
fearful and doubtful Lottery. But I entreat him, by the friendship
you have united us in, that he will not be hasty in chusing his
_Ticket_, and that he will endeavour, as coolly and dispassionately
as possible, to examine the _Number_ before he makes his election.

"The _Eider Down_ that was so comfortable to your dear Friend, I
imagine can be procured at any of the capital Furriers, at least in
London, tho' I know Paris is the place to get them in perfection. A
Lady of my acquaintance purchased a delightful _Pillow_ there, of an
immensely large size, which wrapped about her head, or feet, or served
her as the warmest and lightest coverlid possible. The Custom House
Officers took it from her at one of the Ports, and she was fearful
of not getting it again, or at least not without a heavy premium;
when, strolling about, she happened to look into the Custom House to
make some enquiries. No one being there, and seeing her treasure of a
Pillow lying in a corner, she clapped it under her arm, and walked off
with it, fortunately unmolested, on the principle that every one had a
_right_ to their _own_."

In a postscript she expresses a wish that "my dear, and pretty Maria
Brown ... was _rich_ enough for _our_ Conway, I would trust his
happiness with her."

    _2 Jan. 1820._

   No proof more perfect can be given or received, dear Mrs.
   Pennington, of our hearts being well united once again, than
   your sudden as surprising impression in favour of our common
   Friend's _happiness_. I have studied nothing else since I knew
   him: yet must confess his power of raising such _real interest_
   is a singular one....

   I passed yesterday at Mrs. Lutwyche's, and missed the Comus my
   heart was set upon, but Sir James Fellowes dropt in while I was
   writing this letter, and said it was _inimitable_. "Ay," replied
   I, "the Scholar's correctness, levigated by the Wit's elegant
   hiliarity." The answer was that Conway should have a patent for
   acting, and I should have one for praising him....

A few days later Mrs. Pennington paid a visit to Bath, and on her
return was escorted home by Conway. She gives her impressions in a
letter dated January 17:

"We had as pleasant a ride as it was possible to have on a road that
carried me 12 miles from _you_. So interesting was our conversation
that we felt no cold, and were surprised when we reached the end
of our little journey. You may easily guess our subjects; but I am
sorry to say that in the discussion of certain points, I cannot find
reason to think our dear and amiable Friend so near the goal as your
ardent and benevolent spirit is disposed to believe. The fair lady
is, I have no doubt, as amiable as he conceives her; but the timidity
and diffidence which renders her more lovely in his eyes, creates
obstacles and difficulties that demand a bolder spirit, and more
self-confidence than she possesses, to overcome. _Love_, all powerful
_love_, which sees _in the object_ the ultimatum of all its wishes,
and overlooks all contingent and subordinate circumstances, only can
do this. We shall see whether such is hers. Such only, in my opinion,
can deserve the man who gains, every hour that I see more of him, such
an increasing interest in my regard, that my anxiety for his happiness
is become painful. My dear Husband is highly taken with his fine
manners and intelligent conversation. He says he has seen no such man
since the prime days of his friend, Governor Tryon, who was reckoned
the handsomest man and finest gentleman of his time.

"Oh! no Lady need fear she can lose consequence by the side of _such_
a man, who will always cast a lustre about whatever profession he may
follow. Perhaps it is the very circumstance of holding the power of
decision wholly in her own hands, that renders her so cautious, lest
_others_ should suppose she has not used the responsibility wisely.
Oh! love, real _love_, knows no such reasoning as this! _you_ know,
dearest friend, it does not.

"I am on very ill terms with myself respecting the silly speech I
made about your pretty _Silver Tea Pot_. You have shown me you cannot
_leave_ it me, and I _will not_ deprive you of the use of it. That
would be foolish indeed; for _I_ want no remembrancer of you, and
_have many_: besides I do verily believe I am not likely ever to
receive it on the terms I _asked_ it. Sincerely and fervently do I
pray and believe you have many more years before you, than I have
any right, from constitution and the present state of my feelings,
to reckon upon. And it would be worse than absurd to rob you of an
article of daily use, to throw it into the hands of other people. All
I _can_ consent to therefore is, that you continue to use it, dear
Friend. Long may you do so, and should the most fatal deprivation I
can now ever feel (but one) befall me, desire Betsey to deposit _that_
with dear Conway's watch, and I will drink my tea from it for the rest
of my life, and mingle my tears with the fragrant libation."

The teapot was destined to be a source of much heart-burning, as will
be seen later on.

    _Tuesday, 18 Jan. 1820._

   Well, dearest Mrs. Pennington, you sent home our favourite
   Friend ready to cry: he! whose business it is _to make us all
   cry_. But he swears you were so pathetic, and your kindness--so
   kind! His spirits required spurring for the evening at Mrs.
   Pennell's. I have not seen him since, save on the Stage....

   If the Salusburys are not snow'd up upon the road, they will
   be here to-night: how shall I _thaw_ them? We will make them a
   little _no_ Party for the 20th....

   Conway surpassed _himself_ in Pierre last night; he has long
   left all _others_ behind. It would grieve me should he meet
   mortification where he looks for happiness; though such things
   _do_ befall the wise, the witty, and the beautiful. I wish he
   would stand prepared for endurance of an evil 'tis possible may
   be hanging over him. _I_ have no guess how matters stand but as
   _he_ tells me; and to-day his not calling, added to your letter,
   gives me apprehension.

   Adieu! I have been to the cold Rooms arranging my supper, etc.
   Oh Heavens! what a foolery! It will utterly ruin your poor

    H. L. P.

Something appears to have gone wrong with this letter, as Mrs.
Pennington writes on January 20 in an agitated strain to enquire
whether Mrs. Piozzi's silence is due to "a return of those frightful
Cramps," or some other ailment. "Keep me not [in] suspense," she
continues, "it is not wise to indulge so intense an interest as that
I feel for you, and all that relates to you. I live on your letters,
and literally think of nothing but you, and _our common Friend_.
Would to God _he_ was as deeply seated in the heart of his _Beloved_
as he is in _ours_! But is it reasonable to expect that a mere girl
should be able properly to appreciate the rich treasure of his love.
No, it requires something more, rather more mature in judgement,
discrimination and feeling. I was willing to be sceptical as long
as I could, as to the nature of his attachment, and its extent; but
I am convinced it is ardent, pure, and _deep-seated_.... She cannot
know the value of _such_ love by the objections she makes, and the
indecision of her conduct. She thinks perhaps that the _next_ Lover
will love as well; but if she lets him go she will lose an unique, a
noble fellow, and find too late that _such_ love is seldom any woman's
lot, and never more than _once_.

"I cannot think what has created such an interest in my mind;--yes, I
can,--it is _you_, who have been, and are almost (I must not for shame
say more) everything to me.... Give my love to the Chevalier [Conway],
Did he tell you that after all the confidence reciprocated in our
pleasant ride, I sealed the bond of friendship we have sworn with a
kiss (as chaste as Dian ever gave) at parting, which he was to leave
on your dear hand?"

  [Illustration: THE LOWER ROOMS, SEEN FROM THE NORTH PARADE.

  _By W. J. White after H. O. Neill. From the Collection of A. M.
  Broadley, Esq._]

Mrs. Piozzi's letter, written on Tuesday, did not reach Clifton till
Friday, January 21, when Mrs. Pennington writes complaining of the bad
management of the Bath Post Office, and then touches on the subject of
Mrs. Piozzi's great Birthday Fête.

"I begin to feel considerable uneasiness on the subject of your Gala.
I fear indeed, dear Friend, you will be run to an enormous expence....
I have enquired, and know that the thing was done at Clifton, and
_very handsomely_, at half a Guinea per head, _wine included_: for
after all there is very little drank at a Supper where women are
the half, or larger proportion of the company." She then returns to
Conway's affairs. "Entre nous, I cannot persuade myself the girl
has spirit or stamina to set her above, and carry her through those
disadvantages which others (called the World) would see and condemn
in such a connexion. If she insists on his giving up his profession,
he is shorn of half his beams; more especially as her fortune will
not supply that independent respectability which would be some
compensation for the loss of the _eclât_ he cannot fail of deriving
from the exertion of his talents. If she cannot make up her mind
to take him _as he is_, I verily think she does not deserve him.
The objections she lays stress upon are not to be found in Love's
Calendar...."

    _Fryday, Jan. 21, 1820._

   .... Don't be alarmed. Our Chevalier will do _well_; I hope in
   _every_ sense of the word. But happy or unhappy, he will do
   _right_ I am sure, and _more_ than well. James Harris says, you
   know, nothing _can_ happen that shall prevent a wise man from
   behaving wisely, an honourable man from behaving honourably; and
   for _his_ conduct I will stake my life.

   He must be diligent to-day, for he is to act Mark Antony
   to-morrow, and you will not see him, which will mortify us both,
   but he had no notice till this morning....

   I am sick of my Foolery before it begins, _very_ sick indeed,
   tho' people send me kind encouragement too....

James Harris, M.P. for Christchurch, whom Johnson set down as "a prig,
and a bad prig," is best known as the author of _Hermes_, of which he
gave Mrs. Piozzi an interleaved copy before her first marriage.

    _Monday 24._

   My dearest Mrs. Pennington must stay over Saturday; our
   Chevalier comes out in a new character, and seems to like
   it. His Mark Antony transcended all I ever saw of scenic
   perfection,--dramatic rather. The tender pathos with which he
   said, "Oh! pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,"[29] was
   beyond all praise, and _Lady_ Salusbury liked it. Sir John seems
   to consider Conway as much inferior to Warde in beauty, voice,
   and action: and the Chevalier's bright eyes, seeing how opinion
   goes, drop when he enters the room. They have dined but once
   together indeed, but both can see into a mill stone as far as
   most men. We meet at Bourdois' and Burney's to-morrow, and he
   acts Moranges on Wednesday. He will be introduced to the Masonic
   Honours on Thursday; and then give you, whom he justly adores,
   the meeting at my Concert. If he does not dance with the proper
   Partner, it will vex you and me both: but he _will_--surely he
   will. Meanwhile here's a flood to fright one. He, and all the
   people at the bottom of our town are in real danger....

   [29] _Julius Cæsar_, III. i. 254.

   The weather hurts everybody, and the applications to me for
   cards make me, like Othello, _perplex'd in the extreme_.[30]
   Here comes a tempest of visitants; no gloomy sky keeps them
   away....

   [30] _Othello_, V. ii. 346.

On the following day Mrs. Pennington replies:

   .... This weather will thin your room and lessen your expences,
   notwithstanding the unreasonable demands upon you for
   additional cards of admission. One half of the people originally
   invited will be laid up in their beds, as my dear Husband is at
   this moment with the Gout.... There is not now a chance of his
   being able to move by Thursday ... I am more than sorry, I am
   _grieved_! I feel _nobody_ amongst numbers without my Husband.
   He will not however hear of my staying at home. He says I must
   have the satisfaction of seeing you in your glory, surrounded by
   all those who best love, and most admire you....

   Every tribute paid to the dear Chevalier delights me.... I am
   perfectly _up_ to the preference given to Warde's talents and
   beauty. _I foretold it._ Our favourite is so _very_ superior
   that he is much more likely to excite envy than admiration
   from his own sex. In this instance it is indeed Hyperion to a
   Satyr....

   Ah! I am just informed of the sad news. The Duke of Kent is no
   more! What heavy afflictions fall on the House of Coburg! That
   poor Lady, left a stranger in the land, is much to be pitied!
   They were happier, as married people, than those of their rank
   can in general boast of being....

  [Illustration: PROGRAMME OF MRS. PIOZZI'S CONCERT, 1820 WITH MS.
  NOTES BY MRS. PENNINGTON AND MARIA BROWN]

Her great fête to celebrate her eightieth birthday passed off most
successfully. The concert, ball, and supper drew a crowd of over 600
people to the Assembly Rooms on January 27. Her health was proposed
by Admiral Sir James Saumarez, and received by the company with three
times three. She opened the ball with Sir John Salusbury, dancing, as
Mangin remarks, "with astonishing elasticity," but in spite of her
exertions the callers next day found her as well, and as mirthful and
witty as usual.

Conway was present among the crowd, but in such a state of suffering,
mental and physical, as prevented him from enjoying the entertainment
himself, or contributing to the enjoyment of others. A letter from
Mrs. Pennington dated Sunday, January 30, gives an account of a
visit she had paid him the previous day, just before her return to
Clifton, when she found him "like 'mobled Hecuba,'[31] hooded up in
handkerchiefs and bandages," suffering from what she calls a tumour.

[31] _Hamlet_, II. ii.

    _Sunday, 30 Jan. 1820._

   My dearest Mrs. Pennington's sweet silver tongue has done
   our noble blooded, noble minded Friend more good than all my
   _written wisdom_. He promises me now explicitly, (and Conway
   will keep his word,) that he will in all things take your
   advice. "Kind, charming Lady!" is his expression, "she has bound
   me to her with ribs of steel." ...

   What a world it is! and you, and I, and he _all_ proud of our
   talents, if we would confess it. Fine folly!

    Is it of intellectual powers,
    Which time developes, time devours,
    Which forty years we may call ours,
        That Man is vain?
    Of such the Infant shows no sign,
    And Childhood dreads the dazzling shine
    Of knowledge, bright with rays divine,
        As mental pain.
    Worse still, when passions bear the sway,
    Unbridled Youth brooks no delay,
    He drives dull Reason far away,
        With scorn avow'd.
    For forty years she reigns at most,
    Labour and study pay the cost;
    Just to be raised, is all our boast,
        Above the crowd.
    Sickness then fills th' uneasy chair,
    Sorrow succeeds, with Pain and Care,
    While Faith just keeps us from despair,
        Wishing to die.
    Till the Farce ends as it began,
    Reason deserts the dying man,
    And leaves,--to encounter as he can
        Eternity.

   .... Bessy's increasing illness grieves me. Dr. Gibbes _tries_
   to save her from Consumption. We could not call him sooner.
   She is now cover'd with Blisters, after which come Leeches and
   James's Powder, with orders to eat _nothing at all_ but--Milk.

The noble blood attributed to Conway evidently refers to a story,
mentioned later by Mrs. Pennington, that he was a natural son of
one of the Marquis of Hertford's family. He appears to have made an
attempt to obtain some acknowledgment of his relationship from his
putative father, but without much success; and the failure may have
had something to do with his determination to leave England.

King George III died on January 29, six days after the Duke of Kent,
and the new king, who was too ill to be present at his father's
death-bed, nearly followed him to the grave. He had caught a severe
chill, and to relieve the inflammation his medical advisers saw fit to
relieve him of 130 ounces of blood, which all but killed him. Yet he
was convalescent by February 6.

On February 2 Mrs. Pennington writes: "Your verses, my beloved Friend,
are above all praise, for _yours_ they must be, as no one else can
delineate such profound thinking with the same ease and perspicuity.
The late events do indeed give a grave and solemn tone to one's
reflections, and these awful death-bells sounding from every quarter
in one's ears, fill me with trembling apprehension for everything that
is near and dear to me. I rejoice that George IV was not proclaimed
on the anniversary of the Martyrdom of Charles the Ist. To my easily
alarmed mind it would have seemed frightfully ominous!...

"I do not wish [Conway] to be in too much haste to renew his visits in
Camden Place. I would strongly recommend him to play a _back_ game,
and see how absence, and some degree of solicitude, which surely his
illness must excite, operates there. It is of the first consequence
to _his_ and to _her_ future peace and happiness, that _she_ should
be able to appreciate, and _he_ to ascertain, the degree of affection
existing on her part. If she has mistaken the sentiment, I think she
will now be able to detect the mistake; as nothing is more likely to
bring out the truth, than any real or imaginary danger respecting the
object. And if the same futile objections remain, depend upon it she
_has_ mistaken the feeling, whether she knows it or not, and she would
do better to put an end at once to all suspense on the subject...."

    _3 Feb. 1820._

   I am glad dear Mrs. Pennington approved my Verses, your taste is
   so good. They are like lines written in 1712, not at all of a
   modern sort. You have seen our Chevalier since I did; he keeps
   close, and Bessy, whom I sent to comfort him in his illness,
   brings me no good accounts. She is bad enough herself, poor
   girl, but pities him: I wish they were both at Clifton under
   your care....

   Death is near us all, and after death, judgment. Poor Mr.
   Eckersall has had a stroke of Apoplexy or Palsy, but the family
   seem little aware o'nt: and I was seized with such a lethargic
   stupor after dinner yesterday at Dorset Fellowes's, I was forced
   to play Loo to keep myself awake, and lost four shillings....

   This Recess, shocking as the cause may be, is fortunate for our
   Chevalier; and I hope he will shine out and dazzle all beholders
   at his Benefit. Don't you remember Siddons saying she never
   acted so well as once when her heart was heavy concerning the
   loss of a child?

   I break off to say the present King is dying. God's judgments
   are abroad. Write to dear Conway, and with your sweet eloquence
   persuade him to sink all thought of his own calamities in those
   of the Nation he is an honour to....

On February 5 Mrs. Pennington replies. "Your letter, dearest
Friend, nearly paralysed me. Poor Bessy ill!--Dear Conway no
better!--Everybody sick or dying! I am absolutely ill with terror
and solicitude! I was quite afraid to enquire for the Papers to-day
but, thank God! the accounts of the King are more favourable.... The
first impressions I had of perfect manly grace, and princely dignity,
were drawn from the fine form and gracious manners of our present
Sovereign. Early impressions are always the most lasting. Never have I
seen, but in our favourite, dear Conway, anything to compare with him,
nor ever shall I see his equal again; and I feel that my affliction
would be almost _personal_ grief, should anything fatal happen to
him at this time.... God, of his mercy, avert this great additional
calamity from us, I most heartily pray....

"Everybody was pleased with the _respectful_ and affectionate
attention [of Sir John Salusbury] at the Ball.... I was surprised
at some hints dropped at the chagrin he felt on the subject of your
_increased_ acquaintance; and could not help telling him, tho' in
perfect good humour, that _my_ claims in that line were prior to his
own. I was sorry I did not recollect to observe to him, that it was a
maxim of Dr. Johnson's, whose wisdom no one could question, 'that we
should renew, and keep our acquaintance and our friends in _repair_,
as we did our wardrobes, _because they would wear out_.'"

    BATH, _Sunday 6 Feb. 1820_.

   Bessy is safe, dearest Mrs. Pennington, by dint of bleeding,
   starving, blistering. Bessy is safe, ... and our noble-minded,
   tender-hearted friend ... is better too; I shall not outlive
   _all_ that love me. It is a trying time, and some affliction
   falls on every family, the Royal Family worst.

    As if Misfortune made the Throne her seat,
    And none could be unhappy,--but the Great.

   Of the present Sovereign I know nothing _personally_. From the
   old King I got a kiss when presented, and the late Regent made
   application thro' Murphy, for my acquaintance 20 years ago. But
   as Mr. Thrale's _daughters_ were then upon a visit to Streatham
   Park, and not their own Father master of the house, I declined
   all such honours: and therein acted wisely, which I seldom do....

   What you say of an exacting, authoritative friend is most true.
   One thinks immediately of Marmontel, "Je baisse les _liens_
   de l'amitie,--j'en redoute la _chaine_." I'm willing still to
   kiss the links of friendship, but from the chain I fly. Those
   _I_ have never found _me_ exacting, or (without request,)
   interfering. Friendship is far more delicate than love. Quarrels
   and fretful complaints are attractive in the last, offensive
   in the first. And the very things which heap fewel on the fire
   of ardent passion, choke and extinguish sober and true regard.
   On the other hand, time, which is sure to _destroy_ that love
   of which half certainly depends upon _desire_, is as sure to
   increase a friendship founded on talents, warm with esteem, and
   ambitious of success for the object of it. Such feelings depend
   on the merit of the man or woman that excites them, and can be
   _dull'd_ only by their conduct.

   So here's a fine heap of _wise nothings_, as you call your own
   preachments,--which I hope our dear Chevalier will thank you for.

   The King is safe,--as well as Bessy. Equal in the sight of Him
   who created and redeem'd them: very unequal in importance to
   those who look up to them for support and assistance.

   They _live_ however, and so for awhile does dear Mrs.
   Pennington's poor old Friend

    H. L. P.

Mrs. Pennington replies in a long letter dated February 9, from which
it appears that Conway's love-affair had come to the conclusion she
had anticipated. Miss S[tratton] could not stoop to the position of
an actor's wife, and insisted on his abandoning his profession, if he
was to aspire to her hand, a step which he could not bring himself
to take. While full of sympathy for the suffering this decision had
caused him, she is quite convinced that, as far as his career is
concerned, it is all for the best, and concludes thus:

"I shall hate a _Miss_ something more to the end of my life for his
sake, and what is worse, notwithstanding the just and high regard
he entertains for you, and his _new liking_ for me, I fear he will
contract a hatred for Bath, and I shall see little more of him for the
rest of my life: and then what a silly thing have I done to interest
myself thus deeply in his concerns! The most astonishing thing of all
is the power he possesses of creating so strong and pure an interest
in his favour, especially with me, who have long since ceased to feel
the influence of that sort of enthusiasm, and am become fastidious
from disappointment. In very few instances have I _ever_ experienced
the attachment I feel to him! It seems as if that Girl alone was
exempt from the power of the magic he bears about him. Well, let
her go!--sit down at ease with a Country Squire, 'suckle fools, and
chronicle small Beer.' ... But as you say, while we do right, and
honourably, and wisely, (and when he has recovered the proper use of
his reason--I am sure he will do,) all will ultimately go well, and
_better_ than if it had gone _our_ way, depend upon it."

       *       *       *       *       *

The two "Love Letters," so called, written to Conway on February 2 and
3, when read in connection with those to Mrs. Pennington, show not
Mrs. Piozzi's doting fondness for the handsome actor (as the Editor
evidently desired to insinuate), but her deep concern for his welfare,
and her anxiety lest he should damage his professional prospects by
giving way to despondency or despair as the result of his rejection.
In the first she subscribes herself "your more than Mother, as you
kindly call your H. L. P." In the second she mentions having received
a call from the Strattons, and that she could not bring herself
to touch the hand of Mrs. S., whom she evidently held responsible
for the rupture. She refers to them in her Commonplace Book, in a
passage evidently written about this date. "Strattons, a family
here, pretended passionate love [for Conway,] and I thought them in
earnest, ... dined with me yesterday, and said _all was over_, because
the girl's friends would not agree to the connection." The words in
brackets have been carefully obliterated, but there is little doubt
about them, as Conway's name has been similarly treated in several
other places. The last of the "Love Letters" is dated February 28.

    _Thursday Evening, 10 Feb. 1820._

   My dear Mrs. Pennington's prognostics are always wise,
   lucky, and fulfilled; and I doubt not but we shall lose our
   accomplished Chevalier,--after this Season,--for ever. Let us
   get him a good Benefit first, and send him down the wind, with
   fav'ring gales. I will leave, in the vulgar phrase, no stone
   unturned to serve him. Meanwhile he is in London, escaping our
   wise letters of good advice; of which, if now _weary_, he will
   on a future day be _proud_. The world is full of incident, and
   some good ones may illuminate _his_ Drama.

   Yesterday's post brought word that Lady Salusbury's Father
   was most alarmingly ill. To-day's post said he was _dying_.
   Yesterday at dinner Salusbury broke one of his fine teeth.
   To-day it was drawn, and they are gone to Shropshire. So runs
   the world away. Jealous of Aunt's favour, and glad to carry
   little Wifey far from that widely spreading influence which,
   as you say, throws an attractive halo round us all: which _she_
   feels among the rest, for who can 'scape? Sir John's chagrin
   won't kill him: and he says he will perhaps come again--_by
   himself_--but he will find enough to do at home.

   Our Benefit will probably take place towards the end of this
   month. Conway comes back to open the Theatre with a swarthy face
   on the 18th, in a new Play written by Mr. Dimond;--St. Clara's
   Eve. That young man's brother, Charles Dimond, who I used to
   say resembled a Thames Smelt, and who has long been settled in
   London, marries a girl with £10,000, and pretty besides, a Miss
   Wood. Leoni Lee too has found a maid with the _love-beaming
   eye_; he took her to St. James's Church yesterday.

   The King's calling to his bedside the Duke of Sussex is a pretty
   and a tender anecdote. "My Father and my Brother are lying dead
   now," said he, "your life, my dear Augustus, is very precarious,
   my own saved almost by a miracle. Let us not quarrel more with
   each other, while Death is at hand so to quarrel with us all."
   Everybody says that Prince's amiable son will marry a daughter
   of the Duke of Montrose.

   I hope you will begin the next month with _me_, under St.
   Taffy's influence: and if you invite me early in the Spring,
   when our tall Beau is gone, or going, I will come to Clifton,
   and escape visitors. My door never rests here, and when once out
   of town, they may knock in vain. But till the Theatre is shut,
   or the great Light of it extinguished, the halo hangs round me,
   and I shall neither be willing nor _able_ to stir. The less
   indeed, because persuaded that his return hither, (unless either
   the Gentleman or Lady is married,) is very unlikely, and would
   perhaps be imprudent. I mean his professional return, as now, in
   the character of principal performer.

   Adieu, dear Mrs. Pennington, continue to him your regard;
   do not willingly lose sight of him; your value is by him
   duly appreciated, and I depend on living long in _both your
   memories_. You will often talk together of yours and his true
   friend and faithful servant

    H. L. P.

The "amiable son" of the Duke of Sussex, Augustus Frederick, born
1794, who took the name of d'Este, died unmarried.

       *       *       *       *       *

On February 15 Mrs. Pennington replies in two closely-written sheets,
full of indignation at the girl who, she is convinced, could never
have felt any real love for Conway, or she could not have dismissed
him without "one word of sympathy, one token of pity, or sentence of
consolation." ... "It was most silly and illiberal to tell him 'she
could not support the idea of being sunk in her rank of life, and
looked down, on,' etc." ... "I trust, as Dr. Johnson would have said,
he will never think of hunting down a _Kitten_ again."

She goes on to refer to the story of his being the son of William
Conway, an old college friend of Sir Walter James, who had remarked on
the likeness between them. His reputed father must therefore have been
Lord William Seymour Conway, sixth son of Francis, first Marquess of
Hertford.

Sir Walter "said of his acting, that he was the best Pierre he ever
saw, though he had a perfect recollection of Holland, who was thought
_perfection_ in the character. That he would advise him by all means
to keep clear of the London Theatres for two or three years, and then
burst upon them, a _finished_ actor. He said it was remarkable they
never received an Actor _as such_, whatever his merits, so young, or
so young-looking, as Conway, until more matured by experience and
knowledge of the business; and instanced Mrs. Siddons's failure in
early life, Mr. Young's, etc. It was some years before Kemble made
his way to the popularity he at last attained.... Sir Walter says
your verses are the best he has seen of modern verses, and like those
sterling things of 50 years back....

"I wonder what the generality of people would think if they were to
pick up our letters?"

    _16 Feb. 1820._

   Thank you kindly, dear Mrs. Pennington, for your kind letters.
   Our Chevalier longed to see them whilst in London, and I
   disappointed him by not sending them forward. It was the first
   pain I ever put him to, and it shall be the last. Our business
   is to soothe and solace, not to chide him, or add a particle to
   what he suffers. If female friendship is worth anything, let us
   benefit and please him all we can. Your part must be to advise,
   mine to console; and both of us will try to get him a blazing
   night, when once the time is appointed.... Sir Walter James is
   very unwell, and I am sorry for it. He always instinctively
   loved our friend Conway; and the last time we changed a word
   about him, his expression to me was, "I think that young fellow
   is all that a man ought to be." ...

Sir Walter James Head, of Langley Hall, Berks, who assumed the name of
James, and was created a Baronet 1791, was the great-grandfather of
the present Lord Northbourne.

