CHAPTER VI

Attacks by reviewers--The Peace, 1801--Visit to London--South

Wales--Mrs. Pennington's troubles--Bath again--Breach with Mrs.

Pennington, 1804.

The next letter is directed to "Longford Cottage, the Seat of the Rev.

Thomas Sedgwick Whalley, near Bristol," where Mrs. Pennington was

staying for a few weeks.

BRYNBELLA, _3 June 1801_.

... I do assure you that between your own house and this no

greater anxiety has been felt for Mr. Whalley; he is our very

true friend, and we have sense enough to know it. He is so much

Miss Hannah More's friend that I am convinced of his fretting

at Sir Abraham Elton's officiousness. Will you have _proof_ how

wrong those things are? I am frequently asked after celebrated

characters when we return home to so remote a neighbourhood as

this is: and to the questions asked about these exemplary Ladies

I made such replies as a friend is expected to make. Some of

our neighbours, however, within these three months, have had a

fancy to take in a Bath newspaper, and "Oh!" says one now, and

"Ah, ah!" says another, "why you never told _us_, Mrs. Piozzi,

concerning this _paper war_ between Miss Mores and Mr. What's

his name! As good as you say they are, those who live in the

world see spots in the sun, we find," etc. etc. Now would it not

have been better far to have left these dear creatures round

Brynbella nothing to talk about but the _going off_ of Lord

Kirkwall's marriage with Miss Ormsby, the _coming on_ of Mr.

Piozzi's gout, just at Laburnum season, the hopes of famous news

from Egypt, and, blessed be God, the near certainty of immense

crops to feed our poor, and damaged rice from India to feed

our pigs? Would it not have been better? But we will talk of

something else, if you please.

The trunk is not come, but coming, and it was kind in you to

let me know how I might look after it. I had no thought of its

taking such a voyage. The comical preference, shown in your

letter, of a trunk to a Lady, is _more_ than classical. In

Homer's time they preferred a tripod to the fairest: when the

tripod was chas'd, though, and the damsel a slave.

I have had a civil letter from Miss Thrale now. She is retired

to a friend's Country Seat, I understand.... The noise and

racket of London was grown painful to her, and she longed for

sight and smell of green fields. I wrote her word that if chance

should bring you and her together, it would be very pleasant

to you both, who have many ideas, and many expressions too, in

common. I would the love of H. L. P. lived in her heart as in

yours, but of _that_, as Sciolto says, "_as of a gem long lost,

think we no more_."

Do you recollect that agreeable morning dear Mr. Whalley gave

us at Laura Place this Spring? and how he talked of the River

Euphrates, and said it would be one day _literally_ dried up

for the Jews' return? And do you remember what you said, after

he was gone, upon the subject? and how I exclaimed "Why, you

are talking just like Miss Thrale?" Well! and I begin--since

he open'd my own mind,--to think that it _may_ be so; ay,

and without contradiction of your humourous asperity against

the talkers and hearers either. Beg of Mr. Whalley, when he

is better, and can amuse himself with such stuff, to look in

Plutarch's Life of Lucullus, 'tis an early life, first volume,

I think, and if my memory fails me not, he will find something

like a confirmation of his own opinion,--and of yours. Now

please to observe that I have no Plutarch _here_, nor have seen

one since I saw _you_. In such an act of mere reminiscence,

therefore, the mind may be mistaken, but my heart tells me that

Lucullus perceived some property in the River Euphrates,--some

quality rather, which would (he observed) make it fordable

upon a future day, altho' so deep when he was wishing to pass

over.[18] All this seventy years before our Saviour's appearance

in the flesh.

[18] Vol. iii. p. 258 of Clough's translation.

I am always ready you know for a bit of _old Stilton_, as Dr.

Johnson called profane History. "Thou dost love," said he, "my

dear, to play the part of Swift's Vanessa, who

Nam'd the ancient heroes round,

Explain'd for what they were renown'd, etc.

and I have _as_ steadily resisted that mode of

conversation;--now pray, _pray_ let's have no more of it."

In obedience to _his commands_, as well remember'd, sure, as

Plutarch's lives, I leave this, and begin saying a good word

of Mr. Murphy's book, and feel delighted that you take an

interest in it too. There was some danger lest it pleased _me_

merely by bringing old scenes to view, but I will trust _your_

criticism. The work has more merit as Garrick and he certainly

never loved each other, and you may see his praises of the man

he celebrates are dictated by _duty_, while those bestowed on

Barry spring from _fondness_. I had rather he had been kinder

to sweet Siddons. What a thing it is that her husband cannot

at least count and keep together the money she gets for him.

That man has, I fear, some rage for speculation; a dangerous

game. The prudent people are, for aught I observe, no better

calculators than we open-pursed fools, who are cheated out of

20_s._ perhaps, by Bett Lewis the vagrant; while they lose £200

sterling in the management of a puppet-show that _takes fire_,

or sink three times as much in a Canal that _lets out water_, or

some nonsense.

We have had an earthquake here, as they say, for I felt it not,

tho' I am confident I was wide awake at two o'clock Monday

morning. Lady Orkney's Canary Birds fell from their perch

however, and some of our Denbigh friends fancy they heard a

noise. I was thinking about my master's Bavanda, and he was

thinking how thirsty the gouty pains made him; so Brynbella was

unconscious of the shock.

Buonaparte is supposed to be all this time under the influence

of poyson administered three months ago, but I believe _that_

as I do the earthquake. Poor Selim's death of the Continental

Apoplexy is less improbable; so is young Constantine's hope of

restoring the Greek Empire. No matter! Live our own dear King, I

care for none of them. Here is his 63d birthday, and the value

of his life is increased 63 times since it began. But y^e grand

climacteric passed over, I count him safe, and would rather have

an annuity upon him than on the dangerous dame we fear so justly.

Oh! I forgot to tell you, Stockdale sends word we have a wicked

enemy at _Bath_, who injures the sale of Retrospection by

spiteful and ingenious censures. _Who is it, I wonder!_ ...

Swarms of pamphlets on the "Blagdon Controversy" were making their

appearance about this time. Those which Mrs. Piozzi had in view were

probably "A Letter to the Rev. Thomas Bere ... occasioned by his

late unwarrantable attack on Mrs. H. More," by the Rev. Sir Abraham

Elton, Bart.; which was answered by "An Appeal to the Public in the

Controversy between H. More, the Curate of Blagdon, and the Rev. Sir

A. Elton," by the Rev. Thomas Bere.

Murphy had just published his _Life of David Garrick_ in two volumes,

which was not very well received by the contemporary critics, who

found fault with its clumsy arrangement, and its excessive padding

with prologues, epilogues, etc. Mrs. (Ann Spranger) Barry, who died

this year, was a popular actress in London and the Provinces, and was

considered by the critics to equal, if not to surpass Peg Woffington

and Mrs. Cibber.

Sultan Selim did not die of apoplexy, but lived to be deposed in

1807. The Empress Catherine of Russia had conceived the idea of

extinguishing the Turkish power in Europe, and placing one of her own

family on the throne of the restored Greek Empire. For this purpose

she chose the second son of her own son Paul, had him christened

Constantine to fulfil the prophecy that a Constantine should again

rule at Constantinople, and educated him to carry out her plan. There

seemed to be some chance of its success when the Emperor Joseph

gave it his support in 1788; but Turkey was saved by Pitt's triple

alliance of England, Prussia, and Holland, to restore the Balance of

Power. About this period Constantine had gained some distinction as

commander-in-chief in Poland.

[_Dated, by Mrs. Pennington, Jul. 1801._]

Dr. Randolph is a wise man for not caring what these foolish

fellows say, and Mrs. Randolph is a sweet lady for caring. On

the like principle H. L. P. is a dunce for being _angry_, and

dear Pennington is a kind friend for being _enraged_ at these

odious Critical Reviewers. Those who say my book is merely good

for nothing cannot be answer'd. The book says something like

that of itself,--but its worthlessness consists in telling

people what they knew before, not in telling what is _false_,

for that is the charge that offends me. Much of this obloquy

might have been avoided certainly, by quoting authorities, but

they would add more to the work's weight than its value, were

the deed done to-morrow: and I thought it a mere insult to the

Public sitting gravely to _inform_ them of what they may read in

the 7th Period of the 3rd Chapter of the 1st Part of Mosheim's

Ecclesiastical History, edited by our friend Macleane, who,

in a note, _confirms_ the fact of Tiberius desiring the Roman

Senate to deify our Saviour. One would really wonder at a man's

assurance who, like our Critical Reviewer, boldly asserts that

"this is an exploded fiction." It stood on the testimony of

Eusebius and Tertullian for sixteen centuries before it was

disputed: and M. Iselin, with Hase the Hebraist, and numbers

more since the year 1700, have proved its truth beyond all power

of denial. I saw Miss Case with Macleane's Mosheim in her hand

when I last visited her. _She_ need not be deceived, _she_ can

enquire and _see_ the truth of my position. When I wrote to Mr.

Gillon expressing my uneasiness under a charge of ignorance

ill-deserved, he said my antagonist was a man of immense

abilities, and I had better _let him alone_. But Robson the

Bookseller, who sent me down the Review, liked my refutation so

well that he requested leave to print my angry letter to _him_

on the occasion. I suppose it resembles that I wrote to you, and

you will see it in the Gentleman's Magazine for July.

I am sorry about Hannah More: these things are, upon the whole,

very mortifying, and injure the cause of Religion, Virtue, and

sound Literature _too much_, at a moment when enemies to all

three are ready and keen to take every possible advantage.

I have a cold and reproachful letter brought me just now from

Harriet Lee, accusing my heart of alienation because I made no

enquiry concerning _her_ state of mind, altho' I saw, she says,

that it was an uneasy one. How unreasonable the people all are!

I thought myself acting delicately to make no enquiries, where

nothing was avow'd as capable of being construed into more than

a past vexation about the children's sickness.... Nothing would

be less pleasing to me than the thought of having offended any

of the house of Belvidere. Never did I say a slight word, or

write a peevish one, about _them_. Never did I fail to express

my just admiration of their talents, or even suffer myself to be

provoked to more than sorrow--not anger--when I had reason for

believing that Robinson was better disposed to y^e purchase of

my book before his visit to Bath, than he was afterwards.

I hope she will write kindly and make all up. I am ready. If

she does not--we must sing Ralph's song in the Maid of the Mill,

I think.

Nothing's tough enough to bind her,

Then agog when once you find her,

Let her, let her go, let her go, never mind her, etc.

Poor dear pretty Siddons! What has she been doing to her mouth?

