Chapter VI (2)

Sophia Streatfield was one of those women who are not only irresistibly attractive to the other sex when they choose to exercise their powers, but seem impelled to exercise them on every man with whom they are brought in contact. Thrale had fallen a victim to her fascinations, and the undisguised admiration he showed for her had caused his wife much heart-burning many years before, as she describes in her _Autobiography_.

John Braham, the tenor, son of a German Jew, had been singing at Drury Lane and the Festivals of the Three Choirs for about six years. His predecessor, John Beard, born about ninety years before, began as a singer in the chapel of the Duke of Chandos at Cannons. He made his reputation in _Acis and Galatea_, and appeared at Drury Lane in 1737. His first wife was Lady Henrietta Herbert, daughter of James, Earl Waldegrave, and widow of William, Marquess of Powis.

LONDON, _16 July 1802_.

You will wonder, dear Friend, what has delayed us here so
long. I will tell you now that we are delayed no longer. In
the first place our letters from Wales tell us hourly of the
impropriety--impossibility I might call it--of being comfortable
at Brynbella. In the next place we are paying only 4 guineas o'
week here for a whole house, _such as it is_, so I see not where
we could be cheaper, and many Friends that leave this Town very
late, have made it agreeable to us by letting us live _in_ our
house very few days in every week. Mr. Piozzi says we have dined
from home no fewer than 30 times....

England seems quite on fire with these odious and foolish
elections. The scenes exhibited in my young days by Johnny
Wilkes could alone equal the raging uproars at Brentford during
this last week. Mr. Bradford dare not go through the place
to Henley on his necessary business, and the Sans-Culotte
Candidate at Covent Garden keeps Westminster all in a ferment.
An intelligent acquaintance newly returned from France describes
that Country very differently. The people's spirit is totally
broken down, he says, and any government is welcome to them that
will leave quiet individuals in peaceable possession of _their
lives_. Not a Country Gentleman's seat is left standing, he
tells me, between Calais and Paris, nor any place of worship,
except what is filled with shops, raree-shows, etc. Buonaparte's
declaration, that he will absolutely hear a Military Mass
four times per annum, has made them clear out one church in
the Capital: but force will be found necessary to oblige his
subjects to marry, as they have learn'd to live without conjugal
shackles, till the gross licentiousness of French behaviour
is deemed positively dangerous to population. Our Streatham
neighbour, a wealthy and well accomplished friend of Mr. Giles,
hasten'd to bring back again his wife and daughter: tho' when
they were come home he protested that no _modest_ woman was left.

What else shall I tell to amuse you? Our talk is only how
unfavourable the weather is for Vauxhall: I got more rational
converse at our own good Tenant's table last Sunday than I
have heard now for some time.... Something is however always
going forward at London, and Mons^r Garnerin's Balloon called
all its inhabitants into the fields here one day, when such an
exhibition of umbrellas darken'd the air as I could not have
conceived without seeing. Our country servants' amazement at
the numbers flocking round contributed exceedingly to _my_
diversion. Little Betty was half out of her wits with wonder,
and even Tom takes interest in the appearance of five or six
hundred soldiers on a field-day in Hyde Park. They are going
back to Brynbella immediately.... Mr. Piozzi has bought a nice
cart here, and a horse which draws them down in it, whilst we
proceed to Tenby through Oxford and Cheltenham....

The Brentford election riots were the result of the candidature of Sir F. Burdett, who had attacked the New House of Correction in Coldbath Fields as the "English Bastille," giving rise to the following squib:

"Ho! Ho!" cries the Devil, "come, bring me my boots!
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!...

_By J. Bate after a medallion by Henning, 1808_

_From the Collection of A. M. Broadley, Esq._]

Mrs. Pennington's troubles were of a financial description, and seem to have been brought about, for the second time, by her scape-grace brother.

BRYNBELLA, _30 Aug. 1802_.
(Franked "Kirkwall.")

Sick or well, sorry or glad, nobody sure does write such letters
as our dear Mrs. Pennington. It is because nobody else writes
from the heart, I suppose.... Mr. Pennington was always an
_honourable_ character, and since you are to be a dependent
wife, be thankful your dependence is upon a _Gentleman_ who,
while he deems himself such, will never desert you. Be thankful
too, that you have no young family. You _cannot now_ I think,
be parent of two children, and live to see the one rob the other
and run away. These are sins against _Nature_! My heart recoils
from thought of them. Poor Mrs. Weston!! I, who am a mother,
must feel for _her_!

