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CNJ 


LD 


•CD 


"CO 


PRESENTED 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO 


COLUMBIA  COLLEGE 


NEW    YORK 

OCTOBER  2lsr,  1890 


THE 

LETTERS    AND    WORKS 

OF 

LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

VOL.  III. 


LONDON  I 
PRINTED   BY    SAMUEL  BENTLEY, 

Dorset  Street,  Fleet  Street. 


THE 


LETTERS    AND   WORKS 


LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MOIWAGUilV. 


EDITED    BY    HER    GREAT    GRANDSON 


LORD     WHARNCLIFFE. 


SECOND  EDITION,  REVISED. 

IN  THREE  VOLUMES. 
VOL.  III. 


LONDON: 

RICHARD  BENTLEY,  NEW  BURLINGTON  STREET, 
;Ptri)lfeJ)ei'  m  (©vtotnani  to  l^er 
1837. 


•MI  tin 


LETTERS 

FROM  LADY  MARY  TO  MR.  WORTLEY 
AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE, 

DURING 

HER  SECOND  RESIDENCE  ABROAD, 
FROM   1739  TO   1761. 

(CONTINUED.) 


VOL.  III. 


LETTERS 

TO    MR.   WORTLEY 

AND   THE   COUNTESS   OF   BUTE. 


/"  ^v 

y      r'OT     C*{"\ 
.  /      <    U  *  4,  vVJjuij  . 

(CONTINUED.) 

LIBRARY. 

N.YOKlv, 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF 


MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  Jan.  10,  1752. 

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  tender- 
ness you  have  for  your  children  is  sufficient  to 
enforce  you  to  the  utmost  regard  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  a  life  so  necessary  to  their  well  being.  I 
do  not  doubt  your  prudence  in  their  education  : 
neither  can  I  say  any  thing  particular  relating  to  it 
at  this  distance,  different  tempers  requiring  different 
management.  In  general,  never  attempt  to  go- 
vern 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  ; 


4  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

those  contracted  in  the  nursery  often  influence  the 
whole  life  after,  of  which  I  have  seen  many  melan- 
choly 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  tem- 
per 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  any  thing  that  I  represented  to  you.     If 
your  daughters  are  inclined  to  love  reading,  do  not 
check  their  inclination  by  hindering  them  of  the 
diverting  part  of  it  ;   it   is    as   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  effec- 
tually done  by  study  than  any  other  way.     Igno- 
rance 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  some- 
thing worse.     I  am  afraid  you'll  think  this  letter 
very  tedious :  forgive  it  as  coming  from  your  most 
affectionate  mother. 

M.W. 


AND   THE   COUNTESS   OF  BUTE.  5 

TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF   BUTE. 

DEAR  CHILD,  1752. 

I  RECEIVED  yesterday,  Feb.  15,  N.  S.  the  case  of 
books  you  were  so  good  to  send  to  me  :  the  en- 
tertainment they  have  already  given  me  has  recom- 
pensed me  for  the  long  time  I  expected  them.  I 
began  by  your  direction  with  Peregrine  Pickle.  I 
think  Lady  Vane'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  so  herself,  as  many 
highwaymen,  after  having  no  possibility  of  retriev- 
ing the  character  of  honesty,  please  themselves 
with  that  of  being  generous,  because  whatever  they 
get  on  the  road,  they  always  spend  at  the  next  ale- 
house, and  are  still  as  beggarly  as  ever.  Her  his- 
tory, rightly  considered,  would  be  more  instructive 
to  young  women  than  any  sermon  I  know.  They 
may  see  there  what  mortifications  and  variety  of 
misery  are  the  unavoidable  consequences  of  gallan- 
try. 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 


6  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

of  hers.     I  may  judge  wrong,  she  being  no  ac- 
quaintance 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  neg- 
lecting 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  par- 
take of  her  balls  and  parties  of  pleasure,  to  which  I 
did  not  think  it  proper  to  introduce  you ;  and  had 
no  other  way  of  avoiding  it,  without  incurring  the 
censure  of  a  most  unnatural  mother  for  denying 
you  diversions  that  the  pious  Lady  Ferrers  per- 
mitted to  her  exemplary  daughters.     Mr.  Shirley 
has  had  uncommon  fortune  in  making  the  conquest 
of  two  such  extraordinary  ladies,  equal  in  their  he- 
roic 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 
fondness.     He  appeared  to  me  gentle,  well  bred, 
well  shaped,  and  sensible  ;  but  the  charms  of  his 
face  and  eyes,  which  Lady  Vane  describes  with  so 
much  warmth,  were,  I  confess,  always  invisible  to 
me,   and  the  artificial  part  of  his  character  very 
glaring,  which  I  think  her  story  shews  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 


AND   THE   COUNTESS   OF   BUTE.  7 

has  fallen  into  the  common  mistake  of  romance- 
writers  ;  intending  a  virtuous  character,  and  not 
knowing  how  to  draw  it ;  the  first  step  of  his  he- 
roine (leaving  her  patroness's  house)  being  alto- 
gether 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  is  a  real  and  exact  repre- 
sentation of  life,  as  it  is  now  acted  in  London,  as  it 
was  in  my  time,  and  as  it  will  be  (I  do  not  doubt) 
a  hundred  years  hence,  with  some  little  variation 
of  dress,  and  perhaps  of  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  sur- 
prized at  this,  no  English  woman  being  so  free 
from  vapours,  having  never  in  my  life  complained 
of  low  spirits  or  weak  nerves;  but  our  resem- 
blance is  very  strong  in  the  fancied  loss  of  appetite, 
which  I  have  been  silly  enough  to  be  persuaded  in- 
to by  the  physician  of  this  place.  He  visits  me  fre- 
quently, as  being  one  of  the  most  considerable  men 

*  In  the  novel,  Lady  T.  (Townskend,)  is  named  Lady  Tem- 
pest ;  Lady  O.  (  Orford^  Lady  Sophister. 


8  LETTERS   TO    MR.    WORTLEY 

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  injudi7 
cious  that  ever  were  pronounced.  By  perpetual 
telling  me  I  eat  so  little,  he  is  amazed  I  am  able  to 
subsist.  He  had  brought  me  to  be  of  his  opinion  ; 
and  I  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,  concluding  with  a 
competent  quantity  of  custard,  and  some  roasted 
chesnuts.  At  five  in  the  afternoon  I  take  another 
dose  of  asses'  milk  ;  and  for  supper  twelve  chesnuts 
(which  would  weigh  two  of  those  in  London),  one 
new  laid  egg,  and  a  handsome  porringer  of  white 
bread  and  milk.  With  this  diet,  notwithstanding 
the  menaces  of  my  wise  doctor,  I  am  now  con- 
vinced 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 


AND   THE   COUNTESS    OF    BUTE.  9 

which  I  defy  the  greatest  chymist  in  morals  to  ex- 
tract any  instruction.  The  style  is  most  affectedly 
florid,  and  naturally  insipid,  with  such  a  confused 
heap  of  admirable  characters,  that  never  are,  or 
can  be,  in  human  nature.  I  flung  it  aside  after 
fifty  pages,  and  laid  hold  of  Mrs.  Philips,  where 
I  expected  to  find  at  least  probable,  if  not  true 
facts,  and  was  not  disappointed.  There  is  a  great 
similitude  in  the  genius  and  adventures  (the  one 
being  productive  of  the  other)  between  Madam 
Constantia  and  Lady  Vane :  the  first  mentioned 
has  the  advantage  in  birth,  and,  if  I  am  not  mis- 
taken, in  understanding :  they  have  both  had  scan- 
dalous law-suits  with  their  husbands,  and  are  en- 
dowed with  the  same  intrepid  assurance.  Constan- 
tia 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  Plu- 
tarch'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  comments ;  but  you  must  suffer 
me  to  say  something  of  the  polite  Mr.  S***,  whose 
name  I  should  never  have  guessed  by  the  rapturous 
description  his  mistress  makes  of  his  person,  hav- 
ing always  looked  upon  him  as  one  of  the  most  dis- 
agreeable fellows  about  town,  as  odious  in  his  out- 
side as  stupid  in  his  conversation,  and  I  should  as 
soon  have  expected  to  hear  of  his  conquests  at  the 
head  of  an  army  as  among  women  ;  yet  he  has 


10  LETTERS   TO    MR.   WORTLEY 

been,  it  seems,  the  darling  favourite  of  the  most 
experienced  of  the  sex,  which  shews  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.  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, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

Louvere,  June  23,  N.S.  1752. 

SOON  after  I  wrote  my  la'st  letter  to  my  dear 
child,  I  was  seized  with  so  violent  a  fever,  accom- 
panied with  so  many  bad  symptoms,  my  life  was 
despaired  of  by  the  physician  of  Gottolengo,  and 
I  prepared  myself  for  death  with  as  much  resig- 
nation as  that  circumstance  admits :  some  of  my 
neighbours,  without  my  knowledge,  sent  express 
for  the  doctor  of  this  place,  whom  I  have  mentioned 
to  you  formerly  as  having  uncommon  secrets.  I 
was  surprized  to  see  him  at  my  bedside.  He  de- 
clared 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 : 


AND   THE   COUNTESS    OF  BUTE.  11 

the  other  physician  asserted  positively  I  should  die 
on  the  road.     It  has  always  been  my  opinion  that 
it   is  a   matter  of  the   utmost   indifference  where 
we  expire,  and  I  consented  to  be  removed.     My 
bed  was  placed  on  a  brancard  ;  my  servants  followed 
in  chaises  ;  and  in  this  equipage  I  set  out.     I  bore 
the  first  day's  journey  of  fifteen  miles  without  any 
visible  alteration.     The  doctor  said,  as  I  was  not 
worse,  I  was  certainly  better ;  and  the  next  day  pro- 
ceeded 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,  and  all  necessaries,  ready  prepared  with 
the  exactest  attention.     I  was  put  into  a  bark  in 
my  litter  bed,  and  in  three  hours  arrived  here.    My 
spirits  were  not  at  all  wasted  (I  think  rather  raised) 
by  the  fatigue  of  my  journey.     I  drank  the  water 
next  morning,  and,  with  a  few  doses  of  my  phy- 
sician'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  conformable  to  my  will  and  pleasure. 
He  has  sentenced  me  to  a  long  continuance  here, 
which,  he  says,  is  absolutely  necessary  to  the  con- 
firmation  of  my  health,  and  would  persuade  me 
that  my  illness  has  been  wholly  owing  to  my  omis- 
sion of  drinking  the  waters  these  two  years  past. 


12  LETTERS   TO  MR.  WORTLEY 

I  dare  not  contradict  him,  and  must  own  he  de- 
serves (from  the  various  surprizing  cures  I  have 
seen)  the  name  given  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  pre- 
scriptions. He  has  very  little  learning,  and  pro- 
fesses 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  pub- 
lished any  thing;  and  he  has  recourse  to  these 
manuscripts  on  every  difficult  case,  the  veracity  of 
which,  at  least,  is  unquestionable.  His  vivacity  is 
prodigious,  and  he  is  indefatigable  in  his  industry : 
but  what  most  distinguishes  him  is  a  disinterested- 
ness I  never  saw  in  any  other  :  he  is  as  regular  in 
his  attendance  on  the  poorest  peasant,  from  whom 
he  never  can  receive  one  farthing,  as  on  the  richest 
of  the  nobility ;  and,  whenever  he  is  wanted,  will 
climb  three  or  four  miles  on  the  mountains,  in  the 
hottest  sun,  or  heaviest  rain,  where  a  horse  cannot 
go,  to  arrive  at  a  cottage,  where,  if  their  condition 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        13 

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  chearfulness.  There  is  a 
peculiarity  in  this  character  that  I  hope  will  incline 
you  to  forgive  my  drawing  it. 

I  have  already  described  to  you  this  extraor- 
dinary spot  of  land,  which  is  almost  unknown  to 
the  rest  of  the  world,  and  indeed  does  not  seem 
to  be  destined  by  nature  to  be  inhabited  by  human 
creatures,  and  I  believe  would  never  have  been  so, 
without  the  cruel  civil  war  between  the  Guelphs 
and  Gibellines.  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  con- 
vinces me  that  the  surrounding  mountains  are  full 
of  minerals,  and  it  may  be  rich  in  mines  yet  undis- 
covered, 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 


14  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

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  of  Iseo,  is  near  two  miles  long, 
and  the  figure  of  a  semicircle,  and  situated  at  the 
northern  extremity.     If  it  was  a  regular  range  of 
building,  it  would  appear  magnificent ;   but,  being 
founded  accidentally  by  those  who  sought  a  refuge 
from  the  violences  of  those  times,  it  is  a  mixture  of 
shops  and  palaces,  gardens  and  houses,  which  ascend 
a  mile  high,  in  a  confusion  which  is  not  disagreeable. 
After  this  salutary  water  was  found,  and  the  pu- 
rity 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  ra- 
vage 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  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 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        15 

is  very  disagreeable  ;    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  tat- 
tered  circumstances,    without   doors   or   windows. 
The  beauty  of  the  great  saloon  gained  my  affec- 
tion :  it  is  forty-two  feet  in  length  by  twenty-five, 
proportionably  high,  opening  into  a  balcony  of  the 
same  length,  with  a  marble  balustre  :  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  bed-chamber  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  favoured  in  the  sale,  which  was  by  auction, 
the  owner  having  died  without  children,  and  I  be- 


16  LETTERS  TO  MR.  WORTLEY 

lieve  he  had  never  seen  this  mansion  in  his  life,  it 
having  stood  empty  from  the  death  of  his  grand- 
father. The  governor  bid  for  me,  and  nobody  would 
bid  against  him.  Thus  I  am  become  a  citizen  of 
Louvere,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  inhabitants,  not 
(as  they  would  pretend)  from  their  respect  for  my 
person,  but  I  perceive  they  fancy  I  shall  attract 
all  the  travelling  English  ;  and,  to  say  truth,  the 
singularity  of  the  place  is  well  worth  their  curiosity; 
but,  as  I  have  no  correspondents,  I  may  be  buried 
here  thirty  years,  and  nobody  know  any  thing  of 
the  matter. 

I  received  the  books  you  were  so  kind  to  send 
me,  five  days  ago,  but  not  the  china,  which  I  would 
not  venture  among  the  precipices  that  lead  hither. 
I  have  only  had  time  to  read  Lord  Orrery's  work, 
which  has  extremely  entertained,  and   not  at   all 
surprized  me,  having  the  honour  of  being  acquaint- 
ed with  him,  and  know  him  for  one  of  those  dang- 
lers 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. 
Dean  Swift,  by  his  lordship's  own  account,  was  so 
intoxicated  with  the  love  of  flattery,  he  sought  it 
amongst  the  lowest  of  people,  and  the  silliest  of 
women ;  and  was  never  so  well  pleased  with  any 
companions  as  those  that  worshipped  him,  while  he 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        J7 

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  en- 
dowed with  such  universal  merit  as  he  displays  in 
these  Letters,  where  he  shews  that  he  is  a  poet, 
a  patriot,  a  philosopher,  a  physician,  a  critic,  a 
complete  scholar,  and  most  excellent  moralist ; 
shining  in  private  life  as  a  submissive  son,  a  tender 
father,  and  zealous  friend.  His  only  error  has  been 
that  love  of  learned  ease  which  he  has  indulged  in 
a  solitude,  which  has  prevented  the  world  from 
being  blest  with  such  a  general,  minister,  or  admi- 
ral, 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  man- 
kind, that  the  most  villainous  actions,  nay  the  most 
arrant  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  con- 
versation of  those  who  endeavour  to  raise  an  opi- 
nion of  their  understanding  by  ridiculing  what 
both  law  and  decency  obliges  them  to  revere ;  but, 
whenever  I  have  met  with  any  of  those  bright 
spirits  who  would  be  smart  on  sacred  subjects,  I 
have  ever  cut  short  their  discourse  by  asking  them  if 
they  had  any  lights  and  revelations  by  which  they 
would  propose  new  articles  of  faith  ?  Nobody  can 

*  Dr.  Thomas  Sheridan,  grandfather  of  R.  Brinsley  Sheridan. 
VOL.  III.  C 


18  LETTERS   TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

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  digni- 
ties from  that  very  church  he  openly  despises,  it  is 
an  object  of  horror  for  which  I  want  a  name,  and 
can  only  be  excused  by  madness,  which  I  think  the 
Dean  was  always  strongly  touched  with.     His  cha- 
racter 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,  pre- 
ferred 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,  that  of 
Lord  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 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        19 

beings  were  entitled,  by  their  birth  and  hereditary 
fortune,  to  be  only  a  couple  of  link-boys.  I  am 
of  opinion  their  friendship  would  have  continued, 
though  they  had  remained  in  the  same  kingdom  :  it 
had  a  very  strong  foundation — the  love  of  flattery  on 
one  side,  and  the  love  of  money  on  the  other.  Pope 
courted  with  the  utmost  assiduity  all  the  old  men 
from  whom  he  could  hope  a  legacy,  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham,  Lord  Peterborough,  Sir  G.  Kneller, 
Lord  Bolingbroke,  Mr.  Wycherly,  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  preach- 
ing 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  ad- 
mirers, if  Lord  Orrery  did  not  shew  that  smooth 
lines  have  as  much  influence  over  some  people  as 
the  authority  of  the  church  in  these  countries, 
where  it  can  not  only  excuse,  but  sanctify  any  ab- 
surdity or  villainy  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. 

c  2 


20  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

His  father  began  the  world  by  giving  his  name  to 
a  treatise  wrote  by  Atterbury  and  his  club,  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  Or- 
rery's papers.  People  could  easier  forgive  his  be- 
ing 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, 

M.  WORTLEY. 

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,B  taxes  for  church  and  poor,  or  any  imposition 
whatever,  on  houses.  I  desire  in  the  next  parcel 
you  would  send  me  Lady  Frail,  the  Adventures  of 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        21 

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. 

DEAR  CHILD,  March  l,  N.  S.  1752. 

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  J.  R. 
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.,  he  endeavoured  to  manifest  his  loyalty 
by  railing  at  him  in  all  companies,  with  all  the 
warmth  imaginable  ;  on  which  his  companions  per- 
suaded him,  that  his  death  was  absolutely  deter- 
mined 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  Constan- 
tinople, he  asked  Lord  Mansel  by  what  accident  I 
made  that  journey.  He  answered,  Mr.  Wortley 
had  been  ambassador  to  the  Port.  Sir  J.  replied, 
to  what  port?  the  port  of  Leghorn!  —  I  could 


22  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

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. 
Steuart;*   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  any  thing 
in  human  nature  than  the  wooden  cut  in  the  Seven 
Champions,  I  was  rouzed  into  great  surprize  and 
indignation  by  the  monstrous  abuse  of  one  of  the 
very  few  women  I  have  a  real  value  for ;  I  mean 
Lady  B.  Finch  ;f  who  is  not  only  clearly  meant  by 
the  mention  of  her  library  (she  being  the  only  lady 
at   court   that   has  one),   but   her   very  name  at 
length ;  she  being  christened  Cecilia  Isabella,  tho' 
she  chuses   to  be  called  by  the  latter.      I  always 
thought  her  conduct,  in  every  light,  so  irreproach- 
able, 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 

*  "  Harriet  Stewart"  was  the  first  novel  written  by  Mrs. 
Charlotte  Lennox,  and  certainly  a  very  indifferent  one. 

t  Lady  Belle  Finch,  one  of  the  many  daughters  of  Lord 
Nottingham  (Swift's  Dismal),  who  before  his  death  succeeded 
to  the  older  title  of  Winchelsea.  She  was  sister  to  the  Duchess 
of  Roxburgh,  the  Duchess  of  Cleveland,  Lady  Mansfield,  Lady 
Rockingham,  &c.;  and  was  Lady  of  the  Bedchamber  to  the 
Princess  Amelia. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        23 

to  the  utmost  extent  of  a  power  that  they  fancy 
you  are  possessed  of;  which  it  may  be  is  only  ima- 
ginary. 

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  Mon- 
tagu ;  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  Ladies  Fall.  To  say  truth, 
the  first  volume  softened  me  by  a  near  resemblance 
of  my  maiden  days ;  but  on  the  whole  'tis  most 
miserable  stuff.  Miss  How,  who  is  called  a  young 
lady  of  sense  and  honor,  is  not  only  extreme  silly, 
but  a  more  vicious  character  than  Sally  Martin ; 
whose  crimes  are  owing  at  first  to  seduction,  and 
afterwards  to  necessity  :  while  this  virtuous  dam- 
sel, without  any  reason,  insults  her  mother  at  home 
and  ridicules  her  abroad  ;  abuses  the  man  she  mar- 
ries, and  is  impertinent  and  impudent  with  great 
applause.  Even  that  model  of  perfection  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  circumstances  are  so  laid,  as  to  inspire 
tenderness,  notwithstanding  the  low  style  and  ab- 
surd incidents  ;  and  I  look  upon  this  and  Pamela 
to  be  two  books  that  will  do  more  general  mischief 


24  LETTERS  TO  MR.  WORTLEY 

than    the   works    of  Lord   Rochester.      There    is 
something  humourous  in  R.  Random,  that  makes 
me  believe  that  the  author  is  H.  Fielding.     I  am 
horridly  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  mama  mean  by  troubling   me   with  cri- 
ticisms on   books,   that  nobody  but   her  self  will 
ever  read  ?     You  must  allow  something  to  my  soli- 
tude.    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  acquaintance  with  the  persons  con- 
cerned ;  and  an  account  of  my  self  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  hear- 
ing ;  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,  pur- 
posely that  they  may  be   carried   about  by  them. 
This  consideration  should  abate  my  wonder  to  see 
(as  I  do  here)  the  most  astonishing  legends  em- 
braced as  the  most  sacred  truths,  by  those  who 
have  always  heard  them  asserted,  and  never  con- 
tradicted ;  they  even  place  a  merit  in  complying, 
in   direct  opposition  to  the  evidence  of  all   their 
other  senses. 


AND   THE   COUNTESS   OF  BUTE.  25 

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  bless- 
ing to  your  little  ones,  and  my  compliments  to 
Lord  Bute,  and  think  me  ever 

Your  most  affectionate  mother, 

M.  WORTLEY. 

TO   THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  Aug.  20,  1752. 

'Tis  impossible  to  tell  you  to  what  degree  I 
share  with  you  in  the  misfortune  that  has  hap- 
pened. I  do  not  doubt  your  own  reason  will  sug- 
gest to  you  all  the  alleviations  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.  Disap- 
pointments ought  to  be  less  sensibly  felt  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  an  use- 
less grief,  to  the  prejudice  of  your  health,  which  is 
so  necessary  to  your  family.  Every  thing  may 
turn  out  better  than  you  expect.  We  see  so  dark- 
ly into  futurity,  we  never  know  when  we  have  real 
cause  to  rejoice  or  lament.  The  worst  appearances 
have  often  happy  consequences,  as  the  best  lead 
many  times  into  the  greatest  misfortunes.  Human 
prudence  is  very  straitly  bounded.  What  is  most 


26  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

in  our  power,  though  little  so,  is  the  disposition 
of  our  own  minds.  Do  not  give  way  to  melan- 
choly ;  seek  amusements ;  be  willing  to  be  di- 
verted, and  insensibly  you  will  become  so.  Weak 
people  only  place  a  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  read- 
ing. If  relays  of  eyes  were  to  be  hired  like  post- 
horses,  I  would  never  admit  any  but  silent  compa- 
nions :  they  afford  a  constant  variety  of  entertain- 
ment, which  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  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,  M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

Louvere,  Oct.  1,  N.  S.  1752. 

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, 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        37 

which  may  be  attributed  to  Sir  J.  Gray's  leaving 
Venice.  You  must  now  direct  (at  last),  recom- 
mended a  Mon1.  Smith,  Consul  de  S.  M.  B. 

The  first  of  those  letters  I  mention  spoke  of  Lord 
K***  ;  the  second  had  a  story  of  Lady  O***  ;  the 
third  answered  yours  relating  to  the  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  per- 
formance, but  will  have  better  luck  than  I  have 
had,  if  you  can  persuade  any  body  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  impar- 
tiality 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 
Great  Britain  as  I  should  do  of  that  of  Augustus 
Caesar.  I  hope  you  have  not  so  ill  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 


28  LETTERS  TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

it  is  finished ;  and  mean  nothing  more  than  to  di- 
vert my  solitary  hours.  I  know  mankind  too  well 
to  think  they  are  capable  of  receiving  truth,  much 
less  of  applauding  it:  or,  were  it  otherwise,  ap- 
plause to  me  is  as  insignificant  as  garlands  on  the 
dead.  I  have  no  concern  beyond  my  own  family. 
Pray  write  as  often  as  you  can  to  your  most  affec- 
tionate mother,  M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

Brescia,  Oct.  10,  1752. 

THIS  letter  will  be  very  dull  or  very  peevish 
(perhaps  both).  I  am  at  present  much  out  of  hu- 
mour, being  on  the  edge  of  a  quarrel  with  my 
friend  and  patron,  the  Cardinal  Querini.*  He  is 
really  a  good-natured  and  generous  man,  and 
spends  his  vast  revenue  in  (what  he  thinks)  the 
service  of  his  country,  beside  contributing  largely 
to  the  building  a  new  cathedral,  which,  when  fin- 
ished, will  stand  in  the  first  rank  of  fine  churches 
(where  he  has  already  the  comfort  of  seeing  his  own 
busto,)  finely  done  both  within  and  without.  He 
has  founded  a  magnificent  college  for  one  hundred 
scholars,  which  I  don't  doubt  he  will  endow  very 
nobly,  and  greatly  enlarged  and  embellished  his 

*  Cardinal  Angelo  Maria  Querini.  He  published  the  works 
of  St.  Ephrem  Syrus,  in  six  volumes,  folio,  1732  ;  and  the  Life 
of  Pope  Paul  II.  quarto,  1740.  See  De  Bure,  Bibliographic 
Instructive,  &c. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       29 

episcopal  palace.  He  has  joined  to  it  a  public 
library,  which,  when  I  saw  it,  was  a  very  beautiful 
room  :  it  is  now  finished,  furnished,  and  open  twice 
in  a  week  with  proper  attendance.  Yesterday  here 
arrived  one  of  his  chief  chaplains,  with  a  long  com- 
pliment, 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  conspicuous  place.  I 
was  struck  dumb  for  some  time  with  this  astonish- 
ing request ;  when  I  recovered  my  vexatious  sur- 
prize (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, 
that  his  Eminence  could  send  for  them  to  England, 
but  they  would  be  a  long  time  coming,  and  with 
some  hazard  ;  and  that  he  had  flattered  himself  I 
would  not  refuse  him  such  a  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  ingrati- 
tude, while  it  is  the  blackest  of  vices  in  my  opi- 
nion, and  of  which  I  am  utterly  incapable — I  really 
could  cry  for  vexation. 


30  LETTERS   TO    Mil.  WORTLEY 

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  never  read,  published  with  my 
name  at  length ;  and  others,  that  were  truly  and 
singly  wrote  by  me,  printed  under  the  names  of 
others.  I  have  made  myself  easy  under  all  these 
mortifications,  by  the  reflection  I  did  not  deserve 
them,  having  never  aimed  at  the  vanity  of  popular 
applause ;  but  I  own  my  philosophy  is  not  proof 
against  losing  a  friend,  and  it  may  be  making  an 
enemy  of  one  to  whom  I  am  obliged. 

I  confess  I  have  often  been  complimented,  since 
I  have  been  in  Italy,  on  the  books  I  have  given  the 
public.  I  used  at  first  to  deny  it  with  some  warmth ; 
but,  finding  I  persuaded  nobody,  I  have  of  late  con- 
tented myself  with  laughing  whenever  I  heard  it 
mentioned,  knowing  the  character  of  a  learned 
woman  is  far  from  being  ridiculous  in  this  country, 
the  greatest  families  being  proud  of  having  pro- 
duced 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  recompence  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  ex- 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       31 

eluding  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  sensations ;  but  I  have  always  thought  cor- 
rections, 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  de- 
barred 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  no- 
tions, which  may  wear  out,  some  ages  hence,  along 
with  others  equally  absurd.     It  appears  to  me  the 
strongest  proof  of  a  clear  understanding  in  Longinus 
(in  every  light  acknowledged  one  of  the  greatest 
men  among  the   ancients),  when  I  find  him  so  far 
superior  to  vulgar  prejudices,  as  to  chuse  his  two 
examples  of  fine  writing  from  a  Jew  (at  that  time 


32  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

the  most  despised  people  upon  earth)  and  a  woman. 
Our  modern  wits  would  be  so  far  from  quoting, 
they  would  scarce  own  they  had  read  the  works  of 
such  contemptible  creatures,  though  perhaps  they 
would  condescend  to  steal  from  them,  at  the  same 
time  they  declared  they  were  below  their  notice. 
This  subject  is  apt  to  run  away  with  me  ;  I  will 
trouble  you  with  no  more  of  it. 

M.  WORTLEY, 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  Oct.  20,  N.S.  1752. 

I  HAVE  now  read  over  Richardson —  he  sinks 
horribly  in  his  third  volume  (he  does  so  in  his  story 
of  Clarissa).  When  he  talks  of  Italy,  it  is  plain  he 
is  no  better  acquainted  with  it  than  he  is  with  the 
kingdom  of  Mancomingo.  He  might  have  made 
his  Sir  Charles's  amour  with  Clementina  begin  in  a 
convent,  where  the  pensioners  sometimes  take  great 
liberties ;  but  that  such  familiarity  should  be  per- 
mitted 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  man- 
ner 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 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       33 

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  youjx'  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  vindication  of  his  images),  that  they  did  not  take 
their  statues  to  be  real  gods,  but  only  the  represen- 
tations 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  dis- 
putes :  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  reli- 
gion ?  The  constant  reply  is,  O  yes.  Then  say  I, 

VOL.  III.  D 


34  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

purgatory,  transubstantiation,  invocation  of  Saints, 
adoration  of  the  Virgin,  relics  (of  which  they  might 
have  had  a  cart  load),  and  observation  of  Lent,  is 
no  part  of  it,  since  they  neither  taught  nor  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 
mortals  can  promise  that  case  shall  never  be  theirs, 
which  depends  on  the  disposition  of  the  body  as 
much  as  a  fever ;  and  'tis  as  reasonable  to  engage 
never  to  feel  the  one  as  the  other.  He  tells  us,  the 
marks  of  the  Holy  Spirit  are  charity,  humility,  truth, 
and  long  suffering.  Can  any  thing  be  more  uncha- 
ritable 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  applaud- 
ed :  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  be- 
lieves according  to  them  shall  be  saved.  Jesus 
Christ,  in  answer  to  the  lawyer,  bids  him  love  God 
above  all  things,  and  his  neighbour  as  himself,  as  all 
that  is  necessary  to  salvation.  When  he  describes 
the  last  judgment,  he  doe^s  not  examine  what  sect, 
or  what  church,  men  were  of,  but  how  far  they  had 
been  beneficial  to  mankind.  Faith  cannot  deter- 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       35 

mine  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  ex- 
clamation, invective,  or  ridicule  for  argument,  I 
never  recriminate  on  the  lives  of  their  Popes  and 
Cardinals,  when  they  urge  the  character  of  Henry 
the  Eighth ;  I  only  answer,  good  actions  are  often 
done  by  ill  men  through  interested  motives,  and 
'tis  the  common  method  of  Providence  to  bring 
good  out  of  evil :  history,  both  sacred  and  profane, 
furnishes  many  examples  of  it.  When  they  tell 
me  I  have  forsook  the  worship  of  my  ancestors,  I 
say  I  have  had  more  ancestors  heathen  than  Chris- 
tian, 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  fopperies  of  their  religion  were  only  fopperies, 
they  ought  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  mer- 
cenary deceits  and  barbarous  tyranny  of  their  eccle- 
siastics, inconsistent  with  moral  honesty.  If  they 
object  to  the  diversity  of  our  sects  as  a  mark  of  repro- 


36  LETTERS  TO  MR.  WORTLEY 

bation,  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  surprized  to  find  me  as  well  (often  better) 
acquainted  with  them  than  themselves.  I  shew 
them  the  variety  of  their  doctrines,  their  violent 
contests  and  various  factions,  instead  of  that  union 
they  boast  of.  I  have  never  been  attacked  a  se- 
cond time  in  any  of  the  towns  where  I  have  re- 
sided, and  perhaps  shall  never  be  so  again  after 
my  last  battle,  which  was  with  an  old  priest,  a 
learned  man,  particularly  esteemed  as  a  mathema- 
tician, 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  every  where 
with  such  violent  praise,  that,  had  we  been  young 
people,  God  knows  what  would  have  been  said.  I 
have  always  the  advantage  of  being  quite  calm  on 
a  subject  which  they  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  de- 
manded 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  de- 
sperate debt.  He  still  visits  me,  but  seldom,  and 
in  a  cold  sort  of  a  way.  When  I  have  found  dis- 
putants I  less  respected,  I  have  sometimes  taken 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       37 

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  dis- 
appointed when  I  explain  myself  by  saying  the 
word  sacrament  is  not  to  be  found  either  in  Old  or 
New  Testament ;  and  one  must  be  very  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.  Ordination  and  matri- 
mony are  solemn  vows  of  a  different  kind  :  con- 
fession includes  a  vow  of  revealing  all  we  know, 
and  reforming  what  is  amiss  :  extreme  unction,  the 
last  vow,  that  we  have  lived  in  the  faith  we  were 
baptized:  in  this  sense  they  are  all  sacraments.  As 
to  the  mysteries  preached  since,  they  were  all  in- 
vented long  after,  and  some  of  them  repugnant  to 
the  primitive  institution.  ., 

This  digression  has  carried  me  far  from  my 
criticism.  You  will  laugh  at  my  making  any,  on 
a  work  below  examination.  It  may  be  of  use  to 
my  grand-daughters.  I  am  persuaded  Richardson 
is  a  favourite  author  in  all  the  nurseries  in  Eng- 
land, and  has  done  much  harm  in  the  boarding 
schools,  therefore  ought  to  have  his  absurdities  de- 
tected. You  will  think  me  angry  with  him  for  re- 
peating a  saying  of  mine,  accompanied  with  a  de- 


38  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

scription  of  my  person,  which  resembles  me  as  much 
as  one  of  the  giants  in  Guildhall,  and  plainly  shews 
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  possibly  have 
incurred  his  indignation,  except  he  takes  for  truth 
the  literary  correspondence  between  me  and  the 
Messrs.  Argens,  whom  I  never  saw,  and  who,  with 
many  high  compliments,  have  atributed  to  me 
sentiments  that  never  came  into  my  head,  and 
among  them  a  criticism  on  Pamela,  who  is,  how- 
ever, more  favourably  treated  than  she  deserves. 

The  book  of  letters  I  mention  never  came  to  my 
hands  till  some  time  after  it  was  printed,  acciden- 
tally at  Thoulouse.  I  have  need  of  all  my  philoso- 
phy on  these  occasions  ;  though,  they  happen  so 
often,  I  ought  to  be  accustomed  to  them.  When  I 
print,  I  submit  to  be  answered,  and  criticized ;  but 
as  I  never  did,  'tis  hard  to  be  abused  for  other  peo- 
ple'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  this  Sir  Charles 


AND   THE   COUNTESS   OF   BUTE.  39 

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  Bed- 
lam, which  is  really  all  that  is  to  be  done  in  that 
case.  Madness  is  as  much  a  corporal  distemper  as 
the  gout  or  asthma,  never  occasioned  by  affliction, 
or  to  be  cured  by  the  enjoyment  of  extravagant 
wishes.  Passion  may  indeed  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  Grandi- 
son  are  recommended  as  patterns  of  charming  plea- 
santry, and  applauded  by  his  saint-like  dames,  who 
mistake  folly  for  wit  and  humour,  and  impudence 
and  ill  nature  for  spirit  and  fire.  Charlotte  behaves 
like  a  humoursome  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  received  by  a  wife,  even  when  he 
is  drunk,  and  though  it  is  wrapped  up  in  never  so 
much  impertinence.  Charlotte  acts  with  an  ingra- 
titude that  I  think  too  black  for  human  nature, 
with  such  coarse  jokes  and  low  expressions  as  are 


40  LE1TERS  TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

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 
Duke  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 
this  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  grandame.     Her  whole 
behaviour,  which  he   designs  to  be    exemplary,  is 
equally  blameable  and  ridiculous,    i  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  ne- 
cessary for  our  minds  as  our  bodies,  and  'tis  as  inde- 
cent to  shew  all  we  think,  as  all  we  haveT    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 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       41 

a  may-pole.  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  of  an 
independent  fortune,  would  certainly  have  executed 
it,  and  elected  myself  lady  abbess.  There  would 
you  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  delivered  into  your  own  hand ;  nay  farther,  that 
I  shall  have  an  account  how  you  look,  how  you  are 
dressed,  and  in  what  manner  your  room  is  furnished. 
Nothing  relating  to  you  is  indifferent  to  me ;  and  if 
the  performance  answers  the  engagement,  it  will  be 
a  vast  pleasure  to  your  most  affectionate  mother, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


42  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  Jan.  28,  N.  S.  1753. 

You  have  given  me  a  great  deal  of  satisfaction 
by  your  account  of  your  eldest  daughter.  I  am 
particularly  pleased  to  hear  she  is  a  good  arithme- 
tician ;  it  is  the  best  proof  of  understanding :  the 
knowledge  of  numbers  is  one  of  the  chief  distinc- 
tions between  us  and  brutes.  If  there  is  any  thing 
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  shewing  it ;  and 
his  uncle  the  present  Duke  of  Argyll f  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  pro- 
spect was  very  different  from  hers.  As  you  had 

*  William  Pierrepont,  second  son  of  Robert  Earl  of  Kingston, 
died  1679,  aged  71. 

f  The  Duke  of  Argyle  here  mentioned  was  Archibald,  who, 
before  he  succeeded  his  brother  John  Duke  of  Argyle  in  the 
dukedom,  was  Earl  of  Islay. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        43 

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  considering  that  no- 
thing is  beautiful  which  is  displaced.  Hence  we 
see  so  many  edifices  raised  that  the  raisers  can 
never  inhabit,  being  too  large  for  their  fortunes. 
Vistos  are  laid  open  over  barren  heaths,  and  apart- 
ments 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  incapaci- 
tating her  for  that  retirement  to  which  she  is  des- 
tined. Learning,  if  she  has  a  real  taste  for  it, 
will  not  only  make  her  contented,  but  happy  in  it. 
No  entertainment  is  so  cheap  as  reading,  nor  any 
pleasure  so  lasting.  She  will  not  want  new  fashions, 
nor  regret  the  loss  of  expensive  diversions,  or  va- 
riety of  company,  if  she  can  be  amused  with  an 
author  in  her  closet.  To  render  this  amusement 
complete,  she  should  be  permitted  to  learn  the  lan- 
guages. 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 


44  LETTERS  TO   MR.    WORTLEY 

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  no  farther  wish  her  a  linguist 
than  to  enable  her  to  read  books  in  their  originals, 
that  are  often  corrupted,  and  are  always  injured,  by 
translations.     Two  hours'  application  every  morn- 
ing will  bring  this  about  much  sooner  than  you  can 
imagine,  and  she  will  have  leisure  enough  beside,  to 
run  over  the  English  poetry,  which  is  a  more  im- 
portant part  of  a  woman's  education  than  it  is  ge- 
nerally supposed.     Many  a  young  damsel  has  been 
ruined  by  a  fine  copy  of  verses,  which  she  would 
have  laughed  at   if  she  had  known  it  had  been 
stolen  from  Mr.  Waller.    I  remember,  when  I  was 
a  girl,  I  saved  one  of  my  companions  from  destruc- 
tion, who  communicated  to  me  an  epistle  she  was 
quite  charmed  with.     As  she  had  naturally  a  good 
taste,  she  observed  the  lines  were  not  so  smooth  as 
Prior's  or  Pope's,  but  had  more  thought  and  spirit 
than  any  of  theirs.     She  was  wonderfully  delighted 
with  such  a  demonstration  of  her  lover's  sense  and 
passion,   and   not  a  little   pleased  with   her  own 
charms,  that  had  force  enough  to  inspire  such  ele- 
gancies.    In  the   midst  of  this  triumph  I  shewed 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        45 

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  my- 
self. 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  learn- 
ing 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  con- 
sequently the  most  inveterate  hatred,  of  all  he  and 
she  fools,  which  will  certainly  be  at  least  three  parts 
in  four  of  her  acquaintance.  The  use  of  knowledge 
in  our  sex,  beside  the  amusement  of  solitude,  is  to 
moderate  the  passions,  and  learn  to  be  contented 
with  a  small  expense,  which  are  the  certain  effects 
of  a  studious  life ;  and  it  may  be  preferable  even  to 
that  fame  which  men  have  engrossed  to  themselves, 
and  will  not  suffer  us  to  share.  You  will  tell  me  I 
have  not  observed  this  rule  myself;  but  you  are  mis- 
taken :  it  is  only  inevitable  accident  that  has  given 
me  any  reputation  that  way.  I  have  always  care- 
fully avoided  it,  and  ever  thought  it  a  misfortune. 


46  LETTERS  TO    MR.    WORTLEY 

The  explanation  of  this  paragraph  would  occasion 
a  long  digression,  which  I  will  not  trouble  you 
with,  it  heing  my  present  design  only  to  say  what 
I  think  useful  for  the  instruction  of  my  grand- 
daughter, 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  Isaac  Newton's  calculations,  but  the  re- 
sult of  them  is  not  difficult  to  be  understood  by  a 
moderate  capacity.  Do  not  fear  this  should  make 

her   affect  the  character  of  Lady ,  or   Lady 

9  or  Mrs. :  those  women  are  ridiculous, 

not  because  they  have  learning,  but  because  they 
have  it  not.  One  thinks  herself  a  complete  histo- 
rian, after  reading  Echard's  Roman  History ;  an- 
other a  profound  philosopher,  having  got  by  heart 
some  of  Pope's  unintelligible  essays ;  and  a  third  an 
able  divine  on  the  strength  of  Whitfield's  sermons  : 
thus  you  hear  them  screaming  politics  and  con- 
troversy. 

It  is  a  saying  of  Thucydides,  that  ignorance  is 
bold,  and  knowledge  reserved.  Indeed  it  is  im- 
possible 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  re- 
commend books,  I  neither  exclude  work  nor  drawing. 
I  think  it  as  scandalous  for  a  woman  not  to  know 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       47 

how  to  use  a  needle,  as  for  a  man  not  to  know  how 
to  use  a  sword.  I  was  once  extremely  fond  of  my 
pencil,  and  it  was  a  great  mortification  to  me  when 
my  father  turned  off  my  master,  having  made  a 
considerable  progress  for  the  short  time  I  learnt. 
My  over  eagerness  in  the  pursuit  of  it  had  brought 
a  weakness  in  my  eyes,  that  made  it  necessary  to 
leave  off;  and  all  the  advantage  I  got  was  the  im- 
provement of  my  hand.  I  see,  by  hers,  that  prac- 
tice 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  your- 
self; and  custom  will  make  it  an  agreeable  amuse- 
ment 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,  where  there  are  (at  the  lowest  computation) 
ten  thousand  blanks  to  a  prize,  it  is  the  most  pru- 
dent 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  re- 
collect I  did  so  in  the  strongest  manner.  Perhaps 
you  may  have  more  success  in  the  instructing  your 


48  LETTERS  TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

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  com- 
panions 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  insig- 
nificant 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  mothery 
M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  Feb.  19,  N.  S.  1753. 

I  GAVE  you  some  general  thoughts  on  the  educa- 
tion of  your  children  in  my  last  letter  ;  but  fearing 
you  should  think  I  neglected  your  request,  by  an- 
swering it  with  too  much  conciseness,  I  am  re- 
solved to  add  to  it  what  little  I  know  on  that  sub- 
ject, and  which  may  perhaps  be  useful  to  you  in  a 
concern,  with  which  you  seem  so  nearly  affected. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        49 

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 
your  giving  them  all  the  instructions  necessary  to 
form  them  to  a  virtuous  life  ;  but  'tis  a  fatal  mis- 
take 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  conse- 
quences. Sincerity,  friendship,  piety,  disinterest- 
edness, and  generosity,  are  all  great  virtues ;  but, 
pursued  without  discretion,  become  criminal.  I 
have  seen  ladies  indulge  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  acquaintances  made  a  ball  the 
next  day  after  her  mother  died,  to  shew  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  recom- 
mended to  young  people  without  limits  or  distinc- 
tion, and  this  prejudice  hurries  them  into  great 

VOL.  in.  E; 


50  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

misfortunes,  while  they  are  applauding  themselves 
in  the  noble  practice  (as  they  fancy)  of  very  emi- 
nent virtues. 

I  cannot  help  adding  (out  of  my  real  affection  to 
you),  that  I  wish  you  would  moderate  that  fond- 
ness  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  disap- 
pointments, which  are  heavy  in  proportion  to  their 
being  surprizing.     It  is  hardly  possible,  in  such  a 
number,  that  none  should  be   unhappy;   prepare 
yourself  against  a  misfortune  of  that  kind.     I  con- 
fess 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   speak- 
ing, 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. 

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  no- 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        61 

tion  of  their  figure,  and  shew  them  how  far  it  is 
valuable.  Every  advantage  has  its  price,  and  may 
be  either  over  or  under  valued.  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.  Why  they 
should  not  look  on  those  things  as  blessings  where 
they  are  bestowed,  though  not  necessaries  that  it  is 
impossible  to  be  happy  without,  I  cannot  conceive. 
I  am  persuaded  the  ruin  of  Lady  F —  M —  was  in 
great  measure  owing  to  the  notions  given  her  by  the 
good  people  that  had  the  care  of  her.  'Tis  true, 
her  circumstances  and  your  daughters'  are  very  dif- 
ferent :  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  instruc- 
tions. I  do  not  give  them  as  believing  my  age  has 
furnished  me  with  superior  wisdom,  but  in  com- 
pliance with  your  desire,  and  being  fond  of  every 
opportunity  that  gives  a  proof  of  the  tenderness 
with  which  I  am  ever 

Your  affectionate  mother, 
M.  WORTLEY. 

I  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  Duchess  of 
Marlborough's  Memoirs,  but  should  be  glad  of  the 
Apology  for  a  late  resignation.  As  to  the  ale,  'tis 


52  LETTERS  TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

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. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

Louvere,  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  education  for  daughters, 
which  the  generality  of  men  believe  to  be  as  great 
a  profanation,  as  the  clergy  would  do,  if  the  laity 
should  presume  to  exercise  the  functions  of  the 
priesthood.  I  desire  you  would  take  notice,  I 
would  not  have  learning  enjoined  them  as  a  task, 
but  permitted  as  a  pleasure,  if  their  genius  leads 
them  naturally  to  it.  I  look  upon  my  grand-daugh- 
ters 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 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       53 

mind,  will  find  full  employment.  Every  virtue  does 
not  only  require  great  care  in  the  planting,  but  as 
much  daily  solicitude  in  cherishing,  as  exotic  fruits 
and  flowers.  The  vices  and  passions  (which  I  am 
afraid  are  the  natural  product  of  the  soil)  '  demand 
perpetual  weeding.  Add  to  this  the  search  after 
knowledge  (every  branch  of  which  is  entertaining), 
and  the  longest  life  is  too  short  for  the  pursuit  of  it ; 
which,  though  in  some  regard  confined  to  very  strait 
limits,  leaves  still  a  vast  variety  of  amusements  to 
those  capable  of  tasting  them,  which  is  utterly  im- 
possible to  be  attained  by  those  that  are  blinded  by 
prejudice,  the  certain  effect  of  an  ignorant  educa- 
tion. 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  go- 
verness, 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  that  I  am  not  at  this  day 
afraid  of  witches  and  hobgoblins,  or  turned  metho- 
dist.  Almost  all  girls  are  bred  after  this  manner.  I 
believe  you  are  the  only  woman  (perhaps  I  might 
say,  person)  that  never  was  either  frighted  or 
cheated  into  any  thing  by  your  parents.  I  can 
truly  affirm,  I  never  deceived  any  body  in  my  life, 
excepting  (which  I  confess  has  often  happened  un- 
designed) by  speaking  plainly ;  as  Earl  Stanhope 
used  to  say  (during  his  ministry)  he  always  imposed 


54  LETTERS   TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

on  the  foreign  ministers  by  telling  them  the  naked 
truth,  which,  as  they  thought  impossible  to  come 
from  the  mouth  of  a  statesman,  they  never  failed  to 
write  information  to  their  respective  courts  directly 
contrary  to  the  assurances  he  gave  them.  Most 
people  confound  the  ideas  of  sense  and  cunning, 
though  there  are  really  no  two  things  in  nature 
more  opposite :  it  is,  in  part,  from  this  false  reason- 
ing, the  unjust  custom  prevails  of  debarring  our 
sex  from  the  advantages  of  learning,  the  men  fancy- 
ing 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  enterprizing,  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  extraordi- 
nary creatures  in  their  kind,  and  have  all  the  ac- 
complishments 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  per- 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        55 

suaded,  if  there  was  a  commonwealth  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  subject,  but  I  am  not  now  endeavouring  to 
remove  the  prejudices  of  mankind  ;  my  only  design 
is,  to  point  out  to  my  grand-daughters  the  method 
of  being  contented  with  that  retreat,  to  which  un- 
foreseen circumstances  may  oblige  them,  and  which 
is  perhaps  preferable  to  all  the  show  of  public  life. 
It  has  always  been  my  inclination.  Lady  Stafford 
(who  knew  me  better  than  any  body  else  in  the 
world,  both  from  her  own  just  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  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  willingly  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  understanding,  which  was  very  un- 
common. You  cannot  remember  her,  being  then  in 
your  nurse's  arms.  I  conclude  with  repeating  to 


56  LETTERS  TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

you,  I  only  recommend,  but  am  far  from  command- 
ing, which  I  think  I  have  no  right  to  do.  I  tell 
you  my  sentiments,  because  you  desired  to  know 
them,  and  hope  you  will  receive  them  with  some 
partiality,  as  coming  from 

Your  most  affectionate  mother, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  March  16,  N.  S.  1753. 

I  RECEIVED  yours  of  December  20th,  this  morn- 
ing, 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  patriotic  prince,  and 
was  the  only  example  I  ever  knew  of  having  passed 
through  the  greatest  employments,  and  most  im- 
portant negociations  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,  which  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 

*  Pietro  Griraani  died  1752 — He  was  elected  Doge  of  Venice 
in  1741,  and  was  succeeded  by  Francesco  Loredano. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       57 

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  dependants.  Authority  appeared  so  humble 
in  him,  no  one  wished  it  less,  except  himself, 
who  would  sometimes  lament  the  weight  of  it, 
as  robbing  him  too  much  of  the  conversation 
of  his  friends,  in  which  he  placed  his  chief  de- 
light, being  so  little  ambitious,  that,  to  my  cer- 
tain knowledge,  far  from  caballing  to  gain  that 
elevation  to  which  he  was  raised,  he  would  have 
refused  it,  if  he  had  not  looked  upon  the  accep- 
tation 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  de- 
monstration 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  ex- 
pressing the  greatest  regard  for  me,  both  in  his  dis- 
course to  others,  and  upon  all  occasions,  where  he 
thought  he  could  be  useful  to  me.  I  do  not  doubt 
that  I  shall  very  sensibly  miss  the  influence  of  his 
good  intentions. 

You  will  think  I  dwell  too  long  on  this  melan- 
choly subject.  I  will  turn  to  one  widely  different, 
in  taking  notice  of  the  dress  of  you  London  ladies, 


58  LETTERS   TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

who  I  find  take  up  the  Italian  fashion  of  going  in 
the  hair  ;  it  is  here  only  the  custom  of  the  peasants, 
and  the  unmarried  women  of  quality,  excepting  in 
the  heat  of  summer,  when  any  cap  would  be  almost 
insupportable.  I  have  often  smiled  to  myself  in 
viewing  our  assemblies  (which  they  call  conversa- 
tions) at  Louvere,  the  gentlemen  being  all  in  light 
night-caps  and  night-gowns  (under  which  I  am  in- 
formed they  wear  no  breeches)  and  slippers,  and 
the  ladies  in  their  stays  and  smock-sleeves,  tied 
with  ribbands,  and  a  single  lutestring  petticoat : 
there  is  not  a  hat  or  a  hoop  to  be  seen.  It  is  true 
this  dress  is  called  vestimenti  di  conjidenza,  and  they 
do  not  appear  in  it  in  town,  but  in  their  own  cham- 
bers, and  that  only  during  the  summer  months. 

My  paper  admonishes  me  to  conclude  by  as- 
suring you  that  I  am  ever  your  most  affectionate 
mother,  M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

Louvere,  May  2,  1753. 

I  GIVE  you  thanks,  dear  child,  for  the  entertain- 
ing account  of  your  present  diversions.  I  find  the 
public  calamities  have  no  influence  on  the  plea- 
sures 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 
whom  is  now  alive.  I  wish  you  had  told  me  who 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        59 

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  Or- 
phan :  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  jour- 
ney ;  and  the  people  of  this  village  (which  is  the 
largest  I  know,  the  curate  tells  me  he  has  two  thou- 
sand 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 
play-house  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  surprized  at  the  beauty  of  their  scenes,  which, 
though  painted  by  a  country  painter,  are  better  co- 
loured, and  the  perspective  better  managed,  than 
in  any  of  the  second-rate  theatres  in  London.  I 
liked  it  so  well,  it  is  not  yet  pulled  down.  The 
performance  was  yet  more  surprizing,  the  actors 
being  all  peasants ;  but  the  Italians  have  so  natu- 
ral a  genius  for  comedy,  they  acted  as  well  as  if 
they  had  been  brought  up  to  nothing  else,  particu- 
larly the  arkquino,  who  far  surpassed  any  of  our 
English,  though  only  the  taylor  of  the  village,  and 


60  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

I  am  assured  never  saw  a  play  in  any  other  place. 
It  is  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  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  grand- 
children :  but  alas !  as  the  Italians  say,  son  sonato 
ventiquatro  'ora :  and  it  is  not  long  I  must  expect  to 
write  myself  your  most  affectionate  mother, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  June  3,  N.  S.  1753. 

You  see  I  was  not  mistaken  in  supposing  we 
should  have  disputes  concerning  your  daughters,  if 
we  were  together,  since  we  can  differ  even  at  this 
distance.  The  sort  of  learning  that  I  recommend- 
ed is  not  so  expensive,  either  of  time  or  money,  as 
.dancing,  and  in  my  opinion  likely  to  be  of  much 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        61 

more  use  to  Lady ,  if  her  memory  and  ap- 
prehension 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  jour- 
ney, 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  judg- 
ment in  this  thought,  since  nothing  can  be  more 
imprudent  than  undertaking  the  management  of 
another's  child.  I  verily  believe  that,  had  I  carried 
six  daughters  out  of  England  with  me,  I  could 
have  disposed  of  them  all  advantageously.  The 
winter  I  passed  at  Rome  there  was  an  unusual  con- 
course 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  assidui- 
ties 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  '11  tell  Lady  Mary  what  you  say. 
I  was  judge  of  all  their  disputes,  and  my  decisions 
always  submitted  to.  While  I  staid,  there  was 
neither  gaming,  drinking,  quarrelling,  or  keeping. 
The  Abbe  Grant  (a  very  honest  good-natured 


62  LETTERS   TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

North  Briton,  who  has  resided  several  years  at 
Rome)  was  so  much  amazed  at  this  uncommon  re- 
gularity, 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  shewn  by  that  ugly  animal. 
Since  my  last  return  to  Italy,  which  is  now  near 
seven  years,  I  have  lived  in  a  solitude  not  unlike 
that  of  Robinson  Crusoe,  excepting  my  short  trips 
to  Louvere :  my  whole  time  is  spent  in  my  closet 
and  garden,  without  regretting  any  conversation 
but  that  of  my  own  family.  The  study  of  simples 
is  a  new  amusement  to  me.  I  have  no  correspond- 
ence with  any  body  at  London  but  yourself  and 
your  father,  whom  I  have  not  heard  from  a  long 
time.  My  best  wishes  attend  you  and  yours,  being 
with  great  truth 

Your  most  affectionate  mother, 

M.  WORTLEY. 

*  Lady  Charlotte  de  Roussi  was  a  Mademoiselle  de  Roussi, 
an  unmarried  woman  of  noble  birth,  who  became  a  refugee  from 
adhering  to  her  religion.  As  this  was  the  case  with  few  of  the 


AND   THE  COUNTESS    OF   BUTE.  63 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

Brescia,  June  22,  N.  S.  1753. 

WHEN  I  wrote  to  you  last,  my  dear  child,  I  told 
you  I  had  a  great  cold,  which  ended  in  a  very  bad 
fever,  that  continued  a  fortnight  without  interims^ 
sion,  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  coun- 
try by  the  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  archbishop- 
rick  ;  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  books  consisted  in  bulk  and  number,  he 
might  very  justly  claim  that  character.  I  believe 
he  has  published,  yearly,  several  volumes  for  above 

French  people  of  distinction,  our  Court  took  her  under  its  par- 
ticular protection,  and  gave  her  the  rank  of  an  earl's  daughter. 
At  the  time  Lady  Mary  thus  mentioned  her  she  was  a  very 
good  old  lady,  but  not  very  brilliant. 


64  LETTERS   TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

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  have  ever  heard  of, 
whom  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,  on 
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  flat- 
tering, that  it  is  a  young  old  man,  with  a  most 
pompous  inscription  under  it.     I  suppose  he  intend- 
ed it  for  the  ornament  of  my  library,  not  knowing 
it  is  only  a  closet :  however,  these  distinctions  he 
shews  me,  give  me  a  figure  in  this  town,  where 
every  body  has  something  to  hope  from  him ;  and 
it  was  certainly  in  a  view  to  that  they  would  have 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       65 

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  an- 
other. Mankind  is  every  where  the  same  :  like 
cherries  or  apples,  they  may  differ  in  size,  shape,  or 
colour,  from  different  soils,  climates  or  culture,  but 
are  still  essentially  the  same  species  ;  and  the  little 
black  wood  cherry  is  not  nearer  akin  to  the  may- 
dukes  that  are  served  at  great  tables,  than  the 
wild  naked  negro  to  the  fine  figures  adorned  with 
coronets  and  ribbands.  This  observation  might  be 
carried  yet  farther  :  all  animals  are  stimulated  by 
the  same  passions,  and  act  very  nearly  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 
were  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  be- 
lieve, if  it  could  be  thoroughly  understood,  there 
would  be  no  mothers  at  all.  However,  take  care 
that  the  anxiety  for  the  future  does  not  take  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  fear  of  what  may  be.  You  have 

VOL.  III.  F 


66  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

many  blessings  :  a  husband  you  love,  and  wbo  be- 
haves 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  advan- 
tages which  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  the  little  people  ;  and  how  se- 
vere 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  manage- 
ment 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 
chuse  something  for  herself,  would  be  as  accepta- 
ble :  if  so,  I  will  send  you  a  note  upon  Child. 
Ceremony  should  be  banished  between  us.  I  beg 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.         67 

you  would  speak  freely  upon  that,  and  all   other 
occasions,  to 

Your  most  affectionate  mother, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  July  10,  N.  S.  1753. 

I  RECEIVED  yours  of  May  the  12th  but  yesterday, 
July  the  9th.  I  am  surprized  you  complain  of  my 
silence.  I  have  never  failed  answering  yours  the 
post  after  I  received  them ;  but  I  fear,  being  di- 
rected 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  situate  in  the  midst  of  a 
very  large  village,  once  a  considerable  town,  part 
of  the  walls  still  remaining,  and  has  not  vacant 
ground  enough  about  it  to  make  a  garden,  which 
is  my  greatest  amusement,  it  being  now  troublesome 
to  walk,  or  even  go  in  the  chaise  till  the  evening. 
I  have  fitted  up  in  this  farm-house  a  room  for  my- 
self, that  is  to  say,  strewed  the  floor  with  rushes, 
covered  the  chimney  with  moss  and  branches,  and 
adorned  the  room  with  basons  of  earthen  ware 


68  LETTERS   TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

(which  is  made  here  to  great  perfection)  filled  with 
flowers,  and  put  in  some  straw  chairs,  and  a  couch 
bed,  which  is  my  whole  furniture.     This  spot  of 
ground  is  so  beautiful,  I  am  afraid  you  will  scarce 
credit  the  description,  which,  however,  I  can  assure 
you,  shall  be  very  literal,  without  any  embellish- 
ment 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  Rich- 
mond, or  by  walking  an  avenue  two  hundred  yards 
on  the  side  of  it,  you  find  a  wood  of  a  hundred 
acres,  which  was  all  ready  cut  into  walks  and  ridings 
when  I  took  it.     I  have  only  added  fifteen  bowers 
in  different  views,  with  seats  of  turf.     They  were 
easily  made,  here  being  a  large  quantity  of  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  thick  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  consider- 
able towns.     This  little  wood  is  carpeted,  in  their 
succeeding  seasons,  with  violets  and  strawberries, 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        69 

inhabited  by  a  nation  of  nightingales,  and  filled 
with  game  of  all  kinds,  excepting  deer  and  wild 
boar,  the  first  being  unknown  here,  and  not  being 
large  enough  for  the  other. 

My  garden  was  a  plain  vineyard  when  it  came 
into  my  hands  not  two  years  ago,  and  it  is,  with  a 
small  expence,  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  sorts  of  fruit,  and  producing  a  variety  of 
wines.  I  would  send  you  a  pipe,  if  I  did  not  fear 
the  customs  would  make  you  pay  too  dear  for  it. 
I  believe  my  description  gives  you  but  an  imperfect 
idea  of  my  garden.  Perhaps  I  shall  succeed  better 
in  describing  my  manner  of  life,  which  is  as  re- 
gular as  that  of  any  monastery.  I  generally  rise 
at  six,  and  as  soon  as  I  have  breakfasted,  put 
myself  at  the  head  of  my  needle-women  and  work 


70  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

with  them  till  nine.  I  then  inspect  my  dairy,  and 
take  a  turn  among  my  poultry,  which  is  a  very 
large  enquiry.  I  have,  at  present,  two  hundred 
chickens,  besides  turkies,  geese,  ducks,  and  pea- 
cocks. All  things  have  hitherto  prospered  under 
my  care  ;  my  bees  and  silk-worms  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  (to  which  I  have  a  green  lutestring  awn- 
ing) serves  me  for  a  barge.  He  and  his  son  are 
my  rowers  without  any  expence,  he  being  very  well 
paid  by  the  profit  of  the  fish,  which  I  give  him  on 
condition  of  having  every  day  one  dish  for  my  table. 
Here  is  plenty  of  every  sort  of  fresh  water  fish 
(excepting  salmon) ;  but  we  have  a  large  trout  so 
like  it,  that  I  who  have  almost  forgot  the  taste,  do 
not  distinguish  it. 

We  are  both  placed  properly  in  regard  to  our 
different  times  of  life  :  you  amidst  the  fair,  the  gal- 
lant, and  the  gay ;  I  in  a  retreat,  where  I  enjoy 
every  amusement  that  solitude  can  afford.  I  con- 


AND   THE   COUNTESS   OF    BUTE.  71 

fess  I  sometimes  wish  for  a  little  conversation  ;  but 
I  reflect  that  the  commerce  of  the  world  gives  more 
uneasiness  than  pleasure,  and  quiet  is  all  the  hope 
that  can  reasonably  be  indulged  at  my  age.  My 
letter  is  of  an  unconscionable  length ;  I  should  ask 
your  pardon  for  it,  but  I  had  a  mind  to  give  you 
an  idea  of  my  mode  of  passing  my  time, — take  it 
as  an  instance  of  the  affection  of,  dear  child, 
Your  most  affectionate  mother, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  July  23,  N.  S.  1753. 

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  prospe- 
rity! I  cannot  say  I  am  otherwise  much  touched 
at  it.  It  is  true  she  was  my  sister,  as  it  were,  and 
in  some  sense ;  but  her  behaviour  to  me  never  gave 
me  any  love,  nor  her  general  conduct  any  esteem. 
The  confounding  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  heros  and 

*  Lady  Carolina  Pierrepont  married  to  Thomas  Brand,  Esq. 
of  the  Hoo  in  Hertfordshire,  grandfather  of  the  present  Lord 
Dacre.  Vide  Lord  Orford's  Letters  to  Sir  H.  Mann,  June  5, 
1754. 


72  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

heroines  of  the  age  are  coblers  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 
surprized  at  their  propagating  this  doctrine ;  but  I 
am  much  mistaken  if  this  levelling  principle  does 
not,  one  day  or  other,  break  out  in  fatal  conse- 
quences to  the  public,  as  it  has  already  done  in 
many  private  families.  You  will  think  I  am  in- 
fluenced by  living  under  an  aristocratic  govern- 
ment, 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  mis- 
alliances ;  yet  the  silly  prejudices  of  my  education 
had  taught  me  to  believe  that  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  hear- 
tily repented  every  one,  and  the  greatest  examples 
I  have  known  of  honour  and  integrity  have  been 
among  those  of  the  highest  birth  and  fortunes. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       73 

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  be- 
tween  us,  and  I  am  sure  no  proof  of  it  shall  ever 
be  wanting  on  my  side. 

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  came  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  conse- 
quence of  this  confidence.  However,  I  was  not  so 
barbarous  as  to  tell  him  that  his  verses  were  ex- 
tremely 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 
shewing  his  performance  to  better  judges,  who 


74  LETTERS   TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

with  their  usual  candour  and  good  nature,  earnestly 
exhorted  him  to  oblige  the  world  with  this  instruc- 
tive piece,  which  was  soon  after  published,  and  had 
the  success  I  expected  from  it.     Pope  persuaded 
him,  poor  soul !  that  my  declaiming  against  it  oc- 
casioned the  ill  reception  it  met  with,  though  this  is 
the  first  time  I  ever  mentioned  it  in  my  life,  and  I 
did  not  so  much  as  guess  the  reason  I  heard  of 
him  no  more,  till  a  few  days  before  I  left  London. 
I  accidentally  said  to  one  of  his  acquaintance  that 
his  visits  to  me  were  at  an  end,  I  knew  not  why ; 
and  I  was  let  into  this  weighty  secret.     My  journey 
prevented  all  explanation  between  us,  and  perhaps 
I  should  not  have  thought  it  worth  any,  if  I  had 
staid.     I  am  not  surprized  he  has  left  nothing  to  the 
Duchess  of  Queensbury,*  knowing  he  had  no  value 
for  her,  though  I  never  heard  him  name  her :   but 
he  was  of  that  species  of  mankind,  who,  without 
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  per- 
petuating 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  pro- 
fessed by  several  of  the  fathers,    and  adopted  by 
some  of  the  best  French  divines,  that  the  punish- 

*  She  was  Lord  Cornbury's  sister. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        75 

ment  of  the  next  life  consists  not  only  in  the  con- 
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, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

Louvere,  Dairy-house,  July  26,  N.  S.  1753. 
I  AM  really  as  fond  of  my  garden  as  a  young  au- 
thor of  his  first  play,  when  it  has  been  well  received 
by  the  town,  and  can  no  more  forbear  teasing  my 
acquaintance  for  their  approbation :  though  I  gave 
you  a  long  account  of  it  lately,  I  must  tell  you, 
that  I  have  made  two  little  terrasses,  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  you  a  rough  draught  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  jessamin  trees  as  I  can  cram  in  ; 
and  in  the  squares  designed  for  the  use  of  the 
kitchen,  have  avoided  putting  any  thing  disagree- 
able either  to  sight  or  smell,  having  another  gar- 


76  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

den  below  for  cabbage,  onions,  and  garlick.  All  the 
walks  are  garnished  with  beds  of  flowers,  beside 
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  amuse- 
ment to  reading ;  and  as  my  sight  will  now  permit 
me  little  of  that,  I  am  glad  to  form  a  taste  that  can 
give  me  so  much  employment,  and  be  the  plaything 
of  my  age,  now  my  pen  and  needle  are  almost  use- 
less to  me. 

I  am  very  glad  you  are  admitted  into  the  conver- 
sation of  the  Prince*  and  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,  M.  WORTLEY  M. 

Now  the  sea  is  open,  we  may  send  packets  to 
one  another.  I  wish  you  would  send  me  Camp- 
bell's book  of  prints  of  the  English  houses,f  and 
that  Lord  Bute  would  be  so  good  to  chuse  me  the 
best  book  of  practical  gardening  extant. 

*  George  III.  and  his  mother, 
f  Vitruvius  Britannicus. 


AND   THE  COUNTESS   OF    BUTE.  77 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  Sept.  10,  O.  S.  1753. 

I  AM  much  obliged  to  your  father  for  shewing 
you  my  letter,  being  persuaded  he  meant  kindly  to 
me,  though  it  was  not  wrote  with  the  intention  of 
being  shewn ;  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  senti- 
ments;  and  had  I  thought  differently  I  would 
never  have  given  my  consent  to  your  marriage, 
notwithstanding  your  inclination  ;  to  which,  how- 
ever, 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  shew  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 

*  Mrs.  Anne  Pitt,  sister  of  the  first  Lord  Chatham,  whom  she 
strikingly  resembled  in  features  and  in  ability.  She  was  a 


78  LETTERS  TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

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, 

M.  WORTLEY. 

My  compliments  to  Lord  Bute,  and  blessing  to 
the  little  ones,  who,  I  hope,  are  recovered  by  this 
time  of  their  distemper. 

I  recollect  myself,  I  was  mistaken  in  Mrs.  Pitt's 
name,  it  is  Anne  ;  she  has  wit,  but 


TO  MR.  WORTLEY. 

Louvere,  Oct.  10,  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  that  has  found  out  his 
complaints  proceed  from  a  stone  in  the  kidneys : 

particular  friend  of  Lady  Bute's  ;  but  their  intimacy  had  scarce- 
ly begun  when  she  obtained  the  place  of  Privy  Purse  to  the 
Princess  Dowager  of  Wales. 

*  Anne,  fourth  daughter  of  Sir  Walter  Clarges  ;  her  son 
Laurence,  fourth  Earl  Ferrers,  married,  1752,  Mary,  youngest 
daughter  of  Amos  Meredith,  Esq.  of  Henbury  in  Cheshire. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        79 

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  daugh- 
ter on  family  affairs,  or  such  trifles  as  make  up  wo- 
men'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  re- 
plied, 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  beside  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  understood  by  any  body  else. 

Thus  I  suppose  my  innocent  epistles  are  severely 
scrutinized  :  and  when  I  talk  of  my  grand-children, 
they  are  fancied  to  represent  all  the  potentates  of 
Europe.  This  is  very  provoking.  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. 


80  LETTERS   TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

The  house  at  Acton  was  certainly  left  to  Lady 
Carolina  ;*  and  whatever  Lady  Anne  left,  is  so  lit- 
tle (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. 

. 

DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  Nov.  27,  N.  S.  1753. 

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  almanack  prophecy,  "  Poverty  brings  peace ;" 

*  The  daughters  of  Evelyn  Duke  of  Kingston,  by  Lady 
Isabella  Bentinck,  his  second  wife.  Lady  Carolina  Pierrepont 
married  Thomas  Brand,  Esq.  and  died  June  9,  1753.  Lady 
Anne  died  in  1739,  unmarried. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       81 

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  crouded  mall,  even 
when  I  imagined  I  had  my  share  of  the  admiration 
of  the  place,  which  was  generally  soured  before 
I  slept  by  the  informations  of  my  female  friends, 
who  seldom  failed  to  tell  me,  it  was  observed  that  I 
had  shewed  an  inch  above  my  shoe-heels,  or  some 
other  criticism  of  equal  weight,  which  was  construed 
affectation,  and  utterly  destroyed  all  the  satisfac- 
tion 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  uni- 

VOL.  III.  G 


82  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

versal  applause,  and  I  have  reason  to  believe  will 
preserve  my  memory  even  to  future  ages,  particu- 
larly 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  an  end,  which  I  do  not  doubt  you 
are  glad  of.  I  have  hardly  room  for  my  compli- 
ments to  Lord  Bute,  blessings  to  my  grand-children, 
and  to  assure  you  that  I  am  ever 

Your  most  affectionate  mother, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 
DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  Dec.  13,  1753. 

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  correspon- 
dence, though  I  am  not  so  happy  to  have  the  plea- 
sure 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  institution  of 
the  kind  in  all  Italy.  It  is  in  a  town  in  the  State 
of  Mantua,  founded  by  a  princess  of  the  house  of 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        83 

Gonzaga,  one  of  whom  (now  very  old)  is  the  pre- 
sent abbess  :  they  are  dressed  in  black,  and  wear 
a  thin  cypress  veil  at  the  back  of  their  heads,  ex- 
cepting which,  they  have  no  mark  of  a  religious 
habit,  being  set  out  in  their  hair,  and  having  no 
guimpe,  but  wearing  des  collets  montez,  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  per- 
mitted to  dine   in  private  whenever   they  please. 
Their  garden  is  very  large,  and  the  most  adorned 
of  any  in  these  parts.     They  have  no  grates,  and 
make  what  visits  they  will,  always  two  together, 
and  receive  those  of  the  men  as  well  as  ladies.     I 
was  accompanied  when  I  went  with  all  the  nobility 
of  the  town,  and  they  shewed  me   all  the   house, 
without  excluding  the  gentlemen ;  hut  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  chanoinesse  of  Flanders  only  in  their  vow 
of  celibacy.     They  take  pensioners,  but  only  those 

G  2 


84  LETTERS  TO   MR.   WORTLEY 

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  them- 
selves, that  the  grate  permits  all  liberty  of  speech 
since  it  leaves  them  no  other,  and  indeed  they  ge- 
nerally talk  as  if  they  thought  so.  I  went  to  a 
monastery,  which  gave  me  occasion  to  know  a 
great  deal  of  their  conduct,  which  (though  the 
convent  of  the  best  reputation  in  that  town  where 
it  is)  was  such,  as  I  would  as  soon  put  a  girl  into 
the  play-house  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 
grand- children,  and  assurance  to  yourself  of  being 
your  most  affectionate  mother,  M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

DEAR  CHILD,  ^  Louvere,  April  28,  1754. 

I  AM  quite  sick  with  vexation  at  the  interruption 
of  our  correspondence.  I  have  sent  six  letters  since 
the  date  of  the  last  which  you  say  you  have  re- 
ceived; and  three  addressed  to  my  sister,  Lady 
Mar,  none  of  which,  you  say,  are  arrived.  You 
have  had  no  loss  further  than  in  testimonies  of  my 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       85 

real  affection ;  my  long  stories  of  what  happens 
here  can  be  but  of  little  entertainment  to  you ;  but 
every  thing  from  England  is  interesting  to  me,  who 
live  the  life,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  of  Robin- 
son Crusoe,  whose  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   de- 
caying body,  and  endeavouring,  as  the  old  song 
says,  "  to  grow  wiser  and  better  as  my  strength 
wears  away."     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 
do  not  tell  me  how  Mr.  Pelham  f  has  disposed  of 
his  affairs,  and  you  should  be  particular  in  your 
relations.     I  am   as  ignorant  of  every  thing  that 
passes  in  London,  as  if  I  inhabited  the  deserts  of 
Africa.     My  health  is  so  often  disordered,  that  I 
begin  to  be  as  weary  of  mending  it  as  mending  old 
lace,  which,  when  it  is  patched  in  one  place,  breaks 
out  in  another.      I  am  very  glad  of  Lord  Mount- 
stuart'sj  recovery,    and  pity  very  much  the  pain 
you  have  suffered  during  his   danger.     It  would 
have  been  terrible  to  have  lost  so  agreeable  a  child. 
I  dare  not  advise  you  to  moderate  your  tenderness, 
finding  it  impossible  to  overcome  my  own,  notwith- 

*  Appointed  first  Lord  of  the  Treasury  in  March  1754. 

f  Henry  Pelham,  Esq.  died  March  6,  1754.  He  had  been 
appointed  first  Lord  of  the  Treasury  in  November  1743.  He 
succeeded  Samuel  Lord  Sandys. 

J  First  Marquess  of  Bute. 


86  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

standing  my  melancholy  experience.  This  letter  is 
incomparably  dull.  I  cannot  resolve  to  own  it  by 
setting  my  name  to  it. 

My  compliments  to  Lord  B.      God  bless  you 

and  yours. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  May  7,  N.  S.  1754. 

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  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  ac- 
quaintance at  London,  and  beg  you  would  enquire 
of  the  price  raw  silk  bears.      I  have  asked  this 
question  very  often,  but  suppose  my  letters  mis- 
carried, having  never  had  any  answer.     Your  father 
has  been  so  obliging  to  promise  me  some  ale;  if 
you  would  send,  at  the  same  time,  Colin  Camp- 
bell's books  of  Architecture,  consigned  to  Signer 
Isaac  M.  de  Treves,  they  would  come  safe  to  me. 
I  imagine  the  Duke  of  Kingston  is  now  building. 
I  was  told  he  intended  it  on  the  same  ground  where 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        87 

the  last  house  stood,  which  I  think  an  ill  fancy, 
being  the  lowest  part  of  the  park,  and  he  might 
chuse  others  with  a  prospect  more  agreeable,  which 
is,  in  my  opinion,  the  first  thing  to  be  considered 
in  a  country  seat.  I  have  given  you  a  large  de- 
scription 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. 

13th  May,  1754. 

IT  was  with  great  pleasure  I  received  my  dear 
child's  letter  of  April  15,  this  day,  May  13.  Do 
not  imagine  that  I  have  had  hard  thoughts  of  you 
when  I  lamented  your  silence  ;  I  think  I  know 
your  good  heart  too  well  to  suspect  you  of  any 
unkindness  to  me  ;  in  your  circumstances  many  un- 
avoidable 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 
surprized  I  am  not  oftener  low-spirited,  consider- 
ing 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  be- 
fore I  came.  I  confess  I  have  received  great  civi- 
lities from  some  friends  that  I  made  here  so  long 


88  LETTERS   TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

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  shewn  me,  which  I  have 
overlooked    as  below  my   notice,    and  would  not 
trouble  you  with  any  part  of  it  at  present  if  he 
had  not  invented  a  new  persecution  which  may  be 
productive  of  ill  consequences.     Here  arrived,  a 
few  days  ago,  Sir  James  Stuart  with  his  lady  ;  that 
name  was  sufficient  to  make  me  fly  to  wait  on  her. 
I  was  charmed  to  find  a  man  of  uncommon  sense 
and  learning,  and  a  lady  that  without  beauty  is 
more  amiable  than  the  fairest  of  her  sex.     I  offered 
them  all  the  little  good  offices  in  my  power,  and 
invited  them  to  supper ;  upon  which  our  wise  mi- 
nister 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  imagination 
may  support  this  wise  idea  by  such  circumstances 
as  may  influence  those  that  do  not  know  me.     It 
is  very  remarkable  that  after  having  suffered  all 
the  rage  of  that  party  at  Avignon,  for  my  attach- 
ment 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 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        89 

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  ;  tho',  I  confess  some  of  the  World  enter- 
tained me  very  much,  particularly  Lord  Chester- 
field and  Horry  Walpole,  whom  I  knew  at  Florence; 
but  whenever  I  met  Dodsley  I  wish'd  him  out  of 
the  World  with  all  my  heart.  The  title  was  a  very 
lucky  one,  being  as  you  see  productive  of  puns 
world  without  end ;  which  is  all  the  species  of  wit 
some  people  can  either  practise  or  understand.  I 
beg  you  would  direct  the  next  box  to  me,  without 
passing  thro'  the  hands  of  Smith;*  he  makes  so 
much  merit  of  giving  himself  the  trouble  of  asking 
for  it,  that  I  am  quite  weary  of  him ;  beside  that 
he  imposes  upon  me  in  every  thing.  He  has  lately 
married  f  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  hus- 
band till  the  charms  of  that  fine  gentleman  Mr. 
Smith,  who  is  only  eighty-two,  determined  her  to 

*  Joseph  Smith,  Esq.  Consul  at  Venice.  He  made  a  large 
collection  of  paintings  and  gems,  which  were  purchased  by  King 
George  the  Third  for  20,000/.  The  Dactyliotheca  Smithiana, 
in  two  vols.  quarto,  was  published  in  1765. 

t  Mr.  Murray  was  afterwards  ambassador  at  the  Porte,  and 
died  in  the  Lazaretto  at  Venice  in  1777,  upon  his  return  to 
England. 


90  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

change  her  condition.  In  short,  they  are  (as  Lord 
Orrery  says  of  Swift  and  company)  an  illustrious 
group,  but  with  that  I  have  nothing  to  do.  I  should 
be  sorry  to  ruin  any  body,  or  offend  a  man  of  such 
strict  honor  as  Lord  Holderness,  who,  like  a  great 
politician,  has  provided  for  a  worthless  relation 
without  any  expence.  It  has  long  been  a  maxim 
not  to  consider  if  a  man  is  fit  for  a  place,  but  if 
the  place  is  fit  for  him,  and  we  see  the  fruit  of  these 
Machiavellian  proceedings.  All  I  desire  is,  that 
Mr.  Pitt  would  require  of  this  noble  minister  to 
behave  civilly  to  me,  the  contrary  conduct  being 
very  disagreeable.  I  will  talk  farther  on  this  sub- 
ject 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, 

M.  WORTLEY. 

My  compliments  to  Lord  Bute,  and  blessing  to 
all  yours,  who  are  very  near  my  heart. 


DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  May  27,  N.  S.  1754. 

I  HAD  the  pleasure  of  your  letter  two  days  ago, 
in  which  you  tell  me  of  the  marriage  of  Mr.  Mac- 
kenzie,* which  I  was  extremely  glad  to  hear,  wish- 
ing him  happiness,  who  I  think  so  well  deserves 

*  James  Stuart  Mackenzie,  only  brother  of  John  Earl  of 
Bute,  married  Lady  Betty  Campbell,  second  daughter  of  John 
Duke  of  Argyll.  He  died  6th  April  1800. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        91 

it,  from  an  uncommon  share  of  honour  and  good- 
nature, of  which  even  his  indiscretions  are  proofs. 
The  Duchess  of  Argyle  has  acted,  in  my  opinion, 
with  equal  generosity  and  prudence  :  her  ill  suc- 
cess, in  the  disposal  of  Lady ,  has  shewn  her 

the  mistake  of  interested  matches,  which  are  gene- 
rally unfortunate.  This  spring  has  been  very  me- 
lancholy to  me,  having  been  tormented  with  a  quo- 
tidian 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  re- 
moval 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  Buckingham's  ; 
but  alas  !  they  are  some  miles  asunder. 

Your  new  fashioned  game  of  brag  was  the  genteel 
amusement  when  I  was  a  girl ;  crimp  succeeded  to 
that,  and  basset  and  hazard  employed  the  town, 
when  I  left  it  to  go  to  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.  who  lost  last  carnival, 
at  Brescia,  ten  thousand  pounds,  being  all  the 
money  his  guardians  had  laid  up  in  his  minority; 


92  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

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  tat- 
tling ;  you  must  forgive  the  infirmities  of  your  most 
affectionate  mother,  M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  June  23,  1754. 

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  mis- 
nomer ;  he  always  plods  in  the  beaten  road  of  his 
predecessors,  following  the  Spectator  (with  the 
same  pace  a  pack  horse  would  do  a  hunter)  in  the 
style  that  is  proper  to  lengthen  a  paper.  These 
writers  may,  perhaps,  be  of  service  to  the  public, 
which  is  saying  a  great  deal  in  their  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 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       93 

laborious  author.  H.  Fielding  has  given  a  true 
picture  of  himself  and  his  first  wife,  in  the  cha- 
racters 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  this  sort 
of  books  have  the  same  fault,  which  I  cannot  easily 
pardon,  being  very  mischievous.  They  place  a  me- 
rit in  extravagant  passions,  and  encourage  young 
people  to  hope  for  impossible  events,  to  draw  them 
out  of  the  misery  they  choose  to  plunge  themselves 
into,  expecting  legacies  from  unknown  relations, 
and  generous  benefactors  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  de- 
served 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  Ferdinand  Fa- 
thom wrote  by  the  same  hand,  it  is  every  way  so 
much  below  it.  Sally  Fielding  has  mended  her 
style  in  her  last  volume  of  David  Simple,  which 
conveys  a  useful  moral,  though  she  does  not  seem 
to  have  intended  it :  I  mean,  shews  the  ill  conse- 
quences of  not  providing  against  casual  losses, 


94  LETTERS   TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

which  happen  to  almost  every  body.  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  I  heartily 
pity  her,  constrained  by  her  circumstances  to  seek 
her  bread  by  a  method,  I  do  not  doubt,  she  de- 
spises. Tell  me  who  is  that  accomplished  countess 
she  celebrates.  I  left  no  such  person  in  London  ; 
nor  can  I  imagine  who  is  meant  by  the  English 
Sappho  mentioned  in  Betsy  Thoughtless,  whose 
adventures,  and  those  of  Jemmy  Jessamy,  gave  me 
some  amusement.  I  was  better  entertained  by  the 
Valet,  who  very  fairly  represents  how  you  are 
bought  and  sold  by  your  servants.  I  am  now  so 
accustomed  to  another  manner  of  treatment,  it 
would  be  difficult  to  me  to  suffer  them  :  his  adven- 
tures have  the  uncommon  merit  of  ending  in  a  sur- 
prizing 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  Bolingbroke  would  have  quoted  Horace  in 
this  place.  Since  I  was  born,  no  original  has  ap- 
peared excepting  Congreve,  and  Fielding,  who 
would,  I  believe,  have  approached  nearer  to  his 
excellencies,  if  not  forced,  by  necessity,  to  publish 
without  correction,  and  throw  many  productions 
into  the  world,  he  would  have  thrown  into  the  fire, 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        95 

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  ho- 
nour to  human  nature ;  but  when  degenerated  into 
trades,  are  the  most  comtemptible  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  do- 
ing, the  absurdity  often  concealed  under  fine  ex- 
pressions, where  the  sound  is  apt  to  engage  the 
admiration  of  young  people.  I  was  so  much  charm- 
ed, 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, 


96  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

to  live  among  the  banditti,  and  wait  upon  his  trol- 
lop, if  she  had  no  other  way  of  enjoying  his  com- 
pany. This  senseless  tale  is,  however,  so  well 
varnished  with  melody  of  words  and  pomp  of  sen- 
timents, I  am  convinced  it  has  hurt  more  girls  than 
ever  were  injured  by  the  worst  poems  extant. 