Picking it, my master says, as I do my fingers, which, he

threatens me, are one day to resemble poor Mr. Pennington's

toes. But in earnest and true sadness, what can be the matter

with her lips? Lips that never were equalled in enunciation of

tenderness or sublimity! Lips that spoke so kindly _to_ me and

_of_ me! Dear soul! what can ail her? She dreamed once that all

her teeth came out upon the stage I remember; I told her she

would go on acting till age had bereft her of them; but God

forbid that she should lose them _now_. Her husband will mend

at Bath.... Sally's death will be no _loss_ to her dear mother,

altho' a very poignant affliction without doubt; and Cecilia

will be her delight I dare say: but Sally and her Father both

will yet last many years I am confident. Shall we have a Bath

Winter all together and be comfortable? Or will they pay her,

and lure her back to Drury Lane? You must get her mouth in good

order, that she may look like my _little_ miniature of the

_greatest and only unrivalled_ female this century last expired

has pretended to produce. When her lips close, what good will

our ears do open? Yes, yes, they will hear Randolph preach,

Piozzi sing, and Pennington converse. Comfort the charming

creature all you can tho', and get her into her accustomed

beauty, and tell her how she is beloved at pretty Brynbella....

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

... Well! I think it time to forget the Critical Review,

and Mrs. P. she is persuade to do so. The writer is a

poor miserable wretch wanting bread, and so _sufficit_.

Belvidere people they can write, but they cannot understand

_Retrospection_. Next week Little John we expect him at

Brynbella....

James Robson, like Robinson and Stockdale, was a Cumberland man, and

began his career in the shop of Brindley, whom he succeeded.

Bickerstaffe's opera, _The Maid of the Mill_, was based on

Richardson's _Pamela_. Ralph was the son of Fairfield the Miller.

Mrs. Siddons's trouble seems to have been erysipelas, from which she

suffered a good deal in later life.

[_Dated, by Mrs. Pennington, Jul. 1801._]

You are a dear Friend, and a wise Lady, and--"Conscience" (says

I) "you counsel _ill_": and "Pennington" (says I) "you counsel

well."[19] See the learned Lancelot Gobbo. But my heart tells

me that the Gentleman's Magazine will exhibit a letter of more

anger than good sense at least, being written on the spur

of the moment, the very day I read my antagonist's spiteful

accusations. _'Tis most likely_, for it never entered my head

that Robson would print what came to him in form of complaint,

just as I wrote it to you. Yet when he asked leave to show it up

before the public, and said several friends in his shop advised

the measure, I would not shrink from it.

[19] "'Conscience,' says I, 'you counsel well.'"--_Mer. of Ven._, II.

ii. 21.

Harriet Lee has sent me a making up Epistle; so we make up, but

it is a cold and flat paste we make on't at last, and as little

George Siddons said of his brother's friends, whom he _had_ been

half afraid of, "_I know what they are now_." I know what she

is, too; and worded my answer accordingly. She lamented the ill

nature of the Critical Review to me with due and proper pathos.

I replied lightly that they were not half as ill-natured as

they were ill-informed, and that if charming Hannah More valued

such abuse as little as H. L. P. did, she would live long a

_champion_ of religion's cause, and not dye, as they wished her

to do, a martyr to't. The truth is her controversy gets very

stale now, and like her torment _Beer_ (_Bere_)

Though _stale_, not ripe, tho' thin, yet never _clear_.

I will hasten to expose my Gentlemen's ignorance, and then

release people to think and care about matters more worth their

attention.

The loss of those two fine ships was vexatious enough, but we

must have a few knocks. _Hannibal_ lost one eye early in life

you know: so these fellows came on the _blind_ side of him,

_that's all_. Our cutting the Corvette from Camaret Bay was an

exploit worthy to be preserved in History till Time shall be no

more. But nothing ever equalled the hardihood of Naval Officers

shown in course of this war. It is a tissue of heroism, and to

attempt shores so guarded would seem frenzy, had one not to

recollect apparent impossibilities conquered by Buonaparte:

particularly his passing Mount St. Gothard in winter, never

relaxed; which however _did_ yield (God only knows how) to the

French Artillery, suffer'd to cross that Mountain for the sake

of gaining a decisive battle at Marengo. We must have more

sense, if they _do_ land, than fight any battle at all with such

troops; our business is to harrass them and thin their numbers,

not easily repair'd; and attacking them only by _night_, assure

to ourselves the advantages accrueing from our own knowledge and

their ignorance of the country. Mr. Pennington will tell you I

am _quite right_, and it was for want of knowing as much in old

times that Harold foolishly set his Island on the hazard of one

grand battle, which he lost at Hastings.

Our Secret Society men who buy up the corn and fling [it] by

night into the river or sea, are far more dangerous enemies; and

will, if matters ripen into reality of bustle, be less afraid

of acting openly. Their present intentions tow'rds irritating

our lower ranks, and making them willing to rebel, are happily

counteracted by the enormous quantity of corn in the field, and

ports, and harbours. _They too are known_, and people see into

their machinations pretty clearly.

Bath is a well-judged place for the King during times of

apprehended turbulence, and the waters may do him good, as

they do me.... 'Tis a nice place beside, for a man of his open

character and manners to attach individuals, and delight common

folks with his familiar way. I am glad he will see _Captain_

Dimond play Lothario at three score years old, to our lovely

friend's inimitable Callista....

We have got a dear Member of Parl^t now close by us in Denbigh

Town; so Heaven have mercy on the correspondents of your

H. L. P.

The loss of two ships here mentioned seems to relate to the vessels

which grounded at the commencement of Nelson's engagement at

Copenhagen. On his return home he was set to watch the French armament

collecting for the invasion of England, under the protection of the

fortified camps at Boulogne, Brest, &c. There was no opportunity

for any decisive action, but Camaret Bay, near Brest, was the scene

of one of the numerous cutting-out engagements in which the British

commanders distinguished themselves at this period.

The "gallant, gay Lothario" was a character in Rowe's _Fair Penitent_,

his victim, Callista, being one of Mrs. Siddons's favourite

impersonations.

[Illustration: HANNAH MORE

_By Scriven after Slater, 1813. From the Collection of A. M.

Broadley, Esq._]

Mrs. Piozzi does not seem to have made much use of her "dear Member,"

for this is the only letter this year which he can have franked.

BRYNBELLA, _August 1801_.

Be in better spirits, dear Friend, or at least in the best

spirits that you _can_: things will draw cross sometimes, we

_know_ they will:

We know that all must fortune try,

And bear our evils, wet or dry.

My master's misfortunes are few, but _dry_ ones; he has now

a chalk-stone on his _ear_, but Siddons's _mouth_ is a more

important ailment by half....

What is the meaning of Hannah More's marriage being thus

_gravely_ announced in every newspaper, and resounding here in

N. Wales from every mouth, while you say not one word upon the

subject?... Give me an answer to the thousand enquiries buzzing

round me, and give it quickly that the talk may end....

Our little boy is blithe as a bird, almost as wild; a model of

gayety and good-humour.

With smiling cheeks, and roving eyes,

Causeless mirth, and vain surprise,

as Hawkesworth describes childhood, such is he: may he get

safely thro' the _next stage_!

I have not yet seen Harriet's tale, and without your information

should never have heard about Belinda. These soft'ning books

greatly encrease the dissolution of manners, tho' each,

unexceptionable in itself, cannot be complained of. The youth of

our present day however _read nothing else_, and how they should

escape such melting relaxers, added to their own feelings in the

warm season of life, I guess not. Literary arrogance and early

ambition are the only antidotes which _this_ world will supply.

Education is a mere word now for a theme or subject on which

to display the eloquence of teachers, and the teachers

themselves--Miss More perhaps excepted,--are drawing boys and

girls into Love's labyrinth with one hand, while they are

pointing to distant Wisdom and Virtue with the other.

The Curate and Barber who burned Don Quixote's Library of

large romances[20] would have been frighted to see them thus

epitomized into the power of a school boy to purchase, as

India's fragrance is happily compress'd into a Guinea phial of

Odour of Roses.

[20] _Don Quixote_, Bk. I. chap. vi.

Our Novel-writers have a right to hate _me_, who set my face so

against fiction, and who have endeavoured (tho' fruitlessly)

to make truth palatable. But when they boast that _my_ book is

liked only by the old Heads of Houses at Oxford and Cambridge,

and chained up in the _Bodleian_ or _All Souls_, 'tis such a

vaunt as the French make when they chain their ships ashore.

It is in the meantime very surprising that Nelson should try

again after seeing that he attempts impossibilities. I think he

has play'd double or quits too often, and tempts good fortune

too far. Egypt is our own at last, and will bring its _plagues_

with it. For how should _we_ garrison such distant possessions,

which the French may disturb whenever they are disposed to rid

themselves of a troublesome General and 40,000 open mouths? I

wish the East Indians, for whose sake we drove these fellows

out, would be pleased to keep them away now they are gone.

So my Lord de Blaquiere is run away to make drawings beyond

Snowdonia, and the Bishop is in Anglesey, and no Frank, for love

or money, can I get.... I hear Mrs. Mostyn has a son _Arthur_.

He will, I hope, fill his round table with Knights, and revive

the spirit of Chivalry. M[ark] L[ane] is the great Dragon which

devours us all, and 'tis said there is a train laid to rid the

Kingdom of a combination so strong, that relying upon its force,

a Gentleman offer'd yesterday to bet a wager that Corn would be

as high priz'd next November as it was last January. But this

is croaking worse than Mrs. Pennington, and I believe that the

Gentleman will lose....

This month Nelson had made an attempt to cut out the French flotilla

at Boulogne by a boat attack, which failed owing to the fact that the

French had chained their vessels together, and were able to defend

them by a heavy musketry fire from the shore.

* * * * *

Lt.-Col. John de Blaquiere, son of an Emigré, who had been M.P. for

several English and Irish constituencies, and Lord-Lieutenant of

Ireland, was created a Baronet in 1784, and advanced to the Peerage in

1800.

BRYNBELLA [6] _Sep. 1801_.

(_Franked "de Blaquiere"_)

... Our Barometer begins rising while I write, and the

plantations drink their fill from the Horn of future Plenty.

Ploughing and preparing ground for next year's crop will _now_

be all done by Michaelmass, and the dwellers in _Mark Lane_ may

pray for their own _safety_: it will be in more danger than our

purses and stomachs. God Almighty will send _victuals_, and

the---- may take care of the _Cooks_.

I know not how you gather'd from my letter that _I_ believed in

Hannah More's change of condition, tho' my neighbours did. Yet

never having heard that Dr. Crossman was a married or a single

man, and seeing no jokes accompany the intelligence, which came

in the regular list of weddings for the week, I own myself

stagger'd, and now the Papers are filling with epigrammatic

nonsense which will confirm people in their credence, if no

contradiction is given.

