CHAPTER VII

Renewal of friendship, 1819--Weston-super-Mare--W. A.

Conway--Birthday fête, 1820--Conway's love affair--Penzance--The

Queen's trial--More law--Land's End--Return to Clifton and

death, 1821--Mrs. Pennington's obituary notice--Her relations

with the daughters and the executors--Epitaph.

The last letter shows the appearance of the little rift in the lute

of friendship, which was destined to silence its tones for so many

years. Its origin remains obscure. If Mrs. Pennington received no

letters between April and July, she doubtless had some reason to feel

aggrieved, but the reference to the "mutual complaints" of Mr. Piozzi

and Mr. Pennington suggests that they had met in the interval, and

that some disagreement had arisen, which had been taken up by their

respective wives, and it is probable that some letters during this

period may have been destroyed. Mrs. Piozzi clearly had no desire to

keep up the quarrel, whatever it was; but it may be that her attempt

at reconciliation was not worded in a way which would commend itself

to the sensitive mind of Mrs. Pennington, smarting from some real or

fancied slight to her husband or herself. And so the correspondence

was not resumed for fifteen years.

Meantime much had happened. In 1807 Sophia Thrale married Henry

Merrick, third son of Sir Richard Colt Hoare, Bart., of Stourhead;

and in the following year her elder sister, Hester, became the second

wife of Viscount Keith. The marriages seem to have brought mother and

daughters more closely together, for they paid a visit to Brynbella

this year. In 1809, the gout from which he had suffered so long

and so severely proved fatal to Mr. Piozzi. He had for some years

conformed to the English Church, and in his last illness received the

sacrament at the hands of a clergyman at Bath. He was buried 26th

March, in the vault he had constructed in what Mrs. Piozzi calls

Dymerchion, now Tremeirchion Church. She began her Commonplace Book

the same year.

The "little boy," John Salusbury Piozzi, had finished his education at

Oxford, and having grown to man's estate, and assumed the additional

surname of Salusbury, married in 1814, Harriet Maria, daughter of

Edward Pemberton of Ryton Grove, Salop. In 1816 he was appointed High

Sheriff of Flint, and was knighted in the following year. To provide

for the young couple, Mrs. Piozzi made over to them Brynbella and her

Welsh estate, and retired to her beloved Bath, to live on the income

from the English property settled on her by Thrale, and some £6000

which Piozzi's careful management had saved from their income. She had

therefore--on paper--something like £2000 a year, but her generosity

to her adopted son, and to her daughters in the re-fronting and

fencing of Streatham Park, added to her love of entertaining, and a

carelessness in money matters perhaps inherited from her father, left

her in continual monetary difficulties.

Living so near Mrs. Pennington, and with so many common friends, it

was hardly possible that they should not be brought together again,

though there is no evidence as to how the reconciliation was effected.

The correspondence was resumed in July 1819, but letters written by

Mrs. Pennington somewhat later show that it was equally desired and

equally genuine on both sides.

On Mrs. Pennington's side the rupture of one old friendship almost

coincided with the renewal of another. On 18th October 1804, Anna

Seward wrote to Mrs. Powys that she had been staying at Mendip Lodge,

and that Dr. Whalley had undertaken to bring about a reconciliation

with Mrs. Pennington, after twelve years of estrangement. "She

received me with tears of returning love, and our reconcilement was

perfect. She made me promise to stay with her a few days on my way

back."

Her husband had a serious illness in 1813, as the result of which he

resigned the office of M.C. at the Hot Wells, which he had held for

nearly thirty years, in an address which "powerfully affected the

feelings of all present." But his successor turned out to be quite

unfitted for the post, and as Pennington's health had been improved

by a stay at Weymouth, he was induced to take up the work again for a

short time. Not long afterwards Mrs. Pennington's mother died at the

age of ninety-seven. She had lost nearly all her faculties, and had

been for some time unable to recognise even her daughter.

_Mrs. Pennington to Maria Brown_

WESTON-SUPER-MARE, _9 Oct. 1819_.

... I shall not be sorry to return, tho' I leave dear Mrs.

Piozzi behind, with whom I have passed some hours of every day,

and our evenings _always_ together, in the most perfect harmony.

We seem entirely to have regained our _former footing_, and

to revert to past times, persons, and anecdotes with _mutual_

pleasure. She has sought no other, indeed sedulously avoided

all other society since we have been here, and is happy and

chearful when with us, as I ever saw her. It is not however with

_me_ exactly the _same_ thing. I _was Prima Donna_, I now feel

that many new friends and new connexions, with new interests

and novel attractions, occupy the ground that _I_ exclusively

possessed; and I can only expect, in future, to be _one_ of this

larger groupe. I think the character of her mind was always

rather _kindness_ than _attachment_. I know not whether you

admit the distinction; I _feel_ it, and that I must henceforth

be satisfied with such general proofs of this sentiment as

opportunity may _throw_ in our way.

The friend to whom this was written came to occupy much the same

position with regard to Mrs. Pennington as the latter had done to Mrs.

Piozzi. After Mrs. Pennington's death, the whole of her carefully

treasured correspondence passed into her hands, including, besides

the present series of letters, those relating to the Siddons-Lawrence

tragedy, which were published in _An Artist's Love Story_, and others

from Anna Seward, Helen Williams, the Randolphs, and Whalleys, and

others of her correspondents.

In a letter to Miss Brown's mother, dated 28th February 1820, she

pursues the same theme. "You judge," she writes, "very correctly of my

feelings respecting my dear _restored_ friend. It gives an interest

to my life that nothing else could, and what is better, it seems to

be felt mutually. We never are so happy as when together, and her

letters, which come twice or thrice a week, are a perpetual source of

amusement."

WESTON-SUPER-MARE, _July 1819_.

Sick or well, dear Mrs. Pennington is ever kind and obliging,

but why empty her veins at such a rough rate? Were they bursting

with heat? A Bath friend writes me word that the people _there_

do feel themselves heavily oppress'd by a weight of atmospheric

air, and walk about, he says, like somnambulists, with

salmon-coloured faces. We have sea-breezes here that refresh

our spirits, and send us out at night to stare after the Comet,

which looked very pale last evening I saw it, but not, I hope,

for anger.

There are other fiery fellows in the _North_, more dangerous by

far, of whom I feel more afraid; but the Regent went safely,

and was applauded it is said, and the Reformers will work no

reformation at Smithfield under Mr. Hunt's guidance. He tried

in vain to make the Basket Women at Bath hate _Sinecures_; tho'

one of them said she knew he meant the _Signing Curs_, kept by

Ministers to _sign_ whatever they bid them,--comical enough!

If all goes on regularly and well, I shall certainly call on

you, dear Madam, in my return. When that will be, however, is

hard to say, for I have just hired myself a clean Cottage,--the

Hotel is very noisy, and surprisingly expensive,--and since the

Bathing agrees, I mean to try another tide or two by the way

of making myself young, or making myself _believe_ that I am

younger than my neighbours of the same standing....

People are visiting-mad here, as everywhere else. Do you

remember Mr. Pennington saying he hoped there were no Evening

Parties in Heaven? He will not escape them till he gets thither,

nor shall, without the utmost difficulty his and your ever

faithful and obliged

H. L. PIOZZI.

I saw Miss Williams spreading the Bread Fruit with butter, and

eating it at her tea, ten days before I left Bath,--but it was

kind in you to send me some.

The comet of July 1819 was that now known by the name of Winnecke,

who, in 1858, identified it with one previously observed by Encke.

Henry Hunt had for many years been associated with the leading

agitators of the time. He made the acquaintance of Horne Tooke in

1800, shared imprisonment with Cobbett in 1810, and allied himself

with Thistlewood and his friends in 1816. He took part in the Spa

Fields meeting, presided at the Reform meeting at Smithfield which

took place on July 21, and at the "Peterloo" meeting, held on August

16 this year.

WESTON-SUPER-MARE,

_Saturday Night, 4 Sep. 1819_.

Dear Mrs. Pennington's letter came late last night; our poor

Postman cannot get his walk finished,--how should he?--till near

12 o'clock, which is one of the discomforts incident to our

fav'rite Weston. This morning the Grinfields of Laura Chapel,

Bath, left us, and you may have half their house for two guineas

and a half o' week. They paid five for the whole, and had 7 or

8 Babies inhabiting it, with a proportionate number of nurses,

etc. But send an immediate answer, or it will be gone.... If you

come quite alone, our Baker, Mr. Cooper, will accommodate you

with one chamber up a ladder-like staircase, and one sitting

room: but such a lodging too nearly resembles that in Coleman's

Broad Grins;--one guinea and a half is, I think, _too much_ for

that, though 'tis struggled for!!...

Oh! what heavenly weather here is! And oh! what fools is it

flung away upon! who will not gather up the harvest, but run

about reforming errors in the State. They have got a wiser head

now, who is better qualified to do mischief, and accordingly we

read that yesterday's meeting passed off without any mad frolics

on which to fix the stigma of treason or insanity:--two things

so difficult to prove they oblige us to adopt Elbow's method

in Measure for Measure, who says, "they must continue in their

courses till we can tell what they are."[25] ...

[25] "Let him continue in his courses till thou knowest what they

are."--_Measure for Measure_, III. i. 196.

WESTON-SUPER-MARE,

_Tuesday, 7 Sept. 1819_.

Your letter came too late last night, dear Mrs. Pennington, for

me to take any measures concerning the House.... You will have

it, as a favour, for three Pounds o' week;--cheaper than mine

certainly.

The list of things wanted is just _everything_: knives, forks,

spoons, plate, linnen: Weston affords only beds, tables, and

chairs. Yes, yes, they do give us crockery, and there were _two_

books in the town when I came, a Bible and a Paradise Lost. They

were the _best_ you know.

I am no better pleased with the complexion of the times than you

are, but feel much more sympathy with the Mob than with their

Galvanizers, who mean to give just the portion of excitement

they choose, in order to deplace, _dis_place I mean, one set

of Ministers, and put up another set in which they take deeper

interest. In this _virtuous_ cause they care not what lives,

or whose peace they endanger. But let them be cautious, or the

Mob will make them _their tools_, to help break down the gates

which, when thrown back as those of Hell in Milton, _they_ will

start to see

Before their eyes in sudden view appear

The secrets of the hoary deep, a dark

Illimitable Ocean without bound,

Without dimension: where length, breadth, and height,

And time and place are lost.[26]

[26] _Paradise Lost_, ii. 890.

Noblemen and Gentlemen are of _necessity_ Aristocrates in

_earnest_: and the numbers who now stand aloof, looking

how it will end, and being--as we used to say of dear

Siddons--no-_crates_ at all, will even _die_ with terror, and

the conscious certainty that the great folk who assisted in

the work at first, broke _open_, but to _shut_ excelled their

power. An ambitious Sovreign meanwhile, _might_ while his army

continues true to him, make them all _his_ tools; suffering them

so to destroy the House of Commons that he could reign in future

without a Parliament, only just cajoling the Reformers between

to-day and the year 1820. And _such_ madmen are those who wish

the overturn of constituted authorities....

Poor dear Mrs. Lambart can hardly _hear_ these strange tales,

I believe; she is at least seven years older than myself, but

does not like, it seems, to tell her age. _My_ Register, clearly

written, as Bishop Majendie says, points out 1740.

On September 12 Mrs. Pennington writes to Miss Brown that she is going

to Weston. "Dear Mrs. Piozzi is there, we shall be within two or three

doors of her. She has been as active and anxious to serve us in this

particular as she could have been at any former period.... If the air

of that place, the fine weather we _seem_ likely to have, and _her_

charming society, does not restore me to something like health and

spirits, I shall give up the point altogether."

The Card Table Riddle, which appears in the next letter, is taken from

Mrs. Piozzi's Commonplace Book; where she remarks that "it has been

plundered, and played tricks with, and published in Pocket Books, &c.,

but these are the genuine verses."

_Sat. Oct. 17, 1819._

My dear Mrs. Pennington charged me to send her the Riddle,

and Miss Camplin asking for commands, I thought it a good

opportunity, therefore

A place I here describe, how gay the scene!

Fresh, bright, and vivid with perpetual green.

Verdure attractive to the ravished sight

Perennial joys, and ever new delight,

Charming at noon, more charming still at night,

Fair Pools, where Fish in forms pellucid play,

Smooth lies the lawn, swift glide the hours away.

The Banks with shells and minerals are crown'd,

Hope keeps her court, and Beauty smiles around.

No mean dependance here on Summer skies,

This spot rough Winter's roughest blast defies.

Yet here the Government is curst with change,

Knaves openly on either Party range;

Assault their Monarch, and avow the deed,

While Honour fails, and Tricks alone succeed.

For bold Decemvirs here usurp the sway,

Now all some single Demagogue obey,

False Lights prefer, and curse th' intrusive day.

Oh! shun the tempting shore, the dangerous coast,

Health, Fame, and Fortune, stranded here, are lost.

This Riddle I gave Salusbury when he was a boy, "But what _is_

it, Aunt? What can it be?" "Why, replied I, can't you perceive

that

A Card-table's green is perpetual and bright,

A Card-table charms men from morning till night;

Where, angling with skill for some innocent fool,

Their thoughts are still fixed on the Fish and the Pool;

While Guineas and Counters, promiscuously heap'd,

With hope fills those pockets whence pelf has escap'd.

Thro' Winter and Summer and demi-saison,

This occupies Ladies and Lords de Bon Ton.

For Knaves are successful at Limited Loo,

At Whist the odd Trick makes all Honours look blue.

The Ten, at Casino, Decemvir we call,

And Aces, at Commerce, take tribute from all.

Wax Candles superior to Sunshine they boast,

While Time, Fame, and Fortune for ever are lost."

BATH, _29 Oct. 1819_.

I certainly do not remember a word about Siddons, and probably

I did not get dear Mrs. Pennington's letter. It is no joke that

my feelings grow torpid; I have had so much of the torture in my

life that it is really a natural consequence, and if some odd

things (kindness is one) _do_ keep me awake _this_ year, I shall

certainly sleep out the next....

Conway's name is on the Posts as having renew'd his engagements,

but he possesses many perfections, and leaves writing letters

to you and me. Cecy Mostyn is a most entertaining correspondent.

She is at Florence now, making good sport of her Cavaliere

Servente, the Marchese Garzoni, but remembers your Mother still,

and says I must mind and keep as bright as _she_ did to 90 years

old.

All you say of these horrid Blasphemers is said with truth and

wisdom, but Dr. Gibbes and Mr. Mangin both protest to _me_, and

they are no strait-laced moralists, that Carlisle and all his

crew are white to Lord Byron; whose book is so seducing, so

amusing, and so _cheap_, it will soon be in every hand that can

hold one. Upham sent it me, thinking of course it could not hurt

an old woman; but I held my crutches fast, for 'tis no fun to

have them kicked from under one at fourscore--and the Scriptures

_are_ my crutches. If these gay fellows delight in obliterating

the direction posts for Youth in the journey through life, they

some of them _may_ get into the road again; but as Carter said,

my religion is my freehold estate, and whoever tries to shake my

title to it is an enemy.

