CHAPTER V

Adoption of John Salusbury Piozzi--The _Canterbury Tales_--Bath

Riots, 1800--Chancery suit with Miss Thrale--Bach-y-graig

restored--_Retrospection_ published, 1801--The Blagdon

controversy--Political epigram.

The Piozzis were at Bath on Christmas Day, when she invites Mrs.

Pennington to their lodgings for the New Year. The date of the next

letter indicates that their visit lasted about four months.

BRYNBELLA, _Sunday, Mar. 10, 1799_.

_First_ of friends in every sense of the word, dear and kind

Mrs. Pennington! what a charming letter have you written me! and

how consoling it was to receive such a compensation--although a

small one--for the converse I have so great reason to regret.

Our journey was excellent, and mended on us ev'ry Stage, till

the sun lighted up our lovely Vale of Clwydd, and never seen

before ascending the last hill, has smiled upon us ever since.

I shall not begin work till after Easter, we have enough to

employ us now in surveying our sweet place, and recounting the

_Braave alteraations_, as the Fool said to Mr. Whalley....

Are not you sorry for the poor tricked and betrayed, but ever

courageous Neapolitans; of which those were happiest who left

their dead bodies in the street, defending their lovely city to

the last? Vesuvius seems to have half a mind to save further

disgrace on that country, and will perhaps swallow it up,

_from_ the French, or _with_ the French; who knows?

Well! I got dear Dr. Randolph's blessing, and a kind squeeze

by the hand of his amiable Lady, before we left Bath: and then

I resolved to mind my own business, and let the Public think

of its own affairs. They mingle so with _mine_ however, that I

cannot separate them, as Siddons does. Her little girl seemed

bent upon shewing me, that day we dined at Miss Lee's, and made

our Partenza, how well you were versed in the knowledge of her

family character. She is sure enough no common child, no healthy

child, and no good-humoured child. If she remains at Belvedere

House, she will not long be a spoiled child; for those Ladies

_have the way_, and will make her a charming creature. _We

parents_ meantime seldom think our nestlings _can_ be improved.

It is therefore _very seldom_, (never I think,) that we feel

obliged to those who bring our Babies into what the world calls

_good order_. I should think it happiness for Cecilia to remain

where she is, and felicity for Miss Lees to return her safe home

again in April....

Mrs. Mostyn sent the old Nurse I told you of, over here in

a Post Chaise, to see Brynbella while we were away. "What a

place!" exclaimed she, "and what fools the builders to plan a

thing it is impossible they should live to finish. But they have

an heir now, come from Italy I find." This is the only domestic

news which could interest _you_; and I know Mr. Pennington is

kind enough to care about whatever concerns us and our little

boy....

As far back as October 1798 King Ferdinand of Naples had raised an

army to act under the Austrian General Mack, for the expulsion of

the French. Nelson's arrival in December encouraged him to make an

expedition against Rome which was, for the moment, successful; but in

a short time the French retook it, and marched on Naples, which they

occupied in January, after sixty-four hours street fighting with

the Lazzaroni, the regular troops being away. The King took refuge

on Nelson's ship and escaped to Palermo, General Mack and the army

had to surrender, and the territory became, for a short time, the

Parthenopean Republic.

The Rev. Francis Randolph, D.D., Prebendary of Bristol, and afterwards

Vicar of Banwell, was a preacher of some note, and for some time acted

as chaplain and tutor in English to the Duchess of Kent, at the little

Court of Amorbach, shortly before the birth of the Princess Victoria.

One result of the disturbances in Italy was the bringing over to

England and adoption of a son of Mr. Piozzi's brother Gianbatista,

merchant of Brescia, born in 1783, and christened John Salusbury. He

assumed the additional surname of Salusbury in 1813, and was knighted

while High Sheriff of Denbigh a few years later. On his marriage Mrs.

Piozzi gave him Brynbella and her Welsh estate, a proceeding which

probably completed the estrangement of her daughters, though they had

been well provided for by their father's will, and Miss Thrale had

declined the offer of it as a dowry for herself.

BRYNBELLA, _5 Apr. 1799_.

My dear Mrs. Pennington's letters are always delightful, and the

little gleam of sunshine given by the Archduke's victory strikes

across the middle of your last so prettily! So like the darling

brightness that illuminates our valley just now, with gloom and

gathering storm all round it....

You see [Mrs. Jackson's] conjectures about the Play were right

after all. Mrs. Radcliffe owns herself Author, as Susan Thrale

writes me word, and Jane de Montfort will come out immediately.

She says not a syllable of Mr. Whalley's performance. Lord bless

me, my dear! His unfortunate niece, cydevant Fanny Sage, sent

to me yesterday for £20; and said she was _detain'd_, (for debt

I trow,) at our poor, petty town of St. Asaph, two miles off. A

tall, ill-looking man on horseback brought the letter, but will

not, I hope, revenge my refusal of his Lady's request, when

Dumouriez shall have set all the wild Irish at full liberty. I

was half afraid, sure enough, yet little disposed to give what

would make 40 honest cottagers happy, to a gay lass whom I never

liked in her _best days_, and who never had any claims on my

_friendship_, which she now talks so loudly of.

Well! and your little favourite John Salusbury! Susanna Thrale

has been to Streatham on purpose, I fancy, to gratify hers and

her family's curiosity. So she saw a little boy with my _name_,

and my husband's _face_; and I know not which was the greatest

recommendation of the _two_--to her....

With regard to public affairs, our domestic traytors terrify

me most; but if French valour should, by this late victory,

get into discredit abroad, perhaps it would not be so much the

_Ton_ to imitate their proceedings here at home, and we should

remember Hannah More's prediction of the _Crane-neck-turn_. If

they _can_ be made to _run_ they will find no place that will

receive them I believe. All honest men, and women too, are their

natural enemies: and a Grison girl said to a gentleman I know

something of--"Why, dear Sir, what should we sit still for, like

figures made of Papier-machée, till our houses are burned down,

our parents mangled and our free will violated? Better go out

with the troops, and sell our lives at least at as high a price

as we can." The same gentleman wrote his sister word that the

high roads were covered with _female corpses_, which he gallop'd

over. These are, far as my reading goes, new notions, and new

occurrences....

The victory was no doubt that won against Jourdan and the French army

of the Rhine, by a vastly superior force under the Archduke Charles,

at Stockach. His despatch is dated 25th March, but the full account

did not reach England till April.

Miss Thrale's information about the new play was not quite accurate.

_De Montfort, a Tragedy of Hate_, was one of a series of Plays on

the Passions by Joanna Baillie, but it was published anonymously,

and several well-known writers, including Sir Walter Scott, were

suspected of its authorship. There is a note about it in Mrs.

Piozzi's Commonplace Book as follows: "I remember a knot of Literary

Characters met at Miss Lees' House in Bath, deciding--contrary to my

own judgement--that a _learned man_ must have been the author; and

I, chiefly to put the Company in a good humour, maintained it was a

woman. Merely, said I, because both the heroines are Dames Passées,

and a man has no notion of mentioning a female after she is five and

twenty. What a goose Joanna must have been to reveal her sex and

name! Spite and malice have pursued her ever since.... She is a Zebra

devoured by African Ants--the Termites Bellicosus."

_Wensday 29 May 1799._

_Not one Oak in Leaf._

On the very evening of the day I receive your last kind letter,

dear Friend, I write to acknowledge both. The _home_ post will

tell you nothing you like tho', except that our accounts of

little Salusbury are all good: but _poor Uncle_ is always having

a bad foot, and as you say, if it were not for the comfortable

news from Italy, he would be low enough.

This blowing, blighting weather ruins us all; my poor cottagers

are sick, with Agues chiefly, and Dropsies; with broken hearts

too, poor things, when their horses drop under even empty carts,

for full ones they cannot drag. Our Hay here has been at _one

Penny_ o'pound, our Beef at _ten Pence_. This approaches very

near to famine, but may justly be termed scarcity; and the same

dreadful wind which retards the growth of all vegetation, and

restrains the hand of industry in _our own Island_, has driven

our protecting fleet from Cadiz harbour, and let the French and

Spaniards form a junction.

Meanwhile charming Hannah More was right in her conversation,

as in her book; there has been a Crane-neck-turn, as she

expressed it, and things are certainly mending on the Continent.

If Ireland should come to her senses, and _unite_ with us in

abhorrence of French principles and French seducers, who could

promise them assistance and never carry it, but go on another

scheme, while the rebels _there_ were waiting the Fleet's

arrival--it might be lucky that Lord Bridport _did_ let them

escape. Poor fellow! how you do hate that man! Very comically,

and very unreasonably indeed; for when we saw him he was, as the

phrase is, out of his element, and looked to be sure something

like a _fish out of water_. But I never heard anything amiss

of him in my life, and believe he will not be found, at the

critical moment, to carry "Two Faces under _a Hood_."

Have you seen Dr. and Mrs. Randolph lately? What do they say

about these _Riflers of Sweets_ that we hear so much of? Bath

has been a scene of _odd robberies_ by gay Lotharios, "who

scorn to ask the lordly owners' leave." It makes me only laugh,

but I trust Hannah More would say, like Benvolio, "No, Coz, I

rather _weep_."[13] Glorious creature! How she writes! Finding

new reasons to enforce old Virtues, and adorning her sacred

sentiments with brilliancy that throws _rays_ round all her

periods. It would be doing her too much wrong to suppose _her_

capable of regarding the nonsense talked against her by Misses

mad to see their Mammas reading the new book with approbation,

and looking at _them_ over their spectacles at every interesting

passage. She must be invulnerable to wounds from such weak

hands, sure. The old heroes in Homer,

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

By Pallas guarded thro' the dreadful field,

Saw swords beside them innocently play,

While darts were bid to turn their points away.

All they can say and do only contributes to shew how greatly

such a book was wanted. Mr. Whalley's thinking he has

contributed to Siddons's fame is pretty enough; she thinks _her_

contribution useful to him, no doubt. The writer of Pizarro is

censured for giving _her_ part to Mrs. Jordan....

