THE LETTERS //?£ 
 
 AW MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 MRS. HALE, 
 
 JTHORESS OF "WOMAN'S RECORD," " NORTHWOOD," "MANNERS," ETC. 
 
 " The equal lustre of the heavenly mind, 
 Where every grace with every virtue joined, 
 Learning not vain, and wisdom not severe, 
 With greatness easy, and with wit sincere." — Pope. 
 
 REVISED EDITION. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 1884 
 
 18 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE ! 
 PRESSWORK BY JOHN WILSON AND SON. 
 

 PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. 
 
 There are many by-paths to the knowledge of mankind in 
 general, and of illustrious individuals in particular, where the 
 dignified Muse of History never deigns to lead us. She 
 shows us kings and heroes, describes wonderful spectacles 
 and great battles, embodies religious movements and mighty 
 revolutions, — subjects that we ought to know and that we 
 like to know; but there are many subordinate personages, 
 incidents, circumstances, perhaps more interesting because 
 nearer to us in feeling, that we can only learn through the 
 aid of familiar memoirs, autobiographies, and especially pri- 
 vate and contemporaneous letters. These last give us the 
 surest information about the ways and means of actual life, 
 the most minute details and various images of the real 
 thoughts, feelings, passions, and pursuits of people and of 
 periods. 
 
 Every age (and every society) has its peculiar tone, acting, 
 for the time, as a sort of atmosphere, which, in spite of any 
 isolation or eccentricity of character, will influence every per- 
 son it surrounds. This tone is nowhere to be seized so easily, 
 and understood so well, as in the familiar letters of each epoch. 
 How stiff, stupid, and dead is the most elaborate description 
 of dress, manners, and etiquette, presented in the pictures 
 
IV PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. 
 
 drawn by general authors and astute diplomatists, compared 
 with the real talk, the frank opinions, the ill-natured gossip, 
 the spontaneous admiration, that enlighten as well as amuse 
 us in contemporary correspondence. 
 
 The name of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu is familiar to 
 our people, yet her celebrated " Letters " have . never been 
 made easily accessible, and therefore are little known. In 
 preparing this volume for popular use, great care has been 
 taken to preserve the unity of each division of the " Letters," 
 so that the history of the writer might be elucidated, as well as 
 the sketches of events she records be understood in their true 
 connection. The complete edition of her works, edited by her 
 great-grandson, Lord Wharncliffe, has been followed as the best 
 authority. The work can scarcely fail of interesting deeply 
 the American reader. Lady Mary lived and wrote in the 
 first half of the eighteenth century, when our land was a com- 
 ponent portion of the British Empire, consequently her genius 
 and her fame are ours by inheritance. Her letters will be 
 found valuable as well as amusing, aiding the students of his- 
 tory to catch the manners and opinions of English society in 
 high life — then the dominant power of the realm — at the 
 time Benjamin Franklin and his co-patriots in this Western 
 World were working out the problem of American independ- 
 ence and popular sovereignty. 
 
 The contrast in the condition of the two countries then and 
 now is curious and instructive ; so, also, is the contrast be- 
 tween the description of Constantinople, as it then appeared 
 to Lady Mary, and its present state. 
 
 An article in a late number of " Blackwood's Magazine " 
 thus describes her visit : — 
 
 "Change, adventure, movement, new things to see and hear 
 and find out — .every thing her brilliant and curious intelligence 
 required — were thus supplied to her ; and there never had been 
 so clear a picture of the mysterious East as that which the gay 
 
PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. V 
 
 young English Ambassadress sent thereafter in long letters, 
 sparkling with wit and observation and real insight, to all her Eng- 
 lish friends. . . . She is even so good-natured as to deseribe a 
 camel for some good rural gentlewoman. Altogether, there never 
 was a more spontaneous, sprightly, and picturesque narrative of 
 travel than this which the light-hearted young woman with bright 
 English eyes, which noted every thing under her flowing Eastern 
 veil, despatched to the little knot of men and women at home." 
 
 B ut Lady Mary sh owed evenj iigher qualit ies than wit 
 and observa tion. The practice of inoculation for small-pox 
 was universal in Turkey. She examined it, perceived its 
 utility, tested it upon her little son, and came back to Eng- 
 land resolved to introduce it. For five years she struggled 
 against the doctors and the conservatives, and at length forced 
 its beneficent character upon the unwilling Faculty. 
 
 Near the close of her life we find her quiet heroism espe- 
 cially admirable. " She sets fo: th in her letters all her sur- 
 roundings, all her occupations, not by way of amusing her 
 correspondent alone, but by way of showing that her own 
 life is yet worth living, and her individuality unimpaired. 
 In her Italian villa, queen of the alien hamlet, legislator for her 
 neighbor cottages, the English lady took her forlorn yet indi- 
 vidual place ; filling her days with a thousand occupations ; 
 dazzling the strange little world about her with brilliant talk ; 
 seeking forgetfulness in books ; living and growing old in her 
 own way with a certain proud reasonableness and philosophy ; 
 deluding herself with no dreams, forbidding her heart to brood 
 over the past, and making a heroic and partially successful 
 attempt to be sufficient to herself. We follow her brave 
 spirit through the haze of years with a certain wondering 
 sympathy, a surprised respectA < Keep my letters/ said 
 Lady Mary, in the heyday of-1ier life ; ' they will be as good 
 as Madame de Sevigne's forty years hence/ " 
 
VI PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. 
 
 All this long and eventful life is mirrored in her letters. 
 They are vivid, animated, sparkling with caustic and kindly 
 observations. Like Madame de Sevigne's, they are eminently 
 fit to form the style of youth ; and no better adjuncts to the 
 school composition could be had than the careful reading of 
 these interesting volumes. 
 
 In the original Preface, written by " Mistress Mary Astell, 
 of learned memory, the Madonilla of the * Tatler,' " are these 
 sentiments, which American ladies may well approve and 
 adopt : " Let her own sex do justice to Lady Mary Wortley 
 Montagu. Let us freely own the superiority of her genius, 
 pleased that a Woman triumphs ; that the Giver of all good 
 gifts intrusted and adorned her with most excellent talents." 
 
 SARAH JOSEPHA HALE. 
 Philadelphia, Nov. 26, 1868. 
 
MEMOIR 
 
 LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU 
 
 Lady Mary Pierrepont was the eldest daughter of Evely* 
 Duke of Kingston and the Lady Mary Fielding, daughter of 
 William Earl of Denbigh. "We shall say no more upon her ped- 
 igree, except to note that she was, by the mother's side, cousin 
 of Henry Fielding, the novelist. The kindred of genius is an in- 
 teresting point of genealogy to all who study human nature in- 
 stead of the peerage. The novelist is now the most celebrated 
 of her kindred. She was born at Thoresby, about the year 1690, 
 and lost her mother in 1694, when Lady Mary and her two 
 sisters had scarcely passed the years of infancy. Their father, a 
 dissipated, selfish, worldly man, appears to have concerned him- 
 self very little with their training, though one of her biographers* 
 asserts that Lady Mary displayed in her childhood such tokens 
 of genius that she was placed under the same preceptors as her 
 only brother, the Viscount Newark, and that "she acquired the 
 elements of the Greek, Latin, and French Languages with the 
 greatest success." He goes on to say that " when she had made 
 a singular proficiency, her studies were superintended by Bishop 
 Burnet, who fostered her superior talents with every expression 
 of dignified praise." 
 
 Lord WharnclifFe seems to doubt this statement; he thinks 
 her improvement was mainly owing to her own indomitable 
 eagerness for knowledge. However this may be, the following 
 anecdotef shows that the beauty and precocity of his celebrated 
 daughter had made her in her childhood a pet with the duke, 
 
 • Mr. Dillaway. 
 
 t From Biographical Anecdotes collected by Lord Wharncliffe. 
 
Vlll MEMOIR OF 
 
 her father; but his neglect in her after years, and the unkind- 
 ness and mercenary tyranny he exercised toward her at the 
 time of her marriage, speak plainly of the want of all real 
 fatherly interest and affection. "A sprightly, beautiful child, 
 while it is a child, reflects luster upon a young father, from 
 whom it may be presumed to have partly inherited its charms. 
 Accordingly, a trifling incident, which Lady Mary loved to re- 
 call, will prove how much she was the object of Lord Kingston's 
 pride and fondness in her childhood. As a leader of the fashion- 
 able world, and a strenuous Whig in party, he of course belonged 
 to the Kit-cat Club. One day, at a meeting to choose toasts for 
 the year, a whim seized him to nominate her, then not eight 
 years old, as a candidate, alleging that she was far prettier than 
 any lady on their list. The other members demurred, because 
 the rules of the club forbade them to elect a beauty whom they 
 had never seen. ' Then you shall see her,' cried he; and in the 
 gayety of the moment sent orders to have her finely dressed, 
 and brought to him at the tavern ; where she was received with 
 acclamations, her claim unanimously allowed, her health drunk 
 by every one present, and her name engraved in due form upon 
 a drinking-glass. The company consisting of some of the most 
 eminent men in England, she went from the lap of one poet, or 
 patriot, or statesman, to the arms of another, was feasted with 
 sweetmeats, overwhelmed with caresses, and, what perhaps al- 
 ready pleased her better than either, heard her wit loudly ex- 
 tolled on every side. Pleasure, she said, was too poor a word to 
 express her sensations ; they amounted to ecstasy : never again, 
 throughout her whole future life, did she pass so happy a day. 
 Nor indeed could she; for the love of admiration, which this 
 scene was calculated to excite or increase, could never again be 
 so fully gratified : there is always some alloying ingredient in the 
 cup, some drawback upon the triumphs of grown people. Her 
 father carried on the frolic, and, we may conclude, confirmed the 
 taste, by having her picture painted for the club-room, that she 
 might be enrolled a regular toast." 
 
 Like all persons of genius whose writings are worth any thing, 
 Lady Mary was a great reader, and had a wonderfully retentive 
 memory. She complains that her education was " one of the 
 worst in the world ;" but we find that her own efforts and zeal 
 for improvement made up for deficiencies in instruction. Her 
 
LADY MARY WOJRTLEY MONTAGU. IX 
 
 letter to Bishop Burnet (see page 402) shows what obstacles sho 
 had to encounter in that age, when learning was considered al- 
 most as disgraceful for an English lady as the use of full-grown 
 feet would now be to a Chinese beauty. 
 
 In one kind of lady-like accomplishment, that of presiding at 
 the dinner-table, she was early and thoroughly instructed. As 
 her mother died when she was only four years old, and her 
 father continued a widower till all his children were grown up 
 and married, Lady Mary, as eldest daughter, was placed at the 
 head of the great household-establishment, when she was a 
 mere child — as soon as she had bodily strength for the office, 
 which, in those days, required no small share.* 
 
 Thus passed the early youth of Lady Mary, her time being 
 principally spent at Thoresby and at Acton near London ; and 
 her society confined to a few friends, among whom the most con- 
 fidential was Mrs. (or Miss) Anne Wortley, the favorite sister of 
 the Honorable Edward Wortley Montagu.f He was a scholar, 
 and had traveled ; his companions were Steele, Garth, Oongreve, 
 Mainwaring, etc. ; and Addison was his bosom friend. Such a 
 man, if not possessed of brilliant genius, must have admired it ; 
 and that he had a clear understanding and great integrity of 
 character, his own letters and the respect Lady Mary always 
 testifies for his abilities, clearly show. 
 
 Her intimacy with his sister was the means of first bringing 
 them together. We give the scene as described by Lord Wharn- 
 cliffe: 
 
 " Mr. Wortley's chief intimates have been already named. His 
 
 * At the table each joint was carried up in its turn, to be operated upon by her, 
 and her alone — since the peers and knights on either hand were so far from being 
 bound to offer their assistance, that the very master of the house, posted opposite 
 to her, might not act as her croupier; his department wa9 to push the bottle 
 after dinner. As for the crowd of guests, the most inconsiderable among them — the 
 curate, or subaltern, or squire's younger brother — if suffered through her neglect to 
 help himself to a slice of the mutton placed before him, would have chewed it in 
 bitterness, and gone home an affronted man, half inclined to give a wrong vote at 
 the next election. There were then professed carving-masters, who taught young 
 ladies the art scientifically ; from one of whom Lady Mary said she took lessons 
 three times a week, that she might be perfect on her father's public days ; when, 
 in order to perform her functions without interruption, she was forced to eat her 
 own dinner alone an hour or two beforehand. — Wharncxtffe. 
 
 t His father was second son of Admiral Montagu, first Earl of Sandwich. Upon 
 marrying the daughter and heiress of Sir Francis Wortley, he was obliged by tho 
 tenor of Sir Francis's will to assume his name. 
 
 1* 
 
X MEMOIR OF 
 
 society was principally male ; the wits and politicians of that 
 day forming a class quite distinct from the "white-gloved beau" 
 attendant upon ladies. Indeed, as the education of women had 
 then reached its very lowest ebb, and if not coquettes, or gossips, 
 or diligent card-players, their best praise was to be notable 
 housewives, Mr. Wortley, however fond of his sister, could have 
 no particular motive to seek the acquaintance of her companions. 
 His surprise and delight were the greater, when one afternoon, 
 having by chance loitered in her apartment till visitors arrived, 
 he saw Lady Mary Pierrepont for the first time, and, on entering 
 into conversation with her, found, in addition to beauty that 
 charmed him, not only brilliant wit, but a thinking and culti- 
 vated mind. He was especially struck with the discovery that she 
 understood Latin, and could relish his beloved classics. Some- 
 thing that passed led to the mention of Quintus Curtius, which 
 she said she had never read. This was a fair handle for a piece 
 of gallantry; in a few days she received a superb edition of the 
 author, with these lines facing the title-page : 
 
 Beauty like this had vanquished Persia shown, 
 The Macedon had laid his empire down, 
 And polished Greece obeyed a barbarous throne. 
 Had wit so bright adorned a Grecian dame, 
 ''The amorous youth had lost his thirst for fame, 
 Nor distant India sought through Syria's plain ; 
 But to the Muses 1 stream with her had run, 
 And thought her lover more than Amnion's son." 
 
 Lady Mary and Anne Wortley were then writing to each other 
 in young lady fashion, though both writers evinced talents of no 
 common order. Edward Wortley seems to have found a chan- 
 nel for his admiration of his sister's friend through the letters to 
 Lady Mary, till the death of Anne Wortley, which occurred soon 
 after, left the correspondence to be continued by the lovers — as 
 they then were. Mr. Wortley, after his acceptance by Lady 
 Mary, made his proposals to the Duke of Kingston in form, and 
 was cordially approved till the marriage settlements carne under 
 consideration. Mr. Wortley had a large landed estate, but he 
 was, on principle, opposed to the practice of entail. He offered 
 to make the best provision in his power for Lady Mary, but 
 positively refused to settle his landed property upon his first-born 
 
LADY MART WORTLEY MONTAGU. XI 
 
 son, who, for aught he knew, might prove unworthy to possess 
 it — might be a spendthrift (as his son afterward proved), an idiot, 
 or a villain. 
 
 The Duke of Kingston allowed that these theories might be 
 fine, but declared that Ms grandchildren should never be left 
 beggars ; and so the treaty of marriage was broken off. 
 
 The secret correspondence and meetings between the lovers 
 went on, however ; but shortly afterward Lady Mary received 
 offers from another suitor, whom her father commanded her 
 peremptorily to accept ; if she did not comply, she was to be 
 immediately sent to a remote place in the country, there to re- 
 side during his life, and at his death have no portion save a small 
 annuity. Then it was that she consented to a clandestine mar- 
 riage with the man she truly loved. Her letters written during 
 their courtship are given in this volume, but one of Lady Mary's, 
 the last she wrote before her marriage, is so fraught with in- 
 terest in its display of the writer's character and feelings in the 
 most important action of her life, that we reserved it to eluci- 
 date more clearly her nobleness of mind, as shown in her sincer- 
 ity and her devoted, yet self-denying love. 
 
 "TO E. W. MONTAGU, ESQ. 
 
 "Sunday Morning. 
 
 " I wrote you a letter last night in some passion. I begin to fear 
 again ; I own myself a coward. You made no reply to one part 
 of my letter concerning my fortune. I am afraid you flatter 
 yourself that my father may be at length reconciled and brought 
 to reasonable terms. I am convinced, by what I have often 
 heard him say, speaking of other cases like this, that he never 
 will. Eeflect now for the last time in what manner you must 
 take me. I shall come to you with only a nightgown and petti- 
 coat, and that is all you will ever get by me. I told a lady of 
 my friends what I intended to do. You will think her a very 
 good friend when I tell you, she proffered to lend us her house. 
 I did not accept of this till I had let you know it. If you think 
 it more convenient to carry me to your lodgings, make no scruple 
 of it. Let it be where it will : if I am your wife, I shall think 
 no place unfit for me where you are. I beg we may leave Lon- 
 don next morning, wherever you intend to go. I should wish 
 to go out of England if it suits your affairs. You are the best 
 
Xll MEMOIR OF 
 
 judge of your father's temper. If you think it woukl be obliging 
 to him, or necessary for you, I will go with you immediately to 
 ask his pardon and his blessing. If that is not proper at first, I 
 think the best scheme is going to the Spa. When you come 
 back, you may endeavor to make your father admit of seeing 
 me, and treat with mine (though I persist in believing it will he 
 to no purpose). But I can not think of living in the midst of my 
 relations and acquaintances after so unjustifiable a step : — so un- 
 justifiable to the world — but I think I can justify myself to my- 
 self. I again beg you to have a coach to be at the door early 
 Monday morning, to carry us some part of our way, wherever 
 you resolve our journey shall be. If you determine to go to the 
 lady's house, you had best come with a coach and six at seven 
 o'clock to-morrow. She and I will be in the balcony which 
 looks on the road ; you have nothing to do but stop under it, 
 and we will come down to you. Do in this what you like ; but 
 after all think very seriously. Your letter, which will be waited 
 for, is to determine every thing. 
 
 " You can show me no goodness I shall not be sensible of. 
 However, think again, and resolve never to think of me if you 
 have the least doubt, or that it is likely to make you uneasy in 
 your fortune. I believe, to travel is the most likely way to make 
 a solitude agreeable, and not tiresome : remember you have prom- 
 ised it. 
 
 " 'Tis something odd for a woman that brings nothing to ex • 
 pect any thing ; but after the way of my education, I dare not 
 pretend to live but in some degree suitable to it. I had rather 
 die than return to a dependency upon relations I have disobliged. 
 Save me from that fear if you love me. If you can not, or think 
 I ought not to expect it, be sincere and tell me so. 'Tis better 
 I should not be yours at all than, for a short happiness, involve 
 myself in ages of misery. I hope there will never be occasion 
 for this precaution ; but, however, 'tis necessary to make it. I 
 depend entirely upon your honor, and I can not suspect you of 
 any way doing wrong. Do not imagine I shall be angry at any 
 thing you can tell me. Let it be sincere ; do not impose on a 
 woman that leaves all things for you." 
 
 The result is well known. The lovers were privately married, 
 by special license, which bears date, August 12th, 1712. Their 
 
LADY MART WORTLEY MONTAGU. Xlll 
 
 residence was in the country for about two years, till the death 
 of Queen Anne, in 1714, and the accession of George I., brought 
 a change in the administration, and gave Mr. Montagu a place 
 at court. Lady Mary's first appearance at St. James's was a 
 triumph for her.; her beauty and wit, the elegance of her form 
 and the charms of her conversation were unrivaled in the first 
 private circles of the nobility. She had a familiar acquaintance 
 both with Addison and with his rival, Pope, who then contem- 
 plated her uncommon genius without envy. His enthusiastic 
 admiration of her is sufficiently apparent in his letters which 
 will be found in this volume. That he became her vindictive 
 enemy in after years was his fault, not hers. 
 
 In 1716, the Honorable Edward Wortley Montagu was ap- 
 pointed embassador to the Porte, and, with his accomplished 
 wife and infant son, prepared for his journey to the East. This 
 was, for Lady Mary, a perilous task, as traveling in those days 
 was dangerous as well as most fatiguing, and seldom attempted 
 by women ; but she would not be separated from her husband. 
 u When she arrived at Constantinople her active mind was 
 readily engaged in the pursuit of objects so novel as those which 
 the Turkish capital presented. While they excited her imagina- 
 tion, she could satisfy her curiosity, in her ideas of its former 
 splendor as the metropolis of the Eoman empire. Her classical 
 acquirements rendered such investigations interesting and suc- 
 cessful. Among her other talents was an extraordinary facility 
 in learning languages; and in the assemblage of ten embassies 
 from different countries, of which the society at Pera and Bel- 
 grade was composed, she had daily opportunities of extending 
 her knowledge and practice of them. The French and Italian 
 were familiar to her before she left England ; and we find in her 
 letters that she had a sufficient acquaintance with the German 
 to understand a comedy, as it was represented at Vienna. She 
 even attempted the Turkish language, under the tuition of one 
 of Mr. Wortley's dragomans, or interpreters, who compiled for 
 her use a grammar and vocabulary in Turkish and Italian. Of 
 her proficiency in that very difficult dialect of the Oriental 
 tongues, specimens are seen in her letters, in which a translation 
 of some popular poetry appears." Thus testifies her English 
 biographer; but more important to the world are the results of 
 her foreign residence, as it developed her genius and widened 
 
XIV MEMOIR OF 
 
 the sphere of her observance. Her correspondence, while abroad, 
 has gained her such wide-spread celebrity as places her among 
 the first of female writers in the English language. But a still 
 higher praise is hers — that of benefactor to humanity, for to her 
 brave, unprejudiced mind, the Christian world owes the intro- 
 duction of inoculation for the small-pox. While residing at 
 Belgrade, during the summer months, Lady Mary observed a 
 singular custom prevalent among the Turks — that of engrafting, 
 as they styled it, to produce a mild form of small-pox and stay 
 the ravages of that loathsome disease. She examined the pro- 
 cess with more than philosophical curiosity — with deep earnest- 
 ness to learn if it was good ; she had lost her only brother by 
 the small-pox, and her own life had been scarcely saved ; she 
 knew how terrible was the disease, and sought to save her 
 country from the scourge. Becoming convinced of its efficacy, 
 she did not hesitate to apply it to her own son, a child of 
 three years old. On her return home, she introduced the 
 art into England, by means of the medical attendant of the 
 embassy. Its expediency was questioned by scientific men, and 
 an experiment, by order of government, was made upon five per- 
 sons under sentence of death, which was perfectly successful. 
 
 At that time it was computed that one person in every seven 
 died of the small-pox taken in the natural way, and many who 
 lived were terribly disfigured. It might have been supposed 
 that such an amelioration as this way of engrafting offered would 
 have been received with joy, and that Lady Mary would have 
 been acknowledged as a public benefactor. So far from this was 
 the result, that she was persecuted with the most relentless hos- 
 tility. The clamors raised about her were beyond belief at this 
 day. The faculty rose to a man against her; the clergy des- 
 canted from their pulpits on the awful impiety of seeking to take 
 events out of the hands of Providence. The common people 
 were taught to hoot at her as an unnatural mother who had 
 risked the lives of her own children. So fierce was the clamor 
 that, with all her bravery in the cause of truth and humanity, 
 she admitted " that if she had foreseen the persecution and oblo- 
 quy she was to endure, she would not have attempted to intro- 
 duce inoculation." 
 
 However, she soon gained supporters. The Princess of Wales, 
 afterward Queen Caroline, stood her friend, and truth and reason 
 
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. XV 
 
 finally prevailed.* She gave much of her time to advice and 
 superintendence in the families where inoculation was adopted, 
 constantly carrying her little daughter with her into the sick 
 room, to prove her security from infection. 
 
 On her return to England, Lady Mary Wortley, at the solicita- 
 tion of Mr. Pope, took up her residence at Twickenham. Pope 
 had been her most intimate friend and admirer, as his letters to 
 her in this volume will show. Both of them witty, sarcastic, 
 fond of elegant literature, there were many points of similarity 
 of taste and character which must have cemented an intimacy 
 that Lady Mary permitted, if she did not encourage. On this 
 intimacy he presumed to make love to her, as she said — such 
 passionate love that in spite of her utmost endeavors to be 
 angry, and look grave, she was provoked to an immoderate fit 
 of laughter ; frojn__ which moment he became her implacable 
 enemy. His conduct toward her was as mean as his hatred 
 was malicious. He libeled her almost by name in his poems, 
 and then denied in his letters that his satire was intended for 
 her. The affair has injured both, and must be reckoned among 
 the most unhappy " quarrels and calamities of authors." 
 
 While residing in England, Lady Mary carried on her corres- 
 
 * In the " Plain-Dealer," then edited by Steele, appeared, in 1724, the following 
 paper : 
 
 " It is an observation of some historian that England has owed to women the 
 greatest blessings she has been distinguished by. In the case we are now upon, 
 this reflection will stand justified. We are indebted to the reason and the courage 
 of a lady for the introduction of this art, which gains such strength in its progress 
 that the memory of its illustrious foundress will be rendered sacred to it to future 
 ages. This ornament to her sex and country, who ennobles her own nobility by 
 her learning, wit, and virtues, accompanying her consort into Turkey, observed 
 the benefit of this practice, with its frequency even among those obstinate predes- 
 tinarians, and brought it over for the service and the safety of her native England, 
 where she consecrated its first effects on the persons of her own fine children ; and 
 has already received this glory from it, that the influence of her example has reached 
 as high as the blood royal, and our noblest and most ancient families, in confirma- 
 tion of her happy judgment, add the daily experience of those who are most dear 
 to them. It is a godlike delight that her reflection must be conscious of, when she 
 considers to whom we owe, that many thousand British lives will be saved every 
 year to the use and comfort of their country, after a general establishment of this 
 practice. A good, so lasting and so vast, that none of those wide endowments and 
 deep foundations of public charity which have made most noise in the world de» 
 eerve at all to be compared with it. 
 
 " High o'er each sex in double empire sit 
 Protecting beauty and inspiring wit." 
 
XVI MEMOIR OF 
 
 pondence with her sister Lady Mar, and superintended the edu- 
 cation of her only daughter, who married the Marquis of Bute. 
 Soon after this event Lady Mary, whose health was suffering 
 from the incipient but fatal disease (cancer), which terminated 
 her life, went to Italy. Her husband approved of her plan, and, 
 it seems from her letters, engaged to join her; but parliamentary 
 business and other duties detained him in England ; they cor- 
 responded constantly and kindly ; but they never met again. 
 
 The letters of Lady Mary to her beloved daughter, Lady Bute, 
 (in this volume) give a graphic description of her travels, and 
 living pictures, as it were, of the scenes and persons she met 
 and observed. They show also her tender care for her daugh- 
 ter, and that the ties of domestic life- were the sweetest to her 
 heart. And she sincerely enjoyed her repose from the entangle- 
 ments of the gay world of fashionable life. She was residing 
 in Venice when intelligence of the death of Mr. Wortjey, her 
 husband, reached her in 1761. Her daughter urged her return 
 home so earnestly that Lady Mary yielded ; and after an absence 
 of twenty- two years, she began her journey to England, where 
 she arrived in October. But her health had suffered much, and 
 a gradual decline terminated in death, on the 21st of August, 
 1762, and in the seventy-third year of her age. 
 
 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu ranks in the first class of learned 
 women. Of this learning, with the true simplicity character- 
 istic of sensible people, she herself makes small account; but 
 her familiarity with classic authors is evident in her letters to 
 Pope and other learned men. Her acquaintance with general 
 literature was extensive. These acquirements, however, may 
 now be often met with among her sex; but the fertility of her 
 genius, the flashing of her wit, and her solid good sense, seldom 
 found united in the same mind, place her among the greatest writ- 
 ers of her day. Her style and her thoughts are alike free from af- 
 fectation or pretension. She loved truth and hated shams ; this 
 sincerity of character and her brilliant talents made her many 
 envious and bitter enemies. Her English biographer says: 
 
 "During her long life, her literary pretensions were suppressed 
 by the jealousy of her cotemporaries, and her indignant sense of 
 the mean conduct of Pope and his phalanx, the self-constituted 
 distributers of the fame and obloquy of that day, urged her to 
 confine to her cabinet, and a small circle of friends, effusions of 
 
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. XVU 
 
 ■wisdom and fancy, which otherwise had been received by soci- 
 ety at large with equal instruction and delight." 
 
 But the acknowledgment, of her merits, if long delayed, has 
 been fully made. (JRer Letters, published in many editions, have 
 been conceded to be the most perfect productions of their kind 
 to be found in our tongue. An eminent British critic says: 
 " They are truly letters, not critical or didactic essays, enlivened 
 by formal compliment and elaborate wit, like the correspondence 
 of Pope." 
 
 Still there was one sad defect in the writings of this celebrated 
 lady, which is now far more apparent than when she lived, 
 Lamely, her lack of religious feeling. True, her lot was cast in 
 an age of practical unbelief, when the English Church was like 
 that of Sardis of old, and rank had the privilege of low sensu- 
 ality and sin, and public morality was derided as foolishness. 
 Gross darkness was around her path. It is not much to be won- 
 dered at that she did not seek the true light, but it is to be deeply 
 regretted that a mind like hers should have been bound to earth, 
 when it had such clear conceptions of the emptiness of worldly 
 pleasures. Piety of heart would have imparted tenderness to 
 her character, and that sweet pity for the faults of others which 
 would have polished her style and given a lovelier light to the 
 diamond sparkle of her wit. 
 
 The poems of Lady Mary were written as suggested by par- 
 ticular occasions, and she never took any pains to correct or polish 
 her verses. But she had true poetic talent, and if the same incite- 
 ments could have been brought to bear on her mind as those that 
 influenced Pope in his pursuit of excellence in versification, she 
 would probably have borne away the palm of genius. However, 
 she won a higher palm than that of a poet — she was the benef.ictor 
 of her nation. Had Lady Mary Wortley lived in the days of heathen 
 Greece or Rome, such service as she performed in the introduc- 
 tion of inoculation, would have enrolled her name among the 
 deities who have benefited mankind. But in Christian England, 
 her native land, on which she bestowed such a vital blessing, 
 and through it. to all the people of the West, what has been her 
 recompense ? We read of princely endowments bestowed by the 
 British government upon great generals ; of titles conferred and 
 pensions granted, through several generations, to those who have 
 served their country; of monuments erected by the British 
 
XV111 MEMOIR OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 people to statesmen and warriors, and even to weak and worth- 
 less princes ; but where is the national monument to Lady Mary 
 Wortley Montagu ? Is it in Westminster Abbey? Or has it 
 been only by the private bounty of a woman that her good 
 deed has a record ?* On the pages of history, and in the an- 
 nals of medicine, the name of Lady Montagu must find its place ; 
 but should not England be proud to honor her noble daughter, 
 whose memory, from royal palace to pauper's hut, ought to be 
 held in grateful affection ? 
 
 S. J. H. 
 
 * In the cathedral at Litchfield, a cenotaph is erected to her memory, with the 
 following inscription : 
 
 Sacred to the memory of 
 
 The Eight Honorable 
 
 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu - , 
 
 who happily introduced from Turkey, 
 
 into this country, 
 
 the salutary art 
 
 of inoculating the small-pox. 
 
 Convinced of its efficacy, 
 
 she first tried it with success 
 
 on her own children, 
 
 and then recommended the practice of It 
 
 to her fellow-citizens. 
 
 Thus by her example and advice 
 
 we have softened the virulence, 
 
 and escaped the danger of this malignant disease. 
 
 To perpetuate the memory of such benevolence, 
 
 and express her gratitude 
 
 for the benefit she herself received 
 
 from this alleviating art ; 
 
 this monument is erected by 
 
 Henrietta Inge, 
 
 relict of Theodore William Inge, Esq., 
 
 and daughter of Sir John Wrottesley, Bart., 
 
 in the year of our Lord m,dcc,lxxxix. 
 
 The monument consists of a mural marble, representing a female figure o» 
 beauty, weeping over the ashes of her preserver, supposed to be inclosed in tha 
 nrn, insciibed with her cypher, M. W. M. 
 
LETTEKS OF 
 
 LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU, 
 
 FROM 1710 TO 1716. 
 ADDRESSED TO EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU, ESQ. 
 
 (WRITTEN DUEING THEIE OOXTBT8HIP AND THE FIBST ETVE YEABS OP MABBIED LITE.) 
 
 LETTER I * 
 
 No date. 
 Perhaps you '11 be surprised at this letter ; I have had many 
 debates with myself before I could resolve upon it. I know 
 it is not actingin form, but I do not look upon you as I do 
 upon the rest of the world ; and by what I do for you, you 
 are not to judge of my manner of acting with others. You 
 are brother to a woman I tenderly loved ; my protestations of 
 friendship are not like other people's — I never speak but what 
 I mean, and when I say I love, 'tis forever. I had that real 
 concern for* Mrs. Wortley, I look with some regard on every 
 one that is related to her. This and my long acquaintance 
 with you may in some measure excuse what I am doing. 1 
 am surprised at one of the Tatlers you sent me ; is it possible 
 
 * A remarkable letter, the first she ever wrote to him. There is a 
 copy of it in his handwriting : it appears by it that his sister was then 
 dead. 
 
 f Miss or Mrs. Anne "Wortley was the favorite sister of Edward 
 "Wortley Montagu. She had been the friend and confidante of Lady 
 Mary Pierrepont, and their correspondence was the medium through 
 which the lovers had communicated till the death of the sister. -Am. Ed. 
 
20 LETTERS TO 
 
 to have any sort of esteem for a person one believes capable 
 of having such trifling inclinations ? Mr. Bickerstaff has very- 
 wrong notions of our sex. I can say there are some of us 
 that despise charms of show, and all the pageantry of great- 
 ness, perhaps with more ease than any of the philosophers. 
 In contemning the world, they seem to take pains to contemn 
 it ; we despise it without taking the pains to read lesson^ of 
 morality to make us do it. At least, I know I have always 
 looked upon it with contempt, without being ?.t the expense 
 of one serious reflection to oblige me to it. I carry the matter 
 yet further : was I to choose £2,000 a year, or £20,000, 
 the first would be my choice. There is something of an 
 unavoidable embarras in making what is called a great figure 
 in the world ; (it) takes off from the happiness of life ; I hate 
 the noise and hurry inseparable from great estates and titles, 
 and look upon both as blessings which ought only to be given 
 to fools, for 'tis only to them that they are blessings. The 
 pretty fellows you speak of, I own entertain me sometimes ; 
 but is it impossible to be diverted with what one despises i 1 
 can laugh at a puppet-show, and at the same time know there 
 is nothing in it worth my attention or regard. General no- 
 tions are generally wrong. Ignorance and folly are thought 
 the best foundations for virtue, as if not knowing what a good 
 wife is was necessary to make one so. I confess that can 
 never be my way of reasoning ; as I always forgive an injury 
 when I think it not done out of malice, I can never think my- 
 self obliged by what is done without design. Give me leave 
 to say it (I know it sounds vain), I know how to make a man 
 of sense happy ; but then that man must resolve to contribute 
 something toward it himself. I have so much esteem for you, 
 I should be very sorry to hear you were unhappy ; but, for the 
 world, I would not be the instrument of making you so ; which 
 (of the humors you are) is hardly to be avoided if I am your 
 wife. You distrust me — I can neither be easy, nor loved, 
 where I am distrusted. Nor do I believe your passion for me 
 is what you pretend it ; at least, I am sure was I in love, I 
 
EDWARD WOF ^f MONT G U. 21 
 
 could not talk as you do. Few women would have wrote so 
 plain as I have done ; but to dissemble is among the things I 
 never do. I take more pains to approve my conduct to my- 
 self than to the world ; and would not have to accuse myself 
 of a minute's deceit. I wish I loved you enough to devote 
 myself to be forever miserable, for the pleasure of a day or 
 two's happiness. I can not resolve upon it. You must think 
 otherwise of me, or not at all. 
 
 I don't enjoin you to burn this Jetter— I know you will. 
 Tis the first I ever wrote to one of your sex, and shall be the 
 last. You may never expect another. I resolve against all 
 correspondence of the kind ; my resolutions are seldom made, 
 and never broken. 
 
 LETTER E. 
 
 Reading over your letter as fast as ever I could, and an- 
 swering it with the same ridiculous precipitation, I find one 
 part of it escaped my sight, and the other I mistook in several 
 places. Yours was dated the 10th of August; it came not 
 hither till the 20th : you say something of a packet-boat, etc., 
 which makes me uncertain whether you '11 receive my letter 
 and frets me heartily. Kindness, you say, would be your de- 
 struction. In my opinion, this is something contradictory to 
 some other expressions. People talk of being in love just as 
 widows do of affliction. Mr. Steele has observed, in one of his 
 plays, "that the most passionate among them have always 
 calmness enough to drive a hard bargain with the upholders." 
 I never knew a lover that would not willingly secure his in- 
 terest as well as his mistress ; or, if one must be abandoned, 
 had not the prudence, among all his distractions, to consider, ' 
 that a woman was but a woman, and money was a thing of 
 more real merit than the whole sex put together. Your letter 
 is to tell me, you should think yourself undone, if you married 
 
22 L ETTEBS TO 
 
 me ; but if I would be so tender as to confess I should break 
 my heart if you did not, then you 'd consider whether you 
 would or no ; but yet you hoped you should not. I take this 
 to be the right interpretation of — " even your kindness can't 
 destroy me of a sudden" — " I hope I am not in your power"— r- 
 " I would give a good deal to be satisfied," etc. 
 
 " As to writing — that any woman would do who thought 
 she writ well." Now I say, no woman of common good sense 
 would. At best, 'tis but doing a silly thing well, and I think 
 it is much better not to do a silly thing at all. You compare 
 it to dressing. Suppose the comparison just : — perhaps the 
 Spanish dress would become my face very well ; yet the whole 
 town would condemn me for the highest extravagance if I 
 went to court in it, though it improved me to a miracle. There 
 are a thousand things, not ill in themselves, which custom 
 makes unfit to be done. This is to convince you I am so far 
 from applauding my own conduct, my conscience flies in my 
 face every time I think on 't. The generality of the world 
 have a great indulgence to their own follies : without being a 
 jot wiser than my neighbors, I have the peculiar misfortune to 
 know and condemn all the wrong things I do. 
 
 You beg to know whether I would not be out of humor. 
 The expression is modest enough ; but that is not what you 
 mean. In saying I could be easy, I have already said I should 
 not be out of humor : but you would have me say I am vio- 
 lently in love ; that is, finding you think better of me than 
 you desire, you would have me give you a just cause to con- 
 temn me. I doubt much whether there is a creature in the 
 world humble enough to do that. I should not think you more 
 unreasonable if you were in love with my face, and asked me 
 to disfigure it to make you easy. I have heard of some nuns 
 that made use of that expedient to secure their own happi- 
 ness ; but, among all the popish saints and martyrs, I never 
 read of one whose charity was sublime enough to make them- 
 selves deformed, or ridiculous, to restore their lovers to peace 
 and quietness. In short, if nothing can content you but de- 
 
EDWARD WORTLET MONTAGU. 25 
 
 told I am in the wrong, but tell it me gently. Perhaps I have 
 been indiscreet ; I came young into the hurry of the world ; 
 a great innocence and an undesigning gayety may possibly 
 have been construed coquetry and a desire of being followed, 
 though never meant by me. I can not answer for the ob- 
 servations that may be made on me : all who are malicious 
 attack the careless and defenseless : I own myself to be both. 
 I know not any thing I can say more to show my perfect de- 
 sire of pleasing you and making you easy, than to proffer to 
 be confined with you in what manner you please. Would 
 any woman but me renounce all the world for one ? Or 
 would any man but you be insensible of such a proof of 
 sincerity ? 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 I have this minute received your two letters. I know not 
 how to direct to you — whether to London, or the country ; or 
 if in the country, to Durham, or Wortley. 'Tis very likely 
 you '11 never receive this. I hazard a great deal if it falls into 
 other hands, and I wrote for all that. I wish with all my soul 
 I thought as you do ; I endeavor to convince myself by your 
 arguments, and am sorry my reason is so obstinate, not to be 
 deluded into an opinion that 'tis impossible a man can esteem 
 a woman. I suppose I should then be very easy at your 
 thoughts of me ; I should thank you for the wit and beauty 
 you give me, and not be angry at the folly and weaknesses ; 
 but, to my infinite affliction, I can believe neither one nor 
 t'other. One part of my character is not so good, nor t'other 
 so bad, as you fancy it. Should we ever live together, you 
 would be disappointed both ways : you would find an easy 
 equality of temper you do not expect, and a thousand faults 
 you do not imagine. You think, if you married me, I should 
 r>e passionately fond of you one month, and of somebody else 
 
 2 
 
26 LETTERS TO 
 
 the next : neither would happen. I can esteem, I can be a 
 friend, but I don't know whether I can love. Expect all that 
 is complaisant and easy, but never what is fond, in me. You 
 judge very wrong of my heart when you suppose me capable 
 of views of interest, and that any thing could oblige me to 
 natter any body. Was I the most indigent creature in the 
 world, I should answer you as I do now, without adding or 
 diminishing. I am incapable of art, and 'tis because I will 
 not be capable of it. Could I deceive one minute, I should 
 never regain my own good opinion ; and who could, bear to live 
 with one they despised ? 
 
 If you can resolve to live with a companion that will have 
 all the deference due to your superiority of good sense, and 
 that your proposals can be agreeable to those on whom I de- 
 pend, I have nothing to say against them. 
 
 As to traveling, 'tis what I should do with great pleasure, 
 and could easily quit London upon your account ; but a re- 
 tirement in the country is not so disagreeable to me, as I 
 know a few months would make it tiresome to you. Where 
 people are tied for life, 'tis their mutual interest not to grow 
 weary of one another. If I had all the personal charms that 
 I want, a face is too slight a foundation for huppiness. You 
 would be soon tired with seeing every day the same thing 
 Where you saw nothing else, you would have leisure to re- 
 mark all the defects ; which would increase in proportion as 
 the novelty lessened, which is always a great charm. I should 
 have the displeasure of seeing a coldness, which, though I 
 could not reasonably blame you for, being involuntary, yet it 
 would render me uneasy ; and the more, because I know a 
 love may be revived, which absence, inconstancy, or even infi- 
 delity, has extinguished ; but there is no returning from a 
 degout given by satiety. 
 
 I should not choose to live in a crowd : I could be very 
 well pleased to be in London, without making a great figure, 
 or seeing above eight or nine agreeable people. Apart- 
 ments, table etc., are things that never come into my head. 
 
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 27 
 
 But T will never think of any thing without the consent of my 
 family, and advise you not to fancy a happiness in entire soli- 
 tude, which you would find only fancy. 
 
 Make no answer to this, if you can like me on my own 
 terms. 'Tis not to me you must make the proposals : if not, 
 to what purpose is our correspondence ? 
 
 However, preserve me your friendship, which I think of 
 with a great deal of pleasure, and some vanity. If ever you 
 see me married, I flatter myself you '11 see a conduct you would 
 not be sorry your wife should imitate. 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 I am going to comply with your request, and write with all 
 the plainness I am capable of. I know what may be said upon 
 such a proceeding, but am sure you will not say it. Why 
 should you always put the worst construction upon my words ? 
 Believe me what you will, but do not believe I can be ungen- 
 erous or ungrateful. I wish I could tell you what answer you 
 will receive from some people, or upon what terms. If my 
 opinion could sway, nothing should displease you. Nobody 
 ever was so disinterested as I am. I would not have to re- 
 proach myself (I don't suppose you would) that I had any 
 ways made you uneasy in your circumstances. Let me beg 
 you (which I do with the utmost sincerity) only to consider 
 yourself in this affair ; and since I am so unfortunate to have 
 nothing in my own disposal, do not think I have any hand in 
 making settlements. People in my way are sold like slaves ; 
 and I can not tell what price my master will put on me. If 
 you do agree, I shall endeavor to contribute, as much as lies 
 in my power, to your happiness. I so heartily despise a great 
 figure, I have no notion of spending money so foolishly, though 
 one had a great deal to throw away. If this breaks off, I 
 shall not complain of you : and as, whatever happens, I shall 
 
28 LETTERS TO 
 
 still preserve the opinion that you have behaved yourself well, 
 let me entreat you, if I have committed any follies, to for 
 get them ; and be so just as to think I would not do an ill 
 thing. 
 
 I say nothing of my letters : I think them entirely safe in 
 your hands. 
 
 I shall be uneasy till I know this is come to you. I have 
 tried to write plainly : I know not what one can say more 
 upon paper. 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 Indeed, I do not at all wonder that absence, and variety of 
 new faces, should make you forget me ; but I am a little sur- 
 prised at your curiosity to know what passes in my heart (a 
 thing wholly insignificant to you), except you propose to 
 yourself a piece of ill-natured satisfaction, in finding me very 
 much disquieted. Pray, which way would you see into my 
 heart 1 You can frame no guesses about it from either my 
 speaking or writing ; and supposing I should attempt to show 
 it you, I know no other way. 
 
 I begin to be tired of my humility : I have carried my 
 complaisances to you farther than I ought. You make new 
 scruples : you have a great deal of fancy ; and your distrusts 
 being all of your own making, are more immovable than if 
 there were some real ground for them. Our aunts and grand- 
 mothers always tell us that men are a sort of animals ; that 
 if ever they are constant, 'tis only where they are ill used. 
 'T was a kind of paradox I could never believe : experience 
 has taught me the truth of it. You are the first I ever had a 
 correspondence with, and I thank God I have done with it, for 
 all my life. You needed not to have told me you are not 
 what you have been : one must be stupid not to find a differ- 
 ence in your letters. You seem, in one part of your last, to 
 
EDWARD WORTUY MONTAGU. 29 
 
 excuse yourself from having done me any injury in point of 
 fortune. Do I accuse you of any ? 
 
 I have not spirits to dispute any longer with you. You say 
 you are not yet determined : let me determine for you, and 
 save you the trouble of writing again. Adieu forever : make 
 no answer. I wish, among the variety of acquaintance, you 
 may find some one to please you ; and can't help the vanitv 
 of thinking, should you try them all, you won't find one that 
 will be so sincere in their treatment, though a thousand more 
 deserving, and every one happier. 'Tis a piece of vanity and 
 injustice I never forgive in a woman, to delight to give pain ; 
 what must I think of a man that takes pleasure in making me 
 uneasy ? After the folly of letting you know it is in your 
 power, I ought in prudence to let this go no further, except I 
 thought you had good-nature enough never to make use of 
 that power. I have no reason to think so : however, I am 
 willing, you see, to do you the highest obligation 'tis possible 
 for me to do : — that is, to give you a fair occasion of being 
 rid of me. 
 
 LETTER Vm. 
 
 29 March. 
 
 Though your letter is far from what I expected, having 
 once promised to answer it, with the sincere account of my 
 inmost thoughts, I am resolved you shall not find me worse 
 than my word, which is, whatever you may think, inviolable. 
 
 'Tis not affectation to say that I despise the pleasure of 
 pleasing people whom I despise ; all the fine equipages that 
 shine in the ring never gave me another thought than either 
 pity or contempt for the owners that could place happiness in 
 attracting the eyes of strangers. Nothing touches me with 
 satisfaction but what touches my heart ; and I should find 
 more pleasure in the secret joy I should feel at a kind ex- 
 pression from a friend I esteemed, than at the admiration of a 
 
30 LETTERS TO 
 
 whole play-house, or the envy of those of my own sex, who 
 could not attain to the same number of jewels, fine clothes, 
 etc., supposing I was at the very summit of this sort of hap- 
 piness. 
 
 You may be this friend if you please : did you really es- 
 teem me, had you any tender regard for me, I could, I think, 
 pass my life in any station, happier with you, than in all the 
 grandeur of the world with any other. You have some hu- 
 mors, that would be disagreeable to any woman that married 
 with an intention of finding her happiness abroad. That is 
 not my resolution. If I marry, I propose to myself a retire- 
 ment ; there is few of my acquaintance I should ever wish to 
 see again ; and the pleasing one, and only one, is the way in 
 which I design to please myself. Happiness is the natural 
 design of all the world ; and every thing we see done, is 
 meant in order to attain it. My imagination places it in 
 friendship. By friendship, I mean an entire communication 
 of thoughts, wishes, interests, and pleasures, being undivided ; 
 a mutual esteem, which naturally carries with it a pleasing 
 sweetness of conversation, and terminates in the desire of 
 making one or another happy, without being forced to run 
 into visits, noise, and hurry, which serve rather to trouble, 
 than compose the thoughts of any reasonable creature. 
 There are few capable of a friendship such as I have de- 
 scribed, and 'tis necessary for the generality of the world to 
 be taken up with trifles. Carry a fine lady or a fine gentle 
 man out of town, and they know no more what to say. To 
 take from them plays, operas, and fashions, is taking away 
 all their topics of discourse ; and they know not how to form 
 their thoughts on any other subjects. They know very well 
 what it is to be admired, but are perfectly ignorant of what it 
 is to be loved. I take you to have sense enough not to think 
 this science romantic ; I rather choose to use the word friend- 
 chip, than love ; because, in the general sense that word is 
 spoke, it signifies a passion rather founded on fancy than 
 reason ; and when I say friendship, I mean a mixture of 
 
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 31 
 
 friendship and esteem, and which a long acquaintance in- 
 creases, not decays. How far I deserve such a friendship, I 
 can be no judge of myself: I may want the good sense that 
 is necessary to be agreeable to a man of merit, but I know I 
 want the vanity to believe I have ; and can promise you 
 shall never like me less, upon knowing me better ; and that I 
 shall never forget that you have a better understanding than 
 myself. 
 
 And now let me entreat you to think, if possible, tolerably 
 of my modesty, after so bold a declaration : I am resolved to 
 throw off reserve, and use me ill if you please. I am sensible, 
 to own my inclination for a man, is putting one's self wholly 
 in his power : but sure you have generosity enough not to 
 abuse it. After all I have said, I pretend no tie but on your 
 heart : if you do not love me, I shall not be happy with you ; 
 if you do, I need add no further. I am not mercenary, and 
 would not receive an obligation that comes not from one who 
 loves me. 
 
 I do not desire my letter back again : you have honor, and 
 I dare trust you. 
 
 I am going to the same place I went last spring. I shall 
 think of you there : it depends upon you in what manner. 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 I am going to write you a plain long letter. What I have 
 already told you is nothing but the truth. I have no reason 
 to believe that I am going to be otherwise confined than by 
 my duty ; but I, that know my own mind, know that is 
 enough to make me miserable. I see all the misfortune of 
 marrying where it is' impossible to love ; I am going to con- 
 fess a weakness may perhaps add to your contempt of me. I 
 wanted courage to resist at first the will of my relations ; but, 
 as every day added to my fears, those, at last, grew strong 
 
32 LETTERS TO 
 
 enougn to make me venture the disobliging them. A harsh 
 word always damps my spirits to a degree of silencing all I 
 have to say. I knew the folly of my own temper, and took 
 the method of writing to the disposer of me. I said every 
 thing in this letter I thought proper to move him, and prof- 
 fered, in atonement for not marrying whom he would, never 
 to marry at all. He did not think fit to answer this letter, 
 but sent for me to him. He told me he was very much sur- 
 prised that I did not depend on his judgment for my future 
 happiness ; that he knew nothing I had to complain of, etc. ; 
 that he did not doubt I had some other fancy in my head, 
 which encouraged me to this disobedience ; but he assured 
 me, if I refused a settlement he had provided for me, he gave 
 me his word, whatever proposals were made him, he would 
 never so much as enter into a treaty with any other ; that, if 
 I founded any hopes upon his death, I should find myself mis- 
 taken — he never intended to leave me any thing but an an- 
 nuity of £400 per annum ; that, though another would pro- 
 ceed in this manner after I had given so just a pretense for it, 
 yet he had the goodness to leave my destiny yet in my own 
 choice, and at the same time commanded me to communicate 
 my design to my relations, and ask their advice. As hard as 
 this may sound, it did not shock my resolution : I was 
 pleased to think, at any price, I had it in my power to be 
 free from a man I hated. I told my intention to all my 
 nearest relations. I was surprised at their blaming it, to the 
 greatest degree. I was told they were sorry I would ruin my- 
 self ; but, if I was so unreasonable, they could not blame my 
 father, whatever he inflicted on me. I objected, I did not 
 love him. They made answer, they found no necessity for 
 loving : if I lived well with him, that was all was required 
 of me ; and that if I considered this town, I should find very 
 few women in love -with their husbands, and yet a many 
 happy. It was in vain to dispute with such prudent people ; 
 they looked upon me as a little romantic, and I found it im- 
 possible to persuade them that living in London at liberty 
 
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 33 
 
 was not the height of happiness. However, they could not 
 change my thoughts, though I found I was to expect no pro- 
 tection from them. When I was to give my final answer to 
 
 , I told him that I preferred a single life to any other ; 
 
 and, if he pleased to permit me, I would take that resolution. 
 He replied, that he could not hinder my resolutions, but X 
 should not pretend after that to please him ; since pleasing 
 him was only to be done by obedience ; that if I would diso- 
 bey, I knew the consequences ; he would not fail to confine 
 me, where I might repent at leisure ; that he had also con- 
 sulted my relations, and found them all agreeing in his senti- 
 ments. He spoke this in a manner hindered my answering. 
 I retired to my chamber, where I writ a letter to let him know 
 my aversion to the man proposed was too great to be over- 
 come, that I should be miserable beyond all things could be 
 imagined, but I was in his hands, and he might dispose of me 
 as he thought fit. He was perfectly satisfied with this answer, 
 and proceeded as if I had given a willing consent. — I forgot 
 to tell you, he named you, and said, if I thought that way, I 
 was very much mistaken ; that if he had no other engage- 
 ments, yet he would never have agreed to your proposals, 
 having no inclination to see his grandchildren beggars. 
 
 I do not speak this to alter your opinion, but to show the 
 improbability of his agreeing to it. I confess I am entirely 
 of your mind. I reckon it among the absurdities of custom, 
 that a man must be obliged to settle his estate on an eldest 
 son, beyond his power to recall, whatever he proves to be, and 
 make himself unable to make happy a younger child that may 
 deserve to be so. If I had an estate myself, I should not 
 make such ridiculous settlements, and I can not blame you for 
 being in the right. 
 
 1 have told you all my affairs with a plain sincerity. I have 
 avoided to move your compassion, and I have said nothing 
 of what I suffer ; and I have not persuaded you to a treaty, 
 which I am sure my family will never agree to. I can hav9 
 no fortune without an entire obedience. 
 
 a* 
 
34 LETTERS TO 
 
 Whatever your business is, may it end to your satisfaction. 
 I think of the public as you do. As little as that is a woman's 
 care, it may be permitted into the number of a woman's 
 fears. But, wretched as I am, I have no more to fear for my- 
 self. I have still a concern for my friends — I am in pain for 
 your danger. I am far from taking ill what you say — I 
 never valued myself as the daughter of ; and ever de- 
 spised those that esteemed me on that account. With pleas- 
 ure I could barter all that, and change to be any country 
 gentleman's daughter that would have reason enough to make 
 happiness in privacy. I beg your pardon. You may see by 
 the situation of my affairs 'tis without design. 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 Thursday night. 
 If I am always to be as well pleased as I am with this letter, 
 I enter upon a state of perfect happiness in complying with 
 you. I am sorry I can not do it entirely as to Friday or Sat- 
 urday. I will tell you the true reason of it. I have a rela- 
 tion that has ever showed an uncommon partiality for me. I 
 have generally trusted him with all my thoughts, and I have 
 always found him sincerely my friend. On the occasion of 
 this marriage, he received my complaints with the greatest 
 degree of tenderness. He proffered me to disoblige my 
 father (by representing to him the hardship he was doing) 
 if I thought it would be of any service to me ; and, when he 
 heard me in some passion of grief assure him it could do me 
 no good, he went yet further, and tenderly asked me if there 
 was any other man, though of a smaller fortune, I could be 
 happy with ; and, how much soever it should be against the 
 will of my other relations, assured me he would assist me in 
 making me happy after my own way. This is an obligation I 
 can never forget, and I think I should have cause to reproach 
 myself if I did this without letting him know it, and I believe 
 
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. So 
 
 he will approve of it. You guess whom I mean. — The gen- 
 erosity and the goodness of this letter wholly determines my 
 softest inclinations on your side. You are in the wrong to 
 suspect me of artifice ; plainly showing me the kindness of 
 your heart (if you have any there for me) is the surest way to 
 touch mine. I am at this minute more inclined to speak ten- 
 derly to you than ever I was in my life — so much inclined, I 
 will say nothing. I could wish you would leave England, but 
 I know not how to object to any thing that pleases you. In 
 this minute I have no will that does not agree with yours. Sun- 
 day I shall see you, if you do not hear from me Saturday. 
 
 LETTER XI. 
 
 Friday night. 
 
 I tremble for what we are doing. — Are you sure you shall 
 
 love me forever % Shall we never repent ? I fear and I hope. 
 
 I foresee all that will happen on this occasion. I shall incense 
 
 my family in the highest degree. The generality of the world 
 
 will blame my conduct, and the relations and friends of 
 
 will inv3nt a thousand stories of me ; yet, 'tis possible you 
 may recompense every thing to me. In this letter, which I 
 am fond of, you promise me all that I wish. Since I writ so 
 far, I received your Friday letter. I will be only yours, and 
 I will do what you please. 
 
 LETTER XII.* 
 
 Walling Wells, Oct. 22, 1U2. 
 I don't know very well how to begin ; I am perfectly un 
 acquainted with a proper matrimonial style. After all, 1 
 
 * The following letters, written during the first four years of Lady 
 Mary's married life, are deeply interesting from the insight they give 
 ns of her character as a wife and mother. Her warm, unselfish feel- 
 
36 LETTERS TO 
 
 think 'tis best to write as if we were not married at all. I 
 lament your absence as if you were still my lover, and I am 
 impatient to bear you bave got safe to Durbam, and that you 
 have fixed a time for your return. 
 
 I bave not been very long in this family ; and I fancy my- 
 self in tbat described in tbe Spectator. Tbe good people here 
 look upon their children with a fondness that more than rec- 
 ompenses their care of them. I don't perceive much distinc- 
 tion in regard to their merits ; and when they speak sense or 
 nonsense, it affects the parents with almost the same pleasure. 
 My friendship for the mother, and kindness for Miss Biddy, 
 make me endure the squalling of Miss Nanny and Miss Mary 
 with abundance of patience ; and my foretelling the future 
 conquests of the eldest daughter, makes me very well with the 
 family. I don't know whether you will presently find out, 
 that tbis seeming impertinent account is the tenderest ex- 
 pressions of my love to you : but it furnishes my imagination 
 with agreeable pictures of our future life ; and I flatter my- 
 self with the hopes of one day enjoying with you the same 
 satisfactions ; and that, after as many years together, I may 
 see you retain the same fondness for me as I shall certainly do 
 for you, when the noise of a nursery may have more charms 
 -for us than the music of an opera. 
 
 Amusements such as these are the sure effect of my sin- 
 cere love, since 'tis the nature of the passion to entertain the 
 mind with pleasures in prospect, and I check myself when 1 
 grieve for your absence, by remembering how much reason I 
 have to rejoice in the hope of passing my whole life with you. 
 A good fortune not to be valued ! I am afraid of telling you 
 that I return thanks for it to Heaven, because you will charge 
 me with hypocrisy ; but you are mistaken ; I assist every day 
 at public prayers in this family, and never forget in my private 
 ejaculations how much I owe to Heaven for making me yours. 
 
 ings contrast most strikingly with her husband's cold manners and 
 neglectful habits toward her. The revealings are painful, but justice 
 to her memory forbids tnem to be suppressed. 
 
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 37 
 
 'Tis candle-light, or I should not conclude so soon. Pray, 
 my love, begin at the top, and read till you come to the bot- 
 tom. 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 Your short letter came to me this morning ; but I won't 
 quarrel with it, since it brought me good news of your health. 
 I wait with impatience for that of your return. The Bishop 
 of Salisbury writes me word that my Lord Pierrepont* de- 
 clares very much for us. As the bishop is no infallible 
 prelate, I should not depend much on that intelligence ; but 
 my sister Frances tells me the same thing. Since it is so, I 
 believe you '11 think it very proper to pay him a visit, if he is 
 in town, and give him thanks for the good offices you hear 
 he has endeavored to do me, unasked. If his kindness is sin- 
 cere, 'tis too valuable to be neglected. However, the very 
 appearance of it must be of use to us. I think I ought to 
 write him a letter of acknowledgment for what I hear he has 
 already done. The bishop tells me he has seen Lord Halifax, 
 who says, besides his great esteem for you, he has particular 
 respect for me, and will take pains to reconcile my father, etc. 
 I think this is nearly the words of my letter, which contains 
 all the news I know, except that of your place ; which is, 
 that an unfortunate burgess of the town of Huntingdon was 
 justly disgraced yesterday in the face of the congregation, for 
 being false to his first lover, who, with an audible voice, forbid 
 the banns published between him and a greater fortune. This 
 accident causes as many disputes here as the duel could do 
 where you are. Public actions, you know, always make two 
 parties. The great prudes say the young woman should have 
 suffered in silence ; and the pretenders to spirit and fire 
 would have all false men so served, and hope it will be an ex- 
 
 * Gervase Pierrepont, created Baron Pierrepont of Hanslope, 1*714, 
 great-uncle of Lady Mary "Wortly Montague, being, at that time, an 
 Irish baron. 
 
38 LETTERSTO 
 
 ample for the terror of infidelity throughout the whole coun- 
 try. For my part, I never rejoiced at any thing more in my 
 life. You '11 wonder what private interest I could have in this 
 affair. You must know it furnished discourse all the after- 
 noon, which was no little service, when I was visited by the 
 young ladies of Huntingdon. This long letter, I know, must 
 be particularly impertinent to a man of business ; but idleness 
 is the root of all evil ; I write and read till I can't see, and 
 then I walk ; sleep succeeds ; and thus my whole time is 
 divided. If I were as well qualified all other ways as I am by 
 idleness, I would publish a daily paper called the Meditator. 
 The terrace is my place consecrated to meditation, which I 
 observe to be gay or grave as the sun shows or hides his face. 
 Till to-day I have had no occasion of opening my mouth to 
 speak, since I wished you a good journey. I see nothing, but 
 I think of every thing, and indulge my imagination, which is 
 chiefly employed on you. 
 
 LETTER X1Y. 
 
 December 9, 1712. 
 I am not at all surprised at my Aunt Cheyne's conduct : 
 people are seldom very much grieved (and never ought to be) 
 at misfortunes they expect. When I gave myself to you, I 
 gave up the very desire of pleasing the rest of the world, and 
 am pretty indifferent about it. I think you are very much in 
 the right for designing to visit Lord Pierrepont. As much as 
 you say I love the town, if you think it necessary for your 
 interest to stay some time here, I would not advise you to 
 neglect a certainty for an uncertainty ; but I believe, if you 
 pass the Christmas here, great matters will be expected from 
 your hospitality: however, you are a better judge of that 
 than I am. I continue indifferently well, and endeavor as 
 much as I can to preserve myself from spleen and melancholy ; 
 not for my own sake ; T think that of little importance * but 
 
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 39 
 
 in the condition I am, I believe it may be of very ill conse- 
 quence ; yet, passing whole days alone as I do, I do not al- 
 ways find it possible : and my constitution will sometimes get 
 the better of my reason. Human nature itself, without any 
 additional misfortunes, furnishes disagreeable meditations 
 enough. Life itself, to make it supportable, should not be 
 considered too nearly : my reason represents to me in vain 
 the inutility of serious reflections. The idle mind will some- 
 times fall into contemplations that serve for nothing but to 
 ruin the health, destroy good-humor, hasten old age and 
 wrinkles, and bring on an habitual melancholy. 'Tis a maxim 
 with me to be young as long as one can : there is nothing- 
 can pay one for that invaluable ignorance which is the com- 
 panion of youth : those sanguine groundless hopes, and that 
 lively vanity, which make all the happiness of life. To my 
 extreme mortification, I grow wiser every day. — I don't be- 
 lieve Solomon was more convinced of the vanity of temporal 
 affairs than I am : I lose all taste of this world, and I suffer 
 myself to be bewitched by the charms of the spleen, though I 
 know and foresee all the irremediable mischiefs arising from 
 it. I am insensibly fallen into the writing you a melancholy 
 letter, after all my resolutions to the contrary ; but I do not 
 enjoin you to read it : make no scruple of flinging it into the 
 fire, at the first dull line. Forgive the ill effects of my soli- 
 tude, and think me, as I am, ever yours. 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 No date. 
 
 I don't believe you expect to hear from me so soon ; I re- 
 member you did not so much as desire it, but I will not be so 
 nice to quarrel with you on that point ; perhaps you would 
 laugh at that delicacy, which is, however, an attendant upon 
 tender friendship. 
 
 1 opened a closet where I expected to find so many books : 
 
4:0 LETTERS TO 
 
 to my great disappointment, there were only some few piecea 
 of the law, and folios of mathematics ; my Lord Hinching- 
 brook and Mr. Twin am having disposed of the rest. But as 
 there is no affliction, no more than no happiness, without alloy, 
 I discovered an old trunk of papers, which, to my great diver- 
 sion, I found to be the letters of the first Earl of Sandwich ; 
 >' and am in hopes that those from his lady will tend much to 
 I my edification, being the most extraordinary lessons of econo- 
 my that ever I read in my life. To the glory of your father, 
 I find that his looked upon him as destined to be the honor 
 of the family. 
 
 I walked yesterday two hours on the terrace. These are 
 the most considerable events that have happened in your ab- 
 sence ; excepting, that a good-natured robin red-breast kept 
 me company almost the whole afternoon, with so much good- 
 humor and humanity, as gives me faith for the piece of 
 charity ascribed to these little creatures in the " Children in the 
 "Wood," which I have hitherto thought only a poetical orna- 
 ment of history. 
 
 I expect a letter next post to tell me you are well in London, 
 and that your business will not detain you long from her who 
 can not be happy without you. 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 
 No date. 
 
 I am alone, without any amusement to take up my thoughts 
 I am in circumstances in which melancholy is apt to prevai 
 even over all amusements, dispirited and alone, and you write 
 me quarreling letters. 
 
 I hate complaining : 'tis no sign I am easy that I do not 
 trouble you with my headaches and my spleen ; to be reason- 
 able, one should never complain but when one hopes redress. 
 A physician should be the only confidant of bodily pains ; 
 and for pains of the mind, they should never be spoke of but 
 
EDWARD WORTLET MONTAGU. 41 
 
 to them that can and will relieve them. Should I tell you 
 that I am uneasy, that I am out of humor, and out of pa- 
 tience, should I see you half an hour the sooner ? I believe 
 you have kindness enough for me to be very sorry, and so 
 you would tell me ; and things remain in their primitive 
 state ; I choose to spare you that pain ; I would always give 
 you pleasure. I know you are ready to tell me that I do not 
 ever keep to these good maxims. I confess I often speak im- 
 pertinently, but I always repent of it. My last stupid letter 
 was not come to you before I would have had it back again, 
 had it been in my power : such as it was, I beg your pardon 
 for it. I did not expect that my Lord Pierrepont would 
 speak at all in our favor, much less show zeal upon that occa- 
 sion, that never showed any in his life. I have writ every 
 post, and you accuse me without reason. I can't imagine 
 how they should miscarry ; perhaps you have by this time 
 received two together. Adieu ! je suis a vous de tout mon 
 <'03ur. 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 
 No date. 
 I was not well when I wrote to you last. Possibly the dis- 
 order in my health might increase the uneasiness of my mind. 
 I am sure the uneasiness of my mind increases the disorder of 
 my health ; for I passed the night without sleeping, and found 
 myself the next morning in a fever. I have not since left my 
 chamber. I have been very ill, and kept my bed four days, 
 which was the reason of my silence, but I am afraid you have 
 attributed it to being out of humor ; but was so far from 
 being in a condition of writing, I could hardly speak ; my 
 face being prodigiously swelled, that I was forced to have it 
 lanced, to prevent its breaking, which they said would have 
 been of worse consequence. I would not order Grace to 
 write to you, for fear you should think me worse than I was ; 
 
4-2 LETTERS TO 
 
 though I don't believe the fright would have been considerable 
 enough to have done you much harm. I am now much 
 better, and intend to take the air in the coach to-day ; for 
 keeping to my chair so much as I do, will hardly recover my 
 strength. 
 
 I wish you would write again to Mr. Phipps, for I don't hear 
 of any money, and am in the utmost necessity for it. 
 
 LETTER XVIH. 
 
 No date. 
 I am at present in so much uneasiness my letter is not likely 
 to be intelligible, if it at all resembles the confusion of my 
 head. I sometimes imagine you not well, and sometimes that 
 you think it of small importance to write, or that greater mat- 
 ters have taken up your thoughts. This last imagination is 
 too cruel for me. I will rather fancy your letter has miscar- 
 ried, though T find little probability to think so. I know not 
 what to think, and am near being distracted, among my va- 
 riety of dismal apprehensions. I am very ill company to the 
 good people of the house, who all bid me make you their 
 compliments. Mr. White begins your health twice every day. 
 You don't deserve all this, if you can be so entirely forgetful 
 of all this part of the world. I am peevish with you by fits, 
 and divide my time between anger and sorrow, which are 
 equally troublesome to me. 'Tis the most cruel thing in the 
 world to think one has reason to complain of what one loves. 
 How can you be so careless ? — is it because you don't love 
 writing ? You should remember I want to know you are safe 
 at Durham. I shall imagine you have had some fall from 
 your horse, or ill accident by the way, without regard to prob- 
 ability ; there is nothing too extravagant for a woman's and a 
 lover's fear. Did you receive my last letter ? If you did 
 not, the direction is wrong, you won't receive this, and my 
 question is in vain. I find I begin to talk nonsense ; and 'tia 
 
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 43 
 
 time to leave off. Pray, my dear, write to me, or I shall 
 be very mad. 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 No date. 
 
 I am at this minute told I have an opportunity of writing 
 a short letter to you, which will be all reproaches. You know 
 where I am, and I have not once heard from you. I am tired 
 of this place because I do not ; and if you persist in your 
 silence, I will return to Wkarncliffe. I had rather be quite alone 
 and hear sometimes from you, than in any company and not 
 have that satisfaction. Your silence makes me more melan- 
 choly than any solitude, and I can think on nothing so 
 dismal as that you forget me. I heard from your little boy 
 yesterday, who is in good health. I will return and keep 
 him company. 
 
 The good people of this family present you their services 
 and good wishes, never failing to drink your health twice a 
 day. I am importuned to make haste ; but I have much 
 more to say, which may, however, be comprehended in these 
 words — I am yours. 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 
 No date. 
 I should have writ to you last post, but I slept till it was 
 too late to send my letter. I found our poor boy not so 
 well as I expected. He is very lively, but so weak that my 
 heart aches about him very often. I hope you are well : I 
 should be glad to hear so, and what success you have in your 
 business. I suppose my sister is married by this time. I 
 hope you intend to stay some da}s at Lord Pierrepont's ; I 
 am sure he '11 be very much pleased with it. The house is in 
 great disorder, and I want maids so much that I know not- 
 
44 LETTERSTO 
 
 what to do till I have some. I have not one bit of paper m 
 the house, but this little sheet, or you would have been 
 troubled with a longer scribble. I have not yet had any 
 visitors. Mrs. Elcock has writ me word that she has not 
 J found any cook. My first inquiries shall be after a country- 
 house, never forgetting any of my promises to you. I am 
 concerned I have not heard from you ; you might have writ 
 while I was on the road, and your letter would have met me 
 here. I am in abundance of pain about our dear child : 
 though I am convinced, in my reason, 'tis both silly and wicked 
 to set my heart too fondly on any thing in this world, yet I 
 can not overcome myself so far as to think of parting with 
 him, with the resignation that I ought to do. I hope and I 
 beg of God he may live to be a comfort to us both. They 
 tell me there is nothing extraordinary in want of teeth at his 
 age, but his weakness makes me very apprehensive ; he is 
 almost never out of my sight. Mrs. Behn says that the cold 
 bath is the best medicine for weak children, but I am very 
 fearful, and unwilling to try any hazardous remedies. He is 
 very cheerful, and full of play. Adieu, my love ; my paper 
 is out. 
 
 LETTER XXI. 
 
 [Dated, by Mr. Wortley, 24th November.] 
 I have taken up and laid down my pen several times, very 
 much unresolved in what style I ought to write to you : for 
 once I suffer my inclination to get the better ©f my reason. I 
 have not often opportunities of indulging mysell, and I will do 
 it in this one letter. I know very well that nobody was ever 
 teased into a liking ; and 'tis perhaps harder to revive a past 
 one, than to overcome an aversion, but I can not forbear any 
 longer telling you I think you use me very unkindly. T don't 
 say so much of your absence, as I should do, if you were in the 
 country and I in London ; because I would not have vou be- 
 
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 45 
 
 lieve that I am impatient to be in town, when I say I am im- 
 patient to be with you ; but I am very sensible I parted with 
 you in July, and 'tis now the middle of November. As if 
 this was not hardship enough, you do not tell me you are 
 sorry for it. You write seldom, and with so much indiffer- 
 ence as shows you hardly think of me at all. I complain of 
 ill health, and you only say you hope 'tis not so bad as I make 
 it. You never inquire after your child. I would fain flatter 
 myself you have more kindness for me and him than you ex- 
 press ; but I reflect with grief that a man that is ashamed of 
 passions that are natural and reasonable, is generally proud of 
 those that are shameful and silly. 
 
 You should consider solitude, and spleen, the consequence 
 of solitude, is apt to give the most melancholy ideas, and there 
 needs at least tender letters and kind expressions to hinder 
 uneasinesses almost inseparable from absence. I am very sens- 
 ible how far I ought to be contented when your affairs oblige 
 you to be without me. I would not have you do yourself any 
 prejudice ; but a little kindness will cost you nothing. I do 
 not bid you lose any thing by hasting to see me, but I would 
 have you think it a misfortune when we are asunder. Instead 
 of that, you seem perfectly pleased with our separation, and 
 indifferent how long it continues. When I reflect on your 
 behavior, I am ashamed of my own, and think I am playing 
 the part of my Lady "Winchester. At least be as generous as 
 my lord ; and as he made her an early confession of his aver- 
 sion, own to me your inconstancy, and upon my word I will 
 give you no more trouble about it. I have concealed as long 
 as I can the uneasiness the nothingness of your letters have 
 given me, under an affected indifference ; but dissimulation 
 always sits awkwardly upon me ; I am weary of it ; and must 
 beg you to write to me no more, if you can not bring yourseh 
 to write otherwise. Multiplicity of business or diversions may 
 have engaged you, but all people find time to do what they 
 have a mind to. If your inclination is gone, I had rather 
 never receive a letter from you, than one which, in lieu of 
 
46 LETTERS TO 
 
 comfort for your absence, gives me a pain even beyond it 
 For my part, as 'tis my first, this is my last complaint, and 
 your next of the kind shall go back inclosed to you in 
 blank paper. 
 
 LETTER XXII. 
 
 No date. 
 
 * * * * I thank God this cold well agrees very much 
 with the child ; and he seems stronger and better every day. 
 But I should be very glad, if you saw Dr. Garth, if you would 
 ask his opinion concerning the use of cold baths for young 
 children. I hope you love the child as well as I do ; but if 
 you love me at all, you '11 desire the preservation of his 
 health, for I should certainly break my heart for him. 
 
 I writ in my last all I thought necessary about my Lord 
 Pierrepont. 
 
 LETTER XXIH. 
 
 11 14. 
 
 I can not forbear taking it something unkindly that you do 
 not write to me, when you may be assured I am in a great 
 fright, and know not certainly what to expect upon this sud- 
 den change. The Archbishop of York has been come to 
 Bishopthorp but three days. I went with my cousin to-day 
 to see the king proclaimed, which was done ; the archbishop 
 walking next the lord-mayor, and all the country gentry fol- 
 lowing, with greater crowds of people than I believed to be in 
 York, vast acclamations, and the appearance of general satis- 
 faction. The Pretender afterward dragged about the streets 
 and burned. Ringing of bells, bonfires, and illuminations ; 
 the mob crying " Liberty and property !" and " Long live King 
 George !" This morning all the principal men of any figure 
 took post for London, and we are alarmed with the fear of at 
 
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 4-7 
 
 tempts from Scotland, though all the Protestants here seem 
 unanimous for the Hanover succession. The poor young 
 ladies at Castle Howard* are as much alarmed as I am, being 
 'eft all alone, without any hopes of seeing their father again 
 (though things should prove well) this eight or nine months. 
 They have sent to desire me very earnestly to come to them, 
 and bring my boy : 'tis the same thing as pensioning in a 
 nunnery, for no mortal man ever enters the doors in the ab- 
 sence of their father, who is gone post. During this uncer 
 tainty, I think it will be a safe retreat ; for Middlethorp 
 stands exposed to plunderers, if there be any at all. I dare 
 say, after the zeal the archbishop has showed, they '11 visit his 
 house, and consequently this, in the first place. The arch- 
 bishop made me many compliments on our near neighbor- 
 hood, and said he should be overjoyed at the happiness of 
 improving his acquaintance with you. I suppose you may 
 now come in at Aldburgh, and I heartily wish you were in 
 Parliament. I saw the ai chbishop's list of the lords regents 
 appointed, and I perceive Lord W*** is not one of them ; by 
 which I guess the new scheme is not to make use of any man 
 grossly infamous in either party ; consequently, those that have 
 been honest in regard to both will stand fairest for prefer- 
 ment. You understand these things much better than me ; 
 but I hope you will be persuaded by me and your other 
 friends (who, I don't doubt, will be of my opinion) that 'tis 
 necessary for the common good for an honest man to en- 
 deavor to be powerful, when he can be the one without losing 
 the first more valuable title ; and remember that money is the 
 source of power. I hear that Parliament sits but six months : 
 you know best whether 'tis worth any expense or bustle to be 
 m it for so short a time. 
 
 * The daughters of the Earl of Carlisle. 
 
48 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XXIV. 
 
 No date. 
 You made me cry two hours last night. I can not imagine 
 why you use me so ill ; for what reason you continue silent, 
 when you know at any time your silence can not fail of giving 
 me a great deal of pain ; and now to a higher degree because 
 of the perplexity that I am in, without knowing where you are, 
 what you are doing, or what to do with myself and my dear 
 little boy. However (persuaded there can be no objection to 
 it), I intend to go to-morrow to Castle Howard, and remain 
 there with the young ladies, till I know when I shall see you, 
 or what you would command. The archbishop and every body 
 else are gone to London. We are alarmed with a story of a 
 fleet being seen from the coasts of Scotland. An express 
 went from thence through York to the Earl of Mar. I beg 
 you would write to me. Till you do, I shall not have an 
 easy minute. I am sure I do not deserve from you that you 
 should make me uneasy. I find I am scolding — 'tis better for 
 me not to trouble you with it ; but I can not help taking your 
 silence very unkindly. 
 
 LETTER XXV. 
 
 1714 
 
 Though I am very impatient to see you, I would not have 
 you, by hastening to come down, lose any part of your inter- 
 est. I am surprised you say nothing of where you stand. I 
 had a letter from Mrs. He wet last post, who said she heard 
 you stood at Newark, and would be chose without opposition ; 
 but I fear her intelligence is not at all to be depended on. I 
 am glad you think of serving your friends ; I hope it will put 
 you in mind of serving yourself. I need not enlarge upon the 
 advantages of money ; every thing we see and every thing we 
 hear, puts us in remembrance of it. If it were possible to 
 
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 49 
 
 restore liberty to your country, or limit the encroachments of 
 the prerogative, by reducing yourself to a garret, I should be 
 pleased to share so glorious a poverty with you ; but, as the 
 world is and will be, 'tis a sort of duty to be rich, that it may 
 be in one's power to do good ; riches being another word for 
 power, toward the obtaining of which the first necessary 
 qualification is impudence, and (as Demosthenes said of pro- 
 nunciation in oratory) the second is impudence, and the third, 
 still impudence. No modest man ever did or ever will make 
 his fortune. Your friend Lord Halifax, R. Walpole, and all 
 other remarkable instances of quick advancement, have been 
 remarkably impudent. The" ministry is like a play at court : 
 there 's a little door to get in, and a great crowd without, 
 shoving and trusting who shall be foremost ; people who 
 knock others with their elbows, disregard a little kick of the 
 shins, and still thrust heartily forward, are sure of a good 
 place. Your modest man stands behind in the crowd, is 
 shoved about by every body, his clothes torn, almost squeezed 
 to death, and sees a thousand get in before him, that don't 
 make so good a figure as himself. 
 
 I don't say it is impossible for an impudent man not to rise 
 in the world ; but a moderate merit, with a large share of im- 
 pudence, is more probable to be advanced, than the greatest 
 qualifications without it. 
 
 If this letter is impertinent, it is founded upon an opinion 
 of your merit, which, if it is a mistake, I would not be unde- 
 ceived ; it is my interest to believe (as I do) that you deserve 
 every thing, and are capable of every thing ; but nobody else 
 will believe it, if they see you get nothing. 
 
 LETTER XXVI. 
 
 IT 14. 
 ?ou do me wrong in imagining, as I perceive you do, that 
 my reasons for being solicitous for your having that place. 
 
 3 
 
50 LETTERS TO 
 
 was in view of spending more money than we do. You have 
 no cause of fancying me capable of such a thought. I don't 
 doubt but Lord Halifax will very soon have the staff, and it is 
 my belief you will not be at all the richer : but I think it 
 looks well, and may facilitate your election ; and that is all 
 the advantage I hope from it. When all your intimate ac- 
 quaintance are preferred, I think you would have an ill air in 
 having nothing : upon that account only, I am sorry so many 
 considerable places are disposed of. I suppose, now, you will 
 certainly be chosen somewhere or other ; and I can not see 
 why you should not pretend to be Speaker. I believe all the 
 Whigs would be for you, and I fancy you have a considerable 
 interest among the Tories, and for that reason would be very 
 likely to carry it. 'Tis impossible for me to judge of this so 
 well as you can do ; but the reputation of being thoroughly 
 of no party is, I think, of use in this affair, and I believe people 
 generally esteem you impartial ; and being chose by your coun 
 try is more honorable than holding any place from any king. 
 
 LETTER XXVII. 
 
 No date. 
 
 I hope the child is better than he was, but I wish you 
 would let Dr. Garth know he has a bigness in his joints, but 
 not much ; his ankles seem chiefly to have a weakness. I 
 should be very glad of his advice upon it, and whether he 
 approves rubbing them with spirits, which I am told is good 
 for him. 
 
 I hope you are convinced I was not mistaken in my judg- 
 ment of Lord Pelham ; he is very silly, but very good-natured. 
 I don't see how it can be improper for you to get it represent- 
 ed to him that he is obliged in honor to get you chose at Ald- 
 burgh, and may more easily get Mr. Jessop chose at another 
 place. I can't believe but you may manage it in such a man- 
 ner ; Mr. Jessop himself would not be against it, nor would he 
 
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 51 
 
 have so much, reason to take it ill, if he should not be chose, 
 as you have after so much money fruitlessly spent. I dare 
 say you may order it so that it may be so, if you talk to Lord 
 Townshend, etc. I mention this, because I can not think you 
 can stand at York, or any where else, without a great ex- 
 pense. Lord Morpeth is just now of age, but I know not 
 whether he '11 think it worth while to return from travel upon 
 that occasion. Lord Carlisle is in town ; you may, if you 
 think fit, make him a visit, and inquire concerning it. After 
 all, I look upon Aldburgh to be the surest thing. Lord 
 Pelham* is easily persuaded to any thing, and I am sure he 
 may be told by Lord Townshend that he has used you ill ; 
 and I know that he '11 be desirous to do all things in his power 
 to make it up. In my opinion, if you resolve upon an extra- 
 ordinary expense to be in Parliament, you should resolve to 
 have it turn to some account. Your father is very surprising 
 if he persists in standing at Huntingdon; but there is nothing 
 surprising in such a world as this. 
 
 LETTER XXVIII. 
 
 IT 14. 
 Your letter very much vexed me. I can not imagine why 
 you should doubt being the better, for a place of that consid- 
 eration, which it is in your power to lay down, whenever you 
 dislike the measures that are taken. Supposing the com- 
 mission lasts but a short time, I believe those that have acted 
 in it will have the offer of some other considerable thing. I 
 am perhaps the only woman in the world that would dissuade 
 her husband (if he were inclined to it) from accepting the 
 greatest place in England, upon the condition of his giving 
 one vote disagreeing with his principles and the true interest 
 of my country ; but when it is possible to be of service to 
 
 * Lord Pelham was soon after created Duke of Newcastle, and was 
 George the Second's minister 
 
52 LETTERS TO 
 
 j your country by going along with the ministry, I know not 
 ] any reason for declining an honorable post. The world never 
 believes it possible for people to act out of the coinmon tract; 
 and whoever is not employed by the public, may talk what 
 they please of having refused or slighted great offers ; but 
 they are always looked upon either as neglected, or discon- 
 tented because their pretensions have failed ; and whatever 
 efforts they make against the court are thought the effect 
 of spleen and disappointment, or endeavors to get something 
 they have set their heart on, — as now Sir T. H * is rep- 
 resented, and I believe truly, as aiming at beiug secretary. No 
 man can make a better figure than when he enjoys a consid- 
 erable place. Being for the Place Bill, and if he finds the 
 ministry in the wrong, withdrawing from them, when 'tis visi- 
 ble that he might still keep his places, if he had not chose to 
 keep his integrity. I have sent you my thoughts of places in 
 general, I solemnly protest, without any thought of any par- 
 ticular advantage to myself ; and if I were your friend, and 
 not your wife, I should speak in the same manner, which I 
 really do without any consideration but that of your figure 
 and reputation, which are a thousand times dearer to me 
 than splendor, money, etc. I suppose this long letter might 
 have been spared ; for your resolution, I don't doubt, is 
 already taken. 
 
 LETTER XXIX. 
 
 April. 
 
 I am extremely concerned at your illness. I have expected 
 you all this day, and supposed you would be here by this 
 time, if you had set out Saturday afternoon, as you say you 
 intended. I hope you have left Wharncliffe ; but, however, 
 will continue to write till you let me know you have done so. 
 Dr. Clarke has been spoke to, and excused himself from reo- 
 
 * Sir Thomas Hanmer. 
 
EDWARD WOBTLEY MONTAGU. 53 
 
 ommending a chaplain, as not being acquainted with many- 
 orthodox divines. I don't doubt you know the death of Lord 
 Sommers, which will for some time interrupt my commerce 
 with Lady Jekyl. I have heard he is dead without a will ; 
 and I have heard he has made young Mr. Cox his heir : I 
 can not tell which account is the truest. I beg you with ;he 
 greatest earnestness that you would take the first care of your 
 health — there can be nothing worth the least loss of it. I 
 shall be, sincerely, very uneasy 'till I hear from you again ; 
 but I am not without hopes of seeing you to-morrow. Your 
 son presents his duty to you, and improves every day in his 
 conversation, which begins to be very entertaining to me. I 
 
 directed a letter for you last post to Mr. B . I can not 
 
 conclude without once (more) recommending to you, if you 
 have any sort of value for me, to take care of yourself. If 
 there be any thing you would have me do, pray be particular 
 in your directions. You say nothing positive about the 
 liveries. Lord B.'s lace is silk, with very little silver in it, but 
 for twenty liveries comes to £110. Adieu ! Pray take care 
 of your health. 
 
LETTERS TO HER SISTER AND FRIENDS 
 
 DURING THE EMBASSY OF MR. WORTLEY. 
 
 FROM 1716 TO 1718. 
 
 LETTER I * 
 
 Rotterdam, August 3, 0. S., 11 16. 
 
 I flatter myself, dear sister, that I shall give you some 
 pleasure in letting you know that I have safely passed the 
 sea, though we had the ill fortune of a storm. We were per- 
 suaded by the captain of the yacht to set out in a calm, and 
 he pretended there was nothing so easy as to tide it over ; 
 but, after two days slowly moving, the wind blew so hard 
 that none of the sailors could keep their feet, and we were all 
 Sunday night tossed very handsomely. I never saw a man 
 more frighted than the captain. 
 
 For my part, I have been so lucky, neither to suffer from 
 fear nor sea-sickness ; though I confess I was so impatient 
 to see myself once more upon dry land that I would not 
 stay till the yacht could get to Rotterdam, but went in the 
 long-boat to Helvoetsluys, where we had voitures to carry us 
 to the Brill. 
 
 * Lady Frances Pierrepont, second daughter of Evelyn, first Duke 
 of Kingston, married John Erskine, Earl of Mar, who was Secretary 
 of State for Scotland in 1105, joined the Pretender in 1115, was at- 
 tainted in 1716, and died at Aix-la-Chapelle in 1*732. George I. 
 confirmed to Lady Mar the jointure on Lord Mar's forfeited estate to 
 which she was entitled by her marriage-settlement, with remainder 
 to her daughter, Lady Frances Erskine. She resided many years at 
 Paris. 
 
HER SISTER .V S D FRIENDS. 55 
 
 I was charmed with the neatness of that little town ; but 
 my arrival at Rotterdam presented me a new scene of pleasure. 
 All the streets are paved with broad stones, and before many 
 of the meanest artificers' doors are placed seats of variously- 
 colored marbles, so neatly kept, that I assure you I walked 
 almost all over the town yesterday, incognita, in my slippers, 
 without receiving one spot of dirt ; and you may see the 
 Dutch maids washing the pavement of the street with more 
 application than ours do our bed-chambers. The town seems 
 so full of people, with such busy faces, all in motion, that I 
 can hardly fancy it is not some celebrated fair ; but I see it is 
 every day the same. 'Tis certain no town can be more ad- 
 vantageously situated for commerce. Here are seven large 
 canals, on which the merchants' ships come up to the very 
 doors of their houses. The shops and warehouses are of a 
 surprising neatness and magnificence, filled with an incredible 
 quantity of fine merchandise, and so much cheaper than what 
 we see in England, that I have much ado to persuade myself 
 I am still so near it. Here is neither dirt nor beggary to be 
 seen. One is not shocked with those loathsome cripples so 
 common in London, nor teased with the importunity of idle 
 fellows and wenches that choose to be nasty and lazy. The 
 common servants and little shopwomen here are more nicely 
 clean than most of our ladies ; and the great variety of neat 
 dresses (every woman dressing her head after her own fash- 
 ion) is an additional pleasure in seeing the town. 
 
 You see hitherto, dear sister, I make no complaints ; and, 
 if I continue to like traveling as well as I do at present, I 
 shall not repent my project. It will go a great way in making 
 me satisfied with it, if it affords me an opportunity of enter- 
 taining you. But it is not from Holland that you may expect 
 a disinterested offer. I can write enough in the style of 
 Rotterdam to tell you plainly, in one word, that I expect re- 
 turns of all the London news. You see I have already learned 
 to make a good bargain ; and that it is not for nothing I will 
 so much as tell you I am your affectionate sister. 
 
56 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER n. 
 
 Vienna, September 8, 0. S., 1*716. 
 
 I am now, my dear sister, safely arrived at Vienna ; and, I 
 thank God, have not at all suffered in my health, nor (what is 
 dearer to me) in that of my child* by all our fatigues. 
 
 We traveled by water from Ratisbon, a journey perfectly 
 agreeable, down the Danube, in one of those little vessels 
 that they very properly call wooden houses, having in them 
 all the conveniences of a palace — stoves in the chambers, 
 kitchens, etc. They are rowed by twelve men each, and move 
 with such incredible swiftness that in the same day you have 
 the pleasure of a vast variety of prospects ; and, within the 
 space of a few hours, you have the pleasure of seeing a pop- 
 ulous city adorned with magnificent palaces, and the most ro- 
 mantic solitudes, which appear distant from the commerce of 
 mankind, the banks of the Danube being charmingly diversi- 
 fied with woods, rocks, mountains covered with vines, fields 
 of corn, large cities, and ruins of ancient castles. I saw the 
 great towns of Passau and Lintz, famous for the retreat of the 
 imperial court when Vienna was besieged. 
 
