Attacks by reviewers—The Peace, 1801—Visit to London—South Wales—Mrs. Pennington's troubles—Bath again—Breach with Mrs. Pennington, 1804.

The next letter is directed to "Longford Cottage, the Seat of the Rev. Thomas Sedgwick Whalley, near Bristol," where Mrs. Pennington was staying for a few weeks.

Brynbella, 3 June 1801.

... I do assure you that between your own house and this no greater anxiety has been felt for Mr. Whalley; he is our very true friend, and we have sense enough to know it. He is so much Miss Hannah More's friend that I am convinced of his fretting at Sir Abraham Elton's officiousness. Will you have proof how wrong those things are? I am frequently asked after celebrated characters when we return home to so remote a neighbourhood as this is: and to the questions asked about these exemplary Ladies I made such replies as a friend is expected to make. Some of our neighbours, however, within these three months, have had a fancy to take in a Bath newspaper, and "Oh!" says one now, and "Ah, ah!" says another, "why you never told us, Mrs. Piozzi, concerning this paper war between Miss Mores and Mr. What's his name! As good as you say they are, those who live in the world see spots in the sun, we find," etc. etc. Now would it not have been better far to have left these dear creatures round Brynbella nothing to talk about but the going off of Lord Kirkwall's marriage with Miss Ormsby, the coming on of Mr. Piozzi's gout, just at Laburnum season, the hopes of famous news from Egypt, and, blessed be God, the near certainty of immense crops to feed our poor, and damaged rice from India to feed our pigs? Would it not have been better? But we will talk of something else, if you please.

The trunk is not come, but coming, and it was kind in you to let me know how I might look after it. I had no thought of its taking such a voyage. The comical preference, shown in your letter, of a trunk to a Lady, is more than classical. In Homer's time they preferred a tripod to the fairest: when the tripod was chas'd, though, and the damsel a slave.

I have had a civil letter from Miss Thrale now. She is retired to a friend's Country Seat, I understand.... The noise and racket of London was grown painful to her, and she longed for sight and smell of green fields. I wrote her word that if chance should bring you and her together, it would be very pleasant to you both, who have many ideas, and many expressions too, in common. I would the love of H. L. P. lived in her heart as in yours, but of that, as Sciolto says, "as of a gem long lost, think we no more."

Do you recollect that agreeable morning dear Mr. Whalley gave us at Laura Place this Spring? and how he talked of the River Euphrates, and said it would be one day literally dried up for the Jews' return? And do you remember what you said, after he was gone, upon the subject? and how I exclaimed "Why, you are talking just like Miss Thrale?" Well! and I begin—since he open'd my own mind,—to think that it may be so; ay, and without contradiction of your humourous asperity against the talkers and hearers either. Beg of Mr. Whalley, when he is better, and can amuse himself with such stuff, to look in Plutarch's Life of Lucullus, 'tis an early life, first volume, I think, and if my memory fails me not, he will find something like a confirmation of his own opinion,—and of yours. Now please to observe that I have no Plutarch here, nor have seen one since I saw you. In such an act of mere reminiscence, therefore, the mind may be mistaken, but my heart tells me that Lucullus perceived some property in the River Euphrates,—some quality rather, which would (he observed) make it fordable upon a future day, altho' so deep when he was wishing to pass over.[18] All this seventy years before our Saviour's appearance in the flesh.

I am always ready you know for a bit of old Stilton, as Dr. Johnson called profane History. "Thou dost love," said he, "my dear, to play the part of Swift's Vanessa, who

Nam'd the ancient heroes round,

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

and I have as steadily resisted that mode of conversation;—now pray, pray let's have no more of it." In obedience to his commands, as well remember'd, sure, as Plutarch's lives, I leave this, and begin saying a good word of Mr. Murphy's book, and feel delighted that you take an interest in it too. There was some danger lest it pleased me merely by bringing old scenes to view, but I will trust your criticism. The work has more merit as Garrick and he certainly never loved each other, and you may see his praises of the man he celebrates are dictated by duty, while those bestowed on Barry spring from fondness. I had rather he had been kinder to sweet Siddons. What a thing it is that her husband cannot at least count and keep together the money she gets for him. That man has, I fear, some rage for speculation; a dangerous game. The prudent people are, for aught I observe, no better calculators than we open-pursed fools, who are cheated out of 20s. perhaps, by Bett Lewis the vagrant; while they lose £200 sterling in the management of a puppet-show that takes fire, or sink three times as much in a Canal that lets out water, or some nonsense.

We have had an earthquake here, as they say, for I felt it not, tho' I am confident I was wide awake at two o'clock Monday morning. Lady Orkney's Canary Birds fell from their perch however, and some of our Denbigh friends fancy they heard a noise. I was thinking about my master's Bavanda, and he was thinking how thirsty the gouty pains made him; so Brynbella was unconscious of the shock.

Buonaparte is supposed to be all this time under the influence of poyson administered three months ago, but I believe that as I do the earthquake. Poor Selim's death of the Continental Apoplexy is less improbable; so is young Constantine's hope of restoring the Greek Empire. No matter! Live our own dear King, I care for none of them. Here is his 63d birthday, and the value of his life is increased 63 times since it began. But y^e grand climacteric passed over, I count him safe, and would rather have an annuity upon him than on the dangerous dame we fear so justly.

Oh! I forgot to tell you, Stockdale sends word we have a wicked enemy at Bath, who injures the sale of Retrospection by spiteful and ingenious censures. Who is it, I wonder! ...

Swarms of pamphlets on the "Blagdon Controversy" were making their appearance about this time. Those which Mrs. Piozzi had in view were probably "A Letter to the Rev. Thomas Bere ... occasioned by his late unwarrantable attack on Mrs. H. More," by the Rev. Sir Abraham Elton, Bart.; which was answered by "An Appeal to the Public in the Controversy between H. More, the Curate of Blagdon, and the Rev. Sir A. Elton," by the Rev. Thomas Bere.

