Brynbella, 10 Jan. 1798.

Before the long threatened Blister is put upon my right arm, I will use it once more to assure my very tenderly remembered friend that she has never been a moment forgotten. But I wrote so exceeding long a letter to Harriet Lee a great while ago, upon the odious subject of self and family affairs, and she answered me so coldly and drily, that I thought nobody would like a correspondence of that kind; and felt unable to try at others more entertaining. Desire to see our place and our acquaintance brought us hither for three months' amusement on the 10th of Oct^r,—I mean of August last, and the first thing we heard was that Mrs. Mostyn had [returned home]—no doubt, said I, that she may be attended by Mr. Moore, who was so comfortable and attentive when she was in the same country confined by illness seven years ago, and dear Miss Weston offered to go with us to Lisbon upon Haygarth's saying her health required Continental air. We sent, and went, and were received civilly, and not unkindly; so I thought we were upon terms, as 'tis called, and a servant was daily dispatched to know how she went on. Miss Thrale, who was with her, always returned for answer y^t all was going as well as possible. So we went out as usual to visit our neighbours, and at one Lady's house heard suddenly, and accidentally, not only of her illness, but her extream danger. Mr. Moore was in the room where we heard it; she was attended by people from Chester and Ruthyn whom neither she nor I had ever seen, but tho' so oddly thrown aside, Mr. Moore, to calm my inquietude, ran away to learn particulars, and I sate in agony at bottom of Denbigh Town, while the footman galloped forward to request my admission. It was refused. Disastrous scenes ... followed; and Mr. Piozzi shed tears at the account of her severe sufferings. In due time I was admitted, and warned to make my visit short, and so I did. The visit was coldly, but not uncivilly, in course of 3 months, returned,—and all passed off quietly. The Litigation for recovery of money spent on Cecilia while she remained with us went on of course; and the other day almost, the Master made Report against Mr. Piozzi, who, he said, could compel no payment, but y^t Mostyn must be a strange man (was his expression,) to endeavour so at squeezing his wife's necessary expenses out of a Father-in-law's pocket; and added—"I can tell you, gentlemen, that had you come to me as John Wilmot, not as Master in Chancery, I should have decided very differently indeed." The Counsellors on both sides beg'd him even yet to stand between us and y^e Chancellor, and act as Referee. "If your clients please," replied he, "so I will." Mr. Piozzi wrote to express his consent, but when we asked Miss Thrale concerning her brother and sister's determination, she said it was a subject that had never employed their minds even for a moment. I requested her to remind 'em of it, and at night came a Billet with "Proper Com^s; Mr. Mostyn will take time for deliberation." And so he does, for that's a fortnight ago.

So much for the superiority with which your poor mortified and severely humbled friend has been treated; now for domestic comforts. On the 20th of October my Master went to bed with a raging fit of Gout in breast, side, back, and collar bone, but soon fixing in one heel and one toe, it tore them open into the most frightful ulcers I or poor Mr. Moore ever did behold. There has the Gout gnawed and bitten for 12 entire weeks, during which time has the truly wretched patient suffered torments inexpressible, and I believe rarely endured: his letters from Italy irritating even that anguish by narrations of what brothers, sisters, friends, etc. endure from the rapacity of these vile French,—false as they are cruel, and insolent as they are successful. His own particular Town has been the immediate scene of distress, and all these are completely and inevitably ruined. Let us thank God they have not yet been called hither, they will do us no harm till they are called. 'Tis our own traytrous Vipers I am afraid of,—not the French: and of the taxes I am not afraid, except as it gives a handle for abuse to those who object to everything proposed, and propose nothing themselves.

We are in a leaky ship, we must pump or drown, and those are the greatest enemies to general safety who cry, "Oh, don't fatigue the poor men at the pumps with such hard work; see how cruel you are to urge them thus beyond their strength!" Not at all cruel; let us pump now with spirit, and the vessel may yet get into harbour, but 'tis no moment this for general relaxation.

When I was going over the Alps with Mr. Piozzi, the sight of a dreadful precipice made me afraid, and I said I would walk: it was very late in a fine summer evening. "Sit still," cried my Master. "I cannot sit still," replied I, "stop, stop!" "You disturb the drivers, you will make them overturn us, pray sit still." No, I would not sit still, I would walk. "Well, walk away then," said Mr. Piozzi, "if you will walk; there are troops of wolves ranging the mountains now, I was told so at the last inn; they will find their prey out in an instant." Oh you can't imagine after that how still and quiet I sate in the carriage. Britannia, in a similar situation, must act like H. L. P. She must let the driver alone, and he will avoid the precipice; she must not expose herself to this troop of wolves.

