Chapter VII (1)

Renewal of friendship, 1819--Weston-super-Mare--W. A.
Conway--Birthday fête, 1820--Conway's love affair--Penzance--The
Queen's trial--More law--Land's End--Return to Clifton and
death, 1821--Mrs. Pennington's obituary notice--Her relations
with the daughters and the executors--Epitaph.

The last letter shows the appearance of the little rift in the lute of friendship, which was destined to silence its tones for so many years. Its origin remains obscure. If Mrs. Pennington received no letters between April and July, she doubtless had some reason to feel aggrieved, but the reference to the "mutual complaints" of Mr. Piozzi and Mr. Pennington suggests that they had met in the interval, and that some disagreement had arisen, which had been taken up by their respective wives, and it is probable that some letters during this period may have been destroyed. Mrs. Piozzi clearly had no desire to keep up the quarrel, whatever it was; but it may be that her attempt at reconciliation was not worded in a way which would commend itself to the sensitive mind of Mrs. Pennington, smarting from some real or fancied slight to her husband or herself. And so the correspondence was not resumed for fifteen years.

Meantime much had happened. In 1807 Sophia Thrale married Henry Merrick, third son of Sir Richard Colt Hoare, Bart., of Stourhead; and in the following year her elder sister, Hester, became the second wife of Viscount Keith. The marriages seem to have brought mother and daughters more closely together, for they paid a visit to Brynbella this year. In 1809, the gout from which he had suffered so long and so severely proved fatal to Mr. Piozzi. He had for some years conformed to the English Church, and in his last illness received the sacrament at the hands of a clergyman at Bath. He was buried 26th March, in the vault he had constructed in what Mrs. Piozzi calls Dymerchion, now Tremeirchion Church. She began her Commonplace Book the same year.

The "little boy," John Salusbury Piozzi, had finished his education at Oxford, and having grown to man's estate, and assumed the additional surname of Salusbury, married in 1814, Harriet Maria, daughter of Edward Pemberton of Ryton Grove, Salop. In 1816 he was appointed High Sheriff of Flint, and was knighted in the following year. To provide for the young couple, Mrs. Piozzi made over to them Brynbella and her Welsh estate, and retired to her beloved Bath, to live on the income from the English property settled on her by Thrale, and some £6000 which Piozzi's careful management had saved from their income. She had therefore--on paper--something like £2000 a year, but her generosity to her adopted son, and to her daughters in the re-fronting and fencing of Streatham Park, added to her love of entertaining, and a carelessness in money matters perhaps inherited from her father, left her in continual monetary difficulties.

Living so near Mrs. Pennington, and with so many common friends, it was hardly possible that they should not be brought together again, though there is no evidence as to how the reconciliation was effected. The correspondence was resumed in July 1819, but letters written by Mrs. Pennington somewhat later show that it was equally desired and equally genuine on both sides.

On Mrs. Pennington's side the rupture of one old friendship almost coincided with the renewal of another. On 18th October 1804, Anna Seward wrote to Mrs. Powys that she had been staying at Mendip Lodge, and that Dr. Whalley had undertaken to bring about a reconciliation with Mrs. Pennington, after twelve years of estrangement. "She received me with tears of returning love, and our reconcilement was perfect. She made me promise to stay with her a few days on my way back."

Her husband had a serious illness in 1813, as the result of which he resigned the office of M.C. at the Hot Wells, which he had held for nearly thirty years, in an address which "powerfully affected the feelings of all present." But his successor turned out to be quite unfitted for the post, and as Pennington's health had been improved by a stay at Weymouth, he was induced to take up the work again for a short time. Not long afterwards Mrs. Pennington's mother died at the age of ninety-seven. She had lost nearly all her faculties, and had been for some time unable to recognise even her daughter.

_Mrs. Pennington to Maria Brown_

WESTON-SUPER-MARE, _9 Oct. 1819_.

... I shall not be sorry to return, tho' I leave dear Mrs.
Piozzi behind, with whom I have passed some hours of every day,
and our evenings _always_ together, in the most perfect harmony.
We seem entirely to have regained our _former footing_, and
to revert to past times, persons, and anecdotes with _mutual_
pleasure. She has sought no other, indeed sedulously avoided
all other society since we have been here, and is happy and
chearful when with us, as I ever saw her. It is not however with
_me_ exactly the _same_ thing. I _was Prima Donna_, I now feel
that many new friends and new connexions, with new interests
and novel attractions, occupy the ground that _I_ exclusively
possessed; and I can only expect, in future, to be _one_ of this
larger groupe. I think the character of her mind was always
rather _kindness_ than _attachment_. I know not whether you
admit the distinction; I _feel_ it, and that I must henceforth
be satisfied with such general proofs of this sentiment as
opportunity may _throw_ in our way.

The friend to whom this was written came to occupy much the same position with regard to Mrs. Pennington as the latter had done to Mrs. Piozzi. After Mrs. Pennington's death, the whole of her carefully treasured correspondence passed into her hands, including, besides the present series of letters, those relating to the Siddons-Lawrence tragedy, which were published in _An Artist's Love Story_, and others from Anna Seward, Helen Williams, the Randolphs, and Whalleys, and others of her correspondents.