 This town, which has the honor of being the emperor's resi- 
 dence, did not at all answer my ideas of it, being much less 
 than I expected to find it : the streets are very close, and so 
 narrow, one can not observe the fine fronts of the palaces, 
 though many of them very well deserve observation, being 
 truly magnificent. They are built of fine white stone, and are 
 excessively high. For as the town is too little for the number 
 of the people that desire to live in it, the builders seem to 
 have projected to repair that misfortune by clapping one town 
 on the top of another, most of the houses being of five, and 
 some of them six stories. You may easily imagine that the 
 streets being so narrow, the rooms are extremely dark ; and, 
 what is an inconvenience much more intolerable, in my opin- 
 ion, there is no house that has so few as five or six families in 
 
 * Edward "Wortley Montagu, her only son, was born 1*713. 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 57 
 
 it. The apartments of the greatest ladies, and even of the 
 ministers of state, are divided, but by a partition, from that 
 of a tailor or shoemaker ; and I know nobody that has above 
 two floors in any house — one for their own use, and one 
 higher for their servants. Those that have houses of their 
 own, let out the rest of them to whoever will take them ; and 
 thus the great stairs (which are all of stone) are as common 
 and as dirty as the street. 'Tis true, when you have once 
 traveled through them, nothing can be more surprisingly 
 magnificent than the apartments. They are commonly a suit 
 of eight or ten large rooms, all inlaid, the doors and windows 
 ricljly carved and gilt, and the furniture such as is seldom 
 seen in the palaces of sovereign princes in other countries. 
 Their apartments are adorned with hangings of the finest 
 tapestry of Brussels, prodigious large looking-glasses in silver 
 frames, fine japan tables, beds, chairs, canopies, and window- 
 curtains of the richest Genoa damask or velvet, almost cov- 
 ered with gold lace or embroidery. The whole is made gay 
 by pictures, and vast jars of Japan china, and in almost every 
 room large lusters of rock crystal. 
 
 I have already had the honor of being invited to dinner by 
 several of the first people of quality ; and I must do them the 
 justice to say, the good taste and magnificence of their tables 
 very well answered to that of their furniture. I have been 
 more than once entertained with fifty dishes of meat all served 
 in silver, and well dressed ; the dessert proportionable, served 
 in the finest china. But the variety and richness of their 
 wines is what appears the most surprising. The constant way 
 is, to lay a list of their names upon the plates of the guests, 
 along with the napkins ; and I have counted several times to the 
 number of eighteen different sorts, all exquisite in their kinds. 
 
 T was yesterday at Count Schcenbrunn,* the vice-chan- 
 
 * The palace of Schcenbrunn is distant about two miles from Yienna. 
 It was designed by John Bernard Fischers, the Palladio of Germany, 
 in 1696, and was afterward used as a hunting-seat by the emperor and 
 his court. 
 
 3* 
 
58 LETTERS TO 
 
 cellor's garden, where I was invited to dinner. I must own I 
 never saw a place so perfectly delightful as the faubourg of 
 Vienna. It is very large, and almost wholly composed of de- 
 licious palaces. If the emperor found it proper to permit the 
 gates of the town to be laid open, that the faubourg might 
 be joined to it, he would have one of the largest and best 
 built cities in Europe. Count Schcenbrunn's villa is one of the 
 most magnificent ; the furniture all rich brocades, so well fan- 
 cied and fitted up, nothing can look more gay and splendid ; 
 not to speak of a gallery, full of rarities of coral, mother-of- 
 pearl, etc., and, throughout the whole house, a profusion of 
 gilding, carving, fine paintings, the most beautiful porcelain, 
 statues of alabaster and ivory, and vast orange and lemon- 
 trees in gilt pots. The dinner was perfectly fine and well 
 ordered, and made still more agreeable by the good-humor of 
 the count. 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 Prague, November 17, 0. S., 1116. 
 
 I hope my dear sister wants no new proofs of my sincere 
 affection for her : but I am sure, if you do, I could not give 
 you a stronger than writing at this time, after three days, or, 
 more properly speaking, three nights and days, hard post- 
 traveling. 
 
 The kingdom of Bohemia is the most desert of any I have 
 seen in Germany. The villages are so poor, and the post- 
 houses so miserable, that clean straw and fair water are bless- 
 ings not always to be met with, and better accommodation not 
 to be hoped for. Though I carried my own bed with me, I 
 could not sometimes find a place to set it up in ; and I rather 
 chose to travel all night, as cold as it is, wrapped up in my 
 furs, than to go into the common stoves, which are filled with 
 a mixture of all sorts of ill scents. 
 
 This town was once the royal seat of the Bohemian kings, 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 59 
 
 and is still the capital of the kingdom. There are yet some 
 remains of its former splendor, being one of the largest towns 
 in Germany, but, for the most part, old built, and thinly inhab- 
 ited, which makes the houses very cheap. Those people of 
 quality who can not easily bear the expense of Vienna, choose 
 to reside here, where they have assemblies, music, and all 
 other diversions (those of a court excepted), at very moderate 
 rates, all things being here in great abundance, especially the 
 best wild-fowl I ever tasted. I have already been visited by 
 some of the most considerable ladies, whose relations I know 
 at Vienna. They are dressed after the fashions there, after 
 the manner that the people at Exeter imitate those of London : 
 that is, their imitation is more excessive than the original. 
 'Tis not easy to describe what extraordinary figures they make. 
 The person is so much lost between head-dress and petticoat, 
 that they have as much occasion to write upon their backs, 
 " This is a Woman" for the information of travelers, as ever 
 sign-post painter had to write, " This is a Bear. 11 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 Vienna, January 16, 0. S., 1*111. 
 
 I am now, dear sister, to take leave of you for. a long time, 
 and of Vienna forever ; designing to-morrow to begin my 
 journey through Hungary, in spite of the excessive cold and 
 deep snows, which are enough to damp a greater courage 
 than I am mistress of. But my principles of passive obedience 
 carry me through every thing. 
 
 I have had my audience of leave of the empress. His im- 
 perial majesty was pleased to be present when I waited on the 
 reigning empress ; and after a very obliging conversation, both 
 their imperial majesties invited me to take Vienna in my road 
 back ; but I have no thoughts of enduring, over again, so 
 great a fatigue. I delivered a letter from the Duchess of 
 Blankenburg. I staid but a few days at that court, though 
 
60 LETTERS TO 
 
 her highness pressed me very much to stay ; and when I left 
 her, engaged me to write to her. 
 
 I wrote you a long letter from thence, which I hope you have 
 received, though you don't mention it ; but I believe I forgot 
 to tell you one curiosity in all the German courts, which I can 
 not forbear taking notice of: all the princes keep favorite 
 dwarfs. The emperor and empress keep two of these little 
 monsters, as ugly as devils, especially the ' female ; but they 
 are all bedaubed with diamonds, and stand at her majesty's 
 elbow, in all public places. The Duke of Wolfenbuttle has 
 one, and the Duchess of Blankenburg is not without hers, but 
 indeed the most proportionable I ever saw. I am told the 
 King of Denmark has so far improved upon this fashion, that 
 his dwarf is his chief minister. I can assign no reason for 
 their fondness for these pieces of deformity, but the opinion 
 all the absolute princes have, that it is below them to converse 
 with the rest of mankind ; and, not to be quite alone, they 
 are forced to seek their companions among the refuse of hu- 
 man nature, these creatures being the only part of their court 
 privileged to talk freely to them. 
 
 I am at present confined to my chamber by a sore throat ; 
 and am really glad of the excuse, to avoid seeing people that 
 I love well enough to be very much mortified when I think I 
 am going to part with them forever. It is true, the Austrians 
 are not commonly the most polite people in the world, nor the 
 most agreeable. But Vienna is inhabited by all nations, and 
 I had formed to myself a little society of such as were per- 
 fectly to my own taste. And though the number was not 
 very great, I could uever pick up, in any other place, such a 
 number of reasonable, agreeable people. We were almost 
 always together, and you know I have ever been of opinion 
 that a chosen conversation, composed of a few that one es- 
 teems, is the greatest happiness of life. 
 
 Here are some Spaniards of both sexes, that have all the 
 vivacity and generosity of sentiments anciently ascribed to 
 their nation ; and could I believe that the whole kingdom 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 61 
 
 were like them, I would wish nothing more than to end my 
 days there. The ladies of my acquaintance have so much 
 goodness for me, they cry whenever they see me, since I have 
 determined to undertake this journey. And, indeed, I am not 
 very easy when I reflect on what I am going to suffer. Almost 
 every body I see frights me with some new difficulty. Prince 
 Eugene has been so good as to say all the- things he could to 
 persuade me to stay till the Danube is thawed, that I may 
 have the conveniency of going by water ; assuring me that 
 the houses in Hungary are such as are no defense against the 
 weather-; and that I shall be obliged to travel three or four 
 days between Buda and Essek, without finding any house at 
 all, through desert plains covered with snow ; where the cold 
 is so violent, many have been killed by it. I own these ter- 
 rors have made a very deep impression on my mind, because 
 I believe he tells me things truly as they are, and nobody can 
 be better informed of them. 
 
 Now I have named that great man, I am sure you expect I 
 should say something particular of him, having the advantage 
 of seeing him very often ; but I am as unwilling to speak of 
 him at Vienna as I should be to talk of Hercules in the court 
 of Omphale, if I had seen him there. I don't know what com- 
 fort other people find in considering the weakness of great 
 men (because, perhaps, it brings them nearer to their level), 
 but 'tis always a mortification to me to observe that there is 
 no perfection in humanity. The young Prince of Portugal is 
 the admiration of the whole court ; he is handsome and po- 
 lite, with a great vivacity. All the officers tell wonders of his 
 gallantry the last campaign. He is lodged at court with all 
 the honors due to his rank. Adieu, dear sister : this is the 
 last account you will have from me of Vienna. If I survive 
 my journey, you shall hear from me again. I can say with 
 great truth, in the words of Moneses, / have long learned to 
 hold myself as nothing ; but when I think of the fatigue my 
 poor infant must suffer, I have all a mother's fondness in my 
 eyes, and all her tender passions in my heart. 
 
62 LETTERS TO 
 
 P.S. — I have written a letter to my Lady that I be- 
 lieve she won't like ; and, upon cooler reflection, I think I had 
 done better to have let it alone ; but I was downright peevish 
 at all her questions, and her ridiculous imagination that I have 
 certainly seen abundance of wonders which I keep to myself 
 out of mere malice. She is very angry that I won't lie like 
 other travelers. I verily believe she expects I should tell her 
 of the Anthropophagi, men whose heads grow below theii 
 shoulders : however, pray say something to pacify her. 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 Peterwaradin, Jan. 30, 0. S., llll. 
 
 At length, dear sister, I am safely arrived, with all my fam- 
 ily, in good health, at Peterwaradin ; having suffered so little 
 from the rigor of the season (against which we were well pro- 
 vided by furs), and found such tolerable accommodation every 
 where, by the care of sending before, that I can hardly forbear 
 laughing, when I recollect all the frightful ideas that were 
 given me of this journey. These, I see, were wholly owing to 
 the tenderness of my Vienna friends, and their desire of keep- 
 ing me with them for this winter. 
 
 Perhaps it will not be disagreeable to you to give a short 
 journal of my journey, being through a country entirely un- 
 known to you, and very little passed, even by the Hungarians 
 themselves, who generally choose to take the conveniency of 
 going down the Danube. We have had the blessing of being 
 favored with finer weather than is common at this time of the 
 year ; though the snow was so deep we were obliged to have 
 our own coaches fixed upon traineaus, which move so swift 
 and so easily, 'tis by far the most agreeable manner of travel- 
 ing post. We came to Raab (the second day from Vienna) 
 on the seventeenth instant, where Mr. Wortley sending word 
 of our arrival to the governor, the best house in the town was 
 provided for us, the garrison put under arms, a guard ordered 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 63 
 
 at our door, and all other honors paid to us. The governor, 
 and all other officers, immediately waited on Mr. Wortley, to 
 know if there was any thing to be done for his service. The 
 Bishop of Temeswar came to visit us, with great civility, earn- 
 estly pressing us to dine with him next day ; which we refus- 
 ing, as being resolved to pursue our journey, he sent us several 
 baskets of winter fruit, and a great variety of Hungarian 
 wines, with a young hind just killed. This is a prelate of 
 great power in this country, of the ancient family of Nadasty, 
 so considerable for many ages in this kingdom. He is a very 
 polite, agreeable, cheerful old man, wearing the Hungarian 
 habit, with a venerable white beard down to his girdle. 
 
 Raab is a strong town, well garrisoned and fortified, and 
 was a long time the frontier town between the Turkish and 
 German empires. It has its name from the river Rab, on 
 which it is situated, just on its meeting with the Danube, in 
 an open champaign country. It was first taken by the Turks, 
 under the command of Pasha Sinan, in the reign of Sultan 
 Amurath III., in the year fifteen hundred and ninety-four. 
 The governor, being supposed to have betrayed it, was after- 
 ward beheaded by the emperor's command. The Counts of 
 Swartzenburg and Palfi retook it by surprise, 1598 ; since 
 which time it has remained in the hands of the Germans, 
 though the Turks once more attempted to gain it by strata- 
 gem in 1642. The cathedral is large and well built, which is 
 all I saw remarkable in the town. 
 
 Leaving Comora on the other side the river, we went the 
 eighteenth to Nosmuhl, a small village, where, however, we 
 made shift to find tolerable accommodation. We continued 
 two days traveling between this place and Buda, through the 
 finest plains in the world, as even as if they were paved, and 
 extremely fruitful ; but for the most part desert and unculti- 
 vated, laid waste by the long wars between the Turk and the 
 emperor, and the more cruel civil war occasioned by the 
 barbarous persecution of the Protestant religion by the Em- 
 peror Leopold. That prince has left behind him the character 
 
64 LETTERS TO 
 
 of an extraordinary piety, and was naturally of a mild, mer- 
 ciful temper ; but, putting his conscience into the hands of a 
 Jesuit, he was more cruel and treacherous to his poor Hun- 
 garian subjects than ever the Turk has been to the Christians ; 
 breaking, without scruple, his coronation oath, and his faith, 
 solemnly given in many public treaties. Indeed, nothing can 
 be more melancholy than, in traveling through Hungary, to 
 reflect on the former flourishing state of that kingdom, and to 
 see such a noble spot of earth almost uninhabited. Such are 
 also the present circumstances of Buda (where we arrived 
 very early the twenty-second), once the royal seat of the Hun- 
 garian kings, whose palace was reckoned one of the most 
 beautiful buildings of the age, now wholly destroyed, no part 
 of the town having been repaired since the last siege, but the 
 fortifications and the castle, which is the present residence of 
 the Governor-general Ragule, an officer of great merit. He 
 came immediately to see us, and carried us in his coach to 
 his house, where I was received by his lady with all possible 
 civility, and magnificently entertained. 
 
 This city is situated upon a little hill on the south side of 
 the Danube. The castle is much higher than the town, and 
 from it the prospect is very noble. Without the walls lie a 
 vast number of little houses, or rather huts, that they call the 
 Rascian town, being altogether inhabited by that people. The 
 governor assured me it would furnish twelve thousand fighting 
 men. These towns look very odd : their houses stand in rows, 
 many thousands of them so close together that they appear, 
 at a little distance, like old-fashioned thatched tents. They 
 consist, every one of them, of one hovel above, and another 
 under ground ; these are their summer and winter apartments. 
 Buda was first taken by Solyman the Magnificent, in 1526, 
 and lost the following year to Ferdinand L, King of Bohemia. 
 Solyman regained it by the treachery of the garrison, and 
 voluntarily gave it into the hands of King John of Hungary ; 
 after whose death, his son being an infant, Ferdinand laid 
 siege to it, and the queen-mother was forced to call Solyman 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 65 
 
 to her aid. He indeed raised the siege, but left a Turkish 
 garrison in the town, and commanded her to remove her 
 court from thence, which she was forced to submit to, in 
 1541. It resisted afterward the sieges laid to it by the Mar- 
 quis of Brandenburg, in the year 1542 ; Count Swartzenburg, 
 in 1598 ; General Eosworm, in 1602 ; and the Duke of Lor- 
 rain, commander of the emperor's forces, in 1684, to whom 
 it yielded, in 1686, after an obstinate defense; Apti Bassa, 
 the governor, being killed, fighting in the breach with a 
 Roman bravery. The loss of this town was so important, 
 and so much resented by the Turks, that it occasioned the 
 deposing of their emperor, Mohammed IV., the year fol- 
 lowing. 
 
 We did not proceed on our journey till the twenty-third, 
 when we passed through Adam and Todowar, both consider- 
 able towns when in the hands of the Turks, but now quite 
 ruined. The remains, however, of some Turkish towns show 
 something of what they have been. This part of the country 
 is very much overgrown with wood, and little frequented. 
 'Tis incredible what vast numbers of wild-fowl we saw, which 
 often live here to a good old age — and, undisturbed by guns, 
 in quiet sleep. We came the five-and-twentieth to Mohatch, 
 and were shown the field near it, where Lewis, the young 
 King of Hungary, lost his army and his life, being drowned 
 in a ditch, trying to fly from Balybeus, general of Solyman 
 the Magnificent. This battle opened the first passage for the 
 Turks into the heart of Hungary. I don't name to you the 
 little villages, of which I can say nothing remarkable ; but 
 I '11 assure you, I have always found a warm stove, and great 
 plenty, particularly of wild boar, venison, and all kinds of 
 gibier. The few people that inhabit Hungary live easily 
 enough ; they have no money, but the woods and plains 
 afford them provision in great abundance : they were ordered 
 to give us all things necessary, even what horses we pleased 
 to demand, gratis ; but Mr. Wortley would not oppress the 
 poor country people, by making use of this order, and always 
 
66 LETTER S TO 
 
 paid them to the full worth of what he had. They were so 
 surprised at this unexpected generosity, which they are very 
 little used to, that they always pressed upon us, at parting, a 
 dozen of fat pheasants, or something of that sort, for a pres- 
 ent. Their dress is very primitive, being only a plain sheep's 
 skin, and a cap and boots of the same stuff. You may easily 
 imagine this lasts them many winters ; and thus they have 
 very little occasion for money. 
 
 The twenty-sixth, we passed over the frozen Danube, with 
 all our equipage and carriages. We met on the other side 
 General Veterani, who invited us, with great civility, to pass 
 the night at a little castle of his, a few miles off, assuring us 
 we should have a very hard day's journey to reach Essek. 
 This we found but too true, the woods being very dangerous, 
 and scarcely passable, from the vast quantity of wolves that 
 hoard in them. We came, however, safe, though late, to 
 Essek, where we staid a day, to dispatch a courier with let- 
 ters to the Pasha of Belgrade ; and I took that opportunity 
 of seeing the town, which is not very large, but fair built, and 
 well fortified. This was a town of great trade, very rich and 
 populous, when in the hands of the Turks. It is situated on 
 the Drave, which runs into the Danube. The bridge was es- 
 teemed one of the most extraordinary in the world, being 
 eight thousand paces long, and all built of oak. It was burned 
 and the city laid in ashes by Count Lesly, 1685, but was again 
 repaired and fortified by the Turks, who, however, abandoned 
 it in 1687. General Dunnewalt then took possession of it for 
 the emperor, in whose hands it has remained ever since, and 
 is esteemed one of the bulwarks of Hungary. 
 
 The twenty-eighth we went to Bocorwar, a very large Ras- 
 cian town, all built after the manner I have described to you. 
 
 We were met there by Colonel , who would not suffer 
 
 us to go any where but to his quarters, where I found his 
 wife, a very agreeable Hungarian lady, and his niece and 
 daughter, two pretty young women, crowded into three or 
 four Rascian houses cast into one, and made as neat and con- 
 
HER S I S T E II AND FRIENDS. 67 
 
 venient as those places are capable of being made. The 
 Hungarian ladies are much handsomer than those of Austria. 
 All the Vienna beauties are of that country ; they are gener- 
 ally very fair and well-shaped, and their dress, I think, is ex- 
 tremely becoming. This lady was in a gown of scarlet velvet, 
 lined and faced with sables, made exact to her shape, and the 
 skirt falling to her feet. The sleeves are strait to their arms, 
 and the stays buttoned before, with two rows of little but- 
 tons of gold, pearl, or diamonds. On their heads they wear 
 a tassel of gold, that hangs low on one side, lined with sable, 
 or some other fine fur. They gave us a handsome dinner, and 
 I thought the conversation very polite and agreeable. They - 
 would accompany us part of our way. 
 
 The twenty-ninth we arrived here, where we were met by 
 the commanding officer, at the head of all the officers of the 
 garrison. We are lodged in the best apartment of the govern- 
 or's house, and entertained in a very splendid manner by the 
 emperor's order. We wait here till all points are adjusted 
 concerning our reception on the Turkish frontiers. Mr. Wort- 
 ley's courier, which he sent from Essek, returned this morn- 
 ing, with the pasha's answer in a purse of scarlet satin, which 
 the interpreter here has translated. It is to promise him to be 
 honorably received. I desired him to appoint where he would 
 be met by the Turkish convoy. He has dispatched the courier 
 back, naming Betsko, a village in the midway between Peter- 
 waradin and Belgrade. We shall stay here till we receive his 
 answer. 
 
 Thus, dear sister, I have given you a very particular, and, I 
 am afraid you '11 think, a tedious, account of this part of my 
 travels. It was not an affectation of showing my reading 
 that has made me tell you some little scraps of the history of 
 the towns I have passed through : I have always avoided any 
 thing of that kind, when I spoke of places that I believe you 
 knew the story of as well as myself. But Hungary being a 
 part of the world which, I believe, is quite new to you, I 
 thought you might read with some pleasure an account of it, 
 
68 LETTERS TO 
 
 which I have been very solicitous to get from the best hands. 
 However, if you don't like it, 'tis in your power to .forbear 
 reading it. 
 
 I am promised to have this letter carefully sent to Vienna. 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 Adrianople, April 1, 0. S. 1T1T. 
 
 I am now got into a new world, where every thing I see 
 appears to me a change of scene ; and I write to your lady- 
 ship with some content of mind, hoping, at least, that you 
 will find the charms of novelty in my letters, and no longer 
 reproach me that I tell you nothing extraordinary. 
 
 I won't trouble you- with a relation of our tedious journey ; 
 but must not omit what I saw remarkable at Sophia, one of 
 the most beautiful towns in the Turkish empire, and famous 
 for its hot baths, that are resorted to both for diversion and 
 health. I stopped here one day, on purpose to see them ; and 
 designing to go incognita, I hired a Turkish coach. These 
 voitures are not at all like ours, but much more convenient for 
 the country, the heat being so great that glasses would be 
 very troublesome. They are made a good deal in the man 
 ner of the Dutch stage-coaches, having wooden lattices painted 
 and gilded ; the inside being also painted with baskets and 
 nosegays of flowers, intermixed commonly with little poetical 
 mottos. They are covered all over with scarlet cloth, lined 
 with silk, and very often richly embroidered and fringed. 
 This covering entirely hides the persons in them, but may be 
 thrown back at pleasure, and thus permits the ladies to peep 
 through the lattices. They hold four people very conveniently, 
 seated on cushions, but not raised. 
 
 In one of these covered wagons I went to the bagnio about 
 ten o'clock. It was already full of women. It is built of 
 stone, in' the shape of a dome, with no windows but in the 
 roof, which gives light enough. There were five of these 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 69 
 
 domes joined together, the outmost being less than the rest, 
 and serving only as a hall, where the portress stood at the 
 door. Ladies of quality generally give this woman a crown 
 or ten shillings ; and I did not forget that ceremony. The 
 next room is a very large one, paved with marble, and all 
 round it are two raised sofas of marble, one above another. 
 There were four fountains of cold water in this room, falling 
 first into marble basins, and then running on the floor in lit- 
 tle channels made for that purpose, which carried the streams 
 into the next room, something less than this, with the same 
 sort of marble sofas, but so hot with steams of sulphur pro- 
 ceeding from the baths joining to it, it was impossible to 
 stay there with one's clothes on. The two other domes were 
 the hot baths, one of which had cocks of cold water turning 
 into it, to temper it to what degree of warmth the bathers 
 pleased to have. 
 
 I was in my traveling-habit, which is a riding-dress, and 
 certainly appeared very extraordinary to them. Yet there / 
 was not one of them that showed the least surprise or im- [ 
 pertinent curiosity, but received me with all the obliging civ- : 
 ility possible. I know no European court where the ladies 
 would have behaved themselves in so polite a manner to such 
 a stranger. I believe, upon the whole, there were two hun- 
 dred women, and yet none of those disdainful smiles, and 
 satirical whispers, that never fail in our assemblies, when any | 
 body appears that is hot dressed exactly in the fashion. They 
 repeated over and over to me — " Guzel, pek guzel," which is 
 nothing but Charming, very charming. The first sofas were 
 covered with cushions and rich carpets* on which sat the la- 
 dies ; and on the second their slaves, behind them, but with- 
 out any distinction of rank by their dress, all being in the 
 state of nature, that is, in plain English, stark naked, without 
 any beauty or defect concealed. Yet there was not the least 
 wanton smile or immodest gesture among them. They walked 
 and moved with the same, majestic grace which Miltoi 
 describes our general mother with. There were many among 
 
70 LETTERS TO 
 
 them as exactly proportioned as ever any goddess was drawn 
 by the pencil of a Guido or Titian, and most of their skins 
 shining]y white, only adorned by their beautiful hair, divided 
 into many tresses, hanging on their shoulders, braided either with 
 pearl or ribbon, perfectly representing the figures of the Graces. 
 I was here convinced of the truth of a reflection I have 
 often made, That if it were the fashion to go naked, the face 
 would be hardly observed. I perceived that the ladies of the 
 most delicate skins and finest shapes had the greatest share 
 of my admiration, though their faces were sometimes less 
 beautiful than those of their companions. To tell you the 
 truth, I had wickedness enough to wish secretly that Mr. 
 Jervas* could have been there invisible. I fancy it would 
 have very much improved his art, to see so many fine women 
 naked, in different postures, some in conversation, some work- 
 ing, others drinking coffee or sherbet, and many negligently 
 lying on their cushions, while their slaves (generally pretty 
 girls of seventeen or eighteen) were employed in braiding 
 their hair in several pretty fancies. In short, it is the women's 
 coffee-house, where all the news of the town is told, scandal 
 invented, etc. They generally take this diversion once a week, 
 and stay there at least four or five hours, without getting 
 cold by immediately coming out of the hot bath into the 
 cold room, which was very surprising to me. The lady that 
 seemed the most considerable among them entreated me to 
 sit by her, and would fain have undressed me for the bath. I 
 excused myself with some difficulty. They being, however, 
 all so earnest in persuading me, I was at last forced to open 
 my shirt and show them my stays, which satisfied them very 
 well ; for I saw they believed I was locked up in that ma- 
 chine, and that it was not in my own power to open it, 
 
 * Charles Jervas was a pupil of Sir Godfrey Kneller. He was the 
 friend of Pope, and much celebrated for his portraits of females. The 
 beauties of his day were proud to be painted by his hand, after Pope 
 had published his celebrated epistle to him, in which he is compli- 
 mented as " selling a thousand years of bloom." 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. Vl 
 
 which contrivance they attributed to my husband. I was 
 charmed with their civility and beauty, and should have been 
 very glad to pass more time with them ; but Mr. Wortley 
 resolving to pursue his journey next morning, early, I was in 
 haste to see the ruins of Justinian's church, which did not af- 
 ford me so agreeable a prospect as I had left, being little more 
 than a heap of stones. 
 
 Adieu, madam : I am sure I have now entertained you 
 with an account of such a sight as you never saw in your 
 life, and what no book of travels could inform you of, as it is 
 no less than death for a man to be found in one of these places.* 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 Adrianople, April 1, 0. S. It 17. 
 You see that I am very exact in keeping the promise you 
 engaged me to make. I know not, however, whether your 
 
 * Dr. Eussel, an author of great credit, in his History of Aleppo 
 questions the truth of the account here given by Lady Mary "Wortley, 
 affirming that the native ladies of that city, with whom, as their phy 
 sician, he had permission to converse through a lattice, denied to him 
 the prevalence, and almost the existence of the custom she describes, 
 and even seemed as much scandalized at hearing of it as if they 
 had been born and bred in England. The writer of this note con- 
 fesses to having entertained doubts upon this point, arising from the 
 statement of Dr. Russel ; but these doubts were removed by the tes- 
 timony of a lady, who traveled some years ago in Turkey, and was 
 several months an inmate of the English embassador's house in Pera, 
 whose veracity no one who knew her could doubt, and whose word 
 would have been taken before the oaths of a whole harem. That lady, 
 having been prevented by circumstances from visiting the baths of 
 Constantinople, had an opportunity of doing so at Athens, and there 
 she found Lady Mary's account strictly correct in the main points, 
 although the sight did not inspire her with the same degree of admira- 
 tion. To use a trite metaphor, she found Lady Mary's outline faithful, 
 but her coloring too vivid. It may, therefore, be fairly presumed that 
 the Aleppo ladies, perceiving the doctor's opinion of the custom, 
 thought fit to disclaim it, or that it really did not prevail in that par- 
 ticular city, and their knowledge went no further. 
 
12 
 
 LETTERS TO 
 
 curiosity will be satisfied with the accounts I shall give you, 
 though I can assure you the desire I have to oblige you to 
 the utmost of rny power has made me very diligent in my 
 inquiries and observations. It is certain we have but very 
 imperfect accounts of the manners and religion of these peo- 
 ple; this part of the world being seldom visited, but by 
 merchants, who mind little but their own affairs ; or travelers, 
 who make too short a stay to be able to report any thing 
 exactly of their own knowledge. The Turks are too proud 
 to converse familiarly with merchants, who can only pick up 
 some confused informations, which are generally false, and 
 can give no better account of the ways here than a French 
 refugee, lodging in a garret in Greek-street, could write of 
 the court of England. 
 
 The journey we have made from Belgrade hither, can not 
 possibly be passed by any out of a public character. The 
 desert woods of Servia are the common refuge of thieves, 
 who rob fifty in a company, so that we had need of all our 
 guards to secure us ; and the villages are so poor that only 
 force could extort from them necessary provisions. Indeed 
 the janizaries had no mercy on their poverty, killing all the 
 poultry and sheep they could find, without asking to whom 
 they belonged ; while the wretched owners durst not put in 
 their claim, for fear of being beaten. Lambs just fallen, 
 geese and turkies big with egg, all massacred without distinc- 
 tion ! I fancied I heard the complaints of Melibeus for the 
 hope of his flock. When the pashas travel, it is yet worse. 
 These oppressors are not content with eating all that is to be 
 eaten belonging to the peasants ; after they have crammed 
 themselves and their numerous retinue, they have the impu- 
 dence to ' exact what they call teeth-money, a contribution for 
 the use of their teeth, worn With doing them the honor of 
 devouring their meat. This is literally and exactly true, how- 
 ever extravagant it may seem ; and such is the natural cor- 
 ruption of a military government, their religion not allowing 
 of this barbarity any more than ours does. 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. id 
 
 I had the advantage of lodging three weeks at Belgrade, 
 with a principal effendi, that is to say, a scholar. This set of 
 men are equally capable of preferments in the law or the 
 church, these two sciences being cast into one, and a lawyer 
 and a priest being the same word in the Turkish language. 
 They are the only men really considerable in the empire : all 
 the profitable employments and church revenues are in their 
 hands. The grand-seignior, though general heir to his people, 
 never presumes to touch their lands or money, which go, in 
 an uninterrupted succession, to their children. It is true, they 
 lose this privilege by accepting a place at court, or the title 
 of pasha ; but there are few examples of such fools among 
 them. You may easily judge of the power of these men 
 who have engrossed all the learning and almost all the wealth 
 of the empire. They are the real authors, though the soldiers 
 are the actors, of revolutions. They deposed the late Sultan 
 Mustapha ; and their power is so well known that it is the 
 emperor's interest to flatter them. 
 
 This is a long digression. I was going to tell you that an 
 intimate daily conversation with the Effendi Achmet-Bey gave 
 me an opportunity of knowing their religion and morals in a 
 more particular manner than perhaps any Christian ever did. 
 I explained to him the difference between the religion of En- 
 gland and Rome ; and he was pleased to hear there were 
 Christians that did not worship images, or adore the Virgin 
 Mary. The ridicule of transubstantiation appeared very 
 strong to him. Upon comparing our creeds together, I am 
 
 convinced that if our friend Dr. had free liberty of 
 
 preaching here, it would be very easy to persuade the gener- 
 ality to Christianity, whose notions are very little different 
 from his. Mr. Whiston would make a very good apostle here. 
 I don't doubt but his zeal will be much fired if you commu- 
 nicate this account to him ; but tell him he must first have 
 the gift of tongues before he can be possibly of any use 
 
 Mohammedism is divided into as many sects as Christianity ; 
 and the first institution is much neglected and obscured by 
 
 4 
 
74 LETTERS T 
 
 interpretations. I can not here forbear reflecting on the nat- 
 ural inclination of mankind to make mysteries and novelties. 
 The Zeidi, Kudi, Jabari, etc., put me in mind of the Catho- 
 lics, Lutherans, and Calvinists, and are equally zealous against 
 one another. But the most prevailing opinion, if you search 
 into the secret of the effendis, is plain deism. This is indeed 
 kept from the people, who are amused with a thousand dif- 
 ferent notions, according to the different interests of their 
 preachers. There are very few among them (Achmet-Bey de- 
 nied there were any) so absurd as to set up for wit by declaring 
 they believe no God at all. And Sir Paul Rycaut is mistaken 
 (as he commonly is) in calling the sect muterin* (i. e. the secret 
 with us), atheists, they being deists, whose impiety consists in 
 makiug a jest of their prophet. Achmet-Bey did not own to 
 me mat he was of this opinion, but made no scruple of de- 
 viating from some part of Mohammed's law, by drinking wine 
 with the same freedom we did. When I asked him how he 
 came to allow himself that liberty, he made answer, that all 
 the creatures of God are good, and designed for the use of 
 man ; however, that the prohibition of wine was a very wise 
 maxim, and meant for the common people, being the source 
 Df all disorders among them ; but that the prophet never de- 
 signed to confine those that knew how to use it with modera- 
 tion ; nevertheless, he said, that scandal ought to be avoided, 
 and that he never drank it in public. This is the general way 
 of thinking among them, and very few forbear drinking wine 
 that are able to afford it. He assured me that if I under- 
 stood Arabic, I should be very well pleased with reading the 
 Alcoran, which is so far from the nonsense we charge it with, 
 that it is the purest morality, delivered in the very best lan- 
 guage. I have since heard impartial Christians speak of it in 
 the same manner ; and I don't doubt but that all our transla- 
 tions are from copies got from the Greek priests, who would 
 
 * See D'Ohsson, Tableau General de l'Empire Othemari, 5 vols. 
 8vo., 1791. in which the religious code of the Mohammedans, and of 
 each sect, is very satisfactorily detailed. 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 75 
 
 not fail to falsify it with the extremity of malice. No body 
 of men ever were more ignorant, or more corrupt : yet they 
 differ so little from the Romish Church, that, I confess, noth- 
 ing gives me a greater abhorrence of the cruelty of your 
 clergy, than the barbarous persecution of them whenever 
 they have been their masters, for no other reason than their not 
 acknowledging the Pope. The dissenting in that one article 
 has got them the titles of heretics and schismatics ; and, 
 what is worse, the same treatment. I found at Philippopolis 
 a sect of Christians that call themselves Paulines. They show 
 an old church, where, they say, St. Paul preached ; and he is 
 their favorite saint, after the manner that St. Peter is at Rome ; 
 neither do they forget to give him the same preference over 
 the rest of the apostles. 
 
 But of all the religions I have seen, that of the Arnaou x s 
 seems to me the most particular. They are natives of Ar- 
 naoutlich, the ancient Macedonia, and still retain the courage 
 and hardiness, though they have lost the name of Macedo- 
 nians, being the best militia in the Turkish empire, and the 
 only check upon the janizaries. They are foot soldiers ; we 
 had a guard of them, relieved in every considerable town we 
 passed : they are all clothed and armed at their own expense, 
 dressed in clean white coarse cloth, carrying guns of a prodig- 
 ious length, which they run with upon their shouldiers as if 
 they did not feel the weight of them, the leader singing a sort 
 of rude tune, not unpleasant, and the rest making up the 
 chorus. These people, living between Christians and Moham- 
 medans, and not being skilled in controversy, declare that they 
 are utterly unable to judge which religion is best ; but, to be 
 certain of not entirely rejecting the truth, they very pru- 
 dently follow both. They go to the mosque on Friday, and to 
 the church on Sunday, saying for their excuse that at the 
 day of judgment they are sure of protection from the true 
 prophet ; but which that is, they are not able to determine 
 in this world. I believe there is no other race of mankind 
 who have so modest an opinion of their own capacity. 
 
70 
 
 LETTER S TO 
 
 These are the remarks I have made on the diversity of 
 religions I have seen. I don't ask your pardon for the liberty 
 I have taken in speaking of the Roman. I know you equally 
 condemn the quackery of all the churches as much as you 
 revere the sacred truths, in which we both agree. 
 
 You will expect I should say something to you of the an- 
 tiquities of this country; but there are few remains of ancient 
 Greece. We passed near the piece of an arch, which is com- 
 monly called Trajan's Gate, from a supposition that he made 
 it to shut up the passage over the mountains between Sophia 
 and Philippopolis. But I rather believe it the remains of 
 some triumphal arch (though I could not see any inscription) ; 
 for if that passage had been shut up, there are many others 
 that would serve for the march of an army ; and, notwith- 
 standing the story of Baldwin Earl of Flanders being over- 
 thrown in these straits, after he won Constantinople, I don't 
 fancy the Germans would find themselves stopped by them at 
 this day. It is true, the road is now made (with great indus- 
 try) as commodious as possible for the march of the Turkish 
 army ; there is not one ditch or puddle between this place 
 and Belgrade that has not a large strong bridge of planks 
 built over it ; but the precipices are not so terrible as I had 
 heard them represented. At these mountains we lay at the 
 little village Kiskoi, wholly inhabited by Christians, as all the 
 peasants of Bulgaria are. Their houses are nothing but little 
 huts, raised of dirt baked in the sun ; and they leave them, 
 and fly into the mountains, some months before the march of 
 the Turkish army, who would else entirely ruin them, by 
 driving away their whole flocks. This precaution secures 
 them a sort of plenty ; for such vast tracts of land lying in 
 common, they have the liberty of sowing what they please, 
 and ar6 generally very industrious husbandmen. I drank 
 here several sorts of delicious wine. The women dress them- 
 selves in a great variety of colored glass beads, and are not 
 ugly, but of a tawny complexion. 
 
 I have now told you all that is worth telling you, and per- 
 
HER SISTER Al-TD FRIENDS. 11 
 
 haps more, relating to my journey. When I am at Constan- 
 tinople Til try to pick up some curiosities, and then you shall 
 hear from me again. 
 
 LETTER Vm. 
 
 Adrianople, April 1, 0. S., Itl7. 
 
 I wish, dear sister, that you were as regular in letting me 
 know what passes on your side of the globe as I am careful 
 in endeavoring to amuse you by the account of all I see here 
 that I think worth your notice. You content yourself with 
 telling me over and over, that the town is very dull : it may 
 possibly be dull to you, when every day does not present you 
 with something new ; but for me, that am in arrears at least 
 two months' news, all that seems very stale with you would 
 be very fresh and sweet here. Pray let me into more particu- 
 lars, and I will try to awaken your gratitude, by giving you a 
 full and true relation of the novelties of this place, none of 
 which would surprise you more than the sight of my person, 
 as I am now in my Turkish habit, though I believe you 
 would be of my opinion, that 'tis admirably becoming. I 
 intend to send you my picture ; in the mean time accept of it 
 here. 
 
 The first part of my dress is a pair of drawers, very full, 
 that reach to my shoes, and conceal the legs more modestly 
 than your petticoats. They are of a thin rose-colored dam- 
 ask, brocaded with silver flowers. My shoes are of white kid 
 leather, embroidered with gold. Over this hangs my smock, 
 of a fine white silk gauze, edged with embroidery. This 
 smock has wide sleeves, hanging half way down the arm, and 
 is closed at the neck with a diamond button ; but the shape 
 and color of the bosom are very well to be distinguished 
 through it. The antery is a waistcoat, made close to the 
 shape, of white and gold damask, with very long sleeves fall- 
 ing back, and fringed with deep gold fringe, and should have 
 
78 
 
 LETTERS TO 
 
 diamond or pearl buttons. My caftan, of the same stuff with 
 my drawers, is a robe exactly fitted to my shape, and reaching 
 to my feet, with very long straight falling sleeves. Over this 
 is my girdle, of about four fingers broad, which all that can 
 afford it have entirely of diamonds or other precious stones ; 
 those who will not be at that expense, have it of exquisite 
 embroidery on satin ; but it must be fastened before with a 
 clasp of diamonds. The curdee is a loose robe they throw off 
 or put on according to the weather, being of a rich brocade 
 (mine is green and gold), either lined with ermine or sables ; 
 the sleeves reach very little below the shoulders. The head- 
 dress is composed of a cap, called talpoclc, which is in winter 
 of fine velvet embroidered with pearls or diamonds, and in 
 summer of a light shining silver stuff. This is fixed on one 
 side of the head, hanging a little way down with a gold tassel, 
 and bound on either with a circle of. diamonds (as I have seen 
 several) or a rich embroidered handkerchief. On the other 
 side of the head the hair is laid flat ; and here the ladies are 
 at liberty to show their fancies : some putting flowers, others 
 a plume of heron's feathers, and, in short, what they please ; 
 but the most general fashion is a large bouquet of jewels, 
 made like natural flowers : that is, the buds, of pearl ; the 
 roses, of different colored rubies; the jasmins, of diamonds; 
 the jonquils, of topazes, etc., so well set and enameled, 'tis 
 hard to imagine any thing of that kind so beautiful. The 
 hair hangs at its full length behind, divided into tresses 
 braided with pearl or ribbon, which is always in great quan- 
 tity. 
 
 T never saw in my life so many fine heads of hair. In one 
 lady's, I have counted a hundred and ten of the tresses, all 
 natural ; but it must be owned that every kind of beauty is 
 more common here than with us. 'Tis surprising to see a 
 young woman that is not very handsome. They have natur- 
 ally the most beautiful complexion in the world, and gener- 
 ally large black eyes. I can assure you with great truth, that 
 the court of England (though I believe it is the fairest in 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. ^9 
 
 Christendom) does not contain so many beauties as are un- 
 der our protection here. They generally shape their eye- 
 brows, and both Greeks and Turks have a custom of putting 
 round their eyes a black tincture, that, at a distance, or by 
 candle-light, adds very much to the blackness of them. I 
 fancy many of our ladies would be overjoyed to know this se- 
 cret ; but 'tis too visible by day. They dye their nails a rose- 
 color ; but, I own, I can not enough accustom myself to this 
 fashion to find any beauty in it. 
 
 As to their morality or good conduct, I can say, like Harle- 
 quin, that 'tis just as it is with you ; and the Turkish ladies 
 don't commit one sin the less for not being Christians. Now 
 that I am a little acquainted with their ways, I can not for- 
 bear admiring either the exemplary discretion or extreme stu- 
 pidity of all the writers that have given accounts of them. "Tis 
 very easy to see they have in reality more liberty than we 
 have. No woman, of what rank soever, is permitted to go 
 into the streets without two murlins ; one that covers her 
 face all but her eyes, and another that hides the whole dress 
 of her head, and hangs half way down her back. Their 
 shapes are also wholly concealed by a thing they call a feri- 
 gee, which no woman of any sort appears without ; this has 
 straight sleeves, that reach to their finger-ends, and it laps 
 all round them, not unlike a riding-hood. In winter 'tis of 
 cloth, and in summer of plain stuff or silk. You may guess, 
 then, how effectually this disguises them, so that there is no 
 distinguishing the great lady from her slave. 'Tis impossible 
 for the most jealous husband to know his wife when he meets 
 her ; and no man dare touch or follow a woman in the street. 
 
 This perpetual masquerade gives them entire liberty of fol- 
 lowing their inclinations without danger of discovery. The 
 most usual method of intrigue is to send an appointment to 
 the lover to meet the lady at a Jew's shop, which are as no- 
 toriously convenient as our Indian-houses ; and yet, even those 
 who don't make use of them, do not scruple to go to buy 
 pennyworths, and tumble over rich goods, which are chiefly 
 
80 LETTERSTO 
 
 to be found among that sort of people. The great ladies 
 seldom let their gallants know who they are ; and 'tis so diffi- 
 cult to find it out, that they can very seldom guess at her 
 name, whom they have corresponded with for above half a 
 year together. You may easily imagine the number of faith- 
 ful wives veiy small in a country where they have nothing to 
 fear from a lover's indiscretion, since we see so many have 
 the courage to expose themselves to that in this world, and 
 all the threatened punishment of the next, which is never 
 preached to the Turkish damsels. Neither have they much to 
 apprehend from the resentment of their husbands ; those la- 
 dies that are rich having all their money in their own hands. 
 
 Upon the whole, I look upon the Turkish women as the 
 only free people in the empire : the very divan pays respect 
 to them ; and the Grand-Seignior himself, when a pasha is ex- 
 ecuted, never violates the privileges of the harem (or women's 
 apartment), which remains unsearched and entire to the 
 widow. They are queens of their slaves, whom the husbaud 
 has no permission so much as to look upon, except it be an 
 old woman or two that his lady chooses. 'Tis true their law 
 permits them four wives ; but there is no instance of a man 
 of quality that makes use of this liberty, or of a woman of 
 rank that would suffer it. 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 Adriaxople, April 18, 0. S., 1717. 
 I wrote to you, dear sister, and to all my other English cor- 
 respondents, by the last ship, and only Heaven can tell when I 
 shall have another opportunity of sending to you ; but I can 
 not forbear to write again, though perhaps my letter may lie 
 upon my hands these two months. To confess the truth, my 
 head is so full of my entertainment yesterday, that 'tis abso- 
 lutely necessary for my own repose to give it some vent. With- 
 out further preface, I will then begin my story. 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 81 
 
 I was invited to dine with the Grand-Vizier's lady,* and it 
 was with a great deal of pleasure I prepared myself for an 
 entertainment which was never before given to any Christian. 
 I thought I should very little satisfy her curiosity (which I did 
 not doubt was a considerable motive to the invitation) by going 
 in a dress she was used to see, and therefore dressed myself 
 in the court habit of Vienna, which is much more magnificent 
 than ours. However, I chose to go incognita, to avoid any 
 disputes about ceremony, and went in a Turkish coach, only 
 attended by my woman that held up my train, and the Greek 
 lady who was my interpretress. I was met at the court door 
 by her black eunuch, who helped me out of the coach with 
 great respect, and conducted me through several rooms, where 
 her she-slaves, finely dressed, were ranged on each side. In 
 the innermost I found the lady sitting on her sofa, in a sable 
 vest. She advanced to meet me, and presented me half a dozen 
 of her friends with great civility. She seemed a very good- 
 looking woman, near fifty years old. I was surprised to ob- 
 serve so little magnificence in her house, the furniture being 
 all very moderate : and except the habits, and number of her 
 slaves, nothing about her appeared expensive. She guessed 
 at my thoughts, and told me she was no longer of an age to 
 spend either her time or money in superfluities ; that her 
 whole expense was in charity, and her whole employment 
 praying to God. There was no affectation in this speech ; both 
 she and her husband are entirely given up to devotion. He 
 never looks upon any other woman ; and, what is much more 
 extraordinary, touches no bribes, notwithstanding the example 
 of all his predecessors. He is so scrupulous on this point, he 
 would not accept Mr. Wortley's present, till he had been as- 
 sured over and over that it was a settled perquisite of his place 
 at the entrance of every embassador. 
 
 She entertained me with all kind of civility till dinner came 
 in, which was served, one dish at a time, to a vast number, all 
 
 * This was the Sultana Hafiten, the favorite and widow of the Sul- 
 tan Mustapha II., who died in 1703. 
 
 4* 
 
82 LETTERS TO 
 
 finely dressed after their manner, which I don't think so bad 
 as you have perhaps heard it represented. I am a very good 
 judge of their eating, having lived three weeks in the house of 
 an effendi at Belgrade, who gave us very magnificent dinners 
 dressed by his own cooks. The first week they pleased me 
 extremely ; but I own I then began to grow weary of their 
 table, and desired our own cook might add a dish or two after 
 our manner. But I attribute this to custom, and am very 
 much inclined to believe that an Indian, who had never tasted 
 of either, would prefer their cookery to ours. Their sauces 
 are very high, all the roast very much done. They use a great 
 deal of very rich spice. The soup is served for the last dish ; 
 and they have at least as great a variety of ragouts as we have. 
 I was very sorry I could not eat of as many as the good lady 
 would have had me, who was very earnest in serving me of 
 every thing. The treat concluded with coffee and perfumes, 
 which is a high mark of respect ; two slaves kneeling censed my 
 hair, clothes, and handkerchief. After this ceremony, she 
 commanded her slaves to play and dance, which they did with 
 their guitars in their hands, and she excused to me their want 
 of skill, saying she took no care to accomplish them in that art. 
 
 I returned her thanks, and soon after took my leave. I was 
 conducted back in the same manner I entered, and would have 
 gone straight to my own house ; but the Greek lady with me 
 earnestly solicited me to visit the Jciyaya.s^ lady, saying he 
 was the second officer in the empire, and ought indeed to be 
 looked upon as the first, the Grand- Vizier having only the 
 name, while he exercised the authority. I had found so little 
 diversion in the Vizier's harem,\ that I had no mind to go 
 into another. But her importunity prevailed with me, and I 
 am extremely glad I was so complaisant. 
 
 All things here were with quite another air than at the 
 
 * Kyhaia, lieutenant. The deputy to the G-rand- Vizier. 
 
 f Harem, literally " The Forbidden," the apartment sacredly appro- 
 priate to females, into which every man in Turkey, but the master of 
 the house, is interdicted from entering. 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 83 
 
 Grand- Vizier's ; and the very house confessed the difference 
 between an old devotee and a young beauty. It was nicely 
 clean and magnificent. I was met at the door by two black 
 eunuchs, who led me through a long gallery between two ranks 
 of k lutiful young girls, with their hair finely plaited, almost 
 naE l - i g to tne i r f eet > a ^ dressed in fine light damasks, brocaded 
 with silver. I was sorry that decency did not permit me to stop 
 to consider them nearer. But that thought was lost upon my 
 entrance into a large room, or rather pavillion, built round with 
 gilded sashes, which were most of them thrown up, and the 
 trees planted near them gave an agreeable shade, which hin- 
 dered the sun from being troublesome. The jasmins and 
 honeysuckles that twisted round their trunks shed a' soft iper- 
 fume, increased by a white marble fountain playing sweet water 
 in the lower part of the room, which fell into three or four 
 basins with a pleasing sound. The roof was painted with all 
 sorts of flowers, falling out of gilded baskets, that seemed tumb- 
 ling down. On a sofa, raised three steps, and covered with 
 fine Persian carpets, sat the kiyaya's lady, leaning on cushions 
 of white satin, embroidered ; and at her feet sat two young 
 girls about twelve years old, lovely as angels, dressed per- 
 fectly rich, and almost covered with jewels. But they were 
 hardly seen near the fair Fatima (for that is her name), so 
 mVch'ker beauty effaced every thing I have seen, nay, all that 
 has been called lovely either in England or Germany. I must 
 own that I never saw any thing so gloriously beautiful, nor car. 
 I recollect a face that would have been taken notice of near 
 hers. She stood up to receive me, saluting me after their 
 fashion, putting her hand to her heart with a sweetness full of 
 majesty, that no court breeding could ever give. She ordered 
 cushions to be given me, and took care to place me in the 
 corner, which is the place of honor. I confess, though the 
 t^reek lady had before given me a great opinion of her beauty, 
 I was wD struck with admiration, that I could not for some time 
 ipeak to her, being wholly taken up in gazing. That surpris- 
 ng harmony of features ! that charming result of the whole ! 
 
84 LETTERS TO 
 
 that exact proportion of body ! that lovely bloom of complexion 
 unsullied by art ! the unutterable enchantment of her smile ! 
 But her eyes ! — large and black, with all the soft languishment 
 of the blue ! every turn of her face discovering some new grace./ 
 After my first surprise was over, I endeavored, by nicely 
 examining her face, to find out some imperfection, without any / 
 fruit of my search but my being clearly convinced of the error 
 of that vulgar notion that a face exactly proportioned, and 
 perfectly beautiful, would not be agreeable ; nature having 
 done for her, with more success, what Apelles is said to have 
 essayed, by a collection of the most exact features, to form a 
 perfect face. Add to all this a behavior so full of grace and 
 sweetness, such easy motions, with an air so majestic, yet free 
 from sti^Pness or affectation, that I am persuaded, could she be 
 suddenly transported upon the most polite throne of Europe, 
 nobody would think her other than born and bred to be a 
 queen, though educated in a country we call barbarous. To 
 say all in a word, our most celebrated English beauties would 
 vanish near her. 
 
 When I took my leave, two maids brought in a fine silver 
 ! basket of embroidered handkerchiefs ; she begged I would 
 wear the richest for her sake, and gave the others to my 
 woman and interpretress. I retired through the same cere- 
 monies as before, and could not help thinking I had been some 
 time in Mohammed's paradise, so much was I charmed with 
 what I had seen. I know not how the relation of it appears 
 to you. I wish it may give you part of my pleasure ; for I 
 would have my dear sister share in all my diversions. 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 Adrianople, May 17, 0. S. 
 I am going to leave Adrianople, and I would not do it with- 
 out giving you some account of all that is curious in it, which 
 I have taken a great deal of pains to see. 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 85 
 
 I will not trouble you with wise dissertations, whether or no 
 this is the same city that was anciently called Orestesit, or 
 Oreste, which you know better than I do. It is now called 
 from the Emperor Adrian, and was the first European seat of 
 the Turkish empire, and has been the favorite residence of 
 many Sultans. Mohammed the Fourth, and Mustapha, the 
 brother of the reigning Emperor, were so fond of it that they 
 wholly abandoned Constantinople ; which humor so far exas- 
 perated the janizaries, that it was a considerable motive to 
 the rebellions that deposed them. Yet this man seems to 
 love to keep his court here. I can give you no reason for 
 this partiality. 'Tis true the situation is fine, and the country 
 all around very beautiful ; but the air is extremely bad, and 
 the seraglio itself is not free from the ill effect of it. The 
 town is said to be eight miles in compass ; I suppose they 
 reckon in the gardens. There are some good houses in it, I 
 mean large ones ; for the architecture of their palaces never 
 mak^s any great show. It is now very full of people ; but 
 they are most of them such as follow the court or camp ; and 
 when they are removed, I am told 'tis no populous city. The 
 river Maritza (anciently the Hebrus), on which it is situated, 
 is dried up every summer, which contributes very much to 
 make it unwholesome. It is now a very pleasant stream. 
 There are two noble bridges built over it. 
 
 I had the curiosity to go to see the Exchange in my Turkish 
 dress, which is disguise sufficient. Yet I own I was not very 
 easy when I saw it crowded with janizaries ; but they dare 
 not be rude to a woman, and made way for me with as much 
 respect as if I had been in my own figure. It is half a mile 
 in length, the roof arched, and kept extremely neat. It holds 
 three hundred and sixty-five shops, furnished with all sorts 
 of rich goods, exposed to sale in the same manner as at the 
 New Exchange* in London. But the the pavement is kept 
 much neater ; and the shops are all so clean they seem just 
 new painted. Idle people of all sorts walk here for their di- 
 * Exeter 'Change. 
 
86 LETTERS TO 
 
 version, or amuse themselves with drinking coffee, or sherbet, 
 which is cried about as oranges and sweet-meats are in our 
 play-houses. 
 
 I observed most of the rich tradesmen were Jews. That 
 people are in incredible power in this country. They have 
 many privileges above all the natural Turks themselves, and 
 have formed a very considerable commonwealth here, being 
 judged by their own laws. They have drawn the whole trade 
 of the empire into their hands, partly by the firm union among 
 themselves, and partly by the idle temper and want of indus- 
 try in the Turks. Every pasha has his Jew, who is his homme 
 d'affaires ; he is let into all his secrets, and does all his busi- 
 ness. No bargain is made, no bribe received, no merchandise 
 disposed of, but what passes through their hands. They are 
 the physicians, the stewards, and the interpreters of all the 
 great men. 
 
 You may judge how advantageous this is to a people who 
 never fail to make use of the smallest advantages. They have 
 found the secret of making themselves so necessary that they 
 are certain of the protection of the court, whatever ministry is 
 in power. Even the English, French, and Italian merchants, 
 who are sensible of their artifices, are, however, forced to trust 
 their affairs to their negotiation, nothing of trade being man- 
 aged without them, and the meanest among them being too 
 important to be disobliged, since the whole body take care of 
 his interests with as much vigor as they would those of the 
 most considerable of their members. There are many of them 
 vastly rich, but take care to make little public show of it ; 
 though they live in their houses in the utmost luxury and 
 magnificence. This copious subject has drawn me from roy 
 description of the exchange, founded by AH Pasha, whose 
 name it bears. Near it is the tchartshi, a street of a mile in 
 length, full of shops of all kinds of fine merchandise, but ex- 
 cessively dear, nothing being made here. It is covered on the 
 top with boards, to keep out the rain, that merchants may 
 meet conveniently in all kinds of weathers. The bessiten near 
 

 HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 87 
 
 it is another exchange, built upon pillars, where all sorts of 
 house-furniture are sold : glittering every where with gold, rich 
 embroidery, and jewels, it makes a very agreeable show. 
 
 From this place I went, in my Turkish coach, to the camp, 
 which is to move in a few days to the frontiers. The Sultan 
 is already gone to his tents, and all his court ; the appearance 
 of them is, indeed, very magnificent. Those of the great men 
 are rather like palaces than tents, taking up a great compass 
 of ground, and being divided into a vast number of apart- 
 ments. They are all of green, and the pashas of three tails 
 have those ensigns of their power placed in a very conspicuous 
 manner before their tents, which are adorned on the top with 
 gilded balls, more or less, according to their different ranks. 
 The ladies go in coaches to see the camp, as eagerly as ours ^ 
 did to that of Hyde Park ; but it is very easy to observe that 
 the soldiers do not begin the campaign with any great cheer- 
 fulness. The war is a general grievance upon the people, but 
 particularly hard upon the tradesmen, now that the Grand- 
 Signior is resolved to lead his army in person. Every com- 
 pany of them is obliged, upon this occasion, to make a present 
 according to their ability. 
 
 I took the pains of rising at six in the morning to see the 
 ceremony, which did not, however, begin till eight. The 
 Grand-Seignior was at the seraglio window to see the procession, 
 which passed through the principal streets. It was preceded 
 by an effendi, mounted on a camel, richly furnished, reading 
 aloud the Alcoran, finely bound, laid upon a cushion. He 
 was surrounded by a parcel of boys, in white, singing some 
 verses of it, followed by a man dressed in green boughs, rep- 
 resenting a clean husbandman sowing seed. After him sev- 
 eral reapers, with garlands of ears of corn, as Ceres is pictured, 
 with scythes in their hands, seeming to mow. Then a little 
 machine drawn by oxen, in which was a windmill, and boys 
 employed in grinding corn, followed by another machine, 
 drawn by buffaloes, carrying an oven, and two more boys, one 
 employed in kneading the bread, and another in drawing it 
 
88 LETTERS TO 
 
 out of the oven. These boys threw little cakes on both sides 
 among the crowd, and were followed by the whole company 
 of bakers, marching on foot, two by two, in their best clothes, 
 with cakes, loaves, pastries, and pies of all sorts, on their heads, 
 and after them two buffoons, or jack-puddings, with their faces 
 and clothes smeared with meal, who diverted the mob with 
 their antic gestures. In the same manner followed all the 
 comj)anies of trade in the empire ; the nobler sort, such as 
 jewelers, mercers, etc., finely mounted, and many of the pa- 
 geants that represent their trades, perfectly magnificent ; 
 among which, that of the furriers made one of the best fig- 
 ures, being a very large machine set round with the skins of 
 ermines, foxes, etc., so well stuffed that the animals seemed to 
 be alive, and followed by music and dancers. I believe they 
 were, upon the whole, twenty thousand men, all ready to fol- 
 low his highness if he commanded them. The rear was closed 
 by the volunteers, who came to beg the honor of dying in his 
 service. This part of the show seemed to me so barbarous 
 that I removed from the window upon the first appearance of 
 it. They were all naked to the middle. Some had their arms 
 pierced through with arrows, left sticking in them. Others 
 had them sticking in their heads, the blood trickling down 
 their faces. Some slashed their arms with sharp knives, mak- 
 ing the blood spring out upon those that stood there ; and 
 this is looked upon as an expression of their zeal for glory. I 
 am told that some make use of it to advance their love ; and 
 when they are near the window where their mistress stands 
 (all the women in town being vailed to see this spectacle), they 
 stick another arrow for her sake, who gives some sign of ap- 
 probation and encouragement to this gallantry. The whole 
 show lasted for near eight hours, to my great sorrow, who was 
 heartily tired, though I was in the house of the widow of the 
 captain-pasha (admiral), who refreshed me with coffee, sweet- 
 meats, sherbet, etc., with all possible civility. 
 
 I went two days after to see the mosque of Sultan Selim I.* 
 The same Sultan, between the years 1552 and 1556, constructed 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 89 
 
 which is a building very well worth the curiosity of a trav- 
 eler. I was dressed in my Turkish habit, and admitted with- 
 out scruple ; though I believe they guessed who I was, by the 
 extreme officiousness of the door-keeper to show me every part 
 of it. It is situated very advantageously in the midst of the 
 city, and in the highest part of it, making a very noble show. 
 The first court has four gates, and the innermost three. They 
 are both of them surrounded with cloisters, with marble pil- 
 lars of the Ionic order, finely polished, and of very lively col- 
 ors ; the whole pavement is of white marble, and the roof of 
 the cloisters divided into several cupolas or domes, headed 
 with gilt balls on the top. In the midst of each court are fine 
 fountains of white marble ; and, before the great gate of the 
 mosque, a portico, with green marble pillars, which has five 
 gates, the body of the mosque being one prodigious dome. 
 
 I understand so little of architecture I dare not pretend to 
 speak of the proportions. It seemed to me very regular ; this 
 I am sure of, it is vastly high, and I thought it the noblest 
 building I ever saw. It has two rows of marble galleries on 
 pillars, with marble balusters ; the pavement is also marble, 
 covered with Persian carpets. In my opinion, it is a great 
 addition to its beauty that it is not divided into pews, and 
 incumbered with forms and benches, like our churches ; nor 
 the pillars, which are, most of them, red and white marble, 
 disfigured by the little tawdry images and pictures that give 
 Roman Catholic churches the air of toy-shops. The walls 
 seemed to be inlaid with such very lively colors, in small flow- 
 ers, that I could not imagine what stones had been made use 
 of. But going nearer, I saw they were crusted with japan 
 china, which has a very beautiful effect. In the midst hung 
 a vast lamp of silver, gilt, besides which, I do verily believe, there 
 were at least two thousand of a lesser size. This must look 
 very glorious when they are all lighted ; but being at night, 
 
 another mosque at Constantinople, which bears his name. The archi- 
 tecture exactly resembles this, and forms a perfect square of seventy- 
 five feet, with a flat cupola rising from the side walls. 
 
90 LETTERS TO 
 
 no women are suffered to enter. Under ,the large lamp is a 
 great pulpit of carved wood, gilt ; and just by, a fountain to 
 wash, which, you know, is an essential part of their devotion. 
 In one corner is a little gallery, inclosed with gilded lattices, 
 for the Grand-Seignior. At the upper end, a large niche, very 
 like an altar, raised two steps, covered with gold brocade, 
 and standing before it, two silver gilt candlesticks, the height 
 of a man, and in them white wax candles, as thick as a man's 
 waist. The outside of the mosque is adorned with towers, 
 vastly high, gilt on the top, from whence the imaums call the 
 people to prayers. I had the curiosity to go up one of them, 
 which is contrived so artfully as to give surprise to all that 
 see it. There is but one door, which leads to three different 
 staircases, going to the three different stories of the tower, in 
 such a manner that three priests may ascend, rounding, with- 
 out ever meeting each other ; a contrivance very much ad- 
 mired. 
 
 Behind the mosque is an exchange, full of shops, where 
 poor artificers are lodged gratis. I saw several dervises at 
 their prayers here. They are dressed in a plain piece of 
 woolen, with their arms bare, and a woolen cap on their 
 heads, like a high-crowned hat without brims. I went to see 
 some other mosques, built much after the same manner, but 
 not comparable in point of magnificence to this I have de- 
 scribed, which is infinitely beyond any church in Germany 
 or England ; I won't talk of other countries I have not seen. 
 The seraglio does not seem a very magnificent palace. But 
 the gardens are very large, plentifully supplied with water, 
 and full of trees ; which is all I know of them, having never 
 been in them. 
 
 I tell you nothing of the order of Mr. Wortley's entry, and 
 his audience. These things are always the same, and have 
 been so often described, I won't trouble you with the repe- 
 tition. The young prince, about eleven years old, sits near 
 his father when he gives audience : he is a handsome boy ; 
 but, probably, will not immediately succeed the Sultan, there 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 91 
 
 being two sons of Sultan Mustapha, his eldest brother, re- 
 maining ; the eldest about twenty years old, on whom the 
 hopes of the people are fixed. This reign has been bloody and 
 avaricious. I am apt to believe they are very impatient to 
 see the end of it. 
 
 P. S. — I will write to you again from Constantinople. 
 
 LETTER XL 
 
 Constantinople, May 29, 0. S., 1717. 
 
 I have had the advantage of very fine weather all my jour- 
 ney ; and, as the summer is now in its beauty, I enjoyed the 
 pleasure of fine prospects ; and the meadows being full of all 
 sorts of garden flowers, and sweet herbs, my berlin perfumed 
 the air as it pressed them. The Grand Seignior furnished us 
 with thirty covered wagons for our baggage, and five coaches 
 of the country for our women. We found the road full of the 
 great spahis and their equipages coming out of Asia to the 
 war. They always travel with tents ; but I chose to lie in 
 houses all the way. 
 
 I will not trouble you with the names of the villages we 
 passed, in which there was nothing remarkable, but at Tchiorlu, 
 where there was a conac, or little seraglio, built for the use of 
 the Grand Seignior when he goes this road. I had the curi- 
 osity to view all the apartments destined for the ladies of his 
 court. They were in the midst of a thick grove of trees, made 
 fresh by fountains ; but I was most surprised to see the walls 
 almost covered with little distiches of Turkish verse, wrote 
 with pencils. I made my interpreter explain them to me, and 
 I found several of them very well turned ; though I easily be- 
 lieved him, that they had lost much of their beauty in the 
 translation. One was literally thus in English : 
 
 We come into this world ; we lodge, and we depart • 
 He never goes, that 's lodged within my heart. 
 
92 LETTERS TO 
 
 The rest of our journey was through fine painted meadows, 
 by the side of the sea of Marmora, the ancient Propontis. We 
 lay the next night at Selivrea, anciently a noble town. It is 
 now a good sea-port, and neatly built enough, and has a bridge 
 of thirty-two arches. Here is a famous Greek church. I had 
 given one of my coaches to a Greek lady, who desired the 
 conveniency of traveling with me ; she designed to pay her 
 devotions, and I was glad of the opportunity of going with her. 
 I found it an ill-built edifice, set out with the same sort of orna- 
 ments, but less rich, as the Roman Catholic churches. They 
 showed me a saint's body, where I threw a piece of money ; 
 and a picture of the Virgin Mary, drawn by the hand of St. 
 Luke, very little to the credit of his painting ; but, however, 
 the finest Madonna of Italy is not more famous for her miracles. 
 The Greeks have a monstrous taste in their pictures, which, 
 for more finery, are always drawn upon a gold ground. You 
 may imagine what a good air this has ; but they have no notion 
 either of shade or proportion. They have a bishop here, who 
 officiated in his purple robe, and sent me a candle almost as 
 big as myself for a present, when I was at my lodging. . 
 
 We lay that night at a town called Bujuk Checkmedji, or 
 Great Bridge ; and the night following, at Kujuk Checkmedji, 
 or Little Bridge ; in a very pleasant lodging, formerly a monas- 
 tery of dervises, having before it a large court, encompassed 
 with marble cloisters, with a good fountain in the middle. 
 The prospect from this place, and the gardens round it, is the 
 most agreeable I have seen ; and shows that monks, of all re- 
 ligioi s, know how to choose their retirements. 'Tis now be- 
 longing to a hogia or schoolmaster, who teaches boys here. 
 I asked him to show me his own apartment, and was surprised 
 to see him point to a tall cypress-tree in the garden, on the top 
 of which was a place for a bed for himself, and a little lower, 
 one for his wife and two children, who slept there every night. 
 I was so much diverted with the fancy, I resolved to examine 
 his nest nearer ; but, after going up fifty steps, I found I had 
 still fifty to go up, and then I must climb from branch to 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 93 
 
 branch, with some hazard of my neck. I thought it, therefore, 
 the best way to come down again. 
 
 We arrived the next day at Constantinople ; but I can yet 
 tell you very little of it, all my time having been taken up with 
 receiving visits, which are, at least, a very good entertainment 
 to the eyes, the young women being all beauties, and their 
 beauty highly improved by the high taste of their dress. Our 
 palace is in Pera, which is no more a suburb of Constantinople 
 than Westminster is a suburb to London. All the embassa- 
 dors are lodged very near each other. One part of our house 
 shows us the port, the city, and the seraglio, and the distant 
 hills of Asia ; perhaps, all together, the most beautiful prospect 
 in the world. 
 
 A certain French author says, " Constantinople is twice as big 
 as Paris." Mr. Wortley is unwilling to own it is bigger than 
 London, though I confess it appears to me to be so ; but I 
 don't believe it is so populous. The burying-fields about it 
 are certainly much larger than the whole city. It is surprising 
 what a vast deal of land is lost this way in Turkey. Some- 
 times I have seen burying-places of several miles, belonging to 
 very inconsiderable villages, which were formerly great towns, 
 and retain no other mark of their ancient grandeur than this 
 dismal one. On no occasion do they ever remove a stone that 
 serves for a monument. Some of them are costly enough, 
 being of very fine marble. They set up a pillar, with a carved 
 turban on the top of it, to the memory of a man ; and, as the 
 turbans, by their different shapes, show the quality or pro- 
 fession, 'tis in a manner putting up the arms of the deceased ; 
 besides, the pillar commonly bears an inscription in gold 
 letters. The ladies have a simple pillar, without other orna- 
 ment, except those that die unmarried, who have a rose on 
 the top of their monument. The sepulchers of particular fam- 
 ilies are railed in, and planted round with trees. Those of 
 the sultans, and some great men, have lamps constantly burn- 
 ing in them. 
 
 When I spoke of their religion, I forgot to mention two par- 
 
94 LETTERS TO 
 
 ticularities, one of which I have read of, but it seemed so odd 
 to me, I could not believe it ; yet 'tis certainly true : that when 
 a man has divorced his wife in the most solemn manner, he 
 can take her again, upon no other terms than permitting 
 another man to pass a night with her ; and there are some 
 examples of those who have submitted to this law, rather than 
 not have back their beloved. The other point of doctrine is 
 very extraordinary. Any woman that dies unmarried is looked 
 upon to die in a state of reprobation. To confirm this belief, 
 they reason, that the end of the creation of woman is to in- 
 crease and multiply ; and that she is only properly employed 
 in the works of her calling when she is bringing forth chil- 
 dren, or taking care of them, which are all the virtues that 
 God expects from her. And, indeed, their way of life, which 
 shuts them out of all public commerce, does not permit them 
 any other. Our vulgar notion, that they don't own women to 
 have any souls, is a mistake. 'Tis true they say they are not 
 of so elevated a kind, and therefore must not hope to be ad- 
 mitted into the paradise appointed for the men, who are to be 
 entertained by celestial beauties. But there is a place of hap- 
 piness destined for souls of the inferior order, where all good 
 women are to be in eternal bliss. Many of them are very su- 
 perstitious, and will not remain widows ten days, for fear of 
 dying in the reprobate state of an useless creature. But those 
 that like their liberty, and are not slaves to their religion, con- 
 tent themselves with marrying when they are afraid of dying. 
 This is a piece of theology very different from that which 
 teaches nothing to be more acceptable to God than a vow of 
 perpetual virginity ; which divinity is most rational, I leave 
 you to determine. 
 
 I have already made some progress in a collection of Greek 
 .medals. Here are several professed antiquaries who are ready 
 to serve any body that desires them. But you can not imagine 
 how they stare in my face when I inquire about them, as if 
 nobody was permitted to seek after medals till they were grown 
 a piece of antiquity themselves. I have got some very valuable 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 95 
 
 ones of the Macedonian kings, particularly one of Perseus, sj 
 lively, I fancy I can see all his ill qualities in his face. I have 
 a porphyry head finely cut, of the true Greek sculpture ; but who 
 it represents is to be guessed at by the learned when I return. 
 For you are not to suppose these antiquaries (who are all 
 Greeks) know any thing. Their trade is only to sell ; they have 
 correspondents at Aleppo, Grand Cairo, in Arabia, and Pales- 
 tine, who send them all they can find, and very often great 
 heaps that are only fit to melt into pans and kettles. They get 
 the best price they can for them, without knowing those that 
 are valuable from those that are not. Those that pretend to 
 skill, generally find out the image of some saint in the medals 
 of the Greek cities. One of them showing me the figure of a 
 Pallas, with a victory in her hand on a reverse, assured me it 
 was the Virgin holding a crucifix. The same man offered me 
 the head of a Socrates on a sardonyx ; and, to enhance the 
 value, gave him the title of Saint Augustine. 
 
 I have bespoken a mummy, which I hope will come safe to 
 my hands, notwithstanding the misfortune that befell a very fine 
 one, designed for the King of Sweden. He gave a great price 
 for it, and the Turks took it into their heads that he must hav* 
 some considerable project depending upon it. They fancied it 
 the body of God knows who ; and that the state of their empire 
 mystically depended on the conservation of it. Some old 
 prophecies were remembered upon this occasion, and the mum- 
 my was committed prisoner to the Seven Towers, where it has 
 remained under close confinement ever since : I dare not try 
 my interest in so considerable a point as the release of it ; but 
 I hope mine will pass without examination. 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 Belgrade Village, June 11, 0. S. 
 I heartily beg your ladyship's pardon ; but I really could 
 not forbear laughing heartily at your letter, and the commis- 
 sions you are pleased to honor me with. 
 
96 LETTERS TO 
 
 You desire me to buy you a Greek slave, who is to be mis- 
 tress of a thousand good qualities. The Greeks are subjects, 
 and not slaves. Those who are to be bought in that manner 
 are either such as are taken in war, or stolen by the Tartars 
 from Russia, Circassia, or Georgia, and are such miserable, 
 awkward poor wretches, you would not think any of them 
 worthy to be your house-maids. 'Tis true that many thou- 
 sands were taken in the Morea ; but they have been, most of 
 them, redeemed by the charitable contributions of the Chris- 
 tians, or ransomed by their own relations at Venice. The fine 
 slaves that wait upon the great ladies, or serve the pleasures 
 of the great men, are all bought at the age of eight or nine 
 years old, and educated with great care, to accomplish them 
 in singing, dancing, embroidery, etc. They are commonly 
 Circassians, and their patron never sells them, except it is as a 
 punishment for some very great fault. If ever they grow weary 
 of them, they either present them to a friend, or give them 
 their freedom. Those that are exposed to sale at the markets 
 are always either guilty of some crime, or so entirely worth- 
 less that they are of no use at all. I am afraid you will 
 doubt the truth of this account, which I own is very different 
 from our common notions in England ; but it is no less truth 
 for all that. 
 
 Your whole letter is full of mistakes from one end to the 
 other. I see you have taken your ideas of Turkey from that 
 worthy author Dumont, who has wrote with equal ignorance 
 and confidence. 'Tis a particular pleasure to me here to read 
 the voyages to the Levant, which are generally so far removed 
 from truth, and so full of absurdities, I am very well diverted 
 with them. They never fail giving you an account of the. 
 women, whom, 'tis certain, they never saw, and talking very 
 wisely of the genius of the men, into whose company they 
 are never admitted ; and very often describe mosques, which 
 they dare not even peep into. The Turks are very proud 
 and will not converse with a stranger they are not assured is 
 considerable in his own country. I speak of the men of dis- 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 97 
 
 tinction ; for, as to the ordinary fellows, you may imagine 
 what ideas their conversation can give of the general genius 
 of the people. 
 
 As to the balm of Mecca, I will certainly send you some ; 
 but it is not so easily got as you suppose it, and I can not, in 
 conscience, advise you to make use of it. I know not how it 
 somes to have such universal applause. All the ladies of my 
 acquaintance at London and Vienna have begged me to send 
 pots of it to them. I have had a present of a small quantity 
 (which, I '11 assure you, is very valuable) of the best sort, and 
 with great joy applied it to my face, expecting some wonderful 
 effect to my advantage. The next morning the change indeed 
 was wonderful ; my face was swelled to a very extraordinary 
 
 size, and all over as red as my Lady H 's. It remained in 
 
 this lamentable state three days, during which you may be 
 sure I passed my time very ill. I believed it would never be 
 otherwise ; and, to add to my mortification, Mr. Wortley re- 
 proached my indiscretion without ceasing. However, my face 
 is since in statu quo ; nay, I am told by the ladies here, that 
 it is much mended by the operation, which I confess I can 
 not perceive in my looking-glass. Indeed, if one were to 
 form an opinion of this balm from their faces, one should 
 think very well of it. They all make use of it, and have the 
 loveliest bloom in the world. For my part I never intend to 
 endure the pain of it again ; let my complexion take its nat- 
 ural course, and decay in its own due time. I have very little 
 esteem for medicines of this nature ; but do as you please, 
 madam ; only remember before you use it, that your face will 
 not be such as you will care to show in the drawing-room for 
 some days after. 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 Pera, March 10, 0. S, 1717. 
 1 have not written to you, dear sister, these many months — • 
 a great piece of self-denial. But I know not where to direct ; 
 
 5 
 
98 LETTERS TO 
 
 or what part of the world you are in. I have received no 
 letter from you since that short note of April last, in which 
 you tell me that you are on the point of leaving England, and 
 promise me a direction for the place you stay in ; but T have 
 in vain expected it till now : and now I only learn from the 
 gazette that you are returned, which induces me to venture 
 this letter to your house at London. I had rather ten of my 
 letters should be lost than you imagine I don't write ; and I 
 think it is hard fortune if one in ten don't reach you. How- 
 ever, I am resolved to keep the copies as testimonies of my 
 inclination to give you, to the utmost of my power, all the 
 diverting parts of my travels, while you are exempt from all 
 the fatigues and inconveniences. 
 
 In the first place, then, I wish you joy of your niece ; for I 
 was brought to bed of a daughter* five weeks ago. I don't 
 mention this as one of my diverting .adventures ; though I 
 must own that it is not half so mortifying here as in England ; 
 there being as much difference as there is between a little cold 
 in the head, which sometimes happens here, and the consump- 
 tion cough, so common in London. Nobody keeps their 
 house a month for lying-in ; and I am not so fond of any of 
 t/ our customs as to retain them when they are not necessary. 
 I returned my visits at three weeks' end ; and, about four days 
 ago, crossed the sea, which divides this place from Constanti- 
 nople, to make a new one, where I had the good fortune to 
 pick up many curiosities. 
 
 I went to see the Sultana Hafiten, favorite of the late Em- 
 peror Mustapha, who, you know (or perhaps you don't know) 
 was deposed by his brother, the reigning Sultan, and died a 
 few weeks after, being poisoned, as it was generally believed. 
 This lady was, immediately after his death, saluted with an 
 absolute order to leave the seraglio, and choose herself a hus 
 band among the great men at the Porte. I suppose you may 
 imagine her overjoyed at this proposal. Quite the contrary. 
 These women, who are called, and esteem themselves, queenr 
 * Mary, afterward married to John, Earl of Bute. 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 99 
 
 look upon this liberty as the greatest disgrace and affront 
 that can happen to them. She threw herself at the Sultan's 
 feet, and begged him to poniard her, rather than use his 
 brother's widow with contempt. She represented to him, in 
 agonies of sorrow, that she was privileged from this misfor- 
 tune, by having brought five princes into the Ottoman fam- 
 ily ; but all the boys being dead, and only one girl surviving, 
 this excuse was not received, and she was compelled to make 
 her choice. She chose Bekir Effendi, then secretary of state, 
 and above fourscore years old, to convince the world that she 
 firmly intended to keep the vow she had made, of never suf- 
 fering a second husband to approach her bed ; and since she 
 must honor some subject so far as to be called his wife, she 
 would choose him as a mark of her gratitude, since it was 
 he that had presented her, at the age of ten years, to her last 
 lord. But she never permitted him to pay her one visit ; 
 though it is now. fifteen years she has been in his house, 
 where she passes her time in uninterrupted mourning, with a 
 constancy very little known in Christendom, especially in a 
 widow of one and twenty, for she is now but thirty-six. She 
 has no black eunuchs for her guard, her husband being obliged 
 to respect her as. a queen, and not to inquire at all into what 
 is done in her apartment. 
 
 I was led into a large room, with a sofa the whole length of 
 it, adorned with white marble pillars like a ruelle, covered 
 with pale-blue figured velvet on a silver ground, with cushions 
 of the same, where I was desired to repose till the Sultana 
 appeared, who had contrived this manner of reception to avoid 
 rising up at my entrance, though she made me an inclination 
 of her head when I rose up to her. I was very glad to ob- 
 serve a lady that had been distinguished by the favor of an 
 emperor, to whom beauties were, every day, presented from 
 all parts of the world. But she did not seem to me to have 
 ever been half so beautiful as the fair Fatima I saw at Adria- 
 nople ; though she had the remains of a fine face, more de- 
 cayed by sorrow than time. But her dress was something so 
 
100 LETTERS TO 
 
 surprisingly rich that I can not forbear describing it to you. 
 She wore a vest called donalma, which differs from a caftan 
 by longer sleeves, and folding over at the bottom. It was of 
 purple cloth, strait to her shape, and thick set, on each side, 
 down to her feet, and round the sleeves, with pearls of the 
 best water, of the, same size as their buttons commonly are. 
 You must not suppose that I mean as large as those of my 
 Lord , but about the bigness of a pea ; and to these but- 
 tons large loops of diamonds, in the form of those gold loops 
 so common on birth-day coats. This habit was tied at the 
 waist with two large tassels of smaller pearls, and round the 
 arms embroidered with large diamonds. Her shift was fast- 
 ened at the bottom with a great diamond, shaped like a loz- 
 enge ; her girdle as broad as the broadest English ribbon, 
 entirely covered with diamonds. Round her neck she wore 
 three chains which reached to her knees : one of large pearl, 
 at the bottom of which hung a fine-colored emerald, as big as 
 a turkey-egg ; another, consisting of two hundred emeralds, 
 closely joined together, of the most lively green, perfectly 
 matched, every one as large as a half-crown piece, and as 
 thick as three crown pieces ; and another of small emeralds, 
 perfectly round. But her ear-rings eclipsed all the rest. They 
 were two diamonds, shaped exactly like pears, as large as a 
 big hazel-nut. Round her kalpac she had four strings of 
 pearl the whitest and the most perfect in the world, at least 
 enough to make four necklaces, every one as large as the 
 Duchess of Marlborough's, and of the same shape, fastened 
 with two roses, consisting of a large ruby for the middle 
 stone, and round them twenty drops of clean diamonds to 
 each. Besides this, her head-dress was covered with bodkins 
 of emeralds and diamonds. She wore large diamond brace- 
 lets, and had five rings on her fingers (except Mr. Pitt's) the 
 largest I ever saw in my life. It is for jewelers to compute 
 the value of these things ; but, according to the common esti- 
 mation of jewels in our part of the world, her whole dress 
 must be worth a hundred thousand pounds sterling. , This T 
 

 HER SISTER. AND FRIENDS. 101 
 
 am sure of, that no European queen has half the quantity ; 
 and the empress's jewels, though very fine, would look very 
 mean near hers. 
 
 She gave me a dinner of fifty dishes of meat, which (after 
 their fashion) were placed on the table but one at a time, and 
 was extremely tedious. But the magnificence of her table 
 answered very well to that of her dress. The knives were of 
 gold, and the hafts set with diamonds. But the piece of lux- 
 ury which grieved my eyes, was the table-cloth and napkins, 
 which were all tiffany, embroidered with silk and gold, in the 
 finest manner, in natural flowers. It was with the utmost re- 
 gret that I made use of these costly napkins, which were as 
 finely wrought as the finest handkerchiefs that ever came out 
 of this country. You may be sure that they were entirely 
 spoiled before dinner was over. The sherbet (which is the 
 liquor they drink at meals) was served in china bowls ; but 
 the covers and salvers massy gold. After dinner, water was 
 brought in gold basins, and towels of the same kind with the 
 napkins, which I very unwillingly wiped my hands upon ; and 
 coffee was served in china, with gold soucoups.* 
 
 The Sultana seemed in a very good humor, and talked to 
 me with the utmost civility. I did not omit this opportunity 
 of learning all that I possibly could of the seraglio, which is 
 so entirely unknown among us. She assured me that the 
 story of the sultan's throwing a handkerchief is altogether 
 fabulous ; and the manner, upon that occasion, no other than 
 this : He sends the hyslar aga, to signify to the lady the 
 honor he intends her. She is immediately complimented 
 upon it by the others, and led to the bath, where she is per- 
 fumed and dressed in the most magnificent and becoming 
 manner. The emperor precedes his visit by a royal present, 
 and then comes into her apartment : neither is there any such 
 thing as her creeping in at the bed's foot. She said, that the 
 first he made choice of was always afterward the first in rank, 
 and not the mother of the eldest son, as other writers would 
 * Saucers. 
 
102 LETTERS TO 
 
 make us believe. Sometimes the sultan diverts himself in the 
 company of all his ladies, who stand in a circle round him. 
 And she confessed they were ready to die with envy and 
 jealousy of the happy she that he distinguished by any ap- 
 pearance of preference. But this seemed to me neither bet- 
 ter nor worse than the circles in most courts, where the 
 gvance of the monarch is watched, and every smile is waited 
 for with impatience, and envied by those who can not ob- 
 tain it. 
 
 She never mentioned the Sultan without tears in her eyes, 
 yet she seemed very fond of the discourse. " My past hap- 
 piness," said she, " appears a dream to me. Yet I can not 
 forget that I was beloved by the greatest and most lovely of 
 mankind. I was chosen from all the rest, to make all his 
 campaigns with him ; and I would not survive him, if I was 
 not passionately fond of the princess my daughter. Yet all 
 my tenderness for her was hardly enough to make me preserve 
 my life. When I left him, I passed a whole twelvemonth 
 without seeing the light. Time hath softened my despair ; yet 
 I now pass some days every week in tears, devoted to the mem- 
 ory of my Sultan." 
 
 There was no affectation in these words. It was easy to see 
 she was in a deep melancholy, though her good humor made 
 her willing to divert me. 
 
 She asked me to walk in her garden, and one of her slaves 
 immediately brought her a pellice of rich brocade lined with 
 sables. I waited on her into the garden, which had nothing in 
 it remarkable but the fountains ; and from thence she showed 
 me all her apartments. In her bed-chamber her toilet was 
 displayed, consisting of two looking-glasses, the frames covered 
 with pearls, and her night talpoche set with bodkins of jewels, 
 and near it three vests of fine sables, every one of which is, at 
 least, worth a thousand dollars (two hundred pounds English 
 money). I don't doubt but these rich habits were purposely 
 placed in sight, though they seemed negligently thrown on the 
 sofa. When I took my leave of her, I was complimented with 
 / 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 103 
 
 perfumes, as at the Grand- Vizier's, and presented with a very 
 fine embroidered handkerchief. Her slaves were to the num- 
 ber of thirty, besides ten little ones, the oldest not above seven 
 years old. These were the most beautiful girls I ever saw, all 
 richly dressed ; and I observed that the Sultana took a great 
 deal of pleasure in these lovely children, which is a vast ex- 
 pense ; for there is not a handsome girl of that age to be bought 
 under a hundred pounds sterling. They wore little garlands 
 of flowers, and their own hair, braided, which was all their 
 head-dress; but their habits were all of gold stuffs. These 
 served her coffee, kneeling ; brought water when she washed, 
 etc. It is a great part of the work of the elder slaves to take 
 care of these young girls, to learn them to embroider, and to 
 serve them as carefully as if they were children of the family. 
 Now, do you imagine I have entertained you, all this while, 
 with a relation that has, at least, received many embellish- 
 ments from my hand ? This, you will say, is but too like the 
 Arabian Tales : these embroidered napkins, and a jewel as 
 large as a turkey's egg : — You forget, dear sister, those verv 
 tales were written by an author of this country, and (except- 
 ing the enchantments) are a real representation of the manners 
 here. We travelers are in very hard circumstances : if we say 
 nothing but what has been said before us, we are dull, and 
 -we' have observed nothing ; if we tell any thing new, we are 
 laughed at as fabulous and romantic, not allowing either for 
 the difference of ranks, which affords difference of company, 
 or more curiosity, or the change of customs, that happen every 
 twenty years in every country. But the truth is, people judge 
 of travelers, exactly with the same candor, good nature, and 
 impartiality they judge of their neighbors upon all occasions. 
 /For my part, if I live to return among you, I am so well ac- 
 quainted with the morals of all my dear friends and acquaintances, 
 that I am resolved to tell them nothing at all, to avoid the im- 
 putation (which their chanty would certainly incline them to) 
 of my telling too much. ( But I depend upon your knowing 
 me enough, to believe whatever I seriously assert for truth ; 
 
104 LETTERS TO 
 
 though I give you leave to be surprised at an account so new 
 to you. 
 
 But what would you say if I told you that I have been in a 
 harem, where the winter apartment was wainscoted with inlaid 
 work of mother-of-pearl, ivory of different colors, and olive- 
 wood, exactly like the little boxes you have seen brought out of 
 this country ; and in whose rooms designed for summer, the 
 walls are all crusted with japan china, the roofs gilt, and the 
 floors spread with the finest Persian carpets ? Yet there is 
 nothing more true ; such is the palace of my lovely friend, 
 the fair Fatima, whom I was acquainted with at Adrianople. 1 
 went to visit her yesterdey ; and, if possible, she appeared to 
 me handsomer than before. She met me at the door of her 
 chamber, and, giving me her hand with the best grace in the 
 world. " You Christian ladies," said she, with a smile that 
 made her as beautiful as an angel, " have the reputation of in- 
 constancy, and I did not expect, whatever goodness you ex- 
 pressed for me at Adrianople, that I should ever see you again. 
 But I am now convinced that I have really the happiness of 
 pleasing you ; and, if you knew how I speak of you among our 
 ladies, you w r ould be assured that you do me justice in making 
 me your friend." She placed me in the corner of the sofa, and 
 I spent the afternoon in her conversation, with the greatest 
 pleasure in the world. 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 Pera, March 16, 0. S., 1*711. 
 I am extremely pleased, my dear lady, that you have at 
 length found a commission for roe that I can answ r er without 
 disappointing your expectations ; though I must tell you that 
 it is not so easy as perhaps you think it ; and that if my curi- 
 osity had not been more diligent than any other stranger's has 
 ever yet been, I must have answered you vvith an excuse, as I 
 was forced to do when you desired me to buy you a Greek 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 
 
 105 
 
 slave. I have got for you, as you desire, a Turkish love-letter, 
 which I have put into a little box, and ordered the captain of 
 the Smyrniote to deliver it to you with this letter. The trans- 
 lation of it is literally as follows : The first piece you should 
 pull out of the purse is a little pearl, which is in Turkish called 
 Ingi, and must be understood in this manner : 
 
 Ingi, 
 
 Sensin Guzelern gingi. 
 
