Chapter III (2)

You will have my Book soon, Mr. Robinson and I are bargaining
for it now, but they shall pay me a just price; I have enlarged
it considerably. Dear Marquis Trotti will come _home_ to his
English friends again; I am glad on't. He is at Warsaw this
moment by what appears, and after a Polar winter will find Bath
a nice warm place, and old Belvedere House will look _so_ pretty
after Petersburg, and he and Harriet may read my Synonymes of
_Love_ and _Friendship_ together. I told you he had the arrow
fast in his heart. I _told_ you _so_....

All the neighbourhood borrow Helen's last publication from me,
so that I scarce have read it, but 'tis as you say. Come what
will, dear Friend, let you and I hold fast by our Christian
principles, assuring ourselves that this is not the world for
remuneration, but for tryal; and satisfied that happiness will,
in the next state of things, be consequent upon Virtue. Let
every misfortune it meets with _here_, strengthen our assurance
that _there_ it will be finally and lastingly rewarded. I verily
and from my soul believe that admirable girl will lose her life
by violence among those cruel creatures. They have abolished
Sunday now, and every sign and form of worship in France is at
an end. In that frantic Nation _chaos is come again_....

It is not quite clear what work by Helen Williams is here referred to. She does not seem to have written anything of importance since her _Letters written in France_ in the summer of 1790, which were published the same year, and would probably have reached Mrs. Piozzi long before this date.

STREATHAM PARK, _2 Dec. 1793_.

MY DEAR FRIEND,--Having got a Frank by chance, I sit
by Mr. Piozzi's bedside, and tell you, for my own amusement,
how ill he is. Lame, hand and foot, with Gout, and torne with
spasms beside, which we know not exactly on what account to
place.... You can probably give me as good and chearful a
history of _your_ Husband's case, possibly too, from the same
cause--a Ball. Our Royal Surrey Bowmen gave a grand one at
Richmond, where Cecilia danced till five o'clock in the morning,
and whence, of course, we came not home till seven. A member
of _that_ Club being also a member of some other Club, we had
another invitation for Fryday in the same week, and were at home
by six, which I believe we thought too late, and Cecy too early.
So differs the appearance of things between Spring and Autumn.

Well! we have had a crazy man in our neighbourhood lately, who
imitates Goldfinch in the Road to Ruin: talks precisely his
dialect, and drives four thoroughbred horses of _different_
colours in hand, with six lamps to the Phaeton. He is a
Welch Baronet of good family; we dined with him at my Lord
Deerhurst's, and whilst all the world was interesting themselves
about the present state of Europe, he raved about his Phaeton,
and talked of the _Tipee_, the _Stare_, the _Go_, and a heap of
jargon such as one never heard.

How like you Madame D'Arblay's Book? Pray tell what is said of
it. Mine is in good forwardness, I am only afraid the title may
prove a millstone round its neck: no one will think of looking
for Politics in a volume entitled _British Synonymy_.

Can you figure to yourself a more execrable triumph than that of
the Convention in this _forced_ disgrace put upon the old House
of Bourbon by _connecting_ the last Princess of it with a brutal
soldier, and proclaiming her pregnancy--poor child!--amidst the
hootings of the Jacobins. Has not her aunt, the virtuous and
hapless Elizabeth, _now_ lived too long, and do you not wish
her dismission to the brother she so justly loved? We are all
gasping with hope of charming Lord Moyra's Expedition. I think
he will bring the rogues to terms by cutting off internal
communication with their Provinces through means of the Seine,
and when they are starving, submit they must....

Lord and Lady William Russell make us pretty neighbours enough,
but Mr. Chappelow is always in Norfolk, and we have no Whist
Players....

_The Road to Ruin_, by Thomas Holcroft, who shared Horne Tooke's prosecution, appeared in 1792. Its hero, Goldfinch, thus describes himself: "Father was a Sugar Baker, Grandfather a Slop Seller, and I'm a Gentleman."

Madame D'Arblay's "Book," which would be more correctly described as a Pamphlet, was on the subject of the French emigrant clergy.

Francis Rawdon Hastings, who had recently succeeded to the title as second Earl of Moira, was sent in December to Brittany, in charge of a force designed to co-operate with the Royalists, but had to return without effecting anything.

Lord William Russell was the posthumous son of Francis, Marquess of Tavistock, and grandson of John, fourth Duke of Bedford, his wife being Charlotte, daughter of the Earl of Jersey.