With regard to our dear charming friend, _her_ tormentors

_must_ be private ones. The _Public_ would not suffer their

truly deserving favourite to be insulted; and she should run

_to_, not from the _Theatre_, for protection. I guess not what

_character_ it was in which, you say, she will appear no more.

_Tell_ me, and tell me what she thinks of the enclosed. Oh! how

you and I must for ever hold abhorred of our whole souls, the

human creature who can thus delight in torturing a heart like

hers! Have I ever _seen_ him, think you? Has he made advances to

her, and been refused? Or does he protect a rival Actress rising

into fame? Or _what_ inspires such horrible malignity? I pretend

not to trace, as Fanny Burney and as Harriet Lee can do, vile

passions to their source, but such characters prove the Play of

Hatred and feelings of de Montfort not out of nature....

My packet of macaroni came down without the book in it, so I

still remain ignorant of all but what you tell me.... Well!

I shall read it some time, and will learn (even without its

assistance) to give my esteem where confidence would be ill

bestowed. I wish all the Lees very well, notwithstanding what

has passed in my own mind concerning their conduct towards _me_.

We must take people as they are, and _such_ people are, at any

rate, extremely difficult to meet with.

Our little Boy left us yesterday, and for Mr. Davies's credit

and his own, left us chearfully. A sweeter temper'd creature

lives not, nor one better disposed to smooth down life's

asperities before him, either by well applied strength, or by a

power happier still, of rolling over them, and suffering little

hurt.

Miss Thrale has written to me very civilly from Lowestoffe. We

have the whole island between us; for Mr. Piozzi promises me a

dip in our Irish Channel next week, and we go on Thursday next

to a Bathing Place called Prestatyn, about 14 miles off. Now do

not exclaim "What! are you 14 miles from the sea?" because we

are scarcely 4 miles; but from any conveniences we are at least

fourteen. The invasion seems to keep nobody inland, and by the

King's giving up Bath entirely I gather the Ministers no longer

feel apprehensions. If French chicanery cannot raise a famine or

a sedition among _us_, and if "even-handed Justice does indeed

return the ingredients of that poyson'd chalice to themselves,"

and set on foot a mutiny among their own soldiers,--_peace must

follow_. I told you it was coming, and plenty too; _and what I

told you then my heart adheres to still_....

Dr. Crossman, to whom the newspapers had married Hannah More, was

rector of Blagdon, the parish in which her controversy with Bere, the

curate, arose.

BRYNBELLA, _Fryday Oct. 9, 1801_.

Well! my dear, tardy Friend! your letter is come at last, and a

nice letter it is. I have one too this post from Mr. Whalley,

so kind! He has had enough to do with his Lady Writers, but he

loves both Hannah More and myself, and the least we can do in

return is to be _merry_, love our friends, forgive our enemies,

forget offenders and offences, and light up our windows for

the Peace. The terms are certainly in no sense disgraceful,

and since we have all been saying so repeatedly, "Let us heal

our own wounds, limit our own expences, and care no longer

for Allies who, 'tis sure, care not for _us_;" I pronounce

our Ministers fully justified to _this_ Country for quitting

their post, and leaving every _other_ Country to the fate they

would none of them resist. While France, having enlarged her

own territory beyond the proudest hope of their own proudest

Monarch, has prudently bought us off from fighting Europe's

battles, with two eminently rich, useful, and valuable Islands:

well knowing that an Englishman will always be quiet while his

palate is pleased and his pockets full.

The Gold, and Silver, and Rubies, and Rice from Ceylon,

sweeten'd by Sugar from Trinidad, will keep Great Britain in

perfect good humour, and the Commercial Treaty will keep her

employ'd; and in the meantime Alexander and Buonaparte mean to

divide the Globe. Such is apparently their project for 1801; how

and by what means God Almighty will render it abortive remains

to be seen. The internal politics of our United Kingdoms here

at home offer a _fair shew_ certainly, for if people are not

pleas'd with seeing their ports fill'd with foreign corn, and

their stack-yards groaning under the weight of our own harvests,

what _will_ please them? Not the price of Mutton in the markets

I trow; for between the inclosing commons, and _improving_ the

breed of sheep in Counties where such large animals cannot find

pasture, with many other reasons, their flesh will sell for

6_d._ _an ounce_ next year, and we shall have more mouths to

feed after the War is over, unless the mortality at Liverpool

goes on. Ah! dear Friend! I told you how it would be, and true

did I tell you, but no matter,

For other thoughts mild Heav'n a time ordains,

And disapproves that care, tho' wise in show,

That with superfluous burden loads the day;

And when God sends a chearful hour, refrains.

Let us light up our windows and be merry....

Little did I dream seven years ago of seeing peace proclaimed

between Great Britain and the _Consular State_ of France.

Little could I _ever_ have dreamed that I should see Venice

annihilated, Genoa forgotten, Piedmont's Alpine barrier

insufficient to keep out invasion, even in the depth of winter;

and old Rome, divided against herself, dropping into her enemy's

mouth almost without invitation. The world, as it appears,

consenting to all this, and even happy to think things have gone

no worse. We shall see more yet, but shall not see _all_. _All!_

no, nor _half_....

I wrote Harriet Lee word how much her tale impress'd me. 'Tis

a characteristic of this age, I think, to shew what forcible

impression may be made by setting only our _mean_ passions to

work, avarice, fraud, and fear; instead of generosity, love, and

valour. What she has done, however, is very striking; and every

one I lend the book to is amazed to find Conrade the murderer of

Stralenheim....

The long-expected Peace, which gave us Trinidad and Ceylon, was not

finally arranged till March, but preliminaries were signed October 1.

BRYNBELLA, _30 Nov. 1801_.

No, thank you, my dear anxious Friend; we are pretty well, and

pretty happy, as health and happiness in this world go. I have

had _more_ than my share of both, blessed be God. My master has

an addition to _his_ torments, St. Anthony's fire, in and out,

but much less afflicting than troublesome. It keeps him from

going to neighbours' houses, and without _that_, there is no

hope of Autumnal society at Brynbella: it will keep him from

going to _yours_, and then he must learn to swear of dear Mr.

Pennington. Lord de Blaquiere, who used to free my covers, is

gone to London, and my prudence (for the first time in my life)

overbalanced my tenderness, and so I made you uneasy: and so I'm

glad you _were_ uneasy, and there's an end.

We have written about the house to Mrs. Garrart and to Harriet

Lee both. They say my Lord Kenmare is in now, and will be out on

the 12th Jan. That time will do nicely, and the poor folks round

here are glad he does not quit sooner, tho' Mr. Piozzi has given

a dozen of them good warm winter jackets, and a petticoat each

to the wife: and barley, which last year was at 32_s._, they may

have now at 18_s._, and good wheat at a guinea. So I shall leave

them with less regret this year than last for all those reasons;

and we employ a vast many hands in planting....

Something is the matter at Belvidere House, I do _think_.

Harriet says she has the Black Dog upon her back, and writes

as if wishing to be courted out of the secret. Instead of

doing which, I wrote her a rhodomontading letter, all mirth

and no matter[21] (as Beatrice says) to turn the course of

her ideas: for I wish not confidence where real kindness has

ceased to reside: and if these novel-writing Ladies fancy that

they, and they alone, can read the human mind,--'tis a mistake.

Your imagination is bound by the Juggler who rattles and talks

while he ties a knot in your pocket-handkerchief, as surely as

by the sly Thief that steals it, only the intention is more

honorable....

[21] _Much Ado_, II. i. 344.

Oh do tell the Doctor that Lord Kirkwall did _not_ marry Miss

Ormsby, and that everybody says it was because he felt that he

liked Miss Blaquiere better; certain it is the first match went

off; and if this second does not come on, I shall wonder.

You were always more sanguine about the benefits of peace than

I was, but tranquillity is the best consequence it _can_ have;

let's not therefore disturb that by putting monopoly in people's

heads, or in their mouths. Such talk leads to nothing but riot.

If there is no scarcity there will be no monopoly: the people

_can_ monopolise nothing that is not already scarce. A peace

which leaves unresisted France mistress of more territory than

was ever hoped for by her proudest Monarch in his proudest day;

which annihilates before her grasp principalities and powers,

and leaves her tributary Republics secur'd to her services by

the cheap garrison, _Opinion_, cannot be viewed without horror

by the mere writer of Retrospection. Tho' such were the miseries

of war, and such the acquisitions by treaty to Great Britain,

that peace has a right, not only to please, but to console, and

even _delight_ a true English subject....

BRYNBELLA, _Tuesday Night, 15 Dec. 1801_.

... Well! Time passes away, and so do torments, and poor Mrs.

Whalley will have no more in this world. I shall have that of

telling you that there will not be any _habitable Brynbella this

Summer_, that is coming. We shall be thrown on the wide world

ourselves, and mean to pass the early part of it at Streatham

Park, on a visit, the latter end in Caernarvonshire, where my

lease of a little estate is out, and then call here for a month

or two in our way back to _Winter Quarters_.... On this hope of

real comfort let us live till then, and pass some chearful hours

together at dear Bath, where I would I were this moment! Mr.

Piozzi playing on the Piano e forte to Mrs. De Luc, you and I

listening, and hoarding up chat for the half hour after he and

his auditress are abed and asleep....

I cannot yet rid myself of this Bristol quarrel. If the Mores

are, and have been always Sectaries, why do they deny it?

Where's the harm done? I had rather they were good High Church

folks like you, and like myself, but the religion that was good

enough for Isaac Watts need not be shrunk from. What are they

afraid of?...

Mrs. Hamilton tells me sweet Siddons is _alive_, but I fancy she

is on no stage now. Poor Mrs. Whalley's death will grieve her

unaffectedly. I was never intimate enough to _feel_ her loss,

but she was no common character, that's certain. Half a dozen

Gentlemen who lived much together abroad were so sincerely vex'd

when she left presiding at their public table, that they quitted

the house; a surprizing testimony to the conversation talents of

one so wanting in youth or beauty....

[_P.M._ BATH.]

My dear Mrs. Pennington's friends will learn to _hate_ poor H.

L. P.'s name, and that of her _family_, I fear, when I have told

her how my little John Salusbury and his Preceptor, Mr. Davies,

are coming for ten days in the _middle of January_, to occupy

our _only apartment_, and that, as you know, a bad one. The time

is past when he was _Piccolino_ and slept with Allen, and play'd

with the men and maids; he is a great boy now, and I would not

trust him out of my own sight, except with his Tutor, for all

the territory of Venice.

And now let us talk of sweet Siddons, who, next to immediate

home concerns, is dear to you and me. Here is her letter back,

and truly sorry am I for her. Be perswaded now, and remain

convinced that neither fame nor fortune can make happiness....

