Brynbella, Tuesday Night, 15 Dec. 1801.

... Well! Time passes away, and so do torments, and poor Mrs. Whalley will have no more in this world. I shall have that of telling you that there will not be any habitable Brynbella this Summer, that is coming. We shall be thrown on the wide world ourselves, and mean to pass the early part of it at Streatham Park, on a visit, the latter end in Caernarvonshire, where my lease of a little estate is out, and then call here for a month or two in our way back to Winter Quarters.... On this hope of real comfort let us live till then, and pass some chearful hours together at dear Bath, where I would I were this moment! Mr. Piozzi playing on the Piano e forte to Mrs. De Luc, you and I listening, and hoarding up chat for the half hour after he and his auditress are abed and asleep....

I cannot yet rid myself of this Bristol quarrel. If the Mores are, and have been always Sectaries, why do they deny it? Where's the harm done? I had rather they were good High Church folks like you, and like myself, but the religion that was good enough for Isaac Watts need not be shrunk from. What are they afraid of?...

Mrs. Hamilton tells me sweet Siddons is alive, but I fancy she is on no stage now. Poor Mrs. Whalley's death will grieve her unaffectedly. I was never intimate enough to feel her loss, but she was no common character, that's certain. Half a dozen Gentlemen who lived much together abroad were so sincerely vex'd when she left presiding at their public table, that they quitted the house; a surprizing testimony to the conversation talents of one so wanting in youth or beauty....

[P.M. Bath.]

My dear Mrs. Pennington's friends will learn to hate poor H. L. P.'s name, and that of her family, I fear, when I have told her how my little John Salusbury and his Preceptor, Mr. Davies, are coming for ten days in the middle of January, to occupy our only apartment, and that, as you know, a bad one. The time is past when he was Piccolino and slept with Allen, and play'd with the men and maids; he is a great boy now, and I would not trust him out of my own sight, except with his Tutor, for all the territory of Venice.

And now let us talk of sweet Siddons, who, next to immediate home concerns, is dear to you and me. Here is her letter back, and truly sorry am I for her. Be perswaded now, and remain convinced that neither fame nor fortune can make happiness....

How people do study to prolong their own existence in this world, and their own enjoyment of this world, through their offspring, may be learned by the strange tale, now revived, of Hugh Capet's being told by an Astrologer that his descendants should reign over France not quite 800 years. "Will it," he said, "add to their time of sitting on this throne if I do not reign at all?" "Oh! yes," replies the man, "your dynasty will then continue 806 years." Hugh Capet was, for that reason, never crowned. And if you will add those 806 years to A.D. 987, when he asked the question, they will make 1793, when his last descendant was deposed and murder'd. This story now comes in peoples' heads because of the surprising Labrador stone dug up in Russia, and containing Louis XVI's profile delineated upon it by the hand of nature. Miss Thrale has seen it, and there is a facsimile handed about this town; yet many think it an imposition, and those who think otherwise are ashamed to say they think so. I wish to look at it in your company, which always adds to every intellectual gratification bestow'd on yours truly,

H. L. P.

Accept our Christmas Wishes, and hope of a happy New Year.

Sat. 22 May 1802,

George St., Manchester Square, London, No. 5.

My dear Mrs. Pennington will begin to expect accounts, and I think the first thing to give account of is our house; wherein was no bed, no fire, and no spit, upon our first arrival. Here, therefore, none save a negative inventory of felicities can be given; but we hire, and we croud, and we dine out, and we endure the inconveniences with the more philosophy as neither house, nor lodgings, nor room even in a Hôtel can be got nearer to Christian dwellings than Cecil Street in ye Strand, where Governor Bruce has housed himself. So much for residence.