 Pearl, 
 
 Fairest of the young. 
 
 Caremfil, 
 
 Caremfilsen cararen yok. 
 
 Glove, 
 
 Conge gulsum timarin yok. 
 
 
 Benseny chok than severim. 
 
 
 Senin benden, haberin yok. 
 
 
 You are as slender as the clove ! 
 
 
 You are an unblown rose ! 
 
 
 I have long loved you, and you have not known it! 
 
 PuL 
 
 Derdime derman bu.1. 
 
 Jonquil, 
 
 Have pity on my passion I 
 
 Kihat, 
 
 Birlerum sahat sahat. 
 
 Paper, 
 
 I faint every hour 1 
 
 Ermus, 
 
 Ver bixe bir umut. 
 
 Pear, 
 
 Give me some hope. 
 
 Jahun, Derdinden oldum zabun. 
 
 Soap, I am sick with love. 
 
 Chemur, Ben oliyim size umur. 
 
 Coal, May I die, and all my years be yours t 
 
 Gul, Ben aglarum sen gul. 
 
 A rose, May you be pleased, and your sorrows mine I 
 
 Hasir, Oliim sana yazir. 
 
 A straw, Suffer me to be your slave. 
 
 Jo ho, Ustune bulunmaz palm. 
 Cloth, Your price is not to be found. 
 
 Tartsin, Sen ghel ben chekeim senin hartsin. 
 
 Cinnamon, Put my fortune is yours. 
 
 Giro, Esking-ilen oldum ghira. 
 
 A match, I burn, I burn I my flame consumes me ! 
 
106 LETTERS TO 
 
 Sirma, Uzunu benden a yirm&. 
 
 Gold thread, Don't turn away your face from me. 
 
 Satch, 
 Hair; 
 
 Bazmazum tatch. 
 Grown of my head ! 
 
 Uzum, 
 Grape, 
 
 Benim iki Gruzum. 
 My two eyes! 
 
 Til, 
 
 Gold wire, 
 
 Ulugorum tez ghel. 
 I die — come quickly. 
 
 
 And, by way 
 
 Beber, 
 
 Pepper, 
 
 Bize bir dogm haber. 
 Send me an answer. 
 
 You see this letter is all in verse, and I can assure you 
 there is as much fancy shown in the choice of them as in 
 the most studied expressions of our letters ; there being, I be- 
 lieve, a million of verses designed for this use. There is no 
 color, no flower, no weed, no fruit, herb, pebble, or feather, that 
 has not a verse belonging to it ; and you may quarrel, re- 
 proach, or send letters of passion, friendship, or civility, or even 
 of news, without ever inking your fingers. 
 
 I fancy you are now wondering at my profound learning ; 
 but, alas ! dear madam, I am almost fallen into the misfor- 
 tune so common to the ambitious ; while they are employed. 
 on distant insignificant conquests abroad, a rebellion starts 
 up at home : I am in great danger of losing my English. I 
 find 'tis not half so easy to me to write in it as it was a 
 twelvemonth ago. I am forced to study for expressions, and 
 must leave off all other languages, and try to learn my mother 
 tongue. Human understanding is as much limited as human 
 power or human strength. The memory can retain but a 
 certain number of images ; and 'tis as impossible for one hu- 
 man creature to be perfect master of ten different languages 
 as to have in perfect subjection ten different kingdoms, or to 
 fight against ten men at a time. I am afraid I shall at last 
 know none as I should do. I live in a place that very well 
 represents the tower of Babel : in Pera they speak Turkish, 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS 
 
 107 
 
 Greek, Hebrew, Armenian, Arabic, Persian, Russian, Sclavo- 
 nic, Wallachian, German, Dutch, French, English, Italian, 
 Hungarian ; and, what is worse, there are ten of these lan- 
 guages spoken in my own family. My grooms are Arabs ; 
 my footmen, French, English and Germans ; my nurse an Ar- 
 menian ; my housemaids Russians ; half a dozen other serv- 
 ants, Greeks ; my steward, an Italian ; my janizaries, Turks ; 
 so that I live in the perpetual hearing of this medley of 
 sounds, which produces a very extraordinary effect upon the 
 people that are born here ; for they learn all these languages 
 at the same time, and without knowing any of them well 
 enough to write or read in it. There are very few men, 
 women, or even children, here, that have not the same com- 
 pass of words in five or six of them. I know myself of sev- 
 eral infants of three or four years old, that speak Italian, 
 French, Greek, Turkish, and Russian, which last they learn of 
 their nurses, who are generally of that country. This seems 
 almost incredible to you, and is, in my mind, one of the most 
 curious things in this country, and takes off very much from 
 the merit of our ladies who set up for such extraordinary ge- 
 niuses, upon the credit of some superficial knowledge of French 
 and Italian. 
 
 As I prefer English to all the rest, I am extremely morti- 
 fied at the daily decay of it in my head, where I '11 assure you 
 (with grief of heart) it is reduced to such a small number 
 of words I can not recollect any tolerable phrase to conclude 
 my letter with, and am forced to tell your ladyship, very 
 bluntly, that I am, yours, etc. 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 Tunis, July 31, 0. S., 1*718. 
 I left Constantinople the sixth of the last month, and this 
 is the first post from whence I could send a letter, though 
 I have often wished for the opportunity, that I might impart 
 
108 LETTERS TO 
 
 some of the pleasure I found in this voyage through the 
 most agreeable part of the world, where every scene presents 
 me some poetical idea. 
 
 Warm'd with poetic transport I survey 
 The immortal islands, and the well-known sea. 
 For here so oft the muse her harp has strung, 
 That not a mountain rears its head unsung. 
 
 I beg your pardon for this sally, and will, if I can, con- 
 tinue the rest of my account in plain prose. The second 
 day after we set sail we passed Gallipolis, a fair city, situated 
 in the bay of Chersonesus, and much respected by the Turks, 
 being the first town they took in Europe. At five the next 
 morning we anchored in the Hellespont, between the castles 
 of Sestos and Abydos, now called the Dardinelli. These are 
 now two little ancient castles, but of no strength, being com- 
 manded by a rising ground behind them, which I confess I 
 should never have taken notice of if I had not heard it ob- 
 served by our captain and officers, my imagination being 
 wholly employed by the tragic story that you are well ac- 
 quainted with : 
 
 The swimming lover, and the nightly bride, ■ 
 How Hero loved, and how Leander died. 
 
 Verse again ! — I am certainly infected by the poetical air I 
 have passed through. That of Abydos is undoubtedly very 
 amorous, since that soft passion betrayed the castle into the 
 hands of the Turks who besieged it in the reign of Orchanes. 
 The governor's daughter imagining to have seen her future 
 husband in a dream (though I don't .find she had either slept 
 upon bride-cake, or kept St. Agnes's fast), fancied she saw 
 the dear figure in the form of one of her besiegers ; and, be- 
 ing willing to obey her destiny, tossed a note to him over 
 the wall, with the offer of her person, and the delivery of the 
 castle. He showed it to his general, who consented to try 
 the sincerity of her intentions, and withdrew his army, order- 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 109 
 
 ing the young man to return with a select body of men at 
 midnight. She admitted him at the appointed hour ; he de- 
 stroyed the garrison, took the father prisoner, and made her 
 his wife. This town is in Asia, first founded by the Mile- 
 sians. Sestos is in Europe, and was once the principal city 
 of Chersonesus. Since I have seen this strait, I find nothing 
 improbable in the adventure of Leander, or very wonderful in 
 the bridge of boats of Xerxes. 'Tis so narrow 'tis not sur- 
 prising a young lover should attempt to swim, or an ambi- 
 tious king try to pass his army over it. But then, 'tis so 
 subject to storms, 'tis no wonder the lover perished, and the 
 bridge was broken. From hence we had a full view of 
 Mount Ida, 
 
 Where Juno once caress'd her am'rous Jove, 
 And the world's master lay subdued by love. 
 
 Not many leagues' sail from hence, I saw the point of land 
 where poor old Hecuba was buried ; and about a league from 
 that place is Cape Janizary, the famous promontory of Sigaeum, 
 where we anchored. My curiosity supplied me with strength 
 to climb to the top of it to see the place where Achilles was 
 buried, and where Alexander ran naked round his tomb in 
 honor of him, which no doubt was a great comfort to his ghost. 
 I saw there the ruins of a very large city, and found a stone, 
 on which Mr. Wortley plainly distinguished the words of 
 SirJIAN TIOAIN. We ordered this on board the ship ; but 
 were showed others much more curious by a Greek priest 
 though a very ignorant fellow, that could give no tolerable ac- 
 count of any thing. On each side the door of this little church 
 lie two large stones, about ten feet long each, five in breadth, 
 and three in thickness. That on the right is a very fine white 
 marble, the side of it beautifully carved in bas-relief ; it repre- 
 sents a woman, who seems to be designed for some deity, 
 sitting on a chair with a footstool, and before her another wo- 
 man weeping, and presenting to her a young child that she has 
 in her arms, followed by a procession of women with children 
 
110 LETTERS TO 
 
 in the same manner. This is certainly part of a very ancient 
 tomb : but I dare not pretend to give the true explanation of it. 
 On the stone, on the left side, is a very fair inscription ; but the 
 Greek is too ancient for Mr. Wortley's interpretation. I am 
 very sorry not to have the original in my possession, which 
 might have been purchased of the poor inhabitants for a small 
 sum of money. But our captain assured us that without hav- 
 ing machines made on purpose, 'twas impossible to bear it to 
 the sea-side ; and, when it was there, his long-boat would not 
 be large enough to hold it.* 
 
 The ruins of this great city are now inhabited by poor Greek 
 peasants, who wear the Sciote habit, the women being in short 
 petticoats, fastened by straps round their shoulders, and large 
 smock sleeves of white linen, with neat shoes and stockings, 
 and on their heads a large piece of muslin, which falls in large 
 folds on their shoulders. One of my countrymen, Mr. San- 
 dysf (whose book I doubt not you have read, as one of the 
 best of its kind), speaking of these ruins, supposes them to have 
 been the foundation of a city begun by Constantine, before his 
 building Byzantium ; but I see no good reason for that imagin- 
 ation, and am apt to believe them much more ancient. 
 
 We saw very plainly from this promontory the river Simois 
 rolling from Mount Ida, and running through a very spacious 
 valley. It is now a considerable river, and is called Sim ores ; 
 it is joined in the vale by the Scamander, which appeared a 
 small stream half choked with mud, but is perhaps large in 
 the winter. This was Xanthus among the gods, as Homer tells 
 
 * The first-mentioned of these marbles is engraved in the Ionian 
 Antiquities, published by the Dilettanti Society, and described by Dr. 
 Chandler in his Tour in Asia Minor. The second bears the celebrated 
 inscription so often referred to, in proof of the Bovarpo^dov, one of the 
 most ancient forms of writing among the Greeks. For accurate accounts 
 and engravings of these curiosities, see Chishull, Shuckforth, and Chand- 
 ler, Inscript. Antiq. Knight on the G-reek Alphabets, etc. 
 
 f George Sandys, one of the most valuable travelers into the Le- 
 vant, whose work had reached four editions in the reign of Charles the 
 First 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. Ill 
 
 us ; and 'tis by that heavenly name the nymph Oenone invokes 
 it in her epistle to Paris. The Trojan virgins* used to offer 
 their first favors to it, by the name of Scamander, till the ad- 
 venture which Monsieur de la Fontaine has told so agreeably 
 abolished that heathenish ceremony. When the stream is 
 mingled with the Simois, they run together to the sea. 
 
 All that is now left of Troy is the ground on which it stood ; 
 for, I am firmly persuaded, whatever pieces of antiquity may 
 be found round it are much more modern, and I think Strabo 
 says the same thing. However, there is some pleasure in 
 seeing the valley where I imagined the famous duel of Menelaus 
 and Paris had been fought, and where the greatest city in the 
 world was situated. 'Tis certainly the noblest situation that 
 can be found for the head of a great empire, much to be pre- 
 ferred to that of Constantinople, the harbor here being always 
 convenient for ships from all parts of the world, and that of 
 Constantinople inaccessible almost six months in the year, 
 while the north wind reigns. 
 
 North of the promontory of Sigeum we saw that of Khse- 
 teum, famed for the sepulcher of Ajax. While I viewed these 
 celebrated fields and rivers, I admired the exact geography of 
 Homer, whom I had in my hand. Almost every epithet he 
 gives to a mountain or plain is still just for it ; and I spent 
 several hours here in as agreeable cogitations as ever Don 
 Quixote had ou mount Montesinos. We sailed next night to 
 the shore, where 'tis vulgarly reported Troy stood ; and I took 
 the pains of rising at two in the morning to view coolly those 
 ruins which are commonly showed to strangers, and which the 
 Turks call Eski Stamboul,\ i. e,, Old Constantinople. For 
 
 * For this curious story, Monsieur Bayle may be consulted in his 
 Dictionary, article "Scamander." It appears in the Letters of Oschines, 
 vol. i. pp. 125, 126, edit. Genev. 160*7 ; also in Philostrates and Vi- 
 generus. 
 
 f Alexandria Troas, which the early travelers have erroneously 
 considered as the true site of ancient Troy. See Belon, Ch. vi. 4to, 
 1588, Viaggi di Pietro Delia Valle, 4to. 1650. Gibbon (Rom. Hist. vol. 
 iii. p. 10) remarks, that Wood, in his observations on the Troad, p. 140, 
 
112 LETTERS TO 
 
 that reason, as well as some others, I conjecture them to be 
 the remains of that city begun by Constantine. I hired an ass 
 (the only voiture to be had here), that I might go some miles 
 into the country, and take a tour round the ancient walls, 
 which are of a vast extent. We found the remains of a castle 
 on a hill, and of another in a valley, several broken pillars, and 
 two pedestals, from which I took those Latin inscriptions : 
 
 1. 
 
 DTVL AUG. COL. 
 ET COL. IUL. PHTLIPPEXSIS 
 
 EORUXDEM PRIXCIPUM 
 
 COL. IIJL. PARIAX.E. TRLBUN. 
 
 MTLTT. COH. XXXJL VOLUNTAS. 
 
 TETB. MTLIT. LEG. XIU. GEM. 
 
 PB^FECTO EQUTT. ALffi. L 
 
 SCUBULORUM 
 
 vie. vm. 
 
 DIVL IULI. FLAMTNT 
 
 C AXTOXIO. M. F. 
 
 VOLT. RUFO. FLAMLX. 
 
 DIV. AUG. COL. CL. APREXS. 
 
 ET COL. IUL. PHTLIPPEXSIS 
 
 EORUXDEM ET PRINTCD?. ITEM 
 
 COL. IUL. PARIAX.E TETB. 
 
 1TTLIT. COH. XXXJL VOLUXTARIOR 
 
 TRIB. MTLIT. XIII. 
 
 GEM. PRJEF. EQUIT. AHE. L 
 
 SCUBULORUM 
 
 VIC. vn. 
 
 I do not doubt but the remains of a temple near this place 
 are the ruins of one dedicated to Augustus ; and I know not 
 why Mr. Sandys calls it a Christian temple, since the Romans 
 certainly built hereabouts. Here are many tombs of fine mar- 
 
 141, had confounded Ilium with Alexandria Troas, although sixteen 
 miles distant from each other. In the Ionian Antiquities are some fine 
 views of these ruins. 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 113 
 
 ble, and vast pieces of granite, which are daily lessened by the 
 prodigious balls that the Turks make from them for their 
 cannon. We passed that evening the isle of Tenedos, once 
 under the patronage of Apollo, as he gave it in himself in the 
 particulars of his estate when he courted Daphne. It is but 
 ten miles in circuit, but in those days very rich and well- 
 peopled, still famous for its excellent wine. I say nothing of 
 Tennes, from whom it was called ; but naming Mytilene, where 
 we passed next, I can not forbear mentioning Lesbos, where 
 Sappho sung, and Pittacus reigned, famous for the birth of 
 Alcseus, Theophrastus, and Arion, those masters in poetry, phi- 
 losophy, and music. This was one of the last islands that 
 remained in the Christian dominion after the conquest of Con- 
 stantinople by the Turks. But need I talk to you of Canta- 
 cuseni, etc., princes that you are as well acquainted with as I 
 am ? 'T was with regret I saw us sail from this island into 
 the Egean sea, now the Archipelago, leaving Scio (the ancient 
 Chios) on the left, which is the richest and most populous of 
 these islands, fruitful in cotton, corn, and silk, planted with 
 groves of orange and lemon-trees, and the Arvisian mountain, 
 still celebrated for the nectar that Virgil mentions. Here is 
 the best manufacture of silks in all Turkey. The town is well 
 built, the women famous for their beauty, and show their faces 
 as in Christendom. There are many rich families, though they 
 confine their magnificence to the inside of their houses, to 
 avoid the jealousy of the Turks, who have a pasha here : how- 
 ever, they enjoy a reasonable liberty, and indulge the genius 
 of their country ; 
 
 And eat, and sing, and dance away their time, 
 Fresh as their groves, and happy as their clime. 
 
 Their chains hang lightly on them, though 'tis not long since 
 they were imposed, not being under the Turk till 1566. But 
 perhaps 'tis as easy to obey the Grand-Seignior as the State of 
 Genoa, to whom they were sold by the Greek Emperor. But I 
 forget myself in these historical touches, which are very im- 
 
114 LETTERS TO 
 
 pertinent when I write to you. Passing the strait between the 
 islands of Andros and Achaia, now Libadia, we saw the prom- 
 ontory of Sunium, now called Cape Colonna, where are yet 
 standing the vast pillars of a temple of Minerva. This vener- 
 able sight made me think, with double regret, on a beautiful 
 temple of Theseus, which, I am assured, was almost entire at 
 Athens till the last campaign in the Morea, that the Turks filled 
 it with powder, and it was accidentally blown up. You may 
 believe I hrd a great mind to land on the famed Peloponnesus, 
 though it were only to look on the rivers of JEsopus, Peneus, 
 Inachus, and Eurotas, the fields of Arcadia, and other scenes 
 of ancient mythology. But instead of demi-gods and heroes, I 
 was credibly informed 'tis now over-run by robbers, and that 
 I should run a great risk of falling into their hands by un- 
 dertaking such a journey through a desert country, for which 
 however, I have so much respect that I have much ado to 
 hinder myself from troubling you with its whole history, from 
 the foundation of Nicana and Corinth, to the last campaign 
 there ; but I check the inclination as I did that of landing. 
 We sailed quietly by Cape Angelo, once Malea, where I saw no 
 remains of the famous temple of Apollo. We came that even- 
 ing in sight of Candia : it is very mountainous ; we easily dis- 
 tinguished that of Ida. We have Virgil's authority, that here 
 were a hundred cities — 
 
 Centum urbes habitant magnas — 
 
 The chief of them — the scene of monstrous passions. Metellus 
 first conquered this birth-place of his Jupiter ; it fell afterward 
 into the hands of — I am running on to the very siege of Can- 
 dia ; and I am so angry with myself that I will pass by all the 
 other islands with this general reflection, that 'tis impossible to 
 imagine any thing more agreeable than this journey would have 
 been two or three thousand years since, when, after drinking 
 a dish of tea with Sappho, I might have gone the same even- 
 ing to visit the temple of Homer in Chios, and passed this voy- 
 
TIER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 115 
 
 age in taking plans of magnificent temples, delineating the 
 miracles of statuaries, and conversing with the most polite and 
 most gay of mankind. Alas ! art is extinct here ; the wonders 
 of nature alone remain; and it was with vast pleasure I ob- 
 served those of Mount Etna, whose flame appears very bright 
 in the night many leagues off at sea, and fills the head with a 
 thousand conjectures. However, I honor philosophy too much 
 to imagine it could turn that of Empedocles ; and Lucian shall 
 never make me believe such a scandal of a man, of whom Lu- 
 cretius says : 
 
 Vix humana videtur stirpe creatus. 
 
 We passed Trinacria without hearing any of the syrens that 
 Homer describes ; and, being thrown on neither Scylla nor 
 Charybdis, came safe to Malta, first called Melita, from the 
 abundance of honey. It is a whole rock covered with very 
 little earth. The Grand-Master lives here in the state of a sove- 
 reign prince ; but his strength at sea now is very small. The 
 fortifications are reckoned the best in the world, all cut in the 
 solid rock with infinite expense and labor. Off this island we 
 were tossed by a severe storm, and were very glad, after eight 
 days, to be able to put into Porta Farine, on the African shore, 
 where our ship now rides. At Tunis we were met by the En- 
 glish consul who resides there. I readily accepted of the offer 
 of his house for some days, being very curious to see this part 
 of the world, and particularly the ruins of Carthage. I set out 
 in his chaise at nine at night, the moon being at full. I saw 
 the prospect of the country almost as well as I could have 
 done by daylight ; and the heat of the sun is now so intoler- 
 able 'tis impossible to travel at any other time. The soil is 
 for the most part sandy, but everywhere fruitful of date, olive, 
 and fig-trees, which grow without art, yet afford the most de- 
 licious fruit in the world. Their vineyards and melon-fields 
 are inclosed by hedges of that plant we call Indian fig, which 
 is an admirable fence, no wild beast being able to pass it. It 
 grows a great height, very thick, and the spikes or thorns are 
 
116 LETTERS TO 
 
 as long and as sharp as bodkins ; it bears a fruit much eaten 
 by the peasants, and which has no ill taste. 
 
 It being now the season of the Turkish ramazan, or Lent, 
 and all here professing, at least, the Mohammedan religion, 
 they fast till the going down of the sun, and spend the night 
 in feasting. We saw under the trees companies of the coun- 
 try people, eating, singing, and dancing to their wild music. 
 They are not quite black, but all mulattoes, and the most 
 frightful creatures that can appear in a human figure. They 
 are almost naked, only wearing a piece of coarse serge wrapped 
 about them. But the women have their arms, to their very 
 shoulders, and their necks and faces, adorned with flowers, 
 stars, and various sorts of figures impressed by gunpowder ; a 
 considerable addition to their natural deformity ; which is, how- 
 ever, esteemed very ornamental among them ; and I believe 
 they suffer a good deal of pain by it. 
 
 About six miles from Tunis we saw the remains of that noble 
 aqueduct, which carried the water to Carthage over several 
 high mountains, the length of forty miles. There are still many 
 arches entire. We spent two hours viewing it with great atten- 
 tion, and Mr. Wortley assured me that of Rome is very much 
 inferior to it. The stones are of a prodigious size, and yet all 
 polished, and so exactly fitted to each other very little cement 
 has been made use of to join them. Yet they may probably 
 stand a thousand years longer, if art is not made use of to pull 
 them down. Soon after daybreak I arrived at Tunis, a town 
 fairly built of very white stone, but quite without gardens, 
 which, they say, were all destroyed when the Turks first took 
 it, none having been planted since. The dry sand gives a very 
 disagreeable prospect to the eye ; and the want of shade con- 
 tributing to the natural heat of the climate, renders it so ex- 
 cessive that I have much ado to support it. 'Tis true here is 
 every noon the refreshment of the sea-breeze, without which it 
 would be impossible to live ; but no fresh water but what is 
 preserved in the cisterns of the rains that fall in the month of 
 September. The women of the town go vailed from head to 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 117 
 
 foot under a black crape ; and, being mixed with a breed of 
 renegadoes, are said to be many of them fair and handsome. 
 This city was besieged in 1270, by Lewis, King of France, who 
 died under the walls of it of a pestilential fever. After his 
 death, Philip, his son, and our prince Edward, son of Henry 
 DX, raised the siege on honorable terms. It remained under 
 its natural African kings, till betrayed into the hands of Barba- 
 rossa, admiral of Solyman the Magnificent. The Emperor 
 Charles V. expelled Barbarossa, but it was recovered by the 
 Turks, under the conduct of Sinan Pasha, in the reign of Selim 
 II. From that time till now it has remained tributary to the 
 Grand-Signior, governed by a bey, who sutlers the name of sub- 
 ject to the Turk, but has renounced the subjection, being abso- 
 lute, and very seldom paying any tribute. The great city of 
 Bagdad is at this time in the same circumstances ; and the 
 Grand-Signior connives at the loss of these dominions, for fear 
 of losing even the titles of them. 
 
 I went very early yesterday morning (after one night's re- 
 pose) to see the ruins of Carthage. I was, however, half broiled 
 in the sun, and overjoyed to be led into one of the subterranean 
 apartments, which they called The Stables of the Elephants, but 
 which I can not believe were ever designed for that use. I 
 found in them many broken pieces of columns of fine marble, 
 and some of porphyry. I can not think any body would take 
 the insignificant pains of carrying them thither, and I can not 
 imagine such fine pillars were designed for the use of stables. 
 I am apt to believe they were summer apartments under their 
 palaces, which the heat of the climate rendered necessary. 
 They are now used as granaries by the country people. While 
 I sat here, from the town of Tents, not far oif, many of the 
 women flocked in to see me, and we were equally entertained 
 with viewing one another. Their posture in sitting, the color 
 of their skin, their lank black hair falling on each side their 
 faces, their features, and the shape of their limbs, differ so 
 little from their country-people the baboons, 'tis hard to fancy 
 
118 . LETTERS TO 
 
 them a distinct race ; I could not help thinking there had been 
 some ancient alliances between them. 
 
 When I was a little refreshed by rest, and some milk and 
 exquisite fruit they brought me, I went up the little hill where 
 once stood the castle of Byrsa, and from thence I had a distinct 
 view of the situation of the famous city of Carthage, which 
 stood on an isthmus, the sea coming on each side of it. 'Tis 
 now a marshy ground on one side, where there are salt ponds. 
 Sfcrabo calls Carthage forty miles in circumference. There are 
 now no remains of it but what I have described ; and the his- 
 tory of it is too well known to want my abridgment of it. You 
 see, sir, that I think you esteem obedience better than compli- 
 ments. I have answered your letter, by giving you the accounts 
 you desired, and have reserved my thanks to the conclusion. 
 I intend to leave this place to-morrow, and continue my jour- 
 ney through Italy and France. In one of those places I hope 
 to tell you, by word of mouth, that I am, Your humble serv- 
 ant, etc., etc. 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 
 Genoa, August 28, 0. S. 1718. 
 Genoa is situated in a very fine bay ; and being built on a 
 rising hill, intermixed with gardens, and beautified with the 
 most excellent architecture, gives a very fine prospect off at 
 sea ; though it lost much of its beauty in my eyes, having been 
 accustomed to that of Constantinople. The Genoese were 
 once masters of several islands in the Archipelago, and all 
 that part of Constantinople which is now called Galata. Theii 
 betraying the Christian cause by facilitating the taking of 
 Constantinople by the Turk, deserved what has since happened 
 to them, even the loss of all their conquests on that side to 
 those infidels. They are at present far from rich, and are de- 
 spised by the French, since their doge was forced by the late 
 king to go in person to Paris, to ask pardon for such a trifle 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 119 
 
 as the arms of France over the house of the envoy being spat- 
 tered with dung in the night. This, I suppose, was done by 
 some of the Spanish faction, which still makes up the majority 
 here, though they dare not openly declare it. The ladies affect 
 the French habit, and are more genteel than those they imitate. 
 I do not doubt but the custom of cecisbeos has very much im- 
 proved their airs. I know not whether you ever heard of those 
 animals. Upon my word, nothing but my own eyes could ' 
 have convinced me there were any such upon earth. The 
 fashion began here, and is now received all over Italy, where 
 the husbands are not such terrible creatures as we represent 
 them. There are none among them such brutes as to pretend 
 to find fault with a custom so well established, and so politi- 
 cally founded, since I am assured that it was an expedient first 
 found out by the senate, to put an end to those family hatreds 
 which tore their State to pieces, and to find employment for 
 those young men who were forced to cut one another's throats 
 pour passer le temps ; and it has succeeded so well, that, since 
 the institution of cecisbei, there has been nothing but peace 
 and good humor among them. These are gentlemen who de- 
 vote themselves to the service of a particular lady (I mean a 
 married one, for the virgins are all invisible, and confined 
 to convents) : they are obliged to wait on her to all public 
 places, such as the plays, the operas, and assemblies (which 
 are here called Conversations), where they wait behind her 
 chair, take care of her fan and gloves, if she play, have the 
 privilege of whispers, etc. When she goes out they serve her 
 instead of lacqueys, gravely trotting by her chair. 'Tis their 
 business to prepare for her a present against any day of pub- 
 lic appearance, not forgetting that of her own name :* in 
 short, they are to spend all their time and money in her serv- 
 ice, who rewards them accordingly (for opportunity they want 
 none) ; but the husband is not to have the impudence to sup- 
 pose this any other than pure Platonic friendship. 'Tis true, 
 they endeavor to give her a cecisbeo Of their own choosing ; 
 • That is. the day of the saint after whom she is called. 
 
120 LETTERS TO 
 
 but when the lady happens not to be of the same taste, as that 
 often happens, she never fails to bring it about to have one of 
 her own fancy. In former times, one beauty used to have 
 eight or ten of these humble admirers ; but those days of 
 plenty and humility are no more : men grow more scarce and 
 saucy ; and every lady is forced to content herself with one 
 at a time. 
 
 You may see in this place the glorious liberty of a republic, 
 or, more properly, an aristocracy, the common people being 
 here as errant slaves as the French ; but the old nobles pay 
 little respect to the doge, who isbut two years in his office, 
 and whose wife, at that very time, assumes no rank above 
 another noble lady. 'Tis true, the family of Andrea Doria 
 (that great man, who restored them that liberty they enjoy) 
 have some particular privileges : when the senate found it ne- 
 cessary to put a stop to the luxury of dress, forbidding the 
 wearing of jewels and brocades, they left them at liberty to 
 make what expense they pleased. I look with great pleasure 
 on the statue of that hero, which is in the court belonging to 
 the house of Duke Doria. This puts me in mind of their palaces, 
 which I can never describe as I ought. Is it not enough that 
 I say they are, most of them, the design of Palladio ? The 
 street called Strada Nova is perhaps the most beautiful line of 
 building in the world. I must particularly mention the vast 
 palaces of Durazzo ; those of the two Balbi, joined together 
 by a magnificent colonnade ; that of the Imperiale at this vil- 
 lage of St. Pierre d' Arena ; and another of the Doria. The 
 perfection of architecture, and the utmost profusion of rich 
 furniture, are to be seen here, disposed with the most elegant 
 taste and lavish magnificence. But I am charmed with noth- 
 ing so much as the collection of pictures by the pencils of 
 Raphael, Paulo Veronese, Titian, Caracci, Michael Angelo, 
 Guido, and Correggio, which two I mention last as my par- 
 ticular favorites. I own I can find no pleasure in objects of 
 horror ; and, in my opinion, the more naturally a crucifix is 
 represented, the more disagreeable it is. These, my beloved 
 
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 121 
 
 painters, show nature, and show it in the most charming light. 
 I was particularly pleased with a Lucretia in the house of 
 Balbi : the expressive beauty of that face and bosom gives 
 all the expression of pity and admiration that could be raised 
 in the soul by the finest poem upon that subject. A Cleo- 
 patra of the same hand deserves to be mentioned ; and I 
 should say more of her, if Lucretia had not at first engaged 
 my eyes. Here are also some inestimable ancient bustos. The 
 Church of St. Lawrence is built of black and white marble, 
 where is kept that famous plate of a single emerald, which is 
 not now permitted to be handled, since a plot, which they say 
 was discovered to throw it on the pavement and break it — a 
 childish piece of malice, which they ascribe to the King of 
 Sicily, to be revenged for their refusing to sell it to him. The 
 Church of the Annunciation is finely lined with marble ; the 
 pillars are of red and white marble : that of St. Ambrose has 
 been very much adorned by the Jesuits : but I confess all the 
 churches appeared so mean to me, after that of Sancta Sophia, 
 I can hardly do them the honor of writing down their names. 
 But I hope you will own I have made good use of my time, 
 in seeing so much, since 'tis not many days that we have 
 been out of the quarantine, from which nobody is exempted 
 coming from the Levant. Ours, indeed, was very much short- 
 ened, and very agreeably passed in M. d'Aveuant's company, 
 in the village of St. Pierre d' Arena, about a mile from Genoa, 
 in a house built by Palladio, so well designed, and so nobly 
 proportioned, 't was a pleasure to walk in it. We were visited 
 .here only by a few English, in the company of a noble Geno- 
 ese, commissioned to see we did not touch one another. I 
 shall stay here some days longer, and could almost wish it 
 i were for all my life ; but mine, I fear, is not destined to so 
 much tranquillity. 
 
 Note. — Of the foregoing letters, the sixth, twelfth, and fourteenth 
 were addressed to Lady Rich; the seventh, tenth and eleventh to the 
 
 Abbot of ; the fifteenth to the Abbe ; and the others to her sister, 
 
 Lady Mar. — Am. ed. 
 
 6 
 
LETTERS TO AND FROM ALEXANDER POPE.* 
 
 FROM 1716 TO 1718. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 Twickenham, Aug. 18, 0. S., 1716. 
 Madam, I can say little to recommend the letters I am be- 
 ginning to write to you but that they will be the most impar- 
 tial representations of a free heart, and the truest copies you 
 ever saw, though of a very mean original. Not a feature will 
 be softened, or any advantageous light employed to make the 
 ugly thing a little less hideous, but you shall find it in all re- 
 spects most horribly-like. You will do me an injustice if you 
 look upon any thing I shall say from this instant, as a compli- 
 ment either to you or to myself: whatever I write will be the 
 real thought of that hour, and I know you will no more ex- 
 pect it of me to persevere till death in every sentiment or 
 
 * This correspondence was held during the " Embassy ;" but it 
 seemed to me best to separate the letters from those written to the 
 other "Friends" of Lady Mary, and give, consecutively, Mr. Pope's 
 letters to her, as well as her answers. In this way, the friendship 
 then subsisting between them can be best understood. It will bev 
 seen that he solicited the correspondence, and held the genius and 
 character of Lady Mary in such regard as a devotee might have ex- 
 pressed for his patron saint. That he afterward became her most im- 
 placable enemy, was not her fault, but his ; the meanness of wounded 
 vanity prompted his bitter sarcasms on women in general and hla 
 wicked libels on Lady Mary in particular. — Am. Ed. 
 
LETTERS FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 123 
 
 notion I now set down, than you would imagine a man's 
 face should never change after his picture was once drawn. 
 
 The freedom I shall use in this manner of thinking aloud 
 (as somebody calls it) or talking upon paper, may indeed 
 prove me a fool, but it will prove me one of the best sort of 
 fools, the honest ones. And since what folly we have will in- 
 fallibly buoy up at one time or other in spite of all our art to 
 keep it down, it is almost foolish to take any pains to conceal it 
 at all, and almost knavish to do it from those that are our 
 friends. If Momus's project had taken of having windows in 
 our breasts, I should be for carrying it further and making 
 those windows casements : that while a man showed his heart 
 to all the world, he might do something more for his friends, 
 e'en take it out, and trust it to their handling. I think I 
 love you as well as King Herod could Herodias (though I 
 never had so much as one dance with you), and would as 
 freely give you my heart in a dish as he did another's head. 
 But since Jupiter will not have it so, I must be content to 
 show my taste in life as I do my taste in painting — by loving to 
 have as little drapery as possible, because it is good to use 
 people to what they must be acquainted with ; and there will 
 certainly come some day of judgment to uncover every soul 
 of us. We shall then see how the prudes of this world owed 
 all their fine figure only to their being a little straiter laced, 
 and that they were naturally as arrant squabs as those that 
 went more loose, nay, as those that never girded their loins at 
 all. 
 
 But a particular reason to engage you to write your 
 thoughts the more freely to me, is, that I am confident no one 
 knows you better. For I find, when others express their opin- 
 ion of you, it falls very short of mine, and I am sure, at the 
 same time, theirs is such as you would think sufficiently in 
 your favor. 
 
 You may easily imagine how desirous I must be of a cor- 
 respondence with a person who had taught me long ago that 
 it was as possible to esteem at first sight, as to love : and who 
 
124 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 has since ruined me for all the conversation of one sex, and 
 almost all the friendship of the other. I am but too sensible, 
 through your means, that the company of men wants a cer- 
 tain softness to recommend it, and that of women wants every 
 thing else. How often have I been quietly going to take 
 possession of that tranquillity and indolence I had so long 
 found in the country, when one evening of your conversation 
 has spoiled me for a solitaire too ! Books have lost their ef- 
 fect upon me; and I was convinced since I saw you that 
 there is something more powerful than philosophy, and, since 
 I heard you, that there is one alive wiser than all the sages. 
 A plague of female wisdom ! it makes a man ten times more 
 uneasy than his own ! What is very strange, Virtue herself, 
 when you have the dressing her, is too amiable for one's re- 
 pose. What a world of good might you have done in your 
 time, if you had allowed half the fine gentlemen who have 
 seen you to have but conversed with you ? They would have 
 been strangely caught, while they thought only to fall in love 
 with a fair face, and you had bewitched them with reason and 
 virtue ; two beauties, that the very fops pretend to no ac- 
 quaintance with. 
 
 The unhappy distance at which we correspond, removes a 
 great many of those punctilious restrictions and decorums 
 that oftentimes in nearer conversation prejudice truth to save 
 good breeding. I may now hear of my faults, and you of 
 your good qualities, without a blush on either side. We con- 
 verse upon such unfortunate generous terms as exclude the 
 regards of fear, shame, or design in either of us. And me- 
 thinks it would be as ungenerous a part to impose even in a 
 single thought upon each other, in this state of separation, 
 as for spirits of a different sphere, who have so little inter- 
 course with us, to employ that little (as some would make 
 us think they do) in putting tricks and delusions upon poor 
 mortals. 
 
 Let me begin then, madam, by asking you a question, which 
 may enable me to judge better of my own conduct than most 
 
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 125 
 
 instances of my life. In what manner did I behave the last 
 hour I saw you ? What degree of concern did I discover when 
 T felt a misfortune, which I hope you never will feel, that of 
 parting from what one most esteems ? For if my parting looked 
 but like that of your common acquaintance, I am the greatest 
 of all the hypocrites that ever decency made. 
 
 I never since pass by the house but with the same sort of 
 melancholy that we feel upon seeing the tomb of a friend, which 
 only serves to put us in mind of what we have lost. I reflect 
 upon the circumstances of your departure, your behavior in 
 what I may call your last moments, and I indulge a gloomy 
 kind of satisfaction in thinking you gave some of those last 
 moments to me. I would fain imagine this was not accidental, 
 but proceeded from a penetration which I know you have in 
 finding out the truth of people's sentiments, and that you were 
 not unwilling the last man that would have parted with you 
 should be the last that did. I really looked upon you then, 
 as the friends of Curtius might have done upon that hero in 
 the instant he was devoting himself to glory, and running to 
 be lost, out of generosity. I was obliged to admire your reso- 
 lution in as great a degree as I deplored it ; and could only 
 wish that Heaven would reward so much merit as was to be 
 taken from us with all the felicity it could enjoy elsewhere. May 
 that person for whom you have left all the world be so just as 
 to prefer you to all the world. I believe his good understand- 
 ing has engaged him to do so hitherto, and I think his gratitude 
 must for the future. May you continue to think him worthy 
 of whatever you have done ; may you ever look upon him 
 with the eyes of a first lover, nay, if possible, with all the un- 
 reasonable happy fondness of an unexperienced one, surrounded 
 nvith all the enchantments and ideas of romance and poetry. 
 In a word, may you receive from him as many pleasures and 
 gratifications as even I think you can give. I wish this from 
 my heart, and while I examine what passes there in regard to 
 you, I can not but glory in my own heart that it is capable of 
 so much generosity. 
 
126 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 TO MR. POPE.* 
 
 VnorarA, Sept. 4, 0. S., 1717. 
 
 Perhaps you'll laugh at me for thanking you very giavely 
 for all the obliging concern you express for me. 'Tis certain 
 that I may, if I please, take the fine things you say to me for 
 wit and raillery ; and, it may be, it would be taking theai right. 
 But I never, in my life, was half so well disposed to believe 
 you in earnest as I am at present ; and that distance, which 
 makes the continuation of your friendship improbable, has 
 very much increased my faith in it. 
 
 I find that I have (as well as the rest of my sex), whatever 
 face I set on't, a strong disposition to believe in miracles. 
 Don't fancy, however, that I am infected by the air of these 
 Popish countries ; I have, indeed, so far wandered from the 
 discipline of the Church of England, as to have been last Sun- 
 day at the Opera, which was performed in the garden of the 
 Favorita ; and I was so much pleased with it, I have not yet 
 repented my seeing it. Nothing of that kind ever was more 
 magnificent ; and I can easily believe what I am told, that the 
 decorations and habits cost the emperor thirty thousand pounds 
 sterling. The stage was built over a very large canal, and, at 
 the beginning of the second act, divided into two parts, dis- 
 covering the water, on which there immediately came, from 
 different parts, two fleets of little gilded vessels, that gave the 
 representation of a naval fight. It is not easy to imagine the 
 
 * In the eighth volume of Pope's "Works, are first published thirteen 
 of his letters to Lady Mary "Wortley Montagu communicated to Dr. 
 Warton by the present Primate of Ireland. These MSS. are in the pos- 
 session of the Marquis of Bute. As many are without date, the arrange- 
 ment of them must be directed by circumstances ; and as most of them 
 were written to Lady Mary during her first absence from England, we 
 shall advert to them, as making a part of this correspondence. The 
 letter of Pope's, to which this is an answer, was first printed from the 
 origmal MS. in "Works of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, 18U3. 
 
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 127 
 
 beauty of this scene, which I took particular notice of. But 
 all the rest were perfectly fine in their kind. The story of the 
 opera is the enchantment of Alcina, which gives opportunities 
 for a great variety of machines, and changes of the scenes, 
 which are performed with a surprising swiftness. The theater 
 is so large that it is hard to carry the eye to the end of it, and 
 the habits in the utmost magnificence, to the number of one 
 hundred and eight. No house could hold such large decora- 
 tions ; but the ladies all sitting in the open air, exposes them 
 to great inconveniences ; for there is but one canopy for the 
 imperial family ; and, the first night it was represented, a 
 shower of rain happening, the opera was broken off, and the 
 company crowded away in such confusion that I was almost 
 squeezed to death. 
 
 But if their operas are thus delightful, their comedies are in 
 as high a degree ridiculous. # They have but one playhouse, 
 where I had the curiosity to go to a German comedy, and was 
 very glad it happened to be the story of Amphitryon. As that 
 subject has been already handled by a Latin, French, and 
 English poet, I was curious to see what an Austrian author 
 would make of it. I understand enough of that language to 
 comprehend the greatest part of it ; and besides, I took with 
 me a lady, who had the goodness to explain to me every word. 
 The way is, to take a box, which holds four, for yourself and 
 company. The fixed price is a gold ducat. I thought the 
 house very low and dark; but I confess, the comedy admira- 
 bly recompensed that defect. I never laughed so much in my 
 life. It began with Jupiter's falling in love out of a peep-hole 
 in the clouds, and ended with the birth of Hercules. But what 
 was most pleasant, was the use Jupiter made of his metamor- 
 phosis ; for you no sooner saw him under the figure of Amphi- 
 tryon, but instead of flying to Alcmena, with the raptures Mr. 
 Dryden puts into his mouth, he sends for Amphitryon's tailor, 
 and cheats him of a laced coat, and his banker of a bag of 
 money, a Jew of a diamond ring, and bespeaks a great supper 
 in his name ; and the greatest part of the comedy turns upon 
 
128 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 poor Amphitryon's being tormented by these people for their 
 debts. Mercury uses Sosia in the same manner. But I could 
 not easily pardon the liberty the poet has taken of larding his 
 play with, not only indecent expressions, but such gross words 
 as I don't think our mob would suffer from a mountebank. 
 Besides, the two Sosias very fairly let down their breeches in 
 the direct view of the boxes, which were full of people of the 
 tirst rank, that seemed very well pleased with their entertain- 
 ment, and assured me this was a celebrated piece. 
 
 I shall conclude my letter with this remarkable relation, 
 very well worthy the serious consideration of Mr. Collier.* I 
 won't trouble you with farewell compliments, which I think 
 generally as impertinent as courtesies at leaving the room, 
 when the visit had been too long already. 
 
 LETTER in. 
 
 FROM MR. POPE. 
 
 Madam, I no more think I can have too many of your 
 letters, than I would have too many writings to entitle me to 
 the greatest estate in the world ; which I think so valuable a 
 friendship as yours is equal to. I am angry at every scrap of 
 paper lost as something that interrupts the history of my title ; 
 and though it is but an odd compliment to compare a fine 
 lady to Sybil, your leaves, mefchinks, like hers, are too good to 
 be committed to the winds ; though I have no other way of 
 receiving them but by those unfaithful messengers. I have had 
 but three, and I reckon in that short one from Dort, which was 
 rather a dying ejaculation than a letter. But I have so great 
 an opinion of your goodness that, had I received none, I should 
 
 * Jeremy Collier, an English divine, eminent for his piety and wit. 
 In 1698 he wrote "A short view of the Immorality and Profaneness of 
 the English Stage, together with the sense of Antiquity on this sub- 
 ject," 8vo. This tract excited the resentment of the wits, and engaged 
 him in a controversy with Congreve and Vanbrugh. 
 
PROM ALEXANDER POPE. 129 
 
 not have accused you of neglect or insensibility. I am not so 
 wrong-headed as to quarrel with my friends the minute they 
 don't write, I 'd as soon quarrel at the sun the minute he did 
 not shine, which he is hindered from by accidental causes, and 
 is in reality all that time performing the same course, and doing 
 the same good offices as ever. 
 
 You have contrived to say in your last, the two most pleas- 
 ing things to me in nature ; the first is, that whatever be the 
 fate of your letters, you will continue to write in the discharge 
 of your conscience. This is generous to the last degree, and 
 a virtue you ought to enjoy. Be assured, in return, my heart 
 shall be as ready to think you have done every good thing, as 
 yours can be to do it ; so that you shall never be able to favor 
 your absent friend, before he has thought himself obliged to 
 you for the very favor you are then conferring. 
 
 The other is, the justice you do me in taking what I writ 
 to you in the serious manner it was meant : it is the point upon 
 which I can bear no suspicion, and in which, above all, I de- 
 sire to be thought serious : it would be the most vexatious of 
 all tyranny, if you should pretend to take for raillery what is 
 the mere disguise of a discontented heart that is unwilling to 
 make you as melancholy as itself; and for wit what is really 
 only the natural overflowing and warmth of the same heart, 
 as it is improved and awakened by an esteem for you : but 
 since you tell me you believe me, I fancy my expressions have 
 not at least been entirely unfaithful to those thoughts, to which 
 I am sure they can never be equal. May God increase your 
 faith in all truths that any as great as this ; and depend upon it, 
 to whatever degree your belief may extend, you can never be 
 a bigot. 
 
 If you could see the heart I talk of, you would really think 
 it a foolish good kind of thing, with some qualities as well de- 
 serving to be half laughed at, and half esteemed, as any in the 
 world: its grand foible, in regard to you, is the most like 
 reason of any foible in nature. Upon my faith, this heart is 
 not, like a great warehouse, stored only with my own goods, 
 
 6* 
 
130 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 with vast empty spaces to be supplied as fast as interest 01 am- 
 bition can fill them up ; but it is every inch of it let out into 
 lodgings for its friends, and shall never want a corner at your 
 service : where I dare affirm, madam, your idea lies as warm 
 and as close as any idea in Christendom. 
 
 If I don't take care, I shall write myself all out to you ; and 
 if this correspondence continues on both sides at the free rate 
 I would have it, w r e shall have very little curiosity to encourage 
 our meeting at the day of judgment. I foresee that the further 
 you go from me, the more freely I shall write ; and if, as I 
 earnestly wish, you would do the same, I can't guess where 
 it wall end : let us be like modest people, who, when they are 
 close together, keep all decorums ; but if they step a little aside, 
 or get to the other end of a room, can untie garters or take 
 off shifts without scruple. 
 
 If this distance, as you are so kind as to say, enlarges your 
 belief of my friendship, I assure you it has so extended my 
 notion of your value that I begin to be impious on our account 
 and to wish that even slaughter, ruin, and desolation, might 
 interpose between you and Turkey ; I wish you restored to us 
 at the expense of a whole people : I barely hope you will for- 
 give me for saying this, but I fear God will scarcely forgive me 
 for desiring it. 
 
 Make me less wicked then. Is there no other expedient to 
 return you and your infant in peace to the bosom of your 
 country ? I hear you are going to Hanover ; can there be no 
 favorable planet at this conjuncture, or do you only come back 
 so far to die twice ? Is Eurydice once more snatched to the 
 shades ? If ever mortal had reason to hate the king, it is I ; 
 for it is my particular misfortune to be almost the only inno- 
 cent man whom he has made to suffer, both by his government 
 at home, and his negotiations abroad. 
 
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 131 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 TO MR. POPE. 
 
 Belgrade, Feb. 12, 0. S. 171?. 
 
 I did verily intend to write you a long letter from Peter- 
 waradin, where I expected to stay three or four days ; but the 
 pasha here was in such haste to see us, that he dispatched the 
 courier back, which Mr. Wortley had sent to know the time 
 he would send the convoy to meet us, without suffering him 
 to pull off his boots. 
 
 My letters were not thought important enough to stop our 
 journey ; and we left Peterwaradin the next day, being waited 
 on by the chief officers of the garrison, and a considerable 
 convoy of Germans and Rascians. The emperor has several 
 regiments of these people ; but, to say the truth, they are 
 rather plunderers than soldiers; having no pay, and being 
 obliged to furnish their own arms and horses ; they rather 
 look like vagabond gipsies, or stout beggars, than regular 
 troops. 
 
 I can not forbear speaking a word of this race of creatures, 
 who are very numerous all over Hungary. They have a pa- 
 triarch of their own at Grand Cairo, and are really of the 
 Greek Church ; but their extreme ignorance gives their priests 
 occasion to impose several new notions upon them. These 
 fellows, letting their hair and beard grow inviolate, make ex- 
 actly the figure of the Indian bramins. They are heirs-gen 
 era! to all the money of the laity, for which, in return, they 
 give them formal passports signed and sealed for heaven ; 
 and the wives and children only inherit the house and oattle. 
 In most other points they follow the Greek Church. 
 
 This little digression has interrupted my telling you we 
 passed over the fields of Carlowitz, where the last great vic- 
 tory was obtained by Prince Eugene over the Turks. The 
 marks of that glorious bloody day are yet recent, the field 
 being yet strewed with the skulls and carcases of unburied 
 
132 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 men, horses, and camels. J could not look without horror, on 
 such numbers of mangled human bodies, nor without reflect- 
 ing on the injustice of war, that makes murder not only neces- 
 sary, but meritorious. Nothing seems to be a plainer proof 
 of the irrationality of mankind, whatever fine claims we pre- 
 tend to reason, than the rage with which they contest for a 
 small spot of ground, when such vast parts of fruitful earth 
 lie quite uninhabited. It is true, custom has now made it 
 unavoidable; but can there be a greater demonstration of 
 want of reason, than a custom being firmly established, so" 
 plainly contrary to the interest of man in general ? I am a 
 good deal inclined to believe Mr. Hobbes, that the state of 
 nature is a state of war ; but thence I conclude human na- 
 ture not rational, if the word reason means common sense, 
 as I suppose it does. I have a great many admirable argu- 
 ments to support this reflection ; I won't, however, trouble 
 you with them, but return, in a plain style, to the history of 
 my travels. 
 
 We were met at Betsko (a village in the midway between 
 Belgrade and Peterwaradin) by an aga of the janizaries, with 
 a body of Turks, exceeding the Germans by one hundred 
 men, though the pasha had engaged to send exactly the same 
 number. You may judge by this of their fears. I am really 
 persuaded that they hardly thought the odds of one hundred 
 men set them even with the Germans ; however, I was very 
 uneasy till they were parted, fearing some quarrel might arise, 
 notwithstanding the parole given. 
 
 We came late to Belgrade, the deep snows making the as- 
 cent to it very difficult. It seems a strong city, fortified on 
 the east side by the Danube, and on the south by the river 
 Save, and was formerly the barrier of Hungary. It was first 
 taken by Solyman the Magnificent, and since by the empe- 
 ror's forces, led by the Elector of Bavaria. The emperor 
 held it only two years, it being retaken by the Grand- Vizier. 
 It is now fortified with the utmost care and skill the Turks 
 are capable of, and strengthened by a very numerous garrison 
 
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 133 
 
 of their bravest janizaries, commanded by a pasha seraskicr 
 (t. e. general), though this last expression is not very just; 
 for, to say truth, the seraskier is commanded by the janizaries. 
 These troops have an absolute authority here, and their con- 
 duct carries much more the aspect of rebellion than the ap- 
 pearance of subordination. You may judge of this by the 
 following story, which, at the same time, will give you an idea 
 of the admirable intelligence of the governor of Peterwara- 
 din, though so few hours distant. We were told by him at 
 Peterwaradin, that the garrison and inhabitants of Belgrade 
 were so weary of the war they had killed their pasha, about 
 two months ago, in a mutiny, because he had suffered him- 
 self to be prevailed upon, by a bribe of five purses (five hun- 
 dred pounds sterling), to give permission to the Tartars to 
 ravage the German frontiers. We were very well pleased to 
 hear of such favorable dispositions in the people ; but when 
 we came hither, we found that the governor had been ill-in- 
 formed, and the real truth of the story to be this : The late 
 pasha fell under the displeasure of his soldiers for no other 
 reason but restraining their incursions on the Germans. 
 They took it into their heads, from that mildness, that he had 
 intelligence with the enemy, and sent such information to 
 the Grand Seignior at Adrianople ; but redress not coining 
 quick enough from thence, they assembled themselves in a 
 tumultuous manner, and by force dragged their pasha before 
 the cadi and mufti, and there demanded justice in a mutinous 
 way ; one crying out, Why he protected the infidels ? An- 
 other, Why he squeezed them of their money ? The pasha, 
 easily guessing their purpose, calmly replied to them that they 
 asked him too many questions, and that he had but one life, 
 which must answer for all. They then immediately fell upon 
 him with their cimeters, without waiting the sentence of their 
 heads of the law, and in a few moments cut him in pieces. 
 The present pasha has not dared to punish the murder ; on 
 the contrary, he affected to applaud the actors of it as brave 
 fellows, that knew to do themselves justice. He takes all pre- 
 
134 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 tenses of throwing money among the garrison, and suffers 
 them to make little excursions into Hungary, where they burn 
 some poor Rascian houses. 
 
 You may imagine I can not be very easy in a town which 
 is really under the government of an insolent soldiery. We 
 expected to be immediately dismissed, after a night's lodging 
 here ; but the pasha detains us till he receives orders from 
 Adrianople, which may, possibly, be a month a-coming. In 
 the mean time, we are lodged in one of the best houses, be- 
 longing to a very considerable man among them, and have a 
 whole chamber of janizaries to guard us. My only diversion 
 is the conversation of our host, Achmet Bey, a title something 
 like that of count in Germany. His father was a great 
 pasha, and he has been educated in the most polite Eastern 
 learning, being perfectly skilled in the Arabic and Persian lan- 
 guages, and an extraordinary scribe, which they call effendi. 
 This accomplishment makes way to the greatest preferments ; 
 but he has had the good sense to prefer an easy, quiet, secure 
 life, to all the dangerous honors of the Porte. He sups with 
 us every night, and drinks wine very freely. You can not 
 imagine how much he is delighted with the liberty of con- 
 versing with me. He has explained to me many pieces of 
 Arabian poetry, which, I observe, are in numbers not unlike 
 ours, generally of an alternate verse, and of a very musical 
 sound. Their expressions of love are very passionate and 
 lively. I am so much pleased with them, I really believe I 
 should learn to read Arabic if I was to stay here a few 
 months. He has a good library of their books of all kinds ; 
 and, as he tells me, spends the greatest part of his life there. 
 I pass for a great scholar with him, by relating to him some 
 of the Persian tales, which I find are genuine.* At first he 
 
 * The Persian Tales appeared first in Europe as a translation, by 
 Monsieur Petit de la Croix; and what are called "The Arabian 
 Nights," in a similar manner, by Monsier G-alland. The Tales of the 
 Genii, said in the title-page to have been translated by Sir Charlea 
 Morell, were, in fact, entirely composed by James Ridley, Esq. 
 
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 135 
 
 believed I understood Persian. I have frequent disputes with 
 him concerning the difference of our customs, particularly the 
 confinement of women. He assures me there is nothing at 
 all in it ; only, says he, we have the advantage, that when our 
 wives cheat us, nobody knows it. He has wit, and is more 
 polite than many Christian men of quality. I am very much 
 entertained with him. He has had the curiosity to make one 
 of our servants set him an alphabet of our letters, and can 
 already write a good Roman hand. 
 
 But these amusements do not hinder my wishing heartily 
 to be out of this place ; though the weather is colder than I 
 believe it ever was any where but in Greenland. We have 
 a very large stove constantly kept hot, and yet the windows 
 of the room are frozen on the inside. God knows when I 
 may have an opportunity of sending this letter ; but I have 
 written it, for the discharge of my own conscience ; and you 
 can not now reproach me, that one of yours makes ten of 
 mine. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 FROM MR. POPE 
 
 Madam, — If to live in the memory of others have any thing 
 desirable in it, 'tis what you possess with regard to me, in the 
 highest sense of the words. There is not a day in which 
 your figure does not appear before me ; your conversations 
 return to my thoughts, and every scene, place, or occasion, 
 where I have enjoyed them, are as lively painted as an imag- 
 ination equally warm and tender can be capable to represent 
 them. Yet how little accrues to you from all this, when not 
 only my wishes, but the very expressions of them, can hardly 
 ever arrive to be known to you ? I can not tell whether you 
 have seen half the letters I have written ; but if you had, I 
 have not said in them half of what I designed to say ; and 
 you can have seen but a faint, slight, timorous eschantillon of 
 
136 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 what my spirit suggests, and my hand follows slowly and im- 
 perfectly, indeed unjustly, because discreetly and reservedly. 
 When you told me there was no way left for our correspond- 
 ence but by merchant ships, I watched ever since for any that 
 set out, and this is the first I could learn of. I owe the 
 knowledge of it to Mr. Congreve (whose letters, with my 
 Lady Rich's, accompany this). However, I was impatient 
 enough to venture two from Mr. Methuen's office : they have 
 miscarried ; you have lost nothing but such words and wishes 
 as I repeat every day in your memory, and for your welfare. 
 I have had thoughts of causing what I write for the future to 
 be transcribed, and to send copies by more ways than one, 
 that one at least might have a chance to reach you. The 
 letters themselves would be artless and natural enough to 
 prove there could be no vanity in this practice, and to show 
 it proceeded from the belief of their being welcome to you, 
 not as they came from me, but from England. My eye-sight 
 is grown so bad that I have left off all correspondence except 
 with yourself; in which methinks I am like those people who 
 abandon or abstract themselves from all that are about them 
 (with whom they might have business and intercourse), to 
 employ their addresses only to invisible and distant beings, 
 whose good offices and favors can not reach them in a long 
 time, if at all. If I hear from you, I look upon it as little 
 less than a miracle, or extraordinary visitation from anothei 
 world ; 'tis a sort of dream of an agreeable thing, which sub- 
 sists no more to me; but, however, it is such a dream as excee Is 
 most of the dull realities of my life. Indeed, what with ill- 
 health and ill-fortune, I am grown so stupidly philosophical as 
 to have no thought about me that deserves the name of warm 
 or lively, but that which sometimes awakens me into an im- 
 agination that I may yet see you again. Compassionate a 
 poet, who has lost all manner of romantic ideas ; except a 
 few that hover about the Bosphorus and Hellespont, not so 
 much for the fine sound of their names, as to raise up images 
 of Leander, who was drowned in crossing the sea to kiss the 
 
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 137 
 
 hand of fair Hero. This were a destiny less to be lamented 
 than what we are told of the poor Jew, one of your interpret- 
 ers, who was beheaded at Belgrade as a spy. I confess such 
 a death would have been a great disappointment to me ; and 
 I believe that Jacob Tonson will hardly venture to visit you 
 after this news. 
 
 You tell me the pleasure of being nearer the sun has a 
 great effect upon your health and spirits. You have turned 
 my affections so far eastward, that I could almost be one of his 
 worshipers ; for I think the sun has more reason to be proud 
 of raising your spirits than of raising all the plants, and ripen- 
 ing all the minerals, in the earth. It is my opinion a reason- 
 able man might gladly travel three or four thousand leagues 
 to see your nature and your wit in their full perfection. 
 What may not we expect from a creature that went out the 
 most perfect of this part of the world, and is every day im- 
 proving by the sun in the other ! If you do not now write and 
 speak the finest things imaginable, you must be content to be 
 involved in the same imputation with the rest of the East, and 
 be concluded to have abandoned yourself to extreme effemin- 
 acy, laziness, and lewdness of life. 
 
 I make not the least question but you could give me great 
 eclaircissements upon many passages in Homer, since you 
 have been enlightened by the same sun that inspired the 
 father of poetry. You are now glowing under the climate 
 that animated him ; you may see his images rising more 
 boldly about you in the very scenes of his story and action ; 
 you may lay the immortal work on some broken column of a 
 hero's sepulclier ; and read the fall of Troy in the shade of a 
 Trojan ruin. But if, to visit the tomb of so many heroes, you 
 have not the heart to pass over that sea where once a lover 
 perished, you may at least, at ease in your own window, con- 
 template the fields of Asia in such a dim and remote prospect 
 as you have of Homer in my translation. 
 
 I send you, therefore, with this, the third volume of the 
 Iliad, and as many other things as fill a wooden box, directed 
 
J 38 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 to Mr. Wortley. Among the rest you have all I am worth, 
 that is, my works : there are few things in them but what you 
 have already seen, except the epistle of Eloisa to Abelard, in 
 which you will find one passage, that I can not tell whether 
 to wish you should understand or not. 
 
 The last I received from your hands was from Peterwaradin ; 
 it gave me the joy of thinking you in good health and humor : 
 one or two expressions in it are too generous ever to be for- 
 gotten by me. I writ a very melancholy one just before, 
 which was sent to Mr. Stanyan, to be forwarded through Hun- 
 gary. It would have informed you how meanly I thought of 
 the pleasures of Italy, without the qualification of your com- 
 pany, and that mere statues and pictures are not more cold to 
 me than I to them. I have had but four of your letters ; I 
 have sent several, and wish I knew how many you have re- 
 ceived. For God's sake, madam, send to me as often as you 
 can, in the dependence that there is no man breathing more 
 constantly or more anxiously mindful of you. Tell me that 
 you are well ; tell me that your little son is well, tell me that 
 your very dog (if you have one) is well. Defraud me of no 
 one thing that pleases you ; for whatever that is, it will please 
 me better than any thing else can do. 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 TO MR. POPE. 
 
 Adrianople, April 1, 0. S., 1*717. 
 I dare say you expect at least something very new in this 
 letter, after I have gone a journey not undertaken by any 
 Christian for some hundred years. The most remarkable ac- 
 cident that happened to me, was my being very near over- 
 turned into the Hebrus ; and, if I had much regard for the 
 glories that one's name enjoys after death, I should certainly 
 be sorry for having missed the romantic conclusion of swim- 
 
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 139 
 
 ming down the same river in which the musical head of Or- 
 pheus repeated verses so many ages since : 
 
 Caput a cervice revulsum, 
 Gurgite cum medio, portans Oeagrius Hebrus 
 Volveret, Eurydicen vox ipsa, et frigida lingua; 
 Ah! miseram Eurydicem! anima fugiente vocabat, 
 Eurydicem toto referebant flumine ripse. 
 
 Who knows but some of your bright wits might have found 
 it a subject affording many poetical turns, and have told the 
 world, in an heroic elegy, that, 
 
 As equal were our souls, so equal were our fates ? 
 
 I despair of ever hearing so many fine things said of me as 
 so extraordinary a death would have given occasion for. 
 
 I am at this present moment writing in a house situated on 
 the banks of the Hebrus, which runs under my chamber win- 
 dow. My garden is all full of cypress-trees, upon the branches 
 of which several couple of true turtles are saying soft things 
 to one another from morning till night. How naturally do 
 boughs and vows come into my mind at this minute ! and must 
 not you confess, to my praise, that 'tis more than an ordinary 
 discretion that can resist the wicked suggestions of poetry, in 
 a place where truth, for once, furnishes all the ideas of pasto- 
 ral. The summer is already far advanced in this part of the 
 world ; and for some miles round Adrianople, the whole 
 ground is laid out in gardens, and the banks of the rivers are 
 set with rows of fruit-trees, under which all the most consider- 
 able Turks divert themselves every evening ; not with walking, 
 that is not one of their pleasures, but a set party of them 
 choose out a green spot, where the shade is very thick, and 
 there they spread a carpet, on which they sit drinking their 
 coffee, and are generally attended by some slave with a fine 
 voice, or that plays on some instrument. Every twenty paces 
 you may see one of these little companies listening to the dash- 
 ing of the river ; and this taste is so universal that the very 
 
140 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 gardeners are not without it. I have often seen them and 
 their children sitting on the banks of the river, and playing 
 on a rural instrument, perfectly answering the description of 
 the ancient fistula, being composed of unequal reeds, with a 
 simple but agreeable softness in the sound. 
 
 Mr. Addison might here make the experiment he speaks of 
 in his travels ; there not being one instrument of music among 
 the Greek or Roman statues, that is not to be found in the 
 hands of the people of this country. The young lads gen- 
 erally divert themselves with making garlands for their favor- 
 ite lambs, which I have often seen painted and adorned with 
 flowers lying at their feet while they sung or played. It is 
 not that they ever read romances, but these are the ancient 
 amusements here, and as natural to them as cudgel-playing 
 and foot-ball to our British swains ; the softness and warmth 
 of the climate forbidding all rough exercises, which were never 
 so much as heard of among them, and naturally inspiring a 
 laziness and aversion to labor, which the great plenty indulges. 
 These gardeners are the only happy race of country people in 
 Turkey. They furnish all the city with fruits and herbs, and 
 seem to live very easily. They are most of them Greeks, and 
 have little houses in the midst of their gardens, where their 
 wives and daughters take a liberty not permitted in the town, I 
 mean, to go unvailed. These wenches are very neat and 
 handsome, and pass their time at their looms under the shade 
 of the trees. 
 
 I no longer look upon Theocritus as a romantic writer ; he 
 has only given a plain image of the way of the life among 
 the peasants of his country ; who, before oppression had re- 
 duced them to want, were, I suppose, all employed as the bet- 
 ter sort of them are now. I don't doubt, had he been born 
 a Briton, but his Idylliums had been filled with descriptions 
 of thrashing and churning, both which are unknown here, the 
 corn being all trodden out by oxen ; and butter, I speak it 
 with sorrow, unheard of. 
 
 I read over your Homer here with an infinite pleasure, and 
 
PROM ALEXANDER POPE. 141 
 
 find several little passages explained that I did not before en- 
 tirely comprehend the beauty of; many of the customs, and 
 much of the dress then in fashion, being yet retained. I don't 
 wonder to find more remains here of an age so distant than 
 is to be found in any other country, the Turks not taking that 
 pains to introduce their own manners as has been generally 
 practiced by other nations, that imagine themselves more 
 polite. It would be too tedious to you to point out all the 
 passages that relate to present customs. But I can assure you 
 that the princesses and great ladies pass their time at their 
 looms, embroidering vails and robes, surrounded by their 
 maids, which are always very numerous, in the same manner 
 as we find Andromache and Helen described. The description 
 of the belt of Menelaus exactly resembles those that are now 
 worn by the great men, fastened before with broad golden 
 clasps, and embroidered round with rich work. The snowy 
 vail that Helen throws over her face, is still fashionable ; and 
 I never see half a dozen of old bashaws (as I do very often), 
 with their reverend beards, sitting basking in the sun, but I 
 recollect good King Priam and his counselors. Their man- 
 ner of dancing is certainly the same that Diana is sung to have 
 danced on the banks of Eurotas. The great lady still leads 
 the dance, and is followed by a troop of young girls, who im- 
 itate her steps, and, if she sing, make up the chorus. The 
 tunes are extremely gay and lively, yet with something in 
 them wonderfully soft. The steps are varied according to 
 the pleasure of her that leads the dance, but always in exact 
 time, and infinitely more agreeable than any of our dances, at 
 least in my opinion. I sometimes make one in the train, but 
 am not skillful enough to lead ; these are the Grecian dances, 
 the Turkish being very different. 
 
 I should have told you, in the first place, that the Eastern 
 manner gives a great light; into many Scripture passages that 
 appear odd to us, their phrases being commonly what we 
 should call Scripture language. The vulgar Turk is very dif- 
 ferent from what is spoken at court, or among the people of 
 
142 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 figure, who always mix so much Arabic and Persian in their 
 discourse, that it may very well be called another language. 
 And 'tis as ridiculous to make use of the expressions common- 
 ly used, in speaking to a great man or lady, as it would be to 
 speak broad Yorkshire or Somersetshire in the drawing-room. 
 Besides this distinction, they have what they call the sublime, 
 that is, a style proper for poetry, and which is the exact 
 Scripture style. I believe you will be pleased to see a genuine 
 example of this ; and I am very glad I have it in my power 
 to satisfy your curiosity, by sending you a faithful copy of the 
 verses that Ibrahim Pasha, the reigning favorite, has made for 
 the young princess, his contracted wife, whom he is not yet 
 permitted to visit without witnesses, though she is gone home 
 to his house. He is a man of wit and learning ; and whether 
 or no he is capable of writing good verse, you may be sure 
 that, on such an occasion, he would not want the assistance of 
 the best poets in the empire. Thus the verses may be looked 
 upon as a sample of their finest poetry ; and I don't doubt 
 you '11 be of my mind, that it is most wonderfully resembling 
 The Song of Solomon, which was also addressed to a royal 
 bride. 
 
 TURKISH VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE SULTANA, 
 
 ELDEST DAUGHTER OF ACHMET IIL 
 STANZA L 
 
 1. The nightingale now wanders in the vines : 
 Her passion is to seek roses. 
 
 2. I went down to admire the beauty of the vines : 
 The sweetness of your charms has ravished my soul. 
 
 3. Tour eyes are black and lovely, 
 
 . But wild and disdainful as those of a stag.* 
 
 * Sir W. Jones, in the preface to his Persian Grammar, objects to this 
 translation. The expression is merely analogous to the " Bowing " of 
 Homer. 
 
 
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 143 
 
 STANZA II. 
 
 1. The wished possession is delayed from day to day ; 
 The cruel Sultan Achrnet will not permit me 
 
 To see those cheeks, more vermillion than roses. 
 
 2. I dare not snatch one of your kisses : 
 
 The sweetness of your charms has ravished my souL 
 
 8. Tour eyes are black and lovely, 
 
 But wild and disdainful as those of a stag. 
 
 stanza in. 
 
 1. The wretched Ibrahim sighs in these verses : 
 
 One dart from your eyes has pierced thro' my heart. 
 
 2. Ah 1 when will the hour of possession arrive ? 
 Must I yet wait a long time ? 
 
 The sweetness of your charms has ravish'd my soul. 
 
 3. Ah, Sultana I stag-eyed — an angel among angels I 
 I desire — and my desire remains unsatisfied — 
 Can you take delight to prey upon my heart ? 
 
 stanza rv. 
 
 1. My cries pierce the heavens 1 
 My eyes are without sleep 1 
 
 Turn to me, Sultana — let me gaze on thy beauty. 
 
 2. Adieu — I go down to the grave. 
 If you call me — I return. 
 
 My heart is hot as sulphur ; sigh, and it will flame. 
 
 ii. Crown of my life ! fair light of my eyes 1 
 My Sultana I my princess ? 
 I rub my face against the earth — I am drowned in scalding tears-— 
 
 I rave 1 
 Have you no compassion ? Will you not turn to look upon me 1 
 
 I have taken abundance of pains to get these verses a literal 
 translation ; and if you were acquainted with my interpreters, 
 I might spare myself the trouble of assuring you that they 
 have received no poetical touches from their hands. In ray 
 
144 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 opinion, allowing for the inevitable faults of a prose transla- 
 tion into a language so very different, there is a good deal of 
 beauty in them. The epithet of stag-eyed, though the sound 
 is not very agreeable in English, pleases me extremely ; and I 
 think it a very lively image of the fire and indifference in his 
 m Stress's eyes. Monsieur Boileau has very justly observed, 
 that we are never to judge of the elevation of an expression of 
 an ancient author by the sound it carries with us ; since it may 
 be extremely fine with them, when, at the same time, it appears 
 low or uncouth to us. You are so well acquainted with Homer, 
 you can not but have observed the same thing, and you must 
 have the same indulgence for all Oriental poetry. 
 
 The repetitions at the end of the two first stanzas are meant 
 for a sort of chorus, and are agreeable to the ancient manner 
 of writing. The music of the verses apparently changes in 
 the third stanza, where the burthen is altered ; and I think he 
 very artfully seems more passionate at the conclusion, as 'tis 
 natural for people to warm themselves by their own discourse, 
 especially on a subject in which one is deeply concerned ; 'tis 
 certainly far more touching than our modern custom of con- 
 cluding a song of passion with a turn which is inconsistent, with 
 it. The first verse is a description of the season of the year ; 
 all the country now being full of nightingales, whose amours 
 with roses is an Arabian fable, as well known here as any part 
 of Ovid among us, and is much the same as if an English 
 poem should begin by saying — " Now Philomela sings." Or 
 what if I turned the whole in to the style of English poetry, to 
 see how it would look ? 
 
 STANZA I. 
 
 Now Philomel renews her tender strain, 
 Indulging all the night her pleasing pain: 
 
 I sought the groves to hear the wanton sing, 
 There saw a face more beauteous than the spring. 
 
 Tour large stag-eyes, where thousand glories play, 
 As bright, as lively, but as wild as they. 
 
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. I4h 
 
 STANZA II. 
 In vain I 'm promised such a heav'nly prize ; 
 Ah I cruel Sultan! who delay 'st my joys 1 
 
 While piercing charms transfix my am'rous heart, 
 I dare not snatch one kiss to ease the smart. 
 
 Those eyes! like, etc. 
 
 STANZA III. 
 
 Tour wretched lover in these lines complains ; 
 From those dear beauties rise his killing pains. 
 
 When will the hour of wished-for bliss arrive ? 
 Must I wait longer ? Can I wait and live ? 
 
 Ah ! bright Sultana ! maid divinely fair ! 
 Can you, unpitying, see the pains I bear? 
 
 STANZA IV. 
 
 The heavens relenting, hear my piercing cries, 
 I loathe the light, and sleep forsakes my eyes ; 
 Turn thee, Sultana, ere thy lover dies : 
 
 Sinking to earth, I sigh the last adieu ; 
 Call me, my goddess, and my life renew. 
 
 My queen ! my angel ! my fond heart's desire ! 
 I rave — my bosom burns with heavenly fire ! 
 Pity that passion which thy charms inspire. 
 
 I have taken the liberty, in the second verse, of following 
 what I suppose the true sense of the author, though not liter- 
 ally expressed. By his saying, He went down to admire the 
 beauty of the vines, and her charms ravished his soul, I under- 
 stand a poetical fiction, of having first seen her in a garden, 
 where he was admiring the beauty of the spring. But I could 
 not forbear retaining the comparison of her eyes with those of 
 a stag, though, perhaps, the novelty of it may give it a bur- 
 lesque sound in our language. I can not determine upon the 
 whole how well I have succeeded in the translation, neither 
 do I think our English proper to express such violence of pas- 
 
 1 
 
146 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 sion, which is very seldom felt among us. We want also 
 those compound words which are very frequent and strong in 
 the Turkish language. 
 
 You see I am pretty far gone in Oriental learning ; and to 
 say truth, I study very hard. I wish my studies may give me 
 an occasion of entertaining your curiosity, which will be the 
 utmost advantage hoped for from them by Yours, etc. 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 TO MR. POPE. 
 
 Belgrade Village, June 17, 0. S. 1717 
 I hope before this time you have received two or three of 
 my letters. I had yours but yesterday, though dated the 
 third of February, in which you suppose me to be dead and 
 buried. I have already let you know that I am still alive ; 
 but, to say truth, I look upon my present circumstances to be 
 exactly the same with those of departed spirits. 
 
 The heats of Constantinople have driven me to this place, 
 which perfectly answers the description of the Elysian fields. 
 I am in the middle of a wood, consisting chiefly of fruit- 
 trees, watered by a vast number of fountains, famous for the 
 excellency of their water, and divided into many shady walks, 
 upon short grass, that seems to me artificial ; but, I am as- 
 sured, is the pure work of nature, and within view of the 
 Black Sea, from whence we perpetually enjoy the refreshment 
 of cool breezes, that make us insensible of the heat of the 
 summer. The village is only inhabited by the richest among 
 the Christians, who meet every night at a fountain, forty 
 paces from my house, to sing and dance. The beauty and 
 dress of the women exactly resemble the ideas of the ancient 
 nymphs, as they are given us by the representations of the 
 poets and painters. But what persuades me more fully of 
 my decease, is the situation of my own mind, the profound ig- 
 norance I am in of what passes among the living (which only 
 
PROM ALEXANDER POPE. 147 
 
 comes to me by chance), and the great calmness with which I 
 receive it. Yet I have still a hankering after my friends and 
 acquaintances left in the world, according to the authority of 
 that admirable author, 
 
 That spirits departed are wondrous kind 
 To friends and relations left behind : 
 
 Which nobody can deny. 
 
 Of which solemn truth I am a dead instance. I think Vir* 
 gil is of the same opinion, that in human souls there will still 
 be some remains of human passions. 
 
 Curae non ipsse in morte relinquunt. 
 
 And 'tis very necessary, to make a perfect Elysium, that there 
 should be a river Lethe, which I am not so happy as to find. 
 
 To say truth, I am sometimes very weary of the singing 
 and dancing, and sunshine, and wish for the smoke and im- 
 pertinencies in which you toil, though I endeavor to persuade 
 myself that I live in a more agreeable variety than you do ; 
 and . that Monday, setting of partridges — Tuesday, reading- 
 English — Wednesday, studying in the Turkish language (in 
 which, by the way, I am already very learned) — Thursday, 
 classical authors — Friday, spent in writing — Saturday, at my 
 needle — and Sunday, admitting of visits, and hearing of mu- 
 sic, is a better way of disposing of the week than — Monday, 
 at the drawing-room — Tuesday, Lady Mohun's — Wednesday, 
 at the opera — Thursday, the play — Friday, Mrs. Chetwynd's, 
 etc., a perpetual round of hearing the same scandal, and see- 
 ing the same follies acted over and over, which here affect 
 me no more than they do other dead people. I can now hear 
 of displeasing things with pity, and without indignation. 
 The reflection on the great gulf between you and me, cools 
 all news that come hither. I can neither be sensibly touched 
 with joy nor grief, when I consider that possibly the cause of 
 either is removed before the letter comes to my hands. But 
 (as I said before) this indolence does not extend to my few 
 
148 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 friendships ; I am still warmly sensible of yours and Mr. 
 Congreve's, and desire to live in your remembrance, though 
 dead to all the world beside. 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 
 FROM MR. POPE. 
 
 Madam,' — I could quarrel with you quite through this pa- 
 per, upon a period in yours, which bids me remember you 
 if possibly I can. You would have shown more knowledge 
 both of yourself and of me, had you bid me forget you if 
 possibly I could. When I do, may this hand (as the Scrip- 
 ture says) forget its cunning, and this heart its — folly, I was 
 going to say — but I mean its reason, and the most rational 
 sensation it ever had — that of your merit. 
 
 The poetical manner in which you paint some of the scenes 
 about you, makes me despise my native country, and sets me 
 on fire to fall into the dance about your fountain in Belgrade 
 village. I fancy myself, in my romantic thoughts and dis- 
 tant admiration of you, not unlike the man in the Alchymist, 
 that has a passion for the queen of the fairies ; I lie dream- 
 ing of you in moonshiny nights, exactly in the posture of 
 Endymion gaping for Cynthia in a picture ; and with just 
 such a surprise and rapture should I awake, if, after your 
 long revolutions were accomplished, you should at last come 
 rolling back again, smiling with all that gentleness and se- 
 renity peculiar to the moon and you, and gilding the same 
 mountains from which you first set out on your solemn, 
 melancholy journey. I am told that fortune (more just to us 
 than your virtue) will restore the most precious thing it ever 
 robbed us of. Some think it will be the only equivalent the 
 world affords for Pitt's diamond, so lately sent out of our 
 country; which, after you were gone, was accounted the 
 most valuable thing here. Adieu to that toy! let the costly 
 bauble be hung about the neck of the baby-king it belongs 
 
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 149 
 
 to, so England does but recover that jewel which was the wish 
 of all her sensible hearts, and the joy of all her discerning 
 eyes. I can keep no measures in speaking of this subject. 
 I see you already coming ; I feel you as you draw nearer ; 
 my heart leaps at your arrival. Let us have you from the 
 East, and the sun is at her service. 
 
 I write as if I were drunk ; the pleasure I take in thinking 
 of your return transports me beyond the bounds of common 
 sense and decency. You believe me, madam, if there be any 
 circumstance of chagrin in the occasion of that return, if 
 there be any public or private ill-fortune that may give you a 
 displeasure, I must still be ready to feel a part of it, notwith- 
 standing the joy I now express. 
 
 I have been mad enough to make all the inquiry I could at 
 what time you set out, and what route you were to take. If 
 Italy run yet in your thoughts, I hope you '11 see it in your 
 return. If I but knew you intended it, I 'd meet you there, 
 and travel back with you. I would fain behold the best and 
 brightest thing I know, in the scene of ancient virtue and 
 glory : I would fain see how you look on the very spot where 
 Curtius sacrificed himself for his country ; and observe what 
 difference there would be in your eyes when you ogled the 
 statue of Julius Csesar, and Marcus Aurelius. Allow me but 
 to sneak after you in your train, to fill my pockets with coins, 
 or to lug an old busto behind you, and I shall be proud be- 
 yond expression. Let people think, if they will, that I did 
 all this for the pleasure of treading on classic ground ; I would 
 whisper other reasons in your ear. The joy of following 
 your footsteps would as soon carry me to Mecca as to Rome ; 
 and let me tell you as a friend, if you are really disposed to 
 embrace the Mohammedan religion, I'll fly on pilgrimage 
 with you thither, with as good a heart and as sound devo- 
 tion as ever Jeffery Rudel, the Provencal poet, went after the 
 fine Countess of Tripoli to Jerusalem. If you never heard of 
 this Jeffery, I '11 assure you he deserves your acquaintance. 
 He lived in our Richard the First's time ; put on a pilgrim's 
 
150 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 weed, took his voyage, and when he got ashore was just upon 
 the point of expiring. The Countess of Tripoli came to the 
 ship, took him by the hand ; he lifted up his eyes, said he 
 had been blest with a sight of her, he was satisfied, and so 
 departed this life. What did the Countess of Tripoli upon 
 this ? She made him a splendid funeral ; built him a tomb 
 of porphyry ; put his epitaph upon it in Arabic verse ; had 
 his sonnets curiously copied out, and illumined with letters 
 of gold ; was taken with melancholy, and turned nun. All 
 this, madam, you may depend upon for a truth, and I send 
 it to you in the very words of my author. 
 
 I don't expect all this should be punctually copied on 
 either side, but methinks something like it is done already. 
 The letters of gold, and the curious illumining of the sonnets, 
 was not a greater token of respect than I have paid to your 
 eclogues : they lie inclosed in a monument of red Turkey, 
 written in my fairest hand ; the gilded leaves are opened with 
 no less veneration than the pages of the sibyls ; like them, 
 locked up and concealed from all profane eyes ; none but 
 my own have beheld these sacred remains of yourself, and I 
 should think it as great a wickedness to divulge them as to 
 scatter abroad the ashes of my ancestors. As for the rest, if 
 I have not followed you to the ends of the earth, 'tis not my 
 fault ; if I had, I might possibly have died as gloriously as 
 Jeffery Rudel ; and if I had so died, you might probably have 
 done every thing for me that the Countess of Tripoli did, ex- 
 cept turning nun. 
 
 But since our romance is like to have a more fortunate con- 
 clusion, I desire you to take another course to express your 
 favor toward me ; I mean by bringing over the fair Circassian 
 we used to talk of. I was serious in that request, and will 
 prove it by paying for her, if you will lay out my money so 
 well for me. The thing shall be as secret as you please, and 
 the lady made another half of me, that is, both my mistress 
 and my servant, as I am both my own servant and my own 
 master. But I beg you to look oftener than you used to do 
 
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 151 
 
 in your glass, in order to choose me one I may like. If you 
 have any regard to my happiness, let there be something as 
 near as possible to that face ; but, if you please, the colors a 
 little less vivid, the eyes a little less bright (such as reflection 
 will show 'em) ; in short, let her be such a one as you seem 
 in your own eyes, that is, a good deal less amiable than you 
 are. Take care of this, if you have any regard to my quiet; 
 for otherwise, instead of being her master, I must be only her 
 slave. 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 FROM MR. POPE, 
 
 September 1. 
 
 Madam, — I have been (what I never was till now) in debt 
 to you for a letter some weeks. I was informed you were at 
 sea, and that 't was to no purpose to write till some news had 
 been heard of your arriving somewhere or other. Besides, I 
 have had a second dangerous illness, from which I was more 
 diligent to be recovered than from the first, having now some 
 hopes of seeing you again. If you make any tour in Italy, I 
 shall not easily forgive you for not acquainting me soon 
 enough to have met you there. I am very certain I can never 
 be polite unless I travel with you : and it is never to be re- 
 paired, the loss that Homer has sustained, for want of my 
 translating him in Asia. You will come hither full of criti- 
 cisms against a man who wanted nothing to be in the right 
 but to have kept you company ; you have no way of making 
 me amends but by continuing an Asiatic when you return to 
 me, whatever English airs you may put on to other people. 
 
 I prodigiously long for your sonnets, your remarks, your 
 Oriental learning ; but I long for nothing so much as your 
 Oriental self. You must of necessity be advanced . so far bach 
 into true nature and simplicity of manners by these three 
 years' residence in the east, that I shall look upon you as so 
 
152 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 many years younger than you were, so much nearer innocence 
 (that is, truth) and infancy (that is, openness). I expect to see 
 your soul as much thinner dressed as your body ; and that 
 you have left off, as unwieldy and cumbersome, a great many 
 European habits. Without offense to your modesty be it 
 spoken, I have a burning desire to see your soul stark naked, 
 for I am confident 'tis the prettiest kind of white soul in the 
 universe. But I forget whom I am talking to ; you may pos- 
 sibly by this time believe, according to the prophet, that you 
 have none ; if so, show me that which corned next to a soul ; 
 you may easily put it upon a poor ignorant Christian for a 
 soul, and please him as well with it ; I mean your heart ; 
 Mohammed, I think, allows you hearts ; which (together with 
 fine eyes and other agreeable equivalents) are worth all the 
 souls on this side the world. But if I must be content with 
 seeing your body only, God send it to come quickly : I honor 
 it more than the diamond casket that held Homer's Iliads ; 
 for in the verj» twinkle of one eye of it there is more wit, and 
 in the very dimple of one cheek of it there is more meaning 
 than all the souls that ever were casually put into women 
 since men had the making of them. 
 
 I have a mind to fill the rest of this paper with an accident 
 that happened just under my eyes, and has made a great im- 
 pression upon me. I have just passed part of this summer at 
 an old romantic seat of my Lord Harcourt's, which he lent 
 me* It overlooks a • common-field, where, under the shade 
 of a hay-cock, sat two lovers, as constant as ever were found 
 in romance, beneath a spreading beech. The name of the 
 one (let it sound as it will) was John He wet, of the other 
 Sarah Drew. John was a well-set man about five and twenty ; 
 Sarah a brown woman of eighteen. John had for several 
 months borne the labor of the day in the same field with 
 Sarah ; when she milked, it was his morning and evening 
 charge to bring the cows to her pail. Their love was the talk, 
 but not the scandal, of the whole neighborhood ; for all they 
 * At Stanton-Harcourt, in Oxfordshire. 
 
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 153 
 
 aimed at was the blameless possession of each other in mar- 
 riage. It was but this very morning that he had obtained her 
 parents' consent, and it was but till the next week that they 
 were to wait to be happy. Perhaps this very day, in the in- 
 tervals of their work, they were talking of their wedding- 
 clothes ; and John was now matching several kinds of pop- 
 pies and field-flowers to her complexion, to make her a pres- 
 ent of knots for the day. While they were thus employed (it 
 was on the last of July), a terrible storm of thunder and 
 lightning arose, and drove the laborers to what shelter the 
 trees or hedges afforded. Sarah, frightened and out of breath, 
 sunk on a hay-cock, and John (who never separated from her) 
 sat by her side, having raked two or three heaps together to 
 secure her. Immediately there was heard so loud a crack as 
 if Heaven had burst asunder. The laborers, all solicitous for 
 each other's safety, called to one another : those that were 
 nearest our lovers, hearing no answer, stepped to the place 
 where they lay. They first saw a little smoke, and after, this 
 faithful pair — John, with one arm about his Sarah's neck, and 
 the other held over her face, as if to screen her from the 
 lightning, They were struck dead, and already grown stiff 
 and cold in this tender posture. There was no mark or dis- 
 coloring on their bodies, only that Sarah's eye-brow was a lit- 
 tle singed, and a small spot between her breasts. They were 
 buried the next day in one grave, in the parish of Stanton- 
 Harcourt, in Oxfordshire, where my Lord Harcourt, at my re- 
 quest, has erected a monument over them. Of the following 
 epitaphs which I made, the critics have chosen the godly one. 
 I like neither, but wish you had been in England to have done 
 this office better ; I think 't was what you could not have re- 
 fused me on so moving an occasion. 
 
 When Eastern lovers feed the fun'ral fire, 
 On the same pile their faithful fair expire ; 
 Here pitying Heav'n that virtue mutual found, 
 And blasted both, that it might neither wound. 
 Hearts so sincere th' Almighty saw well pleased, 
 Sent his own lightning, and the victims seized. 
 
154 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 Think not, by rig'rous judgment seized, 
 A pair so faithful could expire ; 
 
 Victims so pure Heav'n saw, well pleased, 
 And snatched them in celestial fire. 
 
 n. 
 
 Live well, and fear no sudden fate : 
 
 "When God calls virtue to the grave, 
 Alike 'tis justice, soon or late, 
 
 Mercy alike to kill or save. 
 Virtue unmoved can hear the call, 
 And face the flash that melts the balk 
 
 Upon the whole, I can't think these people unhappy. The 
 greatest happiness, next to living as they would have done, 
 was to die as they did. The greatest honor people of this low 
 degree could have was to be remembered on a little monu- 
 ment ; unless you will give them another — that of being hon- 
 ored with a tear from the finest eyes in the world. I know 
 you have tenderness ; you must have it ; it is the very emana- 
 tion of good sense and virtue ; the finest minds, like the finest 
 metals, dissolve the easiest. 
 
 But when you are reflecting upon objects of pity, pray do 
 not forget one who had no sooner found out an object of the 
 highest esteem, than he was separated from it ; and who is 
 so very unhappy as not to be susceptible of consolation from 
 others, by being so miserably in the right as to think other 
 women what they really are. Such a one can't but be des- 
 perately fond of any creature that is quite different from these. 
 If the Circassian be utterly void of such honor as these have, 
 and such virtue as these boast of, I am content. I have de- 
 tested the sound of honest woman, and loving spouse, ever 
 since I heard the pretty name of Odaliche. 
 
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 15ft 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 TO MR. POPE. 
 
 Dover, November 1, 0. S., 1718. 
 
 I have this minute received a letter of yours, sent me from 
 Paris. I believe and hope I shall very soon see both you and 
 Mr. Congreve ; but as I am here in an inn, where we stay to 
 regulate our march to London, bag and baggage, I shall em- 
 ploy some of my leisure time in answering that part of yours 
 that seems to require an answer. 
 
