The Intimate Letters of Hester Piozzi and Penelope Pennington, 1788-1821

by Hester Lynch Piozzi; Penelope Pennington

CHAPTER V

Adoption of John Salusbury Piozzi—The Canterbury Tales—Bath Riots, 1800—Chancery suit with Miss Thrale—Bach-y-graig restored—Retrospection published, 1801—The Blagdon controversy—Political epigram.

The Piozzis were at Bath on Christmas Day, when she invites Mrs. Pennington to their lodgings for the New Year. The date of the next letter indicates that their visit lasted about four months.

Brynbella, Sunday, Mar. 10, 1799.

First of friends in every sense of the word, dear and kind Mrs. Pennington! what a charming letter have you written me! and how consoling it was to receive such a compensation—although a small one—for the converse I have so great reason to regret.

Our journey was excellent, and mended on us ev'ry Stage, till the sun lighted up our lovely Vale of Clwydd, and never seen before ascending the last hill, has smiled upon us ever since.

I shall not begin work till after Easter, we have enough to employ us now in surveying our sweet place, and recounting the Braave alteraations, as the Fool said to Mr. Whalley....

Are not you sorry for the poor tricked and betrayed, but ever courageous Neapolitans; of which those were happiest who left their dead bodies in the street, defending their lovely city to the last? Vesuvius seems to have half a mind to save further disgrace on that country, and will perhaps swallow it up, from the French, or with the French; who knows?

Well! I got dear Dr. Randolph's blessing, and a kind squeeze by the hand of his amiable Lady, before we left Bath: and then I resolved to mind my own business, and let the Public think of its own affairs. They mingle so with mine however, that I cannot separate them, as Siddons does. Her little girl seemed bent upon shewing me, that day we dined at Miss Lee's, and made our Partenza, how well you were versed in the knowledge of her family character. She is sure enough no common child, no healthy child, and no good-humoured child. If she remains at Belvedere House, she will not long be a spoiled child; for those Ladies have the way, and will make her a charming creature. We parents meantime seldom think our nestlings can be improved. It is therefore very seldom, (never I think,) that we feel obliged to those who bring our Babies into what the world calls good order. I should think it happiness for Cecilia to remain where she is, and felicity for Miss Lees to return her safe home again in April....

Mrs. Mostyn sent the old Nurse I told you of, over here in a Post Chaise, to see Brynbella while we were away. "What a place!" exclaimed she, "and what fools the builders to plan a thing it is impossible they should live to finish. But they have an heir now, come from Italy I find." This is the only domestic news which could interest you; and I know Mr. Pennington is kind enough to care about whatever concerns us and our little boy....

As far back as October 1798 King Ferdinand of Naples had raised an army to act under the Austrian General Mack, for the expulsion of the French. Nelson's arrival in December encouraged him to make an expedition against Rome which was, for the moment, successful; but in a short time the French retook it, and marched on Naples, which they occupied in January, after sixty-four hours street fighting with the Lazzaroni, the regular troops being away. The King took refuge on Nelson's ship and escaped to Palermo, General Mack and the army had to surrender, and the territory became, for a short time, the Parthenopean Republic.

The Rev. Francis Randolph, D.D., Prebendary of Bristol, and afterwards Vicar of Banwell, was a preacher of some note, and for some time acted as chaplain and tutor in English to the Duchess of Kent, at the little Court of Amorbach, shortly before the birth of the Princess Victoria.

One result of the disturbances in Italy was the bringing over to England and adoption of a son of Mr. Piozzi's brother Gianbatista, merchant of Brescia, born in 1783, and christened John Salusbury. He assumed the additional surname of Salusbury in 1813, and was knighted while High Sheriff of Denbigh a few years later. On his marriage Mrs. Piozzi gave him Brynbella and her Welsh estate, a proceeding which probably completed the estrangement of her daughters, though they had been well provided for by their father's will, and Miss Thrale had declined the offer of it as a dowry for herself.

Brynbella, 5 Apr. 1799.

My dear Mrs. Pennington's letters are always delightful, and the little gleam of sunshine given by the Archduke's victory strikes across the middle of your last so prettily! So like the darling brightness that illuminates our valley just now, with gloom and gathering storm all round it....

You see [Mrs. Jackson's] conjectures about the Play were right after all. Mrs. Radcliffe owns herself Author, as Susan Thrale writes me word, and Jane de Montfort will come out immediately. She says not a syllable of Mr. Whalley's performance. Lord bless me, my dear! His unfortunate niece, cydevant Fanny Sage, sent to me yesterday for £20; and said she was detain'd, (for debt I trow,) at our poor, petty town of St. Asaph, two miles off. A tall, ill-looking man on horseback brought the letter, but will not, I hope, revenge my refusal of his Lady's request, when Dumouriez shall have set all the wild Irish at full liberty. I was half afraid, sure enough, yet little disposed to give what would make 40 honest cottagers happy, to a gay lass whom I never liked in her best days, and who never had any claims on my friendship, which she now talks so loudly of.

Well! and your little favourite John Salusbury! Susanna Thrale has been to Streatham on purpose, I fancy, to gratify hers and her family's curiosity. So she saw a little boy with my name, and my husband's face; and I know not which was the greatest recommendation of the two—to her....

With regard to public affairs, our domestic traytors terrify me most; but if French valour should, by this late victory, get into discredit abroad, perhaps it would not be so much the Ton to imitate their proceedings here at home, and we should remember Hannah More's prediction of the Crane-neck-turn. If they can be made to run they will find no place that will receive them I believe. All honest men, and women too, are their natural enemies: and a Grison girl said to a gentleman I know something of—"Why, dear Sir, what should we sit still for, like figures made of Papier-machée, till our houses are burned down, our parents mangled and our free will violated? Better go out with the troops, and sell our lives at least at as high a price as we can." The same gentleman wrote his sister word that the high roads were covered with female corpses, which he gallop'd over. These are, far as my reading goes, new notions, and new occurrences....

The victory was no doubt that won against Jourdan and the French army of the Rhine, by a vastly superior force under the Archduke Charles, at Stockach. His despatch is dated 25th March, but the full account did not reach England till April.

Miss Thrale's information about the new play was not quite accurate. De Montfort, a Tragedy of Hate, was one of a series of Plays on the Passions by Joanna Baillie, but it was published anonymously, and several well-known writers, including Sir Walter Scott, were suspected of its authorship. There is a note about it in Mrs. Piozzi's Commonplace Book as follows: "I remember a knot of Literary Characters met at Miss Lees' House in Bath, deciding—contrary to my own judgement—that a learned man must have been the author; and I, chiefly to put the Company in a good humour, maintained it was a woman. Merely, said I, because both the heroines are Dames Passées, and a man has no notion of mentioning a female after she is five and twenty. What a goose Joanna must have been to reveal her sex and name! Spite and malice have pursued her ever since.... She is a Zebra devoured by African Ants—the Termites Bellicosus."

Wensday 29 May 1799.

Not one Oak in Leaf.

On the very evening of the day I receive your last kind letter, dear Friend, I write to acknowledge both. The home post will tell you nothing you like tho', except that our accounts of little Salusbury are all good: but poor Uncle is always having a bad foot, and as you say, if it were not for the comfortable news from Italy, he would be low enough.

This blowing, blighting weather ruins us all; my poor cottagers are sick, with Agues chiefly, and Dropsies; with broken hearts too, poor things, when their horses drop under even empty carts, for full ones they cannot drag. Our Hay here has been at one Penny o'pound, our Beef at ten Pence. This approaches very near to famine, but may justly be termed scarcity; and the same dreadful wind which retards the growth of all vegetation, and restrains the hand of industry in our own Island, has driven our protecting fleet from Cadiz harbour, and let the French and Spaniards form a junction.

Meanwhile charming Hannah More was right in her conversation, as in her book; there has been a Crane-neck-turn, as she expressed it, and things are certainly mending on the Continent. If Ireland should come to her senses, and unite with us in abhorrence of French principles and French seducers, who could promise them assistance and never carry it, but go on another scheme, while the rebels there were waiting the Fleet's arrival—it might be lucky that Lord Bridport did let them escape. Poor fellow! how you do hate that man! Very comically, and very unreasonably indeed; for when we saw him he was, as the phrase is, out of his element, and looked to be sure something like a fish out of water. But I never heard anything amiss of him in my life, and believe he will not be found, at the critical moment, to carry "Two Faces under a Hood."

Have you seen Dr. and Mrs. Randolph lately? What do they say about these Riflers of Sweets that we hear so much of? Bath has been a scene of odd robberies by gay Lotharios, "who scorn to ask the lordly owners' leave." It makes me only laugh, but I trust Hannah More would say, like Benvolio, "No, Coz, I rather weep."[13] Glorious creature! How she writes! Finding new reasons to enforce old Virtues, and adorning her sacred sentiments with brilliancy that throws rays round all her periods. It would be doing her too much wrong to suppose her capable of regarding the nonsense talked against her by Misses mad to see their Mammas reading the new book with approbation, and looking at them over their spectacles at every interesting passage. She must be invulnerable to wounds from such weak hands, sure. The old heroes in Homer,

By Pallas guarded thro' the dreadful field,

Saw swords beside them innocently play,

While darts were bid to turn their points away.

All they can say and do only contributes to shew how greatly such a book was wanted. Mr. Whalley's thinking he has contributed to Siddons's fame is pretty enough; she thinks her contribution useful to him, no doubt. The writer of Pizarro is censured for giving her part to Mrs. Jordan....