Dr. and Mrs. Whalley seem to have been giving la Comedie gratis

here while the Theatres were shut up. Incidents are certainly

not wanting, and the Catastrophe kept quite out of sight, as

Bayes recommends, for purpose of elevating and surprizing.

Those who come to hear what _I_ say on the subject, go home

disappointed, for I say nothing, and have indeed nothing to

say....

Helen's sinking into oblivion is no proof of the people's good

taste, for she is a clever creature, though no one less approved

of her Classical Elopement--Helen to Paris--than I did. Is Mr.

[Stone] dead, or only his wife? He was a _Radical_ before they

had taken _root_....

Lady Baynton has not improved her beauty by living in France:

her son however does surprize me. A Titmouse scarce out of

the egg when last we met, a Boy now of elegant carriage and

behaviour; not a little _manieré_, perhaps too much so for rough

England....

In this letter occurs the first mention of William Augustus Conway,

who engrossed such a large share of Mrs. Piozzi's interest, and

even affection, at this period of her life; filling, it may be, to

some extent, the place formerly occupied by her adopted son, now

launched on an independent career. That she felt a great admiration

and real affection for the handsome young actor is obvious, and she

set herself to forward his interests with as much assiduity and

enthusiasm as if he had been her son. It has been suggested that her

feelings towards him were quite other than maternal, and certain

"Love Letters," purporting to be written by her, have been adduced

in support of this theory. But the way he is spoken of in this and

other genuine correspondence of hers should be sufficient to disprove

the suggestion. It must be admitted that her admiration led her to

credit him with talents which were not obvious to other eyes. He was

a man of striking appearance, of gentlemanly and attractive manners,

and a tolerably good actor, but gave little indication of the genius

which she discerned in him. He had acted with some success at Dublin

and Covent Garden before he came to Bath in 1817, where he acted in

tragedy and comedy for some three years. Only a few days before her

death, according to Macready, she sent him a cheque for £100, but

this he returned to the executors. The same year (1821) he left the

stage, on account of an attack attributed to Theodore Hook, and sailed

for America. He played again at New York in 1824, but seems to have

intended to devote himself to the ministry. For some unexplained

reason he threw himself overboard, while on a voyage to Charleston,

in 1828, but the seven "Love Letters" above referred to were not

published till 1843. They are, in the main, undoubtedly from the pen

of Mrs. Piozzi, though possibly touched up in places to make them a

little more sensational. But, taken by themselves, and without any

reference to the circumstances under which they were written, they

might easily be misunderstood--as it was perhaps intended they

should be. For the editor was either unaware of, or ignored the facts

which appear plainly enough in the present correspondence; that Conway

was at the time engaged to a lady at Bath; that Mrs. Piozzi was deeply

interested in this little romance, and promoted it to the best of

her power; and that the most emotional of the letters was written to

console him at the moment when the engagement had been broken off. Her

attitude all through is that of an anxious mother, seeking to ensure

the happiness of a dearly loved son.

[Illustration: WILLIAM AUGUSTUS CONWAY (AS HENRY V)

_By Rivers after de Wilde, 1814. From the Collection of A. M.

Broadley, Esq._]

Doctor, afterwards Sir George Smith Gibbes, physician to Queen

Charlotte, and author of a Treatise on the Bath Waters, was one of the

first explorers of the Bone Caves of the Mendips. He attended Mrs.

Piozzi on her death-bed, as described by Mangin.

The Rev. Edward Mangin, who had been a naval chaplain, and Prebendary

of Killaloe and St. Patrick's, was a notable dramatic critic, and at

this time a recognised leader of the literary coterie of Bath. He was

thus brought into close touch with Mrs. Piozzi, and the result of

their intimacy was his _Piozziana_, published anonymously in 1833, now

rather a scarce book, which contains many of her letters as well as

his personal recollections of her later years.

Carlisle was the publisher of Tom Paine's _Age of Reason_, and other

works of a like character.

Dr. Whalley's first wife had died in 1801, and two years afterwards

he married a Miss Heathcote, who died in 1803. In 1813, when nearly

seventy, he made a third venture by marrying the widow of General

Horneck. The lady was of extravagant habits, and came to him in

debt to the extent of some thousands, for which he found himself

responsible. Mutual recriminations followed, and in 1814 he went to

France, leaving his wife behind. A formal separation took place in

1819, after which he again went abroad, and died at La Fleche, 1828.

Of Byron she remarks in her Commonplace Book: "My own idea is that he

resembles the Dead Man's skull animated by a Toad, and made to hop,

in such a manner that it attracted notice from the Lord Chief Justice

Willes, enabling him to detect a murder."

_Sat. Night, 6 Nov. 1819._

Dear Mrs. Pennington will believe the torpor when I confess the

Siddons' story not new to me, and it is quite in his character

who once quoted Cowley's verses to me in conversation as

descriptive of his wife's person.

Merab with spacious beauty fills the sight,

But too much awe chastis'd the bold delight:

Like a calm sea, which to the enlarged view

Gives pleasure, but gives fear and reverence too.

"_Too grand a thing._" I hope some one will take your Grand

Thing off your hands. We shall be wondrous rich if seven's the

main. Your friend's fancies about _seven_ are few in comparison

with mine. Why seven is the perfect number, and the word implies

and expresses perfection in Hebrew. Everything indeed goes by

septenaries among us all day long. At seven years old the Baby

becomes a Boy, changes his teeth, and his evidence is taken in a

Court of Justice. Two sevens produce the change from Childhood

to Youth, and the third emancipates the Minor. Don't ask me to

go on; my conjectures would take 7 days writing, and all would

not be finished this day _seven-night_. I enclose a Pound Note,

and for the _seven_ shillings it will be good luck to wait.

One would be frighted at your prognostics if you were a

_seventh_ son instead of an only daughter,--so sadly have

the Rogers family justified your odd predictions.... Conway,

poor fellow! will sure enough come to the case you assign

for him:--work, and die nobly, or starve, and pine away. Old

Bartolozzi, a veteran servant of our English Public, was

censured for leaving us in the last years of his life. "It is

because I know them," he replied. "Whilst I can work for them,

and do what no one else _can_ do, they will pay me liberally,

and when my eyes fail, I may retreat to an Hospital erected for

the _Indigent_ Blind. I will," continued he, "go to Portugal,

and accept a moderate annuity from the Sovreign." So he did, and

died there,--out of an Hospital:--but Waltzing is better sport;

so

The three black Graces, Law, Physic, and Divinity,

Walk hand in hand along the Strand, and hum la Poule.

Trade quits his Compter, Alma Mater her Latinity,

Proud and vain with Mr. Paine to go to School.

Should you want advice in Law, you'll little gain by asking it,

Your Lawyer's not at Westminster, he's busy Pas-de-Basqu'ing it:

D'ye want to lose a tooth, and run to Waite for drawing it?

He cannot sure attend, he's Demi-queue-de-Chating it.

Run, neighbours, run; all London is Quadrilling it,

While Order and Sobriety dance Dos-a-dos.

Brackley or Brockley Combe I know by heart, and very pretty

'tis, and Cheddar Cliffs: more like good genuine mountains

than most _British_ imitations are. For your complaints, I do

pronounce them the effect of shocks upon the nerves, and sorry

am I that the sea air did you so little good. _I_ certainly

liked it, and found Weston very agreable, and 'tis the true Ton

to say how the place agreed with Mrs. Piozzi. So it will now

become the fashionable retreat for old-age and _haggardism_,--a

new word of my own making.

Mr. Stone was a raging Democrate, an Enragé; so he is not

wanted, we have enough such. I fear Helen deserves some

_whipping_, but so we do all: as Hamlet says, "Give us our

deserts, and who shall escape whipping?"[27]

[27] "Use every man after his desert, and who should 'scape

whipping?"--_Hamlet_, III. ii. 556.

What, I wonder, put me in mind of poor old long-dead Demosthenes

Taylor, a Doctor in the Commons? The torpor, I suppose, for I

can tell but one story of him,--who told no stories at all.

Johnson said once, "That man had credit for knowledge, perhaps

he possess'd it, but I have dined six times in his company, and

never heard him utter but _one word_, and that word was Richard."

My story must necessarily be this. He lived a Scholar's life,

you may conclude, threescore years ago at Amen Corner, near

St. Paul's Churchyard; studying Greek books and collating

manuscripts all morning; smoking his pipe at night, and

indulging in a game at All Fours with a distant and dependant

relation,--a young Surgeon in the neighbourhood. One evening

they were at play together. "Doctor," exclaims old Taylor, "I

have got the _Belly-ache_ so bad, we won't above finish this

game." "Right, Sir," was the reply, "take something very hot,

and go to bed. If you are worse, call me. If not, I shan't come

till Wednesday, for very good reasons." "Ay, ay, my lad; mind

thy business," was the monitory answer; and they parted at 10

o'clock Monday night. On Wednesday young Stevens came, according

to custom. The pipe was smoked, and the game played, and

"Doctor!" exclaims our old Demosthenes, "dost remember how bad

my Belly ached o' Monday night?" "Yes, sure, Sir; and I beg'd

you to take something hot, and go to bed." "Why so I did, a

great rummer-full of hot Brandy." "Heavens!" cried the Surgeon,

laughing, "I did not mean _so_." "Well, young man, it cured me.

I went to sleep, and lay very late in the morning, and have no

feeling in my Belly now _at all_: none in the least." "Lord!

Sir, how you alarm me! _No feeling?_" "No, on my honour." "Good

God! Let me look at it directly." So he did. The mortification

had spread rapidly, and good old Taylor was a corpse in four and

twenty hours.

Dr. Whalley has seen me at last, and told his tale. The loss

of Mrs. Lutwyche's good opinion hurts him; as to mine, it is

nothing impair'd. What astonished me was his saying that he

was annoyed by Creditors when we were at Mendip in the year

1813;--living like the Dukes of Bedford or Marlborough. Mr.

Arnold or Almond, his fine Man, shewed Bessy and me twenty

Pounds _worth_, not 20 lbs. _weight_ of meat in the Larder one

day, design'd, _he said_, for the stew-pan. Is it not time to

beg and pray for torpor? Sensibility would drive one distracted,

sure. So good night, and give my true regards to those you love

best; believing me your fast-asleep Friend,

H. L. P.

Francesco Bartolozzi came to London from Florence in 1764, as engraver

to the King, and was one of the Foundation Members of the Royal

Academy. He left England to take charge of the National Academy at

Lisbon, where he died 1815.

The Rev. John Taylor, LL.D., F.R.S., and F.A.S., was the son of a

barber at Shrewsbury. He gained a Fellowship at St. John's, Cambridge,

and became Chancellor of Lincoln, Archdeacon of Buckingham, and Canon

of St. Paul's. His great work, from which he gained his sobriquet, was

what was intended to be a complete edition of Demosthenes, published

between 1748 and 1757.

The origin of Dr. Whalley's matrimonial troubles has already been

explained: it was about this period that the final rupture took place.

In the first of the so-called "Love Letters," written 1st September

1819 from Weston, to Conway at Birmingham, she alludes to the recent

scandal of "old Mr. Whalley's wife running away from him, and settling

in Freshford."

The reference to Helen Williams is no doubt connected with a letter

written by her to Mrs. Pennington, dated 26th June 1819, mentioning

that Stone was "now reposing in his grave," and giving an account of

her life and connection with him, as previously quoted. She then

proceeds to refer to the reconciliation of the long-parted friends.

"How much in contrast with my sad details is your brilliant account

of Mrs. Piozzi;--what a privileged mortal! But really you seem to me

to love her much better than she deserves; what excuses the 16 years

of separation? The fault must have been hers: she always seemed to me

kind and warm-hearted, but with no deep sensibilities."

The lines on dancing are quoted from her Commonplace Book, where she

assigns them, on the authority of Mrs. Hoare, to "Smith, author of

_Rejected Addresses_."

_4 Dec. 1819._

To no one else in the world would I have written, dearest Mrs.

Pennington; but you are so good and so partial. Other friends

can find signs enough of torpor. Miss Williams's Beau, as we

call him,--Mr. Wickens,--found me fast asleep on the sopha; he

is a good creature and was sorry:--said the world was now coming

to an end most surely, when such symptoms attacked, in the

middle of the day, your H. L. P. If it goes on, my favourites

must contrive to do without me. Our old King came into the world

but a short time before his dutyful subject who writes this, and

who hopes to get away in his train--if possible.

I have little thought to bestow on Dramatick Exhibitions; but

Mr. Mangin, who is a classical Scholar, and has leisure to amuse

himself with those who provide pastime for the rich and idle,

said, when Conway acted Coriolanus here, that he had never seen

the Roman Toga worne so gracefully. He has not yet left London.

Macready was a fine promising Actor when I saw him last, three

or four years ago: a very gentlemanly man too. We dined together

at dear Dr. Gibbes's.

Mr. Pennington has, I hope, taken a new lease. Gout is a pledge

of long life, if long life be indeed desirable. I begin to find

it very burthensome to myself and my attendants, out of whose

power it is to alleviate anything I feel. Dr. Whalley will do

well enough among nieces and nephews, devoted to him of course,

if he has retained any thing to divide among them at the hour of

dissolution.

The Dipper at Weston super Mare came here on a visit yesterday,

bringing me Fish and Poultry; how good natured! But I hear of a

still cheaper and more charming place along the Cornish Coast,

where chickens for 6_d._ each may yet be had, and Fish for

almost nothing.

Meanwhile the Great are not exempt from ill-health or cares, any

more than we. A general mourning will come, consequent on the

Duchess of Gloster's death as on that of the King, and both will

alike ruin my wretched Fête;--a foolish promise! but I must keep

it now, and it will be the _last folly_.

With regard to Politics, they go very ill no doubt. My long life

can call up but one year in which the machine went so as to

please everybody: and there was printed at the beginning of the

new Almanacks these words, observed perhaps by no one but myself,

In seventeen hundred and sixty--tis written,

All strife and contention shall cease in Great Britain.

In effect there was but this dispute in Parliament, whether our

Success was the cause of our Unanimity, or our Unanimity the

cause of our Success. And Garrick's song ending every stanza with

Cheer up, my Lads, with one heart let us sing

Our Soldiers, our Sailors, our _Statesmen, and King_,

shews the same spirit. I believe they were never so praised

_en masse_ but that _one_ time, which nobody recollects

except--Yours and Mr. Pennington's

H. L. P.

In 1760, the year of George the Third's accession, Pitt's vigorous

administration had, for the moment, annihilated party feeling.

Wolfe's victory at Quebec had terminated the French rule in Canada;

the battle of Plassey had given us Bengal; the French power in

Southern India was broken by Coote; the engagement in Quiberon Bay

testified to our power at sea; and England stood forth as the first

maritime and colonial power in the world.

_Tuesday, 7 Dec. 1819._

Threatening me as you do, dear, nervous Mrs. Pennington, I

will, I must write directly. But surely we are neither of us

such younglings as to fancy things at 80 years old can go on

as they did at 40. We might then be shown for a show. It would

be silly to believe my inside possessed its pristine strength,

and the want of that strength leads to various uneasinesses,

ill-described in a letter. We will do as well as we can.