I  fear  this  counsel  has  been  repeated  to  you  be- 
fore ;  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, 

*      M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

Louvere,  July  24,  1754. 

IT  is  always  a  great  pleasure  to  me,  my  dear 
child,  to  hear  of  your  health,  and  that  of  your  fa- 
mily. This  year  has  been  fatal  to  the  literati  of 
Italy.  The  Marquis  MafFei  soon  followed  Cardinal 
Querini.  He  was  in  England  when  you  were  mar- 
ried. 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 

*  Presented  by  Mr.  Wortley  to  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       97 

the  search  of  antiquities,  he  fixed  his  residence  in 
his  native  town  of  Verona,  where  he  erected  him- 
self 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  sorts  of  sweetmeats,  and  in  the  midst,  a  court 
well  kept,  and  sanded,  for  the  use  of  those  young 
gentlemen  who  would  exercise  their  managed 
horses,  or  shew  their  mistresses  their  skill  in 
riding.  His  gallery  was  open  every  evening  at 
five  o'clock,  where  he  had  a  fine  collection  of  anti- 
quities, and  two  large  cabinets  of  medals,  intaglios, 
and  cameos,  arranged  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  ex- 
cluded), and  the  others  (where  he  himself  presided 
in  an  easy  chair)  sacred  to  conversation,  which  al- 
ways 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  instruct- 
ing the  young  people,  who  were  obliged  to  seek 
the  medal,  or  explain  the  inscription,  that  illus- 
trated any  fact  they  discoursed  of.  Those  who 
chose  the  diversion  of  the  public  walks,  or  theatre, 

VOL.  III.  H 


98  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

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  Vol- 
taire's translation,  being  esteemed  a  master-piece ; 
and  his  comedy  of  the  Ceremonies,  being  a  just 
ridicule  of  those  formal  fopperies,  it  has  gone  a 
great  way  in  helping  to  banish  them  out  of  Italy. 
The  walkers  contributed  to  the  entertainment  by 
an  account  of  some  herb  or  flower,  which  led  the 
way  to  a  botanical  conversation ;  or,  if  they  were 
such  inaccurate  observers  as  to  have  nothing  of 
that  kind  to  offer,  they  repeated  some  pastoral  de- 
scription. One  day  in  the  week  was  set  apart  for 
music,  vocal  and  instrumental,  but  no  mercenaries 
were  admitted  to  the  concert.  Thus,  at  very  little 
expence  (his  fortune  not  permitting  a  large  one),  he 
had  the  happiness  of  giving  his  countrymen  a  taste 
of  polite  pleasure,  and  shewing  the  youth  how  to 
pass  their  time  agreeably  without  debauchery ;  and 
(if  I  durst  say  it)  in  so  doing,  has  been  a  greater 
benefactor  to  his  country  than  the  Cardinal,  with  all 
his  magnificent  foundations,  and  voluminous  writ- 
ings to  support  superstition,  and  create  disputes 
on  things,  for  the  most  part,  in  their  own  nature 
indifferent.  The  Veronese  nobility,  having  no  road 
open  to  advancement,  are  not  tormented  with  am- 
bition, or  its  child,  faction  ;  and  having  learned  to 
make  the  best  of  the  health  and  fortune  allotted 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.        99 

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  ac- 
customed 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.  M.  W.  M. 

*  The  Marquis  Scipione  Maffei,  the  author  of  the  "  Vero- 
na Illustrata,"  1733,  folio,  and  the  "  Museum  Veronense,"  1749, 
folio,  was  very  highly  esteemed  in  the  literary  world  as  an  an- 
tiquary and  virtuoso. 


H 


100  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 
MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  Sept.  20,  1754. 

I  AM  extremely  delighted  by  your  last  letter. 
Your  pleasure  in  your  daughter's  company  is  ex- 
actly what  I  have  felt  in  yours,  and  recalls  to  me 
many  tender  ideas,  perhaps  better  forgot.  You 
observe  very  justly,  that  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.  Hu- 
man prudence  is  so  short  sighted,  that  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,  slen- 
derly 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.f  He  is  son  to  Judge  Hervey,  but  takes 

*  Lady  Selina  Shirley,  daughter  of  Robert  Earl  Ferrers, 
wife  of  Peter  Bathurst,  Esq.  of  Clarendon  Park,  Wilts. 

t  The  gentleman  referred  to  was  the  son  of  John  Hervey  of 
Beachworth,  Esq.  one  of  the  Welsh  Judges,  by  Anne  eldest 
daughter  of  Christopher  Desbouverie  by  Elizabeth  his  wife, 
daughter  and  sole  heir  of  Ralph  Foreman,  Esq.  of  Beachworth 
in  Surrey.  This  Christopher  was  the  youngest  son  of  Sir  Ed- 
ward Desbouverie,  knighted  in  1694,  one  of  the  ancestors  of 
the  Earl  of  Radnor. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       101 

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  sweet- 
ness 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  descrip- 
tion of  what  he  wished  for  his  bride.  Our  con- 
versation happened  on  the  subject  of  matrimony, 
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  that  those  I  have  never  seen  should  so 
much  employ  my  thoughts.  I  can  assure  you  that 
they  are,  next  to  yourself,  the  objects  of  my  ten- 
derest  concern  ;  and  it  is  not  from  custom,  but  my 
heart,  when  I  send  them  my  blessing,  and  say  that 
I  am  your  most  affectionate  mother, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


102!  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

TO  MR.  WORTLEY. 

Louvere,  Dec.  19,  N.  S.  1754. 

I  RECEIVED  yours  of  October  6,  yesterday,  which 
gave  me  great  pleasure.  I  am  flattered  by  finding 
that  our  sentiments  are  the  same  in  regard  to  Lord 
Bolingbroke's  writings,  as  you  will  see  more  clearly, 
if  you  ever  have  the  long  letter  I  have  wrote  to  you 
on  that  subject.  I  believe  he  never  read  Horace,  or 
any  other  author,  with  a  design  of  instructing  him- 
self, thinking  he  was  born  to  give  precepts,  and  not 
to  follow  them  :  at  least,  if  he  was  not  mad  enough 
to  have  this  opinion,  he  endeavoured  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  are 
as  preposterously  inconsistent,  as  if  Sir  Isaac  New- 
ton had  aimed  at  being  a  critic  in  fashions,  and 
wrote  for  the  information  of  tailors  and  mantua- 
makers.  I  am  of  opinion  that  he  never  looked  into 
half  the  authors  he  quotes,  and  am  much  mistaken 
if  he  is  not  obliged  to  M.  Bayle  for  the  generality  of 
his  criticisms  ;  for  which  reason  he  affects  to  despise 
him,  that  he  may  steal  from  him  with  the  less  sus- 
picion. A  diffusive  style  (though  admired  as  florid 
by  all  half-witted  readers)  is  commonly  obscure,  and 
always  trifling.  Horace  has  told  us,  that  where 
words  abound,  sense  is  thinly  spread ;  as  trees 
overcharged  with  leaves  bear  little  fruit. 

You  do  not  mention  Lord  Orrery,  or   perhaps 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      103 

would  not  throw  away  time  in  perusing  that  extra- 
ordinary work,  addressed  to  a  son,  whom  he  edu- 
cates with  an  intention  that  he  should  be  a  first 
minister,  and  promises  to  pray  to  God  for  him  if 
ever  he  plays  the  knave  in  that  station.  I  perceive 
that  he  has  already  been  honoured  with  five  edi- 
tions. 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. 

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. 

M.  W.  M. 

TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 
MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  Jan.  1,  1755,  N.  S. 

I  WISH  you  many  new  years,  accompanied  with 
every  blessing  that  can  render  them  agreeable ;  and 
that  it  was  in  my  power  to  send  you  a  better  new 

*  He  died  August  26,  1754.  His  second  wife  was  Lavinia 
Fenton,  the  celebrated  Polly  Peachum  in  Gay's  Beggar's  Opera, 
whom  he  married  in  1751. 


]04  LETTERS   TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

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  Smollettf  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  difficult  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  un- 
derstand 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 

*  Lady  Harriet  Wentworth,  daughter  of  Thomas  Earl  of 
Strafford,  was  married  to  Henry  Vernon,  Esq.  1743. 

t  Dr.  Tobias  Smollett  published  «  Roderick  Random"  in 
1748;  «  Peregrine  Pickle"  in  1751  ;  from  1756  to  1763  was  the 
original  manager  of  the  "  Critical  Review;"  "Ferdinand  Count 
Fathom"  in  1753  ;  translation  of"  Don  Quixote"  in  1754;  "  His- 
tory of  England,"  1758;  "  Sir  Launcelot  Greaves,"  1762;  «  Ad- 
ventures of  an  Atom,"  1769 ;  «  Travels  in  France  and  Italy," 
1770;  "Humphry  Clinker,"  1771.  He  died  at  Leghorn,  Oct. 
21,  1771,  where  he  is  buried. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       105 

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,  that 
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  in  town,  and  consequently  I  ought  to  shorten 
my  letters,  knowing  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  play-house.  My  compliments  to  Lord 
Bute,  and  blessings  to  you  and  yours,  to  whom  I  am 
ever  a  most  affectionate  mother,  ;•>  M.  W.  M. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

Louvere,  Jan.  23,  N.  S.  1755. 

I  AM  very  sorry  for  your  past  indisposition,  and, 
to  say  truth,  not  heartily  glad  of  your  present  condi- 
tion ;  but  I  neither  do  nor  will  admit  of  your  excuses 


106  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

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  a  morning. 

The  Duchess  of  Queensberry's*  misfortune  would 
move  compassion  in  the  hardest  heart ;  yet,  all  cir- 
cumstances 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  is  walking  blindfold,  upon  stilts, 
amidst  precipices,  though   perhaps  as   little   sen- 
sible 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 
happiness  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 

*  The  calamity  here  alluded  to  was  the  death  of  the  Earl  of 
Drumlanrig,  son  of  Charles  third  Duke  of  Queensberry.  He 
married  a  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Hopetoun,  July  10,  1754, 
and  was  killed  by  the  accidental  explosion  of  a  pistol  the  20th 
October  following. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       107 

can  truly  assure  you,  I  have  never  been  so  little 
mistress  of  my  own  time  and  actions,  as  since  1 
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  poli- 
tical 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  chearfully  as  we  can  in  our  impenetrable 
confinement,  and  crack  our  nuts  with  pleasure  from 
the  little  store  that  is  allowed  us. 

My  old  friend,  Cardinal  Querini,  is  dead  of  an 
apoplectic  fit,  which  I  am  sorry  for,  notwithstanding 
the  disgust  that  happened  between  us,  on  the  ridi- 
culous 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  poor  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  expence,  he  may  be  al- 
most called  the  founder  of  it.  He  has  left  a  con- 
siderable annuity  to  continue  it,  and  deserves  an 
eminent  place  among  the  prelates  that  have  de- 


108  LETTERS  TO   MR.   WQRTLEY 

voted  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  splendor  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  affec- 
tionate mother,  M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

Louvere,  March  1,  1755. 

I  PITY  Lady  Mary  Coke*  extremely.  You  will 
be  surprized  at  this  sentiment,  when  she  is  the  pre- 
sent 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,  as  I  observed  in  a  former  instance, 
to  be  walking  blindfold,  upon  stilts,  amidst  preci- 

*  Lady  Mary  Coke,  the  fifth  daughter  of  John  Duke  of  Ar- 
gyll, was  married  to  Edward  Lord  Viscount  Coke,  eldest  son 
of  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  who  died  in  1755.  The  title  became 
extinct  in  that  family  in  1759. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       109 

pices.  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  dis- 
trust which  is  the  surest  guard  against  indiscretion, 
and  venture  on  many  steps  they  would  have  trem- 
bled at,  at  fifteen  ;  and,  like  children,  are  never  so 
much  exposed  to  falling,  as  when  they  first  leave 
off  leading-strings.  I  think  nothing  but  a  miracle, 
or  the  support  of  a  guardian  angel,  can  protect  her. 
It  is  true  (except  I  am  much  mistaken),  nature 
has  furnished  her  with  one  very  good  defence.  I 
took  particular  notice  of  her,  both  from  my  own 
liking  her,  and  her  uncommonly  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, 
that  she  will  find  it  very  difficult  to  escape ;  and  if 
she  is  a  second  time  unhappily  engaged,  it  will 
make  her  much  more  miserable  than  the  first  ;  as 
all  misfortunes,  brought  on  by  our  own  imprudence, 
are  the  most  wounding  to  a  sensible  heart.  The 
most  certain  security  would  be  that  diffidence  which 
naturally  arises  from  an  impartial  self-examination. 


110  LETTERS  TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

But  this  is  the  hardest  of  all  tasks,  requiring  great 
reflection,  long  retirement,  and  is  strongly  repug- 
nant to  our  own  vanity,  which  very  unwillingly  re- 
veals, 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,  that  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  per- 
suaded he  thought  he  performed  an  act  of  rigid  jus- 
tice, in  excluding  the  Duchess  of  Queensberry  from 
an  inheritance  to  which  she  had  no  natural,  though 
a  legal,  right ;  especially  having  had  a  large  portion 
from  her  real  father.     I  have  heard  him  talk  on 
that  subject  without  naming  names,  and  call  it  a 
robbery  within  the  law.     He  carried  that  notion  to 
a  great  height.     I  agreed  with  him,  that  a  woman 
who  produced  a  false  child  into  a  family,  incurred 
the  highest  degree  of  guilt  (being  irreparable)  ;  but 
I  could  not  be  of  his  opinion,  that  it  was  the  duty 
of  the  child,  in  such  a  case,  to  renounce  the  fortune 
the  law  entitled  it  to.     You  see  he  has  acted  by  a 
maxim  he  imagined  just.     Lady  Essex  being,  in- 
side and  out,  resembling  Lord  Clarendon  ;  and  who- 
ever remembers  Lord  Carleton's  eyes,  must  confess 
they  now  shine  in  the  Duchess'  face.     I  am  not 
bribed,  by  Lord  Cornbury's  behaviour  to  me,  to 
find  excuses   for  him  ;   but  I   have  always  endea- 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       Ill 

voured  to  look  on  the  conduct  of  my  acquaintance 
without  any  regard  to  their  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  flat- 
tery 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  rescue  you  from  so  dull  a 
subject,  by  concluding  my  letter  with  my  compli- 
ments to  Lord  Bute,  my  blessing  to  my  grand- 
children, and  the  assurance  of  my  being  ever  your 
most  affectionate  mother,  M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  April  i,  1755. 

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  beau- 


LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

ties  (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  de- 
livered, though  I  have  no  advice  of  it  either  from 
her  or  you.  Here  are  two  new  fortunes  far  supe- 
rior to  Miss  Crawley's.  They  are  become  so  by  an 
accident  which  would  be  very  extraordinary  in  Lon- 
don. Their  father  was  a  Greek,  and  had  been  se- 
veral 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  se- 
quins, all  which  will  be  divided  between  two  daugh- 
ters. If  it  be  only  half  as  much,  they  are  (I  be- 
lieve) the  greatest  heiresses  in  Europe.  It  is  cer- 
tain he  has  died  immensely  rich.  The  eldest  lady 
is  but  eighteen ;  and  both  of  them  are  reputed  to 
be  very  beautiful.  I  hear  they  declare  they  will 
chuse  husbands  of  their  own  country  and  religion, 
and  refuse  any  other  prospects.  If  they  keep  their 
resolution  I  shall  admire  them  much.  Since  they 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       113 

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  Jour- 
ney 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  any  body  I  ever  knew ; 
many  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,  M.  WORTLEY. 

Compliments  to  Lord  Bute,  and  blessings  to  the 
rest  of  your  dear  ones. 


VOL.  III. 


114  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  July  20,  N.  S.  1755. 

I  HAVE  now  read  over  the  books  you  were  so 
good  to  send,  and  intend  to  say  something  of  them 
all,  though  some  are  not  worth  speaking   of.     I 
shall  begin,   in  respect  to  his  dignity,  with  Lord 
Bolingbroke,  who  is  a  glaring  proof  how  far  vanity 
can  blind  a  man,  and  how  easy  it  is  to  varnish  over 
to  one's  self  the  most  criminal  conduct.     He  de- 
clares he  always  loved  his  country,  though  he  con- 
fesses he  endeavoured  to  betray  her  to  popery  and 
slavery  ;  and  loved  his  friends,  though   he   aban- 
doned them  in  distress,  with  all  the  blackest  cir- 
cumstances of  treachery.    His  account  of  the  Peace 
of  Utrecht  is  almost  equally  unfair  or  partial  :    I 
shall  allow  that,  perhaps,  the  views  of  the  Whigs, 
at  that  time,  were  too  vast,  and  the  nation,  dazzled 
by  military   glory,  had  hopes   too  sanguine ;    but 
surely  the  same  terms  that  the  French  consented 
to,  at  the  treaty  of  Gertruydenberg,  might  have 
been  obtained ;  or  if  the  displacing  of  the  Duke  of 
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 


AND   THE   COUNTESS  OT?   BUTE.  115 

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.  Co- 
piousness of  words,  however  ranged,  is  always  false 
eloquence,  though  it  will  ever  impose  on  some  sort 
of  understandings.  How  many  readers  and  ad- 
mirers has  Madame  de  Sevigne",  who  only  gives  us, 
in  a  lively  manner,  and  fashionable  phrases,  mean 
sentiments,  vulgar  prejudices,  and  endless  repe- 
titions 1  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, 

i  2 


1.16  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

what  is  worse,  often  falls  into  contradiction  and  re- 
petitions, which  are  almost  unavoidable  to  all  vo- 
luminous writers,  and  can  only  be  forgiven  to  those 
retailers,  whose  necessity  compels  them  to  diurnal 
scribbling,  who  load  their  meaning  with  epithets, 
and  run  into  digressions,  because  (in  the  jockey 
phrase)  it  rids  ground,   that  is,  covers  a  certain 
quantity  of  paper,  to  answer  the  demand   of  the 
day.     A  great  part  of  Lord  Bolingbroke's  letters 
are   designed  to  shew  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  thinking  he  is  far  below  either  Tillotson 
or  Addison,  even  in  style,  though  the  latter  was 
sometimes  more  diffuse  than  his  judgment  approved, 
to  furnish  out  the  length  of  a  daily  Spectator.     I 
own  I  have  small  regard  for  Lord  Bolingbroke  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  appre- 
hension, which  was  cultivated  by  a  learned  educa- 
tion :   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. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       117 

I  am  far  from  making  misfortune  a  matter  of  re- 
proach. I  know  there  are  accidental  occurrences 
not  to  be  foreseen  or  avoided  by  human  prudence, 
by  which  a  character  may  be  injured,  wealth  dissi- 
pated, or  a  constitution  impaired  :  but  I  think  I 
may  reasonably  despise  the  understanding  of  one 
who  conducts  himself  in  such  a  manner  as  natu- 
rally produces  such  lamentable  consequences,  and 
continues  in  the  same  destructive  paths  to  the  end 
of  a  long  life,  ostentatiously  boasting  of  morals  and 
philosophy  in  print,  and  with  equal  ostentation  brag- 
ging of  the  scenes  of  low  debauchery  in  public  con- 
versation, though  deplorably  weak  both  in  mind 
and  body,  and  his  virtue  and  his  vigour  in  a  state 
of  non-existence.  His  confederacy  with  Swift  and 
Pope  puts  me  in  mind  of  that  of  Bessus  and  his 
sword-men,  in  the  King  and  no  King,  who  endea- 
vour to  support  themselves  by  giving  certificates 
of  each  other's  merit.  Pope  has  triumphantly  de- 
clared 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  Bolingbroke'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 


118  LETTERS   TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

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  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  vigo- 
rously, 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  awaking  their  resentment,  and  be  sa- 
tisfied with  his  own  virtue  without  seeking  popular 
fame :  he  had  the  reward  of  his  wisdom  in  his  tran- 
quillity, and  will  ever  stand  among  the  few  exam- 
ples 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  affectionate  mother,  M.  WORTLEY. 

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 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      119 

obtain  a  return,  flattering  himself  (I  suppose)  he 
must  of  course  appear  to  be  at  the  head  of  the  ad- 
minstration,  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  cha- 
racter of  Atticus.  I  own  I  took  pleasure  in  ex- 
plaining it.  Pope  thought  himself  covertly  very 
severe  on  Addison,  by  giving  him  that  name ;  and 
I  feel  indignation  whenever  he  is  abused,  both 
from  his  own  merit,  and  because  he  was  ever  your 
father's  friend ;  besides  that  it  is  naturally  disgust- 
ing to  see  him  lampooned  after  his  death  by  the 
same  man  who  paid  him  the  most  servile  court 
while  he  lived,  and  was  besides  highly  obliged  by 
him. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  Sept.  22,  1755. 

I  RECEIVED,  two  days  ago,  the  box  of  books  you 
were  so  kind  to  send  ;  but  I  can  scarce  say  whether 
my  pleasure  or  disappointment  was  the  greater.  I 
was  much  pleased  to  see  before  me  a  fund  of  amuse- 
ment, but  heartily  vexed  to  find  your  letter  consist- 
ing only  of  three  lines  and  a  half.  Why  will  you 
not  employ  Lady  Mary  as  secretary,  if  it  is  trouble- 
some 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 


120  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

think  very  agreeable  to  yourself.  You  can  never 
want  something  to  say.  The  history  of  your  nur- 
sery, if  you  had  no  other  subject  to  write  on,  would 
be  very  acceptable  to  me.  I  am  such  a  stranger  to 
every  thing  in  England,  I  should  be  glad  to  hear 
more  particulars  relating  to  the  families  I  am  ac- 
quainted with :  —  if  Miss  Liddel*  marries  the  Lord 
Euston  I  knew,  or  his  nephew,  who  has  succeeded 
him ;  if  Lord  Berkeleyf  has  left  children ;  and 
several  trifles  of  that  sort,  that  would  be  a  satisfac- 
tion to  my  curiosity.  I  am  sorry  for  H.  Fielding's 
death,  not  only  as  I  shall  read  no  more  of  his  writ- 
ings, 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  employ- 
ment 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  every  thing  when  he  was  before  a 
venison  pasty,  or  over  a  flask  of  champaigne ;  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  cheerful- 
ness when  he  was  starving  in  a  garret.  There  was 
a  great  similitude  between  his  character  and  that  of 

*  Married  Augustus  Henry  Duke  of  Grafton,  Jan.  29, 1756. 
t  Augustus  Earl  of  Berkeley  died  Jan.  9,  1755,  and  left  two 
sons  and  two  daughters. 


AND   THE   COUNTESS   OF  BUTE. 

Sir  Richard  Steele.  He  had  the  advantage  both  in 
learning,  and,  in  my  opinion,  genius:  they  both 
agreed  in  wanting  money  in  spite  of  all  their  friends, 
and  would  have  wanted  it,  if  their  hereditary  lands 
had  been  as  extensive  as  their  imagination  ;  yet 
each  of  them  was  so  formed  for  happiness,  it  is  pity 
he  was  not  immortal.  I  have  read  the  Cry  ;  and  if 
I  would  write  in  the  style  to  be  admired  by  good 
Lord  Orrery,  I  would  tell  you,  "  The  Cry"  made  me 
ready  to  cry,  and  the  "  Art  of  Tormenting"  tor- 
mented me  very  much.  I  take  them  to  be  Sally 
Fielding's,  and  also  the  Female  Q.uixote  :  the  plan 
of  that  is  pretty,  but  ill  executed  :  on  the  contrary, 
the  fable  of  the  Cry  is  the  most  absurd  I  ever  saw, 
but  the  sentiments  generally  just ;  and  I  think,  if 
well  dressed,  would  make  a  better  body  of  ethics 
than  Bolingbroke's,  Her  inventing  new  words, 
that  are  neither  more  harmonious  nor  significant 
than  those  already  in  use,  is  intolerable.  The  most 
edifying  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  circum- 
stances, 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, 


LETTERS  TO   MR.  WOUTLEY 

a  man  of  pleasure,  and  those  of  a  Young  Lady.  You 
will  call  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  play-things  for  my 
age.  I  am  not  of  Cowley's  mind,  that  this  world  is — 
A  dull,  ill  acted  comedy ; 

Nor  of  Mrs.  Philips's,  that  it  is— 
A  too  well  acted  tragedy. 

I  look  upon  it  as  a  very  pretty  farce,  for  those 
that  can  see  it  in  that  light.  I  confess  a  severe 
critic,  that  would  examine  by  ancient  rules,  might 
fix  many  defects  ;  but  'tis  ridiculous  to  judge  seri- 
ously 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  gene- 
rous action  of  the  Duke  of  Montagu,  which  I  know 
to  be  true,  with  some  variation  of  circumstances. 
You  should  have  given  me  a  key  to  the  Invisible 
Spy,  particularly  to  the  catalogue  of  books  in  it. 
I  know  not  whether  the  conjugal  happiness  of  the 
Duke  of  Bedford  is  intended  as  a  compliment  or 
an  irony. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      123 

This  letter  is  as  long  and  as  dull  as  any  of 
Richardson's.  I  am  ashamed  of  it,  notwithstand- 
ing my  maternal  privilege  of  being  tiresome. 

I  return  many  thanks  to  Lord  Bute  for  the  china, 
which  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  very  fond  of,  though  I 
have  not  yet  seen  it.  I  wish  for  three  of  Pinchbec's 
watches,  shagrine  cases,  and  enamelled  dial-plates. 
When  I  left  England,  they  were  five  guineas  each. 
You  may  imagine  they  are  for  presents ;  one  for 
my  doctor,  who  is  exactly  Parson  Adams  in  an- 
other profession,  and  the  others  for  two  pr  ests,  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, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


LETTERS   TO    MR.  WORTLEY 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 
DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  March  2,  N.  S.  1756. 

I  HAD  the  happiness  of  a  letter  from  your  father 
last  post,  by  which  I  find  you  are  in  good  health, 
though  I  have  not  heard  from  you  for  a  long  time. 
This  frequent  interruption  of  our  correspondence 
is  a  great  uneasiness  to  me  :   I  charge  it  on  the 
neglect  or  irregularity  of  the  post.     I  sent  you  a 
letter  by  Mr.  Anderson  a  great  while  ago,  to  which 
I  never  had  any  answer  ;  neither  have  I  ever  heard 
from  him  since,  though  I  am  fully  persuaded  he  has 
wrote  concerning  some  little   commissions  I  gave 
him.      I  should  be  very  sorry  he  thought  I  neg- 
lected to  thank  him  for  his  civilities.     I  desire  Lord 
Bute  would  inquire  about  him.     I  saw  him  in  com- 
pany with  a  very  pretty  pupil,  who  seemed  to  me 
a  promising  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  ex- 
pect to  arrive  at  the  age  of  the  Duchess  of  Marl- 
borough  than  to  that  of  Methusalem;    neither  do  I 
desire  it.     I  have  long  thought  myself  useless  to 
the  world.     I  have  seen  one  generation  pass  away  ; 
and  it  is  gone  ;  for  I  think  there  are  very  few  of 
those  left  that  flourished  in  my  youth.     You  will 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       125 

perhaps  call  these  melancholy  reflections  :  they  are 
not  so.  There  is  a  quiet  after  the  abandoning  of 
pursuits,  something  like  the  rest  that  follows  a  la- 
borious day.  I  tell  you  this  for  your  comfort.  It 
was  formerly  a  terrifying  view  to  me,  that  I  should 
one  day  be  an  old  woman.  I  now  find  that  Nature 
has  provided  pleasures  for  every  state.  Those  are 
only  unhappy  who  will  not  be  contented  with  what 
she  gives,  but  strive  to  break  through  her  laws,  by 
affecting  a  perpetuity  of  youth,  which  appears  to 
me  as  little  desirable  at  present  as  the  babies  do  to 
you,  that  were  the  delight  of  your  infancy.  I  am 
at  the  end  of  my  paper,  which  shortens  the  sermon. 

M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

Venice,  March  22,  1756. 

I  HAVE  received,  but  this  morning,  the  first  box 
of  china  Lord  Bute  has  been  so  obliging  to  send 
me.  I  am  quite  charmed  with  it,  but  wish  you  had 
sent  in  it  the  note  of  the  contents  ;  it  has  been  so 
long  deposited,  that  it  is  not  impossible  some  dimi- 
nution may  have  happened.  Every  thing  that 
comes  from  England  is  precious  to  me,  to  the  very 
hay  that  is  employed  in  packing.  I  should  be  glad 
to  know  any  thing  that  could  be  an  agreeable  re- 
turn from  hence.  There  are  many  things  I  could 
send ;  but  they  are  either  contraband,  or  the  cus- 


126  LETTERS  TO   MR.    WORTLEY 

torn  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  gave  of  your  father's  health.  I  have 
wrote  to  desire  his  consent  in  the  disposal  of  poor 
Lady  Oxford's  legacy :  I  do  not  doubt  obtaining 
it.  It  has  been  both  my  interest  and  my  duty  to 
study  his  character,  and  I  can  say,  with  truth,  I 
never  knew  any  man  so  capable  of  a  generous 
action. 

A  late  adventure  here  makes  a  great  noise  from 
the  rank  of  the  people  concerned  :  the  Marchioness 
Licinia  Bentivoglio,  who  was  heiress  of  one  branch 
of  the  Martinenghi,  and  brought  ten  thousand  gold 
sequins  to  her  husband,  and  the  expectation  of  her 
father's  estate,  three  thousand  pounds  sterling  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  chuse  better,  though  his  nephew 
might  certainly  have  chose  among  all  the  Italian 
ladies,  being  descended  from  the  sovereigns  of  Bo- 
logna, actually  a  grandee  of  Spain,  a  noble  Vene- 
tian, 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 


AND  TOE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      127 

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  Ve- 
nice, leaving  her  two  daughters,  the  eldest  scarce 
six  years  old,  to  the  care  of  the  exasperated  Mar- 
quis. Her  father  was  so  angry  at  her  extravagant 
conduct,  that  he  would  not,  for  some  time,  receive 
her  into  his  house ;  but,  after  some  months,  and 
much  solicitation,  parental  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  Car- 
dinal came  twice  to  Brescia,  her  own  father  joined 
his  entreaties,  nay,  his  holiness  wrote  a  letter  with 
his  own  hands,  and  made  use  of  the  church  autho- 
rity, 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  ne- 
phew of  Cardinal  Valentino  Gonzagua,  first  minis- 
ter at  Rome.  She  would  neither  appear  at  the 
wedding,  nor  take  the  least  notice  of  a  dutiful 
letter  sent  by  the  bride.  The  old  Cardinal  (who 
was  passionately  fond  of  his  illustrious  name)  was 
so  much  touched  with  the  apparent  extinction  of  it, 


128  LETTERS   TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

that  it  was  thought  to  have  hastened  his  death. 
She  continued  in  the  enjoyment  of  her  ill  humour, 
living  in  great  splendor,  though  almost  solitary, 
having,  by  some  impertinence  or  other,  disgusted 
all  her  acquaintance,  till  about  a  month  ago,  when 
her  woman  brought  her  a  bason  of  broth,  which  she 
usually  drank  in  her  bed.  She  took  a  few  spoon- 
fuls 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,  that  they  ate  it 
up  very  comfortably ;  they  were  both  seized  with 
the  same  pangs,  and  died  the  next  day.  She  sent 
for  physicians,  who  judged  her  poisoned  ;  but,  as 
she  had  taken  a  small  quantity,  by  the  help  of  anti- 
dotes 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  inform- 
ed of  this  accident.  He  sent  doctors  to  her,  whom 
she  would  not  see,  sent  vast  alms  to  all  the  convents 
to  pray  for  her  health,  and  ordered  a  number  of 
masses  to  be  said  in  every  church  of  Brescia  and 
Ferrara.  He  sent  letters  to  the  senate  at  Venice, 
and  published  manifestoes  in  all  the  capital  cities, 
in  which  he  professes  his  affection  for  her,  and  ab- 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      129 

horrence  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  im- 
prisoned  herself  in  her  chamber,  where   she  will 
neither  eat  nor  drink  any  thing  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 
Licinia." 

I  am  afraid  I  have  tired  you  with  my  long  story  : 
I  thought  it  singular  enough  to  amuse  you.  I 
believe  your  censure  will  be  different  from  that  of 
the  ladies  here,  who  all  range  themselves  in  the 

VOL.    III.  K 


130  LETTERS  TO   MR.   WORTLEY 

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, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

London,  1756. 

YOURS  of  the  8th  of  March  came  hither  on  the 
28th,  which  is  the  time  in  which  letters  usually 
pass  between  London  and  Venice.  I  bundle  up 
all  your  letters,  and  keep  a  list  of  the  dates  of  what 
I  send  you ;  so  that  I  cannot  mistake  as  to  either. 
I  do  not  remember  that  any  letter  sent  to  me  from 
a  foreign  country,  besides  yours,  ever  miscarried. 
As  to  those  I  send  abroad,  I  always  send  two  ser- 
vants with  them  to  the  post ;  so  that  I  do  not  trust 
to  one  servant's  honesty :  and  the  officer  of  the  post 
sees  there  is  evidence  of  the  delivery  ;  so  that  his 
neglect  or  fraud  may  easily  appear.  This  method 
is  taken  by  all  foreign  ministers  of  state. 

I  have  now  something  to  mention  that  I  believe 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       131 

will  be  agreeable  to  you :  I  mean  some  particulars 
relating  to  Lord  Bute,  which  you  have  not  learned 
from  the  prints,  nor  from  our  minister  at  Venice. 
He  stood  higher  in  the  late  Prince  of  Wales's  favour 
than  any  man.  His  attendance  was  frequent  at 
Leicester-house,  where  this  young  Prince  has  re- 
sided, and  since  his  father's  death  has  continued 
without  intermission,  till  new  officers  were  to  be 
placed  about  him.  It  is  said  that  another  person 
was  designed  to  be  groom  of  the  stole ;  but  that 
the  Prince's  earnest  request  was  complied  with  in 
my  lord's  favour.  It  is  supposed  that  the  governors, 
preceptors,  &c.  who  were  before  about  him,  will  be 
now  set  aside,  and  that  my  lord  is  his  principal 
adviser.  It  is  not  easy  to  express  how  well  bred 
and  reasonable  the  Prince  always  appears  at  his 
public  levee,  which  is  every  Thursday,  and  on  all 
other  occasions.  The  King  of  France,  and  the 
Empress  of  Germany,  always  show  themselves  to 
great  advantage  ;  and  this  young  Prince's  behaviour 
is  equal  to  that  of  either  of  them.  He  is  supposed 
to  know  the  true  state  of  this  country,  and  to  have 
the  best  inclinations  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  make 
it  flourish. 

These  appearances  do  much  honour  to  my  lord ; 
and  the  continuance  of  his  favour  is,  I  believe, 
wished  by  all  that  are  unconnected  with  some  of 
those  who  have  been  ministers  of  state. 

E.  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 


K  2 


LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  May  30,  1756. 

I  SENT  you  a  long  letter  very  lately,  and  enclosed 
one  to  Lady  Jane.  I  fear  I  cannot  prevail  on  Mr. 
Prescot  to  take  care  of  my  letters  ;  if  he  should 
do  it,  I  beg  you  would  be  very  obliging  to  him  ; 
remember  civility  costs  nothing  and  buys  every 
thing;  your  daughters  should  engrave  that  maxim 
in  their  hearts. 

I  am  sorry  Sir  William  Lowther*  died  unmar- 
ried ;  he  ought  to  have  left  some  of  his  breed,  which 
are  almost  extinct:  he  died  unluckily  for  his  ac- 
quaintance, 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 
shewn  to  be  worthless,  mercenary,  designing  scoun- 
drels. 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 

*  Sir  William  Lowther,  who  died  in  1756,  bequeathed 
100,000/.  in  legacies  to  his  several  friends  with  whom  he  was 
chiefly  associated. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS   OF  BUTE.  133 

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  endea- 
voured 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  gene- 
rosity, 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  that  the 
highest  gratification  of  vanity  is  found  in  bestow- 
ing; 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  that  they  are  obliged,  we  abandon  the  plea- 
sure rather  than  suffer  the  consequence.  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  sun-shine.  The  little  good  I  do  is  scattered 
with  a  sparing  hand,  against  my  inclination ;  but 
I  now  know  the  necessity  of  managing  the  hopes 
of  others,  as  the  only  links  that  bind  attachment, 
or  even  secure  us  from  injuries.  Was  it  possible 
for  me  to  elevate  any  body  from  the  station  in 
which  they  are  born,  I  now  would  not  do  it :  per- 
haps it  is  a  rebellion  against  that  Providence  that 
has  placed  them  there ;  all  we  ought  to  do  is  to 


134  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

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, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

DEAR  CHILD,  Venice,  Nov.  8,  1756. 

You  are  extremely  good  to  take  so  much  care  of 

my  trifling  commissions  in  the  midst  of  so  many 

important  occupations.     You  judged  very  right  on 

the  subject  of  Mr.  W.     I  saw  him  often  both  at 

Florence  and  Genoa,  and  you  may  believe  I  know 

him.     I  am  not  surprized  at  the  character  of  poor 

Charles  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,  but 

retained  the  folly  in  full  bloom.     Colonel  Otway, 

younger  brother  to  Lady  Bridget'sf  spouse,  came 

hither  with  Lord  Mandeville ;  he  told  me  that  she 

has  a  daughter  with  the  perfect   figure   of  Lady 

Wmchilsea.     I  wish  she  may  meet  with  as  good 

*  Charles  Fielding  was  the  third  son  of  Basil  fourth  Earl  of 
Denbigh.  He  married  Mary,  daughter  of  Sir  Thomas  Palmer, 
of  Wingham,  in  Kent,  Bart,  widow  of  Sir  Brook  Brydges,  Bart. 

f  Lady  Bridget  was  second  daughter  of  Basil  fourth  Earl  of 
Denbigh  ;  married  to  James  Otway,  of  the  county  of  Kent,  Esq. 


AND   THE  COUN'TESS    OF    BUTE.  135 

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,  that  I  hardly  know  what  I  say  about  it : 
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  are  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  William  Hamil- 
ton* 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  him  superlatively 
ridiculous.  Lady  Delawar,f  a  woman  of  great 
merit,  with  whom  I  lived  in  much  intimacy,  shewed 
this  fine  performance  to  me ;  we  were  very  merry 
in  supposing  what  answer  Lord  William  would 
make  to  these  passionate  addresses ;  she  bid  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  ap- 

*  Lord  William  Hamilton,  second  son  of  James  Duke  of  Ha- 
milton, married,  1732,  Anne,  daughter  of  Francis  Hawes,  Es- 
quire ;  and  dying  without  issue,  1734,  his  widow  married,  in 
May  1735,  William  second  Viscount  Vane. 

f  Probably  Margaret,  daughter  and  heir  of  John  Freeman, 
of  the  city  of  London,  merchant,  wife  of  John  the  sixth  Lord 
Delawar,  and  mother  of  John  the  first  Earl;  she  died  1738. 


186  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

pear  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  the  last  man  I  should 
have  addressed  them  to,  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,  that 
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,  M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Padoua,  Dec.  28,  1756. 

I  RECEIVED  yours,  of  November  29th,  with  great 
pleasure,  some  days  before  I  had  the  box  of  books, 

*  Dodsley's  Collection  of  Poems  was  published  in  three  vo- 
lumes in  1748.  The  fourth  volume  appeared  in  1749,  and  the 
fifth  and  sixth  in  1756.  In  the  sixth  volume,  p.  230,  the  dia- 
logue (if  it  may  be  so  called)  between  Sir  William  Young  and 
Lady  Mary,  is  printed,  and  very  erroneously  applied. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      137 

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 
every  thing  as  coming  from  London,  in  the  same 
style  as  they  used  to  do  from  Paris.  I  was  shewn  a 
set  of  furniture,  of  their  own  invention,  in  a  taste 
entirely  new ;  it  consists  of  eight  large  armed 
chairs,  the  same  number  of  sconces,  a  table,  and 
prodigious  mirror,  all  of  glass.  It  is  impossible  to 
imagine  their  beauty ;  they  deserve  to  be  placed  in 
a  prince's  dressing  room,  or  grand  cabinet ;  the  price 
demanded  is  400/.  They  would  be  a  very  proper 
decoration  for  the  apartment  of  a  prince  so  young 
and  beautiful  as  ours.* 

The  present  ministry  promises  better  counsels 
than  have  been  followed  in  my  time.  I  am  ex- 
tremely 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  my- 
self in  troubling  you  with  long  letters  or  com- 
missions, when  you  are  charged  with  so  much  bu- 
siness at  home  and  abroad ;  I  shall  only  repeat  the 
Turkish  maxim,  which  I  think  includes  all  that  is 
necessary  in  a  e0Mf/-life :  "  Caress  the  favorites, 
avoid  the  unfortunate,  and  trust  nobody."  You 
*  Afterwards  George  III. 


138  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

may  think  the  second  rule  ill-natured :  melancholy 
experience  has  convinced  me  of  the  ill  consequence 
of  mistaking  distress  for  merit ;  there  is  no  mistake 
more  productive  of  evil.  I  could  add  many  argu- 
ments to  enforce  this  truth,  but  will  not  tire  your 
patience. 

I  am  exceedingly  obliged  to  General  Graham  for 
his  civilities ;  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  capitulater  is  rewarded,  I  fear  the  gene- 
rous defender  will  be  neglected. 

I  intend  to  correspond  with  Lady  J.  I  confess  I 
was  much  pleased  with  her  little  letter ;  and,  sup- 
posing Lady  M.  is  commenced  fine  lady,  she  may 
have  no  leisure  to  read  or  answer  an  old  grand- 
mother's letters.  I  presume  Lady  J.  is  to  play 
least  in  sight  till  her  sister  is  disposed  of ;  if  she 
loves  writing,  it  may  be  an  employment  not  disa- 
greeable to  herself,  and  will  be  extremely  grateful 
to  me,  who  am  your  your  affectionate  mother, 

M.  WORTLEY. 

TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

Louvere,  June  10,  1757. 

IT  is  very  true,  my  dear  child,  we  cannot  now 
maintain  a  family  with  the  product  of  a  flock, 
though  I  do  not  doubt  the  present  sheep  afford  as 
much  wool  and  milk  as  any  of  their  ancestors,  and 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       139 

'tis  certain  our  natural  wants  are  not  more  nume- 
rous than  formerly ;  but  the  world  is  past  its  in- 
fancy, and  will  no  longer  be  contented  with  spoon 
meat.  Time  has  added  great  improvements,  but 
those  very  improvements  have  introduced  a  train 
of  artificial  necessities.  A  collective  body  of  men 
make  a  gradual  progress  in  understanding,  like  that 
of  a  single  individual.  When  I  reflect  on  the  vast 
increase  of  useful,  as  well  as  speculative,  knowledge 
the  last  three  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)  universally  persisted  in :  I 
place  that  of  war  as  senseless  as  the  boxing  of 
school-boys,  and  whenever  we  come  to  man's  estate 
(perhaps  a  thousand  years  hence)  I  do  not  doubt  it 
will  appear  as  ridiculous  as  the  pranks  of  unlucky 
lads.  Several  discoveries  will  then  be  made,  and 
several  truths  made  clear,  of  which  we  have  now 
no  more  idea,  than  the  ancients  had  of  the  circu- 
lation of  the  blood,  or  the  optics  of  Sir  Isaac 
Newton. 

You  will  believe  me  in  a  very  dull  humour  when 
I  fill  my  letter  with  such  whims,  and  indeed  so 
I  am.  I  have  just  received  the  news  of  Sir  J. 
Gray's  departure,  and  am  exceedingly  vexed  I  did 
not  know  of  his  designed  journey.  I  suppose  he 


140  LETTERS   TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

would  have  carried  my  token  ;*  and  now  I  utterly 
despair  of  an  opportunity  of  sending  it,  and  there- 
fore enclose  a  note,  on  Child,  for  the  value  of  it. 

When  you  see  Lady  Rich  pray  do  not  fail  to  pre- 
sent my  thanks  and  compliments.  I  desire  the 
same  to  every  body  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  ac- 
quaintance 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  grand-daugh- 
ter :  I  wrote  to  my  grandmother  long  before  her 
age.  I  desire  you  would  not  see  it,  being  willing 
to  judge  of  her  genius.  I  know  I  shall  read  it 
with  some  partiality,  which  I  cannot  avoid  to  all 
that  is  yours,  as  I  am  your  most  affectionate  mo- 
ther* M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

Padoua,  Sept.  5,  1757. 

I  WROTE  to  you  very  lately,  my  dear  child,   in 
answer  to  that  letter  Mr.  Hamilton  brought  me: 

to  one  of  her 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       141 

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  set- 
ting 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  conspicuous  from 
the  others  retiring;  the  various  views  of  life  are 
abandoned,  from  want  of  ability  to  preserve  them, 
as  the  fine  complexion  is  lost  in  wrinkles;  but,  as 
surely  as  a  large  nose  grows  larger,  and  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  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.  Ac- 
cording to  the  good  English  proverb,  young  people 
may  die,  but  old  must.  You  see  I  am  very  indus- 
trious in  finding  comfort  to  myself  in  my  exit,  and 
to  guard,  as  long  as  I  can,  against  the  peevishness 
which  makes  age  miserable  in  itself  and  contempti- 
ble to  others.  'Tis  surprizing  to  me,  that,  with  the 
most  inoffensive  conduct,  I  should  meet  enemies, 


LETTERS   TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

when  I  cannot  be  envied  for  any  thing,  and  have 
pretensions  to  nothing. 

Is  it  possible  the  old  Colonel  Buncombe*  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,  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  jido.  I  believe  I  owe  his  favour  to  having 
shewn  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  pri- 
vately 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  se- 
quins on  my  toilet.  I  don't  believe  I  could  borrow 
that  sum,  without  good  security,  among  my  great 

*  Anthony  Duncombe,  created  Lord  Feversham  1747;  which 
title  became  extinct  in  1763  on  his  dying  without  male  issue. 
He  was  the  nephew  of  Sir  Charles  Duncombe,  Lord  Mayor 
of  London  1709. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      143 

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  obli- 
gation. 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  surprized  to  hear  the  general 
does  not  yet  know  these  circumstances ;  he  arrived 
at  Venice  but  a  few  days  before  I  left  it ;  and,  pro- 
mising me  to  come  to  Padoua,  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  multi- 
plicity of  affairs  hindered  him  from  coming  at  all. 
Tis  only  a  few  days  since  that  he  made  me  a  visit, 
in  company  with  Mr.  Hamilton,  before  whom  I  did 
not  think  it  proper  to  speak  my  complaints.  They 
are  now  gone  to  drink  the  waters  at  Vicenza :  when 
they  return,  I  intend  removing  to  Venice,  and  then 
shall  relate  my  grievances,  which  I  have  more  rea- 
son to  do  than  ever.  I  have  tired  you  with  this 
disagreeable  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, 

M.  WORTLEY. 

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 


144  LETTERS   TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

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  com- 
missions for  things  I  never  saw ;  nothing  of  price  I 
would  have,  as  I  would  not  new  furnish  an  inn  I 
was  on  the  point  of  leaving,  for  such  is  this  world 
to  me.     Though,  china  is  in  such  high  estimation 
here,  I  have  sometimes  an  inclination  to  desire  your 
father  to  send  me  the  two  large  jars,  that  stood  in 
the  windows  in  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  Duke  of  Argyle's  example  had 
made  all  china,  more  or  less,  fashionable. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 
MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Louvere,  Sept.  30,  1757. 

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  favorite  amusement.  If  I 
called  a  white  staff  a  stick  of  wood,  a  gold  key 
gilded  brass,  and  the  ensigns  of  illustrious  orders 

*  Lady  Louisa  Stuart. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       145 

coloured  strings,  this  may  be  philosophically  true, 
but  would  be  very  ill  received.  We  have  all  our 
playthings :  happy  are  they  that  can  be  contented 
with  those  they  can  obtain  :  those  hours  are  spent  in 
the  wisest  manner,  that  can  easiest  shade  the  ills  of 
life,  and  are  the  least  productive  of  ill  consequences. 
I  think  my  time  better  employed  in  reading  the 
adventures  of  imaginary  people,  than  the  Duchess 
of  Marlborough,  who  passed  the  latter  years  of  her 
life  in  paddling  with  her  will,  and  contriving  schemes 
of  plaguing  some,  and  extracting  praise  from  others, 
to  no  purpose  ;  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 
less  wishing  it  an  Arabian  horse,  which  he  could  not 
know  how  to  manage.  I  am  reading  an  idle  tale, 
not  expecting  wit  or  truth  in  it,  and  am  very  glad 
it  is  not  metaphysics  to  puzzle  my  judgement,  or  his- 
tory 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  both  attain  very  desirable  ends. 

VOL.    III.  L 


146  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

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,  M.  WORTLEY. 

TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.* 

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  truth,  I  was  afraid  of  a  Bess,  a 
Peg,  or  a  Suky,  which  all  give  me  the  ideas  of 
washing-tubs  and  scowering  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  company :  but  am  sur- 
prized you  have  never  mentioned  Lord  Roseberry, 
by  whom  I  sent  a  packet  to  you,  and  took  some 
pains  to  shew  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  infor- 
mation of  myself  and  all  my  employments.  He 
seemed  delighted  with  my  house  and  gardens,  and 
perhaps  has  forgot  he  ever  saw  me,  or  any  thing 

*  This  letter  having  had  the  erroneous  date  of  1754,  given  to 
it  by  Mr.  Dallaway,  or  some  one  else,  it  was  inadvertently 
placed  among  the  letters  of  that  year  in  the  first  edition.  It  is, 
however,  quite  evident  from  its  contents,  that  it  was  written 
after  the  birth  of  Lady  Louisa  Stuart  in  1757. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      147 

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,  mean- 
while, 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  permit- 
ting 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  J1  pro- 
bity 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  pos- 

*  Of  the  book  in  question,  Horace  Walpole,  in  a  letter  to 
General  Conway,  speaks  thus :  "  A  wonderful  book,  by  a  more 
wonderful  author,  Greville.  It  is  called  Maxims  and  Charac- 
ters; several  of  the  former  are  pretty ;  all  the  latter  so  absurd, 
that  one  in  particular,  which  at  the  beginning  you  take  for  the 
character  of  a  man,  turns  out  to  be  the  character  of  a  post- 
chaise."  t  The  first  Earl  of  Chatham. 

L   2 


148  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

sibility ;  but  there  is  an  Augaean  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  Thorsby,  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  prejudices,  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 
far  as  my  power  extended.  Nobody  can  be  served 
against  their  will.  May  all  your  young  ones  grow 
up  an  honour  to  you  !  My  paper  is  out :  I  have 
scarce  room  to  assure  you,  my  dear  child,  that  I  am 
ever  your  most  affectionate  mother,  M.  W. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

Padoua,  Oct.  20,  1757. 

I  AM  much  obliged  to  you,  my  dear  child,  for 
the  concern  you  express  for  me  in  yours  of  July 
10th,  which  I  received  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  not  otherwise  affected  by  it,  than  as 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       149 

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  grand- 
daughter, who  is  a  noble  Venetian,  (Signer  Zeno,) 
just  of  her  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  dis- 
tinction, 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  that  he 
is  eighty-six.  I  thought  him  forty  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  apart- 
ment, (in  truth  it  was  very  easy,  having  five  palaces 
on  a  row,  on  the  great  canal,  his  own  being  the  cen- 
tre, and  the  others  inhabited  by  his  relations).  I 


150  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

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  drank  ; 
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  cere- 
mony, 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  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  attach- 
ment quite  uncommon  at  London,  and  certainly 
disinterested,  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,       M.  WORTLEY. 


AND   THE   COUNTESS   OF   BUTE.  151 

TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

DEAR  CHILD,  Venice,  Jan.  20,  1758. 

I  AM  always  glad  to  hear  of  my  dear  child's 
health,  and  daily  pray  for  the  continuance  of  it 
and  all  other  blessings  on  you  and  your  family. 
The  carnival  hitherto  has  been  clouded  by  ex- 
tremely wet  weather,  but  we  are  in  hopes  that  the 
sun-shine  is  reserved  for  the  second  part  of  it,  when 
the  morning  masquerades  give  all  the  ladies  an 
opportunity  of  displaying  both  their  magnificence 
and  their  taste,  in  the  various  habits  that  appear 
at  that  time.  I  was  very  well  diverted  by  them 
last  year.  I  hear  Rome  is  crammed  with  Britons, 
and  suppose  we  shall  see  them  all  in  their  turns. 
I  cannot  say  that  the  rising  generation  gives  any 
general  prospect  of  improvement  either  in  the  arts 
or  sciences,  or  in  any  thing  else.  I  am  exceedingly 
pleased  that  the  Duchess  of  Portland  is  happy  in 
her  son-in-law.  I  must  ever  interest  myself  in 
what  happens  to  any  descendant  of  Lady  Oxford. 
I  expect  that  my  books  and  china  should  set  out; 
they  will  be  a  great  amusement  to  me ;  I  mix  so 
little  with  the  gay  world,  and  at  present  my  garden 
is  quite  useless. 

Venice  is  not  a  place  to  make  a  man's  fortune  in. 
As  for  those  who  have  money  to  throw  away,  they 
may  do  it  here  more  agreeably  than  in  any  town  I 
know ;  strangers  being  received  with  great  civility, 
and  admitted  into  all  their  parties  of  pleasure. 


152  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

But  it  requires  a  good  estate  and  good  constitution 
to  play  deep,  and  pass  so  many  sleepless  nights,  as 
is  customary  in  the  best  company. 

I  am  invited  to  a  great  wedding  to-morrow, 
which  will  be  in  the  most  splendid  manner,  to  the 
contentment  of  both  the  families,  every  thing  being 
equal,  even  the  indifference  of  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom, though  each  of  them  is  extremely  pleased, 
by  being  set  free  from  governors  or  governesses. 
To  say  truth,  I  think  they  are  less  likely  to  be  dis- 
appointed, in  the  plan  they  have  formed,  than  any 
of  our  romantic  couples,  who  have  their  heads  full 
of  love  and  constancy. 

I  stay  here,  though  I  am  on  many  accounts 
better  pleased  with  Padoua.  Our  great  minister, 
the  resident,  affects  to  treat  me  as  one  in  the  oppo- 
sition. I  am  inclined  to  laugh  rather  than  be  dis- 
pleased 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  furnish- 
ing them,  and  am  no  longer  of  an  age  to  make 
long  journeys.  I  saw,  some  months  ago,  a  coun- 
tryman 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 

*  Mr.  Robert  Adam,  who  built  Caen-Wood,  Luton-Park, 
&c.  and  the  Adelphi  in  conjunction  with  his  brother.  His  de- 
signs are  published. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      153 

knowledge  of  architecture  much  applauded.     He  is 
now  in  England. 

Your  account  of  the  changes  in  ministerial  affairs 
do  not  surprize  me ;  but  nothing  could  be  more 
astonishing  than  their  all  coming  in  together.  It 
puts  me  in  mind  of  a  friend  of  mine,  who  had  a 
large  family  of  favourite  animals ;  and,  not  know- 
ing how  to  convey  them  to  his  country-house  in 
separate  equipages,  he  ordered  a  Dutch  mastiff,  a 
cat  and  her  kittens,  a  monkey,  and  a  parrot,  all  to 
be  packed  up  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 

*  This  story  has  been  versified  by  Lord  Byron,  (Don  Juan, 
canto  3rd,  stanza  18,)  but  without  any  reference  to  the  source 
from  whence  he  drew  it.  Lady  Mary  introduces  it  with  some 
point,  to  illustrate  her  notion  of  the  good  understanding  which 
might  be  expected  to  exist  among  the  members  of  an  adminis- 
tration composed  of  very  discordant  materials  ;  Lord  Byron,  to 
describe  the  indifference  and  cruelty  of  a  corsair. 
His  lines  are  these: 

A  monkey,  a  Dutch  mastiff,  a  mackaw, 

Two  parrots,  with  a  Persian  cat  and  kittens, 
He  chose  from  several  animals  he  saw ; 

A  terrier,  too,  which  once  had  been  a  Briton's, 
Who,  dying  on  the  coast  of  Ithaca, 

The  peasants  gave  the  poor  dumb  thing  a  pittance : 
These  to  secure  in  this  strong  blowing  weather, 
He  caged  in  one  large  hamper  all  together. 


154  LETTERS   TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

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,  M.  W. 

TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Venice,  April  3,  1758. 

SEVERAL  English  are  expected  here  at  the  As- 
cension, and  I  hope  to  find  an  opportunity  of 
sending  you  your  pearl  necklace.  I  have  been 
persuaded  to  take  a  small  house  here,  as  living  in 
lodgings  is  really  very  disagreeable.  However,  I 
shall  still  retain  my  favourite  palace  at  Padoua, 
where  I  intend  to  reside  the  greater  part  of  the 
year.  In  the  mean  time  I  amuse  myself  with  buy- 
ing and  placing  furniture,  in  which  I  only  consult 
neatness  and  convenience,  having  long  since  re- 
nounced (as  it  is  fit  I  should)  all  things  bordering 
upon  magnificence.  I  must  confess  I  sometimes 
indulge  my  taste  in  baubles,  which  is  as  excuseable 
in  second  childhood  as  in  the  first.  I  am  sorry  the 
Duchess  of  Portland  has  not  received  my  thanks 
for  her  obliging  letter.  I  also  desire  to  know  the 
name  of  the  merchant,  to  whom  the  Duke  consigned 
the  legacy  left  me  by  Lady  Oxford.  I  see  in  the 
newspapers  the  names  of  many  novels.  I  do  not 
doubt  but  that  the  greater  part  of  them  are  trash, 
lumber,  &c.  &c. ;  however,  they  will  serve  to  kill 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      155 

idle  time.  I  have  written  you  several  letters  lately; 
indeed  I  seldom  fail  to  do  it  once  in  a  fortnight. 
Unavoidable  visits,  together  with  the  occupation 
of  fitting  and  furnishing,  hardly  leaves  any  time  to 
dispose  of  to  my  own  taste,  which  is  (as  it  ought  to 
be)  more  solitary  than  ever.  I  left  my  hermitage, 
(at  Louvere,)  that  what  effects  I  have  might  not  be 
dissipated  by  servants,  as  they  would  have  been, 
had  I  died  there. 

Sir  J.  Gray  was,  as  I  am  told,  universally  es- 
teemed, during  his  residence  here  ;  but,  alas !  he 
is  gone  to  Naples.  I  wish  the  maxims  of  Queen 
Elizabeth  were  received,  who  always  chose  men 
whose  birth  or  behaviour  would  make  the  nation 
respected,  people  being  apt  to  look  upon  them  as 
a  sample  of  their  countrymen.  If  those  now  em- 
ployed 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  obtain  truth 
either  from  a  fool  or  a  knave. 

Company  forces  me  upon  an  abrupt  conclusion. 
I  am  ever,  my  dear  child,  &c.  &c.       M.  W. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 
DEAR  CHILD,  Venice,  1758. 

I  RECEIVED  yours  of  the  20th  of  Feb.  yesterday, 
May  the  2d,  so  irregular  is  the  post.     I  could  for- 


156  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

give  the  delay,  but  I  cannot  pardon  the  loss  of  so 
many  that  have  never  arrived  at  all.  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton is  not  yet  come,  nor  perhaps  will  not  for  some 
months.  I  hear  he  is  at  Leghorn.  General  Gra- 
ham 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  Novem- 
ber. Thursday  next  is  the  ceremony  of  the  Ascen- 
sion: 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  till  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  cruellest  acci- 
dents 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 
chearfulness,  as  least  restore  quiet  to  the  most  trou- 

*  George  Viscount  Mandeville,  eldest  son  of  Robert  Duke 
of  Manchester. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      157 

bled  mind.  Those  that  fly  to  cards  or  company  for 
relief,  generally  find  they  only  exchange  one  mis- 
fortune 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, 

M.  WORTLEY. 

TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  May  29,  1758.— Padoua. 

MY  last  letter  was  wrote  in  such  a  fright,  I  da 
not  remember  one  word  I  said ;    and  I  presume 
you  could  make  nothing  out  of  it ;  I  am  now  re- 
stored 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  mention  the  letter 
you  received  from  Mr.  Law,  but  say  nothing  of  his 
pupil,  Mr.  Oliver,  who,  if  his  estate  be  so  large  as 
I  am  told,  may  be  worthy  the  regard  of  my  grand- 
daughters, 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,  tho'  I  no  way  mistrusted  his  integrity. 


158  LETTERS   TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

But  as  they  proposed  staying  some  time  in  Ger- 
many, 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  men- 
tioned it  to  Lord  Mandeville,  and  Col.  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  be- 
haviour 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  Padoua,  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  un- 
easy thought  to,  dear  child,  your  most  affectionate 
mother,  M.  WORTLEY. 

My  blessing  to  all  yours,  and  compliments  to 
Lord  Bute. 


AND   THE   COUNTESS   OF   BUTE.  159 

TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Padoua,  July  17,  1758. 

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  sim- 
ple 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  anti- 
cipation of  evil,  which  is  a  source  of  pain,  and  can 
never  be  productive  of  any  good,  I  stifled  my  fear 
as  much  as  possible,  yet  it  cost  me  many  a  mid- 
night 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 


160  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

own  hand  was  considerably  wounded,  yet  the  first 
word  he  spoke  (without  any  regard  to  his  own 
smart  or  danger)  was,  "  I  hope  nobody  is  hurt  :"— 
nobody  was  hurt  but  himself,  who  has  been  ever 
since  under  cure,  to  preserve  two  of  his  fingers 
which  were  very  much  torn.  He  had  also  a  small 
razure  on  his  cheek,  which  is  now  quite  healed. 
The  paternal  care  and  tenderness  Mr.  Anderson 
has  shewn  on  this  occasion,  has  recommended  him 
to  every  body.  I  wanted  nothing  to  raise  that 
esteem  which  is  due  to  his  sterling  honesty  and 
good  heart,  which  I  do  not  doubt  you  value  as  much 

as  I  do.     If  that  wretch  Hickman  had  been 

but  this  is  a  melancholy  thought,  and  as  such  ought 
to  be  suppressed. 

How  important  is  the  charge  of  youth !  and  how 
useless  all  the  advantages  of  nature  and  fortune 
without  a  well-turned  mind!  I  have  lately  heard 
of  a  very  shining  instance  of  this  truth,  from  two 
gentlemen,  (very  deserving  ones  they  seem  to  be,) 
who  have  had  the  curiosity  to  travel  into  Muscovy, 
and  now  return  to  England  with  Mr.  Archer.  I 
inquired  after  my  old  acquaintance  Sir  Charles 
Williams,  who  I  hear  is  much  broken,  both  in  his 
spirits  and  constitution.  How  happy  might  that 
man  have  been,  if  there  had  been  added  to  his  na- 
tural and  acquired  endowments  a  dash  of  morality ! 
If  he  had  known  how  to  distinguish  between  false 
and  true  felicity;  and,  instead  of  seeking  to  en- 
crease  an  estate  already  too  large,  and  hunting 


AND   THE   COUNTESS   OF  BUTE.  161 

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  sup- 
posed. Whoever  seeks  pleasure  will  undoubtedly 
find  pain;  whoever  will  pursue  ease  will  as  cer- 
tainly find  pleasures.  The  world's  esteem  is  the 
highest  gratification  of  human  vanity ;  and  that  is 
more  easily  obtained  in  a  moderate  fortune  than  an 
overgrown  one,  which  is  seldom  possessed,  never 
gained,  without  envy.  I  say  esteem ;  for,  as  to 
applause,  it  is  a  youthful  pursuit,  never  to  be  for- 
given 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  shews  it  to  be  impossible.  A  wise  and  honest 
man  lives  to  his  own  heart,  without  that  silly  splen- 
dour 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  any  thing  of  that  kind.  I 

VOL.    III.  M 


162  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

wish  it  may  become  national.  A  collective  body 
of  men  differs  very  little  from  a  single  man ;  and 
frugality  is  the  foundation  of  generosity.  I  have 
often  been  complimented  on  the  English  heroism, 
who  have  thrown  away  so  many  millions,  without 
any  prospect  of  advantage  to  themselves,  purely  to 
succour  a  distressed  Princess.  I  never  could  hear 
these  praises  without  some  impatience ;  they  sound- 
ed to  me  like  the  panegyrics  made  by  the  depen- 
dants on  the  Duke  of  Newcastle  and  poor  Lord 
Oxford,  bubbled  when  they  were  commended,  and 
laughed  at  when  they  were  undone.  Some  late 
events  will,  I  hope,  open  our  eyes :  we  shall  see 
we  are  an  island,  and  endeavour  to  extend  our 
commerce  rather  than  the  Quixote  reputation  of 
redressing  wrongs  and  placing  diadems  on  heads 
that  should  be  equally  indifferent  to  us.  When 
time  has  ripened  mankind  into  common  sense,  the 
name  of  conqueror  will  be  an  odious  title.  I  could 
easily  prove  that,  had  the  Spaniards  established  a 
trade  with  the  Americans,  they  would  have  en- 
riched 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, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


AND   THE   COUNTESS   OF    BUTE.  163 

TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 
MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Padoua,  July  14,  1758. 

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  for- 
merly, (to  the  utter  destruction  of  peace,  civility, 
and  common  sense),  are  so  happily  terminated,  that 
there  is  nothing  of  that  sort  mentioned  in  good 
company.  I  think  I  ought  to  wish  you  and  my 
grandchildren  joy  on  this  general  pacification,  when 
I  remember  all  the  vexation  I  have  gone  through, 
from  my  youth  upwards,  on  the  account  of  those 
divisions,  which  touched  me  no  more  than  the  dis- 
putes between  the  followers  of  Mahomet  and  Ali, 
being  always  of  opinion  that  politics  and  contro- 
versy were  as  unbecoming  to  our  sex  as  the  dress 
of  a  prize-fighter ;  and  I  would  as  soon  have  mount- 
ed Fig's  theatre  as  have  stewed  all  night  in  the 
gallery  of  a  committee,  as  some  ladies  of  bright 
parts  have  done. 

Notwithstanding  the  habitual  (I  believe  I  might 
say  natural)  indifference,  here  am  I  involved  in 
adventures,  as  surprising  as  any  related  in  Ama- 
dis  de  Gaul,  or  even  by  Mr.  Glanvillec*  I  can 
assure  you  I  should  not  be  more  surprised  at 

*  In  his  History  of  Witchcraft,— Sadducismus  Triumphans, 
1681. 

M  2 


164  LETTERS  TO  MR.  WORTLEY 

seeing  myself  riding  in  the  air  on  a  broomstick, 
than  in  the  figure  of  a  first  rate  politician.  You 
will  stare  to  hear  that  your  nurse  keeps  her  corner 
(as  Lord  Bolingbroke  says  of  Miss  Oglethorp) 
in  this  illustrious  conspiracy.  I  really  think  the 
best  head  of  the  junto  is  an  English  washerwo- 
man, who  has  made  her  fortune  with  all  parties, 
by  her  compliance  in  changing  her  religion,  which 
gives  her  the  merit  of  a  new  convert ;  and  her  cha- 
ritable disposition,  of  keeping  a  house  of  fair  recep- 
tion, 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  scan- 
dalous. I  will  not  be  so  censorious,  to  take  ex- 
amples from  my  own  sex;  but  you  see  Doctor 
Swift,  who  set  at  defiance  all  decency,  truth,  or 
reason,  had  a  crowd  of  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  parent,  the  most  generous 
churchman,  and  the  most  zealous  asserter  of  the 
rights  and  liberties  of  his  country,  was  all  his  life 
defamed  and  vilified,  and  after  his  death  most  bar- 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       165 

barously  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. 

Apropos  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 
the  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  extremely 
sorry  for  the  loss  of  so  good  a  friend,  without  re- 
flecting 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  re- 
pair 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  Thorsby,  though  more  happy  in  his  guardian 
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 

*  Sir  Wyndham  Knatchbull,  of  Mersham-Hatch,  in  Kent, 
succeeded  his  father  in  1749,  and  died,  unmarried,  September 
26, 1763.  His  mother  was  Catharine,  daughter  of  James  Harris, 
of  Salisbury,  Esq. 


166  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

long  resist  the  allurements  of  pleasures  which  his 
constitution  cannot  support. 

Here   is   great  joy   in  the   nomination  of  Mr. 
Mackenzie  for  Turin;  his  friends  hoping  to   see 
him  on  his  journey.     My  token  for  you  lies  dor- 
mant, and  is  likely   so  to  do  some  time.     None 
of  the   English  have  visited  me,    (excepting  Sir 
Wyndham  Knatchbull,)  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,  be- 
fore 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  a  man  they  dislike.     It  is  the  pecu- 
liar glory  of  Mr.  Mackenzie  that  the  whole  Sar- 
dinian court  rejoice  in  the   expectation  of  his  ar- 
rival, 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  and  distinguished,)  by  herding 
together,  and  throwing  away  their  money  on  worth- 
less 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  mi- 
lordi  Inglesi,  in  the  same  manner  as  Moliere  repre- 
sented his  Parisian  marquises.     If  your  agreeable 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      167 

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 
written  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  some- 
thing should  be  forgiven  to  the  sincere  affection 
with  which  I  am  ever, 

Your  most  affectionate  mother, 
M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Oct  31, 1758. 

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  shewed  it  in  the  dis- 
position 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, 

*  Royal  and  Noble  Authors,  8vo.  1758. 
f  He  died  September  4,  1758. 


168  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

which  would   most   surely  have  revenged   all  her 

misdemeanors. 

I  was  well  acquainted  with  Mr.  Walpole,  at  Flo- 
rence, and  indeed  he  was  particularly  civil  to  me. 
I  am  encouraged  to  ask  a  favour  of  him,  if  I  did 
not  know,  that  few  people  have  so  good  memories 
as  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  in  pieces,  for  abus- 
ing the  glory  of  her  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  trans- 
lations from  the  Greek.  I  wish  all  monarchs  would 
bestow  their  leisure  hours  on  such  studies :  perhaps 
they  would  not  be  very  useful  to  mankind  ;  but  it 
may  be  asserted,  as  a  certain  truth,  that  their  own 
minds  would  be  more  improved  than  by  the  amuse- 
ments of  Quadrille  or  Cavagnole. 

I  desire  you  would  thank  your  father  for  the 
china  jars ;  if  they  arrive  safely,  they  will  do  me 
great  honour  in  this  country.  The  Patriarch  died 
here  lately.  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  was  accumulated. 

*  Alluding  to  the  character  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  in  his  Royal 
and  Noble  Authors. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      169 

The  town  is  full  of  faction,  for  the  election  of  his 
successor ;  and  the  ladies  are  always  very  active  on 
these  occasions.  I  have  observed  that  they  have 
ever  had  more  influence  in  republics  than  in  a 
monarchy.  'Tis  true,  a  king  has  often  a  powerful 
mistress,  but  she  is  governed  by  gome  male  favour- 
ite. In  commonwealths,  votes  ate  easily  acquired 
by  the  fair ;  and  she,  who  has  mcfet  beauty  or  art, 


has  a  great  sway  in  the  senate, 
you   with   stories   very   insignific 
taking  up  your  time,  which  I  a 


run  on  troubling 
nt  to  you,  and 
L  very  certain  is 


taken  up  in  matters  of  more  importance  than  my 
old  wives'  tales.  My  dear  child,  God  bless  you  and 
yours.  I  am,  with  the  warmest  Sentiments  of  my 
heart,  your  most  affectionate  mother,  M.  W. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  1UTE. 
MY  DEAR  CHILD,  PadouL  Nov.  19,  1758. 

I  AM  glad  to  hear  Lady  Betty  Mackenzie  is  so 
amiable.  I  have  dined  with  her  a|t  the  Duke  of 
Argyll's,  and  seen  her  several  timefe,  but  she  was 
then  of  an  age  when  young  ladies!  think  silence 
becoming  in  the  presence  of  their  parents.  Lady 
Mary,*  hardly  passed  her  childhood,  ^as  more  free, 
and  I  confess  was  my  favourite  in  the  family.  The 
rejoicings  in  this  town,  for  the  election  of  the 
Pope,f  who  was  archbishop  of  this  ciity,  are  not 

*  Lady  Mary  Coke. 

t  Upon  the  death  of  Cardinal  Lambertini,  Benedict  XIV. 


170  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

yet  over,  and  have  been  magnificent  to  the  last 
degree;  the  illuminations,  fire-works,  and  assem- 
blies, 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  that  the 
present  Pope*  has  his  mother  still  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  my- 
self, enlarge  on  the  character  of  the  deceased  pre- 
late, 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  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  tetter  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  of  the  same  age — and,  if  he 
had  not  been  dedicated  to  retirement,  would  have 
been  one  of  the  Duke  of  Kingston's  guardians  ; 
and  I  firmly  believe  would  have  acted  in  a  dif- 
ferent manner  from  those  who  were  intrusted,  be- 
ing (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 

*  Cardinal  Rezzonico,  Clement  XIII. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      171 

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  your  affectionate  mother, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

I  AM  very  glad,  my  dear  child,  to  hear  of  your 
father's  health  ;  mine  is  better  than  I  ought  to  ex- 
pect at  my  time  of  life.  I  believe  Mr.  Anderson 
talks  partially  of  me,  as  to  my  looks ;  I  know  no- 
thing of  the  matter,  as  it  is  eleven  years  since  I 
have  seen  my  figure  in  a  glass,  and  the  last  reflec- 
tion I  saw  there  was  so  disagreeable,  that  I  resolv- 
ed to  spare  myself  such  mortifications  for  the  fu- 
ture, and  shall  continue  that  resolution  to  my  life's 
end.  To  indulge  all  pleasing  amusements,  and 
avoid  all  images  that  give  disgust,  is,  in  my  opinion, 
the  best  method  to  attain  or  confirm  health. — I 
ought  to  consider  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,  is  the  most  ardent  wish  of  your  affectionate 
mother,  M.  WORTLEY. 


172  LETTERS   TO   MR.  WORTLEY 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Dec-  5> 1758- 

I  HAVE  now  been  two  posts  without  answering 
yours  of  Nov.  6,  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 I  will  talk  no  more 

on  this  disagreeable  subject. 

The  fine  ladies  I  spoke  of,  I  hear,  are  at  Paris, 
and  perhaps  may  find  reason  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  stop'd  here  by  her  lying-in,  unfortunate- 
ly, of  a  dead  child ;  but  are  preparing  for  Rome 
and  Naples ;  and  from  thence  design  to  return 
home.  I  think  I  may  recommend  her  acquaint- 
ance 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 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      173 

am  an  old  woman ;  the  tour  they  propose  is  so  long 
you  may  probably  not  see  them  this  two  year.  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  un- 
dertake. 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  delightful  at 
fifteen.  Indeed  there  is  no  great  city  so  proper  for 
the  retreat  of  old  age  as  Venice ;  where  we  have 
not  the  emb  arras  of  a  court ;  no  devoirs  to  force 
us  into  public  ;  and  yet  (which  you'll  think  extraor- 
dinary) we  may  appear  there  without  being  ridicu- 
lous. 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  shewing  a 
wrinkled  face. 

I  hope  you  will  not  forget  to  send  me  the  bill  of 
loading,  without  which  I  run  a  risk  of  losing  what- 
ever 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, 

Dec.  5,  1758.  M.  WoRTLEY. 

My  blessing  to  all  yours,  and  compliments  to 
Lord  Bute. 


174  LETTERS  TO    MR.  WORTLEY 

TO  MR.  WORTLEY. 

Venice,  Dec.  11,  1758.- 

I  ASSURE  you  I  live  as  agreeably  here  as  any 
stranger  in  my  circumstances  possibly  can  do  ;  and, 
indeed,  a  repetition  of  all  the  civilities  I  have  re- 
ceived  here  would   sound  more  like  vanity  than 
truth.     I  am  sensible  that  I  owe  a  great  part  of 
them  to  Grimani,  who  is  in  the  first  esteem  and 
authority  in  this  republic ;  and,  as  he  takes  pains 
to  appear  my  friend,  his  relations  and  allies,  of 
both  sexes,  (who  are  the  most  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  stran- 
gers.    The  Princess  of  Holstein  and  the  Prince  of 
Wolfenbuttle  (nephew  of  the  Empress)  are  already 
arrived,  and  the  Electoral  Prince  of  Saxony  is  ex- 
pected next  week.     If  my  age  and  humour  would 
permit  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.  L.  1.  0.  31. 

You  see  I  have  got  a  Horace,  which  is  borrowed 
of  the  Consul,  who  is  a  good  scholar  ;  but  I  am 
very  impatient  for  my  own  books.  I  could  wish 
you  to  send  me  the  cushions  that  were  used  at 


AND   THE  COUNTESS   C   BUTE.  175 

Constantinople  ;  they  would  bevery  useful  to  me 

here.     As  to  what  regards 1  have  long  since 

fixed  my  opinion  concerning  hn.  Indeed,  I  am 
not  insensible  of  the  misfortune  but  I  look  upon  it 
as  the  loss  of  a  limb,  which  shuld  cease  to  give 
solicitude  by  being  irretrievable, 

Lord  Brudenel*  is  here,  an<  appears  to  be  in 
an  extremely  bad  state  of  hezth,  and  unwilling 
to  return  to  England,  being  oprehensive  of  the 
air.  I  fear  his  friends  will  hare  the  affliction  of 
losing  him,  as  he  seems  highlydisposed,  if  not  ac- 
tually fallen  into  a  consumptin.  I  have  had  a 
letter  from  Mr.  Mackenzie,  whois  excessively  liked 
at  Turin.  I  cannot  contrive  to  p  there,  but  heart- 
ily wish  I  could  contrive  to  se  hin  and  Lady 
Betty  in  some  other  place.  I  im  de:ermined,  on 
account  of  my  health,  to  take  some  little  jaunt  next 
spring ;  perhaps  on  the  side  of  tie  Tyrol,  which  I 
have  never  seen,  but  hear  it  is  &n  exceedingly  fine 
country.  To  say  truth,  I  am  temptd  by  the  let- 
ters of  Lady  F.  Stewart  and  Sir  Janes.  I  never 
knew  people  more  to  my  taste.  The  reside  in  a 
little  town,  only  two  days'  journey  fora  Padoua, 
where  it  will  be  easy  to  find  a  lodgingFor  the  sum- 
mer months,  and  I  am  sure  of  bein?  pleased  in 
their  company.  I  have  found,  wheever  I  have 
travelled,  that  the  pleasantest  spots  ofground  have 
been  in  the  vallies,  which  are  enconpassed  with 
high  mountains. 

*  John  Lord  Brudenel,  eldest  son  of  George  jarl  of  Cardigan. 


176 


LETTER  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 


TO  THECOUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 
DEAR  CHILD,  Venice,  Feb.  21,  1759. 

IF  half  the  letteJ  I  have  sent  to  you  have  reach- 
ed you,  I  believe  4u  think  I  have  always  a  pen  in 
my  hand;  but,  iLm  really  so  uneasy  by  your 
long  silence,  I  carlot  forbear  inquiring  the  reason 
of  it,  by  all  the  mthods  I  can  imagine.  My  time 
of  life  is  naturallybclined  to  fear ;  and  though  I 
resist  (as  well  as  jean)  all  the  infirmities  incident 
to  age,  I  feel  but  too  sensibly  the  impressions  of 
melancholy,  when  Biave  any  doubt  of  your  welfare. 
You  fancy,  perhaps  that  the  public  papers  give  me 
information  enougfl;  and  that  when  I  do  not  see  in 


them  any  m 
you  have  no 
excepting  bj 
good  breedii 
ing  asked  f( 
they  were  e 
trifle  at  the 
not  desire  to 
of  Mr.  Pitt, 
for  the  cont 
ridiculous  th 
as  he  looks 


brtuie  of  yours,  I  ought  to  conclude 
e.  I  can  assure  you  I  never  see  any, 
accident.  Our  resident  has  not  the 
to  send  them  to  me  ;  and  after  hav- 
them  once  or  twice,  and  being  told 
aged,  I  am  unwilling  to  demand  a 
pense  of  thanking  a  man  who  does 
blige  me  ;  indeed,  since  the  ministry 
e  is  so  desirous  to  signalize  his  zeal 
ry  faction,  he  is  perpetually  saying 
gs,  to  manifest  his  attachment ;  and, 
)n  me  (nobody  knows  why)  to  be  the 
friend  of  a  n  m  I  never  saw,  he  has  not  visited  me 
once  this  winer.  The  misfortune  is  not  great.  I 
cannot  help  mghing  at  my  being  mistaken  for  a 
politician.  have  often  been  so,  though  I  ever 


i 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      177 

thought  politics  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  remember- 
ing you  are  too  much  employed  to  throw  away  time 
on  reading  insignificant  letters  ;  you  should  how- 
ever forgive  them,  in  consideration  of  the  real  affec- 
tion of  your  very  loving  mother, 

M.  WORTLEY. 

TO  MR.  WORTLEY. 

Venice,  Feb.  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  un- 
easy 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. 

VOL.  in.  N 


178  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

The  carnival  is  now  over,  and  we  have  no  more 
ridotto  or  theatrical  amusements.  Diversions  have 
taken  a  more  private,  perhaps  a  more  agreeable, 
turn  here.  It  is  the  fashion  to  have  little  houses  of 
retreat,  where  the  lady  goes  every  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  hand- 
some collation.  I  believe  you  will  think  these  little 
assemblies  very  pleasing  ;  they  really  are  so.  Who- 
ever 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.  The  young 
Earl  of  Northampton  is  now  at  Florence,  and  was 
here  in  the  carnival.  He  is  lively  and  good  na- 
tured,  with  what  is  called  a  pretty  figure.  I  be- 
lieve he  is  of  a  humour  likely  to  fall  in  love  with, 
and  marry,  the  first  agreeable  girl  he  meets  with  in 
London.*  I  send  this  by  a  gentleman  who  is  just 
returned  from  making  a  very  extraordinary  jour- 
ney. I  dined  with  him  yesterday  at  General  Gra- 
ham's. He  is  a  sensible  man,  and  gives  a  good 
account  of  his  plan.  Almost  all  books  are  either 
defective  or  fabulous.  I  have  observed,  that  the 
only  true  intelligence  of  distant  countries  is  to  be 
had  from  those  who  have  passed  them  without  a 
design  of  publishing  their  remarks. 

*  He  married  Lady  Anne  Somerset,  eldest  daughter  of 
Charles  Noel,  Duke  of  Beaufort. 


AND   THE   COUNTESS   OF  BUTE.  179 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Venice,  May  22,  1759. 

I  AM  always  pleased  to  hear  from  you,  but  parti- 
cularly so  when  I  have  any  occasion  of  congratula- 
tion. I  sincerely  wish  you  joy  of  your  infants  hav- 
ing 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  spirits  as 
you  do,  but  I  hope  his  journeys  will  restore  them. 
I  am  convinced  nothing  is  so  conducive  to  health 
and  absolutely  necessary  to  some  constitutions.  I 
am  not  surprized,  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  Duchess  of  Marl- 
borough,  when  she  has  been  telling  me  her  last  in- 
tentions, none  of  which  she  has  performed ;  chus- 
ing  Lord  Chesterfield  for  her  executor,  whose  true 
character  she  has  many  times  enlarged  upon.  I 

*  Sir  Thomas  Coke,  K.B.  created  Baron  Lovell  1728,  and 
Viscount  Coke  and  Earl  of  Leicester  1744,  died  1759.  His 
lady  was  Margaret,  third  daughter  and  co-heir  of  Thomas,  Earl 
of  Thanet,  and  in  1734  was  declared  Baroness  Clifford. 