The intelligence concerning Mrs. Radcliffe's having written that play on hatred seems to have been premature. Oh, how your account of Mrs. Jackson's domestic situation presses Hannah More's book upon one's heart! The Italians have a proverb to say that there are only three things worth caring about, La Salute, l'Anima, and la Borsa; one's Soul, one's Health, and one's Purse. We risque all three to make our fair daughters accomplish'd. Doctor Johnson said that whoever found their mothers admired and reverenced by that circle which forms a little silk-worm world round every individual, would add their admiration and reverence, merely because they saw other people pay them theirs. "I cared," says he, "nothing for my parents, because nobody cared for them." Mrs. Jackson's children cannot make that their excuse. She has been a woman—since I have known her—particularly petted by her friends, and those friends have been people eminent for good taste and good sense.

Are the Canterbury Tales come out yet? Nobody has sent them me, and I will not write again to Harriet Lee till I have read them. Sophia is in town with her little protégée, who, if she cannot conjure down

The pale moon from the sapphire sky,

May draw Endymion from the moon,

perhaps; and I really wish her good luck. Tickell's Ætherial Spirit is a new med'cine much in fashion, it is so finely dephlegmated, the Apothecaries say. I think there is as much pure spirit, and as little phlegm about the tiny Bath Belle as can be imagined. Some rich man may take her, I hope.

Have you felt an interest in these African discoveries? They are things of prodigious curiosity, rate them at the lowest. I think very seriously about them for my own part, but none of my correspondents seem caring much concerning that subject, unless 'tis Miss Thrale, from whom I get about 4 or 5 letters in a year,—and she has been ill this Spring. So has everybody. I watch the weathercock all day, but the cold blight continues. The leaves which try to come out look like fry'd Parsley round a dish of Soles....

[13] Romeo and Juliet, I. i. 189.

In April 1797, when it was expected that the Spanish and French fleets would effect a junction, Lord St. Vincent was ordered to blockade the former at Cadiz. He held his post under many difficulties, caused by the mutinous spirit which had spread from the Nore and Spithead, through 1798, but broke down under the strain, and in June 1799 resigned his command to Baron, afterwards Viscount Keith, and husband of Hester Thrale. Meanwhile the French fleet was blockaded in Brest by Lord Bridport, now Commander-in-Chief of the Channel Squadron, but in April the French slipped out and sailed for the Mediterranean, while Bridport went to look for them off the coast of Ireland.

Mr. Whalley's play was a five-act tragedy called The Castle of Montval, performed "with universal applause" at Drury Lane. The British Critic reviewer, though he had not seen the performance, thought it interesting enough to deserve a permanent place on the stage. But the measure of success it obtained was due to the acting of Mrs. Siddons as the Countess, which the author acknowledged by dedicating the second edition to her.

Elizabeth Anne Tickell, the pupil whom Sophia Lee evidently expected to make a sensation in London society, was the daughter of Richard Tickell the dramatist and Mary Linley, the sister of Mrs. Sheridan, who had died in 1787. With regard to her beauty there was little difference of opinion, but Sally Siddons, who knew her well, describes her as an "every-day character," without talent or originality, and "never heard anything so tiresome" as her singing. She was never "taken," but died unmarried in 1860.

The "Ethereal Anodyne Spirit" was a quack medicine invented by William Tickell, a surgeon, who also lived at Bath, and may have been a relation of Richard.

Brynbella, Wensday 17 Jul. 1799.

Your letter, dearest Mrs. Pennington, is like yourself, full of true friendship, honest loyalty and sound criticism. Freedom from prejudices, as principals are called now o' days, we must not come to you for.... I do believe you were right in that unjustifiable conjecture of yours concerning the death of those Deputies at Rastadt.... But Retrospect of past ages can shew no perfidy beyond that, if so it should prove upon investigation. The Archduke now seems to act with his hands untied, and co-operates with Suwarrow in everything, yet I suspect something behind the curtain still. The Emperor is willing enough to see Italy freed, but does not want Louis Dixhuit on his throne again, I suppose; whereas the Russians and English are trying to accomplish y^t purpose with all their might, and no lasting peace can be obtained but by his restoration. We shall see how 'twill end.

You are droll indeed in your account of the New Canterbury Tales, I have not read them yet.... When Romances first were written they went by the name of Incredibilities; but people soon found out that Fiction looks best the more she endeavour to resemble Truth. It grows however a mighty tedious thing, after a certain age, to keep filling one's head with flitting dreams so, turning one's mind into a Magic Lanthorn for Shadows and Ombres Chinoises to pass over. If incredibilities are desirable, we can hear enough of Mr. and Mrs. Mostyn. As that Lady told you at some place that Mrs. Moyston, as she called her, made all the talk,—and so she does, God knows.

Well, any nonsense but dishonourable nonsense, disgraceful folly such as Honoria Gubbins has exhibited. You know I always said she looked like a Bacchante Girl, but she admired nothing except Siddons I remember. In good time. Dear, charming Siddons! How triumphantly must she have looked in the first and last scene of Pizarro! And what a happy contrast Sheridan has made between her artificial character, and Cora's natural one! Yet I cannot seriously approve of a Heroic Tragedy in prose. Domestic Tragedy, George Barnwell, or the Gamester, or the Stranger, would lose the interest they now gain in our hearts, if they spoke any but colloquial and domestic language. Poetry is made on purpose to adorn the lofty sentiments of Rolla, and Cora's song is the sweetest thing in the whole play,—only because 'tis verse.

Poor Cora! She is not of your mind, that love is of no consequence compared with a hundred other things; and that she should have completely no other idea present to her mind, makes her so natural, so interesting, and so adorable. What is stranger than love itself, and love is strange enough too,—is that one should never have done admiring that selfish passion when represented in works of fancy. I remember an old Alderman of London, who, when there was loud talk of invasion 20 years ago or more, said among a dozen people once at my house: "Well! I care not, for my part, if the Island was devoured to-morrow, so as my wife and child were safe, and I had enough to keep them with." This patriotic sentiment met with no approbation at all from an old Alderman in real life; yet this is the sentiment that Cora expresses all through five acts, and not only her auditors in the Pit and Boxes, but Rolla himself likes her the better for it. So you see Fiction may resemble Truth in some things, while if Truth resembles Fiction we hiss her out of doors.

Poor dear old Mr. Jones is very bad, and like to die, or has been like to die, and I am very sorry indeed; for though there's but little poetry or criticism about old Mr. Jones, he is a good friend and a valuable member of society, and wishes well to my Master and to me....

Mrs. Siddons goes to Edinburgh, I hear, but by what you say of Sally, I trust she cannot be of the party. Miss Thrale is in Scotland, and will have the pleasure of seeing her, as I saw her at Bath. No letter have I ever received from Marlbro' Street but one, and that was from the Master of the Mansion....

The little boy comes next week, next month I mean, with Davies.

Austria, having signed the Treaty of Campo Formio, and received unexpectedly favourable terms from Napoleon, agreed to hold a conference at Rastadt, and (by secret articles) to induce the German States to cede the left bank of the Rhine to France. While the conference was proceeding the Directory had occupied Switzerland, though Massena, Jourdan, and Scherer had all suffered defeats. The French envoys were ordered to leave the town, and were murdered on the road by Austrian hussars. The Emperor expressed deep abhorrence of a crime which aroused general indignation, and helped the Directory to fill up their depleted armies.

Alexander Vasilievitch Suvoroff or Suwarrow, a Russian general, had been sent to help the Austrians. He took command of the army in Italy, where he beat Moreau, Macdonald, and Joubert, but owing to jealousy he was transferred to Switzerland, and believing himself betrayed by the Austrians, he retired to Russia, and died in disgrace.

Brynbella, 21 Aug. 1799.

My dear Friend,—Your letter is like yourself, wise and kind, and I am willing to join in your wish for early meeting this year, but not for an early winter. Oh! little do you Towns folk know how prejudicial is this weather to Country Farmers, Labourers, etc. The Shoemaker and his apprentice at Bristol make so many more boots and clogs, and some Bath Chairmen get a few shillings extra: but my honest neighbours have but just barely bread, in the strictest sense; mere bread, and that made of Barley too, for their families, during such winters as this cruel summer will infallibly produce. Mr. Piozzi and I shall scarce be suffered to get thro' the Village, they will so cling and cry round us, and beg we will stay another month, another week, etc.

When the Gardener came yesterday, scratching his head, and saying there would be no wall-fruit this year, I could hardly answer him civilly; but I did say, "For God's sake, think about the hay and corn, and hang the fine people and their wall-fruit." The produce of whole meadows may be seen swimming down our over-flooded River to the sea this moment, and carrying with it the subsistence of hundreds of innocents.

May this fine Expedition make amends for all! It will, if peace and abatement of necessary exertion be its consequences. English pride will be bravely swelled, that's certain, if we can thus give law and order and happiness to Europe. Are such blessings within hope? People say they are almost within grasp. Meanwhile let us try to live that we may see these good days. Mrs. Bagot, the Bishop's wife's death has affected my spirits strangely. I got a pain in my stomach on the instant Allen told me the news, and it has never wholly left me since. She din'd here in high spirits on our Wedding day, three weeks ago, and expired on Saturday morning. The Ton men and Ton women bear these things without concern, and prove that fashion can do more than philosophy towards hardening one's heart, but my nervous fingers shake while I write about it....

To divert thought I took up the Canterbury Tales which Mr. Gillon had just brought me. Harriet's management of the pretty Mamma making the man miserable so unconsciously is very good, and in this age, scarcely violates probability. The other story is too romantic, and the ghost part too in-artificial, one sees it could be only Carey. For love, it abounds but little with that, I think. Julia keeps her passion very quiet; one is most interested about Agnes and Carey.

