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_....