N  2 


180  LETTERS  TO   MR.   WORTLEY 

could  say  much  more  to  support  this  doctrine,  if 
it  would  not  lengthen  my  letter  beyond  a  read- 
able 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  matri- 
mony. Nay,  perhaps,  there  is  more  to  be  said  in 
defence  of  the  last ;  I  mean  in  a  childish  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  ex- 
cuse for  beginning  an  edifice  he  can  never  inhabit, 
or  probably  see  finished.  The  Duchess  of  Marl- 
borough  used  to  ridicule  the  vanity  of  it,  by  saying 
one  might  always  live  upon  other  people's  follies : 
yet  you  see  she  built  the  most  ridiculous  house  I 
ever  saw,  since  it  really  is  not  habitable,  from  the 
excessive  damps ;  so  true  it  is,  the  things  that  we 
would  do,  those  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  philo- 
sophy, and  (what  is  more  powerful)  my  phlegm,  I 
am  oft'ner  out  of  humour  than  among  my  plants 
and  poultry  in  the  country.  I  cannot  help  being 
concerned  at  the  success  of  iniquitous  schemes,  and 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      181 

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  strangers. 

Sir  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  sincerely  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, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY   DEAR   CHILD,  Padoua,  June  14,  1759. 

I  HAVE  this  minute  received  yours  of  May  24. 
I  am  glad  the  little  picture  pleases  Lady  Mary. 
It  is  a  true  representation  of  the  summer  dishabille 

*  Son  of  Sir  Edward  Knatchbull,  by  Alice  daughter  of  John 
Wyndham,  of  Nonnington,  Esq.  sister  of  Thomas  Lord  Wynd- 
ham, Chancellor  of  Ireland. 


182  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

of  the  Venetian  ladies.  I  could  heartily  wish  to 
see  your  brother-in-law  and  Lady  Betty  Mackenzie, 
and  fancy  that  I  have  a  thousand  questions  to  ask 
them,  in  relation  to  their  nephews  and  nieces. 
Whatever  touches  you  is  important  to  me.  I  fear 
I  must  not  expect  that  satisfaction,  as  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  though  they  may  have  business 
there. 

Lord  Fordwich*  is  arrived  here ;  he  made  me  a 
visit  yesterday,  and  appears  a  well-disposed  youth. 
Lord  Brudenel  continues  here,  and  seems  to  have 
no  desire  to  revisit  his  native  land.  I  suppose  you 
are  now  at  Kew,  with  all  your  rising  family  around 
you  :  may  they  ever  be  blessings  to  you!  I  believe 
you  who  see  them  every  day  scarcely  think  more  of 
them  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  do  I  intend  to  break  my  rest 
for  its  sake ;  it  being  about  the  hour  I  go  to  sleep. 
I  continue  my  college-hours,  by  which  custom  I 
am  excluded  from  many  fashionable  amusements ; 
but,  in  recompense,  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 

*  George  Nassau  Clavering  Cowper,  afterwards  Earl  Cow- 
per,  born  26th  August  1738,  and  died  at  Florence  1789. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       183 

know  no  corner  of  it  entirely  free  from  the  infection. 
I  do  not  doubt  but  that  the  familiarities  of  the 
gaming-table  contribute  very  much  to  that  decay 
of  politeness  of  which  you  complain ;  for  the  pout- 
ing and  quarrels,  which  naturally  arise  from  dis- 
putes there,  must  put  an  end  to  all  complaisance, 
or  even  good  will  towards  each  other. 

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, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 
MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Padoua,  Aug.  10,  1759. 

THERE  are  preparations,  at  Venice,  for  a  re- 
gatta :  it  can  hardly  be  performed  till  the  middle 
of  next  month.  I  shall  remove  thither  to  see  it, 
though  I  have  already  seen  that  which  was  ex- 
hibited in  compliment  to  the  Prince  of  Saxony.  It 
is  by  far  the  finest  sight  in  Europe,  (not  excepting 
our  own  coronations,)  and  it  is  hardly  possible  to 
give  you  a  just  notion  of  it  by  description.  Ge- 
neral Graham  has  shewn  me  a  letter  from  Lord 
Bute,  very  obliging  to  me,  and  which  gives  a  very 
good  impression  both  of  his  head  and  heart,  from 
the  honest  resolutions  and  just  reflections  that  are 
in  it.  My  time  here  is  intirely  employed  in  riding, 
walking,  and  reading.  I  see  little  company,  not 


184  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

being  in  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  soon 
replaced,  as  there  are  few  such  couples.  One  of 
my  best  friends  at  Venice,  I  believe  your  father 
remembers.  He  is  Signer  Antonio  Mocenigo,  wi- 
dower of  that  celebrated  beauty,  the  Procuratessa 
Mocenigo,  and  is  eighty-two,  in  perfect  health  and 
spirits.  His  eloquence  is  much  admired  in  the 
senate,  where  he  has  great  weight.  He  still  retains 
a  degree  of  that  figure,  which  once  made  him 
esteemed  as  one  of  the  handsomest  men  in  the  re- 
public. I  am  particularly  proud  of  being  admitted 
into  the  number  of  seven  or  eight  friends,  nearly  of 
his  own  age,  who  pass  their  evenings  with  him. 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  child.  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  affectionate  mother, 
M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

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. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      185 

I  cannot  believe  Sir  John's*  advancement  is 
owing  to  his  merit,  tho'  he  certainly  deserves  such  a 
distinction;  but  I  am  persuaded  the  present  dis- 
posers of  such  dignitys  are  neither  more  clear- 
sighted, or  more  disinterested  than  their  prede- 
cessors. Ever  since  I  knew  the  world,  Irish  pa- 
tents 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  don't  suppose  this  was  Sir 
John's  case.  That  good  creature,  (as  the  country 
saying  is,)  has  not  a  bit  of  pride  about  him.  I  dare 
swear  he  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  tf  What  you  please,  sir ;" — "  Your  hum- 
ble servant;"  or  some  gentle  expression  to  the 

*  In  Mr.  Dallaway's  edition  this  and  the  preceding  letter 
are  joined  together,  and  make  one.  It  may  be  doubted  whether 
this,  which  bears  the  date  as  above,  should  not  have  been  in- 
serted in  an  earlier  part  of  this  correspondence,  as  having  been 
written  in  1752;  the  "Sir  John"  mentioned  in  it  having  pro- 
bably been  Sir  John  Rawdon,  Bart,  who  was  created  an  Irish 
peer,  April  9th,  1750,  by  the  title  of  Baron  Rawdon  of  Moira. 
He  was  thrice  married, — first,  in  1741,  to  Lady  Helena  Percival, 
daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Egmont ;  secondly,  to  Ann,  daughter  of 
Trevor  Viscount  Hillsborough ;  thirdly,  in  1752,  to  Lady  Eliza- 
beth Hastings,  eldest  daughter  of  Theophilus,  Earl  of  Hunting- 
don, 26th  February  1752.  December  15th,  1761,  he  was  ad- 
vanced in  the  peerage  as  Earl  of  Moira,  in  the  county  of  Down. 


186  LETTERS  TO   MR.   WORTLEY 

same  effect.  It  is  scarce  credible  that  with  this 
unlimited  complaisance  he  should  draw  a  blow 
upon  himself;  yet  it  so  happened  that  one  of  his 
own  countrymen  was  brute  enough  to  strike  him. 
As  it  was  done  before  many  witnesses,  Lord  Mansel 
heard  of  it ;  and  thinking  that  if  poor  Sir  John 
took  no  notice  of  it,  he  would  suffer  daily  insults 
of  the  same  kind,  out  of  pure  good  nature  resolved 
to  spirit  him  up,  at  least  to  some  shew  of  resent- 
ment, intending  to  make  up  the  matter  afterwards 
in  as  honorable  a  manner  as  he  could  for  the  poor 
patient.  He  represented  to  him  very  warmly  that 
no  gentleman  could  take  a  box  on  the  ear.  Sir 
John  answered  with  great  calmness,  "  I  know  that, 
but  this  was  not  a  box  on  the  ear,  it  was  only  a  slap 
o'  the  face/' 

I  was  as  well  acquainted  with  his  two  first  wives 
as  the  difference  of  our  ages  permitted.  I  fancy 
they  have  broke  their  hearts  by  being  chained  to 
such  a  companion.  'Tis  really  terrible,  for  a  well- 
bred  virtuous  young  woman  to  be  confined  to  the 
conversation  of  the  object  of  her  contempt.  There 
is  but  one  thing  to  be  done  in  that  case,  which  is 
a  method  I  am  sure  you  have  observed  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 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      187 

they  would  be  troublesome.  *  *  *  *  I  can  assure  you 
I  equally  contemn  a  woman  who  can  forget  she  was 
born  a  gentlewoman,  for  the  sake  of  money  she  did 
not  want.  That  is  indeed  the  only  sentiment  that 
deserves  the  name  of  avarice.  A  prudential  care 
of  our  affairs,  or  (to  go  farther)  a  desire  of  being 
in  circumstances  to  be  useful  to  our  friends,  is  not 
only  excusable  but  highly  laudable ;  never  blamed 
but  by  those  who  would  persuade  others  to  throw 
away  their  money,  in  hopes  to  pick  up  a  share  of 
it.  The  greatest  declaimers  for  disinterestedness 
I  ever  knew,  have  been  capable  of  the  vilest  ac- 
tions ;  and  the  greatest  instances  of  true  genero- 
sity, given  by  those  who  were  regular  in  their  ex- 
pences,  and  superior  to  the  vanity  of  fashion. 

I  believe  you  are  heartily  tired  of  my  dull  morali- 
tys.  I  confess  I  am  in  very  low  spirits ;  it  is  hot- 
ter 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  your  children,  and  am 
ever  your  most  affectionate  mother, 

M.  WORTLEY. 

June  22d,  N.S. 


188  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Genoa>  Dec-  8> 1759' 

I  RECEIVED  yours,  of  October  24,  yesterday, 
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  satisfac- 
tion of  an  entertaining  letter  from  your  father,  out 
of  Germany,  by  which  I  find  he  has  had  both  bene- 
fit and  amusement  from  his  travels.  I  hope  he  is 
now  with  you. 

I  find  you  have  many  wrong  notions  of  Italy, 
which  I  do  not  wonder  at.     You  can  take  your 
ideas  of  it  only  from  books  or  travellers ;  the  first 
are  generally  antiquated  or  confined  to  trite  ob- 
servations, 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  re- 
marked situations  and  distances,  or,  at  most,  sta- 
tues 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- 
ledge of  either  of  them  :  so,  after  a  tour  (as  they 
call  it)  of  three  years,  round  Europe,  people  think 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      189 

themselves  qualified  to  give  exact  accounts  of  the 
customs,  politics,  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  na- 
turally very  reserved.  France  indeed  is  more  easily 
seen  through  :  the  French  always  talking  of  them- 
selves, 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.  There  are  many  things  very  parti- 
cular here,  from  the  singularity  of  the  government; 
some  of  which  I  do  not  care  to  touch  upon,  and 
some  are  still  in  use  here,  though  obsolete  in  al- 
most all  other  places,  the  estates  of  all  the  great 
families  being  unalienable,  as  they  were  formerly  in 
England.  This  would  have  made  them  very  po- 
tent, if  it  were  not  balanced  by  another  law,  that 
divides  whatever  land  the  father  dies  possessed  of 
among  all  the  sons,  the  eldest  having  no  advantage 
but  the  finest  house  and  best  furniture,  which  occa- 
sions numerous  branches  and  few  large  fortunes, 
with  a  train  of  consequences  you  may  imagine. 
But  I  cannot  let  pass  in  silence  the  prodigious  al- 
teration, since  Misson's  writing,  in  regard  to  our 
sex.  This  reformation  (or,  if  you  please,  deprava- 
tion) begun  so  lately  as  the  year  1732,  when  the 
French  over-run  this  part  of  Italy  ;  but  it  has  been 
carried  on  with  such  fervor  and  success,  that  the 


190  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

Italians  go  far  beyond  their  patterns,  the  Parisian 
ladies,  in  the  extent  of  their  liberty.  I  am  not  so 
much  surprized  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,  that  it  is  become 
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  intro- 
duced, and  frequent  enough ;  they  have  long  been 
in  fashion  in  Genoa;  several  of  the  finest  and 
greatest  ladies  there  having  two  husbands  alive. 

I  am  afraid  you  will  think  this  a  long  letter ;  but 
you  tell  me  that  you  are  without  company,  and  in 
solitude,  though  yours  appears  to  me  to  be  a  sort 
of  paradise.  You  have  an  agreeable  habitation,  a 
pleasant  garden,  a  man  you  love  and  who  loves  you, 
and  are  surrounded  with  a  numerous  and  hopeful 
progeny.  May  they  all  prove  comforts  to  your 
age  !  That  and  all  other  blessings  are  daily  wish- 
ed for  you  by,  my  dear  child, 

Your  affectionate  mother, 
M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Venice,  March  18,  1760 

I  AM  afraid  some  letters  both  of  yours  and  mine 
are  lost,  nor  am  I  much  surprized  at  it,  seeing  the 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       191 

managements  here.  In  this  world  much  must  be 
suffered,  and  we  ought  all  to  follow  the  rule  of 
Epictetus,  "  Bear  and  forbear."  General  Wolfe* 
is  to  be  lamented,  but  not  pitied.  I  am  of  your 
opinion,  that  compassion  is  only  owing  to  his  mo- 
ther and  intended  bride,  who  I  think  the  greater 
sufferer,  (however  sensible  I  am  of  a  parent's  ten- 
derness). Disappointments  in  youth  are  those  which 
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  much  diverted  with  the  ad- 
ventures of  the  three  graces  who  are  coming  to 
London,  and  am  heartily  sorry  their  mother  has 
not  learning  enough  to  write  memoirs.  She  might 
make  the  fortune  of  half  a  dozen  Dodsleys.  The 
youngest  girl  (called  here  Bettina)  is  taller  than 
the  Duchess  of  Montagu,  and  as  red  and  white  as 
any  German  alive.  If  she  has  sense  enough  to  fol- 
low good  instructions,  she  will  be  irresistible,  and 
may  produce  very  glorious  novelties.  Our  great 
minister  has  her  picture  in  his  collection — basta ! 

My  health  is  better  than  I  can  reasonably  expect 
at  my  age,  but  my  life  is  so  near  a  conclusion,  that 
where  or  how  I  pass  it  (if  innocently)  is  almost  be- 
come indifferent  to  me.  I  have  outlived  the  great- 
est part  of  my  acquaintance ;  and,  to  say  the  truth, 
a  return  to  crowd  and  bustle,  after  my  long  retire- 
ment, would  be  disagreeable  to  me.  Yet,  if  I  could 

*  General  Wolfe  was  killed,  at  the  siege  of  Quebec,  Septem- 
ber 16,  1759. 


192  LETTERS   TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

be  of  use  either  to  your  father  or  your  family,  I 
would  venture  the  shortening  the  insignificant  days 
of  your  affectionate  mother,  M.  WORTLEY. 

TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 
MY  DEAR  CHILD,  April  n,  1760. 

I  DESIRE  you  will  make  my  sincere  congratu- 
lations to  the  Duke  and  Dutchess  of  Portland,  on 
the  happy  disposal  of  LLady  Betty,*  with  my  real 
wishes  for  her  future  felicity.  I  send  no  com- 
pliments 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  an- 
swering 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  (how- 
ever insignificant  my  endeavours)  to  serve  them. 
I  once  wished  much  to  see  Lord  Titchfield,  he 
having  been  the  principal  favourite  of  my  ever  ho- 
noured friend,  but,  as  things  are  managed  here,  am 
really  glad  he  does  not  pass  by  Venice. 

Sir  Wyndham  Knatchbull,  and  a  worthy  clergy- 
man, his  governor,  are  under  such  ridiculous  per- 
secutions, merely  for  their  civilities  to  me,  that  I 

*  Lady  Elizabeth  Bentinck,  married  to  Thomas  Viscount 
Weymouth,  afterwards  Marquis  of  Bath ;  this  marriage  took 
place  in  May  1759. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       193 

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  dis- 
agreeable 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  litteral  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  go- 
vernor ;  whose  only  crime  is,  endeavouring  to  pre- 
serve 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  re- 
ceived, and  instead  of  reformation,  an  encrease  of 
ill  manners  succeeded.  I  suppose  these  deep  poli- 
ticians intend  to  drive  me  out  of  the  town  in  a 
pique ;  or  more  refinedly  expect  I  should  desire 
their  recall ;  being  every  day  complaining  of  this 
odious  country,  and  wishing  a  more  advantageous 
VOL.  in.  o 


194  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

situation.  They  do  not  know  me  :  I  cannot  be 
provoked  either  to  misbehave  myself  to  oblige  my 
enemys,  or  ministerially  to  reward  those  that  rail 
against  me.  I  have  throughout  my  long  life  per- 
sisted 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  litteral  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  (tho'  not  equally)  blameable.  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, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


AND   THE   COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.  195 

TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 
MY  DEAR  CHILD,  May  19,  1760. 

I  AM  sorry  to  begin  this  letter  with  a  sort  of 
complaint,  tho'  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  correspond- 
ence, which  I  hoped  would  have  been  more  safe 
and  expeditious  than  any  other  I  have  hitherto  hit 
upon.  I  wish  you  would  enquire  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. 

I  congratulate  my  grand-daughters  on  being 
born  in  an  age  so  much  enlightened.  Sentiments 
are  certainly  extream  silly,  and  only  qualify  young 
people  to  be  the  bubbles  of  all  their  acquaintance. 
I  do  not  doubt  the  frequency  of  assemblies  has  in- 
troduced 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 
marry'd  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 

o  2t 


196  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

knowledge  of  mankind  (the  most  useful  of  all  know- 
ledge) can  only  be  acquired  by  conversing  with 
them.  Books  are  so  far  from  giving  that  instruc- 
tion, they  fill  the  head  with  a  set  of  wrong  notions, 
from  whence  spring  the  tribes  of  Clarissas,  Har- 
riots, &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  their  companions,  rather  than  the  ad- 
vice of  their  mothers. 

There  is  nothing  talk'd  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  suppos'd  a  shock, 
and  here  are  daily  processions,  pilgrimages,  &c.  to 
deprecate  Divine  vengeance.  I  am  tempted  to 
laugh,  but  restrain'd  by  prudential  considerations. 

I  am  very  much  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. 

Your  affectionate  mother,  M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

1760. 

I  GIVE  you  thanks  (my  dear  child)  for  your  in- 
formation 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 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.       197 

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  indemnity.  This  is  a  very  small  fa- 
vour, 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  esta- 
blished, and  am  ready  to  sing  my  Nunc  dimittis 
with  pleasure. 

I  own  I  could  wish  that  we  had  a  minister  here 
who  I  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  any  body.  You  will 
(perhaps)  laugh  at  these  apprehensions,  since  what- 
ever happens  in  this  world  after  our  death  is  cer- 
tainly nothing  to  us.  It  may  be  thought  a  fantastic 
satisfaction,  but  I  confess  I  cannot  help  being  ear- 
nestly 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.  removed  by  advance- 
ment, which  would  have  the  sure  consequence  of 
my  suffering  (if  possible)  more  impertinence  from 
his  successor. 

My  dear  child,  I  am  ever  your  most  affectionate 
mother,  M.  WORTLEY. 


198  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Venice> Nov'  6> 1760' 

I  AM  afraid  you  will  think  me  very  troublesome, 
and  that  I  do  not  enough  consider  the  various  du- 
ties you  are  now  obliged  to.  Indeed  I  am  tho- 
roughly 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  compliment  his  Majesty  on  his  ac- 
cession. They  are  of  the  first  families  here,  Con- 
tarini  and  Morosini,  and  are  neither  of  them  mar- 
ried. Madam  Capello  has  been  so  ridiculous,  both 
at  London  and  Rome,  that  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  shew  their 
magnificence  in  the  court  of  England.  They  ap- 
prehend (I  know  not  why)  that  they  shall  be  thank- 
ed 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 
grand-daughter,  which  I  hoped  to  do  by  Lord  Titch- 
field,*  who  has  been  long  at  Turin.  I  am  now  told 

*  The  late  Duke  of  Portland. 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      199 

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  Petersburgh.  I  am  ever, 
my  dear  child, 

Your  most  affectionate  mother, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Venice,  Nov.  18,  1760. 

THE  three  fine  ladies  I  mentioned  set  out  for 
London  three  days  ago.  The  father's  name  was 
Wynne,  of  Yorkshire,  and  the  Signora  Madre  is  a 
Greek,  and,  I  believe,  once  remarkably  handsome. 
I  should  have  said  much  more  about  them,  if  you 
had  been  at  Caen-Wood,  and  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 
kistory.  Shebbeare  does  yet  worse,  and  dabbles  in 
filthy  politics,  instead  of  making  more  Lydias  for 
my  entertainment. 

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  much  vexed  at  Murray's  be- 
haviour, I  desire  not  his  ruin.  I  am  told  he  gives 
political  reasons  for  his  conduct  towards  me,  which 


200  LETTERS  TO   MR.  WORTLEY 

if  true,  I  ought  to  pardon  him  by  all  the  maxims 
of  modern  ethics. 

My  dear  child,  I  am  ever 

Your  affectionate  mother, 

M.  WORTLEY. 


TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE. 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  Padoua,  Nov.  23. 

I  HEARTILY  wish  you  joy  of  your  present  situa- 
tion. Lord  Bute*  has  attained  it  by  a  very  un- 
common road  ;  I  mean  an  acknowledged  honor  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  can- 
not be  divided,  and  are  almost  as  closely  united  as 
that  of  Soul  and  Body.  I  could  preach  long  on  this 

*  In  the  last  of  the  letters  of  the  Honourable  Horace  Wai- 
pole  to  Sir  H.  Mann,  dated  October  28,  1760,  an  account  is 
given  of  King  George  the  Second's  death,  on  the  Friday  pre- 
ceding the  27th,  and  mention  is  made  of  the  Duke  of  York  and 
Lord  Bute  having  been  named  by  the  new  king  to  be  tf  of 
the  cabinet  council,"  which  was  probably  the  situation  to  which 
Lady  Mary  refers  in  the  beginning  of  this  letter.  He  had  been 
for  some  time  before  Groom  of  the  Stole  to  the  Prince  of  Wales? 
and  continued  in  that  office  with  the  new  king  till  he  was 
appointed  Secretary  of  State,  on  the  resignation  of  Lord 
Holdernesse,  on  the  25th  of  March  1761.  On  the  resignation 
of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  Lord  Bute  became,  on  the  26th 
May  1762,  first  Lord  of  the  Treasury,  which  office  he  resigned 
on  the  8th  April  1763,  and  never  afterwards  took  an  active  part 
in  public  life 


AND  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.      201 

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  tireing  your  patience  with  long  dis- 
courses. 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 
perillous  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, 
M.  WORTLEY. 

I  have  wrote  you  several  letters  since  my  arrival 
here,  which  I  hope  you  have  received  tho'  you 
do  not  mention  them.  My  compliments  to  Lord 
Bute. 


LETTERS  FROM  LADY  MARY 


TO 

HENRIETTA, 
COUNTESS  OF  OXFORD  AND  MORTIMER, 

DURING  HER  LAST  RESIDENCE  ABROAD. 


COL.COLi^ 

LIBRARY. 

N.YORK. 


LETTERS 


COL.COLlT  ; 

LIBRARY. 

N.YORK. 


TO 

THE  COUNTESS  OF  OXFORD.* 


[Received  at  Dover-street,  Tuesday  May  2nd,  O.  S.] 

April  13,  N.  S.  Avignon. 

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  happyness ;  but  the  post  is  now  stopp'd, 
and  I  should  not  have  ventured  to  write  at  present, 
if  I  had  not  an  opportunity  of  sending  by  an  Eng- 
lish family  which  is  leaving  this  place,  tho'  I  think 
a  correspondance  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  indifferency  that  I 
do ;  but  I  find  by  experience  that  the  utmost  inno- 

*  Henrietta  Cavendish  Holies,  only  daughter  and  heir  of 
John  Duke  of  Newcastle,  married  Edward  second  Earl  of 
Oxford  and  Mortimer,  and  by  him  had  issue  one  only  daugh- 
ter, Margaret  Cavendish,  born  February  11,  1714,  who  married, 
in  1734,  William  Duke  of  Portland,  grandfather  of  the  present 
Duke. 


206  LETTERS  TO 

cence  and  strictest  silence  is  not  sufficient  to  guard 
against  suspicion,  and  I  am  look'd  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  con- 
troversie  as  much  as  I  can ;  however  I  am  watch'd 
here  as  a  dangerous  person,  which  I  attribute 
chiefly  to  Mrs.  Hay,  who  having  chang'd  her  own 
religion,  has  a  secret  hatred  against  every  one  that 
does  not  do  the  same.  My  health,  which  your 
ladyship  enquires  after  so  kindly,  is  extreme  good ; 
I  thank  God  I  am  sensible  of  no  distemper  or  in- 
firmity :  I  hope  all  your  complaints  are  vanish'd. 
I  saw  Lord  Goring*  at  Venice ;  he  appeared  to  me 
a  very  well  dispos'd  young  man.  I  hear  Miss  F. 
Levisonf  has  made  a  silly  match,  which  I  am  sorry 
for,  tho'  I  hope  it  may  turn  out  better  than  is  ex- 
pected. I  am  concerned  for  poor  Miss  Cole's  dis- 
tresses, her  merit  deserves  better  fortune.  Dearest 
madam,  take  care  of  your  selfe;  while  you  live, 
there  is  allways  a  great  blessing  allow'd  to 

Your  ladyship's  most  faithfull  devoted  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 

*  Probably  Lord  Gowran,  afterwards  Earl  of  Upper  Ossory. 

t  The  daughter  of  Lady  Gower,  Lady  Mary's  sister,  who 
married  Lord  John  Sackville,  second  son  of  the  Duke  of  Dorset, 
in  1744.  This  letter  was  therefore  probably  written  in  that 
year. 


THE   COUNTESS   OF   OXFORD,  207 

[Received  at  Dover-street,  Monday  June  4th,  O.S.] 

June  1,  N.S.  (1744.) 
DEAREST  MADAM, 

I  HAVE  many  thanks  to  give  you  for  the  agre- 
able  news  of  your  health  (which  is  allways  in  the 
first  place  regarded  by  me),  and  the  safe  delivery 
of  the  Dutchesse  of  Portland,  whose  little  son  will, 
I  hope,  grow  up  a  blessing  to  you  both ;  I  heartily 
congratulate  your  ladyship  on  this  encrease  of  your 
family,  may  you  long  enjoy  the  happyness  of  see- 
ing their  prosperity ! 

I  am  less  surpriz'd  at  Lady  Sophia's*  marriage 
than  at  the  fortune  Lord  Pomfret  has  given  her ; 
she  had  charms  enough  to  expect  to  make  her 
fortune,  and  I  believe  the  raising  of  such  a  summ 
must  be  uneasy  in  his  present  circumstances.  By 
the  accounts  I  have  received  of  Lady  John  Sack- 
ville,  I  think  the  young  couple  are  much  to  be 
pity'd,  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  behav'd  to  me  with  a  great  deal 
of  impertinence ;  there  is  no  principle  to  be  expect- 
ed from  a  woman  of  her  character.  Your  ladyship 
need  not  mention  your  command  of  continuing  our 
correspondance ;  it  is  the  only  comfort  of  my  life, 
and  I  should  think  myselfe  the  last  of  human  beings 

*  Lady  Sophia  Fermor  married  John  Earl  of  Granville  in 
1744,  and  died  in  1755. 


208  LETTERS  TO 

if  I  was  capable  of  forgetting  the  many  obligations 
I  have  to  you:  if  you  could  see  my  heart,  you 
would  never  mention  any  thing  of  that  kind  to 
me,  it  is  impossible  to  have  a  more  tender  and 
gratefull  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, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 

Your  ladyship  will  permit  me  to  offer  my  com- 
pliments to  the  Duke  and  Dutchess  of  Portland. 


[Received  at  Dover-street,  Monday  July  9th,  O.S.  1744.] 

Avignon,  July  2,  N.  S. 

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  con- 
ducive to  it  than  amusements,  I  think  it  extreme 
reasonable  you  should  take  that  of  embellishing 
your  paternal  seat,  which,  on  many  accounts,  I 
think  one  of  the  most  rational  as  well  as  agreable 
you  can  take.  Indeed  it  is  a  sort  of  duty  to  support 
a  place  which  has  been  so  long  dignify'd  and  dis- 
tinguish'd  by  your  ancestors,  and  I  believe  all  peo- 
ple Jthat  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  avoid- 
ed. There  are  many  in  the  world,  incapable  of  any 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  OXFORD.        209 

other  sort  of  conversation,  except  that  of  remarking 
the  mistakes  of  others,  and  are  very  often  so  much 
mistaken  themselves,  they  blame  the  most  praise- 
worthy actions,  and  are  so  unacquainted  with  vir- 
tue, they  do  not  know  it  when  they  see  it.  I  hope 
your  ladyship  will  live  to  see  finish'd,  and  enjoy 
many  years,  the  beautifull  improvements  you  are 
making :  if  I  am  permitted  to  see  them  in  your 
company,  I  shall  esteem  myselfe  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  honor  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  faithfull  obedient  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


[Came  to  Dover-street,  Monday  Aug.  13th,  O.S. ; — received 
at  Welbeck,  Thursday  16th,  O.S.  1744.] 

Avignon,  Aug.  10th,  N.  S. 

I  AM  very  glad  your  ladyship  has  been  at  Bui- 
strode,  being  fully  persuaded  the  good  air  and 
good  company  there  will  very  much  contribute  to 
your  health.  Your  satisfaction  is  the  most  agreable 
news  I  can  hear,  tho'  I  am  very  well  pleas'd  that 
one  of  my  nieces  is  so  happily  dispos'd  of,  but  I  was 

VOL.  III.  P 


210  LETTERS  TO 

told  it  is  Miss  Evelyn,*  and  not  Miss  Betty, f  that 
is  now  Lady  Goreing  [Gowran].  I  am  much  oblig'd 
to  Miss  Cole  for  her  remembrance,  and  am  sorry 
the  troubles  of  that  good  family  are  not  at  an  end ; 
there  is  very  seldom  merit  without  persecution,  a 
good  conscience  is  the  most  valuable  of  all  blessings, 
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  mention'd 
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  Twick'nam, 
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  your  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  yourselfe  too  much  for  one, 
that  I  fear  is  unlucky  enough  to  render  useless  all 
your  generous  endeavours,  and- can  never  make  you 
any  return,  notwithstanding  the  sincere  and  invio- 
lable attachment  with  which  I  am,  dearest  madam, 
Your  ladyship's  most  faithfull  devoted  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 

*  Miss  Evelyn  Gower  married,  in  July  1744,  John  the  second 
Lord  Gowran,  who  was  created  Earl  of  Upper  Ossory,  Oct.  5th, 
1751.  He  died  in  Sept.  1758,  and  she  married  Richard  Vernon, 
Esq.  in  Feb.  1759. 

t  Miss  Elizabeth  Gower  married,  in  1751,  John  third  Earl 
of  Waldegrave. 


THE   COUNTESS   OF   OXFORD.  211 

[Came  to  Dover-street,  Tuesday  18th  Sept.  O.  S. ;  —  received 
at  Welbeck,  Thursday  20th  Sept.] 

Avignon,  Sept.  14th,  N.  S.  (1744.) 

THE  disorder  of  your  ladyship's  health  which 
you  mention,  gives  me  the  highest  concern,  tho* 
I  hope  it  is  now  over,  and  that  the  good  air  of 
Welbeck  will  wholly  establish  it :  I  beg  of  you  with 
the  utmost  earnestness,  that  you  would  be  carefull 
of  yourselfe,  I  can  receive  no  proofe  of  your  friend- 
ship so  obliging  to  me,  tho'  I  am  yours  by  every 
tye  that  can  engage  a  gratefull  heart.  Mr.  Wortley 
has  said  nothing  to  me  of  his  visit  to  your  lady- 
ship, 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  allways  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  circumstances 
in  her  marrying  her  daughter,  which  make  her  in 

*  George  Earl  of  Euston  was  second  son  of  Charles  eighth 
Duke  of  Grafton,  by  Lady  Henrietta,  daughter  of  Charles  Mar- 
quis of  Worcester,  eldest  son  of  Henry  Duke  of  Beaufort.  Lord 
Euston  married,  in  1741,  Lady  Dorothy,  daughter  of  Richard, 
third  and  last  Earl  of  Burlington  of  that  house :  she  died  in 
April  1742.  Lord*Euston  died  in  1747,  leaving  no  children. 

The  following  is  taken  from  a  note  to  one  of  the  Honourable 
Horace  Walpole's  letters  to  Sir  Horace  Mann,  dated  June 
20th,  1743. 

«  Upon  a  picture  of  Lady  Dorothy,  at  the  Duke  of  Devon- 

P  2 


LETTERS   TO 

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  Dutchess  of  Portland  secures  you 
from  all  sorrows  of  that  kind,  and  I  pray  to  God 
you  may  live  to  see  your  grand-children  as  happily 
settled  :  your  life  is  the  greatest  blessing  that  can  be 
bestow'd  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  mo- 
ment, dearest  madam,  with  the  tenderest  affection, 
Your  ladyship's  devoted  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


[Came   to  Dover-street,  Saturday,  0.  S.   Oct.  27;  — received 
at  Welbeck,  Monday  Oct.  29th.] 

DEAREST  MADAM,          Oct.  15,  N.  S.  Avignon,  (1744.) 

I  HAVE  received  but  this  day  your  ladyship's  of 
August  29th :  this  length  of  passage  is,  I  suppose, 

shire's  at  Chiswick,  is  the  following  touching  inscription,  written 
by  her  mother,  which  commemorates  her  virtues  and  her  fate. 

"  *  Lady  Dorothy  Boyle,  born  May  14th,  1724 ;  she  was  the 
comfort  and  joy  of  her  parents,  the  delight  of  all  who  knew  her 
angelick  temper,  and  the  admiration  of  all  who  saw  her  beauty. 
She  was  married  October  10th,  1741,  and  delivered  (by  death) 
from  misery  May  2,  1742. 

"  '  This  picture  was  drawn  seven  weeks  after  her  death,  from 
memory,  by  her  most  affectionate  mother  Dorothy  Burlington.'" 


THE   COUNTESS   OF   OXFORD. 

occasion'd  by  the  cessation  of  correspondance  be- 
tween Dover  and  Calais ;  all  letters  must  now  go 
round  by  Holland,  which  is  a  great  griefe  to  me, 
since  I  must  now  content  my  selfe  to  be  some  weeks 
longer  before  I  can  hear  from  my  dearest  Lady 
Oxford,  whose  kindness  was  the  greatest  comfort  of 
my  life.  Every  thing  that  relates  to  you  is  of  im- 
portance to  me;  I  am  therefore  very  much  con- 
cern'd  that  you  have  fall'n  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  lyable  to  be  impos'd  on:  if  I 
could  think  myselfe  capable  of  being  any  way  use- 
full  to  you,  it  would  make  this  distance  between  us 
doubly  painfull  to  me.  I  am  surpriz'd  Lord  Bur- 
lington is  unmention'd  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  busyness  whatever  interrupt  your 
care  of  it;  there  is  no  expression  can  tell  you  how 
dear  it  is  to 

Your  ladyship's 

Most  faithfull  and  affectionate  servant, 
M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


LETTERS  TO 


[Came  to  Dover-street,  Tuesday  20th  Nov.  0.  S.  ;  —  received 
at  Welbeck,  Thursday  22nd  Nov.  0.  S.] 

DEAREST  MADAM, 

I   RECEIVED   your  ladyship's   obliging  letter  of 
September  24th  this  morning,  and,  some  time  since, 
that  in  which  was  a  copy  of  Pope's  will,  for  which 
I  returned  you  my  immediate  thanks,  but  fear  that 
letter  miscarry'd,  since  I  hear  they  should  all  be 
directed  through  Holland.    These  redoubled  attacks 
of  your  cholic,  which  must  necessarily  weaken  any 
constitution,  give  me  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  un- 
happy to  survive  you,  I  shall  look  upon  myselfe  as 
a  widow  and  an  orphan,  having  no  friend  in  this 
world  but  your  selfe:   if  you  saw  the  tears  with 
which  these  lines  are  accompany'd,  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, 

*  This  must  have  been  Mary  the  daughter  of  John  Cox, 
Esq.  of  London,  the  wife  of  Charles  fourth  Earl  of  Peter- 
borough, who  succeeded  his  grandfather,  the  famous  Lord 
Peterborough,  in  1735  :  she  died  in  1755. 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  OXFORD.        215 

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  comfort- 
able years  to  enjoy  them,  and  that  some  part  of  the 
reward  of  your  vertue  may  be  in  this  world :  these 
are  the  daily  and  most  earnest  prayers  of 
Your  ladyship's  most  faithfull  and  devoted  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 

Avignon,  Oct.  29,  (1744.) 


[Came  to  Dover-street,  Saturday  Feb.  22,  O.S.; — received 
at  Welbeck,  Monday  Feb.  24th,  O.S.  1745.] 

DEAREST  MADAM,  Avignon,  Feb.  15,  N.  S. 

I  RECEIV'D,  by  the  last  post,  an  account  from 
Mr.  Wortley  of  your  ladiship's  kind  enquiry s  after 
me :  'tis  the  first  time  I  have  heard  from  him  of 
many  months,  tho'  he  has  wrote  many  times,  and 
I  find  all  my  letters  have  miscarry'd.  I  never  re- 
ceiv'd  that  which  he  tells  me  you  was  so  good  to 
send  by  Child,  nor  any  other  since  September, 
which  I  answer'd  immediately:  I  have  address'd 
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.  who  accompany  s  his 
corps.  I  flatter  myselfe  (by  having  now  heard 
from  England,  and  that  one  of  mine  to  my  daugh- 
ter is  come  to  her  hands,)  that  the  post  is  now 
open.  I  can  assure  you,  (dearest  madam,)  that 


216  LETTERS  TO 

during  all  my  uneasyness  on  the  interruption  of 
our  correspondance,  I  fear'd  for  your  health,  but 
never  once  suspected  your  forgetting  me;  I  have 
had  too  many  proofes  of  your  unweary'd  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  allways 
had  for  me,  which  whenever  I  forfeit,  I  must  forfeit 
my  reason,  since  only  the  loss  of  that  can  make  me 
unmindfull  of  your  virtue  and  merit.  I  believe 
Lord  Arran*  has  been  much  abus'd  in  the  dispo- 
sition of  his  brother's  affairs  :  I  cannot  help  hateing 
the  sight  of  injustice  so  much,,  it  is  with  difficulty 
I  restrain  my  selfe  from  meddling,  notwithstanding 
the  experience  I  have,  of  its  being  a  very  thankless 
office  in  that  family.  I  cannot  express  to  your 
ladiship  what  a  comfort  it  is  to  me  to  hear  of  your 
health,  nor  how  much  I  have  sufFer'd  by  the  uncer- 
tainty of  it.  I  hope  our  civil  broils  are  now  over, 
and  that  I  may  once  more  have  the  satisfaction  of 
assuring  you  frequently  that  I  am  ever,  dearest 
madam,  inviolably 

Your  ladyship's  obedient  faithfull  servant. 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 

My  compliments  and  good  wishes  attend  your 
family. 

*  Charles  Butler,  second  and  last  surviving  son  of  Thomas 
Earl  of  Ossory,  eldest  son  of  the  first  Duke  of  Ormonde.  He 
died  without  issue  in  1758.  See  Hon.  Horace  Walpole's  letter 
to  Sir  Horace  Mann,  dated  Christmas-day  1758. 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  OXFORD.       217 


[Received  at  Welbeck,  Monday  June  10th,  O.  S. ; — came  to 
Dover-street,  8th,  O.  S.] 

DEAREST  MADAM,  June  l,  Avignon,  (1745.) 

IT  is  but  this  day  I  have  receiv'd  the  pleasure  of 
your  ladyship's  obliging  letter;  it  is  impossible  to 
tell  you  the  joy  it  gave  me  after  so  long  a  silence, 
tho'  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  valu'd  it  as  much,  all  other  considerations 
would  be  laid  aside,  when  your  preservation 
was  in  question.  I  believe  the  interruption  of 
our  correspondance  may  be  partly  owing  to  your 
ladyship's  having  forgot  to  direct  your  letter  en- 
clos'd  to  Monsieur  Pierre  de  Vos,  a  Rotterdam, 
Hollande. 

Whatever  good  fortune  happens  to  me,  must 
allways  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  destroy'd  by  fire ;  I  cannot  help 
feeling  some  concern,  and,  at  the  same  time,  mak- 


218  LETTERS  TO 

ing  many  reflections  on  the  vanity  of  all  worldly 
possessions :  I  thank  God  my  heart  is  so  entirely 
detach'd  from  them/that  I  never  desire  more  than 
the  small  portion  I  enjoy. 

I  finish  my  letter  with  the  most  earnest  recom- 
mendations 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, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


[Came  to  London,  July  29,  O.S. ;— received  at  Welbeck, 
Thursday  Aug.  1,  O.S.  1745.] 

DEAREST  MADAM,  Avignon,  July  21,  N.S. 

YOUR  ladyship's  letters  are  allways  greatly 
agreable  to  me,  but  doubly  so  when  they  bring 
the  news  of  your  health :  change  of  air  and  exercise 
are  the  best  remedys  I  know ;  I  am  very  glad 
you  have  experienc'd  them,  and  hope  you  will  on 
no  account  neglect  the  care  of  your  selfe.  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  interest,  that  you 
should  take  care  to  preserve  a  life  so  valuable  as 
yours.  I  pass  my  time  very  disagreably  at  present 
amongst  the  French,  their  late  successes  have  given 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  OXFORD.       219 

them  an  air  of  triumph  that  is  very  difficult  for  an 
English  heart  to  suffer;  I  think  less  of  politicks 
than  most  people,  yet  cannot  be  entirely  insensible 
of  the  misfortunes  of  my  country.  I  am  very  sorry 
for  the  Duke  of  Kingston's ;  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  happyness  cannot  exceed  your  merit 
or  my  wishes.  You  will  give  me  leave  -to  present 
the  Dutchess  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  your's, 
M.  W.  MONTAGU. 

Avignon,  July  25,  N.S. 


[Came  to  London,  Fryday  April  18th,  1746,  O.  S. ;— received 
at  Welbeck,  Monday  April  21st,  1746,  O.S. 

Dated,  1  supose,  from  Avignon,  April  llth,  N.S.] 

DEAREST  MADAM, 

I  RECEIVED  the  happyness  of  your  ladyship's  of 
February  26th  but  this  morning,  April  llth,  N.  S. 
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  wish'd 
by  all  sides.  When  it  is  settled,  I  hope  our  corre- 
spondance  will  meet  with  no  further  interruption ; 


220  LETTERS  TO 

it  is  the  greatest  comfort  of  my  life,  and  doubly  so 
when  I  am  inform'd  of  the  recovery  of  your  health. 
I  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  Ormonde,  who  ask'd  me  a  sort  of  certificate  of 
his  honesty,  I  suppos'd  in  order  to  justify  him  to 
Lord  Arran,  to  whom  he  had  (as  he  said)  been  mis- 
represented. I  said  to  you,  what  I  realy  thought 
at  that  time ;  I  have  since  heard  that  the  poor  man 
is  disorder'd  in  his  head,  and  that  he  is  parted  from 
the  other  servants  with  whom  he  travelFd.  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  as- 
surances of  the  tenderest  friendship  for  you,  and 
complaints  of  your  silence,  which  was  then  so 
painfull  to  me,  I  was  glad  to  snatch  at  any  occa- 
sion, where  there  appear'd  a  possibility  of  convey- 
ing 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  faithfull 
affectionate  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  OXFORD.       221 

[Came  to  Dover-street,  Saturday  May  17th,  O.S.  1746;— . 
received  at  Welbeck,  Monday  May  19th,  O.  S.]* 

DEAREST  MADAM,  Feb.  7,  N.  S. 

IT  is  impossible  to  express  my  uneasyness  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  Ormonde's  servants,  who  has  de- 
sir'd  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  manage- 
ment as  in  any  court  in  Europe)  that  seem'd  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  allways  ready  to  do  good) 
will  mention  this  to  Lady  Arran.  I  say  nothing  of 
many  other  things  relateing  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  any 
thing  else  excepting  yourselfe,  who  is  allways  first 
in  my  thoughts,  and  will  be  last  in  my  praiers  when 
ever  it  pleases  God  to  dismiss  from  this  trouble- 
some world 

Your  ladyship's  most  faithfull  obedient  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 

*  This  letter  is  alluded  to  in  the  preceding. 


222  LETTERS  TO 

[Came  to  Dover-street,  Thursday  June  12th,  1746;— received 
at  Brodsworth,  Sunday  June  15th,  O.  S.] 

DEAREST  MADAM, 

I  HAD  the  happyness  of  receiving  two  of  your 
ladyship's  ever  kind  letters  this  day,  June  3rd,  N.  S. 
I  need  not  repeat  my  gratitude,  which  is  allways 
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  pub- 
lic 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  can- 
not fail  being  to  our  advantage.  I  will  say  nothing 
more  of  affairs  that  may  occasion  my  letter  being 
stopp'd,  I  am  persuaded  they  are  all  open'd  more 
than  once. 

I  hear  the  Dutchess  of  Manchester*  is  marry'd, 
but  I  cannot  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  asham'd  of  the  trouble  you  give 
yourselfe  in  relation  to  the  lottery  ;  you  will  not  be 
thank'd,  or  I  should  say  more  on  that  subject.  You 
will  permit  me  to  make  my  acknowledgments  to  the 
Duke  and  Dutchess  of  Portland  for  their  obliging 
remembrance  :  may  they  long  continue  blessings  to 
you  and  each  other ! 

*  Isabella,  the  widow  of  William  the  second  Duke  of  Man- 
chester, married,  in  1733,  Edward  Hussey,  Esq. 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  OXFORD.       223 

We  have  had  such  long  and  surprizing  rains  in 
this  country,  there  has  been  an  inundation  in  this 
town,  that  hinder'd  many  people  from  stiring  out 
of  their  houses  :  mine  happens  to  be  situated  so 
high  that  I  suffer'd  nothing  from  it ;  the  conse- 
quences would  however  have  been  very  bad  if  it 
had  lasted,  but  it  was  over  in  two  days.  I  cannot 
conclude  without  renewing  my  solicitations  for  the 
care  of  yourselfe,  with  my  earnest  prayers  for  your 
welfare,  which  are  utter 'd  with  the  greatest  zeal 
by,  dearest  madam,  Your  ladiship's 

Most  faithfull  and  affectionate  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


[Came  to  Dover-street,  Tuesday  July  29th,  O.  S.  1746;  —  re- 
ceived at  Welbeck,  Thursday  July  31st,  O.  S.] 

DEAREST  MADAM,  Avignon,  July20th,  N.S. 

I  SINCERELY  beg  your  ladyship's  pardon  for  what 
I  said  in  regard  to  Wilson,  since  I  perceive  it  has 
occasion'd  you  some  trouble ;  it  was  only  an  attes- 
tation of  what  I 'thought  due  to  an  honest  man, 
that  appear'd  to  me  hardly  dealt  with  by  a  pack 
of  knaves.  I  am  neither  surpriz'd  nor  offended  at 
Lord  Arran's  conduct;  he  has  suffer'd  so  much  in 
his  own  interest  by  misplacing  his  confidence,  no- 
body 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 


224  LETTERS   TO 

your  ladyship's  ever  kind  letters,  which  are  the 
comforts  of  my  life ;  nothing  could  have  hinder'd 
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  delaid  giving  you  some  account  of  it. 
God  preserve  your's,  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, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


[Came  to  London,  Jan.  18th,  O. S.  Monday; — received  at  Wei- 
beck,  Jan.  21st,  Thursday.] 

DEAREST  MADAM,  Nov.  29th,  N.  S.  ( 1 747.) 

I  RECEIV'D  yesterday  the  most  sensible  pleasure, 
by  your  obliging  letter  :  it  is  impossible  to  tell  you 
what  joy  the  sight  of  your  ladiship's  hand  gave 
me,  which  was  very  much  heighten'd  by  the  ac- 
count of  your  health  and  continu'd  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  Dutchess  of  Portland's 
merit,  to  say,  you  deserve  whatever  affection  she 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  OXFORD.        225 

can  pay,  since  those  who  do  their  duty  can  never 
be  too  much  valu'd  :  I  sincerely  share  in  the  satis- 
faction you  have  in  seeing  that  she  performs  her's 
to  you,  it  is  the  clearest  proofe  of  her  good  sense 
and  good  mind :  may  you  long  be  happy  in  one 
another !  I  am  glad  my  daughter  enjoys  her  con- 
versation, which  is  in  every  sense  ah  honor  and 
advantage. 

I  have  bought  the  house  I  live  in,  which,  I  sup- 
pose, 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  year  ago, 
but  the  master  of  it  dying  before  it  was  quite 
fmish'd,  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  my  selfe  in  fitting  it  up.  I  will  take  the 
liberty  of  sending  your  ladyship  a  plan  of  it,  which 
is  far  from  magnificent,  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  expence  to  them,  were  pleas'd  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  faithfull  and  affectionate  humble  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 

VOL.  III.  Q 


226  LETTERS   TO 

[Came  to  London,  Tuesday  April  14th,  1747,  O.  S. ; — came  to 
Welbeck,  Thursday  April  16th,  1747,  O.  S.] 

Brescia,  March  1st,  N.  S. 

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  uneasy- 
ness  on  my  account.  I  am  now  (I  think  I  may  say) 
quite  recovered,  which  is  allmost  a  miracle,  I  be- 
lieve 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  quiet  in 
a,  republique  that  is  in  our  alliance,  which  is  all 
the  present  aim  that  I  have.  Your  ladyship  says 
nothing  of  your  own  health,  I  flatter  my  selfe  it  is 
good ;  I  beg  of  you  that  you  will  never  give  your 
selfe  any  concern  about  mine.  My  life  is  useless  to 
the  world,  and  (allmost)  tiresome  to  my  selfe. 

I  did  not  know  Mrs.  Stanton  was  dead,  I  have 
so  few  correspondents  in  England  that  every  thing 
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 
pass'd  in  comeing  hither,  has  suffer'd  so  much  by 
the  war,  that  it  is  quite  different  from  when  I  left 
it.  I  wish  every  Englishman  was  as  sensible  as  I 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  OXFORD.        227 

am,  of  the  terrible  effects  of  arbitrary  government, 
some  of  the  most  plentifull  parts  of  the  world  being 
reduc'd  to  near  a  famine.  This  province,  which  is 
free  from  troops,  enriches  itselfe  by  the  poverty  of 
its  neighbours,  which  occasions  all  provisions  to  be 
as  dear  as  in  England.  The  carnival  here  has 
been  very  gay  and  magnificent;  I  had  no  share  of 
either,  being  at  that  time  confm'd  to  my  chamber, 
and  having  no  tast  for  diversions  of  that  nature. 
In  all  situations  I  am  ever  (dearest  madam)  with 
the  tenderest  affections  of  my  heart, 

Your  ladyship's  most  faithfull 

and  most  obedient  servant, 
M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


[Came  to   London,  Wednesday  July  15th,  O.  S.; — came   to 
Welbeck,  Saturday  July  18th,  0.  S.] 

DEAREST  MADAM,  July  1st,  Brescia.  (1747.) 

'Tis  so  long  since  I  have  had  the  honor  of  hear- 
ing 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  my  selfe  it  is  the  fault  of  the  post, 
that  I  have  not  the  happyness  of  hearing  from  you. 
I  pray  for  peace  on  many  accounts,  but  chiefly  that 
our  correspondance  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. 

Q  21 


228  LETTERS  TO 

I  am  told  Lord  Cook*  is  marry'd  to  Lady  M. 
Campbell :  I  knew  him  when  he  was  at  Venice, 
and  believe  her  oeconomy  will  be  a  very  neces- 
sary allay  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  delightfull  place :  it  was  all- 
ways  so  by  the  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  !  wher- 
ever I  am,  I  can  never  be  other  than,  with  the 
tenderest  affection, 

Your  ladyship's  most  faithfull  devoted  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


[Came  to  London,  Monday  Oct.  12th,  O.S.; — received  at 
Welbeck,  Thursday  Oct.  15th,  O.S.  1747.] 

DEAREST  MADAM,  Brescia,  Sept.  1st,  N.  S. 

THIS  is  the  fourth  letter  I  have  wrote  since  I 
have  had  the  honor  of  yours,  and  am  in  so  much 
pain  for  your  health,  that  I  have  little  enjoyment 
in  the  recovery  of  my  own.  I  am  willing  to  flatter 
my  selfe,  that  your  silence  is  occasioned  by  the  -irre- 
gularity of  the  post,  which  this  unhappy  war  often 

*  Edward  Lord  Coke,  only  son  of  Thomas  Earl  of  Leicester, 
married  Mary,  daughter  of  John  Duke  of  Argyll,  in  the  spring 
of  1747. 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  OXFORD.        229 

interrupts  :  the  fear  of  this  never  reaching  you,  puts 
a  great  damp  on  my  Writeing ;  yet  I  could  not  be 
easy  without  endeavouring  (at  least)  to  give  you  my 
repeated  assurances  of  that  everlasting  affection 
I  shall  allways  feel  for  your  ladyship,  which  you 
so  highly  deserve,  and  have  by  so  many  obliga- 
tions acquir'd.  I  have  liv'd  this  eight  months  in 
the  country,  after  the  same  manner  (in  little)  that 
I  fancy  you  do  at  Welbeck,  and  find  so  much  ad- 
vantage 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  esteem'd 
a  saint  if  I  went  to  mass.  My  house  is  a  very  con- 
venient one,  and  if  I  could  have  your  ladyship's 
dear  conversation,  I  may  truly  say,  my  life  would 
be  very  comfortable :  that  is  a  melancholy  thought, 
when  I  reflect  on  the  impossibility  of  that  hap- 
pyness  being  obtained  by  (dearest  madam) 
Your  most  faithfully  devoted 
humble  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 
Be  pleas'd  to  direct  to  Brescia  par  Venise. 


230  LETTERS  TO 

[Received  at  Welbeck,  Monday  Feb.  27th,  1748,  O.S.] 

2nd  Feb.  N.  S. 

DEAREST  MADAM, 

I  RECEIV'D  this  day,  the  2nd  of  February  N.  S. 
the  happy  ness  of  your  ladi  ship's  obliging  letter  of 
December  17th;  it  has  reliev'd  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  correspondance,)  of  being  per- 
suaded you  was  incapable  of  forgetting  me ;  or  if 
sometimes  my  melancholy,  join'd  with  a  conscious- 
ness of  my  own  unworthyness,  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- 
establish'd  your  health;  I  should  be  ungratefull 
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  my  selfe  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,  tho'  it  is  but  ten  mile  from 
hence. 

Dearest  madam,   continue  to  me  the  honor   of 
writeing  to  me,  and  be  assur'd  that  you  can  be- 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  OXFORD.       231 

stow  your  favours  on  no  person  who  is  more  sen- 
sible of  their  value  than 

Your  ladyship's  most  faithfully  devoted 
humble  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


[Came  to  London,  May  21st,  O.  S.  Saturday ;— received  at 
Welbeck,  23rd,  O.  S.  Monday.] 

DEAREST  MADAM,,         Brescia,  April  27th,  N.  S.  (1748.) 

IT  is  so  long  since  I  have  had  the  happiness  of 
hearing  from  you,  I  cannot  forbear  writeing,  tho' 
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  Sep- 
tember :  Mr.  Wortley  writes  me  word  that  she  has 
chang'd  her  retir'd  way  of  life,  and  is  much  in  pub- 
lic; I  wish  it  may  be  to  her  advantage.  I  hope  the 
Dutchess  of  Portland  and  her  family  continue  in 
perfect  health ;  I  do  not  fear  your  ladiship's  receiv- 
ing any  trouble  from  her,  if  she  gives  you  none  by 
her  sickness.  The  real  part  I  take  in  every  thing 
that  concerns  you,  gives  me  a  share  in  every  branch 
of  your  prosperity  ;  I  have  a  pleasure  in  all  your 
improvements  at  Welbeck,  when  I  hear  them  com- 
mended, tho'  I  shall  never  see  them  :  'tis  allmost 
the  only  attachment  I  have  in  this  world,  being 
every  day  (as  it  is  fit  I  should)  more  and  more 
wean'd  from  it.  I  hope  your  silence  is  only  occa- 
sion'd  by  the  irregularity  of  the  post,  which  I 


232  LETTERS  TO 

cannot  expect  to  see  reform'd  while  the  war  con- 
tinues. Notwithstanding  my  indifference  for  other 
things,  your  friendship  and  health  will  ever  be 
tenderly  dear  to,  madam, 

Your  ladyship's  most  faithfull  obedient  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


[Received  at  Welbeck,  Monday  June  5th,  1749,  O.  S.] 

DEAREST  MADAM,  26th  April,  N.  S, 

THO'  I  have  received  the  happyness  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  good- 
ness to  me  that  I  can  scarce  complain  of  the  delay. 
My  letters  have  no  value  but  as  comeing  from  a 
heart  sincerely  yours,  truly  gratefull  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,  tho'  I  have  not 
yet  ventur'd  out  of  the  house,  the  weather  being  still 
wet  and  raw.  I  believe  it  will  be  safest  to  send  the 
letters  your  ladiship  honors  me  with  in  a  cover  to 
Signer  Isaac  M.  de  Treves  a  Venise.  I  hope  your 
flourishing  family  still  continues  in  perfect  health 
and  prosperity ;  I  hear  mine  encreases  every  year, 
and  that  my  daughter  is  much  distinguish'd  by  her 
Royal  Highness;*  I  flatter  my  selfe  that  she  is  all- 
*  The  Princess  of  Wales,  mother  of  George  III. 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  OXFORD.        233 

ways  happy  in  the  Dutchess  of  Portland's  friend- 
ship, 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  ladiship's  most  faithfull  devoted  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


[Received  at  Welbeck,  Thursday  Sept.  7th,  1749,  O.  S.] 

Louvere,  Aug.  20th,  N.  S. 

I  RECEIV'D  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  alarm'd  and  griev'd  me  :  I  beg  of 
you,  dearest  madam,  not  to  write  when  it  is  trouble- 
some to  you ;  God  knows  my  heart,  I  would  not 
purchase  any  happyness  at  the  expence  of  the  least 
inconvenience  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  these  waters,  and  am 
now  in  hopes  I  am  entirely  quit  of  it.  I  think 
Lady  F.  Meadows  pays  very  dear  for  whatever 
advantages  she  may  gain,  but  interest  is  so  com- 
monly preferr'd  to  honor,  I  do  not  doubt  her  con- 
duct will  be  applauded  by  many  people.  I  suppose 
Thoresby  is  (at  least  in  part)  rebuilt,  or  I  know  not 


LETTERS  TO 

where  so  many  can  lodge.  My  daughter  writes  me 
word  she  has  fitted  up  that  house*  near  Hampstead, 
which  I  once  had  the  honor  to  see  with  your  lady- 
ship ;  I  hope  it  is  a  proofe  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 
your  selfe  :  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  faithfull  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


[Received  at  Welbeck,  Thursday  April  5th,  O.  S.  1750.] 
DEAREST  MADAM,  March  2nd,  N.  S. 

I  RECEIV'D  this  day  the  happiness  of  two  letters 
you  have  honour'd  me  with,  dated  December  23rd 
and  January  6th.  I  am  very  glad  your  health  is 
mended  ;  tho'  it  is  not  so  well  re-establish'd  as  I 
could  wish,  yet  I  hope  time  will  perfect  it.  I  have 
pass'd  this  winter  without  any  complaint,  which  I 
attribute  to  the  waters  of  Louvere,  and  am  resolv'd 
to  drink  them  again  in  the  season.  I  beg  of  you> 
dearest  madam,  let  not  your  tenderness  for  me  give 

*  Caen  Wood,  afterwards  sold  by  the  Earl  of  Bute  to  the 
great  Lord  Mansfield. 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  OXFORD.       235 

you  any  uneasy  moments  ;  I  could  wish,  indeed,  my 
destiny  had  plac'd  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  lady- 
ship's conversation.  I  am  more  sensible  (perhaps) 
than  I  ought  to  be,  of  the  figure  my  family  makes, 
and  often  reflect  on  the  happyness  of  my  father, 
who  dy'd  without  seeing  any  of  the  misfortunes 
that  have  since  happened.  I  heartily  congratulate 
the  satisfaction  you  express  in  your  hopefull  grow- 
ing 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 
Dutchess  of  Portland :  they  cannot  give  better 
proofe  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  shew  herselfe  on 
all  occasions  one  of  the  Dutchesses  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  allways  been  amaz'd  at  the  passion 
for  it  continuing,  as  in  the  late  Dutchess  of  Marl- 
bro',  and  can  only  attribute  it  to  the  flatterers 
round  her,  who  nourish'd  in  her  that  desire  of  ap- 
plause, which  is  as  vain  as  the  endeavours  of  child- 


236  LETTERS  TO 

ren  that  run  to  catch  the  rainbow.  I  need  not 
say  this  to  your  ladyship,  who,  in  highly  deserving 
it,  has  allways  shunn'd  it ;  but  you  have  the  good- 
ness to  permit  me  to  communicate  my  thoughts  to 
you,  and  'tis  a  pleasure  to  me  to  shew  my  selfe  eter- 
nally, dearest  madam, 

Your  ladyship's  devoted  humble  servant, 
M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


[Received  at  Cav.  Lodge,  Thursday  June  21st]. 

May  24th,  N.  S.  (1750.) 

FOR  the  first  time  of  my  life,  I  have  had  a  kind 
letter  from  dear  Lady  Oxford  lye  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  unweary'd  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 

*  Lady  Isabella  Tufton,  youngest  daughter  and  co-heir  of 
Thomas  sixth  Earl  of  Thanet,  widow  of  Lord  Nassau  Pawlet, 
son  of  Charles  second  Duke  of  Bolton,  by  his  third  wife  Hen- 
rietta Crofts,  youngest  natural  daughter  of  James  Scott  Duke 
of  Monmouth,  by  Eleanor,  youngest  daughter  of  Sir  Robert 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  OXFORD.       237 

surpriz'd  she  has  found  one  with  so  good  an  estate ; 
I  suppose  his  father  has  many  other  sons,  or  is  not 
fond  of  posterity. 

May  God  continue  every  blessing  to  you !     My 
weakness  obliges  me  to  finish  my  letter,  with  the 
assurance  of  my  being  ever,  dearest  madam, 
Your  faithfull,  obedient  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 

I  will  write  again  soon  if  it  please  God  to  restore 
my  health. 

Needham  of  Lambeth.  Lord  N.  Pawlet  died  in  1741  ;  she 
married  secondly  Francis  Blake  Delaval,  afterwards  Knight  of 
the  Bath,  eldest  son  of  Francis  Blake  Delaval,  of  Seaton  De- 
laval in  the  county  of  Northumberland,  Esq. 


LETTERS 


TO 


SIR  JAMES  AND  LADY  FRANCES 
STEUART. 


Written  by  Lady  Frances  Steuart  upon  the  parcel  containing 
these  letters. 

"  Letters  from  Lady  Mary  W.  Montague,  which  are  decisive 
of  the  short  acquaintance  necessary  to  the  adhesion  which  ge- 
nerally takes  place  when  superior  minds  are  brought  together. 
Lady  M.  W.  Montague  was  blessed  with  such  a  mind  as  led  her 
to  make  a  short  (very  short)  acquaintance  with  my  dear  Sir 
James  become  to  her  a  time  of  noted  value.  They  reciprocally 
improved  it,  and  neither  of  them  ever  lost  the  recollections 
which  were  so  gratifying  to  both. 

*  Nor  can  I  ever  forget  the  thankful  sensibility  of  the  time, 
which  appeared  to  me  so  fortunate,  so  fit,  and  so  apropos  to 
enliven  (and  very  highly)  his  elevated  but  dejected  spirit- 
feeble  and  dejected  by  a  severe  illness." 


LETTERS 


TO 


SIR  JAMES  AND  LADY  STEUART. 


TO  SIR  JAMES  AND  LADY  FRANCESSE  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  situ- 
ation, and  wish  you  would  permit  me  to  be  of  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  says  he  will  answer  for  his  honesty  and  capa- 
city ;  he  can  serve  as  cook,  valet  de  chambre,  pur- 

VOL.    III.  R 


LETTERS  TO 

veyor,  and  steward ;  he  speaks  no  German,  but  is 
very  willing  to  follow  you,  and  presumes  he  shall 
soon  learn  it.  I  think  recommending  servants  al- 
most 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  shewn  a  letter  of  my  Gastaldi, 
(in  French,  Concierge ;  I  know  no  proper  title  for 
him  in  English).    I  can  assure  you,  sir  and  madam, 
his  stile  grossier  gave  me  more  pleasure  than  ever  I 
received  from  the  points  of  Voiture  or  the  puns  of 
Swift  or  Pope,  since  my  secretary  assured  me  that 
it  contained  an  account  of  your  well-being,  and 
having  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,   tho' 
you  refused  the  portantina.     In  this  manner  were 
his  hieroglyphics   explained   to  me,  which   I   am 
forced  and  pleased  to  give  faith  to,  as  I  do  to  the 
translators  of  Hebrew,  tho'  I  can  make  nothing  of 
the  figures  myselfe.     I  have  read  over  your  book, 
Sir  James,  and  have  a  great  deal  to  say  about  it, 
tho'   nothing   to   object;    but   must  refer    to    an- 
other time  ;  having  literally  six  people  in  the  room, 


SIR  JAMES  AND   LADY   STEUART.  243 

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. 


[Note  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  with- 
out great  allays, — all  philosophers,  ancient  and  mo- 
dern, 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  affect- 
ing Sir  James's  health,  which  is  more  precious  to 
me  than  to  any  body,  alwaies  excepting  sua  ama- 
bilissima  consorte.* 


[^Indorsed  by  Lady  Frances  Steuart,  "  Venice,  where  we  made 
acquaintance  with  her  ladyship."] 

THIS  letter  will  be  solely  to  you,  and  I  desire 
you  f  will  not  communicate  it  to  Lady  Fanny :  she 

*  The  original  spelling  has  been  copied  in  all  these  letters, 
except  in  the  termination  ed,  which  Lady  Mary  always  wrote 
thus,  'd;  as  refus'd,  admir'd,  serv'd.  She  spelt  howor,  favor, 
&c.  in  the  modern  way  (disapproved  by  Dr.  Johnson.)  It  was 
a  peculiarity  of  her  own  to  say  Jiveteen  for  fifteen :  possibly 
she  thought  the  number  ought  to  be  given  at  length,  like  six- 
teen, seventeen,  &c. 

f  This  is  clearly  said  in  joke. 


244  LETTERS  TO 

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  Re- 
velations are  not  half  so  mysterious :  what  these 
prodigys  portend,  God  knows ;  but  I  never  should 
have  suspected  half  the  wonders  I  see  before  my 
eyes,  and  am  convinced  of  the  necessity  of  the  re- 
peal 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  in- 
terests. It  is  certain  the  British  islands  have  all- 
waies  been  strangely  addicted  to  this  diabolical  in- 
tercourse, 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  intirely  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,  se- 
veral duels  have  been  fought  in  the  Place  of  St. 
Marc  for  the  charms  of  his  excellent  lady,  and  I 
have  been  seen  flying  in  the  air  in  the  figure  of 
Julian  Cox,*  whose  history  is  related  with  so 
much  candour  and  truth  by  the  pious  pen  of  Jo- 
seph Glanville,  chaplain  to  K.  Charles.  I  know 

*  In  one  of  her  letters  to  Lady  Bute  she  dwells  on  the  same 
idea.  All  this  must  allude  in  some  way  to  her  quarrel  with  Mr. 
Murray,  the  Resident,  and  to  the  reports  which  she  accused 
him  of  spreading  concerning  her. 


SIR  JAMES   AND   LADY   STEUART.  245 

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  doubtfull  in  what  manner  our 
clandestine  midnight  correspondence  is  carried  on. 
Some  think  it  treasonable,  others  lewd  (don't  tell 
Lady  Fanny) ;  but  all  agree  there  was  something 
very  odd  and  unaccountable  in  such  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. 


246  LETTERS  TO 

P.S.  Fribourg,  who  you  enquire  after  so  kind- 
ly, is  turned  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  LADY  FRANCES  STEUART. 

[Indorsed  "Padua,  September  7th,  1758;  the  first  letter  after 
leaving  her  at  Padua  to  go  back  to  Tubingen."] 

MY  DEAR  LADY  FANNY, 

I  HAVE  been  some  time  in  pain  for  your  silence, 
and  at  last  begun  to  fear  that  either  some  accident 
had  befallen  you,  or  you  had  been  so  surfeited  with 
my  dullness  at  Padua,  you  resolved  not  to  be  plagued 
with  it  when  at  a  distance.  These  melancholy 
ideas  growing  strong  upon  me,  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Duff 
to  inquire  after  your  health.  I  have  received  his 
answer  this  morning;  he  tells  me  you  are  both 
well  and  safely  arrived  at  Tubingen ;  and  I  take  the 
liberty  to  put  you  in  mind  of  one  that  can  never 

*  It  seems  almost  needless  to  observe  that  this  letter  is  writ- 
ten in  a  spirit  of  jesting,  or,  to  use  a  lower  word,  of  fun.  Anto- 
nio, or  Signer  Antonio  Mocenigo,  being  mentioned  elsewhere 
as  eighty-six  years  of  age,  and  the  head  of  a  great  Venetian 
family,  we  may  conclude  that  what  is  said  of  the  two  other  per- 
sons named  was  as  ludicrously  impossible  as  his  singing  at  the 
opera. 


SIR  JAMES   AND    LADY   STEUART.  247 

forget  you  and  the  chearful  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  myselfe 
and  my  Swiss  servants,  who  support  our  constitu- 
tions by  hearty  eating  and  drinking,  while  the  poor 
Italians  are  languishing  on  their  salads  and  limonade. 
I  confess  I  am  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:  tho'  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  Eu- 
rope. It  is  not  age  and  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  shewn  about,  copies  taken, 
and  at  length  miserably  printed.  I  own  myselfe 
*  See  vol.  iii.  p.  369. 


248  LETTERS  TO 

such  a  rake,  I  prefer  liberty  to  chains  of  diamonds, 
and  when  I  hold  my  peace  (like  K.  David)  it  is 
pain  and  griefe  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  his- 
tory of  my  calamities  since  we  parted,  you  will  be 
surprised  to  hear  I  have  not  despaired  and  dy'd  like 
the  sick  lyon  in  ^Esop's  fables,  who  so  pathetically 
cry's  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  ! 

Padoua,  Sep.  4,  San  Massimo. 

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. 


A  MONSIEUR  MONSIEUR  LE  CHEVALIER  STUART, 

A  Tubingen  en  Suabe. 
[Indorsed  "  Sep.  5,  1758;  the  2nd  to  Tubingen  from  Padua."] 

SIR, 

ON  the  information  of  Mr.  Duff  that  you  had 
certainly  wrote  tho'  I  had  not  been  so  happy  to 
receive  your  letter,  I  thought  (God  forgive  the 


SIR   JAMES   AND    LADY    STEUART.  249 

vanity!)  that  perhaps  I  was  important  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,  Sep.  5th,  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of 
a  most  agreeable  and  obliging  mark  of  your  re- 
membrance ;  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  dis- 
order. 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,  tho'  Heaven 
be  praised  I  never  felt  them,  I  know  it  is  an  obsti- 
nate and  very  uneasy  distemper,  tho'  never  fatal, 
unless  when  quacks  undertake  to  cure  it.  I  have 
even  observed  that  those  who  are  troubled  with  it 
commonly  live  to  old  age.  Lady  Stair*  is  one  in- 
stance ;  I  remember  her  screaming  and  crying  when 
Miss  Primrose,  myselfe,  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  analyses  of  that  and  many  other  dis- 
eases, with  a  candor  I  never  found  in  any  other 
author.  I  confess  I  never  had  faith  in  any  other 

*  The  Lady  Stair  here  alluded  to,  was  probably  the  wife  of 
the  third  Earl  of  Stair,  eldest  daughter  of  Sir  Andrew  Myrton, 
of  Gogar,  in  the  county  of  Edinburgh,  Baronet.  She  died  at 
Edinburgh,  July  8th,  1761,  at  sixty-two. 


250  LETTERS  TO 

physician,  living  or  dead.  Mr.  Locke  places  him 
in  the  same  rank  with  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  and  the 
Italians  call  him  the  English  Hipocrates.  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,  honourable  spleen  is  the  same  dis- 
order 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  in- 
capable of  the  woman's  weakness  of  fear  and  ten- 
derness. Ignorance  I  I  could  produce  such  ex- 
amples— 

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  interest- 
ing 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 
at  Venice,  1740.  His  father  dy'd  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,  tho'  I 
believe  it  made  a  greater  impression  on  her  than 

*  Cardinal  Charles  Rezzonico,  Bishop  of  Padua,  became  Pope 
Clement  XIII.  16th  July  1758,  and  died  in  1769. 


SIR  JAMES  AND  LADY   STEUART.  251 

appeared,  and  it  may  be,  hastened  her  death  ;  which 
happened  a  fortnight  after  his  elevation,  in  the 
midst  of  the  extraordinary  rejoycings  at  Venice  on 
that  occasion.  The  honours  bestowed  on  his  bro- 
ther, the  balls,  festivals,  &e.  are  they  not  written 
in  the  daily  books  called  newspapers  ? 

I  resisted  all  invitations,  and  am  still  at  Padua, 
where  reading,  writing,  riding,  and  walking  find 
me  full  employment. 

I  accept  the  compliments  of  the  fine  young  gen- 
tleman with  the  joy  of  an  old  woman  who  does 
not  expect  to  be  taken  notice  of:  pray  don't  tell 
him  I  am  an  old  woman.  He  shall  be  my  toast 
from  this  forward,  and  (provided  he  never  sees  me 
as  long  as  he  lives)  I  may  be  his.  A  propos  of 
toasting,  upon  my  honour  I  have  not  tasted  a  drop 
of  punch  since  we  parted ;  I  cannot  bear  the  sight 
of  it ;  it  would  recall  too  tender  ideas,  and  I  should 
be  quarrelling  with  Fortune  for  our  separation, 
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,  tho'  I  am  persuaded  she  has  good 
nature  enough  to  be  glad  to  hear  I  am  happy; 


252  LETTERS  TO 

which  I  could  not  be,  if  I  had  not  a  view  of  seeing 
my  friends  so.  As  to  you,  sir,  I  make  no  excuses; 
you  are  bound  to  have  indulgence  for  me,  as  for 
a  sister  of  the  quill.  I  have  heard  Mr.  Addison  say 
he  always  listened  to  poets  with  patience,  to  keep 
up  the  dignity  of  the  fraternity.  Let  me  have  an 
answer  as  soon  as  possible.  Si  vales,  bene  est,  valeo. 
P.  S.  Do  not  be  offended  at  the  word  poet,  it 
slip'd  out  unawares.  I  know  you  scorn  it,  tho* 
it  has  been  dignify'd  by  Lord  Sommers,  Lord  Go- 
dolphin,  and  Dr.  Atterbury. 


TO  LADY  FRANCES  STEUART. 

[Indorsed  "  From  Venice,  Oct.  5th."] 
I  AM  exceedingly  delighted,  my  dear  Lady  Fanny, 
to  hear  of  the  recovery  of  your  health  and  spirits : 
if  my  prayers  or  endeavors  prevail,  you  will  never 
have  any  thing  to  displease  you ;  'tis  the  height  of 
my  ambition  to  serve  my  friends,  and  their  num- 
ber is  so  very  small,  I  may  hope  to  succeed  without 
aiming  at  any  great  degree  of  power.  My  daugh- 
ter 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  satis- 


SIR  JAMES   AND    LADY    STEUART.  253 

faction  less  at  heart,  and  am  persuaded  that  I 
shall  be  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  bro- 
ther ;*  and  heartily  wish  seven  or  eight  more  might 
arise  from  his  ashes. 

The  magnificent  rejoycings  for  the  Pope's  eleva- 
tion are  not  yet  over :  there  was  last  night  very 
fine  fire-works  before  the  Palace  Rezzonico  :  I  sup.- 
pose  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  be- 
gin at  the  hour  I  undress  for  bed.  Here  are  few 
English  this  carnival,  and  those  few  extremely 
engaged  in  party's  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  selfe  love  will  mix  even  imperceptibly 
in  all  our  sentiments,  yet  I  verily  believe  a 
northern  air  cannot  be  good  either  for  you  or  Lord 
Marischall.f  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  him  for 
remembering  a  useless  friend  and  servant :  my 
good  wishes,  with  a  grateful  sense  of  his  civilities, 

*  The  Honourable  George  Stewart,  son  of  the  sixth  Earl  of 
Galloway,  was  killed  at  Ticonderago,  in  1758. 

t  George,  tenth  Earl  Marischal,  born  in  1693,  served  under 
the  Great  Frederic,  and  died  at  Potsdam,  May  28th,  1778. 


254  LETTERS  TO 

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  real- 
ity's. 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 

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  ridi- 
culous farces  exhibited  by  my  loving  countrymen  ; 
even  that  is  denied  me  from  prudential  conside- 
rations. Nothing  can  hinder  my  being  to  my  last 
moment  faithfully  attached  to  Lady  Frances  and 
yourselfe. 

TO  SIR  JAMES  STEUART. 
[Indorsed  «  From  Venice,  May  4th,  1759."] 

You  will  not  be  surprised,  sir,  that  after  having 
been  promised  so  valuable  and  so  agreeable  a  pre- 
sent, I  am  a  little  impatient  to  receive  it;  there 
is  no  situation  in  which  it  would  not  be  highly 
welcome,  but  it  is  doubly  so  in  a  town  where  I 
am  almost  as  solitary  as  in  a  desert.  I  am  ex- 
tremely concerned  at  the  continuation  of  Lady 
Fanny's  disorder ;  the  juvenile  dissipations  of  Mr. 


SIR  JAMES  AND   LADY   STEUART.  255 

Steuart  I  do  not  put  into  the  list  of  misfortunes : 
application  is  not  to  be  expected  at  his  age ;  per- 
haps not  to  be  wished ;  the  judgement  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  every  thing  you 
wish,  and  that  he  will  repay  the  care  of  his  educa- 
tion 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  de- 
sign. You  see  it  is  not  in  Britain  alone  that  the 
spleen  spreads  his  dominion.  I  look  on  all  excur- 
sions of  this  kind  to  be  owing  to  that  distemper, 
which  shews  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 
usefull  to  yourselfe  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. 


256  LETTERS   TO 

I  enclose  a  letter  from  Mr.  Duff,  in  which  (he 
tells  me)  he  has  directed  in  what  manner  I  may 
receive  your  Enquiry  into  the  principles  of  Political 
Economy.  I  do  not  doubt  enjoying  great  pleasure 
and  instruction  in  the  reading  of  it,  tho'  I  want  no 
fresh  inducement  to  bind  me  ever,  sir, 

Your  most  obliged  and  affectionate  servant, 

M.  W.  M. 


TO  SIR  JAMES  STEUART. 

[Dated  July  19,  1759,  from  Padua,  begun  in  another  hand.] 

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  criticize  yourself  too 
severely  on  your  style  :  I  do  not  think  that  very 
smooth  harmony  is  necessary  in  a  work  which  has 
a  merit  of  a  nobler  kind;  I  think  it  rather  a  de- 
fect, as  when  a  Roman  Emperor  (as  we  see  him 
sometimes  represented  on  a  French  stage)  is 
dressed  like  a  petit-maitre.  I  confess  the  croud  of 


SIR  JAMES  AND   LADY  STEUART.  257 

readers  look  no  farther;  the  tittle-tattle  of  Madame 
de  Sevigne*,  and  the  clinquant  of  Telemachus,  have 
found  admirers  from  that  very  reason.  What- 
ever is  clearly  expressed,  is  well  wrote  in  a  book 
of  reasoning.  However,  I  shall  obey  your  com- 
mands in  telling  you  my  opinion  with  the  greatest 
sincerity. 

I  am  extremely  glad  to  hear  that  Lady  F.  has 
overcome  her  disorder;  I  wish  I  had  no  appre- 
hensions of  falling  into  it.  Solitude  begets  whim- 
sies ;  at  my  time  of  life  one  usually  falls  into 
those  that  are  melancholy,  tho'  I  endeavor  to 
keep  up  a  certain  sprightly  folly  that  (I  thank 
God)  I  was  born  with :  but,  alas !  what  can  we 
do  with  all  our  endeavours!  I  am  afraid  we  are 
little  better  than  straws  upon  the  water ;  we  may 
flatter  ourselves  that  we  swim,  when  the  current 
carries  us  along. 

Thus  far  I  have  dictated  for  the  first  time  of  my 
life,  and  perhaps  it  will  be  the  last,  for  my  ama- 
nuensis 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  myselfe  to  be 
VOL.  in.  s 

• 


258  LETTERS  TO 

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  va- 
pours 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  precau- 
tion 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  philo- 
sophy that  could  support  me  under  it,  and  no 
mountain  girl  ever  trembled  more  at  one  of  Whit- 
field's  pathetic  lectures  than  I  do  at  the  word 
blindness,  tho'  I  know  all  the  fine  things  that  may 
be  said  for  consolation  in  such  a  case  :  but  I  know 
also  they  would  not  operate  on  my  constitution. 
"  Why,  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  threescore 
had  the  goodness  to  add,  "  At  least,  madam,  you 
should  use  spectacles;  I  have  used  them  myselfe 
these  twenty  years ;  I  was  advised  to  it  by  a  fa- 
mous oculist  when  I  was  fifteen.  I  am  really  of 
opinion  that  they  have  preserved  my  sight,  not- 
withstanding the  passion  I  always  had  both  for 
reading  and  drawing."  This  good  woman,  you  must 
know,  is  halfe  blind,  and  never  read  a  larger  volume 
than  a  newspaper.  I  will  not  trouble  you  with  the 


SIR  JAMES  AND  LADY  STEUART.  259 

whole  conversation,  tho'  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  lyed  when  I  talked  of  reading  without 
glasses,  the  foresaid  matron  obligingly  said  she 
should  be  very  proud  to  see  the  writing  I  talked  of, 
having  heard  me  say  formerly  I  had  no  correspond- 
ents 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  honor."  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  drop- 
sies had  happened  amongst  the  hard  students  of 
their  acquaintance.  As  I  never  studied  any  thing 
in  my  life,  and  have  always  (at  least  from  fifteen) 
thought  the  reputation  of  learning  a  misfortune  to 
a  woman,  I  was  resolved  to  believe  these  stories 
were  not  meant  at  me :  I  grew  silent  in  my  turn, 
and  took  up  a  card  that  lay  on  a  table,  and  amused 
myselfe  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. 

S  2 


260  LETTERS  TO 

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  Pa- 
doua;  of  what  use  is  it  standing  in  the  portico?" 
"  Perhaps,"  said  another,  wittily,  "  of  as  much 
use  as  a  standing  dish."  A  gaping  school-boy  add- 
ed with  still  more  wit,  "  I  have  seen  at  a  country 
gentleman's  table  a  venison-pasty  made  of  wood." 
I  was  not  at  all  vexed  by  said  school-boy,  not  be- 
cause 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. 
They  renewed  their  generous  endeavors  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. 


SIR  JAMES  AND  LADY   STEUART.  261 

And  flung  down  the  card  on  the  table,  and  myselfe 
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  af- 
fectation of  mine  to  enhance  the  value  of  a  talent 
I  would  be  thought  to  despise ;  as  celebrated  beau- 
ties 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. — 
Apropos  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- 
shew  ;  and  indeed  so  I  am ;  but  the  figures  (some 
of  them)  bigger  than  the  life,  and  not  stuffed  with 
straw  like  those  commonly  shewn  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,  tho'  I  remember  whereof  they  are 
made,  and  know  they  are  but  dust.  Nothing  vexes 
me  so  much  as  that  they  are  below  satyr.  (Be- 
tween you  and  me)  I  think  there  are  but  two  plea- 
sures permitted  to  mortal  man,  love  and  vengeance ; 
both  which  are,  in  a  peculiar  manner,  forbidden  to 
us  wretches  who  are  condemned  to  petticoats. 


262  LETTERS  TO 

Even  vanity  itselfe,  of  which  you  daily  accuse  us, 
is  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost  not  to  be  for- 
given 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  shewn  ? 
Are  we  not  formed  with  passions  like  your  own  ? 
Nature  with  equal  fire  our  souls  endued ; 
Our  minds  as  lofty,  and  as  warm  our  blood. 
O'er  the  wide  world  your  wishes  you  pursue, 
The  change  is  justified  by  something  new ; 
But  we  must  sigh  in  silence  and  be  true. 


1 


How  the  great  Dr.  Swift  would  stare  at  this  vile 
triplet !  And  then  what  business  have  I  to  make 
apologies  for  Lady  Vane,*  who  I  never  spoke  to, 
because  her  life  is  writ  by  Dr.  Smollett,  who  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. 