       *       *       *       *       *

On February 18 Mrs. Pennington writes: "I begin now to get very
anxious on the subject of _our Benefit_. I know, by experience, that
only _general_ and simultaneous impulse will _fill_ a Theatre or a
Ball Room. The Pit and Galleries are prime objects, a showy play is
the best attraction there. The boxes there can be no doubt about, and
Bessy must exert all her influence with your tradespeople, not only to
_take_ Tickets for the other parts of the House, but to _dispose_ of
as many as they can. Not a word however about these sordid matters to
our high-minded Friend, whose feelings _I_ would not hurt in any way,
intentionally, for the world....

"The King was saved to a minute! Dr. Tierney had the courage to do
what others durst not hazard;--but his worst sufferings, I fear, are
yet to come with that _bad_ woman,--and what mischief have not _such_
women effected? The Duke of Berri's assassination has congealed us
all with horror! It is plain that unfortunate family is to have no
successor."

Another letter follows, dated February 22, written in much the same
strain, and giving an account of a visit from Conway, who acted as the
bearer of Mrs. Piozzi's last.

On the 24th Mrs. Piozzi writes a note to say that the Benefit is fixed
for March 11, and to arrange for Mrs. Pennington's visit on the 1st.
She concludes: "I hate such short letters, but _my_ goose-quill,--poor
old Goosey!--is _moulting_ as it appears. The Pens and Paper are worse
than ever I remember. Yours at Bristol are better perhaps, I'm sure it
_seems_ so."

Mrs. Pennington replies the next day: "What will the S--ns do on _the_
Night? If they absent themselves, known and marked as they [have]
been, as dear Conway's staunch and particular Friends, surely it will
excite remark? And yet how _can_ they be there? At any rate, if they
are, I trust it will be in a situation not to meet _his_ eyes;--I
should dread the consequences, at least I know I shall feel it for him
in every Nerve. You talk, (with little reason,) of Bath stationery! I
cannot get a sheet of paper that is not greasy and full of hairs, nor
a pen that will pass over them without blotting, and when I look at
your beautiful writing, I think my own letters only fit to bolster up
candles, or for the Pastry Cook's use."

As Mrs. Pennington was staying at Bath, there are no letters to give
an account of the Benefit, but there is not much doubt that Mrs.
Piozzi made it a success. She evidently returned with Mrs. Pennington
to Clifton, and the next letter is written immediately after her
return home.

    _Begun Thursday Night, 24 Mar. 1820._

   Dearest Mrs. Pennington will be glad to hear that four horses,
   and three able-bodied men, brought my little person safe home
   ... at 9 o'clock last night. Had I died, like Mrs. Luxmore, of
   cough and strangulation, I should not have seen our tall Beau
   for 5 minutes after breakfast:--_a morning call_. He looked in
   high health and good spirits, said your eloquent praises had
   produced others, which Miss Williams sends me this moment, and I
   really think them very good indeed; he does deserve _all_ praise
   in every situation,--in all situations of life,--and his adoring
   mother says he was from infancy the best boy upon [earth]. We
   had no time to talk of plans, present or future, [he] will go to
   London next week, whether to return again I know not....

   Captain Marshall has got what he wished and wanted. How long
   will he be happy in the Prize he has so contended for? Mr.
   Mangin said to me once, that if he were to go to Heaven,
   (unlikely enough, added he,) it would be disagreeable to him
   for a week at least,--the _first_ week,--but he should grow
   reconciled to it. Would not _that_ speech make a good note to
   some of the observations in Johnson's _Prince of Abyssinia_?
   It would at least do well for Sophia Lee, whose misanthropism
   I reverence, while others ridicule it. Why should she let the
   people in to _visit_ her, as it is called? She knows they come
   for curiosity, not from affection; and I suppose her means
   of doing good have been curtailed by accident, her powers of
   pleasing by infirmity and age. Why should she then exhibit
   the _Skeleton_ of Wit?--or Beauty, if she ever possessed
   it? Is there no time when one may be permitted to die in a
   corner [after] arranging our little matters for the Journey?
   Lord! I [shall have] to expire in a Curtsey and a Compliment,
   and request the Spectators [to] _honour_ me with _their
   commands_--to the next World....

Mrs. Pennington writes on March 26: "I was indeed glad to get your
letter, dearest Friend, for tho' I entertained no fears for your
personal safety, I was anxious lest the evening air should increase
the _choaking_, and in great dread of dear Bessy's everlasting
displeasure for suffering you to depart at _half past 5 o'clock_,
without anything to sustain you on the way. There was more danger of
your dying from inanition than suffocation. Poor Mrs. Luxmore was,
I believe, a full liver. You and I shall not hasten the end of life
_that_ way. However we certainly carried the starving system to excess
the day you honoured Dowry Square with your presence; for if we had
had the common sense to have sat down to Dinner an hour sooner, you
would have been tempted, from mere good humoured compliance with
our wishes, to have taken _something_ and a glass of wine to have
supported you. But I was sick at heart, and could feel only regret
at parting from you, and the rest of the party lost all their useful
recollections in the pleasure of listening to you, and looking at you.
They declared they would have gone without dinner for a week to have
prolonged the gratification.

"Maria [Brown] is a paintress, and a really _good_ amateur
artist;--she says she cannot take her attention from your _forehead
and eyes_,--the unfurrowed smoothness of the one, and the lucid,
sweet, and bright lustre of those blue orbs, giving a youthful
expression that might pass for 20! It is _this_ that Jagher has hit
off so happily, and that Roche could not touch. I _must_ have a copy
of that picture some day or other, if I sell my silver spoons, for
my Tea Pot I will never part with; but mind, I am not begging, nor
whining. I will never have it from _your_ purse." ...

At the close of a long letter she returns to the subject of Conway.
"Dare you hint to him before you part our _only_ fear? and venture
to tell him that your, and his _saucy Friend_ says that if he goes
to that odious Ireland, and pours as much wine down his throat as
his strong head will bear, in a few years he will look like a moving
steeple, with a blazing Beacon at the top? Oh! if he ever Carbuncles
that beautiful nose, or heightens the natural colouring of that
charming face, I will never give him another _kiss_. A tremendous
threat, to be sure, considering the time I am looking forward to,
especially as I am getting fast to poor Miss Wren's _ashey_ tint: but
I intend to be beautiful again one of these days. _Ninon_ was charming
at a much more advanced age, and wore spectacles as _we_ do.

"I have been told I have a cast of her in my character, with a
_total exception_, I beg leave to be understood, as to her physical
and constitutional propensities, (as also to her erudition,)--but
that she was fair and gentle, with my stature and carriage;--often
serious;--generally rather tender, interesting, and amusing, than
brilliant, tho' sometimes gay and sprightly,--

    'From grave to gay,--from lively to severe.'

I wonder how all this nonsense came into my head?... If our dear
Chevalier mars what God has made so exquisitely well, and stamped so
clearly an impress of the Divinity upon, it will be a _great sin_."

    _28 March, 1820._

   My dear Mrs. Pennington's _gratuitous_ letter gives me the best
   certainty of her returning health and spirits. This answer to it
   will cost no more.

   My health has little to do, at 81 years old, with cramming or
   starving, and if I am to be _blest_, as you seem to think it,
   with "second childishness and mere oblivion;"[32] to sit, like
   old Elspet in her wicker-chair, turned over by _kind_ inquirers,
   like a last year's Almanack:--why, be it so! This is a week of
   mortification and resignation, and I will endeavour to endure
   the degrading idea....

   [32] _As You Like It_, II. vi. 165.

   The loss of _his_ company and talents will be a great privation
   to me, but on _his_ account my heart feels no fears. Conway's
   virtues are not, I trust, what Johnson would call ambulatory,
   meaning dependant upon climate and company. He will come home to
   _you_ I hope, in seven years time, two or three little children
   at his side, his own incomparable soul unsullied, his merits
   unmolested, his beauty unimpair'd....

   Mr. Hunt's being elected into Parliament is another tub for the
   whale; so if old Britannia, like her daughters, must live to be
   sick and superannuated, why, Henry Hunt and Horace Twiss may
   hold the smelling bottle to her nose.

   I have at last seen a man who profess'd himself _happy_. It
   was Captain Marshall. But as he left me, and dress'd for the
   Member's Dinner, to which he went in a Sedan, a wagon overset
   his little vehicle, ran over his Chairman, breaking both his
   thighs, and brought _him_ to the Hall--too late for Dinner.

   Those who converse with the Great expect our King to be crowned
   on his birthday, the 12th of August. My dividends will be come
   in by then, and Salusbury may have his promised £100, to see the
   Coronation. I hate being worse than my word. Our friend Fellie
   may not perhaps find _her Grandees_ so scrupulous. But she has
   had many assurances of the Herb-woman's place in the Procession,
   which I have heard was £400 or £500 o' year for life. She is
   a sweet Lady, but ladies _are_ charming creatures, of course;
   _yours_ most particularly so _surely_, when they think it fit to
   fling so much flattery away upon your poor affection^e Friend,

    H. L. P.

Hunt was tried for his share in the Peterloo meeting this year, and
sentenced to two years imprisonment. He was, however, actually
returned to Parliament for Preston in 1830, in which capacity he
presented the first petition in favour of Women's Rights.

The actual date of the coronation was 19th July 1821, when "Fellie,"
otherwise Miss Anne Fellowes, the sister of Mrs. Piozzi's friend and
executor, Sir James Fellowes, did officiate as Herb-Woman.

  [Illustration: MISS FELLOWES AS HERB-STREWER AT THE CORONATION OF GEO.
  IV

  _By M. Gauci after Mrs. Baker. From the Collection of A. M. Broadley,
  Esq._]

    _Monday, 10 Apr. 1820._

   My dear Mrs. Pennington is but too kind in excusing my
   peevishness, but this sharp weather freezes all my faculties: it
   is as cold as January _ought_ to be. You will have a sad loss
   in Maria Browne, and I have a sad loss in dear Conway; and his
   steady resolution never to write is such a bad trick. Siddons
   has the same you know: and Dr. Johnson used to complain, I
   remember, of David Garrick. "One would believe," said he, "that
   the little Dog loved one, if it was only by conversation one
   knew him: but 'out of sight, out of mind,' is an old proverb,
   and they have all of them so much to do."

   If my coming to Clifton depended on my being weary of Bath,
   you would see me soon indeed: but till July dividends I have
   no money for _move-about_. Lord bless me! I wonder how other
   people's Bank Notes hold out. Mine melt away like butter in the
   sun. 'Tis a great mercy that the Stocks hold firm with a well
   organised rebellion in the Island. In _my_ time, had such a
   state of things existed, people would have laid down knife and
   fork, and fallen to praying: those I mean who did not _fight_
   either on the one side or the other. We do not now lay down
   even our Cards. My friend Dr. Gray however, whom you do, or you
   do _not_ remember at Streatham Park, has taken serious fright,
   and fled to London with his family, from Durham; wishing to
   change his valuable living for one, even half as profitable,
   in the South. Altho' Miss Normans told me on Saturday, at Mrs.
   Pierrepoint's or Mrs. Courtenay's Assembly, that the Bishops
   were insulted going to Dinner with some of our Ministers of
   State, last week; and the circumstance created some alarm.

   Mr. Eckersall says the Comte d'Artois' life has been attempted,
   and _that_ it was gave the King of France gout in his stomach.
   Our gracious Queen's arrival may possibly produce a like effect
   in the stomach of Louis Dixhuit's personal friend.

   ... Miss Wroughton, in her zeal for Mr. and Mrs. Ashe, asked
   half a dozen amateur Gentlemen to mount the Balcony, and sing
   for their Benefit, because the Theatre supported by Mr. Young
   took all their best musicians away; just as her friends the
   Ashes, took away Mr. Windsor, etc.--if you recollect--from my
   Fête on the 27th of January. And so some laugh, and some are
   angry, but Miss Wroughton, tho' she cross'd _me_ at every turn
   this Winter, begs _me_ to take Tickets now for Mr. Ashe!!! I
   really wonder how she can think of such a thing.

   Clifton must be a charming place, sure, where there is no such
   gossiping nonsense; and all the Devonshire coast too is so
   quiet, and Penzance in Cornwall will soon be fashionable;--it is
   so cheap, they say, and so warm....

   You do not care much, I think, about these ridiculous reports
   concerning Queen Caroline; how she is coming--so she is--to do
   wonders unheard of till now: and Buonaparte!--how he's to be let
   out, a Bag Fox, for all Europe to hunt again. People find torpor
   worse than torture 'tis plain. They long for War, a property-tax
   and a battle in every Newspaper: rebellion and assassination are
   not hot enough. As Mr. Leo was constrained at last to warm his
   brandy with Cayenne Pepper before his stomach could feel any
   effect.

    BATH, _April 22, 1820_.

   Dear Mrs. Pennington will be glad to see the spring coming
   forward so sweetly. She will be glad, too, to hear that her
   true friends are well; the Little Old Woman, and the Tall
   Young Beau. She will be glad that the Parties grow hot and
   disagreeable, and that I feel longing for Clifton and the 10th
   of June. Whether we are to be glad of the recovery of the
   Great Lady I know not, for tho' her life does much good, her
   death--poor Dear!--would have done no harm. Do you remember an
   impudent Comic Actor on our Bath Stage? A Mr. Edwin, and we
   said he resembled Dr. Randolph in the face: and how when he was
   addressing the audience in an epilogue upon his own Night, he
   suddenly turned to her Stage Box, singing

    And the Duchess, who now sits so smiling here
    Shall come to our Benefits every year.
                      Tol ol derol, Lol, etc.

   I never saw any fair Female so confounded in my life. You were
   with me.

   How the ground and the trees do sigh and pine for rain! And what
   a haze this odious North East wind sheds over all my prospect!
   The people are right enough that go abroad. I would go myself,
   but that I have an appointment to keep with dear Piozzi, who I
   brought out of his own sweet Country, to lie in the vault he
   made for me and my Ancestors at Dymerchion; where I am most
   willing to keep him company, when I have performed _more_ than
   _all_ the promises I ever, in any humour, made his Nephew; and
   when I have, after paying every debt, saved a silver sixpence
   or two for those who soften and amuse the closing scenes of a
   life long drawn out,--perhaps for that very purpose. Meanwhile
   we have a church building here, for my _particular friends_,
   the Blackguards and tatter'd Belles of Avon Street, and my
   Subscription will be soon expected.

   Ay, Ay, I see where I shall pass the Winter months escaping
   frosts, and keeping clear of expences, in a climate better than
   Paris, the Latitude very little higher. But if you open your
   lips--Adieu!...

   Dear---- says _his_ health was never so perfect, and he uses
   horse exercise, and sends love to his Friends,--and is a good
   Boy. I used to bid my children when at distance, only write
   three words,--safe, well, and happy: his letter is just like
   theirs.

   You are tired, are you not, of the silly talk concerning the
   Queen and the Radicals. They are like the Statues in the
   _Arabian Nights_, who clatter their armour to fright those who
   go up the hill: but if you walk steadily forward it ends in
   nothing.

   We have an Italian Rope Dancer coming, _Diavol_ Antonio, as they
   call him. Our shows have been like those in a Magic Lanthorn; so
   the _Devil_ comes at last to end the whole ado.

    _Fryday May 5th, 1820._

   ... We will see a great deal of each other when Clifton becomes
   my place of residence for six pretty weeks. After them--old
   Ocean. Can aught else compleatly wash away all recollection of
   Bath _Parties_? That fair assemblage of glaring lights, empty
   heads, aking hearts, and false faces?

   Who is it says the conversation of a true friend brightens the
   eyes? I have enjoy'd two chearful hours _talk_ with our best
   _speaker_, best actor, best companion,--Conway. You seem to
   express yourself as if half sorry you loved him so much. I am
   only sorry that I can't love him ten times more....

   Here is lovely weather for frisking up and down, and my empty
   pockets will not _overload_ the carriage; altho' the whole
   _family_ of _emigrants_ will be packed _in, and on, and upon_,
   my Post chaise and four....

   Salusbury sent me a whimpering letter, and has already got his
   £100, which Heaven knows I owed, and much more, to the estate
   of Messrs. Callan and Booth, Lodging House keepers. But if I
   can get five Guineas o' week for No. 8, during absence, I shall
   bring matters round in due time: because, as Clarissa says
   in the _Rambler_, 'tis well known to all the Beau-Monde _that
   nobody ever dies_.

In her next letter Mrs. Piozzi makes arrangements for the
accommodation of herself and her household, consisting of her man
James, her attendant Bessy, and two other maids at Clifton.

    _Tuesday, 16 May 1820._

   ... I can't stir till 10th of June.... I like to be under Mrs.
   Rudd's roof, and mean to sleep under it next Saturday three
   weeks, the Pretender's birthday, when old Tories in Wales wore
   white Roses, the 10th day of June. Sunday's dinner I hope to
   eat with Mr. and Mrs. Pennington, at their hospitable board,
   and we will talk of anything and everything but la Partenza,
   which cannot be before the same day of July, as till then I
   have ne'er a groat. If life is lent me I will be rich that time
   twelve-month; and if it is _not_ lent me, I shall want no money.

   Meanwhile I expect no letters from our favourite Friend. I
   have written to him tho', and told him that you and I were his
   Hephestion and Parmenio; and if he does not laugh at his Blue
   Ladies, we are surely well off.

   Do you remember Charles Shephard, I wonder? and how we petted
   him? and Piozzi trusted him with all his affairs, and bid me
   do so; and _so I did_. The envious and jealous people however,
   after my husband's death, (people of our mutual acquaintance,)
   blew coals up between him and me, and parted us with _acrimony_
   on his side, _mental_ resentment, very strong, on mine. I
   express'd none however; only said, "God forgive and prosper
   you, farewell." Many reports would have been made afterwards
   concerning his _distresses_, which I regularly turned a deaf
   ear to; and for these last 10 years never heard his name, and
   scarcely ever pronounced it. Last Fryday brought me a beautiful
   letter from him, dated West India, congratulating me on the gay
   supper given last January, assuring me of his continued regard,
   and bidding me direct back to the Hon. C. S. etc. because he is
   a Privy Councillor, Chief Justice, and Lord knows what besides.

   That he retains his confidence in me plainly appears from the
   tender enquiries he makes after his favourite Lady; of whose
   attachment to him, and his to her, no one ever knew but myself.
   So I have lived long enough to have old friends restored, and
   to have made _one_ new one. I hope dear Conway and he will be
   acquainted when he comes home _rich_ and--no, _not_ happy, but
   able to spite the spiters. If I am removed before then, you will
   remain and introduce them to each other. It will be a mutual
   pleasure, and you will talk of H. L. P., and Sir John will have
   my letters to make money of, and give him some compensation for
   my extravagance in the year 1820.

   Callan and Booth, the people I take my house from, have heavy
   claims on me _now_; so I have let it to Mr. Iveson for a
   twelve-month, and mean to be smooth as Oyl'd Silk by July
   1821....

   There is much for you to do as my Sentimental Executrix, so
   we will hear of no departure but mine for Marasion, just by
   Penzance....

   George Hammersley has just left me and taken my Banker's Book to
   Pallmall to be regulated; and gives me great credit for my care
   and exactness in my Money Matters: bidding me make no scruple
   with regard to _their House_, etc., very good-naturedly indeed.
   But as I told him I never yet overdrew my Banker, and will not
   (unless something serious happens,) begin to do so in the year
   1820. _One_ twelve month's short-biting will set all smooth, and
   you shall see a merry face once more on the shoulders of yours
   and dear Mr. Pennington's affectionate,

    H. L. P.

A few days afterwards Mrs. Piozzi was much agitated, on Conway's
account, by the news of the collapse of the stage of the Birmingham
theatre, where it appears he was going to act; but it turned out that
it was not during a performance, and the only injury done was to one
of the workmen.

    BATH, _Tuesday 23 May 1820_.

   ... I shall sleep at your Crescent House, Mrs. Rudd's, as we
   agreed long ago on Saturday night, 10 June, if it pleases
   God, and go to your Bristol Cathedral on Sunday morning: dine
   in Dowry Square, chat with you all the evening, and pass a
   comfortable night,--altho' the Queen is coming near enough to
   put every one in a heat; if perhaps she may forbear to light up
   a _fire_ in our Nation for purpose of roasting her own chicken
   to her own mind.

   Public and private villainies on the increase, as Dr. Randolph
   used to tell us long ago. He did recommend Charles Shephard's
   father for the education of young Salusbury, and the son
   recommended _himself_ by his useful talents to dear Piozzi; by
   his brilliant ones to me. I am happy to find he will be _rich_
   and _prosperous_; happy he scarcely _can_ be from the nature of
   his attachment; but 'tis happy to feel attachment at all, for
   when that's over, all's over....

   ... At a wedding breakfast we were invited to yesterday Dr.
   Wilkinson harangued in praise of Marazion, and our friend Mr.
   Gifford said that when he was a young Officer, he treated his
   brothers of the Corps with a dinner; two dishes of fish, one
   ham, three chickens, a pigeon pye, and a plum pudding;--the
   cost, 14 shillings....

   Meanwhile Sir Wm. Hotham says the Levee was a Bear Garden.
   Miss Knight's letter to Mrs. Lutwyche says it was full of
   Grocers, Silk Dyers, and Upholsterers. And _I_ say it was a
   _Levy-en-Masse_.

   The Bath people must get substitutes for H. L. P. and W. A. C.
   as they can. I fancy young Roscius will be the man, the woman is
   yet to be looked for.

Admiral Sir William Hotham, one of Nelson's officers, was made a
K.C.B. in 1815, and became one of the Gentlemen in Waiting to the King.

The young Roscius (William Henry West Betty), whose acting at the
age of twelve created such a furore, and whose popularity for a time
eclipsed that of Mrs. Siddons, had already appeared at Bath in 1812.
He retired from the stage in 1824 and died in 1874.

    BATH, _Tuesday Night,
    6 June, 1820_.

   ... Mr. Ward has taken leave, and all the Ladies wept. Such was
   the croud, I am told, that James my man could not get in to any
   place he could stand upon.

   The Londoners will have as good food for starers as Mr. Ward can
   give the Bath folks. Queen Caroline is said to be arrived, and
   is to inhabit Wanstead House. The rumours and reports are indeed
   innumerable....

   Meanwhile my heart is heavy with affliction at losing an old,
   tried, and true friend, Archdeacon Thomas. Poor man! and
   poor Mrs. Thomas! for whom my heart bleeds. He was buried
   in the Abbey, where he was walking with Dr. Harington, his
   father-in-law, some few years ago. "Let us look," said they,
   "for a place where _we_ may lie." "Ay, Thomas, so we will, for

    These ancient walls, with many a mouldering bust,
    But shew how well Bath Waters _lay the dust_."

   repeated the ever-ready Doctor.

   How long, dear Mrs. Pennington, _am_ I to live? How many
   valuable companions _am_ I to lose? These gentlemen were among
   the very pleasing ones I have known.... Thank God Salusbury and
   Conway--dear Lads--are young, and likely to last me out. But
   when they do not write my foolish heart is fluttering for their
   safety,--naughty children as they are in neglecting to send me
   a letter. I have heard but once from Brynbella since my £100
   went there....

   Mrs. Dimond told [Miss Williams] that Bath would have a sad loss
   of Mrs. Piozzi; but the Queen will put everything but herself
   out of everybody's head. The weather is wonderfully dull; so is
   my letter....

Henry Harington, M.D., Physician to the Duke of York, was a talented
musician, and founder of the Bath Philharmonic Society. A letter
quoted by Hayward describes him in 1815 as "listening with delight
to his own charming compositions. The last Catch and Glee are said
to be the best he ever wrote." The incident mentioned above took
place the same year. There is a curious little note about him in Mrs.
Piozzi's Commonplace Book. "Dr. Harrington, who was then 88 years old,
never took any air or exercise that he could possibly avoid, going
constantly to his patients in a Sedan; and held a handkerchief before
his face to keep the air away."

Another note, dated June 7, 1820, runs as follows: "Am I, H. L. P.,
sorry to leave Bath? No, but I should be _half_ sorry to think I never
should return, which it is most probable I never shall; my age so far
advanced. Well, God's will, not mine, be done."

    PENZANCE, _Tuesday 25 Jul. 1821_.
    [_clearly a slip for 1820._]

   My dearest Mrs. Pennington will be pleased to hear that we
   arrived safely at Penzance last night.... All we are told about
   the place seems true.... We shall get a good house, with a sea
   view ... upon the Regent's Terrace, paying £16 o' month, thro'
   the whole ten, from 1st of August next to 1st of June 1821....

   Our dear Conway's name at length appears in the _Morning Post_,
   summoning his troops to meet in the Green Room of the new
   Theatre, Birmingham. If Mrs. Rudd does not know it, do her the
   honour to call with the information.

   I wish the ship was come with our Cook, and our books, and our
   luggage. A Mr. Paul shew'd me 4 fine Red Mullets he had just
   paid a penny each for, this very morning: yet the _Inn_ gave
   us a stale Soal yesterday, and will charge a shilling at least
   for it. But Honesty is a shrub harder to raise than Myrtle,
   which grows here in open air sure enough, and the people are
   so fond of it that they plant the beautiful Bay out of their
   sight as much as possible, preferring green trees to blue waves
   completely.

   St. Michael's Mount is a disappointing object, at least to me;
   and as to the country we came thro', nothing ever looked so
   poverty-stricken, except the very roughest part of North Wales
   in _rough_ days, before they had begun enclosing. Goats browsing
   wild about the rocks, as in some districts of Snowdonia, serve
   the peasants as good substitutes for cattle, who could not pick
   a living so as to enable them to give milk for the innumerable
   children that crowd the cottages. Yet Mrs. Hill complains that
   they grow saucy, and refuse Barley Bread _now_, which used to be
   their regular sustenance. I have not, however, seen a beggar,
   and the shops are splendid, while the streets are _odious_,--too
   filthy, too mean to be endured. Bangor and Beaumaris would be
   ashamed of them. I might have had a good house for two Guineas
   o' week, but could not away with the situation, coming from
   Clifton Hill. Peat stacks at every turn shew what fires they
   use here in the winter, but till last January snow had not been
   seen for many years, and it lasted but _one_ day. The tide here
   is like that in the Mediterranean, just _visible_ the Ebb and
   Flow; tho' full moon to-day, no rise appears to _my_ eyes that
   are unused to a land-locked bay, and which, (foolishly enough),
   expected an open Ocean, such as the Sussex coast exhibits. But
   old Neptune here puts on a quiet aspect, resembling that he
   wears at Weymouth or at Tenby. No mud however _offends_ the
   Bathers, and no Machine _assists_ them.

   I saw the Holmes, and pretty Mendip Lodge, as we came along,
   and fancied I could discern Weston super Mare, whose Sea View
   Place is just such a row of houses as Regent's Terrace; only
   we have here such magnificent gardens, and one good house in
   the middle of the row, looking down with true contempt on the
   mouse-holes each side it:--and _that_ Mansion I am in chase
   of, only suspecting that, before we knew it was to be had, I
   entangled myself in a mouse-hole.

   The women here are beautiful. The Lady of Mousetrap Hall, with
   whom I have entangled myself, has eyes like Garrick's, teeth
   like Salusbury's, complexion like your own, but cruel as lovely.
   I fear she will not let me off; and in her house I should regret
   the _ample_ space of your house, or mine at Weston super Mare.

   I have half a mind not to let this go till I have finally
   settled this _great affair_. Great indeed just now, for as
   Goldsmith said

    "These _little_ things are great to _little_ men."[33]

    And on this 26th--I shall sit, fret, and dine
    In a chair-lumber'd closet, just eight feet by nine.

   For I feel myself after all condemned to the Mousehole for
   three months certain; £2, 15_s._ 0_d._ per week, with a view of
   the sea, and _then_ (if we live to see November), Mr. Paul's
   comfortable Mansion at next door.