STREATHAM PARK, _Sunday Morning 15_.

Dear Mrs. Pennington is exactly in the case I concluded she was.
Mr. Piozzi _tried_ to be well three or four days ago, and came
downstairs, but has relapsed, and the Gout has laid fast hold
of him again in both feet. He is in bed now again, incapable of
motion, and pierced through with pain. We had begun to call the
croud about us too; so here is Miss Hamilton, and here is a new
man from Italy that sings divinely, and here is Cecilia's new
Flirt, who draws caricaturas, and here is poor Dr. Perney for
the benefit of them all; and here am I in one perpetual fever
with fretfulness, and Mr. Murphy coming to talk upon business,
about Cator, and his Answer to our Bill--in good time!--with Mr.
Piozzi, who is scarce in his wits for very agony. But these are
always my months of misery. Don't you remember what a winter I
pass'd with that Drummond? It was just the same season of the
year.

Well! public affairs do yet claim some attention, tho' private
ones be never so pressing. You are an odd Girl to talk of
Fleming's famous Sermon _now_ for a newish thing. Were we not
all raving about it last winter? And have not I mentioned it
in my Synonymes? And did not I read you the passage? Or did
all that I allude to pass between me and dear Mrs. Siddons? I
thought it was with you. Michael Fleming was a Calvinistical
preacher, and in the year 1701, when Louis XIV was in the
plenitude of his power, did most ingeniously, from his skill
in calculating, predict the downfall of the French Monarchy,
and ruin of that nation, _before the end of the year 1794_. The
Sermon in which this odd menace was made some of his hearers
preserved, for its rare confidence and uncommon predictions,
little thinking they would ever come to pass; and a few copies
being printed, the discourse was kept in Sion College Library,
and Sir George Young likewise had it in _his_. They have now
reprinted it with remarks, induced, no doubt, by the striking
situation of affairs upon the Continent. Fleming however did
not _pretend_ to _prophecy_ what has followed, as claiming any
peculiar insight into the schemes of Providence. He explained
a passage in the Revelations of St. John, and by dint of mere
calculation _predicted_ what is now very nearly fulfilled.

Enquire, do, what went with that extraordinary story of a poor
fellow of Bristol, one George Lukins, who made the people
believe, (perhaps himself too,) that he had Devils inside
him. I remember some pamphlets upon the subject, and how Mr.
Easterbrook, a Clergyman, but not of the Anglican Church,
exorcised and cured him. What was all that stuff? Was the man
cured at last, or did he ever ail anything, or was it all an
imposture? You live near the spot, and might glean me out the
truth by diligent search, and it would divert you besides. The
affair was some time in the year 1788, as I recollect. We were
in Devonshire.

Nothing was ever heard of equal to the atrocities committed, and
blasphemies pronounced, by our horrible neighbours the French.
There is to be one more grand effort made for subduing them this
New Year, which brings down 100,000 Austrians, 50,000 Russians,
50,000 Prussians, and 30,000 English, all new-raised troops,
beside what are already in the field. And if, upon this proof,
with all that Spain can do beside, we find them invulnerable,
the project will be given up, and they will be considered
as having gained their invulnerability by dipping in Hell's
best river, as Achilles did. They are a dreadful race. Mr.
Rogers tells me Helena Williams _would_ not come away. She is
translating Marmontel. Mr. Stone is expected to make use of the
times, I find, and be a _free man_. If his wife gets guillotined
he _will_ be so; but we will hope sweet Helen would not _have_
him, were he so freed to-morrow. She is not in prison, only
under arrest, with a Grenadier at the door of her apartment,
relieved every six hours....

Mrs. Siddons is doing delightfully in Ireland, and when she
returns is to shine out in Sophia Lee's new Tragedy.

Robert Fleming, who died in 1716, was a minister of the Presbyterian congregations at Leyden and Rotterdam, and afterwards in Lothbury, where he published in 1701 the sermon entitled "The Apocalyptical Key, an extraordinary discourse on the Rise and Fall of the Papacy." In this he fixes the close of the period of the fourth Vial of the Revelation about the year 1794, and supposes that "the French monarchy may begin to be considerably humbled about this time." The fifth Vial he expected to end about 1848, and this date coinciding with the widespread revolutionary movements on the Continent, caused another extensive reprinting of his work at this period. His other predictions, relating to the "drying up of the Euphrates," which he interpreted to mean the destruction of the Turkish Empire between 1848 and 1900, have not had quite so remarkably accurate a fulfilment; though the war now in progress in the Balkans certainly suggests that the process has begun.