In a letter to Miss Brown's mother, dated 28th February 1820, she pursues the same theme. "You judge," she writes, "very correctly of my feelings respecting my dear _restored_ friend. It gives an interest to my life that nothing else could, and what is better, it seems to be felt mutually. We never are so happy as when together, and her letters, which come twice or thrice a week, are a perpetual source of amusement."

WESTON-SUPER-MARE, _July 1819_.

Sick or well, dear Mrs. Pennington is ever kind and obliging,
but why empty her veins at such a rough rate? Were they bursting
with heat? A Bath friend writes me word that the people _there_
do feel themselves heavily oppress'd by a weight of atmospheric
air, and walk about, he says, like somnambulists, with
salmon-coloured faces. We have sea-breezes here that refresh
our spirits, and send us out at night to stare after the Comet,
which looked very pale last evening I saw it, but not, I hope,
for anger.

There are other fiery fellows in the _North_, more dangerous by
far, of whom I feel more afraid; but the Regent went safely,
and was applauded it is said, and the Reformers will work no
reformation at Smithfield under Mr. Hunt's guidance. He tried
in vain to make the Basket Women at Bath hate _Sinecures_; tho'
one of them said she knew he meant the _Signing Curs_, kept by
Ministers to _sign_ whatever they bid them,--comical enough!

If all goes on regularly and well, I shall certainly call on
you, dear Madam, in my return. When that will be, however, is
hard to say, for I have just hired myself a clean Cottage,--the
Hotel is very noisy, and surprisingly expensive,--and since the
Bathing agrees, I mean to try another tide or two by the way
of making myself young, or making myself _believe_ that I am
younger than my neighbours of the same standing....

People are visiting-mad here, as everywhere else. Do you
remember Mr. Pennington saying he hoped there were no Evening
Parties in Heaven? He will not escape them till he gets thither,
nor shall, without the utmost difficulty his and your ever
faithful and obliged

H. L. PIOZZI.

I saw Miss Williams spreading the Bread Fruit with butter, and
eating it at her tea, ten days before I left Bath,--but it was
kind in you to send me some.

The comet of July 1819 was that now known by the name of Winnecke, who, in 1858, identified it with one previously observed by Encke.

Henry Hunt had for many years been associated with the leading agitators of the time. He made the acquaintance of Horne Tooke in 1800, shared imprisonment with Cobbett in 1810, and allied himself with Thistlewood and his friends in 1816. He took part in the Spa Fields meeting, presided at the Reform meeting at Smithfield which took place on July 21, and at the "Peterloo" meeting, held on August 16 this year.

WESTON-SUPER-MARE,
_Saturday Night, 4 Sep. 1819_.

Dear Mrs. Pennington's letter came late last night; our poor
Postman cannot get his walk finished,--how should he?--till near
12 o'clock, which is one of the discomforts incident to our
fav'rite Weston. This morning the Grinfields of Laura Chapel,
Bath, left us, and you may have half their house for two guineas
and a half o' week. They paid five for the whole, and had 7 or
8 Babies inhabiting it, with a proportionate number of nurses,
etc. But send an immediate answer, or it will be gone.... If you
come quite alone, our Baker, Mr. Cooper, will accommodate you
with one chamber up a ladder-like staircase, and one sitting
room: but such a lodging too nearly resembles that in Coleman's
Broad Grins;--one guinea and a half is, I think, _too much_ for
that, though 'tis struggled for!!...

Oh! what heavenly weather here is! And oh! what fools is it
flung away upon! who will not gather up the harvest, but run
about reforming errors in the State. They have got a wiser head
now, who is better qualified to do mischief, and accordingly we
read that yesterday's meeting passed off without any mad frolics
on which to fix the stigma of treason or insanity:--two things
so difficult to prove they oblige us to adopt Elbow's method
in Measure for Measure, who says, "they must continue in their
courses till we can tell what they are."[25] ...

[25] "Let him continue in his courses till thou knowest what they
are."--_Measure for Measure_, III. i. 196.

WESTON-SUPER-MARE,
_Tuesday, 7 Sept. 1819_.

Your letter came too late last night, dear Mrs. Pennington, for
me to take any measures concerning the House.... You will have
it, as a favour, for three Pounds o' week;--cheaper than mine
certainly.

The list of things wanted is just _everything_: knives, forks,
spoons, plate, linnen: Weston affords only beds, tables, and
chairs. Yes, yes, they do give us crockery, and there were _two_
books in the town when I came, a Bible and a Paradise Lost. They
were the _best_ you know.

I am no better pleased with the complexion of the times than you
are, but feel much more sympathy with the Mob than with their
Galvanizers, who mean to give just the portion of excitement
they choose, in order to deplace, _dis_place I mean, one set
of Ministers, and put up another set in which they take deeper
interest. In this _virtuous_ cause they care not what lives,
or whose peace they endanger. But let them be cautious, or the
Mob will make them _their tools_, to help break down the gates
which, when thrown back as those of Hell in Milton, _they_ will
start to see

Before their eyes in sudden view appear
The secrets of the hoary deep, a dark
Illimitable Ocean without bound,
Without dimension: where length, breadth, and height,
And time and place are lost.[26]

[26] _Paradise Lost_, ii. 890.