   [33] _The Traveller._

    PENZANCE, _Wed. 3 August, 1820_.

   Charming Mrs. Pennington's beautiful letter was indeed most
   welcome, tho' it does put me a little more out of humour with my
   run-away frolic than I was before it arrived....

   Now for Penzance and its Parties. Mrs. Hill made a splendid
   one, for _me_ I rather think, and my black satten gown (for no
   other is yet arrived,) was my best garment. Bessy lent me a
   cap of hers, and my youthful looks were duly appreciated--my
   whist-playing _applauded_. We had two tables, one for shillings,
   one for sixpences; a profusion of exquisite refreshments, and
   music in another room. Oh! if I escape all temptations to
   sensuality, I shall live to see dear Mr. and Mrs. Pennington
   again, and the Hot Wells, and Clifton Terrace, where I shall
   surely jump for very joy. But these Red Mullets and Dorees for
   two pence o' piece will certainly destroy _some_ of us. Poor
   Bessy has been _seriously_, I might say dangerously ill, from
   indulging in a Crab; it made James sick too; all the family
   half-killed,--for the small price of a groat the fish, and a
   Pound to the Dr.... a real Physician, thank God, and not a
   country 'Pothecary....

   The people know not how to be civil enough, and if my stomach
   will reconcile itself to the clouted cream, I shall come home
   as fat as the pigs of the country, and such pork did I never
   see. Our own garden affords potatoes for us all, and onions
   etc., besides the flower plot, perfuming the very air around
   with carnations of every hue, Myrtles of every form, and exotic
   shrubs with Linnean names innumerable. The appearance of our
   Mansion, _pleasure_ ground, and kitchen garden, reminds me of
   Kingsmead Terrace, Bath; but James says the houses here are by
   no means so _spacious_ as that where your compassion carried
   you when our incomparable Conway was so ill. I hope he has
   proved himself _irresistible_, and what must the heart be over
   which he cannot, if he pleases--triumph?... Oh! if I possessed
   an unappropriated £100 in the world, I would go see him act
   once again, that I would.... I am glad Mrs. Rudd's heart seems
   lighter than when we left her; the Rogue has never written to
   _me_, no, not a scrap; but she had an _earlier_ pretension to
   his regard, I think it is scarce a truer.

   Meanwhile Sophia Hoare has written me a more good-humour'd
   letter than usual, and I am _so_ delighted! Maternal love is
   the only good thing mankind can not throw away. It springs
   fresh with the least drop of water flung upon it. She wishes her
   illustrious Neighbour out of Town I see, and says wisely that
   her present residence being so near the Barracks is unfortunate,
   because the soldiers' wives and children are among her every
   night's applauders. The Hoares are used to be violent opposers
   of the Ministry, but Democrates like to have their property held
   sacred, as well as you or I; and firing houses will make no
   sport to the Bankers, I trow.

   So now _pray_ accept these _not elaborate_ verses: they will
   amuse Mr. Pennington's gout.

    Around their _Queen_
      Here are seen,
        Sharp'ning every _sting_,
    Bees,--alarming
      By their swarming
        People, Peers, and King.

    But in their tricks,
      Should they fix
        On our property;
    They must learn
      To discern
        That when they _sting_, they _die_.

   Surely such Cakes, Jellies, etc., as they use here for
   refreshments, all new and warm, were never _seen_ at Bath or
   London, so various, so profuse. I never touch them, certainly,
   but never was so tempted. No Confectioner's shop visible in the
   place, _all made at home_.

   With regard to rain, we live in a cloud of soft mist, rain,
   if you please to call it so; certainly a perpetual damp, warm
   moisture. Lady Jane James said, you know, that she never put on
   a dry chemise at St. Michael's Mount, and truly did she speak;
   but nobody ever told me that the sea here is as tame as the
   country is wild. Wild without sublimity, coarse externally, like
   other Misers; its riches all concealed underground. I saw Hay
   carried last night, two months after the environs of Clifton.
   But I have wrong'd old Neptune; he _can_ roar, I hear him now,
   thank Heaven. Oh! how much more delightful is the music he now
   makes than that of the pretty Ladies of the parties, to the rude
   ears of dearest Mrs. Pennington's everlastingly obliged and
   faithful

    H. L. P.

   Aug 3. Fateful month! but no clothes, no books, no Cook, no
   Conway's portrait yet for poor H. L. P.

Cook, books, and clothes were still in the Port of Bristol, as Mrs.
Pennington writes on the 29th, waiting, as it appeared, for the
captain to make up his freight; and might then be expected to take
from four days to a fortnight--according to the wind--to make Penzance.

The renewed enthusiasm for Queen Caroline was aroused by the
anticipation of the Bill of Pains and Penalties, intended to dissolve
the marriage, which was brought in on August 14, but proved so
unpopular, both in and out of Parliament, that it had to be dropped.

On August 10 Mrs. Pennington is able to announce that the _Happy
Return_ had actually sailed, with Mrs. Piozzi's belongings, five
days before. Conway had been to see his mother, and had called on
herself, rather, she thinks, from civility than from choice. "There
was a polite distance assumed, evidently for the purpose of repressing
enquiry.... I am persuaded we trouble ourselves much more about his
concerns than he either wishes or likes." She gathered, however, that
he had secured some sort of recognition from his father. She alludes
to the letter of "lovely Mrs. Hoare," whom "I always liked ... because
I thought her more personally like you than any of the Ladies."

    PENZANCE, _Sunday August 13, 1820_.

   Come! oh come! dear Mrs. Pennington, I see you half long to be
   here, and what a relief, what a comfort, would your society
   afford to your starving H. L. P.? Here is _no_ heat, _no_ dust,
   _no_ cold: I daresay it is a very _negative_ place, but I must
   not have you tell tales out of School. Miss Trevenan may justly
   disapprove my censure on the _no_ picturesque of her native
   county: and if you read her my letters so, I must grow cautious,
   à la Conway. I _have_ heard from him, thank God! The rogue
   told me nothing tho', except how charming you and I were, what
   admirable letters we wrote, etc. "Yea, and all _that_ did I know
   before,"[34] as Juliet says. Quere, whether he has anything to
   tell; unless it be that he has at length calmed his own noble
   and too-feeling mind, by conduct which himself approves.

   [34] _Rom. and Jul._, II. v. 47.

   But at the same moment with your kind letter comes our
   long-expected ship. Cook says they have been to _Wales_; Swansea
   in Glamorganshire!

   The day you receive this one whole month will have elapsed since
   I left the full moon _shining in her brightness_ on Clifton
   Terrace. Never have my eyes seen her since. No, nor a starry
   night. Yet here is sun enough, and the sea so beautifully blue
   and clear, you would be delighted with it, as one is with a tame
   Lyon. Will you come?...

   Much, meantime, and of much more importance, is crazing all the
   brain-pans of poor Europe. The revolt at Rome strikes me as very
   surprising. The same people who defended their Sovereign as
   long as they could, poor creatures! against French aggression,
   now fly in the face of his not only _Innocent_, but _innocuous_
   successor: no mortal can guess why. Ay, ay, you used to laugh
   when I mounted my turnep cart and preached the end of the world.
   But you don't like witnessing the convulsions that precede
   it, and which increase in violence visibly every day. Poor
   Ithaca! whence Ulysses was detained, you know, by the gardens
   of Alcinous, has been shattered completely to pieces by an
   earthquake, under the name of St. Mauro; and Inspruck, where I
   spent a few days, has seen the destruction of her _Golden House_.

   Our Queen Bee, of whom the Radicals have laid hold, will be the
   instrument of concussion in _our_ Country; and we drones shall
   suffer, while the stingers go on torturing each other into
   madness. The Naturalists, Pennant, Linnæus, etc., have long
   observed that all the _Hymenoptera_ have stings. Yet I suppose
   that will not deter the _hopers_ from _marriage_....

   Mr. Mangin's Intercepted Letter was a little Pamphlet, censuring
   some Authors, Actors, etc., commending others; and I got two
   kind lines, before we were at all acquainted,--so _that_ brought
   on Library conversation, and he offered his services about the
   _Name-Book_;--took it to London for me, where it was rejected,
   not through any neglect on his part: and I felt myself much
   obliged by his attentions, and rejoiced in his good fortune when
   he married....

No particulars are forthcoming respecting the "Name Book," but it was
evidently a work on Etymology, written some years before, which was
to have been called _Lyford Redivivus_, for which she was unable to
find a publisher. A letter in Mr. Broadley's collection indicates that
it was finished about 1816, when she writes to Sir James Fellowes, "I
wish Mr. Jenkins had taken the Name Book."

    PENZANCE, _Saturday Night,
    26 Aug. 1820_.

   Dear, kind Mrs. Pennington, I love you for wishing that you
   _could_ come, and you ought to love me for agreeing in the
   notion that to come would be very foolish. One can hardly save
   the expences of such a journey by cheap fish, when the water
   'tis boyl'd in must, every drop, be paid for. And what an ideot
   was James not to pay the carriage of the Turbot! When I miss'd
   it in the weekly account I could have cuff'd him.

   The heats are equable, not strong or _starvy_; but little can
   be said in praise of the weather. Rain, almost incessant, keeps
   one at home, and to get at this lovely sea, such stinks must
   be encounter'd as I never knew but at Rome or Naples. Poor,
   dear Italy! I _did_ love it however, and hear with unaffected
   sorrow of the pangs that are tearing it to pieces. In France
   _fire_-brands seem the instruments of punishment from on high.
   In England _one female_ suffices. If nothing can be done
   without _more help_, my Paper says that Buonaparte is to be let
   loose, and that Prince Esterhazy's business here was to solicit
   his liberation. Hissing the Duke of Wellington is a prelude,
   a pretty overture to such an Opera. Opera means _piece of
   work_, you know. It makes me more willing to _quit_ the world
   certainly, when I see it rolling downhill so. But the whole of
   it must be discover'd before it is destroy'd, and the little
   ship _William_, a trading vessel from Blythe in Northumberland,
   has in effect found at last the great Southern Continent, so
   long supposed to exist, so completely forgotten of late years....

   Did you ever read my verses, which this discovery made by the
   _William_ confirms? "_No_," is the answer, Well then, here they
   are, making part of a long poem composed 35 years ago.

    Where slowly turns the Southern Pole,
    And distant Constellations roll,
    A sea-girt Continent lies hurl'd,
    And keeps the balance of the World.
    But felter'd fogs, and hoary frost
    Defend th' inhospitable coast,
    Which, veil'd from sight, eludes the Pilot's care,
    And leaves him fix'd in ice, a statue of despair.

   I hear no more of Salusbury. I never could get _him_ to care
   about these matters: and after all, does not he act as _all_
   parents wish their children to act, soberly and quietly, keeping
   a steady eye to his _interest_ in this world; not, I hope and
   trust, forgetful of the next. One must love the creatures for
   their valuable, or delight in them for their shining qualities,
   no matter whether they love me or no, and _in their way_
   they do love me. Sir James Fellowes has written kindly and
   good-humouredly, and my heart has entirely made all up with his.
   Nothing, as you say, ail'd him but jealousy; and I hold that
   to be what foolish Merlin, the mechanic, called a _desagreable
   compliment_....

   Miss Willoughby has written from St. Anne's Hill. She says Lord
   Erskine wishes the illustrious Lady, who causes so much talk,
   was _in_ the Liturgy and _out_ of the Country. After what past
   at Ephesus, I see not why one should wish any such thing; but
   the aggregate of understanding she is tried by will decide
   rightly, I doubt not....

   Well, God mend all; and give us a merry meeting on our _Happy
   Return_....

The populace had been exasperated with Wellington over the Peterloo
incident, and he was just now sharing the unpopularity of the
Ministry, of which he was a member, on account of the Bill of Pains
and Penalties designed to effect the Queen's divorce. The exclusion of
her name from the Church Services had been one of the first objects of
the King on his accession.

Miss Willoughby, who soon afterwards followed Mrs. Piozzi to Penzance,
appears to have been a daughter of Charles James Fox.

    _15 Sep. 1820._

   I hope my dear Mrs. Pennington is beginning again to look for
   an empty letter. Empty it _must_ be of all but good will, badly
   express'd, for we are still-life people here, who see and hear
   very little, and reflect _less_ upon what _is_ seen and heard.
   I think every day more and more with our old Master Shakespear,
   that "there is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at
   the flood, leads on to fortune."[35] Caroline of Brunswick has
   surely miss'd her tide. A commotion might have been raised
   the first week: I now begin to doubt its possibility on _her_
   account. Rebellion however is _in_, as boys say of Cricket and
   Kite-flying, and any excuse serves in any country. When what
   is called a Spirit of Liberty seizes the swarthy inhabitants
   of Morocco, how should their old enemies, the Portuguese,
   escape? "When Afric _recovers_, Mundus will _end_," says an old
   proverb. And as dear Mrs. Pennington says, "no matter how soon,
   it _should_ be either ended or mended." The eclipse however did
   nothing towards its destruction. I saw it here beautifully, but
   there was little apparent obscuration, tho' the Thermometer sunk
   two degrees. We shall have an elegant Eclipse of the Moon on our
   Equinoctial day, the 22d of September: and our tides become even
   now a little stronger in their flux and reflux. Like other quiet
   temper'd people, their anger, I understand is dreadful....

   [35] _Timon of Ath._, IV. iii. 218.

   Doctor Randolph's state of health grieves me, and the loss of
   Mr. Bayntom; on whom so many, (and those wise people too,)
   depended with a very firm reliance. I always wonder at _such_
   partiality. It has been my lot to love three or four Medical Men
   very sincerely, and _like_ them in earnest for companions and
   friends, but would not give much of preference to any. And 'tis
   well that such is my humour, in a place where we send to the
   _Tallow chandler's_ if we want drugs: no Apothecary or Chymist
   residing near happy Penzance. Fowls we buy in the feathers--and
   James says every shop in the Town sells Barley to feed them
   with. There are no more Poulterers than Milliners yet everybody
   is genteelly drest, and I warrant our Michælmas goose will be
   good, and cost us scarce half a crown, giblets and plumage. I
   should like to write you a letter with my own _quill_....

   Well! now I will go work at your Fly; but even that is nonsense,
   for I cannot frame it, nor line it, nor put it in a box. There
   are no frames, no boxes, no linings, at Penzance. I cannot make
   it worth your acceptance; and who dreams of my living till the
   spring, and bringing it with me to Clifton, when I shall be
   going on to 82 years old? I must finish, and leave it in charge
   with Bessy, to save from the hands of my Executors; as I will do
   by Conway's portrait....

   The Harvest here is beautiful and plenteous:--

    "Far as the circling eye can range around
    Unbounded, tossing in a flood of corn,"

   as Thomson says. Industry is a rough power surely, but a kind
   one; working that you and I may sit idle, ploughing that H. L.
   P. may have leisure to work Butterflies, and weaving that pretty
   Mrs. Balhechet may look lovely in her various dresses.

   Charles Shephard has written to me again. He likes the
   correspondence I suppose, for we are 4000 miles asunder. By dint
   of industry however, he will come home _rich_; and seeing 500
   people richer than himself, will find he has exchanged honour
   and distinction for Coffee-house chat and Drawing-room small
   talk,--the food his fancy _now_ is longing for, but which will
   grow insipid in six months; and reflection will _then_ inform
   him that to talk of _Rum_ and _Sugar_ has more _spirit_ and
   _sweetness_ than to talk of _nothing_. He begs me to write, not
   newspaper occurrences, he says, but _stuff out of my own head_,
   as they say at Eton School:--the head of an old Haggard, 81
   years old!!! But he is consorting with those who never heard
   tell about the gardens of _Alcinous_. Some one sung a Ballad in
   which Lethe was mentioned, not a soul in the company guess'd
   what was meant, till some very clever fellow found it was a
   river, running between Leith and Edinburgh....

In Morocco, under Soliman, the Christian slaves were being liberated,
and piracy suppressed. In Portugal, after the flight of John VI to
Brazil, the government had been in the hands of a Regency, which
included Marshal Beresford, who organised the army, but used its power
despotically. During a visit he paid to Rio in 1820, insurrections
took place at Lisbon and Oporto, the English Officers were expelled,
and a Constituent Assembly formed.

The Eclipse of Sep. 7, 1820, was an annular one, well seen over the N.
of Europe. Mangin relates how a similar one occurred in Mrs. Piozzi's
girlhood, and an astronomical friend told her she might live to see
another at 80.

On Sep. 21 Mrs. Pennington writes, much disgusted at the revelations
of the Queen's trial, and apprehensive of their effect on public
morals. "Not a Boarding School Miss, nor a Parish Girl, that can
make out the words, but we see studying these detestable pages, and
devouring their contents as they would a new Novel.... The worst part
of the business is the little respect, and less approbation, felt even
by well disposed and moderate persons for a certain Great Individual.
The vices of debauchery offend and disgust more (with many who are not
altogether disinclined to the practice,) than the downright wickedness
arising from the ambition and tyranny of the worst Monarchs that ever
reigned; and prove that the moral virtues are of more value than
anything. Our late K--g lost 13 Provinces, and supported a war which
was unpopular with a great part of his subjects, and which has ruined
the Nation; yet he was loved for his moral excellence, and his memory
is revered."

She deprecates precipitancy in the matter of the Butterfly, and
suggests that any Carpenter, with 4 strips of wood, might make a
rough, but efficient, substitute for the Tambour Frame which she
thought Mrs. Piozzi could not procure.

    PENZANCE, _Tuesday, Sep. 26, 1820_.

    In life's last scenes, what prodigies surprize!
    Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise!

    SAM. JOHNSON.

   Poor dear Dr. Randolph! Ay, and poor dear Mr. Chappelow too! The
   post which brought your letter--charming friend!--brought one
   from his nephew, son to Soame Jenyns, saying his uncle was dead,
   and had left my letters carefully tied up, which he would send
   to Bath immediately. I wrote and beg'd him send the packet to
   _you_, where I shall find it safe if I live till May-day; and if
   _not_, you will give it to Sir John or Sir James, my Executors.
   He had lost his head long before he lost his life, I find. Awful
   reflection! For a pleasant head it was, and a world of pleasant
   stories were hatched in it. Would not Mr. Pennington be sorry
   for such a loss to his true servant H. L. P.? I am very _sure_
   he would; and vexations at 81 years old cannot contribute much
   towards holding it in its place....

   Of the discovery made by the "William," I think very seriously.
   It is the last place that has lain concealed, and when the
   Gospel has been _preached_ there,--Christ does not say
   _obeyed_,--"then shall the end come." Distress of nations with
   perplexity was never, no _never_ so apparent: tho' Dorset
   Fellowes writes me word that they say not a syllable of their
   own conspiracy at Paris.... You are right about the tryal ending
   in smoke. I daresay it will: but the people, falsely called
   people in _power_, are afraid of its ending in _fire_, like
   myself, and will therefore be glad to compound. It was never a
   thing of _their_ seeking, and the French are all for la belle
   Caroline, of course; and threaten their English visitants with
   the speedy appearance of Monsieur le Baron Bergami. Meanwhile
   the fashionable joke is to say a noble Marquis, much talked
   of in London, is like a _comb_, all back and teeth. Yes, says
   another wag,--a _Horn_ comb.

   My fret about your Fly was for a frame, a picture frame, to
   hang it up in your boudoir. The only merit in _my_ work is
   that it is all done upon the _hand_; I do not know how to use
   a Tambour. The drawing it is ill executed from represented
   the _Blue-eyed Paris_ from Chandernagore; a Butterfly of much
   dignity, according to Linnæus, but you must accept it cover'd
   with faults. Lady Williams of Bodylwyddan had the _Ulysses_
   worked reasonably well,--a dozen years ago,--and Mrs. Rudd has a
   Moth....

   I never heard Miss Stephens sing, and what is much stranger,
   never heard the famous Mrs. Sheridan. But I have heard old
   Dr. Burney say _she_ sung "Return, O God of Hosts" better
   than anybody except Mrs. Cibber the Actress, whose manner of
   delivering that air was absolute perfection. Miss Sharpe says
   the Kembles are well and happy at Lausanne.... I hear the
   Twisses are returned to Bath, meaning Mr. and Mrs. Twiss; the
   Girls are out, like good girls, getting their living.... Horace
   has got into Parliament safe and snug.

   Poor Mrs. Rudd! I hope she will keep her houses full, and find
   me a lodging in some of them next Spring, before the 10th of
   June, that I may bustle and be busy; and get my _little things_,
   (as Ladies call everything,) from No. 8 Gay Street to No. 36
   Royal Terrace, Clifton. But how hopeless and silly all this is
   at 81 years old, and dear Chappelow dead of superannuation, six
   years younger than myself, in whom _hope_ of living six months
   would be _proof_ of superannuated folly. We must do as well as
   we can, and wish we could do better. He was as temperate as I
   am.... But when sickness comes in consequence of drinking some
   stuff that _pretended_ to be smuggled wine, and _was_ a mess
   made with sea water in an Alehouse; why then I _do_ despair of
   ever again seeing any place or people that are dear to your poor

    H. L. P.

Mr. Ray has long left Streatham and its neighbourhood. His mother died
of cold in a rough winter some years ago. She would go and sort her
apples in a loft; where being seized with a shivering fit, she was
brought down,--only to expire,--at 92 years old.

       *       *       *       *       *

Soame Jenyns, who, according to the _Dictionary of National
Biography_, left no issue by either of his wives, was the author of
the epitaph on Johnson containing the lines--

    Boswell and Thrale, retailers of his wit,
    Will tell you how he wrote, and talk'd, and cough'd, and spit.

The French conspiracy here alluded to was the plot hatched for the
murder of the Duc de Berri, son of the Comte d'Artois.

Bartolomeo Bergami, who just now loomed large through the cloud of
scandal which surrounded the Queen's trial, was originally engaged
by her as a courier, when she retired to the Continent in 1813. His
handsome person so commended him to his royal mistress that she
speedily promoted him to be her equerry and chamberlain, and treated
him as an intimate friend. Through her influence he was made a Baron
of Sicily, a Knight of Malta, and several other orders, including one
of her own devising, under the patronage of "Saint Caroline": while a
number of his relatives were provided with posts in her train.

Catherine Stephens was at this date the leading soprano at Covent
Garden, and afterwards sang at Drury Lane, and in the chief concerts
and festivals. In 1838 she married the fifth Earl of Essex, then over
eighty years of age, and died in 1882. Though she had not a finished
style, she sang airs like "Angels ever bright and fair" with much
pathos and devotional feeling.

The Mrs. Sheridan here spoken of was the dramatist's first wife,
Eliza Ann Linley, who died 1792. Though she was the finest singer of
her day, her dislike to appearing in public had much to do with her
run-away match with Sheridan.

Of Dr. Burney she writes in her Commonplace Book that he "died at
last, I am told, at 89 years old, and in full possession of his
faculties. They were extremely good ones. He _thought_ himself my
friend once, I believe, whilst he thought the world was so. When the
stream turned against the poor straw, he helped its progress with his
_stick_ and made his daughter do it with her _fingers_. The stream
however grew too strong, and forced the little straw forward in spite
of them."

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. Pennington sends a closely-written foolscap sheet dated October
1, largely taken up with the Queen's trial, a propos of which she
says: "We received a comical anecdote in a letter from Town. They say
it was a common trick for the little rascally boys, if they could
get hold of a stranger in the mob, to offer to _shew them the Queen
for sixpence_! On receiving it they would _shout out_; on which Her
Majesty would immediately appear, and smile and curtesy graciously:
and the boy would then add, "_I'll have her out again presently!_"

    PENZANCE, _Sunday Oct. 15, 1820_.

   A propos to Kingly residence the best joke is that since Her
   Majesty has possessed herself of all the John _Bulls_, her
   husband ran to _Cowes_ by way of retaliation. It would seem
   by the Papers now, I think, that the Tryal draws near to a
   conclusion. If any poor Italian should be put in the Pillory,
   as menaced, he never, no never, would come out alive. When
   Mr. Thrale and I lived in Southwark, I pass'd a poor creature
   in that situation, upon St. Margaret's Hill, and could eat no
   dinner for thinking of his sufferings and danger. "Madam,"
   exclaimed Dr. Johnson, "give yourself no concern about him. My
   life for it, he is drunk by now." The hapless Lombards have no
   such resource, and the man I saw died before night. But Miss
   Willoughby tells of another joke. One says the Queen must be
   fatigued to death sitting in this room so, without refreshment.
   "No Sir," is the reply, "the Queen's not _nice_; she can take a
   _chop_ at the King's Head";--an Alehouse in the neighbourhood.

   What you observe concerning public and private virtues may
   be true now in 1820; in 1760 I remember, when Wilkes's moral
   character was objected to by the Loyalists, the Liberty Boys
   cried, "What care we whether he be vicious, or the man he
   insults be virtuous? We look to _public_, not to _private_
   character." In consequence of these opinions the Town was
   deluged with verses, of which I can call to mind one stanza in
   praise of the then popular Hero.

    'Tis thus that we are told,
      The Ægyptians of old
        Ador'd their still _fouler_ Ichneumon,
    Who alone durst engage
      The fell Crocodile's rage,
        With courage exceeding the human.

   I forget whether the crocodile stood for King George III, or my
   Lord Mansfield. They equally resembled him, I believe; but 'tis
   plain men thought little of Jack Wilkes's _vartue_.

   Your Butterfly, which was finished yesterday, is not less fixed
   in his flights than popular opinion. When Cardinal de Retz was
   followed up and down by an admiring mob, "Is not this fine?"
   said a flatterer, "to see your Eminence possess'd of so many
   friends and followers" "Let anybody ring a dinner-bell," said
   he, "and see how many would be left me _then_."

   Meanwhile the storm continues very grand indeed, but something
   very like very dreadful. This bay looks so calm too! But
   sweetest wines make the sourest vinegar, and no anger is so
   fierce or fatal as that of gentle natures irritated to frenzy. I
   begin to wish it was over; as I did travelling among the Alps,
   which at first enraptur'd, but the third day _wearied_ my very
   heart. Effect of the true sublime....

    [_P.M. Nov. 2, 1820._]

   This will be a dull letter, dear Mrs. Pennington; I have been
   very ill, ill in good earnest, the pulse 92. There is a fever in
   the Town, and Sophy, my stout-looking housemaid, lies cover'd
   with blisters now....

   Let us talk of the storm, it is more entertaining, and tho'
   death seems, by the _describers_, to be most dreadful under
   the form of white breakers, it comes cleanlier, and less to my
   personal disliking, so, than accompanied with gallipots and
   all the tribe of sick-bed sorrows; for which, and the talk
   concerning them, my aversion was ever great....

   I continue to do what I came hither to perform, eat cheap fish,
   and pay old debts. Mr. Pennington will laugh, so will Dr.
   Randolph, if you tell them Tully's _Offices_ are come to the
   last _chapter_, and that I shall write FINIS to _that_
   book, if I live the _next_ month through.

   Am I, d'ye think, to see the end of 1820? If I am, those who
   say people of letters are never people of figures, shall find
   themselves mistaken in H. L. P. Had I dreamed of losing £6000 at
   a stroke so, I would have been more prudent.

   Conway was a good boy to send Partridge and pretty words to dear
   Clifton: he sends me no such nice things, knowing that my regard
   is not a ceremonious one. Marcella's speech to her lovers in Don
   Quixote, when they tax her with ingratitude, has the best common
   sense I ever read. "You love me," said she, "because I am young
   and beautiful and attractive by talents and graces. When you are
   so too I will requite your love, but no gratitude is due for
   that attention which you all confess to be involuntary. Get you
   gone, and plague me no more. Should I want your assistance when
   grown old and ugly, would you give me any? No, I warrant. Then
   I have nothing to thank you for."[36] ...

