Streatham Park, Sat. 10 Aug. 1793.

My dearest Mrs. Pennington,—Nothing was ever so well or so truly said as your observation concerning public notions in France, except what you said likewise about private notions in England, and my Husband and your Husband's true taste for an elegant Knick-Knack.

I have had a letter from an old acquaintance, Helen Williams, my eyes could scarce believe it; but she says it was with difficulty she found means to get it over, and certain is the case, it came hither by Penny Post. No tenderness was ever so seducing as her tenderness, no lamentation ever so pathetic; begging and intreating to know how we all do, and whether we still recollect her with kindness, etc. Many sweet words to Harriet, many to Mrs. Siddons, with enquiry if she remains still upon the Stage, "for not even her fame can reach me now at this sad distance," is the expression. Poor soul! she adverts to our felicity at Streatham Park, and says how happy we all are here, (I think so truly,) while she listens only to the sound of the Tocsin, in which "more is meant than meets the ear." Such is her quotation, and it impresses me strongly, for on this very day, the 10th of August, my heart tells me dreadful deeds will be performed in that theatre of massacre and madness—Paris. God keep her in personal safety! Meantime I will not write to her: she has given me directions, but as I told dear Mr. Este the other day, who put me to similar pain by begging letters for Italy, I will not help those forward who are doing, or trying to do, mischief,—

Beyond or love, or friendship's sacred band,

Beyond myself, I prize my Native Land.

And our sweet Master, whom the King has lately been graciously pleased to make an Englishman, in act and effect, as well as in true heart and firm loyalty, says I am in the right....

I shall scold Mr. Pennington if he suffers moody and still pensiveness to petrify your active qualifications, and I understand even the situation of your affairs requires a chearful carriage, and gay manners. Assume them, and they will cling to you. Miss Farren tries that trick, and it succeeds too, notwithstanding her real health and looks are much impaired, but I hope bathing in the sea may in some measure restore them. We hear that Miss Burney has a Tragedy acted,—accepted I mean,—and to be acted by Sheridan's Company, who are all delighted with it. We hear too that she is married to a foreigner of fashion; and we did hear her brother was dead at Bath, but he contradicts the report himself in the Newspapers; so, perhaps will his sister to-morrow. Adieu....

Elizabeth Farren was the daughter of George Farren, a surgeon of Cork, who joined a strolling company of players. After acting at Bath and elsewhere in the provinces, she appeared at the Haymarket and Drury Lane, where she played leading parts till her marriage with Lord Derby.

Fanny Burney had married M. D'Arblay, a French refugee officer, 31st July and 1st August 1793. Her tragedy of Edwy and Elgiva was not acted till 1795, when Mrs. Siddons and her brother assisted at its production. The breach between her and Mrs. Piozzi, which dated from the latter's second marriage, was not healed for many years. The reconciliation is thus recorded in the Commonplace Book. "Madame D'Arblay, always smooth, always alluring, passed two or three hours with me to-day. My perfect forgiveness of l'aimable Traitresse was not the act of Duty, but the impulsion of Pleasure, rationally sought for, where it was at all times sure of being found—in her conversation."

Streatham Park, 19 Sep. 1793.

My dear Friend, and your letter says I must call you my old Friend too. "Ma'am I'm sorry." ...

Helena Williams's situation is a strange one, but though my affection and esteem is all for her, my compassion leans towards the poor Mother and Sister whom she has dragged into this Hornets' nest. Mr. Chappelow is of your mind, that they will never come out on't....

Your namesake was always scrupulously steady never to wear rouge, so that may account for her ill looks,

Though Rouge can never find the way

To stop the progress of decay,

Or mend a ruined face.

Miss Farren alters terribly too, and dear Siddons, after all her lamentations about ill health, looks incomparably handsome, I am told....

Those [events] which occur in this part of the world are not exceedingly important; the best thing I know is dear Siddons's return to it, though for so short a time; the worst is her setting off for Ireland in this stormy season, but it will answer to her husband and family, she has fame and fortune enough without running further hazards. All will go well however, I doubt not, and if they ask why she tears herself to pieces so, she must say with Abigail in the Drummer,

I'll clap my hand upon my purse, and tell 'em

'Twas for a thousand Pounds and Mr. Vellum.

More news from the Continent. Now if the Royal Family can 'scape their murderous pursuers but a few months more, one may pronounce them safe, I think, and they may be permitted to dye in their beds by the effect of past terrors and ill-usage, instead of expiring by the hand of sudden and immediate massacre....

The "namesake" who abjured rouge (which Mrs. Piozzi always used) was very likely Sophia Lee. The Drummer was a play by Addison, otherwise known as The Haunted House.

Streatham Park, 4 of Nov. Monday, 1793.