*  This  lady  has  been  alluded  to  before  in  these  letters. 
She  was  second  daughter  of  Mr.  Hawes,  a  South  Sea  Director, 
of  Purley,  in  Berkshire,  and  was  twice  married ;  first,  to  Lord 
William  Hamilton,  and  secondly  to  William  second  Viscount 
Vane,  only  son  of  William  Viscount  Vane,  and  Baron  of  Dun- 
cannon,  in  the  county  of  Tyrone. 


SIR  JAMES  AND   LADY  STEUART.  263 

You  will  ask  me  what  I  mean  by  all  this  nonsense  ? 
After  having  declared  myselfe  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  be- 
lieve him  when  you  read  his  celebrated  works.  I 
have  got  them  for  you,  and  intended  to  bring  them. 
Oime !  I'huomo  propone,  Dio  dispone.  I  hope  you 
won't  think  this  dab  of  Italian,  that  slid  involun- 
tarily from  my  pen,  an  affectation  like  his  Galli- 
cisms, 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 
dy'd  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 
rejoyce  them  both  by  letting  them  know  you  honour 


264  LETTERS  TO 

them  with  a  place  in  your  memory,  when  I  see  them; 
which  I  have  not  done  since  you  left  Padoua.  Alga- 
rotti  is  at  Bologna,  I  believe,  composing  panegyrics 
on  whoever  is  victor  in  this  uncertain  war ;  and  Val- 
sinura  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  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  magnificent  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  yourselfe.  You  see  I  dare  trust  you 
with  the  knowledge  of  all  my  defects  in  under- 
standing. Mine  is  so  stupified  by  age  and  disap- 
pointment, 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  galant  conversations, 
as  it  would  be  for  a  fat  prelate  to  content  himselfe 
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 


SIR  JAMES  AND   LADY   STEUART.  265 

(at  least  in  your  heart)  be  of  opinion  that  I  have 
very  well  revenged  myselfe  by  this  tedious  un- 
connected letter.  Indeed,  I  intend  no  such  thing, 
and  have  only  indulged  the  pleasure  every  body 
naturally  feels  when  they  talk  to  those  they  love ; 
as  I  sincerely  do  to  your  selfe,  and  dear  Lady  F., 
and  your  young  man,  because  he  is  yours. 

Note. — In  this  letter  "  the  king  and  queen"  apparently 
mean  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Murray,  the  English  Resident  at  Venice 
and  his  wife,  with  whom  Lady  Mary  was  on  the  worst  terms 
imaginable. 


A  MONSIEUR  MONSIEUR  LE  CHEVALIER  STUART 

a  Tubingen  en  Suabe. 

Venice,  Oct.  13,  1759. 

You  have  made  (what  I  did  not  think  possible) 
writing  to  you  uneasy  to  me.  After  confessing 
that  you  barbarously  criticize  on  my  letters,  I  have 
much  ado  to  summon  up  courage  enough  to  set 
pen  to  paper.  Can  you  answer  this  to  your  con- 
science, to  sit  gravely  and  maliciously  to  examine 
lines  written  with  rapidity  and  sent  without  read- 
ing over  ?  This  is  worse  than  surprizing  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  law- 
ful to  censure  whatever  you  see  amiss  in  her  orna- 


266  LETTERS  TO 

ments ;  but  when  you  are  received  to  a  friendly 
breakfast,  'tis  downright  cruelty  or  (something 
worse)  ingratitude,  to  view  too  nicely  all  the  dis- 
order 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  re- 
flecting on  the  chearful  moments  we  once  passed 
together,  which  can  no  more  return.  This  thought 
is  so  very  disagreeable,  I  will  put  it  as  far  from  me 
as  possible.  My  chiefe  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  myselfe  from  which  I  can  extract  any  kind 
of  delight,  I  think  on  the  happiness  of  my  friends, 
and  rejoyce  in  the  joy  with  which  you  converse 
together,  and  look  on  the  beautiful  young  plant 
from  which  you  may  so  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  of  principles  and 
madness  of  practice ;  yet  this  people  walk  erect, 
and  are  numbered  amongst  rational  beings.  I  ima- 


SIR  JAMES  AND   LADY    STEUART.  26? 

gined  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  : 


parentum,  pejor  avis,  tulit 
Nos  nequiores,  mox  daturos 
Progeniem  vitiosiorem. 

I  will  not  ask  pardon  for  this  quotation  ;  it  is 
God's  mercy  I  did  not  put  it  into  English  :  when 
one  is  haunted  (as  I  am)  by  the  Daemon  of  Poesie, 
it  must  come  out  in  one  shape  or  another,  and  you 
will  own  that  nobody  shews  it  to  more  advantage 
than  the  author  I  have  mentioned.  Adieu,  sir,  read 
with  candor  ;  forgive  what  you  can't  excuse,  in  fa- 
vour of  the  real  esteem  and  affection  with  which 
I  am  Lady  Fanny's  and  your  most  humble  servant, 

M.  W.  M. 

Permit  my  compliments  to  Mr.  Steuart. 


TO  SIR  JAMES  STEUART. 
[[Indorsed  "  4th  letter  from  Venice  to  Tubingen."] 

Nov.  27th,  1759. 

I  FLATTER  myself  my  last  rhapsody  has  revenged 
me  of  all  your  criticisms  and  railleries  (however 
finely  spread).  I  defy  you  to  decypher  the  true 
meaning,  yet  it  is  truth  at  the  bottom;  but  not  to 
teize  you  too  much  with  the  marvelous  adventures 


268  LETTERS  TO 

of  a  town  with  which  you  are  yet  little  acquainted, 
and  perhaps  not  very  curious  to  examine,  at  least 
that  part  of  it  called  —  Gil  forestieri  e  mmistri 
del  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  himselfe  ;  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  occa- 
sion. 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 

*  Charles  Spencer,  Duke  of  Marlborough,  was  the  second 
son  of  Lady  Sunderland.  He  succeeded  to  the  title  of  Earl 
of  Sunderland  on  the  death  of  his  elder  brother  Robert,  and 
to  the  dukedom  of  Marlborough  upon  that  of  his  aunt  Henrietta 
Duchess  of  Marlborough,  whose  only  son,  Lord  Blandford, 
died  before  her.  The  Duke's  profuseness  and  carelessness  of 
his  affairs  were  remarkable;  but  Lady  Mary  Wortley  might 
perhaps  be  the  more  severe  upon  him,  because  he  had  been  at 
open  war  with  her  old  friend,  his  grandmother,  the  Duchess 
Sarah,  some  of  whose  prejudices  she  allowed  to  influence  her 
opinions. 


SIR  JAMES   AND   LADY   STEUART.  269 

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  pre- 
sented 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. 

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  ge- 
nerally 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  deposite  of 
their  precious  honor  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, 


270  LETTERS  TO 

(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  advan- 
tage of  being  casually  admitted  in  the  train  of 
Madame  de  B,  nke  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  Marlbro'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  (tho'  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. ;  both  he  and  myselfe  have  had 
disappointments  enough  in  life  to  be  hardened 
against  most  sensations :  I  own  the  loss  of  a  be- 


SIR  JAMES  AND   LADY  STEUART.  271 

loved  deserving  friend  is  the  hardest  tryal  of  philo- 
sophy. But  we  are  soon  to  lose  our  selves,  a  me- 
lancholy consolation,  yet  not  so  melancholy  as  it 
may  appear  to  people  who  have  more  extensive 
views  in  prospect. 

Dear  Lady  Fanny,  this  letter  is  to  you  both,  de- 
signed to  make  you  smile,  laugh  if  you  will;  but  be 
so  just  as  to  believe  me,  with  warm  affection  and 
sincere  esteem,  Ever  yours,  M.  W.  M. 

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  SIR  JAMES  STEUART. 

[Indorsed  "  February  1760."] 

SIR, 

I  HAVE  waited  (in  my  opinion)  with  very  exem- 
plary 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  say- 
ing he  is  willing  to  serve  you:  how  far  he  can  be 
usefull  is,  I  think,  dubious ;  you  know  he  is  only  a 
subaltern  officer.  I  wish  I  knew  any  probable  me- 
thod of  insuring  success  to  your  wishes :  you  may 


272  LETTERS  TO 

certainly  depend  on  every  thing  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  phy- 
sicians are  of  opinion  that  the  sea  would  be  salutary 
to  your  constitution.  I  dare  not  press  this  ear- 
nestly, finding  my  selfe  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,  (not- 
withstanding 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  household  Lares,  and  hav- 
ing your  friends  round  you,  would  certainly  con- 
tribute 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  in- 
struction; 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  histories  you  mention,  nor  have 
had  for  this  last  twelvemonth  any  books  from  Eng- 
land. It  is  difficult  to  send  any  thing  from  thence, 
as  my  daughter  informs  me;  and  our  travelling 
young  gentlemen  very  seldom  burden  themselves 


SIR   JAMES   AND   LADY   STEUART.  273 

with  such  unnecessary  baggage  as  works  of  liter- 
ature. 

Give  me  leave  to  send  my  warmest  thanks  to 
Lady  Fanny  for  her  kind  remembrance,  and  com- 
pliments 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  ex- 
pressing how  much  I  am,  sir, 

Your  most  obliged  and  very  humble  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 

Venice,  Feb.  13,  1760. 


TO  SIR  JAMES  STEUART. 

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  (tho'  I  am  sure  no  other 
person  would  suspect  it).  It  is  hard  to  forbear  prais- 
ing where  there  is  so  much  due ;  yet  I  would  rather 
talk  of  your  performance  to  any  other  than  yourselfe. 
If  I  durst  speak  out,  I  would  say,  that  you  have 
explained  in  the  best  manner  the  most  difficult  sub- 
ject, and  struck  out  new  lights  that  are  necessary 
to  enforce  conviction  even  to  those  who  have  stu- 
died the  points  you  treat;  and  who  are  often  misled 
by  prejudices  which  fall  away,  while  your  instruc- 
tions take  place  in  every  mind  capable  of  distin- 
guishing truth  from  falsehood.  Upon  the  whole, 

VOL.  III.  T 


274  LETTERS  TO 

permit  me  to  say,  I  never  saw  a  treatise  which 
gave  me  so  much  pleasure  and  information.  You 
shew  your  selfe  qualified  by  nature  for  the  charge 
of  first  minister ;  how  far  that  would  recommend 
you  to  a  minister  I  think  problematic.  I  am  be- 
ginning to  read  over  your  work  a  second  time ;  my 
approbation  increases  as  I  go  on;  the  solidity  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  honor  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  per- 
formance; 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  instruction.  I  flatter  myselfe  that 
your  affairs  will  soon  take  a  more  agreeable  turn. 
Wherever  you  are,  I  wish  you  every  happiness;  and 
wherever  I  am,  you  will  ever  have  a  faithful  humble 


SIR   JAMES   AND    LADY   STEUART.  275 

servant,  engaged  both  by  inclination  and  obligation 
to  be  always  at  your  command. 

Venice,  March  1,  1760.  M.  W.  MoNTAGU. 

N.  B.  This  letter  indorsed  thus  by  Sir  James  Steuart 
himself: — "  On  receiving  a  MS.  neatly  bound  and  gilt,  of  the 
two  first  books  of  my  Pol.  Economy,  with  a  dedication  to 
her  ladyship." 


A  MONSIEUR  MONSIEUR  LE  CHEVALIER  STUART 

a  Tubingen  en  Suabe.     Par  Augsbourg. 

I  HAVE  now  with  great  pleasure,  and  I  flatter  my- 
self with  some  improvement,  read  over  again  your 
delightful  and  instructive  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  with- 
out 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  very  many  of  yours  as  incapable  of  judg- 
ing otherwise  than  they  have  been  early  taught,  as 
the  most  ignorant  milk-maid :  nay,  I  believe  a  girl 
out  of  a  village  or  a  nursery,  more  capable  of  re- 
ceiving instruction  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 

T  2 


276  LETTEPS  TO 

better  sense  in  the  place  of  it.  Mr.  Steuart  is  very 
happy  to  be  under  the  direction  of  a  father  who 
will  not  suffer  him  to  entertain  errors  at  an  age 
when  'tis  hard  to  distinguish  them.  I  often  look 
back  on  my  past  life  in  the  light  in  which  old  Mon- 
taigne 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  overseen  or  artfully 
obscured  from  our  sight,  but  when  pointed  out  to 
us,  it  is  impossible  to  resist  the  conviction  that  ac- 
companies 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  acquaint- 
ance in  mind  of  it:  at  present,  the  real  director* 

*  Lord  Mansfield  is  probably  here  alluded  to.  He  was  a  mem- 
ber of  the  cabinet  during  the  last  years  of  George  the  Second's 
reign,  and  supposed  to  have  great  influence  with  the  Duke  of 
Newcastle,  the  nominal  head  of  that  administration.  The  cir- 
cumstance of  his  having  been  himself  attached  on  the  score  of 
early  Jacobitism,  might  make  him  cautious  of  appearing  to 
protect  persons  in  Sir  J.  Steuart's  situation. 


SIR  JAMES   AND   LADY    STEUART.  277 

(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  yourselfe,  a  faithful 
humble  servant, 

Venice,  April  7th,  1760.  M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


TO  SIR  JAMES  STEUART. 
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  con- 
siderable to  myselfe,  being  with  the  strongest  tyes 
of  esteem  and  gratitude,  sir, 

Your  most  obliged  and  faithful  humble  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 

Venice,  Nov.  20,  1760. 

I  hope  Lady  Fanny  and  your  young  gentleman 
are  in  perfect  health. 


TO  SIR  JAMES  STEUART. 

Venice,  Jan.  13th,  1761. 

I  HAVE  indulged  myself  some  time  with  day-dreams 
of  the   happiness    I  hoped  to   enjoy  this  summer 


278  LETTERS  TO 

in  the  conversation  of  Lady  Fanny  and  Sir  James 
S. ;  but  I  hear  such  frightful  stories  of  precipices  and 
hovels  during  the  whole  journey,  I  begin  to  fear 
there  is  no  such  pleasure  allotted  me  in  the  book  of 
Fate :  the  Alps  were  once  mole-hills  in  my  sight 
when  they  interposed  between  me  and  the  slightest 
inclination ;  now  age  begins  to  freeze,  and  brings 
with  it  the  usual  train  of  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  imaginations,  I  dare  swear  he  has 
some  thoughts  of  emulating  Alexander  or  Demos- 
thenes, perhaps  both :  nothing  seems  difficult  at 
his  time  of  life,  every  thing  at  mine.  I  am  very 
unwilling,  but  am  afraid  I  must  submit  to  the  con- 
finement of  my  boat  and  my  easy  chair,  and  go 
no  farther  than  they  can  carry  me.  Why  are  our 
views  so  extensive  and  our  power  so  miserably 
limited  ?  This  is  among  the  mysteries  which  (as 
you  justly  say)  will  remain  ever  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 


SIR  JAMES   AND   LADY   STEUART.  279 

table.  Let  us  then  (which  is  the  only  true  philoso- 
phy) be  contented  with  our  chance,  and  make  the 
best  of  that  very  bad  bargain  of  being  born  in  this 
vile  planet;  where  we  may  find  however  (God 
be  thanked)  much  to  laugh  at,  tho'  little  to 
approve. 

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  ri- 
bands of  certain  colours,  dabs  of  embroidery  on 
their  cloaths,  and  gilt  wood  carved  behind  their 
coaches  in  a  particular  figure  ?  Others  breaking 
their  hearts  till  they  are  distinguished  by  the  shape 
and  color  of  their  hats ;  and,  in  general,  all  people 
earnestly  seeking  what  they  do  not  want,  while 
they  neglect  the  real  blessings  in  their  possession, 
I  mean  the  innocent  gratification  of  their  senses, 
which  is  all  we  can  properly  call  our  own.  For  my 
part,  I  will  endeavour  to  comfort  myselfe  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  ad- 
mirable 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  M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


280  LETTERS   TO 


TO  SIR  JAMES  STEUART. 

From  Venice,  25th  of  January  1761. 
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  con- 
fined to  my  store  for  many  days.  This  is  the  first 
use  I  make  of  my  pen.  I  will  not  engage  in  a  dis- 
pute with  you,  being  very  sure  that  I  am  unable  to 
support  it  against  you ;  yet  I  own  I  am  not  intirely 
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  exceeding 
what  was  shown  to  the  predecessor :  I  am  glad  to 
see  this  distinguished  by  the  trust  and  affection  of 
the  King  to  his  people,  and  am  persuaded  it  will 
have  a  very  good  effect  on  all  our  affairs  foreign 
and  domestic.  It  is  possible  my  daughter  may 
have  some  partiality ;  the  character  of  his  present 
Majesty  needs  only  be  halfe  so  perfect  as  she  de- 
scribes it,  to  be  such  a  monarch  as  has  never  ex- 
isted but  in  romances.  Tho'  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  happiness  of  my  native  country, 
and  am  glad  to  see  the  prospect  of  a  prosperity  and 


SIR   JAMES  AND   LADY   STEUART. 

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  solici- 
tations, and  gain  me  a  number  of  enemies  who 
would  never  forgive  me  the  not  performing  impos- 
sibilities. 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 ;  tho'  I  confess  (so  in- 
firm 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  to  hear  news  of  your  return  to  your 
native  country,  where  that  you  may  long  enjoy  a 
happiness  superior  to  any  a  court  can  give,  is  the 
most  ardent  desire  of,  sir, 

Your  grateful  and  faithful 

humble  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


LETTERS   TO 


TO  SIR  JAMES  STEUART. 

Venice,  April  12th,  1761. 
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  huma- 
nity) are  tainted  by  our  hopes  and  fears  ;  we  all  in- 
dulge views  almost  as  extravagant  as  those  of  Phae- 
ton, and  are  angry  when  we  do  not  succeed  in  pro- 
jects 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  pro- 
spects, 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  commu- 
nicate this  weakness  to  any  but  yourselfe,  who  can 
have  compassion  even  where  your  superior  under- 
standing condemns.  I  confess  that  tho'  I  am  (it 
may  be)  beyond  the  strict  bounds  of  reason  pleased 


SIR  JAMES   AND    LADY    STEUART.  283 

with  my  Lord  Bute's  and  my  daughter's  prosperity, 
I  am  doubtful  whether  I  will  attempt  to  be  a  spec- 
tator of  it.  I  have  so  many  years  indulged  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  '11  say)  the  worst  effects  of  age,  blindness 
excepted ;  I  am  grown  timorous  and  suspicious  ;  I 
fear  the  inconstancy  of  that  goddess  so  publickly 
adored  in  ancient  Rome,  and  so  heartily  inwardly 
worshiped  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'  prophecies  ?  Need 
I  tell  you  that  it  is  one  of  the  privileges  of  friend- 
ship to  talk  of  our  own  follies  and  infirmities  ?  you 
must  then,  nay  you  ought  to  pardon  my  tiresome 
tattle  in  consideration  of  the  real  attachment  with 
which  I  am  unalterably,  sir, 

Your  obliged  and  faithful  humble  servant, 

W.  M.  MONTAGU. 

My  best  compliments  to  dear  Lady  Fanny,  and 
congratulation  to  the  young  gentleman.     I  do  not 


284  LETTERS  TO 

doubt  he  is  sorry  to  leave  her ;  but  if  it  be  ne- 
cessary for  his  advancement,  you  will  teach  him  to 
suffer  it,  at  least  with  patience. 

TO  SIR  JAMES  STEUART. 
SIR^  July  22nd,  1761. 

I  EXPECT  you  should  wish  me  joy  on  the  good 
fortune  of  a  friend  I  esteem  in  the  highest  manner. 
I  have  always  preferred  the  interest  of  those  I  love 
to  my  own.  You  need  not  doubt  of  my  sincere 
affection  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,  tho'  I  starve  in  the  maintaining  it,  or 
am  eat  up  by  the  wild  beasts  of  the  wood,  meaning 
gnats  and  flies.  A  word  to  the  wise  ;  you  under- 
stand 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. 

*  A  Lord  of  the  Treasury.  See  Honourable  Horace  Wai- 
pole's  letters  to  Sir  Horace  Mann,  Dec.  16,  1741,  for  an  accoun 


SIR  JAMES   AND    LADY   STEUART.  285 


TO  SIR  JAMES  AND  LADY  FRANCES  STEUART. 

[Indorsed  "  Oct.  1st,  1761,  Augsbourg,  on  her  way  from  Venice 
to  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,  tho' 
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  I  am,  and  ever  shall 
be,  faithfully  Your  most  humble  servant, 

M.  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

Since  I  wrote  the  above  I  am  told  I  may  go  by 
Wirtemberg  to  Frankfort.  I  will  then  take  that 
road  in  hopes  of  seeing  you. 


TO  SIR  JAMES  STEUART, 

SlR,  Rotterdam,  Nov.  20th,  1761. 

I  RECEIVED  yesterday  your  obliging  and  welcome 
letter  by  the  hands  of  Mr.  Simpson.     I  tried  in 

of  a  debate  and  a  division  upon  the  occasion  of  the  election  of 
the  Chairman  of  the  Committees  of  the  House  of  Commons,  in 
which  some  account  of  this  gentleman  is  to  be  found. 


286  LETTERS   TO 

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  halfe  the 
difficulties  I  have  met  with,  I  should  not  certainly 
have  had  courage  enough  to  undertake  it.  I  have 
scrambled  through  more  dangers  than  his  Majesty 
of  Prussia,  or  even  my  well-beloved  cousin  (not 
counsellor)  Marquis  Granby  ;*  but  my  spirits  fail 
me  when  I  think  of  my  friends  risqueing  either 
health  or  happiness.  I  will  write  to  Lady  Fanny  to 
hinder  your  coming  to  Rotterdam,  and  will  sooner 
make  one  jump  more  myselfe  to  wait  on  you  at 
Antwerp.  I  am  glad  poor  D.  has  sold  his  medals. 
I  confess  I  thought  his  buying  them  a  very  bold 
stroke.  I  supposed  that  he  had  already  left  Lon- 
don, but  am  told  that  he  has  been  prevented  by  the 
machinations  of  that  excellent  politician  and  truly 
great  man  M and  his  ministry. 

*  Lord  Granby  married  the  daughter  of  Charles  sixth  Duke 
of  Somerset,  by  his  wife  the  youngest  daughter  of  Daniel  Earl 
of  Winchelsea  and  Nottingham ;  whose  wife  was  the  daughter 
of  Basil  Earl  Fielding  and  Lady  Mary's  first  cousin. 


SIR  JAMES  AND   LADY   STEUART.  287 

My  dear  Lady  Fanny,  I  am  persuaded  that  you 
are  more  nearly  concerned  for  the  health  of  Sir 
James  than  he  is  himselfe.  I  address  myselfe  to 
you,  to  insist  on  it  to  him,  not  to  undertake  a 
winter  progress  in  the  beginning  of  a  fit  of  the 
gout. 

I  am  nail'd  down  here  by  a  severe  illness  of 
my  poor  Marianne,  who  has  not  been  able  to  en- 
dure the  frights  and  fatigues  that  we  have  pass'd. 
If  I  live  to  see  G.  Britain,  you  will  have  there  a  sin- 
cere 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  es- 
teemed wherever  you  are  known.  Give  me  leave, 
however,  dear  madam,  to  combat  some  of  your  no- 
tions, or  more  properly  speaking,  your  passions. 
Mr.  Steuart  is  in  a  situation  that  opens  the  fairest 
prospect  of  honour  and  advancement.  We  mothers 
are  all  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, 
M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


288  LETTERS  TO 


TO  SIR  JAMES  STEUART. 

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  yourselfe  and  family.  I  do  not 
at  all  despair  of  your  affairs  going  according  to 
your  desire,  tho'  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, 

Rotterdam,  Dec.  12,  1761.  M.  W.  MONTAGU. 

Behold!  a  hard  impenetrable  frost  has  stopped 
my  voiage,  and  I  remain  in  the  disagreeable  state 
of  uncertainty.  I  will  not  trouble  you  with  my 
fruitless  complaints;  I  am  sure  you  have  compas- 
sion for  my  present  situation. 


TO  LADY  FRANCES  STEUART. 

MY  DEAR  MADAM,  Rotterdam,  Dec.  1761. 

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 


SIR   JAMES   AND    LADY   STEUART.  289 

real  desire  to  serve  you  in  the  most  zealous  man- 
ner. 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  dis- 
agreeable that  is.  I  will  not  afflict  your  good  heart 
with  my  uneasinesses.  I  hope  (and  am  determined 
to  hope)  the  best,  tho'  in  contradiction  to  appear- 
ances. In  all  humours  I  am, 

Your  ladyship's  faithful  humble  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 

P.  S.  My  dear  Lady  Fanny,  we  are  both  low- 
spirited  ;  let  us  talk  no  more  of  melancholy  mat- 
ters. 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  STEUART. 
SlR,  Rotterdam,  Dec.  26th,  1761. 

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  im- 
possible 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 

VOL.  III.  U 


290  LETTERS  TO 

of  grace,  which  I  believe  will  be  granted.  I  flatter 
myself  with  the  view  of  seeing  you  in  England, 
and  can  affirm  with  truth  it  is  one  of  the  greatest 
pleasures  I  expect  there.  Whatever  prosperity  my 
family  now  enjoys,  it  will  add  much  to  my  hap- 
piness to  see  my  friends  easy  ;  and  while  you  are 
unfortunate  I  shall  always  think  myselfe  so.  This 
very  dull  weather  operates  on  my  spirits,  tho'  I  use 
my  utmost  efforts  to  support  them :  I  beg  dear 
Lady  Fanny  to  do  the  same ;  a  melancholy  state 
of  mind  should  never  be  indulged,  since  it  often 
remains  even  when  the  cause  of  it  is  removed.  I 
have  here  neither  amusement  nor  conversation,  and 
am  so  infected  by  the  climate,  that  I  verily  believe, 
was  I  to  stay  long,  I  should  take  to  smoking  and 
drinking,  like  the  natives.  I  should  wish  you  the 
compliments  of  the  season,  a  merry  Christmas,  but 
I  know  not  how  to  do  it,  while  you  remain  in  so 
disagreeable  an  uncertainty  ;  yet  if  you  have  the 
company  of  Mr.  Steuart,  his  bloom  of  life  will  in- 
sensibly 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, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


SIR   JAMES   AND   LADY   STEUART.  291 


TO  LADY  FRANCES  STEUART. 

Rotterdam,  Jan.  2nd,  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,  yoti  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  ut- 
most 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  chearful.  Mr.  Hamilton, 
whom  I  mentioned,  has,  I  believe,  got  a  particular 
pardon;  his  case  is  extraordinary,  haviug  no  rela- 
tion 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  in- 
different to  me  if  it  did  not  affect  my  friends ;  my 
remaining  time  in  this  world  is  so  short,  I  have 


292  LETTERS   TO 

few  wishes  to  make  for   myselfe,  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  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  satis- 
faction of,  dear  madam, 

Your  faithful  and  obedient  humble  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 


TO  LADY  FRANCES  STEUART. 

Great  George  Street,  Hanover  Square, 
DEAR  MADAM,  March  5th,  1762. 

I  HAVE  written  several  letters  to  your  ladyship, 
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  rea- 
son to  apprehend  our  secrets  being  discovered. 
I  am  proud  to  make  public  profession  of  being, 

Dear  madam,  ever 
Your  most  faithful  humble  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 

In  writing  to  you,  I  think  I  write  to  your  whole 
family ;  I  hope  they  think  so  too. 


SIR  JAMES   AND    LADY   STEUART.  293 


TO  LADY  FRANCES  STEUART. 

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, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 
My  sincere  best  wishes  to  all  your  ladyship's  family. 

George  Street,  Hanover  Square, 
April  23,  1762. 


TO  LADY  FRANCES  STEUART. 
[Indorsed  «  Lady  Mary's  last  letter  from  London."] 

DEAR  MADAM, 

I  HAVE  been  ill  a  long  time,  and  am  now  so  bad 
I  am  little  capable  of  writing,  but  I  would  not  pass 
in  your  opinion  as  either  stupid  or  ungrateful. 
My  heart  is  always  warm  in  your  service,  and  I 
am  always  told  your  affairs  shall  be  taken  care  of. 
You  may  depend,  dear  madam,  nothing  shall  be 
wanting  on  the  part  of, 

Your  ladyship's  faithful  humble  servant, 

M.  W.  MONTAGU. 

July  2nd,  1762. 


THE 

ENCHIRIDION  OF  EPICTETUS. 


[The  Editor  has  been  induced  to  print  this  Translation  of  the  Enchiri- 
dion of  Epictetus,  by  Lady  Mary  Pierrepont,  as  a  great  literary  curiosity, 
no  less  than  on  account  of  its  intrinsic  merit.  When  she  presented  it  to 
Bishop  Burnet,  for  his  emendations,  she  was  scarcely  twenty  years  old, 
and  at  so  early  an  age  had  merited  a  place  among  the  learned  English 
ladies  of  quality.  Her  pretensions  are  not  invalidated,  even  should  it  be 
thought  that  her  Translation  is  of  the  Latin  version  rather  than  of  the 
Greek  original. — Bishop  Burnet's  corrections  are  printed  in  italics.] 


EPICTETI    ENCHIRIDION. 


CHAP.  1. 


CERTAIN  things  are  in  our  power,  there  are  others  that 
are  not.  Opinion,  appetite,  desire,  aversion,  are  in  our 
power,  and  in  one  word,  whatsoever  we  act  ourselves.  Our 
bodies,  wealth,  fame,  and  command,  are  not  in  our  power, 
and  finally  all  things  which  we  do  not  act. 


CHAP.  II. 

Those  things  which  obey  us,  are  really  free  in  their  own 
nature,  neither  can  any  one  deprive  us  of  them,  nor  prohi- 
bit us  the  use  of  them ;  but  those  things  over  which  we 
have  no  power,  are  subject  to  servitude  and  to  other  impe- 
diments. 

CHAP.  in. 

Therefore  remember,  if  you  think  those  things  to  be  free 
which,  in  their  own  nature,  are  subject  to  power,  and  look 
upon  the  goods  of  others  to  be  your  own,  you  will  be  de- 
prived of  them,  you  will  lament,  be  disordered,  and  accuse 
both  gods  and  men  of  injustice.  But  if  you  only  esteem 
those  things  to  be  your  own  which  are  really  so,  and  those 
to  belong  to  others,  which  are  subject  to  the  power  of 
others,  nobody  will  ever  deprive  you  of  them,  nobody  will 
hinder  you  in  the  use  of  them ;  you  will  exclaim  against 
nobody,  you  will  blame  nobody,  you  will  do  nothing  by 


298  ENCHIRIDION. 

force,  nobody  will  hurt  you,  and  you  will  have  no  enemy. 
Neither  will  you  ever  look  upon  any  thing  as  a  mis- 
fortune. 


CHAP.  IV. 


When  therefore  you  desire  any  thing  very  earnestly,  re- 
member so  to  undertake  it,  that  you  may  be  to  a  good  de- 
gree agitated,  and  that  you  do  utterly  abandon  things  of 
one  kind,  and  omit  other  things.  For  if  you  both  pursue 
these,  and  at  the  same  time  do  very  much  wish  power  or 
riches,  or  the  raising  of  your  family,  perhaps,  in  the  too 
eager  pursuit,  you  will  not  attain  them  through  the  eager- 
ness of  desire,  and  most  certainly  you  will  entirely  lose 
those  things  by  which  only  true  happiness  and  liberty  is 
obtained,* 


CHAP.  v. 


If  any  misfortune  seems  to  have  happened  to  you,  en- 
deavor to  be  able  presently  to  make  this  reflection — this 
seems  to  be  unhappy,  it  may  not  be  so,  to  the  degree 
it  seems :  upon  farther  enquiry,  make  use  of  those  rules 
that  you  have,  especially  this  first  and  greatest,  think 
whether  is  this  thing  subject  to  your  power  or  that  of  an- 
other? If  to  another,  the  answer  follows — it  does  not 
touch  you  at  all. 

CHAP.  VI. 

Desire  always  promises  to  us  the  end  of  our  desire, 
and  aversion  flatters  us ;  we  shall  never  fall  into  what  we 

*  In  order  to  shew  that  Lady  Mary  Pierrepont  did  not  translate  igno- 
rantly  this  dubious  passage,  it  may  be  worthy  observation,  that  the  cor- 
rection made  by  the  Bishop  is  the  translation  of  a  different  reading, 
adopted  by  the  learned  commentator  SimpUcius;— consult  Wolfii  Anno- 
tat.  in  Enchiridion  Epicteti,  in  cap.  4. 


ENCHIRIDION.  299 

hate;  he  that  hearkens  to  these  flatteries,  is  unhappy 
when  he  is  frustrated  of  his  wishes,  or  miserable,  if  what 
he  is  averse  to  happens  to  him.  But  if  you  are  only 
averse  to  those  things  in  your  power  to  hinder,  nothing 
will  ever  happen  cross  to  you ;  but  if  you  place  your  aver- 
sion on  sickness,  death,  or  poverty,  it  is  in  the  power  of 
fortune  to  make  you  wretched. 

CHAP.  VII. 

Remove  therefore  from  yourself  all  aversion  to  things 
that  are  not  placed  in  your  own  power,  and  transfer  it 
to  those  things  which  in  their  nature  are  subject  to  your 
government.  But  especially  subdue  your  wishes,  for  if 
you  desire  things  out  of  your  power,  of  course,  you  will 
not  be  disappointed,  for  those  things  that  obey  our  wills, 
although  they  may  be  justly  sought,  you  have  not  yet 
learned  after  what  manner  they  may  reasonably  be  sought. 
But  even  pursue  them  with  such  a  temper  of  mind  that 
you  may  obtain,  or  quit  them  easily,  and  without  disturb- 
ance or  trouble. 

CHAP.   VIII. 

All  things  which  are  pursued  serve  either  to  use,  or 
pleasure.  Remember  to  consider  of  what  nature  they  are, 
beginning  from  the  very  least  of  thy  wishes.  If  you  love 
a  vase,  love  it  as  a  vase,  and  if  it  is  broke,  do  not  disturb 
yourself;  if  a  little  son  or  a  wife,  love  it  as  a  human 
thing,  for  then  if  it  dies  you  will  not  be  troubled. 

CHAP.  IX. 

Whatever  you  are  going  to  undertake,  think  within 
yourself  of  what  kind  that  thing  is.  If  you  go  to  wash, 
figure  to  yourself  what  they  do  in  the  bath.  Some  are 


300  ENCHIRIDION. 

dashed  with  the  water,  some  are  driven  from  their  places, 
some  are  reproached,  and  others  are  robbed.  So  you  will 
not  safely  enter  upon  the  business,  if  you  say  to  yourself 
I  shall  presently  wash,  and  I  shall  keep  my  mind  in  its 
ordinary  temper.  Observe  the  same  rule  in  every  under- 
taking, for  so  whatever  hinderance  you  may  meet  with  in 
your  washing,  it  will  presently  come  into  your  thoughts. 
This  is  not  exactly  what  I  would  have  it,  but  I  will  go  on 
in  my  business  in  the  manner  as  agreeable  to  the  nature  of 
the  thing  and  my  own  design.  But  if  I  suffer  impatiently 
what  is  done,  I  hinder  myself  in  the  execution  of  what  I 
intend. 

CHAP.  x. 

It  is  not  real  things  that  disturb  the  minds  of  men,  but 
the  opinions  that  they  have  of  things.  For  instance, 
death  is  no  evil  in  itself,  or  so  it  would  have  seemed  to  So- 
crates, but  it  is  the  opinion  we  conceive  of  death,  renders 
it  an  evil.  When  therefore  we  are  disappointed  or  dis- 
turbed, let  us  accuse  nobody  but  ourselves ;  that  is,  our 
own  opinions.  A  fool  condemns  others  for  his  own  misfor- 
tunes ;  he  that  is  half-witted  accuses  only  himself,  but  the 
wise  man  neither  complains  of  himself  nor  others. 

CHAP.  XI. 

Be  not  pleased  with  any  outward  good  that  you  enjoy. 
If  a  horse  should  say  boasting,  I  am  handsome,  it  would 
be  sufferable ;  but  for  you  to  boast  you  have  a  handsome 
horse,  know  you  boast  of  your  horse's  good  qualities. 
What  merit,  therefore,  does  that  give  to  you  ?  Your  merit 
is  only  in  the  use  of  those  goods  fortune  has  given  you  ; 
only  then  boast  yourself  when  you  use  what  you  have  in 
the  best  and  properest  manner,  for  then  you  boast  your- 
self of  an  excellency  that  is  properly  and  really  your 
own. 


ENCHIRIDION.  301 


CHAP.    XII. 

As  when  a  ship  is  at  anchor,  it  is  excusable  in  a  passen- 
ger to  amuse  himself  with  gathering  shells  and  herbs  by 
the  sea-side ;  yet  he  ought  always  to  have  his  mind  fixed 
upon  the  ship,  and  be  careful  to  be  ready  when  the  master 
of  the  ship  calls  to  him  to  proceed  in  his  voyage,  that  he 
may  presently  leave  you  all,  and  not  be  hurried  unwilling- 
ly back  to  his  vessel  as  a  sheep  bound  and  dragged  to  the 
slaughter  :  So  it  is  in  life,  if  instead  of  a  shell  or  an  herb, 
a  little  wife  or  a  son  be  given  you  for  amusement,  they 
must  not  stop  you  ;  and  if  the  master  calls,  run  back  to 
the  ship,  leaving  all  them  things,  neitner  look  behind 
you.  If  you  are  an  old  man,  beware  ever  to  be  long  from 
the  ship,  lest  when  you  are  called  you  should  not  be 
ready. 

CHAP.    XIII. 

Do  not  desire  that  every  thing  should  happen  after 
your  fancy,  but  if  you  are  wise,  make  all  things  that  hap- 
pen agreeable  to  your  fancy.  Sickness  is  a  disturbance  to 
the  body,  but  not  the  same  to  the  mind,  except  you  will 
have  it  so  yourself.  Lameness  is  a  trouble  to  the  feet, 
but  none  to  the  soul.  The  same  maxim  is  just  in  all  cir- 
cumstances, if  you  consider  whatever  happens,  nothing 
can  happen  that  truly  touches  the  mind. 

CHAP.    XIV. 

Whatsoever  happens,  presently  consult  with  your  own 
thoughts  how  far  it  lies  in  your  own  power  to  make  it 
useful  to  you.  If  your  desires  are  excited  by  any  beautiful 
man  or  woman,  the  tempering  of  those  desires  are  imme- 
diately in  your  power.  If  bodily  labour  is  imposed  on 


are 


302  ENCHIRIDION. 

you,  a  quiet  sufferance  may  lessen  the  pain ;  if  you  are  in- 
nocently reproached,  patience  comes  in  to  your  rescue.  If 
you  accustom  yourself  to  this  turn  of  thought,  you 
beyond  the  power  of  all  false  conceptions. 

CHAP.  xv. 

Never  say  you  have  lost  any  thing,  but  restored  it  to 
the  giver.  Is  your  son  dead?  he  is  restored.  Is  your 
farm  taken  from  you  ?  is  not  that  also  restored?  But  he 
is  a  villain  that  has  defrauded  you  of  it.  What  is  that  to 
thee,  whom  it  is  the  Great  Bestower  has  employed  to  take 
it  back  from  thee  ?  As  long  as  he  permits  thee  the  use  of 
them,  look  upon  them  not  as  thy  oivn,  but  as  the  traveller 
does-toe  conveniences  he  makes  use  of  in  an  inn. 

CHAP.    XVI. 

If  you  study  your  own  happiness,  leave  off  all  these 
kind  of  thoughts :  If  I  neglect  my  estate,  I  shall  have 
nothing  to  live  on.  If  I  do  not  chastise  my  servant,  I 
shall  be  ill-served.  It  is  better  to  perish  with  hunger, 
free  from  care  and  trouble,  than  to  live  in  universal  plenty 
with  a  troubled  mind  ;  and  it  is  better  your  servant  be 
bad,  than  you  unhappy,  in  too  solicitous  a  watchfulness 
over  him. 

CHAP.  xvn. 

Begin  to  govern  your  passions  in  the  smallest  things. 
Is  your  oil  spilt  ?  Is  your  wine  stolen  from  you  ?  Sub- 
mit with  patience — say  to  yourself,  at  this  rate  do  I  pur- 
chase tranquillity  and  constancy  of  mind.  Why,  there  is 
nothing  acquired  without  labour.  When  you  call  your 
servant,  imagine  that  he  may  be  out  of  the  way,  or  em- 
ployed in  something  you  will  all  have  him  do.  But  do 


ENCHIRIDION.  303 

not  make  him  so  great  as  to  have  it  in  his  power  to  give 
you  disturbance. 


CHAP.    XVIII. 


If  you  would  be  really  wise,  neglect  outward  and  su- 
perfluous things,  though  you  may  be  looked  upon  as  mad, 
or  a  fool  for  so  doing.  Be  not  over-forward  to  appear 
learned,  and  if  you  should  be  thought  so  by  others,  dis- 
trust yourself,  and  the  praises  that  are  given  you.  Know 
it  is  no  easy  thing  in  your  situation  in  the  world,  to  pre- 
serve your  mind  in  the  temper  it  ought  to  be,  and  yet  to 
pursue  external  goods  or  pleasures,  it  is  impossible  to  be 
done,  but  that  you  must  in  some  degree  neglect  either  the 
one  or  the  other. 


CHAP.    XIX. 

If  you  endeavour  that  your  children,  wife,  and  friends, 
should  live  and  prosper  for  ever,  you  become  ridiculous, 
for  they  are  not  in  your  power,  and  you  will  have  those 
things  to  be  under  your  command,  which  are  subject  to 
fortune;  in  the  same  manner  if  you  wish  your  servant 
faultless,  you  are  a  fool,  you  wish  against  the  nature  of 
the  thing,  and  what  can  never  be.  But  if  you  will  not  be 
disappointed,  desire  only  what  is  within  your  power.  En- 
deavour therefore  what  is  in  your  power  to  perform. 

CHAP.  xx. 

He  is  the  master  of  a  man  who  has  it  in  his  power  to 
preserve,  or  take  from  him  those  things  that  he  desires  or 
is  averse  to.  Whosoever,  therefor^,  desires  to  be  perfectly 
free,  must  never  wish  for  nor  dislike  any  of  those  things 
under  the  command  of  another,  otherwise  he  must  be  a 
slave. 


304  ENCHIRIDION. 


CHAP.    XXI. 


Remember  to  behave  yourself  in  life  as  you  would  at 
a  public  entertainment.  If  a  dish  is  proffered  to  you, 
take  your  share  modestly.  If  it  passes  by  you,  do  not  stop 
it.  If  it  does  not  presently  come  to  your  turn,  fall  into  no 
impatience;  but  wait  till  it  is  brought  to  you.  In  this 
manner  wish  not  over-earnestly  for  whatever  moves  your 
desire:  whether  children,  a  wife,  or  power,  or  riches,  for 
so  thou  shalt  at  last  be  worthy  to  feast  with  the  gods.  But 
when  these  pleasures  are  offered,  if  you  do  not  only  refuse 
but  despise  them,  you  will  not  be  only  worthy  of  partaking 
the  joys  of  the  gods,  but  sharing  their  power,  for  so  did 
Diogenes,  Heraclitus,  and  others,  and  they  merited  to  be 
called  divine  persons,  as  they  were  indeed. 


CHAP.    XXII. 


When  you  see  any  one  weeping,  and  in  grief,  whether 
for  parting  with  his  son,  or  the  loss  of  his  goods,  be  not 
so  far  moved  by  this  object  as  to  esteem  those  things  that 
have  happened  to  him  real  evils,  but  consider  with  thyself, 
and  it  will  presently  come  into  thy  mind,  it  is  not  the 
thing  itself  afflicts  this  man,  but  the  opinion  he  has  con- 
ceived of  it, /or  another  person  would  not  be  so  afflicted  for 
it.  However,  endeavour  to  alleviate  his  troubles  by  your 
discourse,  and  if  the  thing  deserves  it  groan  with  him; 
but  take  care  that  you  be  not  inwardly  grieved. 

CHAP.    XXIII. 

Remember  so  to  act  your  part  upon  this  stage,  as  to  be 
approved  by  the  master,  whether  it  be  a  short  or  a  long 
one,  that  he  has  given  you  to  perform.  If  he  will  have 
you  to  represent  a  beggar,  endeavour  to  act  that  well ;  and 


ENCHIRIDION.  305 

so,  a  lame  man,  a  prince,  or  a  plebian.  It  is  your  part 
to  perform  well  what  you  represent ;  it  is  his  to  choose 
what  that  shall  be. 

CHAP.  xxiv. 

If  you  hear  an  inauspicious  crow  croak,  be  not  moved 
at  the  omen  ;  but  say  within  yourself,  the  evil  this  threatens 
cannot  hurt  my  mind,  it  must  either  fall  upon  my  own 
body,  my  estate,  my  reputation,  my  children,  or  my  wife  ; 
this  may  however  portend  good  to  me  if  I  please,  for  what- 
soever shall  happen  to  any  of  these,  it  is  in  my  power  to 
draw  an  advantage  from  it. 

CHAP.  xxv. 

You  will  be  invincible  if  you  engage  in  no  strife,  where 
you  are  not  sure  that  it  is  in  your  power  to  conquer. 

CHAP.  xxvi. 

If  you  see  any  man  affected  with  his  great  titles,  or  an 
ample  estate,  or  any  other  prosperity,  call  not  him  happy, 
upon  the  opinion  that  happiness  consists  in  outward  things. 
If  thou  place  thy  felicity  in  these  things,  subject  only  to 
yourself,  there  will  be  no  room  in  thy  breast  for  either 
emulation  or  envy.  You  will  not  desire  to  be  a  senator, 
a  consul,  or  an  emperor,  but  a  FREE  MAN.  To  this  free- 
dom there  is  but  one  way,  the  contempt  of  all  things  that 
are  not  in  our  own  power. 

CHAP.  xxvn. 

Remember  that  it  is  not  he  who  slanders  or  beats  you, 
who  is  guilty  of  the  contumely,  but  the  opinion  you  con- 
ceive of  it  as  a  thing  truely  reproachful.  When  any  one 
raises  your  anger,  know  it  is  only  the  opinion  you  have 

VOL.  in.  x 


306  ENCHIRIDION. 

of  the  affront  that  provokes  you ;  therefore,  in  the  first 
place,  take  care  that  outward  appearances  do  not  impose 
upon  you,  and  force  your  assent  to  them ;  if  you  can  get 
time  and  delay,  you  will  more  easily  have  the  power  over 
yourself. 

CHAP.    XXVIII. 

Place  daily  before  your  eyes,  death,  exile,  and  all 
things  that  are  accounted  evils,  but  of  all  chiefly  death. 
So  you  will  never  have  mean  thoughts,  or  an  eager  desire 
for  any  thing. 

CHAP.  xxix. 

When  you  begin  to  undertake  the  study  of  wisdom, 
imagine  that  you  shall  be  ridiculed,  that  many  will  laugh 
at  you,  that  they  will  say,  Whence  proceeds  this  new 
fancy  to  be  a  philosopher  ?  Whence  this  piece  of  super- 
cilious pride?  But  let  not  your  behaviour  be  haughty, 
but  continue  in  that  practice  which  seems  the  best,  as  if 
God  had  placed  you  in  the  station  you  are  in;  and  be 
assured  if  you  continue  to  preserve  that  character,  even 
those  that  ridiculed  you  at  first  will  be  your  admirers ; 
but  if  their  censures  make  you  sink  under  them,  you 
will  be  a  double  jest  to  them. 

CHAP.  xxx. 

If  it  happens  that  you  must  shew  yourself  in  the  world, 
or  to  approve  yourself  to  another,  do  not  think  that  you 
are  to  depart  from  your  own  character.  Let  it  be  glory 
enough  for  you,  that  you  are  a  philosopher;  appear  so 
to  yourself,  and  be  not  solicitous  to  be  thought  so  by  any 
other. 


ENCHIRIDION.  307 


CHAP.   XXXI. 

Never  let  these  considerations  give  you  disquiet,  that 
you  live  without  any  title,  and  that  you  have  no  great 
post  in  the  world :  if  to  want  honour  be  an  evil,  there  is 
no  greater  evil  than  vice ;    and  it  is  better  to  suffer  an  evil 
from  fortune  than  your  own  faults.     Does  it  belong   to 
your  station  to  gain  an  empire?     Or  to  be  called  to  a 
feast?     Not  at  all.     Where  then  is  the  shame  of  being 
without  these  things  ?     Why  should  you  be  said  to  be  in 
no  esteem,  whereas  you  ought  to  distinguish  yourself  only 
by  those  things  that  are  in  your  own  power,  and  these  you 
may  arrive  at  in  the  highest  degree.     But  you  can  be  no 
way   serviceable  to   your  friends.     Which   way  do  you 
take  this  ?     You  have  no  money  to  give  them  ;  you  can- 
not make  them  citizens  of  Rome.    These  are  things  out 
of  your  power,  and  are  gifts  of  fortune.     But  how  can 
one  help  another  to  what  he  wants  himself?     Obtain  these 
goods,  therefore,  (say  some)  that  you  may  bestow  them 
on  us.     If  I  am  able  to  obtain  these  advantages,  with  the 
preservation  of  my  modesty,  my  faith,  and  the  greatness  of 
my  soul,  and  you  can  shew  me  the  way  to  it,  I  will  en- 
deavour to  obtain  them ;   but  if  you  require  me  to  lose 
my  own  proper  goods,  that  I  may  obtain  for  you  things 
that  are  not  simply  good  in  themselves,  see  of  how  unjust 
and  rash  an  action  you  are  guilty !     Which  would  you 
rather  wish  for,  money,  or  a  modest  and  honest  friend? 
Aid  me  in  this  —  do  not  ask  me  to  do  these  things  by 
which  I  shall  lose  these  good  characters;  but  think,  Can 
you  make  me  of  no  use  to  my  country  ?     They  answer 
me,  of  what  use  I  beseech  you?    You  can  build  neither 
porticoes   nor  baths,  for  the  use  of  your  country.     But 
what  of  that  ?     The  blacksmith  makes  no  shoes,  nor  the 

x2 


308  ENCHIRIDION. 

taylor  arms ;  it  is  enough  for  every  one  to  do  the  duty  of 
his  station.  A  man  that  gives  his  country  a  truly  modest 
and  honest  citizen,  is  not  useless.  But  what  place  have  I 
(perhaps  you  will  say)  in  the  city  ?  Whatever  post  you 
are  able  to  maintain  without  injuring  your  truth  or  mo- 
desty;  but  if  you  lay  aside  these  on  the  design  of  serving 
your  country,  ofivhat  real  use  can  you  be  to  it  when  you 
are  become  a  shameless  and  perfidious  person  ? 


CHAP.    XXXII. 


Is  any  one  preferred  to  you  at  an  entertainment,  in  sa- 
lutations, or  in  councils,  and  these  are  good  things   that 
happen  to  him,  you  ought  to  congratulate  him  ;  but  if 
they  are  on  the  contrary  evil,  there  is  no  occasion  of  being 
sorry   that   they  did   not   happen   to  you.     Always    re- 
member, that  when  you  do  not  things  by  which,  that  which 
is  not  in  your  own  power  is  to  be  acquired,  you  ought  not  to 
look  for  them  ;  you  that  do  not  make  your  court  to  a  man, 
nor  flatter  him,  ought  not  to  expect  to  be  used  at  the  same 
rate  with  one  who  makes  his  court  constantly,  and  is  ever 
flattering  him.     For  every  merchandize  there  is  a  price  to 
be  given.     Have  you  a  mind  to  buy  herbs,  lay  down  your 
halfpenny  ;for  without  laying  down  your  money,  you  will 
not  have  them :  do  not  think  you  are  worse  used  than  he 
who  had  them  given ;  he  paid  the  price  for  them  which  you 
did  not ;  he   has   the  herbs,  and  you  have  not  paid  for 
them.     You  are  not  invited  to  an  entertainment,  it  is  be- 
cause you  have  not  bought  the  invitation.,  which  he  who 
makes  it,  sells  to  those  who  flatter  him,  and  are  obsequious 
to  him.     Give  therefore  the  price  it  is  set  at,  if  it  is  your 
interest  to  obtain  the  thing.     If  you  will  not  pay  the  price, 
an cT  yet  receive  the  benefit,  you  are  covetous,  and  are  as  a 
man  without  sense.     Instead  of  a  good  supper,  then  I  have 


ENCHIRIDION.  309 

nothing.  Yes;  you  have  the  pleasure  of  knowing  you 
have  not  commended  the  man  you  disliked,  nor  endured 
his  insolent  behaviour. 


CHAP.    XXXIII. 


We  learn  the  nature  of  things  by  what  is  most  common, 
and  happens  equally  to  all  the  world.  If  a  neighbour's 
boy  breaks  an  earthen  cup,  or  any  such  thing,  you  will- 
presently  think  this  is  an  usual  accident ;  you  ought  to 
think  the  same  whenever  that  accident  happens  to  your- 
self, as  you  did  when  it  happened  to  your  neighbour.  Look 
upon  greater  misfortunes  with  the  same  measure.  If  the 
son,  or  the  wife  of  another  dies,  every  body  is  ready  to  cry 
out,  it  is  the  common  fate  of  mortals;  but  if  their  own 
dies,  they  presently  exclaim,  Alas  for  me !  Wretch  that  I 
am!  People  ought  to  remember,  on  such  occasions,  how 
they  were  affected  when  they  heard  of  the  like  accidents, 
that  happened  to  their  neighbours. 


CHAP,  xxxiv. 

As  land-marks  are  not  placed  to  lead  travellers  out  of 
their  way,  so  neither  has  nature  put  evils  into  the  world 
to  lead  them  to  temptations:  and  it  is  every  man's  own 
fault  that  he  makes  them  so.  You  would  disdain  to  have 
it  in  the  power  of  every  one  you  meet,  to  beat  or  abuse 
your  body ;  do  not  you  blush  then,  to  suffer  all  men  to 
disturb  the  quiet  of  your  mind,  and  make  you  grieved  or 
angry,  whenever  they  please  to  speak  ill  of  you?  Con- 
sider both  the  beginnings  and  the  consequences  of  every 
thing  before  you  undertake  it,  otherwise  you  will  begin 
many  things  cheerfully,  without  having  weighed  what  is 
to  follow,  that  in  the  end,  you  will  be  ashamed  of. 


310  ENCHIRIDION. 


CHAP.   XXXV. 

Would  you  overcome  at  the  Olimpic  games  ?  With  all 
my  heart,  the  conquest  is  great  and  honorable.  Consider 
what  you  must  endure  before  them,  and  what  is  to  come 
after,  and  with  these  thoughts  undertake  them.  You  must 
enter  into  a  regular  way  of  life ;  you  must  eat  what  is 
disagreeable,  and  abstain  from  delicacies ;  you  must  inure 
yourself  to  hard  exercise,  and  excessive  heats  and  colds ; 
you  must  drink  no  cooling  drinks,  nor  wine,  as  at  other 
times;  and  finally,  observe  the  orders  of  your  fencing- 
master,  as  if  he  was  a  doctor ;  at  length,  you  must  enter 
the  combat,  sometimes  your  hands  will  be  crushed,  per- 
haps, your  feet  sprained,  you  may  swallow  great  quantities 
of  dust  down  your  throat,  and  be  beaten  and  overcome  after 
all  this.  Consider  all  this,  and  if  it  yet  pleases  you,  list 
yourself  among  the  champions.  If  you  act  in  another 
manner,  you  act  as  boys.  Now  they  play  the  part  of 
champions,  sometimes  of  musicians,  and  sometimes  of 
gladiators ;  they  sing  to  the  pipe,  and  presently  after  re- 
present  tragedies.  With  the  same  childish  inconstancy, 
now  you  will  be  a  fighter,  afterwards  an  orator,  by  and 
by  a  gladiator,  and  at  length  a  philosopher,  like  a  monkey 
that  imitates  every  thing  he  sees  done.  You  will  first  love 
one  thing  and  then  another,  and  nothing  as  you  ought  to 
do,  for  you  do  not  enter  upon  a  thing  after  you  have  con- 
sidered it  well,  but  have  been  guilty  of  rashly  following  the 
levity  of  your  own  appetites.  Some,  upon  seeing  a  philo- 
sopher, or  hearing  one  say  how  well  did  Socrates  express 
this,  who  can  reason  so  well  as  he  did?  they  presently  will 
also  become  philosophers. 


ENCHIRIDION.  311 


CHAP.    XXXVI. 

Whatever  you  undertake,  consider  first  the  nature  of 
the  thing,  and  then  your  own  nature ;  and  whether  you 
are  able  to  perform  it.  Would  you  be  conqueror  in  all 
the  five  games,  a  quinquertian,*  or  a  wrestler  ?  Look  upon 
the  strength  of  your  limbs,  and  the  make  of  your  body. 
Nature  has  fitted  people  for  different  employments.  Do 
you  think  you  shall  be  able  so  to  eat  and  drink,  to  abstain, 
and  endure  as  the  other  champions  do  ?  You  must  labour, 
break  your  rest,  and  abstain  from  the  company  of  your 
family ;  so  you  must  resolve  to  be  despised ;  to  be  less  than 
your  companions  in  whatever  business  you  undertake,  whe- 
ther in  honor  and  authority,  in  a  suit  of  law,  or  in  any 
other  affair.  Consider  these  things,  and  always  weigh 
with  yourself,  whether  what  you  are  going  about,  will 
balance  liberty,  constancy,  and  tranquillity  of  mind ;  if 
otherwise,  see  that  you  be  not  as  children  are  at  play,  some- 
times a  philosopher,  sometimes  a  tale  gatherer,  an  orator, 
and  at  last,  one  of  the  Emperor's  officers.  These  things 
do  not  agree  together ;  you  must  maintain  one  part,  and  be 
either  a  good  or  a  bad  man ;  either  apply  yourself  to  im- 
prove your  reason  and  mind,  or  to  pursue  external  advan- 
tages. It  is  your  part  to  choose,  whether  you  had  rather 
be  internally,  or  externally  employed,  that  is,  maintain  the 
character  of  a  philosopher,  or  of  a  private  person. 

CHAP.    XXXVII. 

The  measures  we  ought  to  keep  throughout  our  lives,  are 
according  to  the  duties  required  of  us  in  the  station  we  are 

*  A  quinquertian,  the  term  for  a  conqueror  in  all  the  five  games  or 
exercises  of  the  Pentathla  (irevraffha),  running,  wrestling,  leaping,  boxing, 
and  throwing  the  discus,  or  quoit. 


ENCHIRIDION. 


placed.  You  have  a  father,  it  is  enjoined  you,  to  take 
care  of  him,  to  yield  to  him  in  all  things  ;  if  he  chide  or 
beat  you,  it  must  be  endured.  But  he  is  an  ill  father  — 
Nature  has  not  commanded  to  obey  a  good  father,  but  a 
father.  My  brother  is  an  enemy  to  me,  you  ought  to 
preserve  your  duty  to  him,  neither  consider  what  he  does, 
but  what  you  are,  by  nature,  obliged  to  do.  You  cannot 
be  hurt  by  another,  except  you  are  yourself  consenting  to 
it.  You  are  then  only  injured,  when  you  fancy  yourself 
to  be  injured.  So  shall  you  be  able  to  bear  the  office  of  a 
neighbour,  a  citizen,  or  a  commander,  if  you  always  re- 
gard, what  you  ought  to  do  in  every  station  of  life. 


CHAP.    XXXVIII. 

This  ought  to  be  the  first  principle  of  your  religion,  to 
think  rightly  of  the  immortal  gods;  to  believe  their  being, 
with  a  firm  faith,  and  that  they  justly  and  well  dispose  of 
the  universe,  and  all  that  is  in  it.  Secondly,  to  obey  them, 
and  in  every  thing  to  submit  without  murmuring  to  their 
administration,  and  to  follow  willingly  the  orders  that  pro- 
ceed from  a  wise  and  perfect  Being ;  so  will  you  never 
repine,  nor  complain  that  you  are  neglected  by  them; 
otherwise  you  will  accuse  the  gods,  or  their  decrees,  for 
those  errors  which  proceed  from  your  own  wrong  judg- 
ment, and  endeavor  at  other  times,  by  your  own  strength 
or  management  to  attain  to  those  blessings  which  they  only 
dispose  of.  If  you  suppose  the  gods  authors  of  all  that 
happens  in  the  world,  good  or  evil,  if  you  are  disappointed 
in  your  wishes,  or  fall  into  misfortunes,  it  is  impossible 
but  you  must  accuse  them,  as  authors  of  those  things. 
For  it  is  woven  in  the  nature  of  all  creatures,  to  hate  and 
complain  of  whatever  seems  to  them  to  be  the  cause  of 
their  unhappiness ;  and  on  the  other  hand,  to  serve  and 


ENCHIRIDION.  313 

love  whatever  is  useful  to  their  prosperity.  It  is  unrea- 
sonable to  be  pleased  with  what  hurts  us,  and  nobody 
ever  can  be  satisfied  to  be  a  loser ;  from  hence  it  is,  the 
son  reproaches  his  father,  when  he  does  not  bestow  on  him 
what  he  thinks  good ;  and  this  kindled  the  war  between 
Eteocles  and  Polynices,  that  they  both  esteemed  empire 
to  be  a  good  ;  from  this  reason,  the  husbandman,  the  sailor, 
the  merchant,  or  those  that  lose  a  wife  or  children,  even 
curse  the  gods,  as  authors  of  their  losses.  But  when 
they  are  happy,  they  are  then  pious.  Let  your  piety  be 
more  stedfast ;  endeavor  to  remove  from  yourself,  all  de- 
sires and  aversions  that  are  not  becoming,  and  use  the 
same  endeavors  to  preserve  an  even  piety.  Offer  liba- 
tions, sacrifices,  and  first-fruits,  after  the  custom  of  your 
country.  Ghastly  and  not  luxuriously,  neither  idly,  nor 
covetously,  nor  yet  liberally  beyond  the  bounds  of  your 
estate 

CHAP,  xxxix. 

When  you  go  to  a  prophet,  or  oracle,  remember  that 
you  are  ignorant  of  the  event  of  the  business,  and  for  that 
reason  you  go  to  learn  it.  Enquire  of  him  with  that  tem- 
per which  belongs  to  a  philosopher ;  for  if  it  is  of  the 
number  of  those  things  which  is  not  in  our  power,  it 
ought  not  to  affect  you  as  a  real  good  or  evil.  Carry 
therefore  not  with  you  a  violent  desire  or  fear,  otherwise 
you  will  approach  him  trembling;  it  is  the  wisest  and 
best,  never  to  be  very  much  interested  concerning  any 
event.  Let  it  not  touch  your  mind  which  way  soever  it 
happens ;  it  is  your  duty  to  make  a  good  use  of  every  ac- 
cident, and  suffer  it  not  to  be  an  injury  to  yourself  or  any 
other.  When  you  consult  the  gods,  do  it  with  a  steady 
mind,  and  if  there  be  any  counsel  given  you,  remember 
whom  you  have  consulted,  and  whose  authority  you  slight, 


314  ENCHIRIDION. 

except  you  obey  it.  So  receive  the  oracle,  after  the  ex- 
ample of  Socrates,  as  concerning  things,  to  put  off  all  con- 
sideration to  the  event,  since  neither  reason,  nor  art,  can 
help  them  to  understand  the  meaning  of  the  gods.  When 
therefore  your  country,  or  your  friend,  stand  in  need  of 
your  defence,  do  not  consult  the  priest  whether  you  shall 
defend  them.  If  he  tell  you  the  victims  predict  the  un- 
8  er  taking  shall  be  unhappy,  that  unhappiness  must  either 
signify  death,  loss  of  your  limbs,  or  exile.  Yet  the  same 
reason  remains  for  your  undertaking.  Danger  ought  to 
be  shared  with  your  country  or  friends.  Go  to  that  Great 
Prophet,  who  would  not  suffer  him  in  the  temple  who 
refused  to  succor  his  friend  in  hazard  of  his  life. 

CHAP.  XL. 

Prescribe  to  yourself  a  form  of  laws,  and  observe  them, 
both  in  your  own  mind,  and  in  your  intercourse  with  the 
world. 

CHAP.  XLI. 

Generally,  silence  is  the  best ;  but  if  you  must  speak, 
speak  in  few  words  ;  there  are  times  when  we  ought  to  talk, 
but  then,  not  to  talk  every  thing.  Avoid  speaking  of  the 
gladiators,  the  Circensian  games,  the  prize-fighters,  and 
all  common  and  idle  subjects,  and  chiefly  take  care  how 
you  praise  men,  or  make  comparisons  between  them. 

CHAP.  XLII. 

In  your  own  family,  or  to  your  friends,  endeavor  to 
make  them  wiser  or  better  by  your  discourses ;  but  among 
strangers,  be  silent. 

CHAP.  XLIII. 

Do  not  laugh  much,  nor  from  many  causes,  nor  ex- 
travagantly. 


ENCHIRIDION.  315 

CHAP.  XLIV. 

Swear  not  at  all,  if  you  can  wholly  avoid  it ;  if  not,  how- 
ever, avoid  it  as  much  as  you  are  able. 

CHAP.  XLV. 

Avoid  popular  and  great  entertainments.  But  if  you 
are  called  to  one,  let  your  meditations  not  be  altered  or 
relaxed,  but  rather  excited,  least  you  fall  into  a  common 
practice  of  frequenting  those  assemblies.  Know  that  if 
your  companion  be  dissolute,  that  corruption  will  also 
reach  you  at  length,  though  your  mind  was  altogether  pure 
and  honest  before. 

CHAP.  XLVI. 

Provide  every  thing  necessary  for  the  body  as  far  as  it 
is  necessary  for  the  mind,  as  meat,  drink,  cloaths,  house 
and  servants.  Put  away  all  things  that  belong  to  osten- 
tation, or  delicacy. 

CHAP.  XLVII. 

Preserve  yourself  from  all  pollutions,  without  a  pride  in 
so  doing,  or  a  censoriousness  of  others;  suffer  them  to 
follow  their  inclinations,  without  blame  or  boasting  of  your 
abstinence. 

CHAP.  XLVIII. 

If  any  body  tells  you,  such  a  one  has  spoken  ill  of  you, 
do  not  refute  them  in  that  particular;  but  answer,  had 
he  known  all  my  vices,  he  had  not  spoken  only  of  that  one. 

CHAP.  XLIX. 

It  is  not  necessary,  commonly  to  frequent  the  theatre, 
but  if  any  occasion  calls  you  there,  let  it  only  appear  to 
yourself,  if  your  thoughts  are  otherwise  employed,  and 
seem  satisfied  with  the  diversions  there.  Among  the  prize- 
fighters, wish  him  conqueror,  who  overcomes ;  so  you  shall 


316  ENCHIRIDION. 

cause  no  disturbance.  Do  not  you  distinguish  yourself 
by  shouting  or  hissing;  after  it  is  over,  make  no  disputes 
concerning  what  is  done,  which  are  of  no  use  to  render  you 
wiser  or  better ;  if  you  act  in  another  manner,  your  mind 
will  seem  affected  by  outward  shows. 

CHAP.  L. 

Be  not  easily  persuaded  to  go  to  public  orations ;  but  if 
you  do  go,  preserve  your  gravity,  and  an  equal  temper  of 
mind,  and  at  the  same  time,  take  care  that  you  are  not 
troublesome  to  any  other. 

CHAP.  LI. 

When  you  have  any  dealings  with  men,  especially  the 
nobility,  propose  to  yourself  the  same  manner  of  beha- 
viour which  Socrates  or  Zeno  would  in  the  like  case.  Let 
outward  show  no  way  affect  you,  and  then  you  will  not 
want  clearness  of  reason,  to  act  rightly  the  business  you 
have  undertaken. 

CHAP.  LII. 

When  you  go  to  visit  any  great  man,  imagine  with 
yourself,  that,  perhaps,  he  will  be  gone  abroad,  perhaps 
he  will  not  be  to  be  seen,  it  may  be  the  doors  may  be  shut 
against,  or  he  neglect  you,  when  he  sees  you.  So  that  if 
any  of  these  things  happen,  you  will  endure  them  patient- 
ly, and  not  go  away  exclaiming,  or  railing ;  for  that  is 
like  a  plebian,  to  cry  out  against  external  things. 

CHAP.  LIII. 

In  familiar  conversation  with  your  intimate  friends, 
have  a  care  of  entertaining  them  with  long  recitations  of 
your  own  past  dangers,  or  rogueries  of  your  youth.  For 
it  should  be  no  pleasure  to  you,  to  remember  your  ill 
actions,  nor  can  it  be  agreeable  to  others,  to  listen  to  what 
has  happened  to  you. 


ENCHIRIDION.  317 


CHAP.  LIV. 

Beware  of  making  the  company  merry  ;  this  silly  incli- 
nation the  most  easily  makes  us  fall  into  the  manners  of 
the  common  people,  and  will  have  the  force  of  making  the 
respect  lessen,  which  is  due  to  you,  from  your  acquaint- 
ance. 

CHAP.  LV. 

It  is  dangerous  to  fall  into  impure  conversation ;  when 
any  thing  of  the  kind  is  said  before  you,  if  the  place  and 
person  permits,  reprove  him  that  spoke;  if  that  is  not 
convenient,  by  your  silence  and  your  blushes  shew,  at 
least,  that  you  are  displeased. 

CHAP.  LVI. 

If  the  image  of  any  pleasure  strikes  upon  your  mind, 
moderate  your  desires,  and  suffer  them  not  to  hurry  you 
away,  but,  examine  the  thing,  and  allow  yourself  time  for 
consideration.  Remember  every  time  when  you  enjoyed 
your  wishes,  and  how  you  have  afterwards  found  reason 
of  grief,  by  those  very  pleasures,  and  you  will  chide  your 
hasty  desires,  and  compare  this  wish  with  those  that  have 
gone  before  it.  If  you  deny  yourself,  by  abstinence,  you 
will  one  day  rejoice  at  the  conquest,  and  praise  yourself, 
within  yourself.  When  therefore  at  any  time  pleasure 
shews  itself  to  you,  have  a  care  of  being  vanquished  by  its 
blandishments,  sweetnesses,  and  its  enchantments,  but  op- 
pose to  it,  the  joy  you  will  receive  from  the  consciousness 
of  a  victory  over  your  passions. 

.f 

CHAP.  LVII. 

When  you  have  resolved  upon  any  undertaking,  do  not 
be  ashamed  to  be  seen  doing  it,  although  the  world  should 


818  ENCHIRIDION. 

j  udge  otherwise  of  it  than  you  do.  If  the  thing  is  in  itself 
evil,  avoid  an  ill  action  because  it  is  ill.  But  if  a  good 
one,  why  should  you  be  afraid  of  being  accused  without 
reason  ? 

CHAP.  LVIII. 

As  to  say  it  is  day,  or  it  is  night,  at  different  times,  is 
sense ;  but  to  say  at  one  time,  it  is  both  day  and  night,  is 
nonsense :  so  it  is  a  contradiction  for  a  man  to  think 
to  please  his  own  appetite  by  snatching  whatever  is  set  be- 
fore him,  and  at  the  same  time  be  agreeable  to  the  rest  of 
those  invited  at  an  entertainment.  Remember  therefore, 
when  you  are  at  any  feast,  not  to  look  upon  the  dishes,  as 
they  are  pleasant  to  your  taste ;  but  that  in  helping  your- 
self there  is  a  decency  to  be  preserved,  and  a  respect  due 
both  to  the  inviter,  and  the  rest  of  the  company. 

CHAP.  LIX. 

If  you  emulate  a  man  of  greater  merit  than  yourself, 
you  will  succeed  ill  in  that,  and  also  lose  the  merit  of 
those  excellencies  you  might  be  able  to  attain. 

CHAP.  LX. 

As  in  walking,  you  take  care  least  you  set  your  foot 
upon  a  stump,  and  strain  your  ancle:  beware,  in  the 
course  of  your  life,  you  hurt  not  your  mind ;  the  governor 
of  your  actions,  which,  if  we  observe  diligently,  we  shall 
undertake  every  thing  cautiously. 

CHAP.  LXI. 

Your  expences  ought  to  be  as  well  proportioned  to 
your  necessity,  as  your  shoe  to  your  foot.  If  you  keep  to 
that  rule,  it  will  be  a  moderate  measure ;  if  you  go  beyond 
it,  you  certainly  fall  down  a  precipice ;  in  your  very  shoe 


ENCHIRIDION.  319 

if  you  wilfully  exceed  what  is  necessary,  you  will  then 
have  a  gold  one,  after  that  it  must  be  the  Tyrian  die,  and 
at  length  embroidery.  There  is  no  end  of  his  extrava- 
gancy who  once  passes  the  bounds  of  reason. 

CHAP.  LXII. 

Women,  after  fourteen,  are  presently  called  mistresses  ; 
afterwards,  when  they  see  themselves  without  any  place  or 
employment,  except  they  are  married,  they  begin  to  dress, 
and  place  all  their  hope  in  outward  ornaments.  A  man 
ought  therefore  to  do  his  endeavors  to  shew  them,  they 
have  but  one  way  to  be  honored,  to  behave  themselves 
modestly,  soberly,  and  chastly. 

CHAP.  LXIII. 

It  is  the  sign  of  a  low  genius  to  be  very  much  concern- 
ed, or  long  in  doing,  the  necessary  actions  of  ordinary 
life,  either  to  sustain  or  delight  their  bodies ;  all  these 
things  are  to  be  done  slightly,  and  only  because  they 
must ;  the  chief  care  and  business  is  to  be  transferred  to 
the  soul. 

CHAP.  LXIV. 

When  any  one  does  you  an  ill  office,  or  speaks  ill  of 
you,  remember  that  he  thinks  himself  in  the  right,  in  so 
doing,  or  saying,  and  it  is  not  to  be  expected  he  should 
act  according  to  your  opinion,  but  his  own.  If  he  judges 
wrong,  the  injury  is  his,  who  is  deceived.  If  appearances 
are  at  any  time  deceitful,  or  truth  obscured,  so  as  to  be 
taken  for  a  falsehood,  the  truth  is  not  hurt  by  it,  but  he 
is  injured  who  is  mistaken :  being  instructed  in  this,  you 
will  bear  slander  with  an  even  mind,  and  when  you  hear 
any  reflection  made  on  you,  you  will  answer — so  it  appear- 
ed to  the  reflector. 


320  ENCHIRIDION. 


CHAP.    LXV. 

Every  thing  has  two  handles,  the  one  tolerable,  the 
other  intolerable:  if  your  brother  does  you  an  injury, 
think  not  of  the  injury,  for  that  is  intolerable ;  but  think  he 
is  your  brother,  and  educated  along  with  you,  and  that  is 
taking  it  the  best  way. 

CHAP.  LXVI. 

These  conclusions  are  not  just,  I  am  thy  superior  in 
wealth,  therefore  thy  superior  in  merit;  I  am  more  elo- 
quent, therefore  more  deserving ;  but  it  is  right  to  say,  I 
am  richer,  and  therefore  my  money  is  more  than  yours ; 
I  speak  better,  and  therefore  my  language  is  purer.  But 
neither  your  wealth,  or  eloquence,  can  render  you  better 
or  more  estimable. 

CHAP.   LXVll. 

If  any  one  go  early  to  the  bath,  say  not,  he  does  ill  to 
go  early ;  say  only,  he  did  go  there  early.  If  any  one 
drinks  much  wine,  make  no  reflections  when  you  say,  he 
drinks  much.  The  thing  may  not  be  evil,  which  you  may 
rashly  judge  so.  So  you  may  disuse  yourself  from  pass- 
ing any  judgment,  till  you  are  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  motives  of  every  action, 

CHAP.  LXVIII. 

Never  profess  yourself  a  philosopher,  nor  dispute  con- 
cerning maxims  and  precepts  with  the  ignorant  and  simple, 
as  at  an  entertainment,  never  preach  how  people  ought  to 
eat,  but  eat  you,  as  becomes  you  ;  and  remember  Socrates 
in  this  manner  avoided  all  ostentation,  for  they  came  to 
him  to  shew  them  to  philosophers,  and  he  carried  them 


ENCHIRIDION.  321 

to  them,  so  easily  did  he  endure  their  contempt  of  his 
learning. 

CHAP.  LXIX. 

If  there  happens  amongst  fools  any  dispute  concerning 
learning,  for  the  most  part  be  silent.  It  is  dangerous  to 
speak  what  comes  first  into  your  mind.  If  any  one  calls 
you  ignorant,  be  not  moved  at  the  reproach ;  and  when 
you  have  learned  this,  then  know  you  begin  to  be  learned. 
A  sheep  does  not  shew  she  has  had  a  good  pasture,  by 
throwing  up  the  grass  she  has  eaten,  but  when  she  has  well 
digested  it,  and  has  wool  and  milk  in  plenty :  do  you 
in  the  same  manner  not  boast  your  reading  to  fools,  but 
shew  you  have  read  and  profited  by  the  actions  that  fol- 
low, a  true  improvement. 

CHAP.  LXX. 

If  you  have  learned  to  be  moderate  in  your  appetites 
and  cares  for  what  concerns  your  body,  do  not  be  pleased 
with  yourself  upon  that  account ;  if  you  drink  only  water, 
say  not  upon  all  occasions,  you  abstain  from  every  thing 
but  water ;  if  you  inure  yourself  to  labour,  do  it  not  pub- 
licly ;  if  you  forbear  to  drink  when  you  thirst,  forbearance 
is  a  virtue,  but  tell  nobody  of  it. 

CHAP.  LXXI. 

It  is  the  mark  of  a  thoughtless  vulgar  mind,  to  expect 
neither  pleasure,  nor  pain  from  any  thing,  but  external 
things;  but  it  is  the  express  sign  of  a  philosopher,  to 
place  all  his  grief  and  satisfaction  within  his  own  mind. 

CHAP.  LXXII. 

These  are  the  signs  of  a  wise  man.    To  reprove  nobody, 
VOL.  in.  Y 


ENCHIRIDION. 

praise  nobody,  blame  nobody,  nor  ever  to  speak  of  him- 
self, as  if  he  was  some  uncommon  man,  or  knew  more  than 
the  rest  of  the  world.  If  he  fails  in  any  thing,  he  accuses 
only  himself;  if  any  one  praises  him,  in  his  own  mind 
he  contemns  the  flatterer;  if  any  one  reproves  him,  he 
looks  with  care,  that  he  may  not  be  unsettled  in  that  state 
of  tranquillity  he  has  entered  into.  All  his  desires  depend 
on  things  within  his  own  power,  he  transfers  all  his  aver- 
sion to  those  things  Nature  commands  us  to  avoid.  His 
appetites  are  always  moderate;  he  is  indifferent,  whether 
he  be  thought  foolish  or  ignorant.  He  observes  himself, 
with  the  nicety  of  an  enemy,  or  a  spie,  and  looks  on  his 
own  wishes  as  betrayers. 

CHAP.  LXXIH. 

If  you  hear  a  man  boast  he  understands  and  can  ex- 
plain the  books  of  Chrysippus,  say  within  yourself,  if 
Chrysippus  had  not  wrote  obscurely,  this  man  would  have 
had  nothing  to  boast  of;  but  what  do  I  study  to  know  ? 
Nature,  and  to  follow  her  precepts.  I  seek,  therefore, 
who  is  her  interpreter ;  when  I  hear  it  is  Chrysippus,  I 
will  consult  him.  But  I  do  not  understand  his  writings, 
I  will  therefore  seek  me  a  master ;  there  is  no  great  excel- 
lence in  that,  but  when  I  have  found  an  interpreter,  it 
remains  to  obey  his  precepts,  and  that  only  is  excellent.  If 
I  only  admire  the  style,  and  the  interpretation,  I  do  no 
otherwise  than  leave  the  place  of  a  philosopher  for  a 
grammarian,  excepting  that  instead  of  Homer  I  translate 
Chrysippus.  I  ought  rather  to  blush,  when  any  one 
asks  me  if  I  have  read  Chrysippus,  that  I  am  not  able 
to  shew  them;  yet  my  actions  are  agreeable  to  all  his 
precepts. 


ENCHIRIDION.  323 

CHAP.    LXXIV. 

Observe  these  rules,  as  if  not  to  be  violated  without  a 
punishment ;  neither  care  what  judgment  men  pass  on  you, 
for  what  they  shall  say  is  not  in  your  power  to  help* 

CHAP.  LXXV. 

How  long,  I  desire  to  know,  will  you  defer  the  choice 
of  those  things  you  think  most  deserving,  and  cease  vio- 
lating the  dictates  of  your  own  reason  ?  You  have  heard 
the  precepts  you  ought  to  embrace,  and  you  have  embraced 
them.  What  master  do  you  yet  expect,  and  for  whose 
coming  do  you  defer  the  amendment  of  your  manners  ? 
You  are  no  longer  a  youth,  but  are  come  to  the  mature 
age  of  a  man.  If  you  now  grow  neglectful  and  idle,  you 
will  put  delay  upon  delay,  add  purpose  to  purpose,  and 
put  it  off  eternally  from  one  day  to  another.  Will  you 
not  consider  you  have  learned  nothing,  and  at  this  rate 
will  both  live  and  die  a  vulgar  man  ?  This  minute,  there- 
fore, begin  the  life  of  a  wise  man,  and  one  worthy  of  that 
name ;  and  whatever  seems  best  to  your  unprej  udiced 
reason,  make  that  an  inviolable  rule  to  you,  whether  it  be 
laborious,  sweet,  glorious,  or  infamous.  Remember,  the 
choice  is  to  be  now  made,  the  combat  is  now  beginning, 
neither  is  it  permitted  you  to  defer  it ;  one  hour  of  neglect 
will  make  all  your  virtue  perish,  or  one  firm  resolution  re- 
tain it  for  ever.  So  Socrates  became  what  he  was ;  in  all 
things  he  carried  himself  agreeably  to  reason,  and  never 
hearkened  to  any  other  counsellor ;  and  though  as  yet  you 
are  no  Socrates,  yet,  if  you  are  willing  to  become  one,  you 
must  live  in  that  manner. 


Y  2 


324  ENCHIRIDION. 

CHAP.    LXXVI. 

The  most  necessary  part  of  philosophy  is  the  use  of  its 
maxims ;  as,  for  instance,  not  to  lie  :  the  second  is  the  de- 
monstration, Why  should  we  not  lie  ?  The  third,  is  the 
confirmation,  as,  Why  it  is  a  demonstration  ?  What  is  a 
demonstration  ?  What  a  consequence  ?  What  a  contra- 
diction ?  What  is  truth?  What  is  falsehood?  The 
third  depends  upon  the  second,  and  the  second  upon  the 
first,  but  it  is  most  necessary  to  dwell  upon  the  first.  But 
our  practice  is  different  from  this ;  we  rest  upon  the  third 
part,  and  there  we  employ  our  studies,  neglecting  the  first 
altogether.  While  we  can  very  readily  demonstrate  why 
we  ought  not  to  lie,  we  make  no  scruple  of  speaking 
falsehood. 

CHAP.  LXXVII. 

In  the  beginning  of  every  undertaking  this  ought  to  be 
our  prayer :  "  Lead  me,  oh  Jupiter,  and  thou  Fate,  where- 
soever ye  have  destined  me.  I  will  chearfully  follow ;  if 
I  refused,  it  would  be  the  part  of  an  impious  man,  and 
notwithstanding  I  should  follow." 

CHAP.  LXXVIII. 

He  is  a  wise  man,  who  submits  himself  to  necessity,  and 
is  conscious  of  the  Divine  Providence. 

CHAP.  LXXIX. 

And  this,  O  Crito,  is  the  wisest  prayer,  If  so  it  seems 
best  to  the  gods,  so  be  it.  Anglus  and  Melitus  have  the 
power  to  kill  me,  but  they  have  not  the  power  to  hurt  me. 


ESSAYS. 


A    LETTER   FROM   THE   OTHER   WORLD,    TO   A    LADY, 
FROM    HER   FORMER   HUSBAND. 

