André Jacques Garnerin made the first successful descent by a parachute. He demonstrated his invention in Paris in 1797, and this year came to London, where he ascended from North Audley Street, and descended from a height of about 8000 feet, near St. Pancras.

Tenby, S.W., Tuesday, 3 Aug. 1802.

What can be the matter, dear Mrs. Pennington? When you do not write something must be the matter I am afraid. We were so near you at Cheltenham; I expected letters there from all the living world, but nobody's pen stir'd, and after having drank water for a whole week, without any of the usual effects from it, we drove on through South Wales to the Sea, which always looks homeish to a subject of Great Britain. The beauties of Brecknockshire never seem to have been praised half enough.... Our little salt water cup here is the prettiest thing possible, a caricatura in miniature of the Bay of Naples, and I hope Lord Nelson will be struck with the resemblance if he comes hither with the Hamiltons next Thursday, as we expect. Four thousand people collected in a trice to give him welcome at Caermarthen, and sung the Conquering Hero as he past. It was the greater proof of their gratitude because a temporary frenzy had seized all the inhabitants, who were battling an Election contest with fury unexampled, till he arrived, who united Reds and Blues in a momentary procession, accompanying and applauding the warrior who, by his prowess, had purchased them leisure to display their folly. The disgraceful scenes exhibited at Brentford and Nottingham are however of a far different complexion....

I dined among profess'd Democrates just before we left London, but it seemed to me as if their fondness for Paris was rather diminished than increased by their last visit to that Metropolis, where they described Buonaparte as living in a Camp rather than a Court, and with a careful brow receiving, not enjoying, the homage paid him. By their talk I gather'd that Helen Williams lives in the same Hotel with Stone; but that no scandal or idea of connection subsists for that reason; that Koschieffsky, the Polish chieftain, is her hero,—much as Miss Lee venerates General Paoli;—and that her house (Helen's) is the resort of a Literary Coterie, all malcontents, who tell those that get into their circle what a short duration the present order of things will be granted, and what happy days await France when the next change takes place. Was not Lord Lyttleton right enough when, walking round Ranelagh, he observed that pleasure was always in the next Box?

Miss Hamilton is said to be writing somewhat very entertaining in a cottage near some of the Lakes. Miss Edgeworth makes everybody laugh but me, with her Essay on Irish Bulls. Hannah More is suffering from her Pamphlet Fever still. And they tell me Helen Williams thinks of nothing with real delight except London Society, and an unsullied reputation for female honour. Her mother, yet alive, curses the atheistical notions that surround her, teaches Cecilia's Babies Dr. Watts's Hymns and our Church Catechism, prays for King George the Third morning, noon, and night, and centres all her wishes in that one of seeing old England (forsooth,) once again. Why upon earth did they leave it?...

Pasquale de Paoli had been elected Generalissimo of Corsica in 1755, and held the post till the Genoese sold the island to France in 1768, when he escaped to England, and was granted a pension. He accepted the Governorship at the Revolution, but being disgusted at the proceedings of the Convention, organised a revolt, and was again elected Generalissimo. Finding himself unable to maintain the independence of his country, he agreed to hand it over to England, and when we evacuated the island, retired to London, where he died in 1807. His remains were conveyed to Corsica in 1889.

Miss Hamilton's "something amusing" would appear to be her Letters on Education, published 1801-2. The Essay on Irish Bulls was the joint work of Richard Lovell and Maria Edgeworth. The British Critic deemed it "a kind of peace-offering to the Irish nation for the harmless satire of Castle Rackrent."

Tenby, Friday, August 6, 1802.

This is indeed a dismal end to the long silence of poor dear Mrs. Pennington. Your letter kept us both awake last night, yet I have fixed on no mode of consolation to be offer'd you in the morning. Should it please God that you were to become once more a Single Woman, I hope we should always be able and willing to afford you shelter. In the mean time it is your duty to be careful of your health, your Husband, and your Mother, who, of the three, is really most to be pitied. There is always some brighter part than the rest, of every cloudy sky; and that part gets more luminous as one fixes one's eyes upon it....

Be perswaded to anticipate possible, though distant, good; you will not believe in ills till they are near indeed. My croaking with regard to public matters you rejected, as disturbing your rejoycing in the peace, and the plenty, and the taking away of the Income Tax: but what I said then might now be seen, if we were not blind: it will shortly be felt, for feeling is a sense that will remain long after the others are blunted.

If the Parliament, by finding Sir Francis Burdett's votes illegal, make the Westminster election void, who will stand forward to oppose him? Mainwaring? And if he does, will that be very advantageous, (think you,) towards the peace of the Country and our Sovereign Lord the King? Or will his next opponent, if Mr. Mainwaring be weary, have any better success? And will you give the Democrates a fresh triumph, because this last is not sufficient? If he is outed at a stroke, and Mr. Mainwaring called in, the consequent violence will be great indeed, and the uproar deafening. It was an ill-managed business....

What you have lost, could not, I suppose, have been saved; what Government loses, they do not much struggle to keep. Everything is done in a new way, and we who lived in former times do not much like it. But as Baretti said, when losing at Backgammon, "These are bad dice, but we must play them as they are." ...

Sea bathing is beautifully pleasant in this little place, fertile in fish beside, but seeing no fruit makes one feel as if summer was quite over.... Mr. Piozzi waits here very good humourdly till Brynbella has made her toilette. What a mercy 'tis that Gout has not yet laid hold on him!...