How people _do_ study to prolong their own existence _in_ this

world, and their own enjoyment _of_ this world, through their

offspring, may be learned by the strange tale, now revived, of

Hugh Capet's being told by an Astrologer that his descendants

should reign over France _not quite_ 800 years. "Will it," he

said, "add to their time of sitting on this throne if I do not

reign at all?" "Oh! yes," replies the man, "your dynasty will

then continue 806 years." Hugh Capet was, for that reason, never

crowned. And if you will add those 806 years to A.D.

987, when he asked the question, they will make 1793, when his

last descendant was deposed and murder'd. This story now comes

in peoples' heads because of the surprising Labrador stone dug

up in Russia, and containing Louis XVI's profile delineated

upon it by the _hand of nature_. Miss Thrale has seen it, and

there is a facsimile handed about this town; yet many think it

an imposition, and those who think otherwise are ashamed to

say they think so. I wish to look at it in your company, which

always adds to every intellectual gratification bestow'd on

yours truly,

H. L. P.

Accept our Christmas Wishes, and hope of a happy New Year.

_Sat. 22 May 1802_,

GEORGE ST., MANCHESTER SQUARE, LONDON, _No. 5_.

My dear Mrs. Pennington will begin to expect _accounts_, and I

think the first thing to give account of is our house; wherein

was no bed, no fire, and no spit, upon our first arrival. Here,

therefore, none save a negative inventory of felicities can

be given; but we hire, and we croud, and we dine out, and we

endure the inconveniences with the more philosophy as neither

house, nor lodgings, nor room even in a Hôtel can be got nearer

to Christian dwellings than Cecil Street in y^e Strand, where

Governor Bruce has housed himself. So much for _residence_.

The cards of visitors and inviters, however, cover our little

table, and we have already pass'd three pleasant evenings

enough! The first at dear Siddons's, where Lady Percival, Mrs.

Barrington, Mrs. FitzHugh, and Mr. Whalley all met us; and we

talked of you, and everyone talked as you would have wished to

hear; but Mrs. Siddons disclaims letter writing, and says her

_friends_ must be contented without being her _correspondents_.

Among them they perswaded us to push for places at the Theatre

next night, where Hermione's statue was exhibited for the last

time. I never did see anything so admirable, or so much like a

_statue_ of our lovely Actress, for it really did _seem stone_;

and the whole was got up with such taste and splendour that I

wished for Garrick to witness the magnificence of modern Drury

Lane. He would have wonder'd tho' what was become of his old

Florizel and Perdita--Barry and Mrs. Cibber. Kemble played

Leontes better than I ever saw him do anything since the Regent.

Apropos to which, here is the Author; looking as well as ever,

handsome, gay, and brilliant. Mrs. Greatheed alters, and becomes

very fat. Their habitation is said to be fixed at Guy's Cliffe,

though they are hastening to Paris as I understand, where Helen

Maria Williams and the famous Polish hero Koschiusko attract

general notice. Buonaparte is consider'd as tott'ring on an

unfix'd seat of pow'r; if he can once convert it into a _throne_

it will perhaps stand firmer.

We dined with Miss Thrales yesterday, the party particularly

agreeable, and very good _talkers_ in it. We women retired to

Coffee as the clock struck _nine_; the men followed in less than

an hour, and when tea was taken away at 11 _o'clock_, we came

home to sleep, and the rest went out to various parties for y^e

_evening_.

Fryday was pass'd at Streatham; little Salusbury seems much

improved. I heard his whole class say their lesson, and made

observations like those of Mrs. Quickly in the Merry Wives of

Windsor. It was in those characters Susanna and Sophia shone,

it seems, at the last Masquerade, dress'd exactly alike, for

Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page. I wish my rich tenant Mr. Giles would

get a wife, that one might with better grace accept his kind

invitations to Streatham Park, which never was so fine before....

Charles Edward Bruce, Governor of Prince Edward's Island, was third

son of Charles, fifth Earl of Elgin, and brother of the seventh Earl,

who collected the Elgin Marbles.

Susanna Maria Cibber, a daughter of Mr. Arne, first made her mark as a

singer, Handel's contralto solos in the _Messiah_ and _Samson_ being

written for her. She obtained even greater reputation as an actress,

and played with Spranger Barry at Drury Lane in 1748, and at Covent

Garden in 1750.

Tadeusz Kosciusko, after having been educated in France, had a

chequered military career in America, where he fought for the

Colonists, and at home. After the second partition of his country he

formed a Provisional Government, but was soon after captured by his

enemies. On his release he visited England and America, but finally

settled in France, where, about this time, he was forming an estate

near Fontainebleau.

_No. 5_ GEORGE ST., MANCHESTER SQUARE.

_Wensday, 2 Jun. 1802._

My dear Mrs. Pennington's beautiful letter is the picture

of her mind, a mind which only this vast Town can fill: and

she starves at pretty _Bristol_, as I call it, like a large

fish put in a small pond, pining for more space, and more of

something to occupy that space. My taste is different. I really

feel more confounded than amused at every public place, more

stunned than informed by every conversation, and more generally

perplex'd than pleased with the multitude of faces, voices,

and caprices that surround me. Banti and Billington sang three

nights ago at Viganoni's Benefit,--we heard them,--not a duet,

two separate songs of the same class, Italian Airs, and both of

them Bravura. When they had done,--"I am a Bantist," says one

Critic. "Ah! long live Billington!" exclaims another, "Her's is

the only straight road to fortune and to fame." _All_ appeared

quite _distracted_ with the delight they had enjoyed, yet none

seemed _satisfied_; for scarce a female in the room except

myself went home to bed at midnight. But some at Ranelagh, some

at my Lady Pomfret's, disposed of the hours _once_ consecrate

to sleep: while many filled the back rooms of Fancy Dress

Makers, who this year keep houses open all night for _various

purposes_. The ostensible one, (and that rational enough too,)

is that the women may chuse Habits unobserved by each other for

these innumerable Masquerades, where two or three different

characters are supported every evening by Ladies of y^e Haut

Ton; increasing expence, and facilitating intrigue in a manner

hitherto unexampled. _One_ consequence of all this is our paying

half a guinea for chickens,--the _couple_ I mean,--and 9_d._ o'

pound for what I should have termed _soup-meat_ at Bath Market.

_Another_ happier consequence to Country Rustics like _us_

will be reconcilement to quieter scenes and far more tranquil

pleasures. I grow very much to resemble the ill-bred fellow

you and I used to laugh about, who, when Lord Mount Edgecumbe

showed him the glories of our grandest sea view, from our most

cultivated spot of earth in Devonshire, commanding the exits

and entrances of fleets, armies, commerce, etc. from Plymouth

Sound and Dock, declared that he had been exceeding happy at

_The Leasowes_, for that he liked _inland_ prospects, (for his

part,) and _river_ fish. In no unsimilar ill-humour do I vaunt

the comforts of Bath society and a Sedan Chair, when the pole

of some gay carriage runs into our pannel, or when, to avoid

_that_, I take a run in the rain, and wet my feet upon their

wide trottoirs.

Apropos to Bath conquests made, it appears I have retained

but one. Gen^l. Smith is _faithless_, and has so completely

forgotten us he never has left a card. Mr. Simmons is a fav'rite

among the Great, and we humble Lodgers are not likely to be

remember'd while suites of splendid apartments in every grand

street and square are open to talents--of whatever kind. Edmund

Charlton alone _is true_. I have a letter from _him_ signed

my very _dutyful and affectionate friend_, and saying he is

_less unhappy_ now than when he wrote his Mama word he was

_miserable_.... Our own Titmouse bids fair to possess abilities

for bustle, and by y^e time he comes into y^e world, it will be

a mad world enough.

Well! I can yet make _new_ conquests. Lord _Stanhope_ professes

himself my admirer, and the admirer of _my books_. Lady Corke

call'd him and about 300 people more round her last night, on

the spur of a moment, because Mr. Piozzi, who had met her in

Cumberland Street, had promised to sing at a _very private

party_ for her Ladyship's amusement: and there was H. L. P.

caressed by all the _Liberty-Lovers_: sweet Lady Derby more

lovely than them all, and protesting that my husband never

looked younger nor sung better. There was a Mr. Moore, a

new favourite with the public, who makes his own music and

poetry, and pleases people very much,--a sort of English

Improvisatore,--and there were the Abrahams, and there was

everybody: and all our talk was the terrors and riots of a

Mask'd Ball held the night before at Cumberland House, now

the Union Club. Many women were hurt, and many frighted. My

Susan Thrale came off with a black eye, but her fingers were

well, and she played on y^e harp at Lady Cork and Orrery's.

Sophia went for a Comic Muse, but said the end was very nearly

tragical; those who fainted from fear were trode upon. Lady

Derby stood still and _cried_, and succeeded better in obtaining

compassion. The men's brutality, Mr. Andrews protests, was

quite unexampled in a civilised country: but Mrs. Greatheed, a

jocund young Shepherdess, went thro' the whole unhurt, under

the protection of such a husband and such a son as are rarely

seen, and both striving which shall most _pet_ and most adore

_her_. They are now all of them repairing their charms for Mrs.

Drummond Smith's Assembly, and Beedle's grand Ranelagh Fête to

be held next Fryday. So much for flash intelligence....

Political matters do not run quite so _even_. Buonaparte tho'

is likely as we hear to be made all he wishes; and if he lives

to coin the money, Apollion Buonaparte _Dei Gratia Imperator

Gallorum_, it will be very curious indeed....

Elizabeth Billington, considered to be the finest singer England ever

produced, was engaged both at Drury Lane and Covent Garden. This year

she sang in Italian opera at the King's Theatre for Banti's farewell.

Lord Stanhope must have been Charles, third Earl Stanhope, the

scientist, who married Lady Hester Pitt.

The English Improvisatore was, of course, Thomas Moore, who had lately

come into notice by his translations of _Anacreon_. The _British

Critic_ described him as "a young man of elegant and lively, though

not sufficiently regulated imagination"; and predicted that if he

applied himself to "more important subjects, and of a more moral

tendency, few poets of the present day will equal, and perhaps

scarcely any excel him."

After the Peace of Amiens the Senate proposed to appoint Bonaparte

First Consul for ten years. He artfully referred the question to the

people, but in the form of a consulship for life, which was adopted

9th May.

_No. 5_ GEORGE ST., MANCHESTER SQUARE.

_Sat. 19 June 1802._

... Cecy Mostyn indeed is no steady intelligencer; she says but

little, and that little speaks good of but few. I could not

dig from her one word, good or bad, concerning _you_, tho' Mr.

Piozzi and I both mentioned Mrs. Pennington's name on various

occasions, while we were _all_ enjoying Mr. Giles's kind

hospitalities _together_ at old Streatham Park.

We are returned now like Stella, to _Small Beer, a Herring,

and the Dean_. Apropos to Deans, we have lost our Bishop at S.