THIS  letter  will  surprise  you  less  than  it  would  any 
other  of  your  sex ;  and  therefore  I  think  I  need  no  apo* 
logy  in  breaking  through  a  rule  of  good-breeding,  which 
has  been  observed  so  strictly  by  all  husbands  for  so  many 
ages;  who,  however  troublesome  while  they  lived,  have 
never  frightened  their  wives  by  the  least  notice  of  them 
after  their  deaths:  but  your  reverend  doctor  will  inform 
you,  that  there  is  nothing  supernatural  in  this  corre- 
spondence; and  that  the  existence  of  immortal  spirits 
includes  a  tender  concern  for  the  poor  militant  mortals  of 
your  world.  I  own  I  was  a  little  puzzled  how  to  convey 
this  epistle,  and  thought  it  best  to  assume  a  material  form 
some  few  moments,  and  put  it  myself  into  the  penny-post. 
In  my  hurry  (being  very  impatient  to  let  you  hear  from 
me)  I  unluckily  forgot  my  little  finger,  which  produced 
an  odd  accident ;  for  the  wench  at  the  post-office  would 
have  taken  me  up  for  one  of  the  incendiaries.  Already 
had  the  mob  assembled  round  the  door,  and  nothing  but 
dissolving  into  air  could  have  saved  me  from  Newgate. 
Several  ran  down  the  alleys  in  pursuit  of  me ;  and  par- 
ticular care  was  taken  of  my  letter,  in  hopes  of  reading  it 
in  the  newspaper.  You  may  imagine  I  would  not  have 
exposed  myself  to  this  adventure,  but  out  of  the  sincerest 


326  ESSAYS. 

regard  to  the  happiness  of  the  dear  partner  of  my  worldly 
cares.  Without  the  least  uneasiness  I  have  seen  you 
dispose  of  yourself  into  the  arms  of  another ;  and  I  would 
never  disturb  you  while  you  were  seeking  pleasure  in 
forgetting  me;  but  I  cannot  bear  that  you  should  con- 
strain yourself  out  of  respect  to  me.  I  see  every  motion 
of  your  mind  now  much  clearer  than  I  did  in  my  life 
(though  then  I  guessed  pretty  shrewdly  sometimes).  I 
know  the  real  content  that  you  find  in  coloured  riband, 
and  am  sensible  how  much  you  sacrifice  to  imaginary 
decency  every  time  you  put  on  that  odious  rusty  black, 
which  is  half  worn  out.  Alas !  my  dear  Eliza,  in  these 
seats  of  perfect  love  and  beauty,  the  veriest  scrub  of  a 
cherubim  (some  of  which  have  raked  cinders  behind  Mon- 
tagu House,  as  they  often  tell  me)  is  more  charming  than 
you  were  on  your  first  wedding-day.  Judge,  then,  whether 
I  can  have  any  satisfaction  in  looking  at  your  crape  hood, 
when  I  am  in  this  bright  company.  You  know,  that  in 
my  terrestrial  state,  three  bottles  would  sometimes  raise 
me  to  that  pitch  of  philosophy,  I  utterly  forgot  you,  when 
you  were  but  some  few  inches  from  me.  Do  not  fancy  me 
grown  so  impertinent  here,  as  to  observe  so  nicely  whether 
you  obey  the  forms  of  widowhood ;  and  do  not  think  to 
cajole  me  with  such  instances  of  your  affection,  when  you 
are  giving  the  most  substantial  proofs  of  it  to  another 
man.  I  have  already  assured  you  I  am  exalted  above  jea- 
lousy, if  I  could  have  been  sensible  of  it.  You  have  pro- 
voked me  by  a  second  choice,  so  absolutely  opposite  to 
your  first.  He  is  often  talking  of  certain  fellows  he  calls 
Classic  Authors,  who  I  never  trouble  my  head  with :  and 
I  know  this  letter  will  meet  with  more  regard  from  him 
than  from  you ;  for  he  is  better  skilled  in  the  language  of 
the  dead  than  the  living. 


ESSAYS.  327 


IN    A    PAPER,    CALLED    THE    NONSENSE   OF   COMMON   SENSE. 
PUBLISHED   JANUARY    24,    1738. 

I  HAVE  always,   as   I  have  already  declared,  professed 
myself  a  friend,  though  I  do  not  aspire  to  the  character  of 
an  admirer,  of  the  fair  sex ;  and  as  such,  I  am  warmed 
with  indignation   at  the  barbarous  treatment   they  have 
received  from  the  Common  Sense  of  January  14,  and  the 
false  advice  that  he  gives  them.     He  either  knows  them 
very  little,  or,  like  an  interested  quack,  prescribes  such 
medicines  as  are  likely  to  hurt  their  constitutions.     It  is 
very  plain  to  me,  from  the  extreme  partiality  with  which 
he  speaks  of  Operas,  and  the  rage  with  which  he  attacks 
both  Tragedy  and  Comedy,  that  the  author  is  a  Performer 
in  the  Opera  ;  and  whoever  reads  his  paper  with  attention, 
will  be  of  my  opinion  ;  else  no  thing  alive  would  assert,  at 
the  same  time,   the  innocence  of  an  entertainment,  con- 
trived wholly  to   soften  the  mind  and  soothe  the  sense, 
without  any  pretence  to  a  moral ;  and  so  vehemently  de-* 
claim  against  plays,  whose  end  is,  to  shew  the  fatal  conse- 
quences of  vice,  to  warn  the  innocent  against  the  snares 
of  a  well-bred  designing  Dorimant.     You  see   there  to 
what  insults  a  woman  of  wit,  beauty,  and  quality,  is  ex- 
posed, that  has  been  seduced  by  the  artificial  tenderness  of 
a  vain  agreeable  gallant ;  and,  I  believe,  that  very  comedy 
has  given  more  checks  to  ladies  in  pursuit  of  present  plea- 
sures, so  closely  attended  with  shame  and  sorrow,  than  all 
the  sermons  they  have  ever  heard  in  their  lives.     But  this 
author  does  not  seem  to  think  it  possible  to  stop  their 
propensity  to  gallantry,  by  reason  or  reflection.     He  only 
desires  them  to  fill  up  their  time  with  all  sorts  of  trifles : 
in   short,  he   recommends   to   them   gossipping,    scandal, 


328  ESSAYS. 

lying,  and  a  whole  troop  of  follies,  instead  of  it,  as  the 
only  preservatives  for  their  virtue. 

I  am  for  treating  them  with  more  dignity ;  and,  as  I 
profess  myself  a  protector  of  all  the  oppressed,  I  shall 
look  upon  them  as  my  peculiar  care.  I  expect  to  be  told, 
this  is  downright  Quixotism,  and  that  I  am  venturing  to 
engage  the  strongest  part  of  mankind,  with  a  paper  helmet 
upon  my  head.  I  confess  it  is  an  undertaking  where  I 
cannot  foresee  any  considerable  success;  and,  according 
to  an  author  I  have  read  somewhere, 

The  world  will  still  be  rul'd  by  knaves 
And  fools,  contending  to  be  slaves. 

But,  however,  I  keep  up  the  character  of  a  moralist, 
and  shall  use  my  endeavours  to  relieve  the  distressed,  and 
defeat  vulgar  prejudices,  whatever  the  event  may  be. 
Among  the  most  universal  errors,  I  reckon  that  of  treat- 
ing the  weaker  sex  with  a  contempt  which  has  a  very  bad 
influence  on  their  conduct.  How  many  of  them  think  it 
excuse  enough  to  say  they  are  women,  to  indulge  any 
folly  that  comes  into  their  heads !  This  renders  them 
useless  members  of  the  commonwealth,  and  only  burden- 
some to  their  own  families,  where  the  wise  husband  thinks 
he  lessens  the  opinion  of  his  own  understanding,  if  he  at 
any  time  condescends  to  consult  his  wife's.  Thus,  what 
reason  nature  has  given  them  is  thrown  away,  and  a  blind 
obedience  expected  from  them  by  all  their  ill-natured 
masters;  and,  on  the  other  side,  as  blind  a  complaisance 
shewn  by  those  that  are  indulgent,  who  say  often,  that 
women's  weakness  must  be  complied  with,  and  it  is  a  vain 
troublesome  attempt  to  make  them  hear  reason. 

I  attribute  a  great  part  of  this  way  of  thinking,  which 
is  hardly  ever  controverted,  either  to  the  ignorance  of 
authors,  who  are  many  of  them  heavy  collegians,  that 


ESSAYS.  329 

have  never  been  admitted  to  politer  conversations  than 
those  of  their  bed-makers,  or  to  the  design  of  selling  their 
works,  which  is  generally  the  only  view  of  writing,  with- 
out any  regard  to  truth,  or  the  ill  consequences  that 
attend  the  propagation  of  wrong  notions.  A  paper 
smartly  wrote,  though  perhaps  only  some  old  conceits 
dressed  in  new  words,  either  in  rhyme  or  prose : — I  say 
rhyme,  for  I  have  seen  no  verses  wrote  for  many  years : — 
such  a  paper,  either  to  ridicule  or  declaim  against  the 
ladies,  is  very  welcome  to  the  coffee-houses,  where  there  is 
hardly  one  man  in  ten  but  fancies  he  has  some  reason  or 
other  to  curse  some  of  the  sex  most  heartily.  Perhaps 
his  sisters'  fortunes  are  to  run  away  with  the  money  that 
would  be  better  bestowed  at  the  Groom-porter's  ;  or  an  old 
mother,  good  for  nothing,  keeps  a  jointure  from  a  hopeful 
son,  that  wants  to  make  a  settlement  on  his  mistress ;  or  a 
handsome  young  fellow  is  plagued  with  a  wife,  that  will 
remain  alive,  to  hinder  his  running  away  with  a  great 
fortune,  having  two  or  three  of  them  in  love  with  him. 
These  are  serious  misfortunes,  that  are  sufficient  to  exas- 
perate the  mildest  tempers  to  a  contempt  of  the  sex :  not 
to  speak  of  lessee  inconveniences,  which  are  very  pro- 
voking at  the  time  they  are  felt. 

How  many  pretty  gentlemen  have  been  unmercifully 
jilted  by  pert  hussies,  after  having  curtsied  to  them  at 
half  a  dozen  Operas ;  nay,  permitted  themselves  to  be  led 
out  twice ;  yet,  after  these  encouragements,  which  amount 
very  near  to  an  engagement,  have  refused  their  billets 
doux,  and  perhaps  married  other  men,  under  their  noses. 
How  welcome  is  a  couplet  or  two,  in  scorn  of  womankind, 
to  such  a  disappointed  lover ;  and  with  what  comfort  he 
reads,  in  many  profound  authors,  that  they  are  never 
to  be  pleased  but  by  coxcombs;  and,  consequently,  he 


330  ESSAYS. 

owes  his  ill  success  to  the  brightness  of  his  understanding, 
which  is  beyond  female  comprehension.  The  country 
'squire  is  confirmed,  in  the  elegant  choice  he  has  made,  in 
preferring  the  conversation  of  his  hounds  to  that  of  his 
wife ;  and  the  kind  keepers,  a  numerous  sect,  find  them- 
selves justified  in  throwing  away  their  time  and  estates  on 
a  parcel  of  jilts,  when  they  read,  that  neither  birth  nor 
education  can  make  any  of  the  sex  rational  creatures  ;  and 
they  can  have  no  value,  but  what  is  to  be  seen  in  their 
faces. 

Hence  springs  the  applause  with  which  such  libels  are 
read  ;  but  I  would  ask  the  applauders,  if  these  notions,  in 
their  own  nature,  are  likely  to  produce  any  good  effect 
towards  reforming  the  vicious,  instructing  the  weak,  or 
guiding  the  young  ?  I  would  not  every  day  tell  my  foot- 
men, if  I  kept  any,  that  their  whole  fraternity  were  a  pack 
of  scoundrels ;  that  lying  and  stealing  were  inseparable 
qualities  from  their  cloth ;  that  I  should  think  myself  very 
happy  in  them,  if  they  confined  themselves  to  innocent 
lies,  and  would  only  steal  candles'  ends.  On  the  contrary, 
I  would  say  in  their  presence,  that  birth  and  money  were 
accidents  of  fortune,  that  no  man  was  to  be  seriously  de- 
spised for  wanting  them ;  that  an  honest  faithful  servant 
was  a  character  of  more  value  than  an  insolent  corrupt 
lord  ;  that  the  real  distinction  between  man  and  man  lay 
in  his  integrity,  which,  in  one  shape  or  other,  generally 
met  with  its  reward  in  the  world,  and  could  not  fail  of 
giving  the  highest  pleasure,  by  a  consciousness  of  virtue, 
which  every  man  feels  that  is  so  happy  to  possess  it. 

With  this  gentleness  would  I  treat  my  inferiors,  with 
much  greater  esteem  would  I  speak  to  that  beautiful  half 
of  mankind  who  are  distinguished  by  petticoats.  If  I  were 
a  divine,  I  would  remember,  that  in  their  first  creation 


ESSAYS.  331 

they  were  designed  as  a  help  for  the  other  sex  ;  and  no- 
thing was  ever  made  incapable  of  the  end  of  its  creation. 
'Tis  true,  the  first  lady  had  so  little  experience,  that  she 
hearkened  to  the  persuasion  of  an  impertinent  dangler ; 
and,  if  you  mind,  he  succeeded,  by  persuading  her  that 
she  was  not  so  wise  as  she  should  be. 

Men  that  have  not  sense  enough  to  shew  any  supe- 
riority in  their  arguments,  hope  to  be  yielded  to  by  a  faith, 
that,  as  they  are  men,  all  the  reason  that  has  been  allotted 
to  human  kind  has  fallen  to  their  share.  I  am  seriously 
of  another  opinion.  As  much  greatness  of  mind  may  be 
shewn  in  submission  as  in  command,  and  some  women 
have  suffered  a  life  of  hardships  with  as  much  philosophy 
as  Cato  traversed  the  deserts  of  Africa,  and  without  that 
support  the  view  of  glory  offered  him,  which  is  enough 
for  the  human  mind  that  is  touched  with  it,  to  go  through 
any  toil  or  danger.  But  this  is  not  the  situation  of  a 
woman  whose  virtue  must  only  shine  to  her  own  recollec- 
tion, and  loses  that  name  when  it  is  ostentatiously  exposed 
to  the  world.  A  lady  who  has  performed  her  duty  as  a 
daughter,  a  wife,  and  a  mother,  raises  in  me  as  much  ve- 
neration as  Socrates  or  Xenophon ;  and  much  more  than  I 
would  pay  either  to  Julius  Ccesar  or  Cardinal  Mazarin, 
though  the  first  was  the  most  famous  enslaver  of  his 
country,  and  the  last  the  most  successful  plunderer  of  his 
master. 

A  woman  really  virtuous,  in  the  utmost  extent  of  this 
expression,  has  virtue  of  a  purer  kind  than  any  philosopher 
has  ever  shewn;  since  she  knows,  if  she  has  sense,  and 
without  it  there  can  be  no  virtue,  that  mankind  is  too 
much  prejudiced  against  her  sex,  to  give  her  any  degree  of 
that  fame  which  is  so  sharp  a  spur  to  their  great  actions. 
I  have  some  thoughts  of  exhibiting  a  set  of  pictures  of 


332  ESSAYS. 

such  meritorious  ladies,  where  I  shall  say  nothing  of  the 
fire  of  their  eyes,  or  the  pureness  of  their  complexions, 
but  give  them  such  praises  as  befit  a  rational  sensible 
being  :  virtues  of  choice,  and  not  beauties  of  accident.  I 
beg  they  would  not  so  far  mistake  me,  as  to  think  I  am 
undervaluing  their  charms :  a  beautiful  mind,  in  a  beauti- 
ful body,  is  one  of  the  finest  objects  shewn  us  by  nature. 
I  would  not  have  them  place  so  much  value  on  a  quality 
that  can  be  only  useful  to  one,  as  to  neglect  that  which 
may  be  of  benefit  to  thousands,  by  precept  or  by  example. 
There  will  be  no  occasion  of  amusing  them  with  trifles, 
when  they  consider  themselves  capable  of  not  only  making 
the  most  amiable,  but  the  most  estimable,  figures  in  life. 
Begin,  then,  ladies,  by  paying  those  authors  with  scorn 
and  contempt,  who,  with  a  sneer  of  affected  admiration, 
would  throw  you  below  the  dignity  of  the  human  species. 


ESSAYS.  333 


CARABOSSE. 


IL  y  avoit  autrefois  un  Prince  &  une  Princesse  (car  c'est 
ainsi  que  ma  nourrice  commencoit  tous  les  contes  dont  elle 
me  bergoit).     Le  Prince  estoit  brave  &  genereux,  la  Prin- 
cesse belle  &  sage :  leurs  vertus,  &  leur  amour  reciproque 
&  constant,  faisoient  tout  a  la  fois  la  gloire  &  la  honte  du 
siecle.     Mais  comme  il  n'y  a  point  de  felicite  parfaite,  il 
leur  manquoit  des  enfans:  les  temples  de  tous  les  dieux 
estoient  charges  de  leurs  offrandes,  &  toutes  les  bonnes 
fees  des  environs  de  leurs  presents,  pour  obtenir  la  seule 
chose  qu'ils  avoient  a  souhaiter.     II  est  vrai  qu'on  ne  put 
jamais  persuader  a  la  Princesse  de  rechercher  les  mau- 
vaises,  &  c'estoit  en  vain  que  le  Prince  lui  representoit  que 
les  mechantes  pouvoient  nuire  avec  autant  de  facilite  que 
les  bienfaisantes  pouvoient  servir  ;  elle  disoit  toujours  que 
faire  la  cour  aux  vicieux,  estoit  une  espece  de  culte  rendue 
au  vice,  &  elle  ne  pouvoit  pas  s'y  resoudre.     On  dit  meme 
qu'elle  s'emancipoit  quelquefois  a   blamer  leur   conduite 
d'une  fa£on  un  peu  temeraire.     Enfm   ses  vo3ux  furent 
combles,  elle  devint  grosse.     Elle  n'oublia  pas  de  prier  a 
ses  couches  toutes  les  fees  de  ses  amies,  et  elle  leur  prepa- 
roit  des  presents  dignes  de  leur  estre  offerts.     Donner  des 
pierreries  ou  de  For  aux  maitresses  des  mines,  auroit  ete 
leur  faire  un  affront :  elle  s^avoit  quVlles  en  font  si  peu 
de  cas,  qu'elles  en  comblent  souvent  les  mortels  les  plus 
indignes  pour  en  mieux  marquer  leur  mepris.     Elle  avoit 
ramasse  par  les  soins  infinis  de  beaux  vers  passionnes  com- 


334  ESSAYS. 

poses  par  des  amants  sinceres,  le  portrait  d'une  belle  reli- 
gieuse  qui  n'avoit  jamais  pense  a  1'amour  profane,  une 
phiole  (tres  petite  a  la  verite)  des  larmes  versees  par  une 
jeune  &  riche  veuve  seule  dans  son  cabinet,  &  des  livres  de 
theologie  qui  n'avoient  jamais  ennuye  personne.  Les  fees 
etoient  toutes  etonnees  d'ou  elle  auroit  pu  trouver  tant  de 
choses  rares  &  precieuses ;  elles  etoient  empressees  de  te- 
moigner  leur  reconnoissance  en  rendant  son  enfant  la  per- 
sonne du  monde  la  plus  accomplie  &  la  plus  heureuse. 
Elle  mit  au  monde  une  petite  Princesse:  a  peine  avoit- 
elle  vu  la  lumiere  que  la  fee  Bellinde  s'ecria,  Je  la  doue 
d'une  beaute  noble  &  touchante.  Elle  n'avoit  pas  cesse 
de  parler  quand  on  entendoit  un  bruit  comme  de  cent  ca- 
nons decharges  a  la  fois,  un  sifflement  comrae  de  mille 
serpents  furieux,  &  on  vit  descendre  par  la  cheminee  la  fee 
Carabosse,  montee  a  califourchons  sur  un  enorme  cra- 
paud.  Je  ne  veux  salir  mon  papier  par  la  description  de 
sa  figure,  faite  pour  inspirer  le  degout  et  Thorreur.  Je  veux 
(crioit-elle  d1une  voix  rauque)  que  cette  fille  cherie  perde 
cette  beaute  admirable  par  la  petite  verole  dans  Page  qu'elle 
commence  a  sentir  ses  avantages.  La  fee  Spirituelle,  se 
flattant  d'adoucir  ce  malheur,  disoit,  Je  la  doue  d'une 
memoire  la  plus  heureuse  qui  ait  jamais  ete,  d'un  gout 
juste,  d'une  vivacite  surprenante,  temperee  par  un  juge- 
ment  qui  reglera  toutes  ses  paroles :  elle  excellera  dans 
tous  les  genres  d'ecrire;  elle  sera  S9avante  sans  vanite, 
&  vive  sans  etourderie.  Ce  bel  esprit  (repliqua  Carabosse 
avec  un  souris  dedaigneux)  ne  servira  qu'a,  lui  attirer  les 
ennemis ;  elle  seroit  toujours  en  proye  aux  sots,  dechiree 
par  leurs  malices,  &  importunee  par  leurs  assiduites.  Je 
veux,  disoit  la  brillante  Argentine  en  s'avancant,  que  son 
pere  soit  le  plus  riche  seigneur  de  son  rang,  et  que  son  mari 
ait  des  millions  d'or.  Oui,  interrompit  Carabosse,  elle  vivra 


ESSAYS.  335 

ail  milieu  des  tresors  sans  en  voir  jamais  a  sa  disposition.  Je 
lui  donne,  disoit  Hygeia,  une  sante  a  toute  epreuve,  que 
ni  les  chagrins  ni  les  fatigues  ne  pourront  diminuer.  Cette 
sante,  repondit  Carabosse,  lui  inspirera  la  hardiesse  de 
tenter  des  entreprises  temeraires,  &  de  risquer  des  dangers 
dont  elle  seroit .  toujours  environnee.  Elle  aura,  disoit 
1'aimable  Harmonie,  Foreille  juste  &  un  gout  exquis  pour 
la  musique —  Je  lui  oste  (crioit  Carabosse  en  lui  coupant 
la  parole)  le  pouvoir  de  chanter,  pour  qu'elle  sente  toute 
la  rage  du  desir  &  de  Pimpuissance.  Les  bonnes  fees, 
consternees  de  voir  leurs  benedictions  ainsi  empoison- 
nees,  se  parloient  tout  bas,  &  consultoient  en  quelle  ma- 
niere  on  pouvoit  vaincre  cette  malice  infernale.  Spiri- 
tuelle  crut  avoir  trouve  un  expedient  infaillible :  II  faut 
lui  oster  (disoit  elle)  tous  les  vices,  &  elle  se  trouvera 
garantie  des  malheurs  qui  en  sont  la  suite.  Je  lui  oste 
(ajouta-t-elle  d'un  ton  haut  &  ferme)  toutes  les  semences 
de  Tenvie  &  de  Tavarice,  qui  sont  les  sources  des  miseres 
de  Thumanite  ;  elle  aura  Thumeur  douce  et  egale, — &  un 
grand  fonds  de  tendresse,  s'ecria  Carabosse  avec  un  eclat 
de  rire  qui  faisoit  trembler  lepalais. — Les  fees  bienfaisantes 
s'envolerent,  ne  voiant  aucun  remede  a  tant  de  maux.  La 
Princesse  mourut  de  chagrin,  soa  enfant  s'embellisoit 
chaque  jour ;  mais  *  *  *  *  Ici  le  manuscrit  est  defectueux. 


336  ESSAYS. 


SUR  LA  MAXIME  DE  M.  DE  ROCHEFOUCAULT, 

QU'lL    Y   A    DBS    MARIAGES    COMMODES, 
MAIS    POINT    DE    DELICIEUX. 

IL  paroist  bien  hardi  (Tentreprendre  de  detruire  une 
maxime  etablie  par  un  bel  esprit  si  celebre  que  Mr.  de 
Rochefoucault,  et  receue  avec  une  joye  si  aveugle  chez  une 
nation  qui  se  dit  la  seule  parfaitement  polie  du  monde,  et 
qui  a  donne  depuis  si  long  temps  des  loix  de  galanterie  a 
toute  1'Europe. 

Cependant  (pleine  de  1'ardeur  qu'inspire  la  verite)  j'ose 
avancer  tout  le  contraire,  et  je  soutiens  hardiment,  qu'il 
n'y  a  qu'un  amour  marie  qui  peut  etre  delicieux  pour  une 
ame  bien  faite. 

La  nature  nous  a  presente  des  plaisirs  propres  pour 
notre  espece ;  on  n'a  qu'a  suivre  son  instinct  raffine  par  le 
gout,  et  releve  par  une  imagination  vive  et  douce,  pour 
trouver  le  seul  bonheur  dont  les  mortels  sont  capables. 
L'ambition,  Tavarice,  la  vanite,  ne  peuvent  donner  (dans 
leurs  plus  grandes  jouissances)  que  des  plaisirs  bas,  me- 
diocres,  et  qui  ne  sont  pas  capables  de  toucher  un  coeur 
noble. 

On  peut  regarder  les  bienfaits  de  la  fortune  comme  des 
echaffauts  necessaires  pour  monter  au  bonheur ;  mais  on 
ne  peut  jamais  le  trouver,  soit  en  y  bornant  ses  souhaits, 
soit  en  obtenant  ses  frivoles  faveurs,  qui  ne  sont  que  les 
genes  de  la  vie,  quand  on  les  regarde  comme  pas  neces- 
saires pour  obtenir  ou  conserver  une  felicite  plus  precieuse. 
Cette  felicite  ne  se  trouve  que  dans  Tamitie  fondee  sur  une 
estime  parfaite  fixee  par  la  reconnoissance,  soutenue  par 
Inclination,  et  eveillee  par  la  tendresse  de  1'amour,  que 
les  anciens  ont  tres  bien  depeint  sous  la  figure  d'un  bel 


ESSAYS.  33  7 

enfant :  il  se  plait  dans  les  jeux  enfantins,  il  est  tendre  et 
delicat,  incapable  de  nuire,  charme  des  bagatelles;  tons 
ses  desseins  se  terminent  en  des  plaisirs,  mais  ces  plaisirs 
sont  doux  et  innocents.  On  a  represente,  sous  une  figure 
bien  differente,  une  autre  passion  trop  grosse  pour  nommer 
(mais  dont  la  pluspart  d'hommes  sont  seulement  capable). 
Je  veux  dire  celle  d'un  satyr,  qui  est  plus  bestial  qu'hu- 
main,  et  on  a  exprime  dans  cet  animal  equivoque  le  vice 
&  la  brutalite  de  cet  appetit  sensuel,  qui  est  cependant  le 
vrai  fondement  de  tous  les  beaux  procedes  de  la  belle  ga- 
lanterie.  Une  passion  qui  tache  de  s'assouvir  dans  la 
perte  de  ce  qu'elle  trouve  de  plus  aimable  au  monde,  qui 
est  fondee  sur  1'injustice,  soutenue  par  la  tromperie,  et 
suivie  des  crimes,  du  remors,  de  la  honte,  et  du  mepris, 
peut-elle  etre  delicieuse  pour  un  coeur  vertueux  ?  Voila 
pourtant  Paimable  equipage  de  tous  les  engagements  ille- 
gi times :  on  se  trouve  oblige  d'arracher  de  Tame  tous  les 
sentimens  de  1'honneur  inseparable  d'une  education  noble, 
et  de  vivre  miserable  dans  la  poursuite  eternelle  de  ce 
qu'on  condamne;  d 'avoir  tous  ses  plaisirs  empoisonnes  de 
remors,  et  d'etre  reduit  a  cet  etat  malheureux  de  renoncer 
a  la  vertu  sans  pouvoir  se  plaire  dans  le  vice. 

On  ne  peut  gouter  les  douceurs  d^un  amour  parfait,  que 
dans  un  mariage  bien  assorti:  rien  ne  marque  tant  de 
petitesse  dans  Tesprit,  que  de  s'arrester  aux  paroles. 
Qulmporte  que  la  coutume  (pour  laquelle  nous  voions 
d'assez  bonnes  raisons)  ait  donne  un  peu  de  ridicule  a  ces 
paroles,  de  mari  et  de  femme  ?  Un  mari  signifie  (dans 
1'interpretation  generale)  un  jaloux,  brutal,  grondeur, 
tyran,  ou  bien  un  bon  sot  a  qui  on  peut  tout  imposer : 
une  femme  est  un  demon  domestique,  qu'on  donne  pour 
tromper  ou  pour  tourmenter  ce  pauvre  homme.  La 
conduite  de  la  pluspart  des  gens  justifie  assez  ces  deux 

VOL.  in.  z 


338  ESSAYS. 

caracteres;  mais  encore,  qu'importent  des  paroles?  Un 
mariage  bien  regie  ne  ressemble  pas  a  ces  mariages  tTin- 
terest  ou  oTambition ;  ce  sont  deux  amants  qui  vivent 
ensemble:  qu'un  prestre  dit  de  certaines  paroles,  qu'un 
notaire  signe  de  certains  papiers,  je  regarde  ces  preparatifs 
dans  la  meme  vue  qu'im  amant  Techelle  de  corde  qu'il 
attache  a  la  fenestre  de  sa  maitresse.  Pourvu  qu'on  vive 
ensemble,  qu'importe  a  quel  prix  &  par  quels  moiens? 

II  est  impossible  qu'un  amour  parfait  et  bien  fonde  soit 
heureux  que  dans  la  paisible  possession  de  Pobjet  aime, 
et  cette  paix  n'oste  rien  de  la  douceur  ni  de  la  vivacite 
(Tune  passion  telle  que  je  sai  1'imaginer.  Si  je  voulois 
m'occuper  a  faire  des  Romans,  je  ne  voudrois  pas  placer 
les  images  du  vrai  bonheur  dans  TArcadie,  ni  sur  les 
bords  de  Lignon;  je  ne  suis  pas  assez  precieuse  pour 
borner  la  plus  delicate  tendresse  &  des  souhaits*  Je  com- 
mencerois  le  Roman  par  le  mariage  de  deux  personnes 
unies  par  Tesprit,  par  le  gout,  et  par  1'inclination.  Se 
peut-il  done  rien  de  plus  heureux,  que  d'unir  leurs  in- 
terests et  leurs  jours  ?  L' Amant  a  le  plaisir  de  donner  la 
derniere  marque  d^estime  et  de  confiance  a  sa  maitresse, 
et  TAmante  lui  donne  en  recompense  le  soin  de  son  repos 
et  de  sa  liberte.  Peut-on  se  donner  des  gages  plus  chers 
ou  plus  tendres  !  et  n^est-il  pas  naturel  de  souhaiter  de 
donner  des  preuves  incontestables  d'une  tendresse  dont 
1'ame  est  penetree  ? 

Je  sai,  qu'il  y  a  de  faux  delicats,  qui  soutiennent  que 
les  plaisirs  de  1'amour  ne  sont  dus  qu'aux  difficultes  et  aux 
dangers.  Us  disent  fort  spirituellement,  que  la  rose  ne 
seroit  pas  rose  sans  espines,  et  mille  fadaises  de  cette 
nature,  qui  font  si  peu  d'impression  sur  mon  esprit,  que 
je  suis  persuadee,  que  si  j'etois  Amant,  la  crainte  de 
nuire  a  celle  que  j'aimerois  me  rendroit  malheureux,  si 


ESSAYS.  339 

sa  possession  meme  etoit  accompagnee  de  dangers  pour 
elle. 

La  vie  des  Amants  marie s  est  bien  differente ;  ils  ont  le 
plaisir  de  la  passer  dans  une  suite  dVbligations  mutuelles 
&  de  marques  de  bienveillance,  &  on  a  la  joye  de  voir 
qu'on  fait  le  bonheur  entier  de  Tobjet  aime,  en  quel  point 
je  place  la  jouissance  parfaite. 

Les  plus  petits  soins  de  Toeconomie  deviennent  nobles  & 
delicats,  quand  ils  sont  releves  par  des  sentiments  de  ten- 
dresse.     Meubler  une  chambre,    n'est    pas  meubler   une 
chambre — c'est  orner  un  lieu  ou  j'attends  mon  Amant ; 
ordonner   un    souper,   n'est   pas   simplement   donner   des 
ordres    a  mon  cuisinier — c'est  m'amuser   a  regaler   celui 
que  j'aime :  ces  occupations   necessaires,   regardees  dans 
cette  vue  par  une  personne  amoureusc,  sont  des  plaisirs 
mille  fois  plus  vifs  &  plus  touchants  que  les  spectacles  & 
le  jeu,  qui  font  le  bonheur  de  cette  foule  incapable  de  la 
vraie  volupte.     Une  passion  heureuse  &  contente  adoucit 
tous   les  moLivements  de  Fame,   &  dore   tous    les  objets 
qu'on   voit.     Un  Amant   heureux,  (j'en tends  marie  a  sa 
maitresse,)  s'il  exerce  une  charge,  les  fatigues  d'un  camp, 
TemBarras  d'une  cour,  tout  lui  devient  agreable,  quand 
c'est  pour  servir  celle  qu'il  aime.     Si  la  fortune  favorable 
(car  cela  ne  depend  nullement  du  merite)  fait  reussir  ses 
desseins,  tous   les  avantages   qu'elle   lui  donne  sont   des 
ofFrandes  qu'il  met  aux  pieds  de  sa  charmante  amie;  il  la 
remercie   de  Tinspiration    qu'il  doit  a  ses  charmes,  &  il 
trouve  dans  le  succes  de  son  ambition  un  plaisir  plus  vif, 
&  plus  digne  d'un  honn£te  homme,  que  celui  d^elever  sa 
fortune,  &  d'etre  applaudi  du  public.     II  ne  jouit  de  la 
gloire,  du  rang,  &  de  la  richesse,  que  par  rapport  a  celle 
qu'il  aime ;  &  c'est  son  amante  qu'il  en  tend  louer,  quand  il 
s'attire  Papprobation   d'un   parlement,   Tapplaudissement 

z  2 


340  ESSAYS. 

<Tune  armee,  ou  1'agrement  de  son  prince.  Dans  le  mal- 
heur  (Test  sa  consolation  de  se  retirer  aupres  d'une  per- 
sonne  attendrie  par  ses  disgraces,  &  de  se  dire  entre  ses 
bras,  Mon  bonheur  ne  depend  pas  de  la  caprice  de  la 
fortune,  ici  j'ai  un  azile  asseure  contre  les  chagrins  ;  vostre 
estime  me  rend  insensible  a  Pinjustice  d'une  cour,  ou  a 
Pingratitude  d'un  maitre,  &  j'ai  une  espece  de  plaisir  dans 
la  perte  de  mon  bien,  puisque  cette  infortune  me  donne  de 
nouvelles  preuves  de  vostre  tendresse.  A  quoi  servent  les 
grandeurs  a  des  personnes  deja  heureuses  ?  Nous  n'avons 
besoin  ni  de  flatteurs  ni  d'equipages ;  je  regne  dans  vostre 
cceur,  &  je  possede  toutes  les  delices  de  la  nature  dans 
vostre  personne. 

Enfin,  il  n'y  a  point  de  situation  dont  la  tristesse  n'est 
pas  capable  d'etre  diminuee  par  la  compagnie  de  Pobjet 
de  son  amour ;  une  maladie  mesme  n'est  pas  sans  dou- 
ceurs, quand  on  a  le  plaisir  d'etre  soigne  par  celle  qu'on 
aime.  Je  ne  finirois  jamais,  si  j'entreprenois  de  donner  un 
detail  de  tous  les  agrements  d'une  union  ou  Ton  trouve  a 
la  fois  tout  ce  qui  peut  satisfaire  une  imagination  tendre  & 
delicate,  &  tout  ce  qui  flatte  les  sens  dans  la  volupte  la 
plus  pure  &  la  plus  etendue;  mais  je  ne  S9aurois  finir 
sans  parler  du  plaisir  de  voir  croitre,  tous  les  jours,  les 
aimables  marques  d'une  tendre  amide,  &  de  s'occuper 
(selon  leurs  differents  sexes)  a  les  perfectionner.  On 
s'abandonne  a  ce  doux  instinct  de  la  nature,  raffine  par 
1'amour.  On  baise  dans  une  fille  la  beaute  de  sa  mere,  & 
on  respecte  dans  un  fils  Tesprit  &  les  apparences  d'une 
probite  naturelle  qu'on  estime  dans  son  pere.  Ost  un 
plaisir  auquel  Dieu  mesme  (a  ce  que  dit  Moi'se)  a  ete 
sensible,  quand  voiant  ce  qu'il  avoit  fait,  il  le  trouvoit 
bon.  A  propos  de  Moi'se,  le  premier  plan  du  bonheur 
a  infiniment  surpasse  tous  les  autres,  &  je  ne  S9aurois 


ESSAYS.  341 

former  d'idee  (Tun  Paradis  plus  Paradis  que  Petat  ou 
etoient  places  nos  premiers  parens.  Cela  n'a  pas  dure, 
parcequ'ils  ne  connoissoient  pas  le  monde ;  &  c'est  par  la 
mesme  raison  qu'on  voit  si  peu  de  manages  d'inclination 
heureux.  Eve  etoit  une  sotte  enfant,  et  Adam  un  homme 
fort  peu  eclaire :  quand  des  gens  de  cette  espece  se  ren- 
contrent,  ils  ont  beau  estre  amoureux,  cela  ne  peut  pas 
durer.  Ils  se  forment  pendant  la  fureur  de  leur  amour 
des  idees  surnaturelles ;  un  homme  croit  sa  maitresse  une 
ange  parcequ'elle  est  belle,  et  une  femme  est  enchantee  du 
merite  de  son  amant  parcequMl  1'adore.  Le  premier 
changement  de  son  teint  lui  oste  son  adoration,  et  le  mari 
cessant  d'etre  adorateur,  devient  haissable  a  celle  qui  n'a 
pas  eu  d'autre  fondement  de  son  amour.  Ils  se  degoutent 
peu  a  peu,  et  a  Pexemple  de  nos  premiers  parens,  ils  ne 
manquent  pas  de  rejetter  Tun  sur  Pautre  le  crime  de  leur 
mutuelle  foiblesse.  Apres  la  froideur,  le  mepris  marche 
a  grand  pas,  et  ils  sont  prevenus  qu'il  faut  se  hair 
puisqu'ils  sont  maries.  Leurs  moindres  defauts  se  gros- 
sissent  a  leur  vue,  et  ils  sont  aveugles  sur  les  agrements 
qui  pourroient  leur  toucher  en  toute  autre  personne.  Un 
commerce  etabli  sur  Pusage  du  sens,  ne  peut  pas  avoir 
d'autre  suite.  Un  homme  en  epousant  sa  maitresse  doit 
oublier  qu'elle  lui  paroist  adorable,  pour  considerer  que 
c'est  une  simple  mortelle  sujette  aux  maladies,  aux 
caprices,  et  a  la  mauvaise  humeur:  il  doit  preparer  sa 
Constance  a  soutenir  la  perte  de  sa  beaute,  et  amasser  un 
fonds  de  complaisance,  qui  est  necessaire  pour  la  conver- 
sation continuelle  de  la  personne  du  monde  la  plus  raison- 
nable  et  la  moins  inegale.  La  dame,  de  son  cote,  ne  doit  pas 
attendre  une  suite  de  flatteries  et  d^obeissance ;  elle  se  doit 
disposer  elle-meme  a  obeir  agreablement — science  tres 
difficile,  et  par  consequence  d'un  grand  merite  aupres 


342  ESSAYS. 

d'un  homme  capable  de  le  sentir.  Elle  doit  tacher  de 
relever  les  charmes  d'une  maitresse  par  le  bon  sens  et  la 
solidite  d'une  amie.  Quand  deux  personnes  preoccupees 
par  des  sentimens  si  raisonnables  sont  unies  par  des  liens 
eternels,  la  nature  entiere  leur  rit,  et  les  objets  les  plus 
communs  leur  deviennent  charmants.  II  me  semble,  que 
c'est  une  vie  infiniment  plus  douce,  plus  elegante,  et  plus 
voluptueuse,  que  la  galanterie  la  plus  heureuse  et  la  mieux 
conduite.  Une  femme  capable  de  reflexion  ne  peut  re- 
garder  un  amant  autrement  qu'un  seducteur,  qui  veut 
profiler  de  sa  foiblesse  pour  se  donner  un  plaisir  d'un 
moment,  aux  depens  de  sa  gloire,  de  son  repos,  et  peut- 
etre  de  sa  vie.  Un  voleur  qui  met  le  pistolet  a  la  gorge 
pour  enlever  une  bourse  me  paroist  plus  honnete,  et  moins 
coupable ;  et  j'ai  assez  bonne  opinion  de  moi  pour  croire, 
que  si  j'etois  homme,  je  serois  aussi  capable  de  former  le 
plan  d'un  assassinat,  que  celui  de  corrompre  une  honnete 
femme,  estimee  dans  le  monde  et  heureuse  dans  son 
menage.  Serois-je  capable  d'empoisonner  son  coeur  en  lui 
inspirant  une  passion  funeste,  a  laquelle  il  faut  immoler 
Phonneur,  la  tranquillite,  et  la  vertu  ?  Rendrois-je  me- 
prisable  une  personne  parcequ'elle  me  paroist  aimable? 
Dois-je  recompenser  sa  tendresse  en  lui  rendant  sa  maison 
en  horreur,  ses  enfants  indifferents,  et  son  mari  deteste? 
Je  crois  que  ces  reflexions  me  paroistroient  dans  la  meme 
force  si  mon  sexe  m'avoit  rendu  excusable  dans  de  pareils 
precedes,  et  j'espere  que  j'aurois  ete  assez  sensee  pour  ne 
pas  croire  le  vice  moins  vicieux  parcequll  est  a  la  mode. 

J'estime  beaucoup  les  mceurs  Turques,  (peuple  igno- 
rant, mais  tres  poli  a  ma  fantaisie.)  Un  galant  convaincu 
d'avoir  debauche  une  femme  mariee  est  regarde  parmi 
eux  avec  la  meme  horreur  qu'une  dame  abandonnee  chez 
nous.  II  est  siir  de  ne  jamais  faire  fortune,  et  on  auroit 


ESSAYS.  343 

honte  de  donner  une  charge  considerable  a  un  homme 
soupgonne  d'avoir  fait  une  injustice  si  enorme.  Que 
diroit-on  dans  cette  nation  morale  si  on  voyoit  quelques- 
uns  de  nos  anti-chevaliers-errans,  qui  sont  toujours  en 
poursuite  d'aventures  pour  mettre  des  filles  innocentes  en 
detresse,  et  pour  perdre  Thonneur  des  femmes  de  con- 
dition? qui  ne  regardent  la  beaute,  la  jeunesse,  le  rang, 
et  la  vertu  meme,  que  comrae  des  aiguillons  pour  exciter 
le  desir  de  les  ruiner  ?  et  qui  mettent  toute  leur  gloire  a 
paroistre  des  seducteurs  habiles;  oubliant  qu'avec  tous 
leurs  soins  ils  ne  peuvent  jamais  atteindre  qu'au  second 
rang  de  ce  bel  escadron,  les  diables  ayant  ete  depuis  si 
long  temps  en  possession  du  premier?  J'avoue,  que  nos 
manieres  barbares  sont  si  bien  calculees  pour  1'eta- 
blissement  du  vice  et  du  malheur  (qui  en  est  inseparable), 
qu'il  faut  avoir  des  tetes  et  des  coeurs  infiniment  au-dessus 
du  commun,  pour  pouvoir  jouir  de  la  felicite  d'un  mariage 
tel  que  je  viens  de  le  depeindre.  La  nature  est  si  foible  et 
si  portee  au  changement,  qu'il  est  difficile  de  soutenir  la 
Constance  la  mieux  fondee  parmi  toutes  les  dissipations 
que  nos  coutumes  ridicules  ont  rendu  inevitables.  Un 
mari  amoureux  a  peine  a  voir  prendre  a  sa  femme  toutes 
les  libertes  du  bel  usage :  il  paroist  y  avoir  de  la  durete  a 
les  refuser :  et  il  se  trouve  reduit,  pour  se  conformer  aux 
manieres  polies  de  TEurope,  de  voir  tous  les  jours  ses 
mains  en  proye  a  qui  les  veut  prendre,  de  Tentendre  par- 
tager  a  toute  la  terre  les  charmes  de  son  esprit,  la  voir 
montrer  sa  gorge  en  plein  inidi,  se  parer  pour  des  bals  et 
des  spectacles,  s'attirer  des  adorateurs,  et  ecouter  les  fades 
flatteries  de  mille  et  mille  sots.  Peut-on  soutenir  son 
estime  pour  une  creature  si  publique  ?  et  ne  perd-elle  pas 
(au  moins)  beaucoup  de  son  prix  ?  Je  reviens  toujours  a 
mes  manieres  Orientales,  ou  les  plus  belles  femmes  se 


344  ESSAYS. 

contentent  de  limiter  le  pouvoir  de  leurs  charmes  a  celui  a 
qui  il  est  permis  d'en  jouir  :  elles  ont  trop  d'humanite  pour 
souhaiter  de  faire  des  miserables,  et  elles  sont  trop  sinc^res 
pour  ne  pas  avouer  qu'elles  se  croient  capables  d'exciter 
des  passions. 

Je  me  souviens  d'une  conversation  que  j'ai  eue  avec  une 
dame  de  grande  qualite  a  Constantinople  (la  plus  aimable 
femme  que  j'ai  connue  de  ma  vie,  et  pour  qui  j'ai  eue 
ensuite  une  tendre  amitie)  :  elle  m'avoua  nai'vement  qu'elle 
etoit  contente  de  son  mari.  Que  vous  etes  libertines  (me 
disoit-elle),  vous  autres  dames  Chretiennes !  il  vous  est 
permis  de  recevoir  les  visites  d'autant  d'hommes  que  vous 
voulez,  et  vos  loix  vous  permettent  sans  bornes  Fusage  de 
1'amour  et  du  vin.  Je  1'assurai  qu'elle  estoit  fort  mal 
instruite ;  qu'il  estoit  vrai  que  nous  recevions  des  visites, 
mais  ces  visites  estoient  pleines  du  respect  et  du  retenu,  et 
que  c'estoit  un  crime  d'entendre  parler  d'amour,  ou 
d'aimer  un  autre  que  son  mari.  Vos  maris  sont  bien  bons 
(me  repliqua-t-elle  en  riant)  de  se  contenter  d'une  fidelite 
si  bornee:  vos  yeux,  vos  mains,  votre  conversation  est 
pour  le  public,  et  que  pretendez-vous  reserver  pour  eux  ? 
Pardonnez-moi,  ma  belle  Sultane,  (ajouta-t-elle  en  m'em- 
brassant,)  j'ai  toute  Tinclination  possible  de  croire  tout  ce 
que  vous  me  dites,  mais  vous  voulez  m'imposer  des  impos- 
sibilites.  Je  scai  les  saletes  des  infidelles ;  je  voye  que 
vous  en  avez  honte,  et  je  ne  vous  en  parlerai  plus. 

J'ai  trouve  tant  de  bon  sens  et  de  vraisemblance  en  tout 
ce  qu'elle  me  disoit,  que  j'avois  peine  a  la  contredire ;  et 
j'avouai  d'abord  qu'elle  avoit  raison  de  preferer  les  mceurs 
Mussulmanes  a  nos  coutumes  ridicules,  qui  sont  une  con- 
fusion surprenante  des  maximes  severes  de  la  Christianisme 
avec  tout  le  libertinage  des  Lacedemoniennes :  et  nonob- 
stant  nos  folles  manieres,  je  suis  du  sentiment  qu'une 


ESSAYS.  345 

femme  determinee  a  faire  son  bonheur  de  Pamour  de  son 
mari,  doit  abandonner  le  desir  extravagant  de  se  faire 
adorer  du  public ;  et  qu'un  mari  qui  aime  tendrement  sa 
femme,  doit  se  priver  de  la  reputation  d'etre  galant  a  la 
cour.  Vous  voyez  que  je  suppose  deux  personnes  bien 
extraordinaires :  il  n'est  pas  done  fort  surprenant  qu'une 
telle  union  soit  bien  rare  dans  les  pa'is  ou  il  est  necessaire 
de  mepriser  les  coutumes  les  plus  etablies,  pour  etre 
heureux. 


POEMS. 


JULIA  TO  OVID. 

Written  at  Twelve  Years  of  Age,  in  imitation  of  Ovid's  Epistles. 

ARE  love  and  power  incapable  to  meet  ? 
And  must  they  all  be  wretched  who  are  great  ? 
Enslav'd  by  titles,  and  by  forms  confin'd, 
For  wretched  victims  to  the  state  design'd. 

What  rural  maid,  that  my  sad  fortune  knows, 
Would  quit  her  cottage  to  embrace  my  woes  ? 
Would  be  this  cursed  sacrifice  to  power, 
This  wretched  daughter  of  Rome's  emperour  ? 
When  sick  with  sighs  to  absent  Ovid  given, 
I  tire  with  vows  the  unrelenting  Heaven, 
Drown' d  in  my  tears,  and  with  my  sorrows  pale, 
What  then  do  all  my  kindred  gods  avail  ? 
Let  proud  Augustus  the  whole  world  subdue, 
Be  mine  to  place  all  happiness  in  you ; 
With  nobler  pride  I  can  on  thrones  look  down, 
Can  court  your  love  and  can  despise  a  crown. — 

O  Love  !  thou  pleasure  never  dearly  bought ! 
Whose  joys  exceed  the  very  lover's  thought ; 
Of  that  soft  passion,  when  you  teach  the  art, 
In  gentle  sounds  it  steals  into  the  heart ; 
With  such  sweet  magic  does  the  soul  surprise, 
'Tis  only  taught  us  better  by  your  eyes. 

O  Ovid!  first  of  the  inspired  train, 
To  Heaven  I  speak  in  that  enchanting  strain, 
So  sweet  a  voice  can  never  plead  in  vain. 


348  POEMS. 

Apollo  will  protect  his  favourite  son, 
And  all  the  little  Loves  unto  thy  succour  run. 
The  Loves  and  Muses  in  thy  prayer  shall  join, 
And  all  their  wishes  and  their  vows  be  thine ; 
Some  god  will  soften  my  hard  Father's  breast, 
And  work  a  miracle  to  make  thee  blest. 
****** 
****** 

Hard  as  this  is,  I  even  this  could  bear, 
But  greater  ills  than  what  I  feel,  I  fear. 
My  fame — my  Ovid — both  for  ever  fled, 
What  greater  evil  is  there  left  to  dread ! 

Yes,  there  is  one — 

Avert  it,  Gods,  who  do  my  sorrows  see ! 

Avert  it,  thou,  who  art  a  god  to  me ! 

When  back  to  Rome  your  wishing  eyes  are  cast, 

And  on  the  lessening  towers  you  gaze  your  last — 

When  fancy  shall  recall  unto  your  view 

The  pleasures  now  for  ever  lost  to  you, 

The  shining  court,  and  all  the  thousand  ways 

To  melt  the  nights  and  pass  the  happy  days — 

Will  you  not  sigh,  and  hate  the  wretched  maid, 

Whose  fatal  love  your  safety  has  betray'd  ? 

Say  that  from  me  your  banishment  does  come, 

And  curse  the  eyes  that  have  expell'd  you  Rome  ? 

Those  eyes,  which  now  are  weeping  for  your  woes, 

The  sleep  of  death  shall  then  for  ever  close. 


IRREGULAR  VERSES  TO  TRUTH. 

Written  at  Fourteen  Years  of  Age. 

WHERE,  lovely  Goddess,  dost  thou  dwell  ? 
In  what  remote  and  silent  shade  ? 
Within  what  cave  or  lonely  cell  ? 
With  what  old  hermit,  or  unpractis'd  maid  ? 


POEMS.  349 

In  vain  I  Ve  sought  thee  all  around, 

But  thy  unfashionable  sound 

In  crowds  was  never  heard, 
Nor  ever  has  thy  form  in  town  or  court  appear'd. 

The  sanctuary  is  not  safe  to  thee, 

Chas'd  thence  by  endless  mystery ; 

Thy  own  professors  chase  thee  thence, 
And  wage  eternal  war  with  thee  and  sense ; 

Then  in  perplexing  comments  lost, 
E'en  when  they  would  be  thought  to  shew  the  most. 

Most  beautiful  when  most  distress'd, 

Descend,  O  Goddess,  to  my  breast ; 
There  thou  may'st  reign,  unrivall'd  and  alone, 
My  thoughts  thy  subjects,  and  my  heart  thy  throne. 


SONG. 

How  happy  is  the  harden'd  heart, 
Where  interest  is  the  only  view ! 

Can  sigh  and  meet,  or  smile  and  part, 
Nor  pleas'd,  nor  griev'd,  nor  false,  nor  true — 
Yet,  have  they  truly  peace  of  mind  ? 

Or  do  they  ever  truly  know 
The  bliss  sincerer  tempers  find, 

Which  truth  and  virtue  can  bestow  ? 


THE  LADY'S  RESOLVE. 

Written  on  a  Window,  soon  after  her  Marriage,  1713. 

WHILST  thirst  of  praise  and  vain  desire  of  fame, 
In  every  age,  is  every  woman's  aim ; 
With  courtship  pleas'd,  of  silly  toasters  proud, 
Fond  of  a  train,  and  happy  in  a  crowd  ; 


350  POEMS. 

On  each  proud  fop  bestowing  some  kind  glance, 
Each  conquest  owing  to  some  loose  advance ; 
While  vain  coquets  affect  to  be  pursued, 
And  think  they  're  virtuous,  if  not  grossly  lewd  : 
Let  this  great  maxim  be  my  virtue's  guide ; 
In  part  she  is  to  blame  that  has  been  try'd — 
He  comes  too  near,  that  comes  to  be  deny'd. 


TOWN    ECLOGUES. 

The  original  edition  of  the  Town  Eclogues  has  this  title  :— 
COURT    POEMS. 

1.  THE  BASSET  TABLE,  AN  ECLOGUE. 

2.  THE  DRAWING  ROOM. 

3.  THE  TOILET. 

PUBLISHED  FAITHFULLY  AS  THEY  WERE  FOUND  IN  A  POCKET-BOOK  TAKEN  UP 
IN  WESTMINSTER  HALL,  THE  LAST  DAY  OF  THE  LORD  WINTON'S  TRIAL. 

London  ;  printed  for  J.  Robarts,  near  the  Oxford  Arms,  in  Warwick  Street, 
1706.  Price  sixpence. 

Then  follows  an  v^ 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  reader  is  acquainted  from  the  title-page,  how  I  came  possessed  of  the 
following  poems.  All  that  I  have  to  add,  is  only  a  word  or  two  concerning 
their  author.  Upon  reading  them  over  at  St.  James's  Coffee-house,  they  were 
attributed,  by  the  general  voice,  to  be  the  productions  of  a  lady  of  quality. 
When  I  produced  them  at  Button's,  the  poetical  jury  there  brought  in  a  different 
verdict ;  and  the  foreman  strenuously  insisted  upon  it,  that  Mr.  Gay  was 
the  man,  and  declared,  in  comparing  the  Basset  Table  with  that  gentleman's 
Pastorals,  he  found  the  style  and  turn  of  thought  to  be  evidently  the  same, 
which  confirmed  him,  and  his  brethren,  in  the  sentence  they  had  pronounced. 
Not  content  with  these  two  decisions,  I  was  resolved  to  call  in  an  umpire  ;  and 
accordingly  chose  a  gentleman  of  distinguished  merit,  who  lives  not  far  from 
Chelsea.  I  sent  him  the  papers,  which  he  returned  to  me  the  next  day,  with 
this  answer : — 

"  SIR, — Depend  upon  it,  these  lines  could  come  from  no  other  hand  than  the 
judicious  translator  of  Homer." 


POEMS.  351 

Thus  having  impartially  given  the  sentiments  of  the  Town,  I  hope  I  may 
deserve  thanks  for  the  pains  I  have  taken  in  endeavouring  to  find  out  the  author 
of  these  valuable  performances,  and  every  body  is  at  liberty  to  bestow  the  laurel 
as  they  please. 

The  above  date,  1706,  is  evidently  a  misprint.  Lord  Winton's 
trial  was  in  1716.  W. 


TOWN   ECLOGUES.* 

Written  in  the  Year  1715. 

MONDAY. 
ROXANA;    OR,    THE    DRAWING-ROOM. 

ROXANA,  from  the  court  retiring  late, 
Sigh'd  her  soft  sorrows  at  St.  James's  gate. 
Such  heavy  thoughts  lay  brooding  in  her  breast, 
Not  her  own  chairmen  with  more  weight  oppress'd ; 
They  groan  the  cruel  load  they  're  doom'd  to  bear ; 
She  in  these  gentle  sounds  express'd  her  care. 

"  Was  it  for  this  that  I  these  roses  wear  ? 
For  this  new-set  the  jewels  for  my  hair  ? 
Ah  !  Princess  !  •)-  with  what  zeal  have  I  pursued  ! 
Almost  forgot  the  duty  of  a  prude. 
Thinking  I  never  could  attend  too  soon, 
I  've  miss'd  my  prayers,  to  get  me  dress'd  by  noon. 
For  thee,  ah !  what  for  thee  did  I  resign  ? 
My  pleasures,  passions,  all  that  e'er  was  mine. 
I  sacrific'd  both  modesty  and  ease, 
Left  operas  and  went  to  filthy  plays ; 
Double-entendres  shock  my  tender  ear ; 
Yet  even  this  for  thee  I  choose  to  bear. 

*  Written  as  a  parody  upon  the  Pastorals  of  Pope  and  Philips,  which  had 
then  their  full  share  of  fame.  The  same  idea  was  afterwards  pursued  by 
C.  Jenner,  and  his  Town  Eclogues  are  printed  in  Dodsley's  Collection. 

t  The  Princess  of  Wales,  afterwards  Queen  Caroline. 


352  POEMS. 

In  glowing  youth,  when  nature  bids  be  gay, 
And  every  joy  of  life  before  me  lay, 
By  honour  prompted,  and  by  pride  restrain'd, 
The  pleasures  of  the  young  my  soul  disdain'd  : 
Sermons  I  sought,  and  with  a  mien  severe 
Censur'd  my  neighbours,  and  said  daily  pray'r. 

"  Alas  !  how  chang'd — with  the  same  sermon-mien 
That  once  I  pray  d,  the  What  d'  ye-call  't  *  I '  ve  seen. 
Ah  !  cruel  Princess,  for  thy  sake  I  've  lost 
That  reputation  which  so  dear  had  cost : 
I,  who  avoided  every  public  place, 
When  bloom  and  beauty  bade  me  shew  my  face, 
Now  near  thee  constant  every  night  abide 
With  never-failing  duty  by  thy  side ; 
Myself  and  daughters  standing  on  a  row, 
To  all  the  foreigners  a  goodly  show  I 
Oft  had  your  drawing-room  been  sadly  thin, 
And  merchants'  wives  close  by  the  chair  been  seen, 
Had  not  I  amply  fill'd  the  empty  space, 
And  sav'd  your  Highness  from  the  dire  disgrace. 

"  Yet  Coquetilla's  artifice  prevails, 
When  all  my  merit  and  my  duty  fails ; 
That  Coquetilla,  whose  deluding  airs 
Corrupt  our  virgins,  still  our  youth  ensnares ; 
So  sunk  her  character,  so  lost  her  fame, 
Scarce  visited  before  your  Highness  came  : 
Yet  for  the  bed-chamber  'tis  her  you  choose, 
When  zeal  and  fame  and  virtue  you  refuse. 
Ah  !  worthy  choice  !  not  one  of  all  your  train 
Whom  censure  blasts  not,  and  dishonours  stain  ! 
Let  the  nice  hind  now  suckle  dirty  pigs, 
And  the  proud  pea-hen  hatch  the  cuckoo's  eggs  ! 
Let  Iris  leave  her  paint  and  own  her  age, 
And  grave  Suffolka  wed  a  giddy  page  ! 

*  A  farce,  by  Gay. 


POEMS. 

A  greater  miracle  is  daily  view'd, 

A  virtuous  Princess  with  a  court  so  lewd. 

« I  know  thee,  court !  with  all  thy  treach'rous  wiles, 
Thy  false  caresses  and  undoing  smiles  ! 
Ah !  Princess,  learn'd  in  all  the  courtly  arts, 
To  cheat  our  hopes,  and  yet  to  gain  our  hearts  ! 

"  Large  lovely  bribes  are  the  great  statesman's  aim ; 
And  the  neglected  patriot  follows  fame. 
The  Prince  is  ogled ;  some  the  King  pursue ; 
But  your  Roxana  only  follows  you. 
Despis'd  Roxana,  cease,  and  try  to  find 
Some  other,  since  the  Princess  proves  unkind: 
Perhaps  it  is  not  hard  to  find  at  court, 
If  not  a  greater,  a  more  firm  support." 

TUESDAY.— ST.  JAMES'S  COFFEE-HOUSE. 
SILLIANDER    AND    PATCH. 

THOU,  who  so  many  favours  hast  received, 
Wond'rous  to  tell,  and  hard  to  be  believed, 
Oh  !  Hervey,*  to  my  lays  attention  lend, 
Hear  how  two  lovers  boastingly  contend  ; 
Like  thee  successful,  such  their  bloomy  youth, 
Renown'd  alike  for  gallantry  and  truth. 

St.  James's  bell  had  toll'd  some  wretches  in 
(As  tatter'd  riding-hoods  alone  could  sin), 
The  happier  sinners  now  their  charms  recruit, 
And  to  their  manteaus  their  complexion  suit ; 
The  opera  queens  had  finish'd  half  their  faces, 
And  city  dames  already  taken  places  ; 
Fops  of  all  kinds,  to  see  the  Lion,  run  ; 
The  beauties  stay  till  the  first  act 's  begun, 
And  beaux  step  home  to  put  fresh  linen  on. 
No  well-dress'd  youth  in  coffee-house  remain'd 
But  pensive  Patch,  who  on  the  window  lean'd ; 

*  Lord  Viscount  Hervey. 
VOL.  III.  2    A 


354  POEMS. 

And  Silliander,  that,  alert  and  gay, 

First  pick'd  his  teeth,  and  then  began  to  say : 

SILLIANDER. 

Why  all  these  sighs  ?  ah  !  why  so  pensive  grown  ? 
Some  cause  there  is  why  thus  you  sit  alone. 
Does  hapless  passion  all  this  sorrow  move  ? 
Or  dost  thou  envy  where  the  ladies  love  ? 


PATCH. 


If,  whom  they  love,  my  envy  must  pursue, 
Tis  true  at  least  I  never  envy  you. 


SILLIANDER. 


No,  I  'm  unhappy — you  are  in  the  right — 
'Tis  you  they  favour,  and  'tis  me  they  slight. 
Yet  I  could  tell,  but  that  I  hate  to  boast, 
A  club  of  ladies  where  'tis  me  they  toast. 

PATCH. 

Toasting  does  seldom  any  favour  prove ; 
Like  us,  they  never  toast  the  thing  they  love. 
A  certain  duke  one  night  my  health  begun; 
With  cheerful  pledges  round  the  room  it  run, 
'Till  the  young  Silvia,  press'd  to  drink  it  too, 
Started,  and  vow'd  she  knew  not  what  to  do : 
What,  drink  a  fellow's  health  !  she  died  with  shame 
Yet  blush'd  whenever  she  pronounc'd  my  name. 

SILLIANDER. 

Ill  fates  pursue  me,  may  I  never  find 
The  dice  propitious,  or  the  ladies  kind, 
If  fair  Miss  Flippy's  fan  I  did  not  tear, 
And  one  from  me  she  condescends  to  wear  ! 


POEMS.  355 


PATCH. 

Women  are  always  ready  to  receive  ; 
'Tis  then  a  favour  when  the  sex  will  give. 
A  lady  (but  she  is  too  great  to  name), 
Beauteous  in  person,  spotless  in  her  fame, 
With  gentle  smugglings  let  me  force  this  ring ; 
Another  day  may  give  another  thing. 

SILLIANDER. 

I  could  say  something — see  this  billet-doux — 
And  as  for  presents — look  upon  my  shoe — 
These  buckles  were  not  forc'd,  nor  half  a  theft, 
But  a  young  countess  fondly  made  the  gift. 

PATCH. 

My  countess  is  more  nice,  more  artful  too, 
Affects  to  fly,  that  I  may  fierce  pursue  : 
This  snuff-box  which  I  begg'd,  she  still  deny'd, 
And  when  I  strove  to  snatch  it,  seem'd  to  hide ; 
She  laugh'd  and  fled,  and  as  I  sought  to  seize, 
With  affectation  cramm'd  it  down  her  stays ; 
Yet  hop'd  she  did  not  place  it  there  unseen, 
I  press'd  her  breasts,  and  pull'd  it  from  between. 

SILLIANDER. 

Last  night,  as  I  stood  ogling  of  her  Grace, 
Drinking  delicious  poison  from  her  face, 
The  soft  enchantress  did  that  face  decline, 
Nor  ever  rais'd  her  eyes  to  meet  with  mine ; 
With  sudden  art  some  secret  did  pretend, 
Lean'd  cross  two  chairs  to  whisper  to  a  friend, 
While  the  stiff  whalebone  with  the  motion  rose, 
And  thousand  beauties  to  my  sight  expose. 

2A2 


356  POEMS. 

PATCH. 

Early  this  morn— (but  I  was  ask'd  to  come) 
I  drank  bohea  in  Celia's  dressing-room : 
Warm  from  her  bed,  to  me  alone  within, 
Her  night-gown  fasten'd  with  a  single  pin ; 
Her  night-clothes  tumbled  with  resistless  grace, 
And  her  bright  hair  play'd  careless  round  her  face ; 
Reaching  the  kettle  made  her  gown  unpin, 
She  wore  no  waistcoat,  and  her  shift  was  thin. 

SILLIANDER. 

See  Titiana  driving  to  the  park ! 
Haste  !  let  us  follow,  'tis  not  yet  too  dark: 
In  her  all  beauties  of  the  spring  are  seen, 
Her  cheeks  are  rosy,  and  her  mantle  green. 

PATCH. 

See  Tintoretta  to  the  opera  goes  ! 
Haste  !  or  the  crowd  will  not  permit  our  bows ; 
In  her  the  glory  of  the  heav'ns  we  view, 
Her  eyes  are  star-like,  and  her  mantle  blue. 

SILLIANDER. 

What  colour  does  in  Celia's  stockings  shine? 
Reveal  that  secret,  and  the  prize  is  thine. 

PATCH. 

What  are  her  garters?  tell  me  if  you  can; 
I  '11  freely  own  thee  far  the  happier  man. 

Thus  Patch  continued  his  heroic  strain, 
While  Silliander  but  contends  in  vain ; 
After  a  contest  so  important  gain'd, 
Unrivall'd  Patch  in  every  ruelle  reign'd. 


POEMS.  357 


WEDNESDAY.— THE  TETE-A-TETE. 
DANCINDA. 

"  No,  fair  Dancinda,  no ;  you  strive  in  vain 

To  calm  my  care,  and  mitigate  my  pain ; 

If  all  my  sighs,  my  cares,  can  fail  to  move, 

Ah  !  soothe  me  not  with  fruitless  vows  of  love." 

Thus  Strephon  spoke.     Dancinda  thus  replied ; 

"  What  must  I  do  to  gratify  your  pride  ? 

Too  well  you  know  (ungrateful  as  thou  art) 

How  much  you  triumph  in  this  tender  heart : 

What  proof  of  love  remains  for  me  to  grant  ? 

Yet  still  you  teaze  me  with  some  new  complaint. 

Oh  !  would  to  heaven  ! — but  the  fond  wish  is  vain — 

Too  many  favours  had  not  made  it  plain  ! 

But  such  a  passion  breaks  through  all  disguise, 

Love  reddens  on  my  cheek,  and  wishes  in  my  eyes. 

Is  't  not  enough  (inhuman  and  unkind  !) 

I  own  the  secret  conflict  of  my  mind  ? 

You  cannot  know  what  secret  pain  I  prove, 

When  I,  with  burning  blushes,  own  I  love. 

You  see  my  artless  joy  at  your  approach, 

I  sigh,  I  faint,  I  tremble  at  your  touch ; 

And  in  your  absence  all  the  world  I  shun ; 

I  hate  mankind,  and  curse  the  cheering  sun  ; 

Still  as  I  fly,  ten  thousand  swains  pursue ; 

Ten  thousand  swains  I  sacrifice  to  you. 

I  shew  you  all  my  heart  without  disguise : 

But  these  are  tender  proofs  that  you  despise — 

I  see  too  well  what  wishes  you  pursue  ; 

You  would  not  only  conquer,  but  undo : 

You,  cruel  victor,  weary  of  your  flame, 

Would  seek  a  cure  in  my  eternal  shame ; 

And,  not  content  my  honour  to  subdue, 

Now  strive  to  trfumph  o'er  my  virtue  too. 


358  POEMS. 

0  Love  !  a  god  indeed  to  womankind, 

Whose  arrows  burn  me,  and  whose  fetters  bind, 
Avenge  thy  altars,  vindicate  thy  fame, 
And  blast  these  traitors  that  profane  thy  name  ; 
Who,  by  pretending  to  thy  sacred  fire, 
Raise  cursed  trophies  to  impure  desire. 

"  Have  you  forgot  with  what  ensnaring  art 
You  first  seduc'd  this  fond  uncautious  heart  ? 
Then  as  I  fled,  did  you  not  kneeling  cry, 

1  Turn,  cruel  beauty ;  whither  would  you  fly  ? 
Why  all  these  doubts  ?  why  this  distrustful  fear  ? 
No  impious  wishes  shall  offend  your  ear  : 

Nor  ever  shall  my  boldest  hopes  pretend 
Above  the  title  of  a  tender  friend ; 
Blest,  if  my  lovely  goddess  will  permit 
My  humble  vows  thus  sighing  at  her  feet. 
The  tyrant,  Love,  that  in  my  bosom  reigns, 
The  god  himself  submits  to  wear  your  chains  ; 
You  shall  direct  his  course,  his  ardour  tame, 
And  check  the  fury  of  his  wildest  flame.' 
"  Unpractis'd  youth  is  easily  deceiv'd ; 
Sooth' d  by  such  sounds,  I  listen'd  and  believ'd  : 
Now  quite  forgot  that  soft  submissive  fear, 
You  dare  to  ask  what  I  must  blush  to  hear. 

"  Could  I  forget  the  honour  of  my  race, 
And  meet  your  wishes,  fearless  of  disgrace  ; 
Could  passion  o'er  my  tender  youth  prevail, 
And  all  my  mother's  pious  maxims  fail ; 
Yet  to  preserve  your  heart  (which  still  must  be, 
False  as  it  is,  for  ever  dear  to  me) 
This  fatal  proof  of  love  I  would  not  give, 
Which  you  'd  contemn  the  moment  you  receive. 
The  wretched  she,  who  yields  to  guilty  joys, 
A  man  may  pity,  but  he  must  despise. 
Your  ardour  ceas'd,  I  then  should  see  you  shun 
The  wretched  victim  by  your  arts  undone. 


POEMS.  359 

Yet  if  I  could  that  cold  indifference  bear, 
What  more  would  strike  me  with  the  last  despair, 
With  this  reflection  would  my  soul  be  torn, 
To  know  I  merited  your  cruel  scorn. 

"  Has  love  no  pleasures  free  from  guilt  or  fear  ? 
Pleasures  less  fierce,  more  lasting,  more  sincere  ? 
Thus  let  us  gently  kiss  and  fondly  gaze ; 
Love  is  a  child,  and  like  a  child  he  plays. 

"  O  Strephon  I  if  you  would  continue  just, 
If  love  be  something  more  than  brutal  lust, 
Forbear  to  ask  what  I  must  still  deny, 
This  bitter  pleasure,  this  destructive  joy, 
So  closely  follow'd  by  the  dismal  train 
Of  cutting  shame,  and  guilt's  heart-piercing  pain." 

She  paus'd,  and  fix'd  her  eyes  upon  her  fan ! 
He  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  thus  began : 

"  Madam,  if  love "     But  he  could  say  no  more, 

For  Mademoiselle  came  rapping  at  the  door. 

The  dangerous  moments  no  adieus  afford ; 

— " Begone,"  she  cries,  "I  'm  s^ure  I  hear  my  lord." 

The  lover  starts  from  his  unfinilh'd  loves, 

To  snatch  his  hat,  and  seek  his  scatter'd  gloves : 

The  sighing  dame  to  meet  her  dear  prepares, 

While  Strephon,  cursing,  slips  down  the  back  stairs. 

THURSDAY THE  B ASS ETTE -TABLE. 

SMILINDA    AND    CARDELIA. 
CARDELIA. 

THE  Bassette- Table  spread,  the  Tallier  come; 
Why  stays  Smilinda  in  her  dressing-room  ? 
Rise,  pensive  nymph  !  the  Tallier  waits  for  you. 

SMILINDA. 

Ah !  madam,  since  my  Sharper  is  untrue, 
I  joyless  make  my  once  ador'd  alpiu. 


360  POEMS. 

I  saw  him  stand  behind  Ombrelia's  chair, 
And  whisper  with  that  soft  deluding  air, 
And  those  feign'd  sighs,  which  cheat  the  list'ning  fair. 

CARDELIA. 

Is  this  the  cause  of  your  romantic  strains? 
A  mightier  grief  my  heavier  heart  sustains. 
As  you  by  Love,  so  I  by  Fortune  cross'd, 
In  one  bad  deal  three  septlevas  have  lost. 

SMILINDA. 

Is  that  the  grief  which  you  compare  with  mine  I 
With  ease  the  smiles  of  Fortune  I  resign : 
Would  all  my  gold  in  one  bad  deal  were  gone ; 
Were  lovely  Sharper  mine,  and  mine  alone ! 

CARDELIA. 

A  lover  lost  is  but  a  common  care : 
And  prudent  nymphs  against  that  change  prepare. 
The  knave  of  clubs  thrice  lost :  oh!   who  could  guess 
This  fatal  stroke  I  this  unforeseen  distress  ? 

SMILINDA. 

See !  Betty  Loveit,  very  a-propos, 
She  all  the  care  of  love  and  play  does  know ; 
Dear  Betty  shall  th'  important  point  decide ; 
Betty,  who  oft  the  pain  of  each  has  try'd ; 
Impartial  she  shall  say  who  suffers  most, 
By  cards3  ill  usage,  or  by  lovers  lost. 

LOVEIT. 

Tell,  tell  your  griefs ;  attentive  will  I  stay, 
Though  time  is  precious,  and  I  want  some  tea. 

CARDELIA. 

Behold  this  equipage,  by  Mathers  wrought, 
With  fifty  guineas  (a  great  penn'orth  !)  bought. 


POEMS.  361 

See  on  the  tooth-pick,  Mars  and  Cupid  strive ; 
And  both  the  struggling  figures  seem  alive. 
Upon  the  bottom  shines  the  queen's  bright  face ; 
A  myrtle  foliage  round  the  thimble  case. 
Jove,  Jove  himself,  does  on  the  scissars  shine ; 
The  metal,  and  the  workmanship  divine ! 

SMILINDA. 

This  snuff-box,  once  the  pledge  of  Sharper's  love, 
When  rival  beauties  for  the  present  strove ; 
At  Corticelli's  he  the  raffle  won ; 
Then  first  his  passion  was  in  public  shewn : 
Hazardia  blush'd,  and  turn'd  her  head  aside, 
A  rival's  envy  (all  in  vain)  to  hide. 
This  snuff-box — on  the  hinge  see  brilliants  shine : 
This  snuff-box  will  I  stake,  the  prize  is  mine. 

CARDELIA. 

Alas !  far  lesser  losses  than  I  bear, 
Have  made  a  soldier  sigh,  a  lover  swear, 
And,  oh !  what  makes  the  disappointment  hard, 
'Twas  my  own  lord  that  drew  the  fatal  card. 
In  complaisance  I  took  the  queen  he  gave, 
Though  my  own  secret  wish  was  for  the  knave. 
The  knave  won  Sonica  which  I  had  chose ; 
And  the  next  pull  my  septleva  I  lose. 

SMILINDA. 

But,  ah  I  what  aggravates  the  killing  smart, 
The  cruel  thought  that  stabs  me  to  the  heart ; 
This  curs'd  Ombrelia,  this  undoing  fair, 
By  whose  vile  arts  this  heavy  grief  I  bear ; 
She,  at  whose  name  I  shed  these  spiteful  tears, 
She  owes  to  me  the  very  charms  she  wears : 
An  awkward  thing  when  first  she  came  to  town ; 
Her  shape  unfashion'd,  and  her  face  unknown : 


362  POEMS. 

She  was  my  friend,  I  taught  her  first  to  spread 
Upon  her  sallow  cheeks  enlivening  red. 
I  introduc'd  her  to  the  park  and  plays ; 
And  by  my  int'rest  Cosins  made  her  stays. 
Ungrateful  wretch !  with  mimic  airs  grown  pert, 
She  dares  to  steal  my  favourite  lover's  heart. 

CARDELIA. 

Wretch  that  I  was  I  how  often  have  I  swore, 
When  Winnall  tallied,  I  would  punt  no  more  ? 
I  know  the  bite,  yet  to  my  ruin  run ; 
And  see  the  folly  which  I  cannot  shun. 

SMILINDA. 

How  many  maids  have  Sharper's  vows  deceiv'd  I 
How  many  curs'd  the  moment  they  believ'd ! 
Yet  his  known  falsehoods  could  no  warning  prove ; 
Ah !  what  is  warning  to  a  maid  in  love  ? 

CARDELIA. 

But  of  what  marble  must  that  breast  be  form'd, 
To  gaze  on  Basse tte,  and  remain  unwarm'd  ? 
When  kings,  queens,  knaves,  are  set  in  decent  rank, 
Expos'd  in  glorious  heaps  the  tempting  bank, 
Guineas,  half-guineas,  all  the  shining  train ; 
The  winner's  pleasure,  and  the  loser's  pain : 
In  bright  confusion  open  rouleaus  lie, 
They  strike  the  soul,  and  glitter  in  the  eye. 
Fir'd  by  the  sight,  all  reason  I  disdain ; 
My  passions  rise,  and  will  not  bear  the  rein. 
Look  upon  Bassette,  you  who  reason  boast ; 
And  see  if  reason  must  not  there  be  lost. 

SMILINDA. 

What  more  than  marble  must  that  heart  compose, 
Can  hearken  coldly  to  my  Sharper's  vows  ? 


POEMS.  363 

Then  when  he  trembles,  when  his  blushes  rise, 
When  awful  love  seems  melting  in  his  eyes, 
With  eager  beats  his  Mechlin  cravat  moves  : 
He  loves,  I  whisper  to  myself,  he  loves  f 
Such  unfeign'd  passion  in  his  looks  appears, 
I  lose  all  mem'ry  of  my  former  fears : 
My  panting  heart  confesses  all  his  charms., 
I  yield  at  once,  and  sink  into  his  arms : 
Think  of  that  moment,  you  who  prudence  boast, 
For  such  a  moment,  prudence  well  were  lost. 

CARDELIA. 

At  the  Groom-porter's,  batter'd  bullies  play, 
Some  dukes  at  Marybone  bowl  time  away. 
But  who  the  bowl,  or  rattling  dice,  compares 
To  Bassette's  heavenly  joys  and  pleasing  cares  ? 

SMILINDA. 

Soft  Simplicetta  doats  upon  a  beau ; 
Prudina  likes  a  man,  and  laughs  at  show. 
Their  several  graces  in  my  Sharper  meet ; 
Strong  as  the  footman,  as  the  master  sweet. 

LOVEIT. 

Cease  your  contention,  which  has  been  too  long ; 
I  grow  impatient,  and  the  tea  too  strong. 
Attend,  and  yield  to  what  I  now  decide ; 
The  equipage  shall  grace  Smilinda's  side : 
The  snuff-box  to  Cardelia  I  decree  : 
Now  leave  complaining,  and  begin  your  tea. 

FRIDAY — THE  TOILETTE. 
LYDIA. 

Now  twenty  springs  had  cloth'd  the  Park  with  green, 
Since  Lydia  knew  the  blossom  of  fifteen ; 


364  POEMS. 

No  lovers  now  her  morning  hours  molest, 

And  catch  her  at  her  toilet  half  undrest. 

The  thund'ring  knocker  wakes  the  street  no  more, 

Nor  chairs,  nor  coaches,  crowd  the  silent  door ; 

Now  at  the  window  all  her  mornings  pass, 

Or  at  the  dumb  devotion  of  her  glass : 

Reclin'd  upon  her  arm  she  pensive  sate, 

And  curs'd  th'  inconstancy  of  man  too  late. 

"  O  youth !  O  spring  of  life,  for  ever  lost  I 
No  more  my  name  shall  reign  the  fav'rite  toast: 
On  glass  no  more  the  diamond  grave  my  name, 
And  lines  mis-spelt  record  my  lover's  flame : 
Nor  shall  side-boxes  watch  my  wand'ring  eyes, 
And,  as  they  catch  the  glance,  in  rows  arise 
With  humble  bows ;  nor  white-glov'd  beaux  encroach 
In  crowds  behind,  to  guard  me  to  my  coach. 

"  What  shall  1  do  to  spend  the  hateful  day? 
At  chapel  shall  I  wear  the  morn  away  ? 
Who  there  appears  at  these  unmodish  hours, 
But  ancient  matrons  with  their  frizzled  tow'rs, 
And  gray  religious  maids  ?     My  presence  there, 
Amidst  that  sober  train,  would  own  despair? 
Nor  am  I  yet  so  old,  nor  is  my  glance 
As  yet  fix'd  wholly  on  devotion's  trance. 
Strait  then  I  'II  dress,  and  take  my  wonted  range 
Through  India  shops,  to  Motteux's,  or  the  Change, 
Where  the  tall  jar  erects  its  stately  pride, 
With  antic  shapes  in  China's  azure  dy'd ; 
There  careless  lies  a  rich  brocade  unrolFd, 
Here  shines  a  cabinet  with  burnish'd  gold. 
But  then,  alas  !  I  must  be  forc'd  to  pay, 
And  bring  no  penn'orths,  not  a  fan  away  I 

How  am  I  curs'd,  unhappy  and  forlorn  I 
My  lover's  triumph,  and  my  sex's  scorn ! 
False  is  the  pompous  grief  of  youthful  heirs ; 
False  are  the  loose  coquet's  inveigling  airs ; 


POEMS.  365 

False  is  the  crafty  courtier's  plighted  word ; 
False  are  the  dice  when  gamesters  stamp  the  board ; 
False  is  the  sprightly  widow's  public  tear ; 
Yet  these  to  Damon's  oaths  are  all  sincere. 

"  For  what  young  flirt,  base  man,  am  I  abus'd  ? 
To  please  your  wife  am  I  unkindly  us'd  ? 
'Tis  true  her  face  may  boast  the  peach's  bloom  ; 
But  does  her  nearer  whisper  breathe  perfume  ? 
I  own  her  taper  shape  is  form'd  to  please ; 
But  don't  you  see  her  unconfin'd  by  stays  ? 
She  doubly  to  fifteen  may  claim  pretence ; 
Alike  we  read  it  in  her  face  and  sense. 
Insipid,  servile  thing  !  whom  I  disdain  ! 
Her  phlegm  can  best  support  the  marriage  chain. 
Damon  is  practis'd  in  the  modish  life, 
Can  hate,  and  yet  be  civil  to  his  wife  : 
He  games,  he  drinks,  he  swears,  he  fights,  he  roves ; 
Yet  Chloe  can  believe  he  fondly  loves. 
Mistress  and  wife  by  turns  supply  his  need  ; 
A  miss  for  pleasure,  and  a  wife  for  breed. 
Powder'd  with  diamonds,  free  from  spleen  or  care, 
She  can  a  sullen  husband's  humour  bear ; 
Her  credulous  friendship,  and  her  stupid  ease, 
Have  often  been  my  jest  in  happier  days  ; 
How  Chloe  boasts  and  triumphs  in  my  pains  ! 
To  her  he 's  faithful ;  'tis  to  me  he  feigns. 
Am  I  that  stupid  *  thing  to  bear  neglect, 
And  force  a  smile,  not  daring  to  suspect  ? 
No,  perjur'd  man!  a  wife  may  be  content; 
But  you  shall  find  a  mistress  can  resent." 

Thus  love-sick  Lydia  rav'd ;  her  maid  appears, 
And  in  her  faithful  hand  the  band-box  bears ;  t 

»  In  the  original  edition,  "  senseless  thing." 
t  In  the  original  edition, 

"  With  steady  hand,  the  band-box  charge  she  bears  ;" 
and  the  next  two  lines  do  not  appear. 


366  POEMS. 

(The  cestus,  that  reform'd  inconstant  Jove, 
Not  better  fill'd  with  what  allur'd  to  love ;) 
"  How  well  this  riband's  gloss  becomes  your  face  !" 
She  cries  in  rapture  ;  "  then  so  sweet  a  lace  !* 
How  charmingly  you  look !  so  bright !  so  fair  ! 
Tis  to  your  eyes  the  head-dress  owes  its  air ! " 
Strait  Lydia  smil'd ;  the  comb  adjusts  her  locks ; 
And  at  the  play-house  Harry  keeps  her  box. 

SATURDAY — THE  SMALL-POX. 
FLAVIA. 

THE  wretched  Flavia,  on  her  couch  reclin'd, 
Thus  breath'd  the  anguish  of  a  wounded  mind, 
A  glass  revers'd  in  her  right  hand  she  bore, 
For  now  she  shunn'd  the  face  she  sought  before. 