But my rheumatic arm aches with even thus much writing, and my heart aches for my own mental, and my husband's corporeal sufferings; my loyal soul too aches for the general pressure upon our brave King and skilful Minister; but tho' Cecilia does refuse to repay the £1400 she owes Mr. Piozzi, I will not grudge the taxes nor will he try to evade them. We raised two puppies I meant to drown, that they likewise might be entered.

Mr. Mostyn's Mother, not much better treated by our haughty Cecy than I have been, has sold one of her estates for £10,000, and given the money to her daughter. She is gone to live at Bath, I'm told....

When Mr. Piozzi recovers our meaning is to go to Streatham Park, and wind up our affairs, and come back hither, and live snug, and save money enough to pay our just debts, and bury us. If we could live 3 years more, we should have our income clear of every incumbrance, and I should publish another Jest Book: but both our healths are visibly declining. Love us, and pray for us, and write again soon....

The friendly Master in Chancery was John Wilmot of Berkswell Hall, F.R.S., M.P. for Tiverton and for Coventry, who assumed the additional surname of Eardley in 1812, and was ancestor of the present Sir John Eardley-Wilmot, Bart.

The "skilful Minister" was of course Pitt, who had been driven into the war against his convictions, and though carrying it on to the best of his ability, lost no opportunity of working for peace. This, however, now appeared to be farther off than ever by reason of the general dread and hatred inspired by the projected French invasion.

Streatham Park, 27 Feb. 1798.

My dear Mrs. Pennington will like to see a letter dated from old Streatham Park. We got there on Fryday, after a journey made pleasant by repeated visits on the way.... Two days were delightfully disposed of with the Recluses at Llangollen Cottage, where you would, I think, leave your heart a willing prisoner. They conquer and keep in their enchanted Castle all travellers passing that particular road—at least all those for whom they spread their nets. Harriet Lee escaped by some poetical chance, but they like her book. We were hungry for pleasure after so long a fast, and enjoyed everything with double delight.

My nerves are however terribly shaken, and I do believe we must and shall return home to Wales through Bath and Bristol, and embrace our dear Mrs. Pennington.... But we will not talk of declining health. Individuals are now of less consequence than ever, while the Nation, the Continent, the World itself, seems in its last convulsions. Can too many efforts be made to keep these marauders out, these pests of Society, who have shaken such a fabric to its foundations? I think no efforts great enough, though our Ministers and Soldiers and Sailors do set a sublime example, sure; and we must all follow at distance.

We have advertised Streatham Park to be let for three years: if Miss Thrales would have accepted it rent-free, only paying the taxes, they should have had it for nothing; but some Grandee, who is reducing his establishment, shall pay us £500 o'year. I thought Mr. Piozzi most paternally kind in his offer of it to the young ladies, but they refused with disdain. They are used to refuse good offers, as people tell me.

Mr. Mostyn's Lady is of age now, and in possession of £40,000, but nothing can we get from them except bills of tradesmen, from whom Cecy took up articles without our knowledge or consent, whilst in our house; and those bills Mostyn meanly refuses to pay, because, as minor's debts, the people cannot arrest him. So runs the world, need one wonder if God Almighty is tired of it? I am nearly tired of it myself.

The weather however is charming. You mistake in fancying Brynbella a cold spot. The Gardener brought me in two pots of the finest Carnations I ever saw in my life upon my birthday, 27 Jan., this year; and we have no hothouse. The side of our hill is particularly warm, quite a côte-rotie.... Surrey looks marvellous dull and dreary compared to the brilliant scenery from our parlours and bed-chamber windows in Wales. But the bustle here amuses me, and I like the sight of London, looking like an Ant-hill suddenly stirred with a stick, well enough.

I have not seen dear Siddons yet, but rejoice sincerely in what I hear of her happiness. Being a lucky darling of Fortune, we got her to buy us a Lottery Ticket this year, and chuse us the number. Joy will come well in such a needful time,[12] as Juliet says. And apropos to Juliet, Miss Hamilton seems perfectly happy with her Romeo. Nothing was ever so kind as her parents have been. They gave her away, and they strip themselves to furnish her house, and they now add to their excessive fondness for her, their adoration of Mr. Holman, who, I really believe, will behave most sweetly and honourably to all....

A curious account of discoveries made in the interior parts of Africa, where large Cities and Civilised Nations are now supposed to have long resided, attracts my attention forcibly; and much chat will we have together when we meet upon these subjects and a thousand more....

The celebrated ladies of Llangollen were Lady Eleanor Butler, sister of John, seventeenth Earl of Ormonde, who had retired from society about twenty years previously with her friend Sarah, daughter of Chambre Brabazon Ponsonby, a cousin of the Earl of Bessborough. They took a cottage at Plasnewydd in the Vale of Llangollen, where they lived for half a century, and were visited by most of the celebrities of the time. About two years before this date Anna Seward wrote her poem of "Llangollen Vale" in their honour. Lady Eleanor died in 1829 and her friend in 1831.