   [36] _Don Quixote_, Bk. II., Chap. xiv.

   Dorset [Fellowes] has been _surprisingly_ kind to me ... for after
   all, "Age is dark and unlovely, it is like the glimmering light of
   the Morn, when she shines thro' broken clouds: the blast of the North
   is on the plain, and the Traveller shrinks on his journey." Well!
   the people at Penzance do endure the dregs of the Piozzi very good
   naturedly; and Miss Willoughby grows much a favourite with them all.

   What is to be seen at Penzance however, is a _storm_. The billows
   most majestic, and the sea spray tossing, foaming, as if to remind me
   of Brighthelmstone. For _there_ alone does the salt water throw its
   particles into the air, so as to be carried 9 miles over the Downs to
   Lewes; where I have been warned to strip the Peaches of their downy
   coat, because they would taste of the last tempest. The shipwrecks
   here are shocking, and very frequent. This is no land of felicity
   to any but starvelings. Bessy buys five such fine Soles as I have
   partaken of at your table for one shilling, and they feed the family.
   We had a Turbot larger than that I sent to you for half a crown, a
   while ago. Miss Willoughby and I dined on the _fins_. But I scarce
   believe all fish is wholesome food, the town is full of Typhus
   now....

   My heart tells me that H. L. P. has made her last journey; but 'tis no
   matter, and will be no loss.

   A new book called Nicholle's Reflexions, or Recollections, will amuse
   you. His opinions of the late King run parallel with yours. But I, who
   remember caricatures of Charlotte toasting the muffin, and George the
   third reaching the Tea-kettle, can never be made believe that modern
   Reformers sigh for _moral_ Princes. How did Louis 16^ze please the
   people with _his_ morality? Calling his present Majesty _Nero_, is
   to me _comical_. Carleton House may indeed be termed Nerot's Hôtel,
   because the Master of it is kept, like the people of a bagnio, in
   _hot water_. And it seems that's the true London joke. Adieu....

  [Illustration:

      "FRYING SPRATS" (Q. CHARLOTTE)   "TOASTING MUFFINS" (K. GEO. III)

  _From a caricature by Gillray, 1791. From the Collection of A. M.
  Broadley, Esq._]

The £6000, as appears from subsequent letters, had been given to Sir
John Salusbury.

       *       *       *       *       *

The joke about "Tully's Offices" evidently relates to her paying
off the expenses of her birthday fête. The supper was provided by a
celebrated Bath pastrycook named Tully, and the jest originated with
Mrs. Piozzi, who, addressing her guests, bade them do justice to
"Tully's Offices," the name by which Cicero De Officiis was commonly
known in the eighteenth century.

On November 17 Mrs. Pennington, who has herself been ill, writes in
great agitation about the Typhus, entreating Mrs. Piozzi, if she will
not return to Clifton, to fly to Torquay. The Randolphs report it to
be a terrestrial Paradise;--the scenery exquisitely beautiful, the air
pure, mild, and dry, the town clean and neat, the living cheap, (the
best possible meat 6_d._ per lb.,) and no lack of good society. Mrs.
Randolph considered that Mrs. Piozzi might keep a carriage and live
there _elegantly_ within £1000 per annum.

Of the caricatures she remarks that "they were no proofs of the
people not _loving_ George the 3rd as a good man, a good husband, and
good father, but merely the result of that spirit of _persiflage_ to
which the people of this country are said to be so much addicted.
The simultaneous expressions of joy which you and I witnessed in the
Streets and Theatres of the Metropolis on his recovery, could only
have been the effects of genuine love and affection. It is in the
failure of these virtues that the present K--g has lost the warm
hearts of so many worthy subjects."

    PENZANCE, _Sunday, 12 Nov. 1820_.

   I am very sorry, dear Mrs. Pennington, that I said anything
   about this odious Fever; it will perhaps hurt the place, and in
   no wise benefit me.... We are surely in the hands of the same
   God at Penzance as at Torquay; and when _he_ calls, go we must.

   I cannot leave my habitation, which I have taken for a term, and
   must abide in till the term is over, nor will I go back without
   having done what I came hither to do. My friends are but too,
   _too_ solicitous. They have all heard of this nonsensical story,
   and every day brings me letters full of pathetic, and I believe,
   _sincere_ admonitions.... I wish you would all be more moderate
   in your kindnesses. My establishment is not a little Cloke-bag
   to put on my shoulder, and carry away from one place to
   another.... Be _quiet_, dear Friend, so I say to Miss Williams
   and Conway, who are half wild, God bless them!--and their loss
   would be nothing to what they fancy it. Yet 'tis all I can do to
   keep them from my door.

   The world is all unhappy. This vexatious affair of the Queen
   has been a _Tryal_ to everybody. I wish to know how the Bishops
   of Salisbury, Bangor, and St. Asaph give their votes. Lord
   Liverpool's observations are the best. If there was nothing
   _wrong_ between the Lady and the Courier, what _was_ there?
   Conversation was difficult, and talents there were none.

   No letter has come from Brynbella this long time, but I know
   from Miss Williams there is nothing wrong there; meaning as
   to health and happiness. As to pelf I will be more prudent in
   future; indeed the danger is over when the money is all gone....

   Bessy and I are engaged far differently from trimming hats for
   parties. Housework, and nursing, and crying, and clinging about
   Dr. Forbes and Mr. Moyle, an intelligent Surgeon, is all we have
   been doing a long time.... I do believe there is always Fever of
   this sort in these low situations, and when we _do_ move, if it
   be not to Dymerchion's burying ground, it shall be to the lofty
   Crescent at Clifton. Torquay may do for some of those future
   years dear Mrs. Pennington talks of....

   If you like to tell Mrs Rudd I still hope to come early in
   spring, do tell her so. Her son is a good child, and will ever
   be an honour and a comfort to her and to your _really_ obliged
   and troublesome

    H. L. PIOZZI.

Her anxiety had not been all on account of Sophy the housemaid. Her
attendant Bessy was the mother of a small boy named Angelo, a great
pet of Mrs. Piozzi's, who accompanied them, and whom the Fever had
brought to death's door, but who was now beginning to mend. She
herself had only had a feverish cold.

The Bill of Pains and Penalties, reluctantly introduced by Lord
Liverpool, then Prime Minister, though it passed the third reading,
was abandoned by the Government on November 10, and the next letter
gives a lively picture of the demonstrations which ensued.

    PENZANCE, _Nov. 15, 1820_.

   I feel terribly afraid, dear Mrs. Pennington, that my state of
   anxiety when I wrote last, betrayed my pen into some impatience
   of expression; ... and the interest Dr. and Mrs. Randolph were
   obliging enough to take in my concerns, deserved more thanks and
   compliments than I had, at that moment, leisure to pay.... The
   weather is changed, and the Fever quenched, ... and H. L. Piozzi
   become less a nuisance to her active Friends....

   This town may defy any place of its size, or twice its size, for
   a burst of real feeling displayed in honour of the late event.
   All the ships in the harbour have flags flying during day time,
   lamps blazing thro' most of the long night. "Queen Caroline for
   ever" round every head in ribbons, while Laurel, Myrtle, every
   blooming shrub, decorates the houses that would not wish to be
   pulled down. And no bustle you and I witnessed in 1788, could in
   any degree equal the spread of influence shown on this occasion
   by Britons in love with morality, from Scarborough to Penzance.
   Popularity may be outlived indeed, as her uncle learned I trust,
   when shot at twice in _one_ day, and nearly torne to pieces on
   another; when Cecil Forester, passing by accident, called up the
   Guards, and saved George the third's life, in his own Park, from
   the fury of a Mob, joined in deliberate design to murder him.
   I was in Wales, but could not doubt a fact so well attested.
   The State Coach, in which he _had_ ridden that morning, was
   demolished, and he nearly dragged from his own private carriage.
   My wonder is he escaped so often, and died in his bed at last.

   Our Horse's Mother, (Mr. Pennington remembers the story,)
   sent to me to bid me not to be frighted into illuminating my
   house. The Peuple Souverain say "Light your windows, or we will
   break them." My answer is the same to both. "We will do as our
   neighbours do."

   16th. Wish'd morning's come. The windows unbroken. The gay
   fellows from Newlyn and Mousehole, (who increased our mob,) all
   gone home to bed, after drinking "The Queen and Count Bergami
   for ever," till they could scarcely reel to their wretched
   habitations. But St. Michael's Mount was the beautiful sight to
   see. Lamps in a pyramidal form to the top, where Tar Barrels
   were placed, and gave a glowing light to the whole scene,
   resembling the Bay of Naples.

   Well! the wife of George the second was just dead when my poor
   eyes and ears opened on talk and show. She was a writing and
   reading woman, who respected _herself_, and half ador'd her
   husband. She died detested of the people, and derided by the
   wits. Our next was Charlotte of Mecklenburg. "Poor ugly Pug!"
   cried the populace, who crowded about _her_ Chair, as she went
   to the Theatres on her first arrival. Poor Pug indeed! when the
   mob met her suddenly a few years after, at St. James's Gate,
   with a bier and mourning apparatus; "Young Allen's body" written
   on it. "Young Allen, murder'd by your husband's soldiers." The
   Queen fainted, miscarried, and lived thirty years, when she
   died. The people swung a Cat about the Palace, and sung "Old
   Tabby's departed." _This_ Lady is a _favourite_; but sure the
   others were not hated on account of their immorality. I never
   heard a fault but avarice laid to _their_ charge, and _that_ has
   been disproved....

   Oh! these are pretty times in which to be caring for a
   _lengthen'd stay_: but I have not _that_ folly to answer for.
   May you, dearest Mrs. Pennington, be _as_ willing to lay down
   the burden of life, when the Angel of release comes to cut the
   last thread it hangs by, as is your truly sincere and faithful

    H. L. P.

November 16, 1820, is the last date in her Commonplace Book which she
notes was begun at Brynbella 1809, thrown aside for some years, begun
again at Streatham 1814, and continued at Bath 1815.

In 1794, a year of great scarcity, as the King went to open Parliament
on October 29, his carriage was surrounded by a mob crying "Bread,"
and "Down with George!" and stones were thrown through the window. A
somewhat similar attack was made on the Queen's carriage in 1796, when
she herself was hit by a stone.

In a letter dated November 17, Mrs. Pennington replies. "In an early
stage of our acquaintance, speaking of you to Mr. Greatheed, I
recollect his exclaiming, 'Oh! if you like her so much _now_, what
will you do when you see her _miserable_? She is so _comical_ then,
that she is quite _too_ charming.' And _comical_ you are, sure enough,
my dearest Mrs. Piozzi! You scare one with ugly words, and then are
half-angry that one is frightened. At above 200 miles distance, was it
possible to hear of 'Fever and Typhus' in the town, and even in _your
house_, and not be alarmed?" ...

"_All_ the Bishops voted for the Bill, (with the exception of the
Archbishop of York and the Bishop of Tuam,) tho' they divided on the
divorce clause.... And all (with the above exceptions,) declared their
perfect conviction that her Majesty was guilty, to the full extent of
the charges." ...

"You remember, I daresay, Mr. Dennam's concluding sentence, in his
address to the Lords, conjuring them to imitate the beneficent spirit
of the Saviour, and to say to her, 'Go, and sin no more.' A blunder
certainly, if he had taken the proper inference into account, worthy
of _Paddy_ himself, from a man advocating her _innocence_. The
following lines are, I think, neat enough on the subject.

    Go, Caroline, we thee implore,
    And sin, (if it be possible,) no more.
    But if that effort be too great,
    For God's sake, go--at any rate."

    PENZANCE, _Fryday 24 Nov. 1820_.

          *       *       *       *       *

   The oldest friend I have in N. Wales, poor dear Mr. Lloyd of
   Pontriffeth, is dying; and my earliest playfellow and cousin,
   Tom Cotton, is dead. We never met, of course, since my second
   marriage, and he was saucy. But I am sorry, for he will be saucy
   no more. So if _my_ death prevents me from returning to No. 36,
   you must not wonder, tho' I will not say you must not cry....
   Conway writes the kindest of letters: but Newton is tardy in his
   payments, and I am as low-spirited as a cat.

   It would however have made me laugh to see Miss Hudson
   illuminating her windows, and it does _not_ make me weep to
   observe that the Brynbella people never write. Tom Cotton's
   death is a bad thing for Salusbury, _his_ life is in all our
   leases. Mr. Thrale had a proper notion of that man's longævity.
   He lived 77 years. Lady Keith and I are the other two. Dearest
   Piozzi enjoyed the estate and improved it, and never had a life
   to renew,--never cost him a penny. Those who do right get a
   little reward for it, even _here_; and now that my heart feels
   itself on the brink of eternity, how daily and nightly do I
   thank God and my parents that in my gayest hours I never did
   forget it....

   Lieutenant Parry's voyage might supply much food for thought
   and chat. He has surrounded the Pole, and found the seas more
   open than was expected. I do not understand that we are brought
   nearer to America, but we are near enough to _them_ for the love
   they bear us. 'Tis pity he lost sight of the red snow, and the
   savages who took our ships for animated creatures, fancying,
   like the Mexicans in Dryden's "Indian Emperor," that

    They turned their sides, and to each other spoke,
    We saw their words break forth in fire and smoke, etc.

   It was so pretty to see his fine ideas realised.

   Miss Willoughby and your most humble servant have been at a
   Penzance Ball, the first, (as we were told,) illuminated by Wax
   Candles; and the Ladies led our admiration to the lustres. They
   had better have led it to their own beauty, for we _had_ seen
   lighter rooms _often_, _seldom_ such pretty women; and all like
   one another....

   I will live, if I can, but every day counts now, aye, and every
   pulse too, and 'twere a folly not to feel it. Were a soldier to
   sleep sound in a besieged town, Mr. Pennington would count him
   lethargic. But he that sleeps during the _attack_, can only be
   compared to that man or woman who does not prepare for death at
   81 years old, but just tries to keep him _out of sight_....

   It is not because I think _better_ of Mortal Man than you do,
   dear friend; worse probably of men and morals, having seen
   _more_. But then I am contented with _less_, and ever thankful
   when things and people are no worse, surrounded with temptations
   as the poor creatures are, and filled with _snares_, _holes_,
   _gins_, _rotten planks_, etc., as we all find the bridge
   that carries us from this world to the other. Fools flapping
   their umbrellas in our faces all the way, hiding the _light_
   from us at every step, and triumphing in slips made by their
   neighbours, whilst tottering along themselves, scarce able to
   stand or go. Do not be sorry that I have arrived at more than
   three-quarters over, but pity those that have many arches to
   pass, with broken battlements on either side, enough to giddy
   their brains. Salusbury's path seems clearest of difficulties,
   but he is in danger of drowsiness; Conway's walk is above all
   men's dangerous. And neither of them, poor dears! have, in their
   early stages, experienced the advantage of an _authorised_ hand
   to lead or guide them. Yet you will see them both--good fellows
   in their way--whether they love _me_ enough or not, I'm _sure_
   you will. Conway _certainly_, I believe _both_, do think better
   than she deserves of theirs and your

    H. L. P.

   ... I am sitting without a fire, it is so warm and damp, and
   soft an atmosphere, we are all relaxed to rags. No sunshine.

Thomas Cotton was the fourth of the six sons of Mrs. Piozzi's maternal
uncle, Sir Lynch Salusbury Cotton, Bart., and almost the only one of
that large family to whom she ever alludes.

Lieutenant Parry had commanded the Brig _Alexander_ in the expedition
of Captain Ross to the Polar regions in 1818. In 1819 he sailed in
command of the _Hecla_ to discover the N.W. passage, and reached
Melville Island. He returned in the autumn of this year, landing at
Peterhead on October 30, and posted to town. His despatches reached
the Admiralty on November 4, and he was shortly afterwards promoted to
the rank of Commander.

The latter part of the letter is of course based on Steele's "Vision
of Mirza," published in the _Spectator_, No. 159.

    PENZANCE, _Thursday, 30 Nov. 1820_.

   ... This morning, all agree, is to exhibit a new procession
   through the streets of the Metropolis, which, with its
   consequences, may justly fill thinking people with alarm. How
   much benefit can result from invective meanwhile, I see not.
   Insult is harder to forgive than injury, and for the best
   reason, it does the insulter _no good_. A man may fill his purse
   by robbing me, while he who flings dirt sometimes forgets that
   there's a pebble lodg'd within, which cuts so sharp as to excite
   lasting hatred; and all for what? Reformation never yet was
   effected by scurrility. And if the Fourth Estate of the Nation,
   as some Member of Parliament called the newspapers, were less
   violent on both sides, it would be better. Irritating an already
   much offended and dangerous _enemy_ is, surely, not prudent.
   Better get rid of such a one without submission, but without
   harsh language.

    If _then_ we fail, the world will only find
    Rage has no bounds in slighted womankind.

    DRYDEN.

   When the Orientals go out Tyger hunting, they try to _finish_,
   not to _wound_ the creature. But I am wearied with conjecture,
   and must wait the result as I can....

   No new book has reached us but the _Abbot_, an odd novel enough,
   but to me a dull one. The Edgeworths have always _humour_, and
   often some good information.

   Jeffrey Crayon's _Sketch Book_ is pretty enough. How oddly
   the things come round! There was just such an out-of-the-way
   writer entertained the Town about 66 or 67 years ago. He
   called his book _Sketches_, and assumed the name himself of
   Lancelot Temple. But 'tis strange how names are left behind,
   when the books are forgotten that first used them. John Bull
   is in every mouth, and every Pamphlet, yet people do not seem
   to know who first called Old England by that very appropriate
   appellation. Mr. Pennington, I dare say, well recollects that
   it was Dean Swift: when, to reconcile the Nation to Harley's
   Peace of Utrecht, and the loss of their Bonfires for Marlboro's
   victories, he and Arbuthnot planned a little work called _Law
   is a bottomless Pit_; in which he represents Great Britain as
   engaged in a litigious quarrel with Lewis Baboon, by which name
   he designates Louis Quatorze, and shows how we were cheated
   by our Allies, Nic: Frog for Holland, my Lord Strut, for the
   Emperor of Germany, and so on. Of all this rubbish, composed of
   wit and malice and mummery, little now sticks in any but such
   memories as mine; remembering _old_ stuff better than new....

The invention of the phrase "Fourth Estate" is attributed to Burke,
who, referring to the Reporters' Gallery, said, "Yonder sits the
Fourth Estate, more powerful than them all."

Mrs. Piozzi was not much interested by Scott's earlier productions.
Mangin notes that she thought _Rob Roy_ a dull book; but adds that "no
one could be more ready than she to applaud the unknown author as a
man of Genius." Her admiration was excited mainly by his poetry, on
which the Commonplace Book contains some verses which end as follows:

    So may posterity bestow the praises which to thee we owe,
    And never be the Lay forgot of our Last Minstrel, Walter Scott.

Geoffrey Crayon was the pseudonym used by Washington Irving, when he
published his _Sketch Book_ in 1820. Lancelot Temple was the _nom
de plume_ of John Armstrong, whose _Sketches or Essays on Various
Subjects_ appeared in 1758. Wilkes is said to have assisted in their
production.

The procession to St. Paul's on November 30 to celebrate the Queen's
acquittal, passed off without any serious disturbance. No escort
of troops was permitted, but she was received as usual by the city
authorities, who accompanied her to the cathedral.

    [_Dec. 14, 1820._]

   My dear Mrs. Pennington says her letters are mere commentaries
   upon mine. What text shall I find _next_ to excite her eloquent
   flattery? Lord Kirkwall's death is what most readily presents
   itself to a woman just twice his age, who little dreamed of
   living to lament him. Poor dear K! My heart is very heavy at
   the thought. And when recollection, or retrospection places him
   before my mind's eye, it is with a pint of curious Constantia
   wine under his coat, or shooting dress, to please dear Piozzi
   in his last illness. So kind! Well! sure the people will have
   done dying some day! Never was sight so wearied as my own is by
   reading Newspaper lists.

   Mrs. Mostyn writes chearfully. Living abroad loosens all old
   attachments, and gives no opportunity of forming new ones. 'Tis
   the true mode of keeping the mind free; but then I mean roving
   from place to place, not being shut in an angle of the world,
   of which, as a Turk once said, the only merit is that Suspicion
   herself could not throw any light into _corners_.

   Tell me sometimes about the weather--in the world. Here it is
   mild, soft, and just now silent; stormy enough at times, but
   never clear. 'Tis the anger of a puzzle-headed fellow, which
   elicits no spark of brilliant fire; and the inhabitants of
   Penzance speak of lightning as a most unusual phenomenon.

   I have the comfort to hear my fair daughters praised, even in
   _this_ odd place. They patronized some poor families, when
   such philanthropy was less common than now, and are remember'd
   with grateful tenderness. Such recollections are among the
   Hot-house plants which bloom in the open air of Penzance. Rough
   winds _break_, and heavy snows _chill_ the remembrance of what
   is merely ornamental, producing, like Oak and Ash, no lasting
   utility....

   I can really bear a good fire with difficulty, but the smoke
   is scarcely lessen'd by endurance of the cold. The houses here
   are so constructed that, except in one particular wind, we live
   smother'd. Coals are however not cheaper than elsewhere; meat
   and fish bear no price, but we pay for every drop of water--salt
   or fresh--because it must be _carried_. The place is replete
   with objects of curiosity nevertheless, and Lady Keith gained
   immortal fame here, by descending 35 ladders, of 35 steps each,
   into a tin mine. Not the most extraordinary of all the tin
   mines, for there is one under the sea: a submarine residence of
   many wretched mortals, who seldom see light, (save such as their
   patron Sir Humphry Davy supplies them with,) but often hear old
   Ocean roaring over their heads. A wonderful situation surely!
   and clear of _worldly_ contamination. They are innocent of all
   that we are saying and doing.

   Meanwhile I am glad you have been amused by Matthews. Even I,
   who naturally hate buffoonery, was much diverted by his story
   of the Yellow Soap, which dear Sir George Gibbes never wearied
   himself with repeating. My heart tells me that Matthews has a
   brother, who wrote a Pamphlet called the _Nutcracker_, meant
   as a sort of mathematical puzzle; that he planned the new fine
   Bedlam Hospital, just off Westminster Bridge, and requested
   a particular apartment for _himself_, conscious of his own
   infirmity; that he actually resides there, much respected
   and visited by the great Mechanics, who do nothing without
   consulting him. The Comic Actor calls him cousin, but the
   relationship is nearer....

Sir Humphry Davy, who was born at Penzance, invented his safety lamp
in 1815, and was created a Baronet in 1818. He had just been elected
President of the Royal Society.

  [Illustration: MASTER OF THE CEREMONIES, BALL

  _LATE KINGSTON-ROOMS._

  _Tuesday 6th February 1821._

  THE BURNING OF THE KINGSTON ROOMS

  _From a ball ticket, 1821, in the Collection of A. M. Broadley, Esq._]

  [Illustration:

     MRS. PIOZZI, _requests the honor of Mr. and Mrs. Penningtons
     company to a Concert, Ball, and Supper, at 9 o'Clock, on Thursday
     Evening, 27th January next, at the Lower Rooms_.

  _Being her 80th Birth-Day._

  TICKET FOR MRS. PIOZZI'S FÊTE]

Charles Matthews the actor was now giving his "At Homes." The Sketch
Mrs. Pennington saw was probably that entitled _Country Cousins_,
produced in 1820.

John, Viscount Kirkwall, born 1778, was the only son of the Countess
of Orkney, who was still living.

On December 23 Mrs. Pennington writes: "As you say, the Abbot is
indeed a very dull book. I begin to question whether a _well-known_
point in History _can_ be a good foundation for a Novel. There can
be little interest where the event is more than anticipated, and if
extraneous characters and circumstances are too freely introduced, we
quarrel with them, as interfering with the truth.

"There is some pretty writing in the first volume of the _Sketches_,
but the second falls off lamentably, and is downright stuff....

"You will be shocked on seeing, in the Bath papers, the entire
destruction of the Kingston Rooms by fire!!! No one seems to know
by what means. Those very rooms in which, near to the same time
last year, you made above six hundred people so happy! Everybody, I
believe, but me and Conway, who you certainly desired should have been
most so: but he was wretched, and infected me with his misery, so
perversely does everything go in this world."

    PENZANCE, _27 Dec. 1820_.

          *       *       *       *       *

   Well! at 82 years old, and my 81st Birthday is hard at hand,
   one is easily convinced of money's importance to felicity. No
   suicide, or comparatively none, is committed but for _lack of
   pelf_. Yet money, if people are _stuffed_ with it, like a Fillet
   of Veal, does not keep them alive. Do you remember a comely Mrs.
   Taylor, who had married an old man, and possessed herself of his
   riches to an _immense_ amount? She sent dear Conway £5 for a
   Benefit Ticket, tho' being just left a widow she could not go to
   the Play. _She is dead_: a woman about 40 years old, I suppose,
   apparently strong and healthy.

   This is _stranger_, though not so dreadful, as the fire, of
   which your kind letter gave me the first account. I suppose it
   was occasion'd by some of these new devices to snuff candles
   by conjuration, or fill your teapots by steam. They cook their
   dinners by stratagem, and assassinate those whose talents
   lighten the cares of life, best illuminated by _genius_, like
   that of unfortunate Naldi, charming creature as he was!!--and
   to die _such_ a death! My heart bleeds for his handsome wife
   and pretty daughter,--highly accomplished _both_; and left to
   _starve_ on the remembrance of his unrivalled powers.

   Cruel reflexion! But all reflexion is cruel, and so we run to
   get rid of it. My own conscience however congratulates _me_
   that I had discharged Upham's long Bill; so if he had suffer'd
   it would not have been by _my_ fault or folly. I have not lived
   on fish in a foggy atmosphere and smoky house for nothing, when
   comforts like those come smiling to my heart....

   Miss Willoughby is in the highest favour here. She plays Country
   Dances, Waltzes, etc. for the boys and girls to dance, after
   winning their money--or that of their parents--at sixpenny
   whist; and she makes riddles and charades to amuse us all, and
   is very entertaining.

   Adieu! Here is no room to tell of a shipwreck and a _Parrot_,
   with two other _two_-legged creatures, saved out of thirty
   eight, coming from Surinam. Wretched Sailors! now begging their
   way to London, with only what they sold the bird for in their
   pockets....

Guiseppe Naldi, who had distinguished himself in Italy and London as
an Actor, Singer, and Musician, had lately met his death in Paris, by
the explosion of a newly invented Cooking Kettle, which he had been
invited to inspect at the house of a friend.

       *       *       *       *       *

On January 8, 1821, Mrs. Pennington writes to report an unexpected
visit from Conway, on his way to take up another engagement at Bath,
in spite of the ill-treatment he considered he had received from the
Management of the Theatre before he left. But he had not fared much
better, pecuniarily, at Birmingham, where he had been a leading Actor
and Stage Manager for four months, but was only given £106 as his
share of his own Benefit. "Detestable Mechanics! I hope he will waste
no more such powers on them." This short interview, however, served to
re-instate him in Mrs. Pennington's favour, and she writes of him with
all her old enthusiasm. "Anything so noble! so manly! so graceful! so
_handsome_ as his figure at this time I really never saw."

    PENZANCE, CORNWALL _Saturday, 13 Jan. 1821_.