My dear Mrs. Pennington's handwriting always gives me pleasure.... We shall surely come to you, at least I doubt it not, the end of next Autumn, and shall visit the Cottage, and see how like Streatham Park is to Longford Court, etc.... We shall by then, I fear, have to talk of poor Helen Williams in a way that shocks me. She said here she could dye with pleasure for French Liberty, but she will fall by French Tyranny at last. I verily think when those wretches have spilt all the Blood Royal, they will call out our Country Folks to feed the popular fury and turn the current of it from themselves.... The Queen's murder has some circumstances of horror belonging to it which I fancy you have not heard, and which I will not be the first to tell. I gained them by conversing with the foreigners. My imagination often leads me to think that matters are tending forward towards some great event, interesting to all the Christian world, which is almost in serious danger now by the Turk's preparation for assisting these Atheists to destroy us....

You will have my Book soon, Mr. Robinson and I are bargaining for it now, but they shall pay me a just price; I have enlarged it considerably. Dear Marquis Trotti will come home to his English friends again; I am glad on't. He is at Warsaw this moment by what appears, and after a Polar winter will find Bath a nice warm place, and old Belvedere House will look so pretty after Petersburg, and he and Harriet may read my Synonymes of Love and Friendship together. I told you he had the arrow fast in his heart. I told you so....

All the neighbourhood borrow Helen's last publication from me, so that I scarce have read it, but 'tis as you say. Come what will, dear Friend, let you and I hold fast by our Christian principles, assuring ourselves that this is not the world for remuneration, but for tryal; and satisfied that happiness will, in the next state of things, be consequent upon Virtue. Let every misfortune it meets with here, strengthen our assurance that there it will be finally and lastingly rewarded. I verily and from my soul believe that admirable girl will lose her life by violence among those cruel creatures. They have abolished Sunday now, and every sign and form of worship in France is at an end. In that frantic Nation chaos is come again....

It is not quite clear what work by Helen Williams is here referred to. She does not seem to have written anything of importance since her Letters written in France in the summer of 1790, which were published the same year, and would probably have reached Mrs. Piozzi long before this date.

Streatham Park, 2 Dec. 1793.

My dear Friend,—Having got a Frank by chance, I sit by Mr. Piozzi's bedside, and tell you, for my own amusement, how ill he is. Lame, hand and foot, with Gout, and torne with spasms beside, which we know not exactly on what account to place.... You can probably give me as good and chearful a history of your Husband's case, possibly too, from the same cause—a Ball. Our Royal Surrey Bowmen gave a grand one at Richmond, where Cecilia danced till five o'clock in the morning, and whence, of course, we came not home till seven. A member of that Club being also a member of some other Club, we had another invitation for Fryday in the same week, and were at home by six, which I believe we thought too late, and Cecy too early. So differs the appearance of things between Spring and Autumn.

Well! we have had a crazy man in our neighbourhood lately, who imitates Goldfinch in the Road to Ruin: talks precisely his dialect, and drives four thoroughbred horses of different colours in hand, with six lamps to the Phaeton. He is a Welch Baronet of good family; we dined with him at my Lord Deerhurst's, and whilst all the world was interesting themselves about the present state of Europe, he raved about his Phaeton, and talked of the Tipee, the Stare, the Go, and a heap of jargon such as one never heard.

How like you Madame D'Arblay's Book? Pray tell what is said of it. Mine is in good forwardness, I am only afraid the title may prove a millstone round its neck: no one will think of looking for Politics in a volume entitled British Synonymy.

Can you figure to yourself a more execrable triumph than that of the Convention in this forced disgrace put upon the old House of Bourbon by connecting the last Princess of it with a brutal soldier, and proclaiming her pregnancy—poor child!—amidst the hootings of the Jacobins. Has not her aunt, the virtuous and hapless Elizabeth, now lived too long, and do you not wish her dismission to the brother she so justly loved? We are all gasping with hope of charming Lord Moyra's Expedition. I think he will bring the rogues to terms by cutting off internal communication with their Provinces through means of the Seine, and when they are starving, submit they must....

Lord and Lady William Russell make us pretty neighbours enough, but Mr. Chappelow is always in Norfolk, and we have no Whist Players....

The Road to Ruin, by Thomas Holcroft, who shared Horne Tooke's prosecution, appeared in 1792. Its hero, Goldfinch, thus describes himself: "Father was a Sugar Baker, Grandfather a Slop Seller, and I'm a Gentleman."

Madame D'Arblay's "Book," which would be more correctly described as a Pamphlet, was on the subject of the French emigrant clergy.

Francis Rawdon Hastings, who had recently succeeded to the title as second Earl of Moira, was sent in December to Brittany, in charge of a force designed to co-operate with the Royalists, but had to return without effecting anything.