Joseph George Holman, a member of Queen's College, Oxford, though he never took a degree, made his début on the stage in 1784 at Covent Garden, where he acted till 1800. His wife, so frequently referred to in the letters, was Jane, daughter of the Rev. the Hon. Frederick Hamilton, a scion of the Duke of Hamilton's family.

In 1795 Mungo Park started from Gambia to explore the course of the Niger, and subsequently visited the States on the southern edge of the Great Sahara, returning, via America, in 1797. An account of his expedition was drawn up for the African Association in 1798, which is probably what Mrs. Piozzi had seen, but his own detailed account was not finished till 1799.

Streatham Park, Tuesday, 27 Mar. 1798.

My dearest Mrs. Pennington is too good a woman to wish me to make promises I cannot keep, and too kind a friend not to be sorry that I have no certainty of one day after another. If we let this house as we hope to do, we may possibly, and I hope we shall be able to spend next Winter or Spring at Bath, Bristol, and its environs; perhaps we shall be able to coax you away with us to pretty Brinbella, where our final and favourite residence seems to be fixed. But everything is so uncertain. England, Europe, the whole World seems so convulsed, and so incapable of judging its own destiny for 3 or 4 years to come, that I absolutely consider it as presumption next to madness to promise anything about coming here or going there. We must all do what suits us at the time I fancy.

Dear Mr. Whalley above all people verifies the prophecy that "a man shall seek to go into a city, and shall not be able." He himself proposed setting out for Ireland as this very day, in company of Sir Walter James; but they will neither of them go now, I trust, when whole families are flocking from thence to Wales, etc. for refuge. We dined in his and Mrs. Whalley's company at Mrs. Siddons's last week, and went with them at night to the Eidouranion, a pretty Astronomical Show. Maria dined in the room, and looked (to me) as usual, yet everybody says she is ill, and in fact she was bled that very evening, while we were at the Lecture. Shutting a young half-consumptive girl up in one unchanged air for 3 or 4 months, would make any of them ill, and ill-humoured too, I should think. But 'tis the new way to make them breathe their own infected breath over and over again now, in defiance of old books, old experience, and good old common sense. Ah, my dear friend, there are many new ways,—and a dreadful place do they lead to. You should read Robinson's book, and I should translate and abridge Barruel's, if I did my duty to the Public, but I really have not time. My own long, heavy work, in which I am engaged, takes every moment that can be spared from family concerns. Mr. and Mrs. Mostyn however give me no trouble, I have neither seen nor heard anything from them these many months....

I wonder if the pretty Misses go in self coloured drawers and stockings, and Brutus Heads with you as they do here. It is a horrible sight: but no one in this part of the world is considered as ridiculous, except the Bishops and Lords who commanded the Opera Dancers to put their clothes on again, or leave the Country. My fair Daughters have made a league with the House of Siddons, which I feel rather cooler to me than usual. Never mind! Those who know the World wonder at nothing: those who do not, must learn the World, or leave it. My ever kind Mrs. Pennington is of the Old School still, and remembers the precept given by old Father Homer 3 or 4000 years ago, saying that

A gen'rous friendship no cold medium knows,

Burns with one love, with one resentment glows;

The same our views, our int'rests still should be,

My friend must hate the man that injures me.

But we will talk of public calamity, if you please, it swallows, or ought to swallow up private concerns completely. I wish you to read the True Briton of March 8. There is a letter from Venice in it which we know but too well to be genuine. I translated and printed it myself, that none might remain ignorant of the manner in which France treats those who never offended her. What are we to expect from French generosity? Let us, like the Swiss, sell our lives as dear as we can. They oppose, and are cut to pieces. Italy complies, is pillaged and undone; like what Pope says of the famous Duchess of Marlborough,

Who breaks with her provokes revenge from Hell,

But he's a bolder man who dares be well.

I wish they would put their armament in motion; 'tis possible that God Almighty may permit us to destroy it, and then the Continent may be delivered from y^s dreadful scourge. Their Italian and Dutch subjects would soon rebell, and they would be driven about finely. Distress at home would follow ill success abroad, and they would end like one of their own air-balloons, set on fire, and blazing, and burning out, and falling to ground. This is our only chance—the only hope of yours ever affect^ly

H. L. P.

The exodus from Ireland was due to the apprehended rising of the United Irishmen, which was then preparing. The principal conspirators had just been arrested when Mrs. Piozzi wrote, and martial law was proclaimed shortly afterwards.