          *       *       *       *       *

   'Tis a cordial to hear about Conway. My heart entertains no
   fears for his reception among old acquaintance, and I can't cry
   because his Benefit brought only £106. The people in London
   get very little. Mrs. Hoare says she saw excellent acting to
   completely empty benches: I forget at which Theatre. Indeed my
   mind has been so taken up by a new attack upon my property, that
   I have thought on nothing else. A Mr. Kenrick, of whose name or
   situation in life I am totally ignorant, writes to ask me very
   _peremptorily_ what I did with the stock of some Mr. Giffard,
   who died he tells me, before Mr. Thrale did!! Lord! what should
   I do with the man's money? His name is new to me now, but he
   says it stands joined with that of my first husband, to whom I
   am executrix. No sum is specified, but 'tis probably a large
   one; and I am a bad Lawyer, and easily alarmed. I was _so_ bad
   a self-carer, that when the death of my four Coadjutors left me
   alone to manage the Trust Money as I pleased, I begged of my
   Lord and Lady Keith to name those that should be substituted in
   their places; and I _think_, but have forgotten, whether Mr.
   Hoare, Sophia's husband, is one. Surely _they_ should bear me
   out harmless, but God knows whether they will or no; and _you_
   know I have parted with my patrimony and my savings to Sir John
   Salusbury, who always complains for want of money, and I daresay
   justly enough. Mr. Thrale's estate is doubtless chargeable
   with any mistakes of this sort; but I should hope the Widow's
   jointure is guarded from such attacks. Nevertheless my spirits
   are flutter'd and affected, and I am as hoarse with nervousness
   as if I had caught twenty colds....

   Miss Willoughby dined with me yesterday. She says Coriolanus
   is an unfavourable character for Actors to appear in just now,
   when insulting language to our Peuple Souverain will perhaps
   be treated as it was in Rome. I shall be happier when I see
   the Newspaper, and learn how our Friend has been received; but
   do not fright Mrs. Rudd about it, perhaps she may get good
   intelligence before the common Prints of the Day come out.
   If the Play should be disapproved, every kind, good-natured
   acquaintance will inform her....

   How is poor dear Mr. Pennington? Better, I'm sure, and always
   kind to _me_. I used the word Joynture improperly; tell him so:
   £800 pr. ann. was appointed me by Marriage Settlement, in return
   for Ten Thousand Pounds I brought with me to Southwark. The rest
   was hard worked for, and left me by Will, in consideration of
   my Welsh estate, enjoyed by Mr. Thrale for 9 years, and offer'd
   him _for ever_ had he wanted it. _That_ money may be liable for
   ought I know, but I hope not....

    _Thursday, 1 Feb. 1821._

   I like the Tailpiece best, dear Mrs. Pennington, and feel deeper
   interest in Macready's Acting than in Lord Castlereagh's. For as
   Dr. Randolph said to our sweet Siddons once, coming out of Laura
   Chapel, "_All are Actors_": and I am most contented to hear the
   Oppositionists are likely to be hissed.

   But I want you to tell me a _truth_ before we leave Penzance,
   a truth of a very different _taste_. Will it be worth our
   while (says Bessy,) to send half a doz: hams by the "Happy
   Return," for which we _must_ give seven pence halfpenny a Pound
   _here_?... The _Fish_ would be worth carrying to begin Lent
   with at the Pope's Court; but fish won't carry. Our oysters
   are better than those Vitellius sent to Sandwich for; and such
   Cod, Mullet, and Flat fish of all denominations no tongue can
   enumerate. Our Crocuses, Primroses, and Honeysuckle leaves, all
   bursting now every day, are lovely likewise;--but what wretched
   pens to describe them with!

   You are a comical Lady in your fears lest Miss Willoughby should
   make me a Radical. Salusbury seems, by his letters, to have
   fears lest she should be hovering over my _death-bed_, to his
   disadvantage. I hope to hold fast both life and loyalty one
   little while longer, and cannot believe she will help hurry
   _either_ of them away. Poor Miss Willoughby! were it not for
   _her_ I should not have known Milton from Shakespear by this
   time: for to no other creature here are those names familiar.

   God forgive me! but talking on the subject reminds me of the
   days when H. L. P. was young, perhaps agreeable, and supposed
   to have interest among the grave and gay. When I was solicited
   on behalf of a decayed Gentlewoman, such as H. L. P. may one
   day become, for aught I know, whose friends wish'd to get her
   into a _then_ famous refuge for distressed females, Lady Dacre's
   Workhouse, or rather Almshouse, I tried, and succeeded; but
   beginning to harangue my Protégée upon the neatness of her
   new establishment, the decent society she would be introduced
   to, etc., "Ah! Madam," said she, "but will there be any one
   there who ever frequented the Opera? For I love musick so, I
   can _talk_ of nothing but Mingotti." Such a companion in my
   retirement has been to me Miss Willoughby.

   I think the attack upon my property, made with _no gentle
   strokes_, will at length be parried, so as to fall on _none_ of
   us. The dividends remained unclaimed for 25 years, and were
   often advertised before Mr. Thrale's daughters ever enquired
   about them. Mrs. Hoare, your namesake, kind Sophia, has written
   to me very good-naturedly; says it is impossible I should have
   to _refund_ money I never _received_; that my name alone was
   lent for them to receive it; and that my letter to the Claimant
   was the comicallest thing in the world. But my Correspondent saw
   _no joke_ in it, and sent it for their perusal to Mr. Merrik
   Hoare.

   Well! sure if I do write funny letters from Penzance, I must
   borrow the salt from the Sea Tang that they manure their
   Strawberry Beds with, in this place. Apropos, how do those
   agreeable Brownes do, that I met once in Dowry Square? I loved
   Maria for her non-affectation about reading before Conway or
   Piozzi. She took her book up and began _so_ prettily, and _so_
   sensibly, where another Miss would have mimp'd. I _valued_ her.

   No Bath news but what the Papers tell. London is in expectation
   of a _new_ Miss O'Neill of consummate beauty, to draw the
   world off from The Wilson; whose style of singing--Sophy Hoare
   says--is like that of Billington. Dear Siddons holds her own
   I hear. Welcome intelligence! when every day takes some old
   acquaintance off the Stage of Life, leaving sad, and solitary,
   and desolate your poor

    H. L. P.

Mary Anne Lane made a brilliant début at Drury Lane in 1821, as
Mandane in _Artaxerxes_, but going to Italy for further study, she
overtaxed her voice, which never entirely recovered its tone. Regina
Mingotti, _née_ Valentini, sang with great success in Italy, Germany,
France, Spain, and England. She came to London in 1755.

    PENZANCE, _February 10, 1821_.

   Thanks, dearest Mrs. Pennington, for your kind letter, speaking
   the words of truth and soberness. We will send Hams and
   Bacon by the Happy Return, most certainly. The Butter here is
   _poyson_, whether in pot or pan.

   All you can say of poor dear Miss Willoughby is true to a
   tittle. Sir John is very ill-natured in detesting everybody who
   contributes to my comfort, and I hope not _quite correct_ in
   supposing that neither you, nor she, nor Conway would endure my
   company an hour but for interest. Sophia Hoare's civilities will
   make him very angry indeed when he hears me say I _delight_ in
   them: but he deserves such sort of vexation.

   So you see Horace Twiss is the man at last, who, when Public
   Virtue finds herself sick and squeamish, holds the successful
   smelling bottle to her nose. And are they not all Actors on
   both sides? Surely they are. That Titmouse began his literary
   career by criticising and ridiculing H. L. P. in Magazines,
   Reviews, etc.; and afterwards begged my pardon at a party Mrs.
   Siddons gave one night at Westbourne. We shook hands and drank
   each other's health, and I wished him the success his audacity
   deserved.

    This world is made for the bold, daring man,
    Who strikes at all, and catches what he can.
    Virtue is nice to take what's not her own,
    And while she long debates, the glittering prize is gone.

   So sung Johnny Dryden, whose _family_ had every claim to match
   even with a Howard. Addison was Secretary of State, and if his
   wife was insolent, he _needed_ not to have cared. Would Mr.
   Canning care? But times have changed.

   But there is a passage in the Bath Paper that interests, and
   ought to interest me much more than Marriages or Merriment. A
   woman dying in the act of supplication to Almighty God; past
   80 years old, found dead at her prayers! I used to say that no
   death ever pleased me, but here is one at last with which my
   heart would be content indeed. Why did she not take me with her?
   If however the next month carries me to Clifton, and treats
   me with a sight of _true friends_, I shall think leaving me
   behind was merciful, and feel replete with gratitude. Conway has
   written to me very kindly....

   If I should live to see a Jeweller's Shop once again, I would
   evince my gratitude to Sophy Hoare. What _she_ wants is out of
   my power,--children to enjoy hers and her husband's fortune.
   Salusbury has got a new Baby--William Edward--I like the name,
   but have made no offer of Gossiping. Dear Mrs. Pennington is
   _too_ sharp a discoverer in the Terra Incognita of human hearts.
   Mahomet says there is a black Bean in that of every one; and
   that the Angel of Death _plucks_ it in our last agonies. I am
   trying to _loosen_ mine before the dreadful day arrives, that it
   may hurt me less at final parting. Poor dear old Cookey! whom
   I have so much reason to love! Cannot Doctors Dixon or Carrick
   _warm her up again_? It is not wholly for _interest_ however
   that I wish her well. She is going _my road_, and my heart hopes
   she will feel it not very rough....

    PENZANCE, _Sunday 25 Feb. 1821_.

   My last letter to dear Mrs. Pennington should be a pretty
   one, but it will only be dull; replete with Kitchen-griefs,
   and thanks to Heaven that they are my worst afflictions. Mr.
   Kenrick's insults have brought me civil letters from Lord and
   Lady Keith, kind ones from Mr. and Mrs. Hoare, and all will
   end--in nothing, as they hope, and as I firmly believe. Pray do
   not suffer your good husband, (so much younger than myself,) to
   grow old. He and I mean to keep on this many a day, and we will
   not _shew teeth_ when _biting_ is over with us.

   Now for the Kitchen-griefs. James has behaved monstrously
   ill, "beaten the Maids a row,"[37] like the fierce fellow in
   Shakespear, and forced reproofs even from _my acquaintance_ by
   his _out-door_ conduct. This has been going on a long while,
   but I forbore to speak to you about it, till it suited me to
   say--do, dear Mrs. Pennington, get me a Footman. Not a fellow
   to wear _his own clothes_; I must have a _Livery_ Servant, who
   will walk before the Chair, and ride behind the Coach, and be an
   old-fashioned, tho' not ill-looking servant. My little Plate, so
   small in quantity, is easily clean'd, but _clean_ it must be.
   For I will not live in a state of disgust when I have a decent
   mansion over my head, and James was too dirty and slovenly, even
   for a wretched smoky closet like that I inhabit at Penzance: he
   is a sad fellow....

   [37] _Comedy of Errors_, V. i. 170.

    & now

   Let me tell you the sights that we have _seen_. I always like
   them better than the tales that we have _heard_; and to-day the
   tales are truly melancholy. Lord Combermere has lost his only
   child, a son; so his honours and titles are gone, and the estate
   will fall, I suppose, to Willoughby Cotton, son of the Admiral,
   my Uncle's _second_ boy. He had nine. _This_ young fellow was a
   Colonel in what Regiment I know not, and married Lady Augusta
   Coventry, who brings Babies every year:--but these are _not_ the
   sights I meant to tell you of.

   On last Wednesday then, a memorable day, Mr. George Daubuz John
   undertook to show us the Land's End, and we did stand upon the
   last English stone, jutting out from the Cliffs, 300 feet high,
   into the Atlantick Ocean, which lay in wild expanse before us,
   tempting our eyes towards the land Columbus first explor'd,
   Hispaniola. Dinner at a mean house, affording only Eggs and
   Bacon, gave us spirits to go, not forward, for we could go no
   further, but sideways to a tin and copper mine under the sea.
   Aye! 112 fathom from the strange spot of earth we stood on,
   in a direct line downwards, where no fewer than three score
   human beings toil for my Lord Falmouth in a submarine dungeon,
   listening at leisure moments, if they _have_ any, to the
   still more justly to be pitied Mariner, who is so liable to
   be wrecked among those horrid rocks, proverbial over all the
   kingdom,--Cornish rocks! ruinous to approach, as difficult
   to avoid. The men go up and down in buckets, with two lighted
   candles each, into a close path, long and intricate. And should
   their lights go out before their arrival in the open space where
   their companions work, there they must remain till the hour of
   relieving one wretched set by another comes to set them free.
   Billows meanwhile roaring over their heads, upon a stormy day
   most dreadful, threatening to burst the not very thick partition
   of solidity that divides them from the light of heaven, bestowed
   on all but Miners. This place is called Botalloch, whence we
   drove home our half-broken carriage but not even half-broken
   bones; having refreshed at the house on which is written "First
   Inn in England," on one side the Board, and "Last Inn in
   England" on the other. By "us" and "we" I mean Miss Willoughby
   and H. L. P., but we took our two Maids, Bell and Hickford, on
   the Dicky, and James rode. Four horses were not too many for
   such an exploit, tho' one of them was a Waterloo warrior....

   We will go to Conway's Benefit certainly, if I get home time
   enough: Miss Willoughby will wish herself of the party most
   truly. But for _her_ I should have pass'd many a dreary hour....

With regard to Lord Combermere's son, Mrs. Piozzi's information was
evidently mistaken. Field-Marshal Sir Stapleton Cotton, Bart., G.C.B.,
Commander-in-Chief in India, grandson of her uncle, Sir Lynch Cotton,
Bart., was created Viscount Combermere in 1814. He married thrice,
and by his second wife had two daughters and a son, Wellington Henry,
born 1818. The latter did not die in 1821, but succeeded to the title,
and was grandfather of the present Viscount. His cousin, General Sir
Willoughby Cotton, G.C.B., was Colonel of the 32nd Regiment of Foot.

    _Sunday, 4 March 1821._

   I swear I think my dear Mrs. Pennington is one of the very best
   subjects the King has in his dominions, which contain very
   strange and contradictory people and things. Battling now about
   the tenets of Romanism, when Rome is itself in danger of almost
   immediate destruction from those who know no other tenets but
   hers. Well! you know I was always mounting a Turnep Cart to
   predict the end of the world, (not, I hope, forgetting my own
   all the time). It will vex me, in the last stage of life, to
   see the death and downfall of the Bourbons, but so it _must_
   be, without doubt, if they can live till I get safe to Clifton.
   Dubious enough, poor Souls! for the plot thickens apace, and
   Sovereigns have hourly more reason to fear the loss of all
   that's dear to them. Authority melted from their grasp long ago,
   and influence is sliding down the hill, of course.

   Mr. Pennington must try keep up his spirits. So must we all, but
   mine often prove _false_ ones, as when I took Geneva for Brandy;
   but the people here are _such_ knaves!...

   The day of our arrival how can I _certify_? My hope is to see
   you sometime on Tuesday 13; but Lord! I was so ill on Fryday
   night I hardly felt anything _like_ certainty of ever seeing
   myself out of Penzance _alive_. Never mind that tho'; and say
   nothing about it; for the people make such an _ado_ I dare not
   confess that anything ails _me_, like other old women. It is
   really troublesome to excess.

   We have got Kenilworth among us, everybody admiring and even
   extolling it. _Your_ strange book has a rival, Mr. Pascoe says,
   in Anastatius, but I have seen neither. Clifton will be nearer
   both to books and men. Dr. Randolph must be careful of his
   highly valued life. No one respects his abilities, or would
   regret the loss of them more sincerely than H. L. Piozzi, whose
   comfort it is, that she is likely soon to escape the truly
   uneasy sensation of outliving friends and enemies, and standing
   alone upon the Stage of Life, till hiss'd off for being able
   to furnish no further amusement. After having been at home on
   the Boards, like Matthews the Buffoon, so many silly years.
   Bear me however witness, that [I am] all but weary, and only
   kept from confessing myself so because I think it wrong. What
   however must this world be that even a _Frenchman_ should leap
   into Vesuvius to get rid on't; and he did _not_ get rid on't as
   he expected; the very Mountain vomited him back, and reproached
   his unrepented suicide.... Everybody seems to approve my sitting
   down at Clifton, as neither in the blaze of Society nor the
   obscurity of Solitude. We will make out the close of the Game as
   chearfully as we can; and if you ask me to dinner on Wednesday
   the 14th, a refusal need not be apprehended from your poor

    H. L. P.

The allusion to the danger of Rome appears to relate to the
insurrection in Piedmont, where the King was driven to abdicate on
March 13. Later on other revolts broke out in Naples and Palermo.
In France plots were being hatched against the life of the Duc de
Bordeaux (afterwards Comte de Chambord), posthumous son of the Duc de
Berry, and grandson of Charles X.

The _Memoirs of Anastatius_, an autobiography of a Greek renegade,
was a novel by Thomas Hope, and was considered his masterpiece. It
appeared in 1819.

    PENZANCE, _5 Mar. 1821, Monday_.

   ... This is a short letter, but I am on the eve of a long
   journey, and the kind friends here require many visits, and
   notes, and thanks, and so forth: and some of them have lent
   me Kenilworth, so _that_ must be galloped through. Forgive me
   therefore, and accept my positive answer by securing me this
   good lad, who I like the better for his name, Sam. I had once a
   Footman so called, who could not, and would not be spoiled. He
   is dead, and poor Hodgkins too, that said he was going to _take
   places_ for me, with his last breath. _He_ was _Sam_ at the
   first. I shall be glad to see them both, and remain meanwhile
   dear Mrs. Pennington's and her good husband's ever obliged and
   faithful

    H. L. P.

Mrs. Piozzi evidently left Penzance in the course of the week. On
Saturday she was at Exeter, and after sitting up writing letters till
the small hours of the morning, retired to rest, using a light chair
to climb up into the bed, which was a high one. But the chair slipped,
and gave her a violent blow on the leg, causing a severe bruise and a
slight wound. However, she attended the cathedral service next day,
though she could hardly kneel, and in due course reached Clifton;
taking up her quarters at 10 Sion Row till Mrs. Rudd should be ready
to receive her at the Crescent. The accident caused some alarm to
her friends, but according to Mrs. Pennington's account, the wound
healed rapidly and no evil consequences ensued. But internal troubles
followed which neither physicians nor surgeons could overcome. The
few short notes which follow, mostly undated, were written during her
illness, of which no one for some time anticipated a fatal termination.

    SION ROW, _No. 10,
    Tuesday, 10 Apr. 1821_.

   Addressed--

   _Mrs. Pennington, Dowry Square_

   With 1000 Com^s--Sickly ones--from a Taker of Castor Oyl.

   (She encloses a letter from Conway).

   I got a letter from Mr. Roberts, the Curate of Dymerchion,
   begging me to make the Parish the present of a Bier, to carry
   the dead Poor. So I finished my Epistle to Salusbury, which
   _you_ saw, with letting _him_ know the request; and "tell
   Roberts," said I, "the favour is immediately granted"; for
   _this_ is a debt I cannot, surely, be blamed for; and if I am,
   dear Salusbury must at last be contented to consider me as his
   _unaccountable_, no less than his Affec^te Aunt,

    H. L. P.

    SION ROW, _No. 10,
    Thursday, 11 Apr. 1821_.

   'Tis I shall be made happy, dear Mrs. Pennington. Our kind and
   skilful Dickson is just gone. He only waited till things were in
   the state they _should_ be, I perceive; and to day he brought
   the tall man again, who performed the _operation_, and praised
   my courageous endurance. This for your own kind heart's private
   information. _Mine_ is completely satisfied of their skill and
   management.

   A thousand respectful compliments await Mr. Davenport, love to
   Mr. Pennington, threats of _ruin_ at Cards to Mrs. Bellhatchet,
   and humble service to Miss Wren.

   All that was done yesterday and to-day, (rough usage on the
   whole,) has _raised_, not _lowered_ the spirits of your ever
   obliged and faithful

    H. L. P.

    _Undated, on a Visiting Card._

   I have been to the Crescent by the Surgeon's permission, and
   now comes the Doctor to insist upon my eating. I _must_ obey
   you all, or I should deserve to be neglected by every living
   creature; and so far as I can, I _will_ obey you.

   Poor dear Dr. Dickson! he is as low spirited as myself, he has
   been among the Lunatics.

    _On miniature notepaper.
    Dated Tuesday._

   Very little better, dearest Friend, but certainly not worse, and
   though unmoved by all the _new things swallow'd_,--dying for
   a _Paper_. Can you direct James where to find one? Shame and
   Bessy have struggled all night, and the first gets the better.
   She _cannot_ go to dear Mrs. Pennington without _me_ to _help_
   her,--to words, I suppose.


_Mrs. Pennington to Mrs. Brown_

    _3 Jun. 1821._

   ... I knew you would feel for my loss, an irreparable one to me,
   for if twenty years ago I could find nothing to replace it, I am
   not likely, in the winter of life, and more particularly after
   two years of almost daily intercourse, which, by the endearing
   restoration of _more_ than former kindness and confidence,
   doubled its value....

   At present I can think of nothing, talk of nothing, nor dream of
   anything but my lost friend....

   My best comfort is that I attended my beloved friend to the last
   moment. For three days and nights I never quitted her bedside,
   where, at _my summons_, I had the satisfaction to see her
   attended by her three charming daughters, and _more_ charming
   women I know not. Oh! what a sum of happiness did she throw from
   her, through the _misapprehensions_, etc., which separated her
   from them! But in this respect Retrospection is both useless
   and painful. She was absolutely lost from inanition! She either
   _could_ not eat enough to support nature, or had brought herself
   to it from a mistaken system; till, on a slight disorder, a
   sudden prostration of strength took place, and nothing could
   be done! She had her wish, however, which was never to live
   to support the mere _dregs_ of life; and would have made, I
   think, rather an impatient invalid, under the suppression, or
   deprivation, of those uncommon powers which rendered her the
   delight of every one that came near her, to the last. I hope you
   saw my character of her in the Papers. I should not have had the
   temerity to have attempted it, but at the earnest request of
   her daughters, who feared it might be attempted by some one who
   did not know her as well, and might not have written so much to
   their satisfaction. It has answered the purpose by silencing all
   other scribblers on the subject, and met with much more general
   praise and approbation than it deserves....


_Mrs. Pennington to Maria Brown_

    _23 Jun. 1821._

   ... It is a new thing to me, dearest Maria, to feel reluctance
   in addressing you. But such is the effect of a late melancholy
   event, that I shrink from all exertion. It has impressed
   a languor on my spirits more fatal than grief, and more
   distressing than positive pain. It was a blow for which I could
   not be prepared, if indeed we are ever prepared for the loss
   of those we love; as only ten days before, she had dined with
   us in a party of ten or twelve persons, and was, as usual, the
   delight and soul of the company. And the sudden reverse appears
   to me, even now, at times, more like a frightful dream than a
   fact! I actually detect myself expecting to _see_ or _hear_ from
   her, until the sad reality forces itself upon me, and convinces
   me that time does not lessen those regrets, that time only more
   clearly and strongly discovers to us the value of what we have
   lost....

   If twenty years ago I could find no substitute, I am less
   likely when two years of almost daily association, with, as it
   should seem, _increased_ affection and renewed confidence, gave
   additional interest to our connexion. While the apparent, but
   deceptive vigour of her corporal powers, held out a promise of
   many years of future enjoyment. I firmly believe she fell a
   victim to the _extreme_ abstemiousness of her habits; actually
   sunk under inanition! Attacked by a slight disease, there
   was no reaction in the system. She suffered little and died
   easy. So far she had her wish, which was always to escape
   the tedium and imbecility of invalidism, and to preserve her
   faculties _unimpaired_ while life remained. I had the mournful
   satisfaction of ministering to her last hours, and of seeing
   her close those brilliant eyes in the presence of her children;
   their tears I trust embalmed, and their affectionate attention
   soothed her last moments. But from better acquaintance with
   these ladies a new source of regret has opened upon me: that
   through some strange misconstruction of circumstances, and
   _perversion_ of mind, my beloved friend should have lost such a
   sum of happiness, as, but for some most mistaken conclusions,
   these daughters (the most charming women I have almost ever
   met with,) could not fail to have imparted. But Retrospection
   is useless as painful, and it is best to draw an indulgent
   veil over the imperfections of poor human nature on _all_
   sides. They remained at Clifton a week, during which time I
   was almost constantly with them. It was only from me, they
   said, that they could gain any accurate idea of their departed
   Mother's habits and connexions. They were never weary of the
   interesting subject, and unbounded in their acknowledgments to
   me for affording them, by timely information, an opportunity
   of performing their last duty to their parent. I have had the
   kindest and most flattering letters from them since their return
   to Town, with an elegant remembrance, from each sister, of my
   dear deceased friend. It was at their earnest request I had the
   temerity to give to the Public the last tribute I could pay,
   which probably you have seen, as it was copied into all the
   London Papers, and has had much more praise than it deserved.
   That it answered the end proposed, by silencing certain writers,
   who, these Ladies were apprehensive, might have given "_the
   Celebrated Mrs. Piozzi's_ Character" in a manner less agreeable
   to their feelings, is indeed highly satisfactory to me; and
   their warm approbation the best recompense and sweetest incense
   I could receive....

The Obituary Notice, by Mrs. Pennington, mentioned above, ran as
follows:

   DEATH OF MRS. PIOZZI.--Died at Clifton on Wednesday
   night, the 2d of May, in the 82d year of her age, after a
   few days' illness, HESTER LYNCH PIOZZI, the once
   celebrated Mrs. THRALE, descended both on the paternal
   and maternal side from the ancient and respectable families of
   the Salisburys and Cottons, baronets in North Wales, but still
   more distinguished as the intimate friend and associate of
   Doctor Johnson, Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Garrick, Goldsmith,
   Murphy, and most of those literary constellations who formed the
   Augustan galaxy of the last century. The world has long known
   in what estimation her society was held in that circle where
   these illustrious men, with Mrs. Montague, Mrs. Carter, Vesey,
   Boscawen, and many others, formed a coterie never surpassed
   in talent and acquirement, in this or any other country. The
   vivacity of this lamented lady's mind was a never-failing
   source of pleasure to all who had the good fortune to enjoy
   her society, while the brilliancy of her wit, tempered by
   invariable good-humour and general benevolence, delighted
   all who approached her, and offended none. Her manners were
   highly polished and graceful--her erudition, the result of a
   regularly classical education, under the learned Dr. Collyer,
   was much more profound than those who only conversed with her
   superficially were likely to discover; for, wisely considering
   the line usually prescribed in such pursuits to her sex, she
   made no display of scholarship, yet was always ready to give
   her testimony when properly called out; indeed, on those
   occasions, it was impossible altogether to conceal the rich
   and rare acquirements in various sciences which she possessed.
   Her writings are many of them before the public, and if some
   incline to condemn a colloquial style, which perhaps she was
   too fond of indulging, all must admire the power of genius and
   splendour of talent she displayed. She was particularly happy
   in _jeux d'esprits_, numbers of which lie scattered amongst her
   friends, and we hope will be collected. Her _Three Warnings_
   have long been enshrined, and held in universal admiration as a
   specimen of the precocity of her talents; on graver subjects,
   those who knew her best will say she most excelled. Her religion
   was pure, free from all wild speculative notions--her faith
   was built on the Scriptures--that rock of our salvation, the
   continual perusal of which was her delight. She knew "in whom
   she trusted," and in the fullest conviction of those sacred
   truths, she closed a various life, declaring to a friend, who
   watched over her last moments, that she quitted the world in
   the fear and trust of God, the love of her Saviour, and in
   peace and charity with her neighbours and with all mankind. Her
   fine mental faculties remained wholly unimpaired; her memory
   was uncommonly retentive on all subjects;--enriched by apt
   quotations, in which she was most happy, and her letters and
   conversation to the last had the same racy spirit that made
   her the animating principle and ornament of the distinguished
   society she moved in, at a more early period of her life. Those
   who have to regret the loss of such a friend and companion,
   though continued to them beyond the usual date of human
   existence, will feel persuaded that as this admirable Lady was
   _unique_ in the acquirements and combinations that formed her
   character, so are they sure that they shall never "look upon her
   like again."

