Miss Weston marries Wm. Pennington, 1792—Execution of Louis XVI—Reconciliation of Mrs. Piozzi and her daughters, 1793—Irish Rebellion—"British Synonymy"—Fleming's prophecies—Cecilia's flirtations—Residence at Denbigh, 1794—Building of Brynbella.

By the time the next letter was written Miss Weston had become Mrs. Pennington, and had taken up her abode at the Hot Wells, in a house in Dowry Square. It points to a serious estrangement between Mrs. Siddons and her husband, though nothing is said as to the cause. Mr. Siddons, like Mr. Thrale, seems to have been reserved, and somewhat lacking in sympathy for, if not actually jealous of, his brilliant wife; but so far as one can judge, his conduct as a husband was outwardly quite correct, and even exemplary.

Mrs. Piozzi's Commonplace Book, now in the possession of Mr. Broadley, contains a note on Count Andriani, whom she describes as "a Milanese nobleman, a bold dashing fellow, who went up in an air-balloon about 1781-2, when such exploits were rare." She goes on to relate how his outspoken preference for Killarney as compared with Loch Lomond offended Helen Williams, who, though born in London, chose to consider Scotland her native country, on the strength of having been brought up at Berwick-on-Tweed.

My dear sweet friend rates my little tokens of goodwill too high.... But let us talk of nothing but your happiness, and my comfort in the thought of it. Dear Mr. Pennington is already sensible of your worth, and will be more so, when he knows you as I do! He has won all our hearts here, and his charming wife will do the same with his friends wherever they are....

Poor Siddons pities my very soul to see her: an indignant melancholy sits on her fine face, and care corrodes her very vitals, I do think. God only can comfort her, and His grace alone support her, for she is all resentment; and that beauty, fame, and fortune she has now so long posess'd, add to her misery, not take from it. I am sincerely afflicted for her suffering virtue, never did I see a purer mind, but it is now sullied by the thoughts that she has washed her hands in innocence in vain! How shall I do to endure the sight of her odious husband? I suppose he comes to-morrow.

Streatham Park, Thursday, 10 Jan. 1793.

Who is silent and sullen now of these two scribbling Mrs. P.P.'s? not Mrs. Piozzi, sure. No, nor her poor Husband, who, tho' now laid up with the gout worse than ever I knew him, thinks of you often, and added a Postscript to my last letter with the Ballad in it. Oh, but the Church and King Ballad is a great deal better than mine; 'tis really a sweet copy of verses, and you will cry over it. Enquire and get it to read. I doubt not of its being the production of some very capital hand.

Our Master is too bad to be diverted by anything: 50 hours has that unhappy Mortal lain on an actual rack of torment, nor ever dozed once except for 7 or 8 minutes, not ten. 'Tis truly a dismal life, and Mrs. Siddons has called home Sally, and Mr. Davies is making holyday at Brighthelmston, and there is nobody to make out Whist with good old Mr. Jones. I just had a peep of the Lees and Greatheeds, it was however but a peep. We went to Town one night and saw Euphrasia, and caught a cold which Piozzi attributes to the Kanquroo, etc., that we carried the children to look at next morning. "Ah! those Ferocious Beasts are been my Ruin" quoth he....

Marquis Trotti writes from Vienna, where he is retired, like Isabinda in The Wonder, to avoid matrimony, as the Italians here tell me; and they fancy him attached to Miss Hamilton, who, they say, is highly accomplished, tho' plain, and a prodigiously well known and admired authour. When we talk of people's affairs, I hope and suppose we always make just such wise assertions, for who at last really knows the affairs and thoughts of another? You are however ignorant of nothing belonging to my family concerns, you'll say; 'tis true; but one reason may be there is nothing I wish to conceal. We have no money for Bath this year, Brynbella drains all away; and Cecy prefers a week's flash in London to a month at Bath, she says. And she perhaps knows why better than she will tell to you, or to yours ever,

H. L. P.

Say you are alive, and well, and happy, and tell Mr. Pennington how much we all wish him so. Adieu! My Master's bell rings, I run. Farewell.

By "Euphrasia" she probably meant to designate Murphy's play, usually known as The Grecian Daughter, in which the heroine Euphrasia, daughter of Evander, saves her father's life in prison by suckling him. In her reference to Isabinda she seems to have suffered from a momentary (and unusual) lapse of memory. The name of the heroine in The Wonder, otherwise A Woman keeps a Secret, by Mrs. Centlivre, is Isabella; Isabinda is a character in The Busybody, by the same writer.

The Miss Hamilton here referred to seems to have been Eliza, sister of Captain Charles Hamilton, a member of the Woodhall family, who was living in London shortly before this date; but her most successful work, the Letters of a Hindoo Rajah, was not published till 1796.