Mrs. Piozzi's apprehensions about Maria Siddons proved but too well founded. A change of treatment was tried soon afterwards, and she was sent to Clifton in June, in the hope that a change of air and a course of "the Waters" might benefit her complaint. For a time she obtained relief, and as her mother was unable to be with her, Mrs. Pennington undertook the charge. But the disease had progressed too far, and four months later she died, tended to the end by her sister Sally and Mrs. Pennington.

John Robinson, secretary to the Royal Society of Edinburgh, and Professor of Natural Philosophy in the University, was an important contributor to the third edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica. The work alluded to was published in 1797 under the title of "Proofs of a Conspiracy against all the Religions and Governments of Europe, carried on in the secret meetings of Freemasons, Illuminati, and Reading Societies, collected from good Authorities." The book, which contemporary critics describe as "a hasty production," was chiefly concerned with French and German societies.

The Abbé Barruel, Almoner to the Princess of Conti, had written in 1794 a history of the clergy during the French Revolution. In 1797 he published his Mémoires pour servir â l'Histoire du Jacobinisme, designed to show that the Revolution was the work of Voltaire and his friends, and was aimed primarily at religion, and only secondarily at the Government. An English edition, of which Mrs. Piozzi does not seem to have heard, appeared about the same time.

The brothers Montgolfier had discovered the principle of the fire balloon in 1783, and in the same year the brothers Robert (also Frenchmen) inflated a balloon with hydrogen gas. What Mrs. Piozzi no doubt had in her mind was the tragic fate of Pilâtre de Rozier (the first human being to entrust himself to the air), who in 1785 attempted to combine the two systems, with disastrous results. The balloon took fire, and he and his companion lost their lives.

Having humbled Austria, Bonaparte had turned his attention to England. An army was raised and marched to the Channel, to await a convenient moment for crossing, when sufficient transport had been collected. But larger schemes of an Eastern campaign were now occupying his mind, and the project of invasion was not vigorously pushed forward. Indeed it may have been designed rather to draw off attention from the preparations for his Egyptian expedition.

Streatham Park, last Sunday in April 1798.

Well, dearest Mrs. Pennington! we have been to London since I had your last kind letter. And what did we see in London? Why we saw some pictures, the spoil of Italy and Flanders, which the French sell to those who bid highest;—and we saw charming Siddons, the boast of our own Country, more admirable than ever in this new play of the Stranger. She is not cold to her old friends, Heaven knows, yet there is an iciness in the house that I cannot describe. One reason may be that as everybody takes sides now, and many go there that are not on your side and mine, it must be as it is; and I always meet Mr. Twiss there, a fierce man who married her sister, with a brown Brutus Head,—I feel afraid of all the men that wear it.

Have you seen my Three Warnings made political use of in a new Pamphlet? It will soon be at Bristol, no doubt, as it seems a favourite with the Public.

Mr. Whalley will soon leave these busy scenes for his Cottage, and we shall soon get home to Brynbella, I hope. My poor Master is too lame to march in the King's service, but he is a good loyalist, and a better hoper than his wife, though I really do think things are mending. People seem aw'd by the times, without being afraid of the French: and that is exactly the spirit I would have them show. Our sailors and soldiers are true to the cause, and an armed nation (tho' small,) is irresistible. If it should please God that the descent should be made now, and fail, England would be happier, and I fear, prouder than ever; for there is no other place left for France to conquer, and Lord Bridport promises to defend us bravely.

Mr. and Mrs. Mostyn were invited to meet us for a short dinner at Miss Thrale's the day we were all engaged to dear Siddons's Benefit. So we curtsied, and smiled, and drank each others good health, and ran to our separate Boxes at the Theatre, and 'scaped all explanations; and that did nicely.... Lady Derby is so altered you would not know her,—grown so immensely fat, and white, and her hair changed,—but not her sweet character and pleasing manners, which remain still superiorly lovely. Mrs. Holman is grown actually handsome, and seems happiest of human beings; so here are Braave Alteraations, as the Fool said to Mr. Whalley. Mr. Holman is a very pleasing, and very unaffectedly agreeable man.... Your old acquaintance Mr. Rogers remains single yet....

Helen Williams's last Book is beautiful, but she is a wicked little Democrate, and I'm told, lives publickly with Mr. Stone, whose wife is still alive. Nobody tells me anything of Dr. Moore, but Cumberland keeps on writing plays and romances; and I'm in the middle of a big book, Heav'n send it may not for y^t reason be a dull one; but I will be a good hoper myself. Harriet Lee never sent me the Heirship of Roselva,—tell her I say so. When come out the next Canterbury Tales? People surprize me by turning their heads so to fancy compositions—I never could do it.