Lord William Russell was the posthumous son of Francis, Marquess of Tavistock, and grandson of John, fourth Duke of Bedford, his wife being Charlotte, daughter of the Earl of Jersey.

Streatham Park, Sunday Morning 15.

Dear Mrs. Pennington is exactly in the case I concluded she was. Mr. Piozzi tried to be well three or four days ago, and came downstairs, but has relapsed, and the Gout has laid fast hold of him again in both feet. He is in bed now again, incapable of motion, and pierced through with pain. We had begun to call the croud about us too; so here is Miss Hamilton, and here is a new man from Italy that sings divinely, and here is Cecilia's new Flirt, who draws caricaturas, and here is poor Dr. Perney for the benefit of them all; and here am I in one perpetual fever with fretfulness, and Mr. Murphy coming to talk upon business, about Cator, and his Answer to our Bill—in good time!—with Mr. Piozzi, who is scarce in his wits for very agony. But these are always my months of misery. Don't you remember what a winter I pass'd with that Drummond? It was just the same season of the year.

Well! public affairs do yet claim some attention, tho' private ones be never so pressing. You are an odd Girl to talk of Fleming's famous Sermon now for a newish thing. Were we not all raving about it last winter? And have not I mentioned it in my Synonymes? And did not I read you the passage? Or did all that I allude to pass between me and dear Mrs. Siddons? I thought it was with you. Michael Fleming was a Calvinistical preacher, and in the year 1701, when Louis XIV was in the plenitude of his power, did most ingeniously, from his skill in calculating, predict the downfall of the French Monarchy, and ruin of that nation, before the end of the year 1794. The Sermon in which this odd menace was made some of his hearers preserved, for its rare confidence and uncommon predictions, little thinking they would ever come to pass; and a few copies being printed, the discourse was kept in Sion College Library, and Sir George Young likewise had it in his. They have now reprinted it with remarks, induced, no doubt, by the striking situation of affairs upon the Continent. Fleming however did not pretend to prophecy what has followed, as claiming any peculiar insight into the schemes of Providence. He explained a passage in the Revelations of St. John, and by dint of mere calculation predicted what is now very nearly fulfilled.

Enquire, do, what went with that extraordinary story of a poor fellow of Bristol, one George Lukins, who made the people believe, (perhaps himself too,) that he had Devils inside him. I remember some pamphlets upon the subject, and how Mr. Easterbrook, a Clergyman, but not of the Anglican Church, exorcised and cured him. What was all that stuff? Was the man cured at last, or did he ever ail anything, or was it all an imposture? You live near the spot, and might glean me out the truth by diligent search, and it would divert you besides. The affair was some time in the year 1788, as I recollect. We were in Devonshire.

Nothing was ever heard of equal to the atrocities committed, and blasphemies pronounced, by our horrible neighbours the French. There is to be one more grand effort made for subduing them this New Year, which brings down 100,000 Austrians, 50,000 Russians, 50,000 Prussians, and 30,000 English, all new-raised troops, beside what are already in the field. And if, upon this proof, with all that Spain can do beside, we find them invulnerable, the project will be given up, and they will be considered as having gained their invulnerability by dipping in Hell's best river, as Achilles did. They are a dreadful race. Mr. Rogers tells me Helena Williams would not come away. She is translating Marmontel. Mr. Stone is expected to make use of the times, I find, and be a free man. If his wife gets guillotined he will be so; but we will hope sweet Helen would not have him, were he so freed to-morrow. She is not in prison, only under arrest, with a Grenadier at the door of her apartment, relieved every six hours....

Mrs. Siddons is doing delightfully in Ireland, and when she returns is to shine out in Sophia Lee's new Tragedy.

Robert Fleming, who died in 1716, was a minister of the Presbyterian congregations at Leyden and Rotterdam, and afterwards in Lothbury, where he published in 1701 the sermon entitled "The Apocalyptical Key, an extraordinary discourse on the Rise and Fall of the Papacy." In this he fixes the close of the period of the fourth Vial of the Revelation about the year 1794, and supposes that "the French monarchy may begin to be considerably humbled about this time." The fifth Vial he expected to end about 1848, and this date coinciding with the widespread revolutionary movements on the Continent, caused another extensive reprinting of his work at this period. His other predictions, relating to the "drying up of the Euphrates," which he interpreted to mean the destruction of the Turkish Empire between 1848 and 1900, have not had quite so remarkably accurate a fulfilment; though the war now in progress in the Balkans certainly suggests that the process has begun.

Mrs. Piozzi was not so fortunate in her forecast of coming events. The great combination which she anticipates, against the French, never came off. Prussia abandoned the cause of the Allies, Spain and the German States followed her example, and England and Austria alone remained in the field against the Republic.

