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 LIBRARY 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 HUGH KENNER 
 
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 EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY 
 EDITED BY ERNEST RHYS 
 
 ESSAYS 
 
 LETTERS FROM LADY 
 MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON
 
 LETTERS d 
 
 FROMtfieRIGHf 
 h/ONOURABLE g 
 
 111 1ADYMARY 
 
 WORTLEY 
 
 MONTAGU 
 
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 LONDON:PUBLISHED 
 
 byJMDENTSSONS-13? 
 AND IN NEW YORK 
 BY E- P DUTTON S CO
 
 First Issue of this Edition' . April igoi> 
 RrpiiiNTED .... September : _>j >: 
 
 February 1914
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 The " Letters of Lady Mary Montagu," like many another 
 literary classic, are constantly quoted and seldom read. Every 
 man is well aware that the correspondence of distinguished 
 persons in the eighteenth century should be found on his 
 library shelves, and that her letters are an important part of this 
 priceless collection. Yet they have only once been reprinted 
 in a popular form, and their characteristics are familiar to the 
 student alone. 
 
 It happens, however, that — besides presenting a vivid picture 
 of manners in a picturesque age — they contain a unique series 
 of impressions from foreign courts seldom visited and nowhere 
 else so intimately described. Lady Mary was the wife of 
 a popular ambassador and, wielding the charm of a strong 
 personality, was enabled to see and heir many things of which 
 the ordinary traveller, or resident abroad, knew — and knows^- 
 little or nothing. Originally written, for the most part, to her 
 sisters, her daughter, or to very intimate friends, her Letters are 
 unusually detailed and frank. She was a keen observer, not 
 superior to the love of gossip, with a quick eye for the telling 
 features of a story or a situation, and an easy, effective style. 
 It appears, in fact, that much of the correspondence as we now 
 have it was deliberately prepared for publication ; and the 
 consciously ingenuous comparison of her own Letters with those 
 of Madame Sevigne must have been retained, if not originally 
 inspired, to disarm the critic : " The last pleasure 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." The flattering verdict 
 was evidently accepted by her contemporaries, and has never 
 been reversed. 
 
 In her own days, Lady Mary's Letters were valued chiefly 
 for their revelations of Turkish life; and these, in fact, must 
 
 Yll
 
 viii Introduction 
 
 always constitute her finest achievement, since, although we are 
 now better informed on such subjects, she has been found 
 substantially accurate. Her descriptions of other countries are 
 only less interesting, because less unique. They are vivid and 
 intimate : comprising the details of social life which make the 
 best history, covering a wide and varied area. Lady Mary, 
 apparently, was equally at home in France or Germany, 
 Austria or Italy, Spain or Holland. She misses no touch of 
 colour in fashion, costume, or manners. 
 
 She gained, moreover, in the power to observe and to narrate, 
 from an unusual combination of the intuitions characterising 
 her sex with an almost masculine intellect and breadth of view, 
 in an age when even the typical lady of quality, though 
 subject to the ideal of sentimentality, could openly enjoy 
 Fielding and scoff at Richardson. 
 
 Curiously enough, the very fact which particularly enlivens 
 her foreign records has served to obscure her comments on 
 English life. Here, too, she is writing principally to her own 
 family, and naturally gives prominence to the gossip of their 
 particular circle ; indulging, moreover, in frequent allusions and 
 recollections, which are somewhat baffling to the modern reader. 
 These trivialities concerning persons of little importance would 
 not reward our unravelling; while ignorance of the circum- 
 stances prevents our discerning the writer's personal attitude on 
 private moralities. 
 
 Lady Mary was born in May, 1689; being the daughter 
 of Evelyn Pierrepont, Esq., afterwards Duke of Kingston; 
 apparently a man of private integrity and political influence 
 who did not take the education of his children very seriously. 
 The little girl was left to burrow in his well-furnished library ; 
 and early developing a marked taste for literature and learning, 
 acquired by her own energies an education considerably in 
 advance of that generally accorded to the ladies of her day. 
 In particular, she studied Latin under the encouragement of 
 a bishop, and seems to have been fairly competent in transla- 
 tion. But, though not always judicious in the exercise of her 
 wit, Lady Mary never paraded her learning, and was unsparing 
 in her contempt of the professed blue-stocking. 
 
 Her critical faculties, as exhibited at the age of fourteen, 
 first attracted the notice of Mr. Wortley. He was considerably 
 her senior, and the fact may partially explain the somewhat 
 unusual features of their courtship and married life. In ob- 
 serving this phase of her life through the Letters, it must be
 
 Introduction ix 
 
 remembered that those addressed to his sister, Miss (or, as 
 they then wrote, Mrs.) Anne Wortley, are an integral part of 
 the series. Lady Mary almost certainly wrote them for his eye, 
 and was aware that the answers were mostly dictated by him- 
 self. Indeed her attitude, whether asking for direction in her 
 studies or expressing pique at neglect and criticism, betrays 
 her object. And later, after Anne's death, in the letters 
 addressed directly to Edward Wortley himself, she stands 
 before us as an enthusiastic young girl ready to throw herself 
 at the feet of a clever man ; yet anxious to show that her 
 affections would prove steady and constant from their basis of 
 reason and respect. But, naturally lively and gay, Lady Mary 
 apparently was not averse to enjoying the attentions of admirers 
 who could not touch her heart. Mr. Wortley became jealous, 
 urged the consistent pursuit of learning, and charged her with 
 being frivolous and fond of pleasure. As her affection for him 
 was undoubted, he was thus enabled to draw from her a con- 
 fession of deep feeling and wounded pride, to which her natural 
 sense of propriety and reserve would otherwise have not 
 given way. 
 
 When, however, they had finally settled matters to their 
 own satisfaction, and the lady's father was approached, it 
 appears that, while making no objection to the suitor himself, 
 the then Marquis of Dorchester insisted on a form of settle- 
 ment to which Mr. Wortley refused to agree. He was 
 perfectly ready to make the best possible provision for his wife, 
 but declined positively to entail his landed property on a son 
 who might — and, as it happens, did — prove himself unworthy 
 of the trust. The old nobleman would not allow his grandsons 
 to run the risk of being left beggars. 
 
 As neither of the men would yield to the other, all negotia- 
 tions were at a standstill. But, in Lady Mary's twenty-fourth 
 year, her father produced the very crisis he desired to avoid, 
 by choosing a husband for his daughter and insisting on her 
 compliance. She naturally detailed the circumstances to Mr. 
 Wortley, but evidently held him in no way responsible. On 
 the contrary, she declared that she would not herself " make 
 such ridiculous settlements," and could not blame him " foi 
 being in the right." They thereupon agreed to elope, and 
 Mr. Wortley's determination to sacrifice her portion to his 
 principles evidently increased his wife's fondness and respect. 
 It is clear that she had thought out the matter carefully, and 
 was not acting on impulse ; for she made the sufficiently un
 
 x Introduction 
 
 romantic stipulation that " he would put her beyond the 
 possibility of scorn and insult from the friends whom she was 
 about to offend, for his sake, by settling upon her an annuity 
 in the event of her widowhood." 
 
 The marriage licence was dated August 16th, 1712; and 
 though the lady's family maintained that she had taken an 
 imprudent step, and though time scarcely modified her father's 
 indignation, there is, in fact, no substantial ground — despite 
 contemporary scandal— for supposing that Lady Mary herself 
 ever looked back on it with regret. They lived in obvious 
 harmony whether at Court or at home ; she accompanied him 
 on what were then the somewhat perilous journeys entailed 
 by his several embassies, and though, at the end of her life, 
 she spent some years alone abroad for reasons now impossible 
 to determine, their correspondence was maintained — doubtless 
 more fully and intimately than can be seen from the published 
 letters— and she hurried to England immediately on hearing 
 of the illness which proved his last. It is clear that, to some 
 extent, Lady Mary and her husband pursued their own ways 
 independently ; but the deep sense of family affection (revealed 
 in the correspondence with her sister and daughter) was fully 
 shared and appreciated by him, while they evidently laboured, 
 in mutual trust and sympathy, at the thankless task of again 
 and again attempting to reform their son. 
 
 In fact, Lady Mary Montagu was but slightly influenced by 
 surroundings outside her family circle, except in so far as her 
 travels afforded material for her correspondence. Her literary 
 efforts, extolled or derided by her contemporaries according 
 to their personal bias, are insignificant ; and, though moving 
 among the authors and politicians of the day, her friendships 
 were neither intimate nor lasting. Her wit was not always 
 tempered by discretion, the envious readily betrayed her 
 confidence, and it must be admitted that the numerous 
 quarrels in which she became involved were frequently in- 
 flamed, if not actually caused, by her own indulgence in 
 thoughtless expressions of scorn or anger. 
 
 Our volume contains some letters to Pope which, though 
 somewhat laboured in style, are of sufficiently friendly import to 
 require comment in view of the poet's later attitude towards the 
 writer. Pope's side of the correspondence is not given here ; but 
 it is in print, and reveals the tone of extravagant gallantry which 
 he apparently considered appropriate to ladies whose intelli- 
 gence he delighted at once to flatter and to despise. It will
 
 Introduction xi 
 
 be seen that Lady Mary showed her superiority and good sense 
 by entirely ignoring his artificial professions ; and the sugges- 
 tion — afterwards industriously circulated by Pope himself and 
 adopted by others — that their intimacy had been anyway secret 
 or indiscreet, has been abundantly disproved. But the lady in 
 some way offended the poet's vanity ; he became unscrupulous 
 and spiteful against his quondam friend. Once offended, Pope 
 always hit back, and with absolute indifference to the truth. 
 Unfortunately for Lady Mary, his statements were thought- 
 lessly accepted and repeated by many whose love of gossip 
 produced literature. Modern writers are not always careful 
 in such matters, and the impression has even now been 
 scarcely obliterated. 
 
 The somewhat profitless discussions as to whether Lady 
 Montagu ever penetrated a harem may be summarily dis- 
 missed. The evidence does not countenance such a report, 
 undoubtedly current in her own lifetime and afterwards 
 accepted without question ; but its truth or falsehood scarcely 
 concerns us to-day. The Letters contain a straightforward 
 account of what she had seen, of the authority on which she 
 wrote, and of the source from which her information is derived. 
 No independent investigation is required in judging the value 
 of her observations. No doubt she could point a moral and 
 adorn a tale ; but there is no reason whatever for supposing 
 that she pretended to any knowledge she did not possess or 
 wilfully misrepresented her actual experiences. 
 
 Her share in persuading the Faculty and the public to 
 experiments in inoculation belong rather to the history of 
 medicine. But her courageous and unprejudiced appreciation 
 of the unfamiliar in foreign guise must be remembered in 
 token of a wide-minded and sympathetic nature ; while the 
 tenacity with which she faced ridicule and abuse in her 
 own country must testify to the warmth of her benevolence 
 and the strength of her will. It is quite clear that her in- 
 fluence was of much practical effect, and that its exercise 
 subjected her to the most serious annoyance and wilful 
 misunderstanding. 
 
 As we have already indicated, the Letters themselves reflect, 
 as intimately as one can wish, the comparatively uneventful 
 tenour of Lady Mary's life, and the varied aspects of her 
 vivid and interesting personality. After returning to England 
 in 1 761, on the death of her husband, she only survived his 
 loss a twelvemonth, and died at her own house in George
 
 xii Introduction 
 
 Street, Hanover Square, on August 21st, 1762, in her seventy- 
 fourth year. 
 
 The investigations of Mr. Moy Thomas, Lady Montagu's 
 latest and final editor, have thrown some curious light on the 
 text of her famous Letters ; though the mystery of their first, 
 piratical, appearance remains unsolved. It appears, however, 
 that the published correspondence from Turkey is not compiled 
 from letters actually written at the time, but " was prepared for 
 publication " by their author in the later part of her life from 
 contemporary diaries (probably containing some descriptive or 
 narrative passages almost indentical with her letters of that date), 
 which themselves were afterwards destroyed by her daughter, 
 Lady Bute. Two copies of this manuscript are now in exis- 
 tence among the Wortley papers, of which one — for reasons 
 unknown — -was given to the Rev. Benjamin Sowden, minister 
 at Rotterdam, in December, 1761, "to be disposed of as he 
 thinks proper." This is in Lady Mary's own handwriting, 
 and is therefore our best authority for the text. It was first 
 used by Mr. Moy Thomas, and his version is here followed. 
 The second copy, written out by some person unknown, was 
 given to Mr. Molesworth for circulation among private friends. 
 To it was prefixed, in December, 1724, a Preface by Mary 
 Astell, a lady of some celebrity in her day for her advanced 
 views and critical taste. This copy differs from the Sowden 
 manuscript, but only in small points. 
 
 But in 1763, without any authority or permission from the 
 family, an edition was issued of Lady Mary Montagu's Letters, 
 which contained Mary Astell's Preface and was edited by a Mr. 
 Dallaway. Though always accepted as the standard text and 
 substantially reprinted by Lord Wharncliffe and others actually 
 having access to the Sowden manuscript, it was in fact the 
 result of most unjustifiable tampering. Mr. Thomas tells us 
 that "in numerous instances single letters were found to be 
 composed of several letters, or made up from passages of letters 
 written at different periods. Exact dates were affixed, which 
 were manifestly incorrect, or, if correct, were not found in the 
 originals, and therefore could not properly be given as parts 
 of the text. Passages were continually omitted, and names 
 inserted, without warning to the reader ; and numberless 
 minute alterations were introduced, apparently with no object 
 but to improve the language of the letters in conformity with 
 the editor's taste." 
 
 An additional volume was issued in 1767, said to have been
 
 Introduction xiii 
 
 edited by the notorious John Cleland, and reputed forgeries. 
 But, as Lady Mary's own daughter was convinced of their 
 being genuine, they have been always, and are here, included 
 as an integral part of the correspondence. 
 
 Other letters, obtained from various sources, have beeu 
 gradually collected and carefully edited. The reader may now 
 be confident of finding an honest copy of Lady Mary's own 
 manuscripts, though, as we have seen, an important part of 
 thern was cast in the form of letters as a literary artifice, and 
 only a portion were actually addressed to her personal friends. 
 
 R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON. 
 1906. 
 
 The following is a list of the works of Lady Mary Wortley 
 Montagu :— 
 
 Translation of " Encheiridion " from the Latin version was written 
 in 1710 (see Works, i.). 
 
 Court Poems (Town Eclogues), 1716, 1717. 
 
 Verses addressed to the imitator (Pope) of the First Satire of the 
 Second Book of Horace. By a Lady, 1731. 
 
 Letters (including Letters from the East). 1763; 3 vols.; vol. iv., 
 1767 (of doubtful authority). 
 
 Works : 1803, 1817, 1837 (with Introductory Anecdotes, ed. by 
 Lord Wharncliffe), 1861 (ed. by Moy Thomas).
 
 LETTERS 
 
 TO 
 
 MRS. HEWET 
 
 To Mrs. Hewet. 
 
 I hope my dear Mrs Hewet does not believe that I follow 
 my inclination, when I am two or three posts before I return 
 thanks for her most agreeable letters ; but in this busy town 
 there is very little time at one's own disposal. My greatest 
 pleasure is at Mrs. Selwyn's : I came from thence just now, 
 and I believe am the only young woman in town that am in 
 my own house at ten o'clock to-night. This is the night of 
 Count Turrucca's ball, to which he has invited a few bare- 
 faced, and the whole town en masque. I suppose you will have 
 a description of it from some who were at it ; I can only give 
 it at second-hand, and will therefore say nothing of it. I have 
 begun to learn Italian, and am much mortified I cannot do it 
 of a signor of Monsieur Resingade's recommendation ; but 'tis 
 always the fate of women to obey, and my papa has promised 
 me to a Mr. Cassotti. I am afraid I shall never understand it 
 so well as you do— but laissons cela, and talk of somewhat more 
 
 entertaining. 
 
 Next to the great ball, what makes the most noise is the 
 marriage of an old maid, who lives in this street, without a 
 portion, to a man of ,£7,000 per annum, and they say £40,000 
 in ready money. Her equipage and liveries outshine any- 
 body's in town. He has presented her with .£3,000 in jewels; 
 and never was man more smitten with these charms that had 
 lain invisible for these forty years ; but, with all his glory, 
 never bride had fewer enviers, the dear beast of a man is so 
 filthy, frightful, odious, and detestable. I would turn away 
 such a footman, for fear of spoiling my dinner, while he waited 
 at table. They were married on Friday, and came to church 
 en parade on Sunday. I happened to sit in the pew with them, 
 and had the honour of seeing Mrs. Bride fall fast asleep in the 
 middle of the sermon, and snore very comfortably ; which
 
 2 Letters to Mrs. Hewet [1709 
 
 made several women in the church think the bridegroom not 
 quite so ugly as they did before. Envious people say 'twas 
 all counterfeited to please him, but I believe that to be scandal ; 
 for I dare swear, nothing but downright necessity could make 
 her miss one word of the sermon. He professes to have 
 married her for her devotion, patience, meekness, and other 
 Christian virtues he observed in her ; his first wife (who 
 has left no children) being very handsome, and so good 
 natured as to have ventured her own salvation to secure his. 
 He has married this lady to have a companion in that paradise 
 where his first has given him a title. I believe I have given 
 you too much of this couple ; but they are not to be compre- 
 hended in few words. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Hewet, remember me, and believe that nothing 
 can put you out of my head. 
 
 To Mrs. Hewet. 
 
 [Thoresby, September, 1709.] 
 
 Ten thousand thanks to you for Madame de Noyer's 
 Letters ; I wish Signor Roselli may be as diverting to you 
 as she has been to me. The stories are very extraordinary ; 
 but I know not whether she has not added a few agremens of 
 invention to them : however, there is some truth. I have been 
 told, in particular, that the history of the fair unfortunate 
 Madame de Barbesierre is so, by people who could not be 
 suspected of romancing. Don't you think that the court of 
 England would furnish stories as entertaining ? Say nothing 
 of my malice ; but I cannot help wishing that Madame de 
 Noyer would turn her thoughts a little that way. I fancy 
 she would succeed better than the authoress of the " New 
 Atalantis." I am sure I like her method much better, which 
 has, I think, hit that difficult path between the gay and the 
 severe, and is neither too loose, nor affected by pride. 
 
 I take an interest in Mr. Selwyn's success. In a battle like 
 that, I think it may be called so to come off alive. I should 
 be so sensible of any affliction that could touch you or Mrs. 
 Selwyn, that I may very well rejoice when you have no occa- 
 sion for any. Adieu, Madam. This post has brought me 
 nothing but compliments, without one bit of news. I heard 
 the last, that Lord Stair was wounded. You can tell me 
 whether to believe it or no. 
 
 Excuse my dulness ; and be so good as never to read a 
 letter of mine but in one of those minutes when you are
 
 1709] Letters to Mrs. Hewet 3 
 
 entirely alone, weary of everything, and inquiete to think what 
 you shall do next. All people who live in the country must 
 have some of those minutes, and I know so well what they are, 
 that I believe even my letters may be welcome, when they are 
 to take them off your hands. 
 
 To Mrs. Hewet. 
 
 [Thoresby, October, 1709.] 
 I suppose my dear Mrs. Hewet has by this time resolved 
 never to think more on so insensible and ungrateful a creature, 
 that could be so long in returning thanks for such a letter, and 
 has repented of past favours. I cannot blame your resentment, 
 appearances are so much against me ; and yet I am not so 
 much to blame as you imagine. You expressed a desire of 
 seeing a second part of the " Atalantis." I had just then sent 
 to London for it, and did not question having it last Saturday. 
 I hoped that a book you had a mind to see might atone for the 
 nothingness of my letter, and was resolved not to send one 
 without the other ; but, like an unfortunate projector as I am, 
 my designs are always followed by disappointment. Saturday 
 came, and no book ; God forgive me, I had certainly wished 
 the lady who was to send it me hanged, but for the hopes it 
 was to come by the Nottingham carrier, and then I should have 
 it on Monday ; but, after waiting Monday and Tuesday, I find 
 it is not come at all. Now, madam, I do not question your 
 forgiveness, and your hope, that when 1 do not write to Mrs. 
 Hewet, there is some unavoidable cause for my silence. Your 
 news and your book very much diverted me : it is an old, but 
 very pleasant, Spanish novel. When we leave this place, I am 
 not able to tell you. I have no reason to wish it, but since I 
 cannot see you, that it may be in my power to write you more 
 entertaining letters. I had some last post told me that Lady 
 Essex Saville was going to be married to Lord Lonsdale. I 
 won't swear to the truth of it, for people make no conscience 
 of what they write into the country, and think anything good 
 enough for poor us. There is another story that I had from 
 a hand I dare depend upon. The Duke of Grafton and Dr. 
 Garth ran a foot-match in the mall of 200 yards, and the latter, 
 to his immortal glory, beat. I pray God you mayn't have 
 heard this already. I am promised a cargo of lampoons from 
 the Bath, and if they come safe, you shall share them with me. 
 My dear Mrs. Hewet, could I contribute any way to your 
 diversion, it would be the height of my ambition.
 
 4 Letters to Mrs. Hewet [1709 
 
 To Mrs. Hewet. 
 
 November 12 [1709]. 
 
 You have not then received my letter ? Well ! I shall run 
 mad. I can suffer anything rather than that you should con- 
 tinue to think me ungrateful. I think 'tis the last of pains to 
 be thought criminal, where one most desires to please, as I am 
 sure it is always my wish to dear Mrs. Hewet. 
 
 I am very glad you have the second part of the "New 
 Atalantis " : if you have read it, will you be so good as to send 
 it me ? and in return, I promise to get you the Key to it. I 
 know I can. But do you know what has happened to the 
 unfortunate authoress ? People are offended at the liberty she 
 uses in her memoirs, and she is taken into custody. Miserable 
 is the fate of writers : if they are agreeable, they are offensive ; 
 and if dull, they starve. I lament the loss of the other parts 
 which we should have had ; and have five hundred arguments 
 at my fingers' ends to prove the ridiculousness of those 
 creatures that think it worth while to take notice of what is 
 only designed for. diversion. After this, who will dare to give 
 the history of Angella ? I was in hopes her faint essay would 
 have provoked some better pen to give more elegant and secret 
 memoirs ; but now she will serve as a scarecrow to frighten 
 people from attempting anything but heavy panegyric ; and we 
 shall be teazed with nothing but heroic poems, with names at 
 length, and false characters, so daubed with flattery, that they 
 are the severest kind of lampoons, for they both scandalize the 
 writer and the subject, like that vile paper the "Tatler." 
 
 I believe, madam, you will think I have dwelt too long on 
 this business ; but I am in a violent passion about it. My dear 
 Mrs. Hewet, is it impossible you should come here ? I would 
 not ask it if I had a coach to wait upon you ; but I am not 
 born to have anything I have a mind to. All the news I know 
 is, that Mrs. Reeves is married to Colonel Sydney (if you know 
 neither of them, I'll send you their pictures at full length) ; and 
 that giddy rake Creswell, to a fortune of ^"2,000 a year. I 
 send you the Bath lampoons — Corinna is Lady Manchester, 
 and the other lady is Mrs. Cartwright, who, they say, has 
 pawned her diamond necklace, to buy Valentine a snuff-box. 
 These wars make men so violent scarce, that these good ladies 
 take up with the shadows of them. This is the sum total of all 
 the news I know, and you see I am willing to divert you all in 
 my power. I fancy the ill spelling of the lampoons will make 
 you laugh more than the verses ; indeed, I am ashamed for
 
 i7io] Letters to Mrs. Hewet 5 
 
 her who wrote them. As soon as possible, be pleased to send 
 me the second part of the " Atalantis," &c. 
 
 To Mrs. Hewet. 
 
 [November, 1709.?] 
 
 Till this minute I was in hopes of waiting on dear Mrs. 
 Hewet before we left the country, which made me defer 
 writing ; but now positive orders oblige us to go to-morrow, 
 and the horses must rest to-day, so that this paper must give 
 you thanks for me, for all the many favours which could not 
 have been bestowed on one who could have had a more quick 
 and lasting sense of them. When I am in London, I will 
 certainly send you all that passes, though I fancy you have it 
 from people better both at writing and intelligence. 
 
 Mrs. C, whose character you desire to know, is a lady who 
 has made a great noise in the world ; but I never thought she 
 would come to make such a figure in it. The lord she has 
 snapt made a lampoon on her last winter. For my part, I 
 never heard her speak in my life. She is generally thought 
 handsome. If Miss Selwyn (as I wish she may) supplies her 
 place, there will be one much handsomer. Amidst the hurry 
 of taking such a journey to-morrow, I am sure you will forgive 
 my letter's being no longer : you know people can never leave 
 your company, or writing to you, without regret. Write to me 
 where to direct to you, and direct to me in Arlington Street, 
 near St. James's, London. 
 
 To Mrs. Hewet. 
 
 [Arlington Street? summer of 1710.?] 
 I would have writ long ago to dear Mrs. Hewet, but I 
 waited for the good news of saying when I might hope to see 
 you, which I now despair of for this long time. We go next 
 week into Wiltshire, which will be quite a new world to us. I 
 was about eight years old when I left it, and have entirely 
 forgot everything in it. I am sorry we shall not see you, 
 though I am still in hopes we shall return into Nottinghamshire 
 the latter end of the year ; but all that is supposals, and I have 
 no ground to believe it, but that I wish it very much. You 
 can expect no news from one who has nothing at present in her 
 head but packing up, and the ideas that naturally come upon 
 going to a place, I may almost say, I never saw, so perfectly 
 have I forgotten it. Be so good when you see Mrs. Levenz to 
 ask her if she received my letter ; if she did not, I am sure I
 
 6 Letters to Mrs. Hewet • [1710 
 
 must suffer very much in her opinion, and appear very ungrate- 
 ful, after her inquiry when I was sick. Mrs. Hewet should 
 never talk of being rivalled ; there is no such thing as not 
 liking her, or liking anybody else better. It is a provoking 
 thing to think, so many tedious years as we have passed at 
 Thoresby, we should always be asunder so many dirty miles, 
 and the first summer you come nearer, I am tossed to the 
 other side of the world, where I do not know so much as one 
 creature, and am afraid I shall not meet with such agreeable 
 neighbours as in Nottinghamshire. But destiny must be fol- 
 lowed, and I own, was I to choose mine, it should never be to 
 stay perpetually in the same place. I should even prefer little 
 storms to an eternal calm j and though I am displeased not to 
 see you, I am not sorry to see a new part of the kingdom. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Hewet, preserve me your friendship wherever 
 my fortune carries me, and believe that I am equally in all 
 places yours. 
 
 Continue your direction to Arlington Street. 
 
 To Mrs. Hewet. 
 
 [West Dean? about May, 1710. ?] 
 Most of the neighbours hereabouts have been to see me, 
 but they are very few, and few of those few that are support- 
 able — none agreeable. This part of the world is so different 
 from Nottinghamshire, that I can hardly persuade myself it is 
 in the same kingdom. The men here are all Sylvias, no 
 Myrtillos. If they could express themselves so well, they 
 would say, like him, 
 
 " Mille ninfe darei per una fera 
 Che da Melampo mio cacciata fosse ; 
 Godasi queste gioje 
 Chi n' ha di me piu gusto ; io non le sento." 
 
 Though they cannot say it in Italian verse, they often speak 
 to that purpose in English prose over a bottle, insensible of 
 other pleasures than hunting and drinking. The consequence 
 of which is, the poor female part of their family being seldom 
 permitted a coach, or at best but a couple of starved jades to 
 drag a dirty chariot, their lords and masters having no occasion 
 for such a machine, as their mornings are spent among hounds, 
 and the nights with as beastly companions, with what liquor 
 they can get in this country, which is not very famous for good 
 drink. If this management did not hinder me the company
 
 171 1] Letters to Mrs. Hewet 7 
 
 of my she neighbours, I should regret the absence of the Pastor 
 Fidos, being of the opinion of Sylvia in Tasso : — 
 
 "Altri segua i diletti dell' amore, 
 Se pur v' e nell' amor alcun diletto." 
 
 I would fain persuade you to practise your Italian. I fear 
 I shall forget to speak it, for want of somebody to speak it to. 
 Amongst the rest of the advantages I should have in your 
 conversation (if I should be so happy as to be with you), I 
 would endeavour to improve in that polite language. I find 
 you are very busy about politics ; we are the same here, par- 
 ticularly in the pulpit, where the parsons would fain become 
 as famous as Sacheverel, and are very sorry that they cannot 
 have the honour of being tried too. For my part, I content 
 myself in my humble sphere, am passive in their disputes, and 
 endeavour to study my Italian in peace and quietness. But 
 people mistake very much in placing peace in woods and 
 shades, for I believe solitude puts people out of humour, and 
 makes them disposed to quarrel, or there would not be so 
 many disputes about religion and liberty, by creatures that 
 never understood the first, nor have, or are likely to have, a 
 taste of the latter, 
 
 "Crush'd by the stint of thirty pounds a-year." 
 
 To Mrs. Hewet. 
 
 [1711.] 
 Tis so long since I had a letter from dear Mrs. Hewet, 
 I should think her no longer in the land of the living, if 
 Mr. Resingade did not assure me he was happier than I, and 
 had heard of your health from your own hand ; which makes 
 me fancy that my last miscarried, and perhaps you are blaming 
 me at the same time that you are thinking me neglectful of 
 you. Apropos of Mr. Resingade — we are grown such good 
 friends, I assure you, that we write Italian letters to each other, 
 and I have the pleasure of talking to him of Madame Hewet. 
 He told me he would send you the two tomes of Madame de 
 Noyer's Memoirs. I fancy you will find yourself disappointed 
 in them, for they are horribly grave and insipid ; and, instead 
 of the gallantry you might expect, they are full of dull morals. 
 I was last Thursday at the new Opera, and saw Nicolini 
 strangle a lion with great gallantry. But he represented 
 nakedness so naturally, I was surprised to see those ladies 
 stare at him without any confusion, that pretend to be so 
 violently shocked at a poor double entendre or two in a comedy \
 
 8 Letters to Mrs. Hewet [171 1 
 
 which convinced me that those prudes who would cry fie ! 
 fie ! at the word naked, have no scruples about the thing. The 
 marriage of Lord Willoughby goes on, and he swears he will 
 bring the lady down to Nottingham races. How far it may be 
 true, I cannot tell. By what fine gentlemen say, you know, it 
 is not easy to guess at what they mean. The lady has made 
 an acquaintance with me after the manner of Pyramus and 
 Thisbe : I mean over a wall three yards high, which separates 
 our garden from Lady Guildford's. The young ladies had 
 found out a way to pull out two or three bricks, and so climb 
 up and hang their chins over the wall, where we, mounted on 
 chairs, used to have many belles conversations a la dirobee for 
 fear of the old mother. This trade continued several days; 
 but fortune seldom permits long pleasures. By long standing 
 on the wall, the bricks loosened ; and, one fatal morning, down 
 drops Miss Nelly ; and, to complete this misfortune, she fell 
 
 into a little sink, and i bruised her poor self to that terrible 
 
 degree, she is forced to have surgeons, plaisters, and God 
 knows what, which discovered the whole intrigue ; and their 
 mamma forbade them ever to visit us, but by the door. Since 
 that time, all our communications have been made in a vulgar 
 manner, visiting in coaches, &c. &c, which took away half the 
 pleasure. You know danger gives a haut godt to everything. 
 This is our secret history — pray let it be so still — but I hope 
 all the world will know that I am most entirely yours. 
 
 To Mrs. Hewet. 
 
 [1711.1 
 
 I have a thousand thanks to give my dear Mrs. Hewet for 
 her news, and above all the letter ; and I would not have 
 delayed them, but your messenger was in haste, and I was 
 resolved to write you a long scribble. My advices of Saturday 
 say, that a peace will positively be concluded. This comes 
 from the same hand that wrote so contrary on Thursday, and 
 I depend very much on the intelligence. I am charmed with 
 your correspondante, for I hope it is a woman ; and if it is, I 
 reckon her an honour to our sex. I am in no fear of the 
 reflection you mention; and, being perfectly innocent, God 
 knows am far from thinking I can be suspected. Your news, 
 and no news, I know not what to make of. At present, my 
 domestic affairs go on so ill, I want spirits to look abroad. I 
 have got a cold that disables my eyes, and disorders me every 
 other way. Mr. Mason has ordered me blooding, to which I
 
 1712] Letters to Mrs. Hewet 9 
 
 have submitted, after long contestation. You see how stupid 
 I am ; I entertain you with discourses of physic, but I have 
 the oddest jumble of disagreeable things in my head that ever 
 plagued poor mortals ; a great cold, a bad peace, people I love 
 in disgrace, sore eyes, the horrid prospect of a civil war, and 
 the thoughts of a filthy potion to take. I believe nobody ever 
 had such a melange before. Our coachman, dear man, arrived 
 safe last night, but when we remove, God only knows. If 
 possible, I will wait on you at Clipston, but this physic may 
 prevent all my good intentions. My companions are your 
 servants. I had forgot the " Spectators : " one is not worth 
 mentioning ; the other is so plain and so good sense, I wonder 
 anybody of five years old does not find out that he is in the 
 right. 
 
 To Mrs. Hewet. 
 
 [Arlington Street, March, 1712.] 
 
 I do not doubt but that before this time, my dear Mrs. 
 Hewet has a thousand times called me ungrateful, and as 
 often repented of the many kindnesses she has done me in the 
 country. Les apparences sont trompeuses — I am as much your 
 servant as ever, and think of you with the friendship and 
 acknowledgment I owe you. A train of disagreeable events 
 have hindered my having one leisure moment ; and at this 
 very time my poor head is distracted with such a variety of 
 galimatias, that I cannot tell you one bit of news. The fire I 
 suppose you have had a long and true account of, though not 
 perhaps that we were raised at three o'clock, and kept waking 
 till five, by the most dreadful sight I ever saw in my life. It 
 was near enough to fright all our servants half out of their 
 senses ; however, we escaped better than some of our neigh- 
 bours. Mrs. Braithwayte, a Yorkshire beauty, who had been 
 but two days married to a Mr. Coleman, ran out of bed en 
 chemise, and her husband followed her in his, in which pleasant 
 dress they ran as far as St. James's Street, where they met with 
 a chair, and prudently crammed themselves both into it, 
 observing the rule of dividing the good and bad fortune of 
 this life, resolved to run all hazards together, and ordered the 
 chairmen to carry them both away, perfectly representing, 
 both in love and nakedness, and want of eyes to see that they 
 were naked, our first happy parents. Sunday last I had the 
 pleasure of hearing the whole history from the lady's own 
 mouth. 
 
 The next most extraordinary adventure, is the famous
 
 io Letters to Mrs. Hewet [1714 
 
 quarrel between her Grace of Hamilton with Captain Hero ; 
 but I suppose you cannot be ignorant of so surprising an 
 event. 
 
 Deaths nor marriages I know of none, but Sir Stephen 
 Evans, that hanged himself, and my sister Evelyn, who will be 
 married next week. The post-bell rings; my next shall be 
 longer, with some account of your fair family. 
 
 To Mrs. Hewet. 
 I would willingly return dear Mrs. Hewet something more, 
 for diverting me so well, than dry thanks impertinently ex- 
 pressed. 'Tis reported that Lady Charlotte Finch is to marry 
 old Conoway, and Lady Margaret Tufton, Lord Brooke. 
 Beside the dismal changes of state, this is all I know. I fear 
 I write nonsense ; but it happens miraculously to be in a room 
 full of company, and if I omit this opportunity, I know not 
 when I may have another of sending. Mr. Sterne, the titular 
 bishop, was last week married to a very pretty woman, Mrs. 
 Bateman, whom he fell in love with for falling backward from 
 her horse leaping a ditch, where she displayed all her charms, 
 which he found irresistible. Mrs. White, Mrs. Sutton, and 
 Mrs. More, are all with me ; and I am so embarrassed with 
 civilities tour a tour, that I have hardly calmness of spirit to 
 tell you, in a composed way, that I am your thankful humble 
 servant. 
 
 To Mrs. Hewet. 
 
 York, November, 1 7 14. 
 'Tis not owing either to insensibility or ingratitude that I 
 have not yet returned my thanks to dear Mrs. Hewet for her 
 obliging letter ; but the weakness of my sight will not permit 
 me to express the dictates of my heart, and I am forced to sit by 
 the fireside and think you a thousand thanks, when I would be 
 putting them upon paper. I rejoice that Lady Harriet has 
 shown some sensibility, as unworthy an object as she has 
 chosen ; yet I think 'tis better than (as I feared she had) 
 dutifully making over all her senses along with her fortune, for 
 the use of her Grace; I thought her other faculties as imperfect 
 as that of hearing. I am glad she is not such a stock as I took 
 her to be. I beg your pardon that I must write a letter without 
 news, but I do not know one bit, if it were to stand one instead 
 of my neck-verse. I am here waiting the meeting of the Parlia- 
 ment, and am persuaded you will be in London before me ; if 
 not, I will endeavour to see you. You talk of the Duke of
 
 1714] Letters to Mrs. Hewet 1 1 
 
 Leeds — I hear that he has placed his heroic love upon the 
 bright charms of a pewterer's wife ; and, after a long amour, 
 and many perilous adventures, has stolen the fair lady, which, 
 in spite of his wrinkles and grandchild, persuade people of his 
 youth and gallantry. You see what stuff I am forced to write ; 
 but to such I am compelled, excepting I should entertain you 
 with York loves and piques, which would be as dull to you as 
 what passed at the last wake. Tis impossible to laugh at what 
 they do, without having first laughed at what they are. 
 
 I am, madam, yours. 
 This is abrupt ; but the post will wait for no man.
 
 LETTERS 
 
 TO 
 
 MISS ANNE WORTLEY 
 
 AND 
 
 MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU 
 
 BEFORE 1717 
 
 To Miss Anne Wortley. 
 
 [Thoresby] May 2. 
 I hope, my dear Mrs. Wortley, that you are so just to me, to 
 believe I could not leave the town without seeing you, but 
 very much against my own inclination. I am now at Thoresby. 
 Our journey has been very bad, but, in my opinion, the worst 
 part of it was — going from you. I hope you intend to be 
 kinder to me this summer than you was the last. There 
 needs nothing to keep up the remembrance of you in my 
 heart, but I would not think of you and think you forget me. 
 Farewell, my dear. My letter should be longer, if it was 
 possible to make it so without repetition ; but I have already 
 told you I love you, and implored you not to forget me, which 
 (as I hope to breathe) is all I have to say. 
 
 To Miss Anne Wortley. 
 
 [Thoresby, postmark Aug. 27.] 
 I am convinced, however dear you are to me, Mrs. Anne 
 Wortley, I am no longer of any concern to you, therefore I 
 shall only trouble you with an insignificant story, when I tell 
 you I have been very near leaving this changeable world ; but 
 now, by the doctor's assistance and Heaven's blessing, am in 
 a condition of being as impertinently troublesome to you as 
 formerly. A sore-throat, which plagued me for a long while, 
 brought me at last to such a weakness you had a fair 
 chance of being released from me ; but God has not yet 
 decreed you so much happiness, though I must say this, you 
 
 12
 
 1709] To Miss Anne Wortley 13 
 
 have omitted nothing to make yourself so easy, having strove 
 to kill me by neglect : but destiny triumphs over all your 
 efforts ; I am yet in the land of the living, and still yours. 
 
 To Miss Anne Wortley. 
 
 Ash Wednesday [March 7], 1709. 
 This comes to inquire after your health in the first place ? and 
 if there be any hopes of the recovery of my diamond ? If not, 
 I must content myself with reckoning it one of the mortifica- 
 tions proper to this devout time, and it may serve for a motive 
 of humiliation. Is not this the right temper with which we 
 ought to bear losses which ? 
 
 To Miss Anne Wortley. 
 
 July 21, 1709. 
 
 How often (my dear Mrs. Wortley) must I assure you that 
 your letters are ever agreeable and beyond expression welcome 
 to me? Depend upon it that I reckon the correspondence 
 you favour me with too great a happiness to neglect it : there 
 is no danger of your fault, I rather fear to grow troublesome 
 by my acknowledgments. I will not believe you flatter me, I 
 will look upon what you say as an obliging mark of your 
 partiality. How happy must I think myself when I fancy 
 your friendship to me even great enough to overpower your 
 judgment ! I am afraid this is one of the pleasures of the 
 Imagination, and I cannot be so very successful in so earnest 
 and important a wish. This letter is excessively dull. Do 
 you know it is from my vast desire of pleasing you, as there is 
 nothing more frequent than for the voice to falter when 
 people sing before judges, or, as those arguments are always 
 worst where the orator is in a passion. Believe me, I could 
 
 scribble three sheets to (I must not name), but to twenty 
 
 people that have not so great a share of my esteem, and 
 whose friendship is not so absolutely necessary for my 
 happiness, but am quite at a loss to you. I will not commend 
 your letters (let them deserve never so much), because I will 
 show you 'tis possible for me to forbear what I have mind to, 
 when I know 'tis your desire I should do so. My dear, dear, 
 adieu ! I am entirely yours, and wish nothing more than that 
 it may be some time or other in my power to convince you 
 that there is nobody dearer than yourself to — 
 
 I am horribly ashamed of this letter, pray Heaven you may 
 not think it too inconsiderable to be laughed at — that may be.
 
 14 Letters to [1709 
 
 To Miss Anne Wortley. 
 
 [Thoresby] August 8, 1709. 
 I shall run mad — with what heart can people write, when 
 they believe their letters will never be received? I have 
 already writ you a very long scrawl, but it seems it never came 
 to your hands ; I cannot bear to be accused of coldness by 
 one whom I shall love all my life. This will, perhaps, miscarry 
 as the last did ; how unfortunate am I if it does ! You will 
 think I forget you, who are never out of my thoughts. You 
 will fancy me stupid enough to neglect your letters, when they 
 are the only pleasures of my solitude : in short, you will call 
 me ungrateful and insensible, when I esteem you as I ought, 
 in esteeming you above all the world. If I am not quite so 
 unhappy as I imagine, and you do receive this, let me know it 
 as soon as you can; for till then I shall be in terrible un- 
 easiness ; and let me beg you for the future, if you do not 
 receive letters very constantly from me, imagine the post-boy 
 killed, imagine the mail burnt, or some other strange accident ; 
 you can imagine nothing so impossible as that I forget you, 
 my dear Mrs. Wortley. I know no pretence I have to your 
 good opinion but my hearty desiring it ; I wish I had that 
 imagination you talk of, to render me a fitter correspondent 
 for you, who can write so well on every thing. I am now so 
 much alone, I have leisure to pass whole days in reading, but 
 am not at all proper for so delicate an employment as choosing 
 you books. Your own fancy will better direct you. My study 
 at present is nothing but dictionaries and grammars. I am 
 trying whether it be possible to learn without a master ; I am 
 not certain (and dare hardly hope) I shall make any great 
 progress ; but I find the study so diverting, I am not only easy, 
 but pleased with the solitude that indulges it. I forget there 
 is such a place as London, and wish for no company but yours. 
 You see, my dear, in making my pleasures consist of these 
 unfashionable diversions, I am not of the number who cannot 
 be easy out of the mode. I believe more follies are committed 
 out of complaisance to the world, than in following our own 
 inclinations — Nature is seldom in the wrong, custom always ; 
 it is with some regret I follow it in all the impertinencies of 
 dress ; the compliance is so trivial it comforts me ; but I am 
 amazed to see it consulted even in the most important 
 occasions of our lives ; and that people of good sense in other 
 things can make their happiness consist in the opinions of 
 others, and sacrifice every thing in the desire of appearing in
 
 i 7 o 9 ] Miss Anne Wortley 15 
 
 fashion. I call all people who fall in love with furniture, 
 clothes, and equipage, of this number, and I look upon them 
 as no less in the wrong than when they were five years old, 
 and doated on shells, pebbles, and hobby-horses : I believe 
 you will expect this letter to be dated from the other world, for 
 sure I am you never heard an inhabitant of this talk so before. 
 I suppose you expect, too, I should conclude with begging 
 pardon for this extreme tedious and very nonsensical letter ; 
 quite contrary, I think you will be obliged to me for it. I 
 could not better show my great concern for your reproaching 
 me with neglect I knew myself innocent of, than proving 
 myself mad in three pages. 
 
 My sister says a great deal about Mrs. K. ; but besides my 
 having forgot it, the paper is at an end. 
 
 To Miss Anne Wortley. 
 
 Aug. 21, 1709. 
 
 I am infinitely obliged to you, my dear Mrs. Wortley, for 
 the wit, beauty, and other fine qualities, you so generously 
 bestow upon me. Next to receiving them from Heaven, you 
 are the person from whom I would chuse to receive gifts and 
 graces : I am very well satisfied to owe them to your own 
 delicacy of imagination, which represents to you the idea of a 
 fine lady, and you have good nature enough to fancy I am she. 
 All this is mighty well, but you do not stop there ; imagination 
 is boundless. After giving me imaginary wit and beauty, you 
 give me imaginary passions, and you tell me I'm in love : if I 
 am, 'tis a perfect sin of ignorance, for I don't so much as know 
 the man's name : I have been studying these three hours, 
 and cannot guess who you mean. I passed the days of 
 Nottingham races, [at] Thoresby, without seeing or even 
 wishing to see one of the sex. Now, if I am in love, I have 
 very hard fortune to conceal it so industriously from my own 
 knowledge, and yet discover it so much to other people. Tis 
 against all form to have such a passion as that, without giving 
 one sigh for the matter. Pray tell me the name of him I love, 
 that I may (according to the laudable custom of lovers) sigh to 
 the woods and groves hereabouts, and teach it to the echo. 
 You see, being I am [sic] in love, I am willing to be so in order 
 and rule : I have been turning over God knows how many 
 books to look for precedents. Recommend an example to 
 me ; and, above all, let me know whether 'tis most proper to 
 walk in the woods, encreasing the winds with my sighs, or to sit
 
 1 6 Letters to [1709 
 
 by a purling stream, swelling the rivulet with my tears ; may be, 
 both may do well in their turns : — but to be a minute serious, 
 what do you mean by this reproach of inconstancy ? I 
 confess you give me several good qualities I have not, and I 
 am ready to thank you for them, but then you must not take 
 away those few I have. No, I will never exchange them ; 
 take back the beauty and wit you bestow upon me, leave me 
 my own mediocrity of agreeableness and genius, but leave me 
 also my sincerity, my constancy, and my plain dealing ; 'tis all 
 I have to recommend me to the esteem either of others or 
 myself. How should I despise myself if I could think I was 
 capable of either inconstancy or deceit ! I know not how I 
 may appear to other people, nor how much my face may 
 belie my heart, but I know that I never was or can be guilty 
 of dissimulation or inconstancy — you will think this vain, 
 but 'tis all that I pique myself upon. Tell me you believe 
 me and repent of your harsh censure. Tell it me in pity 
 to my uneasiness, for you are one of those few people about 
 whose good opinion I am in pain. I have always took so 
 little care to please the generality of the world, that I am 
 never mortified or delighted by its reports, which is a piece of 
 stoicism born with me ; but I cannot be one minute easy while 
 you think ill of 
 
 Your faithful — 
 This letter is a good deal grave, and, like other grave things, 
 dull ; but I won't ask pardon for what I can't help. 
 
 To Miss Anne Wortley. 
 
 Aug. 21, 1709. 
 
 When I said it cost nothing to write tenderly, I believe I 
 spoke of another sex ; I am sure not of myself : 'tis not in my 
 power (I would to God it was !) to hide a kindness where I 
 have one, or dissemble it where I have none. I cannot 
 help answering your letter this minute, and telling you I 
 infinitely love you, though, it may be, you'll call the one 
 impertinence, and the other dissimulation ; but you may 
 think what you please of me, I must eternally think the same 
 things of you. 
 
 I hope my dear Mrs. Wortley's shewing my letters is in the 
 same strain as her compliments, all meant for raillery, and I 
 am not to take it as a thing really so; but I'll give you as 
 serious an answer as if 'twas all true. 
 
 When Mr. Cowley and other people (for I know several
 
 1709] Miss Anne Wortley 17 
 
 have learnt after the same manner) were in places where 
 they had opportunity of being learned by word of mouth, I 
 don't see any violent necessity of printed rules ; but being 
 where, from the top of the house to the bottom, not a creature 
 in it understands so much as even good English, without the 
 help of a dictionary or inspiration, I know no way of attaining 
 to any language. Despairing of the last, I am forced to make 
 use of the other, though I do verily believe I shall return to 
 London the same ignorant soul I went from it ; but the study 
 is a present amusement. I must own I have vanity enough 
 to fancy, if I had any body with me, without much trouble 
 perhaps I might read. 
 
 What do you mean by complaining I never write to you in 
 the quiet situation of mind I do to other people ? My dear, 
 people never write calmly, but when they write indifferently. 
 That I should ever do so to you I take to be entirely 
 impossible ; I must be always very much pleased or in very 
 great affliction, as you tell me of your friendship, or unkindly 
 doubt mine : I can never allow even prudence and sincerity to 
 have anything to do with one another, at least I have always 
 found it so in myself, who being devoted to the one, had never 
 the least tincture of the other. What I am now doing, is a 
 very good proof of what I say, 'tis a plain undesigning truth, 
 your friendship is the only happiness of my life ; and whenever 
 I lose it, I have nothing to do but to take one of my garters 
 and search for a convenient beam. You see how absolutely 
 necessary it is for me to preserve it. Prudence is at the very 
 time saying to me, Are you mad ? you won't send this dull, 
 tedious, insipid, long letter to Mrs. Wortley, will you ? Tis the 
 direct way to tire out her patience ; if she serves you as you 
 deserve, she will first laugh very heartily, then tear the letter, 
 and never answer it, purely to avoid the plague of such 
 another : will her good-nature for ever resist her judgment ? — 
 I hearken to these counsels, I allow 'em to be good, and then 
 — I act quite contrary. No consideration can hinder me from 
 telling you, my dear dear Mrs. Wortley, nobody ever was so 
 entirely, so faithfully yours, as — 
 
 I put in your lovers, for I don't allow it possible for a man 
 to be sincere as I am ; if there was such a thing, though, 
 you would find it ; I submit therefore to your judgment. 
 
 I had forgot to tell you that I writ a long letter directed to 
 Peterborough, last post ; I hope you'll have it :— you see I 
 forgot your judgment, to depend upon your goodness.
 
 1 8 Letters to [1709 
 
 To Miss Anne Wortley. 
 
 Sept. s, 1709. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Wortley, as she has the entire power of raising, 
 can also, with a word, calm my passions. The kindness of 
 your last recompenses me for the injustice of your former 
 letter ; but you cannot sure be angry at my little resentment 
 You have read that a man who, with patience, hears himself 
 called heretic, can never be esteemed a good Christian. To 
 be capable of preferring the despicable wretch you mention to 
 Mr. Wortley, is as ridiculous, if not as criminal, as forsaking 
 the Deity to worship a calf. Don't tell me any body ever had 
 so mean an opinion of my inclinations ; 'tis among the number 
 of those things I would forget. My tenderness is always 
 built upon my esteem, and when the foundation perishes, it 
 falls : I must own, I think it is so with every body — but 
 enough of this : you tell me it was meant for raillery — was not 
 the kindness meant so too ? I fear I am too apt to think 
 what is amusement designed in earnest — no matter, 'tis for 
 my repose to be deceived, and I will believe whatever you 
 tell me. 
 
 I should be very glad to be informed of a right method, or 
 whether there is such a thing alone, but am afraid to ask the 
 question. It may be reasonably called presumption in a girl 
 to have her thoughts that way. You are the only creature 
 that I have made my confidante in that case : I'll assure you, 
 I call it the greatest secret of my life. Adieu, my dear, the 
 post stays, my next shall be longer. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [March 28, 1710.] 
 Perhaps you'll be surprized at this letter ; I have had 
 many debates with myself before I could resolve on it. I 
 know it is not acting in 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 my manner of acting with others. 
 You are brother to a woman I tenderly loved ; my protes- 
 tations of friendship are not like other people's, I never 
 speak but what I mean, and when I say I love, 'tis for ever. 
 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 now doing. I am surprized at one of the "Tatlers" 
 you send me ; is it possible to have any sort of esteem for
 
 i7io] Mr. Wortley Montagu 19 
 
 a person one believes capable of having such trifling inclina- 
 tions ? 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 greatness, 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 lessons of morality to 
 make us do it. At least I know I have always looked upon 
 it with contempt, without being at the expense of one 
 serious reflection to oblige me to it. I carry the matter yet 
 farther ; was I to choose of two thousand pounds a year or 
 twenty thousand, 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 bless- 
 ings that 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 can laugh at a 
 puppet-show ; at the same time I know there is nothing in 
 it worth my attention or regard. General notions 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 myself 
 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 contri- 
 bute something towards it himself. I have so much esteem 
 for you, I should be very sorry to hear you was unhappy ; 
 but for the world I would not be the instrument of making 
 you so ; which (of the humour 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 could not talk as you do. Few women 
 would have spoke so plainly as I have done ; but to dis- 
 semble is among the things I never do. I take more pains to 
 approve my conduct to myself than to the world ; and would 
 not have to accuse myself of a minute's deceit. I wish 1 
 loved you enough to devote myself to be for ever miserable,
 
 20 Letters to [1710 
 
 for the pleasure of a day or two's happiness. I cannot resolve 
 upon it. You must think otherwise of me, or not at all. 
 
 I don't enjoin you to burn this letter. I know you will. 
 'Tis the first I ever writ to one of your sex, and shall be the 
 last. You must never expect another. I resolve against 
 all correspondence of the kind ; my resolutions are seldom 
 made, and never broken. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu 
 
 [Postmark, " Ap. 25," 1710.] 
 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'll 
 never receive this. I hazard a great deal if it falls into other 
 hands, and I write for all that. I wish, with all my soul, I 
 thought as you do ; I endeavour 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 follies 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 
 be passionately fond of you one month, and of somebody else 
 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 anything could oblige me to 
 flatter any body. Was I the most indigent creature in the 
 world, 1 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 
 depend, I have nothing to say against them.
 
 i7io] Mr. Wortley Montagu 21 
 
 As to travelling, 'tis what I should do with great pleasure, 
 and could easily quit London upon your account ; but a 
 retirement 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 happiness. You 
 would be soon tired with seeing every day the same thing. 
 Where you saw nothing else, you would have leisure to remark 
 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 involuwtary, yet it would 
 render me uneasy ; and the more, because I know a love may 
 be revived which absence, inconstancy, or even infidelity, has 
 extinguished ; but there is no returning from a degout given 
 by satiety. 
 
 I should not chuse 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. Apartments, 
 table, &c., are things that never come into my head. But [I] 
 will never think of anything without the consent of my family, 
 and advise you not to fancy a happiness in entire solitude, 
 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'll see a conduct you 
 would not be sorry your wife should imitate. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [August, 1 7 10.] 
 
 Reading over your letter as fast as ever I could, and answer- 
 ing 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 ioth of August ; it came not 
 hither till the 20th. You say something of a packet-boat, &c, 
 makes me uncertain whether you'll receive my letter, and frets 
 me heartily. Kindness, you say, would be youi destruction. 
 In my opinion, this is something contradictory to some other 
 expressions. People talk of being in love just as widows do of
 
 22 Letters to (tffa 
 
 affliction. Mr. Steele has observed, in one of his plays, 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 interest as well as 
 his mistress ; or, if one must be abandoned, had not the 
 prudence (among all his distractions) to consider, 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 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 — I would 
 give a good deal to be satisfied, &c. 
 
 As to writing — that any woman would do that thought 
 she writ well. Now I say, no woman of common 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 neighbours, 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 humour. 
 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 humour : but you would have me say I 
 am violently in love ; that is, finding you think better of me 
 than you desire, you would have me give you a just cause to 
 contemn 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 was 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 happiness ; but, amongst all the popish saints and 
 martyrs, I never read of one whose charity was sublime
 
 wo) Mr. Wortley Montagu 23 
 
 enough to make themselves deformed, or ridiculous, to restore 
 their lovers to peace and quietness. In short, if nothing can 
 content you but despising me heartily, I am afraid I shall be 
 always so barbarous to wish you may esteem me as long as 
 you live. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Indorsed " 14th November," 1710.] 
 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 ungenerous 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 reproach myself (I don't suppose you would) that I had any 
 way 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 cannot tell what price my master will put on me. If 
 you do agree, I shall endeavour 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 still 
 preserve the opinion you have behaved yourself well. Let 
 me entreat you, if I have committed any follies, to forgive 
 them ; and be so just 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. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [About November, 17 10.] 
 
 Indeed I do not at all wonder that absence, and variety of 
 
 new faces, should make you forget me; but I am a little 
 
 surprized at your curiosity to know what passes in my heart 
 
 (a thing wholly insignificant to you), except you propose to
 
 24 Letters to [17 n 
 
 yourself a piece of ill-natured satisfaction, in finding me very 
 much disquieted. Pray which way would you see into my 
 heart? 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 was 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. 'Twas 
 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 
 difference in your letters. You seem, in one part of your last, 
 to 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 for ever ! make 
 no answer. I wish, among the variety of acquaintance, you 
 may find some one to please you ; and can't help the vanity 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 farther, 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. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Indorsed "Feb. 26," 1711.] 
 I intended to make no answer to your letter ; it was some- 
 thing very ungrateful, and I resolved to give over all thoughts 
 of you. I could easily have performed that resolve some time 
 ago, but then you took pains to please me ; now you have
 
 171 1] Mr. Wortley Montagu 25 
 
 brought me to esteem you, you make use of that esteem to 
 give me uneasiness ; and I have the displeasure of seeing I 
 esteem a man that dislikes me. Farewell then : since you 
 will have it so, I renounce all the ideas I have so long flattered 
 myself with, and will entertain my fancy no longer with the 
 imaginary pleasure of pleasing you. How much wiser are all 
 those women I have despised than myself ! In placing their 
 happiness in trifles, they have placed it in what is attainable. 
 1 fondly thought fine clothes and gilt coaches, balls, operas, 
 and public adoration, rather the fatigues of life ; and that true 
 happiness was justly defined by Mr. Dryden (pardon the 
 romantic air of repeating verses), when he says, 
 
 " Whom Heav'n would bless it does from pomps remove, 
 And makes their wealth in privacy and love." 
 
 These notions had corrupted my judgment as much as Mrs. 
 Biddy Tipkin's. According to this scheme, I proposed to pass 
 my life with you. I yet do you the justice to believe, if any 
 man could have been contented with this manner of living, it 
 would have been you. Your indifference to me does not 
 hinder me from thinking you capable of tenderness, and the 
 happiness of friendship ; but I find it is not to me you'll ever 
 have them ; you think me all that is detestable ; you accuse 
 me of want of sincerity and generosity. To convince you of 
 your mistake, I'll show you the last extremes of both. 
 
 While I foolishly fancied you loved me, (which I confess I 
 had never any great reason for, more than that I wished it,) 
 there is no condition of life I could not have been happy in 
 with you, so very much I liked you — I may say loved, since 
 it is the last thing I'll ever say to you. This is telling you 
 sincerely my greatest weakness ; and now I will oblige you 
 with a new proof of generosity — I'll never see you more. I 
 shall avoid all public places ; and this is the last letter I shall 
 send. If you write, be not displeased if I send it back 
 unopened. I shall force my inclinations to oblige yours ; and 
 remember that you have told me I could not oblige you more 
 than by refusing you. Had I intended ever to see you again, 
 I durst not have sent this letter. Adieu. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Tuesday, 10 o'clock. [Indorsed " 13 March,'' 171 1.] 
 I am in pain about the letter I sent you this morning : I fear 
 you should think, after what I have said, you cannot, in point 
 of honour, break off with me. Be not scrupulous on that
 
 26 Letters to [171 1 
 
 article, nor affect to make me break first, to excuse your 
 doing it. I would owe nothing but to inclination : if you 
 do not love me, I may have the less esteem of myself, but 
 not of you : I am not of the number of those women that 
 have the opinion of their persons Mr. Bayes had of his play, 
 that 'tis the touchstone of sense, and they are to frame their 
 judgment of people's understanding according to what they 
 think of them. 
 
 You may have wit, good humour, and good nature, and not 
 like me. I allow a great deal for the inconstancy of mankind 
 in general, and my own want of merit in particular. But 'tis a 
 breach, at least, of the two last, to deceive me. I am sincere : 
 I shall be sorry if I am not now what pleases ; but if I (as I 
 could with joy) abandon all things to the care of pleasing you, 
 I am then undone if I do not succeed. — Be generous. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 March 24 [171 1]. 
 
 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 no affectation to say I despise the pleasure of 
 pleasing people that 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 expression 
 from a friend I esteemed, than at the .admiration of a whole 
 playhouse, or the envy of those of my own sex, who could not 
 attain to the same number of jewels, fine clothes, &c., supposing 
 I was at the very top of this sort of happiness. 
 
 You may be this friend if you please : did you really esteem 
 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 
 humours 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 
 I design to please myself. Happiness is the natural design
 
 i7i i] Mr. Wortley Montagu 27 
 
 of all the world ; and everything we see done, is meant in 
 order to attain it. My imagination places it in friendship. 
 By friendship I mean an intire 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 described, and 'tis necessary for 
 the generality of the world to be taken up with trifles. Carry 
 a fine lady and a fine gentleman 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 scheme romantic : I rather choose to 
 use the word friendship 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 tenderness and esteem, and which a long acquain- 
 tance increases, not decays : how far I deserve such a friend- 
 ship, 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 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 an 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 farther. I am not mercenary, and would 
 not receive an obligation that comes not from one that 
 loves me. 
 
 I do not desire my letter back again : you have honour, 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.
 
 28 Letters to [1712 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Indorsed "9 April," 1711.] 
 
 I thought to return no answer to your letter, but I find I am 
 not so wise as I thought myself. I cannot forbear fixing my 
 mind a little on that expression, though perhaps the only in- 
 sincere one in your whole letter — I would die to be secure of 
 your heart, though but for a moment : — were this but true, 
 what is there I would not do to secure you ? 
 
 I will state the case to you as plainly as I can ; and then 
 ask yourself if you use me well. I have shewed, in every 
 action of my life, an esteem for you that at least challenges a 
 grateful regard. I have trusted my reputation in your hands ; 
 I have made no scruple of giving you, under my own hand, an 
 assurance of my friendship. After all this, I exact nothing 
 from you : if you find it inconvenient for your affairs to take 
 so small a fortune, I desire you to sacrifice nothing to me ; I 
 pretend no tie upon your honour : but, in recompence for so 
 clear and so disinterested a proceeding, must I ever receive 
 injuries and ill usage ? 
 
 I have not the usual pride of my sex ; I can bear being 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 gaiety may possibly have 
 been construed coquetry and a desire of being followed, 
 though never meant by me. I cannot answer for the [reflec- 
 tions] that may be made on me : all who are malicious attack 
 the careless and defenceless : I own myself to be both. I 
 know not anything I can say more to shew my perfect desire 
 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 ? 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [About July 4, 17 12.] 
 
 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 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 confess a weak-
 
 i 7 i2] Mr. Wortley Montagu 29 
 
 ness 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 enough to 
 make me venture the disobliging them. A harsh word 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 proffered, 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 surprized that I did not depend on his 
 judgment for my future happiness ; that he knew nothing I had 
 to complain of, &c. ; 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 mistaken, he never intended to leave me any thing 
 but an annuity of ^400 per annum ; that, though another 
 would proceed in this manner after I had given so just a 
 pretence 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 surprized at their blaming it, to 
 the greatest degree. I was told, they were sorry I would ruin 
 myself ; but, if I was so unreasonable, they could not blame 
 my F. [father] whatever he inflicted on me. I objected I did 
 not love him. They made answer, they found no necessity of 
 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 impossible to 
 persuade them that living in London at liberty was not the 
 height of happiness. However, they could not change my 
 thoughts, though I found I was to expect no protection from 
 
 them. When I was to give my final answer to [sic], 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,
 
 30 Letters to [171? 
 
 he could not hinder my resolutions, but I should not pretend after 
 that to please him ; since pleasing him was only to be done by 
 obedience ; that if I would disobey, I knew the consequences ; 
 he would not fail to confine me, where I might repent at 
 leisure ; that he had also consulted my relations, and found 
 them all agreeing in his sentiments. 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 overcome, 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 engagements, yet he would never have 
 agreed to your proposals, having no inclination to see his 
 grandchildren beggars. 
 
 I do not speak this to endeavour to alter your opinion, but 
 to shew 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 whole 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 cannot blame you 
 for being in the right. 
 
 I 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 have no fortune 
 without an entire obedience. 
 
 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 myself. 
 I have still a concern for my friends, and I am in pain for 
 your danger. I am far from taking ill what you say, I never 
 
 valued myself as the daughter of [sic] ; and ever despised 
 
 those that esteemed me on that account. With pleasure I 
 could barter all that, and change to be any country gentleman's 
 daughter that would have reason enough to make happiness in 
 privacy. My letter is too long. I beg your pardon. You may 
 see by the situation of my affairs 'tis without design.
 
 I7I2] Mr. Wortley Montagu 31 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Thursday night [August, 1712]. 
 
 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 cannot do it entirely as to Friday or 
 Saturday. I will tell you the true reason of it. I have a 
 relation that has ever shewed 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 F. 
 [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 farther, 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. He knows 
 you, and I believe will approve of it. You guess whom I 
 mean. — The generosity 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, and I am at this minute more 
 inclined to speak tenderly 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 against anything 
 that pleases you. In this minute I have no will that does not 
 agree with yours. Sunday I shall see you, if you do not hear 
 from me Saturday. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Saturday morning [August, 1712]. 
 
 I writ 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 F. [father] may be at length reconciled 
 and brought to reasonable terms. I am convinced, by what I
 
 32 Letters to [1712 
 
 have often heard him say, speaking of other cases like this, he 
 never will. The fortune he has engaged to give with me, was 
 settled on my B. [brother's] marriage, on my sister and on 
 myself; but in such a manner, that it was left in his power to 
 give it all to either of us, or divide as he thought fit. He has 
 given it all to me. Nothing remains for my sister, but the free 
 bounty of my F. [father] from what he can save ; which, not- 
 withstanding the greatness of his estate, may be very little. 
 Possibly after I have disobliged him so much, he may be glad 
 to have her so easily provided for, with money already raised ; 
 especially if he has a design to marry himself, as I hear. I do 
 not speak this that you should not endeavour to come to terms 
 with him, if you please ; but I am fully persuaded it will be to 
 no purpose. He will have a very good answer to make : — that 
 I suffered this match to proceed ; that I made him make a 
 very silly figure in it ; that I have let him spend ^400 in 
 wedding-cloaths ; all which I saw without saying any thing. 
 When I first pretended to oppose this match, he told me he 
 was sure I had some other design in my head; I denied it 
 with truth. But you see how little appearance there is of that 
 truth. He proceeded with telling me that he never would 
 enter into treaty with another man, &c, and that I should be 
 sent immediately into the North to stay there ; and, when he 
 died, he would only leave me an annuity of ^400. I had not 
 courage to stand this view, and I submitted to what he pleased. 
 He will now object against me, — why, since I intended to 
 marry in this manner, I did not persist in my first resolution ; 
 that it would have been as easy for me to run away from T. 
 [Thoresby] as from hence; and to what purpose did I put 
 him, and the gentleman I was to marry, to expences, &c. ? 
 He will have a thousand plausible reasons for being irreconcile- 
 able, and 'tis very probable the world will be of his side. 
 Reflect now for the last time in what manner you must take 
 me. I shall come to you with only a night-gown and petticoat, 
 and that is all you will get with me. I told a lady of my 
 friends what I intend to do. You will think her a very good 
 friend when I tell you she has proffered to lend us her house 
 if we would come there the first night. 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 London next morning, 
 wherever you intend to go. I should wish to go out of
 
 1712] Mr. Wortley Montagu 33 
 
 England if it suits with your affairs. You are the best judge 
 of your father's temper. If you think it would 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 endeavour to make your father admit of seeing 
 me, and treat with mine (though I persist in thinking it will be 
 to no purpose). But I cannot think of living in the midst of 
 my relations and acquaintance after so unjustifiable a step : — 
 unjustifiable to the world, — but I think I can justify myself to 
 myself. I again beg you to hire 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 that lady's house, you had better come with a coach 
 and six at seven o'clock to-morrow. She and I will be in the 
 balcony that looks on the road : you have nothing to do but to 
 stop under it, and we will come down to you. Do in this what 
 you like best. After all, think very seriously. Your letter, 
 which will be waited for, is to determine every thing. I forgive 
 you a coarse expression in your last, which, however, I wish 
 had not been there. You might have said something like it 
 without expressing it in that manner ; but there was so much 
 complaisance in the rest of it I ought to be satisfied. You 
 can shew 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 
 promised it. 
 
 'Tis something odd for a woman that brings nothing to 
 expect anything; 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 dependancy upon relations I have 
 disobliged. Save me from that fear if you lcve me. If you 
 cannot, 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 neces- 
 sary to make it. I depend entirely on your honour, and I 
 cannot suspect you of any way doing wrong. Do not imagine 
 I shall be angry at anything you can tell me. Let it be 
 sincere ; do not impose on a woman that leaves all things 
 for you.
 
 34 Letters to [1712 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Tuesday night [August, 1712]. 
 
 I received both your Monday letters since I writ the enclosed, 
 which, however, I send you. The kind letter was writ and sent 
 Friday morning, and I did not receive yours till the Saturday 
 noon ; or, to speak truth, you would never have had it, 
 there were so many things in yours to put me out of humour. 
 Thus, you see, it was on no design to repair any thing that 
 offended you. You only shew me how industrious you are to 
 find imaginary faults in me — why will you not suffer me to be 
 pleased with you ? 
 
 I would see you if I could (though perhaps it may be wrong) ; 
 but, in the way 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, I 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 consequence ! 
 
 You speak of treating with my father, as if you believed he 
 would come to terms afterwards. I will not suffer you to 
 remain in that thought, however advantageous it might be to 
 me ; I will deceive you in nothing. I am fully persuaded 'he 
 will never hear of terms afterwards. You may say, 'tis talking 
 oddly of him. I can't answer to that ; but 'tis my real opinion, 
 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 shewn in my life, I know not one action of it that 
 ever proved me mercenary. I think there cannot be a greater 
 proof of the contrary than treating with you, where I am to 
 depend entirely on your generosity, at the same time that I 
 have settled on me ^500 per annum pin-money, and a con- 
 siderable 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 of this 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 shew, and never 
 found myself the happier for it. 
 
 In proposing to you to follow the scheme begun with that 
 friend, I think 'tis absolutely necessary for both our sakes. I 
 would have you want no pleasure which a single life would
 
 1712] Mr. Wortley Montagu 35 
 
 afford you. You own that 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 
 without me. On my own side, I endeavour 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 partiality 
 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. This mistake 
 makes, in the number of women that inspire even violent 
 passion, hardly one preserve one after possession. If we 
 marry, our happiness must consist in loving one another : 'tis 
 principally my 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. 
 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 humour, a natural sweet- 
 ness of temper, enlivened by cheerfulness. Whatever natural 
 fund of gaiety one is born with, 'tis necessary to be entertained 
 with agreeable objects. Anybody, capable of tasting pleasure, 
 when they confine themselves to one place, should take care 
 'tis the place in the world the most pleasing. Whatever you 
 may now think (now, perhaps, you have some fondness for 
 me), though your love should continue in its full force, there 
 are hours when the most beloved mistress would be trouble- 
 some. People are not [for] ever (nor is it in human nature 
 they should be) disposed to be fond ; you would be glad to 
 find in me the friend and the companion. To be agreeably 
 this last, it is necessary to be gay and entertaining. A per- 
 petual solitude, in a place where you see nothing to raise 
 your spirits, at length wears them out, and conversation insen- 
 sibly 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 ! 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. / shall 
 lose the vivacity that should entertain you, and you will have 
 nothing to recompense you for what you have lost. Very few
 
 36 
 
 Letters to [1712 
 
 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 horses, and 
 out of love with everything else. I am not now arguing in 
 favour 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 anything injurious to that. 
 But 'tis my opinion, 'tis necessary, to being happy, that we 
 neither of us think any place more agreeable than that where we 
 are. I have nothing to do in London ; and 'tis indifferent to 
 me if I never see it more. I know not how to answer your 
 mentioning gallantry, nor in what sense to understand you. 
 I am sure in one — whoever I marry, when I am married, I 
 renounce all things of that kind. I am willing to abandon all 
 conversation but yours. If you please I will never see another 
 man. In short, I will part with anything for you, but you. I 
 will not have you a month, to lose you for the rest of my 
 life. If you can pursue the plan of happiness begun with your 
 friend, and take me for that friend, I am ever yours. I 
 have examined my own heart whether I can leave every thing 
 for you ; I think I can : if I change my mind, you shall know 
 before Sunday ; after that I will not change my mind. If 'tis 
 necessary for your affairs to stay in England, to assist your 
 father in his business, as I suppose the time will be short, 
 I would be as little injurious to your fortune as I can, and I 
 will do it. But I am still of opinion nothing is so likely to 
 make us both happy, as what I propose. I forsee I may 
 break with you on this point, and I shall certainly be dis- 
 pleased with myself for it, and wish a thousand times that I 
 had done whatever you pleased ; but, however, I hope I shall 
 always remember, how much more miserable, than any thing 
 else could make me, should I be, to live with you, and to 
 please you no longer. You can be pleased with nothing when 
 you are not pleased with yourself. One of the " Spectators " is 
 very just, that says, A man ought always to be on his guard 
 against spleen and too severe a philosophy ; a woman against 
 levity and coquetry. If we go to Naples, I will make no 
 acquaintance there of any kind, and you will be in a place 
 where a variety of agreeable objects will dispose you to be 
 ever pleased. If such a thing is possible, this will secure our 
 everlasting happiness ; and I am ready to wait on you without 
 leaving a thought behind me.
 
 1712] Mr. Wortley Montagu 37 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Friday night [15th Aug., 1712]. 
 
 I tremble for what we are doing. — Are you sure you will 
 love me for ever ? Shall we never repent ? I fear and I hope. 
 I forsee 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 invent a thousand stories of me; yet, 'tis possible, you 
 may recompense everything 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. 
 
 You shall hear from me again to-morrow, not to contradict, 
 but to give some directions. My resolution is taken. Love 
 me and use me well. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Walling Wells, Oct. 22 [17 12], which is the first post I 
 could write, Monday night being so fatigued and sick 
 I went straight to bed from the coach. 
 
 I don't know very well how to begin ; I am perfectly un- 
 acquainted with a proper matrimonial stile. After all, I 
 think 'tis best to write as if we were not married at all. I 
 lament your absence, as if you was still my lover, and I am 
 impatient to hear you are got safe to Durham, and that you 
 have fixed a time for your return. 
 
 I have not been very long in this family ; and I fancy 
 myself in that described in the " Spectator." The good people 
 here look upon their children with a fondness that more than 
 recompenses their care of them. I don't perceive much 
 distinction 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 fore- 
 telling 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 this seeming impertinent account 
 is the tenderest expressions of my love to you ; but it 
 furnishes my imagination with agreeable pictures of our 
 future life ; and I flatter myself 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 fond-
 
 38 
 
 Letters to [1712 
 
 ness for me as I shall certainly mine for you, and the noise 
 of a nursery may have more charms for us than the music of 
 an opera. 
 
 [Torn] as these are the sure effect of my sincere love, 
 since 'tis the nature of that passion to entertain the mind 
 with pleasures in prospect • and I check myself when I 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. Tis candle-light, or I should not conclude so soon. 
 
 Pray, my dear, begin at the top, and read till you come to 
 the bottom. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 I am at present in so much uneasiness, my letter is not 
 likely to be intelligible, if it 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 
 matters have taken up your thoughts. This last imagination 
 is too cruel for me. I will rather fancy your letter has mis- 
 carried, though I find little probability to think so. I know 
 not what to think, and am very near being distracted, amongst 
 my variety 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 pro- 
 bability ; there is nothing too extravagant for a woman's and a 
 lover's fears. 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 'tis time to 
 leave off. Pray, my dear, write to me, or I shall be very mad.
 
 1 7 i2] Mr. Wortley Montagu 39 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Postmark, " 12 Nov.," 1712.] 
 
 I was not well when I writ to you last. Possibly the 
 disorder of 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, which I am 
 afraid you have attributed to being out of humour ; 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 ; 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. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Hinchinbrook. Indorsed "6 Dec," 1712.] 
 I don't believe you expect to hear from me so soon, if I 
 remember 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 of a 
 tender friendship. 
 
 I opened the closet where I expected to find so many books ; 
 to my great disappointment there were only some few pieces 
 of the law, and folios of mathematics ; my Lord Hinching- 
 brook and Mr. Twiman 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 
 my edification, being the most extraordinary lessons of economy 
 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 honour of the 
 family. 
 
 I walked yesterday two hours on the terrace. These are the
 
 40 Letters to [1712 
 
 most considerable events that have happened in your absence ; 
 excepting that a good-natured robin red-breast kept me com- 
 pany almost all the afternoon, with so much good humour 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 ornament to that 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 that 
 cannot be happy without you. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Indorsed " 9 Dec," 1712.] 
 I am not at all surprized 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 in 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 than I am. — I 
 continue indifferently well, and endeavour as much as I can 
 to preserve myself from spleen and melancholy ; not for 
 my own sake ; I think that of little importance ; but in the 
 condition I am, I believe it may be of very ill consequence ; 
 yet, passing whole days alone as I do, I do not always 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 
 near ; my reason represents to me in vain the inutility of 
 serious reflections. The idle mind will sometimes fall into 
 contemplations that serve for nothing but to ruin the health, 
 destroy good humour, 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 companion 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 than other [sic]. I don't believe Solomon 
 was more convinced of the vanity of temporal affairs than I
 
 i7i2] Mr. Wortley Montagu 41 
 
 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 solitude, and 
 think me as I am, 
 
 Ever yours. 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Hinchinbrook. Indorsed " 9 or II Dec," 1712.] 
 
 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 he hears my L. Pierrepont declares 
 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'll 
 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 endeav- 
 oured to do me, unasked. If his kindness is sincere, 'tis too 
 valuable to be neglected. However, the very appearance of it 
 must be of use to us. If I know him, his desire of making 
 my F. [father] appear in the wrong, will make him zealous 
 for us. I think I ought to write him a letter of acknowledg- 
 ment 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 respects for me, and 
 will take pains to reconcile my F. [father], &c. I think this 
 is near the words of my letter, which contains all the news 
 I know, except that of this place ; which is, that an unfortu- 
 nate burgess of the town of Huntingdon was justly disgraced 
 yesterday in the face of the congregation, for being false to his 
 first love, 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 example for the 
 terror of infidelity throughout the whole country. For my 
 part I never rejoiced at anything more in my life. You'll 
 wonder what private interest I could have in this affair. You
 
 42 Letters to [1712 
 
 must know it furnished discourse all the afternoon, 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 was 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 shews 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 
 everything, and indulge my imagination, which is chiefly 
 employed on you. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Hinchinbrook. Indorsed "Dec," 1712.J 
 I am alone, without any amusements to take up my thoughts. 
 I am in circumstances in which melancholy is apt to prevail 
 even over all amusements, dispirited and alone, and you write 
 me quarrelling letters. 
 
 I hate complaining; 'tis no sign I am easy that I do not 
 trouble you with my head-aches, 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 those of the mind, they should never be spoke of but to 
 them that can and will relieve 'em. Should I tell you that 
 I am uneasy, that I am out of humour, and out of patience, 
 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 chuse 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 impertinently, 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 P. [Pierrepont] would speak at all in our 
 favour, much less show zeal upon that occasion, 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 cceur.
 
 1713] Mr. Wortley Montagu 43 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Friday [July, 1 71 3]. 
 
 I sent for Mr. Banks, according to your order, and find by 
 him the house he mentioned at Sheffield is entirely unfurnished, 
 and he says he told you so. So that I cannot go there. He 
 says there is a house five miles from York, extremely well 
 furnished and every way proper for us ; but the gentleman who 
 owns it is gone to France, and nothing can be done till an 
 answer can be had from thence. I have yet no letter from 
 Mrs. Westby concerning Mr. Spencer's, and he says 'tis very 
 doubtful whether we can have Mr. Gill's : that we should be 
 welcome to stay at Scoffton till better provided ; but 'tis half 
 down, and all the furniture taken down and locked up — that if 
 we will dispense with the inconveniency of being in a town, we 
 may be easily fitted in York, and not obliged to stay but by 
 the week — that we may be at liberty to remove when we can 
 please ourselves better. I am in a great perplexity what to do. 
 If I go to Pule Hill without giving them warning, I may find 
 the house full of people and no room to be made for us. If I 
 determine to go to York, besides the inconvenience and dis- 
 agreeableness of a country town, it may be perhaps out of your 
 way. I know not what to do ; but I know I shall be unhappy 
 till I see you again, and I would by no means stay where I am. 
 Your absence increases my melancholy so much, I fright myself 
 with imaginary horrors ; and shall always be fancying dangers 
 for you while you are out of my sight. I am afraid of Lord H., 
 I am afraid of everything ; there wants but little of my being 
 afraid of the small-pox for you ; so unreasonable are my fears, 
 which however proceed from an unlimited love. If I lose 
 you — I cannot bear that if; — which I bless God is without 
 probability ; but since the loss of my poor unhappy brother 
 
 I dread every evil. 
 
 Saturday. 
 
 I have been to-day at Acton to see my poor brother's 
 melancholy family. I cannot describe how much it has sunk 
 my spirits. My eyes are too sore to admit of a long letter. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Walling Wells. Indorsed "25 July," 1713.] 
 
 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
 
 44 Letters to [1713 
 
 silence, I will return to Wharncliffe. 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 
 melancholy 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 be however comprehended in these words, 
 I am yours. 
 
 Say something of our meeting. 
 
 To . 
 
 [York, about Nov., 1713.] 
 I return you a thousand thanks, my dear, for so agreeable 
 an entertainment as your letter. 
 
 " In this cold climate where the sun appears 
 Unwillingly : " 
 
 wit is as wonderfully pleasing as a sun-shiny day ; and, to 
 speak poetically, Phoebus very sparing of all his favours. I 
 fancied your letter an emblem of yourself : in some parts 
 I found there the softness of your voice, and in others the 
 vivacity of your eyes : you are to expect no return but humble 
 and hearty thanks, yet I can't forbear entertaining you with 
 our York lovers. (Strange monsters you'll think, love being 
 as much forced up here as melons.) In the first form of these 
 creatures, is even Mr. Vanbrugh. Heaven, no doubt, com- 
 passionating our dullness, has inspired him with a passion that 
 makes us all ready to die with laughing : 'tis credibly reported 
 that he is endeavouring at the honourable state of matrimony, 
 and vows to lead a sinful life no more. Whether pure holiness 
 inspires his mind, or dotage turns his brain, is hard to find. 
 'Tis certain he keeps Mondays and Thursdays market 
 (assembly day) constant ; and for those that don't regard 
 worldly muck, there's extraordinary good choice indeed. I 
 believe last Monday there were two hundred pieces of woman's 
 flesh (fat and lean) : but you know Van's taste was always odd ; 
 his inclination to ruins has given him a fancy for Mrs. Yar- 
 borough ; he sighs and ogles that it would do your heart good 
 to see him ; and she is not a little pleased, in so small a pro-
 
 I7i4] Mr. Wortley Montagu 45 
 
 portion of men amongst such a number of women, a whole 
 man should fall to her share. 
 
 My dear, adieu. 
 
 My service to Mr. Congreve. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 [Middlethorpe, near York. Indorsed " 26 July, 17 14."] 
 I should have writ to you the 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 days at Lord Pierrepont's ; I am sure 
 he'll be very much pleased with it. The house is in great dis- 
 order, and I want maids so much that I know not what to do 
 till I have some. I have not one bit of paper in 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 found any cook. My first 
 enquiries shall be after a country-house, never forgetting any 
 of my promises to you. I am concerned that I have not heard 
 from you ; you might have writ while I was on the road, and 
 the 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 one's heart too fondly 
 on anything in this world, yet I cannot 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 extraordi- 
 nary 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. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Middlethorpe. Postmark, " 4 Au.," 1714-] 
 
 I am very much surprised that you do not tell me in your 
 
 last letter that you have spoke to my F. [father]. I hope 
 
 after staying in the town on purpose, you do not intend to 
 
 omit it. I beg you would not leave any sort of business
 
 4 6 
 
 Letters to [1714 
 
 unfinished, remembering those two necessary maxims, What- 
 ever you intend to do as long as you live do as soon as you 
 can ; and, to leave nothing to be done by another that 'tis 
 possible for you to do yourself. I have not yet sent the horses. 
 I intended to do it yesterday, but John is very arbitrary, and 
 will not be persuaded to hire a horse from York to carry the 
 child. [Illegible.] He says there is none that can go, and 
 they will spoil ours, and a great many other things that may be 
 all excuses, but I know not what answer to make him, and 'tis 
 absolutely necessary, now the child has begun his bathing he 
 should continue it ; therefore I'll send the saddle-horse to- 
 morrow according to your order, to Matthew Northall, and 
 he may hire another to send with it to you. 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 asked 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'll desire 
 the preservation of his health, for I should certainly break my 
 heart for him. 
 
 I writ in my last all I thought necessary concerning my 
 Lord Pierrepont. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Middlcthorpe. Postmark, " Au. 9," 1714.] 
 I cannot 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 sudden change. The Archbishop of York has been come 
 to Bishopthorpe 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, all the country gentry 
 following, with greater crowds of people than I believed to be 
 in York, vast acclamations, and the appearance of a general 
 satisfaction. The Pretender afterwards dragged about the 
 streets and burned. Ringing of bells, bonfires, and illumi- 
 nations, 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 attempts from Scotland, though all Protestants here 
 seem unanimous for the Hanover succession. The poor 
 young ladies at Castle Howard are as much afraid as I am, 
 being left all alone, without any hopes of seeing their father
 
 i7i4] Mr. Wortley Montagu 47 
 
 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 absence of their father, who is gone post. During this 
 uncertainty, I think it will be a safe retreat ; for Middlethorpe 
 stands exposed to plunderers, if there be any at all. I dare 
 say, after the zeal the A.B. [archbishop] has shewed, they'll 
 visit his house (and consequently this) in the first place. The 
 A.B. [archbishop] made me many compliments on our near 
 neighbourhood, and said he should be overjoyed at the happi- 
 ness of improving his acquaintance with you. I suppose you 
 may now come in at Aldburgh, and I heartily wish you was in 
 Parliament. I saw the A.B.'s [archbishop's] list of the Lords 
 Regents appointed, and perceive Lord Wn. [Wharton] 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 ; con- 
 sequently, those who have been honest in regard to both, 
 will stand fairest for preferment. 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 
 opinion) that 'tis necessary for the common good for an honest 
 man to endeavour 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 in for so short a time. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Indorsed " 7 Au.," 1714.] 
 You made me cry two hours last night. I cannot imagine 
 why you use me so ill ; for what reason you continue silent, 
 when you know at any time your silence cannot 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 everybody 
 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
 
 48 
 
 Letters to [1714 
 
 wouJd 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 cannot help taking your silence 
 very unkindly. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 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 
 judgment 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 represented to him that he is obliged in honour to get you 
 chose at Aldburgh, and may more easily get Mr. Jessop chose 
 at another place. I can't believe but you may manage it in 
 such a manner, Mr. Jessop himself would not be against it, 
 nor would he 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 about it, &c. I mention this, 
 because I cannot think you can stand at York, or anywhere 
 else, without a great expense. Lord Morpeth is just now of 
 age, but I know not whether he'll 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 enquire 
 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 he'll 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 surprizing 
 if he persists in standing at Huntingdon ; but there is nothing 
 surprizing in such a world as this. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [1714.] 
 You seem not to have received my letters, or not to have 
 understood them ; you had been chose undoubtedly at York, 
 if you had declared in time ; but there is not any gentle-
 
 1714] Mr. Wortley Montagu 49 
 
 man or tradesman disengaged at this time ; they are treating 
 every night. Lord Carlisle and the Thompsons have given 
 their interest to Mr. Jenkins. I agree with you of the 
 necessity of your standing this Parliament, which, perhaps, 
 may be more considerable than any that are to follow it ; but, 
 as you proceed, 'tis my opinion, you will spend your money 
 and not be chose. I believe there is hardly a borough un- 
 engaged. I expect every letter should tell me you are sure 
 of some place ; and, as far as I can perceive you are sure of 
 none. As it has been managed, perhaps it will be the best 
 way to deposit a certain sum in some friend's hands, and 
 buy some little Cornish borough : it would, undoubtedly, look 
 better to be chose for a considerable town ; but I take it to 
 be now too late. If you have any thoughts of Newark, it 
 will be absolutely necessary for you to enquire after Lord 
 Lexington's interest ; and your best way to apply yourself to 
 Lord Holdernesse, who is both a Whig and an honest man. 
 He is now in town, and you may enquire of him if Brigadier 
 Sutton stands there ; and if not, try to engage him for you. 
 Lord Lexington is so ill at the Bath, that it is a doubt if he 
 will live 'till the election ; and if he dies, one of his heiresses, 
 and the whole interest of his estate, will probably fall on Lord 
 Holdernesse. 
 
 'Tis a surprise to me that you cannot make sure of some 
 borough, when so many of your friends bring in several 
 Parliament-men without trouble or expense. 'Tis too late 
 to mention it now, but you might have applied to Lady 
 Winchester, as Sir Joseph Jekyl did last year, and by her 
 interest the Duke of Bolton brought him in for nothing ; I am 
 sure she would be more zealous to serve me than Lady 
 Jekyl. You should understand these things better than me. I 
 heard, by a letter last post, that Lady M. Montagu and Lady 
 Hinchinbrook are to be bedchamber ladies to the Princess, 
 and Lady Townshend groom of the stole. She must be a 
 strange Princess if she can pick a favourite out of them ; and 
 as she will be one day Queen, and they say has an influence 
 over her husband, I wonder they don't think fit to place women 
 about her with a little common sense. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Postmark, " Sept. 17," 1714.] 
 I cannot be very sorry for your declining at Newark, being 
 very uncertain of your success ; but I am surprized you do not
 
 50 Letters to [1714 
 
 mention where you intend to stand. Dispatch, in things of 
 this nature, if not a security, at least delay is a sure way to 
 lose, as you have done, being easily chose at York, for not 
 resolving in time, and Aldburgh, for not applying soon enough 
 to Lord Pelham. Here are people here had rather choose 
 Fairfax than Jenkins, and others that prefer Jenkins to Fairfax ; 
 but both parties, separately, have wished to me you would 
 have stood, with assurances of having preferred you to either 
 of them. At Newark, Lord Lexington has a very consider- 
 able interest. If you have any thoughts of standing, you 
 must endeavour to know how he stands affected ; though I am 
 afraid he will assist Brigadier Sutton, or some other Tory. 
 Sir Matthew Jenison has the best interest of any Whig ; but 
 he stood last year himself, and will, perhaps, do so again. 
 Newdigate will certainly be chose there for one. Upon the 
 whole, 'tis the most expensive and uncertain place you can 
 stand at. Tis surprizing to me, that you are all this while in 
 the midst of your friends without being sure of a place, when 
 so many insignificant creatures come in without any opposition. 
 They say Mr. Strickland is sure at Carlisle, where he never 
 stood before. I believe most places are engaged by this time. 
 I am very sorry, for your sake, that you spent so much money 
 in vain last year, and will not come in this, when you might 
 make a more considerable figure than you could have done 
 then. I wish Lord Pelham would compliment Mr. Jessop 
 with his Newark interest, and let you come in at Aldburgh. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Indorsed "24 Sept.," 1714.] 
 Though I am very impatient to see you, I would not have 
 you, by hastening to come down, lose any part of your interest. 
 I am surprized you say nothing of where you stand. I had a 
 letter from Mrs. Hewet last post, who said she heard you 
 stood at Newark, and would be chose without opposition ; but 
 1 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 was possible to 
 restore liberty to your country, or limit the encroachments of 
 the pre — ve [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
 
 1714] Mr. Wortley Montagu 51 
 
 may be in one's power to do good ; riches being another word 
 for power, towards 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 H[alifa]x, R. W[alpo]le, 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 thrusting who shall be foremost ; people who 
 knock others with their elbows, disregard a little kick of the 
 shins, and still thrust heartily forwards, are sure of a good 
 place. Your modest man stands behind in the crowd, is 
 shoved about by every body, his cloaths tore, 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 
 impudence, 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 un- 
 deceived in : 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 you if they see you get nothing. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Postmark, "6 Oct.," 1714.] 
 I cannot imagine why you should desire that I should not 
 be glad, though from a mistake, since, at least, it is an agreeable 
 one. I confess I shall ever be of opinion, if you are in the 
 Treasury, it will be an additon to your figure and facilitate your 
 election, though it is no otherwise advantageous ; and that, if 
 you have nothing when all 'your acquaintance are preferred, 
 the world generally will not be persuaded that you neglect your 
 fortune, but that you are neglected. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Indorsed, "9 October," 1714.] 
 
 You do me wrong in imagining (as I perceive you do) that 
 
 my reason for being solicitous for your having that place, was 
 
 in view of spending more money than we do. You have no 
 
 '^ause of fancying me capable of such a thought. I dont'
 
 52 Letters to [1714 
 
 doubt but Lord H[alifa]x 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 acquain- 
 tance are preferred, I think you would have an ill air in having 
 nothing ; upon that account only, I am sorry so many con- 
 siderable places are disposed on [sic]. I suppose, now, you will 
 certainly be chose somewhere or other ; and I cannot 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 
 amongst 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 country is more 
 honourable than holding any place from any king. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Postmark, "Oct. 27," 1714.] 
 
 I am told that you are very secure at Newark : if you are so in 
 the West, I cannot see why you should set up in three different 
 places, except it be to treble the expence. I am sorry you had 
 not opportunity of paying Lord Pt. [Pierrepont] that compliment, 
 though I hope that it will not weigh much with him in favour 
 of another. I wish you would remember the common useful 
 maxim, whatever is to be done at all, ought to be done as 
 soon as possible. I consider only your own interest when .1 
 speak, and I cannot help speaking warmly on that subject. I 
 hope you will think of what I hinted in my last letters ; and if 
 you think of it at all, you cannot think of it too soon. 
 
 Adieu. I wish you would learn of Mr. Steele to write to 
 your wife. 
 
 Pray order me some money, for I am in great want, and 
 must run in debt if you don't do it soon. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Indorsed, " 24th November," 1714.J 
 I have taken up and laid down my pen several times, very 
 much unresolved in what stile I ought to write to you : for 
 once I suffer my inclination to get the better of my reason. I 
 have not oft opportunities of indulging myself, and I will do it 
 in this one letter. I know very well that nobody was ever 
 teized into a liking : and 'tis perhaps harder to revive a past
 
 1714] Mr. Wortley Montagu 53 
 
 one, than to overcome an aversion ; but I cannot forbear any 
 longer telling you, I think you use me very unkindly. I don't 
 say so much of your absence, as I should do if you was in the 
 country and I in London ; because I would not have you 
 believe 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 indifference as shews 
 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 enquire after your child. I would fain flatter myself you 
 have more kindness for me and him than you express ; but I 
 reflect with grief 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 
 uneasiness almost inseparable from absence. I am very 
 sensible, how far I ought to be contented when your affairs 
 oblige you to be without me. I would not have you do them 
 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 all 
 your behaviour, I am ashamed of my own : I 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 aversion, own to me your inconstancy, and upon my 
 word I will give you no more trouble about it. I have con- 
 cealed as long as I can, the uneasiness the nothingness of your 
 letters has given me, under an affected indifference ; but dis- 
 simulation always sits awkwardly upon me ; I am weary of it ; 
 and must beg you to write to me no more, if you cannot bring 
 yourself to write otherwise. Multiplicity of business or diver- 
 sions 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 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 enclosed to you in blank paper.
 
 54 Letters to [1714 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [1714. 
 Your letter very much vexed me. I cannot imagine why you 
 should doubt being the better for a place of that consideration, 
 which it is in your power to lay down, whenever you dislike 
 the measures that are taken. Supposing the commission 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 was inclined to it) from accepting the greatest 
 place in England, upon the condition of his giving one 
 vote disagreeing with his principle, and the true interest of 
 my country ; but when it is possible to be of service to your 
 country by going along with the ministry, I know not any 
 reason for declining an honourable post. The world never 
 believes it possible for people to act out of the common track ; 
 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 discontented 
 because their pretensions have failed ; and whatever efforts 
 they make against the court, are thought the effect of spleen 
 and disappointment, or endeavours to get something they have 
 set their heart on. As now Sir T. H r [Hanmer] is represented 
 (and I believe truly) as aiming at being secretary, no man 
 can make a better figure than when he enjoys a considerable 
 place ; being for the Place-bill, and if he finds the ministry 
 in the wrong, withdrawing from them, when 'tis visible that 
 he might still keep his places, if he did not choose to keep 
 his integrity. I have sent you my thoughts of places in 
 general, I solemnly protest, without any thought of any 
 particular advantage to myself ; and if I was 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 is a thousand times dearer to me than 
 
 splendour, money, &c. 1 suppose this long letter might 
 
 have been spared ; for your resolution, I don't doubt, is already 
 taken. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Indorsed, "April," 1716.] 
 
 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
 
 i7i6] Mr. Wortley Montagu 55 
 
 to write, 'till you let me know you have done so. Dr. Clarke 
 has been spoke to, and excused himself from recommending 
 a chaplain, as not being acquainted with many orthodox 
 divines. I don't doubt you know the death of Lord Somers, 
 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 cannot tell 
 which account is the truest. I beg of you with great earnest- 
 ness, 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 cannot 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 rx> 
 ;£no. — Adieu ! pray take care of your health.
 
 LETTERS 
 
 DURING 
 
 MR. WORTLEY'S EMBASSY 
 TO CONSTANTINOPLE 
 
 [1716 — 1718] 
 
 To the Countess of [Mar]. 
 
 Rotterdam, Friday, Aug. 3, O.S. [17 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 persuaded 
 by the captain of the yacht to set out in a calm, and he pre- 
 tended that 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 or 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. 
 
 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 the 
 meanest artificers' doors seats of various-coloured marbles, 
 and so neatly kept, that, I will assure you, I walked almost 
 all over the town yesterday, incognita, in my slippers, with- 
 out receiving one spot of dirt ; and you may see the Dutch 
 maids washing the pavement of the street with more applica- 
 tion 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 that it is not some celebrated fair ; but I see it is every 
 day the same. 'Tis certain no town can be more advantageously 
 
 56
 
 i 7 i6] Embassy to Constantinople 57 
 
 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 mer- 
 chandise, and so much cheaper than what we see in England, 
 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 teazed with the importunities 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 fashion) is an additional 
 pleasure in seeing the town. 
 
 You see, hitherto, dear sister, I make no complaints ; and, 
 if I continue to like travelling 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 opportunities of enter- 
 taining you. But it is not from Holland that you must expect 
 a disinterested offer. I can write enough in the style of 
 Rotterdam to tell you plainly, in one word, I expect returns 
 of all the London news. You see I have already learnt to 
 make a good bargain ; and that it is not for nothing I will 
 so much as tell you that I am your affectionate sister. 
 
 To Mrs. S [Smith]. 
 
 Hague, Aug. 5, O.S. [1716]. 
 I make haste to tell you, dear madam, that, after all the 
 dreadful fatigues you threatened me with, I am hitherto very 
 well pleased with my journey. We take care to make such 
 short stages every day, I rather fancy myself upon parties 
 of pleasure than upon the road 5 and sure nothing can be 
 more agreeable than travelling in Holland. The whole 
 country appears a large garden; the roads all well paved, 
 shaded on each side with rows of trees, and bordered with 
 large canals, full of boats, passing and repassing. Every twenty 
 paces gives you the prospect of some villa, and every four 
 hours a large town, so surprisingly neat, I am sure you 
 would be charmed with them. The place I am now at is 
 certainly one of the finest villages in the world. Here are 
 several squares finely built, and (what I think a particular 
 beauty) set with thick large trees. The Vor-hout is, at the 
 same time, the Hyde-Park and the Mall of the people of
 
 58 Letters during the [1716 
 
 quality ; for they take the air in it both on foot and in coaches. 
 There are shops for wafers, cool liquors, &c. 
 
 I have been to see several of the most celebrated gardens, 
 but I will not teaze you with their descriptions. I dare swear 
 you think my letter already long enough. But I must not con- 
 clude without begging your pardon for not obeying your com- 
 mands, in sending the lace you ordered me. Upon my word, I 
 can yet find none that is not dearer than you may buy it in 
 London. If you want any Indian goods, here are great variety 
 of pennyworths ; and I shall follow your orders with great 
 pleasure and exactness, being, 
 
 Dear madam, &c. &c. 
 
 To Mrs. S. C. [Sarah Ckiswell]. 
 
 Nimeguen, Aug. 13, O.S. [1716]. 
 
 I am extremely sorry, my dear S., that your fears of dis- 
 obliging your relations, and their fears for your health and 
 safety, have hindered me the happiness of your company, 
 and you the pleasure of a diverting journey. I receive some 
 degree of mortification from every agreeable novelty, or 
 pleasing prospect, by the reflection of your having so unluckily 
 missed the same pleasure which I know it would have given 
 you. 
 
 If you were with me in this town, you would be ready to 
 expect to receive visits from your Nottingham friends. No 
 two places were ever more resembling ; one has but to give 
 the Maese the name of the Trent, and there is no distinguish- 
 ing the prospects — the houses, like those of Nottingham, 
 built one above another, and are intermixed in the same 
 manner with trees and gardens. The tower they call Julius 
 Caesar's has the same situation with Nottingham Castle ; and I 
 cannot help fancying I see from it the Trent-field, Adboulton, 
 &c, places so well known to us. 'Tis true, the fortifications 
 make a considerable difference. All the learned in the art of 
 war bestow great commendations on them ; for my part, that 
 know nothing of the matter, I shall content myself with telling 
 you, 'tis a very pretty walk on the ramparts, on which there is 
 a tower, very deservedly called the Belvidere ; where people 
 go to drink coffee, tea, &c, and enjoy one of the finest pro- 
 spects in the world. The public walks have no great beauty, 
 but the thick shade of the trees. But I must not forget to 
 take notice of the bridge, which appeared very surprising to
 
 i7i6] Embassy to Constantinople 59 
 
 me. It is large enough to hold hundreds of men, with horses 
 and carriages. They give the value of an English twopence 
 to get upon it, and then away they go, bridge and all, to 
 the other side of the river, with so slow a motion one is hardly 
 sensible of any at all. 
 
 I was yesterday at the French church, and stared very much 
 at their manner of service. The parson claps on a broad- 
 brimmed hat in the first place, which gave him entirely the 
 air of what d'ye call him, in Bartholomew Fair, which he kept 
 up by extraordinary antic gestures, and talking much such 
 stuff as the other preached to the puppets. However, the con- 
 gregation seemed to receive it with great devotion ; and I was 
 informed by some of his flock that he is a person of particular 
 fame amongst them. I believe you are by this time as much 
 tired with my account of him, as I was with his sermon ; but I 
 am sure your brother will excuse a digression in favour of the 
 church of England. You know, speaking disrespectfully of 
 Calvinists, is the same thing as speaking honourably of the 
 church. Adieu, my dear S., always remember me ; and be 
 assured I can never forget you. 
 
 To the Lady . 
 
 Cologne, Aug. 16, O.S. [1716]. 
 
 If my Lady could have any notion of the fatigues that 
 
 I have suffered these last two days, I am sure she would own 
 it a great proof of regard that I now sit down to write to her. 
 We hired horses from Nimeguen hither, not having the 
 conveniency of the post, and found but very indifferent 
 accommodations at Reinberg, our first stage ; but that was 
 nothing to what I suffered yesterday. We were in hopes to 
 reach Cologne : our horses tired at Stamel, three hours from 
 it, where I was forced to pass the night in my clothes, in a 
 room not at all better than a hovel ; for though I have my 
 own bed, I had no mind to undress, where the wind came 
 in from a thousand places. We left this wretched lodging 
 at daybreak, and about six this morning came safe here, 
 where I got immediately into bed, and slept so well for three 
 hours, that I found myself perfectly recovered, and have had 
 spirits enough to go see all that is curious in the town, that 
 is to say, the churches, for here is nothing else worth seeing, 
 though it is a very large town, but most part of it old 
 built. The Jesuits' church is the neatest, which was shewed 
 me, in a very complaisant manner, by a handsome young
 
 60 Letters during the [1716 
 
 Jesuit 5 who, not knowing who I was, took a liberty in his 
 compliments and railleries, which very much diverted me. 
 Having never before seen anything of that nature, I could 
 not enough admire the magnificence of the altars, the rich 
 images of the saints (all massy silver), and the enchassures 
 of the relics; though I could not help murmuring, in my 
 heart, at that profusion of pearls, diamonds, and rubies, bestowed 
 on the adornment of rotten teeth, dirty rags, &c. I own that 
 I had wickedness enough to covet St. Ursula's pearl necklaces ; 
 though perhaps it was no wickedness at all, an image not 
 being certainly one's neighbour ; but I went yet farther, and 
 wished even she herself converted into dressing-plate, and a 
 great St. Christopher I imagined would have looked very well 
 in a cistern. 
 
 These were my pious reflections ; though I was very well 
 satisfied to see, piled up to the honour of our nation, the 
 skulls of the eleven thousand virgins. I have seen some 
 hundreds of relics here of no less consequence ; but I will 
 not imitate the common style of travellers so far as to give 
 you a list of them, being persuaded that you have no manner 
 of curiosity for the titles given to jaw-bones and bits of worm- 
 eaten wood. — Adieu, I am just going to supper, where I shall 
 drink your health in an admirable sort of Lorraine wine, which 
 I am sure is the same you call Burgundy in London, &c. &c. 
 
 To the Countess of B. [Bristol]. 
 
 Nuremberg, Aug. 22, O.S. [1716]. 
 
 After five days travelling post, I am sure I could sit down 
 
 to write on no other occasion, but to tell my dear Lady , 
 
 that I have not forgot her obliging command, of sending her 
 some account of my travels. 
 
 I have already passed a large part of Germany, have seen 
 all that is remarkable in Cologne, Frankfort, Wurtsburg, and 
 this place • and 'tis impossible not to observe the difference 
 between the free towns and those under the government of 
 absolute princes, as all the little sovereigns of Germany are. 
 In the first, there appears an air of commerce and plenty. 
 The streets are well built, and full of people, neatly and 
 plainly dressed. The shops loaded with merchandise, and the 
 commonalty clean and cheerful. In the other, a sort of 
 shabby finery, a number of dirty people of quality tawdered 
 out ; narrow nasty streets out of repair, wretchedly thin of 
 inhabitants, and above half of the common sort asking alms.
 
 1716] Embassy to Constantinople 61 
 
 I cannot help fancying one under the figure of a handsome 
 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 and a ragged under-petticoat, a 
 miserable mixture of vice and poverty. 
 
 They have sumptuary laws in this town, which distinguish 
 their rank by their dress, and prevent the excess which ruins so 
 many other cities, and has a more agreeable 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 impartially the merits of a 
 rich suit of clothes in most places, the respect and the smiles 
 of favour that it procures, not to speak of the envy and the 
 sighs it occasions (which is very often the principal 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 natural to young 
 people to fall into a folly, which betrays them to that want of 
 money which is the source of a thousand basenesses. What 
 numbers of men have begun the world with generous 
 inclinations, that have afterwards been the instruments of 
 bringing misery on a whole people, being led by a vain expence 
 into debts, that they could clear no other way but by the 
 forfeit of their honour, and which they would never have 
 contracted, if the respect the many pay to habits was fixed 
 by law only to a particular colour or cut of plain cloth ! 
 These reflections draw after them others that are too melancholy. 
 I will make haste to put them out of your head by the farce 
 of relics, with which I have been entertained in all the 
 Romish churches. 
 
 The Lutherans are not quite free from these follies. I have 
 seen here, in the principal church, a large piece of the cross 
 set in jewels, and the point of the spear, which they told me, 
 very gravely, was the same that pierced the side o our 
 Saviour. But I was particularly diverted in a little Roman 
 Catholic church which is permitted here, where the professors 
 of that religion are not very rich, and consequently cannot 
 adorn their images in so rich a manner as their neighbours. 
 For, not to be quite destitute of all finery, they have dressed 
 up an image of our Saviour over the altar in a fair full- 
 bottomed wig very well powdered. I imagine I see your 
 ladyship stare at this article, of which you very much doubt
 
 62 Letters during the [1716 
 
 the veracity ; but, upon my word, I have not yet made use of 
 the privilege of a traveller ; and my whole account is writ 
 with the same plain sincerity of heart, with which I assure you 
 that I am, dear madam, your ladyship's, &c. 
 
 To Mrs. T. [Thistlethwayte]. 
 
 Ratisbon, Aug. 30, O.S. [1716]. 
 
 I had the pleasure of receiving yours but the day before I 
 left London. I give you a thousand thanks for your good 
 wishes, and I have such an opinion of their efficacy, I am per- 
 suaded that I owe in part to them the good luck of having 
 proceeded so far in my long journey without any ill accident. 
 For I don't reckon it any, being stopped a few days in this 
 town by a cold, since it has not only given me an opportunity 
 of seeing all that is curious in it, but of making some 
 acquaintance with the ladies, who have all been to see me 
 
 with great civility, particularly Madame , the wife of our 
 
 King's envoy from Hanover. She has carried me to all the 
 assemblies, and I have been magnificently entertained at her 
 house, which is one of the finest here. 
 
 You know that all the nobility of this place are envoys from 
 different states. Here are a great number of them, and they 
 might pass their time agreeably enough, if they were less 
 delicate on the point of ceremony. But, instead of joining in 
 the design of making the town as pleasant to one another as 
 they can, and improving their little societies, they amuse 
 themselves no other way than with perpetual quarrels, which 
 they take care to eternise, by leaving them to their successors ; 
 and an envoy to Ratisbon receives, regularly, half a dozen 
 quarrels among the perquisites of his employment. 
 
 You may be sure the ladies are not wanting, on their side, 
 in cherishing and improving these important piques, which 
 divide the town almost into as many parties as there are 
 families, and they choose rather to suffer the mortification of 
 sitting almost alone on their assembly nights, than to recede 
 one jot from their pretensions. I have not been here above 
 a week, and yet I have heard from almost every one of them 
 the whole history of their wrongs, and dreadful complaints of 
 the injustice of their neighbours, in hopes to draw me to their 
 party. But I think it very prudent to remain neuter, though, 
 if I was to stay among them, there would be no possibility 
 of continuing so, their quarrels running so high, they will 
 not be civil to those that visit their adversaries. The founda-
 
 i 7 i6] Embassy to Constantinople 63 
 
 tion of these everlasting disputes turns entirely upon place, 
 and the title of Excellency, which they all pretend to ; and, 
 what is very hard, will give it to nobody. For my part, I 
 could not forbear advising them (for the public good) to give 
 the title of Excellency to every body, which would include 
 receiving it from every body ; but the very mention of such a 
 dishonourable peace wae received with as much indignation 
 as Mrs. Blackacre did the notion of a reference j and, I 
 began to think myself ill-natured, to offer to take from them, 
 in a town where there are so few diversions, so entertaining an 
 amusement. I know that my peaceable disposition already 
 gives me a very ill-figure, and that it is publicly whispered, as a 
 piece of impertinent pride in me, that I have hitherto been 
 saucily civil to everybody, as if I thought nobody good 
 enough to quarrel with. I should be obliged to change my 
 behaviour if I did not intend to pursue my journey in a 
 few days. 
 
 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 this privilege, the oppor- 
 tunity of making an observation, which, I don't doubt, might 
 have been made in all the other churches, that the emeralds 
 and rubies which they shew round their relics and images are 
 most of them false ; though they tell you, that many of the 
 Crosses and Madonnas, set round with the stones, have been 
 the gifts of the emperors and other great princes, and I don't 
 doubt, but they were at first jewels of value ; but the good 
 fathers have found it convenient to apply them to other 
 uses, and the people are just as well satisfied with bits of 
 glass. Among these relics they shewed me a prodigious claw 
 set in gold, which they called the claw of a griffin ; and I could 
 not forbear asking the reverend priest that shewed it, Whether 
 the griffin was a saint ? This question almost put him beside 
 his gravity ; but he answered, They only kept it as a curiosity. 
 But I was very much scandalized at a large silver image of 
 the Trinity, where the Father is represented under the figure 
 of a decrepit 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. 
 