 I must applaud your good-nature in supposing that your 
 pastoral lovers (vulgarly called haymakers) would have lived 
 in everlasting joy and harmony, if the lightning had not inter- 
 rupted their scheme of happiness. I see no reason to imagine 
 that John Hughes and Sarah Drew were either wiser or more 
 virtuous than their neighbors. That a well-set man of twenty- 
 five should have a fancy to marry a brown woman of eighteen, 
 is nothing marvelous ; and I can not help thinking that, had 
 they married, their lives would have passed in the common 
 track with their fellow-parishioners. His endeavoring to 
 shield her from a storm, was a natural action, and what he 
 would have certainly done for his horse, if he had been in the 
 same situation. Neither am I of opinion that their sudden 
 death was a reward of their mutual virtue. You know the 
 Jews were reproved for thinking a village destroyed by fire 
 more wicked than those that had escaped the thunder. Time 
 and chance happen to all men. Since you desire me to try 
 my skill in an epitaph, I think the following lines perhaps 
 more just, though not so poetical as yours. 
 
 Here lie John Hughes and Sarah Drew ; 
 Perhaps you '11 say, what 's that to you ? 
 Believe me, friend, much may be said 
 On this poor couple that are dead. 
 On Sunday next they should have married ; 
 But see how oddly things are carried 1 
 
156 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 On Thursday last it rained and lighten'd ; 
 These tender lovers sadly frighten'd, 
 Shelter'd beneath the cocking hay, 
 In hopes to pass the time away ; 
 But the bold thunder found them out 
 (Commission'd for that end no doubt), 
 And, seizing on their trembling breath, 
 Consign'd them to the shades of death. 
 "Who knows if 't was not kindly done ? 
 For had they seen the next year's sun, 
 A beaten wife and cuckold swain 
 Had jointly cursed the marriage chain : 
 Now they are happy in their doom, 
 For Pope has wrote upon their tomb. 
 
 I confess, these sentiments are not altogether so heroic as 
 yours ; but I hope you will forgive them in favor of the two 
 last lines. You see how much I esteem the honor you have 
 done them, though I am not very impatient to have the same 5 
 and had rather continue to be your stupid living humble serv- 
 ant, than be celebrated by all the pens in Europe. 
 
 I would write to Congreve, but suppose you will read this 
 to him if he inquires after me. 
 
 LETTER XI. 
 
 TO MR. POPE. 
 
 September 1, IT IT. 
 When I wrote to you last, Belgrade was in the hands of the 
 Turks ; but at this present moment, it has changed masters, 
 and is in the hands of the Imperialists. A janizary, who, in 
 nine days, and yet without any wings but what a panic terror 
 seems to have furnished, arrived at Constantinople from the 
 army of the Turks before Belgrade, brought Mr. Wortley the 
 news of a complete victoiy obtained by the Imperialists, com- 
 manded by Prince Eugene over the Ottoman troops. It is said 
 the Prince has discovered great conduct and valor in this action, 
 
ALEXANDER POPE. 157 
 
 and I am particularly glad that the voice of glory and duty 
 has called him from the — (here several words of the manuscript 
 art effaced) Two days after the battle the town surrendered. 
 The consternation which this defeat has occasioned here, is 
 inexpressible ; and the Sultan apprehending a revolution from 
 the resentment and indignation of the people, fomented by 
 certain leaders, has begun his precautions, after the goodly 
 fashion of this blessed government, by ordering several per- 
 sons to be strangled who were the objects of his royal sus- 
 picion. He has also ordered his treasurer to advance some 
 months' pay to the janizaries, which seems the less necessary, 
 as their conduct has been bad in this campaign, and their 
 licentious ferocity seems pretty well tamed by the public con- 
 tempt. Such of them as return in straggling and fugitive 
 parties to the metropolis, have not spirit nor credit enough to 
 defend themselves from the insults of the mob ; the very chil- 
 dren taunt them, and the populace spit in their faces as they 
 pass. They refused during the battle to lend their assistance 
 to save the baggage and the military chest, which, however, 
 were defended by the bashaws and their retinue, while the 
 janizaries and spahis were nobly employed in plundering their 
 own camp. 
 
 You see here that I give you a very handsome return for 
 your obliging letter. You entertain me with a most agreeable 
 account of your amiable connections with men of letters and 
 taste, and of the delicious moments you pass in their society 
 under the rural shade ; and I exhibit to you in return, the 
 barbarous spectacle of Turks and Germans cutting one an- 
 other's throats. But what can you expect from such a 
 country as this, from which the Muses have fled, from which 
 letters seem eternally banished, and in which you see, in pri- \ 
 vate scenes, nothing pursued as happiness but the refinements 
 of an indolent voluptuousness, and where those who act upon 
 the public theater live in uncertainty, suspicion, and terror ! 
 Here pleasure, to which I am no enemy, when it is properly 
 seasoned and of a good composition, is surely of the cloying 
 
158 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 kind. Veins of wit, elegant conversation, easy commerce, are 
 unknown among the Turks ; and yet they seem capable of all 
 these, if the vile spirit of their government did not stifle genius, 
 damp curiosity, and suppress a hundred passions, that em- 
 bellish and render life agreeable. The luscious passion of 
 the seraglio is the only one almost that is gratified here 
 to the full, but it is blended so with the surly spirit of des- 
 potism in one of the parties, and with the dejection and 
 anxiety which this spirit produces in the other, that to one of 
 my way of thinking it can not appear otherwise than as a very 
 mixed kind of enjoyment. The women here are not, indeed 
 so closely confined as many have related ; they enjoy a high 
 degree of liberty, even in the bosom, of servitude, and they 
 have methods of evasion and disguise that are very favorable 
 to gallantry ; but after all, they are still under uneasy appre- 
 hensions of being discovered ; and a discovery exposes them to 
 the most merciless rage of jealousy, which is here a monster 
 that can not be satiated but with blood. The magnificence and 
 riches that reign in the apartments of the ladies of fashion here 
 seem to be one of their chief pleasures, joined with their 
 retinue of female slaves, whose music, dancing and dress 
 amuse them highly : but there is such an air of form and stiff- 
 ness amid this grandeur, as hinders it from pleasing me at 
 long run, however I was dazzled with it at first sight. This 
 stiffness and formality of manners are peculiar to the Turkish 
 ladies ; for the Grecian belles are of quite another character 
 and complexion; with them pleasure appears in more engaging 
 forms, and their persons, manners, conversation, and amuse- 
 ments, are very far from being destitute of elegance and ease. 
 
 I received the news of Mr. Addison's being declared Secre- 
 tary of State with the less surprise in that I know that post 
 was almost offered to him before. At that time he declined 
 it, and I really believe that he would have done well to have 
 declined it now. Such a post as that, and such a wife as the 
 Countess, do not seem to be, in prudence, eligible for a man that 
 is asthmatic, and we may see the day when he will b& heartily 
 
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 159 
 
 glad to resign them both. It is well that he laid aside the 
 thoughts of the voluminous dictionary, of which I have heard 
 you or somebody else frequently make mention. But no 
 more on that subject ; I would not have said so much were I 
 not assured that this letter will come safe and unopened to 
 hand. I long much to tread upon English ground, that I may 
 see you and Mr. Congreve, who render that ground classic 
 ground ; nor will you refuse our present secretary a part of 
 that merit, whatever reasons you may have to be dissatisfied 
 with him in other respects. You are the three happiest poets 
 I ever heard of; one a Secretary of State, the other enjoying 
 leisure with dignity in two lucrative employments ; and you, 
 though your religious profession is an obstacle to court pro- 
 motion, and disqualifies you from filling civil employments, 
 have found the philosopher's stone, since by making the Iliad 
 pass through your poetical crucible into an English form, 
 without losing aught of its original beauty, you have drawn 
 ihe golden current of Pactolus to Twickenham. I call this 
 finding" the philosopher's stone, since you alone found out the 
 secret, and nobody else has got into it. Addison and Tickell 
 tried it, but their experiments failed ; and they lost, if not 
 their money, at least a certain portion of their fame in the 
 trial — while you touched the mantle of the divine bard, and 
 imbibed his spirit. I hope we shall have the Odyssey soon 
 from your happy hand, and I think I shall follow with singular 
 pleasure the traveler Ulysses, who was an observer of men 
 and manners, when he travels in your harmonious numbers. 
 I love him much better than the hot-headed son of Peleus, 
 who bullied his general, cried for his mistress, and so on. It 
 is true, the excellence of the Iliad does not depend upon his 
 merit or dignity, but I wish, nevertheless, that Homer had 
 chosen a hero somewhat less pettish and less fantastic : a per- 
 fect hero is chimerical and unnatural, and consequently unin- 
 structive ; but it is also true that while the epic hero ought to 
 be drawn with the infirmities that are the lot of humanity, he 
 ought never to be represented as extremely absurd. But it 
 
160 LETTERS TO AND 
 
 becomes me ill to play the critic ; so I take my leave of you 
 for this time, and desire you will believe me, with the highest 
 esteem, Yours, etc. 
 
 LETTER XLT. 
 
 TO MR. POPE. 
 
 1118. 
 
 I have been running about Paris at a strange rate with 
 my sister, and strange sights have we seen. They are, at Last, 
 strange sights to me, for after having been accustomed to the 
 gravity of the Turks, I can scarcely look with an easy and 
 familiar aspect at the levity and agility of the airy phantoms 
 that are dancing about me here, and I often think that I am 
 at a puppet-show amid the representations of real life. I stare 
 prodigiously, but nobody remarks it, for every body stares 
 here ; staring is a la mode — there is a stare of attention and 
 interet, a stare of curiosity, a stare of expectation, a stare of 
 surprise, and it would greatly amuse you to see what trifling 
 objects excite all this staring. This staring would have rather 
 a solemn kind of air, were it not alleviated by grinning, for at 
 the end of a stare there comes always a grin, and very com- 
 monly the entrance of a gentleman or a lady into a room is 
 accompanied with a grin, which is designed to express com- 
 placence and social pleasure, but really shows nothing more 
 than a certain contortion of muscles that must make a 
 stranger laugh really, as they laugh artificially. The French 
 grin is equally remote from the cheerful serenity of a smile, 
 and the cordial mirth of an honest English horse-laugh. I 
 shall not perhaps stay here long enough to form a just idea of 
 French manners and characters, though this, I believe, would 
 require but little study, as there is no real depth in either. It 
 appears on a superficial view, to be a frivolous, restless, and 
 agreeable people. The Abbot is my guide, and I could not easily 
 light upon a better ; he tells me that here the women form 
 
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 161 
 
 the character of the men, and I am convinced in the per- 
 suasion of this by every company into which I enter. There 
 seems here to be no intermediate state between infancy and 
 manhood ; for as soon as the boy has cut his leading-strings, 
 he is set agog in the world ; the ladies are his tutors, they 
 make the first impressions, which generally remain, and they 
 render the men ridiculous by the imitation of their humors 
 and graces, so that dignity in manners is a rare thing here be- 
 fore the age of sixty. Does not King David say somewhere, 
 that Man walJceth in a vain show $ I think he does, and I 
 am sure this is peculiarly so of the Frenchman — but he walks 
 merrily and seems to enjoy the vision, and may he not there- 
 fore be esteemed more happy than many of our solid thinkers, 
 whose brows are furrowed by deep reflection, and whose wis- 
 dom is so often clothed with a rusty mantle of spleen and 
 vapors ? 
 
 What delights me most here is a view of the magnificence, 
 often accompanied with taste, that reigns in the king's palaces 
 and gardens ; for though I don't admire much the architect- 
 ure, in which there is great irregularity and want of propor- 
 tion, yet the statues, paintings, and other decorations afford 
 me high entertainment. One of the pieces of antiquity that 
 struck me most in the gardens of Versailles, was the famous 
 colossean statue of Jupiter, the workmanship of Myron, which 
 Mark Antony carried away from Samos, and Augustus or- 
 dered to be placed in the Capitol. It is of Parian marble, and 
 though it has suffered in the ruin of time, it still preserves 
 striking lines of majesty. But surely, if marble could feel, 
 the god would frown with a generous indignation to see him- 
 self transported from the Capitol into a French garden ; and 
 after having received the homage of the Eoman Emperors, 
 who laid their laurels at his feet when they returned from 
 their conquests, to behold now nothing but the frizzled beaus 
 passing by him with indifference. 
 
 I propose setting out soon from this place, so that you arc 
 to expect no more letters from this side of the water ; besides, 
 
102 LETTERS TO ALEXANDER POPE. 
 
 I am hurried to death, and my head swims with that vast 
 variety of objects which I am obliged to view with such rapid- 
 ity, the shortness of my time not allowing me to examine 
 them at my leisure. There is here an excessive prodigality of 
 ornaments and decorations, that is just the opposite extreme to 
 what appears in our royal gardens ; this prodigality is owing 
 to the levity and inconstancy of the French taste, which al- 
 ways pants after something new, and thus heaps ornament 
 upon ornament without end or measure. It is time, however, 
 that I should put an end to my letter ; so I wish you good 
 night, and am, etc. 
 
LETTERS TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR, 
 
 AT PARIS. 
 FROM 1720 TO 1727. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 Twickenham, 1720. 
 I have had no answer, dear sister, to a long letter that I 
 wrote to you a month ago ; however, I shall continue letting 
 you know, de temps en temps, what passes in this corner of 
 the world 'till you tell me 'tis disagreeable. I shall say little 
 of the death of our great minister, because the papers say so 
 much.* I suppose that the same faithful historians give you 
 regular accounts of the growth and spreading of the inocula- 
 tion for the small pox, which is become almost a general 
 practice, attended with great success. I pass my time in a 
 small snug set of dear intimates, and go very little into the 
 grand monde, which has always had my hearty contempt. I 
 see sometimes Mr. Congreve, and very seldom Mr. Pope, who 
 continues to embellish his house at Twickenham. He has 
 made a subterranean grotto, which he has furnished with 
 looking-glasses, and they tell me it has a very good effect. I 
 here send you some verses addressed to Mr. Gay, who wrote 
 him a congratulatory letter on the finishing his house. I sti- 
 fled them here, and I beg they may die the same death at 
 Paris, and never go further than your closet : 
 
 * James Craggs, Esq., Secretary of State, died February 15, 1720, 
 aged 35. 
 
164 LETTERS TO 
 
 1 Ah, frieixd, 'tis true — this truth you lovers know- 
 In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow, 
 In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes 
 Of hanging mountains, and of sloping greens: 
 Joy lives not here ; to happier seats it flies, 
 And only dwells where Wortley casts her eyes. 
 
 " What are the gay parterre, the checker'd shade, 
 The morning bower, the ev'ning colonnade. 
 But soft recesses of uneasy minds, 
 To sigh unheard in, to the passing winds ? 
 So the struck deer in some sequester'd part 
 Lies down to die, the arrow at his heart ; 
 There, stretch'd unseen in coverts hid from day, 
 Bleeds drop by drop, and pants his life away."* 
 
 My paper is done, and I beg you to send my lutestring of 
 what color you please. 
 
 LETTER E. 
 
 1722. 
 Dear Sister, — I am surprised at your silence, which has 
 been very long, and I am sure it is very tedious to me, I 
 have writ three times ; one of my letters I know you received 
 long since, for Charles Churchill told me so at the opera. At 
 this instant I am at Twickenham ; Mr. Wortley has pur- 
 chased the small habitation where you saw me. We propose 
 to make some small alterations. That and the education of 
 my daughter are my chief amusements. I hope yours is well, 
 et ne fait que croitre et embellir. I beg you would let me 
 hear soon from you ; and particularly if the approaching 
 coronation at Paris raises the price of diamonds. I have 
 some to sell, and can not dispose of them here. I am afraid 
 you have quite forgot my plain lutestring, which I am in 
 
 * In Pope's Works the last eight lines only are published as a frag- 
 ment. After his quarrel with Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, he dis- 
 ingenuously suppressed the compliment conveyed in the preceding. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 165 
 
 great want of, and I can hardly think you miss of opportuni- 
 ties to send it. At this dead season 'tis impossible to enter- 
 tain you with news ; and yet more impossible (with my dull- 
 ness) to entertain you without it. The kindest thing I can 
 do is to bring my letter to a speedy conclusion. I wish I 
 had some better way of showing you how sincerely I am 
 yours. I am sure I never will slip any occasion of convincing 
 you of it. 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 Twickenham, 1123. 
 I do verily believe, my dear sister, that this is the twelfth 
 if not the thirteenth letter I have written since I had the 
 pleasure of hearing from you. It is an uncomfortable thing 
 to have precious time spent, and one's wit neglected in this 
 manner. Sometimes I think you are fallen into that utter 
 indifference for all things on this side the water, that you 
 have no more curiosity for the affairs of London than for 
 those of Pekin ; and if that be the case, 'tis downright imper- 
 tinence to trouble you with news. But I can not cast off the 
 affectionate concern I have for you, and consequently must put 
 you in mind of me whenever I have any opportunity. The 
 bearer of this epistle is our cousin,* and a consummate puppy, 
 as you will perceive at first sight ; his shoulder-knot last birth- 
 day made many a pretty gentleman's heart ache with envy, 
 and' his addresses have made Miss Howard the happiest of her 
 highness's honorable virgins ;f besides the glory of thrusting 
 the Earl of Deloraine from the post he held in her affections. 
 But his relations are so ill-bred as to be quite insensible of 
 the honor arising from this conquest, and fearing that so 
 much gallantry may conclude in captivity for life, pack him 
 
 * This cousin probably was Lord Fielding. 
 
 f Miss Howard was daughter of Colonel Philip Howard, and was 
 married, in 1726, to Henry Scott Earl of Deloraine, third son of James 
 Duke of Monmouth. 
 
166 LETTERS TO 
 
 off to you, where 'tis to be hoped there is no such killing fair 
 as Miss Howard. 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 Catendish Square, 1723. 
 Dear Sister, — I have written to you twice since I received 
 yours in answer to that I sent by Mr. De Caylus, but I believe 
 none of what I send by the post ever come to your hands, uor 
 ever will while they .are directed to Mr. Waters, for reasons 
 that you may easily guess. I wish you would give me a safer 
 direction ; it is very seldom I can have the opportunity of a 
 private messenger, and it is very often that I have a mind to 
 write to my dear sister. If you have not heard of the Duchess 
 of Montagu's intended journey, you will be surprised at your 
 manner of receiving this, since I send it by one of her servants ; 
 she does not design to see any body nor any thing in Paris, 
 and talks of going from Montpelier to Italy. I have a tender 
 esteem for her, and am heartily concerned to lose her conversa- 
 tion, yet I can not condemn her resolution. I am yet in this 
 wicked town, but propose to leave it as soon as the Parliament 
 rises. Mrs. Murray and all her satellites have so seldom fallei 
 | in my way, I can say little about them. Your old friend Mrs. 
 Lowther is still fair and young, and in pale pink every night in 
 the parks ; but, after being highly in favor, poor I am in utter 
 disgrace, without my being able to guess wherefore, except 
 she fancied me the author or abettor of two vile ballads written 
 on her dying adventure, which I am so innocent of that I never 
 saw it.* A propos of ballads, a most delightful one is said or 
 sung in mo>t houses about our dearly-beloved plot, which has 
 been laid first to Pope and secondly to me, when God knows 
 we have neither of us wit enough to make it. Poets increase 
 and multiply to that stupendous degree, you see them at every 
 turn, even in embroidered coats and pink-colored top-knots ; 
 
 * Mrs. Lowther was a respectable woman, single, and, as it appears by 
 the text, not willing to own herself middle-aged. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 167 
 
 making verses is become almost as common as taking snuff, and 
 who can tell what miserable stuff people carry about iu their 
 pockets, and offer to all their acquaintances, and you know one 
 can not refuse reading and taking a pinch. This is a very great 
 grievance and so particularly shocking to me, that I think our 
 wise lawgivers should take it into consideration, and appoint a 
 fast-day to beseech Heaven to put a stop to this epidemical dis- 
 ease, as they did last year for the plague with great success. 
 
 Dear sister, adieu. I have been very free in this letter, be- 
 cause I think I am sure of its going safe. I wish my night-gown 
 may do the same : I only choose that as most convenient to 
 you ; but if it was equally so, I had rather the money was laid 
 out in plain lutestring, if you could send me eight yards at a 
 time of different colors, designing it for linings ; but if this 
 scheme is impracticable, send me a night-gown a la mode. 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 Twickenham, Oct. 20, 1723. 
 I am heartily sorry to have the pleasure of hearing from you 
 lessened by your complaints of uneasiness, which I wish with 
 all my soul I was capable of relieving, either by my letters or 
 any other way. My life passes in a kind of indolence which is 
 now and then awakened by agreeable moments ; but pleasures 
 are transitory, and the ground work of every thing in England 
 stupidity, which is certainly owing to the coldness of this vile 
 climate. I envy you the serene air of Paris, as well as many 
 other conveniences there : what between the things one can 
 not do, and the things one must not do, the time but dully 
 lingers on, though 1 make as good a shift as many of my 
 neighbors. To my great grief, some of my best friends have 
 been extremely ill ; and, in general, death and sickness have 
 never been more frequent than now. You may imagine poor 
 gallantry droops ; and, except in the elysian shades of Rich- 
 mond, there is no such thing as We or pleasure. It is said 
 
168 LETTERS TO 
 
 there is a fair lady retired for having taken too much of it : 
 for my part they are not at all cooked to my taste ; and I 
 have very little share in the diversions there, which, except 
 seasoned with wit, or at least vivacity, will not go down with 
 me who have not altogether so voracious an appetite as 1 once 
 had : I intend, however, to shine and be fine on the birth- 
 night, and review the figures there. 
 
 I desire you would say something very pretty to your 
 daughter in my name ; notwithstanding the great gulf that is 
 [at present between us, I hope to wait on her to an opera one 
 time or other. I suppose you know our uncle Fielding * is 
 dead. I regret him prodigiously. 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 Oct. 31, 1723. 
 I write to you at this time piping hot from the birth -night ; 
 my brain warmed with all the agreeable ideas that fine clothes, 
 fine gentlemen, brisk tunes, and lively dances, can raise there. 
 It is to be hoped that my letter will entertain you : at least you 
 will certainly have the freshest account of all passages on that 
 glorious day. First you must know that I led up the ball s 
 which you'll stare at ; but w r hat is more, I believe in my con- 
 science I made one of the best figures there ; to say truth, people 
 are grown so extravagantly ugly that we old beauties are 
 forced to come out on show-days, to keep the court in counte- 
 nance. I saw Mrs. Murray there, through whose hands this 
 epistle will be conveyed ; I do not know whether she will make 
 the same complaint to you that I do. Mrs. West was with 
 her, who is a great prude, having but two lovers at a time ; I 
 think those are Lord Haddington and Mr. Lindsay ; the one 
 for use, the other for show. 
 
 * William Fielding, Esq., second son of William, Earl of Denbigh, Gen- 
 tleman of the Bed-chamber and Deputy-Comptroller of the Household, died 
 in September, 1723. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 169 
 
 The world improves in one virtue to a violent degree, I mean 
 plain-dealing. Hypocrisy being, as the Scripture declares, a 
 damnable sin, I hope our publicans and sinners will be saved 
 by the open profession of the contrary virtue. I was told by 
 a very good author, who is deep in the secret, that at this very 
 minute, there is a bill cooping up at a hunting-seat in Nor- 
 folk* to have not taken out of the commandments and 
 clapped into the creed, the ensuing session of Parliament. This 
 bold attempt for the liberty of the subject is wholly projected 
 by Mr. Walpole, who proposed it to the secret committee in 
 his parlor. William Young f seconded it, and answered for 
 all his acquaintance voting right to a man : Doddington j very 
 gravely objected that the obstinacy of human nature was such 
 that he feared when they had positive commandments to do so, 
 perhaps people would not commit adultery and bear false wit- 
 ness against their neighbors with the readiness and cheerful- 
 ness they do at present. This objection seemed to sink deep 
 into the minds of the greatest politicians at the board, and I 
 don't know whether the bill won't be dropped, though it is 
 certain it might be carried on with great ease, the world being 
 entirely " revenue du bagatelle" and honor, virtue, reputation, 
 etc. which we used to hear of in our nursery, is as much laid 
 aside and forgotten as crumpled ribbons. 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 Cavendish Square, 1724. 
 Dear Sister — I can not positively fix a time for my waiting 
 on you at Paris ; but I do verily believe I shall make a trip 
 thither, sooner or later. This town improves in gayety every 
 day ; the young people are younger than they used to be, and 
 all the old are growing young. Nothing is talked of but en- 
 
 * Houghton ; Mr. (afterward Sir Robert) Walpole's, then prime-minister, 
 t Sir William Young. 
 
 X George Bubb Doddington, afterward Lord Melcomb-Regn, whose 
 Diary has been published. 
 
170 LETTERS TO 
 
 tsrtainments of gallantry by land and water, and we insensibly 
 begin to taste all the joys of arbitrary power. Politics are no 
 more ; nobody pretends to wince or kick under their burdens ; 
 but we go on cheerfully with our bells at our ears, ornamented 
 with ribbons, and highly contented with our present condition. 
 So much for the general state of the nation. The last pleas- 
 ure that fell in my way was Madame Sevigne's Letters ; very 
 pretty they are, but I assert, without the least vanity, that mine 
 will be full as entertaining forty years hence. I advise you$ 
 therefore, to put none of them to the use of waste paper. 
 You say nothing to me of the change of your ministry ; I 
 thank you for your silence upon that subject ; I don't remem- 
 ber myself ever child enough to be concerned who reigned ir 
 any part of the earth. 
 
 LETTER VIH. 
 
 Twickenham, Jan. 1726. 
 Dear Sister — Having a few momentary spirits, I take pen 
 in hand, though 'tis impossible to have tenderness for you, 
 without having the spleen upon reading your letter, which will, 
 I hope, be received as a lawful excuse for the dullness of the 
 following lines ; and I plead (as I believe I have on different 
 occasions), that I should please you better if I loved you less. 
 My Lord Carleton* has left this transitory world, and disposed 
 
 of his estate as he did of his time, between Lady C f and 
 
 the Duchess of Q y.J Jewels to a great value he has 
 
 given, as he did his affections, first to the mother and then to 
 the daughter. He was taken ill in my company at a concert 
 at the Duchess of Marlborough's, and died two days after, 
 holding the fair Duchess by the hand, and being fed at the 
 
 * Henry Boyle, fifth son of Richard Earl of Orrery, was Secretary 
 of State to Queen Anne. Created Baron Carlton in IT 14, and died in 
 1725. 
 
 \ ClarendoD. f Queensberry. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 171 
 
 same time with a fine fat chicken ; thus dying as he had lived, 
 indulging his pleasures. Your friend Lady A. Bate man (every 
 body being acquainted with her affair) is grown discreet ; and 
 nobody talks of it now but his family, who are violently 
 piqued at his refusing a great fortune. Lady Gainsborough* 
 has stolen poor Lord Shaftesbury, aged fourteen, and chained 
 him for life to her daughter, upon pretence of having been in 
 love with her several years. But Lady Herveyf makes the 
 top figure in town, and is so good as to show twice a week at 
 the drawing-room, and twice more at the opera, for the enter- 
 tainment of the public. As for myself, having nothing to 
 say, I say nothing. I insensibly dwindle into a spectatress, 
 and lead a kind of — as it were. I wish you here every day ; 
 and see, in the mean time, Lady Stafford and the Duchess of 
 Montagu and Miss Skerret, and really speak to almost nobody 
 else, though I walk about every where. Adieu, dear sister ; 
 if my letters could be any consolation to you, I should think 
 my time best spent in writing. 
 
 When you buy the trifles that I desired of you, I fancy Mr. 
 Walpole will be so good as to give you opportunity of send- 
 ing them without trouble, if you make it your request and 
 tell him they are for me. 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 1726 
 I received yours, dear sister, this minute, and am very sorry 
 both for your past illness and affliction ; though, au bout du 
 compte, I don't know why filial piety should exceed fatherly 
 
 * Lady Gainsborough was Lady Dorothy Manners, second daughter 
 of John first Duke of Rutland. Her daughter, Lady Susanna, was the 
 first wife of Anthony fourth Earl of Shaftesbury. This marriage took 
 place in 1725. 
 
 f Mary, Daughter of Brigadier-general Nicholas Le Pel, formerly 
 Maid of Honor to the Princess of Wales, and Mistress of the Robes to 
 her Majesty Queen Caroline. Married Oct. 25, 1720. 
 
172 LETTERS TO 
 
 fondness. So much by way of consolation. As to the manage- 
 ment at the time — I do verily believe, if my good aunt and 
 sister had been less fools, and my dear mother-in-law less mer- 
 cenary, things might have had a turn more to your advantage 
 and mine too ; when we meet, I will tell you many circum- 
 stances which would be tedious in a letter. I could not get 
 my sister Gower to join to act with me, and mamma and I 
 were in an actual scold when my poor father expired ; she has 
 shown a hardness of heart upon this occasion that would ap- 
 pear incredible to any body not capable of it themselves. 
 The addition to her jointure is, one way or other, £2000 per 
 annum ; so her good grace remains a passable rich widow, 
 and is already presented by the town with a variety of young 
 husbands ; but I believe her constitution is not good enough 
 to let her amorous inclinations get the better of her covetous. 
 ******* *** 
 
 All I had to say to you was that my father expressed a 
 great deal of kindness to me at last, and even a desire of talk- 
 ing with me, which my lady duchess would not permit ; nor 
 my aunt and sister show any thing but a servile complaisance 
 to her. This is the abstract of what you desire to know, and 
 is now quite useless. 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 Cavendish Square, 1126. 
 I am very sorry for your ill health, dear sister, but hope it is 
 so entirely past, that you have by this time forgot it. I never 
 was better in my life, nor ever passed my hours more agreeably ; 
 I ride between London and Twickenham perpetually, and 
 have little societies quite to my taste, and that is saying every 
 thing. I leave the great world to girls that know no better, 
 and do not think one bit the worse of myself for having out- 
 Jved a certain giddiness, which is sometimes excusable, but 
 never pleasing. Depend upon it, 'tis only the spleen that 
 
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 173 
 
 gives you those ideas ; you may have many delightful days to 
 come, and there is nothing more silly than to be too wise to 
 be happy : 
 
 If to be sad is to be wise, 
 I do most heartily despise 
 "Whatever Socrates has said, 
 Or Tully writ, or Montaigne read. 
 
 So much for philosophy. What do you say to Pelham's 
 marriage ?* There 's flame ! There 's constancy ! If I could 
 not employ my time better, I would write the history of their 
 loves in twelve tomes : Lord Hervey should die in her arms 
 like the poor King of Assyria, she should be sometimes carried 
 off by troops of Masques, and at other times blocked up in 
 the strong castles of the Bagnio ; but her honor should al- 
 ways remain inviolate by the strength of her own virtue, and 
 the friendship of the enchantress Mrs. Murray, till her happy 
 nuptials with her faithful Cyrus ; 'tis a thousand pities I have 
 not time for these vivacities. Here is a book come outf that 
 all our people of taste run mad about ; 'tis no less than the 
 united work of a dignified clergyman, an eminent physician, 
 and the first poet of the age ;£ and very wonderful it is ! — 
 great eloquence have they employed to prove themselves 
 beasts, and show such a veneration for horses, that since the 
 Essex Quaker, nobody has appeared so passionately devoted to 
 that species ; and to say truth, they talk of a stable with so 
 much warmth and affection I can not help suspecting some 
 very powerful motive at the bottom of it. 
 
 * Henry Pelham, only brother to his grace the Duke of Newcastle, 
 was married Oct. 17, 1726, to Lady Catherine, eldest daughter of John 
 second Duke of Rutland, by Catherine second daughter of William 
 L 3rd Russell, and sister to "Wriothesly Duke of Bedford. 
 
 f The Travels of Captain Lemuel Gulliver. 
 
 X Swift, Arbuthnot, and Pope. 
 
174 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XL 
 
 Cavendish Square, 1727. 
 This is a vile world, dear sister, and I can easily compre- 
 hend, that whether one is at Paris or London, one is stifled 
 with a certain mixture of fool and knave, that most people 
 are composed of. I would have patience with a parcel of 
 polite rogues, or your downright honest fools ; but father Adam 
 shines through his whole progeny. So much for our inside 
 — then our outward is so liable to ugliness and distempers 
 that we are perpetually plagued with feeling our own decays 
 and seeing those of other people. Yet, sixpennyworth of 
 common sense divided among a whole nation, would make 
 our lives roll away glibly enough ; but then we make laws, 
 and we follow customs. By the first we cut off our own pleas- 
 ures, and by the second we are answerable for the faults and 
 extravagances of others. All these things, and five hundred 
 more, convince me (as I have the most profound veneration 
 for the Author of nature) that we are here in an actual state 
 of punishment ; I am satisfied I have been one of the con- 
 demned ever since I was born ; and in submission to the 
 divine justice I don't at all doubt but I deserved it in some 
 pre-existent state. I will still hope that I am only in purga- 
 tory ; and that after whining -and grunting a certain number 
 of years, I shall be translated to some more happy sphere, 
 where virtue will be natural, and custom reasonable ; that is, 
 in short, where common sense will reign. I grow very devout, 
 as you see, and place all my hopes in the next life, being 
 totally persuaded of the nothingness of this. Don't you re- 
 member how miserable we were in the little parlor at Thoresby ? 
 we then thought marrying would put us at once into posses- 
 sion of all we wanted. Then came beins: with child, etc., and 
 you see what comes of being with child. Though, after all, I 
 am still of opinion that it is extremely silly to submit to ill 
 fortune. One should pluck a spirit, and live upon cordials 
 when one can have no other nourishment. These are my 
 
 8* 
 
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 175 
 
 present endeavors, and I run about, though I have five thou- 
 sand pins and needles running into my heart. I try to con- 
 sole myself with a small damsel,* who is at present every thing 
 I like — but, alas ! she is yet in a white frock. At fourteen, 
 she may run away with the butler : there 's one of the blessed 
 consequences of great disappointments ; you are not only hurt 
 by the thing present, but it cuts off all future hopes, and 
 makes your very expectations melancholy. Quelle vie ! ! ! 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 Cavendish Square, 1727. 
 I can not deny but that I was very well diverted on the 
 coronation day. I saw the procession much at my ease, in a 
 house which I filled with my own company, and then got into 
 Westminster Hall without trouble, where it was very enter- 
 taining to observe the variety of airs that all meant the same 
 thing. The business of every walker there was to conceal 
 vanity and gain admiration. For these purposes some lan- 
 guished and others strutted ; but a visible satisfaction was 
 diffused over every countenance, as soon as the coronet was 
 clapped on the head. But she that drew the greatest number 
 of eyes, was indisputably Lady Orkney.f She exposed behind 
 a mixture of fat and wrinkles ; and before, a very considerable 
 protuberance which preceded her. Add to this, the inimitable 
 roll of her eyes, and her gray hairs which by good fortune 
 stood directly upright, and 'tis impossible to imagine a more 
 delightful spectacle. She had embellished all this with con- 
 siderable magnificence, which made her look as big again as 
 
 * Her daughter, afterward Countess of Bute. 
 
 \ Lady Orkney, whom Swift calls the wisest woman he ever knew, 
 must have been pretty old at the time of George the Second's corona- 
 tion, since, in spite of her ugliness, also commemorated by Swift, she 
 Was King William's declared mistress after the death of Queen Mary. 
 Mrs. Villiers originally, she married Lord Orkney, one of the sons of the 
 Duke and Duchess of Hamilton. 
 
176 LETTERS TO 
 
 usual; and I should have thought her one of the largest 
 things of God's making if my Lady St. J n* had not dis- 
 played all her charms in honor of the day. The poor Duchess 
 of M sef crept along with a dozen of black snakes play- 
 ing round her face, and my Lady P J and (who is fallen 
 
 I away since her dismission from court) represented very finely 
 an Egyptian mummy embroidered over with hieroglyphics. 
 In general, I could not perceive but that the old were as well 
 pleased as the young ; and I, who dread growing wise more 
 than any thing in the world, was overjoyed to find that one 
 can never outlive one's vanity. I have never received the 
 long letter you talk of, and am afraid that you have only 
 fancied that you wrote it. Adieu, dear sister. 
 
 LETTER Xin. 
 
 Cavendish Square, 1727. 
 
 My Lady Stafford § set out toward France this morning, and 
 has carried half the pleasures of my life along with her ; I am 
 
 * St. John. f Montrose. 
 
 \ Portland, a Temple by birth, widow of Lord Berkeley of Stratton, 
 and secondly of Earl of Portland. She was his second wife, and had 
 by him two sons, who settled in Holland, and from whom descends the 
 Dutch branch of the Bentincks. George I. appointed her governess of 
 his grandchildren, when he took them away from their parent, upon 
 coming to an open breach with his son. The prince and princess one 
 day going to visit them, and the latter desiring to see her daughter ; 
 Lady Portland, with many expressions of respect, lamented that she 
 could not permit it, having his Majesty's strict orders to the contrary. 
 Upon this, the prince flew into such a rage that he would literally 
 and truly have actually kicked her out of the room, if the princess 
 had not thrown herself between them. Of course he made haste to 
 dismiss her as soon as he came to the crown. 
 
 § Claude Charlotte, daughter of Philibert, Count of Grammont, (au- 
 thor of the celebrated Memoirs), and "La Belle Hamilton," eldest 
 daughter of Sir George Hamilton, Bart., was married to Henry Stafford 
 Howard, Earl of Staflord, at St. Germain-en-Laye, 1694. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 177 
 
 more stupid than I can describe, and am as full of moral re- 
 flections as either Cambray or Pascal. I think of nothing but 
 the nothingness of the good things of this world, the transito- 
 riness of its joys, the pungency of its sorrows, and many dis- 
 coveries that have been made these three thousand years, and 
 committed to print ever since the first erecting of presses. I 
 advise you, as the best thing you can do that day, let it hap- 
 pen as it will, to visit Lady Stafford ; she has the goodness to 
 carry with her a true-born Englishwoman, who is neither good 
 nor bad, nor capable of being either ; Lady Phil. Pratt by 
 name, of the Hamilton family, and who will be glad of your 
 acquaintance, and you can never be sorry for hers * 
 
 Peace or war, cross or pile, makes all the conversation ; this 
 town never was fuller, and, God be praised, some people brille 
 in it who brilled twenty years ago. My cousin Buller is of 
 that number, who is just what she was in all respects when 
 she inhabited Bond-street. The sprouts of this age are such 
 green withered things, 'tis a great comfort to us grown up 
 people ; I except my own daughter, who is to be the ornament 
 of the ensuing court. I beg you will exact from Lady Staf- 
 ford a particular of her perfections, which would sound sus- 
 pected from my hand ; at the same time I must do justice to 
 a little twig belonging to my sister Gower. Miss Jenny is 
 like the Duchess of Queensberry both in face and spirit. A 
 propos of family affairs : I had almost forgot our dear and 
 amiable cousin Lady Denbigh, who has blazed out all this 
 winter ; she has brought with her from Paris cart-loads of 
 ribbon, surprising fashion, and of a complexion of the last 
 edition, which naturally attracts all the she and he fools 
 in London ; and accordingly she is surrounded with a little 
 court of both, and keeps a Sunday assembly to show she has 
 learned to play at cards on that day. Lady Frances Fieldingf 
 
 f Lady Philippa Hamilton, daughter of James Earl of Abercora, and 
 wife of Dr. Pratt, Dean of Downe. 
 
 * Youngest daughter of Basil fourth Earl of Denbigh ; married to 
 Daniel seventh Earl of Winchelsea; died Sept. 17, 1734. 
 
178 LETTERS TO 
 
 is really the prettiest woman in town, and has sense enough 
 to make one's heart ache to see her surrounded with such fools 
 as her relations are. The man in England that gives the great- 
 est pleasure, and the greatest pain, is a youth of royal blood, 
 with all his grandmother's beauty, wit, and good qualities. In 
 short, he is Nell Gwyn in person, with the sex altered, and 
 occasions such fracas among the ladies of gallantry that it 
 passes description. You'll stare to hear of her Grace of 
 Cleveland at the head of them.* If I was poetical I would 
 tell you — 
 
 The god of love, enraged to see 
 
 The nymph despiss his flame, 
 At dice and cards misspend her nights, 
 
 And slight a nobler game ; 
 
 For the neglect of offers past 
 
 And pride in days of yore, 
 He kindles up a fire at last, 
 
 That burns her at threescore. 
 
 A polish'd wile is smoothly spread 
 
 "Where whilome wrinkles lay ; 
 And glowing with an artful red, 
 
 She ogles at the play. 
 
 Along the Mall she softly sails, 
 
 In white and silver drcst ; 
 Her neck exposed to Eastern gales, 
 
 And jewels on her breast. 
 
 Her children banish'd, age forgot, 
 
 Lord Sidney is her care ; 
 And, what is much a happier lot, 
 
 Has hopes to be her heir. 
 
 This is all true history, though it is doggrel rhyme ; in good 
 earnest she has turned Lady D f and family out of doors 
 
 * Anne, daughter of Sir "W. Pulteney of Misterton, in the county of 
 Stafford; remarried to Philip Southcote, Esq. Died in 1746. 
 
 f Lady Grace Fitzroy, third daughter of Charles Duke of Cleveland; 
 married in 1725, to Henry first Earl of Darlington. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 179 
 
 to make room for him, and there he lies like leaf-gold upon a 
 pill ; there never was so violent and so indiscreet a passion. 
 Lady Stafford says nothing was ever like it, since Phaedra and 
 Hippolytus. " Lord ha' mercy ' upon us. See what we may 
 all come to 1" 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 No datf . 
 
 I am always pleased to hear from you, dear sister, particu- 
 larly when you tell me you are well. I believe you will find 
 upon the whole my sense is right ; that air, exercise, and com- 
 pany are the best medicines, and physic and retirement good 
 for nothing but to break hearts and spoil constitutions. I was 
 glad to hear Mr. Remond's history from you, though the news- 
 papers had given it me en gros, and my Lady Stafford in de- 
 tail, some time before. I will tell you in return as well as I 
 can what happens among our acquaintances here. To begin 
 with family affairs ; the Duchess of Kingston grunts on as 
 usual, and I fear will put us in black bombazine soon, which 
 is a real grief to me. My aunt Cheyne makes all the money 
 she can of Lady Frances, and I fear will carry on those politics 
 to the last point, though the girl is such a fool 'tis no great 
 matter ; I am going within this half-hour to call her to court. 
 Our poor cousins, the Fieldings, are grown yet poorer by the 
 loss of all the money they had, which in their infinite wisdom 
 they put into the hands of a roguish broker, who has fairly 
 walked off with it. 
 
180-184 LETTERS TO THE COUNTESS OP MAR. 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 1727. 
 My cousin is going to Paris, and I will not let her go 
 without a letter for you, my dear sister, though I never was 
 in a worse humor for writing. I am vexed to the blood by 
 my young rogue of a son, who has contrived at his age to 
 make himself the talk of the whole nation. He has gone 
 knight-erranting, God knows where ; and hitherto 'tis impos- 
 sible to find him. You may judge of my uneasiness by what 
 your own would be if dear Lady Fanny was lost. Nothing 
 that ever happened to me has troubled me so much ; I can 
 hardly speak or write of it with tolerable temper, and I own 
 it has changed mine to that degree I have a mind to cross the 
 water, to try what effect a new heaven and a new earth will 
 have upon my spirit. If I take this resolution, you shall hear 
 in a few posts. There can be no situation in life in which 
 the conversation of my dear sister will not administer some 
 comfort to me. 
 
LETTERS 
 
 LADY MARY TO MR. WORTLEY, 
 
 DURING HER 8ECOND RESIDENCE ABROAD. 
 
 FROM 1739 TO 1761. 
 
LETTERS FROM LADY MARY TO MR. WORTLEY.* 
 
 DURING- HER SECOND RESIDENCE ABROAD. 
 FROM 1739 TO 176 1. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 Calais, July 27, 1739. 
 I am safely arrived at Calais, and found myself better on 
 shipboard than 1 have been these six months ; not in the least 
 sick, though we had a very high sea, as you may imagine, 
 since we came over in two hours and three-quarters. My 
 servants behaved very well ; and Mary not in the least afraid, 
 but said she would be drowned very willingly with my lady- 
 ship. They ask me here extravagant prices for chaises, of 
 which there are great choice, both French and Italian : I have 
 at last bought one for fourteen guineas, of a man whom Mr. 
 Hall recommended to me. My things have been examined 
 and sealed at the Custom-house : they took from me a pound 
 of snuff, but did not open my*jewel boxes, which they let pass 
 
 * These letters to her husband show Lady Mary's wifely character 
 in a very agreeable light. That she had a warm esteem for his virtues 
 and reverenced his character, is evident in her letters to her daughter 
 as well as in this correspondence. Nor does it appear there was any 
 estrangement between Mr. "Wortley and herself, which caused her to 
 go abroad. Her letters prove her regard for him, and all she writes 
 indicate her confidence in his esteem for her, though his cold tempera 
 ment and cautious wisdom made her confine her expressions of affec- 
 tion to her daughter and sister. — Am. Ed. 
 
LETTERS TO MR. WORTLEY.' 187 
 
 on my word, being things belonging to my dress. I set out 
 early to-morrow. I am very impatient to hear from you : I 
 could not stay for the post at Dover for fear of losing the tide. 
 I beg you would be so good as to order Mr. Kent to pack up 
 my side-saddle, and all the tackle belonging to it, in a box, to be 
 sent with my other things : if (as I hope) I recover my health 
 abroad so much as to ride, I can get none I shall like so well. 
 
 LETTER H. 
 
 Dijon, August 18. N". S., 1739. 
 I am at length arrived here very safely, and without any 
 bad accident ; and so much mended in my health that I am 
 surprised at it. France is so much improved, it would not be 
 known to be the same country we passed through twenty 
 years ago. Every thing I see speaks in praise of Cardinal 
 Fleury : the roads are all mended, and the greater part of 
 them paved as well as the streets of Paris, planted on both 
 sides like the roads in Holland ; and such good care taken 
 against robbers that you may cross the country with your 
 purse in your hand : but as to traveling incognita, I may as 
 well walk incognita in the Pall Mall. There is not any town 
 in France where there are not English, Scotch, or Irish fami- 
 lies established ; and I have met with people that have seen me 
 (though often such as I do not remember to have seen) in 
 every town I have passed through ; and I think the further I 
 go, the more acquaintances I meet. Here are in this town no 
 less than sixteen English families of fashion. Lord Mansel 
 lodges in the house with mo, and a daughter of Lord Bathurst's 
 (Mrs. Whitshed) is in the same street. The Duke of Rutland 
 is gone from hence some time ago, as Lady Peterborough told 
 me at St. Omer's ; which was one reason that determined me 
 to come here, thinking to be quiet ; but I find it impossible, 
 and that will make me leave the place, after the return of this 
 post The French are more changed than their road's ; in- 
 
188 LETTERS TO 
 
 stead of pale, yellow faces, wrapped up in blankets, as we saw 
 them, the villages are all filled with fresh-colored lusty peas- 
 ants, in good clothes and clean linen. It is incredible what an 
 air of plenty and content is over the whole country. I hope 
 to hear, as soon as possible, that you are in good health. 
 
 LETTER in. 
 
 Venice, Sept. 25, 1739. 
 I am at length happily arrived here, I thank God ; I wish 
 it had been my original plan, which would have saved me 
 some money and fatigue ; though I have not much reason to 
 regret the last, since I am convinced it has greatly contributed 
 to the restoration of my health. I met nothing disagreeable 
 on my journey but too much company. I find (contrary to 
 the rest of the world) I did not think myself so considerable 
 as I am ; for I verily believe, if one of the pyramids of Egypt 
 had traveled it could not have been more followed ; and if 
 I had received all the visits that have been intended me, I 
 should have stopped at least two years in every town I came 
 through. I liked Milan so well that if I had not desired all 
 my letters to be directed hither, I think I should have been 
 tempted to stay there. One of the pleasures I found there 
 was the Borromean library, where all strangers have free ac- 
 cess ; and not only so, but liberty, on giving a note for it, to 
 take any printed book home with them. I saw several curious 
 manuscripts there ; and as a proof of my recovery, I went up 
 to the very top of the dome of the great church without any 
 assistance. I am now in a lodging on the Great Canal. Lady 
 P )mfret * is not yet arrived, but I expect her very soon ; and 
 
 * Henrietta Louisa, daughter and heir of Lord Chancellor Jeffries, 
 wife of Thomas Earl of Pomfret. She resided chiefly at Rome, where 
 she wrote the life of Vandyck. A part of the collection of marbles 
 made by Thomas, Earl of Arundel, having been purchased by "Will- 
 iam Earl of Pomfret, was given by her to the University of Oxford, i» 
 1T58. 
 
MR. WORTLET. 189 
 
 if the air does not disagree with me, I intend seeing the car- 
 nival here. I hope your health continues, and that I shall 
 hear from you very soon. 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 Venice, Dec. 25, 0. S. 1739. 
 
 I received yours yesterday, dated D ecember 7. I find my health 
 very well here, notwithstanding the cold, which is very sharp, 
 but the sun shines as clear as at midsummer. I am treated 
 here with more distinction than I could possibly expect. I 
 went to see the ceremony of high mass celebrated by the 
 Doge, on Christmas eve. He appointed a gallery for me and 
 the Prince of Wolsembatch, where no other person was ad- 
 mitted but those of our company. A greater compliment 
 could not have been paid me if I had been a sovereign princess. 
 The Doge's niece (he having no lady) met me at the palace- 
 gate, and led me through the palace to the Church of St. Mark, 
 where the ceremony was performed in the pomp you know, 
 and we were not obliged to any act of adoration. The Elec- 
 toral Prince of Saxony is here in public, and makes a prodig- 
 ious expense. His governor is Count Wackerbart, son to that 
 Madame Wackerbart with whom I was so intimate at Vienna ; 
 on which account he shows me particular civilities, and obliges 
 his pupil to do the same. I was last night at an entertain- 
 ment made for him by the Signora Pisani Mocenigo, which 
 was one of the finest I ever saw, and he desired me to sit next 
 him in a great chair ; in short I have all the reason that can 
 be, to be satisfied with my treatment in this town * and I am 
 glad I met Lord Carlisle, who directed me hither. 
 
 I have so little correspondence at London, I should be pleased 
 to hear from you whatever happens among my acquaintance. 
 I am sorry for Mr. Pelham's misfortune ;* though 'tis long 
 
 * The death of his two sons on two following days, November 26, 
 28, 1739. 
 
190 LETTERS TO 
 
 since that I have looked on the hopes of continuing a family 
 as one of the vainest of mortal prospects. 
 
 Tho' Solomon, with a thousand wives, 
 To get a wise successor strives ; 
 But one, and he a fool, survives. 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 Yenice, June 1, 1740. 
 I wrote you a long letter yesterday, which I sent by a 
 private hand, who will see it safely delivered. It is impos- 
 sible to be better treated, I may even say more courted, than 
 I am here. I am very glad of your good fortune at London. 
 You may remember I have always told you it is in your 
 power to make the first figure in the House of Commons. As 
 to the bill, I perfectly remember the paying of it, which you 
 may easily believe when you inquire, that all auction bills 
 are paid at furthest within eight days after the sale : the date 
 of this is March 1, and I did not leave London till July 25 ; 
 and in that time have been at many other auctions, particu- 
 larly Lord Halifax's, which was a short time before my jour- 
 ney. This is not the first of Cock's mistakes ; he is famous 
 for making them, which are (he says) the fault of his serv- 
 ants. You seem to mention the regatta in a manner as if 
 you would be pleased with a ("escription of it. It is a race 
 of boats : they are accompanied by vessels which they call 
 piotes or bichones, that have a mind to display their magnifi- 
 cence ; they are a sort of machines adorned with all that 
 sculpture and gilding can do to make a shining appearance. 
 Several of them cost one thousand pounds sterling, and I be- 
 lieve none less than five hundred ; they are rowed by gondo- 
 liers dressed in rich habits, suitable to what they represent. 
 There were enough of them to look like a little fleet, and I 
 own I never saw a finer sight. It would be too long to de- 
 scribe every one in particular, I shall oaly name the princi- 
 
MR. WORTLEY. 191 
 
 pal : the Signora Pisani Mocenigo's represented the Chariot 
 of the Night, drawn by four sea-horses, and showing the ris- 
 ing of the moon, accompanied with stars, the statues on each 
 side representing the hours to the number of twenty-four, 
 rowed by gondoliers in rich liveries, which were changed 
 three times, all of equal richness, and the decorations changed 
 also to the dawn of Aurora and the mid-day sun, the statues 
 being new dressed every time, the first in green, the second 
 time red, and the last blue, all equally laced with silver, there 
 being three races. Signor Soranto represented the kingdom 
 of Poland, with all the provinces and rivers in that dominion, 
 with a concert of the best instrumental music in rich Polish 
 habits ; the painting and gilding were exquisite in their kinds. 
 Signor Contarini's piote showed the liberal arts ; Apollo was 
 seated on the stern upon Mount Parnassus, Pegasus behind, 
 and the Muses seated round him : opposite was a figure rep- 
 resenting Painting, with Fame blowing her trumpet ; and on 
 each side Sculpture and Music in their proper dresses. The 
 Procurator Foscarini's was the chariot of Flora guided by 
 Cupids, and adorned with all sorts of flowers, rose-trees etc. 
 Signor Julio Contarini's represented the triumphs of Valor ; 
 Victory was on the stern, and all the ornaments warlike tro- 
 phies of every kind. Signor Correri's was the Adriatic Sea 
 receiving into her arms the Hope of Saxony. Signor Alvisio 
 Moncenigo's was the garden of Hesperides ; the whole fable 
 was represented by different statues. Signor Querini had 
 the chariot of Venus drawn by doves, so well done, they 
 seemed ready to fly upon the water ; the Loves and Graces 
 attendel her. Signor Paul Doria had the chariot of Diana, 
 who appeared hunting in a large wood ; the trees, hounds, 
 stag, and nymphs, all done naturally : the gondoliers dressed 
 like peasants attending the chase ; and Endymion, lying un- 
 der a large tree, gazing on the goddess. Signor Angelo Lab- 
 bia represented Poland crowning Saxony, waited on by the 
 Virtues and subject Provinces. Signer x^ngelo Molino was 
 Neptune, waited on by the Rivers. Signor Vicenzo Moiosi- 
 
192 LETTERS TO 
 
 ni's piote showed the triumphs of Peace ; Discord being 
 chained at her feet, and she surrounded with the Pleasures, etc. 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 Florence, August 11, 1740. 
 This is a -very fine town, and I am much amused with 
 visiting the gallery, which I do not doubt you remember too 
 well to need any description of. Lord and Lady Pomfret 
 take pains to make the place agreeable to me, and I have 
 been visited by the greatest part of the people of quality. 
 Here is an opera which I have heard twice, but it is not so 
 fine either for voices or decorations as that at Venice. I am 
 very willing to be at Leghorn when my things arrive, which 
 I fear will hinder my visiting Rome this season, except they 
 come sooner than is generally expected. If I could go from 
 thence by sea to Naples with safety, I should prefer it to a 
 land journey, which I am told is very difficult ; and that it is 
 impossible I should stay there long, the people being entirely 
 unsociable. I do not desire much company, but would not 
 confine myself to a place where I could see none. I have 
 written to your daughter, directed to Scotland, this post. 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 Rome, October 24, 1740. 
 I arrived here in good health three days ago, and this is the 
 first post-day. I have taken a lodging for a month, which is 
 (as they tell me) but a short time to take a view of all the an- 
 tiquities, etc., that are to be seen. From hence I purpose to 
 set out for Naples. I am told by every body that I shall not 
 find it agreeable to reside in. I expect Lady Pomfret here in 
 a few days. It is summer here, and I left winter at Florence ; 
 the snows having begun to fail on the mountains. I shall 
 
MR. WORTLEY. 193 
 
 probably see the new ceremony of the Pope's taking possession 
 of the Vatican, which is said to be the finest that is ever per- 
 formed at Rome. I have no news to send from hence. If 
 you would have me speak to any particular point, I beg you 
 will let me know it, and I will give you the best information 
 I am able. 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 
 Rome, November 1, N. S., 1740. 
 I have now been here a week, and am very well diverted 
 with viewing the fine buildings, paintings, and antiquities. I 
 have neither made nor received one visit, nor sent word to any 
 body of my arrival, on purpose to avoid interruptions of that 
 sort. The weather is so fine that I walk every evening in a 
 different beautiful garden ; and I own I am charmed with what 
 I see of this town, though there yet remains a great deal more 
 to be seen. I purpose making a stay of a month, which shall 
 be entirely taken up in that employment, and then I will re- 
 move to Ki.ples, to avoid, if possible, feeling the winter. I do 
 not trouble you with any descriptions, since you have been 
 here, and I suppose very well remember every thing that is 
 worth remembering ; but (as I mentioned in my last) if you 
 would have me speak to any particular point, I will give you 
 the best information in my power. Direct your next letter 
 to Monsieur Belloni, Banquier, a Rome. He will take care 
 to deliver it to me, either here or at Naples. Letters are very 
 apt to miscarry, especially those to this place. 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 Naples, November 23, N. S., 1740. 
 I arrived here last night, after a very disagreeable journey. 
 f would not in my last give you any account of the present 
 state of Rome, knowing all letters are opened there ; but I can 
 9 
 
194 LETTERS TO 
 
 not help mentioning what is more curious than all the antiqui- 
 ties, which is, that there is literally no money in the whole 
 town, where they follow Mr. Law's scheme, and live wholly 
 upon paper. 
 
 Belloni, who is the greatest banker not only of Eome but 
 all Italy, furnished me with fifty sequins, which he solemnly 
 swore was all the money he had in the house. They go to 
 market with paper, pay the lodgings with paper, and, in short, 
 there is no specie to be seen, which raises the price of every 
 thing to the utmost extravagance, nobody knowing what to 
 ask for their goods. It is said the present Pope (who has a 
 very good character) has declared he will endeavor a remedy, 
 though it is very difficult to find one. He was bred a law- 
 yer, and has passed the greatest part of his life in that pro- 
 fession ; and is so sensible of the misery of the state that he is 
 reported to have said that he never thought himself in want 
 till his elevation. He has no relations that he takes any no- 
 tice of; but the country belonging to him, which I have 
 passed, is almost uninhabited, and in a poverty beyond any 
 thing I ever saw. The kingdom of Naples appears gay and 
 flourishing, and the town so crowded with people that I have 
 with great difficulty got a very sorry lodging. 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 Naples, Dec. 6, 1T40. 
 I heard last night the good news of the arrival of the ship 
 on which my things are loaded, at Leghorn : it would be easy 
 to have them conveyed hither : I like the climate extremely, 
 which is now so soft that I am actually sitting without any want 
 of a fire. I do not find the people so savage as they were rep- 
 resented to me. I have received visits from several of the 
 principal ladies ; and I think I could meet with as much com- 
 pany here as I desire ; but here is one article both disagreeable 
 and incommodious, which is the grandeur of the equipages. 
 
MR. WORTLEY. 195 
 
 Two coaches, two running footmen, four other footmen, a 
 gentleman usher, and two pages, are as necessary here as the 
 attendance of a single servant is at London. All the Spanish 
 customs are observed very rigorously. I could content myself 
 with all of them, except this : but I see plainly, from my own 
 observation as well as intelligence, that it is not to be dispensed 
 with, which I am heartily vexed at. 
 
 The affairs of Europe are now so uncertain that it appears 
 reasonable to me to wait a little, before I fix my residence, that 
 I may not find myself in the theater of war, which is threatened 
 on all sides. I hope you have the continuation of your health ; 
 mine is very well established at present. The town lately d : s- 
 covered is at Portici, about three miles from this place. Sir ce 
 the first discovery, no care has been taken, and the ground 
 fallen in, so that the present passage to it is, as I am told by 
 every body, extremely dangerous, and for some time, nobody 
 ventures into it. I have been assured by some English gentle- 
 men, who were let down into it the last year, that the whole 
 account given in the newspapers is literally true. Probably 
 great curiosities might be found there; but there has been no 
 expense made, either by propping the ground or clearing away 
 into it ; and as the earth falls in daily, it will possibly be soon 
 stopped up as it was before. I wrote to you last post a par- 
 ticular account of my reasons for not choosing my residence 
 here, though the air is very agreeable to me, and I see I could 
 have as much company as I desire ; but I am persuaded the 
 climate is much changed since you knew it. The weather is now 
 very moist and misty, and has been so for a long time ; however 
 it is much softer than in any other place I know. I desire you 
 would direct to Monsieur Belloni, banker, at Rome : he will 
 forward your letters wherever I am ; the present uncertain situ- 
 ation of affairs all over Europe makes every correspondence 
 precarious. 
 
19b LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XI. 
 
 Rome, Jan. 13, N. S., 1740-1. 
 I returned hither last night, after six weeks' stay at Naples ; 
 great part of that time was vainly taken up in endeavoring to 
 satisfy your curiosity and my own, in relation to the late dis- 
 covered town of Herculaneum. I waited eight days in hopes 
 of permission to see the pictures and other rarities taken from 
 thence, which are preserved in the king's palace at Portici ; 
 but I found it was to no purpose, his majesty keeping the key 
 in his own cabinet, which he would not part with, though the 
 Prince de Zathia (who is one of his favorites) I believe very 
 sincerely tried his interest to obtain it for me. He is son to 
 the Spanish embassador I knew at Venice, and both he and his 
 lady loaded me with civilities at Naples. The court in general 
 is more barbarous than any of the ancient Goths. One proof 
 of it, among many others, was melting down a beautiful copper 
 statue of a vestal found in this new ruin, to make medallions^ 
 for the late solemn christening. The whole court follow the 
 Spanish customs and politics. I could say a good deal on this 
 subject if I thought my letter would come safe to your hands ; 
 the apprehension it may not, hinders my answering another 
 inquiry you make, concerning a family here, of which indeed I 
 can say little ; avoiding all commerce with those that frequent 
 it. Here are some young English travelers ; among them Lord 
 Strafford* behaves himself really very modestly and genteelly, 
 and has lost the pertness he acquired in his mother's assembly. 
 Lord Lincoln appears to have spirit and sense, and professes 
 great abhorrence of all measures destructive to the liberty of 
 
 * "William Wentworth, the fourth Earl of Strafford, married Lady 
 Anne, second daughter of John Duke of Argyll, sister of Lady Mary 
 Coke and Lady Betty Mackenzie. He built the south front of Went- 
 worth Castle, in Yorkshire, and was eminently skilled in architecture 
 and virtue. He enjoyed an intimate friendship with the last Lord Or- 
 ford, in the fifth volume of whose works his correspondence is pub- 
 lished from 1756 to 1790. 
 
MR. W0RTLEY. 197 
 
 his country. I do not know how far the young men may be 
 corrupted on their return, but the majority of those I have seen 
 have seemed strongly in the same sentiment. Lady Newburgh'a 
 eldest daughter, whom I believe you may have seen at Lord 
 Westmoreland's, is married to Count Mahony, who is in great 
 figure at Naples : she was extremely obliging to me ; they made 
 a fine entertainment for me, carried me to the opera, and were 
 civil to me to the utmost of their power. If you should happen 
 to see Mrs. Bulkely, I wish you would make her some compli- 
 ment upon it. I received this day yours of the 20th and 28th 
 of November. 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 Leghorn, Feb. 25, N. S., 1740-1. 
 
 I arrived here last night, and have received this morning 
 the bill of seven hundred and five dollars, odd money. 
 
 I shall be a little more particular in my accounts from hence 
 than I durst be from Rome, where all the letters are opened 
 and often stopped. I hope you had mine, relating to the an- 
 tiquities in Naples. I shall now say something of the court of 
 Rome. The first minister, Cardinal Valenti, has one of the 
 best characters I ever heard of, though of no great birth, and 
 has made his fortune by an attachment to the Duchess of Sal- 
 viah. The present Pope is very much beloved, and seems de- 
 sirous to ease the people, and deliver them out of the miser- 
 able poverty they are reduced to. I will send you the history 
 of his elevation, as I had it from a very good hand, if it will be 
 any amusement to you. The English travelers at Rome be- 
 haved in general very discreetly. I have reason to speak well 
 of them, since they were all exceedingly obliging to me. It 
 may sound a little vain to say it, but they really paid a regular 
 court to me, as if I had been their queen, and their governess 
 told me that the desire of my approbation had a very great 
 influence on their conduct. While I staid there was neither 
 gaming nor any sort of extravagance. I used to preach to 
 
198 LETTERS TO 
 
 them very freely, and they all thanked me for it. I shall sta) 
 some time in this town, where I expect Lady Pomfret. I think 
 I have answered every particular you seemed curious about. 
 If there be any other point you would have me speak of, I will 
 be as exact as I can. 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 Tubin, April 11, 1H1. 
 The English politics are the general jest of all the nations I 
 have passed through ; and even those who profit by our folly 
 can not help laughing at our notorious blunders ; though they 
 are all persuaded that the minister does not act from weakness 
 but corruption, and that the Spanish gold influences his meas- 
 ures. I had a long discourse with Count Mahony on this sub- 
 ject, who said, very freely, that half the ships sent to the 
 coast of Naples, that have lain idle in our ports last summer, 
 would have frightened the Queen of Spain into a submission 
 to whatever terms we thought proper to impose. The people, 
 who are loaded with taxes, hate the Spanish government, of 
 which I had daily proofs, hearing them curse the English for 
 bringing their king to them, whenever they saw any of our 
 nation ; but I am not much surprised at the ignorance of our 
 ministers, after seeing what creatures they employ to send 
 them intelligence. Except Mr. Villette, at this court, there is 
 not one that has common sense ; I say this without prejudice, 
 all of them having been as civil and serviceable to me as they 
 could. I was told at Rome, and convinced of it by circum- 
 stances, that there have been great endeavors to raise up a 
 sham plot ; the person who told it me was an English anti- 
 quarian, who said he had been offered any money to send ac- 
 cusations. The truth is, he carried a letter, written by Mr. 
 Mann,* from Florence to that purpose to him, which he showed 
 in the English palace ; however, I believe he is a spy, and 
 * Sir Horace Mann. 
 
MR. WORTLET. 199 
 
 made use of that stratagem to gain credit. This court makes 
 great preparations for war; the king is certainly uo bright 
 genius, but has great natural humanity ; his minister, who has 
 absolute power, is generally allowed to have sense ; as a proof 
 of it, he is not hated as the generality of ministers are. I have 
 seen neither of them, not going to court, because I will not be 
 at the trouble and expense of the dress, which is the same as 
 at Vienna. I sent my excuse by Mr. Villette, as I hear is 
 commonly practiced by ladies that are only passengers. I have 
 had a great number of visitors ; the nobility piquing them- 
 selves on civility to strangers. The weather is still exceed- 
 ingly cold, and I do not intend to move till I have the pros- 
 pect of a pleasant journey. 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 Genoa, July 15, 1741. 
 It is so long since I have heard from you, that though I 
 hope your silence is occasioned by your being in the country, 
 yet I can not help being very uneasy, and in some apprehen- 
 sion that you are indisposed. I wrote you word, some time 
 ago, that I have taken a house here for the remainder of the 
 summer, and desired you would direct, recommande a Monsieur 
 Births, Consul de S, M. Britannique. I saw in the last 
 newspapers (which he sends me) the death of Lord Orford. I 
 am vexed at it, for the reasons you know, and recollect what 
 I've often heard you say, that it is impossible to judge what 
 
 is best for ourselves. I received yesterday the bill for , 
 
 for which I return you thanks. If I wrote you all the politi- 
 cal stories I hear, I should have a great deal to say. A great 
 part is not true, and what I think so, I dare not mention, in 
 consideration of the various hands this paper must pass 
 through before it reaches you. Lord Lincoln* and Mr. Wal- 
 
 ° Henry Clinton, Earl of Lincoln, married Catherine, daughter of 
 Henry Pelham, and was afterward Duke of Newcastle. 
 
200 LETTERS TO 
 
 pole* (youngest son to Sir Robert) left this place two days 
 ago ; they visited me during their short stay ; they are gone to 
 Marseilles, and design passing some months in the south of 
 France. I have had a particular account of Lord Orford's 
 deathf from a very good hand, which he advanced by choice, 
 refusing all remedies till it was too late to make use of them. 
 There was a will found, dated 1728, in which he gave every 
 thing to my lady ; J which has affected her very much. Not- 
 withstanding the many reasons she had to complain of him, I 
 always thought there was more weakness than dishonesty in 
 his actions, and is a confirmation of the truth of that maxim 
 of Mr. Rochefoucault, un sot Tea pas assez d'etoffe pour etre 
 honnete homme. 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 Genoa, Aug. 25, N. S., 1741. 
 
 I received yours of the 27th July this morning. I had that 
 of March 19, which I answered very particularly the following 
 post, with many thanks for the increase of my allowance. It 
 appears to me that the letters I wrote between the 11th of 
 April and the 31st of May were lost, which I am not surprised 
 at. I was then at Turin, and that court in a very great con- 
 fusion, and extremely jealous of me, thinking I came to exam- 
 ine their conduct. I have some proof of this, which I do not 
 repeat, lest this should be stopped also. 
 
 The manners of Italy are so much changed since we were 
 here last, the alteration is scarcely credible. They say it has 
 been by the last war. The French, being masters, introduced 
 
 * Honorable Horace "Walpole, the last Earl of Orford, then on hia 
 travels. 
 
 f Robert, the second Earl of Orford, died in June 1741. 
 
 \ Margaret, daughter and sole heir of Samuel Rolle of Haynton, in 
 the county of Dorset, who married secondly the Hon. Sewallis Shirley, 
 fourth son of the first Earl Ferrers by his second wife Selina, daughter 
 of George Finch, of the City of London, Esq. 
 
MR. WOETLEY. 201 
 
 all their customs, which were eagerly embraced by the ladies, 
 and I believe will never be laid aside ; yet the different govern- 
 ments make different manners in every state. You know, 
 though the republic is not rich, here are many private families 
 vastly so, and live at a great superfluous expense : all the peo- 
 ple of the first quality keep coaches as fine as the Speaker's, 
 and some of them two or three, though the streets are too nar- 
 row to use them in the town ; but they take the air in them, and 
 their chairs carry them to the gates. Their liveries are all 
 plain : gold or silver being forbidden to be worn within the 
 walls, the habits are all obliged to be black, but they wear ex- 
 ceedingly fine lace and linen ; and in their country-houses, 
 which are generally in the faubourg, they dress very richly, 
 and have extremely fine jewels. Here is nothing cheap but 
 houses. A palace fit for a prince may be hired for fifty pounds 
 per annum : I mean unfurnished. All games of chance are 
 strictly prohibited, and it seems to me the only law they do not 
 try to evade : they play at quadrille, picquet, etc., but not high. 
 Here are no regular public assemblies. I have been visited by 
 all of the first rank, and invited to several fine dinners, particu- 
 larly to the wedding of one of the House of Spinola, where there 
 were ninety-six sat down to table, and I think the entertainment 
 one of the finest I ever saw. There was the night following a 
 ball and supper for the same company, with the same profusion. 
 They tell me that all their great marriages are kept in the same 
 public manner. Nobody keeps more than two horses, all their 
 journeys being post ; the expense of them, including the coach 
 man, is (I am told) fifty pounds per annum. A chair is very 
 nearly as much ; I give eighteen francs a-week for mine. The 
 senators can converse with no strangers during the time of 
 their magistracy, which lasts two years. The number of serv- 
 ants is regulated, and almost every lady has the same, which 
 is two footmen, a gentleman-usher, and a page, who follow her 
 chair. 
 
 9* 
 
202 LETTERS TO MR. WORTLET. 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 
 Geneva, Oct. 12, 1741. 
 I arrived here last night, where I find every thing quite dif- 
 ferent from what it was represented to me : it is not the first 
 time it has so happened to me on my travels. Every thing is 
 as dear as it is at London. 'Tis true, as all equipages are 
 forbidden, that expense is entirely retrenched. I have been 
 visited this morning by some of the chiefs of the town, who 
 seem extremely good sort of people, which is their general 
 character ; very desirous of attracting strangers to inhabit with 
 them, and consequently very officious in all they imagine can 
 please them. The way of living is absolutely the reverse of 
 that in Italy. Here is no show, and a great deal of eating ; 
 there is all the magnificence imaginable, and no dinners but on 
 particular occasions ; yet the difference of the prices renders 
 the total expense very nearly equal. As I am not yet deter- 
 mined whether I shall make any considerable stay, I desire not 
 to have the money you intended me, till I ask for it. If you 
 have any curiosity for the present condition of any of the states 
 of Italy, I believe I can give yoil a truer account than perhaps 
 any other traveler can do, having always had the good fortune 
 of a sort of intimacy with the first persons in the governments 
 where I resided, and they not guarding themselves against the 
 observations of a woman, as they would have done from those 
 of a man. 
 
 LETTER XVE. 
 
 Chameery, Nov. 30, NT. S., 1741. 
 1 received this morning yours of October 26, which has 
 taken me out of the uneasiness of fearing for your health. I 
 suppose you know before this the Spaniards are landed at 
 different ports in Italy, etc. When I received early informa- 
 tion of the design, I had the charity to mention it to the En- 
 
LETTER FROM MR. WORTLEY. 203 
 
 glish consul (without naming my informer) ; he laughed, and 
 answered it was impossible. This may serve for a small spe- 
 cimen of the general good intelligence our wise ministry have 
 of all foreign affairs. If you were acquainted with the people 
 whom they employ, you would not be surprised at it. Except 
 Mr. Villette at Turin (who is a very reasonable man), there is 
 not one of them who knows any thing more of the country 
 they inhabit than that they eat and sleep in it. I have wrote 
 you word that I left Geneva on the sharpness of the air, which 
 much disagreed with me. I find myself better here, though the 
 weather is very cold at present. Yet this situation is not sub- 
 ject to those terrible winds which reign at Geneva. I dare 
 write you no news, though I hear a great deal. Direct to me 
 at Chambery en Savoye, par Paris. 
 
 LETTER XVIII. 
 
 FROM MR. WORTLEY TO LADY MARY. 
 
 22d March, H41-2. 
 Our son embarked at Harwich on the 10th, after having 
 been in England about three months. I hear he avoided the 
 sharpers, and is grown a good manager of his money. But 
 his weakness is such that Mr. Gibson with much difficulty pre- 
 vailed with him to go back ; and he writ a letter as if he was 
 afraid he should come hither again unless he was soon advised 
 what to do. He declares as if he wanted to be in the army, 
 unless something more for his advantage is proposed, and I 
 have said to Mr. G. I will not oppose his going into the army 
 as a volunteer, but that I believe he may take some course 
 more to his advantage. I hear my Lord Carteret, with whom 
 he has been more than once, speaks well of his behavior. But 
 his obstinacy in staying here, and what he writes, inclines me 
 to think it will not be easy to persuade him to follow good ad- 
 vice. I can not imagine any body is so likely as yourself to 
 give an impartial account of him. Under this difficulty, I can 
 
204 LETTER FROM 
 
 think of no better expedient than to advise him to apply to 
 you for leave to come to some place where you may converse 
 with him. If you appoint him to be at a place twenty miles 
 or further from that where you choose to reside, and order 
 him to go by a feigned name, you may easily reach him in a 
 post-chaise, and come back, after you have passed a week 
 where he is. And this you may do more than once, to make 
 a full trial of him. And I wish he might stay within a certain 
 distance of you, till you have given an account of him, and 
 have agreed to what is fixed between him and you. 
 
 He declares he sets his heart on being in England, but then 
 he should give me such proofs as I require that he is able to 
 persevere in behaving like a reasonable man. These proofs 
 may be agreed on between you and me, and I believe I shall 
 readily agree to what you shall think light. 
 
 I think you should say nothing to him but in the most calm 
 and gentle way possible, that he may be invited to open him- 
 self to you freely. He seems, I hear, shocked at your letter, in 
 which you complained of his not regarding the truth, though 
 I believe you made no mistake in it, unless your saying his 
 marriage could not be dissolved. He knows very well it may 
 by act of Parliament, which is what he means when he writes 
 he wants to be quit of his wife. He denies that he knew 
 Birtles to be nephew to Henshaw who lent the £200. As he 
 is commended by several here, and by more in Holland (who 
 perhaps .flatter him), it may be wrong to speak to him with 
 any show of warmth or anger. 
 
 I incline to think he has been made an enthusiast in Hol- 
 land, and you would do well to try thoroughly whether he is 
 in earnest, and likely to continue so. If he is, I need not 
 mention how much caution should be used in speaking to 
 him. I think, whatever his notions are, you would do well to 
 say nothing to him but what you would say before any com-, 
 pany. 
 
 I shall advise him by Mr. G. to go to Langres, or some place 
 near it, where he may wait for your answer to such letter as 
 
MB. WORTLEY. 205 
 
 he writes for leave to come to any place you shall appoint 
 him. 
 
 I shall give you fuller instructions about him in a post or 
 two, if not by this. I hope this affair will not be very trouble- 
 some to you, as you can retire from him whenever you please. 
 lie shall not have much more money than is sufficient to 
 carry him to you. When you have furnished him with any, 
 it shall be made good to you. 
 
 To tell you fully what I judge of him from the variety of 
 accounts I have had, I incline to think he will for the future 
 avoid thieves, and be no ill manager of his money. These, 
 you will say, are great amendments. But I believe he will al- 
 ways appear a weak man. The single question seems to be 
 whether he will be one of those weak men that will follow 
 the advice of those who wish them well, or be governed by 
 his own fancies, or companions that will make a prey of him. 
 In Holland he seems to have followed the advice of Captain 
 Leutslager and other persons of good credit. I believe he has 
 been in no company here this last time but men of good 
 credit, and I hear he values himself upon it. I have not 
 heard so much as I hope I shall in a week, of the opinion of 
 those who conversed with him. If you have patience to 
 pass away hours with him, you will know him better than 
 any one. 
 
 I need not recommend to you the discoursing with him fully 
 upon his patience, and his observing his promises strictly. 
 
 Mr. Gibson says his whole deportment and conversation h 
 entirely different from what it was when he was here above 
 four years ago, and that he seems another man. 
 
 To give you all the light I can into him, I send you letters 
 writ to him by Captain Leutslager and others. I also send 
 you extracts of his own letters, to show you how he has acted 
 contrary to his professions. I doubt you will find him quite 
 obstinate for going into the army, unless he may be quite cer- 
 tain of mending his circumstances some other way. He may 
 perhaps speak of promises I made him by Mr. G. ; but I made 
 
206 LETTER FROM MR. WORTLEY. 
 
 none, but that I would let him know by Mr. G. what I ad 
 vised him to do as preferable to his going to the army. What 
 I meant was his discoursing with you, if you allowed him, 
 and his following your advice. 
 
 That you may have the state of the case more fully, I send 
 you his letter to Mr. G., which came by the last mail, and a 
 copy of that which Mr. G. will send him to-morrow. 
 
 Mr. G. told me our son thought it hard usage that orders 
 should be given to confine him in Holland, and told Mr. G. 
 that whenever he kept much company it would be right to 
 get him confined, to prevent his going to the pillory or to the 
 gallows. 
 
 As he excuses his coming over by the uneasiness he was 
 under, I gave Mr. G. these words : 
 
 " The excuse of the uneasiness you should be under in doing 
 right, is the same excuse which is constantly used by all mur- 
 derers and robbers, and seems to have been taught you by the 
 infamous company by which you were influenced when you 
 were here above four years ago." 
 
 Mr. G. said these words were too strong for him to write, 
 and changed them for a paragraph of his own, by which he 
 says he means the same thing. He agreed it would be quite 
 right in you to use these strong words ; but you may do it in 
 a gentle way. 
 
 He may have more cunning than is imagined to gain his 
 points, and perhaps is not made uneasy by being abroad, and 
 may have little or no inclination to go into the army, but 
 thinks, to prevent it, I may give him some considerable ad- 
 vantage. If you seem not at all averse to his going, per- 
 haps he will of himself quit that scheme, and go into some 
 other that you may like better. 
 
 If you think it best he should make a campaign, you will 
 take care not to detain him too long. Perhaps you may re- 
 commend him to our minister at Turin, that he may serve in 
 the Sardinian forces, where, if he should do wrong, it will be 
 less known than if he did it in Flanders. 
 
LETTERS TO MR. WORTLEY. 207 
 
 Perhaps, by another name, he might meet you unobserved 
 at Lyons, 01 Pont Beauvoisin. I need not mention that what- 
 ever money you put into his hands shall be repaid you at de- 
 mand. If he goes back to Holland, I suppose £20 is enough 
 for his charges. 
 
 I have yours of the 24th February. Lord and Lady Bute 
 seem tc live well together. They lost their son (who was 
 above a year old) on the 16th ; he had fits and a fever. The 
 surgeons say his brains were too large, and occasioned the fits. 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 FROM LADY MAUY TO MR. WORTLEY. 
 
 Lyons, April 13, N. S., 1742. 
 I have this minute received four letters from you, dated 
 February 1, February 22, March 22, March 29th. I fancy 
 their lying so long in the post-office may proceed from your 
 forgetting to frank them, which I am informed is quite neces- 
 sary. I am very glad you have been prevailed on to let our 
 son take a commission ; if you had prevented it, he would 
 have always said, and perhaps thought, and persuaded other 
 people, you had hindered his rising in the world ; though I 
 am fully persuaded that he can never make a tolerable figure 
 in any station of life. When he was at Morins, on his first 
 leaving France, I then tried to prevail with him to serve the 
 emperor as volunteer ; and represented to him that a hand- 
 some behavior one campaign might go a great way in retriev- 
 ing his character ; and offered to use my influence with you 
 (which I said I had no doubt would succeed) to furnish him 
 with a handsome equipage. He then answered, he supposed 
 I wished him killed out of the way. I am afraid his pre- 
 tended reformation is not very sincere. I wish time may 
 prove me in the wrong. I here inclose the last letter I re- 
 ceived from him ; I answered it the following post, in these 
 words : 
 
208 LETTERS TO 
 
 " I am veiy glad you resolve to continue obedient to your 
 father, and are sensible of bis goodness toward you. Mr. 
 Birtles showed me your letter to him, in which you inclosed 
 yours to me, where you speak to him as your friend, subscrib- 
 ing yourself his faithful humble servant. He was at Genoa 
 in his uncle's house when you were there, and well acquainted 
 with you ; though you seem ignorant of every thing relating 
 to him. I wish you would not make such sort of apologies 
 for any errors you may commit. I pray God your future be- 
 havior may redeem the past, which will be a great blessing to 
 your affectionate mother." 
 
 I have not since heard from him ; I suppose he knew not 
 what to say to so plain a detected falsehood. It is very dis- 
 agreeable to me to converse with one from whom I do not ex- 
 pect to hear a word of truth, and who, I am very sure, will 
 repeat many things that never passed in our conversation. 
 You see the most solemn assurances are not binding from 
 him, since he could come to London in opposition to your 
 commands, after having so frequently protested he would not 
 move a step but by your order. However, as you insist on* 
 my seeing him, I will do it, and think Valence the properest 
 town for that interview ; it is but two days' journey from 
 this place, it is in Dauphine. I arrived here Friday night, 
 having left Chambery on the report of the French designing 
 to come soon thither. So far is certain, that the governor had 
 given command for repairing the walls, etc. ; on which men 
 were actually employed when I came away. But the Court 
 of Turin is so politic and mysterious it is hard to judge ; 
 and I am apt to believe their designs change according to 
 circumstances. 
 
 I shall stay here till I have an answer to this letter. If 
 you order your son to go to Valence, I desire you would give 
 him a strict command of going by a feigned name. I do 
 not doubt your returning me whatever money I may give 
 him-; but as I believe if he receives money from me, he 
 will be making me frequent visits, it is clearly my opinion 
 
MR. WORTLET, 
 
 209 
 
 that I should give him none. Whatever you may think 
 proper for his journey you may remit him. 
 
 I am very sorry for my daughter's loss, being sensible how 
 much it may affect her. I suppose it will be soon repaired. 
 It is a great pleasure to me when I hear she is happy. I 
 wrote to her last post, and will write again the next. 
 
 Siuce I wrote, I have looked every where for my son's letter, 
 which I find has been mislaid in the journey. There is 
 nothing more in it than long professions of doing nothing 
 but by your command ; and a positive assertion that he was 
 ignorant of Mr. Birtles's relation to the late consul. 
 
 Direct your next, recommande a Mr. Imbert, Banquier, a 
 Lyons. 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 
 Lyons, April 25, N. S., 1742. 
 On recollection (however inconvenient it may be to me), I 
 am not sorry to converse with my son. I shall at least have 
 the satisfaction of making a clear judgment of his behavior 
 and temper, which I shall deliver to you in the most sincere 
 and unprejudiced manner. You need not apprehend that I 
 shall speak to him in passion. I do not know that I ever 
 did in my life. I am not apt to be overheated in discourse, 
 and am so far prepared, even for the worst on his side, that I 
 think nothing he can say can alter the resolution I have taken 
 of treating him with calmness. Both reason and interest (were 
 I inclined to follow blindly the dictates of either) would deter- 
 mine me to wish. him your heir rather than a stranger ; but I 
 think myself obliged both by honor and by conscience, and 
 my regard for you. no way to deceive you ; and I confess, 
 hitherto I see nothing but falsehood and weakness through 
 his whole conduct. It is possible his person may be altered 
 since I saw him, but his figure then was very agreeable, and 
 his manner insinuating. I very well remember the professions 
 
210 LETTERS TO 
 
 he made to me, and do not doubt he is lavish of them to other 
 people. Perhaps Lord Carteret may think him no ill match 
 for an ugly girl that sticks on his hands. The project of 
 breaking his marriage shows, at least, his devotion counterfeit, 
 since I am sensible it can not be done but by false witness. 
 His wife is not young enough to get gallants, nor rich enough to 
 buy them. 
 
 I made choice of Valence for our meeting as a town where 
 we are not likely to find any English, and he may, if he 
 pleases, be quite unknown, which is hardly possible to be in 
 any capital town either of France or Italy. Here are many 
 English of the trading sort of people, who are more likely to be 
 inquisitive and talkative than any other. Near Chamhery there 
 is a little colony of English, who have undertaken the work- 
 ing the mines in Savoy, in which they find very pure silver, 
 of which I have seen several cakes of about eighty ounces 
 each. 
 
 LETTER XXI. 
 
 Avignon, June 10, N. S., 1742. 
 I am just returned from passing two days with our son, of 
 whom I will give you the most exact account I am capable of. 
 He is so much altered in person, I should scarcely have known 
 him. He has entirely lost his beauty, and looks at least seven 
 years older than he did ; and the wildness that he always had 
 in his eyes is so much increased it is downright shocking, and 
 I am afraid will end fatally. He is grown fat, but he is still 
 genteel, and has an air of politeness that is agreeable. He 
 speaks French like a Frenchman, and has got all the fashion- 
 able expressions of that language, and a volubility of words 
 which he always had, and which I do not wonder should pass 
 for wit, with inconsiderate people. His behavior is perfectly- 
 civil, and I found him very submissive ; but in the main, no 
 way really improved in his understanding, which is exceed- 
 
MR. WORTL'EY. 211 
 
 ingly weak; and I am convinced he will always be led by the 
 person he converses with either right or wrong, not being 
 capable of forming any fixed judgment of his own. As to his 
 enthusiasm, if he had it, I suppose he has already lost it; since 
 I could perceive no turn of it in all his conversation. But with 
 his head I believe it is possible to make him a monk one day 
 and a Turk three days after. He has a flattering, insinuating 
 manner, which naturally prejudices strangers in his favor. 
 He began to talk to me in the usual silly cant I have so often 
 heard from him, which I shortened by telling him I desired 
 not to be troubled with it ; that professions were of no use 
 where actions were expected ; and that the only thing could 
 give me hopes of a good conduct was regularity and truth. He 
 very readily agreed to all I said (as indeed he has always done 
 when he has not been hot-headed). I endeavored to convince 
 him how favorably he has been dealt with, his allowance 
 being much more than, had I been his father, I would have 
 given in the same case. The Prince of Hesse, who is now 
 married to the Princess of England, lived some years at Geneva 
 on £500 per annum. Lord Hervey sent his son at sixteen 
 thither, and to travel afterward, on no larger pension than 
 £200 ; and, though without a governor, he had reason enough, 
 not only to live within the compass of it, but carried home 
 little presents to his father and mother, which he showed me 
 at Turin. In short, I know there is no place so expensive 
 but a prudent single man may live in it on £300 per an- 
 num, and an extravagant one may run out ten thousand in 
 the cheapest. Had- you (said I to him) thought rightly, or 
 would have regarded the advice I gave you in all my letters, 
 while in the little town of Islestein, you would have laid up 
 £150 per annum ; you would now have had £750 in your 
 pocket, which would have almost paid your debts, and such 
 a management would have gained you the esteem of the reason- 
 able part of the world. I perceived this reflection, which he 
 had never made himself, had a very great weight with him. 
 He would have excused part of his follies, by saying Mr. G. 
 
212 LETTERS TO 
 
 had told him it became Mr. W.'s son to live handsomely. I 
 answered, that whether Mr. G. had said so or no, the good 
 sense of the thing was no way altered by it; that the true 
 figure of a man was the opinion the world had of his sense and 
 probity, and not the idle expenses, which were only respected 
 by foolish and ignorant people ; that his case was particular, 
 he had but too publicly shown his inclination to vanities, and 
 the most becoming part he could now act would be owning 
 the ill use he had made of his father's indulgence, and pro- 
 fessing to endeavor to be no further expense to him, instead 
 of scandalous complaints, and being always at his last shirt 
 and last guinea, which any man of spirit would be ashamed to 
 own. I prevailed so far with him that he seemed very willing 
 to follow this advice ; and I gave him a paragraph to write to 
 G., which I suppose you will easily distinguish from the rest of 
 his letter. He asked me whether you had settled your estate. 
 I made answer that I did not doubt (like all other wise men) 
 you always had a will'by you ; but that you had certainly not 
 put any thing out of your power to change. On that he began 
 to insinuate that if I could prevail on you to settle the estate 
 on him, I might expect any thing from his gratitude. I made 
 him a very clear and positive answer in these words: "I 
 hope your father will outlive me, and if I should be so un- 
 fortunate to have it otherwise, I do not 'believe he will leave 
 me in your power. But was I sure of the contrary, no in- 
 terest, nor no necessity, shall ever make me act against my 
 honor and conscience ; and I plainly tell you that I will never 
 persuade your father to do any thing for you till I think you 
 deserve it." He answered by great promises of good behavior, 
 and economy. He is highly delighted with the prospect of 
 going into the army ; and mightily pleased with the good re- 
 ception he had from Lord Stair : though I find it amounts to 
 no more than telling him he was sorry he had already named 
 his aides-de-camp, and otherwise should have been glad of him 
 in that post. He says Lord Carteret has confirmed to him his 
 promise of a commission. 
 
MR. WORTLEY. .213 
 
 The rest of his conversation was extremely gay. The va- 
 rious things he has seen has given him a superficial universal 
 knowledge. He really knows most of the modern languages, 
 and if I could believe him, can read Arabic, and has read the 
 Bible in Hebrew. He said it was impossible for him to avoid 
 going back to Paris ; but he promised me to lie but one night 
 there, and to go to a town six posts from thence on the Flan- 
 ders road, where he would wait your orders, and go by the 
 name of Mons. du Durand, a Dutch officer ; under which name 
 I saw him. These are the most material passages, and my 
 eyes are so much tired I can write no more at this time. I 
 gave him 240 livres for his journey. 
 
 LETTER XXII. 
 
 Oct. 18, 1743. 
 I received yours of September 21, 0. S., this day, October 
 18, N. S., and am always glad to hear of your health. I can 
 never be surprised at any sort of folly or extravagance of my 
 son. Immediately on leaving me at Orange, after the most 
 solemn promises of reformation, he went to Montelimart, which 
 is but one day's post from thence, where he behaved himself 
 with as much vanity and indiscretion as ever. I had my in- 
 telligence from people who did not- know my relation to him ; 
 and I do not trouble you with the particulars, thinking it 
 needless to expose his character to you, who are so well ac- 
 quainted with it. I am persuaded whoever protects him will 
 be very soon convinced of the impossibility of his behaving like 
 a rational creature. 
 