Noblemen and Gentlemen are of _necessity_ Aristocrates in
_earnest_: and the numbers who now stand aloof, looking
how it will end, and being--as we used to say of dear
Siddons--no-_crates_ at all, will even _die_ with terror, and
the conscious certainty that the great folk who assisted in
the work at first, broke _open_, but to _shut_ excelled their
power. An ambitious Sovreign meanwhile, _might_ while his army
continues true to him, make them all _his_ tools; suffering them
so to destroy the House of Commons that he could reign in future
without a Parliament, only just cajoling the Reformers between
to-day and the year 1820. And _such_ madmen are those who wish
the overturn of constituted authorities....

Poor dear Mrs. Lambart can hardly _hear_ these strange tales,
I believe; she is at least seven years older than myself, but
does not like, it seems, to tell her age. _My_ Register, clearly
written, as Bishop Majendie says, points out 1740.

On September 12 Mrs. Pennington writes to Miss Brown that she is going to Weston. "Dear Mrs. Piozzi is there, we shall be within two or three doors of her. She has been as active and anxious to serve us in this particular as she could have been at any former period.... If the air of that place, the fine weather we _seem_ likely to have, and _her_ charming society, does not restore me to something like health and spirits, I shall give up the point altogether."

The Card Table Riddle, which appears in the next letter, is taken from Mrs. Piozzi's Commonplace Book; where she remarks that "it has been plundered, and played tricks with, and published in Pocket Books, &c., but these are the genuine verses."

_Sat. Oct. 17, 1819._

My dear Mrs. Pennington charged me to send her the Riddle,
and Miss Camplin asking for commands, I thought it a good
opportunity, therefore

A place I here describe, how gay the scene!
Fresh, bright, and vivid with perpetual green.
Verdure attractive to the ravished sight
Perennial joys, and ever new delight,
Charming at noon, more charming still at night,
Fair Pools, where Fish in forms pellucid play,
Smooth lies the lawn, swift glide the hours away.
The Banks with shells and minerals are crown'd,
Hope keeps her court, and Beauty smiles around.
No mean dependance here on Summer skies,
This spot rough Winter's roughest blast defies.
Yet here the Government is curst with change,
Knaves openly on either Party range;
Assault their Monarch, and avow the deed,
While Honour fails, and Tricks alone succeed.
For bold Decemvirs here usurp the sway,
Now all some single Demagogue obey,
False Lights prefer, and curse th' intrusive day.
Oh! shun the tempting shore, the dangerous coast,
Health, Fame, and Fortune, stranded here, are lost.

This Riddle I gave Salusbury when he was a boy, "But what _is_
it, Aunt? What can it be?" "Why, replied I, can't you perceive
that

A Card-table's green is perpetual and bright,
A Card-table charms men from morning till night;
Where, angling with skill for some innocent fool,
Their thoughts are still fixed on the Fish and the Pool;
While Guineas and Counters, promiscuously heap'd,
With hope fills those pockets whence pelf has escap'd.
Thro' Winter and Summer and demi-saison,
This occupies Ladies and Lords de Bon Ton.
For Knaves are successful at Limited Loo,
At Whist the odd Trick makes all Honours look blue.
The Ten, at Casino, Decemvir we call,
And Aces, at Commerce, take tribute from all.
Wax Candles superior to Sunshine they boast,
While Time, Fame, and Fortune for ever are lost."

BATH, _29 Oct. 1819_.

I certainly do not remember a word about Siddons, and probably
I did not get dear Mrs. Pennington's letter. It is no joke that
my feelings grow torpid; I have had so much of the torture in my
life that it is really a natural consequence, and if some odd
things (kindness is one) _do_ keep me awake _this_ year, I shall
certainly sleep out the next....

Conway's name is on the Posts as having renew'd his engagements,
but he possesses many perfections, and leaves writing letters
to you and me. Cecy Mostyn is a most entertaining correspondent.
She is at Florence now, making good sport of her Cavaliere
Servente, the Marchese Garzoni, but remembers your Mother still,
and says I must mind and keep as bright as _she_ did to 90 years
old.

All you say of these horrid Blasphemers is said with truth and
wisdom, but Dr. Gibbes and Mr. Mangin both protest to _me_, and
they are no strait-laced moralists, that Carlisle and all his
crew are white to Lord Byron; whose book is so seducing, so
amusing, and so _cheap_, it will soon be in every hand that can
hold one. Upham sent it me, thinking of course it could not hurt
an old woman; but I held my crutches fast, for 'tis no fun to
have them kicked from under one at fourscore--and the Scriptures
_are_ my crutches. If these gay fellows delight in obliterating
the direction posts for Youth in the journey through life, they
some of them _may_ get into the road again; but as Carter said,
my religion is my freehold estate, and whoever tries to shake my
title to it is an enemy.

Dr. and Mrs. Whalley seem to have been giving la Comedie gratis
here while the Theatres were shut up. Incidents are certainly
not wanting, and the Catastrophe kept quite out of sight, as
Bayes recommends, for purpose of elevating and surprizing.
Those who come to hear what _I_ say on the subject, go home
disappointed, for I say nothing, and have indeed nothing to
say....