Murphy had just published his Life of David Garrick in two volumes, which was not very well received by the contemporary critics, who found fault with its clumsy arrangement, and its excessive padding with prologues, epilogues, etc. Mrs. (Ann Spranger) Barry, who died this year, was a popular actress in London and the Provinces, and was considered by the critics to equal, if not to surpass Peg Woffington and Mrs. Cibber.

Sultan Selim did not die of apoplexy, but lived to be deposed in 1807. The Empress Catherine of Russia had conceived the idea of extinguishing the Turkish power in Europe, and placing one of her own family on the throne of the restored Greek Empire. For this purpose she chose the second son of her own son Paul, had him christened Constantine to fulfil the prophecy that a Constantine should again rule at Constantinople, and educated him to carry out her plan. There seemed to be some chance of its success when the Emperor Joseph gave it his support in 1788; but Turkey was saved by Pitt's triple alliance of England, Prussia, and Holland, to restore the Balance of Power. About this period Constantine had gained some distinction as commander-in-chief in Poland.

[Dated, by Mrs. Pennington, Jul. 1801.]

Dr. Randolph is a wise man for not caring what these foolish fellows say, and Mrs. Randolph is a sweet lady for caring. On the like principle H. L. P. is a dunce for being angry, and dear Pennington is a kind friend for being enraged at these odious Critical Reviewers. Those who say my book is merely good for nothing cannot be answer'd. The book says something like that of itself,—but its worthlessness consists in telling people what they knew before, not in telling what is false, for that is the charge that offends me. Much of this obloquy might have been avoided certainly, by quoting authorities, but they would add more to the work's weight than its value, were the deed done to-morrow: and I thought it a mere insult to the Public sitting gravely to inform them of what they may read in the 7th Period of the 3rd Chapter of the 1st Part of Mosheim's Ecclesiastical History, edited by our friend Macleane, who, in a note, confirms the fact of Tiberius desiring the Roman Senate to deify our Saviour. One would really wonder at a man's assurance who, like our Critical Reviewer, boldly asserts that "this is an exploded fiction." It stood on the testimony of Eusebius and Tertullian for sixteen centuries before it was disputed: and M. Iselin, with Hase the Hebraist, and numbers more since the year 1700, have proved its truth beyond all power of denial. I saw Miss Case with Macleane's Mosheim in her hand when I last visited her. She need not be deceived, she can enquire and see the truth of my position. When I wrote to Mr. Gillon expressing my uneasiness under a charge of ignorance ill-deserved, he said my antagonist was a man of immense abilities, and I had better let him alone. But Robson the Bookseller, who sent me down the Review, liked my refutation so well that he requested leave to print my angry letter to him on the occasion. I suppose it resembles that I wrote to you, and you will see it in the Gentleman's Magazine for July.

I am sorry about Hannah More: these things are, upon the whole, very mortifying, and injure the cause of Religion, Virtue, and sound Literature too much, at a moment when enemies to all three are ready and keen to take every possible advantage.

I have a cold and reproachful letter brought me just now from Harriet Lee, accusing my heart of alienation because I made no enquiry concerning her state of mind, altho' I saw, she says, that it was an uneasy one. How unreasonable the people all are! I thought myself acting delicately to make no enquiries, where nothing was avow'd as capable of being construed into more than a past vexation about the children's sickness.... Nothing would be less pleasing to me than the thought of having offended any of the house of Belvidere. Never did I say a slight word, or write a peevish one, about them. Never did I fail to express my just admiration of their talents, or even suffer myself to be provoked to more than sorrow—not anger—when I had reason for believing that Robinson was better disposed to y^e purchase of my book before his visit to Bath, than he was afterwards.

I hope she will write kindly and make all up. I am ready. If she does not—we must sing Ralph's song in the Maid of the Mill, I think.

Nothing's tough enough to bind her,

Then agog when once you find her,

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

Poor dear pretty Siddons! What has she been doing to her mouth? Picking it, my master says, as I do my fingers, which, he threatens me, are one day to resemble poor Mr. Pennington's toes. But in earnest and true sadness, what can be the matter with her lips? Lips that never were equalled in enunciation of tenderness or sublimity! Lips that spoke so kindly to me and of me! Dear soul! what can ail her? She dreamed once that all her teeth came out upon the stage I remember; I told her she would go on acting till age had bereft her of them; but God forbid that she should lose them now. Her husband will mend at Bath.... Sally's death will be no loss to her dear mother, altho' a very poignant affliction without doubt; and Cecilia will be her delight I dare say: but Sally and her Father both will yet last many years I am confident. Shall we have a Bath Winter all together and be comfortable? Or will they pay her, and lure her back to Drury Lane? You must get her mouth in good order, that she may look like my little miniature of the greatest and only unrivalled female this century last expired has pretended to produce. When her lips close, what good will our ears do open? Yes, yes, they will hear Randolph preach, Piozzi sing, and Pennington converse. Comfort the charming creature all you can tho', and get her into her accustomed beauty, and tell her how she is beloved at pretty Brynbella....

P.S. by Mr. Piozzi.—

... Well! I think it time to forget the Critical Review, and Mrs. P. she is persuade to do so. The writer is a poor miserable wretch wanting bread, and so sufficit. Belvidere people they can write, but they cannot understand Retrospection. Next week Little John we expect him at Brynbella....

James Robson, like Robinson and Stockdale, was a Cumberland man, and began his career in the shop of Brindley, whom he succeeded.

Bickerstaffe's opera, The Maid of the Mill, was based on Richardson's Pamela. Ralph was the son of Fairfield the Miller.