After long wanderings and washings, like the Lady in Hannah
More's Village Politics, with hot water and cold water, salt
water and fresh water, here am I returned to Brynbella, and if I
thought it would divert you for a moment, I would tell you how
sublime and beautiful a journey we had across this Principality
from South to North. Fine Alpine scenery between Machynlleth
and Bala, varying at every step; and presenting now a rough,
high, uncultivated rock, and now clusters of small corn fields
round a tiny village, that for aught I see _need_ not be so
poor, because the grass and grain are really plentiful. Small
lakes among volcanic fragments are perpetually occurring, and
our guide showed us one which had _literally no bottom_. From
Bala Pool indeed the River Dee takes its source, and winds about
with very elegant bends till it reaches Chester; but Kader Idris
is the chief feature of the whole Country, and tho' far smaller
than Snowdon, it is much more impressive. Our weather likewise
on that day was gloomy;

The winds were high, the clouds low-hung,
And drag'd their sweepy trains along
The shaggy mountain's side.

Apropos to _Verses_, you must read the British Critic for last
April, and what he says of Retrospection: it has entertained me
exceedingly, and will amuse Gen^l. Smith and Dr. Randolph. I
hope those two friends will join to console you; what talents
and literature can do, _they_ are, above all men I know, capable
of administering: but it is a grievous thing to think how very
little can be done by either talents or literature. Piety and
business will effect in a month what the other two could not
perform in a year. Fly to _those_, dear Sophia, and be not
solitary or idle for an instant. Your situation is happy in that
too it forces you on Company. Nor is it wise at any time to be
fastidious; you may receive from _very plain people_ very good
hints, and one comes away having learn'd something where 'tis
least to be expected, much oftener in this life than you would
think for....

Sir Francis Burdett, a friend of Horne Tooke, had been elected for Middlesex by a large majority over Mainwaring, a magistrate who had opposed the inquiry into prison abuses. He sat for two years, when the election was declared void, but litigation went on, at an enormous expense, till 1806, when Burdett resolved not to contest another election.

The _British Critic_ describes _Retrospection_ as a work "perfectly singular,--a Universal History from the beginning of the Christian Era, translated into chit-chat language, alternating with passages in an elevated style"; and inclines to think that it was originally written in blank verse, but disjointed by the printer or the author, _e.g._ (p. 76):

"Chased many Vandals from their ancient seats,
And so increased his wild and wide domain,
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....

_No. 5_ HENRIETTA STREET,
_Thursday 16 Dec. 1802_.

Dear Mrs. Pennington is always right,--the letter was a mere
nothing. Such will, I hope, prove the more rationally alarming
report of Constantinople's sudden and unlooked for destruction.
Be that as it may, our charming Dr. Randolph took occasion
to draw thence a most beautiful and impressive sermon last
Sunday, when he preached better than ever I heard him, to a
heterogeneous congregation, which attracted my notice as much as
the discourse did: Mr. Pitt, Dr. Maclean, the Duchess of York,
and Bishop of West Meath....

Harriet Bowdler is a sad loss to me, and so are the Mores. Bath
is scarce Bath this year somehow: were it not for Laura Chapel
and Pump, I should regret leaving solitude and Brynbella; but
then Laura and Pump are two good things for soul and body, and
what is all the rest?...

The Mores removed this year from Bath to a new house they had built at Barley Wood, in the parish of Wrington, and which became their permanent home. It would seem that a similar move was responsible for the loss of Harriet, (properly Henrietta Maria) Bowdler, sister of the editor of the _Family Shakespeare_. She herself was a writer of poems and essays, and also of a volume of sermons, published anonymously, which were so good that Bishop Porteous is said to have offered preferment to the unknown author.

Pitt, who was now living in retirement at Walmer Castle, was much harassed by debts, and in October visited Bath for his health. It was for his birthday dinner this year that Canning wrote the song, "The Pilot that weathered the Storm."

The Bishop of Meath, Thos. Lewis O'Beirne, had been educated for the priesthood in the Roman Church, but received English Orders and was made Bishop successively of Ossory and Meath. He appears to have been an excellent prelate, reviving the office of Rural Dean, and carefully examining his Ordination candidates.