Adieu! We have let this place for £550 per annum for 3 years; and if we beat the French away, and things begin to right again, as the Seaman's phrase is, we will come to Bath and Bristol the very first months of the next New Year....

The Stranger was a spectacular drama adapted from a tragedy by Kotzebue, dealing with the Spaniards and Indians in America, which had a great vogue in England owing to its patriotic sentiments, which were interpreted as bearing on current history. No less than four English translations, one by "Monk" Lewis, appeared in the course of this year. Sheridan's adaptation was not published till 1799.

Francis Twiss, son of an English merchant in Holland, married in 1786 Frances (Fanny), second daughter of Roger Kemble, and sister of Mrs. Siddons, who then retired from the stage and, assisted by her husband, kept a girls' school at Bath. She is described after her marriage as being "big as a house"; while her husband, who took "absolute clouds of snuff," was thin, pale, and stooping, but very dogmatic. He compiled in 1805 the earliest concordance to Shakespeare.

The political version of Mrs. Piozzi's poem was entitled "Three Warnings to John Bull before he dies, by an old Acquaintance of the Public," wherein John is exhorted to show "a unanimous spirit in assisting Government, a just and manly regard for our Established Religion, and an immediate amendment of Manners." The authorship does not seem to have been disclosed.

Helen Williams' latest work was "A Tour in Switzerland, or a view of the present state of the Governments and Manners of those Cantons, with Comparative Sketches of the present state of Paris." The tour was taken in company with Stone, who had been sent thither on a mission by the French Government.

In The Mysterious Marriage, or the Heirship of Rosalva, Harriet Lee introduced what she claimed as an original feature, viz. a female ghost; but this does not help the plot, which the British Critic dismisses as "ordinary," while the characters, whether angelical or diabolical, were but commonplace, and the verses were the worst part of the performance. The Critic allowed, however, that The Canterbury Tales for 1797, published this year, showed much ingenuity and fancy, and expressed a hope for more.

Cumberland's five-act play, False Impressions, appeared in 1797 at Covent Garden, and had a moderate success. The British Critic sums it up as "only a sketch, but a sketch by a master, which might have been worked up into something much better."

Mrs. Piozzi herself had evidently now embarked on Retrospection, her most ambitious, and probably her least successful work, which was not completed till 1801.

Shrewsbury, Thursday, rejoycing day, 1798.

My very dear Friend,—Your sweet cordial letter should have had earlier thanks, tho' warmer I possess not, but I really dreaded having it to say we could not come; so many vexations and combinations happen'd which often and often did I think would hinder us. We are however so far on our road.... My Master's heel is very poorly, but we shall come hopping; and Mr. Pennington is most excessively kind in giving us so generous an invitation. You shall do whatever you please with us for one whole week, and then we will get, if possible into a nice house at Bath, where you shall return the visit for a month.

And now, that things may look, may really look as they used to do, Allen is returned to my Service.... We have neither of us been well settled or happy since we parted, so we are come together again. The Maid who succeeded Allen in my place was a Lady of good family and agreeable accomplishments; but I believe neither she liked me much, nor I her. To my much amazement and distraction, three days before we left home, a fortnight ago, the Lady married our Welsh Gardener.... This moment however I have the comfort of seeing myself once more with my old Attendant, who, after living seven years in my house, hated every other.... She will rejoice to see Dear Miss Weston again, but whose joy can be like mine? 'Tis seven years now since I was in Somersetshire, and six years since we embraced our dear Sophia. May God give us a happy meeting! but my poor Master is as lame as a tree....

[P.M. "Denbigh"]

I will write a very long letter to dear Mrs. Pennington this 1st of August 1798, in defiance of Miss Owen, who says she came hither for my company, and will lose none of it. She must lose some however, for I will not part with old Friends for want of pen and ink conversation. If it should please God that we might meet this next year, we would have much chat,—and I will not despair.... I do think we shall meet—and talk over the false and fading hopes which we see people entertain of Europe's peaceful re-establishment after all these commotions....

Of my heavy work I can give a better account by word than letter; you shall see it if we come to the West. But with regard to translating Barruel, my heart has wished to do it twenty times, only that some one has always stept in before me somehow; and rendered my trouble unnecessary.

You have Robinson's book, no doubt, and the strange coincidence between that and the French one must necessarily convince the whole world of those dreadful truths which they both assert. People should stand upon their guard at such times of enormous wickedness. Have you read Mr. Godwin's life of his deceased Lady? There's a morality worthy the new lights of philosophical religion: pray read it.

Helen Williams's Book is not without its danger. She infuses her venom in such sweetness of style, and in such moderate quantities; I think no corruption has a better chance to spread.

