Chapter VI (1)

Attacks by reviewers--The Peace, 1801--Visit to London--South
Wales--Mrs. Pennington's troubles--Bath again--Breach with Mrs.
Pennington, 1804.

The next letter is directed to "Longford Cottage, the Seat of the Rev. Thomas Sedgwick Whalley, near Bristol," where Mrs. Pennington was staying for a few weeks.

BRYNBELLA, _3 June 1801_.

... I do assure you that between your own house and this no
greater anxiety has been felt for Mr. Whalley; he is our very
true friend, and we have sense enough to know it. He is so much
Miss Hannah More's friend that I am convinced of his fretting
at Sir Abraham Elton's officiousness. Will you have _proof_ how
wrong those things are? I am frequently asked after celebrated
characters when we return home to so remote a neighbourhood as
this is: and to the questions asked about these exemplary Ladies
I made such replies as a friend is expected to make. Some of
our neighbours, however, within these three months, have had a
fancy to take in a Bath newspaper, and "Oh!" says one now, and
"Ah, ah!" says another, "why you never told _us_, Mrs. Piozzi,
concerning this _paper war_ between Miss Mores and Mr. What's
his name! As good as you say they are, those who live in the
world see spots in the sun, we find," etc. etc. Now would it not
have been better far to have left these dear creatures round
Brynbella nothing to talk about but the _going off_ of Lord
Kirkwall's marriage with Miss Ormsby, the _coming on_ of Mr.
Piozzi's gout, just at Laburnum season, the hopes of famous news
from Egypt, and, blessed be God, the near certainty of immense
crops to feed our poor, and damaged rice from India to feed
our pigs? Would it not have been better? But we will talk of
something else, if you please.

The trunk is not come, but coming, and it was kind in you to
let me know how I might look after it. I had no thought of its
taking such a voyage. The comical preference, shown in your
letter, of a trunk to a Lady, is _more_ than classical. In
Homer's time they preferred a tripod to the fairest: when the
tripod was chas'd, though, and the damsel a slave.

I have had a civil letter from Miss Thrale now. She is retired
to a friend's Country Seat, I understand.... The noise and
racket of London was grown painful to her, and she longed for
sight and smell of green fields. I wrote her word that if chance
should bring you and her together, it would be very pleasant
to you both, who have many ideas, and many expressions too, in
common. I would the love of H. L. P. lived in her heart as in
yours, but of _that_, as Sciolto says, "_as of a gem long lost,
think we no more_."

Do you recollect that agreeable morning dear Mr. Whalley gave
us at Laura Place this Spring? and how he talked of the River
Euphrates, and said it would be one day _literally_ dried up
for the Jews' return? And do you remember what you said, after
he was gone, upon the subject? and how I exclaimed "Why, you
are talking just like Miss Thrale?" Well! and I begin--since
he open'd my own mind,--to think that it _may_ be so; ay,
and without contradiction of your humourous asperity against
the talkers and hearers either. Beg of Mr. Whalley, when he
is better, and can amuse himself with such stuff, to look in
Plutarch's Life of Lucullus, 'tis an early life, first volume,
I think, and if my memory fails me not, he will find something
like a confirmation of his own opinion,--and of yours. Now
please to observe that I have no Plutarch _here_, nor have seen
one since I saw _you_. In such an act of mere reminiscence,
therefore, the mind may be mistaken, but my heart tells me that
Lucullus perceived some property in the River Euphrates,--some
quality rather, which would (he observed) make it fordable
upon a future day, altho' so deep when he was wishing to pass
over.[18] All this seventy years before our Saviour's appearance
in the flesh.

[18] Vol. iii. p. 258 of Clough's translation.

I am always ready you know for a bit of _old Stilton_, as Dr.
Johnson called profane History. "Thou dost love," said he, "my
dear, to play the part of Swift's Vanessa, who

Nam'd the ancient heroes round,
Explain'd for what they were renown'd, etc.

and I have _as_ steadily resisted that mode of
conversation;--now pray, _pray_ let's have no more of it."
In obedience to _his commands_, as well remember'd, sure, as
Plutarch's lives, I leave this, and begin saying a good word
of Mr. Murphy's book, and feel delighted that you take an
interest in it too. There was some danger lest it pleased _me_
merely by bringing old scenes to view, but I will trust _your_
criticism. The work has more merit as Garrick and he certainly
never loved each other, and you may see his praises of the man
he celebrates are dictated by _duty_, while those bestowed on
Barry spring from _fondness_. I had rather he had been kinder
to sweet Siddons. What a thing it is that her husband cannot
at least count and keep together the money she gets for him.
That man has, I fear, some rage for speculation; a dangerous
game. The prudent people are, for aught I observe, no better
calculators than we open-pursed fools, who are cheated out of
20_s._ perhaps, by Bett Lewis the vagrant; while they lose £200
sterling in the management of a puppet-show that _takes fire_,
or sink three times as much in a Canal that _lets out water_, or
some nonsense.