_Tuesday, 21 Dec. 1802._

_Well, well!_ as Sir George Colebrooke says, if we must not meet
we may write, I suppose; and I really will _try_ to rejoice if
my absent friends are happy. Dear Siddons's letter was of more
real value than you seem to think. All our News Papers and News
Talkers have been telling how she was hissed in Dublin, and how
ill it had made her.... But all is well, and so that wise man
Mr. Twiss, with his clear, straightforward understanding, said
it would be; and February will bring her home with all her money
safe I hope....

Our weather here is wondrous mild and soft, good for Brynbella
planting, and very good for the _very poor_ people, who cannot
keep themselves and their one cow alive in hard frost....

The hostile reception of Mrs. Siddons at Dublin was the result of an unfounded report that she had refused to act for a local charity. It appears that she gave her assent when the manager suggested it, but the latter, for some reason, failed to arrange for the performance.

The remaining letters from Bath have no particular interest, but it appears that just before her departure Mrs. Piozzi had rather a sharp attack of illness, apparently influenza.

_Thursday, 14 Ap. 1803._

... Dr. Parry and Mr. Bowen both called yesterday to _bid_ me
go out at noon this memorable Thursday. So I went, but found
no enjoyment, except in returning without any apparent harm,
or fresh access of Fever, which they had all so imbued my
mind with, that I felt nothing while from home but fears of a
relapse. It does not appear however that such an accident has
happen'd to _me_ as yet: and perhaps God Almighty will permit us
to see Brynbella once again.

_Sunday, 17 Apr. 1803._

... We shall set out, if it please God, to morrow sennight, and
sleep at Fleece Inn, Rodborough....

My airing in the carriage did me good, and the _knocking knees_
took a walk with me yesterday, up Pulteney Street and down
again,--no more. To-day I will go _twice_ up and down, and so
season myself by degrees....

BRYNBELLA, _19 Jun. 1803_.

Assure yourself, dear Mrs. Pennington, that my thoughts towards
you are in no wise changed: and if I always thought you the
best letter writer in our King's dominions, (before _they_ were
contracted by loss of Hanover,) how much more do I think so
since your last arrived, full as it is of pungent and tender
reproaches....

There are two Bishops and one Dean dead, you see, and their
families left low in the world; yet the Democrates keep on
stripping clergymen of every reason for becoming such; and tear
away tythes etc. without mercy....

Sweet Siddons is at Cheltenham healing _her_ honourable heart
I hope, and washing away its cares. Mr. Whalley is happy, it
is a cordial to hear of _somebody_ being happy. You are too
nervous--as the phrase is; meaning that your nerves are too
irritable to be placidly content; and that is the best state to
be in....

The next letter is addressed to Miss Hannah More's house, Barley Wood, but has been re-directed to Hotwells.

BRYNBELLA, _31 July 1803_.

Such is the present situation of everybody and everything, that
even _your_ lovely description of Nature and her beauties,
in some place which you, dear Mrs. Pennington, call Bower
Ashton--but of which I never heard in my life before--fail to
detain my mind from events in prospect, and near prospect _now_,
of enormous importance indeed.

Poor Jane Holman, cydevant Honourable Miss Hamilton, is running
hither for refuge from murder and massacre. She has written
to-day to bid us expect her every moment; and though the ground
_is_ covered with wavy corn, and the trees are loaded with
apples, pears, and all useful fruitage, my heart at this instant
feels more bent on their defence than on their admiration.

I defer'd writing till the time that your letter gives me leave
to suppose you are under the half sacred roof of a Lady, to
whom, if we direct _in Europe_, it will find the destined way.
Present me with truly respectful attention where I wish so
sincerely never to be forgotten; and in return I will enclose
you some Impromptu verses, which I threw across the table to
Mr. Piozzi last Monday. We had no company ... only one friend
from Denbigh, and the Parson of the Parish, who translates Miss
More's admirable stories into Welsh, for benefit of his poor
and ignorant parishioners. But here are the lines to Gabriel
Piozzi, 25 Jul. 1803.