Mr. Broadley's collection contains a letter written this year to Mrs. Piozzi by Harriet Lee, which shows that the latter had not quite banished Trotti from her thoughts, though she does profess her determination to live and die an old maid. "Should you have any letter from Vienna,—and I know not why, but am disposed to believe you have had the last,—pray be so good as to ask in your answer whether he knows anything of the fate of Gen. de Paoli, and if he is really dead. You may, if you please, add that I begg'd you to make the enquiry."

Just at this time Mrs. Pennington fell ill, and Mrs. Piozzi writes an anxious letter of enquiry, but of no particular interest, to her husband on 14th January; but by the time it reached him, the invalid was sufficiently recovered to answer for herself.

Streatham Park, 17 Jan. 1793.

Oh what pleasure did the sight of your handwriting give us all, my ever kind, my ever partial friend! Poor Mr. Piozzi really suffered for you in the midst of his own pains, and they have been great and serious. He is now just trying to crawl, and that very miserably indeed, and his hands, etc., so entirely useless for a whole week he could not even use the pocket handkerchief for himself. Are not you very sorry? 'Tis my fear that it will be long before he can ever play the Pastorale, etc.

Here is bitter weather too, and that retards both his and your recovery, and sweet Siddons has relapsed, and Sally is with her, as bad as bad can be, and Pepys attending them both. I'm told London has a violent Influenza in it, and will keep my Miss out while I can, but one's arms do so ache with pulling at an unbroken Filly that longs to hurt herself by skipping into some mischief or other, that, like the old Vicar in Goldsmith's Novel, I get weary of being wise, and resolve to see people once happy in almost any way.

Meantime Harriet Lee quits London, after making me only one pityful visit or two. I gave her the elegant verses called a Ballad for Church and King, she may copy them for you; I fancy them written by Bishop Porteous, without knowing very well why. Poor Louis' fate was decided on last Monday, but we know not yet what that fate is. Your anecdote is very interesting, I shall read it to all the Democrates. Meantime 'tis supposed that a plague is begun in Austria. Long live the Turnep Cart, say you. If things go on so rapidly I shall become a list'ner. The King of Naples has really behaved very paltrily, and poor Pius Sextus is forced to solicit help from his excluded and excommunicated brother Martin at last. I suppose we shall send a fleet into the Mediterranean for protection of Italy; they will all be contented to see us pay the expence of a war they have not spirit to fight for themselves. Fye on 'em all! Tutti Compagni, says yours,

H. L. P.

Dr. Beilby Porteous was now Bishop of London, to which see he had been translated from Chester in 1787. He had a greater reputation as a preacher than as an author, but was said to have had some share in Hannah More's Cœlebs in Search of a Wife.

Hugues Basseville, an envoy of the French Republic, having been murdered at the foot of Trajan's Column in Rome on 13th January, Pius VI was charged with complicity, and so was driven in self-defence to join the League of the Germanic States against France. Martin, as typifying the Lutherans, is as old as Dryden's Hind and Panther, and stands for Luther himself in Swift's Tale of a Tub, but Mrs. Piozzi probably had in her mind its use by Dr. Arbuthnot in his History of John Bull.

Ferdinand I, King of Naples, was at first disposed to sympathise with the Revolution, but the execution of Louis drove him to join the league of Austria and England against the Republic.

Streatham Park, 24 Jan. 1793.

My dear Friend,—It is very vexatious that we cannot come to Bath this year, and I am excessively grieved at it for a thousand reasons....

I hope we shall make a point of showing our attachment to Royalty and Loyalty by wearing black for the poor King of France, whose murder is meant only as prelude to still more extensive ruin and destruction of all things most dear and sacred in the eyes of Christian and civilised nations: destruction to the Arts, the Altar, and the Throne. Have you seen the large spot upon the Sun's disk, discernible to a naked eye, and large as a button on a man's coat? None was ever seen without a telescope till now; and last Sunday, when London's caliginous atmosphere had stript old Titan of his rays, and render'd his face as you have often seen it, red and round, like a piece of iron heated in the fire, a considerable crowd gathered about St. Paul's, and viewed the phenomenon distinctly. So at least Mr. Greatheed informed us, who was himself among the starers....

Piozzi continues immovable; he says "I advance towards recovery indeed like the Lobsters—I go backward. Tell so to Mrs. Pennington." You see I have not changed his mode of expression. Sweet Siddons has been here to careen and refit after her terrible cold. She returns to duty this moment, and carries this letter to the Post Office, only waiting while I assure you of the continued affection of your ever faithful and affect^e

H. L. P.

Mr. Pennington's turn came next; for it appears that an attack of gout had prevented his directing some special entertainment, perhaps in the nature of a benefit, at the Hot Wells.