We have had an earthquake here, as they say, for I felt it not,
tho' I am confident I was wide awake at two o'clock Monday
morning. Lady Orkney's Canary Birds fell from their perch
however, and some of our Denbigh friends fancy they heard a
noise. I was thinking about my master's Bavanda, and he was
thinking how thirsty the gouty pains made him; so Brynbella was
unconscious of the shock.

Buonaparte is supposed to be all this time under the influence
of poyson administered three months ago, but I believe _that_
as I do the earthquake. Poor Selim's death of the Continental
Apoplexy is less improbable; so is young Constantine's hope of
restoring the Greek Empire. No matter! Live our own dear King, I
care for none of them. Here is his 63d birthday, and the value
of his life is increased 63 times since it began. But y^e grand
climacteric passed over, I count him safe, and would rather have
an annuity upon him than on the dangerous dame we fear so justly.

Oh! I forgot to tell you, Stockdale sends word we have a wicked
enemy at _Bath_, who injures the sale of Retrospection by
spiteful and ingenious censures. _Who is it, I wonder!_ ...

Swarms of pamphlets on the "Blagdon Controversy" were making their appearance about this time. Those which Mrs. Piozzi had in view were probably "A Letter to the Rev. Thomas Bere ... occasioned by his late unwarrantable attack on Mrs. H. More," by the Rev. Sir Abraham Elton, Bart.; which was answered by "An Appeal to the Public in the Controversy between H. More, the Curate of Blagdon, and the Rev. Sir A. Elton," by the Rev. Thomas Bere.

Murphy had just published his _Life of David Garrick_ in two volumes, which was not very well received by the contemporary critics, who found fault with its clumsy arrangement, and its excessive padding with prologues, epilogues, etc. Mrs. (Ann Spranger) Barry, who died this year, was a popular actress in London and the Provinces, and was considered by the critics to equal, if not to surpass Peg Woffington and Mrs. Cibber.

Sultan Selim did not die of apoplexy, but lived to be deposed in 1807. The Empress Catherine of Russia had conceived the idea of extinguishing the Turkish power in Europe, and placing one of her own family on the throne of the restored Greek Empire. For this purpose she chose the second son of her own son Paul, had him christened Constantine to fulfil the prophecy that a Constantine should again rule at Constantinople, and educated him to carry out her plan. There seemed to be some chance of its success when the Emperor Joseph gave it his support in 1788; but Turkey was saved by Pitt's triple alliance of England, Prussia, and Holland, to restore the Balance of Power. About this period Constantine had gained some distinction as commander-in-chief in Poland.

[_Dated, by Mrs. Pennington, Jul. 1801._]

Dr. Randolph is a wise man for not caring what these foolish
fellows say, and Mrs. Randolph is a sweet lady for caring. On
the like principle H. L. P. is a dunce for being _angry_, and
dear Pennington is a kind friend for being _enraged_ at these
odious Critical Reviewers. Those who say my book is merely good
for nothing cannot be answer'd. The book says something like
that of itself,--but its worthlessness consists in telling
people what they knew before, not in telling what is _false_,
for that is the charge that offends me. Much of this obloquy
might have been avoided certainly, by quoting authorities, but
they would add more to the work's weight than its value, were
the deed done to-morrow: and I thought it a mere insult to the
Public sitting gravely to _inform_ them of what they may read in
the 7th Period of the 3rd Chapter of the 1st Part of Mosheim's
Ecclesiastical History, edited by our friend Macleane, who,
in a note, _confirms_ the fact of Tiberius desiring the Roman
Senate to deify our Saviour. One would really wonder at a man's
assurance who, like our Critical Reviewer, boldly asserts that
"this is an exploded fiction." It stood on the testimony of
Eusebius and Tertullian for sixteen centuries before it was
disputed: and M. Iselin, with Hase the Hebraist, and numbers
more since the year 1700, have proved its truth beyond all power
of denial. I saw Miss Case with Macleane's Mosheim in her hand
when I last visited her. _She_ need not be deceived, _she_ can
enquire and _see_ the truth of my position. When I wrote to Mr.
Gillon expressing my uneasiness under a charge of ignorance
ill-deserved, he said my antagonist was a man of immense
abilities, and I had better _let him alone_. But Robson the
Bookseller, who sent me down the Review, liked my refutation so
well that he requested leave to print my angry letter to _him_
on the occasion. I suppose it resembles that I wrote to you, and
you will see it in the Gentleman's Magazine for July.