Mrs. Pennington reverts to the same topic in a letter written to Miss
Brown on December 3, 1821, in which she regrets that time, and care,
and various other circumstances have dulled her powers to render her
correspondence interesting and amusing.

   "My dear, lost Friend possessed that talent in a wonderful
   degree. Her letters, however frequent, never ran into
   commonplace, but were always novel, and had the peculiar tact
   of always supplying matter for a reply. Never was there a mind
   of such varied resource as hers! The more I think of it, the
   more I am astonished that it was not even _more_ appreciated
   and valued. Because I am persuaded, as Dr. Carrick said,
   when she lay, an inanimate corpse, before our eyes, that
   'the world had nothing to compare with her. _She had left
   no equal._' And that having _again_ found her, she is lost
   to me for ever, is a subject of regret that no time, during
   the short remainder of my pilgrimage, will ever lessen. Her
   advanced age was no preparation to me, because wholly exempt
   from all those infirmities which usually attend that stage of
   our existence, and prepare others, if not ourselves, to look
   to the end. Appearing to have as much the advantage of me in
   vigour of constitution as in intellect, I looked forward to a
   few years of cordial and rational enjoyment, and really expected
   we should have run our race on nearly equal terms, happy to
   think it would be _together_. The change was so sudden, that
   at times I can scarcely persuade myself it is not a dream! and
   the disappointment so severe it seems to have annihilated all
   capacity for enjoyment or pleasure in _anything_...."

Among the friends to whom Mrs. Pennington wrote an account of Mrs.
Piozzi's death, was Helen Williams, who replied in a letter dated
October 28, 1822: "I read with warm interest all you wrote of the last
scene of Mrs. Piozzi, and above all, your article, which is admirable;
full of judgment as well as feeling, neither saying too little nor
too much, in short, worthy of your pen: but I think you are too
indulgent in respect of her daughters. I never could be satisfied with
people who testify their tenderness to their friends only when they
are at the last gasp. Above all, in the sacred relation which exists
between a parent and a child, I think reconciliation and pardon should
precede the act of dying: and Mrs. Piozzi being eighty years of age,
her daughters must have known there was no time to lose, even before
you summoned them to receive her last breath. They had reason to be
offended at her second marriage, but life is too short for eternal
resentments. Why do you not become her biographer? I am sure no one
would write her memoirs half so well as yourself. I shall always
love her memory, tho' she never forgave me for coming to France, and
severed me from her affections because we differed in politics. If she
could have known all I have suffered amid the convulsions of States,
her good-natured heart would have been more disposed to pity than
condemn."

Soon after the loss of her friend, Mrs. Pennington came into collision
with her executors, Sir John Salusbury and Sir James Fellowes. By
her will, dated March 29, 1816, she had left everything to Sir John,
except legacies of £100 each to her maid Bessy, her old steward Leak,
and his son, and one of £200 to Sir James. But outside the formal
bequests of her will, she had intended that certain articles should
be given as memorials to Conway and Mrs. Pennington. The former was
to have her watch, and an annotated copy of Malone's Shakespeare, and
the latter the silver teapot and stand which she habitually used, and
which is referred to in Mrs. Pennington's letter of 17th January 1820,
quoted above. What became of the watch does not appear, but letters in
Mr. Broadley's collection show that Conway got his Shakespeare from
Sir John, who may have been the more inclined to regard his claim with
favour if, as is stated, Conway had just returned the £100 which Mrs.
Piozzi had given him just before her death. Mrs. Pennington could
offer no such inducement to favourable consideration, and perhaps her
remark at the Bath Fête, that her claims to Mrs. Piozzi's friendship
were of longer standing than his own, had not been forgotten or
forgiven. It appears from Mr. Broadley's letters that she had applied
in the first instance to Sir James Fellowes, urging her right to the
teapot in somewhat strong terms, on the ground that her friend had
actually given it to her, though it had not been handed over, and that
she could produce witnesses to that effect, whose testimony would
be accepted in any Court. Sir James no doubt referred her to his
co-executor, to whom she next applied, though in a more humble strain,
asking for it not as a right, but as a favour; reminding him that
she had a larger collection of dear Mrs. Piozzi's letters than any
other correspondent, and was in fuller possession of her opinions on
all subjects, private, public, and literary, possibly than any other
person in the Kingdom, which she should carefully preserve. This, she
hints, would be practically indispensable to any intending biographer.
But Sir John was not to be tempted or cajoled, and returned only three
curt lines, declining to discuss the matter at all; while he told Sir
James that he should hand over any future letter on the subject to
be dealt with by his lawyer. So neither her long friendship nor her
loving care for his aunt were deemed worthy of even this not very
extravagant recognition.

Her relations with the daughters were far more cordial. In the summer
of 1824 she paid a visit to London, where, she tells Miss Brown, "I
experienced much kindness, and more attention than I had any right
to expect; chiefly indeed from my late dear lamented Friend's three
charming daughters, who seemed as if they never could do enough to
prove the sense they entertained of my _true_ friendship to their
mother. In Town they assisted me to see everything that time and
circumstances would permit; and I spent ten delightful days at Miss
Thrale's beautiful Villa in Kent, surrounded by Nobleman's Seats,
which we visited in our daily morning drives. Knowle Park, the
residence of the Duchess of Dorset, is the finest specimen, I believe,
of _Baronial_ grandeur in the Kingdom; and the Park (fourteen miles in
extent) they say has the noblest Timber of any in England. She kindly
carried me to Tunbridge, where we spent two days very agreeably,
and we parted with (I am persuaded) mutually increased esteem, and
sensible regret."

  [Illustration: THOMAS SEDGWICK WHALLEY, D.D.

  _By J. Brown after Sir Joshua Reynolds_

  _From a print in the Collection of A. M. Broadley, Esq._]

The following winter Mr. Whalley (as appears from his published
Letters) spent in her house. Writing to him in October with regard to
his proposed visit, she tells him that she has for some time given
up public and private parties. Pennington is tolerably well, "but
we are both fallen into the sere and yellow leaf. I do not find my
mind get older in proportion to my body. I have as keen a relish
for intellectual enjoyments as ever I had. My spirits are rising in
anticipation" of the visit and conversations to which she was looking
forward with great pleasure. Her subsequent letters to Maria Brown are
full of laments for the loss of such intellectual enjoyments, owing
to the continual growth of Bristol, and the gradual decay of the Hot
Wells as a health resort. The last of them was written in April 1827,
when she had just had a severe illness, and on 1st August she died,
aged seventy-five years, as stated on her mourning ring.

It is somewhat remarkable that neither her children, who showed so
much attention to their mother's oldest friend, nor her heir, who
handsomely acknowledged on paper his obligations to his aunt, cared
to perpetuate Mrs. Piozzi's memory by any kind of monument. Perhaps
they thought it needed no such artificial aid. It was reserved for
the present century, and for a descendant of her other executor, to
erect a simple white marble slab in Tremeirchion (formerly Dymerchion)
Church, with the following inscription:

    NEAR THIS PLACE ARE INTERRED THE REMAINS OF

    HESTER LYNCH PIOZZI,

    "DOCTOR JOHNSON'S MRS. THRALE."

    BORN 1741. DIED 1821.

    WITTY, VIVACIOUS AND CHARMING, IN AN AGE OF GENIUS
    SHE EVER HELD A FOREMOST PLACE.
    THIS TABLET IS ERECTED BY ORLANDO BUTLER FELLOWES,
    GRANDSON OF SIR JAMES FELLOWES, THE INTIMATE FRIEND
    OF MRS. PIOZZI, AND HER EXECUTOR,
    ASSISTED BY SUBSCRIPTIONS,
    28TH APRIL, 1909.




                                INDEX


    _Abbot, The_, 351, 355

    Abercromby, Sir Ralph, 215, 217

    "Abigail," 99

    Abingdon, Mrs., 267

    Abrahams, The, 241

    Achilles, 104

    _Acis and Galatea_, 245

    Adams, Mrs., 268

    Addington, Henry, 211, 266

    Addison, Joseph, 99, 361

    Adelphi Hotel, 190

    "Adriana," 39

    "Ætherial Spirit," 175, 177

    African discoveries, 150, 176

    _Age of Reason, The_, 281

    "Agnes," 181

    Alcinous, 330, 334

    Alessandria, 202

    Alexander I, Emperor, 215, 232

    Alexander, Duke of Bavaria, 5

    Alexandria, 164, 215, 263

    "Almeyda," 105, 134, 137

    _Alonzo and Imogene_, 141

    _Alonzo the Brave_, 140-1

    "Alphonzo," 53

    Alps, The, 147, 341

    Amen Corner, 284

    Amiens, Peace of, 242

    Amorbach, 48, 171

    Amsterdam, 81, 108, 115

    _Anacharsis the Scythian_, 94

    Anacreon, 242

    Andalusia, 32

    Andrews, Mr., 242

    Andriani, Count, 72-3

    _Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson_, 16

    Angelo, 345

    _Anti-Jacobin, The_, 43

    Antonio, "Diavol," 318

    Antwerp, 8

    _Apocalyptical Key, The_, 104

    _Appeal to the Public, An_, 221

    _Arabian Nights, The_, 318

    Arbuthnot, Dr. John, 77, 352

    "Ariadne," 80, 82

    "Arlberry, Mrs.," 137-8

    Armstrong, John, 352

    Arne, Mr., 239

    _Artaxerxes_, 360

    _Artist's Love Story, An_, 163, 273

    Asgill, Lady, 93-4

    -- Sir Charles, 94

    Ashe, Mr. and Mrs., 316

    "Aspasia," 34-5

    _As You Like It_, quoted, 58, 106, 313

    _Autobiography ... of Mrs. Piozzi, The_, 3-4, 16, 245, 260


    Babington's plot, 5

    Bach-y-graig, 14, 61;
      built, 8;
      described, 199;
      restored, 198, 201

    Baden, 268

    Bagot, Mrs., 180, 253

    Bagot, Lewis, Bishop of S. Asaph, 162, 164, 212, 215, 229, 242, 244

    Bague, --, 90

    Baillie, Joanna, 173

    Bala, 251

    Balhetchet, Mrs., 334, 368

    Ballad by Mrs. Piozzi, 216-7

    Balloons, 153-5, 246-7

    Bangor, 324

    -- Bishop of, 344

    Banks, Sir Joseph, 197

    Banti, --, 240, 242

    Banwell, 171

    Barclays, the, 14

    Baretti, Joseph, 18, 201, 250

    Barley Wood, 255, 258

    Barn Elms, 13

    Barnet, 6

    "Barnett, Mrs.," 192

    Barrere, --, 117

    Barrington, Mrs., 238

    Barruel, Abbé, 152, 154, 159

    Barry, Major (afterwards Colonel), 22-3, 25, 27, 28, 106, 123, 127,
        140, 202

    -- Ann Spranger, 220-1

    -- Spranger, 238-9

    Barthélemy, Abbé, 94

    Bartolozzi, Francesco, 282, 285

    -- -- (jun.), 106

    Basseville, Hugues, 77

    Bath, 4, 12-13, 15, 19, 23, 27, 34, 41, 45, 48, 52, 75, 77-8, 85,
        97, 100, 106, 135-9, 140-2, 148-9, 151, 157-8, 168, 173-5, 177,
        180, 186, 188, 194-5, 204, 206-7, 209-11, 216, 221, 223-4, 226,
        231, 236, 240-1, 256, 264-5, 273-4, 280-1, 290, 297, 305, 310,
        322, 326-7, 336, 343, 347, 356, 360-1;
      Mrs. Piozzi at, 24, 25, 29, 52, 169, 179, 182, 184, 210, 236,
        254-6, 265-6, 271-323

    _Baviad, The_, 51

    Bayes, --, 279

    Bayley, Miss, 193

    Bayntom, Mr., 333

    Baynton, Lady, 279

    Beadon, Bishop, 208

    Beard, John, 244-5

    "Beatrice," 234

    Beaumaris, 134-5, 138, 324

    Beaumont and Fletcher, 35

    Beavor, Kitty, 110, 116

    Bedford, John, Duke of, 102

    Bedlam Hospital, 354

    Beedle, --, 242

    _Belinda_, 228

    Bellamy, Mr., 166

    "Bellamy," 137

    _Bell's Oracle_, 25-6

    "Belt of O'Bryan, The," 213

    Belvedere, The, 64-5, 67

    Belvedere House, Bath, 30, 47, 100, 170, 195, 223, 225, 234, 267

    "Belvidera," 26-7

    Bentley, Dr. Richard, 138

    "Benvolio," 174

    Berain, Catherine of, 6-8, 198-9

    Bere, Rev. Thomas, 208, 221, 226

    Beresford, Marshal, 335

    -- Rev. --, 141

    Bergami, Bartolomeo, 336, 344, 346

    Berkswell, Hall, 148

    "Berlington, Mrs.," 137

    Berri, Duc de, 310, 338, 366

    Berruyer, General, 79

    Berwick on Tweed, 43, 73

    Bessborough, Earl of, 151

    Betty, William Henry West, 321-2

    "Beverley, Mrs.," 161

    _Bible, The_, 276, 279

    Bickerstaffe, --, 225

    Billington, Elizabeth, 240, 242-3, 360

    Birmingham, 321, 323, 357

    Blagdon, 232

    Blue-Stockings, The, 1, 19

    Blythe, 331

    Bodvel, 8

    Bodylwyddan, 337

    Bodwiggied, 48

    Bonaparte, Napoleon, 24, 133, 139, 141, 143, 154, 161-2, 179, 189,
        191, 197, 199, 207, 215, 217, 226, 232, 238, 242, 246, 248,
        262-3, 265, 267-8, 316, 331

    Bordeaux, Duc de, 366

    Bosanquet, Mr., 260

    Boscawen, Mrs., 372

    Boswell, James, on Mrs. Piozzi, 2;
      their quarrel, 16

    Botallack Mine, 364

    Boulogne, 128, 227, 230

    Bourdois, --, 298

    Bowdler, Henrietta, 255

    Bowen, Mr., 257

    Bower Ashton, 258

    Bradford, Mr., 245

    -- Orlando, Earl of, 203-4

    Braham, John, 244-5

    Brentford, 245-6, 248

    Brest, 128, 227

    Briareus, 109, 111

    Bridport, Alexander, Viscount, 128, 156, 174, 176

    Brighton (Brighthelmston), 12-13, 16, 74, 126, 142, 161, 206, 342

    Brinbella, _v._ Brynbella

    Brindley, --, 225

    Bristol, 27, 45, 47, 57, 86, 88, 103, 114, 123, 132-4, 139, 144-5,
        149, 151, 155, 157, 168, 171, 180, 187, 195, 216, 236, 239,
        261, 265, 310, 321, 328, 377

    _British Critic, The_, quoted, 90, 96, 138, 141, 157-8, 176, 242,
        249, 250, 252

    _British Synonymy_, 89, 99, 100-1, 103, 108-9, 111, 194

    _Briton, The_, 210

    Brittany, 102

    _Broad Grins_, 275

    Broadheads, The, 85

    Broadley, A. M., v, 3, 10, 20, 32, 59, 73, 75, 330

    Broadstairs, 263

    Brockley Combe, 283

    "Brother Martin," 77

    Brothers, Richard, 122, 124

    Brown, Mrs., 117, 273, 360, 369

    -- Maria, 272-3, 277, 293, 312, 315, 360, 370, 373, 376-7

    Bruce, Charles Edward, 238-9

    Brunswick, Duke of, 59, 60

    "Brutus," 71

    Brutus Heads, 152, 155

    Bryan, --, 124

    Brynbella, (Brinbella), 60, 64, 76, 89, 95, 108, 113-4, 118, 121,
        270-1, 322, 344, 347-8;
      occupied by the Piozzis, 129-269;
      given to Sir J. Salusbury, 271

    Buchetti, Abbé de, 31-2, 45, 50-1, 54, 254

    "Bull, John," 351

    Burdett, Sir Francis, 246-7, 249, 252

    Bürgher, August, 141

    Burke, Edmund, 28-9, 117, 352, 372

    Burney, Dr. Charles, 12, 14, 298, 337, 339

    -- Fanny, 2, 12, 14, 120, 163, 231, 298, _v._ D'Arblay, Madame

    _Busybody, The_, 75

    Bute, John, Earl of, 201-2

    Butler, Rev. Alban, 192

    -- Charles, 189, 192, 194

    -- Lady Eleanor, 151, 168, _v._ Llangollen, Ladies of,

    Byron, Lord, 26, 279, 281-2

    -- Admiral John, 26

    -- Mrs. (Sophia), 25-6


    Cader Idris, 251, 253

    Cadiz, 32, 173, 176

    Cairo, 215

    Calais, 80, 246

    Callan and Booth, 318, 320

    "Callista," 227, 243

    Cam, Mr., 288

    Camaret Bay, 226-7

    Cambridge, 266

    "Camilla," 137

    _Camilla_, 138

    Camplin, Miss, 277

    Candia, 164

    Canning, George, 256, 361

    Cannons, 245

    _Canterbury Tales, The_, 30, 156, 158, 175, 177, 180

    Cape of Good Hope, The, 115

    Capel Gwyddelwern, 122

    Capet, Hugh, 237

    "Carey," 181

    Carleton House, 342

    Carlile, Richard, 279, 281, 289

    Carlyle, Thomas, 90

    Carmarthen, 247

    Carnaby Market, 125, 182

    Carnarvon, 188

    Caroline, Queen (of Geo. II), 346

    -- Queen (of Geo. IV.), 310, 316, 318, 321-3, 327-8, 330, 332-3,
        335-6, 338-40, 344-8, 350-1

    Carrick, Dr., 362, 374

    Carter, Mrs., 279, 372

    Case, Miss, 188, 223

    Cassandra, 144

    Castle Howard, 20

    _Castle of Montval, The_, 175-6

    _Castle Rackrent_, 249

    Castlereagh, Robert, Viscount, 358

    "Catherine," 208

    Catherine, Empress, 136, 222

    -- Queen (of Henry V), 7, 198

    -- of Berain, _v._ Berain, Catherine of

    Cator, Mr., 102, 194

    "Cecilia," 58

    Centlivre, Mrs., 75

    Ceylon, 115, 232, 234

    Chandernagore, 337

    Chandos, Duke of, 245

    Chappelow, Mr., 50, 95, 98, 102, 132, 134, 193, 206, 236-7

    _Chapter of King Killers, The_, 116-7

    _Chapter of Kings, The_, 116

    Charlemagne, Emperor, 140, 198-9

    Charles I, King, 301

    Charles X, King, 366

    Charles, Archduke, 172, 177

    Charleston, 280

    Charlotte, Queen, 124, 144, 281, 342, 346-7

    -- of Wales, Princess, 201-2

    Charlton, Edmund, 241

    Chartres, Duc de, 87

    Cheddar Cliffs, 283

    Cheltenham, 246-7

    Chester, 62, 68, 77, 113, 146, 251, 264

    "Chip, Will," 80

    Christchurch, 298

    _Church and King_, Ballad, 74, 76

    Cibber, Mrs., 221, 238-9, 337

    Cicero, _de officiis_, 343

    Cimad'oro, --, 106

    "Clarissa," 319

    Clarke, Miss, 88, 90

    Claverton, 79

    Clifton, 154, 163, 202, 297, 300, 302, 307, 311, 315-8, 324, 326-9,
        334, 337, 341, 343-4, 361, 365-7, 371, _v._ also Hot Wells

    Clogher and Killaloe, Bishop of, 138

    Clonmel, Lord and Lady, 135

    Cloots, "Anacharsis," 93-4

    Clough, Ann, 7

    -- Sir Richard, 7-8, 198-9

    -- Richard (junr.), 8

    Cloyne, Bishop of, 58

    Clwyd, The, 61, 64-5, 169, 199

    Cobbett, William, 274

    Cobham, Viscount, _v._ Temple, Sir Richard

    Coblentz, 59

    _Cœlebs in Search of a Wife_, 77

    _Coke upon Littleton_, 192

    Coldbath Fields Prison, 246

    Colebrook, Sir George, 256

    Coleman, George, 275

    Collier, Dr., 9, 372

    Columbus, Christopher, 363

    Combermere Abbey, 7

    Combermere, Viscount, 7

    -- Stapleton, Viscount, 363-4

    -- Wellington, Viscount, 364

    _Comedy of Errors_, quoted, 39, 362

    Comet, the, 273-4

    _Commonplace Book_ (Mrs. Piozzi's), quoted v. 10, 18, 38, 39, 44,
        73, 98, 105, 107, 132, 173, 271, 277, 281, 285, 323, 339, 347,
        352

    _Comus_, 293

    Conant, Mr., 181

    Congreve, William, 53

    "Connor," 213

    "Conrade," 234

    "Constance," 208

    Constantine, Prince, 221-2

    Constantinople, 222, 255

    Conti, Princess of, 154

    Conway, 188

    -- William Augustus, 278, 282, 285, 288-9, 291-315, 317-23, 326,
        328-9, 334, 341, 344-5, 347-8, 350, 356-7, 360-2, 364, 367, 375;
      account of, 280-1;
      as Coriolanus, 286, 289-90;
      as Iachimo, 290;
      as Pierre, 295;
      as Mark Antony, 297-8;
      as Moranges, 298;
      in S. Clara's Eve, 307;
      his love affair, 294-7, 302, 305-8;
      his parentage, 300-1

    Conway, Lord William Seymour, 308

    Cooper, Mr., 275

    Coote, General, 288

    Copenhagen, Battle of, 210, 213, 215, 227

    "Cora," 178

    "Coriolanus," 286, 358

    _Coriolanus_, 289

    Cork, 97

    Cork and Orrery, Countess of, 241, 253

    Cornwallis, Lord, 162

    Corresponding Society, the, 92

    Corsica, 138, 248-9

    Corston, 47

    Cotton, Lady, 105

    -- Lady Hester, 7-8

    -- Hester Maria, 7-8

    -- Sir Lynch Salusbury, 350, 364

    -- Sir Robert, 7

    -- Sir Robert Salusbury, 9

    Cotton, Thomas, 348, 350

    -- Sir Willoughby, 363-4

    _Country Cousins_, 354

    Courtenay, Mrs., 315

    -- Viscount, 18

    Covent Garden, 245

    Covent Garden Theatre, 27, 151, 158, 239, 242, 260, 280, 289, 338

    Coventry, 148

    -- Lady Augusta, 363

    Cowes, 339

    Cowley, Abraham, quoted, 282

    Cowper, Ashley, 202, 267

    -- William, 164, 202, 266

    Crampton, Mr., 162

    "Crayon, Geoffrey," (Washington Irving), 351-2

    _Critical Review, The_, 222, 224-5

    Crossman, Rev. Dr., 230, 232

    Crowmarsh, 188-9, 191

    Croydon, v, 12

    Crutchley, Mr., 15

    Cumberland, Ernest, Duke of, 16, 261-2

    -- Dr. Richard, 137, 156, 158, 265, 267

    _Cymbeline_, quoted, 52, 66


    Dacre, Lady, 359

    Dance, George, his portrait of Mrs. Piozzi, 95

    _Dangers which threaten Europe_, 91

    D'Arblay, Madame, 2, 97, 98, 101-2, 120, 136, 138;
      reconciled to Mrs. Piozzi, 98, _v._ Burney, Fanny

    -- M., 97

    D'Artois, Comte, 316, 338

    Dauphin, the, 80-1, 89, 110

    Davenport, Mr., 368

    -- W., 57

    David, 187

    Davies, Edward, 213, 231, 236

    -- Rev. Reynold, 46, 55, 74, 106, 179, 184

    Davy, Sir Humphry, 354

    De Blaquiere, Anna M., 235, 262

    -- John, Lord, 229-30, 234, 267

    De Camp, Maria Theresa, 120

    Dee, The, 251

    Deerhurst, George William, Lord, 29, 101, 144, 265

    -- Peggy, Lady, 29, 144, 161

    Defenders, the, 95-6

    De Fossée, Marquis, 259

    De Genlis, Madame, 61, 141

    De l'Enclos, Ninon, 313

    "Della Crusca," _v._ Merry, Robert

    Della Cruscan Academy, the, 16

    De Luc, Mrs., 196, 236

    Demerara, 264

    "Demetrius," 108

    _De Montfort_, 171-2, 192, 231

    Demosthenes, 285

    Denbigh, 6, 8, 23, 39, 59, 62, 64, 66-7, 112-13, 115-9, 121, 126,
        130, 146, 159, 171, 212-3, 221;
      Castle, 5, 67, 113

    D'Enghien, Duc, 267-8

    Denman (Dennam), Thomas Lord, 348

    De Paoli, General Pasquale, 76, 248

    Derby, Edward, Earl of, 97, 141, 143

    Derby, Eliza, Countess of, 141, 143-4, 155, 241, _v._ Farren, Eliza

    De Retz, Cardinal, 340

    De Rozier, Pilâtre, 155

    _Deserter, The_, 197

    D'Este, Augustus, 308

    Dickson (Dixon), Dr., 362, 368

    _Dictionary of National Biography, The_, v, 43, 338

    Dignum, --, 93

    Dillon, Charles Drake, 96

    -- Charlotte, 96

    -- Sir John, Baron, 83, 95-6

    Dimond, 26, 227, 307;
      his character 27

    -- Mrs., 268, 323

    -- Charles, 307

    _Diversions of Purley, The_, 92

    Dogs, Mrs. Piozzi's; Belle, 142;
      Browney, 134;
      Brown Fox, 142;
      Flo, 50, 82, 142; Loup, 142;
      Phyllis, 66, 115, 142

    Dog Tax, the, 134, 148

    Domitian, Emperor, 216

    Doncaster, 183-4

    _Don Quixote_, 229, 341

    "Douglas," 26

    Dowry Square, Clifton, 73, 113, 162, 182, 312, 321, 360, _v._
        Hot Wells

    Drake, Mr., 267-8

    _Drummer, The_, quoted, 99

    Drummond, James, his courtship of Cecilia Thrale, 54-5, 66, 70, 82,
      86, 92, 103, 142

    Drumphillin, 22

    Drury Lane Theatre, 19, 47-9, 68, 97, 161, 163, 176, 183, 196, 224,
      238-9, 242, 245, 338, 360