Mrs. Piozzi was not so fortunate in her forecast of coming events. The great combination which she anticipates, against the French, never came off. Prussia abandoned the cause of the Allies, Spain and the German States followed her example, and England and Austria alone remained in the field against the Republic.

Sophia Lee's new tragedy was _Almeyda_, but it was not actually produced on the stage till 1796.

The Bill here alluded to was in connection with the Chancery suit between Lady Cotton and herself, respecting her interest in the Welsh estates.

There is a brief allusion in the Commonplace Book to "that poor innocent" whom Cecy Thrale and Sally Siddons taught the Streatham parrot to call "Sweet Dr. Perney," which was called forth by the news of his having been seized by an apoplectic fit in 1814.

STREATHAM PARK, _Tuesday 14 Jan._

Dear Mrs. Pennington asks what is become of Mrs. Mackay?... You
ask too who is Cecy's new Flirt? I answer, every man who comes
to the house; he who franks this letter is the Gentleman I
alluded to, but he makes no proposal of marriage, because he has
no pretensions in point of fortune. Mr. Rogers, whose father's
death has left him, in the City phrase, a warm man, does make
proposals, and Cecy makes of him Caricaturas.

So we go on, and I am almost weary of keeping an expensive house
and table to entertain Lovers who glide by like Figures in a
Magic Lanthorn. Mr. Murphy, having found his way to the old
house, likes it, and comes often, and stays long. Dear Siddons
is yet in Ireland. Miss Farren was here last week, sadly
altered.... Davies has taken a trip to Bath, and expected some
attention from my fair Daughters there, who, I fancy, shut the
door in his face. Doctor Perney supplied his place here, read,
and preached, and played on his long neck. Young Bartolozzi,
and Cimad'oro too, made us some sweet musick for two or three
days, but Mr. Piozzi said no young man of _his_ Country should
have the entrée here, for obvious reasons; so there's an end of
_them_.

So much for domestic felicity, and the happiness of individuals
in this workyday world,[10] as Rosalind calls it. Public affairs
go on much worse than they, and the fog thickens round us both
literally and figuratively. Beating the French is kicking at
a woolsack; 'tis elastic, and rises against every pressure,
but perhaps emptying the bag may cure it of this elasticity:
the captures of St. Domingo and Pondicherry are the only real
advantages the Allies have had yet.

[10] _As You Like It_, I. iii. 12.

Lord Moyra and Col. Barry get no opportunity of shewing _their_
prowess, on which I should however make no small reliance, could
they once get footing in the Country; but seeing how hard it is
to effect an invasion _with_ ships, should cure us of fearing
one from the French who have _no_ ships: altho' I am perswaded
that the hand of God is in all, and that these people come forth
to scourge all Europe with his permission. Why does nobody quote
a more immediate prophecy and less equivocal than any which have
been mentioned, at least which _you_ have mentioned? "And the
second Angel sounded, and as it were a great MOUNTAIN
burning with fire was cast into the _Sea_, and the third part
of the Sea became _Blood_": etc. etc. etc. This prophecy is to
be found in three passages of the Holy Scripture, but I can
recollect only that in the 8th chapter of S. John's Apocalypse.
Mr. Greg showed it me in the old Testament,[11]

[11] Jer. li. 25; Ezek. xxxviii. 20.

I have forgot where: but every one seems to think strange
times are coming. There is a report of the Jews in Holland
having sent circular letters to the learned of their Nation
in every Country, to collate the evidences of our Saviour's
mission, and to examine them against the prophecies contained in
the Bible, spoken by his acknowledged precursors. Such a measure
would prepare them for conversion, the moment God shall be
pleased to remove the film which has been so long before their
eyes....

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

The subject of Cecilia's caricatures was evidently no other than Samuel Rogers, the poet, best known as the author of _Italy_. He was now about thirty years of age, and had published in 1792 his _Pleasures of Memory_, which was probably his passport into the Streatham circle. But as a possible husband for Cecilia, Mrs. Piozzi evidently attached more importance to the fact that he was a partner in a flourishing London bank.