Meanwhile assure yourself that _one_ wonder _does_ wait upon

your newly-restored friend. At fourscore years old her _outside_

is the best of her. Dr. Gibbes is too wise a man to wish to

_attend_ much; he knows there is nothing to be done, and what

would you have him do? Mr. Cam the Baby Catcher would have

suited me better to-day. The late Duke of Glo'ster kept one in

the house the last six weeks of his wretched life's wretched end.

Weston did me nothing but service; gave a power to the unelastic

nerves, and consoled body and mind. All is as it should be,

though I do not think Conway's all-expressing countenance showed

him contented with the looks of his Patroness yesterday, when

he dropped in among other morning callers. I will mind Mr.

Pennington's good advice and yours, and not disappoint the Boys

and Girls of their Gala.

Salusbury and his wife will soon be here, I hope you will like

them....

There is a pretty Book come out, very pretty indeed, against the

Blasphemers; but I will not put _my_ feeble hand to the Ark,

assure yourself. That women should keep silence in the Church is

a good injunction, and should be obeyed now more than ever....

BATH, _10 Dec. 1819_.

Well now, dearest Mrs. Pennington, I have got a complaint I

_can_ talk of, or write about--a sore throat!--tho' never

out of this warm room since Sunday. I fancy it is caused by

relaxation,--talking about _you_ to Mr. Conway, who saw your

charming letter.... Tho' I did say, in a prudent humour, that

he should see as little as possible either of your letters or

yourself....

How is your fortune going forward? Smilingly I hope; and how

will my Gala get forward if I do nothing but write funny letters

to Mrs. Pennington, instead of calling names over to fill up

the Cards with, or sit and chat with dear Conway concerning

past sorrows and future prospects. He says he is come to act

Master _Slender_: and _thin_ he is most certainly: but so

young-looking, _never_. I hope we shall make a full house to

witness his first performance in _Coriolanus_ next Monday. Can't

you come over anyhow without serious risque? It would be pity to

miss such an exhibition, and your retentive memory has Kemble's

mode of acting it well impress'd. Mine reflects back only one

Scene, I think, and _he_ never saw Emperor John in _his_ short

life.

The Salusburys come next Tuesday sennight, and where shall I get

them lodgings? I am all in a _fuss_, as the Ladies say; and wish

you were helping me to do the nothings I busy myself about.

The world looks white, but it is not the robe of innocence; gilt

and gloom lie under, and will burst out--upon the thaw. Conway's

account of Carlisle's tryal froze me with horror....

The last appearance of John Philip Kemble was at his Benefit at Covent

Garden in 1817, so there is no reason why Conway should not have seen

him, though perhaps not in the part of Coriolanus.

_Fryday night, 17 Dec. 1819._

.... On Wednesday Conway acts Iachimo to Warde's Posthumus.

They neither of 'em ever performed the characters, and it will

be a pleasure worthy of Mrs. Pennington. How will you manage?

Better make business subservient to enjoyment, and _come_.

The Coriolanus electrified us all; and my amiable friend gets

admirers and invitations every day. We spent our _last_ evening

at the Fellowes's. The Hon. Mr. Burrell _there_ promised to

introduce him to some Club of Gentlemen, who will all attend

when Benefit time comes on, and will, I hope, compensate him in

some measure for his past sufferings....

I suppose [the Salusburys] will just come time enough for my

Foolery, which plagues me to death already. "Would it were

night, Hal! and all well!"[28]

[28] "I would 'twere bed-time, Hal, and all well."--_1 Henry IV_, V.

i. 125.

John Prescott, who assumed the additional stage-name of Warde, had

appeared at Bath in 1813, and till shortly before this date had been

acting at the Haymarket. Mrs. Piozzi had a great admiration for his

talents, and had helped to organise a Benefit for him in March.

_Monday, 20 Dec. 1819._

Well, dearest Friend, I sent your letter to Conway, who is

already in love with you, and wishes the impression he has

already made _not_ to be taken off by Iachimo. His wishes of

being presented to you are most warm and cordial; he thinks

you love his little Patroness, and _I_ feel happy in the fancy

that you will one day love each other, and talk confidentially

concerning your poor H. L. P. when she is supposed to be far out

of hearing....

My winter is not tedious for want of engagements. I am torne to

pieces with invitations, and am forced to dine at Archdeacon

Thomas's on Thursday, when I wished to be in the Theatre: but

our Friend says we have time before us. So _he_ has, if it

please God, and so have _you_; but 80 years of my life are past,

and I wish this winter was past too, that spring might make our

intercourse more easy.

My Ball and Supper begin to be a plague to _me_, but I somehow

hope and fancy that they may be of use to _him_ whose welfare is

really very near the heart of yours faithfully,

H. L. PIOZZI.

In a note written three days afterwards Mrs. Piozzi announces that she

and Conway are hoping to pay Mrs. Pennington a visit the following

week, and then goes on: "Mrs. Stratton bore true witness to your

impatience of our Separation; and indeed when the fine Statue we

disagreed about has been pulled down a dozen years!!! 'tis fit the

cobwebs should remain no longer." Can this really have been the origin

of a misunderstanding between two sincerely attached friends, which

lasted for fifteen years? It seems almost too ridiculous, but is the

nearest approach to an explanation of the mystery afforded by the

letters.

In spite of a snowstorm, the proposed visit was duly paid, and Mrs.

Pennington writes to be assured that Mrs. Piozzi had taken no harm,

and to express her pleasure at the meeting. "It was an hour of true,

intellectual enjoyment, of _real_ happiness." Conway evidently made

a very good impression. "Of your Friend and _mine_, since so kindly

permitted to use the, to me, always _sacred_ distinction, I can

only say he appears worthy of all the esteem and regard he has been

so fortunate to obtain in your opinion. If that fine, ingenuous

countenance, conciliating voice, and gentle, elegant demeanour deceive

me, I will never trust to those tokens again. There is a certain

_something_ in his appearance that interests me more strongly in his

happiness, than I ever felt on so short an acquaintance; and I long

for an opportunity of discussing with you, dearest friend, those

points that are most immediately connected with this object."

_P.M. Dec. 30, 1819._

My dear Mrs. Pennington is a kind and generous friend, but

her _anxiety_ was superfluous. We got home without an atom of

anything resembling alarm, or _cause_ for it; and found the

way short--I speak for myself--it was shorten'd by talking of

you. Conway does certainly merit all our care, and all our

admiration; may he be as happy as deserving!...

How good Mr. Pennington was to us! and all your friends: and how

far from cold it was going home with that Eider Down bag that

covered us so. I wonder where such things are to be had!...

The Salusburys will not come this fortnight, the _Ladies_ God

knows when....

In a letter, dated "Friday the last of 1819," Mrs. Pennington writes:

"Remember me kindly to dear Conway, towards whom I feel disposed to

indulge more kindness than I ever thought to entertain again on so

slight an acquaintance. I hope _personal_ knowledge has not injured

the impression your partial friendship sought to create on _my_

part. On his, the materials, all in prime keeping, are too excellent

and admirable to admit any doubt on the subject. But we are, alas!

something fallen into 'the sere and yellow leaf,' and cannot cope

with these summer blossoms. If however not downright _scarecrows_

to the young, 'the beautiful, and brave,' we may at least be useful

land-marks and monitors, if they will permit us. Pray tell him from

me, that in the experience of more years than I think it necessary at

this moment to enumerate, I never knew either man or woman _compleatly

ruined_ until they were _married_. Observe, I do not say nor _always_

so then, and I heartily wish him the best luck in the world in that

fearful and doubtful Lottery. But I entreat him, by the friendship

you have united us in, that he will not be hasty in chusing his

_Ticket_, and that he will endeavour, as coolly and dispassionately

as possible, to examine the _Number_ before he makes his election.

"The _Eider Down_ that was so comfortable to your dear Friend, I

imagine can be procured at any of the capital Furriers, at least in

London, tho' I know Paris is the place to get them in perfection. A

Lady of my acquaintance purchased a delightful _Pillow_ there, of an

immensely large size, which wrapped about her head, or feet, or served

her as the warmest and lightest coverlid possible. The Custom House

Officers took it from her at one of the Ports, and she was fearful

of not getting it again, or at least not without a heavy premium;

when, strolling about, she happened to look into the Custom House to

make some enquiries. No one being there, and seeing her treasure of a

Pillow lying in a corner, she clapped it under her arm, and walked off

with it, fortunately unmolested, on the principle that every one had a

_right_ to their _own_."

In a postscript she expresses a wish that "my dear, and pretty Maria

Brown ... was _rich_ enough for _our_ Conway, I would trust his

happiness with her."

_2 Jan. 1820._

No proof more perfect can be given or received, dear Mrs.

Pennington, of our hearts being well united once again, than

your sudden as surprising impression in favour of our common

Friend's _happiness_. I have studied nothing else since I knew

him: yet must confess his power of raising such _real interest_

is a singular one....

I passed yesterday at Mrs. Lutwyche's, and missed the Comus my

heart was set upon, but Sir James Fellowes dropt in while I was

writing this letter, and said it was _inimitable_. "Ay," replied

I, "the Scholar's correctness, levigated by the Wit's elegant

hiliarity." The answer was that Conway should have a patent for

acting, and I should have one for praising him....

A few days later Mrs. Pennington paid a visit to Bath, and on her

return was escorted home by Conway. She gives her impressions in a

letter dated January 17:

"We had as pleasant a ride as it was possible to have on a road that

carried me 12 miles from _you_. So interesting was our conversation

that we felt no cold, and were surprised when we reached the end

of our little journey. You may easily guess our subjects; but I am

sorry to say that in the discussion of certain points, I cannot find

reason to think our dear and amiable Friend so near the goal as your

ardent and benevolent spirit is disposed to believe. The fair lady

is, I have no doubt, as amiable as he conceives her; but the timidity

and diffidence which renders her more lovely in his eyes, creates

obstacles and difficulties that demand a bolder spirit, and more

self-confidence than she possesses, to overcome. _Love_, all powerful

_love_, which sees _in the object_ the ultimatum of all its wishes,

and overlooks all contingent and subordinate circumstances, only can

do this. We shall see whether such is hers. Such only, in my opinion,

can deserve the man who gains, every hour that I see more of him, such

an increasing interest in my regard, that my anxiety for his happiness

is become painful. My dear Husband is highly taken with his fine

manners and intelligent conversation. He says he has seen no such man

since the prime days of his friend, Governor Tryon, who was reckoned

the handsomest man and finest gentleman of his time.

"Oh! no Lady need fear she can lose consequence by the side of _such_

a man, who will always cast a lustre about whatever profession he may

follow. Perhaps it is the very circumstance of holding the power of

decision wholly in her own hands, that renders her so cautious, lest

_others_ should suppose she has not used the responsibility wisely.

Oh! love, real _love_, knows no such reasoning as this! _you_ know,

dearest friend, it does not.

"I am on very ill terms with myself respecting the silly speech I

made about your pretty _Silver Tea Pot_. You have shown me you cannot

_leave_ it me, and I _will not_ deprive you of the use of it. That

would be foolish indeed; for _I_ want no remembrancer of you, and

_have many_: besides I do verily believe I am not likely ever to

receive it on the terms I _asked_ it. Sincerely and fervently do I

pray and believe you have many more years before you, than I have

any right, from constitution and the present state of my feelings,

to reckon upon. And it would be worse than absurd to rob you of an

article of daily use, to throw it into the hands of other people. All

I _can_ consent to therefore is, that you continue to use it, dear

Friend. Long may you do so, and should the most fatal deprivation I

can now ever feel (but one) befall me, desire Betsey to deposit _that_

with dear Conway's watch, and I will drink my tea from it for the rest

of my life, and mingle my tears with the fragrant libation."

The teapot was destined to be a source of much heart-burning, as will

be seen later on.

_Tuesday, 18 Jan. 1820._

Well, dearest Mrs. Pennington, you sent home our favourite

Friend ready to cry: he! whose business it is _to make us all

cry_. But he swears you were so pathetic, and your kindness--so

kind! His spirits required spurring for the evening at Mrs.

Pennell's. I have not seen him since, save on the Stage....

If the Salusburys are not snow'd up upon the road, they will

be here to-night: how shall I _thaw_ them? We will make them a

little _no_ Party for the 20th....

Conway surpassed _himself_ in Pierre last night; he has long

left all _others_ behind. It would grieve me should he meet

mortification where he looks for happiness; though such things

_do_ befall the wise, the witty, and the beautiful. I wish he

would stand prepared for endurance of an evil 'tis possible may

be hanging over him. _I_ have no guess how matters stand but as

_he_ tells me; and to-day his not calling, added to your letter,

gives me apprehension.

Adieu! I have been to the cold Rooms arranging my supper, etc.

Oh Heavens! what a foolery! It will utterly ruin your poor

H. L. P.

Something appears to have gone wrong with this letter, as Mrs.

Pennington writes on January 20 in an agitated strain to enquire

whether Mrs. Piozzi's silence is due to "a return of those frightful

Cramps," or some other ailment. "Keep me not [in] suspense," she

continues, "it is not wise to indulge so intense an interest as that

I feel for you, and all that relates to you. I live on your letters,

and literally think of nothing but you, and _our common Friend_.

Would to God _he_ was as deeply seated in the heart of his _Beloved_

as he is in _ours_! But is it reasonable to expect that a mere girl

should be able properly to appreciate the rich treasure of his love.

No, it requires something more, rather more mature in judgement,

discrimination and feeling. I was willing to be sceptical as long

as I could, as to the nature of his attachment, and its extent; but

I am convinced it is ardent, pure, and _deep-seated_.... She cannot

know the value of _such_ love by the objections she makes, and the

indecision of her conduct. She thinks perhaps that the _next_ Lover

will love as well; but if she lets him go she will lose an unique, a

noble fellow, and find too late that _such_ love is seldom any woman's

lot, and never more than _once_.

"I cannot think what has created such an interest in my mind;--yes, I

can,--it is _you_, who have been, and are almost (I must not for shame

say more) everything to me.... Give my love to the Chevalier [Conway],

Did he tell you that after all the confidence reciprocated in our

pleasant ride, I sealed the bond of friendship we have sworn with a

kiss (as chaste as Dian ever gave) at parting, which he was to leave

on your dear hand?"

[Illustration: THE LOWER ROOMS, SEEN FROM THE NORTH PARADE.

_By W. J. White after H. O. Neill. From the Collection of A. M.

Broadley, Esq._]

Mrs. Piozzi's letter, written on Tuesday, did not reach Clifton till

Friday, January 21, when Mrs. Pennington writes complaining of the bad

management of the Bath Post Office, and then touches on the subject of

Mrs. Piozzi's great Birthday Fête.

"I begin to feel considerable uneasiness on the subject of your Gala.

I fear indeed, dear Friend, you will be run to an enormous expence....

I have enquired, and know that the thing was done at Clifton, and

_very handsomely_, at half a Guinea per head, _wine included_: for

after all there is very little drank at a Supper where women are

the half, or larger proportion of the company." She then returns to

Conway's affairs. "Entre nous, I cannot persuade myself the girl

has spirit or stamina to set her above, and carry her through those

disadvantages which others (called the World) would see and condemn

in such a connexion. If she insists on his giving up his profession,

he is shorn of half his beams; more especially as her fortune will

not supply that independent respectability which would be some

compensation for the loss of the _eclât_ he cannot fail of deriving

from the exertion of his talents. If she cannot make up her mind

to take him _as he is_, I verily think she does not deserve him.

