Brynbella, 1 August, 1796.

Well! dear Mrs. Pennington! this next winter, if we all live so long, will we shake hands, and tell old tales of other times over a fire together. Our dear Master has had a fit of Gout in Anglesey, and he has a fancy to have the next at Bath, and will go thither—if it please God—on the 1st of Jany 1797. How many things, foreign and domestic, shall we find to chat about! How many odd and new incidents have claim'd attention since we parted! And how comfortable will it be to talk all matters over in the old way!...

Cecilia and her husband were in London this Spring with their sisters, but as they went without taking leave of us, so they returned without taking any notice. These are some of the odd things.

Some of the odder still are that Mr. and Mrs. Mostyn went to Streatham Park, when tired of Town, called their friends about them there, and nobody said or wrote a word to Mr. Piozzi or me about the matter, except Miss Thrale, who beg'd permission for Susan and Sophy. Since then Lord and Lady William Russell have wished us to let it, and Lord and Lady Clonmel have wished us to lend it. My Master says he'll go next Spring and live awhile in it to spite 'em. I shall be glad when we return, for dear Brynbella has full possession of her heart who is ever faithfully yours,

H. L. P.

Brynbella, 17 Aug. 1796.

My dear Friend,—This very post brought me your kind letter; see then, if I am slow in answering it, though every day makes me hate writing more than the last day did. What can one write freely? Not about one's children, unless they were good as mine are, and giving no cause of complaint. Nor about one's friends certainly, for if they did wrong, or disgraced expectation of right, they are the very people one would not blame. Enemies—less still; for in that blame some envy or some ill-nature would very likely be mingled, and more be suspected at all times. Of the French, and the French only, may one write freely, and blame liberally; for though all fear, I think all (even the maddest,) begin to abhor them. 'Tis too late however, and unless some decisive blow be soon struck in Italy, (of which I am not wholly without hope,) all must go, and then politics will cease to be, as now, an extraneous subject, to keep us from talking of what truly interests our heart or purse, it will be what most immediately touches our nearest and dearest concerns. May the great battle likely to take place before beautiful Verona's gates avert, by the success of General Wurmser,—at least defer, that very dreadful moment! But there are other hopes. We may take Leghorn ourselves. The old Empress may think ye time come when she ought to rouze from her Northern torpor, that keeps all animals asleep till late in the season by its cold, and the whole human race may unite against that portion of it which so seeks the utter ruin of the rest. Any of these will do; and if nothing of ys should happen, we must revere and acknowledge the visible finger of God, and prepare for what's to follow. So much for public matters....

I fancy Madam D'Arblaye lives much with foreigners. She talks of demanding and according in a way English people never talk; and of descending to breakfast, and says one sister aided another to rise, or lye down, as English people never do. We say ask, and grant, and help, and go down stairs, you know; the other words are French. The characters however of Mrs. Arlberry and Mrs. Berlington are surely well contrasted, and both likely enough to strike a young creature of Camilla's cast. Mrs. Mittin too has much of my applause, and Bellamy frighted me with his feigned character and his false friendship, and his pouncing upon Eugenia, so like "one Hawk with one Pidgeon,"—do you remember?

Cecilia is very well, and looks prettier than she used to do.... She has been to see us since I wrote, both with and without her Husband. They are going into Westmoreland on a shooting party, and propose visiting my oldest friend, Mrs. Strickland. Her sisters are at Tunbridge.

Helen Williams's conduct seems to astound Harriet Lee, whose own sweetness hindered her from seeing what led to it long ago, but we must yet suspend our judgments. I expect some Harlequin escape from censure will yet be performed for our delight and her benefit.

Dr. Moore battles the Ladies on their own ground, I see. Mr. Cumberland and he come forward with novels contesting the palm against very formidable antagonists. I never saw Henry, but have heard many commend it, and from Edward I really expect a good deal.

The epilogue to Almeyda pleased me more than even the prologue, some lines of which are however exquisite. The play itself half broke my heart in reading, 'twas so tender, and somehow I had expected terror more than pity would have been produced by Sophia Lee. Like yourself, I was all for Orasmyn. When will these dear creatures cease their combinations of calamity? There is so much in the real living world at present, 'tis surprising how one can find tears for nothing so, and for nobody.

Charming Siddons has been silent ever since I refused running after her from Beaumaris to Liverpool, but such an expedition was more impracticable than she dreamt on. Mr. Pott, who I met in Anglesey, said she had lost much of health and something of good looks. Oh! for those two things, if true, I am really and sincerely sorry....