The intelligence concerning Mrs. Radcliffe's having written

that play on hatred seems to have been premature. Oh, how your

account of Mrs. Jackson's domestic situation presses Hannah

More's book upon one's heart! The Italians have a proverb to

say that there are only three things worth caring about, La

Salute, l'Anima, and la Borsa; one's Soul, one's Health, and

one's Purse. _We risque all three_ to make our fair daughters

_accomplish'd_. Doctor Johnson said that whoever found their

mothers admired and reverenced by that circle which forms a

little _silk-worm world_ round every individual, would add

their admiration and reverence, merely because they saw other

people pay them theirs. "I cared," says he, "nothing for _my_

parents, because nobody cared for them." Mrs. Jackson's children

cannot make that _their_ excuse. She has been a woman--since I

have known her--particularly _petted_ by her friends, and those

friends have been people eminent for good taste and good sense.

Are the Canterbury Tales come out yet? Nobody has sent them

_me_, and I will not write again to Harriet Lee till I have read

them. Sophia is in town with her little protégée, who, if she

cannot conjure down

The pale moon from the sapphire sky,

May draw Endymion from the moon,

perhaps; and I really wish her good luck. Tickell's _Ætherial

Spirit_ is a new med'cine much in fashion, it is so finely

_dephlegmated_, the Apothecaries say. I think there is as much

pure spirit, and as little _phlegm_ about the tiny Bath Belle as

can be imagined. Some rich man may _take_ her, I hope.

Have you felt an interest in these African discoveries? They

are things of prodigious _curiosity_, rate them at the lowest.

I think very seriously about them for my own part, but none of

my correspondents seem caring much concerning that subject,

unless 'tis Miss Thrale, from whom I get about 4 or 5 letters

in a year,--and she has been ill this Spring. So has everybody.

I watch the weathercock all day, but the cold blight continues.

The leaves which _try_ to come out look like fry'd Parsley round

a dish of Soles....

In April 1797, when it was expected that the Spanish and French fleets

would effect a junction, Lord St. Vincent was ordered to blockade the

former at Cadiz. He held his post under many difficulties, caused

by the mutinous spirit which had spread from the Nore and Spithead,

through 1798, but broke down under the strain, and in June 1799

resigned his command to Baron, afterwards Viscount Keith, and husband

of Hester Thrale. Meanwhile the French fleet was blockaded in Brest by

Lord Bridport, now Commander-in-Chief of the Channel Squadron, but in

April the French slipped out and sailed for the Mediterranean, while

Bridport went to look for them off the coast of Ireland.

Mr. Whalley's play was a five-act tragedy called _The Castle of

Montval_, performed "with universal applause" at Drury Lane. The

_British Critic_ reviewer, though he had not seen the performance,

thought it interesting enough to deserve a permanent place on the

stage. But the measure of success it obtained was due to the acting

of Mrs. Siddons as the Countess, which the author acknowledged by

dedicating the second edition to her.

Elizabeth Anne Tickell, the pupil whom Sophia Lee evidently

expected to make a sensation in London society, was the daughter of

Richard Tickell the dramatist and Mary Linley, the sister of Mrs.

Sheridan, who had died in 1787. With regard to her beauty there

was little difference of opinion, but Sally Siddons, who knew her

well, describes her as an "every-day character," without talent or

originality, and "never heard anything so tiresome" as her singing.

She was never "taken," but died unmarried in 1860.

The "Ethereal Anodyne Spirit" was a quack medicine invented by William

Tickell, a surgeon, who also lived at Bath, and may have been a

relation of Richard.

BRYNBELLA, _Wensday 17 Jul. 1799_.

Your letter, dearest Mrs. Pennington, is like yourself, full of

true friendship, honest loyalty and sound criticism. Freedom

from _prejudices_, as principals are called now o' days, we

must not come to you for.... I do believe you were right in

that _unjustifiable_ conjecture of yours concerning the death

of those Deputies at Rastadt.... But _Retrospect_ of past ages

can shew no perfidy beyond _that_, if so it should prove upon

investigation. The Archduke now seems to act with his hands

untied, and co-operates with Suwarrow in everything, yet I

suspect something behind the curtain still. The Emperor is

willing enough to see Italy freed, but does not want Louis

Dixhuit on his throne again, I suppose; whereas the Russians

and English are trying to accomplish y^t purpose with all

their might, and no lasting peace can be obtained but by his

restoration. We shall see how 'twill end.

You are droll indeed in your account of the New Canterbury

Tales, I have not read them yet.... When Romances first were

written they went by the name of Incredibilities; but people

soon found out that Fiction looks best the more she endeavour to

resemble Truth. It grows however a mighty tedious thing, after a

certain age, to keep filling one's head with flitting dreams so,

turning one's mind into a Magic Lanthorn for Shadows and Ombres

Chinoises to pass over. If incredibilities are desirable, _we_

can hear enough of Mr. and Mrs. Mostyn. As that Lady told you at

some place that Mrs. _Moyston_, as she called her, made all the

talk,--_and so she does, God knows_.

Well, any nonsense but _dishonourable_ nonsense, _disgraceful_

folly such as Honoria Gubbins has exhibited. You know I always

said she looked like a Bacchante Girl, but she admired nothing

except _Siddons_ I remember. In good time. Dear, charming

Siddons! How triumphantly must she have looked in the first and

last scene of Pizarro! And what a happy contrast Sheridan has

made between her artificial character, and Cora's natural one!

Yet I cannot seriously approve of a _Heroic_ Tragedy in _prose_.

_Domestic_ Tragedy, George Barnwell, or the Gamester, or the

Stranger, would lose the interest they now gain in our hearts,

if they spoke any but colloquial and domestic language. Poetry

is made on purpose to adorn the lofty sentiments of Rolla, and

Cora's song is the sweetest thing in the whole play,--only

because 'tis _verse_.

Poor Cora! She is not of _your_ mind, that love is of no

consequence compared with a hundred other things; and that she

should have completely no _other_ idea present to _her_ mind,

makes her so natural, so interesting, and so adorable. What is

stranger than love itself, and love is strange enough too,--is

that one should never have done admiring that _selfish_ passion

when represented in works of fancy. I remember an old Alderman

of London, who, when there was loud talk of invasion 20 years

ago or more, said among a dozen people once at my house:

"Well! I care not, for my part, if the _Island_ was _devoured_

to-morrow, so as my wife and child were safe, and I had enough

to keep them with." This _patriotic_ sentiment met with no

approbation at all from an old Alderman in real life; yet this

is the sentiment that Cora expresses all through five acts, and

not only her auditors in the Pit and Boxes, but Rolla himself

likes her the better for it. So you see Fiction may resemble

Truth in some things, while if Truth resembles Fiction we hiss

her out of doors.

Poor dear old Mr. Jones is very bad, and like to die, or has

been like to die, and I am very sorry indeed; for though there's

but little poetry or criticism about old Mr. Jones, he is a good

friend and a valuable member of society, and wishes well to my

Master and to me....

Mrs. Siddons goes to Edinburgh, I hear, but by what you say of

Sally, I trust she cannot be of the party. Miss Thrale is in

Scotland, and will have the pleasure of seeing her, as I saw her

at Bath. No letter have I ever received from Marlbro' Street but

one, and _that_ was from the Master of the Mansion....

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

Austria, having signed the Treaty of Campo Formio, and received

unexpectedly favourable terms from Napoleon, agreed to hold a

conference at Rastadt, and (by secret articles) to induce the German

States to cede the left bank of the Rhine to France. While the

conference was proceeding the Directory had occupied Switzerland,

though Massena, Jourdan, and Scherer had all suffered defeats. The

French envoys were ordered to leave the town, and were murdered on the

road by Austrian hussars. The Emperor expressed deep abhorrence of a

crime which aroused general indignation, and helped the Directory to

fill up their depleted armies.

Alexander Vasilievitch Suvoroff or Suwarrow, a Russian general, had

been sent to help the Austrians. He took command of the army in Italy,

where he beat Moreau, Macdonald, and Joubert, but owing to jealousy he

was transferred to Switzerland, and believing himself betrayed by the

Austrians, he retired to Russia, and died in disgrace.

BRYNBELLA, _21 Aug. 1799_.

MY DEAR FRIEND,--Your letter is like yourself, wise and

kind, and I am willing to join in your wish for early meeting

this year, but not for an early winter. Oh! little do you _Towns

folk_ know how prejudicial is this weather to Country Farmers,

Labourers, etc. The Shoemaker and his apprentice at Bristol make

so many more boots and clogs, and some Bath Chairmen get a few

shillings extra: but _my_ honest neighbours have but just barely

_bread_, in the _strictest_ sense; mere bread, and that made

of Barley too, for their families, during such winters as this

cruel summer will infallibly produce. Mr. Piozzi and I shall

scarce be suffered to get thro' the Village, they will so cling

and cry round us, and beg we will stay another month, another

week, etc.

When the Gardener came yesterday, scratching his head, and

saying there would be no wall-fruit this year, I could hardly

answer him civilly; but I _did_ say, "For God's sake, think

about the hay and corn, and hang the fine people and their

wall-fruit." The produce of whole meadows may be seen swimming

down our over-flooded River to the sea this moment, and carrying

with it the subsistence of hundreds of innocents.

May this fine Expedition make amends for all! It _will_, if

peace and abatement of necessary exertion be its consequences.

English pride will be bravely swelled, that's certain, if we

can thus give law and order and happiness to Europe. Are such

blessings within hope? People _say_ they are almost within

_grasp_. Meanwhile let us try to live that we may see these good

days. Mrs. Bagot, the Bishop's wife's death has affected my

spirits strangely. I got a pain in my stomach on the _instant_

Allen told me the news, and it has never wholly left me since.

She din'd here in high spirits on our Wedding day, three weeks

ago, and expired on Saturday morning. The Ton men and Ton women

bear these things without concern, and prove that fashion can

do more than philosophy towards hardening one's heart, but my

nervous fingers shake while I write about it....

To divert thought I took up the Canterbury Tales which Mr.

Gillon had just brought me. Harriet's management of the

_pretty Mamma_ making the man miserable so unconsciously is

very good, and in _this age_, scarcely violates probability.

The other story is too romantic, and the ghost part too

in-artificial, one sees it could be only Carey. For love, it

abounds but little with _that_, I think. Julia keeps her passion

very quiet; one is most interested about Agnes and Carey.