Real life meanwhile affords stranger occurrences than any novel can show. Mr. Conant, the London Magistrate, told Mr. Gillon, who told us, the following tale not a fortnight ago. Some little London shopkeepers sent out their girl of eleven years old, with a baby 8 months old in her arms, upon some errand, I forget what, but no further off than the short street's end. A young woman, genteely dress'd, stop't the girl, and beg'd her to cross over and ask the price of a gay coloured handkerchief hanging at a window, promising that she would hold the infant till his sister returned. When she came back however, both little boy and young woman were vanish'd; and the girl ran back, half wild, to her parents, and told the story. They flew from the Counter in search of the thief, and desperate with rage and terror, exhibited to the neighbours a certainty that the shop might be easily plundered while their distress employed every thought. Accordingly the man returning home at night, found his poor dwelling robbed of many valuable articles, while the girl, to whom all this confusion was owing, had hid herself under the bed for fear of a beating, and the father was persuaded she too was lost. The mother, parting from her husband, who had wandered over six parishes, swore she would never see home again without her baby, and remained out the whole day and the whole night in search. Morning found her, much exhausted, at a chandler's shop door in Edgeware Road, and when it opened she went in to buy a bit of cheese. A little wench went in with her, and the mistress of the house, seeing her anguish, kindly asked the cause. "I've lost my child," said she, "my dear little boy." "My mammy has found one," says the wench, "and don't know what to do with it." They ran together to a Green-stall, and found Baby safe in that woman's possession, who said a young gentlewoman had pretended to buy Sellery of her, and while she went backwards to look for some, threw down the infant, and was seen no more. Mr. Conant was applied to, and found a cause for all. The well-dress'd lady was a Chambermaid, who had a child for whose maintenance she was paid, altho' it died during the first week; and the father had resolved, that hapless day, to see his son. Molly had nothing for it but to borrow one, and when the purpose was served, to rid her hands on't, and no Novel can bring to a reader's fancy more perfect distress than these poor parents suffered. Their girl, however, who lay concealed till mother and brother returned, told her tale so well that a subscription was raised, and all went better than before in the little shop in Silver Street, Carnaby Market.

So instead of our best com^s to Dr. and Mrs. Randolph, instead of affec^te regards to Mr. Pennington, or Bon Mots of our little John Salusbury, here's a page from y^e Romance of Real Life, unadorned by your true friend H. L. Piozzi, and for this you will pay 8d.

MRS. PIOZZI (ABOUT 1800)

By M. Bovi after P. Violet, 1800.

From the Collection of A. M. Broadley, Esq.

Brynbella, 17 Oct. 1799.

Do you know, dear Mrs. Pennington, that Mrs. Randolph and I are in correspondence? We are indeed, and 'tis all about Bath, and Laura Place, and No. 1, and Christmas Holidays, and our dear Friend from Dowry Square: and not a word of the dismal, the more than dismal gloom, which these last accounts from abroad have thickened round us once again on approach of foggy November....

We are at this instant trembling from apprehension that the French will fall upon Milan, and make an example of those that called in their enemies. I'm glad my little boy is far away from them all. I think you will find him improved, unless he falls off this half-year, and begins to change his nice little teeth, etc.... All the Jacobins will be up now, and happy I suppose; but let them remember we have taken Surinam in one Continent, and Seringapatam in another. The money is ours, and the Commodities (which their friends the French must buy,) are all ours; and the very warehouses in every port are too little to hold our riches. Few of them are thinkers deep enough to know that wealth, at such a moment as this, is a mere invitation to plunder; and I wish not to remind them of so fatal a truth, tho' I scruple not to tell it to you. While it can purchase Russians to find them in employment, the money is useful however, and well bestow'd: and I would rather hire foreign troops with it than send out our own, who will be necessary when the war draws nearer. And I feel sorry the Ministers did not make more bustle in London about the capture of Surinam, for it is undoubtedly fair to rejoyce when we reap solid advantages from a war whence no other Country, not even that of the Victors, gains any advantages at all. Said I well and wisely?

Mrs. Siddons's situation does not please me, for her sake; for my own 'tis well enough, for we are the more likely to meet at Bath. Being at Doncaster so late in the year is a dull thing indeed. I wish she had some method of getting paid at Drury Lane, because seceders, if they are not called back to their seats, only look silly: and when Mr. Garrick left London for his health one year, when in the fulness of public favour, I remember he was disgusted at his return, to find the receipts of the theatre had suffered nothing at all, during an absence he thought would have broken all our hearts....

The bad news from abroad doubtless related to the Dutch expedition, in which the English troops had suffered a good deal. On 10th October the Duke of York reported the conclusion of an armistice with the French, on the conditions of withdrawing the English and Russian troops, surrendering the fortress of Helder, and restoring the French prisoners.

Seringapatam had been taken in the spring by General Harris, under whom Colonel Arthur Wellesley was serving, and Tippoo Sahib was slain. The despatch giving the details, dated 7th May, appeared in the Gazette of 14th September.

Sheridan's habitual unpunctuality in the matter of payments had at last driven Mrs. Siddons to revolt. She writes on 18th September: "I have just received a letter, in the usual easy style, from Mr. Sheridan, who, I fancy, thinks he has only to issue his Sublime Commands, and that they will of course be obeyed. This time I believe, however, he will find himself mistaken, for Sid [her husband,] does at last seem resolutely determined not to let me play till he has sufficient satisfaction, at least for the money which is my due; and unless something is immediately done to that end, I shall go to Doncaster to play at the Races—they begin the 24th of this month." This decisive step soon brought Sheridan to reason; there was only one Siddons, and before long she was back again, practically on her own terms.

[P.M. Bath.] Saturday Night. [Dec. 1799.]

I shall expect and prepare for my dear Mrs. Pennington, to begin what her company will make it, a happy commencement of 1800.... I shall feel glad this year to see December close upon me, which for some time has carried with it a sensation more awful than pleasing. When the sand was high in the hour-glass, I well remember longing for a New Year as if it had been a new gown; and there was a gloss on every 1st January then, that seem'd as if all misfortune would slip over and not stain it....

We leave our little boy with Davies because he himself (Mr. Davies,) said that staying at Streatham in holyday time, when he could attend and tutor him with personal and undivided care, would bring him forward, and I call that true regard: but everybody must be allowed to love their own babies their own way....

With regard to the people in power, I firmly believe they do their best, neither interest nor ambition can be gratified by failure; and tho' a dapper Postilion may injure those in the chaise by driving to an inch, for a wager or for a frolic, I'll trust a Coachman, because he runs equal risque with myself....

I wish this embargo on Levantine goods was over tho', for people bring none from Turkey now: true Mocha coffee sells for 12s. the pound, it was at 3s. three years ago....

The expected meeting was for a time deferred on account of Mrs. Pennington's ill-health. Save for one or two notes of no particular interest, the correspondence ceases till the Piozzis return to Wales.

Brynbella, Sunday 9 Mar. 1800.

I hasten to fulfil my promise to dear Mrs. Pennington. We came home but last night, and I write to say that we are come home well, and find our Household well too, and truly glad of our safe and early return.

The time past at Shrewsbury was full of amusement; Miss Owen feasted and fondled us, and called all the people round to feast us and fondle us, and detain us till Thursday, which had been long bespoke, and Fryday beside, by the charming Cottagers in Llangollen Vale. They asked me much after that Mrs. Pennington who writes such beautiful letters, and insisted on my describing your person to them, and said they knew Miss Seward esteemed you highly, though all intimacy between you was at an end. The unaccountable knowledge those Recluses have of all living books and people and things is like magic; one can mention no one of whom the private history is unknown to them....

Let me therefore talk of Mr. Pennington, and ask how he does. You may be certain how I do, and what I do. Looking out my books, setting my places to rights, ladling out the soup to 30 families round, feeding the dogs with what they leave, mixed up with Potatoe peelings and so forth, is mine and my Master's and Abbiss's employment; whilst Allen blows her nose in consequence of cold catch'd in a damp bed at Worcester—and thanks God the evil ends there.

The little three-legged cur jumps into my lap, licks my face, and runs to his Master to tell the good news, how the family is come home to the Hall, and everybody and everything looks pleased to see us.... I have had a civil letter from Susan Thrale, who bids me direct to Cumberland Street, and makes commonplace lamentations concerning the times, but nothing further, nothing I mean tending towards confidence or communication.

We broke our chaise between Llangollen and Ruthyn,—no wonder! Such roads! 'Tis really frightful: but neither Mr. Piozzi nor I were hurt.

Here are no Members of Parliament, no Franks of course, so I shall write very seldom; for the joke is a good one two or three times o' year, but no oftener, when 14d. is to pay for 44 lines about nothing: and friendship is a fine thing, but so is fourteen Pence....

There is a Lady at Shrewsbury, born the last day of 1699, and she is very well, and plays upon the Piano e forte, as you describe Mr. Whalley's mother to do; but poor Mrs. Montague's sun is setting apace I hear. She has left her fine house, and retired into a smaller, giving up the grandeur to her Nephew, and Lady Oakley said, the estate too, but I hope she has had more wit than that. Lady Oakley is very agreeable.... I saw her in a robe embroider'd (as she said,) with the wings of an Indian Fly; there is no describing its beauty or lustre....

Mrs. Montagu does not appear to have left Montagu House permanently, for she died there the following August. Lady Oakley was the wife of Charles Oakley, Governor of Madras, who was created a Baronet in 1790.

Needless to say Mrs. Piozzi's economical fit in the matter of letters did not last long, the correspondence continues much as usual; but as a matter of fact the letters from Wales to Bristol only cost the recipient 8d., not 1s. 2d.

There is no date or postmark to the next letter, but Mrs. Pennington assigns it to April 1800.