Streatham Park, 30 Jan. 1793.

Poor, dear, kind Mrs. Pennington!

I am glad and sorry and all in a breath from what your letter tells me: had we been at Bath, matters would have gone just the same....

Why does not that hapless Queen of France dye of grief at once, and spare Frenchmen the crime of murdering an Emperor of Austria's daughter, whom they have already reduced to the disgrace of begging a black gown of his murderers, to wear for her Consort's death? I never heard anything so horrible as the account of the King's execution, and I fear there is no war to be made upon the wretches neither. Mrs. Mackay gives us to understand that Rome is ripe for rebellion, and Ireland is half under arms. All private concerns seem lost in public amazement somehow. But dear Miss Owen's brother has got a large windfall, it seems, by his crazy cousin of Porkington's burning himself to death, airing his shirt: and that nasty Mr. Stone, that we all hate so, is come away from France; I'm glad of that too....

Marquis Trotti is safe at Vienna. I want a letter from him concerning the plot there. Mrs. Siddons is in her business, and Sally with her; Maria coming home. Major Semple was one of the active men, I find, at Louis XVI's execution. His wife returns to England with her little flock, on pretence of broils in France, but I suppose in order to avoid her husband. I have read the 5th edition of Village Politics, but I had seen another thing written before that, called Liberty and Equality, prettier still in the same way, and fancy it the production of Mr. Graves of Claverton. 'Tis in his style, and very interesting and very clever indeed....

James George Semple wrote his autobiography in Tothill Fields Prison in 1790, from which it appears that his wife was a daughter of Elizabeth, the "amazing" Duchess of Kingston, that he had served in America and on the Continent, and being then on General Berruyer's staff, had witnessed the execution of Louis XVI. But this was the more respectable side of his career, against which must be set the fact that he had found it convenient on certain occasions to pass under four or five different aliases, and that he had been twice sentenced for fraud, and once to transportation, which he narrowly escaped. So his wife may have had good reasons for putting the Channel between them.

"Village Politics, by Will Chip," was the work of Hannah More, published in 1792, which was thought so highly of that it was distributed gratis, not only by patriotic societies, but even by the Government. The proceeds of its sale enabled her to begin her series of Cheap Repository Tracts. The Rev. Richard Graves, who held the living of Claverton, near Bath, till he was nearly ninety, had been a prolific writer of poetry, but was best known as the author of a novel, The Spiritual Quixote.

Maria, the second daughter of Mrs. Siddons, now about fourteen years old, had been educated at a boarding-school in Calais. She, like her sister Sally, was beautiful but delicate, and was carried off by consumption a few years later.

Thursday, 7 Feb. 1793.

And so your kind heart beats still for those helpless ladies in the prison at Paris: so does Mr. Piozzi's; he cannot rest for thinking on the accounts (I hope greatly exaggerated,) of insults offered to their persons,—the young Princess Royal's in particular. Can such things be, and no lightning fall yet? The Sun may well hide his head....

Dear, charming Siddons goes on as usual, and another fair daughter is come home to give her something more to do; and an old Tragedy, written ages ago by Mr. Murphy, is coming out at last, a mythological play of the dark days, Theseus and Adriadne, and that old ware. I guess not how it will be liked. Meantime we hear no more news than you do. You know that the King and Nation cry War! War! glorious War! while Opposition longs for Peace and dull Delay, and an Ambassador to the Fish-women of Paris. You know that Mr. Grey would not wear black for the King of France; and you know the story of the Dauphin running out and crying "I'll go, and beg, and kneel to them to send home my Papa alive"; and the brutal centinel catching up the child, and thrusting him in with "Get back, you troublesome Bastard, he's no Papa of yours." The insulted Sovreign only said "Too much! too much!" and stept into the coach. This anecdote from Mr. Ray, who had it in a private letter from a friend at Paris: I call that good authority. Everyone knows he rode backward in the coach: two impudent Officers of the National Guard sitting in the front seat; and how oddly they must feel the while, methinks! Well! if we live we shall see some signal vengeance overtake these gallants, that I do believe; and in the meantime war is hourly expected by all, desired by the Court no doubt, and wished for by the bulk of mankind in general. It will be good sport for Naples, Spain, etc., to see France humbled, and England impoverished, and their dastardly selves sitting snug; but I believe Holland will be lost if we don't stir, and those things must not be. Dumourier has promised to plant his tree in Amsterdam on the 17th, and none but ourselves can hinder it. Venice has been overflowed with a high tide, so has Rotterdam; "the sea and the waves roaring, men's hearts failing them for fear, and for looking on those things that shall come upon the earth." What says dear Mr. Whalley? Miss More has written very sweetly, and is applauded by all the world for her nice Village Politics. 'Tis more read than that little Pamphlet I like so, called Liberty and Equality; but the more of those things go about the better; if one misses, another may hit. My stuff will please perhaps: I sent a sheet to the Crown and Anchor for distribution this morning,—a threepenny touch, but you shall not be told till you find out which is mine. Mr. Greatheed being asked which side Mrs. Piozzi was of quickened my zeal. I hope it cannot be ever asked again.

