Chapter VII (4)

Mrs. Piozzi was not much interested by Scott's earlier productions. Mangin notes that she thought _Rob Roy_ a dull book; but adds that "no one could be more ready than she to applaud the unknown author as a man of Genius." Her admiration was excited mainly by his poetry, on which the Commonplace Book contains some verses which end as follows:

So may posterity bestow the praises which to thee we owe,
And never be the Lay forgot of our Last Minstrel, Walter Scott.

Geoffrey Crayon was the pseudonym used by Washington Irving, when he published his _Sketch Book_ in 1820. Lancelot Temple was the _nom de plume_ of John Armstrong, whose _Sketches or Essays on Various Subjects_ appeared in 1758. Wilkes is said to have assisted in their production.

The procession to St. Paul's on November 30 to celebrate the Queen's acquittal, passed off without any serious disturbance. No escort of troops was permitted, but she was received as usual by the city authorities, who accompanied her to the cathedral.

[_Dec. 14, 1820._]

My dear Mrs. Pennington says her letters are mere commentaries
upon mine. What text shall I find _next_ to excite her eloquent
flattery? Lord Kirkwall's death is what most readily presents
itself to a woman just twice his age, who little dreamed of
living to lament him. Poor dear K! My heart is very heavy at
the thought. And when recollection, or retrospection places him
before my mind's eye, it is with a pint of curious Constantia
wine under his coat, or shooting dress, to please dear Piozzi
in his last illness. So kind! Well! sure the people will have
done dying some day! Never was sight so wearied as my own is by
reading Newspaper lists.

Mrs. Mostyn writes chearfully. Living abroad loosens all old
attachments, and gives no opportunity of forming new ones. 'Tis
the true mode of keeping the mind free; but then I mean roving
from place to place, not being shut in an angle of the world,
of which, as a Turk once said, the only merit is that Suspicion
herself could not throw any light into _corners_.

Tell me sometimes about the weather--in the world. Here it is
mild, soft, and just now silent; stormy enough at times, but
never clear. 'Tis the anger of a puzzle-headed fellow, which
elicits no spark of brilliant fire; and the inhabitants of
Penzance speak of lightning as a most unusual phenomenon.

I have the comfort to hear my fair daughters praised, even in
_this_ odd place. They patronized some poor families, when
such philanthropy was less common than now, and are remember'd
with grateful tenderness. Such recollections are among the
Hot-house plants which bloom in the open air of Penzance. Rough
winds _break_, and heavy snows _chill_ the remembrance of what
is merely ornamental, producing, like Oak and Ash, no lasting
utility....

I can really bear a good fire with difficulty, but the smoke
is scarcely lessen'd by endurance of the cold. The houses here
are so constructed that, except in one particular wind, we live
smother'd. Coals are however not cheaper than elsewhere; meat
and fish bear no price, but we pay for every drop of water--salt
or fresh--because it must be _carried_. The place is replete
with objects of curiosity nevertheless, and Lady Keith gained
immortal fame here, by descending 35 ladders, of 35 steps each,
into a tin mine. Not the most extraordinary of all the tin
mines, for there is one under the sea: a submarine residence of
many wretched mortals, who seldom see light, (save such as their
patron Sir Humphry Davy supplies them with,) but often hear old
Ocean roaring over their heads. A wonderful situation surely!
and clear of _worldly_ contamination. They are innocent of all
that we are saying and doing.

Meanwhile I am glad you have been amused by Matthews. Even I,
who naturally hate buffoonery, was much diverted by his story
of the Yellow Soap, which dear Sir George Gibbes never wearied
himself with repeating. My heart tells me that Matthews has a
brother, who wrote a Pamphlet called the _Nutcracker_, meant
as a sort of mathematical puzzle; that he planned the new fine
Bedlam Hospital, just off Westminster Bridge, and requested
a particular apartment for _himself_, conscious of his own
infirmity; that he actually resides there, much respected
and visited by the great Mechanics, who do nothing without
consulting him. The Comic Actor calls him cousin, but the
relationship is nearer....

Sir Humphry Davy, who was born at Penzance, invented his safety lamp in 1815, and was created a Baronet in 1818. He had just been elected President of the Royal Society.

_LATE KINGSTON-ROOMS._

_Tuesday 6th February 1821._

THE BURNING OF THE KINGSTON ROOMS

_From a ball ticket, 1821, in the Collection of A. M. Broadley, Esq._]

MRS. PIOZZI, _requests the honor of Mr. and Mrs. Penningtons
company to a Concert, Ball, and Supper, at 9 o'Clock, on Thursday
Evening, 27th January next, at the Lower Rooms_.

_Being her 80th Birth-Day._

TICKET FOR MRS. PIOZZI'S FÊTE]

Charles Matthews the actor was now giving his "At Homes." The Sketch Mrs. Pennington saw was probably that entitled _Country Cousins_, produced in 1820.

John, Viscount Kirkwall, born 1778, was the only son of the Countess of Orkney, who was still living.

On December 23 Mrs. Pennington writes: "As you say, the Abbot is indeed a very dull book. I begin to question whether a _well-known_ point in History _can_ be a good foundation for a Novel. There can be little interest where the event is more than anticipated, and if extraneous characters and circumstances are too freely introduced, we quarrel with them, as interfering with the truth.

"There is some pretty writing in the first volume of the _Sketches_, but the second falls off lamentably, and is downright stuff....

"You will be shocked on seeing, in the Bath papers, the entire destruction of the Kingston Rooms by fire!!! No one seems to know by what means. Those very rooms in which, near to the same time last year, you made above six hundred people so happy! Everybody, I believe, but me and Conway, who you certainly desired should have been most so: but he was wretched, and infected me with his misery, so perversely does everything go in this world."

PENZANCE, _27 Dec. 1820_.

