Matthew Robinson, Mrs. Montagu’s eldest brother, who had been member for the borough of Canterbury, did not propose to offer himself for re-election to the new parliament, but presented the Canterbury address to the new king at Court. He was clad in such a peculiar and uncourtierlike garb that his sister writes to her husband at Newcastle—
“I am glad he is gone into the country, but he has made a most astonishing appearance at court with the Canterbury address. Morris says he hears of nothing else. I wish the Beefeaters had not let him pass the door. Lord Harry Beauclerc on the buzz his appearance occasioned, desired the people to be quiet, for that he had never seen the gentleman so well dressed before.”
Mr. Montagu, having attended the Durham election in favour of Sir Thomas Clavering, was preparing to go to Huntingdon for his own re-election. In Mrs. Montagu’s next letter she says—
“I told you in my last that Admiral Boscawen was ill of a fever, I hope he is out of danger. The noble admiral does not fight so well with a fever as he does with the French; he will not lye in bed, where he would soonest subdue it. Poor Mrs. Boscawen is very anxious and unhappy about the Admiral, and indeed the loss to her and her children would be as great as possible.”
In this letter she remarks upon having heard from Mrs. William Robinson, her sister-in-law, from Lisbon dated November 12: “they are all well, and going on to Madrid.” “They” were the Rev. William Robinson, his wife, and her brother, Mr. Richardson, who, being in bad health, was ordered abroad, and was going to Italy. On December 20, Admiral Boscawen is reported as out of danger, but on the 27th Mrs. Montagu writes—
“His fever still hangs upon him, his strength is quite subdued; any sudden attack, any degree more of fever, and my dear Friend loses a good husband, her children a fond father, their situation in life will suffer a grievous alteration, and the publick will be deprived of a man who serves it with zeal and ability and is always more tender of the honour of his country than of his own person.”
The admiral had a relapse, and Mrs. Montagu, with her husband’s permission, flew to see her friend, but, to avoid alarming the admiral, slept at Mr. Botham’s at Albury. She, however, returned to London, as the admiral could not bear his wife out of his sight, and begrudged any friend taking her away from him for an instant. In this same letter she mentions that old Mr. Wortley Montagu was very ill.
Dr. Monsey, who himself was very unwell, wrote on January 9 to tell Mrs. Montagu he was sure the admiral would not recover; he begs her to remember it is God’s will, and “to try and guard Mrs. Boscawen’s mind and let money and the world be thrown into the Coal Hole.”
The admiral expired on January 10 at 7 a.m. He died of a putrid fever, and before death sent for his sister, Mrs. Frederick, to desire her to take his wife and children to London the moment he was dead. Mrs. Montagu went at once to her friend to endeavour to comfort her. Mr. Montagu, with his characteristic kindness, begged Mrs. Boscawen to go to Hill Street, but she remained at the Admiralty. Mrs. Montagu writes of her on January 17—
“I thank God her mind is very calm and settled, she endeavours all she can to bring herself to submit to this dire misfortune; I know time must be her best comforter, so that I oppose her lamentations rarely and gently, but when they continue long, set before her the merit of her five children, the want they will have of her, and the comfort she may derive from them.... Mr. Boscawen has left all his fortune, except a purchase he made in Cornwall, to Mrs. Boscawen at her entire disposition, the land in Cornwall he has left her only for life, and then to his eldest son. This estate cost but £10,000, and so is a small part of his fortune, so that the children are entirely dependent on her. I hear old Mr. Wortley can last but a very short time. It is supposed Lady Mary will come to England.”
Writing to her husband, still at Newcastle, at the end of January, Mrs. Montagu says—
“I believe it will be agreeable to you to hear that Lord Sandwich called on me this morning to desire me to write you word that he hopes that the second week in February you will be ready for Huntingdon; his Lordship says he will give you only two days’ trouble, one to canvass, another to be elected.... Mr. Wortley Montagu dyed last night, the disposition of his effects not known as yet, by next post you shall hear.”