Farewell, dear Friend; wish my rheumatism well,—if it is rheumatism, I take James' Analeptic Pills for it, they cannot hurt me, and while I remain above ground, most gratefully and affectionately shall I ever be yours,

H. L. P.

The "old Tragedy" was that of the Rival Sisters, written in 1786, but not acted till 18th March 1793, when it was staged for the benefit of Mrs. Siddons, who took the part of Ariadne. Its author had in his own life played many parts, having at one time or other been a bank clerk, an actor, an author, a barrister, and a commissioner in bankruptcy. He was an old friend of Thrale, who was indebted to him for the introduction of Johnson to his circle; and about this time he was the means of making the Piozzis acquainted with Samuel Rogers the poet.

Though Mrs. Piozzi does not seem aware of it, the French had declared war on England on 1st February; but just then the Republic was more engaged on the regeneration of Holland by means of the army of Dumouriez, which, after the defeat of the Austrians, had occupied Belgium.

London, 12 Mar. 1793.

Do not despond so, dear Friend, all will be well. I saw Mr. Parsons lately, who was full of your praise, and said how that conduct which always did please the World, now pleased it more.

Public matters have at length taken the wished for turn, and France must soon be humbled. No longer will our worthless Democrates boast the friendship of a powerful and victorious Republic, as they called her: she will be tatter'd and torne in pieces now very soon, I doubt not.

Meantime here are we, amusing ourselves, and the weeks do fly so heavily, compared with what I find them in the Country, while Flo barks, and the Parrot takes him off. Well! but I really have neither been sullen nor sick. I have covered Cecy with finery, and sate up till morning at every place without repining, while she was diverted, I hope. Drummond took no notice of her at the only Public Place we saw him at, so I trust that foolery is finished, and nine days more shall see me counting my Poultry, and kissing my Canes at home, where Spring pours out all her sweets to tempt us back, and there will I finish this letter.

Streatham Park then, 20 Mar. 1793.

Here we are again, and in new characters somehow, or else old ones revived. Last Saturday, at Mr. Jones's, Piozzi received a Billet from Miss Thrale, requesting to see him next morning. He attended her summons while I went to Church, and heard, at my return, her intention of coming to see me the day following, at my own hour, with her Sisters. I appointed 12, and she promised for the other Ladies and herself. My Master saw only the eldest, but our good hospitable Landlord, rejoicing in this new and strange event, (which gives every one's curiosity an air of tender interest that it would be ill manners in me to repress,) spread his finest tablecloths, and invited them to breakfast at ten, an hour they appear'd eagerly to catch at, and coming to their appointment, sate down with us and Mr. Rich'd Greatheed, and Baron Dillon, who came in by chance; while each, thinking I trust on everything else in the world, agreed to converse only on popular topics. Susanna felt nervous, however, and left the room with Cecy for a moment, but Miss Thrale and I stood our ground admirably, and I beg'd Mr. Rich^d Greatheed to tell dear Siddons how well (like Rosalind,) I had counterfeited. Night carried me to her Benefit, and Company crowded round all day, so that my spirits were so oddly kept afloat that, upon my honest word, I have never been sleepy since Saturday that Piozzi received the letter, and this is Wednesday morning.

Well! we returned the visit, and invited the Ladies here on Easter Monday to Dinner. All the Town would buy tickets I'm sure, with pleasure, could they procure 'em, and pass through danger itself willingly, to see the sight. I told my Master it would have been best to take the little Theatre, and give them the whole show at once. Nothing does revolt me so as that true British spirit of tearing out every private transaction for public discussion and amusement: it makes one's feelings appear affected if indulged, and annihilated if they are repressed. But this luxurious Nation longs to learn what cannot be known, and see what its own very light renders incapable of being clearly discerned. For when they have stared in our faces on such an occasion, how much do they find out of our hearts?

Farewell! and do write to me: I can talk of nothing but this, and will talk no more about that, so Adieu, and love your true friend

H. L. Piozzi.

Easter Tuesday.

