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.