Mrs. Pennington's troubles were of a financial description, and seem to have been brought about, for the second time, by her scape-grace brother.

Brynbella, 30 Aug. 1802.

(Franked "Kirkwall.")

Sick or well, sorry or glad, nobody sure does write such letters as our dear Mrs. Pennington. It is because nobody else writes from the heart, I suppose.... Mr. Pennington was always an honourable character, and since you are to be a dependent wife, be thankful your dependence is upon a Gentleman who, while he deems himself such, will never desert you. Be thankful too, that you have no young family. You cannot now I think, be parent of two children, and live to see the one rob the other and run away. These are sins against Nature! My heart recoils from thought of them. Poor Mrs. Weston!! I, who am a mother, must feel for her!

After long wanderings and washings, like the Lady in Hannah More's Village Politics, with hot water and cold water, salt water and fresh water, here am I returned to Brynbella, and if I thought it would divert you for a moment, I would tell you how sublime and beautiful a journey we had across this Principality from South to North. Fine Alpine scenery between Machynlleth and Bala, varying at every step; and presenting now a rough, high, uncultivated rock, and now clusters of small corn fields round a tiny village, that for aught I see need not be so poor, because the grass and grain are really plentiful. Small lakes among volcanic fragments are perpetually occurring, and our guide showed us one which had literally no bottom. From Bala Pool indeed the River Dee takes its source, and winds about with very elegant bends till it reaches Chester; but Kader Idris is the chief feature of the whole Country, and tho' far smaller than Snowdon, it is much more impressive. Our weather likewise on that day was gloomy;

The winds were high, the clouds low-hung,

And drag'd their sweepy trains along

The shaggy mountain's side.

Apropos to Verses, you must read the British Critic for last April, and what he says of Retrospection: it has entertained me exceedingly, and will amuse Gen^l. Smith and Dr. Randolph. I hope those two friends will join to console you; what talents and literature can do, they are, above all men I know, capable of administering: but it is a grievous thing to think how very little can be done by either talents or literature. Piety and business will effect in a month what the other two could not perform in a year. Fly to those, dear Sophia, and be not solitary or idle for an instant. Your situation is happy in that too it forces you on Company. Nor is it wise at any time to be fastidious; you may receive from very plain people very good hints, and one comes away having learn'd something where 'tis least to be expected, much oftener in this life than you would think for....

Sir Francis Burdett, a friend of Horne Tooke, had been elected for Middlesex by a large majority over Mainwaring, a magistrate who had opposed the inquiry into prison abuses. He sat for two years, when the election was declared void, but litigation went on, at an enormous expense, till 1806, when Burdett resolved not to contest another election.

The British Critic describes Retrospection as a work "perfectly singular,—a Universal History from the beginning of the Christian Era, translated into chit-chat language, alternating with passages in an elevated style"; and inclines to think that it was originally written in blank verse, but disjointed by the printer or the author, e.g. (p. 76):

"Many, like M. Jourdain, have talked prose half their lives without knowing it, but few have written half a large book in harmonious heroics, when they meant to write mere prose. If we might advise, the ingenious Author should turn the whole into blank verse, and republish it."

Brynbella, Thursday 7 Oct. 1802.

When a Member of Parliament says to me, "Shall I give you a Frank?" "Oh yes!" I always reply, "for Mrs. Pennington." Lord Kirkwall's generosity is the cause of this letter, because in these hard times one likes, you see, to get a little chat gratis. The next thing to be considered is,—what shall I ask? and what shall I tell? That my Master has had a smart fit of gout in his hands, and that I expect him to have one in his feet, may be told with truth. That the Countess of Cork and Orrery drove up to our door while he was confined, may be told with some degree of vexation, because I knew not how on earth to amuse her, but she was good humoured, and gave little trouble, and after a fortnight's visit—went away. What she related of her adventures among the crags of Kader Idris, her admiration of that wild mountain scenery, and the contrast our gay prospect afforded her, will, I suppose, be served up in many a London Assembly next May.

Ladies appear now to travel all Autumn upon a foraging plan of gleaning talk for their Spring parties. They who spend June and July in London can never perswade me that they are really in search of rural pleasures the remaining part of the year in our cold climate, or that rural pleasure is really to be found where deformity is sought. Miss Thrales have been looking for both, as I understand, among the Western Islands, described by every traveller as barren, bleak, and dangerous. Had Mr. Piozzi and I known that they were navigating the stormy Sound of Mull when we heard the wind roar so a fortnight ago, irritated by Equinoctial Gales, we should have been in pain for them, not for the furniture expected from Mayhew and Ince to decorate pretty Brynbella.

All is safe however. Mrs. Bagot used to say it was superfluous to wish anybody a good journey, because, said she, everybody has a good journey. "Ah! dear Friend!" I hear you exclaim, "many have a good journey through life too; yet is it not superfluous to wish their neighbours one likewise; for surely mine has been a very bad one." Come, courage! The next stages will be smoother, for you shall not predict of your own fortune with that unlucky acuteness you show in discerning the future lot of others....

Sweet Siddons ... writes me word from Belfast that she will call here in her hurrying journey back to our Metropolis....