The objections she lays stress upon are not to be found in Love's

Calendar...."

_Fryday, Jan. 21, 1820._

.... Don't be alarmed. Our Chevalier will do _well_; I hope in

_every_ sense of the word. But happy or unhappy, he will do

_right_ I am sure, and _more_ than well. James Harris says, you

know, nothing _can_ happen that shall prevent a wise man from

behaving wisely, an honourable man from behaving honourably; and

for _his_ conduct I will stake my life.

He must be diligent to-day, for he is to act Mark Antony

to-morrow, and you will not see him, which will mortify us both,

but he had no notice till this morning....

I am sick of my Foolery before it begins, _very_ sick indeed,

tho' people send me kind encouragement too....

James Harris, M.P. for Christchurch, whom Johnson set down as "a prig,

and a bad prig," is best known as the author of _Hermes_, of which he

gave Mrs. Piozzi an interleaved copy before her first marriage.

_Monday 24._

My dearest Mrs. Pennington must stay over Saturday; our

Chevalier comes out in a new character, and seems to like

it. His Mark Antony transcended all I ever saw of scenic

perfection,--dramatic rather. The tender pathos with which he

said, "Oh! pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,"[29] was

beyond all praise, and _Lady_ Salusbury liked it. Sir John seems

to consider Conway as much inferior to Warde in beauty, voice,

and action: and the Chevalier's bright eyes, seeing how opinion

goes, drop when he enters the room. They have dined but once

together indeed, but both can see into a mill stone as far as

most men. We meet at Bourdois' and Burney's to-morrow, and he

acts Moranges on Wednesday. He will be introduced to the Masonic

Honours on Thursday; and then give you, whom he justly adores,

the meeting at my Concert. If he does not dance with the proper

Partner, it will vex you and me both: but he _will_--surely he

will. Meanwhile here's a flood to fright one. He, and all the

people at the bottom of our town are in real danger....

[29] _Julius Cæsar_, III. i. 254.

The weather hurts everybody, and the applications to me for

cards make me, like Othello, _perplex'd in the extreme_.[30]

Here comes a tempest of visitants; no gloomy sky keeps them

away....

[30] _Othello_, V. ii. 346.

On the following day Mrs. Pennington replies:

.... This weather will thin your room and lessen your expences,

notwithstanding the unreasonable demands upon you for

additional cards of admission. One half of the people originally

invited will be laid up in their beds, as my dear Husband is at

this moment with the Gout.... There is not now a chance of his

being able to move by Thursday ... I am more than sorry, I am

_grieved_! I feel _nobody_ amongst numbers without my Husband.

He will not however hear of my staying at home. He says I must

have the satisfaction of seeing you in your glory, surrounded by

all those who best love, and most admire you....

Every tribute paid to the dear Chevalier delights me.... I am

perfectly _up_ to the preference given to Warde's talents and

beauty. _I foretold it._ Our favourite is so _very_ superior

that he is much more likely to excite envy than admiration

from his own sex. In this instance it is indeed Hyperion to a

Satyr....

Ah! I am just informed of the sad news. The Duke of Kent is no

more! What heavy afflictions fall on the House of Coburg! That

poor Lady, left a stranger in the land, is much to be pitied!

They were happier, as married people, than those of their rank

can in general boast of being....

[Illustration: PROGRAMME OF MRS. PIOZZI'S CONCERT, 1820 WITH MS.

NOTES BY MRS. PENNINGTON AND MARIA BROWN]

Her great fête to celebrate her eightieth birthday passed off most

successfully. The concert, ball, and supper drew a crowd of over 600

people to the Assembly Rooms on January 27. Her health was proposed

by Admiral Sir James Saumarez, and received by the company with three

times three. She opened the ball with Sir John Salusbury, dancing, as

Mangin remarks, "with astonishing elasticity," but in spite of her

exertions the callers next day found her as well, and as mirthful and

witty as usual.

Conway was present among the crowd, but in such a state of suffering,

mental and physical, as prevented him from enjoying the entertainment

himself, or contributing to the enjoyment of others. A letter from

Mrs. Pennington dated Sunday, January 30, gives an account of a

visit she had paid him the previous day, just before her return to

Clifton, when she found him "like 'mobled Hecuba,'[31] hooded up in

handkerchiefs and bandages," suffering from what she calls a tumour.

[31] _Hamlet_, II. ii.

_Sunday, 30 Jan. 1820._

My dearest Mrs. Pennington's sweet silver tongue has done

our noble blooded, noble minded Friend more good than all my

_written wisdom_. He promises me now explicitly, (and Conway

will keep his word,) that he will in all things take your

advice. "Kind, charming Lady!" is his expression, "she has bound

me to her with ribs of steel." ...

What a world it is! and you, and I, and he _all_ proud of our

talents, if we would confess it. Fine folly!

Is it of intellectual powers,

Which time developes, time devours,

Which forty years we may call ours,

That Man is vain?

Of such the Infant shows no sign,

And Childhood dreads the dazzling shine

Of knowledge, bright with rays divine,

As mental pain.

Worse still, when passions bear the sway,

Unbridled Youth brooks no delay,

He drives dull Reason far away,

With scorn avow'd.

For forty years she reigns at most,

Labour and study pay the cost;

Just to be raised, is all our boast,

Above the crowd.

Sickness then fills th' uneasy chair,

Sorrow succeeds, with Pain and Care,

While Faith just keeps us from despair,

Wishing to die.

Till the Farce ends as it began,

Reason deserts the dying man,

And leaves,--to encounter as he can

Eternity.

.... Bessy's increasing illness grieves me. Dr. Gibbes _tries_

to save her from Consumption. We could not call him sooner.

She is now cover'd with Blisters, after which come Leeches and

James's Powder, with orders to eat _nothing at all_ but--Milk.

The noble blood attributed to Conway evidently refers to a story,

mentioned later by Mrs. Pennington, that he was a natural son of

one of the Marquis of Hertford's family. He appears to have made an

attempt to obtain some acknowledgment of his relationship from his

putative father, but without much success; and the failure may have

had something to do with his determination to leave England.

King George III died on January 29, six days after the Duke of Kent,

and the new king, who was too ill to be present at his father's

death-bed, nearly followed him to the grave. He had caught a severe

chill, and to relieve the inflammation his medical advisers saw fit to

relieve him of 130 ounces of blood, which all but killed him. Yet he

was convalescent by February 6.

On February 2 Mrs. Pennington writes: "Your verses, my beloved Friend,

are above all praise, for _yours_ they must be, as no one else can

delineate such profound thinking with the same ease and perspicuity.

The late events do indeed give a grave and solemn tone to one's

reflections, and these awful death-bells sounding from every quarter

in one's ears, fill me with trembling apprehension for everything that

is near and dear to me. I rejoice that George IV was not proclaimed

on the anniversary of the Martyrdom of Charles the Ist. To my easily

alarmed mind it would have seemed frightfully ominous!...

"I do not wish [Conway] to be in too much haste to renew his visits in

Camden Place. I would strongly recommend him to play a _back_ game,

and see how absence, and some degree of solicitude, which surely his

illness must excite, operates there. It is of the first consequence

to _his_ and to _her_ future peace and happiness, that _she_ should

be able to appreciate, and _he_ to ascertain, the degree of affection

existing on her part. If she has mistaken the sentiment, I think she

will now be able to detect the mistake; as nothing is more likely to

bring out the truth, than any real or imaginary danger respecting the

object. And if the same futile objections remain, depend upon it she

_has_ mistaken the feeling, whether she knows it or not, and she would

do better to put an end at once to all suspense on the subject...."

_3 Feb. 1820._

I am glad dear Mrs. Pennington approved my Verses, your taste is

so good. They are like lines written in 1712, not at all of a

modern sort. You have seen our Chevalier since I did; he keeps

close, and Bessy, whom I sent to comfort him in his illness,

brings me no good accounts. She is bad enough herself, poor

girl, but pities him: I wish they were both at Clifton under

your care....

Death is near us all, and after death, judgment. Poor Mr.

Eckersall has had a stroke of Apoplexy or Palsy, but the family

seem little aware o'nt: and I was seized with such a lethargic

stupor after dinner yesterday at Dorset Fellowes's, I was forced

to play Loo to keep myself awake, and lost four shillings....

This Recess, shocking as the cause may be, is fortunate for our

Chevalier; and I hope he will shine out and dazzle all beholders

at his Benefit. Don't you remember Siddons saying she never

acted so well as once when her heart was heavy concerning the

loss of a child?

I break off to say the present King is dying. God's judgments

are abroad. Write to dear Conway, and with your sweet eloquence

persuade him to sink all thought of his own calamities in those

of the Nation he is an honour to....

On February 5 Mrs. Pennington replies. "Your letter, dearest

Friend, nearly paralysed me. Poor Bessy ill!--Dear Conway no

better!--Everybody sick or dying! I am absolutely ill with terror

and solicitude! I was quite afraid to enquire for the Papers to-day

but, thank God! the accounts of the King are more favourable.... The

first impressions I had of perfect manly grace, and princely dignity,

were drawn from the fine form and gracious manners of our present

Sovereign. Early impressions are always the most lasting. Never have I

seen, but in our favourite, dear Conway, anything to compare with him,

nor ever shall I see his equal again; and I feel that my affliction

would be almost _personal_ grief, should anything fatal happen to

him at this time.... God, of his mercy, avert this great additional

calamity from us, I most heartily pray....

"Everybody was pleased with the _respectful_ and affectionate

attention [of Sir John Salusbury] at the Ball.... I was surprised

at some hints dropped at the chagrin he felt on the subject of your

_increased_ acquaintance; and could not help telling him, tho' in

perfect good humour, that _my_ claims in that line were prior to his

own. I was sorry I did not recollect to observe to him, that it was a

maxim of Dr. Johnson's, whose wisdom no one could question, 'that we

should renew, and keep our acquaintance and our friends in _repair_,

as we did our wardrobes, _because they would wear out_.'"

BATH, _Sunday 6 Feb. 1820_.

Bessy is safe, dearest Mrs. Pennington, by dint of bleeding,

starving, blistering. Bessy is safe, ... and our noble-minded,

tender-hearted friend ... is better too; I shall not outlive

_all_ that love me. It is a trying time, and some affliction

falls on every family, the Royal Family worst.

As if Misfortune made the Throne her seat,

And none could be unhappy,--but the Great.

Of the present Sovereign I know nothing _personally_. From the

old King I got a kiss when presented, and the late Regent made

application thro' Murphy, for my acquaintance 20 years ago. But

as Mr. Thrale's _daughters_ were then upon a visit to Streatham

Park, and not their own Father master of the house, I declined

all such honours: and therein acted wisely, which I seldom do....

What you say of an exacting, authoritative friend is most true.

One thinks immediately of Marmontel, "Je baisse les _liens_

de l'amitie,--j'en redoute la _chaine_." I'm willing still to

kiss the links of friendship, but from the chain I fly. Those

_I_ have never found _me_ exacting, or (without request,)

interfering. Friendship is far more delicate than love. Quarrels

and fretful complaints are attractive in the last, offensive

in the first. And the very things which heap fewel on the fire

of ardent passion, choke and extinguish sober and true regard.

On the other hand, time, which is sure to _destroy_ that love

of which half certainly depends upon _desire_, is as sure to

increase a friendship founded on talents, warm with esteem, and

ambitious of success for the object of it. Such feelings depend

on the merit of the man or woman that excites them, and can be

_dull'd_ only by their conduct.

So here's a fine heap of _wise nothings_, as you call your own

preachments,--which I hope our dear Chevalier will thank you for.

The King is safe,--as well as Bessy. Equal in the sight of Him

who created and redeem'd them: very unequal in importance to

those who look up to them for support and assistance.

They _live_ however, and so for awhile does dear Mrs.

Pennington's poor old Friend

H. L. P.

Mrs. Pennington replies in a long letter dated February 9, from which

it appears that Conway's love-affair had come to the conclusion she

had anticipated. Miss S[tratton] could not stoop to the position of

an actor's wife, and insisted on his abandoning his profession, if he

was to aspire to her hand, a step which he could not bring himself

to take. While full of sympathy for the suffering this decision had

caused him, she is quite convinced that, as far as his career is

concerned, it is all for the best, and concludes thus:

"I shall hate a _Miss_ something more to the end of my life for his

sake, and what is worse, notwithstanding the just and high regard

he entertains for you, and his _new liking_ for me, I fear he will

contract a hatred for Bath, and I shall see little more of him for the

rest of my life: and then what a silly thing have I done to interest

myself thus deeply in his concerns! The most astonishing thing of all

is the power he possesses of creating so strong and pure an interest

in his favour, especially with me, who have long since ceased to feel

the influence of that sort of enthusiasm, and am become fastidious

from disappointment. In very few instances have I _ever_ experienced

the attachment I feel to him! It seems as if that Girl alone was

exempt from the power of the magic he bears about him. Well, let

her go!--sit down at ease with a Country Squire, 'suckle fools, and

chronicle small Beer.' ... But as you say, while we do right, and

honourably, and wisely, (and when he has recovered the proper use of

his reason--I am sure he will do,) all will ultimately go well, and

_better_ than if it had gone _our_ way, depend upon it."

* * * * *

The two "Love Letters," so called, written to Conway on February 2 and

3, when read in connection with those to Mrs. Pennington, show not

Mrs. Piozzi's doting fondness for the handsome actor (as the Editor

evidently desired to insinuate), but her deep concern for his welfare,

and her anxiety lest he should damage his professional prospects by

giving way to despondency or despair as the result of his rejection.

In the first she subscribes herself "your more than Mother, as you

kindly call your H. L. P." In the second she mentions having received

a call from the Strattons, and that she could not bring herself

to touch the hand of Mrs. S., whom she evidently held responsible

for the rupture. She refers to them in her Commonplace Book, in a

passage evidently written about this date. "Strattons, a family

here, pretended passionate love [for Conway,] and I thought them in

earnest, ... dined with me yesterday, and said _all was over_, because

the girl's friends would not agree to the connection." The words in

brackets have been carefully obliterated, but there is little doubt

about them, as Conway's name has been similarly treated in several

other places. The last of the "Love Letters" is dated February 28.

_Thursday Evening, 10 Feb. 1820._

My dear Mrs. Pennington's prognostics are always wise,

lucky, and fulfilled; and I doubt not but we shall lose our

accomplished Chevalier,--after this Season,--for ever. Let us

get him a good Benefit first, and send him down the wind, with

fav'ring gales. I will leave, in the vulgar phrase, no stone

unturned to serve him. Meanwhile he is in London, escaping our

wise letters of good advice; of which, if now _weary_, he will

on a future day be _proud_. The world is full of incident, and

some good ones may illuminate _his_ Drama.

Yesterday's post brought word that Lady Salusbury's Father

was most alarmingly ill. To-day's post said he was _dying_.

Yesterday at dinner Salusbury broke one of his fine teeth.