Mrs. Siddons's trouble seems to have been erysipelas, from which she suffered a good deal in later life.

[Dated, by Mrs. Pennington, Jul. 1801.]

You are a dear Friend, and a wise Lady, and—"Conscience" (says I) "you counsel ill": and "Pennington" (says I) "you counsel well."[19] See the learned Lancelot Gobbo. But my heart tells me that the Gentleman's Magazine will exhibit a letter of more anger than good sense at least, being written on the spur of the moment, the very day I read my antagonist's spiteful accusations. 'Tis most likely, for it never entered my head that Robson would print what came to him in form of complaint, just as I wrote it to you. Yet when he asked leave to show it up before the public, and said several friends in his shop advised the measure, I would not shrink from it.

Harriet Lee has sent me a making up Epistle; so we make up, but it is a cold and flat paste we make on't at last, and as little George Siddons said of his brother's friends, whom he had been half afraid of, "I know what they are now." I know what she is, too; and worded my answer accordingly. She lamented the ill nature of the Critical Review to me with due and proper pathos. I replied lightly that they were not half as ill-natured as they were ill-informed, and that if charming Hannah More valued such abuse as little as H. L. P. did, she would live long a champion of religion's cause, and not dye, as they wished her to do, a martyr to't. The truth is her controversy gets very stale now, and like her torment Beer (Bere)

Though stale, not ripe, tho' thin, yet never clear.

I will hasten to expose my Gentlemen's ignorance, and then release people to think and care about matters more worth their attention.

The loss of those two fine ships was vexatious enough, but we must have a few knocks. Hannibal lost one eye early in life you know: so these fellows came on the blind side of him, that's all. Our cutting the Corvette from Camaret Bay was an exploit worthy to be preserved in History till Time shall be no more. But nothing ever equalled the hardihood of Naval Officers shown in course of this war. It is a tissue of heroism, and to attempt shores so guarded would seem frenzy, had one not to recollect apparent impossibilities conquered by Buonaparte: particularly his passing Mount St. Gothard in winter, never relaxed; which however did yield (God only knows how) to the French Artillery, suffer'd to cross that Mountain for the sake of gaining a decisive battle at Marengo. We must have more sense, if they do land, than fight any battle at all with such troops; our business is to harrass them and thin their numbers, not easily repair'd; and attacking them only by night, assure to ourselves the advantages accrueing from our own knowledge and their ignorance of the country. Mr. Pennington will tell you I am quite right, and it was for want of knowing as much in old times that Harold foolishly set his Island on the hazard of one grand battle, which he lost at Hastings.

Our Secret Society men who buy up the corn and fling [it] by night into the river or sea, are far more dangerous enemies; and will, if matters ripen into reality of bustle, be less afraid of acting openly. Their present intentions tow'rds irritating our lower ranks, and making them willing to rebel, are happily counteracted by the enormous quantity of corn in the field, and ports, and harbours. They too are known, and people see into their machinations pretty clearly.

Bath is a well-judged place for the King during times of apprehended turbulence, and the waters may do him good, as they do me.... 'Tis a nice place beside, for a man of his open character and manners to attach individuals, and delight common folks with his familiar way. I am glad he will see Captain Dimond play Lothario at three score years old, to our lovely friend's inimitable Callista....

We have got a dear Member of Parl^t now close by us in Denbigh Town; so Heaven have mercy on the correspondents of your

H. L. P.

The loss of two ships here mentioned seems to relate to the vessels which grounded at the commencement of Nelson's engagement at Copenhagen. On his return home he was set to watch the French armament collecting for the invasion of England, under the protection of the fortified camps at Boulogne, Brest, &c. There was no opportunity for any decisive action, but Camaret Bay, near Brest, was the scene of one of the numerous cutting-out engagements in which the British commanders distinguished themselves at this period.

The "gallant, gay Lothario" was a character in Rowe's Fair Penitent, his victim, Callista, being one of Mrs. Siddons's favourite impersonations.

Mrs. Piozzi does not seem to have made much use of her "dear Member," for this is the only letter this year which he can have franked.

Brynbella, August 1801.

Be in better spirits, dear Friend, or at least in the best spirits that you can: things will draw cross sometimes, we know they will:

We know that all must fortune try,

And bear our evils, wet or dry.

My master's misfortunes are few, but dry ones; he has now a chalk-stone on his ear, but Siddons's mouth is a more important ailment by half....

What is the meaning of Hannah More's marriage being thus gravely announced in every newspaper, and resounding here in N. Wales from every mouth, while you say not one word upon the subject?... Give me an answer to the thousand enquiries buzzing round me, and give it quickly that the talk may end....

Our little boy is blithe as a bird, almost as wild; a model of gayety and good-humour.

With smiling cheeks, and roving eyes,

Causeless mirth, and vain surprise,

as Hawkesworth describes childhood, such is he: may he get safely thro' the next stage!

I have not yet seen Harriet's tale, and without your information should never have heard about Belinda. These soft'ning books greatly encrease the dissolution of manners, tho' each, unexceptionable in itself, cannot be complained of. The youth of our present day however read nothing else, and how they should escape such melting relaxers, added to their own feelings in the warm season of life, I guess not. Literary arrogance and early ambition are the only antidotes which this world will supply.

Education is a mere word now for a theme or subject on which to display the eloquence of teachers, and the teachers themselves—Miss More perhaps excepted,—are drawing boys and girls into Love's labyrinth with one hand, while they are pointing to distant Wisdom and Virtue with the other.

The Curate and Barber who burned Don Quixote's Library of large romances[20] would have been frighted to see them thus epitomized into the power of a school boy to purchase, as India's fragrance is happily compress'd into a Guinea phial of Odour of Roses.