Sophia Lee's new tragedy was Almeyda, but it was not actually produced on the stage till 1796.

The Bill here alluded to was in connection with the Chancery suit between Lady Cotton and herself, respecting her interest in the Welsh estates.

There is a brief allusion in the Commonplace Book to "that poor innocent" whom Cecy Thrale and Sally Siddons taught the Streatham parrot to call "Sweet Dr. Perney," which was called forth by the news of his having been seized by an apoplectic fit in 1814.

Streatham Park, Tuesday 14 Jan.

Dear Mrs. Pennington asks what is become of Mrs. Mackay?... You ask too who is Cecy's new Flirt? I answer, every man who comes to the house; he who franks this letter is the Gentleman I alluded to, but he makes no proposal of marriage, because he has no pretensions in point of fortune. Mr. Rogers, whose father's death has left him, in the City phrase, a warm man, does make proposals, and Cecy makes of him Caricaturas.

So we go on, and I am almost weary of keeping an expensive house and table to entertain Lovers who glide by like Figures in a Magic Lanthorn. Mr. Murphy, having found his way to the old house, likes it, and comes often, and stays long. Dear Siddons is yet in Ireland. Miss Farren was here last week, sadly altered.... Davies has taken a trip to Bath, and expected some attention from my fair Daughters there, who, I fancy, shut the door in his face. Doctor Perney supplied his place here, read, and preached, and played on his long neck. Young Bartolozzi, and Cimad'oro too, made us some sweet musick for two or three days, but Mr. Piozzi said no young man of his Country should have the entrée here, for obvious reasons; so there's an end of them.

So much for domestic felicity, and the happiness of individuals in this workyday world,[10] as Rosalind calls it. Public affairs go on much worse than they, and the fog thickens round us both literally and figuratively. Beating the French is kicking at a woolsack; 'tis elastic, and rises against every pressure, but perhaps emptying the bag may cure it of this elasticity: the captures of St. Domingo and Pondicherry are the only real advantages the Allies have had yet.

Lord Moyra and Col. Barry get no opportunity of shewing their prowess, on which I should however make no small reliance, could they once get footing in the Country; but seeing how hard it is to effect an invasion with ships, should cure us of fearing one from the French who have no ships: altho' I am perswaded that the hand of God is in all, and that these people come forth to scourge all Europe with his permission. Why does nobody quote a more immediate prophecy and less equivocal than any which have been mentioned, at least which you have mentioned? "And the second Angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the Sea, and the third part of the Sea became Blood": etc. etc. etc. This prophecy is to be found in three passages of the Holy Scripture, but I can recollect only that in the 8th chapter of S. John's Apocalypse. Mr. Greg showed it me in the old Testament,[11]

I have forgot where: but every one seems to think strange times are coming. There is a report of the Jews in Holland having sent circular letters to the learned of their Nation in every Country, to collate the evidences of our Saviour's mission, and to examine them against the prophecies contained in the Bible, spoken by his acknowledged precursors. Such a measure would prepare them for conversion, the moment God shall be pleased to remove the film which has been so long before their eyes....

The subject of Cecilia's caricatures was evidently no other than Samuel Rogers, the poet, best known as the author of Italy. He was now about thirty years of age, and had published in 1792 his Pleasures of Memory, which was probably his passport into the Streatham circle. But as a possible husband for Cecilia, Mrs. Piozzi evidently attached more importance to the fact that he was a partner in a flourishing London bank.

She notes in her Commonplace Book that Murphy was "the only man among the Wits I foster'd who did not fly from his colours, unless prevented by death." And so his portrait was the only portrait she saved when Streatham was broken up, and the Reynolds Gallery sold.

[Post Mark, Feb. '94.]

I hope Mr. Piozzi is recovering, dear Friend, that he is already recover'd, cannot yet be said. With regard to Cecilia, she does lead a life much like that of Sweet Anne Page in the Merry Wives of Windsor, but I suppose she likes it. Did I tell you Mr. Rogers had made formal proposals, or that Count Zenobio offered himself to her, before he was seized by Bailiffs, or dismissed by Ministry. I expect a man (as handsome as neither, nor as rich,) to ask her every day.

We go to Town however once o' week, to our once clean house in Hanover Square, now the dirtiest lodging in London, and dine with friends who will ask us; but make no return, as 'tis too odious to do anything but sleep in, and 'tis the present plan to go up on Tuesdays, and come home, as I call dear Streatham Park, on Saturdays. Those who I leave in care of it the while, do not give us any reason they can help to make it pleasant. For in my last four days absence they lost me two Asses, one in foal, twenty beautiful Ducks, one Guinea Fowl, one favourite Cock and Hen; so you see domestick cares and vexations prey upon everybody. They serve meantime to keep one from thinking on calamities which threaten us all, nor shall the Infidels have it to say that they had no warning of approaching confusion, while, in Dr. Johnson's phrase, used by Demetrius,

A thousand horrid prodigies foretold it.