 LETTER XXin. 
 
 Avignon, Dec. 20, 1743 
 I received yours of the 24th of November, O. S., yesterday. 
 You may, perhaps, hear of a trifle which makes a great noise 
 
214 LETTERS TO 
 
 iu this part of the world, which is that I am building ; but the 
 whole expense which I have contracted for is but twenty-six 
 pounds. You know the situation of this town is on the meet- 
 ing of the Rhone and Durance. On the one side of it within 
 the walls, was formerly a fortress built on a very high rock ; 
 they say it was destroyed by lightning : one of the towers was 
 left partly standing, the walls being a yard in thickness : this 
 was made use of for some time as a public mill, but the height 
 making it inconvenient for the carriage of meal, it has stood 
 useless many years. Last summer, in the hot evenings, I 
 walked often thither, where I always found a fresh breeze, 
 and the most beautiful land prospect I ever saw (except 
 Wharnclifte), being a view of the windings of two great 
 rivers, and overlooking the whole country, with part of Lan- 
 guedoc and Provence. I was so much charmed with it that I 
 said in company that if that old mill were mine I would turn 
 it into a belvidere ; my words were repeated, and the two con- 
 suls waited on me soon after, with a donation from the town 
 of the mill and the land about it ; I have added a dome to it, 
 and made it a little rotunda for the aforesaid sum. I have 
 also amused myself with patching up an inscription, which I 
 have communicated to the archbishop, who is much delighted 
 with it ; but it is not placed, and perhaps never will be. 
 
 * Hie, viator! sub Lare parvulo, 
 Maria hie est condita, hie jacet, 
 Defuncta humani laboris 
 Sorte, supervacuaque vita. 
 Nou indecora pauperie nitens, 
 Et non inerti nobilis otio, 
 Vanoque dilectis popello 
 Divitiis animosus hostis. 
 Possis et iliam dicere mortuam, 
 En terra jam nunc quantula sufficit ! 
 
 * Lady Mary had the merit of applying Cowley's ■" Epitaphium 
 vivi auctoris," published in his works, of which this is a copy, with 
 grammatical alterations where necessary. 
 
MR. WORTLEY. 215 
 
 Exempta sit curls, viator, 
 
 Terra sit ilia levis, precare! 
 
 Hie sparge flores, sparge breves rosas: 
 
 Nam vita gaudet mortua floribus: 
 
 Herbisque ocloratis corona 
 
 Vatis adhuc cinerem. caleatem. 
 
 LETTER XXIV. 
 
 Avignon Feb. 17, 1743-4. 
 I am sorry you have given yourself so much trouble about 
 the inscription. I find I expressed myself ill, if you under- 
 stood by my letter that it was already placed ; I never intended 
 it without your approbation, and then would have put it in 
 the inside of the dome. The word " pauperie" is meant, as is 
 shown by the whole line, 
 
 Non indecora pauperie nitens, 
 
 to be a life rather distant from ostentation than in poverty ; 
 and which very well answers to my way of living, which, 
 though decent, is far from the show which many families 
 make here. 
 
 LETTER XXV. 
 
 Avignon, June 8, 1745. 
 
 I have this day yours of the 8th of April, O. S., and at the 
 same time one from Lady Oxford, who has not received (as 
 she says) any from me since November, though I have written 
 several times. 
 
 I perfectly remember carrying back the manuscript you 
 mention, and delivering it to Lord Oxford. I never failed re- 
 turning to himself all the books he lent me. It is true, I 
 showed it to the Duchess of Montagu, but we read it together, 
 and I did not even leave it with her. I am not surprised that 
 
216 LETTERS TO 
 
 in that vast quantity of manuscripts some should be lost or 
 mislaid, particularly knowing Lord Oxford to be careless of 
 them, easily lending, and as easily forgetting he had done it. 
 I remember I carried him once one finely illuminated, that, 
 when I delivered, he did not recollect he had lent to me, 
 though it was but a few days before. Wherever this is, I think 
 you need be in no pain about it. The verses are too bad to 
 be printed, excepting from malice, and since the death of 
 Pope I know nobody that is an enemy to either of us. I will 
 write to my son the first opportunity I have of doing it. By 
 the post it is impossible at this time. I have seen the French 
 list of the dead and wounded, in which he is not mentioned : 
 so that I suppose he has escaped. All letters, even directed to 
 Holland, are opened ; and I believe those to the army would 
 be stopped. 
 
 I know so little of English affairs, I am surprised to hear 
 uord Granville* has lost his power. 
 
 LETTER XXVI. 
 
 Brescia, Aug. 25, K S., 1746. 
 You will be surprised at the date of this letter, but Avignon 
 has been long disagreeable to me on many accounts, and now 
 more than ever, from the increase of Scotch and Irish rebels, 
 that chose it for their refuge, and are so highly protected by 
 the Vice-legate that it is impossible to go into any company 
 without hearing a conversation that is improper to be listened 
 to, and dangerous to contradict. The war with France hin- 
 dered my settling there for reasons I have already told you ; 
 and the difficulty of passing into Italy confined me, though I 
 
 * John Carteret, Earl Granville, was Secretary of State in 1720, 
 Lord- lieutenant of Ireland from 1724 to 1730; in 1742 Secretary of 
 State, which office he resigned in 1744. He was a third time appointed 
 Secretary of State in February 1746, and removed on the 14th of the 
 same month, to which circumstance this letter alludes. 
 
MR. WORTLEY. 217 
 
 was always watching an opportunity of returning thither. 
 Fortune at length presented rne one. 
 
 I believe I wrote you word, when I was at Venice, that I 
 saw there the Count of Wacherbarth, who was governor to 
 the Prince of Saxony, and is a favorite of the King of Poland, 
 and the many civilities I received from him, as an old friend 
 of his mother's. About a month since, a gentleman of the 
 Bedchamber of the prince, who is a man of the first quality 
 in this province, I believe charged with some private commis- 
 sion from the Polish court, brought me a letter of recommend- 
 ation from Count Wacherbarth, which engaged ms to show 
 him what civilities lay in my power. In conversation I la- 
 mented to him the impossibility of my attempting a journey 
 to Italy where he was going. He offered me his protection, 
 and represented to me that if I would permit him to wait on 
 me, I might pass under the notion of a Venetian lady. In 
 short, I ventured upon it, which has succeeded very well, 
 though I met with more impediments in my journey than I 
 expected. We went by sea to Genoa, where I made a very 
 short stay, and saw nobody, having no passport from that 
 State, and fearing to be stopped if I were known. We took 
 post-chaise from thence the 16th of this month, and were 
 very much surprised to meet, on- the Briletta, the baggage of 
 the Spanish army, with a prodigious number of sick and wound- 
 ed soldiers and officers, who marched in a very great hurry. 
 
 The Count of Palazzo ordered his servants to say we were 
 in haste for the service of Don Philip, and without further ex- 
 amination they gave us place every where : notwithstanding 
 which the multitude of carriages and loaded mules which we 
 met in these narrow roads made it impossible for us to reach 
 Scravalli till it was near night. Our surprise was great to find, 
 coming out of that town, a large body of troops surrounding a 
 body of guards, in the midst of which was Don Philip iu 
 person, going a very round trot, looking down, and pale as 
 ashes. The army was in too much confusion to take notice of 
 us, and the night favoring us, we got into the town, but when 
 
 10 
 
218 LETTERS TO 
 
 we came there, it was impossible to find any lodging, all the 
 inns being filled with wounded Spaniards. The Count went 
 to the governor, and asked a chamber for a Venetian lady, 
 which he granted very readily ; but there was nothing in it 
 but the bare walls, and in less than a quarter of an hour after 
 the whole house was empty both of furniture and people, the 
 governor flying into the citadel, and carrying with him all his 
 goods and family. We were forced to pass the night without 
 beds, or supper. About day-break the victorious Germans en- 
 tered the town. The Count went to wait on the generals, to 
 whom, I believe he had a commission. He told them my 
 name, and there was no sort of honor or civility they did not 
 pay me. They immediately ordered me a guard of hussars 
 (which was very necessary in the present disorder), and sent 
 me refreshments of all kinds. Next day I was visited by the 
 Prince of Baden Dourlach, the Prince Louestein, and all the 
 principal officers, with whom I passed for a heroine, show- 
 ing no uneasiness though the cannon of the citadel (where was 
 a Spanish garrison) played very briskly. I was forced to stay 
 there two days for want of post-horses, the post-master having 
 fled, with all his servants, and the Spaniards having levied all 
 the horses they could find. At length I set out from thence the 
 19th instant, with a strong escort of hussars, meeting with no 
 further accident on the road, except at the little town of Vo- 
 gherra, where they refused post-horses, till the hussars drew 
 their sabers. The 30th I arrived safe here. It is a very pretty 
 place, where I intend to repose myself at least during the re- 
 mainder of the summer. This journey has been very expens- 
 ive ; but I am very glad I have made it. I am now in a neutral 
 country, under the protection of Venice. The Doge is our old 
 friend Grimani, and I do not doubt meeting with all sort of 
 civility. When I set out I had so bad a fluxion on my eyes, 
 I was really afraid of losing them : they are now quite recov- 
 ered, and my health better than it has been for some time. I 
 hope yours continues good, and that you will always take care 
 of it. Direct for me at Brescia by way of Venice. 
 
MR. WORTLEY. 219 
 
 LETTER XXVII. 
 
 Brescia, September 24, N. S., 1746. 
 
 I can no longer resist the desire I have to know what is be- 
 come of .* I have long suppressed it from a belief that 
 
 if there was any thing of good to be told, you would not fail 
 to give me the pleasure of hearing it. I find it now grows so 
 much upon me, that whatever I am to know, I think it would 
 be easier for me to support than the anxiety I suffer from my 
 doubts. I beg to be informed, and prepare myself for the 
 worst, with all the philosophy I have. At my time of life I 
 ought to be detached from a world which I am soon to leave ; 
 to be totally so is a vain endeavor, and perhaps there is vanity 
 in the endeavor : while we are human we must submit to 
 human infirmities, and sutler them in mind as well as body. 
 All that reflection and expeiience can do is to mitigate, we can 
 never extinguish, our passions. I call by that name every sen- 
 timent that is not founded upon reason, and own I can not just- 
 ify to mine the concern I feel for one who never gave me any 
 view of satisfaction. 
 
 This is too melancholy a subject to dwell upon. You com- 
 pliment me on the continuation of my spirits : 'tis true I try to 
 maintain them by every act I can, being sensible of the terrible 
 consequences of losing them. Young people are too apt to let 
 them sink on any disappointment. I have wrote to my daugh- 
 ter all the considerations I could think to lessen her affliction. 
 
 LETTER XXVIII. 
 
 Louvere, , 1747. 
 
 Yours of the 1st of December, 0. S., came to me this morn- 
 ing, Feb. 2, N. S. I hope your health continues good, since 
 you say nothing to the contrary. 
 
 * Her son. 
 
220 LETTERS TO 
 
 The new opera at Brescia, I hear, is much applauded, and I 
 intend to see it before the end of the carnival. The people of 
 this province are much at their ease during the miseiies the 
 war occasions their neighbors, and employ all their time in 
 diversions. 
 
 We have hitherto had no winter, to the great sorrow of the 
 people here, who are in fear of wanting ice in the summer, 
 which is as necessary as bread. They also attribute a malignant 
 fever, which has carried off great numbers in the neighboring 
 towns, to the uncommon warmth of the air. It has not infected 
 this village, which they say has ever been free from any con- 
 tagious distemper. The method of treating the physician here, 
 I think, should be the same every where : they make it his in- 
 terest that the whole parish should be in good health, giving 
 him a stated pension, which is collected by a tax on every 
 house, on condition that he neither demands any fees, nor ever 
 refuses a visit either to rich or poor. This last article would 
 be very hard, if we had as many vaporish ladies as in England ; 
 but those imaginary ills are entirely unknown among us, and 
 the eager pursuit after every new piece of quackery that is in- 
 troduced. I can not help thinking that there is a fund of 
 credulity in mankind that must be employed somewhere, and 
 the money formerly given to the monks for the health of the 
 soul, is now thrown to doctors for the health of the body, and 
 generally with as little prospect of success. 
 
 LETTER XXIX. 
 
 Louvere, July 11, N. S., 1748. 
 Yours of June 7, 0. S., came to my hands but yesterday. 
 I am very much vexed and surprised at the miscarriage of 
 my letters. I have never failed answering both yours and 
 my daughter's the very next post after I received them. 1 
 began to suspect my servants put the franking money in their 
 pockets, and threw away the letters. I have been in the 
 
MR. WORTLEY. 221 
 
 country this year and a half, though I continued to date from 
 Brescia, as the place to which I would have directed, being, 
 though not the nearest, the safest post-town. I send all my 
 packets thither, and will for the future inclose them to a 
 banker, who, I hope, will be more careful in forwarding 
 them. 
 
 I am glad my daughter's conduct satisfies the opinion I al- 
 ways had of her understanding. I do not wonder at her be- 
 ing well received in sets of company different from one another, 
 having myself preserved a long intimacy with the Duchesses 
 of Marlborough and Montagu, though they were at open war, 
 and perpetually talking of their complaints. I believe they 
 were both sensible I never betrayed either, each of them giv- 
 ing me the strongest proofs of confidence in the last conversa- 
 tions I had with them, which were the last I had in England. 
 What I think extraordinary, is my daughter's continuing so 
 many years agreeable to Lord Bute, Mr. Mackensie telling me, 
 the last time I saw him, that his brother frequently said among 
 his companions that he was still as much in love with his 
 wife as before he married her. If the Princess's favor lasts, 
 it may be of use to her family. I have often been dubious if 
 the seeming indifference of her highness's behavior was owing 
 to very good sense, or great insensibility. Should it be the 
 first, she will get the better of all her rivals, and probably one 
 day have a large share of power. 
 
 I am very much pleased that you accustom yourself to tea, 
 being persuaded that the moderate use of it is generally 
 wholesome. I have planted a great deal in my garden, 
 which is a fashion lately introduced in this country, and has 
 succeeded very well. I can not say it is as strong as the In- 
 dian, but it has the advantage of being fresher, and, at least, 
 unmixed. 
 
 I thank you for the copies of Sir Charles Hanbury's poetry, 
 which extremely entertained me. I find tar-water has suc- 
 ceeded to Ward's drop ; it is possible by this time that some 
 other quackery has taken the place of that ; the English are 
 
222 LETTERS TO 
 
 easier than any other nation infatuated by the prospect of uni- 
 versal medicines ; nor is there any country in the world where 
 the doctors raise such immense fortunes. I attribute it to the 
 fund of credulity which is in all mankind. "We have no 
 longer faith in miracles and relics, and, therefore, with the 
 same fury, run after recipes and physicians. The- same money 
 which, three hundred years ago, was given for the health of 
 the soul, is now given for the health of the body, and by the 
 same sort of people, women and half-witted men. In the 
 country where they have shrines and images, quacks are de- 
 spised, and monks and confessors find their account in man- 
 aging the fear and hope which rule the actions of the multi- 
 tude. 
 
 LETTER XXX. 
 
 Padua, September 16, 1748. 
 I am informed that your health and sight are perfectly 
 good, which gives me courage to trouble you with a letter of 
 congratulation on a blessing that is equal to us both : I mean 
 the great and good character I hear from every body of Lord 
 Bute. It is a satisfaction I never hoped to have — a son that 
 does honor to his family. I am persuaded you are of my 
 opinion, and had rather be related to him than to any silly 
 duke in Christendom. Indeed, money (however considerable 
 the sum) in the hands of a fool, is as useless as if presented 
 to a monkey, and will as surely be scattered in the street. I 
 need not quote examples. My daughter is also generally es- 
 teemed, and I can not help communicating to you the pleasure 
 I receive whenever I hear her commended. I am afraid my 
 letter may be too long. This subject runs away with me. I 
 wish you many years' continuance of the health and spirits 
 I am told you now e'tjov. 
 
MB. WORTLET. 223 
 
 LETTER XXXI. 
 
 Venice, Dec. 25, N. S., 1748. 
 
 I hope I have now regulated our correspondence in a man- 
 ner more safe than by Holland. I have sent a large collection 
 of letters to you and my daughter, which have all miscarried ; 
 neither have I one line from either for some months. 
 
 I was surprised not many days ago by a very extraordinary 
 visit : it was from the Duchess of Guastalla, who you know is 
 a princess of the house d'Armstadt, and reported to be near 
 marriage with the King of Sardinia. I confess it was an 
 honor I could easily have spared, she coming attended with the 
 greatest part of her court : her grand-master, who is brother 
 to Cardinal Valenti, the first lady of her bed-chamber, four 
 pages, and a long et cetera of inferior servants, beside her 
 guards. She entered with an easy French air, and told me, 
 since I would not oblige her by coming to her court, she was 
 resolved to come to me, and eat a salad of my raising, having 
 heard much fame of my gardening. You may imagine I gave 
 her as good a supper as I could. She was (or seemed to be) 
 extremely pleased with an English sack-posset of my ordering. 
 I owned to her fairly that my house was much at her service ; 
 but it was impossible for me to find beds for all her suite. She 
 said she intended to return when the moon rose, which was an 
 hour after midnight. In the mean time I sent for the violins to 
 entertain her attendants, who were very well pleased to dance) 
 while she and her grand-master and I played at picquet. She 
 pressed me extremely to return with her to her jointure-house, 
 where she now resides (all the furniture of Guastalla being 
 sold). I excused myself on not daring to venture in the cold 
 night fifteen miles, but promised I would not fail to pay her 
 my acknowledgments for the great honor her highness had 
 done me, in a very short time, and we parted very good fiiends. 
 She said she intended this spring to retire into her native 
 country. I did not take the liberty of mentioning to her the 
 report of her being in treaty with the King of Sardinia, though 
 
224 LETTERS TO 
 
 it has been in the newspaper of Mantua ; but I found an op- 
 portunity of hinting it to Signor Gonzago, her grand-master, 
 who told me the duchess would not have been pleased to talk 
 of it, since, perhaps, there was nothing in it more than a friend- 
 ship that had long been between them, and since her widow- 
 hood the king sends her an express every day. 
 
 I believe you '11 wish this long story much shorter ; but I 
 think you seemed to desire me to lengthen my letters, and I 
 can have no greater pleasure than endeavoring to amuse you. 
 
 LETTER XXXII. 
 
 Gotolengo, April 24, 1749. 
 C. Mutius Sext : F. 
 P. Papilius, M. F. 
 Q. Mutius P. P. 
 M. Cornelius P. F. 
 1 1 1 1 vir. Turrim Ex D D. 
 Ad augendam Locavere. 
 Idemque Probavere. 
 
 This is a very fair inscription, in large characters, on a large 
 stone found in the pavement of the old church, and makes now 
 a part of the wall of the new one, which is now building. The 
 people here, who are as ignorant as their oxen, and live like 
 them on the product of their land, without any curiosity for 
 the history of it, would infer from thence that this town is of 
 Roman foundation, though the walls, which are yet the greatest 
 part standing (only the towers and battlements demolished), 
 are very plainly Gothic, and not one brick to be found any 
 where of Roman fabric, which is very easily distinguished. I 
 can easily believe their tradition, that the old church, which 
 was pulled down two years ago, being ready to drop, was a 
 pagan temple, and do not doubt it was a considerable town, 
 founded by the Goths, when they overran Italy. The fortifi- 
 cations were strong for that age : the ditch still remaining 
 
MR. WORTLEY. 225 
 
 within the walls being very broad and deep, in which ran the 
 little river that is now before my house, and the moat turned 
 'nto gardens for the use of the town, the name of which being 
 Gotolengo, is a confirmation of my conjecture. The castle, 
 which certainly stood on the spot where my house does, being 
 on an eminence in the midst of the town, was probably de- 
 stroyed by fire. When I ordered the court to be leveled, 
 which was grown uneven by long neglect, there was found such 
 quantities of burnt bricks, that plainly showed the remains of 
 a considerable fire ; but whether by the enemy, or accidental, 
 I could get no information. They have no records, or parish 
 books, beyond the time of their coming under the Venetian 
 dominion, which is not much above three hundred years ago, 
 at which time they were, as they now are, a large village, being 
 two miles in circuit, and contains at present (as the curate told 
 me) two thousand communicants. The ladies of this neigh- 
 borhood that had given themselves the trouble and expense 
 of going to see Don Philip's entry into Parma, are returned, 
 according to the French saying, avec un pied de nez. As they 
 had none of them ever seen a court before, they had figured to 
 themselves prodigious scenes of gallantry and magnificence. 
 
 If I did not write by the post, I would tell you several par- 
 ticulars, that I believe would make you laugh. He is retired 
 into the country till the arrival of his princess, who is expected 
 in May next. I take the liberty of inclosing this to Lord Bute, 
 not knowing where to direct to him in London. 
 
 LETTER XXXHI. 
 
 Louvere, Oct. 19, N. S., 1753. 
 I think I know why our correspondence is so miserably 
 interrupted, and so many letters lost to and from England. 
 
 An old priest made me a visit as I was folding my last 
 packet to my daughter. Observing it to be large, he told me 
 I had done a great deal of business that morning. I made 
 10* 
 
226 LETTERS TO 
 
 answer that I had done no business at all ; I had only wrote 
 to my daughter on family affairs, or such trifles as make up 
 women's conversation. He said gravely, "People like your 
 excellenza do not write long letters upon trifles." I assured 
 him that if he understood English I would let him read my 
 letter. He replied, with a mysterious smile — " If I did under- 
 stand English, I should not understand what you have written, 
 except you would give me the key, which I durst not presume 
 to ask." "What key?" said I, staring — "there is not one 
 cipher besides the date." He answered — " Ciphers were only 
 used by novices in politics, and it was very easy to write intel- 
 ligibly, under feigned names of persons and places, to a corre- 
 spondent, in such a manner as should be almost impossible to 
 be understood by any body else." 
 
 Thus I suppose my innocent epistles are severely scrutinized : 
 and when I talk of my grand-children, they are fancied to rep- 
 resent all the potentates of Europe. This is very provoking. 
 I confess there are good reasons for extraordinary caution at 
 this juncture ; but it is very hard I can not pass for being as 
 insignificant as I really am. 
 
 I heartily congratulate you on the recovery of your sight. 
 It is a blessing I prefer to life, and will seek for glasses when- 
 ever I am in a place where they are sold. 
 
 LETTER XXXIV. 
 
 Louvere, Dec. 19, N. S., 1754. 
 I received yours of October 6, yesterday, which gave me 
 great pleasure. I am flattered by finding that our sentiments 
 are the same in regard to Lord Bolingbroke's writings, as you 
 will see more clearly, if you ever have the long letter I have 
 w T rote to you on that subject. I believe he never read Horace, 
 or any other author, with a design of instructing himself, think- 
 ing he was born to give precepts, and not to follow them : at 
 least if he was not mad enough to have this opinion, he en- 
 deavored to impose it on the rest of the world. All his works, 
 
MR. WORT LEY. 227 
 
 b«jing well considered, are little more than a panegyric on his 
 own universal genius ; many of his pretensions are as preposter- 
 ously inconsistent as if Sir Isaac Newton had aimed at being a 
 critic in fashions, and wrote for the information of tailors and 
 mantua makers. I am of opinion that he never looked into 
 half the authors he quotes, and am much mistaken if he is not 
 obliged to M. Bayle for the generality of his criticisms ; for 
 which reason he affects to despise him, that he may steal from 
 him with the less suspicion. A diffuse style (though admired 
 as florid by all half-witted readers) is commonly obscure, and 
 always trifling. Horace has told us that where words abound, 
 sense is thinly spread ; as trees overcharged with leaves bear 
 little fruit. 
 
 You do not mention Lord Orrery, or perhaps would not 
 throw away time in perusing that extraordinary work, ad- 
 dressed to a son, whom he educates with an intention that he 
 should be a first minister, and promises to pray to God for him 
 if ever he plays the knave in that station. I perceive that he 
 has already been honored with five editions. I wish that en- 
 couragement may prevail with him to give the world more 
 memoirs. I am resolved to read them all, though they should 
 multiply to as many tomes as Erasmus. 
 
 Here are no newspapers to be had but those printed under 
 this government; consequently I never learn the births or 
 deaths of private persons. I was ignorant of that of my poor 
 friend the Duchess of Bolton, when my daughter's last letter 
 told me the death of the duke,* and the jointure he has left 
 his second duchess. 
 
 I am very glad your health is so good. May that and every 
 other blessing be ever yours. 
 
 * He died August 26, 1754. His second wife was Lavinia Fenton, 
 the celebrated Polly Peachum in Gay's Beggar's Opera, whom he mar- 
 ried in 1751. 
 
228 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XXXV. 
 
 Venice, December 11, 1758. 
 , I assure you I live as agreeably here as any stranger in mj X. 
 circumstances possibly can do ; and, indeed, a repetition of 
 all the civilities I have received here would sound more like 
 vanity than truth, I am sensible that I owe a great part of 
 them to Grimani, who is in the first esteem and authority in 
 this republic ; and, as he takes pains to appear my friend, his 
 relations and allies, of both sexes (who are the most consider- 
 able people here), endeavor to oblige me in all sorts of ways. 
 The carnival is expected to be more brilliant than common, 
 from the great concourse of noble strangers. The Princess 
 of Holstein and the Prince of Wol fen buttle (nephew of the 
 empress) are already arrived, and the Electoral Prince of Sax- 
 ony is expected next week. If my age and humor would per- 
 mit me much pleasure in public amusements, here are a great 
 variety of them. I take as little share of them .as I can. 
 
 Frui paratis et valido rnihi 
 Latoe dories, et pre cor integra 
 Cum mente, nee turpem senectam 
 Degere, nee cithara carentem. 
 
 Horace, Odes, L. 1, 0. 31. 
 
 You see I have got a Horace, which is borrowed of the 
 consul, who is a good scholar ; but I am very impatient for 
 my own books. I could wish you to send me the cushions 
 that were used at Constantinople ; they would be very useful 
 
 to me here. As to what regards , I have long since fixed 
 
 my opinion concerning him. Indeed, I am not insensible of 
 the misfortune, but I look upon it as the loss of a limb, which 
 should cease to give solicitude by being irretrievable. 
 
 Lord Brudenel* is here, and appears to be in an extremely 
 bad state of health, and unwilling to return to England, being 
 
 * John Lord Brudenel, eldest son of George Earl of Cardigan. 
 
MR. WORTLET. 229 
 
 apprehensive of the air. I fear his friends will have the af- 
 fliction of losing him, as he seems highly disposed, if not ac- 
 tually fallen into a consumption. I have had a letter from 
 Mr. Mackensie, who is excessively liked at Turin. I can not 
 contrive to go there, but heartily wish I could contrive to see 
 him and Lady Betty in some other place. I am determined, 
 on account of my health, to take some little jaunt next 
 spring ; perhaps on the side of the Tyrol, which I have never 
 seen, but hear it is an exceedingly fine country. To say truth, 
 I am tempted by the letters of Lady F. Stewart and Sir James. 
 I never knew people more to my taste. They reside in a lit- 
 tle town, only two days' journey from Padoua, where it will 
 be asy to find a lodging for the summer months, and I am 
 sure of being pleased in their company. I have found, where- 
 ever I have traveled, that the pleasantest spots of ground 
 have been in the valleys, which are encompassed with high 
 mountains. 
 
 LETTER XXXVI. 
 
 Venice, February 24, 1759. 
 
 I return you many thanks for yours of the 5th instant. I 
 never have received any in so short a time from England. I 
 am very sincerely, heartily, glad to hear of your health, but 
 will not trouble you with reading a long letter, which may 
 be uneasy to you, when I write so often and fully to our 
 daughter. I have not heard from her for some time ; I hope 
 her silence is not occasioned by any indisposition. I hear her 
 and her family praised very much by every Briton that ar- 
 rives here. I need not say what comfort I receive from it. It 
 is now finer weather than I ever saw in the season (Naples ex- 
 cepted) : the sun shines with as much warmth as in May. I 
 walk in my little garden every morning. I hope ydu do the 
 same at Bath. 
 
 The carnival is now over, and we have no more ridotto or 
 
230 LETTERS OP 
 
 theatrical amusements. Diversions have taken a more private, 
 perhaps a more agreeable, turn here. It is the fashion to 
 have little houses of retreat, where the lady goes every even- 
 ing, at seven or eight o'clock, and is visited by all her inti- 
 mates of both sexes, which commonly amount to seventy or 
 eighty persons, where they have play, concerts of music, some- 
 times dancing, and always a handsome collation. I believe 
 you will think these little assemblies very pleasing ; they 
 really are so. Whoever is well acquainted with Venice must 
 own that it is the center of pleasure ; not so noisy, and, in my 
 opinion, more refined than Paris. 
 
 LETTER XXXVE* 
 
 TO LADY MARY PIERREPONT. 
 
 Saturday morning. — IT 12. 
 Every time you see me, gives me a fresh proof of your not 
 caring for me : yet I beg you will meet me once more. How 
 could you pay me that great compliment of your loving the 
 country for life, when you would not stay with me a few min- 
 utes longer ? Who is the happy man you went to ? I agree 
 with you, I am often so dull, I can not explain my meaning ; 
 but will not own that the expression was so very obscure, when 
 I said if I had you, I should act against my opinion. Why 
 need I add, I see what is best for me, I condemn what I do, 
 and yet I fear I must do it. If you can't find it out, that 
 
 * It was my intention to include the two following letters in ths 
 Biography of Lady Mary, as giving the clearest notion of the idiosyn 
 crasies of the lovers — those peculiarities that may be traced in their in- 
 tercourse as husband and wife— which can now be obtained. For thi9 
 reason the letters were omitted in the first part of the volume. After 
 that was stereotyped, I found the Biographical Sketch would be too 
 long for the space reserved ; therefore these letters are placed here to 
 draw more particular attention. The reader can easily find their proper 
 place in the first correspondence, between the Letters VIII. and IX., 
 page 31. — Am. Ed. 
 
COURTSHIP. 231 
 
 you are going to be unhappy, ask your sister, who agrees with 
 you in every thing else, and she will convince you of your 
 rashness in this. She knows you don't care for me, and that 
 you will like me less and less every year ; perhaps every day 
 of your life. You may, with a little care, please another as 
 well, and make him less timorous. It is possible I too may 
 please some of those that have but little acquaintance ; and if 
 I should be preferred by a woman, for being the first among 
 her companions, it would give me as much pleasure as if I 
 were the first man in the world. Think again, and prevent a 
 misfortune from falling on both of us. 
 
 When you are at leisure, I shall be as ready to end all, as 
 I was last night, when I disobliged one, that will do me hurt, 
 by crossing his desires, rather than fail of meeting you. Had 
 I imagined you could have left me, without finishing, I had 
 not seen you. Now you have been so free before Mrs. Steele,* 1 
 you may call upon her, or send for her, to-morrow, or next 
 day. Let her dine with you, or go to visit shops, Hyde Park, 
 or other diversions. You may bring her home. I can be in 
 the house, reading, as I often am, though the master is abroad. 
 If you will have her visit you first, I will get her to go to- 
 morrow. I think a man, or a woman, is under no engagement 
 till the writings are sealed ; but it looks like indiscretion even 
 to begin a treaty, without a probability of concluding it. 
 When you hear of all my objections to you, and to myself, 
 you will resolve against me. Last night you were much upon 
 the reserve : I see you can never be thoroughly intimate with 
 me ; 'tis because you have no pleasure in it. You can be 
 easy, and complaisant, as you have sometimes told me ; but 
 never think that enough to make me easy, unless you refuse 
 me. 
 
 Write a line this evening, or early to-morrow. If I don't 
 speak plain, do you understand what I write ? Tell me how 
 to mend the style, if the fault is in that. If the characters 
 are not plain, I can easily mend them. I always comprehend 
 
 * The wife of Mr. (afterward Sir Richard) Steele. 
 
232 LETTERS OF 
 
 your expressions, but would give s great deal to know what 
 passes in your heart. 
 
 In you I might possess youth, beauty, and all things that 
 can charm. It is possible that they may strike me less after a 
 time ; but I may then consider I have once enjoyed them in 
 perfection ; that they would have decayed as soon in any 
 other. You see this is not your case. You will think you 
 might have been happier. Never engage with a man, unless 
 you propose to yourself the highest satisfaction from him and 
 none other. E. W. Montagu. 
 
 LETTER XXXVni. 
 
 (THE ASTSWEB.) 
 
 TO E. W. MONTAGU, ESQ. 
 
 Tuesday night. 
 
 I received both your Monday letters before I writ the in- 
 closed, which, however, I send you. The kind letter was writ 
 and sent Friday morning, and I did not receive yours till Sat- 
 urday noon. To speak truth, you would never have had it, 
 there were so many things in yours to put me out of humor. 
 Thus, you see, it was on no design to repair any thing that 
 offended you. You only show me how industrious you are 
 to find faults in me ; — why will you not suffer me to be pleased 
 with you ? 
 
 I would see you if 1 could (though perhaps it may be 
 wrong) ; but, in the way that I am here, 'tis impossible. I 
 can't come to town, but in company with my sister-in-law ; I 
 can carry her nowhere but where she pleases ; or, if I could, 
 [ would trust her with nothing. I could not walk out alone, 
 without giving suspicion to the whole family ; should I be 
 watched, and seen to meet a man — judge of the consequences ! 
 
 You speak of treating with my father, as if you believed he 
 would come to terms afterward. I will not suffer you to re- 
 main in the thought, however advantageous it might be to 
 me ; I will deceive you in nothing. I am fully persuaded he 
 will never hear of terms afterward. You may say, 'tis talking 
 
COURTSHIP 
 
 233 
 
 oddly of him. I can't answer to that ; but 'tis my real opin- 
 ion, and I think I know him. You talk to me of estates, as 
 if I was the most interested woman in the world. Whatever 
 faults I may have shown in my life, I know not one action of 
 it that ever proved me mercenary. I think there can not be a 
 greater proof to the contrary than my treating with you, where 
 I am to depend entirely upon your generosity, at the same 
 time that I may have settled on me £500 per annum pin- 
 money, and a considerable jointure, in another place ; not to 
 reckon that I may have by his temper what command of his 
 estate I please ; and with you I have nothing to pretend to. 
 I do not, however, make a merit to you ; money is very little 
 to me, because all beyond necessaries I do not value, that is 
 to be purchased by it. If the man proposed to me had 
 £10,000 per annum, and I was sure to dispose of it all, I 
 should act just as I do. I have in my life known a good deal 
 of show, and never found myself the happier for it. 
 
 In proposing to you to follow the scheme proposed by that 
 friend, I think 'tis absolutely necessary for both our sakes. I 
 would have you want no pleasure which a single life would 
 afford you. You own you think nothing so agreeable. A 
 woman that adds nothing to a man's fortune ought not to 
 take from his happiness. If possible, I would add to it ; but 
 I will not take from you any satisfaction you could enjoy with- 
 out me. On my own side, I endeavor to form as right a 
 judgment of the temper of human nature, and of my own in 
 particular, as I am capable of. I would throw off all par 
 tiality and passion, and be calm in my opinion. Almost all 
 people are apt to run into a mistake, that when they once feel 
 or give a passion, there needs nothing to entertain it. If we 
 marry, our happiness must consist in loving one another ; 'tis 
 principally n y concern to think of the most probable method 
 of making that love eternal. You object against living in 
 London ; I am not fond of it myself, and readily give it up 
 to you ; though I am assured there needs more art to keep a 
 fondness alive in solitude, where it generally preys upon itself. 
 
234 LETTERS OF COURTSHIP. 
 
 There is one article absolutely necessary — to be ever beloved, 
 one must be ever agreeable. There is no such thing as being 
 agreeable, without a thorough good humor, a natural sweet- 
 ness of temper, enlivened by cheerfulness. Whatever natural 
 funds of gayety one is born with, 'tis necessary to be entertained 
 with agreeable objects. Any body, capable of tasting pleas- 
 ure, when they confine themselves to one place, should take 
 care 'tis the place in the world the most agreeable. What- 
 ever you may now think (now, perhaps, you have some fond- 
 ness for me), though your love should continue in its full 
 force, there are hours when the most beloved mistress would 
 be troublesome. People are not forever (nor is it in human 
 nature that they should be) disposed to be fond ; you would 
 be glad to find in me the friend and the companion. To be 
 agreeably the last, it is necessary to be gay and entertaining. 
 A perpetual solitude, in a place where you see nothing to 
 raise your spirits, at length wears them out, and conversation 
 insensibly falls into dull and insipid. When I have no more 
 to say to you, you will like me no longer. How dreadful is 
 that view 1 You will reflect for my sake you have abandoned 
 the conversation of a friend that you liked, and your situation 
 in a country where all things would have contributed to make 
 your life pass in (the true volupte) a smooth tranquillity. 1 
 shall lose the vivacity which should entertain you, and you 
 will have nothing to recompense you for what you have lost. 
 Very few people that have settled entirely in the country, 
 but have grown at length weary of one another. The lady's 
 conversation generally falls into a thousand impertinent effects 
 of idleness ; and the gentleman falls in love with his dogs and 
 his horses, and out of love with every thing else. I am not 
 now arguing in favor of the town ; you have answered me as 
 to that point. In respect of your health, 'tis the first thing 
 to be considered, and I shall never ask you to do any thing in- 
 jurious to that. But 'tis my opinion, 'tis necessary, to be 
 happy, that we neither of us think any place more agreeable 
 than that where we can live together. M. P. 
 
LETTERS TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 4 
 H 
 
 FROM 1794 TO 1761, 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 Louveke, Nov. 29, 1749. 
 My Dear Child — I received your agreeable letter of Sep- 
 tember 21, yesterday, November 29, and am very glad our 
 daughter (for I think she belongs to us both) turns out so 
 much to your satisfaction ; may she ever do so. I hope she 
 has by this time received my token. You please me extremely 
 in saying my letters are of any entertainment to you. 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 Louvere, Dec. 17, N. S., 1749. 
 Dear Child — I received yours of October 14 but yester- 
 day : the negligence of the post is very disagreeable. I have 
 
 * Mary, Countess of Bute, only daughter of her parents, was born in 
 Constantinople, 1715, during Mr. Wortley's embassy. This darling 
 daughter seems to have deserved the devoted affection her mother al- 
 ways manifested for her. Her marriage, which took place in 1736, 
 was highly gratifying to both her parents. Lady Mary was proud of 
 her son-in-law, John, third Earl of Bute (afterward minister of George 
 III.) ; and her heart had its fondest resting-place, and sweetest hopes 
 in the family of her grandchildren. The Countess of Bute died in 
 1794, cherishing to the last, as her dearest inheritance, the memory of 
 her gifted mother. — Am. Ed. 
 
236 LETTERS TO 
 
 at length had a letter from Lady Oxford, by which I find 
 mine to her has miscarried, and perhaps the answer which I 
 have now wrote may have the same fate. 
 
 I wish you joy of your young son : may he live to be a 
 blessing to you. I find I amuse myself here in the same 
 manner as if at London, according to your account of it ; that 
 is, I play whist every night with some old priests that I have 
 taught it to, and are my only companions. To say truth, the 
 decay of my sight will no longer suffer me to read by candle- 
 light, and the evenings are now long and dark. I believe 
 you '11 be persuaded my gaming makes nobody uneasy, when 
 I tell you that we play only a penny per corner. 'Tis now a 
 year that I have lived wholly in the country, and have no de- 
 sign of quitting it. I am entirely given up to rural amuse- 
 ments, and have forgot there are any such things as wits or 
 fine ladies in the world. However, I am pleased to hear what 
 happens to my acquaintance. I wish you would inform me 
 what is become of the Pomfret family, and who Sir Francis 
 Dashwood* has married. I knew him at Florence : he seemed 
 so nice in the choice of a wife, I have some curiosity to know 
 who it is that has had charms enough to make him enter into 
 an engagement he used to speak of with fear and trembling. 
 
 LETTER HI. 
 
 Loijvere, December 14, 1750. 
 Dear Child — I received yours of October the 28th this 
 morning, December 24th, N. S. I am afraid a letter of two 
 sheets of paper that I sent you from Salo never came to your 
 hands, which I am very sorry for : it would have been, per- 
 haps, some entertainment, being the description of places that 
 I am sure you have not found in any book of travels. I also 
 made my hearty congratulations to Lord Bute and yourself, 
 
 * He married Sarah, daughter and co-heir of Thomas Gould, Esq., 
 of Ivor, Bucks, aud widow of Sir Richard Ellis, Bait. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 237 
 
 on his place, which I hope is an earnest of future advantages. 
 I desired you would send me all the books of which you gave 
 a catalogue, except H. Fielding's and his sister's, which I have 
 already. I thank God my taste still continues for the gay 
 part of reading* Wiser people may think it trifling, but it 
 serves to sweeten life to me, and is at worst better than the 
 generality of conversation. I am extremely pleased with the 
 account you give me of your father's health : his life is the 
 greatest blessing that can happen to his family. " I am very 
 sincerely touched with the Duchess of Montagu's misfortune,! 
 though I think it no reasonable cause for locking herself up. 
 Age and ugliness are as inseparable as heat and fire, and I 
 think it all one in what shape one's figure grows disagreeable. 
 I remember the Princess of Moldavia at Constantinople made 
 a party of pleasure the next day after losing one of her eyes ; 
 and when I wondered at her philosophy, said she had more 
 reason to divert herself than she had before. 'Tis true our 
 climate is apt to inspire more melancholy ideas : the enliven- 
 ing heat of the sun continues the cheerfulness of youth to the 
 grave with most people. I received a visit not long since 
 from a fair young lady, that had new lain-in of her nineteenth 
 child : in reality she is but thirty-seven, and has so well pre- 
 served her fine shape and complexion, she appears little past 
 twenty. I wish you the same good fortune, though not quite 
 so numerous a posterity. Every happiness is ardently desired 
 for you by, dear child, your most affectionate mother. 
 
 P. L — My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessings to all 
 your little ones. I am ashamed not to have sent my token to 
 my god-daughter ; I hope to do it in a short time. 
 
 * In Spencer's Anecdotes, by Singer, there is an observation of 
 Lady Oxford in these words : " I wonder how any body can find pleas- 
 ure in reading the books which are that lady's chief favorites." Here 
 we have Lady M°.ry's confession of her liking to works of imagina- 
 tion, and her defense of her taste. 
 
 \ Lady Mary Churchill, youngest daughter of John Duke of Marl- 
 borough, wife of John Duke of Montagu, died May 4, 1751. 
 
238 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 April 15, N. S., 1751. 
 My Dear Child — I received yours of Feb. 10th with great 
 pleasure, as it brought me the news of your health, and that 
 of your family. I can not guess who you mean by Lord Mont- 
 fort,* there being no such title when I left England, nor any 
 Lord Hertford,! who I hear is named embassador to France : 
 these are all new people to me. I wish you would give me 
 some information concerning them : none can be so agreeable 
 as the continuation of your father's health ; you see in him the 
 good effect of a strict abstinence, and regular exercise. I am 
 much pleased (but not at all surprised) at his kindness to you : 
 I know him to be more capable of a generous action than any 
 man I ever knew. I have never heard one word of the books 
 that you told me were packed up last June. These things 
 are very provoking, but fretting mends nothing. I will con- 
 tinue to write on, though the uncertainty of your receiving my 
 letters is a strong abatement of my pleasure in writing, and will 
 be of heavy consequence to my style. I feel at this minute the 
 spirit of dullness chill my heart, and I am ready to break out 
 into alacks and alases, with many murmurs against my cruel 
 destiny, that will not even permit this distant conversation be- 
 tween us, without such allaying circumstances. However, I 
 beg you not to be discouraged. I am persuaded, from the 
 goodness of your heart, that you are willing to give me hap- 
 piness ; and I can have none here so great as a letter from you. 
 You can never want subjects ; and I can assure you that your 
 eldest daughter can not be more delighted with a birth-day suit, 
 or your youngest with a paper of sugar-plums, than I am at 
 the sight of your hand. You seem very anxious on the account 
 of your children's education. I have said all I have to say on 
 that head ; and am still of the same opinion, that learning is 
 necessary to the happiness of women, and ignorance the com- 
 
 * Henry Bromley, created Baron Montfort, 1141. 
 
 f Francis Seymour Conway, created Earl of Hertford, 1150. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 2o9 
 
 mon foundation of their errors, both in morals and conduct. 
 
 I was well acquainted with a lady (the Duchess of M r*) 
 
 who, I am persuaded, owed all her misfortunes to the want of 
 instruction in her youth. You know another, who, if she 
 had had her natural good understanding cultivated by letters, 
 would never have mistaken Johnny Gay for a wit, and much 
 less have printed that he took the liberty of calling her his 
 Laura.f 
 
 I am pleasingly interrupted by the welcome information from 
 Lord Bute that you are safely delivered of a son. I am never 
 in pain for any of that sex. If they have any merit, there are 
 so many roads for them to meet good fortune, they can no way 
 fail but by not deserving it. We have but one of establishing 
 ours, and that surrounded with precipices, and perhaps after 
 all better missed than found. I have already told you I look 
 on my grand-daughters as lay nuns. Lady Mary| might 
 avoid that destiny, if religion was not a bar to her being dis- 
 posed of in this country. You will laugh to hear it, but it 
 is really true, I had proposed to me a young man of quality, 
 with a good estate : his parents are both dead : she would 
 find a fine palace, and neither want jewels nor equipage ; and 
 her name (with a present from me) be thought a sufficient 
 fortune. 
 
 I shall write to Lord Bute this post. My blessing to you and 
 yours is sincerely sent from your most affectionate mother. 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 Louvere, June 19, K S., 1751. 
 
 My Dear Child — I am much obliged to Lord Bute for 
 
 thinking of me so kindly : to say truth, I am as fond of baubles 
 
 as ever, and am so far from being ashamed of it, that it is a 
 
 taste I endeavor to keep up with all the art I am mistress of, 
 
 * Manchester. \ The Duchess of Queensberry. 
 
 \ Lady Mary Stuart, afterward* Countess of Lonsdale. 
 
240 LETTERS TO 
 
 I should have despised them at twenty for the same reason that 
 I would not eat tarts or cheesecakes at twelve years old, as 
 being too childish for one capable of more solid pleasures. I 
 now know (and alas ! have long known) all things in this world 
 are almost equally trifling, and our most serious projects have 
 scarce more foundation than those edifices that your little ones 
 raise in cards. You see to what period the vast fortunes of the 
 Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, and Sir Robert Walpole 
 are soon arrived. I believe as you do, that Lady Orford is a 
 joyful widow, but am persuaded she has as much reason to 
 weep for her husband as ever any women has had, from Androm- 
 ache to this day. I never saw any second marriage that did 
 not appear to me very ridiculous : hers is accompanied with 
 circumstances that render the folly complete. 
 
 Sicknesses have been very fatal in this country, as well as 
 England. I should be glad to know the names of those you 
 say are deceased : I believe I am ignorant of half of them, the 
 Dutch news being forbid here. I would not have you give 
 yourself the trouble, but order one of your servants to transcribe 
 the catalogue. You will perhaps laugh at this curiosity. K 
 you ever return to Bute, you will find that what happens in 
 the world is a considerable amusement in solitude. The peo- 
 ple I see here make no more impression on my mind than the 
 figures in the tapestry, while they are directly before my eyes. 
 I know one is clothed in blue, and another in red ; but out of 
 sight, they are so entirely out of memory, I hardly remem- 
 ber whether they are tall or short. I sometimes call myself to 
 account for this insensibility, which has something of ingrati- 
 tude in it, this little town thinking themselves highly honored 
 and obliged by my residence : they intended me an extraordin- 
 ary mark of it, having determined to set up my statue in the 
 most conspicuous place : the marble was bespoke, and the 
 sculptor bargained with, before I knew any thing of the mat- 
 ter ; and it would have been erected without my knowledge, 
 vf it had not been necessary for him to see me to take the re- 
 emblance. I thanked them very much for the intention ; but 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 241 
 
 utterly refused complying with it, fearing it would be reported 
 (at least in England) that I had set up my own statue. They 
 were so obstinate in the design, I was forced to tell them my 
 religion would not permit it. I seriously believe it would have 
 been worshiped, when I was forgotten, under the name of 
 some saint or other, since I was to have been represented with 
 a book in my hand, which would have passed for a proof of 
 canonization. This compliment was certainly founded on rea- 
 sons not unlike those that first famed goddesses, I mean being- 
 useful to them, in which I am second to Ceres. If it be true 
 she taught the art of sowing wheat, it is certain I have learned 
 them to make bread, in which they continued in -the same 
 ignorance Misson complains of (as you may see in his letter 
 from Padnor). I have introduced French rolls cuftards, 
 minced pies, and plum-pudding, which they are very fond of. 
 'Tis impossible to bring them to conform to sillabub, which is 
 so unnatural a mixture in their eyes, they are even shocked to 
 see me eat it : but I expect immortality from the science of 
 butter making, in which they are become so skillful from my 
 instructions. I can assure you here is as good as in any part 
 of Great Britain. 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 Louvere, Dec. 8, K S., 1751. 
 This town is at present in a general stare, or, to use their 
 own expression, sotto sopra ; and not only this town, but the 
 capital, Bergamo, the whole province, the neighboring Bres- 
 cian, and perhaps all the Venetian dominion, occasioned by 
 an adventure exactly resembling, and I believe copied from, 
 Pamela. I know not under what constellation that foolish 
 stuff was wrote, but it has been translated into more languages 
 than any modern performance I ever heard of. No proof of 
 its influence was ever stronger than this present story, which, 
 in Richardson's hands, would serve very well to furnish out 
 seven or eight volumes. I shall make it as short as I can. 
 
 11 
 
242 LETTERS TO 
 
 Here is a gentleman's family, consisting of an olft bachelor 
 and his sister, who have fortune enough to live with great 
 elegance, though without any magnificence, possessed of the 
 esteem of all their acquaintance, he being distinguished by his 
 probity, and she by her virtue. They are not only suffered but 
 sought after by all the best company, and indeed are the most 
 conversable and reasonable people in this place. She is an 
 excellent housewife, and particularly remarkable for keeping 
 her pretty house as neat as any in Holland. She appears no 
 longer in public, being past fifty, and passes her time chiefly 
 at home with her work, receiving few visitants. This Signora 
 Diana, about ten years since, saw, at a monastery, a girl of 
 eight years old, who came thither to beg alms for her mother. 
 Her beauty, though covered with rags, was very observable, 
 and gave great compassion to the charitable lady, who thought 
 it meritorious to rescue such a modest sweetness as appeared 
 in her face from the ruin to which her wretched circumstances 
 exposed her. She asked some questions, to which she an- 
 swered with a natural civility that seemed surprising ; and 
 finding the head of her family (her brother) to be a cobbler, 
 who could hardly live by that trade, she bid the child follow 
 her home ; and sending for her parent, proposed to her to 
 breed the little Octavia for her servant. This was joyfully ac- 
 cepted, the old woman dismissed with a piece of money, and 
 the girl remained with the Signora Diana, who bought her 
 decent clothes, and took pleasure in teaching her whatever she 
 was capable of learning. She learned to read, write, and cast 
 accounts, with uncommon facility ; and had such a genius for 
 work, that she excelled her mistress in embroidery, point, anu 
 every operation of the needle. She grew perfectly skilled in 
 confectionary, had a good insight into cookery, and was a 
 great proficient in distillery. To these accomplishments she 
 was so handy, well-bred, humble, and modest, that not only 
 her master and mistress, but every body that frequented the 
 house took notice of her. She lived thus near nine years, never 
 going out but to church. However, beauty is as difficult to 
 
THE COUHTESS OF BUTE. 243 
 
 conceal as light ; hers begun to make a great noise. ■ Signora 
 Diana told me she observed an unusual concourse of peddling 
 women that came on pretext to sell pennyworths of lace, 
 china, etc., and several young gentlemen, very well powdered, 
 that were perpetually walking before her door, and looking up 
 at the windows. These prognostics alarmed her prudence, 
 and she listened very willingly to some honorable proposals 
 that were made by many honest thriving tradesmen. She 
 communicated this to Octavia, and told her that though she 
 was sorry to lose so good a servant, yet she thought it right 
 to advise her to choose a husband. The girl answered mod- 
 estly that it was her duty to obey all her commands, but she 
 found no inclination to marriage ; and if she would permit her 
 to live single, she would think it a greater obligation than any 
 other she could bestow. Signora Diana was too conscientious 
 to force her into a state from which she could not free her, and 
 left her to her own disposal. However, they parted soon 
 after : whether (as the neighbors say) Signor Aurelio Ardin- 
 ghi, her brother, looked with too much attention on the young 
 woman, or that she herself (as Diana says) desired to seek a 
 place of more profit, she removed to Bergamo, where she soon 
 found preferment, being strongly recommended by the Ardin- 
 ghi f imily. She was advanced to be first waiting- woman to 
 an old countess, who was so well pleased with her service, 
 she desired, on her death-bed, Count Jeronimo Losi, her son, 
 to be kind to her. He found no repugnance to this act of obedi- 
 ence, having distinguished the beautiful Octavia, from his first 
 sight of her ; and during the six months that she had served 
 in the house, had tried every art of a fine gentleman accus- 
 tomed to victories of that sort, to vanquish the virtue of this 
 fair virgin. He has a handsome figure, and has had an edu- 
 cation uncommon in this country, having made the tour of 
 Europe, and brought from Paris all the improvements that are 
 to be picked up there, being celebrated for his grace in danc- 
 ing, and skill in fencing and riding, by which he is a favorite 
 among the ladies, and respected by the men. Thus qualified 
 
244 LETTERS 10 
 
 for conquest, you may judge of his surprise at the firm yet 
 modest resistance of this country girl, who was neither to be 
 moved by address, nor gained by liberality, nor on any terms 
 would be prevailed on to stay as his housekeeper, after the 
 death of his mother. She took that post in the house of an 
 old judge, where she continued to be solicited by the emissa- 
 ries of the Count's passion, and found a new persecutor in her 
 master, who after three months' endeavor to corrupt her, 
 offered her marriage. She chose to return to her former ob- 
 scurity, and escaped from his pursuit, without asking any 
 wages, and privately returned to the Signora Diana. She 
 threw herself at her feet, and, kissing her hands, begged her 
 with tears to conceal her, at least some time, if she would not 
 accept her service. She protested she had never been happy 
 since she left it. While she was making these submissions, 
 Signor Aurelio entered. She entreated his intercession on her 
 knees, who was easily persuaded to consent she should stay 
 with them, though his sister blamed her highly for her precipi- 
 tate flight, having no reason, from the age and character of 
 her master, to fear any violence, and wondered at her declin- 
 ing the honor he offered her. Octavia confessed that perhaps 
 she had been too rash in her proceedings, but said that he 
 seemed to resent her refusal in such a manner as frightened 
 her ; she hoped that after a few days' search he would think 
 no more of her ; and that she scrupled entering into the holy 
 bands of matrimony, where her heart did not sincerely accom- 
 pany all the words of the ceremony. Signora Diana had 
 nothing to say in contradiction to this pious sentiment ; and 
 her brother applauded the honesty which could not be per- 
 verted by any interest whatever. She remained concealed 
 in their house, where she helped in the kitchen, cleaned the 
 rooms, and redoubled her usual diligence and officiousness. 
 Her old master came to Louvere on pretense of adjusting a 
 law-suit, three days after, and made private inquiry after her ; 
 but hearing from her mother and brother (who knew nothing 
 of her being here) that they had never heard of her, he con- 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 245 
 
 eluded she had taken another route, and returned to Bergamo ; 
 and she continued in this retirement near a fortnight. 
 
 Last Sunday, as soon as the day was closed, arrived at Signor 
 Aurelio's door, a handsome equipage in a large coach, attended 
 by four well-armed servants on horseback. An old priest 
 stepped out of it, and desiring to speak with Signora Diana, 
 informed her he came from the Count Jeronimo Losi, to demand 
 Octavia : that the Count waited for her at a village four miles 
 from hence, where he intended to marry her ; and had sent 
 him, who was engaged to perform the divine rite, that Signora 
 Diana might resign her to his care without any difficulty. The 
 young damsel was called for, who entreated she might be per- 
 mitted the company of another priest with whom she was ac- 
 quainted : this was readily granted ; and she sent for a young 
 man that visits me very often, being remarkable for his sobriety 
 and learning. Meanwhile a valet-de-chambre presented her 
 with a box, in which was a complete genteel undress for a lady. 
 Her laced linen and fine night-gown were soon put on, and 
 away they marched, leaving the family in a surprise not to be 
 described. 
 
 Signor Aurelio came to drink coffee with me next morning ; 
 his first words were, he had brought me the history of Pamela. 
 I said, laughing, I had been tired with it long since. He ex- 
 plained himself by relating this story, mixed with great resent- 
 ment for Octavia's conduct. Count Jeronimo's father had been 
 his ancient friend and patron ; and this escape from his house 
 (he said) would lay him under a suspicion of having abetted 
 the young man's folly, and perhaps expose him to the anger of 
 all his relations, for contriving an action he would rather have 
 died than suffered, if he had known how to prevent it. I easily 
 believed him, there appearing a latent jealousy under his afflic- 
 tion, that showed me he envied the bridegroom's happiness, at 
 the same time he condemned his extravagance. 
 
 Yesterday noon, being Saturday, Don Joseph returned, who 
 has got the name of Parson Williams by this expedition. He 
 relates, that when the bark which carried the coach and train 
 
246 LETTERS TO 
 
 arrived, they found the amorous count waiting for his bride 
 on the bank of the lake. He would have proceeded immedi- 
 ately to the church ; but she utterly refused it, till they had 
 each of them been at confession ; after which the happy knot 
 was tied by the parish priest. They continued their journey, 
 and came to their palace at Bergamo in a few hours, where 
 every thing was prepared for their reception. They received 
 the communion next morning, and the count declares that the 
 lovely Octavia has brought him an inestimable portion, since 
 he owes to her the salvation of his soul. He has renounced 
 play, at which he had lost a great deal of time and money. 
 She has already retrenched several superfluous servants, and 
 put his family into an exact method of economy, preserving 
 all the splendor necessary to his rank. He has sent a letter 
 in his own hand to her mother, inviting her to reside with 
 them, and subscribing himself her dutiful son ; but the 
 countess has sent another privately by Don Joseph, in which 
 she advises the old woman to stay at Louvere, promising to 
 take care she shall want nothing, accompanied with a token 
 of twenty sequins,* which is at least nineteen more than 
 ever she saw in her life. 
 
 I forgot to tell you that from Octavia's first serving the 
 old lady, there came frequent charities in her name to her 
 poor parent, which nobody was surprised at, the lady being 
 celebrated for pious works, and Octavia known to be a great 
 favorite with her. It is now discovered that they were all 
 sent by the generous lover, who has presented Don Joseph 
 very handsomely, but he has brought neither letter nor mes- 
 sao-e to the house of Ardinghi, which affords much specu- 
 lation. 
 
 I am afraid you are heartily tired with this tedious tale. 
 I will not lengthen it with reflections, as I fancy yours will 
 be the same as mine. 
 
 AVith mine all these adventures proceed from artifice on 
 one side, and weakness on the other. An honest, tender mind 
 * About ten guineas English. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 247 
 
 is often betrayed to ruin by the charms that make the fortune 
 of a designing head, which, when joined with a beautiful 
 face, can never fail of advancement, except barred by a wise 
 mother, who locks up her daughters from view till nobody 
 cares to look on them. My poor friend the Duchess of Bol- 
 ton* was educated in solitude, with some choice of books, by 
 a saint-like governess : crammed with virtue and good quali- 
 ties, she thought it impossible not to find gratitude, though 
 she failed to give passion ; and upon this plan threw away 
 her estate, was despised by her husband, and laughed at by 
 the public. Polly, bred in an ale-house, and produced on 
 the stage, has obtained wealth and title, and found the way 
 to be esteemed. So useful is early experience — without it 
 half of life is dissipated in correcting the errors that we have 
 been taught to receive as indisputable truths. 
 
 LETTER Vn. 
 
 Louvere, January 21, 1*752. 
 Mr Dear Child — I am extremely concerned to hear you 
 complain of ill health, at a time of life when you ought to 
 be in the flower of your strength. I hope I need not recom- 
 mend to you to take care of it : the tenderness you have for 
 your children is sufficient to enforce you to the utmost regard 
 for the preservation of a life so necessary to their well-being. 
 I do not doubt your prudence in their education ; neither can 
 I say any thing particular relating to it at this distance, dif- 
 ferent tempers requiring different management. In general, 
 never attempt to govern them (as most people do) by deceit : 
 if they find themselves cheated, even in trifles, it will so far 
 lessen the authority of their instructor as to make them neg- 
 
 * Lady Anne Yaughan, daughter and heir of John Earl of Carberry, 
 married Charles Duke of Bolton in 1713, and died in 1751. The Duke 
 of Bolton afterward married Lavinia Fenton, the celebrated Polly in 
 Gay's Beggar's Opera. 
 
248 LETTERS TO 
 
 lect all their future admonitions ; and, if possible, breed them 
 free from prejudices ; those contracted in the nursery often 
 influence the whole life after, of which I have seen many mel- 
 ancholy examples. I shall say no more of this subject, nor 
 would have said this little if you had not asked my advice : 
 'tis much easier to give rules than to practice them. I am 
 sensible my own natural temper is too indulgent : I think it 
 the least dangerous error, yet still it is an error. I can only 
 say with truth that I do not know in my whole life having 
 ever endeavored to impose on you, or give a false color to 
 any thing that I represented to you. If your daughters are 
 inclined to love reading, do not check their inclination by 
 hindering them of the diverting part of it ; it is as neces- 
 sary for the amusement of women as the reputation of men ; 
 but teach them not to expect or desire any applause from it. 
 Let their brothers shine, and let them content themselves with 
 making their lives easier by it, which I experimentally know 
 is more effectually done by study than any other way. Ig- 
 norance is as much the fountain of vice as idleness, and, in- 
 deed, generally produces it. People that do not read or work 
 for a livelihood, have many hours they know not how to em- 
 ploy, especially women, who commonly fall into vapors, or 
 something worse. I am afraid you '11 think this letter very 
 tedious : forgive it as coming from your most affectionate 
 mother. 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 
 1752. 
 
 Dear Child — I received yesterday, February 15, N. S., 
 the case of books you were so good to send me. The enter- 
 tainment they have already given me has recompensed me 
 for the long time I expected them. I began, by your di 
 rection, with Peregrine Pickle. I think Lady Vane's me- 
 moirs contain more truth and less malice than any I ever 
 read in my life. When she speaks of her own being disinter- 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 249 
 
 ested, I am apt to believe she really thinks so herself, as ] 
 many highwaymen, after having no possibility of retrieving 
 the character of honesty, please themselves with that « of be- 
 ing generous, because whatever they get on the road they I 
 always spend at the next ale-house, and are still as beggarly 
 as ever. Her history, rightly considered, would be more in- 
 structive to young women than any sermon I know. They \ 
 may see there what mortifications and variety of misery arc 
 the unavoidable consequences of gallantry. I think there is 
 no rational creature that would not prefer the life of the strict- 
 est Carmelite to the round of hurry and misfortune she has 
 gone through. Her style is clear and concise, with some 
 strokes of humor, which appear to me so much above her, I 
 can't help being of opinion the whole has been modeled by 
 the author of the book in which it is inserted, who is some 
 subaltern admirer of hers. I may judge wrong, she being no 
 acquaintance of mine, though she has married two of my 
 relations. Her first wedding was attended with circumstances 
 that made me think a visit not at all necessary, though I 
 disobliged Lady Susan by neglecting it ; and her second, 
 which happened soon after, made her so near a neighbor 
 that I rather chose to stay the whole summer in town than 
 partake of her balls and parties of pleasure, to which I did 
 not think it proper to introduce you ; and had no other way 
 of avoiding it without incurring the censure of a most un- 
 natural mother for denying you diversions that the pious 
 Lady Ferrers permitted to her exemplary daughters. Mr. 
 Shirley has had uncommon fortune in making the conquest 
 of two such extraordinary ladies, equal in their heroic con- 
 tempt of shame, and eminent above their sex, the one for 
 beauty, and the other wealth, both which attract the pursuit 
 of all mankind, and have been thrown into his arms with the 
 same unlimited fondness. He appeared to me gentle, well- 
 bred, well-shaped, and sensible ; but the charms of his face 
 and eyes, which Lady Vane describes with so much warmth, 
 were, I confess, always invisible to me, and the artificial part 
 
 11* 
 
250 LETTERS TO 
 
 of his character very glaring, which I think her story shows 
 in a strong light. 
 
 The next book I laid my hand on was the Parish Girl, which 
 interested me enough not to be able to quit it till it was read 
 over, though the author has fallen into the common mistake 
 of romance-writers ; intending a virtuous character, and not 
 knowing how to draw it; the first step of his heroine (leaving 
 her patroness's house) being altogther absurd and ridiculous, 
 justly entitling her to all the misfortunes she met with. Can- 
 dles came (and my eyes grown weary), I took up the next 
 book, merery because I supposed from the title it could not 
 engage me long. It was Pompey the Little, which has reall) 
 diverted me more than any of the others, and it was impos- 
 sible to go to bed till it was finished. It is a real and exact 
 representation of life, as it is now acted in London, as it was 
 in my time, and as it will be, I do not doubt, a hundred years 
 hence, with some little variation of dress, and perhaps of gov- 
 ernment. I found there many of my acquaintance. Lady T. 
 and Lady O. are so well painted, I fancied I heard them talk, 
 and have heard them say the very things there repeated. I 
 also saw myself (as I now am) in the character of Mrs. 
 Qualmsick. You will be surprised at this, no Englishwoman 
 being so free from vapors, having never in my life complained 
 of low spirits, or weak nerves ; but our resemblance is very 
 strong in the fancied loss of appetite, which I have been silly 
 enough to be persuaded into by the physician of this place. 
 He visits me frequently, as being one of the most considerable 
 men in the parish, and is a grave, sober, thinking, great fool, 
 whose solemn appearance and deliberate way of delivering his 
 sentiments, gives them an air of good sense, though they are 
 often the most injudicious that ever were pronounced. By 
 perpetual telling me I eat so little, he is amazed I am able to 
 subsist. He had brought me to be of his opinion ; and I be- 
 gan to be seriously uneasy at it. This useful treatise has 
 roused me into a recollection of what I eat yesterday, and do 
 almost every day the same. I wake generally about seven, 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 251 
 
 and drink half a pint of waim asses' milk, after which I sleep 
 two hours ; as soon as I am risen, I constantly take three cups 
 of milk coffee, and two hours after that a large cup of milk 
 chocolate : two hours more brings my dinner, where I never 
 fail swallowing a good dish (I don't mean plate) of gravy 
 soup, with all the bread, roots, etc., belonging to it. I then 
 eat a wing and the whole body of a large fat capon, and a veal 
 sweetbread, concluding with a competent quantity of custard, 
 and some roasted chestnuts. At five in the afternoon I take 
 another dose of asses' milk ; and for supper twelve chestnuts 
 (which would weigh two of those in London), one new laid 
 egg, and a handsome porringer of white bread and milk. 
 With this diet, notwithstanding the menaces of my wise doc- 
 tor, I am now convinced I am in no danger of starving ; and 
 am obliged to Little Pompey for this discovery. 
 
 I opened my eyes this morning on Leonora, from which 1 
 defy the greatest chemist in morals to extract any instruction. 
 The style is most affectedly florid and naturally insipid, with 
 such a confused heap of admirable characters, that never are, 
 or can be, in human nature. I flung it aside after fifty pages, 
 and laid hold of Mrs. Philips, where I expected to find, at 
 least probable if not true facts, and was not disappointed. 
 There is a great similitude in the genius and adventures (the 
 one being productive of the other) between Madam Constan- 
 tia and Lady Vane : the first mentioned has the advantage in 
 birth, and, if I am not mistaken, in understanding : they have 
 both had scandalous law-suits with their husbands, and are 
 endowed with the same intrepid assurance. Constantia seems 
 to value herself also on her generosity, and has given the same 
 proofs of it. The parallel might be drawn out to be as long 
 as any of Plutarch's ; but I dare swear you are already heartily 
 weary of my remarks, and wish I had not read so much in so 
 short a time, that you might not be troubled with my com- 
 ments ; but you must suffer me to say something of the polite 
 
 Mr. S , whose name I should never have guessed by the 
 
 rapturous description his mistress makes of his person, having 
 
252 LETTERS TO 
 
 always looked upon him as one of the most disagreeable fel- 
 lows about town, as ociious in his outside as stupid in his 
 conversation, and I should as soon have expected to hear of 
 his conquests at the head of an army as among women ; yet 
 he has been, it seems, the darling favorite of the most ex- 
 perienced of the sex, which shows me I am a very bad judge 
 of merit. But I agree with Mrs. Philips, that however profli- 
 gate she may have been, she is infinitely his superior in virtue ; 
 and if her penitence is as sincere as she says, she may expect 
 their future fate to be like that of Dives and Lazarus. 
 
 This letter is of a most immoderate length. It will find 
 you at Caenwood ; your solitude there will permit you to 
 peruse, and even to forgive, all the impertinence of your 
 most affectionate mother. 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 Lodvere, June 23, N". S., 1752. 
 Soon after I wrote my last letter to my dear child, I was 
 seized with so violent a fever, accompanied with so many bad 
 symptoms, my life was despaired of by the physician of Got- 
 tolengo, and I prepared myself for death with as much resig- 
 nation as that circumstance admits : some of my neighbors, 
 without my knowledge, sent express for the doctor of this 
 place, whom I have mentioned to you formerly as having un- 
 common secrets. I was surprised to see him at my bedside. 
 He declared me in great danger, but did not doubt my re- 
 covery, if I was wholly under his care : and his first prescrip- 
 tion was transporting me hither : the other physician asserted 
 positively I should die on the road. It has always been my 
 ^opinion that it is a matter of the utmost indifference where 
 we expire, and I consented to be removed. My bed was placed 
 on a brancard ; my servants followed in chaises ; and in this 
 equipage I set out. I tore the first day's journey of fifteen 
 miles without any visible literati on. The doctor said as I was 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 253 
 
 not worse I was certainly better ; and the next day proceeded 
 twenty miles to Isco, which is at the head of this lake. I lay 
 each night at noblemen's houses, which were empty. My cook, 
 with my physician, always preceded two or three hours, and I 
 found my chamber and all necessaries ready prepared with 
 the exactest attention. I was put into a bark in my litter-bed, 
 and in three hours arrived here. My spirits were not at all 
 wasted (I think rather raised) by the fatigue of my journey. I 
 drank the water next morning, and, with a few doses of my 
 physician's prescription, in three days found myself in perfect 
 health, which appeared almost a miracle to all that saw me. 
 You may imagine I am willing to submit to the orders of one 
 that I must acknowledge the instrument in saving my life, 
 though they are not entirely conformable to my will and pleas- 
 ure. He has sentenced me to a long continuance here, which, 
 he says, is absolutely necessary to the confirmation of my 
 health, and would persuade me that my illness has been wholly 
 owing to my omission of drinking the waters these two years 
 past. I dare not contradict him, and must own he deserves 
 (from the various surprising cures I have seen) the name 
 given him in this country, of the " miraculous man." Both 
 his character and practice are so singular I can not forbear 
 giving you some account of them. He will not permit his 
 patients to have either surgeon or apothecary : he performs all 
 the operations of the first with great dexterity, and whatever 
 compounds he gives, he makes in his own house ; those are 
 very few : juice of herbs and these waters, being commonly 
 his sole prescriptions. He has very little learning, and professes 
 drawing all his knowledge from experience, which he possesses, 
 perhaps, in a greater degree than any other mortal, being the 
 seventh doctor of his family, in a direct line. His forefathers 
 have all of them left journals and registers solely for the use 
 of their posterity, none of them having published any thing ; 
 and he has recourse to these manuscripts on every difficult 
 case, the veracity of which, at least, is unquestionable. His 
 vivacity is prodigious, and he is indefatigable in his industry ; 
 
254 LETTERS TO 
 
 but what most distinguishes him is a disinterestedness I never 
 saw in any other : he is as regular in his attendance on the 
 poorest peasant from whom he never can receive one farthing, 
 as on the richest of the nobility ; and whenever he is wanted, 
 will climb three or four miles on the mountains, in the hottest 
 sun, or heaviest rain, where a horse can not go, to arrive at. a 
 cottage, where, if their condition requires it, he does not only 
 give them advice and medicines gratis, but bread, wine, and 
 whatever is needful. There never passes a week without one 
 or more of these expeditions. His last visit is generally to me. 
 I often see him as dirty and tired as a foot post, having eat 
 nothing all day but a roll or two that he carries in his pocket, 
 yet blessed with such a perpetual flow of spirits he is always 
 gay to a degree above cheerfulness. There is a peculiarity in 
 this character that I hope will incline you to forgive my draw- 
 ing it. 
 
 I have already described to you this extraordinary spot of 
 land, which is almost unknown to the rest of the world, and 
 indeed does not seem to be destined by nature to be inhabited 
 by human creatures, and I believe would never have been so 
 without the cruel civil war between the Guelphs and Ghibellines. 
 Before that time here were only the huts of a few fishermen, 
 who came at certain seasons on account of the fine fish with 
 which this lake abounds, particularly trouts, as large and red 
 as salmon. The lake itself is different from any other I ever 
 saw or read of, being the color of the sea, rather deeper 
 tinged with green, which convinces me that the surrounding 
 mountains are full of minerals, and it may be rich in mines 
 yet undiscovered, as well as quarries of marble, from whence 
 the churches and houses are ornamented, and even the streets 
 paved, which, if polished and laid with art, would look like 
 the finest mosaic work, being a variety of beautiful colors. I 
 ought to retract the honorable title of street, none of them 
 being broader than an alley, and impassable for any wheel- 
 carriage, except a wheel-ban ow. This town, which is the 
 largest of twenty-five that are built on the banks of the lake 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 255 
 
 of Isco, is near two miles long, and the figure of a semicircle, 
 and situated at the northern extremity. If it was a regular 
 range of building, it would appear magnificent; but being 
 founded accidentally by those who sought a refuge from the 
 violence of those times, it is a mixture of shops and palaces, 
 gardens and houses, which ascend a mile high, in a confusion 
 which is not disagreeable. After this salutary water was found, 
 and the purity of the air experienced, many people of quality 
 chose it for their summer residence, and embellished it with 
 several fine edifices. It was populous and flourishing till that 
 fatal plague, which overran all Europe in the year 1626. It 
 made a terrible ravage in this place : the poor were almost 
 destroyed, and the rich deserted it. Since that time it has 
 never recovered its former splendor ; few of the nobility re- 
 turned ; it is now only frequented during the water-drinking 
 season. Several of the ancient palaces are degraded into 
 lodging-houses, and others stand empty in a ruinous condition : 
 one of these I have bought. I see you lift up your eyes in 
 wonder at my indiscretion. I beg you to hear my reasons be- 
 fore you condemn me. In my infirm state of health the un- 
 avoidable noise of a public lodging is very disagreeable ; and 
 here is no private one : secondly, and chiefly, the whole pur- 
 chase is but one hundred pounds, with a very pretty garden 
 in terraces down to the water, and a court behind the house. 
 It is founded on a rock, and the walls so thick they will prob- 
 ably remain as long as the earth. It is true the apartments 
 are in most tattered circumstances, without doors or windows. 
 The beauty of the great saloon gained my affection : it is forty- 
 two feet in length by twenty-five, proportionably high, opening 
 into a balcony of the same length, with a marble balluster : 
 the ceiling and flooring are in good repair, but I have been 
 forced to the expense of covering the wall with new stucco ; 
 and the carpenter is at this minute taking measure of the 
 windows in order to make frames for sashes. The great stairs 
 are in such a declining way it would be a very hazardous ex- 
 ploit to mount them : I never intend to attempt it. The state 
 
256 LETTERS TO 
 
 bed-chamber shall also remain for the sole use of the spiders 
 that have taken possession of it, along with the grand cabinet, 
 aud some other pieces of magnificence quite useless to me, 
 and which would cost a great deal to make habitable. I have 
 fitted up six rooms with lodgings for five servants, which are 
 all I ever will have in this place : and I am persuaded" that I 
 could make a profit if I would part with my purchase, having 
 been very much favored in the sale, which was by auction, 
 the owner having died without children, and I believe he had 
 never seen this mansion in his life, it having stood empty from 
 the death, of his grandfather. The governor bid for me, and 
 nobody would bid against him. Thus I am become a citizen 
 of Louvere, to the great joy of' the inhabitants, not (as they 
 would pretend) from their respect for my person, but I per- 
 ceive they fancy I shall attract all the traveling English ; and, 
 to say truth, the singularity of the place is well worth their 
 curiosity ; but, as I have no correspondents, I may be 
 buried here thirty years, and nobody know any thing of the 
 matter. 
 
 I received the books you were so kind to send me, five days 
 ago, but not the china, which I would not venture among the 
 precipices that lead hither. I have only had time to read Lord 
 Orrery's work, which has extremely entertained, and not at all 
 surprised me, having the honor of being acquainted with him, 
 and know him for one of those danglers after wit, who, like 
 those after beauty, spend their time in humbly admiring, and 
 are happy in being permitted to attend, though they are 
 laughed at and only encouraged to gratify the insatiate vanity 
 of those professed wits and beauties who aim at being pub- 
 licly distinguished in those characters. Dean Swift, by his 
 lordship's own account, was so intoxicated with the love of 
 flattery, he sought it among the lowest of people, and the sil- 
 liest of women ; and was never so well pleased with any com- 
 panions as those that worshiped him, while he insulted them. 
 It is a wonderful condescension in a man of quality to offer 
 his incense in such a crowd, and think it an honor to share a 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUT: 
 
 257 
 
 friendship with Sheridan,* etc., especially being himself en- 
 dowed with such universal merit as he displays in these Let- 
 ters, where he shows that he is a poet, a patriot, a philosopher, 
 a physician, a critic, a complete scholar, and most excellent 
 moralist ; shining in private life as a submissive son, a tender 
 father, and zealous friend. His only error has been that love 
 of learned ease which he has indulged in a solitude, which 
 has prevented the world from being blessed with such a general, 
 minister, or admiral, being equal to any of these employments, 
 if he would have turned his talents to the use of the public. 
 Heaven be praised, he has now drawn his pen in its service, 
 and given an example to mankind, that the most villainous 
 actions, nay the most arrant nonsense, are only small blem- 
 ishes in a great genius. I happen to think quite contrary, 
 weak woman as I am. I have always avoided the conversa- 
 tion of those who endeavor to raise an opinion of their under- 
 standing by ridiculing what both law and decency obliges them 
 to revere ; but whenever I have met with any of those bright 
 spirits, who would be smart on sacred subjects, I have ever cut 
 short their discourse by asking them if they had any lights 
 and revelations by which they would propose new articles of 
 faith ? Nobody can deny but religion is a comfort to the dis- 
 tressed, a cordial to the sick, and sometimes a restraint on the 
 wicked ; therefore, whoever would argue or laugh it out of 
 the world, without giving some equivalent for it, ought to be 
 treated as a common enemy : but, when this language comes 
 from a churchman, who enjoys large benefices and dignities 
 from that very Church he openly despises, it is an object of 
 horror for which I want a name, and can only be excused by 
 madness, which I think the Dean was always strongly touched 
 with. His character seems to me a parallel with that of 
 Caligula ; and had he had the same power, would have made 
 the same use of it. That emperor erected a temple to him- 
 self, where he was his own high-priest, preferred his horse to 
 
 * Dr. Thomas Sheridan, the grandfather of R. Brinsley Sheridan, 
 
258 LETTERS TO 
 
 the highest honors in the state, professed enmity to the human 
 race, and at last lost his life by a nasty jest on one of his infe- 
 riors, which I dare swear Swift would have made in his place. 
 There can be no worse picture made of the Doctor's morals 
 than he has given us himself in the letters printed by Pope. 
 We see him vain, trifling, ungrateful to the memory of his 
 patron, that of Lord Oxford, making a servile court where he 
 had any interested views, and meanly abusive where they were 
 disappointed, and, as he says (in his own phrase) flying in the 
 face of mankind, in company with his adorer Pope. It is 
 pleasant to consider, that had it not been for the good nature 
 of these very mortals they contemn, these two superior beings 
 were entitled, by their birth and hereditary fortune, to be only 
 a couple of link-boys. I am of opinion their friendship would 
 have continued, though they had remained in the same king- 
 dom : it had a very strong foundation — the love of flattery on 
 one side, and the love of money on the other. Pope courted 
 with the utmost assiduity all the old men from whom he 
 could hope a legacy, the Duke of Buckingham, Lord Peter- 
 borough, Sir G-. Kneiier, Lord Bolingbroke, Mr. Wycherly, 
 Mr. Congreve, Lord Harcourt, etc., and I do not doubt pro- 
 jected to sweep the Dean's whole inheritance, if he could 
 have persuaded him to throw up his deanery, and come to die 
 in his house ; and his general preaching against money was 
 meant to induce people to throw it away, that he might pick 
 it up. There can not be a stronger proof of his being capable 
 of any action for the sake of gain than publishing his literary 
 correspondence, which lays open such a mixture of dullness 
 and iniquity that one would imagine it visible even to his 
 most passionate admirers, if Lord Orrery did not show that 
 smooth lines have as much influence over some people as the 
 authority of the Church in these countries, where it can not 
 only excuse, but sanctify any absurdity of villainy whatever. 
 It is remarkable that his lordship's family have been smat- 
 terers in wit and learning for three generations : his grand- 
 father has left monuments of hi 5 good taste in several rhyming 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 259 
 
 tragedies, and the romance of Parthenissa. H :& father began 
 the world by giving his name to a treatise wrote by Atter- 
 bury and his club, which gave him great reputation ; but (like 
 Sir Martin Marall, who would fumble with his lute when the 
 music was over) he published soon after a sad comedy of his 
 own, and, what was worse, a dismal tragedy he had found 
 among the first Earl of Orrery's papers. People could easier 
 forgive his being partial to his own silly works, as a common 
 frailty, than the want of judgment in producing a piece that 
 dishonored his father's memory. 
 
 Thus fell into dust a fame that had made a blaze by bor- 
 rowed fire. To do justice to the present lord, I do not doubt 
 this fine performance is all his own, and is a public benefit, if 
 every reader has been as well diverted with it as myself. I 
 verily believe it has contributed to the establishment of my 
 health. 
 
 I wrote two long letters to your father, to which I have 
 had no answer. I hope he is well. The prosperity of you 
 and yours is the warmest wish of, my dear child, your most 
 affectionate mother. 
 
 This letter is of a horrible length ; I dare not read it over. 
 I should have told you (to justify my folly as far as I can), 
 here is no ground-rent to be paid, taxes for Church and poor, 
 or any imposition whatever, on houses. I desire, in the next 
 parcel, you would send me Lady Frail, the Adventures of G. 
 Edwards, and the Life of Lord Stair, which I suppose very 
 superficial, and partly fictitious ; but as he was my acquaint- 
 ance, I have some curiosity to see how he is represented. 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 March 1, K S., 1752. 
 Dear Child — I have now finished your books, and I be- 
 lieve you will think I have made quick dispatch. To say 
 truth, I have read night and day. Mr. Loveill gave me some 
 
2G0 LETTERS TO 
 
 entertainment, though there is but one character in it that I 
 can find out. I do not doubt Mr. Depy is designed for Sir J. 
 R. The adventure mentioned at Rome really happened to 
 him, with this addition, that after he was got quit of his foar 
 of being suspected in the interest of the P., he endeavored 
 to manifest his loyalty by railing at him in all companies, with 
 all the warmth imaginable, on which his companions per- 
 suaded him that his death was absolutely determined by that 
 court ; and he durst not stir out for some time, for fear of 
 being assassinated ; nor eat, for fear of being poisoned. I saw 
 him at Venice, where, on hearing it said I had been at Con- 
 stantinople, he asked Lord Mansel by what accident I made 
 that journey. He answered, Mr. Wortley had been embas- 
 sador to the Porte. Sir J. replied, to what port ? the port of 
 Leghorn ! I could relate many speeches of his of equal beauty, 
 but I believe you are already tired of hearing of him, as much 
 as I was with the memoirs of Miss H. Stewart ;* who, being 
 intended for an example of wit and virtue, is a jilt and a fool 
 in every page. But while I was indolently perusing the mar- 
 velous figures she exhibits, no more resembling any thing in 
 human nature than the wooden cut in the Seven Champions, 
 I was roused into great surprise and indignation by the mon- 
 strous abuse of one of the very few women I have a real value 
 for ; I mean Lady B. Finch ;f who is not only clearly meant 
 by the mention of her library (she being the only lady at court 
 that has one), but her very name at length ; she being christened 
 Csecilia Isabella, though she chooses to be called by the latter. 
 I always thought her conduct, in every light, so irreproachable, 
 I did not think she had an enemy upon earth ; I now see 'tis 
 impossible to avoid them, especially in her situation. It is one 
 
 * " Harriet Stewart" was the first novel written by Mrs. Charlotte 
 Lennox, and certainly a very indifferent one. 
 
 ■J- Lady Belle Finch, one of the many daughters of Lord Nottingham 
 (Swift's "Dismal"), who before his death succeeded to the older title of 
 Winchelsea. She was sister to the Duchess of Roxburgh, the Duchess 
 of Cleveland, Lady Mansfield, Lady Rockingham, etc. ; and was Lady 
 of the Bedchamber to the Princess Amelia. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 261 
 
 of the misfortunes of a supposed court interest (perhaps you 
 may know it by experience), even the people you have obliged 
 hate you, if they do not think you have served to the utmost 
 extent of a power that they fancy you are possessed of ; which 
 it may be is only imaginary. 
 
 On the other hand, I forgive Jo. Thompson two volumes of 
 absurdities, for the sake of justice he has done to the memory 
 of the Duke of Montagu; who really had (in my opinion) one 
 of the most humane dispositions that ever appeared in the 
 world. I was such an old fool as to weep over Clarissa Har- 
 lowe, like any milkmaid of sixteen over the ballad of the Lady's 
 Fall. To say truth, the first volume softened me by a near 
 resemblance of my maiden days ; but on the whole 'tis most 
 miserable stuff. Miss How, who is called a young lady of sense 
 and honor, is not only extreme silly, but a more vicious char- 
 acter than Sally Martin ; whose crimes are owing at first to se- 
 duction, and afterward to necessity : while this virtuous damsel, 
 without any reason, insults her mother at home, and ridicules 
 her abroad : abuses the man she marries, and is impertinent 
 and impudent with great applause. Even that model of per- 
 fection Clarissa is so faulty in her behavior as to deserve little 
 compassion. Any girl that runs away with a young fellow, 
 without intending to marry him, should be carried to Bridewell 
 or to Bedlam the next day. Yet the circumstances are so laid 
 as to inspire tenderness, notwithstanding the low style and ab- 
 surd incidents ; and I look upon this and Pamela to be two 
 books that will do more general mischief than the works of 
 Lord Rochester. There is something humorous in R. Random 
 that makes me believe that the author is H. Fielding. I am 
 horribly afraid, I guess too well the writer of those abominable 
 insipidities of Cornelia, Leonora, and the Ladies' Drawing 
 Room. I fancy you are now saying, 'tis a sad thing to grow 
 old ; what does my poor mamma mean by troubling me with 
 criticisms on books, that nobody but herself will ever read? 
 You must allow something to my solitude. I have a pleasure 
 n writing to my dear child, and not many subjects to write 
 
262 LETTERS TO 
 
 upon. The adventures of people here would not at all amuse 
 you, having no acquaintance with the persons concerned ; and 
 an account of myself would hardly gain credit, after having 
 fairly owned to you how deplorably I was misled in regard to 
 my own health ; though I have all my life been on my guard 
 against the information by the sense of hearing ; it being one 
 of my earliest observations, the universal inclination of human- 
 kind is to be led by the ears ; and I am sometimes apt to 
 imagine that they are given to men, as they are to pitchers, 
 purposely that they may be carried about by them. This con- 
 sideration should abate my wonder to see (as I do here) the 
 most astonishing; legends embraced as the most sacred truths, 
 by those who have always heard them asserted, and never con- 
 tradicted ; they even place a merit in complying, in direct op- 
 position to the evidence of all their other senses. 
 
 I am very much pleased with the account you give me of 
 your father's health. I hope your own, and that of your 
 family, is perfect ; give my blessing to your little ones, and my 
 compliments to Lord Bute. 
 
 LETTER XI. 
 
 Louvere, Aug. 20, 1*752. 
 My Dear Child — 'Tis impossible to tell you to what degree 
 I share with you in the misfortune that has happened. I do 
 not doubt your own reason will suggest to you all the allevia- 
 tions that can serve on so sad an occasion, and will not trouble 
 you with the common-place topics that are used, generally to 
 no purpose, in letters of consolation. Disappointments ought 
 to be less sensibly felt at my age than yours ; yet I own I am 
 fto far affected by this that I have need of all my philosophy to 
 support it. However, let me beg of you not to indulge a use- 
 less grief, to the prejudice of your health, which is so necessary 
 to your family. Every thing may turn out better than you 
 expect. We see so darkly into futurity, we never know when 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 263 
 
 we have real cause to rejoice or lament. The worst appearances 
 have often happy consequences, as the best lead many times 
 into the greatest misfortunes. Human prudence is very straitly 
 bounded. What is most in our power, though little so, is the 
 disposition of our own minds. Do not give way to melancholy ; 
 seek amusements ; be willing to be diverted, and insensibly you 
 will become so. Weak people only place a merit in affliction. 
 A grateful remembrance, and whatever honor we can pay to 
 their memory, is all that is owing to the dead. Tears and sor- 
 row are no duties to them, and make us incapable of those we 
 owe to the living. 
 
 I give you thanks for your care of my books. I yet retain, 
 and carefully cherish, my taste for reading. If relays of eyes 
 were to be hired like posthorses, I would never admit any but 
 silent companions : they afford a constant variety of entertain- 
 ment, which is almost the only one pleasing in the enjoyment, 
 and inoffensive in the consequence. 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 Brescia, October 10, 1152. 
 This letter will be very dull or very peevish (perhaps both). 
 I am at present much out of humor, being on the edge of a 
 quarrel with my friend and patron, the Cardinal Querini.* 
 He is really a good-natured and generous man, and spends his 
 vast revenue in (what he thinks) the service of his country, 
 besides contributing largely to the building a new cathedral, 
 which, when finished, will stand in the first rank of fine 
 churches (where he has already the comfort of seeing his own 
 busto, finely done both within and without). He has founded 
 a magnificent college for one hundred scholars, which I don't 
 doubt he will endow very nobly, and greatly enlarged and em- 
 
 * Cardinal Angelo Maria Querini. He published the works of St. 
 Ephrem Syr us, in six volumes, folio, 1732 ; and the Life of Pope Paul 
 II., quarto, 1740. See de Bure, Bibliographie Instructive, etc. 
 
264 LETTERS TO 
 
 bellished his episcopal palace. He has joined to it a public 
 library, which, when I saw it, was a very beautiful room : it is 
 now finished, furnished, and open twice in a week with proper 
 attendance. Yesterday here arrived one of his chief chaplains, 
 with a long compliment, which concluded with desiring I would 
 send him my works ; having dedicated one of his cases to En- 
 glish books, he intended my labors should appear iu the most 
 conspicuous place. I was struck dumb for some time with this 
 astonishing request ; when I recovered my vexatious surprise 
 (foreseeing the consequence), I made answer I was highly- 
 sensible of the honor designed me, but, upon my word, I had 
 never printed a single line in my life. I was answered in a 
 cold tone, that his Eminence could send for them to England, 
 but they would be a long time coming, and with some hazard ; 
 and that he had flattered himself I would not refuse him such 
 a favor, and I need not be ashamed of seeing my name in a 
 collection where he admitted none but the most eminent authors. 
 It was to no purpose to endeavor to convince him. He would 
 not stay dinner, though earnestly invited ; and went away with 
 the air of one that thought he had reason to be offended. I 
 know his master will have the same sentiments, and I shall pass 
 in his opinion for a monster of ingratitude, while it is the 
 blackest of vices, in my opinion, and of which I am utterly in- 
 capable — I really could cry for vexation. 
 