The two Emilys are delightful. Ever on the verge of impossibility, Sophia's charming pen leads one to read on, and to persuade oneself for a moment, from line to line, that a woman made completely ugly should be able to inspire the tenderest passion, and have power beside to keep a man from enjoyment of all those pleasures his rank, and that of their children, entitles him to. This may be so, but Lothayre's story of the skeleton is nearer to my credence. A wonder for ten minutes one's heart revolts not from, be it ever so contrary to nature and experience, a wonder for ten years—is a wonder indeed. The denouement however is exquisitely managed, and that return to y^e subject, as Musicians call it, which marks all the last pages, bringing back the first to your remembrance, appears to me a chef d'œuvre of art and skill. 'Tis a very beautiful book.

I think Miss Seward never writes now. The Recluse Ladies at Llangollen, who pick up every rarety in literature, are much her admirers. Are you in correspondence with her now?

Here is my paper exhausted, and not a word of politics. But what does it signify? There are but two ways. Either you must creep to the French, as other nations do, or you must spend all your money to oppose them. I should not hesitate for myself; I had rather be taxed till I was forced to dig Potatoes and boil them, than I would see the Abbé Sieyes in our King's Drawing Room: and I hope His Majesty would rather be killed fighting at the head of his true subjects against these Atheists, than receive them into his confidence who are unworthy to stand in his sight. He alone, except the King of Naples, refused to be an Illuminé. You shall see they will last longest....

The correspondence with Anna Seward had ceased in 1791 or 1792, when the "Swan" felt it her duty to write to Mrs. Pennington, as she tells Mrs. Powys, "with an ingenuousness on my part which I thought necessary to her welfare, but which her spirit was too high to brook." The breach in their friendship was not healed till 1804.

William Godwin, author of An Inquiry concerning Political Justice, made the acquaintance of Mary Wollstonecraft, after she had been deserted by Imlay, in 1796, and in March 1797 they were married, though the ceremony was incompatible with the opinions they both professed. She died in September the same year, shortly after the birth of their only child Mary, the second wife of Percy Bysshe Shelley. The Memoirs of the Author of The Vindication of the Rights of Woman were published by her husband in 1798, as were also her own posthumous works. He afterwards proposed to Harriet Lee, but was rejected.

Emanuel Joseph, Comte Sieyes, Canon of Treguier, having adopted the principles of the Revolution, became Deputy for Paris, assisted to form the National Assembly, and was one of those who voted for the King's death. He declined a seat on the Directory in 1797, but accepted it two years later, and along with Bonaparte plotted the Revolution of Brumaire.

Brynbella, Fryday 24 Sep. 1798.

My dear Mrs. Pennington was very kind in thinking of old friends, when so much present matter, and so important too, was filling up both mind and time. May all end for the best!

I can no more guess where Mrs. Siddons actually is than where Buonaparte is. The Papers announce her at Drury Lane, acting for Palmer's family. A letter from a friend at Brighthelmstone tells how she is playing Mrs. Beverley for the amusement of the Prince of Wales, Lady Jersey, Lady Deerhurst, and Lady Lade; and how she lives there in a house I often inhabited before I had the pleasure of knowing her. What you say induces me to believe her at the Hot Wells. Wherever she is, there is the best assemblage of beauty, talents, and discretion that ever graced a single female character. She will have much to suffer I'm afraid, but she will suffer with gentleness and submission, propriety and patience. You, my dear Friend, will have your consciousness of well-doing to support you thro' the trying scene: but my heart bleeds for you, and my best comfort lies in the hope that we shall meet soon after Christmas....

Meanwhile 'tis nearly miraculous that 400 sail should thus have slipt unperceived, away from Admiral Nelson and his fleet of observation. The Bishop of S. Asaph says that while we are gazing after them in the Levant, tidings will arrive that they are on the coast of Ireland. He may be right for aught I know; things happen so very wide of all expectation. You remember the meeting at Tyre, where he who first saw the rising sun was to be saluted King. All stared towards the East, of course, except one man, and he, with his back to the rest, first discerned the rays shooting upward against a high tower, in the contrary and opposite direction. We will salute our Bishop wisest of conjecturers if Buonaparte attempts the Sister Kingdom; but I shall not account the Invaders wise in delaying their invasion so long. They would now give Lord Cornwallis a complete triumph, and give us an opportunity of showing the world that France makes no impression upon King George the 3rd's dominions.

Did you read Mr. Siddons's incomparable Ballad upon the Great Nation? 'Tis really excellent in its kind....