 Madame is come this minute to call me to the 
 
 assembly, and forces me to tell you, very abruptly, that I am 
 ever your —
 
 64 Letters during the [1716 
 
 To the Countess of [Mar]. 
 
 Vienna, September 8, O.S. [17 16]. 
 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 travelled 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 almost all 
 the conveniences of a palace, stoves in the chambers, kitchens, 
 &c. They are rowed by twelve men each, and move with an 
 incredible swiftness, that in the same day you have the pleasure 
 of a vast variety of prospects ; and, within a few hours' space of 
 time one has the different diversion of seeing a populous city 
 adorned with magnificent palaces, and the most romantic 
 solitudes, which appear distant from the commerce of mankind, 
 the banks of the Danube being charmingly diversified 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 honour of being the emperor's 
 residence, 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 cannot observe the fine fronts of the palaces, 
 though many of them very well deserve observation, being 
 truly magnificent, all built of fine white stone, and excessive 
 high, the town being so much 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 
 of six stories. You may easily imagine, that the streets being so 
 narrow, the upper rooms are extremely dark j and, what is an 
 inconveniency much more intolerable, in my opinion, there is 
 no house that has so few as five or six families in 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 a 
 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 ; thus the great stairs 
 (which are all of stone) are as common and as dirty as 
 the street. 'Tis true, when you have once travelled through 
 them, nothing can be more surprisingly magnificent than the
 
 1716] Embassy to Constantinople 65 
 
 apartments. They are commonly a suite of eight or ten large 
 rooms, all inlaid, the doors and windows richly carved and gilt, 
 and the furniture such as is seldom seen in the palaces of 
 sovereign princes in other countries — the hangings 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 covered 
 with gold lace or embroidery. The whole made gay by 
 pictures, and vast jars of japan china, and almost in every 
 room large lustres of rock crystal. 
 
 I have already had the honour 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 answers 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 desert 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. 
 
 I was yesterday at Count Schonbrunn, the vice-chancellor's 
 garden, where I was invited to dinner, and I must own that I 
 never saw a place so perfectly delightful as the Fauxbourgs of 
 Vienna. It is very large, and almost wholly composed of 
 delicious palaces ; and if the emperor found it proper to permit 
 the gates of the town to be laid open, that the Fauxbourgs 
 might be joined to it, he would have one of the largest and 
 best-built cities of Europe. Count Schonbrunn's villa is one 
 of the most magnificent; the furniture, all rich brocades, so 
 well fancied and fitted up, nothing can look more gay and 
 splendid \ not to speak of a gallery, full of rarities of coral, 
 mother of pearl, &c, 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- 
 humour of the count. 
 
 I have not yet been at court, being forced to stay for my 
 gown, without which there is no waiting on the empress ; 
 though I am not without a great impatience to see a beauty that 
 has been the admiration of so many different nations. When
 
 66 Letters during the [1716 
 
 I have had that honour, I will not fail to let you know my real 
 thoughts, always taking a particular pleasure in communicating 
 them to my dear sister. 
 
 To Mr. P. [Pope]. 
 
 Vienna, Sept. 14, O.S. [1716]. 
 
 Perhaps you'll laugh at me for thanking you very gravely 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 them right. 
 But I never in my life was half so well disposed to believe you 
 in earnest ; and that distance which makes the continuation of 
 your friendship improbable, has very much increased my faith 
 for it, and I find that I have (as well as the rest of my sex), what- 
 ever 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 ; though I have so far wandered from the 
 discipline of the Church of England, to have been last 
 Sunday 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, 
 discovering 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 
 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 Enchantments of Alcina, which gives opportunity 
 for a great variety of machines, and changes of the scene, 
 which are performed with a surprising swiftness. The theatre 
 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, I was almost squeezed to 
 death. 
 
 But if their operas are thus delightful, their comedies are in
 
 1716] Embassy to Constantinople 67 
 
 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 Amphitrion, that 
 subject having 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 the 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 your- 
 self and company. The fixed price is a gold ducat. I thought 
 the house very low and dark ; but I confess, the comedy 
 admirably 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 
 metamorphosis ; for you no sooner saw him under the figure 
 of Amphitrion, but, instead of flying to Alcmena with the 
 raptures Mr. Dryden puts into his mouth, he sends for Amphi- 
 trion'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 poor Amphitrion's being tormented by these people 
 for their debts,and Mercury uses Sosia in the same manner. But 
 1 could not easily pardon the liberty the poet has taken of 
 larding his play with not only indecent expressions, but such 
 gross words as 1 don't think our mob would suffer from a 
 mountebank ; and the two Sosias very fairly let down their 
 breeches in the direct view of the boxes, which were full of 
 people of the first rank, that seemed very well pleased with 
 their entertainment, and they assured me that 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 curtseys at leaving the room, when the visit 
 has been too long already. 
 
 To the Countess of [Mar]. 
 
 Vienna, Sept. 14, O.S. [1716]. 
 
 Though I have so lately troubled you, my dear sister, with 
 a long letter, yet I will keep my promise in giving you an 
 account of my first going to court. 
 
 In order to that ceremony, I was squeezed up in a gown,
 
 68 Letters during the [1716 
 
 and adorned with a gorget and the other implements there- 
 unto belonging : a dress very inconvenient, but which cer- 
 tainly shews the neck and shape to great advantage. I 
 cannot forbear in this place giving you some description of 
 the fashions here, which are more monstrous' and contrary 
 to all common sense and reason, than 'tis possible for you 
 to imagine. They build certain fabrics of gauze on their 
 heads about a yard high, consisting of three or four stories, 
 fortified with numberless yards of heavy ribbon. The founda- 
 tion of this structure is a thing they call a Bourle which is 
 exactly of the same shape and kind, but about four times as 
 big, as those rolls our prudent milk-maids make use of to fix 
 their pails upon. This machine they cover with their own hair, 
 which they mix with a great deal of false, it being a particular 
 beauty to have their heads too large to go into a moderate tub. 
 Their hair is prodigiously powdered, to conceal the mixture, 
 and set out with three or four rows of bodkins (wonderfully 
 large, that stick [out] two or three inches from their hair), made 
 of diamonds, pearls, red, green, and yellow stones, that it 
 certainly requires as much art and experience to carry the load 
 upright, as to dance upon May-day with the garland. Their 
 whalebone petticoats outdo ours by several yards circum- 
 ference, and cover some acres of ground. 
 
 You may easily suppose how much this extraordinary dress 
 sets off and improves the natural ugliness with which God 
 Almighty has been pleased to endow them all generally. Even 
 the lovely empress herself is obliged to comply, in some degree, 
 with these absurd fashions, which they would not quit for all 
 the world. I had a private audience (according to ceremony) 
 of half an hour, and then all the other ladies were permitted to 
 come [and] make their court. I was perfectly charmed with 
 the empress : I cannot, however, tell you that her features are 
 regular ; her eyes are not large, but have a lively look, full of 
 sweetness; her complexion the finest I ever saw; her nose and 
 forehead well made, but her mouth has ten thousand charms 
 that touch the soul. When she smiles, 'tis with a beauty and 
 sweetness that forces adoration. She has a vast quantity of 
 fine fair hair ; but then her person ! — one must speak of it 
 poetically to do it rigid justice ; all that the poets have said of 
 the mien of Juno, the air of Venus, comes not up to the truth. 
 The Graces move with her ; the famous statue of Medecis was 
 not formed with more delicate proportions ; nothing can be 
 *dded to the beauty of her neck and hands. Till I saw them, I
 
 1716] Embassy to Constantinople 69 
 
 did not believe there were any in nature so perfect, and I was 
 almost sorry that my rank here did not permit me to kiss them ; 
 but they are kissed sufficiently ; for every body that waits on 
 her pays that homage at their entrance, and when they take 
 leave. 
 
 When the ladies were come in, she sat down to Quinze. 
 I could not play at a game I had never seen before, and 
 she ordered me a seat at her right hand, and had the goodness 
 to talk to me very much, with that grace so natural to her. 
 I expected every moment, when the men were to come in to 
 pay their court ; but this drawing-room is very different from 
 that of England ; no man enters it but the old grand-master, 
 who comes in to advertize the empress of the approach of the 
 emperor. His imperial majesty did me the honour of speaking 
 to me in a very obliging manner ; but he never speaks to any 
 of the other ladies ; and the whole passes with a gravity and 
 air of ceremony that has something very formal in it. 
 
 The Empress Amelia, dowager of the late emperor Joseph, 
 came this evening to wait on the reigning empress, followed by 
 the two archduchesses her daughters, who are very agreeable 
 young princesses. Their imperial majesties rise and go to 
 meet her at the door of the room, after which she is seated 
 in an armed chair, next the empress, and in the same manner 
 at supper, and there the men had the permission of paying 
 their court. The archduchesses sat on chairs with backs 
 without arms. The table is entirely served, and all the 
 dishes set on by the empress's maids of honour, which are 
 twelve young ladies of the first quality. They have no salary, 
 but their chambers at court, where they live in a sort of con- 
 finement, not being suffered to go to the assemblies or public 
 places in town, except in compliment to the wedding of a sister 
 maid, whom the empress always presents with her picture set 
 in diamonds. The three first of them are called Ladies of tlie 
 Key, and wear gold keys by their sides ; but what I find most 
 pleasant, is the custom which obliges them, as long as they 
 live, after they have left the empress's service, to make her 
 some present every year on the day of her feast. Her majesty 
 is served by no married women but the grande mditresse, who is 
 generally a widow of the first quality, always very old, and is at 
 the same time groom of the stole, and mother of the maids. 
 The dresses are not at all in the figure they pretend to in 
 England, being looked upon no otherwise than as downright 
 chambermaids.
 
 yo Letters during the [1716 
 
 I had audience next day of the empress mother, a 
 princess of great virtue and goodness, but who piques herself 
 so much on a violent devotion, she is perpetually performing 
 extraordinary acts of penance, without having ever done any- 
 thing to deserve them. She has the same number of maids 
 of honour, whom she suffers to go in colours ; but she herself 
 never quits her mourning ; and sure nothing can be more 
 dismal than the mourning here, even for a brother. There is 
 not the least bit of linen to be seen ; all black crape instead 
 of it. The neck, ears, and side of the face covered with a 
 plaited piece of the same stuff, and the face that peeps out 
 in the midst of it, looks as if it were pilloried. The widows 
 wear, over and above, a crape forehead cloth; and in this 
 solemn weed go to all the public places of diversion without 
 scruple. 
 
 The next day I was to wait on the empress Amelia, who is 
 now at her palace of retirement half a mile from the town. 
 I had there the pleasure of seeing a diversion wholly new to 
 me, but which is the common amusement of this court. The 
 empress herself was seated on a little throne at the end of a 
 fine alley in the garden, and on each side of her were ranged 
 two parties of her ladies of honour with other young ladies 
 of quality, headed by the two young archduchesses, all 
 dressed in their hair full of jewels, with fine light guns 
 in their hands ; and at proper distances were placed three 
 oval pictures, which were the marks to be shot at. The 
 first was that of a Cupid, filling a bumper of Burgundy, and 
 the motto, 'Tis easy to be valiant here. The second a 
 Fortune, holding a garland in her hand, the motto, For her 
 whom Fortune favours. The third was a Sword, with a laurel 
 wreath on the point, the motto, Here is no shame to the van- 
 quished. — Near the empress was a gilded trophy wreathed 
 with flowers, and made of little crooks, on which were hung 
 rich Turkish handkerchiefs, tippets, ribbons, laces, &c, for the 
 small prizes. The empress gave the first with her own hand, 
 which was a fine ruby ring set round with diamonds, in a gold 
 snuff-box. There was for the second, a little Cupid set with 
 brilliants : and besides these, a set of fine china for a tea- 
 table enchased in gold, japan trunks, fans, and many gallantries 
 of the same nature. All the men of quality at Vienna were 
 spectators ; but only the ladies had permission to shoot, and 
 the Archduchess Amelia carried off the first prize. I was very 
 well pleased with having seen this entertainment, and I do not
 
 i7i6] Embassy to Constantinople 71 
 
 know but it might make as good a figure as the prize-shooting 
 in the Eneid, if I could write as well as Virgil. This is the 
 favourite pleasure of the emperor, and there is rarely a week 
 without some feast of this kind, which makes the young ladies 
 skilful enough to defend a fort, and they laughed very much to 
 see me afraid to handle a gun. 
 
 My dear sister, you will easily pardon an abrupt conclusion. 
 I believe, by this time, you are ready to fear I would never 
 conclude at all. 
 
 To the Lady R. [Rich]. 
 
 Vienna, Sept. 20, O.S. [1716]. 
 
 I am extremely pleased, but not at all surprised, at the long 
 delightful letter you have had the goodness to send me. 
 I know that you can think of an absent friend even in the 
 midst of a court, and that you love to oblige, where you can 
 have no view of a return ; and I expect from you that you 
 should love me, and think of me, when you don't see me. 
 
 I have compassion for the mortifications that you tell me 
 befall our little friend, and I pity her much more, since I know 
 that they are only owing to the barbarous customs of our 
 country. Upon my word, if she was here, she would have 
 no other fault but being something too young for the fashion, 
 and she has nothing to do but to transplant hither about 
 seven years hence, to be again a young and blooming beauty. 
 I can assure you that wrinkles, or a small stoop in the 
 shoulders, nay, even grey hair itself, is no objection to the 
 making new conquests. I know you cannot easily figure to 
 yourself a young fellow of five-and-twenty ogling my Lady Suff — 
 Suffolk] with passion, or pressing to lead the Countess of O — d 
 Oxford] from an opera. But such are the sights I see every 
 day, and I don't perceive any body surprised at them but 
 myself. A woman, till five-and-thirty, is only looked upon as 
 a raw girl, and can possibly make no noise in the world till 
 about forty. I don't know what your ladyship may think of 
 this matter ; but 'tis a considerable comfort to me, to know 
 there is upon earth such a paradise for old women ; and I am 
 content to be insignificant at present, in the design of returning 
 when I am fit to appear nowhere else. I cannot help lament- 
 ing upon this occasion, the pitiful case of too many good 
 English ladies, long since retired to prudery and ratafia, whom 
 if their stars had luckily conducted hither, would still shine in 
 the first rank of beauties ; and then that perplexing word repu-
 
 72 Letters during the [1716 
 
 tation has quite another meaning here than what you give it at 
 London ; and getting a lover is so far from losing, that 'tis 
 properly getting reputation ; ladies being much more respected 
 in regard to the rank of their lovers, than that of their 
 husbands. 
 
 But what you'll think very odd, the two sects that divide 
 our whole nation of petticoats, are utterly unknown. Here 
 are neither coquettes nor prudes. No woman dares appear 
 coquette enough to encourage two lovers at a time. And 
 I have not seen any such prudes as to pretend fidelity to 
 their husbands, who are certainly the best-natured set of people 
 in the world, and they look upon their wives' gallants as 
 favourably as men do upon their deputies, that take the trouble- 
 some part of their business off of their hands ; though they 
 have not the less to do ; for they are generally deputies in 
 another place themselves ; in one word, 'tis the established 
 custom for every lady to have two husbands, one that bears the 
 name, and another that performs the duties. And these en- 
 gagements are so well known, that it would be a downright 
 affront, and publicly resented, if you invited a woman of 
 quality to dinner, without at the same time inviting her two 
 attendants of lover and husband, between whom she always 
 sits in state with great gravity. These sub-marriages generally 
 last twenty years together, and the lady often commands the 
 poor lover's estate even to the utter ruin of his family ; though 
 they are as seldom begun by any passion as other matches. 
 But a man makes but an ill figure who is not in some 
 commerce of this nature ; and a woman looks out for a lover 
 as soon as she's married, as part of her equipage, without 
 which she could not be genteel ; and the first article of the 
 treaty is establishing the pension, which remains to the lady 
 though the gallant should prove inconstant ; and this charge- 
 able point of honour I look upon as the real foundation of 
 so many wonderful instances of constancy. I really know 
 several women of the first quality, whose pensions are as well 
 known as their annual rents, and yet nobody esteems them the 
 less; on the contrary, their discretion would be called in 
 question, if they should be suspected to be mistresses for 
 nothing ; and a great part of their emulation consists in trying 
 who shall get most ; and having no intrigue at all is so far a 
 disgrace, that, I'll assure you, a lady, who is very much my 
 friend here, told me but yesterday, how much I was obliged 
 to her for justifying my conduct in a conversation on my
 
 i7i6] Embassy to Constantinople 73 
 
 subject, where it was publicly asserted that I could not possibly 
 have common sense, that I had been about town above a fort- 
 night, and had made no steps towards commencing an amour. 
 My friend pleaded for me that my stay was uncertain, and she 
 believed that was the cause of my seeming stupidity ; and this 
 was all she could find to say in my justification. 
 
 But one of the pleasantest adventures I ever met in my 
 life was last night, and which will give you a just idea after 
 what a delicate manner the belles passions are managed in this 
 
 country. I was at the assembly of the Countess of , and 
 
 the young Count of led me down stairs, and he asked me 
 
 how long I intended to stay here ? I made answer that my 
 stay depended on the emperor, and it was not in my power to 
 determine it. Well, madam, (said he,) whether your time 
 here is to be long or short, I think you ought to pass it agree- 
 ably, and to that end you must engage in a little affair of the 
 heart. — My heart (answered I gravely enough) does not 
 engage very easily, and I have no design of parting with it. I 
 see, madam, (said he sighing,) by the ill nature of that answer, 
 that I am not to hope for it, which is a great mortification 
 to me that am charmed with you. But, however, I am still 
 devoted to your service ; and since I am not worthy of enter- 
 taining you myself, do me the honour of letting me know 
 whom you like best among us, and I'll engage to manage the 
 affair entirely to your satisfaction. — You may judge in what 
 manner I should have received this compliment in my own 
 country, but I was well enough acquainted with the way 
 of this, to know that he really intended me an obligation, and 
 thanked him with a grave courtesy for his zeal to serve me, 
 and only assured him that I had no occasion to make use 
 of it. 
 
 Thus you see, my dear, gallantry and good-breeding are 
 as different, in different climates, as morality and religion. 
 Who have the rightest notions of both, we shall never know 
 till the day of judgment, for which great day of iclaircissement, 
 I own there is very little impatience in your, &c. 
 
 To Mrs. t***t [Thistlethwayte]. 
 
 Vienna, Sept. 26, O.S. [1716]. 
 
 I was never more agreeably surprised than by your obliging 
 
 letter. 'Tis a particular mark of my esteem that I tell you so ; 
 
 and I can assure you, that if I loved you one grain less than I 
 
 do, I should have been very sorry to see it as diverting as it is.
 
 74 Letters during the [1716 
 
 The mortal aversion I have to writing, makes me tremble 
 at the thoughts of a new correspondent ; and I believe I 
 disobliged no less than a dozen of my London acquaintance 
 by refusing to hear from them, though I did verily think they 
 intended to send me very entertaining letters. But I had 
 rather lose the pleasure of reading several witty things, than 
 be forced to write many stupid ones. 
 
 Yet, in spite of these considerations, I am charmed with 
 this proof of your friendship, and beg a continuation of the 
 same goodness, though I fear the dulness of this will make 
 you immediately repent of it. 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 quarrels 
 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 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 emperor had not 
 sent his guards to part them ; and even then they refused 
 to stir, till the expedient was found out of taking them both 
 out in chairs exactly at the same moment ; after which it 
 was with some difficulty the pas was decided between the 
 two coachmen, no less tenacious of their rank than the ladies. 
 
 Nay, 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 honour, and they do not 
 only scorn to marry, but 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 amongst their ancestors counts of the empire ; they 
 have neither occasion for beauty, money, or 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 not to exceed two thousand florins (about 
 two hundred pounds English), and whatever they have beside 
 remains in their own possession and disposal. Thus, here are
 
 1716] Embassy to Constantinople 75 
 
 many ladies much richer than their husbands, who are, however, 
 obliged to allow them pin-money agreeable to their quality ; 
 and I attribute to this considerable branch of prerogative, 
 the liberty that they take upon other occasions. 
 
 I am sure you, that know my laziness and extreme indiffer- 
 ence on this subject, will pity me, entangled amongst all these 
 ceremonies, which are wonderful burthensome to me, though 
 I am the envy of the whole town, having, by their own 
 customs, the pas before them all. But, they revenge upon 
 the poor envoys this great respect shewn to ambassadors, 
 using them with a contempt that (with all my indifference) I 
 should be very uneasy to suffer. Upon days of ceremony 
 they have no entrance at court, and on other days must content 
 themselves with walking after every soul, and being the very 
 last taken notice of. But I must write a volume to let you 
 know all the ceremonies, and I have already said too much 
 on so dull a subject, which, however, employs the whole 
 care of the people here. I need not, after this, tell you how 
 agreeably the time slides away with me; you know as well as 
 I do the taste of, 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 To the Lady X . 
 
 Vienna, Oct. I, O.S. [171 6], 
 
 You desire me, madam, to send you some account of the 
 customs here, and at the same time a description of Vienna. 
 I am always willing to obey your commands ; but I must, 
 upon this occasion, desire you to take the will for the deed. If 
 I should undertake to tell you all the particulars, in which the 
 manner here differs from ours, I must write a whole quire of 
 the dullest stuff that ever was read, or printed without being 
 read. Their dress agrees with the French or English in no 
 one article but wearing petticoats, and they have many fashions 
 peculiar to themselves ; as that it is indecent for a widow ever 
 to wear green or rose colour, but all the other gayest colours 
 at her own discretion. The assemblies here are the only regular 
 diversion, the operas being always at court, and commonly on 
 some particular occasion. Madam Rabutin has the assembly con- 
 stantly every night at her house ; and the other ladies, whenever 
 they have a mind to display the magnificence of their apart- 
 ments, 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 honour of the feast of the Count or 
 Countess such a one. These days are called days of Gala,
 
 y6 Letters during the [m$ 
 
 and all the friends or relations 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 formality of being presented. The company 
 are entertained with ice in several forms, winter and summer : 
 afterwards they divide into parties of ombre, piquet, or con- 
 versation, all games of hazard being forbid. 
 
 I saw t'other day the gala for Count Altheim, the emperor's 
 favourite, and never in my life saw so many fine clothes ill- 
 fancied. They embroider the richest gold stuffs ; and provided 
 they can make their clothes expensive enough, that is all the 
 taste they shew in them. On other days, the general dress is 
 a scarf, and what you please under it. 
 
 But now I am speaking of Vienna, I am sure you expect I 
 should say something of the convents ; they are of all sorts 
 and sizes, but I am best pleased with that of St. Lawrence, 
 where the ease and neatness they seem to live with, appears 
 to me much more edifying than those stricter orders, where 
 perpetual penance and nastiness must breed discontent and 
 wretchedness. The nuns are all of quality. I think there are 
 to the number of fifty. They have each of them a little cell 
 perfectly clean, the walls covered with pictures more or less 
 fine, according to their quality. A long white stone gallery 
 runs by all of them, furnished with the pictures of exemplary 
 sisters ; the chapel extremely neat and richly adorned. But 
 I could not forbear laughing at their shewing me a wooden 
 head of our Saviour, which, they assured me, spoke during 
 the siege of Vienna ; and, as a proof of it, bid me remark 
 his mouth, which had been open ever since. Nothing can 
 be more becoming than the dress of these nuns. It is a 
 fine white camlet, the sleeves turned up with fine white calico, 
 and their head-dress and [?] the same, only a small veil 
 of black crape that falls behind. They have a lower sort of 
 serving nuns, that wait on them as their chambermaids. They 
 receive all visits of women, and play at ombre in their chambers, 
 with permission of their abbess, which is very easy to be 
 obtained. I never saw an old woman so good-natured ; she is 
 near fourscore, and yet shews very little sign of decay, being 
 still lively and cheerful. She caressed me as if I had been her 
 daughter, giving me some pretty things of her own work, and 
 sweetmeats in abundance. The grate is not one of the most 
 rigid ; it is not very hard to put a head through, and I don't
 
 1716] Embassy to Constantinople 77 
 
 doubt but a man, a little more slender than ordinary, might 
 squeeze in his whole person. The young Count of Salmes 
 came to the grate while I was there, and the abbess gave him 
 her hand to kiss. But I was surprised to find here the only 
 beautiful young woman I have seen at Vienna, and not only 
 beautiful, but genteel, witty, and agreeable, of a great family, 
 and who had been the admiration of the town. I could not 
 forbear shewing my surprise at seeing a nun like her. She 
 made me a thousand obliging compliments, and desired me 
 to come often. It will be an infinite pleasure to me, (said she, 
 sighing,) to see you ; but I avoid, with the greatest care, seeing 
 any of my former acquaintance, and whenever they come to 
 our convent, I lock myself in my cell. I observed tears come 
 into her eyes, which touched me extremely, and I began to talk 
 to her in that strain of tender pity she inspired me with ; but 
 she would not own to me that she is not perfectly happy. I 
 have since endeavoured to learn the real cause of her retire- 
 ment, without being able to get any other account, but that 
 every body was surprised at it, and nobody guessed the reason. 
 I have been several times to see her ; but it gives me too 
 much melancholy to see so agreeable a young creature buried 
 alive, and I am not surprised that nuns have so often inspired 
 violent passions ; the pity one naturally feels for them, when 
 they seem worthy of another destiny, making an easy way for 
 yet more tender sentiments ; and I never in my life had so little 
 charity for the Roman-catholic religion, as since I see the 
 misery it occasions ; so many poor unhappy women ! and 
 the gross superstition of the common people, who are, some 
 or other of them, day and night offering bits of candle to the 
 wooden figures that are set up almost in every street. The 
 processions I see very often, are a pageantry as offensive, and 
 apparently contradictory to all common sense, as the pagods 
 of China. God knows whether it be the womanly spirit of 
 contradiction that works in me ; but there never before was so 
 much zeal against popery in the heart of, 
 
 Dear madam, &c. 
 
 To Mr. . [?] 
 
 Vienna, Oct. io, O.S. [1716]. 
 
 I deserve not all the reproaches you make me. If I have 
 been some time without answering your letter, it is not that I 
 don't know how many thanks are due to you for it ; or that 
 I am stupid enough to prefer any amusements to the pleasure 
 of hearing from you ; but after the profession of esteem you
 
 j8 Letters during the [1716 
 
 have so obligingly made me, I cannot help delaying, as long as 
 I can, shewing you that you are mistaken, and if you are sincere 
 when you say you expect to be extremely entertained by my 
 letters, I ought to be mortified at the disappointment that I 
 am sure you will receive when you hear from me ; though I 
 have done my best endeavours to find out something worth 
 writing to you. 
 
 I have seen every thing that is to be seen with a very 
 diligent curiosity. Here are some fine villas, particularly the 
 late Prince of Lichtenstein's ; but the statues are all modern, 
 and the pictures not of the first hands. 'Tis true the emperor 
 has some of great value. I was yesterday to see the repository, 
 which they call his treasure, where they seem to have been 
 more diligent in amassing a great quantity of things than in 
 the choice of them. I spent above five hours there, and yet 
 there were very few things that stopped me long to consider 
 them. But the number is prodigious, being a very long gallery 
 filled on both sides, and five large rooms. There are a vast 
 quantity of paintings, among which are many fine miniatures ; 
 but the most valuable pictures are a few of Corregio, those of 
 Titian being at the Favorita. 
 
 The cabinet of jewels did not appear to me so rich as I 
 expected to see it. They showed me here a cup, about the 
 size of a tea-dish, of one entire emerald, which they had so 
 particular a respect for, only the emperor has the privilege 
 of touching it. There is a large cabinet full of curiosities of 
 clock-work, only one of which I thought worth observing, that 
 was a craw-fish, with all the motions so natural, it was hard 
 to distinguish it from the life. 
 
 The next cabinet was a large collection of agates, some of 
 them extremely beautiful, and of an uncommon size, and 
 several vases of lapis lazuli. I was surprised to see the 
 cabinet of medals so poorly furnished ; I did not remark one 
 of any value, and they are kept in a most ridiculous disorder. 
 As to the antiques, very few of them deserve that name. 
 Upon my saying they were modern, I could not forbear 
 laughing at the answer of the profound antiquary that shewed 
 them, that they were ancient enough ; for, to his knowledge, 
 they had been there these forty years. But the next cabinet 
 diverted me yet better, being nothing else but a parcel of wax 
 babies, and toys in ivory, very well worthy to be presented [to] 
 children of five years old. Two of the rooms were wholly 
 filled with relics of all kinds, set in jewels, amongst which
 
 17 it] Embassy to Constantinople 79 
 
 I was desired to observe a crucifix, that they assured me 
 had spoken very wisely to the Emperor Leopold. I won't 
 trouble you with the catalogue of the rest of the lumber ; but I 
 must not forget to mention a small piece of loadstone that held 
 up an anchor of steel too heavy for me to lift. This is what 
 I thought most curious in the whole treasure. There are some 
 few heads of ancient statues ; but several of them defaced by 
 modern additions. 
 
 I perceive that you will be very little satisfied with this letter, 
 and I dare hardly ask you to be good-natured enough to charge 
 the dulness of it on the barrenness of the subject, and overlook 
 the stupidity of, 
 
 Your, &c. 
 
 To the Countess [of Mar]. 
 
 Prague, Nov. 17, O.S. [1716]. 
 
 I hope my dear sister wants no new proof of my sincere 
 affection for her : but I am sure, if you did, 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- 
 travelling. 
 
 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, clean straw and fair water are blessings 
 not always to be found, and better accommodation not 
 to be hoped. 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 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, 
 and is still the capital of the kingdom. There are yet some 
 remains of its former splendour, being one of the largest towns 
 in Germany, but, for the most part, old built and thinly 
 inhabited, which makes the houses very cheap, and those people 
 of quality, who cannot easily bear the expence of Vienna, 
 choose to reside here, where they have assemblies, music, and 
 all other diversions (those of a court excepted), at very moder- 
 ate 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, 
 as people at Exeter imitate those of London : that is. theii
 
 80 Letters during the [1716 
 
 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, they have 
 as much occasion to write upon their backs, "This is a 
 Woman," for the information of travellers, as ever sign-post 
 painter had to write, " This is a Bear." 
 
 I will not forget to write to you again from Dresden and 
 Leipzig, being much more solicitous to content your curiosity, 
 than to indulge my own repose. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 To the Countess [Mar]. 
 
 Leipzig, Nov. 21, O.S. [1716]. 
 
 I believe, dear sister, you will easily forgive my not writing 
 to you from Dresden, as I promised, when I tell you that I 
 never went out of my chaise from Prague to this place. 
 
 You may imagine how heartily I was tired with twenty-four 
 hours' post-travelling, without sleep or refreshment (for I can 
 never sleep in a coach, however fatigued). We passed by 
 moonshine the frightful precipices that divide Bohemia from 
 Saxony, at the bottom of which runs the river Elbe j but I can- 
 not say that I had reason to fear drowning in it, being perfectly 
 convinced that, in case of a tumble, it was utterly impossible 
 to come alive to the bottom. In many places the road is so 
 narrow, that I could not discern an inch of space between the 
 wheels and the precipice. Yet I was so good a wife not to 
 
 wake Mr. W , who was fast asleep by my side, to make 
 
 him share in my fears, since the danger was unavoidable, till I 
 perceived, by the bright light of the moon, our postilions 
 nodding on horseback, while the horses were on a full gallop, 
 and I thought it very convenient to call out to desire them 
 
 to look where they were going. My calling waked Mr. , 
 
 and he was much more surprised than myself at the situation 
 we were in, and assured me that he had passed the Alps 
 five times in different places, without ever having gone a 
 road so dangerous. I have been told since it is common to 
 find the bodies of travellers in the Elbe ; but, thank God, 
 that was not our destiny ; and we came safe to Dresden, so 
 much tired with fear and fatigue, it was not possible for me to 
 compose myself to write. 
 
 After passing these dreadful rocks, Dresden appeared to me 
 a wonderfully agreeable situation, in a fine large plain on the 
 banks of the Elbe. I was very glad to stay there a day to
 
 1716] Embassy to Constantinople 81 
 
 rest myself. The town is the neatest I have seen in Germany ; 
 most of the houses are new built ; the elector's palace is very 
 handsome, and his repository full of curiosities of different 
 kinds, with a collection of medals very much esteemed. Sir 
 
 , our king's envoy, came to see me here, and Madame 
 
 de L , whom I knew in London, when her husband 
 
 was minister to the King of Poland there. She offered me 
 all things in her power to entertain me, and brought some 
 ladies with her, whom she presented to me. The Saxon ladies 
 resemble the Austrian no more than the Chinese those of 
 London ; they are very genteelly dressed after the French 
 and English modes, and have generally pretty faces, but the 
 most determined minaudihres in the whole world. They would 
 think it a mortal sin against good-breeding, if they either spoke 
 or moved in a natural manner. They all affect a little soft 
 lisp, and a pretty pitty-pat step ; which female frailties ought, 
 however, to be forgiven them, in favour of their civility and 
 good-nature to strangers, which I have a great deal of reason 
 to praise. 
 
 The Countess of Cozelle is kept prisoner in a melancholy 
 castle, some leagues from hence ; and I cannot forbear telling 
 you what I have heard of her, because it seems to me very 
 extraordinary, though I foresee I shall swell my letter to the 
 size of a pacquet. — She was mistress to the King of Poland 
 (Elector of Saxony), with so absolute a dominion over him, that 
 never any lady had had so much power in that court. They 
 tell a pleasant story of his majesty's first declaration of love, 
 which he made in a visit to her, bringing in one hand a bag of 
 a hundred thousand crowns, and in the other a horseshoe, 
 which he snapped asunder before her face, leaving her to draw 
 consequences from such remarkable proofs of strength and 
 liberality. I know not which charmed her ; but she con- 
 sented to leave her husband, and to give herself up to him 
 entirely, being divorced publicly in such a manner, as, by 
 their laws, permits either party to marry again. God knows 
 whether it was at this time, or in some other fond fit, but it is 
 certain the king had the weakness to make her a formal con- 
 tract of marriage, which, though it could signify nothing 
 during the life of the queen, pleased her so well, that she could 
 not be contented without telling all the people she saw, 
 and giving herself the airs of a queen. Men endure every 
 thing while they are in love ; but when the excess of passion 
 was cooled by long possession, his majesty began to reflect on
 
 82 Letters during the [1716 
 
 the ill consequences of leaving such a paper in her hands, 
 and desired to have it restored to him. She rather chose to 
 endure all the most violent effects of his anger, than give it up ; 
 and though she is one of the richest and most avaricious ladies 
 of her country, she has refused the offer of the continuation of 
 a large pension, and the security of a vast sum of money she 
 has amassed ; and has at last provoked the king to confine 
 her person, where she endures all the terrors of a strait im- 
 prisonment, and remains still inflexible, either to threats or 
 promises, though her violent passions have brought her into 
 fits, which it is supposed will soon put an end to her life. I 
 cannot forbear having some compassion for a woman that 
 suffers for a point of honour, however mistaken, especially in 
 a country where points of honour are not over-scrupulously 
 observed among ladies. 
 
 I could have wished Mr. W.'s business had permitted a 
 longer stay at Dresden. 
 
 Perhaps I am partial to a town where they profess the 
 Protestant religion ; but everything seemed to me with quite 
 another air of politeness than I have found in other places. 
 Leipzig, where I am at present, is a town very considerable for 
 its trade ; and I take this opportunity of buying pages' liveries, 
 gold stuffs for myself, &c, all things of that kind being at least 
 double the price at Vienna ; partly because of the excessive 
 customs, and partly the want of genius and industry in the 
 people, who make no one sort of thing there ; and the 
 ladies are obliged to send even for their shoes out of Saxony. 
 The fair here is one of the most considerable in Germany, 
 and the resort of all the people of quality, as well as the 
 merchants. This is a fortified town ; but I avoid ever 
 mentioning fortifications, being sensible that I know not how 
 to speak of them. I am the more easy under my ignorance, 
 when I reflect that I am sure you will willingly forgive the 
 omission ; for if I made you the most exact description of all 
 the ravelins and bastions I see in my travels, I dare swear you 
 would ask me, What is a ravelin ? and, What is a bastion ? 
 
 Adieu, my dear sister ! 
 
 To the Countess of [Mar]. 
 
 Brunswick, Nov. 23, O.S. [1716]. 
 I am just come to Brunswick, a very old town, but which has 
 the advantage of being the capital of the Duke of Wolfenbuttel's 
 dominions, a family (not to speak of its ancient honours)
 
 1716] Embassy to Constantinople 83 
 
 1 
 
 illustrious by having its younger branch on the throne of 
 England, and having given two empresses to Germany. I have 
 not forgotten to drink your health here in mum, which I think 
 very well deserves its reputation of being the best in the world. 
 This letter is the third I have writ to you during my journey, 
 and I declare to you, that if you don't send me immediately a 
 full and true account of all the changes and chances among 
 our London acquaintance, I will not write you any description 
 of Hanover (where I hope to be to-night), though I know you 
 have more curiosity to hear of that place than of any other 
 
 To the Countess of B. [Bristol]. 
 
 Hanover, Nov. 25, O.S. [1716]. 
 ■ I received your ladyship's [letter] but the day before I left 
 Vienna, though, by the date, I ought to have had it much 
 sooner ; but nothing was ever worse regulated than the post 
 in most parts of Germany. I can assure you, the pacquet at 
 Prague was tied behind my chaise, and in that manner con- 
 veyed to Dresden ; the secrets of half the country were at my 
 mercy, if I had had any curiosity for them. I would not 
 longer delay my thanks for yours, though the number of my 
 acquaintances here, and my duty of attending at court, leave 
 me hardly any time to dispose of. I am extremely pleased that 
 I can tell you, without either flattery or partiality, that our young 
 prince has all the accomplishments that it is possible to have 
 at his age, with an air of sprightliness and understanding, and 
 something so very engaging and easy in his behaviour, that he 
 needs not the advantage of his rank to appear charming. I 
 had the honour of a long conversation with him last night, 
 before the King came in. His governor retired on purpose (as 
 he told me afterwards) that I might make some judgment 
 of his genius, by hearing him speak without constraint ; and 
 I was surprised at the quickness and politeness that appeared 
 in every thing he said ; joined to a person perfectly agreeable, 
 and the fine fair hair of the princess. 
 
 This town is neither large nor handsome ; but the palace 
 is capable of holding a greater court than that of St. James's. 
 The King has had the goodness to appoint us a lodging in 
 one part of it, without which we should be very ill accom- 
 modated ; for the vast number of English crowds the town 
 so much, it is very good luck to be able to get one sorry room 
 in a miserable tavern. I dined to-day with the Portuguese 
 ambassador, who thinks himself very happy to have two
 
 84 Letters during the [1716 
 
 wretched parlours in an inn. I have now made the tour of 
 Germany, and cannot help observing a considerable difference 
 between travelling here and in England. One sees none of 
 those fine seats of noblemen that are so common amongst us, 
 nor anything like a country gentleman's house, though they have 
 many situations perfectly fine. But the whole people are 
 divided into absolute sovereignties, where all the riches and 
 magnificence are at court, or communities of merchants, 
 such as Nuremburg and Frankfort, where they live always in 
 town for the convenience of trade. The King's company of 
 French comedians play here every night. They are very well 
 dressed, and some of them not ill actors. His Majesty dines 
 and sups constantly in public. The court is very numerous, 
 and his affability and goodness make it one of the most 
 agreeable places in the world, to 
 
 Dear madam, your Ladyship's, &c. 
 
 To the Lady R. [Rich]. 
 
 Hanover, Dec. I, O.S. [1716]. 
 
 I am very glad, my dear Lady R., that you have been so 
 well pleased, as you tell me, at the report of my returning 
 to England ; though, like other pleasures, I can assure you it 
 has no real foundation. I hope you know me enough to take 
 my word against any report concerning myself. 'Tis true, as 
 to distance of place, I am much nearer to London than I was 
 some weeks ago ; but as to the thoughts of a return, I never 
 was farther off in my life. I own, I could with great joy 
 indulge the pleasing hopes of seeing you, and the very few 
 
 others that share my esteem ;• but while Mr. [Wortley] 
 
 is determined to proceed in his design, I am determined to 
 follow him. 
 
 I am running on upon my own affairs, that is to say, I am 
 going to write very dully, as most people do when they write 
 of themselves. I will make haste to change the disagreeable 
 subject, by telling you that I have now got into the region 
 of beauty. All the women have literally rosy cheeks, snowy 
 foreheads and bosoms, jet eye-brows, and scarlet lips, to which 
 they generally add coal-black hair. Those perfections never 
 leave them till the hour of their deaths, and have a very fine 
 effect by candle-light ; but I could wish they were handsome 
 with a little more variety. They resemble one another as much 
 as Mrs. Salmon's court of Great Britain, and are in as much 
 danger of melting away by too near approaching the fire,
 
 i7i6] Embassy to Constantinople 85 
 
 which they for that reason carefully avoid, though it is now 
 such excessive cold weather, that I believe they suffer 
 extremely by that piece of self-denial. 
 
 The snow is already very deep, and people begin to slide 
 about in their traineaus. This is a favourite diversion all over 
 Germany. They are little machines fixed upon a sledge, that 
 hold a lady and gentleman, and are drawn by one horse. The 
 gentleman has the honour of driving, and they move with a 
 prodigious swiftness. The lady, the horse, and the traineau, 
 are all as fine as they can be made ; and when there are many 
 of them together, it is a very agreeable show. At Vienna, 
 where all pieces of magnificence are carried to excess, there are 
 sometimes traineaus that cost five or six hundred pounds 
 English. 
 
 The Duke of Wolfenbuttel is now at this court ; you know 
 he is nearly related to our king, and uncle to the reigning 
 empress, who is, I believe, the most beautiful princess upon 
 earth. She is now with child, which is all the consolation of 
 the imperial court for the loss of the archduke. I took my 
 leave of her the day before I left Vienna, and she began to 
 speak to me with so much grief and tenderness, of the death of 
 that young prince, I had much ado to withhold my tears. You 
 know that I am not at all partial to people for their titles ; 
 but I own that I love that charming princess (if I may use so 
 familiar an expression) ; and if I did not, I should have been 
 very much moved at the tragical end of an only son, born after 
 being so long desired, and at length killed by want of good 
 management, weaning him in the beginning of the winter. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Lady R. ; continue to write to me, and be- 
 lieve none of your goodness is lost upon 
 
 Your, &c. 
 
 To the Countess of [Mar]. 
 
 Blankenburg, Dec. 17, O.S. [1716]. 
 
 I received yours, dear sister, the very day I left Hanover. 
 You may easily imagine I was then in too great a hurry to 
 answer it ; but you see I take the first opportunity of doing 
 myself that pleasure. 
 
 I came here the 15th, very late at night, after a terrible 
 journey, in the worst roads and weather that ever poor traveller 
 suffered. I have taken this little fatigue merely to oblige the 
 reigning empress, and carry a message from her imperial 
 majesty to the Duchess of Blankenburg, her mother, who is a
 
 86 Letters during the [1716 
 
 princess of great address and good-breeding, and may be still 
 called a fine woman. It was so late when I came to this town, 
 I did not think it proper to disturb the duke and duchess with 
 the news of my arrival : and took up my quarters in a 
 miserable inn : but as soon as I had sent my compliments to 
 their highnesses, they immediately sent me their own coach 
 and six horses, which had however enough to do to draw us up 
 the very high hill on which the castle is situated. The duchess 
 is extremely obliging to me, and this little court is not without 
 its diversions. The duke taillys at basset every night ; and the 
 duchess tells me that she is so well pleased with my company 
 that it- makes her play less than she used to do. I should find 
 it very difficult to steal time to write, if she was not now at 
 church, where I cannot wait on her, not understanding the 
 language enough to pay my devotions in it. 
 
 You will not forgive me, if I do not say something of 
 Hanover ; I cannot tell you that the town is either large or 
 magnificent. The opera-house, which was built by the late 
 Elector, is much finer than that of Vienna. I was very sorry 
 that the ill weather did not permit me to see Hernhausen in 
 all its beauty ; but, in spite of the snow, I thought the gardens 
 very fine. I was particularly surprised at the vast number of 
 orange trees, much larger than I have ever seen in England, 
 though this climate is certainly colder. But I had more 
 reason to wonder that night at the king's table. There was 
 brought to him from a gentleman of this country, two large 
 baskets full of ripe oranges and lemons of different sorts, many 
 of which were quite new to me ; and, what I thought worth all 
 the rest, two ripe ananas, which, to my taste, are a fruit per- 
 fectly delicious. You know they are naturally the growth of 
 Brazil, and I could not imagine how they could come there 
 but by enchantment. Upon enquiry, I learnt that they have 
 brought their stoves to such perfection, they lengthen the 
 summer as long as they please, giving to every plant the 
 degree of heat it would receive from the sun in its native 
 soil. The effect is very near the same ; I am surprised we do 
 not practise in England so useful an invention. 
 
 This reflection naturally leads me to consider our obstinacy 
 in shaking with cold six months in the year, rather than make 
 use of stoves, which are certainly one of the greatest con- 
 veniences of life ; and so far from spoiling the form of a 
 room, they add very much to the magnificence of it, when 
 they are painted and gilt, as at Vienna, or at Dresden, where
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 87 
 
 they are often in the shape of china jars, statues, or fine 
 cabinets, so naturally represented, they are not to be dis- 
 tinguished. If ever I return, in defiance to the fashion, you 
 shall certainly see one in the chamber of, 
 
 Dear sister, &c. 
 I will write often, since you desire it : but I must beg you 
 to be a little more particular in yours ; you fancy me at forty 
 miles' distance, and forget that, after so long an absence, I 
 cannot understand hints. 
 
 To the Lady . 
 
 Vienna, Jan. I, O.S., 1717. 
 
 I have just received here at Vienna, your ladyship's compli- 
 ment on my return to England, sent me from Hanover. 
 
 You see, madam, all things that are asserted with confidence 
 are not absolutely true ; and that you have no sort of reason 
 to complain of me for making my designed return a mystery 
 to you, when you say, all the world are informed of it. You 
 may tell all the world in my name, that they are never so well 
 informed of my affairs as I am myself; that I am very positive 
 I am at this time at Vienna, where the Carnival is begun, and 
 all sorts of diversions in perpetual practice, except that of 
 masquing, which is never permitted during a war with the 
 Turks. The balls are in public places, where the men pay 
 a gold ducat at entrance, but the ladies nothing. I am told 
 that these houses get sometimes a thousand ducats on a night. 
 They are very magnificently furnished, and the music good, if 
 they had not that detestable custom of mixing hunting horns 
 with it, that almost deafen the company. But that noise is so 
 agreeable here, they never make a concert without them. The 
 ball always concludes with English country dances, to the 
 number of thirty or forty couple, and so ill danced, that there 
 is very little pleasure in them. They know but half a dozen, 
 and they have danced them over and over these fifty years. I 
 would fain have taught them some new ones, but I found it 
 would be some months' labour to make them comprehend 
 them. 
 
 Last night there was an Italian comedy acted at court. The 
 scenes were pretty, but the comedy itself such intolerable low 
 farce, without either wit or humour, that I was surprized how 
 all the court could sit there attentively for four hours together. 
 No women are suffered to act on the stage, and the men 
 dressed like them were such awkward figures, they very much
 
 88 Letters during the [1717 
 
 added to the ridicule of the spectacle. What completed the 
 diversion, was the excessive cold, which was so great, I thought 
 I should have died there. 
 
 It is now the very extremity of the winter here ; the Danube 
 is entirely frozen, and the weather not to be supported without 
 stoves and furs ; but, however, the air so clear, almost every 
 body is well, and colds not half so common as in England, and I 
 am persuaded there cannot be a purer air, nor more wholesome, 
 than that of Vienna. The plenty and excellence of all sorts 
 of provisions are greater here than in any place I was ever 
 in, and it is not very expensive to keep a splendid table. 
 It is really a pleasure to pass through the markets, and see the 
 abundance of what we should think rarities, of fowls and 
 venison, that are daily brought in from Hungary and Bohemia. 
 They want nothing but shell-fish, and are so fond of oysters, 
 they have them sent from Venice, and eat them very greedily, 
 stink or not stink. 
 
 Thus I obey your commands, madam, in giving you an 
 account of Vienna, though I know you will not be satisfied 
 with it. You chide me for my laziness, in not telling you a 
 thousand agreeable and surprising things, that you say you are 
 sure I have seen and heard. Upon my word, madam, it is 
 my regard to truth, and not laziness, that I do not entertain 
 you with as many prodigies as other travellers use to divert 
 their readers with. I might easily pick up wonders in every 
 town I pass through, or tell you a long series of popish 
 miracles ; but I cannot fancy that there is any thing new in 
 letting you know that priests can lie, and the mob believe, all 
 over the world. Then as for news, that you are so inquisitive 
 about, how can it be entertaining to you (that don't know the 
 
 people) that the Prince of has forsaken the Countess 
 
 of ? or that the Princess such a one has an intrigue 
 
 with Count such a one? Would you have me write novels 
 like the Countess d'Aunois ? and is it not better to tell you a 
 plain truth, 
 
 That I am, &c. 
 
 To the Abbot . 
 
 Vienna, Jan. 2, O.S., 1717. 
 
 I am really almost tired with the life of Vienna. I am not, 
 
 indeed, an enemy to dissipation and hurry, much less to 
 
 amusement and pleasure ; but I cannot endure long even 
 
 pleasure, when it is fettered with formality, and assumes the
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 89 
 
 air of system. 'Tis true, I have had here some very agreeable 
 connexions, and what will perhaps surprize you, I have par- 
 ticular pleasure in my Spanish acquaintances, Count Oropesa 
 and General Puebla. These two noblemen are much in the 
 good graces of the Emperor, and yet they seem to be brewing 
 mischief. The court of Madrid cannot reflect without pain 
 upon the territories that were cut off from the Spanish 
 monarchy by the peace of Utrecht, and it seems to be 
 looking wishfully out for an opportunity of getting them 
 back again. That is a matter about which I trouble myself 
 very little ; let the court be in the right, or in the wrong, I 
 like mightily the two counts, its ministers. I dined with them 
 both some days ago at Count Wurmbrand's, an Aulic-counsellor 
 and a man of letters, who is universally esteemed here. But 
 the first man at this court in point of knowledge and abilities 
 is certainly Count Schlick, High Chancellor of Bohemia, whose 
 immense reading is accompanied with a fine taste and a solid 
 judgment ; he is a declared enemy to Prince Eugene, and a 
 warm friend to the honest hot-headed Marshal Staremberg. 
 One of the most accomplished men I have seen at Vienna 
 is the young Count Tarrocco, who accompanies the amiable 
 Prince of Portugal. I am almost in love with them both, and 
 wonder to see such elegant manners, and such free and generous 
 sentiments in two young men that have hitherto seen nothing 
 but their own country. The count is just such a Roman- 
 catholic as you ; he succeeds greatly with the devout beauties 
 here ; his first overtures in gallantry are disguised under the 
 luscious strains of spiritual love, that were sung formerly by the 
 sublimely voluptuous Fenelon, and the tender Madam Guion, 
 who turned the fire of carnal love to divine objects : thus the 
 count begins with the spirit, and ends generally with the flesh, 
 when he makes his addresses to holy virgins. . 
 
 I made acquaintance yesterday with the famous poet 
 Rousseau, who lives here under the peculiar protection of 
 Prince Eugene, by whose liberality he subsists. He passes 
 here for a free-thinker, and, what is still worse in my esteem, 
 for a man whose heart does not feel the encomiums he gives 
 to virtue and honour in his poems. I like his odes mightily, 
 they are much superior to the lyrick productions of our English 
 poets, few of whom have made any figure in that kind of 
 poetry. I don't find that learned men abound here : there 
 is indeed a prodigious number of alchymists at Vienna ; the 
 philosopher's stone is the great object of zeal and science ; and
 
 90 Letters during the [1717 
 
 those who have more reading and capacity than the vulgar, 
 have transported their superstition (shall I call it ?) or 
 fanaticism from religion to chymistry ; and they believe in 
 a new kind of transubstantiation, which is designed to make 
 the laity as rich as the other kind has made the priesthood. 
 This pestilential passion has already ruined several great 
 houses. There is scarcely a man of opulence or fashion, 
 that has not an alchymist in his service ; and even the 
 Emperor is supposed to be no enemy to this folly in secret, 
 though he has pretended to discourage it in publick. 
 
 Prince Eugene was so polite as to shew me his library 
 yesterday ; we found him attended by Rousseau, and his 
 favourite Count Bonneval, who is a man of wit, and is here 
 thought to be a very bold and enterprizing spirit. The library, 
 though not very ample, is well chosen ; but as the Prince will 
 admit into it no editions but what are beautiful and pleasing 
 to the eye, and there are nevertheless numbers of excellent 
 books that are but indifferently printed, this finnikin and 
 foppish taste makes many disagreeable chasms in this collec- 
 tion. The books are pompously bound in Turkey leather, 
 and two of the most famous bookbinders of Paris were 
 expressly sent for to do this work. Bonneval pleasantly 
 told me that there were several quartos on the art of war, 
 that were bound with the skins of spahis and janissaries ; and 
 this jest, which was indeed elegant, raised a smile of pleasure 
 on the grave countenance of the famous warrior. The Prince, 
 who is a connoisseur in the fine arts, shewed me, with par- 
 ticular pleasure, the famous collection of portraits, that formerly 
 belonged to Fouquet, and which he purchased at an excessive 
 price. He has augmented it with a considerable number of 
 new acquisitions, so that he has now in his possession such 
 a collection in that kind as you will scarcely find in any ten 
 cabinets in Europe. If I told you the number, you would say 
 that I make an indiscreet use of the permission to lie, which 
 is more or less given to travellers by the indulgence of the 
 candid. 
 
 Count Tarrocco is just come in — he is the only person I 
 have excepted this morning in my general order to receive no 
 company. — I think I see you smile, — but I am not so far gone 
 as to stand in need of absolution ; tho' as the human heart is 
 deceitful, and the Count very agreeable, you may think that 
 even though I should not want an absolution, I would never- 
 theless be glad to have an indulgence. — No such thing. —
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 91 
 
 However, as I am a heretick, and you no confessor, I shall 
 make no declarations on this head. — The design of the Count's 
 visit is a ball ; — more pleasure. — I shall be surfeited. 
 
 Adieu, &c. 
 
 To the Countess of [Mar]. 
 
 Vienna, Jan. 16, O.S. [1717]. 
 
 I am now, dear sister, to take leave of you for a long time, and 
 of Vienna for ever ; 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 audiences of leave of the Empresses. His 
 Imperial 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 to the Empress from 
 the Duchess of Blankenburg. I staid but a few days at that 
 court, though 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 cannot forbear taking notice of: all the princes keep 
 favourite dwarfs. The Emperor and Empress have two of these 
 little monsters, as ugly as devils, especially the female ; but 
 all bedaubed with diamonds, and stand at her Majesty's 
 elbow in all public places. The Duke of Wolfenbuttel has 
 one, and the Duchess of Blankenburg is not without hers, but 
 indeed the most proportionable I ever saw. I am told that 
 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 
 that all 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 human 
 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
 
 92 Letters during the [1717 
 
 going to part with them for ever. It is true, the Austrians are 
 not commonly the most polite people in the world, or the 
 most agreeable. But Vienna is inhabited by all nations, and 
 I had formed to myself a little society of such as were perfectly 
 to my own taste. And though the number was not very great, 
 I could never 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 esteems, 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 the whole kingdom 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 am 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 to say all 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 defence 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 terrors 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 
 comfort other people find in considering the weaknesses of 
 great men (because, 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 polite, 
 with great vivacity. All the officers tell wonders of his 
 gallantry the last campaign. He is lodged at court with all 
 the honours due to his rank. — Adieu, dear sister : this is the
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 93 
 
 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, I have long learnt to hold 
 myself at 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. 
 
 jP.6". I have written a letter to my Lady , that I believe 
 
 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 that I keep to myself 
 out of mere malice. She is very angry that I won't lie like 
 other travellers. I verily believe she expects I should tell her 
 of the Anthropophagi, men whose heads grow below their 
 shoulders ; however, pray say something to pacify her. 
 
 To Mr. P. 
 
 Vienna, Jan. 16, O.S. [1717]. 
 
 I have not time to answer your letter, being in all the hurry 
 of preparing for my journey ; but I think I ought to bid adieu 
 to my friends with the same solemnity as if I was going to 
 mount a breach, at least, if I am to believe the information 
 of the people here, who denounce all sorts of terrors to me ; 
 and, indeed, the weather is at present such, as very few ever 
 set out in. I am threatened at the same time, with being frozen 
 to death, buried in the snow, and taken by the Tartars, who 
 ravage that part of Hungary I am to pass. 'Tis true, we shall 
 have a considerable escorte, so that possibly I may be diverted 
 with a new scene, by finding myself in the midst of a battle. 
 
 How my adventures will conclude, I leave entirely to 
 
 Providence ; if comically, you shall hear of them. Pray be 
 
 so good to tell Mr. [Congreve ?] I have received his letter. 
 Make him my adieus ; if I live, I will answer it. The same 
 compliment to my Lady R. [Rich ?]. 
 
 To the Countess of [Mar]. 
 
 Peterwaradin, Jan. 30, O.S. [1717]. 
 At length, dear sister, I am safely arrived, with all my family, 
 in good health, at Peterwaradin; having suffered so little 
 from the rigour of the season (against which we were well 
 provided by furs), and found everywhere, by the care of send- 
 ing before, such tolerable accommodation ; I can hardly for- 
 bear laughing when I recollect all the frightful ideas that
 
 94 Letters during the [1717 
 
 were given me of this journey, which 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 you a 
 short journal of my journey, being through a country entirely 
 unknown 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 
 favoured by finer weather than is common at this time of the 
 year ; though the snow was so deep, we were obliged to have 
 our coaches fixed upon traineaus, which move so swift and 
 so easily, 'tis by far the most agreeable manner of travelling 
 post. We came to Raab (the second day from Vienna) on 
 
 the seventeenth instant, where Mr. sending word of 
 
 our arrival to the governor, we had the best house in the town 
 provided for us, the garrison put under arms, a guard ordered 
 at our door, and all other honours paid to us. The governor 
 
 and other officers immediately waited on Mr. , to 
 
 know if there was any thing to be done for his service. The 
 Bishop of Temeswar came to visit us with great civility, 
 earnestly pressing us to dine with him the next day ; which we 
 refusing, as being resolved to pursue our journey, he sent us 
 several baskets of winter fruit, and a great variety of fine Hun- 
 garian wines, with a young hind just killed. This is a prelate 
 of great power in this country, of the ancient family of Nadasti, 
 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, fifteen hundred and ninety-four. The 
 governor, being supposed to have betrayed it, was afterwards 
 beheaded by the emperor's command. The Counts of Swart- 
 zenburg 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 stratagem 1642. 
 The cathedral is large and well built, which is all that I saw 
 remarkable in the town. 
 
 Leaving Comora on the other side [of] the river, we went
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 95 
 
 the eighteenth to Nosmuhl, a small village, where, however, we 
 made shift to find tolerable accommodation. We continued 
 two days travelling 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 
 uncultivated, laid waste by the long war between the Turk 
 and emperor, and the more cruel civil war occasioned by 
 the barbarous persecution of the Protestant religion by the 
 Emperor Leopold. That prince has left behind him the 
 character of an extraordinary piety, and was naturally of a 
 mild merciful temper ; but, putting his conscience into the 
 hands of a Jesuit, he was more cruel and treacherous to his 
 poor Hungarian 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, travelling through 
 Hungary, reflecting on the former flourishing state of that 
 kingdom, and seeing such a noble spot of earth almost un- 
 inhabited. This is also the present circumstances of Buda 
 (where we arrived very early the twenty-second), once the 
 royal seat of the Hungarian kings, where their 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. 
 The city is situated upon a little hill on the south side of 
 the Danube, the castle being much higher than the town, from 
 whence 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, they appear at 
 a little distance like odd-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, 1526, and 
 lost the following year to Ferdinand I., King of Bohemia. 
 Solyman regained it, 1529, by the treachery of the garrison, 
 and voluntarily gave it into the hand of King John of Hun-
 
 96 Letters during the [1717 
 
 gary; after whose death, his son being an infant, Ferdinand 
 laid siege to it, and the Queen mother was forced to call 
 Solyman to her aid, who 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, 1541. It 
 resisted afterwards the sieges laid to it by the Marquis of 
 Brandenburg, 1542 ; the Count of Swartzenburg, 1598 ; 
 General Rosworm, 1602 ; and the Duke of Lorraine, com- 
 mander of the Emperor's forces, 1684; to whom it yielded, 
 1686, after an obstinate defence, 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, it occasioned the deposing of their Emperor 
 Mahomet the Fourth the following year. 
 
 We did not proceed on our journey till the twenty-third, 
 passing through Adam and Todowar, both considerable towns 
 when in the hands of the Turks. These are now quite 
 ruined ; only the remains of some Turkish towers shew some- 
 thing of what they have been. This part of the country is 
 very much overgrown with wood, and so 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 twenty-fifth to Mohatch, and were shewed 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. 1 don't name to you the little villages, of 
 
 which I can say nothing remarkable ; but I'll assure you, I have 
 always found a warm stove, and great plenty, particularly of 
 wild boar, venison, and all kind 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. 
 
 W [Wortley] would not oppress the poor country people 
 
 by making use of this order, and always paid them the full 
 worth of what we had from them. They were so surprized 
 at this unexpected generosity, which they are very little used 
 to, they always pressed upon us, at parting, a dozen of fat 
 pheasants, or something of that sort, for a present. Their
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 97 
 
 dress is very primitive, being only a plain sheep's skin, without 
 other dressing than being dried in the sun, and a cap and 
 boots of the same stuff. You may imagine this lasts them for 
 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, which 
 we found but too true, the woods being scarcely passable and 
 very dangerous, from the vast quantity of wolves that hoard 
 in them. We came, however, safe, though late, to Essek, 
 where we stayed a day to despatch a courier with letters 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 esteemed one of the 
 most extraordinary in the world, being eight thousand paces 
 long, and all built of oak, which was burnt, and the city laid in 
 ashes by Count Lesley, 1685, but again repaired and fortified 
 by the Turks, who, however, abandoned it, 1687, and General 
 Dunnewalt 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 
 Rascian town, all built after the manner I have described to 
 
 you. We were met there by Colonel , who would not 
 
 suffer us to go anywhere 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 convenient 
 as those places were capable of being made. The Hungarian 
 ladies are much handsomer than those of Austria. All the 
 Vienna beauties are of that country ; they are generally 
 very lair and well-shaped, their dress I think extremely 
 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 liitle buttons of 
 gold, pearl, or diamonds. On their heads they wear a cap 
 embroidered with a tassel of gold, that hangs low on one side, 
 lined with sable or some other fine fur. — They gave us &
 
 98 Letters during the [1717 
 
 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 commandant, at the head of all the officers of the 
 garrison. We are lodged in the best apartment of the 
 governor'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. 's [Wortley's] courier which he sent from Essek, re- 
 turned this morning, with the pasha's answer in a purse of 
 scarlet satin, which the interpreter here has translated. It is 
 to promise him to be honourably received, and desires him to 
 appoint where he would be met by the Turkish convoy. 
 — He has despatched the courier back, naming Betsko, a 
 village in the midway between Peterwaradin and Belgrade. 
 We shall stay here till we receive the answer. 
 
 Thus, dear sister, I have given you a very particular, and 
 (I am afraid you'll think) a tedious account, of this part of my 
 travels. It was not an affectation of shewing 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 anything 
 of that kind, when I spoke of places which I believed you knew 
 the story of as well as myself. But Hungary being a part of 
 the world that I believe quite new to you, I thought you 
 might read with some pleasure an account of it, 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, dear sister, &c. 
 
 I have promised to have this letter carefully sent to Vienna 
 
 To Mr. P. [Pope]. 
 
 Belgrade, Feb. 12, O.S. [1717]. 
 
 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, he despatched our 
 
 courier back (which Mr. [Wortley] had sent to know the 
 
 time he would send the convoy to meet us) without suffering 
 him to puli 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 truth, they are rather
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 99 
 
 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 cannot forbear speaking a word of this race of creatures, 
 who are very numerous all over Hungary. They have a 
 patriarch 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 beards grow inviolate, make 
 exactly the figure of the Indian brahmins. They are heirs- 
 general 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 houses and cattle. 
 In most other points they follow the Greek Rites. 
 
 This little digression has interrupted my telling you we 
 passed over the fields of Carlowitz, where the last great victory 
 was obtained by Prince Eugene over the Turks. The marks 
 of that glorious bloody day are yet recent, the field being 
 strewed with the skulls and carcases of unburied men, horses, 
 and camels. I could not look without horror, on such 
 numbers of mangled human bodies, and reflect on the 
 injustice of war, that makes murder not only necessary but 
 meritorious. Nothing seems to be a plainer proof of the 
 irrationality of mankind (whatever fine claims we pretend to 
 reason) than the rage with which they contest for a small spot 
 of ground, when such large 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 nature not rational, if the word 
 reason means common sense, as I suppose it does. I have a 
 great many admirable arguments to support this reflection ; 
 but I won't 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 janissaries, 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
 
 ioo Letters during the [1717 
 
 uneasy till they were parted, fearing some quarrel might arise, 
 notwithstanding the parole given. 
 
 We came late to Belgrade, the deep snows making the 
 ascent 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 
 Emperor's forces, led by the Elector of Bavaria, who held 
 it only two years, it being retaken by the Grand Vizier, and 
 is now fortified with the utmost care and skill the Turks are 
 capable of, and strengthened by a very numerous garrison 
 of their bravest janissaries, commanded by a pasha seraskier 
 (i.e. general). This last expression is not very just ; for, to 
 say truth, the seraskier is commanded by the janissaries, 
 who have an absolute authority here, not much unlike a 
 rebellion, which you may judge of by the following 
 story, which, at the same time, will give you an idea of 
 the admirable intelligence of the governor of Peterwaradin, 
 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 himself 
 to be prevailed upon, by a bribe of five purses (five hundred 
 pounds sterling), to give permission to the Tartars to ravage 
 the German frontiers. We were very well pleased to hear of 
 such favourable dispositions in the people ; but when we came 
 hither, we found the governor had been ill-informed, and 
 this the real truth of the story. 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, he was of intelligence 
 with the enemy, and sent such information to the Grand 
 Signior at Adrianople ; but, redress not coming quick 
 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? Another, 
 Why he squeezed them of their money? that [sic] easily 
 guessing their purpose, he calmly replied to them, that 
 they asked him too many questions; he had but one life, 
 which must answer for all. They immediately fell upon 
 him with their scimitars (without waiting the sentence of their 
 heads of the law), and in a few moments cut him in pieces.
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 101 
 
 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 how to do themselves justice. He takes all 
 pretences 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 cannot 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, 
 belonging to a very considerable man amongst them, and 
 have a whole chamber of janissaries to guard us. My only 
 diversion is the conversation of our host, Achmet Beg, 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 languages, and is 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 honours of the 
 Porte. He sups with us every night, and drinks wine very 
 freely. You cannot imagine how much he is delighted with 
 the liberty of conversing with me. He has explained to me 
 many pieces of Arabian poetry, which, I observed, are in 
 numbers not unlike ours, generally 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 very 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 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.
 
 102 Letters during the [1717 
 
 But these amusements do not hinder my wishing heartily to 
 be out of this place; though the weather is colder than I 
 believed it ever was anywhere 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 in the discharge of my own conscience ; and you cannot now 
 reproach me, that one of yours can make ten of mine. 
 
 To Her R. H. the P [Princess of Wales]. 1 
 
 Adrianople, April I, O.S. [1717]. 
 
 I have now, madam, past a journey that has not been 
 undertaken by any Christian since the time of the Greek 
 emperors : and I shall not regret all the fatigues I have 
 suffered in it, if it gives me an opportunity of amusing your 
 R. H. by an account of places utterly unknown amongst us ; 
 the Emperor's ambassadors, and those few English that have 
 come hither, always going on the Danube to Nicopolis. But 
 
 that river was now frozen, and Mr. [Wortley] so zealous 
 
 for the service of his Majesty, he would not defer his journey 
 to wait for the conveniency of that passage. 
 
 We crossed the deserts of Servia, almost quite overgrown 
 with wood, though a country naturally fertile, and the inhabi- 
 tants industrious ; but the oppression of the peasants is so great, 
 they are forced to abandon their houses, and neglect their 
 tillage, all they have being a prey to the janissaries, whenever 
 they please to seize upon it. We had a guard of five hundred of 
 them, and I was almost in tears every day to see their insolencies 
 in the poor villages through which we passed. 
 
 After seven days' travelling through thick woods, we came 
 to Nissa, once the capital of Servia, situate in a fine plain on 
 the river Nissava, in a very good air, and so fruitful a soil, that 
 the great plenty is hardly credible. I was certainly assured, 
 that the quantity of wine last vintage was so prodigious, 
 they were forced to dig holes in the earth to put it in, not 
 having vessels enough in the town to hold it. The happiness 
 of this plenty is scarce perceived by the oppressed people. 
 I saw here a new occasion for my compassion. The wretches 
 that had provided twenty waggons for our baggage from 
 Belgrade hither for a certain hire, being all sent back without 
 payment, some of their horses lamed, and others killed, 
 without any satisfaction made for them. The poor fellows 
 
 1 Afterwards Ouern Caroline, wife of George II.
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 103 
 
 came round the house weeping and tearing their hair and 
 beards in the most pitiful manner, without getting anything but 
 drubs from the insolent soldiers. I cannot express to your 
 R. H. how much I was moved at this scene. I would have 
 paid them the money out of my own pocket, with all my 
 heart ; but it had been only giving so much to the aga, who 
 would have taken it from them without any remorse. 
 
 After four days' journey from this place over the mountains, 
 we came to Sophia, situate in a large beautiful plain on the 
 river Isca, or Iscse, surrounded with distant mountains. It is 
 hardly possible to see a more agreeable landscape. The city 
 itself is very large, and extremely populous. Here are hot 
 baths, very famous for their medicinal virtues. — Four days' 
 journey from hence we arrived at Philipopoli, after having 
 passed the ridges between the mountains of Haemus and 
 Rhodope, which are always covered with snow. This town is 
 situate on a rising ground near the river Hebrus, and is almost 
 wholly inhabited by Greeks : here are still some ancient 
 Christian churches. They have a bishop ; and several of the 
 richest Greeks live here ; but they are forced to conceal their 
 wealth with great care, the appearance of poverty (which 
 includes part of its inconveniences) being all their security 
 against feeling it in earnest. The country from hence to 
 Adrianople is the finest in the world. Vines grow wild on all 
 the hills; and the perpetual spring they enjoy makes every- 
 thing look gay and flourishing. But this climate, as happy as 
 it seems, can never be preferred to England, with all its snows 
 and frosts, while we are blessed with an easy government, 
 under a king who makes his own happiness consist in the 
 liberty of his people, and chooses rather to be looked upon 
 as their father than their master. 
 
 This theme would carry me very far, and I am sensible that 
 I have already tired out your R. H.'s patience. But my letter 
 is in your hands, and you may make it as short as you please, 
 by throwing it into the fire, when you are weary of reading it. 
 
 I am, madam, 
 
 With the greatest respect, &c. 
 
 To the Lady . 
 
 Adrianople, April I, O.S. [17 1 7]. 
 I am now got into a new world, where everything I see 
 appears to me a change of scene ; and I write to your ladyship 
 with some content of mind, hoping at least that you will find
 
 104 Letters during the [1717 
 
 the charm 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 I 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. 
 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 manner 
 of the Dutch coaches, having wooden lattices painted and 
 gilded ; the inside being painted with baskets and nosegays 
 of flowers, intermixed commonly with little poetical mottoes. 
 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 the ladies peep through the lattices. They 
 hold four people very conveniently, seated on cushions, but 
 not raised. 
 
 In one of these covered waggons, 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 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 the value of 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, raised, two 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 little 
 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 proceeding 
 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 have a 
 mind to. 
 
 I was in my travelling habit, which is a riding dress, and 
 certainly appeared very extraordinary to them. Yet there was 
 not one of them that shewed the least surprise or impertinent
 
 j 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 105 
 
 curiosity, but received me with all the obliging civility possible. 
 I know no European court where the ladies would have 
 behaved themselves in so polite a manner to a stranger. 
 I believe in the whole, there were two hundred women, and 
 yet none of those disdainful smiles, or satiric whispers, that 
 never fail in our assemblies when any body appears that is 
 not dressed exactly in the fashion. They repeated over and 
 over to me, " Uzelle, pek uzelle," which is nothing but Charm- 
 ing, very charming. — The first sofas were covered with 
 cushions and rich carpets, on which sat the ladies ; and on the 
 second, their slaves behind them, but without 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 amongst them. They walked and moved 
 with the same majestic grace which Milton describes of 
 our general mother. There were many amongst them as 
 exactly proportioned as ever any goddess was drawn by the 
 pencil of Guido or Titian, — and most of their skins shiningly 
 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 had 
 often made, that if it was the fashion to go naked, the face 
 would be hardly observed. I perceived that the ladies with the 
 finest skins and most delicate 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 im- 
 proved his art, to see so many fine women naked, in different 
 postures, some in conversation, some working, 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, &c. — 
 They generally take this diversion once a-week, and stay there 
 at least four or five hours, without getting cold by immediate 
 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
 
 106 Letters during the Iwi 
 
 difficulty. They, being all so earnest in persuading me, 
 I was at last forced to open my shirt, and shew them 
 my stays; which satisfied them very well, for, I saw, they 
 believed I was so locked up in that machine, that it was not 
 in my own power to open it, 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. W [Wortley] resolving to pursue his journey 
 
 the next morning early, I was in haste to see the ruins of 
 Justinian's church, which did not afford 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. Tis no less 
 than death for a man to be found in one of these places. 
 
 To the Abbot [the Abbe Conti]. 
 
 Adrianople, April I, O.S. [1717]. 
 
 You see that I am very exact in keeping the promise you 
 engaged me to make ; but I know not whether your curiosity 
 will be satisfied with the accounts I shall give you, though I can 
 assure you, that the desire I have to oblige you to the utmost 
 of my power, has made me very diligent in my enquiries and 
 observations. It is certain we have but very imperfect 
 relations of the manners and religion of these people ; this 
 part of the world being seldom visited but by merchants, who 
 mind little but their own affairs, or travellers, 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, &c. ; who can only pick up some confused in- 
 formations, which are generally false ; and they 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 by land, 
 cannot 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 so poor, that only force 
 could extort from them necessary provisions. Indeed the 
 janissaries had no mercy on their poverty, killing all the poultry 
 and sheep they could find, without asking whom they be- 
 longed to ; while the wretched owners durst not put in their 
 claim, for fear of being beaten. Lambs just fallen, geese and
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 107 
 
 turkies big with egg, all massacred without distinction ! 
 I fancied I heard the complaints of Melibceus for the hope of 
 his flock. When the pashas travel, it is yet worse. Those 
 oppressors are not content with eating all that is to be eaten 
 belonging to the peasants ; after they have crammed them- 
 selves and their numerous retinue, they have [the] impudence to 
 exact what they call teeth- money, a contribution for the use of 
 their teeth, worn with doing them the honour of devouring 
 their meat. This is a literal known truth, however extrava- 
 gant it seems ; and such is the natural corruption of a military 
 government, their religion not allowing of this barbarity no 
 more than ours does. 
 
 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, those two sciences being cast into one, a lawyer 
 and a priest being the same word. They are the only men 
 really considerable in the empire ; all the profitable employ- 
 ments and church revenues are in their hands. The Grand 
 Signior, 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 the power of these men, who have engrossed 
 all the learning, and almost all the wealth, of the empire. 
 Tis they that 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, 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-Beg 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 
 England 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 con- 
 vinced that if our friend Dr. had free liberty of preaching 
 
 here, it would be very easy to persuade the generality to 
 Christianity, whose notions are already little different from his. 
 Mr. Wh [Whiston] would make a very good apostle here.
 
 108 Letters during the [1-17 
 
 I don't doubt but his zeal will be much fired, if you communi- 
 cate this account to him ; but tell him, he must first have the 
 gift of tongues, before he could possibly be of any use. 
 
 Mahometism is divided into as many sects as Christianity ; 
 and the first institution as much neglected and obscured by 
 interpretations. I cannot here forbear reflecting on the natural 
 inclination of mankind to make mysteries and novelties. — 
 The Zeidi, Kudi, Jabari, &c, put me in mind of the Catholic, 
 Lutheran, and Calvinist, &c, and are equally zealous against 
 one another. But the most prevailing opinion, if you search 
 into the secret of the effendis, is plain deism. But this is kept 
 from the people, who are amused with a thousand different 
 notions, according to the different interests of their preachers. 
 — There are very few amongst them (Achmet-Beg denied 
 there were any) so absurd, as to set up for wit by declaring 
 they believe no God at all. Sir Paul Rycaut is mistaken 
 (as he commonly is) in calling the sect muterin {i.e. the secret 
 with us) atheists, they being deists, and their impiety consists in 
 making a jest of their prophet. Achmet-Beg did not own to 
 me that he was of this opinion ; but made no scruple of 
 deviating from some part of Mahomet'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, all 
 the creatures of God were 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 
 of all disorders among them ; but that the prophet never 
 designed to confine those that knew how to use it with 
 moderation. However, 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, it is the purest morality, delivered in the very best 
 language. I have since heard impartial Christians speak of 
 it in the same manner ; and I don't doubt but all our trans- 
 lations are from copies got from the Greek priests, who would 
 not fail to falsify it with the extremity of malice. No body 
 of men ever were more ignorant, and more corrupt : yet they 
 differ so little from the Romish church, I confess nothing gives 
 me a greater abhorrence of the cruelty of your clergy, than 
 the barbarous persecution of them, whenever they have been
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 109 
 
 their masters, for no other reason than not acknowledging 
 the pope. The dissenting in that one article has got them 
 the title of heretics, schismatics; and, what is worse, the 
 same treatment. I found at Philipopolis a sect of Christians 
 that call themselves Paulines. They shew an old church, 
 where, they say, St. Paul preached ; and he is the favourite 
 saint, after the same manner as 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, the Arnaout seems 
 to me the most particular. They are natives of Arnaoutlich, 
 the ancient Macedonia, and still retain something of the 
 courage and hardiness, though they have lost the name, of 
 Macedonians, being the best militia in the Turkish empire, 
 and the only check upon the janissaries. They are foot 
 soldiers ; we had a guard of them, relieved in every consider- 
 able town we passed : they are all clothed and armed at their 
 own expense, generally lusty young fellows, dressed in clean 
 white coarse cloth, carrying guns of a prodigious length, 
 which they run with on their shoulders 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 Mahometans, 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 prudently follow 
 both and go to the mosques on Fridays and the church on 
 Sundays, 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 have so modest an opinion 
 of their own capacity. 
 
 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 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 anti- 
 quities of this country ; but there are few remains of ancient 
 Greece. We passed near the piece of an arch, which is 
 commonly called Trajan's Gate, as supposing he made it to 
 shut up the passage over the mountains between Sophia and 
 Philipopolis. But I rather believe it the remains of some
 
 no Letters during the [1717 
 
 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, notwithstanding 
 the story of Baldwin Earl of Flanders being overthrown in 
 these straits, after he won Constantinople, I don't fancy the 
 Germans would find themselves stopped by them. It is true, 
 the road is now made (with great industry) 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 were not so terrible as I had heard them repre- 
 sented. At the foot of 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 
 in a sort of plenty : for, such vast tracts of land lying in 
 common, they have liberty of sowing what they please, and 
 are generally very industrious husbandmen. I drank here 
 several sorts of delicious wine. The women dress themselves 
 in a great variety of coloured glass beads, and are not ugly, but 
 of tawny complexions. 
 
 I have now told you all that is worth telling you, and perhaps 
 more, relating to my journey. When I am at Constantinople, 
 I'll try to pick up some curiosities, and then you shall hear 
 again from 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 To the Countess of B. [Bristol]. 
 
 Adrianople, April I, O.S. [1717]. 
 As I never can forget the smallest of your ladyship's com- 
 mands, my first business here has been to enquire after the 
 stuffs you ordered me to look for, without being able to find 
 what you would like. The difference of the dress here and 
 at London is so great, the same sort of things are not proper 
 for caftans and manteaus. However, I will not give over my 
 search, but renew it again at Constantinople, though I have 
 reason to believe there is nothing finer than what is to be 
 found here, being the present residence of the court. The 
 Grand Signior's eldest daughter was married some few days 
 before I came; and, upon that occasion, the Turkish ladies
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople m 
 
 display all their magnificence. The bride was conducted to 
 her husband's house in very great splendour. She is widow 
 of the late Vizier, who was killed at Peterwaradin, though that 
 ought rather to be called a contract than a marriage, not hav- 
 ing ever 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 a man of merit, and 
 the declared favourite of the Sultan (which they call mosdyp), 
 but that is not enough to make him pleasing in the eyes of a 
 girl of thirteen. 
 
 The government here is entirely in the hands of the army ; 
 and the Grand Signior, with all his absolute power, as much a 
 slave as any of his subjects, and trembles at a janissary'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 reflection on his conduct be dropped in a 
 coffee-house (for they have spies everywhere), the house would 
 be rased to the ground, and perhaps the whole company put to 
 the torture. No huzzaing mobs, senseless pamphlets, and 
 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 his hands, head, and 
 feet, and throw them before the palace gate, with all the respect 
 in the world ; while that Sultan (to whom they all profess an 
 unlimited adoration) sits trembling in his apartment, and dare 
 neither defend nor revenge his favourite. This is the blessed 
 condition of the most absolute monarch upon earth, who owns 
 no law but his ivill. 
 
 I cannot help wishing, in the loyalty of my heart, that the 
 parliament would send hither a ship-load of your passive- 
 obedient men, that they might see arbitrary government in 
 its clearest and strongest light, where it is hard to judge 
 whether the prince, people, or ministers, are most miserable. 
 I could make many reflections on this subject ; but I know 
 madam, your own good sense has already furnished you with 
 better than I am capable of. 
 
 I went yesterday along with the French embassadress to see
 
 H2 Letters during the [1717 
 
 the Grand Signior in his passage to the mosque. He was 
 preceded by a numerous guard of janissaries, with vast 
 white feathers on their heads, spahis and bostangees (these are 
 foot and horse guard), and the royal gardeners, which 
 are a very considerable body of men, dressed in different 
 habits of fine lively colours, that, at a distance, they 
 appeared like a parterre of tulips. After them the aga of the 
 janissaries, in a robe of purple velvet, lined with silver tissue, 
 his horse led by two slaves richly dressed. Next him the 
 kyzldr-aga (your ladyship knows this is the chief guardian 
 of the seraglio ladies) in a deep yellow cloth (which suited 
 very well to his black face) lined with sables, and last his 
 Sublimity himself, in green lined with the fur of a black 
 Muscovite fox, which is supposed worth a thousand pounds 
 sterling, mounted on a fine horse, with furniture embroidered 
 with jewels. Six more horses richly furnished were led after 
 him ; and two of his principal courtiers bore, one his gold, 
 and the other his silver coffee-pot, on a staff; another carried 
 a silver stool on his head for him to sit on. 
 
 It would be too tedious to tell your ladyship the various 
 dresses and turbans by which their rank is distinguished ; but 
 they were all extremely rich and gay, to the number of some 
 thousands ; [so] that, perhaps, there cannot be seen a more 
 beautiful procession. The Sultan appeared to us a handsome 
 man of about forty, with a very graceful air, but something 
 severe in his countenance, his eyes very full and black. He 
 happened to stop under the window where we stood, and (I 
 suppose being told who we were) looked upon us very attentively, 
 [so] that we had full leisure to consider him, and the French 
 embassadress agrees with me as to his good mien : I see that 
 lady very often ; she is young, and her conversation would 
 be a great relief to me, if I could persuade her to live with- 
 out those forms and ceremonies that make life formal and 
 tiresome. But she is so delighted with her guards, her four- 
 and-twenty footmen, gentlemen ushers, &c, that she would 
 rather die than make me a visit without them : not to reckon 
 a coachful of attending damsels yclep'd maids of honour. 
 What vexes me is, that as long as she will visit me with 
 a troublesome equipage, I am obliged to do the same : how- 
 ever, Our mutual interest makes us much together. 
 
 I went with her the other day all round the town, in an 
 open gilt chariot, with our joint train of attendants, preceded 
 by our guards, who might have summoned the people to
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 113 
 
 see what they had never seen, nor ever would see again — 
 two young Christian embassadresses never yet having been 
 in this country at the same time, nor I believe ever will again. 
 Your ladyship may easily imagine that we drew a vast crowd 
 of spectators, but all silent as death. If any of them had 
 taken the liberties of our mob upon any strange sight, our 
 janissaries had made no scruple of falling on them with 
 their scimitars, without danger for so doing, being above law. 
 Yet these people have some good qualities ; they are very 
 zealous and faithful where they serve, and look upon it as their 
 business to fight for you upon all occasions. Of this I had a 
 very pleasant instance in a village on this side Philipopolis, 
 where we were met by our domestic guard. I happened to 
 bespeak pigeons for my supper, upon which one of my janissaries 
 went immediately to the cadi (the chief civil officer of the 
 town), and ordered him to send in some dozens. The poor 
 man answered, that he had already sent about, but could get 
 none. My janissary, in the height of his zeal for my service, 
 immediately locked him up prisoner in his room, telling him 
 he deserved death for his impudence, in offering to excuse his 
 not obeying my command ; but, out of respect to me, he would 
 not punish him but by my order, and accordingly, came very 
 gravely to me, to ask what should be done to him ; adding, 
 by way of compliment, that if I pleased he would bring me 
 his head. — This may give you some idea of the unlimited 
 power of these fellows, who are all sworn brothers, and bound 
 to revenge the injuries done to one another, whether at Cairo, 
 Aleppo, or any part of the world ; and this inviolable league 
 makes them so powerful, that the greatest man at the court 
 never speaks to them but in a flattering tone ; and in Asia, 
 any man that is rich is forced to enrol himself a janissary, to 
 secure his estate. 
 
 But I have already said enough ; and I dare swear, dear 
 madam, that, by this time, 'tis a very comfortable reflection to 
 you that there is no possibility of your receiving such a tedious 
 letter but once in six months ; 'tis that consideration has given 
 me the assurance to entertain you so long, and will, I hope, 
 plead the excuse of, dear madam, &c. 
 
 To the Countess of [Mar]. 
 
 Adrianople, April I, O.S. [1717]. 
 I wish to God, dear sister, that you were as regular in letting 
 me have the pleasure of knowing what passes on your side of
 
 114 Letters during the [1717 
 
 the globe, as I am careful in endeavouring to amuse you by 
 the account of all I see that I think you care to hear of. 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 arrear at least two months' news, all that seems very 
 stale with you would be fresh and sweet here. Pray let me 
 into more particulars, 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 a sight 
 of my person, as I am now in my Turkish habit, though I 
 believe you would be of my opinion, that 'tis admirably be- 
 coming. — I intend to send you my picture ; in the mean time 
 accept of it here. 
 
 The first piece 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-coloured damask, 
 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 
 colour of the bosom 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 falling back, and 
 fringed with deep gold fringe, and should have 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 strait falling sleeves. Over this is the girdle, 
 of about four fingers broad, which all that can afford 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 talpock, 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
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 115 
 
 head, the hair is laid flat ; and here the ladies are at liberty to 
 shew 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 
 coloured rubies; the jessamines, of diamonds; the jonquils, 
 of topazes, &c, so well set and enamelled, '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 quantity. 
 
 I never saw in my life so many fine heads of hair. I 
 have counted a hundred and ten of the tresses of one lady's 
 all natural ; but it must be owned, that every beauty is 
 more common here than with us. Tis surprising to see a 
 young woman that is not very handsome. They have naturally 
 the most beautiful complexion in the world, and generally 
 large black eyes. I can assure you with great truth, that the 
 court of England (though I believe it the fairest in Christen- 
 dom) cannot shew so many beauties as are under our pro- 
 tection here. They generally shape their eyebrows ; and the 
 Greeks and Turks have a custom of putting round their eyes 
 (on the inside) 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 
 secret ; but 'tis too visible by day. They dye their nails a 
 rose-colour. I own, I cannot enough accustom myself to this 
 fashion to find any beauty in it. 
 
 As to their morality or good conduct, I can say, like 
 Harlequin, that 'tis just as it is with you ; and the Turkish 
 ladies don't commit one sin the less for not being Christians. 
 Now I am a little acquainted with their ways, I cannot 
 forbear admiring either the exemplary discretion or extreme 
 stupidity of all the writers that have given accounts of 
 them. 'Tis very easy to see they have more liberty than we 
 have. No woman, of what rank soever, being permitted to go 
 into the streets without two muslins; 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, and their shapes 
 are wholly concealed by a thing they call a ferigee, which no 
 woman of any sort appears without ; this has strait 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 
 plain stuff or silk. You may guess how effectually this
 
 n6 Letters during the {mi 
 
 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 either 
 touch or follow a woman in the street. 
 
 This perpetual masquerade gives them entire liberty of 
 following 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 
 notoriously 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 to be found amongst that sort of people. The great 
 ladies seldom let their gallants know who they are ; and it is 
 so difficult to find it out, that they can very seldom guess at 
 her name they have corresponded with above half a year 
 together. You may easily imagine the number of faithful 
 wives very small in a country where they have nothing to fear 
 from a lover's indiscretion, since we see so many that 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 ladies that are 
 rich having all their money in their own hands, which they 
 take with them upon a divorce, with an addition which he is 
 obliged to give them. 
 
 Upon the whole, I look upon the Turkish women as the 
 only free people in the empire : the very Divan pays a respect to 
 them ; and the Grand Signior himself, when a pasha is executed, 
 never violates the privileges of the harem (or women's apart- 
 ment), which remains unsearched and entire to the widow. 
 They are queens of their slaves, whom the husband 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. When a husband happens to be inconstant (as those 
 things will happen), he keeps his mistress in a house apart, 
 and visits her as privately as he can, just as it is with you. 
 Amongst all the great men here, I only know the tefterdar 
 {i.e. treasurer), that keeps a number of she slaves for his own 
 use (that is, on his own side of the house ; for a slave once 
 given to serve a lady is entirely at her disposal), and he is 
 spoken of as a libertine, or what we should call a rake, and
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 117 
 
 his wife won't see him, though she continues to live in his 
 house. 
 
 Thus, you see, dear sister, the manners of mankind do not 
 differ so widely as our voyage writers would make us believe. 
 Perhaps it would be more entertaining to add a few surprising 
 customs of my own invention ; but nothing seems to me so 
 agreeable as truth, and I believe nothing so acceptable to you. 
 I conclude with repeating the great truth of my being, 
 
 Dear sister, &c. 
 
 To Mr. P [Pope]. 
 
 Adrianople, April I, O.S. [1717]. 
 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 
 accident 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 swimming 
 down the same river in which the musical head of Orpheus 
 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 Eurydicen ! anima fugiente vocabat, 
 Eurydicen toto referebant flumine ripce." 
 
 [VlRG. Georg. lib. iv.] 
 
 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 having so many fine things said of me, as so 
 extraordinary a death would have given occasion for. 
 
 I am at this present writing in a house situated on the 
 banks of the Hebrus, which runs under my chamber window. 
 My garden is full of tall 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 head 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 pastoral ? The summer is already far advanced in
 
 n8 Letters during the [1717 
 
 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 set with rows of fruit-trees, under which all the most 
 considerable 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 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 
 dashing of the river; and this taste is so universal, that the 
 very gardeners are not without it. I have often seen them and 
 their children sitting on the banks, 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 generally 
 divert themselves with making garlands for their favourite 
 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 amongst them, and naturally inspiring a 
 laziness and aversion to labour, which the great plenty indulges. 
 These gardeners are the only happy race of country people in 
 Turkey. They furnish all the city with fruit 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 unveiled. These wenches are very neat and 
 handsome, and pass their time at their looms under the shade 
 of their trees. 
 
 I no longer look upon Theocritus as a romantic writer ; he 
 has only given a plain image of the way of life amongst the 
 peasants of his country ; who, before oppression had reduced 
 them to want, were, I suppose, all employed as the better sort 
 of them are now. I don't doubt, had he been born a Briton, 
 his Idylliums had ibeen filled with descriptions of threshing
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 119 
 
 and churning, both which are unknown here, the corn being 
 all trod out by oxen ; and butter (I speak it with sorrow) 
 unheard of. 
 
 I read over your Homer here with an infinite pleasure, and 
 find several little passages explained, that I did not before 
 entirely comprehend the beauty of ; many of the customs, and 
 much of the dress then in fashion, being yet retained, and 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 
 practised 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 veils and robes, surrounded by their 
 maids, which are always very numerous, in the same manner 
 as we find Andromache and Helen described. The descrip- 
 tion 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 
 veil that Helen throws over her face, is still fashionable ; and 
 I never see (as I do very often) half a dozen of old pashas 
 with their reverend beards, sitting basking in the sun, but 
 I recollect good King Priam and his counsellors. Their 
 manner of dancing is certainly the same that Diana is sung to 
 have danced on the banks of the Eurotas. The great lady still 
 leads the dance, and is followed by a troop of young girls, who 
 imitate her steps, and, if she sings, 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 skilful enough to lead ; these are Grecian dances, the 
 Turkish being very different. 
 
 I should have told you, in the first place, that the Eastern 
 manners give 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 
 different from what is spoken at court, or amongst the people 
 of figure, who always mix so much Arabic or Persian in their 
 discourse, that it may very well be called another language. 
 And 'tis as ridiculous to make use of the expressions com-
 
 120 Letters during the [1717 
 
 monly used, in speaking to a great man or a lady, as it would 
 be to talk 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 would 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 favourite, 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 himself, 
 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'll 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 Sultan 
 
 ACHMET III. 
 STANZA I. 
 
 Verse I. 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 ravish'd my sou!. 
 
 3. Your eyes are black and lovely, 
 
 But wild and disdainful as those of a stag. 
 
 STANZA 11. 
 
 1. The wish'd possession is delay'd from day to day; 
 The cruel Sultan Achmet will not permit me 
 
 To see those cheeks more vermilion than roses. 
 
 2. I dare not snatch one of your kisses ; 
 
 The sweetness of your charms has ravish'd my soul. 
 
 3. Your eyes are black and lovely, 
 
 But wild and disdainful as those of a stag. 
 
 STANZA III. 
 
 1. The wretched Pasha Ibrahim sighs in these verses: 
 One dart from your eyes has pierc'd thro' my heart. 
 
 2. Ah ! 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 ! stag-ey'd— an angel amongst angels ! 
 I desire, — and, my desire, remains unsatisfied. — 
 Can you take delight to prey upon my heart?
 
 i7i7] Embassy to Constantinople 121 
 
 STANZA IV. 
 
 Verse I, My cries pierce the heavens ! 
 My eyes are without sleep ! 
 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. 
 
 3. Crown of my life ! fair light of my eyes ! 
 My Sultana ! my princess ! 
 
 I rub my face against the earth ; — I am drown'd in scalding 
 
 tears — I rave ! 
 Have you no compassion? Will you not turn to look upon 
 
 me? 
 
 I have taken abundance of pains to get these verses in a 
 literal translation ; and if you were acquainted with my inter- 
 preters, I might spare myself the trouble of assuring you, that 
 they have received no poetical touches from their hands. In 
 my opinion (allowing for the inevitable faults of a prose trans- 
 lation into a language so very different) there is a good deal of 
 beauty in them. The epithet of stag-efd (though the sound is 
 not very agreeable in English) pleases me extremely ; and is 
 I think a very lively image of the fire and indifference in his 
 mistress's eyes. Monsieur Boileau has very justly observed, 
 we are never to judge of the elevation of an expression in an 
 ancient author by the sound it carries with us ; which may be 
 extremely fine with them, at the same time it looks low or 
 uncouth to us. You are so well acquainted with Homer, you 
 cannot 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 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, espe- 
 cially on a subject where the heart is concerned, and is far 
 more touching than our modern custom of concluding 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 
 being full of nightingales, whose amours with roses is an 
 Arabian fable, as well known here as any part of Ovid amongst 
 us, and is much the same thing as if an English poem should 
 begin by saying — " Now Philomela sings." Or what if I
 
 122 Letters during the [t;t? 
 
 turned the whole into 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. 
 
 Your large stag-eyes, where thousand glories play, 
 As bright, as lively, but as wild as they. 
 
 STANZA II. 
 
 In vain I'm promised such a heav'nly prize ; 
 Ah ! cruel Sultan ! who delays my joys ! 
 
 While piercing charms transfix my am'rous heart, 
 I dare not snatch one kiss to ease the smart, 
 
 Those eyes ! like, &c. 
 
 STANZA III. 
 
 Your wretched lover in these lines complains ; 
 From those dear beauties rise his killing pains. 
 
 When will the hour of wish'd-for bliss arrive ? 
 Must I wait longer? — Can I wait and live? 
 
 Ah ! bright Sultana ! maid divinely fair ! 
 Can you, unpi tying, see the pain 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 heav'nly fire ! 
 Pity that passion which thy charms inspire." 
 
 I have taken the liberty, in the second verse, of following 
 what I suppose is the true sense of the author, though not 
 literally expressed. By his saying, He went down to admire 
 the beauty of the vines, and her charms ravished his soul, I 
 understand by this 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 
 to those of a stag, though, perhaps, the novelty of it may give 
 it a burlesque sound in our language. I cannot determine 
 upon the whole how well I have succeeded in the translation,
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 123 
 
 neither do I think our English proper to express such violence 
 of passion, which is very seldom felt amongst us, and we want 
 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 it by, &c. 
 
 To Mrs. S. C [Miss Sarah ChiswellJ. 
 
 Adrianople, April i, O.S. [171 7]. 
 
 In my opinion, dear S., I ought rather to quarrel with you for 
 not answering my Nimeguen letter of August till December, 
 than to excuse my not writing again till now. I am sure there 
 is on my side a very good excuse for silence, having gone such 
 tiresome land-journeys, though I don't find the cpnclusion of 
 them so bad as you seem to imagine. I am very easy here, 
 and not in the solitude you fancy me. The great quantity of 
 Greek, French, English, and Italians, that are under our pro- 
 tection, make their court to me from morning till night ; and, 
 I'll assure you, are many of them very fine ladies ; for there is 
 no possibility for a Christian to live easily under this govern- 
 ment but by the protection of an embassador and the richer 
 
 they are, the greater their danger. 
 
 Those dreadful stories you have heard of the plague have 
 very little foundation in truth. I own I have much ado to 
 reconcile myself to the sound of a word which has always given 
 me such terrible ideas, though I am convinced there is little 
 more in it than a fever. As a proof of which we passed 
 through two or three towns most violently infected. In the 
 very next house where we lay (in one of those places) two 
 persons died of it. Luckily for me, I was so well deceived 
 that I knew nothing of the matter ; and I was made believe, 
 that our second cook who fell ill here had only a great cold. 
 However, we left our doctor to take care of him, and yesterday 
 they both arrived here in good health ; and I am now let into 
 the secret that he has had the plague. There are many that 
 escape it ; neither is the air ever infected. I am persuaded 
 it would be as easy to root it out here as out of Italy and 
 France ; but it does so little mischief, they are not very soli- 
 citous about it, and are content to suffer this distemper instead 
 of our variety, which they are utterly unacquainted with. 
 
 A propos of distempers, I am going to tell you a thing that
 
 124 Letters during the [1717 
 
 I am sure will make you wish yourself here. The small-pox, so 
 fatal, and so general amongst us, is here entirely harmless by 
 the invention of ingrafting, which is the term they give it. 
 There is a set of old women 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 veins you please to have opened. She immedi- 
 ately 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 venom as can lie upon the head of her 
 needle, and after binds up the little wound with a hollow bit 
 of shell ; and in this manner opens four or five veins. The 
 Grecians have commonly the superstition of opening one in 
 the middle of the forehead, in each arm, and 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 those that 
 are not superstitious, who choose to have them in the legs, or 
 that part of the arm that is concealed. The children 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 in 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 very 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 of mankind. 
 But that distemper is too beneficial to them not to expose to 
 all their resentment the hardy wight that should undertake to 
 put an end to it. Perhaps, if I live to return, I may, however,
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 125 
 
 have courage to war with them. Upon this occasion admire 
 the heroism in the heart of your friend, &c. 
 
 To Mrs. T. [Thistlethwayte]. 
 
 Adrianople, April I, O.S. [1717]- 
 
 I can now tell dear Mrs. T. that I am safely arrived at 
 the end of my very long journey. I will not tire you with 
 the account of the many fatigues I have suffered. You would 
 see something of what I see here ; and a letter out of Turkey 
 that has nothing extraordinary in it, would be as great a dis- 
 appointment as my visitors will receive at London if I return 
 thither without any rarities to shew them. 
 
 What shall I tell you of? You never saw camels in your 
 
 life ; and, perhaps, the description of them will appear new to 
 you : I can assure you the first sight of them was very much 
 so to me ; and, though I have seen hundreds of pictures of 
 those animals, I never saw any that was resembling enough 
 to give a true idea of them. I am going to make a bold 
 observation, and possibly a false one, because nobody has ever 
 made it before me ; but I do take them to be of the stag 
 kind; their legs, bodies and necks, are exactly shaped like 
 them, and their colour very near the same. 'Tis true, they 
 are much larger, being a great deal higher than a horse ; and 
 so swift, that, after the defeat of Peterwaradin, they far outran 
 the swiftest horses, and brought the first news of the loss of 
 the battle to Belgrade. They are never thoroughly tamed ; the 
 drivers take care to tie them one to another with strong ropes, 
 fifty in string, led by an ass, on which the driver rides. I 
 have seen three hundred in one caravan. They carry the 
 third part more than any horse ; but 'tis a particular art to 
 load them, because of the hunch on their back. They seem 
 to me very ugly creatures ; their heads being ill-formed and 
 disproportioned to their bodies. They carry all the burthens ; 
 and the beasts destined to the plough are buffaloes, an animal 
 you are also unacquainted with. They are larger and more 
 clumsy than an ox ; they have short, black horns close to their 
 heads, which grow turning backwards. They say this horn 
 looks very beautiful when 'tis well polished. They are all 
 black, with very short hair on their hides, and extremely little 
 white eyes, that make them look like devils. The country 
 people dye their tails, and *he hair of their forehead, red, by 
 way of ornament. 
 
 Horses are not put here to any laborious work, nor are they
 
 126 Letters during the [17*7 
 
 at all fit for it. They are beautiful and full of spirit, but 
 generally little, and not so strong as the breed of colder 
 countries ; very gentle, with all their vivacity, swift and sure- 
 footed. I have a little white favourite that I would not part 
 with on any terms ; he prances under me with so much fire, 
 you would think that I had a great deal of courage to dare 
 to mount him ; yet, I'll assure you, I never rid a horse in 
 my life so much at my command. My side-saddle is the first 
 was ever seen in this part of the world, and gazed at with as 
 much wonder as the ship of Columbus was in America. Here 
 are some birds held in a sort of religious reverence, and, for 
 that reason, multiply prodigiously : turtles, on the account of 
 their innocence ; and storks, because they are supposed to 
 make every winter the pilgrimage to Mecca. To say truth, 
 they are the happiest subjects under the Turkish government, 
 and are so sensible of their privileges, they walk the streets 
 without fear, and generally build in the low parts of houses. 
 Happy are those that are so distinguished. The vulgar Turks 
 are perfectly persuaded that they will not be that year either 
 attacked by fire or pestilence. I have the happiness of one 
 of their sacred nests just under my chamber-window. 
 
 Now I am talking of my chamber, I remember the description 
 of the houses here would be as new to you as any of the birds 
 or beasts. I suppose you have read, in most of our accounts 
 of Turkey that their houses are the most miserable pieces of 
 building in the world. I can speak very learnedly on that 
 subject, having been in so many of them ; and I assure you 
 'tis no such thing. We are now lodging in a palace belonging 
 to the Grand Signior. I really think the manner of building 
 here very agreeable, and proper for the country. 'Tis true 
 they are not at all solicitous to beautify the outsides of their 
 houses, and they are generally built of wood, which I own is 
 the cause of many inconveniences ; but this is not to be 
 charged on the ill-taste of the people, but the oppression of 
 the government. Every house upon the death of its master is 
 at the Grand Signior's disposal ; and, therefore, no man cares 
 to make a great expense, which he is not sure his family will 
 be the better for. All their design is to build a house 
 commodious, and that will last their lives ; and [they] are very 
 indifferent if it falls down the year after. 
 
 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
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 127 
 
 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 stories, each of which has such 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 Signior) ; it has also a 
 gallery running round it towards the garden, to which all the 
 windows are turned, and the same number of chambers as the 
 other, but more gay and splendid, both in painting and 
 furniture. The second row of windows is very low, with 
 grates like those of convents ; the rooms are all spread with 
 Persian carpets, and raised at one end of them (my chamber 
 is raised at both ends) about two feet. This is the sofa, 
 and 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 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 magnificence. They are generally brocade, or em- 
 broidery of gold wire upon white satin ; — nothing can look 
 more gay and splendid. These seats are so convenient and 
 easy, 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 and gilded. They use no 
 hangings, the rooms being all wainscoted with cedar set off 
 with silver nails or painted with flowers, which 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, 
 giving at the same time an agreeable coolness, and a pleasant 
 dashing sound, falling from one basin to another. Some of 
 these fountains are very magnificent. Each house has a bagnio, 
 which is generally two or three little rooms, leaded on the top, 
 paved with marble, with basins, cocks of water, and all con- 
 veniences for either hot or cold baths. 
 
 You will perhaps be surprised at an account so different 
 from what you have been entertained with by the common 
 voyage-writers, who are very fond of speaking of what they
 
 128 Letters during the [1717 
 
 don't know. It must be under a very particular character, or 
 on some extraordinary occasion, when a Christian is permitted 
 into the house of a man of quality; and their harims are 
 always forbidden ground. Thus they can only speak of the 
 outside, which makes no great appearance ; and the women's 
 apartments are all built backward, removed from sight, and 
 have no other prospect than the gardens, which are enclosed 
 with very high walls. There are none of our parterres in them ; 
 but they are planted with high trees, which give an agreeable 
 shade, and, to my fancy, a pleasing view. In the midst of the 
 garden is the chiosk, that is, a large room, commonly beautified 
 with a fine fountain in the midst of it. It is raised nine or ten 
 steps, and inclosed with gilded lattices, round which vines, jessa- 
 mines, and honeysuckles twining, make a sort of green wall. 
 Large trees are planted round this place, which is the scene 
 of their greatest pleasures, and where the ladies spend most 
 of their hours, employed by their music or embroidery. In 
 the public gardens there are public chiosks, where people go 
 that are not so well accommodated at home, and drink their 
 coffee, sherbet, &c. Neither are they ignorant of a more 
 durable manner of building : their mosques are all of freestone, 
 and the public hanns, or inns, extremely magnificent, many 
 of them taking up a large square, built round with shops 
 under stone arches, where poor artificers are lodged gratis. 
 They have always a mosque joining to them, and the body of 
 the hann is a most noble hall, capable of holding three or 
 four hundred persons, the court extremely spacious, and 
 cloisters round it, that give it the air of our colleges. I own I 
 think these foundations a more reasonable piece of charity 
 than the founding of convents. 
 
 I think I have now told you a great deal for once. If you 
 don't like my choice of subjects, tell me what you would have 
 me write upon ; there is nobody more desirous to entertain 
 you than, dear Mrs. T., 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 To Mrs. Hewet. 
 
 Adrianople, April I, 1717. 
 I dare say my dear Mrs. Hewet thinks me the most stupid 
 thing alive, to neglect so agreeable a correspondence ; but it 
 has hitherto been utterly out of my power to continue it. I 
 have been hurried up and down, without intermission, these 
 last eight months. Wholly taken up either in going post, or
 
 i 7 i7] Embassy to Constantinople 129 
 
 unavoidable court attendance. You know very well how little 
 leisure it is possible to find on either of those employments. 
 I like travelling extremely, and have had no reason to complain 
 of having had too little of it, having now gone through all the 
 Turkish dominions in Europe, not to reckon my journeys 
 through Hungary, Bohemia, and the whole tour of Germany ; 
 but those are trifles to this last. I cannot, however, (thank 
 God,) complain of having suffered by fatigue, either in my own 
 health or that of my family. My son never was better in his 
 life. This country is certainly one of the finest in the world ; 
 hitherto all I see is so new to me, it is like a fresh scene of an 
 opera every day. I will not tire you with descriptions of places 
 or manners, which perhaps you have no curiosity for ; but only 
 desire you would be so good as to let me hear as oft as you 
 can (which can be no other than very seldom), what passes on 
 your side of the globe. Before you can receive this, you must 
 consider all things as six months old, which now appear new 
 to me. There will be a great field for you to write, if your 
 charity extends so far, as it will be entirely disinterested and 
 free from ostentation (it not being possible for me here to boast 
 of your letters), and it will be very beneficial to your precious 
 soul, which I pray Heaven to put into your head to consider 
 and practise accordingly. 
 
 To the Countess of [Mar]. 
 
 Adrianople, April 18, O.S. [1717]. 
 
 I wrote to you, dear sister, and to all my other English 
 correspondents, by the last ship, and only Heaven can tell 
 when I shall have another opportunity of sending to you ; but 
 I cannot forbear writing, though perhaps my letter may 
 lie upon my hands this two months. To confess the truth, 
 my head is so full of my entertainment yesterday, that 'tis 
 absolutely necessary for my own repose to give it some vent. 
 Without farther preface, I will then begin my story. 
 
 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 enter- 
 tainment which was never given before 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
 
 130 Letters during the [1717 
 
 coach, only attended by my woman that held up my train, and 
 the Greek lady who was my interpretess. 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 woman, near fifty years old. I was surprised 
 to observe so little magnificence in her house, the furniture 
 being all very moderate ; and, except the habits and number 
 of her slaves, nothing about her that appeared expensive. She 
 guessed at my thoughts, and told me that 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 in this 
 
 point, that he would not accept Mr. W 's [Wortley's] 
 
 present, till he had been assured over and over again that it 
 was a settled perquisite of his place at the entrance of every 
 ambassador. 
 
 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 
 finely dressed after their manner, which I do not 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, which the first week pleased me 
 extremely ; but I own I then began to grow weary of it 
 and desired our own cook might add a dish or two after 
 our manner. But I attribute this to custom. I am very 
 much inclined to believe an Indian, that 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 rich spice. The soup is served for the last dish ; and 
 they have at least as great 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
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 131 
 
 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 kiyaya'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 this harem, that I had no mind to go into 
 another. But her importunity prevailed with me, and I am 
 extreme glad that I was so complaisant. 
 
 All things here were with quite another air than at the 
 Grand Vizier's ; and the very house confessed the difference 
 between an old devote 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 beautiful young girls, with their hair finely plaited, almost 
 hanging to their feet, all 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 pavilion, built round 
 with gilded sashes, which were most of them thrown up, and 
 the trees planted near them gave an agreeable shade, which 
 hindered the sun from being troublesome. The jessamines 
 and honeysuckles that twisted round their trunks, shed a soft 
 perfume, 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 
 tumbling 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, the eldest about twelve years old, lovely as angels, 
 dressed perfectly rich, and almost covered with jewels. But they 
 were hardly seen near the fair Fatima (for that is her name), 
 so much her beauty effaced every thing I have seen, all that has 
 been called lovely either in England or Germany, and [I] must 
 own that I never saw any thing so gloriously beautiful, nor can 
 I recollect a face that would have been taken notice of near
 
 132 Letters during the [1717 
 
 hers. She stood up to receive me, saluting me after their 
 fashion, putting her hand upon her heart with a sweetness full of 
 majesty, that no court breeding could ever give. She ordered 
 cushions to be given to me, and took care to place me in the 
 corner, which is the place of honour. I confess, though the 
 Greek lady had before given me a great opinion of her beauty, 
 I was so struck with admiration, that I could not for some 
 time speak to her, being wholly taken up in gazing. That 
 surprising harmony of features ! that charming result of the 
 whole ! 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 charm. 
 
 After my first surprise was over, I endeavoured, by nicely 
 examining her face, to find out some imperfection, without any 
 fruit of my search, but being clearly convinced of the error 
 of that vulgar notion, that a face perfectly regular 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, and to that, a 
 behaviour so full of grace and sweetness, such easy motions, 
 with an air so majestic, yet free from stiffness 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. 
 