What in the world, dear Mrs Pennington, has been doing at Bath? I wrote to Dr. Randolph about a book of his which I wanted, and his letter in return has affected me very deeply. Yours gave a hint of something like a riot, but nobody seems sensible that we live out of the world here, and know nothing of what passes in it. The newspaper we take, though it swelled and raved so about Mr. King's fire, said nothing of this, or so little we quite disregarded it: and yet Dr. Randolph says that our quarter of the Town was saved by miracle from being even now a heap of cinders.

Thank God we were come home. The slight shock of earthquake that usher'd in our Fast Day here, and frighted many of our neighbours, not us, is a light matter compared with mobs and insurrections. Let us, as King David said of old, fall into the hands of God, and not into the hands of men. The noise accompanying even this trifle of a concussion was such as to alarm Mrs. Griffiths exceedingly. She said it was like a hundred carts of lime stone overturned close by her bed. Mr. Piozzi and I never waked to hear or feel it.

Miss Thrale had not then (as now,) kept our eyes wholly sleepless by a new and violent attack on our feelings and property: sending, without notice or introduction, to our Oxfordshire Tenant, a requisition to pay her the rent I have hitherto received for 19 years since my first husband's death, in consequence of the Marriage Settlement signed by him in 1763, confirmed again by Will in 1781, and claim'd now, A.D. 1800, with threats (to our afflicted friend Mr. Gillon,) of making me refund all I have unjustly taken from my daughters. It will be soon refunded. No ass, as Moses says, of theirs did I ever take, nor no present at their hands for bribe. How cruel 'tis to sit down and accuse me so! Miss Thrale says Streatham was given me to make up £400 o' year, but that Crowmarsh is not liable. Now it will turn out upon examination that Crowmarsh is first liable, and that if my due from that estate is not paid me, I have a right to make forcible entry, and take it, without impeachment of waste. This, being provided in the Marriage Settlement, I understand must be secure, so do not you nor dear Mr. Pennington be uneasy; we shall lose nothing but appetite and sleep. And I was so well after the Bath waters! and proposed being so diligent at the Book: and now nothing but law, and letters, and Chancery suits, and false accusations and every evil plague.

No news from abroad yet that we can depend upon. Will it be good when it arrives? The times, as Dr. Randolph says, are signally aweful, and I verily think that Daemons are roaming about among us, with enlarged permission both to tempt and terrify. God preserve us! even from our own bad passions, He only can. Mine are sometimes ready to run away with me now, for Welsh blood heats over a fire of sharp thorns thus, till it boyls again. Oh dear! how dreadful are these days! A Lady in this neighbourhood made a grand entertainment on the Fast appointed by Government, by way of spiting that Government. They must leave off appointing such solemnities: the time is over when they did any good....

I wish Miss Case would tell me what they have suffer'd at Bath, and what they have escaped, for I cannot now make it clearly out. If harm comes to Hannah More we are all undone, her health is a public concern....

This earthquake was not so slight a thing as I thought it; some houses at Conway and Caernarvon were much injured, and it spread a general alarm from the unfrequency of the thing. Yet to people who have lived much in Italy, an earthquake that did not wake one seems laughable enough....

Much may, and probably much will happen this summer, to give us a little further insight into what's coming in earnest. The best is our seasonable and salutary change of weather; had we corn to sow, the ground will be in fine order for putting it in. I am glad Buonaparte sends us no corn, I was afraid of contagion in the sacks; and the thought of an expedition to Egypt and Syria frights me, lest some pestilential disease should be brought home from places so constantly infected....

Brynbella, 1st May 1800.

My dear Mrs. Pennington is too apt to be right. You do not, I perceive, think us safe from this new attack upon our property, and we are not safe....

Thus it stands. If we litigate, such is the dubious position of Mr. Thrale's words in my old Marriage Settlement, that years will roll away, and Empires be overthrown, before the affair can be decided, and in the meantime Crowmarsh rents will be retained till the decision. A circumstance very unpleasing to us for every reason; the strongest of all, because to Miss Thrale the estate must go at my death, so that unless my life is prolonged beyond the usual limits of humanity, Mr. Piozzi can hope for nothing from a law dispute, except Attorney's Bills to pay with a diminished income. Of all this our fair enemy cannot be ignorant, and does not profess to desire anything but profit from the contest; so we may be sure she will make great terms for herself. The parley of eloquence on Mr. Gillon's side, supported by Butler's Opinion concerning our Case, is held to-day I think. The best thing is that Mr. Thrale confirmed his Marriage Settlement by his Will, adding the bequests in that Will to what formerly was provided in the other Instrument; but nothing has been worded so as to preclude discussion among eager disputants, diligent to catch and cavil, and endowed with Marianne's powers and delight in wrangling. We are in a Wasps' nest, and must make haste out, and be stung as little as we can. Resistance is vain, and will be impolitic, in my mind....

That people are quiet, and the fires accidental, I would willingly perswade myself, but cannot. That your friend Paul, Emperor of all the Russias, is a true friend and firm ally, may now reasonably enough be doubted. He wants an excuse for falling upon Turkey, and takes that of quarrelling with Great Britain. It is exceedingly offensive to be forced into submission to his caprices; but I suppose George the III at close of life will not find new enemies a good thing any more than poor H. L. P. does, or will be able, any better than H. L. P., to find supplies for a new contest which, like her's, can terminate in no advantage, and will be attended with certain loss abroad, increase of poverty, and of course ill-humour, at home. You may see how spiteful the people are, even by their opposition to his private conveniency in making a new road to Windsor from London. No want of spite in this world, I'll warrant, either to princes or to people; my Book will have proved that new and wise remark by this time next year. If we go to London with it, I shall vote for an apartment in the Adelphi Hotel; such a place will do well enough for November, and our income must be reduced, and I will not suffer my business or pleasures to retard my husband's long projected happiness of not having a debt in the world. The very journey is expense enough. We shall be near Mr. Gillon there, and I shall not have an acquaintance in London but Mrs. Siddons and Mrs. Holman, perhaps not the first even of those, as the seasons seem to change so; everybody makes it Summer till after Christmas, and Winter to July.

There is great talk of a new book written by Hannah More, The Progress of Pilgrim Good-intent through the Land of Jacobinism; have you read it? and is it charming?...

The Rheumatism has caught my shoulder before Gout seized my Master's toe this year. I was to have gone in the Cold Bath this morning, but the pain prevents me....

After the battle of the Nile, England, Russia, and Turkey had entered into an alliance against France. But the Emperor Paul, annoyed at his treatment by Austria, and accusing the allies of treachery, came to terms with Bonaparte, with whom he concerted a plan for a joint invasion of India.

Sat. 16 May, Brynbella.

My last letter was a wretch: how could you, dearest Friend, commend it so? If I remember anything about it, it was low, cold, and flat. The usage I had received sunk my nerves down, they were not irritated. Use of the cold bath, meant to strengthen them, threw me all out in nettle-stings. And now, for crowning of all, my poor Master's torment, villainous Gout, has, as you once observed of Mr. Pennington's, watched the due time, and thrown in his assistance to the fair Ladies' cause. Their cause is cold though, and notwithstanding our defenders cannot bring matters to a decision yet, they give us hopes that little will be lost, except the arrears, worth, Mr. Gillon says, £1000. He has behaved divinely to be sure, and deserves all your generous praises of him. Nobody applauds Miss Thrale's proceedings I think. Mrs. Holman and you inveigh loudest against her, and it was a cruel thing to fly so upon that estate, which her Father would never have left her at all, had I not so requested him, because I thought it was unfair that, from accumulation of fortune after they lost him, the youngest daughter would be richer than the eldest: but I meant her to have Crowmarsh after my death, and so he meant it too. Well! one has always heard some nonsense how two negatives make an affirmative, so I suppose in Law, when a man gives a thing twice over, it turns out no gift at all. Mr. Thrale tried three times to secure his Oxfordshire property for me, and if I miss it at last, no blame can attach to him. The flaw was in the Settlement you see, and the Will confirms the Settlement, so God knows how 'twill end at last. The Mr. Butler employed on our side has a high character in his profession as Chamber Council, etc. Being a Roman Catholic he cannot reach the honours of his calling, but rests contented with the profits....

Here's much to do with Hate and more with Love,[14] as Juliet says in Shakespear. Apropos to Hatred, I am delighted that we know the author of De Montfort: she must be a fine creature, and will excite no small share of the hatred she describes. I felt it was a woman's writing, no man makes female characters respectable—no man of the present day I mean, they only make them lovely. We must except Dr. Moore: his Mrs. Barnett and his Laura Sedlitz are all that women ought to wish to be.

Don't you admire at my sitting here to criticize Plays and Novels, like Miss Seward, while my Husband is lame, my fortune is crippled, and my favourite dog has but three legs?

Farewell, dear Friend, ... 'tis five o'clock in the morning, I was up at four, shall call the men and maids at six, send away this scrawl at seven, jump into the bath at 8, breakfast at 9, work at the book till 1, walk till 3, have dined by 4, fret over Gillon's dispatches and Piozzi's misery all the rest of the day: a pretty biographical sketch of your literally poor H. L. P.

[14] "Here's much to do with hate, but more with love."—Romeo and Juliet, I. i. 181.

Charles Butler, Mrs. Piozzi's counsel, was a brother of the Rev. Alban Butler, the hagiologist. As Roman Catholics were not permitted to be called to the Bar when he began his professional career, he took up conveyancing business, and helped to edit Coke upon Littleton. Taking advantage of the Enabling Act, he became a Barrister in 1791, and took silk in 1832.