 Sure nobody ever had such various provocations to print as 
 myself. I have seen things I have wrote so mangled and falsi- 
 fied I have scarce known them. I have seen poems I never 
 read published with my name at length ; and others, that were 
 truly and singly wrote by me, printed under the names of others. 
 I have made myself easy under all these mortifications by the 
 reflection I did not deserve them, having never aimed at the 
 vanity of popular applause ; but I own my philosophy is not 
 proof against losing a friend, and it may be making an enemy 
 of one to whom I am obliged. 
 
 I confess I have often been complimented, since I have been 
 in Italy, on the books I have given the public. I used at first 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 265 
 
 to deny it with some warmth ; but finding I persuaded nobody, 
 I have of late contented myself with laughing whenever I heard 
 it mentioned, knowing the character of a learned woman is far 
 from being ridiculous in this country, the greatest families being 
 proud of having produced female writers ; and a Milanese lady 
 being now professor of mathematics in the University of Bo- 
 logna, invited thither by a most obliging letter, wrote by the 
 present Pope, who desired her to accept of the chair, not as a 
 recompense for her merit, but to do honor to a town which is 
 under his protection. To say truth, there is no part of the 
 world where our sex is treated with so much contempt as in 
 England. I do not complain of men for having engrossed the 
 government ; in excluding from us all degrees of power, they 
 preserve us from many fatigues, many dangers, and perhaps 
 many crimes. The small proportion of authority that has fallen 
 to my share (only over a few children and servants) has always 
 been a burden, and never a pleasure, and I believe every one 
 finds it so, who acts from a maxim (I think an indispensable 
 duty) that whoever is under my power is under my protection. 
 Those who find a joy in inflicting hardships, and seeing ob- 
 jects of misery, may have other sensations ; but I have always 
 thought corrections, even when necessary, as painful to the 
 giver as to the sufferer, and am therefore very well satisfied 
 with the state of subjection we are placed in : but I think it 
 the highest injustice to be debarred the entertainment of my 
 closet, and that the same studies which raise the character of 
 a man should hurt that of a woman. We are educated in the 
 grossest ignorance, and no art omitted to stifle our natural 
 reason ; if some few get above their nurse's instructions, our 
 knowledge must rest concealed, and be as useless to the world 
 as gold in the mine. I am now speaking according to our En- 
 glish notions, which may wear out, some ages hence, along 
 with others equally absurd. It appears to me the strongest 
 proof of a clear understanding in Longinus (in every light ac- 
 knowledged one of the greatest men among the ancients), when 
 I find him so far superior to vulgar prejudices as to choose his 
 12 
 
266 LETTERS TO 
 
 two examples of fine writing from a Jew (at that time the 
 most despised people upon earth) and a woman. Our modern 
 wits would be so far from quoting, they would scarce own they 
 had read the works of such contemptible creatures, though 
 perhaps they would condescend to steal from them, at the 
 same time they declared they were below their notice : this 
 subject is apt to run away with me ; I will trouble you with 
 no more of it. 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 Louvere, Oct. 20, N. S., 1T52. 
 Dear Child — I have now read over Richardson — he sinks 
 horribly in his third volume (he does so in his story of Clarissa). 
 When he talks of Italy, it is plain he is no better acquainted 
 with it than he is with the kingdom of Mancomingo. He might 
 have made his Sir Charles's amour with Clementina begin in a 
 convent, where the pensioners sometimes take great liberties ; 
 but that such familiarity should be permitted in her father's 
 house, is as repugnant to custom as it would be in London for a 
 young lady of quality to dance on the ropes at Bartholomew 
 fair : neither does his hero behave to her in a manner suitable 
 to his nice notions. It was impossible a discerning man should 
 not see her passion early enough to check it, if he had really de- 
 signed it. His conduct puts me in mind of some ladies I have 
 known, who could never find out a man to be in love with them 
 let him do or say what he would, till he made a direct attempt 
 and then they were so surprised, I warrant you ! nor do I ap- 
 prove Sir Charles's offered compromise (as he calls it). There 
 must be a great indifference as to religion on both sides, to 
 make so strict a union as marriage tolerable between people of 
 such distinct persuasions. He seems to think women have no 
 souls, by agreeing so easy that his daughters should be edu- 
 cated in bigotry and idolatry. You will perhaps think this last 
 a hard word ; yet it is not difficult to prove that either the 
 papists are guilty of idolatry, or the pagans never were so, 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 267 
 
 You may see, in Lucian (in his vindication of Lis images), that 
 they did not take their statues to be real gods, but only the 
 representation of them. The same doctrine may be found in 
 Plutarch ; and it is all the modern priests have to say in excuse 
 for their worshiping wood and stone, though they can not deny 
 at the same time that the vulgar are apt to confound that dis- 
 tinction. I always, if possible, avoid controversial disputes : 
 whenever I can not do it, they are very short. I ask my ad- 
 versary if he believes the Scripture ; when that is answered 
 affirmatively, their Church may be proved by a child of ten 
 years old contradictory to it, in their most important points. 
 My second question is, if they think St. Peter and St. Paul 
 knew the true Christian religion 1 The constant reply is, O 
 res. Then, say I, purgatory, transubstantiation, invocation of 
 saints, adoration of the Virgin, relics (of which they might 
 have had a cart-load), and observation of Lent, is no part of 
 it, since they neither taught nor practiced any of these things. 
 Vows of celibacy are not more contrary to nature than to the 
 positive precept of St. Paul. He mentions a very common 
 case, in which people are obliged, by conscience, to marry. 
 No mortals can promise that case shall never be theirs, which 
 depends on the disposition of the body as much as a fever ; 
 and 'tis as reasonable to engage never to feel the one as the 
 other. He tells us, the marks of the Holy Spirit are charity, 
 humility, truth, aad long-suffering. Can any thing be more 
 uncharitable than damning eternally so many millions for not 
 believing what they never heard ? or prouder than calling their 
 head a Vice-God ? Pious frauds are avowedly permitted, and 
 persecution applauded. These maxims can not be dictated 
 by the spirit of peace, which is so warmly preached in the 
 Gospel. The creeds of the apostles, and Council of Nice, do 
 not speak of the mass, or real presence, as articles of belief ; 
 and Athanasius asserts, whosoever believes according to them 
 shall be saved. Jesus Christ, in answer to the lawyer bids 
 him love God above all things, and his neighbor as himself, 
 as all that is necessary to salvation. When he describes the 
 
268 LETTERS TO 
 
 last judgment, he does not examine what sect, or what Church 
 men were of, but how far they had been beneficial to mankind. 
 Faith can not determine reward or punishment, being invol- 
 untary, and only the consequence of conviction. We do not 
 believe what we please, but what appears to us with the face 
 of truth. As I do not mistake exclamation, invective, or rid- 
 icule, for argument, I never recriminate on the lives of their 
 popes and cardinals, when they urge the character of Henry 
 / the Eighth ; I only answer, good actions are often done by 
 ill men through interested motives, and 'tis the common 
 method of Providence to bring good out of evil : history, 
 both sacred and profane, furnishes many examples of it. 
 When they tell me I have forsook the worship of my ances- 
 tors, I say I have had more ancestors heathen than Christian, 
 an J my faith is certainly ancienter than theirs, since I have 
 added nothing to the practice of the primitive professors of 
 Chiistianity. As to the prosperity or extent of the dominion 
 of their Church, which Cardinal Bellarmin counts among the 
 proofs of its orthodoxy, the Mohammedans, who have larger 
 empires, and have made a quicker progress, have a better plea 
 for the visible protection of heaven. If the fopperies of their 
 religion were only fopperies, they ought to be complied with 
 whenever it is established, like any ridiculous dress in fash- 
 ion ; but I think them impieties ; their devotions are a scan- 
 dal to humanity from their nonsense ; the mercenary deceits, 
 and barbarous tyranny of their ecclesiastics, inconsistent with 
 moral honesty. If they object to the diversity of our sects 
 as a mark of reprobation, I desire them to consider that ob- 
 jection has equal force against Christianity in general. When 
 they thunder with the names of fathers and councils, they 
 are surprised to find me as well (often better) acquainted with 
 them than themselves. I show them the variety of their doc- 
 trines, their violent contests, and various factions, instead of 
 that union they boast of. I have never been attacked a sec- 
 ond time in any of the towns where I have resided, and per- 
 haps shall never be so again after my last battle, which was 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 269 
 
 with an old priest, a learned man, particularly esteemed as a 
 mathematician, and who has a head and heart as warm as 
 poor Whiston's. When I first came here, he visited me every- 
 day, and talked of me every where with such violent praise 
 that, had we been young people, God knows what would have 
 been said. I have always the advantage of being quite calm 
 on a subject which they can not talk of without heat. He 
 desired I would put on paper what I had said. I immedi- 
 ately wrote one side of a sheet, leaving the other for his an- 
 swer. He carried it with him, promising to bring it the next 
 day, since which time I have never seen it, though I have 
 often demanded it, being ashamed of my defective Italian. 
 I fancy he sent it to his friend the Archbishop of Milan. I 
 have given over asking for it, as a desperate debt. He still 
 visits me, but seldom, and in a cold sort of a way. When 
 I have found disputants I less respected, I have sometimes 
 taken pleasure in raising their hopes by my concessions : 
 they are charmed when I agree with them in the number of 
 the sacraments ; but are horribly disappointed when I explain 
 myself by saying the word sacrament is not to be found 
 either in Old or New Testament ; and one must be very igno- 
 rant not to know it is taken from the 'listing oath of the Ro- 
 man soldiers, and means nothing more than a solemn, irrevoc- 
 able engagement. Parents vow, in infant baptism, to educate 
 their children in the Christian religion, which they take upon 
 themselves by confirmation ; the Lord's Supper is frequently 
 renewing the same oath. Ordination and matrimony are sol- 
 emn vows of a different kind : confession includes a vow of 
 revealing all we know, and reforming what is amiss : extreme 
 unction, the last vow, that we have lived in the faith we were 
 baptized. In this sense they are all sacraments. As to the 
 mysteries preached since, they were all invented long after, 
 and some of them repugnant to the primitive institution. 
 This digression has carried me far from my criticism. You 
 will laugh at my making any on a work below examination, 
 It may be of use to my grand-daughters. I am persuaded 
 
270 LETTERS TO 
 
 he is a favorite author in all the nurseries in England, and 
 has done much harm in the boarding schools, therefore ouodit 
 to have his absurdities detected. You will think me angry 
 with him for repeating a saying of mine, accompanied with 
 a description of my person, which resembles me as much as 
 one of the giants in Guildhall, and plainly shows he never 
 saw me in his life. Indeed, I think, after being so many 
 years dead and buried, I might be suffered to enjoy the right 
 of the departed, and rest in peace. I can not guess how I 
 can possibly have incurred his indignation, except he takes 
 for truth the literary correspondence between me and the Mrs. 
 Argens, whom I never saw, and who, with many high compli- 
 ments, have attributed to me sentiments that never came into 
 my head, and among them a criticism on Pamela, who is, 
 however, more favorably treated than she deserves. 
 
 The book of letters I mention never came to my hands till 
 some time after it was printed, accidentally at Toulouse. I 
 have need of all my philosophy on these occasions ; though, 
 they happen so often, I ought to be accustomed to them. 
 When I print, I submit to be answered, and criticized ; but as 
 I never did, 'tis hard to be abused for other people's follies. A 
 light thing said in gay company should not be called upon for 
 a serious defense, especially when it injures nobody. It is 
 certain there are as many marriages as ever. Richardson is 
 so eager for the multiplication of them, I suppose he is some 
 parish curate, whose chief profit depends on weddings and 
 christenings. He is not a man-midwife ; for he would be 
 better skilled in physic than to think fits and madness any 
 ornament to the characters of his heroines : though this Sir 
 Charles had no thoughts of marrying Clementine till she had 
 lost her wits, and the divine Clarissa never acted prudently till 
 she was in the same condition, and then very wisely desired to 
 be carried to Bedlam, which is really all that is to be done in 
 that case. Madness is as much a corporal distemper as the 
 gout or asthma, never occasioned by affliction, or to be cured 
 by the enjoyment of extravagant wishes. Passion may indeed 
 
THE COUNTESS 01' BUTE. 2*71 
 
 bring on a fit, but the disease is lodged in the blood, and it is 
 not more ridiculous to attempt to relieve the gout by an em- 
 broidered slipper than to restore reason by the gratification of 
 wild desires. 
 
 Kichardson is as ignorant in morality as he is in anatomy, 
 when he declares abusing an obliging husband, or an indulg- 
 ent parent, to be an innocent recreation. His Anna How and 
 Charlotte Grandison are recommended as patterns of charm- 
 ing pleasantry, and applauded by his saint-like dames, who 
 mistake folly for wit and humor, and impudence and ill-nature 
 for spirit and fire. Charlotte behaves like a humorsome 
 child, and should have been used like one, and well whipped 
 in the presence of her fiiendly confidante Harriet. Lord ILdi- 
 fax very justly tells his daughter that a husband's kindness is 
 to be received by a wife, even when he is drunk, and though 
 it is wrapped up in never so much impertinence. Charlotte 
 acts with an ingratitude that I think too black for human na- 
 ture, with such coarse jokes and low expressions as are only 
 to be heard among the lowest class of people. Women of 
 that rank often plead a right to beat their husbands, when 
 they don't cuckold them : and I believe this author was never 
 admitted into higher company, and should confine his pen to 
 the amours of housemaids, and the conversation at the stew- 
 ard's table, where I imagine he has sometimes intruded, 
 though oftener in the servants' hall : yet, if the title be not a 
 puff, this work has passed three editions. I do not forgive 
 him his disrespect of old china, which is below nobody's 
 taste, since it has been the Duke of Argyll's, whose understand- 
 ing has never been doubted either by his friends or enemies. 
 
 Richardson never had probably money enough to purchase 
 any, or even a ticket for a masquerade, which gives him such 
 an aversion to them ; though his intended satire against them 
 is very absurd on the account of his Harriet, since she might 
 have been carried off in the same manner if she had been 
 going from supper with her grandam. Her whole behavior, 
 which he designs to be exemplary, is equally blamable and 
 
272 LETTERS TO 
 
 ridiculous. She follows the maxim of Clarissa, of declaring 
 all she thinks to all the people she sees, without reflecting that 
 in this mortal state of imperfection, fig-leaves are as necessary 
 for our minds as our bodies, and 'tis as indecent to show all 
 we think as all we have. He has no idea of the manners of 
 high life : his old Lord M. talks in the style of a country jus- 
 tice, and his virtuous young ladies romp like the wenches 
 round a May-pole. Such liberties as pass between Mr. Love- 
 lace and his cousins, are not to be excused by the relation. I 
 should have been much astonished if Lord Denbigh should 
 have offered to kiss me ; and I dare swear Lord Treutham 
 never attempted such an impertinence to you. 
 
 With all my contempt I will take notice of one good thing ; 
 I mean his project of an English monastery. It was a favorite 
 scheme of mine when I was fifteen ; and had I then been 
 mistress of an independent fortune, would certainly have exe- 
 cuted it, and elected myself lady abbess. There would you 
 and your ten children have been lost forever. Yet such was 
 the disposition of my early youth : so much was I unlike those 
 girls that declare, if they had been born of the male kind 
 they should have been great rakes, which is owning they have 
 strong inclinations to and drinking, and want only op- 
 portunity and impunity to exert them vigorously. 
 
 This tedious miscellany of a letter is promised to be de- 
 livered into your own hand ; nay further, that I shall have an 
 account how you look, how you are dressed, and in what 
 manner your room is furnished. Nothing relating to you is 
 indifferent to me ; and if the performance answers the engage- 
 ment, it will be a vast pleasure to your most affectionate mother. 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 Louvere, January 28, N. S., 1753. 
 Dear Child — You have given me a great deal of satisfac- 
 tion by your account of your eldest daughter. I am partic- 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 2*73 
 
 ularly pleased to hear she is a good arithmetician ; it is the 
 best proof of understanding : the knowledge of numbers is 
 one of the chief distinctions between us and brutes. If there 
 is any thing in blood, you may reasonably expect your chil-' 
 dren should be endowed with an uncommon share of good 
 sense. Mr. Wortley's family and mine have both produced 
 some of the greatest men that have been born in England : I 
 mean Admiral Sandwich, and my grandfather, who was dis- 
 tinguished by the name of Wise William.* I have heard 
 Lord Bute's father mentioned as an extraordinary genius, 
 though he had not many opportunities of showing it ; and 
 his uncle, the present Duke of Argyllf has one of the best 
 heads I ever knew. I will therefore speak to you as suppos- 
 ing Lady Mary not only capable, but desirous of learning : in 
 that case let her by all means be indulged in it. You will 
 tell me I did not make it a part of your education : your 
 prospect was very different from hers. As you had much in 
 your circumstances to attract the highest offers, it seemed 
 your business to learn how to live in the world, as it is hers 
 to know how to be easy out of it. It is the common error 
 of builders and parents to follow some plan they think beau- 
 tiful (and perhaps is so), without considering that nothing 
 is beautiful which is displaced. Hence we see so many edi- 
 fices raised that the raisers can never inhabit, being too large 
 for their fortunes. Vistas are laid open over barren heaths, 
 and apartments contrived for a coolness very agreeable in 
 Italy, but killing in the north of Britain : thus every woman 
 endeavors to breed her daughter a fine lady, qualifying her 
 for a station in which she will never appear, and at the same 
 time incapacitating her for that retirement to which she is 
 destined. Learning, if she has a real taste for it, will not 
 
 * William Pierrepoat, second son of Robert Earl of Kingston, died 
 1619, aged 11. 
 
 \ The Duke of Argyll here mentioned was Archibald, who, before 
 he succeeded his brother John Duke of Argyll in the dukedom, was 
 Earl of Islay. 
 
 12* 
 
274 LETTERS TO 
 
 only make her contented, but happy in it. No entertainment 
 is so cheap as reading, nor any pleasure so lasting. She will 
 not want new fashions, nor regret the loss of expensive diver- 
 sions, or variety of company, if she can be amused with an 
 author, in her closet. To render this amusement complete, 
 she should be permitted to learn the languages. I have heard 
 it lamented that boys lose so many years in mere learning of 
 words. This is no objection to a girl, whose time is not so 
 precious. She can not advance herself in any profession, and 
 has, therefore, more hours to spare ; and as you say her 
 memory is good, she will be very agreeably employed in this 
 way. There are two cautions to be given on this subject : 
 first, not to think herself learned when she can read Latin, or 
 even Greek. Languages are more properly to be called vehi- 
 cles of learning than learning itself, as may be observed in 
 many schoolmasters, who, though perhaps critics in gram- 
 mar, are the most ignorant fellows upon earth. True knowl- 
 edge consists in knowing things, not words. I would no fur- 
 ther wish her a linguist than to enable her to read books in 
 their originals, that are often corrupted, and are always in- 
 jured by translations. Two hours' application every morning 
 will bring this about much sooner than you can imagine, 
 and she will have leisure enough beside to run over the En- 
 glish poetry, which is a more important part of a woman's 
 education than it is generally supposed. Many a young 
 damsel has been ruined by a fine copy of verses, which she 
 would have laughed at if she had known it had been stolen 
 from Mr. Waller. I remember, when I was a girl, I saved 
 one of my companions from destruction who communicated 
 to me an epistle she was quite charmed with. As she had 
 naturally a good taste, she observed the lines were not so 
 smooth as Prior's or Pope's, but had more thought and spirit 
 than any of theirs. She was wonderfully delighted with such 
 a demonstration of her lover's sense and passion, and not a 
 little pleased with her own charms, that had force enough to 
 inspire such elegancies. In the midst of this triumph I 
 
THE COUNTESS OE BUTE. 275 
 
 showed her that they were taken from Randolph's poems, and 
 the unfortunate transcriber was dismissed with the scorn he 
 deserved. To say truth, the poor plagiary was very unlucky 
 to fall into my hands ; that author being* no longer in fash- 
 ion, would have escaped any one of less universal reading 
 than myself. You should encourage your daughter to talk 
 over with you what she reads ; and as you are very capable 
 of distinguishing, take care she does not mistake pert folly 
 for wit and humor, or rhyme for poetry, which are the com- 
 mon errors of young people, and have a train of ill conse- 
 quences. The second caution to be given her (and which is 
 most absolutely necessary) is to conceal whatever learning 
 she attains with as much solicitude as she would hide crook- 
 edness or lameness. The parade of it can only serve to draw 
 on her the envy, and consequently the most inveterate hatred, 
 of all he and she fools, which will certainly be at least three 
 parts in four of her acquaintance. The use of knowledge in 
 our sex, beside the amusement of solitude, is to moderate the 
 passions, and learn to be contented with a small expense 
 which are the certain effects of a studious life ; and it may 
 be preferable even to that fame which men have engrossed to 
 themselves, and will not suffer us to share. You will tell me 
 I have not observed this rule myself; but you are mistaken : 
 it is only inevitable accident that has given me any reputation 
 that way. I have always carefully avoided it, and ever thought 
 it a misfortune. The explanation of this paragraph would 
 occasion a long digression, which I will not trouble you with, 
 it being my present design only to say what I think useful for 
 the instruction of my granddaughter, which I have much at 
 heart. If she has the same inclination (I should say passion) 
 for learning that I was born with, history, geography, and phi- 
 losophy, will furnish her with materials to pass away cheer- 
 fully a longer life than is allotted to mortals. I believe there 
 are few heads capable of making Sir Isaac Newton's calcula- 
 tions, but the result of them is not difficult to be understood 
 by a moderate capacity. Do not fear this should make her 
 
276 LETTERS TO 
 
 affect the character of Lady , or Lady , or Mrs. ; 
 
 those women are ridiculous, not because they have learning, 
 but because they have it not. One thinks herself a complete 
 historian, after reading Echard's Roman History ; another a 
 profound philosopher, having got by heart some of Pope's un- 
 intelligible essays ; and a third an able divine on the strength 
 of Whitfield's sermons. Thus you hear them screaming poli- 
 tics and controversy. 
 
 It is a saying of Thucydides, that ignorance is bold, and 
 knowledge reserved. Indeed it is impossible to be far advanced 
 in it, without being more humbled by a conviction of human 
 ignorance than elated by learning. At the same time I rec- 
 ommend books, I neither exclude work nor drawing. I 
 think it as scandalous for a woman not to know how to use a 
 needle, as for a man not to know how to use a sword. I was 
 once extremely fond of my pencil, and it was a great mortifi- 
 cation to me when my father turned off my master, having 
 made a considerable progress for the short time I learned. My 
 over-eagerness in the pursuit of it had brought a weakness in 
 my eyes, that made it necessary to leave off; and all the ad- 
 vantage I got was the improvement of my hand. I see, by 
 hers, that practice will make her a ready writer ; she may at- 
 tain it by serving you for a secretary, when your health or 
 affairs make it troublesome to you to write yourself; and 
 custom will make it an agreeable amusement to her. She 
 can not have too many for that station of life which will prob- 
 ably be her fate. The ultimate end of your education was to 
 make you a good wife (and I have the comfort to hear that 
 you are one) ; hers ought to be, to make her happy in a virgin 
 state. I will not say it is happier ; but it is undoubtedly safer 
 than any marriage. In a lottery, where there is (at the lowest 
 computation) ten thousand blanks to a prize, it is the most 
 prudent choice not to venture. I have always been so thor- 
 oughly persuaded of this truth, that, notwithstanding the flat- 
 tering views I had for you (as I never intended you a sacrifice 
 to my vanity), I thought I owed you the justice to lay before 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 277 
 
 you all the hazards attending matrimony : you may recollect 
 I did so in the strongest manner. Perhaps you may have more 
 success in the instructing your daughter: she has so much 
 company at home, she will not need seeking it abroad, and 
 will more readily take the notions you think fit to give her. 
 As you were alone in my family, it would have been thought 
 a great cruelty to suffer you no companions of your own age, 
 especially having so many near relations, and I do not wonder 
 their opinions influenced yours. I was not sorry to see you 
 not determined on a single life, knowing it was not your 
 father's intention, and contented myself with endeavoring to 
 make your home so easy that you might not be in haste to 
 leave it. 
 
 I am afraid you will think this a very long insignificant 
 letter, I hope the kindness of the design will excuse it, being 
 willing to give you every proof in my power that I am your 
 most affectionate mother. 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 Louvere, Feb. 19, N. S., 1753. 
 
 My Dear Child — I gave you some general thoughts on 
 the education of your children in my last letter ; but fearing 
 you should think I neglected your request, by answering it 
 with too much conciseness, I am resolved to add to it what 
 little I know on that subject, and which may perhaps be 
 useful to you in a concern with which you seem so nearly af- 
 fected. 
 
 People commonly educate their children as they build their 
 houses, according to some plan they think beautiful, without 
 considering whether it is suited to the purposes for which 
 they are designed. Almost all girls of quality are educated as 
 if they were to be great ladies, which is often as little to be 
 expected as an immoderate heat of the sun in the north of 
 Scotland. You should teach yours to confine their desires to 
 
278 LETTERS TO 
 
 probabilities, to be as useful as is possible to themselves, and to 
 think privacy (as it is) the happiest state of life. I do not doubt 
 your giving them all the instructions necessary to form them 
 to a virtuous life ; but 'tis a fatal mistake to do this without 
 " proper restrictions. Vices are often hid under the name of 
 virtues, and the practice of them followed by the worst of con- 
 sequences. Sincerity, friendship, piety, disinterestedness, and 
 generosity, are all great virtues ; but pursued without discre- 
 tion become criminal. I have seen ladies indulge their own 
 ill-humor by being very rude and impertinent, and think they 
 deserved approbation, by saying I love to speak truth. One 
 of your acquaintances made a ball the next day after her 
 mother died, to show she was sincere. I believe your own re- 
 flections will furnish you with but too many examples of the 
 ill effects of the rest of the sentiments I have mentioned, 
 when too warmly embraced. They are generally recommended 
 to young people without limits or distinction, and this preju- 
 dice hurries them into great misfortunes, while they are ap- 
 plauding themselves in the noble practice (as they fancy) of 
 very eminent virtues. 
 
 I can not help adding (out of my real affection for you) that 
 I wish you would moderate that fondness you have for your 
 children. I do not mean you should abate any part of your 
 care, or not do your duty to them in its utmost extent ; but I 
 would have you early prepare yourself for disappointments, 
 which are heavy in proportion to their being surprising. It 
 is hardly possible in such a number that none should be un- 
 happy ; prepare yourself against a misfortune of that kind. 
 I confess there is hardly any more difficult to support ; yet, it 
 is certain imagination has a great share in the pain of it, and it 
 is more in our power — than it is commonly believed — to soften 
 whatever ills are founded or augmented by fancy. Strictly 
 speaking, there is but one real evil, I mean, acute pain ; all 
 other complaints are so considerably diminished by time that 
 it is plain the grief is owing to our passion, since the sensation 
 of it vanishes when that is over. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 2*79 
 
 There is another mistake, I forgot to mention, usual in 
 mothers; if any of their daughters are beauties, they take 
 great pains to persuade them that they are ugly, or at least, 
 that they think so, which the young woman never fails to be- 
 lieve springs from envy, and is perhaps not so much in the 
 wrong. I would, if possible, give them a just notion of their 
 figure^ and show them how far it is valuable. Every ad van- ^ 
 tage has its price, and may be over or undervalued. It is the 
 common doctrine of (what are called) good books, to inspire 
 a contempt for beauty, riches, greatness, etc., which has done 
 as much mischief among the young of our sex as an over / 
 eager desire of them. Why they should not look on those 
 things as blessings where they are bestowed, though not ne- 
 cessaries that it is impossible to be happy without, I can not 
 
 conceive. I am persuaded the ruin of Lady F M 
 
 was in a great measure owing to the notions given her by the 
 good people that had the care of her. 'Tis true, her circum- 
 stances and your daughters' are very different : they should be 
 taught to be content with privacy, and yet not neglect good _ 
 fortune, if it should be offered them. 
 
 I am afraid I have tired you with my instructions. I do 
 not give them as believing my age has furnished me with su- 
 perior wisdom, but in compliance with your desire, and being 
 fond of every opportunity that gives a proof of the tenderness 
 with which I am ever your affectionate mother. 
 
 I should be glad if you sent me the third volume of Camp- 
 bell's Architecture, and with it any other entertaining books. 
 I have seen the Duchess of Marlborough's ' Memoirs, but 
 should be glad of the Apology for a late resignation. As 
 to the ale, 'tis now so late in the year, it is impossible it should 
 come good. You do not mention your father ; my last lettei 
 from him told he intended soon for England. 
 
280 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 
 Louvere, March 6, IT 53. 
 I can not help writing a sort of apology for my last letter 
 foreseeing that you will think it wrong, or at least Lord Bute 
 will be extremely shocked, at the proposal of a learned educa- 
 tion for daughters, which the generality of men believe to be 
 
 ' as great a profanation as the clergy would do if the laity 
 should presume to exercise the functions of the priesthood. I 
 desire you would take notice, I would not have learning en- 
 joined them as a task, but permitted as a pleasure, if their 
 genius leads them naturally to it. I look upon my grand- 
 daughters as a sort of lay nuns : destiny may have laid up 
 other things for them, but they have no reason to expect to 
 pass their time otherwise than their aunts do at present ; and 
 I know, by experience, it is in the power of study not only 
 to make solitude tolerable, but agreeable. I have now lived 
 almost seven years in a stricter retirement than yours in the 
 Isle of Bute, and can assure you I have never had half an hour 
 heavy on my hands for want of something to do. Whoever 
 
 / will cultivate their own mind will find full employment. 
 
 \ Every virtue does not only require great care in the planting, 
 but as much daily solicitude in cherishing, as exotic fruits and 
 flowers. The vices and passions (which I am afraid are the 
 natural product of the soil) demand perpetual weeding. Add 
 to this the search after knowledge (every branch of which is 
 entertaining,) and the longest life is too short for the pursuit of 
 it ; which, though in some regard confined to very strait limits, 
 leaves still a vast variety of amusements to those capable of 
 tasting them, which is utterly impossible to be attained by those 
 that are blinded by prejudice, the certain effect of an ignorant 
 education. My own was one of the worst in the world, being 
 exactly the same as Clarissa Harlowe's ; her pious Mrs. Norton 
 so perfectly resembling my governess, who had been nurse to 
 my mother I could almost fancy the author was acquainted 
 with her, she took so much pains, from my infancv, to fill my 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 281 
 
 head with superstitious tales and false notions. It was none of 
 her fault that I am not at this day afraid of witches and hob- 
 goblins, or turned Methodist. Almost all girls are bred after 
 this manner. I believe you are the only woman (perhaps I 
 might say, person) that never was either frighted or cheated 
 into any thing by your parents. I can truly affirm I never 
 deceived any body in my life, excepting (which I confess has 
 often happened undesigned) by speaking plainly ; as Earl 
 Stanhope used to say (during his ministry) he always imposed 
 on the foreign ministers by telling them the naked truth, 
 which, as they thought impossible to come from the mouth of ] 
 a statesman, they never failed to write information to their re- 
 spective courts directly contrary to the assurances he gave 
 them. Most people confound the ideas of sense and cunning, 
 though there are really no two things in nature more opposite : 
 it is, in part, from this false reasoning, the unjust custom pre- 
 vails of debarring our sex from the advantages of learning, the 
 men fancying the improvement of our understandings would 
 only furnish us with more art to deceive them, which is di- 
 rectly contrary to the truth. Fools are always enterprising, t 
 not seeing the difficulties of deceit, or the ill consequences of 
 detection. I could give many examples of ladies whose ill 
 conduct has.been very notorious, which has been owing to that 
 ignorance which has exposed them to idleness, which is justly 
 called the mother of mishief. There is nothing so like the v 
 education of a woman of quality as that of a prince : they are * 
 taught to dance, and the exterior part of what is called good 
 breeding, which, if they attain, they are extraordinary crea- 
 tures in their kind, and have all the accomplishments required 
 by their directors. The same characters are formed by the 
 same lessons, which inclines me to think (if I dare say it) that 
 nature has not placed us in an inferior rank to men, no more 
 than the females of other animals, where we see no distinction 
 of capacity ; though, I am persuaded, if there was a common- 
 wealth of rational horses (as Doctor Swift has supposed), it 
 would be an established maxim among them that a mare could 
 
282 LETTERS TO 
 
 not be taught to pace. I could add a great deal on this sub- 
 ject, but I am not now endeavoring to remove the prejudices 
 of mankind : my only design is to point out to my grand, 
 daughters the method of being contented with that retreat to 
 which unforseen circumstances may oblige them, and which is 
 perhaps preferable to all the show of public life. It has always 
 been my inclination. Lady Stafford (who knew me better than 
 any body else in the world, both from her own just discern- 
 ment, and my heart being ever as open to her as myself) used 
 to tell me, my true vocation was a monastery ; and I now find, 
 by experience, more sincere pleasures with my books and gar- 
 den than all the flutter of a court could give me. 
 
 If you follow my advice in relation to Lady Mary, my cor- 
 respondence may be of use to her ; and I shall very willingly 
 give her those instructions that may be necessary in the pursuit 
 of her studies. Before her age, I was in the most regular com- 
 merce with my grandmother, though the difference of our time 
 of life was much greater, she being past forty-five when she 
 married my grandfather. She died at ninety-six, retaining, to 
 the last, the vivacity and clearness of her understanding, which 
 was very uncommon. 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 
 Louvere, June 3, N. S., 1753. 
 My Dear Child — You see I was not mistaken in supposing 
 we should have disputes concerning your daughters, if we 
 were together, since we can differ even at this distance. The 
 sort of learning that I recommended is not so expensive, either 
 of time or money, as dancing, and in my opinion likely to be 
 of much more use to Lady , if her memory and apprehen- 
 sion are what you represented them to me. However, every 
 one has a right to educate their children after their own way, 
 and I shall speak no more on that subject. I was so much 
 pleased with the character you gave her, that had there been 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 283 
 
 any possibility of her undertaking so long a journey, I should 
 certainly have asked for her ; and I think out of such a number 
 you might have spared her. I own my affection prevailed over 
 my judgment in this thought, since nothing can be more im- 
 prudent than undertaking the management of another's child. 
 I verily believe that had I carried six daughters out of England 
 with me, I could have disposed of them all advantageously. 
 The winter I passed at Rome there was an unusual concourse 
 of English, many of them with great estates, and their own 
 masters : as they had no admittance to the Roman ladies, nor 
 understood the language, they had no way of passing their 
 evenings but in my apartment, where I had always a full draw- 
 ing-room. Their governors encouraged their assiduities as 
 much as they could, finding I gave them lessons of economy 
 and good conduct ; and my authority was so great, it was a 
 common threat among them, I '11 tell Lady Mary what you say. 
 I was judge of all their disputes, and my decisions always 
 submitted to. While I staid, there was neither gaming, drink- 
 ing, quarreling, or keeping. The Abbe Grant (a very honest 
 good-natured North Briton, who has resided several years at 
 Rome) was so much amazed at this uncommon regularity, he 
 would have made me believe I was bound in conscience to pass 
 my life there, for the good of my countrymen. I can assure 
 you my vanity was not at all raised by this influence over them, 
 knowing very well that had Lady Charlotte de Roussi been in 
 my place, it would have been the same thing. There is that 
 general emulation in mankind, I am fully persuaded if a dozen 
 young fellows bred a bear among them, and saw no other 
 creature, they would every day fall out for the bear's favors, 
 and be extremely flattered by any mark of distinction shown 
 by that ugly animal. Since my last return to Italy, which is 
 now near seven yeacs, I have lived in a solitude not unlike that 
 of Robinson Crusoe, excepting my short trips to Louvere : my 
 whole time is spent in my closet and garden, without regret- 
 ting any conversation but that of my own family. The study 
 of simples is a new amusement to me. I have no correspond- 
 
284 LETTERS TO 
 
 ence with any body at London but yourself and your father, 
 whom I have not heard from a long time. My best wishes 
 attend you and yours. 
 
 LETTER XVIII. 
 
 Louvere, July 10, l^. 
 I have been these six weeks, and still am, at my dairy-house, 
 which joins to my garden. I believe I have already told you 
 it is a long mile from the castle, which is situate in the midst 
 of a very large village, once a considerable town, part of the 
 walls still remaining, and has not vacant ground enough about 
 it to make a garden, which is my greatest amusement, it being 
 now troublesome to walk, or even go in the chaise till the even- 
 ing. I have fitted up in this farm-house a room for myself, 
 that is to say, strewed the floor with rushes, covered the 
 chimney with moss and branches, and adorned the room with 
 basons of earthen-ware (which is made here to great perfec- 
 tion) filled with flowers, and put in some straw chairs, and a 
 couch bed, which is my whole furniture. This spot of ground 
 is so beautiful, I am afraid you will scarce credit the descrip- 
 tion, which, however, I can assure you shall be very literal, 
 without any embellishment from imagination. It is on a bank, 
 forming a kind of peninsula, raised from the river Oglio fifty 
 feet, to which you may descend by easy stairs cut in the turf, 
 and either take the air on the river, which is as large as the 
 Thames at Richmond, or by walking an avenue two hundred 
 yards,; on the side of it, you find a wood of a hundred acres, 
 which was all ready cut into walks and ridings when I took it. 
 I have only added fifteen bowers in different views, with seats 
 of turf. They were easily made, here being a large quantity 
 of underwood, and a great number of wild vines, which twist 
 to the top of the highest trees, and from which they make a 
 very good sort of wine they call brusco. I am now writing to 
 you in one of these arbors, which is so thick shaded the sun 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 285 
 
 is not troublesome, even at noon. Another is on the side of 
 the river, where I have made a camp kitchen, that I may take 
 the fish, dress, and eat it immediately, and at the same time see 
 the barks, which ascend or descend every day to or from 
 Mantua, Guastalla, or Pont de Vie, all considerable towns. 
 This little wood is carpeted, in their succeeding seasons, with 
 violets and strawberries, inhabited by a nation of nightingales, 
 and filled with game of all kinds, excepting deer and wild boar, 
 the first being unknown here, and not being large enough for 
 the other. 
 
 My garden was a plain vineyard when it came into my hands 
 not two years ago, and it is, with a small expense, turned into 
 a garden that (apart from the advantage of the climate) I like 
 better than that of Kensington. The Italian vinej^ards are not 
 planted like those in France, but in clumps, fastened to trees 
 planted in equal ranks (commonly fruit trees), and continued 
 in festoons from one to another, which I have turned into cov- 
 ered galleries of shade, that I can walk in the heat without 
 being incommoded by it. I have made a dining-room of ver- 
 dure, capable of holding a table of twenty covers ; the whole 
 ground is three hundred and seventeen feet in length, and two 
 hundred in breadth. You see it is far from large ; but so pret- 
 tily disposed (though I say it), that I never saw a more agree- 
 able rustic garden, abounding with all sorts of fruit, and pro- 
 ducing a variety of wines. I would send you a pipe, if I did 
 not fear the customs would make you pay too dear for it. I 
 believe my description gives you but an imperfect idea of my 
 garden. Perhaps I shall succeed better in describing my man- 
 ner of life, which is as regular as that of any monastery. I 
 generally rise at six, and as soon as I have breakfasted, put 
 myself at the head of my needle- worn en and work with them 
 till nine. I then inspect my dairy, and take a turn among my 
 poultry, which is a very large inquiry. I have, at present, two 
 hundred chickens, besides turkeys, geese, ducks, and peacocks. 
 All things have hitherto prospered under my care ; my bees 
 and silk-worms are doubled, and I am told that, without acci- 
 
286 LETTERS TO 
 
 dents, my capital will be so in two years' time. At eleven 
 o'clock I retire to my books, I dare not indulge myself in that 
 pleasure above an hour. At twelve I constantly dine, and 
 sleep after dinner till about three. I then send for some of my 
 old priests, and either play at piquet or whist, till 'tis cool 
 enough to go out. One evening I walk in my wood, where I 
 often sup, take the air on horseback the next, and go on the 
 water the third. The fishery of this part of the river belongs 
 to me ; and my fisherman's little boat (to which I have a green 
 lutestring awning) serves me for a barge. He and his son are 
 my rowers without any expense, he being very well paid by 
 the profit of the fish, which I give him on condition of having 
 every day one dish for my table. Here is plenty of every sort 
 of fresh water fish (excepting salmon) ; but we have a large 
 trout so like it that I who have almost forgot the taste, do not 
 distinguish it. 
 
 We are both placed properly in regard to our different times 
 of life : you amid the fair, the gallant, and the gay ; I, in a 
 retreat, where I enjoy every amusement that solitude can afford. 
 I confess I sometimes wish for a little conversation ; but I re- 
 flect that the commerce of the world gives more uneasiness 
 than pleasure, and quiet is all the hope that can reasonably be 
 indulged at my age. 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 Louvere, Nov. 27, N. S., 1753. 
 Dear Child — By the account you give me of London, I 
 think it very much reformed ; at least you have one sin the 
 less, and it was a very reigning one in my time, I mean scan- 
 dal : it must be literally reduced to a whisper, since the cus- 
 tom of Mving all together. I hope it has also banished the 
 fashion of talking all at once, which was very prevailing when 
 I was in town, and may perhaps contribute to brotherly love 
 and unity, which was so much declined in my memory that it 
 
THE COUNTESS OF CUTE. 287 
 
 was hard to invite six people that would not, by cold looks, or 
 piquing reflections, affront one another. I suppose parties are 
 at an end, though I fear it is the consequence of the old 
 almanac prophecy, " Poverty brings peace ;" and I fancy you 
 really follow the French mode, and the lady keeps an assem- 
 bly, that the assembly may keep the lady, and card money 
 pay for clothes and equipage, as well as cards and candles. I 
 find I should be as solitary in London as I am here in the 
 country, it being impossible forme to submit to live in a drum, 
 which I think so far from a cure of uneasiness, that it is, in 
 my opinion, adding one more to the heap. There are so 
 many attached to humanity, 'tis impossible to fly from them 
 all ; but experience has confirmed to me (what I always 
 thought) that the pursuit of pleasure will be ever attended 
 with pain, and the study of ease be most certainly accom- 
 panied with pleasures. I have had this morning as much de- 
 light in a walk in the sun as ever I felt formerly in the 
 crowded mall, even when I imagined I had my share of the 
 admiration of the place, which was generally soured, before I 
 slept, by the informations of my female friends, who seldom 
 failed to tell me it was observed that I showed an inch 
 above my shoe-heels, or some other criticism of equal weight, 
 which was construed affectation, and utterly destroyed all the 
 satisfaction my vanity had given me. I have now no other 
 but in my little housewifery, which is easily gratified in this 
 country, where, by the help of my recipe-book, I make a very 
 shining figure among my neighbors, by the introduction of 
 custards, cheesecakes, and mince-pies, which were entirely un- 
 known to these parts, and are received with universal ap- 
 plause, and have reason to believe will preserve my memory 
 even to future ages, particularly by the art of butter-making, 
 in which I have so improved them that they now make as 
 good as in any part of England. 
 
288 
 
 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 
 Louvere, Dec. 13, 1753. 
 
 Dear Child — I have wrote you so many letters without 
 any return, that if I loved you at all less than I do, I should 
 certainly give over writing. I received a kind letter last post 
 from Lady Oxford, which gives me hopes I shall at length re- 
 ceive yours, being persuaded you have not neglected our cor- 
 respondence, though I am not so happy to have the pleasure 
 of it. 
 
 I have little to say from this solitude, having already sent 
 you a description of my garden, which, with my books, takes 
 up all my time. I made a small excursion last week to visit a 
 nunnery, twelve miles from hence, which is the only institu- 
 tion of the kind in all Italy. It is in a town in the state of 
 Mantua, founded by a princess of the house of Gonzaga, one 
 of whom (now very old) is the present abbess : they are 
 dressed in black, and wear a thin cypress vail at the back of 
 their heads, excepting which, they have no mark of a religious 
 habit, being set out in their hair, and having no guimpe, but 
 wearing des collets montes, for which I have no name in En- 
 glish, but you may have seen them in very old pictures, being 
 in fashion before and after ruffs. Their house is a very large 
 handsome building, though not regular, every sister having 
 liberty to build her own apartment to her taste, which con- 
 sists of as many rooms as she pleases : they have each a sep- 
 arate kitchen, and keep cooks and what other servants they 
 think proper, though there is a very fine public refectory : 
 they are permitted to dine in private whenever they please. 
 Their garden is very large, and the most adorned of any in 
 these parts. They have no grates, and make what visits they 
 will, always two together, and receive those of the men as 
 well as ladies. I was accompanied, when I went, with all the 
 nobility of the town, and they showed me all the house, with- 
 out excluding the gentlemen : but what I think the most re- 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 289 
 
 markable privilege is a country-house, which belongs to them, 
 three miles from the town, where they pass every vintage, and 
 at any time any four of them may take their pleasure there 
 for as many days as they choose. They seem to differ from 
 the chanoinesse of Flanders only in their vow of celibacy. 
 They take pensioners, but only those of quality. I saw here a 
 niece of General Brown. Those that profess are obliged to 
 prove a descent as noble as the Knights of Malta. Upon the 
 whole, I think it the most agreeable community I have seen, 
 and their behavior more decent than that of the cloistered 
 nuns, who I have heard say themselves, that the grate permits 
 all liberty of speech since it leaves them no other, and in- 
 deed, they generally talk as if they thought so. I went to 
 a monastery, which gave me occasion to know a great deal 
 of their conduct, which (though the convent of the best 
 reputation in that town where it is) was such as I would as 
 soon put a girl in a play-house for education as send her 
 among them. 
 
 My paper is at an end, and hardly leaves room for my com- 
 pliments to Lord Bute, blessing to my grandchildren, and 
 assurance to yourself of being your most affectionate mother. 
 
 LETTER XXI. 
 
 ] 3th May, 1754. 
 It was with great pleasure I received my dear child's letter 
 of April 15, this day, May 13. Do not imagine that I have had 
 hard thoughts of you when I lamented your silence ; I think I 
 know your good heart too well to suspect you of any unkindness 
 to me ; in your circumstances many unavoidable accidents may 
 hinder your writing, but having not heard from you for many 
 months, my fears for your health made me very uneasy. I am 
 surprised I am not oftener low-spirited, considering the vexa- 
 tions I am exposed to by the folly of Murray ; I suppose he 
 attributes to me some of the marks of contempt he is treated 
 
 13 
 
290 LETTERS TO 
 
 with ; without remembering that he was in no higher esteem 
 before I came. I confess I have received great civilities from 
 some friends that I made here so long ago as the year '40, but 
 upon my honor have never named his name, or heard him 
 mentioned by any noble Venetian whatever ; nor have in any 
 shape given him the least provocation to all the low malice he 
 has shown me, which I have overlooked as below my notice, 
 and would not trouble you with any part of it at present if he 
 had not invented a new persecution which may be productive 
 of ill consequences. Here arrived, a few days ago, Sir James 
 Stuart with his lady ; that name was sufficient to make me fly 
 to wait on her. I was charmed to find a man of uncommon 
 sense and learning, and a lady that without beauty is more 
 amiable than the fairest of her sex. I offered them all the little 
 good offices in my power, and invited them to supper ; upon 
 which our wise minister has discovered that I am in the interest 
 of popery and slavery. As he has often said the same thing of 
 Mr. Pitt, it would give me no mortification, if I did not appre- 
 hend that his fertile imagination may support this wise idea by 
 such circumstances as may influence those that do not know 
 me. It is very remarkable that, after having suffered all the 
 rage of that party at Avignon, for my attachment to the pres- 
 ent reigning family, I should be accused here of favoring re- 
 bellion, when I hoped all our odious divisions were forgotten. 
 I return you many thanks, my dear child, for your kind in- 
 tention of sending me another set of books. I am still in your 
 debt nine shillings, and send you inclosed a note on Child to pay 
 for whatever you buy ; but no more duplicates ; as well as I 
 love nonsense, I do not desire to have it twice over in the same 
 words ; no translations ; no periodical papers, though, I confess, 
 some of the World entertained me very much, particularly 
 Lord Chesterfield and Harry Walpole, whom I knew at Flor- 
 ence ; but whenever I met Dodsley I wished him out of the 
 World with all my heart. The title was a very lucky one, 
 being as you see productive of puns world without end ; which 
 is all the species of wit some people can either practice or 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 291 
 
 understand. I beg you would direct the next box to me, with- 
 out passing through the hands of Smith ;* he makes so much 
 merit of giving himself the trouble of asking for it that I am 
 quite weary of him ; beside that he imposes upon me in every 
 thing. He has lately married Murray'sf sister, a beauteous 
 virgin of forty, who after having refused all the peers in En- 
 gland, because the nicety of her conscience would not permit 
 her to give her hand when her heart was untouched, she re- 
 mained without a husband till the charms of that fine gentleman 
 Mr. Smith, who is only eighty-two, determined her to change 
 her condition. In short, they are (as Lord Orrery says of 
 Swift and company) an illustrious group, but with that I have 
 nothing to do. I should be sorry to ruin any body, or offend 
 a man of such strict honor as Lord Holderness, who, like a 
 great politician, has provided for a worthless relation without 
 any expense. It has long been a maxim not to consider if a 
 man is fit for a place, but if the place is fit for him, and we see 
 the fruit of these Machiavellian proceedings. All I desire is, 
 that Mr. Pitt would require of this noble minister to behave 
 civilly to me, the contrary conduct being very disagreeable. I 
 will talk further on this subject in another letter, if this arrives 
 safely. Let me have an answer as soon as possible, and think 
 of me as your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours, who 
 are very near my heart. 
 
 LETTER XXII. 
 
 Louvere, June 23, 1754. 
 My Dear Child — I have promised you some remarks on all 
 the books I have received. I believe you would easily forgive 
 
 * Joseph Smith, Esq., Consul at Venice. He made a large collection 
 of paintings and gems, which were purchased by King George the 
 Third for £20.000. The Dactyliotheca Smithiana, in two vols, quarto 
 was published in 1765. 
 
 •f- Mr. Murray was afterward embassador at the Porte, and died in 
 thft Lazaretto at Venice in 1777, upon his return to England. 
 
292 LETTERS TO 
 
 me not keeping my word ; however, I shall go on. The Ram- 
 bler is certainly a strong misnomer ; he always plods in the 
 beaten road of his predecessors, following the Spectator (with 
 the same pace a pack-horse would do a hunter) in the style that 
 is proper to lengthen a paper. These writers, may, perhaps, 
 be of service to the public, which is saying a great deal in their 
 favor. There are numbers of both sexes who never read any- 
 thing but such productions, and can not spare time, from doing 
 nothing, to go through a sixpenny pamphlet. Such gentle 
 readers may be improved by a moral hint, which, though re- 
 peated over and over, from generation to generation, they never 
 heard in their lives. I should be glad to know the name of this 
 laborious author. H. Fielding has given a true picture of him- 
 self and his first wife, in the characters of Mr. and Mrs. Booth, 
 some compliments to his own figure excepted ; and, I am per- 
 suaded, several of the incidents he mentions are real matters 
 of fact. I wonder he does not perceive Tom Jones and Mr. 
 Booth are sorry scoundrels. AIL this sort of books have the 
 same fault, which I can not easily pardon, being very mischiev- 
 ous. They place a merit in extravagant passions, and encour- 
 age young people to hope for impossible events, to draw them 
 out of the misery they choose to plunge themselves into, ex- 
 pecting legacies from unknown relations, and generous ben- 
 efactors to distressed virtue, as much out of nature as fairy 
 treasures. Fielding has really a fund of true humor, and 
 was to be pitied at his first entrance into the world, having 
 no choice, as he said himself, but to be a hackney writer, or 
 a hackney coachman. His genius deserved a better fate ; 
 but I can not help blaming that continued indiscretion, to 
 give it the softest name, that has run through his life, and I 
 am afraid still remains. I guessed R. Random to be his, 
 though without his name. I can not think Ferdinand Fathom 
 wrote by the same hand, it is every way so much below it. 
 Sally Fielding has mended her style in her last volume of 
 David Simple, which conveys a useful moral, though she does 
 not seem to have intended it : I mean, shows the ill conse- 
 
THE COUNTESS OP BUTE. 293 
 
 quences of not providing against casual losses, which happen 
 to almost every body. Mr. Orgueil's character is well drawn, 
 and is frequently to be met with. The Art of Tormenting, 
 the Female Quixote, and Sir C. Goodville, are all sale work. 
 I suppose they proceed from her pen, and I heartily pity her, 
 constrained by her circumstances to seek her bread by a 
 method, I do not doubt, she despises. Tell me who is that 
 accomplished countess she celebrates. I left no such person 
 in London ; nor can I imagine who is meant by the English 
 Sappho mentioned in Betsy Thoughtless, whose adventures, 
 and those of Jemmy Jessamy, gave me some amusement. I 
 was better entertained by the valet, who very fairly represents 
 how you are bought and sold by your servants. I am now 
 so accustomed to another manner of treatment, it would be 
 difficult to me to suffer them. His adventures have the un- 
 common merit of ending in a surprising manner. The gen- 
 eral want of invention which reigns among our writers, in- 
 clines me to think it is not the natural growth of our island, 
 which has not sun enough to warm the imagination. The 
 press is loaded by the servile flock of imitators. Lord Bo- 
 lingbroke would have quoted Horace in this place. Since I 
 was born, no original has appeared excepting Congreve and 
 Fielding, who would, I believe, have approached nearer to his 
 excellencies, if not forced by necessity to publish without cor- 
 rection, and throw many productions into the world he would 
 have thrown into the fire, if meat could have been got with- 
 out money, or money without scribbling. The greatest virtue, 
 justice, and the most distinguishing prerogative of mankind, 
 writing, when duly executed, do honor to human nature ; but 
 when degenerated into trades, are the most contemptible ways 
 of getting bread. I am sorry not to see any more of Pere- 
 grine Pickle's performances ; I wish you would tell me his 
 name. 
 
 I can't forbear saying something in relation to my grand- 
 daughters, who are very near my heart. If any of them are 
 fond of reading, I would not advise you to hinder them 
 
294 LETTERS TO 
 
 (chiefly because it is impossible) seeing poetry, plays, or ro- 
 mances ; but accustom them to talk over what they read, and 
 point out to them, as you are very capable of doing, the ab- 
 surdity often concealed under fine expressions, where the sound 
 is apt to engage the admiration of young people. I was so 
 much charmed, at fourteen, with the dialogue of Henry and 
 Emma, I can say it by heart to this day, without reflecting on 
 the monstrous folly of the story in plain prose, where a young 
 heiress to a fond father is represented falling in love with a 
 fellow she had only seen as a huntsman, a falconer, and a beg- 
 gar, and who confesses, without any circumstances of excuse, 
 that he is obliged to run his country, having newly committed 
 a murder. She ought reasonably to have supposed him, at 
 best, a highwayman ; yet the virtuous virgin resolves to run 
 away with him, to live among the banditti, and wait upon his 
 trollop, if she had no other way of enjoying his company. 
 This senseless tale is, however, so well varnished with melody 
 of words, and pomp of sentiments, I am convinced it has hurt 
 more girls than ever were injured by the worst poems extant. 
 I fear this counsel has been repeated to you before ; but I 
 have lost so many letters designed for you, I know not which 
 you have received. If you would have me avoid this fault, 
 you must take notice of those that arrive, which you very 
 seldom do. My dear child, God bless you and yours. 
 
 LETTER XXni. 
 
 Loutere, July 24, 1754. 
 It is always a great pleasure to me, my dear child, to hear 
 of your health, and that of your family. This year has been 
 fatal to the literati of Italy. The Marquis MafTei soon fol- 
 lowed Cardinal Querini. He was in England when you were 
 married. Perhaps you may remember his coming to see your 
 father's Greek inscription :* he was then an old man, and con- 
 * Presented by Mr. Wortley to Trinity College, Cambridge. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 295 
 
 8equently now a great age ; but preserved his memory and 
 senses in their first vigor. After having made the tour of 
 Europe in the search of antiquities, he fixed his residence in 
 his native town of Verona, where he erected himself a little 
 empire, from the general esteem, and a conversation (so they 
 call an assembly) which he established in his palace, which is 
 one of the largest in that place, and so luckily situated that 
 it is between the theater and the ancient amphitheater. He 
 made piazzas leading to each of them, filled with shops, where 
 were sold coffee, tea, chocolate, all sorts of sweetmeats, and 
 in the midst, a court well kept, and sanded, for the use of 
 those young gentlemen who would exercise their managed 
 horses, or show their mistresses their skill in riding. His 
 gallery was open every evening at five o'clock, where he had a 
 fine collection of antiquities, and two large cabinets of medals, 
 intaglios, and cameos, arranged in exact order. His library 
 joined to it ; and on the other side a suit of five rooms, the 
 first of which was destined to dancing, the second to cards 
 (but all games of hazard excluded), and the others (where he 
 himself presided in an easy chair) sacred to conversation, 
 which always turned upon some point of learning, either his- 
 torical or poetical. Controversy and politics being utterly 
 prohibited, he generally proposed the subject, and took great 
 delight in instructing the young people, who were obliged to 
 seek the medal, or explain the inscription, that, illustrated any 
 fact they discoursed of. Those who chose the diversion of the 
 public walks, or theater, went thither, but never failed return- 
 ing to give an account of the drama, which produced a criti- 
 cal dissertation on that subject, the marquis having given 
 shining proofs of his skill in that art. His tragedy of Merope, 
 which is much injured by Voltaire's translation, being esteemed 
 a master-piece ; and his comedy of the Ceremonies, being a 
 just ridicule of those formal fopperies, it has gone a great 
 way in helping to banish them out of Italy. The walkers 
 contributed to the entertainment by an account of some herb, 
 or flower, which led the way to a botanical conversation ; or, 
 
296 LETTERS TO 
 
 if they were such inaccurate observers as to have nothing of 
 that kind to offer, they repeated some pastoral description, 
 One day in the week was set apart for music, vocal and instru- 
 mental, but no mercenaries were admitted to the concert. 
 Thus, at very little expense (his fortune not permitting a large 
 one), he had the happiness of giving his countrymen a taste 
 of polite pleasure, and showing the youth how to pass their 
 time agreeably without debauchery ; and if I durst say it) in 
 so doing, has been a greater benefactor to his country than the 
 cardinal, with all his magnificent foundations, and voluminous 
 writings, to support superstition, and create disputes on things, 
 for the most part, in their own nature indifferent. The Vero- 
 nese nobility, having no road open to advancement, are not 
 tormented with ambition, or its child, faction ; and having 
 learned to make the best of the health and fortune allotted 
 them, terminate all their views in elegant pleasure. They say 
 God has reserved glory to himself, and permitted pleasuie to 
 the pursuit of man. In the autumn, which is here the pleas- 
 anest season of the year, a band of about thirty join their 
 hunting equipages, and, carrying with them a portable theater 
 and a set of music, make a progress in the neighboring prov- 
 inces, where they hunt every u.orning, perform an opera every 
 Sunday, and other plays the rest of the week, to the entertain- 
 ment of all the neighborhood. I have had many honorable 
 invitations from my old friend Maffei* to make one of this 
 society ; but some accident or other has always prevented me. 
 You that are accustomed to hear of deep political schemes 
 and wise harangues, will despise, perhaps, this trifling life. I 
 look upon them in another light ; as a sect of rational philos- 
 ophers, 
 
 Who sing and dance, and laugh away their time, 
 Fresh as their groves, .and happy as their clime. 
 
 * The Marquis Scipione Maffei, the author of the "Verona Illus- 
 trata," 1733, folio, and the " Museum Veronese," 1749, folio, was very 
 highly esteemed in the literary world as an antiquary and virtuoso. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 297 
 
 LETTER XXIV. 
 
 Loutere, Sep. 20, 1754. 
 My Dear Child — I am extremely delighted by your last 
 letter. Your pleasure in your daughter's company is exactly 
 what I have felt in yours, and recalls to me many tender ideas 
 perhaps better forgot. You observe very justly, that my af- 
 fection, which was confined to one, must be still more intenso 
 than yours, which is divided among so many. I can not help 
 being anxious for their future welfare, though thoroughly con- 
 vinced of the folly of being so. Human prudence is so short- 
 sighted that it is common to see the wisest schemes disap- 
 pointed, and things often take a more favorable turn than there 
 is any apparent reason to expect. My poor sister Gower, I 
 really think, shortened her life by fretting at the disagreeable 
 prospect of a numerous family, slenderly provided for ; yet 
 you see how well fortune has disposed of them. You may be 
 as lucky as Lady Selina Batliurst.* I wish Lady Mary's des- 
 tiny may lead her to a young gentleman I saw this spring.j 
 He is son to Judge Hervey, but takes the name of Desbouverie, 
 on inheriting a very large estate from his mother. He will not 
 charm at first sight ; but I never saw a young man of better 
 understanding with the strictest notions of honor and morality, 
 and, in my opinion, a peculiar sweetness of temper. Our ac- 
 quaintance was short, he being summoned to England on the 
 death of his younger brother. I am persuaded he will never 
 marry for money, nor even for beauty. Your daughter's char- 
 acter perfectly answers the description of what he wished for 
 his bride. Our conversation happened on the subject of matri- 
 
 * Lady Selina Shirley, daughter of Robert Earl Ferrers, wife of 
 Peter Bathurst, Esq., of Clarendon Park, "Wilts. 
 
 f The gentleman referred to was the son of John Hervey of Beach- 
 worth, Esq., one of the Welsh judges, by Anne eldest daughter of Chris- 
 topher Desbouvries by Elizabeth his wife, daughter and sole heir of 
 Ralph Foreman, Esq., of Beachworth in Surrey. This Christopher 
 was the youngest son of Sir Edward DesbouvrieSj knighted in 1694, 
 one of the ancestors of the Earl of Radnor. 
 
 13* 
 
298 LETTERS TO 
 
 mony, in his last visit, his mind being much perplexed on that 
 subject, supposing his father, who is old and infirm, had sent 
 for him with some view of that sort. 
 
 You will laugh at the castles I build in relation to my 
 grandchildren ; and will scarcely think it possible that those I 
 have never seen should so much employ my thoughts. I can 
 assure you that they are, next to yourself, the objects of my 
 tenderest concern ; and it is not from custom, but my heart, 
 when I send them my blessing, and say that I am your most 
 affectionate mother. 
 
 LETTER XXV. 
 
 Louvere, 1754. 
 
 Mr dear Child — I received yours of September 15, this 
 morning, October 9, and am exceedingly glad of the health of 
 you and your family. I am fond of your little Louisa : to say 
 truth, I was afraid of a Bess, a Peg, or a Suky, which all give 
 me the ideas of washing: tubs and scowerinp* of kettles. 
 
 I am much obliged to Mr. Hamilton, which is according to 
 the academy of compliments ; more his goodness than my de- 
 serts: I saw him but twice, and both times in mixed company, 
 but am surprised you have never mentioned Lord Roseberry,* 
 by whom I sent a packet to you, and took some pains to show 
 him civilities : he breakfasted with me at Padua : I gave 
 him bread and butter of my own manufacture, which is the 
 admiration of all the English. He promised to give you full 
 information of myself, and all my employments. He seemed 
 delighted with my house and gardens, and perhaps has forgot 
 he ever saw me, or any thing that belonged to me. We have 
 had many English here. Mr. G le,f his lady, and her 
 
 * James Primerose, Earl of Roseberry, died November 28, 1755. 
 
 f Greville. Of the book in question, Horace Walpole, in a letter to 
 General Conway, speaks thus: "A wonderful book, by a more won- 
 derful author, Greville. Tt is called Maxims and Characters ; several of 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 299 
 
 suite of adorers, deserve particular mention : lie was so good 
 to present me with his curious book : since the days of the Hon- 
 orable Mr. Edward, nothing has ever been published like it. I 
 told him the age wanted an Earl of Dorset to celebrate it prop- 
 eily ; and he was so well pleased with that speech that he visited 
 me every day, to the great comfort of maclame, who was enter- 
 tained, meanwhile, with parties of pleasure of another kind, 
 though I fear I lost his esteem at last by refusing to correspond 
 with him. However, I qualified my denial by complaining of my 
 bad eyes not permitting me to multiply my correspondents. I 
 could give you the characters of many other travelers, if I 
 thought it would be of any use to you. It is melancholy to see 
 the pains our pious minister takes to debauch the younger sort 
 of them : but, as you say, all is melancholy that relates to Great 
 Britain. I have a high value for Mr. Pitt's* probity and un- 
 derstanding, without having the honor of being acquainted 
 with him. I am persuaded he is able to do whatever is within 
 the bounds of possibility ; but there is an Augcean stable to be 
 cleaned, and several other labors that I doubt if Hercules him- 
 self would be equal to. 
 
 LETTER XXVI. 
 
 Louvere, March 1, 1755. 
 I pity Lady Mary Cokef extremely. You will be sur- 
 prised at this sentiment, when she is the present envy of her 
 sex, in the possession of youth, health, wealth, wit, beauty, and 
 liberty. All these seeming advantages will prove snares to 
 
 tho former are pretty ; all the latter so absurd, that one in particular 
 which at the beginning you take for the character of a man, turns out 
 to be the character of a post-chaise. 
 
 * The first Earl of Chatham. 
 
 f Lady Mary Coke, the fifth daughter of John Duke of Argyll, was 
 married to Edward Lord Viscount Coke, eldest son of the Earl of Leices- 
 ter, who died in 1755. The title became extinct in that family in 
 1759. 
 
300 LETTERS TO 
 
 her. She appears to me, as I observed in a former instance, 
 to be walking blindfolded, upon stilts, amid precipices. She is 
 at a dangerous time of life, when the passions are in full vigor, 
 and, we are apt to flatter ourselves, the understanding arrived 
 at maturity. People are never so near playing the fool as 
 when they think themselves wise : they lay aside that distrust 
 which is the surest guard against indiscretion, and venture oti 
 many steps they would have trembled at at fifteen ; and, like 
 children, are never so much exposed to falling as when they 
 first leave off leading-strings. I think nothing but a miracle, or 
 the support of a guardian angel, can proiect her. It is true 
 (except I am much mistaken), nature has furnished her with 
 one very good defense. I took particular notice of her, both 
 from my own liking her, and her uncommonly obliging be- 
 havior to me. She was then of an age not capable of much 
 disguise, and I thought she had a great turn to economy : it is 
 an admirable shield against the most fatal weaknesses. Those 
 who have the good fortune to be born with that inclination 
 seldom ruin themselves, and are early aware of the designs laid 
 against them. Yet, with all that precaution, she will have so 
 many plots contrived for her destruction that she will find it 
 very difficult to escape ; and if she is a second time unhappily 
 engaged, it will make her much more miserable than the first; 
 as all misfortunes, brought on by our own imprudence, are the 
 most wounding to a sensible heart. The most certain security 
 would be that diffidence which naturally arises from an im- 
 partial self-examination. But this is the hardest of all tasks, 
 requiring great reflection, long retirement, and is strongly re- 
 pugnant to our own vanity, which very unwillingly reveals, 
 even to ourselves, our common frailty, though it is every way 
 a useful study. Mr. Locke, who has made a more exact dis- 
 section of the human mind than any man before him, declares 
 that he gained all his knowledge from the consideration of him- 
 self. It is indeed necessary to judge of others. You condemn 
 Lord Cornbury without knowing what he could say in his just- 
 ification. I am persuaded he thought he performed an act of 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 301 
 
 rigid justice, in excluding the Duchess of Queensberry from an 
 inheritance to which she had no natural, though a legal, right ; 
 especially having had a large portion from her real father. I 
 have heard him talk on that subject without naming names, and 
 call it a robbery within the law. He carried that notion to a 
 great height. I agreed with him, that a woman who produced 
 a false child into a family, incurred the highest degree of guilt 
 (being irreparable); but I could not be of his opinion, that it 
 was the duty of the child, in such a case, to renounce the fortune 
 the law entitled it to. You see he has acted by a maxim he 
 imagined just. Lady E x* being, inside and out, re- 
 sembling Lord Clarendon ; and whoever remembers Lord 
 Carleton's eyes, must confess they now shine in the Duchess's 
 face. I am not bribed, by Lord Cornbery's behavior to me, 
 to find excuses for him ; but I have always endeavored to look 
 on the conduct of my acquaintance without any regard to their 
 way of acting toward me. I can say, with truth, I have strictly 
 adhered to this principle whenever I have been injured ; but I 
 own, to my shame be it spoken, the love of flattery has some- 
 times prevailed on me, under the mask of gratitude, to think 
 better of people than they deserved, when they have professed 
 more value for me than I was conscious of meriting. I slide 
 insensibly into talking of myself, though I always resolve 
 against it. I will rescue you from so dull a subject by con- 
 cluding my letter with my compliments to Lord Bute, my bless- 
 ing to my grandchildren, and the assurance of my being ever 
 your most affectionate mother. 
 
 LETTER XXVII. 
 
 April 1, 1T55. 
 My Dear Child — I have this minute received yours of 
 February 1. I had one before (which I have answered), in which 
 you mention some changes among your ministerial subalterns. 
 
302 LETTERS TO 
 
 I see the motion of the puppets, but not the master that di- 
 rects them ; nor can guess at him. By the help of some mis- 
 erable newspapers, with my own reflections, I can form such a 
 dim telescope as serves astronomers to survey the moon. I 
 can discern spots and inequalities, but your beauties (if you 
 have any) are invisible to me : your provinces of politics, 
 gallantry, and literature, all terra incognita. The merchant, 
 who undertook to deliver my ring to Lady Jane, assures me it 
 is delivered, though I have no advice of it either from her or 
 you. Here are two new fortunes far superior to Miss Craw- 
 ley's. They are become so by an accident which would be 
 very extraordinary in London. Their father was a Greek, 
 and had been several years chief farmer of the customs at 
 Venice. About ten days ago, a creditor, who had a demand 
 of five hundred crowns, was very importunate with him. He 
 answered he was not satisfied it was due to him, and would 
 examine his accounts. After much pressing without being 
 able to obtain any other reply, the fellow drew his stiletto, and 
 in one stroke stabbed him to the heart. The noise of his fall 
 brought in his servants ; the resolute assassin drew a pistol 
 from his pocket and shot himself through the head. The 
 merchant has left no will, and is said to have been worth four 
 millions of sequins, all of which will be divided between two 
 daughters. If it be only half as much, they are (I believe) 
 the greatest heiresses in Europe. It is certain he has died 
 immensely rich. The eldest lady is but eighteen ; and both 
 of them are reputed to be very beautiful. I hear they de- 
 clare they will choose husbands of their own country and re- 
 ligion, and refuse any other prospects. If they keep their 
 resolution I shall admire them much. Since they are des- 
 tined to be a prey, 'tis a sort of patriotism to enrich their own 
 country with their spoils. You put me out of patience when 
 you complain you want subjects to entertain me. You need 
 not go out of your own walls for that purpose. You have 
 within them ten strangers to me, whose characters interest me 
 extremely. I should be glad to know something of them in- 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 303 
 
 side and out. What provision of wit and beauty has Heaven 
 allotted them ? I shall be sorry if all the talents have fallen 
 into the male part of your family. Do not forget, among the 
 books, Fielding's Posthumous Works, his Journey to the 
 Next World, and Jon. Wild's Memoirs; also those of a 
 Young Lady, and the History of London. I have said this 
 already, but am afraid the letter is lost among many others. 
 
 LETTER XXVIII. 
 
 Louvere, July 20, K S., 1755. 
 My Dear- Child — I have now read over the books you 
 were so good to send, and intend to say something of them 
 all, though some are not worth speaking of. I shall begin, in 
 respect to his dignity, with Lord Bolingbroke, who is a glaring 
 proof how far vanity can blind a man, and how easy it is to 
 varnish over to one's self the most criminal conduct. He de- 
 clares he always loved his country, though he confesses he 
 endeavored to betray her to popery and slavery ; and loved 
 his friends, though he abandoned them in distress, with all the 
 blackest circumstances of treachery. His account of the 
 peace of Utrecht is almost equally unfair or partial : I shall 
 allow that, perhaps, the views of the Whigs, at that time, 
 were too vast, and the nation, dazzled by military glory, had 
 hopes too sanguine ; but surely the same terms that the French 
 consented to, at the treaty of Gertruydenberg, might have 
 been obtained; or if the displacing of the Duke of Marl- 
 borough raised the spirits of our enemies to a degree of refus- 
 ing what they had before offered, how can he excuse the guilt 
 of removing him from the head of a victorious army, and ex- 
 posing us to submit to any articles of peace, being unable to 
 continue the war? I agree with him that the idea of conquer- 
 ing France is a wild extravagant notion, and would, if possible, 
 be impolitic ; but she might have been reduced to such a 
 state as would have rendered her incapable of being terrible 
 
304 LETTERS TO 
 
 to her neighbors for some ages : nor should we have been 
 obliged, as we have done almost ever since, to bribe the French 
 ministers to let us live in quiet. So much for his political 
 reasonings, which, I confess, are delivered in a florid, easy 
 style ; but I can not be of Lord Orrery's opinion, that he is 
 one of the best English writers. Well turned periods, or 
 smooth lines, are not the perfection either of prose or verse ; 
 they may serve to adorn, but can never stand in the place of 
 good sense. Copiousness of words, however ranged, is always 
 false eloquence, though it will ever impose on some sort of 
 understandings. How many readers and admirers has Mad- 
 ame de Sevigne, who only gives us, in a lively manner, and 
 fashionable phrases, mean sentiments, vulgar prejudices, and 
 endless repetitions ? Sometimes the tittle-tattle of a fine lady, 
 sometimes that of an old nurse, always tittle-tattle ; yet so 
 well gilt over by airy expressions, and a flowing style, she will 
 always please the same people to whom Lord Bolingbroke will 
 shine as a first-rate author. She is so far to be excused as her 
 letters were not intended for the press ; while he labors to 
 display to posterity all the wit and learning he is master of 
 and sometimes spoils a good argument by a profusion of 
 words, running out into several pages a thought that might 
 have been more clearly expressed in a few lines, and, what is 
 worse, often falls into contradiction and repetitions, which are 
 almost unavoidable to all voluminous writers, and can only be 
 forgiven to those retailers whose necessity compels them to 
 diurnal scribbling, who load their meaning with epithets, and 
 run into digressions, because (in the jockey phrase) it rids 
 ground, that is, covers a certain quantity of paper, to answer 
 the demand of the day. A great part of Lord Bolingbroke's 
 letters are designed to show his reading, which, indeed, ap- 
 pears to have been very extensive ; but I can not perceive that 
 such a minute account of it can be of any use to the pupil he 
 pretends to instruct ; nor can I help thinking he is far below 
 either Tillotson or Addison, even in style, though the latter 
 was sometimes more diffuse than his judgment approved, to 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 305 
 
 furnish out the length of a daily Spectator. I own I have 
 small regard for Lord Bolingbroke as an author, and the high- 
 est contempt for him as a man. He came into the world 
 greatly favored both by nature and fortune, blessed with a noble 
 birth, heir to a large estate, endowed with a strong constitu- 
 tion, and, as I have heard, a beautiful figure, high spirits, a 
 good memory, and a lively apprehension, which was cultivated 
 by a learned education : all these glorious advantages being 
 left to the direction of a judgment stifled by unbounded 
 vanity, he dishonored his birth, lost his estate, ruined his repu- 
 tation, and destroyed his health, by a wild pursuit of eminence 
 even in vice and trifles. 
 
 I am far from making misfortune a matter of reproach. I 
 know there are accidental occurrences not to be foreseen or 
 avoided by human prudence, by which a character may be 
 injured, wealth dissipated, or a constitution impaired : but I 
 think I may reasonably despise the understanding of one who 
 conducts himself in such a manner as naturally produces 
 such lamentable cou sequences, and continues in the same de- 
 structive paths to the end of a long life, ostentatiously boast- 
 ing of morals and philosophy in print, and with equal osten- 
 tation bragging of the scenes of low debauchery in public 
 conversation, though deplorably weak both in mind and body, 
 and his virtue and his vigor in a state of non-existence. His 
 confederacy with Swift and Pope puts me in mind of that 
 of Bessus and his swordmen, in the King and No King, who 
 endeavor to support themselves by giving certificates of each 
 other's merit. Pope has triumphantly declared that they 
 may do and say whatever silly things they please, they will 
 still be the greatest geniuses nature ever exhibited. I am de- 
 lighted with the comparison given of their benevolence, 
 which is indeed most amply figured by a circle in the water, 
 which widens till it comes to nothing at all ; but I am pro- 
 voked at Lord Bolingbroke's misrepresentation of my favor- 
 ite Atticus, who seems to have been the only Roman that, 
 from good sense, had a true notion of the limes in which he 
 
806 LETTERS TO 
 
 lived, in "which the republic was inevitably perishing, and the 
 two factions, who pretended to support it, equally endeavor- 
 ing to gratify their ambition in its ruin. A wise man, in that 
 case, would certainly declare for neither, and try to save him- 
 self and family from the general wreck, which could not be 
 done but by a superiority of understanding acknowledged on 
 both sides. I see no glory in losing life or fortune by being 
 the dupe of either, and very much applaud that conduct which 
 could preserve a universal esteem amid the fury of opposite 
 parties. We are obliged to act vigorously, where action can 
 do any good ; but in a storm, when it is impossible to work 
 with success, the best hands and ablest pilots may laudably 
 gain the shore if they can. Atticus could be a friend to men, 
 without awakening their resentment, and be satisfied with his 
 own virtue without seeking popular fame. He had the reward 
 of his wisdom in his tranquillity, and will ever stand among 
 the few examples of true philosophy, either ancient or modern. 
 
 You must forgive this tedious dissertation. I hope you 
 read in the same spirit I write, and take as proof of affection 
 whatever is sent you by your truly affectionate mother. 
 
 I must add a few words on the Essay on Exile, which I 
 read with attention, as a subject that touched me. I found 
 the most abject dejection under a pretended fortitude. That 
 the author felt it, can be no doubt to one who knows (as I do) 
 the mean submissions and solemn promises he made to ob- 
 tain a return, flattering himself (I suppose) he must of course 
 appear to be at the head of the administration, as every en- 
 sign of sixteen fancies he is in a fair way to be a general, 
 on the first sight of his commission. 
 
 You will think I have been too long on the character of 
 Atticus. I own I took pleasure in explaining it. Pope 
 thought himself covertly very severe on Addison, by giving 
 him that name ; and I feel indignation whenever he is abused, 
 both from his own merit, and because he was ever your fa- 
 ther's friend ; besides that, it is naturally disgusting to see 
 him lampooned after his death by the same man who paid 
 
THE COUNTESS OP BUTE. 30? 
 
 him the most servile court while he lived, and was, besides 
 highly obliged by him. 
 
 LETTER XXIX. 
 
 Louvere, September 22, 1755. 
 My dear Child — I received, two days ago, the box of 
 books you were so kind to send ; but I can scarce say 
 whether my pleasure or disappointment was the greater. I 
 was much pleased to see before me a fund of amusement, 
 but heartily vexed to find your letter consisting only of three 
 lines and a half. Why will you not employ -Lady Mary as 
 secretary, if it is troublesome to you to write ? I have told 
 you over and over you may at the same time oblige your 
 mother and improve your daughter, both which I should 
 think very agreeable to yourself. You can never want some- 
 thing to say. The history of your nursery, if you had no 
 other subject to write on, would be very acceptable to me. I 
 am such a stranger to every thing in England, I should be 
 glad to hear more particulars relating to the families I am 
 acquainted with — if Miss Liddel* marries the Lord Euston I 
 know, or his nephew, who has succeeded him ; if Lord Berke- 
 ley! nas 1^ children ; and several trifles of that sort, that 
 would be a satisfaction to my curiosity. I am sorry for 
 H. Fielding's death, not only as I shall read no more of his 
 writings, but I believe he lost more than others, as no man 
 enjoyed life more than he did, though few had less reason to 
 do so, the highest of his preferment being raking in the low- 
 est sinks of vice and misery. I should think it a nobler and 
 less nauseous employment to be one of the staff-ofricers that 
 conduct the nocturnal weddings. His happy constitution 
 (even when he had, with great pains, half demolished it) made 
 
 * Married Augustus Henry Duke of Grafton, January 29, 175G. 
 f Augustus Earl of Berkeley died January 9, 1755, and left two 
 sons and two daughters. 
 
308 LETTERS TO 
 
 him forget every thing when he was before a venison pasty, 
 or over a flask of Champagne, and I am persuaded he has 
 known more happy moments than any prince upon earth. 
 His natural spirits gave him rapture with his cook-maid, and 
 cheerfulness when he was starving in a garret. There was 
 a great similitude between his character and that of Sir 
 Richard Steele. He had the advantage both in learning, and, 
 in my opinion, genius. They both agreed in wanting money 
 in spite of all their friends, and would have wanted it, if their 
 hereditary lands had been as extensive as their imagination ; 
 yet each of them was so formed for happiness it is pity he 
 was not immortal. I have read The Cry ; and if I would 
 write in the style to be admired by good Lord Orrery, I would 
 tell you " The Cry" made me ready to cry, and the " Art of 
 Tormenting" tormented me very much. I take them to be 
 Sally Fielding's, and also the Female Quixote : the plan of 
 that is pretty, but ill-executed ; on the contrary, the fable of 
 The Cry is the most absurd I ever saw, but the sentiments 
 generally just ; and I think, if well dressed, would make a 
 better body of ethics than Bolingbroke's. Her inventing new 
 words that are neither more harmonious nor significant than 
 those already in use, is intolerable. The most edifying pail 
 of the journey to Lisbon is the history of the kitten. I was 
 the more touched by it, having a few days before found one, 
 in deplorable circumstances, in a neighboring vineyard. I 
 did not only relieve her present wants with some excellent 
 milk, but had her put into a clean basket, and brought to my 
 own house, where she has lived ever since very comfortably. 
 
 I desire to have Fielding's Posthumous Works, with his 
 Memoirs of Jonathan Wild, and Journey to the next World ; 
 also the Memoirs of Verocand, a man of pleasure, and those of 
 a Young Lady. You will call this trash, trumpery, etc. I can 
 assure you I was more entertained by G. Edwards than H. St. 
 John, of whom you have sent me duplicates. I see new story 
 books with the same pleasure your eldest daughter does a new 
 dress, or the youngest a new baby. I thank God I can find 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 309 
 
 playthings for my age. I am not of Cowley's mind, that this 
 world is — 
 
 A dull, ill-acted comedy : 
 
 Nor of Mrs. Philips's, that it is — 
 
 A too well acted tragedy. 
 
 I look upon it as a very pretty farce, for those that can see it 
 in that light. I confess a severe critic, that would examine by 
 ancient rules, might fix many defects ; but 'tis ridiculous to 
 judge seriously of a puppet-show. Those that can laugh, and 
 be diverted with absurdities, are the wisest spectators, be it of 
 writings, actions, or people. 
 
 The Stage-Coach has some grotesque figures that amuse : I 
 place it in the rank of Charlotte Summers, and perhaps it is by 
 the same author. I am pleased with Sir Herald for recording 
 a generous action of the Duke of Montagu, which I know to 
 be true, with some variation of circumstances. You should 
 have given me a key to the Invisible Spy, particularly to the 
 catalogue of books in it. I know not whether the conjugal 
 happiness of the Duke of Bedford is intended as a compliment 
 or an irony. 
 
 This letter is as long and as dull as any of Richardson's. I 
 am ashamed of it, notwithstanding my maternal privilege of 
 being tiresome. 
 
 I return many thanks to Lord Bute for the china, which I 
 am sure I shall be very fond of, though I have not yet seen it. 
 I wish for three of Pinchbeck's watches, shagreen cases, and en- 
 ameled dial-plates. When I left England they were five 
 guineas each. You may imagine they are for presents ; one 
 for my doctor, who is exactly Parson Adams in another pro- 
 fession, and the others for two priests, to whom I have some 
 obligations. 
 
 This Richardson is a strange fellow. I heartily despise him, 
 and eagerly read him, nay, sob over his works, in a most scan- 
 dalous manner. The two first tomes of Clarissa touched me, 
 
310 LETTERS TO 
 
 as being very resembling to my maiden days ; and I find in the 
 pictures of Sir Thomas Grandison and his lady what I have 
 heard of my mother, and seen of my father. 
 
 This letter is grown (I know not how) into an immeasurable 
 length. I answer it to my conscience as a just judgment on 
 you for the shortness of yours. Remember my unalterable 
 maxim, where we love we have always something to say; con- 
 sequently my pen never tires when expressing to you the 
 thoughts of your most affectionate mother. 
 
 LETTER XXX. 
 
 Louvere, March 2, N. S., IT 56. 
 Dear Child — I had the happiness of a letter from your 
 father last post, by which I find you are in good health, though 
 I have not heard from you for a long time. This frequent in- 
 terruption of our correspondence is a great uneasiness to me : 
 I charge it on the neglect or irregularity of the post. I sent 
 you a letter by Mr. Anderson a great while ago, to which I 
 never had any answer : neither have I ever heard from him 
 since, though I am fully persuaded he has wrote concerning 
 some little commissions I gave him. I should be very sorry he 
 thought I neglected to thank him for his civilities. I desire 
 Lord Bute would inquire about him. I saw him in company 
 with a very pretty pupil, who seemed to me a promising youth. 
 I wish he would fall in love with my granddaughter. I dare 
 say you laugh at this early design of providing for her : take it 
 as a mark of my affection for you and yours, which is without 
 any mixture of self-interest, since, with my age and infirmities, 
 there is little probability of my living to see them established. 
 I no more expect to arrive at the age of the Duchess of Marl- 
 borough than that of Methuselah ; neither do I desire it. I 
 have long thought myself useless to the world. I have seen 
 one generation pass away ; and it is gone ; for I think there 
 are very few of those left that flourished in my youih. You 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 311 
 
 will perhaps call these melancholy reflections : they are not so. 
 There is a quiet after the abandoning of pursuits, something 
 like the rest that follows a laborious day. I tell you this for 
 your comfort. It was formerly a terrifying view to me that I 
 should one day be an old woman. I now find that nature has 
 provided pleasures for every state. Those are only unhappy 
 who will not be contented with what she gives, but strive to 
 break through her laws, by affecting a perpetuity of youth, 
 which appears to me as little desirable at present as the babies 
 do to you that were the delight of your infancy. I am at the 
 end of my paper, which shortens the sermon. 
 
 LETTER XXXI. 
 
 Venice, March 22, 1756. 
 
 I have received, but this morning, the first box of china Lord 
 Bute has been so obliging to send me. I am quite charmed 
 with it, but wish you had sent in it the note of the contents ; 
 it has been so long deposited that it is not impossible some 
 diminution may have happened. Every thing that comes from 
 England is precious to ine, to the very hay that is employed 
 in packing. I should be glad to know any thing that could 
 be an agreeable return from hence. There are many things I 
 could send; but they are either contraband, or the custom 
 would cost more than tney are worth. I look out for a picture ; 
 the few that are in this part of Italy are those that remain in 
 families, where they are entailed, and I might as well pretend 
 to send you a palace. I am extremely pleased with the ac- 
 count you gave of your father's health. I have wrote to desire 
 his consent in the disposal of poor Lady Oxford's legacy ; I do 
 not doubt obtaining it. It has been both my interest and my 
 duty to study his character, and I can say, with truth, I never 
 knew any man so capable of a generous action. 
 
 A late adventure here makes a great noise from the rank of 
 the people concerned: the Marchioness Licinia Bentivoglio, 
 
312 LETTERS TO 
 
 who was heiress of one branch of the Martineiighi, and brougnt 
 ten thousand gold sequins to her husband, and the expectation 
 of her father's estate, three thousand pounds sterling per an- 
 num, the most magnificent palace at Brescia (finer than any in 
 London), another in the country, and many other advantages 
 of woods, plate, jewels, etc. The Cardinal Bentivoglio, his 
 uncle, thought he could not choose better, though his nephew 
 might certainly have chose among all the Italian ladies, being 
 descended from the sovereigns of Bologna, actually a grandee 
 of Spain, a noble Venetian, and in possession of twenty-five 
 thousand pounds sterling per annum, with immense wealth in 
 palaces, furniture, and absolute dominion in some of his lands. 
 The girl was pretty, and the match was with the satisfaction of 
 both families ; but sbe brought with her such a diabolical 
 temper, and such Luciferan pride, that neither husband, re- 
 lations, or servants, had ever a moment's peace with her. 
 After about eight years' warfare, she eloped one fair morning, 
 and took refuge in Venice, leaving her two daughters, the 
 eldest scarce six years old, to the care of the exasperated Mar- 
 quis. Her father was so angry at her extravagant conduct 
 that he would not, for some time, receive her into his house ; 
 but, after some months, and much solicitation, parental fond- 
 ness prevailed, and she has remained with him ever since, not- 
 withs anding all the efforts of her husband, who tried kindness, 
 submission, and threats, to no purpose. The Cardinal came 
 twice to Brescia, her own father joined his entreaties, nay, his 
 holiness wrote a letter with his own hands, and made use of the 
 Church authority, but he found it harder to reduce one woman 
 than ten heretics. She was inflexible, and lived ten years in 
 this state of reprobation. Her father died last winter, and left 
 her his whole estate for her life, and afterward to her chil- 
 dren. Her eldest was now marriageable, and disposed of to 
 the nephew of Cardinal Valentino Gonzagua, first minister at 
 Rome. She would neither appear at the wedding, nor take 
 the least notice of a dutiful letter sent by the bride. The old 
 Cardinal (who was passionately fond of his illustrious namp) 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 313 
 
 was so much touched with the apparent extinction of it that it 
 was thought to have hastened his death. She continued in the 
 enjoyment of her ill-humor, living in great splendor, though 
 almost solitary, having, by some impertinence or other, dis- 
 gusted all her acquaintance, till about a month ago, when her 
 woman brought her a basin of broth, which she usually drank 
 in her bed. She took a few spoonfuls of it, and then cried out 
 it was so bad it was impossible to endure it. Her chamber- 
 maids were so used to hear her exclamations that they ate it up 
 very comfortably ; they were both seized with the same pangs, 
 and died the next day. She sent for physicians, who judged 
 her poisoned ; but, as she had taken a small quantity, by the 
 help of antidotes she recovered, yet is still in a languishing con- 
 dition. Her cook was examined, and racked, always protesting 
 entire innocence, and swearing he had made the soup in the 
 same manner he was accustomed. You may imagine the 
 noise of this affair. She loudly accused her husband, it being 
 the interest of no other person to wish her out of the world. 
 He resides at Ferrara (about which the greatest part of his 
 lands lie), and was soon informed of this accident. He sent 
 doctors to her, whom she would not see, sent vast alms to all 
 the convents to pray for her health, and ordered a number of 
 masses to be said in every church of Brescia and Ferrara. He 
 sent letters to the senate at Venice, and published manifestos 
 in all the capital cities, in which he professes his affection to 
 her, and abhorrence of any attempt against her, and has a cloud 
 of witnesses that he never gave her the least reason of com- 
 plaint, and even since her leaving him has always spoke of her 
 with kindness, and courted her return. He is said to be re- 
 markably sweet-tempered, and has the best character of any 
 man of quality in this country. If the death of her women did 
 not seem to confirm it, her accusation would gain credit with 
 nobody. She is certainly very sincere in it herself, being so 
 persuaded he has resolved her death that she dare not take 
 the air, apprehending to be assassinated, and has imprisoned 
 herself in her chamber, where she will neither eat nor drink 
 
 14 
 
314 LETTERS TO 
 
 l 
 
 any thing that she does not see tasted by all her servants. The 
 physicians now say that perhaps the poison might fell into the 
 broth accidentally ; I confess I do not perceive the possibility 
 of it. As to the cook suffering the rack, that is a mere jest, 
 where people have money enough to bribe the executioner. I 
 decide nothing ; but such is the present destiny of a lady who 
 would have been one of Richardson's heroines, having never 
 been suspected of the least gallantry ; hating, and being hated 
 universally ; of a most noble spirit, it being proverbial — " as 
 proud as the Marchioness Licinia." 
 