 She was dressed in a caftan of gold brocade, flowered with 
 silver, very well fitted to her shape, and showing to advantage 
 the beauty of her bosom, only shaded by the thin gauze of 
 her shift. Her drawers were pale pink, green and silver, 
 her slippers white, finely embroidered : her lovely arms 
 adorned with bracelets of diamonds, and her broad girdle 
 set round with diamonds; upon her head a rick Turkish hand- 
 kerchief of pink and silver, her own fine black hair hanging 
 a great length in various tresses, and on one side of her head 
 some bodkins of jewels. I am afraid you will accuse me of 
 extravagance in this description. I think I have read some- 
 where that women always speak in rapture when they speak of 
 beauty, but I cannot imagine why they should not be allowed 
 to do so. I rather think it [a] virtue to be able to admire with- 
 out any mixture of desire or envy. The gravest writers have
 
 i7u] Embassy to Constantinople 133 
 
 spoken with great warmth of some celebrated pictures and 
 statues. The workmanship of Heaven certainly excels all our 
 weak imitations, and, I think, has a much better claim to 
 our praise. For me, I am not ashamed to own I took more 
 pleasure in looking on the beauteous Fatima, than the finest 
 piece of sculpture could have given me. 
 
 She told me the two girls at her feet were her daughters, 
 though she appeared too young to be their mother. Her fair 
 maids were ranged below the sofa, to the number of twenty, 
 and put me in mind of the pictures of the ancient nymphs. 
 I did not think all nature could have furnished such a scene 
 of beauty. She made them a sign to play and dance. Four 
 of them immediately began to play some soft airs on instru- 
 ments, between a lute and a guitar, which they accompanied 
 with their voices, while the others danced by turns. This 
 dance was very different from what I had seen before. Nothing 
 could be more artful, or more proper to raise certain ideas. 
 The tunes so soft ! — the motions so languishing ! — accom- 
 panied with pauses and dying eyes ! half-falling back, and 
 then recovering themselves in so artful a manner, that I am 
 very positive the coldest and most rigid prude upon earth 
 could not have looked upon them without thinking of something 
 not to be spoken of. I suppose you may have read that the 
 Turks have no music but what is shocking to the ears ; but 
 this account is from those who never heard any but what is 
 played in the streets, and is just as reasonable as if a foreigner 
 should take his ideas of the English music from the bladder 
 and string, and marrow-bones and cleavers. I can assure you 
 that the music is extremely pathetic; 'tis true I am inclined 
 to prefer the Italian, but perhaps I am partial. I am acquainted 
 with a Greek lady who sings better than Mrs. Robinson, and 
 is very well skilled in both, who gives the preference to the 
 Turkish. 'Tis certain they have very fine natural voices; 
 these were very agreeable. When the dance was over, four 
 fair slaves came into the room with silver censers in their 
 hands, and perfumed the air with amber, aloes-wood, and 
 other scents. After this they served me coffee upon their 
 knees in the finest japan china, with soucoupes of silver, gilt. 
 The lovely Fatima entertained me all this time in the most 
 polite agreeable manner, calling me often Guzel sultanum, or 
 the beautiful sultana, and desiring my friendship with the best 
 grace in the world, lamenting that she could not entertain me 
 in my own language.
 
 134 Letters during the [1717 
 
 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 interpretess. I retired through the same cere- 
 monies as before, and could not help fancying I had been 
 some time in Mahomet's paradise, so much I was 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 the diversions of, &c. 
 
 To the Abbot [the Abbe Conti]. 
 
 Adrianople, May 17, O.S. [1717]. 
 
 I am going to leave Adrianople, and I would not do it with- 
 out giving some account of all that is curious in it, which I 
 have taken a great deal of pains to see. 
 
 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 favourite residence of 
 many sultans. Mahomet the Fourth, and Mustapha, the 
 brother of the reigning emperor, were so fond of it that 
 they wholly abandoned Constantinople : which humour so 
 far exasperated the janissaries, it was a considerable motive 
 to the rebellions which deposed them. Yet this man seems to 
 love to keep his court here. I can give no reason for this 
 partiality. 'Tis true the situation is fine, and the country all 
 round 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 makes 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 janissaries ; but they dare not 
 be rude to a woman, and made way for me with as much
 
 i7i7] Embassy to Constantinople 135 
 
 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 pavement kept much neater; 
 and the shops all so clean, they seemed just new painted. Idle 
 people of all sorts walk here for their diversion, or amuse 
 themselves with drinking coffee, or sherbet, which is cried 
 about as oranges and sweetmeats 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, and have drawn the whole trade 
 of the empire into their hands, partly by the firm union among 
 themselves, and prevailing on the idle temper and want of 
 industry of the Turks. Every pasha has his Jew, who is his 
 homme <? affaires; he is let into all his secrets, and does all 
 his business. 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, 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 
 managed without them, and the meanest among them is 
 too important to be disobliged, since the whole body take 
 care of his interests with as much vigour 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 my 
 description of the exchange, founded by Ali Pasha, whose 
 name it bears. Near it is the tchartski, a street of a mile in 
 length, full of shops of all kinds of fine merchandise, but 
 excessive dear, nothing being made here. It is covered over 
 the top with boards, to keep out the rain, that merchants 
 may meet conveniently in all weathers. The bessiten near 
 it, is another exchange, built upon pillars, where all sorts of
 
 136 Letters during the [1717 
 
 horse-furniture is sold : glittering everywhere 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 apartments. 
 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 their coaches to see this camp, as eagerly as ours 
 did to that of Hyde-park j but it is easy to observe, that the 
 soldiers do not begin the campaign with any great cheerfulness. 
 The war is a general grievance upon the people, but par- 
 ticularly hard upon the tradesmen, now that the Grand Signior 
 is resolved to lead his army in person. Every company of 
 them is obliged, upon this occasion, to make a present accord- 
 ing to their ability. 
 
 I took the pains of rising at six in the morning to see that 
 ceremony, which did not, however, begin till eight. The 
 Grand Signior was at the seraglio window, to see the procession, 
 which passed through all 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, representing 
 a clean husbandman sowing seed. After him several reapers, 
 with garlands and 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 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 and two, in their best clothes, with cakes, 
 loaves, pasties, 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 com- 
 panies of trade in the empire; the nobler sort, such as
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 137 
 
 jewellers, mercers, &c, finely mounted, and many of the 
 pageants that represented their trades perfectly magnificent ; 
 among which the furriers' made one of the best figures, being 
 a very large machine, set round with the skins of ermines, 
 foxes, &c, so well stuffed, the animals seemed to be alive, 
 followed by music and dancers. I believe they were, upon 
 the whole, at least twenty thousand men, all ready to follow 
 his highness if he commanded them. The rear was closed 
 by the volunteers, who came to beg the honour 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, and some slashed their arms with sharp knives, making 
 the blood spout out upon those that stood near ; 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 veiled to see this spectacle,) they 
 stick another arrow for her sake, who gives some sign of 
 approbation and encouragement to this gallantry. The whole 
 show lasted for near eight hours, to my great sorrow, who was 
 heartily tired, though 1 was in the house of the widow of the 
 capitain-pasha (admiral), who refreshed me with coffee, sweet- 
 meats, sherbet, &c, with all possible civility. 
 
 I went, two days after, to see the mosque of Sultan Selim I., 
 which is a building very well worth the curiosity of a traveller. 
 I was dressed in my Turkish habit, and admitted without scruple : 
 though I believe they guessed who I was, by the extreme 
 officiousness of the door-keeper to shew me every part of it. 
 It is situated very advantageously in the midst of the city, and 
 in the highest part, 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 pillars of the 
 Ionic order, finely polished, and of very lively colours ; the 
 whole pavement being white marble, the roof of the cloisters 
 being divided into several cupolas or domes, leaded, with gilt 
 balls on the top. In the midst of each court [are] fine fountains 
 of white marble ; before the great gate of the mosque, a 
 portico, with green marble pillars. It has five gates, the body 
 of the mosque being one prodigious dome. 
 
 I understand so little of architecture, I dare not pretend
 
 138 Letters during the [1717 
 
 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 had two rows of marble galleries 
 on pillars, with marble balusters ; the pavement marble, 
 covered with Persian carpets and, 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) dis- 
 figured by the little tawdry images and pictures, that give the 
 Roman Catholic churches the air of toy-shops. The walls 
 seemed to me inlaid with such very lively colours, in small 
 flowers, 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 that being at 
 night, no women are suffered to enter. Under the large lamp is 
 a great pulpit of carved wood, gilt ; and just by it, 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 Signior. 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 four 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, without ever 
 meeting each other ; a contrivance very much admired. 
 
 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 
 woollen, with their arms bare, and a woollen 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 described, 
 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]
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 139 
 
 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. W 's [Wortley's] 
 
 entry, and his audience. Those things are always the same, 
 and have been so often described, I won't trouble you with the 
 repetition. 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 being two sons of Sultan Mustapha (his eldest brother) 
 remaining ; 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. 
 
 I am, Sir, your, &c. 
 
 I will write to you again from Constantinople. 
 
 To the Abbot [Abbe Conti]. 
 
 Constantinople, May 29, O.S. [1717]. 
 
 I have had the advantage of very fine weather all my journey ; 
 and the summer being 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 Signior furnished us with thirty 
 covered waggons for our baggage, and five coaches of the country 
 for my 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, 
 we were lodging in a conac, or little seraglio, built for the use of 
 the Grand Signior when he goes this road. I had the curiosity 
 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, written with 
 pencils. I made my interpreter explain them to me, and I 
 found several of them very well turned; though I easily 
 believed him, that they 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." 
 
 The rest of our journey was through fine painted meadows, 
 by the side of the Sea of Marmora, the ancient Propontis. We
 
 140 Letters during the [1717 
 
 lay the next night at Selivrea, anciently a noble town. It is 
 now a very good seaport, and neatly built enough, and has a 
 bridge of thirty-two arches. Here is a famous ancient Greek 
 church. I had given one of my coaches to a Greek lady, who 
 desired the conveniency of travelling 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 place, set out with the 
 same sort of ornaments, but less rich, than 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 most 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 the next night at a town called Bujuk Checkmedji, 
 or Great Bridge ; and the night following, Kujuc Checkmedji, 
 Little Bridge ; in a very pleasant lodging, formerly a monastery 
 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, are 
 the most agreeable I have seen ; and shews that monks of 
 all religions know how to choose their retirements. 'Tis now 
 belonging to a hogia or schoolmaster, who teaches boys here ; 
 and asking him to shew me his own apartment, I was surprised 
 to see him point to a large 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 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 branch, with some hazard of my neck. I thought it the 
 best way to come down again. 
 
 We arrived the next evening 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 good taste of their dress. Our 
 palace is in Pera, which is no more a suburb of Constantinople 

 
 i7i7] Embassy to Constantinople 141 
 
 than Westminster is a suburb to London. All the embassadors 
 are lodged very near each other. One part of our house shews 
 as 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, that Constantinople is twice 
 
 as large as Paris. Mr. W [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. Sometimes 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. 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, shew the quality or profession, 
 'tis in a manner putting up the arms of a deceased ; besides, 
 the pillar commonly bears a large inscription in gold letters. 
 The ladies have a simple pillar, without other ornament, except 
 those that die unmarried, who have a rose on the top of it. 
 The sepulchres of particular families are railed in, and planted 
 round with trees. Those of the sultans, and some great men, 
 have lamps constantly burning in them. 
 
 When I spoke of their religion, I forgot to mention two 
 particularities, 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 
 increase and multiply ; and she is only properly employed in 
 the works of her calling when she is bringing [forth] children, 
 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 do not own women to have any
 
 142 Letters during the [1717 
 
 souls, is a mistake. 'Tis true, they say they are not of so 
 elevated a kind, and therefore must not hope to be admitted 
 into the paradise appointed for the men, who are to be enter- 
 tained by celestial beauties. But there is a place of happiness 
 destined for souls of the inferior order, where all good women 
 are to be in eternal bliss. Many of them are very superstitious, 
 and will not remain widows ten days, for fear of dying in the 
 reprobate state of a useless creature. But those that like 
 their liberty, and are not slaves to their religion, content them- 
 selves 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 cannot imagine 
 how they stare in my face when I enquire 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 
 of the Macedonian kings, particularly one of Perseus, so 
 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 in Aleppo, Grand Cairo, in Arabia, and 
 Palestine, 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 any of 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 
 shewing 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 Augustin. 
 
 I have bespoken a mummy, which I hope will come safe to 
 my hands, notwithstanding the misfortune that befel 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 
 certainly have some considerable project depending upon it. 
 They fancied it the body of God knows who ; and that the
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 143 
 
 f ate of their empire mystically depended on the conservation 
 of it. Some old prophecies were remembered upon this 
 occasion, and the mummy 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 examina- 
 tion. 
 
 I can tell you nothing more at present of this famous city. 
 When I have looked a little about me, you shall hear from me 
 
 again, 
 
 I am, Sir, &c. 
 
 To Mr. P [Pope]. 
 
 Belgrade Village, June 17, O.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 excel- 
 lency of their water, and divided into many shady walks, upon 
 short grass, that seems to be artificial, but, I am assured, is 
 the pure work of nature ; 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 amongst 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 resembling 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 ignorance I am 
 in of what passes among the living (which only comes to me by 
 chance), and the great calmness with which I receive it. Yet 
 I have still a hankering after my friends and acquaintance 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."
 
 144 Letters during the [1717 
 
 Of which solemn truth I am a dead instance. I think Virgil is 
 of the same opinion, that in human souls there will still be 
 some remains of human passions : 
 
 '* Curse non ipsa 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 to find. 
 
 To say truth, I am sometimes very weary of this singing, and 
 dancing, and sunshine, and wish for the smoke and imperti- 
 nencies in which you toil, though I endeavour 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 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 music, is a 
 better way of disposing the week, than Monday, at the 
 drawing-room — Tuesday, Lady Mohun's — Wednesday, the 
 opera — Thursday, the play — Friday, Mrs. Chetwynd's, &c, a 
 perpetual round of hearing the same scandal, and seeing 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 friendships ; I am 
 still warmly sensible of yours and Mr. C.'s [Congreve's], and 
 desire to live in your remembrances, though dead to all the 
 world beside. 
 
 To the Lady . 
 
 Belgrade Village, June 17, O.S. [17 17]. 
 
 I heartily beg your ladyship's pardon ; but I really could 
 not forbear laughing heartily at your letter, and the commissions 
 you are pleased to honour me with. 
 
 You desire me to buy you a Greek slave, who is to be 
 mistress 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 housemaids. 'Tis true that many
 
 i7i7] Embassy to Constantinople 145 
 
 thousands were taken in the Morea ; but they have been, most 
 of them, redeemed by the charitable contributions of the 
 Christians, 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, &c. 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 en- 
 tirely worthless 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 written 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 peep into. The Turks are very proud, and will 
 not converse with a stranger they are not assured is consider- 
 able in his own country. I speak of the men of distinction ; 
 for, as to the ordinary fellows, you may imagine what ideas 
 their conversation can give of Ihe 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 cannot, in 
 conscience, advise you to make use of it. I know not how it 
 comes 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'll 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 B's. It remained in
 
 146 Letters during the [1717 
 
 this lamentable state three days, during which you may be sure 
 I passed my time very ill. I believed it would never be other- 
 ways ; and to add to my mortification, Mr. W [Wortleyj 
 
 reproached 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 
 cannot 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 
 natural 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. 
 
 If one was to believe the women in this country, there is a 
 surer way of making one's self beloved than by becoming 
 handsome ; though you know that's our method. But they 
 pretend to the knowledge of secrets that, by way of enchant- 
 ment, give them the entire empire over whom they please. 
 For me, who am not very apt to believe in wonders, I cannot 
 find faith for this. I disputed the point last night with a lady, 
 who really talks very sensibly on any other subject ; but she 
 was downright angry with me, that she did not perceive she 
 had persuaded me of the truth of forty stories she told me of 
 this kind ; and at last mentioned several ridiculous marriages, 
 that there could be no other reasons assigned for. I assured 
 her, that in England, where we were entirely ignorant of all 
 magic, where the climate is not half so warm, nor the women 
 half so handsome, we were not without our ridiculous marriages ; 
 and that we did not look upon it as any thing supernatural 
 when a man played the fool for the sake of a woman. But my 
 arguments could not convince her against (as she said) her 
 certain knowledge, though, she added, that she scrupled 
 making use of charms herself; but that she could do it when- 
 ever she pleased ; and, staring in my face, said (with a very 
 learned air), that no enchantments would have their effect 
 upon me ; and that there were some people exempt from their 
 power, but very few. You may imagine how I laughed at this 
 discourse ; but all the women here are of the same opinion. 
 They don't pretend to any commerce with the devil ; but that 
 there are certain compositions to inspire love. If one could
 
 1717] Embassy to Constantinople 147 
 
 send over a ship-load of them, I fancy it would be a very 
 quick way of raising an estate. What would not some ladies 
 of our acquaintance give for such merchandize ? 
 
 Adieu, my dear Lady , I cannot conclude my letter with 
 
 a subject that affords more delightful scenes to [the] imagination. 
 I leave you to figure to yourself the extreme court that will be 
 made to me, at my return, if my travels should furnish me with 
 such a useful piece of learning. 
 
 I am, dear madam, &c. 
 
 To Mr. P . 
 
 Sept. 1, 1717. 
 
 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 janissary, 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. W. the news 
 of a complete victory obtained by the Imperialists, commanded 
 by Prince Eugene, over the Ottoman troops. It is said, the 
 prince has discovered great conduct and valour in this action, 
 and I am particularly glad that the voice of glory and duty has 
 
 called me from the {Here several words of the manuscript 
 
 are 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 persons 
 to be strangled who were the objects of his royal suspicion. 
 He has also ordered his treasurer to advance some months' 
 pay to the janissaries, 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 contempt. Such 
 of them as return in straggling and fugitive parties to the 
 metropolis, have not spirit nor credit enough to defend them- 
 selves from the insults of the mob ; the very children 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 
 janissaries and spahis were nobly employed in plundering 
 their own camp.
 
 148 Letters during the [1717 
 
 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 another'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 private scenes, 
 nothing pursued as happiness but the refinements of an 
 indolent voluptuousness, and where those who act upon the 
 public theatre 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 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 embellish 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 despotism 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 
 cannot appear otherwise than as a very mixed kind of enjoy- 
 ment. 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 favourable to gallantry; but, after all, 
 they are still under uneasy apprehensions of being discovered ; 
 and a discovery exposes them to the most merciless rage of 
 jealousy, which is here a monster that cannot 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 stiffness amidst 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 amusements, are very far 
 from being destitute of elegance and ease.
 
 i 7 i7] Embassy to Constantinople 149 
 
 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 be heartily 
 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 promotion, 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 the golden current 
 of Pactolus to Twickenham. I call this finding the philo- 
 sopher's stone, since you alone found out the secret and nobody 
 
 else has got into it. A n [Addison] and T 1 [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 traveller 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 perfect hero is 
 chimerical and unnatural, and consequently uninstructive ; 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 becomes me ill
 
 150 Letters during the [1718 
 
 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, &c. 
 
 To Mrs. T. [Thistlethwayte]. 
 
 Pera of Constantinople, Jan. 4, O.S. [1718]. 
 
 1 am infinitely obliged to you, dear Mrs. T. [Thistlethwayte], 
 for your entertaining letter. You are the only one of my corre- 
 spondents that have judged right enough, to think I would 
 gladly be informed of the news among you. All the rest of 
 them tell me (almost in the same words) that they suppose I 
 know every thing. Why they are pleased to suppose in this 
 manner, I can guess no reason, except they are persuaded 
 that the breed of Mahomet's pigeon still subsists in this 
 country, and that I receive supernatural intelligence. 
 
 I wish I could return your goodness with some diverting 
 accounts from hence. But I know not what part of the 
 scenes here would gratify your curiosity, or whether you have any 
 curiosity at all for things so far distant. To say the truth, 
 I am, at this present writing, not very much turned for the 
 recollection of what is diverting, my head being wholly filled 
 with the preparations necessary for the increase of my family, 
 which I expect every day. You may easily guess at my 
 uneasy situation. But I am, however, in some degree com- 
 forted, by the glory that accrues to me from it, and a reflection 
 on the contempt I should otherwise fall under. You won't 
 know what to make of this speech : but, in this country, it 
 is more despicable to be married and not fruitful, than it 
 is with us to be fruitful before marriage. They have a notion, 
 that, whenever a woman leaves off bringing children, it is 
 because she is too old for that business, whatever her face says 
 to the contrary, and this opinion makes the ladies here so ready 
 to make proofs of their youth, (which is as necessary, in 
 order to be a received beauty, as it is to shew the proofs of no- 
 bility, to be admitted knight of Malta,) that they do not content 
 themselves with using the natural means, but fly to all sorts of 
 quackeries, to avoid the scandal of being past child-bearing, and 
 often kill themselves by them. Without any exaggeration, 
 all the women of my acquaintance that have been married 
 ten years, have twelve or thirteen children ; and the old ones 
 boast of having had five-and-twenty or thirty a-piece, and are 
 respected according to the number they have produced. When 
 they are with child, it is their common expression to say, They
 
 1718] Embassy to Constantinople 151 
 
 hope God will be so merciful to them to send two this time ; 
 and when I have asked them sometimes, How they expected 
 to provide for such a flock as they desire ? they answered, 
 That the plague will certainly kill half of them ; which, indeed, 
 generally happens, without much concern to the parents, who 
 are satisfied with the vanity of having brought forth so 
 plentifully. 
 
 The French embassadress is forced to comply with this 
 fashion as well as myself. She has not been here much above 
 a year, and has lain in once, and is big again. What is most 
 wonderful is, the exemption they seem to enjoy from the 
 curse entailed on the sex. They see all company the day of 
 their delivery, and, at the fortnight's end, return visits, set out 
 in their jewels and new clothes. I wish I may find the 
 influence of the climate in this particular. But I fear I shall 
 continue an Englishwoman in that affair, as well as I do in my 
 dread of fire and plague, which are two things very little feared 
 here, most families having had their houses burnt down once 
 or twice, occasioned by their extraordinary way of warming 
 themselves, which is neither by chimneys nor stoves, but a 
 certain machine called a tendour, the height of two feet, in the 
 form of a table, covered with a fine carpet or embroidery. 
 This is made only of wood, and they put into it a small 
 quantity of hot ashes, and sit with their legs under the carpet. 
 At this table they work, read, and very often sleep ; and, if 
 they chance to dream, kick down the tendour, and the hot 
 ashes commonly set the house on fire. There were five 
 hundred houses burnt in this manner about a fortnight ago, 
 and I have seen several of the owners since, who seem not at 
 all moved at so common a misfortune. They put their goods 
 into a bark, and see their houses burn with great philosophy, 
 their persons being very seldom endangered, having no stairs 
 to descend. 
 
 But, having entertained you with things I don't like, it is but 
 just I should tell you something that pleases me. The climate 
 is delightful in the extremest degree. I am now sitting, this 
 present fourth of January, with the windows open, enjoying the 
 warm shine of the sun, while you are freezing over a sad sea- 
 coal fire ; and my chamber set out with carnations, roses, 
 and jonquils, fresh from my garden. I am also charmed with 
 many points of the Turkish law, to our shame be it spoken, 
 better designed and better executed than ours ; particularly, 
 the punishment of convicted liars (triumphant criminals in
 
 152 Letters during the [1718 
 
 our country, God knows) : They are burnt in the forehead 
 with a hot iron, being proved the authors of any notorious 
 falsehood. How many white foreheads should we see dis- 
 figured, how many fine gentlemen would be forced to wear 
 their wigs as low as their eyebrows, were this law in practice 
 with us ! I should go on to tell you many other parts of 
 justice, but I must send for my midwife. 
 
 To the Countess of [Mar]. 
 
 Pera of Constantinople, March 10, O.S. [1718]. 
 
 I have not written to you, dear sister, these many months : 
 — a great piece of self-denial. But I know not where to 
 direct, or what part of the world you were 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 I 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 part of my travels, while you are exempt from all the 
 fatigues and inconveniences. 
 
 In the first place, 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 
 consumptive cough, so common in London. Nobody keeps 
 their house a month for lying in ; and I am not so fond of any 
 of our customs 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 Con- 
 stantinople, to make a new one, where I had the good fortune 
 to pick up many curiosities. 
 
 I went to see the Sultana Hafiten, favourite of the late 
 Emperor Mustapha, who, you know (or perhaps you don't 
 know) was deposed by his brother, the reigning Sultan Achmet, 
 and died a few weeks after, being poisoned, as it was generally 
 believed. This lady was, immediately after his death, saluted
 
 i7*8] Embassy to Constantinople 153 
 
 with an absolute order to leave the seraglio, and choose herself 
 a husband from the great men at the Porte. I suppose you 
 may imagine her overjoyed at this proposal. Quite con- 
 trary : these women, who are called, and esteem themselves, 
 queens, 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 poignard her, rather than use 
 his brother's widow with that contempt. She represented to 
 him, in agonies of sorrow, that she was privileged from this 
 misfortune, by having brought five princes into the Ottoman 
 family; but all the boys being dead, and only one girl sur- 
 viving, 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 suffering a second husband to approach her bed; and 
 since she must honour 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 old, to her 
 last lord. But she has never permitted him to pay her one visit ; 
 1 though it is now fifteen years she has been in his house, where 
 she passes her time in uninterrupted mourning, with a con- 
 stancy very little known in Christendom, especially in a widow 
 of twenty-one, 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 inquire at all into what is 
 done in her apartment, where 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 
 observe a lady that had been distinguished by the favour 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 
 Adrianople ; though she had the remains of a fine face, more 
 decayed by sorrow than time. But her dress was something 
 so surprisingly rich, I cannot forbear describing it to you. She 
 wore a vest called donalma, and which differs from a caftan 
 by longer sleeves, and folding over at the bottom. It was of
 
 154 Letters during the [1718 
 
 purple cloth, straight 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 I mean as large as those of my Lord , but 
 
 about the bigness of a pea ; and to these buttons large loops of 
 diamonds, in the form of those gold loops so common upon 
 birthday coats. This habit was tied, at the waist, with two 
 large tassels of smaller pearl, and round the arms embroidered 
 with large diamonds : her shift fastened at the bottom with a 
 great diamond, shaped like a lozenge ; 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 
 coloured emerald, as big as a turkey-egg ; another, consisting 
 of two hundred emeralds, close 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 
 talpoche she had four strings of pearl, the whitest and 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 size, 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 bracelets, and had five rings on her fingers, all single 
 diamonds, (except Mr. Pitt's) the largest I ever saw in my 
 life. It is for jewellers to compute the value of these things ; 
 but, according to the common estimation of jewels in our 
 part of the world, her whole dress must be worth above a 
 hundred thousand pounds sterling. This I am very 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, the hafts set with diamonds. But the piece of luxury 
 that grieved my eyes was the table-cloth and napkins, which 
 were all tiffany, embroidered with silks and gold, in the finest
 
 1718] Embassy to Constantinople 155 
 
 manner, in natural flowers. It was with the utmost regret 
 that I made use of these costly napkins, 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 a gold 
 basin, and towels of the same kind of the napkins, which 
 I very unwillingly wiped my hands upon ; and coffee was 
 served in china, with gold soucoupes. 
 
 The Sultana seemed in very good humour, 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 but that he 
 sends the kyslar agd, to signify to the lady the honour he 
 intends her. She is immediately complimented upon it by the 
 others, and led to the bath, where she is perfumed 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 after the first in rank, and not the mother of the 
 eldest son, as other writers would 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 that they were 
 ready to die with jealousy and envy of the happy she that he 
 distinguished by any appearance of preference. But this 
 seemed to me neither better nor worse than the circles in most 
 courts, where the glance of the monarch is watched, and every 
 smile waited for with impatience, and envied by those who 
 cannot obtain it. 
 
 She never mentioned the Sultan without tears in her 
 eyes, yet she seemed very fond of the discourse. " My past 
 happiness," said she, " appears a dream to me. Yet I cannot 
 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 ; 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 lost him, I passed a whole twelvemonth 
 without seeing the light. Time has softened my despair;
 
 156 Letters during the [1718 
 
 yet I now pass some days every week in tears, devoted to the 
 memory of my Sultan." 
 
 There was no affectation in these words. It was easy to see 
 she was in a deep melancholy, though her good humour 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 shewed 
 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 these rich habits were purposely 
 placed in sight, but they seemed negligently thrown on the 
 sofa. When I took my leave of her, I was complimented with 
 perfumes, as at the Grand Vizier's, and presented with a very 
 fine embroidered handkerchief. Her slaves were to the number 
 of thirty, besides ten little ones, the eldest not above seven 
 years old. These were the most beautiful girls I ever saw, all 
 richly dressed j and I observed that the Sultana took a great 
 deal of pleasure in these lovely children, which is a vast 
 expense ; 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 all of gold stuffs. These 
 served her coffee, kneeling ; brought water when she washed, 
 &c. It is a great part of the business of the older slaves to 
 take care of these girls, to learn them to embroider, and serve 
 them as carefully as if they were children of the family. 
 
 Now, do I fancy that you imagine I have entertained you, 
 all this while, with a relation that has, at least, received many 
 embellishments from my hand ? This is but too like (say you) 
 the Arabian Tales : these embroidered napkins ! and a jewel 
 as large as a turkey's egg !— You forget, dear sister, those very 
 tales were written by an author of this country, and (excepting 
 the enchantments) are a real representation of the manners 
 here. We travellers 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 for 
 the difference of ranks, which afford difference of company,
 
 iyi8] Embassy to Constantinople 157 
 
 more curiosity, or the change of customs, that happen every 
 twenty years in every country. But people judge of 
 travellers exactly with the same candour, good nature, and 
 impartiality, they judge of their neighbours upon all occasions. 
 For my part, if I live to return amongst you, I am so well 
 acquainted with the morals of all my dear friends and acquaint- 
 ance, that I am resolved to tell them nothing at all, to avoid 
 the imputation (which their charity 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 ; 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 colours, and olive 
 wood, exactly like the little boxes you have seen brought out 
 of this country ; and those rooms designed for summer, the 
 walls 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. I 
 went to visit her yesterday ; 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 handsome as an angel, " have the reputation of 
 inconstancy, and I did not expect, whatever goodness you 
 expressed for me at Adrianople, that I should ever see you 
 again. But I am now convinced that I have really the happi- 
 ness of pleasing you ; and, if you knew how I speak of you 
 amongst our ladies, you would be assured that you do me 
 justice if you think me your friend." She placed me in the 
 corner of the sofa, and I spent the afternoon in her con- 
 versation, with the greatest pleasure in the world. 
 
 The Sultana Hafiten is, what one would naturally expect to 
 find a Turkish lady, willing to oblige, but not knowing how to 
 go about it ; and it is easy to see in her manner, that she has 
 lived secluded from the world. But Fatima has all the polite- 
 ness and good breeding of a court ; with an air that inspires, 
 at once, respect and tenderness ; and now I understand her 
 lar guage, I find her wit as engaging as her beauty. She is 
 very curious after the manners of other countries, and has not 
 tha partiality for her own, so common in little minds. A Greek
 
 158 Letters during the [1718 
 
 that I carried with me, who had never seen her before, (nor 
 could have been admitted now, if she had not been in my 
 train,) shewed that surprise at her beauty and manner which 
 is unavoidable at the first sight, and said to me in Italian, 
 " This is no Turkish lady, she is certainly some Christian." 
 Fatima guessed she spoke of her, and asked what she said. 
 I would not have told, thinking she would have been no 
 better pleased with the compliment than one of our court 
 beauties to be told she had the air of a Turk ; but the Greek 
 lady told it her ; and she smiled, saying, " It is not the first 
 time I have heard so : my mother was a Poloneze, taken at 
 the siege of Caminiec ; and my father used to rally me, saying, 
 He believed his Christian wife had found some Christian 
 gallant ; for I had not the air of a Turkish girl." I assured 
 her, that, if all the Turkish ladies were like her, it was absolutely 
 necessary to confine them from public view, for the repose of 
 mankind ; and proceeded to tell her what a noise such a face 
 as hers would make in London or Paris. " I can't believe 
 you," replied she, agreeably : " if beauty was so much valued in 
 your country, as you say, they would never have suffered you 
 to leave it." Perhaps, dear sister, you laugh at my vanity in 
 repeating this compliment ; but I only do it as I think it very 
 well turned, and give it you as an instance of the spirit of her 
 conversation. 
 
 Her house was magnificently furnished, and very well 
 fancied ; her winter rooms being furnished with figured velvet 
 on gold grounds, and those for summer with fine Indian 
 quilting embroidered with gold. The houses of the great 
 Turkish ladies are kept clean with as much nicety as those in 
 Holland. This was situated in a high part of the town ; and 
 from the windows of her summer apartment we had the prospect 
 of the sea, the islands, and the Asian mountains. 
 
 My letter is insensibly grown so long, I am ashamed of it. 
 This is a very bad symptom. 'Tis well if I don't degenerate 
 into a downright story-teller. It may be, our proverb, that 
 knowledge is no burthen, may be true as to one's self, but 
 knowing too much is very apt to make us troublesome to other 
 people. 
 
 To the Lady . 
 
 Pera, Constantinople, March 16, O.S. [171 8]. 
 
 I am extremely pleased, my dear lady, that you have at 
 length found a commission for me that I can answer with- 
 out disappointing your expectations ; though I must tell you,
 
 i 7 i8] Embassy to Constantinople 159 
 
 that it is not so easy as perhaps you think it ; and that, if 
 my curiosity had not been more diligent than any other 
 stranger's has ever yet been, I must have answered you with 
 an excuse, as I was forced to do when you desired me to buy 
 you a Greek slave. I have got for you, as you desire, a 
 Turkish love-letter, which I have put in a little box, and 
 ordered the captain of the Smyrniote to deliver it to you with 
 this letter. The translation 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 should be understood in 
 this manner : 
 
 Ingi, Sensin Guzelenn gingi 
 
 Pearl, Fairest of (he young. 
 
 Caremfil, Caremfilsen cararen yok 
 
 Clove, Conge gulsum timarin yok 
 
 Benseny chok than severim 
 
 Senin benden, haberin yok. 
 
 You are as slender as this clove ! 
 
 You are an unblown rose ! 
 
 I have long loved you, and you have not known it f 
 
 Pul, Derdime derman bul 
 
 Jonquil, Have pity on my passion ! 
 
 Kihat, Birlerum sahat sahat 
 
 Paper, I faint every hour ! 
 
 Ermus, Ver bize bir umut 
 
 Pear, Give vie some hope. 
 
 Jabun, Derdinden oldum zabun 
 
 Soap, I am sick with love. 
 
 Chemur, Ben oliyim size umur 
 
 Coal, May I die, and all my years be yours f 
 
 Gul, Ben aglarum sen gul 
 
 A rose, May you be pleased, and all your sorrows mint t 
 
 Hasir, Oliim sana yazir 
 
 A straw, Suffer vie to be your slave. 
 
 Jo ha, TJstune bulunmaz pahu 
 
 Cloth, Your price is not to be found. 
 
 Taitsin, Sen ghel ben chekeim senin hargin 
 
 Cinnamon, But my fortune is yours. 
 
 Gira, Esking-ilen oldum ghira 
 
 A match, I burn, I burn! my flame consumes met 
 
 Simla, Uzunu benden a yirma 
 
 Gold thread, Don't turn away your face. 
 
 Satch, Bazmazum tatch 
 
 Hair, Crown of vty head I
 
 160 Letters during the [1718 
 
 Uzum, Benim iki Guzum 
 
 Grape, My eyes ! 
 
 Tel, Ulugornim tez ghel 
 
 Gold ivire, I die — come quickly. 
 
 And, by way of postscript : 
 
 Biber, Bize bir dogm haber 
 
 Pepper, Send me an answer. 
 
 You see this letter is all verses, and I can assure you there 
 is as much fancy shewn in the choice of them, as in the most 
 studied expressions of our letters ; there being, I believe, a 
 million of verses designed for this use. There is no colour, 
 no flower, no weed, no fruit, herb, pebble, or feather, that has 
 not a verse belonging to it ; and you may quarrel, reproach, 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 misfortune 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 
 it is 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 human 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, Greek, Hebrew, Armenian, 
 Arabic, Persian, Russian, Sclavonian, Wallachian, German, 
 Dutch, French, English, Italian, Hungarian ; and, what is 
 worse, there are ten of these languages spoken in my own 
 family. My grooms are Arabs ; my footmen, French, English, 
 and Germans ; my nurse, an Armenian ; my housemaids, 
 Russians ; half a dozen other servants, Greeks ; my steward, 
 an Italian ; my janissaries, Turks; [so] that I live in the perpetual 
 hearing of this medley of sounds, which produces a very ex- 
 traordinary effect upon the people that are born here ; they 
 learn all these languages at the same time, and without know- 
 ing any of them well enough to write or read in it. There are
 
 i7i8] Embassy to Constantinople 161 
 
 very lew men, women, or even children, here, that have not the 
 same compass of words in five or six of them. I know myself 
 several 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 
 geniuses, upon the credit of some superficial knowledge of 
 French and Italian. 
 
 As I prefer English to all the rest, I am extremely mortified 
 at the daily decay of it in my head, where I'll assure you (with 
 grief of heart) it is reduced to such a small number of words, 
 I cannot recollect any tolerable phrase to conclude my letter, 
 and am forced to tell your ladyship very bluntly that I am, 
 your faithful humble servant. 
 
 To Mr. Wortlev Montagu. 
 
 Sunday, March 23, 17 17-8. 
 "... The boy was engrafted last Tuesday, and is at this 
 time singing and playing, and very impatient for his supper. 
 I pray God my next may give as good an account of him. . . . 
 I cannot engraft the girl; her nurse has not had the 
 smallpox." 
 
 To the Countess of B. [Bristol]. 
 
 [10 April, 1718.] 
 At length I have heard for the first time from my dear Lady 
 [Bristol]. I am persuaded you have had the goodness to 
 
 write before, but I have had the ill fortune to lose your letters. 
 Since my last, I have staid quietly at Constantinople, a city 
 that I ought in conscience to give your ladyship a right notion 
 of, since I know you can have none but what is partial and 
 mistaken from the writings of travellers. 'Tis certain there are 
 many people that pass years here in Pera, without having ever 
 seen it, and yet they all pretend to describe it. 
 
 Pera, Tophana, and Galata, wholly inhabited by Frank 
 Christians (and which, together, make the appearance of a 
 very fine town), are divided from it by the sea, which is not 
 above half so broad as the broadest part of the Thames ; but 
 the Christian men are loth to hazard the adventures they 
 sometimes meet with amongst the /events or seamen (worse 
 monsters than our watermen), and the women must cover their
 
 162 Letters during the [1718 
 
 faces to go there, which they have a perfect aversion to do. 
 Tis true they wear veils in Pera, but they are such as only 
 serve to shew their beauty to more advantage, and which would 
 not be permitted in Constantinople. These reasons deter almost 
 every creature from seeing it ; and the French embassadress 
 will return to France (I believe) without ever having been 
 there. 
 
 You'll wonder, madam, to hear me add, that I have been 
 there very often. The asmdck, or Turkish veil, is become not 
 only very easy, but agreeable to me ; and, if it was not, I would 
 be content to endure some inconveniency to content a 
 passion so powerful with me as curiosity. And, indeed, the 
 pleasure of going in a barge to Chelsea is not comparable 
 to that of rowing upon the canal of the sea here, where, for 
 twenty miles together, down the Bosphorus, the most beautiful 
 variety of prospects present themselves. The Asian side is 
 covered with fruit trees, villages, and the most delightful 
 landscapes in nature ; on the European, stands Constantinople 
 situate on seven hills. The unequal heights make it seem as 
 large again as it is (though one of the largest cities in the 
 world), shewing an agreeable mixture of gardens, pine and 
 cypress-trees, palaces, mosques, and public buildings, raised 
 one above another, with as much beauty and appearance of 
 symmetry as your ladyship ever saw in a cabinet adorned by 
 the most skilful hands, jars shewing themselves above jars, 
 mixed with canisters, babies, and candlesticks. This is a very 
 odd comparison ; but it gives me an exact image of the thing. 
 
 I have taken care to see as much of the seraglio as is to be 
 seen. It is on a point of land running into the sea ; a palace 
 of prodigious extent, but very irregular. The gardens [take 
 in] a large compass of ground, full of high cypress-trees, which 
 is all I know of them : the buildings all of white stone, 
 leaded on top, with gilded turrets and spires, which look 
 very magnificent ; and, indeed, I believe, there is no Christian 
 king's palace half so large. There are six large courts in it, 
 all built round, and set with trees, having galleries of stone ; 
 one of these for the guard, another for the slaves, another for 
 the officers of the kitchen, another for the stables, the fifth 
 for the divan, the sixth for the apartment destined for 
 audiences. On the ladies' side there are at least as many 
 more, with distinct courts belonging to their eunuchs and 
 attendants, their kitchens, &c. 
 
 The next remarkable structure is that of St. Sophia, which
 
 i7i8] Embassy to Constantinople 163 
 
 is very difficult to see. I was forced to send three times to the 
 caimaican (the governor of the town), and he assembled the 
 chief effendis, or heads of the law, and enquired of the mufti 
 whether it was lawful to permit it. They passed some days in 
 this important debate; but I insisting on my request, per- 
 mission was granted. I can't be informed why the Turks are 
 more delicate on the subject of this mosque than any of 
 the others, where what Christian pleases may enter without 
 scruple. I fancy they imagine that, having been once 
 consecrated, people, on pretence of curiosity, might profane 
 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, what is so universally 
 asserted, that the Turks defaced all the images that they found 
 in the city. The dome of St. Sophia is said to be one hundred 
 and thirteen feet diameter, built upon arches, sustained by vast 
 pillars of marble, the pavement and staircase marble. There 
 are two rows of galleries, supported with pillars of party- 
 coloured marble, and the whole roof Mosaic work, part of 
 which decays very fast, and drops down. They presented me 
 a handful of it ; the 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. 
 
 This is a dull imperfect description of this celebrated 
 building ; but I understand architecture so little, that I am 
 afraid of talking nonsense in endeavouring to speak of it 
 particularly. Perhaps I am in the wrong, but some Turkish 
 mosques please me better. That of Sultan Solyman is an 
 exact square, with four fine towers in the angles ; in the 
 midst a noble cupola, supported with beautiful marble pillars ; 
 two lesser at the ends, supported in the same manner ; the 
 pavement and gallery round the mosque of marble ; under 
 the great cupola is a fountain, adorned with such tine coloured 
 pillars I can hardly think them natural marble ; on one side 
 is the pulpit, of white marble, and on the other, the little 
 gallery for the Grand Signior. A fine staircase leads to it, and 
 it is built up with gilded lattices. At the upper end is a sort of 
 altar, where the name of God is written ; and before it stand 
 two candlesticks as high as a man, with wax candles as thick 
 as three flambeaux. The pavement is spread with fine carpets, 
 and the mosque illuminated with a vast number of lamps. The 
 court leading to it is very spacious, with galleries of marble,
 
 164 Letters during the [1718 
 
 with green columns, covered with twenty-eight leaded cupolas on 
 two sides, and a fine fountain of three basins in the midst of it. 
 This description may serve for all the mosques in Con- 
 stantinople. The model is exactly the same, and they only 
 differ in largeness and richness of materials. That of the 
 Valide is the largest of all, built entirely of marble, the 
 most prodigious, and, I think, the most beautiful structure I 
 ever saw, be it spoken to the honour of our sex, for it was 
 founded by the mother of Mahomet IV. Between friends, 
 St. Paul's church would make a pitiful figure near it, as any of 
 our squares would do near the atlerdan, or place of horses (at 
 signifying a horse in Turkish). This was the hippodrome in the 
 reign of the Greek emperors. In the midst of it is a brazen 
 column, of three serpents twisted together, with their mouths 
 gaping. 'Tis impossible to learn why so odd a pillar was 
 erected; the Greeks can tell nothing but fabulous legends 
 when they are asked the meaning of it, and there is no sign of 
 its having ever had any inscription. At the upper end is an 
 obelisk of porphyry, probably brought from Egypt, the hiero- 
 glyphics all very entire, which I look upon as mere ancient 
 puns. It is placed on four little brazen pillars, upon a pedestal 
 of square free-stone, full of figures in bas-relief on two sides ; 
 one square representing a battle, another an assembly. The 
 others have inscriptions in Greek and Latin ; the last I took in 
 my pocket-book, and is literally, 
 
 DIFFICILIS QUONDAM, DOMINIS PARERE SERENIS 
 JUSSUS, ET EXTINCTIS PALMAM PORTARE TYRANNIS 
 OMNIA THEODOSIO CEDUNT, SOBOLIQUE PERENNI. 
 
 Your lord will interpret these lines. Don't fancy they are a 
 love-letter to him. 
 
 All the figures have their heads on ; and I cannot forbear 
 reflecting again on the impudence of authors, who all say they 
 have not : but I dare swear the greatest part of them never saw 
 them ; but took the report from the Greeks, who resist, with 
 incredible fortitude, the conviction of their own eyes, whenever 
 they have invented lies to the dishonour of their enemies. 
 Were you to ask them, there is nothing worth seeing in 
 Constantinople but Sancta Sophia, though there are several 
 larger mosques. That of Sultan Achmet has this particularity, 
 that it has gates of brass. In all these mosques there are little 
 chapels, where are the tombs of the founders and their families, 
 with vast candles burning before them. 
 
 The exchanges are all noble buildings, full of fine alleys,
 
 1718] Embassy to Constantinople 165 
 
 the greatest part supported with pillars, and kept wonderfully 
 neat. Every trade has their distinct alley, the merchandize 
 disposed in the same order as in the New Exchange at 
 London. The besistin, or jewellers' quarter, shews so much 
 riches, such a vast quantity of diamonds, and all kinds of 
 precious stones, that they dazzle the sight. The embroiderers' 
 is also very glittering, and people walk here as much for diver- 
 sion as business. The markets are most of them handsome 
 squares, and admirably well provided, perhaps better than in 
 any other part of the world. 
 
 I know you'll expect I should say something particular of 
 the slaves ; and you will imagine me half a Turk when I don't 
 speak of it with the same horror other Christians have done 
 before me. But I cannot forbear applauding the humanity of 
 the Turks to these creatures ; they are never ill-used, and their 
 slavery is, in my opinion, no worse than servitude all over the 
 world. 'Tis true they have no wages ; but they give them 
 yearly clothes to a higher value than our salaries to any ordinary 
 servant. But you'll object, men buy women with an eye to 
 evil. In my opinion, they are bought and sold as publicly and 
 more infamously in all our Christian great cities. 
 
 I must add to the description of Constantinople, that the 
 historical pillar is no more ; [it] dropped down about two years 
 before I came. I have seen no other footsteps of antiquity 
 except the aqueducts, which are so vast, that I am apt to 
 believe they are yet more ancient than the Greek empire, 
 though the Turks have clapped in some stones with Turkish 
 inscriptions, to give their nation the honour of so great a 
 work ; but the deceit is easily discovered. 
 
 The other public buildings are the hanns and monasteries ; 
 the first very large and numerous; the second few in 
 number, and not at all magnificent. I had the curiosity to 
 visit one of them, and observe the devotions of the dervises, 
 which are as whimsical as any in Rome. These fellows have 
 permission to marry, but are confined to an odd habit, which 
 is only a piece of coarse white cloth wrapped about them, with 
 their legs and arms naked. Their order has few other rules, 
 except that of performing their fantastic rites every Tuesday and 
 Friday, which is in this manner : They meet together in a 
 large hall, where they all stand with their eyes fixed on the 
 ground, and their arms across, while the imaum, or preacher, 
 reads part of the Alcoran from a pulpit placed in the 
 midst ; and when he has done, eight or ten of them make a
 
 166 Letters during the [1718 
 
 melancholy concert with their pipes, which are no unmusical in- 
 struments. Then he reads again, and makes a short exposition 
 on what he has read ; after which they sing and play till their 
 superior (the only one of them dressed in green) rises and 
 begins a sort of solemn dance. They all stand about him in a 
 regular figure ; and while some play, the others tie their robe 
 (which is very wide) fast round their waists, and begin to turn 
 round with an amazing swiftness, and yet with great regard to 
 the music, moving slower or faster as the tune is played. This 
 lasts above an hour, without any of them shewing the least 
 appearance of giddiness ; which is not to be wondered at, when 
 it is considered they are all used to it from infancy ; most 
 of them being devoted to this way of life from their birth, and 
 sons of dervises. There turned amongst them some little 
 dervises of six or seven years old, who seemed no more 
 disordered by that exercise than the others. At the end of 
 the ceremony they shout out, " There is no other god but 
 God, and Mahomet is his prophet "; after which they kiss the 
 superior's hand and retire. The whole is performed with the 
 most solemn gravity. Nothing can be more austere than 
 the form of these people ; they never raise their eyes, and seem 
 devoted to contemplation. And as ridiculous as this is in 
 description, there is something touching in the air of submission 
 and mortification they assume. 
 
 This letter is of a horrible length ; but you may burn it when 
 you have read enough, &c. &c. 
 
 To the Countess of . 
 
 I am now preparing to leave Constantinople, and perhaps 
 you will accuse me of hypocrisy when I tell you 'tis with 
 regret ; but I am used to the air, and have learnt the 
 language. I am easy here ; and as much as I love travelling, 
 I tremble at the inconveniences attending so great a journey 
 with a numerous family, and a little infant hanging at the 
 breast. However, I endeavour upon this occasion to do as I 
 have hitherto done in all the odd turns of my life ; turn them, 
 if I can, to my diversion. In order to this, I ramble every day, 
 wrapped up in my ferigee and asmdck, about Constantinople, 
 and amuse myself with seeing all that is curious in it. 
 
 I know you will expect this declaration should be followed 
 with some account of what I have seen. But I am in 
 no humour to copy what has been writ so often over. To 
 what purpose should I tell you that Constantinople was the
 
 i7i8] Embassy to Constantinople 167 
 
 ancient Byzantium ? that 'tis at present the conquest of a race 
 of people supposed Scythians ? that there are five or six 
 thousand mosques in it ? that Sancta Sophia was founded by 
 Justinian ? &c. I'll assure you 'tis not [for] want of learning 
 that I forbear writing all these bright things. I could also, 
 with little trouble, turn over Knolles and Sir Paul Rycaut, 
 to give you a list of Turkish emperors ; but I will not tell you 
 what you may find in every author that has writ of this 
 country. I am more inclined, out of a true female spirit of 
 contradiction, to tell you the falsehood of a great part of what 
 you find in authors ; as, for example, in the admirable Mr. Hill, 
 who so gravely asserts, that he saw in Sancta Sophia a sweat- 
 ing pillar, very balsamic for disordered heads. There is not 
 the least tradition of any such matter ; and I suppose it was 
 revealed to him in vision during his wonderful stay in the 
 Egyptian catacombs ; for I am sure he never heard of any 
 such miracle here. 
 
 'Tis also very pleasant to observe how tenderly he and all 
 his brethren voyage-writers lament the miserable confinement 
 of the Turkish ladies, who are perhaps freer than any ladies 
 in the universe, and are the only women in the world that 
 lead a life of uninterrupted pleasure exempt from cares ; their 
 whole time being spent in visiting, bathing, or the agreeable 
 amusement of spending money, and inventing new fashions. 
 A husband would be thought mad that exacted any degree 
 of economy from his wife, whose expenses are no way limited 
 but by her own fancy. 'Tis his business to get money, and 
 hers to spend it : and this noble prerogative extends itself to 
 the very meanest of the sex. Here is a fellow that carries 
 embroidered handkerchiefs upon his back to sell, as miserable 
 a figure as you may suppose such a mean dealer, yet I'll assure 
 you his wife scorns to wear anything less than cloth of gold ; 
 has her ermine furs, and a very handsome set of jewels for 
 her head. They go abroad when and where they please. 'Tis 
 true they have no public places but the bagnios, and there 
 can only be seen by their own sex ; however, that is a diversion 
 they take great pleasure in. 
 
 I was three days ago at one of the finest in the town, and 
 had the opportunity of seeing a Turkish bride received there, 
 and all the ceremonies used on that occasion, which made me 
 recollect the epithalamium of Helen, by Theocritus ; and it 
 seems to me, that the same customs have continued ever since. 
 All the she-friends, relations, and acquaintance of the two
 
 1 68 Letters during the [1718 
 
 families newly allied, meet at the bagnio ; several others go out 
 of curiosity, and I believe there were that day at least two hundred 
 women. Those that were or had been married placed them- 
 selves round the room on the marble sofas ; but the virgins 
 very hastily threw off their clothes, and appeared without other 
 ornament or covering than their own long hair braided with 
 pearl or ribbon. Two of them met the bride at the door, 
 conducted by her mother and another grave relation. She was 
 a beautiful maid of about seventeen, very richly dressed, and 
 shining with jewels, but was presently reduced by them to the 
 state of nature. Two others filled silver gilt pots with perfume, 
 and began the procession, the rest following in pairs to the 
 number of thirty. The leaders sung an epithalamium, 
 answered by the others in chorus, and the two last led the fair 
 bride, her eyes fixed on the ground, with a charming affectation 
 of modesty. In this order they marched round the three 
 large rooms of the bagnio. 'Tis not easy to represent to you 
 the beauty of this sight, most of them being well proportioned 
 and white skinned ; all of them perfectly smooth and polished 
 by the frequent use of bathing. After having made their 
 tour, the bride was again led to every matron round the 
 rooms, who saluted her with a compliment and a present, 
 some of jewels, others pieces of stuff, handkerchiefs, or little 
 gallantries of that nature, which she thanked them for by 
 kissing their hands. 
 
 I was very well pleased with having seen this ceremony : 
 and, you may believe me, that the Turkish ladies have at 
 least as much wit and civility, nay, liberty, as ladies among 
 us. 'Tis true, the same customs that give them so many 
 opportunities of gratifying their evil inclinations (if they have 
 any), also put it very fully in the power of their husbands 
 to revenge them if they are discovered ; and I do not doubt 
 but they suffer sometimes for their indiscretions in a very severe 
 manner. About two months ago there was found at daybreak, 
 not very far from my house, the bleeding body of a young 
 woman, naked, only wrapped in a coarse sheet, with two wounds 
 with a knife, one in her side and another in her breast. She 
 was not yet quite cold, and so surprisingly beautiful, that there 
 were very few men in Pera that did not go to look upon her ; 
 but it was not possible for any body to know her, no woman's 
 face being known. She was supposed to be brought in [the] 
 dead of the night from the Constantinople side and laid there. 
 Very little enquiry was made about the murderer, and the corpse
 
 i 7 i8] Embassy to Constantinople 169 
 
 privately buried without noise. Murder is never pursued by 
 the king's officers as with us. 'Tis the business of the next 
 relations to revenge the dead person ; and if they like better to 
 compound the matter for money (as they generally do), there 
 is no more said of it. One would imagine this defect in their 
 government should make such tragedies very frequent, yet 
 they are extremely rare ; which is enough to prove the people 
 not naturally cruel. Neither do I think in many other 
 particulars they deserve the barbarous character we give them. 
 I am well acquainted with a Christian woman of quality who 
 made it her choice to live with a Turkish husband, and is a 
 very agreeable, sensible lady. . Her story is so extraordinary, I 
 cannot forbear relating it ; but I promise you it shall be in as 
 few words as I can possibly express it. 
 
 She is a Spaniard, and was at Naples with her family when 
 that kingdom was part of the Spanish dominion. Coming 
 from thence in a felucca, accompanied by her brother, they 
 were attacked by the Turkish admiral, boarded, and taken. — 
 And now, how shall I modestly tell you the rest of her 
 adventure ? The same accident happened to her that happened 
 to the fair Lucretia so many years before her. But she was 
 too good a Christian to kill herself, as that heathenish Roman 
 did. The admiral was so much charmed with the beauty and 
 long-suffering of the fair captive, that, as his first compliment, 
 he gave immediate liberty to her brother and attendants, who 
 made haste to Spain, and in a few months sent the sum of four 
 thousand pounds sterling as a ransom for his sister. The 
 Turk took the money, which he presented to her, and told her 
 she was at liberty. But the lady very discreetly weighed the 
 different treatment she was likely to find in her native country. 
 Her Catholic relations (as the kindest thing they could do for 
 her in her present circumstances) would certainly confine her 
 to a nunnery for the rest of her days. Her infidel lover was 
 very handsome, very tender, fond of her, and lavished at her 
 feet all the Turkish magnificence. She answered him very 
 resolutely that her liberty was not so precious to her as her 
 honour; that he could no way restore that but by marrying 
 her ; she desired him to accept the ransom as her portion, 
 and give her the satisfaction of knowing no man could boast 
 of her favours without being her husband. The admiral was 
 transported at this kind offer, and sent back the money to 
 her relations, saying, he was too happy in her possession. 
 He married her, and never took any other wife, and (as
 
 170 Letters during the [171$ 
 
 she says herself) she never had any reason to repent the 
 choice she made. He left her some years after one of the 
 richest widows in Constantinople. But there is no remaining 
 honourably a single woman, and that consideration has obliged 
 her to marry the present captain pasha (i.e. admiral), his suc- 
 cessor. — I am afraid that you will think my friend fell in 
 love with her ravisher ; but I am willing to take her word for 
 it, that she acted wholly on principles of honour, though I 
 think she might be reasonably touched at his generosity, 
 which is very often found among the Turks of rank. 
 
 'Tis a degree of generosity to tell the truth, and 'tis very rare 
 that any Turk will assert a solemn falsehood. I don't speak 
 of the lowest sort ; for as there is a great deal of ignorance, 
 there is very little virtue amongst them ; and false witnesses 
 are much cheaper than in Christendom, those wretches not 
 being punished (even when they are publicly detected) with the 
 rigour they ought to be. 
 
 Now I am speaking of their law, I don't know whether I have 
 ever mentioned to you one custom, peculiar to their country, I 
 mean adoption, very common amongst the Turks, and yet 
 more amongst the Greeks and Armenians. Not having it in 
 their power to give their estates to a friend or distant relation, 
 to avoid its falling into the Grand Signior's treasury, when they 
 are not likely to have children of their own, they choose 
 some pretty child of either sex among the meanest people, and 
 carry the child and its parents before the cadi, and there 
 declare they receive it for their heir. The parents at the 
 same time renounce all future claim to it ; a writing is drawn 
 and witnessed, and a child thus adopted cannot be disinherited. 
 Yet I have seen some common beggars that have refused to 
 part with their children in this manner to some of the richest 
 among the Greeks (so powerful is the instinctive fondness 
 natural to parents), though the adopting fathers are generally 
 very tender to these children of their souls, as they call 
 them. I own this custom pleases me much better than our 
 absurd following our name. Methinks 'tis much more 
 reasonable to make happy and rich an infant whom I educate 
 after my own manner, brought up (in the Turkish phrase) upon 
 my knees, and who has learned to look upon me with a filial 
 respect, than to give an estate to a creature without other 
 merit or relation to me than by a few letters. Yet this is an 
 absurdity we see frequently practised. 
 
 Now I have mentioned the Armenians, perhaps it will be
 
 i7i8] Embassy to Constantinople 171 
 
 agreeable to tell you something of that nation, with which I 
 am sure you are utterly unacquainted. I will not trouble you 
 with the geographical account of the situation of their country, 
 which you may see in the map, or a relation 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 St. Gregory, 
 and are perhaps the devoutest Christians in the whole world. 
 The chief precepts of their priests 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 lenten diet. Mr. W. [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, or 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. Wh 's [Whiston's] doctrine ; 
 
 neither do I think the Greek church very distant from it, 
 since 'tis certain insisting on the Holy Spirit's only proceeding 
 from the Father, is making a plain subordination in the Son. 
 But the Armenians have no notion of transubstantiation, what- 
 ever 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 amongst them 
 that change to the Roman religion. 
 
 What is most extraordinary in their customs, is their 
 matrimony ; a ceremony I believe unparallel'd all over the 
 world. They are always promised very young ; but the 
 espoused never see one another till three days after their 
 marriage. The bride is carried to church with a cap on her 
 head, in the fashion of a large trencher, and over it a red 
 silken veil which covers her all over to her feet. The priest 
 asks the bridegroom, Whether he is contented to marry that 
 woman, be she deaf, be she blind ? These are the literal words : 
 to which having answered, yes, she is led home to his house,
 
 172 Letters during the [1718 
 
 accompanied with all the friends and relations on both sides, 
 singing and dancing, and is placed on a cushion in a corner of 
 the sofa ; but her veil never lifted up, not even by her 
 husband, till she has been three days married. There is 
 something so odd and monstrous in these ways, that I could 
 not believe them till I had enquired of several Armenians 
 myself, who all assured me of the truth of them, particularly 
 one young fellow, who wept when he spoke of it, being 
 promised by his mother to a girl that he must marry in 
 this manner, though he protested to me, he had rather die 
 than submit to this slavery, having already figured his bride 
 to himself with all the deformities in nature. 
 
 I fancy I see you bless yourself at this terrible relation. I 
 cannot conclude my letter with a more surprising story ; yet 
 'tis as seriously true as that I am, 
 
 Dear sister, your &c. 
 
 To the Abbot of [Abbe Conti]. 
 
 Constantinople, May 19 [O. S.], 1718. 
 
 I am extremely pleased with hearing from you, and my vanity 
 (the darling frailty of her [sic] mankind) not a little flattered 
 by the uncommon questions you ask me, though I am 
 utterly incapable of answering them. And, indeed, were I as 
 good a mathematician as Euclid himself, it requires an age's 
 stay to make just observations on the air and vapours. I 
 have not been yet a full year here, and am on the point 
 of removing. Such is my rambling destiny. This will 
 surprise you, and can surprise nobody so much as myself. 
 
 Perhaps you will accuse me of laziness, or dulness, or both 
 together, that can leave this place without giving you some 
 account of the Turkish court. I can only tell you, that if you 
 please to read Sir Paul Rycaut, you will there find a full and 
 true account of the viziers, the beglerbeys, the civil and 
 spiritual government, the officers of the seraglio, &c, things 
 that 'tis very easy to procure lists of, and therefore may be 
 
 depended on ; though other stories, God knows 1 say no 
 
 more every body is at liberty to write their own remarks ; 
 
 the manners of people may change, or some of them escape 
 the observation of travellers, but 'tis not the same of the 
 government ; and for that reason, since I can tell you nothing 
 new, I will tell nothing of it. 
 
 In the same silence shall be passed over the arsenal and 
 seven towers ; and for mosques, I have already described one
 
 i 7 i8] Embassy to Constantinople 173 
 
 of the noblest to you very particularly. But I cannot forbear 
 taking notice to you of a mistake of Gemelli (though I honour 
 him in a much higher degree than any other voyage- writer) : 
 he says that there are no remains of Calcedon ; this is certainly 
 a mistake : I was there yesterday, and went cross the canal in 
 my galley, the sea being very narrow between that city and 
 Constantinople. Tis still a large town, and has several 
 mosques in it. The Christians still call it Calcedonia, and 
 the Turks give it a name I forgot, but which is only a corrup- 
 tion of the same word. I suppose this an error of his guide, 
 which his short stay hindered him from rectifying ; for I have, 
 in other matters, a very just esteem for his veracity. Nothing 
 can be pleasanter than the canal ; and the Turks are so well 
 acquainted with its beauties, all their pleasure-seats are built 
 on its banks, where they have, at the same time, the most 
 beautiful prospects in Europe and Asia ; there are near one 
 another some hundreds of magnificent palaces. 
 
 Human grandeur being here yet more unstable than any- 
 where else, 'tis common for the heirs of a great three-tailed 
 pasha not to be rich enough to keep in repair the house he 
 built ; thus, in a few years, they all fall to ruin. I was yester- 
 day to see that of the late Grand Vizier, who was killed at 
 Peterwaradin. It was built to receive his royal bride, 
 daughter of the present Sultan, but he did not live to see her 
 there. I have a great mind to describe it to you ; but I check 
 that inclination, knowing very well that I cannot give you, 
 with my' best description, such an idea of it as I ought. It is 
 situated on one of the most delightful parts of the canal, with 
 a fine wood on the side of a hill behind it. The extent of it is 
 prodigious ; the guardian assured me there are eight hundred 
 rooms in it ; I will not answer for that number, since I 
 did not count them ; but 'tis certain the number is very 
 large, and the whole adorned with a profusion of marble, 
 gilding, and the most exquisite painting of fruit and flowers. 
 The windows are all sashed with the finest crystalline glass 
 brought from England ; and all the expensive magnificence 
 that you can suppose in a palace founded by a vain young 
 luxurious man, with the wealth of a vast empire at his command. 
 But no part of it pleased me better than the apartments 
 destined for the bagnios. There are two built exactly in the 
 same manner, answering to one another ; the baths, fountains, 
 and pavements, all of white marble, the roofs gilt, and the 
 walls covered with Japan china ; but adjoining to them, two
 
 174 Letters during the [1718 
 
 rooms, the upper part of which is divided into a sofa ; in the 
 four corners falls of water from the very roof, from shell to 
 shell, of white marble, to the lower end of the room, where it 
 falls into a large basin, surrounded with pipes, that throw up 
 the water as high as the room. The walls are in the nature 
 of lattices ; and, on the outside of them, vines and woodbines 
 planted, that form a sort of green tapestry, and give an agree- 
 able obscurity to these delightful chambers. 
 
 I should go on and let you into some of the other apart- 
 ments (all worthy your curiosity) ; but 'tis yet harder to 
 describe a Turkish palace than any other, being built entirely 
 irregular. There is nothing can be properly called front or 
 wings ; and though such a confusion is, I think, pleasing to 
 the sight, yet it would be very unintelligible in a letter. I 
 shall only add, that the chamber destined for the Sultan, when 
 he visits his daughter, is wainscoted with mother of pearl 
 fastened with emeralds like nails. There are others of mother- 
 of-pearl and olive wood inlaid, and several of Japan china. 
 The galleries, which are numerous and very large, are adorned 
 with jars of flowers, and porcelain dishes of fruit of all sorts, .so 
 well done in plaster, and coloured in so lively a manner, that it 
 has an enchanting effect. The garden is suitable to the house, 
 where arbours, fountains, and walks, are thrown together in an 
 agreeable confusion. There is no ornament wanting, except 
 that of statues. Thus, you see, sir, these people are not so 
 unpolished as we represent them. 'Tis true their magnifi- 
 cence is of a different taste from ours, and perhaps of a better. 
 I am almost of opinion they have a right notion of life ; 
 while they consume it in music, gardens, wine, and delicate 
 eating, while we are tormenting our brains with some scheme 
 of politics, or studying some science to which we can never 
 attain, or, if we do, cannot persuade people to set that 
 vaiue upon it we do ourselves. 'Tis certain what we feel and 
 see is properly (if any thing is properly) our own ; but the 
 good of fame, the folly of praise, hardly purchased, and, 
 when obtained, a poor recompense for loss of time and 
 health. We die or grow old and decrepid before we can reap 
 the fruit of our labours. Considering what short-lived w r eak 
 animals men are, is there any study so beneficial as the study 
 of present pleasure ? I dare not pursue this theme ; perhaps 
 I have already said too much, but I depend upon the true 
 knowledge you have of my heart. I don't expect from you 
 the insipid railleries I should suffer from another in answer
 
 1718J Embassy to Constantinople 175 
 
 to this letter. You know how to divide the idea of pleasure 
 from that of vice, and they are only mingled in the heads 
 of fools. — But I allow you to laugh at me for the sensual 
 declaration that I had rather be a rich effendi with all his 
 ignorance, than Sir Isaac Newton with all his knowledge. 
 
 I am, sir, &c. 
 
 To Count [Abbe Conti]. 
 
 Translated from the French. 
 
 I am charmed, sir, with your obliging letter ; and you may 
 perceive by the largeness of my paper, that I intend to give 
 punctual answers to all your questions, at least if my French 
 will permit me ; for as it is a language I do not understand to 
 perfection, so I much fear, that, for want of expressions, I shall 
 be quickly obliged to finish. Keep in mind, therefore, that I 
 am writing in a foreign language ; and be sure to attribute all 
 the impertinences and triflings dropping from my pen, to the 
 want of proper words for declaring my thoughts, but by no 
 means to dulness, or natural levity. 
 
 These conditions being thus agreed and settled, I begin 
 with telling you, that you have a true notion of the Alcoran, 
 concerning which, the Greek priests (who are the greatest 
 scoundrels in the universe) have invented out of their own 
 heads a thousand ridiculous stories, in order to decry the law 
 of Mahomet ; to run it down, I say, without any examination, 
 or so much as letting the people read it ; being afraid that if 
 once they began to sift the defects of the Alcoran, they might 
 not stop there, but proceed to make use of their judgment, 
 about their own legends and fictions. In effect, there is 
 nothing so like as the fables of the Greeks and of the Mahome- 
 tans ; and the last have multitudes of saints, at whose tombs 
 miracles are by them said to be daily performed ; nor are the 
 accounts of the lives of those blessed Mussulmans much less 
 stuffed with extravagances, than the spiritual romances of the 
 Greek Papas. 
 
 As to your next enquiry, I assure you it is certainly false, 
 though commonly believed in our parts of the world, that 
 Mahomet excludes women from any share in a future happy 
 state. He was too much a gentleman, and loved the fair sex 
 too well, to use them so barbarously. 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't like
 
 176 Letters during the [1718 
 
 it the worse for that ; and that the regret of this separation 
 will not render their paradise the less agreeable. It remains 
 to tell you, that the virtues which Mahomet requires of the 
 women, to merit the enjoyment of future happiness, are not to 
 live in such a manner as to become useless to the world, but 
 to employ themselves, as much as possible, in making little 
 Mussulmans. The virgins, who die virgins, and the widows 
 who marry not again, dying in mortal sin, are excluded out of 
 paradise ; for women, says he, not being capable to manage 
 the affairs of state, nor to support the fatigues of war, God has 
 not ordered them to govern or reform the world ; but he has 
 entrusted them with an office which is not less honourable, 
 even that of multiplying the human race, and such as, out of 
 malice or laziness, do not make it their business to bear or to 
 breed children, fulfil not the duty of their vocation, and rebel 
 against the commands of God. Here are maxims for you 
 prodigiously contrary to those of your convents. What will 
 become of your St. Catherines, your St. Theresas, your St. 
 Claras, and the whole bead-roll of your holy virgins and 
 widows ? who, if they are to be judged by this system of 
 virtue, will be found to have been infamous creatures, that 
 passed their whole lives in most abominable libertinism. 
 
 I know not what your thoughts may be concerning a doctrine 
 so extraordinary with respect to us ; but I can truly inform you, 
 sir, that the Turks are not so ignorant as we fancy them to be, 
 in matters of politics, or philosophy, or even of gallantry. It 
 is true, that military discipline, such as now practised in 
 Christendom, does not mightily suit them. A long peace has 
 plunged them into an universal sloth. Content with their con- 
 dition, and accustomed to boundless luxury, they are become 
 great enemies to all manner of fatigues. But to make amends, 
 the sciences flourish among them. The effendis (that is to say, 
 the learned) do very well deserve this name : they have no 
 more faith in the inspiration of Mahomet, than in the infalli- 
 bility of the Pope. They make a frank profession of deism 
 among themselves, or to those they can trust, and never speak 
 of their law but as of a politic institution, fit now to be observed 
 by wise men, however at first introduced by politicians and 
 enthusiasts. 
 
 If I remember right, I think I have told you in some former 
 letter, that at Belgrade we lodged with a great and rich effendi, 
 a man of wit and learning, and of a very agreeable humour. 
 We were in his house about a month, and he did constantly
 
 1718] Embassy to Constantinople 177 
 
 eat with us, drinking wine without any scruple. As I rallied 
 him a little on this subject, he answered me, smiling, that all 
 creatures in the world were made for the pleasure of man ; and 
 that God would not have let the vine grow, were it a sin to 
 taste of its juice : but that nevertheless the law which forbids 
 the use of it to the vulgar, was very wise, because such sort of 
 folks have not sense enough to take it with moderation. This 
 effendi appeared no stranger to the parties that prevail among 
 us ; nay, he seemed to have some knowledge of our religious 
 disputes, and even of our writers : and I was surprised to hear 
 him ask, among other things, how Mr. Toland did ? 
 
 My paper, large as it is, draws towards an end. That I may 
 not go beyond its limits, I must leap from religions to tulips, 
 concerning which you ask me news. Their mixture produces 
 surprising effects. But what is to be observed most surprising, 
 is the experiments of which you speak concerning animals, and 
 which is tried here every day. The suburbs of Pera, Tophana, 
 and Galata, are collections of strangers from all countries of 
 the universe. They have so often intermarried, that this forms 
 several races of people, the oddest imaginable. There is not 
 one single family of natives that can value itself on being 
 unmixed. You frequently see a person whose father was born 
 a Grecian, the mother an Italian, the grandfather a Frenchman, 
 the grandmother an Armenian, and their ancestors English, 
 Muscovites, Asiatics, &c. 
 
 This mixture produces creatures more extraordinary than 
 you can imagine ; nor could I ever doubt but there were 
 several different species of men ; since the whites, the woolly 
 and the long-haired blacks, the small-eyed Tartars and Chinese, 
 the beardless Brazilians, and (to name no more) the oily- 
 skinned yellow Nova Zemblians, have as specific differences 
 under the same general kind as greyhounds, mastiffs, spaniels, 
 bull-dogs, or the race of my little Diana, if nobody is offended 
 at the comparison. Now, as the various intermixing of these 
 latter animals causes mongrels, so mankind have their 
 mongrels too, divided and subdivided into endless sorts. We 
 have daily proofs of it here, as I told you before. In the same 
 animal is not seldom remarked the Greek perfidiousness, the 
 Italian diffidence, the Spanish arrogance, the French loquacity, 
 and all of a sudden he is seized with a fit of English thought- 
 fulness, bordering a little upon dulness, which many of us have 
 inherited from the stupidity of our Saxon progenitors. But 
 the family which charms me most, is that which proceeds
 
 178 Letters during the [1718 
 
 from the fantastical conjunction of a Dutch male with a Greek 
 female. As these are natures opposite in the extremes, 'tis a 
 pleasure to observe how the differing atoms are perpetually 
 jarring together in the children, even so as to produce effects 
 visible in their external form. They have the large black eyes 
 of the country, with the fat, white, fishy flesh of Holland, and 
 a lively air streaked with dulness. At one and the same time, 
 they shew that love of expensiveness so universal among the 
 Greeks, and an inclination to the Dutch frugality. To give an 
 example of this : young women ruin themselves to purchase 
 jewels for adorning their heads, while they have not the heart 
 to buy new shoes, or rather slippers for their feet, which are 
 commonly in a tattered condition ; a thing so contrary to the 
 taste of our English women, that it is for shewing how neatly 
 their feet are dressed, and for shewing this only, they are so 
 passionately enamoured with their hoop petticoats. I have 
 abundance of other singularities to communicate to you, but I 
 am at the end both of my French and my paper. 
 
 To the Abbot of [Abbe Conti]. 
 
 Tunis, July 31, O.S. [1718]. 
 
 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 
 some of the pleasure I have 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 
 Th' immortal islands, and the well-known sea. 
 For here so oft the muse her harp has strung, 
 That not a mountain rears his head unsung. 
 
 I beg your pardon for this sally, and will, if I can, continue 
 the rest of my account in plain prose. The second day after 
 we set sail we passed Gallipolis, a fair city, situate 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 Dardanelli. These are now two little 
 ancient castles, but of no strength, being commanded by a 
 rising ground behind them, which I confess I should never 
 have taken notice of, if I had not heard it observed by our
 
 i7i8] Embassy to Constantinople 179 
 
 captain and officers, my imagination being wholly employed 
 by the tragic story that you are well acquainted 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, in the reign of Orchanes, who besieged it. 
 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 after- 
 wards saw the dear figure in the form of one of her besiegers ; 
 and, being 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 shewed it to his general, who consented to try 
 the sincerity of her intentions, and withdrew his army, ordering 
 the young man to return with a select body of men at midnight. 
 She admitted him at the appointed hour ; he destroyed the 
 garrison, took her father prisoner, and made her his wife. 
 This town is in Asia, first founded by the Milesians. 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 surprising a young lover 
 should attempt to swim it, or an ambitious 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 subdu'd 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 Siga;um, 
 where we anchored, and 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 
 his honour, 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. W. [Wortley] plainly distinguished the words of 
 Sigaian Polin. We ordered this on board the ship ; but 
 were shewed others much more curious by a Greek priest, 
 though a very ignorant fellow, that could give no tolerable
 
 180 Letters during the [1718 
 
 account of any thing. On each side the door of his little 
 church lies a large stone, about ten feet long each, five in 
 breadth, and three in thickness. That on the right is very 
 fine white marble, the side of it beautifully carved in bas-relief; 
 it represents a woman, who seems to be designed for some 
 deity, sitting on a chair with a footstool, and before her 
 another woman weeping, and presenting to her a young child 
 that she has in her arms, followed by a procession of women 
 with children 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 ; which I am sure I took off very exactly, but the 
 Greek is too ancient for Mr. W.'s interpretation. This is the 
 exact copy. * * * * 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 having 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. Sandys (whose book I do not doubt 
 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 imagination, 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 called Simores ; 
 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 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 favours to it, by the name of Scamander, 
 till the adventure 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.
 
 i 7 i8] Embassy to Constantinople 181 
 
 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 situate ; and 'tis certainly the noblest situation that 
 can be found for the head of a great empire, much to be 
 preferred to that of Constantinople, the harbour 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 
 Rhseteum, famed for the sepulchre 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 in as agreeable cogitations as 
 ever Don Quixote had on mount Montesinos. We sailed 
 that 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 shewed to 
 strangers, amd which the Turks call Eski Stamboul, i.e., Old 
 Constantinople. For 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 
 there), 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 
 1 took these Latin inscriptions : 
 
 DIVI. AUG. COL. 
 
 ET COL. IUL. PHILIPPENSIS 
 
 EORUNDUM PRINCIPUM 
 
 COL. IUL. PARIANAE TRIBUN. 
 
 KIILIT. COH. XXXII. VOLUNTAR. 
 
 TRIB. MILIT. LEG. XIII. GEM. 
 
 PRAEFECTO EQUIT. ALAE. I. 
 
 SCUBULORUM 
 
 VIC. VIII. 
 
 DIVI. IULI. FLAMININE 
 
 C. ANTONIO. M. F. 
 
 VOLT. RUFO. FLAMEN. 
 
 DIV. AUG. COL. CL. APRENS. 
 
 ET. COL. IUL. PHILIPPENSIS
 
 1 82 Letters during the [1718 
 
 EORUNDUM ET PRINCIFUM 
 
 COL. IUL. PARIANAE TRIB. 
 
 MILIT. COH. XXXII. VOLUNTARIOR. 
 
 TRIB. MILIT. XIII. 
 
 GEM. PRAEF. EQUIT. ALAE. I. 
 
 SCUBULORUM 
 
 VIC. VII. 
 
 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 
 marble, 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 Mitylene, 
 where we passed next, I cannot forbear mentioning that Lesbos, 
 where Sappho sung, and Pittacus reigned, famous for the 
 birth of Alcasus, Theophrastus, and Arion, those masters in 
 poetry, philosophy, and music. This was one of the last 
 islands that remained in the Christian dominion after the 
 conquest of Constantinople by the Turks. But need I 
 talk to you of Cantacuseno, &c., princes that you are as well 
 acquainted with as I am. 'Twas with regret I saw us sail 
 swift 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 silk in all 
 Turkey. The town is well built, the women famous for their 
 beauty, and shew 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 : however, 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.
 
 i 7 i8] Embassy to Constantinople 183 
 
 But perhaps 'tis as easy to obey the Grand Signior 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 
 impertinent when I write to you. Passing the strait between 
 the islands of Andros and Achaia, now Libadia, we saw the 
 promontory of Sunium, now called Cape Colonna, where are 
 yet standing the vast pillars of a temple of Minerva. This 
 venerable 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 had a great mind to land on the famed 
 Peloponnesus, though it were only to look on the rivers of 
 ^Esopus, 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 overrun by 
 robbers, and that I should run a great risk of falling into their 
 hands by undertaking such a journey through a desert country ; 
 for which, however, 1 have so much respect, that I have much 
 ado to hinder myself from troubling you with its whole history, 
 from the foundation of Nycana and Corinth, to the last 
 campaign there ; but I check that 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 evening in sight of Candia : it is very mountainous ; 
 we easily distinguished that of Ida. — We have Virgil's 
 authority, here were a hundred cities — 
 
 " Centum urbes habitant magnas." 
 
 The chief of them, Gnossus, the scene of monstrous passions. 
 Metellus first conquered this birthplace of his Jupiter; it fell 
 
 afterwards into the hands of 1 am running on to the very 
 
 siege of Candia ; and I am so angry at 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 between two or three thousand years 
 since, when, after drinking a dish of tea with Sappho, I might 
 have gone the same evening to visit the temple of Homer in 
 Chios, and have passed this voyage in taking plans of magnifi- 
 cent temples, delineating the miracles of statuaries, and 
 conversing with the most polite and most gay of human kind. 
 Alas ! art is extinct here ; the wonders of nature alone remain ; 
 and it was with vast Dleasure I observed those of Mount Etna,
 
 184 Letters during the [1718 
 
 whose flame appears very bright in the night many leagues off 
 at sea, and fills the head with a thousand conjectures. 
 However, I honour philosophy too much, to imagine it can 
 turn that of Empedocles ; and Lucian shall never make me 
 believe such a scandal of a man, of whom Lucretius says, 
 
 " Vix humana videtur stirpe creatus." 
 
 We passed Trinacria without hearing any of the syrens that 
 Homer describes ; and, being neither thrown on 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 
 sovereign 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 labour. — Off of this 
 island we were tossed by a severe storm, and very glad, 
 after eight days, to be able to put into Porta Farine on the 
 African shore, where our ship now rides. We were met here 
 by the English consul who resides at Tunis. I readily accepted 
 of the offer of his house there 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 intolerable, '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 delicious fruit in the world. Their vineyards 
 and melon-fields are enclosed by hedges of that plant we call 
 the 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 as long and 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 Ramadan, or Lent, 
 and all here professing, at least, the Mahometan religion, they 
 fast till the going down of the sun, and spend the night in 
 feasting. We saw under the trees in many places companies 
 of the country 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,
 
 17x8] Embassy to Constantinople 185 
 
 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, however, 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 attention, and Mr. W. [Wortley] assured me that of 
 Rome is very much inferior to it. The stones are of a pro- 
 digious 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 used to pull them down. Soon after daybreak I arrived 
 at Tunis, a town fairly built of a very white stone, but quite 
 without gardens, which, they say, were all destroyed and their 
 fine groves cut down 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 contributing to 
 the natural heat of the climate, renders it so excessive, I have 
 much ado to support it. 'Tis true here is every noon the 
 refreshment of the sea-breeze, without which it would be im- 
 possible 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 in the town go veiled from head to foot under 
 a black crape ; and, being mixed with a breed of renegades, 
 are said to be many of them fair and handsome. This city 
 was besieged 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 III., raised the 
 siege on honourable conditions. It remained under its natural 
 African kings, till betrayed into the hands of Barbarossa, 
 admiral of Solyman the Magnificent. The Emperor Charles V. 
 expelled Barbarossa, but it was recovered by the Turk, 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 suffers the name of subject to 
 the Turk, but has renounced the subjection, being absolute, 
 and very seldom paying any tribute. The great city of Bagdat 
 is at this time in the same circumstance; and the Grand 
 Signior connives at the loss of these dominions, for fear of 
 losing even the titles of them.
 
 1 86 Letters during the [1718 
 
 I went very early yesterday morning (after one night's repose) 
 to see the ruins of Carthage. — I was, however, half broiled 
 in the sun, and overjoyed to be led into one of the sub- 
 terranean apartments, which they called the stables of the 
 elephants, but which I cannot believe were ever designed for 
 that use. I found in many of them broken pieces of columns of 
 fine marble, and some of porphyry. I cannot think anybody 
 would take the insignificant pains of carrying them thither, and 
 I cannot imagine such fine pillars were designed for the orna- 
 ment of a stable. 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 off, many of the women flocked in to see me, and we were 
 equally entertained with viewing one another. Their posture 
 in sitting, the colour 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 own country people the 
 baboons, 'tis hard to fancy 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 whence 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. Strabo calls Carthage forty miles in circuit. There 
 are now no remains of it but what I have described ; and the 
 history of it [isj too well known to want my abridgment of 
 it. You see that I think you esteem obedience more than 
 compliments. I have answered your letter, by giving you 
 the account you desired, and have reserved my thanks to the 
 conclusion. I intend to leave this place to-morrow, and 
 continue my journey through Italy and France. In one of 
 those places I hope to tell you, by word of mouth, that I am, 
 
 Your humble servant. 
 
 To the Countess of [Mar]. 
 
 Genoa, Aug. 28, O.S. [1718]. 
 
 I beg your pardon, my dear sister, that I did not write to 
 you from Tunis, the only opportunity I have had since I left
 
 i 7 i8] Embassy to Constantinople 187 
 
 Constantinople. But the heat there was so excessive, and 
 the light so bad for the sight, I was half blind by writing 
 
 one letter to the Abbot [Abbe Conti], and durst not go 
 
 on to write many others I had designed ; nor, indeed, could 
 I have entertained you very well out of that barbarous country. 
 I am now surrounded with objects of pleasure, and so much 
 charmed with the beauties of Italy, I should think it a kind of 
 ingratitude not to offer a little praise in return for the diversion 
 I have had here. I am in the house of Mrs. dAvenant, at 
 St. Pierre lArene, and should be very unjust not to allow her 
 a share of that praise I speak of, since her good humour and 
 good company have very much contributed to render this 
 place agreeable to me. 
 
 Genoa is situate 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. Their 
 betraying the Christian cause, by facilitating the taking of 
 Constantinople by the Turk, deserved what has since happened 
 to them — the loss of all their conquests on that side to the 
 infidels. They are at present far from rich, and despised 
 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 
 as the arms of France over the house of the envoy being 
 spattered with dung in the night. I suppose 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 improved their airs. I know not whether you have 
 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 politically founded, since I am assured here 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
 
 1 88 Letters during the [1718 
 
 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 humour among them. 
 These are gentlemen who devote themselves to the service 
 of a particular lady (I mean a married one, for the virgins 
 are all invisible, confined to convents) : they are obliged to 
 wait on her to all public places, the plays, operas, and 
 assemblies (which are called here Conversations), where they 
 wait behind her chair, take care of her fan and gloves if 
 she plays, have the privilege of whispers, &c. When she 
 goes out, they serve her instead of lacquies, gravely trotting 
 by her chair. Tis their business to prepare for her a present 
 against any day of public appearance, not forgetting that of 
 her own name : in short, they are to spend all their time 
 and money in her service, who rewards them according to 
 her inclination (for opportunity they want none) ; but the 
 husband is not to have the impudence to suppose this any 
 other than pure Platonic friendship. 'Tis true, they endeavour 
 to give her a cecisbeo of their own choosing ; 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 see 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 is but two years in his office, 
 and at that very time his wife 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 
 necessary to put a stop to the luxury of dress, forbidding the 
 wear 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, of 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 palace of Durazzo ; those of two Balbi, joined to-
 
 i7i8] Embassy to Constantinople 189 
 
 gether by a magnificent [colonnade] ; that of the Imperiale at 
 this village of St. Pierre l'Arene ; 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 
 nothing so much as the collection of pictures by the pencils 
 of Raphael, Paulo Veronese, Titian, Caracci, Michael Angelo, 
 Guido, and Corregio, which two I mention last as my particular 
 favourites. 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 painters, shew 
 nature, and shew it in the most charming light. I was par- 
 ticularly pleased with a Lucretia in the house of Balbi : the 
 expressive beauty of that face and bosom gives all the passion 
 of pity and admiration that could be raised in the soul by the 
 finest poem on that subject. A Cleopatra of the same hand 
 deserves to be mentioned ; and I should say more of her, if 
 Lucretia had not first engaged my eyes. Here are also some 
 inestimable ancient bustos. ; The church of St. Lawrence is 
 all 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 Annunci- 
 ation is finely lined with marble; the pillars of red and 
 white marble: that of St. Ambrose very much adorned 
 by the Jesuits : but I confess, all these churches appeared 
 so mean to me, after that of Sancta Sophia, I can hardly 
 do them the honour 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. But ours was very much shortened, and 
 very agreeably passed in Mr. d'Avenant's company, in the 
 village of St. Pierre l'Arene, about a mile from Genoa, in 
 a house built by Palladio, so well designed and so nobly 
 proportioned, 'twas a pleasure to walk in it. We were visited 
 here only in the company of a noble Genoese, commissioned 
 to see we did not touch one another. I shall stay here some 
 days longer, and could almost wish it for all my life; but 
 mine, I fear, is not destined to so much tranquillity. 
 
 I am, &c. &c.
 
 190 Letters during the [1718 
 
 To the Countess of . 
 
 Turin, Sept. 12, O. S. [1718]. 
 
 I came in two days from Genoa, through fine roads to this 
 place. I have already seen what is shewed to strangers in the 
 town, which, indeed, is not worth a very particular description ; 
 and I have not respect enough for the holy handkerchief to 
 speak long of it. The church is handsome, and so is the 
 king's palace ; but I have lately seen such perfection of 
 architecture, I did not give much of my attention to these 
 pieces. The town itself is fairly built, situate on a fine 
 plain on the banks of the Po. At a little distance from it, 
 we saw the palaces of La Venerie and La Valentin, both very 
 agreeable retreats. We were lodged in the Piazza Royale, 
 which is one of the noblest squares I ever saw, with a fine 
 portico of white stone quite round it. We were immediately 
 
 visited by the Chevalier , whom you knew in England ; 
 
 who, with great civility, begged to introduce us at court, 
 which is now kept at Rivoli, about a league from Turin. I 
 went thither yesterday, and had the honour of waiting on the 
 queen, being presented to her by her first lady of honour. I 
 found her majesty in a magnificent apartment, with a train of 
 handsome ladies, all dressed in gowns, among whom it was 
 easy to distinguish the fair Princess of Carignan. The queen 
 entertained me with a world of sweetness and affability, and 
 seemed mistress of a great share of good sense. She did not 
 forget to [put] me in mind of her English blood, and added, 
 that she always felt in herself a particular inclination to love 
 the English. I returned her civility, by giving her the title of 
 majesty as often as I could, which, perhaps, she will not have 
 the comfort of hearing many months longer. The King has 
 a great vivacity in his eyes; and the young Prince of 
 Piedmont is a very handsome youth ; but the great devotion 
 which this court is at present fallen into, does not permit 
 any of these entertainments proper for his age. Pro- 
 cessions and masses are all the magnificences in fashion here ; 
 
 and gallantry so criminal, that the poor Count of , who 
 
 was our acquaintance at London, is very seriously disgraced, 
 for some small overtures he presumed to make to a maid of 
 honour. I intend to set out to-morrow, and to pass those 
 dreadful Alps, so much talked of. If I come alive to the 
 bottom you shall hear of me.
 
 X7i8] Embassy to Constantinople 191 
 
 To Mrs. T [Thistlethwayte]. 
 
 Lyons, Sept. 25, O. S. [1718]. 
 
 I received, at my arrival here, both your obliging letters, 
 and from many of my other friends, designed to Con- 
 stantinople, and sent me from Marseilles hither ; our merchant 
 there knowing we were upon our return. I am surprised to 
 hear my sister [Mar] has left England. I suppose what I wrote 
 to her from Turin will be lost, and where to direct I know 
 not, having no account of her affairs from her own hand. 
 For my own part, I am confined to my chamber, having kept 
 my bed, till yesterday, ever since the 17th, that I came to this 
 town ; where I have had so terrible a fever, I believed for 
 some time that all my journeys were ended here : and I do 
 not at all wonder that such fatigues as I have passed should 
 have such an effect. The first day's journey, from Turin to 
 Novalesse, is through a very fine country, beautifully planted, 
 and enriched by art and nature. The next day we began to 
 ascend Mount Cenis, being carried in little seats of twisted 
 osiers, fixed upon poles upon men's shoulders ; our chaises 
 taken to pieces, and laid upon mules. 
 
 The prodigious prospect of mountains covered with eternal 
 snow, clouds hanging far below our feet, and the vast cascades 
 tumbling down the rocks with a confused roaring, would 
 have been solemnly entertaining to me, if I had suffered less 
 from the extreme cold that reigns here ; but the misty rain 
 which falls perpetually, penetrated even the thick fur I was 
 wrapped in ; and I was half dead with cold before we got to the 
 foot of the mountain, which was not till two hours after 'twas 
 dark. This hill has a spacious plain on the top of it, and a 
 fine lake there ; but the descent is so steep and slippery, 'tis 
 surprising to see these chairmen go so steadily as they do. Yet 
 I was not half so much afraid of breaking my neck, as I was of 
 falling sick ; and the event has shewed that I placed my fears 
 in the right place. 
 
 The other mountains are now all passable for a chaise, and 
 very fruitful in vines and pastures ; among them is a breed of 
 the finest goats in the world. Acquebellet is the last ; and 
 soon after we entered Pont Beauvoisin, the frontier town of 
 France, whose bridge parts this kingdom and the dominion 
 of Savoy. The same night we arrived late at this town, where 
 I have had nothing to do but to take care of my health. I 
 think myself already out of any danger, and am determined that 
 the sore throat, which still remains, shall not confine me long.
 
 192 Letters during the [1718 
 
 I am impatient to see the antiquities of this famous city, and 
 more impatient to continue my journey to Paris, from whence 
 I hope to write you a more diverting letter than 'tis possible 
 for me to do now, with a mind weakened by sickness, a head 
 muddled with spleen, from a sorry inn, and a chamber 
 crammed with the mortifying objects of apothecaries' phials 
 and bottles. 
 
 To Mr. P . 
 
 Lyons, Sept. 28, O.S. [1718]. 
 I received yours here, and should thank you for the 
 pleasure you express for my return ; but I can hardly forbear 
 being angry at you for rejoicing at what displeases me so 
 much. You will think this but an odd compliment on my 
 side. I'll assure you 'tis not from insensibility of the joy of 
 seeing my friends ; but when I consider that I must at the 
 same time see and hear a thousand disagreeable impertinents, 
 that I must receive and pay visits, make courtesies, and assist 
 at tea-tables, where I shall be half killed with questions ; 
 on the other part, that I am a creature that cannot serve any 
 body but with insignificant good wishes ; and that my presence 
 is not a necessary good to any one member of my native 
 country, I think I might much better have staid where ease 
 and quiet made up the happiness of my indolent life. I should 
 certainly be melancholy if I pursued this theme one line 
 further. I will rather fill the remainder of this paper with 
 the inscriptions on the tables of brass that are placed on each 
 side of the town-house here. 
 
 I. TABLE. 
 
 M>erorum. nostr : : : : : sn : : : : : Equidem. primam. omnium, 
 illam. cogitationem. hominum. quam. maxime. primam. occur- 
 suram. mihi. provideo. deprecor. ne. quasi. novam istam. rem. 
 introduci. exhorrescatis. sed. illa. potius. cogitetis. quam. 
 multa. in. hac civitate. novata. sint. et. quidem. statim. ab. 
 origine. urbis. nostr.*. in. quot. formas. statusque. res. p. 
 nostra. diducta. sit. 
 
 Quondam, reges. hanc. tenuere. urbem. ne. tamen. domesticis. 
 successoribus. eam. tradere. contigit. supervenere. alieni. et. 
 quidam. externi. ut. numa. romulo. successerit. ex. sabinis. 
 veniens. vicinus. quidem. sed. tunc. externus. ut. anco. marcio. 
 priscus. tarquinius. propter. temeratum. sanguinem. quod, 
 patre. de. marato. corinthio. natus. erat. et. tarquiniensi. 
 matre. generosa. sed. inopi. ut. qu*.. tali. marito. necesse. 
 habuerit. succumbere. cum. domi. repelleretur. a. gerendis. 
 honoribus. postquam. romam. migravit. regnum. adeptus. est. 
 huic. quoque. et. filio. nepotive. ejus. nam. et. hoc inter.
 
 1718] Embassy to Constantinople 193 
 
 auctores. discrepat. incretus. servius. tullius. si. nostros. 
 sequimur. captiva. natus. ocresia. si. tuscos. coeli. quondam. 
 vivenn.e. sodalis. fidelissimus. omnisque. ejus. casus. comes, 
 postquam. varia. fortuna. exactus. cum. omnibus. reliquis. 
 coeliani. exercitus. etruria. excessit. montem. coelium. occupa- 
 vit. et. a. duce. suo. coelio. ita. appellitatus. mutatoque. 
 nomine. nam. tusce. mastarna. ei. nomen. erat. ita. appellatus. 
 est. ut. dixi. et. regnum. summa. cum. reip. utilitate. obtinuit. 
 deinde. postquam. tarquini. superbi. mores. invisi. civitati. 
 nostra. esse. coeperunt. qua. ipsius. qua. filiorum. ejus. nempe. 
 perttesum. est. mentes. regni. et. ad. consules. ann-uos. magis- 
 tratus. administratis reip. translata. est. 
 
 Quid. nunc, commemorem. dictatur^. hoc ipso, consulari. 
 imperium. valentius. repertum. apud. majores. nostros. quo. in. 
 asperioribus. bellis. aut. in. civili. motu. difficiliori. uter- 
 entur. aut. in. auxilium. plebis. creatos. tribunos. plebei. quid. 
 a. con6ulibus. ad. decemviros. translatum. imperium. solutoque. 
 postea. decemvirali. regno. ad. consules. rursus. reditum. quid, 
 im. : : : : v. ris. distributum. consulare. imperium. tribunosque. 
 militum. consulari. imperio. appellatus. qui. seni. et. octoni. 
 crearentur. quid. communicatos. postremo. cum. plebe. honores. 
 non. imperi. solum. sed. sacerdotiorum. quoque. jamsi. narrem. 
 bella. a. . quibus. coeperint. majores. nostri. et. quo. pro- 
 cesserimus. vereor. ne. nimio. insolentior. esse. videar. et. 
 quitsisse. jactationem. gloria. prolati. imperi. ultra. oceanum. 
 sed. illo. c. porius. revertar. civitatem. 
 
 I cannot take the pains with the second table I have done 
 with the first. You may easily imagine it in the same character, 
 and pointed after the same manner. These are the words. 
 
 II. TABLE. 
 
 ::::::::::::::: SANE ::::::::::::::::::: 
 
 novo : : : divus : aug. : : : no : lus. et. patruus. Ti. Cesar, 
 omnem. florem. ubique. coloniarum. ac. municipiorum. bonorum. 
 scilicet. virorum. et. locupletium. in. hag curia. esse. voluit. 
 quid. ergo. non. italicus. senator. provinciali. potior. est. jam. 
 vobis. cum. hanc. partem. censure. meie. approbare. coepero. 
 quid. de. ea. re. sentiam. rebus. ostendam. sed. ne. provinciales. 
 quidem. si. modo. ornare. curiam. poterint. rejiciendos. puto. 
 
 ornatissima. ecce. colonia. valentissimaque. rlennensium. 
 quam. longo. jam. tempore. senatores. huic. curi/e. confert. 
 ex. qua. colonia. inter. paucos. equestris. ordinis. ornamentum. 
 l. restinum. familiarissime. diligo. et. hodieque. in. rebus, 
 meis. detineo. cujus. liberi. fruantur. qu^so. primo. sacer- 
 dotiorum. gradu. post. modo. cum. annis. promoturi. dignitatis. 
 svm. incrementa. ut. dirum. nomen. latronts. taceam. et. odi. 
 illud.palestricum. prodigium. quod. ante. in. domum. consulatum. 
 intulit. quam. colonia. sua. solidum. civitatis. roman/e. bene- 
 ficium. consecuta. est. idem. de. fratre. ejus. possum. dicere. 
 miserabili. quidem. indignissimoque. hoc. casu. ut. vobis. utilis. 
 senator. esse. non. possit.
 
 194 Letters during the [1718 
 
 TEMPUS. EST. JAM. Tl. C/ESAR. Germanice. detegere. te. patribus. 
 
 conscriptis. quo. tendat. oratio. tua. jam. enim. ad. extremos. 
 fines. Gallic. Narbonensis. venisti. 
 
 Tot. ecce. insignes. juvenes. quot. intueor. non. magis. sunt, 
 poenitendi. senatorib. quam. poenitet. Persicum. nobilissimum. 
 virum. am1cum. meum. inter. imagines. majorum. suorum. alloro- 
 gici. nomen. legere. quod. si. h>ec. ita. esse. consenti. is. quid, 
 ultra. desideratis. quam. ut. vobis. digito. demonstrem. solum, 
 ipsum. ultra. fines. province, narbonensis. jam. vobis. senatores. 
 mittere. quando. ex. lugduno. habere. nos. nostri. ordinis. 
 viros. non. poenitet. timide. quidem. p. c. egressus. adsuetos. 
 familiaresque. vobis. provinciarum. terminos. sum. sed. destricte. 
 jam. comat/e. galli/e. causa. agenda. est. in. qua. si. quis. hoc. 
 intuetur. quod. bello. per. decem. annos. exercuerunt. divom. 
 julium. idem. opponat. centum. annorum. immobilem. fidem. 
 obsequiumque. multis. tripidis. rebus. nostris. plusquam. ex- 
 pertum. illi. patri. meo. druso. germaniam. subigenti. tutam. 
 quiete. sua. securamque. a. tergo. pacem. pr/estiterunt. et. 
 quidem. cum. ad. census. novo. tum. opere. et. in. adsueto. 
 galliis. ad. bellum. avocatus. esset. quod. opus. quam. arduum. 
 sit. nobis. nunc. cum. maxime. quamvis. nihil. ultra. quam. ut. 
 publice. not^:. sint. facultates. nostra. exquiratur. nimis. 
 magno. experimento. cognoscimus. 
 
 I was also shewed, without the gate of St. Justinus, some 
 remains of a Roman aqueduct ; and behind the monastery of 
 St. Mary's there are the ruins of the imperial palace where the 
 Emperor Claudius was born, and where Severus lived. The 
 great cathedral of St. John is a good Gothic building, and its 
 clock much admired by the Germans. In one of the most 
 conspicuous parts of the town is the late King's statue set up, 
 trampling upon mankind. I cannot forbear saying one word 
 here of the French statues (for I never intend to mention any 
 more of them), with their gilded full-bottomed wigs. If their 
 king had intended to express, in one image, ignorance, ill taste, 
 and vanity, his sculptors could have made no other figure to 
 represent the odd mixture of an old beau, who had a mind to 
 be a hero, with a bushel of curled hair on his head, and a gilt 
 truncheon in his hand. The French have been so voluminous 
 on the history of this town, I need say nothing of it. The 
 houses are tolerably well built, and the Belle Cour well 
 planted, from whence is seen the celebrated joining of the 
 Saone and Rhone. 
 
 " Ubi Rhodanus ingens amne praerapido fluit 
 Ararque dubitans quo suos fluctus agat." 
 
 I have had time to see every thing with great leisure, having 
 been confined several days to this town by a swelling in my
 
 1718] Embassy to Constantinople 19- 
 
 throat, the remains of a fever, occasioned by a cold I got in 
 the damps of the Alps. The doctors here (who are charmed 
 with a new customer) threaten me with all sorts of distempers, 
 if I dare to leave them till this swelling is quite vanished ; but 
 I, that know the obstinacy of it, think it just as possible to 
 continue my way to Paris with it, as to go about the streets of 
 Lyons ; and am determined to pursue my journey to-morrow, 
 in spite of doctors, apothecaries, and sore throats. 
 
 When you see Lady R. [Rich], tell her I have received her 
 letter, and will answer it from Paris, believing that the place she 
 would most willingly hear of. 
 
 To the Lady R [Rich]. 
 
 Paris, Oct. 10, O.S. [171S]. 
 
 I cannot give my dear Lady R. [Rich] a better proof of the 
 pleasure I have in writing to her, than choosing to do it in this 
 seat of various amusements, where I am accablie with visits, and 
 those so full of vivacity and compliment, that 'tis full employ- 
 ment enough to hearken, whether one answers or not. The 
 French ambassadress at Constantinople has a very consider- 
 able and numerous family here, who all come to see me, and 
 are never weary of making enquiries. The air of Paris has 
 already had a good effect on me ; for I was never in better 
 health, though I have been extremely ill all the road from 
 Lyons to this place. You may judge how agreeable the 
 journey has been to me ; which did not need that addition to 
 make me dislike it. I think nothing so terrible as objects of 
 misery, except one had the God-like attribute of being capable 
 to redress them ; and all the country villages of France shew 
 nothing else. While the post-horses are changed, the whole 
 town comes out to beg, with such miserable starved faces, and 
 thin tattered clothes, they need no other eloquence to persuade 
 [one of] the wretchedness of their condition. This is all the 
 French magnificence till you come to Fontainebleau. There 
 you begin to think the kingdom rich when you are shewed one 
 thousand five hundred rooms in the King's hunting palace. 
 The apartments of the royal family are very large, and richly 
 gilt ; but I saw nothing in the architecture or painting worth 
 remembering. The long gallery, built by Henry IV., has 
 prospects of all the King's houses : its walls are designed after 
 the taste of those times, but appear now very mean. The 
 park is, indeed, finely wooded and watered, the trees well
 
 196 Letters during the [1718 
 
 grown and planted, and in the fish-ponds are kept tame 
 carp, said to be, some of them, eighty years of age. The 
 late King passed some months every year at this seat ; and 
 all the rocks around it, by the pious sentences inscribed on 
 them, shew the devotion in fashion at his court, which I 
 believe died with him; at least, I see no exterior marks of 
 it at Paris, where all people's thoughts seem to be on present 
 diversion. 
 
 The fair of St. Lawrence is now in season. You may be 
 sure I have been carried thither, and think it much better 
 disposed than ours of Bartholomew. The shops being all set 
 in rows so regularly, and well lighted, they made up a very 
 agreeable spectacle. But I was not at all satisfied with the 
 grossierete of their harlequin, no more than with their music at 
 the opera, which was abominably grating, after being used to 
 that of Italy. Their house is a booth, compared to that of 
 the Haymarket, and the play-house not so neat as that in 
 Lincoln'sTnn-fields; but then it must be owned, to their praise, 
 their tragedians are much beyond any of ours. I should hardly 
 allow Mrs. O. [Oldfield] a better place than to be confidante 
 
 to La . I have seen the tragedy of Bajazet so well 
 
 represented, I think our best actors can be only said to 
 speak, but these to feel; and 'tis certainly infinitely more 
 moving to see a man appear unhappy, than to hear him say 
 that he is so, with a jolly face, and a stupid smirk in his 
 countenance. — Apropos of countenances, I must tell you some- 
 thing of the French ladies ; I have seen all the beauties, and 
 
 suc h (I can't help making use of the coarse word) 
 
 nauseous [creatures] ! so fantastically absurd in their dress ! so 
 monstrously unnatural in their paints ! their hair cut short, and 
 curled round their faces, loaded with powder, that makes it 
 look like white wool ! and on their cheeks to their ohins, un- 
 mercifully laid on, a shining red japan, that glistens in a most 
 flaming manner, that they seem to have no resemblance to 
 human faces, and I am apt to believe, took the first hint of 
 their dress from a fair sheep newly ruddled. 'Tis 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 a still higher esteem of the natural charms of dear 
 Lady R.'s auburn hair, and the lively colours of her unsullied 
 complexion. 
 
 P.S. I have met the Abbe [Conti] here, who desires me to 
 make his compliments to you.
 
 1718] Embassy to Constantinople 197 
 
 To Mrs. T [Thistlethwayte]. 
 
 Paris, Oct. i6, O.S. [1718]. 
 
 You see I'm just to my word, in writing to you from Paris, 
 
 where I was very much surprised to meet my sister [Mar] ; 
 
 I need not add, very much pleased. She as little expected to 
 see me as I her (having not received my late letters) ; and 
 this meeting would shine under the hand of Mr. De Scud£rie ; 
 but I shall not imitate his style so far as to tell you how often 
 we embraced ; how she enquired by what odd chance I returned 
 from Constantinople ; and I answered her by asking what ad- 
 venture brought her to Paris ? To shorten the story, all ques- 
 tions and answers, and exclamations, and compliments, being 
 over, we agreed upon running about together, and have seen 
 Versailles, Trianon, Marli, and St. Cloud. We had an order 
 for the waters to play for our diversion, and I was followed 
 thither by all the English at Paris. I own Versailles appeared 
 to me rather vast than beautiful ; and after have [having ?] seen 
 the exact proportions of the Italian buildings, I thought the 
 irregularity of it shocking. 
 
 The King's cabinet of antiques and medals is, indeed, very 
 richly furnished. Among that collection none pleased me so well 
 as the apotheosis of Germanicus, on a large agate, which is 
 one of the most delicate pieces of the kind that I remember to 
 have seen. I observed some ancient statues of great value. 
 But the nauseous flattery, and tawdry pencil of Le Brun, 
 are equally disgusting in the gallery. I will not pretend to 
 describe to you the great apartment, the vast variety of 
 fountains, the theatre, the grove of Esop's fables, &c, all which 
 you may read very amply particularised in some of the French 
 authors that have been paid for those descriptions. Trianon, 
 in its littleness, pleased me better than Versailles j Marli, 
 better than either of them; and St. Cloud, best of all; 
 having the advantage of the Seine running at the bottom 
 of the gardens, the great cascade, &c. You may find in the 
 foresaid books, if you have any curiosity to know, the exact 
 number of the statues, and how many feet they cast up the 
 water. 
 
 We saw the King's pictures in the magnificent house of the 
 Duke d'Antin, who has the care of preserving them till his 
 Majesty is of age. There are not many, but of the best hands. 
 I looked with great pleasure on the archangel of Raphael, 
 where the sentiments of superior beings are as well expressed 
 as in Milton. You won't forgive me if I say nothing of the
 
 198 Letters during the [1718 
 
 Thuilleries, much finer than our Mall ; and the Cours, more 
 agreeable than our Hyde Park, the high trees giving shade in 
 the hottest season. At the Louvre I had the opportunity of 
 seeing the King, accompanied by the Duke Regent. He is tall 
 and well-shaped, but has not the air of holding the crown so 
 many years as his grandfather. And now I am speaking of 
 the court, I must say I saw nothing in France that delighted 
 me so much as to see an Englishman (at least a Briton) 
 
 absolute in Paris ; I mean Mr. L , who treats their dukes 
 
 and peers extremely de haut en das, and is treated by them 
 with the utmost submission and respect. — Poor souls ! — 
 This reflection on their abject slavery puts me in mind of the 
 Place des Victoires ; but I will not take up your time and my 
 own with such descriptions, which are too numerous. 
 
 In general, I think Paris has the advantage of London, in 
 the neat pavement of the streets, and the regular lighting of 
 them at nights, the proportion of the streets, the houses 
 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. I shall not 
 continue here long; if you have any thing to command me 
 during my short stay, write soon, and I shall take pleasure in 
 obeying you. 
 
 I am, &c. &c. 
 
 To Mr. P . 
 
 I have been running about Paris at a strange rate with my 
 sister, and strange sights have we seen. They are, at least, 
 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-shew amidst 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 atten- 
 tion 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 commonly the entrance of a gentleman or a 
 lady into a room is accompanied with a grin, which is designed
 
 1718] Embassy to Constantinople 199 
 
 to express complacence and social pleasure, but really shews 
 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 great 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 the character of the men, and I am convinced 
 in the persuasion 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 quit 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 
 humours and graces, so that dignity in manners is a rare thing 
 here before the age of sixty. Does not King David say some- 
 where, that Man walketh in a vain shew ? I think he does, 
 and I am sure this is peculiarly true of the Frenchman — 
 but he walks merrily and seems to enjoy the vision, and may 
 he not therefore be esteemed more happy than many of our 
 solid thinkers, whose brows are furrowed by deep reflection, 
 and whose wisdom is so often clothed with a misty mantle of 
 spleen and vapours ? 
 
 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 architecture, 
 in which there is great irregularity and want of proportion, 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 ordered 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 himself transported 
 from the Capitol into a French garden ; and after having 
 received the homage of the Roman emperors, who laid their 
 laurels at his feet when they returned from their conquests, to
 
 200 Letters during the [1718 
 
 behold now nothing but frizzled beaus passing by him with 
 indifference. 
 
 I propose setting out soon from this place, so that you are 
 to expect no more letters from this side of the water ; besides, 
 I am hurried to death, and my head swims with that vast 
 variety of objects which I am obliged to view with such 
 rapidity, 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 always 
 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, &c. 
 
