In the Conway Notes she says: 

“Our head-quarters were in Wales, where dear 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 much amiss I suppose.”

“Amongst the company,” says Moore, “was Mrs. John Kemble.  She mentioned an anecdote of Piozzi, who upon calling upon some old lady of quality, was told by the servant, she was ‘indifferent.’  ’Is she indeed?’ answered Piozzi, huffishly, ’then pray tell her I can be as indifferent as she;’ and walked away."[1]

[Footnote 1:  Moore’s Memoirs, vol. iv. p. 329.]