    Dryden, John, quoted, 177, 349, 351, 361

    Dublin, 256;
      Smock Alley Theatre, 27, 260, 280

    Dumouriez, General, 81-2, 86-7, 115, 172

    Durham, 315

    Dymerchion, _v._ Tremeirchion, 271, 377


    Eardley-Wilmot, Sir John, 148

    _Earl Godwin_, 27

    Earthquakes, 187-8, 220-1

    East Hyde, 9

    Easterbrook, Mr., 103

    Eckersall, Mr., 302, 316

    Eclipse, the, 333, 335

    Edgeworth de Firmont, Abbé, 87-8

    Edgeworth, Miss, 87

    -- Maria, 248-9, 267, 351

    -- Richard Lovell, 249, 351

    Edgeworthstown, 88

    Edinburgh, 125-6, 334;
      Mrs. Piozzi at, 20-1

    _Edward_, 137-8

    Edwin, Mr., 317

    _Edwin and Eltruda_, 43

    _Edwy and Elgiva_, 97

    Eidouranion, the, 152

    "Elbow," 275

    Elgin, Charles, Earl of, 239

    -- Mary, Countess of, 201-2

    -- Thomas, Earl of, 202, 238, 266

    -- Marbles, the, 202, 238, 266

    Elizabeth, Queen, 5, 7, 140, 199

    -- of France, Madame, 86, 88, 101

    Elphinstone, Augusta Henrietta, 13

    -- Charles, Lord, 13

    Elton, Sir Abraham, 218, 221

    Emigrées, French, in London, 127

    "Emily," 159

    _Encyclopædia Britannica, The_, 154

    Endymion, 175

    Ephesus, 332

    Erskine, Thomas, Lord, 332

    Esau, 197

    _Essay on Irish Bulls, An_, 248-9

    Essex, Earl of, 338

    Este, Rev. Charles, 94, 96-7

    Esterhazy, Prince, 331

    Eton College, 334

    "Eugenia," 137, 140

    "Euphrasia," 74-5

    Euphrates, drying of the, 105, 219-20

    _European Magazine, The_, 18, 91

    Eusebius, 223

    "Evander," 75

    Exeter, 367

    Exmouth, Mrs. Piozzi at, 18-20


    "Fairfield," 225

    _Fair Penitent, The_, 227

    Falmouth, Viscount, 363

    _False Impressions_, 158

    _Family Shakespeare, The_, 256

    Farquhar, Dr., 89

    Farren, Eliza, 18, 97-8, 105, 110, 141, 143, _v._ Derby, Countess of

    -- George, 97

    Fellowes, Anne ("Fellie"), 314-5

    -- Dorset, 302, 336, 342

    -- Sir James, 3, 290, 293, 315, 330, 332, 336, 375-6

    Ferdinand I of Naples, 77, 110-11, 160, 170

    Ferrara, 22

    Fielding, Henry, 139

    Fitz Hugh, Mrs., 238

    Fitzmaurice, Hon. Thomas, 262

    Fitzroy, Lady Anne, 117

    Fleming, Rev. Robert, 103-4

    Florence, 16, 50, 279, 285

    _Florence Miscellany, The_, 16

    "Florizel," 238

    Fontainebleau, 239

    Fontana, Abate, 95

    Forbes, Dr., 344

    "Ford, Mistress," 239

    Forester, Cecil, 346

    Forte-piano, Piozzi's, 113

    Fouché, Joseph, 268

    _Fountains, The_, 18, 210

    Fourth Estate, the, 351-2

    Fowler, Sir William, 49

    Fox, Charles James, 61, 332

    Francis II, Emperor, 110, 115, 143, 197-9, 205

    Frederica of Prussia, Princess, _v._ York, Duchess of

    Frederick, Prince of Wales, 262

    Freshford, 285

    Funnen Vaino, 59, 65

    Fuseli, Henry, 145


    Galtfynan, 122

    _Gamester, The_, 178

    Garnerin, Andre Jacques, 246-7

    Garrart, Mrs., 234

    Garrick, David, 183, 220, 238, 287, 315, 325, 372

    Garthwin, 135

    Garzoni, Marquis, 279

    Genoa, 16, 34, 143, 147, 233

    _Gentleman's Magazine, The_, 223, 225

    _Gentoo Code of Laws, The_, 124

    George III, 64, 160, 162, 190, 211, 214, 216, 221, 226, 231, 248,
      285, 287, 301, 304, 335, 340;
      illness of, 20, 265-6;
      shot at, 196;
      caricatures of, 342-3;
      mobbed, 346-7

    George, Prince of Wales (George IV), 122, 124, 161, 243, 273

    -- IV, 301-4, 307, 310, 314, 316, 332, 335, 339, 343

    -- Joe, 85

    _George Barnwell_, 178

    George Street, Manchester Square, the Piozzis at, 237, 239, 242, 245

    Gibbes (Sir) George Smith, 279, 281, 286, 288, 300, 354

    Giffard, Mr., 357

    Gifford, Mr., 321

    -- William, 19, 51, 90

    Giles, Mr., 203, 239, 243, 246

    Gillies, Dr., 116

    -- Kitty, 116

    Gillon, Mr., 180-1, 188-92, 194-6, 203, 207, 223, 263

    Girondins, the, 60, 87, 133

    Glasgow, Mrs. Piozzi at, 20-1;
      described, 22

    Gloucester, 254

    -- Maria, Duchess of, 287

    -- William, Duke of, 261-2, 288

    "Gobbo, Lancelot," 225

    Godwin, Mary, 161

    -- William, 159, 161

    "Goldfinch," 101-2

    Goldsmith, Oliver, 76, 139, 325, 372

    Graves, Rev. Richard, 79

    Gray (Bishop), Robert, 203-4, 214, 264, 266, 315

    Greatheed, Bertie, 16, 68, 74, 78, 81, 84-6, 141, 200, 238, 347

    -- Mrs. (Bertie), 69, 89, 91, 238, 242

    -- Richard, 69, 83-4

    -- Samuel, 70

    Great Marlborough Street (Mrs. Siddons at), 162, 179, 208

    _Grecian Daughter, The_, 75

    Greg, Mr., 106

    Grenvilles, the, 10

    Gresham, Sir Thomas, 8

    Gretna Green, 126

    Grey, Mr., 80, 94

    Griffiths, Mrs., 187

    Grinfields, the, 275

    "Grumio," 269

    Gubbins, Honoria, 178, 265

    Guy's Cliffe, 238;
      Mrs. Piozzi at, 63, 68-9, 84

    Gwydir, 7, 131


    Hackney, 59

    Hagley, 33

    Halhead, Nathaniel Brassey, 124

    Halifax, Earl of, 9

    Halsey, Ann, 10

    Hamburg, 116

    Hamilton, Mrs., 113, 164, 236

    -- Captain Charles, 75

    -- Douglas, Duke of, 21-2, 151

    -- Eliza, 75, 248-9

    -- Rev. Hon. Frederick, 151

    -- Jane, 38-9, 102, 113, 150-1, 258

    -- John, 96

    -- William, 20

    Hamiltons, the, 84, 110

    "Hamlet," 193, 283

    _Hamlet_, 193;
      quoted, 283, 300

    Hammersley, George, 320

    Handel, George Frederick, 239

    Hannibal, 226

    Hanover invaded, 257, 263-4

    Hanover Square, the Piozzis in, 17, 19, 107

    "Happy Return, The," 328, 359, 361

    Harcourt, Lord, 32

    Hardy, --, 119

    Harington, Dr. Henry, 322-3

    Harley, Robert, (Earl of Oxford), 351

    Harold, K., 226

    Harris, General, 184

    -- James, 297-8

    Harrogate, 49

    Hase, --, 223

    Hastings, Battle of, 226

    Hastings, Francis Rawdon, _v._ Moira, Earl of, 102

    Hatfield, James, 196

    _Haunted House, The_, 99

    Hawkeston, 204

    Hawkesworth, John, 228

    Haygarth, Dr., 62-9, 146

    Hayley, William, 25-6, 267

    Haymarket Theatre, 49, 97, 163, 290

    Hayward, A. H., v. 3-4, 260, 323, _v. Autobiography_

    Hecuba, 300

    _Heirship of Rosalva, The_, 156-7

    Helen and Paris, elopement, 279

    Henley on Thames, 245

    _Henry_, 137, 139

    Henry II., 5

    _Henry IV._, quoted, 86, 268, 290

    Henry V., 198

    Hephestion, 319

    Herbert, Lady Henrietta, 245

    _Hermes_, 298

    "Hermione," 31, 238

    Hertford, Francis, Marquis of, 301, 308

    Hesketh, Lady Harriet, 201-2, 266-7

    -- Sir Thomas, 202, 267

    Hill, Mrs., 324-5

    -- Sir Richard, 203-4

    -- Rev. Rowland, 204

    _Hind and the Panther, The_, 77

    _History of John Bull, The_, 77

    Hoare, Henry Merrick, 13, 270, 357, 360, 362

    -- Mrs. (H. M.), 286, 326, 328, 357, 360-2, _v._ Thrale, Sophia

    -- Sir Richard, 13, 270

    Hohenlinden, Battle of, 206

    Holcroft, Thomas, 102, 267

    Holman, Joseph George, 150-1, 156, 260, 265

    -- Mrs. (J. G.), 150, 156, 190-1, 200, 258, 260-1, 263,
        _v._ Hamilton, Jane

    Holywell, 130

    Homer, 219;
      quoted, 153, 174

    Hood, Admiral Alexander, _v._ Bridport

    -- Sir Samuel, 264

    Hook, Theodore, 280

    Hope, Thomas, 366

    Horneck, General, 281

    Horsley, Bishop Samuel, 197-9, 243-4, 344

    Hotham, Miss, 30

    -- Sir Charles, 49-50

    -- Lady Dorothy, 49

    -- Admiral Sir William, 321-2

    Hot Wells, the, Clifton, 27, 33, 57-8, 139, 142, 144, 161, 214, 272,
        326, 377

    Howard, John, 32

    Howe, Richard, Earl, 115, 118, 128

    Hudson, Miss, 348

    Hunt, Miss, 201

    -- Henry, 273-4, 314

    Hunter, Mrs. John, 193

    Hyde Park, 246


    Imlay, Captain Gilbert, 161

    "Imogen," 66

    Inchiquin, Mary, Countess of, 87-8

    -- Murrough, Earl of, 88, _v._ Thomond, Marquis of

    _Indian Emperor, The_, 349

    Innspruck, 330

    _Inquiry concerning Political Justice, An_, 161

    Invasion, French, projected, 153-4, 156, 162, 260, 263-4

    Ireland, 312;
      troubles in, 79, 95, 152, 154, 258, 260-1

    Irving, Washington, 351-2

    "Isabella," 75

    "Isabinda," 75

    Iselin, Mr., 223

    Isis, the, 32

    _Italy_, 107

    Ithaca, 329

    Iveson, Mr., 320


    Jackson, --, 92

    -- Mrs., 171, 175

    -- Rev. William, 123-4

    Jacobins, the, 55, 60, 87, 101, 183, 196

    Jagher's portrait of Mrs. Piozzi, 312

    James I, 6

    James, Mr., 127-8

    James' Analeptic Pills, 81

    James, Lady Jane, 327

    -- Sir Walter, 152, 308-9

    Jenkins, Mr., 330

    Jenyns, Soame, 336, 338

    Jersey, Frances, Countess of, 123, 124, 161

    -- George, Earl of, 102, 124

    Jerusalem, 8

    _Jest Book, A_, 148

    Jews, the, and the Messiah, 107-10

    John VI of Portugal, 335

    John, George Daubuz, 363

    Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 3, 9, 11-16, 19, 20, 82, 108, 166, 204, 260,
        311, 338, 372;
      on Mrs. Piozzi, 2;
      quoted, 175, 209-10, 220, 284, 303, 308, 314-5, 336, 339

    Jones, Mr., 48-9, 74, 83-4, 179

    -- Mr. and Mrs., 66

    -- Miss, 4

    Jonson, Ben, 268

    Jordan, Mrs., 175

    Joseph II, Emperor, 95, 222

    Joubert, General, 179

    "Jourdain, M.," 252

    Jourdan, General, 172, 179

    _Journal during a Residence in France, A_, 90

    _Journey through Flanders, &c., A_, 96

    _Journey through France, Italy and Germany, A,_ 19, 22, 118

    Jove, Barba, 52

    "Julia," 181

    "Juliet," 150, 192, 329

    _Julius Cæsar_, quoted, 71, 298

    Junius, 92


    Kader Idris, _v._ Cader Idris

    "Kanquroo, The," 74

    Keith, Admiral George, Viscount, 13, 176, 263, 266, 270, 357, 362

    -- Hester, Viscountess, 85, 348, 354, 357, 362, _v._ Thrale, Hester

    Kemble, Charles, 120

    -- Frances, _v._ Twiss, Mrs.

    -- John Philip, 18, 30, 47-50, 68, 98, 120, 193, 208, 238, 265, 289,
      308, 337

    -- Roger, 157

    -- Stephen, 125-6

    _Kenilworth_, 365-6

    Kenmare, Earl of, 234

    Kenrick, Mr., 357, 362

    Kent, Edward, Duke of, 299, 301

    -- Victoria, Duchess of, 48, 171, 299

    Killarney, Lake of, 73

    King, Captain, 9

    -- Mr., 187

    King Philadelphia, 9

    King's Theatre, the, 242

    Kingston, Elizabeth, Duchess of, 79, 124

    Kingston Rooms, The, Bath, 355

    Kirkwall, John, Viscount, 168, 218, 235, 253-4, 261-2, 267, 353, 355

    Kitchen, Mr., 31, 55

    Kleber, General, 215

    Knight, Miss, 321

    -- Mr., 23

    _Knights of the Swan, The_, 140

    Knockholt, 13

    Knowle Park, 376

    Kosciusko, Tadeuz, 238-9, 248

    Kotzebue, A. F. F., 157


    "Lactilla," _v._ Yearsley, A. M.

    Lade, Lady, 161, 163-4

    _Lady of Lyons, The_, 44

    La Fayette, Marquis de, 117

    La Fleche, 281

    Lago Maggiore, 22

    Lakes, the, 21-2, 201, 248

    Lambart, Mrs., 276

    Lane, Mary Ann, 360

    Lanzoni, Mr., 205

    Laura Chapel, Bath, 210, 255, 275, 358

    _Law is a Bottomless Pit, the_, 352

    Lawrence, (Sir) Thomas, 144-5, 163, 194, 273

    Lazzaroni, the, 109-11, 169-70

    Leak, Mr., 375

    Leasowes, the, 240

    Lee, Mrs., 265

    -- Harriet, 31, 39, 42, 47-8, 55, 71, 74, 76, 88, 90-1, 95-6, 100,
        111, 114, 120, 130, 134, 137, 143, 145, 149, 156-7, 161, 164,
         170, 173, 175, 180, 212, 223, 225, 228, 231, 233-4, 249, 265-6;
      her love affair, 30-1, 33-4, 41, 45-7, 49, 51-4, 75-6;
      verses by, 35

    Lee, Leoni, 307

    -- Sophia, 30, 55, 74, 98-9, 104-7, 143, 160, 170, 173, 175, 203,
      213, 265-7, 311

    Leghorn, 16, 136, 138

    Leith, 334

    _Lenore_, 140-1

    Leo, Mr., 316

    "Leontes," 238

    Leopold, Emperor, 110

    -- King of the Belgians, 124

    Lethe, R., 334

    _Letter to Rev. Thomas Bere, A_, 221

    _Letters containing a Sketch of the Politics of France_, 133

    _Letters of a Hindoo Rajah_, 75

    _Letters on Education_, 248-9

    _Letters to and from Dr. Johnson_, 18

    _Letters written in France_, 100

    Lewes, 342

    Lewis, Matthew Gregory, 141, 157

    Lewisham, 58

    Leyden, 104

    _Liberty and Equality_, 79, 81

    Lichfield, 25, 57

    _Life of a Lover, The_, 267

    _Life of David Garrick, The_, 221

    _Life of Lucullus, The_, 219-20

    Linley, Eliza Ann, 338, _v._ Sheridan, Mrs.

    Linley, Mary, 176

    Linnæus, Carolus, 330, 337

    Lisbon, 65, 146, 285, 335

    Lisburne, Earl of, 18

    Liverpool, 21-2, 133, 163, 198, 216, 233;
      described, 23

    Liverpool, Robert, Earl of, 344-5

    Llangollen, Vale of, 113, 151, 186, 200;
      the Ladies of, 149, 151, 160, 168, 185, 213, _v._ also
        Butler, Lady E., and Ponsonby, S.

    _Llangollen Vale_, poem, 151

    Llanivydd, 7

    Llewenny, 5, 8;
      Hall, 6, 8, 201, 261-2

    -- Adam of, 6

    Llewesog, 122, 126, 129, 130

    Lloyd, Mr., 70, 197, 348

    Llwydd, Vale of, _v._ Clywd

    Llwyn, 131

    Lomond, Ben, 22

    -- Loch, 22, 73

    London, sickness in, 76, 119;
      growth of, 244

    _London Gazette, The_, 165, 184

    Longford, 4, 56, 99, 218

    Loretto, 72

    L'Orient, 128

    "Lothario," 227

    "Lothayre," 160

    Louis XIV, 42, 103, 352

    Louis XVI, 42, 55, 60, 71, 76-7, 237, 342;
      Execution of, 77-9, 81, 86-9, 110, 123, 161

    Louis XVIII, 89, 177, 316

    _Love Letters, The, of Mrs. Piozzi_, 280, 285, 305-6

    Lowestoft, 231

    Lucifer, _v._ Satan

    Ludlow, 4, 17, 23, 25

    Lukins, George, 103

    Luther, Martin, 77

    Lutwyche, Mrs., 285, 293, 321

    Luxembourg Palace, The, 89

    Luxmore, Mrs., 311-2

    Lye, Mr., 216

    _Lyford Redivivus_, 330

    Lymington, 124

    Lynch, Philadelphia, 8

    -- Sir Thomas, 8

    Lyons, 16

    Lysons, Mr., 93, 95, 206

    -- Samuel, 3, 93, 95, 206

    Lyttelton, William Henry, Lord, 11, 248

    Lytton, Edward, Lord, 44


    _Macbeth_, quoted, 116, 263

    Macdonald, General, 179

    "Macduff," 263

    Machynlleth, 251

    Mack, General Karl, 170-1

    Mackay, Mrs., 79, 105

    Mackworth, Miss, 267

    Macleane, Dr., 222, 255

    Macnamara, Mr., 87

    Macready, William Charles, 280, 286, 358

    Mahomet, 362

    _Maid of the Mill, The_, 224-5

    _Maid's Tragedy, The_, 35

    Mainwaring, Mr., 247, 250, 252

    Majendie, Bishop, 277

    Mam Gwalia, and Mam y Cymry, _v._ Berain, Catherine of

    Manchester, 130

    "Mandane," 360

    Mangin, Rev. E., 279, 281, 285, 299, 311, 330, 335, 352, _v._
        also _Piozziana_

    Mansfield, William, Earl of, 340

    Mantua, 138

    Mara, --, 243-4

    Marazion, 320-1

    "Marcella," 341

    Marengo, 202, 226

    Marie Antoinette, Queen, 60, 78, 99, 110, 198

    "Mark Antony," 297

    Mark Lane, 229-30

    Marlborough, John, Duke of, 166, 352

    -- Sarah, Duchess of, 153

    Marmontel, Jean F., 104, 304

    Marshall, Captain, 311, 314

    Martial, 217

    Masquerades, 239-41

    Massena, General, 179

    Matthews, Charles, 354, 366

    Mead, --, 89

    _Measure for Measure_, quoted, 275

    Melmoth, Courtney, _v._ Pratt, S. J.

    Melville Island, 350

    _Memoirs of Anastatius, The_, 366

    _Memoirs of the Author of the Vindication of the Rights of
        Woman_, 161

    _Memoirs pour servir à l'Histoire du Jacobinisme_, 154

    Mendip Lodge, 271, 324

    Menou, Abdallah, 214-5

    _Merchant of Venice, The_, quoted, 225

    Meriden, 67

    Merlin ("The Fool"), 132, 156, 169, 331

    Merlini, Signor, 54

    Merry, Robert ("Della Crusca"), 16, 50-1

    _Merry Wives of Windsor, The_, 107, 239

    _Messiah, The_, 239

    _Midsummer Night's Dream, A_, quoted, 31

    Milan, 16, 138, 182

    Milton, John, 22, 276, 358

    Mingotti, Regina, 359-60

    "Mittin, Mrs.," 137

    Moira, Francis Rawdon, Earl of, 23, 101-2, 106

    Moliere, 1

    _Moniteur, Le_, 215

    _Monk, The_, 141

    Montague, Elizabeth, 2, 109, 186, 372

    Montgolfier, the Brothers, 154

    Montrose, Duke of, 307

    Moore, Mr., 62, 64-7, 146-7

    -- General Sir John, 21

    -- John, M.D., 21-2, 43, 89, 90, 93, 111, 137-8, 156, 192

    -- Thomas, 241-2

    _Mordaunt_, 138

    More, Hannah, 77, 80-1, 112, 172, 174-5, 188, 190, 197, 207, 229,
        232, 243, 248, 251, 254-5, 258;
      and the Milkwoman, 26;
      the Blagdon Controversy, 208-10, 213, 218, 221, 223, 226, 236;
      her reported marriage, 228, 230

    Moreau, General, 179, 206

    _Morning Post, The_, 96, 124

    Morocco, 333, 335

    Moscow, 244

    Mosheim's _Ecclesiastical History_, 222

    Mostyn, 122

    Mostyn, Arthur, 229

    -- John, 122

    -- Rev. John, 212

    -- John Meredith, 133, 135, 137, 152, 155, 177;
      engaged to Cecilia Thrale, 121-3;
      marriage, 13, 126;
      lawsuit with Piozzi, 139, 141, 144, 146-7

    -- Mrs. J. M., 13, 122, 126-8, 130, 133, 135, 137, 139, 148, 150,
        152, 155, 170, 177-8, 201, 229, 242, 260, 265, 267, 279, 353;
      letter by, 129;
      charges against her mother, 142-3;
      illness, 146;
      _v._ also Thrale, Cecilia

    -- John Salusbury, 13

    Mount Edgecumbe, 130

    -- --, Earl of, 240

    Mountjoy, Viscount; _v._ Bute, Earl of

    _Mourning Bride, The_, 53

    Mousehole, 346

    Moyle, Mr., 344

    _Much Ado about Nothing_, 234

    Mull, Sound of, 253

    Mullins, Mrs., 129, 133

    Munich, 268

    Murat, Joachim, 206

    Murphy, Arthur, 12, 75, 80, 82, 91, 102, 105, 107, 220-1, 304, 372

    Murray, Miss, 198

    _Mysteries of Udolpho, The_, 113, 115

    _Mysterious Marriage, The_, v. _Heirship of Rosalva, The_


    Naldi, Guiseppe, 356

    Naples, 22, 65, 109, 169, 206, 247, 331, 346, 366

    Nash, Beau, 139-40

    Neerwinden, 87

    Nelson, Admiral Horatio, 162, 164-5, 170, 215, 217, 229-30, 247, 322

    Nero, Emperor, 342

    Newberry, --, 116

    Newlyn, 346

    "New Salisbury," 60

    New York, 280

    Ney, Marshal, 206

    Nice, 71

    Nicholle's _Reflexions_, or _Recollections_, 342

    Niger, The, 151

    Nile, Battle of the, 165, 191

    Nore, The, 176

    Norman, Miss, 315

    Nottingham, 248

    Nova Scotia, 9

    Nuneham Courtney, 31, 45, 47, 95;
      described, 32;
      Mrs. Piozzi and Mrs. Siddons at, 32-41

    _Nutcracker, The_, 354

    Nyctalope, The, 206


    Oakley, Lady, 186-7

    -- Sir Charles, 187

    O'Beirne, Bishop Thomas Lewis, 255-6

    Offley Hall, 9

    Ogle, Admiral Sir Charles, 94

    -- Sophia, 94

    Ormsby, Miss, 218, 235

    O'Neill, Miss, 360

    Oporto, 335

    "Orasmyn," 137

    Orkney, Mary, Countess of, 221, 261-2, 266, 355

    -- Thomas, Earl of, 262

    Orleans, 50, 52

    Ormonde, John, Earl of, 151

    "Osmyn," 53

    "Othello," 298

    _Othello_, quoted, 298

    Otway, Thomas, 27

    Owen, Miss, 33, 45, 79, 84, 159, 168, 185

    Oxford, 11, 32, 41, 203-4, 214, 246, 265, 271


    "Page, Sweet Anne," 88, 107

    Paine, Tom, 196, 281

    Palermo, 171, 366

    Palmer, John, 88, 161, 163-4

    -- Mary, 88

    _Pamela_, 225

    _Paradise Lost_, quoted, 276

    Paris, 13, 16, 21, 32, 46, 51, 59, 61, 87, 91, 97, 112, 133, 207,
        238, 246-7, 293, 317, 336-7;
      massacres at, 54, 60, 90

    Park, Mungo, 151

    Parker, Sir Hyde, 215

    "Parmenio," 319

    Parry, Dr., 216, 257

    Parry, Lieutenant William Edward, 349-50

    Parsons, Mr., 82, 266

    Pascoe, Mr., 365

    Pasquin, 145

    Paul, Emperor, 190-1, 205, 209-10, 214-5, 222

    -- Mr., 323-4

    _Paul et Virginie_, 133

    Peel, Sir Robert, 266

    Peep o' Day Boys, The, 96

    Pemberton, Edward, 271

    -- Harriet Maria, 271

    Penfield, 130

    Pennant, Thomas, 7, 198-9, 330

    Pennell, Mrs., 295

    Pennington, William, 61, 70, 72-3, 75, 96-7, 142, 158, 170, 182,
        185, 188, 204, 217, 222, 224, 226, 234, 250, 268, 270, 274, 286,
        288, 292, 294, 319-20, 326, 336, 341, 346, 349, 351, 358, 362,
        365, 368, 377;
      account of, 57-9;
      gout, 78, 215, 272, 299, 327;
      resigns M. C., 272

    -- Mrs. W., 112, 185, 277, 285;
      illness, 76, 85, 184, 243;
      nurses Maria Siddons, 154, 162, 165;
      quarrel with A. Seward, 160-1;
      reconciliation, 271-2;
      at Longford, 218;
      money troubles, 250;
      breach with Mrs. Piozzi, 270, 285;
      reconciliation, 271-2;
      meets Conway, 291;
      at Mrs. Piozzi's Fete, 299, 303;
      begs her teapot, 295, 375;
      her obituary notice of Mrs. Piozzi, 371;
      visits Miss Thrale, 376, _v._ also Weston, Penelope Sophia

    Penrice, Anna, 9

    -- Sir Henry, 9

    Penzance, 316, 320;
      Mrs. Piozzi at, 323-67

    Pepys, Sir Lucas, 62, 64-6, 68, 76, 89

    -- Sir William, 2

    Percival, Lady, 238

    "Perdita," 238

    Père Lachaise, 61

    Perney, Dr., 102, 105-6, 110

    _Perourou the Bellows Mender_, 44

    Peterhead, 350

    Peterloo, 274, 332

    "Petruchio," 208

    Pharsalia, 264

    Piano e forte, Piozzi's, 236

    Piccadilly, 13

    Pichegru, General, 115

    "Pierre," 208

    Pierrepoint, Mrs., 315

    _Pilot that weathered the Storm, The_, 256

    Pindemonte, Chevalier, 50

    Piozzi, Gabriel, 19, 20, 53-4, 80, 83, 85, 89, 96, 106, 113, 123,
        130-1, 134-5, 146, 148-9, 155, 171, 180, 186-7, 189, 195, 197-8,
        201, 203-4, 209, 224, 231, 234, 236, 244-6, 250, 253-4, 258,
        262, 264, 267-8, 270, 317, 319, 321, 348, 353;
      meets Mrs. Thrale, 14;
      marriage, 15;
      attacks of gout, 25, 51-2, 67, 74, 76, 78, 100-2, 109, 118, 129,
        135, 142-3, 147, 158-9, 173, 191-3, 218, 221, 228, 253, 263;
      tour in Wales, 32;
      his singing, 40, 241;
      plans a cottage in Wales, 59, 61, 64;
      builds Brynbella, 75, 89, 95, 114, 121-2, 129;
      naturalised, 97;
      death of his father, 141, 143;
      restores Bach-y-graig, 198, 201;
      restores Tremeirchion Church, 262;
      death, 271

    -- Gianbatista, 171

    -- Hester Lynch, v. 2-9, 11-13;
      her conversation, 2;
      her letters, 3;
      ancestry, 5;
      birth and childhood, 8-9;
      education, 9;
      marriage with Thrale, 10;
      early verses, 12;
      tours in Wales and France, 13;
      widowhood, 14-15;
      meets Piozzi, 14;
      marries Piozzi, 15;
      Italian Tour, 16-17, 50;
      contributes to _The Florence Miscellany_, 16;
      writes _Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson_, 16;
      return to England, 17;
      visit to Exmouth, 18;
      publishes _Letters to and from Dr. Johnson_, 18;
      attacked by Baretti, 18;
      writes _The Fountains_, 18;
      publishes _A Journey through France, Italy, and Germany_, 19;
      criticised by Gifford, &c., 19;
      her _Ode on the King's Recovery_, 20;
      Tour in Scotland, 20-2;
      visit to Wales, 23;
      at Bath, 25;
      return to Streatham Park, 27;
      at Bath, 29;
      with Mrs. Siddons at Nuneham, 31-41;
      her _Verses to the Travellers_, 57;
      goes to Shrewsbury, 44;
      at Bath, 52;
      at Denbigh, 58;
      at Guy's Cliffe, 69;
      reconciliation with her daughters, 83;
      writes _British Synonymy_, 89-90, 99, 101;
      her portrait by Dance, 95;
      lawsuit with Lady Cotton, 102, 105;
      _British Synonymy_ published, 109;
      at Denbigh, 113;
      her _Chapter of King Killers_, 116-7;
      removal to Brynbella, 129;
      disputes with the Mostyns, 139, 141-2, 144, 146-7, 150;
      visit to Streatham, 141;
      reconciled to the Mostyns, 156;
      writes _Retrospection_, 156, 158;
      death of Maria Siddons, 165, 167;
      adopts John Salusbury Piozzi, 170-1;
      at Bath, 184;
      trouble with Hester Thrale, 187-192;
      visit to Streatham, 202;
      _Retrospection_ published, 208;
      criticisms, 222, 225, 251-2;
      at George St., Manchester Square, 237;
      at Tenby, 246-9;
      at Bath, 255;
      lines on her twentieth wedding day, 259;
      breach with Mrs. Pennington, 270;
      Piozzi's death, 271;
      at Weston super Mare, 272;
      renewal of friendship, 272;
      her _Card Table Riddle_, 277;
      relations with Conway, 280;
      her Birthday Fête, 287-90, 296-9;
      lines on Intellectual Powers, 300;
      portraits by Jagher and Roche, 312;
      at Penzance, 323-67;
      verses on Queen Caroline, 327;
      lines on the Antarctic Continent, 331;
      danger of Typhus, 341-7;
      lines on Scott, 352;
      new claim on her estate, 357-9;
      visit to Land's End, 363;
      return to Clifton, 367;
      death, 369-71;
      obituary notice, 371;
      epitaph, 377;
      _cf._ Salusbury, Hester Lynch

    -- John Salusbury, _v._ Salusbury, Sir John Salusbury Piozzi

    _Piozziana_, v, 3, 9, 199, 281, 299, _v._ also Mangin, Rev. E.