She notes in her Commonplace Book that Murphy was "the _only_ man among the Wits I foster'd who did not fly from his colours, unless prevented by death." And so his portrait was the only portrait she saved when Streatham was broken up, and the Reynolds Gallery sold.

[_Post Mark, Feb. '94._]

I hope Mr. Piozzi _is_ recovering, dear Friend, that he is
already recover'd, cannot yet be said. With regard to Cecilia,
she does lead a life much like that of _Sweet Anne Page_ in the
Merry Wives of Windsor, but I suppose she likes it. Did I tell
you Mr. Rogers had made formal proposals, or that Count Zenobio
offered himself to _her_, before he was seized by Bailiffs, or
dismissed by Ministry. I expect a man (as handsome as neither,
nor as rich,) to ask her every day.

We go to Town however once o' week, to our once clean house in
Hanover Square, now the dirtiest lodging in London, and dine
with friends who will ask us; but make no return, as 'tis too
odious to do anything but sleep in, and 'tis the present plan
to go up on Tuesdays, and come _home_, as I call dear Streatham
Park, on Saturdays. Those who I leave in care of it the while,
do not give us any reason they can help to make it pleasant.
For in my last four days absence they lost me two Asses, one in
foal, _twenty_ beautiful Ducks, one Guinea Fowl, one favourite
Cock and Hen; so you see domestick cares and vexations prey upon
everybody. They serve meantime to keep one from thinking on
calamities which threaten us all, nor shall the Infidels have it
to say that they had no warning of approaching confusion, while,
in Dr. Johnson's phrase, used by Demetrius,

A thousand horrid prodigies foretold it.

Among the agreeable and consolatory events however, let
Christians congratulate each other on the resolution taken by
the Jews to examine into our evidences of Messiah's birth and
passion. They have called a solemn Assembly at Amsterdam, and
sent circular letters among all their brethren. Conversion will
soon follow, and the other Tribes will hear it, and be found.

My Book is at the Press, and I correct the sheets very
diligently, it will probably be devour'd, among other _Lambs_,
about Easter. I may then run to Brinbella myself, for if
_Sansculottism_ prevails here, my neck will be one of the first
to exercise the new Guillotine upon. Before that time comes,
do you read the Articles Symbol, Device, etc., likewise Name,
Nominal, Distinction, etc., with care, and you will see my
sentiments completely. There are two or three more on which your
favourite subjects are touched, but I forget 'em. I shall send
you the first set that comes out.

Mrs. Siddons looks healthier and handsomer than ever. Her purse
is heavy and her heart relieved.... Her daughters spent this
last Saturday and Sunday with Cecy....

(_P.S._ by Mr. Piozzi.)

I am alive still now, but, dear Friend, I cannot recover myself,
the Gout never will go away, and so I am rather low spirits. God
bless you, and remember me. Adieu.

"My Book" was the work on British Synonyms, previously referred to, which made its appearance before the next letter was written.

STREATHAM PARK, _Sat. 26 Apr. 1794_.

My dear Mrs. Pennington's two kind letters came together. I
am delighted that you like my Book, if Mr. Whalley should not
praise it, spare me the mortification of hearing so.

One would think the honest Lazzaroni at Naples, when they
rescued their Monarch from that nest of noble traytors he was
falling into, had resolved upon realizing my notions giv'n just
in the Article so much your favourite, _Seditions, Troubles,
Disturbances_. Briareus came in there, sure enough, with his
hundred hands, and unloosed the knot. Mrs. Montagu is an enemy
to my Synonymes after all, a declared one, and I wonder at it
somehow, but they have many gallant friends.

Has not the young Emperor won your heart? He is really a fine
fellow, and I sincerely hope will set his little nephew on the
throne of France yet,--his first cousin I mean. Strange and
dreadful events flow in upon us, (at least the _current_ reports
of them,) now every hour: and the rapidity with which this tide
of Democracy rolls forward, shows the downhill of regal and
aristocratic days to perfection. I think all Europe is at length
in arms, and my heart tells me that some great battle, siege,
or massacre will distinguish this Summer beyond all the rest,
and take up the attention of mankind from observing that first
of wonders, the Jews' Restoration; which otherwise would so
alarm our whole Christian world, that much mute expectation of
Messiah's coming would pervade their minds, and in some degree
militate against the suddenness of his appearance and the end
of the world being, as he himself expressly tells us, totally
unprepared for and instantaneous, like a thief in the night.