* * * * *

Well! at 82 years old, and my 81st Birthday is hard at hand,
one is easily convinced of money's importance to felicity. No
suicide, or comparatively none, is committed but for _lack of
pelf_. Yet money, if people are _stuffed_ with it, like a Fillet
of Veal, does not keep them alive. Do you remember a comely Mrs.
Taylor, who had married an old man, and possessed herself of his
riches to an _immense_ amount? She sent dear Conway £5 for a
Benefit Ticket, tho' being just left a widow she could not go to
the Play. _She is dead_: a woman about 40 years old, I suppose,
apparently strong and healthy.

This is _stranger_, though not so dreadful, as the fire, of
which your kind letter gave me the first account. I suppose it
was occasion'd by some of these new devices to snuff candles
by conjuration, or fill your teapots by steam. They cook their
dinners by stratagem, and assassinate those whose talents
lighten the cares of life, best illuminated by _genius_, like
that of unfortunate Naldi, charming creature as he was!!--and
to die _such_ a death! My heart bleeds for his handsome wife
and pretty daughter,--highly accomplished _both_; and left to
_starve_ on the remembrance of his unrivalled powers.

Cruel reflexion! But all reflexion is cruel, and so we run to
get rid of it. My own conscience however congratulates _me_
that I had discharged Upham's long Bill; so if he had suffer'd
it would not have been by _my_ fault or folly. I have not lived
on fish in a foggy atmosphere and smoky house for nothing, when
comforts like those come smiling to my heart....

Miss Willoughby is in the highest favour here. She plays Country
Dances, Waltzes, etc. for the boys and girls to dance, after
winning their money--or that of their parents--at sixpenny
whist; and she makes riddles and charades to amuse us all, and
is very entertaining.

Adieu! Here is no room to tell of a shipwreck and a _Parrot_,
with two other _two_-legged creatures, saved out of thirty
eight, coming from Surinam. Wretched Sailors! now begging their
way to London, with only what they sold the bird for in their
pockets....

Guiseppe Naldi, who had distinguished himself in Italy and London as an Actor, Singer, and Musician, had lately met his death in Paris, by the explosion of a newly invented Cooking Kettle, which he had been invited to inspect at the house of a friend.

* * * * *

On January 8, 1821, Mrs. Pennington writes to report an unexpected visit from Conway, on his way to take up another engagement at Bath, in spite of the ill-treatment he considered he had received from the Management of the Theatre before he left. But he had not fared much better, pecuniarily, at Birmingham, where he had been a leading Actor and Stage Manager for four months, but was only given £106 as his share of his own Benefit. "Detestable Mechanics! I hope he will waste no more such powers on them." This short interview, however, served to re-instate him in Mrs. Pennington's favour, and she writes of him with all her old enthusiasm. "Anything so noble! so manly! so graceful! so _handsome_ as his figure at this time I really never saw."

PENZANCE, CORNWALL _Saturday, 13 Jan. 1821_.

* * * * *

'Tis a cordial to hear about Conway. My heart entertains no
fears for his reception among old acquaintance, and I can't cry
because his Benefit brought only £106. The people in London
get very little. Mrs. Hoare says she saw excellent acting to
completely empty benches: I forget at which Theatre. Indeed my
mind has been so taken up by a new attack upon my property, that
I have thought on nothing else. A Mr. Kenrick, of whose name or
situation in life I am totally ignorant, writes to ask me very
_peremptorily_ what I did with the stock of some Mr. Giffard,
who died he tells me, before Mr. Thrale did!! Lord! what should
I do with the man's money? His name is new to me now, but he
says it stands joined with that of my first husband, to whom I
am executrix. No sum is specified, but 'tis probably a large
one; and I am a bad Lawyer, and easily alarmed. I was _so_ bad
a self-carer, that when the death of my four Coadjutors left me
alone to manage the Trust Money as I pleased, I begged of my
Lord and Lady Keith to name those that should be substituted in
their places; and I _think_, but have forgotten, whether Mr.
Hoare, Sophia's husband, is one. Surely _they_ should bear me
out harmless, but God knows whether they will or no; and _you_
know I have parted with my patrimony and my savings to Sir John
Salusbury, who always complains for want of money, and I daresay
justly enough. Mr. Thrale's estate is doubtless chargeable
with any mistakes of this sort; but I should hope the Widow's
jointure is guarded from such attacks. Nevertheless my spirits
are flutter'd and affected, and I am as hoarse with nervousness
as if I had caught twenty colds....

Miss Willoughby dined with me yesterday. She says Coriolanus
is an unfavourable character for Actors to appear in just now,
when insulting language to our Peuple Souverain will perhaps
be treated as it was in Rome. I shall be happier when I see
the Newspaper, and learn how our Friend has been received; but
do not fright Mrs. Rudd about it, perhaps she may get good
intelligence before the common Prints of the Day come out.
If the Play should be disapproved, every kind, good-natured
acquaintance will inform her....

How is poor dear Mr. Pennington? Better, I'm sure, and always
kind to _me_. I used the word Joynture improperly; tell him so:
£800 pr. ann. was appointed me by Marriage Settlement, in return
for Ten Thousand Pounds I brought with me to Southwark. The rest
was hard worked for, and left me by Will, in consideration of
my Welsh estate, enjoyed by Mr. Thrale for 9 years, and offer'd
him _for ever_ had he wanted it. _That_ money may be liable for
ought I know, but I hope not....

_Thursday, 1 Feb. 1821._

I like the Tailpiece best, dear Mrs. Pennington, and feel deeper
interest in Macready's Acting than in Lord Castlereagh's. For as
Dr. Randolph said to our sweet Siddons once, coming out of Laura
Chapel, "_All are Actors_": and I am most contented to hear the
Oppositionists are likely to be hissed.

But I want you to tell me a _truth_ before we leave Penzance,
a truth of a very different _taste_. Will it be worth our
while (says Bessy,) to send half a doz: hams by the "Happy
Return," for which we _must_ give seven pence halfpenny a Pound
_here_?... The _Fish_ would be worth carrying to begin Lent
with at the Pope's Court; but fish won't carry. Our oysters
are better than those Vitellius sent to Sandwich for; and such
Cod, Mullet, and Flat fish of all denominations no tongue can
enumerate. Our Crocuses, Primroses, and Honeysuckle leaves, all
bursting now every day, are lovely likewise;--but what wretched
pens to describe them with!