Real life meanwhile affords stranger occurrences than any novel

can show. Mr. Conant, the London Magistrate, told Mr. Gillon,

who told us, the following tale not a fortnight ago. Some little

London shopkeepers sent out their girl of eleven years old, with

a baby 8 _months_ old in her arms, upon some errand, I forget

what, but no further off than the short street's end. A young

woman, genteely dress'd, stop't the girl, and beg'd her to cross

over and ask the price of a gay coloured handkerchief hanging

at a window, promising that she would hold the infant till his

sister returned. When she came back however, both little boy and

young woman were vanish'd; and the girl ran back, half wild,

to her parents, and told the story. They flew from the Counter

in search of the thief, and desperate with rage and terror,

exhibited to the neighbours a certainty that the shop might be

easily plundered while their distress employed every thought.

Accordingly the _man_ returning home at night, found his poor

dwelling robbed of many valuable articles, while the girl, to

whom all this confusion was owing, had hid herself under the bed

for fear of a beating, and the father was persuaded _she_ too

was lost. The mother, parting from her husband, who had wandered

over six parishes, swore she would never see home again without

her baby, and remained out the whole day and the whole night in

search. Morning found her, much exhausted, at a chandler's shop

door in Edgeware Road, and when it opened she went in to buy a

bit of cheese. A little wench went in with her, and the mistress

of the house, seeing her anguish, kindly asked the cause. "I've

lost my child," said she, "my dear little boy." "My mammy has

found one," says the wench, "and don't know what to do with it."

They ran together to a Green-stall, and found Baby safe in that

woman's possession, who said a young _gentlewoman_ had pretended

to buy Sellery of her, and while she went backwards to look for

some, threw down the infant, and was seen no more. Mr. Conant

was applied to, and found a cause for all. The well-dress'd lady

was a Chambermaid, who had a child for whose maintenance she was

paid, altho' it died during the first week; and the father had

resolved, that hapless day, to see his son. Molly had nothing

for it but to borrow one, and when the purpose was served,

to rid her hands on't, and no Novel can bring to a reader's

fancy more perfect distress than these poor parents suffered.

Their girl, however, who lay concealed till mother and brother

returned, told her tale so well that a subscription was raised,

and all went better than before in the little shop in Silver

Street, Carnaby Market.

So instead of our best com^s to Dr. and Mrs. Randolph, instead

of affec^te regards to Mr. Pennington, or Bon Mots of our

little John Salusbury, here's a page from y^e Romance of Real

Life, unadorned by your true friend H. L. Piozzi, and for this

you will pay 8_d._

[Illustration: MRS. PIOZZI (ABOUT 1800)

_By M. Bovi after P. Violet, 1800. From the Collection of A. M.

Broadley, Esq._]

BRYNBELLA, _17 Oct. 1799_.

Do you know, dear Mrs. Pennington, that Mrs. Randolph and I are

in correspondence? We are indeed, and 'tis all about Bath, and

Laura Place, and No. 1, and Christmas Holidays, and our dear

Friend from Dowry Square: and not a word of the dismal, the more

than dismal gloom, which these last accounts from abroad have

thickened round us once again on approach of foggy November....

_We_ are at this instant trembling from apprehension that the

French will fall upon Milan, and make an example of those that

called in their enemies. I'm glad my little boy is far away

from them all. I think you will find him improved, unless he

falls off this half-year, and begins to change his nice little

teeth, etc.... All the Jacobins will _be up_ now, and happy I

suppose; but let them remember we have taken Surinam in one

Continent, and Seringapatam in another. The money is ours, and

the Commodities (which their friends the French _must_ buy,) are

all ours; and the very warehouses in every port are too little

to hold our riches. Few of them are thinkers deep enough to know

that wealth, at such a moment as this, is a mere invitation to

plunder; and I wish not to remind _them_ of so fatal a truth,

tho' I scruple not to tell it to _you_. While it can purchase

Russians to find _them_ in employment, the money is useful

however, and well bestow'd: and I would rather hire foreign

troops with it than send out our own, who will be necessary when

the war _draws nearer_. And I feel sorry the Ministers did not

make more bustle in London about the capture of Surinam, for it

is undoubtedly fair to rejoyce when _we_ reap solid advantages

from a war whence no other Country, not even that of the

Victors, gains any advantages _at all_. Said I well and wisely?

Mrs. Siddons's situation does not please me, for _her_ sake;

for my own 'tis well enough, for we are the more likely to meet

at Bath. Being at Doncaster so late in the year is a dull thing

indeed. I wish she had some method of getting paid at Drury

Lane, because _seceders_, if they are not called back to their

seats, only look silly: and when Mr. Garrick left London for

his health one year, when in the fulness of public favour, I

remember he was disgusted at his return, to find the receipts of

the theatre had suffered nothing at all, during an absence he

thought would have broken all our hearts....

The bad news from abroad doubtless related to the Dutch expedition,

in which the English troops had suffered a good deal. On 10th October

the Duke of York reported the conclusion of an armistice with the

French, on the conditions of withdrawing the English and Russian

troops, surrendering the fortress of Helder, and restoring the French

prisoners.

Seringapatam had been taken in the spring by General Harris, under

whom Colonel Arthur Wellesley was serving, and Tippoo Sahib was slain.

The despatch giving the details, dated 7th May, appeared in the

_Gazette_ of 14th September.

Sheridan's habitual unpunctuality in the matter of payments had at

last driven Mrs. Siddons to revolt. She writes on 18th September:

"I have just received a letter, in the usual easy style, from Mr.

Sheridan, who, I fancy, thinks he has only to issue his Sublime

Commands, and that they will of course be obeyed. _This_ time I

believe, however, he will find himself mistaken, for Sid [her

husband,] does _at last_ seem resolutely determined not to let me play

till he has sufficient satisfaction, at least for the money which is

my due; and unless something is immediately done to that end, I shall

go to Doncaster to play at the Races--they begin the 24th of this

month." This decisive step soon brought Sheridan to reason; there was

only one Siddons, and before long she was back again, practically on

her own terms.

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

I shall expect and prepare for my dear Mrs. Pennington, to begin

what her company will make it, a happy commencement of 1800....

I shall feel glad _this_ year to see December close upon me,

which for some time has carried with it a sensation more awful

than pleasing. When the sand was high in the hour-glass, I well

remember longing for a New Year as if it had been a new gown;

and there was a _gloss_ on every 1st January _then_, that seem'd

as if all misfortune would _slip over_ and not stain it....

We leave our little boy with Davies because he himself (Mr.

Davies,) said that staying at Streatham in holyday time, when he

could attend and tutor him with personal and _undivided_ care,

would bring him forward, and I call that _true regard_: but

everybody must be allowed to love their own babies their own

way....

With regard to the people in power, I firmly believe they do

their best, neither interest nor ambition can be gratified by

failure; and tho' a dapper Postilion may injure those in the

chaise by driving to an _inch_, for a wager or for a frolic,

I'll trust a Coachman, because he runs equal risque with

myself....

I wish this embargo on Levantine goods was over tho', for people

bring none from Turkey now: true Mocha coffee sells for 12_s._

the pound, it was at 3_s._ three years ago....

The expected meeting was for a time deferred on account of Mrs.

Pennington's ill-health. Save for one or two notes of no particular

interest, the correspondence ceases till the Piozzis return to Wales.

BRYNBELLA, _Sunday 9 Mar. 1800_.

I hasten to fulfil my promise to dear Mrs. Pennington. We came

home but last night, and I write to say that we are come home

well, and find our Household well too, and truly glad of our

safe and early return.

The time past at Shrewsbury was full of amusement; Miss Owen

feasted and fondled us, and called all the people round to feast

us and fondle us, and detain us till Thursday, which had been

long bespoke, and Fryday beside, by the charming Cottagers in

Llangollen Vale. _They_ asked me much after that Mrs. Pennington

who writes such beautiful letters, and insisted on my describing

your person to them, and said they knew Miss Seward esteemed

you highly, though all intimacy between you was at an end. The

unaccountable knowledge those Recluses have of all living books

and people and things is like magic; one can mention no one of

whom the private history is unknown to them....

Let me therefore talk of Mr. Pennington, and ask how he does.

You may be certain how I do, and what I do. Looking out my

books, setting my places to rights, ladling out the soup to

30 families round, feeding the dogs with what _they leave_,

mixed up with Potatoe peelings and so forth, is mine and my

Master's and Abbiss's employment; whilst Allen blows her nose

in consequence of cold catch'd in a damp bed at Worcester--and

thanks God the evil ends there.

The little three-legged cur jumps into my lap, licks my face,

and runs to his Master to tell the good news, how the family

is come home to the Hall, and everybody and everything looks

pleased to see us.... I have had a civil letter from Susan

Thrale, who bids me direct to Cumberland Street, and makes

commonplace lamentations concerning the _times_, but _nothing

further_, nothing I mean tending towards confidence or

communication.

We broke our chaise between Llangollen and Ruthyn,--no wonder!

Such roads! 'Tis really frightful: but neither Mr. Piozzi nor I

were hurt.

Here are no Members of Parliament, no Franks of course, so I

shall write very seldom; for the joke is a good one two or three

times o' year, but no oftener, when 14_d._ is to pay for 44

lines about nothing: and friendship is a fine thing, but so is

fourteen Pence....

There is a Lady at Shrewsbury, born the last day of 1699, and

she is very well, and plays upon the Piano e forte, as you

describe Mr. Whalley's mother to do; but poor Mrs. Montague's

sun is setting apace I hear. She has left her fine house, and

retired into a smaller, giving up the grandeur to her Nephew,

and Lady Oakley said, the estate too, but I hope she has had

_more wit than that_. Lady Oakley is very agreeable.... I saw

her in a robe embroider'd (as she said,) with the wings of an

Indian Fly; there is no describing its beauty or lustre....

Mrs. Montagu does not appear to have left Montagu House permanently,

for she died there the following August. Lady Oakley was the wife of

Charles Oakley, Governor of Madras, who was created a Baronet in 1790.

Needless to say Mrs. Piozzi's economical fit in the matter of letters

did not last long, the correspondence continues much as usual; but

as a matter of fact the letters from Wales to Bristol only cost the

recipient 8_d._, not 1_s._ 2_d._

There is no date or postmark to the next letter, but Mrs. Pennington

assigns it to April 1800.

What in the world, dear Mrs Pennington, has been doing at Bath?