Our Novel-writers have a right to hate me, who set my face so against fiction, and who have endeavoured (tho' fruitlessly) to make truth palatable. But when they boast that my book is liked only by the old Heads of Houses at Oxford and Cambridge, and chained up in the Bodleian or All Souls, 'tis such a vaunt as the French make when they chain their ships ashore.

It is in the meantime very surprising that Nelson should try again after seeing that he attempts impossibilities. I think he has play'd double or quits too often, and tempts good fortune too far. Egypt is our own at last, and will bring its plagues with it. For how should we garrison such distant possessions, which the French may disturb whenever they are disposed to rid themselves of a troublesome General and 40,000 open mouths? I wish the East Indians, for whose sake we drove these fellows out, would be pleased to keep them away now they are gone.

So my Lord de Blaquiere is run away to make drawings beyond Snowdonia, and the Bishop is in Anglesey, and no Frank, for love or money, can I get.... I hear Mrs. Mostyn has a son Arthur. He will, I hope, fill his round table with Knights, and revive the spirit of Chivalry. M[ark] L[ane] is the great Dragon which devours us all, and 'tis said there is a train laid to rid the Kingdom of a combination so strong, that relying upon its force, a Gentleman offer'd yesterday to bet a wager that Corn would be as high priz'd next November as it was last January. But this is croaking worse than Mrs. Pennington, and I believe that the Gentleman will lose....

This month Nelson had made an attempt to cut out the French flotilla at Boulogne by a boat attack, which failed owing to the fact that the French had chained their vessels together, and were able to defend them by a heavy musketry fire from the shore.

Lt.-Col. John de Blaquiere, son of an Emigré, who had been M.P. for several English and Irish constituencies, and Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, was created a Baronet in 1784, and advanced to the Peerage in 1800.

Brynbella [6] Sep. 1801.

(Franked "de Blaquiere")

... Our Barometer begins rising while I write, and the plantations drink their fill from the Horn of future Plenty. Ploughing and preparing ground for next year's crop will now be all done by Michaelmass, and the dwellers in Mark Lane may pray for their own safety: it will be in more danger than our purses and stomachs. God Almighty will send victuals, and the—— may take care of the Cooks.

I know not how you gather'd from my letter that I believed in Hannah More's change of condition, tho' my neighbours did. Yet never having heard that Dr. Crossman was a married or a single man, and seeing no jokes accompany the intelligence, which came in the regular list of weddings for the week, I own myself stagger'd, and now the Papers are filling with epigrammatic nonsense which will confirm people in their credence, if no contradiction is given.

With regard to our dear charming friend, her tormentors must be private ones. The Public would not suffer their truly deserving favourite to be insulted; and she should run to, not from the Theatre, for protection. I guess not what character it was in which, you say, she will appear no more. Tell me, and tell me what she thinks of the enclosed. Oh! how you and I must for ever hold abhorred of our whole souls, the human creature who can thus delight in torturing a heart like hers! Have I ever seen him, think you? Has he made advances to her, and been refused? Or does he protect a rival Actress rising into fame? Or what inspires such horrible malignity? I pretend not to trace, as Fanny Burney and as Harriet Lee can do, vile passions to their source, but such characters prove the Play of Hatred and feelings of de Montfort not out of nature....

My packet of macaroni came down without the book in it, so I still remain ignorant of all but what you tell me.... Well! I shall read it some time, and will learn (even without its assistance) to give my esteem where confidence would be ill bestowed. I wish all the Lees very well, notwithstanding what has passed in my own mind concerning their conduct towards me. We must take people as they are, and such people are, at any rate, extremely difficult to meet with.

Our little Boy left us yesterday, and for Mr. Davies's credit and his own, left us chearfully. A sweeter temper'd creature lives not, nor one better disposed to smooth down life's asperities before him, either by well applied strength, or by a power happier still, of rolling over them, and suffering little hurt.

Miss Thrale has written to me very civilly from Lowestoffe. We have the whole island between us; for Mr. Piozzi promises me a dip in our Irish Channel next week, and we go on Thursday next to a Bathing Place called Prestatyn, about 14 miles off. Now do not exclaim "What! are you 14 miles from the sea?" because we are scarcely 4 miles; but from any conveniences we are at least fourteen. The invasion seems to keep nobody inland, and by the King's giving up Bath entirely I gather the Ministers no longer feel apprehensions. If French chicanery cannot raise a famine or a sedition among us, and if "even-handed Justice does indeed return the ingredients of that poyson'd chalice to themselves," and set on foot a mutiny among their own soldiers,—peace must follow. I told you it was coming, and plenty too; and what I told you then my heart adheres to still....

Dr. Crossman, to whom the newspapers had married Hannah More, was rector of Blagdon, the parish in which her controversy with Bere, the curate, arose.

Brynbella, Fryday Oct. 9, 1801.

Well! my dear, tardy Friend! your letter is come at last, and a nice letter it is. I have one too this post from Mr. Whalley, so kind! He has had enough to do with his Lady Writers, but he loves both Hannah More and myself, and the least we can do in return is to be merry, love our friends, forgive our enemies, forget offenders and offences, and light up our windows for the Peace. The terms are certainly in no sense disgraceful, and since we have all been saying so repeatedly, "Let us heal our own wounds, limit our own expences, and care no longer for Allies who, 'tis sure, care not for us;" I pronounce our Ministers fully justified to this Country for quitting their post, and leaving every other Country to the fate they would none of them resist. While France, having enlarged her own territory beyond the proudest hope of their own proudest Monarch, has prudently bought us off from fighting Europe's battles, with two eminently rich, useful, and valuable Islands: well knowing that an Englishman will always be quiet while his palate is pleased and his pockets full.