You are a comical Lady in your fears lest Miss Willoughby should
make me a Radical. Salusbury seems, by his letters, to have
fears lest she should be hovering over my _death-bed_, to his
disadvantage. I hope to hold fast both life and loyalty one
little while longer, and cannot believe she will help hurry
_either_ of them away. Poor Miss Willoughby! were it not for
_her_ I should not have known Milton from Shakespear by this
time: for to no other creature here are those names familiar.

God forgive me! but talking on the subject reminds me of the
days when H. L. P. was young, perhaps agreeable, and supposed
to have interest among the grave and gay. When I was solicited
on behalf of a decayed Gentlewoman, such as H. L. P. may one
day become, for aught I know, whose friends wish'd to get her
into a _then_ famous refuge for distressed females, Lady Dacre's
Workhouse, or rather Almshouse, I tried, and succeeded; but
beginning to harangue my Protégée upon the neatness of her
new establishment, the decent society she would be introduced
to, etc., "Ah! Madam," said she, "but will there be any one
there who ever frequented the Opera? For I love musick so, I
can _talk_ of nothing but Mingotti." Such a companion in my
retirement has been to me Miss Willoughby.

I think the attack upon my property, made with _no gentle
strokes_, will at length be parried, so as to fall on _none_ of
us. The dividends remained unclaimed for 25 years, and were
often advertised before Mr. Thrale's daughters ever enquired
about them. Mrs. Hoare, your namesake, kind Sophia, has written
to me very good-naturedly; says it is impossible I should have
to _refund_ money I never _received_; that my name alone was
lent for them to receive it; and that my letter to the Claimant
was the comicallest thing in the world. But my Correspondent saw
_no joke_ in it, and sent it for their perusal to Mr. Merrik
Hoare.

Well! sure if I do write funny letters from Penzance, I must
borrow the salt from the Sea Tang that they manure their
Strawberry Beds with, in this place. Apropos, how do those
agreeable Brownes do, that I met once in Dowry Square? I loved
Maria for her non-affectation about reading before Conway or
Piozzi. She took her book up and began _so_ prettily, and _so_
sensibly, where another Miss would have mimp'd. I _valued_ her.

No Bath news but what the Papers tell. London is in expectation
of a _new_ Miss O'Neill of consummate beauty, to draw the
world off from The Wilson; whose style of singing--Sophy Hoare
says--is like that of Billington. Dear Siddons holds her own
I hear. Welcome intelligence! when every day takes some old
acquaintance off the Stage of Life, leaving sad, and solitary,
and desolate your poor

H. L. P.

Mary Anne Lane made a brilliant début at Drury Lane in 1821, as Mandane in _Artaxerxes_, but going to Italy for further study, she overtaxed her voice, which never entirely recovered its tone. Regina Mingotti, _née_ Valentini, sang with great success in Italy, Germany, France, Spain, and England. She came to London in 1755.

PENZANCE, _February 10, 1821_.

Thanks, dearest Mrs. Pennington, for your kind letter, speaking
the words of truth and soberness. We will send Hams and
Bacon by the Happy Return, most certainly. The Butter here is
_poyson_, whether in pot or pan.

All you can say of poor dear Miss Willoughby is true to a
tittle. Sir John is very ill-natured in detesting everybody who
contributes to my comfort, and I hope not _quite correct_ in
supposing that neither you, nor she, nor Conway would endure my
company an hour but for interest. Sophia Hoare's civilities will
make him very angry indeed when he hears me say I _delight_ in
them: but he deserves such sort of vexation.

So you see Horace Twiss is the man at last, who, when Public
Virtue finds herself sick and squeamish, holds the successful
smelling bottle to her nose. And are they not all Actors on
both sides? Surely they are. That Titmouse began his literary
career by criticising and ridiculing H. L. P. in Magazines,
Reviews, etc.; and afterwards begged my pardon at a party Mrs.
Siddons gave one night at Westbourne. We shook hands and drank
each other's health, and I wished him the success his audacity
deserved.

This world is made for the bold, daring man,
Who strikes at all, and catches what he can.
Virtue is nice to take what's not her own,
And while she long debates, the glittering prize is gone.

So sung Johnny Dryden, whose _family_ had every claim to match
even with a Howard. Addison was Secretary of State, and if his
wife was insolent, he _needed_ not to have cared. Would Mr.
Canning care? But times have changed.

But there is a passage in the Bath Paper that interests, and
ought to interest me much more than Marriages or Merriment. A
woman dying in the act of supplication to Almighty God; past
80 years old, found dead at her prayers! I used to say that no
death ever pleased me, but here is one at last with which my
heart would be content indeed. Why did she not take me with her?
If however the next month carries me to Clifton, and treats
me with a sight of _true friends_, I shall think leaving me
behind was merciful, and feel replete with gratitude. Conway has
written to me very kindly....

If I should live to see a Jeweller's Shop once again, I would
evince my gratitude to Sophy Hoare. What _she_ wants is out of
my power,--children to enjoy hers and her husband's fortune.
Salusbury has got a new Baby--William Edward--I like the name,
but have made no offer of Gossiping. Dear Mrs. Pennington is
_too_ sharp a discoverer in the Terra Incognita of human hearts.
Mahomet says there is a black Bean in that of every one; and
that the Angel of Death _plucks_ it in our last agonies. I am
trying to _loosen_ mine before the dreadful day arrives, that it
may hurt me less at final parting. Poor dear old Cookey! whom
I have so much reason to love! Cannot Doctors Dixon or Carrick
_warm her up again_? It is not wholly for _interest_ however
that I wish her well. She is going _my road_, and my heart hopes
she will feel it not very rough....

PENZANCE, _Sunday 25 Feb. 1821_.

My last letter to dear Mrs. Pennington should be a pretty
one, but it will only be dull; replete with Kitchen-griefs,
and thanks to Heaven that they are my worst afflictions. Mr.
Kenrick's insults have brought me civil letters from Lord and
Lady Keith, kind ones from Mr. and Mrs. Hoare, and all will
end--in nothing, as they hope, and as I firmly believe. Pray do
not suffer your good husband, (so much younger than myself,) to
grow old. He and I mean to keep on this many a day, and we will
not _shew teeth_ when _biting_ is over with us.

