[Dated, by Mrs. Pennington, Jul. 1801.]
You are a dear Friend, and a wise Lady, and—"Conscience" (says I) "you counsel ill": and "Pennington" (says I) "you counsel well."[19] See the learned Lancelot Gobbo. But my heart tells me that the Gentleman's Magazine will exhibit a letter of more anger than good sense at least, being written on the spur of the moment, the very day I read my antagonist's spiteful accusations. 'Tis most likely, for it never entered my head that Robson would print what came to him in form of complaint, just as I wrote it to you. Yet when he asked leave to show it up before the public, and said several friends in his shop advised the measure, I would not shrink from it.
Harriet Lee has sent me a making up Epistle; so we make up, but it is a cold and flat paste we make on't at last, and as little George Siddons said of his brother's friends, whom he had been half afraid of, "I know what they are now." I know what she is, too; and worded my answer accordingly. She lamented the ill nature of the Critical Review to me with due and proper pathos. I replied lightly that they were not half as ill-natured as they were ill-informed, and that if charming Hannah More valued such abuse as little as H. L. P. did, she would live long a champion of religion's cause, and not dye, as they wished her to do, a martyr to't. The truth is her controversy gets very stale now, and like her torment Beer (Bere)
Though stale, not ripe, tho' thin, yet never clear.
I will hasten to expose my Gentlemen's ignorance, and then release people to think and care about matters more worth their attention.
The loss of those two fine ships was vexatious enough, but we must have a few knocks. Hannibal lost one eye early in life you know: so these fellows came on the blind side of him, that's all. Our cutting the Corvette from Camaret Bay was an exploit worthy to be preserved in History till Time shall be no more. But nothing ever equalled the hardihood of Naval Officers shown in course of this war. It is a tissue of heroism, and to attempt shores so guarded would seem frenzy, had one not to recollect apparent impossibilities conquered by Buonaparte: particularly his passing Mount St. Gothard in winter, never relaxed; which however did yield (God only knows how) to the French Artillery, suffer'd to cross that Mountain for the sake of gaining a decisive battle at Marengo. We must have more sense, if they do land, than fight any battle at all with such troops; our business is to harrass them and thin their numbers, not easily repair'd; and attacking them only by night, assure to ourselves the advantages accrueing from our own knowledge and their ignorance of the country. Mr. Pennington will tell you I am quite right, and it was for want of knowing as much in old times that Harold foolishly set his Island on the hazard of one grand battle, which he lost at Hastings.
Our Secret Society men who buy up the corn and fling [it] by night into the river or sea, are far more dangerous enemies; and will, if matters ripen into reality of bustle, be less afraid of acting openly. Their present intentions tow'rds irritating our lower ranks, and making them willing to rebel, are happily counteracted by the enormous quantity of corn in the field, and ports, and harbours. They too are known, and people see into their machinations pretty clearly.
Bath is a well-judged place for the King during times of apprehended turbulence, and the waters may do him good, as they do me.... 'Tis a nice place beside, for a man of his open character and manners to attach individuals, and delight common folks with his familiar way. I am glad he will see Captain Dimond play Lothario at three score years old, to our lovely friend's inimitable Callista....
We have got a dear Member of Parlt now close by us in Denbigh Town; so Heaven have mercy on the correspondents of your
H. L. P.
[19] "'Conscience,' says I, 'you counsel well.'"—Mer. of Ven., II. ii. 21.
The loss of two ships here mentioned seems to relate to the vessels which grounded at the commencement of Nelson's engagement at Copenhagen. On his return home he was set to watch the French armament collecting for the invasion of England, under the protection of the fortified camps at Boulogne, Brest, &c. There was no opportunity for any decisive action, but Camaret Bay, near Brest, was the scene of one of the numerous cutting-out engagements in which the British commanders distinguished themselves at this period.
The "gallant, gay Lothario" was a character in Rowe's Fair Penitent, his victim, Callista, being one of Mrs. Siddons's favourite impersonations.
Mrs. Piozzi does not seem to have made much use of her "dear Member," for this is the only letter this year which he can have franked.
Brynbella, August 1801.
Be in better spirits, dear Friend, or at least in the best spirits that you can: things will draw cross sometimes, we know they will:
We know that all must fortune try,
And bear our evils, wet or dry.
My master's misfortunes are few, but dry ones; he has now a chalk-stone on his ear, but Siddons's mouth is a more important ailment by half....
What is the meaning of Hannah More's marriage being thus gravely announced in every newspaper, and resounding here in N. Wales from every mouth, while you say not one word upon the subject?... Give me an answer to the thousand enquiries buzzing round me, and give it quickly that the talk may end....
Our little boy is blithe as a bird, almost as wild; a model of gayety and good-humour.
With smiling cheeks, and roving eyes,
Causeless mirth, and vain surprise,
as Hawkesworth describes childhood, such is he: may he get safely thro' the next stage!
I have not yet seen Harriet's tale, and without your information should never have heard about Belinda. These soft'ning books greatly encrease the dissolution of manners, tho' each, unexceptionable in itself, cannot be complained of. The youth of our present day however read nothing else, and how they should escape such melting relaxers, added to their own feelings in the warm season of life, I guess not. Literary arrogance and early ambition are the only antidotes which this world will supply.
Education is a mere word now for a theme or subject on which to display the eloquence of teachers, and the teachers themselves—Miss More perhaps excepted,—are drawing boys and girls into Love's labyrinth with one hand, while they are pointing to distant Wisdom and Virtue with the other.
The Curate and Barber who burned Don Quixote's Library of large romances[20] would have been frighted to see them thus epitomized into the power of a school boy to purchase, as India's fragrance is happily compress'd into a Guinea phial of Odour of Roses.
Our Novel-writers have a right to hate me, who set my face so against fiction, and who have endeavoured (tho' fruitlessly) to make truth palatable. But when they boast that my book is liked only by the old Heads of Houses at Oxford and Cambridge, and chained up in the Bodleian or All Souls, 'tis such a vaunt as the French make when they chain their ships ashore.
It is in the meantime very surprising that Nelson should try again after seeing that he attempts impossibilities. I think he has play'd double or quits too often, and tempts good fortune too far. Egypt is our own at last, and will bring its plagues with it. For how should we garrison such distant possessions, which the French may disturb whenever they are disposed to rid themselves of a troublesome General and 40,000 open mouths? I wish the East Indians, for whose sake we drove these fellows out, would be pleased to keep them away now they are gone.
So my Lord de Blaquiere is run away to make drawings beyond Snowdonia, and the Bishop is in Anglesey, and no Frank, for love or money, can I get.... I hear Mrs. Mostyn has a son Arthur. He will, I hope, fill his round table with Knights, and revive the spirit of Chivalry. M[ark] L[ane] is the great Dragon which devours us all, and 'tis said there is a train laid to rid the Kingdom of a combination so strong, that relying upon its force, a Gentleman offer'd yesterday to bet a wager that Corn would be as high priz'd next November as it was last January. But this is croaking worse than Mrs. Pennington, and I believe that the Gentleman will lose....
[20] Don Quixote, Bk. I. chap. vi.
HANNAH MORE