4 Jun. 1800.

... The Book goes on, lamely perhaps, now my better half has the Gout, but it does go. My Master mends too, and everything mends. Miss Thrale withdraws (somewhat disgracefully,) the claim she could not substantiate: a tedious suit against this never-dying Mother would have eaten up all the profits of her hoped-for estate, and nobody would have benefited but the Lawyers. Her friends were therefore persuaded by our friends to give in, as the Boxers say, and so the battle ends; and on the last of May she writes to the Oxfordshire Tenant to pay £400 to us as usual,—that very £400 which, on the first of March, she wrote the same man word—was incontestably her own....

Miss Bayley, a Lady who lives with Mrs. John Hunter, and is related to her, has at length modestly owned herself Author of a Drama that every one would have been most happy to have written: but Mr. Chappelow (no bad mirror of the fashionable world,) says people think it too solemn,—they are not amused. I say they are like old Polonius: see Hamlet's character of him as a Critic.[15]

Kemble is in high favour with the Beau Monde, I am told, and his Sister declines; but she will pick up some more guineas, and then no matter. I reckon her as having only one daughter to portion out; Sally will never marry, I suppose, if half of what I have heard of her ill health be true. Mr. Siddons will be a long-lived man, as sick as he is always said to be; nothing runs on like a life subject to one chronic and regular complaint, Gout, or Rheumatism. Siddons will repeat over to two or three generations the lamenting strains I heard him recite in 1788, and his Daughter will think herself young when everybody else sees her grown old, because she has a father to nurse. There was a Mrs. Shelley in Sussex, her sneering neighbours called her Epistle and Gospel, who had two maiden daughters. One broke her leg, and died at about 40 years old, but the other departed not till 5 years ago. The Doctors informed her Mama there was no hope, and she piously resigned to the loss. "But tell me at least," cried she, "what ails my poor child, and of what can she possibly be dying?" "Of age, dear Madam," answered her Physician. "Miss Shelley was never strong, and 76 years have nearly worne her out." "Oh dear! Is she really? Why I am but 94 myself, and I am not dying of age!" She spoke true, and outlived her little girl, as she called her, six years.

Adieu, dear Mrs. Pennington, and tell my old Friend this story....

[15] "He's for a jig, or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps."—Hamlet, II. ii.

The asthmatic complaint from which Sally Siddons had suffered, almost from childhood, proved fatal in 1803, and she died, as Mrs. Piozzi anticipated, unmarried. Though her heart was given to Lawrence, the promise made to her dying sister, and her own strong common sense and knowledge of his character, prevented her from giving her hand. The prognostication respecting her father proved very wide of the mark, as he died at Bath only two years later.

13 June 1800, Brynbella.

My dear Mrs. Pennington is a true friend, and has acute feelings of friendship and of Injury. All is over between me and my beautiful and deserving Daughters—those were Mr. Ray's epithets.... With regard to our cause, mark me! Mr. Gillon, dear creature as he is, did not stop its proceedings by perswasion; it was carried by law, though not by litigation. Mr. Cator and Mr. Richards on Miss Thrale's part, and Mr. Gillon and Mr. Butler on our parts, talked the matter over; and they really withdrew the claim they could not substantiate, or make creditable to carry into a Court of Judicature.

Gillon tells a laughable story of Miss Thrale's standing hard for £10 which he advanced her, of his own money, to stop further absurdity. And now let's hear no more on't, and do not, Sweet Soul! make me in love with resentment; for except in a friend's cause like your own, 'tis an unpleasing quality, and productive of nothing but evil. We must quote our own Book of Knowledge after all, and in the Article "Forgiveness," as I think, you read these words. "A wise man will make haste to forgive, because anger is a painful sensation, and he wishes to be rid on't. A great man will pardon easily, because he finds few things worthy his resentment; and a good man will never resent at all, knowing how much he has himself to be forgiven." I wrote to the girls by yesterday's post, exactly as if no such transactions had passed among us: so long live British Synonymy!

Well! Robinson refuses my labour'd Work. He has been at Bath and Bristol, and cannot recover his health sufficiently to enter upon new engagements: he is going to leave off business, and cannot prevail upon himself to undertake so large a book, he says. Did you see or hear of him? Or did he pass any time at Belvidere House? And does he undertake any smaller works, I wonder? Lesser is a word I will not use, but it would gratify me to know. I sent him a letter to put him in better spirits, if possible, and better humour: for tho' I despair not of selling my stuff, I shall hate hawking it about London, which will at last be the case....

The incomparable Coterie you mention as loving and remembering us with kindness, will make me rich amends in their society if I can wind up my little matters, and come to Bath in Spring. But here is a degree of scarcity and dearness, both present and expected, that worries my Master and his House Book horribly.... Everything costs double, besides double Taxes, double necessity of expence, and so forth. London will be much my terror indeed, but I hope our stay will be a short one.

Oh! what would have become of my wretched nerves, had I been in the Theatre that awfully impressive night? What would have become of your nerves? of dear Mrs. de Luc's? The tryal would have been too great. Susan and Sophy were there; so was Mr. Gillon. It will go hard with the Traytor, I am told, if the Jury do not find him guilty. The King's Guardian Angel must appear in person to protect him next time, because it will be such encouragement to the Jacobins to attempt his life, that nothing less can save him....

George Robinson, the "King of Booksellers," who had a villa at Streatham, was born in Cumberland, and coming to London in 1755, began his career in the house of Rivington. He set up for himself in Paternoster Row in 1764, and died in 1801. It is somewhat remarkable that Mrs. Piozzi's principles allowed her to patronize him, seeing that he had been fined, not many years before, for selling Tom Paine's Rights of Man.

The King was shot at in his box at Drury Lane on 15th May, but the assailant, James Hatfield, proved to be a lunatic, and the attempt had no political importance.

[July 1800.]

... I am sorry Mr. and Mrs. Whalley are declining so; their pretty cottage will be a shady retreat for them this hot weather. We are roasting here on the sunny side of a high hill, but never was such hay made before; 40 acres cut and carried in 12 days is really curious, and without one shower. Did you observe the odd Phænomenon exhibited on Trinity Sunday in the evening? It alarmed those who did observe it, and our Caernarvonshire and Anglesea neighbours, who understand not how many tricks Electricity can play, were frighted to see the sun apparently go back when he set, no fewer than three diameters of himself.

Mr. Lloyd of Wickwar, whom you have heard me mention as an astronomer, and a man well known at Sir Joseph Banks's, etc., said it was a surprizing thing, and, for what he had observed, wholly new: he attributed it to the state of atmosphere. The same appearance was noticed likewise at Shrewsbury. I saw it not; I was not looking....

What is this story of Harry Siddons? Is he really to marry Miss Scott, the great fortune of the North? If he does, the Sun may set in the East if it will, without attracting our charming Friend's attention I suppose, and no wonder. Miss Lees say nothing, perhaps think the more. What a thing it would be!

My Book must go to the public market and take its chance in October. Buonaparte will possibly finish it for me, and destroy the Empire as he did the Papacy. Our Ministry keep feeding Francis with money, for which he will sell, not his birthright, like Esau, but all except his birthright, and content himself with the old Crowns of Bohemia and Hungary, resigning even the name of King of the Romans to those Gauls who invaded 'em 2000 years ago, and have never lost sight of a hope so late to be accomplished as poor Rome's utter destruction. The sun may well be seen to shew signs and wonders when such occurrences are coming forward.

Meanwhile what say you to Bishop Horsley's denouncing the Schools of impiety and sedition? Did even our dear Dr. Randolph think that London was so far advanced in wickedness? or even Hannah More? It is truly dreadful....

Mr. Piozzi and I have been married now 16 years, and we are used to keep our anniversary, but it happened at a perverse time of y^e week and month this year. And so instead of feeding the rich, we fed the poor, and every one of our 35 Haymakers had a good noggin of soup, and a lump of beef in it, and a suet dumpling; and they were like the people in The Deserter, who sing—"Joy, joy to the Duchess wherever she goes." And my Master's health was sincerely drank, though not very copiously: for bread and beer are yet considered as luxuries in our poor skin and bone Country; while the Lords and Ladies round the Capital are paying five guineas for a Peach, etc., and Daughters of Liverpool spend, in one entertainment, what frighted all France when requested for a frolick of poor Antoinette,—Daughter of the Cæsars.

Well! Mr. Piozzi has gone to a little—not a very little—expense, in repairing old Bach-y-graig for the new tenant. Our neighbours advised him to tumble the venerable ruin quite down, and build a snug farmhouse with the materials; but he would not. And so, poking about, we found some very curious bricks with stories on them, composed in 1500, and one large one with Catherine de Berayne's arms, derived from Charlemagne. 'Twas she whose husband built y^e house, you know, (Sir Richard Clough—see Pennant;) and being descended immediately from fair Catherine of France, whom Shakespear makes us familiar with, and who married Owen Tudor after her first husband's death, heroic Harry the Vth, drew her descent by the Mother's side from Charlemagne. I have set her achievement in front now, and a stone to say the Mansion was repaired and beautified by Gabriel Piozzi Esq. in the year 1800. It will last to the World's end now, I believe.

The dear little boy whom you used to love has spent his vacation time at Streatham again. He will, I hope, be wiser in proportion as he is less happy, and less spoiled: safer he certainly is, and we hear a good character of his scholarship....

The report of Henry Siddons' engagement to Miss Scott seems to have been mere gossip, as he married Miss Murray in 1802.

The account of the surrender of his titles by the Emperor Francis also seems to have been somewhat premature. He proclaimed himself hereditary Emperor of Austria in 1804, and it was not till 1806, after the formation of the Confederation of the Rhine, that he formally resigned the imperial crown, and so brought to a close the Holy Roman Empire, founded by Charlemagne, and the Kingdom of Germany. Bonaparte, however, had anticipated his resignation, and had himself appointed Emperor by decree of the Senate in 1804.