Mrs. Piozzi's hopes of successes against the French were doomed to disappointment. The command in Italy had now been entrusted to Bonaparte, who won the battle of Lodi and entered Milan in May. His opponent, General Wurmser, though at the head of 10,000 Austrians, and aided by the disaffection of the States newly subjugated by France, was driven out of Italy in a week; and on attempting to retrieve his fortunes by a second campaign, was shut up in Mantua, and compelled to capitulate. Nor had the English forces fared any better, having been driven out of Leghorn and Corsica in the course of the summer.

Madame D'Arblay's new novel, Camilla, which had just been published, proved highly successful. Besides 1100 subscribers at a guinea, 3500 copies were sold in three months. The contemporary reviewer in the British Critic was struck by the genius required to bring together such a number of distinctly characterised persons, and make them act consistently, and singled out, like Mrs. Piozzi, the character of Mrs. Arlberry as one of the most highly finished portraits.

The scope of Dr. Moore's work is sufficiently shown by its title—Edward; various views of human nature, taken from life and manners, chiefly in England. This, being devoted to the better side of human nature, was considered much less thrilling than Zeluco. His third venture, Mordaunt, published in 1803, was tamer still, being the conventional story of a workhouse foundling, recognised by his parents through the happy accident of a strawberry-mark.

Dr. Richard Cumberland, son of the Bishop of Clogher and Killaloe, and a grandson of Dr. Richard Bentley, professedly modelled his Henry (published 1795) on the style of Fielding. His work was fairly well received by the public, but his peculiar temper made him unpopular with his fellow authors, of whom Goldsmith drew his portrait in Retaliation, while Sheridan in The Critic caricatured him unmercifully as Sir Fretful Plagiary.

Brynbella, Shortest day, 1796.

How, my dear Mrs. Pennington, shall I begin a letter which is sure to be so truly disagreeable to us both? How shall I tell you that we are not coming either to Bath or Bristol? Harriet has a commission from us now to un-order the lodgings we meant to take.

Business, and that of a mortifying nature, drags not draws us to the neighbourhood of London; it is Cecy's business chiefly, but must not be neglected. There are now but thirteen short months to her coming of age, and those who are most earnest that she should be taken care of, call to us for that assistance, which, at any rate, we are anxious to give. She has never called here, or I fancy thought of such an exertion these nine or ten weeks; but if she does not know her duty, we know ours, and will endeavour to do it:—but let us talk of something,—of anything else.

The pleasantest subject is the new Loan: whilst the Metropolis can subscribe half a million an hour she will fear no invasion I suppose, although such treasures might tempt plunder from less unprincipled robbers than the French. People make comfort out of the pecuniary distresses of our enemy too; but a wolf becomes more formidable from being hungry. I am not among the warm hopers yet.... My Master and I are nearly as much rusticated as you consider yourself to be: we shall open our eyes and ears and hope to bring both back full.

The Rebellion at the Hot Wells was a vexatious circumstance, did you conquer or compromise at last? The days of obedience are over; old Nash was the last who governed, like Elizabeth, by nicely blending love and fear together, and by so exalting the force of influence that I believe they mistook it for power of authority, and their subjects would not undeceive them.

Have you read all these new Romances? The Knights of the Swan for example, the terrific Lenore, and a Ballad of Alonzo the Brave? I think a great change has been made in taste of popular literature,—or rather, popular reading,—since we parted. People were tired of Master Jacky and Miss Jenny I suppose, and flew from insipid diet of water-gruel and chicken broth to Caviare and Cayenne, and Peppermint water for drink. The other extreme was wholesomer, and 'tis better be studying stories of little Eugenia tumbling off the plank, out from old simple Sir Hugh's arms, than follow the frightful Monk to his precipice. Send me word what your Mother says when you read these horrible tales to her. Sure we shall see Colonel Barry again sometime; it seems to me long since I enjoyed his conversation, his criticism is always ingenious, and commonly exact, and by perpetually filling and continually emptying his mind, it acquires peculiar clearness, like a cold bath where the stream runs through....

To meet the expected French invasion, the Government raised a loan of eighteen millions, which was all subscribed before the close of the second day. The price of issue was 112, which at the time was considered low.

Beau Nash had been dead for more than thirty years when Mrs. Piozzi wrote. His reign at Bath, which made the reputation of that town as a fashionable resort, lasted for over half a century; but though his prestige suffered little diminution, he fell on evil days, and towards the close of his life lived on a pension voted by the grateful Corporation, who also accorded him a public funeral in the Abbey.

The Knights of the Swan, a romance of the Court of Charlemagne, was translated from the French of Madame de Genlis by the Rev. Mr. Beresford in 1796. In the same year appeared some half-dozen English versions of August Bürgher's Lenore; those by Stanley, Pye, and Spencer are reviewed in the British Critic. The poem of "Alonzo the Brave" occurs in the romance of The Monk, by Matthew Gregory Lewis, commonly known as "Monk" Lewis, and served as a basis for the play of Alonzo and Imogene.