Accept, my Love, this honest Lay,
Upon your twentieth Wedding Day.
I little hoped that life would stay
To hail the _twentieth_ Wedding Day.
If you're grown gouty, I grown gray,
Upon our twentieth Wedding Day,
'Tis no great wonder; Friends must say
Why 'twas their twentieth Wedding Day.
Perhaps there's few feel less decay
Upon a twentieth Wedding Day:
And many of those who used to pay
Their court upon our Wedding Day,
Have melted off, and died away
Before the twentieth Wedding Day.
Those places too, which, once so gay,
Bore witness to our Wedding Day,
Florence and Milan, blythe as May,
Marauding French have made their prey.
If then of gratitude one ray
Illuminates our Wedding Day,
Think, midst the wars and wild affray
That rage around this Wedding Day,
What mercy 'tis we are spared to say
"We have seen our twentieth Wedding Day."

If Helen Williams, ever lovely, and once so beloved! is looking
towards England now in preference to France, it is a great
testimony to our Island's felicity and honour. For such suffrage
is not mean, and Helena has had experience of _both nations_,
since she published that little book in which she charged our
Londoners with harshness, avarice, and want of feeling, because
they suffer'd some Monsieur de Fosseè to wear straw boots.
The Londoners' behaviour _now_ does them vast credit in the
opinion of all thinking people, and Mr. Bosanquet's speech
will doubtless be handed down to posterity as giving [a] great
example. Should not you be struck with the sight of a Metropolis
you lived so long in, _fortified_ against _hostile force_? It
would to _me_ bear an extremely awful appearance....

Mrs. Mostyn is said to meditate her return to the rustics of
N. Wales, who will receive her as if she came to confer on us
both benefit and honour. Such is the consequence of that lofty
conduct which forces people into their _places_, as the Ton
Ladies call treating their humble servants with distant and
scarce lukewarm civility. Well! those who take the _other_ way
are worse used in _this_ world, and I suppose will stand no
better in the _next_ for directing to _Miss_ White instead of
plain _Sarah_. I cure every day of some prejudice or other....

The short-lived peace had come to an end, the English Ambassador quitting Paris on 12th May, and the old scare of invasion was at once revived. Mrs. Holman was flying from Ireland, always a likely landing-place for a French expedition. After a quarrel with the management of Covent Garden, her husband had, for a time, transferred himself to the Dublin Theatre, and subsequently took up farming.

The verses, at any rate as to their form, are modelled on those written by Dr. Johnson to celebrate her own thirty-fifth birthday, and which will be found in Hayward's _Autobiography_, i. 31-2.

The reference to Helen Williams was evidently occasioned by Mrs. Pennington having communicated the contents of a letter received from her early in the month, in which Helen justifies her journey to Switzerland in company with Stone, as previously mentioned. After expressing her regret at hearing of the death of Maria Siddons, and offering condolences to the afflicted father and mother, she proceeds:

"Mrs. Piozzi's heart is then changed towards me! I am afflicted
to hear it, because I cannot cease to love her. If she could
look into my heart she would be very sorry for her error: she
would not, I am sure, be willingly unjust to any one. Yet I
should have conjectured, I own, that having suffered so much
from calumny herself, she would have been slow to believe ill of
others!"

_Saturday, 5 Nov. 1803._
(Franked "Kirkwall.")

Our correspondence has languished miserably of late, dear Mrs.
Pennington, but though your letters may be unacknowledged, they
cannot be forgotten....

I have heard ... how much notice you attracted from the Duke
of Cumberland, while he was remaining in or near Bristol, and
heard it with a great deal of pleasure. Indeed _I_ ever thought
it a consolatory circumstance to live where a Royal Family
is established, and posessing a large stake in the country
one inhabits. They are the most likely people to be active in
protecting it; and the present situation of affairs in England,
added to the exemplary conduct of our British Princes, makes me
cling closer to my old opinions.

We have had the Duke of Gloucester's son in _this_ Country; he
spent some time at Llewenny Hall, and Lady Orkney came here
herself to insist on my dining with him there. But Mrs. Holman
was just come from Ireland, and I would not leave an old friend
for a young Prince, you may be sure. His behaviour was much
admired wherever he appeared.

The festivities that have _since_ taken place on account of
Lord Kirkwall's birthday, and his Baby's christening, had _us_
for sincere admirers. It was a pretty sight to see the four
generations of an ancient and noble family all in one room so:
the Marquis of Thomond kissing his _great grandson_, and dancing
himself at the Ball.

I hope Buonaparte will not disturb our happiness in _this_
Country, which never looked more beautiful....