Samuel Horsley, Bishop successively of St. David's, Rochester, and St. Asaph, was the great opponent of Priestly and the Unitarians, against whom several of his charges were directed.

Pennant's account of the home of Mrs. Piozzi's ancestors runs thus (Tour in Wales, vol. ii. p. 22). "In the bottom [of the Clwyd Valley] lies, half buried in the woods, the singular house of Bachegraig. It consists of a mansion, and three sides, enclosing a square court. The first consists of a vast hall and parlour; the rest of it rises into six wonderful stories, including the cupola, and forms from the second floor the figure of a pyramid: the rooms small and inconvenient. The bricks are admirable, and appear to have been made in Holland; and the model of the house was probably brought from Flanders, where this species of building was not unfrequent. The country people say that it was built by the Devil in one night, and that the Architect still preserves an apartment in it; but Sir Richard Clough, an eminent merchant of Queen Elizabeth's reign, seems to have a better title to the honour. The initials of his name are in iron on the front, with the date 1567, and on the gateway that of 1569." It is stated in Piozziana that the vane bore the date 1537. An account of Sir Richard Clough and Catherine of Berayne has been given in the Introduction, to which the reader is referred.

BACHYGRAIG HOUSE IN 1776

From a drawing by J. Hooper, 1776

Brynbella, Sat. night, 6 or 7 of Sept. 1800.

Dear Mrs. Pennington's eyes yet serve her, I find, to write the very charmingest letters in the world, and Dr. Randolph is of the same opinion; that to the travellers was admirable, and my own, just received, most excellent. They left Wales yesterday, and have carried ugly weather home with them; but I hope and think that the bright sun illuminated their last glimpse of Denbighshire, from the heights round romantic Llangollen. I never saw people so well, or so happy, or so good humoured, on a journey where inconveniences must necessarily arise, such as would teize many tempers accustomed to home life....

What the meaning can be of bread rising is past my power to divine. Wheat falls, and grass grows, and these rains have put out the fires which injured the hilly grounds. Nothing is truer than your observation on men's counteracting Providence in all they can, but of late times some permission seems to have been given them that it should be counteracted. Victory bestows honour on our arms, but produces no good to our nation. Plenty creates no peace, and opulence no wealth among us: I cannot fathom it. We seem upon the eve of a general pacification thro' all Europe, but I scarce expect quiet in any Country, much less our own, to be the consequence of such extensive treaties....

Poor dear Jane Holman complains of the Greatheeds that they were too fine to visit her in London. She is recovering from her severe illness, and will, I hope, be happy, though the world was all displeased at her connection. Mrs. Siddons will have a cruel loss if her husband dies, though he was no professed wit, nor beau, nor Damon, and tho' I doubt me much if he was even the very prudent man folks take him for. Yet will he be a loss, and "Seldom comes a better" is no bad proverb. Her son was expected to make his fortune among the fair at one time, but I now hear no more on't.

Mrs. Wynne, Cecilia's Mother-in-law, is come home to Wales ten years younger than she left it, and infinitely handsomer of course. I do not think that will be my case when I leave home next; but selling my Book advantageously will, I suppose, heighten my bloom. We must have things as they are, as Baretti used to say, when he threw ill at Backgammon. My Master's capital health must keep mine up. I never saw him in better looks, and Mrs. Randolph will tell you how smart he has made old Bach-y-graig, the name of which they both forgot, I'm sure, before two miles were past; and Lord Mountjoy only saw Lleweny.

Whenever Lady Hesketh crosses your walks, say to her how much I respect her, and how glad I feel that the sweet little Princess is to be happy in virtuous and wise attendants on her infancy, Lady Elgin and Miss Hunt.

"Never harm, nor spell, nor charm

Will come that Faery's pillow nigh,

While they sing her lullaby."

Brynbella is the fashion. We have people coming to take views from it, and travellers out of number,—Tourists, as the silly word is. Miss Thrales are among the Lakes, I believe these are modish places now for summer, as for winter modish Streets. Comical enough! Yet the general face of things must be confessed very gloomy, though Stocks rise, and that comforts many who look superficially, or never look at all beyond Finsbury Square and Hyde Park Corner. My fear is lest Mr. Pitt may be one of those: if such the case, he will be amazed whenever the evil moment comes, which would only give grief, not amaze, yours

H. L. P.

John, fourth Earl of Bute, son of the Minister, was made Viscount Mountjoy, Earl of Windsor, and Marquess of Bute in 1796.

The Lady Hesketh here mentioned seems to have been Harriet, daughter and coheir of Ashley Cowper, who married Thomas Hesketh of Rufford, afterwards created a Baronet. She was the cousin and favourite correspondent of Cowper the poet, and died at Clifton 1807. Lady Elgin, the other attendant of the little Princess of Wales, was the wife of Thomas the seventh Earl, best known as the collector of the Elgin Marbles.

The prospect of a general peace proved fallacious. After the battle of Marengo in June, operations were suspended by the armistice of Alessandria, but peace was not concluded, and Austria, urged on by England, recommenced hostilities at the end of the year.

Streatham Park, 6 Nov. 1800.

Dear Mrs. Pennington will like a letter with this date, though it tells her nothing except that we are not at home here; it is however exceedingly difficult for us to find that truth out from our good Tenant's behaviour to us, or that of his servants. They are all wonderfully kind and civil, and I fancy we shall go on as we have done; nothing is as yet finally settled, but we have every pleasing expectation in prospect. Retrospect is already disposed of, and you will be pleased that 'tis launched from a good aristocratic House. How does Col. Barry excuse himself to himself, I wonder, for his so long and so wide deviation from the train of opinions he seemed as if well rooted in, when we were first acquainted? An agreeable talker is a great loss to the good cause, and I shall be happier when you tell me that he is tired of the bad one.

We have been but once in Town yet, and that for two hours only, one spent with Stockdale, and one with Siddons, who is lean and nerve-shaken, but lovely as ever, and was preparing to shine in Elvira the evening of our visit. Her husband walked in with his two sticks, and chatted chearfully; her eldest daughter appeared to me in high health and spirits, and Miss Lee, who was there, made a good report of the youngest....

We live among the Commercial men here, not the professed wits, yet more love and esteem for literature it would be hard to find. Perhaps familiarity, even with that, lessens regard. Here has Mr. Giles laid out a Thousand Pounds (no less,) in books for our Library; and Mr. Gillon grieves when a second-hand Shakespear slips from his hand at an auction for want of courage to give beyond 20 Guineas for it. Who says money is not plenty? Truth is England contains more money than meat just now, I mean in proportion, but corn is coming in, and rice, from every quarter of the world; and I hope people will forbear to fly out, and increase their own distresses. The Coachman will get them through every bog, and safely by every precipice, I think, if they will but let the check-string alone, and not hinder him from saving them and himself, who runs more than an equal risque with all of us, and is in haste to find the carriage clear of embarrassments as we are. If we believe our eyes, all will be well; if our ears, all will be dismal. Offers of peace are talked of, and no wonder. France is afraid of being driven from Egypt, whence she means to fright our East India Company, if incapable to injure it. I hate their insidious offers, resembling those magical deceptions we used to talk about, where a friendly hand appeared as if presenting a nosegay, but no sooner was it reached at than a dagger started forward in its place. Remember that all our journey has been thro' loyal places; Sir Rich. Hill's fine seat, Lord Bradford's, and the old abiding place of virtue and learning, Oxford.

Two days the first of these sweet scenes delay'd us, and Mr. Piozzi clambered thro' the Grotto. Three days were given to the hospitalities and comforts of Weston Park, and Mr. Gray was unwilling to let me leave their curiosities unexamined; so kept us three days more among the Museums etc. of far fam'd Rhedycina....

Will it raise your spirits to hear that I expect release early in January? After business must come pleasure, and for that our eyes turn naturally to Bath. Till then a Hotel and Tavern must be dear Mr. Piozzi's residence, in order to accommodate his wife by living close to the Bookseller's, who assures us that if we will come to Jermyn Street and mind our work closely, it may be launched with the New Year, and 8 weeks of confinement finish all. Wish it success kind Friend, and make Miss Powell and Mr. Pennington—ay and good Mother too,—drink a glass to the health of the two Quarto Vols. you saw advertised this morning under the name of your

H. L. P.

Though Stockdale's publications may have had aristocratic tendencies, the publisher himself was of humble origin and rough manners. Like Robinson he was a Cumberland man, and is reputed to have been originally a blacksmith. In London he worked his way up from the position of a publisher's porter to that of the head of a successful business. It may have been a recommendation to Mrs. Piozzi that he had printed, and partly edited, Dr. Johnson's works.

Hawkestone, near Shrewsbury, was the seat of Sir Richard Hill, Bart., M.P. for Salop, who was the elder brother of the Rev. Rowland Hill, the celebrated preacher. Lord Bradford's seat was Weston Park, near Shifnall. Its then owner was Orlando (Bridgeman), Baron, and afterwards Earl of Bradford.

Mrs. Piozzi's cicerone at Oxford was, in all probability, the Rev. Robert Gray, D.D., of St. Mary Hall, Bampton Lecturer in 1796, who was afterwards Prebendary of Durham, and appointed Bishop of Bristol in 1827.

Streatham Park, Monday Morng. Dec. (8) 1800.

(Franked "E. Russell.")