My dear Mrs. Pennington has often seen people talked into misery, 'tis the way now to talk me into happiness; but I am content to be happy the way other people please, and I am sure they are right. I returned the visit I told you of next day, and they all din'd and supped here last Monday,—oh! yesterday—after an interval of fourteen days, in which I saw nothing of them. However all is vastly well, they are contented to take me up, as they set me down, without alledging a reason; and I am contented to be taken and left by them without reasoning on the matter at all. We had a brilliant day, with feast, and dance, and song, and broke not up till four o'clock in the morning. Our elastic house pulled out to embrace them, and the Hamiltons, kind and sweet, the Greatheeds, Miss Owen, dear old Mr. Jones, and all the Siddons family. One of my delights was to see Cecilia dancing with Mr. Richard Greatheed, who, when he felt her pulse at Guy's Cliffe, I feared would never have made Allemande with her. Everybody seemed pleased however, and we all were pleased. Our acquaintance will henceforth be theirs, and things will shake naturally into their proper places. Nothing could exceed the kindness of our common friends, except my sensibility of it. The Girls seemed less shy of Mr. Piozzi than of me, comical enough! But he is so good, and so attentive to them! How you would love him! And public concerns were prohibited the conversation, so Mr. Greatheed was quite charming. The dear Broadheads could not come, their uncle is dead, and has disinherited them, leaving £50,000 to a little Currier's boy, who as I say will jump out of his skin for joy I suppose, while they fret as I once did on a like occasion....

The reconciliation thus unexpectedly brought about was perhaps a little too formal to be permanent, being the result of policy rather than affection. The daughters seem to have inherited a large share of their father's cold and reserved nature, and never to have been sufficiently in sympathy with their mother to understand her impulsive disposition. There was never any open rupture, but as causes of friction arose, chiefly in connection with business matters, they drifted gradually apart; more rapidly after Piozzi's death, when his widow found another and more absorbing interest in the career of their adopted son. She, on her side, does not appear to have made any sustained effort to keep in touch with them, and at the close of her life she was almost a stranger to her own children, who seldom wrote—she mentions Lady Keith's "annual letter" on 1st January 1818—and never visited her at Bath.

Streatham Park, 21 Apr. 1793.

I am truly sorry, dear Friend, that things go no better, but 'tis a sad world, and so we always knew it was: kind Piozzi is quite grieved for Mr. Pennington's long continued illness.

Joe George, the sick labourer, was turning the earth over this morning among the clumps, and saw me feeding your black cock;—"And pray, Madam" (said he,) "what is become of Miss Weston? I never see her now,—and so good she was!" "Didn't you know, George, that Miss Weston was married, and lived at Bristol?" "No, Madam, because they never tell poor folks anything,—and I am as glad as the best of them, and I'll drink her health." You may guess how the dialogue ended.

We are to dine in Town and meet charming Siddons at Mr. Greatheed's on Fryday next; our own Ladies too—alias Titmice—will be there. Nothing serves them but fagging me out, that we may show ourselves together in public, Susanna says; so out I march, and do not laugh nor cry, though under perpetual temptations to both, for why did we not always do so? or what has happened to make us do so now? My comprehension reaches not these wonders. Cecilia thinks 'tis a merry life, and when she is in a calm, as mine Hostess Quickly says by Doll Tearsheet, she is sick.[9]

Drummond follows us about with his baffled countenance, making my words good, who told him the Girl would never be nearer marrying him than she was that day, when I had the honour of predicting how I should see them pass each other in public, saying to their separate parties, "That's the man who was troublesome to me,"—and "That's the girl who jilted me." Just so was it at Yaniwitz's Benefit....

Your favourites in the Temple tower are yet alive, but help is further off than we thought for. Dumourier's army were not of his mind, you see; France will not yet be quiet under kingly government, her convulsions must be yet stronger before the crisis comes on, and this frenzy fever abates. Madame Elizabeth's character rises upon one every day; had you heard Mr. Stretton, who saw it all, tell the tale of the 22^d of June, I think you would have cry'd till now; so sweet yet so steady a creature! Sure, she will not yet be sent after the brother she alone can ever resemble.

Adieu dear soul! My arms ach with putting the Library to rights. The old work, say you, and I would I had my old assistant, says your faithful

H. L. P.

The allusion to Dumouriez recalls a curious episode in the history of the Revolution. That general had for some time been distrusted by the Jacobins, and after a defeat at Neerwinden he made terms with the Austrians, by which he agreed to abandon Belgium. This of course meant ruin, if not death, and as a last desperate resource he started to lead his army on Paris, hoping, with the aid of the Gironde, to overthrow the Jacobins, as a preliminary to setting up a constitutional monarch in the person of the Duc de Chartres. But the Girondists were not prepared to adopt such a scheme, which only served to throw more power into the hands of the Jacobins, who proposed the creation of the Committee of Public Safety to deal with the situation, and summoned Dumouriez to give an account of himself before the Convention. At this critical moment his army failed him; his old troops might have followed him, but the new Jacobin Volunteers mutinied, and he was driven to take refuge, with the Orleans princes, in the Austrian camp.