We have got a Clergyman to our mind besides, and Mr. Piozzi has
permitted me to pick up all my poor old Ancestors' bones, and
place them in a new vault under the church, which he kindly
repairs, and floors, and beautifies at no small expence. So here
is a fair given account of my long silence.

Ernest Augustus, fifth son of George III, afterwards King of Hanover, had been created Duke of Cumberland 1799; he was now in command of the Severn District. The Duke of Gloucester was William Henry, third son of Frederick, Prince of Wales. His son, William Frederick, known as Prince William of Gloucester, Colonel of the 1st Regiment of Guards, was appointed Lieutenant-General in 1799.

The four generations at Llewenny Hall were: (1) Murrough (O'Bryen), Earl of Inchiquin and first Marquis of Thomond, who had married Mary, Countess of Orkney. (2) Their daughter and heir, Mary, now Countess of Orkney, who married the Hon. Thomas Fitzmaurice of Llewenny. (3) Their eldest son John, Viscount Kirkwall, who married, 1802, the Hon. Anna Maria de Blaquiere. (4) Their infant son, born 1803, Thomas John Hamilton, afterwards fifth Earl of Orkney.

BRYNBELLA, _3 December 1803_.

When other things go pretty well, let us not, dear Mrs.
Pennington, despair of the Commonwealth. If the Ministry cannot
or will not take care of us, we must take care of the Ministry:
and sure I am that hitherto History affords no example of a
nation enslaved, whose inhabitants resolved to be free.

For the rest, I am ready enough to confess that unprecedented
occurrences are, in these strange times, to be witness'd every
day, and God only knows what may happen; yet I do surely hope
and trust old England will never disgrace herself.... This
famous Armada however, and its Xerxes, do not seem in haste to
try the courage of their _only_ opponents, tho' backed with the
assistance of our old Allies, and gilt with the trappings torne
from our Sovreign's immediate family and possessions. _He_ will
be right to say as Macduff does, "Within my sword's length set
him,"[22] etc.... Mrs. Holman staid with us 8 weeks exactly, no
more.... Her husband is writing for the Stage....

[22] _Macbeth_, IV. iii. 234.

The Colonel's old Papa seems likely to outlive all he ever
heard of in his youth, I think; the monarchy of France, the
haughtiness of Spain, the papacy of Rome, the riches of Holland,
the independence of Switzerland, _and the prosperity of Great
Britain_. While _one_ general pulse however keeps beating, my
hopes will live, and beat too. Buonaparte's fate draws towards a
dreadful Crisis, let him _but come out_, and our Admirals will
give good account of him. Miss Thrales are at Broadstairs under
Lord Keith's protection, who fears them not; they row out to
sea for purpose of looking at the _Wolves over the Water_, and
say it is an enormous preparation sure enough, but our sailors
have no doubts of the event, and Mr. Gillon's letters are
encouraging. _He_ likes what has been doing in West India very
well. Oh! how it must provoke the Tyrant of Europe to think he
cannot likewise tyrannise in America.

The seizure of Alexandria too, proves the active secresy of our
Government; and I remember Ministers who would have [been] much
praised for such a step. Once more adieu, and do not despair of
the Commonwealth.

Our plans must wait permission from above. If these Marauders
come, home is the proper place to be found in: besides that my
Master must see some weeks over before he becomes _portable_,
and in those weeks!!! Oh Heavens! what is there dreadful in
this world that may not happen before the 1st January 1804?

God preserve _you_, dear Mrs. Pennington, and have mercy on the
anxious heart of your

H. L. P.

Though the much-talked-of invasion still hung fire, the French were able to inflict some loss on England by the occupation of Hanover this year. On the other hand, many of the French and Dutch colonies in the West Indies fell into our hands, mainly through the energy of Sir Samuel Hood, who helped to capture St. Lucia and Tobago, with Demerara and other places on the mainland.

BRYNBELLA, _Thursday 5 Jan. 1804_.
(Franked "Kirkwall.")

Enjoy your Ball, dear Mrs. Pennington, and be assured that all
is at _least_ as well with your particular Friendships as with
that one great public Family to which we all belong.... Mr.
Piozzi has weather'd this fit, and is come down stairs once
again.... My own health will do all that is wanted from it, and
as to wishing myself at Bath, _I do not_. Dr. Thackeray gallop'd
over from Chester, and what he did afforded more immediate and
visible relief than anything I could hope, more than I ever saw
done either by London or Bath Physicians. There is besides one
comfort in a country Doctor one can never have from a town one.
They stay and sleep at your house, and have time to observe the
progress of your complaint, and the power of their own medicines
over it....