To-day it was drawn, and they are gone to Shropshire. So runs

the world away. Jealous of Aunt's favour, and glad to carry

little Wifey far from that widely spreading influence which,

as you say, throws an attractive halo round us all: which _she_

feels among the rest, for who can 'scape? Sir John's chagrin

won't kill him: and he says he will perhaps come again--_by

himself_--but he will find enough to do at home.

Our Benefit will probably take place towards the end of this

month. Conway comes back to open the Theatre with a swarthy face

on the 18th, in a new Play written by Mr. Dimond;--St. Clara's

Eve. That young man's brother, Charles Dimond, who I used to

say resembled a Thames Smelt, and who has long been settled in

London, marries a girl with £10,000, and pretty besides, a Miss

Wood. Leoni Lee too has found a maid with the _love-beaming

eye_; he took her to St. James's Church yesterday.

The King's calling to his bedside the Duke of Sussex is a pretty

and a tender anecdote. "My Father and my Brother are lying dead

now," said he, "your life, my dear Augustus, is very precarious,

my own saved almost by a miracle. Let us not quarrel more with

each other, while Death is at hand so to quarrel with us all."

Everybody says that Prince's amiable son will marry a daughter

of the Duke of Montrose.

I hope you will begin the next month with _me_, under St.

Taffy's influence: and if you invite me early in the Spring,

when our tall Beau is gone, or going, I will come to Clifton,

and escape visitors. My door never rests here, and when once out

of town, they may knock in vain. But till the Theatre is shut,

or the great Light of it extinguished, the halo hangs round me,

and I shall neither be willing nor _able_ to stir. The less

indeed, because persuaded that his return hither, (unless either

the Gentleman or Lady is married,) is very unlikely, and would

perhaps be imprudent. I mean his professional return, as now, in

the character of principal performer.

Adieu, dear Mrs. Pennington, continue to him your regard;

do not willingly lose sight of him; your value is by him

duly appreciated, and I depend on living long in _both your

memories_. You will often talk together of yours and his true

friend and faithful servant

H. L. P.

The "amiable son" of the Duke of Sussex, Augustus Frederick, born

1794, who took the name of d'Este, died unmarried.

* * * * *

On February 15 Mrs. Pennington replies in two closely-written sheets,

full of indignation at the girl who, she is convinced, could never

have felt any real love for Conway, or she could not have dismissed

him without "one word of sympathy, one token of pity, or sentence of

consolation." ... "It was most silly and illiberal to tell him 'she

could not support the idea of being sunk in her rank of life, and

looked down, on,' etc." ... "I trust, as Dr. Johnson would have said,

he will never think of hunting down a _Kitten_ again."

She goes on to refer to the story of his being the son of William

Conway, an old college friend of Sir Walter James, who had remarked on

the likeness between them. His reputed father must therefore have been

Lord William Seymour Conway, sixth son of Francis, first Marquess of

Hertford.

Sir Walter "said of his acting, that he was the best Pierre he ever

saw, though he had a perfect recollection of Holland, who was thought

_perfection_ in the character. That he would advise him by all means

to keep clear of the London Theatres for two or three years, and then

burst upon them, a _finished_ actor. He said it was remarkable they

never received an Actor _as such_, whatever his merits, so young, or

so young-looking, as Conway, until more matured by experience and

knowledge of the business; and instanced Mrs. Siddons's failure in

early life, Mr. Young's, etc. It was some years before Kemble made

his way to the popularity he at last attained.... Sir Walter says

your verses are the best he has seen of modern verses, and like those

sterling things of 50 years back....

"I wonder what the generality of people would think if they were to

pick up our letters?"

_16 Feb. 1820._

Thank you kindly, dear Mrs. Pennington, for your kind letters.

Our Chevalier longed to see them whilst in London, and I

disappointed him by not sending them forward. It was the first

pain I ever put him to, and it shall be the last. Our business

is to soothe and solace, not to chide him, or add a particle to

what he suffers. If female friendship is worth anything, let us

benefit and please him all we can. Your part must be to advise,

mine to console; and both of us will try to get him a blazing

night, when once the time is appointed.... Sir Walter James is

very unwell, and I am sorry for it. He always instinctively

loved our friend Conway; and the last time we changed a word

about him, his expression to me was, "I think that young fellow

is all that a man ought to be." ...

Sir Walter James Head, of Langley Hall, Berks, who assumed the name of

James, and was created a Baronet 1791, was the great-grandfather of

the present Lord Northbourne.

* * * * *

On February 18 Mrs. Pennington writes: "I begin now to get very

anxious on the subject of _our Benefit_. I know, by experience, that

only _general_ and simultaneous impulse will _fill_ a Theatre or a

Ball Room. The Pit and Galleries are prime objects, a showy play is

the best attraction there. The boxes there can be no doubt about, and

Bessy must exert all her influence with your tradespeople, not only to

_take_ Tickets for the other parts of the House, but to _dispose_ of

as many as they can. Not a word however about these sordid matters to

our high-minded Friend, whose feelings _I_ would not hurt in any way,

intentionally, for the world....

"The King was saved to a minute! Dr. Tierney had the courage to do

what others durst not hazard;--but his worst sufferings, I fear, are

yet to come with that _bad_ woman,--and what mischief have not _such_

women effected? The Duke of Berri's assassination has congealed us

all with horror! It is plain that unfortunate family is to have no

successor."

Another letter follows, dated February 22, written in much the same

strain, and giving an account of a visit from Conway, who acted as the

bearer of Mrs. Piozzi's last.

On the 24th Mrs. Piozzi writes a note to say that the Benefit is fixed

for March 11, and to arrange for Mrs. Pennington's visit on the 1st.

She concludes: "I hate such short letters, but _my_ goose-quill,--poor

old Goosey!--is _moulting_ as it appears. The Pens and Paper are worse

than ever I remember. Yours at Bristol are better perhaps, I'm sure it

_seems_ so."

Mrs. Pennington replies the next day: "What will the S--ns do on _the_

Night? If they absent themselves, known and marked as they [have]

been, as dear Conway's staunch and particular Friends, surely it will

excite remark? And yet how _can_ they be there? At any rate, if they

are, I trust it will be in a situation not to meet _his_ eyes;--I

should dread the consequences, at least I know I shall feel it for him

in every Nerve. You talk, (with little reason,) of Bath stationery! I

cannot get a sheet of paper that is not greasy and full of hairs, nor

a pen that will pass over them without blotting, and when I look at

your beautiful writing, I think my own letters only fit to bolster up

candles, or for the Pastry Cook's use."

As Mrs. Pennington was staying at Bath, there are no letters to give

an account of the Benefit, but there is not much doubt that Mrs.

Piozzi made it a success. She evidently returned with Mrs. Pennington

to Clifton, and the next letter is written immediately after her

return home.

_Begun Thursday Night, 24 Mar. 1820._

Dearest Mrs. Pennington will be glad to hear that four horses,

and three able-bodied men, brought my little person safe home

... at 9 o'clock last night. Had I died, like Mrs. Luxmore, of

cough and strangulation, I should not have seen our tall Beau

for 5 minutes after breakfast:--_a morning call_. He looked in

high health and good spirits, said your eloquent praises had

produced others, which Miss Williams sends me this moment, and I

really think them very good indeed; he does deserve _all_ praise

in every situation,--in all situations of life,--and his adoring

mother says he was from infancy the best boy upon [earth]. We

had no time to talk of plans, present or future, [he] will go to

London next week, whether to return again I know not....

Captain Marshall has got what he wished and wanted. How long

will he be happy in the Prize he has so contended for? Mr.

Mangin said to me once, that if he were to go to Heaven,

(unlikely enough, added he,) it would be disagreeable to him

for a week at least,--the _first_ week,--but he should grow

reconciled to it. Would not _that_ speech make a good note to

some of the observations in Johnson's _Prince of Abyssinia_?

It would at least do well for Sophia Lee, whose misanthropism

I reverence, while others ridicule it. Why should she let the

people in to _visit_ her, as it is called? She knows they come

for curiosity, not from affection; and I suppose her means

of doing good have been curtailed by accident, her powers of

pleasing by infirmity and age. Why should she then exhibit

the _Skeleton_ of Wit?--or Beauty, if she ever possessed

it? Is there no time when one may be permitted to die in a

corner [after] arranging our little matters for the Journey?

Lord! I [shall have] to expire in a Curtsey and a Compliment,

and request the Spectators [to] _honour_ me with _their

commands_--to the next World....

Mrs. Pennington writes on March 26: "I was indeed glad to get your

letter, dearest Friend, for tho' I entertained no fears for your

personal safety, I was anxious lest the evening air should increase

the _choaking_, and in great dread of dear Bessy's everlasting

displeasure for suffering you to depart at _half past 5 o'clock_,

without anything to sustain you on the way. There was more danger of

your dying from inanition than suffocation. Poor Mrs. Luxmore was,

I believe, a full liver. You and I shall not hasten the end of life

_that_ way. However we certainly carried the starving system to excess

the day you honoured Dowry Square with your presence; for if we had

had the common sense to have sat down to Dinner an hour sooner, you

would have been tempted, from mere good humoured compliance with

our wishes, to have taken _something_ and a glass of wine to have

supported you. But I was sick at heart, and could feel only regret

at parting from you, and the rest of the party lost all their useful

recollections in the pleasure of listening to you, and looking at you.

They declared they would have gone without dinner for a week to have

prolonged the gratification.

"Maria [Brown] is a paintress, and a really _good_ amateur

artist;--she says she cannot take her attention from your _forehead

and eyes_,--the unfurrowed smoothness of the one, and the lucid,

sweet, and bright lustre of those blue orbs, giving a youthful

expression that might pass for 20! It is _this_ that Jagher has hit

off so happily, and that Roche could not touch. I _must_ have a copy

of that picture some day or other, if I sell my silver spoons, for

my Tea Pot I will never part with; but mind, I am not begging, nor

whining. I will never have it from _your_ purse." ...

At the close of a long letter she returns to the subject of Conway.

"Dare you hint to him before you part our _only_ fear? and venture

to tell him that your, and his _saucy Friend_ says that if he goes

to that odious Ireland, and pours as much wine down his throat as

his strong head will bear, in a few years he will look like a moving

steeple, with a blazing Beacon at the top? Oh! if he ever Carbuncles

that beautiful nose, or heightens the natural colouring of that

charming face, I will never give him another _kiss_. A tremendous

threat, to be sure, considering the time I am looking forward to,

especially as I am getting fast to poor Miss Wren's _ashey_ tint: but

I intend to be beautiful again one of these days. _Ninon_ was charming

at a much more advanced age, and wore spectacles as _we_ do.

"I have been told I have a cast of her in my character, with a

_total exception_, I beg leave to be understood, as to her physical

and constitutional propensities, (as also to her erudition,)--but

that she was fair and gentle, with my stature and carriage;--often

serious;--generally rather tender, interesting, and amusing, than

brilliant, tho' sometimes gay and sprightly,--

'From grave to gay,--from lively to severe.'

I wonder how all this nonsense came into my head?... If our dear

Chevalier mars what God has made so exquisitely well, and stamped so

clearly an impress of the Divinity upon, it will be a _great sin_."

_28 March, 1820._

My dear Mrs. Pennington's _gratuitous_ letter gives me the best

certainty of her returning health and spirits. This answer to it

will cost no more.

My health has little to do, at 81 years old, with cramming or

starving, and if I am to be _blest_, as you seem to think it,

with "second childishness and mere oblivion;"[32] to sit, like

old Elspet in her wicker-chair, turned over by _kind_ inquirers,

like a last year's Almanack:--why, be it so! This is a week of

mortification and resignation, and I will endeavour to endure

the degrading idea....

[32] _As You Like It_, II. vi. 165.

The loss of _his_ company and talents will be a great privation

to me, but on _his_ account my heart feels no fears. Conway's

virtues are not, I trust, what Johnson would call ambulatory,

meaning dependant upon climate and company. He will come home to

_you_ I hope, in seven years time, two or three little children

at his side, his own incomparable soul unsullied, his merits

unmolested, his beauty unimpair'd....

Mr. Hunt's being elected into Parliament is another tub for the

whale; so if old Britannia, like her daughters, must live to be

sick and superannuated, why, Henry Hunt and Horace Twiss may

hold the smelling bottle to her nose.

I have at last seen a man who profess'd himself _happy_. It

was Captain Marshall. But as he left me, and dress'd for the

Member's Dinner, to which he went in a Sedan, a wagon overset

his little vehicle, ran over his Chairman, breaking both his

thighs, and brought _him_ to the Hall--too late for Dinner.

Those who converse with the Great expect our King to be crowned

on his birthday, the 12th of August. My dividends will be come

in by then, and Salusbury may have his promised £100, to see the

Coronation. I hate being worse than my word. Our friend Fellie

may not perhaps find _her Grandees_ so scrupulous. But she has

had many assurances of the Herb-woman's place in the Procession,

which I have heard was £400 or £500 o' year for life. She is

a sweet Lady, but ladies _are_ charming creatures, of course;

_yours_ most particularly so _surely_, when they think it fit to

fling so much flattery away upon your poor affection^e Friend,

H. L. P.

Hunt was tried for his share in the Peterloo meeting this year, and

sentenced to two years imprisonment. He was, however, actually

returned to Parliament for Preston in 1830, in which capacity he

presented the first petition in favour of Women's Rights.

The actual date of the coronation was 19th July 1821, when "Fellie,"

otherwise Miss Anne Fellowes, the sister of Mrs. Piozzi's friend and

executor, Sir James Fellowes, did officiate as Herb-Woman.

[Illustration: MISS FELLOWES AS HERB-STREWER AT THE CORONATION OF GEO.

IV

_By M. Gauci after Mrs. Baker. From the Collection of A. M. Broadley,

Esq._]

_Monday, 10 Apr. 1820._

My dear Mrs. Pennington is but too kind in excusing my

peevishness, but this sharp weather freezes all my faculties: it

is as cold as January _ought_ to be. You will have a sad loss

in Maria Browne, and I have a sad loss in dear Conway; and his

steady resolution never to write is such a bad trick. Siddons

has the same you know: and Dr. Johnson used to complain, I

remember, of David Garrick. "One would believe," said he, "that

the little Dog loved one, if it was only by conversation one

knew him: but 'out of sight, out of mind,' is an old proverb,

and they have all of them so much to do."

If my coming to Clifton depended on my being weary of Bath,

you would see me soon indeed: but till July dividends I have

no money for _move-about_. Lord bless me! I wonder how other

people's Bank Notes hold out. Mine melt away like butter in the

sun. 'Tis a great mercy that the Stocks hold firm with a well

organised rebellion in the Island. In _my_ time, had such a

state of things existed, people would have laid down knife and

fork, and fallen to praying: those I mean who did not _fight_

either on the one side or the other. We do not now lay down

even our Cards. My friend Dr. Gray however, whom you do, or you

do _not_ remember at Streatham Park, has taken serious fright,

and fled to London with his family, from Durham; wishing to

change his valuable living for one, even half as profitable,

in the South. Altho' Miss Normans told me on Saturday, at Mrs.

Pierrepoint's or Mrs. Courtenay's Assembly, that the Bishops

were insulted going to Dinner with some of our Ministers of

State, last week; and the circumstance created some alarm.