I am sorry about Hannah More: these things are, upon the whole,
very mortifying, and injure the cause of Religion, Virtue, and
sound Literature _too much_, at a moment when enemies to all
three are ready and keen to take every possible advantage.

I have a cold and reproachful letter brought me just now from
Harriet Lee, accusing my heart of alienation because I made no
enquiry concerning _her_ state of mind, altho' I saw, she says,
that it was an uneasy one. How unreasonable the people all are!
I thought myself acting delicately to make no enquiries, where
nothing was avow'd as capable of being construed into more than
a past vexation about the children's sickness.... Nothing would
be less pleasing to me than the thought of having offended any
of the house of Belvidere. Never did I say a slight word, or
write a peevish one, about _them_. Never did I fail to express
my just admiration of their talents, or even suffer myself to be
provoked to more than sorrow--not anger--when I had reason for
believing that Robinson was better disposed to y^e purchase of
my book before his visit to Bath, than he was afterwards.

I hope she will write kindly and make all up. I am ready. If
she does not--we must sing Ralph's song in the Maid of the Mill,
I think.

Nothing's tough enough to bind her,
Then agog when once you find her,
Let her, let her go, let her go, never mind her, etc.

Poor dear pretty Siddons! What has she been doing to her mouth?
Picking it, my master says, as I do my fingers, which, he
threatens me, are one day to resemble poor Mr. Pennington's
toes. But in earnest and true sadness, what can be the matter
with her lips? Lips that never were equalled in enunciation of
tenderness or sublimity! Lips that spoke so kindly _to_ me and
_of_ me! Dear soul! what can ail her? She dreamed once that all
her teeth came out upon the stage I remember; I told her she
would go on acting till age had bereft her of them; but God
forbid that she should lose them _now_. Her husband will mend
at Bath.... Sally's death will be no _loss_ to her dear mother,
altho' a very poignant affliction without doubt; and Cecilia
will be her delight I dare say: but Sally and her Father both
will yet last many years I am confident. Shall we have a Bath
Winter all together and be comfortable? Or will they pay her,
and lure her back to Drury Lane? You must get her mouth in good
order, that she may look like my _little_ miniature of the
_greatest and only unrivalled_ female this century last expired
has pretended to produce. When her lips close, what good will
our ears do open? Yes, yes, they will hear Randolph preach,
Piozzi sing, and Pennington converse. Comfort the charming
creature all you can tho', and get her into her accustomed
beauty, and tell her how she is beloved at pretty Brynbella....

_P.S._ by Mr. Piozzi.--

... Well! I think it time to forget the Critical Review,
and Mrs. P. she is persuade to do so. The writer is a
poor miserable wretch wanting bread, and so _sufficit_.
Belvidere people they can write, but they cannot understand
_Retrospection_. Next week Little John we expect him at
Brynbella....

James Robson, like Robinson and Stockdale, was a Cumberland man, and began his career in the shop of Brindley, whom he succeeded.

Bickerstaffe's opera, _The Maid of the Mill_, was based on Richardson's _Pamela_. Ralph was the son of Fairfield the Miller.

Mrs. Siddons's trouble seems to have been erysipelas, from which she suffered a good deal in later life.

[_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.

[19] "'Conscience,' says I, 'you counsel well.'"--_Mer. of Ven._, II.
ii. 21.

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 Parl^t now close by us in Denbigh
Town; so Heaven have mercy on the correspondents of your

H. L. P.

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.

_By Scriven after Slater, 1813. From the Collection of A. M.
Broadley, Esq._]

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.

[20] _Don Quixote_, Bk. I. chap. vi.

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....

This month Nelson had made an attempt to cut out the French flotilla at Boulogne by a boat attack, which failed owing to the fact that the French had chained their vessels together, and were able to defend them by a heavy musketry fire from the shore.

* * * * *

Lt.-Col. John de Blaquiere, son of an Emigré, who had been M.P. for several English and Irish constituencies, and Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, was created a Baronet in 1784, and advanced to the Peerage in 1800.

