Here's a kettle of fish that my appetite suits,

To Brentford an airing I'll take;—'tis past bearing

That my friends should be fettered by Justice Mainwaring.

But young B——tt I like; and will form a connection

To abolish jail, gibbet, and House of Correction."

André Jacques Garnerin made the first successful descent by a parachute. He demonstrated his invention in Paris in 1797, and this year came to London, where he ascended from North Audley Street, and descended from a height of about 8000 feet, near St. Pancras.

Tenby, S.W., Tuesday, 3 Aug. 1802.

What can be the matter, dear Mrs. Pennington? When you do not write something must be the matter I am afraid. We were so near you at Cheltenham; I expected letters there from all the living world, but nobody's pen stir'd, and after having drank water for a whole week, without any of the usual effects from it, we drove on through South Wales to the Sea, which always looks homeish to a subject of Great Britain. The beauties of Brecknockshire never seem to have been praised half enough.... Our little salt water cup here is the prettiest thing possible, a caricatura in miniature of the Bay of Naples, and I hope Lord Nelson will be struck with the resemblance if he comes hither with the Hamiltons next Thursday, as we expect. Four thousand people collected in a trice to give him welcome at Caermarthen, and sung the Conquering Hero as he past. It was the greater proof of their gratitude because a temporary frenzy had seized all the inhabitants, who were battling an Election contest with fury unexampled, till he arrived, who united Reds and Blues in a momentary procession, accompanying and applauding the warrior who, by his prowess, had purchased them leisure to display their folly. The disgraceful scenes exhibited at Brentford and Nottingham are however of a far different complexion....

I dined among profess'd Democrates just before we left London, but it seemed to me as if their fondness for Paris was rather diminished than increased by their last visit to that Metropolis, where they described Buonaparte as living in a Camp rather than a Court, and with a careful brow receiving, not enjoying, the homage paid him. By their talk I gather'd that Helen Williams lives in the same Hotel with Stone; but that no scandal or idea of connection subsists for that reason; that Koschieffsky, the Polish chieftain, is her hero,—much as Miss Lee venerates General Paoli;—and that her house (Helen's) is the resort of a Literary Coterie, all malcontents, who tell those that get into their circle what a short duration the present order of things will be granted, and what happy days await France when the next change takes place. Was not Lord Lyttleton right enough when, walking round Ranelagh, he observed that pleasure was always in the next Box?

Miss Hamilton is said to be writing somewhat very entertaining in a cottage near some of the Lakes. Miss Edgeworth makes everybody laugh but me, with her Essay on Irish Bulls. Hannah More is suffering from her Pamphlet Fever still. And they tell me Helen Williams thinks of nothing with real delight except London Society, and an unsullied reputation for female honour. Her mother, yet alive, curses the atheistical notions that surround her, teaches Cecilia's Babies Dr. Watts's Hymns and our Church Catechism, prays for King George the Third morning, noon, and night, and centres all her wishes in that one of seeing old England (forsooth,) once again. Why upon earth did they leave it?...

Pasquale de Paoli had been elected Generalissimo of Corsica in 1755, and held the post till the Genoese sold the island to France in 1768, when he escaped to England, and was granted a pension. He accepted the Governorship at the Revolution, but being disgusted at the proceedings of the Convention, organised a revolt, and was again elected Generalissimo. Finding himself unable to maintain the independence of his country, he agreed to hand it over to England, and when we evacuated the island, retired to London, where he died in 1807. His remains were conveyed to Corsica in 1889.

Miss Hamilton's "something amusing" would appear to be her Letters on Education, published 1801-2. The Essay on Irish Bulls was the joint work of Richard Lovell and Maria Edgeworth. The British Critic deemed it "a kind of peace-offering to the Irish nation for the harmless satire of Castle Rackrent."

Tenby, Friday, August 6, 1802.

This is indeed a dismal end to the long silence of poor dear Mrs. Pennington. Your letter kept us both awake last night, yet I have fixed on no mode of consolation to be offer'd you in the morning. Should it please God that you were to become once more a Single Woman, I hope we should always be able and willing to afford you shelter. In the mean time it is your duty to be careful of your health, your Husband, and your Mother, who, of the three, is really most to be pitied. There is always some brighter part than the rest, of every cloudy sky; and that part gets more luminous as one fixes one's eyes upon it....

Be perswaded to anticipate possible, though distant, good; you will not believe in ills till they are near indeed. My croaking with regard to public matters you rejected, as disturbing your rejoycing in the peace, and the plenty, and the taking away of the Income Tax: but what I said then might now be seen, if we were not blind: it will shortly be felt, for feeling is a sense that will remain long after the others are blunted.

If the Parliament, by finding Sir Francis Burdett's votes illegal, make the Westminster election void, who will stand forward to oppose him? Mainwaring? And if he does, will that be very advantageous, (think you,) towards the peace of the Country and our Sovereign Lord the King? Or will his next opponent, if Mr. Mainwaring be weary, have any better success? And will you give the Democrates a fresh triumph, because this last is not sufficient? If he is outed at a stroke, and Mr. Mainwaring called in, the consequent violence will be great indeed, and the uproar deafening. It was an ill-managed business....

What you have lost, could not, I suppose, have been saved; what Government loses, they do not much struggle to keep. Everything is done in a new way, and we who lived in former times do not much like it. But as Baretti said, when losing at Backgammon, "These are bad dice, but we must play them as they are." ...

Sea bathing is beautifully pleasant in this little place, fertile in fish beside, but seeing no fruit makes one feel as if summer was quite over.... Mr. Piozzi waits here very good humourdly till Brynbella has made her toilette. What a mercy 'tis that Gout has not yet laid hold on him!...