 LETTER XXXn. 
 
 Louvere, June 10, 1757. 
 It is very true, my dear child, we can not now maintain a 
 family with the product of a flock, though I do not doubt the 
 present sheep afford as much wool and milk as any of their 
 ancestors ; and 'tis certain our natural wants are not more 
 numerous than formerly ; but the world is past its infancy, 
 and will no longer be contented with spoon-meat. Time has 
 added great improvements, but those very improvements have 
 introduced a train of artificial necessities. A collective body 
 of men make a gradual progress in understanding, like that 
 of a single individual. When I reflect on the vast increase of 
 useful, as well as speculative knowledge, the last three hun- 
 dred years has produced, and that the peasants of this age 
 have more conveniences than the first emperors of Rome had 
 any notion of, I imagine we are now arrived at that period 
 which answers to fifteen. I can not think we are older, when 
 I recollect the many palpable follies which are still (almost) 
 universally persisted in : I place that of war as senseless as 
 the boxing of school-boys, and whenever we come to man's 
 estate (perhaps a thousand years hence) I do not doubt it will 
 appear as ridiculous as the pranks of unlucky lads. Several 
 discoveries will then be made, and several truths made clear, 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 315 
 
 of which we have now no more idea than the ancients had of 
 the circulation of the blood, or the optics of Sir Isaac New- 
 ton. 
 
 I expect a letter of thanks from my granddaughter : I 
 wrote to my grandmother long before her age. I desire you 
 would not see it, being willing to judge of her genius. I 
 know I shall read it with some partiality, which I can not 
 avoid to all that is yours, as I am your most affectionate 
 mother. 
 
 LETTER XXXm. 
 
 Padua, Sept. 5, 1757. 
 I wrote to you very lately, my dear child, in answer to that 
 letter Mr. Hamilton brought me : he was so obliging to come 
 on purpose from Venice to deliver it, as I believe I told you ; 
 but I am so highly delighted with this, dated August 4, giv- 
 ing an account of your little colony, I can not help setting pen 
 to paper to tell you the melancholy joy I had in reading it. 
 You would have laughed to see the old fool weep over it. I 
 now find that age, when it does not harden the heart and sour 
 the temper, naturally returns to the milky disposition of in- 
 fancy. Time has the same effect on the mind as on the face. 
 The predominant passion, the strongest feature, become more 
 conspicuous from the others retiring ; the various views of life 
 are abandoned, from want of ability to preserve them, as the 
 fine complexion is lost in wrinkles : but, as surely as a large 
 nose grows larger, and the wide mouth wider, the tender child 
 in your nursery will be a tender old woman, though, perhaps, 
 reason may have restrained the appearance of it, till the mind, 
 relaxed, is no longer capable of concealing its weakness ; for 
 weakness it is to indulge any attachment at a period of life 
 when we are sure to part with life itself, at very short warn^ 
 ing. According to the good English proverb, young people 
 may die, but old must. You see I am very industrious in 
 
316 LETTERS TO 
 
 finding- comfort to myself in my exit, and to guard, as long as 
 I can, against the peevishness which makes age miserable in 
 itself and contemptible to others. 'Tis surprising to me that, 
 with the most inoffensive conduct, I should meet enemies, 
 when I can not be envied for any thing, and have pretensions 
 to nothing. 
 
 Is it possible, the old Colonel Duncombe* I knew, should 
 be Lord Feversham, and married to a young wife ? As to 
 Lord Ranelagh, I confess it must be a very bitter draught to 
 submit to take his name, but his lady has had a short purga- 
 tory, and now enjoys affluence with a man she" likes, who I am 
 told is a man of merit, which I suppose she thinks preferable 
 to Lady Selina's nursery. Here are no old people in this coun- 
 try, neither in dress or gallantry. I know only my friend 
 Antonio, who is true to the memory of his adored lady ; her 
 picture is always in his sight, and he talks of her in the style 
 of pastor fido. I believe I owe his favor to having shown him 
 her miniature by Rosalba, which I bought at London : per- 
 haps you remember it in my little collection : he is really a 
 man of worth and sense. Hearing it reported, I need not say 
 by whom, that my retirement was owing to having lost all 
 my money at play, at Avignon, he sent privately for my chief 
 servant, and desired him to tell him naturally if I was in any 
 distress ; and not only offered, but pressed him to lay three 
 thousand sequins on my toilet. I don't believe I could bor- 
 row that sum, without good security, among my great relations. 
 I thank God I had no occasion to make use of his generosity ; 
 but I am sure you will agree with me that I ought never to 
 forget the obligation. I could give some other instances in 
 which he has shown his friendship in protecting me from 
 mortifications, invented by those that ought to have assisted 
 me ; but 'tis a long tiresome story. You will be surprised to 
 hear the general does not yet know these circumstances ; he 
 
 * Anthony Duncombe, created Lord Feversham in 1747 ; which title 
 became-extinct in 1763 on his dying without male issue. He was the 
 nephew of Sir Charles Duncombe, Lord Mayor of London, 1709. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 317 
 
 arrived at Venice but a few days before I left it ; and prom- 
 ising me to come to Padua, at the fair, I thought I should 
 have time sufficient to tell him my history. Indeed, I was in 
 hopes he would have accepted my invitation of lodging in my 
 house ; but his multiplicity of affairs hindered him from com- 
 ing at all. 'Tis only a few days since that he made me a visit, 
 in company with Mr. Hamilton, before whom I did not think 
 it proper to speak my complaints. They are now gone to 
 drink the waters at Vicenza : when they return, I intend re- 
 moving to Venice, and then shall relate my grievances, which 
 I have more reason to do than ever. I have tired you with 
 this disagreeable subject : I will release you, and please my- 
 self in repeating the assurance of my being ever, while I have 
 a being, your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My dear child, do not think of reversing nature by making 
 me presents. I would send you all my jewels and my toilet 
 if I knew how to convey them, though they are in some 
 measure necessary in this country, where it would be, perhaps, 
 reported I had pawned them, if they did not sometimes make 
 their appearance. I know not how to send commissions for 
 things I never saw ; nothing of price I would have, as I would 
 not new furnish an inn I was on the point of leaving, for such 
 is this world to me. Though china is in such high estimation 
 here, I have sometimes an inclination to desire your father to 
 send me the two large jars that stood in the windows in Cav- 
 endish Square, I am sure he don't value them, and believe they 
 would be of no use to you. I bought them at an auction, for 
 two guineas, before the Duke of Argyll's example had made 
 all china, more or less, fashionable. 
 
 LETTER XXXTV. 
 
 Louvere, September 30, 1757. 
 My dear Child — Lord Bute has been so obliging as to 
 let me know your safe delivery, and the birth of another daugh- 
 
318 LETTERS TO 
 
 ter. May she be as meritorious in your eyes as you are in 
 mine ! I can wish nothing better to you both, though I have 
 some reproaches to make you. Daughter ! daughter ! don T t 
 call names ; you are always abusing my pleasures, which is 
 what no mortal will bear. Trash, lumber, sad stuff, are the 
 titles you give to my favorite amusement. If I called a 
 white staff a stick of wood, a gold key gilded brass, and the 
 ensigns of illustrious orders colored strings, this may be phil- 
 osophically true, but would be very ill received. We have 
 all our playthings ; happy are they that can be contented with 
 those they can obtain. Those hours are spent in the wisest 
 manner that can easiest shade the ills of life, and are the least 
 productive of ill consequences. I think my time better em- 
 ployed in reading the adventures of imaginary people, than 
 the Duchess of Marlborough, who passed the latter years of 
 her life in paddling with her will, and contriving schemes of 
 plaguing some, and extracting praise from others, to no pur- 
 pose : eternally disappointed, and eternally fretting. The act- 
 ive scenes are over at my age. I inlulg*e, with all the art I 
 can, my taste for reading. If I would confine it to valuable 
 books, they are almost as rare as valuable men. I must be 
 content with what I can find. As I approach a second child- 
 hood, I endeavor to enter into the pleasures of it. Your 
 youngest son is, perhaps, at this very moment, riding on a 
 poker, with great delight, not at all regretting that it is not a 
 gold one, and much less wishing it an Arabian horse, which 
 he could not know how to manage. I am reading an idle 
 tale, not expecting wit or truth in it, and am very glad it is 
 not metaphysics to puzzle my judgment, or history to mislead 
 my opinion. He fortifies his health by exercise ; I calm my 
 cares by oblivion. The methods may appear low to busy 
 people ; but if he improves his strength, and I forget my in- 
 firmities, we both attain very desirable ends. 
 
 I have not heard from your father for a long time. ] 
 hope he is well, because you do not mention him. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 319 
 
 LETTER XXXV. 
 
 Venice, January 20, 1758. 
 
 I am always glad to hear of my dear child's health, and 
 daily pray for the continuance of it, and all other blessings 
 Gn you and your family. The carnival hitherto has been 
 clouded by extremely wet weather, but we are in hopes that 
 the sunshine is reserved for the second part of it, when the 
 morning masquerades give all the ladies an opportunity of 
 displaying both their magnificence and their taste, in the va- 
 rious habits that appear at that time. I was very well di- 
 verted by them last year. I hear Rome is crammed with 
 Britons, and suppose we shall see them all in their turns. 
 I can not say that the rising generation gives any general 
 prospect of improvement either in the arts or sciences, or in 
 any thing else. I am exceedingly pleased that the Duchess 
 of Portland is happy in her son-in-law. I must ever interest 
 myself in what happens to any descendant of Lady Oxford. 
 I expect that my books and china should set out, they will 
 be a great amusement to me, I mix so little with the gay 
 world, and at present my garden is quite useless. 
 
 Venice is not a place to make a man's fortune in. As for 
 those who have money to throw away, they may do it here 
 more agreeably than in any town I know ; strangers being 
 received with great civility, and admitted into all their par- 
 ties of pleasure. But it requires a good estate, and good 
 constitution, to play deep, and pass so many sleepless nights, 
 as is customary in the best company. 
 
 I am invited to a great wedding to-morrow, which will 
 be in the most splendid manner, to the contentment of both 
 the families, every thing being equal, even the indifference of 
 the bride and bridegroom, though each of them is extremely 
 pleased, by being set free from governors or governesses. 
 To say truth, I think they are less likely to be disappointed, 
 in the plan they have formed, than any of our romantic 
 couples, who have their heads full of love and constancy. 
 
S20 LETTERS TO 
 
 I stay here, though I am on many accounts better pleased 
 with Padua. Our great minister, the resident, affects to 
 treat me as one in the opposition. I am inclined to laugh 
 rather than be displeased at his political airs ; yet, as I am 
 among strangers, they are disagreeable ; and, could I have 
 foreseen them, would have settled in some other part of the 
 world ; but I have taken leases of my houses, been at much 
 pains and expense in furnishing them, and am no longer at 
 an age to make long journeys. I saw, some months ago, a 
 countryman of yours (Mr. Adam*), who desires to be introduced 
 to you. He seemed to me, in one short visit, to be a man 
 of genius, and I have heard his knowledge of architecture 
 much applauded. He is now in England. 
 
 Your account of the changes in ministerial affairs do not 
 surprise me; but nothing could be more astonishing than 
 their all coming in together. It puts me in mind of a 
 friend of mine who had a large family of favorite animals, 
 and, not knowing how to convey them to his country-house 
 in separate equipages, he ordered a Dutch mastiff, a cat and 
 her kittens, a monkey, and a parrot, all to be packed up to- 
 gether in one large hamper, and sent by a wagon. One may 
 easily guess how this set of company made their journey ; 
 and I have never been able to think of the present compound 
 ministry without the idea of barking, scratching, and scream- 
 ing.f 'Tis too ridiculous a one, I own, for the gravity of their 
 characters, and still more for the situation the kingdom is in ; 
 for, as much as one may encourage the love of laughter, 'tis 
 impossible to be indifferent to the welfare of one's native 
 country. 
 
 * Mr. Robert Adam, who built Caen- Wood, Luton-Park, etc.. and 
 the Adelphi in conjunction with his brother. His designs are pub- 
 lished. 
 
 f This story has been versified by Lord Byron (Don Juan, canto iii. 
 stanza 18), but without any reference to the source from whence he 
 drew it. Lady Mary introduces it with some point, to illustrate her 
 notion of the good understanding which might be expected to exist 
 n*v>^rig the members of an administration composed of very discord* 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 321 
 
 LETTER XXXVI. 
 
 Venice, 1758. 
 
 Dear Child — I received yours of the 20th of February 
 yesterday, May the 2d, so irregular is the post. [ could for- 
 give the delay, but I can not pardon the loss of so many that 
 have never arrived at all. Mr. Hamilton is not yet come, nor 
 perhaps will not for some months. I hear he is at Leghorn. 
 General Graham has been dangerously ill ; but I am told he 
 is now on his return. We have at present the most extrava- 
 gant weather that has been known for some years ; it is as 
 cold and wet as an English November. Thursday next is the 
 ceremony of the Ascension : the show will be entirely spoiled 
 if the rain continues, to the serious affliction of the fine ladies, 
 who all make new clothes on that occasion. We have had 
 lately two magnificent weddings ; Lord Mandeville* had the 
 pleasure of dancing at one of them. I appeared at neither, 
 being formal balls, where no masks were admitted, and all 
 people set out in high dress, which I have long renounced, as 
 it is very fit I should ; though there were several grandmothers 
 there, who exhibited their jewels. In this country nobody 
 grows old till they are bed-ridden. 
 
 I wish your daughters to resemble me in nothing but the 
 love of reading, knowing, by experience, how far it is capable 
 
 ant materials ; Lord Byron, to describe the indifference and cruelty oi 
 a corsair. 
 
 His lines are these : 
 
 A monkey, a Dutch mastiff", a mackaw, 
 
 Two parrots, with a Persian cat and kittens, 
 He chose from several animals he saw ; 
 
 A terrier, too, which once had been a Briton's, 
 Who, dying on the coast of Ithaca, 
 
 The peasants gave the poor dumb thing a pittance , 
 These to secure in this strong blowing weather, 
 He caged in one large hamper all together. 
 * G-eorge Viscount Mandeville, eldest son of Robert Duk of Man* 
 Chester. 
 
 14* 
 
322 LETTERS TO 
 
 of softening the cruelest accidents of life ; even the happiest 
 can not be passed over without many uneasy hours ; and there 
 is no remedy so easy as books, which, if they do not give cheer- 
 fulness, at least restore quiet to the most troubled mind. 
 Those that fly to cards or company for relief generally find 
 they only exchange one misfortune for another. 
 
 You have so much business on your hands I will not take 
 you from more proper employment by a long letter. I am, 
 my dear child, with the warmest affection, ever your tender 
 mother. 
 
 LETTER XXXVLT. 
 
 Padua, July 17, 1*758. 
 My Dear Child — I received yours last night, which gave 
 me a pleasure beyond what I am able to express (this is not 
 according to the common expression, but a simple truth). I 
 had not heard from you for some months, and was in my 
 heart very uneasy, from the apprehension of some misfortune 
 in your family ; though, as I always endeavor to avoid the an- 
 ticipation of evil, which is a source of pain, and can never be 
 productive of any good, I stifled my fear as much as possible, 
 yet it cost me many a midnight pang. You have been the 
 passion of my life : you need thank me for nothing ; I gratify 
 myself whenever I can oblige you. I have already given into 
 the hands of Mr. Anderson a long letter for you, but it is now 
 of so old a date I accompany it with another. His journey 
 has been delayed by a very extraordinary accident, which 
 might have proved as fatal as that of Lord Drumlanrigh, or 
 that, which I think worse, which happened to my convert Mr. 
 Butler ; fortunately it has only served to set the characters of 
 both the governor and the pupil in a more amiable light. Mr 
 Archer was at breakfast with six other English gentlemen, and 
 handling a blunderbuss, which he did not know to be charged, 
 it burst, and distributed among them six chained bullets, be- 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 323 
 
 Bides the splinters, which flew about in the manner you may 
 imagine. His own hand was considerably wounded, yet the 
 first word he spoke (without any regard to his own smart or 
 danger) was, " I hope nobody is hurt :" nobody was hurt but 
 himself, who has been ever since under cure, to preserve two of 
 his fingers which were very much torn. He had also a small 
 rasure on his cheek, which is now quite healed. The pater- 
 nal care and tenderness Mr. Anderson has shown on this occa- 
 sion, has recommended him to every body. I wanted nothing 
 to raise that esteem which is due to his sterling honesty and 
 good heart, which I do not doubt you value as much as I do. 
 If that wretch Hickman had been — but this is a melancholy 
 thought, and as such ought to be suppressed. 
 
 How important is the charge of youth ! and how useless all 
 the advantages of nature and fortune without a well-turned 
 mind ! I have lately heard of a very shining instance of this 
 truth from two gentlemen (very deserving ones they seem to 
 be) who have had the curiosity to travel into Muscovy, and 
 now return to England with Mr. Archer. I inquired after my 
 old acquaintance Sir Charles Williams, who I hear is much 
 broken, both in his spirits and constitution. How happy 
 might that man have been, if there had been added to his 
 natural and acquired endowments a dash of morality ! If he 
 had known how to distinguish between false and true felicity ; 
 and, instead of seeking to increase an estate already too large, 
 and hunting after pleasures that have made him rotten and 
 ridiculous, he had bounded his desires of wealth, and followed 
 the dictates of his conscience. His servile ambition has gained 
 him two yards of red ribbon, and an exile into a miserable 
 country, where there is no society and so little taste that I be- 
 lieve he suffers under a dearth of flatterers. This is said for 
 the use of your growing sons, whom I hope no golden tempta- 
 tions will induce to marry women they can not love, or com- 
 ply with measures they do not approve. All the happiness this 
 world can afford is more within reach than is generally sup- 
 posed. Whoever seeks pleasure will undoubtedly find pain ; 
 
324 LETTERS TO 
 
 whoever will pursue ease will as certainly find pleasures. The 
 world's esteem is the highest gratification of human vanity ; 
 and that is more easily obtained in a moderate fortune than 
 an overgrown one, which is seldom possessed, never gained, 
 without envy. I say esteem ; for, as to applause it is a youth- 
 ful pursuit, never to be forgiven after twenty, and naturally 
 succeeds the childish desire of catching the setting sun, which 
 1 can remember running very hard to do : a fine thing truly 
 if it could be caught ; but experience soon shows it to be im- 
 possible. A wise and honest man lives to his own heart, with- 
 out that silly splendor that makes him a prey to knaves, and 
 which commonlv ends in his becoming one of the fraternity. 
 I am very glad to hear Lord Bute's decent economy sets him 
 above any thing of that kind. I wish it may become national. 
 A collective body of men differs very little from a single man ; 
 and frugality is the foundation of generosity. I have often 
 been complimented on the English heroism, who have thrown 
 away so many millions without any prospect of advantage to 
 themselves, purely to succor a distressed princess. I never 
 could hear these praises without some impatience ; they 
 sounded to me like the panegyrics made by the dependents on 
 the Duke of Newcastle and poor Lord Oxford, bubbled when 
 they were commended, and laughed at when they were undone. 
 Some late events will, I hope, open our eyes : we shall see we 
 are an island, and endeavor to extend our commerce rather 
 than the Quixote reputation of redressing wrongs and placing 
 diadems on heads that should be equally indifferent to us. 
 When time has ripened mankind into common sense, the 
 name of conqueror will be an odious title. I could easily prove 
 that had the Spaniards established a trade with the Americans, 
 they would have enriched their country more than by the ad- 
 dition of twenty-two kingdoms, and all the mines they now 
 work — I do not say possess ; since, though they are the pro- 
 prietors, others enjoy the profit. 
 
 My letter is too long; I beg your pardon for it; 'tis 
 6eldom I have an opportunity of speaking to you, and T 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 325 
 
 would have you know all the thoughts of your most affec- 
 tionate mother. 
 
 LETTER XXXVIH. 
 
 Padua, July 14, 1758. 
 
 My Dear Child — I hope this will fiDd you in perfect health. 
 I had a letter from your father last post, dated from Newbold, 
 which tells me a very agreeable piece of news, that the contests 
 of parties, so violent formerly (to the utter destruction of 
 peace, civility, and common sense) are so happily terminated, 
 that there is nothing of that sort mentioned in good company. 
 I think I ought to wish you and my grandchildren joy on this 
 general pacification, when I remember all the vexation I have 
 gone through, from my youth upward, on the account of those 
 divisions, which touched me no more than the disputes be- 
 tween the followers of Mohammed and Ali, being always of 
 opinion that politics and controversy were as unbecoming to 
 our sex as the dress of a prize-fighter ; and I would as soon 
 have mounted Fig's theater as have stewed all night in the 
 gallery of a committee, as some ladies of bright parts have 
 done. 
 
 Notwithstanding the habitual (I believe I might say natural) 
 indifference, here am I involved in adventures, as surprising as 
 any related in Amadis de Gaul, or even by Mr. Glanville.* 
 I can assure you I should not be more surprised at seeing my- 
 self riding in the air on a broomstick, than in the figure of a 
 first rate politician. You will stare to hear that your nurse 
 keeps her corner (as Lord Bolingbroke says of Miss Oglethorp) 
 in this illustrious conspiracy. I really think the best head of 
 the junto is an English washerwoman, who has made her 
 fortune with all parties, by her compliance in changing her 
 religion, which gives her the merit of a new convert ; and her 
 charitable disposition of keeping a house of fair reception for 
 
 * In his History of Witchcraft — Sadducismus Triumphans, 1681. 
 
326 LETTERS TO 
 
 the English captains, sailors, etc., that are distressed by long 
 sea voyages (as Sir Samson Legend remarks, in Love for Love), 
 gains her friends among all public spirited people : the scenes 
 are so comic they deserve the pen of a Richardson to do them 
 justice. I begin to be persuaded the surest way of preserving 
 reputation, and having powerful protectors, is being openly 
 lewd and scandalous. I will not be so censorious to take ex- 
 amples from my own sex ; but you see Doctor Swift, who set 
 at defiance all decency, truth, or reason, had a crowd of ad- 
 mirers, and at their head the virtuous and ingenious Earl of 
 Orrery, the polite and learned Mr. Greville, with a number of 
 ladies of fine taste and unblemished characters ; while the 
 Bishop of Salisbury (Burnet I mean), the most indulgent 
 parent, the most generous churchman, and the most zealous 
 asserter of the rights and liberties of his country, was all his 
 life defamed and vilified, and after his death most barbarously 
 calumniated, for having had the courage to write a history 
 without flattery. I knew him in my very early youth, and his 
 condescension, in directing a girl in her studies, is an obliga- 
 tion I can never forget. 
 
 LETTER XXXTX. 
 
 Oct. 31, 1758. 
 My Dear Child — I received yours of October 2d this day, 
 the 31st instant. The death of the two great ladies you mention, 
 I believe does not occasion much sorrow ; they have long been 
 burdens (not to say nuisances) on the face of the earth. I am 
 sorry for Lord Carlisle.* He was my friend as well as ac- 
 quaintance, and a man of uncommon probity and good nature. 
 I think he has shown it in the disposition of his will in the 
 favor of a lady he had no reason to esteem. It is certainly 
 the kindest thing he could do for her, to endeavor to save her 
 from her own folly, which would have probably precipitately 
 * He died September 4, 1758. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 327 
 
 hurried her into a second marriage, which would most surely 
 have revenged all her misdemeanors. 
 
 I was well acquainted with Mr. Walpole, at Florence, and 
 indeed he was particularly civil to me. I am encouraged to 
 isk a favor of him, if I did not know that few people have 
 so good memories as to remember so many years backward 
 us have passed since I have seen him. If he has treated ths 
 character of Queen Elizabeth with disrespect, all the women 
 should tear him in pieces, for abusing the glory of her sex, 
 Neither is it just to put her in the list of authors, having never 
 published any thing, though we have Mr. Camden's authority 
 that she wrote many valuable pieces, chiefly translations from 
 the Greek. I wish all monarchs would bestow their leisure 
 hours on such studies : perhaps they would not be very useful 
 to mankind ; but it may be asserted, as a certain truth, that 
 their own minds would be more improved than by the amuse- 
 ments of quadrille or cavagnole. 
 
 I desire you would thank your father for the china jars ; if 
 they arrive safely, they will do me great honor in this country. 
 The Patriarch died here lately. He had a large temporal es- 
 tate ; and, by long life and extreme parsimony, has left four 
 hundred thousand sequins in his coffers, which is inherited by 
 two nephews ; and I suppose will be dissipated as scandalously 
 as it was accumulated. The town is full of faction, for the 
 election of his successor ; and the ladies are always very 
 active on these occasions. I have observed that they have 
 ever had more influence in republics than in a monarchy. 'Tis 
 true a king has often a powerful mistress, but she is governed 
 by some male favorite. In commonwealths, votes are easily 
 acquired by the fair ; and she who has most beauty or art, has 
 a great away in the senate. I run on troubling you with stories 
 very iniignificant to you, and taking up your time, which I am 
 very certain is taken up in matters of more importance than 
 my old wives' tales. My dear child, God bless you and yours. 
 I am, with the warmest sentiments of my heart, your most af- 
 fectionate mother. 
 
328 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XL. 
 
 I am very glad, my dear child, to hear of your father's health ; 
 mine is better than I ought to expect at my time of life. I be- 
 lieve Mr. Anderson talks partially of me, as to my looks ; I 
 know nothing of the matter, as it is eleven years since I have 
 seen my figure in the glass, and the last reflection I saw there 
 was so disagreeable that I resolved to spare myself such mor- 
 tifications for the future, and shall continue that resolution to 
 my life's end. To indulge all pleasing amusements, and avoid 
 all images that give us disgust, is, in my opinion the best 
 method to attain or confirm health. I ought to consider yours, 
 and shorten my letters, while you are in a condition that makes 
 reading uneasy to you. 
 
 God bless you and yours, my dear child, is the ardent wish 
 of your affectionate mother. 
 
 LETTER XLI. 
 
 June 22, N. 8. 
 My Dear Child — I can not believe Sir John's* advance- 
 ment is owing to his merit, though he certainly deserves such a 
 distinction ; but I am persuaded the present disposers of such 
 dignities are neither more clear-sighted, or more disinterested 
 
 * In Mr. Dallaway's edition this and the preceding letter are joined 
 together, and make one. It may be doubted whether this, which bears 
 the date as above, should not have been inserted in an earlier part of 
 this correspondence, as having been written in 1752; the "Sir John" 
 mentioned in it having probably been Sir John Kawdon, Bart., who was 
 created an Irish Peer, April 9th, 1750, by the title of Baron Rawdon of 
 Moira. He was thrice married — first, in 1741, to Lady Helena Perci- 
 val, daughter of the Earl of Egmont ; secondly, to Ann, daughter of Tre- 
 vor Viscount Hillsborough ; thirdly, in 1752, to Lady Elizabeth Hastings, 
 eldest daughter of Theophilus, Earl of Huntingdon, 26th February, 1752. 
 December 15th, 1761, he was advanced in the peerage as Earl of Moira, 
 in the County of Down. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 329 
 
 than their predecessors. Ever since I knew the world, Irish 
 patents have been hung out to sale, like the laced and em- 
 broidered coats in Monmouth-street, and bought up by the 
 same sort of people ; I mean those who had rather wear shabby- 
 finery than no finery at all ; though I don't suppose this was 
 Sir John's case. That good creature (as the country saying 
 is) has not a bit of pride about him. I dare swear he pur- 
 chased his title for the same reason he used to purchase pic- 
 tures in Italy ; not because he wanted to buy, but because 
 somebody or other wanted to sell. He hardly ever opened his 
 mouth but to say " What you please, sir ;" — " Your humble 
 servant ;" or some gentle expression to the same effect. It is 
 scarce credible that with this unlimited complaisance he should 
 draw a blow upon himself ; yet it so happened that one of his 
 own countrymen was brute enough to strike him. As it was 
 done before many witnesses, Lord Mansel heard of it ; and 
 thinking that if poor Sir John took no notice of it, he would 
 suffer daily insults of the same kind, out of pure good nature 
 resolved to spirit him up, at least to some show of resentment, 
 intending to make up the matter afterward in as honorable a 
 manner as he could for the poor patient. He represented to 
 him very warmly that no gentleman could take a box on the 
 ear. Sir John answered with great calmness, " I know that, 
 but this was not a box on the ear, it was only a slap o' the 
 face." 
 
 I was as well acquainted with his two first wives as the 
 difference of our ages permitted. I fancy they have broke their 
 hearts by being chained to such a companion. 'Tis really 
 terrible, for a well-bred, virtuous young woman to be confined 
 to the conversation of the object of her contempt. There is 
 but one thing to be done in that case, which is a method I am 
 sure you have observed practiced with success by some ladies I 
 need not name : they associate the husband and the lap-dog, 
 and manage so well, that they make exactly the same figure in 
 the family. My lord and Dell tag after madam to all indif- 
 ferent places, and stay at home together, whenever she goes 
 
330 LETTERS TO 
 
 into company where they would be troublesome. I can as- 
 sure you I equally contemn a woman who can forget she was 
 born a gentlewoman, for the sake of money she did not want. 
 That is indeed the only sentiment that deserves the name of 
 avarice. A prudential care of our affairs, or (to go further) a 
 desire of being in circumstances to be useful to our friends, is 
 not only excusable but highly laudable ; never blamed but by 
 those who would persuade others to throw away their money, 
 in hopes to pick up a share of it. The greatest declaimers for 
 disinterestedness I ever knew, have been capable of the vilest 
 actions ; and the greatest instances of true generosity, given 
 by those who were regular in their expenses, and superior to 
 the vanity of fashion. 
 
 I believe you are heartily tired of my dull moralities. I con- 
 fess I am in very low spirits ; it is hotter weather than has 
 been known for some years, and I have got an abominable cold, 
 which has drawn after it a troop of complaints I will not trouble 
 you with reciting. I hope all your family are in good health, 
 I am humble servant to Lord Bute, I give mv blessino- to vour 
 children, and am ever your most affectionate mother. 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 Genoa. Dec.. 8, 1759. 
 
 My Dear Child — I received yours of October 24 yester- 
 day, which gave me great pleasure, by the account of the 
 good health of you and yours ; I need not say how near that 
 is to my heart. I had the satisfaction of an entertaining let- 
 ter from your father, out of Germany, by which I find he 
 has had both benefit and amusement from his travels. I 
 hope he is now with you. 
 
 I find you have many wrong notions of Italy, which I do 
 not wonder at. You can take your ideas of it only from books 
 or travelers. The first are generally antiquated or confined 
 to trite observations, and the other yet more superficial ■ they 
 
THE COUNTESS OP BUTE. §31 
 
 return no more instructed than they might have been at home, 
 by the help of a map. The boys only remember where they 
 met with the best wine or the prettiest women ; and the gov- 
 ernors (I speak of the most learned among them) have only 
 remarked situations and distances, or, at most, statues and 
 edifices, as every girl that can read a French novel, and boy 
 that can construe a scene in Terence, fancies they have at- 
 tained to the French and Latin languages, when, God knows, 
 it requires the study of a whole life to acquire a perfect 
 knowledge of either of them : so, after a tour (as they call 
 it) of three years, round Europe, people think themselves qual- 
 ified to give exact accounts of the customs, politics, and inter- 
 est of the dominions they have gone through post ; when a 
 very long stay, a diligent inquiry, and a nice observation, are 
 requisite even to a moderate degree of knowing a foreign 
 country, especially here, where they are naturally very re- 
 served. France, indeed, is more easily seen through ; the 
 French always talking of themselves, and the government 
 being the same, there is little difference from one province to 
 another ; but, in Italy, the different laws make different cus- 
 toms and manners. There are many things very particular 
 here, from the singularity of the government ; some of which 
 I do not care to touch upon, and some are still in use here, 
 though obsolete in almost all other places, as the estates of 
 all the great families being unalienable, as they were formerly 
 in England. This would have made them very potent if it 
 were not balanced by another law, that divides whatever land 
 the father dies possessed of among all the sons, the eldest 
 having no advantage but the finest house and best furniture, 
 which occasions numerous branches and few large fortunes, 
 with a train of consequences you may imagine. But I can 
 not let pass in silence the prodigious alteration, since Misson's 
 writing, in regard to our sex. This reformation (or, if you 
 please, depravation) begun so lately as the year 1732, when 
 the French overrun this part of Italy ; but it has been car- 
 ried on with such fervor and success that the Italians go far 
 
832 LETTERS TO 
 
 beyond their patterns, the Parisian ladies, in the extent of 
 their liberty. I am not so much surprised at the women's 
 conduct as I am amazed at the change in the men's senti- 
 ments. Jealousy, which was once a point of honor among 
 them, is exploded to that degree that it is become the most 
 infamous and ridiculous of all characters ; and you can not 
 more affront a gentlemen than to suppose him capable of it. 
 Divorces are also introduced, and frequent enough ; they have 
 long been in fashion in Genoa, several of the finest and 
 greatest ladies there having two husbands alive. 
 
 I am afraid you will think this a long letter ; but you 
 tell me that you are without company, and in solitude, though 
 yours appears to me to be a sort of paradise. You have an 
 agreeable habitation, a pleasant garden, a man you love and 
 who loves you, and are surrounded with a numerous and 
 hopeful progeny. May they all prove comforts to your age ! 
 That, and all other blessings, are daily wished for you by, my 
 dear child, your affectionate mother. 
 
 LETTER XLDL 
 
 Venice, March 18, 1760. 
 My Dear Child — I am afraid some letters, both of yours 
 and mine are lost, nor am I much surprised at it, seeing the 
 managements here. In this world much must be suffered, 
 and we ought all to follow the rule of Epictetus : " Bear and 
 forbear." General Wolfe* is to be lamented, but not pitied. 
 I am of your opinion, that compassion is only owing to his 
 mother and intended bride, who I think the greater sufferer 
 (however sensible I am of a parent's tenderness). Disap- 
 pointments in youth are those which are felt with the great- 
 est anguish, when we are all in expectation of happiness, per- 
 haps not to be found in this life. I am very much diverted 
 
 * General "Wolfe was killed at the siege of Quebec, September ] 6, 
 1759. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 333 
 
 with the adventures of the three graces who are coming to 
 London, and am heartily sorry their mother has not learning 
 enough to write memoirs. She might make the fortur g of 
 half a dozen Dodsleys. The youngest girl (called here Bet- 
 Una) is taller than the Duchess of Montagu, and as red and 
 white as any German alive. If she has sense enough to fol- 
 low good instructions, she will be irresistible, and may pro- 
 duce very glorious novelties. Our great minister has her 
 picture in his collection — basta ! 
 
 My health is better than I can reasonably expect at my 
 age, but my life is so near a conclusion that where or how I 
 pass it (if innocently) is almost become indifferent to me. I 
 have outlived the greatest part of my acquaintance ; and, to 
 say the truth, a return to crowd and bustle, after my long re- 
 tirement, would be disagreeable to me. Yet, if I could be 
 of use either to your father or your family, I would venture 
 the shortening the insignificant days of your affectionate 
 mother. 
 
LETTERS TO 
 
 SIR JAMES AND IADY FRANCES STEUART.* 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 May, 1758. 
 I am in great pain both for your health and situation, 
 and wish you would permit rue to be of any service to you. 
 I know what it is to be without servants in a strange coun- 
 try, and how far people are imposed on that bear the name of 
 English, and heretics into the bargain ; the folly of British 
 boys, and stupidity or knavery of governors, have gained us 
 the glorious title of Golden Asses, all over Italy. I never 
 was in the Padua locanda, but except they are more virtuous 
 that any I ever met with, you will be very ill-served and ve ; y 
 well robbed. Here is a fellow recommended to me by Baron 
 Talmua, who says he will answer for his honesty and capacity ; 
 
 * The following was written by Lady Frances Steuart upon the par- 
 cel containing these letters : 
 
 "Letters from Lady Mary W. Montagu, which are decisive of the 
 short acquaintance necessary to the adhesion which generally takes 
 place when superior minds are brought together. Lady M. W. Mon- 
 tagu was blessed with such a mind as led her to make a short (very 
 short) acquaintance with my dear Sir James become to her a time 
 of noted value. They reciprocally improved it, and neither of them 
 ever lost the recollections which were so gratifying to both. 
 
 u Nor can I ever forget the thankful sensibility of the time, which 
 appeared to me so fortunate, so fit, and so apropos to enliven (and very 
 highly) his elevated but dejected spirit — feeble and dejected by a se- 
 vere illness." 
 
SIR JAMES AND LADY STEUART. M35 
 
 he can serve as cook, valet-de-chambre, purveyor, and steward. 
 He speaks no German, but is very willing to follow you, and 
 presumes he shall soon learn it. I think recommending serv- 
 ants almost as dangerous as making matches (which, I thank 
 the Lord, I never engaged in) : nothing could oblige me to 
 venture on it but your distress, and the good opinion I have 
 of the probity of Baron Talmua, who is a German man of 
 quality I have known some time, and am obliged to. He 
 has earnestly pressed me to make you this offer, on hearing 
 me lament the seduction of your woman. 
 
 This minute I am shown a letter of my Gastaldi (in French, 
 Concierge ; I know no proper title for him in English). I can 
 assure you, sir and madam, his stile grossier gave me more 
 pleasure than ever I received from the points of Voiture or 
 the puns of Swift or Pope, since my secretary assured me that 
 it contained an account of your well-being, and having hon- 
 ored my mansion with your presence ; he brags of having 
 done his duty in waiting on the two milordi ; and that you 
 found the palazzo very clean ; and he hopes you took nothing 
 ill, though you refused the portantina. In this manner were 
 his hieroglyphics explained to me, which I am forced and 
 pleased to give faith to, as I do to the translators of Hebrew, 
 though I can make nothing of the figures myself. I have 
 read over your book, Sir James, and have a great deal to say 
 about it, though nothing to object ; but must refer to another 
 time, having literally six people in the room, according to 
 their laudable custom, talking all at once, I hardly know what 
 I say, but I know what I think ; that I will get to Padua as 
 fast as I can, to enjoy the best company I ever knew. 
 
 LETTER H. 
 
 This letter will be solely to you, and I desire you* will not 
 communicate it to Lady Fanny ; she is the best woman in the 
 * This is clearly said in joke. 
 
336 LETTERS TO 
 
 world, and I would by no means make her uneasy ; but there 
 will be such strange things in it that the Talmud or the reve- 
 lations are not half so mysterious ; what these prodigies por- 
 tend, God knows ; but I never should have suspected half the 
 wonders I see before my eyes, and am convinced of the neces- 
 sity of the repeal of the witch act (as it is commonly called), 
 I mean, to speak correctly, the tacit permission given to 
 witches, so scandalous to all good Christians : though I trem- 
 ble to think of it for my own interests. It is certain the 
 British islands have always been strangely addicted to this dia- 
 bolical intercourse, of which I dare swear you know many in- 
 stances ; but since this public encouragement given to it, I am 
 afraid there will not be an old woman in the nation entirely 
 free from suspicion. The devil rages more powerfully than 
 ever : you will believe me when I assure you the great and 
 learned English minister is turned Methodist, several duels 
 have been fought in the Place of St. Marc for the charms of 
 his excellent lady, and I have been seen flying in the air in the 
 figure of Julian Cox,* whose history is related with so much 
 candor and truth by the pious pen of Joseph Glanville, chap- 
 lain to King Charles. I know you young rakes make a jest 
 of all those things, but I think no good lady can doubt of a 
 relation so well attested. She was about seventy years old 
 (very near my age), and the whole sworn to before Judge 
 Archer, 1663 : very well worth reading, but rather too long 
 for a letter. You know (wretch that I am) 'tis one of my 
 wicked maxims to make the best of a bad bargain ; and I 
 have said publicly that every period of life has its privileges, 
 and that even the most despicable creatures alive may find 
 some pleasures. Now observe this comment ; who are the most 
 despicable creatures ? Certainly, old women. What pleasure 
 can old woman take ? Only witchcraft. I think this argu- 
 
 * In one of her letters to Lady Bute she dwells on the same idea. 
 All this must allude in some way to her quarrel with Mr. Murray, 
 the Resident and to the reports which she accused him of spreading 
 concerning her. 
 
SIE JAMES AND LADY STEUART. SC * 
 
 ment as clear as any of the devout Bishop of Cloyne's meta- 
 physics ; this being decided in a full congregation of saints, 
 only such atheists as you and Lady Fanny can deny it. I own 
 all the facts, as many witches have done before me, .and go 
 every night in a public manner astride upon a black cat to a 
 meeting where you are suspected to appear : this last article 
 is not sworn to, it being doubtful in what manner our clandes- 
 tine midnight correspondence is carried on. Some think it 
 treasonable, others lewd (don't tell Lady Fanny) ; but all agree 
 there was something very odd and unaccountable in such sud- 
 den likings. I confess, as I said before, it is witchcraft. You 
 won't wonder I do not sign (notwithstanding all my impu- 
 dence) such dangerous truths : who knows the consequence ? 
 The devil is said to desert his votaries. 
 
 Nota bene. You have dispossessed me of the real devils 
 who haunted me. I mean the nine Muses * 
 
 LETTER in. 
 
 Padua, September 1, 1758. 
 My Dear Lady Fanny — I have been some time in pain 
 for your silence, and at last begun to fear that either some 
 accident had befallen you, or you had been so surfeited with 
 my dullness at Padua you resolved not to be plagued with it 
 when at a distance. These melancholy ideas growing strong 
 upon me, I wrote to Mr. Duff to inquire after your health. I 
 have received his answer this morning ; he tells me you are 
 both well and safely arrived at Tubingen ; and I take the lib- 
 erty to put you in mind of one that can never forget you and 
 
 * It seems almost needless to observe that this letter is writen in a 
 spirit of jesting, or, to use a lower word, of fun. Antonio, or Signor 
 Antonio Mocenigo, being mentioned elsewhere as eighty -six years of 
 age, and the head of a great Venetian family, we may conclude thai 
 what is said of the two other persons named was as lud : crously im- 
 possible as his singing at the opera. 
 
 15 
 
338 LETTERS TO 
 
 the cheerful hours we have passed together. The weather 
 favored you according to your prayers ; since that time we 
 have had storms, tempests, pestilential blasts, and at this mo- 
 ment such suffocating heat, the doctor is sick in bed, and no- 
 body in health in my family, excepting myself and my Swiss 
 servants, who support our constitutions by hearty eating and 
 drinking, while the poor Italians are languishing on their sal- 
 ads and lemonade. I confess I am in high spirits, having suc- 
 ceeded in my endeavor to get a promise of assisting some 
 very worthy people whom I am fond of. You know I am 
 enthusiastic in my friendships. I also hear from all hands 
 of my daughter's prosperity ; you, madam, that are a mother, 
 may judge of my pleasure in her happiness : though I have no 
 taste for that sort of felicity. I could never endure with toler- 
 able patience the austerities of a court life. I was saying 
 every day from my heart (while I was condemned to it), " the 
 things that I would do, those [ do not, and the things I would 
 uot do, those do I daily," and I had rather be a sister of St. 
 Clara than lady of the bedchamber to any queen in Europe. 
 It is not age and disappointment that has given me these sen- 
 timents ; you may see them in a copy of verses sent from 
 Constantinople in my early youth to my uncle Fielding,* and 
 by his (well-intended) indiscretion shown about, copies taken, 
 and at length miserably printed. I own myself such a rake 
 I prefer liberty to chains of diamonds, and when I hold my 
 peace (like King David) it is pain and grief to me. 
 
 No fraud the poet's sacred breast can bear, 
 Mild are our manners and our hearts sincere. 
 Rude and unpolished in the courtier's school, 
 I loathe a knave and tremble at a fooL 
 
 With this rusticity of manners I do not wonder to see my 
 company avoided by all great men and fine ladies. I could 
 tell your ladyship such a history of my calamities since we 
 parted, you will be surprised to hear I have not despaired and 
 
 * Tide p. 171. 
 
SIR JAMES AND LADY STEUART. 330 
 
 died like the sick lion in ^Esop's fables, who so pathetically 
 cries out — Bis videor mori, when he was kicked by a certain 
 animal I will not name because it is very like a paw word. 
 Vale! 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 Tubingen, Sep. 5, 1758. 
 
 This day, September 5, I have had the pleasure of a most 
 agreeable and obliging mark of your remembrance : but as it 
 has no date, I neither know when nor from whence it was 
 written. 
 
 I am extremely sorry for dear Lady Fanny's disorder. I could 
 repeat to her many wise sayings of ancients and moderns, 
 which would be of as much service to her as a present of em- 
 broidered slippers to you when you have a fit of the gout. I 
 have seen so much of hysterical complaints, though heaven be 
 praised I never felt them, I know it is an obstinate and very 
 uneasy distemper, though never fatal, unless when quacks un- 
 dertake to cure it. I have even observed that those who are 
 troubled with it commonly live to old age. Lady Stair* is 
 one instance ; I remember her screaming and crying when 
 Miss Primrose, myself, and other girls were dancing two room? 
 distant. Lady Fanny has but a slight touch of this distemper : 
 read Dr. Sydenham, you will find the analyses of that and 
 many other diseases, with a candor I never found in any othei 
 author. I confess I never had faith in any other physician, 
 living or dead. Mr. Locke places him in the same rank with 
 Sir Isaac Newton, and the Italians call him the English Hippo- 
 crates. I own I am charmed with his taking off the reproach 
 which you men so saucily throw on our sex, as if we alone 
 
 * The Lady Stair here alluded to, was probably the wife of the third 
 Earl of Stair, eldest daughter of Sir Andrew Myrton, of Gogar, in the 
 county of Edinburg, Baronet. She died at Edinburg, July 8th, 1761, 
 at sixty-two. 
 
340 LETTERS TO 
 
 were subject to vapors : he clearly proves that your wise, hon- 
 orable spleen is the same disorder, and arises from the same 
 cause ; but you vile usurpers do not only engross learning, 
 power, and authority to yourselves, but will be our superiors 
 even in constitution of mind, and fancy you are incapable of 
 the woman's weakness of fear and tenderness. Ignorance ! I 
 could produce such examples — 
 
 Show me that man of wit in all your roll, 
 Whom some one woman has not made a fool. 
 
 I beg your pardon for these verses, but I have a right to 
 scribble all that comes at my pen's end, being in high spirits 
 on an occasion more interesting to me than the election of 
 popes or emperors. His present Holiness* is not so much my 
 acquaintance, but his family have been so since my first ar- 
 rival at Venice, 1740. His father died only last winter, and 
 was a very agreeable worthy man, killed by a doctor; his 
 mother rather suffered life than enjoyed it after the death of 
 her husband, and was little sensible of the advancement of 
 her son, though I believe it made a greater impression on her 
 than appeared, and it may be, hastened her death ; which hap- 
 pened a fortnight after his elevation, in the midst of the ex- 
 traordinary rejoicings at Venice on that occasion. The honors 
 bestowed on his brother, the balls, festivals, etc., are they not 
 written in the daily books called newspapers ? 
 
 I resisted all invitations, and am still at Padua, where read- 
 ing, writing, riding, and walking find me full employment. 
 
 I accept the compliment of the fine young gentleman with 
 the joy of an old woman who does not expect to be taken 
 notice of : pray don't tell him I am an old woman. He shall 
 be my toast from this forward, and (provided he never sees me 
 as long as he lives) I may be his. A propos of toasting, upon 
 my honor I have not tasted a drop of punch since we parted * 
 I can not bear the sight of it ; it would recall too tender ideas, 
 
 * Cardinal Charles Rezzonia, Bishop of Padua, became Pope Cle- 
 ment XIII, 16th July, 1758, and died in 1*769. 
 
341 
 
 and I should be quarreling with fortune lor our separation, 
 when I ought to thank her diving for having brought us to- 
 gether. I could tell a long story of princes and potentates, 
 but I am so little versed in state afFaiis I will not so much as 
 answer your ensnaring question concerning the Jesuits, which 
 is meddling at once with Church and State. 
 
 This letter is of a horrible length, and what is worse (if any 
 worse can be) such a rhapsody of nonsense as may kill poor 
 Lady Fanny, now she is low-spirited, though I am persuaded 
 she has good nature enough to be glad to hear I am happy ; 
 which I could not be if I had not a view of seeing my friends 
 so. As to you, sir, I make no excuses ; you are bound to have 
 indulgence for me, as for a sister of the quill. I have heard 
 Mr. Addison say he always listened to poets with patience, to 
 keep up the dignity of the fraternity. Let me have an answer 
 as soon as possible. Si vales, bene est, valeo. 
 
 P. S. Do not be offended at the word poet, it slipped out 
 unawares. I know you scorn it, though it has been dignified 
 by Lord Somers, Lord Godolphin, and Dr. Atterbury. 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 "Venice, May 4, IT 57. 
 Here is a fashion sprung up entirely new in this part of the 
 world ; I mean suicide : a rich parish priest and a young Ce- 
 lestine monk have disposed of themselves last week in that 
 manner without any visible reason for their precipitation. The 
 priest, indeed, left a paper in his hat to signify his desire of 
 imitating the indifference of Socrates and magnanimity of Cato : 
 the friar swung out of the world without giving any account 
 of his design. You see it is not in Britain alone that the spleen 
 spreads his dominion. I look on all excursions of this kind to 
 be owing to this distemper, which shows the necessity of seek- 
 ing employment for the mind, and exercise for the body ; the 
 spirits and the blood stagnate without motion. 
 
342 LETTERS TO 
 
 You are to be envied whose studies are not only useful to 
 yourself but beneficial to mankind : even mine (good for noth- 
 ing as they are) contribute to my health, and serve at least to 
 lull asleep those corroding reflections that embitter life, and 
 wear out the frail machine in which we inhabit. 
 
 LETTER VL 
 
 Padua, July 19, 1759. 
 
 Your letters always give me a great deal of pleasure, but 
 particularly this, which has relieved me from the pain I was in 
 from your silence. 
 
 I have seen the Margrave of Baden Dourlach ; but I hope he 
 has forgot he has ever seen me, being at that time in a very 
 odd situation, of which I will not give you the history at pres- 
 ent, being a long story, and you know life is too short for a 
 long story. 
 
 I am extremely obliged for the valuable present you intend 
 me. I believe you criticise yourself too severely on your style : 
 I do not think that very smooth harmony is necessary in a work 
 which has a merit of a nobler kind ; I think it rather a defect, 
 as when a Roman emperor (as we see him sometimes repre- 
 sented on a French stage) is dressed like a petit-maitre. I con- 
 fess the crowd of readers look no further ; the tittle-tattle of 
 Madame de Sevigne, and the clinquant of Telemachus, have 
 found admirers from that very reason. Whatever is clearly ex- 
 pressed, is well wrote in a book of reasoning. However, I shall 
 obey your commands in telling you my opinion with the great- 
 est sincerity. 
 
 I am extremely glad to hear that Lady F. has overcome her 
 disorder : I wish I had no apprehensions of falling into it. Sol- 
 itude begets whimsies ; at my time of life one usually falls into 
 those that are melancholy, though I endeavor to keep, up a 
 certain sprightly folly that (I thank God) I was born with : 
 but alas ! what can we do with all our endeavors ! I am 
 
SIR JAMES AND LADY STEUART. 343 
 
 afraid we are little better than straws upon the water ; we may 
 flatter ourselves that we swim when the current carries us 
 along. 
 
 Thus far I have dictated for the first time of my life, and 
 perhaps it will be the last, for my amanuensis is not to be hired, 
 and I despair of ever meeting with another. He is the first 
 that could write as fast as I talk, and yet you see there are so 
 in ny mistakes, it wants a comment longer than my letter to 
 explain my insignificant meaning, and I have fatigued my poor 
 eyes more with correcting it than I should have done in scrib- 
 bling two sheets of paper. You will think perhaps, from this 
 idle attempt, that I have some fluxion on my sight; no such 
 matter ; I have suffered myself to be persuaced by such sort 
 of arguments as those by which people are induced to strict 
 abstinence, or to take physic. Fear, paltry fear, foundel on 
 vapors rising from the heat, which is now excessive, and has 
 so far debilitated my miserable nerves that I submit to a pre- 
 sent displeasure, by way of precaution against a future evil, 
 that possibly may never happen. I have this to say in my ex- 
 cuse, that the evil is of so horrid a nature I own I feel no phi- 
 losophy that could support me under it, and no mountain girl 
 ever trembled more at one of Whitefield's pathetic lectures than 
 I do at the word blindness, though I know all the fine things 
 that may be said for consolation in such a case: but I know 
 also they would not operate on my constitution. " Why," (say 
 my wise monitors) " will you persist in reading or writing seven 
 Hours in a day ?" " I am happy while I read and write." 
 "Indeed one would sutler a great deal to be happy," say the 
 men, sneering ; and the ladies wink at each other, and hold up 
 their fans. A fine lady of threescore had the goodness to add, 
 " At least, madam, you should use spectacles, I have used them 
 myself these twenty years : I was advised to it by a famous 
 oculist when I was fifteen. I am really of opinion that they 
 have preserved my sight, notwithstanding the passion I always 
 had both for reading and drawing." This good woman, you 
 must know, is half blind, and never read a larger volume than 
 
344 LETTERS TO 
 
 a newspaper. I will not trouble you with the whole conversa- 
 tion, though it would make an excellent scene in a farce ; but 
 after they had in the best bred way in the world convinced me 
 that they thought I lied when I talked of reading without 
 glasses, the foresaid matron obligingly said she should be very 
 proud to see the writing I talked of, having heard me say foim- 
 erly I had no correspondents but my daughter and Mr. W.* 
 She was interrupted by her sister, who said, simpering, " You 
 forgot Sir J. S." I took her up something short, I confess, 
 and said in a dry stern tone, " Madam, I do write to Sir J. S. 
 and will do it as long as he will permit that honor." This rude- 
 ness of mine occasioned a profound silence for some minutes 
 and they fell into a good-natured discourse of the ill conse- 
 quences of too much application, and remembered how many 
 apoplexies, gouts, and dropsies had happened among the hard 
 students of their acquaintance. As I never studied any thing 
 in my life, and have always (at least from fifteen) thought the 
 reputation of learning a misfortune to a woman, I was resolved 
 to believe these stories were not meant at me : I grew silent in 
 my turn, and took up a card that lay on a table, and amused 
 myself with smoking it over a candle. In the mean time (as 
 the song says), 
 
 Their tattles all run, as swift as the sun, 
 Of who had won, and who was undone 
 By their gaming and sitting up late. 
 
 When it was observed I entered into none of these topics, I 
 was addressed by an obliging lady, who pitied my stupidity. 
 " Iudeed, madam, you should buy horses to that fine machine 
 you have at Padua ; of what use is it standing in the portico V 
 " Perhaps," said another, wittily, " of as much use as a stand- 
 ing dish." A gaping school-boy added with still more wit, 
 " I have seen at a country gentleman's table a venison-pasty 
 made of wood." I was not at all vexed by said school-boy, 
 not because he was (in more senses than one) the highest of 
 
 * TTortley. 
 
SIR JAMES AND LADY STEUART. 345 
 
 the company, but knowing he did not mean to offend me. I 
 confess (to my shame be it spoken) I was grieved at the 
 triumph that appeared in the eyes of the king and queen of 
 the company, the court being tolerably full. His majesty 
 walked off early with the air befitting his dignity, followed by 
 his train of courtiers, who, like courtiers, were laughing among 
 themselves as they followed him : and I was left with the two 
 queens, one of whom was making ruffles for the man she loved 
 and the other slopping tea, for the good of her country. The} 
 renewed their generous endeavors to set me right, and I (grace- 
 less beast that I am) take up the smoked card which lay beforf 
 me, and with the corner of another wrote — 
 
 If ever I one thought bestow 
 
 On what such fools advise, 
 May I be dull enough to grow 
 
 Most miserably wise. 
 
 And flung down the card on the table, and myself out of the 
 room, in the most indecent fury. A few minutes on the cold 
 water convinced me of my folly, and I went home as much 
 mortified as my Lord E. when he has lost his last stake of 
 hazard. Pray don't think (if you can help it) this is an af- 
 fectation of mine to enhance the value of a talent I would be 
 thought to despise ; as celebrated beauties often talk of the 
 charms of good sense, having some reason to fear their mental 
 qualities are not quite so conspicuous as their outside lovely 
 form. 
 
 LETTER VH. 
 
 Venice, Oct. 13, 1759. 
 You have made (what I did not think possible) writing to 
 you uneasy to me. After confessing that you barbarously 
 criticise on my letters, I have much ado to summon up cour- 
 age enough to set pen to paper. Can you answer this to your 
 
 15* 
 
346 LETTERS TO 
 
 ronscience, to sit gravely and maliciously to examiue lines 
 written with rapidity and sent without reading over ? This is 
 worse than surprising a fine lady just sat down to the toilet : 
 I am content to let you see my mind undressed, but I will not 
 have you so curiously remark the defects in it. To carry on 
 the simile, when a beauty appears with all her graces and airs 
 adorned for a ball, it is lawful to censure whatever you see 
 amiss in her ornaments ; but when you are received to a 
 friendly breakfast, 'tis downright cruelty or (something worse) 
 ingratitude, to view too nicely all the disorder you may see. I 
 desire you would sink the critic in the friend, and never forget 
 that I do not write to you and dear Lady Fanny from my 
 head but from my heart. I wish her joy on the continuance 
 of her taste for punch, but I am sure she will agree with me 
 that the zest of good company is very necessary to give it a 
 flavor : to her it is a vivifying nectar, to me it would be in- 
 sipid river-water, and chill the spirits it should raise, by reflect- 
 ing on the cheerful moments we once passed together, which 
 can no more return. This thought is so very disagreeable I 
 will put it as far from me as possible. My chief study all my 
 life has been to lighten misfortunes and multiply pleasures as 
 far as human nature can : when I have nothing to find in my- 
 self from which I can extract any kind of delight, I think on 
 the happiness of my friends, and rejoice in the joy with which 
 you converse together, and look on the beautiful young plant 
 from which you may so reasonably expect honor and felicity. 
 In other days I think over the comic scenes that are daily ex- 
 hibited on the great stage of the world for my entertainment. 
 I am charmed with the account of the Moravians, who cer- 
 tainly exceed all mankind in absurdity of principles and mad- 
 ness of practice ; yet this people walk erect and are numbered 
 among rational beings. I imagined after three thousand 
 years 1 working at creeds and theological whimsies, there re- 
 mained nothing new to be invented ; I see the fund is inex- 
 haustible, and we may say of folly what Horace has said of 
 vice: 
 
SIR JAMES AND LADY STEUART. 347 
 
 ^Etas parentum, pejor avis, tulit 
 Nos nequiores, mox daturos 
 Progeniem vitiosiorem. 
 
 I will not ask pardon for this quotation ; it is God's mercy 
 I did not put it into English : when one is haunted (as I am) 
 by the Daemon of Poesie, it must come out in one shape or 
 another, and you will own that nobody shows it to more ad- 
 vantage than the author I have mentioned. Adieu, «eir ; read 
 with candor ; forgive what you can't excuse, in favor of the 
 real esteem and affection with which I am Lady Fanny's and 
 your most humble servant. 
 
 LETTER Vm. 
 
 Venice, March 1, 1760. 
 I have at length received your valuable and magnificent 
 present. You will have me give my opinion ; I know not how 
 to do it without your accusing me of flattery (though I am 
 sure no other person would suspect it). It is hard to forbear 
 praising where there is so much due ; yet I would rather talk 
 of your performance to any other than yourself. If I durst 
 speak out, I would say that you have explained in the best 
 manner the most difficult subject, and struck out new lights 
 that are necessary to enforce conviction even to those who 
 have studied the points you treat ; and who are often misled 
 by prejudices which fall away, while your instructions take 
 place in every mind capable of distinguishing truth from 
 falsehood. Upon the whole, permit me to say I never saw a 
 treatise which gave me so much pleasure and information. 
 You show yourself qualified by nature for the charge of first 
 minister : how far that would recommend you to a minister I 
 think problematic. I am beginning to read over your works a 
 second time ; my approbation increases as I go on ; the solid- 
 ity of your reflections would overbalance a defect in style, if 
 there was any, but I sincerely find none. The nervous man- 
 
348 LETTERS TO 
 
 ner in which you write is infinitely preferable to the florid 
 phrases, which are always improper in a book of this nature, 
 which is not designed to move the passions but to convince 
 the reason. 
 
 I ought to say a great deal for the honor "you have done 
 me in your dedication. Lord Burleigh, or even Julius Caesar, 
 would have been proud of it ; I can have no pretense to de- 
 serve it, .yet I may truly say nobody can be more sensible of 
 the value of your present. It is pity the world should be 
 deprived of the advantage of so useful a performance ; yet 
 perhaps it may be necessary to wait some time before you 
 publish certain truths that are not yet popularly received. 
 
 I hope our dear Lady Fanny is in good health, and your 
 young gentleman daily improving both by nature and instruc- 
 tion. I flatter myself that your affairs will soon take a more 
 agreeable turn. Wherever you are I wish you every happi- 
 ness ; and wherever I am you will ever have a faithful humble 
 servant, engaged both by inclination and obligation to be 
 always at your command. 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 Venice, April 7, 1760. 
 I have now with great pleasure, and I flatter myself with 
 some improvement, read over again your delightful and in- 
 structive treatise ; you have opened to me several truths of 
 which I had before only a confused idea. I confess I can not 
 help being a little vain of comprehending a system that is 
 calculated only for a thinking mind, and can not be tasted 
 without a willingness to lay aside many prejudices which arise 
 from education and the conversation of people no wiser than 
 ourselves. I do not only mean my own sex when I speak of 
 our confined way of reasoning ; there are many of yours as 
 incapable of judging otherwise than they have been early 
 taught, as the most ignorant milkmaid : nay, I believe a girl 
 
SIR JAMES AND LADY STEUART. 349 
 
 out of a village or a nursery more capable of receiving in- 
 struction than a lad just free from the university. It is not 
 difficult to write on blank paper, but 'tis a tedious if not an 
 impossible task to scrape out nonsense already written, and put 
 better sense in the place of it. Mr. Steuart is very happy to 
 be under the direction of a father who will not suffer him to 
 entertain errors at an age when 'tis hard to distinguish them. 
 I often look back on my past life in the light in which old 
 Montaigne considered it ; it is, perhaps, a more useful study 
 than it is generally imagined. Mr. Locke, who has made the 
 best dissection of the human mind of any author I have ever 
 read, declares that he has drawn all his observations from re- 
 flecting on the progression of his own ideas. It is true a very 
 small proportion of knowledge is allowed us in this world, 
 few truths permitted, but those truths are plain ; they may be 
 overseen or artfully obscured from our sight, but when pointed 
 out to us, it is impossible to resist the conviction that accom- 
 panies them. I am persuaded your manuscript would have 
 the same effect on every candid reader it has on me : but I 
 am afraid their number is very small. 
 
 I think the omission you desire in the act of indemnity can 
 not fail of happening ; I shall take every opportunity of put- 
 ting people of my acquaintance in mind of it : at present the 
 real director* (at least of home affairs) is a countryman of 
 yours ; but you know there are certain circumstances that 
 may disincline from meddling in some nice matters. I am al- 
 ways with gratitude and the truest esteem, both to Lady Frances 
 and yourself, a faithful humble servant. 
 
 * Lord Mansfield is probably here alluded to. He was a member 
 of the Cabinet during the last years of George the Second's reign, and 
 supposed to have great influence with the Duke of Newcastle, the 
 nominal head of that administration. The circumstance of his having 
 been himself attached on the score of early Jacobinism, might make 
 him cautious of appearing to protect persons in Sir James Steuart's 
 situation. 
 
350 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 Venice, January, 13, 1761. 
 
 1 have indulged myself some time with day-dreams of the 
 happiness I hoped to enjoy this summer in the conversation 
 of Lady Fanny and Sir James S. ; but I hear such frightful 
 stories of precipices and hovels during the whole journey, I 
 begin to fear there is no such pleasure allotted me in the book 
 of fate : the Alps were once mole-hills in my sight when they 
 interposed between me and the slightest inclination ; now age 
 begins to freeze, and brings with it the usual train of melan- 
 choly apprehensions. Poor human-kind ! We always march 
 blindly on ; the fire of youth represents to us all our wishes 
 possible : and, that over, we fall into despondency that prevents 
 even easy enterprises : a stove in winter, a garden in summer 
 bounds all our desires, or at least our undertakings. If Mr. 
 Steuart would disclose all his imaginations, I dare swear he 
 has some thoughts of emulating Alexander or Demosthenes, 
 perhaps both : nothing seems difficult at his time of life, every 
 thing at mine. I am very unwilling, but am afraid I must 
 submit to the confinement of my boat and my easy chair, and 
 go no further than they can carry me. Why are our views so 
 extensive, and our power so miserably limited ? This is among 
 the mysteries which (as you justly say) will remain ever un- 
 folded to our shallow capacities. I am much inclined to think 
 we are no more free agents than the queen of clubs when she 
 victoriously takes prisoner the knave of hearts, and all our ef- 
 forts (when we rebel against destiny) as weak as a card that 
 sticks to a glove when the gamester is determined to throw it 
 on the table. Let us then (which is the only true philosophy) 
 be contented with our chance, and make the best of that very 
 bad bargain of being born in this wild planet ; where we may 
 find however (God be thanked) much to. laugh at, though little 
 to approve. 
 
 I confess I delight extremely in looking at men in that light. 
 How many thousands trample under foot honor, ease, and 
 
SIR JAMES AND LADY STEUART. 851 
 
 pleasure, in pursuit of ribbons of certain colors, dabs of em* 
 broidery on their clothes, and gilt wood carved behind their 
 coaches in a particular figure ? Others breaking their hearts 
 till they are distinguished by the shape and color of their 
 hats ; and, in general, all people earnestly seeking what they 
 do not want, while they neglect the real blessings in their 
 possession, I mean the innocent gratification of their senses, 
 which is all we can properly call our own. For my part, I 
 will endeavor to comfort myself for the cruel disappointment 
 I find in renouncing Tubingen by eating some fresh oysters 
 on the table. I hope you are sitting down with dear Lady F. 
 to some admirable red partridges, which I think are the growth 
 of that country. Adieu ! 
 
 LETTER XI. 
 
 Venice, January, 25, 1Y6L 
 Sir — I have not returned my thanks for your obliging let- 
 ter so soon as both duty and inclination prompted me ; but I 
 have had so severe a cold accompanied with a weakness in my 
 eyes, that I have been confined to my store for many days. 
 This is the first use I make of my pen. I will not engage in a 
 dispute with you, being very sure that I am unable to support 
 it against you ; yet I own I am entirely of your opinion in re- 
 lation to the civil list. I know it has long been a custom to 
 begin every reign with some mark of the people's love exceed 
 ing what was shown to the predecessor : I am glad to see this 
 distinguished by the trust and affection of the king to his 
 people, and am persuaded it will have a very good effect on 
 all our affairs foreign and domestic. It is possible my daugh- 
 ter may have some partiality ; the character of his present 
 majesty needs only be half so perfect as she describes it, to be 
 such a monarch as has never existed but in romances. Though 
 I am preparing for my last and longest journey, and stand on 
 the threshold of this dirty world, my several infirmities like 
 
352 LETTERS TO 
 
 post horses ready to hurry me away, I can not be insensible to 
 the happiness of my native country, and am glad to see the 
 prospect of a prosperity and harmony that I never was wit- 
 ness to. I hope my friends will be included in the public joy ; 
 and I shall always think Lady Fanny and Sir James Steuart 
 in the first rank of those I wish to serve. Your conversation 
 is a pleasure I would prefer to any other, but I confess even 
 that can not make me desire to be in London, especially at 
 this time when the shadow of credit that I should be supposed 
 to possess would attract daily solicitations, and gain me a 
 number of enemies who would never forgive me the not per- 
 forming impossibilities. If all people thought of power as I 
 do, it would be avoided with as much eagerness as it is now 
 sought. I never knew any person that had it who did not 
 lament the load ; though I confess (so infirm is human nature) 
 they have all endeavored to retain it, at the same time they 
 complained of it. 
 
 LETTER XH. 
 
 July 22, 1761. 
 
 Sir — I expect you should wish me joy on the good fortune 
 of a friend I esteem in the highest manner. I have always 
 preferred the interest of those I love to my own. You need 
 not doubt of my sincere affection toward the lady and young 
 gentleman you mention. My own affairs here grow worse and 
 worce ; my indiscreet well-wishers do me as much harm, more 
 harm than any declared enemy could do. The notable plan 
 of our great politician is to make me surrender my little castle ; 
 I, with the true spirit of old Whiggism, resolve to keep my 
 ground, though I starve in the maintaining it, or am eat up by 
 the wild beasts of the wood, meaning gnats and flies. A word 
 to the wise ; you understand me. You may have heard of a 
 facetious gentleman vulgarly called Tom Earle, i. e., Giles 
 Earle,* Esq. His toast was always : 
 
 * A Lord of the Treasury. See Honorable Horace "Walpole's letters 
 
8IE JAMES AND LADY STEUABT. 353 
 
 " God bless you, whatever becomes of me !" 
 
 The day when hungry friar wishes 
 He might eat other food than fishes, 
 Or, to explain the date more fully, 
 The twenty-second instant July. 
 
 LETTER Xm. 
 
 October 1, 1*761. 
 
 Madam and Sir — I am now part of my way to England, 
 where I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you ; it is so long 
 since I have heard from you, I can not guess where you are. 
 I venture this to Tubingen, though I fancy two letters I have di- 
 rected thither have miscarried, and am so uncertain of the fate 
 of this I know not what to say. I think I can not err in re- 
 peating a sincere truth, that I am, and ever shall be, faithfully 
 your most humble servant. 
 
 Since I wrote the above I am told I may go by Wirtem- 
 berg to Frankfort. I will then take that road in hopes of see- 
 ing you. 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 Rotterdam, Nov. 20, 1161. 
 Sir — I received yesterday your obliging and welcome letter 
 by the hands of Mr. Simpson. I tried in vain to find you at 
 Amsterdam : I began to think we resembled two parallel lines, 
 destined to be always near and never to meet. You know there 
 is no fighting (at least no overcoming) destiny. So far I am a 
 confirmed Calvinist, according to the notions of the country 
 
 to Sir Horace Mann, Dec. 16, 1741, for an account of a debate and a 
 division upon the occasion of the election of the Chairman of the Com- 
 mittees of the House of Commons, in which some account of this gen- 
 tleman is to be found. 
 
354 LETTERS TO 
 
 where I now exist. I am dragging my ragged remnant of life 
 to England. The wind and tide are against me ; how far I have 
 strength to struggle against both I know not ; that I am arrived 
 here is as much a miracle as any in the golden legend ; and if 
 I had foreseen half the difficulties I have met with, I should 
 not certainly have had courage enough to undertake it. I have 
 scrambled through more dangers than his M. of P.,* or even 
 my well-beloved cousin (not counselor) Marquis Granby ;f 
 but my spirits fail me when I think of my friends risking either 
 health or happiness. I will write to Lady Fanny to hinder 
 your coming to Rotterdam, and will sooner make one jump 
 more myself to wait on you at Antwerp. I am glad poor D. 
 has sold his medals. I confess I thought his buying them a 
 very bold stroke. I supposed that he had already left Lon- 
 don, but am told that he has been prevented by the machina- 
 tions of that excellent politician and truly great man M 
 
 and his ministry. 
 
 My dear Lady Fanny, I am persuaded that you are more 
 nearly concerned for the health of Sir James than he is him- 
 self. I address myself to you, to insist on it to him, not to 
 undertake a winter progress in the beginning of a fit of the 
 gout. 
 
 I am nailed down here by a severe illness of my poor Mari- 
 anne, who has not been able to endure the frights and fa- 
 tigues that we have passed. If I live to see Great Britain, you 
 will have there a sincere and faithful servant that will omit no 
 occasion of serving you ; and I think it almost impossible I 
 should not succeed. You must be loved and esteemed wher- 
 ever you are known. Give me leave, however, dear madam, 
 to combat some of your notions, or more properly speaking, 
 your passions. Mr. Steuart is in a situation that opens the 
 
 * Majesty of Prussia. 
 
 f Lord Granby married the daughter of Charles, sixth Duke of Som- 
 erset, by his wife the youngest daughter of Daniel, Earl of "Winchelsea 
 and Nottingham, whose wife was the daughter of Basil Earl Fielding, 
 and Lady Mary's first cousin. 
 
SIR JAMES AND LADY STEUART. 355 
 
 fairest prospect of honor and advancement. We mothers are 
 all apt to regret the absence of children we love : Solomon ad- 
 vises the sluggard to go to the ant and be wise ; we should 
 take the example of the innocent inhabitants of the air, when 
 their young are fledged, they are delighted to see them fly and 
 peck for themselves. Forgive this freedom. I have no other 
 recipe for maternal fondness, a distemper which has long af- 
 flicted your ladyship's obliged and obedient humble servant. 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 Rotterdam, December 26, 1761. 
 Sir — The thaw is now so far advan' A I am in great hopes 
 of moving in a few days. My first care at London will be your 
 affairs : I think it almost impossible I should not succeed. 
 You may assure Lady Fanny no endeavor shall be wanting on 
 my side : if I find any material objection I shall not fail to let 
 you know it ; I confess I do not foresee any. A young gentle- 
 man arrived here last night, who is perhaps of your acquaint- 
 ance, Mr. Hamilton ; he is hastening to London in expectation 
 of an act of grace, which I believe will be granted. I flatter 
 myself with the view of seeing you in England, and can affirm 
 with truth it is one of the greatest pleasures I expect there. 
 Whatever prosperity my family now enjoys, it will add much 
 to my happiness to see my friends easy ; and while you are 
 unfortunate I shall always think myself so. This very dull 
 weather operates on my spirits, though I use my utmost efforts 
 to support them : I beg dear Lady Fanny to do the same ; a 
 melancholy state of mind should never be indulged, since it often 
 remains even when the cause of it is removed. I have here 
 neither amusement nor conversation, and am so infected by the 
 climate that I verily believe, was I to stay long, I should take 
 to smoking and drinking, like the natives. I should wish you 
 the compliments of the season, a merry Christmas, but I know 
 not how to do it while you remain in so disagreeable an un- 
 
356 LETTERS TO 
 
 certainty yet, if you have the company of Mr. Steuart, his 
 bloom of lite will insensibly commuDicate part of his gayetv. 
 If I could have foreseen my stay in this part of the world, I 
 would have made a trip to Antwerp to enjoy a conversation 
 ever honored and remembered by, sir and madam, your most 
 faithful and obedient humble servant 
 
 LETTER XVL 
 
 Rotterdam, January 2, 1762. 
 
 I have been half way to Helvoet, and was obliged to turn 
 back by the mountains of sea that obstructed our passage : 
 the captain, however, gives me hopes of setting out in two or 
 three days. I have had so many disappointments I can scarce 
 entertain the flattering thought of arriving at London. 
 Wherever I am you may depend upon it, dear madam, I shall 
 ever retain the warmest sentiments of good-will for you and 
 your family, and will use my utmost endeavors to give you 
 better proofs of it than I can do by expressions which will 
 always fall short of my thoughts. 
 
 Many happy new years to you, madam. May this atone 
 for the ill-fortune of those that are past, and all those to come 
 be cheerful. Mr. Hamilton, whom I mentioned, has, I believe, 
 got a particular pardon ; his case is extraordinary, having no 
 relation to public affairs. I am sorry for poor Duff, and fear 
 that wherever he moves there will be little difference in his 
 situation ; he carries with him such a load of indiscretion, it 
 is hardly in the power of Fortune to save him. We are 
 crowded with officers of all ranks, returning to England. The 
 peace seems to be more distant than ever : it would be very 
 indiff-^ent to me if it did not affect my friends ; my remain- 
 ing tim^ in this world is so short I have few wishes to make 
 for myself, and when I am free from pain ought to think my- 
 self happy. 
 
 It is uncommon at my age to have no distemper and to re- 
 
SIR JAMES AND LAbY STEUART. 357 
 
 tain all my senses in their first degree of perfection. I should 
 be unworthy these blessings if I did not acknowledge them. 
 If lam so fortunate to see your ladyship and Sir James in 
 good health at London, it will be a great addition to the satis- 
 faction of, dear madam, your faithful and obedient humble 
 servant. 
 
 LETTER XVH. 
 
 Great George-street, March 5th, 1762. 
 
 Dear Madam — I have written several letters to your lady- 
 ship, but I perceive by that I had the honor to receive yester- 
 day they have all miscarried. I can assign no reason for it 
 but the uncertainty of the post. I am told many mails have 
 been taken, and the letters either thrown away or suppressed. 
 We must suffer this among the common calamities of war. 
 Our correspondence is so innocent we have no reason to ap- 
 prehend our secrets being discovered. 
 
 I am proud to make public profession of being, dear madam, 
 ever your most faithful humble servant. 
 
 In writing to you, I think I write to your whole family ; I 
 hope they think so too. 
 
 LETTER XVIH. 
 
 July 2d, 1162* 
 Dear Madam — I have been ill a long time, and am now so 
 bad I am little capable of writing, but I would not pass in 
 your opinion as either stupid or ungrateful. My heart is 
 always warm in your service, and I am always told your 
 affairs shall be taken care of. You may depend, dear madam, 
 nothing shall be wanting on the part of your ladyship's faith- 
 ful humble servant. 
 
 * Lady Mary died on the 21st of August, following. 
 
SELECTIONS FROM VARIOUS LETTERS* 
 
 The Small-Pox and Inoculation. — Apropos of distem- 
 pers, I am going to tell you a thing that will make you wish 
 yourself here. The small-pox, so fatal and so general among 
 us, is here entirely harmless by the invention of ingrafting, 
 which is the term they give it. TJ*ere is a set of old wo- 
 men who make it their business to perform the operation 
 every autumn, in the month of September, when the great 
 heat is abated. People send to one another to know if any 
 of their family has a mind to have the small-pox : they make 
 parties for this purpose, and when they are met (commonly 
 fifteen or sixteen together), the old woman comes with a nut- 
 shell full of the matter of the best sort of small-pox, and asks 
 what vein you please to have opened. She immediately rips 
 open that you offer to her with a large needle (which gives 
 you no more pain than a common scratch), and puts into the 
 vein as much matter as can lie upon the. head of her needle, 
 and after that binds up the little wound with a hollow bit of 
 shell ; and in this manner opens four or five veins. The Gre- 
 cians have commonly the superstition of opening one in the 
 middle of the forehead, one in each arm, and one on the 
 breast, to mark the sign of the cross ; but this has a very ill 
 effect, all these wounds leaving little scars, and is not done by 
 
 * These extracts are made on the same plan as those in the " Let- 
 ters of Madame de Sevigne," viz., to bring together whatever was of 
 real value in the omitted Letters of Lady Mary, and thus make a clear 
 exposition of her talents and character. — Am. Ed. 
 
SELECTIONS FROM VARIOUS LETTERS. 359 
 
 those that are not superstitious, who choose to have them in 
 the legs, or that part of the arm that is concealed. The chil- 
 dren or young patients play together all the rest of the day, 
 and are in perfect health to the eighth. Then the fever begins 
 to seize them, and they keep their beds two days, very seldom 
 three. They have very rarely above twenty or thirty in their 
 faces, which never mark ; and m eight days' time they are as 
 well as before their illness. Where they are wounded there 
 remain running sores during the distemper, which I don't 
 doubt is a great relief to it. Every year thousands undergo 
 this operation ; and the French embassador says pleasantly, 
 that they take the small-pox here by way of diversion, as they 
 take the waters in other countries. There is no example of 
 any one that has died in it ; and you may believe I am well 
 satisfied of the safety of this experiment, since I intend to try 
 it on my dear little son. 
 
 I am patriot enough to take pains to bring this useful inven- 
 tion into fashion in England ; and I should not fail to write to 
 some of our doctors very particularly about it, if I knew any 
 one of them that I thought had virtue enough to destroy such 
 a considerable branch of their revenue for the good to man- 
 kind. But that distemper is too beneficial to them not to ex- 
 pose to all their resentment the hardy wight that should un- 
 dertake to put an end to it. Perhaps, if I live to return, 1 
 may, however, have courage to war with them. Upon this 
 occasion admire the heroism in the heart of your friend. 
 
 Life at Vienna in 1716. — It is not from Austria that one 
 can write with vivacity, and I am already infected with the 
 phlegm of the country. Even their amours and their quar- 
 rels are carried on with a surprising temper, and they are 
 never lively but upon points of ceremony. There, I own, they 
 show all their passions ; and 'tis not long since two coaches, 
 meeting in a narrow street at night, the ladies in them not 
 being able to adjust the ceremonial of which should go back, 
 sat there with equal gallantry till two in the morning, and 
 
360 SELECTIONS FROM 
 
 were both so fully determined to die upon the spot, rather 
 than yield in a point of that importance, that the street 
 would never have been cleared till their deaths, if the empe- 
 ror had not sent his guards to part them ; and even then they 
 refused to stir till the expedient could be found out of taking 
 them both out in chairs, exactly in the same moment. After 
 the ladies were agreed, it was with some difficulty that the 
 pas was decided between the two coachmen, no less tenacious 
 of their rank than the ladies. 
 
 This passion is so omnipotent in the breasts of the women 
 that even their husbands never die but they are ready to 
 break their hearts, because that fatal hour puts an end to 
 their rank, no widows having any place at Vienna. The men 
 are not much less touched with this point of honor, and they 
 do not only scorn to marry, but even to make love to any 
 woman of a family not as illustrious as their own ; and the 
 pedigree is much more considered by them than either the 
 complexion or features of their mistresses. Happy are the 
 shes that can number among their ancestors counts of the 
 empire ; they have neither occasion for beauty, money, nor 
 good conduct, to get them husbands. 'Tis true, as to money, 
 it is seldom any advantage to the man they marry ; the laws 
 of Austria confine the woman's portion to two thousand florins 
 (about two hundred pounds English), and whatever they have 
 beside remains in their own possession and disposal. Thus, 
 here are many ladies much richer than their husbands, who 
 are, however, obliged to allow them pin-money agreeably to 
 their quality ; and I attribute to this considerable branch 
 of prerogative the liberty that they take upon other occasions. 
 ***** * #** 
 
 If I should undertake to tell you all the particulars, in 
 which the manners here differ from ours, I must write a whole 
 quire of the dullest stuff that ever was read, or printed with- 
 out being read. Their dress agrees with the French or En- 
 glish in no one article but wearing petticoats. They have 
 many fashions peculiar to themselves ; they think it indecent 
 
VARIOUS LETTERS. 361 
 
 for a widow ever to wear green or rose-color, but all the other 
 gayest colors at her own discretion. The assemblies here are 
 the only regular diversion, the operas being always at court, 
 and commonly on some particular occasion. Madame Ra- 
 butin has the assembly constantly every night at her house ; 
 and the other ladies, whenever they have a mind to display 
 the magnificence of their apartments, or oblige a friend by 
 complimenting them on the day of their saint, they declare 
 that on such a day the assembly shall be at their house in 
 
 honor of the feast of the Count or Countess such a one. 
 
 These days are called days of gala, and all the friends or re- 
 lations of the lady, whose saint it is, are obliged to appear in 
 their best clothes, and all their jewels. The mistress of the 
 house takes no particular notice of any body, nor returns any 
 body's visit ; and whoever pleases may go, without the for- 
 mality of being presented. The company are entertained 
 with ice in several forms, winter and summer ; afterward they 
 divide into several parties of ombre, piquet, or conversation, 
 all games of hazard being forbidden. 
 
 Marriage op the Grand Seignior's Daughter. — The 
 Grand Seignior's eldest daughter was married some few days 
 before I came hither ; and, upon that occasion, the Turkish 
 ladies display all their magnificence. The bride was conducted 
 to her husband's house in very great splendor. She is widow 
 of the late vizier, who was killed at Peterwaradin, though 
 that ought rather to be called a contract than a marriage, 
 since she never has lived with him ; however, the greatest 
 part of his wealth is hers. He had the permission of visiting 
 her in the seraglio, and, being one of the handsomest men in 
 the empire, had very much engaged her affections. When 
 she saw this second husband, who is at least fifty, she could 
 not forbear bursting into tears. He is indeed a man of merit, 
 and the declared favorite of the sultan (which they call mosayp), 
 but that is not enough to make him pleasing in the eyes of 
 a girl of thirteen. 
 
 16* 
 
362 SELECTIONS FROM 
 
 Arbitrary Government. — The government here is entirely 
 in the hands of the army : the Grand Seignior, with all his 
 absolute power, is as much a slave as any of his subjects, 
 and trembles at a janizary's frown. Here is, indeed, a much 
 greater appearance of subjection than among us : a minister 
 of state is not spoken to but upon the knee ; should a reflec- 
 tion on his conduct be dropped in a coffee-house (for they 
 have spies every where), the house would be razed to the 
 ground, and perhaps the whole company put to the torture. 
 No huzzaing mobs, senseless pamphlets, an€ tavern disputes 
 about politics ; 
 
 A consequential ill that freedom draws : 
 A bad effect — but from a noble cause. 
 
 None of our harmless calling names ! but when a minister here 
 displeases the people, in three hours' time he is dragged even 
 from his master's arms. They cut off hands, head, and feet, 
 and throw them before the palace gate with all the respect in 
 the world ; while the sultan (to whom they all profess an un- 
 limited adoration) sits trembling in his apartment, and dare 
 neither defend nor revenge his favorite. This is the blessed 
 condition of the most absolute monarch upon earth, who owns 
 no law but his will. 
 
 I can not help wishing, in the loyalty of my heart, that the 
 parliament would send hither a ship-load of your passive-obe- 
 dient men, that they might see arbitrary government in it? 
 clearest and strongest light, where it is hard to judge whethei 
 the prince, people, or ministers, are most miserable. 
 
 Turkish Houses. — Every house, great and small, is divided 
 into two distinct parts, which only join together by a narrow 
 passage. The first house has a large court before it, and open 
 galleries all round it, which is to me a thing very agreeable. 
 This gallery leads to all the chambers, which are commonly 
 large, and with two rows of windows, the first being of painted 
 glass : they seldom build above two stones, each of which has 
 
VARIOUS LETTERS. 383 
 
 galleries. The stairs are broad, and not often above thirty steps. 
 This is the house belonging to the lord, and the adjoining one 
 is called the harem, that is, the ladies' apartment (for the name 
 of seraglio is peculiar to the Grand Seignior) ; it has also a gal- 
 lery running round it toward the garden, to which all the win- 
 dows are turned, and the same number of chambers as the 
 other, but more gay and splendid, both in painting and furni- 
 ture. The second row of windows is very low, with grates like 
 those of convents ; the rooms are all spread with Persian car- 
 pets, and raised at one end of them (my chambers are raised 
 at both ends) about two feet. This is the sofa, which is laid 
 with a richer sort of carpet, and all round it a sort of couch, 
 raised half a foot, covered with rich silk according to the fancy 
 or magnificence of the owner. Mine is of scarlet cloth, with a 
 gold fringe ; round about this are placed, standing against the 
 wall, two rows of cushions, the first very large, and the next 
 little ones ; and here the Turks display their greatest magnifi- 
 cence. They are generally brocade, or embroidery of gold wire 
 upon white satin ; nothing can look more gay and splendid. 
 These seats are also so convenient and easy, that I believe I 
 shall never endure chairs as long as I live. The rooms are 
 low, which I think no fault, and the ceiling is always of wood, 
 generally inlaid or painted with flowers. They open in many 
 places with folding-doors, and serve for cabinets, I think, more 
 conveniently than ours. Between the windows are little arches 
 to set pots of perfume, or baskets of flowers. But what pleases 
 me best, is the fashion of having marble fountains in the lower 
 part of the room, which throw up several spouts of water, giv- 
 ing at the same time an agreeable coolness, and a pleasant 
 dashing sound, falling from one basin to another. Some of 
 these are very magnificent. Each house has a bagnio, which 
 consists generally in two or three little rooms, leaded on the 
 top, paved with marble, with basins, cocks of water, and all 
 conveniences for either hot or cold baths. 
 
364 SELECTIONS FROM 
 
 The Churce of St. Sophia — The next remarkable structure 
 is that of St. Sophia, which is very difficult to see. I was forced 
 to send three times to the caimaikam (the governor of the 
 town), and he assembled the chief effendis, or heads of the law, 
 and inquired of the mufti whether it was lawful to permit it. 
 They passed some days in this important debate ; but I insisting 
 on my request, permission was granted. I can't be informed 
 why the Turks are more delicate on the subject of this mosque 
 than on any of the others, where what Christian pleases may 
 enter without scruple. I fancy they imagine that, having been 
 once consecrated, people, on pretense of curiosity, might pro- 
 fane it with prayers, particularly to those saints who are still 
 very visible in mosaic work, and no other way defaced but by 
 the decays of time ; for it is absolutely false, though so univer- 
 sally asserted, that the Turks defaced all the images that they 
 found in the city. The dome of St. Sophia is said to be one hun- 
 dred and thirteen feet in diameter, built upon arches, sustained 
 by vast pillars of marble, the pavement and staii 3a se marble. 
 There are two rows of galleries, supported with pillars of parti- 
 colored marble, and the whole roof mosaic work, part of which 
 decays very fast, and drops down. They presented me a hand- 
 ful of it ; its composition seems to me a sort of glass, or that 
 paste with which they make counterfeit jewels. They show 
 here the tomb of the Emperor Constantine, for which they have 
 a great veneration. 
 
 The Armenians. — Now I have mentioned the Armenians, 
 perhaps it will be agreeable to tell you something of that na- 
 tion, with which I am sure you are utterly unacquainted. I 
 will not trouble you with the geographical account of the situa- 
 tion of their country, which you may see in the maps, or a re- 
 lation of their ancient greatness, which you may read in the 
 Roman history. They are now subject to the Turks ; and, being 
 very industrious in trade, and increasing and multiplying, are 
 dispersed in great numbers through all the Turkish dominions. 
 They were, as they say, converted to the Christian religion by 
 
VARIOUS LETTERS. 365 
 
 St. Gregory, and are perhaps the devoutest Christians in the 
 whole world. Th) cbief precepts of their priest enjoin the strict 
 keeping of their lents, which are at least seven months in every 
 year, and are not to be dispensed with on the most emergent 
 necessity ; no occasion whatever can excuse them, if they touch 
 any thing more than mere herbs or roots (without oil) and 
 plain dry bread. That is their constant diet. Mr. Wortley has 
 one of his interpreters of this nation ; and the poor fellow was 
 brought so low by the severity of his fasts that his life was 
 despaired of. Yet neither his master's commands nor the 
 doctor's entreaties (who declared nothing else could save his 
 life), were powerful enough to prevail with him to take two or 
 three spoonfuls of broth. Excepting this, which may rather be 
 called a custom than an article of faith, I see very little in their 
 religion different from ours.' 'Tis true they seem to incline very 
 much to Mr. Whiston's doctrine ; neither do I think the Greek 
 Church very distant from it, since 'tis certain the Holy Spirit's 
 proceeding only from the Father, is making a plain subordina- 
 tion in the Son. But the Armenians have no notion of tran- 
 substantiation, whatever account Sir Paul Rycaut gives of them 
 (which account I am apt to believe was designed to compliment 
 our court in 1679) ; and they have a great horror for those 
 among them that change to the Roman religion. 
 
 The Paradise of Women. — As to your next inquiry, I 
 assure you it is certainly false, though commonly believed in 
 our parts of the world, that Mohammed excludes women from 
 any share in a future happy state. He was too much a gentle- 
 man, and loved the fair sex too well, to use them so barbar- 
 ously. On the contrary, he promises a very fine paradise to 
 the Turkish women. He says, indeed, that this paradise will 
 be a separate place from that of their husbands ; but I fancy 
 the most part of them won": like it the worse for that; and 
 that the regret of this separai ion will not render their paradise 
 the less agreeable. 
 
