"Oh! no Lady need fear she can lose consequence by the side of such a man, who will always cast a lustre about whatever profession he may follow. Perhaps it is the very circumstance of holding the power of decision wholly in her own hands, that renders her so cautious, lest others should suppose she has not used the responsibility wisely. Oh! love, real love, knows no such reasoning as this! you know, dearest friend, it does not.

"I am on very ill terms with myself respecting the silly speech I made about your pretty Silver Tea Pot. You have shown me you cannot leave it me, and I will not deprive you of the use of it. That would be foolish indeed; for I want no remembrancer of you, and have many: besides I do verily believe I am not likely ever to receive it on the terms I asked it. Sincerely and fervently do I pray and believe you have many more years before you, than I have any right, from constitution and the present state of my feelings, to reckon upon. And it would be worse than absurd to rob you of an article of daily use, to throw it into the hands of other people. All I can consent to therefore is, that you continue to use it, dear Friend. Long may you do so, and should the most fatal deprivation I can now ever feel (but one) befall me, desire Betsey to deposit that with dear Conway's watch, and I will drink my tea from it for the rest of my life, and mingle my tears with the fragrant libation."

The teapot was destined to be a source of much heart-burning, as will be seen later on.

Tuesday, 18 Jan. 1820.

Well, dearest Mrs. Pennington, you sent home our favourite Friend ready to cry: he! whose business it is to make us all cry. But he swears you were so pathetic, and your kindness—so kind! His spirits required spurring for the evening at Mrs. Pennell's. I have not seen him since, save on the Stage....

If the Salusburys are not snow'd up upon the road, they will be here to-night: how shall I thaw them? We will make them a little no Party for the 20th....

Conway surpassed himself in Pierre last night; he has long left all others behind. It would grieve me should he meet mortification where he looks for happiness; though such things do befall the wise, the witty, and the beautiful. I wish he would stand prepared for endurance of an evil 'tis possible may be hanging over him. I have no guess how matters stand but as he tells me; and to-day his not calling, added to your letter, gives me apprehension.

Adieu! I have been to the cold Rooms arranging my supper, etc. Oh Heavens! what a foolery! It will utterly ruin your poor

H. L. P.

Something appears to have gone wrong with this letter, as Mrs. Pennington writes on January 20 in an agitated strain to enquire whether Mrs. Piozzi's silence is due to "a return of those frightful Cramps," or some other ailment. "Keep me not [in] suspense," she continues, "it is not wise to indulge so intense an interest as that I feel for you, and all that relates to you. I live on your letters, and literally think of nothing but you, and our common Friend. Would to God he was as deeply seated in the heart of his Beloved as he is in ours! But is it reasonable to expect that a mere girl should be able properly to appreciate the rich treasure of his love. No, it requires something more, rather more mature in judgement, discrimination and feeling. I was willing to be sceptical as long as I could, as to the nature of his attachment, and its extent; but I am convinced it is ardent, pure, and deep-seated.... She cannot know the value of such love by the objections she makes, and the indecision of her conduct. She thinks perhaps that the next Lover will love as well; but if she lets him go she will lose an unique, a noble fellow, and find too late that such love is seldom any woman's lot, and never more than once.

"I cannot think what has created such an interest in my mind;—yes, I can,—it is you, who have been, and are almost (I must not for shame say more) everything to me.... Give my love to the Chevalier [Conway], Did he tell you that after all the confidence reciprocated in our pleasant ride, I sealed the bond of friendship we have sworn with a kiss (as chaste as Dian ever gave) at parting, which he was to leave on your dear hand?"

Mrs. Piozzi's letter, written on Tuesday, did not reach Clifton till Friday, January 21, when Mrs. Pennington writes complaining of the bad management of the Bath Post Office, and then touches on the subject of Mrs. Piozzi's great Birthday Fête.

"I begin to feel considerable uneasiness on the subject of your Gala. I fear indeed, dear Friend, you will be run to an enormous expence.... I have enquired, and know that the thing was done at Clifton, and very handsomely, at half a Guinea per head, wine included: for after all there is very little drank at a Supper where women are the half, or larger proportion of the company." She then returns to Conway's affairs. "Entre nous, I cannot persuade myself the girl has spirit or stamina to set her above, and carry her through those disadvantages which others (called the World) would see and condemn in such a connexion. If she insists on his giving up his profession, he is shorn of half his beams; more especially as her fortune will not supply that independent respectability which would be some compensation for the loss of the eclât he cannot fail of deriving from the exertion of his talents. If she cannot make up her mind to take him as he is, I verily think she does not deserve him. The objections she lays stress upon are not to be found in Love's Calendar...."