Shew Dr. Grey this letter.... I am all of his mind that England
_can_ be no better prepared for defence, or France for attack.
'Tis a grand Tournament, on the decision of which the world
waits as composedly as it did 2000 years ago, when the plains of
Pharsalia determined the _names_ of their sovreigns. The issue
of _this_ contest will settle what _Nation_ the others are to
serve.... I do really wish the crisis was come now; for after
the Dinner is once ready you know, be it little or much, it gets
worse for waiting. Our Volunteers will make _themselves_ work,
if Buonaparte finds them none of the right sort. Let _him_ once
appear and we know who to turn our swords upon....

_No. 11_ HOLLES ST., _Tuesday, 6 March, 1804_.

So many things have occur'd since I received your last letter,
dear Mrs. Pennington, that this will of course be a long one.
The King's illness and recovery, the continued talk of invasion,
the widowhood of your fair friend, cydevant Honoria Gubbins, the
correspondence of those French Noblemen so fêtè and so admired
in Bath and Bristol, and these present conjectures concerning
Sir Sydney Smith, fill every mouth, and render me still more
enraged when toothach hinders my list'ning to such interesting
circumstances.

Never was there a moment more favourable for rusticated folks
like myself to pick up opinions, facts, etc., and _fill my
little bag_. But Lord St. Vincent's ill-timed ill health is
among the things I should like to fling out of it.

Dear Mrs. Siddons is in great beauty this year: her Zara was
never more passionately admired. The Kembles look happy too, and
so do Miss Lees; but when I was introduced to Mr. Cumberland
at Lord Deerhurst's dinner yesterday, I did not know _him_,
nor he _me_. The public will not however fail to recognize
him, I suppose; he tries them in a new Play very soon. Poor
Holman is---- poor Holman!!! and everybody seems grieved at his
_double_ disappointment.

Miss Thrales are well and gay; Mrs. Mostyn plump and pretty,--so
are her sturdy little boys.... Oxford will be rendered a fine
amusing place for the gay fellows by Mrs. Lee's accusation of
the Gordons: it was always a good place for those who liked
looking over books, conversing with scholars, etc. We staid two
days there on our journey to London, for me to make my respects
to the Eleusinian Ceres; but she, alas! was gone to _the other
House_, as the Players say, Lord Elgin, who sent her over, being
a Cambridge Man.

The weather has been very odd this year. We enjoyed Spring at
Brynbella, where birds were singing, and trees coming out, every
day before we came to Town _for the Winter_. It has snowed and
_blow'd_, and hail'd and rained, ever since, I think; and the
Thames looked all in a storm to-day from dear Lady Orkney's
beautiful apartments at Chelsea....

The King had a slight return of his malady in January. On his recovery Addington, who had lost his majority, resigned, and Peel succeeded to the Premiership in May.

Sir Sydney Smith had been appointed in 1803 to a small squadron acting under Lord Keith off the coasts of Flanders and Holland. He now seems to have been watching the French preparations for invasion. Lord St. Vincent's suffering was probably more mental than physical. His exposure of the gross corruption prevalent in the Naval Administration had drawn down upon him a storm of abuse and misrepresentation, in which even Pitt joined.

HOLLES ST., _Monday Ap. 16, 1804_.

Dear Mrs. Pennington's beautiful letters shall lie no longer
unacknowledged. Mr. Parsons brought me the first.... Dr. Gray
came to see us since that, for the first time, but _his_
appearance spoke happiness, and his _conversation_ unaltered
friendship to you and to ourselves. He is a good man, and he
liked our little Boy, who was at home just then for Easter
Holidays.... As to dear Lady Orkney, she takes her lodgings on
a Milestone, I believe, for there is no catching _her_, Town or
Country.... Lady Hesketh will be amused to hear that the people
who have seen her cousin Cooper's snuff-box, or the seat his
favourite Mary sate in, cry "Touch me, touch me, that you may
say you have touched the person who sate in Mrs. Unwin's chair,
or handled Cooper's snuff-box." This is all good, is it not?
for Mr. Hayley.