In her next letter she says—
“I have had a full account of Mr. Wortley’s will, it runs thus:—‘To his son £1000 per annum rentcharge,’ with an order it should not be liable to his debts, which by-the-bye is nonsense. The Leicestershire estate, we know to our sorrow is his. If the present wife[313] dyes and he has legitimate issue, that issue is to have the Wortley estate. In case he has not such issue, then the whole of his personal and real estate is to go to Lady Bute’s second son, he taking the noble name of Wortley. Two thousand pounds apiece indeed to each of Lady Bute’s younger children! The old gentleman’s wealth is reckoned immense.”
[313] Caroline Feroe, née Dormer.
In another letter his estate is stated to be £800,000 in money, and £17,000 per annum in land, mines, etc.!
Mr. Montagu writes in reply to this—
“I am extremely sorry that Mr. Wortley has made such a will as you mention. I think he has been unworthy of being a Father. I cannot pretend to say but his son gave him too good reason to take care he should not waste and consume his estate, it was mine and the opinion of others that, as the phrase is, he would have tyed him up, but if he had done it in the literal sense he would have been less cruel to him; this poor man was not without very good parts, he was greatly altered; if he had done kindly by him, it was not impossible that he might have been reclaimed and have yet made some figure in life. What is now to become of him I don’t know. I suppose he is not to come into Parliament again, and if so I cannot see what he can do but leave his native country, and live in perpetual banishment abroad. I cannot but greatly commiserate this poor man, and reflect with horror on his cruel unrelenting parent.”
On February 15 Mr. Montagu writes from Hinchingbrooke, as he spells it—
“My Dearest,
“We got here on Friday night. Our canvassing the town is put off to Tuesday. Lord Hinching[314] is here, who is much grown and every way improved. My Lord has made considerable alterations to the house, and by the addition of two or three rooms is very convenient, and he says without much expense.... Calling at Barnet j heard poor Wortley’s stock upon his farme was the day before sold by auction, and fetched a thousand pounds, which j fear will be devour’d by the creditors.”
[314] Viscount Hinchinbrook, afterwards 5th Earl of Sandwich; born 1742–3, died 1814.
Soon after this Mr. Montagu joined his wife in Hill Street. A folio letter from James Stuart[315] (Athenian Stuart) ends the month of February. In it he represents himself as an English horse—a hunter dragging Greek treasures to Mrs. Montagu, whom he addresses in verse as—
[315] James Stuart, born 1713, died 1788; author of “Antiquities of Athens.”
Lord Bath writes March 4, 1761—
“Madam,
“I am sorry that I cannot wait on you this evening, being engaged to go to Lady Strafford’s,[316] and afterwards to Lady Darlington’s[317] to play at cards; but on Saturday I will have the honour to call on you and stay the evening with you, if you are not otherwise engaged, and your feverish disorder will allow you to come down stairs. I have sent for your amusement Voltaire’s Tancred, which has many fine lines in it, but the speeches are too long, as they generally are in French Plays. When I have the honour of waiting on you I will bring with me Emin’s letter.
[316] Lady Strafford, Anne, second daughter of the 2nd Duke of Argyll.
[317] Lady Darlington was a cousin of Lord Bath’s; her mother was a Pulteney.
To this Mrs. Montagu replies—
“My Lord,
“I return the Tragedy with many thanks. The character your Lordship gave of it kept up my hopes and my spirits through the long tedious speeches with which it opens, and upon the whole it appears to me to be one of the best of Voltaire’s Tragedies, as it is, what few of his are, interesting. Pompous declamation season’d with Moral reflections is surely far from the perfection of dramatick writing, tho’ in a nation too much polish’d and refin’d, it is prefer’d to the natural sallies of passion in our Shakespear, as fops love essences better than the flowers from whence they are extracted. I find in this Tragedy many petty larcenies from Corneille. The character of Aménaide is in part an imitation of the Sister of Horatius, but the Roman name supports the fierté of her character, born in any other city I should call her a termagant, there I consider her as a She Roman, the female of the Lion. The fair Amenaide is too much an esprit fort in regard to her duties to please me. She does not follow Virtue as by law establish’d, but despises forms and follows sentiment, a dangerous guide. Design’d by Nature to act but a second part, it is a woman’s duty to obey rules, she is not to make or redress them. I must confess that Aménaide is noble and heroick, and a proper mistress for a Knight Errant, whose motto is ‘l’amour et l’honneur.’ I have seen many poems form’d on the manners of Chivalry, but I never saw them before in Drama. They admit of the bombast in honour and love, which the French and Spanish Theater affect, and will furnish those brilliant sentiments they so much admire, but which indeed come better from any Muse but the pathetick Melpomène.