"  How  am  I  chang'd  I  alas !  how  am  I  grown 
A  frightful  spectre,  to  myself  unknown  I 
Where 's  my  complexion  ?  where  my  radiant  bloom, 
That  promis'd  happiness  for  years  to  come  ? 
Then  with  what  pleasure  I  this  face  survey'd ! 
To  look  once  more,  my  visits  oft  delay'd  ! 
Charm'd  with  the  view,  a  fresher  red  would  rise, 
And  a  new  life  shot  sparkling  from  my  eyes  I 

"  Ah  !  faithless  glass,  my  wonted  bloom  restore  ; 
Alas  !  I  rave,  that  bloom  is  now  no  more  ! 
The  greatest  good  the  gods  on  men  bestow, 
Ev'n  youth  itself,  to  me  is  useless  now. 
There  was  a  time  (oh  !   that  I  could  forget !) 
When  opera-tickets  pour'd  before  my  feet ; 
And  at  the  ring,  where  brightest  beauties  shine, 
The  earliest  cherries  of  the  spring  were  mine. 
Witness,  O  Lilly ;  and  thou,  Motteux,  tell, 
How  much  japan  these  eyes  have  made  ye  sell. 

*  In  the  original  edition,  "  grace. ' 


POEMS.  367 

With  what  contempt  ye  saw  me  oft  despise 
The  humble  offer  of  the  raffled  prize  ; 
For  at  each  raffle  still  each  prize  I  bore, 
With  scorn  rejected,  or  with  triumph  wore ! 
Now  beauty  's  fled,  and  presents  are  no  more  ! 

"  For  me  the  patriot  has  the  house  forsook, 
And  left  debates  to  catch  a  passing  look : 
For  me  the  soldier  has  soft  verses  writ: 
For  me  the  beau  has  aim'd  to  be  a  wit. 
For  me  the  wit  to  nonsense  was  betray'd ; 
The  gamester  has  for  me  his  dun  delay'd, 
And  overseen  the  card  he  would  have  play'd. 
The  bold  and  haughty,  by  success  made  vain, 
Aw'd  by  my  eyes,  have  trembled  to  complain : 
The  bashful  'squire,  touch'd  by  a  wish  unknown, 
Has  dar'd  to  speak  with  spirit  not  his  own  : 
Fir'd  by  one  wish,  all  did  alike  adore ; 
Now  beauty 's  fled,  and  lovers  are  no  more  ! 

"  As  round  the  room  I  turn  my  weeping  eyes, 
New  unaffected  scenes  of  sorrow  rise. 
Far  from  my  sight  that  killing  picture  bear, 
The  face  disfigure,  and  the  canvas  tear : 
That  picture  which  with  pride  I  us'd  to  shew, 
The  lost  resemblance  that  upbraids  me  now. 
And  thou,  my  toilette  !  where  I  oft  have  sate, 
While  hours  unheeded  pass'd  in  deep  debate 
How  curls  should  fall,  or  where  a  patch  to  place ; 
If  blue  or  scarlet  best  became  my  face : 
Now  on  some  happier  nymph  your  aid  bestow ; 
On  fairer  heads,  ye  useless  jewels,  glow ! 
No  borrow'd  lustre  can  my  charms  restore ; 
Beauty  is  fled,  and  dress  is  now  no  more  ! 

"  Ye  meaner  beauties,  I  permit  ye  shine  ; 
Go,  triumph  in  the  hearts  that  once  were  mine : 
But  'midst  your  triumphs  with  confusion  know, 
'Tis  to  my  ruin  all  your  charms  ye  owe. 


368  POEMS. 

Would  pitying  Heav'n  restore  my  wonted  mien, 
Ye  still  might  move  unthought  of  and  unseen : 
But  oh,  how  vain,  how  wretched  is  the  boast 
Of  beauty  faded,  and  of  empire  lost ! 
What  now  is  left  but,  weeping,  to  deplore 
My  beauty  fled,  and  empire  now  no  more ! 

"  Ye  cruel  chemists,  what  withheld  your  aid  ? 
Could  no  pomatum  save  a  trembling  maid  ? 
How  false  and  trifling  is  that  art  ye  boast ! 
No  art  can  give  me  back  my  beauty  lost. 
In  tears,  surrounded  by  my  friends,  I  lay 
Mask'd  o'er,  and  trembled  at  the  sight  of  day ; 
Mirmillio  came  my  fortune  to  deplore 
(A  golden-headed  cane  well  carv'd  he  bore), 
Cordials,  he  cry'd,  my  spirits  must  restore  I 
Beauty  is  fled,  and  spirit  is  no  more  ! 

"  Galen,  the  grave  officious  Squirt,  was  there, 
With  fruitless  grief  and  unavailing  care ; 
Machaon  too,  the  great  Machaon,  known 
By  his  red  cloak  and  his  superior  frown ; 
And  why,  he  cry'd,  this  grief  and  this  despair  ? 
You  shall  again  be  well,  again  be  fair ; 
Believe  my  oath  (with  that  an  oath  he  swore) ; 
False  was  his  oath  ;  my  beauty  was  no  more  ! 

"  Cease,  hapless  maid,  no  more  thy  tale  pursue, 
Forsake  mankind,  and  bid  the  world  adieu ! 
Monarchs  and  beauties  rule  with  equal  sway : 
All  strive  to  serve,  and  glory  to  obey : 
Alike  unpitied  when  depos'd  they  grow, 
Men  mock  the  idol  of  their  former  vow. 

"  Adieu  !  ye  parks — in  some  obscure  recess, 
Where  gentle  streams  will  weep  at  my  distress, 
Where  no  false  friend  will  in  my  grief  take  part, 
And  mourn  my  ruin  with  a  joyful  heart ; 
There  let  me  live  in  some  deserted  place, 
There  hide  in  shades  this  lost  inglorious  face. 


POEMS.  369 


Plays,  operas,  circles,  I  no  more  must  view  ! 
My  toilette,  patches,  all  the  world,  adieu ! " 


VERSES, 

Written  in  the  Chiosk  of  the  British  Palace,  at  Pera,  overlooking  the  city 
of  Constantinople,  Dec.  26,  1718. 

GIVE  me,  great  God  !  said  I,  a  little  farm, 

In  summer  shady,  and  in  winter  warm ; 

Where  a  clear  spring  gives  birth  to  murm'ring  brooks, 

By  nature  gliding  down  the  mossy  rocks. 

Not  artfully  by  leaden  pipes  convey'd, 

Or  greatly  falling  in  a  forc'd  cascade, 

Pure  and  unsufly'd  winding  through  the  shade. 

All  bounteous  Heaven  has  added  to  my  prayer, 

A  softer  climate  and  a  purer  air. 

Our  frozen  isle  now  chilling  winter  binds, 
Deform'd  by  rains,  and  rough  with  blasting  winds  ; 
The  wither'd  woods  grow  white  with  hoary  frost, 
By  driving  storms  their  verdant  beauty  lost ; 
The  trembling  birds  their  leafless  covert  shun, 
And  seek  in  distant  climes  a  warmer  sun  : 
The  water-nymphs  their  silent  urns  deplore, 
Ev'n  Thames,  benumb'd,  's  a  river  now  no  more : 
The  barren  meads  no  longer  yield  delight, 
By  glist'ring  snows  made  painful  to  the  sight. 

Here  summer  reigns  with  one  eternal  smile, 
Succeeding  harvests  bless  the  happy  soil ; 
Fair  fertile  fields,  to  whom  indulgent  Heaven 
Has  ev'ry  charm  of  ev'ry  season  given. 
No  killing  cold  deforms  the  beauteous  year, 
The  springing  flowers  no  coming  winter  fear. 
But  as  the  parent  rose  decays  and  dies, 
The  infant  buds  with  brighter  colours  rise, 
And  with  fresh  sweets  the  mother's  scent  supplies. 
VOL.  in.  2  B 


370  POEMS. 

Near  them  the  violet  grows  with  odours  blest, 
And  blooms  in  more  than  Tyrian  purple  drest ; 
The  rich  jonquils  their  golden  beams  display, 
And  shine  in  glory's  emulating  day ; 
The  peaceful  groves  their  verdant  leaves  retain, 
The  streams  still  murmur,  undenTd  with  rain, 
And  tow'ring  greens  adorn  the  fruitful  plain. 
The  warbling  kind  uninterrupted  sing, 
Warm'dwith  enjoyments  of  perpetual  spring. 

Here,  at  my  window,  I  at  once  survey 
The  crowded  city  and  resounding  sea ; 
In  distant  views  the  Asian  mountains  rise, 
And  lose  their  snowy  summits  in  the  skies ; 
Above  these  mountains  proud  Olympus  tow'rs, 
The  parliamental  seat  of  heavenly  pow'rs  ! 
New  to  the  sight,  my  ravish'd  eyes  admire 
Each  gilded  crescent  and  each  antique  spire, 
The  marble  mosques,  beneath  whose  ample  domes 
Fierce  warlike  sultans  sleep  in  peaceful  tombs  ; 
Those  lofty  structures,  once  the  Christians'  boast, 
Their  names,  their  beauty,  and  their  honours  lost ; 
Those  altars  bright  with  gold  and  sculpture  grac'd, 
By  barb'rous  zeal  of  savage  foes  defac'd ; 
Soph'a  alone,  her  anoient  name  retains, 
Though  th'  unbeliever  now  her  shrine  profanes ; 
Where  holy  saints  have  died  in  sacred  cells, 
Where  monarchs  pray'd,  the  frantic  dervise  dwells. 
How  art  thou  fall'n,  imperial  city,  low ! 
Where  are  thy  hopes  of  Roman  glory  now  ? 
Where  are  thy  palaces  by  prelates  rais'd  ? 
Where  Grecian  artists  all  their  skill  display 'd, 
Before  the  happy  sciences  decay 'd  ; 
So  vast,  that  youthful  kings  might  here  reside, 
So  splendid,  to  content  a  patriarch's  pride ; 
Convents  where  emperors  profess'd  of  old, 
The  labour'd  pillars  that  their  triumphs  told ; 


POEMS.  371 

Vain  monuments  of  them  that  once  were  great, 
Sunk  undistinguish'd  by  one  common  fate ; 
One  little  spot  the  tenure  small  contains, 
Of  Greek  nobility  the  poor  remains  ; 
Where  other  Helens,  with  like  powerful  charms, 
Had  once  engag'd  the  warring  world  in  arms  ; 
Those  names  which  royal  ancestors  can  boast, 
In  mean  mechanic  arts  obscurely  lost ; 
Those  eyes  a  second  Homer  might  inspire, 
Fix'd  at  the  loom,  destroy  their  useless  fire : 
Griev'd  at  a  view,  which  struck  upon  my  mind 
The  short-liv'd  vanity  of  humankind. 

In  gaudy  objects  I  indulge  my  sight, 
And  turn  where  Eastern  pomp  gives  gay  delight  j 
See  the  vast  train  in  various  habits  drest, 
By  the  bright  scimitar  and  sable  vest 
The  proud  vizier  distinguish'd  o'er  the  rest ! 
Six  slaves  in  gay  attire  his  bridle  hold, 
His  bridle  rich  with  gems,  and  stirrups  gold ; 
His  snowy  steed  adorn'd  with  costly  pride, 
Whole  troops  of  soldiers  mounted  by  his  side, 
These  top  the  plumy  crest  Arabian  courtiers  guide. 
With  artful  duty  all  decline  their  eyes, 
No  bellowing  shouts  of  noisy  crowds  arise  ; 
Silence,  in  solemn  state,  the  march  attends, 
Till  at  the  dread  divan  the  slow  procession  ends. 

Yet  not  these  prospects  all  profusely  gay, 
The  gilded  navy  that  adorns  the  sea, 
The  rising  city  in  confusion  fair, 
Magnificently  form'd,  irregular, 
Where  woods  and  palaces  at  once  surprise, 
Gardens  on  gardens,  domes  on  domes  arise, 
And  endless  beauties  tire  the  wand'ring  eyes, 
So  soothe  my  wishes,  or  so  charm  my  mind, 
As  this  retreat  secure  from  humankind. 


372  POEMS. 

No  knave's  successful  craft  does  spleen  excite, 

No  coxcomb's  tawdry  splendour  shocks  my  sight 

No  mob-alarm  awakes  my  female  fear, 

No  praise  my  mind,  nor  envy  hurts  my  ear, 

Ev'n  fame  itself  can  hardly  reach  me  here  ; 

Impertinence,  with  all  her  tattling  train, 

Fair-sounding  flattery's  delicious  bane  ; 

Censorious  folly,  noisy  party  rage, 

The  thousand  tongues  with  which  she  must  engage 

Who  dares  have  virtue  in  a  vicious  age. 


EPILOGUE*  TO  MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS. 

Designed  to  be  spoken  by  Mrs.  Oldfield. 

WHAT  could  luxurious  woman  wish  for  more, 
To  fix  her  joys,  or  to  extend  her  pow'r  ? 
Their  every  wish  was  in  this  Mary  seen, 
Gay,  witty,  youthful,  beauteous,  and  a  queen. 
Vain  useless  blessings  with  ill-conduct  join'd  I 
Light  as  the  air,  and  fleeting  as  the  wind. 
Whatever  poets  write,  and  lovers  vow, 
Beauty,  what  poor  omnipotence  hast  thou  ! 

Queen  Bess  had  wisdom,  council,  power,  and  laws ; 
How  few  espous'd  a  wretched  beauty's  cause  ! 
Learn  thence,  ye  fair,  more  solid  charms  to  prize ; 
Contemn  the  idle  flatt'rers  of  your  eyes. 

*  This  epilogue  was  intended  for  a  play  on  the  story  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots, 
which  Philip  Duke  of  Wharton  began  to  write,  but  never  finished.  No  part  of 
the  play  now  remains,  but  these  four  lines  ; 

Sure  were  I  free,  and  Norfolk  were  a  prisoner, 
I  'd  fly  with  more  impatience  to  his  arms 
Than  the  poor  Israelite  gaz'd  on  the  serpent, 
When  life  was  the  reward  of  every  look. 

Walpole's  Catalogue,  vol.  ii.  p.  134. 


POEMS.  373 

The  brightest  object  shines  but  while  'tis  new : 

That  influence  lessens  by  familiar  view. 

Monarchs  and  beauties  rule  with  equal  sway, 

All  strive  to  serve,  and  glory  to  obey ; 

Alike  unpitied  when  depos'd  they  grow — 

Men  mock  the  idol  of  their  former  vow. 

Two  great  examples  have  been  shewn  to-day, 

To  what  sure  ruin  passion  does  betray ; 

What  long  repentance  to  short  joys  is  due  ; 

When  reason  rules,  what  glory  must  ensue. 

If  you  will  love,  love  like  Eliza  then; 
Love  for  amusement,  like  those  traitors,  men. 
Think  that  the  pastime  of  a  leisure  hour 
She  favour'd  oft — but  never  shar'd  her  pow'r. 

The  traveller  by  desert  wolves  pursu'd, 
If  by  his  art  the  savage  foe  's  subdu'd, 
The  world  will  still  the  noble  act  applaud, 
Though  victory  was  gain'd  by  needful  fraud. 
Such  is,  my  tender  sex,  our  helpless  case ; 
And  such  the  barbarous  heart,  hid  by  the  begging  face ; 
By  passion  fir'd,  and  not  withheld  by  shame, 
They  cruel  hunters  are,  we  trembling  game. 
Trust  me,  dear  ladies  (for  I  know  'em  well ), 
They  burn  to  triumph,  and  they  sigh  to  tell : 
Cruel  to  them  that  yield,  cullies  to  them  that  sell. 
Believe  me,  'tis  by  far  the  wiser  course, 
Superior  art  should  meet  superior  force : 
Hear,  but  be  faithful  to  your  int'rest  still : 
Secure  your  hearts — then  fool  with  whom  you  will. 


EPILOGUE  TO  THE  TRAGEDY  OF  CATO. 

You  see  in  ancient  Kome  what  folly  reign'd ; 
A  folly  British  men  would  have  disdain'd. 


374  POEMS. 

Here  's  none  so  weak  to  pity  Cato's  case, 
Who  might  have  liv'd,  and  had  a  handsome  place ; 
But  rashly  vain,  and  insolently  great, 
He  perish'd  by  his  fault — and  not  his  fate. 
Thank  Heav'n  I  our  patriots  better  ends  pursue, 
With  something  more  than  glory  in  their  view. 
Poets  write  morals — priests  for  martyrs  preach — 
Neither  such  fools  to  practise  what  they  teach. 

Though  your  dear  country  much  you  wish  to  serve, 
For  bonny  Britons  'tis  too  hard  to  starve ; 
Or  what's  all  one,  to  any  generous  mind, 
From  girls,  champagne,  and  gaming,  be  confin'd ; 
Portius  might  well  obey  his  sire's  command, 
Returning  to  his  small  paternal  land ; 
A  low  estate  was  ample  to  support 
His  private  life,  far  distant  from  the  court  1 
Far  from  the  crowd  of  emulating  beaux, 
Where  Martia  never  wanted  birth-day  clothes. 

For  you,  who  live  in  these  more  polish'd  days, 
To  spend  your  money,  lo  I  ten  thousand  ways ; 
Dice  may  run  ill,  or  duns  demand  their  due, 
And  ways  to  get  (God  knows)  are  very  few ; 
In  times  so  differing,  who  shall  harshly  blame 
Our  modern  heroes,  not  to  act  the  same  ? 


TO  A  FRIEND  ON  HIS  TRAVELS. 

FROM  this  vile  town,  immers'd  in  smoke  and  care, 
To  you  who  brighten  in  a  purer  air, 
Your  faithful  friend  conveys  her  tenderest  thought 
(Though  now  perhaps  neglected  and  forgot). 
May  blooming  health  your  wonted  mirth  restore, 
And  every  pleasure  crown  your  every  hour; 


POEMS.  375 

Caress'd,  esteem'd,  and  lov'd,  your  merit  known, 
And  foreign  lands  admire  you,  like  your  own : 
Whilst  I  in  silence  various  fortunes  bear, 
Distracted  with  the  rage  of  bosom-war : 
My  restless  fever  tears  my  changeful  brain, 
With  mix'd  ideas  of  delight  and  pain ; 
Sometimes  soft  views  my  morning  dreams  employ 
In  the  faint  dawn  of  visionary  joy ; 
Which  rigid  reason  quickly  drives  away — 
I  seek  the  shade  and  fly  from  rising  day : 
In  pleasing  madness  meet  some  moments'  ease, 
And  fondly  cherish  my  belov'd  disease. 

If  female  weakness  melt  my  woman's  mind, 
At  least  no  weakness  in  the  choice  I  find ; 
Not  sooth'd  to  softness  by  a  warbling  flute, 
Nor  the  bought  merit  of  a  birth-day  suit ; 
Not  lost  my  heart  by  the  surprising  skill 
In  opera  tunes,  in  dancing,  or  quadrille. 
The  only  charm  my  inclination  moves 
Is  such  a  virtue,  Heaven  itself  approves  I 
A  soul  superior  to  each  vulgar  view, 
Great,  steady,  gentle,  generous,  and  true. 
How  I  regret  my  trifling  hours  past, 
And  look  with  sorrow  o'er  the  dreary  waste ! 
In  false  pursuits  and  vanity  bestow'd, 
The  perfect  image  of  a  dirty  road ; 
Through  puddles  oft,  o'er  craggy  rocks  I  stray, 
A  tiresome  dull  uncomfortable  way : 
And  after  toiling  long  through  thick  and  thin 
To  reach  some  meanly  mercenary  inn, 
The  bills  are  high,  and  very  bad  the  fare, 
I  curse  the  wretched  entertainment  there  : 
And,  jogging  on,  resolve  to  stop  no  more 
Where  gaudy  signs  invite  me  to  the  door. 


376  POEMS. 


TO  THE  SAME. 

THOUGH  old  in  ill,  the  traitor  sure  should  find 
Some  secret  sting  transfix  his  guilty  mind. 
Though  bribes  or  favour  may  protect  his  fame, 
Or  fear  restrain  invectives  on  his  name ; 
None  'quits  himself— his  own  impartial  thought 
Condemns — and  conscience  shall  record  the  fault. 
Yet  more,  my  friend  1  your  happy  state  may  bear 
This  disappointment,  as  below  your  care. 
For  what  you  have,  return  to  Heav'n  your  thanks ; 
Few  share  the  prizes,  many  draw  the  blanks. 
Of  breach  of  promise  loudly  you  complain, 
Have  you  then  known  the  world  so  long  in  vain  ? 
Worse  than  the  iron  age,  our  impious  times 
Have  learn'd  to  laugh  at  most  flagitious  crimes. 
Are  you  to  know  that  'tis  a  jest  to  find 
Unthinking  honesty  pervade  the  mind  ? 
At  best,  they  say,  the  man  is  strangely  odd 
Who  keeps  his  oath,  and  can  believe  a  God. 
This  was  the  cant  when  Edward  held  the  throne, 
Before  Spinosa  wrote,  or  Hobbes  was  known ; 
When  the  gilt  Bible  was  the  king's  delight, 
When  prayer  preceded  day,  and  hymns  the  night. 
Now  softening  eunuchs  sing  Italian  airs, 
The  dancing  dame  to  midnight  ball  repairs. 
Now,  if  an  honest  man  (like  you)  I  view, 
Contemning  interest,  and  to  virtue  true, 
I  deem,  he  deviates  from  nature's  rules, 
Like  burning  hills,  or  petrifying  pools. 
I  stand  astonish'd  at  the  strange  portent, 
And  think  some  revolution  the  event ; 
As  all  grave  heads  were  startled,  as  they  heard 
That  a  new  comet  in  the  west  appear'd; 


POEMS.  377 

When  from  a  human  mother*  rabbits  sprung, 

And  Ward  his  pills  like  hand-granadoes  flung; 

When  gratis  scattering  cures  amidst  the  crowd — 

A  miracle !  as  Charterisf   swears  aloud — 

A  greater  miracle  I  daily  see, 

The  ancient  faith  of  Pius  reign  in  thee. 

Observe  the  wretch,  who  has  that  faith  forsook, 
How  clear  his  voice,  and  how  assur'd  his  look ! 
Like  innocence,  and  as  serenely  bold, 
Conscious  protection  of  almighty  gold  ! 
Whilst  thus  he  reasons  to  relieve  his  fears : 
"  Oft  I  Ve  deceiv'd,  yet  still  have  kept  my  ears. 
I  have  been  threat'ned  for  a  broken  vow, 
And  yet  successively  have  laugh'd  till  now, 
And  will  laugh  on,  my  fortune  's  not  the  worse, 
When  starving  cullies  rail,  or  vainly  curse." 
Shall  then  the  villain  'scape  ?  such  knaves  as  he 
Be  rich  and  safe,  and  from  all  vengeance  free? 
Consider,  friend,  but  coolly,  and  you  '11  find 
Revenge  the  frailty  of  a  feeble  mind; 
Nor  think  he  'scapes  though  he  should  never  feel 
The  pangs  of  poison,  or  the  force  of  steel. 
There  is  a  time  when  conscience  shakes  the  soul, 
When  Toland's  tenets  cannot  fear  control, 
When  secret  anguish  fills  the  anxious  breast, 
Vacant  from  business,  nor  compos'd  by  rest; 
Then  dreams  invade,  the  injured  gods  appear 
All  arm'd  with  thunder,  and  awake  his  fear; 
The  wretch  will  start  at  every  flash  that  flies, 
Grow  pale  at  the  first  murmur  of  the  skies ; 
Then,  if  a  fever  fires  corrupted  blood, 
In  every  fit  he  feels  the  hand  of  God. 
Trembling,  and  sunk  into  the  last  despair, 
He  dares  not  offer  one  repenting  prayer ; 

*<sJVIary  Tofts,  the  celebrated  rabbit- woman  of  Godalmin. 

t  Colonel  Charteris,  of  infamous  memory,  satirized  by  Pope  and  Arbuthnot. 


378  POEMS. 

For  how  can  hope  with  desperate  guilt  agree  ? 
And  the  worst  beast  is  worthier  life  than  he ; 
This,  at  the  best,  will  be  his  certain  fate, 
Or  Heav'n  may  sooner  think  his  crimes  complete. 


FRAGMENT  TO 


LET  mules  and  asses  in  that  circle  tread, 
And  proud  of  trappings  toss  a  feather'd  head ; 
Leave  you  the  stupid  business  of  the  state, 
Strive  to  be  happy,  and  despise  the  great : 
Come  where  the  Graces  guide  the  gentle  day, 
Where  Venus  rules  amidst  her  native  sea, 
Where  at  her  altar  gallantries  appear, 

And  even  Wisdom  dares  not  shew  severe. 

****** 

****** 


TO  MR. 


FOR  ever  blest  be  that  prolific  brain 

Which  can  such  store  of  images  contain  ! 

Thus  the  charg'd  trees,  with  blooming  odours  crown'd, 

Shed  their  fair  blossoms  with  profusion  round 4 

So  swells  the  brook  with  heav'n-descended  rain, 

And  flows  meand'ring  on  the  thirsty  plain ; 

Such  various  talents  were  by  Heav'n  design'd 

(Too  vast  a  treasure  for  a  single  mind), 

To  please,  astonish,  and  instruct  mankind. 

With  a  delight  not  to  be  told,  I  view 

Themes  long  exhausted  in  your  hands  grow  new ; 


POEMS.  379 

Past  all  describing  your  descriptions  are, 
So  full,  so  just,  so  bold,  yet  regular ; 
The  style  so  varied  that  it  wants  a  name, 
Which,  ever  differing,  ever  is  the  same  ; 
You  raise  or  calm  our  passions  as  you  please, 
The  human  heart  your  powerful  pen  obeys. 
When  eager  Trasimond  pursues  the  course, 
We  hear  the  whip,  and  see  the  foaming  horse ; 
With  soft  Sophronia  we  have  wept  and  smil'd, 
So  soon  offended — sooner  reconcil'd. 

Go  on,  great  author !  that  the  world  may  see 
How  bright,  when  from  pedantic  fetters  free, 
True  genius  shines,  and  shines  alone  in  thee. 
Give  new  editions,  with  a  noble  scorn 
Of  insect  critics,  who  'd  obscure  thy  morn ; 
Neglect  their  censures,  nor  thy  work  delay, 
The  owls  still  sicken  at  the  sight  of  day. 


JOHN,  DUKE  OF  MARLBOROUGH. 

WHEN  the  proud  Frenchman's  strong  rapacious  hand 

Spread  over  Europe  ruin  and  command, 

Our  sinking  temples  and  expiring  law 

With  trembling  dread  the  rolling  tempest  saw ; 

Destin'd  a  province  to  insulting  Gaul, 

This  Genius  rose,  and  stopp'd  the  ponderous  fall. 

His  temperate  valour  form'd  no  giddy  scheme, 

No  victory  rais'd  him  to  a  rage  of  fame  ; 

The  happy  temper  of  his  even  mind 

No  danger  e'er  could  shock,  or  conquest  blind. 

Fashion'd  alike  by  Nature  and  by  Art, 

To  please,  engage,  and  int'rest  ev'ry  heart. 

In  public  life  by  all  who  saw  approved, 

In  private  hours  by  all  who  knew  him  lov'd. 


380  POEMS. 


A  CHARACTER. 

THOUGH  a  strong  vanity  may  you  persuade — 

You  are  not  for  a  politician  made ; 

Your  tropes  are  drawn  from  Robin  Walpole's  head, 

Your  sense  is  but  repeating  what  he  said  ; 

A  useful  puppy,  eminently  known, 

As  proud  to  father  what  he  will  not  own. 

Some  arguments  he  leaves  you  to  expose, 

So  valets  flutter  in  my  lord's  old  clothes. 

But,  should  he  strip  you  of  his  borrow'd  sense, 

How  poorly  thin  your  boasted  eloquence  ! 

Know  your  own  talents  better,  I  advise  ; 

Be  brisk,  yet  dull,  but  aim  not  to  look  wise, ; 

In  low  insipid  rhymes  place  your  delight ; 

Laugh  without  jests,  and  without  reading  write. 

Despis'd  by  men,  in  ladies'  ruelles  sit, 

Where  country  coquettes  bolster  up  your  wit. 

May  all  your  minuets  applauses  meet ! 

An  able  coxcomb  only  in  your  feet. 

By  fawning  lies,  in  leagues  with  court-knaves  grow, 

And  smile  on  beauties  whom  you  do  not  know. 

Then,  acting  all  the  coyness  of  a  lover, 

Your  no-intrigue  endeavour  to  discover. 

Aiming  at  wit,  in  many  an  evil  hour, 

Have  the  perpetual  will  without  the  power. 

Conceit  for  breeding^  rude  for  easy  take, 

Horseplay  for  wit,  and  noise  for  mirth  mistake. 

Love's  perfect  joys  to  perfect  men  belong  ; 

Seek  you  but  the  occasion  for  a  song. 

Thus  to  the  end  of  life  may  you  remain 

A  merry  blockhead,  treacherous  and  vain. 


POEMS,  381 


AN  ANSWER  TO  A  LOVE-LETTER,  IN  VERSE, 

Is  it  to  me  this  sad  lamenting  strain  ? 
Are  Heaven's  choicest  gifts  bestow'd  in  vain  ? 
A  plenteous  fortune  and  a  beauteous  bride, 
Your  love  rewarded,  and  content  your  pride ; 
Yet,  leaving  her,  'tis  me  that  you  pursue, 
Without  one  single  charm — but  being  new. 
How  vile  is  man  I  how  I  detest  the  ways 
Of  covert  falsehood  and  designing  praise  I 
As  tasteless,  easier  happiness  you  slight, 
Ruin  your  joy,  and  mischief  your  delight. 
Why  should  poor  pug  (the  mimic  of  your  kind) 
Wear  a  rough  chain,  and  be  to  box  confin'd  ? 
Some  cup,  perhaps,  he  breaks,  or  tears  a  fan, 
While  moves,  unpunish'd,  the  destroyer  man ; 
Not  bound  by  vows,  and  unrestrain'd  by  shame, 
In  sport  you  break  the  heart,  and  rend  the  fame. 
Not  that  your  art  can  be  successful  here, 
Th'  already  plunder'd  need  no  robber  fear. 
Nor  sighs,  nor  charms,  nor  flattery,  can  move, 
Too  well  secur'd  against  a  second  love. 
Once,  and  but  once,  that  devil  charm'd  my  mind, 
To  reason  deaf,  to  observation  blind, 
I  idly  hop'd  (what  cannot  Love  persuade !) 
My  fondness  equalFd  and  my  truth  repaid : 
Slow  to  distrust,  and  willing  to  believe ; 
Long  hush'd  my  doubts,  I  would  myself  deceive. 
But  oh  I  too  soon — this  tale  would  ever  last — 
Sleep  on  my  wrongs,  and  let  me  think  them  past. 
For  you,  who  mourn  with  counterfeited  grief, 
And  ask  so  boldly,  like  a  begging  thief, 
May  soon  some  other  nymph  inflict  the  pain 
You  know  so  well  with  cruel  art  to  feign. 


382  POEMS. 

Though  long  you  've  sported  with  Dan  Cupid's  dart, 
You  may  see  eyes,  and  you  may  feel  a  heart. 
So  the  brisk  wits  who  stop  the  evening-coach, 
Laugh  at  the  fear  that  follows  their  approach ; 
With  idle  mirth  and  haughty  scorn  despise 
The  passenger's  pale  cheek,  and  staring  eyes ; 
But,  seiz'd  by  justice,  find  a  fright  no  jest, 
And  all  the  terror  doubled  in  their  breast. 


LORD  HERVEY  TO  MR.  FOX. 

Written  at  Florence,  1729,  in  imitation  of  the  Sixth  Ode  of  the  Second  Book 
of  Horace. 

"  Septimi  Gades  aditure  mecum." 

THOU  dearest  youth,  who  taught  me  first  to  know 
What  pleasures  from  a  real  friendship  flow ; 
Where  neither  int'rest  nor  deceit  have  part, 
But  all  the  warmth  is  native  of  the  heart ; 
Thou  know'st  to  comfort,  soothe,  or  entertain, 
Joy  of  my  health,  and  cordial  to  my  pain. 
When  life  seem'd  failing  in  her  latest  stage, 
And  fell  disease  anticipated  age  ; 
When  wasting  sickness,  and  afflictive  pain, 
By  ^Esculapius'  sons  oppos'd  in  vain, 
Forc'd  me  reluctant,  desperate  to  explore 
A  warmer  sun,  and  seek  a  milder  shore, 
Thy  steady  love,  with  unexampled  truth, 
Forsook  each  gay  companion  of  thy  youth, 
Whate'er  the  prosperous  or  the  great  employs, 
Business  and  interest,  and  love's  softer  joys, 
The  weary  steps  of  misery  to  attend, 
To  share  distress,  and  make  a  wretch  thy  friend. 
If  o'er  the  mountain's  snowy  top  we  stray, 
Where  Carthage  first  explor'd  the  vent'rous  way; 


POEMS.  383 

Or  through  the  tainted  air  of  Rome's  parch'd  plains, 

Where  want  resides  and  superstition  reigns ; 

Cheerful  and  unrepining  still  you  bear 

Each  dangerous  rigour  of  the  varying  year ; 

And  kindly  anxious  for  thy  friend  alone, 

Lament  his  sufferings,  and  forget  thy  own. 

Oh  I  would  kind  Heaven,  those  tedious  sufferings  past, 

Permit  me,  Ickworth,  rest  and  health  at  last! 

In  that  lov'd  shade,  my  youth's  delightful  seat, 

My  early  pleasure,  and  my  late  retreat, 

Where  lavish  Nature's  favourite  blessings  flow, 

And  all  the  seasons  all  their  sweets  bestow ; 

There  might  I  trifle  carelessly  away 

The  milder  ev'ning  of  life's  clouded  day ; 

From  business  and  the  world's  intrusion  free, 

With  books,  with  love,  with  beauty,  and  with  thee  ; 

No  farther  want,  no  wish,  yet  unpossess'd, 

Could  e'er  disturb  this  unambitious  breast. 

Let  those  who  Fortune's  shining  gifts  implore, 

Who  sue  for  glory,  splendour,  wealth,  or  power, 

View  this  inactive  state  with  feverish  eyes, 

And  pleasure  they  can  never  taste,  despise ; 

Let  them  still  court  that  goddess'  falser  joys, 

Who,  while  she  grants  their  pray'r,  their  peace  destroys. 

I  envy  not  the  foremost  of  the  great, 

Not  Walpole's  self,  directing  Europe's  fate  ; 

Still  let  him  load  ambition's  thorny  shrine, 

Fame  be  his  portion,  and  contentment  mine. 

But  if  the  gods,  sinister  still,  deny 

*  To  live  in  Ickworth,  let  me  there  but  die  ; 

Thy  hands  to  close  my  eyes  in  Death's  long  night, 

Thy  image  to  attract  their  latest  sight : 

Then  to  the  grave  attend  thy  Poet's  hearse, 

And  love  his  memory  as  you  lov'd  his  verse. 

*  In  Suffolk,  the  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Bristol. 


384  POEMS. 

CONTINUATION 

BY    LADY    M.  W.    MONTAGU. 

So  sung  the  poet  in  a  humble  strain, 
With  empty  pockets,  and  a  head  in  pain, 
Where  the  soft  clime  inclin'd  the  soul  to  rest, 
And  past'ral  images  inspir'd  the  breast. 
Apolla  listen'd  from  his  heavenly  bower, 
And,  in  his  health  restor'd,  express'd  his  power. 
Pygmalion  thus  before  the  Paphian  shrine, 
With  trembling  vows  address'd  the  power  divine 
Durst  hardly  make  his  hopeless  wishes  known, 
And  scarce  a  greater  miracle  was  shewn — 
Returning  vigour  glow'd  in  every  vein, 
And  gay  ideas  flutter'd  in  the  brain  ; 
Back  he  returns  to  breathe  his  native  air, 
And  all  his  first  resolves  are  melted  there  ! 


AN  EPISTLE 

TO    THE    EARL    OF    BURLINGTON.       * 

How  happy  you  !  who  varied  joys  pursue  ; 
And  every  hour  presents  you  something  new  ! 
Plans,  schemes,  and  models,  all  Palladio's  art, 
For  six  long  months  have  gain'd  upon  your  heart ; 
Of  colonnades,  of  corridores  you  talk, 
The  winding  staircase  and  the  cover'd  walk ; 
You  blend  the  orders  with  Vitruvian  toil, 
And  raise  with  wond'rous  joy  the  fancy'd  pile  : 
But  the  dull  workman's  slow-performing  hand 
But  coldly  executes  his  lord's  command. 


POEMS.  385 

With  dirt  and  mortar  soon  you  grow  displeas'd, 

Planting  succeeds,  and  avenues  are  rais'd, 

Canals  are  cut,  and  mountains  level  made, 

Bow'rs  of  retreat,  and  galleries  of  shade ; 

The  shaven  turf  presents  a  lively  green ; 

The  bordering  flowers  in  mystic  knots  are  seen : 

With  studied  art  on  nature  you  refine — 

The  spring  beheld  you  warm  in  this  design, 

But  scarce  the  cold  attacks  your  fav'rite  trees, 

Your  inclination  fails,  and  wishes  freeze : 

You  quit  the  grove  so  lately  you  admir'd ; 

With  other  views  your  eager  hopes  are  fir'd ; 

Post  to  the  city  you  direct  your  way ; 

Not  blooming  paradise  could  bribe  your  stay : 

Ambition  shews  you  power's  brightest  side, 

'Tis  meanly  poor  in  solitude  to  hide : 

Though  certain  pains  attend  the  cares  of  state, 

A  good  man  owes  his  country  to  be  great ; 

Should  act  abroad  the  high  distinguish'd  part, 

Or  shew  at  least  the  purpose  of  his  heart. 

With  thoughts  like  these  the  shining  courts  you  seek, 

Full  of  new  projects  for  almost  a  week; 

You  then  despise  the  tinsel-glittering  snare, 

Think  vile  mankind  below  a  serious  care. 

Life  is  too  short  for  any  distant  aim  ; 

And  cold  the  dull  reward  of  future  fame  : 

Be  happy  then,  while  yet  you  have  to  live ; 

And  love  is  all  the  blessing  Heav'n  can  give. 

Fir'd  by  new  passion  you  address  the  fair, 

Survey  the  opera  as  a  gay  parterre  ; 

Young  Chloe's  bloom  had  made  you  certain  prize, 

But  for  a  sidelong  glance  from  Celia's  eyes  : 

Your  beating  heart  acknowledges  her  power ; 

Your  eager  eyes  her  lovely  form  devour ; 

You  feel  the  poison  swelling  in  your  breast, 

And  all  your  soul  by  fond  desire  possess'd. 

VOL.    III.  2  C 


386  POEMS. 

In  dying  sighs  a  long  three  hours  are  past ; 

To  some  assembly  with  impatient  haste, 

With  trembling  hope,  and  doubtful  fear,  you  move, 

Resolv'd  to  tempt  your  fate,  and  own  your  love : 

But  there  Belinda  meets  you  on  the  stairs, 

Easy  her  shape,  attracting  all  her  airs ; 

A  smile  she  gives,  and  with  a  smile  can  wound  ; 

Her  melting  voice  has  music  in  the  sound ; 

Her  every  motion  wears  resistless  grace  ; 

Wit  in  her  mien,  and  pleasure  in  her  face  : 

Here  while  you  vow  eternity  of  love, 

Chloe  and  Celia  unregarded  move. 

Thus  on  the  sands  of  Afric's  burning  plains, 

However  deeply  made,  no  long  impress  remains ; 

The  slightest  leaf  can  leave  its  figure  there ; 

The  strongest  form  is  scatter'd  by  the  air. 

So  yielding  the  warm  temper  of  your  mind, 

So  touch'd  by  every  eye,  so  toss'd  by  wind  ; 

Oh  !  how  unlike  the  Heav'n  my  soul  designed  ! 

Unseen,  unheard,  the  throng  around  me  move ; 

Not  wishing  praise,  insensible  of  love  ; 

No  whispers  soften,  nor  no  beauties  fire  ; 

Careless  I  see  the  dance,  and  coldly  hear  the  lyre. 

So  num'rous  herds  are  driv'n  o'er  the  rock ; 
No  print  is  left  of  all  the  passing  flock : 
So  sings  the  wind  around  the  solid  stone ; 
So  vainly  beat  the  waves  with  fruitless  moan. 
Tedious  the  toil,  and  great  the  workman's  care, 
Who  dares  attempt  to  fix  impressions  there : 
But  should  some  swain,  more  skilful  than  the  rest, 
Engrave  his  name  upon  this  marble  breast, 
Not  rolling  ages  could  deface  that  name ; 
Through  all  the  storms  of  life  'tis  still  the  same  : 
Though  length  of  years  with  moss  may  shade  the  ground, 
Deep,  though  unseen,  remains  the  secret  wound. 


POEMS.  387 


VERSES* 

ADDRESSED    TO    THE    IMITATOR    OF    THE    FIRST    SATIRE    OF 
THE    SECOND    BOOK    OF    HORACE. 

IN  two  large  columns  on  thy  motley  page, 
Where  Roman  wit  is  strip'd  with  English  rage ; 
Where  ribaldry  to  satire  makes  pretence, 
And  modern  scandal  rolls  with  ancient  sense : 
Whilst  on  one  side  we  see  how  Horace  thought, 
And  on  the  other  how  he  never  wrote ; 
Who  can  believe,  who  view  the  bad,  the  good, 
That  the  dull  copyist  better  understood 
That  spirit  he  pretends  to  imitate,      ' 
Than  heretofore  that  Greek  he  did  translate  ? 

Thine  is  just  such  an  image  of  his  pen, 
As  thou  thyself  art  of  the  sons  of  men, 
Where  our  own  species  in  burlesque  we  trace, 
A  sign-post  likeness  of  the  human  race, 
That  is  at  once  resemblance  and  disgrace. 

Horace  can  laugh,  is  delicate,  is  clear, 
You  only  coarsely  rail,  or  darkly  sneer ; 

*  These  verses,  although  contained  in  the  collection  of  poems  verified  by 
Lady  Mary's  own  hand  as  written  by  her,  have  always  been  considered  the 
joint  composition  of  Lord  Hervey  and  Lady  Mary,  and  to  have  been  occasioned 
by  some  lines,  which  they  supposed  to  refer  to  them,  in  Pope's  Imitation  of  the 
First  Satire  of  the  Second  Book  of  Horace.  In  the  Introductory  Anecdotes  in 
vol.  i.  it  is  stated,  that  they  "  will  not  be  reprinted  in  this  edition  ;"  but,  upon 
farther  consideration,  the  Editor  has  thought  it  right  to  leave  them.  They  have 
been  printed  in  all  the  former  editions,  and  he  therefore  does  not  think  himself 
warranted  in  not  inserting  them  in  this,  however  he  may  disapprove  of  some 
parts  of  them.  With  regard  to  those  parts,  it  appears  to  be  only  fair  to  Lady 
Mary's  memory,  to  remind  the  reader  that  the  lines  in  Pope's  poem,  which  she 
conceived  to  apply  to  her,  are  most  gross  and  unjustifiable  ;  and  when  the  satirist 
indulges  in  such  attacks,  it  may  be  very  unwise,  but  is  certainly  quite  natural, 
that  his  victims  should  retort  upon  him,  in  the  way  they  think  likely  to  wound 
him  most  severely,  if  they  are  capable  of  doing  so  with  effect ;  and  the  reader  of 
these  verses  will  probably  be  of  opinion  that  the  writer  or  writers  of  them  were 
not  without  that  power. — W. 

2  C  2 


388  POEMS. 

His  style  is  elegant,  his  diction  pure, 

Whilst  none  thy  crabbed  numbers  can  endure; 

Hard  as  thy  heart,  and  as  thy  birth  obscure.* 

If  he  has  thorns,  they  all  on  roses  grow ; 
Thine  like  thistles,  and  mean  brambles  shew ; 
With  this  exception,  that,  though  rank  the  soil, 
Weeds  as  they  are,  they  seem  produc'd  by  toil. 

Satire  should,  like  a  polish'd  razor,  keen, 
Wound  with  a  touch,  that 's  scarcely  felt  or  seen  : 
Thine  is  an  oyster-knife,  that  hacks  and  hews  ; 
The  rage,  but  not  the  talent  to  abuse ; 
And  is  in  hate,  what  love  Is  in  the  stews. 
'Tis  the  gross  lust  of  hate,  that  still  annoys, 
Without  distinction,  as  gross  love  enjoys  : 
Neither  to  folly,  nor  to  vice  confin'd, 
The  object  of  thy  spleen  is  humankind  : 
It  preys  on  all  who  yield,  or  who  resist ; 
To  thee  'tis  provocation  to  exist. 

But  if  thou  seestf  a  great  and  generous  heart, 
Thy  bow  is  doubly  bent  to  force  a  dart. 
Nor  dignity  nor  innocence  is  spar'd, 
Nor  age,  nor  sex,  nor  thrones,  nor  graves,  rever'd. 
Nor  only  justice  vainly  we  demand, 
But  even  benefits  can't  rein  thy  hand ; 
To  this  or  that  alike  in  vain  we  trust, 
Nor  find  thee  less  ungrateful  than  unjust. 

Not  even  youth  and  beauty  can  control 
The  universal  rancour  of  thy  soul ; 

*  This  line  ought  never  to  have  had  a  place  in  a  poem  written  by  Lord 
Hervey  and  Lady  Mary  Wortley.  They  ought  to  have  disdained  to  taunt  Pope 
upon  his  origin.  This  taunt  and  that  upon  his  figure,  a  few  lines  before,  are 
certainly  unworthy  of  them.  These  reflections,  however,  seem  to  have  been 
most  keenly  felt  by  Pope  ;  and  in  the  letter  to  Arbuthnot,  which  is  called  the 
Prologue  to  the  Imitations  of  Horace,  he  is  at  considerable  pains  to  refute  that 
respecting  his  birth,  which  makes  it  probable  that  that  letter  was  written,  in  fact, 
after  the  Imitations  of  Horace.— W. 

f  Taste,  an  Epistle,  in  which  are  the  reflections  upon  the  Duke  of  Chandos. 


POEMS.  389 

Charms  that  might  soften  superstition's  rage, 

Might  humble  pride,  or  thaw  the  ice  of  age. 

But  how  should'st  thou  by  beauty's  force  be  mov'd, 

No  more  for  loving  made  than  to  be  lov'd  ? 

It  was  the  equity  of  righteous  Heav'n, 

That  such  a  soul  to  such  a  form  was  giv'n  ; 

And  shews  the  uniformity  of  fate, 

That  one  so  odious  should  be  born  to  hate. 

When  God  created  thee,  one  would  believe 
He  said  the  same  as  to  the  snake  of  Eve ; 
To  human  race  antipathy  declare, 
'Twixt  them  and  thee  be  everlasting  war. 
But  oh  I  the  sequel  of  the  sentence  dread, 
And  whilst  you  bruise  their  heel,  beware  your  head. 
Nor  think  thy  weakness  shall  be  thy  defence, 
The  female  scold's  protection  in  offence. 
Sure  'tis  as  fair  to  beat  who  cannot  fight, 
As  'tis  to  libel  those  who  cannot  write. 
And  if  thou  draw'st  thy  pen  to  aid  the  law, 
Others  a  cudgel,  or  a  rod,  may  draw. 
If  none  with  vengeance  yet  thy  crimes  pursue, 
Or  give  thy  manifold  affronts  their  due ; 
If  limbs  unbroken,  skin  without  a  stain, 
Unwhipt,  unblanketed,  unkick'd,  unslain, 
That  wretched  little  carcase  you  retain, 
The  reason  is,  not  that  the  world  wants  eyes, 
But  thou  'rt  so  mean,  they  see,  and  they  despise  : 
When  fretful  porcupine,  with  ranc'rous  will, 
From  mounted  back  shoots  forth  a  harmless  quill, 
Cool  the  spectators  stand ;  and  all  the  while 
Upon  the  angry  little  monster  smile. 
Thus  'tis  with  thee  : — while  impotently  safe, 
You  strike  unwounding,  we  unhurt  can  laugh. 
Who  but  must  laugh,  this  bully  wlien  he  sees, 
A  puny  insect  shivring  at  a  breeze  ? 


390  POEMS. 

One  over-match'd  by  every  blast  of  wind, 
Insulting  and  provoking  all  mankind. 

Is  this  the  thing  to  keep  mankind  in  awe, 
To  make  those  tremble  who  escape  the  law  9 
Is  this  the  ridicule  to  live  so  long, 
The  deathless  satire,  and  immortal  song  ? 
No :  like  the  self-blown  praise,  thy  scandal  flies  ; 
And,  as  we  're  told  of  wasps,  it  stings  and  dies. 

If  none  do  yet  return  th'  intended  blow, 
You  all  your  safety  to  your  dulness  owe  : 
But  whilst  that  armour  thy  poor  corse  defends, 
'Twill  make  thy  readers  few,  as  are  thy  friends : 
Those,  who  thy  nature  loath'd,  yet  lov'd  thy  art, 
Who  lik'd  thy  head,  and  yet  abhorr'd  thy  heart : 
Chose  thee  to  read,  but  never  to  converse, 
And  scorn'd  in  prose  him  whom  they  priz'd  in  verse  ; 
Ev'n  they  shall  now  their  partial  error  see, 
Shall  shun  thy  writings  like  thy  company ; 
And  to  thy  books  shall  ope  their  eyes  no  more 
Than  to  thy  person  they  wou'd  do  their  door. 

Nor  thou  the  justice  of  the  world  disown, 
That  leaves  thee  thus  an  outcast  and  alone  ; 
For  though  in  law  to  murder  be  to  kill, 
In  equity  the  murder  's  in  the  will : 
Then  whilst  with  coward-hand  you  stab  a  name, 
And  try  at  least  t'  assassinate  our  fame, 
Like  the  first  bold  assassin's  be  thy  lot, 
Ne'er  be  thy  guilt  forgiven,  or  forgot ; 
But,  as  thou  hat'st,  be  hated  by  mankind, 
And  with  the  emblem  of  thy  crooked  mind 
Mark'd  on  thy  back,  like  Cain  by  God's  own  hand, 
Wander,  like  him,  accursed  through  the  land. 


POEMS.  391 


UNFINISHED  SKETCHES 

OF    A    LARGER    POEM. 

Now,  with  fresh  vigour,  morn  her  light  displays, 
And  the  glad  birds  salute  her  kindling  rays ; 
The  opening  buds  confess  the  sun's  return, 
And  rous'd  from  night  all  nature  seems  new-born ; 
When  ponderous  Dulness  slowly  wing'd  her  way, 
And  with  thick  fogs  oppos'd  the  rising  day. 
Phcebus  retir'd  as  from  Thyestes'  feasts, 
Droop'd  all  the  flow'rs,  th'  aerial  music  ceas'd. 
Pleas'd  with  her  influence,  she  exults  with  pride, 
"  Shall  mortals  then  escape  my  power  ?"  she  cried : 
<{  Nay,  in  this  town  where  smoke  and  mists  conspire 
To  cloud  the  head,  and  damp  the  poet's  fire, 
Shall  Addison  my  empire  here  dispute, 
So  justly  founded,  lov'd,  and  absolute? 
Explode  my  children,  ribaldry  and  rhyme, 
Rever'd  from  Chaucer's  down  to  Dryden's  time  ? 
Distinguish  'twixt  false  humour  and  the  true, 
And  wit  make  lovely  to  the  vulgar  view  ? 
No — better  things  my  destiny  ordains, 
For  Oxford  has  the  wand,  and  Anna  reigns." 
She  ended,  and  assum'd  Duke  Disney's  grin, 
With  broad  plump  face,  pert  eyes,  and  ruddy  skin, 
Which  shew'd  the  stupid  joke  which  lurk'd  within. 

In  this  lov'd  form  she  knock'd  at  St.  John's*  gate, 
Where  crowds  already  for  his  levee  wait ; 
And  wait  they  may,  those  wretches  that  appear 
To  talk  of  service  past  and  long  arrear : 
But  the  proud  partner  of  his  pleasure  goes 
Through  crowds  of  envious  eyes  and  servile  bows. 

*  Lord  Bolingbroke. 


392  POEMS. 

And  now  approaching  where  the  statesman  lay, 
To  his  unwilling  eyes  reveal' d  the  day. 
Starting,  he  wak'd,  and,  waking,  swore  by  God, 
"  This  early  visit,  friend,  is  wond'rous  odd ! 
Scarce  have  I  rested  two  small  hours  in  bed, 
And  fumes  of  wine  oppress  my  aching  head. 
By  thee  I  'm  sure  my  soul  is  understood 
Too  well  to  plague  me  for  the  public  good. 
Let  stupid  patriots  toil  to  serve  the  brutes, 
And  waste  the  fleeting  hours  in  vain  disputes ; 
The  use  of  power  supreme  I  better  know, 
Nor  will  I  lose  the  joys  the  gods  bestow ; 
The  sparkling  glass,  soft  flute,  and  willing  fair 
Alternate  guard  me  from  the  shocks  of  care. 
'Tis  the  prerogative  of  wit  like  mine 
To  emulate  in  ease  the  pow'rs  divine ; 
And  while  I  revel,  leave  the  busy  fools 

To  plot  like  chemists,  or  to  trudge  like  tools." 
"  Believe  me,  lord !  (replies  his  seeming  friend) 

Some  difficulties  every  state  attend. 

Cares  must  surround  the  men  that  wealth  possess, 

And  sorrow  mingles  ev'n  with  love's  success. 

Great  as  you  are,  no  greatness  long  is  sure, 

Advancement  is  but  pain  if  not  secure. 

All  your  long  schemes  may  vanish  in  an  hour, 

Oh  tremble  at  the  sad  reverse  of  pow'r ! 

How  will  these  slaves  that  waiting  watch  your  eye 

Insulting  smile  or  pass  regardless  by  ! 

Nor  is  this  thought  the  creature  of  my  fears, 

Approaching  ruin  now  most  strong  appears. 

Men  must  be  dull  who  passively  obey, 

And  ignorance  fixes  arbitrary  sway ; 

Think  of  this  maxim,  and  no  more  permit 

A  dangerous'  writer  to  retail  his  wit. 

*The  Spectator  was  in  course  of  publication  at  that  time.     This  is  an 
allusion  to  it. 


POEMS.  393 

The  consequence  of  sense  is  liberty, 

And  if  men  think  aright,  they  will  be  free ; 

Encourage  you  the  poet*  I  shall  bring, 

Your  Granville  he  already  tries  to  sing ; 

Nor  think,  my  lord,  I  only  recommend 

An  able  author,  but  an  useful  friend ; 

In  verse  his  phlegm,  in  puns  he  shews  his  fire, 

And  skill'd  in  pimping  to  your  heart's  desire." 

"  I  thank  thee,  duke,  (replies  the  drowsy  peer,) 
But  cannot  listen  to  thy  childish  fear. 
This  Addison,  'tis  true,  debauch'd  in  schools, 
Will  sometimes  oddly  talk  of  musty  rules. 
Yet  here  and  there  I  see  a  master  line, 
I  feel  and  I  confess  the  power  divine. 
In  spite  of  interest  charm'd  into  applause, 
I  wish  for  such  a  champion  in  our  cause : 
Nor  shall  your  reasons  force  me  to  submit 
To  patronise  a  bard  of  meaner  wit ; 
Men  can  but  say  wit  did  my  judgment  blind, 
And  wit 's  the  noblest  frailty  of  the  mind." 

The  disappointed  goddess,  swell'd  with  spite, 
Dropping  her  borrow'd  form,  appears  in  open  light. 
So  the  sly  nymph  in  masquerade  disguise, 
The  faith  of  her  suspected  lover  tries ; 
But  when  the  perjury  too  plain  appears, 
Her  eyes  are  fill'd  with  mingled  rage  and  tears ; 
No  more  remembers  the  affected  tone, 
Sinks  the  feign'd  voice,  and  thunders  in  her  own. 

"  How  hast  thou  dar'd  my  party  then  to  quit, 
Or  dost  thou,  wretch,  presume  thou  art  a  wit  ? 
Read  thy  own  works,  consider  well  each  line, 
In  each  dull  page,  how  palpably  I  shine  I 
'Tis  I  that  to  thy  eloquence  affords 
Such  empty  thoughts  wrapt  in  superfluous  words ; 

*Pope. 


394  POEMS. 

To  me  alone  your  pamphlet-praise  you  owe, 
'Tis  I  your  tropes  and  florid  sense  bestow; 
After  such  wreaths  bestow'd.  such  service  done, 
Dare  you  refuse  protection  to  my  son  ? 
The  time  shall  come,  though  now  at  court  ador'd, 
When  still  a  writer,  though  no  more  a  lord, 
On  common  stalls  thy  darling  works  be  spread, 
And  thou  shalt  answer  them  to  make  them  read." 
She  said,  and  turning  shew'd  her  wrinkled  neck, 
In  scales  and  colour  like  a  roach's  back. 


THE  COURT   OF  DULNESS. 

A    FRAGMENT. 


*  *  *  *  * 

#  *  *  *  # 


HER  palace  plac'd  beneath  a  muddy  road, 

And  such  the  influence  of  the  dull  abode, 

The  carrier's  horse  above  can  scarcely  drag  his  load. 

Here  chose  the  goddess  her  belov'd  retreat,  f 

Which  Phoebus  tries  in  vain  to  penetrate ; 

Adorn'd  within  with  shells  of  small  expense, 

(Emblems  of  tinsel  rhyme  and  trifling  sense,) 

Perpetual  fogs  enclose  the  sacred  cave, 

The  neighbouring  sinks  their  fragrant  odours  gave  ; 

In  contemplation  here  she  pass'd  her  hours, 

Closely  attended  by  subservient  powers : 

Bold  Profanation  with  a  brazen  brow, — 

Much  to  this  great  ally  does  Dulness  owe : 

But  still  more  near  the  goddess  you  attend, 

Naked  Obscenity  !  her  darling  friend. 

t  Alluding  to  Pope  s  grotto  at  Twickenham. 


POEMS.  395 

To  thee  for  shelter  all  the  dull  still  fly, 

Pert  double  meanings  e'en  at  school  we  try. 

What  numerous  writers  owe  their  praise  to  thee, 

No  sex — no  age — is  from  thy  influence  free ; 

By  thee  how  bright  appears  the  senseless  song, 

By  thee  the  book  is  sold,  the  lines  are  strong. 

The  heaviest  poet,  by  thy  powerful  aid, 

Warms  the  brisk  youth  and  charms  the  sprightly  maid ; 

Where  breathes  the  mortal  who  's  not  prov'd  thy  force 

In  well-bred  pun,  or  waiting-room  discourse  ? 

Such  were  the  chiefs  who  form'd  her  gloomy  court, 
Her  pride,  her  ornament,  and  her  support : 
Behind  attended  such  a  numerous  crowd 
Of  quibbles  strain'd,  old  rhymes,  and  laughter  loud, 
Throngs  that  might  even  make  a  goddess  proud. 
Yet  pensive  thoughts  lay  brooding  in  her  breast, 
And  fear,  the  mate  of  power,  her  mind  oppress'd. 
Oft  she  revolv'd — for  oh,  too  well  she  knew 
What  Merlin  sung,  and  part  long  since  prov'd  true, 
"  When  Harry's  brows  the  diadem  adorn, 
From  Reformation  Learning  shall  be  born  ; 
Slowly  in  strength  the  infant  shall  improve, 
The  parent's  glory  and  its  country's  love : 
Free  from  the  thraldom  of  monastic  rhymes, 
In  bright  progression  bless  succeeding  times ; 
Milton  free  poesy  from  the  monkish  chain, 
And  Addison  that  Milton  shall  explain ; 
Point  out  the  beauties  of  each  living  page  ; 
Reform  the  taste  of  a  degen'rate  age  ; 
Shew  that  true  wit  disdains  all  little  art, 
And  can  at  once  engage  and  mend  the  heart ; 
Knows  even  popular  applause  to  gain, 
Yet  not  malicious,  wanton,  or  profane." 

This  prophecy  perplex'd  her  anxious  head ; 
And,  yawning  thrice,  thus  to  her  sons  she  said : 


396  POEMS. 

"  When  such  an  author  honour'd  shall  appear, 

'Tis  plain,  the  hour  of  our  destruction's  near  ! 

And  public  rumour  now  aloud  proclaims 

At  universal  monarchy  he  aims. 

What  to  this  hero,  whom  shall  we  oppose  ? 

A  strong  confederacy  of  stupid  foes — 

Such  brave  allies  as  are  by  nature  fit 

To  check  the  progress  of  o'erflowing  wit ; 

Where  envy  and  where  impudence  are  join'd 

To  contradict  the  voice  of  humankind, 

At  Dacier's  ignorance  shall  gravely  smile, 

And  blame  the  coarseness  of  Spectator's  style ; 

Shall  swear  that  Tickell  understands  not  Greek, 

That  Addison  can't  write,  nor  Walpole  speak." 

Fir'd  by  this  project  Profanation  rose — 
"  One  leader,  Goddess,  let  me  here  propose ; 
In  a  near  realm,  which  owns  thy  gentle  sway, 
My  darling  son  now  chaunts  his  pleasing  lay, 
Trampling  on  order,  decency,  and  laws, 
And  vaunts  himself  the  champion  of  my  cause. 
Him  will  1  bring  to  teach  the  callow  youth 
To  scorn  dry  morals — laugh  at  sacred  truth. 
All  fears  of  future  reckonings  he  shall  quench, 
And  bid  them  bravely  drink  and  freely  wench. 
By  his  example  much,  by  precept  more, 
They  learn  'tis  wit  to  swear,  and  safe  to  wh — re. 

***** 
Mocks  Newton's  schemes,  and  Tillotson's  discourse, 
And  imitates  the  virtues  of  a  horse. 
With  this  design  to  add  to  his  renown, 
He  wears  the  rev'rend  dress  of  band  and  gown."t 
The  Goddess,  pleas'd,  bestow'd  a  gracious  grin, 
When  thus  does  fair  Obscenity  begin  : 
"  My  humbler  subjects  are  not  plac'd  so  high, 
They  joke  in  kitchens,  and  in  cellars  ply  ; 

t  This  character  is  drawn  for  Dr.  Swift, 


POEMS.  397 

Yet  one  I  have,  bred  in  those  worthy  schools, 

Admir'd  by  shoals  of  male  and  female  fools ; 

In  ballads  what  I  dictate  he  shall  sing, 

And  troops  of  converts  to  my  banners  bring. 

Bold  in  my  cause,  and  most  profanely  dull, 

With  smooth  unmeaning  rhymes  the  town  shall  lull ; 

Shall  sing  of  worms  in  great  Arbuthnot's  strain, 

In  lewd  burlesque  the  sacred  Psalms  profane  ^ 

To  maids  of  honour  songs  obscene  address, 

Nor  need  we  doubt  his  wonderful  success. 

Long  have  I  watch' d  this  genius  yet  unknown, 

Inspir'd  his  rhyme,  and  mark'd  him  for  my  own  ; 

His  early  youth  in  superstition  bred, 

And  monkish  legends  all  the  books  he  read. 

Tinctur'd  by  these,  proceeds  his  love  of  rhyme, 

Milton  he  scorns,  but  Crambo  thinks  divine. 

And  oh  !  'tis  sure  (our  foes  confess  this  truth) 

The  old  Cambronians  yield  to  this  stupendous  youth. 

But  present  want  obscures  the  poet's  name, 

Be  it  my  charge  to  talk  him  into  fame. 

My  Lansdowne  (whose  love  songs  so  smoothly  run, 

My  darling  author,  and  my  fav'rite  son) 

He  shall  protect  the  man*  whom  I  inspire, 

And  Windsor-forest  openly  admire ; 

And  Bolingbroke  with  flattery  shall  bribe, 

'Till  the  charm'd  lord  most  nobly  shall  subscribe ; 

And  hostile  Addison  too  late  shall  find, 

'Tis  easier  to  corrupt  than  mend  mankind. 

The  town,  which  now  revolts,  once  more  obey, 

And  the  whole  island  own  my  pristine  sway ! " 

She  said,  and  slowly  leaves  the  realm  of  night, 

While  the  curs'd  phantoms  praise  her  droning  flight. 

*  Mr.  Pope. 


398  POEMS. 

AN  EPISTLE 
FROM  POPE  TO  LORD  BOLINGBROKE. 

CONFESS,  dear  Laelius!*  pious,  just,  and  wise, 

Some  self-content  does  in  that  bosom  rise, 

When  you  reflect,  as  sure  you  sometimes  must, 

What  talents  Heaven  does  to  thy  virtue  trust, 

While  with  contempt  you  view  poor  humankind, 

Weak,  wilful,  sensual,  passionate,  and  blind. 

Amid  these  errors  thou  art  faultless  found, 

(The  moon  takes  lustre  from  the  darkness  round,) 

Permit  me  too,  a  small  attendant  star, 

To  twinkle,  though  in  a  more  distant  sphere  ; 

Small  things  with  great,  we  poets  oft  compare. 

With  admiration  all  your  steps  I  view, 

And  almost  envy  what  I  can't  pursue. 

The  world  must  grant  (and  'tis  no  common  fame) 

My  courage  and  my  probity  the  same. 

But  you,  great  Lord,  to  nobler  scenes  were  born ; 

Your  early  youth  did  Anna's  court  adorn. 

Let  Oxford  own,  let  Catalonia  tell, 

WThat  various  victims  to  your  wisdom  fell ; 

Let  vows  or  benefits  the  vulgar  bind, 

Such  ties  can  never  chain  th*  intrepid  mind. 

Recorded  be  that  memorable  hour, 

When,  to  elude  exasperated  pow'r, 

With  blushless  front,  you  durst  your  friend  betray, 

Advise  the  whole  confed'racy  to  stay, 

While  with  sly  courage  you  run  brisk  away. 

By  a  deserted  court  with  joy  receiv'd, 

Your  projects  all  admir'd,  your  oaths  believ'd ; 

Some  trust  obtain'd,  of  which  good  use  he  made, 

To  gain  a  pardon  where  you  first  betray'd. 

*  Pope  first  addressed  his  Essay  on  Man  to  Lord  Bolingbroke,  as  Lzelius. 


POEMS.  399 

But  what  is  pardon  to  th'  aspiring  breast  ? 

You  should  have  been  first  minister  at  least : 

Failing  of  that,  forsaken  and  depress'd, 

Sure  any  soul  but  your's  had  sought  for  rest ! 

And  mourn'd  in  shades,  far  from  the  public  eye, 

Successless  fraud,  and  useless  infamy. 

And  here,  my  lord!  let  all  mankind  admire 

The  efforts  bold  of  unexhausted  fire ; 

You  stand  the  champion  of  the  people's  cause, 

And  bid  the  mob  reform  defective  laws. 

Oh  !  was  your  pow'r,  like  your  intention  good, 

Your  native  land  would  stream  with  civic  blood. 

I  own  these  glorious  schemes  I  view  with  pain ; 

My  little  mischiefs  to  myself  seem  mean. 

Such  ills  are  humble  though  my  heart  is  great, 

All  I  can  do  is  flatter,  lie,  and  cheat ; 

Yet  I  may  say  'tis  plain  that  you  preside 

O'er  all  my  morals,  and  'tis  much  my  pride 

To  tread  with  steps  unequal  where  you  guide. 

My  first  subscribers*  I  have  first  defam'd, 

And  when  detected,  never  was  asham'd ; 

Rais'd  all  the  storms  I  could  in  private  life, 

Whisper'd  the  husband  to  reform  the  wife ; 

Outwitted  Lintot  in  his  very  trade, 

And  charity  with  obloquy  repaid. 

Yet  while  you  preach  in  prose,  I  scold  in  rhymes, 

Against  th'  injustice  of  flagitious  times. 

You,  learned  doctor  of  the  public  stage, 

Give  gilded  poison  to  corrupt  the  age ; 

Your  poor  toad-eater  I,  around  me  scatter 

My  scurril  jests,  and  gaping  crowds  bespatter. 

This  may  seem  envy  to  the  formal  fools 

Who  talk  of  virtue's  bounds  and  honour's  rules  ; 

We,  who  with  piercing  eyes  look  nature  through, 

We  know  that  all  is  right  in  all  we  do. 

*  To  the  Translation  of  Homer. 


400  POEMS. 

Reason  's  erroneous — honest  instinct  right — 
Monkeys  were  made  to  grin,  and  fleas  to  bite. 
Using  the  spite  by  the  Creator  given, 
We  only  tread  the  path  that 's  mark'd  by  Heaven. 
And  sure  with  justice  'tis  that  we  exclaim, 
Such  wrongs  must  e'en  your  modesty  inflame ; 
While  blockheads  court-rewards  and  honours  share, 
You,  poet,  patriot,  and  philosopher, 
No  bills  in  pocket,  nor  no  garter  wear. 

When  I  see  smoking  on  a  booby's  board 
Fat  ortolans  and  pye  of  Perigord, 
Myself  am  mov'd  to  high  poetic  rage 
(The  Homer  and  the  Horace  of  the  age), 
Puppies  who  have  the  insolence  to  dine 
With  smiling  beauties,  and  with  sparkling  wine ; 
While  I  retire,  plagu'd  with  an  empty  purse, 
Eat  brocoli,  and  kiss  my  ancient  nurse.* 
But  had  we  flourish'd  when  stern  Harry  reign'd, 
Our  good  designs  had  been  but  ill  explain'd  ; 
The  axe  had  cut  your  solid  reas'nings  short, 
I,  in  the  porter's  lodge,  been  scourg'd  at  court. 
To  better  times  kind  Heav'n  reserv'd  our  birth. 
Happy  for  you  such  coxcombs  are  on  earth  ' 
Mean  spirits  seek  their  villainy  to  hide ; 
We  shew  our  venom'd  souls  with  nobler  pride, 
And  in  bold  strokes  have  all  mankind  defy'd, 
Pass'd  o'er  the  bounds  that  keep  mankind  in  awe, 
And  laugh'd  at  justice,  liberty,  and  law. 
While  our  admirers  stare  with  dumb  surprise, 
Treason  and  scandal  we  monopolise. 
Yet  this  remains  our  more  peculiar  boast, 
You  'scape  the  block,  and  I  the  whipping-post. 

•  To  whom  Pope  erected  a  tomb,  which  he  inscribed  to  her  memory,  in  the 
churchyard  at  Twickenham. 


POEMS.  401 


LADY  HERTFORD, 

TO    LORD    WILLIAM    HAMILTON. 

DEAR  Colin,  prevent  my  warm  blushes, 
Since  how  can  I  speak  without  pain  ? 

My  eyes  oft  have  told  you  my  wishes, 
Why  don't  you  their  meaning  explain  ? 

My  passion  will  lose  by  expression, 
And  you  may  too  cruelly  blame; 

Then  do  not  expect  a  confession 
Of  what  is  too  tender  to  name. 

Since  yours  is  the  province  of  speaking, 
How  can  you  then  hope  it  from  me  ? 

Our  wishes  should  be  in  our  keeping, 
Till  yours  tell  us  what  they  should  be. 

Alas !  then,  why  don't  you  discover  ? 

Did  your  heart  feel  such  torments  as  mine, 
Eyes  need  not  tell  over  and  over, 

What  I  in  my  breast  would  confine. 


ANSWERED,  FOR  LORD  WILLIAM  HAMILTON, 

BY   LADY    M.    W.   MONTAGU. 

GOOD  Madam,  when  ladies  are  willing, 
A  man  must  needs  look  like  a  fool ; 

For  me,  I  would  not  give  a  shilling 
For  one  who  would  love  out  of  rule. 

You  should  leave  us  to  guess  by  your  blushing, 

And  not  speak  the  matter  so  plain ; 
'Tis  ours  to  write  and  be  pushing, 

'Tis  yours  to  affect  a  disdain. 
VOL.  ni.  2  D 


402  POEMS. 

That  you  are  in  a  terrible  taking, 
By  all  these  sweet  oglings  I  see ; 

But  the  fruit  that  can  fall  without  shaking, 
Indeed  is  too  mellow  for  me. 


EPISTLE  FROM  ARTHUR  GREY,  THE  FOOTMAN,* 

TO   MRS.   MURRAY, 
After  his  Condemnation  for  attempting  to  commit  Violence. 

READ,  lovely  nymph,  and  tremble  not  to  read, 
I  have  no  more  to  wish,  nor  you  to  dread ; 
I  ask  not  life,  for  life  to  me  were  vain, 
And  death  a  refuge  from  severer  pain. 
My  only  hope  in  these  last  lines  I  try— 
I  would  be  pitied,  and  I  then  would  die. 
Long  had  I  liv'd  as  sordid  as  my  fate, 
Nor  curs'd  the  destiny  that  made  me  wait 
A  servile  slave:  content  with  homely  food, 
The  gross  instinct  of  happiness  pursu'd : 
Youth  gave  me  sleep  at  night  and  warmth  of  blood. 
Ambition  yet  had  never  touch'd  my  breast ; 
My  lordly  master  knew  no  sounder  rest ; 
With  labour  healthy,  in  obedience  blest. 
But  when  I  saw — oh  !  had  I  never  seen 
That  wounding  softness,  that  engaging  mien ! 
The  mist  of  wretched  education  flies, 
Shame,  fear,  desire,  despair,  and  love  arise, 
The  new  creation  of  those  beauteous  eyes. 

*  This  man  was  tried  for  the  offence  in  1721.  As  the  lady  had  wrested  the 
pistol  from  his  hand,  and  alarmed  the  family,  he  was  convicted  only  of  burglary, 
and  transported.  In  Dallaway's  edition,  this  poem  is  addressed  to  "  Mrs. 
Mahoney."  Now  it  is  quite  clear,  that  the  person  meant  is,  "  Mrs.  Murray," 
and  if  the  reader  will  turn  to  the  introductory  anecdotes,  vol.  i.  p.  68,  he  will 
there  find  the  story  which  gave  rise  to  it.  It  appears  to  have  given  offence  to 
that  lady,  which  was  increased  by  another  publication,  a  ballad,  of  which,  how- 
ever, Lady  Mary  always  positively  denied  having  been  the  author. — W. 


POEMS.  403 

But  yet  that  love  pursu'd  no  guilty  aim ; 

Deep  in  my  heart  I  hid  the  secret  flame : 

I  never  hop'd  my  fond  desire  to  tell, 

And  all  my  wishes  were  to  serve  you  well. 

Heav'ns  !  how  I  flew,  when  wing'd  by  your  command, 

And  kiss'd  the  letters  giv'n  me  by  your  hand. 

How  pleas'd,  how  proud,  how  fond  was  I  to  wait, 

Present  the  sparkling  wine,  or  change  the  plate ! 

How,  when  you  sung,  my  soul  devour'd  the  sound, 

And  ev'ry  sense  was  in  the  rapture  drown' d  ! 

Though  bid  to  go,  I  quite  forgot  to  move  ; 

— You  knew  not  that  stupidity  was  love  ! 

But  oh  !  the  torment  not  to  be  express'd, 

The  grief,  the  rage,  the  hell,  that  fir'd  this  breast, 

When  my  great  rivals,  in  embroid'ry  gay, 

Sate  by  your  side,  or  led  you  from  the  play ! 

I  still  contriv'd  near  as  I  could  to  stand, 

(The  flambeau  trembling  in  my  shaking  hand ;) 

I  saw,  or  thought  I  saw,  those  fingers  press'd, 

For  thus  their  passion  by  my  own  I  guess'd, 

And  jealous  fury  all  my  soul  possess'd. 

Like  torrents,  love  and  indignation  meet, 

And  madness  would  have  thrown  me  at  your  feet. 

Turn,  lovely  nymph  (for  so  I  would  have  said), 

Turn  from  those  triflers  who  make  love  a  trade ; 

This  is  true  passion  in  my  eyes  you  see ; 

They  cannot,  no — they  cannot  love  like  me; 

Frequent  debauch  has  pall'd  their  sickly  taste, 

Faint  their  desire,  and  in  a  moment  past : 

They  sigh  not  from  the  heart,  but  from  the  brain ; 

Vapours  of  vanity  and  strong  champaign. 

Too  dull  to  feel  what  forms  like  yours  inspire, 

After  long  talking  of  their  painted  fire, 

To  some  lewd  brothel  they  at  night  retire  ; 

There,  pleas'd  with  fancy'd  quality  and  charms, 

Enjoy  your  beauties  in  a  strumpet's  arms. 

2  D2 


404  POEMS. 

Such  are  the  joys  those  toasters  have  in  view, 
And  such  the  wit  and  pleasure  they  pursue  ; 
— And  is  this  love  that  ought  to  merit  you  ? 
Each  opera  night  a  new  address  begun, 
They  swear  to  thousands  what  they  swear  to  one. 
Not  thus  I  sigh — but  all  my  sighs  are  vain — 
Die,  wretched  Arthur,  and  conceal  thy  pain : 
'Tis  impudence  to  wish,  and  madness  to  complain. 
.    Fix'd  on  this  view,  my  only  hope  of  ease, 
I  waited  not  the  aid  of  slow  disease  ; 
The  keenest  instruments  of  death  I  sought, 
And  death  alone  employ'd  my  lab'ring  thought. 
This  all  the  night — when  I  remember  well 
The  charming  tinkle  of  your  morning  bell ! 
Fir'd  by  the  sound,  I  hasten'd  with  your  tea, 
With  one  last  look  to  smooth  the  darksome  way — 
But  oh  !  how  dear  that  fatal  look  has  cost ! 
In  that  fond  moment  my  resolves  were  lost. 
Hence  all  my  guilt,  and  all  your  sorrows  rise — 
I  saw  the  languid  softness  of  your  eyes ; 
I  saw  the  dear  disorder  of  your  bed  ; 
Your  cheeks  all  glowing  with  a  tempting  red  ; 
Your  night-clothes  tumbled  with  resistless  grace, 
Your  flowing  hair  play'd  careless  down  your  face ; 
Your  night-gown  fasten'd  with  a  single  pin  ; 
— Fancy  improv'd  the  wondrous  charms  within  ! 
I  fix'd  my  eyes  upon  that  heaving  breast, 
And  hardly,  hardly,  I  forbore  the  rest : 
Eager  to  gaze,  unsatisfied  with  sight, 
My  head  grew  giddy  with  the  near  delight ! 
—-Too  well  you  know  the  fatal  following  night ! 
Th'  extremest  proof  of  my  desire  I  give, 
And  since  you  will  not  love,  I  will  not  live. 
Condemn'd  by  you,  I  wait  the  righteous  doom, 
Careless  and  fearless  of  the  woes  to  come. 


POEMS.  405 

But  when  you  see  me  waver  in  the  wind, 
My  guilty  flame  extinct,  my  soul  resign'd, 
Sure  you  may  pity  what  you  can't  approve, 
The  cruel  consequence  of  furious  love. 
Think  the  bold  wretch,  that  could  so  greatly  dare, 
Was  tender,  faithful,  ardent,  and  sincere ; 
Think  when  I  held  the  pistol  to  your  breast, — 
Had  I  been  of  the  world's  large  rule  possess'd, — 
That  world  had  then  been  yours,  and  I  been  blest ; 
Think  that  my  life  was  quite  below  my  care, 
Nor  fear'd  I  any  hell  beyond  despair. — 

If  these  reflections,  though  they  seize  you  late, 
Give  some  compassion  for  your  Arthur's  fate  i 
Enough  you  give,  nor  ought  I  to  complain ; 
You  pay  my  pangs,  nor  have  I  died  in  vain. 


THE  FOURTH  ODE  OF  THE  FIRST  BOOK 
OF  HORACE  IMITATED. 

"  Solvitur  acris  hyems  grata  vice  veris,  &c." 

SHARP  winter  now  dissolv'd,  the  linnets  sing, 
The  grateful  breath  of  pleasing  Zephyrs  bring 
The  welcome  joys  of  long-desired  spring. 

The  gallies  now  for  open  sea  prepare, 
The  herds  forsake  their  stalls  for  balmy  air, 
The  fields  adorn'd  with  green  th'  approaching  sun  declare. 

In  shining  nights  the  charming  Venus  leads 
Her  troop  of  Graces,  and  her  lovely  maids, 
Who  gaily  trip  the  ground  in  myrtle  shades. 

The  blazing  forge  her  husband  Vulcan  heats 
And  thunderlike  the  labouring  hammer  beats, 
While  toiling  Cyclops  every  stroke  repeats. 

Of  myrtle  new  the  cheerful  wreath  compose, 
Of  various  flowers  which  opening  spring  bestows, 
Till  coming  June  presents  the  blushing  rose. 


406  POEMS. 

Pay  your  vow'd  offering  to  God  Faun  us*  bower ! 
Then,  happy  Sestius,  seize  the  present  hour, 
Tis  all  that  nature  leaves  to  mortal  power. 

The  equal  hand  of  strong  impartial  Fate 
Levels  the  peasant  and  th'  imperious  great, 
Nor  will  that  doom  on  human  projects  wait. 

To  the  dark  mansions  of  the  senseless  dead, 
With  daily  steps  our  destin'd  path  we  tread, 
Realms  still  unknown,  of  which  so  much  is  said. 

Ended  your  schemes  of  pleasure  and  of  pride, 
In  joyous  feasts  no  one  will  there  preside, 
Torn  from  your  Lycidas'  beloved  side ; 

Whose  tender  youth  does  now  our  eyes  engage, 
And  soon  will  give,  in  his  maturer  age, 
Sighs  to  our  virgins — to  our  matrons  rage. 


THE  FIFTH  ODE  OF  THE  FIRST  BOOK  OF 
HORACE  IMITATED. 

"  Quis  multa  gracilis  te  puer  in  ros&." 

FOR  whom  are  now  your  airs  put  on, 
And  what  new  beauty  's  doom'd  to  be  undone  ? 

That  careless  elegance  of  dress, 
This  essence  that  perfume^  the  wind, 

Your  ev'ry  motion  does  confess 
Some  secret  conquest  is  design'd. 

Alas !  the  poor  unhappy  maid, 
To  what  a  train  of  ills  betray 'd ! 

What  fears,  what  pangs  shall  rend  her  breast, 
How  will  her  eyes  dissolve  in  tears ! 

That  now  with  glowing  joy  is  bless'd, 
Charm'd  with  the  faithless  vows  she  hears. 


POEMS.  407 

So  the  young  sailor  on  the  summer  sea 
Gaily  pursues  his  destin'd  way : 

Fearless  and  careless  on  the  deck  he  stands, 
Till  sudden  storms  arise  and  thunders  roll ; 

In  vain  he  casts  his  eyes  to  distant  lands, 
Distracting  terror  tears  his  timorous  soul. 

For  me,  secure  I  view  the  raging  main, 
Past  are  my  dangers,  and  forgot  my  pain : 

My  votive  tablet  in  the  temple  shews 
The  monument  of  folly  past ; 

I  paid  the  bounteous  god  my  grateful  vows, 
Who  snatch'd  from  ruin,  sav'd  me  at  the  last. 


THE  LOVER:    A  BALLAD. 

TO    MR.   CONGREVE. 

AT  length,  by  so  much  importunity  press'd, 

Take,  Congreve,  at  once  the  inside  of  my  breast. 

This  stupid  indiff'rence  so  often  you  blame, 

Is  not  owing  to  nature,  to  fear,  or  to  shame : 

I  am  not  as  cold  as  a  virgin  in  lead, 

Nor  are  Sunday's  sermons  so  strong  in  my  head : 

I  know  but  too  well  how  time  flies  along, 

That  we  live  but  few  years,  and  yet  fewer  are  young. 

But  I  hate  to  be  cheated,  and  never  will  buy 

Long  years  of  repentance  for  moments  of  joy. 

Oh !  was  there  a  man  (but  where  shall  I  find 

Good  sense  and  good-nature  so  equally  join'd?) 

Would  value  his  pleasure,  contribute  to  mine; 

Not  meanly  would  boast,  nor  lewdly  design; 

Not  over  severe,  yet  not  stupidly  vain, 

For  I  would  have  the  power,  though  not  give  the  pain. 


408  POEMS. 

No  pedant,  yet  learned;  no  rake-helly  gay, 
Or  laughing,  because  he  has  nothing  to  say ; 
To  all  my  whole  sex  obliging  and  free, 
Yet  never  be  fond  of  any  but  me ; 
In  public  preserve  the  decorum  that's  just, 
And  shew  in  his  eyes  he  is  true  to  his  trust! 
Then  rarely  approach,  and  respectfully  bow, 
But  not  fulsomely  pert,  nor  yet  foppishly  low. 

But  when  the  long  hours  of  public  are  past, 
And  we  meet  with  champaign  and  a  chicken  at  last, 
May  every  fond  pleasure  that  moment  endear ; 
Be  banish'd  afar  both  discretion  and  fear ! 
Forgetting  or  scorning  the  airs  of  the  crowd, 
He  may  cease  to  be  formal,  and  I  to  be  proud, 
Till  lost  in  the  joy,  we  confess  that  we  live, 
And  he  may  be  rude,  and  yet  I  may  forgive. 

And  that  my  delight  may  be  solidly  fix'd, 

Let  the  friend  and  the  lover  be  handsomely  mix'd; 

In  whose  tender  bosom  my  soul  may  confide, 

Whose  kindness  can  soothe  me,  whose  counsel  can  guide. 