I wrote to Dr. Randolph about a book of his which I wanted, and

his letter in return has affected me very deeply. Yours gave a

hint of something like a riot, but nobody seems sensible that we

live out of the world here, and know nothing of what passes in

it. The newspaper we take, though it swelled and raved so about

Mr. King's fire, said nothing of _this_, or so little we quite

disregarded it: and yet Dr. Randolph says that _our_ quarter

of the Town was saved by miracle from being even now a heap of

cinders.

Thank God we were come home. The slight shock of earthquake

that usher'd in our Fast Day _here_, and frighted many of our

neighbours, not _us_, is a light matter compared with mobs and

insurrections. Let us, as King David said of old, fall into

the hands of God, and not into the hands of men. The noise

accompanying even this trifle of a concussion was such as to

alarm Mrs. Griffiths exceedingly. She said it was like a hundred

carts of lime stone overturned close by her bed. Mr. Piozzi and

I never waked to hear or feel it.

Miss Thrale had not then (as now,) kept our eyes wholly

sleepless by a new and violent attack on our feelings and

property: sending, without notice or introduction, to our

Oxfordshire Tenant, a requisition to pay _her_ the rent I have

hitherto received for 19 years since my first husband's death,

in consequence of the Marriage Settlement signed by him in 1763,

confirmed again by Will in 1781, and claim'd now, A.D.

1800, with threats (to our afflicted friend Mr. Gillon,) of

making me refund all I have _unjustly taken from my daughters_.

It will be soon refunded. No ass, as Moses says, of theirs did

I ever take, nor no present at their hands for bribe. How cruel

'tis to sit down and accuse me so! Miss Thrale says Streatham

was given me to _make up_ £400 o' year, but that Crowmarsh is

not liable. Now it will turn out upon examination that Crowmarsh

is _first_ liable, and that if my due from that estate is not

paid me, I have a right to make _forcible_ entry, and _take_

it, _without impeachment of waste_. This, being provided in the

Marriage Settlement, I understand _must_ be secure, so do not

you nor dear Mr. Pennington be uneasy; we shall _lose_ nothing

but appetite and sleep. And I was _so_ well after the Bath

waters! and proposed being _so_ diligent at the Book: and now

nothing but law, and letters, and Chancery suits, and false

accusations and every evil plague.

No news from abroad yet that we can depend upon. Will it be good

when it arrives? The times, as Dr. Randolph says, are signally

aweful, and I verily think that Daemons are roaming about among

us, with enlarged permission both to tempt and terrify. God

preserve us! even from our own bad passions, He only can. _Mine_

are sometimes ready to run away with me now, for Welsh blood

heats over a fire of sharp thorns thus, till it boyls again. Oh

dear! how dreadful are these days! A Lady in this neighbourhood

made a grand entertainment on the Fast appointed by Government,

by way of spiting that Government. They must leave off

appointing such solemnities: the time is over when they did any

good....

I wish Miss Case would tell me what they have suffer'd at Bath,

and what they have escaped, for I cannot now make it clearly

out. If harm comes to Hannah More we are all undone, _her_

health is a public concern....

This earthquake was not so slight a thing as I thought it; some

houses at Conway and Caernarvon were much injured, and it spread

a general alarm from the _unfrequency_ of the thing. Yet to

people who have lived much in Italy, an earthquake that did not

_wake_ one seems laughable enough....

Much may, and probably much _will_ happen this summer, to give

us a little further insight into what's coming in earnest. The

best is our seasonable and salutary change of weather; had we

corn _to sow_, the ground will be in fine order for putting

it in. I am glad Buonaparte sends us no corn, I was afraid of

contagion in the sacks; and the thought of an expedition to

Egypt and Syria frights me, lest some pestilential disease

should be brought home from places so constantly infected....

BRYNBELLA, _1st May 1800_.

My dear Mrs. Pennington is _too_ apt to be right. You do not, I

perceive, think us safe from this new attack upon our property,

and we are _not_ safe....

_Thus it stands._ If we litigate, such is the dubious position

of Mr. Thrale's words in my old Marriage Settlement, that years

will roll away, and Empires be overthrown, before the affair can

be decided, and in the meantime Crowmarsh rents will be retained

till the decision. A circumstance very unpleasing to _us_ for

every reason; the strongest of all, because to Miss Thrale

the estate _must_ go at my death, so that unless my life is

prolonged beyond the usual limits of humanity, Mr. Piozzi _can_

hope for nothing from a law dispute, except Attorney's Bills

to pay with a diminished income. Of all _this_ our fair enemy

cannot be ignorant, and does not profess to desire anything

but profit from the contest; so we may be _sure_ she will make

great terms for herself. The parley of eloquence on Mr. Gillon's

side, supported by Butler's Opinion concerning our Case, is held

to-day I think. The best thing is that Mr. Thrale confirmed his

Marriage Settlement by his Will, adding the bequests in that

Will to what formerly was provided in the other Instrument; but

nothing has been _worded_ so as to preclude discussion among

eager disputants, diligent to catch and cavil, and endowed with

Marianne's powers and delight in wrangling. We are in a Wasps'

nest, and must make haste out, and be stung as little as we can.

Resistance is vain, and will be impolitic, in my mind....

That people are quiet, and the fires accidental, I would

willingly perswade myself, but cannot. That your friend Paul,

Emperor of all the Russias, is a true friend and firm ally, may

now reasonably enough be doubted. He wants an excuse for falling

upon Turkey, and takes that of quarrelling with Great Britain.

It is exceedingly offensive to be forced into submission to his

caprices; but I suppose George the III at close of life will not

find new enemies a good thing any more than poor H. L. P. does,

or will be able, any better than H. L. P., to find _supplies_

for a new contest which, like her's, _can_ terminate in no

advantage, and will be attended with _certain_ loss abroad,

increase of poverty, and of course ill-humour, at home. You may

see how spiteful the people are, even by their opposition to his

private conveniency in making a new road to Windsor from London.

No want of spite in this world, I'll warrant, either to princes

or to people; my Book will have proved that new and wise remark

by this time next year. If we go to London with it, I shall

vote for an apartment in the Adelphi Hotel; such a place will

do well enough for November, and our income _must_ be reduced,

and I will not suffer _my_ business or pleasures to retard my

husband's long projected happiness of not having a debt in the

world. The very journey is expense enough. We shall be near Mr.

Gillon there, and I shall not have an acquaintance in London

but Mrs. Siddons and Mrs. Holman, perhaps not the first even

of those, as the seasons seem to change so; everybody makes it

Summer till after Christmas, and Winter to July.

There is great talk of a new book written by Hannah More, The

Progress of Pilgrim Good-intent through the Land of Jacobinism;

have you read it? and is it charming?...

The Rheumatism has caught my shoulder before Gout seized my

Master's toe this year. I was to have gone in the Cold Bath this

morning, but the pain prevents me....

After the battle of the Nile, England, Russia, and Turkey had entered

into an alliance against France. But the Emperor Paul, annoyed at

his treatment by Austria, and accusing the allies of treachery, came

to terms with Bonaparte, with whom he concerted a plan for a joint

invasion of India.

_Sat. 16 May_, BRYNBELLA.

My last letter was a wretch: how could you, dearest Friend,

commend it so? If I remember anything about it, it was low,

cold, and flat. The usage I had received sunk my nerves down,

they were not irritated. Use of the cold bath, meant to

strengthen them, threw me all out in _nettle-stings_. And _now_,

for crowning of all, my poor Master's torment, villainous Gout,

has, as you once observed of Mr. Pennington's, watched the

due time, and thrown in _his_ assistance to the fair Ladies'

cause. Their cause is cold though, and notwithstanding our

defenders cannot bring matters to a decision yet, they give

us hopes that little will be lost, except the arrears, worth,

Mr. Gillon says, £1000. He has behaved divinely to be sure,

and deserves all your generous praises of him. Nobody applauds

Miss Thrale's proceedings I think. Mrs. Holman and you inveigh

_loudest_ against her, and it _was_ a cruel thing to fly so

upon that estate, which her Father would never have left _her

at all_, had I not so requested him, because I thought it was

unfair that, from accumulation of fortune after they lost _him_,

the youngest daughter would be richer than the eldest: but I

meant her to have Crowmarsh after my death, and so he meant it

too. Well! one has always heard some nonsense how two negatives

make an affirmative, so I suppose in _Law_, when a man gives a

thing twice over, it turns out _no gift at all_. Mr. Thrale

tried _three_ times to secure his Oxfordshire property for me,

and if I miss it at last, no blame can attach to _him_. The

flaw was in the _Settlement_ you see, and the Will confirms

the _Settlement_, so God knows how 'twill end at last. The

Mr. Butler employed on our side has a high character in his

profession as _Chamber Council_, etc. Being a Roman Catholic he

cannot reach the honours of his calling, but rests contented

with the profits....

Here's much to do with _Hate_ and more with _Love_,[14] as

Juliet says in Shakespear. Apropos to Hatred, I am delighted

that we know the author of De Montfort: she must be a fine

creature, and will excite no small share of the hatred she

describes. I _felt_ it was a woman's writing, no man makes

female characters _respectable_--no man of the present day I

mean, they only make them _lovely_. We must except _Dr. Moore_:

his Mrs. Barnett and his Laura Sedlitz are all that women ought

to _wish_ to be.

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

Juliet_, I. i. 181.

Don't you admire at my sitting here to criticize Plays and

Novels, like Miss Seward, while my Husband is lame, my fortune

is crippled, and my favourite dog has but _three legs_?

Farewell, dear Friend, ... 'tis five o'clock in the morning, I

was up at _four_, shall call the men and maids at six, send away

this scrawl at seven, jump into the bath at 8, breakfast at 9,

work at the book till 1, walk till 3, have dined by 4, fret over

Gillon's dispatches and Piozzi's misery all the rest of the day:

a pretty biographical sketch of your literally poor H. L. P.

Charles Butler, Mrs. Piozzi's counsel, was a brother of the Rev. Alban

Butler, the hagiologist. As Roman Catholics were not permitted to

be called to the Bar when he began his professional career, he took

up conveyancing business, and helped to edit _Coke upon Littleton_.

Taking advantage of the Enabling Act, he became a Barrister in 1791,

and took silk in 1832.