The next letter was written the same day, and was evidently called forth by the announcement of an unexpected visit from Mrs. Pennington; but neither this, nor that of Mrs. Siddons, ever came off.

Brynbella, Thursday 7 Oct. 1802.

My dear Mrs. Pennington will have the sincerest welcome possible, but she will have nothing else. My volunteer letter, franked by Lord Kirkwall, will shew you that we have no curtains, and no blinds up, no anything but, as Buchetti used to say of a Spanish Posada, "Four walls! no more." Those walls will however resound with joy at your arrival, and dear Siddons's. How good and charming she is! I have a letter—three lines long—from her too....

The next is written while on the way to pay their winter visit to Bath.

Gloucester, Sat. night 4 Dec. 1802.

And so I lose Hannah More, and so I lose Mrs. Siddons, and so I lose dear Mrs. Pennington, and so I lose my fav'rite house at Bath.

Still drops some joy from with'ring life away!

But 'tis all for their good, as the children say, and I resign to my fate. Let us hope at least that increase of health and fortune may make them happy. My Master comes better from Brynbella this year than I scarce ever saw him....

You caution'd me, dear Friend, not to tell of your arrangements. Assure yourself I am incapable of any such breach of trust. If one lets the Maid comb one's own secrets out of one's head, (and I have none in,) those confided to me are in a safer place, lodged in my heart. I hope your new projects will answer, and that you will tell me so on New Year's Day, after dinner....

No. 5 Henrietta Street,

Thursday 16 Dec. 1802.

Dear Mrs. Pennington is always right,—the letter was a mere nothing. Such will, I hope, prove the more rationally alarming report of Constantinople's sudden and unlooked for destruction. Be that as it may, our charming Dr. Randolph took occasion to draw thence a most beautiful and impressive sermon last Sunday, when he preached better than ever I heard him, to a heterogeneous congregation, which attracted my notice as much as the discourse did: Mr. Pitt, Dr. Maclean, the Duchess of York, and Bishop of West Meath....

Harriet Bowdler is a sad loss to me, and so are the Mores. Bath is scarce Bath this year somehow: were it not for Laura Chapel and Pump, I should regret leaving solitude and Brynbella; but then Laura and Pump are two good things for soul and body, and what is all the rest?...

The Mores removed this year from Bath to a new house they had built at Barley Wood, in the parish of Wrington, and which became their permanent home. It would seem that a similar move was responsible for the loss of Harriet, (properly Henrietta Maria) Bowdler, sister of the editor of the Family Shakespeare. She herself was a writer of poems and essays, and also of a volume of sermons, published anonymously, which were so good that Bishop Porteous is said to have offered preferment to the unknown author.

Pitt, who was now living in retirement at Walmer Castle, was much harassed by debts, and in October visited Bath for his health. It was for his birthday dinner this year that Canning wrote the song, "The Pilot that weathered the Storm."

The Bishop of Meath, Thos. Lewis O'Beirne, had been educated for the priesthood in the Roman Church, but received English Orders and was made Bishop successively of Ossory and Meath. He appears to have been an excellent prelate, reviving the office of Rural Dean, and carefully examining his Ordination candidates.

Tuesday, 21 Dec. 1802.

Well, well! as Sir George Colebrooke says, if we must not meet we may write, I suppose; and I really will try to rejoice if my absent friends are happy. Dear Siddons's letter was of more real value than you seem to think. All our News Papers and News Talkers have been telling how she was hissed in Dublin, and how ill it had made her.... But all is well, and so that wise man Mr. Twiss, with his clear, straightforward understanding, said it would be; and February will bring her home with all her money safe I hope....

Our weather here is wondrous mild and soft, good for Brynbella planting, and very good for the very poor people, who cannot keep themselves and their one cow alive in hard frost....

The hostile reception of Mrs. Siddons at Dublin was the result of an unfounded report that she had refused to act for a local charity. It appears that she gave her assent when the manager suggested it, but the latter, for some reason, failed to arrange for the performance.

The remaining letters from Bath have no particular interest, but it appears that just before her departure Mrs. Piozzi had rather a sharp attack of illness, apparently influenza.

Thursday, 14 Ap. 1803.

... Dr. Parry and Mr. Bowen both called yesterday to bid me go out at noon this memorable Thursday. So I went, but found no enjoyment, except in returning without any apparent harm, or fresh access of Fever, which they had all so imbued my mind with, that I felt nothing while from home but fears of a relapse. It does not appear however that such an accident has happen'd to me as yet: and perhaps God Almighty will permit us to see Brynbella once again.

Sunday, 17 Apr. 1803.

... We shall set out, if it please God, to morrow sennight, and sleep at Fleece Inn, Rodborough....

My airing in the carriage did me good, and the knocking knees took a walk with me yesterday, up Pulteney Street and down again,—no more. To-day I will go twice up and down, and so season myself by degrees....

Brynbella, 19 Jun. 1803.

Assure yourself, dear Mrs. Pennington, that my thoughts towards you are in no wise changed: and if I always thought you the best letter writer in our King's dominions, (before they were contracted by loss of Hanover,) how much more do I think so since your last arrived, full as it is of pungent and tender reproaches....

There are two Bishops and one Dean dead, you see, and their families left low in the world; yet the Democrates keep on stripping clergymen of every reason for becoming such; and tear away tythes etc. without mercy....