Helen's sinking into oblivion is no proof of the people's good
taste, for she is a clever creature, though no one less approved
of her Classical Elopement--Helen to Paris--than I did. Is Mr.
[Stone] dead, or only his wife? He was a _Radical_ before they
had taken _root_....

Lady Baynton has not improved her beauty by living in France:
her son however does surprize me. A Titmouse scarce out of
the egg when last we met, a Boy now of elegant carriage and
behaviour; not a little _manieré_, perhaps too much so for rough
England....

In this letter occurs the first mention of William Augustus Conway, who engrossed such a large share of Mrs. Piozzi's interest, and even affection, at this period of her life; filling, it may be, to some extent, the place formerly occupied by her adopted son, now launched on an independent career. That she felt a great admiration and real affection for the handsome young actor is obvious, and she set herself to forward his interests with as much assiduity and enthusiasm as if he had been her son. It has been suggested that her feelings towards him were quite other than maternal, and certain "Love Letters," purporting to be written by her, have been adduced in support of this theory. But the way he is spoken of in this and other genuine correspondence of hers should be sufficient to disprove the suggestion. It must be admitted that her admiration led her to credit him with talents which were not obvious to other eyes. He was a man of striking appearance, of gentlemanly and attractive manners, and a tolerably good actor, but gave little indication of the genius which she discerned in him. He had acted with some success at Dublin and Covent Garden before he came to Bath in 1817, where he acted in tragedy and comedy for some three years. Only a few days before her death, according to Macready, she sent him a cheque for £100, but this he returned to the executors. The same year (1821) he left the stage, on account of an attack attributed to Theodore Hook, and sailed for America. He played again at New York in 1824, but seems to have intended to devote himself to the ministry. For some unexplained reason he threw himself overboard, while on a voyage to Charleston, in 1828, but the seven "Love Letters" above referred to were not published till 1843. They are, in the main, undoubtedly from the pen of Mrs. Piozzi, though possibly touched up in places to make them a little more sensational. But, taken by themselves, and without any reference to the circumstances under which they were written, they might easily be misunderstood--as it was perhaps intended they should be. For the editor was either unaware of, or ignored the facts which appear plainly enough in the present correspondence; that Conway was at the time engaged to a lady at Bath; that Mrs. Piozzi was deeply interested in this little romance, and promoted it to the best of her power; and that the most emotional of the letters was written to console him at the moment when the engagement had been broken off. Her attitude all through is that of an anxious mother, seeking to ensure the happiness of a dearly loved son.

_By Rivers after de Wilde, 1814. From the Collection of A. M.
Broadley, Esq._]

Doctor, afterwards Sir George Smith Gibbes, physician to Queen Charlotte, and author of a Treatise on the Bath Waters, was one of the first explorers of the Bone Caves of the Mendips. He attended Mrs. Piozzi on her death-bed, as described by Mangin.

The Rev. Edward Mangin, who had been a naval chaplain, and Prebendary of Killaloe and St. Patrick's, was a notable dramatic critic, and at this time a recognised leader of the literary coterie of Bath. He was thus brought into close touch with Mrs. Piozzi, and the result of their intimacy was his _Piozziana_, published anonymously in 1833, now rather a scarce book, which contains many of her letters as well as his personal recollections of her later years.

Carlisle was the publisher of Tom Paine's _Age of Reason_, and other works of a like character.

Dr. Whalley's first wife had died in 1801, and two years afterwards he married a Miss Heathcote, who died in 1803. In 1813, when nearly seventy, he made a third venture by marrying the widow of General Horneck. The lady was of extravagant habits, and came to him in debt to the extent of some thousands, for which he found himself responsible. Mutual recriminations followed, and in 1814 he went to France, leaving his wife behind. A formal separation took place in 1819, after which he again went abroad, and died at La Fleche, 1828.

Of Byron she remarks in her Commonplace Book: "My own idea is that he resembles the Dead Man's skull animated by a Toad, and made to hop, in such a manner that it attracted notice from the Lord Chief Justice Willes, enabling him to detect a murder."

_Sat. Night, 6 Nov. 1819._

Dear Mrs. Pennington will believe the torpor when I confess the
Siddons' story not new to me, and it is quite in his character
who once quoted Cowley's verses to me in conversation as
descriptive of his wife's person.

Merab with spacious beauty fills the sight,
But too much awe chastis'd the bold delight:
Like a calm sea, which to the enlarged view
Gives pleasure, but gives fear and reverence too.

"_Too grand a thing._" I hope some one will take your Grand
Thing off your hands. We shall be wondrous rich if seven's the
main. Your friend's fancies about _seven_ are few in comparison
with mine. Why seven is the perfect number, and the word implies
and expresses perfection in Hebrew. Everything indeed goes by
septenaries among us all day long. At seven years old the Baby
becomes a Boy, changes his teeth, and his evidence is taken in a
Court of Justice. Two sevens produce the change from Childhood
to Youth, and the third emancipates the Minor. Don't ask me to
go on; my conjectures would take 7 days writing, and all would
not be finished this day _seven-night_. I enclose a Pound Note,
and for the _seven_ shillings it will be good luck to wait.