_4 Jun. 1800._

... The Book goes on, _lamely_ perhaps, now my better half has

the _Gout_, but it does go. My Master mends too, and everything

mends. Miss Thrale _withdraws_ (somewhat disgracefully,) the

claim she could not _substantiate_: a tedious suit against this

never-dying Mother would have eaten up all the profits of her

hoped-for estate, and nobody would have benefited _but_ the

Lawyers. _Her_ friends were therefore persuaded by _our_ friends

to _give in_, as the Boxers say, and so the battle ends; and on

the last of May she writes to the Oxfordshire Tenant to pay £400

to us as usual,--that very £400 which, on the first of March,

she wrote the same man word--_was incontestably her own_....

Miss Bayley, a Lady who lives with Mrs. John Hunter, and is

related to her, has at length modestly owned herself Author of a

Drama that every one would have been most happy to have written:

but Mr. Chappelow (no bad mirror of the fashionable world,) says

people think it too _solemn,--they are not amused_. _I_ say they

are like old Polonius: see Hamlet's character of _him_ as a

Critic.[15]

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

II. ii.

Kemble is in high favour with the Beau Monde, I am told, and

his Sister declines; but she will pick up some more guineas,

and then no matter. I reckon her as having only _one_ daughter

to portion out; Sally will never marry, I suppose, if _half_

of what I have _heard_ of her ill health be true. Mr. Siddons

will be a long-lived man, as sick as he is always said to be;

nothing runs on like a life subject to one chronic and regular

complaint, Gout, or Rheumatism. Siddons will repeat over to two

or three generations the lamenting strains I heard him recite in

1788, and his Daughter will think herself young when everybody

else sees her grown old, because she has a father to nurse.

There was a Mrs. Shelley in Sussex, her sneering neighbours

called her Epistle and Gospel, who had two maiden daughters. One

broke her leg, and died at about 40 years old, but the other

departed not till 5 years ago. The Doctors informed her _Mama_

there was no hope, and she piously resigned to the loss. "But

tell me at least," cried she, "what ails my poor child, and

of what _can_ she possibly be dying?" "Of age, dear Madam,"

answered her Physician. "Miss Shelley was never strong, and 76

years have nearly worne her out." "Oh dear! Is she really? Why

I am but 94 myself, and I am not dying of age!" She spoke true,

and outlived her little girl, as she called her, six years.

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

story....

The asthmatic complaint from which Sally Siddons had suffered, almost

from childhood, proved fatal in 1803, and she died, as Mrs. Piozzi

anticipated, unmarried. Though her heart was given to Lawrence, the

promise made to her dying sister, and her own strong common sense and

knowledge of his character, prevented her from giving her hand. The

prognostication respecting her father proved very wide of the mark, as

he died at Bath only two years later.

_13 June 1800_, BRYNBELLA.

My dear Mrs. Pennington is a true friend, and has acute

feelings of friendship and of Injury. All is over between me

and my _beautiful_ and _deserving_ Daughters--_those_ were Mr.

Ray's epithets.... With regard to _our cause_, mark me! Mr.

Gillon, dear creature as he is, did not stop its proceedings by

_perswasion_; it was carried by law, though not by litigation.

Mr. Cator and Mr. Richards on _Miss Thrale's_ part, and Mr.

Gillon and Mr. Butler on _our_ parts, talked the matter

over; and they really _withdrew_ the claim they could not

_substantiate_, or make creditable to carry into a Court of

Judicature.

Gillon tells a laughable story of Miss Thrale's standing hard

for £10 which he advanced her, of his own money, to stop

further absurdity. And now let's hear no more on't, and do not,

Sweet Soul! make me in love with _resentment_; for except in a

friend's cause like your own, 'tis an unpleasing quality, and

productive of nothing but evil. We must quote our own Book of

Knowledge after all, and in the Article "Forgiveness," as I

_think_, you read these words. "A _wise_ man will make haste to

forgive, because anger is a painful sensation, and he wishes to

be rid on't. A _great_ man will pardon easily, because he finds

few things worthy his resentment; and a _good_ man will never

resent at all, knowing how much he has himself to be forgiven."

I wrote to the girls by yesterday's post, exactly as if no such

transactions had passed among us: so long live British Synonymy!

Well! Robinson refuses my labour'd Work. He has been at Bath and

Bristol, and cannot recover his health sufficiently to _enter

upon new engagements_: he is going to leave off business, and

cannot prevail upon himself to undertake so large a book, he

says. Did _you_ see or hear of him? Or did he pass any time at

Belvidere House? And does he undertake any _smaller_ works, I

wonder? _Lesser_ is a word I will not use, but it would gratify

me to know. I sent him a letter to put him in better spirits, if

possible, and better humour: for tho' I despair not of selling

my stuff, I shall hate hawking it about London, which will at

last be the case....

The incomparable Coterie you mention as loving and remembering

us with kindness, will make me rich amends in their society if

I can wind up my little matters, and come to Bath in Spring.

But here is a degree of scarcity and dearness, both present and

expected, that worries my Master and his House Book horribly....

Everything costs double, besides double Taxes, double necessity

of expence, and so forth. London will be much my terror indeed,

but I hope our stay will be a short one.

Oh! what would have become of my wretched nerves, had I been

in the Theatre that awfully impressive night? What would have

become of _your_ nerves? of dear Mrs. de Luc's? The tryal would

have been _too_ great. Susan and Sophy were there; so was Mr.

Gillon. It will go hard with the Traytor, I am told, if the Jury

do not find him guilty. The King's _Guardian Angel_ must appear

in _person_ to protect him next time, because it will be such

encouragement to the Jacobins to attempt his life, that nothing

_less_ can save him....

George Robinson, the "King of Booksellers," who had a villa at

Streatham, was born in Cumberland, and coming to London in 1755,

began his career in the house of Rivington. He set up for himself in

Paternoster Row in 1764, and died in 1801. It is somewhat remarkable

that Mrs. Piozzi's principles allowed her to patronize him, seeing

that he had been fined, not many years before, for selling Tom Paine's

_Rights of Man_.

The King was shot at in his box at Drury Lane on 15th May, but the

assailant, James Hatfield, proved to be a lunatic, and the attempt had

no political importance.

[_July 1800._]

... I am sorry Mr. and Mrs. Whalley are declining so; their

pretty cottage will be a shady retreat for them this hot

weather. We are roasting here on the sunny side of a high hill,

but never was such hay made before; 40 acres cut and carried

in 12 days is really curious, and without _one_ shower. Did

you observe the odd Phænomenon exhibited on Trinity Sunday in

the evening? It alarmed those who _did_ observe it, and our

Caernarvonshire and Anglesea neighbours, who understand not how

many tricks Electricity can play, were frighted to see the sun

apparently go _back_ when he set, no fewer than three diameters

of himself.

Mr. Lloyd of Wickwar, whom you have heard me mention as an

astronomer, and a man well known at Sir Joseph Banks's, etc.,

said it was a surprizing thing, and, for what he had observed,

wholly _new_: he attributed it to the state of atmosphere. The

same appearance was noticed likewise at Shrewsbury. _I saw it

not_; I was not looking....

What is this story of Harry Siddons? Is he really to marry Miss

Scott, the great fortune of the North? If he does, the Sun may

set in the _East_ if it will, without attracting our charming

Friend's attention I suppose, and no wonder. Miss Lees say

nothing, perhaps think the _more_. What a thing it would be!

My Book must go to the public market and take its chance in

October. Buonaparte will possibly finish it for me, and destroy

the Empire as he did the Papacy. Our Ministry keep feeding

Francis with money, for which he will sell, not his birthright,

like Esau, but all _except_ his birthright, and content himself

with the old Crowns of Bohemia and Hungary, resigning even the

name of King of the _Romans_ to those Gauls who invaded 'em

2000 years ago, and have never lost sight of a hope so late to

be accomplished as poor Rome's utter destruction. The sun may

well be seen to shew signs and wonders when such occurrences are

coming forward.

Meanwhile what say you to Bishop Horsley's denouncing the

_Schools_ of impiety and sedition? Did even our dear Dr.

Randolph think that London was so far advanced in wickedness? or

even Hannah More? It is truly dreadful....

Mr. Piozzi and I have been married now 16 years, and we are

used to keep our anniversary, but it happened at a perverse

time of y^e week and month this year. And so instead of feeding

the rich, we fed the poor, and every one of our 35 Haymakers

had a good noggin of soup, and a lump of beef in it, and a

suet dumpling; and they were like the people in The Deserter,

who sing--"Joy, joy to the Duchess wherever she goes." And

my Master's health was _sincerely_ drank, though not very

_copiously_: for bread and beer are yet considered as _luxuries_

in our poor skin and bone Country; while the Lords and Ladies

round the Capital are paying five guineas for a Peach, etc.,

and Daughters of Liverpool spend, in one entertainment, what

frighted all France when requested for a frolick of poor

Antoinette,--Daughter of the Cæsars.

Well! Mr. Piozzi has gone to a little--not a very

little--expense, in repairing old Bach-y-graig for the new

tenant. Our neighbours advised him to tumble the venerable ruin

quite down, and build a snug farmhouse with the materials; but

he would not. And so, poking about, we found some very curious

bricks with stories on them, composed in 1500, and one large

one with Catherine de Berayne's arms, derived from Charlemagne.

'Twas she whose husband built y^e house, you know, (Sir Richard

Clough--_see Pennant_;) and being descended immediately from

fair Catherine of France, whom Shakespear makes us familiar

with, and who married Owen Tudor after her first husband's

death, heroic Harry the Vth, drew her descent by the Mother's

side from Charlemagne. I have set her achievement in front now,

and a stone to say the Mansion was repaired and beautified

by Gabriel Piozzi Esq. in the year 1800. It will last to the

World's end now, I believe.

The dear little boy whom you used to love has spent his vacation

time at Streatham again. He will, I hope, be wiser in proportion

as he is less happy, and less spoiled: _safer_ he certainly is,

and we hear a good character of his scholarship....

The report of Henry Siddons' engagement to Miss Scott seems to have

been mere gossip, as he married Miss Murray in 1802.

The account of the surrender of his titles by the Emperor Francis

also seems to have been somewhat premature. He proclaimed himself

hereditary Emperor of Austria in 1804, and it was not till 1806, after

the formation of the Confederation of the Rhine, that he formally

resigned the imperial crown, and so brought to a close the Holy Roman

Empire, founded by Charlemagne, and the Kingdom of Germany. Bonaparte,

however, had anticipated his resignation, and had himself appointed

Emperor by decree of the Senate in 1804.