The cards of visitors and inviters, however, cover our little table, and we have already pass'd three pleasant evenings enough! The first at dear Siddons's, where Lady Percival, Mrs. Barrington, Mrs. FitzHugh, and Mr. Whalley all met us; and we talked of you, and everyone talked as you would have wished to hear; but Mrs. Siddons disclaims letter writing, and says her friends must be contented without being her correspondents. Among them they perswaded us to push for places at the Theatre next night, where Hermione's statue was exhibited for the last time. I never did see anything so admirable, or so much like a statue of our lovely Actress, for it really did seem stone; and the whole was got up with such taste and splendour that I wished for Garrick to witness the magnificence of modern Drury Lane. He would have wonder'd tho' what was become of his old Florizel and Perdita—Barry and Mrs. Cibber. Kemble played Leontes better than I ever saw him do anything since the Regent. Apropos to which, here is the Author; looking as well as ever, handsome, gay, and brilliant. Mrs. Greatheed alters, and becomes very fat. Their habitation is said to be fixed at Guy's Cliffe, though they are hastening to Paris as I understand, where Helen Maria Williams and the famous Polish hero Koschiusko attract general notice. Buonaparte is consider'd as tott'ring on an unfix'd seat of pow'r; if he can once convert it into a throne it will perhaps stand firmer.

We dined with Miss Thrales yesterday, the party particularly agreeable, and very good talkers in it. We women retired to Coffee as the clock struck nine; the men followed in less than an hour, and when tea was taken away at 11 o'clock, we came home to sleep, and the rest went out to various parties for ye evening.

Fryday was pass'd at Streatham; little Salusbury seems much improved. I heard his whole class say their lesson, and made observations like those of Mrs. Quickly in the Merry Wives of Windsor. It was in those characters Susanna and Sophia shone, it seems, at the last Masquerade, dress'd exactly alike, for Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page. I wish my rich tenant Mr. Giles would get a wife, that one might with better grace accept his kind invitations to Streatham Park, which never was so fine before....

Charles Edward Bruce, Governor of Prince Edward's Island, was third son of Charles, fifth Earl of Elgin, and brother of the seventh Earl, who collected the Elgin Marbles.

Susanna Maria Cibber, a daughter of Mr. Arne, first made her mark as a singer, Handel's contralto solos in the Messiah and Samson being written for her. She obtained even greater reputation as an actress, and played with Spranger Barry at Drury Lane in 1748, and at Covent Garden in 1750.

Tadeusz Kosciusko, after having been educated in France, had a chequered military career in America, where he fought for the Colonists, and at home. After the second partition of his country he formed a Provisional Government, but was soon after captured by his enemies. On his release he visited England and America, but finally settled in France, where, about this time, he was forming an estate near Fontainebleau.

No. 5 George St., Manchester Square.

Wensday, 2 Jun. 1802.

My dear Mrs. Pennington's beautiful letter is the picture of her mind, a mind which only this vast Town can fill: and she starves at pretty Bristol, as I call it, like a large fish put in a small pond, pining for more space, and more of something to occupy that space. My taste is different. I really feel more confounded than amused at every public place, more stunned than informed by every conversation, and more generally perplex'd than pleased with the multitude of faces, voices, and caprices that surround me. Banti and Billington sang three nights ago at Viganoni's Benefit,—we heard them,—not a duet, two separate songs of the same class, Italian Airs, and both of them Bravura. When they had done,—"I am a Bantist," says one Critic. "Ah! long live Billington!" exclaims another, "Her's is the only straight road to fortune and to fame." All appeared quite distracted with the delight they had enjoyed, yet none seemed satisfied; for scarce a female in the room except myself went home to bed at midnight. But some at Ranelagh, some at my Lady Pomfret's, disposed of the hours once consecrate to sleep: while many filled the back rooms of Fancy Dress Makers, who this year keep houses open all night for various purposes. The ostensible one, (and that rational enough too,) is that the women may chuse Habits unobserved by each other for these innumerable Masquerades, where two or three different characters are supported every evening by Ladies of ye Haut Ton; increasing expence, and facilitating intrigue in a manner hitherto unexampled. One consequence of all this is our paying half a guinea for chickens,—the couple I mean,—and 9d. o' pound for what I should have termed soup-meat at Bath Market.