Asaph, and the learned Dr. Horsley is expected to reign in his

stead. But you had rather hear about Mara and Billington. We

were at the grand Concert and Benefit when they sung a _Duet_

with immoderate applause, tolerably impartial too, because

Mara shone there with her _low notes_. _Agitata_ however went

off very coldly, under visible tremors of jealous anxiety. I

could have cried almost to see 60 struggling so against six

and thirty, with so little hope of success in a professional

contest; whilst in all those where merit is not look'd to, _the

Filly loses every heat_. Our gay Prince of Wales, gayer than

ever, shines the charm of society, his charmer by his side. When

his fair cousin _does_ appear in public, she retires thence

unnoticed except for her beauty and dress, which is always

singularly rich and grand. Pretty women are common, as far [as]

I observe, who think so very little about them, but I see none

strikingly handsome.

Sophia Streatfield is much alter'd in person, but her manner,

little changed, secures to her, even yet, _some_ pow'rs of

fascination. At _her_ request, we _visit_; odd enough! But as

Callista says, "It is no matter; she can no more betray, nor I

be ruin'd...."

Well! I am really haunted by _black shadows_. Men of colour

in the rank of gentlemen; a black Lady, cover'd with finery,

in the Pit at the Opera, and tawny children playing in the

Squares,--the gardens of the Squares I mean,--with their Nurses,

afford ample proofs of Hannah More and Mr. Wilberforce's success

towards breaking down the _wall of separation_. Oh! how it falls

on every side! and spreads its tumbling ruins on the world!

leaving all ranks, all customs, all colours, all religions

_jumbled together_, till like the old craters of an exhausted

volcano, Time closes and covers with fallacious green each

ancient breach of distinction; preparing us for the moment when

we shall be made _one fold under one Shepherd_, fulfilling the

voice of prophecy.

One of the things most worthy of remark here is the surprizing

increase in population. You would be astonish'd to see the Town

as much _fuller_ (in all appearance,) as 'tis larger. On an

evening when common people come forth for amusement, all these

new streets leading up almost to Hampstead, are thronged like

Cheapside upon a busy day: and when I enquire if Westminster and

Southwark suffer from the change of fashion, as I deemed it, the

reply is that rents never were so high in _both places_, and

that fresh outlets are daily forming, and ground contended for

on building lease....

Mr Piozzi says the Music Carts are a proof of all I say. They

are so numerous now it makes one wonder. Yet he dislikes the

style in which that art is carried on; and though Vinci is a

pleasing singer, she is no favourite for want of striking airs

to shew her voice. Mr. Braham sang "Every Valley" so as to

remind me of _old Johnny Beard_--the _manner_ I mean--quite

_exactly_, and you will trust my remembrance of a performer I

liked so much....

On the death of Bishop Bagot, as Mrs. Piozzi anticipated, Samuel

Horsley, who had previously been Bishop of St. David's, was translated

from Rochester to St. Asaph.

As Mara was born in 1749 she was not really much over fifty. She is

said to have made over £1000 by her farewell benefit this year, after

which she retired to Russia, and lived at Moscow till it was burnt

during the French invasion.

Sophia Streatfield was one of those women who are not only

irresistibly attractive to the other sex when they choose to exercise

their powers, but seem impelled to exercise them on every man with

whom they are brought in contact. Thrale had fallen a victim to her

fascinations, and the undisguised admiration he showed for her had

caused his wife much heart-burning many years before, as she describes

in her _Autobiography_.

John Braham, the tenor, son of a German Jew, had been singing at Drury

Lane and the Festivals of the Three Choirs for about six years. His

predecessor, John Beard, born about ninety years before, began as a

singer in the chapel of the Duke of Chandos at Cannons. He made his

reputation in _Acis and Galatea_, and appeared at Drury Lane in 1737.

His first wife was Lady Henrietta Herbert, daughter of James, Earl

Waldegrave, and widow of William, Marquess of Powis.

LONDON, _16 July 1802_.

You will wonder, dear Friend, what has delayed us here so

long. I will tell you now that we are delayed no longer. In

the first place our letters from Wales tell us hourly of the

impropriety--impossibility I might call it--of being comfortable

at Brynbella. In the next place we are paying only 4 guineas o'

week here for a whole house, _such as it is_, so I see not where

we could be cheaper, and many Friends that leave this Town very

late, have made it agreeable to us by letting us live _in_ our

house very few days in every week. Mr. Piozzi says we have dined

from home no fewer than 30 times....

England seems quite on fire with these odious and foolish

elections. The scenes exhibited in my young days by Johnny

Wilkes could alone equal the raging uproars at Brentford during

this last week. Mr. Bradford dare not go through the place

to Henley on his necessary business, and the Sans-Culotte

Candidate at Covent Garden keeps Westminster all in a ferment.

An intelligent acquaintance newly returned from France describes

that Country very differently. The people's spirit is totally

broken down, he says, and any government is welcome to them that

will leave quiet individuals in peaceable possession of _their

lives_. Not a Country Gentleman's seat is left standing, he

tells me, between Calais and Paris, nor any place of worship,

except what is filled with shops, raree-shows, etc. Buonaparte's

declaration, that he will absolutely hear a Military Mass

four times per annum, has made them clear out one church in

the Capital: but force will be found necessary to oblige his

subjects to marry, as they have learn'd to live without conjugal

shackles, till the gross licentiousness of French behaviour

is deemed positively dangerous to population. Our Streatham

neighbour, a wealthy and well accomplished friend of Mr. Giles,

hasten'd to bring back again his wife and daughter: tho' when

they were come home he protested that no _modest_ woman was left.

What else shall I tell to amuse you? Our talk is only how

unfavourable the weather is for Vauxhall: I got more rational

converse at our own good Tenant's table last Sunday than I

have heard now for some time.... Something is however always

going forward at London, and Mons^r Garnerin's Balloon called

all its inhabitants into the fields here one day, when such an

exhibition of umbrellas darken'd the air as I could not have

conceived without seeing. Our country servants' amazement at

the numbers flocking round contributed exceedingly to _my_

diversion. Little Betty was half out of her wits with wonder,

and even Tom takes interest in the appearance of five or six

hundred soldiers on a field-day in Hyde Park. They are going

back to Brynbella immediately.... Mr. Piozzi has bought a nice

cart here, and a horse which draws them down in it, whilst we

proceed to Tenby through Oxford and Cheltenham....

The Brentford election riots were the result of the candidature of Sir

F. Burdett, who had attacked the New House of Correction in Coldbath

Fields as the "English Bastille," giving rise to the following squib:

"Ho! Ho!" cries the Devil, "come, bring me my boots!

Here's a kettle of fish that my appetite suits,

To Brentford an airing I'll take;--'tis past bearing

That my friends should be fettered by Justice Mainwaring.

But young B----tt I like; and will form a connection

To abolish jail, gibbet, and House of Correction."

André Jacques Garnerin made the first successful descent by a

parachute. He demonstrated his invention in Paris in 1797, and this

year came to London, where he ascended from North Audley Street, and

descended from a height of about 8000 feet, near St. Pancras.

TENBY, S.W., _Tuesday, 3 Aug. 1802_.

What can be the matter, dear Mrs. Pennington? When _you_ do

not write something must be the matter I am afraid. We were so

near you at Cheltenham; I expected letters _there_ from all the

living world, but nobody's pen stir'd, and after having drank

water for a whole week, without any of the usual effects from

it, we drove on through South Wales to the Sea, which always

looks _homeish_ to a subject of Great Britain. The beauties of

Brecknockshire never seem to have been praised half enough....

Our little salt water cup here is the prettiest thing possible,

a caricatura in miniature of the Bay of Naples, and I hope Lord

Nelson will be struck with the resemblance if he comes hither

with the Hamiltons next Thursday, as we expect. Four thousand

people collected in a trice to give him welcome at Caermarthen,

and sung the _Conquering Hero_ as he past. It was the greater

proof of their gratitude because a temporary frenzy had seized

all the inhabitants, who were battling an Election contest with

fury unexampled, till _he_ arrived, who united Reds and Blues in

a momentary procession, accompanying and applauding the warrior

who, by his prowess, had purchased them leisure to display

their folly. The disgraceful scenes exhibited at Brentford and

Nottingham are however of a far different complexion....

I dined among profess'd Democrates just before we left London,

but it seemed to me as if their fondness for Paris was

rather diminished than increased by their last visit to that

Metropolis, where they described Buonaparte as living in a Camp

rather than a Court, and with a careful brow receiving, not

enjoying, the homage paid him. By their talk I gather'd that

Helen Williams lives in the same Hotel with Stone; but that no

scandal or idea of connection subsists for that reason; that

Koschieffsky, the Polish chieftain, is her hero,--much as Miss

Lee venerates General Paoli;--and that her house (Helen's) is

the resort of a Literary Coterie, all _malcontents_, who tell

those that get into their circle what a short duration the

present order of things will be granted, and what happy days

await France when the next change takes place. Was not Lord

Lyttleton right enough when, walking round Ranelagh, he observed

that pleasure was always _in the next Box_?

Miss Hamilton is said to be writing somewhat very entertaining

in a cottage near some of the Lakes. Miss Edgeworth makes

everybody laugh but me, with her Essay on Irish Bulls. Hannah

More is suffering from her Pamphlet Fever still. And they tell

me Helen Williams thinks of nothing with real delight except

London Society, and an unsullied reputation for female honour.

Her mother, yet alive, curses the atheistical notions that

surround her, teaches Cecilia's Babies Dr. Watts's Hymns and our

Church Catechism, prays for King George the Third morning, noon,

and night, and centres all her wishes in that one of seeing old

England (forsooth,) once again. Why upon earth did they leave

it?...

Pasquale de Paoli had been elected Generalissimo of Corsica in 1755,

and held the post till the Genoese sold the island to France in

1768, when he escaped to England, and was granted a pension. He

accepted the Governorship at the Revolution, but being disgusted

at the proceedings of the Convention, organised a revolt, and was

again elected Generalissimo. Finding himself unable to maintain the

independence of his country, he agreed to hand it over to England,

and when we evacuated the island, retired to London, where he died in

1807. His remains were conveyed to Corsica in 1889.

Miss Hamilton's "something amusing" would appear to be her _Letters

on Education_, published 1801-2. The _Essay on Irish Bulls_ was the

joint work of Richard Lovell and Maria Edgeworth. The _British Critic_

deemed it "a kind of peace-offering to the Irish nation for the

harmless satire of _Castle Rackrent_."

TENBY, _Friday, August 6, 1802_.