One would be frighted at your prognostics if you were a
_seventh_ son instead of an only daughter,--so sadly have
the Rogers family justified your odd predictions.... Conway,
poor fellow! will sure enough come to the case you assign
for him:--work, and die nobly, or starve, and pine away. Old
Bartolozzi, a veteran servant of our English Public, was
censured for leaving us in the last years of his life. "It is
because I know them," he replied. "Whilst I can work for them,
and do what no one else _can_ do, they will pay me liberally,
and when my eyes fail, I may retreat to an Hospital erected for
the _Indigent_ Blind. I will," continued he, "go to Portugal,
and accept a moderate annuity from the Sovreign." So he did, and
died there,--out of an Hospital:--but Waltzing is better sport;
so

The three black Graces, Law, Physic, and Divinity,
Walk hand in hand along the Strand, and hum la Poule.
Trade quits his Compter, Alma Mater her Latinity,
Proud and vain with Mr. Paine to go to School.
Should you want advice in Law, you'll little gain by asking it,
Your Lawyer's not at Westminster, he's busy Pas-de-Basqu'ing it:
D'ye want to lose a tooth, and run to Waite for drawing it?
He cannot sure attend, he's Demi-queue-de-Chating it.
Run, neighbours, run; all London is Quadrilling it,
While Order and Sobriety dance Dos-a-dos.

Brackley or Brockley Combe I know by heart, and very pretty
'tis, and Cheddar Cliffs: more like good genuine mountains
than most _British_ imitations are. For your complaints, I do
pronounce them the effect of shocks upon the nerves, and sorry
am I that the sea air did you so little good. _I_ certainly
liked it, and found Weston very agreable, and 'tis the true Ton
to say how the place agreed with Mrs. Piozzi. So it will now
become the fashionable retreat for old-age and _haggardism_,--a
new word of my own making.

Mr. Stone was a raging Democrate, an Enragé; so he is not
wanted, we have enough such. I fear Helen deserves some
_whipping_, but so we do all: as Hamlet says, "Give us our
deserts, and who shall escape whipping?"[27]

[27] "Use every man after his desert, and who should 'scape
whipping?"--_Hamlet_, III. ii. 556.

What, I wonder, put me in mind of poor old long-dead Demosthenes
Taylor, a Doctor in the Commons? The torpor, I suppose, for I
can tell but one story of him,--who told no stories at all.
Johnson said once, "That man had credit for knowledge, perhaps
he possess'd it, but I have dined six times in his company, and
never heard him utter but _one word_, and that word was Richard."

My story must necessarily be this. He lived a Scholar's life,
you may conclude, threescore years ago at Amen Corner, near
St. Paul's Churchyard; studying Greek books and collating
manuscripts all morning; smoking his pipe at night, and
indulging in a game at All Fours with a distant and dependant
relation,--a young Surgeon in the neighbourhood. One evening
they were at play together. "Doctor," exclaims old Taylor, "I
have got the _Belly-ache_ so bad, we won't above finish this
game." "Right, Sir," was the reply, "take something very hot,
and go to bed. If you are worse, call me. If not, I shan't come
till Wednesday, for very good reasons." "Ay, ay, my lad; mind
thy business," was the monitory answer; and they parted at 10
o'clock Monday night. On Wednesday young Stevens came, according
to custom. The pipe was smoked, and the game played, and
"Doctor!" exclaims our old Demosthenes, "dost remember how bad
my Belly ached o' Monday night?" "Yes, sure, Sir; and I beg'd
you to take something hot, and go to bed." "Why so I did, a
great rummer-full of hot Brandy." "Heavens!" cried the Surgeon,
laughing, "I did not mean _so_." "Well, young man, it cured me.
I went to sleep, and lay very late in the morning, and have no
feeling in my Belly now _at all_: none in the least." "Lord!
Sir, how you alarm me! _No feeling?_" "No, on my honour." "Good
God! Let me look at it directly." So he did. The mortification
had spread rapidly, and good old Taylor was a corpse in four and
twenty hours.

Dr. Whalley has seen me at last, and told his tale. The loss
of Mrs. Lutwyche's good opinion hurts him; as to mine, it is
nothing impair'd. What astonished me was his saying that he
was annoyed by Creditors when we were at Mendip in the year
1813;--living like the Dukes of Bedford or Marlborough. Mr.
Arnold or Almond, his fine Man, shewed Bessy and me twenty
Pounds _worth_, not 20 lbs. _weight_ of meat in the Larder one
day, design'd, _he said_, for the stew-pan. Is it not time to
beg and pray for torpor? Sensibility would drive one distracted,
sure. So good night, and give my true regards to those you love
best; believing me your fast-asleep Friend,

H. L. P.

Francesco Bartolozzi came to London from Florence in 1764, as engraver to the King, and was one of the Foundation Members of the Royal Academy. He left England to take charge of the National Academy at Lisbon, where he died 1815.