Among the agreeable and consolatory events however, let Christians congratulate each other on the resolution taken by the Jews to examine into our evidences of Messiah's birth and passion. They have called a solemn Assembly at Amsterdam, and sent circular letters among all their brethren. Conversion will soon follow, and the other Tribes will hear it, and be found.

My Book is at the Press, and I correct the sheets very diligently, it will probably be devour'd, among other Lambs, about Easter. I may then run to Brinbella myself, for if Sansculottism prevails here, my neck will be one of the first to exercise the new Guillotine upon. Before that time comes, do you read the Articles Symbol, Device, etc., likewise Name, Nominal, Distinction, etc., with care, and you will see my sentiments completely. There are two or three more on which your favourite subjects are touched, but I forget 'em. I shall send you the first set that comes out.

Mrs. Siddons looks healthier and handsomer than ever. Her purse is heavy and her heart relieved.... Her daughters spent this last Saturday and Sunday with Cecy....

(P.S. by Mr. Piozzi.)

I am alive still now, but, dear Friend, I cannot recover myself, the Gout never will go away, and so I am rather low spirits. God bless you, and remember me. Adieu.

"My Book" was the work on British Synonyms, previously referred to, which made its appearance before the next letter was written.

Streatham Park, Sat. 26 Apr. 1794.

My dear Mrs. Pennington's two kind letters came together. I am delighted that you like my Book, if Mr. Whalley should not praise it, spare me the mortification of hearing so.

One would think the honest Lazzaroni at Naples, when they rescued their Monarch from that nest of noble traytors he was falling into, had resolved upon realizing my notions giv'n just in the Article so much your favourite, Seditions, Troubles, Disturbances. Briareus came in there, sure enough, with his hundred hands, and unloosed the knot. Mrs. Montagu is an enemy to my Synonymes after all, a declared one, and I wonder at it somehow, but they have many gallant friends.

Has not the young Emperor won your heart? He is really a fine fellow, and I sincerely hope will set his little nephew on the throne of France yet,—his first cousin I mean. Strange and dreadful events flow in upon us, (at least the current reports of them,) now every hour: and the rapidity with which this tide of Democracy rolls forward, shows the downhill of regal and aristocratic days to perfection. I think all Europe is at length in arms, and my heart tells me that some great battle, siege, or massacre will distinguish this Summer beyond all the rest, and take up the attention of mankind from observing that first of wonders, the Jews' Restoration; which otherwise would so alarm our whole Christian world, that much mute expectation of Messiah's coming would pervade their minds, and in some degree militate against the suddenness of his appearance and the end of the world being, as he himself expressly tells us, totally unprepared for and instantaneous, like a thief in the night.

Meanwhile I had like to have been made a speedy end of, Thursday last week, by a bone in my throat, which called Surgeons and Doctors round me, and all in vain, for three long hours. Poor Miss Farren, who was with me, seemed half killed by the fright, but all is safe and well again.

Since then we have had Easter friends as usual; the dear Hamiltons,—who are going to Clifton this Summer full of friendly dispositions towards you,—the three Thrales, kind Kitty Beavor, with occasional Beaux and Belles, and as the Parrot now says, Sweet Doctor Perney. All of them left us to-day, contented with their entertainment I hope, and with the weather certainly. Never was so celestial a Spring....

The Emperor Leopold, brother of Queen Marie Antoinette, had been succeeded in 1792 by his son Francis II, who was therefore first cousin to the Dauphin. When Mrs. Piozzi wrote, a combined force of Austrians, Dutch, English, and Hanoverians was operating against the French in the Netherlands, at first with some measure of success.

It is remarkable that while Ferdinand himself had been cured of his incipient republicanism by the execution of Louis, revolutionary principles continued to spread among the Neapolitan nobility. The Lazzaroni, however, who were devoted to the King on account of his easy and familiar manners, were ready to give active support to the Dynasty against the plots of the aristocratic party.

Streatham Park, Fryday 16 May, 1794.

Dear Mrs. Pennington will believe me sincerely afflicted for her accident and terror, the circumstances of which, so far as I am yet acquainted with them, we had from Harriet Lee. Will your Mother be well again soon? I hope and trust she may. My Grandmother broke her arm at 73 years old, and recovered so as to go out and enjoy herself again in three weeks time; tho' it was set by a common Farrier in the country, when surgery was less studied there than now.

The good news from our Armies on the Continent, and hopes of success by sea, will contribute to keep up your loyal spirits to enjoy them: and I verily hope our mad Democrates will be so crush'd by these late detections of their folly, as to attempt the sale of themselves to either the Devil or the French no more, when they find hanging their best payment, and contempt from the very People they profess to serve, their just and sole reward.