This is indeed a dismal end to the long silence of poor dear

Mrs. Pennington. Your letter kept us both awake last night, yet

I have fixed on no mode of consolation to be offer'd you in the

morning. Should it please God that you were to become once more

a _Single Woman_, I hope _we_ should always be able and willing

to afford you shelter. In the mean time it is your duty to be

careful of your health, your Husband, and your Mother, who, of

the three, is really most to be pitied. There is always some

brighter part than the _rest_, of every cloudy sky; and that

part gets more luminous as one fixes one's eyes upon it....

Be perswaded to anticipate possible, though distant, good;

you _will not_ believe in ills till they are near _indeed_.

My croaking with regard to public matters you rejected, as

disturbing your rejoycing in the peace, and the plenty, and the

taking away of the Income Tax: but what I said _then_ might now

be _seen_, if we were not _blind_: it will shortly be _felt_,

for feeling is a sense that will remain long after the others

are blunted.

If the Parliament, by finding Sir Francis Burdett's votes

illegal, make the Westminster election void, who will stand

forward to oppose him? Mainwaring? And if he does, will that be

very advantageous, (think you,) towards the peace of the Country

and our Sovereign Lord the King? Or will his _next_ opponent,

if Mr. Mainwaring be weary, have any better success? And will

you give the Democrates a fresh triumph, because this last is

not sufficient? If he is _outed_ at a stroke, and Mr. Mainwaring

called in, the consequent violence will be great indeed, and the

uproar deafening. It was an ill-managed business....

What _you_ have lost, could not, I suppose, have been saved;

what Government loses, they do not much struggle to keep.

Everything is done in a new way, and we who lived in former

times do not much like it. But as Baretti said, when losing at

Backgammon, "These are bad dice, but we must play them as they

are." ...

Sea bathing is beautifully pleasant in this little place,

fertile in fish beside, but seeing no fruit makes one feel as

if summer was quite over.... Mr. Piozzi waits here very good

humourdly till Brynbella has made her toilette. What a mercy

'tis that Gout has not yet laid hold on him!...

[Illustration: MRS. PIOZZI (ABOUT 1808)

_By J. Bate after a medallion by Henning, 1808_

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

Mrs. Pennington's troubles were of a financial description, and seem

to have been brought about, for the second time, by her scape-grace

brother.

BRYNBELLA, _30 Aug. 1802_.

(Franked "Kirkwall.")

Sick or well, sorry or glad, nobody sure does write such letters

as our dear Mrs. Pennington. It is because nobody else writes

from the heart, I suppose.... Mr. Pennington was always an

_honourable_ character, and since you are to be a dependent

wife, be thankful your dependence is upon a _Gentleman_ who,

while he deems himself such, will never desert you. Be thankful

too, that you have no young family. You _cannot now_ I think,

be parent of two children, and live to see the one rob the other

and run away. These are sins against _Nature_! My heart recoils

from thought of them. Poor Mrs. Weston!! I, who am a mother,

must feel for _her_!

After long wanderings and washings, like the Lady in Hannah

More's Village Politics, with hot water and cold water, salt

water and fresh water, here am I returned to Brynbella, and if I

thought it would divert you for a moment, I would tell you how

sublime and beautiful a journey we had across this Principality

from South to North. Fine Alpine scenery between Machynlleth

and Bala, varying at every step; and presenting now a rough,

high, uncultivated rock, and now clusters of small corn fields

round a tiny village, that for aught I see _need_ not be so

poor, because the grass and grain are really plentiful. Small

lakes among volcanic fragments are perpetually occurring, and

our guide showed us one which had _literally no bottom_. From

Bala Pool indeed the River Dee takes its source, and winds about

with very elegant bends till it reaches Chester; but Kader Idris

is the chief feature of the whole Country, and tho' far smaller

than Snowdon, it is much more impressive. Our weather likewise

on that day was gloomy;

The winds were high, the clouds low-hung,

And drag'd their sweepy trains along

The shaggy mountain's side.

Apropos to _Verses_, you must read the British Critic for last

April, and what he says of Retrospection: it has entertained me

exceedingly, and will amuse Gen^l. Smith and Dr. Randolph. I

hope those two friends will join to console you; what talents

and literature can do, _they_ are, above all men I know, capable

of administering: but it is a grievous thing to think how very

little can be done by either talents or literature. Piety and

business will effect in a month what the other two could not

perform in a year. Fly to _those_, dear Sophia, and be not

solitary or idle for an instant. Your situation is happy in that

too it forces you on Company. Nor is it wise at any time to be

fastidious; you may receive from _very plain people_ very good

hints, and one comes away having learn'd something where 'tis

least to be expected, much oftener in this life than you would

think for....

Sir Francis Burdett, a friend of Horne Tooke, had been elected for

Middlesex by a large majority over Mainwaring, a magistrate who had

opposed the inquiry into prison abuses. He sat for two years, when the

election was declared void, but litigation went on, at an enormous

expense, till 1806, when Burdett resolved not to contest another

election.

The _British Critic_ describes _Retrospection_ as a work "perfectly

singular,--a Universal History from the beginning of the Christian

Era, translated into chit-chat language, alternating with passages

in an elevated style"; and inclines to think that it was originally

written in blank verse, but disjointed by the printer or the author,

_e.g._ (p. 76):

"Chased many Vandals from their ancient seats,

And so increased his wild and wide domain,

Soon to be called after his name, their founder,

That all the Northern districts of the Empire

Felt justly fearful of these gathering storms."

"Many, like M. Jourdain, have talked prose half their lives without

knowing it, but few have written half a large book in harmonious

heroics, when they meant to write mere prose. If we might advise, the

ingenious Author should turn the whole into blank verse, and republish

it."

BRYNBELLA, _Thursday 7 Oct. 1802_.

When a Member of Parliament says to me, "Shall I give you a

Frank?" "Oh yes!" I always reply, "for Mrs. Pennington." Lord

Kirkwall's generosity is the cause of _this_ letter, because

in these hard times one likes, you see, to get a little chat

gratis. The next thing to be considered is,--what shall I ask?

and what shall I tell? That my Master has had a smart fit of

gout in his hands, and that I expect him to have one in his

feet, may be told with truth. That the Countess of Cork and

Orrery drove up to our door while he was confined, may be told

with some degree of vexation, because I knew not how on earth to

amuse her, but she was good humoured, and gave little trouble,

and after a fortnight's visit--went away. What she related of

her adventures among the crags of Kader Idris, her admiration of

that wild mountain scenery, and the contrast _our_ gay prospect

afforded her, will, I suppose, be served up in many a London

Assembly next May.

Ladies appear now to travel all Autumn upon a foraging plan of

gleaning talk for their Spring parties. They who spend June

and July in London can never perswade me that they are really

in search of rural pleasures the remaining part of the year in

_our_ cold climate, or that rural pleasure is really to be found

where deformity is sought. Miss Thrales have been looking for

_both_, as I understand, among the _Western Islands_, described

by every traveller as barren, bleak, and dangerous. Had Mr.

Piozzi and I known that they were navigating the stormy Sound of

Mull when we heard the wind roar so a fortnight ago, irritated

by Equinoctial Gales, we should have been in pain for _them_,

not for the furniture expected from Mayhew and Ince to decorate

pretty Brynbella.

_All is safe_ however. Mrs. Bagot used to say it was superfluous

to wish anybody a good journey, because, said she, _everybody_

has a good journey. "Ah! dear Friend!" I hear you exclaim,

"many have a good journey through life too; yet is it not

superfluous to wish their neighbours one likewise; for surely

mine has been a very bad one." Come, courage! The next stages

will be smoother, for you shall not predict of your own fortune

with that unlucky acuteness you show in discerning the future

lot of others....

Sweet Siddons ... writes me word from Belfast that she will call

here in her hurrying journey back to our Metropolis....

The next letter was written the same day, and was evidently called

forth by the announcement of an unexpected visit from Mrs. Pennington;

but neither this, nor that of Mrs. Siddons, ever came off.

BRYNBELLA, _Thursday 7 Oct. 1802_.

My dear Mrs. Pennington will have the sincerest _welcome_

possible, but she will have nothing else. My volunteer letter,

franked by Lord Kirkwall, will shew you that we have _no_

curtains, and _no_ blinds up, no anything but, as Buchetti

used to say of a Spanish Posada, "Four walls! no more." Those

walls will however resound with joy at your arrival, and dear

Siddons's. How good and charming she is! I have a letter--three

lines long--from _her too_....

The next is written while on the way to pay their winter visit to Bath.

GLOUCESTER, _Sat. night 4 Dec. 1802_.

And so I lose Hannah More, and so I lose Mrs. Siddons, and so I

lose dear Mrs. Pennington, and so I lose my fav'rite house at

Bath.

Still drops some joy from with'ring life away!

But 'tis _all for their good_, as the children say, and I resign

to my fate. Let us hope at least that increase of health and

fortune may make _them_ happy. My Master comes better from

Brynbella this year than I scarce ever saw him....

You caution'd me, dear Friend, not to tell of your arrangements.

Assure yourself I am incapable of any such breach of trust. If

one lets the Maid comb one's _own_ secrets out of one's _head_,

(and I have none in,) those _confided_ to me are in a safer

place, lodged in my _heart_. I hope your new projects will

answer, and that you will tell me so on New Year's Day, after

dinner....

_No. 5_ HENRIETTA STREET,

_Thursday 16 Dec. 1802_.

Dear Mrs. Pennington is always right,--the letter was a mere

nothing. Such will, I hope, prove the more rationally alarming

report of Constantinople's sudden and unlooked for destruction.

Be that as it may, our charming Dr. Randolph took occasion

to draw thence a most beautiful and impressive sermon last

Sunday, when he preached better than ever I heard him, to a

heterogeneous congregation, which attracted my notice as much as

the discourse did: Mr. Pitt, Dr. Maclean, the Duchess of York,

and Bishop of West Meath....

Harriet Bowdler is a sad loss to me, and so are the Mores. Bath

is scarce Bath this year somehow: were it not for Laura Chapel

and Pump, I should regret leaving solitude and Brynbella; but

then Laura and Pump are two good things for soul and body, and

what is all the rest?...

The Mores removed this year from Bath to a new house they had built

at Barley Wood, in the parish of Wrington, and which became their

permanent home. It would seem that a similar move was responsible for

the loss of Harriet, (properly Henrietta Maria) Bowdler, sister of the

editor of the _Family Shakespeare_. She herself was a writer of poems

and essays, and also of a volume of sermons, published anonymously,

which were so good that Bishop Porteous is said to have offered

preferment to the unknown author.

Pitt, who was now living in retirement at Walmer Castle, was much

harassed by debts, and in October visited Bath for his health. It was

for his birthday dinner this year that Canning wrote the song, "The

Pilot that weathered the Storm."

The Bishop of Meath, Thos. Lewis O'Beirne, had been educated for the

priesthood in the Roman Church, but received English Orders and was

made Bishop successively of Ossory and Meath. He appears to have been

an excellent prelate, reviving the office of Rural Dean, and carefully

examining his Ordination candidates.