Now for the Kitchen-griefs. James has behaved monstrously
ill, "beaten the Maids a row,"[37] like the fierce fellow in
Shakespear, and forced reproofs even from _my acquaintance_ by
his _out-door_ conduct. This has been going on a long while,
but I forbore to speak to you about it, till it suited me to
say--do, dear Mrs. Pennington, get me a Footman. Not a fellow
to wear _his own clothes_; I must have a _Livery_ Servant, who
will walk before the Chair, and ride behind the Coach, and be an
old-fashioned, tho' not ill-looking servant. My little Plate, so
small in quantity, is easily clean'd, but _clean_ it must be.
For I will not live in a state of disgust when I have a decent
mansion over my head, and James was too dirty and slovenly, even
for a wretched smoky closet like that I inhabit at Penzance: he
is a sad fellow....

[37] _Comedy of Errors_, V. i. 170.

& now

Let me tell you the sights that we have _seen_. I always like
them better than the tales that we have _heard_; and to-day the
tales are truly melancholy. Lord Combermere has lost his only
child, a son; so his honours and titles are gone, and the estate
will fall, I suppose, to Willoughby Cotton, son of the Admiral,
my Uncle's _second_ boy. He had nine. _This_ young fellow was a
Colonel in what Regiment I know not, and married Lady Augusta
Coventry, who brings Babies every year:--but these are _not_ the
sights I meant to tell you of.

On last Wednesday then, a memorable day, Mr. George Daubuz John
undertook to show us the Land's End, and we did stand upon the
last English stone, jutting out from the Cliffs, 300 feet high,
into the Atlantick Ocean, which lay in wild expanse before us,
tempting our eyes towards the land Columbus first explor'd,
Hispaniola. Dinner at a mean house, affording only Eggs and
Bacon, gave us spirits to go, not forward, for we could go no
further, but sideways to a tin and copper mine under the sea.
Aye! 112 fathom from the strange spot of earth we stood on,
in a direct line downwards, where no fewer than three score
human beings toil for my Lord Falmouth in a submarine dungeon,
listening at leisure moments, if they _have_ any, to the
still more justly to be pitied Mariner, who is so liable to
be wrecked among those horrid rocks, proverbial over all the
kingdom,--Cornish rocks! ruinous to approach, as difficult
to avoid. The men go up and down in buckets, with two lighted
candles each, into a close path, long and intricate. And should
their lights go out before their arrival in the open space where
their companions work, there they must remain till the hour of
relieving one wretched set by another comes to set them free.
Billows meanwhile roaring over their heads, upon a stormy day
most dreadful, threatening to burst the not very thick partition
of solidity that divides them from the light of heaven, bestowed
on all but Miners. This place is called Botalloch, whence we
drove home our half-broken carriage but not even half-broken
bones; having refreshed at the house on which is written "First
Inn in England," on one side the Board, and "Last Inn in
England" on the other. By "us" and "we" I mean Miss Willoughby
and H. L. P., but we took our two Maids, Bell and Hickford, on
the Dicky, and James rode. Four horses were not too many for
such an exploit, tho' one of them was a Waterloo warrior....

We will go to Conway's Benefit certainly, if I get home time
enough: Miss Willoughby will wish herself of the party most
truly. But for _her_ I should have pass'd many a dreary hour....

With regard to Lord Combermere's son, Mrs. Piozzi's information was evidently mistaken. Field-Marshal Sir Stapleton Cotton, Bart., G.C.B., Commander-in-Chief in India, grandson of her uncle, Sir Lynch Cotton, Bart., was created Viscount Combermere in 1814. He married thrice, and by his second wife had two daughters and a son, Wellington Henry, born 1818. The latter did not die in 1821, but succeeded to the title, and was grandfather of the present Viscount. His cousin, General Sir Willoughby Cotton, G.C.B., was Colonel of the 32nd Regiment of Foot.

_Sunday, 4 March 1821._

I swear I think my dear Mrs. Pennington is one of the very best
subjects the King has in his dominions, which contain very
strange and contradictory people and things. Battling now about
the tenets of Romanism, when Rome is itself in danger of almost
immediate destruction from those who know no other tenets but
hers. Well! you know I was always mounting a Turnep Cart to
predict the end of the world, (not, I hope, forgetting my own
all the time). It will vex me, in the last stage of life, to
see the death and downfall of the Bourbons, but so it _must_
be, without doubt, if they can live till I get safe to Clifton.
Dubious enough, poor Souls! for the plot thickens apace, and
Sovereigns have hourly more reason to fear the loss of all
that's dear to them. Authority melted from their grasp long ago,
and influence is sliding down the hill, of course.

Mr. Pennington must try keep up his spirits. So must we all, but
mine often prove _false_ ones, as when I took Geneva for Brandy;
but the people here are _such_ knaves!...

The day of our arrival how can I _certify_? My hope is to see
you sometime on Tuesday 13; but Lord! I was so ill on Fryday
night I hardly felt anything _like_ certainty of ever seeing
myself out of Penzance _alive_. Never mind that tho'; and say
nothing about it; for the people make such an _ado_ I dare not
confess that anything ails _me_, like other old women. It is
really troublesome to excess.