Sweet Siddons is at Cheltenham healing her honourable heart I hope, and washing away its cares. Mr. Whalley is happy, it is a cordial to hear of somebody being happy. You are too nervous—as the phrase is; meaning that your nerves are too irritable to be placidly content; and that is the best state to be in....

The next letter is addressed to Miss Hannah More's house, Barley Wood, but has been re-directed to Hotwells.

Brynbella, 31 July 1803.

Such is the present situation of everybody and everything, that even your lovely description of Nature and her beauties, in some place which you, dear Mrs. Pennington, call Bower Ashton—but of which I never heard in my life before—fail to detain my mind from events in prospect, and near prospect now, of enormous importance indeed.

Poor Jane Holman, cydevant Honourable Miss Hamilton, is running hither for refuge from murder and massacre. She has written to-day to bid us expect her every moment; and though the ground is covered with wavy corn, and the trees are loaded with apples, pears, and all useful fruitage, my heart at this instant feels more bent on their defence than on their admiration.

I defer'd writing till the time that your letter gives me leave to suppose you are under the half sacred roof of a Lady, to whom, if we direct in Europe, it will find the destined way. Present me with truly respectful attention where I wish so sincerely never to be forgotten; and in return I will enclose you some Impromptu verses, which I threw across the table to Mr. Piozzi last Monday. We had no company ... only one friend from Denbigh, and the Parson of the Parish, who translates Miss More's admirable stories into Welsh, for benefit of his poor and ignorant parishioners. But here are the lines to Gabriel Piozzi, 25 Jul. 1803.

Accept, my Love, this honest Lay,

Upon your twentieth Wedding Day.

I little hoped that life would stay

To hail the twentieth Wedding Day.

If you're grown gouty, I grown gray,

Upon our twentieth Wedding Day,

'Tis no great wonder; Friends must say

Why 'twas their twentieth Wedding Day.

Perhaps there's few feel less decay

Upon a twentieth Wedding Day:

And many of those who used to pay

Their court upon our Wedding Day,

Have melted off, and died away

Before the twentieth Wedding Day.

Those places too, which, once so gay,

Bore witness to our Wedding Day,

Florence and Milan, blythe as May,

Marauding French have made their prey.

If then of gratitude one ray

Illuminates our Wedding Day,

Think, midst the wars and wild affray

That rage around this Wedding Day,

What mercy 'tis we are spared to say

"We have seen our twentieth Wedding Day."

If Helen Williams, ever lovely, and once so beloved! is looking towards England now in preference to France, it is a great testimony to our Island's felicity and honour. For such suffrage is not mean, and Helena has had experience of both nations, since she published that little book in which she charged our Londoners with harshness, avarice, and want of feeling, because they suffer'd some Monsieur de Fosseè to wear straw boots. The Londoners' behaviour now does them vast credit in the opinion of all thinking people, and Mr. Bosanquet's speech will doubtless be handed down to posterity as giving [a] great example. Should not you be struck with the sight of a Metropolis you lived so long in, fortified against hostile force? It would to me bear an extremely awful appearance....

Mrs. Mostyn is said to meditate her return to the rustics of N. Wales, who will receive her as if she came to confer on us both benefit and honour. Such is the consequence of that lofty conduct which forces people into their places, as the Ton Ladies call treating their humble servants with distant and scarce lukewarm civility. Well! those who take the other way are worse used in this world, and I suppose will stand no better in the next for directing to Miss White instead of plain Sarah. I cure every day of some prejudice or other....

The short-lived peace had come to an end, the English Ambassador quitting Paris on 12th May, and the old scare of invasion was at once revived. Mrs. Holman was flying from Ireland, always a likely landing-place for a French expedition. After a quarrel with the management of Covent Garden, her husband had, for a time, transferred himself to the Dublin Theatre, and subsequently took up farming.

The verses, at any rate as to their form, are modelled on those written by Dr. Johnson to celebrate her own thirty-fifth birthday, and which will be found in Hayward's Autobiography, i. 31-2.

The reference to Helen Williams was evidently occasioned by Mrs. Pennington having communicated the contents of a letter received from her early in the month, in which Helen justifies her journey to Switzerland in company with Stone, as previously mentioned. After expressing her regret at hearing of the death of Maria Siddons, and offering condolences to the afflicted father and mother, she proceeds:

"Mrs. Piozzi's heart is then changed towards me! I am afflicted to hear it, because I cannot cease to love her. If she could look into my heart she would be very sorry for her error: she would not, I am sure, be willingly unjust to any one. Yet I should have conjectured, I own, that having suffered so much from calumny herself, she would have been slow to believe ill of others!"

Saturday, 5 Nov. 1803.

(Franked "Kirkwall.")

Our correspondence has languished miserably of late, dear Mrs. Pennington, but though your letters may be unacknowledged, they cannot be forgotten....

I have heard ... how much notice you attracted from the Duke of Cumberland, while he was remaining in or near Bristol, and heard it with a great deal of pleasure. Indeed I ever thought it a consolatory circumstance to live where a Royal Family is established, and posessing a large stake in the country one inhabits. They are the most likely people to be active in protecting it; and the present situation of affairs in England, added to the exemplary conduct of our British Princes, makes me cling closer to my old opinions.