“I shall be very glad of the honour of your Lordship’s company on Saturday evening. I was to have gone to the play that night, but if my fever should have left me by that time, I have a cough which would be louder than Mrs. Prichard.[318] I have taken the liberty to enclose Mr. Macpherson’s proposals, and if your Lordship designs to subscribe to the work, and have not already done so, I should be very glad to have the honour of your name on my list. I have read the first canto,[319] which far exceeded my expectation. The various incidents recited take off that sameness of character which appeared in the detached pieces, and which were their greatest fault. The original Ersh is to be seen at Mr. Millar’s. I have also enclosed a letter from Edinburgh which gives an account of these poems. By this long letter I have taken some revenge upon your Lordship for not coming here last night, and now I am in perfect charity, mix’d with some compassion for the trouble I have given you.
At this period Mrs. Montagu and Mrs. Carter went to stay with Lord Bath at Ives Place.[320] Dr. Monsey was to have accompanied them, but he was suffering with acute pain in his back, for which Dr. Gataker gave him a plaister, which he said would pull his head to his back.
[320] His country house near Maidenhead.
Lord Bath writes to Mrs. Montagu the following:—
“Madam,
“I am going to entrust you with a most prodigious secret; and in order to engage you the better to keep it, must desire you to be a joynt agent with me in conducting it, and carrying it on, and yet it is not every woman neither that can keep that very important secret of joynt agency, but you, I am very sure, will be true to me when I tell you what it is. You must know, Madam, that I have a great desire of making a small present to Mrs. Carter, to make her fine, when she comes to Tunbridge, and I must beg of you to take the trouble of buying the silk or Damask, or what you please, and in order to engage her to have no difficulty or scruples in accepting it, I will send with it the following letter:—
“‘To Mrs. Carter.
“‘Madam,
“‘I have sent you a trifling present which I desire you will accept, and that you may have no difficulty in doing it I will tell you the plain truth. The first thing is this—I have found in my Library some books, which tho’ they may be very good ones, can be of no use to me, as they are in Greek,[321] and possibly they may be of service to you. The next thing is that I have two pounds of very bad tea, which I cannot so much as take myself, nor offer to anybody else, unless it be to you: the last thing is this: I found in the drawer of an old India Cabinet a piece of silk with this wrote in a paper upon it: Enough for a Mantua and petty coat. Now, Madam, as I neither wear a mantua nor pettycoats, I do not know what to do with it, unless you will accept of it, which you may very readily do, since you may perceive that it lays you under no manner of obligation to your, etc.
“‘Bath.’
“But after all I have said, if you think, Madam, giving you the two enclosed Bank bills of 20 pounds each to send privately to her without letting her know or guess from whom they come, may be of more real use and service to her, you may do it as you think fit, and I can venture to say of the Bank Bills just what I have done of the Greek books, that they are of little use to me, and possibly may be of great service to her, and more in that I hope than any other.
“Piccadilly, April 2, 1761.
“P.S.—I am afraid you will be puzzled at first to know what all this nonsensical stuff can mean, but you may remember that when you were at Ives Place, I mentioned something of this kind to you.”
[321] This is an affectation, as he constantly uses Greek phrases in Greek character in his later letters.