[Illustration: BACH-Y-GRAIG HOUSE IN 1776

_From a drawing by J. Hooper, 1776_]

Samuel Horsley, Bishop successively of St. David's, Rochester, and St.

Asaph, was the great opponent of Priestly and the Unitarians, against

whom several of his charges were directed.

Pennant's account of the home of Mrs. Piozzi's ancestors runs thus

(_Tour in Wales_, vol. ii. p. 22). "In the bottom [of the Clwyd

Valley] lies, half buried in the woods, the singular house of

Bachegraig. It consists of a mansion, and three sides, enclosing a

square court. The first consists of a vast hall and parlour; the

rest of it rises into six wonderful stories, including the cupola,

and forms from the second floor the figure of a pyramid: the rooms

small and inconvenient. The bricks are admirable, and appear to have

been made in Holland; and the model of the house was probably brought

from Flanders, where this species of building was not unfrequent. The

country people say that it was built by the Devil in one night, and

that the Architect still preserves an apartment in it; but Sir Richard

Clough, an eminent merchant of Queen Elizabeth's reign, seems to have

a better title to the honour. The initials of his name are in iron on

the front, with the date 1567, and on the gateway that of 1569." It

is stated in _Piozziana_ that the vane bore the date 1537. An account

of Sir Richard Clough and Catherine of Berayne has been given in the

Introduction, to which the reader is referred.

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

Dear Mrs. Pennington's eyes yet serve her, I find, to write the

very charmingest letters in the world, and Dr. Randolph is of

the same opinion; that to the travellers was admirable, and my

own, just received, most excellent. They left Wales yesterday,

and have carried ugly weather home with them; but I hope and

_think_ that the bright sun illuminated their last glimpse of

Denbighshire, from the heights round romantic Llangollen. I

never saw people so well, or so happy, or so good humoured, on

a journey where inconveniences must necessarily arise, such as

would teize many tempers accustomed to _home life_....

What the meaning can be of _bread rising_ is past my power to

divine. Wheat falls, and grass grows, and these rains have put

out the fires which injured the hilly grounds. Nothing is truer

than your observation on men's counteracting Providence in all

they can, but of late times some permission seems to have been

given them that it _should be_ counteracted. Victory bestows

honour on our arms, but produces no good to our nation. Plenty

creates no peace, and opulence no wealth among us: I cannot

fathom it. We seem upon the eve of a general pacification thro'

all Europe, but I scarce expect _quiet_ in _any_ Country,

much less our own, to be the consequence of such extensive

treaties....

Poor dear Jane Holman complains of the Greatheeds that they were

_too fine_ to visit her in London. She is recovering from her

severe illness, and will, I hope, be happy, though the world

was all _displeased_ at her connection. Mrs. Siddons will have

a cruel loss if her husband dies, though he was no professed

wit, nor beau, nor _Damon_, and tho' I doubt me much if he was

even the _very prudent_ man folks take him for. Yet will he be a

loss, and "_Seldom comes a better_" is no bad proverb. Her son

was expected to make his fortune among the fair at one time,

but I now hear no more on't.

Mrs. Wynne, Cecilia's Mother-in-law, is come home to Wales

ten years younger than she left it, and infinitely handsomer

of course. I do not think that will be _my_ case when I leave

home next; but selling my Book advantageously will, I suppose,

heighten my _bloom_. We must have _things as they are_, as

Baretti used to say, when he threw ill at Backgammon. My

Master's capital health must keep mine up. I never saw _him_ in

better looks, and Mrs. Randolph will tell you how smart he has

made old Bach-y-graig, the name of which they both forgot, I'm

sure, before two miles were past; and Lord Mountjoy only saw

Lleweny.

Whenever Lady Hesketh crosses your walks, say to her how much I

respect her, and how glad I feel that the sweet little Princess

is to be happy in virtuous and wise attendants on her infancy,

Lady Elgin and Miss Hunt.

"Never harm, nor spell, nor charm

Will come _that_ Faery's pillow nigh,

While _they_ sing her lullaby."

Brynbella is _the fashion_. We have people coming to take views

from it, and travellers out of number,--_Tourists_, as the silly

word is. Miss Thrales are among the Lakes, I believe these are

modish places now for summer, as for winter modish _Streets_.

Comical enough! Yet the general face of things must be confessed

very gloomy, though Stocks rise, and _that_ comforts many who

look superficially, or never _look at all_ beyond Finsbury

Square and Hyde Park Corner. My fear is lest Mr. Pitt may be one

of those: if such the case, _he_ will be _amazed_ whenever the

evil moment comes, which would only give grief, not amaze, yours

H. L. P.

John, fourth Earl of Bute, son of the Minister, was made Viscount

Mountjoy, Earl of Windsor, and Marquess of Bute in 1796.

The Lady Hesketh here mentioned seems to have been Harriet, daughter

and coheir of Ashley Cowper, who married Thomas Hesketh of Rufford,

afterwards created a Baronet. She was the cousin and favourite

correspondent of Cowper the poet, and died at Clifton 1807. Lady

Elgin, the other attendant of the little Princess of Wales, was the

wife of Thomas the seventh Earl, best known as the collector of the

Elgin Marbles.

The prospect of a general peace proved fallacious. After the battle

of Marengo in June, operations were suspended by the armistice of

Alessandria, but peace was not concluded, and Austria, urged on by

England, recommenced hostilities at the end of the year.

STREATHAM PARK, _6 Nov. 1800_.

Dear Mrs. Pennington will like a letter with this date, though

it tells her nothing except that we are not at home here; it

is however exceedingly difficult for us to find that truth out

from our good Tenant's behaviour to us, or that of his servants.

They are all wonderfully kind and civil, and I fancy we shall

go on as we _have_ done; nothing is as yet finally settled, but

we have every pleasing expectation in _prospect_. _Retrospect_

is already disposed of, and you will be pleased that 'tis

launched from a good aristocratic House. How does Col. Barry

excuse himself _to_ himself, I wonder, for his so long and so

wide deviation from the train of opinions he seemed as if well

rooted in, when we were first acquainted? An agreeable talker is

a great loss to the good cause, and I shall be happier when you

tell me that he is tired of the bad one.

We have been but once in Town yet, and that for two hours only,

one spent with Stockdale, and one with Siddons, who is lean and

nerve-shaken, but lovely as ever, and was preparing to shine in

Elvira the evening of our visit. Her husband walked in with his

two sticks, and chatted chearfully; her eldest daughter appeared

to _me_ in high health and spirits, and Miss Lee, who was there,

made a good report of the youngest....

We live among the Commercial men here, not the professed wits,

yet more love and esteem for literature it would be hard to

find. Perhaps familiarity, even with _that_, lessens regard.

Here has Mr. Giles laid out a Thousand Pounds (no less,) in

books for our Library; and Mr. Gillon grieves when a second-hand

Shakespear slips from his hand at an auction for want of courage

to give beyond 20 Guineas for it. Who says money is not plenty?

Truth is England contains more money than meat just now, I mean

in proportion, but corn is coming in, and rice, from every

quarter of the world; and I hope people will forbear to fly out,

and increase their own distresses. The Coachman will get them

through every bog, and safely by every precipice, I think, if

they will but let the _check-string_ alone, and not hinder him

from saving them and _himself_, who runs _more_ than an equal

risque with all of us, and is in haste to find the carriage

clear of embarrassments as _we_ are. If we believe our eyes, all

will be well; if our ears, all will be dismal. Offers of peace

are talked of, and no wonder. France is afraid of being driven

from Egypt, whence she means to fright our East India Company,

if incapable to injure it. I hate their insidious offers,

resembling those magical deceptions we used to talk about,

where a friendly hand appeared as if presenting a nosegay, but

no sooner was it reached at than a dagger started forward in

its place. Remember that all our journey has been thro' loyal

places; Sir Rich. Hill's fine seat, Lord Bradford's, and the old

abiding place of virtue and learning, Oxford.

Two days the first of these sweet scenes delay'd us, and Mr.

Piozzi clambered thro' the Grotto. Three days were given to

the hospitalities and comforts of Weston Park, and Mr. Gray

was unwilling to let me leave _their_ curiosities unexamined;

so kept us three days more among the Museums etc. of far fam'd

Rhedycina....

Will it raise your spirits to hear that I expect release early

in January? After business must come pleasure, and for that

_our_ eyes turn naturally to Bath. Till then a Hotel and Tavern

must be dear Mr. Piozzi's residence, in order to accommodate his

wife by living close to the Bookseller's, who assures us that if

we will come to Jermyn Street and mind our work closely, it may

be launched with the New Year, and 8 weeks of confinement finish

all. Wish it success kind Friend, and make Miss Powell and Mr.

Pennington--ay and good Mother too,--drink a glass to the health

of the two Quarto Vols. you saw advertised this morning under

the name of your

H. L. P.

Though Stockdale's publications may have had aristocratic tendencies,

the publisher himself was of humble origin and rough manners. Like

Robinson he was a Cumberland man, and is reputed to have been

originally a blacksmith. In London he worked his way up from the

position of a publisher's porter to that of the head of a successful

business. It may have been a recommendation to Mrs. Piozzi that he had

printed, and partly edited, Dr. Johnson's works.

Hawkestone, near Shrewsbury, was the seat of Sir Richard Hill,

Bart., M.P. for Salop, who was the elder brother of the Rev. Rowland

Hill, the celebrated preacher. Lord Bradford's seat was Weston Park,

near Shifnall. Its then owner was Orlando (Bridgeman), Baron, and

afterwards Earl of Bradford.

Mrs. Piozzi's cicerone at Oxford was, in all probability, the Rev.

Robert Gray, D.D., of St. Mary Hall, Bampton Lecturer in 1796, who was

afterwards Prebendary of Durham, and appointed Bishop of Bristol in

1827.

STREATHAM PARK, _Monday Morng._ Dec. (8) 1800.

(Franked "E. Russell.")

I received, my dear Friend, your melancholy letter, and am sorry

to agree with you in that croaking duet which we have long kept

up together, both by letter and conversation. Things do go on

very shiningly, and even brilliantly, but like the ice-island

you liked so in my book, there is an unseen thaw below, and we

shall topple over when 'tis least expected. Be perswaded however

of England's _comparative_ happiness. Every other nation suffers

more than we do, more than perhaps the deepest croaker amongst

us gives him leave to apprehend; and so singular is the state

of Europe just now, that sudden peace would accelerate the ruin

of France, of Germany, of Russia, and of the Britannic Islands.