We have had the Duke of Gloucester's son in this Country; he spent some time at Llewenny Hall, and Lady Orkney came here herself to insist on my dining with him there. But Mrs. Holman was just come from Ireland, and I would not leave an old friend for a young Prince, you may be sure. His behaviour was much admired wherever he appeared.

The festivities that have since taken place on account of Lord Kirkwall's birthday, and his Baby's christening, had us for sincere admirers. It was a pretty sight to see the four generations of an ancient and noble family all in one room so: the Marquis of Thomond kissing his great grandson, and dancing himself at the Ball.

I hope Buonaparte will not disturb our happiness in this Country, which never looked more beautiful....

We have got a Clergyman to our mind besides, and Mr. Piozzi has permitted me to pick up all my poor old Ancestors' bones, and place them in a new vault under the church, which he kindly repairs, and floors, and beautifies at no small expence. So here is a fair given account of my long silence.

Ernest Augustus, fifth son of George III, afterwards King of Hanover, had been created Duke of Cumberland 1799; he was now in command of the Severn District. The Duke of Gloucester was William Henry, third son of Frederick, Prince of Wales. His son, William Frederick, known as Prince William of Gloucester, Colonel of the 1st Regiment of Guards, was appointed Lieutenant-General in 1799.

The four generations at Llewenny Hall were: (1) Murrough (O'Bryen), Earl of Inchiquin and first Marquis of Thomond, who had married Mary, Countess of Orkney. (2) Their daughter and heir, Mary, now Countess of Orkney, who married the Hon. Thomas Fitzmaurice of Llewenny. (3) Their eldest son John, Viscount Kirkwall, who married, 1802, the Hon. Anna Maria de Blaquiere. (4) Their infant son, born 1803, Thomas John Hamilton, afterwards fifth Earl of Orkney.

Brynbella, 3 December 1803.

When other things go pretty well, let us not, dear Mrs. Pennington, despair of the Commonwealth. If the Ministry cannot or will not take care of us, we must take care of the Ministry: and sure I am that hitherto History affords no example of a nation enslaved, whose inhabitants resolved to be free.

For the rest, I am ready enough to confess that unprecedented occurrences are, in these strange times, to be witness'd every day, and God only knows what may happen; yet I do surely hope and trust old England will never disgrace herself.... This famous Armada however, and its Xerxes, do not seem in haste to try the courage of their only opponents, tho' backed with the assistance of our old Allies, and gilt with the trappings torne from our Sovreign's immediate family and possessions. He will be right to say as Macduff does, "Within my sword's length set him,"[22] etc.... Mrs. Holman staid with us 8 weeks exactly, no more.... Her husband is writing for the Stage....

The Colonel's old Papa seems likely to outlive all he ever heard of in his youth, I think; the monarchy of France, the haughtiness of Spain, the papacy of Rome, the riches of Holland, the independence of Switzerland, and the prosperity of Great Britain. While one general pulse however keeps beating, my hopes will live, and beat too. Buonaparte's fate draws towards a dreadful Crisis, let him but come out, and our Admirals will give good account of him. Miss Thrales are at Broadstairs under Lord Keith's protection, who fears them not; they row out to sea for purpose of looking at the Wolves over the Water, and say it is an enormous preparation sure enough, but our sailors have no doubts of the event, and Mr. Gillon's letters are encouraging. He likes what has been doing in West India very well. Oh! how it must provoke the Tyrant of Europe to think he cannot likewise tyrannise in America.

The seizure of Alexandria too, proves the active secresy of our Government; and I remember Ministers who would have [been] much praised for such a step. Once more adieu, and do not despair of the Commonwealth.

Our plans must wait permission from above. If these Marauders come, home is the proper place to be found in: besides that my Master must see some weeks over before he becomes portable, and in those weeks!!! Oh Heavens! what is there dreadful in this world that may not happen before the 1st January 1804?

God preserve you, dear Mrs. Pennington, and have mercy on the anxious heart of your

H. L. P.

Though the much-talked-of invasion still hung fire, the French were able to inflict some loss on England by the occupation of Hanover this year. On the other hand, many of the French and Dutch colonies in the West Indies fell into our hands, mainly through the energy of Sir Samuel Hood, who helped to capture St. Lucia and Tobago, with Demerara and other places on the mainland.

Brynbella, Thursday 5 Jan. 1804.

(Franked "Kirkwall.")

Enjoy your Ball, dear Mrs. Pennington, and be assured that all is at least as well with your particular Friendships as with that one great public Family to which we all belong.... Mr. Piozzi has weather'd this fit, and is come down stairs once again.... My own health will do all that is wanted from it, and as to wishing myself at Bath, I do not. Dr. Thackeray gallop'd over from Chester, and what he did afforded more immediate and visible relief than anything I could hope, more than I ever saw done either by London or Bath Physicians. There is besides one comfort in a country Doctor one can never have from a town one. They stay and sleep at your house, and have time to observe the progress of your complaint, and the power of their own medicines over it....

Shew Dr. Grey this letter.... I am all of his mind that England can be no better prepared for defence, or France for attack. 'Tis a grand Tournament, on the decision of which the world waits as composedly as it did 2000 years ago, when the plains of Pharsalia determined the names of their sovreigns. The issue of this contest will settle what Nation the others are to serve.... I do really wish the crisis was come now; for after the Dinner is once ready you know, be it little or much, it gets worse for waiting. Our Volunteers will make themselves work, if Buonaparte finds them none of the right sort. Let him once appear and we know who to turn our swords upon....