The Gold, and Silver, and Rubies, and Rice from Ceylon, sweeten'd by Sugar from Trinidad, will keep Great Britain in perfect good humour, and the Commercial Treaty will keep her employ'd; and in the meantime Alexander and Buonaparte mean to divide the Globe. Such is apparently their project for 1801; how and by what means God Almighty will render it abortive remains to be seen. The internal politics of our United Kingdoms here at home offer a fair shew certainly, for if people are not pleas'd with seeing their ports fill'd with foreign corn, and their stack-yards groaning under the weight of our own harvests, what will please them? Not the price of Mutton in the markets I trow; for between the inclosing commons, and improving the breed of sheep in Counties where such large animals cannot find pasture, with many other reasons, their flesh will sell for 6d. an ounce next year, and we shall have more mouths to feed after the War is over, unless the mortality at Liverpool goes on. Ah! dear Friend! I told you how it would be, and true did I tell you, but no matter,

For other thoughts mild Heav'n a time ordains,

And disapproves that care, tho' wise in show,

That with superfluous burden loads the day;

And when God sends a chearful hour, refrains.

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

Little did I dream seven years ago of seeing peace proclaimed between Great Britain and the Consular State of France. Little could I ever have dreamed that I should see Venice annihilated, Genoa forgotten, Piedmont's Alpine barrier insufficient to keep out invasion, even in the depth of winter; and old Rome, divided against herself, dropping into her enemy's mouth almost without invitation. The world, as it appears, consenting to all this, and even happy to think things have gone no worse. We shall see more yet, but shall not see all. All! no, nor half....

I wrote Harriet Lee word how much her tale impress'd me. 'Tis a characteristic of this age, I think, to shew what forcible impression may be made by setting only our mean passions to work, avarice, fraud, and fear; instead of generosity, love, and valour. What she has done, however, is very striking; and every one I lend the book to is amazed to find Conrade the murderer of Stralenheim....

The long-expected Peace, which gave us Trinidad and Ceylon, was not finally arranged till March, but preliminaries were signed October 1.

Brynbella, 30 Nov. 1801.

No, thank you, my dear anxious Friend; we are pretty well, and pretty happy, as health and happiness in this world go. I have had more than my share of both, blessed be God. My master has an addition to his torments, St. Anthony's fire, in and out, but much less afflicting than troublesome. It keeps him from going to neighbours' houses, and without that, there is no hope of Autumnal society at Brynbella: it will keep him from going to yours, and then he must learn to swear of dear Mr. Pennington. Lord de Blaquiere, who used to free my covers, is gone to London, and my prudence (for the first time in my life) overbalanced my tenderness, and so I made you uneasy: and so I'm glad you were uneasy, and there's an end.

We have written about the house to Mrs. Garrart and to Harriet Lee both. They say my Lord Kenmare is in now, and will be out on the 12th Jan. That time will do nicely, and the poor folks round here are glad he does not quit sooner, tho' Mr. Piozzi has given a dozen of them good warm winter jackets, and a petticoat each to the wife: and barley, which last year was at 32s., they may have now at 18s., and good wheat at a guinea. So I shall leave them with less regret this year than last for all those reasons; and we employ a vast many hands in planting....

Something is the matter at Belvidere House, I do think. Harriet says she has the Black Dog upon her back, and writes as if wishing to be courted out of the secret. Instead of doing which, I wrote her a rhodomontading letter, all mirth and no matter[21] (as Beatrice says) to turn the course of her ideas: for I wish not confidence where real kindness has ceased to reside: and if these novel-writing Ladies fancy that they, and they alone, can read the human mind,—'tis a mistake. Your imagination is bound by the Juggler who rattles and talks while he ties a knot in your pocket-handkerchief, as surely as by the sly Thief that steals it, only the intention is more honorable....

Oh do tell the Doctor that Lord Kirkwall did not marry Miss Ormsby, and that everybody says it was because he felt that he liked Miss Blaquiere better; certain it is the first match went off; and if this second does not come on, I shall wonder.

You were always more sanguine about the benefits of peace than I was, but tranquillity is the best consequence it can have; let's not therefore disturb that by putting monopoly in people's heads, or in their mouths. Such talk leads to nothing but riot. If there is no scarcity there will be no monopoly: the people can monopolise nothing that is not already scarce. A peace which leaves unresisted France mistress of more territory than was ever hoped for by her proudest Monarch in his proudest day; which annihilates before her grasp principalities and powers, and leaves her tributary Republics secur'd to her services by the cheap garrison, Opinion, cannot be viewed without horror by the mere writer of Retrospection. Tho' such were the miseries of war, and such the acquisitions by treaty to Great Britain, that peace has a right, not only to please, but to console, and even delight a true English subject....

Brynbella, Tuesday Night, 15 Dec. 1801.

... Well! Time passes away, and so do torments, and poor Mrs. Whalley will have no more in this world. I shall have that of telling you that there will not be any habitable Brynbella this Summer, that is coming. We shall be thrown on the wide world ourselves, and mean to pass the early part of it at Streatham Park, on a visit, the latter end in Caernarvonshire, where my lease of a little estate is out, and then call here for a month or two in our way back to Winter Quarters.... On this hope of real comfort let us live till then, and pass some chearful hours together at dear Bath, where I would I were this moment! Mr. Piozzi playing on the Piano e forte to Mrs. De Luc, you and I listening, and hoarding up chat for the half hour after he and his auditress are abed and asleep....

I cannot yet rid myself of this Bristol quarrel. If the Mores are, and have been always Sectaries, why do they deny it? Where's the harm done? I had rather they were good High Church folks like you, and like myself, but the religion that was good enough for Isaac Watts need not be shrunk from. What are they afraid of?...