_Tuesday, 21 Dec. 1802._

_Well, well!_ as Sir George Colebrooke says, if we must not meet

we may write, I suppose; and I really will _try_ to rejoice if

my absent friends are happy. Dear Siddons's letter was of more

real value than you seem to think. All our News Papers and News

Talkers have been telling how she was hissed in Dublin, and how

ill it had made her.... But all is well, and so that wise man

Mr. Twiss, with his clear, straightforward understanding, said

it would be; and February will bring her home with all her money

safe I hope....

Our weather here is wondrous mild and soft, good for Brynbella

planting, and very good for the _very poor_ people, who cannot

keep themselves and their one cow alive in hard frost....

The hostile reception of Mrs. Siddons at Dublin was the result of an

unfounded report that she had refused to act for a local charity. It

appears that she gave her assent when the manager suggested it, but

the latter, for some reason, failed to arrange for the performance.

The remaining letters from Bath have no particular interest, but it

appears that just before her departure Mrs. Piozzi had rather a sharp

attack of illness, apparently influenza.

_Thursday, 14 Ap. 1803._

... Dr. Parry and Mr. Bowen both called yesterday to _bid_ me

go out at noon this memorable Thursday. So I went, but found

no enjoyment, except in returning without any apparent harm,

or fresh access of Fever, which they had all so imbued my

mind with, that I felt nothing while from home but fears of a

relapse. It does not appear however that such an accident has

happen'd to _me_ as yet: and perhaps God Almighty will permit us

to see Brynbella once again.

_Sunday, 17 Apr. 1803._

... We shall set out, if it please God, to morrow sennight, and

sleep at Fleece Inn, Rodborough....

My airing in the carriage did me good, and the _knocking knees_

took a walk with me yesterday, up Pulteney Street and down

again,--no more. To-day I will go _twice_ up and down, and so

season myself by degrees....

BRYNBELLA, _19 Jun. 1803_.

Assure yourself, dear Mrs. Pennington, that my thoughts towards

you are in no wise changed: and if I always thought you the

best letter writer in our King's dominions, (before _they_ were

contracted by loss of Hanover,) how much more do I think so

since your last arrived, full as it is of pungent and tender

reproaches....

There are two Bishops and one Dean dead, you see, and their

families left low in the world; yet the Democrates keep on

stripping clergymen of every reason for becoming such; and tear

away tythes etc. without mercy....

Sweet Siddons is at Cheltenham healing _her_ honourable heart

I hope, and washing away its cares. Mr. Whalley is happy, it

is a cordial to hear of _somebody_ being happy. You are too

nervous--as the phrase is; meaning that your nerves are too

irritable to be placidly content; and that is the best state to

be in....

The next letter is addressed to Miss Hannah More's house, Barley Wood,

but has been re-directed to Hotwells.

BRYNBELLA, _31 July 1803_.

Such is the present situation of everybody and everything, that

even _your_ lovely description of Nature and her beauties,

in some place which you, dear Mrs. Pennington, call Bower

Ashton--but of which I never heard in my life before--fail to

detain my mind from events in prospect, and near prospect _now_,

of enormous importance indeed.

Poor Jane Holman, cydevant Honourable Miss Hamilton, is running

hither for refuge from murder and massacre. She has written

to-day to bid us expect her every moment; and though the ground

_is_ covered with wavy corn, and the trees are loaded with

apples, pears, and all useful fruitage, my heart at this instant

feels more bent on their defence than on their admiration.

I defer'd writing till the time that your letter gives me leave

to suppose you are under the half sacred roof of a Lady, to

whom, if we direct _in Europe_, it will find the destined way.

Present me with truly respectful attention where I wish so

sincerely never to be forgotten; and in return I will enclose

you some Impromptu verses, which I threw across the table to

Mr. Piozzi last Monday. We had no company ... only one friend

from Denbigh, and the Parson of the Parish, who translates Miss

More's admirable stories into Welsh, for benefit of his poor

and ignorant parishioners. But here are the lines to Gabriel

Piozzi, 25 Jul. 1803.

Accept, my Love, this honest Lay,

Upon your twentieth Wedding Day.

I little hoped that life would stay

To hail the _twentieth_ Wedding Day.

If you're grown gouty, I grown gray,

Upon our twentieth Wedding Day,

'Tis no great wonder; Friends must say

Why 'twas their twentieth Wedding Day.

Perhaps there's few feel less decay

Upon a twentieth Wedding Day:

And many of those who used to pay

Their court upon our Wedding Day,

Have melted off, and died away

Before the twentieth Wedding Day.

Those places too, which, once so gay,

Bore witness to our Wedding Day,

Florence and Milan, blythe as May,

Marauding French have made their prey.

If then of gratitude one ray

Illuminates our Wedding Day,

Think, midst the wars and wild affray

That rage around this Wedding Day,

What mercy 'tis we are spared to say

"We have seen our twentieth Wedding Day."

If Helen Williams, ever lovely, and once so beloved! is looking

towards England now in preference to France, it is a great

testimony to our Island's felicity and honour. For such suffrage

is not mean, and Helena has had experience of _both nations_,

since she published that little book in which she charged our

Londoners with harshness, avarice, and want of feeling, because

they suffer'd some Monsieur de Fosseè to wear straw boots.

The Londoners' behaviour _now_ does them vast credit in the

opinion of all thinking people, and Mr. Bosanquet's speech

will doubtless be handed down to posterity as giving [a] great

example. Should not you be struck with the sight of a Metropolis

you lived so long in, _fortified_ against _hostile force_? It

would to _me_ bear an extremely awful appearance....

Mrs. Mostyn is said to meditate her return to the rustics of

N. Wales, who will receive her as if she came to confer on us

both benefit and honour. Such is the consequence of that lofty

conduct which forces people into their _places_, as the Ton

Ladies call treating their humble servants with distant and

scarce lukewarm civility. Well! those who take the _other_ way

are worse used in _this_ world, and I suppose will stand no

better in the _next_ for directing to _Miss_ White instead of

plain _Sarah_. I cure every day of some prejudice or other....

The short-lived peace had come to an end, the English Ambassador

quitting Paris on 12th May, and the old scare of invasion was at

once revived. Mrs. Holman was flying from Ireland, always a likely

landing-place for a French expedition. After a quarrel with the

management of Covent Garden, her husband had, for a time, transferred

himself to the Dublin Theatre, and subsequently took up farming.

The verses, at any rate as to their form, are modelled on those

written by Dr. Johnson to celebrate her own thirty-fifth birthday, and

which will be found in Hayward's _Autobiography_, i. 31-2.

The reference to Helen Williams was evidently occasioned by Mrs.

Pennington having communicated the contents of a letter received

from her early in the month, in which Helen justifies her journey to

Switzerland in company with Stone, as previously mentioned. After

expressing her regret at hearing of the death of Maria Siddons, and

offering condolences to the afflicted father and mother, she proceeds:

"Mrs. Piozzi's heart is then changed towards me! I am afflicted

to hear it, because I cannot cease to love her. If she could

look into my heart she would be very sorry for her error: she

would not, I am sure, be willingly unjust to any one. Yet I

should have conjectured, I own, that having suffered so much

from calumny herself, she would have been slow to believe ill of

others!"

_Saturday, 5 Nov. 1803._

(Franked "Kirkwall.")

Our correspondence has languished miserably of late, dear Mrs.

Pennington, but though your letters may be unacknowledged, they

cannot be forgotten....

I have heard ... how much notice you attracted from the Duke

of Cumberland, while he was remaining in or near Bristol, and

heard it with a great deal of pleasure. Indeed _I_ ever thought

it a consolatory circumstance to live where a Royal Family

is established, and posessing a large stake in the country

one inhabits. They are the most likely people to be active in

protecting it; and the present situation of affairs in England,

added to the exemplary conduct of our British Princes, makes me

cling closer to my old opinions.

We have had the Duke of Gloucester's son in _this_ Country; he

spent some time at Llewenny Hall, and Lady Orkney came here

herself to insist on my dining with him there. But Mrs. Holman

was just come from Ireland, and I would not leave an old friend

for a young Prince, you may be sure. His behaviour was much

admired wherever he appeared.

The festivities that have _since_ taken place on account of

Lord Kirkwall's birthday, and his Baby's christening, had _us_

for sincere admirers. It was a pretty sight to see the four

generations of an ancient and noble family all in one room so:

the Marquis of Thomond kissing his _great grandson_, and dancing

himself at the Ball.

I hope Buonaparte will not disturb our happiness in _this_

Country, which never looked more beautiful....

We have got a Clergyman to our mind besides, and Mr. Piozzi has

permitted me to pick up all my poor old Ancestors' bones, and

place them in a new vault under the church, which he kindly

repairs, and floors, and beautifies at no small expence. So here

is a fair given account of my long silence.

Ernest Augustus, fifth son of George III, afterwards King of Hanover,

had been created Duke of Cumberland 1799; he was now in command of the

Severn District. The Duke of Gloucester was William Henry, third son

of Frederick, Prince of Wales. His son, William Frederick, known as

Prince William of Gloucester, Colonel of the 1st Regiment of Guards,

was appointed Lieutenant-General in 1799.

The four generations at Llewenny Hall were: (1) Murrough (O'Bryen),

Earl of Inchiquin and first Marquis of Thomond, who had married Mary,

Countess of Orkney. (2) Their daughter and heir, Mary, now Countess

of Orkney, who married the Hon. Thomas Fitzmaurice of Llewenny. (3)

Their eldest son John, Viscount Kirkwall, who married, 1802, the Hon.

Anna Maria de Blaquiere. (4) Their infant son, born 1803, Thomas John

Hamilton, afterwards fifth Earl of Orkney.

BRYNBELLA, _3 December 1803_.

When other things go pretty well, let us not, dear Mrs.

Pennington, despair of the Commonwealth. If the Ministry cannot

or will not take care of us, we must take care of the Ministry:

and sure I am that hitherto History affords no example of a

nation enslaved, whose inhabitants resolved to be free.

For the rest, I am ready enough to confess that unprecedented

occurrences are, in these strange times, to be witness'd every

day, and God only knows what may happen; yet I do surely hope

and trust old England will never disgrace herself.... This

famous Armada however, and its Xerxes, do not seem in haste to

try the courage of their _only_ opponents, tho' backed with the

assistance of our old Allies, and gilt with the trappings torne

from our Sovreign's immediate family and possessions. _He_ will

be right to say as Macduff does, "Within my sword's length set

him,"[22] etc.... Mrs. Holman staid with us 8 weeks exactly, no

more.... Her husband is writing for the Stage....

[22] _Macbeth_, IV. iii. 234.