Meanwhile I had like to have been made a speedy end of, Thursday
last week, by a bone in my throat, which called Surgeons and
Doctors round me, and all in vain, for three long hours. Poor
Miss Farren, who was with me, seemed half killed by the fright,
but all is safe and well again.

Since then we have had Easter friends as usual; the dear
Hamiltons,--who are going to Clifton this Summer full of
friendly dispositions towards you,--the three Thrales, kind
Kitty Beavor, with occasional Beaux and Belles, and as the
Parrot now says, _Sweet_ Doctor Perney. All of them left us
to-day, contented with their entertainment I hope, and with the
weather certainly. Never was so celestial a Spring....

The Emperor Leopold, brother of Queen Marie Antoinette, had been succeeded in 1792 by his son Francis II, who was therefore first cousin to the Dauphin. When Mrs. Piozzi wrote, a combined force of Austrians, Dutch, English, and Hanoverians was operating against the French in the Netherlands, at first with some measure of success.

It is remarkable that while Ferdinand himself had been cured of his incipient republicanism by the execution of Louis, revolutionary principles continued to spread among the Neapolitan nobility. The Lazzaroni, however, who were devoted to the King on account of his easy and familiar manners, were ready to give active support to the Dynasty against the plots of the aristocratic party.

STREATHAM PARK, _Fryday 16 May, 1794_.

Dear Mrs. Pennington will believe me sincerely afflicted for
her accident and terror, the circumstances of which, so far as
I am yet acquainted with them, we had from Harriet Lee. Will
your Mother be well again soon? I hope and trust she may. My
Grandmother broke her arm at 73 years old, and recovered so as
to go out and enjoy herself again in three weeks time; tho' it
was set by a common Farrier in the country, when surgery was
less studied there than now.

The good news from our Armies on the Continent, and hopes of
success by sea, will contribute to keep up your loyal spirits
to enjoy them: and I verily hope our mad Democrates will be so
crush'd by these late detections of their folly, as to attempt
the sale of themselves to either the Devil or the French no
more, when they find hanging their best payment, and contempt
from the very People they profess to serve, their just and sole
reward.

Were not my Synonymes right, when they said that our enlightened
populace wanted no such friends or friendship? And have not the
Neapolitan Lazaroni, (dear creatures,) come in like Briareus to
unloose the knot in which some rebellious nobles would willingly
have held their honest, single-hearted, well-intention'd King;
who was always as much an object of my esteem as he appears
to be of Dr. Moore's contempt. But _he_ loves a more _subtle_
character than _I_ do.

Farewell, the guns are firing for some new successes; God
continue them to this yet favour'd nation, and grant us
gratitude, 'tis all we have to pray for....

Mrs. Piozzi's somewhat misplaced admiration for Ferdinand of Naples dates from her Italian tour, when she was much struck by the easy bonhomie he showed in his intercourse with the poorest of his subjects.

STREATHAM PARK, _Fryday 11 Jul._

MY DEAR MRS. PENNINGTON,--I was glad to see your
handwriting, tho' it tells me little good. Be chearful, and a
hoper, like myself. Things are never so bad but one may bear
them; your Mother will get well, I fancy, had anything power
to kill her, would she, nay _could_ she have recovered that
overturn? I hear of _your_ pleasing everybody, and I hear it
even from people whom I should scarce expect to have taste of
your accomplishments. Be pleased yourself then; whilst one is
liked there is always somewhat worth living for. What would your
dear Husband wish me to say in your praise that I am not most
cordially willing to join in? How few people are there in this
world of whom I think more highly?...

Miss Mores told you no more than all our Town have told one
another for these many months. Stone escaped, they say, from
fear of jealous rage, more than from consciousness of any injury
done to the _charming_ Constitution of France, which he was very
fond of. Much good may it do both himself and fair _Helena_,
whose love to _Paris_ will, I trow, prove fatal to her _at
last_. But she has proved her partiality in a variety of ways,
and it repays her _at present_ with a splendid situation, I am
told, for her family as well as for herself....

Direct your next to Denbigh, N. Wales; my Master says we go
about this day sennight. He sends his love, etc. with Cecilia's.