The first would then be repaid her ravages over poor dear Italy,

by seeing her own hungry and desperate plunderers come home

clamourous for rewards they never can receive, and food which

the neglected lands could not produce for them. The second

would inevitably split into divisions productive of certain

annihilation to the _Empire_, leaving Francis King only in

Hungary, Bohemia, etc.; while Russia, left the theatre of Paul's

caprices, would heat itself into rebellion soon, and throw the

North of Europe into confusions much worse than those consequent

on the present war. Great Britain would feel herself restrained

in her commerce, cut off from power of adding to that wealth for

which she is now envy'd by all mankind. Nor could cessation of

hostilities benefit any of the belligerent powers, except Rome

and Turkey: and they, poor things! fated to fall, and falling,

expiate their predecessor's crimes and follies, continue to

foment those troubles to which, whoever conquers, they are sure

to be the destined victims. I think you recollect Mr. Lanzoni;

his accounts of Italian distress, public and private, would half

break your heart....

Dear Siddons' story is a tragical one, but the ending has been

happy, she will now, I flatter myself, be no more tormented.

[Having undergone a painful operation] she is now thin as a

lath, and light as air, but safe, as every body thinks. Her

behaviour--angelic creature--was on _this_ tryal as on _all_ her

tryals, exemplary; firm but unostentatious. Sir James said she

was a _real_ Heroine, and no Actress on the occasion.

Lysons called at the Hotel, and got me a sight of some

manuscripts kept in the British Museum, which I wanted for my

work; but he is gone to Bath now. The work is coming quick to a

conclusion, and will have a print of the Authour on its first

page. My heart delights not in the notion of being Bookseller

so, as well as Book_maker_; but one cannot have all as one

likes, and I hope people will _buy away_. Those friends who

mean to serve me _in earnest_ write to Stockdale even now,

desiring to be "put down for an early copy." I shall _present_

you with one, but do canvass your rich friends, and get them to

purchase for honour, and for profit's sake, and all. The darling

Randolphs have done me all possible kindness in that way, so

has Mr. Chappelow; and Stockdale shows his numerous _orders_ as

nest-eggs or decoys....

Meanwhile Miss Thrales drove thro' London to Brighton, the seat

of gayety till Town revels commence. We dined together, and

parted at the lodgings of the Show Woman called a Nyctalope or

Albina, with red eyes like a white Rabbet, very curious!...

The prospect of sudden peace was the result of further French

successes. Moreau and Ney had beaten the Austrians at Hohenlinden

on 2nd December and an armistice was signed at Steyer ceding the

fortresses of the Tyrol, &c. Another was signed in Italy, as the

result of further victories there, ceding the North Italian ports.

And when Murat threatened Naples, a third armistice, closing the

Neapolitan ports to England, practically ended the war.

STREATHAM PARK, _Sat. 10 Jan. 1801_.

My dear Mrs. Pennington's two charming letters waited my arrival

at old Streatham Park, whence a variety of things detained us,

but people are certainly never so busy as when they have nothing

at all to do. My Book, once written, was not a bit more off my

hands, for Stockdale and I are partners in the property, and if

he is an honest man--so much the better for your H. L. P.

Of all active, and diligent, and highly successful friends, the

first must be acknowledged to wear the name of John Gillon. That

extraordinary man brought a list of private orders from people

of his own particular acquaintance to our _business dinner_ upon

New Year's day, and the list took away Stockdale's breath,--much

more _mine_. It consisted of 80 gentlemen, to which ten have

been added since. Not content with _that_, he made a little

feast for drinking success to it at the London Tavern, and set

the people all wild for _Retrospection_. This is good news, is

not it? And the consequence will be great, for I shall expect

a letter before the first of February to say that the first

edition is wholly run off. That day will probably rise on us at

Bath, if my Master keeps clear of Gout, and our plans are not

broken in upon by vexations unforseen....

Things are never as good as one is led to hope, but they are

seldom as bad as we are impelled to fear. The bread is at its

dearest, the Enemy is arrived at its utmost pitch of insolence.

France is less dangerous to Britain, altho' more formidable to

other countries, than she has been. Buonaparte will not long

outlive the peace, let him make it how and when he pleases. No

Buonaparte _can_ satisfy _his troops_ when they return into the

bosom of their native country, pamper'd by promises, and flushed

with conquest. A furious outbreak at Paris must necessarily

ensue, and you may rely on my prediction being verified.

Pretty Siddons told me about Hannah More, but I never

understood the merits of the cause clearly till your letter

explained it; my [heart] grieves lest it should affect her

health. Our charming friend in Great Marlborough Street has

never been so free from complaint since I have known her; and

her appearance in the character of Constance transcends all

which the stage ever shew'd _me_. The dress is so _appropriate_,

and so _becoming_, that its first impression is prodigious,

and would be disadvantageous to one who could not keep up the

interest it excites. Kemble seems much out of health this

winter, and has a _slowness_ upon his manner which I do not

like; but the public is in high good humour with him....

Adieu, dear Friend, send me another pretty kind letter, and a

_true_ account of what people say to my Book....

Hannah More's trouble arose through a Sunday school which she had

opened at Blagdon in 1795, at the request of Bere, the curate, who

soon afterwards complained that the master she had appointed was

holding a Conventicle. This was stopped, but fresh complaints in 1800

led to an inquiry by the Chancellor and Rector, and Hannah closed the

school in November. The Rector, however, thinking his curate had been

too officious, tried to dismiss him, and the school was reopened in

January 1801. But the curate declined to resign, and the school was

again closed. When a new Bishop (Beadon) was appointed to Bath and

Wells, Hannah applied to him for direction, and obtained his sympathy

and support: and so after she had been, as she said, "battered,

hacked, scalped, and tomahawked for three years," the unedifying

controversy came to an end.

_Wensday Night_, READING, _21 Jan. 1801_.

We are coming, dear Mrs. Pennington, as your good husband says,

but very tardily, and much like the journey of Catherine and

Petruchio; so dirty are the ways, and so many our crosses,

when travelling with Rat and Mole driven by a sick coachman,

who makes himself a little more sick at every stage by doing

more than he is able, and by crying lest we should at length

be provoked to leave him on the road. He is in no danger, poor

soul! Mr. Piozzi has just sent him our chicken broth, and we

wait here a day for Miss Allen to go kiss her father and mother,

an errand so few folks want to go upon.... I think the beds will

be _aired_ at least, for never were so many people crowding from

one city to another as now from Bath to London.

How it rejoyces my heart to hear you _really like the book_!

and that Miss Jane Powell approves of the contrasted character

visible in those excellent Roman Emperors. The other volume will

be most read, and the 19th chapter of _that_ will perhaps be

most liked. I will correct the typographical errors in _your_

book with my own hand, if you will bring it with you to Bath....

Stockdale was hurrying to drive out a new edition before we

left London, and I was forced to _hold him in_. We shall hear

all _our_ faults, and the printer's too, when the Reviews make

their appearance.... Charming Hannah More will tranquillize her

mind soon, and only dislike the Established Church a _little_

more than usual, for this ill-timed bustle some individuals have

made against one of the most valuable members of Society. For as

Dr. Johnson says of Watts,--Such she was that every Christian

Communion must have been proud of her.

Do not fear the Northern combination: we can hurt _those_

fellows more than they can hurt us. And as to a French invasion,

it was, in my mind, never less likely, nor ever less to be

feared. That Europe is running to ruin I see plain enough, and

we must go after the rest, but it will be _after_ a good many of

them are gone, I think....

The combination of the Northern Powers, Russia, Sweden, and Denmark,

organised by the Emperor Paul against England, was the result of

the irritation caused by our insisting on the right to search even

neutral vessels for enemies' goods; but was soon broken up by the

battle of Copenhagen and the death of Paul.

[_P.M._ BATH] _31 Jan. 1801_.

My dear Mrs. Pennington's is indeed a dismal letter, and our

Master is truly sorry, and so am I. The amusement I get at Bath,

when without your conversation, is feeling myself benefited by

these darling waters, and hearing the Circulating Library men

say that the book sells very well. Stockdale tells me of praises

bestowed on it by the Briton, Times, and Porcupine, but I have

never seen any....

Miss Jane Powell must be left, I think, to cut out her own

happiness. She is very sensible, and very charming, but you may

remember that Dr. Johnson says in his tale of The Fountains,

"You may be lovely, but 'tis not a necessary consequence that

you should therefore be beloved." We must hope she will not

fling so much merit and beauty away: but if she does, let us

remember she could not have been happy _without_ changing her

mode of life; and those who enter on family cares now, have

need of strong affection on one side or the other, to support

them thro' so rough a journey as what is left of life's road is

likely to afford them. The people who are _indifferent_ now are

truly unwise to marry.

We shall look to your _coming home_ for much chat on all

subjects, and principally the book which has so long plagued your

H. L. P.

[_P.M._ BATH] _Tuesday, 10 Feb. 1801_.

... To your enquiries how things are going here, my reply is,

_never so bad_. Fish, flesh, and fowl, all are double price,

and tho' we live as retired as 'tis possible, the little red

book you remember of marketing expences goes on worse and worse.

Even Laura Chapel is raised one third, and the journey hither

cost double what it used to do. These are facts. It is equally

true indeed, that the waters do my health good, but 'tis a heavy

charge, _this same health_, upon one's husband, though _he_ may

not _say_ or even _think_ so. Bachelors live at immense costs

however. Mr. Roach or Roche told us yesterday that he and his

son paid £200 for 5 weeks eating and sleeping at York House:

his servants at board wages all the while. Tea alone stood them

in six shillings o' day. Fine times! And Mrs. Mores, our next

neighbours, tell me Mr. Pitt has already quitted the helm, and

old Britannia is left to weather the storm how she can, without

pilot, rudder, or compass; and tow a troublesome sister after

her besides. God send her safe to port! He only can....

My own book, though much diffused, and rapidly sold, has not yet

brought me a _shilling_, and it was upon that I fully depended

for our reimbursement of these few weeks' charges here in Bath.

_Six_ only of those weeks yet remain: some of them I still

flatter myself we shall still pass together....