From  such  a  dear  lover  as  here  I  describe, 

No  danger  should  fright  me,  no  millions  should  bribe  ; 

But  till  this  astonishing  creature  I  know, 

As  I  long  have  liv'd  chaste,  I  will  keep  myself  so. 

I  never  will  share  with  the  wanton  coquette, 

Or  be  caught  by  a  vain  affectation  of  wit. 

The  toasters  and  songsters  may  try  all  their  art, 

But  never  shall  enter  the  pass  of  my  heart. 

I  loathe  the  lewd  rake,  the  dress'd  fopling  despise  : 

Before  such  pursuers  the  nice  virgin  flies ; 

And  as  Ovid  has  sweetly  in  parable  told, 

We  harden  like  trees,  and  like  rivers  grow  cold 


POEMS.  409 

ON  SEEING 
A  PORTRAIT  OF  SIR  ROBERT  WALPOLE. 

SUCH  were  the  lively  eyes  and  rosy  hue 
Of  Robin's  face,  when  Robin  first  I  knew ; 
The  gay  companion  and  the  favourite  guest ; 
Lov'd  without  awe,  and  without  views  caress'd ; 
His  cheerful  smile,  and  open  honest  look, 
Added  new  graces  to  the  truth  he  spoke. 
Then  every  man  found  something  to  commend, 
The  pleasant  neighbour  and  the  worthy  friend ; 
The  generous  master  of  a  private  house, 
The  tender  father  and  indulgent  spouse. 

The  hardest  censors  at  the  'worst  believ'd, 
His  temper  was  too  easily  deceiv'd 
(A  consequential  ill  good-nature  draws, 
A  bad  effect,  but  from  a  noble  cause). 
Whence  then  these  clamours  of  a  judging  crowd? 
Suspicious,  griping,  insolent,  and  proud — 
Rapacious,  cruel,  violent,  unjust ; 
False  to  his  friend,  and  traitor  to  his  trust  ? 


AN  ELEGY  ON  MRS.  THOMPSON.* 

UNHAPPY  fair,  by  fatal  love  betray'd  ! 
Must  then  thy  beauties  thus  untimely  fade  ! 
And  all  thy  blooming,  soft,  inspiring  charms, 
Become  a  prey  to  Death's  destructive  arms  I 
Though  short  thy  day,  and  transient  like  the  wind, 
How  far  more  blest  than  those  yet  left  behind  ! 
Safe  in  the  grave  thy  griefs  with  thee  remain ; 
And  life's  tempestuous  billows  break  in  vain. 

*  Arabella,  the  wife  of  Edward  Thompson,  Esq.  one  of  the  daughters  and 
coheirs  of  Edmund  Dunch,  Esq.  The  others  were  the  Duchess  of  Manchester 
and  Lady  Oxenden. 


410  POEMS. 

Ye  tender  nymphs  in  lawless  pastimes  gay, 

Who  heedless  down  the  paths  of  pleasure  stray  ; 

Though  long  secure,  with  blissful  joy  elate, 

Yet  pause,  and  think  of  Arabella's  fate  ; 

For  such  may  be  your  unexpected  doom, 

And  your  next  pleasures  lull  you  in  the  tomb. 

But  let  it  be  the  muse's  gentle  care 

To  shield  from  envy's  rage  the  mould'ring  fair  ; 

To  draw  a  veil  o'er  faults  she  can't  defend ; 

And  what  prudes  have  devoured,  leave  time  to  end : 

Be  it  her  part  to  drop  a  pitying  tear, 

And  mourning  sigh  around  thy  sable  bier, 

Nor  shall  thy  woes  long  glad  th'  ill-natur'd  crowd, 

Silent  to  praise,  and  in  detraction  loud : 

When  scandal,  that  through  life  each  worth  destroys, 

And  malice  that  embitters  all  our  joys, 

Shall  in  some  ill-starr'd  wretch  find  later  stains, 

And  let  thine  rest,  forgot  as  thy  remains. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MRS.  BOWES.* 

Written  extempore  on  a  card,  in  a  large  company,  December  14,  1724. 

HAIL,  happy  bride,  for  thou  art  truly  blest  I 
Three  months  of  rapture,  crown'd  with  endless  rest. 
Merit  like  yours  was  Heav'n's  peculiar  care, 
You  lov'd — yet  tasted  happiness  sincere. 
To  you  the  sweets  of  love  were  only  shewn, 
The  sure  succeeding  bitter  dregs  unknown  ; 
You  had  not  yet  the  fatal  change  deplor'd, 
The  tender  lover  for  th'  imperious  lord : 

*  Eleanor,  the  daughter  of  the  Honourable  Thomas  Verney,  eldest  son  of 
George,  Lord  Willoughby  de  Broke,  married  George  Bowes,  Esq.,  of  Streat- 
lam,  in  the  County  of  Durham,  1st  October  1724,  and  died  4th  December, 
in  the  same  year. 


POEMS.  411 

Nor  felt  the  pain  that  jealous  fondness  brings  : 

Nor  felt,  that  coldness  from  possession  springs. 

Above  your  sex,  distinguish'd  in  your  fate, 

You  trusted — yet  experienc'd  no  deceit ; 

Soft  were  your  hours,  and  wing'd  with  pleasure  flew ; 

No  vain  repentance  gave  a  sigh  to  you : 

And  if  superior  bliss  Heaven  can  bestow, 

With  fellow-angels  you  enjoy  it  now. 


A  MAN  IN  LOVE. 
L'Homme  qui  ne  se  trouve  point,  et  ne  se  trouvera  jamais." 

THE  man  who  feels  the  dear  disease, 
Forgets  himself,  neglects  to  please, 
The  crowd  avoids,  and  seeks  the  groves, 
And  much  he  thinks  when  much  he  loves ; 
Press'd  with  alternate  hope  and  fear, 
Sighs  in  her  absence,  sighs  when  near. 
The  gay,  the  fond,  the  fair,  the  young, 
Those  trifles  pass  unseen  along, 
To  him  a  pert  insipid  throng. 
But  most  he  shuns  the  vain  coquette ; 
Contemns  her  false  affected  wit : 
The  minstrel's  sound,  the  flowing  bowl, 
Oppress  and  hurt  the  amorous  soul. 
'Tis  solitude  alone  can  please, 
And  give  some  intervals  of  ease. 
He  feeds  the  soft  distemper  there, 
And  fondly  courts  the  distant  fair ; 
To  balls  the  silent  shade  prefers, 
And  hates  all  other  charms  but  hers. 
When  thus  your  absent  swain  can  do, 
Molly,  you  may  believe  him  true. 


412  POEMS. 

A  BALLAD. 

To  the  Tune  of  "  The  Irish  Howl." 

To  that  dear  nymph,  whose  pow'rful  name 
Does  every  throbbing  nerve  inflame 
(As  the  soft  sound  I  low  repeat, 
My  pulse  unequal  measures  beat), 
Whose  eyes  I  never  more  shall  see, 
That  once  so  sweetly  shin'd  on  thee  ; 
Go,  gentle  wind !  and  kindly  bear 
My  tender  wishes  to  the  fair. 

Hoh,  ho,  ho,  &c. 

Amidst  her  pleasures  let  her  know 
The  secret  anguish  of  my  woe, 
The  midnight  pang,  the  jealous  hell, 
Does  in  this  tortur'd  bosom  dwell : 
While  laughing  she,  and  full  of  play, 
Is  with  her  young  companions  gay ; 
Or  hearing  in  some  fragrant  bower 
Her  lover's  sigh,  and  beauty's  power. 

Hoh,  ho,  ho,  &c. 

Lost  and  forgotten  may  I  be  I 
Oh  may  no  pitying  thought  of  me 
Disturb  the  joy  that  she  may  find, 
When  love  is  crown'd  and  fortune  kind : 
May  that  bless'd  swain  (whom  yet  I  hate) 
Be  proud  of  his  distinguish'd  fate  : 
Each  happy  night  be  like  the  first ; 
And  he  be  bless'd  as  I  am  curs'd. 

Hoh,  ho,  ho,  &c. 

While  in  these  pathless  woods  I  stray, 
And  lose  my  solitary  way ; 
Talk  to  the  stars,  to  trees  complain, 
And  tell  the  senseless  woods  my  pain : 


POEMS.  413 

But  madness  spares  the  sacred  name, 
Nor  dares  the  hidden  wound  proclaim  ; 
Which,  secret  rankling,  sure  and  slow, 
Shall  close  in  endless  peace  my  woe. 

Hoh,  ho,  ho,  &c. 

When  this  fond  heart  shall  ache  no  more, 
And  all  the  ills  of  life  are  o'er 
(If  gods  by  lovers'  prayers  are  mov'd, 
As  ev'ry  god  in  heaven  has  lov'd) ; 
Instead  of  bright  Elysian  joys, 
That  unknown  something  in  the  skies, 
In  recompense  of  all  my  pain, 
The  only  heaven  I  'd  obtain, 
May  I,  the  guardian  of  her  charms, 
Preserve  that  paradise  from  harms. 

Hoh,  ho,  ho,  &c. 


A  HYMN  TO  THE  MOON. 

Written  in  July,  in  an  arbour. 

THOU  silver  deity  of  secret  night, 

Direct  my  footsteps  through  the  woodland  shade ; 
Thou  conscious  witness  of  unknown  delight, 

The  Lover's  guardian,  and  the  Muse's  aid ! 

By  thy  pale  beams  I  solitary  rove, 

To  thee  my  tender  grief  confide ; 
Serenely  sweet  you  gild  the  silent  grove, 

My  friend,  my  goddess,  and  my  guide. 

E'en  thee,  fair  queen,  from  thy  amazing  height, 

The  charms  of  young  Endymion  drew  ; 
Veil'd  with  the  mantle  of  concealing  night ; 

With  all  thy  greatness  and  thy  coldness  too.* 

*  This  sonnet  is  preserved  by  Count  Algarotti,  in  the  seventh  volume  of  his 
works,  and  is  there  mentioned  with  great  commendation. 


414  POEMS. 


TRANSLATED  BY  HERSELF. 

DELLA  notte  serena  argentea  Diva, 
Testimon'  fido  de'  piaceri  ignoti : 
Custode  degli  amanti  e  delle  Muse 
Fautrice,  reggi  me  ne'  boschi  oscuri. 
Da*  tuoi  pallidi  rai  scorto  io  camino 
Su  la  terra,  ed  a  te  svelo  i  piu  cupi 
Pensieri.     Ah  indora  il  tacitorno  bosco, 
Dolcemente  serena  arnica  mia, 
E  mia  guida,  e  mia  Dea.    Bella  reina, 
Te  dalla  tua  prodigiosa  altezza 
II  lusinghiero  Endimione  attrasse, 
Del  velo  ingombra  della  notte  oscura, 
Delia  tua  ampiezza  in  onta  e  del  tuo  gelo. 


THE  BRIDE  IN  THE  COUNTRY. 

A  Parody  on  Rowe's  Ballad,  "  Despairing  beside  a  clear  stream,"  &c. 

BY  the  side  of  a  half-rotten  wood 

Melantha  sat  silently  down, 
Convinc'd  that  her  scheme  was  not  good, 

And  vex'd  to  be  absent  from  Town. 
Whilst  pitied  by  no  living  soul, 

To  herself  she  was  forc'd  to  reply, 
And  the  sparrow,  as  grave  as  an  owl, 

Sat  list'ning  and  pecking  hard  by. 

"  Alas  !  silly  maid  that  I  was ;" 
Thus  sadly  complaining,  she  cry'd ; 

"  When  first  I  forsook  that  dear  place, 
'T  had  been  better  by  far  I  had  died  ! 


POEMS.  415 

How  gaily  I  pass'd  the  long  days, 

In  a  round  of  continued  delights ; 
Park,  visits,  assemblies,  and  plays, 

And  a  dance  to  enliven  the  nights. 

"  How  simple  was  I  to  believe 

Delusive  poetical  dreams ! 
Or  the  flattering  landscapes  they  give 

Of  meadows  and  murmuring  streams. 
Bleak  mountains,  and  cold  starving  rocks, 

Are  the  wretched  result  of  my  pains  ; 
The  swains  greater  brutes  than  their  flocks, 

The  nymphs  as  polite  as  the  swains. 

"  What  though  I  have  got  my  dear  Phil ; 

I  see  him  all  night  and  all  day ; 
I  find  I  must  not  have  my  will, 

And  I  Ve  cursedly  sworn  to  obey  ! 
Fond  damsel,  thy  power  is  lost, 

As  now  I  experience  too  late  ! 
Whatever  a  lover  may  boast, 

A  husband  is  what  one  may  hate ! 

"  And  thou,  my  old  woman,  so  dear, 

My  all  that  is  left  of  relief, 
Whatever  I  suffer,  forbear — 

Forbear  to  dissuade  me  from  grief: 
'Tis  in  vain,  as  you  say,  to  repine 

At  ills  which  cannot  be  redress'd ; 
But,  in  sorrows  so  poignant  as  mine, 

To  be  patient,  alas !  is  a  jest. 

"  If,  farther  to  soothe  my  distress, 

Your  tender  compassion  is  led, 
Come  hither  and  help  to  undress, 

And  decently  put  me  to  bed. 


416  POEMS. 

The  last  humble  solace  I  wait, 

Would  Heav'n  but  indulge  me  the  boon, 

May  some  dream,  less  unkind  than  my  fate, 
In  a  vision  transport  me  to  Town. 

"  Clarissa,  meantime,  weds  a  beau, 

Who  decks  her  in  golden  array ; 
She 's  the  finest  at  ev'ry  fine  show, 

And  flaunts  it  at  Park  and  at  Play : 
Whilst  I  am  here  left  in  the  lurch, 

Forgot  and  secluded  from  view ; 
Unless  when  some  bumpkin  at  church 

Stares  wistfully  over  the  pew." 


The  following  is  another  version  of  the  preceding  poem,  as 
it  was  set  to  music,  and  called 

MELINDA'S  COMPLAINT. 

BY  the  side  of  a  glimmering  fire, 

Melinda  sat  pensively  down, 
Impatient  of  rural  esquire, 

And  vex'd  to  be  absent  from  Town. 
The  cricket,  from  under  the  grate, 

With  a  chirp  to  her  sighs  did  reply  ; 
And  the  kitten,  as  grave  as  a  cat, 

Sat  mournfully  purring  hard  by. 

"  Alas  !  silly  maid  that  I  was," 

Thus  sadly  complaining,  she  cry'd ; 
"  When  first  I  forsook  that  dear  place, 

'T  were  better  by  far  I  had  died : 
How  gaily  I  pass'd  the  long  day, 

In  a  round  of  continu'd  delight ; 
Park,  visits,  assemblies,  and  play, 

And  quadrille  to  enliven  the  night. 


POEMS.  417 

"  How  simple  was  I  to  believe 

Delusive  poetical  dreams ! 
The  flattering  landskips  they  give 

Of  groves,  meads,  and  murmuring  streams. 
Bleak  mountains,  and  wild  staring  rocks, 

Are  the  wretched  result  of  my  pains ; 
The  swains  greater  brutes  than  their  flocks, 

And  the  nymphs  as  polite  as  the  swains. 

"  What  though  I  have  skill  to  ensnare, 

Where  Smarts  in  bright  circles  abound ; 
What  tho'  at  St.  James's  at  prayers, 

Beaux  ogle  devoutly  around : 
Fond  virgin,  thy  power  is  lost 

On  a  race  of  rude  Hottentot  brutes  ; 
What  glory  in  being  the  toast 

Of  noisy  dull  'squires  in  boots  ? 

"  And  thou,  my  companion,  so  dear, 

My  all  that  is  left  of  relief, 
Whatever  I  suffer,  forbear — 

Forbear  to  dissuade  me  from  grief: 
'Tis  in  vain  then,  you  '11  say,  to  repine 

At  ills  which  cannot  be  redress'd, 
But  in  sorrows  so  pungent  as  mine, 

To  be  patient,  alas  !  is  a  test. 

"  If,  farther  to  soothe  my  distress, 

Thy  tender  compassion  is  led, 
Call  Jenny  to  help  me  undress, 

And  decently  put  me  to  bed. 
The  last  humble  solace  I  wait, 

Would  Heaven  indulge  me  the  boon, 
Some  dream  less  unkind  than  my  fate 

In  a  vision  transport  me  to  Town. 
VOL.  in.  2  E 


418  POEMS. 

"  Clarissa,  meantime,  weds  a  beau, 

Who  decks  her  in  golden  array  ; 
The  finest  at  every  fine  show, 

And  flaunts  it  at  Park  and  at  Play  ; 
Whilst  here  we  are  left  in  the  lurch, 

Forgot  and  secluded  from  view, 
Unless  when  some  bumpkin  at  church 

Stares  wistfully  over  the  pew." 


SONG. 

WHY  should  you  think  I  live  unpleas'd, 
Because  I  am  not  pleas'd  with  you  ? 

My  mind  is  not  so  far  diseas'd, 

To  yield  when  powder'd  fops  pursue. 

My  vanity  can  find  no  charm 

In  common  prostituted  vows ; 
Nor  can  you  raise  a  wish  that 's  warm 

In  one  that  your  true  value  knows. 

While  cold  and  careless  thus  I  shun 
The  buzz  and  flutter  that  you  make, 

Perhaps  some  giddy  girl  may  run 
To  catch  the  prize  that  I  forsake. 

So  brightly  shines  the  glittering  glare, 
In  unexperienc'd  children's  eyes, 

When  they  with  little  arts  ensnare 
The  gaudy  painted  butterflies. 

While  they  with  pride  the  conquest  boast, 
And  think  the  chase  deserving  care, 

Those  scorn  the  useless  toil  they  cost 
Who  're  us'd  to  more  substantial  fare. 


POEMS.  419 


SONG— RONDEAU. 

FINISH  these  languors  !     Oh !  I  'm  sick, 
Of  dying  airs  I  know  the  trick  ; 
Long  since  I  've  learn'd  to  well  explain 
Th'  unmeaning  cant  of  fire  and  pain, 
And  see  through  all  the  senseless  lies 
Of  burning  darts  from  killing  eyes ; 
I  'm  tir'd  with  this  continual  rout 
Of  bowing  low,  and  leading  out. 

Finish,  &c. 

Finish  this  tedious  dangling  trade, 
By  which  so  many  fools  are  made ; 
For  fools  they  are,  whom  you  can  please 
By  such  affected  airs  as  these  : 
At  opera  near  my  box  to  stand, 
And  slyly  press  the  given  hand, 
Thus  may  you  wait  whole  years  in  vain ; 
But  sure  you  would,  were  you  in  pain. 

Finish,  &c. 


EPITHALAMIUM. 

SINCE  you,  Mr.  H**d,  will  marry  black  Kate, 
Accept  of  good  wishes  for  that  blessed  state  : 
May  you  fight  all  the  day  like  a  dog  and  a  cat, 
And  yet  ev'ry  year  produce  a  new  brat. 

Fallal 

May  she  never  be  honest — you  never  be  sound ; 
May  her  tongue  like  a  clapper  be  heard  a  mile  round ; 
Till  abandon'd  by  joy,  and  deserted  by  grace, 
You  hang  yourselves  both  in  the  very  same  place. 

Fal  la ! 
2E2 


420  POEMS. 


THE  NINTH  ODE  OF  THE  THIRD  BOOK  OF 
HORACE  IMITATED. 

1736. 

"  Donee  gratus  eram  tibi." 
SIR    ROBERT    WALPOLE. 

WHILST  in  each  of  my  schemes  you  most  heartily  join'd, 
And  help'd  the  worst  jobs  that  I  ever  designed, 
In  pamphlets,  in  ballads,  in  senate,  at  table, 
Thy  satire  was  witty,  thy  counsel  was  able. 

WILLIAM    PULTENEY. 

Whilst  with  me  you  divided  both  profit  and  care, 
And  the  plunder  and  glory  did  equally  share  ; 
Assur'd  of  his  place,  if  my  fat  friend  should  die, 
The  Prince  of  Wales  was  not  so  happy  as  I. 

SIR    ROBERT    WALPOLE. 

Harry  Pelham  is  now  my  support  and  delight, 
Whom  we  bubble  all  day,  and  we  joke  on  at  night ; 
His  head  is  well  furnish'd,  his  lungs  have  their  merit, 
I  would  venture  a  rope  to  advance  such  a  spirit. 

WILLIAM    PULTENEY. 

I  too  have  a  Harry  more  useful  than  yours, 
Writes  verses  like  mad,  and  will  talk  you  whole  hours ; 
I  would  bleed  by  the  hatchet,  or  swing  by  the  cord, 
To  see  him  once  more  in  his  robes,  like  a  lord. 

SIR    ROBERT    WALPOLE. 

But  what  if  this  quarrel  was  kindly  made  up, 
Would  you,  my  dear  Willy,  accept  of  a  sup  ? 
If  the  queen  should  confess  you  had  long  been  her  choice, 
And  you  knew  it  was  I  who  had  spoke  in  her  voice  ? 


POEMS. 


WILLIAM    PULTENEY. 


Though  my  Harry 's  so  gay,  so  polite,  and  so  civil, 
You  rude  as  a  bear,  and  more  proud  than  the  devil, 
I  gladly  would  drop  him,  and  laugh  in  your  ear 
At  the  fools  we  have  made  for  this  last  dozen  year. 


A  SUMMARY 

OF  LORD  LYTTLETON'S  ADVICE  TO  A  LADY. 
"  The  counsels  of  a  friend,  Belinda,  hear,"  &c. 

BE  plain  in  dress,  and  sober  in  your  diet ; 
In  short,  my  deary,  kiss  me  !  and  be  quiet. 


SONG. 

WHY  will  Delia  thus  retire, 

And  languish  life  away  ? 
While  the  sighing  crows  admire, 

'Tis  too  soon  for  hartshorn  tea. 

All  these  dismal  looks  and  fretting 
Cannot  Damon's  life  restore ; 

Long  ago  the  worms  have  eat  him, 
You  can  never  see  him  more. 

Once  again  consult  your  toilet, 

In  the  glass  your  face  review ; 
So  much  weeping  sure  will  spoil  it, 

And  no  spring  your  charms  renew. 
I,  like  you,  was  born  a  woman, 

Well  I  know  what  vapours  mean  I 
The  disease,  alas  !  is  common, 

Single  we  have  all  the  spleen. 


422  POEMS. 


All  the  morals  that  they  teach  us 
Never  cured  sorrow  yet : 

Choose  among  the  pretty  fellows 
One  of  humour,  youth,  and  wit. 

Prithee  hear  him  ev'ry  morning, 
At  the  least  an  hour  or  two ; 

Once  again  at  night  returning, 
I  believe  the  dose  will  do. 


THE  SAME, 

TRANSLATED    BY   LADY    M.    W.    MONTAGU. 
Recipe  per  1'Excellentissima  Signora  Chiara  Michelli. 

Vi  consigliate  con  lo  specchio,  e  il  vostro 

Viso  mirate — lagrime  cotante 

Lo  guasteranno,  ed  i  perduti  vezzi 

Non  avranno  altra  primavera.     lo  nacqui, 

Donna,  qual  voi,  e  so  qual  voi  la  forza 

Che  hanno  i  v  apori  e  infirmita  commune  : 

Tutte  abbia  m  mal  di  milza,  e  non  sanaro 

Delle  moral  le  massime  piti  saggi 

Gli  minimi  neppur  de'  nostri  guai. 

II  piu  amabile  voi  tra  tanti  amanti 

Sceglier  vi  piaccia,  e  sopra  tutto  quello 

Chi  piu  degli  altri  ha  gioventude  e  spirito ; 

lo  vi  prego  d'udirlo  un  ora  al  giorno, 

Ed  un  altra  la  sera,  e  questa  dose 

Sia  bastante  rimedio  al  vostro  male. 


POEMS.  423 


THE  POLITICIANS. 

IN  ancient  days  when  every  brute 
To  humble  privilege  had  right ; 

Could  reason,,  wrangle,  or  dispute, 

As  well  as  scratch,  and  tear,  and  bite ; 

When  Phoebus  shone  his  brightest  ray, 
The  rip'ning  corn  his  pow'r  confess'd ; 

His  cheering  beams  made  Nature  gay, 
The  eagle  in  his  warmth  was  blest. 

But  malecontents  e'en  then  arose, 

The  birds  who  love  the  dolesome  night ; 

The  darkest  grove  with  care  they  chose, 
And  there  caball'd  against  the  light. 

The  screech-owl,  with  ill-boding  cry, 
Portends  strange  things,  old  women  say ; 

Stops  ev'ry  fool  that  passes  by, 

And  frights  the  schoolboy  from  his  play. 

The  raven  and  the  double  bat, 
With  families  of  owls  combine ; 

In  close  consult  they  rail  and  chat, 
And  curse  aloud  the  glorious  shine. 

While  the  great  planet,  all  serene, 
Heedless  pursues  his  destin'd  way, 

He  asks  not  what  these  murmurs  mean, 
But  runs  his  course,  and  gives  us  day. 


424  POEMS. 

BALLAD,  ON  A  LATE  OCCURRENCE. 

AMONG   LADY   M.    W.    MONTAGI/S    MSS. 

UNGODLY  papers  ev'ry  week 
Poor  simple  souls  persuade 

That  courtiers  good  for  nothing  are, 
Or  but  for  mischief  made. 

But  I  who  know  their  worthy  hearts, 
Pronounce  that  we  are  blind, 

Who  disappoint  their  honest  schemes, 
Who  would  be  just  and  kind. 

For  in  this  vile  degen'rate  age 
Tis  dang'rous  to  do  good  ; 

Which  will,  when  I  have  told  my  tale, 
Be  better  understood. 

A  puppy,  gamesome,  blithe,  and  young, 
WTho  play'd  about  the  court, 

Was  destin'd  by  unlucky  boys, 
To  be  their  noonday's  sport. 

With  flatt'ring  words  they  him  entic'd, 
(Words  such  as  much  prevail !) 

And  then  with  cruel  art  they  ty'd 
A  bottle  to  his  tail. 

Lord  Hervey  at  a  window  stood, 

Detesting  of  the  fact; 
And  cried  aloud  with  all  his  might, 

"  I  know  the  bottle 's  crack'd. 

"  Do  not  to  such  a  dirty  hole 
Let  them  your  tail  apply ; 

Alas !  you  cannot  know  these  things 
One  half  so  well  as  I. 


POEMS.  425 

"  Harmless  and  young,  you  don't  suspect 

The  venom  of  this  deed  ; 
But  I  see  through  the  whole  design, — 

It  is  to  make  you  bleed." 

This  good  advice  was  cast  away; 

The  puppy  saw  it  shine  ; 
And  tamely  lick'd  their  treach'rous  hands, 

And  thought  himself  grown  fine. 

But  long  he  had  not  worn  the  gem, 

But,  as  Lord  Hervey  said, 
He  ran  and  bled  ;  the  more  he  ran, 

Alas  !  the  more  he  bled. 

Griev'd  to  the  soul,  this  gallant  lord 

Tripp'd  hastily  down  stairs ; 
With  courage  and  compassion  fir'd, 

To  set  him  free  prepares. 

But  such  was  his  ingratitude 

To  this  most  noble  lord, 
He  bit  his  lily  hand  quite  through, 

As  he  untied  the  cord. 

Next  day  the  Maids  of  Honour  came, 

As  I  heard  people  tell ; 
They  wash'd  the  wound  with  brinish  tears, 

— And  yet  it  is  not  well. 

Oh  !  gen'rous  youth,  my  counsel  take, 

And  warlike  acts  forbear  ; 
Put  on  white  gloves,  and  lead  folks  out, 

— For  that  is  your  affair.* 

Never  attempt  to  take  away 

Bottles  from  others'  tails, 
For  that  is  what  no  soul  will  bear 

From  Italy  to  Wales. 

*  Lord  Hervey  was  at  that  time  vice-chamberlain. 


426  POEMS. 


SONG. 

BLAME  not  that  love,  too  cruel  fair, 
Which  your  own  charms  did  first  create ; 

Blame  not  my  silence  and  despair, — 
Such  crimes  can  ne'er  deserve  your  hate : 

Why  should  your  eyes  first  stir  desire  ? 

Your  matchless  wit,  why  fan  the  fire  ? 
Repentance  comes  too  late. 

Vain  are  the  vows  that  you  complain 
Are  to  another  fondly  made  ; 

All  your  advice  to  me 's  as  vain ; 
You  must  not — cannot  be  obey'd ; 

My  heart  can't  change,  though  you  command, 

Nor  can  my  heart  obey  your  hand ; 
Love's  power  none  can  evade  I 


LINES  WRITTEN  UNDER  THE  PICTURE  OF 
COLONEL  CHARLES  CHURCHILL,* 

BY   LADY   MARY   WORTLEY   MONTAGU. 

STILL  hovering  round  the  fair  at  fifty-four, 

Unfit  to  love,  unable  to  give  o'er  ; 

A  flesh-fly  that  just  flutters  on  the  wing, 

Awake  to  buzz,  but  not  alive  to  sting. 

Brisk  where  he  cannot,  backward  where  he  can, 

The  teasing  ghost  of  the  departed  man. 

*  From  a  4to  MS.  of  Political  Songs,  &c.  collected  by  Lady  Mary  Finch, 
Lord  Aylesford's  daughter,  who  married  Lord  Andover,  and  was  mother  of  the 
twelfth  Earl  of  Suffolk.  Dated  20th  June,  1733  ;  now  in  the  possession  of 
Charles  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe,  Esq. 


POEMS.  427 


VERSES,  WRITTEN  IN  A  GARDEN. 

SEE  how  that  pair  of  billing  doves 
With  open  murmurs  own  their  loves ; 
And,  heedless  of  censorious  eyes, 
Pursue  their  unpolluted  joys : 
No  fears  of  future  want  molest 
The  downy  quiet  of  their  nest : 
No  interest  join'd  the  happy  pair, 
Securely  blest  in  Nature's  care, 
While  her  dear  dictates  they  pursue  ; 
For  constancy  is  Nature  too. 

Can  all  the  doctrine  of  our  schools, 
Our  maxims,  our  religious  rules, 
Can  learning  to  our  lives  ensure 
Virtue  so  bright,  or  bliss  so  pure  ? 
The  great  Creator's  happy  ends 
Virtue  and  pleasure  ever  blends  : 
In  vain  the  church  and  court  have  try'd 
Th'  united  essence  to  divide ; 
Alike  they  find  their  wild  mistake, 
The  pedant  priest  and  giddy  rake. 


SONG. 

FOND  wishes  you  pursue  in  vain, 
My  heart  is  vow'd  away  and  gone ; 

Forbear  thy  sighs,  too,  lovely  swain, 
Those  dying  airs  that  you  put  on ! 

Go  try  on  other  maids  your  art, 

Ah !  leave  this  lost  unworthy  heart, 
But  you  must  leave  it  soon. 


428  POEMS. 

Such  sighs  as  these  you  should  bestow 
On  some  unpractis'd  blooming  fair ; 

Where  rosy  youth  doth  warmly  glow, 
Whose  eyes  forbid  you  to  despair. 

Not  all  thy  wond'rous  charms  can  move 

A  heart  that  must  refuse  your  love, 
Or  not  deserve  your  care. 


IMPROMPTU,  TO  A  YOUNG  LADY  SINGING. 

SING,  gentle  maid — reform  my  breast, 

And  soften  all  my  care ; 
Thus  may  I  be  some  moments  blest, 

And  easy  in  despair. 
The  pow'r  of  Orpheus  lives  in  you ; 
You  can  the  passions  of  my  soul  subdue, 

And  tame  the  lions  and  the  tigers  there. 


ADVICE. 

CEASE,  fond  shepherd — cease  desiring 
What  you  never  must  enjoy ; 

She  derides  your  vain  aspiring, 
She  to  all  your  sex  is  coy. 

Cunning  Damon  once  pursu'd  her, 
Yet  she  never  would  incline ; 

Strephon  too  as  vainly  woo'd  her, 
Though  his  flocks  are  more  than  thine. 

At  Diana's  shrine  aloud, 

By  the  zone  around  her  waist, 

Thrice  she  bow'd,  and  thrice  she  vow'd 
Like  the  Goddess  to  be  chaste. 


POEMS.  429 

ANSWER. 

THOUGH  I  never  got  possession, 

Tis  a  pleasure  to  adore ; 
Hope,  the  wretch's  only  blessing, 

May  in  time  procure  me  more. 

Constant  courtship  may  obtain  her, — 

Where  both  wealth  and  merit  fail, 
And  the  lucky  minute  gain  her, — 

Fate  and  fancy  must  prevail. 

At  Diana's  shrine  aloud, 

By  the  bow  and  by  the  quiver, 
Thrice  she  bow'd,  and  thrice  she  vow'd, 

Once  to  love — and  that  for  ever. 


EPISTLE  TO  LORD  HERVEY,  ON  THE  KING'S 
BIRTH-DAY. 

FROM    THE   COUNTRY, 

Where  I  enjoy  in  contemplative  chamber, 
Lutes,  laurels,  seas  of  milk,  and  ships  of  amber. 

THROUGH  shining  crowds  you  now  make  way, 

With  sideling  bow  and  golden  key ; 

While  wrapt  in  spleen  and  easy  chair, 

For  all  this  pomp  so  small  my  care, 

I  scarce  remember  who  are  there. 

Yet  in  brocade  I  can  suppose 

The  potent  Knight  *  whose  presence  goes 

At  least  a  yard  before  his  nose : 

And  majesty  with  sweeping  train, 

That  does  so  many  yards  contain, 

»  Sir  Robert  Walpole. 


480  POEMS. 

Superior  to  her  waiting  nymphs, 

As  lobster  to  attendant  shrimps. 

I  do  not  ask  one  word  of  news, 

Which  country  damsels  much  amuse. 

If  a  new  batch  of  lords  appears, 

After  a  tour  of  half  six  years, 

With  foreign  airs  to  grace  the  nation, 

The  Maids  of  Honour's  admiration  ; 

Whose  bright  improvements  give  surprise 

To  their  own  lady-mothers'  eyes : 

Improvements,  such  as  colts  might  shew, 

Were  mares  so  mad  to  let  them  go ; 

Their  limbs  perhaps  a  little  stronger, 

Their  manes  and  tails  grown  somewhat  longer. 

I  would  not  hear  of  ball-room  scuffles, 

Nor  what  new  whims  adorn  the  ruffles. 

This  meek  epistle  comes  to  tell, 

On  Monday,  I  in  town  shall  dwell ; 

Where,  if  you  please  to  condescend 

In  Cavendish-square  to  see  your  friend, 

I  shall  disclose  to  you  alone 

Such  thoughts  as  ne'er  were  thought  upon. 


AN  ANSWER  TO  A  LADY, 

WHO    ADVISED    LADY    M.  W.  MONTAGU    TO    RETIRE. 

You  little  know  the  heart  that  you  advise : 
I  view  this  various  scene  with  equal  eyes ; 
In  crowded  court  I  find  myself  alone, 
And  pay  my  worship  to  a  nobler  throne. 

Long  since  the  value  of  this  world  I  knew ; 
Pity'd  the  folly,  and  despis'd  the  shew ; 
Well  as  I  can,  my  tedious  part  I  bear, 
And  wait  dismissal  without  pain  or  fear. 


POEMS.  431 


Seldom  I  mark  mankind's  detested  ways, 
Not  hearing  censure  or  affecting  praise ; 
And  unconcern'd  my  future  fate  I  trust 
To  that  sole  Being,  merciful  and  just  I 


WRITTEN  AT  LOUVERE,  OCTOBER  1736. 

IF  age  and  sickness,  poverty  and  pain, 
Should  each  assault  me  with  alternate  plagues, 

I  know  mankind  is  destin'd  to  complain, 
And  I  submit  to  torment  and  fatigues. 

The  pious  farmer,  who  ne'er  misses  pray'rs, 
With  patience  suffers  unexpected  rain  ; 

He  blesses  Heav'n  for  what  its  bounty  spares, 
And  sees,  resign'd,  a  crop  of  blighted  grain. 

But,  spite  of  sermons,  farmers  would  blaspheme, 

If  a  star  fell  to  set  their  thatch  on  flame. 


CONCLUSION  OF  A  LETTER  TO  A  FRIEND, 

SENT    FROM    ITALY,    1741. 

BUT  happy  you  from  the  contagion  free, 
Who,  through  her  veil,  can  human  nature  see ; 
Calm  you  reflect,  amid  the  frantic  scene, 
On  the  low  views  of  those  mistaken  men, 
Who  lose  the  short  invaluable  hour, 
Through  dirt-pursuing  schemes  of  distant  pow'r : 
Whose  best  enjoyments  never  pay  the  chace, 
But  melt  like  snow  within  a  warm  embrace. 
Believe  me,  friend,  for  such  indeed  are  you, 
Dear  to  my  heart,  and  to  my  int'rest  true  ; 
Too  much  already  have  you  thrown  away, 
Too  long  sustain'd  the  labour  of  the  day ; 


432  POEMS. 

Enjoy  the  remnant  of  declining  light, 
Nor  wait  for  rest  till  overwhelm'd  in  night. 
By  present  pleasure  balance  pain  you  've  past, 
Forget  all  systems,  and  indulge  your  taste. 


TO  THE  SAME. 

WHEREVER  Fortune  points  my  destin'd  way, 
If  my  capricious  stars  ordain  my  stay 
In  gilded  palace,  or  in  rural  scene, 
While  breath  shall  animate  this  frail  machine, 
My  heart  sincere,  which  never  flatt'ry  knew, 
Shall  consecrate  its  warmest  wish  to  you. 
A  monarch  compass'd  by  a  suppliant  crowd, 
Prompt  to  obey,  and  in  his  praises  loud, 
Among  those  thousands  who  on  smiles  depend, 
Perhaps  has  no  disinterested  friend. 


WRITTEN  AT  LOUVERE,  1755. 

WISDOM,  slow  product  of  laborious  years, 
The  only  fruit  that  life's  cold  winter  bears ; 
Thy  sacred  seeds  in  vain  in  youth  we  lay, 
By  the  fierce  storm  of  passion  torn  away. 

Should  some  remain  in  a  rich  gen'rous  soil, 
They  long  lie  hid,  and  must  be  rais'd  with  toil ; 
Faintly  they  struggle  with  inclement  skies, 
No  sooner  born  than  the  poor  planter  dies. 


LINES  WRITTEN  IN  A  BLANK  PAGE  OF  MILTON'S 
PARADISE  LOST. 

THIS  happy  pair  a  certain  bliss  might  prove, 
Confined  to  constancy  and  mutual  love  : 
Heaven  to  one  object  limited  their  vows, 
The  only  safety  faithless  Nature  knows. 


POEMS.  433 

God  saw  the  wand'ring  appetite  would  range, 

And  would  have  kept  them  from  the  power  to  change ; 

But  falsehood,  soon  as  man  increased,  began ; 

Down  through  the  race  the  swift  contagion  ran, 

All  ranks  are  tainted,  all  deceitful  prove, 

False  in  all  shapes,  but  doubly  false  in  love. 

This  makes  the  censure  ef  the  world  more  just, 

That  damns  with  shame  the  weakness  of  a  trust ! 

Ere  change  began,  our  sex  no  scandal  knew, 

All  nymphs  were  chaste  as  long  as  swains  were  true ; 

But  now,  tho'  by  the  subtlest  art  betray'd, 

We  're  so  by  custom  and  false  maxims  sway'd 

That  infamy  still  brands  the  injured  maid. 


VOL.  in.  2  F 


APPENDIX. 


IN  the  "  Letters  from  Horace  Walpole  to  Sir  Horace 
Mann,"  lately  published,  and  which  were  edited  by  the 
late  Lord  Dover,  there  are  two  passages  relating  to  Lady 
Mary  Wortley  Montagu  which  require  some  notice,  in 
order  that  the  real  state  of  the  facts  to  which  they  refer 
may  be  known,  as  far  as  possible. 

The  first  of  these  is  to  be  found  in  Letter  231,  dated 
Mistley,  August  31,  1751,  and  is  in  these  words:  — 
"  Pray,  tell  me  if  you  know  anything  of  Lady  Mary 
Wortley :  we  have  an  obscure  story  here  of  her  being  in 
durance  in  the  Brescian  or  the  Bergamesco ;  that  a  young 
fellow  whom  she  set  out  with  keeping  has  taken  it  into  his 
head  to  keep  her  close  prisoner,  not  permitting  her  to 
write  or  receive  any  letters  but  what  he  sees:  he  seems 
determined,  if  her  husband  should  die,  not  to  lose  her  as 
the  Count  lost  my  Lady  O."  And  in  the  next  let- 
ter he  again  alludes  to  this  report. 

Among  Lady  Mary's  papers  there  is  a  long  paper, 
written  in  Italian,  not  by  herself,  giving  an  account  of  her 
having  been  detained  for  some  time  against  her  will,  in  a 
country-house  belonging  to  an  Italian  count,  and  inha- 
bited by  him  and  his  mother.  This  paper  seems  to  be 
drawn  up  either  as  a  case  to  be  submitted  to  a  lawyer  for 
his  opinion,  or  to  be  produced  in  a  court  of  law.  There  is 
nothing  else  to  be  found  in  Lady  Mary's  papers  referring 
in  the  least  degree  to  this  circumstance.  It  would  appear, 
however,  that  some  such  forcible  detention  as  is  alluded 
to  did  take  place,  probably  for  some  pecuniary  or  inter- 


436  APPENDIX. 

ested  object ;  but,  like  many  of  Horace  Walpole^s  stories, 
he  took  care  not  to  let  this  lose  anything  that  might  give 
it  zest,  and  he  therefore  makes  the  person  by  whom  Lady 
Mary  was  detained  "  a  young  fellow  whom  she  set  out 
with  keeping."  Now,  at  the  time  of  this  transaction 
taking  place,  Lady  Mary  was  sixty-one  years  old.  The 
reader,  therefore,  may  judge  for  himself,  how  far  such  an 
imputation  upon  her  is  likely  to  be  founded  in  truth,  and 
will  bear  in  mind  that  there  was  no  indisposition  upon  the 
part  of  Horace  Walpole  to  make  insinuations  of  that  sort 
against  Lady  Mary. 

The  other  passage  is  in  Letter  232;  and  after  saying 
that  he  had  lately  been  at  Woburn,  where  he  had  had  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  fifty  letters  of  Lady  Mary's  to 
her  sister  Lady  Mar,  "  whom  she  treated  so  hardly 
while  out  of  her  senses,"  Horace  Walpole  adds  as  fol- 
lows :  —  "  Ten  of  the  letters,  indeed,  are  dismal  lamenta- 
tions and  frights  on  a  scene  of  villainy  of  Lady  Mary's, 
who  having  persuaded  one  Ruremonde,  a  Frenchman,  and 
her  lover,  to  entrust  her  with  a  large  sum  of  money  to 
buy  stock  for  him,  frightened  him  out  of  England  by 
persuading  him  that  Mr.  Wortley  had  discovered  the  in- 
trigue, and  would  murder  him  ;  and  then  would  have 
sunk  the  trust.  That  not  succeeding,  and  he  threatening 
to  print  her  letters,  she  endeavoured  to  make  Lord  Mar 
or  Lord  Stair  cut  his  throat.  Pope  hints  at  these  anec- 
dotes of  her  history  in  that  line — 

'Who  starves  a  sister  or  denies  a  debt.'" 

Nothing  whatever  has  been  found  to  throw  light  upon 
the  ill  treatment  of  Lady  Mar  by  Lady  Mary ;  and  that 
accusation  is  supposed,  by  those  who  would  probably  have 
heard  of  it,  if  true,  to  be  without  foundation.  But  nine 
letters  to  Lady  Mar  relating  to  a  transaction  with  a  person 


APPENDIX.  437 

whom  Lady  Mary  calls  "  R.,  a  Frenchman,"  are  among 
the  papers  which  have  been  communicated  to  the  Editor, 
which  must  be  the  letters  alluded  to  by  Horace  Walpole, 
although  there  appears  to  be  one  short  of  the  number 
mentioned  by  him,  possibly  by  mistake.  In  order  that 
the  reader  may  be  enabled  to  see  the  actual  grounds  upon 
which  a  charge  of  so  scandalous  and  heinous  a  character 
has  been  made  by  Mr.  Walpole,  these  letters  are  now 
given  to  the  public.  They  are  in  no  degree  interesting  in 
any  other  respect ;  but  inasmuch  as  the  fact  of  their  exist- 
ence has  been  asserted  in  a  publication  which  has  been 
generally  read,  and  that  their  not  being  produced  might 
be  taken  in  some  degree  as  an  acknowledgment  of  the 
charge  founded  upon  them,  the  Editor  has  thought  it 
only  fair  that  they  should  speak  for  themselves,  and  that 
Lady  Mary's  own  account  of  that  transaction  should  be 
known. 

These  letters  are  without  dates  by  which  to  fix  the  pre- 
cise periods  at  which  they  were  written ;  but  as  the  fall  of 
the  South-Sea  stock  began  in  September  1720,  they  must 
have  been  written  in  the  latter  end  of  that  year,  or  the 
beginning  of  1721. 


No.  I. 

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  excuseable  where  there  is  nothing  to  be  asham- 
ed of;  since  I  can  only  accuse  myself  of  too  much  good-nature, 


438  APPENDIX. 

or  at  worst  of  too  much  credulity,  though  I  believe  there  never 
was  more  pains  taken  to  deceive  any  body.  In  short,  a  person 
whose  name  is  not  necessary,  because  you  know  it,  took  all  sorts 
of  methods,  during  almost  a  year,  to  persuade  me  that  there  never 
was  so  extraordinary  an  attachment  (or  what  you  please  to  call 
it)  as  they  had  for  me.  This  ended  in  coming  over  to  make  me 
a  visit  against  my  will,  and,  as  was  pretended,  very  much  against 
their  interest.  I  cannot  deny  I  was  very  silly  in  giving  the 
least  credit  to  this  stuff.  But  if  people  are  so  silly,  you  '11  own 
'tis  natural  for  any  body  that  is  good-natured  to  pity  and  be 
glad  to  serve  a  person  they  believe  unhappy  on  their  account. 
It  came  into  my  head,  out  of  a  high  point  of  generosity  (for 
which  I  wish  myself  hang'd),  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  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  extra- 
vagancies made  it  utterly  impossible  for  me  to  keep  him  com- 
pany. He  said  that  he  would  put  into  my  hands  the  money  I 
had  won  for  him,  and  desired  me  to  improve  it,  saying  that  if 
he  had  enough  to  buy  a  small  estate,  and  retire  from  the  world, 
'twas  all  the  happiness  he  hoped  for  in  it.  I  represented  to  him 
that  if  he  had  so  little  money  as  he  said,  'twas  ridiculous  to  ha- 
zard it  all.  He  reply'd  that  'twas  too  little  to  be  of  any  value, 
and  he  would  either  have  it  double  or  quit.  After  many  objec- 
tions on  my  side  and  replies  on  his,  I  was  so  weak  as  to  be  over- 
come by  his  entreaties,  and  flattered  myself  also  that  I  was 


APPENDIX.  439 

doing  a  very  heroic  action,  in  trying  to  make  a  man's  fortune 
tho'  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.  Benfield.  I  thought  I  had  managed  prodigi- 
ous well  in  selling  out  the  said  stock  the  day  after  the  shutting 
the  books,  (for  a  small  profit,)  to  Cox  and  Cleave,  goldsmiths  of 
a  very  good  reputation.  When  the  opening  of  the  books  came, 
my  man  went  off,  leaving  the  stock  upon  my  hands,  which  was 
already  sunk  from  near  900/.  to  400/.  I  immediately  writ  him 
word  of  this  misfortune,  with  the  sincere  sorrow  natural  to  have 
upon  such  an  occasion,  and  asked  his  opinion  as  to  the  selling  the 
stock  remaining  in.  He  made  me  no  answer  to  this  part  of  my 
letter,  but  a  long  eloquent  oration  of  miseries  of  another  nature. 
I  attributed  this  silence  to  his  disinterested  neglect  of  his  money ; 
but,  however,  I  resolved  to  make  no  more  steps  in  his  business 
without  direct  orders,  after  having  been  so  unlucky.  This  occa- 
sioned many  letters  to  no  purpose ;  but  the  very  post  after  you 
left  London,  I  received  a  letter  from  him,  in  which  he  told  me 
that  he  had  discovered  all  my  tricks;  that  he  was  convinced  I  had 
all  his  money  untouch'd ;  and  he  would  have  it  again  or  he  would 
print  all  my  letters  to  him;  which  tho',  God  knows,  very  innocent 
in  the  main,  yet  may  admit  of  ill  constructions,  besides  the  mon- 
strousness  of  being  exposed  in  such  a  manner.  I  hear  from  other 
people  that  he  is  liar  enough  to  publish  that  I  have  borrowed  the 
money  from  him ;  though  I  have  a  note  under  his  hand,  by  which 
he  desires  me  to  employ  it  in  the  funds,  and  acquits  me  of  being 
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 ;  but 
that  does  not  hinder  me  from  being  in  the  utmost  terror  for 
the  consequences  (as  you  may  easily  guess)  of  his  villainy; 


440  APPENDIX. 

the  very  story  of  which  appears  so  monstrous  to  me,  that  I 
can  hardly  believe  myself  while  I  write  it;  tho'  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  per- 
haps more  misunderstanding,  or  a  mistake,  than  a  designed 
lie.  But  he  has  very  amply  explained  his  character  to  me. 
What  is  very  pleasant  is,  that,  but  two  posts  before,  I  received 
a  letter  from  him  full  of  higher  flights  than  ever.  I  beg  your 
pardon  (dear  sister)  for  this  tedious  account;  but  you  see 
how  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  my  letters,  which  I  have  already  asked  for. 
Perhaps  you  may  make  him  ashamed  of  his  infamous  proceed- 
ings 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  pos- 
sibility of  this  thing.  I  give  you  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  but 
you  see  I  shall  owe  you  the  highest  obligation  if  you  can  serve 
me :  the  very  endeavouring  of  it  is  a  tie  upon  me  to  serve  you 
the  rest  of  my  life  and  with  eternal  gratitude. 


APPENDIX.  441 


No.  II. 

I  CANNOT  forbear  (dear  sister)  accusing  you  of  unkindness 
that  you  take  so  little  care  of  a  business  of  the  last  conse- 
quence to  me.  R writ  to  me  some  time  ago,  to  say  if 

I  would  immediately  send  him  2000/.  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  misfortunes  it 
may  bring  upon  me  in  my  own  family.  If  you  have  any  compas- 
sion either  for  me  or  my  innocent  children,  I  am  sure  you  will 
try  to  prevent  it.  The  thing  is  too  serious  to  be  delayed.  I  think, 
(to  say  nothing  of  either  blood  or  affection,)  that  humanity  and 
Christianity  are  interested  in  my  preservation.  I  am  sure  I 
can  answer  for  my  hearty  gratitude  and  everlasting  acknow- 
ledgment of  a  service  much  more  important  than  that  of  saving 
my  life. 

No.  III. 

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  procura- 
tion may  come  here  on  diverse  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  demonstra- 
tion 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 


4421  APPENDIX. 

a  wretch.     She  is  willing  to  do  yet  further,  and  write  to  the 

Duke  of  Villeroi  about  it,  if  I  think  it  proper.     R does 

nothing  but  lie,  and  either  does  not,  or  will  not,  understand 
what  is  said  to  him.  You  will  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  can  foresee  nothing  else  to  make  me  unhappy,  and,  I  believe, 
shall  take  care  another  time  not  to  involve  myself  in  difficul- 
ties 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. 

No.  IV. 

Twicknam,  Sept.  6. 

I  HAVE  just  received  your  letter,  dear  sister;  I  am  ex- 
treme sensible  of  your  goodness,  which  I  beg  you  to  con- 
tinue. 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  perpetual  concerts.  I  do  not  presume 
to  judge,  but  I  '11  assure  you  I  am  a  very  hearty  as  well  as 
humble  admirer.  I  have  taken  my  little  thread  satin  beauty 
into  the  house  with  me ;  she  is  allowed  by  Bononcini  to  have 
the  finest  voice  he  ever  heard  in  England.  He  and  Mrs. 
Robinson  and  Senesino  lodge  in  this  village,  and  sup  often 
with  me:  and  this  easy  indolent  life  makes  me  the  happiest 
thing  in  the  world,  if  I  had  not  this  execrable  affair  still 
hanging  over  my  head.  I  have  consulted  my  lawyer,  and 
he  says  I  cannot,  with  safety  to  myself,  deposit  the  money 
I  have  received  into  other  hands,  without  the  express  order 
of  R. ;  and  he  is  so  unreasonable,  that  he  will  neither  send 
a  procuration  to  examine  my  accounts,  or  any  order  for  me 


APPENDIX.  443 

to  transfer  his  stock  to  another  name.  I  am  heartily  weary 
of  the  trust,  which  has  given  me  so  much  trouble,  and  can 
never  think  myself  safe  till  I  am  quite  got  rid  of  it :  rather 
than  be  plagued  any  longer  with  the  odious  keeping,  I  am 
willing  to  abandon  my  letters  to  his  discretion.  I  desire 
nothing  more  of  him  than  an  order  to  place  his  money  in 
other  hands,  which  methinks  should  not  be  so  hard  to  obtain, 
since  he  is  so  dissatisfy 'd  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  re- 
present these  things  to  him ;  for  my  own  part,  I  live  in  so 
much  uneasiness  about  it,  I  am  sometimes  weary  of  life  itself. 
Mrs.  Stoner  will  be  a  good  person  to  send  things  by.  I 
would  have  no  black  silk,  having  bought  some. 


No.  V. 

DEAR  SISTER,  —  Having  this  occasion,  I  would  not  omit 
writing,  though  I  have  received  no  answer  to  my  two  last. 
The  bearer  is  well  acquainted  with  my  affair,  tho'  not 
from  me,  till  he  mentioned  it  to  me  first,  having  heard  it 
from  those  to  whom  R.  had  told  it  with  all  the  false  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  Delpecke,  with  his  certificate.  Your  remon- 
strances have  hitherto  had  so  little  effect,  that  R.  will  nei- 
ther 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  procuration,  which  must  convince  the 
world  of  all  the  lies  which  he  has  told.  For  my  part,  I 
am  so  willing  to  be  rid  of  the  plague  of  hearing  from  him, 


444  APPENDIX. 

I  desire  no  better  than  to  restore  him  with  all  expedition 
the  money  I  have  in  my  hands;  but  I  will  not  do  it  with- 
out a  general  acquittance  in  due  form,  not  to  have  fresh 
demands  every  time  he  wants  money.  If  he  thinks  he 
has  a  larger  sum  to  receive  than  I  offer,  why  does  he 
not  name  a  procurator  to  examine  me  ?  and  if  he  is 
content  with  that  sum,  I  only  insist  on  the  acquittance  for 
my  own  safety.  I  am  ready  to  send  it  him,  with  full  licence 
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  im- 
possible to  describe  it.  I  had  rather  talk  to  you  of  anything 
else,  but  it  fills  my  whole  head. 

I  am  still  at  Twicknam,  where  I  pass  my  time  in  great 
indolence  and  sweetness.  Mr.  W.  is  at  this  time  in  York- 
shire. My  fair  companion  puts  me  oft  in  mind  of  our 
Thoresby  conversations;  we  read  and  walk  together,  and  I 
am  more  happy  in  her  than  anything  else  could  make  me 
except  your  conversation. 

No.  VI. 

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  repeating  news,  as  I  should  be  if  my 
house  was  on  fire.  I  am  sure,  a  great  deal  must  be  in  your 
power;  the  hurting  me  can  be  no  way  his  interest.  I  am 
ready  to  assign,  or  deliver  the  money  for  5001.  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  burn- 
ing them,  he  would  readily  do.  Instead  of  that,  he  has  writ 
a  letter  to  Mr.  W.  to  inform  him  of  the  whole  affair :  luckily 


APPENDIX.  445 

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. 


No.  VII. 

I  CANNOT  enough  thank  you,  my  dear  sister,  for  the  trou- 
ble you  give  yourself  in  my  affairs,  tho*  I  am  still  so  un- 
happy to  find  your  care  very  ineffectual.  I  have  actually 
in  my  present  possession  a  formal  letter  directed  to  Mr.  W. 
to  acquaint  him  with  the  whole  business.  You  may  imagine 
the  inevitable  eternal  misfortunes  it  would  have  thrown  me 
into,  had  it  been  delivered  by  the  person  to  whom  it  was 
intrusted.  I  wish  you  would  make  him  sensible  of  the  in- 
famy of  his  proceeding,  which  can  no  way  in  the  world  turn 
to  his  advantage.  Did  I  refuse  giving  up  the  strictest  account, 
or  had  I  not  the  clearest  demonstration  in  my  hands  of  the 
truth  and  sincerity  with  which  I  acted,  there  might  be  some 
temptation  to  this  business;  but  all  he  can  expect  by  in- 
forming Mr.  W ,  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  per- 
son, man  or  woman,  either  lawyer,  broker,  or  a  person  of  qua- 
lity, to  examine  me ;  and  as  soon  as  he  has  sent  a  proper 
authority  to  discharge  me  on  enquiry,  I  am  ready  to  be 


446  APPENDIX. 

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  to  prove  the 
contrary.  I  beg  with  the  utmost  earnestness  that  you  would 
make  him  sensible  of  his  error.  Observe  'tis  very  necessary 
to  say  something  to  fright  him.  I  am  persuaded,  if  he  was 
talked  to  in  a  style  of  that  kind,  he  would  not  dare  to  at- 
tempt to  ruin  me.  I  have  a  great  inclination  to  write  se- 
riously to  your  lord  about  it,  since  I  desire  to  determine 
this  affair  in  the  fairest  and  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  transac- 
tions 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  giv- 
ing 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  uneasi- 
ness I  am  under,  'tis  far  beyond  any  expression ;  my  obli- 
gation would  be  proportionable  to  any  body  that  would  deliver 
me  from  it,  and  I  should  not  think  it  paid  by  all  the  ser- 
vices of  my  life. 

No.  VIII. 

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 


APPENDIX.  447 

certain  that  after  he  has  exposed  me  he  will  get  nothing  by  it. 
Mr.  Wortley  can  do  nothing  for  his  satisfaction  I  am  not  will- 
ing to  do  myself.  I  desire  not  the  least  indulgence  of  any  kind. 
Let  him  put  his  affair  into  the  hands  of  any  lawyer  whatever. 
I  am  willing  to  submit  to  any  examination ;  'tis  impossible  to 
make  a  fairer  offer  than  this  is :  whoever  he  employs  may  come 
to  me  hither  on  several  pretences.  I  desire  nothing  from  him, 
but  that  he  would  send  no  letters  or  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. 

No.  IX. 

I  SEND  you,  dear  sister,  by  Lady  Lansdown  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  who  he  pleases  (without  ex- 
ception), and  I  will  readily  deliver  up  what  I  have  in 
my  hands,  and  his  presence  will  not  obtain  a  farthing  more: 
his  design  then  can  only  be  to  expose  my  letters  here.  I 
desire  you  would  assure  him  that  my  first  step  will  be  to  ac- 
quaint my  Lord  Stair  with  all  his  obligations  to  him,  as  soon 
as  I  hear  he  is  in  London ;  and  if  he  dares  to  give  me  any 
further  trouble,  I  shall  take  care  to  have  him  rewarded 
in  a  stronger  manner  than  he  expects;  there  is  nothing 
more  true  than  this ;  and  I  solemnly  swear,  that  if  all  the 
credit  or  money  that  I  have  in  the  world  can  do  it,  either 


448  APPENDIX. 

for  friendship  or  hire,  I  shall  not  fail  to  have  him  used  as 
he  deserves;  and  since  I  know  his  journey  can' only  be  in- 
tended 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  predominant  passion,  and  I  believe  you 
may  fright  him  from  coming  hither,  where  he  will  certainly 
find  a  reception  very  disagreeable  to  him. 

Lady  Lansdown  does  not  go  till  Tuesday;  I  have  left 
the  cup  with  her,  and  three  guineas  to  be  laid  out  in  plain 
lutestring. 


There  can  be  no  better  specimen  of  the  manner  in 
which  a  story  gains  as  it  passes  through  the  hands  of  those 
who  delight  in  gossip,  or  who  are  prepared  to  believe 
the  worst  of  tbe  person  concerned.  Horace  Walpole  re- 
fers to  these  letters  as  the  ground  of  his  story,  and  so  far 
as  they  go,  they  do  not  support  any  one  of  his  statements. 
According  to  these  letters,  Lady  Mary  did  not  persuade 
Mons.  R.  to  entrust  her  with  a  considerable  sum  of  money 
to  buy  stock  for  him,  but  she  yielded  to  his  earnest  soli- 
citations in  that  respect  with  considerable  difficulty. 
Neither  did  Lady  Mary  "  frighten  Mons.  R.  out  of 
England,  by  persuading  him  that  Mr.  Wortley  had  dis- 
covered tbe  intrigue,  and  would  murder  him ;"  but,  on 
the  contrary,  Mons.  R.  having  returned  to  France,  en- 
deavoured to  frighten  Lady  Mary  into  the  payment  of 
his  losses  in  his  Soutb-Sea  speculations,  by  threatening  to 
print  all  her  letters  to  him,  and  to  make  Mr.  Wortley  ac- 
quainted with  everything.  Nor  would  Lady  Mary  have 
"  sunk  the  trust,1'  for  she  repeatedly  calls  upon  him, 
through  Lady  Mar,  to  appoint  persons  to  examine  her, 
before  whom  she  is  ready  to  submit  her  accounts,  and  to 


APPENDIX.  449 

be  questioned.  And  lastly,  Lady  Mary  never  did  "  endea- 
vour to  make  Lord  Mar  or  Lord  Stair  cut  Mons.  R.'s 
throat."  She  certainly  threatened  him,  through  Lady 
Mar,  in  case  of  his  coming  to  England ;  but  no  one  who 
reads  that  threat  can  imagine  that  it  is  meant  to  convey 
the  idea  of  her  intending  to  have  his  throat  cut  by  any- 
body. 

Horace  Walpole's  accusations,  therefore,  are  none  of 
them  warranted  by  these  letters ;  but  at  the  same  time,  even 
upon  her  own  shewing,  Lady  Mary  cannot  be  acquitted 
of  allowing  her  vanity  to  overcome  her  judgment,  and  of 
placing  her  character  at  the  mercy  of  an  adventurer. 
Nor  can  her  gambling  in  the  South-Sea  funds  be  defended ; 
the  only  excuse  for  which  is,  the  very  general  prevalence 
of  a  spirit  of  that  kind,  almost  amounting  to  madness,  in 
all  classes  of  society  at  that  period.  To  those  who  know 
by  tradition  the  severity  of  Mr.  Wortley's  principles  in 
regard  to  everything  connected  with  money  —  a  feeling 
produced  by  the  recklessness  of  his  father  in  those 
matters,  against  which  he  had,  in  the  earlier  part  of  his 
life,  constantly  to  contend  —  Lady  Mary's  strong  fears  of 
this  transaction  coming  to  his  knowledge  will  be  readily 
intelligible.  A  consciousness  of  her  own  imprudence  in 
the  whole  affair  may  also  be  naturally  supposed  to  have 
added  to  her  fears,  without  imputing  them  to  a  sense  of 
actual  criminality.  More  than  once,  indeed,  in  these 
letters,  Lady  Mary  offers  to  submit  to  any  examination 
to  which  Mons.  R.  may  choose  to  expose  her ;  and  in  one  of 
them  she  even  says  that  if  he  will  only  send  over  a  pro- 
curation to  examine  her  accounts,  she  will  abandon  her 
letters  to  his  discretion.  Such  an  offer  appears  to  be 
incompatible  with  there  being  anything  in  her  letters  which 
could  really  affect  her  character ;  but  it  is  at  least  quite 

VOL.  III.  2  G 


450  APPENDIX. 

clear  that  Horace  Walpole  had  no  right  to  found  upon 
these  letters  to  Lady  Mar  so  gross  and  exaggerated  an 
accusation. 

Mr.  Cole,  in  his  MSS.  now  in  the  British  Museum, 
repeats  this  story;  but  it  is  evident  that  he  derives  his 
information  from  Horace  Walpole,  his  friend  and  corre- 
spondent, as,  in  the  same  collection,  he  states  of  Lady 
Mary,  that  he  "  heard  from  Mad.  Geoffrin  and  Mr. 
Walpole,  who  knew  her  well,  that  she  was  the  vilest  of 
womankind,  notwithstanding  her  talents  for  wit,  vivacity, 
and  genius,  and  elegance  of  taste,  were  unexceptionable." 
It  may  be  doubted,  however,  whether  Horace  Walpole 
ever  did  know  Lady  Mary  well.  She  went  abroad  in  the 
year  1739,  at  which  time  he  was  only  just  of  age,  when 
he  could  scarcely  know  well  a  woman  of  nearly  fifty  years 
old;  and  she  did  not  return  to  England  till  just  before 
her  death.  In  truth,  he  could  have  had  but  a  very  slight 
personal  acquaintance  with  her. 

Before  closing   this  notice  of  the   attacks   made    upon 
Lady  Mary,  it  will  be  as  well  to  advert  to  one  in  which 
Mr.  Wortley  has  also  borne  his  part.     It  has  been  said 
that  both  of  them  behaved  with   harshness  and  severity 
towards  their  son,  who  was  finally  disinherited   by   his 
father.     Some  passages   will   be   found   in   some   of  the 
letters — now  for  the  first  time  published — that  will  shew 
the  pain  which  that  son  inflicted  upon  his  parents  by  his 
misconduct ;  and  it  was  not  until  a  conviction  of  his  be- 
ing irreclaimable  was  forced  upon   Mr.  Wortley  that  he 
adopted  the  severe  measure  of  depriving  him,  by  his  will, 
of  the  succession  to  the  family  estate.     But  even  this  step 
was  not  taken  without  a  sufficient  provision  being  made 
for  him ;  and  in  the  event  of  his  having  an  heir  legitimately 
born,  the  estate  was  to  return   to  that  heir,  to  the  ex- 


APPENDIX.  451 

elusion  of  his  sister  Lady  Bute's  children.  This  provision 
in  Mr.  Wortley's  will  he  endeavoured  to  take  advantage 
of,  in  a  manner  which  is  highly  characteristic.  Mr.  Ed- 
ward Wortley  early  in  life  was  married  in  a  way  then 
not  uncommon,  namely,  a  Fleet  marriage.  With  that 
wife  he  did  not  live  long,  and  he  had  no  issue.  After  his 
father's  death  he  lived  several  years  in  Egypt,  and  there 
is  supposed  to  have  professed  the  religion  of  Mahomet, 
and  indulged  in  the  plurality  of  wives  permitted  by  that 
faith. 

In  the  year  1776,  Mr.  E.  Wortley,  then  living  at 
Venice,  his  wife  being  dead,  through  the  agency  (as  is 
supposed)  of  his  friend  Romney  the  painter,  caused  an 
advertisement  to  be  inserted  in  the  '  Public  Advertiser'  of 
April  16th  in  that  year,  in  the  following  words : 

"  A  gentleman,  who  has  filled  two  successive  seats  in  parlia- 
ment, is  nearly  sixty  years  of  age,  lives  in  great  splendour  and 
hospitality,  and  from  whom  a  considerable  estate  must  pass  if 
he  dies  without  issue,  hath  no  objection  to  marry  a  widow  or 
single  lady,  provided  the  party  be  of  genteel  birth,  polite  man- 
ners, and  is  five  or  six  months  gone  in  her  pregnancy.  Letters 

directed  to Brecknock,  Esq.  at  Will's  Coffee-house,  will 

be  honoured  with  due  attention,  secrecy,  and  every  mark  of 
respect." 

It  has  always  been  believed  in  the  family  that  this  ad- 
vertisement was  successful,  and  that  a  woman  having  the 
qualifications  required  by  it  was  actually  sent  to  Paris  to 
meet  Mr.  E.  Wortley,  who  got  as  far  as  Lyons,  on  his  way 
thither.  There,  however,  while  eating  a  beccafico  for 
supper,  a  bone  stuck  in  his  throat,  and  occasioned  his 
death  ;  thus  putting  an  end  to  this  honest  scheme. 

W. 


COL.COLL^ 

LIBRAR 

s     N.YORK,    y 


INDEX. 


A. 

"  A  Ballad,"  iii.  412. 

Abte ,  letters  to,  i.  358 ;  ii.  1 1. 

21.  78.  83.  119. 128. 

Abydos,  siege  and  capture  of,  by  the 
Turks,  ii.  84. 

"  Account  of  Turkey,"  by  Aaron 
Hill,  ii.  69  n. 

"  A  Character,"  poem,  iii.  380. 

Achmet  Bey,  character  of,  i.  348  ; 
his  conversation  with  Lady  M.  W. 
Montagu,  361. 

III.  Grand  Signior,  marriage  of 
his  eldest  daughter,  i.  366  ;  descrip- 
tion of  his  passage  to  the  mosque, 
368  ;  personal  appearance,  369. 

Adam,  Mr.  Robert,  Lady  Mary's 
opinion  of,  iii.  152  ;  her  remarks  on 
his  architecture,  ib.  n. 

Addison,  Mr.  remarks  on  his  being 

appointed  secretary  of  state,  ii.  135. 

•Miss,  remarks  respecting,  i.15. 

Adrianople,  Lady  Mary's  journey 
from  Belgrade  to,  i.  350  ;  climate 
of,  352  ;  description  of  Lady  Mary's 
residence  there,  383  ;  of  the  coun- 
try around,  385  ;  of  the  Grand 
Vizier's  harem  there,  ii.  3  ;  of  the 
Kiyaya's,  6  ;  origin  of  the  name  of, 
12  ;  account  of  the  city  of,  ib.  ; 
description  of  the  exchange,  13  ; 
number  of  Jews  in,  ib. ;  camp 
of,  15  ;  procession  on  the  Grand 
Signior's  taking  the  command  of  the 
army  in  person,  ib. ;  mosque  of  Sul- 
tan Selim  I.  in,  17  ;  other  mosques 
in,  20 ;  seraglio,  ib. ;  letters  from, 
350.  353.  358.  366.  372.  382.  392. 
395.  ii.  3.  11. 

"  Advice,"  a  poem,  iii.  428  ;  answer 
to,  429. 

Alcoran,  character  of,  i.  362  ;  remarks 
respecting,  ii.  141. 

Alexander  Troas,  account  of,  ii.  89  ; 
inscriptions  found  at,  ib. 


"  A  man  in  love,"  a  poem,  iii.  411. 

Amelia,  Empress  Dowager  of  Ger- 
many, entertainment  given  by,  i. 
292. 

Amphitrion,  comedy  of,  at  Vienna,  i. 
286. 

Andrea  Doria,  privileges  of  the  family 
of,  in  Genoa,  ii.  101. 

"  Answer  to  a  lady  who  advised  Lady 
Mary  to  retire,"  a  poem,  iii.  430. 

"  Answer  to  a  love  letter,"  a  poem, 
iii.  381. 

Antin,  Duke  d',  French  king's  pic- 
tures preserved  by,  ii.  117. 

Antinous,  statue  of,  in  Rome,  ii.  327; 
in  Florence,  278. 

Antiquaries  in  Turkey,  ii.  26. 

Antiquities  of  Turkey — Trajan's  Gate, 
i.  364. 

Appendix  —  defence  of  Lady  Mary 
against  the  insinuations  of  Horace 
Walpole  and  others,  iii.  341. 

Aqueduct,  remains  of  one  near  Tunis, 
ii.  95  ;  ruins  of  a  Roman  aqueduct 
at  Lyons,  111. 

Arabian  poetry,  character  of,  i.  349. 

Arcadian  column,  in  Constantinople, 
destroyed  by  an  earthquake,  ii.  66  n. 

Archer,  Mr.  account  of  his  accident, 
iii.  159. 

Archipelago,  Lady  Mary's  voyage  in, 
ii.  91. 

Arcie,  Mrs.  d',  ii.  283. 

Ardinghi,  Signer  Aurelio,  ii.  444. 

Signora  Diana,  ii.  443. 

Armenians,  Lady  Mary's  account 
of,  ii.  76  ;  strictness  of  their  reli- 
gion, ib. ;  their  marriage  ceremony, 
77. 

Arnab'uts,  religion  of  the,  i.  363. 

Arran,  Lord,  remarks  respecting,  iii. 
223. 

"A  Short  View  of  the  immorality  and 
profaneness  of  the  English  Stage," 
by  Jeremy  Collier,  i.  287.  n. 


454 


INDEX. 


Assemblies— at  Vienna,  i.  302  ;  in 
London,  in  1723,  ii.  183  ;  in  Lou- 
vere,  iii.  58  ;  Lady  Mary's  opinion 
of,  195. 

Astell,  Mistress  Mary,  character  of, 
i.  49 ;  her  partiality  for  Lady  Mary, 
50  ;  her  tracts,  51 ;  her  remarks  to 
Lady  Mary,  52 ;  her  Ode  to  Friend- 
ship, 53. 

Atlerdan,  or  place  of  horses,  in  Con- 
stantinople, description  of,  ii.  64. 

Austria,  Empress  of,  Lady  Mary's 
description  of,  i.  289  ;  her  grief  for 
the  death  of  her  son,  319. 

Authors,  remarks  on  the  fate  of,  i. 
243. 

Avenant,  Mrs.  d',  ii.  99. 

Avignon,  assemblies  in,  ii.  297  ;  no- 
bility in,  371  ;  description  of  the 
town,  372.  378  ;  refugees  in,  iii. 
226 ;  letters  from,  ii.  296. 299.  301. 
359.  360.  366,  367.  369,  370.  373. 
376.  377.  379,  380;  iii.  205.  208. 


B. 


Bagnio.    See  Baths. 

Baillie,  Griselda,  married  to  Mr. 
Murray,  ii.  158  n. ;  see  Murray. 

Baily,  Mr.  dismissed  from  the  Trea- 
sury, ii.  210. 

"  Ballad,  onalate  occurrence, "iii.  424. 

Balm  of  Mecca,  Lady  Mary's  opinion 
of,  ii.  37. 

Baths,  description  of,  in  the  town  of 
Sophia,  i.  354 ;  reception  of  a  Turk- 
ish bride  in,  ii.  70;  account  of  the 
Grand  Vizier's  at  Calcedonia,  81. 

Bathurst,  Allen  first  Earl,  allusion  to 
his  death,  ii.  163  n. ;  suspicions  re- 
specting, 198. 

Beaufort,  Henry  Somerset  third  Duke 
of,  ii.  295  ;  his  death,  301. 

Bedchamber  ;  see  Schoolmaster. 

Bedford,  Wriothesley  Russel  third 
Duke  of  that  family,  ii.  190. 

Belgrade,  town  of,  Lady  Mary's  ac- 
count of,  i.  346 ;  inhabitants  of, 
ii.  28  ;  town  of,  taken  by  the  Impe- 
rialists, 132;  letters  from,  i.  344; 
ii.  28.  35. 

Belloni,  Mr.  ii.  328. 

Benedict  XIV,  Pope  (Cardinal  Lam- 
bertini),  his  death,  iii.  169,  170. 

Bentinck,  Lady  Belle,  married  to  the 
Duke  of  Kingston,  i.  41.  See 
Kingston,  Duchess  of. 

• Lady  Elizabeth,  married  to 

Thomas  Vise.  Weymouth,  iii.  192. 


Bentivoglio,  Marchioness  Licinia,  ac- 
count of,  iii.  126. 

Berkeley,  Augustus  fourth  Earl  of, 
notice  of  his  death,  iii.  120  ?i. 

BernstofT,  Mr.  character  of,  i.  109  ; 
dissuades  the  Counters  of  Platen 
from  accompanying  George  I.  to 
England,  119. 

Bill,  project  of,  to  have  "  not"  taken 
out  of  the  Commandments,  ii.  186. 

Blankenburg,  letter  from,  i.  320. 

Duchess  of,  her  atten- 
tion to  Lady  Mary,  i.  320. 

Boileau,  Monsieur,  observation  of,  i. 
389. 

Bolingbroke,  Henry  St.  John  first 
Viscount,  opinion  of  his  writings, 
iii.  102  ;  Lady  Mary's  opinion  of, 
114,  115  ;  her  remarks  on  his  cha- 
racter, 116;  his  partiality  for  ob- 
scurity, 263  ;  epistle  to,  a  poem,  iii. 
398. 

Bolton,  Charles  Paulet  third  Duke  of, 
his  death,  iii.  103. 

Duchess.    See  Fen  ton. 

Bono,  Signora  Laura,  story  of,  ii.  416. 

Borromean  library  at  Milan,  ii. 
314. 

Bosville,  Mrs.  her  journey  to  Turin, 
ii.  367. 

Bouthillier,  de  Ranee,  story  of,  ii.276. 

Bowes,  Mrs.  poem  on  the  death  of,  iii. 
410. 

Boyle,  Lady  Charlotte,  married  to  Lord 
Hartington,  ii.  403  n. 

Braithwayte,  Mrs.  her  marriage  with 
Mr.  Coleman,  i.  240. 

Brand,  Thomas,  his  marriage  with 
Lady  Carolina  Pierrepoint,  iii.  71  n. 

Brescia,  letters  from,  ii.  381.  384. 
386.  394 ;  iii.  28.  63.  226,  227, 
228.  231. 

Bridgeman,  Mrs.  anecdote  of,  ii.  246. 
Bristol,    Elizabeth  Hervey  Countess 
of,   letters   to,    from    Lady  Mary, 
i.  269.  315.  366  ;  ii.  59.  68.  104  ; 
remarks   respecting   her,  175 ;   her 
quarrel  with  Lady  Hervey,  196. 
Bromley,  Mrs.  ii.  241. 
Brudenel,  Lord  John,  his  ill  health, 

iii.  175. 
Buda,  description  of  the  town  of,  i. 

335. 

Buffaloes,  description  of,  i.  397. 
Burlington,  Lady,  her  inscription  on 
the  portrait  of  her  daughter,  iii.  212. 
Burnet,  Dr.  Gilbert,  Lord  Bishop  of 
Salisbury,  assists  Lady  Mary  in  her 
studies,  i.   8;    her  letter  to,   155; 
remarks  in  his  letter  to  her,  200. 


INDEX. 


455 


Burning  Mountain,  account  of,  ii. 
276. 

Burying-fields,  in  Turkey,  ii.  24. 

Bute,  John  Stuart  first  Marquis  of. 
Notice  of  his  intimacy  with  Prince 
Frederick  and  the  Princess  of 
Wales,  iii.  76 ;  his  influence  with 
Prince  George,  131 ;  remarks  on 
his  economy,  161  ;  notice  of  his 
appointments  on  George  Ill's  ac- 
cession, 200  n. 

Countess  of,  destroys  Lady 

Mary's  journal,  i.  21 ;  her  argu- 
ments respecting,  22  ;  her  intimacy 
with  Lady  Hervey,  69  ;  notice  of 
her  birth,  ii.  44 ;  of  her  intimacy 
with  Prince  Frederick  and  the 
Princess  of  Wales,  iii.  76;  with 
Mrs.  Anne  Pitt,  78;  distinguished 
by  the  Princess  of  Wales,  254; 
letters  to,  ii.  387.  394.  399.  403. 
406.  408.  413.  415.  421.  424.  426. 
428.  435.  437.  442  ;  iii.  3  to  78  ; 
80  to  129,  132  to  172.  176.  179 
to  200. 

Butter,  introduced  in  Louvere  by  Lady 
Mary,  iii.  82. 

Byng,  Lady,  inoculates  her  children, 
ii.  173. 

Byron,  George  Gordon  sixth  Lord, 
his  lines  descriptive  of  the  cruelty 
of  a  Corsair,  iii.  153  n. 


C. 

Cabinet  of  jewels,  medals,  and  an- 
tiques in  Vienna,  remarks  respect- 
ing, i.  307  n. 

Calcedonia,  mistake  respecting,  ii.  80 ; 
description  of  the  Grand  Vizier's 
house  there,  81. 

Calthorpe,  Hon.  Mrs.  letter  to,  ii.  169. 

Camels,  description  of,  i.  396. 

Campbell,  Mr.  Daniel,  his  influence 
with  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  i.  101. 

Lady  Betty,  notice  of  her 

marriage  with  Mr.  James  Stuart 
Mackenzie,  iii.  90  n. 

Cantillon,  Madame,  character  of,  ii. 
172. 

Cape  Janizary,  the  promontory  of 
Sigaeum,  ancient  city  of,  ii.  85  ;  an- 
tiquities in,  86 ;  inhabitants  of,  87. 

Carleton,  Henry  Boyle  first  Lord,  his 
death,  ii.  200 ;  account  of  him,  ib.  n. 

Carlisle,  Henry  Howard  seventh  Earl, 
ii.  312  ;  his  death,  iii.  167. 

Carmichael,  Lord,  ii.  161. 


Carnival  of  Venice,  ii.  259. 

Carteret,  John  first  Viscount,  after- 
wards Earl  of  Granville,  ii.  376  ; 
his  appointments,  380  n. ;  married 
to  Lady  Sophia  Fermor,  iii.  207. 

Carthage,  ruins  of,  ii.  97. 

Cavendish,  Margaret,  married  to  Wil- 
liam Duke  of  Portland,  iii.  205. 

Cecisbeo,  description  of,  ii.  100. 

Cenis,  Mount,  ascent  of,  ii.  106. 

Chambery,  description  of  the  town  of, 
ii.  293  ;  inhabitants,  344 ;  letters 
from,  293.  295.  343,  344,  345. 

Chesterfield,  Philip  Dormer  Stanhope 
fourth  Earl,  genealogical  notice  of, 
ii.  368. 

Chevalier  ,  visits  Lady  Mary, 

ii.  104. 

Cheyne,  Lady  Gertrude,  notice  of  her 
marriage,  ii.  204  n. 

Children,  Turkish  custom  of  adoption 
of,  ii.  75. 

Chiosks,  description  of  the  Turkish, 
i.  401. 

Chiswell,  Miss,  death  of,  ii.  188. 

Chloe,  Mr.  a  celebrated  cook,  ii. 
233  n. 

Circassian  slaves,  account  of,  ii.  36. 

Clare,  Thomas  Pelham  second  Mar- 
quess of,  ii.  153  n.  154. 

Clarke,  Dr.  his  intimacy  with  Queen 
Caroline  and  Lady  Sundon,  ii. 
259  n. 

"  Clarissa  Harlowe,"  Lady  Mary's 
opinion  of,  iii.  23. 

Clement  XIII.  Pope  (Cardinal  Rez- 
zonico),  rejoicings  in  Padoua  on 
his  election  to  the  Papal  Chair,  iii. 
170.  253;  remarks  on  his  family, 
250. 

Cleveland,  Duchess  of,  verses  respect- 
ing, ii.  219  ;  her  death,  297. 

Coke,  Edward  Lord  Viscount,  no- 
tice of  his  marriage,  iii.  108  n. 

Lady  Mary,  remarks  respecting, 

iii.  108;  notice  of  her  marriage, 
ib.  n. 

Coleman,  Mr.  his  marriage  with  Mrs. 
Braithwayte,  i.  240. 

Collier,  Jeremy,  author  of  "  A  short 
View  of  the  Immorality  and  Pro- 
faneness  of  the  English  Stage,"  i. 
287. 

Cologne,  letter  from,  i.  267  ;  descrip- 
tion of  the  Jesuit's  church  in,  268. 

Comedies  in  Vienna,  i.  286. 

Conclusion  of  alettertoafriend,  iii.  431. 

Confinement  of  Turkish  women,  erro- 
neous ideas  of,  i.  349.  375,  376. 


456 


INDEX. 


Constantinople,  size  of,  ii.  24  ;  bury- 
ing-fields  in,  ib.  ;  antiquaries  in, 
26 ;  great  heat  of  the  climate, 
28  ;  fires  in,  42 ;  variety  of  languages 
spoken  in,  58 ;  description  of  the  city 
of,  60 ;  seraglio,  ib. ;  the  mosques 
in,  61 ;  the  exchanges,  65  ;  anti- 
quities in,  66 ;  dervises,  67  ;  recep- 
tion of  a  Turkish  bride  in  the  baths 
of,  71  ;  letters  from,  i.  21  ;  ii.  78. 

Convent  in  Vienna,  i.  303.  See  St. 
Lawrence. 

Cook,  Mr.  his  duel  with  J.  Stapleton, 
ii.  196. 

Coronation,  remarks  on  George  IPs, 
ii.  215. 

Cornbury,  Lord,  his  death,  iii.  73. 

Count ,  ii.  105.  140. 

Countess  of ,  letter  to,  ii.  274. 

Court  of  George  I.  Lady  Mary's  ac- 
count of,  i.  107. 

Cozelle,  Countess  of,  account  of,  i. 
312. 

Craggs,  Mr.  James,  secretary  of  state, 
anecdote  of,  i.  38 ;  character  of, 
117  j  his  death,  ii.  155  n. 

Croix,  Monsieur  de  la,  translator  of 
the  "  Persian  Tales,"  i.  349  n. 

