comfort Great Britain could afford. Mr. Piozzi said, the moment every debt should be discharged, that he would turn his horses' heads towards the island he had always preferred to every other place; and, so saying, we travelled on, as happy in leaving Milan as in arriving there. Au reste, as the French say, few things befell us worth recording, except Count Manucci's visit. He had been intimate with Mr. Thrale in England, as Johnson's letters abundantly testify, and had taken a fancy to Mr. Piozzi at Paris, when he was there with Sacchini. Hearing, therefore, of his marriage, he came one morning, but never had a notion that it was with me he had connected himself. 'Ah, Madame!' exclaimed the Count, 'quel coûp de Théâtre!' when the door opened, and showed him an old acquaintance with a new name. This was the nobleman who, I told you, lamented so tenderly that his sister's children were counterfeited.

We return to the Biographical Anecdotes:

The letters from our daughters had been cold and unfrequent during the whole absence; a little more so as we approached nearer home. The newspapers had told of our exploits at Brussels, and public good-humour seemed disposed to wait and even to meet our return. Fector, the government officer at Dover, would not even look into our portmanteaus, trunks, &c.; and I saw instantly that the tide was turned. Numberless cards were left at the Royal Hotel, where we remained till a house in Hanover Square was fitted up to receive us, and on the 22nd of May, we opened with a concert

and supper, the more willingly as Mr. Cator, in whose hands we placed our pecuniary affairs at starting, pronounced the mortgage paid off, and 1500l. in the bank to begin with. This Mr. Cator had been one of our insulting enemies; was acting executor to Mr. Thrale, and guardian to his daughters; had said that I should be soon deceased, but my death would be concealed by Mr. Piozzi, while he enjoyed my jointure, &c.; this man's approbation was indeed a triumph, and we now intended to be happy.

Cecilia had been left at Ray and Frey's school at Streatham, with friends I could depend on; but Lady Keith removed her thence, and placed her at Stevenson's, Queen Square, without my knowledge or consent. We kept our distance then, and so did they; meeting only in public. I took my little mad-headed Cecilia home, and we had masters to her, &c. Nor do I know when the sisters and I should have met again, had not she grown so fast that at fourteen years old or six months more, Mr. Piozzi felt himself alarmed, and was advised by our friends, Lord Huntingdon, Sir Charles Hotham, and the Greatheads, with whom we lived familiarly, to put the young lady into Chancery, a measure he was most earnest to adopt. We were at Streatham Park, but I observed my husband unusually anxious, when an old Mr. Jones who had married Sir William Fowler's daughter, my mother's first cousin, told me that the Miss Thrales had made overtures of reconciliation through him (who lived much with us), and that he should make a breakfast party for

us all at his house in Cavendish Square, with my permission. It was the middle of the French Revolution, so there was talk enough, and the day went on very well, with an invitation to the ladies for Easter Tuesday, I remember; and Pisani, the Venetian ambassador, Lord and Lady Coventry, and 130 people, in short, witnessed our gaiety and mutual good humour. Three weeks more, however, had scarce elapsed before Miss Thrale, now Viscountess Keith, came down on horseback, and said she must speak to us on business. It was to beg Mr. Piozzi would not put Cecilia into Chancery. Their fortunes, they alleged, would be examined by lawyers, and dear Mr. Cator's accounts too would be hauled over, with which they were well contented; alluding, besides this, to some undisclosed dealings and connexions of their father's, wholly new and very surprising to me, who had no notion of his affairs beyond the counting-house and brewhouse yard. In short, they frighted us into every compliance they could wish, then kept their distance as before, sending perpetually for Cecy.

Libels and odd ill-natured speeches appeared sometimes in the public prints, and one day of the ensuing winter, when I was airing my lap-dogs in a retired part of Hyde Park, Lord Fife came up to me, and after a moment's chat, said, "Would you like to know your friends from your enemies?" in a Scotch accent. "Yes, very much, my lord," was the reply. "Ay, but have you strength of mind enough to bear my intelligence?" "Make haste and tell me, dear my lord," said I. "Why

then the Burneys are your enemies, that so fostered and fondled; more than that, Baretti has been making up a libel and every magazine has refused it entrance except a new work carried on by the female Burney." "Never mind," replied I, "nobody will read their work; I feel as I ought towards your lordship's friendship, which you cannot prove better than by not naming the subject; it will die away, so will the authors; good morrow, and a thousand thanks." My own books came out one by one: they pleased, and I suffered not these tormentors much to vex me. We went on spending our money at and upon Streatham Park, till old Mr. Jones and the wise Marquis Trotti advised Piozzi to make the tour of North Wales, and see my country, my estate, &c. We had been all over Scotland, except the Highlands, where we were afraid of carrying Cecy because of her unsteady health. I staid with dear Mrs. Siddons, at Rose Hill, while our friends made their ramble, and came back as much delighted with Denbighshire and Flintshire as Mr. Thrale had been disgusted with them. This was charming. Piozzi had fixed upon a spot, and resolved to build an Italian villa on the banks of the Clwydd. Even Mr. Murphy applauded the project, and we drew in our expenses, preparing to engage in brick and mortar.

Gout now fastened on Mr. Piozzi, who built his pretty villa in North Wales, and conforming to our religious opinions, kindly set our little church at Dymerchion in a state it never before enjoyed, spending sums of

money on its decoration, and making a vault for my ancestors and for ourselves to repose in. I wrote verses for the opening of our tiny temple, and dear Piozzi set them most enchantingly to music; our clerk, he said, was a very good genius; and I trust a more virtuous or pious pleasure could not be felt than ours when teaching those poor people to sing the lines you will read over leaf.

With homely verse and artless lays,

Full oft these humble roofs shall ring;
Whilst to our dear Redeemer's praise
Rough youths and village maidens sing.
Incarnate God! when He appear'd,

And blessings all around Him spread,
Though still by radiant myriads fear'd,
He chose the poor, the lowly shed.

And sure before He comes again

In awful state to judge the world;
Resounding choirs though He disdain,
Temples and tow'ers in ruin hurl'd;

To unambitious efforts kind,

Pleas'd He permits our rustic lays;
Our simple voices, unrefin❜d,

Have leave to sing their Saviour's praise.

The house, our dwelling-house I mean, was built from a design of its elegant master's own hand, and he set poor old Bachygraig up too; repaired and beautified