BRYNBELLA [6] _Sep. 1801_.

(_Franked "de Blaquiere"_)

... Our Barometer begins rising while I write, and the
plantations drink their fill from the Horn of future Plenty.
Ploughing and preparing ground for next year's crop will _now_
be all done by Michaelmass, and the dwellers in _Mark Lane_ may
pray for their own _safety_: it will be in more danger than our
purses and stomachs. God Almighty will send _victuals_, and
the---- may take care of the _Cooks_.

I know not how you gather'd from my letter that _I_ believed in
Hannah More's change of condition, tho' my neighbours did. Yet
never having heard that Dr. Crossman was a married or a single
man, and seeing no jokes accompany the intelligence, which came
in the regular list of weddings for the week, I own myself
stagger'd, and now the Papers are filling with epigrammatic
nonsense which will confirm people in their credence, if no
contradiction is given.

With regard to our dear charming friend, _her_ tormentors
_must_ be private ones. The _Public_ would not suffer their
truly deserving favourite to be insulted; and she should run
_to_, not from the _Theatre_, for protection. I guess not what
_character_ it was in which, you say, she will appear no more.
_Tell_ me, and tell me what she thinks of the enclosed. Oh! how
you and I must for ever hold abhorred of our whole souls, the
human creature who can thus delight in torturing a heart like
hers! Have I ever _seen_ him, think you? Has he made advances to
her, and been refused? Or does he protect a rival Actress rising
into fame? Or _what_ inspires such horrible malignity? I pretend
not to trace, as Fanny Burney and as Harriet Lee can do, vile
passions to their source, but such characters prove the Play of
Hatred and feelings of de Montfort not out of nature....

My packet of macaroni came down without the book in it, so I
still remain ignorant of all but what you tell me.... Well!
I shall read it some time, and will learn (even without its
assistance) to give my esteem where confidence would be ill
bestowed. I wish all the Lees very well, notwithstanding what
has passed in my own mind concerning their conduct towards _me_.
We must take people as they are, and _such_ people are, at any
rate, extremely difficult to meet with.

Our little Boy left us yesterday, and for Mr. Davies's credit
and his own, left us chearfully. A sweeter temper'd creature
lives not, nor one better disposed to smooth down life's
asperities before him, either by well applied strength, or by a
power happier still, of rolling over them, and suffering little
hurt.

Miss Thrale has written to me very civilly from Lowestoffe. We
have the whole island between us; for Mr. Piozzi promises me a
dip in our Irish Channel next week, and we go on Thursday next
to a Bathing Place called Prestatyn, about 14 miles off. Now do
not exclaim "What! are you 14 miles from the sea?" because we
are scarcely 4 miles; but from any conveniences we are at least
fourteen. The invasion seems to keep nobody inland, and by the
King's giving up Bath entirely I gather the Ministers no longer
feel apprehensions. If French chicanery cannot raise a famine or
a sedition among _us_, and if "even-handed Justice does indeed
return the ingredients of that poyson'd chalice to themselves,"
and set on foot a mutiny among their own soldiers,--_peace must
follow_. I told you it was coming, and plenty too; _and what I
told you then my heart adheres to still_....

Dr. Crossman, to whom the newspapers had married Hannah More, was rector of Blagdon, the parish in which her controversy with Bere, the curate, arose.

BRYNBELLA, _Fryday Oct. 9, 1801_.

Well! my dear, tardy Friend! your letter is come at last, and a
nice letter it is. I have one too this post from Mr. Whalley,
so kind! He has had enough to do with his Lady Writers, but he
loves both Hannah More and myself, and the least we can do in
return is to be _merry_, love our friends, forgive our enemies,
forget offenders and offences, and light up our windows for
the Peace. The terms are certainly in no sense disgraceful,
and since we have all been saying so repeatedly, "Let us heal
our own wounds, limit our own expences, and care no longer
for Allies who, 'tis sure, care not for _us_;" I pronounce
our Ministers fully justified to _this_ Country for quitting
their post, and leaving every _other_ Country to the fate they
would none of them resist. While France, having enlarged her
own territory beyond the proudest hope of their own proudest
Monarch, has prudently bought us off from fighting Europe's
battles, with two eminently rich, useful, and valuable Islands:
well knowing that an Englishman will always be quiet while his
palate is pleased and his pockets full.