 To the Abbot [Abbe Conti] 
 
 Dover, Oct. 31, O.S. [17 18]. 
 I am willing to take your word for it, that I shall really oblige 
 you, by letting you know, as soon as possible, my safe passage 
 over the water. I arrived this morning at Dover, after being 
 tossed a whole night in the packet-boat, in so violent a manner, 
 that the master, considering the weakness of his vessel, thought 
 it prudent to remove the mail, and give us notice of the danger. 
 We called a little fisher boat, which could hardly make up to 
 us ; while all the people on board us were crying to Heaven; and 
 'tis hard to imagine one's self in a scene of greater horror than 
 on such an occasion ; and yet, shall I 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 conceal from the 
 custom-house officers. When the wind grew high, and our 
 little vessel cracked, she fell very heartily to her 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 madam, 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." This easy transition from her soul to her 
 head-dress, and the alternate agonies that both gave her, 
 made it hard to determine which she thought of greatest value.
 
 1718] Embassy to Constantinople 201 
 
 But, however, the scene was not so diverting but I was glad to 
 get rid of it, and be thrown into the little boat, though with 
 some hazard of breaking my neck. It brought me safe hither ; 
 and I cannot help looking with partial eyes on my native land. 
 That partiality was certainly given us by nature, to prevent 
 rambling, the effect of an ambitious thirst after knowledge, which 
 we are not formed to enjoy. All we get by it is a fruitless 
 desire of mixing the different pleasures and conveniences 
 which are given to different parts of the world, and cannot 
 meet in any one of them. After having read all that is to be 
 found in the languages I am mistress of, and having decayed 
 my sight by midnight studies, I envy the easy peace of mind of 
 a ruddy milkmaid, who, undisturbed by doubt, hears the 
 sermon with humility every Sunday, having not confused 
 the sentiments of natural duty in her head by the vain 
 enquiries of the schools, who may be more learned, yet, after 
 all, must remain as ignorant. And, after having seen part of 
 Asia and Africa, and almost made the tour of Europe, I think 
 the honest English squire more happy, who verily believes the 
 Greek wines less delicious than March beer ; that the African 
 fruits have not so fine a flavour as golden-pippins ; and the 
 becafiguas of Italy are not so well tasted as a rump of beef; 
 and that, in short, there is no perfect enjoyment of this life out 
 of Old England. I pray God I may think so for the rest of my 
 life ; and, since I must be contented with our scanty allowance 
 of daylight, that I may forget the enlivening sun of Constanti- 
 nople. 
 
 I am, &c. &c. 
 To Mr. P. [Pope]. 
 
 Dover, Nov. I [17 18]. 
 
 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 
 employ 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 
 interrupted their scheme of happiness. I see no reason to 
 imagine that John Hughes and Sarah Drew were either wiser 
 or more virtuous than their neighbours. That a well-set man 
 of twenty-five should have a fancy to marry a brown woman of
 
 202 The Embassy to Constantinople [1718 
 
 eighteen, is nothing marvellous ; and I cannot help thinking, 
 that, had they married, their lives would have passed in the 
 common track with their fellow parishioners. His endeavour- 
 ing to shield her from the 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 : 
 
 4ffere lies John Hughes and Sarah Drew ; 
 Perhaps you'll 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 ! 
 On Thursday last it rain'd and lighten'd ; 
 These tender lovers, sadly frighten'd, 
 Shelter'd beneath the cocking hay, 
 In hopes to pass the storm 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 'twas not kindly done ? 
 For had they seen the next year's sun, 
 A beaten wife and cuckold swain 
 Had jointly curs'd the marriage chain j 
 Now they are happy in their doom, 
 For P. has wrote upon their tomb. 
 
 I confess, these sentiments are not altogether so heroic as 
 yours ; but I hope you will forgive them in favour of the two 
 last lines. You see how much I esteem the honour you have 
 done them ; though I am not very impatient to have the same, 
 and had rather continue to be your stupid living humble 
 servant, than be celebrated by all the pens in Europe. 
 
 I would write to Mr. C. [Congreve], but suppose you will 
 read this to him, if he enquires after me.
 
 LETTERS 
 
 TO THE 
 
 COUNTESS OF MAR 
 
 1721 — 1727 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [1721.] 
 
 From the tranquil and easy situation in which you left me, 
 dear sister, I am reduced to that of the highest degree of 
 vexation, 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 not very excusable where there is nothing to be 
 ashamed of; since I can only accuse myself of too much 
 good-nature, or at worst 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 two years 
 [sic], 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 
 cannot 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 upon 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 'twas impossible to make them happy 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 
 
 203
 
 204 Letters to the [1721 
 
 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 that 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 hoped for in it. 
 I represented to him that if he had so little money as he said, 
 'twas ridiculous to hazard it all. He replied that 'twas 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 to be overcome by his entreaties, and 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. Binfield. 
 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 Cleeve, goldsmiths of very good reputation. 
 When the opening of the books came, my men went off, 
 leaving the stock upon my hands, which was already sunk from 
 near nine hundred pounds to four hundred pounds. I imme- 
 diately 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, 
 resolved to make no more steps in his business without direct 
 orders, after having been so unlucky. 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 
 ail his money remaining untouched : and he would have k 
 again, or he would print all my letters to him ; which though, 
 God knows, very innocent in the main, yet may admit of ill
 
 i?2i] Countess of Mar 205 
 
 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 of 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 
 answerable for the losses that may happen. At the same 
 time, I have attestations and witnesses of the bargains I made, 
 so that nothing can be clearer than my integrity in this 
 business j but that does not hinder me from being in the 
 utmost terror for the consequences (as you may easily guess) 
 of his villany ; the very story of which appears so monstrous to 
 me, I can hardly believe myself while I write it ; though I 
 omit (not to tire you) a thousand aggravating circumstances. 
 I cannot forgive myself the folly of ever regarding one word 
 he said ; and I see now that his lies have 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 behaviour has acquitted you in my 
 opinion ; but I thought I ought not to mention, to hurt him 
 with you, what was perhaps more misunderstanding, or 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 necessary '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 the letters, 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 (enclosed 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 shewed you both his 
 note and the other people's. I knew he was discontented, 
 but was far from imagining a possibility 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 endea- 
 vouring of it is a tie upon me to serve you the rest of my 
 life without reserve and with eternal gratitude.
 
 2o6 Letters to the [1721 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 I am now at Twicknam : '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 
 willing 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 
 employs may come to me hither on several pretences. I 
 desire nothing from him, but that he would send no letters 
 nor messages 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 decays 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. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 I give you many thanks (my dear sister) for the trouble you 
 have given yourself in my affair ; but am afraid 'tis not yet 
 effectual. I must beg you to let him know I am now at 
 Twickenham, and that whoever has his procuration may come 
 here on divers pretences, but must by no means go to my 
 house at London. I wonder you can think Lady Stafford has 
 not writ to him; she shewed me a long plain letter to him 
 several months ago ; as a demonstration he received it, I saw 
 his answer. 'Tis true she treated him with the contempt he 
 deserved, and told him she would never give herself the trouble 
 of writing again to so despicable a wretch. She is willing to 
 do yet further, and write to the Duke of Villeroi about it, if I 
 think it proper. R. [Remond] does nothing but lie, and either 
 does not, or will not, understand what is said to him. You will 
 forgive me troubling you so often with this business ; the 
 importance of it is the best excuse ; in short, 
 
 -'tis joy or sorrow, peace or strife, 
 
 'Tis all the colour of remaining; life."
 
 i 7 2i] Countess of Mar 207 
 
 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 
 enliven. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [June, 1 72 1.] 
 I have just received your letter of May 30th, and am 
 surprised, since you own the receipt of my letter, that you 
 give me not the least hint concerning the business that I writ 
 so earnestly to you about. Till that is over, I am as little 
 capable of hearing or 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 of me can be in no way his interest. I am 
 ready to assign, or deliver the money for ^500 stock, to who- 
 ever 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. Instead of that, he has writ a letter to Mr. 
 W. [Wortley] 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 something to set my mind at ease from 
 this business, and then I will not fail to write you regular 
 accounts of all your acquaintance. Mr. Strickland has had a 
 prodigy of good fortune befallen 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 colour. 
 
 Lady Stafford desires you would buy one suit of minunet for 
 head and ruffles at Boileau's. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 I cannot enough thank you, 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. [Wortley] 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 this
 
 208 Letters to the [1721 
 
 proceeding, which can no way in the world turn to his advantage. 
 Did I refuse giving 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 
 baseness ; but all he can expect by informing Mr. W. [Wortley], 
 is to hear him repeat the same things I assert; he will not 
 retrieve one farthing, and I am for ever 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 
 enquiry, I am ready to be examined. I think no offer can 
 be fairer from any person whatsoever ; his conduct towards 
 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 signed to prove the contrary. I beg with the utmost 
 earnestness that you would make him sensible of his error. 
 I believe '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 inclina- 
 tion to write seriously 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 reputation and merit. I deny giving him 
 no satisfaction ; and after that offer, I think there is no man of 
 honour 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 proportionable to any 
 body that would deliver me from it, and I should not think it 
 paid by all the services of my life. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 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
 
 1721 Countess of Mar 209 
 
 to whom R. [Remond] had told it with all the false colours he 
 pleased to lay on. I shewed him the formal commission I had 
 to employ the money, and all the broker's testimonies taken 
 before Delpeeke, with his certificate. Your remonstrances 
 have hitherto had so little effect, that R. [Re*mond] will neither 
 send a letter of attorney to examine my accounts, or let me be 
 in peace. I received a letter from him but two posts since, in 
 which he renews 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 procura- 
 tion, which must convince the world of all the lies 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 do 
 it without a general acquittance in due form, not to have fresh 
 demands every time he wants money. If he thinks that he 
 has a larger sum to receive than I offer, why does he not name 
 a procurator to examine me ? 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 afterwards. I am weary with troubling you 
 with repetitions which cannot 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 Twicknam, where I pass my time in great 
 indolence and sweetness. Mr. W. [Wortley] is at this present 
 in Yorkshire. 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. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [July, 1721.] 
 
 I wish to see you, dear sister, more than ever I did in my 
 life ; a thousand things pass before my eyes that would afford 
 me infinite pleasure in your conversation, and that are lost for 
 want of such a friend to talk them over. Lechmere is to be 
 Lord Hungerford ; but the most considerable incident that has 
 happened a good while, was the ardent affection that Mrs. 
 Hervey and her dear spouse took to me. They visited me 
 twice or thrice a day, and were perpetually cooing in my
 
 210 Letters to the [1721 
 
 rooms. I was complaisant a great while ; but (as you know) 
 my talent has never lain much that way, I grew at last so weary 
 of those birds of paradise, I fled to Twicknam, as much to 
 avoid their persecutions as for my own health, which is still in 
 a declining way. I fancy the Bath would be a good remedy, 
 but my affairs lie so oddly I cannot easily resolve upon it. If 
 you please, dear sister, to buy twenty yards of the lutestring 
 I have bespoke (black), and send it by the first opportunity ; I 
 suppose you know we are in mourning for Lady Pierrepont. 
 Lady Loudoun and Lady Stair are in my neighbourhood. 
 The first of those ladies is on the brink of Scotland for life. 
 She does not care ; to say truth, I see no very lively reasons 
 why she should. 
 
 I am affectionately yours. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 I send you, dear sister, by Lady Lansdowne this letter, 
 accompanied with 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 'tis 
 not at all necessary for receiving his money or examining my 
 accounts ; 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 one farthing more : his design then can only be to 
 expose my letters here. I desire you would assure him that 
 my first step shall 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 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 designed 
 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 certain no time should be lost ; fear is his pre- 
 dominant passion, and I believe you may fright him from 
 coming hither, where he will certainly find a reception very 
 disagreeable to him. 
 
 Lady Lansdowne does not go till Tuesday; I have left 
 the cup with her, and three guineas to be laid out in plain 
 lutestring.
 
 i 7 2i] Countess of Mar 211 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [August, 1 72 1.] 
 Dear Sister, — I give you ten thousand thanks for the 
 trouble you have given yourself. I hope you will continue to 
 take some care of my affairs, because I do not hear they are 
 finished, and cannot yet get rid of my fears. You have not told 
 me that you have received what I sent by Lady Lansdowne, as 
 also three guineas that she took for you ; one of which I beg 
 you would lay out in the same narrow minunet that you sent 
 Mrs. Murray; and send it me by the first opportunity, for 
 the use of my daughter, who is very much your humble servant, 
 and grows a little woman. I suppose you know our sister 
 Gower has lain-in in the country of a son. The Duchess of 
 Kingston is preparing for the Bath. I live in a sort of solitude, 
 that wants very little of being such as I would have it. Lady J. 
 [Jane] Wharton is to be married to Mr. Holt, which I am sorry 
 for; — to see a young woman that I really think one of the 
 agreeablest girls upon earth so vilely misplaced — but where 
 are people matched ? — I suppose we shall all come right in 
 Heaven ; as in a country dance, the hands are strangely given 
 and taken, while they are in motion, at last all meet their 
 partners when the jig is done. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 Twicknam, Sept. 6 [1721]. 
 I have just received your letter, dear sister ; I am extreme 
 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'll 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 would make 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 cannot, with safety 
 to myself, deposit the money I have received into other hands, 
 without the express order of R. [R£mond] ; and he is so 
 unreasonable, that he will neither send a procuration to 
 examine my accounts, or any order for me to transfer his
 
 212 Letters to the [1722 
 
 stock into 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, that I 
 sometimes weary of life itself. 
 
 Mrs. Stoner will be a good person to send things by. I 
 would have no black silk, having bought here. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 I cannot forbear (dear sister) accusing you of unkindness 
 that you take so little care of a business of the last consequence 
 to me. R. [Remond] writ to me some time ago, to say if I 
 would immediately send him ^£2,000 sterling, he would send 
 me an acquittance. 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 Mrs. Murray's affair is a fatal instance), 
 not to know that the most groundless accusation is always of 
 ill consequence to a woman ; besides the cruel misfortune it 
 may bring upon me in my own family. If you have any com- 
 passion 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 either of blood or affection), that 
 humanity and Christianity are interested in my preservation. I 
 am sure I can answer for my hearty gratitude and everlasting 
 acknowledgment of a service much more important than that 
 of saving my life. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [April or May, 1722.] 
 
 I have had no answer, dear sister, to a long letter that I 
 writ to you a month ago ; but, 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
 
 i 7 22] Countess of Mar 213 
 
 death of our great minister, because the newspapers say so much. 
 I suppose that the same faithful historians give you regular 
 accounts of the growth and spreading of the inoculation of 
 the small-pox, which is become almost a general practice, 
 attended with great success. I pass my time in a small snug 
 set ot 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 sub- 
 terranean grotto, which he has furnished with looking-glass, 
 and they tell me it has a very good effect. I here send you 
 some verses addressed to Mr. Gay, who wrote him a congratu- 
 latory letter on the finishing his house. I stifled them here, 
 and I beg they may die the same death at Paris, and never go 
 further than your closet : 
 
 *' Ah, friend, '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 W casts her eyes. 
 
 What is the gay parterre, the chequer'd shade, 
 The morning bower, the ev'ning colonnade, 
 But soft recesses ol uneasy minds, 
 To sigh unheard in, to the passing winds ? 
 So the struck deer in some sequestrate 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 will only put you in mind of my lute- 
 string, which I beg you will send me plain, of what colour you 
 please. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 Dear Sister, — I am surprised at your silence, which has 
 been very long, and I am sure 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 purchased 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 
 crditre et embellir. I beg you would let me hear soon from 
 you ; and particularly if the approaching coronation at Paris
 
 214 Letters to the [1722 
 
 raises the price of diamonds. I have some to sell, and cannot 
 dispose of them here. I am afraid you have quite forgot my 
 plain lutestring, which I am in great want of; and I can hardly 
 think you can miss of opportunities to send it. At this dead 
 season 'tis impossible to entertain you with news ; and yet 
 more impossible (with my dulness) 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 shewing you 
 how sincerely I am yours. I am sure I never will slip any 
 occasion of convincing you of it. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [About Dec. 25, 1722.] 
 
 I have writ to you at least five-and-forty letters, dear sister, 
 without receiving any answer, and resolved not to confide in 
 post-house fidelity any more ; being firmly persuaded that they 
 never came to your hands, or you would not refuse one line to 
 let me know how you do, which is and ever will be of great 
 importance to me. The freshest news in town is the fatal 
 accident happened three nights ago to a very pretty young 
 fellow, brother to Lord Finch, who was drinking with a dearly 
 beloved drab, whom you may have heard of by the name of 
 Sally Salisbury. In a jealous pique she stabbed him to the 
 heart with a knife. He fell down dead immediately, but a 
 surgeon being called for, and the knife drawn out of his body, 
 he opened his eyes, and his first words were to beg her to be 
 friends with him, and kissed her. She has since stayed by his 
 bedside till last night, when he begged her to fly, for he thought 
 he could not live ; and she has taken his advice, and perhaps 
 will honour you with her residence at Paris. Adieu, dear 
 sister. I send you along with this letter the Count of Caylus, 
 who if you do not know already, you will thank me for intro- 
 ducing to you ; he is a Frenchman, and no fop ; which, 
 besides the curiosity of it, is one of the prettiest things in the 
 
 world. 
 
 Since you find it so difficult to send me the lutestring that I 
 asked for, I beg you would lay out my money in a nightgown 
 ready made, there can be no difficulty in sending that by the 
 first person that comes over ; I shall like it the better for your 
 having worn it one day, and then it may be answered for that 
 it is not new. If this is also impossible, pray return me my 
 money, deducting for the minunets I have received.
 
 1723] Countess of Mar 215 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [April, 1723.] 
 Dear Sister, — I am now so far recovered from the dan- 
 gerous illness which I had when I received your letter, that I 
 hope I may think of being once more a woman of this world. 
 But I know not how to convey this letter to you. I intend to 
 send it to Mrs. Murray. I have a great many reasons to believe 
 the present direction you have given me a very bad one ; 
 especially since you say that you never received one of the 
 number of letters that I really have sent you. I suppose the 
 public prints (if nobody else) have informed you of the sudden 
 death of poor Lady [Dowager] Gower, which has made a large 
 addition to Lord Gower's fortune, and utterly ruined Mrs. 
 Proby's, who is now in very deplorable circumstances. I see 
 Mrs. Murray so seldom I can give little account of her, but I 
 suppose her house is the same place it used to be. Operas 
 flourish more than ever, and I have been in a tract of going 
 every time. The people I live most with are none of your 
 acquaintance ; the Duchess of Montagu excepted, whom I 
 continue to see often. Her daughter Belle is at this instant 
 in the paradisal state of receiving visits every day from a 
 passionate lover, who is her first love ; whom she thinks the 
 finest gentleman in Europe, and is, besides that, Duke of Man- 
 chester. Her mamma and I often laugh and sigh reflecting on 
 her felicity, the consummation of which will be in a fortnight. 
 In the mean time they are permitted to be alone together 
 every day and all the day. These are lawful matters that one 
 may talk of; but letters are so surely opened, I dare say nothing 
 to you either of our intrigues or duels, both which would 
 afford great matter of mirth and speculation. Adieu, dear 
 sister. Pray don't forget the nightgown, and let it be what 
 you please. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [1723-] 
 Dear Sister, — I have writ 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, nor 
 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
 
 216 Letters to the [1723 
 
 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 at Paris, and 
 talks of going from Montpellier to Italy. I have a tender 
 esteem for her, and am heartily concerned to lose her con- 
 versation, yet I cannot condemn her resolution. I am yet in 
 this wicked town, but purpose to leave it as soon as the 
 Parliament rises. Mrs. Murray and all her satellites have so 
 seldom fallen 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 favour, 
 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 [them]. A propos of ballads, a 
 most delightful one is said or sung in most nouses about our 
 dear beloved plot, which has been laid firstly to Pope, and 
 secondly to me, when God knows we have neither of us wit 
 enough to make it. Mrs. Harvey lies-in of a female child. 
 Lady Rich is happy in dear Sir Robert's absence, and the 
 polite Mr. Holt's return to his allegiance, who, though in a 
 treaty of marriage with one of the prettiest girls in town (Lady 
 J. [Jane] Wharton), appears better with her than ever. Lady 
 E. [Betty] Manners is on the brink of matrimony with a 
 Yorkshire Mr. Monckton of .£3,000 per annum : it is a match 
 of the young duchess's making, and she thinks matter of great 
 triumph over the two coquette beauties, who can get nobody 
 to have and to hold ; they are decayed to a piteous degree, and 
 so neglected that they are grown constant and particular to the 
 two ugliest fellows in London. Mrs. Pulteney condescends to 
 be publicly kept by the noble Earl of Cadogan ; whether Mr. 
 Pulteney has a pad nag deducted out of the profits for his share 
 I cannot tell, but he appears very well satisfied with it. This 
 is, I think, the whole state of love ; as to that of wit, it splits 
 itself into ten thousand branches ; poets increase and multiply 
 to that stupendous degree, you see them at every turn, even in 
 embroidered coats and pink-coloured top-knots ; making verses 
 is almost as common as taking snuff, and God can tell what 
 miserable stuff people carry about in their pockets, and offer to 
 all their acquaintances, and you know one cannot refuse reading 
 and taking a pinch. This is a very great grievance, and so 
 particularly shocking to me, that 1 think our wise lawgivers 
 should take it into consideration, and appoint a fast-day to
 
 1723] Countess of Mar 217 
 
 beseech Heaven to put a stop to this epidemical disease, as 
 they did last year for the plague with great success. 
 
 Dear sister, adieu. I have been very free in this letter, 
 because I think I am sure of its going safe. I wish my 
 nightgown 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 colours, designing it for 
 linings ; but if this scheme is impracticable, send me a night- 
 gown a la mode. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [1723-] 
 Dear Sister, — I sent you a long letter by the Duchess of 
 Montagu ; though I have had no answer, I cannot resolve to leave 
 London without writing another. I go to-morrow to Twicken- 
 ham, where I am occupied in some alterations of my house and' 
 gardens. I believe I have told you we bought it last year, and 
 there is some sort of pleasure in shewing one's own fancy upon 
 one's own ground. If you please to send my nightgown to 
 Mr. Hughes, an English banquier at Paris, directed for 
 Madame Cantillon, it will come safe to my hands ; she is a new 
 neighbour of mine, has a very handsome house in the village, 
 and herself eclipses most of our London beauties : you know 
 how fond we are of novelty, besides that she is really very 
 pretty and does not want understanding, and I have a thousand 
 commodities in her acquaintance. Mrs. Davenant is returned 
 from Genoa, and I have the pleasure of an agreeable intimacy 
 with her : so much for my acquaintance. Lady Byng has 
 inoculated both her children, and is big with child herself; the 
 operation is not yet over, but I believe they will do very well. 
 Since that experiment has not yet had any ill effect, the whole 
 town are doing the same thing, and I am so much pulled 
 about, and solicited to visit people, that I am forced to run 
 into the country to hide myself. There is a ridiculous 
 marriage on the point of conclusion that diverts me much. 
 You know Lady Mary Sanderson ; she is making over her 
 discreet person and .£1,500 a year jointure to the tempting 
 embrace of the noble Earl of Pembroke, aged 73. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [1723-] 
 Dear Sister, — I have wrote you so many letters which you 
 say you have not received, that I suppose you will not receive
 
 218 Letters to the [1723 
 
 this ; however, I will acquit myself to my own conscience as 
 a good Christian ought to do. I am sure I can never be 
 really wanting in any expression of affection to you, to whom 
 I can never forget what I owe in many respects. Our 
 mutual acquaintance are exceedingly dispersed, and I am 
 engaged in a new set, whose ways would not be entertaining 
 to you, since you know not the people. Mrs. Murray is still 
 at Castle-Howard : I am at Twickenham, where there is, at 
 this time, more company than at London. Your poor soul 
 Mrs. Johnstone is returned into our neighbourhood, and 
 sent to me to carry her to Richmond-court to-morrow, but I 
 begged to be excused; she is still in sad pickle. I think 
 Mr. and Madame Harvey are at Lord Bristol's. A propos 
 of that family : the countess is come out a new creature ; she 
 has left off the dull occupations of hazard and basset, and 
 is- grown young, blooming, coquette, and gallant ; and, to shew 
 she is fully sensible of the errors of her past life, and resolved 
 to make up for time mis-spent, she has two lovers at a time, 
 and is equally wickedly talked of for the gentle Colonel Cotton 
 and the superfine Mr. Braddocks. Now I think this the 
 greatest compliment in nature to her own lord ; since it is plain 
 that when she will be false to him, she is forced to take two 
 men in his stead, and that no one mortal has merit enough 
 to make up for him. Poor Lady Gage is parting from her 
 discreet spouse for a mere trifle. She had a mind to take 
 the air this spring in a new yacht (which Lord Hillsborough 
 built for many good uses, and which has been the scene of 
 much pleasure and pain) : she went in company with his 
 Lordship, Fabrice, Mr. Cook, Lady Litchfield, and her sister, 
 as far as Greenwich, and thence as far as the buoy of the 
 Nore ; when to the great surprise of the good company, who 
 thought it impossible the wind should not be as fair to bring 
 them back as it was to carry them thither, they found there 
 was no possibility of returning that night. Lady Gage, in all 
 the concern of a good wife, desired her lord might be informed 
 of her safety, and that she was no way blamable in staying 
 out all night. Fabrice writ a most gallant letter to Lord Gage, 
 concluding that Mr. Cook presents his humble service to 
 him, and let him know (in case of necessity) his " Lady 
 Margaret was in town:" but his lordship not liking the change, 
 I suppose, carried the letter straight to the King's Majesty, who 
 not being at leisure to give him an audience, he sent it in 
 open by Mahomet : though it is hard to guess what sort of
 
 1723] Countess of Mar 219 
 
 redress he intended to petition for — the nature of the thing 
 being such, that had he complained he was no cuckold, his 
 Majesty at least might have prevailed that some of his court 
 might confer that dignity upon him, but if he was, neither 
 king, council, nor the two houses of parliament, could make 
 it null and of none effect. This public rupture is succeeded 
 by a treaty of separation : and here is all the scandal that is 
 uppermost in my head. Dear sister, I should be glad to 
 contribute any way to your entertainment, and am very sorry 
 you seem to stand in so much need of it. I am ever yours. 
 
 I wish you would think of my lutestring, for I am in terrible 
 want of linings. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [July, 1723.] 
 Dear Sister, — I have received by Lady Lansdowne the 
 very pretty nightgown you sent me ; I give you many thanks 
 for it ; but I should have thought it much more valuable if it 
 had been accompanied with a letter. I can hardly persuade 
 myself you have received all mine, and yet can never spare 
 time from the pleasures of Paris to answer one of them. I 
 am sorry to inform you of the death of our nephew, my sister 
 Gower's son, of the small-pox. I think she has a great deal of 
 reason to regret it, in consideration of the offer I made her, 
 two years together, of taking the child home to my house, 
 where I would have inoculated him with the same care and 
 safety I did my own. I know nobody that has hitherto 
 repented the operation : though it has been very troublesome 
 to some fools, who had rather be sick by the doctor's prescrip- 
 tions, than in health in rebellion to the college. 
 
 I am at present at Twickenham, which is become so fashion- 
 able, and the neighbourhood so much enlarged, that 'tis more 
 like Tunbridge or the Bath than a country retreat. Adieu, 
 dear sister. I shall write you longer letters when I am sure 
 you receive them ; but it really takes off very much from the 
 pleasure of your correspondence, when I have no assurance of 
 their coming to your hands. Pray let me know if this does, 
 and believe me ever affectionately yours. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [Indorsed "1723."] 
 I am heartily sorry to have the pleasure of hearing from 
 you lessened by your complaints of uneasiness, which I wish
 
 220 Letters to the [1723 
 
 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 groundwork 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 
 many other conveniences : here, what between the things one 
 cannot do, and the things one must not do, the time but dully 
 lingers on, though I make as good a shift as many of my 
 neighbours. 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 love or pleasure. It is said 
 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 I once had : I 
 intend, however, to shine and be fine on the birth-night, and 
 review the figures there. My poor friend the young Duchess 
 of Marlborough, I am afraid, has exposed herself to a most 
 violent ridicule ; she is as much embarrassed with the loss of 
 her big belly, and as much ashamed of it, as ever dairymaid 
 was with the getting one. 
 
 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. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 Oct. 31. 
 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, 
 which you'll stare at ; but what 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
 
 i 7 2 3 ] Countess of Mar 221 
 
 countenance. I saw Mrs. Murray there, through whose hands 
 this epistle is to be conveyed ; I do not know whether she 
 will make the same compliment [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. 
 
 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 cooking-up at a hunting-seat in Norfolk, 
 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 
 parlour. William Young seconded it, and answered for all his 
 acquaintance voting right to a man : Dodington 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 
 witness against their neighbours with the readiness and cheer- 
 fulness 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 with great ease, the world 
 being entirely " revenue du [sic] bagatelle" and honour, 
 virtue, reputation, &c, which we used to hear of in our 
 nursery, is as much laid aside and forgotten as crumpled 
 riband. To speak plainly, I am very sorry for the forlorn 
 state of matrimony, which is as much ridiculed by our young 
 ladies as it used to be by young fellows : in short, both 
 sexes have found the inconveniences of it, and the appellation 
 of rake is as genteel in a woman as a man of quality ; it is no 
 
 scandal to say Miss , the maid of honour, looks very well 
 
 now she is up again, and poor Biddy Noel has never been 
 quite well since her last flux. You may imagine we married 
 women look very silly ; we have nothing to excuse ourselves, 
 but that it was done a great while ago, and we were very 
 young when we did it. This is the general state of affairs : 
 as to particulars, if you have any curiosity for things of that 
 kind, you have nothing to do but to ask me questions, and 
 they shall be answered to the best of my understanding ;
 
 222 Letters to the [i 724 
 
 my time never being passed more agreeably than when I am 
 doing something obliging to you : this is truth, in spite of all 
 the beaus, wits, and witlings in Great Britain. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [February, 1724.] 
 I do verily believe, dear sister, that this is the twelfth if not 
 the thirteenth letter I have written since I had the pleasure 
 of hearing from you; 'tis 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 impertinent to trouble 
 you with news. But I cannot cast off the affectionate concern 
 I have for you, and consequently must put you in mind of me 
 whenever I have an opportunity. The bearer of this epistle 
 is our cousin, and a consummate puppy, as you will perceive 
 at first sight; his shoulder-knot last birthday made many a 
 pretty gentleman's heart ache with envy, and his addresses 
 have made Miss Howard the happiest of her highness's 
 honourable virgins ; 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 honour 
 arising from this conquest, and fearing that so much gallantry 
 may conclude in captivity for life, pack him off to you, where 
 'tis to be hoped there is no such killing fair as Miss Howard. 
 I made a sort of resolution at the beginning of my letter 
 not to trouble [you] with the mention of what passes here, 
 since you receive it with so much coldness. But I find it 
 is impossible to forbear telling the metamorphoses of some 
 of your acquaintance, which appear as wondrous to me as 
 any in Ovid. Could one believe that Lady Holdernesse is 
 a beauty, and in love ? and that Mrs. Robinson is at the same 
 time a prude and a kept mistress ? and these things in spite of 
 nature and fortune. The first of these ladies is tenderly attached 
 to the polite Mr. Mildmay, and sunk in all the joys of happy 
 love, notwithstanding she wants the use of her two hands by a 
 rheumatism, and he has an arm that he cannot move. I wish 
 I could send you the particulars of this amour, which seems to 
 me as curious as that between two oysters, and as well worth 
 the serious enquiry of the naturalists. The second heroine has 
 engaged half the town in arms, from the nicety of her virtue,
 
 i 7 24] Countess of Mar 223 
 
 which was not able to bear the too near approach of Senesino 
 in the opera; and her condescension in accepting of Lord 
 Peterborough for her champion, who has signalised both his 
 love and courage upon this occasion in as many instances 
 as ever Don Quixote did for Dulcinea. Poor Senesino, like 
 a vanquished giant, was forced to confess upon his knees that 
 Anastasia was a nonpareil of virtue and beauty. Lord Stan- 
 hope, as dwarf to the said giant, joked of his side, and was 
 challenged for his pains. Lord Delawar was Lord Peter- 
 borough's second; my lady miscarried — the whole town 
 divided into parties on this important point. Innumerable 
 have been the disorders between the two sexes on so great an 
 account, besides half the house of peers being put under 
 arrest. By the providence of Heaven, and the wise cares ot 
 his Majesty, no bloodshed ensued. However, things are now 
 tolerably accommodated ; and the fair lady rides through the 
 town in triumph, in the shining berlin of her hero, not to 
 reckon the essential advantage of ;£ioo a month, which 'tis 
 said he allows her. 
 
 In general, gallantry never was in so elevated a figure as it is 
 at present. Twenty very pretty fellows (the Duke of Wharton 
 being president and chief director) have formed themselves 
 into a committee of gallantry. They call themselves Schemers ; 
 and meet regularly three times a week, to consult on gallant 
 schemes for the advantage and advancement of that branch of 
 happiness. ... I consider the duty of a true Englishwoman 
 is to do what honour she can to her native country ; and that 
 it would be a sin against the pious love I bear the land of my 
 nativity, to confine the renown due to the Schemers within 
 the small extent of this little island, which ought to be spread 
 wherever men can sigh, or women wish. 'Tis true they have 
 the envy and curses of the old and ugly of both sexes, and a 
 general persecution from all old women ; but this is no more 
 than all reformations must expect in their beginning. . . . 
 
 The enclosed, as you will very well perceive, was writ to be 
 sent by Mr. Vane, but he was posted off a day sooner than I 
 expected, and it was left upon my hands : since which time the 
 Schemers got hold of it amongst them, and I had much ado 
 to get it from them. I have also had a delightful letter from 
 you, to let me know you are coming over ; and I am advised 
 not to write ; but you having not named the time (which is 
 expected with the utmost impatience by me and many more), 
 i am determined to send my epistle ; but trouble you with no
 
 224 Letters to the [1725 
 
 further account, though you will find here a thousand new and 
 consequently amusing scenes. 
 
 Among our acquaintance things strangely are carry'd — 
 Lord Tenham is shot, Mrs. Strickland is mariy'd, 
 
 and [sic] with child, and her husband is dying. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 I am heartily sorry, dear sister, without any affectation, for 
 any uneasiness that you suffer, let the cause be what it will, 
 and wish it were in my power to give you some more essential 
 mark of it than unavailing pity ; but I am not so fortunate ; 
 and till a fit occasion of disposing of some superfluous diamonds, 
 I shall remain in this sinful seacoal town ; and all that remains 
 for me to do, to shew my willingness at least to divert you, 
 is to send you faithful accounts of what passes among your 
 acquaintance in this part of the world. Madame de Broglie 
 makes a great noise. . . . My Lord Clare attracts the eyes 
 of all the ladies, and gains all the hearts of those who have 
 no other way of disposing of them but through their eyes. 
 I have dined with him twice, and had he been dumb, I be- 
 lieve I should have been in the number of his admirers ; 
 but he lessened his beauty every time he spoke, till he left 
 himself as few charms as Mr. Vane ; though I confess his 
 outside very like Mr. Duncombe, but that the lovely lines 
 are softer there, with wit and spirit, and improved by learning. 
 
 The Duke of Wharton has brought his duchess to town, and 
 is fond of her to distraction ; in order to break the hearts of 
 all the other women that have any claim upon his. . . . He 
 has public devotions twice a day, and assists at them in person 
 witk exemplary devotion ; and there is nothing pleasanter than 
 the remarks of some pious ladies on the conversion of so great 
 a sinner. For my own part, I have some coteries where wit 
 and pleasure reign, and I should not fail to amuse myself 
 tolerably enough, but for the d — d d — d quality of growing 
 older and older every day, and my present joys are made 
 imperfect by fears of the future. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [January, 1725.] 
 Dear Sister, — I am extremely sorry for your indisposition, 
 and did not wait for a letter to write to you, but my Lord 
 Clare has been going every day this five weeks, and I in-
 
 i72s] Countess of Mar 225 
 
 tended to charge him with a packet. Nobody ever had such 
 ineffectual charms as his lordship; beauty and money are 
 equally ill bestowed, when a fool has the keeping of them ; 
 they are incapable of happiness, and every blessing turns 
 useless in their hands. You advise a change of taste, which 
 I confess I have no notion of; I may, with time, change my 
 pursuit, for the same reason that I may feed upon butcher's 
 meat when I am not able to purchase greater delicates, but 
 I am sure I shall never forget the flavour of gibier. In the 
 mean time I divert myself passably enough, and take care to 
 improve as much as possible that stock of vanity and credulity 
 that Heaven in its mercy has furnished me with ; being sensible 
 that to those two qualities, simple as they appear, all the 
 pleasures of life are owing. My sister Gower is in town, on 
 the point of lying-in. I see every body, but converse with 
 nobody but des amies choisies ; in the first rank of these are 
 Lady Stafford, and dear Molly Skerritt, both of which have 
 now the additional merit of being old acquaintances, and never 
 having given me any reason to complain of either of 'em. 
 I pass some days with the Duchess of Montagu, who might be 
 a reigning beauty if she pleased. I see the whole town every 
 Sunday, and select a few that I retain to supper ; in short, if 
 life could be always what it is, I believe I have so much humility 
 in my temper I could be contented without anything better than 
 this two or three hundred years ; but, alas ! 
 
 Dulness, and wrinkles, and disease, must come, 
 And age, and death's irrevocable doom. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [February, 1725.] 
 
 I believe you have by this time, dear sister, received my 
 letter from the hand of that thing my Lord Clare ; however, 
 I love you well enough to write again, in hopes you will answer 
 my letters one time or other. All our acquaintances are run 
 mad ; they do such things ! such monstrous and stupendous 
 things ! Lady Hervey and Lady Bristol have quarrelled 
 in such a polite manner, that they have given one another 
 all the titles so liberally bestowed amongst the ladies at 
 Billingsgate. Sophia and I have been quite reconciled, 
 and are now quite broke, and I believe not likely to piece 
 up again. Ned Thompson is as happy as the money and 
 charms of Belle Dunch can make him, and a miserable dog 
 for all that. Public places flourish more than ever : we have 
 
 H
 
 226 Letters to the [1725 
 
 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 walkers about in it mites, 
 I possess my mind in patience, let what will happen ; and 
 should feel tolerably easy, though a great rat came and ate half 
 of it up. My sister Gower has got a sixth daughter by 
 the grace of God, and is as merry as if nothing had happened. 
 My poor love Mr. Cook has fought and been disarmed by 
 J. Stapleton on a national quarrel ; in short, he was born to 
 conquer nothing in England, that's certain, and has good luck 
 neither with our ladies nor gentlemen. B. [Bridget] Noel is come 
 out Lady Milsington, to the encouragement and consolation of 
 all the coquettes about town ; and they make haste to be as 
 infamous as possible, in order to make their fortunes. I have 
 this moment received from Mrs. Peling a very pretty cap for 
 my girl ; I give you many thanks for the trouble you have had 
 in sending it, and desire you would be so good to send the 
 other things when you have opportunity. I have another 
 favour to ask, that you would make my compliments to 
 our English embassador when you see him. I have a con- 
 stancy in my nature that makes me always remember my old 
 friends. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [1725-] 
 Dear Sister, — My eyes are very bad to-day, from having 
 been such a beast to sit up late last night; however, I will write 
 to enquire after your health, though at the expense of my own. 
 I forgot whether I told you Lord Dorchester and our sister 
 Caroline have been inoculated, and are perfectly well after it. 
 I saw her grace the Duchess of Kingston yesterday, who told 
 me that she heard from you last post, and that you have been 
 ill, but are recovered. My father v is going to the Bath, Sir 
 William Wyndham is dying of a fistula, Lady Darlington and 
 Lady Mohun are packing up for the next world, and the rest of 
 our acquaintance playing the fool in this a r ordinaire. Among 
 the rest a very odd whim has entered the little head of Mrs. 
 Murray : do you know she won't visit me this winter ? I, 
 according to the usual integrity of my heart, and simplicity of 
 my manners, with great naivete desired to explain with her on 
 the subject, and she answered that she was convinced that I
 
 i 7 2 5 ] Countess of Mar 227 
 
 had made the ballad upon her, and was resolved never to speak 
 to me again. I answered (which was true), that I utterly defied 
 her to have any one single proof of my making it, without being 
 able to get any thing from her, but repetitions that she knew it. 
 I cannot suppose that any thing you have said should occasion 
 this rupture, and the reputation of a quarrel is always so 
 ridiculous on both sides, that you will oblige me in mention- 
 ing it to her, for 'tis now at that pretty pass, she won't curtsey 
 to me whenever she meets me, which is superlatively silly (if 
 she really knew it), after a suspension of resentment for two 
 years together. To turn the discourse on something more 
 amusing, we had a masquerade last night, where I did not fail 
 to trifle away a few hours agreeably enough, and fell into 
 company with a quite new man, that has a great deal of wit, 
 joined to a diabolical person : 'tis my Lord Irwin, whom 'tis 
 impossible to love, and impossible not to be entertained with ; 
 that species are the most innocent part of the creation, et ne 
 laisse pas de faire plaisir. I wish all mankind were of that 
 class. — Dear sister, I would give the world to converse with 
 you ; mais, helas / the sea is between us. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [1725-] 
 I cannot help being very sorry, for your sake, to hear that 
 you persist in your design of retiring ; though as to my own 
 part, I have no view of conversing with you where you now 
 are, and ninety leagues are but a small addition to the distance 
 between us. London was never more gay than it is at present; 
 but I don't know how, I would fain be ten years younger; I 
 love flattery so well, I would fain have some circumstances of 
 probability added to it, that I might swallow it with comfort. 
 The reigning Duchess of Marlborough has entertained the 
 town with concerts of Bononcini's composition very often : but 
 she and I are not in that degree of friendship to have me often 
 invited : we continue to see one another like two people who 
 are resolved to hate with civility. Sophia is going to Aix la 
 Chapelle, and from thence to Paris. I dare swear she'll 
 endeavour to get acquainted with you. We are broke to an 
 irremediable degree. Various are the persecutions I have 
 endured from him this winter, in all which I remain neuter, 
 and shall certainly go to heaven from the passive meekness 
 of my temper. Lady Lansdowne is in that sort of figure here, 
 nobody cares to appear with her. Madame Villette has been
 
 228 Letters to the [1725 
 
 the favourite of the town, and by a natural transition is become 
 the aversion : she has now nobody attached to her suite 
 but the vivacious Lord Bathurst, with whom I have been well 
 and ill ten times within these two months : we now hardly speak 
 to one another. — I wish you would lay out part of my money in 
 a made-up mantua and petticoat of Rat de St. Maur. It will 
 be no trouble to you to send a thing of that nature by the first 
 travelling lady. I give you many thanks for the good offices 
 you promise me with regard to Mrs. Murray, and I shall think 
 myself sincerely obliged to you, as I already am on many 
 accounts. 'Tis very disagreeable in her to go about behaving 
 and talking as she does, and very silly into the bargain. 
 
 I am ever affectionately yours. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [March or April, 1725.] 
 Dear Sister, — Having a few momentary spirits, I take pen 
 n hand, though 'tis impossible to have tenderness for you, 
 without having spleen upon reading your letter, which will, I 
 hope, be received as a lawful excuse for the dulness of the 
 following lines ; and I plead (as I believe has been done on 
 different occasions), 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 
 Clarendon and the Duchess of Queensberry. 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 of the Duchess of Marlborough's, and 
 died two days after, holding the fair Duchess by the hand, and 
 being fed at the same time with a fine fat chicken ; thus dying 
 as he had lived, indulging his pleasures. Your friend Lady A. 
 [Anne] Bateman (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 Hervey 
 makes the top figure in town, and is so good to show twice a 
 week at the drawing-room, and twice more at the opera, for the 
 entertainment of the public. As for myself, having nothing to 
 say, I say nothing. I insensibly dwindle into a spectatress, 
 
 and lead a kind of [sic] as it were. — I wish you here 
 
 every day ; and see, in the mean time, Lady Stafford, the D.
 
 1725] Countess of Mar 229 
 
 [Duchess] of Montagu, and Miss Skerritt, and really speak to 
 almost nobody else, though I walk about everywhere. 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 to give you opportunity of sending 
 thern without trouble, if you make it your request and tell him 
 they are for me. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [1725.] 
 I am now at the same distance trom 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 endeavours 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 
 colours, you know 'twould be quite dismal. Miss Skerritt 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 humour ; 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. 
 
 My daughter presents her duty to you, and service to Lady 
 Frances, who is growing to womanhood apace : I long to see 
 her and you, and am not destitute of wandering designs to that 
 purpose. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [1725] 
 
 Dear Sister, — I take this occasion of writing to you, 
 though I have received no answer to my last ; but 'tis always 
 most agreeable to me to write when I have the conveniency of 
 a private hand to convey my letter, though I have no disposi- 
 tions to politics, but I have such a complication of things both 
 in my head and heart that I do not very well know what I do, 
 and if I can't settle my brains, your next news of me will be,
 
 230 Letters to the [1725 
 
 that I am locked up by my relations : in the mean time I lock 
 myself up, and keep my distraction as private as possible. The 
 most facetious part of the history is, that my distemper is of 
 such a nature I know not whether to laugh or cry at it ; I am 
 glad and sorry, and smiling and sad ; — but this is too long an 
 account of so whimsical a being. I give myself sometimes 
 admirable advice, but I am incapable of taking it. Mr. Baily, 
 you know, is dismissed the Treasury, and consoled with a 
 pension of equal value. Your acquaintance, D. Rodrigue, has 
 had a small accident befallen him. Mr. Annesley found him 
 in bed with his wife, prosecuted, and brought a bill of divorce 
 into Parliament. Those things grow more fashionable every 
 day, and in a little time won't be at all scandalous. The best 
 expedient for the public, and to prevent the expense of private 
 families, would be a general act of divorcing all the people of 
 England. You know those that pleased might marry again ; 
 and it would save the reputations of several ladies that are 
 now in peril of being exposed every day. I saw Horace the 
 other day, who is a good creature ; he returns soon to France, 
 and I will engage him to take care of any packet that you 
 design for me. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [September, 1725.] 
 I have already writ you so many letters, dear sister, that if 
 I thought you had silently received them all, I don't know 
 whether I should trouble you with any more : but I flatter 
 myself that they have most of them miscarried : I had rather 
 have my labours lost, than accuse you of unkindness. I send 
 this by Lady Lansdowne, who I hope will have no curiosity to 
 open my letter, since she will find in it, that I never saw any 
 thing so miserably altered in my life : I really did not know 
 
 her : 
 
 So must the fairest face appear, 
 
 When youth and years are flown ; 
 So sinks the pride of the parterre, 
 
 When something over-blown. 
 
 My daughter makes such a noise in the room, 'tis impossible 
 to go on in this heroic style. I hope yours is in great bloom 
 of beauty. I fancy to myself we shall have the pleasure of 
 seeing them co-toasts of the next age. I don't at all doubt but 
 they will outshine all the little Auroras of this, for there never 
 was such a parcel of ugly girls as reign at present. In recom-
 
 1725] Countess of Mar 231 
 
 pense, they are very kind, and the men very merciful, and 
 content, in this dearth of charms, with the poorest stuff in the 
 world. This you'd believe, had I but time to tell you the 
 tender loves of Lady Romney and Lord Carmichael ; they are 
 so fond, it does one's heart good to see them. There are some 
 other pieces of scandal not unentertaining, particularly the Earl 
 of Stair and Lady M. [Mary] Howard, who being your acquaint- 
 ance, I thought would be some comfort to you. The town 
 improves daily, all people seem to make the best of the talent 
 God has given 'em. 
 
 The race of Roxbourghs, Thanets, and Suffolks, are utterly 
 extinct; and every thing appears with that edifying plain 
 dealing, that I may say, in the words of the Psalmist, " there is 
 no sin in Israel." 
 
 I have already thanked you for my nightgown, but 'tis so 
 pretty it will bear being twice thanked for. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [1725-] 
 Dear Sister, — I think this is the first time in my life that a 
 letters of yours has lain by me two posts unanswered. You'll 
 wonder to hear that short silence is occasioned by not having a 
 moment unemployed at Twickenham ; but I pass many hours 
 on horseback, and, I'll assure you, ride stag-hunting, which I 
 know you'll stare to hear of. I have arrived to vast courage 
 and skill that way, and am as well pleased with it as with 
 the acquisition of a new sense : his Royal Highness hunts in 
 Richmond Park, and I make one of the beau monde in his 
 train. I desire you after this account not to name the word 
 old woman to me any more : I approach to fifteen nearer than 
 I did ten years ago, and am in hopes to improve every year in 
 health and vivacity. Lord Bolingbroke is returned to England, 
 and is to do the honours at an assembly at Lord Berkeley's 
 the ensuing winter. But the most surprising news is Lord 
 Bathurst's assiduous court to their Royal Highnesses, which 
 fills the coffee-houses with profound speculations. But I, who 
 smell a rat at a considerable distance, do believe in private 
 that Mrs. Howard and his lordship have a friendship that 
 borders upon " the tender ;" 
 
 And though in histories, learned ignorance 
 Attributes all to cunning or to chance, 
 Love in that grave disguise does often smile, 
 Knowing the cause was kindness all the while.
 
 232 Letters to the [1725 
 
 I am in hopes your King of France behaves better than our 
 Duke of Bedford ; who, by the care of a pious mother, certainly 
 preserved his virginity to his marriage-bed, where he was so 
 much disappointed in his fair bride, who (though his own 
 inclinations) could not bestow on him those expressless 
 raptures he had figured to himself, that he already pukes at 
 the very name of her, and determines to let his estate go to his 
 brother, rather than go through the filthy drudgery of getting 
 an heir to it. 
 
 N.B. This is true history, and I think the most extraordinary 
 has happened in this last age. This comes of living till sixteen 
 without a competent knowledge either of practical or specu- 
 lative anatomy, and literally thinking fine ladies composed 
 of lilies and roses. A propos of the best red and white to be 
 had for money ; Lady Hervey is more delightful than ever, and 
 such a politician, that if people were not blind to merit, she 
 would govern the nation. Mrs. Murray has got a new lover 
 of the most accomplished — Mr. Dodington. So far for the 
 progress of love. That of wit has taken a very odd course, 
 and is making the tour of Ireland, from whence we have 
 packets of ballads, songs, petitions, panegyrics, &c. : so powerful 
 is the influence of Lord Carteret's wit, and my lady's beauty, the 
 Irish rhyme that never rhymed before. 
 
 Adieu, dear sister, I take a sincere part in all that relates to 
 you, and am ever yours. I beg, as the last favour, that you 
 would make some small enquiry, and let me know the minute 
 Lord Finch is at Paris. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [1725] 
 I wrote to you very lately, my dear sister ; but ridiculous 
 things happening, I cannot help (as far as in me lies) sharing 
 all my pleasures with you. I own I enjoy vast delight in the 
 folly of mankind ; and, God be praised, that is an inexhaustible 
 source of entertainment. You may remember I mentioned 
 in my last some suspicions of my own in relation to Lord 
 Bathurst, which I really never mentioned, for fifty reasons, to 
 any one whatever ; but, as there is never smoke without some 
 fire, there is very rarely fire without some smoke. These 
 smothered flames, though admirably covered with whole heaps 
 of politics laid over them, were at length seen, felt, heard, and 
 understood; and the fair lady given to understand by her 
 commanding officer, that if she shewed under other colours,
 
 1725] Countess of Mar 233 
 
 she must expect to have her pay retrenched. Upon which the 
 good lord was dismissed, and has not attended in the drawing- 
 room since. You know one cannot help laughing, when one 
 sees him next, and I own I long for that pleasurable moment. 
 
 I am sorry for another of our acquaintance, whose follies (for 
 it is not possible to avoid that word) are not of a kind to give 
 mirth to those who wish her well. The discreet and sober 
 Lady Lech mere has lost such furious sums at the Bath, that 
 'tis questioned, whether all the sweetness that the waters can 
 put into my lord's blood, can make him endure it, particularly 
 ^700 at one sitting, which is aggravated with many astonishing 
 circumstances. This is as odd to me as my Lord Teynham's 
 shooting himself; and another demonstration of the latent fire 
 that lies under cold countenances. We wild girls always make 
 your prudent wives and mothers. 
 
 I hear some near relations of ours are at Paris, whom I think 
 you are not acquainted with. I mean Lord Denbigh and his 
 Dutch lady, who, I am very certain, is the produce of some 
 French valet de chambre. She is entertaining enough, 
 
 extremely gay, 
 
 Loves music, company, and play — 
 
 I suppose you will see her. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [1725O 
 It is very true, dear sister, that if I writ to you a full account 
 of all that passes, my letters would be both frequent and 
 voluminous. This sinful town is very populous, and my own 
 affairs very much in a hurry ; but the same things that afford 
 me much matter, give me very little time, and I am hardly at 
 leisure to make observations, much less to write them down. 
 But the melancholy catastrophe of poor Lady Lechmere is too 
 extraordinary not [to] attract the attention of every body. 
 After having played away her reputation and fortune, she has 
 poisoned herself. This is the effect of prudence ! All discreet 
 people live and flourish. Mrs. Murray has retrieved his Grace, 
 and being reconciled to the temporal has renounced the 
 spiritual. Her friend Lady Hervey, by aiming too high, has 
 fallen very low ; and is reduced to trying to persuade folks 
 she has an intrigue, and gets nobody to believe her ; the man 
 in question taking a great deal of pains to clear himself of the 
 scandal. Her Chelsea Grace of Rutland is married to an 
 attorney, — there's prudence for you !
 
 234 Letters to the [1725 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [1725-] 
 
 J am heartily sorry, dear sister, for all that displeases you, 
 and for this time admit of your excuses for silence ; but I give 
 you warning, if est pour la derniere fois : to say truth, they don't 
 seem very reasonable ; whatever keeps one at home naturally 
 inclines one to write, especially when you can give a friend so 
 much pleasure as your letters always do me. Miss Skerritt 
 staid all the remainder of the summer with me, and we are 
 now come to town, where [a] variety of things happen every 
 day. Sophia and I have an immortal quarrel ; which though 
 I resolve never to forgive, I can hardly forbear laughing at. 
 An acquaintance of mine is married, whom I wish very well to : 
 Sophia has been pleased, on this occasion, to write the most 
 infamous ballad that ever was written ; where both the bride 
 and bridegroom are intolerably mauled, especially the last, 
 who is complimented with the hopes of cuckoldom, and forty 
 other things equally obliging, and Sophia has distributed this 
 ballad in such a manner as to make it pass for mine, on 
 purpose to pique the poor innocent soul of the new-married 
 man, whom I should be the last of creatures to abuse. I 
 know not how to clear myself of this vile imputation, without 
 a train of consequences I have no mind to fall into. In the 
 mean time, Sophia enjoys the pleasure of heartily plaguing 
 both me and that person. 
 
 Now the money is so high at Paris, I wish you would be 
 good [enough] to enquire for what I could sell a diamond 
 clean and thick, Indian cut, weighing thirty-nine grains strong. 
 Your quick answer to this would be very kind. If it is as 
 I like, perhaps I may pass the Christmas holidays at Paris. 
 Adieu, dear sister. The new opera is execrable. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 March 7, O.S., 1726. 
 
 Dear Sister,— This letter will be in a very different style 
 from that which I hope you received last post. I have now 
 to tell you the surprising death of my father, and a great deal 
 of surprising management of the people about him, which I 
 leave informing you till another time, being now under some 
 hurry of spirit myself. I am unfeignedly sorry that I cannot 
 send you word of a considerable legacy for yourself. I suppose 
 the trustees will send you, as soon as possible, a copy of the
 
 1726] Countess of Mar 235 
 
 will. If you would have an abstract of it, Mr. Wortley will 
 take care to get it for you. 
 
 I am affectionately yours. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 London, April 15, 1726. 
 
 Dear Sister, — I would have writ you some time ago, but 
 Lord Erskine told me you had been ill. So my Lord M — r 
 [Mar] has not acquainted you with my poor father's death. 
 To be sure, the shock must be very great to you whenever you 
 heard it ; as indeed it was to us all here, being so sudden. It 
 is to no purpose now to relate particulars, but only renewing 
 our grief. I can't forbear telling you the Duchess has behaved 
 very oddly in endeavouring to get the guardianship of the 
 young Duke and his sister, contrary to her husband's will ; 
 but the boy, when he was fourteen, confirmed the trustees his 
 grandfather left ; so that ended all disputes ; and Lady Fanny 
 is to live with my aunt Cheyne. There is a vast number of 
 things that have happened, and some people's behaviour so 
 extraordinary in this melancholy business, that it would be 
 great ease of mind if I could tell it you ; but I must not 
 venture to speak too freely in a letter. Pray let me hear from 
 you soon, for I long to know how you do. I am but in an 
 uneasy way myself; for I have been confined this fourteen- 
 nigkt to one floor, after my usual manner. I can send you no 
 news, for I see very few people, and have hardly been any 
 where since I came to town. Adieu. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [April, 1726.] 
 
 I received yours, dear sister, this minute, and am very 
 sorry both for your past illness and affliction ; though, an bout 
 du compte, I don't know why filial piety should exceed fatherly 
 fondness. So much by way of consolation. As to the manage- 
 ment at that time — I do verily believe, if my good aunt and 
 sister had been less fools, and my dear mother-in-law less 
 mercenary, things might have had a turn more to your advan- 
 tage and mine too; when we meet, I will tell you many 
 circumstances 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 shewn a hardness of heart upon this occasion that 
 would appear incredible to any body not capable of it
 
 236 
 
 Letters to the [1726 
 
 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. 
 
 Mrs. Murray is in open wars [sic] with me in such a manner 
 as makes her very ridiculous without doing me much harm ; 
 my moderation having a very bright pretence of shewing itself. 
 Firstly, she was pleased to attack me in very Billingsgate at 
 a masquerade, where she was as visible as ever she was in 
 her own clothes. I had the temper not only to keep silence 
 myself, but enjoined it to the person with me; who would 
 have been very glad to have shewn his great skill in sousing 
 upon that occasion. She endeavoured to sweeten him by very 
 exorbitant praises of his person, which might even have been 
 mistaken for making love from a woman of less celebrated 
 virtue ; and concluded her oration with pious warnings to him, 
 to avoid the conversation of one so unworthy his regard as 
 myself, who to her certain knowledge loved another man. 
 This last article, I own, piqued me more than all her pre- 
 ceding civilities. The gentleman she addressed herself to had 
 a very slight acquaintance with me, and might possibly go 
 away in the opinion that she had been confidante in some very 
 notorious affair of mine. However, I made her no answer at 
 the time, but you may imagine I laid up these things in my 
 heart ; and the first assembly I had the honour to meet her at, 
 with a meek tone of voice, asked her how I had deserved so 
 much abuse at her hands, which I assured her I would never 
 return. She denied it in the spirit of lying ; and in the spirit 
 of folly owned it at length. I contented myself with telling 
 her she was very ill advised, and thus we parted. But two 
 days ago, when Sir G. K.'s pictures were to be sold, she went 
 to my sister Gower, and very civily asked if she intended to 
 bid for your picture ; assuring her that, if she did, she would 
 not offer at purchasing it. You know crimp and quadrille 
 incapacitate that poor soul from ever buying any thing; but 
 she told me this circumstance; and I expected the same 
 civility from Mrs. Murray, having no way provoked her to the 
 contrary. But she not only came to the auction, but with all 
 possible spite bid up the picture, though I told her that, if you 
 pleased to have it, I would gladly part with it to you, though 
 to no other person. This had no effect upon her, nor her
 
 1726] Countess of Mar 237 
 
 malice any more on me than the loss of ten guineas extra- 
 ordinary, which I paid upon her account. The picture is in my 
 possession, and at your service if you please to have it. She 
 went to the masquerade a few nights afterwards, and had the 
 good sense to tell people there that she was very unhappy in 
 not meeting me, being come there on purpose to abuse me. 
 What profit or pleasure she has in these ways I cannot find 
 out. This I know, that revenge has so few joys for me, I shall 
 never lose so much time as to undertake it. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [1726.] 
 
 All that I had to say to you, was that my F. [father] really- 
 expressed a great deal of kindness to me at last, and even a 
 desire of talking to me, which my Lady Duchess would not 
 permit ; nor my aunt and sister shew any thing but a servile 
 complaisance to her. This is the abstract of what you desire 
 to know, and is now quite useless. 'Tis over and better to be 
 forgot than remembered. The Duke of Kingston has hitherto 
 had so ill an education, 'tis hard to make any judgment of 
 him ; he has spirit, but I fear will never have his father's good 
 sense. As young noblemen go, 'tis possible he may make a 
 good figure amongst them. Wars and rumours of wars make 
 all the conversation at present. The tumbling of the stocks, 
 one way or other, influences most people's affairs. For my 
 own part, I have no concern there or any where, but hearty 
 prayers that what relates to myself may ever be exactly what it 
 is now. Mutability of sublunary things is the only melancholy 
 reflection I have to make on my own account. I am in perfect 
 health, and hear it said I look better than ever I did in my life, 
 which is one of those lies one is always glad to hear. How- 
 ever, in this dear minute, in this golden now, I am tenderly 
 touched at your misfortune, and can never call myself quite 
 happy till you are so. 
 
 My daughter makes her compliments to yours, but has not 
 yet received the letter Lord Erskine said he had for her. 
 Adieu, dear sister. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [June, 1726.] 
 Dear Sister, — I cannot 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 gaiety every
 
 2 3 8 
 
 Letters to the [1726 
 
 day ; the young people are younger than they used to be, and 
 all the old are grown young. Nothing is talked of but enter- 
 tainments 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 burthens ; 
 but we go on cheerfully with our bells at our ears, ornamented 
 with ribands, and highly contented with our present condition : 
 so much for the general state of the nation. The last pleasure 
 that fell in my way was Madame Sevign£'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, there- 
 fore, 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 on that subject; I don't remember myself ever 
 child enough to be concerned who reigned in any part of the 
 earth. I am more touched at the death of poor Miss Chiswell, 
 who is carried off by the small-pox. I am so oddly made, that 
 I never forget the tenderness contracted in my infancy ; and 
 I think of any past playfellow with a concern that few people 
 feel for their present favourites. After giving you melancholy 
 by this tragedy, 'tis but reasonable I should conclude with a 
 farce, that I may not leave you in ill humour. I have so good 
 an opinion of your taste, to believe Harlequin in person will 
 never make you laugh so much as the Earl of Stair's furious 
 passion for Lady Walpole (aged fourteen and some months). 
 Mrs. Murray undertook to bring the business to bear, and 
 provided the opportunity (a great ingredient you'll say) ; but 
 the young lady proved skittish. She did not only turn this 
 heroic flame into present ridicule, but exposed all his generous 
 sentiments, to divert her husband and father-in-law. His 
 lordship is gone to Scotland ; and if there was anybody wicked 
 enough to write about it, there is a subject worthy the pen of 
 the best ballad-maker in Grub-street. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [1726.] 
 Dear Sisier, — I writ to you some time ago a long letter, 
 which I perceive never came to your hands : very provoking ; 
 it was certainly a chef d'ceuvre of a letter, and worth any of the 
 Sevignd's, or Grignan's, crammed with news. And I can't find 
 in my heart to say much in this, because I believe there is some 
 fault in the direction : as soon as I hear you have received this,
 
 1726] Countess of Mar 239 
 
 you shall have a full and true account of the affairs of this 
 island ; my own are in the utmost prosperity : 
 
 "Add but eternity, you make it heaven." 
 I shall come to Paris this summer without fail, and endeavour 
 to pull you out of your melancholies. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [July, 1726.] 
 
 Dear Sister, — I am very glad to hear you mention meeting 
 in London. We are much mistaken here as to our ideas of 
 Paris : — to hear gallantry has deserted it, sounds as extra- 
 ordinary to me as a want of ice in Greenland. We have 
 nothing but ugly faces in this country, but more lovers than 
 ever. There are but three pretty men in England, and they 
 are all in love with me, at this present writing. This will 
 amaze you extremely ; but if you were to see the reigning girls 
 at present, I will assure you, there is very little difference 
 between them and old women. — I have been embourbee in 
 family affairs for this last fortnight. Lady F. [Frances] 
 Pierrepont having four hundred pounds per annum for her 
 maintenance, has awakened the consciences of half her relations 
 to take care of her education ; and (excepting myself) they 
 have all been squabbling about her ; and squabble to this day. 
 My sister Gower carries her off to-morrow morning to Stafford- 
 shire. The lies, twattles, and contrivances about this affair are 
 innumerable. I should pity the poor girl, if I saw she pitied 
 herself. The Duke of Kingston is in France, but is not to go 
 to your capital ; so much for that branch of your family. 
 My blessed offspring has already made a great noise in the 
 world. That young rake, my son, took to his heels t'other 
 day and transported his person to Oxford ; being in his own 
 opinion thoroughly qualified for the University. After a good 
 deal of search we found and reduced him, much against his 
 will, to the humble condition of a schoolboy. It happens very 
 luckily that the sobriety and discretion is of my daughter's 
 side ; I am sorry the ugliness is so too, for my son grows 
 extremely handsome. 
 
 I don't hear much of Mrs. Murray's despair on the death of 
 poor Gibby, and I saw her dance at a ball where I was two 
 days before his death. I have a vast many pleasantries to tell 
 you, and some that will make your hair stand on an end with 
 wonder. Adieu, dear sister : " conservez-moi l'honneur de 
 votre amitie, et croyez que je suis toute a vous."
 
 240 Letters to the [1726 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [Nov., 1726.] 
 I am very sorry, dear sister, for your ill health, but hope it is 
 so entirely past, that you have by this time forgot it. I never 
 was better in my life, nor ever past 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-lived a certain 
 giddiness, which is sometimes excusable but never pleasing. 
 Depend upon it, 'tis only the spleen that 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 Tuliy writ, or Montaigne read. 
 
 So much for philosophy. — What do you say to P. [Peg] 
 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 honour should 
 always 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 out, 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, God 
 knows ! — great eloquence have they employed to prove them- 
 selves beasts, and shew 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 cannot help suspecting 
 some very powerful motive at the bottom of it. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [March, 1727.] 
 
 I am very sorry, dear sister, that you are in so melancholy a 
 way, but I hope a return to Paris will revive your spirits ; I had
 
 1727] Countess of Mar 241 
 
 much rather have said London, but I do not presume upon so 
 much happiness. I was last night at the play en famille, in 
 the most literal sense ; my sister Gower dragged me thither in 
 company of all our children, with Lady F. [Frances] Pierrepont 
 at their head. My third niece Leveson, Jenny by name, will 
 come out an arrant beauty ; she is really like the Duchess of 
 Queensberry. 
 
 As for news, the last wedding is that of Peg Pelham, and 
 I think I have never seen so comfortable a prospect of happi- 
 ness ; according to all appearance she cannot fail of being 
 a widow in six weeks at farthest, and accordingly she has been 
 so good a housewife to line her wedding-clothes with black. 
 Assemblies rage in this part of the world ; there is not a street 
 in town free from them, and some spirited ladies go to seven 
 in a night. You need not question but love and play flourish 
 under these encouragements ; I now and then peep upon these 
 things with the same coldness I would do on a moving picture : 
 I laugh at some of the motions, wonder at others, &c, and 
 then retire to the elected few, that have ears and hear, but 
 mouths have they and speak not. One of these chosen, to my 
 great sorrow, will soon be at Paris ; I mean Lady Stafford, who 
 talks of removing next April ; she promises to return, but I had 
 rather she did not go. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [April, 1727.] 
 
 My Lady Stafford set out towards France this morning, and 
 has carried half the pleasure of my life along with her ; I am 
 more stupid than I can describe, and am as full of moral 
 reflections as either Cambray or Pascal. I think of nothing 
 but the nothingness of the good things of this world, the transi- 
 toriness of its joys, the pungency of its sorrows, and many 
 discoveries that have been made these three thousand years, 
 and committed to print ever since the first presses. I advise 
 you, as the best thing you can do that day, let it happen 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. 
 The town never was fuller, and, God be praised, some people 
 brille in it who brilled twenty years ago. My cousin Buller is
 
 242 Letters to the [1727 
 
 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 Stafford 
 a particular of her perfections, which would sound suspected 
 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 riband, surprising 
 fashions, and collection [complexion ?] of the last edition, 
 which naturally attracts all the she and he fools in London • 
 and accordingly she is surrounded by a little court of both, 
 and keeps a Sunday assembly to shew she has learned to play 
 at cards on that day. Lady F. [Frances] Fielding 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 greatest pleasure, and 
 the greatest pain, is a youth of royal blood, with all his grand- 
 mother's beauty, wit, and good qualities. In short, he is 
 Nell Gwyn in person, with the sex altered, and occasions such 
 fracas amongst the ladies of gallantry that it passes [descrip- 
 tion]. 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 despise 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. 
 
 3- 
 
 A polish'd white is smoothly spread 
 Where whilome wrinkles lay ; 
 
 And, glowing with an artful red, 
 She ogles at the play.
 
 1727] Countess of Mar 243 
 
 4- 
 
 Along the Mall she softly sails, 
 
 In white and silver drest ; 
 Her neck exposed to Eastern gales, 
 
 And jewels on her breast. 
 
 5- 
 
 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 Grace and family out of doors 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 
 Hippolitus. — " Lord ha' mercy upon us ! See what we may 
 all come to ! " 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [May or June, 1727.] 
 
 Dear Sister, — I was very glad to hear from you, though there 
 was something in your letters very monstrous and shocking. 1 
 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 in spirits is not drinking nasty 
 water, but galloping all day, and a moderate glass of cham- 
 pagne at night in good company ; and I believe this regimen, 
 closely followed, is one of the most wholesome that can be 
 prescribed, and may save one a world of filthy doses, and more 
 filthy doctor's fees at the year's end. I rode to Twickenham 
 last night, and, after so long a stay in town, am not sorry to 
 find myself in my garden ; our neighbourhood is something 
 improved by the removal of some old maids, and the arrival 
 of some fine gentlemen, amongst whom are Lord Middleton 
 and Sir J. Gifford, who are, perhaps, your acquaintances : 
 they live with their aunt, Lady Westmoreland, and we 
 endeavour to make the country agreeable to one another. 
 
 Doctor Swift and Johnny Gay are at Pope's, and their
 
 244 Letters to the [1727 
 
 conjunction has produced a ballad, which, if nobody else 
 has sent you, I will, being never better pleased than when I 
 am endeavouring to amuse my dear sister, and ever yours. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [June, 1727.] 
 I had writ you a long letter, dear sister, and only wanted 
 sealing it, when I was interrupted by a summons to my sister 
 Gower's whom I never left since. She lasted from Friday to 
 Tuesday, and died about eight o'clock, in such a manner as 
 has made an impression on me not easily shaken off. We are 
 now but two in the world, and it ought to endear us to one 
 another. I am sure whatever I can serve my poor nieces 
 and nephews in, shall not be wanting on my part. I won't 
 trouble you with melancholy circumstances ; you may easily 
 imagine the affliction of Lord Gower and Lady Cheyne. I 
 hope you will not let melancholy hurt your own health, which 
 is truly dear to your affectionate sister. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [July, 1727.] 
 
 You see, dear sister, that I answer your letters as soon as I 
 receive them, and if mine can give you any consolation or 
 amusement, you need never want 'em. I desire you would 
 not continue grieving yourself. Of all sorrows, those we pay 
 to the dead are most vain ; and, as I have no good opinion of 
 sorrow in general, I think no sort of it worth cherishing. I 
 suppose you have heard how good Lady Lansdowne has passed 
 her time here ; she has lived publicly with Lord Dunmore, 
 famed for their loves. You'll wonder perhaps to hear Lord 
 Gower is a topping courtier, and that there is not one Tory 
 left in England. There is something exceedingly risible in 
 these affairs, but not so proper to be communicated by letter ; 
 and so will I, in an humble way, return to my domestics. I 
 hear your daughter is a very fine young lady, and I wish you 
 joy of it, as one of the greatest blessings of life. My girl gives 
 me great prospect of satisfaction, but my young rogue of a son 
 is the most ungovernable little rake that ever played truant. 
 If I were inclined to lay worldly matters to heart, I could write 
 a quire of complaints about it. You see no one is quite happy, 
 though 'tis pretty much in my nature to console upon all 
 occasions. I advise you to do the same, as the only remedy 
 against the vexations of life ; which in my conscience I think
 
 i 7 27] Countess of Mar 245 
 
 affords disagreeable things to the highest ranks, and comforts 
 to the very lowest ; so that, upon the whole, things are more 
 equally disposed among the sons of Adam, than they are 
 generally thought to be. You see my philosophy is not so 
 lugubre as yours. I am so far from avoiding company, that I 
 seek it on all occasions ; and, when I am no longer an actor 
 upon this stage (by the way, I talk of twenty years hence at 
 the soonest), as a spectator I shall laugh at the farcical actions 
 which may then be represented, nature being exceedingly 
 bountiful in all ages in providing coxcombs, who are the 
 greatest preservatives against the spleen that I ever could find 
 out. I say all these things for your edification, and shall con- 
 clude my consolatory epistle with one rule that I have found 
 very conducing to health of body and mind. As soon as you 
 wake in the morning, lift up your eyes and consider seriously 
 what will best divert you that day. Your imagination being 
 then refreshed by sleep, will certainly put in your mind some 
 party of pleasure, which, if you execute with prudence, will 
 disperse those melancholy vapours which are the foundation of 
 all distempers. 
 
 I am your affectionate sister 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 I am always pleased to hear from you, dear sister, par- 
 ticularly when you tell me you are well. I believe you will 
 find upon the whole my sense is right ; that air, exercise, and 
 company are the best medicines, and physic and retirement 
 good for nothing but to break hearts and spoil constitutions. 
 I was glad to hear Mr. Esmond's history from you, though the 
 newspapers had given it me en gros, and my Lady Stafford in 
 detail, some time before. I will tell you in return as well as I 
 can what happens amongst our acquaintance 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. 
 
 The most diverting story about town at present is in relation
 
 246 
 
 Letters to the [1727 
 
 to Edgcombe ; though your not knowing the people concerned 
 so well as I do, will, I fear hinder you from being so much 
 entertained by it. I can't tell whether you know a tall, 
 musical, silly, ugly, thing, niece to Lady Essex Roberts, who 
 is called Miss Leigh. She went a few days ago to visit Mrs. 
 Betty Tichborne, Lady Sunderland's sister, who lives in the 
 house with her, and was denied at the door; but, with the 
 true manners of a great fool, told the porter that if his lady was 
 at home sha was very positive she would be very glad to see 
 her. Upon which she was shewed up stairs to Miss Tich- 
 borne, who was ready to drop down at the sight of her, and 
 could not help asking her in a grave way how she got in, being 
 denied to every mortal, intending to pass the evening in devout 
 preparation. Miss Leigh said she had sent away her chair and 
 servants, with intent of staying till nine o'clock. There was 
 then no remedy, and she was asked to sit down ; but had not 
 been there a quarter of an hour when she heard a violent rap 
 at the door, and somebody vehemently run up stairs. Miss 
 Tichborne seemed much surprised, and said she believed it 
 was Mr. Edgcombe, and was quite amazed how he took it into 
 his head to visit her. During these excuses enter Edgcombe, 
 who appeared frighted at the sight of a third person. Miss 
 Tichborne told him almost at his entrance that the lady he 
 saw there was perfect mistress of music, and as he passionately 
 loved it, she thought she could not oblige him more than by 
 desiring her to play. Miss Leigh very willingly sat to the 
 harpsichord ; upon which her audience decamped to the 
 adjoining room, and left her to play over three or four lessons 
 to herself. They returned, and made what excuses they could, 
 but said very frankly they had not heard her performance, and 
 begged her to begin again ; which she complied with, and gave 
 them the opportunity of a second retirement. Miss Leigh was 
 by this time all fire and flame to see her heavenly harmony 
 thus slighted ; and when they returned, told them she did not 
 understand playing to an empty room. Mr. Edgcombe begged 
 ten thousand pardons, and said, if she would play Godi, it was 
 a tune he died to hear, and it would be an obligation he should 
 never forget. She made answer she would do him a much 
 greater favour by her absence, which she supposed was all 
 that was necessary at that time ; and ran down stairs in a great 
 fury to publish as fast as she could ; and was so indefatigable 
 in this pious design, that in four-and-twenty hours all the people 
 in town had heard the story. My Lady Sunderland could not
 
 1727] Countess of Mar 247 
 
 avoid hearing this story, and three days after, invited Miss 
 Leigh to dinner, where, in the presence of her sister and all 
 the servants, she told her she was very sorry she had been so 
 rudely treated in her house ; that it was very true Mr. Edg- 
 combe had been a perpetual companion of her sister's these two 
 years, and she thought it high time he should explain himself, 
 and she expected her sister should act in this matter as dis- 
 creetly as Lady K. [Katherine] Pelham had done in the like 
 case ; who had given Mr. Pelham four months to resolve in, 
 and after that he was either to marry her or to lose her for ever. 
 Sir Robert Sutton interrupted her by saying, that he never 
 doubted the honour of Mr. Edgcombe, and was persuaded he 
 could have no ill design in his family. The affair stands thus, 
 and Mr. Edgcombe has four months to provide himself 
 elsewhere ; during which time he has free egress and regress ; 
 and 'tis seriously the opinion of many that a wedding will in 
 good earnest be brought about by this admirable conduct. 
 
 I send you a novel instead of a letter, but, as it is in your 
 power to shorten it when you please, by reading no farther than 
 you like, I will make no excuses for the length of it. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [About August, 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 
 humour 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 is gone knight-erranting, 
 God knows where ; and hitherto 'tis impossible 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. 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [September, 1727.] 
 This is a vile world, dear sister, and I can easily compre- 
 hend, that whether one is at Paris or London, one is stilled
 
 248 
 
 Letters to the [1727 
 
 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 pleasures, 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 condemned 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 purgatory ; 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 nothing- 
 ness of this. Don't you remember how miserable we were in 
 the little parlour at Thoresby ? we then thought marrying would 
 put us at once into possession of all we wanted. Then came 
 being with child, &c, 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 up a spirit, and live 
 upon cordials when one can have no other nourishment. 
 These are my present endeavours, and I run about, though I 
 have five thousand pins and needles running into my heart. 
 I try to console 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 111 
 
 To the Countess of Mar. 
 
 [October, 1727.] 
 I cannot deny, but that I was very well diverted on the 
 Coronation day. I saw the procession much at my ease, in a
 
 1727] Countess of Mar 249 
 
 house which I filled with my own company, and then got into 
 Westminster Hall without trouble, where it was very entertain- 
 ing 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. 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 grey 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 
 usual ; and I should have thought her one of the largest 
 things of God's making if my Lady St. John had not dis- 
 played all her charms in honour of the day. The poor 
 Duchess of Montrose crept along with a dozen of black snakes 
 playing round her face ; and my Lady Portland (who is fallen 
 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 only fancied that you 
 wrote it. Adieu, dear sister ; I am affectionately yours.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS LETTERS 
 
 To Lady 
 
 Having (like other undeserving people) a vast opinion of my 
 own merits, and some small faith in your sincerity, I believed 
 it impossible you should forget me, and therefore very im- 
 pudently expected a long letter from you this morning ; but 
 Heaven, which you know delights in abasing the proud, has, I 
 find, decreed no such thing ; and notwithstanding my vanity 
 and your vows, I begin to fancy myself forgotten ; and this 
 epistle comes, in humble manner, to kiss your hands, and 
 petition for the scanty alms of one little visit, though never so 
 short : pray, madam, for God's sake, have pity on a poor 
 prisoner — one little visit — so may God send you a fine husband, 
 continuance of beauty, &c. ; but if you deny my request, and 
 make a jest of my tenderness (which, between friends, I do 
 
 think a little upon the ridiculous), I do vow never to : 
 
 but I had better not vow, for I shall certainly love you, do 
 what you will — though I beg you would not tell some certain 
 people of that fond expression, who will infallibly advise you 
 to follow the abominable maxims of, no answer, ill-treatment, 
 and so forth, not considering that such conduct is full as base 
 as beating a poor wretch who has his hands tied ; and mercy 
 to the distressed is a mark of divine goodness. Upon which 
 Godly consideration I hope you will afford a small visit to your 
 disconsolate. 
 
 To the Bishop of Salisbury, 
 [with her translation of epictetus.] 
 
 July 20, 17 10. 
 
 My Lord, — Your hours are so well employed, I hardly dare 
 offer you this trifle to look over; but then, so well am I acquainted 
 with the sweetness of temper which accompanies your learning, 
 
 250
 
 1710] Miscellaneous Letters 251 
 
 I dare ever assure myself of a pardon. You have already for- 
 given me greater impertinencies, and condescended yet further 
 in giving me instructions, and bestowing some of your minutes 
 in teaching me. This surprising humility has all the effect 
 it ought to have on my heart ; I am sensible of the gratitude 
 I owe to so much goodness, 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 here without any corrections, 
 with all its blots and errors : I endeavoured at no beauty of 
 style, but to keep as literally as I could to the sense of the 
 author. My only intention in presenting 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 misfortunes that can 
 happen to yourself, and the calumnies of false tongues ; 
 but that same piety which renders what happens to yourself 
 indifferent to you, yet softens the natural compassion m 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 towards the destruction of both, the 
 apparent danger we are in, the manifest growth of injustice, 
 oppression, and hypocrisy, cannot 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 digression ; 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, 
 we are sooner pardoned any excesses 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 objects our eyes are
 
 252 Miscellaneous Letters [1710 
 
 daily entertained with. This custom, so long established and 
 industriously upheld, makes it even ridiculous 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 superficial 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, Fozmina 
 qui [sic] vere sapit, non videtur sibi sapere; contra, qua cum nihil 
 sapiat sibi videtur sapere, ea demum bis stulta est. The Abbe 
 Bellegarde gives a right reason for women's talking over- 
 much : they know nothing, and every outward object strikes 
 their imagination, and produces a multitude of thoughts, which, 
 if they knew more, they would know not worth their thinking 
 of. I am not now arguing for an equality of the two sexes. 
 I do not doubt God and nature have thrown us into an 
 inferior rank, we are a lower part of the creation, we owe 
 obedience and submission to the superior sex, and any woman 
 who suffers her vanity and folly to deny this, rebels against 
 the law of the Creator, and indisputable order of nature ; 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 t'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 
 tuendam illarum pudicitiam, quoniam rarum et insolitum est 
 fceminam scire Latinam ; attamen consuetudo omnium malarum 
 rerum magistra. Decorum est fceminam in Germania nata [sic]
 
 1710] Miscellaneous Letters 253 
 
 discere Gallice, ut loquatur cum his qui sciunt Gallice ; cur igitur 
 habetur indecorum discere Latine, ut quotidie confabuletur cum 
 tot autoribus tarn facundis, tarn eruditis, tarn sapientibus, tarn 
 fides consultoribus. Certe mihi quantulumcunque cerebri est, 
 malim in bonis studiis consumere, quam in precibus sine mente 
 dictis, in pernoctibus conviviis, in ex/iauriendis, capacibus 
 pateris, &C. 
 
 I have tired your lordship, and too long delayed to 
 subscribe myself 
 
 Your lordship's most respectful and obliged. 
 
 To Mrs. Anne Justice. 
 
 [Postmark, "Aug. 7."] 
 I am very glad you direct yourself so well. I endeavour to 
 make my solitude as agreeable as I can. Most things of that 
 kind are in the power of the mind ; we may make ourselves 
 easy if we cannot perfectly happy. The news you tell me very 
 much surprises me. I wish Mrs. B. extremely well, and hope 
 she designs better for herself than a stolen wedding with a 
 man who (you know) we have reason to believe not the most 
 sincere lover upon earth ; and since his estate [is] in such very 
 bad order, I am clearly of your opinion his best course would 
 be the army, for I suppose six or seven thousand pound (if he 
 should get that with his mistress) would not set him up again, 
 and there he might possibly establish his fortune, at least better 
 it, and, at worst, be rid of all his cares. I wonder all the 
 young men in England don't take that method, certainly the 
 most profitable as well [as] the noblest. I confess I cannot 
 believe Mrs. B. so imprudent to keep on any private corre- 
 spondence with him. I much doubt her perfect happiness if 
 she runs away with him ; I fear she will have more reason than 
 ever to say there is no such thing. I have just now received 
 the numbers of the great lottery which is drawing; I find 
 myself (as yet) among the unlucky, but, thank God, the great 
 prize is not come out, and there is room for hopes still. 
 Prithee, dear child, pray heartily for me if I win. I don't 
 question (in spite of all our disputes) to find myself perfectly 
 happy, my heart goes very much pit-a-pat about it, but I've a 
 horrid ill-boding mind that tells me I shan't win a farthing ; I 
 should be very glad to be mistaken in that case. I hear Mrs. 
 B. has been at the Spa; I wonder you don't mention it. 
 Adieu, my dear, pray make no more excuses about long letters, 
 and believe yours never seem so to me.
 
 254 Miscellaneous Letters [1715-16 
 
 To Lady 
 
 Jan. 13, 1 71 5- 16. 
 
 I find after all by your letter of yesterday, that Mrs. D 
 
 is resolved to marry the old greasy curate. She was always 
 High Church in an excessive degree, and you know she used 
 to speak of Sacheverel as an apostolic saint, who was worthy 
 to sit in the same place with St. Paul, if not a step above him. 
 It is a matter, however, very doubtful to me, whether it is not 
 
 still more the man than the apostle that Mrs. D looks to 
 
 in the present alliance. Though at the age of forty, she is, I 
 assure you, very far from being cold and insensible ; her fire 
 may be covered with ashes, but it is not extinguished. Don't 
 be deceived, my dear, by that prudish and sanctified air. 
 Warm devotion is [sic] no equivocal mark of warm passions ; 
 besides, I know it is a fact, of which I have proofs in hand, 
 which I will tell you by word of mouth, that our learned and 
 holy prude is exceedingly disposed to use the means supposed 
 in the primitive command, let what will come of the end. 
 The curate, indeed, is very filthy. Such a red, spongy, warty 
 nose ! Such a squint ! In short, he is ugly beyond expression ; 
 and what ought naturally to render him peculiarly displeasing 
 
 to one of Mrs. D 's constitution and propensities, he is 
 
 stricken in years. Nor do I really know how they will live. 
 He has but forty-five pounds a year — she but a trifling sum ; 
 so that they are likely to feast upon love and ecclesiastical 
 history, which will be very empty food without a proper 
 mixture of beef and pudding. I have, however, engaged our 
 friend, who is the curate's landlord, to give them a good lease ; 
 
 and if Mrs. D , instead of spending whole days in reading 
 
 Collier, Hickes, and vile translations of Plato and Epictetus, 
 will but form the resolution of taking care of her house and 
 minding the dairy, things may go tolerably. It is not likely 
 that their tender loves will give them many sweet babes to 
 provide for. 
 
 I met the lover, yesterday, going to the alehouse in his 
 dirty nightgown, with a book under his arm to entertain the 
 
 club ; and as Mrs. D was with me at the time, I pointed 
 
 out to her the charming creature : she blushed and looked 
 prim ; but quoted a passage out of Herodotus, in which it is 
 said that the Persians wore long nightgowns. There is really 
 no more accounting for the taste in marriage of many of our 
 sex, than there is for the appetite of your neighbour Miss S — y,
 
 17J5-16] Miscellaneous Letters 255 
 
 who makes such waste of chalk and charcoal when they fall in 
 her way. 
 
 As marriage produces children, so children produce care and 
 disputes ; and wrangling, as is said (at least by old bachelors 
 and old maids), is one of the sweets of the conjugal state. 
 
 You tell me that our friend Mrs. is at length blessed with 
 
 a son ; and that her husband, who is a great philosopher (if 
 his own testimony is to be depended upon), insists on her 
 suckling it herself. You ask my advice on this matter ; and 
 
 to give it you frankly, I really think that Mr. 's demand 
 
 is unreasonable, as his wife's constitution 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 mouth, weigh, I must own to 
 you, but very little with me. — This same Nature is indeed a 
 specious ward, nay, there is a great deal in it if it is properly 
 understood and applied, but I cannot 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 instincts of 
 Nature point out neither tailors, nor weavers, nor mantua- 
 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
 
 256 
 
 Miscellaneous Letters [1723 
 
 drinks ratafia, nor frets at quadrille, nor sits up till three in the 
 morning 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 possible, 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 
 favour 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 mothers' milk ! 
 
 I promise faithfully to communicate to no mortal the letter 
 you wrote me last. What you say of the two rebel lords, I 
 believe to be true ; but 1 can do nothing in the matter. If 
 my projects don't fail in the execution, I shall see you before 
 a month passes. Give my service to Dr. Blackbeard. He is 
 a good man, but I never saw in my life such a persecuting face 
 cover a humane and tender heart. I imagine (within myself) 
 that the Smithfield priests, who burned the Protestants in the 
 time of Queen Mary, had just such faces as the doctor's. If 
 we were Papists, I should like him very much for my con- 
 fessor ; his seeming austerity would give you and I a great 
 reputation for sanctity, and his good indulgent heart would be 
 the very thing that would suit us in the affair of penance and 
 ghostly direction. 
 
 Farewell, my dear lady, &c. &c. 
 
 To the Honourable Miss Calthorpe. 
 
 London, Dec. 7 [1723]. 
 My knight-errantry is at an end, and I believe I shall, 
 henceforth, think freeing of galley-slaves, and knocking down 
 windmills, more laudable undertakings than the defence of any 
 woman's reputation whatever. To say truth, I have never had 
 any great esteem for the generality of the fair sex, and my only 
 consolation for being of that gender has been the assurance it 
 gave me of never being married to any one among them. But 
 I own at present I am so much out of humour with the actions 
 of Lady Holdernesse, that I never was so heartily ashamed of 
 my petticoats before. You know, I suppose, that by this 
 discreet match she renounces the care of her children, and 
 I am laughed at by all my acquaintances for my faith in her 
 honour and understanding. My only refuge is the sincere 
 hope that she is out of her senses ; and taking herself for 
 Queen of Sheba, and Mr. Mildmay for King Solomon. I do
 
 i73°] Miscellaneous Letters 257 
 
 not think it quite so ridiculous. But the men, you may well 
 imagine, are not so charitable : and they agree in the kind 
 reflection, that nothing hinders women from playing the fool, 
 but not having it in their power. The many instances that are 
 to be found to support this opinion ought to make the few 
 reasonable men valued, — but where are the reasonable ladies ? 
 Dear madam, come to town, that I may have the honour of 
 saying there is one in St. James's-place. 
 
 To Dr. Areuthnot. 
 
 Oct. 17 [1730?]. 
 Sir, — I have this minute received your letter, and cannot 
 remember I ever was so much surprised in my life ; the whole 
 contents of it being a matter of astonishment. I give you 
 sincere and hearty thanks for your intelligence, and the obliging 
 manner of it. I have ever valued you as a gentleman both of 
 sense and merit, and will join with you in any method you can 
 contrive to prevent or punish the authors of so horrid a villany. 
 I am with much esteem, 
 
 Your humble servant 
 
 To Dr. Arbuthnot. 
 
 [October, 1730?] 
 Sir, — Since I saw you I have made some inquiries, and 
 heard more, of the story you was so kind to mention to me. 
 I am told Pope has had the surprising impudence to assert he 
 can bring the lampoon when he pleases to produce it, under 
 my own hand ; I desire he may be made to keep to this offer. 
 If he is so skilful in. counterfeiting hands, I suppose he will not 
 confine that great talent to the gratifying his malice, but take 
 some occasion to increase his fortune by the same method, and 
 I may hope (by such practices) to see him exalted according to 
 his merit, which nobody will rejoice at more than myself. I 
 beg of you, sir (as an act of justice), to endeavour to set the 
 truth in an open light, and then I leave to your judgment the 
 character of those who have attempted to hurt mine in so bar- 
 barous a manner. I can assure you (in particular) you named 
 a lady to me (as abused in this libel) whose name I never heard 
 before, and as I never had any acquaintance with Dr. Swift, 
 am an utter stranger to all his affairs and even his person, 
 which I never saw to my knowledge, and am now convinced 
 the whole is a contrivance of Pope's to blast the reputation of 
 one who never injured him. I am not more sensible of his
 
 2 5 8 
 
 Miscellaneous Letters [1735 
 
 injustice, than I am, sir, of your [sic] candour, generosity, and 
 good sense I have found in you, which has obliged me to be 
 with a very uncommon warmth your real friend, and I heartily 
 wish for an opportunity of showing I am so more effectually 
 than by subscribing myself your very 
 
 Humble servant. 
 
 To Dr. Arbuthnot. 
 
 Jan. 3 [1735]- 
 Sir, — I have perused the last lampoon of your ingenious 
 friend, and am not surprised you did not find me out under 
 the name of Sappho, because there is nothing I ever heard in 
 our characters or circumstances to make a parallel, but as the 
 town (except you, who know better) generally suppose Pope 
 means me, whenever he mentions that name, I cannot help 
 taking notice of the horrible malice he bears against the lady 
 signified by that name, which appears to be irritated by sup- 
 posing her writer of the verses to the Imitator of Horace. 
 Now I can assure him they were wrote (without my know- 
 ledge) by a gentleman of great merit, whom I very much 
 esteem, who he will never guess, and who, if he did know, he 
 durst not attack; but I own the design was so well meant, 
 and so excellently executed, that I cannot be sorry they were 
 written. I wish you would advise poor Pope to turn to some 
 more honest livelihood than libelling ; I know he will allege in 
 his excuse that he must write to eat, and he has now grown 
 sensible that nobody will buy his verses except their curiosity 
 is piqued to it, to see what is said of their acquaintance ; but 
 I think this method of gain so exceeding vile that it admits of 
 no excuse at all. Can anything be more detestable than his 
 abusing poor Moore, scarce cold in his grave, when it is plain 
 he kept back his poem, while he lived, for fear he should beat 
 him for it ? This is shocking to me, though of a man I never 
 spoke to and hardly knew by sight ; but I am seriously con- 
 cerned at the worse scandal he has heaped on Mr. Congreve, 
 who was my friend, and whom I am obliged to justify, because 
 I can do it on my own knowledge, and, which is yet farther, 
 bring witness of it, from those who were then often with me, 
 that he was so far from loving Pope's rhyme, both that and his 
 conversation were perpetual jokes to him, exceeding despicable 
 in his opinion, and he has often made us laugh in talking of 
 them, being particularly pleasant on that subject. As to Pope's 
 being born of honest parents, I verily believe it, and will add
 
 1736] Miscellaneous Letters 259 
 
 one praise to his mother's character, that (though I only knew 
 her very old) she always appeared to me to have much better 
 sense than himself. I desire, sir, as a favour, that you would 
 show this letter to Pope, and you will very much oblige, sir, 
 
 Your humble servant. 
 
 To the Earl of Strafford. 
 
 July 17, [1736]. 
 My Lord, — I am ashamed to give your lordship so much 
 trouble about this trifle after all the good nature and generosity 
 you have showed on this subject ; but it seems you forgot 
 the name of your petitioner, which is Elizabeth White. The 
 vacancy has now happened ; but she is refused admittance, 
 except your lordship gives her name under your hand. I beg 
 you would be so good to enclose a note to that purpose to me, 
 and I hope you will have no further trouble on this affair, 
 but the obligation shall be ever gratefully remembered and 
 acknowledged by 
 
 My lord, your lordship's most obedient humble servant. 
 
 To the Earl of Strafford. 
 
 July 29, 1736. 
 
 My Lord, — You know how to do the most obliging thing 
 in the most obliging manner. In telling me that I have given 
 you pleasure, you do not only take from me the shame of being 
 troublesome, but have found a way to make me pleased with 
 myself, since I never can employ my time more to my own 
 satisfaction than in showing your lordship that I am, with the 
 utmost gratitude and esteem, 
 
 My lord, your lordship's most obedient humble servant.
 
 LETTERS 
 
 TO THE 
 
 COUNTESS OF POMFRET 
 AND OTHERS 
 
 i73 8 —i762 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 July 26, O.S., 173S. 
 
 I hope, dear madam, you find at least some amusement 
 in your travels, and though I cannot wish you to forget those 
 friends in England, who will never forget you, yet I should be 
 pleased to hear you were so far entertained as to take off all 
 anxiety from your mind. I know you are capable of many 
 pleasures that the herd of mankind are insensible of; and 
 wherever you go I do not doubt you will find some people that 
 will know how to taste the happiness of your conversation. 
 We are as much blinded in England by politics and views of 
 interest as we are by mists and fogs, and 'tis necessary to have 
 a very uncommon constitution not to be tainted with the 
 distempers of our climate. I confess myself very much infected 
 with the epidemical dulness ; yet, as 'tis natural to excuse one's 
 own faults as much as possible, I am apt to flatter myself that 
 my stupidity is rather accidental than real ; at least, I am sure 
 that I want no vivacity when I think of my Lady Pomfret, and 
 that it is with the warmest inclination as well as the highest 
 esteem that I am ever affectionately yours. 
 
 Here is no alteration since you left us except in the 
 weather, and I would not entertain you with the journal of the 
 thermometer. I hope to hear soon from you. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 173S. 
 I am afraid so quick a return of thanks will frighten your 
 ladyship from a continuance of this correspondence, but I 
 cannot help gratifying myself in saying something, yet I dare 
 
 260
 
 1733] Letters to the Countess of Pomfret 261 
 
 not say half I think of your delightful letter ; though nobody 
 but myself could read it, and call anything complimental that 
 could be said of it. 
 
 'Tis as impossible to send an equivalent out of this stupid 
 town, as it would be to return a present of the fruits of 
 Provence out of Lapland. We have no news, no trade, no 
 sun, and even our fools are all gone to play at Tunbndge, 
 and those that remain are only miserable invalids, who talk of 
 nothing but infirmities and remedies, as ladies who are on the 
 point of increasing the world, who speak of only nurses and 
 midwives. I do not believe either Cervantes or Rabelais 
 would be able to raise one moment's mirth from such subjects, 
 and I acquit myself of writing stupidly from this place, as I 
 should do Mr. Chloe, if he was condemned to furnish an 
 entertainment out of rotten turnips and artichokes run to seed. 
 
 I was in this part of my letter when young Vaillant arrived 
 at my door with a very pretty box in the name of Lady 
 Pomfret ; there needed nothing to keep up my regard for you, 
 yet I am deeply touched at every mark of your attention. 
 I believe he thought me very unreasonable, for I insisted on 
 it that he had also a letter. Let me entreat to hear often from 
 you. If I had the utmost indifference for you, I should think 
 your letters the greatest pleasure of my life ; and if you 
 deputed Lady Vane to write for you, I could find a joy in 
 reading her nonsense, if it informed me of your health. Judge, 
 then, how important it is to me to hear from you, and with 
 what sincere attachment I am ever yours. 
 
 I suppose your ladyship knows your friend Mr. West is in 
 the happy state of honeymoon. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 [September] 1738. 
 I begin to think you are grown weary of so dull a corre- 
 spondent. 'Tis a long time since I sent my last letter, which 
 was full of acknowledgments for your obliging token and enter 
 taining letter. I am impatient to hear how you like the place 
 you are settled in, for settled I am told you are, though I was 
 not informed exactly where, only that it is not far from Paris, 
 which I am very glad of, being persuaded you will find it much 
 more pleasant, and every way as convenient as any of those 
 distant provinces you talked of. I suppose it is no news to 
 you that Lady Betty Finch is married to Mr. Murray. People 
 are divided in their opinions, as they commonly are, on the
 
 262 Letters to the [1738 
 
 prudence of her choice. I am among those who think, tout 
 bien compte, she has happily disposed of her person. Lord 
 Townshend is spitting up his lungs at the Gravel-pits, and his 
 charming lady diverting herself with daily rambles in town. 
 She has made a new friendship, which is very delightful; I 
 mean with Madame Pulteney ; and they hunt in couples from 
 tea-drinking till midnight. 
 
 I won't trouble you with politics, though the vicissitudes 
 and conjectures are various. Lady Sundon drags on a 
 miserable life ; it is now said she has a cancerous humour 
 in her throat, which, if true, is so dismal a prospect as would 
 force compassion from her greatest enemies. I moralise in 
 my own dressing-room on the events I behold, and pity those 
 who are more concerned in them than myself; but I think of 
 dear Lady Pomfret in a very different manner than I do of 
 princes and potentates, and am warmly interested in every- 
 thing that regards her. Let me beg, then, to hear soon from 
 you, and, if you will honour me so far, let me have a particular 
 account how you pass your time. You can have no pleasure 
 in which I shall not share, nor no uneasiness in which I shall 
 not suffer ; but I hope there is no reason to apprehend any, 
 and that you are now in the perfect enjoyment of uninterrupted 
 tranquillity, and have already forgot all the fogs and spleen of 
 England. However, remember your less happy friends that 
 feel the pain of your absence ; and always number amongst 
 them 
 
 Your faithful, &c. &c. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 [October?] 1738. 
 
 Yesterday was very fortunate to me; it brought two of 
 your ladyship's letters. I will not speak my thoughts of them, 
 but must insist once for all that you lay aside all those phrases 
 of tiring me, ashamed of your du/ness, &c. &c. I can't help, 
 when I read them, either doubting your sincerity, or fearing 
 you have a worse opinion of my judgment than I desire you 
 should have. Spare me those disagreeable reflections ; and 
 be assured, if I hated you, I should read your letters with 
 pleasure ; and that I love you enough to be charmed with 
 hearing from you, though you knew not how to spell. 
 
 The delightful description of your retirement makes me wish 
 to partake it with you ; but I have been so much accustomed 
 to wish in vain that I dare not flatter myself with so pleasing
 
 1733] Countess of Pomfret and others 263 
 
 an idea. We are wrapt up in fogs and consequential stupidity, 
 which increases so visibly, we want but little of the state of 
 petrifaction which was said to befal an African town. How- 
 ever, there remains still some lively people amongst us that 
 play the fool with great alacrity. Lady Sophia Keppel has 
 declared her worthy choice of the amiable Captain Thomas. 
 Poor Lady Frances Montagu is on the point of renouncing the 
 pomps and vanities of this world, and confining herself to rural 
 shades with Sir Roger Burgoyne, whose mansion-house will, I 
 believe, perfectly resemble Mr. Sullen's ; but, as we are in 
 dead peace, I am afraid there is no hope of a French count to 
 enliven her solitude. It is reported a much greater, fairer lady 
 is going to be disposed of to a much worse retreat, at least 
 I should think so. 'Tis terrible to be the fifth in rank after 
 having been the first, but such is the hard condition of our sex ; 
 women and priests never know where they shall eat their bread. 
 All the polite and the gallant are either gone or preparing 
 for the Bath. You may suppose Lady Hervey would not fail 
 appearing there, where I am told she had made a marvellous 
 union with the Duchess of Manchester, and writes from thence 
 that she is charmed with her grace's sweetness of temper. 
 The Duchess of Richmond declares a design of passing the 
 winter at Goodwood, where she has had a succession of olios 
 of company. It is said very gravely that this loss to the town 
 is occasioned by the suspension of operas. We have no less 
 than fifty-three French strollers arrived to supply their place ; 
 and Monsieur de Cambis goes about with great solemnity 
 negotiating to do them service. These are the most important 
 events that are come to my knowledge ; perhaps I should 
 remember some more serious if I was so happy as to be with 
 you. I am very glad to hear of the return of Lady Sophia's 
 health and beauty. My dear Lady Pomfret has on all 
 occasions my warmest wishes, and the truest esteem and 
 affection of 
 
 Your faithful, &c. &c. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 [October] 1738. 
 There are some moments when I have so great an inclina- 
 tion to converse with dear Lady Pomfret, that I want but 
 little of galloping to Paris to sit with you one afternoon ; which 
 would very well pay me for my journey. Though this cor- 
 respondence has every charm in it to make a correspondence
 
 264 
 
 Letters to the [1738 
 
 agreeable, yet I have still a thousand things to say and hear, 
 which cannot be communicated at this distance. Our mobs 
 grow very horrible ; here are a vast number of legs and arms 
 that only want a head to make a very formidable body. But 
 while we readers of history are, perhaps, refining too much, 
 the happier part of our sex are more usefully employed in pre- 
 paration for the birthday, where I hear Lady Pembroke is to 
 shine in a particular manner, and Lady Cowper to exhibit 
 some new devices worthy of her genius. The Bath is the 
 present scene of gallantry and magnificence, where many 
 caresses are bestowed, not from admiration of the present, but 
 from spite to the absent. The most remarkable circumstance 
 I hear is a coolness in the Earl of Chesterfield, which occasions 
 much speculation ; it must be disagreeable to play an under- 
 part in a second-rate theatre. To me that have always been 
 an humble spectator, it appears odd, to see so few desirous to 
 quit the stage, though time and infirmities have disabled them 
 from making a tolerable figure there. Our drama is at present 
 carried on by such whimsical management, I am half inclined 
 to think we shall shortly have no plays at all. I begin to be 
 of opinion that the new Northern actress has very good sense ; 
 she hardly appears at all, and by that conduct almost wears 
 out the disapprobation of the public. I believe you are already 
 tired with this long dissertation on so trifling a subject ; I wish 
 I could enliven my letter with some account of literature ; but 
 wit and pleasure are no more, and people play the fool with 
 great impunity ; being very sure there is not spirit enough left 
 in the nation to set their follies in a ridiculous light. Pamphlets 
 are the sole productions of our modern authors, and those 
 profoundly stupid. To you that enjoy a purer air, and meet 
 at least with vivacity whenever you meet company, this may 
 appear extraordinary : but recollect, dear madam, in what con- 
 dition you left us ; and you will easily believe to what state we 
 are fallen. I know nothing lively but what I feel in my own 
 heart, and that only in what relates to your ladyship ; in other 
 respects I partake of the contagion, as you will plainly see by 
 these presents ; but I am ever, with the utmost affection, 
 
 Yours, &c. &c. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 1738. 
 I will say nothing of your complaints of your own dulness ; 
 I should say something very rough if I did ; 'tis impossible to
 
 1738] Countess of Pomfret and others 265 
 
 reconcile them to the sincerity that I am willing to flatter 
 myself I find in the other parts of your letter. 'Tis impossible 
 you should not be conscious that such letters as yours want 
 not the trimmings of news, which are only necessary to the 
 plain Spitalfields style, beginning with hoping you are in good 
 health, and concluding with pray believe me to be, &c. &c. 
 You give me all the pleasure of an agreeable author ; and I 
 really wish you had the leisure to give me all the length too, 
 and that all your letters were to come to me in twelve tomes. 
 You will stare at this impudent wish ; but you know imagina- 
 tion has no bounds ; and 'tis harder for me to be content with 
 a moderate quantity of your writing, than it was for any South 
 Sea director to resolve to get no more. This is a strange way 
 of giving thanks : however, 'tis the clearest proof of my tasting 
 my happiness in your correspondence, to beg so earnestly not 
 only the continuance but the increase of it. 
 
 I hear of a new lady-errant, who is set forth to seek adven- 
 tures in Paris, attended by her enchanter. These are Mrs. 
 Bromley and Anthony Henley, who, I am told, declares very 
 gallantly that he designs to oblige her to sell her large jointure 
 to furnish money for his menus plaisirs. This is the freshest 
 news from the Island of Love. Amongst those bound for the 
 golden coast (which are far more numerous), there arise every 
 day new events. The Duchess of Northumberland's wih 
 raises a great bustle amongst those branches of the royal blood. 
 She has left a young niece, very pretty, lively enough, just 
 fifteen, to the care of Captain Cole, who was director of Ladv 
 Bernard. The girl has three hundred pounds per annum 
 allowed for her maintenance, but is never to touch her fortune 
 till she marries, which she is not to do without his consent ; 
 and if she dies without issue, her twenty thousand pounds to 
 be divided between the children of the Duchess of St. Albans 
 and Lord Litchfield. The heirs-at-law contest the fantastical 
 will, and the present tittle-tattle of visits turns upon the 
 subject. 
 
 Lord Townshend has renewed his lease of life by his Frenc:. 
 journey, and is at present situated in his house in Grosvenor- 
 street in perfect health. My good lady is coming from the 
 Bath to meet him with the joy you may imagine. Kitty Edwin 
 has been the companion of his [her ?] pleasures there. The 
 alliance seems firmer than ever between them, after their 
 Tunbridge battles, which served for the entertainment of the 
 public. The secret cause is variously guessed at ; but it is
 
 266 Letters to the [173s 
 
 certain Lady Townshend came into the great room gently 
 behind her friend, and tapping her on the shoulder with her 
 fan, said aloud, / know where, how, and who. These 
 mysterious words drew the attention of all the company, and 
 had such an effect upon poor Kitty, she was carried to her 
 lodgings in strong hysterics. However, by the intercession of 
 prudent mediators peace was concluded ; and if the conduct 
 of these heroines was considered in a true light, perhaps it 
 might serve for an example even to higher powers, by showing 
 that the surest method to obtain a lasting and honourable 
 peace, is to begin with vigorous war. But leaving these reflec- 
 tions, which are above my capacity, permit me to repeat my 
 desire of hearing often from you. Your letters would be my 
 greatest pleasure if I had flourished in the first years of Henry 
 the Eighth's court ; judge then how welcome they are to me in 
 the present desolate state of this deserted town of London. 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 1738- 
 
 I should take your ladyship's question (whether I should 
 always desire your friendship) very unkindly, if I was in the 
 least disposed to quarrel with you ; it is very much doubting 
 both my understanding and morals, two very tender points. 
 But I am more concerned for your opinion of the last than the 
 other, being persuaded 'tis easier for you to forgive an involun- 
 tary error of the head than a levity in the mind, of which (give 
 me leave to say) I am utterly incapable ; and you must give 
 me very great proofs of my being troublesome before you will 
 be able to get rid of me. I passed two very agreeable evenings 
 s last week with Lady Bell Finch : we had the mutual pleasure 
 of talking of you, and joined in very sincere wishes for your 
 company. 
 
 The reasons of Lord Morpeth's leaving Caen are variously 
 told ; I believe Lady Carlisle is persuaded he was not properly 
 used there ; I hear he is with his father at Venice : the whole 
 seems odd ; but it is not possible to know the true motive of 
 people's conduct in their families ; which may be very reason- 
 able, when it does not appear so. Here are some few births, 
 but neither marriages or burials worth mentioning. Lady 
 Townshend has entertained the Bath with a variety of lively 
 scenes ; and Lady Harriet Herbert furnished the tea-tables 
 here with fresh tattle for this last fortnight. I was one of the
 
 1739] Countess of Pomfret and others 267 
 
 first informed of her adventure by Lady Gage, who was told 
 that morning by a priest, that she had desired him to marry 
 her the next day to Beard, who sings in the farces at Drury 
 Lane. He refused her that good office, and immediately told 
 Lady Gage, who (having been unfortunate in her friends) was 
 frighted at this affair and asked my advice. I told her 
 honestly, that since the lady was capable of such amours, I did 
 not doubt if this were broke off she would bestow her person 
 and fortune on some hackney-coachman or chairman ; and 
 that I really saw no method of saving her from ruin, and her 
 family from dishonour, but by poisoning her ; and offered to 
 be at the expense of the arsenic, and even to administer it with 
 my own hands, if she would invite her to drink tea with her 
 that evening. But on her not approving that method, she sent 
 to Lady Montacute, Mrs. Dunch, and all the relations within 
 the reach of messengers. They carried Lady Harriet to 
 Twickenham ; though I told them it was a bad air for girls. 
 She is since returned to London, and some people believe her 
 to be married ; others, that he is too much intimidated by Mr. 
 Waldegrave's threats to dare to go through the ceremony ; but 
 the secret is now public, and in what manner it will conclude 
 I know not. Her relations have certainly no reason to be 
 amazed at her constitution ; but are violently surprised at the 
 mixture of devotion that forces her to have recourse to the 
 Church in her necessities : which has not been the road taken 
 by the matrons of her family. Such examples are very detri- 
 mental to our whole sex ; and are apt to influence the other 
 into a belief that we are unfit to manage either liberty or 
 money. These melancholy reflections make me incapable of 
 a lively conclusion to my letter ; you must accept of a very 
 sincere one in the assurance that I am, dear madam, 
 
 Inviolably yours, &c. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 [January, 1739.] 
 
 Amidst the shining gallantries of the French court, I know 
 not how you will receive a stupid letter from these regions of 
 dulness, where even our ridiculous actions (which are very 
 frequent, I confess) have a certain air of formality that hinders 
 them from being risible, at the same time that they are absurd. 
 I think Lady Anne Lumley's marriage may be reckoned into 
 this number, who is going to espouse with great gravity a 
 younger brother of Sir Thomas Frankland's. There are great
 
 268 Letters to the [1739 
 
 struggles and many candidates for her place. Lady Anne 
 Montagu, daughter to Lord Halifax, is one of them ; and Lady 
 Charlotte Rich, Lady Betty Herbert, and the incomparable 
 Lady Bateman, are her competitors. 
 