Mr. Eckersall says the Comte d'Artois' life has been attempted,

and _that_ it was gave the King of France gout in his stomach.

Our gracious Queen's arrival may possibly produce a like effect

in the stomach of Louis Dixhuit's personal friend.

... Miss Wroughton, in her zeal for Mr. and Mrs. Ashe, asked

half a dozen amateur Gentlemen to mount the Balcony, and sing

for their Benefit, because the Theatre supported by Mr. Young

took all their best musicians away; just as her friends the

Ashes, took away Mr. Windsor, etc.--if you recollect--from my

Fête on the 27th of January. And so some laugh, and some are

angry, but Miss Wroughton, tho' she cross'd _me_ at every turn

this Winter, begs _me_ to take Tickets now for Mr. Ashe!!! I

really wonder how she can think of such a thing.

Clifton must be a charming place, sure, where there is no such

gossiping nonsense; and all the Devonshire coast too is so

quiet, and Penzance in Cornwall will soon be fashionable;--it is

so cheap, they say, and so warm....

You do not care much, I think, about these ridiculous reports

concerning Queen Caroline; how she is coming--so she is--to do

wonders unheard of till now: and Buonaparte!--how he's to be let

out, a Bag Fox, for all Europe to hunt again. People find torpor

worse than torture 'tis plain. They long for War, a property-tax

and a battle in every Newspaper: rebellion and assassination are

not hot enough. As Mr. Leo was constrained at last to warm his

brandy with Cayenne Pepper before his stomach could feel any

effect.

BATH, _April 22, 1820_.

Dear Mrs. Pennington will be glad to see the spring coming

forward so sweetly. She will be glad, too, to hear that her

true friends are well; the Little Old Woman, and the Tall

Young Beau. She will be glad that the Parties grow hot and

disagreeable, and that I feel longing for Clifton and the 10th

of June. Whether we are to be glad of the recovery of the

Great Lady I know not, for tho' her life does much good, her

death--poor Dear!--would have done no harm. Do you remember an

impudent Comic Actor on our Bath Stage? A Mr. Edwin, and we

said he resembled Dr. Randolph in the face: and how when he was

addressing the audience in an epilogue upon his own Night, he

suddenly turned to her Stage Box, singing

And the Duchess, who now sits so smiling here

Shall come to our Benefits every year.

Tol ol derol, Lol, etc.

I never saw any fair Female so confounded in my life. You were

with me.

How the ground and the trees do sigh and pine for rain! And what

a haze this odious North East wind sheds over all my prospect!

The people are right enough that go abroad. I would go myself,

but that I have an appointment to keep with dear Piozzi, who I

brought out of his own sweet Country, to lie in the vault he

made for me and my Ancestors at Dymerchion; where I am most

willing to keep him company, when I have performed _more_ than

_all_ the promises I ever, in any humour, made his Nephew; and

when I have, after paying every debt, saved a silver sixpence

or two for those who soften and amuse the closing scenes of a

life long drawn out,--perhaps for that very purpose. Meanwhile

we have a church building here, for my _particular friends_,

the Blackguards and tatter'd Belles of Avon Street, and my

Subscription will be soon expected.

Ay, Ay, I see where I shall pass the Winter months escaping

frosts, and keeping clear of expences, in a climate better than

Paris, the Latitude very little higher. But if you open your

lips--Adieu!...

Dear---- says _his_ health was never so perfect, and he uses

horse exercise, and sends love to his Friends,--and is a good

Boy. I used to bid my children when at distance, only write

three words,--safe, well, and happy: his letter is just like

theirs.

You are tired, are you not, of the silly talk concerning the

Queen and the Radicals. They are like the Statues in the

_Arabian Nights_, who clatter their armour to fright those who

go up the hill: but if you walk steadily forward it ends in

nothing.

We have an Italian Rope Dancer coming, _Diavol_ Antonio, as they

call him. Our shows have been like those in a Magic Lanthorn; so

the _Devil_ comes at last to end the whole ado.

_Fryday May 5th, 1820._

... We will see a great deal of each other when Clifton becomes

my place of residence for six pretty weeks. After them--old

Ocean. Can aught else compleatly wash away all recollection of

Bath _Parties_? That fair assemblage of glaring lights, empty

heads, aking hearts, and false faces?

Who is it says the conversation of a true friend brightens the

eyes? I have enjoy'd two chearful hours _talk_ with our best

_speaker_, best actor, best companion,--Conway. You seem to

express yourself as if half sorry you loved him so much. I am

only sorry that I can't love him ten times more....

Here is lovely weather for frisking up and down, and my empty

pockets will not _overload_ the carriage; altho' the whole

_family_ of _emigrants_ will be packed _in, and on, and upon_,

my Post chaise and four....

Salusbury sent me a whimpering letter, and has already got his

£100, which Heaven knows I owed, and much more, to the estate

of Messrs. Callan and Booth, Lodging House keepers. But if I

can get five Guineas o' week for No. 8, during absence, I shall

bring matters round in due time: because, as Clarissa says

in the _Rambler_, 'tis well known to all the Beau-Monde _that

nobody ever dies_.

In her next letter Mrs. Piozzi makes arrangements for the

accommodation of herself and her household, consisting of her man

James, her attendant Bessy, and two other maids at Clifton.

_Tuesday, 16 May 1820._

... I can't stir till 10th of June.... I like to be under Mrs.

Rudd's roof, and mean to sleep under it next Saturday three

weeks, the Pretender's birthday, when old Tories in Wales wore

white Roses, the 10th day of June. Sunday's dinner I hope to

eat with Mr. and Mrs. Pennington, at their hospitable board,

and we will talk of anything and everything but la Partenza,

which cannot be before the same day of July, as till then I

have ne'er a groat. If life is lent me I will be rich that time

twelve-month; and if it is _not_ lent me, I shall want no money.

Meanwhile I expect no letters from our favourite Friend. I

have written to him tho', and told him that you and I were his

Hephestion and Parmenio; and if he does not laugh at his Blue

Ladies, we are surely well off.

Do you remember Charles Shephard, I wonder? and how we petted

him? and Piozzi trusted him with all his affairs, and bid me

do so; and _so I did_. The envious and jealous people however,

after my husband's death, (people of our mutual acquaintance,)

blew coals up between him and me, and parted us with _acrimony_

on his side, _mental_ resentment, very strong, on mine. I

express'd none however; only said, "God forgive and prosper

you, farewell." Many reports would have been made afterwards

concerning his _distresses_, which I regularly turned a deaf

ear to; and for these last 10 years never heard his name, and

scarcely ever pronounced it. Last Fryday brought me a beautiful

letter from him, dated West India, congratulating me on the gay

supper given last January, assuring me of his continued regard,

and bidding me direct back to the Hon. C. S. etc. because he is

a Privy Councillor, Chief Justice, and Lord knows what besides.

That he retains his confidence in me plainly appears from the

tender enquiries he makes after his favourite Lady; of whose

attachment to him, and his to her, no one ever knew but myself.

So I have lived long enough to have old friends restored, and

to have made _one_ new one. I hope dear Conway and he will be

acquainted when he comes home _rich_ and--no, _not_ happy, but

able to spite the spiters. If I am removed before then, you will

remain and introduce them to each other. It will be a mutual

pleasure, and you will talk of H. L. P., and Sir John will have

my letters to make money of, and give him some compensation for

my extravagance in the year 1820.

Callan and Booth, the people I take my house from, have heavy

claims on me _now_; so I have let it to Mr. Iveson for a

twelve-month, and mean to be smooth as Oyl'd Silk by July

1821....

There is much for you to do as my Sentimental Executrix, so

we will hear of no departure but mine for Marasion, just by

Penzance....

George Hammersley has just left me and taken my Banker's Book to

Pallmall to be regulated; and gives me great credit for my care

and exactness in my Money Matters: bidding me make no scruple

with regard to _their House_, etc., very good-naturedly indeed.

But as I told him I never yet overdrew my Banker, and will not

(unless something serious happens,) begin to do so in the year

1820. _One_ twelve month's short-biting will set all smooth, and

you shall see a merry face once more on the shoulders of yours

and dear Mr. Pennington's affectionate,

H. L. P.

A few days afterwards Mrs. Piozzi was much agitated, on Conway's

account, by the news of the collapse of the stage of the Birmingham

theatre, where it appears he was going to act; but it turned out that

it was not during a performance, and the only injury done was to one

of the workmen.

BATH, _Tuesday 23 May 1820_.

... I shall sleep at your Crescent House, Mrs. Rudd's, as we

agreed long ago on Saturday night, 10 June, if it pleases

God, and go to your Bristol Cathedral on Sunday morning: dine

in Dowry Square, chat with you all the evening, and pass a

comfortable night,--altho' the Queen is coming near enough to

put every one in a heat; if perhaps she may forbear to light up

a _fire_ in our Nation for purpose of roasting her own chicken

to her own mind.

Public and private villainies on the increase, as Dr. Randolph

used to tell us long ago. He did recommend Charles Shephard's

father for the education of young Salusbury, and the son

recommended _himself_ by his useful talents to dear Piozzi; by

his brilliant ones to me. I am happy to find he will be _rich_

and _prosperous_; happy he scarcely _can_ be from the nature of

his attachment; but 'tis happy to feel attachment at all, for

when that's over, all's over....

... At a wedding breakfast we were invited to yesterday Dr.

Wilkinson harangued in praise of Marazion, and our friend Mr.

Gifford said that when he was a young Officer, he treated his

brothers of the Corps with a dinner; two dishes of fish, one

ham, three chickens, a pigeon pye, and a plum pudding;--the

cost, 14 shillings....

Meanwhile Sir Wm. Hotham says the Levee was a Bear Garden.

Miss Knight's letter to Mrs. Lutwyche says it was full of

Grocers, Silk Dyers, and Upholsterers. And _I_ say it was a

_Levy-en-Masse_.

The Bath people must get substitutes for H. L. P. and W. A. C.

as they can. I fancy young Roscius will be the man, the woman is

yet to be looked for.

Admiral Sir William Hotham, one of Nelson's officers, was made a

K.C.B. in 1815, and became one of the Gentlemen in Waiting to the King.

The young Roscius (William Henry West Betty), whose acting at the

age of twelve created such a furore, and whose popularity for a time

eclipsed that of Mrs. Siddons, had already appeared at Bath in 1812.

He retired from the stage in 1824 and died in 1874.

BATH, _Tuesday Night,

6 June, 1820_.

... Mr. Ward has taken leave, and all the Ladies wept. Such was

the croud, I am told, that James my man could not get in to any

place he could stand upon.

The Londoners will have as good food for starers as Mr. Ward can

give the Bath folks. Queen Caroline is said to be arrived, and

is to inhabit Wanstead House. The rumours and reports are indeed

innumerable....

Meanwhile my heart is heavy with affliction at losing an old,

tried, and true friend, Archdeacon Thomas. Poor man! and

poor Mrs. Thomas! for whom my heart bleeds. He was buried

in the Abbey, where he was walking with Dr. Harington, his

father-in-law, some few years ago. "Let us look," said they,

"for a place where _we_ may lie." "Ay, Thomas, so we will, for

These ancient walls, with many a mouldering bust,

But shew how well Bath Waters _lay the dust_."

repeated the ever-ready Doctor.

How long, dear Mrs. Pennington, _am_ I to live? How many

valuable companions _am_ I to lose? These gentlemen were among

the very pleasing ones I have known.... Thank God Salusbury and

Conway--dear Lads--are young, and likely to last me out. But

when they do not write my foolish heart is fluttering for their

safety,--naughty children as they are in neglecting to send me

a letter. I have heard but once from Brynbella since my £100

went there....

Mrs. Dimond told [Miss Williams] that Bath would have a sad loss

of Mrs. Piozzi; but the Queen will put everything but herself

out of everybody's head. The weather is wonderfully dull; so is

my letter....

Henry Harington, M.D., Physician to the Duke of York, was a talented

musician, and founder of the Bath Philharmonic Society. A letter

quoted by Hayward describes him in 1815 as "listening with delight

to his own charming compositions. The last Catch and Glee are said

to be the best he ever wrote." The incident mentioned above took

place the same year. There is a curious little note about him in Mrs.

Piozzi's Commonplace Book. "Dr. Harrington, who was then 88 years old,

never took any air or exercise that he could possibly avoid, going

constantly to his patients in a Sedan; and held a handkerchief before

his face to keep the air away."

Another note, dated June 7, 1820, runs as follows: "Am I, H. L. P.,

sorry to leave Bath? No, but I should be _half_ sorry to think I never

should return, which it is most probable I never shall; my age so far

advanced. Well, God's will, not mine, be done."

PENZANCE, _Tuesday 25 Jul. 1821_.

[_clearly a slip for 1820._]

My dearest Mrs. Pennington will be pleased to hear that we

arrived safely at Penzance last night.... All we are told about

the place seems true.... We shall get a good house, with a sea

view ... upon the Regent's Terrace, paying £16 o' month, thro'

the whole ten, from 1st of August next to 1st of June 1821....

Our dear Conway's name at length appears in the _Morning Post_,

summoning his troops to meet in the Green Room of the new

Theatre, Birmingham. If Mrs. Rudd does not know it, do her the

honour to call with the information.

I wish the ship was come with our Cook, and our books, and our

luggage. A Mr. Paul shew'd me 4 fine Red Mullets he had just

paid a penny each for, this very morning: yet the _Inn_ gave

us a stale Soal yesterday, and will charge a shilling at least

for it. But Honesty is a shrub harder to raise than Myrtle,

which grows here in open air sure enough, and the people are

so fond of it that they plant the beautiful Bay out of their

sight as much as possible, preferring green trees to blue waves

completely.

St. Michael's Mount is a disappointing object, at least to me;

and as to the country we came thro', nothing ever looked so

poverty-stricken, except the very roughest part of North Wales

in _rough_ days, before they had begun enclosing. Goats browsing

wild about the rocks, as in some districts of Snowdonia, serve

the peasants as good substitutes for cattle, who could not pick

a living so as to enable them to give milk for the innumerable

children that crowd the cottages. Yet Mrs. Hill complains that

they grow saucy, and refuse Barley Bread _now_, which used to be

their regular sustenance. I have not, however, seen a beggar,

and the shops are splendid, while the streets are _odious_,--too

filthy, too mean to be endured. Bangor and Beaumaris would be

ashamed of them. I might have had a good house for two Guineas

o' week, but could not away with the situation, coming from

Clifton Hill. Peat stacks at every turn shew what fires they

use here in the winter, but till last January snow had not been

seen for many years, and it lasted but _one_ day. The tide here

is like that in the Mediterranean, just _visible_ the Ebb and

Flow; tho' full moon to-day, no rise appears to _my_ eyes that

are unused to a land-locked bay, and which, (foolishly enough),

expected an open Ocean, such as the Sussex coast exhibits. But

old Neptune here puts on a quiet aspect, resembling that he

wears at Weymouth or at Tenby. No mud however _offends_ the

Bathers, and no Machine _assists_ them.

I saw the Holmes, and pretty Mendip Lodge, as we came along,

and fancied I could discern Weston super Mare, whose Sea View

Place is just such a row of houses as Regent's Terrace; only

we have here such magnificent gardens, and one good house in

the middle of the row, looking down with true contempt on the

mouse-holes each side it:--and _that_ Mansion I am in chase

of, only suspecting that, before we knew it was to be had, I

entangled myself in a mouse-hole.

