see Mr. Lloyd of Wickwor, whom we here justly call the philosopher, I shall find what he thinks of the discovery. Give my kindest regards to your very amiable neighbours, Miss Pettiwards; they must take double care of their mother now, if possible, for all the people past a certain age seem to be dropping off.

'Tis very wicked in me to send you these sixpennyworths of interrogations every time I feel my ignorance of what passes in the world painful to myself, or disgraceful among those whom I wish to entertain; but whoever is rich will be borrowed from: so Adieu! and write soon, and accept my master's and Cecilia's best compliments from, dear Sir, yours most faithfully,

H. L. PIOZZI.

To the Rev. Daniel Lysons.

Brynbella, 9th February, 1796.

You really can scarcely believe, dear Mr. Lysons, how much entertainment and pleasure was given us by your agreeable and friendly letter, in which however you do not mention your brother, but I doubt not he is well and happy. You do not mention the high price of provisions neither, though sufficient to make everybody unhappy; but this mild season, and good plenty of coals, I trust, contribute to keep people quiet, assisted by our new laws against sedition. I have found a wise book at last- - Miss Thrale sent it me on Monopoly and Reform of Manners; printed for Faulder. It should be given about, I think, like Hannah More's penny

books, and got by heart for a task by servants, apprentices, &c., and much finer people, though they are too fine by half.

The Chinese embassy* will not tempt three guineas out of my pocket, say what they will, and say it how they will. Æneas Anderson has convinced me that it was an empty business at best.

Your account of Shakespear's being forged and fooled after so many years' peace and quietness, most exactly tallies with what my heart told me upon reading the queen's supposed letter to him in our newspaper. I have seen no other, but was struck with the word amuse. She would have said pastyme. The other phrase was hardly received in France (whence we got it) so early as the days of Elizabeth. The dates, however, are decisive, when you tell me she is made to promote the amusement of a man then known to be dead. The Earl of Leicester was ranger here of Denbigh Green, you know; and my ancestor, Salusbury of Bachygraig, opposed his innovation when he sought to enclose the common for his use. The tyrant followed him up, though, till he got his life; and not contented with that, brought his first cousin, Salusbury of Llewenney, my mother's ancestor,―to death likewise, by way of revenge; all which shall serve as my pretext for a good piece of the Green whenever it is ordered for cultivation. Meantime, let me request an early narrative of

*The work on Lord Macartney's Embassy to China, price three guineas.

Vortigern's success. I think they will pluck his painted vest from him*, but we shall see.

It has been long matter of surprise to me that the less-instructed part of our common audiences in London never miss being right in their judgment of a play, or even of the language; for as to incidents, those are as obvious to one set of men as to another, if probable or not. But what I mean is this: when Lady Macbeth tells them that the grooms of Duncan's chamber she will with wine and wassel so convince, &c., they think it (as it certainly is) perfectly right, and in character with the times; but let Cumberland or Jephson use the same phrase, and say they will convince a knot of friends with drink, a loud shout of laughter would, without any instigation, burst from the upper gallery; every single member of which, talked to apart, would appear to know very little, if anything, concerning the history of their native tongue. For these reasons it is scarce a fair wager how this new tragedy is received, without they bring it out in Shakspear's name, which I do think would save it harmless, so long as they believed the imposition.

Meantime, I see by the newspapers people continue to insult the king, throwing stones at him as he passes. Methinks the very word stone should be offensive to all his family: one mad fool of the name persecuted Princess Sophia, as I remember, with offers of marriage; and this coachmaker or coal-merchant, or what was the anagram

* "A painted vest Prince Vortigern had on,
Which from a naked Pict his grandson won.”

matical gentleman who signed Enots, he seems to have escaped by testimonials to his character from the rich Democrates. I think they are all Gall Stones, and I heartily wish we were rid of them.

What becomes of the Beavor family? I never write to Mrs. Gillies, because I know she hates letters; but my true esteem of her brave brothers does not lessen by absence. Mrs. D'Arblaye's new novel is not advertised yet. Somebody told me Lady Elginton is turned writer now she has married the son of Doctor More; but perhaps it was a joke. Will Miss Farren's* coronet never be put on? I thought the paralytic countess would have made way for her long ago.

Dear, charming Siddons keeps her empire over all hearts still, I hope; if an Irish plan takes place in her arrangements this spring, we shall not despair to see her at Brynbella. Tell her so with my true love.

There is a new pamphlet supposed by Jones, the Hutchinsonian, to say that our Saviour's Coming (but not the end of the world) is at hand. I cannot recollect the title of it, but do buy and send it to Streatham Park with any other little thing worth notice, but no three-guinea books. I wonder who wrote the small tract about Monopoly; 'tis monstrously clever, and clever only because it's true. So is my conclusion of this letter, saying that I am most sincerely, dear Sir, yours, H. L. PIOZZI.

† It is curious that she could call her second husband by this name, so well calculated to revive the memory of her first.

To the Rev. Daniel Lysons.

Brynbella, 9th July, 1796.

DEAR MR. LYSONS,-This is a letter of mere request, to beg remembrances from old and distant friends. Do pray write now and then, and make me up a good long letter of small London chat: you can scarcely think how welcome living intelligence is to those who have chiefly the dead to converse with, and I work hard at old stuff all morning, and sigh for some evening conversation about literature and politics, and the common occurrences of the day.

Esher or Asher, in Surrey, is a place I cannot find in your Environs. It was my grandmother's property, and she sold it to the Pelhams; her mother lies buried there with a painted or coloured monument if I recollect rightly, though 'tis many years since I saw it. Mr. Piozzi used to promise me a drive thither, but we never

went.

Hume says that Cardinal Wolsey retired to that seat when the king withdrew his favour from him; and Mr. Fitzmaurice, from whose library I borrowed the book, queries the place, and doubts whether he ever was there; although Stowe tells-for I remember it-how Wolsey alighted from his horse in the road between Asher and Richmond to receive the ring which Henry sent him, and threw himself on his knees in the dirt from thankfulness that he was not wholly out of favour. I wish you would set me right. Likewise I want to know where the spot once called Castle-risings now stands.