The Colonel's old Papa seems likely to outlive all he ever

heard of in his youth, I think; the monarchy of France, the

haughtiness of Spain, the papacy of Rome, the riches of Holland,

the independence of Switzerland, _and the prosperity of Great

Britain_. While _one_ general pulse however keeps beating, my

hopes will live, and beat too. Buonaparte's fate draws towards a

dreadful Crisis, let him _but come out_, and our Admirals will

give good account of him. Miss Thrales are at Broadstairs under

Lord Keith's protection, who fears them not; they row out to

sea for purpose of looking at the _Wolves over the Water_, and

say it is an enormous preparation sure enough, but our sailors

have no doubts of the event, and Mr. Gillon's letters are

encouraging. _He_ likes what has been doing in West India very

well. Oh! how it must provoke the Tyrant of Europe to think he

cannot likewise tyrannise in America.

The seizure of Alexandria too, proves the active secresy of our

Government; and I remember Ministers who would have [been] much

praised for such a step. Once more adieu, and do not despair of

the Commonwealth.

Our plans must wait permission from above. If these Marauders

come, home is the proper place to be found in: besides that my

Master must see some weeks over before he becomes _portable_,

and in those weeks!!! Oh Heavens! what is there dreadful in

this world that may not happen before the 1st January 1804?

God preserve _you_, dear Mrs. Pennington, and have mercy on the

anxious heart of your

H. L. P.

Though the much-talked-of invasion still hung fire, the French were

able to inflict some loss on England by the occupation of Hanover this

year. On the other hand, many of the French and Dutch colonies in the

West Indies fell into our hands, mainly through the energy of Sir

Samuel Hood, who helped to capture St. Lucia and Tobago, with Demerara

and other places on the mainland.

BRYNBELLA, _Thursday 5 Jan. 1804_.

(Franked "Kirkwall.")

Enjoy your Ball, dear Mrs. Pennington, and be assured that all

is at _least_ as well with your particular Friendships as with

that one great public Family to which we all belong.... Mr.

Piozzi has weather'd this fit, and is come down stairs once

again.... My own health will do all that is wanted from it, and

as to wishing myself at Bath, _I do not_. Dr. Thackeray gallop'd

over from Chester, and what he did afforded more immediate and

visible relief than anything I could hope, more than I ever saw

done either by London or Bath Physicians. There is besides one

comfort in a country Doctor one can never have from a town one.

They stay and sleep at your house, and have time to observe the

progress of your complaint, and the power of their own medicines

over it....

Shew Dr. Grey this letter.... I am all of his mind that England

_can_ be no better prepared for defence, or France for attack.

'Tis a grand Tournament, on the decision of which the world

waits as composedly as it did 2000 years ago, when the plains of

Pharsalia determined the _names_ of their sovreigns. The issue

of _this_ contest will settle what _Nation_ the others are to

serve.... I do really wish the crisis was come now; for after

the Dinner is once ready you know, be it little or much, it gets

worse for waiting. Our Volunteers will make _themselves_ work,

if Buonaparte finds them none of the right sort. Let _him_ once

appear and we know who to turn our swords upon....

_No. 11_ HOLLES ST., _Tuesday, 6 March, 1804_.

So many things have occur'd since I received your last letter,

dear Mrs. Pennington, that this will of course be a long one.

The King's illness and recovery, the continued talk of invasion,

the widowhood of your fair friend, cydevant Honoria Gubbins, the

correspondence of those French Noblemen so fêtè and so admired

in Bath and Bristol, and these present conjectures concerning

Sir Sydney Smith, fill every mouth, and render me still more

enraged when toothach hinders my list'ning to such interesting

circumstances.

Never was there a moment more favourable for rusticated folks

like myself to pick up opinions, facts, etc., and _fill my

little bag_. But Lord St. Vincent's ill-timed ill health is

among the things I should like to fling out of it.

Dear Mrs. Siddons is in great beauty this year: her Zara was

never more passionately admired. The Kembles look happy too, and

so do Miss Lees; but when I was introduced to Mr. Cumberland

at Lord Deerhurst's dinner yesterday, I did not know _him_,

nor he _me_. The public will not however fail to recognize

him, I suppose; he tries them in a new Play very soon. Poor

Holman is---- poor Holman!!! and everybody seems grieved at his

_double_ disappointment.

Miss Thrales are well and gay; Mrs. Mostyn plump and pretty,--so

are her sturdy little boys.... Oxford will be rendered a fine

amusing place for the gay fellows by Mrs. Lee's accusation of

the Gordons: it was always a good place for those who liked

looking over books, conversing with scholars, etc. We staid two

days there on our journey to London, for me to make my respects

to the Eleusinian Ceres; but she, alas! was gone to _the other

House_, as the Players say, Lord Elgin, who sent her over, being

a Cambridge Man.

The weather has been very odd this year. We enjoyed Spring at

Brynbella, where birds were singing, and trees coming out, every

day before we came to Town _for the Winter_. It has snowed and

_blow'd_, and hail'd and rained, ever since, I think; and the

Thames looked all in a storm to-day from dear Lady Orkney's

beautiful apartments at Chelsea....

The King had a slight return of his malady in January. On his recovery

Addington, who had lost his majority, resigned, and Peel succeeded to

the Premiership in May.

Sir Sydney Smith had been appointed in 1803 to a small squadron acting

under Lord Keith off the coasts of Flanders and Holland. He now seems

to have been watching the French preparations for invasion. Lord

St. Vincent's suffering was probably more mental than physical. His

exposure of the gross corruption prevalent in the Naval Administration

had drawn down upon him a storm of abuse and misrepresentation, in

which even Pitt joined.

HOLLES ST., _Monday Ap. 16, 1804_.

Dear Mrs. Pennington's beautiful letters shall lie no longer

unacknowledged. Mr. Parsons brought me the first.... Dr. Gray

came to see us since that, for the first time, but _his_

appearance spoke happiness, and his _conversation_ unaltered

friendship to you and to ourselves. He is a good man, and he

liked our little Boy, who was at home just then for Easter

Holidays.... As to dear Lady Orkney, she takes her lodgings on

a Milestone, I believe, for there is no catching _her_, Town or

Country.... Lady Hesketh will be amused to hear that the people

who have seen her cousin Cooper's snuff-box, or the seat his

favourite Mary sate in, cry "Touch me, touch me, that you may

say you have touched the person who sate in Mrs. Unwin's chair,

or handled Cooper's snuff-box." This is all good, is it not?

for Mr. Hayley.

Cumberland's Play keeps the stage, in spite of younger wits who

wanted people to laugh at the Author instead of the Comedy; but

Mrs. Abingdon and I,--veterans like himself,--are glad that he

succeeds; for as she expresses it, "He has a graceful mind."

Miss Lees and we have met twice or thrice, but either the Life

of a Lover, Sophia's new novel, is not out, or I have not seen

it. Holcroft's Paris, and Miss Edgeworth's Popular Tales are the

only books found in windows, on toilettes, etc.

No tales of wonder, and such are _not_ hers, can equal the death

of Le Duc D'Enghien, or the apprehensions seriously entertained

at present for Mr. Drake, British Ambassador in Bavaria, and our

good friend, as you remember.... He married Miss Mackworth, and

now we expect him to be _hanged_, as he surely will be, poor

Fellow! if Buonaparte catches hold of him. These are novelties

at least, though not novels; yet few romances would have

ventur'd such an incident....

Mrs. Mostyn is full in feather, and high in song, as the folk

say who keep Canary Birds, and her immense Aviary put me in

mind of the phrase. She has three very sturdy Boys beside. De

Blaquieres, Kirkwalls, all Holles Street I believe, dined with

her yesterday, and among the rest my gay Master, and his and your

H. L. P.

Harriet, wife of Sir Thomas Hesketh, was a daughter of Ashley Cowper,

the uncle of the poet. The latter died in 1800, and his biography by

his friend William Hayley was published 1803.

In 1803 Sophia Lee gave up the school at Belvidere House, and devoted

herself to writing. Her first important work, published the following

year, took the shape of six volumes of letters, entitled _The Life of

a Lover_.

Thomas Holcroft, shoemaker, actor, and dramatist, had been living for

five years on the Continent to escape his creditors. On his return

he published in 1804 his _Travels from Hamburg through Westphalia,

Holland, and the Netherlands, to Paris_, in 2 vols. 4to.

It was apparently with the idea of arousing prejudice against

England that Bonaparte brought an unfounded charge of plotting his

assassination against Mr. Drake and Mr. Spencer Smith, our envoys at

Munich and Stuttgard, and procured their expulsion by the courts of

Bavaria and Würtemburg.

The treacherous seizure of the Duc d'Enghien in March in the neutral

territory of Baden, his condemnation by a court-martial on no specific

charges, and hurried execution, was a tragedy which shocked all

Europe. It was this inexplicable incident in the career of Bonaparte

which gave rise to the well-known _mot_ of Fouche, "It was worse than

a crime, it was a blunder."

BRYNBELLA, _Sunday Morng, 19 Aug. 1804_.

I am the wretchedest Quarreller on earth, dear Mrs. Pennington,

and not the most ingenious Reconciler. Like mine Hostess

Quickly, I am the _worse_ when one _says_--quarrel[23]: nor

did ever the Country Gentleman in Ben Jonson need London

instructions in the art of angry reciprocation more than I do.

Let us leave a subject I really understand so little, and lament

that the universal Quarreller, Death, has been so busy among our

common acquaintance since we parted.

[23] "By my troth, I am the worse when one says Swagger."--_2 Henry

IV_, II. iv. 113.

How senseless, not to say offensive, must yours and my Master's

mutual complaints appear in the eyes of poor Mrs. Dimond just

now! Such a son!--the parents' just pride and joy--so snatched!

And that unhappy Mrs. Adams who, you may remember, said she had

heard the bell ring for her own execution; she has lost the

daughter she alone desired to live for. Few people find the

way of being happy, and those who throw little Hedgehogs in one

another's paths, like the rioters, to make them stumble and roll

about, have none of my approbation....

You will not be talked to (you say), of the Cat, and the Dog,

and the times, and the weather; tho' really the first of these

subjects is not amiss for you quarrelling disciples, and I will

not, like Grumio, talk to _you_ of how bad my poor Master was

when your letter came to _him_, and in what a shocking situation

his fingers have been placed by the last fit of gout, no nor

what a loss we have sustained in poor Hodgkins, nor what a

successor we picked up for him. But all these wonders, as old

Shakespeare says, shall now be buried in oblivion,[24] as shall

all my true expressions of admiration at your letters, which

still exceed every one the last received. Farewell then, and

be merry, and believe me with every possible good wish, your

ancient Jigg-Maker,

H. L. P.

[24] "Things of worthy memory which now shall die in

oblivion."--_Taming of the Shrew._, IV. i. 85.