Mrs. Montagu and Mrs. Carter proposed a visit to Dr. Young at Welwyn, and on April 9 he writes as follows—
“Dear Madam,
“Your letter, etc., lay me under great obligations, but the greatest lies in the kind promise you make me that I shall kiss the hands of two fair Pilgrims at Wellwyn. I hope they are too much Protestants to think there is anything sacred in the shrine you speak of. I have too many sins beside, to pretend that I am a Saint. Was I a Saint and could work miracles I would reduce you two ladys to the common level of your sex being jealous for the credit of my own; which has hitherto presum’d to boast an usurp’d superiority in the realms of genius and the letter’d world. For you, Madam, I shall say nothing, for who can say enough? Miss Carter has my high esteem for showing us in so masterly a manner that Christianity has a foil in one of the brightest jewels of Pagan Wisdom, a jewel which you will allow she has set in gold. Might not such an honour from a fair hand, make even an Epictetus proud without being blamed for it? Nor let Miss Carter’s amiable modesty become blameable, by taking offence at the truth, but stand the shock of applause, which she has brought upon herself; for tho’ it pains her, it does credit to the publick, and she should support it patiently, as her Stoical Hero did his broken leg. I rejoice that you are recovered; I too, Madam, have been very ill of late, and stand in no small need of a cordial: hasten therefore your favour, which the sooner it is, will be the kinder to, dear Madam,
On April 28 Lord Bath writes to Mrs. Montagu—
“Madam,
“I would sooner have answer’d your letter, and sent you back the enclosed Dialogue, but that I went out to take the air in my chaize. You may depend upon my secrecy, but should it ever be published, it will be known to be yours, because nobody can write like it. I will endeavour to wait on you when you return from Dr. Young’s, unless I go to Ives Place for a day or two.
This is the dialogue which I believe has not yet been published:—
“Berenice and Cleopatra.”
Berenice. The similitudes and dissimilitudes of our fortune have long made me wish to converse with you, if the charming, the victorious Cleopatra by her lover prefer’d to glory, to empire, to life, will deign to hold converse with the forsaken, the abandon’d, the discarded Berenice.
Cleopatra. The scorns of Octavius, the bite of the aspic, the waters of Lethe have so subdued my female vanity, that I will own to you I greatly suspect my greater success with my lover did not arise so much from my charms as in my skill of management of them.
Berenice. I can scarce understand you. Beauty and love I thought to be the greatest attractions. In the first you must have excell’d me, but in the second you certainly could not: I had beauty, youth, regal dignity, and an elevated mind. I was distinguished by many qualities and accomplishments which were so dedicated to my Lover, that of all I had been and all I could be, I was, I would be, only l’amante of Titus. I thought the next person in merit and dignity to Titus himself was the woman who ador’d him, and I was more proud of the homage I paid him, than of all I had receiv’d from lovers or subjects. But you, Cleopatra, had loved Cesar before Anthony, and other passions besides the gentle one of love seemed still to have your heart. Yet for you Anthony despised the dangers of war, the competition of a rival in Empire, the motives of military glory, and the resentment of a Senate and people not yet taught to submit to or flatter the passions of a master. Over these you triumph’d; but I was sacrificed to the low murmurs of the people, and the cautious counsels of gray-headed Statesmen. Was it that Minerva desired to triumph over Venus in the noblest and gentlest heart that ever was contain’d in the breast of mortal? Tell me, Cleopatra, for 1700 years have not made me forget my love and my grief?
Cleopatra. I have often with attention listen’d to your story; and your looks, on which still remain the sadness of a lover’s farewell, move my compassion. I wish I could have assisted you with my counsels when Titus was meditating your departure. I would have taught you those arts by which I enslaved the Soul of Anthony, and brought Ambition and the Roman Eagles to lye at my feet.
Berenice. Your arts would have been of little service to me, I had no occasion to counterfeit love. From Titus’s perfection one learn’d to love in reality beyond whatever fiction pretended; no feigned complaisance could imitate my sympathy; if he sigh’d I wept, if he was grave I grew melancholy, if he sicken’d I dyed. My heart echoed his praises, it beat for his glory, it rejoiced in his fortunes, it trembled at his dangers.
Cleopatra. Indeed, Berenice, you talk more like a Shepherdess than a great Queen. You might perhaps in the simplicity of pastoral life have engaged some humble Swain, but there was too much of nature and too little of art in your conduct, to captivate a man used to flattery, to pleasures, to variety. I find you was but the mirror of Titus, you gave him back his own image, while I presented every hour a new Cleopatra to Anthony. I was gay, voluptuous, haughty, gracious, fond and indifferent by turns; if he frown’d on me, I smiled on Dollabella; if he grew thoughtful, I turn’d the Banquet to a Riot. I dash’d the soberness of counsels by the vivacity of mirth, and gilded over his disgrace by show and magnificence; if his reason began to return, I subdued it by fondness, or disturb’d it by jealousy. Thus did I preserve my conquest, establish my fame, and put Anthony first in the list of
“all the mighty names by love undone.”