Were not my Synonymes right, when they said that our enlightened populace wanted no such friends or friendship? And have not the Neapolitan Lazaroni, (dear creatures,) come in like Briareus to unloose the knot in which some rebellious nobles would willingly have held their honest, single-hearted, well-intention'd King; who was always as much an object of my esteem as he appears to be of Dr. Moore's contempt. But he loves a more subtle character than I do.

Farewell, the guns are firing for some new successes; God continue them to this yet favour'd nation, and grant us gratitude, 'tis all we have to pray for....

Mrs. Piozzi's somewhat misplaced admiration for Ferdinand of Naples dates from her Italian tour, when she was much struck by the easy bonhomie he showed in his intercourse with the poorest of his subjects.

Streatham Park, Fryday 11 Jul.

My dear Mrs. Pennington,—I was glad to see your handwriting, tho' it tells me little good. Be chearful, and a hoper, like myself. Things are never so bad but one may bear them; your Mother will get well, I fancy, had anything power to kill her, would she, nay could she have recovered that overturn? I hear of your pleasing everybody, and I hear it even from people whom I should scarce expect to have taste of your accomplishments. Be pleased yourself then; whilst one is liked there is always somewhat worth living for. What would your dear Husband wish me to say in your praise that I am not most cordially willing to join in? How few people are there in this world of whom I think more highly?...

Miss Mores told you no more than all our Town have told one another for these many months. Stone escaped, they say, from fear of jealous rage, more than from consciousness of any injury done to the charming Constitution of France, which he was very fond of. Much good may it do both himself and fair Helena, whose love to Paris will, I trow, prove fatal to her at last. But she has proved her partiality in a variety of ways, and it repays her at present with a splendid situation, I am told, for her family as well as for herself....

Direct your next to Denbigh, N. Wales; my Master says we go about this day sennight. He sends his love, etc. with Cecilia's.

The "splendid situation" of Helen Williams seems to be explained in a letter written by her to Mrs. Pennington in 1819. From this it appears that a friend in power put in the way of Stone and herself "an easy and honourable means of obtaining a fortune, and an ample fortune was soon obtained. We had a fine Hotel in Paris, and a delicious Country House in the English Taste." But they had not reckoned on two occupations of Paris by the Allies, which, with the knavery of some one they trusted, dissipated the fortune as rapidly as it had been acquired. Litigation was then pending, but she expected to lose everything, and become dependent on her nephews.

Denbigh, 4 Aug. 1794.

How glad was I to see your handwriting here, my good Friend! It was like saying "Dear Mrs. Pennington, welcome to Wales!" Not to Brinbella tho'; we are not got there yet, but in a temporary residence here at Denbigh, in sight of the House, and perhaps little further from it than Dowry Square is from Rodney Place.

I am glad Mrs. Hamilton keeps so well, very glad indeed; this hot Summer has been good for her, however it has been bad for many things. No water in Thames to float away the ships at the great fire; no sluices with which to inundate the frontiers of Holland, I understand, and poor Sabrina's green hair all burn'd and dryed away. Shrewsbury Quarry looked over an empty ditch when I was there, to the amazement of all its inhabitants. But rain is coming forward in plenty, much more than Cecy likes, for riding is her only chance for amusement here, and if wet weather hinders that, what will become of her? Mr. Piozzi's Forte-piano is now as near us as Chester, I think we shall all be out of our wits for joy when it arrives. Would I could hear Miss Hamilton sing La Dolce Campagna to it, as I often have done with rapture.

Here is very little society indeed, half a dozen people, I believe, that like reading, not more, and they suffer sad intellectual famine. I reproach myself daily that I forgot to bring them down The Mysteries of Udolpho: it would have had such an effect read by owl-light among the old arcades of our ruined Castle here. Truth is Mrs. Radclyffe might find scenes to describe in this part of the world without rambling thro' the Pyrenees. Many detached parts of the valley of Llangollen are exceedingly fine indeed, very like Savoy; and from the rock above Brinbella, heavy with the gather'd winters of a hundred years, is seen Snowdon frowning in sullen majesty, like the Gros St. Bernard, but not over as rich a foreground. Ours is however admirably diversified; we have Cathedral, and Castle, and Country Seats, and Sea, which last is inestimable, and one can contemplate that yet, and say 'tis a Subject of England.