 I saw Mrs. Bridgeman the other day, who is much pleased 
 with a letter she has had the honour to receive from your lady- 
 ship ; she broke out, " Really Lady Pomfret writes finely ! " 
 I very readily joined in her opinion ; she continued, " Oh, so 
 neat, no interlineations, and such proper distances ! " 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. 
 
 Lady Vane is returned hither in company with Lord 
 Berkeley, and went with him in public to Cranford, where 
 they remain as happy as love and youth can make them. I 
 am told that though she does not pique herself upon fidelity to 
 any one man (which is but a narrow way of thinking), she 
 boasts that she has always been true to her nation, and, not- 
 withstanding foreign attacks, has always reserved her charms 
 for the use of her own countrymen. I forget you are at Paris, 
 and 'tis not polite to trouble you with such long scrawls as 
 might perhaps be supportable at Monts; but you must give me 
 leave to add, that I am, with a true sense of your merit, for 
 ever yours, in the largest extent of that expression. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 1738. [March, 1739.] 
 
 1 am so well acquainted with the lady you mention, that I 
 am not surprised at any proof of her want of judgment; she is 
 one of those who has passed upon the world vivacity in the 
 place of understanding ; for me, who think with Boileau, 
 
 " Rien n'est beau que le vrai, le vrai seul est aimable," 
 
 I have always thought those geniuses much inferior to the 
 plain sense of a cookmaid, who can make a good pudding and 
 keep the kitchen in good order. 
 
 Here is no news to be sent you from this place, which has 
 been for this fortnight and still continues overwhelmed with 
 politics, and which are of so mysterious a nature, one ought to 
 have some of the gifts of Lilly or Partridge to be able to write 
 about them ; and I leave all those dissertations to those distin-
 
 1739] Countess of Pomfret and others 269 
 
 guished mortals who are endowed with the talent of divination; 
 though I am at present the only one of my sex who seems to 
 be of that opinion, the ladies having shown their zeal and 
 appetite for knowledge in a most glorious manner. 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 determination, 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 Queensberry, 
 the Duchess of Ancaster, Lady Westmoreland, Lady Cobham, 
 Lady Charlotte Edwin, Lady Archibald Hamilton and her 
 daughter, Mrs. Scott, and Mrs. Pendarves, and Lady Frances 
 Saunderson. I am thus particular in their names, since I look 
 upon them to be the boldest assertors, and most resigned 
 sufferers for liberty, I ever read of. They presented them- 
 selves at the door at nine o'clock in the morning, where 
 Sir William Saunderson respectfully informed them that the 
 Chancellor had made an order against their admittance. The 
 Duchess of Queensberry, as head of the squadron, pished at 
 the ill-breeding of a mere lawyer, and desired him to let them 
 upstairs privately. After some modest refusals, he swore by 
 G— - he would not let them in. Her grace, with a noble 
 warmth, answered, by G — they would come in in spite of 
 the Chancellor and the whole House. This being reported, 
 the Peers resolved to starve them out ; an order was made 
 that the doors should not be opened till they had raised their 
 siege. These Amazons now showed themselves 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 volleys 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 (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 competitors, and placed them- 
 selves in the front rows of the gallery. They stayed there till 
 after eleven, when the House rose ; and during the debate 
 gave applause, and showed marks of dislike, not only by smiles
 
 270 Letters to the [1739 
 
 and winks (which have always been allowed in these cases), 
 but by noisy laughs and apparent contempts ; which is sup- 
 posed the true reason why poor Lord Hervey spoke miserably. 
 I beg your pardon, dear madam, for this long relation ; but 'tis 
 impossible to be short on so copious a subject ; and you must 
 own this action very well worthy of record, and I think not to 
 be paralleled in history, ancient or modern. I look so little in 
 my own eyes (who was at that time ingloriously sitting over a 
 tea-table), I hardly dare subscribe myself even, 
 
 Yours. 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 May 2, O.S., 1739. 
 It is with great pleasure, dear madam, that I hear from you, 
 after a silence that appeared very long to me. Nothing can be 
 more agreeable or more obliging than your letter. I can give 
 you no greater proof of the impression it made on me than 
 letting you know that you have given me so great an inclination 
 to see Italy once more, that I have serious thoughts of setting 
 out the latter end of this summer. And what the remembrance 
 of all the charms of music, sculpture, painting, architecture, 
 and even the sun itself could not do, the knowledge that Lady 
 Pomfret is there has effected ; and I already figure to myself 
 the charms of the brightest conversation in the brightest 
 climate. We have nothing here but clouds and perpetual 
 rains, nor no news but deaths and sickness. Lord Halifax 
 died this morning, and I am really touched for the melancholy 
 situation of his numerous family. A loss more peculiarly my 
 own is that of poor Lady Stafford, whose last remains of life 
 I am daily watching with a fruitless sorrow. I believe a very 
 few months, perhaps weeks, will part us for ever. You, who 
 have a heart capable of friendship, may imagine to what a 
 degree I am shocked at such a separation, which so much 
 disorders my thoughts, as renders me unfit to entertain myself 
 or any others. This reflection must shorten my letter. In you 
 I hope to repair the loss of her, and when we meet, I am 
 persuaded there will not be many regrets sent to England, by 
 dear madam, 
 
 Your faithful and affectionate, &c. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Dartford [25th July, 1739]. 
 
 I stayed an hour with the Duchess of Montague, and am 
 arrived here at twelve o'clock, less fatigued than I expected.
 
 1739] Countess of Pomfret and others 271 
 
 I should be very glad to hear you are well ; if you write to me 
 to be left at the post-house at Dover, I suppose I may have 
 your letter before I leave that place. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 July 26 [1739]. 
 I am safely arrived at Dover, without any accident, and have 
 borne the journey very well. I have followed your direction 
 in sending for Mr. Hall, who has been very civil. By his 
 advice I have hired a boat for five guineas, otherwise I must 
 have gone in the night, which he counselled me not to do. 
 The wind is fair, and I hope to be in Calais to-morrow. I 
 cannot say I am well, but I think not worse for my journey. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Calais] July 27 [I739J- 
 I am safely arrived at Calais, and found myself better on 
 ship-board than I 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 ladyship. They 
 ask me here extravagant prices for chaises, of which there is a 
 great choice, both French and Italian : I have at last bought 
 one for fourteen guineas, of a man 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 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 
 to order Mr. Kent to pack up my side-saddle, and all the 
 tackling 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. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Dijon, Aug., 18, N.S. [I739J. 
 I am at length arrived here very safely, and without any bad 
 accident ; and so much mended in my health, that I am sur- 
 prised at it. France is so much improved, it is not to be known 
 to be the same country we passed through twenty years age. 
 Everything I see speaks in praise of Cardinal Fleury ; the roads
 
 272 Letters to the [1739 
 
 are all mended, and the greatest 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 
 travelling incognito, I may as well walk incognito in the Pall-Mall. 
 There is not any town in France where there is not English, 
 Scotch, or Irish families 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 farther I go, the more acquaintance I meet. 
 Here are in this town no less than sixteen English families of 
 fashion. Lord Mansel lodges in the house with me, and a 
 daughter of Lord Bathurst's, Mrs. Whichcote [Mrs. Whitshed] 
 is in the same street. The Duke of Rutland is gone from 
 hence some time ago, which Lady Peterborough told me at 
 St. Omer's ; which was one reason determined me to come 
 here, thinking to be quiet ; but I find it is impossible, and that 
 will make me leave the place, after the return of this post. 
 The French are more changed than their roads ; instead of 
 pale, yellow faces, wrapped up in blankets, as we saw them, the 
 villages are all filled with fresh-coloured lusty peasants, in good 
 cloth and clean linen. It is incredible the air of plenty and 
 content that is over the whole country. I hope to hear, as 
 soon as possible, that you are in good health. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Turin, Sept. 10 [O.S. 1739]. 
 i am now, thank God, happily past the Alps. I believe I 
 wrote to you, that I had met English of my acquaintance in 
 every town in France. This fortune continued to the last ; for 
 at Pont Beauvoisin I met Lord Carlisle, who was in the inn 
 when I arrived, and immediately came to offer me his room, 
 his cook to dress my supper (he himself having supped before 
 I came in), and all sort of civility. We passed the evening 
 together, and had a great deal of discourse. He said he liked 
 Rome so well, that he should not have left it so soon, but on 
 the account of Lord Morpeth, who was so ill there, that he has 
 not yet recovered, and now carried in a litter. His distemper has 
 been the bloody flux, which returned upon him in the moun- 
 tains with so much violence, they had been kept three weeks 
 at a miserable village ; he is still so weak I did not see him. 
 My Lord Carlisle told me that next to Rome the best place to 
 stay in Italy is, without contradiction, Venice : that the imper-
 
 1739] Countess of Pomfret and others 273 
 
 tinence of the little sovereigns in other countries is intolerable. 
 I have no objection to his advice, but the fear of the air not 
 agreeing with me, though my journey has now so far established 
 my health, that I have lost all my bad symptoms, and am read) 
 to think I could even bear the damps of London. I will 
 therefore venture to try, and if I find Venice too cold or moist 
 (which I am more afraid of), I can remove very easily ; though 
 I resolve against Rome, on an account you may guess. My 
 Lord Carlisle said, he thought me in the right ; that it is very 
 hard to avoid meeting a certain person ; and there are so many 
 little dirty spies that write any lie comes into their heads, that 
 the doing it may be dangerous. I have received a letter from 
 Lady Pomfret, that she is leaving Sienna, and intends for 
 Venice, which is another inducement to me to go there ; but 
 the chief is the hope of living as quiet and as private as I 
 please, which hitherto I have found impossible. The English 
 resident here, Mr. Villette, came to wait on me the very night 
 of my arrival, to my great surprise. I found the intelligence 
 came from the King of Sardinia's officers, who were at Pont 
 Voisin, and had learnt my name from Lord Carlisle's servants. 
 I have been obliged to excuse my going to court, on [sic] 
 having no court-dress, and saying I intended to leave the town 
 in a few days. However, I have not been able to avoid the 
 visits that have been made to me. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Turin, September IT, N.S., 1739. 
 
 I am now, dear madam, in a country where I may soon 
 hope for the pleasure of seeing you ; but in taking your advice 
 I see I have taken the wrong road to have that happiness 
 soon ; and I am out of patience to find that, after passing the 
 Alps, we have the Apennines between us ; besides the new- 
 invented difficulties of passing from this country to Bologna, 
 occasioned by their foolish quarantines. I will not entertain 
 you with my road adventures until we meet. But I cannot 
 help mentioning the most agreeable of them, which was seeing 
 at Lyons the most beautiful and best-behaved young man I 
 ever saw. I am sure your ladyship must know I mean my Lord 
 Lempster. He did me the honour of coming to visit me 
 several times ; accompanied me to the opera ; and, in short, I 
 am indebted to him for many civilities, besides the pleasure of 
 seeing so amiable a figure. If I had the honour of all my
 
 274 Letters to the [1739 
 
 relations much at heart, I should, however, have been morti- 
 fied at seeing his contrast in the person of my cousin Lord 
 Fielding, who is at the same academy. I met Lord Carlisle at 
 Pont Beauvoisin, who has been confined in the mountains 
 three weeks in a miserable village, on the account of his son's 
 health, who is still so ill that he can travel in no way but in a 
 litter. I inquired after your ladyship, as I cannot help doing 
 so of everybody that I think may have seen you. He told me 
 that he had not had that advantage, but he was informed that 
 you intended leaving Sienna, and would certainly pass the 
 carnival at Venice ; which determines me to go thither, where 
 I beg you would direct your next letter, enclosed to Mr. 
 Brown, the English consul there. 
 
 It is impossible to express to you the satisfaction I feel in 
 the hopes of passing our time together, remote from the non- 
 sense of our own country, and present to the only happiness 
 this world can afford, a mutual friendship and esteem ; which 
 I flatter myself your partiality gives me, and which is paid to 
 you with the utmost justice by, dear madam, 
 
 Your faithful, &c. &c. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 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 in 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 
 travelled, it could not have been more followed ; and if I had 
 received all the visits that had been intended me, I should 
 have stopped at least a year 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 Borro- 
 mean library, where all strangers have free access ; 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 Pomfret is
 
 i?39] Countess of Pomfret and others 275 
 
 not yet arrived, but I expect her very soon ; and if the air does 
 not disagree with me, I intend seeing the carnival here. I 
 hope your health continues, and that I shall hear from you 
 very soon. 
 
 I think I have been a very good housewife to come thus far 
 on the money I carried out with me ; but you may be sure I 
 am very near the end of it, and I desire you would send me 
 a bill of exchange enclosed in your next letter, directed to be 
 left at the consul, Mr. Brown's, at Venice. He is the only 
 person I have seen here : he tells me our old friend Grimani 
 is procurator of St. Marc, and will come to see me as soon as 
 he hears of my arrival. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Venice, Oct. 10, N.S. [i 739j- 
 
 I did not answer dear Lady Pomfret's letter the moment I 
 had received it, from a very ridiculous reason, which was, how- 
 ever, a very serious impediment ; a gnat had saluted one of my 
 eyes so roughly, that it was for two days absolutely sealed down : 
 it is now quite well ; and the first use I make of it is to give 
 thanks for your kind thoughts of me, which I wish I knew how 
 to deserve. 
 
 I like this place extremely, and am of opinion you would do 
 so too : as to cheapness, I think 'tis impossible to find any part 
 of Europe where both the laws and customs are so contrived 
 purposely to avoid expenses of all sorts ; and here is a universal 
 liberty that is certainly one of the greatest agremens in life. We 
 have foreign ambassadors from all parts of the world, who have 
 all visited me. I have received visits from many of the noble 
 Venetian ladies ; and upon the whole I am very much at my 
 ease here. If I was writing to Lady Sophia, I would tell her 
 of the comedies and operas which are every night, at very low 
 prices ; but I believe even you will agree with me that they are 
 ordered to be as convenient as possible, every mortal going 
 in a mask, and consequently no trouble in dressing, or forms 
 of any kind. I should be very glad to see Rome, which was 
 my first intention (I mean next to seeing yourself) ; but am 
 deterred from it by reasons that are put into my head by all 
 sorts of people that speak to me of it. There are innumerable 
 little dirty spies about all English ; and I have so often had 
 the ill-fortune to have false witness borne against me, I fear 
 my star on this occasion. I still hope you will come to Venice ;
 
 276 
 
 Letters to the [1739 
 
 where you will see a great town, very different from any other 
 you ever saw, and a manner of living that will be quite new to 
 you. Let me endeavour to tempt you by naming another 
 motive ; you will find a sincere friend, who will try the utmost 
 of her power to render the place agreeable to you : it can never 
 be thoroughly so to me till I have the happiness of seeing 
 Lady Pomfret ; being ever, in the strictest sense of that 
 phrase, 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Venice, Oct. 14 [1739]. 
 
 I find myself very well here. I am visited by the most 
 considerable people of the town, and all the foreign ministers, 
 who have most of them made great entertainments for me. I 
 dined yesterday at the Spanish ambassador's, who even sur- 
 passed the French in magnificence. He met me at the hall- 
 door, and the lady at the stair-head, to conduct me through the 
 long apartment ; in short, they could not have shown me more 
 honours, if I had been an ambassadress. She desired me to 
 think myself patrona del casa, and offered me all the services 
 in her power, to wait on me where I pleased, &c. They have 
 the finest palace in Venice. What is very convenient, I hear 
 it is not at all expected I should make any dinners, it not being 
 the fashion for anybody to do it here but the foreign ministers ; 
 and I find I can live here very genteelly on my allowance. I 
 have already a very agreeable general acquaintance ; though 
 when I came, here was no one I had ever seen in my life, but 
 the Cavaliere Grimani and the Abbe Conti. I must do them 
 [the] justice to say they have taken pains to be obliging to me. 
 The Procurator brought his niece (who is at the head of his 
 family) to wait on me ; and they invited me to reside with 
 them at their palace on the Brent, but I did not think it proper 
 to accept of it. He also introduced to me the Signora Pisani 
 Mocenigo, who is the most considerable lady here. The Nuncio 
 is particularly civil to me; he has been several times to see 
 me, and has offered me the use of his box at the opera. I 
 have many others at my service, and, in short, it is impossible 
 for a stranger to be better received than I am. Here are no 
 English, except a Mr. Bertie and his governor, who arrived two 
 days ago, and who intends but a short stay. 
 
 I hope you are in good health, and that I shall hear of it 
 before you can receive this letter.
 
 17393 Countess of Pomfret and others 277 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Venice, Nov. 6 [1739]. 
 It was with the greatest pleasure I read dear Lady Pomfret's 
 letter half an hour ago : I cannot too soon give thanks for the 
 delightful hopes you give me of seeing you here ; and, to say 
 truth, my gratitude is even painful to me till I try to express 
 some part of it. 
 
 Upon my word, I have spoken my real thoughts in relation 
 
 to Venice; but I will be more particular in my description, 
 
 lest you should find the same reason of complaint you have 
 
 hitherto experienced. It is impossible to give any rule for the 
 
 agreeableness of conversation ; but here is so great a variety, 
 
 I think 'tis impossible not to find some to suit every taste. 
 
 Here are foreign ministers from all parts of the world, who, as 
 
 they have no court to employ their hours, are overjoyed to 
 
 enter into commerce with any stranger of distinction. As I 
 
 am the only lady here at present, I can assure you I am 
 
 courted, as if I was the only one in the world. As to all the 
 
 conveniences of life, they are to be had at very easy rates ; and 
 
 for those that love public places, here are two playhouses and 
 
 two operas constantly performed every night, at exceeding low 
 
 prices. But you will have no reason to examine that article, 
 
 no more than myself; all the ambassadors having boxes 
 
 appointed them ; and I have every one of their keys at my 
 
 service, not only for my own person, but whoever I please to 
 
 carry or send. I do not make much use of this privilege, to 
 
 their great astonishment. It is the fashion for the greatest 
 
 ladies to walk the streets, which are admirably paved ; and a 
 
 mask, price sixpence, with a little cloak, and the head of a 
 
 domino, the genteel dress to carry you everywhere. The 
 
 greatest equipage is a gondola, that holds eight persons, and 
 
 is the price of an English chair. And it is so much the 
 
 established fashion for everybody to live their own way, that 
 
 nothing is more ridiculous than censuring the actions of 
 
 another. This would be terrible in London, where we have 
 
 little other diversion; but for me, who never found any 
 
 pleasure in malice, I bless my destiny that has conducted 
 
 me to a part where people are better employed than in 
 
 talking of the affairs of their acquaintance. It is at present 
 
 excessive cold (which is the only thing I have to find fault 
 
 with); but in recompense we have a clear bright sun, and 
 
 foes and factions things unheard of in this climate. In
 
 278 Letters to the [1739 
 
 short, if you come, and like the way of living as well as I 
 do, there can be nothing to be added to the happiness of, 
 dearest madam, 
 
 Your faithful, &c. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Venice [Nov. or Dec, 1739]. 
 You have put me to a very difficult choice, yet, when I 
 consider we are both in Italy, and yet do not see one another, 
 I am astonished at the capriciousness of my fortune. My 
 affairs are so uncertain, I can answer for nothing that is future. 
 I have taken some pains to put the inclination for travelling 
 into Mr. Wortley's head, and was so much afraid he would 
 change his mind, that I hastened before him in order (at least) 
 to secure my journey. He proposed following me in six weeks, 
 his business requiring his presence at Newcastle. Since that, 
 the change of scene that has happened in England has made 
 his friends persuade him to attend parliament this session : so 
 that what his inclinations, which must govern mine, will be 
 next spring, I cannot absolutely foresee. For my own part, I 
 like my own situation so well that it will be a displeasure to 
 me to change it. To postpone such a conversation as yours 
 a whole twelvemonth is a terrible appearance ; on the other 
 hand, I would not follow the example of the first of our sex, 
 and sacrifice for a present pleasure a more lasting happiness. 
 In short, I can determine nothing on this subject. When you 
 are at Florence, we may debate it over again. — I had letters 
 last post from England that informed me we lodged in a house 
 together. I think it is the first lie I ever heard invented that 
 I wished a solemn truth. 
 
 The Prince of Saxony is expected here in a few days, and 
 has taken a palace exactly over against my house. As I had 
 the honour to be particularly well acquainted (if one may use 
 that phrase) with his mother when I was at Vienna, I believe 
 I cannot be dispensed with from appearing at the conversations 
 which I hear he intends to hold : which is some mortification 
 to me, who am wrapt up among my books with antiquarians 
 and virtuosi. I shall be very impatient for the return to this 
 letter ; hoping to hear something more determined of your 
 resolutions ; which will in a great measure form those of, dear 
 madam, 
 
 Your ladyship's most faithful, &c.
 
 1739] Countess of Pomfret and others 279 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Venice, Dec. II [1739]. 
 It was with great pleasure I received your letter half an 
 hour ago, having not heard anything so long. I am as agree- 
 ably here as any stranger in my circumstances can possibly 
 be ; and, indeed, a repetition of all the civilities I have received 
 would sound more like vanity than truth. I am sensible 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 (which are the 
 most considerable people here), endeavour 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 Wolfenbuttel 
 (nephew to the Empress) are already arrived, and the Electoral 
 Prince of Saxony expected next week. If my age and humour 
 permitted 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 mihi 
 Latoe dones, et precor integra 
 Cum mente, nee turpem senectam 
 Degere, nee cithara carentem." 
 
 [Hor. Od., lib. i. ode 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. 
 
 Here is enclosed Mr. Child's note for my dressing plate, 
 which I forgot to leave with you. 
 
 You do not seem desirous to hear news, which makes me 
 not trouble you with any. 
 
 I could wish, when you send my things, you would be so 
 good to send me the covers of the cushions that were used at 
 Constantinople ; the additional weight to the baggage will be 
 very small. I do not think they can be of any service to you, 
 and they would be useful to me, being in fashion here. They 
 were put into the box that was left open where the furniture of 
 my dressing-room was put. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Venice] Dec. 25, O.S. [1739] 
 I received yours yesterday dated Dec. 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
 
 280 Letters to the [1740 
 
 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 Wolfenbuttel, where no other person was admitted 
 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 Electoral 
 Prince of Saxony is here in public, and makes a prodigious 
 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 entertainment 
 made for him by the Signora Pisani Mocenigo, which was one 
 of the finest I ever saw, and he desired me to sit next to 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 received Sir F. Ch. [Child's] bill dated Oct. u, 
 which I certified to him some time ago. I have not yet had 
 any for the Christmas quarter. 
 
 I had so little correspondence at London, I should be 
 pleased to hear from you whatever happens among my acquain- 
 tance. I am sorry for Mr. Pelham's misfortune ; though 'tis 
 long since that I have looked upon 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." 
 
 The Procurator of St. Mark has desired his compliments to 
 you whenever I write. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Venice] Jan. 25 [1740]. 
 I wrote to you last post ; but as I do not know whether I 
 was particular enough in answering all the questions you asked 
 me, I add the following account, which I do not wonder will 
 surprise you, since both the Procurator Grimani and the Abbe 
 Conti tell me often that these last twenty years have so far 
 changed the customs of Venice, that they hardly know it for
 
 i74o] Countess of Pomfret and others 281 
 
 the same country. Here are several foreign ladies of quality, 
 I mean Germans, and from other parts of Italy ; here not 
 being one Frenchwoman. They are all well received by the 
 gentil donnas, who make a vanity in introducing them to the 
 assemblies and other public diversions, though all those ladies, 
 as well as myself, go frequently to the Princess of Campo 
 Florida's (the Spanish ambassadress) assembly. She is in a 
 very particular manner obliging to me, and is, I really think, 
 one of the best sort of women I ever knew. The Neapolitan 
 (though he has been here some months) makes his public 
 entry to-day, which I am to go [to] see about an hour hence. 
 He gives a great entertainment at night, where all the noble 
 Venetians of both sexes will be in masque. I am engaged to 
 go with Signora Justiniani Gradinego, who is one of the first 
 ladies here. The Prince of Saxony has invited me to come 
 into his box at the opera ; but I have not yet accepted of it, 
 he having always the four ladies with him that are wives to the 
 four senators deputed to do the honours of Venice ; and I am 
 afraid they should think I interfere with them in the honour 
 of his conversation, which they are very fond of, and have 
 behaved very coldly to some other noble Venetian ladies that 
 have taken the liberty of his box. I will be directed in this 
 (as I am in all public matters) by the Procurator Grimani. 
 My letter is shortened by the arrival of the signora. 
 
 I have received my Christmas quarter, for which I thank 
 you. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 [Venice, about Feb. 17, 1740O 
 I must begin my letter, dear madam, with asking pardon 
 for the peevishness of my last. I confess I was piqued at 
 yours, and you should not wonder I am a little tender on that 
 point. To suspect me of want of desire to see you, is accusing 
 at once both my taste and my sincerity ; and you will allow 
 that all the world are sensible upon these subjects. But you 
 have now given me an occasion to thank you, in sending me 
 the most agreeable young man I have seen in my travels. I 
 wish it was in my power to be of use to him ; but what little 
 services I am able to do him, I shall not fail of performing 
 with great pleasure. I have already received a very consider- 
 able one from him in a conversation where you was the subject, 
 and I had the satisfaction of hearing him talk of you in a 
 manner that agreed with my own way of thinking. I wish I 
 could tell you that I set out for Florence next week ; but the
 
 282 Letters to the [1740 
 
 winter is yet so severe, and by all report, even that of our 
 friends, the roads so bad, it is impossible to think of it. We 
 are now in the midst of carnival amusements, which are more 
 than usual, for the entertainment of the Electoral Prince of 
 Saxony, and I am obliged to live in a hurry very inconsistent 
 with philosophy, and extreme different from the life I projected 
 to lead. But 'tis long since I have been of Prior's opinion, 
 who, I think, somewhere compares us to cards, who are but 
 played with, do not play. At least such has been my destiny 
 from my youth upwards ; and neither Dr. Clarke or Lady 
 Sundon could ever convince me that I was a free agent ; for 1 
 have always been disposed of more by little accidents, than 
 either my own inclinations or interest. I believe that affairs of 
 the greatest importance are carried the same way. I seriously 
 assure you (as I have done before) I wish nothing more than 
 your conversation ; and am downright enraged that I can 
 appoint no time for that happiness ; which, however, I hope 
 will not be long delayed, and is impatiently waited for by, 
 dear madam, 
 
 Your ladyship's, &c. 
 
 To the Countess of Pom fret. 
 
 [Venice, about Feb., 1740.] 
 I cannot deny your ladyship's letter gave me a great deal of 
 pleasure ; but you have seasoned it with a great deal of pain, 
 in the conclusion (after the many agreeable things you have 
 said to me) that you are not entirely satisfied with me : you will 
 not throw our separation on ill fortune ; and I will not renew 
 the conversation of the fallen angels in Milton, who in con- 
 testing on predestination and free will, we are told, 
 
 " They of the vain dispute could know no end." 
 
 Yet I know that neither my pleasures, my passions, nor my 
 interests, have ever disposed of me, so much as little accidents, 
 which, whether from chance or destiny, have always determined 
 my choice. Here is weather, for example, which, to the shame 
 of all almanacks, keeps on the depth of winter in the beginning 
 of spring ; and makes it as much impossible for me to pass the 
 mountains of Bologna, as it would be to wait on you in another 
 planet, if you had taken up your residence in Venus or 
 Mercury. However, I am fully determined to give myself that 
 happiness ; but when is out of my power to decide. You may 
 imagine, apart from the gratitude I owe you and the inclination
 
 1740] Countess of Pomfret and others 283 
 
 I feel for you, that I am impatient to hear good sense pro- 
 nounced in my native tongue ; having only heard my language 
 out of the mouths of boys and governors for these five months. 
 Here are inundations of them broke in upon us this carnival, 
 and my apartment must be their refuge ; the greater part of 
 them having kept an inviolable fidelity to the languages their 
 nurses taught them ; their whole business abroad (as far as I 
 can perceive) being to buy new clothes, in which they shine in 
 some obscure coffee-house, where they are sure of meeting only 
 one another ; and after the important conquest of some waiting 
 gentlewoman of an opera queen, whom perhaps they remember 
 as long as they live, return to England excellent judges of men 
 and manners. I find the spirit of patriotism so strong in me 
 every time I see them, that I look on them as the greatest 
 blockheads in nature ; and, to say truth, the compound of 
 booby and petit maitre makes up a very odd sort of animal. 
 I hope we shall live to talk all these things over, and ten 
 thousand more, which I reserve till the hour of meeting ; which 
 that it may soon arrive is the zealous wish of 
 
 Your ever faithful, &c. &c. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Venice] March 29 [1740]. 
 
 I send you the enclosed, which came to me the last post, to 
 show you that my bill of credit is of no further use to me, and 
 if you think it proper I should have one, Mr. Child should 
 send me one on his correspondent here, though I do not 
 foresee any occasion I shall have for it. I think Mr. Waters 
 seems dissatisfied with my letters being directed to him. Those 
 he mentions were from my son, pretty much in the usual style ; 
 he desires to leave the town where he now is, because he says 
 there is no temptation to riot, and he would show how able he 
 is to resist it : I answer him this post, and shall endeavour 
 mildly to show him the necessity of being easy in his present 
 situation. 
 
 Lord Granby leaves this place to-morrow, to set out for 
 Constantinople ; the Prince of Saxony stays till the second of 
 May ; in the meantime there are entertainments given him 
 almost every day of one sort or other, and a regatta preparing, 
 which is expected by all strangers with great impatience. He 
 went to see the arsenal three days ago, waited on by a numer- 
 ous nobility of both sexes; the Bucentaur was adorned and 
 launched, a magnificent collation given, and we sailed a little
 
 284 
 
 Letters to the [1740 
 
 way in it : I was in company with the Signora Justiniani 
 Gradinego, and Signora Marina Crizzo. As you have been at 
 Venice, there is no occasion of describing those things to you. 
 There were two cannons founded in his presence, and a galley 
 built and launched in an hour's time. Last night there was a 
 concert of voices and instruments at the Hospital of the In- 
 curabili, where there were two girls that, in the opinion of all 
 people, excel either Faustina or Cuzzoni, but you know they are 
 never permitted to sing on any theatre. 
 
 Lord Fitzwilliam is expected in this town to-night, on his 
 return to England, as I am told. The prince's behaviour is 
 very obliging to all, and in no part of it liable to censure, 
 though I think there is nothing to be said in praise of his 
 genius ; I suppose you know he has been lame from his birth, 
 and is carried about in a chair, though a beautiful person from 
 the waist upwards : it is said his family design him for the 
 Church, he having four brothers who are fine children. The 
 weather is now very fine ; we have had none of the canals 
 frozen, in the coldest part of the winter, but the mountains are 
 still covered with snow. 
 
 Your last letters have said nothing of my baggage. If there 
 is danger of its being taken by the privateers, I had rather it 
 stayed in England, and I would go into the southern part of 
 France, where it might be conveyed to me without hazard, than 
 risk the loss of it. — If there is a probability of a rupture with 
 France, I can go to Avignon. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Venice] April 19, N.S. [1740]. 
 I received yours of January 1 but yesterday; for which 
 reason I think it useless to answer it at present, but if I find 
 any occasion, shall not fail to follow your orders. Lord Granby 
 is set out on his journey for Constantinople. Lord Fitzwilliam 
 arrived here three days ago ; he came to see me the next day, 
 as all the English do, who are much surprised at the civilities 
 and familiarity with which I am with [sic] the noble ladies. 
 Everybody tells me 'tis what never was done but to myself : 
 and I own I have a little vanity in it, because the French 
 ambassador told me when I first came, that though the Pro- 
 curator Grimani might persuade them to visit me, he defied 
 me to enter into any sort of intimacy with them : instead of 
 which they call me out almost every day on some diversion 
 or other, and are desirous to have me in all their parties of
 
 1740] Countess of Pomfret and others 285 
 
 pleasure. I am invited to-morrow to the Foscarini to dinner,, 
 which is to be followed by a concert and a ball, where I shall 
 be the only stranger, though here are at present a great number 
 come to see the regatta, which is fixed for the 29th of this 
 month, N.S. I shall see it at the Procurator Grimani's, where 
 there will be a great entertainment that day. My own house 
 is very well situated to see it, being on the Grand Canal ; but 
 I would not refuse him and his niece, since they seem desirous 
 of my company, and I shall oblige some other ladies with my 
 windows. They are hired at a great rate to see the show. I 
 suppose you know the nature of it, but if it will be any amuse- 
 ment I will send you a particular description. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 [Venice, about April, 1740.] 
 Upon my word, dear madam, I seriously intend myself the 
 happiness of being with you this summer ; but it cannot be till 
 then ; while the Prince of Saxony stays here I am engaged not 
 to move : not upon his account, as you may very well imagine, 
 but here are many entertainments given, and to be given him 
 by the public, which it would be disobliging to my friends here 
 to run away from ; and I have received so many civilities from 
 the first people here, I cannot refuse them the complaisance of 
 passing the feast of the Ascension in their company, though 'tis 
 a real violence to my inclination to be so long deprived of 
 yours, of which I know the value, and may say, that I am just 
 to you from judgment as well as pleased with you from taste. 
 I envy nothing more to Lady Walpole than your conversation, 
 though I am glad you have met with hers. Have you not 
 reasoned much on the surprising conclusion of Lord Scar- 
 borough ? I confess I look upon his engagement with the 
 duchess, not as the cause, but sign, that he was mad. I'could 
 wish for some authentic account of her behaviour on this 
 occasion. I do not doubt she shines in it, as she has done in 
 every other part of her life. I am almost inclined to super- 
 stition on this accident ; and think it a judgment for the death 
 of a poor silly soul, that you know he caused some years ago. 
 
 I had a visit yesterday from a Greek called Cantacuzena, 
 who had the honour to see your ladyship, as he says, often at 
 Florence, and gave me the pleasure of speaking of you in 
 the manner I think. Prince Beauveau and Lord Shrewsbury 
 intend to leave us in a few days for the Conclave. We expect 
 after it a fresh cargo of English ; but, God be praised, I hear
 
 286 Letters to the [1740 
 
 of no ladies among them : Mrs. Lethuilier was the last that 
 gave comedies in this town, and she had made her exit before 
 I came ; which I look upon as a great blessing. I have nothing 
 to complain of here but too much diversion, as it is called ; 
 and which literally diverts me from amusements much more 
 agreeable. I can hardly believe it is me dressed up at balls, 
 and stalking about at assemblies ; and should not be so much 
 surprised at suffering any of Ovid's transformations; having 
 more disposition, as I thought, to harden into stone or timber, 
 than to be enlivened into these tumultuary entertainments, 
 where I am amazed to find myself seated by a sovereign 
 prince, after travelling a thousand miles to establish myself in 
 the bosom of a republic, with a design to lose all memory of 
 kings and courts. Won't you admire the force of destiny? 
 I remember my contracting an intimacy with a girl in a village, 
 as the most distant thing on earth from power and politics. 
 Fortune tosses her up (in a double sense), and I am embroiled 
 in a thousand affairs that I had resolved to avoid as long as I 
 lived. Say what you please, madam, we are pushed about by 
 a superior hand, and there is some predestination, as well as a 
 great deal of free will, in my being 
 
 Faithfully yours, &c. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 [Venice, about April, 1740.] 
 I cannot help being offended to find that you think it 
 necessary to make an excuse for the desire that you so 
 obligingly expressed of seeing me. Do not think me so 
 tasteless or so ungrateful not to be sensible of all the goodness 
 you have shown me. I prefer one hour of your conversation 
 to all the raree-shows that have ever been exhibited. But 
 little circumstances commonly overrule both our interests and 
 our inclinations. Though I believe, if the weather and roads 
 permitted, I should even now break through them all, to gratify 
 myself with waiting on you : however, I hope that happiness 
 in a few weeks ; and in the mean time must go through a 
 course of conversations, concerts, balls, &c. I envy you a more 
 reasonable way of passing your time. It is but a very small 
 quantity that is allowed us by nature, and yet how much of 
 that little is squandered. I am determined to be a better 
 housewife for the future ; and not to be cheated out of so 
 many irretrievable hours, that might be laid out to better 
 advantage. I could pity the Duchess of Manchester, though
 
 i 7 4o] Countess of Pomfret and others 287 
 
 I believe 'tis a sensation she is incapable of feeling for anybody, 
 and I do not doubt it is her pride that is chiefly shocked on 
 this occasion ; but as that is a very tender part, and she having 
 always possessed a double portion of it, I am persuaded she is 
 very miserable. I am surprised at the different way of acting 
 I find in Italy, where, though the sun gives more warmth to the 
 passions, they are all managed with a sort of discretion that 
 there is never any public eclat, though there are ten thousand 
 public engagements : which is so different from what I had 
 always heard and read, that I am convinced either the manners 
 of the country are wonderfully changed, or travellers have 
 always related what they have imagined, and not what they 
 saw ; as I found at Constantinople, where, instead of the 
 imprisonment in which I fancied all the ladies languished, I 
 saw them running about in veils from morning to night. 
 
 Till I can see you, dear madam, let me hear from you as 
 often as possible, and do not think your favours thrown away 
 upon a stupid heart ; it is sincerely devoted to your service, 
 with as much attachment as ever. I can part with all other 
 pretensions, but I must be angry if you are in this point 
 
 unjust to 
 
 Your faithful servant, &c. &c. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Venice, May 17 [1740]. 
 I had the happiness of a letter from your ladyship a few 
 days since, and yesterday the pleasure of talking of you with 
 Sir Henry Englefield. He tells me you are still in ice and 
 snow at Florence, and we are very little better at Venice, where 
 we remain in the state of warming beds and sitting by firesides. 
 I begin to be of opinion that the sun is grown old ; it is certain 
 he does not ogle with so much spirit as he used to do, or our 
 planet has made some slip unperceived by the mathematicians. 
 For my own part, who am more passionately fond of Phoebus 
 than ever Clymene was, I have some thoughts of removing 
 into Africa, that I may feel him once more before I die ; which 
 I shall do as surely as your olive-trees, if I have much longer 
 to sigh for his absence. In the mean time I am tied here as 
 long as the Prince of Saxony, which is an uncertain term, but 
 I think will not be long after the Ascension ; and then I intend 
 myself the pleasure of waiting on you, where I will listen to all 
 your reproaches, hoping you will do the same to my excuses, 
 and that the balance will come out in my favour : though
 
 288 Letters to the [1740 
 
 I could wish you rather here ; having a strong notion Venice 
 is more agreeable than Florence, as freedom is more eligible 
 than slavery ; and I have an insuperable aversion to courts, or 
 the shadows of them, be they in what shapes they will. I send 
 you no description of the regatta, not doubting you have been 
 wearied with the printed one. It was really a magnificent 
 show, as ever was exhibited since the galley of Cleopatra. 
 Instead of her majesty we had some hundreds of Cleopatras in 
 the windows and balconies. The operas and masks begin 
 next Wednesday, and we persevere in gallantries and raree- 
 shows, in the midst of wars and rumours of wars that surround 
 us. I may, however, assure you with an English plainness, 
 these things can at most but attract my eyes, while (as the song 
 says) you engage my heart ; which I hope to convince you of 
 when I am so happy as to tell you by word of mouth that I am 
 
 Sincerely and faithfully yours, &c. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Venice] June i [1740]. 
 I wrote you a long letter yesterday, which I sent by a 
 private hand, who will see it safely delivered. It is impossible 
 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 that 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, particularly Lord 
 Halifax's, which was a short time before my journey. This is 
 not the first of Cock's mistakes ; he is famous for making them, 
 which are (he says) the fault of his servants. You seem to 
 mention the regatta in a manner as if you would be pleased 
 with a description of it. It is a race of boats : they are accom- 
 panied by vessels which they call Piotes, and Bichones, that 
 are built at the expense of nobles and strangers that have a 
 mind to display their magnificence ; 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 believe none less than five hundred ; they are 
 rowed by gondoliers dressed in rich habits, suitable to what 
 they represent. There was enough of them to look like a little
 
 1740] Countess of Pomfret and others 289 
 
 fleet, and I own I never saw a finer sight. It would be too 
 long to describe every one in particular ; I shall only name 
 the principal : — the Signora Pisani Mocenigo's represented the 
 Chariot of the Night, drawn by four sea-horses, and showing 
 the rising 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 Soranzo 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 representing 
 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, &c. Signor Julio 
 Contarini['s] represented the Triumphs of Valour; Victory 
 was on the stern, and all the ornaments warlike trophies of 
 every kind. Signor Correri's was the Adriatic Sea receiving 
 into her arms the Hope of Saxony. Signor Alvisio Mocenigo's 
 was the Garden of Hesperides ; the whole fable was repre- 
 sented 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 attended 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 under a large tree, gazing on the 
 goddess. Signor Angelo Labbia represented Poland crowning 
 of Saxony, waited on by the Virtues and subject Provinces. 
 Signor Angelo Molino was Neptune waited on by the Rivers. 
 Signor Vicenzo Morosini's piote showed the Triumphs ot 
 Peace; Discord being chained at her feet, and she surrounded 
 with the Pleasures, &c. 
 
 I believe you are already weary of this description, which 
 can give you but a very imperfect idea of the show ; but I must 
 say one word of the bichonis, which are less vessels, quite open,
 
 290 Letters to the [1740 
 
 some representing gardens, others apartments, all the oars 
 being gilt either with gold or silver, and the gondoliers' liveries 
 either velvet or rich silk, with a profusion of lace, fringe, and 
 embroidery. I saw this show at the Procurator Grimani's 
 house, which was near the place where the prizes were 
 delivered : there was a great assembly invited on the same 
 occasion, which were all nobly entertained. 
 
 I can get no better ink here, though I have tried several 
 times, and it is a great vexation to me to want it. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 June 4 [1740]. 
 
 I have this moment received the most agreeable and most 
 obliging letter I ever read in my life ; I mean your ladyship's 
 of the 28th May. I ought to take post to-morrow morning to 
 thank you in person, but the possibilities are wanting. Here 
 is a new, unforeseen, impertinent impediment rose up; in 
 vulgar English called a big belly. I hope you won't think it 
 my own ; but my dear chambermaid, the only English female 
 belonging to me, was pleased to honour me last night with the 
 confidence that she expects to lie in every day; which my 
 negligence and her loose gown has hindered me from per- 
 ceiving till now ; though I have been told to-day by ten visitors 
 that all the town knew it except myself. Here am I locked 
 up this month at Venice for her sweet sake, and consequently 
 going to hate it heartily ; but it is not possible for me to travel 
 alone, or trust an Italian with the care of my jewels, &c. The 
 creature is married to an English servant of mine, so there is 
 no indecency in keeping her, but a great deal of inconveniency. 
 I beg your pardon, dear madam, for this ridiculous detail of 
 my domestics, but it is at present the only thing that stops my 
 journey ; the Prince of Saxony's being fixed for the tenth of 
 this month. You cannot know me so little as to suppose the 
 pleasure of making my court determined me to stay as long as 
 he did. I freely confess a very great esteem, and even friend- 
 ship for his governor, whose civilities to me have been so great. 
 I must have been very stupid, as well as ungrateful, if I could 
 have thought they deserved no return; and he exacted this 
 promise from me at a time when neither he nor I thought he 
 could stay above half the time he has done. This friendship 
 of ours is attended with such peculiar circumstances as make 
 it as free from all possibility of a reproach, as a fancy your 
 ladyship may take, for aught I know, to the Venus de Medici :
 
 1740] Countess of Pomfret and others 293 
 
 he being in some sense as immovable as she, and equally 
 incapable, by th« duties of his cursed place, to leave the post 
 he is in, even for one moment. I go there to visit him behind 
 the prince's chair, which is his grate ; where we converse in 
 English (which he speaks perfectly well), and he has the 
 pleasure of talking to me with a freedom that he does not use 
 to any other. You may easily imagine the consolation this is 
 to him ; and you have so good a heart, that I am sure you 
 must be sensible of the pleasure I find in giving way to a man 
 of so extraordinary a character both for virtue and under- 
 standing. This is the true history of my stay here, which shall 
 be as short as these remoras will permit ; being ever, &c. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 [Venice, June, 1740.] 
 I send you this letter by so agreeable a companion, thai 
 think it a very considerable present. He will tell you that he 
 has pressed me very much to set out for Florence immediately, 
 and I have the greatest inclination in the world to do it ; but, 
 as I have already said, I am but too well convinced that all 
 things are relative, and mankind was not made to follow their 
 own inclinations. I have pushed as fair for liberty as any one ; 
 I have most philosophically thrown off all the chains of custom 
 and subjection ; and also rooted out of my heart all seeds of 
 ambition and avarice- In such a case, if freedom could be 
 found, that lot would sure be mine ; yet certain atoms of attrac- 
 tion and repulsion keep me still in suspense ; and I cannot 
 absolutely set the day of my departure, though I very sincerely 
 wish for it, and have one reason more than usual : this town 
 being at present infested with English, who torment me as 
 much as the frogs and lice did the palace of Pharaoh, and are 
 surprised that I will not suffer them to skip about my house 
 from morning till night ; me, that never opened my doors to 
 such sort of animals in England. I wish I knew a corner of 
 the world inaccessible to petits-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 destin'd that I fancy'd free/'
 
 292 Letters to the [1740 
 
 I have talked to this purpose with the bearer of this letter : 
 you may talk with him on any subject, for though our acquaint- 
 ance has been very short, it has been long enough to show me 
 that he has an understanding that will be agreeable in what 
 light he pleases to show it. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Venice, June 29 [1740]. 
 Your ladyship's letter (which I have this minute received) 
 would have been the most agreeable thing in the world, if 
 it had been directed to another; but I can no more be 
 charmed with it than a duellist can admire the skill by which 
 he is mortally wounded. With all the respect I owe you, I 
 cannot forbear saying, that no woman living ever reproached 
 another with less reason than you do me at present. You 
 can't possibly suspect I have got my chambermaid with child 
 myself for a pretence to stay here. This is a crime of which 
 all mankind will acquit me ; and if she had any such malicious 
 design in conceiving, I can assure you she had no orders from 
 me ; but, as the song says, 
 
 "Tis e'en but a folly to flounce ; 
 'Tis done, and it cannot be holp." 
 
 As soon as she is able to travel, I will certainly set out, notwith- 
 standing the information of your Popish priest. There's 
 another thing ; how can you pin your faith upon the sleeve of 
 one of those gentlemen, against the assurances given you by 
 a daughter of the Church of England ? After this, you are 
 obliged to me that I do not suspect he can persuade you into 
 a belief in all the miracles in the Legend. All quarrelling 
 apart, if neither death nor sickness intervene, you will certainly 
 see me at Florence. I talk of you every day at present with 
 Mr. Mackenzie, who is a very pretty youth, much enchanted 
 by the charms of Lady Sophia, who, I hear from all hands, so 
 far outshines all the Florentine beauties, that none of them 
 dare appear before her. I shall take great pleasure in being 
 spectatress of her triumphs ; but yet more in your ladyship's 
 conversation, which was never more earnestly desired by any 
 one than it is at this time by, dearest madam, 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 [Venice, July, 1740.] 
 
 To convince you of my sincere impatience to see you, 
 though my waiting gentlewoman is not yet brought to bed, I
 
 i74o] Countess of Pomfret and others 293 
 
 am determined to set out the last day of this month, whether 
 she is able to accompany me or not. I hope for one month's 
 happiness with you at Florence ; and if you then remove to 
 Rome, I will wait on you thither, and shall find double 
 pleasure in every fine thing I see in your company. You see, 
 whatever acquaintance I have made at Venice, I am ready to 
 sacrifice them to yours. I have already desired my London 
 correspondents to address their letters to your palace, and am, 
 
 Most faithfully yours, &c. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 [Venice] Aug. 12, N.S. [1740]. 
 I am going to give your ladyship a very dangerous proof ot 
 my zealous desire of seeing you. I intend to set out to- 
 morrow morning, though I have a very swelled face ; attended 
 by a damsel who has lain in but sixteen days. I hope after 
 this expedition you will never more call in doubt how much 
 I am, dearest madam, 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Bologna, Aug. 16 [N.S., 1740]. 
 I am thus far arrived towards the promised land, where I 
 expect to see your ladyship ; but shall stay here a day or two 
 to prepare myself for the dreadful passage of the Apennines. 
 In the mean time I have taken the liberty to direct two trunks 
 and a box to your palace. The post is just going out, and 
 hinders me from saying more than that I am 
 
 Ever yours. 
 
 To the Countess of . 
 
 Saturday — Florence. 
 I set out from Bologne the moment I had finished the 
 letter I wrote you on Monday last, and shall now continue to 
 inform you of the things that have struck me most in this 
 excursion. Sad roads — hilly and rocky — between Bologna 
 and Fierenzuola. Between this latter place and Florence, 1 
 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 have met with. In this gloomy retreat it 
 gave me pain to observe the infatuation of men, who have 
 devoutly reduced themselves to a much worse condition than 
 that of the beasts. Folly, you see, is the lot of humanity,
 
 294 Letters to the [1740 
 
 whether it arises in the flowery paths of pleasure, or the thorny 
 ones of an ill-judged devotion. But of the two sorts of fools, 
 I shall always think that the merry one has the most eligible 
 fate ; and I cannot well form a notion of that spiritual and 
 ecstatic joy, that is mixed with sighs, groans, hunger, and thirst, 
 and the other complicated miseries of monastic discipline. It 
 is a strange way of going to work for happiness to excite an 
 enmity between soul and body, which Nature and Providence 
 have designed to live together in union and friendship, and 
 which we cannot separate 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 un 
 sociable and unnatural discipline, and were this injunction 
 never to be dispensed with, it would be needless to visit them 
 in any other character than as a collection of statues ; but the 
 superior of the convent suspended in our favour that rigorous 
 law, and allowed one of the mutes to converse with me, and 
 answer a few discreet 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 vegetables. The story that is told of the institu- 
 tion of this order is remarkable, and is well attested, if my 
 information is good. Its founder was a French nobleman 
 whose name was Bouthillier de Ranee, a man of pleasure and 
 gallantry, which were 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 intimate and tender connexions of successful 
 love. At his return to Paris he proposed to surprise her agree- 
 ably, and, at the same time, to satisfy his own impatient desire 
 of seeing her, by going directly and without ceremony to her 
 apartment 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 
 putrified 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 in 
 the most cruel and disconsolate devotion. — Let us quit this 
 «ad subject.
 
 174°] Countess of Pomfret and others 295 
 
 I must not forget to tell you that before I came to this 
 monastery 1 went to see the burning mountains near Fieren- 
 zuola, of which the naturalists speak as a great curiosity. The 
 flame it sends forth is without smoke, and resembles brandy 
 set on fire. The ground about it is well cultivated, and the 
 fire appears only in one spot where there is a cavity whose cir- 
 cumference is small, but in it are several crevices whose depths 
 are unknown. It is remarkable that when a piece of wood is 
 thrown into this cavity, though it cannot pass through the 
 crevices, yet it is consumed in a moment, and that though the 
 ground about it be perfectly cold, yet if a stick be rubbed with 
 any force against it, it emits a flame, which, however, is neither 
 hot nor durable like that of the volcano. If you desire a more 
 circumstantial account of this phenomenon, and have made a 
 sufficient progress in Italian to read Father Carrazzi's descrip- 
 tion of it, you need not be at a loss, for I have sent this 
 
 description to Mr. F , and you have only to ask it of him. 
 
 After observing the volcano, I scrambled up all the neighbour- 
 ing hills, partly on horseback, partly on foot, but could find no 
 vestige of fire in any of them ; though common report would 
 make one believe that they all contained volcanoes. 
 
 I hope you have not taken it into your head to expect from 
 me a description of the famous gallery here, where I arrived on 
 Thursday at noon ; this would be requiring a volume instead 
 of a letter ; besides, I have as yet seen but a part of this 
 immense treasure, and I propose employing some weeks more 
 to survey the whole. You cannot imagine any situation 
 more agreeable than Florence. It lies in a fertile and smiling 
 valley watered by the Arno, which runs through the city, and 
 nothing can surpass the beauty and magnificence of its public" 
 buildings, particularly the cathedral, whose grandeur filled me 
 with astonishment. The palaces, squares, fountains, statues, 
 bridges, do not only carry an aspect full of elegance and great- 
 ness, but discover a taste quite different, in kind, from that 
 which reigns in the public edifices in other countries. The 
 more I see of Italy, the more I am persuaded that the Italians 
 have a style (if I may use that expression) in everything, which 
 distinguishes them almost essentially from all other Europeans. 
 Where they have got it, whether from natural genius or ancient 
 imitation and inheritance, I shall not examine ; but the fact is 
 certain. I have been but one day in the gallery, that amazing 
 repository of the most precious remains of antiquity, and which 
 alone is sufficient to immortali ;e the illustrious house of Medicis,
 
 296 
 
 Letters to the [1740 
 
 by whom it was built, and enriched as we now see it. I was 
 so impatient to see the famous Venus of Medicis, that I went 
 hastily through six apartments in order to get a sight of this 
 divine figure, purposing, when I had satisfied this ardent 
 curiosity, to return and review the rest at my leisure. As I. 
 indeed, passed through the great room which contains the 
 ancient statues, I was stopped short at viewing the Antinous, 
 which they have placed near that of Adrian, to revive the 
 remembrance of their preposterous loves, which I suppose the 
 Florentines rather look upon as an object of envy, than of 
 horror and disgust. This statue, like that of the Venus de 
 Medicis, spurns description : such figures my eyes never beheld 
 — I can now understand that Ovid's comparing a fine woman 
 to a statue, which I formerly thought a very disobliging simili- 
 tude, was the nicest and highest piece of flattery. The Anti- 
 nous is entirely naked ; all its parts are bigger than nature ; 
 but the whole taken together, and the fine attitude of the 
 figure, carry such an expression of ease, elegance, and grace, 
 as no words can describe. When I saw the Venus I was 
 wrapped in wonder, — and I could not help casting a thought 
 back upon Antinous. They ought to be placed together. 
 They are worthy of each other. If marble could see and feel, 
 the separation might be prudent. If it could only see, it would 
 certainly lose its coldness and learn to feel, and in such a case 
 the charms of these two figures would produce an effect quite 
 opposite to that of the Gorgon's head, which turned flesh into 
 stone. Did I pretend to describe to you the Venus, it would 
 only set your imagination at work to form ideas of her figure, 
 and your ideas would no more resemble that figure, than the 
 
 Portuguese face of Miss N , who has enchanted our knights, 
 
 [sic] resembles the sweet and graceful countenance of Lady , 
 
 his former flame. The description of a face or figure is a need- 
 less thing, as it never conveys a true idea ; it only gratifies 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. 
 
 I would be glad to oblige you and your friend Vertue, by 
 executing your commission with respect to the sketches of 
 Raphael's cartoons at Hampton Court ; but I cannot do it 
 to my satisfaction. I have, indeed, seen in the grand-duke's 
 collection, four pieces, in which that wonderful artist had thrown 
 freely from his pencil the first thoughts and rude lines of some
 
 i74o] Countess of Pomfret and others 297 
 
 of these compositions ; and as the first thoughts of a great 
 genius are precious, these pieces attracted my curiosity in a 
 particular manner; but when I went to examine them closeK, 
 I found them so damaged and effaced, that they did not at all 
 answer my expectation. Whether this be owing to negligence 
 or envy, I cannot say ; I mention the latter, because it is 
 notorious that many of the modern painters have discovered 
 ignoble marks of envy at a view of the inimitable productions 
 of the ancients. Instead of employing their art to preserve the 
 masterpieces of antiquity, they have endeavoured to destroy 
 and efface many of them. I have seen with my own eyes an 
 evident proof of this at Bologna, where the greatest part of the 
 paintings in fresco on the walls of the convent of St. Michael 
 in Bosco, done by the Caracci and Guido Reni, have been 
 ruined by the painters, who after having copied some of the 
 finest heads, scraped them almost entirely out with nails. 
 Thus you see nothing is exempt from human malignity. 
 
 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 inventor. 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 
 his hatred of man and woman kind. — But I must quit this 
 contemptible subject, on which a just indignation would render 
 my pen so fertile, that after having fatigued you with a long 
 letter, I would surfeit you with a supplement twice as long. 
 Besides, a violent headache advertises me that it is time to lay 
 down my pen and get me to bed. I shall say some things to 
 you in my next that I would have you to impart to the strati 
 man, as from yourself. My mind is at present tolerably quiet ; 
 if it were as dead to sin, as it is to certain connexions, I should 
 be a great saint. Adieu, my dear madam. 
 
 Yours very affectionately, &c. 
 
 To Mr. VVortley Montagu. 
 
 Florence, Aug. [September?] n [OS. 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
 
 298 
 
 Letters to the [1740 
 
 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 go thence to [by?] sea by 
 [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 get none. I have wrote to your 
 daughter, directed to Scotland, this post. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Rome, Oct. 22, N.S. [1740]. 
 
 I arrived here in good health three days ago ; 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 
 antiquities, &c, that are to be seen. From hence I purpose 
 to set out for Naples. I am told by everybody that I shall not 
 find it agreeable to reside in. I expect Lady Pomfret's family 
 here in a few days. It is summer here, and I left winter at 
 Florence ; the snows having begun to fall on the mountains. 
 I shall probably see the ceremony of the new Pope's taking 
 possession of the Vatican, which is said to be the finest that 
 is ever performed at Rome. I have no news to send from 
 hence. If you would have me to speak to any particular point, 
 I beg you will let me know it, and I will give you the best 
 information I am able. 
 
 Be pleased to continue directing to Mr. Mann, the English 
 resident at Florence. He will take care to send my letters 
 wherever I am. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Oct. 22, N.S [1740]. 
 
 Dear Madam, — I flatter myself that your ladyship's good- 
 ness will give you some pleasure in hearing that I am safely- 
 arrived at Rome. It was a violent transition from your palace 
 and company to be locked up all day with my chambermaid, 
 and sleep at night in a hovel ; but my whole life has been in 
 the Pindaric style. I am at present settled in the lodging Sir
 
 1740] Countess of Pomfret and others 299 
 
 Francis Dashwood recommended to me. I liked that Mr. 
 Boughton mentioned to me (which had been Sir Bourchier 
 Wrey's) much better ; 'tis two zechins per month cheaper, and 
 at least twenty more agreeable ; but the landlord would not let 
 it, for a very pleasant reason. It seems your gallant knight 
 used to lie with his wife ; and as he had no hopes I would do 
 the same, he resolves to reserve his house for some young man. 
 The only charm belonging to my present habitation is the 
 ceiling, which is finer than that of the gallery ; being all painted 
 by the proper hand of Zucchero, in perfect good preservation. 
 I pay as much for this small apartment as your ladyship does 
 for your magnificent palace ; 'tis true I have a garden as large 
 as your dressing-room. I walked last night two hours in that 
 of Borghese, which is one of the most delightful I ever saw. 
 I have diverted myself with a plain discovery of the persons 
 concerned in the letter that was dropped in the Opera House. 
 This is all the news I know, and I will not tire you with my 
 thanks for the many civilities for which I am obliged to your 
 ladyship ; but I shall ever be highly sensible of them, and can 
 never be other than, dear madam, your ladyship's 
 
 Most faithful humble servant. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Rome, Nov. i, 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 
 anybody 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 propose making a stay of [a] month, 
 which shall be entirely taken up in that employment, and then 
 I will remove to Naples, to avoid, if possible, feeling the winter. 
 I do not trouble you with descriptions, since you have been 
 here, and I suppose very well remember everything that is 
 worth«remembering, ; but if you would have me speak to any 
 particular point, I will give you the best information is 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.
 
 300 Letters to the [1740 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Rome, Nov. n [1740]. 
 I received the honour of your ladyship's letter but last 
 night. I perceive all letters are stopped. Two that you 
 enclosed are from dear Mr. Mackenzie, pressing with the most 
 friendly solicitude my return to Venice, and begging me to let 
 him meet me at Bologna. I am amazed at the good nature 
 of that youth. I could not wish a child of my own a more 
 affectionate behaviour than he has shown to me ; and that 
 inducement is added to many others to incline me to Venice : 
 
 but I intend for Naples next week ; but as my stay there 
 
 will not exceed fifteen days, I shall be again here before it is 
 possible for you to arrive ; where I wish you for your own 
 sake. Here are entertainments for all tastes ; and whatever 
 notions I had of the magnificence of Rome, I can assure you 
 it has surpassed all my ideas of it. I am sincerely concerned 
 for Mr. Boughton, and wish the air of Pisa may recover his 
 health. — I shall very readily tell your ladyship all I guess about 
 the said letter. An English lady called Mrs. D'Arcie (what 
 D'Arcie I can't imagine) lodged in the house where I now am, 
 and Sir Francis Dashwood was every day with her ; she went 
 from hence, by the way of Florence, to England. Putting this 
 together, I supposed her the person concerned. This is all I 
 know. You may see that I have no other advantage from this 
 discovery but the bare satisfaction of my curiosity. — The Abbe 
 Niccolini arrived last night ; I believe I shall see him this 
 evening. Here are yet no English of your acquaintance, 
 except Lord Elcho. I am told Lord Lincoln has taken a large 
 house, and intends to keep a table, &c. The life I now lead 
 is very different from what you fancy. — I go to bed every night 
 at ten, run about all the morning among the antiquities, and 
 walk every evening in a different beautiful villa; where if 
 among the fountains I could find the waters of Lethe, I should 
 be completely happy. 
 
 "Like a deer that is wounded I bleed and run on, 
 And fain I my torment would hide. 
 But alas ! 'tis in vain, for wherever I run 
 The bloody dart sticks in my side," 
 
 and I carry the serpent that poisons the paradise I am in. I 
 beg your pardon (dear madam) for this impertinent account 
 of myself; you ought to forgive it, since you would not be 
 troubled with it, if I did not depend upon it that your friend-
 
 i74o] Countess of Pomfret and others 301 
 
 ship for me interests you in all my concerns ; though I can no 
 way merit it but by the sincerity with which I am, &c. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Rome] Nov. 12, N.S. [1740]. 
 
 I received this morning Mr. Child's bill on Gott and 
 How for 200 [pounds]. I intend not to take it up till I go to 
 Leghorn, where I design to go, to receive my things, which 
 Mr. Mann writes me word are daily expected. I shall set out 
 for Naples on next Friday: I do not doubt liking the situation, 
 but by all the information I can get, it will be every way 
 improper for my residence; and I propose no longer stay there 
 than is necessary to see what is curious. I have been very 
 diligent in viewing everything here ; making no acquaintance, 
 that I might have no interruption. Here is a statue of 
 Antinous lately found, which is said to be equal to any in 
 Rome, and it is to be sold; perhaps the Duke of Bedford 
 might be glad to hear of it. I do not hear of one valuable 
 picture that is to be purchased. It has been this last week as 
 dark and rainy as ever I saw it in England. Your letter of 
 September 23 came to me but this day. I perceive letters are 
 stopped and perused more carefully than ever, which hinders 
 my writing any of the reports I hear ; some of them are very 
 extraordinary. The Emperor's ambassador here has taken the 
 character of the Queen of Bohemia's, and, as such, presented 
 his credentials, which have been received. 
 
 I wrote to you the last post very fully as to what con- 
 cerns my son. I intend to write again to my daughter, though 
 I have had no answer to my last. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Naples, Nov. 25, N.S. [1740^ 
 
 I arrived here last night, after a very disagreeable journey ; 
 I would not in my last give you any account of the present state 
 of Rome, knowing all letters are opened there ; but I cannot 
 help mentioning, what is more curious than all the antiquities, 
 which is, that there is literally no money in the whole town, 
 where they follow Mr. Law's system, and live wholly upon 
 paper. 
 
 Belloni, who is the greatest banker not only of Rome 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
 
 302 Letters to the [1740 
 
 no specie to be seen, which raises the price of everything 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 endeavour a remedy, though it 
 is very difficult to find one. He was bred a lawyer, and has 
 passed the greatest part of his life in that profession ; 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 since his 
 elevation. He has no relations that he takes any notice of. 
 The country belonging to him, which I have passed, is almost 
 uninhabited, and in a poverty beyond what 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. 
 
 To the Countess of Pom fret. 
 
 Naples, Nov. 25, N.S. [1740]. 
 
 Here I am arrived at length, after a most disagreeable 
 journey. I bought a chaise at Rome, which cost me twenty- 
 five good English pounds : and had the pleasure of being laid 
 low in it the very second day after I set out. I had the marvel- 
 lous good luck to escape with life and limbs ; but my delightful 
 chaise broke all to pieces, and I was forced to stay a whole 
 day in a hovel, while it was tacked together in such a manner 
 as would serve to drag me hither. To say truth, this accident 
 has very much palled my appetite for travelling. I was last 
 night at the opera, which is far the finest in Italy ; it was the 
 Queen's birth-night ; the whole house was illuminated, and the 
 court in its greatest splendour. Mrs. Allen is very well 
 behaved, and {entre nous) her lover one of the prettiest men I 
 ever saw in any country ; but all is managed with the strictest 
 decency. I have been diverted both at Rome and here with 
 
 Lady W 's memoirs. The consul told me that when she 
 
 first came here she was in the full fury of her passion for 
 Mr. Sturgis. He went once to take the air in a coach with 
 them, and her ladyship was so violent, he protested he had a 
 great mind to have alighted and walked home on foot, rather 
 than have been a spectator. I could not help laughing when I 
 remembered our disputes. 
 
 I am informed here are many pretty houses to be had, and 
 I own I have half a mind to send orders for my goods to be 
 brought hither ; but fixing is a point of such importance, it 
 deserves to be well considered. I am now sitting comfortably
 
 i74o] Countess of Pomfret and others 303 
 
 without a fire, and a soft winter is an article of consequence. 
 It is possible there may be as many intrigues here as in other 
 places ; but there is an outward decency that I am pleased 
 with ; and by what I see of the Neapolitans (contrary to their 
 common character), they appear to me a better sort of people 
 than the Romans, or (if you will give me leave to say it) the 
 Florentines. There seems some tincture of Spanish honour 
 amongst them ; and in favour of that I can forgive a little 
 Spanish formality. However, I have yet determined nothing ; 
 but wherever I am, I shall be, dear madam, faithfully yours, &c. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Naples, Dec. 6, N.S. [1740]. 
 
 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, I am actually sitting without any want of 
 a fire. I do not find the people so savage as they were repre- 
 sented to me. I have received visits from several of the 
 principal ladies ; and I think I could meet with as much 
 company here as I desire ; but here is one article both dis- 
 agreeable and incommodious, which is the grandeur of the 
 equipages. 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, it appears 
 reasonable to me to wait a little, before I fix my residence, 
 that I may not find myself in the theatre of war, which is 
 threatened on all sides. I hope you have the continuation ot 
 your health ; mine is very well established at present. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Naples, Dec. 12, N.S. [1740]. 
 I have received half an hour ago two letters from you — 
 the one dated October the 6th, the other the 23rd. I am 
 surprised you have received none from me during the whole 
 month of August, having wrote several ; but I perceive all 
 letters are stopped, and many lost. I gave my daughter a 
 direction to me long since; but, as far as I can find, she has
 
 304 Letters to the [1740 
 
 never received either that or another which I directed to her 
 in Scotland. The town lately discovered is at Portici, about 
 three miles from this place. Since 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 everybody, extreme dangerous, 
 and for some time nobody ventures into it. I have been 
 assured by some English gentlemen, that 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 a way 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 particular 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 
 1 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 situation of affairs 
 all over Europe makes every correspondence precarious. 
 
 I am sorry to trouble you with the enclosed to my daughter ; 
 but as she seems concerned for not hearing from me, and I 
 have reason to fear that no letter directed to her in Scotland 
 wiil arrive safe, I send her these few lines. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Naples, Dec. 27, N.S. [1740J. 
 I did not write to you last post, hoping to have been able to 
 have given you an account in this of everything I had observed 
 at Portici ; but 1 have not yet obtained the King's license, 
 which must be had before I can be admitted to see the 
 pictures, and fragments of statues which have been found 
 there, and has been hitherto delayed on various pretences, it 
 being at present a very singular favour. They say that some 
 English carried a painter with them the last year to copy the 
 pictures, which renders it more difficult at present to get leave 
 to see them. I have taken all possible pains to get information 
 of this subterranean building, and am told 'tis the remains of 
 the ancient city of Hercolana, and by what I can collect, 
 there was a theatre entire, with all the scenes and ancient 
 decorations : they have broke it to pieces by digging irregularly.
 
 i 7 4i] Countess of Pomfret and others 305 
 
 I hope in a few days to get permission to go, and will then give 
 > ou the exactest description I am capable of. 1 have received 
 no letters these three weeks, which does not surprise me though 
 it displeases me very much, hearing the same complaint made 
 b) everybody. Mount Vesuvius is much diminished, as I am 
 generally told, since the last great eruption, which was four 
 years ago. The court here is magnificent, and all the customs 
 entirely Spanish. The new opera-house, built by this king, is 
 the largest in Europe. I hear a great deal of news, true or 
 false, but cannot communicate it at this time. I hope my next 
 letter will be more particular. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Rome, Jan. 13, N.S. [1741]. 
 I returned hither last night, after six weeks' stay at Naples ; 
 j eat part of that time was vainly taken up in endeavouring to 
 satisfy your curiosity and my own, in relation to the late- 
 discovered town of Hercolana. 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 
 I'rince de Zathia (who is one of his favourites), I believe, very 
 sincerely tried his interest to obtain it for me. He is son to 
 the Spanish ambassador 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 travellers ; 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 his country. I do not know how far the young 
 men may be corrupted on their return, but the majority ot 
 those I. have seen, have seemed strongly in the same sentiment,
 
 306 Letters to the [1741 
 
 Lady Newburgh's eldest daughter, whom I believe you may 
 have seen at L. [Lord] Westmoreland's, is married to Count 
 Mahony, who is in great figure at Naples : she was extreme 
 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 compliment upon it. I received this day 
 yours of the 20th and 28th of November. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Rome, January 20, N.S. [1741]. 
 This is the fourth letter I have wrote to your ladyship, since 
 I had the honour of hearing from you. I own I am much 
 mortified at it. I do not doubt my letters have miscarried, for 
 I cannot believe your silence proceeds from any other cause. 
 In the mean time I must suffer greatly in your opinion if you 
 think me stupid or ungrateful enough to neglect a correspon- 
 dence which is every way so advantageous to me. I am 
 returned from Naples, where I was much tempted to fix my 
 residence, both from the charms of the climate, and the many 
 civilities I met with. Some considerations made me decline it; 
 and since my arrival here I have received such pressing and 
 obliging letters from my friends at Venice, I can hardly resist 
 my inclination to go thither. I am ashamed of my irresolution, 
 but I own I am still undetermined. You see I confess to you 
 all my weakness. My baggage is arrived at Leghorn ; and, 
 wherever I turn myself afterwards, it is necessary for me to go 
 thither to give some orders concerning it ; I only wait for the 
 moonlight to begin my journey. I see all the English here 
 every day, and amongst them Lord Lincoln, who is really, 
 I think, very deserving, and appears to have both spirit and 
 understanding. They all expect your ladyship's family here 
 before the end of the carnival. I wish my affairs would 
 permit me to stay till that time, if it be true that you intend 
 coming, otherwise the shows give me very little curiosity. The 
 Abbe Niccolini is very obliging to me, but I fear his interest 
 is not sufficient to do the service to my friend, that I endeavour 
 with all my heart ; though I've little hopes of success from 
 what the Venetian ambassador told me last night. I had 
 last post a great deal of news from England, but as I suppose 
 you had the same, I do not trouble you with the repetition. 
 I hope all your family continue in health and beauty. 
 
 I am ever, dear madam, your ladyship's, &c.
 
 i74i] Countess of Pomfret and others 307 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Rome, February 15 [174 1]. 
 Your ladyship's letters are so concise, I suppose you neither 
 expected or desired a quick return to them ; however, I could 
 not let slip this opportunity of assuring you that you have still 
 in being a very sincere (though perhaps insignificant) humble 
 servant. If you could know all my behaviour here, you would 
 be thoroughly convinced of this truth, and of my endeavours 
 to serve you. I was not at all surprised at the sight of Mr. 
 Sturgis ; he has the very face of a lover kicked out of doors ; 
 and I pity his good heart, at the same time I despise his want 
 of spirit. I confess I am amazed (with your uncommon 
 understanding) that you are capable of drawing such false 
 consequences. Because I tell you another woman has a very 
 agreeable lover, you conclude I am in love with him myself ; 
 when God knows I have not seen one man since I left you, 
 that has affected me otherwise than if he had been carved in 
 marble. Some figures have been good, others have been i I 
 made : and all equally indifferent to me. The news I have 
 heard from London is, Lady Margaret Hastings having disposed 
 of herself to a poor wandering methodist ; Lady Lucy Manners 
 being engaged to Mr. Pawlet ; Miss Henshaw married to 
 Captain Strickland ; and Lady Carnarvon receiving the 
 honourable addresses of Sir Thomas Robinson : here is a great 
 heap of our sex's folly. 
 
 I intend setting out for Leghorn the next Sunday, and from 
 thence I am yet undetermined. What is very pleasant, I have 
 met two men exactly in the same circumstances. The one is 
 Prince Couteau (brother to the Princess Campo Florida), who 
 has abandoned his country on being disgusted with his wife ; and 
 the other a Genoese abbe, who has both wit and learning in a 
 very ugly form, and who on a disagreeable adventure is resolved 
 never to return to Genoa. We often talk over every town in 
 Europe, and find some objection or other to every one of the: 
 
 If it would suit your conveniency to see me at Sienna, I would 
 stop there to receive that pleasure. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Leghorn, Feb. 25, N.S. [1741]- 
 I arrived here last night, and have received this morning 
 the bill of nine 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
 
 3c8 Letters to the [i 74 i 
 
 and often stopped. I hope you had mine, relating to the 
 antiquities 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 [ofj, though of no great birth, and 
 has made his fortune by an attachment to the Duchess of 
 Saiviati. The present Pope is very much beloved, and seems 
 desirous to ease the people and deliver them out of the 
 miserable 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. I never saw the chevalier 
 during my whole stay at Rome, I saw his two sons at a public 
 ball in masque ; they were very richly adorned with jewels. 
 The eldest seems thoughtless enough, and is really not unlike 
 Mr. Lyttelton in his shape and air. The youngest is very well 
 made, dances finely, and has an ingenuous countenance ; he 
 is but fourteen years of age. The family live very splendidly, 
 yet pay everybody, and (wherever they get it) are certainly in 
 no want of money. I heard at Rome the true tragical history 
 of the Princess Sobieski, which is very different from what was 
 said in London. The Pope, Clement the Twelfth, was com- 
 monly supposed her lover, and she used to go about publicly 
 in his state coach, to the great scandal of the people. Her 
 husband's mistress spirited him up to resent it, so far that he 
 left Rome upon it, and she retired to a convent, where she 
 destroyed herself. The English travellers at Rome behave in 
 general very discreetly. I have reason to speak well of them, 
 since they were all exceeding obliging to me. It may sound a 
 little vain to say it, but they really paid a little court to me, 
 as if I had been their queen, and their governors told me, that 
 the desire of my approbation had a very great influence on 
 their conduct. While I stayed there was neither gaming nor 
 any sort of extravagance. I used to preach to them very freely, 
 and they all thanked me for it. I shall stay 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. Direct, " Recommande a Monsieur Jackson, Ndgociant 
 a Livourne l'Anglais." 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Leghorn, March 3rd [ 1 741 J. 
 I am extremely sorry (dear madam) that things have turned 
 out so unluckily to hinder me the pleasure of your conversa-
 
 i74i] Countess of Pomfret and others 309 
 
 tion ; I really believed Lord Strafford intended to go straight 
 to Florence, instead of which he has been at Leghorn, Pisa, 
 and Lucca, which has occasioned these mistakes. When you 
 arrive at Rome, I am persuaded you will be convinced of my 
 endeavours to serve you ; and I'm very positive nothing but 
 ill management can hinder that affair from succeeding. I own 
 it will require some skill, from the opposition it is like to 
 meet with. I am now expecting every hour to be summoned 
 on board, or I would take a trip to Florence to inform you of 
 everything. I am sorry you seem to doubt the benignity of 
 your stars ; pray trust to mine, which (though of little use to 
 myself) have never failed of showering some good fortune 
 where I wished it, as I do most sincerely to you ; being, dear 
 madam, 
 
 Faithfully yours. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Turin] April II, N.S. [1741]. 
 I take this opportunity of writing to you on many subjects 
 in a freer manner than I durst do by the post, knowing that all 
 letters are opened both here and in other places, which occa- 
 sions them to be often lost, besides other inconveniences that 
 may happen. The English politics are the general jest of ali 
 the nations I have passed through ; and even those who profit 
 by our follies cannot 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 measures. I had a long discourse with Count 
 Mahony on this subject, 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, when- 
 ever 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 circumstances, there have been great 
 endeavours to raise up a sham plot : the person who told it
 
 3!Q Letters to the [i 74 i 
 
 me was an English antiquarian, who said he had been offered 
 any money to send accusations. The truth is, he had carried 
 a letter, wrote 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 made use of that stratagem to gain credit. 
 This court makes great preparations for war : the king is cer- 
 tainly no 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 practised by ladies that 
 are only passengers. I have had a great number of visitors ; 
 the nobility piquing themselves on civility to strangers. The 
 weather is still exceedingly cold, and I do not intend to move 
 till I have the prospect of a pleasant journey. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Genoa, July 15 [1741]. 
 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 cannot help being very uneasy, and in some apprehension 
 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 
 Birtles, Consul de S. M. Biitannique." I saw in the last 
 newspapers (which he sends me) the death of Lord Oxford. 
 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. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Genoa, July 29, N.S. [1741]. 
 
 I received yesterday the bill for ^250, for which I return 
 you thanks. If I wrote you all the political 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. Walpole (youngest son to Sir 
 Robert) left this place two days ago ; they visited me during
 
 i/4i] Countess ot Pomfret and others 311 
 
 their short stay; they are gone to Marseilles, and design passing 
 some months in the south of France. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Genoa, Aug. 15, N.S. [1741]. 
 
 I am sorry to trouble you on so disagreeable a subject ai 
 our son, but I received a letter from him last post, in which he 
 solicits your dissolving his marriage, as if it was wholly in your 
 power, and the reason he gives for it, is so that he may marry 
 more to your satisfaction. It is very vexatious (though no 
 more than I expected) that time has no effect, and that it is 
 impossible to convince him of his true situation. He enclosed 
 this letter in one to Mr. Birtles, and tells me that he does not 
 doubt that debt of ^200 is paid. You may imagine this silly 
 proceeding occasioned me a dun from Mr. Birtles. I told him 
 the person that wrote the letter, was, to my knowledge, not 
 worth a groat, which was all I thought proper to say on the 
 
 subject. Here is arrived a little while since, Count , who 
 
 was president of the council of war, and enjoyed many other 
 great places under the late emperor. He is a Spaniard. The 
 next day after his arrival, he went to the Doge, and declared 
 himself his subject, and from thence to the archbishop, and 
 desired to be received as one of his flock. He has taken a 
 great house at Pierre l'Arene, where he sees few people, but 
 what I think particular, he has brought with him thirty-five 
 cases of books. I have had a particular account of Lord 
 Oxford's death 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 
 everything to my lady : which has affected her very much. 
 Notwithstanding the many reasons she had to complain of 
 him, I always thought there was more weakness than dis- 
 honesty in his actions, and is [sic] a confirmation of the truth 
 of that maxim of Mr. Rochefoucault, un sot n'a pas assez d'itoffe 
 pour etre honnete homrne. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Genoa] Aug. 25, N.S. [174.1]. 
 
 I received yours of the 27th July this morning. I had that 
 of March 19, which 1 answered very particularly the following 
 post, with many thanks for the increase of my allowance. It
 
 312 Letters to the [i 74 i 
 
 appears to me that the letters I wrote between the nth 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 extreme jealous of me, thinking I came to examine 
 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 altered since we were 
 here last, the alteration is scarce credible. They say it has 
 been by the last war. The French, being masters, introduced 
 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 
 people of the first quality keep coaches as fine as the 
 Speaker's, and some of them two or three, though the streets 
 are too narrow to use them in the town ; but they take the air 
 in them, and their chairs carry them to the gates. The 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 
 exceeding fine lace and linen ; and in their country-houses, 
 which are generally in the faubourg, they dress very rich, and 
 have extreme 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, piquet, &c, 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, particularly 
 to the wedding of one of the house of Spinola, where there 
 were ninety-six sat down to table, and I think the entertain- 
 ment 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 coachman, is (I am told) fifty pounds per 
 annum. A chair is very near 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 servants is regulated, and almost every lady 
 has the same, which is two footmen, a gentleman-usher, and a 
 page, who follows her chair.
 
 i74i] Countess of Pomfret and others 313 
 
 To THii Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Turin, October 2 [1741.,. 
 
 I had the honour of seeing Lord Lempster yesterday, who 
 told me to my great surprise your letter complains of my 
 silence, while I was much mortified at yours, having never 
 heard once from you since I left Leghorn, though I have 
 wrote several times. I suppose our frequent removals have 
 occasioned this breach in our correspondence, which it will 
 be a great pleasure to me to renew. I hear you are very well 
 diverted at Bruxelles; I am very much pleased here, where the 
 people in general are more polite and obliging than in most 
 parts of Italy. I am told Lady Walpole is at present at Verona, 
 and intends to pass the carnival at Venice. Mis. Pratt passed 
 this way last week; the Duchess of Buckingham is daily 
 expected. Italy is likely to be blessed with the sight of 
 English ladies of every sort and size. I stayed some time at 
 Genoa, tempted to it by the great civilities I received there, 
 and the opportunity of hiring a palace in the most beautiful 
 situation I ever saw. I was visited there by Lord Lincoln and 
 Mr. Walpole, who informed me that you hurried away from 
 Venice, designing for England. I hope some good occasion 
 has stopped you. I do not doubt you have heard Mrs. Golds- 
 worthy's melancholy history; which is very comical. I saw 
 often Signora Clelia Durazzo, who was your friend and very 
 much mine ; and we had the pleasure of talking frequently of 
 your ladyship, in many parties we had together. I have thus 
 given you a long account of my travels, I hope to have in 
 return the history of yours. I am told, since I began this 
 letter, that Miss Windsor, who is very well married in Holland 
 (I forget the name), is gone to Naples. I think I was very 
 unlucky not to meet with her ; I should be very glad to have 
 an opportunity of showing my regard to your ladyship in 
 serving any of your relations ; and perhaps my experience 
 might be of some use to a stranger. If my intelligence from 
 hence can be any way agreeable to you, you have a right to 
 command it. I wish I could show you more effectually how 
 much I am 
 
 Ever yours. 
 
 Be pleased to direct, " Recommande a Mons. Villette, 
 Ministre de S. M. Britannique."
 
 3H Letters to the [1741 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Geneva, Oct. 12 [1741]. 
 I arrived here last night, where I find everything quite 
 different from what it was represented to me : it is not the 
 first time it has happened to me on my travels. Everything 
 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 chief people in the 
 town, who seem extreme 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 near equal. As I am 
 not yet determined whether I shall make any considerable 
 stay, I desire not to have the money you intend me, till I ask 
 for it. If you have any curiosity for the present state of any 
 of the states of Italy, I believe I can give you a truer account 
 than perhaps any other traveller 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. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Geneva, Nov. 5, N.S. [1741]- 
 I have now been here a month : I have wrote to you three 
 times without hearing from you, and cannot help being uneasy 
 at your silence. I think this air does not agree with my 
 health. I have had a return of many complaints from which 
 I had an entire cessation during my stay in Italy, which makes 
 me incline to return thither, though a winter journey over the 
 Alps is very disagreeable. The people here are very well to 
 be liked, and this little republic has an air of the simplicity of 
 old Rome in its earliest age. The magistrates toil with their 
 own hands, and their wives literally dress their dinners against 
 their return from their little senate. Yet without dress or 
 equipage 'tis as dear living here for a stranger, as in places 
 where one is obliged to both, from the price of all sort of 
 provision, which they are forced to buy from their neighbours, 
 having almost no land of their own. I am very impatient to
 
 i74i] Countess of Pomfret and others 315 
 
 hear from you. Here are many reports concerning the English 
 affairs, which I am sometimes splenetic enough to give 
 
 credit to. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Chambery, Nov. 30, N.S. [1741]. 
 I received this morning yours of October 26th, 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, &c. When I received early information 
 of the design, I had the charity to mention it to the English 
 consul (without naming my informer); he laughed, and 
 answered it was impossible. This may serve for a small 
 specimen of the general good intelligence our wise ministry 
 have of all foreign affairs. If you were acquainted with the 
 people 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 anything 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 
 subject 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. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Chambery, December 3, N.S. [1741]. 
 At iength, dear madam, I have the pleasure of hearing from 
 you ; I hope you have found everything in London to your 
 satisfaction. I believe it will be a little surprise to you to hear 
 that I am fixed for this winter in this little obscure town ; 
 which is generally so much unknown, that a description of it 
 will at least have novelty to recommend it. Here is the most 
 profound peace and unbounded plenty that it is to be found 
 in any corner of the universe ; but not one rag of money. For 
 my part, I think it amounts to the same thing, whether one is 
 obliged to give several pence for bread, or can have a great 
 deaf of bread for a penny, since the Savoyard nobility here 
 keep as good tables, without money, as those in London, who 
 spend in a week what would be here a considerable yearly 
 revenue. Wine, which is equal to the best Burgundy, is sold 
 for a penny a quart, and I have a cook for very small wages, 
 that is capable of rivalling Chloe. Here are no equipages but
 
 3 l6 Letters to the [i 74 i 
 
 chairs, the hire of which is about a crown a week, and all other 
 matters proportionable. I can assure you I make the figure 
 of the Duchess of Marlborough, by carrying gold in my purse ; 
 there being no visible coin but copper. Yet we are all people 
 that can produce pedigrees to serve for the Order of Malta. 
 Many of us have travelled, and 'tis the fashion to love reading. 
 We eat together perpetually, and have assemblies every night 
 for conversation. To say truth, the houses are all built after 
 the manner of the old English towns; nobody having had 
 money to build for two hundred years past. Consequently 
 the walls are thick, the roofs low, &c, the streets narrow, and 
 miserably paved. However, a concurrence of circumstances 
 obliges me to this residence for some time. You have not told 
 me your thoughts of Venice. I heartily regret the loss of those 
 letters you mention, and have no comfort but in the hopes 
 of a more regular correspondence for the future. I cannot 
 compassionate the countess, since I think her insolent character 
 deserves all the mortifications Heaven can send her. It will 
 be charity to send me what news you pick up, which will be 
 always shown advantageously by your relation. I must depend 
 upon your goodness for this ; since I can promise you no 
 return from hence, but the assurance that I am 
 
 Ever faithfully yours. 
 Be pleased to direct as before to Mons. Villette, as the 
 super-direction. Here are no such vanities as gilt paper, 
 therefore you must excuse the want of it. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Chambery, Dec. 22 [1741]. 
 
 i have not heard from you since I came to this place ; but 
 I think it very possible the letters may have miscarried : at this 
 crisis all are suspected and opened, and consequently often 
 lost. I send this by way of Geneva, and desire you would 
 direct thither for me, recommended to Monsieur Guillaume 
 Boisier. 
 
 The company here is very good and sociable; and I have 
 reason to believe the air the best in the world, if I am to form 
 a judgment of it from the health and long life of the inhabi- 
 tants. I have half a dozen friends, male and female, who are 
 all of them near or past fourscore, who look and go about as 
 if they were but forty. The provisions of all sorts are extreme 
 good, and the wine is, I think, the most agreeable I ever 
 tasted ; and though the ground is now covered with snow, I
 
 1742] Countess of Pomfret and others 317 
 
 know nobody troubled with colds, and I observed very few 
 chronical distempers. The greatest inconvenience of the 
 country is the few tolerable rides that are to be picked out, 
 the roads being all mountainous and stony ; however, I have 
 got a little horse, and sometimes ramble about after the 
 manner of the D. [Duchess] of Cleveland, which is the only 
 fashion of riding here. 
 
 I am very impatient to hear from you, and hope your 
 business does not injure your health. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Chambery, March 4, N.S. [1742]. 
 I know not whether to condole or congratulate your lady- 
 ship on the changes in England ; but whatever they are, I 
 hope they will no way turn to your disadvantage. The present 
 prospect of war in Italy hinders my return thither ; and I live 
 here in so much health and tranquillity, I am in no haste to 
 remove. I am extremely glad to hear your affairs are settled 
 to your satisfaction ; I expect Lady Sophia shall be so very 
 soon ; at least, if my correspondents are not much mistaken 
 in England, I shall have the honour of being her relation ; and 
 as I have had a long and familiar conversation with her lover, 
 both at Rome and Genoa, I think he has a very uncommon 
 merit, which may deserve her uncommon beauty ; which I am 
 told is the admiration of her own country, as it was that of 
 every other through which she passed. I know not whether 
 to say Sir William Leman was very unlucky in not dying two 
 years before he had committed a folly which will make his 
 memory ridiculous ; or very fortunate in having time given 
 him to indulge his inclination, and not time enough to see it 
 in its proper light. The Marquis of Beaufort is one of my 
 best friends here ; he speaks English as well as if he had been 
 born amongst us, and often talks to me of Miss Jeffcrys. The 
 finest seat in this country belongs to him ; it is very near the 
 town, finely furnished ; and he has taken pleasure in making 
 it resemble an English house. I have dined there several 
 times. He has been married about seven years. His lady is 
 a well-bred agreeable woman ; and he has a little daughter 
 about six years old, that is an angel in face and shape. She 
 will be the greatest heiress of this province, and his ambition is 
 to marry her in England. The manners and fashions of this 
 place copy those of Paris. Here are two assemblies, always 
 concluding with a good supper ; and we have had balls during
 
 3 i8 
 
 Letters to the [1742 
 
 the carnival, twice a week : which, though neither so numerous 
 nor magnificent as those in London, were perhaps full as 
 agreeable. After having given your ladyship a sketch of this 
 town, you may imagine I expect a return of intelligence from 
 London ; how you pass your time, and what changes and 
 chances happen amongst our acquaintance. When you see 
 Lady E. Spelman, or Mrs. Bridgman, I should be obliged to 
 you if you told them I am still their humble servant. I hope 
 you are persuaded that I am unalterably yours. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Lyons, April 23, N.S. [I74 2 !- 
 
 I have this minute received four letters from you, dated 
 February 1, February 22, March 22, March 29. I fancy their 
 lying so long in the post-offices may proceed from your for- 
 getting to frank them, which I am informed is quite necessary. 
 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 per- 
 suaded 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 handsome behaviour 
 one campaign might go a great way in retrieving his character ; 
 and offered to use my interest with you (which L said I did not 
 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 pretended reformation is not very sincere. 
 I wish time may prove me in the wrong. I here enclose the 
 last letter I received from him ; I answered it the following 
 post in these words : 
 
 " I am very glad you resolve to continue obedient to your 
 father, and are sensible of his goodness towards you. Mr. 
 Birtles showed me your letter to him, in which you enclosed 
 yours to me, where you speak to him as your friend; sub- 
 scribing yourself his faithful humble servant. He was at Genoa 
 in his uncle's house when you was there, and well acquainted 
 with you; though you seem ignorant of everything relating to 
 him. I wish you would make such sort of apologies for any 
 errors you may commit. 1 pray God your future behaviour 
 may redeem the past, which will be a great blessing to your 
 affectionate mother."
 
 1742] Countess of Pomfret and others 319 
 
 I have not since heard from him ; I suppose he knew not 
 what to say to so plain a detected falsehood. It is very 
 disagreeable to me to converse with one from whom I do not 
 expect 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 com- 
 mands, after having so frequently protested he would not move 
 a step except 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, &c. ; 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 I should give him 
 none. Whatever you may think proper for his journey, you 
 may remit to him. 
 
 I am very sorry for my daughter's loss, being sensible how 
 much it may affect her, though 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. 
 
 Since I wrote, I have looked everywhere 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 M. Imbert, Banquier, 
 a Lyons." 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Lyons, April 25, N.S. [1742]- 
 
 On recollection (however inconvenient it may be to me on 
 many accounts), I am not sorry to converse with my son. I 
 shall at least have the satisfaction of making a clear judgment 
 of his behaviour and temper : which I shall deliver to you in
 
 320 Letters to the [1742 
 
 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 over- 
 heated in discourse, and am so far prepared, even for the worst 
 on his side, that I think nothing he can say can alter the reso- 
 lution I have taken of treating him with calmness. Both 
 nature and interest (were I inclined to follow blindly the 
 dictates of either) would determine me to wish him your heir 
 rather than a stranger; but I think myself obliged both by 
 honour, 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 he made to me, and do not doubt he is as 
 lavish of them to other people. Perhaps Lord C. [Carteret] 
 may think him no ill match for an ugly girl that sticks upon his 
 hands. The project of breaking his marriage shows at least 
 his devotion counterfeit, since I am sensible it cannot be done 
 but by false witness. His wife is not young enough to get 
 gallants, nor rich enough to buy them. 
 
 I make choice of Valence for our interview as a town where 
 we are not likely to find any English, and he may if he pleases 
 be quite unknown ; which it is hardly possible to be in any 
 eapital 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 Chambery 
 there is a little colony of English, who have undertaken the 
 working of the mines in Savoy ; in which they find very pure 
 silver, of which I have seen several cakes of about eighty 
 ounces each. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Lyons, May 2, N.S. [1742]. 
 I received this morning yours of April 12, and at the same 
 time the enclosed which I send you. 'Tis the first I have 
 received since the detection of that falsehood in regard to Mr. 
 Birtles. I always send my letters open, that Mr. Clifford (who 
 has the character of sense and honesty) might be witness of 
 what I said ; and he not left at liberty to forge orders he never 
 received. I am very glad I have done so, and am persuaded 
 that had his reformation been what you suppose it, Mr. Clifford 
 would have wrote to me in his favour. I confess I see no 
 appearance of it. His last letter to you, and this to me, seems
 
 1742] Countess of Pomfret and others 321 
 
 to be no more in that submissive style he has used, but like 
 one that thinks himself well protected. I will see him, since 
 you desire it, at Valence ; which is a by-town, where I am less 
 likely to meet with English than any town in France ; but I 
 insist on his going by a feigned name, and coming without a 
 servant. People of superior fortunes to him (to my knowledge) 
 have often travelled from Paris to Lyons in the diligence ; the 
 expense is but one hundred livres, ^5 sterling, all things paid. 
 It would not be easy to me, at this time, to send him any con- 
 siderable sum ; and whatever it is, I am persuaded, coming 
 from me, he would not be satisfied with it, and make his com- 
 plaints to his companions. As to the alteration of his temper, 
 I see the same folly throughout. He now supposes (which is 
 at best downright childish) that one hour's conversation will 
 convince me of his sincerity. I have not answered his letter, 
 nor will not, till I have your orders what to say to him. Be 
 pleased to direct, " Recommande a Mons. Imbert, Banquier, 
 a Lyons." I received his letter to-day. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Avignon] May 6, N.S. [1742]. 
 
 I here send you enclosed the letter I mentioned of your 
 son's ; the packet in which it was put was mislaid in the 
 journey ; it will serve to show you how little he is to be 
 depended on. I saw a Savoyard man of quality at Chambery, 
 who knew him at Venice, and afterwards at Genoa, who asked 
 me (not suspecting him for my son) if he was related to my 
 family. I made answer he was some relation. He told me 
 several tricks of his. He said, that at Genoa he had told him 
 that an uncle of his was dead, and had left him ^5,000 or 
 ^6,000 per annum, and that he was returning to England to 
 take possession of his estate ; in the meantime he wanted 
 money ; and would have borrowed some of him, which he 
 refused. I made answer that he did very well. I have heard 
 of this sort of conduct in other places ; and by the Dutch 
 letters you have sent me I am persuaded he continues the 
 same method of lying ; which convinces me that his pretended 
 enthusiasm is only to cheat those that can be imposed on by 
 it. However, I think he should not be hindered accepting a 
 commission. I do not doubt it will be pawned or sold in a 
 twelvemonth ; which will prove to those that now protect him 
 how little he deserves it. I am now at Avignon, which is 
 within one day's journey of Valence. I left Lyons last Thurs-
 
 322 Letters to the [1742 
 
 day, but I have taken care that whatever letters come thither 
 shall be sent to me. I came to this place, not finding myself 
 well at Lyons. I thought the change of air would be of service 
 to my health, and I find I was not mistaken. All the road is 
 filled with French troops, who expect orders to march into the 
 K. of Sardinia's dominions. 
 
 I am in great pain for my daughter's situation, fearing that 
 the loss of her son may have some ill effect in her present con- 
 dition. I beg you would let me know the minute she is 
 brought to bed. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Avignon, May 23, N.S. [1742]. 
 I received this morning yours of April 12 and 29th, and 
 at the same time one from my son at Paris, dated the 4th 
 instant. I have wrote to him this day, that on his answer I will 
 immediately set out to Valence, and shall be glad to see him 
 there. I suppose you are now convinced I have never been mis- 
 taken in his character ; which remains unchanged, and what is 
 yet worse, I think is unchangeable. I never saw such a com- 
 plication of folly and falsity as in his letter to Mr. G. [Gibson]. 
 Nothing is cheaper than living in an inn in a country town in 
 France ; they being obliged to ask no more than twenty-five 
 sous for dinner, and thirty for supper and lodging, of those 
 that eat at the public table ; which all the young men of quality 
 I have met have always done. It is true I am forced to pay 
 double, because I think the decency of my sex confines me to 
 eat in my chamber. I will not trouble you with detecting a 
 number of other falsehoods that are in his letters. My opinion 
 on the whole (since you give me leave to tell it) is, that if I 
 was to speak in your place, I would tell him, " That since he 
 is obstinate in going into the army, I will not oppose it ; but 
 as I do not approve, I will advance no equipage till I know 
 his behaviour to be such as shall deserve my future favour. 
 Hitherto he has always been directed, either by his own 
 humour, or the advice of those he thought better friends to 
 him than myself. If he renounces the army, I will continue 
 to him his former allowance ; notwithstanding his repeated 
 disobedience, under the most solemn professions of duty. 
 When I see him act like a sincere honest man, I shall believe 
 well of him ; the opinion of others, who either do not know 
 him or are imposed on by his pretences, weighs nothing 
 with me."
 
 1742] Countess of Pomfret and others 323 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Avignon, May 30, N.S. [1742]. 
 I received this day yours of May 3rd. I have wrote to let 
 my son know I am ready to meet him at Valence, on the first 
 notice of his setting out. I think it very improbable that Lord 
 St. [Stair] should make him any such promise as he told Mr. 
 Anderson, or even give him hopes of it. If he had any right 
 notions, Paris is the last place he would have appeared in ; 
 since I know he owes Knight money, and perhaps many other 
 people. I am very glad of my daughter's health, and hope you 
 enjoy yours. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Avignon, June 1, N.S. [1742]. 
 
 I have changed my situation, fearing to find myself blocked 
 up in a besieged town ; and not knowing where else to avoid 
 the terrors of war, I have put myself under the protection of 
 the Holy See. Your ladyship being well acquainted with this 
 place, I need not send you a description of it ; but I think you 
 did not stay in it long enough to know many of the people. I 
 find them very polite and obliging to strangers. We have 
 assemblies every night, which conclude with a great supper ; 
 and comedies which are tolerably well acted. In short, I think 
 one may while away an idle life with great tranquillity : which 
 has long since been the utmost of my ambition. 
 
 I never was more surprised than at the death of the Duchess 
 of Cleveland ; I thought her discretion and constitution made 
 to last at least as long as her father's. I beg you to let 
 me know what accident has destroyed that fine figure which 
 seemed built to last an age. You are very unjust to me in 
 regard to the Marquis of Beaufort ; he is too much an 
 Englishman not to be inquisitive after the news of London. 
 There has passed nothing there since he left it that he has not 
 been informed of. Lord Lempster can tell you that before I 
 came to Turin he had mentioned to hiin that he had had the 
 honour of seeing his mother. He removed from Chambery 
 with his whole family about the same time I left it ; and 
 for the same reason they passed into Italy ; and if Piedmont 
 proves the theatre of war, intend to refuge themselves at 
 Lucca. I am much mortified that I can have no opportunity 
 of giving him so great a pleasure as I know your compliment 
 would be ; his civilities to me deserving all possible gratitude. 
 His daughter is but seven years old, a little angel both in face
 
 324 Letters to the [1742 
 
 and shape. A propos of angels, I am astonished Lady Sophia 
 does not condescend to leave some copies of her face for the 
 benefit of posterity ; 'tis quite impossible she should not com- 
 mand what matches she pleases, when such pugs as Miss 
 Hamilton can become peeresses ; and I am still of opinion 
 that it depended on her to be my relation. 
 
 Here are several English ladies established, none I ever 
 saw before ; but they behave with decency, and give a good 
 impression of our conduct, though their pale complexions and 
 stiff stays do not give the French any inclination to imitate 
 our dress. 
 
 Notwithstanding the dulness of this letter, I have so much 
 confidence in your ladyship's charity, I flatter myself you will 
 be so good as to answer it. I beg you would direct to me, 
 " Recommande a Monsieur Imbert, Banquier, a Lyons ; " he 
 will take care to forward it to, dear madam, 
 
 Your faithful humble servant. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 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 his person, I should scarcely have 
 known him. He has entirely lost his beauty, and looks at 
 least seven years older than he is ; 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 is still genteel, and has an air of politeness that is agreeable. 
 He speaks French like a Frenchman, and has got all the 
 fashionable 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 behaviour is per- 
 fectly civil, and I found him very submissive ; but in the main, 
 no way really improved in his understanding, which is exceed- 
 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, in- 
 sinuating manner, which naturally prejudices strangers in his 
 favour. He began to talk to me in the usual silly cant I have
 
 1742] Countess of Pomfret and others 325 
 
 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 endeavoured 
 to convince him how favourably 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 ^300 per annum. Lord Hervey sent his 
 son at sixteen thither, and to travel afterwards, 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 for 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 ^100 
 per annum, 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 mankind. 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. 
 had told him it became Mr. W.'s son to live handsomely. 
 I made answer, that whether Mr. G. had said so or no, the 
 good sense of the thing was noway 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 or 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 professing 
 to endeavour 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 if you had settled your estate. I made
 
 326 
 
 Letters to the [174a 
 
 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 
 anything 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 anything 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 unfortunate to 
 have it otherwise, I do not believe he will leave me in your 
 power. But was I sure of the contrary, no interest nor no 
 necessity shall ever make me act against my honour or con- 
 science ; and I plainly tell you, that I will never persuade your 
 father to do anything for you till I think you deserve it." He 
 answered by great promises of future good behaviour, and 
 economy. He is highly delighted with the prospect of going 
 into the army ; and mightily pleased with the good reception 
 he had from Lord St. [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 C. [Carteret] has confirmed to him 
 his promise of a commission. 
 
 The rest of his conversation was extremely gay. The various 
 things he has seen has given him a superficial universal know- 
 ledge. 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 go to a town six posts from thence on the Flanders 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. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Avignon, July 19, N.S. [1742]. 
 
 I was very glad to observe in yours of June 21st (which I 
 received this morning), that everything you think proper to be 
 said to our son I have already said to him in the most pressing 
 manner I was able. I am very willing to repeat it over again 
 in my letters to him as soon as I know where to direct. I 
 never heard from him since we parted, though he promised 
 over and over to write from Paris. 
 
 All the English without distinction see the D. [Duke] of
 
 1742] Countess of Pomfret and others 327 
 
 Ormond : Lord Chesterfield (who you know is related to him) 
 lay at his house during his stay in this town ; and to say truth, 
 nothing can be more insignificant. He keeps an assembly 
 where all the best company go twice in the week : I have been 
 there sometimes, nor is it possible to avoid it while I stay here ; 
 I came hither not knowing where else to be secure, there being, 
 at that time, strong appearances of an approaching rupture with 
 France, and all Italy being in a flame. The D. [Duke] lives 
 here in great magnificence, is quite inoffensive, and seems to 
 have forgot every part of his past life, and to be of no party ; 
 and indeed this is perhaps the town in the whole world where 
 politics are the least talked of. 
 
 I receive this minute a letter from our son, dated from Senlis. 
 He says you have ordered him to return. I know not whether 
 he means to England or Holland, neither does he give any 
 direction to write to him. As soon as I have one, I will not 
 fail to do it. 
 
 To the Countess of Pomfret. 
 
 Avignon, Nov. 4, N.S. [1742]. 
 I am very much obliged to your ladyship for judging so 
 rightly both of my taste and inclinations as to think it impossible 
 I should leave a letter of yours unanswered. I never received 
 that which you mention ; and I am not surprised at it, since I 
 have lost several others, and all for the same reason ; I mean 
 mentioning political transactions ; and 'tis the best proof of 
 wisdom that I know of our reigning ministers, that they will 
 not suffer their fame to travel into foreign lands ; neither have 
 I any curiosity for their proceedings; being long ago persuaded 
 of the truth of that histori-prophetical verse, which says, 
 
 " The world will still be ruled by knaves 
 And fools, contending to be slaves." 
 
 I desire no other intelligence from my friends but tea-table 
 chat, which has been allowed to our sex by so long a prescrip- 
 tion. I believe no lady will dispute it at present. I am very 
 much diverted with her grace's passion, which is, perhaps, 
 excited by her devotion ; being piously designed to take a 
 strayed young man out of the hands of a wicked woman. I 
 wish it may end as those projects often do, in making him 
 equally despise both, and take a bride as charming as Lady 
 Sophia ; who, I am glad, has had a legacy from Mrs. Bridgeman, 
 though I could have wished it had been more important. I 
 hear the Duke of Cleveland will be happily disposed of to
 
 328 
 
 Letters to the [1743 
 
 Miss Gage ; who, I do not doubt, will furnish his family with 
 a long posterity, or I have no skill in airs and graces. This 
 place affords us no news worth telling. I suppose you know 
 Lady Walpole has been near dying ; and that Mrs. Goldsworthy 
 being detected en flagrant delit, is sent back to England with 
 her children ; some of which, I hear, he disowns. I think her 
 case not unlike Lady Abergavenny's ; her loving spouse being 
 very well content with her gallantries while he found his account 
 in them, but raging against those that brought him no profit. 
 Be pleased to direct your next to Avignon, and I believe it 
 will come safe to your ladyship's 
 
 Faithful humble servant. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 April 24 [1743]. 
 I received yesterday yours of March 24th. I am clearly 
 of your opinion touching the distemper that has reigned all 
 over Europe. The progress of it convinced me long since 
 that it has been entirely owing to infection, and they say 
 begun in Prague. Mr. Boswell [sic] and his lady, Sir William 
 Wentworth's daughter, arrived here two days ago. I invited 
 them to dinner, and have shown them all the civilities in my 
 power. They desire their compliments to you. She is a pretty, 
 agreeable young woman. The Duke of Berwick passed here 
 last week, and many other Spanish officers. As to what regards 
 my son, I have long since fixed my opinion concerning him. 
 Indeed, I am not insensible of the misfortune, but I look upon 
 it as on the loss of a limb, which ceases to give solicitude by 
 being irretrievable. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Avignon, June 1, N.S. [1743]. 
 I hope you will take care not to return to London while it 
 is in this unhealthy state. We are now very clear in these 
 parts. Mrs. Bosville is gone to Turin, where they intend to 
 reside ; she had the good fortune to meet an English man-of- 
 war on the coast, without which she would have found the 
 passage very difficult. She had so much her journey at heart, 
 that she undertook to ride over the mountains from Nissa to 
 Savona, but I believe (notwithstanding her youth and spirit) 
 would have found the execution impossible. She has chosen 
 the most agreeable court in Europe, where the English are 
 extremely caressed. But it is necessary to be young and gay
 
 1743] Countess of Pomfret and others 329 
 
 for such projects. All mine terminate in quiet ; and if I can 
 end my days without great pains, it is the utmost of my 
 ambition. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Oct. 18, N.S., 1743.] 
 
 I received yours of September 21st, O.S., this day, 
 October 18th, 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 intelligence from people who did not know 
 my relation to him ; and I do not trouble you with the particu- 
 lars, thinking it needless to expose his character to you, who 
 are well acquainted with it. I am persuaded whoever protects 
 him will be very soon convinced of the impossibility of his 
 behaving like a rational creature. 
 
 I know the young Lady Carlisle ; she is very agreeable ; but 
 if I am not mistaken in her inclinations, they are very gay. 
 Lady Oxford wrote to me last post that L. Strafford was then 
 with her ; she informs me that the Duke of Argyll is in a very 
 bad state of health. I hope you will take care to preserve 
 yours. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Avignon, Nov. 20, N.S. [1743]. 
 
 I have just received yours of October 24th, O.S., and am 
 always very glad to hear of the continuation of your health. 
 As to my son's behaviour at Montelimart, it is nothing more 
 than a proof of his weakness ; and how little he is to be 
 depended on in his most solemn professions. He told me 
 that he had made acquaintance with a lady on the road, who 
 has an assembly at her house at Montelimart, and that she 
 had invited him thither. I asked immediately if she knew his 
 name. He assured me no, and that he passed for a Dutch 
 officer by the name of Durand. I advised him not to go thither, 
 since it would raise a curiosity concerning him, and I was very 
 unwilling it should be known that I had conversed with him, 
 on many accounts. He gave me the most solemn assurances 
 that no mortal should know it; and agreed with me in the 
 reasons I gave him for keeping it an entire secret; yet rid 
 straight to Montelimart, where he told at the assembly that he 
 came into this country purely on my orders, and that I had
 
 33° Letters to the [1743 
 
 stayed with him two days at Orange ; talking much of my kind- 
 ness to him, and insinuating that he had another name, much 
 more considerable than that he appeared with. I knew nothing 
 of this, till several months after, that a lady of that country 
 came hither, and meeting her in company, she asked me if I 
 was acquainted with Monsieur Durand. I had really forgot he 
 had ever taken that name, and made answer no ; and that if 
 such a person mentioned me, it was probably some chevalier 
 dHndustrie who sought to introduce himself into company by 
 a supposed acquaintance with me. She made answer, the 
 whole town believed so, by the improbable tales he told them ; 
 and informed me what he had said ; by which I knew what I 
 have related to you. 
 
 I expect your orders in relation to his letters. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Avignon, Dec. 20, N.S. [1743]. 
 I received yours of the 24th of November, O.S., yesterday. 
 I send you the enclosed for my son, not knowing where to 
 direct to him. I have endeavoured to write it according to 
 your minutes, which are entirely just and reasonable. You 
 may, perhaps, hear of a trifle which makes a great noise in 
 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 sterling. You know the situation of this town is on 
 the meeting of the Rhone and Durance. On 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 part standing, the walls being a yard in thick- 
 ness : this was made use of some time for 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 
 Wharncliffe) ; being a view of the windings of two great rivers, 
 and overlooking the whole country, with part of Languedoc 
 and Provence. I was so much charmed with it, that I said 
 in company, that, if that old mill was mine, I would turn it 
 into a belvidere ; my words were repeated, and the two consuls 
 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 'foresaid sum. I have also 
 amused myself with patching up an inscription, which I have
 
 i-43l Countess of Pomfret and others 331 
 
 communicated to the archbishop, who is much delighted with 
 it ; but it is not placed, and perhaps never shall be. 
 
 11 Hie, O viator ! sub Lare parvulo, 
 Maria hie est condita, hie jacet, 
 Defuncta humani laboris 
 Sorte, supervacuaque vita. 
 Non indecora pauperies [sic] nitens, 
 Et non inerti nobilis otio, 
 Vanoque dilectis popello 
 Divitiis animosus hostis. 
 Possis ut illam dicere mortuam, 
 En terra jam nunc quantula sufficit S 
 Exempta sit curis, viator, 
 Terra sit ilia levis, precare ! 
 Hie sparge flores, sparge breves rosas: 
 Nam vita gaudet mortua floribus : 
 Herbisque odoratis corona 
 Vatis adhuc cinerem calentem." 
 
 You will know how I picked up these verses, though the 
 archbishop did not. 
 
 To Mrs. Forster. 
 
