Soon to be called after his name, their founder,
That all the Northern districts of the Empire
Felt justly fearful of these gathering storms."
"Many, like M. Jourdain, have talked prose half their lives without knowing it, but few have written half a large book in harmonious heroics, when they meant to write mere prose. If we might advise, the ingenious Author should turn the whole into blank verse, and republish it."
Brynbella, Thursday 7 Oct. 1802.
When a Member of Parliament says to me, "Shall I give you a Frank?" "Oh yes!" I always reply, "for Mrs. Pennington." Lord Kirkwall's generosity is the cause of this letter, because in these hard times one likes, you see, to get a little chat gratis. The next thing to be considered is,—what shall I ask? and what shall I tell? That my Master has had a smart fit of gout in his hands, and that I expect him to have one in his feet, may be told with truth. That the Countess of Cork and Orrery drove up to our door while he was confined, may be told with some degree of vexation, because I knew not how on earth to amuse her, but she was good humoured, and gave little trouble, and after a fortnight's visit—went away. What she related of her adventures among the crags of Kader Idris, her admiration of that wild mountain scenery, and the contrast our gay prospect afforded her, will, I suppose, be served up in many a London Assembly next May.
Ladies appear now to travel all Autumn upon a foraging plan of gleaning talk for their Spring parties. They who spend June and July in London can never perswade me that they are really in search of rural pleasures the remaining part of the year in our cold climate, or that rural pleasure is really to be found where deformity is sought. Miss Thrales have been looking for both, as I understand, among the Western Islands, described by every traveller as barren, bleak, and dangerous. Had Mr. Piozzi and I known that they were navigating the stormy Sound of Mull when we heard the wind roar so a fortnight ago, irritated by Equinoctial Gales, we should have been in pain for them, not for the furniture expected from Mayhew and Ince to decorate pretty Brynbella.
All is safe however. Mrs. Bagot used to say it was superfluous to wish anybody a good journey, because, said she, everybody has a good journey. "Ah! dear Friend!" I hear you exclaim, "many have a good journey through life too; yet is it not superfluous to wish their neighbours one likewise; for surely mine has been a very bad one." Come, courage! The next stages will be smoother, for you shall not predict of your own fortune with that unlucky acuteness you show in discerning the future lot of others....
Sweet Siddons ... writes me word from Belfast that she will call here in her hurrying journey back to our Metropolis....
The next letter was written the same day, and was evidently called forth by the announcement of an unexpected visit from Mrs. Pennington; but neither this, nor that of Mrs. Siddons, ever came off.
Brynbella, Thursday 7 Oct. 1802.
My dear Mrs. Pennington will have the sincerest welcome possible, but she will have nothing else. My volunteer letter, franked by Lord Kirkwall, will shew you that we have no curtains, and no blinds up, no anything but, as Buchetti used to say of a Spanish Posada, "Four walls! no more." Those walls will however resound with joy at your arrival, and dear Siddons's. How good and charming she is! I have a letter—three lines long—from her too....
The next is written while on the way to pay their winter visit to Bath.
Gloucester, Sat. night 4 Dec. 1802.
And so I lose Hannah More, and so I lose Mrs. Siddons, and so I lose dear Mrs. Pennington, and so I lose my fav'rite house at Bath.
Still drops some joy from with'ring life away!
But 'tis all for their good, as the children say, and I resign to my fate. Let us hope at least that increase of health and fortune may make them happy. My Master comes better from Brynbella this year than I scarce ever saw him....
You caution'd me, dear Friend, not to tell of your arrangements. Assure yourself I am incapable of any such breach of trust. If one lets the Maid comb one's own secrets out of one's head, (and I have none in,) those confided to me are in a safer place, lodged in my heart. I hope your new projects will answer, and that you will tell me so on New Year's Day, after dinner....