We have got Kenilworth among us, everybody admiring and even
extolling it. _Your_ strange book has a rival, Mr. Pascoe says,
in Anastatius, but I have seen neither. Clifton will be nearer
both to books and men. Dr. Randolph must be careful of his
highly valued life. No one respects his abilities, or would
regret the loss of them more sincerely than H. L. Piozzi, whose
comfort it is, that she is likely soon to escape the truly
uneasy sensation of outliving friends and enemies, and standing
alone upon the Stage of Life, till hiss'd off for being able
to furnish no further amusement. After having been at home on
the Boards, like Matthews the Buffoon, so many silly years.
Bear me however witness, that [I am] all but weary, and only
kept from confessing myself so because I think it wrong. What
however must this world be that even a _Frenchman_ should leap
into Vesuvius to get rid on't; and he did _not_ get rid on't as
he expected; the very Mountain vomited him back, and reproached
his unrepented suicide.... Everybody seems to approve my sitting
down at Clifton, as neither in the blaze of Society nor the
obscurity of Solitude. We will make out the close of the Game as
chearfully as we can; and if you ask me to dinner on Wednesday
the 14th, a refusal need not be apprehended from your poor

H. L. P.

The allusion to the danger of Rome appears to relate to the insurrection in Piedmont, where the King was driven to abdicate on March 13. Later on other revolts broke out in Naples and Palermo. In France plots were being hatched against the life of the Duc de Bordeaux (afterwards Comte de Chambord), posthumous son of the Duc de Berry, and grandson of Charles X.

The _Memoirs of Anastatius_, an autobiography of a Greek renegade, was a novel by Thomas Hope, and was considered his masterpiece. It appeared in 1819.

PENZANCE, _5 Mar. 1821, Monday_.

... This is a short letter, but I am on the eve of a long
journey, and the kind friends here require many visits, and
notes, and thanks, and so forth: and some of them have lent
me Kenilworth, so _that_ must be galloped through. Forgive me
therefore, and accept my positive answer by securing me this
good lad, who I like the better for his name, Sam. I had once a
Footman so called, who could not, and would not be spoiled. He
is dead, and poor Hodgkins too, that said he was going to _take
places_ for me, with his last breath. _He_ was _Sam_ at the
first. I shall be glad to see them both, and remain meanwhile
dear Mrs. Pennington's and her good husband's ever obliged and
faithful

H. L. P.

Mrs. Piozzi evidently left Penzance in the course of the week. On Saturday she was at Exeter, and after sitting up writing letters till the small hours of the morning, retired to rest, using a light chair to climb up into the bed, which was a high one. But the chair slipped, and gave her a violent blow on the leg, causing a severe bruise and a slight wound. However, she attended the cathedral service next day, though she could hardly kneel, and in due course reached Clifton; taking up her quarters at 10 Sion Row till Mrs. Rudd should be ready to receive her at the Crescent. The accident caused some alarm to her friends, but according to Mrs. Pennington's account, the wound healed rapidly and no evil consequences ensued. But internal troubles followed which neither physicians nor surgeons could overcome. The few short notes which follow, mostly undated, were written during her illness, of which no one for some time anticipated a fatal termination.

SION ROW, _No. 10,
Tuesday, 10 Apr. 1821_.

Addressed--

_Mrs. Pennington, Dowry Square_

With 1000 Com^s--Sickly ones--from a Taker of Castor Oyl.

(She encloses a letter from Conway).

I got a letter from Mr. Roberts, the Curate of Dymerchion,
begging me to make the Parish the present of a Bier, to carry
the dead Poor. So I finished my Epistle to Salusbury, which
_you_ saw, with letting _him_ know the request; and "tell
Roberts," said I, "the favour is immediately granted"; for
_this_ is a debt I cannot, surely, be blamed for; and if I am,
dear Salusbury must at last be contented to consider me as his
_unaccountable_, no less than his Affec^te Aunt,

H. L. P.

SION ROW, _No. 10,
Thursday, 11 Apr. 1821_.

'Tis I shall be made happy, dear Mrs. Pennington. Our kind and
skilful Dickson is just gone. He only waited till things were in
the state they _should_ be, I perceive; and to day he brought
the tall man again, who performed the _operation_, and praised
my courageous endurance. This for your own kind heart's private
information. _Mine_ is completely satisfied of their skill and
management.

A thousand respectful compliments await Mr. Davenport, love to
Mr. Pennington, threats of _ruin_ at Cards to Mrs. Bellhatchet,
and humble service to Miss Wren.

All that was done yesterday and to-day, (rough usage on the
whole,) has _raised_, not _lowered_ the spirits of your ever
obliged and faithful

H. L. P.

_Undated, on a Visiting Card._

I have been to the Crescent by the Surgeon's permission, and
now comes the Doctor to insist upon my eating. I _must_ obey
you all, or I should deserve to be neglected by every living
creature; and so far as I can, I _will_ obey you.

Poor dear Dr. Dickson! he is as low spirited as myself, he has
been among the Lunatics.

_On miniature notepaper.
Dated Tuesday._

Very little better, dearest Friend, but certainly not worse, and
though unmoved by all the _new things swallow'd_,--dying for
a _Paper_. Can you direct James where to find one? Shame and
Bessy have struggled all night, and the first gets the better.
She _cannot_ go to dear Mrs. Pennington without _me_ to _help_
her,--to words, I suppose.

_Mrs. Pennington to Mrs. Brown_

_3 Jun. 1821._

... I knew you would feel for my loss, an irreparable one to me,
for if twenty years ago I could find nothing to replace it, I am
not likely, in the winter of life, and more particularly after
two years of almost daily intercourse, which, by the endearing
restoration of _more_ than former kindness and confidence,
doubled its value....

At present I can think of nothing, talk of nothing, nor dream of
anything but my lost friend....

My best comfort is that I attended my beloved friend to the last
moment. For three days and nights I never quitted her bedside,
where, at _my summons_, I had the satisfaction to see her
attended by her three charming daughters, and _more_ charming
women I know not. Oh! what a sum of happiness did she throw from
her, through the _misapprehensions_, etc., which separated her
from them! But in this respect Retrospection is both useless
and painful. She was absolutely lost from inanition! She either
_could_ not eat enough to support nature, or had brought herself
to it from a mistaken system; till, on a slight disorder, a
sudden prostration of strength took place, and nothing could
be done! She had her wish, however, which was never to live
to support the mere _dregs_ of life; and would have made, I
think, rather an impatient invalid, under the suppression, or
deprivation, of those uncommon powers which rendered her the
delight of every one that came near her, to the last. I hope you
saw my character of her in the Papers. I should not have had the
temerity to have attempted it, but at the earnest request of
her daughters, who feared it might be attempted by some one who
did not know her as well, and might not have written so much to
their satisfaction. It has answered the purpose by silencing all
other scribblers on the subject, and met with much more general
praise and approbation than it deserves....