The Rev. John Taylor, LL.D., F.R.S., and F.A.S., was the son of a barber at Shrewsbury. He gained a Fellowship at St. John's, Cambridge, and became Chancellor of Lincoln, Archdeacon of Buckingham, and Canon of St. Paul's. His great work, from which he gained his sobriquet, was what was intended to be a complete edition of Demosthenes, published between 1748 and 1757.

The origin of Dr. Whalley's matrimonial troubles has already been explained: it was about this period that the final rupture took place. In the first of the so-called "Love Letters," written 1st September 1819 from Weston, to Conway at Birmingham, she alludes to the recent scandal of "old Mr. Whalley's wife running away from him, and settling in Freshford."

The reference to Helen Williams is no doubt connected with a letter written by her to Mrs. Pennington, dated 26th June 1819, mentioning that Stone was "now reposing in his grave," and giving an account of her life and connection with him, as previously quoted. She then proceeds to refer to the reconciliation of the long-parted friends. "How much in contrast with my sad details is your brilliant account of Mrs. Piozzi;--what a privileged mortal! But really you seem to me to love her much better than she deserves; what excuses the 16 years of separation? The fault must have been hers: she always seemed to me kind and warm-hearted, but with no deep sensibilities."

The lines on dancing are quoted from her Commonplace Book, where she assigns them, on the authority of Mrs. Hoare, to "Smith, author of _Rejected Addresses_."

_4 Dec. 1819._

To no one else in the world would I have written, dearest Mrs.
Pennington; but you are so good and so partial. Other friends
can find signs enough of torpor. Miss Williams's Beau, as we
call him,--Mr. Wickens,--found me fast asleep on the sopha; he
is a good creature and was sorry:--said the world was now coming
to an end most surely, when such symptoms attacked, in the
middle of the day, your H. L. P. If it goes on, my favourites
must contrive to do without me. Our old King came into the world
but a short time before his dutyful subject who writes this, and
who hopes to get away in his train--if possible.

I have little thought to bestow on Dramatick Exhibitions; but
Mr. Mangin, who is a classical Scholar, and has leisure to amuse
himself with those who provide pastime for the rich and idle,
said, when Conway acted Coriolanus here, that he had never seen
the Roman Toga worne so gracefully. He has not yet left London.
Macready was a fine promising Actor when I saw him last, three
or four years ago: a very gentlemanly man too. We dined together
at dear Dr. Gibbes's.

Mr. Pennington has, I hope, taken a new lease. Gout is a pledge
of long life, if long life be indeed desirable. I begin to find
it very burthensome to myself and my attendants, out of whose
power it is to alleviate anything I feel. Dr. Whalley will do
well enough among nieces and nephews, devoted to him of course,
if he has retained any thing to divide among them at the hour of
dissolution.

The Dipper at Weston super Mare came here on a visit yesterday,
bringing me Fish and Poultry; how good natured! But I hear of a
still cheaper and more charming place along the Cornish Coast,
where chickens for 6_d._ each may yet be had, and Fish for
almost nothing.

Meanwhile the Great are not exempt from ill-health or cares, any
more than we. A general mourning will come, consequent on the
Duchess of Gloster's death as on that of the King, and both will
alike ruin my wretched Fête;--a foolish promise! but I must keep
it now, and it will be the _last folly_.

With regard to Politics, they go very ill no doubt. My long life
can call up but one year in which the machine went so as to
please everybody: and there was printed at the beginning of the
new Almanacks these words, observed perhaps by no one but myself,

In seventeen hundred and sixty--tis written,
All strife and contention shall cease in Great Britain.

In effect there was but this dispute in Parliament, whether our
Success was the cause of our Unanimity, or our Unanimity the
cause of our Success. And Garrick's song ending every stanza with

Cheer up, my Lads, with one heart let us sing
Our Soldiers, our Sailors, our _Statesmen, and King_,

shews the same spirit. I believe they were never so praised
_en masse_ but that _one_ time, which nobody recollects
except--Yours and Mr. Pennington's

H. L. P.

In 1760, the year of George the Third's accession, Pitt's vigorous administration had, for the moment, annihilated party feeling. Wolfe's victory at Quebec had terminated the French rule in Canada; the battle of Plassey had given us Bengal; the French power in Southern India was broken by Coote; the engagement in Quiberon Bay testified to our power at sea; and England stood forth as the first maritime and colonial power in the world.

_Tuesday, 7 Dec. 1819._

Threatening me as you do, dear, nervous Mrs. Pennington, I
will, I must write directly. But surely we are neither of us
such younglings as to fancy things at 80 years old can go on
as they did at 40. We might then be shown for a show. It would
be silly to believe my inside possessed its pristine strength,
and the want of that strength leads to various uneasinesses,
ill-described in a letter. We will do as well as we can.

Meanwhile assure yourself that _one_ wonder _does_ wait upon
your newly-restored friend. At fourscore years old her _outside_
is the best of her. Dr. Gibbes is too wise a man to wish to
_attend_ much; he knows there is nothing to be done, and what
would you have him do? Mr. Cam the Baby Catcher would have
suited me better to-day. The late Duke of Glo'ster kept one in
the house the last six weeks of his wretched life's wretched end.