Mrs. Hamilton tells me sweet Siddons is alive, but I fancy she is on no stage now. Poor Mrs. Whalley's death will grieve her unaffectedly. I was never intimate enough to feel her loss, but she was no common character, that's certain. Half a dozen Gentlemen who lived much together abroad were so sincerely vex'd when she left presiding at their public table, that they quitted the house; a surprizing testimony to the conversation talents of one so wanting in youth or beauty....

[P.M. Bath.]

My dear Mrs. Pennington's friends will learn to hate poor H. L. P.'s name, and that of her family, I fear, when I have told her how my little John Salusbury and his Preceptor, Mr. Davies, are coming for ten days in the middle of January, to occupy our only apartment, and that, as you know, a bad one. The time is past when he was Piccolino and slept with Allen, and play'd with the men and maids; he is a great boy now, and I would not trust him out of my own sight, except with his Tutor, for all the territory of Venice.

And now let us talk of sweet Siddons, who, next to immediate home concerns, is dear to you and me. Here is her letter back, and truly sorry am I for her. Be perswaded now, and remain convinced that neither fame nor fortune can make happiness....

How people do study to prolong their own existence in this world, and their own enjoyment of this world, through their offspring, may be learned by the strange tale, now revived, of Hugh Capet's being told by an Astrologer that his descendants should reign over France not quite 800 years. "Will it," he said, "add to their time of sitting on this throne if I do not reign at all?" "Oh! yes," replies the man, "your dynasty will then continue 806 years." Hugh Capet was, for that reason, never crowned. And if you will add those 806 years to A.D. 987, when he asked the question, they will make 1793, when his last descendant was deposed and murder'd. This story now comes in peoples' heads because of the surprising Labrador stone dug up in Russia, and containing Louis XVI's profile delineated upon it by the hand of nature. Miss Thrale has seen it, and there is a facsimile handed about this town; yet many think it an imposition, and those who think otherwise are ashamed to say they think so. I wish to look at it in your company, which always adds to every intellectual gratification bestow'd on yours truly,

H. L. P.

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

Sat. 22 May 1802,

George St., Manchester Square, London, No. 5.

My dear Mrs. Pennington will begin to expect accounts, and I think the first thing to give account of is our house; wherein was no bed, no fire, and no spit, upon our first arrival. Here, therefore, none save a negative inventory of felicities can be given; but we hire, and we croud, and we dine out, and we endure the inconveniences with the more philosophy as neither house, nor lodgings, nor room even in a Hôtel can be got nearer to Christian dwellings than Cecil Street in y^e Strand, where Governor Bruce has housed himself. So much for residence.

The cards of visitors and inviters, however, cover our little table, and we have already pass'd three pleasant evenings enough! The first at dear Siddons's, where Lady Percival, Mrs. Barrington, Mrs. FitzHugh, and Mr. Whalley all met us; and we talked of you, and everyone talked as you would have wished to hear; but Mrs. Siddons disclaims letter writing, and says her friends must be contented without being her correspondents. Among them they perswaded us to push for places at the Theatre next night, where Hermione's statue was exhibited for the last time. I never did see anything so admirable, or so much like a statue of our lovely Actress, for it really did seem stone; and the whole was got up with such taste and splendour that I wished for Garrick to witness the magnificence of modern Drury Lane. He would have wonder'd tho' what was become of his old Florizel and Perdita—Barry and Mrs. Cibber. Kemble played Leontes better than I ever saw him do anything since the Regent. Apropos to which, here is the Author; looking as well as ever, handsome, gay, and brilliant. Mrs. Greatheed alters, and becomes very fat. Their habitation is said to be fixed at Guy's Cliffe, though they are hastening to Paris as I understand, where Helen Maria Williams and the famous Polish hero Koschiusko attract general notice. Buonaparte is consider'd as tott'ring on an unfix'd seat of pow'r; if he can once convert it into a throne it will perhaps stand firmer.

We dined with Miss Thrales yesterday, the party particularly agreeable, and very good talkers in it. We women retired to Coffee as the clock struck nine; the men followed in less than an hour, and when tea was taken away at 11 o'clock, we came home to sleep, and the rest went out to various parties for y^e evening.

Fryday was pass'd at Streatham; little Salusbury seems much improved. I heard his whole class say their lesson, and made observations like those of Mrs. Quickly in the Merry Wives of Windsor. It was in those characters Susanna and Sophia shone, it seems, at the last Masquerade, dress'd exactly alike, for Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page. I wish my rich tenant Mr. Giles would get a wife, that one might with better grace accept his kind invitations to Streatham Park, which never was so fine before....

Charles Edward Bruce, Governor of Prince Edward's Island, was third son of Charles, fifth Earl of Elgin, and brother of the seventh Earl, who collected the Elgin Marbles.

Susanna Maria Cibber, a daughter of Mr. Arne, first made her mark as a singer, Handel's contralto solos in the Messiah and Samson being written for her. She obtained even greater reputation as an actress, and played with Spranger Barry at Drury Lane in 1748, and at Covent Garden in 1750.

Tadeusz Kosciusko, after having been educated in France, had a chequered military career in America, where he fought for the Colonists, and at home. After the second partition of his country he formed a Provisional Government, but was soon after captured by his enemies. On his release he visited England and America, but finally settled in France, where, about this time, he was forming an estate near Fontainebleau.

No. 5 George St., Manchester Square.

Wensday, 2 Jun. 1802.