_Mrs. Pennington to Maria Brown_

_23 Jun. 1821._

... It is a new thing to me, dearest Maria, to feel reluctance
in addressing you. But such is the effect of a late melancholy
event, that I shrink from all exertion. It has impressed
a languor on my spirits more fatal than grief, and more
distressing than positive pain. It was a blow for which I could
not be prepared, if indeed we are ever prepared for the loss
of those we love; as only ten days before, she had dined with
us in a party of ten or twelve persons, and was, as usual, the
delight and soul of the company. And the sudden reverse appears
to me, even now, at times, more like a frightful dream than a
fact! I actually detect myself expecting to _see_ or _hear_ from
her, until the sad reality forces itself upon me, and convinces
me that time does not lessen those regrets, that time only more
clearly and strongly discovers to us the value of what we have
lost....

If twenty years ago I could find no substitute, I am less
likely when two years of almost daily association, with, as it
should seem, _increased_ affection and renewed confidence, gave
additional interest to our connexion. While the apparent, but
deceptive vigour of her corporal powers, held out a promise of
many years of future enjoyment. I firmly believe she fell a
victim to the _extreme_ abstemiousness of her habits; actually
sunk under inanition! Attacked by a slight disease, there
was no reaction in the system. She suffered little and died
easy. So far she had her wish, which was always to escape
the tedium and imbecility of invalidism, and to preserve her
faculties _unimpaired_ while life remained. I had the mournful
satisfaction of ministering to her last hours, and of seeing
her close those brilliant eyes in the presence of her children;
their tears I trust embalmed, and their affectionate attention
soothed her last moments. But from better acquaintance with
these ladies a new source of regret has opened upon me: that
through some strange misconstruction of circumstances, and
_perversion_ of mind, my beloved friend should have lost such a
sum of happiness, as, but for some most mistaken conclusions,
these daughters (the most charming women I have almost ever
met with,) could not fail to have imparted. But Retrospection
is useless as painful, and it is best to draw an indulgent
veil over the imperfections of poor human nature on _all_
sides. They remained at Clifton a week, during which time I
was almost constantly with them. It was only from me, they
said, that they could gain any accurate idea of their departed
Mother's habits and connexions. They were never weary of the
interesting subject, and unbounded in their acknowledgments to
me for affording them, by timely information, an opportunity
of performing their last duty to their parent. I have had the
kindest and most flattering letters from them since their return
to Town, with an elegant remembrance, from each sister, of my
dear deceased friend. It was at their earnest request I had the
temerity to give to the Public the last tribute I could pay,
which probably you have seen, as it was copied into all the
London Papers, and has had much more praise than it deserved.
That it answered the end proposed, by silencing certain writers,
who, these Ladies were apprehensive, might have given "_the
Celebrated Mrs. Piozzi's_ Character" in a manner less agreeable
to their feelings, is indeed highly satisfactory to me; and
their warm approbation the best recompense and sweetest incense
I could receive....

The Obituary Notice, by Mrs. Pennington, mentioned above, ran as follows:

DEATH OF MRS. PIOZZI.--Died at Clifton on Wednesday
night, the 2d of May, in the 82d year of her age, after a
few days' illness, HESTER LYNCH PIOZZI, the once
celebrated Mrs. THRALE, descended both on the paternal
and maternal side from the ancient and respectable families of
the Salisburys and Cottons, baronets in North Wales, but still
more distinguished as the intimate friend and associate of
Doctor Johnson, Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Garrick, Goldsmith,
Murphy, and most of those literary constellations who formed the
Augustan galaxy of the last century. The world has long known
in what estimation her society was held in that circle where
these illustrious men, with Mrs. Montague, Mrs. Carter, Vesey,
Boscawen, and many others, formed a coterie never surpassed
in talent and acquirement, in this or any other country. The
vivacity of this lamented lady's mind was a never-failing
source of pleasure to all who had the good fortune to enjoy
her society, while the brilliancy of her wit, tempered by
invariable good-humour and general benevolence, delighted
all who approached her, and offended none. Her manners were
highly polished and graceful--her erudition, the result of a
regularly classical education, under the learned Dr. Collyer,
was much more profound than those who only conversed with her
superficially were likely to discover; for, wisely considering
the line usually prescribed in such pursuits to her sex, she
made no display of scholarship, yet was always ready to give
her testimony when properly called out; indeed, on those
occasions, it was impossible altogether to conceal the rich
and rare acquirements in various sciences which she possessed.
Her writings are many of them before the public, and if some
incline to condemn a colloquial style, which perhaps she was
too fond of indulging, all must admire the power of genius and
splendour of talent she displayed. She was particularly happy
in _jeux d'esprits_, numbers of which lie scattered amongst her
friends, and we hope will be collected. Her _Three Warnings_
have long been enshrined, and held in universal admiration as a
specimen of the precocity of her talents; on graver subjects,
those who knew her best will say she most excelled. Her religion
was pure, free from all wild speculative notions--her faith
was built on the Scriptures--that rock of our salvation, the
continual perusal of which was her delight. She knew "in whom
she trusted," and in the fullest conviction of those sacred
truths, she closed a various life, declaring to a friend, who
watched over her last moments, that she quitted the world in
the fear and trust of God, the love of her Saviour, and in
peace and charity with her neighbours and with all mankind. Her
fine mental faculties remained wholly unimpaired; her memory
was uncommonly retentive on all subjects;--enriched by apt
quotations, in which she was most happy, and her letters and
conversation to the last had the same racy spirit that made
her the animating principle and ornament of the distinguished
society she moved in, at a more early period of her life. Those
who have to regret the loss of such a friend and companion,
though continued to them beyond the usual date of human
existence, will feel persuaded that as this admirable Lady was
_unique_ in the acquirements and combinations that formed her
character, so are they sure that they shall never "look upon her
like again."