The women here are beautiful. The Lady of Mousetrap Hall, with

whom I have entangled myself, has eyes like Garrick's, teeth

like Salusbury's, complexion like your own, but cruel as lovely.

I fear she will not let me off; and in her house I should regret

the _ample_ space of your house, or mine at Weston super Mare.

I have half a mind not to let this go till I have finally

settled this _great affair_. Great indeed just now, for as

Goldsmith said

"These _little_ things are great to _little_ men."[33]

And on this 26th--I shall sit, fret, and dine

In a chair-lumber'd closet, just eight feet by nine.

For I feel myself after all condemned to the Mousehole for

three months certain; £2, 15_s._ 0_d._ per week, with a view of

the sea, and _then_ (if we live to see November), Mr. Paul's

comfortable Mansion at next door.

[33] _The Traveller._

PENZANCE, _Wed. 3 August, 1820_.

Charming Mrs. Pennington's beautiful letter was indeed most

welcome, tho' it does put me a little more out of humour with my

run-away frolic than I was before it arrived....

Now for Penzance and its Parties. Mrs. Hill made a splendid

one, for _me_ I rather think, and my black satten gown (for no

other is yet arrived,) was my best garment. Bessy lent me a

cap of hers, and my youthful looks were duly appreciated--my

whist-playing _applauded_. We had two tables, one for shillings,

one for sixpences; a profusion of exquisite refreshments, and

music in another room. Oh! if I escape all temptations to

sensuality, I shall live to see dear Mr. and Mrs. Pennington

again, and the Hot Wells, and Clifton Terrace, where I shall

surely jump for very joy. But these Red Mullets and Dorees for

two pence o' piece will certainly destroy _some_ of us. Poor

Bessy has been _seriously_, I might say dangerously ill, from

indulging in a Crab; it made James sick too; all the family

half-killed,--for the small price of a groat the fish, and a

Pound to the Dr.... a real Physician, thank God, and not a

country 'Pothecary....

The people know not how to be civil enough, and if my stomach

will reconcile itself to the clouted cream, I shall come home

as fat as the pigs of the country, and such pork did I never

see. Our own garden affords potatoes for us all, and onions

etc., besides the flower plot, perfuming the very air around

with carnations of every hue, Myrtles of every form, and exotic

shrubs with Linnean names innumerable. The appearance of our

Mansion, _pleasure_ ground, and kitchen garden, reminds me of

Kingsmead Terrace, Bath; but James says the houses here are by

no means so _spacious_ as that where your compassion carried

you when our incomparable Conway was so ill. I hope he has

proved himself _irresistible_, and what must the heart be over

which he cannot, if he pleases--triumph?... Oh! if I possessed

an unappropriated £100 in the world, I would go see him act

once again, that I would.... I am glad Mrs. Rudd's heart seems

lighter than when we left her; the Rogue has never written to

_me_, no, not a scrap; but she had an _earlier_ pretension to

his regard, I think it is scarce a truer.

Meanwhile Sophia Hoare has written me a more good-humour'd

letter than usual, and I am _so_ delighted! Maternal love is

the only good thing mankind can not throw away. It springs

fresh with the least drop of water flung upon it. She wishes her

illustrious Neighbour out of Town I see, and says wisely that

her present residence being so near the Barracks is unfortunate,

because the soldiers' wives and children are among her every

night's applauders. The Hoares are used to be violent opposers

of the Ministry, but Democrates like to have their property held

sacred, as well as you or I; and firing houses will make no

sport to the Bankers, I trow.

So now _pray_ accept these _not elaborate_ verses: they will

amuse Mr. Pennington's gout.

Around their _Queen_

Here are seen,

Sharp'ning every _sting_,

Bees,--alarming

By their swarming

People, Peers, and King.

But in their tricks,

Should they fix

On our property;

They must learn

To discern

That when they _sting_, they _die_.

Surely such Cakes, Jellies, etc., as they use here for

refreshments, all new and warm, were never _seen_ at Bath or

London, so various, so profuse. I never touch them, certainly,

but never was so tempted. No Confectioner's shop visible in the

place, _all made at home_.

With regard to rain, we live in a cloud of soft mist, rain,

if you please to call it so; certainly a perpetual damp, warm

moisture. Lady Jane James said, you know, that she never put on

a dry chemise at St. Michael's Mount, and truly did she speak;

but nobody ever told me that the sea here is as tame as the

country is wild. Wild without sublimity, coarse externally, like

other Misers; its riches all concealed underground. I saw Hay

carried last night, two months after the environs of Clifton.

But I have wrong'd old Neptune; he _can_ roar, I hear him now,

thank Heaven. Oh! how much more delightful is the music he now

makes than that of the pretty Ladies of the parties, to the rude

ears of dearest Mrs. Pennington's everlastingly obliged and

faithful

H. L. P.

Aug 3. Fateful month! but no clothes, no books, no Cook, no

Conway's portrait yet for poor H. L. P.

Cook, books, and clothes were still in the Port of Bristol, as Mrs.

Pennington writes on the 29th, waiting, as it appeared, for the

captain to make up his freight; and might then be expected to take

from four days to a fortnight--according to the wind--to make Penzance.

The renewed enthusiasm for Queen Caroline was aroused by the

anticipation of the Bill of Pains and Penalties, intended to dissolve

the marriage, which was brought in on August 14, but proved so

unpopular, both in and out of Parliament, that it had to be dropped.

On August 10 Mrs. Pennington is able to announce that the _Happy

Return_ had actually sailed, with Mrs. Piozzi's belongings, five

days before. Conway had been to see his mother, and had called on

herself, rather, she thinks, from civility than from choice. "There

was a polite distance assumed, evidently for the purpose of repressing

enquiry.... I am persuaded we trouble ourselves much more about his

concerns than he either wishes or likes." She gathered, however, that

he had secured some sort of recognition from his father. She alludes

to the letter of "lovely Mrs. Hoare," whom "I always liked ... because

I thought her more personally like you than any of the Ladies."

PENZANCE, _Sunday August 13, 1820_.

Come! oh come! dear Mrs. Pennington, I see you half long to be

here, and what a relief, what a comfort, would your society

afford to your starving H. L. P.? Here is _no_ heat, _no_ dust,

_no_ cold: I daresay it is a very _negative_ place, but I must

not have you tell tales out of School. Miss Trevenan may justly

disapprove my censure on the _no_ picturesque of her native

county: and if you read her my letters so, I must grow cautious,

à la Conway. I _have_ heard from him, thank God! The rogue

told me nothing tho', except how charming you and I were, what

admirable letters we wrote, etc. "Yea, and all _that_ did I know

before,"[34] as Juliet says. Quere, whether he has anything to

tell; unless it be that he has at length calmed his own noble

and too-feeling mind, by conduct which himself approves.

[34] _Rom. and Jul._, II. v. 47.

But at the same moment with your kind letter comes our

long-expected ship. Cook says they have been to _Wales_; Swansea

in Glamorganshire!

The day you receive this one whole month will have elapsed since

I left the full moon _shining in her brightness_ on Clifton

Terrace. Never have my eyes seen her since. No, nor a starry

night. Yet here is sun enough, and the sea so beautifully blue

and clear, you would be delighted with it, as one is with a tame

Lyon. Will you come?...

Much, meantime, and of much more importance, is crazing all the

brain-pans of poor Europe. The revolt at Rome strikes me as very

surprising. The same people who defended their Sovereign as

long as they could, poor creatures! against French aggression,

now fly in the face of his not only _Innocent_, but _innocuous_

successor: no mortal can guess why. Ay, ay, you used to laugh

when I mounted my turnep cart and preached the end of the world.

But you don't like witnessing the convulsions that precede

it, and which increase in violence visibly every day. Poor

Ithaca! whence Ulysses was detained, you know, by the gardens

of Alcinous, has been shattered completely to pieces by an

earthquake, under the name of St. Mauro; and Inspruck, where I

spent a few days, has seen the destruction of her _Golden House_.

Our Queen Bee, of whom the Radicals have laid hold, will be the

instrument of concussion in _our_ Country; and we drones shall

suffer, while the stingers go on torturing each other into

madness. The Naturalists, Pennant, Linnæus, etc., have long

observed that all the _Hymenoptera_ have stings. Yet I suppose

that will not deter the _hopers_ from _marriage_....

Mr. Mangin's Intercepted Letter was a little Pamphlet, censuring

some Authors, Actors, etc., commending others; and I got two

kind lines, before we were at all acquainted,--so _that_ brought

on Library conversation, and he offered his services about the

_Name-Book_;--took it to London for me, where it was rejected,

not through any neglect on his part: and I felt myself much

obliged by his attentions, and rejoiced in his good fortune when

he married....

No particulars are forthcoming respecting the "Name Book," but it was

evidently a work on Etymology, written some years before, which was

to have been called _Lyford Redivivus_, for which she was unable to

find a publisher. A letter in Mr. Broadley's collection indicates that

it was finished about 1816, when she writes to Sir James Fellowes, "I

wish Mr. Jenkins had taken the Name Book."

PENZANCE, _Saturday Night,

26 Aug. 1820_.

Dear, kind Mrs. Pennington, I love you for wishing that you

_could_ come, and you ought to love me for agreeing in the

notion that to come would be very foolish. One can hardly save

the expences of such a journey by cheap fish, when the water

'tis boyl'd in must, every drop, be paid for. And what an ideot

was James not to pay the carriage of the Turbot! When I miss'd

it in the weekly account I could have cuff'd him.

The heats are equable, not strong or _starvy_; but little can

be said in praise of the weather. Rain, almost incessant, keeps

one at home, and to get at this lovely sea, such stinks must

be encounter'd as I never knew but at Rome or Naples. Poor,

dear Italy! I _did_ love it however, and hear with unaffected

sorrow of the pangs that are tearing it to pieces. In France

_fire_-brands seem the instruments of punishment from on high.

In England _one female_ suffices. If nothing can be done

without _more help_, my Paper says that Buonaparte is to be let

loose, and that Prince Esterhazy's business here was to solicit

his liberation. Hissing the Duke of Wellington is a prelude,

a pretty overture to such an Opera. Opera means _piece of

work_, you know. It makes me more willing to _quit_ the world

certainly, when I see it rolling downhill so. But the whole of

it must be discover'd before it is destroy'd, and the little

ship _William_, a trading vessel from Blythe in Northumberland,

has in effect found at last the great Southern Continent, so

long supposed to exist, so completely forgotten of late years....

Did you ever read my verses, which this discovery made by the

_William_ confirms? "_No_," is the answer, Well then, here they

are, making part of a long poem composed 35 years ago.

Where slowly turns the Southern Pole,

And distant Constellations roll,

A sea-girt Continent lies hurl'd,

And keeps the balance of the World.

But felter'd fogs, and hoary frost

Defend th' inhospitable coast,

Which, veil'd from sight, eludes the Pilot's care,

And leaves him fix'd in ice, a statue of despair.

I hear no more of Salusbury. I never could get _him_ to care

about these matters: and after all, does not he act as _all_

parents wish their children to act, soberly and quietly, keeping

a steady eye to his _interest_ in this world; not, I hope and

trust, forgetful of the next. One must love the creatures for

their valuable, or delight in them for their shining qualities,

no matter whether they love me or no, and _in their way_

they do love me. Sir James Fellowes has written kindly and

good-humouredly, and my heart has entirely made all up with his.

Nothing, as you say, ail'd him but jealousy; and I hold that

to be what foolish Merlin, the mechanic, called a _desagreable

compliment_....

Miss Willoughby has written from St. Anne's Hill. She says Lord

Erskine wishes the illustrious Lady, who causes so much talk,

was _in_ the Liturgy and _out_ of the Country. After what past

at Ephesus, I see not why one should wish any such thing; but

the aggregate of understanding she is tried by will decide

rightly, I doubt not....

Well, God mend all; and give us a merry meeting on our _Happy

Return_....

The populace had been exasperated with Wellington over the Peterloo

incident, and he was just now sharing the unpopularity of the

Ministry, of which he was a member, on account of the Bill of Pains

and Penalties designed to effect the Queen's divorce. The exclusion of

her name from the Church Services had been one of the first objects of

the King on his accession.

Miss Willoughby, who soon afterwards followed Mrs. Piozzi to Penzance,

appears to have been a daughter of Charles James Fox.

_15 Sep. 1820._

I hope my dear Mrs. Pennington is beginning again to look for

an empty letter. Empty it _must_ be of all but good will, badly

express'd, for we are still-life people here, who see and hear

very little, and reflect _less_ upon what _is_ seen and heard.

I think every day more and more with our old Master Shakespear,

that "there is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at

the flood, leads on to fortune."[35] Caroline of Brunswick has

surely miss'd her tide. A commotion might have been raised

the first week: I now begin to doubt its possibility on _her_

account. Rebellion however is _in_, as boys say of Cricket and

Kite-flying, and any excuse serves in any country. When what

is called a Spirit of Liberty seizes the swarthy inhabitants

of Morocco, how should their old enemies, the Portuguese,

escape? "When Afric _recovers_, Mundus will _end_," says an old

proverb. And as dear Mrs. Pennington says, "no matter how soon,

it _should_ be either ended or mended." The eclipse however did

nothing towards its destruction. I saw it here beautifully, but

there was little apparent obscuration, tho' the Thermometer sunk

two degrees. We shall have an elegant Eclipse of the Moon on our

Equinoctial day, the 22d of September: and our tides become even

now a little stronger in their flux and reflux. Like other quiet

temper'd people, their anger, I understand is dreadful....

[35] _Timon of Ath._, IV. iii. 218.

Doctor Randolph's state of health grieves me, and the loss of

Mr. Bayntom; on whom so many, (and those wise people too,)

depended with a very firm reliance. I always wonder at _such_

partiality. It has been my lot to love three or four Medical Men

very sincerely, and _like_ them in earnest for companions and

friends, but would not give much of preference to any. And 'tis

well that such is my humour, in a place where we send to the

_Tallow chandler's_ if we want drugs: no Apothecary or Chymist

residing near happy Penzance. Fowls we buy in the feathers--and

James says every shop in the Town sells Barley to feed them

with. There are no more Poulterers than Milliners yet everybody

is genteelly drest, and I warrant our Michælmas goose will be

good, and cost us scarce half a crown, giblets and plumage. I

should like to write you a letter with my own _quill_....

Well! now I will go work at your Fly; but even that is nonsense,

for I cannot frame it, nor line it, nor put it in a box. There

are no frames, no boxes, no linings, at Penzance. I cannot make

it worth your acceptance; and who dreams of my living till the

spring, and bringing it with me to Clifton, when I shall be

going on to 82 years old? I must finish, and leave it in charge

with Bessy, to save from the hands of my Executors; as I will do

by Conway's portrait....

The Harvest here is beautiful and plenteous:--

"Far as the circling eye can range around

Unbounded, tossing in a flood of corn,"

as Thomson says. Industry is a rough power surely, but a kind

one; working that you and I may sit idle, ploughing that H. L.