The "splendid situation" of Helen Williams seems to be explained in a letter written by her to Mrs. Pennington in 1819. From this it appears that a friend in power put in the way of Stone and herself "an easy and honourable means of obtaining a fortune, and an ample fortune was soon obtained. We had a fine Hotel in Paris, and a delicious Country House in the English Taste." But they had not reckoned on two occupations of Paris by the Allies, which, with the knavery of some one they trusted, dissipated the fortune as rapidly as it had been acquired. Litigation was then pending, but she expected to lose everything, and become dependent on her nephews.

DENBIGH, _4 Aug. 1794_.

How glad was I to see your handwriting here, my good Friend! It
was like saying "Dear Mrs. Pennington, welcome to Wales!" Not to
Brinbella tho'; we are not got _there_ yet, but in a temporary
residence here at Denbigh, in sight of the House, and perhaps
little further from it than Dowry Square is from Rodney Place.

I am glad Mrs. Hamilton keeps so well, very glad indeed; this
hot Summer has been good for _her_, however it has been bad for
many things. No water in Thames to float away the ships at the
great fire; no sluices with which to inundate the frontiers of
Holland, I understand, and poor Sabrina's green hair all burn'd
and dryed away. Shrewsbury Quarry looked over an empty ditch
when I was there, to the amazement of all its inhabitants. But
rain is coming forward in plenty, much more than Cecy likes,
for riding is her only chance for amusement here, and if wet
weather hinders _that_, what will become of her? Mr. Piozzi's
Forte-piano is now as near us as Chester, I think we shall all
be out of our wits for joy when it arrives. Would I could hear
Miss Hamilton sing _La Dolce Campagna_ to it, as I often have
done with rapture.

Here is very little society indeed, half a dozen people, I
believe, that like reading, not more, and _they_ suffer sad
intellectual famine. I reproach myself daily that I forgot to
bring them down The Mysteries of Udolpho: it would have had
such an effect read by owl-light among the old arcades of our
ruined Castle here. Truth is Mrs. Radclyffe might find scenes to
describe in this part of the world without rambling thro' the
Pyrenees. Many detached parts of the valley of Llangollen are
exceedingly fine indeed, very like Savoy; and from the rock
above Brinbella, heavy with the gather'd winters of a hundred
years, is seen Snowdon frowning in sullen majesty, like the
_Gros St. Bernard_, but not over as rich a foreground. Ours is
however admirably diversified; we have Cathedral, and Castle,
and Country Seats, and _Sea_, which last is inestimable, and one
_can_ contemplate _that_ yet, and say 'tis a Subject of England.

I feel sincerely grieved for the state of Europe, and must needs
say that altho' it is the fashion to reproach our Allies without
any mercy, they seem much greater sufferers on the whole than
ourselves, who have gained both East and West Indies, and six
ships of war in the scuffle; while the poor Emperor sees his
coffers exhausting, his dominions diminishing, and his whole
family upon the very verge of utter extinction. Our brave cousin
Stadtholder too will soon, as it appears, have no _states_ to
_hold_, and has, for aught I see, a fair chance to outlive the
celebrated name of Nassau. An event so improbable twenty years
ago, that whoever had predicted it must have been accounted
deranged in his understanding. I am sorry the Bristol people are
so sullenly resolved to wish for peace with these spoilers, they
are mistaken in thinking it _better than war_; it is _worse than
war_, because peace will bring over full tides of Jacobinical
principles, to the _ruin_ of their _interest_, and _destruction_
of their _property_. War at least keeps that infection at a
distance. So much for politics.

Our dear Master did well to build a house in Flintshire; _he_
never looked so well since I knew him as since we came here, I
think, never had so good an appetite certainly, and provisions
are excellent in their kinds, particularly fish....

Can you tell aught of Harriet Lee? _Our_ correspondence is
cool somehow, and unfrequent. What wonder? The _old_ topick is
lost, nor can I guess what is become of it, no _new_ one can be
interesting to her, and I feel as if ashamed, without any cause,
God knows.

Mrs. Siddons' little Cecilia will, I hope, inherit her mother's
beauty; virtue will, I fancy, be quite out of fashion before she
can possess any. Sweet Helena's defection from the right path
hurts all her friends exceedingly; but parents never appear to
love children the worse for any ill behaviour. I suppose Mrs.
W[illiams] sees nothing in her daughter's conduct that does not
deserve admiration.

You are very good indeed in feeling for me about the little
Spaniel. Immortal Phyllis, to the astonishment of physicians,
friends, and nurses, now promises to be once more _her own dog
again_. I never did see so surprising a recovery. The fall was
above four yards perpendicular height.