Had I only wept when honour and Octavia call’d him home I might have been the burthen of a love ballad, or subject of a tender Elegy, who now am the glory of our sex, and the great instance of beauty’s power. Do not you wish you had used the same managements?
Berenice. I might have used them had I loved the same man: Cleopatra, the coquette was a proper mistress for the Reveller Anthony; but the god-like Titus, the delight as well as Master of Mankind, left no part of the heart unengaged and at liberty to dissemble. What had not yielded to his wisdom, submitted to his witt, was subdued by his magnanimity, or won by his gentleness; when affection does not vary, behaviour cannot change; and methinks Anthony should have quitted you from distrust of your love, and Titus have retain’d me from confidence in mine. After what you have told me, I am more than ever surprised at your fate and my own.
Cleopatra. If you want this explain’d ask Eneas, Theseus, Jason, and the infinite multitude of faithless lovers, but if my authority will pass, believe me Anthony was preserved by his doubt of my love, and Titus was lost by his confidence in yours. Do not look so concern’d. From the era of your disaster to this very day you will find every faithful and fond Berenice discarded, while the gay, vain, and capricious fair one is to her Anthony a Cleopatra and the “world well lost.”
From the following letter of Dr. Young’s to Mrs. Montagu it would appear that she had sent this dialogue for him to read.
“Dear Madam,
“I hope you will allow that a curiosity is better than a good thing. I send you a paper which may be called a curiosity, as it is printed, but not for the publick, only for your ease in perusing it.
“I much thank you for the bright specimen of genius you was so kind as to send me. I admire it as much as you. I hope you are recover’d of the Indysposition you mention’d in your Last, and that you, the cloud remov’d, will continue to shine on,
“May 26, 1761.”
Emin, from “Standgate Creek, on board of the ship Northumberland,” writes on May 5 to Mrs. Montagu, addressing her thus—
“To the wisdom of Europe, sister to the great King of Prussia, excellent Mrs. Montagu.”
Not only did he think Mrs. Montagu equal in cleverness to Frederick the Great, but he considered her forehead and eyes like his, to the great indignation of Lord Bath and Dr. Monsey, who pronounced it impossible she should resemble so bloodthirsty a character.
Mrs. Carter took leave of Mrs. Montagu on May 18, and that very evening Mrs. Montagu writes to her—
“You left London only this morning, and I am writing to you to-night; does it not seem unreasonable? I hope not, as you must know there are habits which it is hard to break, and alas! I was in the habit of conversing with you every day. I feel like a traveller, who by the chearfull light of the Sun has pleasantly pursued his day’s journey, but seeing it below the horizon, enjoys and would fain prolong the twilight, which tho’ it has not the warmth and lustre of the noon-day, yet is a kind interposition between it and the gloom of the night.”
She dates her letter from Ealing, where she had gone to the Botham’s for the night, “imagining I should hear your tones better from the nightingale than in the din and chatter of London.” So much did Mrs. Carter value Mrs. Montagu’s letters that she always noted the day and year of their reception of them, which is a great help to an editor in compiling, as many of Mrs. Montagu’s letters are undated. In the end of this letter she mentions that she is returning to London next day to spend the evening with Mrs. Boscawen, who was to leave the Admiralty that day for her new house.
“She will be too apt to reflect on the change of her condition upon such an occasion, and the less time she has to dwell on the subject the better. Alas, how few people are there so happily situated that they can intrepidly look on their condition! Mr. Melmoth[322] made me a visit this evening. I exhorted him to give his leisure hours to the publick, and hope he will do it, as his health is now much improved.”
[322] William Melmoth, born 1710, died 1799. English scholar; translated the “Letters of Pliny,” etc., etc.
A most curious anonymous letter to Lord Bath concerning his house in Piccadilly, dated June 5, 1761, is next in order. The handwriting is large and bold.
“My Lord,
“A zeal for the glory of the Nation and of the town, also of your Lordship, induces me to recommend to you to modernize your house in Piccadilly, at least externally, by facing it with stone or Stucco, as brick has an ignoble appearance, and is considered by foreigners only fit for a Maison bourgeoise; a Portico with a Rampe,[323] as at the Hotels of Prince Eugene and Swartzenburg at Vienna, unites Conveniency, Elegance, and Grandeur, as chairs and coaches can go up the Rampe and under the Portico, whereas a Perron[324] or open steps are always inconvenient, and often dangerous in snowy, wet, and frosty weather. I hope that your Lordship will give a Proof and monument of your Taste, Spirit, and Generosity in architecture, contributing thereby to the embellishment of the Metropolis. A House of Distinction sho’d be always insulated without any Building contiguous thereto, which insulation has many advantages.
“I have the Honour to be, with Respect,
“June 5, 1761.”
The British Museum, containing the library and collection of Sir Hans Sloane, the Cottonian and Harleian MSS., etc., had been established in Montagu House, bought of the Earl of Halifax, and opened in 1759. The following letter from Mr. Charles Morton, the curator, will show the conditions under which the Museum was then shown. The Earl of Halifax, who had owned Montagu House, was a cousin of Mr. Montagu’s.
“To Mrs. Montagu.
“Madam,
“I am extremely sorry not to have received the Honour of your Message before eleven o’clock last night, being detained abroad by Business till that Time. I flatter myself, however, that the affair you mention will not have suffered by my absence; for on fridays and mondays the Museum is open in the afternoon only, at the Hours of four and six, calculated to accommodate for a few months persons of a different class, and on Saturdays the Museum is shut up. I have therefore secured places for Mrs. Montagu and her company for Tuesday sennight, at one o’clock, and promise myself the Pleasure to send the Tickets on Wednesday next, unless the Time I have engaged should be inconvenient to you; in which latter case, I beg the Honour of a note to-morrow some time before noon.
“Montagu House, June 7, 1761.”
From Sandleford, on June 23, Mrs. Montagu writes to Mrs. Carter—
“Dear Madam,
“I told you in my last that I was going to take a flight into Berkshire; and here I have been ever since Friday evening, leading a Pastoral life in the finest weather I ever saw. Tho’ the most sage Horace says we change our climate without changing our disposition, I must be of another opinion, for by only the difference of latitude and longitude between Hill Street and Sandleford I am become one of the most reasonable, quiet, good, kind of country gentlewoman that ever was. In the days when misses employ’d their crimping and wimpling irons upon cheese-cakes and tarts, not on flounces and furbelows, and matrons used no rouge, but a little cochineal to give a fine colour to a dried neat’s-foot tongue, they could not be further from the temper and qualities and conditions of a fine lady than your humble servant at this present writing. My health is much improved by the country air; I saunter all day, and when Phœbus sets in the material world, he rises in the Intellectual; then I sit down to read what he has inspired, and I find the amusements of the day here prepare me well for my evening’s lecture....
“The mention of poetry puts me in mind to tell you I am very well satisfied with the share of praise you give to Cowley.[325] He had a rich vein of thought, but being too ostentatious of it, we are disgusted at the proud display of his treasures, as at the pomp of a rich man, when it goes beyond the bounds modesty and a sound judgment should set to it. I agree with you that his love verses are insufferable. I think you and I who have never been in love, could describe it better were we ask’d, what is it like? I think some of his verses, like Anacreon, very pretty, and the verses by the god of love in honour of Anacreon are very pretty tho’ a little too long. I think you was too temperate in your commendation of ‘La Mort D’Abel.’[326] I was infinitely delighted with it as a work of genius. On your recommendation I lent it to my Lord Lyttelton, who sent it back with great approbation. But to be sincere in spite of you both, some silly prejudices against the Author and the language the poem was originally written in, a little damped my expectations, and the beginning, in which he imitates Milton, with all the faintness of reflected beams, make me advance very soberly. But what a feast is the Patriarchal dinner! How sweetly innocent their manners! Eve’s horror at the first storm, her surprize at Adam’s fastening up the mouth of the cave, concern at the first sight of death, which is finely supposed to seize a dove, because in that animal only could the grief