    Pisani, Caterina, 72

    -- Excellenza, 72

    "Pisanio," 66

    Pitches, Lady, 142, 144-5

    -- Sir Abraham, 29, 145

    -- Peggy, _v._ Deerhurst, Lady

    Pitt, Lady Hester, 242

    -- William, 89, 149, 201, 211, 216, 222, 255-6, 266, 287

    Pius VI, Pope, 77

    _Pizarro_, 175, 178

    "Plagiary, Sir Fretful," 139

    Plas Clough, 8

    Plasnewydd, 151

    Plassey, 288

    Plas Y Ward, 7

    _Pleasures of Memory, The_, 107

    Plutarch, 219-20

    Plymouth, 240

    "Polonius," 193

    Pomfret, Lady, 240

    Pondicherry, 106

    Ponsonby, Chambre Brabazon, 151

    -- Sarah, 151, 168, 213, _v._ Llangollen, Ladies of

    Pontriffeth, 348

    Pope, Alexander, 153

    _Popular Tales_, 267

    _Porcupine, The_, 210

    Porkington, 79

    Porteous, Bishop Beilby, 76, 77, 256

    Posthumus, 290

    Pott, Mr., 138

    Powell, David, 48

    -- Jane, 25, 204, 209-10

    Powis, William, Marquess of, 245

    Powys, Mrs., 160, 271

    Pratt, Rev. Samuel Jackson, 56

    _Précieuses Ridicules, Les_, 1

    Prestatyn, 231

    Preston, 315

    Priestley, William, 199

    Princess Royal of France, The, 80

    _Progress of Pilgrim Good Intent, The_, 190

    _Proofs of a Conspiracy against all Religions_, 154

    Prophecies, by Fleming, 103-4;
      in the Bible, 106;
      by Brothers, 122

    _Public Advertiser, The_, 20

    _Public Ledger, The_, 124

    Putney, 93

    Pwllheli, 8

    Pye, Henry James, 141

    Pyrenees, the, 113


    Quebec, 288

    Queen Street, Westminster, 17, 52

    Quiberon Bay, 288

    "Quickly, Mistress," 86, 239, 268


    Radcliffe, Ann, 113, 115-6, 171, 175

    "Ralph," 224-5

    _Rambler, The_, quoted, 319

    Ramsgate, 13

    "Randolph, Lady," 26, 91

    Randolph, Rev. Francis, D.D., 47, 170-1, 174, 182, 187-8, 197, 200,
        206, 222, 224, 251, 255, 341, 343, 345, 358, 365

    Randolph, Mrs. (Mary), 170, 174, 182, 201, 206, 212-3, 222, 273,
        317, 321, 333, 336, 341, 343

    Ranelagh, 21, 89, 240, 242, 248

    Raphoe, Bishop of, 124

    _Rasselas_, 311

    Rastadt, 177-179

    Rawdon, Lord, 23, _v._ Moira, Earl of

    Ray, Mr., 71, 81, 95, 194, 338

    Reading, 30, 208

    _Reflections on the Revolution in France_, 28-9

    Reformers, the, 273-6

    Regent, the, _v._ George, Prince of Wales

    _Regent, The_, 68, 238

    _Rejected Addresses_, 286

    _Repository Tracts_, 80

    _Retaliation_, 139

    _Retrospection_, 156, 158-9, 177, 197, 201-2, 204, 207-9, 211,
        214, 225, 251-2

    _Revealed Knowledge of Prophecies_, 122

    _Revelation_, The Book of, quoted, 106

    Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 11-12, 88, 372

    Rhedycina, 204

    Richard I, 6

    _Richard III_, quoted, 214

    Richards, Mr., 194

    Richardson, Samuel, 225

    Richmond, 101

    Riddle, by Mrs. Piozzi, 277

    _Rights of Man, The_, 196

    Rio, 335

    Riots at Bath, 187

    _Rival Sisters, The_, 82

    Rivington, --, 196

    _Road to Ruin, The_, 101-2

    Robert, the Brothers, 154

    Roberts, Rev. --, 367

    Robespierre, 115, 128, 133

    Robinson, George, 100, 195, 204, 223, 225

    -- John, 152, 154, 159

    _Rob Roy_, 352

    Robson, James, 223, 225

    Roche's portrait of Mrs. Piozzi, 312

    Roche, or Roach, Mr., 211

    Rodborough, 257

    Rodney Place, Clifton, 113

    Rogers family, the, 282

    Rogers, Samuel, 82, 104-5, 156;
      proposes for Cecilia Thrale, 107

    "Rolla," 178

    Rome, 71-2, 77, 79, 197, 205, 216, 329, 331, 358, 364, 366

    _Romeo and Juliet_, quoted, 150, 174, 192, 329

    "Rosalind," 58, 83, 106

    "Roscius, Young," _v._ Betty, W. H. W.

    Ross, Captain, 350

    Rotterdam, 81, 104

    Rowe, Nicholas, 227

    Royal Academy Exhibition, 144

    _Royal Captives, The_, 27

    Royal Exchange founded, 8

    Royal Surrey Bowmen, the, 101

    Rudd, Mrs., 319, 321, 323, 326, 337, 345, 358, 367

    Rufford, 202

    Rug, 5

    Russell, Lady W., 102, 135

    Russell, Lord William, 102, 135

    Ruthyn, 146, 186

    Ryton Grove, 271


    S. Anne's Hill, 332

    S. Asaph, 171, 212;
      Cathedral, 114, 213

    S. Bernard, Gros, 114

    S. Domingo captured, 106

    S. Gothard, Mount, 226

    _S. James' Chronicle_, 12

    S. Lucia, 264

    S. Michael's Mount, 324, 327, 347

    S. Paul's Cathedral, 20, 78, 352

    S. Petersburg, 100

    S. Vincent, John, Earl, 176, 265-6

    Sage, Fanny, 171

    Salbri and Salsbri, _v._ Salesbury

    Salesbury, Catherine, _v._ Berain, Catherine of

    Salesbury, Foulke, 5

    Salesbury, Henry 5-6

    -- Sir Henry (the Black), 6

    -- John (Jesuit), 5

    -- John (Benedictine), 5

    -- Sir John, M.P., 6-7

    -- Sir John, 6-8

    -- Roger, 7

    -- Thomas, 5

    -- William, 5

    Salisbury, Bishop of, 344

    Salisbury (or Saltzbury) Court, 5-6

    Saltzburg, 6

    Saltzburg, Adam de, 5-6

    Salusbury, Arms of, 6

    Salusbury, Colonel, 122

    -- Anna, 9

    -- Lady Harriet, 288-9, 290, 292, 295, 298, 306

    -- Sir Henry, 6

    -- Hester, 7-8

    -- Hester Lynch, 8-10, _v._ Piozzi, Mrs.

    -- Hester Maria, 8, 10

    -- John, 6, 8-10

    -- Sir John Salusbury Piozzi (formerly John Salusbury Piozzi), 48,
        170-3, 179, 182, 184, 198, 225, 228, 231, 236, 239, 241, 266,
        271, 278, 288-90, 292, 295, 298-9, 303, 306-7, 314, 317-8,
        320-2, 325, 331, 336, 343, 348, 350, 358-9, 361-2, 367-8, 375-6

    Salusbury, Sir Thomas, 9-10

    -- William Edward Piozzi, 362

    _Samson_, 239

    Sangate, 13

    Sandwich, 359

    "Satan summoning his Legions," 144-5

    Saumarez, Admiral Sir James, 299

    Savoy, 71, 114

    Saxe, Marshal, 42

    Scarborough, 346;
      Mrs. Piozzi at, 20

    Scherer, General, 179

    Scilly Isles, the, 118

    Sciolto quoted, 219

    Scott, Miss, 197

    -- Sir Walter, 173, 352

    _Seasons, The_, 22

    Seccombe, T. H., v. "Sedlitz, Laura," 192

    Seeley, L. B., v, 4

    Segrwyd (Segroid), 13, 122, 130

    Selim, Sultan, 221-2

    Semple, Mrs., 79

    Semple, Major George James, 79

    _Sentimental Mother, The_, 18

    Seringapatam, 183-4

    Servants, Mrs. Piozzi's, Abbiss, 133, 186;
      Allen, 158, 180, 186, 209, 236;
      Bessy, 285, 295, 301, 304, 312, 319, 326, 334, 342, 344-5, 359,
        364, 375;
      Hodgkins, Samuel, 216, 269, 366;
      Jacob, 27, 45-6, 55, 63, 65-7, 71;
      James, 319, 322, 326, 330, 362, 364, 368;
      Sophy, 341, 345

    Severn, the, 113

    Seward, --, 12, 15, 29

    -- Anna, 25, 28-9, 34, 43, 56-7, 151, 185, 192, 273;
      on Mrs. Piozzi, 2, 19;
      quarrel with Mrs. Pennington, 160-1;
      reconciliation, 271

    Shakespeare, 198, 203, 269, 359, _v._ also under Separate Plays

    -- _A Concordance to_, 157

    Sharpe, Miss, 337

    Shelley, Miss, 194

    -- Mrs., 193

    -- Percy Bysshe, 161

    Shephard, Hon. Charles, 319, 321, 334

    Sheridan, Mrs. (Eliza Ann), 176, 337-8

    Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 18, 47, 61, 97, 139, 157, 178, 184, 338

    Shrewsbury, 33-4, 39, 41, 43, 44, 113, 158, 168, 185-6, 197

    Siddons Family, the, 84, 89, 130, 153

    Siddons, Cecilia, 114, 144-5, 170, 214, 224

    -- George, 225

    -- Henry, 197-8

    -- Maria, 79, 80, 89, 93-4, 108;
      illness of, 152-4, 162-3;
      death, 164-5, 167, 260

    -- Mrs. (Sarah), 4, 30, 39, 41, 47, 49, 50, 53, 63, 66, 68-71, 73-4,
        76, 79, 80, 82-3, 86, 89, 94, 96, 103, 108, 116, 120, 134, 145,
        150, 152, 155, 157, 161, 163, 165-6, 168, 170, 175, 190, 193,
        200, 205, 207, 212, 214, 215, 220, 224-5, 228, 230, 236-8, 276,
        282, 302, 308, 315, 322, 358, 360-1;
      as Isabella in _The Fatal Marriage_, 19-20;
      painted by Hamilton, 20;
      attacked in _Bell's Oracle_, 25-6, 56;
      at Streatham Park, 27, 78, 93;
      at Nuneham Rectory, 31-47;
      at Guy's Cliffe, 70;
      as Lady Randolph, 91;
      in Edwy and Elgiva, 97-8;
      in Ireland, 98, 104-5;
      in Scotland, 123, 125, 127, 179;
      at Liverpool, 138;
      in _Fatal Curiosity_, 141;
      painted by Lawrence, 144;
      in _The Stranger_, 155;
      as Mrs. Beverley, 161;
      in _The Castle of Montval_, 176;
      in _Pizarro_, 178;
      at Doncaster, 183;
      on strike, 184;
      in _Elvira_, 202;
      as Constance, 208;
      as Callista, 227;
      as Hermione, 238;
      at Belfast, 254;
      at Dublin, 256;
      at Cheltenham, 258;
      as Zara, 265;
      described by her husband, 282

    -- Sarah Martha (Sally), 55-6, 59, 61, 66-8, 74, 79, 80, 89, 93-4,
        105, 108, 144, 154, 163, 177, 193-4, 202, 224;
      illness of, 58, 69, 76;
      letter by, 62, 64

    -- William, 56, 70, 73-4, 94, 125, 162, 167, 179, 184, 193-4, 200,
        202, 220, 224, 282

    Sieyes, Abbé, 160-1

    Simmons, Mr., 241

    Sion College, 103

    -- Row, Mrs. Piozzi at, 367

    _Sketch Book, The_, 351, 355

    _Sketches or Essays on Various Subjects_, 352

    "Slender, Master," 289

    Smith, General, 241, 251

    -- Drummond, 242

    -- Spencer, 268

    -- Sir Sydney, 265-6

    Smithfield, 273-4

    Snowdon, 41, 66, 114

    Society for Constitutional Reform, the, 92

    Society of Friends of the Revolution, the, 61

    Sodor and Man, John, Bishop of, 5

    Solar phenomenon, 196-7

    Soliman, Emperor of Morocco, 335

    Somers, Mr., 57

    Sotherby, --, 215

    Sothern, --, 19

    Southampton, 47, 95

    Southey, Robert, 26

    Southwark, 339, 358;
      Thrale, M.P. for, 12;
      Old Anchor Brewery, 10;
      Deadman's Lane, 11

    _Spectator, The_, 350

    Spencer, --, 141

    Spinola, Marquis, 72

    _Spiritual Quixote, The_, 80

    Spithead, 176

    "Squalici, Signor," 18

    Stanhope, Charles, Earl, 241

    Stanley, --, 141

    Steele, Richard, 350

    "Stella," 243

    Stephens, Catherine, 337-8

    Stevens, --, 284

    Steyer, 206

    Stockach, 172

    Stockdale, --, 202, 204, 206-7, 209-10, 221, 225

    Stone, John Hurford, 43-4, 59, 71, 91-2, 104, 112, 119, 123, 156-7,
        249, 260, 279, 283, 285;
      account of, 61

    -- Mrs. (J. H.), 44, 59, 61, 91, 104, 119, 156, 279

    -- William, 91-2

    Stourhead, 270

    Stowe, 10

    Stralenheim, 234

    _Stranger, The_, 155, 157, 163, 178

    Stratton, Miss, 305-6, 310

    -- Mrs., 212, 291, 307, 310

    Streatfield, Sophia, 243-4

    Streatham, 13, 16, 48, 184, 246;
      Park, 12, 14, 40, 131, 134-5, 148-9, 151, 155, 172, 188, 235, 239,
        243, 271, 315, 347;
      the Piozzis reside at, 17-129;
      visits to, 141-4, 202-8;
      the Reynolds
    Gallery at, 11, 107;
      verses on, 35

    Stretton, Mr., 86-7

    Strickland, Mrs., 137

    Stutgard, 268

    _Summer Islands, The_, 22

    Sunspots, 78

    Surinam, 183, 356

    Sussex, Augustus, Duke of, 307-8

    Suwarrow, General Alexander, (Suvoroff), 177, 179

    Swan of Lichfield, the, 2, 56, _v._ Seward, Anna

    Swansea, 329

    Sweden, King of, 122

    Swift, Rev. Jonathan, 77, 220, 351

    Sydney, Thomas, Viscount, 28

    "Synonymes," _v._ _British Synonymy_


    _Tale of a Tub, A_, 77

    Talleyrand, 61

    _Taming of the Shrew, The_, 269

    Tavistock, Francis, Marquis of, 102

    Taylor, Mrs., 355

    -- Major Cathcart, 56-7

    -- Rev. John, 284

    "Tearsheet, Doll," 86

    _Telegraph, The_, 96

    Temple, the, prisoners in, 86, 89

    Temple, Lady Ann, 10

    "Temple, Lancelot," 351-2, _v._ Armstrong

    -- Sir Richard, (Viscount Cobham), 10

    Tenby, 246-7, 249, 324

    Tertullian, 223

    _Testimony to the Authenticity of the Prophecies of
        R. Brothers, A_, 125

    Thackeray, Dr., 264

    Thames, the, 113

    Thelwall, --, 119

    -- Edward, 7

    Theseus, 80

    Thistlewood, Arthur, 274

    Thomas, Archdeacon, 290, 322

    -- Mr., 55

    Thomond, Murrough, Marquis of, 261

    Thomson, James, quoted, 212, 334

    Thrale, Miss (Beatrice), _v._ -- Cecilia Margaretta, 13, 15-17,
        26, 30, 33, 53, 75-6, 82-4, 95, 101, 108, 112-3, 118, 120;
      accompanies her mother to Scotland, 20;
      her admirers, 54, 66, 82, 86, 92, 102, 105, 107;
      alarming illness, 55, 58, 61-6, 68-9, 71;
      her extravagance, 90;
      engagement to
    Mostyn, 121-3;
      marriage, 126 _v._ Mostyn, Mrs. J. M.

    Thrale, Harriet, 13, 110

    -- Henry, M.P., 10, 11, 13, 73, 82, 163, 187, 189, 191-2, 245, 271,
        339, 348, 357-8

    -- Henry (junr.), 13

    -- Hester Lynch, _v._ Piozzi, Mrs.

    -- Hester Maria, 13, 15-17, 83, 110, 131, 135, 146, 155, 176, 179,
        231, 237;
      her action against Mrs. Piozzi, 187-9, 190-1, 193-5, 216-9;
      her marriage, 270, _v._ Keith, Hester

    -- Ralph, M.P., 10, 11

    -- Ralph (junr.), 13

    -- Sophia, 13, 135, 142, 196, 239, 241;
      her marriage, 270, _v._ Hoare, Mrs.

    -- Susannah Arabella, 13, 83, 86, 89, 91, 110, 135, 171-2, 186,
        196, 239, 241, 376

    "Thrales, The Miss," 110, 130, 132, 134, 137, 142, 144, 149, 153,
        194, 201, 206, 238, 253, 263, 265, 292, 304, 353, 360, 369

    _Thraliana_, 11

    _Three Warnings, The_, 155, 372

    _Three Warnings to John Bull_, 157

    Tiberius, Emperor, 223

    Tickell, Elizabeth Ann, 175-6

    -- Richard, 176

    -- William, 175, 177

    Tierney, Dr., 310

    _Times, The_, 210

    _Timon of Athens_, quoted, 333

    Tippoo Sahib, 184

    _Tirocinium, The_, 164

    Tiverton, 148

    Tobago, 264

    Tooke, Horne, 91, 102, 252, 274;
      account of, 92;
      trial of, 188-9

    Torbay, 118

    Torquay, 343-4

    Torrington, 88

    Tothill Fields Prison, 79

    _Tour in Switzerland, A_, 157

    _Tour in Wales, A_, 199

    Townshend, Thomas, _v._ Sydney, Viscount

    _Travels from Hamburg ... to Paris_, 267-8

    Treguier, 161

    Tremeirchion (Dymerchion) Church, 262, 271, 317, 344, 367, 377

    Trevannion, John, 26

    Trevenan, Miss, 329

    Trevor, Tudor, 122

    Trinidad, 232, 234

    Trotti, Lorenzini, Marquess, 55, 60, 74, 79, 91, 100, 116, 118;
      in love with Harriet Lee, 30-3, 36-7, 39, 40-6, 48-54, 75;
      marries, 130, 135

    Troy, 144

    _True Briton, The_, 153

    Tryon, Governor, 294

    -- Mrs., 72

    Tuam, 58, 347

    Tudor, Fychan, of Berain, 7

    -- Sir Owen, 7, 198

    "Tully's Offices," 341, 343

    Tunbridge, 137, 376

    "Tunskull, Lady Fantasma," 18

    Turin, 16

    Turnep Cart, the, 77, 329, 365

    Twiss, Frances, 157, 337

    -- Francis, 155, 157, 256, 337

    -- Horace, 314, 337, 361

    _Two Emilys, The_, 213

    Twysden, Frances, _v._ Jersey, Countess of

    Twysden, Bishop Philip, 124

    Tyre, 162


    Ulysses, 330

    United Irishmen, the, 96, 124, 154

    Unwin, Mrs., 266

    Upham, --, 279

    Ushant, 118

    Utrecht, Peace of, 352


    Valentini, Regina, _v._ Mingotti

    Vandercorn, Mr., 54

    "Vanessa," 220

    Van Mildurt, 8

    Vauxhall, 246

    Venice, 81, 141, 143, 153, 233, 236

    _Venice Preserved_, 27

    Verona, 136

    Vesey, Mrs., 2, 372

    Vesuvius, 169, 366

    _Vicar of Wakefield, The_, 76

    Victoria, Princess, 48, 171

    Vienna, 74, 76, 79

    Viganoni, --, 240

    _Village Politics_, 79-81, 251

    Vinci, --, 244

    Virgo, --, 125

    _Vision of Mirza, The_, 350

    Vitellius, Emperor, 359

    Voltaire, 154


    Waldegrave, James, Earl of, 245

    Waller, Edmund, 22

    Wallis, Miss, 26-7

    Walmer Castle, 256

    Waltzing, lines on, 283

    Wandsworth, 134

    Wanstead House, 322

    Ward, Miss, _v._ Radcliffe, Mrs.

    -- John (Prescott), 290, 298-9, 322

    Warsaw, 100

    Warton, Rev. Thomas, 26

    Watts, Dr. Isaac, 209, 248, 336

    Wellesley, Colonel Arthur, 184, _v._ Wellington

    Wellington, Arthur, Duke of, 331-2

    Westcote, Lord, _v._ Lyttelton, William Henry, 11

    Westminster Bridge, 21;
      election at, 245, 250

    Weston, Mrs., 4, 53-4, 58, 64, 71, 89, 111-2, 133, 140, 204, 249,
        251, 272

    Weston, Gilbert, 71, 89, 143

    Weston, Penelope Sophia, 4, 17, 19, 20, 27, 29, 30, 45, 47, 85-6,
        90, 146, 159;
      her admirers, 56-7;
      engagement to Pennington, 56-7, 70-1;
      marriage, 73, _v._ Pennington, Mrs.

    Weston Park, 203

    Weston super Mare, 287, 325;
      Mrs. Piozzi at, 272-7, 283, 285

    Weymouth, 47, 272, 324

    Whalley, Mrs., _née_ Jones, 43, 56-7, 71, 127-9, 133, 152,
        196, 236, 273, 281;
      _née_ Heathcote, 281;
      formerly Horneck, 279, 281, 285

    -- Rev. Thomas Sedgwick, 3, 17, 43, 56-7, 61, 68, 70-2, 81, 109,
        127-9, 131, 133, 144, 152, 155, 169, 171, 175-6, 186, 196, 214,
        218-19, 232, 235, 238, 258, 271, 273, 287, 376;
      second and third marriages, 281;
      matrimonial troubles, 279, 284-5

    Whitehall Chapel, 96

    White Horse Hill, 34

    Wickens, Mr. (Lichfield), 57

    -- Mr. (Bath), 286

    Wickwar, 197

    Wilberforce, William, 243

    Wilkes, John, 92, 245, 340, 352

    Wilkinson, Dr., 321

    Willes, John, 282

    William of Gloucester, Prince, 261-2

    William the Conqueror, 5

    William the Stadtholder, 114-16

    Williams, Lady, 337

    -- Miss, 274, 286, 311, 344

    -- Mrs., 115, 248

    -- Cecilia, 248

    -- Helen Maria, 4, 25-6, 51-2, 71, 73, 89, 93, 96, 98-9, 112, 117,
        123, 127, 238, 248, 273;
      account of, 43-4;
      goes to France, 42, 50;
      connection with Stone, 59, 61, 91, 115, 119, 137, 141, 156, 279,
        283, 285;
      her Apologia, 44, 260-1;
      literary work, 100, 104, 133, 156-7, 159, 259;
      on Mrs. Piozzi, 286, 374-5

    Williams, Mrs. Persis, 44

    Willoughby, Miss, 332, 340, 342, 349, 356, 358-9, 361, 364

    Wilmot, John, 146, 148

    Windsor, 190

    -- Mr., 316

    Woffington, Peg, 221

    Wolfe, General James, 288

    Wollstonecraft, Mary, 161

    _Woman keeps a Secret, A_, 75

    _Wonder, The_, 75

    Wood, Miss, 307

    Woodhall, 75

    Worcester, 33, 186

    _World, The_, 18, 96

    Wraxall, on Mrs. Piozzi, 2

    Wren, Miss, 313, 368

    Wrexham, 41

    Wroughton, Miss, 316

    Wurmser, General, 136, 138

    Wurtemburg, Duchess of, 144

    Wynn, Dr., 134

    -- Edward Watkin, 130-1

    -- Morris, 7

    Wynne, Mrs., 126, 130-1, 148, 201

    Wynne, Colonel Robert William, 135


    Yaniwitz, --, 86, 92

    Yearsley, Anna Maria, 26-7

    York, Archbishop, of, 347

    -- Frederica, Duchess of, 214, 216, 255

    -- Frederick, Duke of, 116, 183, 216

    Young, Mr., 308, 316

    -- Sir George, 103

    _Young Widow, The_, 25-6


    "Zara," 53

    _Zeluco_, 21, 25-6, 138

    Zenobio, Count, 54, 107




                               _NOTICE_


_Those who possess old letters, documents, correspondence, MSS.,
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to persons and matters historical, literary, political and social,
should communicate with Mr. John Lane, The Bodley Head, Vigo Street,
London, W., who will at all times be pleased to give his advice and
assistance, either as to their preservation or publication._




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                      SIR MARTIN CONWAY'S NOTE.

   Nearly half a century has passed since Mr. W. H. James Weale,
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    JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD, VIGO STREET, LONDON, W.




Transcriber's Note:

1. Original spelling has been retained where it seems appropriate.
Obvious typograhical errors have been corrected.

2. "Abbé (Henry Essex) Edgeworth de Firmont, who belonged to a junior
branch of the Edgeworthstown family, was confessor to the Princess
Elizabeth, and to Louis XVI on the scaffold, and after the restoration
became chaplain to Louis XVIII."

There seems to be a discrepancy in dates here, as the restoration
happened in 1814, but the Abbe died in 1807. The chaplain to Louis
XVIII was actually Charles de Bouvens.

3. Hyphenated words have been retained as in the original.

4. Superscripts are represented using the carat character, e.g.
D^r or ^{xx}.