No. 11 Holles St., Tuesday, 6 March, 1804.

So many things have occur'd since I received your last letter, dear Mrs. Pennington, that this will of course be a long one. The King's illness and recovery, the continued talk of invasion, the widowhood of your fair friend, cydevant Honoria Gubbins, the correspondence of those French Noblemen so fêtè and so admired in Bath and Bristol, and these present conjectures concerning Sir Sydney Smith, fill every mouth, and render me still more enraged when toothach hinders my list'ning to such interesting circumstances.

Never was there a moment more favourable for rusticated folks like myself to pick up opinions, facts, etc., and fill my little bag. But Lord St. Vincent's ill-timed ill health is among the things I should like to fling out of it.

Dear Mrs. Siddons is in great beauty this year: her Zara was never more passionately admired. The Kembles look happy too, and so do Miss Lees; but when I was introduced to Mr. Cumberland at Lord Deerhurst's dinner yesterday, I did not know him, nor he me. The public will not however fail to recognize him, I suppose; he tries them in a new Play very soon. Poor Holman is—— poor Holman!!! and everybody seems grieved at his double disappointment.

Miss Thrales are well and gay; Mrs. Mostyn plump and pretty,—so are her sturdy little boys.... Oxford will be rendered a fine amusing place for the gay fellows by Mrs. Lee's accusation of the Gordons: it was always a good place for those who liked looking over books, conversing with scholars, etc. We staid two days there on our journey to London, for me to make my respects to the Eleusinian Ceres; but she, alas! was gone to the other House, as the Players say, Lord Elgin, who sent her over, being a Cambridge Man.

The weather has been very odd this year. We enjoyed Spring at Brynbella, where birds were singing, and trees coming out, every day before we came to Town for the Winter. It has snowed and blow'd, and hail'd and rained, ever since, I think; and the Thames looked all in a storm to-day from dear Lady Orkney's beautiful apartments at Chelsea....

The King had a slight return of his malady in January. On his recovery Addington, who had lost his majority, resigned, and Peel succeeded to the Premiership in May.

Sir Sydney Smith had been appointed in 1803 to a small squadron acting under Lord Keith off the coasts of Flanders and Holland. He now seems to have been watching the French preparations for invasion. Lord St. Vincent's suffering was probably more mental than physical. His exposure of the gross corruption prevalent in the Naval Administration had drawn down upon him a storm of abuse and misrepresentation, in which even Pitt joined.

Holles St., Monday Ap. 16, 1804.

Dear Mrs. Pennington's beautiful letters shall lie no longer unacknowledged. Mr. Parsons brought me the first.... Dr. Gray came to see us since that, for the first time, but his appearance spoke happiness, and his conversation unaltered friendship to you and to ourselves. He is a good man, and he liked our little Boy, who was at home just then for Easter Holidays.... As to dear Lady Orkney, she takes her lodgings on a Milestone, I believe, for there is no catching her, Town or Country.... Lady Hesketh will be amused to hear that the people who have seen her cousin Cooper's snuff-box, or the seat his favourite Mary sate in, cry "Touch me, touch me, that you may say you have touched the person who sate in Mrs. Unwin's chair, or handled Cooper's snuff-box." This is all good, is it not? for Mr. Hayley.

Cumberland's Play keeps the stage, in spite of younger wits who wanted people to laugh at the Author instead of the Comedy; but Mrs. Abingdon and I,—veterans like himself,—are glad that he succeeds; for as she expresses it, "He has a graceful mind."

Miss Lees and we have met twice or thrice, but either the Life of a Lover, Sophia's new novel, is not out, or I have not seen it. Holcroft's Paris, and Miss Edgeworth's Popular Tales are the only books found in windows, on toilettes, etc.

No tales of wonder, and such are not hers, can equal the death of Le Duc D'Enghien, or the apprehensions seriously entertained at present for Mr. Drake, British Ambassador in Bavaria, and our good friend, as you remember.... He married Miss Mackworth, and now we expect him to be hanged, as he surely will be, poor Fellow! if Buonaparte catches hold of him. These are novelties at least, though not novels; yet few romances would have ventur'd such an incident....

Mrs. Mostyn is full in feather, and high in song, as the folk say who keep Canary Birds, and her immense Aviary put me in mind of the phrase. She has three very sturdy Boys beside. De Blaquieres, Kirkwalls, all Holles Street I believe, dined with her yesterday, and among the rest my gay Master, and his and your

H. L. P.

Harriet, wife of Sir Thomas Hesketh, was a daughter of Ashley Cowper, the uncle of the poet. The latter died in 1800, and his biography by his friend William Hayley was published 1803.

In 1803 Sophia Lee gave up the school at Belvidere House, and devoted herself to writing. Her first important work, published the following year, took the shape of six volumes of letters, entitled The Life of a Lover.

Thomas Holcroft, shoemaker, actor, and dramatist, had been living for five years on the Continent to escape his creditors. On his return he published in 1804 his Travels from Hamburg through Westphalia, Holland, and the Netherlands, to Paris, in 2 vols. 4to.

It was apparently with the idea of arousing prejudice against England that Bonaparte brought an unfounded charge of plotting his assassination against Mr. Drake and Mr. Spencer Smith, our envoys at Munich and Stuttgard, and procured their expulsion by the courts of Bavaria and Würtemburg.