If you are all tolerably tranquil at Dowry Square, do ask what became of an agreeable Mr. Crampton, in whose company I supped last Spring in Great Marlbro' Street, who said he was going thither, and gave me the first idea how matters really stood. I concluded him a Lover of one of the young Ladies. Pray present me to them both, if with you, and assure them of my sincerest wishes and prayers, (they are old-fashioned things;) and do, my dear Mrs. Pennington, keep up your own spirits, if possible, for your Mother and your Husband's sake, and a little for the sake of your ever faithful

H. L. Piozzi.

It is clear that Mrs. Pennington had informed Mrs. Piozzi of the grave condition of Maria Siddons, and had let her see something of the anxiety she was suffering; but regarding the principal cause of this anxiety, and the tragedy which was being enacted before her eyes, she evidently maintained a strict silence—even to her most intimate friend—or some mention must have been made in the course of the correspondence of Thomas Lawrence. That artistic but erratic genius, after having been for some time the accepted lover of Sally Siddons, suddenly transferred his affections to Maria, not long before her fatal illness, and what is most remarkable, obtained the consent of all parties concerned. But while Maria was at Clifton he began to realise that he had made a mistake—that his heart was Sally's after all, and the fear that Maria might exact a death-bed promise from Sally (as indeed actually happened) that she would never marry him, for the time being almost overturned his reason. His agitated letters, and still more agitating interviews, did much to add to Mrs. Pennington's anxieties during this trying period. The whole tragedy, as revealed in the letters of the persons most nearly concerned, has been told by the present editor in An Artist's Love Story.

John Palmer, a son of the doorkeeper at Drury Lane, was an actor of some repute. His sudden death in August 1797 while acting at Liverpool in The Stranger, aroused much sympathy for his family, and benefits were arranged for them at Liverpool, the Haymarket, and Drury Lane, at the latter of which Mrs. Siddons seems to have assisted. Sally's letters show that Maria's condition had caused her to abandon her professional engagements and hasten to her daughter's bedside.

The Lady Lade who is included among the Prince's entourage was Thrale's sister, who in the crisis of his affairs, as mentioned in the Introduction, had lent him £5000 to help him to tide over his difficulties. Fanny Burney describes her as having been "very handsome, but now I think getting quite ugly, at least she has the sort of face I like not."

The explanation of the French fleet's escape from Nelson's watchful eye is that it went to the north of Candia, while he took the more direct course to the south of the island, and so arrived first at Alexandria, which he left in pursuit of the French only two days before they arrived.

Lewis Bagot, Bishop of St. Asaph, more successful as a divine than as a prophet, was one of the two whom Cowper (in the Tirocinium) excepts from his scathing condemnation of the episcopal bench.

Brynbella, Oct. 4, 1798.

Your letter, dearest Mrs. Pennington, came three days before the public prints announced the fatal tydings. I can give no consolation certainly; that which I receive is from the consciousness of the charming parent's perfect resignation to his almighty will who disposes everything for the best; who snatches Palmer from the stage of life, by means which most impress mankind, in order y^t general compassion may be excited for his offspring, which, had he dyed in any other manner, would have been wholly forgotten by the world, although not a whit less distressed than now. That Pow'r which in a short time after steals by slow degrees the long-sinking life of Maria Siddons from her friends, by means best calculated to fatigue their feelings, and blunt that acute grief which is ever caused by the sufferings of a youthful patient. I am quite confident that if Admiral Nelson by his prodigious victory could purchase peace for Europe, he might in four years time die in his own house, and not be half as much regretted as is the lovely object of your late attention. Every letter I receive from every creature is filled with her praise, and breathes an unfeigned sorrow for her loss. Virtue well tried through many a refining fire, Learning lost to the world she illuminated, and Courage taken from the Island protected by her arms, excites not as much sorrow as Maria Siddons, represented to every imagination as sweet, and gentle, and soothing; as young in short, for in youth lies every charm.

When will mankind have done hoping and expecting from a generation not yet mature that excellence which cannot be found among our own contemporaries: at least not found but with drawbacks so heavy the character can hardly carry them? Never. When Harriet Lee says no state is so enviable as that of a Grandmother, she means that life will not last long enough to disappoint expectation of happiness to the object of attention. But poor Mrs. Hamilton can tell another tale. She is grandmother to a Lady whose husband is a frolicker; rides round his own Billiard Table on his own poney, and performs a thousand feats that may delight his own grandmother for aught I know, (if he has one,) but frightens his wife's ancestress out of her wits.

Well! we shall meet some time I do think, and talk all matters over, merry and sad. In the mean time tell dear Mrs. Siddons how truly I love and pity her, and accept my venerating regard for that prodigious friendship you have evinced, thro' the scenes I can easily imagine....

The reference to Nelson's "prodigious victory" shows that the news of the battle of the Nile, fought on 1st August, must have penetrated to Wales when Mrs. Piozzi wrote, though Nelson's despatch dated 3rd August was not published in the London Gazette till 3rd October.