Mrs. Radcliffe, née Ward, was an old acquaintance of Mrs. Piozzi's. For the _Mysteries_, which was just published, and made a great sensation, she received £500.

The state of Europe was indeed sufficiently gloomy as viewed by English eyes. We had, it is true, scored some successes. Howe's victory on "the glorious first of June" was to be the prelude to many others, and we took Ceylon and the Cape from the Dutch. But in France the "Great Terror" was at its height, and the news of its collapse after the death of Robespierre, at the end of July, had not yet reached Denbigh. The French generals acting against the Continental Powers were almost uniformly successful. In Holland, at the beginning of the year, under the eyes of the Emperor Francis himself, there had been a concentration of English, Hanoverian, and Austrian troops, with a view to check the French advance, but they were hampered by disaffection in the country itself. The Stadtholder William, with his English leanings, had never been popular with his own subjects, and indeed had only retained his authority in 1787 by the help of Prussian troops. Though the first Republican expedition under Dumouriez had failed, the new one under Pichegru was a brilliant success. Amsterdam was occupied by the French, and the Batavian Republic proclaimed. The Stadholder fled to England, not to be recalled till 1813, and he was soon followed by the remnant of the now useless English force under the Duke of York.

DENBIGH, _Thursday, 11 Sept. 1794_.

I had not a notion that _our_ correspondence was grown languid,
dear Friend, and am now rather disposed to think a letter has
been lost....

Marquis Trotti has written, he forgets no one old Streatham
acquaintance, but enquires very particularly for _you_. His own
affairs at home go no better for these disturbances upon the
Continent, yet will he not be drawn thither to see how they
stand. The direction we are now using towards him is Hamburgh.

Kitty Beavor marries Dr. Gillies, and sets out for Scotland next
week. I said to her once that all my single lady friends found
husbands, and so I lost them. "_Oh_," says she, "_you will keep
Kitty Beavor tho'_, for I shall never change _my_ condition."
But so the world wags, and the _old way_ is the _best road_ too.

Meanwhile, as you say, love seems banished from the novels,
where _terror_ (as in the Convention,) becomes the _order of
the day_. Miss (_sic_) Radcliffe however plays that game best
which all are striving to play well. I am often weary of her
descriptions, but she possesses great power over the fancy. Her
tricks used to fright Mrs. Siddons and me very much; but when
somebody said her book was like Macbeth, "Ay," replied H. L. P.,
"about as like as Peppermint Water is to good French Brandy."

I have written a Ballad for the Blackguards to bawl about the
streets, imitated from Newberry's well known Chapter of Kings;
written at first to teach Babies the English History, but lately
set and sung at Catch Clubs, Bow Meetings, etc.

Here is the Chapter of King Killers.

The nine stanzas which follow, though doubtless good enough for the purpose which the writer suggests, are hardly worth preserving. One verse will probably satisfy the reader's curiosity.

"When France, mad for Freedom, her King controll'd,
At first she was awed by Fayette the bold,
Then came the Assemblée Nationale,
And then she was governed by nothing at all.
But after all pother of this, and t'other,
They all lose their heads in their turn."

DENBIGH, _19 Sep. 1794_.

Be not alarmed for me, kind Friend, I shall do as well as my
neighbours, perhaps better, but nothing shall make me tell
fibs,--I am not well....

Doubt not meantime that my old iron constitution will get thro'
this business very stoutly. Think of your own affairs, and get
thro' _them_, and we will be _old_ friends twenty years hence.
For look you, my dear, whether we think so or not, I, when my
health shall be gone, and you, when your money shall be spent,
are happier than half the human race collectively; and I know
not how we have deserved the preference. We might have been
born savages in America, condemned to hunt, and fish, and dress
our game when caught, sick or well. Or we might have been some
of those Begums, that Burke says were insulted and plundered
by English Harpies in the East. Or we might have been African
Blacks, stow'd in a slave ship. Or we might have been Mrs.
Brown, or Lady Ann Fitzroy. I think we are very well off, with
each of us a good husband, and safe in the only country where
rational liberty prevails, true religion resides unmolested, and
talents are valued according to _desert_.

What becomes of poor Helen Williams, I wonder! There is a strong
rumour of Barrere's having followed his old colleague....