The treacherous seizure of the Duc d'Enghien in March in the neutral territory of Baden, his condemnation by a court-martial on no specific charges, and hurried execution, was a tragedy which shocked all Europe. It was this inexplicable incident in the career of Bonaparte which gave rise to the well-known mot of Fouche, "It was worse than a crime, it was a blunder."

Brynbella, Sunday Morng, 19 Aug. 1804.

I am the wretchedest Quarreller on earth, dear Mrs. Pennington, and not the most ingenious Reconciler. Like mine Hostess Quickly, I am the worse when one says—quarrel[23]: nor did ever the Country Gentleman in Ben Jonson need London instructions in the art of angry reciprocation more than I do. Let us leave a subject I really understand so little, and lament that the universal Quarreller, Death, has been so busy among our common acquaintance since we parted.

How senseless, not to say offensive, must yours and my Master's mutual complaints appear in the eyes of poor Mrs. Dimond just now! Such a son!—the parents' just pride and joy—so snatched! And that unhappy Mrs. Adams who, you may remember, said she had heard the bell ring for her own execution; she has lost the daughter she alone desired to live for. Few people find the way of being happy, and those who throw little Hedgehogs in one another's paths, like the rioters, to make them stumble and roll about, have none of my approbation....

You will not be talked to (you say), of the Cat, and the Dog, and the times, and the weather; tho' really the first of these subjects is not amiss for you quarrelling disciples, and I will not, like Grumio, talk to you of how bad my poor Master was when your letter came to him, and in what a shocking situation his fingers have been placed by the last fit of gout, no nor what a loss we have sustained in poor Hodgkins, nor what a successor we picked up for him. But all these wonders, as old Shakespeare says, shall now be buried in oblivion,[24] as shall all my true expressions of admiration at your letters, which still exceed every one the last received. Farewell then, and be merry, and believe me with every possible good wish, your ancient Jigg-Maker,

H. L. P.

Renewal of friendship, 1819—Weston-super-Mare—W. A. Conway—Birthday fête, 1820—Conway's love affair—Penzance—The Queen's trial—More law—Land's End—Return to Clifton and death, 1821—Mrs. Pennington's obituary notice—Her relations with the daughters and the executors—Epitaph.

The last letter shows the appearance of the little rift in the lute of friendship, which was destined to silence its tones for so many years. Its origin remains obscure. If Mrs. Pennington received no letters between April and July, she doubtless had some reason to feel aggrieved, but the reference to the "mutual complaints" of Mr. Piozzi and Mr. Pennington suggests that they had met in the interval, and that some disagreement had arisen, which had been taken up by their respective wives, and it is probable that some letters during this period may have been destroyed. Mrs. Piozzi clearly had no desire to keep up the quarrel, whatever it was; but it may be that her attempt at reconciliation was not worded in a way which would commend itself to the sensitive mind of Mrs. Pennington, smarting from some real or fancied slight to her husband or herself. And so the correspondence was not resumed for fifteen years.

Meantime much had happened. In 1807 Sophia Thrale married Henry Merrick, third son of Sir Richard Colt Hoare, Bart., of Stourhead; and in the following year her elder sister, Hester, became the second wife of Viscount Keith. The marriages seem to have brought mother and daughters more closely together, for they paid a visit to Brynbella this year. In 1809, the gout from which he had suffered so long and so severely proved fatal to Mr. Piozzi. He had for some years conformed to the English Church, and in his last illness received the sacrament at the hands of a clergyman at Bath. He was buried 26th March, in the vault he had constructed in what Mrs. Piozzi calls Dymerchion, now Tremeirchion Church. She began her Commonplace Book the same year.

The "little boy," John Salusbury Piozzi, had finished his education at Oxford, and having grown to man's estate, and assumed the additional surname of Salusbury, married in 1814, Harriet Maria, daughter of Edward Pemberton of Ryton Grove, Salop. In 1816 he was appointed High Sheriff of Flint, and was knighted in the following year. To provide for the young couple, Mrs. Piozzi made over to them Brynbella and her Welsh estate, and retired to her beloved Bath, to live on the income from the English property settled on her by Thrale, and some £6000 which Piozzi's careful management had saved from their income. She had therefore—on paper—something like £2000 a year, but her generosity to her adopted son, and to her daughters in the re-fronting and fencing of Streatham Park, added to her love of entertaining, and a carelessness in money matters perhaps inherited from her father, left her in continual monetary difficulties.

Living so near Mrs. Pennington, and with so many common friends, it was hardly possible that they should not be brought together again, though there is no evidence as to how the reconciliation was effected. The correspondence was resumed in July 1819, but letters written by Mrs. Pennington somewhat later show that it was equally desired and equally genuine on both sides.

On Mrs. Pennington's side the rupture of one old friendship almost coincided with the renewal of another. On 18th October 1804, Anna Seward wrote to Mrs. Powys that she had been staying at Mendip Lodge, and that Dr. Whalley had undertaken to bring about a reconciliation with Mrs. Pennington, after twelve years of estrangement. "She received me with tears of returning love, and our reconcilement was perfect. She made me promise to stay with her a few days on my way back."