My dear Mrs. Pennington's beautiful letter is the picture of her mind, a mind which only this vast Town can fill: and she starves at pretty Bristol, as I call it, like a large fish put in a small pond, pining for more space, and more of something to occupy that space. My taste is different. I really feel more confounded than amused at every public place, more stunned than informed by every conversation, and more generally perplex'd than pleased with the multitude of faces, voices, and caprices that surround me. Banti and Billington sang three nights ago at Viganoni's Benefit,—we heard them,—not a duet, two separate songs of the same class, Italian Airs, and both of them Bravura. When they had done,—"I am a Bantist," says one Critic. "Ah! long live Billington!" exclaims another, "Her's is the only straight road to fortune and to fame." All appeared quite distracted with the delight they had enjoyed, yet none seemed satisfied; for scarce a female in the room except myself went home to bed at midnight. But some at Ranelagh, some at my Lady Pomfret's, disposed of the hours once consecrate to sleep: while many filled the back rooms of Fancy Dress Makers, who this year keep houses open all night for various purposes. The ostensible one, (and that rational enough too,) is that the women may chuse Habits unobserved by each other for these innumerable Masquerades, where two or three different characters are supported every evening by Ladies of y^e Haut Ton; increasing expence, and facilitating intrigue in a manner hitherto unexampled. One consequence of all this is our paying half a guinea for chickens,—the couple I mean,—and 9d. o' pound for what I should have termed soup-meat at Bath Market.

Another happier consequence to Country Rustics like us will be reconcilement to quieter scenes and far more tranquil pleasures. I grow very much to resemble the ill-bred fellow you and I used to laugh about, who, when Lord Mount Edgecumbe showed him the glories of our grandest sea view, from our most cultivated spot of earth in Devonshire, commanding the exits and entrances of fleets, armies, commerce, etc. from Plymouth Sound and Dock, declared that he had been exceeding happy at The Leasowes, for that he liked inland prospects, (for his part,) and river fish. In no unsimilar ill-humour do I vaunt the comforts of Bath society and a Sedan Chair, when the pole of some gay carriage runs into our pannel, or when, to avoid that, I take a run in the rain, and wet my feet upon their wide trottoirs.

Apropos to Bath conquests made, it appears I have retained but one. Gen^l. Smith is faithless, and has so completely forgotten us he never has left a card. Mr. Simmons is a fav'rite among the Great, and we humble Lodgers are not likely to be remember'd while suites of splendid apartments in every grand street and square are open to talents—of whatever kind. Edmund Charlton alone is true. I have a letter from him signed my very dutyful and affectionate friend, and saying he is less unhappy now than when he wrote his Mama word he was miserable.... Our own Titmouse bids fair to possess abilities for bustle, and by y^e time he comes into y^e world, it will be a mad world enough.

Well! I can yet make new conquests. Lord Stanhope professes himself my admirer, and the admirer of my books. Lady Corke call'd him and about 300 people more round her last night, on the spur of a moment, because Mr. Piozzi, who had met her in Cumberland Street, had promised to sing at a very private party for her Ladyship's amusement: and there was H. L. P. caressed by all the Liberty-Lovers: sweet Lady Derby more lovely than them all, and protesting that my husband never looked younger nor sung better. There was a Mr. Moore, a new favourite with the public, who makes his own music and poetry, and pleases people very much,—a sort of English Improvisatore,—and there were the Abrahams, and there was everybody: and all our talk was the terrors and riots of a Mask'd Ball held the night before at Cumberland House, now the Union Club. Many women were hurt, and many frighted. My Susan Thrale came off with a black eye, but her fingers were well, and she played on y^e harp at Lady Cork and Orrery's. Sophia went for a Comic Muse, but said the end was very nearly tragical; those who fainted from fear were trode upon. Lady Derby stood still and cried, and succeeded better in obtaining compassion. The men's brutality, Mr. Andrews protests, was quite unexampled in a civilised country: but Mrs. Greatheed, a jocund young Shepherdess, went thro' the whole unhurt, under the protection of such a husband and such a son as are rarely seen, and both striving which shall most pet and most adore her. They are now all of them repairing their charms for Mrs. Drummond Smith's Assembly, and Beedle's grand Ranelagh Fête to be held next Fryday. So much for flash intelligence....

Political matters do not run quite so even. Buonaparte tho' is likely as we hear to be made all he wishes; and if he lives to coin the money, Apollion Buonaparte Dei Gratia Imperator Gallorum, it will be very curious indeed....

Elizabeth Billington, considered to be the finest singer England ever produced, was engaged both at Drury Lane and Covent Garden. This year she sang in Italian opera at the King's Theatre for Banti's farewell.

Lord Stanhope must have been Charles, third Earl Stanhope, the scientist, who married Lady Hester Pitt.

The English Improvisatore was, of course, Thomas Moore, who had lately come into notice by his translations of Anacreon. The British Critic described him as "a young man of elegant and lively, though not sufficiently regulated imagination"; and predicted that if he applied himself to "more important subjects, and of a more moral tendency, few poets of the present day will equal, and perhaps scarcely any excel him."

After the Peace of Amiens the Senate proposed to appoint Bonaparte First Consul for ten years. He artfully referred the question to the people, but in the form of a consulship for life, which was adopted 9th May.

No. 5 George St., Manchester Square.

Sat. 19 June 1802.

... Cecy Mostyn indeed is no steady intelligencer; she says but little, and that little speaks good of but few. I could not dig from her one word, good or bad, concerning you, tho' Mr. Piozzi and I both mentioned Mrs. Pennington's name on various occasions, while we were all enjoying Mr. Giles's kind hospitalities together at old Streatham Park.

We are returned now like Stella, to Small Beer, a Herring, and the Dean. Apropos to Deans, we have lost our Bishop at S. Asaph, and the learned Dr. Horsley is expected to reign in his stead. But you had rather hear about Mara and Billington. We were at the grand Concert and Benefit when they sung a Duet with immoderate applause, tolerably impartial too, because Mara shone there with her low notes. Agitata however went off very coldly, under visible tremors of jealous anxiety. I could have cried almost to see 60 struggling so against six and thirty, with so little hope of success in a professional contest; whilst in all those where merit is not look'd to, the Filly loses every heat. Our gay Prince of Wales, gayer than ever, shines the charm of society, his charmer by his side. When his fair cousin does appear in public, she retires thence unnoticed except for her beauty and dress, which is always singularly rich and grand. Pretty women are common, as far [as] I observe, who think so very little about them, but I see none strikingly handsome.