Another happier consequence to Country Rustics like us will be reconcilement to quieter scenes and far more tranquil pleasures. I grow very much to resemble the ill-bred fellow you and I used to laugh about, who, when Lord Mount Edgecumbe showed him the glories of our grandest sea view, from our most cultivated spot of earth in Devonshire, commanding the exits and entrances of fleets, armies, commerce, etc. from Plymouth Sound and Dock, declared that he had been exceeding happy at The Leasowes, for that he liked inland prospects, (for his part,) and river fish. In no unsimilar ill-humour do I vaunt the comforts of Bath society and a Sedan Chair, when the pole of some gay carriage runs into our pannel, or when, to avoid that, I take a run in the rain, and wet my feet upon their wide trottoirs.

Apropos to Bath conquests made, it appears I have retained but one. Genl. Smith is faithless, and has so completely forgotten us he never has left a card. Mr. Simmons is a fav'rite among the Great, and we humble Lodgers are not likely to be remember'd while suites of splendid apartments in every grand street and square are open to talents—of whatever kind. Edmund Charlton alone is true. I have a letter from him signed my very dutyful and affectionate friend, and saying he is less unhappy now than when he wrote his Mama word he was miserable.... Our own Titmouse bids fair to possess abilities for bustle, and by ye time he comes into ye world, it will be a mad world enough.

Well! I can yet make new conquests. Lord Stanhope professes himself my admirer, and the admirer of my books. Lady Corke call'd him and about 300 people more round her last night, on the spur of a moment, because Mr. Piozzi, who had met her in Cumberland Street, had promised to sing at a very private party for her Ladyship's amusement: and there was H. L. P. caressed by all the Liberty-Lovers: sweet Lady Derby more lovely than them all, and protesting that my husband never looked younger nor sung better. There was a Mr. Moore, a new favourite with the public, who makes his own music and poetry, and pleases people very much,—a sort of English Improvisatore,—and there were the Abrahams, and there was everybody: and all our talk was the terrors and riots of a Mask'd Ball held the night before at Cumberland House, now the Union Club. Many women were hurt, and many frighted. My Susan Thrale came off with a black eye, but her fingers were well, and she played on ye harp at Lady Cork and Orrery's. Sophia went for a Comic Muse, but said the end was very nearly tragical; those who fainted from fear were trode upon. Lady Derby stood still and cried, and succeeded better in obtaining compassion. The men's brutality, Mr. Andrews protests, was quite unexampled in a civilised country: but Mrs. Greatheed, a jocund young Shepherdess, went thro' the whole unhurt, under the protection of such a husband and such a son as are rarely seen, and both striving which shall most pet and most adore her. They are now all of them repairing their charms for Mrs. Drummond Smith's Assembly, and Beedle's grand Ranelagh Fête to be held next Fryday. So much for flash intelligence....

Political matters do not run quite so even. Buonaparte tho' is likely as we hear to be made all he wishes; and if he lives to coin the money, Apollion Buonaparte Dei Gratia Imperator Gallorum, it will be very curious indeed....

Elizabeth Billington, considered to be the finest singer England ever produced, was engaged both at Drury Lane and Covent Garden. This year she sang in Italian opera at the King's Theatre for Banti's farewell.

Lord Stanhope must have been Charles, third Earl Stanhope, the scientist, who married Lady Hester Pitt.

The English Improvisatore was, of course, Thomas Moore, who had lately come into notice by his translations of Anacreon. The British Critic described him as "a young man of elegant and lively, though not sufficiently regulated imagination"; and predicted that if he applied himself to "more important subjects, and of a more moral tendency, few poets of the present day will equal, and perhaps scarcely any excel him."