Weston did me nothing but service; gave a power to the unelastic
nerves, and consoled body and mind. All is as it should be,
though I do not think Conway's all-expressing countenance showed
him contented with the looks of his Patroness yesterday, when
he dropped in among other morning callers. I will mind Mr.
Pennington's good advice and yours, and not disappoint the Boys
and Girls of their Gala.

Salusbury and his wife will soon be here, I hope you will like
them....

There is a pretty Book come out, very pretty indeed, against the
Blasphemers; but I will not put _my_ feeble hand to the Ark,
assure yourself. That women should keep silence in the Church is
a good injunction, and should be obeyed now more than ever....

BATH, _10 Dec. 1819_.

Well now, dearest Mrs. Pennington, I have got a complaint I
_can_ talk of, or write about--a sore throat!--tho' never
out of this warm room since Sunday. I fancy it is caused by
relaxation,--talking about _you_ to Mr. Conway, who saw your
charming letter.... Tho' I did say, in a prudent humour, that
he should see as little as possible either of your letters or
yourself....

How is your fortune going forward? Smilingly I hope; and how
will my Gala get forward if I do nothing but write funny letters
to Mrs. Pennington, instead of calling names over to fill up
the Cards with, or sit and chat with dear Conway concerning
past sorrows and future prospects. He says he is come to act
Master _Slender_: and _thin_ he is most certainly: but so
young-looking, _never_. I hope we shall make a full house to
witness his first performance in _Coriolanus_ next Monday. Can't
you come over anyhow without serious risque? It would be pity to
miss such an exhibition, and your retentive memory has Kemble's
mode of acting it well impress'd. Mine reflects back only one
Scene, I think, and _he_ never saw Emperor John in _his_ short
life.

The Salusburys come next Tuesday sennight, and where shall I get
them lodgings? I am all in a _fuss_, as the Ladies say; and wish
you were helping me to do the nothings I busy myself about.

The world looks white, but it is not the robe of innocence; gilt
and gloom lie under, and will burst out--upon the thaw. Conway's
account of Carlisle's tryal froze me with horror....

The last appearance of John Philip Kemble was at his Benefit at Covent Garden in 1817, so there is no reason why Conway should not have seen him, though perhaps not in the part of Coriolanus.

_Fryday night, 17 Dec. 1819._

.... On Wednesday Conway acts Iachimo to Warde's Posthumus.
They neither of 'em ever performed the characters, and it will
be a pleasure worthy of Mrs. Pennington. How will you manage?
Better make business subservient to enjoyment, and _come_.
The Coriolanus electrified us all; and my amiable friend gets
admirers and invitations every day. We spent our _last_ evening
at the Fellowes's. The Hon. Mr. Burrell _there_ promised to
introduce him to some Club of Gentlemen, who will all attend
when Benefit time comes on, and will, I hope, compensate him in
some measure for his past sufferings....

I suppose [the Salusburys] will just come time enough for my
Foolery, which plagues me to death already. "Would it were
night, Hal! and all well!"[28]

[28] "I would 'twere bed-time, Hal, and all well."--_1 Henry IV_, V.
i. 125.

John Prescott, who assumed the additional stage-name of Warde, had appeared at Bath in 1813, and till shortly before this date had been acting at the Haymarket. Mrs. Piozzi had a great admiration for his talents, and had helped to organise a Benefit for him in March.

_Monday, 20 Dec. 1819._

Well, dearest Friend, I sent your letter to Conway, who is
already in love with you, and wishes the impression he has
already made _not_ to be taken off by Iachimo. His wishes of
being presented to you are most warm and cordial; he thinks
you love his little Patroness, and _I_ feel happy in the fancy
that you will one day love each other, and talk confidentially
concerning your poor H. L. P. when she is supposed to be far out
of hearing....

My winter is not tedious for want of engagements. I am torne to
pieces with invitations, and am forced to dine at Archdeacon
Thomas's on Thursday, when I wished to be in the Theatre: but
our Friend says we have time before us. So _he_ has, if it
please God, and so have _you_; but 80 years of my life are past,
and I wish this winter was past too, that spring might make our
intercourse more easy.

My Ball and Supper begin to be a plague to _me_, but I somehow
hope and fancy that they may be of use to _him_ whose welfare is
really very near the heart of yours faithfully,

H. L. PIOZZI.

In a note written three days afterwards Mrs. Piozzi announces that she and Conway are hoping to pay Mrs. Pennington a visit the following week, and then goes on: "Mrs. Stratton bore true witness to your impatience of our Separation; and indeed when the fine Statue we disagreed about has been pulled down a dozen years!!! 'tis fit the cobwebs should remain no longer." Can this really have been the origin of a misunderstanding between two sincerely attached friends, which lasted for fifteen years? It seems almost too ridiculous, but is the nearest approach to an explanation of the mystery afforded by the letters.

In spite of a snowstorm, the proposed visit was duly paid, and Mrs. Pennington writes to be assured that Mrs. Piozzi had taken no harm, and to express her pleasure at the meeting. "It was an hour of true, intellectual enjoyment, of _real_ happiness." Conway evidently made a very good impression. "Of your Friend and _mine_, since so kindly permitted to use the, to me, always _sacred_ distinction, I can only say he appears worthy of all the esteem and regard he has been so fortunate to obtain in your opinion. If that fine, ingenuous countenance, conciliating voice, and gentle, elegant demeanour deceive me, I will never trust to those tokens again. There is a certain _something_ in his appearance that interests me more strongly in his happiness, than I ever felt on so short an acquaintance; and I long for an opportunity of discussing with you, dearest friend, those points that are most immediately connected with this object."