I received, my dear Friend, your melancholy letter, and am sorry to agree with you in that croaking duet which we have long kept up together, both by letter and conversation. Things do go on very shiningly, and even brilliantly, but like the ice-island you liked so in my book, there is an unseen thaw below, and we shall topple over when 'tis least expected. Be perswaded however of England's comparative happiness. Every other nation suffers more than we do, more than perhaps the deepest croaker amongst us gives him leave to apprehend; and so singular is the state of Europe just now, that sudden peace would accelerate the ruin of France, of Germany, of Russia, and of the Britannic Islands. The first would then be repaid her ravages over poor dear Italy, by seeing her own hungry and desperate plunderers come home clamourous for rewards they never can receive, and food which the neglected lands could not produce for them. The second would inevitably split into divisions productive of certain annihilation to the Empire, leaving Francis King only in Hungary, Bohemia, etc.; while Russia, left the theatre of Paul's caprices, would heat itself into rebellion soon, and throw the North of Europe into confusions much worse than those consequent on the present war. Great Britain would feel herself restrained in her commerce, cut off from power of adding to that wealth for which she is now envy'd by all mankind. Nor could cessation of hostilities benefit any of the belligerent powers, except Rome and Turkey: and they, poor things! fated to fall, and falling, expiate their predecessor's crimes and follies, continue to foment those troubles to which, whoever conquers, they are sure to be the destined victims. I think you recollect Mr. Lanzoni; his accounts of Italian distress, public and private, would half break your heart....

Dear Siddons' story is a tragical one, but the ending has been happy, she will now, I flatter myself, be no more tormented. [Having undergone a painful operation] she is now thin as a lath, and light as air, but safe, as every body thinks. Her behaviour—angelic creature—was on this tryal as on all her tryals, exemplary; firm but unostentatious. Sir James said she was a real Heroine, and no Actress on the occasion.

Lysons called at the Hotel, and got me a sight of some manuscripts kept in the British Museum, which I wanted for my work; but he is gone to Bath now. The work is coming quick to a conclusion, and will have a print of the Authour on its first page. My heart delights not in the notion of being Bookseller so, as well as Bookmaker; but one cannot have all as one likes, and I hope people will buy away. Those friends who mean to serve me in earnest write to Stockdale even now, desiring to be "put down for an early copy." I shall present you with one, but do canvass your rich friends, and get them to purchase for honour, and for profit's sake, and all. The darling Randolphs have done me all possible kindness in that way, so has Mr. Chappelow; and Stockdale shows his numerous orders as nest-eggs or decoys....

Meanwhile Miss Thrales drove thro' London to Brighton, the seat of gayety till Town revels commence. We dined together, and parted at the lodgings of the Show Woman called a Nyctalope or Albina, with red eyes like a white Rabbet, very curious!...

The prospect of sudden peace was the result of further French successes. Moreau and Ney had beaten the Austrians at Hohenlinden on 2nd December and an armistice was signed at Steyer ceding the fortresses of the Tyrol, &c. Another was signed in Italy, as the result of further victories there, ceding the North Italian ports. And when Murat threatened Naples, a third armistice, closing the Neapolitan ports to England, practically ended the war.

Streatham Park, Sat. 10 Jan. 1801.

My dear Mrs. Pennington's two charming letters waited my arrival at old Streatham Park, whence a variety of things detained us, but people are certainly never so busy as when they have nothing at all to do. My Book, once written, was not a bit more off my hands, for Stockdale and I are partners in the property, and if he is an honest man—so much the better for your H. L. P.

Of all active, and diligent, and highly successful friends, the first must be acknowledged to wear the name of John Gillon. That extraordinary man brought a list of private orders from people of his own particular acquaintance to our business dinner upon New Year's day, and the list took away Stockdale's breath,—much more mine. It consisted of 80 gentlemen, to which ten have been added since. Not content with that, he made a little feast for drinking success to it at the London Tavern, and set the people all wild for Retrospection. This is good news, is not it? And the consequence will be great, for I shall expect a letter before the first of February to say that the first edition is wholly run off. That day will probably rise on us at Bath, if my Master keeps clear of Gout, and our plans are not broken in upon by vexations unforseen....

Things are never as good as one is led to hope, but they are seldom as bad as we are impelled to fear. The bread is at its dearest, the Enemy is arrived at its utmost pitch of insolence. France is less dangerous to Britain, altho' more formidable to other countries, than she has been. Buonaparte will not long outlive the peace, let him make it how and when he pleases. No Buonaparte can satisfy his troops when they return into the bosom of their native country, pamper'd by promises, and flushed with conquest. A furious outbreak at Paris must necessarily ensue, and you may rely on my prediction being verified.

Pretty Siddons told me about Hannah More, but I never understood the merits of the cause clearly till your letter explained it; my [heart] grieves lest it should affect her health. Our charming friend in Great Marlborough Street has never been so free from complaint since I have known her; and her appearance in the character of Constance transcends all which the stage ever shew'd me. The dress is so appropriate, and so becoming, that its first impression is prodigious, and would be disadvantageous to one who could not keep up the interest it excites. Kemble seems much out of health this winter, and has a slowness upon his manner which I do not like; but the public is in high good humour with him....

Adieu, dear Friend, send me another pretty kind letter, and a true account of what people say to my Book....

Hannah More's trouble arose through a Sunday school which she had opened at Blagdon in 1795, at the request of Bere, the curate, who soon afterwards complained that the master she had appointed was holding a Conventicle. This was stopped, but fresh complaints in 1800 led to an inquiry by the Chancellor and Rector, and Hannah closed the school in November. The Rector, however, thinking his curate had been too officious, tried to dismiss him, and the school was reopened in January 1801. But the curate declined to resign, and the school was again closed. When a new Bishop (Beadon) was appointed to Bath and Wells, Hannah applied to him for direction, and obtained his sympathy and support: and so after she had been, as she said, "battered, hacked, scalped, and tomahawked for three years," the unedifying controversy came to an end.

Wensday Night, Reading, 21 Jan. 1801.

We are coming, dear Mrs. Pennington, as your good husband says, but very tardily, and much like the journey of Catherine and Petruchio; so dirty are the ways, and so many our crosses, when travelling with Rat and Mole driven by a sick coachman, who makes himself a little more sick at every stage by doing more than he is able, and by crying lest we should at length be provoked to leave him on the road. He is in no danger, poor soul! Mr. Piozzi has just sent him our chicken broth, and we wait here a day for Miss Allen to go kiss her father and mother, an errand so few folks want to go upon.... I think the beds will be aired at least, for never were so many people crowding from one city to another as now from Bath to London.

How it rejoyces my heart to hear you really like the book! and that Miss Jane Powell approves of the contrasted character visible in those excellent Roman Emperors. The other volume will be most read, and the 19th chapter of that will perhaps be most liked. I will correct the typographical errors in your book with my own hand, if you will bring it with you to Bath.... Stockdale was hurrying to drive out a new edition before we left London, and I was forced to hold him in. We shall hear all our faults, and the printer's too, when the Reviews make their appearance.... Charming Hannah More will tranquillize her mind soon, and only dislike the Established Church a little more than usual, for this ill-timed bustle some individuals have made against one of the most valuable members of Society. For as Dr. Johnson says of Watts,—Such she was that every Christian Communion must have been proud of her.

Do not fear the Northern combination: we can hurt those fellows more than they can hurt us. And as to a French invasion, it was, in my mind, never less likely, nor ever less to be feared. That Europe is running to ruin I see plain enough, and we must go after the rest, but it will be after a good many of them are gone, I think....

The combination of the Northern Powers, Russia, Sweden, and Denmark, organised by the Emperor Paul against England, was the result of the irritation caused by our insisting on the right to search even neutral vessels for enemies' goods; but was soon broken up by the battle of Copenhagen and the death of Paul.

[P.M. Bath] 31 Jan. 1801.

My dear Mrs. Pennington's is indeed a dismal letter, and our Master is truly sorry, and so am I. The amusement I get at Bath, when without your conversation, is feeling myself benefited by these darling waters, and hearing the Circulating Library men say that the book sells very well. Stockdale tells me of praises bestowed on it by the Briton, Times, and Porcupine, but I have never seen any....

Miss Jane Powell must be left, I think, to cut out her own happiness. She is very sensible, and very charming, but you may remember that Dr. Johnson says in his tale of The Fountains, "You may be lovely, but 'tis not a necessary consequence that you should therefore be beloved." We must hope she will not fling so much merit and beauty away: but if she does, let us remember she could not have been happy without changing her mode of life; and those who enter on family cares now, have need of strong affection on one side or the other, to support them thro' so rough a journey as what is left of life's road is likely to afford them. The people who are indifferent now are truly unwise to marry.

We shall look to your coming home for much chat on all subjects, and principally the book which has so long plagued your

H. L. P.

[P.M. Bath] Tuesday, 10 Feb. 1801.

... To your enquiries how things are going here, my reply is, never so bad. Fish, flesh, and fowl, all are double price, and tho' we live as retired as 'tis possible, the little red book you remember of marketing expences goes on worse and worse. Even Laura Chapel is raised one third, and the journey hither cost double what it used to do. These are facts. It is equally true indeed, that the waters do my health good, but 'tis a heavy charge, this same health, upon one's husband, though he may not say or even think so. Bachelors live at immense costs however. Mr. Roach or Roche told us yesterday that he and his son paid £200 for 5 weeks eating and sleeping at York House: his servants at board wages all the while. Tea alone stood them in six shillings o' day. Fine times! And Mrs. Mores, our next neighbours, tell me Mr. Pitt has already quitted the helm, and old Britannia is left to weather the storm how she can, without pilot, rudder, or compass; and tow a troublesome sister after her besides. God send her safe to port! He only can....

My own book, though much diffused, and rapidly sold, has not yet brought me a shilling, and it was upon that I fully depended for our reimbursement of these few weeks' charges here in Bath. Six only of those weeks yet remain: some of them I still flatter myself we shall still pass together....