Sophia Streatfield is much alter'd in person, but her manner, little changed, secures to her, even yet, some pow'rs of fascination. At her request, we visit; odd enough! But as Callista says, "It is no matter; she can no more betray, nor I be ruin'd...."

Well! I am really haunted by black shadows. Men of colour in the rank of gentlemen; a black Lady, cover'd with finery, in the Pit at the Opera, and tawny children playing in the Squares,—the gardens of the Squares I mean,—with their Nurses, afford ample proofs of Hannah More and Mr. Wilberforce's success towards breaking down the wall of separation. Oh! how it falls on every side! and spreads its tumbling ruins on the world! leaving all ranks, all customs, all colours, all religions jumbled together, till like the old craters of an exhausted volcano, Time closes and covers with fallacious green each ancient breach of distinction; preparing us for the moment when we shall be made one fold under one Shepherd, fulfilling the voice of prophecy.

One of the things most worthy of remark here is the surprizing increase in population. You would be astonish'd to see the Town as much fuller (in all appearance,) as 'tis larger. On an evening when common people come forth for amusement, all these new streets leading up almost to Hampstead, are thronged like Cheapside upon a busy day: and when I enquire if Westminster and Southwark suffer from the change of fashion, as I deemed it, the reply is that rents never were so high in both places, and that fresh outlets are daily forming, and ground contended for on building lease....

Mr Piozzi says the Music Carts are a proof of all I say. They are so numerous now it makes one wonder. Yet he dislikes the style in which that art is carried on; and though Vinci is a pleasing singer, she is no favourite for want of striking airs to shew her voice. Mr. Braham sang "Every Valley" so as to remind me of old Johnny Beard—the manner I mean—quite exactly, and you will trust my remembrance of a performer I liked so much....

On the death of Bishop Bagot, as Mrs. Piozzi anticipated, Samuel Horsley, who had previously been Bishop of St. David's, was translated from Rochester to St. Asaph.

As Mara was born in 1749 she was not really much over fifty. She is said to have made over £1000 by her farewell benefit this year, after which she retired to Russia, and lived at Moscow till it was burnt during the French invasion.

Sophia Streatfield was one of those women who are not only irresistibly attractive to the other sex when they choose to exercise their powers, but seem impelled to exercise them on every man with whom they are brought in contact. Thrale had fallen a victim to her fascinations, and the undisguised admiration he showed for her had caused his wife much heart-burning many years before, as she describes in her Autobiography.

John Braham, the tenor, son of a German Jew, had been singing at Drury Lane and the Festivals of the Three Choirs for about six years. His predecessor, John Beard, born about ninety years before, began as a singer in the chapel of the Duke of Chandos at Cannons. He made his reputation in Acis and Galatea, and appeared at Drury Lane in 1737. His first wife was Lady Henrietta Herbert, daughter of James, Earl Waldegrave, and widow of William, Marquess of Powis.

London, 16 July 1802.

You will wonder, dear Friend, what has delayed us here so long. I will tell you now that we are delayed no longer. In the first place our letters from Wales tell us hourly of the impropriety—impossibility I might call it—of being comfortable at Brynbella. In the next place we are paying only 4 guineas o' week here for a whole house, such as it is, so I see not where we could be cheaper, and many Friends that leave this Town very late, have made it agreeable to us by letting us live in our house very few days in every week. Mr. Piozzi says we have dined from home no fewer than 30 times....

England seems quite on fire with these odious and foolish elections. The scenes exhibited in my young days by Johnny Wilkes could alone equal the raging uproars at Brentford during this last week. Mr. Bradford dare not go through the place to Henley on his necessary business, and the Sans-Culotte Candidate at Covent Garden keeps Westminster all in a ferment. An intelligent acquaintance newly returned from France describes that Country very differently. The people's spirit is totally broken down, he says, and any government is welcome to them that will leave quiet individuals in peaceable possession of their lives. Not a Country Gentleman's seat is left standing, he tells me, between Calais and Paris, nor any place of worship, except what is filled with shops, raree-shows, etc. Buonaparte's declaration, that he will absolutely hear a Military Mass four times per annum, has made them clear out one church in the Capital: but force will be found necessary to oblige his subjects to marry, as they have learn'd to live without conjugal shackles, till the gross licentiousness of French behaviour is deemed positively dangerous to population. Our Streatham neighbour, a wealthy and well accomplished friend of Mr. Giles, hasten'd to bring back again his wife and daughter: tho' when they were come home he protested that no modest woman was left.

What else shall I tell to amuse you? Our talk is only how unfavourable the weather is for Vauxhall: I got more rational converse at our own good Tenant's table last Sunday than I have heard now for some time.... Something is however always going forward at London, and Mons^r Garnerin's Balloon called all its inhabitants into the fields here one day, when such an exhibition of umbrellas darken'd the air as I could not have conceived without seeing. Our country servants' amazement at the numbers flocking round contributed exceedingly to my diversion. Little Betty was half out of her wits with wonder, and even Tom takes interest in the appearance of five or six hundred soldiers on a field-day in Hyde Park. They are going back to Brynbella immediately.... Mr. Piozzi has bought a nice cart here, and a horse which draws them down in it, whilst we proceed to Tenby through Oxford and Cheltenham....

The Brentford election riots were the result of the candidature of Sir F. Burdett, who had attacked the New House of Correction in Coldbath Fields as the "English Bastille," giving rise to the following squib: