No. 181.

ORIGINAL LETTERS of LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU, addressed to MRS. (MISS) ANNE JUSTICE, upon the PAVEMENT, YORK.

I'

Printed from the ORIGINALS. 'M sure, dear Nanny, you'll excuse my silence this bout: this last fortnight has been wholly taken up in receiving visits of congratulation upon my brother's wedding. My new sister is to passe the summer in the house with me, so you may be sure I shall have very little time to my selfe. Iain perfectly ignorant of the marriage you mean, and so dull I can't guesse the name of the lord whose character you say is so good. If you are not at Scoffton this summer, I must despair of seeing you. I fancy about the latter end of this month we shall be going into Nottinghamshire. I writ to Mrs. B. three or four posts ago, and told her I heard she was going to be married; and gave her good advice, to forget Mr. Vane and take the first lover her relations propos'd to her-pray write me word if she follows it. I allwaies wish her very well. The small-pox rages dreadfully, and has carry'd off several people here: that, and the heat of the weather, makes me wish myselfe in the country. My eyes are something better, for I was not able to write for a good while; but they are still weak, and make me, sooner than I otherwaie would, tell you, that I am, dear Nanny, Your's to serve you. June 5.

To Mrs. Anne Justice, York.

Ar, ay, as you say, my dear, men are vile inconstant toads. Mr. Vane could never write with the brisk air if he had any sorrow in his heart; however, the letter is realy pritty, and gives me a good opinion of his understanding, tho' none of his fidelity; I think they seldom go together. You are much in the right not to undeceive Mrs. B. I would not have her know any thing to vex her, as such a piece of news needs must. Poor lady!—but she's happy in being more discreet than I could be. On the other MONTHLY MAG. No. 181.

ing. I would to God I was with you read ing the Atalantis! I know the book, and 'twould be a vast pleasure to me to read some of the storys with you, which are realy very pritty: some part of Eleonora's I like mightily, and all Diana's, which is the more moving because 'tis all true. If you and I was together now we should be very good company, for I'm in a very pritty garden with a book of charming verses in my hand. I don't know when we shall see Mrs. B. but when we do come into that country, is it quite impossible for you to stay a week or so with us? I only hint this, for I know people's inclinations must submit to their conve. niencys; only tell me how far it may be possible on your side, and then I'll endeavour it on mine; though a thousand things may happen to make it impossible as to my part. You know you should be allwaies welcome to me, and 'tis none of my fault if I don't see you.

Remember your promise concerning the letters.

To Mrs. Ann Justice, at York.

YES, yes, my dear, here is woods, and shades, and groves, in abundance. You are in the right on't; 'tis not the place, but the solitude of the place, that is intolerable. 'Tis a horrid thing to see nothing but trees in a wood, and to walk by a purling stream to ogle the gudgeons in it. I'm glad you continue your inclination to reading; 'tis the most improving and most pleasant of all employments, and helps to wear away many melancholy hours. I hear from some Nottinghamshire people, that Mrs. B. is not at all concern'd at the breaking off her match. I wonder at her courage if she is not, and at her prudence in dissembling it if she is. Prudent people are very happy. 'Tis an exceeding fine thing, that's certain; but I was born without it, and shall retain to my day of death the humour of saying what I think; therefore you may believe me, when I protest I am much mortify'd at not seeing the North this year, for a hundred and fifty reasons; amongst the rest, I should have been heartily glad to have seen my Lord Holdernesse. In this hideous country 'tis not the fashion to visit; and the few neighbours there are keep as far from one another as ever they can. The diversion here is walking; which indeed are very pritty all about the house; but then you may walk two mile without meeting a living creature but a few straggling cows. We have been here near this month, and seen but one visitor, and

her I never desire to see again, for I never saw such a monster in my life.

I am very sorry for your sore eyes. By this time I hope all's over, and you can see as well as ever. Adieu, my dear. When you drink tea with Mrs. B. drink my health, and do me the justice to believe I wish my selfe with you. July 7.

To Mrs. Anne Justice, York.

I AM very glad you divert yourselfe so well. I endeavour to make my solitude as agreeable as I can. Most things of that kind are in the power of the mind: we may make ourselves easy, if we cannot perfectly happy. The news you tell me very much surprizes me. I wish Mrs. B. extremely well, and hope she designs better for her selfe than a stolen wedding, with a man who (you know) we have reason to believe not the most sincere lover upon earth; and since his estate is in such very bad order, I am clearly of your opinion, his best course would be to the army, for I suppose six or seven thousand pound (if he should get that with his mistrisse) would not set him up again, and there he might possibly establish his fortune, at least better it, and at worst be rid of all his cares. I wonder all the young men in England don't take that method; certainly the most profitable as well the noblest. I confess I cannot believe Mrs. B. so imprudent to keep on any private correspondence with him. I much doubt her perfect happiness if she runs away with him. I fear she will have more reason than ever to say there is no such thing. I have just now received the numbers of the great lottery which is drawing: I find my selfe (as yet) among the unlucky; but, thank God, the great prize is not come out, and there's room for hopes still. Prithee, dear child, pray heartily for me. If I win, I don't question (in spite of all our disputes) to find my selfe perfectly happy. My heart goes very much pit-a-pat about it; but I've a horrid ill bodeing mind, that tells me I shan't win a farthing. I should be very very glad to be mistaken in that case. I hear Mrs. B. has been at the Spaw. I

wonder you don't mention it. Adieu, my dear. Pray make no more excuses about long letters, and believe your's August 7.

never seem so to me.

To Mrs. Anne Justice, York.

I AM glad dear Mrs. Ellys finds so much happynesse in the state she has enter'd into. I wish Mrs. B. had been

so happy to have so pritty a place, joyn'd with so pritty a gentleman as all the world calls Mr. Vane. She dines here to-day with her family. I intend to railly her about Sir William. She is a good-natur'd young woman, and I heartily wish she may find (if that can be) a recompence for the disappointment she has met with in this rouling world. Every mortal has their share; and tho' I persist in my notions of happynesse, I begin to believe nobody ever yet experienced it. What think you? My present entertainment is rideing, which I grow very fond of, and endeavour to lay up a stock of good health, the better to endure the fatigues of life. I hope you are situated in an agreeable place, and good air. You know me, and that I wish you all sorts of pleasures; the world affords few, but such as they are, dear Mrs. Ellys, may you enjoy them all.

Sept. 10.

To Mrs. Ellys, at Beverly, Yorkshire.

THE Lord save us! what wretches are men! I know that Lord Castlecomare

intimately well, and have been very gay in his company. That 'tis possible there should be so inhumane a creature! I pity the poor young lady to the last degree. A man must have a compound of ill-nature, barbarousnesse, and inhumanity, to be able to do such an action. I cannot believe there are manny would be guilty of it. I could declaim four hours upon this subject-'tis something highly ingrateful and perfidious. I know several Lord Castlecomare has made love to, but should have never believ'd him, or any man, so utterly void of all tendernesse and compassion. Had them men women to their mothers! I can hardly believe it. I am of your mind, the young lady is happy if she dies. If he sent her some ratsbane in a letter, 'tis all the kindnesse he can now do, all the recom| pence he can now make her. I don't question but there are some of our own sex inhumane enough to make a jest of her misfortunes, Especially being a beauty, the public mark of malice, next to plungeing people into misery (as that barbarous Lord Castlecomare has done) the greatest piece of ill-nature is insulting them under it. Chiefly those ruin'd for love, perhaps ensnar'd by vows and undone by too much credulity, I alwaies pity the unhappy, without strictly looking into their merit, however their misfortubes come; when they are unfortunate they deserve compassion: and 'tis my maxim never to ridicule the frailties of

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the wretched of my own sex. You have done me a sensible pleasure in writeing an account of your own affairs; and Ï desire to know how they proceed; and depend upon it your interests cannot be indifferent to me. If you like Mr. Heber I advise you to take him, if the match is agreeable to your relations. We must do something for the world; and I don't question but your own good humour and his love will make you very happy. 'Tis more prudent to marry to money with nothing else, than every thing else without money, for there's nothing so hard to come by; but that is not your case, since Mr. Heber has money and is agreeable too. What would you have more?Prithee, dear child, don't stand in your own light, and let your next letter be sign'd, A. Heber.

Pray tell me the name of that unfortunate young lady whom you and I pity so much.

I WISH heartily for the successe of your affair, because I wish heartily for every thing that pleases you. I agree with you, there is no misfortune so uneasy as uncertainty; and I had rather be sure of never having my wishes, than be perpe tually tossing between hope and fear. I pity poor Mrs. Ridsdale, and am glad her family has so just a sense of her misfortunes, not to encrease 'em by ill usage. If my Lord Castlecomare had any small remains of honesty or good-nature, he would marry her. I am surprised she has no relation that has spirit enough to take a public revenge for a public affront; though no revenge can come up to the nature of the injury. If I was in the poor lady's lamentable case, instead of crying and sighing in a chimney corner, wasting tears and breath to no purpose, would e'en pluck up a stout heart, go to London, and-poyson him-that's all. Out of an excesse of humanity, I would not poyson all his family; his uncles and aunts should rest in peace; but I don't think she can do less in honour: and if I was she, I should be overjoy'd to be hang'd upon such an occasion, for I think she has no farther busynesse in this world.

I am sorry you can't go to Scoffton, for I pity the poor young woman's melancholy there extremely, and know no company more proper to chase it away than that of my dear Nanny, who has a most constant well-wisher in me.