I feel sincerely grieved for the state of Europe, and must needs say that altho' it is the fashion to reproach our Allies without any mercy, they seem much greater sufferers on the whole than ourselves, who have gained both East and West Indies, and six ships of war in the scuffle; while the poor Emperor sees his coffers exhausting, his dominions diminishing, and his whole family upon the very verge of utter extinction. Our brave cousin Stadtholder too will soon, as it appears, have no states to hold, and has, for aught I see, a fair chance to outlive the celebrated name of Nassau. An event so improbable twenty years ago, that whoever had predicted it must have been accounted deranged in his understanding. I am sorry the Bristol people are so sullenly resolved to wish for peace with these spoilers, they are mistaken in thinking it better than war; it is worse than war, because peace will bring over full tides of Jacobinical principles, to the ruin of their interest, and destruction of their property. War at least keeps that infection at a distance. So much for politics.

Our dear Master did well to build a house in Flintshire; he never looked so well since I knew him as since we came here, I think, never had so good an appetite certainly, and provisions are excellent in their kinds, particularly fish....

Can you tell aught of Harriet Lee? Our correspondence is cool somehow, and unfrequent. What wonder? The old topick is lost, nor can I guess what is become of it, no new one can be interesting to her, and I feel as if ashamed, without any cause, God knows.

Mrs. Siddons' little Cecilia will, I hope, inherit her mother's beauty; virtue will, I fancy, be quite out of fashion before she can possess any. Sweet Helena's defection from the right path hurts all her friends exceedingly; but parents never appear to love children the worse for any ill behaviour. I suppose Mrs. W[illiams] sees nothing in her daughter's conduct that does not deserve admiration.

You are very good indeed in feeling for me about the little Spaniel. Immortal Phyllis, to the astonishment of physicians, friends, and nurses, now promises to be once more her own dog again. I never did see so surprising a recovery. The fall was above four yards perpendicular height.

Mrs. Radcliffe, née Ward, was an old acquaintance of Mrs. Piozzi's. For the Mysteries, which was just published, and made a great sensation, she received £500.

The state of Europe was indeed sufficiently gloomy as viewed by English eyes. We had, it is true, scored some successes. Howe's victory on "the glorious first of June" was to be the prelude to many others, and we took Ceylon and the Cape from the Dutch. But in France the "Great Terror" was at its height, and the news of its collapse after the death of Robespierre, at the end of July, had not yet reached Denbigh. The French generals acting against the Continental Powers were almost uniformly successful. In Holland, at the beginning of the year, under the eyes of the Emperor Francis himself, there had been a concentration of English, Hanoverian, and Austrian troops, with a view to check the French advance, but they were hampered by disaffection in the country itself. The Stadtholder William, with his English leanings, had never been popular with his own subjects, and indeed had only retained his authority in 1787 by the help of Prussian troops. Though the first Republican expedition under Dumouriez had failed, the new one under Pichegru was a brilliant success. Amsterdam was occupied by the French, and the Batavian Republic proclaimed. The Stadholder fled to England, not to be recalled till 1813, and he was soon followed by the remnant of the now useless English force under the Duke of York.

Denbigh, Thursday, 11 Sept. 1794.

I had not a notion that our correspondence was grown languid, dear Friend, and am now rather disposed to think a letter has been lost....

Marquis Trotti has written, he forgets no one old Streatham acquaintance, but enquires very particularly for you. His own affairs at home go no better for these disturbances upon the Continent, yet will he not be drawn thither to see how they stand. The direction we are now using towards him is Hamburgh.

Kitty Beavor marries Dr. Gillies, and sets out for Scotland next week. I said to her once that all my single lady friends found husbands, and so I lost them. "Oh," says she, "you will keep Kitty Beavor tho', for I shall never change my condition." But so the world wags, and the old way is the best road too.

Meanwhile, as you say, love seems banished from the novels, where terror (as in the Convention,) becomes the order of the day. Miss (sic) Radcliffe however plays that game best which all are striving to play well. I am often weary of her descriptions, but she possesses great power over the fancy. Her tricks used to fright Mrs. Siddons and me very much; but when somebody said her book was like Macbeth, "Ay," replied H. L. P., "about as like as Peppermint Water is to good French Brandy."

I have written a Ballad for the Blackguards to bawl about the streets, imitated from Newberry's well known Chapter of Kings; written at first to teach Babies the English History, but lately set and sung at Catch Clubs, Bow Meetings, etc.

Here is the Chapter of King Killers.

The nine stanzas which follow, though doubtless good enough for the purpose which the writer suggests, are hardly worth preserving. One verse will probably satisfy the reader's curiosity.

Denbigh, 19 Sep. 1794.

Be not alarmed for me, kind Friend, I shall do as well as my neighbours, perhaps better, but nothing shall make me tell fibs,—I am not well....