Streatham Park, Fryday 26 Apr. 1793.

I hasten to thank dear Mrs. Pennington for her kind letters. We have got a man, and his name is Goodluck, and I hope it will be ominous.... You know the state of my heart pretty exactly, how then can you say that you are ignorant of my political opinions. God forbid that, among Christian people, there should be two opinions concerning the impiety of these French rebels, who trample under feet every sentiment of honour and virtue, everything sacred and everything respectable.

Lady Inchiquin, who met us at Mr. Macnamara's yesterday, has seen a letter from Miss Edgeworth, sister to the late King of France's Confessor. Her brother told her that the poor injured Sovreign said, when they drowned his voice on his attempt to harangue his subjects from the scaffold, "They will not listen, well! I shall be heard in Heaven," and so to prayers; where Mr. Edgeworth, kneeling down and endeavouring to collect his thoughts, felt himself suddenly covered with the royal blood, so speedy was the execution of their guilty sentence. We see however divine vengeance overtaking them daily; and 'tis my belief that no men are to have the punishing of these crimes, but that the perpetrators of them will fall by their own or their companions' hands, or perish by famine, storm, or other dreadful judgements. You see we take no ships, yet all their fleets are ruined. The combined armies gain few signal victories, yet their forces moulder away.

Lady Inchiquin told a tale of the poor victims in the Tower, not exactly, but much like yours; and if 'tis sure that they are to be seen for sixpence thus, everybody will have a tale to tell, and we shall hear as many false as true. Mr. Stretton said he was shown them; but I had not, when he said so, a notion of the sight being a thing paid for....

Harriet [Lee] says in her last letter that the fellow who stole an heiress, Miss Clarke, from a Boarding School in Bristol, is afraid the girl will hang him after all; a pretty youth he must be to have obtained no more tender interest than hanging in a lady's heart of thirteen or fourteen years old all this while, for no one but she can hang him, that's sure. Do send me some particulars, I forgot to bid Harriet write concerning it. Bristol has always some wonder to exhibit, an impostor, or a poet, or a devil, or some strange creature....

The Lady Inchiquin here referred to must have been the wife of Murrough, fifth Earl of Inchiquin, afterwards created Marquess of Thomond, who married in 1792, Mary, daughter of John Palmer of Torrington, and niece of Sir Joshua Reynolds. Abbé (Henry Essex) Edgeworth de Firmont, who belonged to a junior branch of the Edgeworthstown family, was confessor to the Princess Elizabeth, and to Louis XVI on the scaffold, and after the restoration became chaplain to Louis XVIII. He was granted a pension by Pitt, and died in 1807 of a fever contracted while ministering to the French prisoners.

Wensday, 22 May.

I am always ready to converse with my dear Mrs. Pennington, and always ready—so is Mr. Piozzi—to love your excellent Husband.... I rejoyce Mrs. Weston is so happy, and hope her good son will lure away all her affection and even remembrance from the bad son.

We were all together at Ranelagh two nights ago, and staid till morning, Mrs. Greatheed and the young Siddonses with us; Sally quite outlooked her sister by the bye, and was very finely drest. Of our Misses, Susanna is ever most admired, but I think the eldest and youngest very pretty dears too.

Meantime the young King of France is dying, poysoned I suppose; but to quiet the peoples' minds about him, he and his mother are removed to a better place than the Temple, the Palace de Luxembourg. Well! and we none of us hear a word from Helena Williams since I wrote last. Dr. Moore got £800 for his book, so we cannot doubt its excellence. I wish I could give you just such a proof of the merits of our poor Synonymes. Streatham Park does look beautiful, my Master has new gravelled the walks, and your Lilac is in such beauty.

Sweet Siddons will be quite well. Farquhar, like a wise fellow, goes to Sir Lucas to ask how he shall manage her; let a Scotchman alone for doing nothing, and yet keeping every one pleased. That man knows the mind's anatomy nicely, whether he is skilled in the body's or no.

Brynbella goes on; the water surrounds the house in a full stream ten feet deep, and the maids may catch the Trout in the frying pan, Mead says, without more ado; while the men may cart home the coals from a pit two miles off.

If Cecilia would marry and take Streatham from us, I should like to hie home, and dye, like a Hare, upon the old form, near the place I was kindled at. We should be as near you there as here. Cecy is very naughty; runs bills of £40 at Bague the Milliner's, and hides the dresses she sends home, hashing them about, and spoiling the look and appearance of them that we may not know. Silly little Titmouse! Always in a secret, and always in a scrape, and no Miss Weston to preach her over. Oh dear!...