 [Avignon.] 
 Dear Madam, — I received yours with great pleasure, but 
 a pleasure that is embittered (as most pleasures are) with some 
 melancholy reflections. I cannot help thinking it a great 
 cruelty of Fortune, that different circumstances should oblige 
 me to live at such a distance from the woman in the world (I 
 speak it from my heart) that I most wish to pass my life with. 
 Your temper, your character, and conversation, are so infinitely 
 to my taste, that I never can meet with anything to supply the 
 loss of you. I had a letter from poor Morel two posts ago, 
 who says he has sought you, but found you not. I agree with 
 you, that his gentleness (and I believe that of all his species) 
 approaches to insipidity. But is it not preferable to the mis- 
 chievous vivacity of a great part of mankind? I look upon 
 passions to be the root of all evil, and, in my opinion, we 
 ought to search after such objects as can neither feel nor 
 inspire them. If you were to see this town, you would think 
 I am very happily placed on this scheme, and it is true here 
 is nobody capable of pleasing ; but, on the other hand, here 
 is a perpetual round of impertinence ; and I find myself as 
 improperly lodged as if I inhabited a volery : the chattering 
 of magpies, repetitions of parrots, and screaming of peacocks, 
 are what I am ever entertained with, and it is as absurd to 
 endeavour to reason with any of the people here as with the
 
 332 Letters to the [1744 
 
 animals I have mentioned. My library is my sole resource. 
 I should desire no other if I could talk with a friend like you, 
 improving my reflections by communicating my own, but that 
 is a blessing not to be for 
 
 Your faithful humble servant. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Avignon, Jan. 12, N.S. [1744]. 
 I have received yours of the 22nd December, half an hour 
 ago. I always answer your letters the same post I receive 
 them, if they come early enough to permit it ; if not, the post 
 following. I am much mortified you have not received two 
 I have wrote, and in the last a letter enclosed for my son. 
 I cannot help being very much concerned at the continual 
 trouble he is to you, though I have no reason to expect better 
 from him. I am persuaded the flattery of G. [Gibson] does 
 him a great deal of harm. I know G.'s way of thinking 
 enough, not to depend on anything he says to his advantage ; 
 much less on any account he gives of himself. I think 'tis an 
 ill sign that you have had no letter from Sir J. Cope concerning 
 him. I do not doubt he would be glad to commend his con- 
 duct if there was any room for it. It is my opinion he should 
 have no distinction, in equipage, from any other cornet ; and 
 everything of that sort will only serve to blow his vanity, and 
 consequently heighten his folly. Your indulgence has always 
 been greater to him than any other parent's would have been 
 in the same circumstances. I have always said so, and thought 
 so. If anything can alter him, it will be thinking firmly that 
 he has no dependence but on his own conduct for a future 
 maintenance. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Avignon, Feb. 17, N.S. [1744]. 
 
 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 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 answers very well to my way of living, which, though
 
 1744] Countess of Pomfret and others 333 
 
 decent, is far from the show which many families make here. 
 The nobility consists of about two hundred houses : among 
 them are two dukes, that of Crillon and Guadagna ; the last 
 an Italian family, the other French. The Count of Suze, who 
 also values himself very much on his pedigree, keeps a constant 
 open table, as do several others. You will judge by that the 
 provisions are exceeding cheap ; but it is otherwise ; the price 
 of everything being high for strangers. But as all the gentle- 
 men keep their land in their own hands, and sell their wine, 
 oil, and corn, their housekeeping looks very great at a small 
 expense. They have also all sort of gibier from their own 
 lands, which enables them to keep splendid table. Their 
 estates have never been taxed, the Pope drawing (as I am 
 assured) no revenue from hence. The vice-legate has a court 
 of priests, and sees little other company; which, I believe, is 
 partly owing to the little respect the nobility show him, who 
 despise his want of birth. There is a new one expected this 
 spring, nephew to the Cardinal Acquaviva : he is young ; and, 
 they say, intends to live with great magnificence. 
 
 Avignon was certainly no town in the time of the Romans ; 
 nor is there the smallest remains of any antiquity but what is 
 entirely Gothic. The town is large, but thinly peopled ; here 
 are fourteen large convents, besides others. It is so well 
 situated for trade, and the silk so fine and plentiful, that if they 
 were not curbed, by [the] French not permitting them to trade, 
 they would certainly ruin Lyons ; but as they can sell none 
 of their manufactures out of the walls of the town, and the 
 ladies here, as everywhere else, preferring foreign stuffs to their 
 own, the tradespeople are poor, and the shops ill furnished. 
 The people of quality all affect the French manner of living ; 
 and here are many good houses. The climate would be as fine 
 as that of Naples, if we were not persecuted by the north wind, 
 which is almost a constant plague ; yet, by the great age and 
 surprising health I see many of them enjoy, I am persuaded 
 the air is very wholesome. I see [some] of both sexes past 
 eighty, who appear in all the assemblies, eat great suppers, 
 and keep late hours, without any visible infirmity. It is to-day 
 Shrove Tuesday; I am invited to sup at the Duchess of 
 Crillon's; where I do not doubt I shall see near fifty guests, 
 who will all of them, young and old, except myself, go masked 
 to the ball that is given in the town house. It is the sixth 
 given this carnival by the gentlemen gratis. At the first there 
 were one thousand two hundred tickets given out, many
 
 334 Letters to the [1744 
 
 coming from the neighbouring towns of Carpentaras, Lisle, 
 Orange, and even Aix and Aries, on purpose to appear there. 
 Don Philip is expected here the 22nd: I believe he will not 
 stay any time ; and if he should, I think in the present 
 situation it would be improper for me to wait on him. If he 
 goes into company, I suppose I may indifferently see him at an 
 assembly. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Avignon, March 25 [1744]. 
 I take this opportunity of informing you in what manner I 
 came acquainted with the secret I hinted at in my letter of the 
 5 th of February. The society of Freemasons at Nismes pre- 
 sented the Duke of Richelieu, governor of Languedoc, with a 
 magnificent entertainment ; it is but one day's post from hence, 
 and the Duchess of Crillon, with some other ladies of this 
 town, resolved to be at it, and almost by force carried me with 
 them, which I am tempted to believe an act of Providence, 
 considering my great reluctance, and the service it proved to 
 be to unhappy innocent people. The greatest part of the 
 town of Nismes are secret Protestants, which are still severely 
 punished according to the edicts of Lewis XIV. whenever they 
 are detected in any public worship. A few days before we 
 came, they had assembled ; their minister and about a dozen 
 of his congregation were seized and imprisoned. I knew 
 nothing of this ; but I had not been in the town two hours, 
 when I was visited by two of the most considerable of the 
 Huguenots, who came to beg of me, with tears, to speak in 
 their favour to the Duke of Richelieu, saying none of the 
 Catholics would do it, and the Protestants durst not, and that 
 God had sent me for their protection. The Duke of Richelieu 
 was too well-bred to refuse to listen to a lady, and I was of a 
 rank and nation to have liberty to say what I pleased ; they 
 moved my compassion so much, I resolved to use my en- 
 deavours to serve them, though I had little hope of succeeding. 
 I would not therefore dress myself for the supper, but went in 
 a domino to the ball, a masque giving opportunity of talking 
 in a freer manner than I could have done without it. I was at 
 no trouble in engaging his conversation : the ladies having told 
 him I was there, he immediately advanced towards me ; and I 
 found, from a different motive, he"* had a great desire to be 
 acquainted with me, having heard a great deal of me. After 
 abundance of compliments of that sort, I made my request for 
 the liberty of the poor Protestants ; he with great freedom told
 
 1744] Countess of Pomfret and others 335 
 
 me he was so little a bigot, he pitied them as much as I did, 
 but his orders from court were to send them to the galleys. 
 However, to show how much he desired my good opinion, he 
 was returning, and would solicit their freedom (which he has 
 since obtained). This obligation occasioned me to continue 
 the conversation, and he asked me what party the Pretender 
 had in England ; I answered, as I thought, a very small one. 
 " We are told otherwise at Paris," said he ; " however, a bustle 
 at this time may serve to facilitate our other projects, and we 
 intend to attempt a descent ; at least it will cause the troops to 
 be recalled, and perhaps Admiral Mathews will be obliged to 
 leave the passage open for Don Philip." You may imagine 
 how much I wished to give you immediate notice of this ; but 
 as all letters are opened at Paris, it would have been to no 
 purpose to write it by the post, and have only gained me a 
 powerful enemy in the court of France, he being so much 
 a favourite of the king's, he is supposed to stand candidate for 
 the ministry. In my letter to Sir R[obert] W[alpole] from 
 Venice, I offered my service, and desired to know in what 
 manner I could send intelligence, if anything happened to my 
 knowledge that could be of use to England. I believe he 
 imagined that I wanted some gratification, and only sent me 
 cold thanks. — I have wrote to you by the post on account of 
 my servant's leaving me. As that is only a domestic affair, I 
 suppose the letter may be suffered to pass. I have had no 
 letter from my son, and am very sure he is in the wrong, 
 whenever he does not follow your direction, who, apart from 
 other considerations, have a stronger judgment than any of 
 his advisers. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Received at Dover-street, Tuesday, May 2nd, O.S.] 
 
 Avignon, April 13, N.S. [1744]- 
 
 It is two posts since I had the honour of your ladyship's 
 obliging letter, which is a longer time than I have ever yet 
 been without returning thanks for that happiness ; but the post 
 is now stopped, and I should not have ventured to write at 
 present, if I had not an opportunity of sending by an English 
 family which is leaving this place, though I think a corre- 
 spondence as inoffensive as ours might be permitted in the 
 midst of war. There would be neither party nor contest in 
 the world, if all people thought of politics with the same
 
 336 
 
 Letters to the [1744 
 
 indifference that I do; but I find by experience that the 
 utmost innocence 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 : however, I am watched here as a dangerous person, 
 which I attribute chiefly to Mrs. Hay, who, having changed her 
 own religion, has a secret hatred against every one that does 
 not do the same. My health, which your ladyship inquires 
 after so kindly, is extremely good ; I thank God I am sensible 
 of no distemper or infirmity : I hope all your complaints are 
 vanished. I saw Lord Goring [Gowran] at Venice ; he ap- 
 peared to me a very well disposed young man. I hear Miss F. 
 Leveson has made a silly match, which I am sorry for, though 
 I hope it may turn out better than is expected. I am con- 
 cerned for poor Miss Cole's distresses ; her merit deserves 
 better fortune. Dearest madam, take care of yourself ; while 
 you live, there is always a great blessing allowed to 
 
 Your ladyship's most faithfully devoted servant. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Avignon, May 6 [1744]. 
 
 I received this morning, May 6, N.S., yours dated 
 March 22. I suppose this delay has been occasioned by 
 the present disturbances ; I do not doubt mine have had 
 the same fate, but I hope you will receive them at length. 
 
 I am very well acquainted with Lady Sophia Fermor, 
 having lived two months in the same house with her : she has 
 but few equals in beauty, or graces. I shall never be surprised 
 at her conquests. If Lord Carteret had the design you seem 
 to think, he could not make a more proper choice ; but I 
 think too well of his understanding to suppose he can expect 
 happiness from things unborn, or place it in the chimerical 
 notion of any pleasure arising to him, from his name subsisting 
 (perhaps by very sorry representatives) after his death. I am 
 apter to imagine that he has indulged his inclination at the 
 expense of his judgment ; and it appears to me the more 
 pardonable weakness. I end my reflections here, fearing my 
 letter will not come inviolate to your hands.
 
 1744] Countess of Pomfret and others 337 
 
 I am extremely glad my account of Avignon had anything 
 in it entertaining to you. I have really forgot what I wrote, 
 my sight not permitting me to take copies : if there are any 
 particulars you would have explained to you, I will do it to 
 the best of my power. I can never be so agreeably employed 
 as in amusing you. 
 
 You say nothing of my son. I guess you have nothing good 
 to say. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Received at Dover-street, Monday, June 4th, O.S.] 
 
 [Avignon] June I, N.S. [1744]. 
 
 Dearest Madam, — I have many thanks to give you for the 
 agreeable news of your health (which is always in the first place 
 regarded by me), and the safe delivery of the Duchess of 
 Portland, whose little son will, I hope, grow up a blessing to 
 you both. I heartily congratulate your ladyship on this increase 
 of your family ; may you long enjoy the happiness of seeing 
 their prosperity ! 
 
 I am less surprised at Lady Sophia's marriage than at the 
 fortune Lord Pomfret has given her ; she had charms enough 
 to make her fortune, and I believe the raising of such a sum 
 must be uneasy in his present circumstances. By the accounts 
 I have received of Lady John Sackville, I think the young 
 couple are much to be pitied, and am sorry to hear their 
 relations treat them with so much severity ; if I was in England, 
 I would endeavour to serve them. 
 
 Mrs. Hay has behaved to me with a great deal of imper- 
 tinence ; there is no principle to be expected from a woman of 
 her character. Your ladyship need not mention your command 
 of continuing our correspondence ; it is the only comfort of 
 my life, and I should think myself the last of human beings 
 if I was capable of forgetting the many obligations I have to 
 you : if you could see my heart, you would never mention 
 anything of that kind to me ; it is impossible to have a more 
 tender and grateful sense of all your goodness, which, added 
 to the real esteem I have of your merit, binds me to be 
 eternally and inviolably your ladyship's most sincere and 
 devoted servant. 
 
 Your ladyship will permit me to offer my compliments to 
 the Duke and Duchess of Portland.
 
 338 
 
 Letters to the [1744 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Avignon, June 12, N.S. [1744]. 
 I believe William may tell truth in regard to the expenses 
 of his journey, making it at a time when the passage of the 
 troops had doubled the price of everything; and they were 
 detained ten days at Calais before they had permission to pass 
 over. I represented these inconveniences to them before they 
 set out ; but they were in such a hurry to go, from a notion 
 that they should be forced to stay, after a declaration of war, 
 that I could not prevail on them to stay a week longer, though 
 it would probably have saved a great part of their expense. 
 I would willingly have kept them (with all faults), being 
 persuaded of their fidelity, and that in case of any accident 
 happening to me, you would have had a faithful account of my 
 effects; but it was impossible to make them contented in a 
 country where there is neither ale nor salt beef. 
 
 This town is considerably larger than either Aix or Mont- 
 pelier, and has more inhabitants of quality than of any other 
 sort, having no trade, from the exactions of the French, though 
 better situated for it than any inland town I know. What is 
 most singular is the government, which retains a sort of imita- 
 tion of the old Roman : here are two consuls chosen every 
 year, the first of whom from the chief noblesse ; and there is 
 as much struggling for that dignity in the Hotel de Ville as in 
 the Senate. The vice-legate cannot violate their privileges, but 
 as all governors naturally wish to increase their authority, 
 there are perpetual factions of the same kind as those between 
 prerogative and liberty of the subject. We have a new vice- 
 legate, arrived a few days since, nephew to Cardinal Acquaviva, 
 young, rich, and handsome, and sets out in a greater figure 
 than has ever been known here. The magistrate next to him 
 in place is called the vignier, who is chosen every year by the 
 Hotel de Ville, and represents the person of the Pope in all 
 criminal causes, but his authority [is] so often clipped by the 
 vice-legates, there remains nothing of it at present but the 
 honour of precedence, during his office, and a box at the play- 
 house gratis, with the surintendance of all public diversions. 
 When Don Philip passed here, he began the ball with his lady, 
 which is the custom of all the princes that pass. 
 
 The beginning of Avignon was probably a colony from 
 Marseilles, there having been a temple of Diana on that very 
 spot where I have my little pavilion. If there was any painter
 
 1744] Countess of Pomfret and others 339 
 
 capable of drawing it, I would send you a view of the landscape, 
 which is one of the most beautiful I ever saw. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 r Received at Dover-street, Monday, July 9th, O.S., I744-] 
 
 Avignon, July 2, N.S. [1744]. 
 I am extremely glad to find by your ladyship's of the 7th of 
 June, that your health is amended, and as I am persuaded 
 that there is nothing more conducive to it than amusements, 
 I think it extremely reasonable you should take that of 
 embellishing your paternal seat, which, on many accounts, I 
 think one of the most rational as well as agreeable you can 
 take. Indeed, it is a sort of duty to support a place which has 
 been so long dignified and distinguished by your ancestors, 
 and I believe all people that think seriously, or justly, will be 
 of that opinion ; as for others, their censure ought to be wholly 
 disregarded, as it is impossible to be avoided. 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 themselves, they blame the most 
 praiseworthy actions, and are so unacquainted with virtue, they 
 do not know it when they see it. I hope your ladyship will 
 live to see finished, and enjoy many years, the beautiful im- 
 provements you are making : if I am permitted to see them in 
 your company, I shall esteem myself very happy ; if I am so 
 unfortunate to survive you, I have no more prospect of any 
 pleasure upon earth. It is a very great truth, that as your 
 friendship has been the greatest blessing and honour of my 
 life, it is only that which gives me any pleasing view for those 
 years that remain, which, be they few or many, are entirely 
 devoted to you by, dear madam, 
 
 Your ladyship's most faithful obedient servant. 
 
 To the Countess of Pom fret. 
 
 Avignon, July 12, N.S. [1744]. 
 
 It is but this morning that I have received the honour of 
 your ladyship's obliging letter of the 31st of May; the other 
 you mentioned never reached me, and this has been considerably 
 retarded in its passage. It is one of the sad effects of war, for 
 us miserable exiles, the difficulty of corresponding with the 
 few friends who are generous enough to remember the absent. 
 I am very sorry and surprised to hear your good constitution 
 has had such an attack. " In lieu of many other comforts I
 
 34° Letters to the [1744 
 
 have that of a very uncommon share of health; in all my 
 wanderings, having never had one day's sickness, though 
 nobody ever took less care to prevent it. If any marriage can 
 have a prospect of continued happiness, it is that of Lord and 
 Lady Carteret. She has fortunately met with one that will 
 know how to value her, and I know no other place where he 
 could have found a lady of her education ; which in her early 
 youth has given her all the advantages of experience, and her 
 beauty is her least merit. I do not doubt that of Lady 
 Charlotte will soon procure her a happy settlement. I am 
 much pleased with my niece's meeting with Lord Goring ; he 
 visited me at Venice, and seemed one of the most reasonable 
 young men I have seen. 
 
 I endeavour to amuse myself here with all sorts of monastic 
 employments, the conversation not being at all agreeable to 
 me, and friendship in France as impossible to be attained as 
 orange-trees on the mountains of Scotland : it is not the 
 product of the climate ; and I try to content myself with 
 reading, working, walking, and what you'll wonder to hear me 
 mention, building. I know not whether you saw when you 
 were at Avignon the rock of Douse, at the foot of which is the 
 vice-legate's palace ; from the top of it you may see the four 
 provinces of Venaisin, Provence, Languedoc, and Dauphine ; 
 with the distant mountains of Auvergne, and the near meeting 
 of the Durance and Rhone which flow under it; in short, it 
 is the most beautiful land-prospect I ever saw. There was 
 anciently a temple of Diana, and another of Hercules of Gaul, 
 whose ruins were turned into a fort, where the powder and 
 ammunition of the town were kept, which was destroyed by 
 lightning, about eighty years since. There remained an ancient 
 round tower, which I said in presence of the consul I would 
 make a very agreeable belvidere if it was mine. I expected 
 no consequence from this accidental speech of mine ; but he 
 proposed to the Hotel de Ville, the next day, making me a 
 present of it ; which was done ?iemt7te contradicente. Partly to 
 show myself sensible of that civility, and partly for my own 
 amusement, I have fitted up a little pavilion, which Lord 
 Burlington would call a temple ; being in the figure of the 
 Rotunda ; where I keep my books and generally pass all my 
 evenings. If the winds were faithful messengers, they would 
 bring you from thence many sighs and good wishes. I have 
 few correspondents in England, and you that have lived abroad 
 know the common phrases that a're made use of ; "As I
 
 1744] Countess of Pomfret and others 341 
 
 suppose you know everything that passes here ; " or, " Here is 
 nothing worth troubling you with ; " this is all the intelligence 
 I receive. You may judge, then, how much I think myself 
 obliged to you, dear madam, when you tell me what passes 
 amongst you. I am so ignorant, I cannot even guess at the 
 improper marriages you mention. If it is Lady Mary Grey 
 that has disposed of herself in so dirty a manner, I think her 
 a more proper piece of furniture for a parsonage-house than 
 a palace; and 'tis possible she may have been the original 
 product of a chaplain. 
 
 I believe your ladyship's good nature will lament the sudden 
 death of the poor Marquis of Beaufort, who died of an 
 apoplectic fit. He is a national loss to the English, being 
 always ready to serve 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Came to Dover-street, Monday, Aug. 13th, O.S. ; received at Welbeck, 
 Thursday, 16th, O.S., 1744.] 
 
 Avignon, Aug. 10th, N.S. [1744]. 
 
 I am very glad your ladyship has been at Bulstrode, being 
 fully persuaded the good air and good company there will very 
 much contribute to your health. Your satisfaction is the most 
 agreeable news I can hear, though I am very well pleased that 
 one of my nieces is so happily disposed of, but I was told it is 
 Miss Evelyn, and not Miss Betty, that is now Lady Goring 
 [Gowran]. I am much obliged to Miss Cole for her re- 
 membrance, and am sorry the troubles of that good family 
 are not at an end ; there is very seldom merit without perse- 
 cution, a good conscience is the most valuable of all blessing?, 
 and the only one that is beyond the power of fortune. 
 
 I hear that Pope is dead, but suppose it is a mistake, since 
 your ladyship has never mentioned it : if it is so, I have some 
 small curiosity for the disposition of his affairs, and to whom 
 he has left the enjoyment of his pretty house at Twickenham, 
 which was in his power to dispose, for only one year after his 
 decease. 
 
 Dear madam, I know not in what words to thank you for 
 kind intentions for me in the lottery ; I have had so many 
 occasions of the same nature, it is not strange I want expressions 
 to signify my gratitude : you interest yourself too much for 
 one, that I fear is unlucky enough to render useless all your 
 generous endeavours, and can never make you any return,
 
 34 2 Letters to [1744 
 
 notwithstanding the sincere and inviolable attachment with 
 which I am, dearest madam, 
 
 Your ladyship's most faithful devoted servant. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Came to Dover-street, Tuesday, 18th Sept., O.S. ; received at Weibeck, 
 
 Thursday, 20th Sept.] 
 
 Avignon, Sept. 14th, N.S. [1744]. 
 
 The disorder of your ladyship's health which you mention 
 gives me the highest concern, though I hope it is now over, 
 and that the good air of Weibeck will wholly establish it : 
 I beg of you, with the utmost earnestness, that you would be 
 careful of yourself; I can receive no proof of your friendship 
 so obliging to me, though I am yours by every tie that can 
 engage a grateful heart. Mr. Wortley has said nothing to me 
 of his visit to your ladyship, nor can I guess on what account 
 it was, but suppose it relating to some country interest ; I know 
 so well your just way of thinking, that I am sure you always 
 act right. Mrs. Massam informed me of the hard fortune of 
 poor Lady Euston : I very much pity Lady Burlington, but 
 should do it yet more, if there had not been some circum- 
 stances in her marrying her daughter, which make her in some 
 measure blamable for the event ; however, there can be no 
 excuse for the brutal behaviour of her worthless husband. 
 Your happy disposition of the charming Duchess of Portland 
 secures you from all sorrows of that kind, and I pray to God 
 you may live to see your grandchildren as happily settled : your 
 life is the greatest blessing that can be bestowed on your 
 family ; I am fully persuaded they all think so, and I hope that 
 consideration will be of force to make you careful to preserve 
 it : I need not add how dear it is to me, being to my last 
 moment, dearest madam, with the tenderest affection, 
 
 Your ladyship's devoted servant. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Came to Dover-street, Saturday, O.S., Oct. 27 ; received at Weibeck, 
 
 Monday, Oct. 29.] 
 
 Avignon, Oct. 15, N.S. [1744]. 
 
 Dearest Madam, — I have received but this day your 
 ladyship's of August 29th : this length of passage is, I suppose, 
 occasioned by the cessation of correspondence between Dover 
 and Calais ; all letters must now go round by Holland, which 

 
 1744] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 343 
 
 is a great grief to me, since I must now content myself to be 
 some weeks longer before I can hear from my dearest Lady 
 Oxford, whose kindness was the greatest comfort of my life. 
 Everything that relates to you is of importance to me ; I am 
 therefore very much concerned that you have fallen into ill 
 hands, in your building. This 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 suspicion, are often 
 liable to be imposed on : if I could think myself capable of 
 being any way useful to you, it would make this distance 
 between us doubly painful to me. I am surprised Lord 
 Burlington is unmentioned in Pope's will ; on the whole, it 
 appears to me more reasonable and less vain than I expected 
 from him. I cannot conclude my letter without repeating 
 my most earnest desire that you would consider your health 
 in the first place, and let no business whatever interrupt 
 your care of it ; there is no expression can tell you how dear 
 it is to 
 
 Your ladyship's most faithful and affectionate servant. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Avignon, Oct. 29, N.S. [1744]. 
 
 I have wrote twice to you this month, but fear you may not 
 have had either of them. I send this by Geneva. I received 
 yours of September 29th this morning. 
 
 I am very much concerned for the ill state of poor Lady 
 Oxford's health : she is the only friend I can depend on in this 
 world (except yourself). She tells me she stays at Welbeck, 
 having been cheated of some thousands by one she employed 
 in her building there, and is very troublesomely engaged in 
 setting things in order. 
 
 I have had a letter from my son of a very old date, but no 
 direction where to answer it ; there is nothing in it worth 
 repeating. We have had unusual rains, but they are always 
 welcome here, drought being the general complaint of this 
 province. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Came to Dover-street, Tuesday, 20th Nov., O.S. ; received at Welbeck, 
 Thursday, 22nd Nov., O.S.] 
 
 Avignon, Oct. 29 [1744]. 
 
 Dearest Madam, — I received your ladyship's obliging letter 
 
 of September 24th this morning, and, some time since, that in
 
 344 Letters to [1745 
 
 which was a copy of Pope's will, for which I returned you my 
 immediate thanks, but fear that letter miscarried, since I hear 
 they should all be directed through Holland. These redoubled 
 attacks of your cholic, which must necessarily weaken any 
 constitution, give me an inexpressible pain. I had, at the same 
 time, a letter from Mr. Wortley that tells me your health is very 
 uncertain. If I am so unhappy to survive you, I shall look 
 upon myself as a widow and an orphan, having no friend in 
 this world but yourself : if you saw the tears with which these 
 lines are accompanied, you would be convinced of the sincerity 
 of them ; let me beg you upon my knees to take care of your 
 life, and let no other regard whatever occasion the neglect of it. 
 I fear the omission of the Bath waters this autumn season may 
 be attended with ill consequences ; for God's sake (dear 
 madam) leave all things, when it is necessary to think of your 
 own preservation. Mr. Wortley tells me Lady Peterborough 
 is with you, which I am glad of for both your sakes : he adds, 
 that your alterations at Welbeck are in the best taste ; I pray 
 Almighty God you may live many comfortable years to 
 enjoy them, and that some part of the reward of your virtue 
 may be in this world : these are the daily and most earnest 
 prayers of 
 
 Your ladyship's most faithful and devoted servant. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Received at Welbeck, Monday, June ioth, O.S. ; came to Dover-street, 
 
 8th, O.S.] 
 
 Avignon, June I [1745]- ' 
 Dearest Madam, — It is but this day I have received the 
 pleasure of your ladyship's obliging letter; it is impossible 
 to tell you the joy it gave me after so long a silence, though 
 very much abated by the account of your ill health. I pray 
 with the utmost fervency that your journey may contribute to 
 your recovery, and am persuaded that it is the safest, and most 
 probable method of mending a constitution : I could wish it 
 southward, not in regard to my own interest, but as a removal 
 to a better air. I have often repeated to you how exceeding 
 dear your life is to me ; if you valued it as much, all other 
 considerations would be laid aside, when your preservation 
 was in question. I believe the interruption of our correspon- 
 dence may be partly owing to your ladyship's having forgot to 
 direct your letter enclosed to Monsieur Pierre de Vos, a Rotter- 
 dam, Holland.
 
 1745] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 345 
 
 Whatever good fortune happens to me, must always come 
 through your hands ; this is the first prize that ever came to my 
 share, and it is owing to your ladyship in all senses. 
 
 My daughter wrote me word the last post, that Thoresby is 
 utterly destroyed by fire ; I cannot help feeling some concern, 
 and at the same time making many reflections on the vanity 
 of all worldly possessions : I thank God my heart is so entirely 
 detached from them, that I never desire more than the small 
 portion I enjoy. 
 
 I finish my letter with the most earnest recommendations to 
 your ladyship to take care of your health, and the assurances 
 of the most unalterable gratitude and affection from, dearest 
 madam, 
 
 Your most faithfully devoted humble servant. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Avignon, June 8, N.S. [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 
 wrote several times. 
 
 I perfectly remember carrying back the manuscript you 
 mention, and delivering it to Lord Oxford. I never failed 
 returning to himself all the books he lent me. It is true, 
 I showed it to the Duchess of Montague, but we read it 
 together, and I did not even leave it with her. I am not sur- 
 prised 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 very 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 
 Lord Granville has lost his power.
 
 346 Letters to [i 74 6 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Came to London, July 29, O.S. ; received at Welbeck, Thursday 
 Aug. i, O.S., 1 745-] 
 
 Avignon, July 25, N.S. [1745]. 
 
 Dearest Madam, — Your ladyship's letters are always greatly 
 agreeable to me, but doubly so when they bring the news of 
 your health : change of air and exercise are the best remedies 
 I know j I am very glad you have experienced them, and hope 
 you will on no account neglect the care of yourself. I cannot 
 express to you how many uneasy moments I have had on that 
 subject ; 'tis the only way you can be wanting to your friends 
 and family, but it is their greatest as well as tenderest in- 
 terest, that you should take care to preserve a life so valuable 
 as yours. I pass my time very disagreeably at present amongst 
 the French, their late successes have given them an air of 
 triumph that is very difficult for an English heart to suffer ; 
 I think less of politics than most people, yet cannot be 
 entirely insensible of the misfortunes of my country. I am 
 very sorry for the Duke of Kingston j I believe, in his place, 
 I should renounce building on a spot of ground that has been 
 twice so unfortunate. I suppose you are now in the midst of 
 your deserving family, and sincerely partake of all the blessings 
 you enjoy in them. Your happiness cannot exceed your 
 merit or my wishes. You will give me leave to present the 
 Duchess of Portland with my respects, at the same time that 
 I assure your ladyship that I am with the truest and most 
 tender affection, 
 
 Dearest madam, inviolably yours. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Avignon, Jan. 10, N.S. [1746]. 
 I return you many thanks for the trouble you have taken 
 in sending me Miss Fielding's books : they would have been 
 much welcomer had they been accompanied with a letter from 
 yourself. I received at the same time (which was but two 
 days ago) one from Mr. Muilman, who informed me that you 
 were at the waters of Pyrmont. The date is so old I suppose 
 you are long since returned to England. I hope your journey 
 has been rather for pleasure than necessity of health. I 
 suppose your travelling (of which I never had any notice from 
 you) has occasioned the miscarriage of the many I have wrote 
 to you. I directed them all to Cavendish-square (which 
 perhaps you have left) excepting the last, which I enclosed to
 
 I74&] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 347 
 
 my daughter. I have never heard from her since, nor from 
 any other person in England, which gives me the greatest 
 •uneasiness; but the most sensible part of it is in regard of 
 your health, which is truly and sincerely the dearest concern 
 I have in this world. I am very impatient to leave this town, 
 which has been highly disagreeable to me ever since the 
 beginning of this war, but the impossibility of returning into 
 Italy, and the law in France which gives to the king all the 
 effects any person deceased dies possessed of, and I own that 
 I am very desirous my jewels and some little necessary plate 
 that I have bought, should be safely delivered into your hands, 
 hoping you will be so good to dispose of them to my daughter. 
 The Duke of Richelieu flattered me for some time that he 
 would obtain for me a permission to dispose of my goods, but 
 has not yet done it, and you know the uncertainty of court 
 promises. 
 
 I beg you to write, though it is but two lines. Tis now 
 many months since I have had the pleasure of hearing from 
 you. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Came to Dover-street, Saturday, May 17th, O.S. 1746 ; received at 
 Welbeck, Monday, May 19, O.S.] 
 
 [Avignon] Feb. 7, N.S. [1746]. 
 
 Dearest Madam, — It is impossible to express my uneasi- 
 ness from your silence : I troubled your ladyship, not many 
 days ago, with a long account of it ; not foreseeing the present 
 opportunity of sending this, by one of the late D. of Ormond's 
 servants, who has desired me to give a certificate of his 
 behaviour to Lord Arran. In justice to him, I cannot refuse 
 saying, that I think I saw none in that large family (where 
 there was as much faction and ill management as in any court 
 in Europe) that seemed to serve with so much fidelity and 
 attachment : I have that opinion of his honesty, if it was 
 suitable to my little affairs, I would retain him in my own 
 service. Your ladyship (who is always ready to do good) will 
 mention this to Lady Arran. I say nothing of many other 
 things relating to that family which do not concern me; to say 
 truth, the melancholy letters I have from my daughter dispirits 
 me so much, I am hardly capable of thinking on anything else 
 excepting yourself, who is always first in my thoughts, and will 
 be last in my prayers whenever it pleases God to dismiss from 
 this troublesome world, 
 
 Your ladyship's most faithful obedient servant.
 
 348 
 
 Letters to [1746 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Came to Dover-street, Saturday, Feb. 22, O.S. ; received at Welbeck, 
 Monday, Feb. 24th, O.S., 1745.] 
 
 Avignon, Feb. 15, N.S. [1746]. 
 
 Dearest Madam, — I received by the last post an account 
 from Mr. Wortley of your ladyship's kind inquiries after me ; 
 'tis the first time I have heard from him of many months, 
 though he has wrote many times, and I find all my letters have 
 miscarried. I never received that which he tells me you was 
 so good to send by Child, nor any other since September, 
 which I answered immediately ; I have addressed several 
 others to you, by different ways, but I fear with equal ill 
 fortune ; the last I sent was by a servant of the late D. of O. 
 [Duke of Ormond] who accompanies his corpse. I flatter 
 myself (by having now heard from England, and that one of 
 mine to my daughter is come to her hands) that the post is 
 now open. I can assure you (dearest madam) that during alt 
 my uneasiness on the interruption of our correspondence, I 
 feared for your health, but never once suspected your forgetting 
 me ; 1 have had too many proofs of your unwearied friendship 
 to think you capable of changing, and, however insignificant 
 I am, I am perfectly persuaded that you will ever retain the 
 goodness you have always had for me, which whenever I 
 forfeit, I must forfeit my reason, since only the loss of that can 
 make me unmindful of your virtue and merit. I believe Lord 
 Arran has been much abused in the disposition of his brother's 
 affairs : I cannot help hating the sight of injustice so much, it 
 is with difficulty I restrain myself from meddling, notwithstand- 
 ing the experience I have, of its being a very thankless office 
 in that family. I cannot express to your ladyship what a com- 
 fort it is to me to hear of your health, nor how much I have 
 suffered by the uncertainty of it. I hope our civil broils are 
 now over, and that I may once more have the satisfaction of as- 
 suring you frequently that I am ever, dearest madam, inviolably 
 Your ladyship's obedient faithful servant. 
 
 My compliments and good wishes attend your family. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Came to London, Friday, April 18th, 1746, O.S. ; received at Weibeck, 
 Monday, April 21st, 1746, O.S. 
 Dated, I suppose, from Avignon, April nth, N.S.] 
 Dearest Madam, — I received the happiness of your lady- 
 ship's of February 26th but this morning, April nth, N.S.
 
 1746] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 349 
 
 It has been a long time on the road, but since I have it at 
 length, I ought to be contented. The news here is, in general, 
 peace, which seems wished by all sides. When it is settled, 
 I hope our correspondence will meet with no further interrup- 
 tion ; it is the greatest comfort of my life, and doubly so when 
 I am informed of the recovery of your health. 1 believe the 
 air of Welbeck (which was that of your infancy) will agree 
 better with you than any other, which makes me wish your 
 ladyship would continue in it as long as your affairs permit. 
 I wrote a letter to you by a servant of the late D. of Ormond, 
 who asked me a sort of certificate of his honesty, I supposed 
 in order to justify him to Lord Arran, to whom he had (as he 
 said) been misrepresented. I said to you, what I really thought 
 at the time ; I have since heard that the poor man is disordered 
 in his head, and that he is parted from the other servants with 
 whom he travelled. I know not what is become either of him 
 or my letter ; however, there was nothing in it that can be of 
 any prejudice, containing only my constant assurances of the 
 tenderest friendship for you, and complaints of your silence, 
 which was then so painful to me. I was glad to snatch at any 
 occasion, where there appeared a possibility of conveying a 
 letter to you ; not doubting but those by the post had been 
 lost. Dearest madam, while I have life, I shall ever be, with 
 the highest sense of gratitude, 
 
 Your ladyship's most faithful affectionate servant. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Came to Dover-street, Thursday, June I2th, 1746; received at 
 Brodsworth, Sunday, June 15th, O.S.] 
 
 [Avignon, June 3, N.S., 1746. ] 
 
 Dearest Madam, — I had the happiness of receiving two of 
 your ladyship's ever kind letters this day, June 3rd, N.S. I 
 need not repeat my gratitude, which is always in the highest 
 degree ; and yet I think it far below what I owe you, as the 
 best and truest friend that I ever was blest with. If I am to 
 believe the public accounts, I have reason to hope our intestine 
 troubles are now over; I wish one article in your ladyship's of 
 April 23rd may prove certain : it cannot fail of being to our 
 advantage. I will say nothing more of affairs that may occasion 
 my letter being stopped ; I am persuaded they are all opened 
 more than once. 
 
 I hear the Duchess of Manchester is married, but I cannot
 
 350 Letters to [1746 
 
 learn to whom. No news interests me so much, as that of 
 your health ; it is the highest obligation you can lay on me, to 
 take care of it. I am quite ashamed of the trouble you give 
 yourself in relation to the lottery ; you will not be thanked, or 
 I should say more on that subject. You will permit me to 
 make my acknowledgments to the Duke and Duchess of 
 Portland for their obliging remembrance : may they long 
 continue blessings to you and each other ! 
 
 We have had such long and surprising rains in this country, 
 there has been an inundation in this town that hindered many 
 people from stirring out of their houses : mine happens to be 
 situated so high that I suffered nothing from it ; the conse- 
 quences, would, however, have been very bad if it had lasted, 
 but was over in two days. I cannot conclude without renewing 
 my solicitations for the care of yourself, with my earnest 
 prayers for your welfare, which are uttered with the greatest 
 zeal by, dearest madam, your ladyship's 
 
 Most faithful and affectionate servant. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Came to Dover-street, Tuesday, July 29th, O.S., 1746; received at 
 Welbeck, Thursday, July 31st, O.S.] 
 
 Avignon, July 20, N.S. [1746]. 
 
 Dearest Madam, — I sincerely beg your ladyship's pardon 
 for what I said in regard to Wilson, since I perceive it has 
 occasioned you some trouble ; it was only an attestation of 
 what I thought due to an honest man, that appeared to me 
 hardly dealt with by a pack of knaves. I am neither surprised 
 nor offended at Lord Arran's conduct ; he has suffered so 
 much in his own interest by misplacing his confidence, nobody 
 ought to be angry at his mistakes towards others. 
 
 This is the first time of my life I have been two posts without 
 making my acknowledgments for your ladyships ever kind 
 letters, which are the comforts of my life ; nothing could have 
 hindered my doing it but an indisposition in my eyes, which 
 are still too bad to suffer me to write long, but I fear your 
 tenderness would be in pain for my health if I delayed giving 
 you some account of it. God preserve yours, and add to it 
 every other blessing ! I can say no more but the constant 
 repetition of my being ever, dearest madam, 
 
 Your most faithfully affectionate humble servant.
 
 1746] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 351 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Brescia, Aug. 23, N.S. [1746]. 
 
 You will be surprised at the date of this letter, but Avignon 
 nas been long disagreeable to me on many accounts, and now 
 more than ever, from the concourse of Scotch and Irish rebels 
 that choose 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 hindered 
 my settling there for reasons I have already told you ; and the 
 difficulty of passing into Italy confined me, though I was always 
 watching an opportunity of returning thither. Fortune at length 
 presented me one. 
 
 I believe I wrote you word, when I was at Venice, that I saw 
 there the Count of Wackerbarth, who was governor to the Prince 
 of Saxony, and is favourite 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 came to Avignon, a gentle- 
 man of the bedchamber of the prince, who is a man of the first 
 quality in this province, I believe charged with some private 
 commission from the Polish court. He brought me a letter of 
 recommendation from Count Wackerbarth, which engaged me 
 to show him what civilities lay in my power. In conversation 
 I lamented 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 was known. We took post- 
 chaises from thence the 16th of this month, and were very 
 much surprised to meet, on the Briletta, or Pochetta, the 
 baggage of the Spanish army, with a prodigious number of 
 sick and wounded 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 examination they gave us place everywhere ; notwith- 
 standing 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
 
 352 Letters to [1746 
 
 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 in 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 favouring us, we got into the 
 town, but, when 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 daybreak the victorious 
 Germans entered 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 honour 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 Badin Dourlach, the Prince Loiiestein, 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 postmaster being 
 fled, with all his servants, and the Spaniards having seized 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 
 Vogherra, where they refused post-horses, till the hussars drew 
 their sabres. The 20th I arrived safe here. It is a very pretty 
 place, where I intend to repose myself at least during the 
 remainder of the summer. This journey has been very expen- 
 sive ; 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 
 recovered, and my health better than it has been of 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.
 
 1747] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 353 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Brescia, Nov. 24, N.S. [1746]. 
 I bragged too soon of my good health, which lasted but 
 two days after my last letter. I was then seized with so violent 
 a fever that I am surprised a woman of my age could be capable 
 of it. I have kept my bed two months, and am now out of it 
 but a few hours in the day. I did not mention in my last 
 (thinking it an insignificant circumstance) that Count Palazzo 
 had wrote to his mother (without my knowledge) to advertise 
 her of my arrival. She came to meet me in her coach and six, 
 and it was impossible to resist her importunity of going to her 
 house, where she would keep me, till I had found a lodging to 
 my liking. I had chose one when I wrote to you, and counted 
 upon going there the beginning of the week following, but 
 my violent illness (being, as all the physicians thought, in 
 the utmost danger) made it utterly impossible. The Countess 
 Palazzo has taken as much care of me as if I had been her 
 sister, and omitted no expense or trouble to serve me. I am 
 still with her, and indeed in no condition of moving at present. 
 I am now in a sort of milk diet, which is prescribed me to 
 restore my strength. From being as fat as Lady Bristol, I am 
 grown leaner than anybody I can name. For my own part, I 
 think myself in a natural decay. However, I do what I am 
 ordered. I know not how to acknowledge enough my obliga- 
 tions to the countess ; and I reckon it a great one from her 
 who is a devote, that she never brought any priest to me. My 
 woman, who is a zealous French Huguenot, I believe would 
 have tore his eyes out. During my whole illness it seemed her 
 chief concern. I hope your health continues good. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 me to London, Tuesday, April 14th, 1747, O.S. ; came to Welbeck, 
 Thursday, April 16th, 1747, O.S.] 
 
 Brescia, March 1, N.S. [1747]. 
 
 Dearest Madam, — Your ladyship's obliging ■ letter of 
 January 17th, O.S., came to me yesterday; it gave me great 
 pleasure, and at the same time mortification on reflecting that 
 you should suffer so much uneasiness on my account. I am 
 now (I think I may say) quite recovered, which is almost a 
 miracle. I believe few people of my age ever did, of so severe 
 and so long a fit of sickness. I hope you think me in the right 
 in leaving Avignon, which is now all full of miserable refugees ; 
 France I should not have been permitted to stay in, and I am 
 
 M
 
 354 Letters to [1747 
 
 quiet in a republic that is in our alliance, which is all the 
 present aim that I have. Your ladyship says nothing of your 
 own health ; I flatter myself it is good ; I beg of you that you 
 will never give yourself any concern about mine. My life is 
 useless to the world, and (almost) tiresome to myself. 
 
 I did not know Mrs. Stanton was dead. I have so few 
 correspondents in England, that everything from thence is 
 news to me. I never received your ladyship's letter of August 
 23rd, which I suppose was owing to my removal. That part 
 of Italy I passed in coming hither, has suffered so much by the 
 war, that it is quite different from when I left it. I wish every 
 Englishman was as sensible as I am of the terrible effects of 
 arbitrary government, some of the most plentiful parts of the 
 world being reduced to near a famine. This province, which 
 is free from troops, enriches itself by the poverty of its neigh- 
 bours, which occasions all provisions to be as dear as in 
 England. The carnival here has been very gay and magni- 
 ficent ; I had no share of either, being at that time confined to 
 my chamber, and having no taste for diversions of that nature. 
 In all situations I am ever, dearest madam, with the tenderest 
 affections of my heart, 
 
 Your ladyship's most faithful 
 
 And most obedient servant. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Came to London, Wednesday, July 15th, O.S. ; came to Welbeck, 
 
 Saturday, July 18th, O.S.] 
 
 Brescia, July 1 [1747]. 
 
 Dearest Madam, — 'Tis so long since I have had the 
 honour of hearing from you, that I cannot help being in 
 concern for your health ; mine is much mended by the country 
 air, and the great regularity with which I live. I flatter myself 
 it is the fault of the post, that I have not the happiness of 
 hearing from you. I pray for peace on many accounts, but 
 chiefly that our correspondence may become more certain. I 
 can say with truth 'tis the only pleasure of my life, and 'tis no 
 small one, to think I have a friend of your merit 
 
 I am told Lord Coke is married to Lady M. Campbell : I 
 knew him when he was at Venice, and believe her economy 
 will be a very necessary ally to the expensiveness of his 
 temper. Mr. Wortley (who is the only correspondent I have 
 in London except my daughter) tells me you have made 
 Welbeck a very delightful place : it was always so by the
 
 1747] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 355 
 
 situation, I do not doubt of the improvement by your good 
 taste. If wishes had the power of conveying the person, your 
 ladyship would soon see me there, but I fear there is not so 
 much felicity in store for me. God's will be done ! wherever 
 I am, I can never be other than, with the tenderest affection, 
 Your ladyship's most faithful devoted servant. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Lovere, July 24, N.S. [1747]. 
 Dear Child, — I am now in a place the most beautifully 
 romantic I ever saw in my life : it is the Tunbridge of this part 
 of the world, to which I was sent by the doctor's order, my 
 ague often returning, notwithstanding the loads of bark I have 
 taken. To say truth, I have no reason to repent my journey, 
 though I was very unwilling to undertake it, it being forty 
 miles, half by land and half by water ; the land so stony I was 
 almost shook to pieces, and I had the ill luck to be surprised 
 with a storm on the lake, that if I had not been near a little port 
 (where I passed a night in a very poor inn), the vessel must 
 have been lost. A fair wind brought me hither next morning 
 early. I found a very good lodging, a great deal of good 
 company, and a village in many respects resembling Tunbridge 
 Wells, not only in the quality of the waters, which is the 
 same, but in the manner of the buildings, most of the houses 
 being separate at little distances, and all built on the sides of 
 hills, which indeed are far different from those of Tunbridge, 
 being six times as high : they are really vast rocks of different 
 figures, covered with green moss, or short grass, diversified by 
 tufts of trees, little woods, and here and there vineyards, but 
 no other cultivation, except gardens like those on Richmond- 
 hill. The whole lake, which is twenty-five miles long, and 
 three broad, is all surrounded with these impassable mountains, 
 the sides of which, towards the bottom, are so thick set with 
 villages (and in most of them gentlemen's seats), that I do not 
 believe there is anywhere above a mile distance one from 
 another, which adds very much to the beauty of the prospect. 
 
 We have an opera here which is performed three times 
 in the week. I was at it last night, and should have been 
 surprised at the neatness of the scenes, goodness of the voices 
 and justness of the actors, if I had not remembered I was in 
 Italy. Several gentlemen jumped into the orchestra, and 
 joined in the concert, which I suppose is one of the freedoms 
 of the place, for I never saw it in any great town. I was yet
 
 356 
 
 Letters to [1747 
 
 more amazed (while the actors were dressing for the farce that 
 concluded the entertainment) to see one of the principal 
 among them, and as errant a petit maltre as if he had passed 
 all his life at Paris, mount the stage, and present us with a 
 cantata of his own performing. He had the pleasure of being 
 almost deafened with applause. The ball began afterwards, 
 but I was not witness of it, having accustomed myself to such 
 early hours, that I was half asleep before the opera finished : it 
 begins at ten o'clock, so that it was one before I could get to 
 bed, though I had supped before I went, which is the custom. 
 
 I am much better pleased with the diversions on the 
 water, where all the town assembles every night, and never 
 without music ; but we have none so rough as trumpets, 
 kettle-drums, and French horns : they are all violins, lutes, 
 mandolins, and flutes doux. Here is hardly a man that does 
 not excel in some of these instruments, which he privately 
 addresses to the lady of his affections, and the public has the 
 advantage of it by his adding to the number of the musicians. 
 
 The fountain where we drink the waters rises between two 
 hanging hills, and is overshadowed with large trees, that give a 
 freshness in the hottest time of the day. The provisions are 
 all excellent, the fish of the lake being as large and well tasted 
 as that of Geneva, and the mountains abounding in game, 
 particularly blackcocks, which I never saw in any other part of 
 Italy : but none of the amusements here would be so effectual 
 to raising my spirits as a letter from you. I have received 
 none since that of February 27. I do not blame you for it, 
 but my ill fortune, that will not let me have that consolation. 
 The newspaper informs me that the Chevalier Gray (so he is 
 styled) is appointed minister at Venice. I wish you would let 
 me know who he is, intending to settle our correspondence 
 through his hands. I did not care to ask that favour of Lord 
 Holdernesse. 
 
 Dear child, I am ever your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all your 
 little ones. Direct as usual. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Came to London, Monday, Oct. 12th, O.S. ; received at Welbeck, 
 Thursday, Oct. 15th, O.S., 1747]. 
 
 Brescia, Sept. 1 [1747]. 
 Dearest Madam, — This is the fourth letter I have wrote 
 since I have had the honour of yours, and am in so much
 
 1747] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 357 
 
 pain for your health, that I have little enjoyment in the re- 
 covery of my own. I am willing to flatter myself that your 
 silence is occasioned by the irregularity of the post, which this 
 unhappy war often interrupts : the fear of this never reaching 
 you, puts a great damp on my writing ; yet I could not be 
 easy without endeavouring (at least) to give you my repeated 
 assurances of that everlasting affection I shall always feel for 
 your ladyship, which you so highly deserve, and have by so 
 many obligations acquired. I have lived this eight months in 
 the country, after the same manner (in little) that I fancy you 
 do at Welbeck, and find so much advantage from the air and 
 quiet of this retreat, that I do not think of leaving it. I walk 
 and read much, but have very little company except that of 
 a neighbouring convent. I do what good I am able in the 
 village round me, which is a very large one ; and have had 
 so much success, that I am thought a great physician, and 
 should be esteemed a saint if I went to mass. My house is 
 a very convenient one, and if I could have your ladyship's dear 
 conversation, I may truly say my life would be very comfort- 
 able : that is a melancholy thought, when I reflect on the 
 impossibility of that happiness being obtained by (dearest 
 madam) 
 
 Your most faithfully devoted humble servant. 
 Be pleased to direct to Brescia par Venise. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Brescia, Dec. 17, N.S. [1747]. 
 
 Dear Child, — I received yours of October 14th but yes- 
 terday : the negligence of the post is very disagreeable. I have 
 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 at 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 candlelight, and the evenings are now long and dark, that 
 I am forced to stay at home. I believe you'll 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 design of quitting it. I
 
 358 
 
 Letters to [1748 
 
 am entirely given up to rural amusements, 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 ac- 
 quaintance. 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. 
 
 I am ever, dear child, your most affectionate mother. 
 My service to Lord Bute, and blessing to my grandchildren. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Brescia, Jan. 5 [1748]. 
 Dear Child, — I am glad to hear that yourself and family 
 are in good health ; as to the alteration you say you find in the 
 world, it is only owing to your being better acquainted with it. 
 I have never in all my various travels seen but two sorts of 
 people, and those very like one another; I mean men and 
 women, who always have been, and ever will be, the same. 
 The same vices and the same follies have been the fruit of 
 all ages, though sometimes under different names. I remember, 
 when I returned from Turkey, meeting with the same affectation 
 of youth amongst my acquaintance that you now mention 
 amongst yours, and I do not doubt but your daughter will find 
 the same, twenty years hence, among hers. One of the 
 greatest happinesses of youth is the ignorance of evil, though 
 it is often the ground of great indiscretions, and sometimes the 
 active part of life is over before an honest mind finds out how 
 one ought to act in such a world as this. I am as much re- 
 moved from it as it is possible to be on this side the 
 grave ; which is from my own inclination, for I might have 
 even here a great deal of company ; the way of living in this 
 province being what I believe it is now in the sociable part of 
 Scotland, and was in England a hundred years ago. I had a 
 visit in the beginning of these holidays of thirty horse of ladies 
 and gentlemen, with their servants (by the way, the ladies all 
 ride like the late Duchess of Cleveland). They came with the 
 kind intent of staying with me at least a fortnight, though I 
 had never seen any of them before ; but they were all neigh- 
 bours within ten miles round. I could not avoid entertaining 
 them at supper, and by good luck had a large quantity of game 
 in the house, which, with the help of my poultry, furnished out
 
 i 7 48] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 359 
 
 a plentiful table. I sent for the fiddles, and they were so 
 obliging as to dance all night, and even dine with me next day, 
 though none of them had been in bed; and were much 
 disappointed I did not press them to stay, it being the fashion to 
 go in troops to one another's houses, hunting and dancing to- 
 gether a month in each castle. I have not yet returned any of 
 their visits, nor do not intend it of some time, to avoid this ex- 
 pensive hospitality. The trouble of it is not very great, they 
 not expecting any ceremony. I left the room about one o clock, 
 and they continued their ball in the saloon above stairs, with- 
 out being at all offended at my departure. But the greatest 
 diversion I had was to see a lady of my own age comfortably 
 dancing with her own husband, some years older ; and I can 
 assert that she jumps and gallops with the best of them. 
 
 May you always be as well satisfied with your family as you 
 are at present, and your children return in your age the tender 
 care you have of their infancy. I know no greater happiness 
 that can be wished for you by your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to my grand- 
 children. 
 
 To Mr. Wortlev Montagu. 
 
 Lovere [February 2, N.S. 1748]. 
 
 Yours of the 1st of December, O.S., came to me this 
 morning, February 2, N.S. I hope your health continues 
 good, since you say nothing to the contrary. I think the 
 Duchess of Manchester's silence is the most reasonable part 
 of her conduct ; complainers are seldom pitied, and boasters 
 yet seldomer believed. Her retirement is, in my opinion, no 
 proof either of her happiness or discontent, since her appear- 
 ance in the world can never be pleasing to her, having sense 
 enough to know 'tis impossible for her to make a good figure 
 in it. I was shown at Genoa an ode on Ch. Ch., as a produc- 
 tion of Dr. Broxholme. I own I thought it much in his style, 
 and am apt to believe (from what I know of Sir Ch. H.) he is 
 more likely to have the vanity to father it, than the wit to 
 write it. I have seen heaps of his poetry, but nothing to 
 distinguish him from the tribe of common versifiers. The last 
 I saw was an ode addressed to Mr. Dodington on his courtship 
 to the late D. [Duchess] of Argyll ; those two you mention 
 have never reached me. I should be very much obliged if 
 you would send me copies of them. 
 
 The winter here begun with the last month ; the snow is 
 still on the ground in some places, but the air much softened,
 
 360 
 
 Letters to [1748 
 
 and we reckon the spring begun. I hear the new opera at 
 Brescia is much applauded, and intend to see it before the 
 end of the carnival. The people of this province are much at 
 their ease during the miseries which the war occasions their 
 neighbours, and employ all their time in diversions. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Feb. 3, N.S. [1748]. 
 
 My Dear Child, — I return you thanks for the news you 
 send me. I am always amused with changes and chances that 
 happen amongst my acquaintance. I pity the Duchess of 
 Devonshire, and admire the greatness of mind that makes her 
 refuse an addition to her own estate ; but am surprised she 
 can relinquish the care of her children, who are yet unsettled. 
 Lady Thanet's behaviour has always been without any regard 
 to public censure ; but I am ever astonished (though I have 
 frequently seen it) that women can so far renounce all decency, 
 as to endeavour to expose a man whose name they bear. 
 Lady Burlington has made a lucky choice for her daughter. I 
 am well acquainted with Lord Hartington, and I do not know 
 any man so fitted to make a wife happy : with so great a 
 vocation for matrimony, that I verily believe, if it had not 
 been established before his time, he would have had the glory 
 of the invention. 
 
 I hear the carnival is very bright at Brescia. I have not yet 
 been to partake of it, but I intend to go to the opera, which I 
 hear much commended. Some ladies in the neighbourhood 
 favoured me last week with a visit in masquerade. They were 
 all dressed in white like vestal virgins, with garlands in their 
 hands. They came at night with violins and flambeaux, but 
 did not stay more than one dance; pursuing their way to 
 another castle some miles from hence. I suppose you are 
 now in London ; wherever you are you have the good 
 wishes of 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to my grand- 
 children. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Brescia, April 24, N.S. [1748]. 
 
 1 return you many thanks for yours of March 21, in which 
 
 were the copies of S r Ch. H.'s [Sir Charles Hanbury Williams's] 
 
 poetry, which extremely entertained me. I find tar-water 
 
 succeeded to Ward's drop. 'Tis possible, by this time, that
 
 1748] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 361 
 
 some other quackery has taken place of that ; the English are 
 easier than any other infatuated by the prospect of universal 
 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 countries where 
 they have shrines and images, quacks are despised, and monks 
 and confessors find their account in managing the fear and 
 hope which rule the actions of the multitude. 
 
 I should be extremely pleased if I could entirely depend on 
 Lord Sandwich's account of our son. As I am wholly un- 
 acquainted with him, I cannot judge how far he may be either 
 deceived or interested. I know my son (if not much altered) 
 is capable of giving bonds for more than he will ever be worth 
 in the view of any present advantage. • Lord Bute and my 
 daughter's conduct may be owing to the advice of the D. of 
 Argyll. It was a maxim of Sir. R. Walpole's that whoever 
 expected advancement should appear much in public. He 
 used to say, whoever neglected the world would be neglected 
 by it, though I believe more families have been ruined than 
 raised by that method. 
 
 If I was not afraid of tiring you with the length of my letter, 
 I would give you the history of an Irish conquest at Avignon, 
 more extraordinary, all circumstances considered, than Mr. 
 Hussey's, the irresistible lover being some years past three- 
 score. I own the vexation of that foolish adventure gave the 
 finishing stroke to my dislike of that town, having a real kind- 
 ness for the young lady that flung herself away. She was 
 daughter to Mr. Carter, whom I think you knew, a relation of 
 Lady Bellasis. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Came to London, May 2ist, O.S., Saturday ; received at Welbeck, 
 
 23rd, O.S., Monday.] 
 
 Brescia, April 27, N.S. [1748]. 
 
 Dearest Madam, — It is so long since I have had the happi- 
 ness of hearing from you, I cannot forbear writing, though 
 perhaps this letter may have the same fate of those that have 
 preceded it. I received one from my daughter but a few days 
 ago, that was dated in September. Mr. Wortley writes me
 
 362 Letters to [1748 
 
 word that she has changed her retired way of life, and is much 
 in public; I wish it may be to her advantage. I hope the 
 Duchess of Portland and her family continue in perfect health ; 
 I do not fear your ladyship's receiving any trouble from her, if 
 she gives you none by her sickness. The real part I take in 
 everything that concerns you, gives me a share in every 
 branch of your prosperity ; I have a pleasure in all your im- 
 provements at Welbeck, when I hear them commended, 
 though I shall never see them : 'tis almost the only attachment 
 I have in this world, being every day (as it is fit I should) 
 more and more weaned from it. I hope your silence is only 
 occasioned by the irregularity of the post, which I cannot 
 expect to see reformed while the war continues. Notwith- 
 standing my indifference for other things, your friendship and 
 health will ever be tenderly dear to, madam, 
 
 Your ladyship's most faithful obedient servant. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 May 10, N.S. [1748]. 
 I give you thanks, dear child, for your entertaining account 
 of your present diversions. I find the public calamities have 
 no influence on the pleasures of the town. I remember very 
 well the play of the Revenge, having been once acquainted 
 with a party that intended to represent it (not one of which is 
 now alive). I wish you had told me who acted the principal 
 parts. I suppose Lord Bute was Alonzo, by the magnificence 
 of his dress. I think they have mended their choice in the 
 Orphan : I saw it played at Westminster school, where Lord 
 Erskine was Monimia, and then one of the most beautiful 
 figures that could be seen. I have had here (in low life) some 
 amusements of the same sort. I believe I wrote you word I 
 intended to go to the opera at Brescia ; but the weather being 
 cold, and the roads bad, prevented my journey ; and the 
 people of this village (which is the largest I know : the curate 
 tells me he has two thousand communicants) presented me a 
 petition for leave to erect a theatre in my saloon. This house 
 has stood empty many years before I took it, and they were 
 accustomed to turn the stables into a playhouse every carnival : 
 it is now occupied by my horses, and they had no other place 
 proper for a stage. I easily complied with their request, and 
 was surprised at the beauty of their scenes, which, though 
 painted by a country painter, are better coloured, and the 
 perspective better managed, than in any of the second-rate
 
 1748] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 363 
 
 theatres in London. I liked it so well, it is not yet pulled 
 down. The performance was yet more surprising, the actors 
 being all peasants ; but the Italians have so natural a genius for 
 comedy, they acted as well as if they had been brought up to 
 nothing else, particularly the Arlequin, who far surpassed any 
 of our English, though only the tailor of the village, and I am 
 assured never saw a play in any other place. It is a pity they 
 have not better poets, the pieces being not at all superior to 
 our drolls. The music, habits, and illumination were at the 
 expense of the parish, and the whole entertainment, which 
 lasted the three last days of the carnival, cost me only a barrel 
 of wine, which I gave the actors, and is not so dear as small 
 beer in London. At present, as the old song says, 
 
 " All my whole care 
 Is my farming affair, 
 To make my corn grow, and my apple-trees bear." 
 
 My improvements give me great pleasure, and so much profit, 
 that if I could live a hundred years longer, I should certainly 
 provide for all my grandchildren : but, alas ! as the Italians say, 
 Ko sonato vingt 6° quatro ora : and it is not long I must expect 
 to write myself your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to your little 
 ones. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Quly 10, 1748.] 
 Dear Child, — I received yours of May the 12th but yes- 
 terday, July the 9th. I am surprised you complain of my 
 silence. I have never failed answering yours the post after I 
 received them ; but I fear, being directed to Twickenham 
 (having no other direction from you), your servants there may 
 have neglected them. 
 
 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 situated in the midsfc 
 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 
 evening. 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 
 basins of earthenware (which is made here to great perfection)
 
 3^4 
 
 Letters to [1748 
 
 filled with flowers, and put in some straw chairs, and a couch 
 oed, which is my whole furniture. This spot of ground is so 
 beautiful, I am afraid you will scarce credit the description, 
 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 [in] 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 under- 
 wood, 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 arbours, which is so thickly shaded, the sun 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 night- 
 ingales, 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 vineyards 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 
 covered galleries of shade, that I can walk in the heat without 
 being incommoded by it. I have made a dining-room of 
 verdure, 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 
 prettily disposed (though I say it), that I never saw a more 
 agreeable rustic garden, abounding with all sort of fruit, and 
 produces a variety of wines. I would send you a piece [sic] if 
 I did not fear the customs would make you pay too dear for it.
 
 1748] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 365 
 
 I believe my description gives you but an imperfect idea of my 
 garden. Perhaps I shall succeed better in describing my 
 manner 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 weeder [sic] women 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 silkworms are doubled, and I am told that, 
 without accidents, 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 (where 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, that have almost forgot the 
 taste, do not distinguish it. 
 
 We are both placed properly in regard to our different times 
 of life : you amidst the fair, the gallant, and the gay ; 1 in a 
 retreat, where I enjoy every amusement that solitude can 
 afford. I confess I sometimes wish for a little conversation ; 
 but I reflect that the commerce of the world gives more un- 
 easiness than pleasure, and quiet is all the hope that can 
 reasonably be indulged at my age. My letter is of an un- 
 conscionable length ; I should ask your pardon for it, but I 
 had a mind to give you an idea of my passing my time, — take 
 it as an instance of the affection of, dear child, 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all my 
 grandchildren. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 July 17, N.S. [1748]. 
 
 Yours of June 7, O.S., came to my hands but yesterday. I 
 am very much vexed and surprised at the miscarriage of my
 
 366 
 
 Letters to [ I748 
 
 letters. I have never failed answering both yours and my 
 daughter's the very next post after I received them. I begin 
 to suspect my servants put the franking money in their 
 pockets, and threw away the letters. I have been in the 
 country this year and 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 enclose them to a 
 banker there, who I hope will be more careful in the for- 
 warding them. 
 
 I am glad my daughter's conduct justifies the opinion I 
 always had of her understanding : I do not wonder at her 
 being 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 giving me the strongest proofs of confidence in the 
 last conversations 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. 
 Mackenzie telling me, the last time I saw him, that his 
 brother frequently said amongst his companions, that he was 
 still as much in love with his wife as before he married her. 
 If the princess's favour lasts, it may be of use to her family. 
 I have often been dubious if the seeming indifference of her 
 highness's behaviour 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 send you my son's letter and a copy of my answer to it. 
 I should be glad to hear you approved it. 
 
 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 cannot say it is as strong as the Indian, but 
 [it] has the advantage of being fresher, and at least unmixed. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Dairy-house, July 26, N.S. [1748]. 
 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 :
 
 1748] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 367 
 
 though I gave you a long account of it in my last, I must tell 
 you 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 enclose to you 
 a rough draft of it, drawn (or more properly scrawled) by my 
 own hand, without the assistance of rule or compasses, as you 
 will easily perceive. I have mixed in my espaliers as many 
 rose and jessamine 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, &c. All the walks 
 are garnished with beds of flowers, besides the parterres, 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 country, 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 employ- 
 ment, and be the plaything of my age, now my pen and 
 needle are almost useless to me. 
 
 I am very glad you are admitted into the conversation of 
 the P. [Prince] and Ps. [Princess] : it is a favour that you 
 ought to cultivate for the good of the family, which is now 
 numerous, and it may one day be of great advantage. I think 
 Lord Bute much in the right to endeavour the continuance of 
 it; and it would be imprudent in you to neglect what may be 
 of great use to your children. I pray God bless both you 
 and them : it is the daily prayer of your most affectionate 
 mother. 
 
 Now the sea is open, we may send packets to one another. 
 I wish you would send me Campbell's book of prints of 
 the English houses, and that Lord Bute would be so good to 
 choose me the best book of practical gardening extant. 
 
 I shall trouble you with some more commissions ; but insist 
 on it that you would take from Child whatever money they may 
 come to. If [you] consign them to the English consul at 
 Venice directed to me, they will come very safe. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 [About September, 1748.] 
 It is very true, my dear child, we cannot now maintain a 
 family with the product of a flock, though I do not duubt the 
 present sheep afford as much wool and milk as any of their
 
 368 
 
 Letters to [1748 
 
 ancestors, and it is 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 intro- 
 duced 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 hundred 
 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 cannot think we are older, when I 
 recollect the many palpable follies which are still (almost) uni- 
 versally persisted in : I place that of war amongst the most 
 glaring, being fully as senseless as the boxing of schoolboys, 
 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, of which we have now no more 
 idea than the ancients had of the circulation of the blood, or 
 the optics of Sir I. Newton. 
 
 You will believe me in a very dull humour when I fill my 
 my letter with such whims, and indeed so I am. I have just 
 received the news of Sir J. Gray's departure, and am exceed- 
 ingly vexed I did not know of his designed journey. 1 suppose 
 he would have carried my token ; and now I utterly despair of 
 an opportunity of sending it, and therefore enclose a note on 
 Child for the value of it. 
 
 When you see Lady Rich, pray do not fail to present my 
 thanks and compliments. I desire the same to everybody that 
 thinks it worth while to inquire after me. You mention a 
 Colonel Rich as her son ; I thought he had been killed in 
 Scotland. You see my entire ignorance of all English affairs, 
 and consequently, whatever you tell me of my acquaintance, 
 has the merit of novelty to me, who correspond with nobody 
 but yourself and Lady Oxford, whose retirement and ill health 
 does not permit her to send me much news. 
 
 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. 1 know I shall 
 read it with some partiality, which I cannot avoid to all that 
 is yours, as I am your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute.
 
 1748] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 369 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Came to London, Jan. 18th, O.S., Monday ; received at Welbeck, 
 Jan. 2ist> Thursday.] 
 
 Nov. 29, N.S. [1748]. 
 
 Dearest Madam, — I received yesterday the most sensible 
 pleasure, by your obliging letter : it is impossible to tell you 
 what joy the sight of your ladyship's hand gave me, which was 
 very much heightened by the account of your health and con- 
 tinued goodness to me. I believe the air you are in is the 
 best in England, and I do not doubt but the tranquillity and 
 regularity of your life will re-establish your constitution, which 
 is naturally a very good one, and only hurt by melancholy 
 reflections, which I hope you will never more have any 
 occasion for. It is no diminution of the Duchess of Portland's 
 merit, to say you deserve whatever affection she can pay, since 
 those who do their duty can never be too much valued : I 
 sincerely share in the satisfaction you have in seeing that she 
 performs hers to you, it is the clearest proof of her good sense 
 and good mind : may you long be happy in one another ! I 
 am glad my daughter enjoys her conversation, which is in 
 every sense an honour and advantage. 
 
 I have bought the house I live in, which, I suppose, you 
 will imagine little better than a house of office when I talk of 
 my purchasing, and indeed it has cost me little more than the 
 price of one ; but, to say truth, it is not much more than the 
 shell of a palace, which was built not above forty years ago, 
 but the master of it dying before it was quite finished, and 
 falling into hands that had many others, it has been wholly 
 neglected ; but being well built, the walls are perfectly sound, 
 and I amuse myself in fitting it up. I will take the liberty of 
 sending your ladyship a plan of it, which is far from magnifi- 
 cent, but I believe you will be of my opinion, that it is one of 
 the most convenient you ever saw. The owners of it looking 
 upon it as only an expense to them, were pleased to part with 
 it for a trifle. I won't make you any excuses for troubling you 
 with this long account of my little affairs ; your friendship and 
 good nature, I know, gives you a concern in all that regards 
 your ladyship's 
 
 Ever faithful and affectionate humble servant.
 
 370 Letters to [1748 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Dec. 25, N.S. [1748]. 
 
 I hope I have now regulated our correspondence in a 
 manner 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 had one line from either of some 
 months. 
 
 I am now assured by one of the principal merchants here, 
 that all those directed to Signor Isaac M. de Treves, a Venezia, 
 shall be carefully remitted, and I beg you would make use of 
 that direction. 
 
 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 honour 
 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, besides 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 freely 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 piquet. 
 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 honour her highness 
 had done me, in a very short time, and we parted very good 
 friends. 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 it has been in the newspaper of Mantua ; but I found 
 an opportunity of hinting it to Signor Gonzagna, her grand-
 
 1749] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 371 
 
 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 
 friendship that had long been between them, and since her 
 widowhood the king sends her an express every day. 
 
 I believe you'll 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 endeavouring to amuse 
 you. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Received at Welbeck, Monday, Feb. 27th, 1748, O.S.] 
 
 [Feb. 2, N.S., 1749.] 
 
 Dearest Madam, — I received this day, the 2nd of February, 
 N.S., the happiness of your ladyship's obliging letter of 
 December 17th; it has relieved me from the great anxiety I 
 was under in regard to your health. I have ever done you the 
 justice (during this long interruption of our correspondence) of 
 being persuaded you was incapable of forgetting me ; or if 
 sometimes my melancholy, joined with a consciousness of my 
 own unworthiness, suggested to me a contrary thought, I 
 presently corrected it, as not suited to that esteem you so well 
 deserve from me. I hope the good air of Welbeck has entirely 
 re-established your health ; I should be ungrateful to Heaven 
 to complain of mine, which is indeed better than I have reason 
 to expect. I walk very much, I sometimes ride, I amuse 
 myself with a little garden that I have made out of a vineyard ; 
 and if I could enjoy your ladyship's conversation, I should not 
 regret a world in which I never had great pleasure, and have so 
 little inclination to return to, that I do not even intend to see 
 the new court which is expected at Parma, though it is but ten 
 miles from hence. 
 
 Dearest madam, continue to me the honour of writing to 
 me, and be assured that you can bestow your favours on no 
 person who is more sensible of their value than 
 
 Your ladyship's most faithfully devoted humble servant. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Feb. 19, N.S. [1749]- 
 Mv 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 affected.
 
 37 2 Letters to [1749 
 
 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 
 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 you 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 consequences. Sincerity, friendship, piety, disin- 
 terestedness, and generosity, are all great virtues ; but, pursued 
 without discretion, become criminal. I have seen ladies in- 
 dulge their own ill humour by being very rude and impertinent, 
 and think they deserved approbation by saying I love to speak 
 truth. One of your acquaintance made a ball the next day 
 after her mother died, to show she was sincere. I believe your 
 own reflection 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 
 applauding themselves in the noble practice (as they fancy) 
 of very eminent virtues. 
 
 I cannot help adding (out of my real affection to you), 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.
 
 1749] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 373 
 
 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 
 believe springs from envy, and is perhaps not 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 advantage 
 has its price, and may be either over or undervalued. It is 
 the common doctrine of (what are called) good books, to 
 inspire a contempt of beauty, riches, greatness, &c, which has 
 done as much mischief among the young of our sex as 
 an over eager desire of them. They should look on these 
 things as blessings where they are bestowed, though not 
 necessaries that it is impossible to be happy without. I am 
 persuaded the ruin of Lady F. [Frances] M. [Meadows] was 
 in great measure owing to the notions given her by the silly 
 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 
 superior 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. 
 
 1 should be glad if you sent me the third volume of 
 [Campbell's] Architecture, and with it any other entertaining 
 books. I have seen the Ds. of Ms. [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 
 letter from him told me he intended soon for England. I am 
 afraid several of mine to him have miscarried, though directed 
 as he ordered. I have asked you so often the price of raw 
 silk, that I am weary of repeating it. However, I once more 
 beg that you would send me that information. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 March 6, N.S. [i749l- 
 I received yours of January 23rd this morning with more 
 satisfaction than I can express, having been long in pain for
 
 374 Letters to [i 749 
 
 your silence. I never had that you mention of December 12th, 
 nor any other since the month of August ; though I have wrote 
 six letters since that time, which convinces me that there is no 
 other safe method of corresponding but through the hands of 
 a banker at Venice, and therefore beg of you to continue to 
 direct in the same manner as your last. It will be a few days 
 later and with a little more expense ; but I hope to receive 
 them more punctually, and there is nothing I would not pay 
 for that pleasure. I am very glad my daughter is safely de- 
 livered. I did not so much as know she was with child, 
 having not heard from her of many months. I do not question 
 she has sent many letters ; but I have been so unfortunate to 
 receive none of them. I suppose mine to her (which have 
 been very long and frequent) have also miscarried. 
 
 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 malig- 
 nant fever, which has carried off great numbers in the neigh- 
 bouring towns, to the uncommon warmth of the air. It has 
 not infected this village, which they say has ever been free 
 from any contagious distemper. It is very remarkable that 
 when the disease amongst the cattle raged with great violence 
 all round, not one died or sickened here. The method of 
 treating the physician in this country, I think, should be the 
 same everywhere : they make it his interest 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 he 
 neither demands nor receives any fees, nor even refuses a visit 
 either to rich or poor. This last article would be very hard, if 
 we had as many vapourish ladies as in England; but those 
 imaginary ills are entirely unknown here. When I recollect 
 the vast fortunes raised by doctors amongst us, and the eager 
 pursuit after every new piece of quackery that is introduced, 
 I cannot help thinking there is a fund of credulity in mankind 
 that must be employed somewhere, and the money formerly 
 given to monks for the health of the soul, is now thrown to 
 doctors for health of the body, and generally with as little real 
 prospect of success. 
 
 I suppose the Sir Charles Wyndham you mention is younger 
 son of Sir William. I think I have heard the eldest named 
 John, who had no very good character.
 
 1749] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 375 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Gotolengo] April 24, N.S. [1749]. 
 C Mutius Sex : F. 
 P. Papilius M : F. 
 Q. Mutius P. F. 
 M. Cornelius P. F. 
 II II vir. Turrim Ex D D. 
 Ad augendam Locaver[e]. 
 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 anywhere 
 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 fortifications were 
 strong for that age : the ditch still remaining without the walls 
 being very broad and deep, in which ran the little river that is 
 now before my house, and the moat turned into gardens for the 
 use of the town, the name of which being Gotolengo, is a con- 
 firmation of my conjecture. The castle, which certainly stood 
 on the spot where my house now does, being on an eminence 
 in the midst of the town, was probably destroyed by fire. 
 When I ordered the court to be levelled, 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 [sic] at present (as the curate told me) 
 two thousand communicants. The ladies of this neighbour- 
 hood 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
 
 376 
 
 Letters to [1749 
 
 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 enclosing this to Lord 
 Bute, not knowing where to direct to him in London. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Received at Welbeck, Monday, June 5th, 1749, O.S.] 
 
 April 26, N.S. [1749]. 
 Dearest Madam, — Though I have received the happiness 
 of yours of the 25th of January very late, it being now the 
 26th of April, yet it gave me so much pleasure by the assurance 
 of your health and continued goodness to me, that I can 
 scarce complain of the delay. My letters have no value but 
 as coming from a heart sincerely yours, truly grateful and 
 sensible of your merit. I have had some fits of an ague this 
 spring, which distemper has been epidemical in this country 
 from the uncommon rains we have had ; I am now very well 
 recovered, though I have not yet ventured out of the house, 
 the weather being still wet and raw. I believe it will be safest 
 to send the letters your ladyship honours me with in a cover 
 to Signor Isaac M. de Treves, a Venise. I hope your flourish- 
 ing family still continues in perfect health and prosperity ; I 
 hear mine increases every year, and that my daughter is much 
 distinguished by her royal highness : I flatter myself that she is 
 always happy in the Duchess of Portland's friendship, which 
 I look upon as the greatest advantage that she can enjoy in this 
 world. I am entirely a stranger to all other news in England : 
 there is none in which I am so much interested as that of your 
 health, of which I beg to hear often ; being ever (dearest 
 madam) with the tenderest affection, 
 
 Your ladyship's most faithful devoted servant. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 May 7, N.S. [1749]. 
 Dear Child, — I have already wished you joy of your new 
 daughter, and wrote to Lord Bute to thank him for his letter. 
 I don't know whether I shall make my court to you in saying 
 it, but I own I cannot help thinking that your family is 
 numerous enough, and that the education and disposal of
 
 1749] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 377 
 
 four girls is employment for a whole life. I remain in a retire- 
 ment, where my amusements are confined to my garden and 
 dairy: however, I should be glad to know, now and then, 
 what is doing among my acquaintance at London, and beg 
 you would inquire of the price raw silk bears. I have asked 
 this question very often, but suppose my letters have mis- 
 carried, never having had any answer. Your father has been 
 so obliging to promise me some ale; if you would send, at the 
 same time, Colin Campbell's books of Architecture, consigned 
 to Signor Isaac M. de Treves, it would come safe to me. I 
 imagine the D. [Duke] of Kingston is now building. I was 
 told he intended it on the same ground where the last house 
 stood, which I think an ill fancy, being the lowest part of the 
 park, and he might choose others with a prospect more agree- 
 able, which is, in my opinion, the first thing to be considered 
 in a country seat. I have given you a large description of that 
 of my dairy-house, which is the most beautiful of any in this 
 province ; if I knew it was lost, I would repeat it. 
 
 This letter is so dull I am ashamed to set my name to it. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 May 27, N.S. [I749J- 
 Dear Child, — I had the pleasure of your letter two days 
 ago, in which you tell me of the marriage of Mr. Mackenzie, 
 which I was extremely glad to hear, wishing him happiness, 
 who I think so well deserves it, from an uncommon share of 
 honour and good nature, of which even his indiscretions are 
 proofs. The Duchess of Argyll has acted, in my opinion, with 
 equal generosity and prudence : her ill success, in the disposal 
 of Lady M., has shown her the mistake of interested matches, 
 which are generally unfortunate. This spring has been very 
 melancholy to me, having been tormented with a quotidian 
 ague, of which I am scarcely recovered ; and my woman, who 
 is the most necessary servant in my family, still afflicted with 
 a tertian, which puts my whole house in disorder, and hinders 
 my removal to my dairy, to my great mortification, now the 
 heats are begun. If my garden and my house stood together, 
 I would not change this seat for Lord Tilney's or the Marquis 
 of Rockingham's ; but, alas ! they are some miles asunder. 
 
 Your new fashioned game of brag was the genteel amuse- 
 ment when I was a girl ; crimp succeeded to that, and basset 
 and hazard employed the town when I left it to go to
 
 378 
 
 Letters to [1749 
 
 Constantinople. At my return, I found them all at commerce, 
 which gave place to quadrille, and that to whist ; but the rage 
 of play has been ever the same, and will ever be so among the 
 idle of both sexes. It is the same in every great town, and 
 I think more particularly all over France. Here is a young 
 man of quality, one mile from hence, just of age (which is 
 nineteen through all the Venetian state), who lost last carnival, 
 at Brescia, ten thousands pounds, being all the money his 
 guardians had laid up in his minority ; and, as his estate is 
 entailed, he cannot raise one farthing on it, and is now a sort 
 of prisoner in his castle, where he lives upon rapine — I mean 
 running in debt to poor people, who perhaps he will never be 
 able to pay. I am afraid you are tired with this insignificant 
 letter ; we old women love tattling ; you must forgive the 
 infirmities of your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute and blessing to all yours. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [July 14, 1749.] 
 I received yours of May 29th this day, July 14, N.S. I 
 have never failed answering every one that has come to my 
 hands, the same post, or the immediate succeeding one. I 
 do not doubt the interruption in our correspondence is often 
 occasioned by the negligence or infidelity of my messengers, 
 but your last came to me opened, with the mark of the Sanita, 
 which shows me that the Venetians are at present under a real 
 or pretended fear of some contagious distemper ; but I have 
 heard of no such thing. There are often quarantines got up 
 on disputes with the neighbouring states, especially in the time 
 of the fairs. I am sorry I have given you so much trouble 
 on the acount of the ale, since you are not of opinion it will 
 come good, if it is not yet sent, I beg you to let it alone. I 
 am far more solicitous for Lord Bolingbroke's book. All the 
 writings I have ever seen of his appeared to me copied from 
 the French eloquence. I mean a poor or trite thought dressed 
 in pompous language. I wish I could write as you desire on 
 better paper ; but this is the best to be had in this place. The 
 last letter I have had from my daughter was dated Feb. 27. 
 I am persuaded she has wrote since, but I have never been 
 so happy as to receive any one. The inundations of the rivers 
 (by the uncommon rains that have fallen this year at the time 
 of the melting of the snow) have done a great deal of mischief. 
 I have been in the number of the sufferers.
 
 1749] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 379 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Received at Welbeck, Thursday, Sept. 7th, 1749, O.S.] 
 
 Lovere, Aug. 20, N.S. [1749]. 
 
 I received this morning your ladyship's obliging letter of 
 June 8th : the sight of your hand gave me great pleasure, but 
 the complaints you make of ill-health equally alarmed and 
 grieved me : I beg of you, dearest madam, not to write when 
 it is troublesome to you ; God knows my heart, I would not 
 purchase any happiness at the expense of the least incon- 
 venience to you. 
 
 I have been here this month drinking the waters, by advice, 
 having had many returns of the ague : but have found great 
 benefit from those waters, and am now in hopes I am entirely 
 quit of it. I think Lady F. Meadows pays very dear for what- 
 ever advantages she may gain, but interest is so commonly 
 preferred to honour, I do not doubt her conduct will be 
 applauded by many people. I suppose Thoresby is (at least 
 in part) rebuilt, or I know not where so many can lodge. My 
 daughter writes me word she has fitted up that house near 
 Hampstead, which I once had the honour to see with your 
 ladyship ; I hope it is a proof she is in no want of money. 
 I propose staying here but a few days longer; my love of 
 retirement grows upon me, and 'tis my opinion whoever knows 
 the world cannot be very fond of it. It is impossible for me 
 to conclude my letter without recommending to you the care 
 of yourself: it is no compliment, but a plain truth, when I say 
 that your ladyship is the only true friend I ever had in my 
 life ; judge, therefore, how dear you are to, dear madam, 
 
 Your most affectionate and faithful servant. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Lovere, August 22, N.S. [1749]- 
 Dear Child, — I received yours of the 30th of May but 
 yesterday, to my great vexation, fearing I may lose the box of 
 books and (what is more dear to me) your letter by the delay 
 of the post not bringing me the bill of loading in the proper 
 time. I have sent a messenger to Venice, but would not 
 defer giving you thanks till his return ; you say nothing of the 
 price, but I insist on it you should take it from Child, with 
 order he should deduct it in the next bill he sends to me. 
 
 We are now very quiet here, all the bean mofide being hurried 
 away to the fair at Bergamo, which is esteemed the best in 
 Italy, after that of Senegallia ; our theatres are all shut up, the
 
 3 8o 
 
 Letters to [1749 
 
 performers being also gone thither. I was much pressed to go 
 by several parties ; but would not fatigue myself with a journey 
 of thirty miles. I have sent my woman to buy penn'orths, 
 hearing that there are merchants from all parts of Europe. I 
 am surprised at the account you give of London, yet can 
 hardly suppose that there are not some rational creatures in it. 
 The Duchess of Portland must be much altered if she is never 
 content out of a crowd ; and by the character of Lady Middle- 
 sex, who, I am told, is your most intimate companion, I should 
 guess her to be another that would prefer an easy conversation 
 to the noise of an assembly. I very well remember Caenwood 
 House, and cannot wish you in a more agreeable place. It 
 would be a great pleasure to me to see my grandchildren run 
 about in the gardens. I do not question Lord Bute's good 
 taste in the improvements round it, or yours in the choice of 
 the furniture. I have heard the fame of paper-hangings, and 
 had some thoughts of sending for a suit, but was informed that 
 they are as dear as damask here, which put an end to my 
 curiosity. I believe you think it a long time since I promised 
 my god-daughter a token ; I will wait an opportunity of 
 sending it, and engage it shall improve by the delay. 
 
 I am ever (dear child) your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to your little 
 ones. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Oct. 1, N.S. [1749]. 
 
 My dear Child, — I have at length received the box, with 
 the books enclosed, for which I give you many thanks, as they 
 amused me very much. I gave a 'very ridiculous proof of it, 
 fitter indeed for my granddaughter than myself. I returned 
 from a party on horseback ; and after having rode twenty miles, 
 part of it by moonshine, it was ten at night when I found the 
 box arrived. I could not deny myself the pleasure of opening 
 it ; and, falling upon Fielding's works, was fool enough to sit 
 up all night reading. I think Joseph Andrews better than his 
 Foundling. I believe I was the more struck with it, having 
 at present a Fanny in my own house, not only by the name, 
 which happens to be the same, but the extraordinary beauty, 
 joined with an understanding yet more extraordinary at her 
 age, which is but few months past sixteen : she is in the post 
 of my chambermaid. I fancy you will tax my discretion for 
 taking a servant thus qualified ; but my woman, who is also my 
 housekeeper, was always teasing me with her having too much
 
 1749] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 381 
 
 work, and complaining of ill-health, which determined me to 
 take her a deputy ; and when I was at Lovere, where I drank 
 the waters, one of the most considerable merchants there 
 pressed me to take this daughter of his : her mother has an 
 uncommon good character, and the girl has had a better 
 education than is usual for those of her rank ; she writes a 
 good hand, and has been brought up to keep accounts, which 
 she does to great perfection ; and had herself such a violent 
 desire to serve me, that I was persuaded to take her : I do not 
 yet repent it from any part of her behaviour. But there has 
 been no peace in the family ever since she came into it ; I 
 might say the parish, all the women in it having declared open 
 war with her, and the men endeavouring at treaties of a differ- 
 ent sort : my own woman puts herself at the head of the first 
 party, and her spleen is increased by having no reason for it, 
 the young creature never stirring from my apartment, always at 
 needle, and never complaining of anything. You will laugh at 
 this tedious account of my domestics (if you have patience to 
 read it over), but I have few other subjects to talk of. I am 
 sorry you did not take the money for the books from Child ; 
 I write [to] him this post to pay it to you, but you will wait 
 longer for it than I could wish. 
 
 I am much pleased at your account of your children : may 
 they ever be as agreeable to you as they are at present. The 
 waters have very much mended my health. I endeavour to 
 preserve it by constant riding, and am a better horsewoman 
 than ever I was in my life, having complied with the fashion of 
 this country, which is every way so much better than ours. I 
 cannot help being amazed at the obstinate folly by which the 
 English ladies venture every day their lives and limbs. 
 
 My paper only allows me to add, I am your most affection- 
 ate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to your little 
 ones. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 [Nov. 30, 1749] 
 
 My dear Child, — I received your agreeable letter of 
 September 24th, yesterday, November 29th, 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. I am afraid I have lost 
 some of your letters. In last April you wrote me word the 
 box directed to me was to set out in a week's time; since that
 
 3^2 
 
 Letters to [1749 
 
 I have had no news of it, and apprehend very much that the 
 bill which I suppose you sent me has miscarried. If so, I am 
 in danger of losing the cargo. You please me extremely in 
 saying my letters are of any entertainment to you. I would 
 contribute to your happiness in every shape I can ; but, in my 
 solitude, there are so few subjects present themselves, it is not 
 easy to find one that would amuse you, though, as I believe 
 you have some leisure hours at Caenwood, where anything 
 new is welcome, I will venture to tell you a small history in 
 which I had some share. I have already informed you of the 
 divisions and sub-divisions of estates in this country, by which 
 you will imagine there is a numerous gentry of great names and 
 little fortunes ; six of those families inhabit this town. You 
 may fancy this forms a sort of society ; but far from it, as there 
 is not one of them that does not think (for some reason 
 or other) they are far superior to all the rest : there is such a 
 settled aversion amongst them, they avoid one another with the 
 utmost care, and hardly ever meet, except by chance at the 
 castle (as they call my house), where their regard for me 
 obliges them to behave civilly, but it is with an affected cold- 
 ness that is downright disagreeable, and hinders me from 
 seeing any of them often. 
 
 I was quietly reading in my closet, when I was interrupted 
 by the chambermaid of the Signora Laura Bono, who flung 
 herself at my feet, and, in an agony of sobs and tears, begged 
 me, for the love of the holy Madonna, to hasten to her master's 
 house, where the two brothers would certainly murder one 
 another, if my presence did not stop their fury. I was very 
 much surprised, having always heard them spoke of as a pattern 
 of fraternal union. However, I made all possible speed 
 thither, without staying for hoods or attendance. I was soon 
 there (the house touching my garden wall), and was directed 
 to the bed-chamber by the noise of oaths and execrations ; but, 
 on opening the door, was astonished to a degree you may better 
 guess than I describe, by seeing the Signora Laura prostrate 
 on the ground, melting in tears, and her husband standing 
 with a drawn stiletto in his hand, swearing she should never 
 see to-morrow's sun. I was soon let into the secret. The 
 good man, having business of consequence at Brescia, went 
 thither early in the morning ; but, as he expected his chief 
 tenant to pay his rent that day, he left orders with his wife, 
 that if the farmer, who lived two miles off, came himself, or 
 sent any of his sons, she should take care to make him very
 
 1749] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 383 
 
 welcome. She obeyed him with great punctuality, the money 
 coming in the hand of a handsome lad of eighteen : she did 
 not only admit him to her own table, and produce the best 
 wine in the cellar, but resolved to give him cKere entiire. 
 While she was exercising this generous hospitality, the husband 
 met midway the gentleman he intended to visit, who was 
 posting to another side of the country ; they agreed on another 
 appointment, and he returned to his own house, where, giving 
 his horse to be led round to the stable by the servant that 
 accompanied him, he opened his door with the passe-partout 
 key, and proceeded to his chamber, without meeting anybody, 
 where he found his beloved spouse asleep on the bed with her 
 gallant. The opening of the door waked them : the young 
 fellow immediately leaped out of the window, which looked 
 into the garden, and was open, it being summer, and escaped 
 over the fields, leaving his breeches on a chair by the bedside — 
 a very striking circumstance. In short, the case was such, I 
 do not think the queen of fairies herself could have found an 
 excuse, though Chaucer tells us she has made a solemn promise 
 to leave none of her sex unfurnished with one, to all eternity. 
 As to the poor criminal, she had nothing to say for herself but 
 what I dare swear you will hear from your youngest daughter, 
 if ever you catch her stealing of sweetmeats — " Pray, pray, she 
 would do so no more, and indeed it was the first time." This 
 last article found no credit with me : I cannot be persuaded 
 that any woman who had lived virtuous till forty (for such is 
 her age) could suddenly be endowed with such consummate 
 impudence, to solicit a youth at first sight, there being no 
 probability, his age and station considered, that he would have 
 made any attempt of that kind. I must confess I was wicked 
 enough to think the unblemished reputation she had hitherto 
 maintained, and did not fail to put us in mind of, was owing 
 to a series of such frolics ; and to say truth, they are the only 
 amours that can reasonably hope to remain undiscovered. 
 Ladies that can resolve to make love thus extempore, may pass 
 unobserved, especially if they can content themselves with low 
 life, where fear may oblige their favourites to secrecy : there 
 wants only a very lewd constitution, a very bad heart, and a 
 moderate understanding, to make this conduct easy : and I do 
 not doubt it has been practised by many prudes beside her I 
 am now speaking of. You may be sure I did not communicate 
 these reflections. The first word I spoke was to desire Signor 
 Carlo to sheathe his poniard, not being pleased with its glitter-
 
 3§4 
 
 Letters to [1-49 
 
 ing : he did so very readily, begging my pardon for not having 
 done it on my first appearance, saying he did not know what 
 he did, and indeed he had the countenance and gesture of a 
 man distracted. I did not endeavour a defence ; that seemed 
 to me impossible ; but represented to him, as well as I could, 
 the crime of a murder, which, if he could justify before men, 
 was still a crying sin before God ; the disgrace he would bring 
 on himself and posterity, and irreparable injury he would do 
 his eldest daughter, a pretty girl of fifteen, that I knew he was 
 extremely fond of. I added, that if he thought it proper to 
 part from his lady, he might easily find a pretext for it some 
 months hence ; and that it was as much his interest as hers to 
 conceal this affair from the knowledge of the world. I could 
 not presently make him taste these reasons, and was forced to 
 stay there near five hours (almost from five to ten at night) 
 before I durst leave them together, which I would not do till 
 he had sworn in the most serious manner he would make no 
 future attempt on her life. I was content with his oath, know- 
 ing him to be very devout, and found I was not mistaken. 
 How the matter was made up between them afterwards I know 
 not ; but it is now two years since it happened, and all appear- 
 ances remaining as if it had never been. The secret is in very 
 few hands ; his brother, being at that time at Brescia, I believe 
 knows nothing of it to this day. The chambermaid and myself 
 have preserved the strictest silence, and the lady retains the 
 satisfaction of insulting all her acquaintance on the foundation 
 of a spotless character, that only she can boast in the parish, 
 where she is most heartily hated, from these airs of impertinent 
 virtue, and another very essential reason, being the best 
 dressed woman among them, though one of the plainest 
 in her figure. 
 
 The discretion of the chambermaid in fetching me, which 
 possibly saved her mistress's life, and her taciturnity since, 
 I fancy appear very remarkable to you, and is what would 
 certainly never happen in England. The first part of her 
 behaviour deserves great praise ; coming of her own accord, 
 and inventing so decent an excuse for her admittance : but her 
 silence may be attributed to her knowing very well that any 
 servant that presumes to talk of his master will most certainly 
 be incapable of talking at all in a short time, their lives being 
 entirely in the power of their superiors : I do not mean by law, 
 but by custom, which has full as much force. If one of them 
 was killed, it would either never be inquired into at all, or very
 
 1 750] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 385 
 
 slightly passed over ; yet it seldom happens, and I know no 
 instance of it, which I think is owing to the great submission 
 of domestics, who are sensible of their dependence, and the 
 national temper not being hasty, and never inflamed by wine, 
 drunkenness being a vice abandoned to the vulgar, and spoke 
 of with greater detestation than murder, which is mentioned 
 with as little concern as a drinking-bout in England, and is 
 almost as frequent. It was extreme shocking to me at my first 
 coming, and still gives me a sort of horror, though custom has 
 in some degree familiarised it to my imagination. Robbery 
 would be pursued with great vivacity, and punished with the 
 utmost rigour, therefore is very rare, though stealing is in daily 
 practice ; but as all the peasants are suffered the use of fire- 
 arms, the slightest provocation is sufficient to shoot, and they 
 see one of their own species lie dead before them with as little 
 remorse as a hare or a partridge, and, when revenge spurs 
 them on, with much more pleasure. A dissertation on this 
 subject would engage me in a discourse not proper for the post. 
 My compliments to Lord Bute : his kindness to you ought to 
 obtain the friendship of all that love you. My blessing to your 
 5 ittle ones. Think of me as ever, 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 Have you received my letter to my sister Mar ? 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Received at Welbeck, Thursday, April 5th, O.S., 1750.] 
 
 March 2, N.S. [1750], 
 Dearest Madam, — I received this day the happiness of 
 two letters you have honoured me with, dated December 23rd 
 and January 6th. I am very glad your health is mended ; 
 though it is not so well re-established as I could wish, yet I 
 hope time will perfect it. I have passed this winter without 
 any complaint, which I attribute to the waters of Lovere, and 
 am resolved to drink them again in the season. I beg of you, 
 dearest madam, let not your tenderness for me give you any 
 uneasy moments ; I could wish, indeed, my destiny had placed 
 me near Welbeck, but then I remember that could not be, 
 without being also near another place, from whence I should 
 often hear accounts that would embitter even your ladyship's 
 conversation. I am more sensible (perhaps) than I ought to 
 be, of the figure my family makes, and often reflect on the 
 
 N
 
 386 
 
 Letters to [*7?o 
 
 happiness of my father, who died without seeing any of the 
 misfortunes that have since happened. I heartily congratulate 
 the satisfaction you express in your hopeful growing children ; 
 I pray God continue it, and every other blessing. I think you 
 have a fair prospect in the good sense and good-nature of the 
 Duke and Duchess of Portland : they cannot give better proof 
 of both, than in a right behaviour to you : it is no more than 
 your due ; but in this age 'tis an uncommon merit to be just 
 I hope my daughter will be so far her own friend as to show 
 herself on all occasions one of the duchess's humble servants. 
 She sends me such a description of London as would cure me 
 of desiring to see it, if it was my inclination, which, since your 
 ladyship is not there, is no way my wish. Public life is what 
 I was never fond of, and would now become me less than ever : 
 I have always been amazed at the passion for it continuing, as 
 in the late Duchess of Marlborough, and can only attribute it 
 to the flatterers round her, who nourished in her that desire of 
 applause, which is as vain as the endeavours of children that 
 run to catch the rainbow. I need not say this to your lady- 
 ship, who, in highly deserving it, have always shunned it ; but 
 you have the goodness to permit me to communicate my 
 thoughts to you, and 'tis a pleasure to me to show myself 
 eternally, dearest madam, 
 
 Your ladyship's devoted humble servant. 
 
 To the Countess of Oxford. 
 
 [Received at Cav. Lodge, Thursday, June 2 1st.] 
 
 May 24, N.S. [1750]. 
 
 For the first time in my life, I have had a kind letter from 
 dear Lady Oxford lay by me four days unanswered ; it found 
 me on a sick-bed, from which I can scarce say I am risen, 
 since I am up but a few hours in the day ; and this is wrote 
 (God knows) with a feeble hand, but I am impatient to thank 
 your ladyship for your unwearied goodness to me. I have 
 had the severest illness I ever had, and heard sentence of 
 death pronounced against me. I am now told I am out of 
 danger; I will not hurt your tenderness (which I am well 
 acquainted with) by a recital of my sufferings. 
 
 Since Lady N. Pawlet would take a boy, I am surprised she 
 has found one with so good an estate ; I suppose his father 
 has many other sons, or is not fond of posterity.
 
 i7s°] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 387 
 
 May God continue every blessing to you ! My wea k 
 obliges me to finish my letter, with the assurance of my being 
 ever, dearest madam, 
 
 Your faithful obedient servant. 
 
 I will write again soon if it please God to restore my health. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 May 28, N.S. [1750]. 
 
 I received yours on the 2nd of April, O.S., two days ago. 
 I was then on a sick-bed, and am now scarce recovered of a 
 very severe illness. It was a great comfort to me to hear of 
 your health, for which I was in much pain. I have not had 
 any letter from my daughter of a long time, and am sorry she 
 breeds so fast, fearing it will impair her constitution. 
 
 I wonder you do not imitate, at London, the wise conduct 
 of this state, who, when they found the rage of play untameable, 
 invented a method to turn it to the advantage of the public. 
 Now fools lose their estates, and the government profits by it. 
 
 I have wrote several long letters to my daughter, but know 
 not whether she has received any of them. I must shorten 
 this, from the weakness both of my head and hand. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 June 22, N.S. [1750]. 
 
 My dear Child, — Since you tell me my letters (such as 
 they are) are agreeable to you, I shall for the future indulge 
 myself in thinking upon paper when I write to you. 
 
 I cannot believe Sir John's advancement is owing to his 
 merit, though he certainly deserves such a distinction; but 1 
 am persuaded the present disposers of such dignities are neither 
 more clear-sighted or more disinterested than their predecessors. 
 Ever since I knew the world, Irish patents have been hung 
 out to sale, like the laced and embroidered 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 do not suppose this was Sir John's case. That good 
 creature (as the country saying is) has not a bit of pride in 
 him. I dare swear he purchased his title for the same reason 
 he used to purchase pictures 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,
 
 388 
 
 Letters to [1750 
 
 sir ; " — " At your service ; " — " 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 country- 
 men 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 their matter afterwards in as honourable 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 of 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 their [sic] contempt. There 
 is but one thing to be done in that case, which is a method 
 I am sure you have observed practised 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 
 indifferent places, and stay at home together whenever she 
 goes into company where they would be troublesome. I 
 pity * * *, if the D. of K. [Duke of Kingston] marries. She 
 will then know that her mean compliances will appear as 
 despicable to him as they do now to other people. Who would 
 have thought that all her nice notions and pious meditations 
 would end in being the humble companion of M. [Mademoiselle] 
 de la Touche ? I do not doubt she has been forced to it by 
 necessity, and is one proof (amongst many I have seen) of 
 what I always thought, that nobody should trust their virtue 
 with necessity, the force of which is never known till it is felt, 
 and it is therefore one of the first duties to avoid the temptation 
 of it. I am not pleading for avarice — far from it. I can 
 assure you I equally contemn * * *, who can forget she was 
 born a gentlewoman, for the sake of money she did not want. 
 That is indeed the only sentiment that properly deserves the 
 name of avarice. A prudential care of one's affairs, or (to go 
 further) a desire of being in circumstances to be useful to one's 
 friends, is not only excusable but highly laudable ; never blamed
 
 1750] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 389 
 
 but by those who would persuade others to throw away their 
 money, in hopes to pick up a share of it. The greatest de- 
 claimers for disinterestedness I ever knew, have been capable 
 of the vilest actions on the least view of profit; and the 
 greatest instances of true generosity, given by those who 
 were regular in their expenses and superior to the vanities in 
 fashion. 
 
 I believe you are heartily tired of my dull moralities. I 
 confess 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 my 
 blessing to my G[rand] children, and am ever your most 
 affectionate mother. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Lovere, Sept. 3, N.S. [1750]. 
 
 I received yesterday yours dated June 24th. I am very 
 well persuaded that the delay of all my letters, and the loss of 
 many, is occasioned by the posts in Italy. I receive none but 
 what are carelessly resealed, and some of them quite open. I 
 am not surprised at it, considering the present circumstances, 
 of which I would give you the detail, if it were safe to do it. 
 I have now changed the method of conveyance, sending this 
 to the English minister at Venice, who I have desired to put it 
 in his packet. On the top of one of the highest hills with 
 which this place is surrounded, here has been, two months 
 since, accidentally discovered a remarkable piece of antiquity ; 
 a stone vault, in which was the remains of a human body, a 
 table, a spoon and a knife, and about a hundred pieces of coin, 
 of a mixed metal, in none of which there is any legible in- 
 scription. Most of them, with the rest of the things I have 
 mentioned, are in the possession of the parish priest. I am 
 endeavouring to get them into mine. If I do, and you have 
 any curiosity to see them, I will send them to you. It is certain 
 there is no fraud in this discovery ; the people here having no 
 notion of the value of anything of this kind. I am of opinion 
 it is a Gothic antiquity, there being no trace of any inscription 
 having ever been upon the stone. Direct your next, " Recom- 
 mande au Chev. James Gray, Ministre de Sa M. Brittannique, 
 a Venise."
 
 390 Letters to [1750 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 [Salo, Oct. 17, 1750.] 
 
 Dear Child, — I received yours of August 25th this morning, 
 October 17th, N.S. It was every way welcome to me, particu- 
 larly finding you and your family in good health. You will 
 think me a great rambler, being at present far distant from the 
 date of my last letter. I have been persuaded to go to a 
 palace near Salo, situate on the vast lake of Gardia, and do not 
 repent my pains since my arrival, though I have passed a very 
 bad road to it. .It is indeed, take it altogether, the finest place 
 I ever saw : the King of France has nothing so fine, nor can 
 have in his situation. It is large enough to entertain all his 
 court, and much larger than the royal palace of Naples, or any 
 of those of Germany or England. It was built by the great 
 Cosmo, Duke of Florence, where he passed many months, for 
 several years, on the account of his health, the air being esteemed 
 one of the best in Italy. All the offices and conveniences are 
 suitably magnificent: but that is nothing in regard to the 
 beauties without doors. It is seated in that part of the lake 
 which forms an amphitheatre, at the foot of a mountain near 
 three miles high, covered with a wood of orange, lemon, citron, 
 and pomegranate trees, which is all cut into walks, and divided 
 into terraces, that you may go into a several [sic] garden from 
 every floor in the house, diversified with fountains, cascades, 
 and statues, and joined by easy marble staircases, which lead 
 from one to another. There are many covered walks, where 
 you are secure from the sun in the hottest part of the day, by 
 the shade of the orange-trees, which are so loaded with fruit, 
 you can hardly have any notion of their beauty without seeing 
 them : they are as large as lime-trees in England. You will 
 think I say a great deal : I will assure you I say far short of 
 what I see, and you must turn to the fairy tales to give any 
 idea of the real charms of this enchanting palace, for so it may 
 justly be called. The variety of the prospects, the natural 
 beauties, and the improvements by art, where no cost has been 
 spared to perfect it, render it the most complete habitation I 
 know in Europe. While the poor present master of it (to 
 whose ancestor the Grand-Duke presented it, having built it on 
 his land), having spent a noble estate by gaming and other 
 extravagance, would be glad to let it for a trifle, and is not rich 
 enough to live in it. Most of the fine furniture is sold ; there 
 remains only a few of the many good pictures that adorned it,
 
 17 so] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 391 
 
 and such goods as were not easily to be transported, or for 
 which he found no chapman. I have said nothing to you of 
 the magnificent bath, embellished with statues, or the fish- 
 ponds, the chief of which is in the midst of the garden to which 
 I go from my apartment on the first floor. It is circled by a 
 marble baluster, and supplied by water from a cascade that 
 proceeds from the mouth of a whale, on which Neptune is 
 mounted, surrounded with reeds : on each side of him are 
 Tritons, which, from their shells, pour out streams that aug- 
 ment the pond. Higher on the hill are three colossal statues 
 of Venus, Hercules, and Apollo. The water is so clear, you 
 see the numerous fish that inhabit it, and it is a great pleasure 
 to me to throw them bread, which they come to the surface to 
 eat with great greediness. I pass by many other fountains, not 
 to make my description too tedious. You will wonder, perhaps, 
 never to have heard any mention of this paradise either from 
 our English travellers, or in any of the printed accounts of Italy : 
 it is as much unknown to them as if it was guarded by a flaming 
 cherubin. I attribute that ignorance, in part, to its being twenty- 
 five miles distant from any post town, and also to the custom 
 of the English of herding together, avoiding the conversation 
 of the Italians, who, on their side, are naturally reserved, and 
 do not seek strangers. Lady Orford could give you some 
 knowledge of it, having passed the last six months she stayed 
 here, in a house she hired at Salo ; but as all her time was then 
 taken up with the melancholy vapours her distresses had thrown 
 her into, I question whether her curiosity ever engaged her to 
 see this palace, though but half a mile from it. 
 
 Oct. 25th. 
 I was interrupted in this part of my letter by a visit from 
 Count Martinenghi, master of this house, with his son and two 
 daughters : they stayed till this morning, being determined to 
 show me all the fine places on this side the lake, to engage 
 me to grow fond of staying here, and I have had a very 
 pleasant progress in viewing the most remarkable palaces 
 within ten miles round. Three from hence is the little town 
 of Maderna, where the last Duke of Mantua built a retreat 
 worthy a sovereign. It is now in the hands of a rich merchant, 
 who maintains it in all its beauty. It is not half so large as 
 that where I am, but perfectly proportioned and uniform, from 
 a design of Palladio's. The garden [is] in the style of Le Notre, 
 and the furniture in the best taste of Paris. I am dmost ready
 
 392 Letters to 1.1750 
 
 to confess it deserves the preference to this, though built at far 
 less expense. The situations are as different as is possible, 
 when both of them are between a mountain and the lake : that 
 under which the Duke of Mantua chose to build is much 
 lower than this, and almost sterile ; the prospect of it is rather 
 melancholy than agreeable ; but the palace, being placed at 
 the foot of it, is a mile distant from the lake, which forms a 
 sort of peninsula, half a mile broad, and 'tis on that is the 
 delightful garden, adorned with parterres, espaliers, all sorts of 
 exotic plants, and ends in a thick wood, cut into ridings. 
 That in the midst is large enough for a coach, and terminates 
 at the lake, which appears from the windows like a great canal 
 made on purpose to beautify the prospect. On the contrary, 
 the palace where I lodge is so near the water, that you step out 
 of the gate into the barge, and the gardens being all divided, 
 you cannot view from the house above one of them at a time. 
 In short, these two palaces may in their different beauties rival 
 each other, while they are neither of them to be excelled in 
 any other part of the world. 
 
 I have wrote you a terrible long letter : but as you say you 
 are often alone, it may serve you for half an hour's amusement ; 
 at least receive it as a proof that there is none more agreeable 
 to me than giving assurances of my being, dear child, your 
 most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to my grand- 
 children. 
 
 P.S. Yours of the 23rd September is just this minute brought 
 to me. I heartily wish you and my Lord Bute joy of his place ; 
 and wish it may have more advantageous consequences ; but 
 am glad you do not too much found hopes on things of so 
 much uncertainty. I have read S. Fielding's works, and 
 should be glad to hear what is become of her. All the other 
 books would be new to me excepting Pamela, which has met 
 with very extraordinary (and I think undeserved) success. It 
 has been translated into French and into Italian ; it was all the 
 fashion at Paris and Versailles, and is still the joy of the 
 chambermaids of all nations. 
 
 Direct the books to the care of Sir James Gray, the English 
 minister at Venice.
 
 t75o] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 393 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Brescia, Nov. 20, N.S. [1750]. 
 
 I received yours of October the 3rd much sooner than 
 I have done any others of late, though it had been also opened. 
 If I find any proper opportunity I will write you a long letter, 
 which I do not care to hazard by the post. The great 
 difference between this state and that of the Church has been 
 slightly mentioned in the newspapers. It is not yet thoroughly 
 accommodated, though much softened since I wrote. I am 
 very glad of Lord Bute's good fortune. I have wished my 
 daughter joy in a long letter. I do not write so copiously to 
 you, fearing it should be troublesome to your eyes. I sent 
 her some Italian poetry which has been much admired here. 
 
 The continuation of your health is my most fervent desire 
 and the news of it my greatest pleasure. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Dec. 24, N.S. [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, perhaps, 
 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 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 Montague'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
 
 394 Letters to [i 75 i 
 
 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 enlivening 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 preserved her 
 tine 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.S. My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all your 
 little ones. I am ashamed not to have sent my token to my 
 goddaughter ; I hope to do it in a short time. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 February II, N.S. [1751]. 
 