After the union with Ireland, Pitt had become convinced that it was

necessary to carry a measure of Catholic Emancipation; but as the King

felt scruples about breaking, as he believed, his Coronation Oath,

by giving his assent to such a Bill, Pitt resigned, much to George's

distress, and was succeeded by Addington.

BRYNBELLA, _5 April, 1801_.

My dear Mrs. Pennington will be delighted to hear that we are

got home safe, in spite of my _nose_, which is restor'd to its

original size, colour, and shape: having transmitted all ill

humour to the shoulder, more fit for carriage of a burden so

oppressive.

Some heaviness has reached my heart tho', and some weight hangs

on my spirits. The first intelligence that struck us upon the

very confines of our Principality, smiling as it seemed with

hope of future plenty, was the death of a friend. You have,

I am sure, heard me mention as an agreeable acquaintance and

excellent preacher, a Mr. John Mostyn, Curate of Denbigh. He

_perished_, it seems, poor soul, in the hard weather which

succeeded that day on which we dined with Dr. Randolph, walking

home from his Father's house to his own:--perish'd of _cold_!

and was buried in drifts of snow,--

How sunk his soul!

What black despair! What horrors fill'd his heart,

When round him night resistless closing fast,

And o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold,

Lay'd him on the wild Heath a stiffen'd corpse,

Far from the track and blest abode of Man.

[Thompson.]

These verses have almost haunted me ever since; so has his

figure, chearful and gay, not 38 years old. But we will change

the subject and the side of paper.

Tell dearest Siddons, when you see her, that _her_ picture was

the first thing we unpacked, and _her_ handkerchief the finest

thing I appeared in while at Bath: the _only_ thing I shall wear

here till--till what? I can't answer that question.

Poor Harriet Lee's lowness, the day we dined at Mrs. Stratton's,

affected everybody present, and she ran home, unable to bear

company. Can you tell whether the conversation of approving, nay

_admiring_ friends, has been yet able to reconcile her to past

vexations, for they scarce can be accounted calamities.

We have contagion even at St. Asaph, but 'tis occasioned by want

of wholesome food. When the plenty I still predict shall once

arrive, there will be no distemper but _ill-humour_. Meanwhile

some cause for _that_ does doubtless exist, when the ports are

filled with grain, and the poor perishing of hunger. Our Bishop,

detained in London by illness, is much wanted, and we came home

too late to save our old favourite labourer, Edward Davies, who

expired eight hours before our arrival; saying that if we made

haste he _yet_ should live, because we should send him something

_nice_ from our own _plates_, as we did when he was sick once

before. When _such_ things present themselves to one's mind,

how vain must be the hope of Reviewers and Critics to draw it

on their empty abuse! I would there were no worse afflictions

to lament than those created by buzzers and stingers like

_them_. Nevertheless _pray_ tell me how Hannah More supports

_her_ torrent of scurrility. She was a kind soul, and came to

see us for five minutes before we got into the Chaise at Laura

Place, looking very well, thank God! apparently not worse for

her long illness and confinement. Her sister is _too_ right tho'

concerning the general distress for _victuals_....

I carry this letter with me to S. Asaph Cathedral, Easter

Sunday, and put it in the Post Office there after service. The

Ladies at Llangollen enquired much for you. They have more news

and more stories than one could dream of. Their _best_ however

is concerning their own old Maid Mary, from whose character one

would think Sophia Lee had pourtray'd that of Connor in her tale

of the Two Emilys. Mary, seeing her Ladies' eyes fix'd, one fine

night lately, upon the stars, said to Miss Ponsonby, "Ah! Madam,

you once showed me a fine sight in the heavens, the Belt of

_O'Bryan_; but I suppose we shall see it no more now, since the

_Union_." To this nothing, sure, can be added.

(_P.M._ DENBIGH), _26 Apr. 1801_.

What a letter! What a pleasure to have such a Correspondent! You

really can scarce imagine, my dear Friend, how completely your

kind Frank-full set before my eyes the scenes I was so wishing

to have witness'd. Peace and plenty are coming, and dear Dr.

Randolph's first sermon after the Victory at Copenhaguen, must

have given a foretaste of all the felicities in their train to

his enraptur'd auditors, I doubt not.

The effect of national fervour and national happiness upon Sweet

Siddons charmed me; and it was so nicely accompanied too by her

maternal exultation. The child in your account had suffered

scarce anything from y^e alarming symptoms which so frighted the

whole house of Belvidere....

Why, you have had a nice Holyday time indeed! And _you_,

like the dear King, will recover by dint of good news. My

rheumatism has mended ever since you said how Mr. Whalley liked

Retrospection, and a kind letter from Mr. Gray, saying it was

well thought of at Oxford, made me throw off a little fur

tippet, which, till to-day's _post_, I wore to ward off these

early winds. Ods Blushes and Blooms! The poor Cherry trees have

dropt their pretty flow'rs in one night. A sturdy Pear tree or

two resist all Northern Combinations against _them_: but Peaches

and Nectarines we shall have none of this Summer, content to

see wheat falling, Stocks rising, and damaged Rice coming in by

shiploads to feed _those Pigs_ which my friends on the South

Parade so talked of.

Meantime it was well done of the wise and good men to go out and

harangue the rioters; they will go underground again now, and

give their instigators _fresh_ trouble to find _fresh_ arguments

to set them on _fresh_ mischief _in due time_. Well! God save

great George our King! While he lives many a Laurel bush will

be used to decorate our doors.... By the time this reaches your

Hot Wells, good accounts may possibly arrive from Egypt. The

death of Paul will sit _heavy on the soul_ of Abdallah Menou,

like the Ghost in Shakespeare's Richard, and _fall his edgeless

sword_.[16] May he _but_ hear that news before the battle,

_I'll_ answer for its success.

[16] _Rich. III_, V. iii, 135.

Great credit ought really to be given to that amiable creature,

the Duchess of York, for being able to make everybody love

_her_, while they naturally and necessarily abhor her brother.

And it was pretty of her husband to cry at the tragedy: they

very seldom _do_ cry.

When you write tell me how Sotherby's play went off; our

Newspaper never names the Theatre, so Mrs. Siddons's name

reaches me only through your letters. When our Bishop returns

I shall get free'd covers, and write oftener, for the sake of

goading your pen to an answer.... With regard to Mr. Pennington,

he hardly _can_ come to any real harm. The complaints of gouty

men are sure to end, however they may begin, in a fit of Gout;

and _better_ assurance of long life is granted to no living

mortal. He will quarrel with the man, and vex about the maid,

and they will leave him, and then he will get others;--all will

lead _uneasy_ lives, but no lives will be shorten'd, except

_your own_, by fretting concerning what can neither be helped

nor mended....

Success had attended English efforts abroad in more than one

direction. The Northern Confederation having adopted an attitude of

"armed neutrality," and laid an embargo on British goods, a fleet

was sent to Copenhagen under Sir Hyde Parker, with Nelson as second

in command. The latter grew impatient of the cautious tactics of his

chief, and his daring attack on the Danish forts and fleet on April

1, resulted in the capture of the latter, and the detachment of

Denmark from the League. In Russia the assassination of the Emperor

Paul on March 24 (which Buonaparte in the _Moniteur_ ascribed to

the machinations of England) placed Alexander on the throne, who at

once reversed his predecessor's policy, and so the Confederation

collapsed. In Egypt General Menou had succeeded Kleber in command of

the French army, which was unable to prevent the landing of Sir Ralph

Abercromby's expedition on March 2: and though the English General

fell at the battle of Alexandria, that city and Cairo fell into our

hands, and it became evident that the French could not maintain their

hold on the country.

The shock of Pitt's resignation, and the prospect of Roman Catholic

emancipation, had again unhinged the King's mind. But the attack was a

brief one, and by March 14 he was sufficiently recovered to accept the

formal resignation of his ministers.

Frederick, Duke of York, had married in 1791 Frederica, Princess Royal

of Prussia, a state whose partitions of Poland and timid attitude of

neutrality to France during two reigns, were not calculated to render

its rulers popular in England.

BRYNBELLA, _22 May 1801_.

My dear and valued Friend now receives a letter of _business_

from Brynbella. The trunk with all our clothes, books,

papers,--_everything_,--which Hodgkins saw booked ... upon the

22d of March, is never arrived yet, and this is the 22d of May.

I have heard of it just now, though, and in an odd manner. A man

who says he signs for some Mr. Lye, the date, Bristol, tells me

it is gone by sea to Liverpool. What madness! It was meant for

_Chester Waggon_, the old conveyance by which Mr. Wiltshire has

regularly sent it these three years. Could you be kind enough to

enquire about it?...

And now do, dear Friend, find me out another thing. We are told

Miss Thrale is at Bath for her _health_; and the idea keeps me

very uneasy, the more as she never writes. _You saw_ the last

letter I ever received from any of them. I dare say Dr. Parry

is her Physician, and you could know from _him_, without any

immediate enquiry as if _I_ wished to hear, which she would

consider as if intrusive and inquisitive, and would _say_ it was

affectation....

Let us thank God for the happy change in public affairs at

least, peace and plenty are not far off.

From Egypt old Rome in the days of Domitian

To make her tyrannical Emperor smile,

Fresh roses brought over, for Winter provision,

That bloom'd on the Tyber as once on the Nile.

But bold Abercrombie, whom Britons confide in,

_His Flora_ sent home with far different spoil;

The invincible army of Frenchmen deriding,

Their standards he seiz'd on the banks of the Nile.

Thus end the exploits of renown'd Buonaparte,

Who fell upon Egypt with force and with guile,

Throwing dust in the eyes of each Mussulman hearty,

Dust pregnant with plagues on the banks of the Nile.

Of warriors ill-fated if England must tell soon,

Her losses, though deep, she'll repair in a while;

With Moore, Smith, and Berry, Ball, Trowbridge, and Nelson,

A hero we'll count for each mouth of the Nile.

Mr. Pennington will see an allusion to an Epigram of Martial[17]

in the first stanza; but never mind, 'tis a good Ballad to roar

at a club, and the tune, Rural Felicity, or Ellen o' Roon. But

what fellows those old Romans were after all!! Fetching (as they

actually did) Oysters from England and Roses from Egypt for one

winter evening's entertainment....

[17] Martial, _Epig._ vi. 80: Ad Cæsarem de rosis hibernis.