P. may have leisure to work Butterflies, and weaving that pretty

Mrs. Balhechet may look lovely in her various dresses.

Charles Shephard has written to me again. He likes the

correspondence I suppose, for we are 4000 miles asunder. By dint

of industry however, he will come home _rich_; and seeing 500

people richer than himself, will find he has exchanged honour

and distinction for Coffee-house chat and Drawing-room small

talk,--the food his fancy _now_ is longing for, but which will

grow insipid in six months; and reflection will _then_ inform

him that to talk of _Rum_ and _Sugar_ has more _spirit_ and

_sweetness_ than to talk of _nothing_. He begs me to write, not

newspaper occurrences, he says, but _stuff out of my own head_,

as they say at Eton School:--the head of an old Haggard, 81

years old!!! But he is consorting with those who never heard

tell about the gardens of _Alcinous_. Some one sung a Ballad in

which Lethe was mentioned, not a soul in the company guess'd

what was meant, till some very clever fellow found it was a

river, running between Leith and Edinburgh....

In Morocco, under Soliman, the Christian slaves were being liberated,

and piracy suppressed. In Portugal, after the flight of John VI to

Brazil, the government had been in the hands of a Regency, which

included Marshal Beresford, who organised the army, but used its power

despotically. During a visit he paid to Rio in 1820, insurrections

took place at Lisbon and Oporto, the English Officers were expelled,

and a Constituent Assembly formed.

The Eclipse of Sep. 7, 1820, was an annular one, well seen over the N.

of Europe. Mangin relates how a similar one occurred in Mrs. Piozzi's

girlhood, and an astronomical friend told her she might live to see

another at 80.

On Sep. 21 Mrs. Pennington writes, much disgusted at the revelations

of the Queen's trial, and apprehensive of their effect on public

morals. "Not a Boarding School Miss, nor a Parish Girl, that can

make out the words, but we see studying these detestable pages, and

devouring their contents as they would a new Novel.... The worst part

of the business is the little respect, and less approbation, felt even

by well disposed and moderate persons for a certain Great Individual.

The vices of debauchery offend and disgust more (with many who are not

altogether disinclined to the practice,) than the downright wickedness

arising from the ambition and tyranny of the worst Monarchs that ever

reigned; and prove that the moral virtues are of more value than

anything. Our late K--g lost 13 Provinces, and supported a war which

was unpopular with a great part of his subjects, and which has ruined

the Nation; yet he was loved for his moral excellence, and his memory

is revered."

She deprecates precipitancy in the matter of the Butterfly, and

suggests that any Carpenter, with 4 strips of wood, might make a

rough, but efficient, substitute for the Tambour Frame which she

thought Mrs. Piozzi could not procure.

PENZANCE, _Tuesday, Sep. 26, 1820_.

In life's last scenes, what prodigies surprize!

Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise!

SAM. JOHNSON.

Poor dear Dr. Randolph! Ay, and poor dear Mr. Chappelow too! The

post which brought your letter--charming friend!--brought one

from his nephew, son to Soame Jenyns, saying his uncle was dead,

and had left my letters carefully tied up, which he would send

to Bath immediately. I wrote and beg'd him send the packet to

_you_, where I shall find it safe if I live till May-day; and if

_not_, you will give it to Sir John or Sir James, my Executors.

He had lost his head long before he lost his life, I find. Awful

reflection! For a pleasant head it was, and a world of pleasant

stories were hatched in it. Would not Mr. Pennington be sorry

for such a loss to his true servant H. L. P.? I am very _sure_

he would; and vexations at 81 years old cannot contribute much

towards holding it in its place....

Of the discovery made by the "William," I think very seriously.

It is the last place that has lain concealed, and when the

Gospel has been _preached_ there,--Christ does not say

_obeyed_,--"then shall the end come." Distress of nations with

perplexity was never, no _never_ so apparent: tho' Dorset

Fellowes writes me word that they say not a syllable of their

own conspiracy at Paris.... You are right about the tryal ending

in smoke. I daresay it will: but the people, falsely called

people in _power_, are afraid of its ending in _fire_, like

myself, and will therefore be glad to compound. It was never a

thing of _their_ seeking, and the French are all for la belle

Caroline, of course; and threaten their English visitants with

the speedy appearance of Monsieur le Baron Bergami. Meanwhile

the fashionable joke is to say a noble Marquis, much talked

of in London, is like a _comb_, all back and teeth. Yes, says

another wag,--a _Horn_ comb.

My fret about your Fly was for a frame, a picture frame, to

hang it up in your boudoir. The only merit in _my_ work is

that it is all done upon the _hand_; I do not know how to use

a Tambour. The drawing it is ill executed from represented

the _Blue-eyed Paris_ from Chandernagore; a Butterfly of much

dignity, according to Linnæus, but you must accept it cover'd

with faults. Lady Williams of Bodylwyddan had the _Ulysses_

worked reasonably well,--a dozen years ago,--and Mrs. Rudd has a

Moth....

I never heard Miss Stephens sing, and what is much stranger,

never heard the famous Mrs. Sheridan. But I have heard old

Dr. Burney say _she_ sung "Return, O God of Hosts" better

than anybody except Mrs. Cibber the Actress, whose manner of

delivering that air was absolute perfection. Miss Sharpe says

the Kembles are well and happy at Lausanne.... I hear the

Twisses are returned to Bath, meaning Mr. and Mrs. Twiss; the

Girls are out, like good girls, getting their living.... Horace

has got into Parliament safe and snug.

Poor Mrs. Rudd! I hope she will keep her houses full, and find

me a lodging in some of them next Spring, before the 10th of

June, that I may bustle and be busy; and get my _little things_,

(as Ladies call everything,) from No. 8 Gay Street to No. 36

Royal Terrace, Clifton. But how hopeless and silly all this is

at 81 years old, and dear Chappelow dead of superannuation, six

years younger than myself, in whom _hope_ of living six months

would be _proof_ of superannuated folly. We must do as well as

we can, and wish we could do better. He was as temperate as I

am.... But when sickness comes in consequence of drinking some

stuff that _pretended_ to be smuggled wine, and _was_ a mess

made with sea water in an Alehouse; why then I _do_ despair of

ever again seeing any place or people that are dear to your poor

H. L. P.

Mr. Ray has long left Streatham and its neighbourhood. His mother died

of cold in a rough winter some years ago. She would go and sort her

apples in a loft; where being seized with a shivering fit, she was

brought down,--only to expire,--at 92 years old.

* * * * *

Soame Jenyns, who, according to the _Dictionary of National

Biography_, left no issue by either of his wives, was the author of

the epitaph on Johnson containing the lines--

Boswell and Thrale, retailers of his wit,

Will tell you how he wrote, and talk'd, and cough'd, and spit.

The French conspiracy here alluded to was the plot hatched for the

murder of the Duc de Berri, son of the Comte d'Artois.

Bartolomeo Bergami, who just now loomed large through the cloud of

scandal which surrounded the Queen's trial, was originally engaged

by her as a courier, when she retired to the Continent in 1813. His

handsome person so commended him to his royal mistress that she

speedily promoted him to be her equerry and chamberlain, and treated

him as an intimate friend. Through her influence he was made a Baron

of Sicily, a Knight of Malta, and several other orders, including one

of her own devising, under the patronage of "Saint Caroline": while a

number of his relatives were provided with posts in her train.

Catherine Stephens was at this date the leading soprano at Covent

Garden, and afterwards sang at Drury Lane, and in the chief concerts

and festivals. In 1838 she married the fifth Earl of Essex, then over

eighty years of age, and died in 1882. Though she had not a finished

style, she sang airs like "Angels ever bright and fair" with much

pathos and devotional feeling.

The Mrs. Sheridan here spoken of was the dramatist's first wife,

Eliza Ann Linley, who died 1792. Though she was the finest singer of

her day, her dislike to appearing in public had much to do with her

run-away match with Sheridan.

Of Dr. Burney she writes in her Commonplace Book that he "died at

last, I am told, at 89 years old, and in full possession of his

faculties. They were extremely good ones. He _thought_ himself my

friend once, I believe, whilst he thought the world was so. When the

stream turned against the poor straw, he helped its progress with his

_stick_ and made his daughter do it with her _fingers_. The stream

however grew too strong, and forced the little straw forward in spite

of them."

* * * * *

Mrs. Pennington sends a closely-written foolscap sheet dated October

1, largely taken up with the Queen's trial, a propos of which she

says: "We received a comical anecdote in a letter from Town. They say

it was a common trick for the little rascally boys, if they could

get hold of a stranger in the mob, to offer to _shew them the Queen

for sixpence_! On receiving it they would _shout out_; on which Her

Majesty would immediately appear, and smile and curtesy graciously:

and the boy would then add, "_I'll have her out again presently!_"

PENZANCE, _Sunday Oct. 15, 1820_.

A propos to Kingly residence the best joke is that since Her

Majesty has possessed herself of all the John _Bulls_, her

husband ran to _Cowes_ by way of retaliation. It would seem

by the Papers now, I think, that the Tryal draws near to a

conclusion. If any poor Italian should be put in the Pillory,

as menaced, he never, no never, would come out alive. When

Mr. Thrale and I lived in Southwark, I pass'd a poor creature

in that situation, upon St. Margaret's Hill, and could eat no

dinner for thinking of his sufferings and danger. "Madam,"

exclaimed Dr. Johnson, "give yourself no concern about him. My

life for it, he is drunk by now." The hapless Lombards have no

such resource, and the man I saw died before night. But Miss

Willoughby tells of another joke. One says the Queen must be

fatigued to death sitting in this room so, without refreshment.

"No Sir," is the reply, "the Queen's not _nice_; she can take a

_chop_ at the King's Head";--an Alehouse in the neighbourhood.

What you observe concerning public and private virtues may

be true now in 1820; in 1760 I remember, when Wilkes's moral

character was objected to by the Loyalists, the Liberty Boys

cried, "What care we whether he be vicious, or the man he

insults be virtuous? We look to _public_, not to _private_

character." In consequence of these opinions the Town was

deluged with verses, of which I can call to mind one stanza in

praise of the then popular Hero.

'Tis thus that we are told,

The Ægyptians of old

Ador'd their still _fouler_ Ichneumon,

Who alone durst engage

The fell Crocodile's rage,

With courage exceeding the human.

I forget whether the crocodile stood for King George III, or my

Lord Mansfield. They equally resembled him, I believe; but 'tis

plain men thought little of Jack Wilkes's _vartue_.

Your Butterfly, which was finished yesterday, is not less fixed

in his flights than popular opinion. When Cardinal de Retz was

followed up and down by an admiring mob, "Is not this fine?"

said a flatterer, "to see your Eminence possess'd of so many

friends and followers" "Let anybody ring a dinner-bell," said

he, "and see how many would be left me _then_."

Meanwhile the storm continues very grand indeed, but something

very like very dreadful. This bay looks so calm too! But

sweetest wines make the sourest vinegar, and no anger is so

fierce or fatal as that of gentle natures irritated to frenzy. I

begin to wish it was over; as I did travelling among the Alps,

which at first enraptur'd, but the third day _wearied_ my very

heart. Effect of the true sublime....

[_P.M. Nov. 2, 1820._]

This will be a dull letter, dear Mrs. Pennington; I have been

very ill, ill in good earnest, the pulse 92. There is a fever in

the Town, and Sophy, my stout-looking housemaid, lies cover'd

with blisters now....

Let us talk of the storm, it is more entertaining, and tho'

death seems, by the _describers_, to be most dreadful under

the form of white breakers, it comes cleanlier, and less to my

personal disliking, so, than accompanied with gallipots and

all the tribe of sick-bed sorrows; for which, and the talk

concerning them, my aversion was ever great....

I continue to do what I came hither to perform, eat cheap fish,

and pay old debts. Mr. Pennington will laugh, so will Dr.

Randolph, if you tell them Tully's _Offices_ are come to the

last _chapter_, and that I shall write FINIS to _that_

book, if I live the _next_ month through.

Am I, d'ye think, to see the end of 1820? If I am, those who

say people of letters are never people of figures, shall find

themselves mistaken in H. L. P. Had I dreamed of losing £6000 at

a stroke so, I would have been more prudent.

Conway was a good boy to send Partridge and pretty words to dear

Clifton: he sends me no such nice things, knowing that my regard

is not a ceremonious one. Marcella's speech to her lovers in Don

Quixote, when they tax her with ingratitude, has the best common

sense I ever read. "You love me," said she, "because I am young

and beautiful and attractive by talents and graces. When you are

so too I will requite your love, but no gratitude is due for

that attention which you all confess to be involuntary. Get you

gone, and plague me no more. Should I want your assistance when

grown old and ugly, would you give me any? No, I warrant. Then

I have nothing to thank you for."[36] ...

[36] _Don Quixote_, Bk. II., Chap. xiv.

Dorset [Fellowes] has been _surprisingly_ kind to me ... for after

all, "Age is dark and unlovely, it is like the glimmering light of

the Morn, when she shines thro' broken clouds: the blast of the North

is on the plain, and the Traveller shrinks on his journey." Well!

the people at Penzance do endure the dregs of the Piozzi very good

naturedly; and Miss Willoughby grows much a favourite with them all.

What is to be seen at Penzance however, is a _storm_. The billows

most majestic, and the sea spray tossing, foaming, as if to remind me

of Brighthelmstone. For _there_ alone does the salt water throw its

particles into the air, so as to be carried 9 miles over the Downs to

Lewes; where I have been warned to strip the Peaches of their downy

coat, because they would taste of the last tempest. The shipwrecks

here are shocking, and very frequent. This is no land of felicity

to any but starvelings. Bessy buys five such fine Soles as I have

partaken of at your table for one shilling, and they feed the family.

We had a Turbot larger than that I sent to you for half a crown, a

while ago. Miss Willoughby and I dined on the _fins_. But I scarce

believe all fish is wholesome food, the town is full of Typhus

now....

My heart tells me that H. L. P. has made her last journey; but 'tis no

matter, and will be no loss.

A new book called Nicholle's Reflexions, or Recollections, will amuse

you. His opinions of the late King run parallel with yours. But I, who

remember caricatures of Charlotte toasting the muffin, and George the

third reaching the Tea-kettle, can never be made believe that modern

Reformers sigh for _moral_ Princes. How did Louis 16^ze please the

people with _his_ morality? Calling his present Majesty _Nero_, is

to me _comical_. Carleton House may indeed be termed Nerot's Hôtel,

because the Master of it is kept, like the people of a bagnio, in

_hot water_. And it seems that's the true London joke. Adieu....

[Illustration:

"FRYING SPRATS" (Q. CHARLOTTE) "TOASTING MUFFINS" (K. GEO. III)

_From a caricature by Gillray, 1791. From the Collection of A. M.

Broadley, Esq._]

The £6000, as appears from subsequent letters, had been given to Sir

John Salusbury.

* * * * *

The joke about "Tully's Offices" evidently relates to her paying

off the expenses of her birthday fête. The supper was provided by a

celebrated Bath pastrycook named Tully, and the jest originated with

Mrs. Piozzi, who, addressing her guests, bade them do justice to

"Tully's Offices," the name by which Cicero De Officiis was commonly

known in the eighteenth century.