 I have not heard from you of a long time. I hope your 
 silence is not occasioned by any indisposition. My daughter 
 gave me the satisfaction of letting me know you returned from 
 the north in good health. I do not give you the trouble of 
 long letters, fearing that reading of them might be uneasy to 
 your sight, but I write very largely to my daughter, supposing 
 she will communicate them to you. The snow that began to 
 fall here the last days of November is not yet off the ground ; 
 the roads are now scarce passable. 
 
 This weather is esteemed a prodigy in this country. I begin 
 almost to credit the tradition in Herodotus, and believe the 
 world will once more change its position, and Italy change 
 situation with Muscovy. 
 
 I have not stirred out of my apartments these two months, 
 though I have no reason to complain of my health : the 
 continuation of yours is my most earnest wish. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 March 2, N.S. [175I]. 
 
 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 of a long time. This 
 frequent interruption of our correspondence is a great uneasi- 
 ness 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,
 
 1750 Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 395 
 
 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 pro- 
 mising youth. I wish he would fall in love with my grand- 
 daughter. 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 Marlborough than to that of Methu- 
 salem; 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 afe very few of those left that 
 flourished in my youth. You will perhaps call these melan- 
 choly 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 con- 
 tented 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 of, dear child, your most affectionate 
 mother. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 May 24, N.S. [I75*]- 
 I can no longer resist the desire I have to know what is 
 become of my son. I have long suppressed it, from a belief 
 that if there was anything 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 endeavour, and perhaps there is 
 vanity in the endeavour : while we are human, we must submit
 
 39^ 
 
 Letters to [1751 
 
 to human infirmities, and suffer them in mind as well as body. 
 All that reflection and experience can do is to mitigate, we can 
 never extinguish, our passions. I call by that name every 
 sentiment that is not founded upon reason, and own I cannot 
 justify 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 art I can, being sensible of the terrible 
 consequences of losing them. Young people are too apt to 
 let theirs sink on any disappointment. I have wrote to my 
 daughters all the considerations I could think of to lessen her 
 affliction. I am persuaded you will advise her to amusements, 
 and am very glad you continue that of travelling, as the most 
 useful for health. I have been prisoner here some months, by 
 the weather : the rivers are still impassable in most places ; 
 when they are abated, I intend some little excursions, being of 
 your opinion that exercise is as necessary as food, though I 
 have at present no considerable complaint ; my hearing, and 
 I think my memory, are without any decay, and my sight 
 better than I could expect ; it still serves me to read many 
 hours in a day. I have appetite enough to relish what I eat, 
 and have the same sound uninterrupted sleep that has con- 
 tinued through the course of my life, and to which I attribute 
 the happiness of not yet knowing the headache. I am very 
 sorry you are so often troubled with it, but hope from your 
 care and temperance, that if you cannot wholly overcome it, yet 
 it may be so far diminished as not to give you any uneasiness, 
 or affect your constitution. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 June 19, N.S. [I75 1 ]- 
 My dear Child, — I received yesterday yours of May ioth, 
 in which was enclosed the captain's bill for the box. 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, it is a taste I endeavour to keep up with 
 all the art I am mistress of. I should have despised them at 
 twenty for the same reason that I would not eat tarts or cheese- 
 cakes 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
 
 175 1] Mr. Wortiey Montagu and others 397 
 
 our most secret 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 woman has had, from Andromache to this day. I 
 ) ever 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. If 
 you ever return to Bute, you will find, that what happens 
 in the world is a considerable amusement in solitude. The 
 people 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 
 remember whether they are tall or short. I sometimes call 
 myself to account for this insensibility, which has something 
 of ingratitude in it, this little town thinking themselves highly 
 honoured and obliged by my residence : they intended me an 
 extraordinary 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 anything of 
 the matter ; and it would have been erected without my know- 
 ledge, if it had not been necessary for him to see me to take 
 the resemblance. I thanked him very much for his intention ; 
 but 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 worshipped, 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 canonisation. This compliment was certainly founded on 
 reasons not unlike those that first framed 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 sure I have learned
 
 398 
 
 Letters to [1753 
 
 them to make bread, in which they continued in the same 
 ignorance Misson complains of (as you may see in his letter 
 from Padua). I have introduced French rolls, custards, 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 skilful from my 
 instructions, I can assure you here is as good as in any part of 
 Great Britain. I am afraid I have bragged of this before ; but 
 when you do not answer any part of my letters, I suppose 
 them lost, which exposes you to some repetitions. Have you 
 received that I wrote on my first notice of" the prince's death ? 
 I shall receive Lord Bute's china with great pleasure. The 
 pearl necklace for my goddaughter has been long packed 
 up for her, I wish I could say sent. In the mean time 
 give her, and the rest of yours, my blessing : with thanks 
 and compliments to Lord Bute, from your most affectionate 
 mother. 
 
 I desire you would order the china to be packed up by some 
 skilful man of the trade, or I shall receive it in pieces. 
 
 To Mr. Wortlev Montagu. 
 
 June 20, N.S [1751]- 
 
 I received yours of May the 9th yesterday, with great 
 satisfaction, finding in it an amendment of your health. I am 
 not surprised at Lady Orford's folly, having known her at 
 Florence : she made great court to me. She has parts, and a 
 very engaging manner. Her company would have amused me 
 very much, but I durst not indulge myself in it, her character 
 being in universal horror. I do not mean from her gallantries, 
 which nobody trouble their heads with, but she had a collec- 
 tion of free-thinkers that met weekly at her house, to the scandal 
 of all good Christians. She invited me to one of those honour- 
 able assemblies, which I civilly refused, not desiring to be 
 thought of her opinion, nor thinking it right to make a jest of 
 ordinances that are (at least) so far sacred, as they are abso- 
 lutely necessary in all civilised governments ; and it is being 
 in every sense an enemy to mankind to endeavour to overthrow 
 them. Tar-water is arrived in Italy. I have been asked several 
 questions concerning the use of it in England. I do not find 
 it makes any progress here ; the doctors confine it to a possi-
 
 1 75i] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 399 
 
 bility of being useful in the case of inward ulcers, and allow it 
 no further merit. I told you, some time ago, the method in 
 this country of making it the interest of the physician to keep 
 the town in good health. I wish that, and the Roman law 
 concerning last testaments, were imported for the good of 
 England : I know no foreign fashion or quackery that would 
 be so useful among us. I have wrote a long letter to my 
 daughter this post • I cannot help fearing for her. Time and 
 distance have increased, and not diminished, my tenderness 
 for her. I own it is stronger than my philosophy : my reason 
 agrees with Atticus, but my passions are the same with Tully's. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 [July 23, N.S. 1751.] 
 
 Dear Child, — I received yesterday, July 22nd, N.S., yours 
 of June 2nd. I own I could not help regretting the D. [Duchess] 
 of Montague (with whom I have passed many agreeable hours), 
 though I think I am in the wrong in so doing, being persuaded 
 her life was grown burthensome to her, and I believe she would 
 not own herself in danger to avoid the remedies that would 
 have been pressed upon her. I am not surprised at Lady 
 Orford's marriage : her money was, doubtless, convenient to 
 Mr. Shirley, and I dare swear she piques herself on not being 
 able to refuse him anything. It has been her way with all her 
 lovers : he is the most creditable of any she ever had : his birth 
 and sense will induce him to behave to her with decency, and 
 it is what she has not been much used to. As it is a true 
 saying, "Cowards more blows than any hero bear," it is as 
 certainly true, ladies of pleasure (very improperly so called) 
 suffer more mortifications than any nun of the most austere 
 order that ever was instituted. Lady Orford is a shining 
 instance of that truth ; the most submissive wife to the most 
 tyrannic husband that ever was born, is not such a slave as I 
 saw her at Florence. I have hardly ever seen engagements of 
 that sort on another footing. Contempt is joined with satiety 
 in those cases, and there are few men that do not indulge the 
 malignity that is in human nature, when they can do it (as they 
 fancy) justifiably. 
 
 I have had a return, though in a less degree, of the distemper 
 I had last year, and am afraid I must go again to the waters 
 of Lovere. The journey is so disagreeable I would willingly 
 avoid it ; and I have little taste for the diversions of the place*
 
 400 Letters to [175 1 
 
 August 1. 
 Thus far of my letter was wrote at Gottolengo, and it is 
 concluded at Lovere, where the doctors have dragged me. I 
 find much more company than ever. I have done by these 
 waters as I formerly did by those at Islington; you may 
 remember when I first carried you there, we scarce saw any 
 but ourselves, and in a short time we could hardly find room 
 for the crowd. I arrived but last night, so can say nothing of 
 my success in relation to my health. I must end my letter in 
 a hurry ; here is company ; and I can only say I am ever your 
 most affectionate mother. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Lovere, Nov. I [1751]. 
 Dear Child, — I received yours of August 25th, and my 
 Lord Bute's obliging notice of your safe delivery at the same 
 time. I wish you joy of your young son, and of everything 
 else. You do not mention your father, by which I suppose 
 he is not returned to England, and am in pain for his health, 
 having heard but once from him since he left it, and know not 
 whether he has received my letters. I dare say you need not 
 be in any doubt of his good opinion of you ; for my part, I am 
 so far persuaded of the goodness of your heart, I have often 
 had a mind to write you a consolatory epistle on my own 
 death, which I believe will be some affliction, though my life 
 is wholly useless to you. That part of it which we passed 
 together you have reason to remember with gratitude, though 
 I think you misplace it ; you are no more obliged to me for 
 bringing you into the world, than I am to you for coming into 
 it, and I never made use of that common-place (and like most 
 common-place, false) argument, as exacting any return of 
 affection. There was a mutual necessity on us both to part at 
 that time, and no obligation on either side. In the case of 
 your infancy, there was so great a mixture of instinct, I can 
 scarce even put that in the number of the proofs I have given 
 you [of] my love ; but I confess I think it a great one, if you 
 compare my after-conduct towards you with that of other 
 mothers, who generally look on their children as devoted to 
 their pleasures, and bound by duty to have no sentiments but 
 what they please to give them ; playthings at first, and after- 
 wards the objects on which they may exercise their spleen, 
 tyranny, or ill humour. I have always thought of you in a 
 different manner. Your happiness was my first wish, and the
 
 i?5i] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 401 
 
 pursuit of all my actions, divested of all self-interest. So far 
 I think you ought, and believe you do, remember me as your 
 real friend. Absence and distance have not the power to 
 lessen any part of my tenderness for you, which extends to all 
 yours, and I am ever your most affectionate mother. 
 
 I send no compliments to Lord Bute, having wrote to him 
 this post. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Lovere, Nov. 10, N.S. [1751]. 
 
 I received yours of October 10th this day, which is much 
 quicker than any I ever had from England. I will not make 
 any reflections on the conduct of the person you mention ; 'tis 
 a subject too melancholy to us both. I am of opinion tallying 
 at Bassette is a certain revenue (even without cheating) to 
 those that can get constant punters, and are able to submit to 
 the drudgery of it; but I never knew any one pursue it long 
 and preserve a tolerable reputation. The news of the recovery 
 of your health makes me amends for the displeasure of hearing 
 his ill figure. 
 
 I have often read and been told, that the air of Hungary is 
 better, and the inhabitants in general longer lived, than in any 
 other part of Europe. You have given me a very surprising 
 instance of it, far surpassing in age the old woman of Lovere, 
 though, in some circumstances, I think her story as extra- 
 ordinary. She died but ten years ago ; and it is well remem- 
 bered by the inhabitants of that place, the most creditable of 
 whom have all assured me of the truth of the following facts : 
 — She kept the greatest inn there till past fifty : her husband 
 then dying, and she being rich, she left off that trade ; and 
 having a large house, with a great deal of furniture, she let 
 lodgings, which her daughters (two maids past seventy) still 
 continue. I lodged with them the first year of my going to 
 those waters. She lived to one hundred with good health ; but 
 in the last five years of it fell into the decays common to that 
 period— dimness of sight, loss of teeth, and baldness ; but in 
 her hundredth year, her sight was totally restored, she had 
 a new set of teeth, and a fresh head of brown hair. Her 
 daughters assured me she had also another mark of youth. 
 * * * I mentioned it to several ladies, who none of them 
 had heard it, but the rest was confirmed to me by everybody. 
 She lived in this renewed vigour ten years, and had then her 
 picture drawn, which has a vivacity in the eyes and complexion 
 that would become five-and-twenty, though, by the falls in the
 
 402 Letters to [i 75 i 
 
 face, one may discern it was drawn for a very old person. 
 She died merely of an accident, which would have killed any 
 other — tumbling down a very bad stone staircase which goes 
 into the cellar ; she broke her head in such a manner, she 
 lived but two days. The physician and surgeon who attended 
 her told me her age no way contributed to her death. I 
 inquired whether there was any singularity in her diet, but 
 heard of none, excepting that her breakfast was every morning 
 a large quantity of bread sopped in cold water. The common 
 food of the peasants in this country is the Turkish wheat you 
 mention, which they dress in various manners, but use little 
 milk, it being chiefly reserved for cheese, or the tables of the 
 gentry. I have not observed, either among the poor or rich, 
 that in general they live longer than in England. This woman 
 of Lovere is always spoken of as a prodigy; and [I] am 
 surprised she is neither called saint nor witch, being [sic] very 
 prodigal of those titles. 
 
 I return you many thanks for the length of your entertaining 
 letter ; but am very sorry it was troublesome to you. I wish 
 the reading of this may not be so. I will seek for a picture 
 for Lord Bute. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Dec. 8 [1751J. 
 
 My dear Child, — I received yours of October 24th 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 letter 
 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. Vou can take your ideas of it only from books 
 or travellers ; the first are generally antiquated or confined to 
 trite observations, and the other yet more superficial; they 
 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 
 governors (I speak of the most learned amongst 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 
 attained to the French and Latin languages, when, God knows, 
 it requires the study of a whole life to acquire a perfect know-
 
 i75i] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 403 
 
 ledge of either of them : so, after a tour (as they call it) of 
 three years round Europe, people think themselves qualified to 
 give exact accounts of the customs, policies, and interests 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 reserved. 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 customs and manners, 
 which are in many things very particular here, from the 
 singularity of the government. Some 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 
 make them very potent, if it was 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. This occasions numerous branches 
 and few large fortunes, with a train of consequences you may 
 imagine. But I cannot let pass in silence the prodigious 
 alteration, since Misson's writing, in regard to our sex. This 
 reformation (or, if you please, depravation) began so lately as 
 the year 1732, when the French overran this part of Italy ; but 
 it has been carried on with such fervour and success, that the 
 Italian go far 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 
 sentiments. Jealousy, which was once a point of honour 
 among them, is exploded to that degree, at is the most infamous 
 and ridiculous of all characters ; and you cannot more affront 
 a gentleman 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. The constant pretext is 
 impotency, to which the man often pleads guilty, and though 
 he marries again, and has children by another wife, the plea 
 remains good by saying he was so in regard to his first ; 
 and when I told them that in England a complaint of that 
 kind was esteemed so impudent no reasonable woman would 
 submit to make it, I was answered we lived without religion, 
 and that their consciences obliged them rather to strain a point
 
 404 Letters to [1751 
 
 of modesty than to live in a state of damnation. However, as 
 this method is not without inconvenience (it being impracticable 
 where there is children), they have taken another here : the 
 husband deposes upon oath that he has had a commerce with 
 his mother-in-law, on which the marriage is declared incestuous 
 and nullified, though the children remain legitimate. You will 
 think this hard on the old lady, who is scandalised ; but it is 
 no scandal at all, nobody supposing it to be true, without 
 circumstances to confirm it ; but the married couple are set 
 free to their mutual content ; for I believe it would be difficult 
 to get a sentence of divorce, if either side made opposition : 
 at least I have heard no example of it. 
 
 I am afraid you will think this long letter very tedious ; 
 but you tell me you are without company, and in solitude any- 
 thing amuses, though yours appears to me a sort of paradise. 
 You have an agreeable habitation, a pleasant garden, a man 
 you love and that loves you, and are surrounded with a 
 numerous, hopeful progeny. May they all prove comforts to 
 your age ! That and all blessings is daily wished you by, my 
 dear child, 
 
 Your affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to your little 
 ones. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 My 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 recommend 
 to you the 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 anything particular relating to it at this distance, different 
 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 neglect 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 melancholy 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 practise them. I am sensible my own natural
 
 175^] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 405 
 
 lemper 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 endeavoured to impose on 
 you, or give a false colour to anything 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 necessary 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. Ignorance is as much the fountain of vice as 
 idleness, and indeed generally produces it. People that do not 
 read, or work for a livelihood, have many hours they know not 
 how to employ ; especially women, who commonly fall into 
 vapours, or something worse. I am afraid you'll think this 
 letter very tedious : forgive it, as coming from 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Jan. 29, N.S.[I752]. 
 I had the pleasure of receiving yours of November 25 
 yesterday, and am very glad to find by it that you are arrived 
 in London in good health. I heartily wish you the continuance 
 of it. My deafness lasted only a fortnight, though it frighted me 
 very much. I have had no return of it since. Your advice to 
 Mr. M. was certainly right, but I am not surprised he did not 
 follow it. I believe there are few men in the world (I never 
 knew any) capable [of] such a strength of resolution a.* 
 yourself. I have answered your letter from Vienna, but as you 
 do not mention having received mine, and perhaps it is lost, 
 I shall add a word or two more concerning the use of Turkish 
 wheat. It is generally declaimed against by all the doctors ; 
 and some of them have wrote treatises to show the ill con- 
 sequences of it, in which they say, that since it has been sown 
 (which is not above one hundred years), it may be proved 
 from the registers that the mortality is greater amongst the 
 country people than it was formerly. I believe that may be 
 true in regard to children, who are apt to eat greedily, it 
 being very heavy of digestion ; but to those whose stomachs 
 can bear it, and eat with moderation, I am persuaded it is a 
 clean strengthening diet. I have made strict observations and 
 inquiries on the health and manner of life of the countries
 
 406 
 
 Letters to [1752 
 
 in which I have resided, and have found little difference in the 
 length of life. It is true, gout, stone, and small-pox (so 
 frequent with us) are little known here : in recompense, 
 pleurisies, peripneumonies, and fevers (especially malignant) 
 are far more usual : and I am clearly of opinion that, if an 
 exact computation was made, as many die in Brescia as in 
 London, in proportion to the different numbers. I have not 
 heard from my daughter of a long time ; which may be 
 occasioned by the bad weather. I hope both you and she are 
 well. I have wrote to her many long letters. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 [Feb. 16, N.S., 1752.] 
 Dear Child, — I received yesterday, February 15th, N.S., 
 the case of books you were so good to send me : the entertain- 
 ment they have already given me has recompensed me for the 
 long time I expected them. I began by your direction with 
 Peregrine Pickle. I think Lady V. [Vanej's Memoirs contain 
 more truth and less malice than any I ever read in my life. 
 When she speaks of her own being disinterested, I am apt to 
 believe she really thinks herself so, as many highwaymen, after 
 having no possibility of retrieving the character of honesty, 
 please themselves with that of being generous, because, what- 
 ever they get on the road, they always spend at the next 
 ale-house, and are still as beggarly as ever. Her history, 
 rightly considered, would be more instructive to young women 
 than any sermon 1 know. They may see there what mortifica- 
 tions and variety of misery are the unavoidable consequences 
 of gallantries. I think there is no rational creature that would 
 not prefer the life of the strictest Carmelite to the round of 
 hurry and misfortune she has gone through. Her style is 
 clear and concise, with some strokes of humour, which appear 
 to me so much above her, I can't help being of opinion the 
 whole has been modelled 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 neighbour, 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
 
 1752] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 407 
 
 way of avoiding it, without incurring the censure of a most 
 unnatural 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 contempt 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 fond- 
 ness. He appeared to me gentile [sic], well bred, well shaped, 
 and sensible ; but the charms of his face and eyes, which 
 Lady V. [Vane] describes with so much warmth, were, I 
 confess, always invisible to me, and the artificial part 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 know- 
 ing how to draw it ; the first step of his heroine (leaving her 
 patroness's house) being altogether absurd and ridiculous, justly 
 entitling her to all the misfortunes she met with. Candles 
 came (and my eyes grown weary), I took up the next book, 
 merely because I supposed from the title it could not engage 
 me long. It was Pompey the Little, which has really diverted 
 me more than any of the others, and it was impossible to go to 
 bed till it was finished. It was 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 government. 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 vapours, 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
 
 408 
 
 Letters to [1752 
 
 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 began 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, and drink half a pint, 
 of warm 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, &c, belonging to it. I then eat a wing and the 
 whole body of a large fat capon, and a veal sweetbread, con- 
 cluding 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 twenty-four 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 doctor, 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 I 
 defy the greatest chemist in morals to extract any instruction ; 
 the style most affectedly florid, and naturally insipid, with such 
 a confused heap of admirable characters, that never were, 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 Madame Con. [Con- 
 stantia] and Lady Vane : the first mentioned has the advantage 
 in birth, and, if I am not mistaken, in understanding : they 
 have both had scandalous lawsuits with their husbands, and 
 are endowed with the same intrepid assurance. Con. 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 te , whose name I should never have guessed by the 
 rapturous description his mistress makes of his person, having 
 always looked upon him as one of the most disagreeable 
 fellows about town, as odious in his outside as stupid in his
 
 1752] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 409 
 
 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 favourite of the most 
 experienced of the sex, which shows me I am a very bad judge 
 of merit. But I agree with Mrs. Philips, that, however 
 profligate 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. I [hope ?] 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. 
 
 My blessing to our children, and compliments to Lord Bute. 
 I enclose a bill to pay the overplus due to you, and serve for 
 future little commissions. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 March i, N.S. 
 Dear Child, — I have now finished your books, and I 
 believe you will think I have made quick despatch. To say 
 truth, I have read night and day. Mr. Loveill gave me some 
 entertainment, though there is but one character in it that I 
 can find out. I do not doubt Mr. Depy is designed for Sir 
 John Rawdon. The adventure mentioned at Rome really 
 happened to him, with this addition : that after he was got 
 quit of his fear of being suspected in the interest of the P. 
 [Pretender], he endeavoured to manifest his loyalty by railing 
 at him in all companies, with all the warmth imaginable ; on 
 which his companions persuaded him that his death was abso- 
 lutely 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 Constantinople, he asked Lord Mansel by 
 what accident I made that journey. He answered, Mr. Wortley 
 had been ambassador 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. 
 Stuart, 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 marvellous figures she exhibits, no more resembling 
 anything to human nature than the wooden cut in the Seven 
 Champions, I was roused into great surprise and indignation
 
 410 Letters to [1752 
 
 by the monstrous abuse of one of the very few women I have 
 a real value for ; I mean Lady B. 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 Cecilia 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 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 
 Harlowe, 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 honour, is not only extreme silly, but a more 
 vicious character than Sally Martin, whose crimes are owing 
 at first to seduction, and afterwards 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 affection, Clarissa, is so faulty in her behaviour 
 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 cir- 
 cumstances are so laid, as to inspire tenderness, nothwithstand- 
 ing the low style and absurd 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
 
 1752] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 411 
 
 to my solitude. I have a pleasure in writing to my dear child, 
 and not many subjects to write upon. The adventures of 
 people here would not at all amuse you, having no acquaint- 
 ance 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 consideration 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 contradicted ; they even place a merit in 
 complying in direct opposition 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, and think me ever 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 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 sensible at my age than yours ; yet I own I am so 
 far affected by this, that I have need of all my philosophy to 
 support it. However, let me beg of you not to indulge in 
 useless grief, to the prejudice of your health, which is so neces- 
 sary to your family. Everything may turn out better than you 
 expect. We see so darkly into futurity, we never know when 
 we have a real cause to rejoice or lament. The worst appear- 
 ances 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
 
 412 Letters to [1753 
 
 merit in affliction. A grateful remembrance, and whatever 
 honour we can pay to their memory, is all that is owing to the 
 dead. Tears and sorrow 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 post-horses, I would never admit any but 
 silent companions : they afford a constant variety of entertain- 
 ment, and is almost the only one pleasing in the enjoyment, 
 and inoffensive in the consequence. I am sorry your sight 
 will not permit you a great use of it : the prattle of your little 
 ones, and the friendship of Lord Bute, will supply the place 
 of it. My dear child, endeavour to raise your spirits, and 
 believe this advice comes from the tenderness of 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments and sincere condolence to Lord Bute. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Jan. 28, N.S. [1753]- 
 Dear Child, — You have given me a great deal of satis- 
 faction by your account of your eldest daughter. I am parti- 
 cularly 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 the brutes. If there 
 is anything in blood, you may reasonably expect your children 
 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 distinguished 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 Argyll, has one of the best heads I ever knew. I will 
 therefore speak to you as supposing Lady Mary not only 
 capable, but desirous of learning : in that case by all means 
 let her 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 no defect either in mind or person to 
 hinder, and 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 beautiful (and perhaps is so), without consider- 
 
 'v
 
 1753] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 413 
 
 ing that nothing is beautiful that is displaced. Hence we see 
 so many edifices 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 endeavours 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 only make her contented, but happy in it. No enter- 
 tainment is so cheap as reading, nor any pleasure so lasting. 
 She will not want new fashions, nor regret the loss of expensive 
 diversions, or variety of company, if she can be amused with 
 an author in her closet. To render this amusement extensive,, 
 she should he 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 cannot 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 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 vehicles of learning 
 than learning itself, as may be observed in many schoolmasters, 
 who, though perhaps critics in grammar, are the most ignorant 
 fellows upon earth. True knowledge consists in knowing 
 things, not words. I would wish her no further a linguist 
 than to enable her to read books in their originals, that are 
 often corrupted, and always injured, by translations. Two 
 hours' application every morning will bring this about much 
 sooner than you can imagine, and she will have leisure enough 
 besides to run over the English poetry, which is a more im- 
 portant 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 laughtd 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 a natural 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 wonder- 
 fully delighted with such a demonstration of her lover's sense 
 and passion, and not a little pleased with her own charms,
 
 4 H Letters to [1753 
 
 that had force enough to inspire such elegancies. In the 
 midst of this triumph I 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 fashion, 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 humour, or rhyme for poetry, which are 
 the common errors of young people, and have a train of ill 
 consequences. 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 
 crookedness 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 all her acquaintance. The use of 
 knowledge in our sex, besides 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 philosophy will furnish her with materials to 
 pass away cheerfully a longer life than is allotted to mortals. 
 I believe there are few heads capable of making Sir I. Newton's 
 calculations, but the result of them is not difficult to be under- 
 stood by a moderate capacity. Do not fear this should make 
 
 her 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 unintelligible essays ; and a third an able divine, on
 
 1753] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 415 
 
 the strength of Whitefield's sermons : thus you hear them 
 screaming politics and controversy. 
 
 It is a saying of Thucydides, ignorance is bold, and know- 
 ledge 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 recom- 
 mend 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 extreme 
 fond of my pencil, and it was a great mortification to me when 
 my father turned off my master, having made a considerable 
 progress for a short time I learnt. My over-eagerness in the 
 pursuit of it had brought a weakness on my eyes, that made 
 it necessary to leave it off; and all the advantage I got was 
 the improvement of my hand. I see, by hers, that practice will 
 make her a ready writer : she may attain 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 cannot have too many for that station 
 of life which will probably 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, which 
 there are (at the lowest computation) ten thousand blanks to 
 a prize, it is the most prudent choice not to venture. I have 
 always been so thoroughly persuaded of this truth, that, not- 
 withstanding the flattering 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 you all the hazards attending 
 matrimony : you may recollect I did so in the strongest 
 manner. Perhaps you may have more success in the instruct- 
 ing 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 endeavouring 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 and insignifi-
 
 416 
 
 Letters to [1753 
 
 cant 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. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 March 6 [1753]. 
 I cannot 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 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 enjoined them as 
 a task, but permitted as a pleasure, if their genius leads them 
 naturally to it. I look upon my granddaughters 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 know- 
 ledge (every branch of which is entertaining), and the longest 
 life is too short for the pursuit of it ; which, though in some 
 regards confined to very strait limits, leaves still a vast variety 
 of amusements to those capable of tasting them, which is 
 utterly impossible for those that are blinded by prejudices 
 which are 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 infancy, to fill my head with 
 superstitious tales and false notions, it was none of her fault I 
 am not at this day afraid of witches and hobgoblins, or turned 
 methodist. Almost all girls are bred after this manner. I 
 believe you are the only woman (perhaps I might say, person)
 
 i7S3] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 417 
 
 that never was either frighted or cheated into anything by 
 your parents. I can truly affirm, I never deceived anybody in 
 my life, excepting (which I confess has often happened unde- 
 signedly) 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 informations to their respective courts directly 
 contrary to the assurances he gave them : most people con- 
 founding 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 prevails of de- 
 barring 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 directly 
 contrary to the truth. Fools are always enterprising, 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 mischief. There is nothing so like the 
 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 creatures 
 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 
 not be taught to pace. I could add a great deal on this sub- 
 ject, but I am not now endeavouring to remove the prejudices 
 of m mkind ; my only design is, to point out to my grand- 
 daughters the method of being contented with that retreat, 
 to which probably their circumstances will 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 anybody else in the world, both from her own just 
 discernment, 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 
 
 o
 
 418 
 
 Letters to [1753 
 
 my books and garden, than all the flutter of a court could give 
 me. 
 
 If you follow my advice in relation to Lady Mary, my 
 correspondence may be of use to her ; and I shall very will- 
 ingly give her those instructions that may be necessary in the 
 pursuit of her studies. Before her age I was in the most 
 regular commerce 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 under- 
 standing, which was very uncommon. You cannot remember 
 her, being then in your nurse's arms. I conclude with re- 
 peating to you, I only recommend, but am far from command- 
 ing, which I think I have no right to do. I tell you my senti- 
 ments, because you desired to know them, and hope you will 
 receive them with some partiality, as coming from 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 I have asked you over and over if you have received my 
 letter to my sister Mar ? 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 March 16, N.S., 1753. 
 Dear Child, — I received yours of December 20th this 
 morning, which gave me great pleasure, by the account of your 
 good health, and that of your father. I know nothing else 
 could give me any at present, being 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 Patriot Prince, and was the 
 only example I ever knew of having passed through the 
 greatest employments, and most important negotiations, without 
 ever making an enemy. When I was at Venice, which was 
 some months before his election, he was the leading voice in 
 the senate, and possessed of so strong a popularity as would 
 have been dangerous in the hands of a bad man : yet he had 
 the art to silence envy ; 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 dependents. Authority appeared so aimad/e 
 in him, no one wished it less, except himself, who would 
 sometimes lament the weight of it, as robbing him too much
 
 1753] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 419 
 
 of the conversation of his friends, in which he placed his chief 
 delight, being so little ambitious, that (to my certain know- 
 ledge), far from caballing to gain that elevation to which he 
 was raised, he would have refused it, if he had not looked 
 upon the acceptance of it as a duty due to his country. This 
 is only speaking of him in the public light. As to myself, he 
 always professed, and gave me every demonstration of, the 
 most cordial friendship. Indeed, I received every good office 
 from him I could have expected from a tender father, or a kind 
 brother ; and though I have not seen him since my last return 
 to Italy, he never omitted an opportunity of expressing the 
 greatest regard for me, both in his discourse to others, and upon 
 all occasions where he thought he could be useful to me. I 
 do not doubt I shall very sensibly miss the influence of his 
 good intentions. 
 
 You will think I dwell too long on this melancholy subject. 
 I will turn to one widely different, in taking notice of the dress 
 of you London ladies, who, I find, take up the Italian fashion 
 of going in your hair : it is here only the custom of the 
 peasants and the unmarried women of quality, excepting in 
 the heat of summer, when any night-cap would be almost in- 
 supportable. I have often smiled to myself in viewing our 
 assemblies (which they call conversations) at Lovere, the 
 gentlemen being all in light night-caps and nightgowns (under 
 which, I am informed, they wear no breeches) and slippers, 
 and the ladies in their stays and smock-sleeves, tied with 
 ribands, and a single lute-string petticoat : there is not a hat 
 or a hoop to be seen. It is true this dress is called vestimenti 
 di confidenza, and they do not appear in it in town, but in 
 their own chambers, and that only during the summer months. 
 
 My paper admonishes me to conclude, by assuring you that 
 I am ever 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to my G. 
 [Grand] children. You will send me Lord Orrery and Lord 
 Bolingbroke's books. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 April 2, N.S. [1753] 
 My dear Child, — I am very glad to hear of your health 
 and recovery, being always uneasy till your danger is over. I 
 wish you joy of your young son, and that you may have 
 comfort in your numerous family.
 
 420 Letters to [1753 
 
 I am not surprised to hear the Duke of Kingston remains 
 unmarried : he is, I fear, surrounded with people whose in- 
 terest it is he should continue so. I desire to know the name 
 of his present inclination. By the manner you speak of it, I 
 suppose there is no occasion of the nicety of avoiding her 
 name. I am sorry the P. [Prince] has an episcopal education : 
 he cannot have a worse, both for himself and the nation : 
 though the court of England is no more personally to me than 
 the court of Pekin, yet I cannot help some concern for my 
 native country, nor can I see any good purpose from Church 
 precepts, except they design him to take orders. I confess, if 
 I was king of Great Britain, I would certainly be also arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury ; but I believe that is a refinement of 
 politics that will never enter into the heads of our managers, 
 though there is no other way of having supreme power in 
 church and state. I could say a great deal in favour of 
 this idea ; but, as neither you nor I will ever be consulted 
 on the subject, I will not trouble you with my speculative 
 notions. 
 
 I am very much pleased to hear of your father's good health. 
 That every blessing may attend you is the earnest and sincere 
 wish of, dear child, 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 June 3, N.S. [1753]. 
 
 My dear Child, — You see I was not mistaken in sup- 
 posing 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 M. [Mary], if her memory 
 and apprehension 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 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 imprudent than undertaking the management of
 
 1753] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 421 
 
 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 drawing-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 amongst them, I'll tell Lady 
 Mary what you say. I was judge of all their disputes, and my 
 decisions always submitted to. While I stayed, there was 
 neither gaming, drinking, quarrelling, 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 
 amongst them, and saw no other creature, they would every 
 day fall out for the bear's favours, 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 years, I have 
 lived in solitude not unlike that of Robinson Crusoe, excepting 
 my short trips to Lovere : my whole time is spent in my closet 
 and garden, without regretting any conversation but that of 
 my own family. The study of simples is a new amusement to 
 me. I have no correspondence with any body at London but 
 yourself and your father, whom I have not heard from for a long 
 time. I am much mortified that the post (or perhaps my own 
 servants) take so little care of my letters. By your account 
 there are at least four of mine lost and some of yours. I have 
 only received a few lines from you since you lay in, till this 
 morning. I have often asked you if you have had the letter 
 I enclosed for my sister Mar ? I have wrote to Lord Bute and 
 to my granddaughter, of which you take no notice, which 
 makes me fear they have miscarried. My best wishes attend 
 you and yours, being with great truth 
 
 Your most affectionate mother.
 
 422 Letters to [1753 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 [Lovere] July 23, N.S. [1753]. 
 My dear Child, — I have just received two letters from you, 
 though the dates are a month distant. The death of Lady 
 Carolina naturally raises the mortifying reflection, on how 
 slender a thread hangs all worldly prosperity ! I cannot say I 
 am otherwise much touched at it. It is true she was my sister, 
 as it were in some sense ; but her behaviour to me never gave 
 me any love, nor her general conduct any esteem. The con- 
 founding of all ranks, and making a jest of order, has long 
 been growing in England ; and I perceive, by the books you 
 sent me, has made a very considerable progress. The heroes 
 and heroines of the age are cobblers and kitchen wenches. 
 Perhaps you will say, I should not take my ideas of the 
 manners of the times from such trifling authors ; but it is more 
 truly to be found among them, than from any historian : as 
 they write merely to get money, they always fall into the 
 notions that are most acceptable to the present taste. It has 
 long been the endeavour of our English writers to represent 
 people of quality as the vilest and silliest part of the nation, 
 being (generally) very low-born themselves. I am not 
 surprised at their propagating this doctrine ; but I am much 
 mistaken if this levelling principle does not, one day or other, 
 break out in fatal consequences to the public, as it has already 
 done in many private families. You will think I am influenced 
 by living under an aristocratic government, where distinction 
 of rank is carried to a very great height ; but I can assure you 
 my opinion is founded on reflection and experience, and I wish 
 to God I had always thought in the same manner ; though I 
 had ever the utmost contempt for misalliances, yet the silly 
 prejudices of my education had taught me to believe I was to 
 treat nobody as an inferior, and that poverty was a degree of 
 merit : this imaginary humility has made me admit many 
 familiar acquaintances, of which I have heartily repented 
 every one, and the greatest examples I have known of honour 
 and integrity have been among those of the highest birth and 
 fortunes. There are many reasons why it should be so, which 
 I will not trouble you with. If my letter was to be published, 
 I know I should be railed at for pride, and called an enemy of 
 the poor ; but I take a pleasure in telling you my real thoughts. 
 I would willingly establish the most intimate friendship between 
 us, and I am sure no proof of it shall ever be wanting on my 
 side.
 
 1753] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 423 
 
 I am sorry for the untimely death of poor Lord Cornbury ; 
 he had certainly a very good heart : I have often thought it 
 great pity it was not under the direction of a better head. I 
 had lost his favour some time before I left England on a 
 pleasant account. He comes to me one morning with a hat 
 full 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. However, I was 
 not so barbarous to tell him that his verses were extreme 
 stupid (as God knows they were), and that he was no more 
 inspired with the spirit of poetry than that of prophecy. 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 applause of 
 his friends, and by no means venture on the press. He seemed 
 to take this advice with good humour, 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 candour 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, and 
 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 ac- 
 quaintance his visits to me were at an end, I knew not why ; 
 and I was let into this weighty secret My journey prevented 
 all explanation between us, and perhaps I should not have 
 thought it worth any, if I had stayed. I am not surprised he 
 has left nothing to the D. [Duchess] of Q. [Queensberry], 
 knowing he had no value for her, though I never heard him 
 name her : but he was of that species of mankind, who, with- 
 out designing it, discover all they think to any observer that 
 converses with them. His desire of fixing his name to a 
 certain quantity of wall, is one instance, among thousands, of 
 the passion men have for perpetuating their memory : this 
 weakness (I call every sentiment so that cannot be defended 
 by reason) is so universal, it may be looked on as instinct ; and 
 as no instinct is implanted but to some purpose, I could almost 
 incline to an opinion, which was professed by several of the 
 fathers, and adopted by some of the best French divines, that 
 the punishment of the next life consists not only in the con-
 
 424 Letters to [1753 
 
 tinuance, but the redoubling our attachment for this, in a more 
 intense manner than we can now have any notion of. These 
 reflections would carry me very far : for your comfort, my paper 
 is at an end, and I have scarce room to tell you a truth which 
 admits of no doubt, that I am 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to my G. 
 [Grand] children. I have wrote to Lady Mary. Have you 
 received that addressed to my sister Mar ? 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Lovere, Sept. 10, O.S. [1753]. 
 
 Dear Child, — I am much obliged to your father for show- 
 ing you my letter, being persuaded he meant kindly to me, 
 though it was not wrote with the intention of being shown ; it is 
 not the first time I have made him the same declaration of my 
 opinion of Lord Bute's character, which has ever been my 
 sentiment ; and had I thought differently I would never have 
 given my consent to your marriage, notwithstanding your 
 inclination ; to which, however, I thought it just to pay a great 
 regard. 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 persuasion 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. My health is so often disordered, 
 that I begin to be as weary of it as mending old lace ; when it 
 is patched in one place it breaks in another. I can expect 
 nothing better at my time of life, and will not trouble you with 
 talking any more about it. 
 
 If the new servant of the Princess is the Miss Pitt I knew, I 
 am sorry for it. I am afraid I know her very well ; and yet I 
 fancy 'tis a younger sister, since you call her Anne, and I think 
 the name of my acquaintance was Mary ; she, I mean, left 
 France a short time before I went thither. I have some 
 curiosity to know how pious Lady Ferrers behaves to her new 
 daughter-in-law. My letter is cut short by company ; they wait 
 while I tell you I am always 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to the little 
 ones, who I hope are recovered by this time of their dis- 
 temper.
 
 1753] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 425 
 
 I recollect myself ; I was mistaken in Mrs. Pitt's name, it is 
 Anne ; she has wit, but [sic] 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Oct. 10 [1753]. 
 
 This letter will be very dull or very peevish (perhaps both). 
 I am at present much out of humour, being on the edge of a 
 quarrel with my friend and patron, the C He is really a good 
 natured and generous man, and spends his vast revenue in 
 (what he thinks) the service of his country, besides contribut- 
 ing largely to the building of a new cathedral, which, when 
 finished, will stand in the 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 embellished 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 and fur- 
 nished, 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 English books, 
 he intended my labours should appear in the most conspi- 
 cuous 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 honour designed me, but, upon my word, I had 
 never printed a single line in my life. I was answered in a 
 cold tone, 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 
 favour, 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 endeavour 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 incapable — 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 
 falsified, I have scarce known them. I have seen poems I
 
 426 
 
 Letters to [1753 
 
 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 mortifica- 
 tions, by the reflection I did not deserve them, having never 
 aimed at the vanity of popular applause ; but I own my philo- 
 sophy 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 to deny it with some warmth ; but, finding I persuaded 
 nobody, I have of late contented myself with laughing when- 
 ever 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 Bologna, 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 honour 
 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 us from 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 objects of misery, may have other sensa- 
 tions ; 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 nurses' 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 English 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
 
 1753] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 427 
 
 Longinus (in every light acknowledged one of the greatest men 
 among the ancients), when I find him so far superior to vulgar 
 prejudices as to choose his 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 con- 
 temptible 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. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours, 
 which are truly dear to 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Oct. io, N.S. [1753]. 
 
 I think I now know why our correspondence is so miserably 
 interrupted, and so many of my letters lost to and from 
 England ; but I am no happier in the discovery than a man 
 who has found out his complaints proceed from a stone in the 
 kidneys ; I know the cause, but am entirely ignorant of the 
 remedy, and must suffer my uneasiness with what patience I 
 can. 
 
 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 
 answer, 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 use to 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 understand 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 cypher besides 
 the date. He answered, cyphers were only used by novices in 
 politics, and it was very easy to write intelligibly, under 
 feigned names of persons and places, to a correspondent, in 
 such a manner as should be almost impossible to be under- 
 stood by anybody else. 
 
 Thus I suppose my innocent epistles are severely scrutinised : 
 and when I talk of my grandchildren, they are fancied to re- 
 present all the potentates of Europe. This is very provoking.
 
 428 
 
 Letters to [175: 
 
 I confess there are good reasons for extraordinary caution at 
 this juncture ; but 'tis very hard I cannot pass for being as 
 insignificant as I really am. 
 
 The house at Acton was certainly left to Lady Carolina ; 
 and whatever Lady Anne left [is] so little (when divided into 
 five parts), it is not worth inquiring for, especially after so long 
 silence. I heartily congratulate you on the recovery of your 
 sight. It is a blessing I prefer to life, and will seek for glasses 
 whenever I am in a place where they are sold. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Nov. 27, N.S.[i753]. 
 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 
 scandal : it must be literally reduced to a whisper, since the 
 custom of living 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 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 assembly, 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 for me 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 accompanied 
 with pleasures. I have had this morning as much delight 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, I had showed an inch above my shoe- 
 heels, or some other criticism of equal weight, which was 
 construed affectation, and utterly destroyed all the satisfaction
 
 i753l Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 429 
 
 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 receipt-book, I make a very shining 
 figure among my neighbours, by the introduction of custards, 
 cheesecakes, and minced pies, which were entirely unknown 
 to these parts, and are received with universal applause ; 
 and I 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. 
 
 My paper is at end, which I do not doubt you are glad of. 
 I have hardly room for my compliments to Lord Bute, blessing 
 to my grandchildren, and to assure you that I am ever 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 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 
 receive yours, being persuaded you have not neglected our 
 correspondence, 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 veil 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 monies, for which I have no name in 
 English, but you may have seen them in very old pictures, 
 being in fashion both 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 consists of as many rooms as she pleases : they have 
 each a separate 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
 
 430 Letters to [1754 
 
 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, without excluding the gentlemen ; but what I think the 
 most remarkable 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 cha?winesses 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 behaviour 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 indeed they generally talk according to that maxim. 
 My house at Avignon joined 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 there is 
 fourteen) was such, as I would as soon put a girl into the 
 playhouse for education as send her among them. 
 
 My paper is at an end, and hardly leaves room for my 
 compliments to Lord Bute, blessing to my grandchildren, and 
 assurance to yourself of being 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 April 28, 1754. 
 
 My dear Child, — I am quite sick with vexation at the 
 interruptions* of our correspondence. I have sent you six 
 letters since the date of the last which you say you have 
 received ; and three enclosed addressed to my sister [Lady 
 Mar], none of which, you say, are arrived. I have had but 
 two from you (including this of March 25) since October. 
 You have had no loss further than in the testimonies of my 
 real affection ; my long stories of what passes here can be 
 little entertainment to you ; but everything from England is 
 interesting to me, who lead the life, as I have already told 
 you, of Robinson Crusoe ; his goats and kids were as much his 
 companions as any of the people I see here. My time is wholly 
 dedicated to the care of a decaying body, and endeavouring, as
 
 1754] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 431 
 
 the old song says, to grow wiser and better as my strength 
 wears away. I have wrote two long letters to your father, to 
 which I have had no answer, therefore suppose they have 
 miscarried. I know not how to remedy this misfortune, and 
 cannot help feeling it very sensibly. 
 
 I imagine the Duke of Newcastle will soon have the 
 treasurer's staff; the title of first commissioner is not equal 
 to his importance. You need not tell me how Mr. Pelham 
 has disposed his affairs. You should be particular in your 
 relations. I am as ignorant of everything that passes in 
 London, as if I inhabited the deserts of Africa. * * * * 
 
 The boxes you have been so kind to send me have been 
 some time safely arrived at Venice, but are not yet come to 
 my hands, greatly to my affliction. I wish you would send the 
 other, or the season will be too far advanced. I am very glad 
 of Lord Mountstuart's recovery, and pity very much the pain 
 you have suffered during his danger. It would be terrible to 
 lose so agreeable a child. I dare not advise you to moderate 
 your tenderness, finding it impossible to overcome my own, 
 notwithstanding all my melancholy experience. This letter 
 is incomparably dull. I cannot resolve to own it by setting 
 my name to it. [Unsigned.] 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute. God bless you and yours. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Lovere, June 23, N.S. [1754]. 
 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 
 Gottolengo, and I prepared myself for death with as much 
 resignation as that circumstance admits : some of my neigh- 
 bours, without my knowledge, sent express for the doctor 
 of this place, whom I have mentioned to you formerly as 
 having uncommon secrets. I was surprised to see him at 
 my bedside. He declared me in great danger, but did not 
 doubt my recovery, if I was wholly under his care ; and his 
 first prescription 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 in- 
 difference 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 bore the first days 
 journey of fifteen miles without any visible alteration. The
 
 43 2 Letters to [1754 
 
 doctor said, as I was not worse, I was certainly better ; and the 
 next day proceeded twenty miles to Iseo, 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, with 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 of saving my life, though they are not entirely con- 
 formable to my will and pleasure. 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 to him in this country of the 
 miraculous man. Both his character and practice are so 
 singular, I cannot 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 ; the 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 anything ; 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 : but what most dis- 
 tinguishes 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- in the mountains, in the hottest sun, or heaviest rain, 
 where a horse cannot go, to arrive at a cottage, where, if their
 
 1754] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 433 
 
 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 blest 
 with such a perpetual flow of spirits, he is always gay to a 
 degree above cheerfulness. There is a peculiarity in his 
 character that I hope will incline you to forgive my drawing it. 
 I have already described to you this extraordinary spot of 
 earth, 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 Ghibelines. 
 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 colour of the sea, rather deeper tinged 
 with green, which convinces me that the surrounding moun- 
 tains 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 colours. I 
 ought to retract the honourable title of street, none of them 
 being broader than an alley, and impassable for any wheel- 
 carriage, except a wheelbarrow. This town (which is the 
 largest of twenty-five that are built on the banks of the lake) 
 is near two miles long, and the figure of a semicircle. If it was 
 a regular range of building, it would appear magnificent ; but, 
 being founded accidentally by those who sought a refuge from 
 the violences of those bloody 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 splendour ; few of 
 the nobility returned; it is now only frequented during the
 
 434 Letters to [1754 
 
 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 before you condemn me. In my infirm state of 
 health the unavoidable noise of a public lodging is very dis- 
 agreeable ; and here is no private one : secondly, and chiefly, 
 the whole purchase 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 probably remain as long as the earth. It is 
 true, the apartments are in most tattered circumstances, with- 
 out doors or windows. The beauty of the great saloon gained 
 my affection : it is forty-two feet in length by twenty-five, pro- 
 portionably high, opening into a balcony of the same length, 
 with marble balusters : 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 exploit to mount them : I never intend to 
 attempt it. The state bedchamber shall also remain for the 
 sole use of the spiders that have taken possession of it, along 
 with the grand cabinet, and 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 befriended 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 Lovere, to the great joy of the 
 inhabitants, not (as they would pretend) from their respect for 
 my person, but I perceive they fancy I shall attract all the 
 travelling English ; and, to say the truth, the singularity of the 
 place is well worth their curiosity ; but, as I have no corre- 
 spondents, I may be buried here fifty years, and nobody know 
 anything of the matter. 
 
 I received the books you were so kind to send me, three 
 days ago, but not the china, which I would not venture among 
 '-be p r ecip'<~es that lead hither. I have only had time to read
 
 1754] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 435 
 
 Lord Orrery's work, which has extremely entertained, and not 
 at all surprised me, having the honour of being acquainted 
 with him, and know [sic] 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 publicly distinguished in those characters. D. [Dean] 
 S. [Swift], by his lordship's own account, was so intoxicated 
 with the love of flattery, he sought it amongst the lowest of the 
 people, and the silliest of women ; and was never so well pleased 
 with any companions as those that worshipped 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 
 honour to share a friendship with Sheridan, &c, especially 
 being himself endowed with such universal merit as he dis- 
 plays in these Letters, 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 sub- 
 missive 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 blest 
 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 villanous actions, nay, the coarsest nonsense, are only 
 small blemishes in a great genius. I happen to think quite 
 contrary, weak woman as I am. I have always avoided the 
 conversation of those who endeavour to raise an opinion of 
 their understanding by ridiculing what both law and decency 
 obliges them to revere ; but, whenever I have met with any oi 
 those bright spirits who would be smart on sacred subjects, 1 
 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 distressed, 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
 
 436 
 
 Letters to [1754 
 
 excused by madness, which I think the Dean was 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 himself, 
 where he was his own high priest, preferred his horse to the 
 highest honours in the state, professed enmity to [the] human 
 race, and at last lost his life by a nasty jest on one of his 
 inferiors, 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, the E. [Earl] of Oxford, making a servile court 
 where he had any interested views, and meanly abusive when 
 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 friend- 
 ship would have continued, though they had remained in the 
 same kingdom : it had a very strong foundation — the love 
 of flattery on the 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 
 Peterborough, Sir G. Kneller, Lord Bolingbroke, Mr. Wycher- 
 ley, Mr. Congreve, Lord Harcourt, &c, and I do not doubt 
 projected 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 cannot 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 dulness 
 and iniquity, that one would imagine it visible even to his most 
 passionate admirers, if Lord O. [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 cannot 
 only veil, but sanctify any absurdity or villany whatever. It is 
 remarkable that his lordship's family have been smatterers in 
 wit and learning for three generations : his grandfather has left 
 monuments of his good taste in several rhyming tragedies, and 
 the romance of Parthenissa. His father began the world by 
 giving his name to a treatise wrote by Atterbury and his club,
 
 1754] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 437 
 
 which gained 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 dishonoured his father's 
 memory. 
 
 Thus fell into dust a fame that had made a blaze by borrowed 
 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 have 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 your 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 acquaintance, I have some 
 curiosity to see how he is represented. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 July 20, N.S. [1754], 
 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 B. [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 
 declares he always loved his country, though he confesses he 
 endeavoured 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 sure the same terms that the French consented 
 to, at the treaty of Gertruydenberg, might have been obtained ;
 
 433 
 
 Letters to [1754 
 
 or if the displacing of the Duke of Marlborough raised the 
 spirits of our enemies to a degree of refusing what they had 
 before offered, how can he excuse the guilt of removing him 
 from the head of a victorious army, and exposing us to submit 
 to any articles of peace, being unable to continue the war ? I 
 agree with him, that the idea of conquering 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 to her neighbours 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 cannot 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, how- 
 ever ranged, is always false eloquence, though it will ever 
 impose on some sort of understandings. How many readers 
 and admirers has Madame 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 labours 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 the ground, that is, covers a certain 
 quantity of paper, to answer the demand of the day. A great 
 part of Lord B.'s letters are designed to show his reading, 
 which, indeed, appears to have been very extensive ; but I 
 cannot perceive that such a minute account of it can be of any 
 use to the pupil he pretends to instruct ; nor can I help think- 
 ing he is far below either Tillotson or Addison, even in style,
 
 1754] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 439 
 
 though the latter was sometimes more diffuse than his judg- 
 ment approved, to furnish out the length of a daily "Spectator." 
 I own I have small regard for Lord B. as an author, and the 
 highest contempt for him as a man. He came into the world 
 greatly favoured both by nature and fortune, blest with a noble 
 birth, heir to a large estate, endowed with a strong constitution, 
 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 
 dishonoured his birth, lost his estate, ruined his reputation, 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 consequences, and continues in the same destruc- 
 tive paths to the end of a long life, ostentatiously boasting of 
 morals and philosophy in print, and with equal ostentation 
 bragging of the scenes of low debauchery in public conversa- 
 tion, though deplorably weak both in mind and body, and his 
 virtue and his vigour in a state of non-existence. His con- 
 federacy with Swift and Pope puts me in mind of that of 
 Eessus and his sword-men, in the " King and no King," who 
 endeavour 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 delighted 
 with the comparison given of their benevolence, which is 
 indeed most aptly figured by a circle in the water, which 
 widens till it comes to nothing at all ; but I am provoked at 
 Lord B.'s misrepresentation of my favourite Atticus, who seems 
 to have been the only Roman that, from good sense, had a 
 true notion of the times in which he lived, in which the republic 
 was inevitably perishing, and the two factions, who pretended 
 to support it, equally endeavouring to gratify their ambition in 
 its ruin. A wise man, in that case, would certainly declare for 
 neither, and try to save himself and family from the general 
 wreck, which could not be done but by a superiority of under- 
 standing acknowledged on both sides. I see no glory in losing
 
 440 Letters to [1754 
 
 life or fortune by being the dupe of either, and very much 
 applaud that conduct which could preserve an universal esteem 
 amidst 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 engaging in their passions, 
 disapprove their maxims without awaking 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 th2 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 proofs of affection 
 whatever is sent you by 
 
 Your truly tender 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 that knows (as I do) 
 the mean submissions and solemn promises he made to obtain 
 a return, flattering himself (I suppose) he need only appear to 
 be at the head of the administration, as every ensign 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 Mr. [Addison] by 
 giving him that name ; and I feel indignation [whenj he is 
 abused, both from his own merit, and ha[ving been] your 
 father's friend ; besides that it is naturally sh[ocking to see 
 any [one] lampooned after his death by the same [man who 
 had [paid] him the most servile court while he l[ived, anc 
 was] highly obliged by him. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 July 22, N.S. [I754-J 
 When I wrote to you last, my dear child, I told you I 
 had a great cold, which ended in a very bad fever, which 
 continued a fortnight without intermission, and you may 
 imagine has brought me very low. I have not yet left my 
 chamber. My first care is to thank you for yours of May 8. 
 I have not yet lost all my interest in this country by the
 
 1754] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 441 
 
 death of the Doge, having another very considerable friend, 
 though I cannot expect to keep him long, he being near 
 fourscore. I mean the Cardinal Querini, who is archbishop 
 of this diocese, and consequently of great power, there being 
 not one family, high or low, in this province, that has not 
 some ecclesiastic in it, and therefore all of them have some 
 dependence on him. He is of one of the first families of 
 Venice, vastly rich of himself, and has many great benefices 
 beside his archbishopric ; but these advantages are little 
 in his eyes, in comparison of being the first author (as he 
 fancies) at this day in Christendom ; and indeed, if the merit 
 of the books consisted in bulk and number, he might very justly 
 claim that character. I believe he has published, yearly, 
 several volumes for above fifty years, beside corresponding 
 with all the literati of Europe, and, among these, several of the 
 senior fellows at Oxford, and some members of the Royal 
 Society, that neither you nor I ever heard of, who he is 
 persuaded are the most eminent men in England. He is at 
 present employed in writing his own life, of which he has 
 already printed the first tome ; and if he goes on in the same 
 style, it will be a most voluminous performance. He begins 
 from the moment of his birth, and tells us that, in that day, 
 he made such extraordinary faces, the midwife, chambermaids, 
 and nurses all agreed, that there was born a shining light in 
 church and state. You'll think me very merry with the failings 
 of my friend. I confess I ought to forgive a vanity to which 
 I am obliged for many good offices, since I do not doubt it is 
 owing to that, that he professes himself so highly attached to 
 my service, having an opinion that my suffrage is of great 
 weight in the learned world, and that I shall not fail to spread 
 his fame, at least, all over Great Britain. He sent me a 
 present last week of a very uncommon kind, even his own 
 picture, extremely well done, but so flattering, it is a young 
 old man, with a most pompous inscription under it. I suppose 
 he intended it for the ornament of my library, not knowing it 
 is only a closet : however, these distinctions he shows me, give 
 me a figure in this town, where everybody has something to 
 hope from him ; and it was certainly in a view to that they 
 would have complimented me with a statue, for I would not 
 have you mistake so far as to imagine there is any set of people 
 more grateful or generous than another. Mankind is every- 
 where the same : like cherries or apples, they may differ in 
 size, shape, or colour, from different soils, climates, or culture,
 
 442 Letters to [1754 
 
 but are still essentially the same species ; and the little black 
 wood cherry is not nearer akin to the [may-]dukes that are 
 served at great tables, than the wild naked negro to the fine 
 figures adorned with coronets and ribands. This observation 
 might be carried yet further : all animals are stimulated by 
 the same passions, and act very near alike, as far as we are 
 capable of observing them. 
 
 The conclusion of your letter has touched me very much. 
 I sympathise with you, my dear child, in all the concern you 
 express for your family : you may remember, I represented it 
 to you before you was married; but that is one of the 
 sentiments it is impossible to comprehend 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 your anxiety for the future does not 
 take from you the comforts you may enjoy in the present 
 hour : it is all that is properly ours ; and yet such is the 
 weakness of humanity, we commonly lose what is, either by 
 regretting the past, or disturbing our minds with the 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 wisdom is that which 
 diminishes to us what is displeasing, and turns our thoughts 
 to the advantages we possess. I can assure you I give no 
 precepts I do not daily practise. How often do I fancy to 
 myself the pleasure I should take in seeing you in the midst 
 of your little people; and how severe do I then think my 
 destiny, that denies me that happiness ! I endeavour to 
 comfort myself by reflecting, that we should certainly have 
 perpetual disputes (if not quarrels) concerning the management 
 of them ; the affection of a grandmother has generally a 
 tincture of dotage : you would say I spoilt them, and perhaps 
 not be much in the wrong. Speaking of them calls to my 
 remembrance the token I have so long promised my god- 
 daughter : I am really ashamed of it : I would have sent it by 
 Mr. Anderson, if he had been going immediately to London ; 
 but as he proposed a long tour, I durst not press it upon him. 
 It is not easy to find any one who will take the charge of a 
 jewel for a long journey ; it may be, the value of it in money, 
 to choose something for herself, would be as acceptable : if
 
 1754] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 443 
 
 so, I will send you a note upon Child. Ceremony should be 
 banished between us. I beg you would speak freely upon 
 that, and all other occasions, to 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Lovere, Dec. 8, N.S. [1754]. 
 My dear Child, — 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 neighbouring Brescian, 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 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. 
 
 Here is a gentleman's family, consisting of an old 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 by all the best company, and indeed are the most 
 conversable, reasonable people in the 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 about 
 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 circum- 
 stances exposed her. She asked her some questions, to 
 which she answered with a natural civility that seemed sur- 
 prising ; and finding the head of her family (her brother) to 
 be a cobbler, who could hardly live by that trade, and her 
 mother too old to work for her maintenance, 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
 
 444 Letters to [1754 
 
 accepted, 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 what- 
 ever 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, and 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 
 everybody 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 conceal as light; hers 
 began to make a great noise. Signora Diana told me she 
 observed an unusual concourse of pedling women that came 
 on pretext to sell penn'orths 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 honourable proposals 
 that were made by many honest, thriving tradesmen. She 
 communicated them 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 an- 
 swered modestly, that it was her duty to obey all her com- 
 mands, but she found no inclination to marriage ; and if 
 she would permit her to live single, she should 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 dis- 
 posal. However, they parted soon after : whether (as the 
 neighbours say) Signor Aurelio Ardinghi, 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 Ardinghi 
 family. 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 Sosi, her son, to 
 be kind to her. He found no repugnance to this act of 
 obedience, having distinguished the beautiful Octavia from his 
 first sight of her ; and, during the six months that she had
 
 1754] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 445 
 
 served in the house, had tried every art of a fine gentleman, 
 accustomed to victories of that sort, to vanquish the virtue 
 of this fair virgin. He has a handsome figure, and has had 
 an education uncommon in this country, having made the 
 tour of Europe, and brought from Paris all the improve- 
 ments that are to be picked up there, being celebrated for 
 his grace in dancing, and skill in fencing and riding, by 
 which he is a favourite among the ladies, and respected by 
 the men. Thus qualified 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 con- 
 tinued to be solicited by the emissaries of the count's 
 passion, and found # a new persecutor in her master, who, 
 after three months' endeavour to corrupt her, offered her 
 marriage. She chose to return to her former obscurity, 
 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 of her service. She protested she had never been 
 happy since she left it. While she was making these sub- 
 missions, Signor Aurelio entered. She entreated his inter- 
 cession on her knees, who was easily persuaded to consent 
 she should stay with them, though his sister blamed her 
 highly for her precipitate flight, having no reason, from the 
 age and character of her master, to fear any violence, and 
 wondered at her declining the honour 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 frighted 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 accompany all the words 
 of the ceremony. Signora Diana had nothing to say in 
 contradiction to this pious sentiment ; and her brother ap- 
 plauded the honesty which could not be perverted 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 Lovere on pretence of adjusting a lawsuit,
 
 446 
 
 Letters to [1754 
 
 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 
 concluded 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 bark, 
 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 Sosi 
 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 permitted the company o*f another priest with 
 whom she was acquainted : this was readily granted ; and she 
 sent for a young man that visits me very often, being remark- 
 able 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 
 explained himself by relating this story, mixed with great 
 resentment 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 affliction, 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 
 arrived, they found the amorous count waiting for his bride on 
 the bank of the lake : he would have proceeded immediately
 
 1754] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 447 
 
 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 everything 
 was prepared for their reception. They received the com- 
 munion 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 
 splendour 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 Lovere, 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 cele- 
 brated for pious works, and Octavia known to be a great 
 favourite 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 message 
 to the house of Ardinghi, which affords much speculation. 
 
 I am afraid you are heartily tired with this tedious tale. I 
 will not lengthen it with reflections. I fancy yours will be 
 [the] same with mine. All these adventures proceed from 
 artifice on one side and weakness on the other. An honest, 
 tender mind is 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 Bolton 
 was educated in solitude, with some choice books, by a saint- 
 like governess : crammed with virtue and good qualities, 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
 
 448 
 
 Letters to [1754 
 
 correcting the errors that we have been taught to receive as 
 indisputable truths. Make my compliments to Lord Bute. I 
 am out of humour with Lady Mary for neglecting to answer 
 my letters. However, she shares my blessing with her brothers 
 and sisters. I have a little ring for Lady Jane, but God knows 
 when I shall have an opportunity to send it. I am ever 
 
 Your truly affectionate mother. 
 It is a long time since I have heard from your father, though 
 I have wrote several times. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [Lovere, 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 
 wrote 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- 
 deavoured to impose it on the rest of the world. All his works, 
 being well considered, are little more than a panegyric on his 
 own universal genius ; many of his pretensions 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 your opinion that he never 
 looked into half the authors he quotes, and much mistaken 
 if he is not obliged to Mr. Bayle for the generality of his 
 criticisms ; for which reason he affects to despise him, that he 
 may steal from him with less suspicion. A diffusive style 
 (though often admired as florid by all half-witted readers) is 
 commonly obscure, and always trifling. Plorace has told us, 
 that where words abound, sense is thinly spread ; as trees over- 
 charged with leaves bear little fruit. 
 
 You do not mention Lord Orrery, or perhaps would not 
 throw away time in perusing that extraordinary work, addressed 
 to a son, whom he educates with an intention 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 honoured with five editions. I wish that encouragement 
 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.
 
 1755] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 449 
 
 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. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Jan. 1, N.S., 1755. 
 
 My dear Child, — I wish you many new years, accom- 
 panied with every blessing that can render them agreeable ; 
 and that it was in my power to send you a better new year's 
 gift than a dull letter : you must, however, accept it as well 
 meant, though ill performed. I am glad you have found a 
 house to please you. I know nothing of that part of the town 
 you mention. I believe London would appear to me as strange 
 as any place I have passed in my travels, and the streets as 
 much altered as the inhabitants. I did not know Lady H. 
 Wentworth was married, though you speak of her children : 
 you see my total ignorance : it would be amusing to me to 
 hear various things that are as indifferent to you as an old 
 almanac. I am sorry my friend Smollett loses his time in 
 translations ; he has certainly a talent for invention, though I 
 think it flags a little in his last work. Don Quixote is a diffi- 
 cult undertaking : I shall never desire to read any attempt to 
 new-dress him. Though I am a mere piddler in the Spanish 
 language, I had rather take pains to understand him in the 
 original, than sleep over a stupid translation. 
 
 I thank you for your partiality in my favour. It is not my 
 interest to rectify mistakes that are so obliging to me. To say 
 truth, I think myself an uncommon kind of creature, being an 
 old woman without superstition, peevishness, or censoriousness. 
 I am so far from thinking my youth was past in an age of more 
 virtue and sense than the present, I am of opinion the world 
 improves every day. I confess I remember to have dressed 
 for St. James's chapel with the same thoughts your daughters 
 will have at the opera ; but am not of the Rambler's mind, that 
 the church is the proper place to make love in ; and the peepers 
 behind a fan, who divided their glances between their lovers 
 and their prayer-book, were not at all modester than those that 
 now laugh aloud in public walks. I tattle on, and forget you're
 
 45° Letters to [1755 
 
 in town, and consequently I ought to shorten my letters, know- 
 ing very well that the same letter that would be read thrice over 
 in the country, will be crammed into the pocket before 'tis half 
 gone through, when people are in a hurry to go to the court or 
 playhouse. My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to 
 you and yours, to whom I am ever a most affectionate mother. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Lovere, Jan. 23, N.S. [i755> 
 
 I am very sorry for your past indisposition, and, to say truth, 
 not heartily glad of your present condition ; but I neither do nor 
 will admit of your excuses for your silence. I have already told 
 you some ten or twelve times over, that you should make your 
 eldest daughter your secretary ; it would be an ease to yourself, 
 and highly improving to her, in every regard ; you may, if you 
 please, at once oblige your mother and instruct your daughter, 
 by only talking half an hour over your tea in the morning. 
 
 The Duchess of Queensberry's misfortune would move com- 
 passion in the hardest heart ; yet, all circumstances coolly 
 considered, I think the young lady deserves most to be pitied, 
 being left in the terrible situation of a young and (I suppose) 
 rich widowhood, which, as I have already said of M. Cook 
 [Lady Mary Coke], is walking blindfold, upon stilts, amidst 
 precipices, though perhaps as little sensible of her danger as 
 a child of a quarter old would be in the paws of a monkey 
 leaping on the tiles of a house. I believe, like all others of 
 your age, you have long been convinced there is no real happi- 
 ness 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 endeavours 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 
 utmost prudence and political schemes, appear, I fancy,- in 
 the eyes of some superior beings, like the pecking of a young 
 linnet to break a wire cage, or the climbing of a squirrel in a 
 hoop ; the moral needs no explanation : let us sing as cheerfully
 
 1755] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 451 
 
 as we can in our impenetrable confinement, and crack our nuts 
 with pleasure from the little store that is allowed us. 
 
 My old friend the Cardinal [Querini] is dead of an apoplectic 
 fit, which I am sorry for, notwithstanding the disgust that hap- 
 pened between us, on the ridiculous account of which I gave 
 you the history a year ago. His memory will, probably, last 
 as long as this province, having embellished it with so many 
 noble structures, particularly a public library well furnished, 
 richly adorned, and a college built for p [torn] scholars, with 
 salaries for masters, and plentifully endowed ; many charitable 
 foundations, and so large a part of the new cathedral (which 
 will be one of the finest churches in Lombardy) has been built 
 at his expense, he may be almost called the founder of it. He 
 has left a considerable annuity to continue it, and deserves an 
 eminent place among the few prelates that have devoted what 
 they received from the Church to the use of the public, which 
 is not here (as in some countries) so ungrateful to overlook 
 benefits. Many statues have been erected, and medals cast to 
 his honour, one of which has the figures of Piety, Learning, 
 and Munificence, on the reverse, in the attitude of the three 
 Graces. His funeral has been celebrated by the city with all 
 the splendour it was capable of bestowing, and waited on by 
 all ranks of the inhabitants. 
 
 You told me, some months since, that a box was made up 
 for me. I have never had the bill of lading, and know not 
 whether you have received the little bill of exchange sent by 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 [Lovere] March i [1755]. 
 I pity Lady M. Coke extremely. You will be surprised 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 her. She 
 appears to me to be walking blindfold, upon stilts, amidst 
 precipices. She is at a dangerous time of life, when the 
 passions are in full vigour, 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 on 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.
 
 45 2 Letters to [1755 
 
 I think nothing but a miracle, or the support of a guardian 
 angel, can protect her. It is true (except I am much mis- 
 taken), nature has furnished her with one very good defence. 
 I took particular notice of her, both from my own liking her, 
 and her uncommon obliging behaviour 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, 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 impartial self-examination. But 
 this is the hardest of all tasks, requiring great reflection, long 
 retirement, and is strongly repugnant 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 dissection of the human mind than any 
 man before him, declares he gained all his knowledge from 
 the consideration of himself. It is indeed necessary to judge 
 of others. You condemn Lord Cornbury without knowing 
 what he could say in his justification. I am persuaded he 
 thought he performed an act of rigid justice, in excluding the 
 D. of Q. [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 that produced a 
 false child into a family incurred the highest 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 Essex being, inside and out, resembling 
 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 Cornbury's behaviour to me to find 
 excuses for him ; but I have always endeavoured to look on 
 the conduct of my acquaintance without any regard to their
 
 1755] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 453 
 
 way of acting towards 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 
 sometimes 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 relieve you from so dull a subject, 
 by concluding my letter with my compliments to Lord Bute, 
 my blessing to my grandchildren, and the assurance of my 
 being your ever most affectionate mother. 
 
 I have received a letter from Lady Mary, and will answer it 
 the next post. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 April 15, N.S. [I7S5J- 
 My dear Child, — I received yours of February ioth with 
 great pleasure, as it brought me the news of your health, and 
 that of your family, though mixed with some mortification to 
 find that some of yours have been lost, and several of mine. 
 I never had that in which you mention the death of Lord 
 Gower, and should be glad to hear in what state he has left 
 his affairs. I do not doubt, as madame had the carving of the 
 whole, she has taken care to reserve some good bits for herself. 
 I cannot guess who you mean by Lord Montfort, there being 
 no such title when I left England, nor any Lord Hertford, who 
 I hear is named ambassador 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 continua- 
 tion 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 am afraid my last long letter to him has miscarried, 
 and perhaps he thinks me very negligent, or very stupid in 
 delaying to answer that which he sent me. You may assure 
 him no part of the merit of it was lost upon me. I took all 
 possible care my thanks for it should be safely delivered into 
 the postmaster's own hand. I suspect my cautions have been 
 all in vain, and also that you have not had mine in which was 
 endorsed a small bill on Mr. Child. 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.
 
 454 Letters to [1755 
 
 I will continue 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 dulness 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 between 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 happiness ; 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 cannot be more delighted with 
 a birthday suit, or your youngest with a paper of sugar-plums, 
 that 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 common foundation of their errors, both in 
 morals and conduct. I was well acquainted with a lady (the 
 D. [Duchess] of M. [Manchester]), 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. 
 
 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 of it 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 upon my granddaughters as lay nuns. Lady 
 Mary might avoid that destiny, if religion was not a bar to her 
 being disposed 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 sufficient 
 fortune. 
 
 I shall write to Lord Bute this post. My blessing to 
 you and yours is sincerely sent from your most affectionate 
 mother.
 
 i75s] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 455 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 July 24 [1755]. 
 
 It is always a great pleasure to me, my dear child, to hear 
 of your health, and that of your family. This year has beer, 
 fatal to the literati of Italy. The Marquis Maffei 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 
 consequently now a great age ; but preserved his memory and 
 senses in their first vigour. 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 theatre and the ancient amphitheatre. He 
 made piazzas leading to each of them, filled with shops, where 
 were sold coffee, tea, chocolate, all sort of cool [drinks ?] and 
 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, ranged in exact order. His 
 library joined to it ; and on the other side a suite 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 con- 
 versation, which always turned upon some point of learning, 
 either historical 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 theatre, went thither, but never failed 
 returning to give an account of the drama, which produced a 
 critical 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 masterpiece ; and his comedy of the Ceremonies, being so 
 just a ridicule of those formal fopperies, it has gone a great 
 way in helping to banish them out of Italy. The walkers con- 
 tributed to the entertainment by an account of some herb or
 
 456 Letters to [1755 
 
 flower, which led the way to a botanical conversation ; or, 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 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 snowing the youth how to pass their time agree- 
 ably 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 dispute on things, for the 
 most part, in their own nature indifferent. The Veronese 
 nobility, having no road open to advancement, are not tor- 
 mented 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 pleasure to the 
 pursuit of man. In the autumn, which is here the pleasantest 
 season of the year, a band of about thirty join their hunting 
 equipages, and, carrying with them a portable theatre and a 
 set of music, make a progress in the neighbouring provinces, 
 where they hunt every morning, perform an opera every 
 Sunday, and other plays the rest of the week, to the entertain- 
 ment of all the neighbourhood. I have had many honourable 
 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 
 philosophers, — 
 
 Who sing and dance, and laugh away their time, 
 Fresh as their groves, and happy as their clime. 
 
 My paper is out. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Lovere, July [August ?] 23 [1755]. 
 My dear Child, — I have promised you some remarks on 
 all the books I have received. I believe you would easily 
 forgive my not keeping my word ; however, I shall go on. 
 The Rambler 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
 
 1755] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 457 
 
 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 favour. There are numbers of both sexes who 
 never read anything but such productions, and cannot spare 
 time, from doing nothing, to go through a sixpenny pamphlet. 
 Such gentle readers may be improved by a moral hint, which, 
 though repeated 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 himself and his first wife, in the characters of Mr. 
 and Mrs. Booth, some compliments to his own figure excepted; 
 and, I am persuaded, 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. All these sort of books 
 have the same fault, which I cannot easily pardon, being very 
 mischievous. They place a merit in extravagant passions, and 
 encourage young people to hope for impossible events, to draw 
 them out of the misery they chose to plunge themselves into, 
 expecting legacies from unknown relations, and generous bene- 
 factors to distressed virtue, as much out of nature as fairy 
 treasures. Fielding has really a fund of true humour, 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 
 cannot 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 cannot think Fadom [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 nol 
 seem to have intended it : I mean, shows the ill consequences 
 of not providing against casual losses, which happen to almost 
 everybody. Mrs. 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 heartily pity her, con- 
 strained by her circumstances to seek her bread by a method, 
 I do not doubt, she despises. Tell me who is that accom- 
 plished countess she celebrates. I left no such person in 
 London; nor can I imagine who is meant by the English 
 Sappho mentioned in Betsy Thoughdess, whose adventures, 
 and those of Jenny Jessamy, gave me some amusement. I
 
 458 Letters to [1755 
 
 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 for me to suffer them : his adventures have the 
 uncommon merit of ending in a surprising manner. The 
 general want of invention which reigns among our writers, 
 inclines 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 B. 
 [Bolingbroke] 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 
 excellences, 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 without 
 money, or money without scribbling. The greatest virtue, 
 justice, and the most distinguishing prerogative of mankind, 
 writing, when duly executed, do honour 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 Peregrine 
 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 
 (chiefly because it is impossible) seeing poetry, plays, or 
 romances; but accustom them to talk over what they read, 
 and point [out] to them, as you are very capable of doing, the 
 absurdity 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 beggar, 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 lewdest poems extant.
 
 1755] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 459 
 
 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. I am 
 ever your most affectionate mother. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Lovere, Sept. 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 greatest. 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 something 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 everything 
 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 knew, or his nephew, who has succeeded 
 him ; if Lord Berkeley has left 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 
 lowest sinks of vice and misery. I should think it a nobler 
 and less nauseous employment to be one of the staff-officers 
 that conduct the nocturnal weddings. His happy constitution 
 (even when he had, with great pains, half demolished it) made 
 him forget everything 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 fluxing 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, geniu^ : 
 they both agreed in wanting money in spite of all their friends, 
 and would have wanted it, if their hereditary lands had been
 
 460 
 
 Letters to [1755 
 
 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 or 
 significant than those already in use, is intolerable. The most 
 edifying part 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 neighbouring 
 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 all this trash, trumpery, &c. 
 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 
 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 find 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 D. of Montagu, which I know to be
 
 1755] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 461 
 
 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 D. of B. [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 send you a third bill of exchange, supposing the second, sent 
 last June, has not reached you. In the next box, put up the 
 History of London, and also three of Pinchbec's watches, 
 shagrine cases, and enamelled dial-plates. When I left England, 
 they were five guineas each ; I do not now know the price. What- 
 ever it is, pray take it of Mr. Samuel Child. You may imagine 
 they are for presents ; one for my doctor, who is exactly 
 Parson Adams in another profession, 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 
 scandalous manner. The two first tomes of Clarissa touched 
 me, 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 ; 
 consequently my pen never tires when expressing to you the 
 thoughts of 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all your dear 
 young ones, even the last comer. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Oct. 20, N.S. [1755]. 
 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 Mancomugi. He might 
 have made his Sir Charles's amour with Clementina begin in a 
 convent, where the pensioners sometimes take great liberties ,
 
 462 
 
 Letters to [1755 
 
 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 designed 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 approve 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 easily that his 
 daughters should be educated 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. You may see in Lucian (in his vindi- 
 cation of his images), that they did not take their statues to be 
 real gods, but only the representations of them. The same 
 doctrine may be found in Plutarch ; and it is all the modern 
 priests have to say in excuse for their worshipping wood and 
 stone, though they cannot deny, at the same time, that the 
 vulgar are apt to confound that distinction. 
 
 I always, if possible, avoid controversial disputes : whenever 
 I cannot do it, they are very short. I ask my adversary 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 ? The constant reply is, O yes. Then say I, 
 purgatory, transubstantiation, invocation of saints, adoration of 
 the Virgin, relics (of which they might have had a cartload), 
 and observation of Lent, is no part of it, since they neither 
 taught nor practised 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 mortal 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, and long suffering.
 
 1755] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 463 
 
 Can anything 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 cannot 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 neigh- 
 bour as himself, as all that is necessary to salvation. When he 
 describes the last judgment, he does not examine what sect, 
 or what church, men were of, but how far they had been 
 beneficent to mankind. Faith cannot determine reward or 
 punishment, being involuntary, 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 ridicule for argument, I never re- 
 criminate 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 ancestors, I say I have had more ancestors heathen 
 than Christian, and my faith is certainly ancienter than theirs, 
 since I have added nothing to the practice of the primitive 
 professors of Christianity. As to the prosperity or extent of 
 the dominion of their church, which Cardinal Bellarmin counts 
 among the proofs of its orthodoxy, the Mahometans, who 
 have larger empires, and have made a quicker progress, have a 
 better plea for the visible protection of Heaven. If the fop- 
 peries of their religion were only fopperies, they ou:_;ht to 
 be complied with, wherever it is established, like any ridiculous 
 dress in fashion ; but I think them impieties : their devotions 
 are a scandal to humanity from their nonsense ; the mercenary 
 deceits and barbarous tyranny of their ecclesiastics, inconsistent 
 with moral honesty. If they object the diversity of our sects 
 as a mark of reprobation, I desire them to consider, that 
 objection 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
 
 464 
 
 Letters to [1755 
 
 doctrines, their virulent contests and various factions, instead 
 of that union they boast of. I have never been attacked a 
 second time in any of the towns where I have resided, and 
 perhaps shall never be so again after my last battle, which was 
 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 hither, he visited me every day, 
 and talked of me everywhere 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 cannot talk of without heat. He desired I would 
 put on paper what I had said. I immediately wrote one side 
 of a sheet, leaving the other for his answer. 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 horridly 
 disappointed when I explain myself by saying the word sacra- 
 ment is not to be found either in Old or New Testament ; and 
 one must be very ignorant not to know it is taken from the 
 listing oath of the Roman soldiers, and means nothing more 
 than a solemn, irrevocable 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. Ordi- 
 nation and matrimony are solemn vows of a different kind : 
 confession includes a vow of revealing all we know, and re- 
 forming what is amiss : extreme unction, the last vow, that we 
 have lived in the faith we were baptised : 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 granddaughters. I am persuaded it 
 is a favourite author in all the nurseries in England, and has 
 done much harm in the boarding schools, therefore ought to 
 have his absurdities detected. You will think me angry with
 
 1755] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 465 
 
 him for repeating a saying of mine, accompanied with a de- 
 scription 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 cannot guess how I can pos- 
 sibly have incurred his indignation, except he takes for truth 
 the literary correspondence between me and the M qs Argens, 
 whom I never saw, and who, with many high compliments, has 
 attributed to me sentiments that never came into my head, 
 and among them a criticism on Pamela, who is, however, more 
 favourably treated than she deserves. The book of letters I 
 mention never came to my hands till some time after it was 
 printed, accidentally at Thoulouse. 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 criticised ; 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 defence, 
 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 his Sir Charles had no 
 thoughts of marrying Clementina 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 their extravagant wishes. Passion may indeed 
 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 
 embroidered slipper, than to restore reason by the gratification 
 of wild desires. 
 
 Richardson is as ignorant in morality as he is in anatomy, 
 when he declares abusing an obliging husband, or an indulgent 
 parent, to be an innocent recreation. His Anna How and 
 Charlotte Grandison are recommended as patterns of charming 
 pleasantry, and applauded by his saint-like dames, who mistake 
 pert folly for wit and humour, and impudence and ill nature for
 
 466 
 
 Letters to [1755 
 
 spirit and fire. Charlotte behaves like a humorsome child, 
 and should have been used like one, and * * * well whipped in 
 the presence of her friendly confidante Harriet. Lord Halifax 
 very justly tells his daughter, that a husband's kindness is to 
 be kindly 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 nature, 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 
 steward'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 D. of Argyll's, whose understanding 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 grandmamma. Her whole 
 behaviour, which he designs to be exemplary, is equally 
 blamable and 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 justice, and his virtuous young ladies romp like 
 the wenches round a maypole. Such liberties as pass between 
 Mr. Lovelace 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 Trentham 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 favourite 
 scheme of mine when I was fifteen ; and had I then been 
 mistress ot an independent fortune, would certainly have 
 executed it, and elected myself lady abbess. There would you
 
 1755] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 467 
 
 and your ten children have been lost for ever. 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 opportunity 
 
 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 
 trivial to me ; and if the performance answers the engagement, 
 it will be a vast pleasure to your most affectionate mother. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Nov. 2 [1755]. 
 My dear Child, — I am always pleased when I hear you 
 have been with the Duke and Duchess of Portland, being 
 persuaded they are both worthy and sincere friends of yours. 
 I had wrote so many letters to dear Lady Oxford without 
 receiving any answer, I was in great pain on her account. I 
 will write again, though I lose so much of my writing : I am 
 afraid it will only be more time and paper thrown away. I 
 pity poor Lady Dalkeith, who, perhaps, thinks herself at 
 present an object of envy : she will soon be undeceived : no 
 rich widow can marry on prudential motives ; and where 
 passion is only on one side, every marriage must be miserable. 
 If she thought justly, she would know 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 dis- 
 tinguish 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. Townshend'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 obligations, but I have seldom seen friendships 
 continue 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 to dissemble a disgust which he could not 
 help feeling. Lady Dalkeith had fond parents, and, as I have 
 heard, an obliging husband. Her sorrowful hours are now
 
 468 
 
 Letters to [1756 
 
 coming on ; they will be new to her, and 'tis a cruel addition to 
 reflect (as she must do) that they have been her own purchasing. 
 I wish my favourite Lady Mary [Coke] may make use of her 
 bitter experience to escape the snares laid for her : they are so 
 various and so numerous, if she can avoid them, I shall think 
 she has some supernatural assistance, and her force more 
 wonderful than any of Don Quixote's heroes, though they 
 vanquished whole armies by the strength of a single lance. 
 
 I have sent Lady J. Stuart a little ring : if it comes safe, I 
 will find something for Lady Anne ; I expect a letter of thanks. 
 I think I have ill luck if none of my granddaughters have a 
 turn for writing : she that has, will be distinguished by me. I 
 have sent you three bills of exchange : it does not appear you 
 have received one ; what method to take I cannot imagine : 
 I must depend on my new friend, who is a merchant of the 
 Valteline. If the war breaks out, difficulties will increase ; 
 though our correspondence can hardly be more interrupted 
 than it is already. I must endure it as set down by destiny in 
 the long list of mortifications allotted to, dear child, 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 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. Everything that comes 
 from England is precious to me, to the very hay that is 
 employed in packing. I should be glad to know anything 
 that would 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 they 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 account you give 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.
 
 1756] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 469 
 
 A late adventure here makes a great noise from the rank of 
 the people concerned : the Marchioness Lyscinnia Bentivoglio, 
 who was heiress of one branch of the Martinenghi, and brought 
 forty thousand gold sequins to her husband, and the expectation 
 of her father's estate, three thousand pounds per annum, the 
 most magnificent palace at Brescia (finer than any in London), 
 another in the country, and many other advantages of woods, 
 plate, jewels, &c. 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 she brought with her such a diabolical temper, and such 
 Luciferan pride, that neither husband, relations, 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 marquis. Her father was 
 so angry at her extravagant conduct, he would not, for some 
 time, receive her into his house : but, after some months, and 
 much solicitation, parental fondness prevailed, and she remained 
 with him ever since, notwithstanding 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 Holi?iess wrote a letter with his 
 own hand, 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 afterwards to her children. Her eldest was now 
 marriageable, and disposed of to the nephew of Cardinal 
 Valentino Gonzagua, first minister of 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 name) 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 humour, living in great splendour, though almost solitary, 
 having, by some impertinence or other, disgusted all her 
 acquaintance, till about a month ago, when her woman brought
 
 470 Letters to [1756 
 
 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 chambermaids were so used 
 to .hear her exclamations they had not the worse opinion of it. 
 and eat 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 condition. 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 of Venice, 
 and published manifestoes 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 complaint, and even since her leaving him 
 has always spoke of her with kindness, and courted her return. 
 He is said to be remarkably 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 to her chamber, where she will 
 neither eat nor drink anything that she does not see tasted by 
 all her servants. The physicians now say that perhaps the 
 poison might fall 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 
 Lyscinnia." 
 
 I am afraid I have tired you with my long story : I thought
 
 1756] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 471 
 
 it singular enough to amuse you. I believe your censure will 
 be different from that of the ladies here, who all range them- 
 selves in the party of the Marquis Guido. They say he is a 
 handsome man, little past forty, and would easily find a second 
 wife, notwithstanding the suspicion raised on this occasion. 
 Many customs, and some laws, are as extraordinary here as 
 the situation of the capital. 
 
 I would write to Lord Bute to thank him, if I did not think 
 it would be giving him trouble. I have not less gratitude : I 
 desire you would assure him of it, and that I am to you both 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My blessing to your little ones. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 April 1 [1756]. 
 My dear Child, — I have this minute received yours of 
 Feb. 1. I had one before (which I have answered), in which 
 you mention some changes amongst your ministerial subalterns. 
 I see the motions of the puppets, but not the master that 
 directs them ; nor can guess at him. By the help of some 
 miserable 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 
 Crawley'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 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
 
 472 Letters to [1756 
 
 immensely rich. The eldest lady is but eighteen ; and both of 
 them are reputed to be very beautiful. I hear they declare 
 they will choose husbands of their own country and religion, 
 and refuse any other prospects. If they keep their resolution 
 I shall admire them much. Since they are destined 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 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 inside 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, amongst 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. 
 
 I congratulate Mrs. Dunch on her good fortune ; the best 
 proof of the force of industry, without any other qualification. 
 She has brought more projects to bear than anybody I ever 
 knew ; many of which I am sure I should have failed in. Tell 
 me if her pension is continued, which was one of her views 
 when I left England. 
 
 This is a strange miscellaneous letter ; consider my age, 
 and forgive the weaknesses of your most affectionate mother. 
 
 Compliments to Lord Bute, and blessings to the rest of your 
 dear ones. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 May 19 [1756]. 
 
 My dear Child, — I am sorry to begin this letter with a 
 sort of complaint, though I am persuaded Mr. Prescot is more 
 to blame than you. However, I am really concerned that he 
 imagines he has reason to be offended. I never saw him, but 
 I know these sort of people are apt to be very punctilious ; 
 and he is so much displeased (as he says) at the reception you 
 gave him, he desires to decline the correspondence, which 
 I hoped would have been more safe and expeditious than any 
 other I have hitherto hit upon. I wish you would inquire 
 whether the Duke and Duchess of Portland have received my 
 letters, which I sent at the same time with yours, but have had 
 no return.
 
 1756] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 473 
 
 I congratulate my granddaughters on being born in an age 
 so much enlightened. Sentiments are certainly extreme 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-twenty, 
 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, Harriets, 
 &c. Yet such was the method 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 all their companions, 
 rather than the advice of their mothers. 
 
 There is nothing talked of here but earthquakes, the greatest 
 part of which I believe to be wholly imaginary. But the 
 panic is so spread, that if a rat runs over the ceiling it is 
 supposed a shock, and here are daily processions, pilgrimages, 
 &c, to deprecate divine vengeance. I am tempted to laugh, 
 but restrained by prudential considerations. Here is a second 
 bill for ^50 on Child. I have already told you fifteen is tc 
 pay for the watches, thirty to buy a watch as my token to Lady 
 Anne, and the odd five to pay for such books as you may 
 occasionally send. 
 
 I am very well pleased with Lady Jane's letter, and wish 
 it was longer. My compliments and thanks to Lord Bute ; 
 I am afraid his picture will be long in coming, if I can get it 
 at all. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 May 30 [1756]. 
 
 My dear Child, — I sent you a long letter very lately, and 
 enclosed one to Lady Jane, and also a second bill for fifty 
 pounds, which I hope you have received, though I fear I cannot 
 prevail on Mr. Prescot to take care of my letters j if he should 
 do it, I beg you would be very obliging to him ; remember, 
 civility costs nothing and buys everything ; your daughters 
 should engrave that maxim in their hearts.
 
 474 Letters to [1756 
 
 I am sorry Sir William Lowther died unmarried ; he ought 
 to have left some of his breed, which are almost extinct : he 
 died unluckily for his acquaintance, though I think fortunately 
 for himself, being yet ignorant of the ingratitude and vileness 
 of mankind. He knew not what it was to lament misplaced 
 obligations, and thought himself blessed in many friends, whom 
 a short time would have shown to be worthless, mercenary, 
 designing scoundrels. The most tender disposition 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 endeavoured 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. Did not these considerations 
 restrain natural generosity, I am of opinion we should see many 
 Sir William Lowthers ; neither is it saying much in favour of 
 the human heart : it is certain the highest gratification of 
 vanity is found in bestowing; but, when we plainly foresee 
 being exposed by it to insults, nay, perhaps, abuses, which are 
 often liberally dispersed by those who wish to hide they are 
 obliged, we abandon the pleasure rather than suffer the con- 
 sequence. The first shocks received from this conduct of 
 protesting friends, are felt very severely. I now expect them, 
 and they affect me with no more surprise than rain after 
 sunshine. The little good I do is scattered with a sparing 
 hand, against my inclination ; but I now know the necessity of 
 managing hopes, as the only links that bind attachment, or 
 even secure us from injuries. Was it possible for me to elevate 
 anybody from the station in which they were born, I now 
 would not do it : perhaps it is a rebellion against that Provi- 
 dence that has placed them; all we ought to do is to endeavour 
 to make them easy in the rank assigned them. 
 
 I hope you will not forget to send me the bill of lading, 
 without which I may chance to lose the box, which is very 
 precious to, my dear child, 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours.
 
 1756] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 475 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Padua, Nov. 23 [1756]. 
 My dear Child, — I heartily wish you joy of your present 
 situation. Lord Bute has attained it by a very uncommon 
 road ; I mean, an acknowledged honour and probity. 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 cannot 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 discourses. 
 I went to Venice a few days ago, and in the house of General 
 Graham (whose obliging friendship I shall ever gratefully own) 
 I saw Mr. Cunningham and his lady. They appeared to me 
 to have great merit and politeness ; they offered in a very 
 friendly manner to carry my present to you ; but, designing to 
 proceed on their journey in these perilous times, I thought it 
 better to delay it. I hope to send it, early in the spring, by the 
 hand of Lord Archer's son, who is now at Rome. It is possible 
 a peace may be treating by that time. God bless you and 
 yours ; which is the constant prayer of, dear child, 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 I have wrote you several letters since my arrival here, which 
 I hope you have received, though you do not mention them. 
 My compliments to Lord Bute. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Padua, Dec. 28 [1756 . 
 My dear Child, — I received yours of November 29th, 
 with great pleasure, some days before I had the box of books, 
 and am highly delighted with the snuff-box : that manufacture 
 is at present as much in fashion at Venice as at London. In 
 general, all the shops are full of English merchandise, and they 
 boast [of] everything as coming from London, in the same style 
 as they used to do from Paris. I was showed (of their own 
 invention) a set of furniture, in a taste entirely new : it consists 
 of eight large armed-chairs, the same number of sconces, a 
 table, and prodigious looking-glass, all of glass. It is impossible 
 to imagine their beauty; they deserve being placed in a prince's
 
 476 
 
 Letters to [1757 
 
 dressing-room, or grand cabinet ; the price demanded is ,£400. j 
 They would be a very proper decoration for the apartment of I 
 a prince so young and beautiful as ours. 
 
 The present ministry promises better counsels than have 
 been followed in my time. I am extremely glad to hear the 
 continuation of your father's health, and that you follow his 
 advice. I am really persuaded (without any dash of partiality) 
 no man understands the interest of England better, or has it 
 more at heart. I am obliged to him for whatever he does for 
 you. I will not indulge myself in troubling you with long 
 letters or commissions, when you are charged with so much 
 business at home and abroad ; I shall only repeat the Turkish 
 maxim, which I think includes all that is necessary in a court- 
 life : " Caress the favourites, avoid the unfortunate, and trust 
 nobody." You may think the second rule ill natured : melan- 
 choly experience has convinced me of the ill consequence of 
 mistaking distress for merit ; there is no mistake more produc- 
 tive of evil. I could add many arguments to enforce this 
 truth, but will not tire your patience. 
 
 I am exceedingly obliged to General Graham for his civili- 
 ties ; he tells me he has wrote to you the account of poor 
 Mr. Cunningham's sad story ; I wish it do not come too late : 
 the newspaper says the mean capitulator is rewarded ; I fear 
 the generous defender will be neglected. 
 
 I intend to correspond with Lady Jane. I confess I was 
 much pleased with her little letter ; and, supposing Lady Mary 
 is commenced fine lady, she may have no leisure to read or 
 answer an old grandmother's letters. I presume Lady Jane is 
 to play least in sight till her sister is disposed of; if she loves 
 writing, it may be an employment not disagreeable to herself, 
 and will be extremely grateful to me, who am ever, my dear 
 child, 
 
 Your affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Venice, April 3 [1757]. 
 My dear Child, — Yours of Feb. 20th relieved me from a 
 great deal of uneasiness that I had suffered a long time from 
 your silence. Why will you not order one of your daughters 
 to write, when you are unable to do it ? But I have said so 
 much on that subject I will mention it no more. Many of my
 
 1757] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 477 
 
 letters to you remain unanswered, particularly that in which is 
 enclosed the captain's note for the box I have directed to Lady 
 Augusta Stuart. 
 
 Several English are expected here at the Ascension. I hope 
 to find an opportunity of sending you the necklace. I have 
 been persuaded to take a little house here, as living in lodgings 
 is really disagreeable. However, I still retain my favourite 
 place at Padua, where I intend to reside the greatest part of 
 the year. In the meantime, I amuse myself with buying and 
 placing furniture, in which I only consult neatness and conve- 
 nience, having long renounced (as it is fit I should) all things 
 bordering on magnificence. I confess I sometimes indulge my 
 taste in baubles, which is as excusable in our second childhood 
 as our first. I am sorry the Duchess of Portland has not 
 received my thanks for her obliging letter. I also desired to 
 know the name of the merchant to whom the Duke consigned 
 the legacy left me by Lady Oxford, which I have not yet heard 
 of. General Graham is gone into the country for his health. 
 I hope his return soon, but he is preparing for a tour on the 
 frontiers of these dominions. I see in the newspapers the 
 names of the following books : Fortunate Mistress, Accom- 
 plished Rake, Mrs. Charke's Memoirs, Modern Lovers, History 
 of Two Orphans, Memoirs of David Ranger, Miss [Mosjtyn, 
 Dick Hazard, History of a Lady Platonist, Sophia Shakespear, 
 Jasper Banks, Frank Hammond, Sir Andrew Thompson, Van 
 a Clergyman's Son, Cleanthes and Celimena. I do not doubt 
 at least the greatest part of these are trash, lumber, &c. ; how- 
 ever, they will serve to pass away the idle time, if you will be 
 so kind to send them to your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and hearty blessing to all my 
 grandchildren. 
 
 Lord Roseberry is in this town at present ; no bad figure, 
 
 but I am sorry for him. He is as ridiculous as a man 
 
 that would carry oysters to Colchester ; he is at the expense of 
 the carriage, and may find as good in every corner. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Venice, May 30 [1757J. 
 
 It is a long time since I have heard from my dear child, 
 though I have wrote several times, and, indeed, never fail to 
 do it, at least once in a fortnight, but I hear many packets 
 have been lost, which may occasion this interruption of our
 
 478 
 
 Letters to [1757 
 
 correspondence. I will not frighten myself by supposing that 
 you or your family are indisposed. I seize with great pleasure 
 the opportunity of writing by a sure hand ; I send this by 
 Mr. Anderson, who has also promised to deliver to you a pearl 
 necklace consisting of forty-six pearls, and a pair of earrings, 
 which are not altogether worthy to accompany it, but if you 
 do not like them, present them to Lady Jane to make up for 
 the small value of her ring. It is some months since I sent 
 Lady Augusta a plaything, which I intended to be followed by 
 a box of various others if that came safe ; I have hitherto had 
 no account of it from you, nor an answer to a question I have 
 desired you to ask more than once, what is the name of the 
 merchant to whom the Duke of Portland consigned the legacy 
 left me by dear Lady Oxford ? Here are a great number of 
 English travellers, and two ladies, one of them Mrs. Greville, 
 sister-in-law to your old friend Mrs. Broughton. Unavoidable 
 visits, joined with fitting and furnishing, hardly leave me any 
 time to dispose of to my own taste, which is (as it ought to be) 
 more solitary than ever. I left my hermitage, that what effects 
 I have might not be dissipated by servants, as they would have 
 been, probably, if I had died there ; I begged of your father 
 (when I was at Avignon) that they might be yours, which he 
 generously promised me. To say truth, I am very uneasy, 
 knowing nobody here I can confide in, General Graham being 
 gone for a long time, and the British minister here such a 
 scandalous fellow, in every sense of that word, he is not to be 
 trusted to change a sequin, despised by this government for 
 his smuggling, which was his original profession, and always 
 surrounded with pimps and brokers, who are his privy coun- 
 cillors. Sir J. Gray was, I am told, universally esteemed, but, 
 alas, he is at Naples. I wish the maxims of Queen Elizabeth 
 were revived, who always chose for her foreign ministers men 
 whose birth and behaviour would make the nation respected, 
 people being apt to look upon them as a sample of their 
 countrymen ; if those now employed are so, Lord have mercy 
 upon us ! I have seen only Mr. Villette at Turin, who knew 
 how to support his character. How much the nation has 
 suffered by false intelligence, I believe you are very sensible of, 
 and how impossible it is to get truth either from a fool or a 
 knave. Company forces me upon an abrupt conclusion. I 
 am ever, my dear child, 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours.
 
 1757] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 479 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Padua, July 7 [1757]. 
 
 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 endeavour to avoid the anticipa- 
 tion of evil, which is a source of pain, and can never be pro- 
 ductive 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, 
 beside 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 and 
 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 
 paternal care and tenderness Mr. Anderson has shown on 
 this occasion, has recommended him to everybody. 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 Moscovy, and 
 now return to England with Mr. Archer. I inquired after my
 
 480 
 
 Letters to [1757 
 
 old acquaintance Sir Charles [Hanbury] Williams, who I hear 
 is much broken, both in spirits and constitution. How happy 
 that man might 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 
 believe he suffers under a dearth of flatterers. This is said 
 for the use of your growing sons, whom I hope no golden 
 temptations will induce to marry women they cannot love, or 
 comply with measures they do not approve. All the happiness 
 this world can afford is more within reach than is generally 
 supposed. Whoever seeks pleasure will undoubtedly find pain ; 
 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, with- 
 out envy. I say esteem ; for, as to applause, it is a youthful 
 pursuit, never to be forgiven after twenty, and naturally 
 succeeds the childish desire of catching the setting sun, which 
 I can remember running very hard to do : a fine thing truly 
 if it could be caught ; but experience soon shows it to be 
 impossible. A wise and honest man lives to his own heart, 
 without that silly splendour that makes him a prey to knaves, 
 and which commonly ends in his becoming one of the frater- 
 nity. I am very glad to hear Lord Bute's decent economy sets 
 him above anything of that kind. I wish it may become 
 national. A collective body of men differs very little from a 
 single man ; 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 advan- 
 tage to themselves, purely to succour a distressed princess. I 
 never could hear these praises without some impatience ; they 
 sounded to me like panegyrics made by the dependents on the 
 D. [Duke] of N. [Newcastle] and poor Lord Oxford, bubbled 
 when they were commended, and laughed at when undone. 
 Some late events will, I hope, open our eyes : we shall see we 
 are an island, and endeavour to extend our commerce rather 
 than the Quixote reputation of redressing wrongs and placing
 
 1757] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 481 
 
 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 addition of twenty-two kingdoms, and all the mines they 
 now work — I do not say possess ; since, though they are the 
 proprietors, others enjoy the profit. 
 
 My letter is too long ; I beg your pardon for it ; 'tis seldom 
 I have an opportunity of speaking to you, and I would have 
 you know all the thoughts of your most affectionate mother. 
 
 I desire you would thank your father for the jewels ; you 
 know I have nothing of my own. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Sept. 30, 1757. 
 
 My dear Child, — Lord Bute has been so obliging as to 
 let me know your safe delivery, and the birth of another 
 daughter ; 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 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 favourite amusement. If I called a white 
 staff a stick of wood, a gold key gilded brass, and the ensigns 
 of illustrious orders coloured strings, this may be philo- 
 sophically 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, nnd are least 
 productive of ill consequences. I think my time better 
 employed in reading the adventures of imaginary people, than 
 the Duchess of Marlborough's, 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 active 
 scenes are over at my age. I indulge, 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 childhood, I 
 endeavour 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
 
 482 
 
 Letters to [i 757 
 
 less wishing it an Arabian horse, which he would 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 infirmities, we attain very desir- 
 able ends. I shall be much pleased if you would send your 
 letters in Mr. Pitt's packet. 
 
 I have not heard from your father of a long time. I hope he 
 is well, because you do not mention him. 
 
 I am ever, dear child, your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Venice, Oct. 8 [1757]. 
 
 I am sorry, my dear child, you fatigued yourself with writing 
 during your lying-in. You need thank me for nothing. I have 
 already told you (and it is literally true) that I please myself 
 whenever it is in my power to do anything obliging to you. 
 
 I explained myself ill, or you did not take the right sense of 
 my demand. I would know of Mr. Prescot the name of the 
 merchant to whom he resigned Lady Oxford's legacy. I have 
 received both your bills of lading, and am in daily expectation 
 of the ship, which is not yet arrived. I am very glad to hear 
 of your father's health ; mine is better than I ought to expect 
 at my time of life. I believe Mr. Anderson talks partially of 
 me, as to my looks; I know nothing of the matter. It is eleven 
 years since I have seen my figure in a glass : the last reflexion 
 I saw there was so disagreeable, I resolved to spare myself 
 such mortifications for the future, and shall continue that 
 resolution to my life's end. To indulge all pleasing amuse- 
 ments, and avoid all images that give disgust, is, in my opinion, 
 the best method to attain or confirm health. I ought to con- 
 sider yours, and shorten my letter, while you are in a condition 
 that makes reading uneasy to you. God bless you and yours, 
 my dear child. It is the most ardent wish of 
 
 Your affectionate mother. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 [Oct. 9, 1757.] 
 My 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
 
 1757] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 483 
 
 truth, I was afraid o( a Bess, a Peg, or a Suky, which all give 
 me the ideas of washing tubs and scouring of kettles. 
 
 I am much obliged to Mr. Hamilton, which is, according 
 to the academy of compliments, more his goodness than my 
 deserts : I saw him but twice, and both times in mixed com- 
 pany : 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 anything that belonged to me. We 
 have had many English here. Mr. Greville, his lady, and her 
 suite of adorers, deserved particular mention : he was so good 
 to present me with his curious book : since the days of the 
 Honourable Mr. Edward Howard, nothing has ever been 
 published like it. I told him the age wanted an Earl of Dorset 
 to celebrate it properly ; and he was so well pleased with that 
 speech, that he visited me every day, to the great comfort 
 of madame, who was entertained, 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 travellers 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 understanding, without having 
 the honour of being acquainted with him. I am persuaded he- 
 is able to do whatever is within the bounds of possibility ; but 
 there is an Augean stable to be cleaned, and several other 
 labours, that I doubt if Hercules himself would be equal to. 
 
 If the Duke of Kingston only intends to build a hunting-seat 
 at Thoresby, I think it is most proper for the situation, which 
 was certainly by nature never designed for a palace. I hope 
 he will not employ the same architect that built his house in 
 London. You see I am not entirely divested of family pre- 
 judices, though I thank the Lord they are not lively enough to 
 give me violent uneasiness. I cannot help wishing well to my 
 ever dear brother's children : however, I have the conscious 
 satisfaction of knowing I have done my duty towards them, as
 
 484 
 
 Letters to [1758 
 
 far as ray power extended. Nobody can be served against 
 their will. May all your young ones grow up an honour to 
 you ! I am told one objection to Lord Mountstuart, that he 
 is too handsome, which is a fault that will certainly mend 
 every day. I should be glad to hear your daughters accused 
 of the same defect. My paper is out : I have scarce room to 
 assure my dear child that I am ever your most affectionate 
 mother. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 [November 12, 1757.] 
 
 I received yours of October 15 yesterday, November 11. 
 I was quite frightened at the relation of your indisposition, and 
 am very glad I did not know it till it was over. I hope you 
 will no more suffer the physicians to try experiments with so 
 good a constitution as yours. I am persuaded mineral waters, 
 which are provided by nature, are the best, perhaps the only 
 real remedies, particularly that of Tunbridge, of which I have 
 a great opinion. I would not trouble you with a long letter, 
 which may be uneasy to you to read. 
 
 My most fervent wishes are for your health and happiness. 
 Whatever I write to my daughter is for you. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Jan. 20, 1758. 
 
 I stay here, though I am on many accounts better pleased 
 with Padua. Our great minister, the resident, affects to treat 
 me as one of 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 of 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 together. It puts me in mind of a friend of mine 
 who had a large family of favourite 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,
 
 1758] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 485 
 
 and a parrot, all to be packed up together in one large hamper, 
 and sent by a waggon. 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 screaming. '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. 
 
 Adieu ! Your affectionate mother. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Venice, Feb. 21 [175S ?]. 
 My dear Child, — If half of the letters I have sent to you 
 have reached you, I believe you think I have always a pen in 
 my hand ; but, I am really so uneasy by your long silence, I 
 cannot forbear inquiring the reason of it, by all the methods 
 I can imagine. My time of life is naturally inclined to fear ; 
 and though I resist (as well as I can) all the infirmities incident 
 to age, I feel but too sensibly the impressions of melancholy, 
 when I have any doubt of your welfare. You fancy, perhaps, 
 that the public papers give me information enough ; and that 
 when I do not see in them any misfortune of yours, I ought to 
 conclude you have none. I can assure you I never see any, 
 excepting by accident. Our resident has not the good breed- 
 ing to send them to me ; and after having asked for them once 
 or twice, and being told they were engaged, I am unwilling to 
 demand a trifle at the expense of thanking a man who does 
 not desire to oblige me; indeed, since the ministry of Mr. Pitt, 
 he is so desirous to signalise his zeal for the contrary faction, 
 he is perpetually saying ridiculous things, to manifest his attach- 
 ment ; and, as he looks upon me (nobody knows why) to be 
 the friend of a man I never saw, he has not visited me once 
 this winter. The misfortune is not great. I cannot help 
 laughing at my being mistaken for a politician. I have often 
 been so, though I ever thought politics so far removed from 
 my sphere. I cannot accuse myself of dabbling in them, even 
 when I heard them talked over in all companies ; but, as the 
 old song says, 
 
 " Tho' through the wide world we should range, 
 Tis in vain from our fortune to fly." 
 
 I forget myself and tattle on, without remembering you are 
 too much employed to throw away time on reading insignificant
 
 486 
 
 Letters to [1758 
 
 letters ; you should, however, forgive them, in consideration of 
 the real affection of your very loving mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 [Venice, May 3, 1758.] 
 
 Dear Child, — I received yours of the 20th of Feb. yesterday, 
 May the 2nd, so irregular is the post. I could forgive the delay, 
 but I cannot pardon the loss of so many that have never arrived 
 at all. Mr. Hamilton has not yet come, and perhaps will not 
 of 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 extravagant 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 spoilt 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 until 
 they are bed-rid. 
 
 I wish your daughters to resemble me in nothing but the 
 love of reading, knowing by experience, how far it is capable 
 of softening the crudest accidents of life ; even the happiest 
 cannot be passed over without many uneasy hours ; and there 
 is no remedy so easy as books, which, if they do not give 
 cheerfulness, 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. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 May 13 [1758]. 
 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
 
 1758] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 487 
 
 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, con- 
 sidering the vexations I am exposed to by the folly of Murray ; 
 I suppose he attributes to me some of the marks of contempt 
 he is treated 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 honour 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 Steuart 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 apprehend that his fertile imagina- 
 tion 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 present reigning family, I should 
 be accused here of favouring rebellion, when I hoped all our 
 odious divisions were forgotten. 
 
 I return you many thanks, my dear child, for your kind 
 intention of sending me another set of books. I am still in 
 your debt nine shillings, and send you enclosed 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 Horry Walpole, whom 
 I knew at Florence ; but whenever I met Dodsley I wished him 
 out of the World with all my heart. The title was a very
 
 488 
 
 Letters to [1758 
 
 lucky one, being as you see productive of puns world without 
 end ; which is all the species of wit some people can either 
 practise or understand. I beg you would direct the next box 
 to me, without 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 ; besides that he imposes on 
 me in everything. He has lately married Murray's sister, a 
 beauteous virgin of forty, who after having refused all the peers 
 in England, because the nicety of her conscience would not 
 permit her to give her hand when her heart was untouched, 
 she remained 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 anybody, or 
 offend a man of such strict honour as Lord Holdernesse, who, 
 like a great politican, has provided for a worthless relation 
 without any expense. It has long been a maxim not to con- 
 sider 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 dis- 
 agreeable. 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. 
 