of a surviving friend be shown, with ten thousand other circumstances in hers and Adam’s narration, all so natural and yet so new that I must call Mr. Gesner a Poet. A Poet should create, but he should not make monsters. I think our Author has not the sublime, but his genius suits his subject. What a noble piety! what a purity of heart in Abel! and how finely is his character contrasted with Cain’s. Abel’s are virtues of disposition and temper in a great degree, and so are Cain’s vices, which rightly imagined in a state of life where example and discipline could not have so much influence as in a larger society and more mix’d life. Milton’s and Mr. Gesner’s pastoral scenes are so ennobled and refined by Religion, that the Shepherds and Shepherdesses who worship the wanton Pan and drunken Silenus, make a mean figure when compared to them. I agree with you in liking Mr. Gesner’s Pastorals extreamly, but let him still keep to the more than golden age of the Poets. I would fain propose to him to take the story of Joseph next. He has a fine genius for Drama! The last three books of Abel make a noble tragedy. Did you not drop a tear at the lamentation of Cain’s children over Abel’s body? Il ne se reveillera plus! Il ne se reveillera plus! How simple! how natural! how affecting! What a witchcraft is there in words! repeat, il est mort, it is nothing, but the simplicity of children who had not a name for death and the words at once signifying the circumstance is very touching.... I have taken a house at Tunbridge from the 3rd of July. I hope my dear friend will be ready to come to me. I shall send the post-chaize to you as soon as I am at Tunbridge.
[325] Abraham Cowley, born 1618, died 1667; poet.
[326] By Salomon Gesner, born 1730, died 1788. “Tod Abels.”
Writing from Sandleford on June 26 to Mrs. Scott, Mrs. Montagu mentions that she is going to Tunbridge
“for 6 or 7 weeks perhaps, and the rest of the summer I shall pass at Sandleford, except my excursion to Bath Easton. Mrs. Carter is to come to Tunbridge to me as soon as I get thither, and, I hope, stay with me the whole season. I was so fortunate as to enjoy her company much longer in town this year than usual, but that only makes me wish the more to have her again. She was not in the house with me in town, preferring the quiet of a lodging to herself, and indeed it would not be any delight to Mr. Montagu to have her in the house; tho’ he says she would be a good sort of woman if she was not so pious.[327] My Lord Bath told me he was to go to Bath on Wednesday, the day we dined with him....
“I shall have Mrs. Boscawen for my neighbour at Tunbridge; she is to be at Sir Sydney Smythe’s, only three miles from the Wells. Lady Frances Williams is in the deepest affliction for Lady Coningsbye.[328] To show the last respect to her, Lady Frances staid in the house with the dead body in spite of all her friends could do; she did not leave Lady Coningsbye’s house till last Saturday; she has been so singularly unfortunate that, had she not the strongest piety and the strongest reason to support her, she must sink under the repeated strokes of affliction.... I suppose you have read Dr. Hawkesworth’s[329] ‘Oriental Tales,’ it is not written with so much spirit as the Oriental tales in ‘the Adventurer’ which were by him, but there are some fine things in it.... I have heard my Lord Bath speak with great regard for you and Lady Bab Montagu. I believe we shall call on him on Monday, on our way to London. We were asked to dine or lye there in our journey down, and at our return. He has recovered his health and spirits and is the most delightfull companion imaginable. I think he has great good qualities, and I do not perceive the least of that covetousness which was attributed to him while his wife lived; he lives nobly, entertains generously, and I know many acts of generosity he has done, and I have known them from the report and acknowledgements of the persons obliged, for by his behaviour to such of them as I have seen at his house you would think he had received favours from them, which nobly enhances the benefit. He seems to have the strongest sense of Religion, and on all occasions to show it without the ostentation of one who wants to be praised for piety, nor does he ever in the gayest of his conversation forget the respect due to every moral duty. It would give one pain to discover any faults in one who has such extraordinary perfections and endowments, and I think his Lordship has outlived the errors which the hustling of a mighty Spirit may in youth have led him: as to his consort, she was, in Milton’s phrase, a cleaving mischief in his way to virtue.
“I am glad Lord Bath is to be at Tunbridge. Mrs. Carter is a great favourite, and I hope we shall have a good deal of his company.”
She winds up her letter with high commendation of Gesner’s “Death of Abel” mentioned before.