r Piozzi repaired my
church, built a new vault for my old ancestors, chose the place in it
where he and I are to repose together.... He lived some twenty-five
years with me, however, but so punished with gout that we found Bath
the best wintering-place for many, many seasons.--Mrs. Siddons' last
appearance there he witnessed, when she played Calista to Dimond's
Lothario, in which he looked _so_ like Garrick, it shocked us _all
three_, I believe; for Garrick adored Mr. Piozzi, and Siddons hated
the little great man to her heart. Poor Dimond! he was a well-bred,
pleasing, worthy creature, and did the honours of his own house and
table with peculiar grace indeed. No likeness in private life or
manner,--none at all; no wit, no fun, no frolic humour had Mr.
Dimond:--no grace, no dignity, no real unaffected elegance of mien or
behaviour had his predecessor, David,--whose partiality to my
fastidious husband was for that reason never returned. Merriment,
difficult for _him_ to comprehend, made no amends for the want of
that which no one understood better,--so he hated all the wits but
Murphy."

There is hardly a family of note or standing within visiting distance
of their place, that has not some tradition or reminiscence to relate
concerning them; and all agree in describing him as a worthy good
sort of man, obliging, inoffensive, kind to the poor, principally
remarkable for his devotion to music, and utterly unable to his dying
day to familiarise himself with the English language or manners. It
is told of him that being required to pay a turnpike toll near the
house of a country neighbour whom he was on his way to visit, he took
it for granted that the toll went into his neighbour's pocket, and
proposed setting up a gate near Brynbella with the view of levying
toll in his turn.

In September, 1800, she wrote from Brynbella to Dr. Gray:

"Dear Mr. Piozzi, who takes men out of misery so far as his power
extends in this neighbourhood, feels flattered and encouraged by your
very kind approbation. He has been getting rugs for the cottagers'
beds to keep them warm this winter, while we are away, and they all
take me into their sleeping rooms when I visit them _now_, to show
how comfortably they live. As for the old hut you so justly abhorred,
and so kindly noticed--it is knocked down and its coarse name too,
Potlicko: we call it Cottage-o'-the-Park. Some recurrence to the
original derivation in soup season will not, however, be