The next letter was doubtless a reply to one giving a more detailed account of Maria's last moments, such as Mrs. Pennington sent to several of her correspondents, and in which she dwelt at some length on the courage and resignation shown by Maria in the last days of her life.

Brynbella, 22 Oct. 1798.

I was exceedingly glad, dearest Mrs. Pennington, when I heard you were released. Such fatigues fall very heavy on such feelings, but the consciousness of what you condemned yourself to suffer for the sake of a friend will act as a cordial through your whole life,—a long one, I hope and pray,—and at its end, will return warm and consolatory to your own tender heart.

Meanwhile I would not wish your indulgence of a fancy which, if not erroneous, is at least liable to gross error: and my dear Sophia should be wise, and prefer dry wisdom to brilliant imagination. There is no real inference to be drawn from peoples' behaviour in their last moments to the character they would sustain in life, was their recovery permitted. No inference at all. The great Duke of Marlborough was known to show pusillanimity at the parting hour, and people are not yet weary of saying how Samuel Johnson was afraid of death. I read in the Medical Transactions one day the account of a Mr. Bellamy, Mercer in Covent Garden, his extraordinary illness, and composed resignation, which would have done honour to a Saint, a Scholar, or a Hero. Yet was dear Mr. Bellamy quite a common man, like the next man, and had he recovered, would undoubtedly have returned to the same undistinguished mediocrity in which he had already lived 30 years. But his complaint itself tended by some means to remove the cloud from that celestial spark which dwells in all; whilst those disorders of which the Warrior and the Man of Knowledge died contributed to keep that spark from being seen. Had Heaven restor'd all three to pristine vigour, they would once more have shone as soldiers and instructors,—men who protect and benefit their species,—the other would once more have stood behind a counter and sold silks by the yard. We will not rate the dignity even of Bodies, much less of Souls, by the figure they make at their departure: nothing goes out, as we call it, more brightly than a fire of deal-shavings.

Now let me request you my kind, generous friend, not to suppose me deficient in concern, either for lost Maria, or her surviving admirers. The Father's sensation of loss will not abate so readily as that of our transcendant and now doubly-dear Mrs. Siddons. She must return to the duties and cares of life, and in them, as in her own pure heart, will find a med'cine for her grief. But his expectations from a daughter's beauty, his purposed pride in those charms which 'tis now clear that she posess'd, are blasted in the most incurable manner. I am sorry for Mr. Siddons from my very soul.

Let us now take some leisure to rejoyce in the triumphs of our own Country, and the just punishment of those perfidious enemies who, having sown the seeds of misery in every Nation, will soon see all united against them, and owing their internal safety to their outward exertions for destroying them; like poyson'd Princes in a Tragedy, who just live long enough to make the Tyrant fall, and end the Drama by a proper catastrophe. The moment we have crushed these odious French, and obtained a general peace, in that moment will the venom they have disseminated begin its work, and set a Revolution going in every kingdom. But I do think that they will be destroyed first....

I cried over your charming letter for an hour, notwithstanding I answer it so coldly, but Truth is always cold, from being naked perhaps, and what I have said is the truest, though not the prettiest thing you have heard upon the melancholy subject....

Brynbella, Sunday 11th Nov. 1798.

My Dearest Mrs. Pennington,—I have got your sweet letter, and do now verily and indeed hope, trust, and believe that I shall embrace the kind writer on, or very nearly about the 6th day of December next. There is our plan told clear, as my Master says, and bids me scrivere una Lettera, (don't you remember?) and tell our true friend that we are coming.

Thus 'tis. I am appointed Queen of our County Assembly, with Lord Kirkwall who is King Consort. We take it by Quarters here, and our Quarter expires next Thursday sennight—the full moon,—'tis our third and last night, and I shall come home at five in the morning,—change my dress and drink my Coffee, and set out for the famous Cottage of Llangollen Vale, where dwell the fair and noble Recluses of whom you have heard so much, Lady Eleanor Butler, and Miss Ponsonby.... Well! we spend two days with them, and then away to dear Miss Owen at Shrewsbury.... On the 3rd therefore we start from her to you, from Shrewsbury to Bristol, and I suppose Wednesday or Thursday will see our meeting, hitherto deferred for six long years.... We must stay a week, no more, for I really want Bath Waters.... I hope you will come to Bath, and that sweet Siddons will meet us there; her husband gives me hopes of it, and that will be too much felicity: to see her where I saw her first with admiration, and now to see her again, with beauty unimpaired, talents improved; see her in your company at Bath, and call her Friend!!! Oh, then I should say the tide was changed, of private as of public affairs....

I can talk of nothing else, so will not try.

Call up the Chaises then, make no delay,

Accessible is none but Bristol Way....