Cunningham,  Mr.  Lady  Mary's  opi- 
nion of,  iii.  201. 

—  Mrs.  Lady  Mary's  re- 
marks respecting,  iii.  201. 

D. 

Dalkeith,  Lady,  remarks  on  her  mar- 
riage with  Charles  Townshend,  ii. 
437. 

Darlington,  Countess  of.  See  Platen. 

Dashwood,  Sir  Francis,  ii.  282  ;  his 
marriage,  422. 

Davenant,  Mrs.  her  intimacy  with 
Lady  Mary,  ii.  172. 

Deloraine,  Henry  Scott  Earl  of,  mar- 
ried to  Miss  Howard,  ii.  166. 

Denbigh  and  Desmond,  Countess 
Dowager  of,  particulars  respecting, 
i.  4  ;  character  of,  ii.  199  ;  family, 
ib.  n  ;  her  gaiety,  218. 

Dervises  in  Constantinople,  account 
of,  ii.  67. 

Dijon,  number  of  English  families 
in,  ii.  310. 

Diversions  in  Germany,  i.  292.  318  ; 
of  children  at  Adrianople,  385;  in 
Louvere,  ii.  389. 

Divorces  in  Turkey,  ii.  25. 

Doddington,  George  Bubb,  his  objec- 
tions to  Mr.  Wai  pole's  proposed  bill, 
ii.  186. 


Dodsley,  Mr.  Lady  Mary's  verses 
published  by,  iii.  136 ;  errors  in  the 
sixth  volume  of  his  "  Collection 
of  Poems,"  ib.  n. 

Doge  of  Genoa,  See  Genoa. 

Dorchester,  Lord.     See  Kingston. 

Dover,  letters  from,  ii.  119.  126. 

Drawing-room  at  Vienna,  i.  290. 

Dresden,  description  of  the  town  and 
inhabitants  of,  i.  311. 

Dresses  at  Vienna,  i.  301 ;  dress  of 
the  nuns  in  a  convent  there,  303  ; 
dress  of  the  ladies  at  Prague,  309  ; 
of  the  Hungarian  females,  339; 
Turkish  dress  of  Lady  Mary,  372  ; 
walking  dress  of  the  Turkish  ladies, 
375  ;  description  of  Fatima's,  the 
Kiyaya's  lady,  ii.  7  ;  of  the  Sultana 
Hafiten,  46  ;  dresses  in  Louvere, 
iii.  58. 

Drew,  Sarah,  story  of,  related  by  Pope, 
ii.  123  j  epitaphs  to  her  memory,  125. 
127. 

Drumlanrig,  Earl  of,  his  death,  iii. 
106  n. 

Dunch,  Mrs.  Arabella,  her  marriage 
with  Edward  Thompson,  Esq.  ii. 
196  n. ;  remarks  respecting,  iii. 
113. 

Duncombe,  Col.  Anthony,  created 
Lord  Feversham,  notice  of  his  mar- 
riage, iii.  142  ;  of  his  death  ib.  n. 

Durazzo,  Signora  Clelia,  her  intimacy 
with  Lady  Mary,  ii.  291. 


E. 


Edgcombe,  Mr.  story  respecting,  ii. 
222. 

Education,  remarks  on,  iii.  3.  31.  49. 
51,  52.  156. 

Effendis,  explanation  of  the  name,  i. 
360 ;  account  of  this  class  of  men, 
ib.  ;  their  religion,  361  ;  their  re- 
ligious opinions,  ii.  144. 

Egerton,  Lady  Anne,  her  dispute  with 
the  Duchess  of  Marlborough,  i.  81. 

Elizabeth,  Queen  of  England,  notice 
of  her  Greek  translations,  iii.  168. 

"  Elegy  on  Mrs.  Thompson,"  iii.  409. 

"  Enchiridion  of  Epictetus,"  Lady 
Mary's  translation  of,  iii.  297. 

Englefield,  Sir  Henry,  his  conversa- 
tion with  Lady  Mary,  ii.  267. 

English  politics,   remarks  on,  ii.  336. 

Epictetus.     See  Enchiridion. 

Epilogues — to  Mary  Queen  of  Scots, 
iii.  372.  373  j  to  the  tragedy 


INDEX. 


457 


of  Cato,  367  ;  to  a  Friend  on  his 
travels,  374. 

Epistles— to  the  Earl  of  Burlington, 
iii.  384 ;  from  Pope  to  Lord  Boling- 
broke,  398  ;  from  Arthur  Grey  the 
footman  to  Mrs.  Murray,  402  ;  to 
Lord  Hervey  on  the  king's  birth- 
day, 429. 
Epitaphs  to  the  memory  of  John  Hew- 

et  and  Sarah  Drew,  ii.  125.  127. 
Epithalamium,  iii.  419. 
Essays — a  Letter  from  the  other  world 
to  a  Lady,  from  her  former  Husband, 
iii.  325  ;  on  a  paper  called  the  Non- 
sense of  Common  Sense,  327  ;  Ca- 
rabose  a  1'Abbe  Conti,  333  ;  maxim 
of  Rochefoucault,  336. 
Essek,  account  of  the  town  of,  i.  338. 
Eugene,  Prince,  notice  of  his  victory 
over  the  Turks  at  Carlowitz,  i.  345  ; 
his  liberality  to  Rousseau,  ii.  130 ; 
his  library,  131. 

Euston,  George  Earl  of,  his  marriage, 
iii.  211. 

Lady  Dorothy,  her  death,  iii. 

211;    inscription  to  her  memory, 
212. 

Evans,  Sir  Stephen,  notice  of  his  sui- 
cide, i.  240. 

Exchanges  in  Constantinople,  descrip- 
tion of,  ii.  65. 


F. 


Fatima,  the  Kiyaya's  lady,  visited  by 
Lady  Mary  in  her  harem,  ii.  6  ; 
her  beauty,  7  ;  dress,  9  ;  agreeable 
manners,  11  ;  conversation  with 
Lady  Mary,  ii.  52.  54. 

Fen  ton,  Lavinia,  afterwards  Duchess 
of  Bolton,  iii.  103. 

Fermor,  Lady  Sophia,  afterwards  Lady 
Carteret,  her  beauty,  ii.  238;  re- 
marks respecting  her,  376;  notice 
of  her  marriage  with  John  Earl  of 
Granville,  iii.  207  n. 

Ferrers,  Lawrence  fourth  Earl,  notice 
of  his  marriage  with  Mary  Mere- 
dith, iii.  78  n. 

Lady  Anne,  account  of,  iii. 

78  n. 

Feversham,  Lord.    See  Duncombe. 

Fielding,  Henry,  his  attachment  to 
his  wife,  i.  82  ;  remarks  on  his 
second  marriage,  83  ;  on  his  writ- 
ings, 84 ;  Lady  Montagu's  opinion 
of,  iii.  93  ;  notice  of  his  death,  120  ; 
comparison  between  him  and  Sir 
Richard  Steele,  121. 


Fielding,  Sally,  remarks  on  her  works, 
iii.  93. 

Lady  Frances,  character  of, 

ii.  219. 

Mr.    William,   assists    Lady 

Mary  in  her  studies,   i.  8  ;  death 
of,  ii.  185. 

Finch,  Lady  Belle,  Lady  Mary's  opi- 
nion of,  iii.  22. 

Lady  Betty,  remarks  on  her 

marriage  with  Mr.  Murray,  ii.  234. 

Fires,  frequency  of,  in  Turkey,  ii.  42. 
Fitzwilliam,  Lord,   visits  Lady  Mary 

at  Venice,  ii.  321. 
Florence,  magnificence  of  the  public 

buildings  of,  ii.  278  ;  letters  from, 

274.  325. 

Fontainebleau,  description  of,  ii.  113. 
Fordwich,  George  Nassau  Clavering 

Cowper,  Lord,    visits  Padoua,  iii. 

182. 
France,  King  of,  Lady  Mary's  opinion 

of,  ii.  117. 
remarks  respecting  the  inhabit 

ants  of,  ii,  138. 
Francesco  Loredano,  elect  d  Dodge  of 

Venice,  iii.  56  n. 
Freemasons,  society  of,   at    Nismes, 

entertainment  given  by,  to  the  Duke 

of  Richelieu,  ii.  373. 
French  embassadress    in  Turkey,   i. 

369  ;ii.  41. 
ladies,  Lady  Mary's  opinion 

of,  ii.  115. 
Furnese,   Miss,  anecdote  of,  i.   73; 

her  marriage,  ib.  n. 


G. 

Gage,  Thomas  first  Lord,  ii.  176. 
»   •         Lady,  account  of  her  separa- 
tion from  her  husband,  ii.  176. 
Gainsborough,  Lady,  account  of,  ii. 

201  n. 
Galland,  Monsieur,  his  translation  of 

the  "  Arabian  Nights,"  i.  349  n. 
Garth,   Dr.  notice  of  his  foot-match 

with  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  i.  242. 
Gay,  Mr.  verses  addressed  to,  ii.  156. 
Gemelli,  Mr.  his  mistake  respecting 

Calcedonia,  ii.  79. 
Geneva,  inhabitants  of,  ii.  341  ;  their 

simplicity,  342  ;  letters  from,  341, 

342. 
Genoa,   Doge  of,   compelled   to   ask 

pardon  of  the  King  of  France,  ii. 

99 ;    attention    paid    by  to    Lady 

Mary,  316. 

2H 


458 


INDEX. 


Genoa,  description  of,  ii.  99  ;  inhabit- 
ants  of,  100.  340 ;  government  of, 
101  ;  public  buildings,  102 ;  di- 
vorces in,  iii.  190;  letters  from,  ii. 
98.338,339;  iii.  188. 

George  I.  King  of  England,  com- 
parisons .respecting  his  court,  i.  37  ; 
anecdote  of,  39  ;  Lady  Mary's  ac- 
count of  the  court  at  his  accession, 
107;  character  of,  111;  his  inter- 
view with  the  Countess  of  Platen, 
115;  his  resentment  to  the  Prince 
of  Wales,  123;  account  of  the 
state  of  party  at  his  accession,  125 ; 
confirms  the  jointure  of  Lord  Mar's 
forfeited  estate  on  Lady  Mar,  261 . 

George  II.  remarks  on  his  coronation, 
ii.  215,  216  n.  ;  notice  of  his 
death,  iii.  196. 

III.  purchases  Mr.    Joseph 

Smith's  collection  of  paintings  and 
gems,  iii.  89. 

German  courts,  remarks  on  the  cus- 
tom of  keeping  dwarfs  in,  i.  326. 

Goldsworthy,  Mrs.  remarks  on  her 
conduct,  ii.  302. 

Gotolengo,  town  of,  ii.  404. 

Gower,  Dowager  Lady,  death  of,  ii. 
181. 

Lady,  death  of,  ii.  21 1. 

•  Hon.  Evelyn  Leveson,  notice 

of  her  birth,  ii.  196;   married  to 
LordGowran,  iii.  210  n. 

Miss  Elizabeth,   married  to 

John  third  Earl  of  Waldegrave,  iii. 
210  n. 

Hon.  Jane  Leveson,  notice  of 

her  death,  ii.  182  n. 

Grafton,  Augustus  Henry  third  Duke 
of,  notice  of  his  foot-match  with 
Dr.  Garth,  i.  242  ;  of  his  marriage 
with  Miss  Liddel,  iii.  126  n. 

Graham,  General,  his  illness,  iii.  156; 
notice  of  his  ill  health,  197. 

Grand  Vizier,  description  of  his  house 
in  Calcedonia,  ii.  80. 

Grant,  Abbe,  character  of,  iii.  61. 

Granville,  Earl.     See  Carteret. 

Gray,  Sir  J.  his  residence  in  Venice, 
iii.  155. 

Greville,  Mr.  remarks  on  his  "  Max- 
ims and  Characters,"  iii.  147  n. 

Guastalla,  Duchess,  visits  Lady  Mary, 
ii.  401. 

H. 

Hafiten,  Sultana,  visited  by  Lady 
Mary,  ii.  3;  character  of,  4 ;  ac- 


count of,  45 ;  her  reception  of 
Lady  Mary,  46  ;  description  of 
her  dress,  47  ;  refutes  the  story  of 
throwing  the  handkerchief,  49  ;  her 
affection  for  the  deceased  Sultan, 
50  ;  number  of  her  slaves,  51. 

Hague,  letter  from,  i.  263  ;  account  of, 
264. 

Halifax,  George  Montagu  fourth  earl 
of,  his  death,  ii.  251. 

Hamilton,  Miss,  married  to  Earl 
Brooke,  ii.  298  n. 

Hanmer,  Sir  T.  Lady  Mary's  remarks 
respecting,  i.  224. 

Hanns  and  monasteries  at  Constanti- 
nople, account  of,  ii.  66. 

Hanover,  remarks  respecting  the  town 
of,  i.  316  ;  inhabitants  of,  318  ;  di- 
versions in,  ib. ;  perfection  of  the 
orangeries  in,  321  ;  letters  from, 
315.317. 

Harems,  description  of  the  Turkish,  i. 
399 ;  translation  of  the  word  harem, 
ii.  6  n. ;  splendour  of  the  harem  of 
the  kiyaya,  7  ;  dances  in,  10. 

Hartington,  Lord,  married  to  Lady 
Charlotte  Boyle,  ii.  403  n. 

Hay,  Mrs.  her  conduct  to  Lady  Mary, 
iii.  207. 

Heideker,  Mr.  masquerades  instituted 
by,  i.  381. 

Henley,  Anthony,  character  of,  ii. 
241  n. 

Herbert,  Lady  Harriet,  account  of  her 
marriage,  ii.  244  n. 

Herculaneum,  discovery  of  the  city  of, 
ii.  330,  331,  332. 

Hervey,  Lord,  his  intimacy  with  Lady 
Mary,  i.  67;  anecdote  related  of 
him,  68  ;  his  visits  to  Lady  Mary, 
ii.  157  ;  notice  of  his  marriage  with 
Miss  Lepell,  ib.  n. 

George,  afterwards  fifth  Earl 

of  Bristol,  returns  Lady  Mary's 
Correspondence  with  Lord  Hervey 
to  her,  i.  68. 

Lady,  character  of,  i.  69  ;  her 

intimacy  with  Lady  Bute,  ib. ;  her 
praises  of  Mrs.  Murray,  71 ;  her 
quarrel  with  Lady  Bristol,  ii.  196  ; 
account  of  her,  201  n, ;  her  inti- 
macy with  the  Duchess  of  Man- 
chester, 237. 

Hewet,  John,  story  of,  related  by 
Pope,  ii.  123  ;  epitaphs  to  his  me- 
mory, 125.  127. 

T.  account  of,  i.  236  n. 

— —  Mrs.  (afterwards  Lady)  ac- 
count of,  i.  236  ;  letters  to,  ib. 


INDEX. 


459 


Hill,  Mr.  Aaron,  author  of  the  "  Ac- 
count of  Turkey,"  and  the  tragedies 
of  Zara  and  Merope,  ii.  69  n. 
Hillsborough,  Wills  Hill  first  Earl  of, 
ii.  176n. 

Hinchinbroke,  Lady,  appointed  one 
of  the  ladies  of  the  bedchamber  to 
the  Princess  of  Wales,  i.  227. 

Holderness,  Lady,  her  attachment  to 
Mr.  Mildmay,  ii.  167  ;  married  to 
him,  ib.  n. ;  170  n. 

Holies,  Henrietta  Cavendish.  See  Ox- 
ford. 

Holt,  Mr.  his  marriage  with  Lady  J. 
Wharton,  ii.  165  n. 

Homer,  many  passages  in,  illustrated 
by  a  knowledge  of  the  Turkish  cus- 
toms, i.  385  ;  correctness  of  his  geo- 
graphy, ii.  89. 

Horses,  description  of  Turkish,  i.  397. 

Houses,  description  of,  in  Vienna,  i. 
276 ;  in  Turkey,  399. 

Howard,  Miss,  married  to  the  Earl  of 
Deloraine,  ii.  166  n. 

Howe,  Lady,  ii.  158  n. 

Hungary,  inhabitants  of,  remarks  re- 
specting, i.  337.  339. 

Hussey,  Mr.  his  marriage  with  the 
Duchess  of  Manchester,  ii.  391  n. 


1. 


Impromptu  to  a  lady  singing,  iii.  428. 

Ingrafting.   See  Inoculation. 

Inoculation,  introduced  into  England 
by  Lady  Mary  from  the  Turkish 
practice  of  ingrafting,  i.  55.  59. 
393  ;  description  of,  394. 

Inscriptions  —  on  the  obelisk  in  the 
Atlerdan,  or  place  of  horses  at  Con- 
stantinople, ii.  64 ;  on  a  stone  at 
the  ancient  Sigaeum,  86 ;  found  at 
Alexander  Troas,  89  ;  on  the  tables 
of  brass  on  the  town-house  of  Lyons, 
108.  110. 

Ionian  antiquities,  published  by  the 
Dilettanti  Society,  engraving  of 
marbles  in,  ii.  87  n. 

"  Irregular  Verses  to  Truth,"  iii.  348. 

Irwin,  Lady,  remarks  respecting,  iii. 
170. 

Italian  government,  remarks  respect- 
ing, iii.  189. 

manners,  remarks  on,  ii.  266. 

vineyards,  description  of,  iii. 

69. 

Italians,  their  taste  for  comedy,  iii.  59. 


J. 


Janisaries,  character  of,  i.  370 ;  their 

unlimited  power,  371. 
Jervas,  Charles,  a  celebrated  portrait 

painter,  i.  356. 
Jews,  privileges  and  influence  of,  in 

Turkey,  ii.  13. 
J ,  Dr.,  Lady  Mary's  remarks  on 

his  death,  iii.  263. 
Johnson,  Dr.  passage  in  his  "  Life  of 

Pope,"  i.  65. 
Jupiter,  colossean  statue  of,    in  the 

gardens  of  Versailles,  ii.  139. 
"  Julia  to  Ovid,"  a  poem,  iii.  347. 


K. 


Kendal,  Duchess  of,  (Mademoiselle  de 
Schulenberg,)  i.  37 ;  character  of, 
112  j  her  arrival  in  England,  121. 
Kilmansegg,  Madame,  accompanies 
George  1.  to  England,  i.  113  ;  cha- 
racter of,  ib. ;  her  intimacy  with  Mr. 
Methuen,  120. 

Kingston,  Henry  Pierrepoiut  second 
Earl  of,  created  Marquis  of  Dor- 
chester, i.  3. 

Evelyn  fifth  Earl  of,  created 

Marquis  of  Dorchester  and  Duke  of 
Kingston,  i.  4 ;  anecdotes  of,  10 ; 
refuses  his  daughter's  marriage  with 
Mr.  Edward  Wortley,  18  ;  married 
to  Lady  Belle  Bentinck,  41;  his 
death,  ii.  203. 

Duchess,  (Lady  Belle  Ben- 
tinck,) her  marriage,  i.  41 ;  her 
singular  conduct  on  the  death  of  the 
Duke,  it.  203.  209. 

Lord,  son  of  the  Duke  of 

Kingston,  his  death,  i.  26. 

Lady,  wife  of  the  preceding, 

her  attachment  to  Lord  Scarborough, 
ii.  263  n. 

Kiskoi,  village  of,  account  of,  i.  365. 

Knatchbull,  Sir  Wyndham,  remarks 
respecting,  iii.  165 ;  character  of, 
193. 

Kujuk,  Checkmedji',  or  Little  Bridge, 
ii.  22. 


L. 


Ladies — of  Vienna,  i.  288  ;  of  Sax- 
ony,   311;    of  Hanover,   318;    of 
Hungary,  339  ;  of  Turkey,  374  ;  of 
France,  ii.  115;  story  of  a  Spanish 
2  H  % 


460 


INDEX. 


lady,  ii.  73 ;  of  London,  iii.  57 ; 
influence  of  ladies  greater  in  repub- 
lics than  in  monarchical  countries, 
169. 

"  Lady  Hertford  to  Lord  William 
Hamilton,"  a  poem,  iii.  401  j  an- 
swer to,  ib. 

Lambertini,  Cardinal.  See  Benedict 
XIV. 

Lansdowne,  Lady,  remarks  respecting, 
ii.  160.  162. 

Latin  inscription,  taken  by  Lady  Mary 
ii.  89. 

La  Trappe,  monastery  of,  ii.  274. 

Law,  Mr.  respect  paid  to,  by  the  Pa- 
risian nobility,  ii.  118. 

Leeds,  Peregrine  Osborn  second  Duke 
of,  remarks  respecting,  i.  253. 

Leghorn,  letter,  from,  ii.  334. 

Leicester,  Thomas  Coke  nineteenth 
Earl  of,  his  death,  iii.  179. 

Leigh,  Miss,  story  respecting,  ii.  222. 

Leipzig,  description  of  the  town  of, 
i.  314;  letter  from,  310. 

Lernpster,  Lord,  visits  Lady  Mary  at 
Turin,  ii.  252. 

Leopold,  Emperor,  Lady  Mary's  re- 
marks respecting,  i.  334. 

Lepell,  Mary,  married  to  Lord 
Hervey,  ii.  157  n. 

Letchmere,  Lady  Elizabeth,  her  ex- 
travagance, ii.  198  ;  family  of,  ib.n. ; 
her  death,  227,  228.  n. 

Lethuillier,  Mrs.,  Comedies  given  by 
in  Venice,  ii.  264. 

Letters  of  Lady  Mary — before  1717, 
i.  137  ;  to  Mrs.  Hewet,  236;  dur- 
ing Mr.  Wortley's  embassy,  261  ; 
ii.  3  ;  republished  from  the  edition 
of  1789,  128  j  to  the  Countess  of 
Mar  at  Paris,  1 53  ;  to  Lady  Pom- 
fret,  231  j  to  Mr.  Wortley,  during 
her  second  residence  abroad,  from 
1739  to  1761,  307  ;  iii.  3;  to  the 
Countess  of  Oxford,  205  ;  to  Sir 
James  and  Lady  Steuart,  241. 

Letters — from  Mr.  Wortley,  i.  180; 
ii.  309.  311.  346  ;  iii.  130  :  from 
Mr.  Pope,  i.  279.  329.  340.  377  ; 
ii.  30.  121  :  from  the  Countess  of 
Pembroke,  147.  149. 

Levison,  Miss  F.  married  to  Lord 
John  Sackville,  iii.  206  n. 

Liddel,  Miss,  notice  of  her  marriage 
with  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  iii.  120  n. 

Lincoln,  Henry  Finnes,  nineteenth 
Earl  of,  afterwards  Duke  of  New- 
castle, character  of,  ii.  287.  333  ; 
allusion  to  his  marriage,  338. 


Lines — to  a  Friend  on  his  Travels,  iii. 

374  ;  to  Mr. >,  378  ;  to  John 

Duke  of  Marlborough,  379  ;  to  Mr. 
Fox,  382  ;  on  seeing  a  portrait  of 
Sir  R.  Wai  pole,  409  ;  on  the  death 
of  Mrs.  Bowles,  410  ;  on  a  man  in 
love,  411  ;  written  under  the  picture 
of  Col.  Churchill.  426 ;  written  at 
Louvere,  in  1736,  431  ;  in  1755, 
432 ;  written  in  a  blank  page  of 
Milton's  Paradise  Lost,  ib. 

Locke,  Mr.,  his  opinion  of  Dr.  Syden- 
ham,  iii.  250. 

London,  gaiety  of,  ii.  162. 188  ;  ladies 
of,  remarks  respecting,  iii.  57. 

"  Lord  Hervey  to  Mr.  Fox,"  a  poem, 
iii.  382. 

Lords,  House  of,  singular  scene  at, 
ii.  249. 

Losi,  Count  Jeronimo,  ii.  445  ;  his 
marriage,  448. 

Louvere,  story  of  an  old  woman  of,  ii. 
440. 

description  of  the  town  of,  ii. 

388  ;  amusements  in,  389  ;  antiqui- 
ties in,  423  ;  town  of,  iii.  14  ;  as- 
sembles in,  58  ;  theatrical  perform- 
ances, 59 ;  butter  introduced  in, 
by  Lady  Mary,  82  ;  letters  from, 
ii.  387.  390.  396.  406.  413.  415. 
421,  422.  424.  426.  430.  433.  435. 
437.  439.  442 ;  iii.  3.  10.  25,  26. 
32.  42.  48.  52.  56.  58.  60.  67.  71. 
75.  77.  78.  84.  86.  90.  92.  96.  99. 
101.  104,  105.  109,  110.  114.  119. 
130. 132. 138.  233. 

Love-letter,  translation  of  a  Turkish, 
ii.  56. 

"  Lover,"  the,  a  ballad,  iii.  407. 

Lowther,  Sir  William,  his  death,  iii. 
132  ;  his  legacies,  ib.  n. 

Mrs.  her  quarrel  with  Lady 

Mary,  ii.  178  ;  anecdote  of,  ib.  n. 

Lumley,  Lady  Anne,  her  projected 
marriage,  ii.  246. 

Lutherans,  follies  of  the,  i.  271. 

Lyons,  letters  from,  ii.  106.  108  ;  in- 
scriptions on  the  town-house  of,  ib  ; 
public  buildings  in,  111. 

M. 

Mackenzie,  James  Stuart,  his  opinion 
of  Lady  Sophia  Fermor,  ii.  272 ; 
notice  of  his  letters  to  Lady  Mary, 
283  ;  his  marriage  with  Lady  Betty 
Campbell,  iii.  90  n  ;  appointed  am- 
bassador to  Turin,  166. 

Lady  Betty,  her  marriage 


INDEX. 


461 


with  James  Stuart  Mackenzie,  iii. 
90  n.;  remarks  respecting  her,  169. 

Madrid,  remarks  on  the  court  of,  ii. 
129. 

Maffei,  Marquis  Scipione,  his  charac- 
ter, iii.  96  ,;  his  works,  99  n. 

Mahometans,  remarks  on  their  reli- 
gion, iii.  35. 

Mahometism,  numerous  sects  of,  i, 
361. 

Mahony,  Count,  his  conversation  with 
Lady  Mary  on  English  politics,  ii. 
336. 

Maids  of  Honour  at  the  court  of  Vi- 
enna, account  of,  i.  291. 

Malta,  account  of,  ii.  94. 

Manchester,  William  Montague,  se- 
cond Duke  of,  married  to  Lady 
Isabella  Montague,  ii.  181  n. 

• Duchess  of,  Lady  Isa- 
bella Montague,  her  intimacy  with 
Lady  Hervey,  ii.  237  ;  anecdote  of, 
263  n. ;  married  to  Mr.  Hussey, 
390  ;  lines  respecting,  391  n. ;  no- 
tice of  her  marriage  with  Mr.  Hus- 
sey, iii.  222  7?. 

Mandeville,  George  Viscount,  at- 
tends the  balls  at  Venice,  iii.  156. 

Manners,  Lady  B.  her  proposed  mar- 
riage with  Mr.  Monkton,  ii.  179. 

Mantua,  Duke  of,  his  palace  at  Ma- 
derna,  ii.  411. 

Mar,  John  Erskine  Earl  of,  secretary 
of  state  for  Scotland,  notice  of  his 
marriage  with  Lady  Frances  Pierre- 
point,  i.  4 ;  notice  of  his  death,  26. 
261. 

Countess,  (Lady  Frances  Pierre- 
point),  letters  to,  from  her  sister 
Lady  Mary,  i.  261.  275.  288.  308. 
310.  314.  320.  325.  332.  372.400  ; 
ii.  43.  98  ;  series  of  letters  to,  dur- 
ing her  residence  at  Paris,  153. 

Marischall,  George  tenth  earl,  notice 
of  his  death,  iii.  253  n. 

Marlborough,  John  first  Duke  of,  re- 
instated in  his  generalship,  i.  107  ; 
his  opinion  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole, 
110  j  lines  respecting,  iii.  379. 

Henrietta,    Duchess  of, 

concerts  given  by,  ii.  162. 

Sarah,  Duchess  of,  her 


attachment  to  Lady  Mary  and  Lady 
Bute,  i.  76;  anecdote  of,  77;  her 
visit  to  the  Princess  of  Wales,  79  ; 
her  family  disputes,  80  ;  her  jokes 
respecting  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  111 ; 
her  intimacy  with  Congreve,  184  n. 
anecdote  of,  ii.  263  n. 


Marriage,  Lady  Mary's  account  of 
a  singular  one,  i.  238  ;  her  answers 
to  La  Rochefoucault's  maxims  on 
the  subject  of,  iii.  336. 

"  Maxims  and  Characters,"  by  Mr. 
Greville,  iii.  147. 

Meredith,  Mary,  notice  of  her  mar- 
riage with  Earl  Ferrers,  iii.  78  n. 

Mildmay,  Benjamin,  married  to  Lady 
Holdernesse,  ii.  167  n.  170. 

Milsington,  Lord,  remarks  on  his  mar- 
riage with  Miss  Noel,  ii.  197. 

Mohun,  Lady,  her  marriage,  i.  381. 

Momus,  notice  of  his  project  of  win- 
dows in  the  breast,  i.  280. 

Moncenigo,  Cavalier  Antonio,  his  ge- 
nerous offer  to  Lady  Mary,  iii. 
142  ;  visits  her,  149  ;  his  palaces  at 
Venice,  149  ;  character  of,  184. 

Montagu,  Duchess  of,  observations 
respecting,  ii.  181. 

Anne  Wortley.  See  Wortley. 

Mr.  Edward  Wortley.    See 

Wortley. 

Lady  Isabella,  married  to 

the  Duke  of  Manchester,  ii.  181  n. 
See  Manchester. 

MONTAGU,  LADY  MARY  WORTLEY, 
error  in  the  "  Walpoliana,"  re- 
specting, i.  2 ;  parentage  of,  3 ; 
remarks  respecting  her  father,  5 ; 
toasted  at  the  Kit-cat  club,  6  ;  re- 
marks on  her  talents,  7  ;  assisted 
in  her  studies  by  Mr.  William  Field- 
ing and  Bishop  Burnet,  8  ;  anec- 
dote of,  10 ;  her  intimate  compa- 
nions, 11,  12;  introduced  to  Mr. 
Edward  Wortley,  16  ;  her  corre- 
spondence with  him,  17  ;  marriage, 
20;  remarks  respecting  her  journal, 
20,  23  ;  her  opinion  of  Wharncliffe 
Lodge,  24  ;  grief  at  the  death  of 
her  brother,  26;  her  facility  of 
writing,  27  ;  her  history  of  Dolly 
Walpole,  28  ;  anecdote  of  herself 
in  her  journal,  38  ;  refutation  of 
the  story  respecting  her  admittance 
into  the  Seraglio,  44  ;  copies  into 
her  diary  the  letters  of  Pope  and 
Congreve  to  her  during  her  travels, 
48  ;  her  gift  to  Mr.  Sowden,  49  ; 
Mistress  Mary  Astelle's  partiality 
for,  50.  52;  "  Ode  to  Friendship" 
addressed  to,  53  ;  remarks  on  her  in- 
troduction of  inoculation,  55 ;  on 
the  clamours  against  it,  56  ;  on  her 
quarrel  with  Pope,  60 ;  her  letters 
to  Dr.  Arbuthnot  respecting  Pope's 
allusions  to  her,  62  n. ;  passage  in  the 


462 


INDEX. 


"  Life  of  Pope"  respecting  her,  63  ; 
her  attachment  to  Lady  Oxford,  65 ; 
intimacy  with  Lord  Hervey,  67  ; 
her  dispute  with  Lady  Hervey  and 
Mrs.  Murray,  i.  70  ;  unjust  impu- 
tations respecting  her,  72;  ob- 
servations on  her  character,  74 ; 
anecdote  of,  75;  her  regard  for 
Henry  Fielding,  82;  comparison 
between  her  and  Madame  de  Se- 
vign6, 87 ;  her  favourite  authors, 89  ; 
notice  of  her  son's  vicious  propen- 
sities, 90 ;  remarks  on  her  residence 
abroad,  92.  95  n.;  her  opinion  of 
Lady  Pomfret,  97  ;  her  account  of 
the  Court  of  George  I.  at  his  succes- 
sion, 107 ;  her  letters,  previous  to 
the  year  1717,  137  ;  to  Mrs.  Anne 
Wortley,  139.  141.  145.  147. 150. 
161,  162;  Mrs.  Wortley's  replies  to, 
143. 151.  153. 160  ;  her  letter  to  the 
Lord  Bishop  of  Salisbury  with  her 
translation  of  Epictetus,  155;  her 
correspondence  with  Mr.  Edward 
Wortley  Montagu,  \6'3etseq. ;  let- 
ters  to,  from  him,  180 ;  her  remarks 
on  the  Bishop  of  Salisbury's  letter, 
200 ;  her  illness,  208  ;  her  un- 
easiness respecting  her  son's  indis- 
position, 211  ;  her  account  of 
George  the  First's  proclamation  in 
York,  214 ;  her  remarks  respecting 
Lord  Pelham,  222  ;  respecting  Sir 
T.Hanmer,224;  remarks  on  authors, 
243;  her  opinion  of  Madame  de 
Noyer's  "  Memoirs,"  245  ;  remarks 
on  the  Duke  of  Leeds,  253  ;  her  par- 
tiality for  travelling,  254 ;  preface 
to  her  letters  during  Mr.  Wort- 
ley  Montagu's  embassy,  257  ;  her 
description  of  the  town  and  inha- 
bitants of  Rotterdam,  262  ;  of  the 
travelling  iu  Holland,  264;  her 
comparison  between  the  towns  of 
Nimeguen  and  Nottingham,  265  ; 
arrives  at  Cologne,  267  ;  descrip- 
tion of  the  Jesuits'  church  in,  268  ; 
comparison  between  free  towns  and 
those  under  the  government  of  ab- 
solute princes,  269  ;  remarks  on  the 
laws  in  Nuremburg,  270;  on  the 
follies  of  the  Roman  Catholic  re- 
ligion, 271  ;  on  the  society  in 
Ratisbon,  273  ;  arrives  at  Vienna, 
275  ;  description  of  that  town,  276  ; 
visits  Count  Schiinbrunn,  278  ;  let- 
ter to,  from  Pope,  279  ;  description 
of  the  opera  at  Vienna,  285 ;  of  a 
German  comedy,  286 ;  presented  at 


court,  288  ;  description  of  the  Em- 
press of  Austria,  289  ;  waits  on  the 
Empress  mother,  291 ;  visits  the 
Dowager  Empress  Amelia,  292  ;  re- 
marks on  the  singular  customs  in 
Vienna,  294 ;  description  of  the  con- 
vents in,  303  ;  of  the  Imperial  cabi- 
net, 307  ;  remarks  on  the  town  of 
Prague,  309 ;  description  of  the  town 
of  Dresden,  311 ;  her  account  of  the 
Countess  of  Cozelle,  312 ;  descrip- 
tion of  Leipzig,  314  ;  notice  of  her 
conversation  with  Prince  George, 
(afterwards  George  II.)  316;  her 
remarks  on  the  ladies  of  Hanover, 
318  ;  her  attachment  to  the  Empress 
of  Austria,  319  ;  visits  the  Duchess 
of  Blankenburg,  320 ;  description  of 
Hanover,  321  ;  of  the  climate  of 
Vienna,  324 ;  takes  leave  of  the 
Empress  of  Austria,  325 ;  her  re- 
gret on  leaving  Vienna,  327  ;  her 
character  of  the  Prince  of  Portugal, 
328  ;  letter  to,  from  Pope,  329 ; 
her  reply,  331 ;  arrives  at  Peter- 
waradin,  332 ;  description  of  the 
town  of  Raab,  333  ;  remarks  on  the 
Emperor  Leopold,  334  ;  account  of 
the  city  of  Buda,  335 ;  of  the  in- 
habitants of  Hungary,  337;  de- 
scription of  the  town  of  Essek,  338  ; 
remarks  on  the  Hungarian  ladies, 
339  ;  letter  from  Pope  to,  340 ;  her 
reply,  344  ;  account  of  the  town  of 
Belgrade,  346  ;  remarks  respecting 
Achmet  Bey,  348  ;  describes  her 
journey  to  Adrianople  to  the  Princess 
of  Wales,  350  ;  account  of  the  op- 
pression of  the  inhabitants  of  Servia, 
351  ;  description  of  the  baths  in 
Sophia,  354  ;  veracity  of  her  state- 
ments questioned,  358 n.;  remarks 
on  the  extortions  in  Servia,  359 ; 
on  teeth-money,  360  ;  her  conver- 
sation with  Achmet  Bey,  361 ;  her 
remarks  on  religion,  362,  363 ;  on 
the  government  of  Turkey,  367  ; 
her  opinion  of  the  Grand  Signior, 
369 ;  of  the  French  embassadress, 
ib. ;  observations  on  the  Janisaries, 
370;  description  of  her  Turkish 
dress,  372 ;  her  opinion  of  the 
beauty  of  the  Turkish  ladies,  374  ; 
of  their  freedom,  375  ;  letter  to, 
from  Pope,  377  ;  account  of  Turk- 
ish amusements,  384;  customs, 
385  ;  of  the  language,  387  ;  her 
versification  of  some  Turkish  poetry, 
388.  390;  remarks  on  the  plague, 


INDEX. 


463 


393  ;  her  opinion  of  the  practice  of 
ingrafting  for  the  small-pox,  395 ; 
description  of  the  Turkish  animals 
and  birds,  396,  397  j  of  the  Turkish 
houses,  398  ;  harems,  399;  chiosks, 
401  ;  dines  with  the  Grand  Vizier's 
lady,  ii.  3  ;  description  of  her  enter- 
tainment, 5  ;    visits  the   Kiyiiya's 
harem,  6  ;    account  of  her  recep- 
tion,   7 ;   her   opinion  of    Turkish 
music,     10 ;    account  of  Adriano- 
ple,   12  ;  of  the  procession  on  the 
Grand  Signior's   taking  the  com- 
mand of  the  army  in  person,  15  ; 
of  the    mosque  of  Sultan  Selim  I. 
17  ;    her   journey  to  Constantino- 
ple, 21  ;  of  the   burying-fields  in, 
24  ;  her  collection  of  Greek  medals, 
26 ;  her  amusements  at  Belgrade, 
29 ;    letter   to,    from    Pope,    30 ; 
account  of  the  Greek  slaves,  35 ; 
opinion  of  the  Balm  of  Mecca,  37  ; 
birth  of  the  Countess  of  Bute,  44  ; 
visits  the  Sultana  Hafiten,  ib.  ;  ac- 
count of  her  reception,  46  ;  enter- 
tainment, 48  ;  visits  Fatima,  the  ki- 
yaya's  lady,  52  ;  her  translation  of  a 
Turkish  love-letter,    56;   different 
nations  am  ong  her  servants,  58 ; 
description  of  Constantinople,  60  ; 
of  the  seraglio  and  mosques  in,  61 ; 
of  the  exchanges,  65  ;  account  of  the 
dervises,  67  ;  of  the  reception  of  a 
Turkish  bride  in  the  baths  of  Con- 
stantinople, 71  ;  of  the  murder  of  a 
Turkish   female,  72  ;    her  account 
of  a  Spanish  lady   married   to    a 
Turk  of,  73  ;  her  opinion  of  adop- 
tion, 75  ;  account  of  the  Armeni- 
ans, 76 ;  visits  Calcedpnia,  80 ;  de- 
scribes  the  Grand  Vizier's  house, 
ib. ;  her  journey  from  Constantino- 
ple to  Tunis,   84 ;   description    of 
Tunis,  95;  of  the  ruins  of  Carthage, 
97  ;  account  of  Genoa,  99;  of  Ce- 
cisbeos,   100  ;   of  the  public  build- 
ings in  Genoa,  102  ;  description  of 
Turin,    104  ;  of  her  journey  from 
thence  to  Lyons,  106  ;  her  opinion 
of  French  statues,  111  ;  her  illness, 
1 12  ;  description  of  Paris,  113  ;  her 
opinion  of  the  French  ladies,  115; 
of  the  king,  117  ;  of  Paris,  118  ;  her 
dangerous  passage  to  Dover,  119; 
letter  to,  from  Pope,  121 ;  her  epi- 
taph to  the  memory  of  John  He  wit 
and  Sarah  Drew,  127  ;  letters  from 
the  edition  of  her  works  published 
in  1789,  128 ;  her  remarks  on  the 


court  of  Madrid,  129 ;  her  acquaint- 
ance  with   Rousseau,    130 ;  visit 
Prince  Eugene,   131  ;   account   of 
the    Imperialists  taking  Belgrade, 
133;  remarks  on  the  Turks,  134; 
on  Mr.  Addison  being  appointed 
secretary    of  state,    135;    on  the 
"  Iliad"  and  the  "  Odyssey,"  137  ; 
remarks  on  the  French  people,  138  ; 
on  the  Turkish  religion,  141  ;  con- 
versation  with    an    Effendi,   144 ; 
on  the    intermarriages  of  different 
nations,  145  ;  letters  to,    from  the 
Countess  of  Pembroke,  146.  148  ; 
her  letters  to  the  Countess  of  Mar 
at  Paris,   153  ;  remarks  respecting 
Lord  Clare,  154;  respecting   Lord 
Wharton,  155  ;    inoculation,    ib. ; 
quarrel  between  her  and  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray, 158  ;  her  observations  on  Lady 
Lansdowne,  160  ;  on  her  daughter, 
ib. ;  coolness  between  her  and  the 
Duchess  of  Marlborough,  162  ;  her 
opinion  of  Lady  J.  W barton's  mar- 
riage with  Mr.  Holt,  165  ;  of  the 
committee  of  Schemers,  168  ;  of  the 
marriage  of  Lady  Holdernesse  with 
Mr.  Mildmay,  170;  account  of  the 
murder   of  Lord    Finch's  brother, 
173  ;  her  esteem  for  the  Duchess  of 
Montagu,  178  ;  remarks  respecting 
Mrs.  Louther,  ib. ;    her  regret  for 
the  death    of  her    uncle  William 
Fielding,  185 ;  her  opinion  of  the 
letters  of  Madame  de  Sevigne,  188; 
her  taste  for  hunting,  189 ;  acquaint- 
ances, 194, 195 ;  remarks  on  the  im- 
provements at  Twickenham,  200  ; 
on  the  death  of  Lord  Carleton,  ib. ; 
on  her  father's  death,  203 ;  quarrel 
with  Mrs.  Murray,  205  ;    her  opi- 
nion of  the  young  Duke  of  Kingston, 
209 ;  remarks  on  Henry  Pelham's 
marriage,  212;   on  the  coronation 
of  George  II,  215;  description  of 
Lady  Orkney,  216  ;  her  grief  for 
her  son's  conduct,  225 ;  series  of 
her    letters  to  Lady  Pomfret,   231 
et  seq. ;  remarks  on  the  riots  in  Wilt- 
shire, 238  ;   her  account  of  Lady 
Harriet  Herbert,  244  ;  of  a  singular 
scene  at  the  House  of  Lords,  248  ; 
her  projected  journey  to  Italy,  250  ; 
arrives  at  Turin,  251  ;  opinion  of 
Lord  Lempster,  252  ;   of  Venice, 
253 ;  description  of  the  amusements 
in,  255  ;  remarks  on  Lord  Scarbo- 
rough's death,  262;  on  her  acquaint- 
ance with  Miss  Skerritt,  264 ;  on  the 


464 


INDEX. 


Italian  manners,  266 ;  her  conversa- 
tion with  Sir  Henry  Englefield,  267  ; 
remarks  on  the  regatta  at  Venice, 
ib-,  her  account  of  the  monastery 
of  La  Trappe,  275  ;  of  the  burning 
mountain  near  Fierenzuelo,   276 ; 
her  residence  at  Rome,  282  ;   re- 
marks   on   Mr.  Mackenzie,    283 ; 
arrives   at  Naples,    285;   opinion 
of  the  opera  in,  ib. ;  of  the  Nea- 
politans,   286;    her    residence    at 
Chamberry,  293  ;  her  intimacy  with 
the  Marquis  of  Beaufort,  295  ;  her 
pavilion  at  Avignon,  300.  370  ;  her 
letters  to  Mr.  Wortley  during  her  se- 
cond residence  abroad,  307  et  seq. ; 
his  replies,  309.  311.  346  ;  arrives 
at  Dover,  307  ;  at  Calais,  308  ;  at 
Dijon,  309  ;  remarks  on  that  town, 
310  j  her  interview  with  Lord  Car- 
lisle,  312  ;  visits  the  Borroroean 
library  at  Milan,  314  ;  her  acquaint- 
ances  at  Venice,  315;    attention 
paid  to,  by  the  inhabitants  of,  318  ; 
her  description  of  the  regatta,  319  ; 
her  opinion  of  Florence,  325  ;  ar- 
rives at  Rome,   326;    at  Naples, 
328 ;  remarks  on  the  Pope,  329  ; 
on  the  discovery  of  Herculaneum, 
330. 331  ;  arrives  at  Leghorn,  334  ; 
remarks  on  the  court  of  Rome,  ib.  ; 
on  English  politics,  336 ;  her  re- 
sidence at  Genoa,  338  ;  remarks  on 
the  inhabitants  of,  340  ;  arrives  at 
Geneva,  341  ;    her  opinion  of  the 
English  ministry,  343  ;  of  the  town 
of    Chamberry,    344;   of   Turkish 
wheat,  345  ;  remarks  respecting  her 
son,    352.  355.  356.    358,    359; 
account  of  him,  360  ;  conversation 
with  him,  362. 365 ;  inscription  for 
her   pavilion    at    Avignon,     370 ; 
account   of  the   nobility  at   Avi- 
gnon, 371  ;  remarks  on  the  town, 
372 ;  intercedes  with  the  Duke  of 
Richelieu    for   the    protestants    of 
Nismes,  374  ;  notice  of  her  letter 
to  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  375;  her 
journey  to  Brescia,  382.  384  ;   her 
illness   386  ;    her  opinion  of  the 
town    of    Gotolengo,    405 ;    des- 
cription of  her  residence  at  Salo, 
409  ;    remarks    on    the    Duke  of 
Mantua's     palace     at    Maderna, 
411;    account    of    Signor    Laura 
Bono,  416;   her  opinion   of  Lady 
Orford,    431.    433;    her    account 
of   the   old    woman    of    Louvere, 


440 ;  story  related  by,  442 ;  her 
opinion  of  Lady  Vane's  "  Me- 
moirs," iii.  5  ;  journey  to  Louvere, 
11 ;  description  of  the  town,  14 ;  of  her 
residence  there,  15  ;  her  opinion  of 
Dean  Swift,  16.  18  ;  of  Lady  Belle 
Finch,  22  ;  of  Clarissa  Harlowe, 
23 ;  her  amusements,  27  ;  quarrel 
with  Cardinal  Querini,  28  ;  remarks 
on  her  reported  publications,  30 ; 
her  opinion  of  Richardson,  32  ;  her 
aversion  to  controversial  disputes, 
33 ;  remarks  on  religion,  34 ;  on 
Richardson's  works,  38.  40 ;  opi- 
nion of  his  projected  establish- 
ment of  an  English  monastery,  41 ; 
observations  on  education,  49. 52  ; 
on  the  death  of  the  Doge  of  Ve- 
nice, 56;  on  the  assemblies  in 
Louvere,  58 ;  theatrical  perform- 
ances at  her  residence  there,  59  ; 
observations  on  the  English  at 
Rome,  61  ;  intimacy  with  Cardinal 
Querini,  63  ;  description  of  her  re- 
sidence, 67  ;  her  amusements,  69  ; 
remarks  on  Lady  Carolina  Pierre- 
point's  death,  71 ;  on  Lord  Corn- 
bury's,  73 ;  description  of  her  garden, 
75 ;  her  ill  health,  77  ;  her  letter 
to  Mr.  Wortley,  78  ;  remarks  on  the 
society  in  London,  80 ;  her  intro- 
duction of  butter  at  Louvere,  82 ; 
visits  a  nunnery,  ib.  ;  her  opinion 
of  Sir  James  Steuart,  88  ;  of  Joseph 
Smith,  consul  at  Venice,  89  ;  re- 
marks on  Mr.  Mackenzie's  marriage, 
90 ;  on  the  rage  for  play,  91  ;  her 
opinion  of  the  Rambler,  92  ;  of 
Mr.  Fielding,  93 ;  character  of  the 
Marquis  Maffei,  96;  her  affec- 
tion for  her  grandchildren,  101  ; 
her  letter  to  Mr.  Wortley,  102  ; 
her  opinion  of  Lord  Bolingbroke's 
writings,  ib.  115;  of  Lord  Or- 
rery's, 103  ;  of  Dr.  Tobias  Smol- 
lett, 104 ;  regrets  the  death  of  Car- 
dinal Querini,  107 ;  remarks  on 
Lady  Mary  Coke,  108  ;  account  of 
an  assassination,  112;  her  opinion  of 
Madame  deSevigne's  writings,  115  ; 
remarks  on  Bolingbroke's  character, 
117  ;  her  opinion  of  the  "  Essay  on 
Exile,"  118;  remarks  on  H.  Field- 
ing's death,  120  ;  her  opinion  of  the 
"  Cry,"  121  ;  of  Richardson,  123  ; 
account  of  the  Marchioness  Benti- 
voglio,  126 :  letter  to,  from  Mr.  Wort- 
ley,  130;  remarks  on  Sir  William 


INDEX. 


465 


Lowther's  death,  132  ;  verses  writ- 
ten by,  published  by  Dodsley,  136 ; 
her  vexation,  ib. ;  dialogue  between 
her  and  Sir  William  Young  in 
Dodsley's  Collection  of  Poems,  ib. 
n. ;  her  remarks  on  manufactures 
at  Venice,  iii.  137  ;  on  the  progress 
of  knowledge,  139  ;  on  old  age, 
141 ;  on  Lord  Feversham's  mar- 
riage, 142  ;  on  her  friend  Antonio's 
generosity,  ib.-  on  her  amusements, 
145;  on  Lord  Roseberry,  146; 
her  opinion  of  Mr.  Pitt  first  Earl  of 
Chatham,  147  ;  visited  by  Cavalier 
Antonio  Mocenigo,149 ;  her  remarks 
on  Venice,  151  jonMr.  Adam,  152  ; 
comparison  respecting  the  changes 
in  administration,  153  ;  her  opinion 
of  English  ambassadors,  155  ;  of 
Mr.  Oliver,  157  ;  remarks  on  Mr. 
Murray,  ib.  158;  on  Sir  Charles 
Williams,  160 ;  her  gratitude  to 
Bishop  Burnet,  164;  her  opinion 
of  Sir  Wyndham  Knatchbull,  165 ; 
her  grief  for  Lord  Carlisle's  death, 
167 ;  her  intimacy  with  Mr.  Wai- 
pole,  168  ;  remarks  on  Lady  Betty 
Mackenzie,  169  ;  on  the  death  of 
Pope  Benedict  XIV,  ib ;  her 
opinion  of  Lady  Irwin,  170 ; 
remarks  on  the  amusements  in 
Venice,  173 ;  her  attachment  to 
Sir  James  and  Lady  Frances  Steuart, 
175;  opinion  of  Venice,  178;  re- 
marks on  Lord  Leicester's  death, 
179 ;  on  her  residence  in  Venice, 
180  ;  her  friendship  for  Signor  An- 
tonio Mocenigo,  184  ;  remarks  re- 
specting Sir  John  Rawdon,  185; 
on  the  Italian  government,  189; 
on  Lady  Elizabeth  Bentinck's  mar- 
riage with  Viscount  Weymouth, 
192  ;  her  character  of  Sir  Wynd- 
ham Knatchbull,  ib.  ;  her  opinion 
of  the  use  of  assemblies,  195  ;  re- 
marks on  the  death  of  George  II, 
196  ;  her  opinion  of  Smollett's  and 
Shebbeare's  works,  199  ;  remarks 
on  Mr.  Murray's  conduct  towards 
her,  ib. ;  on  Lord  Bute's  appoint- 
ments at  the  accession  of  George 
111,  200 ;  on  Mr.  Cunningham, 
201  ;  opinion  of  Lord  Goring, 
206  ;  complaints  respecting  Mrs. 
Hay,  207  ;  her  remarks  on  Lady 
Euston,  211  ;  on  the  refugees 
in  Avignon,  226  ;  her  amuse- 
ments at  Brescia,  230 ;  her  opi- 


nion of  the  waters  of  Louvere,  233  ; 
of  Lady  Pawlet's  second  marriage, 
236  ;  her  observations  on  witch- 
craft, 244  ;  her  dislike  of  a  court 
life,  247  ;  her  rusticity,  248  ;  re- 
marks on  hysterics,  iii.  249 ;  her  opi- 
nion of  Dr.  Sydenham,  ib. ;  her  in- 
timacy with  the  family  of  Pope  Cle- 
ment XIII.  250 ;  her  amusements 
at  Padua,  251  ;  remarks  on  suicide, 
255  ;  on  her  eyesight,  258  ;  anec- 
dotes related  by,  259,  260,  261  ; 
her  opinion  of  the  Scottish  nation, 

262 ;  her  remarks  on  Dr.  J 's 

death,  263  ;  ner  translation  of  the 
Enchiridion  of  Epictetus,  297  ; 
defence  of  her  conduct  against  the 
insinuations  of  Horace  Wai  pole 
and  others,  448. 

Montagu,  Mr.  Sidney  Wortley,  re- 
marks respecting,  i.  13.  n. 

Moon,  hymn  to  the,  iii.  413. 

Morpeth,  Lord,  remarks  respecting,  ii. 
244.  n.  312. 

Mosques — description  of  that  built  by 
Selim  I,  ii.  18  ;  of  St.  Sophia,  61  ; 
of  Sultan  Solyman,  63;  other 
mosques,  ib. 

Mountstuart,  Lord,  afterwards  first 
Marquis  of  Bute,  his  illness,  iii.  85. 

Mummies,  curious  adventure  of  one 
in  Turkey,  ii.  27. 

Murray,  Mr.  afterwards  Lord  Mans- 
field, married  to  Lady  Betty  Finch, 
ii.  234  n. ;  notice  of  his  death  at 
Venice,  iii.  89  n. 

Mr.  English  resident  at 

Vienna,  Lady  Mary's  remarks  re- 
specting, iii.  157  ;  remarks  on  his 
conduct  towards  Lady  Mary,  199. 

Mrs.  (Griselda  Baillie),  her 

dispute  with  Lady  Mary,  i.  70  ;  ii. 
158. 205. 

N. 

Naples,  opera  in,  ii.  285  ;  mild  cli- 
mate of,  329;  letters  from,  285. 
328,  329. 

Neapolitans,  Lady  Mary's  opinion  of 
the,  ii.  286. 

Nimeguen,  comparison  between  the 
town  of,  and  Nottingham,  i.  265  ; 
letters  from,  ib. 

Nismes,  Lady  Mary's  intercession  for 
the  Protestants  in,  ii.  374. 

Noel,  Biddy,  remarks  on  her  mar- 
riage with  Lord  Milsington,  ii.  197. 


466 


INDEX. 


Northampton,  Charles  Compton  four- 
teenth Earl  of,  character  of,  iii. 
178. 

Northumberland,  Duchess,  her  will, 
ii.241. 

Nottingham,  comparison  between  that 
town  and  Nimeguen,  i.  265. 

Noyer,  Madame  de,  opinions  of  her 
"  Memoirs,"  i.  245. 

Nunnery,  description  of  one,  in  the 
State  of  Mantua,  iii.  82. 

Nuremberg,  letter  from,  i.  269 ;  re- 
marks on  the  laws  in,  270. 


O. 

Octavia,  story  of,  ii.  443  ;  her  mar- 
riage, 448. 

"  Ode  to  Friendship,"  by  Mistress 
Mary  Astell,  i.  53. 

Oliver,  Mr.,  Lady  Mary's  opinion  of, 
iii.  157. 

"  On  seeing  a  Portrait  of  Sir  Robert 
Walpole,"  a  poem,  iii.  409. 

Orford,  Robert  Walpole  second  Earl 
of,  his  death,  ii.  338  ;  his  will, 
339. 

Lady,  observations  of,  ii. 

425 ;  notice  of  her  second  mar- 
riage, 431.433. 

Orkney,  Lady,  description  of  her 
dress  at  George  II.'s  coronation,  ii. 
216  ;  remarks  respecting  her,  ib.  n. 

Oropesa,  Count,  ii.  129. 

Orrery,  Lord,  character  of  his  works, 
iii.  16,  17 ;  Lady  Mary's  opinion 
ot,  102. 

Oxford,  Edward  Harley  second  Earl 
of  that  family,  notice  of  his  mar- 
riage with  Henrietta  Cavendish 
Holies,  ii.  205  n. 

Henrietta,  Countess  of,  her 

attachment  to  Lady  Mary,  i.  66  ; 
notice  of  her  marriage,  iii.  205 ; 
letters  to,  205  to  236. 


P. 


Padoua,  rejoicings  in,  to  celebrate  the 
election  of  Cardinal  Rezzonico  to 
the  papal  chair,  iii.  169 ;  letters 
from,  136.  140.  148.  157.  159. 
163.  169.181.183.200. 

Palaces — at  Vienna,  i.  276  ;  at  Ha- 
nover, 316 ;  palaces  of  the  Grand 
Vizier  at  Calcedonia,  ii.  80;  at 


Genoa,  102;  at  Fontainebleau, 
113;  at  Versailles,  116;  near 
Salo,  408;  at  Aiaderna,  411. 

Palazzo,  Countess,  her  attention  to 
Lady  Mary,  ii.  387. 

Palfi,  Count,  notice  of  his  retaking 
the  town  of  Raab,  i.  333. 

Paris,  Lady  Mary's  opinion  of,  ii. 
118  ;  letters  from,  113.  116. 

Pasha,  Ibrahim,  verses  addressed  by, 
to  the  Sultan  Achmet's  eldest 
daughter,  i.  387. 

Paulines,  religion  of  the,  i.  363. 

Pawlet,  Lady  N.  (Lady  Isabella  Tuf- 
ton),  notice  of  her  second  marriage, 
iii.  236  n. 

Pelham,  Thomas  Lord,  (afterwards 
Duke  of  Newcastle,)  Lady  Mary's 
remarks  respecting,  i.  222  ;  married 
to  Lady  Catherine,  daughter  of 
the  Duke  of  Rutland,  ii.  212  n.  ; 
death  of  his  sons,  317  n. 

.i  Hon.    Margaret,  remarks  re- 

specting her  marriage,  ii.  182. 

Pembroke,  Thomas  Herbert  eighth 
Earl  of  that  family,  anecdote  of, 
ii.  147  7i. 

Mary  Countess  of,  her  let- 
ters to  Lady  Mary,  ii.  146. 148. 

Pera  of  Constantinople,  letters  from, 
ii.  40.  43.  55. 

Peterborough,  Charles  Mordaunt  third 
Earl  of,  notice  of  his  marriage  and 
death,  ii.  167  n. 

Peterwaradin,  letter  from,  i.  332. 

Pierrepoint,  Lord  Gervase,  account 
of,  i.  200  n. 

• —  Lady  Carolina,  her  death, 
iii.  71  ;  notice  of  her  marriage  with 
Mr.  Thomas  Brand,  ib.  n. 

Lady  Frances,   married 

to  Earl  Mar,  i.  26.  See  Mar, 
Countess 


[y  Mary .  See  Montagu . 
• William,  remarks  on  his 

adherence  to  the  parliament,  i.  5. 
Pietro  Grimani,  Doge  of  Venice,  his 

death,  iii.  56  ;  his  character,  57. 
Pinkerton,  Mr.  error  in  his  "  Wal- 

poliana,"  respecting  Lady   Mary, 

i.  2. 
Pitt,  Mr.  first  Earl  of  Chatham,  Lady 

Mary's  opinion  of,  iii.  147. 
Mrs.    Anne,  appointed  to    the 

place  of  privy  purse  to  the  Princess 

Dowager  of  Wales,  iii.  77  n. 
Plague  in  Turkey,  exaggerated  stories 

respecting,  i.  393. 


INDEX. 


467 


Platen,  Countess  of,  account  of,  i. 
115  ;  introduces  Mr.  Craggs  to  the 
elector,  119;  created  Countess  of 
Darlington,  ii.  158  n. 

Poems,  iii.  350. 

Polygamy  in  Turkey,  i.  377. 

Pomfret,  Lady  Henrietta  Louisa, 
series  of  Lady  Mary's  letters  to,  ii. 
231  ;  account  of,  314  n. 

Pope,  Mr.  his  quarrel  with  Lady 
Mary,  i.  60  ;  character  of  his  cor- 
respondence with  her,  61  ;  Lady 
Mary's  letters  respecting  his  allu- 
sions to  her,  62  n. ;  passage 
respecting  him  in  Dr.  Johnson's 
"  Life  of  Pope,"  63  ;  his  epitaph 
to  the  memory  of  John  Hewet 
and  Sarah  Drew,  ii.  125  ;  his  house 
at  Twickenham,  156  ;  his  love  of 
money,  iii.  19;  his  death,  210; 
notice  of  his  will,  213  :  letters  to, 
i.  284.  305.  331.  344.  382;  ii.  28. 
108.  126.  132.  137  :  his  replies,  i. 
279.  329.  340.  377  ;  ii.  30.  121. 
Portland,  William  second  Duke  of, 
married  to  Margaret  Cavendish,  iii. 
205. 

Lady,  anecdote  of,  ii.  216  n. 

Portugal,   Prince  of,    Lady  Mary's 

character  of,  i.  328. 
Poultney,  Mrs.  ii.  179. 
Prague,  letter  from,  i.  308  ;  remarks 

respecting  the  town  of,  309. 
Proby,  Mrs.  ii.  181. 
Puebla,  General,  ii,  129. 


Q. 

Queensberry,  Duchess  of,  anecdote  of, 
ii.  248  ;  death  of  her  son,  iii.  106. 

Querini,  Cardinal  Angelo  Maria, 
character  of,  iii.  28  ;  works  publish- 
ed by,  ib.  n.  63  ;  his  friendship  for 
Lady  Mary,  64  ;  his  death,  107  ; 
his  charitable  foundations,  ib, ; 
medals  and  statues  to  his  memory, 
108. 

R. 

Raab,  description  of  the  town  of,  i. 

333. 
Ramazan  or  Lent,  Turkish  manner  of 

keeping,  ii.  94. 
"  Rambler,"    Lady   Mary's    opinion 

of  the,  iii.  92. 
Ratisbon,  letter  from,  i.  272  ;  relicks 

in  the  churches  in,  274. 
Rawdon,  Sir  John,  afterwards  Earl  of 


Moira,  remarks  respecting  him,  iii. 
185  ;  created  an  Irish  peer,  ib.  n. ; 
anecdote  of,  186. 
Regatta  at  Venice,  ii.  267. 319. 
Religion — of  the  Turks,  i.  361  ;  cha- 
racter of  the  Alcoran,  362  ;  religion 
of  the  Paulines,  363  ;  of  the  Ar- 
naouts,   ib. ;    peculiarities   of   the 
Turkish,  ii.  24. 
Resingade,    Mr.  his  correspondence 

with  Lady  Mary,  i.  235. 
Rezzonico,    Cardinal.    See    Clement 

XIII. 

Rich,  Lady,  anecdote  of,  i.  75  ;  ac- 
count of,  267  n. ;  letters  to,  ib. 
294.  317.  322.  353  ;  ii.  11.  55. 
113. 

Richardson,  Mr.,  Lady  Mary's  cri- 
ticisms upon  his  novels,  iii.  32.  38. 
40.  123  ;  his  notions  of  morality, 
39  ;  his  project  of  an  English  mo- 
nastery, 41. 

Richelieu,  Duke  of,  governor  of  Lan- 
guedoc,  entertainment  in  honour  of 
ii.  373  ;  his  conversation  with  Lady 
Mary,  374. 

Riots  in  Wiltshire,  ii.  238  n. 
Robinson,  Mrs.  Anastasia,   married 

to  Lord  Peterborough,  ii.  167. 
Robotun,  Mr.  a  French  refugee,  Lord 

Townshend's  reception  of,  i.  109. 
Rodrigue,  D.  ii.  210. 
Rome,  statue  of  Antinous  in,  ii.  327 
concourse  of  English  in,  iii.  61  ; 
letters  from,  ii.  283.  287.  326,  327. 
332. 

Romney,  Lady,  ii.  161. 
Roseberry,  James  Primrose  Earl  of, 
visits  Lady  Mary  at  Louvere,  iii. 
146. 

Rotterdam,   description  of  the  town 
and  inhabitants  of,  i.  262 ;  letter 
from,  261. 
Rousseau,  his  acquaintance  with  Lady 

Mary,  ii.  130. 

Roxburgh,  Duchess  of,  the  Roxana 
of  Lady  Mary's  Town  Eclogues, 
ii.  161. 

"Royal  and  Noble  Authors,'*  by 
Mr.  Horace  Walpole,  notice  of, 
iii.  167  ;  character  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth in,  168. 

Rudel,  Jeffery,  story  of,  ii.  33. 
Russel,   Dr.   his    doubts    respecting 
the  veracity  of  Lady  Mary's  state- 
ments, i.  358  n. 
Rutland,  Duchess  of,  married  to  her 

attorney,  ii.  228. 

Rycaut,  Sir  Paul,  character  of  his 
account  of  Turkey,  i.  362. 


468 


INDEX. 


S. 


"  St.  James's  Coffee  House,"  a  poem, 
iii.  353. 

St.  Lawrence,  convent  of,  in  Vienna, 
miraculous  head  of  our  Saviour  in, 
i.  303 ;  dress  of  the  nuns  of,  ib. ; 
interesting  nun  in,  304. 

church  of,  in  Genoa,  ii. 

103. 

St.  Lawrence,  fair  of,  in  Paris,  ii.  114. 

St.  Sophia,  description  of  the  mosque 
of,  ii.62. 

Salisbury,  Lord  Bishop  of.  See  Burnet. 

Salo,  description  of  Lady  Mary*s  re- 
sidence at,  ii.  408. 

Sandys,  Mr.  ii.  87.  90. 

Saxony,  Electoral  Prince  of,  visits 
Venice,  ii.  258.  318  ;  entertain- 
ments in  honour  of,  319. 

S.  C.  Mrs.  letters  to,  i.  265.  392. 

Scamander  river,  account  of,  ii.  88. 

Scarborough,  Richard  Lumley,  second 
Earl  of,  account  of  his  death,  ii. 
262  ;  Lady  Kingston's  attachment 
to,  263  71. 

Schemers,  committee  of,  Lady  Mary's 
opinion  of,  ii.  168. 

Schlick,  Count,  high  chancellor  of 
Bohemia,  ii.  129. 

Schbnbrunn,  Count,  description  of  his 
palace,  i.  278. 

Schoolmaster,  curious  bedchamber  of 
a  Turkish,  ii.  23. 

Schulenberg,  Mademoiselle,  created 
Duchess  of  Kendal,  i.  ib.  See 
Kendal,  Duchess  ^f. 

Scio,  island  of,  inhabitants  of.  ii,  91. 

Selivica,  Greek  church  in,  ii.  22. 

Seraglio,  in  Constantinople,  ii.  61. 

Servia,  inhabitants  of,  account  of  the 
oppression  of,  i.  351.  359. 

Sevigne,  Madame  de,  comparison  be- 
tween and  Lady  Mary,  i.  87  ;  opi- 
nion of  her  writings,  iii.  115. 

Shebbeare,  Mr.  remarks  on  his  works, 
iii.  199. 

Shirley,  Mr.  remarks  respecting,  iii.  6. 

Skerret,  Miss,  (afterwards  wife  of 
Robert  Walpole  first  Earl  of  Or- 
ford,)  her  visit  to  Lady  Marv,  ii. 
193. 

•  Mrs.  letter  to,  from  Lady 

Mary,  i.  263. 

Slaves,  remarks  respecting,  ii.  35.  66. 

Small-pox,  Turkish  practice  of  in- 
grafting for  the,  i.  393.  See  Ino- 
culation* 


Smith,  Joseph,  Esq.  English  Consul 
at  Venice,  his  collection  of  paint- 
ings and  gems,  iii.  89,  n. 

Smollett,  Dr.  Tobias,  account  of  his 
works,  iii.  104  n. ;  notice  of  his 
death,  ib. ;  Lady  Mary's  opinion 
of  his  works,  199. 

Sobieski,  Princess,  her  tragical  death, 
ii.  335. 

Sommers,  John  first  Lord,  death  of, 
i.  227. 

Sophia,  Princess,  anecdote  of,  i.  40. 

St.  description  of  the  town  of, 

i.  352  ;  baths  in,  354. 

Spanish  lady,  story  of  one  married  to 
a  Turk,  ii.  73. 

Stafford,  Lady  Claude  Charlotte,  cha- 
racter of,  ii.  217  ;  notice  of  her 
marriage,  ib.  n. 

Stair,  Earl  of,  his  attachment  to  Lady 
Walpole,  ii.  189. 

Stan  ton,  Mrs.  her  death,  iii.  226. 

Stapleton,  J.  his  duel  with  Mr.  Cook, 
ii.  196. 

"  State  of  Party  at  the  accession  of 
George  I,"  Mr.  Edward  Wortley's 
account  of,  i.  125. 

Steele,  Sir  Richard,  comparison  be- 
tween him  and  H.  Fielding,  iii. 
121. 

Steuart,  Sir  James,  arrives  at  Lou- 
vere,  iii.  88;  letters  to,  241.  243. 
248.  254.  256.  289. 

Lady  Frances,  letters  to,  iii. 

246.  262.  291.  293. 

Stewart,  Hon.  George,  killed  at  Ti- 
conderago,  iii.  253  n. 

Strafford,  William  Wentworth  fourth 
Earl  of,  character  of,  ii.  333. 

Stuart,  Lord  Dudley  Coutts,  MSS.  in 
the  possession  of,  i.  284  n. 

William,  late  Primate  of  Ire- 
land, remarkable  passage  in  the  life 
of,  i.  58. 

Lady  Mary,  remarks  respect- 
ing, ii.  430. 

Sturgis,  Mr.  ii.  286. 288. 

Suicide,  observations  on,  iii.  255. 

Sultan  Solyman,  description  of  the 
mosque  of,  ii.  63. 

Sundon,  Lady,  her  illness,  ii.  235  ; 
account  of  her,  ib. 

Swartzenburg,  Count,  notice  of  his 
retaking  the  town  of  Raab,  i.  333. 

Swift,  Dean,  ballad  in  his  works,  ii. 
172  ;  his  love  of  flattery,  iii.  16.  18. 

Sydenham,  Dr.  remarks  respecting 
him,  iii.  249. 


INDEX. 


469 


T. 

Tarrocco,  Count,   Lady  Mary's  opi- 
nion of,  ii.  132. 
TchiorlCi,  seraglio  in,  ii.  21. 
Teeth-money,    demand    of,    by    the 
pashas  of  Turkey  from  the  peasants,- 
i.  360. 

Temeswar,  Bishop  of,  his  hospitality 
to  Mr.  Wortley  and  Lady  Mary,  i. 
333. 
Tenedos,  island  of,  celebrated  for  its 

wine,  ii.  90. 
Tendour,   description   of  a  Turkish, 

ii.  42. 
Teynham,  Henry  Roper  eighth  Lord, 

notice  of  his  suicide,  ii.  169  n. 
"  The  Bassette  Table,"  a  poem,  Hi. 

359. 
"  The  Bride  in  the  Country,  "  a  poem, 

iii.  414. 
"The  Court  of  Dulness,  "  a  poem, 

iii.  394. 
"  The  Fourth  Ode  of  the  First  Book 

of  Horace  Imitated,"  iii.  405. 
"  The  Fifth  Ode  of  the  First  Book  of 

Horace  Imitated,"  iii.  406. 
'  The  Lady's  Resolve,"  iii.  349. 
«  The  Lover,  a  Ballad,"  iii.  407. 
'  The  Ninth  Ode  of  the  Third  Book 

of  Horace  Imitated,"  iii.  420. 
'  The  Politicians,"  a  poem,  iii.  423. 
'  The  Small  Pox,"  a  poem,  iii.  366. 
'  The  Tete-a-tete,"  a  poem,  iii.  357. 
'  The  Toilette,'*  a  poem,  iii.  363. 
'  The  Cry,"  Lady  Mary's  opinion  of, 

iii.  121. 

Theseus,  temple  of,   at  Athens,  de- 
stroyed by  the  Turks,  ii.  92. 
Thistlethwayte,  Mrs.  letters  to,  i.  272. 

298.  395  ;  ii.  40. 106. 
Thompson,  Edward,  Esq.  married  to 

Mrs.  Arabella  Dunch,  ii.  196. 
— — •  Mrs.  Elegy  on,  iii.  409. 
Titchborne,  Mrs.  Betty,  story  respect- 
ing, ii.  222. 

"  Town  Eclogues,"  iii.  350  ;  notice 
of  C.  Jenner's  Town  Eclogues  in 
Dodsley  Collection,  351  n. 
Townshend,  Charles  second  Viscount, 
his  marriage  with  Dolly  Walpole,  i. 
32  ;  sketch  of  his  character,  108  ; 
appointed  secretary  of  state,  109. 
Charles  third  Viscount,  no- 
tice of  his  marriage,  ii.  234  n. ;  re- 
marks respecting  him,  242. 

Lady,  account  of,  ii.  234 

n. ;  anecdote  of,  242. 
Tragedy,  French  tragedians  superior 
to  the  English,  ii.  114. 


Travelling — in  Holland,  i.  264  ;  down 
the  Danube,  from  Ratisbon  to  Vi- 
enna, 275  ;  in  Bohemia,  308  ;  from 
thence  to  Saxony,  310;  in  Ger- 
many, 315  ;  by  land  from  Vienna  to 
Peterwaradin,  332  ;  from  Belgrade 
to  Adrianople,  350  ;  across  the  de- 
serts of  Servia,351.  359  ;  from  Con- 
stantinople to  Tunis,  ii.  84  ;  from 
Turin  to  Lyons,  106. 

Travels  of  Capt.  Lemuel  Gulliver,  re- 
marks respecting,  ii.  213. 

Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  inscrip- 
tion presented  to,  by  Mr.  Edward 
Wortley,  iii.  96  n. 

Tripoly,  Countess  of,  story  of,  ii.  33. 

Troy,  ruins  of,  ii.  88. 

Tunis,  description  of  the  town  of,  ii. 
95  ;  tributary  to  the  Grand  Signior, 
96 ;  letters  from,  83. 

Turin,  description  of  the  town  of,  ii. 
104  ;  letters  from,  ib.  251. 312. 336. 

Turkey,  ignorance  of  writers  respect- 
ing, i.  359.  377.  398.  400  ;  ii.  69  ; 
religion  in,  i.  361  ;  use  of  wine  in, 
362  ;  antiquities,  364 ;  marriage  of 
the  Grand  Signior's  eldest  daughter, 
366;  government  of,  367  ;  descrip- 
tion of  the  Sultan  of,  369  ;  charac- 
ter of  the  Janissaries  in,  370  ;  free- 
dom of  the  women  in,  375  ;  amuse- 
ments in,  384  ;  customs  in,  385 ; 
different  styles  of  the  Turkish  lan- 
guage, 387  ;  copy  of  verses  address- 
ed to  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  Sul- 
tan, 388  ;  turned  into  English  poe- 
try, 390  ;  exaggerated  ideas  of  the 
plague  in,  393  ;  account  of  the 
practice  of  ingrafting  for  the  small- 
pox in,  ib. ;  description  of  the  va- 
rious animals  of,  396  ;  birds,  397  ; 
of  the  houses,  398;  harems,  399 ; 
chiosks,  401 ;  observations  on  the 
Turkish  cookery,  ii.  5  ;  description 
of  the  harem  of  the  kiyaya,  6 ; 
remarks  on  the  Turkish  'music, 
10 ;  burying-fields  in,  24 ;  false 
accounts  of,  36;  singular  notions 
in,  41 ;  frequency  of  fire  in,  42  ; 
climate  of,  ib. ;  remarks  on  the  laws. 
43  ;  custom  of  adopting  children 
in,  75 ;  amusements  of  the  inha- 
bitants of,  82. 

Turkish  dress,  description  of  Lady 
Mary's,  i.  372. 

gardeners,  amusements  of,  i. 

385. 

ladies,  their  dress,    i.  373 ; 

beauty  of,  374  ;  remarks  on  their 


470 


INDEX. 


freedom,  375  ;  intrigues,  376  ;  their 
pretensions  to  the  knowledge  of 
enchantments,  ii.  38  ;  their  singular 
notions,  41 ;  erroneous  notions 
of  their  confinement,  70;  murder 
of  a  Turkish  female,  72 ;  doctrine 
of  the  Turkish  religion  respecting, 
141. 

Turkish  language,  different  styles  of, 
i.  387  ;  translation  of  verses  in, 
388  ;  Lady  Mary's  English  ver- 
sification of,  390. 

love-letter,  ii.  56. 

wheat,  Lady  Mary's  opinion 

of,  ii.  345. 

Turks,  religion  of  the,  i.  361  ;  re- 
marks respecting  them,  ii.  143. 

Twickenham,  improvements  in,  ii. 
200 ;  letters  from,  155.  158.  160. 
162.  165.  171,  172.  174.  182,  183. 
191.  197.200. 


U. 


Unfinished  sketches  of  a  poem,  iii. 
391. 

V. 

Valenti,  Cardinal,  his  attachment  to 
the  Duchess  of  Salviati,  ii.  334. 

Valide- Sultan,  description  of  the 
mosque  of,  ii.  63. 

Vane,  Lady,  her  acquaintance  with 
Lord  Berkeley,  ii.  247  ;  remarks 
respecting  her  memoirs,  iii.  5  ;  ac- 
count of  her,  262  n. 

Vaughan,  Lady  Anne,  her  unfortunate 
marriage,  i.  12. 

Venice,  Doge  of.  See  Pietro  Grimani, 
Francesco  Loredano. 

comedies  and  operas  in,  ii. 

254,  255 ;  carnival  of,  259  ;  re- 
gatta, 267.  322  ;  English  merchan- 
dise in,  Hi.  137  ;  carnival  of,  151  ; 
amusements  in,  173 ;  senate  of, 
appoints  ambassadors  to  congratu- 
late George  III.  on  his  accession, 
198 ;  letters  from,  ii.  253. 255. 257. 
266.  313.  315,  316.  318,  319. 321, 
322.401;  iii.  125.  134.  151.  154, 
155.  174.  176,  177.  179.  190. 198, 
199. 

Venus  de  Medicis,  statue  of,  at  Flo- 
rence, ii.  279. 

Versailles,  Lady  Mary's  opinion  of, 
ii.  116  ;  cabinet  of  antiques  in,  ib. ; 
colossean  statue  of  Jupiter  in  the 
gardens  of,  139. 


Verses — addressed  by  Ibrahim  Pa- 
sha to  the  eldest  daughter  of  Sul- 
tan Achmet  III,  i.  388  ;  Lady 
Mary's  English  versification  of, 
390  ;  addressed  to  Mr.  Gay,  ii. 
156 ;  respecting  the  Duchess  of 
Cleveland,  219 ;  written  in  the 
Chiosk  of  the  British  palace  at  Pera, 
iii.  369  ;  addressed  to  the  Imitator 
of  the  first  Satire  of  the  Second 
Book  of  Horace,  387  ;  written  in 
a  garden,  427  ;  written  at  Louvere, 
in  1736,  431  ;  in  1755,  432. 

Vienna,  Lady  Mary's  description  of 
the  town  of,  i.  276 ;  of  the  opera  of, 
285  ;  fashions  in,  288.  301  ;  sin- 
gular customs  in,  294  ;  remarkable 
points  of  honour  in,  298  ;  account 
of  the  convents  in,  303  ;  remarks  re- 
specting the  imperial  cabinet  of, 
307  71. ;  balls  in,  323  ;  healthy  cli- 
mate of,  324;  letters  from,  275.  284. 
288.  294.  298.  301.  305.  322. 325. 
331  ;  ii.  128. 

Villette,  Madame,  ii.  162. 

W. 

Wackerbart,  Count,  ii.  317. 

Wales,  Prince  Frederick  of,  character 
of,  i.  121  ;  his  dispute  with  his  fa- 
mily, 123  ;  Lady  Mary's  opinion 
of  him  in  youth,  316. 

Princess  of,  (afterwards  Queen 

Caroline,  wife  of  George  II.)  her 
influence  over  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
i.  122  ;  letters  to,  from  Lady  Mary, 
350. 

— —  Princess  Dowager  of,  her  par- 
tiality for  Lady  Bute,  iii.  232. 

George  Prince  of,  (afterwards 

George   III.)    remarks    respecting 
him,  iii.  131. 

Walpole,  Sir  Robert,  lines  respecting, 
i.  33  ;  his  neglect  of  his  son,  34  ; 
motive  of  his  second  marriage,  ib.  ; 
his  gratitude  to  Mr.  Campbell,  101; 
appointed  paymaster,  110  ;  his  in- 
fluence with  Lord  Townshend,  ib. ; 

126  ;  his  motion  respecting  the  im- 
peachment of  the    late  ministers, 

127  ;  bill  proposed  by,  ii.  186. 
Lady  anecdote  of,  ii.  189  ; 

her  attachment  to  Mr.  Sturgis,  285  ; 
lines  respecting  her,  286. 

Dolly,  account  of,  i.28 ;  her 

marriage  with  Lord  Townshend,  32. 

Horace,   his   antipathy   to 

Lady  Mary,  i.  32  ;  his  generosity 


INDEX. 


471 


of  mind,  35  ;  visits  Lady  Mary 
at  Genoa,  ii.  338  »».;  his  "Royal 
and  Noble  Authors,"  iii.  167  n. ; 
Lady  Mary's  opinion  of,  168  ;  ac- 
count of  George  II. 's  death  in  his 
letters  to  Sir  Horace  Mann,  200  n. ; 
defence  of  Lady  Mary  against  his 
insinuations,  448. 

Wastneys,  Lady,  Lady  Mary's  let- 
ters to  Mrs.  Hewet  bequeathed  to, 
i.  235. 

Weymouth,  Thomas  Thynne  third 
Viscount,  afterwards  Marquis  of 
Bath,  his  marriage  with  Lady  Eli- 
zabeth Bentinck,  iii.  192  n. 

Wharton,  Philip  Duke  of,  particulars 
respecting,  153  n.  j  observations  on 
his  piety,  ii.  154. 

Lady  J.  character  of,  i.  29  ; 

married  to  Mr.  Holt,  ii.  1 65. 

Williams,  Sir  Charles  Hanbury,  his 
lines  respecting  the  Duchess  of  Man- 
chester, ii.  391  ;  Lady  Mary's  opi- 
nion of,  iii.  160. 

Wiltshire,  riots  in,  ii.  238  n. 

Wolfe,  Gen.  killed  at  the  siege  of 
Quebec,  iii.  191. 

Wortley,  Mrs.  Anne,  her  intimacy 
with  Lady  Mary  Pierrepoint,  i.  12  ; 
Lady  Mary's  letters  to,  137.  139. 
141.  145.  147.  150.  161. 162;  her 
answers,  143. 151. 153.  160. 

Mr.  Edward,  character  of,  i. 

14  ;  his  introduction  to  Lady  Mary 
Pierrepoint,  16  ;  his  proposals  to 
Lord  Dorchester,  18  ;  firmness  of 


his  character,  19  ;  his  marriage,  20 ; 
appointed  a  lord  of  the  treasury, 
35  ;  notice  of  his  embassy  to  Tur- 
key, 46 ;  remarks  respecting  him, 
92  ;  his  "  Account  of  the  State  of 
Party  on  the  accession  of  George  I." 
125  ;  presents  an  inscription  to 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  iii.  96  ; 
letters  to,  from  Lady  Mary,  i. 
163  j  during  her  second  residence 
abroad  from  1739  to  1761,  ii.  307 
to  386.  390.  396.  398.  422,  423. 
433.  439  ;  iii.  78.  102.  174.  177  ; 
his  letters  to  Lady  Mary,  i.  180  ; 
ii.  309.  311.  346  ;  iii.  130. 

Wortley,  Edward,  Jun.  letters  re- 
specting him,  ii.  346.  352.  355  ;  de- 
scription of  him,  360  ;  his  interview 
with  Lady  Mary,  361.  364. 

Wright,  Mr.  remarks  respecting,  iii. 
172. 

Y. 

York,  Archbishop  of,  assists  in  the 
proclamation  of  George  I.  at  York, 
1.214. 

Young,  Sir  William,  dialogue  between 
him  and  Lady  Mary,  in  Dodsley's 
collections  of  poems,  iii.  136  n. 


Z. 


Zeno,   Signer,    introduced    to    Lady 
Mary,  iii.  149. 


THE    END. 


London:  Printed  by  Samuel  Bentley,  Dorset  Street,  Fleet  Street. 


DA     Montagu,  (Lady)  Mary 

501     (Pierrepont)  Wortley 

M7A27      Letters  and  works  2d  ed 

1837 

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