Mrs. Pennington reverts to the same topic in a letter written to Miss Brown on December 3, 1821, in which she regrets that time, and care, and various other circumstances have dulled her powers to render her correspondence interesting and amusing.

"My dear, lost Friend possessed that talent in a wonderful
degree. Her letters, however frequent, never ran into
commonplace, but were always novel, and had the peculiar tact
of always supplying matter for a reply. Never was there a mind
of such varied resource as hers! The more I think of it, the
more I am astonished that it was not even _more_ appreciated
and valued. Because I am persuaded, as Dr. Carrick said,
when she lay, an inanimate corpse, before our eyes, that
'the world had nothing to compare with her. _She had left
no equal._' And that having _again_ found her, she is lost
to me for ever, is a subject of regret that no time, during
the short remainder of my pilgrimage, will ever lessen. Her
advanced age was no preparation to me, because wholly exempt
from all those infirmities which usually attend that stage of
our existence, and prepare others, if not ourselves, to look
to the end. Appearing to have as much the advantage of me in
vigour of constitution as in intellect, I looked forward to a
few years of cordial and rational enjoyment, and really expected
we should have run our race on nearly equal terms, happy to
think it would be _together_. The change was so sudden, that
at times I can scarcely persuade myself it is not a dream! and
the disappointment so severe it seems to have annihilated all
capacity for enjoyment or pleasure in _anything_...."

Among the friends to whom Mrs. Pennington wrote an account of Mrs. Piozzi's death, was Helen Williams, who replied in a letter dated October 28, 1822: "I read with warm interest all you wrote of the last scene of Mrs. Piozzi, and above all, your article, which is admirable; full of judgment as well as feeling, neither saying too little nor too much, in short, worthy of your pen: but I think you are too indulgent in respect of her daughters. I never could be satisfied with people who testify their tenderness to their friends only when they are at the last gasp. Above all, in the sacred relation which exists between a parent and a child, I think reconciliation and pardon should precede the act of dying: and Mrs. Piozzi being eighty years of age, her daughters must have known there was no time to lose, even before you summoned them to receive her last breath. They had reason to be offended at her second marriage, but life is too short for eternal resentments. Why do you not become her biographer? I am sure no one would write her memoirs half so well as yourself. I shall always love her memory, tho' she never forgave me for coming to France, and severed me from her affections because we differed in politics. If she could have known all I have suffered amid the convulsions of States, her good-natured heart would have been more disposed to pity than condemn."

Soon after the loss of her friend, Mrs. Pennington came into collision with her executors, Sir John Salusbury and Sir James Fellowes. By her will, dated March 29, 1816, she had left everything to Sir John, except legacies of £100 each to her maid Bessy, her old steward Leak, and his son, and one of £200 to Sir James. But outside the formal bequests of her will, she had intended that certain articles should be given as memorials to Conway and Mrs. Pennington. The former was to have her watch, and an annotated copy of Malone's Shakespeare, and the latter the silver teapot and stand which she habitually used, and which is referred to in Mrs. Pennington's letter of 17th January 1820, quoted above. What became of the watch does not appear, but letters in Mr. Broadley's collection show that Conway got his Shakespeare from Sir John, who may have been the more inclined to regard his claim with favour if, as is stated, Conway had just returned the £100 which Mrs. Piozzi had given him just before her death. Mrs. Pennington could offer no such inducement to favourable consideration, and perhaps her remark at the Bath Fête, that her claims to Mrs. Piozzi's friendship were of longer standing than his own, had not been forgotten or forgiven. It appears from Mr. Broadley's letters that she had applied in the first instance to Sir James Fellowes, urging her right to the teapot in somewhat strong terms, on the ground that her friend had actually given it to her, though it had not been handed over, and that she could produce witnesses to that effect, whose testimony would be accepted in any Court. Sir James no doubt referred her to his co-executor, to whom she next applied, though in a more humble strain, asking for it not as a right, but as a favour; reminding him that she had a larger collection of dear Mrs. Piozzi's letters than any other correspondent, and was in fuller possession of her opinions on all subjects, private, public, and literary, possibly than any other person in the Kingdom, which she should carefully preserve. This, she hints, would be practically indispensable to any intending biographer. But Sir John was not to be tempted or cajoled, and returned only three curt lines, declining to discuss the matter at all; while he told Sir James that he should hand over any future letter on the subject to be dealt with by his lawyer. So neither her long friendship nor her loving care for his aunt were deemed worthy of even this not very extravagant recognition.

Her relations with the daughters were far more cordial. In the summer of 1824 she paid a visit to London, where, she tells Miss Brown, "I experienced much kindness, and more attention than I had any right to expect; chiefly indeed from my late dear lamented Friend's three charming daughters, who seemed as if they never could do enough to prove the sense they entertained of my _true_ friendship to their mother. In Town they assisted me to see everything that time and circumstances would permit; and I spent ten delightful days at Miss Thrale's beautiful Villa in Kent, surrounded by Nobleman's Seats, which we visited in our daily morning drives. Knowle Park, the residence of the Duchess of Dorset, is the finest specimen, I believe, of _Baronial_ grandeur in the Kingdom; and the Park (fourteen miles in extent) they say has the noblest Timber of any in England. She kindly carried me to Tunbridge, where we spent two days very agreeably, and we parted with (I am persuaded) mutually increased esteem, and sensible regret."

_By J. Brown after Sir Joshua Reynolds_

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

The following winter Mr. Whalley (as appears from his published Letters) spent in her house. Writing to him in October with regard to his proposed visit, she tells him that she has for some time given up public and private parties. Pennington is tolerably well, "but we are both fallen into the sere and yellow leaf. I do not find my mind get older in proportion to my body. I have as keen a relish for intellectual enjoyments as ever I had. My spirits are rising in anticipation" of the visit and conversations to which she was looking forward with great pleasure. Her subsequent letters to Maria Brown are full of laments for the loss of such intellectual enjoyments, owing to the continual growth of Bristol, and the gradual decay of the Hot Wells as a health resort. The last of them was written in April 1827, when she had just had a severe illness, and on 1st August she died, aged seventy-five years, as stated on her mourning ring.