Cumberland's Play keeps the stage, in spite of younger wits who
wanted people to laugh at the Author instead of the Comedy; but
Mrs. Abingdon and I,--veterans like himself,--are glad that he
succeeds; for as she expresses it, "He has a graceful mind."

Miss Lees and we have met twice or thrice, but either the Life
of a Lover, Sophia's new novel, is not out, or I have not seen
it. Holcroft's Paris, and Miss Edgeworth's Popular Tales are the
only books found in windows, on toilettes, etc.

No tales of wonder, and such are _not_ hers, can equal the death
of Le Duc D'Enghien, or the apprehensions seriously entertained
at present for Mr. Drake, British Ambassador in Bavaria, and our
good friend, as you remember.... He married Miss Mackworth, and
now we expect him to be _hanged_, as he surely will be, poor
Fellow! if Buonaparte catches hold of him. These are novelties
at least, though not novels; yet few romances would have
ventur'd such an incident....

Mrs. Mostyn is full in feather, and high in song, as the folk
say who keep Canary Birds, and her immense Aviary put me in
mind of the phrase. She has three very sturdy Boys beside. De
Blaquieres, Kirkwalls, all Holles Street I believe, dined with
her yesterday, and among the rest my gay Master, and his and your

H. L. P.

Harriet, wife of Sir Thomas Hesketh, was a daughter of Ashley Cowper, the uncle of the poet. The latter died in 1800, and his biography by his friend William Hayley was published 1803.

In 1803 Sophia Lee gave up the school at Belvidere House, and devoted herself to writing. Her first important work, published the following year, took the shape of six volumes of letters, entitled _The Life of a Lover_.

Thomas Holcroft, shoemaker, actor, and dramatist, had been living for five years on the Continent to escape his creditors. On his return he published in 1804 his _Travels from Hamburg through Westphalia, Holland, and the Netherlands, to Paris_, in 2 vols. 4to.

It was apparently with the idea of arousing prejudice against England that Bonaparte brought an unfounded charge of plotting his assassination against Mr. Drake and Mr. Spencer Smith, our envoys at Munich and Stuttgard, and procured their expulsion by the courts of Bavaria and Würtemburg.

The treacherous seizure of the Duc d'Enghien in March in the neutral territory of Baden, his condemnation by a court-martial on no specific charges, and hurried execution, was a tragedy which shocked all Europe. It was this inexplicable incident in the career of Bonaparte which gave rise to the well-known _mot_ of Fouche, "It was worse than a crime, it was a blunder."

BRYNBELLA, _Sunday Morng, 19 Aug. 1804_.

I am the wretchedest Quarreller on earth, dear Mrs. Pennington,
and not the most ingenious Reconciler. Like mine Hostess
Quickly, I am the _worse_ when one _says_--quarrel[23]: nor
did ever the Country Gentleman in Ben Jonson need London
instructions in the art of angry reciprocation more than I do.
Let us leave a subject I really understand so little, and lament
that the universal Quarreller, Death, has been so busy among our
common acquaintance since we parted.

[23] "By my troth, I am the worse when one says Swagger."--_2 Henry
IV_, II. iv. 113.

How senseless, not to say offensive, must yours and my Master's
mutual complaints appear in the eyes of poor Mrs. Dimond just
now! Such a son!--the parents' just pride and joy--so snatched!
And that unhappy Mrs. Adams who, you may remember, said she had
heard the bell ring for her own execution; she has lost the
daughter she alone desired to live for. Few people find the
way of being happy, and those who throw little Hedgehogs in one
another's paths, like the rioters, to make them stumble and roll
about, have none of my approbation....

You will not be talked to (you say), of the Cat, and the Dog,
and the times, and the weather; tho' really the first of these
subjects is not amiss for you quarrelling disciples, and I will
not, like Grumio, talk to _you_ of how bad my poor Master was
when your letter came to _him_, and in what a shocking situation
his fingers have been placed by the last fit of gout, no nor
what a loss we have sustained in poor Hodgkins, nor what a
successor we picked up for him. But all these wonders, as old
Shakespeare says, shall now be buried in oblivion,[24] as shall
all my true expressions of admiration at your letters, which
still exceed every one the last received. Farewell then, and
be merry, and believe me with every possible good wish, your
ancient Jigg-Maker,

H. L. P.

[24] "Things of worthy memory which now shall die in oblivion."--_Taming of the Shrew._, IV. i. 85.