•366 SELECTIONS FROM 
 
 Relics at Ratlsbon. — I have been to see the churches 
 here, and had the permission of touching the relics, which was 
 never suffered in places where I was not known. I had, by 
 t.his privilege, the opportunity of making an observation, 
 which I doubt not might have been made in all the other 
 churches, that the emeralds and rubies which they show round 
 their relics and images are most of them false ; though they 
 tell you that many of the Crosses and Madonnas, set round 
 with these stones, have been the gifts of the emperors and 
 other great princes. I don't doubt, indeed, but they were at 
 first jewels of value ; but the good fathers have found it con- 
 venient to apply them to other uses, and the people are just as 
 well satisfied with bits of glass. Among these relics they 
 showed me a prodigious claw set in gold, which they called 
 the claw of a griffin ; and I could not forbear asking the reve- 
 rend priest that showed it whether the griffin was a saint ? 
 This question almost put him beside his gravity ; but he an- 
 swered they only kept it as a cnriosity. I was very much 
 scandalized at a large silver image of the Trinity, where the 
 Father is represented under the figure of a decrepid old man, 
 with a beard down to his knees, and a triple crown on his 
 head, holding in his arms the Son, fixed on the cross, and the 
 Holy Ghost, in the shape of a dove, hovering over him. 
 
 A Good Ruler. — I am sincerely afflicted for the death of 
 the doge* He is lamented here by all ranks of people, 
 as their common parent. He really answered the idea of 
 Lord Bolingbroke's imaginary patriotic prince, and was the 
 only example I ever knew of having passed through the 
 greatest employments, and most important negotiations, with- 
 out ever making an enemy. When I was at Venice, which 
 was some months before his election, he was the leading 
 voice in the senate, which would have been dangerous in the 
 hands of a bad man : vet he had the art to silence envy ; 
 
 * Pietro Grimani died 1752. He was elected Doge of Venice in 
 1741. and was succeeded by Francesco Loredano. 
 
VARIOUS LETTERS. 367 
 
 and I never once heard an objection to his character, or even 
 an insinuation to his disadvantage. I attribute this peculiar 
 happiness to be owing to the sincere benevolence of his heart, 
 joined with an easy cheerfulness of temper, which made him 
 agreeable to all companies, and a blessing to all his depend- 
 ents. Authority appeared so humble in him, no one wished it 
 less, except himself, who would sometimes lament the weight 
 of it, as robbing him too much of the conversation of his 
 friends in which he placed his chief delight, being so little am- 
 bitious that, to my certain knowledge, far from caballing to 
 gain that elevation to which he was raised, he would have re- 
 fused it, if he did not look upon the acceptance of it as a 
 duty due to his country. 
 
 Paris and London in 1718. — In general, I think Paris has 
 the advantage of Lon Ion, in the neat pavement of the streets, 
 and the regular lighting of them at nights, and in the propor- 
 tion of the streets, the houses being all built of stone, and 
 most of those belonging to people of quality being beautified 
 by gardens. But we certainly may boast of a town very near 
 twice as large ; and when I have said that, I know nothing 
 else we surpass it in. 
 
 The Ruling Passion. — I arrived this morning at Dover, 
 after being tossed a whole night in a packet-boat, in so violent 
 a manner that the master, considering the weakness of his 
 vessel, thought it proper to remove the mail, and give us notice 
 of the danger. We called a little fishing-boat, which could 
 hardly make up to us ; while all the people on board us were 
 crying to heaven. It is hard to imagine one's self in a scene 
 of greater horror than on such an occasion ; and yet, shall 1 
 own it to you ? though I was not at all willing to be drowned, 
 I could not forbear being entertained at the double distress of a 
 fellow-passenger. She was an English lady that I had met at 
 Calais, who desired me to let her go over with me in my cabin. 
 She had bought a fine point-head, which she was contriving to 
 
368 SELECTIONS FROM 
 
 conceal from the Custom-bouse officers. When the wind grew 
 high, and our little vessel tracked, she fell very heartily to hei 
 prayers, and thought wholly of her soul. When it seemed to 
 abate, she returned to the worldly care of her head-dress, and 
 addressed herself to me : " Dear mada?n, will you take care 
 of this point ? if it should be lost ! Ah, Lord, we shall all be 
 lost ! — Lord have mercy on my soul ! — Pray, madam, take 
 care of this head-dress /" 
 
 To See is to Know. — The description of a face or figure is 
 a needless thing, as it never conveys a true idea ; it only grati- 
 fies the imagination with a fantastic one until the real one is 
 seen. So, my dear, if you have a mind to form a true notion 
 of the divine forms and features of the Venus and Antinous, 
 come to Florence. 
 
 La Trappe. — Between Bologna and Florence I went out 
 of my road to visit the monastery of La Trappe, which is of 
 French origin, and one of the most austere and self-denying 
 orders I know of. In this gloomy retreat it gave me pain to 
 observe those austere men, who have devoutly reduced them- 
 selves to a worse condition than that of the beasts. Folly, 
 you see, is the lot of humanity, whether it arises in the flowery 
 paths of pleasure or the thorny ones of an ill-judged devo- 
 tion. But of the two sorts of fools, I shall always think that 
 the merry one has the most eligible fate ; and I can not well 
 form a notion of that spiritual and extatic joy that is mixed 
 with sighs, groans, hunger, and thirst, and the other compli- 
 cated miseries of monastic discipline. It is a strange way of 
 going to work for happiness to excite an enmity between soui 
 and body, which Nature and Providence have designed to live 
 together in union and friendship, and which we can not separ- 
 ate like man and wife when they happen to disagree. The 
 profound silence that is enjoined upon the monks of La Trappe, 
 is a singular circumstance of their unsociable and unnatural 
 discipline; and were this injunction never to bo dispensed 
 
VARIOUS LETTERS. 3G9 
 
 with, it would be needless to visit them in any other charac- 
 ter than as a collection of statues ; but the superior of the 
 convent suspended in our favor that rigorous law, and allowed 
 one of the mutes to converse with me, and answer a few dis- 
 creet questions. He told me that the monks of this order in 
 France are still more austere than those of Italy, as they never 
 taste wine, flesh, fish, or eggs ; but live entirely upon vegeta- 
 bles. The story that is told of the institution of this ordei is 
 remarkable, and is well attested, if my information be good. 
 Its founder was a French nobleman, whose name was Bouthil- 
 lier de Ranee, a man of pleasure and gallantry, who was 
 converted into the deepest gloom of devotion by the following 
 incident : His affairs obliged him to absent himself, for some 
 time, from a lady with whom he had lived in the most inti- 
 mate and tender connections of successful love. At his re- 
 turn to Paris, he proposed to surprise her agreeably, and, at 
 the same time, to satisfy his own impatient desire of seeing 
 her, by going directly and without ceremony to her apart- 
 ment by a back stair, which he was well acquainted with : 
 but think of the spectacle that presented itself to him at his 
 entrance into the chamber that had so often been the scene 
 of love's highest raptures ! his mistress dead — dead of the 
 small-pox — disfigured beyond expression — a loathsome mass 
 of putrid matter — and the surgeon separating the head from 
 the body, because the coffin had been made too short ! He 
 stood for a moment motionless in amazement, and filled with 
 horror — and then retired from the world, shut himself up in 
 the convent of La Trappe, where he passed the remainder of 
 his days. 
 
 Free Towns. — I have already passed a large part of Ger- 
 many, have seen all that is remarkable in Cologne, Frankfort, 
 Wurtsburg, and this place. 'Tis impossible not to observe 
 the difference between the free towns and those under the 
 government of absolute princes, a3 all the little sovereigns of 
 Germany are. In the first, there appears an air of commerce 
 
 16* 
 
370 SELECTIONS FROM 
 
 and plenty. The streets are well built, and full of people, 
 neatly and plainly dressed. The shops are loaded with mer- 
 chandise, and the commonalty are clean and cheerful. In the 
 other you see a sort of shabby finery, a number of dirty peo- 
 ple of quality tawdered out ; narrow nasty streets, out of re- 
 pair, wretchedly thin of inhabitants, and above half of the 
 common sort asking alms. I can not help fancying one under 
 the figure of a clean Dutch citizen's wife, and the other like a 
 poor town lady of pleasure, painted and ribboned out in her 
 head-dress, with tarnished silver-laced shoes, a ragged under- 
 petticoat, a miserable mixture of vice and poverty. 
 
 Sumptuary Laws. — They have sumptuary laws in this 
 town, which distinguish their rank by their dress, prevent the 
 excess which ruins so many other cities, and has a more agree- 
 able effect to the eye of a stranger than our fashions. I think 
 after the Archbishop of Cambray having declared for them, I 
 need not be ashamed to own that I wish these laws were in 
 force in other parts of the world. When one considers im- 
 partially the merit of a rich suit of clothes in most places, the 
 respect and the smiles of favor it procures, not to speak of the 
 envy and the sighs it occasions (which is very often the prin- 
 pal charm to the wearer), one is forced to confess that there is 
 need of an uncommon understanding to resist the temptation 
 of pleasing friends and mortifying rivals ; and that it is natu- 
 ral to young people to fall into a folly which betrays them to 
 that want of money which is the source of a thousand base- 
 nesses. What numbers of men have begun the world with 
 generous inclinations that have afterward been the instru- 
 ments of bringing misery on a whole people, being led by 
 vain expense into debts that they could clear no other way 
 but by the forfeit of their honor, and which they never could 
 have contracted if the respect the many pay to habits was fixed 
 by law only to a particular color or cut of plain cloth ! These 
 reflections draw after them others that are too melancholy. 
 
VARIOUS LETTERS. 37l 
 
 French Ladies in 1748. — A propos of countenances, 1 
 must tell you something of the French ladies ; I have seen al 
 
 the beauties, and such (I can't help making use of the 
 
 coarse word) nauseous creatures ! so fantastically absurd in 
 their dress ! so monstrously unnatural in their paints ! theii 
 hair cut short, and curled round their faces, and so loaded with 
 powder that it makes it look like white wool ! and on their 
 cheeks to their chins, unmercifully laid, on a shining red japan, 
 that glistens in a most flaming manner, so that they seem to 
 have no resemblance to human faces. I am apt to believe 
 that they took the first hint of their dress from a fair sheep 
 newly ruddled. "lis with pleasure I recollect my dear pretty 
 countrywomen : and if I was writing to any body else I 
 should say that these grotesque daubers give me still a higher 
 esteem of the natural charms of dear Lady Rich's auburn 
 hair, and the lively colors of her unsullied complexion. 
 
 Gaming. — Play is the general plague of Europe. I know 
 no corner of it entirely free from the infection. I do not 
 doubt but that the familiarities of the gaming-table contribute 
 very much to that decay of politeness of which you com- 
 plain; for the pouting and quarrels, which naturally arise 
 from disputes there, must put an end to all complaisance, or 
 even good-will toward each other. 
 
 Conversation. — There are many in the world incapable of 
 any other sort of conversation except that of remarking the 
 mistakes of others, and are very often so much mistaken them- 
 selves they blame the most praiseworthy actions, and are so un- 
 acquainted with virtue they do not know it when they see it. 
 
 The World a Century Ago. — The world is so corrupt 
 it is difficult to meet with honesty in any station, and such 
 good hearts as yours, which are not naturally inclined to sus- 
 picion, are often liable to be imposed on. 
 
372 SELECTIONS FROM 
 
 Life at Twickenham. — I am now at the same distance 
 from London that you are from Paris, and could fall into 
 solitary amusements with a good deal of taste ; but I resist 
 it as a temptation of Satan, and rather turn my endeavors 
 to make the world as agreeable to me as I can, which is the 
 true philosophy ; that of despising it is of no use but to 
 hasten wrinkles. I ride a good deal, and have got a horse 
 superior to any two-legged animal, he being -without a fault. 
 I work like an angel. I receive visits upon idle days, and I 
 shade my life as I do my tent-stitch, that is, make as easy 
 transitions as I can from business to pleasure ; the one would 
 be too flaring and gaudy without some dark shades of t' other ; 
 and if I worked altogether in the grave colors, you know 
 'twould be quite dismal. Miss Skerret is in the house with 
 me, and Lady Stafford has taken a lodging at Richmond. As 
 their ages are different, and both agreeable in their kind, I 
 laugh with the one, or reason with the other, as I happen to 
 be in a gay or serious humor ; and I manage my friends with 
 such a strong, yet with a gentle hand, that they are both 
 willing to do whatever I have a mind to. 
 
 The "Wasp of Twickenham.* — The word malignity, and a 
 passage in your letter, call to my mind the wicked wasp of 
 Twickenham. His lies affect me now no more ; they will be 
 all as much despised as the story of the seraglio and the 
 handkerchief of which I am persuaded he was the only in- 
 ventor. That man has a malignant and ungenerous heart ; 
 and he is base enough to assume the mask of a moralist, in 
 order to decry human nature, and to give a decent vent to hia 
 hatred of man and woman kind. 
 
 Lord Bute. — Lord Butef has attained office by a very un- 
 common road : I mean an acknowledged honor and probity. 
 
 * Pope. 
 
 f In the last of the letters of the Honorable Horace Walpole to Sir 
 EL Mann, dated October 28, 1760, an account is given of K : ng George 
 
VARIOUS LETTERS. 3*73 
 
 I have but one short instruction (pardon the word) to give on 
 his account ; that he will never forget the real interest of 
 Prince and People can not be divided, and are almost as 
 closely united as that of soul and body. I could preach long 
 on this subject, but I ought to consider your time is now 
 fully taken up, and you can have no leisure for reading my 
 tedious letters. I shall henceforward relinquish the motherly 
 prerogative I have hitherto indulged, of tiring your patience 
 with long dissertations. 
 
 Useful Knowledge. — I congratulate my granddaughters 
 on being born in an age so much enlightened. Sentiments 
 are certainly extremely silly, and only qualify young people 
 to be the bubbles of all their acquaintance. I do not doubt 
 the frequency of assemblies has introduced a more enlarged 
 way of thinking ; it is a kind of public education, which I 
 have always thought as necessary for girls as for boys. A 
 woman married at five-and-tweuty, from under the eye of a 
 strict parent, is commonly as ignorant as she was at five, and 
 no more capable of avoiding the snares, and struggling with 
 the difficulties she will infallibly meet with in the commerce 
 of the world. The knowledge of mankind (the most useful 
 of all knowledge) can only be acquired by conversing with 
 them. Books are so far from giving that instruction, they fill 
 the head with a set of wrong notions, from whence spring 
 the tribes of Clarissas, Harriots, etc. Yet such was the method 
 
 the Second's death, on the Friday preceding the 27th, and mention is 
 made of the Duke of York and Lord Bute having been named by the 
 new king to be ''of the cabinet council," which was probably the sit- 
 uation to which Lady Mary refers in the beginning of this letter. He 
 had been for some time before Groom of the Stole to the Prince of 
 Wales, and continued in that office with the new king till he was ap- 
 pointed Secretary of State, on the resignation of Lord Holdernesse, on 
 the 25th of March, 1761. On the resignation of the Duke of New- 
 castle, Lord Bute became, on the 26th May, 1762, first Lord of the 
 Treasury, which office he resigned on the 8th April, 1763, and never 
 afterward took an active part in public life. 
 
374 SELECTIONS FROM 
 
 of education when I was in England, which I had it not in my 
 power to correct ; the young will always adopt the opinions 
 of their companions rather than the advice of their mothers. 
 
 No One Happy in this Life. — I believe, like all others of 
 your age, you have long been convinced there is no real hap- 
 piness to be found or expected in this world. You have seen 
 a court near enough to know neither riches nor power can 
 secure it ; and all human endeavors after felicity are as childish 
 as running after sparrows to lay salt on their tails : but I ought 
 to give you another information, which can only be learned 
 by experience, that liberty is an idea equally chimerical, and 
 has no real existence in this life. I can truly assure you, I 
 have never been so little mistress of my own time and actions 
 as since I have lived alone. Mankind is placed in a state of 
 dependency, not only on one another (which all are in some 
 degree), but so many inevitable accidents thwart our designs, 
 and limit our best-laid projects. The poor efforts of our ut- 
 most prudence, and political schemes, appear, I fancy, in the 
 eyes of some superior beings, like the pecking of a young lin- 
 net to break a wire cage, or the climbing of a squirrel in a 
 hoop ; the moral needs no explanation. Let us sing as cheer- 
 fully as we can in our impenetrable confinement, and crack 
 our nuts with pleasure from the little store that is allowed us. 
 
 Solitude. — People mistake very much in placing peace in 
 woods and shades, for I believe solitude puts people out of 
 humor, and makes them disposed to quarrel, or there would 
 not be so many disputes about religion and liberty, by crea- 
 tures that never understood the first, nor have, or are likely 
 to have, a taste of the latter: 
 
 Crushed by the stint of thirty pounds a year. 
 
 Lady Bute as a Mother. — The conclusion of your letter 
 has touched me very much. I sympathize with you, my dear 
 child, in all the concern you express for your family : you may 
 
VARIOUS LETTERS. 3*75 
 
 remember I represented it to you, before you were married ; 
 but that is one of the sentiments it is impossible to compre- 
 hend till it is felt. A mother only knows a mother's fondness. 
 Indeed the pain so overbalances the pleasure that I believe if 
 it could be thoroughly understood, there would be no mothers 
 at all. However, take care that the anxiety for the future does 
 not take fr^m you the comforts you may enjoy in the present 
 hour : it is all that is properly ours ; and yet such is the weak- 
 ness of humanity, we commonly lose what is, either by regret- ! 
 ting the past, or disturbing our minds with fear of what may 
 be. You have many blessings ; a husband you love, and who 
 behaves well to you, agreeable hopeful children, a handsome 
 convenient house, with pleasant gardens, in a good air and fine 
 situation, which I place among the most solid satisfactions of 
 life. The truest Avisdom is that which diminishes to us what 
 is displeasing, and turns our thoughts to the advantages which 
 we possess. I can assure you I give no precepts I do not daily 
 practice. How often do I fancy to myself the pleasure I should 
 take in seeing you in the midst of the little people ; and how 
 severe do I then think my destiny that denies me that happi- 
 ness ! I endeavor to comfort myself by reflecting that we 
 should certainly have perpetual disputes (if not quarrels) con- 
 cerning the management of them ; the affection of a grand- 
 mother has generally a tincture of dotage ; you would say I 
 spoiled them, and perhaps not be much in the wrong. 
 
 Mankind is one Species. — Mankind is every where the 
 .same : like cherries or apples, they may differ in size, shape, 
 or color, from different soils, climates, or culture, but are still 
 essentially the same species ; and the little black wood cherry 
 is not nearer akin to the maydukes that are served at great 
 tables, than the wild, naked negro, to the figures adorned with 
 coronets and ribbons. This observation might be carried yet 
 further : all animals are stimulated by the same passions, and 
 act very nearly alike, as far as we are capable of observing 
 them. 
 
376 SELECTIONS FROM 
 
 First Impressions. — I have seldom been mistaken in my 
 first judgment of those I thought it worth while to consider ; 
 and when (which has happened too often) flattery or the per- 
 suasion of others has made me alter it, time has never failed 
 to show me I had done better to have remained fixed in my 
 first (which is ever the most unprejudiced) idea. 
 
 Gardening. — I am really as fond of my garden as a young 
 author of his first play when it has been well received by the 
 town, and can no more forbear teasing my acquaintance for 
 their approbation : though I gave you a long account of it lately, 
 I must tell you that I have made two little terraces, raised 
 twelve steps each, at the end of my great walk ; they are just 
 finished, and a great addition to the beauty of my garden. I 
 inclose you a rough draught of it, drawn (or more properly 
 scrawled) by my own baud, without the assistance of rule or 
 compasses, as you will easily perceive. I have mixed in my 
 espaliers as many rose and jasmin-trees as I can cram in ; 
 and in the squares designed for the use of the kitchen, have 
 avoided putting any thing disagreeable either to sight or smell, 
 having another garden below for cabbage, onions, garlic. All 
 the walks are garnished with beds of flowers, besides the par- 
 terres, which are for a more distinguished sort. I have neither 
 brick nor stone walls : all my fence is a high hedge, mingled 
 with trees ; but fruit is so plenty in this countiy, nobody 
 thinks it worth stealing. Gardening is certainly the next 
 amusement to reading; and as my sight will now permit me 
 little of that, I am glad to form a taste that can give me so 
 much employment, and be the plaything of my age, now my 
 pen and needle are almost useless to me. 
 
 The two Pleasures of Life. — Between you and me, I 
 think there are but two pleasures permitted to mortal man, 
 love and vengeance ; both which are in a peculiar manner for- 
 bidden to us wretches who are condemned to petticoats. 
 Even vanity itself, of which you daily accuse us, is the sin 
 
VARIOUS LETTERS. 
 
 877 
 
 against the Holy Ghost not to be forgiven in this world or 
 the next. 
 
 Our sex's weakness you expose and blame, 
 Of every prating fop the common theme ; 
 Yet from this weakness you suppose is due 
 Sublimer virtue than your Cato knew. 
 Prom whence is this unjust distinction shown ? 
 Are we not formed with passions like your own ? 
 Nature with equal fire our souls endued ; 
 Our minds as lofty, and as warm our blood. 
 O'er the wide world your wishes you pursue, 
 The change is justified by something new; 
 But we must sigh in silence and be true. 
 
 How the great Dr. Swift would stare at this vile triplet . 
 
 Destiny. — I wish I knew a corner of the world inaccessible 
 to petit-maitres and fine ladies. I verily believed when I left 
 London I should choose my own company for the remainder 
 of my days ; which I find more difficult to do abroad than at 
 home ; and with humility I sighing own, 
 
 Some stronger power eludes the sickly will, 
 
 Dashes my rising hope with certain ill ; 
 
 And makes me with reflective trouble see, 
 
 That all is destined that I fancied free. 
 
 Politics. — There would be neither party nor contest in the 
 world, if all people thought of politics with the same indiffer- 
 ence that I do ; but I find by experience that the utmost in- 
 nocence and strictest silence is not sufficient to guard against 
 suspicion, and I am looked upon here as capable of very great 
 designs, at the same time that I am, and desire to be, ignorant 
 of all projects whatever. It is natural, and (I think) just, to wish 
 well to one's religion and country, yet as I can serve neither 
 by disputes, I am content to pray for both in my closet, and 
 avoid all subjects of controversy as much as I can. 
 
 A Noble Poet. — I am sorry for the untimely death of poor 
 Lord Cornbury ; he had certainly a very good heart : I have 
 
378 SELECTIONS FROM 
 
 often thought it great pity it was not under the direction of a 
 better head. I had lost his favor some time before I left En- 
 gland on a pleasant account. He came to me one morning 
 with a hatful of paper, which he desired me to peruse, and 
 tell him my sincere opinion : I trembled at the proposition, 
 foreseeing the inevitable consequence of this confidence. How- 
 ever, I was not so barbarous as to tell him that his verses were 
 extremely stupid (as God knows they were), and that he was 
 no more inspired with the spirit of poetry than that of proph- 
 ecy. I contented myself with representing to him, in the 
 mildest terms, that it was not the business of a man of quality 
 to turn author, and that he should confine himself to the ap- 
 plause of his friends, and by no means venture on the press. 
 He seemed to take this advice with good-humor, promised to 
 follow it, and we parted without any dispute ; but alas ! he 
 could not help showing his performance to better judges, who, 
 with their usual candor and good nature, earnestly exhorted 
 him to oblige the world with this instructive piece, which was 
 soon after published, and had the success I expected from it. 
 Pope persuaded him, poor soul ! that my declaiming against it 
 occasioned the ill reception it met with, though this is the first 
 time I ever mentioned it in my life, and I did not so much as 
 guess the reason I heard of him no more, till a few days before 
 I left London. I accidentally said to one of his acquaintance, 
 that his visits to me were at an end, I knew not why ; and I 
 was let into this weighty secret. My journey prevented all ex- 
 planation between us, and perhaps I should not have thought 
 it worth any, if I had staid. 
 
 A Rich Widow. — I pity poor Lady D ,* who, perhaps, 
 
 thinks herself at present an object of envy : she will be soon un- 
 deceived : no rich widow can marry on prudential motives ; and 
 where passion is only on one side, every marriage must be miser- 
 
 * Lady Dalkeith, eldest daughter of John Duke of Argyle, widow of 
 Francis Earl of Dalkeith, and mother by him of Henry Duke of Buc- 
 cleuch ; married secondly the famous Charles Townshend. 
 
VARIOUS LETTERS. 
 
 379 
 
 able. If she thought justly, she would know that no man ever 
 was in love with a woman of forty, since the deluge : a boy may 
 be so : but that blaze of straw only lasts till he is old enough to 
 distinguish between youth and age, which generally happens 
 about seventeen : till that time the whole sex appears angelic 
 
 to a warm constitution ; but as that is not Mr. T 's case, all 
 
 she can hope is a cold complaisance, founded on gratitude, 
 which is the most uncertain of all foundations for a lasting 
 union. I know not how it is, whether obligers are apt to exact 
 too large returns, or whether human pride naturally hates to 
 remember obligation, but I have seldom seen friendships con- 
 tinue long where there has been great benefits conferred ; and 
 I should think it the severest suffering to know I was a burden 
 on the good-nature of a man I loved, even if I met a mind so 
 generous as to dissemble a disgust which he could not help 
 feeling. 
 
 Trifles. — I saw Mrs. Bridgeman the other day, who is 
 much pleased with a letter she has had the honor to receive 
 from your ladyship : she broke out, " Really Lady Pom/ret 
 writes finely /" I very readily joined in her opinion ; she con- 
 tinued, " Oh, so neat, no interlineations, and such proper dis- 
 tances /" This manner of praising your style made me reflect 
 on the necessity of attention to trifles, if one would please in 
 general ; a rule terribly neglected by me formerly ; yet it is 
 certain that some men are as much struck with the careless 
 twist of a tippet as others are by a pair of fine eyes. 
 
 Amusements in 1738. — Public places flourish more than 
 ever : we have assemblies for every day in the week, besides 
 court, operas, and masquerades ; with youth and money, 'tis 
 certainly possible to be very well diverted in spite of malice 
 and ill-nature, though they are more and more powerful every 
 day. For my part, as it is my established opinion that this 
 globe of ours is no better than a Holland cheese, and the walk- 
 ers about in it mites, I possess my mind in patience, let what 
 
380 SELECTIONS FROM 
 
 will happen, and should feel tolerably easy though a great rat 
 came and eat half of it up. 
 
 Disappointments in Friendship. — The most tender disposi- 
 tion grows callous by miserable experience : I look upon it as 
 the reason why so many old people leave immense wealth, in 
 a lump, to heirs they neither love nor esteem ; and others, like 
 Lord Sundon, leave it, at random, to they know not who. He 
 was not a covetous man, but had seen so little merit, and was 
 so well acquainted with the vices of mankind, I believe he 
 thought there was none among them deserved any particular 
 distinction. I have passed a long life, and may say, with truth, 
 have endeavored to purchase friends ; accident has put it in my 
 power to confer great benefits, yet I never met with any return, 
 nor indeed any true affection, but from dear Lady Oxford, who 
 owed me nothing. 
 
 Shall the Mother Nurse her Child ? — You ask my ad- 
 vice on this matter ; and to give it you frankly, I really think 
 that Mr. 's demand is unreasonable, as his wife's constitu- 
 tion is tender, and her temper fretful. A true philosopher would 
 consider these circumstances, but a pedant is always throwing 
 his system in your face, and applies it equally to all things, 
 times, and places, just like a tailor who would make a coat out 
 of his own head, without any regard to the bulk or figure of 
 the person that must wear it. All those fine-spun arguments 
 that he has drawn from nature to stop your mouths, weigh, I 
 must own to you, but very little with me. This same nature 
 is indeed a specious word, nay, there is a great deal in it, if it 
 is properly understood and applied, but I can not bear to hear 
 people using it to justify what common sense must disavow. 
 Is not nature modified by art in many things ? Was it not 
 designed to be so ? And is it not happy for human society 
 that it is so ? Would you like to see your husband let his 
 beard grow, until he would be obliged to put the end of it in 
 his pocket, because this beard is the gift of nature? The in- 
 
VARIOUS LETTERS. 381 
 
 stincts of nature point out neither tailors, nor weavers, nor 
 niantua-makers, nor sempsters, nor milliners : and yet I am very- 
 glad that we don't run naked like the Hottentots. But not to 
 wander from the subject — I grant that nature has furnished 
 the mother with milk to nourish her child ; but I maintain at 
 the same time, that if she can find better milk elsewhere, she 
 ought to prefer it without hesitation. I don't see why she 
 should have more scruple to do this than her husband has to 
 leave the clear fountain, which nature gave him, to quench his 
 
 thirst, for stout October, port, or claret. Indeed, if Mrs. 
 
 was a buxom, sturdy woman, who lived on plain food, took 
 regular exercise, enjoyed proper returns of rest, and was free 
 from violent passions (which you and I know is not the case), 
 she might be a good nurse for her child ; but, as matters stand, 
 I do verily think that the milk of a good comely cow, who 
 feeds quietly in her meadow, never devours ragouts, nor drinks 
 ratafia, nor frets at quadrille, nor sits up till three in the morn- 
 ing elated with gain or dejected with loss, I do think that the 
 milk of such a cow, or of a nurse that came as near it as pos- 
 sible, would be likely to nourish the young squire much better 
 than hers. If it be true that the child sucks in the mother's 
 passions with her milk, this is a strong argument in favor of 
 the cow, unless you may be afraid that the young squire may 
 become a calf ; but how many calves are there both in state 
 and church, who have been brought up with their mother's 
 milk! 
 
 Women. — If I were a divine I would remember that in 
 their first creation they were designed as a help for the other 
 sex ; and nothing was ever made incapable of the end of its 
 creation. 'Tis true, the first lady had so little experience that 
 she hearkened to the persuasion of an impertinent dangler ; 
 and, if you mind, he succeeded, by persuading her that she 
 was not so wise as she should be. 
 
 Men that have not sense enough to show any superiority in \ 
 their arguments, hope to be yielded to by a. faith, that, as they 
 
382 SELECTIONS FROM 
 
 are men, all the reason that has been allotted to human kind has 
 fallen to their share. I am seriously of another opinion. As 
 much greatness of mind may be shown in submission as in com- 
 mand, and some women have suffered a life of hardships with 
 as much philosojmy as Cato traversed the deserts of Africa, 
 and without that support the view of glory offered him, which 
 is enough for the human mind that is touched with it to go 
 through any toil or danger. But this is not the situation of a 
 woman, whose virtue must only shine to her own recollection, 
 and loses that name when it is ostentatiously exposed to the 
 world. A lady who has performed her duty as a daughter, a 
 wife, and a mother, raises in me as much veneration as Socrates 
 or Xenophon ; and much more than I would pay either to Julius 
 Cccsar or Cardinal Mazarine, though the first was the most 
 famous enslaver of his country, and the last the most success- 
 ful plunderer of his master. 
 
 A woman really virtuous, in the utmost extent of this ex- 
 pression, has virtue of a purer kind than any philosopher has 
 ever shown ; since she knows, if she has sense, and without it 
 there can be no virtue, that mankind is too much prejudiced 
 against her sex to give her any degree of that fame which is 
 so sharp a spur to their great actions. I have some thoughts 
 of exhibiting a set of pictures of such meritorious ladies, where 
 I shall say nothing of the fire of their eyes, or the pureness of 
 their complexions, but give them such praises as befit a rational 
 sensible being : virtues of choice, and not beauties of acci- 
 dent. I beg they would not. so far mistake me as to think 
 I am undervaluing their charms : a beautiful mind, in a 
 beautiful body, is one of the finest objects shown us by 
 nature. I would not have them place so much value on a 
 quality that can be only useful to one as to neglect that which 
 may be of benefit to thousands, by precept or by example. 
 There will be no occasion of amusing them with trifles when 
 they consider themselves capable of not only making the most 
 amiable, but the most estimable, figures in life. Begin, then, 
 ladies, by paying those authors with scorn and contempt, who 
 
VARIOUS LETTERS. 383 
 
 with a sneer of affected admiration, would throw you below 
 the dignity of the human species. 
 
 Ladies in the House of Lords. — At the last warm debate 
 in the House of Lords, it was unanimously resolved there 
 should be no crowd of unnecessary auditors ; consequently the 
 fair sex were excluded, and the gallery destined to the sole 
 use of the House of Commons. Notwithstanding which de- 
 termination, a tribe of dames resolved to show on this occasion, 
 that neither men nor laws could resist them. These heroines 
 were Lady Huntingdon,* the Duchess of Queensbury, the 
 Duchess of Ancaster, Lady Westmoreland, Lady Cobham, 
 Lady Charlotte Edwin, Lady Archibald Hamilton and her 
 daughter, Mrs. Scott, and Mrs. Pendarvis, and Lady Frances 
 Saunderson. I am thus particular in their names since I look 
 upon them to be the boldest assertors, and most resigned suf- 
 ferers for liberty I ever read of. They presented themselves at 
 the door at nine o'clock in the morning, where Sir William 
 Saunderson respectfully informed them the chancellor had 
 made an order against their admittance. The Duchess of 
 Queensbury, as head of the squadron, pished at the ill-breeding 
 of a mere lawyer, and desired him to let them up stairs pri- 
 vately. After some modest refusals he swore by G — he 
 would not let them in. Her grace, with a noble warmth, an- 
 swered by G — they would come in, in spite of the chan- 
 cellor and the whole House. This being reported, the peer* 
 resolved to starve them out; .an order was made that the 
 doors should be fastened. These Amazons now showed them- 
 selves qualified for the duty even of foot-soldiers ; they stood 
 there till five in the afternoon, without either sustenance or 
 evacuation, every now and then playing vollies of thumps, 
 kicks, and raps, against the door, with so much violence that 
 the speakers in the House were scarce heard. When the 
 lords were not to be conquered by this, the two duchesses 
 
 * Lady Huntingdon, the same who afterward became the head, the 
 Countess Matilda, of the Whitfieldian Methodists. 
 
384 SELECTIONS FROM 
 
 (very well apprised of the use of stratagems in war) commanded 
 a dead silence of half an hour ; and the chancellor, who thought 
 this a certain proof of their absence, (the Commons also being 
 very impatient to enter), gave order for the opening of the 
 door ; upon which they all rushed in, pushed aside their com- 
 petitors, and placed themselves in the front rows of the gal- 
 lery. They staid there till after eleven, when the House 
 rose ; and during the debate gave applause, and showed marks 
 of dislike, not only by smiles and winks (which have always 
 been allowed in these cases), but by noisy laughs and appar- 
 ent contempts ; which is supposed the true reason why poor 
 Lord Hervey spoke miserably.* 
 
 Errors in Society. — Among the most universal errors, I 
 reckon that of treating the weaker sex with a contempt which 
 has a very bad influence on their conduct. How many of 
 them think it excuse enough to say they are women, to indulge 
 any folly that comes into their heads ! This renders them 
 useless members of the commonwealth, and only burdensome 
 to their own families, where the wise husband thinks he les- 
 sens the opinion of his own understanding, if he at any time 
 condescends to consult his wife's. Thus, what reason nature 
 has given them is thrown away, and a blind obedience ex- 
 pected from them by all their ill-natured masters ; and, on the 
 other side, as blind a complaisance shown those that are in- 
 dulgent, who say often that women's weakness must be com- 
 plied with, and it is a vain troublesome attempt to make them 
 hear reason. 
 
 I attribute a great part of this way of thinking, which is 
 hardly ever controverted, either to the ignorance of authors, 
 who are many of them heavy collegians, that have never been 
 admitted to politer conversations than those of their bed-makers y 
 or to the design of selling their works, which is generally the only 
 
 * The debate to which this story relates must have been that of May 
 2, 1738, on the depredations of the Spaniards, which appears to have 
 been closed by a speech of Lord Hervey. — See Pari. Hist. vol. x. p. 729. 
 
VARIOUS LETT E US. 385 
 
 view of writing, without any regard to truth, or the ill-conse- 
 quences that attend the propagation of wrong notions. A paper 
 smartly wrote, though perhaps only some old conceits dressed 
 in new words, either in rhyme or prose — I say rhyme, for I 
 have seen no verses wrote for many years — such a paper, either 
 to ridicule or declaim against the ladies, is very welcome to 
 the coffee-houses, where there is hardly one man in ten but fan- 
 cies he has some reason or other to curse some of the sex most 
 heartily. Perhaps his sisters' fortunes are to run away with 
 the money that would be better bestowed at the groom- 
 porter's ; or an old mother, good for nothing, keeps a jointure 
 from a hopeful son, that wants to make a settlement on his 
 mistress ; or a handsome young fellow is plagued with a wife, 
 that will remain alive, to hinder his running away with a great 
 fortune, having two or three of them in love with him. These 
 are serious misfortunes that are sufficient to exasperate the 
 mildest tempers to a contempt of the sex ; not to speak of 
 lesser inconveniences, which are very provoking at the time 
 they are felt. 
 
 Building. — Building is the general weakness of old people ; 
 I have had a twitch of it myself, though certainly it is the 
 highest absurdity, and as sure a proof of dotage as pink-colored 
 ribbons, or even matrimony. Nay, perhaps, there is more to 
 be said in defense of the last, I mean in a childless old man ; 
 he may prefer a boy born in his own house, though he knows it 
 is not his own, to disrespectful or worthless nephews or nieces. 
 But there is no excuse for beginning an edifice he can never 
 mhabit, or probably see finished. The Duchess of Marlborough 
 lsed to ridicule the vanity of it by saying one might always 
 ^;e apon other people's follies : yet you see she built the most 
 ridiculous house I ever saw, since it really is not habitable, 
 from the excessive damps ; so true it is the things that we 
 would do, those we do not, and the things we would not do, 
 those we do daily. I feel in myself a proof of this assertion, 
 being much against my will at Venice, though I own it is the 
 
 17 
 
386 SELECTIONS PROM VARIOUS LETTERS. 
 
 only great town where I can properly reside, yet here I find 
 so many vexations that, in spite of all my philosophy, and 
 (what is more powerful) my phlegm, I am oftener out of 
 humor than among my plants and poultry in the country. 
 
 The Effects of Age. — All weaknesses appear, as they in- 
 crease with age. I am afraid all humankind are born with 
 the seeds of them, though they may be totally concealed, and 
 consequently considerably lessened by education and philoso- 
 phy. I have endeavored to study and correct myself; and as 
 courage was a favorite virtue, I studied to seem void of fear, 
 and I believe was rather esteemed fool-hardy. 
 
 I am now grown timorous, and inclined to low spirits, what- 
 ever you may hear to the contrary. My cheerfulness is like 
 the fire kindled in brushwood, which makes a show, but is 
 soon turned to cold ashes. I do not, like Madame Maintenon, 
 grieve about the decay which is allotted to all mortals, but 
 would willingly excuse myself to you. 
 
 How to Preserve Youth. — I wonder with what conscience 
 you can talk to me of your being an old woman; I beg 
 I may hear no more on't. For my part, I pretend to be as 
 young as ever, and really am as young as needs to be, to all 
 intents and purposes. I attribute all this to your living so 
 long at Chatton, and fancy a week at Paris will correct such 
 wild imaginations, and set things in a better light. My cure for 
 lowness of spirits is not drinking nasty water, but galloping all 
 day, and a moderate glass of Champagne at night in good 
 company ; and I believe this regimen, closely followed, is one 
 of the most wholesome that can be prescribed, and may sa^e 
 one a world of filthy doses, and more filthy doctor's fees at the 
 year's end. 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS 
 
 TO 
 
 THE COUNTESS OF MAR* 
 
 In the " Letters from Horace Walpole to Sir Horace Mann," 
 lately published, and which were edited by the late Lord 
 Dover, there are two passages relating to Lady Mary Wortley 
 Montagu which require some notice, in order that the real 
 state of the facts to which they refer may be known, as far as 
 possible. 
 
 The first of these is to be found in Letter 231, dated Mistley, 
 August 31, 1751, and is in these words: — "Pray, tell me if 
 you know any thing of Lady Mary Wortley : we have an ob- 
 scure story here of her being in durance in the Brescian or 
 the Bergamesco ; that a young fellow whom she set out with 
 keeping has taken it into his head to keep her close prisoner, 
 not permitting her to write or receive any letters but what he 
 sees : he seems determined, if her husband should die, not to 
 
 lose her as the Count lost my lady 0." And in the next 
 
 letter he again alludes to this report. 
 
 * It seems due to the pious care Lord Wharncliffe has shown, in 
 vindicating the fair fame of his ancestress from the false imputations 
 of envious slanderers, to give these Letters in full. Lady Mary's part 
 in these troublesome transactions was not free from blame ; but she 
 never deserved the foul accusations of Horace Walpole, which seem to 
 have been premeditated malice. Those who desire to see falsehood 
 refuted, and justice done to the character of an impulsive but noble- 
 hearted woman, will be deeply interested in these Letters. — Am. Ed 
 
388 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS TO 
 
 Among Lady Mary's papers there is a long paper, written in 
 Italian, not by herself, giving an account of her having been 
 detained for some time against her will, in a country-house be- 
 longing to an Italian count, and inhabited by him and his 
 mother. This paper seems to be drawn up either as a case to 
 be submitted to a lawyer for his opinion, or to be produced in 
 a court of law. There is nothing else to be found in Lady 
 Mary's papers referring in the least degree to this circumstance. 
 It would appear, however, that some such forcible detention 
 as is alluded to did take place, probably for some pecuniary or 
 interested object ; but, like many of Horace Waipole's stories, 
 he took care not to let this lose any thing that might give it 
 zest, and he therefore makes the person by whom Lady Mary 
 was detained " a young fellow whom she set out with keeping." 
 Now, at the time of this transaction taking place, Lady Mary 
 was sixty-one years old. The reader, therefore, may judge for 
 himself, how far such an imputation upon her is likely to be 
 founded in truth, and will bear in mind that there was no indis- 
 position upon the part of Horace Walpole to make insinuations 
 of that sort against Lady Mary. 
 
 The other passage is in letter 232 ; and after saying that 
 he had lately been at Woburn, where he had had an oppor- 
 tunity of seeing fifty letters of Lady Mary's to her sister Lady 
 Mar, " whom she treated so hardly while out of her senses," 
 Horace Walpole adds as follows : — " Ten of the letters, in- 
 deed, are dismal lamentations and frights on a scene of vil- 
 lainy of Lady Mary's, who having persuaded one Ruremonde, 
 a Frenchman, and her lover, to intrust her with a large sum 
 of money to buy stock for him, frightened him out of England 
 by persuading him that Mr. Wortley had discovered the in- 
 trigue, and would murder him ; and then would have sunk the 
 trust. That not succeeding, and he threatening to print her 
 letters, she endeavored to make Lord Mar or Lord Stair cut 
 his throat. Pope hints at these anecdotes of her history in 
 that line — 
 
 1 Who starves a sister or denies a debt.' " 
 
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 389 
 
 Nothing whatever has been found to throw light upon the 
 ill treatment of Lady Mar by Lady Mary ; and that accusation 
 is supposed, by those who would probably have heard of it, if 
 true, to be without foundation. But nine letters to Lady Mar 
 relating to a transaction with a person whom Lady Mary calls 
 " R., a Frenchman," are among the papers which have been 
 communicated to the Editor, which must be the letters alluded 
 to by Horace Walpole, although there appears to be one short 
 of the number mentioned by him, possibly by mistake. In 
 order that the reader may be enabled to see the actual grounds 
 upon which a charge of so scandalous and heinous a character 
 has been made by Mr. Walpole, these letters are now given to 
 the public. They are in no degree interesting in any other 
 respect ; but inasmuch as the fact of their existence has been 
 asserted in a publication which has been generally read, and 
 that their not being produced might be taken in some degree 
 as an acknowledgment of the charge founded upon them, the 
 Editor has thought it only fair that they should speak for them- 
 selves, and that Lady Mary's own account of that transaction 
 should be known. 
 
 These letters are without dates by which to fix the precise 
 periods at which they were written ; but as the fall of the 
 South Sea stock began in September 1*720, they must have 
 been written in the latter end of that year, or the beginning 
 of 1721. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 From the tranquil and easy situation in which you left me, 
 dear sister, I am reduced to that of the highest degree of vexa- 
 tion, which I need not set out to you better than by the plain 
 matter of fact, which I heartily wish I had told you long since ; 
 and nothing hindered me but a certain mauvaise honte which 
 you are reasonable enough to forgive, as very natural, though 
 iiot very excusable where there is nothing to be ashamed of; 
 
390 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS TO 
 
 since I can only accuse myself of too much good-nature, or at 
 worst of too much credulity, though I believe there never was 
 more pains taken to deceive any body. In short, a person 
 whose name is not necessary, because you know it, took all 
 sorts of methods, during almost a year, to persuade me that 
 there never was so extraordinary an attachment (or what you 
 please to call it) as they had for me. This ended in coming 
 over to make me a visit against my will, and as was pretended, 
 very much against their interest. I can not deny I was very 
 silly in giving the least credit to this stuff. But if people are 
 so silly, you'll own 'tis natural for any body that is good-natured 
 to pity and be glad to serve a person they believe unhappy on 
 their account. It came into my head, out of a high point of 
 generosity (for which I wish myself hanged), to do this creature 
 all the good I possibly could, since 't was impossible to make 
 them happy in their own way. I advised him very strenuously 
 to sell out of the subscription, and in compliance to my advice 
 he did so ; and in less than two days saw he had done very 
 prudently. After a piece of service of this nature, I thought 
 I could more decently press his departure, which his follies 
 made me think necessary for me. He took leave of me with 
 so many tears and grimaces (which I can't imagine how he 
 could counterfeit) as really moved my compassion ; and I had 
 much ado to keep to my first resolution of exacting his absence, 
 which he swore would be his death. I told him that there was 
 no other way in the world I would not be glad to serve him 
 in, but that his extravagances made it utterly impossible for 
 me to keep him company. He said that he would put into 
 my hands the money I had won for him, and desired me to 
 improve it, saying that if he had enough to buy a small estate 
 and retire from the world, 'twas all the happiness he Loped 
 for in it. I represented to him that if he had so little money 
 as he said, 't was ridiculous to hazard it all. He replied that 
 't was too little to be of any value, and he would either have it 
 double or quit. After many objections on my side and replies 
 on his, I was so weak as to be overcome by his entreaties, and 
 
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 391 
 
 flattered myself also that I was doing a very heroic action, in 
 trying to make a man's fortune though I did not care for his 
 addresses. He left me with these imaginations, and my first 
 care was to employ his money to the best advantage. I laid it 
 all out in stock, the general discourse and private intelligence 
 then scattered about being of a great rise. You may remember 
 it was two or three days before the fourth subscription, and 
 you were with me when I paid away the money to Mr. Ben- 
 field. I thought I had managed prodigious well, in selling out 
 the said stock the day after the shutting the books (for a small 
 profit), to Cox and Cleave, goldsmiths of a very good reputa- 
 tion. When the opening of the books came, my man went 
 oft', leaving the stock upon my hands, which was already sunk 
 from near £900 to £400. I immediately writ him word of 
 this misfortune, with the sincere sorrow natural to have upon 
 such an occasion, and asked his opinion as to the selling the 
 stock remaining in. He made me no answer to this part of 
 my letter, but a long eloquent oration of miseries of another 
 nature. I attributed this silence to his disinterested neglect of 
 his money ; but, however, I resolved to take no more steps in 
 this business without direct orders, after having been so un- 
 lucky. This occasioned many letters to no purpose ; but the 
 very post after you left London, I received a letter from him, 
 in which he told me that he had discovered all my tricks, 
 that he was convinced I had all his money untouched ; and he 
 would have it again or he would print all my letters to him ; 
 which though, God knows, very innocent in the main, yet may 
 admit of ill constructions, besides the monstrousness of being 
 exposed in such a manner. I hear from other people that he 
 is liar enough to publish that I have borrowed the money from 
 him ; though I have a note under his hand, by which he desires 
 me to employ it in the funds, and acquits me of being answer- 
 able for the losses that may happen. At the same time, I have 
 attestations and witnesses of the bargains I made, so that noth- 
 ing can be clearer than my integrity in this business ; but that 
 does not hinder me from being in the utmost terror for the 
 
392 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS TO 
 
 consequences (as you may easily guess) of his villainy ; the very 
 story of which appears so monstrous to me that I can hardly 
 believe myself while I write it ; though I omit (not to tire you) 
 a thousand aggravating circumstances. I can not forgive my- 
 self the folly of ever regarding one word he said; and I see 
 now that his lies have made made me wrong several of my 
 acquaintances, and you among the rest, for having said (as he 
 told me) horrid things against me to him. 'Tis long since that 
 your behavior has acquitted you in my opinion ; but I thought 
 I ought not to mention, to hurt him with you, what was per- 
 haps more misundei standing, or a mistake, than a designed lie. 
 But he has very amply explained his character to me. What 
 is very pleasant is, that, but two posts before, I received a letter 
 from him full of higher flights than ever. I beg your pardon 
 (dear sister) for this tedious account ; but you see how neces- 
 sary 'tis for me to get my letters from this madman. Perhaps 
 the best way is by fair means ; at least they ought to be first 
 tried. I would have you, then (my dear sister), try to make 
 the wretch sensible of the truth of what I advance, without 
 asking for my leters, which I have already asked for. Perhaps 
 you may make him ashamed of his infamous proceedings, by 
 talking of me, without taking notice that you know of his 
 threats, only of my dealings. I take this method to be the 
 most likely to work upon him. I beg you would send me a 
 full and true account of this detestable affair (inclosed to Mrs. 
 Murray). If I had not been the most unlucky creature in the 
 world, his letter would have come while you were here, that I 
 might have showed you both his note and the other people's. 
 I knew he was discontented, but was far from imagining a pos- 
 sibility of this thing. I give you a great deal of trouble, but 
 you see I shall owe you the highest obligation if you can serve 
 me : the very endeavoring of it is a tie upon me to serve you 
 the rest of my life and with eternal gratitude. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 393 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 I can not forbear (dear sister) accusing you of unkindness 
 that you took so little care of a business of the last importance 
 to me. R wrote to me some time ago, to say if I would im- 
 mediately send him £2,000 sterling, he would send me an ac- 
 quittance. As this was sending him several hundreds out of 
 my own pocket, I absolutely refused it ; and, in return, I have 
 just received a threatening letter to print I know not what 
 stuff against me. I am too well acquainted with the world, 
 (of which poor Mis. Murray's affair is a fatal instance), not to 
 know that the most groundless accusation is always of ill-con- 
 sequence to a woman ; besides the cruel misfortunes it may 
 bring upon me in my own family. If you have any compassion 
 either for me or my innocent children, I am sure you will try 
 to prevent it. The thing is too serious to be delayed. I think 
 (to say nothing of either blood or affection) that humanity 
 and Christianity are interested in my preservation. I am sure 
 I can answer for my hearty gratitude and everlasting acknowl- 
 edgment of a service much more important than that of saving 
 my life. 
 
 LETTER m. 
 
 I give you many thanks (my dear sister) for the trouble you 
 have given yourself in my affair ; but am afraid it is not yet 
 effectual. I must beg you to let him know I am now at Twick- 
 enham, and that whoever has his procuration may come here 
 on diverse pretenses, but must by no means go to my house at 
 London. I wonder you can think Lady Stafford has not wrote 
 to him: she showed me a long plain letter to him several 
 months ago ; as a demonstration he received it, I saw his an- 
 swer. 'Tis true she treated him with the contempt he de- 
 served, and told him she would never give herself the trouble 
 of writing again to so despicable a wretch. She is willing to 
 
 17* 
 
394 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS TO 
 
 do yet further, and write to the Duke of Villeroi about it, if I 
 
 think it proper. R does nothing but lie, and either does 
 
 not, or will not, understand what is said to him. You will for- 
 give me troubling you so often with this business; the im- 
 portance of it is the best excuse ; in short 
 
 'tis joy or sorrow, peace or strife, 
 
 Tis all the color of remaining life. 
 
 I can foresee nothing else to make me unhappy, and, I believe, 
 shall take care another time not to involve myself in difficulties 
 by an overplus of heroic generosity. 
 
 I am, dear sister, ever yours, with the utmost esteem and 
 affection. If I get over this cursed affair, my style may en- 
 liven. 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 Twickenham, September 6. 
 I have just received your letter, dear sister ; I am extremely 
 sensible of your goodness, which I beg you to continue. I am 
 very glad to hear of the good health of your family ; and should 
 be only more so to be a witness of it, which I am not without 
 some hopes of. My time is melted away here in almost per- 
 petual concerts. I do not presume to judge, but I '11 assure 
 you I am a very hearty as well as humble admirer. I have 
 taken my little thread satin beauty into the house with me ; she 
 is allowed by Bononcini to have the finest voice he ever heard 
 in England. He and Mrs. Robinson and Senesino lodge in this 
 village, and sup often with me; and this easy indolent life 
 makes me the happiest thing in the world, if I had not this 
 execrable affair still hanging over my head. I have consulted 
 my lawyer, and he says I can not, with safety to myself, deposit 
 the money I have received into other hands, without the express 
 
 order of R ; and he is so unreasonable that he will neither 
 
 send a procuration to examine my accounts, or any order for 
 
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 395 
 
 me to transfer his stock to another name. I am heartily weary 
 of the trust, which has given me so much trouble, and can 
 never think myself safe till I am quite got rid of it : rather than 
 be plagued any longer with the odious keeping, I am willing to 
 abandon my letters to his discretion. I desire nothing more of 
 him than an order to place his money in other hands, which 
 methinks should not be so hard to obtain, since he is so dis- 
 satisfied with my management ; but he seems to be bent to 
 torment me, and will not even touch his money, because I beg 
 it of him. I wish you would represent these things to him ; 
 for my own part, I live in so much uneasiness about it I am 
 sometimes weary of life itself. 
 
 Mrs. Stoner will be a good person to send things by. I would 
 have no black silk, having bought some. 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 Dear Sister — Having this occasion, I would not omit 
 writing, though I have received no answer to my two last. The 
 bearer is well acquainted with my affair, though not from me, 
 till he mentioned it to me first, having heard it from those to 
 
 whom R had told it with all the false colors he pleased to 
 
 lay on. I showed him the formal commission I had to employ 
 the money, and all the broker's testimonies taken before Del- 
 pecke, with his certificate. Your remonstrances have hitherto 
 
 had so little effect, that R will neither send a letter of 
 
 attorney to examine my accounts, nor let me be in peace. I 
 received a letter from him but two posts since, in which he re- 
 news his threats, except I send him the whole sum, which is as 
 much in my power as it is to send a million. I can easily 
 comprehend that he may be ashamed to send a procuration, 
 which must convince the world of all the lies which he has 
 told. For my part, I am so willing to be rid of the plague of 
 hearing from him, I desire no better than to restore him with 
 all expedition the money I have in my hands ; but I will not 
 
396 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS TO 
 
 do it without a general acquittance in due form, not to have 
 fresh demands every time he wants money. If he thinks he 
 has a larger sum to receive than I offer, why does he not name 
 a procurator to examine me ? and if he is content with that 
 sum, I only insist on the acquittance for my own safety I 
 am ready to send it him, with full license to tell as many lies 
 as he pleases afterward. I am weary with troubling you with 
 repetitions which can not be more disagreeable to you than 
 they are to me. I have had, and still have, so much vexation 
 with this execrable affair, 'tis impossible to describe it. I had 
 rather talk to you of any thing else, but it fills my whole head. 
 I am still at Twickenham, where I pass my time in great in- 
 dolence and sweetness. Mr. W is at this time in York- 
 shire. My fair companion puts me oft in mind of our Thoresby 
 conversations ; we read and walk together, and I am more 
 happy in her than any thing else could make me except your 
 conversation. 
 
 LETTER VL 
 
 I have just received your letter of May 30th, and am sur- 
 prised, since you own the receipt of my letter, that you give me 
 not the least hint concerning the business that I wrote so earn- 
 estly to you about. Till that is over I am as little capable of 
 repeating news, as I should be if my house was on fire. I am 
 sure a great deal must be in your power ; the hurting me can 
 be no way his interest. I am ready to assign, or deliver the 
 money for £500 stock, to whoever he will name, if he will 
 send my letters into Lady Stafford's hands ; which, were he 
 sincere in his offer of burning them, he would readily do. In- 
 stead of that, he has written a letter to Mr. W to inform 
 
 him of the whole affair : luckily for me, the person he has sent 
 it to assures me it shall never be delivered ; but I am not the 
 less obliged to his good intentions. For God's sake, do some- 
 thing to set my mind at ease from this business, and then I 
 
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 397 
 
 will not fail to write you regular accounts of all your acquaint- 
 ance. Mr. Strickland has had a prodigy of good fortune be- 
 fallen him, which, I suppose, you have heard of. 
 
 My little commission is hardly worth speaking of; if you 
 have not already laid out that small sum in St. Cloud ware, I 
 had rather have it in plain lutestring of any color. 
 
 Lady Stafford desires you would buy one suit of minunet 
 for head and ruffles at Boileau's. 
 
 LETTER VH. 
 
 I can not enough thank you, my dear sister, for the trouble 
 you give yourself in my affairs, though I am still so unhappy 
 to find your care very ineffectual. I have actually in my present 
 
 possession a formal letter directed to Mr. W to acquaint him 
 
 with the whole business. You may imagine the inevitable 
 eternal misfortunes it would have thrown me into, had it been 
 delivered by the person to whom it was intrusted. I wish you 
 would make him sensible of the infamy of his proceeding, 
 which can no way in the world turn to his advantage. Did I 
 refuse giving up the strictest account, or had I not the 
 clearest demonstration in my hands of the truth and sincerity 
 with which I acted, there might be some temptation to this 
 
 business ; but all he can expect by informing Mr. W , is to 
 
 hear him repeat the same things that I assert ; he will not re- 
 trieve one farthing, and I am forever miserable. I beg no 
 more of him than to direct any person, man or woman, either 
 lawyer, broker, or a person of quality, to examine me ; and as 
 soon as he has sent a proper authority to discharge me on 
 inquiry, I am ready to be examined. I think no offer can be 
 fairer from any person whatsoever : his conduct toward me is 
 so infamous that I am informed I might prosecute him by law 
 if he was here ; he demanding the whole sum as a debt from 
 Mr. Wortley, at the same time I have a note under his hand 
 to prove the contrary. I beg with the utmost earnestness that 
 
r398 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS TO 
 
 you would make liiru sensible of his error. Observe 'tis very 
 necessary to say something to fright him. I am persuaded if 
 he was talked to in a style of that kind, he would not dare to 
 attempt to ruin me. I have a great inclination to write seri- 
 ously to your lord about it, since I desire to determine this 
 affair in the fairest and the clearest manner. I am not at all 
 afraid of making any body acquainted with it ; and if I did not 
 fear making Mr. Wortley uneasy (who is the only person from 
 whom I would conceal it), all the transactions should have been 
 long since enrolled in Chancery. I have already taken care to 
 have the broker's depositions taken, before a lawyer of reputa- 
 tion and merit. I deny giving him no satisfaction ; and after 
 that offer, I think there is no man of honor that would refuse 
 signifying to him that as 'tis all he can desire, so, if he persists 
 in doing me an injury, he may repent it. You know how far 
 'tis proper to take this method. I say nothing of the uneasiness 
 I am under, 'tis far beyond any expression ; my obligation 
 would be proportionate to any body that would deliver me 
 from it, and I should not think it paid by all the services of 
 my life. 
 
 LETTER Vni. 
 
 I am now at Twickenham : 'tis impossible to tell you, dear 
 sister, what agonies I suffer every post-day ; my health really 
 suffers so much from my fears that I have reason to apprehend 
 the worst consequences. If that monster acted on the least 
 principles of reason, I should have nothing to fear, since 'tis 
 certain that after he has exposed me he will get nothing by it. 
 Mr. Wortley can do nothing for his satisfaction I am not will- 
 ing to do myself. I desire not the least indulgence of any 
 kind. Let him put his affair into the hands of any lawyer 
 whatever. I am willing to submit to any examination ; 'tis 
 impossible to make a fairer offer than this is : whoever he em- 
 ploys may come to me hither on several pretenses. I desire 
 
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 399 
 
 nothing from him but that he would send no letters or mes- 
 sages to my house at London, where Mr. Wortley now is. I 
 am come hither in hopes of benefit from the air, but I carry 
 my distemper about me in an anguish of mind that visibly de- 
 cays my body every day. I am too melancholy to talk of any 
 other subject. Let me beg you, dear sister, to take some care 
 of this affair, and think you have it in your power to do more 
 than save the life of a sister that loves you. 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 I send you, dear sister, by Lady Lansdown this letter, ac- 
 companied by the only present that was ever sent me by that 
 monster. I beg you to return it immediately. I am told he 
 is preparing to come to London. Let him know that it is not 
 at all necessary for receiving his money or examining my ac- 
 counts ; he has nothing to do but to send a letter of attorney to 
 whom he pleases (without exception), and I will readily deliver 
 up what I have in my hands, and his presence will not obtain 
 a farthing more : his design then can only be to expose my 
 letters here. I desire you will assure him that my first step 
 will be to acquaint my Lord Stair with all his obligations to 
 him, as soon as I hear he is in London ; and if he dares to give 
 me any further trouble, I shall take care to have him rewarded 
 in a stronger manner than he expects ; there is nothing more 
 true than this : and I solemnly swear that, if all the credit or 
 money that I have in the world can do it, either for friendship 
 or hire, I shall not fail to have him used as he deserves ; and 
 since I know his journey can only be intended to expose me, I 
 shall not value what noise is made. Perhaps you may prevent 
 it; I leave you to judge of the most proper method ; 'tis cer- 
 tain no time should be lost ; fear is his predominant passion, 
 and I believe you may fright him from coming hither, where 
 he will certainly find a reception very disagreeable to him. 
 
400 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS TO 
 
 There can be no better specimen of the manner in which a 
 story gains as it passes through the hands of those who de- 
 light in gossip, or who are prepared to believe the worst of the 
 person concerned. Horace Walpole refers to these letters as 
 the ground of his story, and so far as they go, they do not 
 support any one of his statements. According to these letters 
 Lady Mary did not persuade Mons. R. to intrust her with a 
 considerable sum of money to buy stock for him, but she 
 yielded to his earnest solicitations in that respect with consid- 
 erable difficulty. Neither did Lady Mary " frighten Mons. R. 
 out of England, by persuading him that Mr. Wortley had dis- 
 covered the intrigue, and would murder him ;" but, on the 
 contrary, Mons. R. having returned to France, endeavored to 
 frighten Lady Mary into the payment of his losses in his 
 South Sea speculations, by threatening to print all her letters 
 to him, and to make Mr. Wortley acquainted with every thing. 
 Nor would Lady Mary " have sunk the trust," for she repeat- 
 edly calls upon him, through Lady Mar, to appoint persons to 
 examine her, before whom she is ready to submit her accounts, 
 and to be questioned. And lastly, Lady Mary never did " en- 
 deavor to make Lord Mar or Lord Stair cut Mons. R.'s throat." 
 She certainly threatened him, through Lady Mar, in case of 
 his coming to England ; but no one who reads that threat can 
 imagine that it is meant to convey the idea of her intending 
 to have his throat cut by anybody. 
 
 Horace Walpole's accusations, therefore, are none of them 
 warranted by these letters ; but at the same time, even upon 
 her own showing, Lady Mary can not be acquitted of allowing 
 her vanity to overcome her judgment, and of placing her char- 
 acter at the mercy of an adventurer. Nor can her gambling 
 in the South Sea funds be defended ; the only excuse for which 
 is, the very general prevalence of a spirit of that kind, almost 
 amounting to madness, in all classes of society at that period. 
 To those who know by tradition the severity of Mr. Wortley's 
 principles in regard to every thing connected with money— -a 
 feeling produced by the recklessness of his father in those 
 
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 401 
 
 matters, against which he had, in the earlier part of his life, 
 constantly to contend — Lady Mary's strong fears of this trans- 
 action coming to his knowledge will be readily intelligible. 
 A consciousness of her own imprudence in the whole affair 
 may also be naturally supposed to have added to her fears, 
 without imputing them to a sense of actual criminality. More 
 than once, indeed, in these letters, Lady Mary offers to submit 
 to any examination to which Mons. R. may choose to expose 
 her ; and in one of them she even says 'that if he will only 
 send over a procuration to examine her accounts, she will aban- 
 don her letters to his discretion. Such an offer appears to be 
 incompatible with there being any thing in her letters which 
 could really affect her character ; but it is at least quite clear 
 that Horace Walpole had no right to found upon these letters 
 to Lady Mar so gross and exaggerated an accusation. 
 
 Mr. Cole, in his MSS. now in the British Museum, repeats 
 this story ; but it is evident that he derives his information 
 from Horace Walpole, his friend and correspondent, as, in the 
 same collection, he states of Lady Mary, that he " heard from 
 Mad. Geoffrin and Mr. Walpole, who knew her well, that she 
 was the vilest of womankind, notwithstanding her talents for 
 wit, vivacity, and genius, and elegance of taste, were unexcep- 
 tionable." It may be doubted, however, whether Horace Wal- 
 pole ever did know Lady Mary well. She went abroad in the 
 year 1*739, at which time he was only just of age, when he 
 could scarcely know well a woman of nearly fifty years old ; 
 and she did not return to England till just before her death. 
 In truth, he could have had but a very slight personal ac- 
 quaintance with her." 
 
402 LETTER WRITTEN TO 
 
 LETTER TO THE LORD BISHOP OF SALISBURY.* 
 
 (with her translation of epictetus.) 
 
 July 20, mo.f 
 Mr Lord — Your hours are so well employed, I hardly 
 dare offer you this trifle to look over ; but then, so w r ell am I 
 acquainted with the sweetness of temper which accompanies 
 your learning, I dare ever assure myself of a pardon. You 
 have already forgiven me greater impertinencies, and conde- 
 scended yet further in giving me instructions, and bestowing 
 some of your minutes in teaching me. This surprising hu- 
 mility has all the effect it ought to have on my heart ; I am 
 sensible of the gratitude I owe to so much ooodness, and how 
 much I am ever bound to be your servant. Here is the work 
 of one week of my solitude — by the many faults in it your 
 lordship will easily believe I spent no more time upon it; it 
 was hardly finished when I was obliged to begin my journey, 
 and I had not leisure to write it over again. You have it he.e 
 without any corrections, with all its blots and errors ; 1 en- 
 deavored at no beauty of style, but to keep as literally as I 
 could to the sense of the author. My only intention in pre- 
 senting it, is to ask your Lordship whether I have understood 
 Epictetus ? The fourth chapter particularly, I am afraid I have 
 mistaken. Piety and greatness of soul set you above all mis- 
 fortunes that can happen to yourself, except the calumnies of 
 false tongues ; but that same piety which renders what hap- 
 pens to yourself indifferent to you, yet softens the natural com- 
 passion in your temper to the greatest degree of tenderness 
 for the interests of the Church, and the liberty and welfare 
 of your country ; the steps that are now made toward the 
 
 * Dr. Gilbert Burnet. 
 
 f Lady Mary was about nineteen when she wrote this letter. It is 
 a powerful argument for the education of women. Even the excuses 
 she feels obliged to urge on her own behalf for venturing into the then 
 (to her sex) forbidden field of learning are eloquent of the need of men- 
 tal cultivation. s. J. h. 
 
THE LORD BISHOP OF SALISBURY. 403 
 
 destruction of both, the apparent danger we are in, the mani- 
 fest growth of injustice, oppression, and hypocrisy, can not do 
 otherwise than give your lordship those hours of sorrow, 
 which, did not your fortitude of soul, and reflections from 
 religion and philosophy, shorten, would add to the national 
 misfortunes, by injuring the health of so great a supporter of 
 our sinking liberties. I ought to ask pardon for this digres- 
 sion ; it is more proper for me in this place, to say something 
 to excuse an address that looks so very presuming. My_sex-is 
 usually forbid studies of this nature, and folly reckoned so 
 much our proper sphere, that we are sooner pardoned any ex- 
 cesses of that, than the least pretensions to reading or good 
 sense. We are permitted no books but such as tend to the 
 weakening and effeminating of the mind. Our natural defects 
 are every way indulged, and it is looked upon as in a degree 
 criminal to improve our reason, or fancy we have any. We 
 are taught to place all our art in adorning our outward forms, 
 and permitted, without reproach, to carry that custom even 
 to extravagancy, while our minds are entirely neglected, and, 
 by disuse of reflections, filled with nothing but the trifling ob- 
 jects our eyes are daily entertained with. This custom, so 
 long established and industriously upheld, makes it even ridic- 
 ulous to go out of the common road, and forces one to find 
 as many excuses, as if it were a thing altogether criminal not 
 to play the fool in concert with other women of quality, whose 
 birth and leisure only serve to render them the most useless 
 and most worthless part of the creation. There is hardly a 
 character in the world more despicable, or more liable to 
 universal ridicule, than that of a learned woman ; those words 
 imply, according to the received sense, a talking, impertinent, 
 vain and conceited creature. I believe nobody will deny that 
 learning may have this effect, but it must be a very super- 
 ficial degree of it. Erasmus was certainly a man of great 
 learning, and good sense, and he seems to have my opinion 
 of it, when he says, Foemina quae vere sapit, non videtur sibi 
 sapere ; contra, quce cum nihil sapiat sibi videtur sapere, ea 
 
404 THE LORD BISHOP OF SALISBURY. 
 
 demum bis stulta est. The Abbe Bellegarde gives a right 
 reason for women's talking over-much, that they know nothing, 
 and every outward object strikes their imagination, and pro- 
 duces a multitude of thoughts, which, if they knew more, 
 they would know not worth their thinking of. But there is a 
 worse effect than this, which follows the careless education 
 given to women of quality, its being so easy for any man of 
 sense, that finds it either his interest or his pleasure, to corrupt 
 them. The common method is, to begin by attacking their 
 religion; they bring them a thousand fallacious arguments, 
 which their excessive ignorance hinders them from refuting ; 
 and I speak now from my own knowledge and conversation 
 among them, there are more Atheists among the fine ladies 
 than the loosest sort of rakes ; and the same ignorance that 
 generally works out into excess of superstition, exposes them 
 to the snares of any who have a fancy to carry them to the 
 other extreme. I have made my excuses already too long, 
 and will conclude in the words of Erasmus, Vulgus sentit quod 
 lingua Latina non convenit fosminis, quia parum facit ad tu- 
 endam illarum pudicitiam, quoniam rarum et insolitum est, 
 fceminam scire Latinam, attamen consuetudo omnium mala- 
 rum rerum magistra. Decorum est foeminam in Germania 
 natam discere Gallice, ut loquatur cum his qui sciunt Gallice, 
 cur igitur habetur indecorum discere Latine, ut quotidie confa- 
 buletur cum tot autoribus tamfacundis, tarn eruditus, tarn sa- 
 pientibus, tarn fidis consultoribus. Certe mihi quantulum- 
 cunque cerebri est, malim in bonis studiis consumere, quam in 
 precibus sine mente dictis, in pernoctibus conviviis, in exhauri- 
 endis capacibus pateris, etc. 
 
 I have tired your lordship, and too long delayed to subscribe 
 myself your lordship's most respectful and obliged friend. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Abydos 108 
 
 Addison 158, 306 
 
 Adrianople 84 
 
 Adrianople, people of. 139 
 
 Age, effects of 386 
 
 Amusements in 1738 379 
 
 Arbitrary government 362 
 
 Archer, Mr., accident to 323 
 
 Argyll, Duke of. 271, 273 
 
 Armenians, the 364 
 
 Arna'iuts 75 
 
 Abbot, the , 121 
 
 Abbe 121 
 
 Bagnio, Turkish 69 
 
 Balm of Mecca 97 
 
 Beauty in girls 279 
 
 Belgrade, journey from 72 
 
 Belgrade 132, 156 
 
 Belgrade village 146 
 
 Bentivoglio, Countess Licinia 312 
 
 Biography of Lady Mary Wortley 
 
 Montagu 7 
 
 Birth-night ball 168 
 
 Bocorwar 66 
 
 Bohemia 58 
 
 Bolingbroke, Lord 226, 303 
 
 Bolton, Duchess of 247 
 
 Borromean Library 183 
 
 Brudenel, Lord 228 
 
 Buda 64 
 
 Building 385 
 
 Bulgaria, peasants of 76 
 
 Burying-fields, Turkish 93 
 
 Bute, Lord and Lady 207, 221, 222 
 
 Bute, Countess of 235 
 
 Bute, Countess of, letters to 231 
 
 Bute, Lord 372 
 
 Bute, Lady, as a mother 874 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Camp at Adrianople 8T 
 
 Carlisle, Lord 326 
 
 Carlowitz 131 
 
 Carthage, ruins of 116 
 
 Cecisbeos 119 
 
 Child, shall the mother nurse her ?. . 3S0 
 
 Children, training of 247, 273 
 
 Clarissa Harlowe 261 
 
 Clement XIIL 340 
 
 Coach, Turkish 68 
 
 Coke, Lady Mary 299 
 
 Comedy at Vienna 128 
 
 Complaint, letters of 40-44 
 
 Consent to an elopement 35 
 
 Constantinople 93 
 
 Conversation 371 
 
 Cornbury, Lord 300 
 
 Coronation of George II 175 
 
 .Correspondence, interrupted 225 
 
 Court life, dislike to 388 
 
 Danube, voyage down the 56 
 
 Daughter, birth of 93 
 
 David Simple 292 
 
 Death by lightning 152 
 
 Dedication from Sir J. Steuart 348 
 
 Destiny 377 
 
 Diet 250 
 
 Dinner with the wife of the Grand 
 
 Vizier 81 
 
 Disappointments in friendship 380 
 
 Doge of Venice 366 
 
 Dwarfs at court 60 
 
 Education, her own 280 
 
 Education of girls 277, 280 
 
 Effendi, Turkish 73, 134 
 
 England, sets out for 853 
 
406 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 England, journey to 352 
 
 Epitaph by Lady M. W. Montagu. . . 155 
 
 Epitaphs by Pope 153, 154 
 
 Errors in society 884 
 
 Essex 66 
 
 Eugene, Prince 61 
 
 Exchange, Turkish 85 
 
 Fatima, visit to the Kiyaya 104 
 
 Fielding, Henry 292, 307 
 
 Fielding, Sally 308 
 
 Finch, Lady B 260 
 
 First impressions 376 
 
 First letter to Mr. W. after marriage . 35 
 
 Florence 192 
 
 Forbiddal of the banns 37 
 
 Free towns 369 
 
 French ladies in 1748 371 
 
 French, manners of 160 
 
 Friendship 30 
 
 Gaming 371 
 
 Garden at Louvere 285 
 
 Gardening 876 
 
 Geneva 202 
 
 Genoa 118 
 
 Genoa, customs of. 200 
 
 George I. proclaimed king 46 
 
 George II., coronation of 175 
 
 Gotolengo 224 
 
 Grandison, Sir Charles 266 
 
 Greek Church 74 
 
 Greville, Mr. and Mrs 298 
 
 Grief, indulgence of 262 
 
 Guastalla, Duchess of 223 
 
 Gulliver's travels 173 
 
 Harem of the Kiyaya, visit to 82 
 
 Herculaneum 195 
 
 He-wet, John, story of 152 
 
 Ignorance in women 258 
 
 Iliad, remarks on 159 
 
 Illness at Gotolengo 252 
 
 Impudence, advantage of 49 
 
 Incident at Venice 302 
 
 Inge, Henrietta 18 
 
 Inoculation 14, 18, 183, 358 
 
 Inscription, Roman 224 
 
 Italy, customs of 331 
 
 Janizaries 133 
 
 Jemmy Jessamy 293 
 
 PAGfl 
 
 Jews 86 
 
 Journey to Belgrade 181 
 
 Journey to Brescia 217 
 
 Journey to Constantinople 91 
 
 Journey through Hungary. 62 
 
 Journey through France 187 
 
 Kingston, the Duke of 7, 11 
 
 Kiyaya, visit to the 82 
 
 Knowledge, concealment of. 275 
 
 Knowledge, use of 275 
 
 La Trappe 
 
 Ladies, Hungarian 
 
 Ladies in the House of Lords 
 
 Languages 
 
 Languages in Constantinople, variety 
 
 of..,. 
 
 Learned ladies in Italy 
 
 Learning in women 
 
 Leopold, Emperor 
 
 Letter to Bishop Burnet 
 
 Letters, her opinion of her own. 
 
 Life at Vienna 
 
 Light reading 
 
 Louvere, description of 
 
 Louvere. carried to 
 
 Louvere, farm-house at 
 
 Louvere, incident at 
 
 Louvere, life at 
 
 Love-letter, Turkish 
 
 67 
 383 
 274 
 
 107 
 
 402 
 173 
 359 
 237 
 254 
 252 
 384 
 232 
 285 
 105 
 
 Madness 270 
 
 j Maffei, Marquis 294 
 
 Malta 115 
 
 Mankind, one species. 875 
 
 Mar, Lady, letters to 54, 121, 387 
 
 Mar, Countess of, supplementary let- 
 ters to 387 
 
 | Marbles, ancient 109 
 
 Marriage and celibacy 276 
 
 1 Marriage of the daughter of the Grand 
 
 I Seignior 361 
 
 Medals, ancient 94 
 
 : Mohammedism 78 
 
 ; Mohatch 65 
 
 . Montagu, Admiral 9 
 
 ■ Montagu, Duke of. 261 
 
 Montagu, Edward "Wortley ... .9-12 
 
 j Montagu, Edward Wortley, letters 
 
 j to 19,186 
 
 i Montagu, Lady Mary "Wortley, char- 
 acter of ^ 25 
 
INDEX. 
 
 "ations. 
 
 Moravians 346 
 
 Mosque of Selim 1 88 
 
 Mummy, King of Sweden's 95 
 
 Murray, Mr 289 
 
 Naples. 194-196 
 
 No one happy in this life 374 
 
 Nunnery near Louvere 288 
 
 Octavia, story of 242 
 
 Old age 311 
 
 Old age, effect of 315 
 
 Opera at Vienna 126 
 
 Orford, Lord 199 
 
 Orknev, Lady 178 
 
 Orrery, Lord 227, 256 
 
 Palace at Louvere 255 
 
 Paradise of women 365 
 
 Paris 160 
 
 Paris and London in 1718 367 
 
 Parish girl 250 
 
 Paulines 75 
 
 Pelham, Lord 50 
 
 Pera 93, 106 
 
 Peregrine Pickle 24-8 
 
 Philips, Mrs 251 
 
 Philosophy, Epicurean 350 
 
 Physician at Louvers 253 
 
 Physicians at Brescia 220 
 
 Place, importance of 51 
 
 Plagiary 274 
 
 Pleasures of life 376 
 
 Poet, a noble 377 
 
 Politics 377 
 
 Politics and women 825 
 
 Pompey the Little 250 
 
 Pope, letters to and from 122 
 
 Pope, opinion of 258 
 
 Pope of Rome 197 
 
 Prague 58 
 
 Preface 5 
 
 Priest, argument with 269 
 
 Procession of tradesmen 87 
 
 Quackery 221 
 
 Querini, Cardinal 263 
 
 Eaab 63 
 
 Ramazan 116 
 
 Rambler, the 292 
 
 Rascians 131 
 
 Rawdon, Sir John 328 
 
 Reading 274, 
 
 Refusal of an offer of marriage 
 
 Regatta at Venice 
 
 Relics at Ratisbon 
 
 Rich, Lady ± . 
 
 Richardson's novels 266, 270. 309 
 
 Roderick Random 261 
 
 Roman Catholic doctrines 267 
 
 Rome 192, 193, 198 
 
 Rome, winter at 2S3 
 
 Roseberry, Lord 293 
 
 Rotterdam 55 
 
 Rotterdam, letters from 353 
 
 Rotunda at Avignon ' 214 
 
 Rudel, Jeffrey. 149 
 
 Ruling passion 36T 
 
 Ruremonde, affair with 390-400 
 
 Saint Sophia, Church of 
 
 Schoenbrunn, visit to Count 
 
 Scio , 
 
 Selivrea 
 
 Seraglio at Tchiorlu 
 
 Sestos 
 
 Sevigne, Madame de, criticism on... 
 
 Slanders of Walpole 
 
 Slaves, Greek 
 
 Small-pox and inoculation 
 
 Smith, Joseph 
 
 Solitude 
 
 Son of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, 
 flight of 
 
 Sophia 
 
 Stafford, Lady 179, 
 
 Statue to Lady Mary Wortley Mon- 
 tagu 
 
 Steele, Sir Richard 15, 
 
 Steuart, Sir James and Lady Frances, 
 letters to 
 
 Steuart, Sir James 
 
 Stuart, Lady Mary. 272, 
 
 Study, advantages of 
 
 Suicide 
 
 Sultana Hafiten, visit to the 
 
 Sumptuary laws 
 
 Swift, Dean 256, 
 
 Sydenham, Dr 
 
 364 
 57 
 
 113 
 92 
 91 
 
 109 
 30 
 
 3S7 
 96 
 
 353 
 
 291 
 
 374 
 
 184 
 C8 
 393 
 
 290 
 
 370 
 
 Tea 221 
 
 Trajan's gate 76 
 
 Traveler's tales 103 
 
 Trifles 879 
 
INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 110 
 
 115, 116 
 
 . dress, description of herself 
 
 77 
 
 .xKisu house 362 
 
 Turks, remarks on the 158 
 
 Twickenham, Wasp of 372 
 
 Twickenham, life at 872 
 
 Useful knowledge 378 
 
 Vane, Lady, memoirs of 248 
 
 Venice 819 
 
 Venice, diversions of 230 
 
 Verses on the Duchess of Cleve- 
 land 178 
 
 Verses to Lady Mary Wortley Mon- 
 tagu... 164 
 
 PA.GH 
 
 Verses, Turkish 148 
 
 Vienna .66 
 
 Walpole, Horace, slanders of 88T 
 
 Widow, a rich 378 
 
 Williams, Sir Charles 828 
 
 Women 381 
 
 Women of Adrianople 78 
 
 Women, Turkish ideas of 94 
 
 World, the 371 
 
 Wortley, Anne 9, 19 
 
 Wortley, Mr., letters to 186 
 
 Wortley, Mr., letter from 202 
 
 Wortley, Edward, jun 184-20 
 
 Wortley, Edward, jun., conduct of 
 parents to 401 
 
 Youth, how to preserve 886 
 
 4 
 
 Q 
 
 J 
 
Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications. 
 
 THE LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 MADAME DE SEVIGNE 
 
 TO HER DAUGHTER AND FRIENDS. 
 
 EDITED BY MRS. HALE. 
 
 izmo. Price $1.50. 
 
 " The charm of Madame de SevignS's letters has so long been acknowledged 
 that criticism is uncalled for in referring to them, nor would it be easy to find a 
 word of admiration or praise that has not already been pronounced in their 
 favor. For spontaneity, tenderness, playfulness, sweetness, they are unequalled. 
 The style is all that is most simple and natural and graceful. Madame 
 de Sevigne has no variety of inspiration, and but little profundity of thought. 
 She is inspired by only one sentiment, her love for her daughter; but this 
 single note is so sweet, and is sung in so many keys, and with such a pleasing 
 accompaniment of spicy gossip and pensive meditation, that its monotony is 
 never unpl easing. The influence which these letters have exerted upon the 
 development of the French language and French literature has again given 
 them a classical reputation, which works of far greater pretension and power 
 have never attained. They will ever be classed with the works of a few great 
 authors, who founded in France the distinctive literary school that at a latei 
 period obtained a development so varied and so brilliant. By the simplicity 
 and sincerity of her genius, Madame de Sevigne corrected the false taste and 
 feeble sentimentality of her day, while the purity of her style exerted an im- 
 mense influence in forming the language in which she wrote." — Miss 
 Vaughan, in The Leader. 
 
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 Ushers, 
 
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Messrs. Roberts Brothers^ Publications. 
 
 MEMOIRS AND CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 OF 
 
 Madame Recamier. 
 
 Translated from the French and Edited by Isaphenx 
 M. Luyster. 
 
 With an elegant Steel Engraved Portrait. One volume. 
 i6mo. Price #1.50. 
 
 From the Boston Transcript. 
 
 " The biography of a woman who admirably fulfilled a great social mission, by 
 r'rtue not so much of intellectual genius or personal charms as by the essential 
 W07nanhood which she conserved and consecrated. It is idle to attribute the in- 
 fluence she exerted, the comfort she gave, the encouragement she inspired, the 
 rational pleasure and progress she promoted, to mere blandishments or dexterous 
 :oquetry. Life-long friendships with the gifted and the brave are not so realized ; 
 enduring memories of grace and congeniality are not so bequeathed. It was be- 
 cause Madame Recamier, instead of being hardened by worldliness, or soured by 
 baffled affection, or irritated by adversity, lived through her best womanly in- 
 stincts, kept pure and vivid her highest and quickest sympathies, and so placed 
 herself in true relations with ife and literature, with genius and character, that 
 her agency was so benign, her presence so inspiring, and her memory so dear." 
 Mrs. Hale in Godey's Lady's Book 
 
 " The letters, of which the book is mainly composed, are delightful to lovers 
 of detail. Those of Chateaubriand in particular are almost a record of the las" 
 twenty years of his life. Those who would see the influence upon great men of a 
 fascinating, accomplished, intellectual woman, will find it in these letters." 
 From the New York Evening- Post. 
 
 u Madame Re*camier held her undisputed and marvellous sway, over men and 
 women alike, by her exceeding loveliness of person, her kindness of heart, her 
 good sense and exquisite tact, — a sway that was recognized when she was suffer- 
 ing from reverses of fortune, as well as when she was enjoying the greatest pros- 
 perity- Perhaps no biography was ever written in which there are anecdotes and 
 glimpses of so many and such widely differing characters as in these memoirs. 
 Covering a period of more than half a century, full »f rapid %nd strange changes, 
 Madame Recamier' s "life" has a historic value, and the letters addressed to hei 
 iake us behind the scenes and enable us to understand not a little of the intrigues 
 that governed and the actors who took part in the political struggles of France 
 and Europe. The chief value of the volume will be found in its autobiographical 
 portions and its rich and diversified correspondence." 
 
 Sold everywhere, by all booksellers. Mailed, flost 
 paid, by the Publishers, 
 
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Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications. 
 
 Madame Recamier and Her Friends. 
 
 From the French of Madame Lenormant, by the 
 Translator of " Madame Recamier's Memoirs." 
 
 One volume, uniform with " Madame Recamier's Memoirs." Price #1.50 
 
 From the A tlantic Monthly. 
 This volume comes to supplement the " Memoirs and Correspondence of 
 Madame Recamier," which, although a lively and exceedingly entertaining sketch 
 of the society of the Abbaye-aux-Bois, occasioned very general dissatisfaction 
 among both its French and American readers ; for, being made up of letters which 
 were written to her, and not of those which she had herself penned, it did not 
 leave upon the mind any clear, definite impression of the real character of Ma- 
 dame Recamier, into whose secret history all the world was curious to inquire. 
 The failure of that copious work in its main purpose is the ostensible cause of the 
 existence of this after volume, in which are introduced over forty of the private 
 notes and letters of Madame Recamier ; these are as graceful, genial, and chatty 
 as any of the gossip, legitimized under the name of memoirs, recollections, cor- 
 respondence, or what not, which we have met with, but they hardly fill the gap 
 which was left in the previous volumes. 
 
 From the Unitarian Review. 
 We think this book in many respects much more valuable than the last. How- 
 ever charming the other was, we cannot resist the feeling that it must have been 
 injurious to woman of society with us, in giving them a longing after unreal 
 pleasures . . . We believe in the friendships of men and women. But when the 
 blandishments and artificialities of fashionable society come in, there is danger 
 that the dignity of the sentiment will be lost in the passion of love. This second 
 volume shows more of this true kind of friendship. Madame Recamier was in 
 misfortune ; she had lost her health ; she showed patience, courage, disinterested- 
 ness for her friends. We are taken captive like all the rest of the world. Her 
 devotion to her niece was touching ; her power of loving beautiful. Her friends 
 are noble men like Camille Jordan and Mathieu de Montmorency, the one warn- 
 ing her against coquetrj , the other recommending to her the joys of religion. 
 Chateaubriand does not inspire our respect, and she betrays again her early love 
 jf conquest in keeping the young and passionate Ampere so long at her side. 
 We must not, however, compare Madame Recamier with our highest American 
 or English ideal of what a woman in distinguished social position should be, but 
 with the voluptuous and ambitious women of her day and race, and we shall see 
 Ler standing forth a bright and charming and beloved vision, far transcending 
 th>m aU. 
 
 ♦— 
 
 Sold everywhere by all Booksellers. Mailed, postpaid, h 
 the Puleishers, 
 
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THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF MADAME 
 
 SWETCHINE. By Count de Falloux. 1 vol. 16mo. Price 
 $150. 
 
 THE WRITINGS OF MADAME SWETCHINE. 
 
 Edited by Count ds Falloux. 1 vol. 16mo. Price $1.8*. 
 
 MADAME SWETCHINE. 
 
 BY LUCY LARCOM. 
 
 A well-written history of an excellent and gifted woman, like the "Life and 
 Letters of Madame Swetchine," by Count de Falloux, will naturally meet with a 
 welcome among people of the truest culture. Madame Swetchine was not a 
 woman who courted publicity ; but the thread of her life was so interwoven with 
 the political and religious movement? of her time, it was impossible for her to 
 escape notice. And it brightens that dark period of strife between France and 
 Russia, with which the present century opened, to follow the life-track of this 
 Russian lady, who seemed to have been equally at home in both countries. 
 
 She was intimately acquainted with the noblest men and women of that re- 
 markable period, and there is not one of them upon whom her friendship does not 
 cast a beautiful glow. ^ 
 
 She was one of those rare beings who seem to have been created to draw out 
 what is best in others, by the power of sympathy and self-f»rgetfulness. She was 
 a woman of uncommon intellect, and of wide reading ; and every thing she read 
 was brought to the standard of a judgment remarkably clear and penetrative 
 indeed, her conversion to the Roman Catholic faith seems to have been mostly a 
 matter of the head, — a choice between the Greek and the Roman ecclesiasticismg 
 Long before her decision was made, her life shows her to have been a humble and 
 earnest Christian; and, as such, as one whose sympathies took wing higher and 
 wider than the opinions in which she had caged herself, her history has a rare value 
 
 One wonders at the amount of good accomplished by her, always a weak in 
 valid. In order to understand how she lived, and what she did, the book must b« 
 read through ; but some extracts might give a hint of it : — 
 
 "She rarely gave what is called advice, — an absolute solution of a given 
 problem : her humility made her shrink from direct responsibilities. She did not 
 lecture you She did not set herself up as a model or guide. She did not say 
 ' Walk thus ; ' but sweetly, ' Let us walk together; ' and so, without making the 
 slightest pretensions, she often guided* those she seemed to follow. Young and 
 old acknowledged her sway. She never evoked a sentiment of rivalry, because no 
 one ever detected in her a temptation to win admiration at the expense of others. 
 or to eclipse any person whatever. Her disinterestedness won pardon for her 
 euperiority 
 
 " Sick and erring hearts came and revealed themselves to Madame Swetchine 
 In all sincerity ; and she shed upon them, sweetly and gradually, light and truth 
 and life. 
 
 " In her turn she drew from this intimate intercourse, added to her own ex- 
 quisite penetration, a knowledge of the human heart which amounted almost to 
 d'. vination. She knew the science of the soul as physicians know that of the body. 
 
 " Her charity was not a careless and mechanical practice. She consecrated 
 to it all her strength and all her skill. Almsgiving was not, with her, the mew 
 fulfilment of a duty. She liked to give pleasure besides doing good, and ter 
 heart always added something to what her hand gave." 
 
 Madame Swetchine lived a little beyond the boundaries of threescore and ten 
 It is only ten years since she died. Heaven does not ask to what communion shi 
 belonged, neither will posterity. The memory of her saintliness is a possession 
 to the church universal, in the present and in the future. Such a record as hen 
 Is an inspiration to all who read ; such an example, the most imperatife " Ck 
 thou and do likewise " 
 
 Sold by all booksellers. Mailed, postpaid, by the publishers. 
 
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