Her husband had a serious illness in 1813, as the result of which he resigned the office of M.C. at the Hot Wells, which he had held for nearly thirty years, in an address which "powerfully affected the feelings of all present." But his successor turned out to be quite unfitted for the post, and as Pennington's health had been improved by a stay at Weymouth, he was induced to take up the work again for a short time. Not long afterwards Mrs. Pennington's mother died at the age of ninety-seven. She had lost nearly all her faculties, and had been for some time unable to recognise even her daughter.

Mrs. Pennington to Maria Brown

Weston-super-Mare, 9 Oct. 1819.

... I shall not be sorry to return, tho' I leave dear Mrs. Piozzi behind, with whom I have passed some hours of every day, and our evenings always together, in the most perfect harmony. We seem entirely to have regained our former footing, and to revert to past times, persons, and anecdotes with mutual pleasure. She has sought no other, indeed sedulously avoided all other society since we have been here, and is happy and chearful when with us, as I ever saw her. It is not however with me exactly the same thing. I was Prima Donna, I now feel that many new friends and new connexions, with new interests and novel attractions, occupy the ground that I exclusively possessed; and I can only expect, in future, to be one of this larger groupe. I think the character of her mind was always rather kindness than attachment. I know not whether you admit the distinction; I feel it, and that I must henceforth be satisfied with such general proofs of this sentiment as opportunity may throw in our way.

The friend to whom this was written came to occupy much the same position with regard to Mrs. Pennington as the latter had done to Mrs. Piozzi. After Mrs. Pennington's death, the whole of her carefully treasured correspondence passed into her hands, including, besides the present series of letters, those relating to the Siddons-Lawrence tragedy, which were published in An Artist's Love Story, and others from Anna Seward, Helen Williams, the Randolphs, and Whalleys, and others of her correspondents.

In a letter to Miss Brown's mother, dated 28th February 1820, she pursues the same theme. "You judge," she writes, "very correctly of my feelings respecting my dear restored friend. It gives an interest to my life that nothing else could, and what is better, it seems to be felt mutually. We never are so happy as when together, and her letters, which come twice or thrice a week, are a perpetual source of amusement."

Weston-super-Mare, July 1819.

Sick or well, dear Mrs. Pennington is ever kind and obliging, but why empty her veins at such a rough rate? Were they bursting with heat? A Bath friend writes me word that the people there do feel themselves heavily oppress'd by a weight of atmospheric air, and walk about, he says, like somnambulists, with salmon-coloured faces. We have sea-breezes here that refresh our spirits, and send us out at night to stare after the Comet, which looked very pale last evening I saw it, but not, I hope, for anger.

There are other fiery fellows in the North, more dangerous by far, of whom I feel more afraid; but the Regent went safely, and was applauded it is said, and the Reformers will work no reformation at Smithfield under Mr. Hunt's guidance. He tried in vain to make the Basket Women at Bath hate Sinecures; tho' one of them said she knew he meant the Signing Curs, kept by Ministers to sign whatever they bid them,—comical enough!

If all goes on regularly and well, I shall certainly call on you, dear Madam, in my return. When that will be, however, is hard to say, for I have just hired myself a clean Cottage,—the Hotel is very noisy, and surprisingly expensive,—and since the Bathing agrees, I mean to try another tide or two by the way of making myself young, or making myself believe that I am younger than my neighbours of the same standing....

People are visiting-mad here, as everywhere else. Do you remember Mr. Pennington saying he hoped there were no Evening Parties in Heaven? He will not escape them till he gets thither, nor shall, without the utmost difficulty his and your ever faithful and obliged

H. L. Piozzi.

I saw Miss Williams spreading the Bread Fruit with butter, and eating it at her tea, ten days before I left Bath,—but it was kind in you to send me some.

The comet of July 1819 was that now known by the name of Winnecke, who, in 1858, identified it with one previously observed by Encke.

Henry Hunt had for many years been associated with the leading agitators of the time. He made the acquaintance of Horne Tooke in 1800, shared imprisonment with Cobbett in 1810, and allied himself with Thistlewood and his friends in 1816. He took part in the Spa Fields meeting, presided at the Reform meeting at Smithfield which took place on July 21, and at the "Peterloo" meeting, held on August 16 this year.

Weston-super-Mare,

Saturday Night, 4 Sep. 1819.

Dear Mrs. Pennington's letter came late last night; our poor Postman cannot get his walk finished,—how should he?—till near 12 o'clock, which is one of the discomforts incident to our fav'rite Weston. This morning the Grinfields of Laura Chapel, Bath, left us, and you may have half their house for two guineas and a half o' week. They paid five for the whole, and had 7 or 8 Babies inhabiting it, with a proportionate number of nurses, etc. But send an immediate answer, or it will be gone.... If you come quite alone, our Baker, Mr. Cooper, will accommodate you with one chamber up a ladder-like staircase, and one sitting room: but such a lodging too nearly resembles that in Coleman's Broad Grins;—one guinea and a half is, I think, too much for that, though 'tis struggled for!!...

Oh! what heavenly weather here is! And oh! what fools is it flung away upon! who will not gather up the harvest, but run about reforming errors in the State. They have got a wiser head now, who is better qualified to do mischief, and accordingly we read that yesterday's meeting passed off without any mad frolics on which to fix the stigma of treason or insanity:—two things so difficult to prove they oblige us to adopt Elbow's method in Measure for Measure, who says, "they must continue in their courses till we can tell what they are."[25] ...