Marquis Trotti began travelling so early that he will now,
perhaps, never leave it off. You may find some _sage and grave_
reflexions upon that subject at the close of a _famous fine_
book, called Piozzi's Observations made in Italy and Germany.
I'm glad you like my Ballad. The worthy French are making the
words of it good as fast as ever they can....

My maid fell from a horse two nights ago, scampering to see
Brinbella, that at least was the excuse, and has disabled
herself in a terrible manner; bruised and strained her wrist,
etc....

DENBIGH, _20 Nov._

MY DEAR FRIEND,--So completely was I engaged, it seems,
nursing my sick Husband, that even writing to you was forgotten.
Mr. Piozzi's annual fit of Gout has caught him here, and will
prevent all further journeys of business or of pleasure, save
that which leads home the nearest way, when he shall be able to
travel....

The times wear a very threatening aspect, indeed they do; and
here are storms ready to blow my Lord Howe's ships to pieces,
when they shall have been damaged by engagement with an enemy
hourly increasing in ferocity and force.

Horne Tooke's tryal is a most curious and interesting business;
when Piozzi can listen, I translate him the passages which must,
I think, arrest attention, even from pain and anguish.

Cecilia is _toujours gaie_, and helps to keep up all our
spirits; she is young; so is no longer dear Mrs. Pennington's
sincere friend and Faithful servant

H. L. PIOZZI.

Lord Howe's fleet was cruising between Ushant and the Scilly Isles from August till the end of October, when he was driven into Torbay by stress of weather. He put out to sea on 9th November, but was again driven back for shelter on 19th November.

Horne Tooke, Thelwall, and Hardy were arrested in November on a charge of high treason, for having issued invitations to a "National Convention," designed to bring about serious constitutional changes in the government of England. Though it was clear that they had been coquetting with treasonable practices, the jury did not consider their action justified a conviction which must have resulted in the penalty of death, and returned a verdict of "not guilty."

DENBIGH, _17 Feb. 1795_.

What puts it in dear Mrs. Pennington's head that I wish to
forget her? My only reason for writing nothing was that I had
nothing to write. Mr. Piozzi had a long fit of gout certainly,
and a sharp fit, but without one bad symptom, thank God; and his
recovery was better than ever. Among other comforts, Denbigh
possesses that of an excellent Physician.

All you say of public matters is more than true, but we are
still further removed here from the talking world than you
are, and what little we have heard of London and its environs
in these late months, only contributed to keep us away, while
many people suspect a tendency to sickness in the Metropolis,
not of any one contagious distemper, but a disposition towards
mortality in general. This _may_ be exaggerated evil, but Beef
and Mutton at 8_d._ o' pound is a real one, so is Bread at 9_d._
the quartern loaf, with coals at _six_, or at best, _four_
Guineas the Chaldron. Strange allurements these to housekeeping
with 18 or 20 servants at Streatham Park. At Easter however we
_must_ begin. You and I have often said that such times would
come, and worse; _our_ predictions are only verifying, others
foretell fearful things indeed, but we are sure that neither
they nor we know anything about the matter....

The rival Wits say that Helen Williams is turn'd _to Stone_,
and tho' she was once second to nobody, she is now second
to his wife; who it seems was not guillotined, as once was
reported, but remains a living spectatress of these political
and _im_-politic revolutions.

Kemble's advertisement, so like that of a penitent Hackney
Coachman under the threatened _Lash_ of a sharp prosecution,
excites much notice, I understand; but am shocked to find his
offence, though actionable, considered by the fashionists more
as a jest than as an enormity. Harriet Lee seems to fancy her
Sister has a play coming out, which Madame D'Arblaye's, late
Fanny Burney's, Tragedy retards.... Dear Siddons is sick again,
but of a complaint common to many, as her family tell me: she
must have been hurt by her brother's frolick I should suppose.
_She_ loved the girl, and thought her, as she proved, most
excellent....

Cecilia is young, and gay, and frisky, and flighty, and so is
her horse: I wish they were come safe home from a long ride to
their and your

H. L. P.

_P.S._--Dear Mrs. Pennington, don't forget your best friend, and
come to see us at Streatham Park in the Spring.

G. P.

John Kemble's trouble arose from his having made advances to Miss Maria Theresa de Camp, afterwards wife of his brother Charles, who was acting with him at this date. For this he had to make a public apology in the newspapers.