 To Sir James and Lady Frances Steuart. 
 
 [Indorsed by Lady Frances Steuart, "May, 1758, from Venice to Padua, 
 — the first letter after parting with her ladyship and coming to Padua."] 
 
 I am in great pain both for your health and situation, and 
 wish you would permit me to be any service to you. I know 
 what it is to be without servants in a strange country, 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 than any I ever 
 met with, you will be very ill served, and very well robbed. 
 Here is a fellow recommended to me by Baron Talmua, who
 
 1758] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 489 
 
 says he will answer for his honesty and capacity ; 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 servants 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 much 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 style grassier 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 honoured 
 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 hiero- 
 glyphics 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. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Padua, May 29, 1758. 
 My dear Child, — My last letter was wrote in such a 
 fright, I do not remember one word I said ; and I presume 
 you could make nothing out of it ; I am now restored to my 
 usual calmness of mind, and hope I was more afraid than hurt, 
 being assured (I think from good hands) that my civility to a 
 distressed lady and gentleman can no way be an injury to you, 
 or give any suspicion of my being engaged in an interest that 
 was always foreign both to my principles and inclination. 
 You meniion the letter you received from Mr. Law, but say
 
 490 Letters to [1758 
 
 nothing of his pupil, Mr. Oliver, who, if his estate be so large 
 as I am told, may be worthy the regard of my granddaughters, 
 being a generous, good-natured man, and willing to do right 
 whenever he sees it. Mr. Pitt is obliged to him, having had 
 high words with Murray upon his account. I did not charge 
 him with my letter, suspecting the carelessness incident to 
 youth, though I no way mistrusted his integrity. But as they 
 proposed staying some time in Germany, I did not send my 
 token to you by either of them, expecting many English this 
 Ascension. But, by the political contrivances of our great 
 minister, I have seen few, and those in such a cool way, that 
 I did not think it proper to ask a favour. I mentioned it to 
 Lord Mandeville, and Colonel Otway, who travels with him : 
 they promised to wait on me for it, but left the town suddenly ; 
 on which I heard lamented the slavery the young nobility were 
 under to formal governors, and easily guessed the reasons for 
 their departure. 
 
 I am afraid you may think some imprudent behaviour of 
 mine has occasioned all this ridiculous persecution ; I can 
 assure you I have always treated him and his family with 
 the utmost civility, and am now retired to Padua, to avoid the 
 comments that will certainly be made on his extraordinary 
 conduct towards me. I only desire privacy and quiet, and am 
 very well contented to be without visits, which oftener disturb 
 than amuse me. My single concern is the design he has 
 formed of securing (as he calls it) my effects immediately on 
 my decease ; if they ever fall into his hands, I am persuaded 
 they will never arrive entire into yours, which is a very uneasy 
 thought to, dear child, 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My blessing to all yours, and compliments to Lord Bute. 
 
 To Sir James and Lady Frances Steuart. 
 
 [Indorsed by Lady Frances Steuart, " From Venice or Padua, when we 
 
 were with her ladyship."] 
 
 Here is predestination in abundance ! I am not born to 
 be happy ; perhaps nobody can be so without great allays, — 
 all philosophers, ancient and modern, agree in that sentiment. 
 I cannot come to you for reasons I will whisper to Lady 
 Fanny, and I dare not accept your company for fear of 
 affecting Sir James's health, which is more precious to me 
 than to anybody, always excepting sua amabilissima consorte
 
 1758] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 491 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 (July 4, 175S.] 
 
 My dear Child, — I am extremely delighted by your letter 
 of May 6th, which I received yesterday, July 3rd. Your 
 pleasure in your daughter's company is exactly what I have felt 
 in yours, and recals to me many tender ideas, perhaps better 
 forgot. You observe very justly, my affection, which was 
 confined to one, must be still more intense than yours, which 
 is divided among so many. I cannot help being anxious for 
 their future welfare, though thoroughly convinced of the folly 
 of being so. Human prudence is so short-sighted, it is 
 common to see the wisest schemes disappointed, and things 
 often take a more favourable 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 Bathurst. I wish Lady Mary's destiny may lead her to 
 a young gentleman I saw this spring. 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 honour and morality, and, in my 
 opinion, a peculiar sweetness of temper. Our acquaintance 
 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 character 
 perfectly answers the description of what he wished for his 
 bride. Our conversation happened on the subject of matri- 
 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 grand- 
 children ; and will scarcely think it possible 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 con- 
 cern ; and it is not from custom, but my heart, when I send them 
 my blessing, and say that I am your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute. 
 
 My dear Child, — I am glad you do not know (by dear 
 bought experience) the most despicable enemy can do great 
 mischief, and alas ! the most valuable friend little good. Such 
 is human-kind !
 
 49 2 Letters to [i 75 8 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Padua, July 14 [1758]. 
 
 My dear Child, — I hope this will find 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 destruc- 
 tion 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 grand- 
 children joy on this general pacification, when I remember all 
 the vexation I have gone through, from my youth upwards, on 
 the account of those divisions, which touched me no more 
 than the disputes between the followers of Mahomet and Ali, 
 being always of opinion that politics and controversy were as 
 unbecoming to our sex as the dress of a prizefighter , and I 
 would as soon have mounted Fig's theatre as have stewed all 
 night in the gallery of a committee, as some ladies of bright 
 parts have done. 
 
 Notwithstanding this 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 
 myself riding in the air on a broomstick, then 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 Oglethorpe) 
 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 complaisance 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 
 the English captains, sailors, &c, 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 
 examples from my own sex ; but you see Doctor Swift, who 
 set at defiance all decency, truth, or reason, had a crowd of 
 admirers, 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
 
 1753] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 493 
 
 parent, the most generous churchman, and the most zealous 
 assertor 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 obligation 
 I can never forget. 
 
 A propos of obligations ; I hope you remember yours to Lady 
 Knatchbull. Her only son is here ; his father has been dead 
 nine years ; he gave me f he first news of it (so little do I know 
 of what passes amongst my acquaintance). I made him the 
 bad compliment of receiving him with tears in my eyes, and 
 told him bluntly I was extreme sorry for the loss of so good 
 a friend, without reflecting that it was telling him I was sorry 
 he was in possession of his estate ; however, he did not seem 
 offended, but rather pleased at the esteem I expressed for his 
 parents. I endeavoured to repair my blunder by all the 
 civilities in my power, and was very sincere in saying I wished 
 him well, for the sake of his dead and living relations. He 
 appears to me to be what the Duke of Kingston was at 
 Thoresby, though more happy in his guardians and governor. 
 The gentleman who is with him is a man of sense, and I 
 believe has his pupil's interest really at heart ; but, there is so 
 much pains taken to make him despise instruction, I fear he 
 will not long resist allurements of pleasures which his constitu- 
 tion cannot support. 
 
 Here is great joy on the nomination of Mr. Mackenzie for 
 Turin ; his friends hoping to see him on his journey. My 
 token for you lies dormant, and is likely so to do some time. 
 None of the English have visited me (excepting Sir W.), or 
 in so cold a way that it would be highly improper to ask 
 favours of them. He is going to Rome ; and it may be, 
 I may be obliged to wait till he returns, next Ascension, 
 before I have an opportunity of conveying it. Such is the 
 behaviour of my loving countrymen ! — in recompense I meet 
 with much friendship amongst the noble Venetians, perhaps the 
 more from being no favourite of the man they dislike. It is 
 the peculiar glory of Mr. Mackenzie that the whole Sardinian 
 court rejoice in the expectation of his arrival, notwithstanding 
 they have been very well pleased with Lord Bristol. To say 
 truth, they are the only young men I have seen abroad that 
 have found the secret of introducing themselves into the best 
 company. All the others now living [here] (however dignified
 
 494 Letters to [i 75 8 
 
 and distinguished), by herding together, and throwing away 
 their money on worthless objects, have only acquired the 
 glorious title of Golden Asses ; and, since the birth of the 
 Italian drama, Goldoni has adorned his scenes with gli milordi 
 I?tglesi, in the same manner as Moliere represented his Parisian 
 marquises. If your agreeable brother-in-law is still at London, 
 I desire you would wish him joy in my name. If it be no 
 trouble to him, you may take that occasion of sending me 
 some books, particularly two small volumes lately wrote by 
 Mr. Horace Walpole. My dear child, I ask your pardon for 
 the intolerable length of this trifling letter. You know age 
 is tattling, and something should be forgiven to the sincere 
 affection with which I am ever, 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 Do not tell your father these foolish squabbles. It is the 
 only thing I would keep from his knowledge. I am appre- 
 hensive he should imagine some misplaced raillery or vivacity 
 of mine has drawn on me these ridiculous persecutions. Tis 
 really incredible they should be carried to such a height without 
 the least provocation. 
 
 My best compliments to Lord Bute. I think myself much 
 obliged to him, and shall not forget it. My blessing to all my 
 grandchildren. I would have sent my packet to Mr. Hervey, 
 if I could have foreseen that I should not be visited by any 
 other. I do not doubt Sir Wyndham Knatchbull would accept 
 of the care of it ; but he is making the tour to Rome and 
 Naples, and does not intend for England till next spring. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Padua, July 29 [1758]. 
 
 My dear Child, — I am sure you laugh at my philosophy. 
 I own I dare make no more pretences to it after appearing so 
 much heated on a subject that (I agree with you) ought to 
 seem a trifle : but the idea of injuring you or offending your 
 father by any part of my conduct, is so sensible a pain it puts 
 an end to all the stoicism that time and reflection have furnished 
 me with. I will talk no more of things disagreeable. 
 
 I am glad to hear Lady Betty Mackenzie is so amiable. I 
 have dined with her at the D. [Duke] of Argyll's, and seen her 
 several times, but she was then of an age when young ladies 
 think silence becoming in the presence of their parents. Lady 
 Mary, hardly past her childhood, was more free, and I confess 
 was my favourite in the family. The rejoicing in this town for
 
 1758] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 495 
 
 the election of the Pope, who was archbishop of this city, is 
 not yet over, and have been magnificent to the last degree ; the 
 illuminations, fireworks, and assemblies, have been finer than 
 any known of many years. I have had no share in them, going 
 to bed at the hour they begun. It is remarkable the present 
 Pope has his mother yet living at Venice ; his father died only 
 last winter. If he follows the steps of his predecessor, he will 
 be a great blessing to his dominions. I could, with pleasure 
 to myself, enlarge on the character of the deceased prelate, 
 which was as extraordinary as that of the Czar Peter, being 
 equally superior to the prejudices of education, but you would 
 think me bribed by the civilities I received from him. I had 
 the honour of a most obliging message by his particular order, 
 the post before that which brought the news of his death. 
 
 I am not surprised you are not much delighted with Lady 
 Irwin's conversation ; yet, on the whole, I think her better than 
 many other women ; I am persuaded there is no blackness in 
 her heart. Lord Carlisle was the most intimate friend of my 
 father, they were near of the same age, and, if he had not been 
 dedicated to retirement, would have been one of [the] D. of 
 K.'s [Duke of Kingston's] guardians ; and I firmly believe 
 would have acted in a different manner from those who were 
 entrusted, being (with all his failings) a man of great honour. 
 I was early acquainted with his daughters, and, giving way to 
 the vanity and false pretensions of Lady Irwin, always lived 
 well with her. It was possible to laugh at her, but impossible 
 to be angry with her. I never saw any malice in her composi- 
 tion. A court life may have altered her ; but when I saw her 
 last (a few weeks before I left London), she was the same as I 
 knew her at Castle-Howard. I tire you with these old wives' 
 tales, and will put an end to my dull epistle by the sincere 
 assurance of my being 
 
 Ever your affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours. 
 
 I wish you would mention the dates of your letters. I think 
 I have received but one of three that you tell me you have 
 wrote. 
 
 I hope Mr. Mackenzie intends to pass by Venice. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Padua, Aug. 21 [1758]. 
 I am much obliged to you, my dear child, for the concern 
 you express for me in yours of July 10th, which I received
 
 496 
 
 Letters to [1758 
 
 yesterday, August 20th, but I can assure you I lose very little 
 in not being visited by the English ; boys and governors being 
 commonly (not always) the worst company in the world. I am 
 no otherways affected by it, than as it has an ill appearance in 
 a strange country, though hitherto I have not found any bad 
 effect from it among my Venetian acquaintance. I was visited, 
 two days ago, by my good friend Cavalier Antonio Mocenigo, 
 who came from Venice to present to me the elected husband 
 of his brother's great granddaughter, who is a noble Venetian 
 (Signor Zeno), just of age, heir to a large fortune, and is one of 
 the most agreeable figures I ever saw ; not beautiful, but has an 
 air of so much modesty and good sense, I could easily believe 
 all the good Signor Antonio said of him. They came to invite 
 me to the wedding. I could not refuse such a distinction, but 
 hope to find some excuse before the solemnity, being unwilling 
 to throw away money on fine clothes, which are as improper 
 for me as an embroidered pall for a coffin. But I durst not 
 mention age before my friend, who told me he is eighty-six. I 
 thought him four years younger ; he has all his senses perfect, 
 and is as lively as a man of thirty. It was very pleasing to see 
 the affectionate respect of the young man, and the fond joy 
 that the old one took in praising him. They would have 
 persuaded me to return with them to Venice ; I objected that 
 my house was not ready to receive me ; Signor Antonio 
 laughed, and asked me, if I did not think he could give me 
 an apartment (in truth it was very easy, having five palaces 
 in a row, on the great canal, his own being the centre, and the 
 others inhabited by his relations). I was reduced to tell a fib 
 (God forgive me !), and pretend a pain in my head ; promising 
 to come to Venice before the marriage, which I really intend. 
 They dined here ; your health was the first drunk ; you may 
 imagine I did not fail to toast the bride. She is yet in a 
 convent, but is to be immediately released, and receive visits of 
 congratulation on the contract, till the celebration of the church 
 ceremony, which perhaps may not be this two months ; during 
 which time the lover makes a daily visit, and never comes 
 without a present, which custom (at least sometimes) adds to 
 the impatience of the bridegroom, and very much qualifies that 
 of the lady. You would find it hard to believe a relation of 
 the magnificence, not to say extravagance, on these occasions ; 
 indeed it is the only one they are guilty of, their lives in general 
 being spent in a regular handsome economy ; the weddings 
 and the creation of a procurator being the only occasions they
 
 1758] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 497 
 
 have of displaying their wealth, which is very great in many 
 houses, particularly this of Mocenigo, of which my friend is the 
 present head. I may justly call him so, giving me proofs of an 
 attachment quite uncommon at London, and certainly disin- 
 terested, since I can no way possibly be of use to him. I could 
 tell you some strong instances of it, if I did not remember you 
 have not time to listen to my stories, and there is scarce room 
 on my paper to assure you I am, my dear child, 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 Compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours. 
 
 To Lady Frances Steuart. 
 
 [Indorsed, " Padua, September 7th, 175S ; the first letter after 
 leaving her at Padua to go back to Tubingen."] 
 
 Padua, Sept. 4, San Massimo. 
 
 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 dulness 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 liberty to put you in mind of one that can never forget you 
 
 and the cheerful hours we have passed together. The weather 
 
 favoured you according to your prayers ; since that time we 
 
 have had storms, tempests, pestilential blasts, and at this 
 
 moment such suffocating heat, the doctor is sick in bed, and 
 
 nobody 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 salads 
 
 and lemonade. I confess lam in high spirits, having succeeded 
 
 in my endeavour 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 tolerable 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 I do not, and the things I would not 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
 
 498 
 
 Letters to [1758 
 
 disappointment that has given me these sentiments ; 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 miser- 
 ably printed. I own myself such a rake, I prefer liberty to 
 chains of diamonds, and when I hold my peace (like K. 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 
 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! 
 
 I desire this letter (innocent as it is) may be burnt. All my 
 works are consecrated to the fire for fear of being put to more 
 ignoble uses, as their betters have been before them. I beg 
 an immediate answer. 
 
 To Sir James Steuart. 
 [Indorsed, "Sept. 5, 1758 ; the 2nd to Tubingen from Padua."] 
 
 Sir, — On the information of Mr. Duff that you had certainly 
 wrote though I had not been so happy to receive your letter, 
 I thought (God forgive the vanity !) that perhaps I was impor- 
 tant enough to have my letters stopped, and immediately sent 
 you a long scrawl without head or tail, which, I am afraid, is 
 scarce intelligible, if ever it arrives. 
 
 This day, Sept. 5th, I have had the pleasure of a most agree- 
 able 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 
 embroidered 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-
 
 1758] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 499 
 
 clertake 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 rooms 
 distant. Lady Fanny has but a slight touch of this distemper : 
 read Dr. Sydenham, you will find the analysis of that and many 
 other diseases, with a candour I never found in any other 
 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 Hip- 
 pocrates. I own I am charmed with his taking off the reproach 
 which you men so saucily throw on our sex, as if we alone were 
 subject to vapours : he clearly proves that your wise, honour 
 able 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 much my 
 acquaintance, but his family have been so since my first arrival 
 in 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 happened 
 a fortnight after his elevation, in the midst of the extraordinary 
 rejoicings at Venice on that occasion. The honours bestowed 
 on his brother, the balls, festivals, &c, are they not written in 
 the daily books called newspapers? 
 
 I resisted al! invitations, and am still at Padua, where 
 reading, writing, riding, and walking find me full employment. 
 
 I accept the compliments 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
 
 5oo Letters to [i 75 s 
 
 sees me as long as he lives) I may be his. Apropos of toasting, 
 upon my honour I have not tasted a drop of punch since we 
 parted ; I cannot bear the sight of it ; it would recal too tender 
 ideas, and I should be quarrelling with Fortune for our separa- 
 tion, when I ought to thank her divinity for having brought us 
 together. I could tell a long story of princes and potentates, 
 but I am so little versed in state affairs 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 1 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. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Padua, Sept. 5 [1758]. 
 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, giving 
 an account of your little colony, I cannot 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 infancy. 
 Time has the same effect on the mind as on the face. The 
 predominant passion, the strongest feature, become more con- 
 spicuous from the others retiring ; the various views of life are 
 abandoned, from want of ability to pursue them, as the fine 
 complexion is lost in wrinkles ; but, as surely as a large nose 
 grows larger, and a 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 
 
 &
 
 1758] Air. Wortley Montagu and others 501 
 
 it is to indulge any attachment at a period of life when we are 
 sure to part with life itself, at a very short warning. According 
 to the good English proverb, young people may die, but old 
 must. You see I am very industrious in finding comfort to 
 myself in my exile, and to guard, as long as I can, against the 
 peevishness which makes age miserable in itself and con- 
 temptible to others. 'Tis surprising to me, that, with the most 
 inoffensive conduct, I should meet enemies, when I cannot be 
 envied for anything, 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 purgatory, and 
 now enjoys affluence with a man she likes, and 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 
 country, 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 favour to having shown 
 him her miniature, by Rosalba, which I bought at London : 
 perhaps 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 borrow 
 that sum, without good security, among my great relations. 
 I thank God I had no occasion to make use of this 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 
 arrived at Venice but few days before I left it ; and promising 
 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 coming at all, 
 and 'tis only a few days since that he made me a visit, in com- 
 pany with Mr. Hamilton, before whom I did not think it
 
 502 Letters to [1758 
 
 proper to speak my complaints. They are now gone to drink 
 the waters at Vicenza ; when they return, I intend moving to 
 Venice, and then shall relate my grievances, which I have 
 more reason to do than ever. I have tired you with this dis- 
 agreeable subject: I will release you, and please myself 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 ; such is 
 this world to me. Though china is in such estimation here, I 
 have sometimes an inclination to desire your father to send me 
 the two large jars that stood in the windows in Cavendish- 
 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 D. of Argyll's example had made all 
 china, more or less, fashionable. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessings to our dear 
 children. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Padua, Sept. 16 [175S.] 
 
 I am informed that your health and sight are perfectly good, 
 which gives me courage to trouble you with a letter of con- 
 gratulation on a blessing that is equal to us both ; I mean the 
 great and good character I hear from everybody of Lord Bute. 
 It is a satisfaction I never hoped, to have a son that does 
 honour 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 esteemed, and I 
 cannot help communicating to you the pleasure I receive 
 whenever I hear her commended. I am afraid my letter is 
 too long. This subject runs away with me. I wish you many 
 years' continuance of the health and spirits I am told you now 
 enjoy.
 
 1753] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 503 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Oct. 1, N.s. [1758]. 
 
 I have wrote five letters to my dear child, of which you 
 have not acknowledged the receipt. I fear some, if not all 
 of them, have miscarried, which may be attributed to Sir 
 J. Gray's leaving Venice. You must now direct, alas ! " Re- 
 commande a Mon r Smith, Consul de S. M. B." 
 
 The first of those letters I mention spoke of Lord K. ; the 
 second had a story of L. [Lady] O. ; the third answered yours 
 relating to Miss Gunnings ; the fourth gave an account of our 
 cardinal ; and the last enclosed a note upon Child. You need 
 not excuse to me taking notice of your carpet. I think you 
 have great reason to value yourself on the performance, but 
 will have better luck than I have had, if you can persuade 
 anybody else to do so. I could never get people to believe 
 that I set a stitch, when I worked six hours in a day. You will 
 confess my employments much more trifling than yours, when I 
 own to you (between you and I) that my chief amusement is 
 writing the history of my own time. It has been my fortune 
 to have a more exact knowledge both of the persons and facts 
 that have made the greatest figure in England in this age, than 
 is common ; and I take pleasure in putting together what I 
 know, with an impartiality that is altogether unusual. Distance 
 of time and place has totally blotted from my mind all traces 
 either of resentment or prejudice ; and I speak with the same 
 indifference of the court of G. B. as I should do of that of 
 Augustus Caesar. I hope you have not so ill an opinion of me 
 to think I am turning author in my old age. I can assure you 
 I regularly burn every quire as soon as it is finished ; and mean 
 nothing more than to divert my solitary hours. I know man- 
 kind too well to think they are capable of receiving the truth, 
 much less of applauding it ; or, were it otherwise, applause to 
 me is ar insignificant as garlands on the dead. I have no 
 concern beyond my own family ; but your father's silence gives 
 me great pain. I have not heard from him since last April. 
 Let me know the reason of it, and write as often as you can 
 to your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours. 
 
 To the Countess ok Bute. 
 
 Venice, Oct. 3 [1758]. 
 My dear Child, — I am under a sort of necessity of troubling 
 you with an impertinent letter. Three fine ladies (I should
 
 504 Letters to [1758 
 
 say four, including the Signora Madre) set out for London a 
 few days ago. As they have no acquaintance there, I think it 
 very possible (knowing their assurance) that some of them may 
 try to make some by visiting you, perhaps in my name. Upon 
 my word I never saw them except in public and at the resident's, 
 who, being one of their numerous passionate admirers, obliged 
 his wife to receive them. The father's name was Wynn. Some 
 say he had ^1200 per annum, others ^2000. He came several 
 years since to Venice to dissipate his affliction for the loss of 
 his lady. He was introduced by his Gondolier (who are as 
 industrious as the drawers at London) to this Greek, who I 
 believe was then remarkably handsome, having still great 
 remains of beauty. He liked her well enough to take her into 
 keeping, and had three daughters by her, before her artifices 
 prevailed on him to marry her. Since that she produced two 
 boys. Mr. VV. died here, leaving all his children infants. He 
 left the girls ^1500 each. The mother carried them all to 
 England, I suppose being told it was necessary to prove her 
 marriage. She stayed there one year, but being tired of the 
 place, where she knew nobody, nor one word of the language 
 she returned hither, where she has nourished exceedingly, and 
 receives the homage of all the young fellows in the town, 
 strangers and natives. They kept a constant assembly, but 
 had no female visitors of any distinction. The eldest daughter 
 speaks English. I have said enough of them to hinder your 
 being deceived by them, but should have said much more, if 
 you had been at Caenwood, in full leisure to read novels. The 
 story deserves the pen of my dear Smollett, who, I am sorry, 
 disgraces his talent by writing those stupid romances commonly 
 called history. Shebbeare does yet worse, and dabbles in 
 filthy politics, instead of making more Lydias for my entertain- 
 ment. Lord Brudenell has been here a fortnight, and been 
 several times to see me. He has a general good character, and 
 some resemblance of [the Duchess of] Montagu. 
 
 I am sorry your father has parted with Twickenham. I am 
 afraid 'tis with an intention of passing much of his time at a 
 distance from London. I wish, both for his sake and yours, 
 he was often with you. 
 
 General Graham and Colonel Hamilton (who always toasts 
 Lady Anne Stuart) dined with me yesterday. I am ever, my 
 dearest child, your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours.
 
 1753] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 505 
 
 To Lady Frances Steuart. 
 [Indorsed, " From Venice, Oct. 5th."] [1758.] 
 
 I am exceedingly delighted, my dear Lady Fanny, to hear 
 of the recovery of your health and spirits : if my prayers or 
 endeavours prevail, you will never have anything to displease 
 you ; 'tis the height of my ambition to serve my friends, and 
 their number is so very small, I may hope to succeed without 
 aiming at any great degree of power. My daughter shall be 
 informed of your favourable opinion ; she has already all the 
 esteem for your ladyship that your merit exacts from all that 
 know you. Alas, madam ! you talk at your ease of two or 
 three years hence ; I hardly extend my views to so many weeks, 
 and cannot flatter myself with the hope of seeing you again : 
 I have not your satisfaction less at heart, and am persuaded 
 that I shall be [have ?] succeeded in my desire to serve you 
 when I shall no longer be capable of giving thanks for it. I 
 am very sorry for Lord Garlies's loss of his brother ; and 
 heartily wish seven or eight more might arise from his ashes. 
 
 The magnificent rejoicings for the Pope's elevation are not 
 yet over : there was last night very fine fireworks before the 
 Palace Rezzonico : I suppose the newspapers have given an 
 account of the regatta, &c. You may be sure I have very 
 little share in the night diversions, which generally begin at 
 the hour I undress for bed. Here are few English this carnival, 
 and those few extremely engaged in parties of pleasure, which, 
 
 ten to one, they will never forget to their dying day. Permit 
 
 me, dear madam, to address myself to Sir James. I can 
 assure you, sir, I am sincerely grieved at the return of your 
 disorder. You would think me too interested if I recommended 
 a warm climate. I confess self-love will mix even imperceptibly 
 in all our sentiments, yet I verily believe a northern air cannot 
 be good either for you or Lord Marischal. I am very much 
 obliged to him for remembering a useless friend and servant : 
 my good wishes, with a grateful sense of his civilities, always 
 attend him. I expect with impatience the present you have 
 promised me ; it would have been always agreeable, but is 
 particularly so now, when I am in a great town almost as 
 solitary as in a desert. All my pleasures are recollections of 
 those past; there are (I think) some refined metaphysicians 
 that assert they are the only realities. I agree they are highly 
 pleasing, with a dash of hope to enliven them ; but in my 
 melancholy case, when all my prospects are as bounded as
 
 5°6 
 
 Letters to [1758 
 
 those from a window against a dead wall 1 will not go on 
 
 in this dismal strain. I wish the post would suffer me to 
 entertain you with some ridiculous farces exhibited by my 
 loving countrymen; even that is denied me from prudential 
 considerations. Nothing can hinder my being to my last 
 moment faithfully attached to Lady Frances and yourself. 
 
 To Sir James Steuart. 
 
 Venice, Oct. 13, 1759 [1758]. 
 You have made (what I did not think possible) writing to you 
 uneasy to me. After confessing that you barbarously criticise 
 my letters, I have much ado to summon up courage enough to 
 set pen to paper. Can you answer this to your conscience, 
 to sit gravely and maliciously to examine 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 con- 
 tinuance 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 flavour : to her it is a vivifying nectar, to me it would be 
 insipid river-water, and chill the spirits it should raise, by 
 reflecting on the cheerful moments we once passed together, 
 which can no more return. This thought is so very disagree- 
 able, 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 myself 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 reasonably expect honour 
 and felicity. In other days I think over the comic scenes that 
 are daily exhibited on the great stage of the world for my 
 entertainment. I am charmed with the account of the 
 Moravians, who certainly exceed all mankind in absurdity
 
 1758] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 507 
 
 of principles and madness of practice ; yet these people walk 
 erect, and are numbered amongst rational beings. I imagined 
 after three thousand years' working at creeds and theological 
 whimsies, there remained nothing new to be invented ; I see 
 the fund is inexhaustible, and we may say of folly what Horace 
 has said of vice : 
 
 " JEtas 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 Demon of Poesie, it must come out in one shape or 
 another, and you will own that nobody shows it to more 
 advantage than the author I have mentioned. Adieu, sir. 
 Read with candour ; forgive what you can't excuse, in favour 
 of the real esteem and affection with which I am Lady Fanny's 
 and your most humble servant. 
 
 Permit my compliments to Mr. Steuart. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 [Oct. 31, 1758.] 
 
 My dear Child, — I received yours of Oct. 2nd 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 burthens (not to say nuisances) on the face of the 
 earth. I am sorry for Lord Carlisle. He was my friend as 
 well as acquaintance, and a man of uncommon probity and 
 good nature. I think he has showed it by the disposition of 
 his will in the favour of a lady he had no reason to esteem. It 
 is certainly the kindest thing he could do for her, to endeavour 
 to save her from her own folly, which would have probably 
 precipitately hurried her into a second marriage, which would 
 most surely have revenged all her misdemeanours. 
 
 I was well acquainted with Mr. Walpole at Florence, and 
 indeed he was particularly civil to me. I have great encourage- 
 ment to ask a favour of him, if I did not know that few people 
 have so good memories to remember so many years backwards 
 as have passed since I have seen him. If he has treated the 
 character of Queen Elizabeth with disrespect, all the women 
 should tear him to pieces, for abusing the glory of their sex. 
 Neither is it just to put her in the list of authors, having never 
 published anything, though we have Mr. Camden's authority 
 that she wrote many valuable pieces, chiefly Greek translations.
 
 5 o8 
 
 Letters to [1758 
 
 
 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, for a certain truth, their own minds 
 would be more improved than by the amusements of Quadrille 
 or Cavagnole. 
 
 I desire you would thank your father for the china jars ; if 
 they arrive safe, they will do me great honour in this country. 
 The Patriarch died here a few days ago. He had a large 
 temporal estate ; 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 has been accumulated. The town is at 
 present full of factions, for the election of his successor : the 
 ladies are always very active on these occasions. I have 
 observed that they ever have more influence in republics than 
 [in a] monarchy. Tis true, a king has often a powerful 
 mistress, but she is governed by some male favourite. In 
 commonwealths, votes are easily acquired by the fair ; and she, 
 who has most beauty or art, has a great sway in the senate. 
 I run on troubling you with stories very insignificant to you, 
 and taking up your time, which I am sensible is fully employed 
 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 affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to my grand- 
 children. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Venice, Nov. 8 [1758]. 
 My dear Child, — You are extremely good to take so much 
 care of my trifling commissions in the midst of so many 
 important occupations. You judged very rightly on the subject 
 of Mr. W. [Horace Walpole]. I saw him often both at Florence 
 and Genoa, and you may believe I know him. I am not 
 surprised at the character of poor Ch. Fielding's son. The 
 epithet of fair and foolish belonged to the whole family ; and, 
 as he was over persuaded to marry an ugly woman, I suppose 
 his offspring may have lost the beauty, and retained the folly in 
 full bloom. Colonel Otway, younger brother to Lady Bridget's 
 spouse, came hither with Lord Mandeville ; he told me that 
 she has a daughter with the perfect figure of Lady Winchilsea. 
 I wish she may meet with as good friends as I was to her aunt ; 
 but I won't trouble you with old stories. I have, indeed, my 
 head so full of one new one, that I hardly know what I say :
 
 1753] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 509 
 
 I am advised to tell it you, though I had resolved not to do it. 
 I leave it to your prudence to act as you think proper ; 
 commonly speaking, silence and neglect is the best answer 
 to defamation, but this is a case so peculiar, that I am 
 persuaded it never happened to any one but myself. 
 
 Some few months before Lord W. Hamilton married, there 
 appeared a foolish song, said to be wrote by a poetical great 
 lady, who I really think was the character of Lady Arabella, in 
 the Female Quixote (without the beauty) : you may imagine 
 such a conduct, at court, made her superlatively ridiculous. 
 Lady Delawarr, a woman of great merit, with whom I lived in 
 much intimacy, showed this fine performance to me : we were 
 very merry in supposing what answer Lord William would 
 make to these passionate addresses ; she begged me to say 
 something for a poor man, who had nothing to say for himself. 
 I wrote, extempore, on the back of the song, some stanzas that 
 went perfectly well to the tune. She promised they should 
 never appear as mine, and faithfully kept her word. By what 
 accident they have fallen into the hands of that thing Dodsley, 
 I know not, but he has printed them as addressed, by me, to 
 a very contemptible puppy, and my own words as his answer. 
 I do not believe either Job or Socrates ever had such a 
 provocation. You will tell me, it cannot hurt me with any 
 acquaintance I ever had : it is true ; but it is an excellent piece 
 of scandal for the same sort of people that propagate, with 
 success, that your nurse left her estate, husband, and family, 
 to go with me to England ; and, then I turned her to starve, 
 after defrauding her of God knows what. I thank God witches 
 are out of fashion, or I should expect to have it deposed, by 
 several credible witnesses, that I had been seen flying through 
 the air on a broomstick, &c. 
 
 I am really sick with vexation, but ever your most affectionate 
 mother. 
 
 To Sir James Steuart. 
 [Indorsed by Lady Frances Steuart, "Venice, where we made acquaintance 
 
 with her ladyship."] 
 
 [Nov. 14, 175S.] 
 
 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 
 world, and I would by no means make her uneasy ; but there 
 will be such strange things in it that the Talmud or the 
 Revelations are not half so mysterious : what these prodigies 
 portend, God knows ; but I never should have suspected half
 
 510 Letters to [1758 
 
 the wonders I see before my eyes, and am convinced of the 
 necessity 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 
 tremble to think of it for my own interests. It is certain the 
 British islands have always been strangely addicted to this 
 diabolical intercourse, of which I dare swear you know many 
 instances ; 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 1 have been seen flying in the air in the figure of 
 Julian Cox, whose history is related with so much candour 
 and truth by the pious pen of Joseph Glanville, chaplain to 
 K. 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 an old woman 
 take ? Only witchcraft. I think this argument as clear as 
 any of the devout Bishop of Cloyne's metaphysics : 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 clandestine 
 midnight correspondence is carried on. Some think it treason- 
 able, others lewd (don't tell Lady Fanny) ; but all agree there 
 was something very odd and unaccountable in such sudden 
 likings. I confess, as I said before, it is witchcraft. You won't 
 wonder I do not sign (notwithstanding all my impudence) such 
 dangerous truths : who knows the consequence ? The devil is 
 said to desert his votaries. 
 
 P.S. Fribourg, who you inquire after so kindly, is turned
 
 1753] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 511 
 
 beau garfon, and actually kept by the finest lady in Venice ; 
 Doctor Moxo robs on the highway, and Antonio sings at 
 the opera. Would you desire better witchcraft ? This to be 
 continued. 
 
 Nota bene. You have dispossessed me of the real devils who 
 haunted me. I mean the nine Muses. 
 
 To Sir James Steuart. 
 
 [Indorsed, " 4th letter from Venice to Tubingen."] 
 
 Nov. 27, 1759 [1758]. 
 I flatter myself my last rhapsody has revenged me of all 
 your criticisms and railleries (however finely spread). I defy 
 you to decipher the true meaning, yet it is truth at the bottom ; 
 but not to tease you too much with the marvellous adventures 
 of a town with which you are yet little acquainted, and 
 perhaps not very curious to examine, at least that part of it 
 called — Gliforestieri e ministri dei Grandi — Basti. I read the 
 news of the D. of Marlbro's death with all the sentiments of a 
 true Briton touched with the misfortunes of his country. I 
 confess the writer of the English newspaper (which I have seen 
 by making interest with the secretary of his excellency) has 
 taken all laudable pains to soften the affliction of his readers, 
 by making such a panegyric as would force a smile from 
 Heraclitus himself; he assures us that his dowager and 
 children have cried bitterly, and that both his sons-in-law 
 and many other people of the first quality will wear mourning 
 on this sad occasion. Had I been worthy to have been 
 consulted by this well-pensioned author, I would have added 
 with great truth that more sincere tears have been shed for his 
 loss, than for all the heroes departed for this last century ; 
 God knows how many breaking tradespeople and honest 
 scriveners and usurers are breaking their hearts for this 
 untimely fall. 
 
 They may be false who languish and complain, 
 But they who sigh for money never feign. 
 
 I beg pardon for this verse, but the subject is too elevated 
 for prose : I dare swear there are at least fifty elegies (besides 
 the bellman's) already presented to his wretched consort and 
 mourning heir. The younger sons, I am sure, grieve from 
 their souls, unless their brother will generously, I don't say 
 promise (a promise is cold comfort), solidly settle such a 
 provision as he is no way obliged to, and may possibly forget.
 
 512 Letters to [1758 
 
 I adore the conduct of the heroic countess ; her amusements 
 are worthy the generosity of a great soul ; she knows how to 
 put men to the right use : 
 
 Their thanks she neither asks nor needs, 
 
 For all the favours done ; 
 From her love flows, as light proceeds 
 
 Spontaneous from the sun. 
 
 If I really was so skilled in magic as I am generally supposed, 
 I would immediately follow her footsteps in the figure of fair 
 fifteen, acknowledge the errors of my past life, and beg her 
 instructions how to behave to that tyrannical sex, who with 
 absurd cruelty first put the invaluable deposit of their precious 
 honour in our hands, and then oblige us to prove a negative 
 for the preservation of it. I hate mankind with all the fury of 
 an old maid (indeed most women of my age do), and have no 
 real esteem but for those heroines who give them as good as 
 they bring. 
 
 I have serious thoughts of coming to Tubingen this spring. 
 I shall have the pleasure of seeing friends I truly esteem, and 
 enjoying conversation that I both respect and love. Beside 
 the advantage of being casually admitted in the train of 
 Madame de B., nee O. I confess I don't deserve it after the 
 stupid English way in which I received her advances ; I own 
 my sins of omission, but am a true convert to her merit, for 
 reasons that I believe you will think good if I am so happy to 
 
 see you again. This minute brings me a long letter from 
 
 my little gentlewoman at court. She gives me such an account 
 of the late D. of Marlborough's affairs, as takes away all doubt 
 of his well-being in the next world. He is certainly eminently 
 distinguished amongst the babes and sucklings : to say truth, I 
 never could perceive (though I was well acquainted with him) 
 that he had the least tincture of the original sin ; you know 
 that was the distinction of good and evil, of which whole 
 crowds are entirely clear, and it has been water thrown away to 
 christen them. I have been tempted formerly to turn Quaker 
 on this sole argument. 
 
 I am extremely sorry for any affliction that has befallen Lord 
 M. [Marischal ? ] ; both he and myself have had disappoint- 
 ments enough in life to be hardened against most sensations : 
 I own the loss of a beloved deserving friend is the hardest trial 
 of philosophy. But we are soon to lose ourselves ; a melan- 
 choly consolation, yet not so melancholy as it may appear to 
 people who have more extensive views in prospect.
 
 1758] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 513 
 
 Dear Lady Fanny, this letter is to you both, designed to 
 make you smile, laugh if you will ; but be so just as to believe 
 me, with warm affection and sincere esteem, 
 
 Ever yours. 
 
 N.B. You are obliged to me for the shortness of this 
 epistle; when I write to you, I could write all day with 
 pleasure, but I will not indulge even a pleasure at the expense 
 of giving you trouble. If my paper and your patience was not 
 at an end, I would say something to Mr. Steuart. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Dec. 5, 1758. 
 
 My dear Child, — I have now been two posts without 
 answering yours of Nov. 6th, having my head too muddled to 
 write (don't laugh at me if you can help it), but it really has 
 been occasioned by the vexation arising from the impudence 
 of Dodsley, whom I never saw, and never mentioned or 
 thought of in my life. I know you will tell me that in 
 my situation I ought to be as indifferent to what is said of me 
 
 at London as in Pekin ; but 1 will talk no more on 
 
 this disagreeable subject. 
 
 The fine ladies I spoke of, I hear, are at Paris, and perhaps 
 may find reasons for staying there. We have lately a very 
 agreeable English family here, a Mr. Wright, many of whose 
 relations I know and esteem in England. His lady is niece to 
 Lord Westmoreland. She is a very pretty, sensible young 
 woman. The union between her and her spouse put me 
 in mind of yours with Lord Bute. They have been stopped 
 here by her lying-in, unfortunately, of a dead child ; but are 
 preparing for Rome and Naples; and from thence design 
 I to return home. I think I may recommend her acquaintance 
 to you, as one that you will be pleased with, and need not fear 
 repenting. Their conversation is the greatest pleasure I have 
 here. I have reason to applaud their good nature, who seem 
 to forget I am an old woman ; the tour they propose is so long 
 you may probably not see them this two years. I am told 
 Mr. Mackenzie is arrived at Turin with Lady Betty. I wish 
 heartily to see them, but am afraid it is impossible. They 
 cannot quit that capital, and the journey is too long for me to 
 undertake. Neither do I desire to visit a town where I have 
 so many acquaintance, and have been so well received. I 
 could not decently refuse civilities that would draw me into a 
 crowd as displeasing to me at present, as it would have been
 
 514 Letters to [1758 
 
 delightful at fifteen. Indeed, there is no great city so proper 
 for the retreat of old age as Venice ; where we have not the 
 embarras of a court, no devoirs to force us into public ; and yet 
 (which you will think extraordinary) we may appear there with- 
 out being ridiculous. This is a privilege I do not often make 
 use of, but am not sorry to have it in my power to hear 
 an opera without the mortification of showing a wrinkled face. 
 
 I hope you will not forget to send me the bill of loading, 
 without which I run a risk of losing whatever is sent by sea. I 
 am very fond of the jars, which I look upon as a present from 
 your father. I am ever, my dearest child, 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My blessing to all yours, and compliments to Lord Bute. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 December 31, 1759 [1758]. 
 My dear Child, — I am very sorry for the pain you have 
 suffered from Lady Jane's indisposition. That distemper 
 is seldom fatal to children or very young people. I have some- 
 times known it to be so to grown persons. I hope you take 
 all proper care to preserve yourself. The young Earl of 
 Northampton is now at Florence, and was here the last year. 
 He is lively and good natured, with what is called a pretty 
 figure. I believe he is of a humour likely to marry the first 
 agreeable girl he gets acquainted with at London. I send this 
 by a gentleman who is just returned from making a very extra- 
 ordinary journey. I dined with him yesterday at General 
 Graham's. He is a sensible man, and gives a good account of 
 his voyage, of which he has drawn a very exact plan. I think 
 Lord Bute will be entertained by his conversation. Almost all 
 books are either defective or fabulous. I have observed, the 
 only true intelligence of distant countries is to be had amongst 
 those who have passed them without the design of publishing 
 their remarks. 
 
 To Sir James Steuart. 
 
 Venice, Jan. 13, 1761. [1759.] 
 I have indulged myself some time with day-dreams of 
 the happiness I hope 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 molehills in my sight
 
 1759] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 515 
 
 when they interposed between me and the slightest inclination ; 
 now age begins to freeze, and brings with it the usual train of 
 melancholy 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 store in winter, a 
 garden in summer, bounds all our desires, or at least our 
 undertakings. If Mr. Steuart would disclose all his imagi- 
 nations, I dare swear he has some thoughts of emulating 
 Alexander or Demosthenes, perhaps both : nothing seems 
 difficult at his time of life, everything at mine. I am very 
 unwilling, but am afraid I must submit to the confinement ot 
 my boat and my easy-chair, and go no farther than they can 
 carry me. Why are our views so extensive and our powers so 
 miserably limited? This is among the mysteries which (as you 
 justly say) will remain ever unfolded 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 efforts (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 bad bargain of being born in 
 this vile planet ; where we may find, however (God be thanked), 
 much to laugh at, though little to approu\ 
 
 I confess I delight extremely in looking on men in that light. 
 How many thousands trample under foot honour, ease, and 
 pleasure, in pursuit of ribands of certain colours, dabs ol 
 embroidery on their clothes, and gilt wood carved behind theii 
 coaches in a particular figure ? Others breaking their hearts 
 till they are distinguished by the shape and colour of theii 
 hats ; and, in general, all people earnestly seeking what they 
 do not want, while they neglect the real blessings in their 
 possession — 1 mean the innocent gratification of their senses, 
 which is all we can properly call our own. For my part, 1 will 
 endeavour 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 ! Live happy, and be not unmindful 
 of your sincere distant friend, who will remember you in the 
 tenderest manner while there is any such faculty as memory in 
 the machine called
 
 5'6 
 
 Letters to [175c 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Venice, Jan. 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 of 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 arrives here. 
 I need not say what comfort I receive from it. It is now finer 
 weather than I ever saw in the season (Naples excepted) ; the 
 sun shines with as much warmth as in May. I walk in my 
 little garden every morning, I hope you do the same at Bath. 
 May you long continue a blessing to your family and those who 
 know you. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 April II [1759]. 
 
 My dear Child, — I desire you will make my sincere 
 congratulations to the Duke and Duchess of Portland on the 
 happy disposal of Lady Betty, with my real wishes for her 
 future felicity. I send no compliments to her, who was too 
 much an infant to remember me ; neither do I write to either 
 of her parents, to avoid giving them the trouble of answering 
 a stupid letter. They have business enough on this occasion, 
 and I hope they both know me enough to believe that any 
 descendant from Lady Oxford (could I live so long as to see 
 the third and fourth generation) has a right to my desires 
 (however insignificant my endeavours) to serve them. I once 
 wished much to see Lord Titchfield, he having been the 
 principal favourite of my ever honoured friend, but, as things 
 are managed here, am really glad he does not pass by Venice. 
 
 Sir Wyndham Knatchbull, and a worthy clergyman, his 
 governor, are under such ridiculous persecutions, merely for 
 their civilities to me, that I heartily pray none of my friends and 
 relations may travel hither. I should be ashamed (in regard 
 to the Venetians, who are many of them particularly obliging 
 to me) to be slighted ; and very sorry to expose those I wish 
 to be well entertained, to disagreeable treatment, either in their 
 own persons, or in that of the gentlemen who are chose by 
 their guardians to accompany them. You will be so astonished 
 at this account I am afraid you should (as well you may) 
 suspect me of dotage. I confess it is highly incredible ; yet
 
 1759] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 517 
 
 literal simple truth, without the least provocation given by 
 Sir W., who is (as I have already told you), apart from the 
 partiality it is natural for me to have for him, one of the most 
 modest, well-disposed young men I have known abroad, and 
 generally beloved by all that know him : even those who do 
 not imitate his sobriety, applaud his conduct and that of his 
 governor; whose only crime is, endeavouring to preserve the 
 health and good principles of his pupil. Your worthy friend 
 the general is fully sensible of the ill behaviour of these great 
 people (who fancy they represent their patrons), and has made 
 what remonstrances he could ; which were coldly received, and, 
 instead of reformation, an increase of ill manners succeeded. 
 I suppose these deep politicians intend to drive me out of the 
 town in a pique ; or more refinedly expect I should desire 
 their recal; being every day complaining of this odious country, 
 and wishing a more advantageous situation. They do not 
 know me : I cannot be provoked either to misbehave myself 
 to oblige my enemies, or ministerially to reward those that rail 
 against me. I have throughout my long life persisted in no 
 compliance with hush-money ; while I knew I did not want any 
 excuse for my actions. Perhaps I have suffered by it : yet such 
 have ever been my sentiments, which, it may be, you will call 
 wrong-headed. 
 
 I am exceeding glad of your father's good health : he owes 
 it to his uncommon abstinence and resolution. I wish I could 
 boast the same. I own I have too much indulged a sedentary 
 humour, and have been a rake in reading. You will laugh at 
 the expression, but I think the literal meaning of the ugly word 
 rake, is one that follows his pleasures in contradiction to his 
 reason. I thought mine so innocent I might pursue them with 
 impunity. I now find that I was mistaken, and that all 
 excesses are (though not equally) blamable. My spirits 
 in company are false fire : I have a damp within ; from 
 marshy grounds frequently arises an appearance of light. 
 I grow splenetic, and consequently ought to stop my pen, for 
 fear of conveying the infection. I would only communicate 
 happiness to my dear child, being ever your most affectionate 
 mother. 
 
 To Sir James Steuart. 
 [Indorsed, " From Venice, May 4th, I759-"! 
 You will not be surprised, sir, that after having been 
 promised so valuable and so agreeable a present, I am a
 
 5i8 
 
 Letters to [1759 
 
 little impatient to receive it ; there is no situation in which it 
 vould not be highly welcome, but it is doubly so in a town 
 where I am almost as solitary as in a desert. I am extremely 
 concerned at the continuation of Lady Fanny's disorder ; the 
 juvenile dissipations of Mr. Steuart I do not put into the list 
 of misfortunes : application is not to be expected at his age ; 
 perhaps not to be wished ; the judgment must have time to 
 ripen, and when the gaieties of early youth are over, you will 
 see that solidity more firm than if it had appeared prematurely. 
 I am persuaded that you will find him turn out everything you 
 wish, and that he will repay the care of his education by a 
 conduct worthy of such parents. 
 
 Here is a fashion sprung up entirely new in this part of the 
 world ; I mean suicide : a rich parish priest and a young 
 Celestine 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 that distemper, which shows the 
 necessity of seeking employment for the mind, and exercise for 
 the body ; the spirits and the blood stagnate without motion. 
 
 You are to be envied whose studies are not only useful to 
 yourself but beneficial to mankind ; even mine (good for 
 nothing 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. 
 
 I enclose a letter from Mr. Duff, in which (he tells me) he 
 has directed in what manner I may receive your inquiry into 
 the principles of Political Economy. I do not doubt enjoying 
 great pleasure and instruction in the reading of it, though 
 I want no fresh inducement to bind me ever, sir, 
 
 Your most obliged and affectionate servant. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Venice, May 22 [1759]. 
 Mv dear Child, — I am always pleased to hear from you, 
 but particularly so when I have any occasion of congratulation. 
 I sincerely wish you joy of your infant having gone happily 
 through the small-pox. I had a letter from your father before 
 he left London. He does not give so good an account of his
 
 1759] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 519 
 
 spirits as you do, but I hope his journeys will restore them. 
 I am convinced nothing is so conducive to health and abso- 
 lutely necessary to some constitutions. I am not surprised, 
 as I believe you think I ought to be, at Lord Leicester's leaving 
 his large estate to his lady, notwithstanding the contempt with 
 which he always treated her, and her real inability of managing 
 it. I expect you should laugh at me for the exploded notion 
 of predestination, yet I confess I am inclined to be of the 
 opinion that nobody makes their own marriage or their own 
 will : it is what I have often said to the D. [Duchess] of Marl- 
 borough, when she has been telling me her last intentions, none 
 of which she has performed ; choosing Lord C. [Chesterfield] 
 for her executor, whose true character she has many times en- 
 larged upon. I could say much more to support this doctrine, 
 if it would not lengthen my letter beyond a readable size. 
 
 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-coloured ribands, or even 
 matrimony. Nay, perhaps, there is more to be said in defence 
 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 inhabit, or pro- 
 bably see finished. The Duchess of Marlborough used to 
 ridicule the vanity of it, by saying one might always live upon 
 other people's follies j 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 do we not, and the things we would not do, those do we 
 daily. I feel in myself a proof of this assertion, being much 
 against my will at Venice, though I own it is the 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 humour than among 
 my plants and poultry in the country. I cannot help being 
 concerned at the success of iniquitous schemes, and grieve for 
 oppressed merit. You, who see these things every day, think 
 me as unreasonable, in making them matter of complaint, as if 
 I seriously lamented the change of seasons. You should con- 
 sider I have lived almost a hermit ten years, and the world is 
 as new to me as to a country girl transported from Wales to 
 Coventry. I know I ought to think my lot very good, that can 
 boast of some sincere friends among strangtrs.
 
 520 Letters to [1759 
 
 Sir W. K. [Wyndham Knatchbull] and his governor, Mr. de 
 Vismes, are at length parted. I am very sorry for them both. 
 I cannot help wishing well to the young man, who really has 
 merit, and would have been happy in a companion that sin- 
 cerely loved him and studied his interest. My letter is so long 
 I am frighted at it myself. I never know when to end when I 
 write to you. Forgive it amongst the other infirmities of your 
 affectionate mother. 
 
 If my things are at sea, I am afraid they are lost. Here 
 have been such storms these three days as never were known 
 at this season. I shall regret nothing so much as your father's 
 present. Perhaps my token to you is also at the bottom of 
 the ocean. That I sent by hand to Lady Mary is fallen into 
 the French hands, as I am told. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Padua, June 24 [1759]. 
 
 My dear Child, — I have this minute received yours of 
 May 24th. I am glad the little picture pleases Lady Mary. 
 It is a true representation of the summer dishabille of the 
 Venetian ladies. You have taken no notice of the box I sent 
 by Captain Munden. If it is lost, I will venture nothing more 
 at sea. I have had a letter from Mr. Mackenzie informing me 
 that he has sent my books. I have not yet received them, 
 but hope to have that pleasure in a short time. I could 
 heartily wish to see Lady Betty and your brother-in-law. 
 I fancy I have a thousand questions to ask, in relation to their 
 nephews and nieces. Whatever touches you is important to 
 me. I fear I must not expect that satisfaction. They are 
 obliged to reside at Turin ; and I cannot resolve to appear in 
 a court, where old people always make an ill figure, even 
 when they may have business there. I am not surprised at 
 Lady Waldegrave's good fortune. Beauty has a large pre- 
 rogative. * * * 
 
 Lord Fordwich arrived here three days ago ; he made me 
 a visit yesterday, and appears a well-disposed youth. Lord 
 Brudenell continues here, and seems to have no desire of 
 seeing his native land. Here are beside a large group of 
 English gentlemen, who will all disperse in a short time. 
 General Graham has promised to oblige me with his company 
 a few days, though his charge finds him so much employment. 
 It may (perhaps) be impossible for him to leave Venice. I 
 suppose you are now at Kew, with all your rising family about
 
 1759] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 521 
 
 you : may they ever be blessings to you ! I believe you that 
 see them every day scarce think of them oftener than I do. 
 
 This town is at present very full of company, though the 
 opera is not much applauded. I have not yet seen it, nor 
 intend to break my rest for its sake ; it being about the hour 
 I go to sleep. I continue my college hours, by which I am 
 excluded [from] many fashionable amusements. In recom- 
 pense, I have better health and spirits than many younger 
 ladies, who pass their nights at the ridotto, and days in spleen 
 for their losses there. Play is the general plague of Europe. 
 I know no corner of it entirely free from the infection. I 
 do not doubt the familiarities of the gaming-table contribute 
 very much to that decay of politeness of which you complain. 
 The pouts and quarrels that naturally arise from disputes, must 
 put an end to all complaisance, or even good will towards one 
 another. 
 
 I am interrupted by a visit from Mr. Hamilton ; he desires 
 me to make his compliments to you and Lord Bute. I am to 
 you both a most affectionate mother. 
 
 My hearty blessing to all yours. 
 
 To Sir James Steuart. 
 
 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 
 present, 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 ; 1 think it rather 
 a defect, as when a Roman emperor (as we see him sometimes 
 represented on a French stage) is dressed like a petit maiire. 
 I confess 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 
 expressed, is well wrote in a book of reasoning. However, I 
 shall obey your commands in telling you my opinion with the 
 greatest sincerity.
 
 522 Letters to [1759 
 
 I am extremely glad to hear that Lady F. [Frances] has 
 overcome her disorder ; I wish I had no apprehensions of 
 falling into it. Solitude begets whimsies ; at my time of life 
 one usually falls into those that are melancholy, though I en- 
 deavour to keep up a certain sprightly folly that (I thank God) 
 I was born with, but, alas ! what can we do with all our 
 endeavours ! I am afraid we are little better than straws upon 
 the water : we may natter 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 many 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 
 scribbling 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 persuaded by such 
 sort of arguments as those by which people are induced to 
 strict abstinence, or to take physic. Fear, paltry fear, founded 
 on vapours rising from the heat, which is now excessive, and 
 has so far debilitated my miserable nerves that I submit to a 
 present displeasure, by way of precaution against a future evil, 
 that possibly may never happen. I have this to say in my 
 excuse, that the evil is of so horrid a nature, I own I feel no 
 philosophy that could support me under it, and no mountain 
 girl ever trembled more at one of Whitfield'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 
 I know, also, they would not operate on my constitution. 
 " Why, then " (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 suffer 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 three score had 
 the goodness to add, " At least, madam, you should use spec- 
 tacles ; 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, notwith- 
 standing 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 a newspaper. I will not
 
 1759] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 52 
 
 5 
 
 trouble you with the whole conversation, 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 matroi: 
 obligingly said she should be very proud to see the writing I 
 talked of, having heard me say formerly I had no correspon- 
 dents but my daughter and Mr. Wortley. 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 honour." This rudeness of mine occasioned 
 a profound silence for some minutes, and they fell into a 
 good-natured discourse of the ill consequences of too much 
 application, and remembered how many apoplexies, gouts, and 
 dropsies had happened amongst the hard students of then- 
 acquaintance. x\s I never studied anything 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. 
 " Indeed, madam, you should buy horses to that fine machine 
 you have at Padua ; of what use is it standing in the portico ?" 
 " Perhaps," said another, wittily, " of as much use as a standing 
 dish." A gaping schoolboy 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 schoolboy, not 
 because he was (in more senses than one) the highest of 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 amongst 
 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.
 
 524 Letters to [i 759 
 
 They renewed their generous endeavours to set me right, and 
 I (graceless beast that I am) take up the smoked card which 
 lay before 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 at 
 hazard. Pray don't think (if you can help it) this is an affec- 
 tation 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. — A propos of beauties : 
 
 I know not why, but Heaven has sent this way 
 
 A nymph, fair, kind, poetical, and gay ; 
 
 And what is more (tho' I express it dully), 
 
 A noble, wise, right honourable cully : 
 
 A soldier worthy of the name he bears, 
 
 As brave and senseless as the sword he wears. 
 
 You will not doubt I am talking of a puppet-show ; and 
 indeed so I am ; but the figures (some of them) bigger than 
 the life, and not stuffed with straw like those commonly shown 
 at fairs. I will allow you to think me madder than Don 
 Quixote when I confess I am governed by the que-dira-t-on of 
 these things, though I remember whereof they are made, and 
 know they are but dust. Nothing vexes me so much as that 
 they are below satire. (Between you and me) I think there 
 are but two pleasures permitted to mortal man, love and ven- 
 geance ; both which are, in a peculiar manner, forbidden to us 
 wretches who are condemned to petticoats. Even vanity itself, 
 of which you daily accuse us, is the sin 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. 
 
 From 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.
 
 1759] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 525 
 
 1 
 
 O'er the wide world your wishes you pursue, 1 
 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 ! 
 And then what business have I to make apologies for Lady 
 Vane, whom I never spoke to, because her life is writ by 
 Dr. Smollett, whom I never saw ? Because my daughter fell 
 in love with Lord Bute, am I obliged to fall in love with the 
 whole Scots nation ? 'Tis certain I take their quarrels upon 
 myself in a very odd way ; and I cannot deny that (two or 
 three dozen excepted) I think they make the first figure in all 
 arts and sciences ; even in gallantry, in spite of the finest 
 gentlemen that have finished their education at Paris. 
 
 You will ask me what I mean by all this nonsense, after 
 having declared myself an enemy to obscurity to such a degree 
 that I do not forgive it to the great Lord Viscount Bolingbroke, 
 who professes he studied it. I dare swear you will sincerely 
 believe him when you read his celebrated works. I have got 
 them for you, and intend to bring them. Oime ! Phuomo 
 propone, Dio dispone. I hope you won't think this dab of 
 Italian, that slid involuntarily from my pen, an affectation like 
 his Gallicisms, or a rebellion against Providence, in imitation 
 of his lordship, who I never saw but once in my life : he then 
 appeared in a corner of the drawing-room, in the exact similitude 
 of Satan when he was soliciting the court of Heaven for leave 
 to torment an honest man. 
 
 There is one honest man lately gone off the stage, which 
 (considering the great scarcity of them) I am heartily sorry 
 for : Dr. J * * *, who died at Rome with as much stoicism as 
 Cato at Utica, and less desperation, leaving a world he was 
 weary of with the cool indifference you quit a dirty inn, to 
 continue your journey to a place where you hope for better 
 accommodation. He took part of a bowl of punch with some 
 Englishmen of my acquaintance the day before his death, and 
 told them with a firm tone of voice, " by G — he was going." 
 I am afraid neither Algarotti nor Valsinura will make their 
 exit with so good a grace. I shall rejoice them both by letting 
 them know you honour them with a place in your memory, 
 when I see them ; which I have not done since you left Padua. 
 Algarotti is at Bologna, I believe, composing panegyrics on 
 whoever is victor in this uncertain war; and Valsinura gone to 
 make a tour to add to his collection. Which do you think the 
 best employed? I confess I am woman enough to think the
 
 526 
 
 Letters to [1759 
 
 naturalist who searches after variegated butterflies, or even 
 the lady who adorns her grotto with shades of shells, nay, even 
 the devout people who spend twenty years in making a magni- 
 ficent presepio at Naples, throw away time in a more rational 
 manner than any hero, ancient or modern ; the lofty Pindar, 
 who celebrated the Newmarket of those days, or the divine 
 Homer, who recorded the bloody battles the most in fashion, 
 appear to me either to have been extremely mistaken or 
 extremely mercenary. 
 
 This paragraph is to be a dead secret between Lady F. and 
 yourself. You see I dare trust you with the knowledge of all 
 my defects in understanding. Mine is so stupified by age and 
 disappointment, I own I have lost all taste for worldly glory. 
 This is partly your fault : I experienced last year how much 
 happiness may be found with two amiable friends at a leger 
 repas, and 'tis as hard to return to political or gallant con- 
 versations, as it would be for a fat prelate to content himself 
 with the small beer he drank at college. You have furnished 
 me with a new set of notions ; you ought to be punished for 
 it ; and I fancy you will (at least in your heart) be of opinion 
 that I have very well revenged myself by this tedious, un- 
 connected letter. Indeed, I intend no such thing, and have 
 only indulged the pleasure everybody naturally feels when they 
 talk to those they love ; as I sincerely do to yourself, and dear 
 Lady F., and your young man, because he is yours. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Padua, Aug. 10 [1759]. 
 My dear Child, — I received yours by Mr. Hamilton with 
 exceeding pleasure. It brought me all the news I desire to 
 hear — your father's health and your prosperity being all the 
 wishes I have on earth. I think few people have so much 
 reason to bless God as yourself — happy in the affection of the 
 man you love; happy in seeing him high in the general esteem, 
 
 "Lov'd by the good, by the oppressor feared ;" 
 
 happy in a numerous, beautiful posterity. Mr. Hamilton gave 
 me such an account of them as made me shed tears of joy, 
 mixed with sorrow that I cannot partake the blessing of seeing 
 them round you. He says Lady Anne is the beauty of the 
 family, though they are all agreeable. May they ever continue 
 an honour to you, and a pleasure to all that see them. 
 
 There are preparations, at Venice; for a regatta: it can
 
 1759] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 527 
 
 hardly be performed till the middle of next month. [ shall 
 remove hither to see it, though I have already seen that which 
 was exhibited in compliment to the Prince of Saxony. It 
 is by far the finest sight in Europe (not excepting our own 
 coronations) ; it is hardly possible to give you any notion of it 
 by description. The general [Graham] has shown me a letter 
 from Lord Bute, very obliging to me, and which gives a very 
 good impression both of his heart and understanding, from 
 the honest resolutions and just reflections that are in it. My 
 time here is entirely employed in riding, walking, and reading. 
 I see little company, not being of a humour to join in their 
 diversions. I feel greatly the loss of Sir James Steuart and 
 Lady Fanny, whose conversation was equally pleasing and 
 instructive. I do not expect to have it ever replaced. There 
 are not many such couples. One of my best friends at Venice 
 I believe your father remembers. He is Signor Antonio 
 Mocenigo, widower of that celebrated beauty the Procuratessa 
 Mocenigo. He is eighty-two, in perfect health and spirits, his 
 eloquence much admired in the senate, where he has great 
 weight. He still retains a degree of that figure which once 
 made him esteemed one of the handsomest men in the 
 republic. I am particularly obliged to him, and proud of being 
 admitted into the number of seven or eight select friends, near 
 his own age, who pass the evenings with him. 
 
 God bless you, my dear child, and all yours. Pray make 
 my compliments to Lord Bute, and return him thanks for the 
 kind manner in which he has mentioned me to the general. 
 I am ever 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Sept. 26, 1759. 
 
 My dear Child, — I am very glad to find by yours of 
 Sept. 3rd that yourself and family are all in good health. I 
 cannot complain of mine, though the season is more sickly 
 than has been known of many years past, occasioned by the 
 excessive heat. We have had no rain for three months, and 
 if the drought continues the most fatal consequences may be 
 expected. There is already a mortality amongst the cattle, 
 which frightens everybody. 
 
 I am invited to a great wedding to-morrow, which will be 
 in the most splendid manner, to the contentment of both the 
 families, everything being equal, even the indifference of the
 
 528 
 
 Letters to [1759 
 
 bride and bridegroom, though each of them is extremely 
 pleased, by being set free from governors and 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. 
 
 I have not yet received my books from Mr. Mackenzie, 
 though he has sent them some time ago. I believe you will 
 soon see a Mr. Ferguson, who (between you and I) is, in my 
 opinion, the prettiest man I have seen since I left England. 
 A propos of men, here is lately arrived a tall, fair, well-shaped 
 young fellow, with a good character, the reputation of a good 
 understanding, and in present possession of twelve thousand 
 pounds per annum. His name is Southwell. I charge you 
 not to look upon him ; and to lock up your daughters if he 
 should visit Lord Bute. He honoured me with a visit, which 
 hindered my sleeping all night. You will [be] surprised to 
 hear he has neither visible nose nor mouth : yet he speaks 
 with a clear, audible voice. You may imagine such a figure 
 should not be seen by any woman in a possibility of breeding. 
 He appears insensible of his misfortune, and shows himself 
 every day on the Piazza, to the astonishment of all the spec- 
 tators. I never saw [so] shocking a sight. 
 
 My dear child, God bless you and yours. It is the zealous 
 and daily prayer of your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and hearty blessing to all 
 our children. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 [Nov. 9, 1759.] 
 My dear Child, — I received yours of Oct. 18th this day, 
 Nov. 9th. I am afraid some letters both of yours and mine 
 are lost, nor am I much surprised at it, seeing the manage- 
 ments 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, compassion is only owing to his mother and 
 intended bride, who I think the greatest sufferer (however 
 sensible I am of a parent's tenderness). Disappointments in 
 youth are those that are felt with the greatest anguish, when 
 we are all in expectation of happiness, perhaps not to be found 
 in this life. 
 
 I am very sorry L. [Lady] F. [Frances] Erskine has removed 
 my poor sister to London, where she will only be more 
 exposed. I would write again to her if I thought it could be
 
 1759] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 529 
 
 any comfort in her deplorable condition. I say nothing to her 
 daughter, who [is] too like her father for me to correspond 
 with. 
 
 I am very much diverted with the adventures of the three 
 graces lately arrived in London, and am heartily sorry their 
 mother has not learning enough to write memoirs. She might 
 make the fortune of half a dozen Dodsleys. The youngest 
 girl (called here Bettind) is taller than the Duchess of Montagu, 
 and as red and white as any German alive. If she has sense 
 enough to follow good instructions, she will be irresistible, and 
 may produce very glorious novelties. [I know nothing of her, 
 except her figure.] Our great minister has her picture amongst 
 his collection of ladies — basta / 
 
 My health is better than I can reasonably expect at my age, 
 though I have at present a great cold in my head, which makes 
 writing uneasy to me, and forces me to shorten my letter to 
 my dear child. I have received the books from Mr. Mac- 
 kenzie. Mr. Walpole's is not amongst them. Make my best 
 compliments to Lord Bute, and give my blessing to all your 
 children. Your happiness in every circumstance is zealously 
 wished by (dear child) your most affectionate mother. 
 
 To Mr. Wortley Montagu. 
 
 Venice, Nov. 23 [1759]. 
 
 I do not write to you often, being afraid of being trouble- 
 some, and supposing that my daughter communicates my 
 letters to you. I have the pleasure of hearing from her that 
 you have good health and spirits, which I heartily wish the 
 continuance of. I have seen lately a history of the last years 
 of Queen Anne, by Swift. I should be very glad to know 
 your opinion of it. Some facts are apparently false, and I 
 believe others partially represented. The winter is begun here 
 severely, but we have had a most delightful autumn. I hope 
 everything is to your satisfaction in England. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Lord Brudenell is still here, and appears to be in a very- 
 bad state of health, and extreme unwilling to return to Eng- 
 land, being apprehensive of the air. I fear his parents will 
 have the affliction of losing him, if they resolve to keep him 
 with them : he seems highly disposed to, if not actually fallen 
 into a consumption. We are now in the carnival, and all but 
 myself in eager pursuit of the pleasures of the season. I have
 
 53° Letters to [1760 
 
 had a letter from Mr. Mackenzie, who is excessively liked at 
 Turin. I cannot be persuaded to go thither, but heartily wish 
 I could contrive some other place to see him and Lady Betty. 
 I am determined, on account of my health, to take some little 
 jaunt this spring ; perhaps on the side of the Tyrol, which I 
 have never seen, but hear it is an exceeding fine country. To 
 say the truth, I am tempted by the letters of Lady F. Steuart 
 and Sir James. I never knew people more to my taste. They 
 reside in a little town but two days from Padua, where it will 
 [be] easy to find a convenient lodging for the summer months, 
 and I am sure of being pleased in their company. I have 
 found, wherever I have travelled, the pleasantest spots of 
 ground have been in the valleys that are encompassed with 
 high mountains. 
 
 My letter must end here or not go, the gentleman being 
 come to demand it. He sets out to-morrow, early. I am 
 ever, my dear child, your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours. 
 I would send you my token, but I perceive he does not care 
 to be charged with it. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 [Venice, January, 1760.] 
 I am always glad to hear of my dear child's health. I daily 
 pray for the continuance of it, and all other blessings on you 
 and your family. The carnival hitherto has been clouded by 
 extreme wet weather, but we are in hopes the sunshine is reserved 
 for the second part of it, after Christmas, when the morning 
 masquerades give all the ladies an opportunity of displaying 
 both their magnificence and their taste, in the various habits 
 that appear at that time. I was very well diverted by them 
 last yean Mr. Southwell has left us some time. I was almost 
 reconciled to his figure by his good behaviour and polite 
 conversation. Here are at present few English. Lord Brude- 
 nell ought to be at London. I think I have already told you 
 he resembles his grandfather, but it is a strong caricature. I 
 hear Rome is crammed with Britons. In their turns I suppose 
 we shall see them all. I cannot say the rising generation gives 
 any great prospect of improvement, either in the arts and 
 sciences or in anything else. I am exceedingly pleased that 
 the Duchess of Portland is happy in her son-in-law. I must 
 ever interest myself in whatever happens to any descendant 
 of Lady Oxford. I expect that my books and china should
 
 1760] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 531 
 
 set out. Since the defeat of the French fleet I should imagine 
 there can be no danger on the sea. They will be a great 
 amusement to me ; I mix so little in the gay world, and at 
 present my garden is quite useless. I wrote lately to your 
 father, who I guess to be returned to London. I am informed 
 Mr. Mackenzie makes a very good figure at Turin. General 
 Graham has bad health, and Mr. Hamilton is the Lord knows 
 where, which occasions much speculation. 
 
 Venice is not a place to make a man's fortune. 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 parties 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. Adieu, my dear child. You see I am 
 profoundly dull. I desire you would be so good to attribute 
 it to the gloominess of the weather. It is now almost night, 
 though at noonday. I am in all humours, your most affectionate 
 mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours. 
 
 To Sir James Steuart. 
 
 Venice, Feb. 13, 1760. 
 
 Sir, — I have waited (in my opinion) with very exemplary 
 patience for your manuscripts ; I have not yet received them, 
 but will not longer delay my thanks for your obliging and 
 agreeable letter. I am apt to believe Lord H. may be sincere 
 in saying he is willing to serve you : how far he can be useful 
 is, I think, dubious ; you know he is only a subaltern officer. 
 I wish I knew any probable method of ensuring success to 
 your wishes : you may certainly depend on everything that can 
 be done towards it, either by my own or the interest of those 
 whom I can influence. 
 
 If I considered merely my own inclinations, I should advise 
 the air of this town, since the physicians are of opinion that 
 the sea would be salutary to your constitution. I dare not 
 press this earnestly, finding myself highly prejudiced where 
 my own happiness is so nearly concerned : yet I can with truth 
 assure you that yours shall always have the first place, and, 
 was it in my power (notwithstanding the real pleasure of such 
 excellent conversation), I would give up all hopes of it, and 
 immediately transport you and Lady Fanny to your native 
 country, where I am persuaded the pleasure of seeing your
 
 53 2 Letters to [1760 
 
 household Lares, and having your friends round you, would 
 certainly contribute to your health, if not totally restore it. I 
 heartily congratulate you on your happiness in the growing 
 improvements of Mr. Steuart : it is, perhaps, the most pleasing 
 employment in life to form a young mind well-disposed to 
 receive instruction ; when a parent's care is returned with 
 gratitude and compliance, there is no conqueror or legislator 
 that receives such sincere satisfaction. I have not seen the 
 nistories you mention, nor have had for this last twelvemonth 
 any books from England. It is difficult to send anything from 
 thence, as my daughter informs me ; and our travelling young 
 gentlemen very seldom burden themselves with such unnecessary 
 baggage as works of literature. 
 
 Give me leave to send my warmest thanks to Lady Fanny 
 for her kind remembrance, and compliments to the young 
 gentleman, who I hope will always be a blessing to you both. 
 It is extreme mortifying to me that I have no better way of 
 expressing how much I am, sir, 
 
 Your most obliged and very humble servant. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Venice, Feb. 24 [1760]. 
 
 My dear Child, — I wrote to you, some days ago, a letter 
 by General Graham, but, as many accidents may delay his 
 arrival, I will not omit to thank you for yours of January 18. 
 
 I am not so much surprised at Lady Louisa Kerr's flight as 
 you seem to be. Six or seven months is a great while to wait, 
 in the opinion of a young lover, and I do not think Lord 
 George much in the wrong to fear the effect of artifices, 
 absence, and new proposals, that could not fail of being made 
 to her in that time. 
 
 The carnival is now over, and we have no more ridotto or 
 theatrical entertainments. Diversions have taken a more 
 private, perhaps a more agreeable, turn. It is the fashion to 
 have little houses of retreat, where the lady goes every evening, 
 at seven or eight o'clock, and is visited by all her intimates 
 of both sexes, which commonly amount to seventy or eighty 
 persons, where they have play, concerts of music, sometimes 
 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 centre of pleasure ; not so noisy, and, in my opinion, more 
 refined than Paris.
 
 1760] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 533 
 
 I am extremely glad Lady Jane turns out so much to your 
 satisfaction ; though I am told Lady Anne is the beauty. We 
 have now no English here. Mr. Wright and his lady, Mr. 
 Stuart, and Mr. Panton, set out together a few days ago, 
 intending for Rome and Naples. I suppose the Ascension 
 will bring us a fresh cargo, as I hear there are many dispersed 
 about Italy. Lord Brudenell seemed to leave it with great 
 reluctance. He is singular both in his manner and sentiments. 
 Yet I am apt to believe if he meets with a sensible wife, she 
 may be very happy with him. Whoever leaves him at his 
 liberty will certainly meet no contradiction from him who is 
 too indolent to dispute with anybody, and appears indifferent 
 to our sex. [I am] persuaded he will [not?] be any [torn] 
 recommended by [torn] parents without hesitation. 
 
 I have had lately a letter from poor Lady Blount. She is 
 now in easy circumstances if she can manage discreetly. I 
 have a great regard for the uncommon sincerity of her character, 
 but am afraid she will be always too open to the attacks of 
 flattery. Adieu, my dear child. God bless you and yours, 
 which [is] the most zealous prayer of your truly affectionate 
 mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute. 
 
 To Sir James Steuart. 
 
 Venice, March I, 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 ( ven to those who 
 have studied the points you treat ; and who are often misled 
 by prejudices which fall away, while your instructions lake 
 place in every mind capable of distinguishing truth v from 
 falsehood. Upon the whole, permit me to say, I neverv saw 
 a treatise which gave me so much pleasure and informatnfcn. 
 You show yourself qualified by nature for the charge of fir 
 minister ; how far that would recommend you to a minister I 
 think problematic. I am beginning to read over your work 
 second time; my approbation increases as I go on; the sol?
 
 534 Letters to [1760 
 
 of your reflections would overbalance a defect in style, if there 
 was any, but I sincerely find none. The nervous manner 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 honour you have done 
 me in your dedication. Lord Burleigh, or even Julius Caesar, 
 would have been proud of it; I can have no pretence to 
 deserve 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. 
 
 To Sir James Steuart. 
 
 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 cannot 
 help being a little vain of comprehending a system that is 
 calculated only for a thinking mind, and cannot 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 
 out of a village or a nursery more capable of receiving instruc- 
 tion than a lad just set 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
 
 1760] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 535 
 
 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 
 reflecting 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 over- 
 seen or artfully obscured from our sight, but when pointed out 
 to us, it is impossible to resist the conviction that accompanies 
 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 
 cannot fail of happening ; I shall take every opportunity of 
 putting 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 always 
 with gratitude and the truest esteem, both to Lady Frances 
 and yourself, a faithful humble servant. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 April 15 [25, ? 1760]. 
 
 My dear Child, — I am very uneasy at hearing nothing 
 from you or General G. [Graham], being told he has been 
 arrived near a month. I do not doubt his first visit was to 
 you, having given him a letter which I desired him to deliver 
 with all speed. Perhaps I was more frightened than I need to 
 be when I wrote it. All weaknesses appear, as they increase, 
 with age. I am afraid all human-kind are born with the seeds 
 of them, though they may be totally concealed, and consequently 
 considerably lessened, by education and philosophy. I have 
 endeavoured to study and correct myself ; and as courage was 
 the favourite virtue in my early youth, I studied to seem void 
 of fear, and I believe was rather esteemed foolhardy. 
 
 I am now grown timorous, and inclined to low spirits, 
 whatever 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 at the decay which is allotted to all mortals, 
 but would willingly excuse to you the heat that was in my last. 
 I would by no means have you give the least uneasiness to 
 your father. At his time of life the mind should be vacant and
 
 536 
 
 Letters to [1760 
 
 quiet. As for the rest, let Providence as it will dispose of your 
 most affectionate mother. 
 
 You may be surprised I sent you no token by the general. 
 To say truth, he was in so ill a state of health, I was afraid 
 he should die on the road. I shall be more explicit in my 
 next. 
 
 My sincere good wishes to Lord Bute, and blessing to all 
 yours. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Venice, May 9, 1760. 
 
 My dear Child must forgive me if I load her with letters. 
 I confess I am so uneasy at the silence of General Graham 
 and yours, that I have little peace of mind. I sent by him 
 a letter of great importance to me. I am told he is arrived 
 two posts ago. I have no notice from him that he has seen 
 you, or from you that you have received my scrawl, which, 
 perhaps, you think very impertinent. I cannot suppose he has 
 not seen you, after so many promises to make you his first visit. 
 I will not fancy you are sick, and only imagine you may 
 misapprehend my design in writing. I thank God I can live 
 here in a quiet retirement. I am very far from any view 
 beyond tranquillity ; and if I have been so weak to be 
 vexed at the misbehaviour of a fool, I desire not his ruin, and 
 much less that he should be preferred, which will subject me 
 to the same ill usage by whatever successor he is appointed. 
 I am informed he gives political reasons for his conduct towards 
 me, which, if true, I ought to pardon him by all the maxims of 
 modern ethics. I am ever, my dearest child, 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours. 
 
 If you have not already sent my letter to your father, I desire 
 you would not do it. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Nov. 18, 1760. 
 
 I give you thanks, my dear child, for your information 
 of the death of the king. You may imagine how I am affected 
 by it. I will not trouble you in this busy time with a long 
 letter. I do not doubt you are sufficiently tormented by 
 pretensions and petitions. I hope you will not forget poor 
 Mr. Anderson ; and I desire Lord Bute to take care that 
 Sir James Steuart's name is not excluded in the act of
 
 i?6o] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 557 
 
 indemnity. This is a very small favour, yet it will make the 
 happiness of a man of great merit. 
 
 My health is very precarious ; may yours long continue, and 
 the prosperity of your family. I bless God I have lived to see 
 you so well established, and am ready to sing my Nunc dimittis 
 with pleasure. 
 
 I own I could wish that we had a minister here who 1 had 
 not reason to suspect would plunder my house if I die while he 
 is in authority. General Graham is exceedingly infirm, and 
 also so easily imposed on, that whatever his intentions may be, 
 he is incapable of protecting anybody. You will (perhaps) 
 laugh at these apprehensions, since whatever happens in this 
 world after our death is certainly nothing to us. It may be 
 thought a fantastic satisfaction, but I confess I cannot help 
 being earnestly desirous that what I leave may fall into your 
 hands. Do not so far mistake me as to imagine I would have 
 the present M. [Minister] removed by advancement, whi' 
 would have the sure consequence of my suffering, if pos* - ' 
 more impertinence from his successor. / 
 
 My dear child, I am ever your most affectionate mo/ 
 
 / A 
 
 To Sir James Steuart. 
 
 Venice, No.. 20, 1760. 
 Sir, — I will not trouble you with a long letter ; this is only 
 to let you know that as soon as my daughter informed me of 
 the late great event, I immediately put her in mind of your 
 affairs in the warmest manner. I do not doubt it will have the 
 effect I wish. Your interest is one of the most considerable 
 to myself, being with the strongest ties of esteem and 
 gratitude, sir, 
 
 Your most obliged and faithful humble servant. 
 I hope Lady Fanny and your young gentleman are in 
 perfect health. 
 
 To the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Venice, Nov. 26 [1760I 
 Mv dear Child, — I am afraid you will think me very 
 troublesome, and that I do not enough consider the various 
 duties you are now obliged to. Indeed, I am thoroughly 
 sensible you have little time to throw away, but I am (privately) 
 solicited to mention a thing to you, which, in my opinion, I 
 ought not to omit. 
 
 The senate have appointed two procurators of St. Mark to
 
 538 
 
 Letters to [1761 
 
 compliment his majesty on his accession. They are of the 
 
 first families here, Contarini and Morosini, and are neither of 
 
 them married. Madam Capello has been so ridiculous, both 
 
 at London and Rome, I believe they will not often send 
 
 ambassadresses. These cavaliers are of such a character as 
 
 will do honour to their country : they are vastly rich, and 
 
 desirous to show their magnificence in the court of England. 
 
 They apprehend (I know not why) that they shall be thanked 
 
 and not permitted to come. I am far from a politician, God 
 
 knows, but it seems to me, both in public and private life, 
 
 civilities should never be refused, when they are sincerely 
 
 meant as proofs of respect. I have no personal interest in this 
 
 affair, nor can receive any advantage from their embassy, but 
 
 an opportunity of sending some trifles to my granddaughter, 
 
 which I hoped to do by Lord Titchfield, who has been long at 
 
 Turin. I am now told he will not take Venice in his road, 
 
 when he returns to London. 
 
 I am sorry to tell you I fear General Graham is in a declining 
 
 state of health. I suppose you know poor Mr. Hamilton is at 
 
 Petersburg. I am ever, my dear child, 
 
 1 Your most affectionate mother, 
 
 ht 
 
 b To Sir James Steuart. 
 
 From Venice, 25th of January, 1761. 
 Sir, — I have not returned my thanks for your obliging 
 letter 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 not entirely of your opinion in 
 relation 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 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 daughter 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 post- 
 horses ready to hurry me away, I cannot be insensible to the
 
 i?6i] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 539 
 
 happiness of my native country, and am glad to see the pro- 
 spect of a prosperity and harmony that I never was witness 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 
 cannot 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 performing 
 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 endeavoured to retain it, at the same time they complained 
 of it. 
 
 You are above any view of this kind. I hope every post f 
 hear news of your return to your native country, where that 
 may long enjoy a happiness superior to any a court can 
 the most ardent desire of, sir, 
 
 Your grateful and faithful humble sej 
 
 y post 
 
 that r 
 
 1 
 
 To Sir James Steuart. 
 
 Venice. April 12, 1761. 
 Sir, — I received your obliging letter yesterday, and make 
 haste to answer it the first post. I am very sincere in 
 assuring you all your interests are mine, consequently I share 
 with you the concern you feel for Lady Fanny's disorders. 
 You observe justly there is no happiness without an alloy, nor 
 indeed any misfortune without some mixture of consolation, 
 if our passions permitted us to perceive it ; but alas ! we are 
 too imperfect to see on all sides ; our wisest reflections (if the 
 word wise may be given to humanity) are tainted by our hopes 
 and fears ; we all indulge views almost as extravag; nt as those 
 of Phaeton, and are angry when we do not succeed in projects 
 that are above the reach of mortality. The happiness of 
 domestic life seems the most laudable as it is certainly the 
 most delightful of our prospects, yet even that is denied, or at 
 least so mixed, "we think it not sincere, or fear it cannot last." 
 A long series of disappointments have perhaps worn out my 
 natural spirits, and given a melancholy cast to my way of 
 thinking. I would not communicate this weakness to any but 
 yourself, who can have compassion even where your superior
 
 54-0 Letters to [1761 
 
 understanding condemns. I confess that though I am (it may 
 be) beyond the strict bounds of reason pleased with my Lord 
 Bute's and my daughter's prosperity, I am doubtful whether I 
 will attempt to be a spectator of it. I have so many years in- 
 dulged my natural inclinations to solitude and reading, I am 
 unwilling to return to crowds and bustle, which would be 
 unavoidable in London. The few friends I esteemed are now 
 no more : the new set of people who fill the stage at present 
 are too indifferent to me even to raise my curiosity. I now 
 begin to feel (very late, you'll say) the worst effects of age, 
 blindness excepted ; I am grown timorous and suspicious ; I 
 fear the inconstancy of that goddess so publicly adored in 
 ancient Rome, and so heartily inwardly worshipped in the 
 modern. I retain, however, such a degree of that uncommon 
 thing called common sense, not to trouble the felicity of my 
 children with my foreboding dreams, which I hope will prove 
 as idle as the croaking of ravens, or the noise of that harmless 
 animal distinguished by the odious name of screech-owl. You 
 will say why then do I trouble you with my old wives' pro- 
 phecies ? Need I tell you that it is one of the privileges of 
 friendship to talk of our own follies and infirmities ? You must, 
 then, nay you ought, to pardon my tiresome tattle in con- 
 sideration of the real attachment with which I am unalterably, 
 sir, 
 
 Your obliged and faithful humble servant. 
 My best compliments to dear Lady Fanny, and congratula- 
 tions to the young gentleman. I do not doubt he is sorry to 
 leave her ; but if it be necessary for his advancement you will 
 teach him to suffer it at least with patience. 
 
 To Sir James Steuart. 
 
 July 22, 1 761. 
 
 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 my sincere affection towards the lady and young 
 gentleman you mention. My own affairs here grow worse and 
 worse ; 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
 
 1761] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 541 
 
 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 — 
 
 " 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. 
 
 To Sir James and Lady Frances Steuart. 
 
 [Indorsed, " Oct. 1st, 1761, Augsburg, on her way from Veni e I 1 
 England ; received 3rd of Nov."] 
 
 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 cannot guess where you are. 
 I venture this to Tubingen, though I fancy two letters I have 
 directed thither have miscarried, and am so uncertain of the 
 fate of this I know not what to say. I think I cannot err in 
 repeating a sincere truth, that 1 am, and ever shall be, faith- 
 fully, Your most humble servant. 
 
 Since I wrote the above, I am told I may go by Wurtemberg 
 to Frankfort. I will then take that road in hopes of seeing 
 you. 
 
 To Sir James Steuart. 
 
 Rotterdam, Nov. 20, 176:. 
 
 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 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 to undertake it. 
 I have scrambled through more dangers than his M. of P. 
 [His Majesty of Prussia], or even my well-beloved cousin (not 
 counsellor) Marquis Granby ; but my spirits fail me when 1 
 think of my friends risking either health or happiness. I will 
 write to Lady Fanny to hinder your coming to Rotterdam, and
 
 54 2 Letters to [1761 
 
 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 London, but am told that he has been 
 prevented by the machinations of that excellent politician and 
 truly great man, M. [Murray], 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 himself. 
 I address myself to you 5 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 
 Marianne, who has not been able to endure the frights and 
 fatigues that we have passed. If I live to see G. 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 wherever 
 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 fairest 
 prospect of honour and advancement. We mothers are apt to 
 regret the absence of children we love : Solomon advises 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 
 receipt for maternal fondness, a distemper which has long 
 afflicted' 
 
 Your ladyship's obliged and obedient humble servant. 
 
 To Sir James Steuart. 
 
 Rotterdam, Dec. 12, 1761. 
 I received last post your agreeable and obliging letter. I 
 am now on the point of setting out for London ; very dubious 
 (with my precarious state of health) whether I shall arrive 
 there. If I do, you will certainly hear from me again ; if not, 
 accept ('tis all I can offer) my sincerest wishes for the prosperity 
 of yourself and family. I do not at all despair of your affairs 
 going according to your desire, though I am not ordained the 
 happiness to see it. My warmest compliments to Lady F., 
 and believe me ever, sir, 
 
 Your faithful friend and humble servant. 
 Behold ! a hard impenetrable frost has stopped my voyage, 
 and I remain in the disagreeable state of uncertainty. I will
 
 1761] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 543 
 
 not trouble you with my fruitless complaints : I am sure you 
 have compassion for my present situation. 
 
 To Lady Frances Steuart. 
 
 Rotterdam. Dec, 1761. 
 
 My dear Madam, — A great snow, weak sight, trouble of 
 mind, and a feeble body, are more than sufficient excuses for 
 a short letter ; yet I would not omit a few lines to give you 
 thanks for yours, and repeat to you my real desire to serve you 
 in the most zealous manner. Any relation of Sir James will 
 find a hearty welcome from me when I am in London. I now 
 depend on wind and weather ; you know how disagreeable that 
 is. I will not afflict your good heart with my uneasiness. I 
 hope (and am determined to hope) the best, though in contra- 
 diction to appearances. In all humours I am 
 
 Your ladyship's faithful humble servant. 
 
 P.S. My dear Lady Fanny, we are both low-spirited ; let 
 us talk no more of melancholy matters. I should be glad to 
 know the adventure of Sir James with the Countess B., and 
 am sometimes tempted to seek her out, in hopes to edify by 
 her discourse and example. 
 
 To Sir James Sti ltart. 
 
 Rotterdam, Dec. 26, 1761. 
 Sir, — The thaw is now so far advanced 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 endeavour 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 
 gentleman arrived here last night, who is perhaps of your 
 acquaintance — Mr. Hamilton ; he is hastening to London in 
 expectation of an act of grace, which I believe will be grant 
 I flatter myself with the view of seeing you in England, and 
 can affirm with truth it is one of the greatest pleasures I exp< 
 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 ; I 
 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
 
 544 Letters to [1762 
 
 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 
 uncertainty ; yet if you have the company of Mr. Steuart, his 
 bloom of life will insensibly communicate part of his gaiety. 
 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 honoured and remembered by, sir and madam, 
 
 Your most faithful and obedient humble servant. 
 
 To Lady Frances Steuart. 
 
 Rotterdam, Jan. 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 in London. Wher- 
 ever 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 endeavours 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 serve 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 
 indifferent to me if it did not affect my friends ; my remaining 
 time in this world is so short, I have few wishes to make for 
 myself, and when I am free from pain ought to think myself 
 happy. 
 
 It is uncommon at my age to have no distemper, and to 
 retain all my senses in their first degree of perfection. I 
 should be unworthy of these blessings if I did not acknowledge 
 them. If I am so fortunate to see your ladyship and Sir 
 James in good health at London, it will be a great addition to 
 the satisfaction of, dear madam, 
 
 Your faithful and obedient humble servant.
 
 1762] Mr. Wortley Montagu and others 545 
 
 To Lady Frances Steuart. 
 Great George-street, Hanover-square, March 5, 17G2. 
 
 Dear Madam, — I have written several letters to your lady- 
 ship, but I perceive by that I had the honour to receive yesterday 
 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, amongst the common calamities of war. Our 
 correspondence is so innocent, we have no reason to apprehend 
 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. 
 
 To Lady Frances Steuart. 
 
 George-Street, Hanover-square, April 23, 1762. 
 
 Believe me, dear madam, I see my daughter often, and 
 never see her without mentioning (in the warmest manner) 
 your affairs. I hope that when the proper season arrives 
 (it cannot now be far off), all things will be adjusted to your 
 satisfaction. It is the greatest pleasure I expect in the 
 wretched remnant of life remaining to, dear madam. 
 
 Your faithful humble servant. 
 
 My sincere best wishes to all your ladyship's family. 
 
 To Lady Frances Steuart. 
 [Indorsed "Lady Mary's last letter from London."] 
 
 July 2. 1762. 
 
 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 lad) ship's faithful humble servant.
 
 INDEX 
 
 Abergavenny, Lady, 328 
 Abydos, 179 
 Achmet III., 152 
 Achmet Beg, 101 
 Adam, Mr., 484 
 Addison, Mr., 440, 500 
 Adoption, custom of, 170 
 Adrianople, 102, 118. 134 
 Alcoran, 108, 175 
 Altheim, Count, 76 
 Amelia, Empress Dowager, 69 
 Amphitrion, 67 
 Andrea Doria, 188 
 Antin, Duke d', 197 
 Antinous, statue of, 301 
 Antiquaries, 109, 142. 389 
 Arbuthnot, Dr., 257 
 Archer, Mr., 475 
 Arcie, Mrs. d', 300 
 Ardinghi, Signor Aurelio, 444 
 
 Signora Diana, 443 
 
 Armenians, 170 
 Arnaouts, 109 
 Arran, Lord, 347 
 Atalantis, the New, 2 
 Austria, Empress of, 68 
 Authors, fates of, 4 
 Avignon, 330. 338 
 
 B 
 
 Eaillie, Griselda — see Murray 
 
 Haily [Baillie], 230 
 
 Balm of Mecca, 145 
 
 Bateman, Lady Anne, 228 
 
 Bath lampoons, 4 
 
 Baths or bagnios, 104, 167 
 
 Bathurst, Lord, 228, 231 
 
 Lady Selina, 491 
 
 Beard, 267 
 
 Bedford, Duke of, 461 
 Belgrade, 98, 100, 143 
 Belloni, M., 299 
 
 Bentivoglia, Marchioness Lysi i .5. 
 
 469 
 Berkeley, Lord, 231, 26S 
 Biddy Tipkins, 25, 37 
 Blankenburg, 85 
 Bohemia, 79 
 
 Bolingbroke, Lord. 231, 378, 437 
 Bolton, Duke of, 49 
 
 Duchess of, 447, 449 
 
 Bonneval, Count, 90 
 Bono, Signora Laura, 382 
 Bononcini, 21 1, 227 
 Borromean Library, 274 
 Bosville, Mrs., 328 
 Boughton, Mr., 300 
 Bouthillier de Ranee, 294 
 Braithwayte, Mrs., 9 
 Brescia, 351 
 
 Bridgeman, Mrs., 268, 31S, 327 
 Bristol, Countess of, 60. 83, no, 
 
 225- 353 
 Bromley, Mrs., 265 
 Brudenell, Lord, 504. 5 
 Brunswick, 82 
 Buda, 95 
 Buffaloes, 125 
 Burlington. Lady, 342, 360 
 Burnet, Dr. — see Salisbury, Bishop 
 
 of 
 Burying-fields, 141 
 Bute, Lord, 356, 366 
 
 Countess of, 355 
 
 Butter, 119, 398 
 Byng. Lady. 217 
 
 Cabinets of jewels, 78 
 Cadogan, Earl of, 216 
 Calthorpe, Hon. Miss, 256 
 Camels, 125 
 Cantacuzena, 285 
 Cantillon, Madame, 217 
 Carleton, Lord, 228 
 
 ;46
 
 Index 
 
 
 Carlisle, Lord and Lady, 48, 266, 
 
 272, 495, 507 
 Carlowitz, 99 
 Carmichael, Lord, 231 
 Carnivals, S7 
 
 Carteret, Lord, 232, 320, 336, 340 
 Cartwright, Mrs., 4 
 Caylus, Count, 214 
 Ceremonies, 74, 136 
 Chambery, 315 
 Chesterfield, Lord, 264, 327, 487, 
 
 519 
 Cheyne, Lady, 40, 235, 244 
 Chiswell, Miss (see S. C), 58 
 Churches, 59, 63, 140 
 Churchill, Charles, 213 
 ('lure, Lord, 224 
 Clarendon, Lady, 228 
 Clarke, Dr., 55 
 Cleveland, Duchess of, 242. 317, 
 
 323> 327. 35^ 
 Cuke, Lord, 354 
 
 Lady Mary, 354, 450. 46S 
 
 Cole, Miss, 341 
 Coleman, Mr., 9 
 
 67 
 Cologne, 59 
 Comedies, 67, 87, 362 
 Confinement of women in Turkey, 
 
 101, 116, 148, 167 
 Congreve, 213, 25S 
 Constantinople, 139, 161, 177 
 Conti, Abbe, 106, 134, 139, 172, 
 
 178. 276 
 Convents in Vienna, 76 
 Cook, Mr., 218, 226 
 Cornbury, Lord, 423, 452 
 Co/.elle, Countess of, 8l 
 Cunningham, Mr., 475 
 
 Dalkeith, Lady, 467 
 Darlington, Lady, 226 
 Dashwood, Sir Francis, 300, 35S 
 Davenant, Mrs., 1S7, 217 
 Delawarr, Lady, 223 
 Deloraine, Earl of, 222 
 
 itgh, Lo r d and Lady, 253, 
 242, 266 
 Denises, 165 
 
 Divorces, 403 
 
 Dodington, Mr., 221. 232, 359 
 
 Dod ley, Mr., 513 
 
 Doge of Genoa, 1 
 
 Venice, 280, 418 
 
 Dorchester, Lord, 22b 
 
 Dresden, 80 
 
 Dresses described, 7;, 97, 
 
 114, 132, 153 
 Drumlanrig, Earl of, 479 
 Dunch, Mrs., 225, 267, 472 
 Duncombe, Colonel, 501 
 Dunmore, Lord, 244 
 Durazzo, Signora Clelia, 313 
 Dwarfs, 91 
 
 E 
 
 Earle, Giles 541 
 
 Edgecombe, Mr., 2 ,6 
 
 Education, remarl on, 172, 404, 
 
 413. 454 
 Effendi, 107 
 Englefield, Sir Henry, 
 Epictetus, 150 
 
 • 97 
 Eugene, Prince, S9, 92. 147 
 ton, Lady 1 lorothy, - \2 
 Evans, Sir St< phen, ic 
 
 Exchanges, 134 
 
 Falima, 131, 157 
 Fermor, Lady Sophia 
 Feversham, Lord, 501 
 Field . I rd, 220, 215. 
 
 Lady E ran. 
 
 Henry, 380, 410. 450 
 
 Sally, 346, 392. 45 1 
 
 Fierenzuola, 20;. 295 
 Finch, Lady Bell, 266 
 Lady Betty, 
 
 Lord, 214. 
 
 Fitzwilliam, Lord. 
 Fleury, Cardinal, 271 
 Florence, 295 
 Fontainebleau, 195 
 Forster, Mrs.. 
 Freemasons,
 
 548 
 
 Index 
 
 Gage, Lady, 218, 267, 328 
 Gainsborough, Lady, 228 
 Garth, Dr., 3, 46 
 Gay, Johnny, 243, 454 
 Geneva, 314 
 Genoa, 187 
 Gibson, Mr., 332 
 Goldsworthy, Mrs., 313, 32S 
 Gottolengo, 363, 375 
 Gower, Dowager Lady, 215 
 
 Lady, 211, 219, 225, 235, 491 
 
 — Lord, 215 
 
 — - — Hon. Jane Leveson, 241 
 
 Gowran, Lord, 336, 340 
 
 Grafton, Duke of, 3 
 
 Graham, General, 475, 486, 514, 537 
 
 Granby, Lord, 283, 541 
 
 Grand Vizier, 127, 173 
 
 Grant, Abbe, 421 
 
 Gray, Sir J., 356, 368.478 
 
 Greville, Mr., 483, 492 
 
 Grimani, 275, 279 
 
 Guastalla, Duchess, 370 
 
 Guildford, Nelly, 8 
 
 Holt, Mr., 2ii, 216 
 Horses, Turkish, 125 
 Houses, 126 
 Howard, Miss, 222, 231 
 Hungary, 401 
 Hussey, Mr., 361 
 
 Ibrahim Pasha, 120 
 
 Ida Mount, 179 
 
 Ingrafting or Inoculation, 124, 141, 
 
 161, 213 
 Inscriptions, 181, 192, 332, 375 
 Irwin, Lord and Lady, 227, 495 
 Italian manners, 312 
 
 Janissaries, 100, 106, 112, 147 
 
 Jews, 135 
 
 Justice, Mrs. Anne, 253 
 
 K 
 
 H 
 
 Hafiten, Sultana, 152 
 Hague, 57 
 
 Halifax, Lord, 41, 51, 270, 288 
 Hamilton, Miss, 324 
 Hamilton, Lady. 10 
 
 Lord William, 509 
 
 Hammer, Sir T., 54 
 
 Hanns, 128, 165 
 
 Hanover, 83 
 
 Harems, 131, 157 
 
 Hartington, Lord, 360 
 
 Harvey, Mr., 218 
 
 Hay, Mrs., 336 
 
 Henley, Anthony, 265 
 
 Herbert, Lady Harriet, 261 
 
 Hernhausen, 86 
 
 Hervey, Lord, 240, 270, 325 
 
 Lady, 209, 225, 228, 232, 263 
 
 Hewet, Mrs., 1, 128 
 Hinchinbrook, Lord and Lady, 39. 
 
 49 
 
 Holderncsse, Lord and Lady, 49, 
 222, 256, 356, 488 
 
 Key, Ladies of the, 69 
 Kingston, Duke of, 237, 239, 3^0, 
 420, 483, 495 
 
 Duchess of, 211, 226, 245 
 
 Kiskoi, no 
 
 Knatchbull, Sir William, 493, 516 
 
 Ladies in Fiance, 196, 199 : Hun- 
 gary, 97; Turkey, no. 115; 
 Vienna, 72 
 
 Lansdowne, Lady, 227. 230, 244 
 
 La Trappe, Monastery of, 293 
 
 Law, Mr., 301, 489 
 
 Lechmere, Lady, 209, 233 
 
 Leeds, Duke of, 1 1 
 
 Leicester, Lord, 519 
 
 Leigh, Miss, 246 
 
 Leipsig, So. 82 
 
 Leman, Sir William, 317 
 
 Lempster, Lord, 273, 313, 323 
 
 Leopold, Emperor, 79, 95 
 
 Lethuilier, Mrs., 286
 
 Index 
 
 549 
 
 Leveson, Miss F., 336 
 Liddel, Miss, 459 
 Lincoln, Lord, 305, 310 
 Litchfield, Lord and Lady, 218, 265 
 Locke, Mr., 452, 499, 535' 
 London, 380, 428 
 Lovere, 355, 385, 399, 419. 431 
 Love-letters, Turkish, 159 
 Lowther, Sir William. 474 
 
 Mrs., 216 
 
 Lumley, Mrs. Anne, 269 
 Lutherans, follies of. 61 
 
 M 
 
 Mackenzie, Mr., 292, 366, 377, 493, 
 
 513. 530 
 Maffei, Marquis, 455 
 Mahometans, 108, 175 
 Mahony, Count, 306, 309 
 Malta, 184 
 
 Manchester, Duke of, 215 
 Duchess of, 4, 263, 286, 349, 
 
 359, 454 
 Mandeville, Lord, 486, 490 
 Manners, Lady, 216, 307 
 Mantua, Duke of, 392 
 Mar. Earl of, 47, 235 
 Countess of, 56. 64, 113. 129, 
 
 186 
 Marischal, Lord, 505, 512 
 Marlborough, Duke of, 5 1 1 
 
 Duchess of, 220, 227, 316 
 
 Marriages, singular, 171, 177 
 Mildmay, .Mr., 222, 256 
 Milsington, Lady, 226 
 Mocenigo, Antonio, 276, - 
 
 496, 527 
 Mohatch, 96 
 Mohun. Lady, 226 
 Montagu, Duchess of, 49, 215, 225, 
 
 270, 345, 393, 399 
 Lady Mary's son, 244, 247,318. 
 
 324. 396 
 
 Mr. Wortley. 12, 270 
 
 Montfort, Lord, 453 
 Morpeth, Lord, 48, 266, 272 
 Mosques, 137, 163 
 Mountstuart, 431, 484 
 Moxo, Dr., 511 
 Mummies '42 
 
 Murray, Mr. 261 
 
 Mrs. (Griselda Baillie), 211, 
 
 216, 226, 232, 236 
 
 N 
 
 Naples, 302 
 Neapolitans, 303 
 Nicolini, 7, 300, 306 
 Nimeguen, 58 
 Nissa, 102 
 Noel, Biddy, 220 
 Northampton, Earl of, 514 
 Northumberland, Duchess of. 
 Nuremburg, 60 
 
 Octavia, story of. 382 
 Operas, 66, 196, 355 
 
 • id, Countess, 71, 39:. 
 Orkney, Lady, 249 
 Oropesa, Count, 89 
 
 ery, Lord, 435, 460, 492 
 Oxford, Lord, 310 
 Lady, 329, 335, 339. 468 
 
 Palazzo, Count, 351 
 Palli. Count of, 94 
 
 197 
 Paulines. 109 
 Pawlet, Lady X., 3S6 
 Pelham, Mr., 48, 50. 280, 
 
 Lady, 247 
 
 Pembroke, Ear) of, 21 7 
 
 Lake, 264 
 
 borough, Lord an<! 1 
 
 272, 344 
 1 waradin, 93 
 
 35i, 375 
 ires, 90, 195 
 1'ierrepont, Lord. 40. 
 
 Lady Carolina. . 
 
 Evelyn, 10 
 
 Lady Frances, 4 , . _ 
 
 Pitt, Mr., 483, 487 
 
 Mis-, 424 
 
 Plague in Turkey, 123
 
 55° 
 
 Index 
 
 Poland, King of, 8 1, 351 
 
 Pomfret, Countess, 260 
 
 Pope, Mr., 66, 98, 117, 143, 192, 
 
 201, 213, 216, 257, 436 
 Portland, Duchess of, 337, 369, 386 
 Portugal, Prince of, 89 
 Pratt. Mrs., 241, 313 
 Probyn, Mrs., 215 
 Puebla, General, 89 
 Pulteney, Mrs., 216, _02 
 
 Queensberry, Duchess of, 228, 269, 
 
 423. 45o 
 Querini, Cardinal, 441, 451 
 
 Raab, 94 
 
 " Rambler,'" the, 456 
 
 Ranelagh, Lord and Lady, 501 
 
 Rascians, 98 
 
 Ratisbon, 62 
 
 Rawdon, Sir John, 409 
 
 Regattas, 288, 526 
 
 Religions, 109, 141, 165, 462 
 
 Remond, M., 203 
 
 Resingade, Mr., 1, 7 
 
 Rich, Lady, 71, 84, 195, 216, 268, 
 
 368 
 Richardson, Mr., 461, 465 
 Richelieu, Duke of, 334, 347 
 Robinson, Mrs., 211, 222 
 Rodrigue, D., 230 
 Rome, 299 
 Romriey, Lady, 231 
 Roseberry, Lord, 477, 483 
 Rotterdam, 56 
 Rousseau, 89 
 
 Roussi, Lady Charlotte de, 421 
 Roxbourgh, 231 
 Rutland, Duchess of, 233, 272 
 Rycault. Sir Paul, 108 
 
 St. Sophia, 162 
 
 Salisbury, Bishop of, 41, 151, 492 
 
 Sally, 214 
 
 Salo, 390 
 
 Saxony, Prince of, 278, 290, 351 
 
 S. C. (Sarah Chiswell), Mis., 5S, 
 
 123, 238 
 Scarborough, Lord, 285 
 Schemers, committee of, 22; 
 Schlich, Count, 89 
 Schonbrunn, Count, 65 
 Senesino, 211, 223 
 Seraglio, 162 
 
 Sevigne, Madame de, 23S, 438 
 Shaftesbury, Lord, 228 
 Shebbeare, 504 
 Shirley, Mr., 399, 407 
 Skerritt, Miss, 225, 229. 2 54 
 Slaves in Turkey, 144. 1 
 Smollett, Dr., 449, 504, 525 
 Sobieski, Princess, 308 
 Somers, Lord, 55, 500 
 Sophia, 103 
 
 Sosi, Count Jeronimo, 444 
 Southwell, Mr., 528, 530 
 " Spectator," the, 9 
 Stafford, Lady, 206, 225, 229, 241, 
 ^ 270, 417 
 
 Stair, Earl of, 2, 210, 213, 238.323 
 Stanhope, Lord, 223, 417 
 Stanton, Mrs., 354 
 Stapleton, J., 220 
 Statues, 199, 296, 391 
 Steele, Sir Richard, 459 
 Steuart, Sir Tames and Lady, 4S7, 
 , 488, 497 
 
 Strafford, Earl of, 259, 305, 309 
 Stuart, Lady Anne, ^04 
 
 Lady J., 468 
 
 Sturgis, Mr., 302, 307 
 Suffolk, Lady, 231 
 Suicide, 518 
 Sultan Solyman, 95, 96 
 Sundon, Lady, 262, 474 
 Swartzenburg, Count of, 94, 96 
 Swift, Dean, 243, 257, 417, 435, 525 
 Sydenham, Dr., 499 
 
 Sacheverel, 7 
 
 St. Lawrence Convent 
 
 church of, 189 
 
 fair of. iq6 
 
 76 
 
 Tarracco, Count, 89, 90 
 Tchiorlu, 139
 
 Index 
 
 55 1 
 
 Temeswar, Bishop oi, 94 
 
 edos, 182 
 Tevnham, Lord, 233 
 Thistlethwayte, Mrs., 62, 73, 125. 
 
 150, 191, 197 
 Thompson, Ed., 49, 225 
 Tichbome, Mrs. Betty, 246 
 Tipkins, Biddy, 25, 37 
 Touche, Mdlle. de la, 388 
 Townshend, Lord, 48; 262. 265 
 
 Lady, 49 
 
 Mr., 467 
 
 Tragedy, 196 
 Traineaus, 85 
 Trajan's Gate, 109 
 Troy, ruins of, 181 
 Tunis, 178, 184 
 Turin, 190 
 Turkey, 106 
 Turkish ladies, 148 
 
 religion, 14 J 
 
 verses, 120 
 
 wheat, 405 
 
 Turrucca, 1 
 Twickenham, 206. 297 
 
 W 
 
 kerbarth, Count, 280, 351 
 Waldegrave, Mr., 267 
 
 Lady, 520 
 
 Wales, Prince of, 231, 367 
 
 Princess of, 102. 367. 376 
 
 Walpole, Sir R.. 51, 221. 229, $35, 
 361 
 
 Lady, 23S, 2S5, 313, 32S 
 
 Mr., 310, 487, 507 
 
 Waters, Mr., 215 
 Wharton, Lord, 47, 223 
 Lady J., 211, 216 
 
 iams, Sir Charles Hanbury, 
 360, 480 
 
 Chester, Lady, 49, 53 
 Wolfe, General, 52S 
 
 enbuttel, Duke of, 82, 85 
 Prince of, 279 
 
 men in Turkey, 101, 116 
 
 rtley, Anne, 12 
 Wright, Mr., 513, 533 
 irmbrand. Count, 89 
 Wyndham, Sir Wm., 226, 374 
 
 rdinal, 30S. 37c 
 - Mr., 44 
 Vane, Lady, 261, 26S. 406 
 
 Mr.. 223 
 
 Venice, 274, 277, 288 
 . 296 
 Versailles. 199 
 
 ■una, 64. 
 Villette, Madame, 227 
 Mr, 309, 478 
 
 Mrs., 44 
 rk, Archbishop of, 46 
 221 
 
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