It is somewhat remarkable that neither her children, who showed so much attention to their mother's oldest friend, nor her heir, who handsomely acknowledged on paper his obligations to his aunt, cared to perpetuate Mrs. Piozzi's memory by any kind of monument. Perhaps they thought it needed no such artificial aid. It was reserved for the present century, and for a descendant of her other executor, to erect a simple white marble slab in Tremeirchion (formerly Dymerchion) Church, with the following inscription:

NEAR THIS PLACE ARE INTERRED THE REMAINS OF

HESTER LYNCH PIOZZI,

"DOCTOR JOHNSON'S MRS. THRALE."

BORN 1741. DIED 1821.

WITTY, VIVACIOUS AND CHARMING, IN AN AGE OF GENIUS
SHE EVER HELD A FOREMOST PLACE.
THIS TABLET IS ERECTED BY ORLANDO BUTLER FELLOWES,
GRANDSON OF SIR JAMES FELLOWES, THE INTIMATE FRIEND
OF MRS. PIOZZI, AND HER EXECUTOR,
ASSISTED BY SUBSCRIPTIONS,
28TH APRIL, 1909.

INDEX

_Abbot, The_, 351, 355

Abercromby, Sir Ralph, 215, 217

"Abigail," 99

Abingdon, Mrs., 267

Abrahams, The, 241

Achilles, 104

_Acis and Galatea_, 245

Adams, Mrs., 268

Addington, Henry, 211, 266

Addison, Joseph, 99, 361

Adelphi Hotel, 190

"Adriana," 39

"Ætherial Spirit," 175, 177

African discoveries, 150, 176

_Age of Reason, The_, 281

"Agnes," 181

Alcinous, 330, 334

Alessandria, 202

Alexander I, Emperor, 215, 232

Alexander, Duke of Bavaria, 5

Alexandria, 164, 215, 263

"Almeyda," 105, 134, 137

_Alonzo and Imogene_, 141

_Alonzo the Brave_, 140-1

"Alphonzo," 53

Alps, The, 147, 341

Amen Corner, 284

Amiens, Peace of, 242

Amorbach, 48, 171

Amsterdam, 81, 108, 115

_Anacharsis the Scythian_, 94

Anacreon, 242

Andalusia, 32

Andrews, Mr., 242

Andriani, Count, 72-3

_Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson_, 16

Angelo, 345

_Anti-Jacobin, The_, 43

Antonio, "Diavol," 318

Antwerp, 8

_Apocalyptical Key, The_, 104

_Appeal to the Public, An_, 221

_Arabian Nights, The_, 318

Arbuthnot, Dr. John, 77, 352

"Ariadne," 80, 82

"Arlberry, Mrs.," 137-8

Armstrong, John, 352

Arne, Mr., 239

_Artaxerxes_, 360

_Artist's Love Story, An_, 163, 273

Asgill, Lady, 93-4

-- Sir Charles, 94

Ashe, Mr. and Mrs., 316

"Aspasia," 34-5

_As You Like It_, quoted, 58, 106, 313

_Autobiography ... of Mrs. Piozzi, The_, 3-4, 16, 245, 260

Babington's plot, 5

Bach-y-graig, 14, 61;
built, 8;
described, 199;
restored, 198, 201

Baden, 268

Bagot, Mrs., 180, 253

Bagot, Lewis, Bishop of S. Asaph, 162, 164, 212, 215, 229, 242, 244

Bague, --, 90

Baillie, Joanna, 173

Bala, 251

Balhetchet, Mrs., 334, 368

Ballad by Mrs. Piozzi, 216-7

Balloons, 153-5, 246-7

Bangor, 324

-- Bishop of, 344

Banks, Sir Joseph, 197

Banti, --, 240, 242

Banwell, 171

Barclays, the, 14

Baretti, Joseph, 18, 201, 250

Barley Wood, 255, 258

Barn Elms, 13

Barnet, 6

"Barnett, Mrs.," 192

Barrere, --, 117

Barrington, Mrs., 238

Barruel, Abbé, 152, 154, 159

Barry, Major (afterwards Colonel), 22-3, 25, 27, 28, 106, 123, 127,
140, 202

-- Ann Spranger, 220-1

-- Spranger, 238-9

Barthélemy, Abbé, 94

Bartolozzi, Francesco, 282, 285

-- -- (jun.), 106

Basseville, Hugues, 77

Bath, 4, 12-13, 15, 19, 23, 27, 34, 41, 45, 48, 52, 75, 77-8, 85,
97, 100, 106, 135-9, 140-2, 148-9, 151, 157-8, 168, 173-5, 177,
180, 186, 188, 194-5, 204, 206-7, 209-11, 216, 221, 223-4, 226,
231, 236, 240-1, 256, 264-5, 273-4, 280-1, 290, 297, 305, 310,
322, 326-7, 336, 343, 347, 356, 360-1;
Mrs. Piozzi at, 24, 25, 29, 52, 169, 179, 182, 184, 210, 236,
254-6, 265-6, 271-323

_Baviad, The_, 51

Bayes, --, 279

Bayley, Miss, 193

Bayntom, Mr., 333

Baynton, Lady, 279

Beadon, Bishop, 208

Beard, John, 244-5

"Beatrice," 234

Beaumaris, 134-5, 138, 324

Beaumont and Fletcher, 35

Beavor, Kitty, 110, 116

Bedford, John, Duke of, 102

Bedlam Hospital, 354

Beedle, --, 242

_Belinda_, 228

Bellamy, Mr., 166

"Bellamy," 137

_Bell's Oracle_, 25-6

"Belt of O'Bryan, The," 213

Belvedere, The, 64-5, 67

Belvedere House, Bath, 30, 47, 100, 170, 195, 223, 225, 234, 267

"Belvidera," 26-7

Bentley, Dr. Richard, 138

"Benvolio," 174

Berain, Catherine of, 6-8, 198-9

Bere, Rev. Thomas, 208, 221, 226

Beresford, Marshal, 335