The Gold, and Silver, and Rubies, and Rice from Ceylon,
sweeten'd by Sugar from Trinidad, will keep Great Britain in
perfect good humour, and the Commercial Treaty will keep her
employ'd; and in the meantime Alexander and Buonaparte mean to
divide the Globe. Such is apparently their project for 1801; how
and by what means God Almighty will render it abortive remains
to be seen. The internal politics of our United Kingdoms here
at home offer a _fair shew_ certainly, for if people are not
pleas'd with seeing their ports fill'd with foreign corn, and
their stack-yards groaning under the weight of our own harvests,
what _will_ please them? Not the price of Mutton in the markets
I trow; for between the inclosing commons, and _improving_ the
breed of sheep in Counties where such large animals cannot find
pasture, with many other reasons, their flesh will sell for
6_d._ _an ounce_ next year, and we shall have more mouths to
feed after the War is over, unless the mortality at Liverpool
goes on. Ah! dear Friend! I told you how it would be, and true
did I tell you, but no matter,

For other thoughts mild Heav'n a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, tho' wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day;
And when God sends a chearful hour, refrains.
Let us light up our windows and be merry....

Little did I dream seven years ago of seeing peace proclaimed
between Great Britain and the _Consular State_ of France.
Little could I _ever_ have dreamed that I should see Venice
annihilated, Genoa forgotten, Piedmont's Alpine barrier
insufficient to keep out invasion, even in the depth of winter;
and old Rome, divided against herself, dropping into her enemy's
mouth almost without invitation. The world, as it appears,
consenting to all this, and even happy to think things have gone
no worse. We shall see more yet, but shall not see _all_. _All!_
no, nor _half_....

I wrote Harriet Lee word how much her tale impress'd me. 'Tis
a characteristic of this age, I think, to shew what forcible
impression may be made by setting only our _mean_ passions to
work, avarice, fraud, and fear; instead of generosity, love, and
valour. What she has done, however, is very striking; and every
one I lend the book to is amazed to find Conrade the murderer of
Stralenheim....

The long-expected Peace, which gave us Trinidad and Ceylon, was not finally arranged till March, but preliminaries were signed October 1.

BRYNBELLA, _30 Nov. 1801_.

No, thank you, my dear anxious Friend; we are pretty well, and
pretty happy, as health and happiness in this world go. I have
had _more_ than my share of both, blessed be God. My master has
an addition to _his_ torments, St. Anthony's fire, in and out,
but much less afflicting than troublesome. It keeps him from
going to neighbours' houses, and without _that_, there is no
hope of Autumnal society at Brynbella: it will keep him from
going to _yours_, and then he must learn to swear of dear Mr.
Pennington. Lord de Blaquiere, who used to free my covers, is
gone to London, and my prudence (for the first time in my life)
overbalanced my tenderness, and so I made you uneasy: and so I'm
glad you _were_ uneasy, and there's an end.

We have written about the house to Mrs. Garrart and to Harriet
Lee both. They say my Lord Kenmare is in now, and will be out on
the 12th Jan. That time will do nicely, and the poor folks round
here are glad he does not quit sooner, tho' Mr. Piozzi has given
a dozen of them good warm winter jackets, and a petticoat each
to the wife: and barley, which last year was at 32_s._, they may
have now at 18_s._, and good wheat at a guinea. So I shall leave
them with less regret this year than last for all those reasons;
and we employ a vast many hands in planting....

Something is the matter at Belvidere House, I do _think_.
Harriet says she has the Black Dog upon her back, and writes
as if wishing to be courted out of the secret. Instead of
doing which, I wrote her a rhodomontading letter, all mirth
and no matter[21] (as Beatrice says) to turn the course of
her ideas: for I wish not confidence where real kindness has
ceased to reside: and if these novel-writing Ladies fancy that
they, and they alone, can read the human mind,--'tis a mistake.
Your imagination is bound by the Juggler who rattles and talks
while he ties a knot in your pocket-handkerchief, as surely as
by the sly Thief that steals it, only the intention is more
honorable....

[21] _Much Ado_, II. i. 344.

Oh do tell the Doctor that Lord Kirkwall did _not_ marry Miss
Ormsby, and that everybody says it was because he felt that he
liked Miss Blaquiere better; certain it is the first match went
off; and if this second does not come on, I shall wonder.