Doubt not meantime that my old iron constitution will get thro' this business very stoutly. Think of your own affairs, and get thro' them, and we will be old friends twenty years hence. For look you, my dear, whether we think so or not, I, when my health shall be gone, and you, when your money shall be spent, are happier than half the human race collectively; and I know not how we have deserved the preference. We might have been born savages in America, condemned to hunt, and fish, and dress our game when caught, sick or well. Or we might have been some of those Begums, that Burke says were insulted and plundered by English Harpies in the East. Or we might have been African Blacks, stow'd in a slave ship. Or we might have been Mrs. Brown, or Lady Ann Fitzroy. I think we are very well off, with each of us a good husband, and safe in the only country where rational liberty prevails, true religion resides unmolested, and talents are valued according to desert.

What becomes of poor Helen Williams, I wonder! There is a strong rumour of Barrere's having followed his old colleague....

Marquis Trotti began travelling so early that he will now, perhaps, never leave it off. You may find some sage and grave reflexions upon that subject at the close of a famous fine book, called Piozzi's Observations made in Italy and Germany. I'm glad you like my Ballad. The worthy French are making the words of it good as fast as ever they can....

My maid fell from a horse two nights ago, scampering to see Brinbella, that at least was the excuse, and has disabled herself in a terrible manner; bruised and strained her wrist, etc....

Denbigh, 20 Nov.

My dear Friend,—So completely was I engaged, it seems, nursing my sick Husband, that even writing to you was forgotten. Mr. Piozzi's annual fit of Gout has caught him here, and will prevent all further journeys of business or of pleasure, save that which leads home the nearest way, when he shall be able to travel....

The times wear a very threatening aspect, indeed they do; and here are storms ready to blow my Lord Howe's ships to pieces, when they shall have been damaged by engagement with an enemy hourly increasing in ferocity and force.

Horne Tooke's tryal is a most curious and interesting business; when Piozzi can listen, I translate him the passages which must, I think, arrest attention, even from pain and anguish.

Cecilia is toujours gaie, and helps to keep up all our spirits; she is young; so is no longer dear Mrs. Pennington's sincere friend and Faithful servant

H. L. Piozzi.

Lord Howe's fleet was cruising between Ushant and the Scilly Isles from August till the end of October, when he was driven into Torbay by stress of weather. He put out to sea on 9th November, but was again driven back for shelter on 19th November.

Horne Tooke, Thelwall, and Hardy were arrested in November on a charge of high treason, for having issued invitations to a "National Convention," designed to bring about serious constitutional changes in the government of England. Though it was clear that they had been coquetting with treasonable practices, the jury did not consider their action justified a conviction which must have resulted in the penalty of death, and returned a verdict of "not guilty."

Denbigh, 17 Feb. 1795.

What puts it in dear Mrs. Pennington's head that I wish to forget her? My only reason for writing nothing was that I had nothing to write. Mr. Piozzi had a long fit of gout certainly, and a sharp fit, but without one bad symptom, thank God; and his recovery was better than ever. Among other comforts, Denbigh possesses that of an excellent Physician.

All you say of public matters is more than true, but we are still further removed here from the talking world than you are, and what little we have heard of London and its environs in these late months, only contributed to keep us away, while many people suspect a tendency to sickness in the Metropolis, not of any one contagious distemper, but a disposition towards mortality in general. This may be exaggerated evil, but Beef and Mutton at 8d. o' pound is a real one, so is Bread at 9d. the quartern loaf, with coals at six, or at best, four Guineas the Chaldron. Strange allurements these to housekeeping with 18 or 20 servants at Streatham Park. At Easter however we must begin. You and I have often said that such times would come, and worse; our predictions are only verifying, others foretell fearful things indeed, but we are sure that neither they nor we know anything about the matter....

The rival Wits say that Helen Williams is turn'd to Stone, and tho' she was once second to nobody, she is now second to his wife; who it seems was not guillotined, as once was reported, but remains a living spectatress of these political and im-politic revolutions.

Kemble's advertisement, so like that of a penitent Hackney Coachman under the threatened Lash of a sharp prosecution, excites much notice, I understand; but am shocked to find his offence, though actionable, considered by the fashionists more as a jest than as an enormity. Harriet Lee seems to fancy her Sister has a play coming out, which Madame D'Arblaye's, late Fanny Burney's, Tragedy retards.... Dear Siddons is sick again, but of a complaint common to many, as her family tell me: she must have been hurt by her brother's frolick I should suppose. She loved the girl, and thought her, as she proved, most excellent....

Cecilia is young, and gay, and frisky, and flighty, and so is her horse: I wish they were come safe home from a long ride to their and your

H. L. P.

P.S.—Dear Mrs. Pennington, don't forget your best friend, and come to see us at Streatham Park in the Spring.

G. P.

John Kemble's trouble arose from his having made advances to Miss Maria Theresa de Camp, afterwards wife of his brother Charles, who was acting with him at this date. For this he had to make a public apology in the newspapers.