_P.M. Dec. 30, 1819._

My dear Mrs. Pennington is a kind and generous friend, but
her _anxiety_ was superfluous. We got home without an atom of
anything resembling alarm, or _cause_ for it; and found the
way short--I speak for myself--it was shorten'd by talking of
you. Conway does certainly merit all our care, and all our
admiration; may he be as happy as deserving!...

How good Mr. Pennington was to us! and all your friends: and how
far from cold it was going home with that Eider Down bag that
covered us so. I wonder where such things are to be had!...

The Salusburys will not come this fortnight, the _Ladies_ God
knows when....

In a letter, dated "Friday the last of 1819," Mrs. Pennington writes: "Remember me kindly to dear Conway, towards whom I feel disposed to indulge more kindness than I ever thought to entertain again on so slight an acquaintance. I hope _personal_ knowledge has not injured the impression your partial friendship sought to create on _my_ part. On his, the materials, all in prime keeping, are too excellent and admirable to admit any doubt on the subject. But we are, alas! something fallen into 'the sere and yellow leaf,' and cannot cope with these summer blossoms. If however not downright _scarecrows_ to the young, 'the beautiful, and brave,' we may at least be useful land-marks and monitors, if they will permit us. Pray tell him from me, that in the experience of more years than I think it necessary at this moment to enumerate, I never knew either man or woman _compleatly ruined_ until they were _married_. Observe, I do not say nor _always_ so then, and I heartily wish him the best luck in the world in that fearful and doubtful Lottery. But I entreat him, by the friendship you have united us in, that he will not be hasty in chusing his _Ticket_, and that he will endeavour, as coolly and dispassionately as possible, to examine the _Number_ before he makes his election.

"The _Eider Down_ that was so comfortable to your dear Friend, I imagine can be procured at any of the capital Furriers, at least in London, tho' I know Paris is the place to get them in perfection. A Lady of my acquaintance purchased a delightful _Pillow_ there, of an immensely large size, which wrapped about her head, or feet, or served her as the warmest and lightest coverlid possible. The Custom House Officers took it from her at one of the Ports, and she was fearful of not getting it again, or at least not without a heavy premium; when, strolling about, she happened to look into the Custom House to make some enquiries. No one being there, and seeing her treasure of a Pillow lying in a corner, she clapped it under her arm, and walked off with it, fortunately unmolested, on the principle that every one had a _right_ to their _own_."

In a postscript she expresses a wish that "my dear, and pretty Maria Brown ... was _rich_ enough for _our_ Conway, I would trust his happiness with her."

_2 Jan. 1820._

No proof more perfect can be given or received, dear Mrs.
Pennington, of our hearts being well united once again, than
your sudden as surprising impression in favour of our common
Friend's _happiness_. I have studied nothing else since I knew
him: yet must confess his power of raising such _real interest_
is a singular one....

I passed yesterday at Mrs. Lutwyche's, and missed the Comus my
heart was set upon, but Sir James Fellowes dropt in while I was
writing this letter, and said it was _inimitable_. "Ay," replied
I, "the Scholar's correctness, levigated by the Wit's elegant
hiliarity." The answer was that Conway should have a patent for
acting, and I should have one for praising him....

A few days later Mrs. Pennington paid a visit to Bath, and on her return was escorted home by Conway. She gives her impressions in a letter dated January 17:

"We had as pleasant a ride as it was possible to have on a road that carried me 12 miles from _you_. So interesting was our conversation that we felt no cold, and were surprised when we reached the end of our little journey. You may easily guess our subjects; but I am sorry to say that in the discussion of certain points, I cannot find reason to think our dear and amiable Friend so near the goal as your ardent and benevolent spirit is disposed to believe. The fair lady is, I have no doubt, as amiable as he conceives her; but the timidity and diffidence which renders her more lovely in his eyes, creates obstacles and difficulties that demand a bolder spirit, and more self-confidence than she possesses, to overcome. _Love_, all powerful _love_, which sees _in the object_ the ultimatum of all its wishes, and overlooks all contingent and subordinate circumstances, only can do this. We shall see whether such is hers. Such only, in my opinion, can deserve the man who gains, every hour that I see more of him, such an increasing interest in my regard, that my anxiety for his happiness is become painful. My dear Husband is highly taken with his fine manners and intelligent conversation. He says he has seen no such man since the prime days of his friend, Governor Tryon, who was reckoned the handsomest man and finest gentleman of his time.

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

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

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

_Tuesday, 18 Jan. 1820._

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

If the Salusburys are not snow'd up upon the road, they will
be here to-night: how shall I _thaw_ them? We will make them a
little _no_ Party for the 20th....

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

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

H. L. P.

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

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

_By W. J. White after H. O. Neill. From the Collection of A. M.
Broadley, Esq._]

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

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

_Fryday, Jan. 21, 1820._