You were always more sanguine about the benefits of peace than
I was, but tranquillity is the best consequence it _can_ have;
let's not therefore disturb that by putting monopoly in people's
heads, or in their mouths. Such talk leads to nothing but riot.
If there is no scarcity there will be no monopoly: the people
_can_ monopolise nothing that is not already scarce. A peace
which leaves unresisted France mistress of more territory than
was ever hoped for by her proudest Monarch in his proudest day;
which annihilates before her grasp principalities and powers,
and leaves her tributary Republics secur'd to her services by
the cheap garrison, _Opinion_, cannot be viewed without horror
by the mere writer of Retrospection. Tho' such were the miseries
of war, and such the acquisitions by treaty to Great Britain,
that peace has a right, not only to please, but to console, and
even _delight_ a true English subject....

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 y^e 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 y^e
_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 y^e 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 9_d._ 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. Gen^l. 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 y^e time he comes into y^e 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 y^e 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."

After the Peace of Amiens the Senate proposed to appoint Bonaparte First Consul for ten years. He artfully referred the question to the people, but in the form of a consulship for life, which was adopted 9th May.

_No. 5_ GEORGE ST., MANCHESTER SQUARE.

_Sat. 19 June 1802._

... Cecy Mostyn indeed is no steady intelligencer; she says but
little, and that little speaks good of but few. I could not
dig from her one word, good or bad, concerning _you_, tho' Mr.
Piozzi and I both mentioned Mrs. Pennington's name on various
occasions, while we were _all_ enjoying Mr. Giles's kind
hospitalities _together_ at old Streatham Park.

We are returned now like Stella, to _Small Beer, a Herring,
and the Dean_. Apropos to Deans, we have lost our Bishop at S.
Asaph, and the learned Dr. Horsley is expected to reign in his
stead. But you had rather hear about Mara and Billington. We
were at the grand Concert and Benefit when they sung a _Duet_
with immoderate applause, tolerably impartial too, because
Mara shone there with her _low notes_. _Agitata_ however went
off very coldly, under visible tremors of jealous anxiety. I
could have cried almost to see 60 struggling so against six
and thirty, with so little hope of success in a professional
contest; whilst in all those where merit is not look'd to, _the
Filly loses every heat_. Our gay Prince of Wales, gayer than
ever, shines the charm of society, his charmer by his side. When
his fair cousin _does_ appear in public, she retires thence
unnoticed except for her beauty and dress, which is always
singularly rich and grand. Pretty women are common, as far [as]
I observe, who think so very little about them, but I see none
strikingly handsome.

Sophia Streatfield is much alter'd in person, but her manner,
little changed, secures to her, even yet, _some_ pow'rs of
fascination. At _her_ request, we _visit_; odd enough! But as
Callista says, "It is no matter; she can no more betray, nor I
be ruin'd...."

Well! I am really haunted by _black shadows_. Men of colour
in the rank of gentlemen; a black Lady, cover'd with finery,
in the Pit at the Opera, and tawny children playing in the
Squares,--the gardens of the Squares I mean,--with their Nurses,
afford ample proofs of Hannah More and Mr. Wilberforce's success
towards breaking down the _wall of separation_. Oh! how it falls
on every side! and spreads its tumbling ruins on the world!
leaving all ranks, all customs, all colours, all religions
_jumbled together_, till like the old craters of an exhausted
volcano, Time closes and covers with fallacious green each
ancient breach of distinction; preparing us for the moment when
we shall be made _one fold under one Shepherd_, fulfilling the
voice of prophecy.

One of the things most worthy of remark here is the surprizing
increase in population. You would be astonish'd to see the Town
as much _fuller_ (in all appearance,) as 'tis larger. On an
evening when common people come forth for amusement, all these
new streets leading up almost to Hampstead, are thronged like
Cheapside upon a busy day: and when I enquire if Westminster and
Southwark suffer from the change of fashion, as I deemed it, the
reply is that rents never were so high in _both places_, and
that fresh outlets are daily forming, and ground contended for
on building lease....

Mr Piozzi says the Music Carts are a proof of all I say. They
are so numerous now it makes one wonder. Yet he dislikes the
style in which that art is carried on; and though Vinci is a
pleasing singer, she is no favourite for want of striking airs
to shew her voice. Mr. Braham sang "Every Valley" so as to
remind me of _old Johnny Beard_--the _manner_ I mean--quite
_exactly_, and you will trust my remembrance of a performer I
liked so much....

On the death of Bishop Bagot, as Mrs. Piozzi anticipated, Samuel Horsley, who had previously been Bishop of St. David's, was translated from Rochester to St. Asaph.

As Mara was born in 1749 she was not really much over fifty. She is said to have made over £1000 by her farewell benefit this year, after which she retired to Russia, and lived at Moscow till it was burnt during the French invasion.