After the union with Ireland, Pitt had become convinced that it was necessary to carry a measure of Catholic Emancipation; but as the King felt scruples about breaking, as he believed, his Coronation Oath, by giving his assent to such a Bill, Pitt resigned, much to George's distress, and was succeeded by Addington.

Brynbella, 5 April, 1801.

My dear Mrs. Pennington will be delighted to hear that we are got home safe, in spite of my nose, which is restor'd to its original size, colour, and shape: having transmitted all ill humour to the shoulder, more fit for carriage of a burden so oppressive.

Some heaviness has reached my heart tho', and some weight hangs on my spirits. The first intelligence that struck us upon the very confines of our Principality, smiling as it seemed with hope of future plenty, was the death of a friend. You have, I am sure, heard me mention as an agreeable acquaintance and excellent preacher, a Mr. John Mostyn, Curate of Denbigh. He perished, it seems, poor soul, in the hard weather which succeeded that day on which we dined with Dr. Randolph, walking home from his Father's house to his own:—perish'd of cold! and was buried in drifts of snow,—

How sunk his soul!

What black despair! What horrors fill'd his heart,

When round him night resistless closing fast,

And o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold,

Lay'd him on the wild Heath a stiffen'd corpse,

Far from the track and blest abode of Man.

[Thompson.]

These verses have almost haunted me ever since; so has his figure, chearful and gay, not 38 years old. But we will change the subject and the side of paper.

Tell dearest Siddons, when you see her, that her picture was the first thing we unpacked, and her handkerchief the finest thing I appeared in while at Bath: the only thing I shall wear here till—till what? I can't answer that question.

Poor Harriet Lee's lowness, the day we dined at Mrs. Stratton's, affected everybody present, and she ran home, unable to bear company. Can you tell whether the conversation of approving, nay admiring friends, has been yet able to reconcile her to past vexations, for they scarce can be accounted calamities.

We have contagion even at St. Asaph, but 'tis occasioned by want of wholesome food. When the plenty I still predict shall once arrive, there will be no distemper but ill-humour. Meanwhile some cause for that does doubtless exist, when the ports are filled with grain, and the poor perishing of hunger. Our Bishop, detained in London by illness, is much wanted, and we came home too late to save our old favourite labourer, Edward Davies, who expired eight hours before our arrival; saying that if we made haste he yet should live, because we should send him something nice from our own plates, as we did when he was sick once before. When such things present themselves to one's mind, how vain must be the hope of Reviewers and Critics to draw it on their empty abuse! I would there were no worse afflictions to lament than those created by buzzers and stingers like them. Nevertheless pray tell me how Hannah More supports her torrent of scurrility. She was a kind soul, and came to see us for five minutes before we got into the Chaise at Laura Place, looking very well, thank God! apparently not worse for her long illness and confinement. Her sister is too right tho' concerning the general distress for victuals....

I carry this letter with me to S. Asaph Cathedral, Easter Sunday, and put it in the Post Office there after service. The Ladies at Llangollen enquired much for you. They have more news and more stories than one could dream of. Their best however is concerning their own old Maid Mary, from whose character one would think Sophia Lee had pourtray'd that of Connor in her tale of the Two Emilys. Mary, seeing her Ladies' eyes fix'd, one fine night lately, upon the stars, said to Miss Ponsonby, "Ah! Madam, you once showed me a fine sight in the heavens, the Belt of O'Bryan; but I suppose we shall see it no more now, since the Union." To this nothing, sure, can be added.

(P.M. Denbigh), 26 Apr. 1801.

What a letter! What a pleasure to have such a Correspondent! You really can scarce imagine, my dear Friend, how completely your kind Frank-full set before my eyes the scenes I was so wishing to have witness'd. Peace and plenty are coming, and dear Dr. Randolph's first sermon after the Victory at Copenhaguen, must have given a foretaste of all the felicities in their train to his enraptur'd auditors, I doubt not.

The effect of national fervour and national happiness upon Sweet Siddons charmed me; and it was so nicely accompanied too by her maternal exultation. The child in your account had suffered scarce anything from y^e alarming symptoms which so frighted the whole house of Belvidere....

Why, you have had a nice Holyday time indeed! And you, like the dear King, will recover by dint of good news. My rheumatism has mended ever since you said how Mr. Whalley liked Retrospection, and a kind letter from Mr. Gray, saying it was well thought of at Oxford, made me throw off a little fur tippet, which, till to-day's post, I wore to ward off these early winds. Ods Blushes and Blooms! The poor Cherry trees have dropt their pretty flow'rs in one night. A sturdy Pear tree or two resist all Northern Combinations against them: but Peaches and Nectarines we shall have none of this Summer, content to see wheat falling, Stocks rising, and damaged Rice coming in by shiploads to feed those Pigs which my friends on the South Parade so talked of.

Meantime it was well done of the wise and good men to go out and harangue the rioters; they will go underground again now, and give their instigators fresh trouble to find fresh arguments to set them on fresh mischief in due time. Well! God save great George our King! While he lives many a Laurel bush will be used to decorate our doors.... By the time this reaches your Hot Wells, good accounts may possibly arrive from Egypt. The death of Paul will sit heavy on the soul of Abdallah Menou, like the Ghost in Shakespeare's Richard, and fall his edgeless sword.[16] May he but hear that news before the battle, I'll answer for its success.

Great credit ought really to be given to that amiable creature, the Duchess of York, for being able to make everybody love her, while they naturally and necessarily abhor her brother. And it was pretty of her husband to cry at the tragedy: they very seldom do cry.

When you write tell me how Sotherby's play went off; our Newspaper never names the Theatre, so Mrs. Siddons's name reaches me only through your letters. When our Bishop returns I shall get free'd covers, and write oftener, for the sake of goading your pen to an answer.... With regard to Mr. Pennington, he hardly can come to any real harm. The complaints of gouty men are sure to end, however they may begin, in a fit of Gout; and better assurance of long life is granted to no living mortal. He will quarrel with the man, and vex about the maid, and they will leave him, and then he will get others;—all will lead uneasy lives, but no lives will be shorten'd, except your own, by fretting concerning what can neither be helped nor mended....

[16] Rich. III, V. iii, 135.

Success had attended English efforts abroad in more than one direction. The Northern Confederation having adopted an attitude of "armed neutrality," and laid an embargo on British goods, a fleet was sent to Copenhagen under Sir Hyde Parker, with Nelson as second in command. The latter grew impatient of the cautious tactics of his chief, and his daring attack on the Danish forts and fleet on April 1, resulted in the capture of the latter, and the detachment of Denmark from the League. In Russia the assassination of the Emperor Paul on March 24 (which Buonaparte in the Moniteur ascribed to the machinations of England) placed Alexander on the throne, who at once reversed his predecessor's policy, and so the Confederation collapsed. In Egypt General Menou had succeeded Kleber in command of the French army, which was unable to prevent the landing of Sir Ralph Abercromby's expedition on March 2: and though the English General fell at the battle of Alexandria, that city and Cairo fell into our hands, and it became evident that the French could not maintain their hold on the country.

The shock of Pitt's resignation, and the prospect of Roman Catholic emancipation, had again unhinged the King's mind. But the attack was a brief one, and by March 14 he was sufficiently recovered to accept the formal resignation of his ministers.

Frederick, Duke of York, had married in 1791 Frederica, Princess Royal of Prussia, a state whose partitions of Poland and timid attitude of neutrality to France during two reigns, were not calculated to render its rulers popular in England.

Brynbella, 22 May 1801.

My dear and valued Friend now receives a letter of business from Brynbella. The trunk with all our clothes, books, papers,—everything,—which Hodgkins saw booked ... upon the 22d of March, is never arrived yet, and this is the 22d of May. I have heard of it just now, though, and in an odd manner. A man who says he signs for some Mr. Lye, the date, Bristol, tells me it is gone by sea to Liverpool. What madness! It was meant for Chester Waggon, the old conveyance by which Mr. Wiltshire has regularly sent it these three years. Could you be kind enough to enquire about it?...

And now do, dear Friend, find me out another thing. We are told Miss Thrale is at Bath for her health; and the idea keeps me very uneasy, the more as she never writes. You saw the last letter I ever received from any of them. I dare say Dr. Parry is her Physician, and you could know from him, without any immediate enquiry as if I wished to hear, which she would consider as if intrusive and inquisitive, and would say it was affectation....

Let us thank God for the happy change in public affairs at least, peace and plenty are not far off.

From Egypt old Rome in the days of Domitian

To make her tyrannical Emperor smile,

Fresh roses brought over, for Winter provision,

That bloom'd on the Tyber as once on the Nile.

But bold Abercrombie, whom Britons confide in,

His Flora sent home with far different spoil;

The invincible army of Frenchmen deriding,

Their standards he seiz'd on the banks of the Nile.

Thus end the exploits of renown'd Buonaparte,

Who fell upon Egypt with force and with guile,

Throwing dust in the eyes of each Mussulman hearty,

Dust pregnant with plagues on the banks of the Nile.

Of warriors ill-fated if England must tell soon,

Her losses, though deep, she'll repair in a while;

With Moore, Smith, and Berry, Ball, Trowbridge, and Nelson,

A hero we'll count for each mouth of the Nile.

Mr. Pennington will see an allusion to an Epigram of Martial[17] in the first stanza; but never mind, 'tis a good Ballad to roar at a club, and the tune, Rural Felicity, or Ellen o' Roon. But what fellows those old Romans were after all!! Fetching (as they actually did) Oysters from England and Roses from Egypt for one winter evening's entertainment....

[17] Martial, Epig. vi. 80: Ad Cæsarem de rosis hibernis.

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