Adieu! I shall be very happy to receive Harriet Lee. You will be all of one mind, and ask that fellow to supper at last, as I said you would. If the girl is contented no one alive has a right to call his conduct in question, after she comes of age and acknowledges him, which I never doubted her doing....

Dr. Moore's successful book must have been his "Journal during a residence in France, from the beginning of August to the middle of December, 1792," containing an account of the massacres, a work which is often quoted by Carlyle.

Mrs. Piozzi was just now bringing out a somewhat ambitious work in two volumes, under the title of "British Synonymy, or an attempt to regulate the Choice of Words in familiar Conversation." It was a chatty, discursive book, "entertaining rather than scientific," as the British Critic said, its chief interest lying in the store of anecdotes introduced as illustrations; but it contained some rather acute distinctions and clever analysis. Her old adversary Gifford and others again fell foul of her style, charging her with bringing to her task "a jargon long since proverbial for its vulgarity, an incapability of defining a single term in the language, and just so much Latin, from a child's Syntax, as suffices to expose the ignorance she so anxiously labours to conceal."

Tuesday, 10 June.

My dear Mrs. Pennington's accidents and afflictions have really given us very serious concern.... Mrs. Siddons is handsomer and more charming than ever. Lady Randolph took leave of the stage last Fryday, and I saw the exertions she made with some little anxiety; but here she is, as well and as chearful as can be. Mr. Murphy too is now almost perpetually in our society, and my own Lasses beat up our quarters whenever London affords little of that tumultuous amusement which delights the first 30 years of life. Mrs. Greatheed has not yet done delighting in them however; Susan Thrale says they two are the last in every publick place, the last in every great Assembly. Well! I tried a little raking myself this year, but it does not suit me somehow, I can make too little sport out on't, and the people tell me nothing which I did not know before, and that is what I want from company always.

Mr. Stone at Paris, the man who went over with dear Helena Williams, is guillotined. 'Tis now said he ruined a good wife, who brought him £20,000, and did a hundred shocking things, I know not how truly; but his worthy brother here is a horrible fellow, and will soon make a most dishonourable exit, I am told. You must read a Pamphlet, translated from the French, a very short one, called Dangers which threaten Europe. I have seen nothing as wise a long time,—always excepting my own stupendous performances, of course. Apropos, the European Magazine speaks very kindly of my little Synonymes, very kindly indeed, and selects the Adieu and Farewell as a specimen. Harriet Lee never writes to me hardly, and her Marquis, who used to be punctual at Whitsuntide and Christmas, supposing her here, has failed these holydays. How all the Foreigners must wonder at the fate of their heroe, Horne Tooke! That fellow was a great seducer, I am happy he is out of the way. Farewell and Adieu, dear Friend....

The report of Stone's execution was unfounded; he lived, as stated above, till 1818. His brother William justified Mrs. Piozzi's prognostications, being tried for high treason along with Jackson in 1796. Horne Tooke is best known, apart from the stormy politics in which he was immersed, as the opponent of Junius, and author of The Diversions of Purley. The son of a poulterer named Horne, he took the name of Tooke in compliance with the terms of a will in 1782. He was educated at Cambridge, and entered as a student at the Inner Temple, but relinquished law to take holy orders, though he soon abandoned both the dress and duties of his office. A friend of Wilkes, he was drawn into politics, became a member of the Corresponding Society, and founded another known as the Society for Constitutional Reform. His republican and revolutionary views brought him under the notice of the Government, who decided to make an example of him. He was accordingly arrested on a charge of high treason by a warrant from the Secretary of State, and brought to trial, but was acquitted in 1794.

Streatham Park, 16 Jun. 1793.

Every letter I receive from you, my dear Friend, not only convinces me most unnecessarily of the loss I sustain in wanting your conversation, but shows me that we do not understand each other half as well at a distance. What could I ever have hinted to make you suppose I consider'd the diminution of your just dislike of Mr. Drummond as possible? He looked like a baffled Blockhead at Yaniewitz's concert; and if he had any memory might recollect what I said to him early in the business, when my tongue pronounced his fate precisely as it happened that night. "Sir," said I, "the child is but a child, and knows not what love is: she may be amused with having a Lover for aught I can tell, but in two years I shall see you pass each other in a Public Place,—she saying to her friends 'that's the man that was troublesome to me,'—you saying to yours 'that's the girl that jilted me?'" And so the matter ended....

The dear Siddons left me yesterday. She has charming daughters now, and so have I, so we can see little of each other. The currents of life draw those who delight in mutual and friendly chat apart from one another, without fault or blame of anyone's,

But busy, busy still art thou

To join the joyless, luckless vow;

The heart from pleasure to delude,

And join the gentle to the rude....

Sally is exceedingly well, and just as pretty as every pretty girl of the same age, and prettier than Maria, because her face looks cleaner.

You are lucky in Lady Asgill's friendship, the Miss I count little upon. A conversible companion of six and thirty years old is a good thing, and an infant under seven a delightful thing; but a Miss of 17 can charm nothing, as I should think, but a Master of 27. I grow too old for either, but the last is far most agreeable....

Do not you enjoy the thoughts of our late discovery that this famous Anacharsis Cloots, so well known in the National Convention for forwarding the cause of apostacy and rebellion, is no greater nor no less a man at last than Dignum, our thief, who worked on the Justitia Hulk about 15 years ago, and people used to go and see how daintily he fingered the wheelbarrow, I remember. Well! this is the hero of modern Democracy, the legislator of France, the renouncer of his baptismal vow, the champion of Atheism, and orator of the human race. Mr. Lysons came over from Putney late one evening o' purpose to tell it me, and is it not a capital anecdote?...

Not a word of poor Helena in all this long letter; that's a shame, yet I think her much more sincere than Dr. Moore, who, while he condemns every fact, justifies (you may observe,) every principle on which the facts were committed....

The identification of the English thief with the French orator, though doubtless a "capital anecdote," seems to be of the ben trovato rather than of the vero order. The individual in question was the Baron Jean Baptiste Clootz, who assumed the prenomen of Anacharsis to suggest his resemblance to the character of Anacharsis the Scythian in the Abbé Barthélemy's Romance.

The Lady Asgill here referred to would seem to be the wife of Sir Charles Asgill, who succeeded to the Baronetcy in 1788, and in the same year married Sophia, daughter of Admiral Sir Charles Ogle.

Fryday 19 Jul.

My dear Mrs. Pennington is a good Girl to write as often as she does while so many avocations call her: may the Ball turn out everything she wishes, and far away fly the Gout! Dear Siddons has had an alarm for her husband and Maria, who were overturned somewhere, and a little hurt; she keeps well herself however, and Mr. Gray, (who has been there to see,) says that she and Sally are as charming as ever....

The French are in a sad plight, but you may observe that God Almighty resolves to punish them without our meddling. The offences were certainly greater towards Him than towards us, and I perceive as yet that the combined armies have done France nothing but good. All the union they have shown among themselves has been occasioned by the Princes who invade them. Meantime it was meet, right, and our bounden duty, to oppose their principles and practice; I only mean that they will at length (as it appears,) fall by their own swords, not ours.

Mr. Este, more democrate than ever, is going to Italy, and asked me for letters. You may be sure I refused them, tho' so much obliged to him, and so full of personal good wishes for his welfare as an individual. It hurt me at the moment, but

Beyond or love, or friendship's sacred band,

Beyond myself, I prize my native land.

And so I refused letters of recommendation to a man whose only business and pleasure is the dissemination of principles I abhor, and who goes out of England only to return with those principles more firmly adhering to him. He was a delightful creature before ever he went to France, and Abate Fontana will not mend his notions in Italy. Mr. Dance the profilist is making a collection of celebrated heads; I have sate, but nobody knows me, they say, so I am to sit again. Lysons runs about with great zeal on the occasion, and I fancy they will go down to Nuneham....

Poor Barron Dillon has had his Daughter in law killed, and his house in Ireland torne down by the rabble who call themselves Defenders—I am exceeding sorry. Piozzi talks about going down with Mr. Ray, or Mr. Chappelow, or both, to see Brinbella, and come back without delay; how dull we shall be the while! Cecilia without her sisters,—they are gone to Southampton,—and I shall have lost Harriet Lee....

Here is rain at last,—we were all burn'd up till it came, and I really found London, when we dined there and took leave of our fair Daughters three nights ago, as cool, and almost as green as poor Streatham Park. No fruit, no afterpasture, no milk have we had this long time, and shall actually kill and eat the fatted calf on our wedding day next Thursday, because nobody would buy it to feed....

"Baron Dillon" was Sir John Dillon, M.P., who had a free Barony of the Holy Roman Empire conferred upon him in 1782 by the Emperor Joseph II, which title he was authorised to bear in this country. He was created a Baronet in 1801. His murdered daughter-in-law was Charlotte, daughter of John Hamilton, who had married his eldest son, Charles Drake Dillon. The "Defenders" were the Roman associations corresponding to the Protestant "Peep o' Day Boys": both were now beginning to be merged in the "United Irishmen."

The Rev. Charles Este, Reader at Whitehall Chapel, published in 1785, A Journey through Flanders, Brabant, and Germany, to Switzerland, which the British Critic describes as "chatty, and brightly written." He was subsequently proprietor of the Morning Post, the World, and the Telegraph.