To Mrs. Donnellan.

Friday the 24th of December.

DEAR DONNELLAN,

I WILL not add to my mortification in not hearing from you, that of not writing to you. I am now better able to write than I have been of late; I am seldom very sick, nor have I the enjoyment of perfect health. I had the Love Elegies sent me down last post; my heart aches for the gentle fair mentioned in them; pity, that lives in the tender delicate form, and gentle mind, cannot be absent from her breast. And there is so much love and happiness expressed as really must affect her. The men have always a great advantage over us, and particularly, as Mr. Hammond says, they "may own the graceful weakness of the heart." Love is to them an ornament, in our sex it is looked upon in a worse light; and grief, like other passions, spends itself in words; but sorrow, pent up in silence,

keeps long its mournful residence in the heart. It is a sign of the prepossession of one's own merit if that of another cannot make its impression, therefore I cannot see why a woman should be less respected for a sensibility to merit in one man who dedicates his attention to her. It is unhappy where people love each other much, and cannot marry; but while they do not marry any other person, I do not see any harm in it. The richest dowry is the gift of the heart, and no one ought to marry where they think they cannot bestow it. Love is the frailty of the fairest minds,

And though its hapless case is falsely told,

By the rash-judging young, and the ill natured old,

yet among the best people it finds indulgence. I want to know what you think of these Elegies; they please me much; but between you and me, they seem to me to have something of a foreign air; had the poet read Scotch ballads oftener, and Ovid and Tibullus less, in my opinion he had appeared a more natural

writer, and a more tender lover. I assure you I admire the verses extremely, but if I had not known them to be originals, I should have taken them for translations. You will laugh perhaps at my proposing Scotch ballads for an accomplished writer's improvement; but to me it seems there are no love-verses that seem suggested by the heart and softened in the language, like some Scotch songs. I cannot put Petrarch and all his stars, suns, and moons, in competition with them, when they do but attempt to describe their mistress, "like a lilly in a bogie." Artless beauty, simple manners, and soft wishes sound sweetly through the shepherd's oaten reed, while he warbles sweet his wood notes wild; but to the artful lyre, or high-sounding trumpet, gentle sighs and artless words do not so well agree; the string is sounded higher than the tone of passion, and sincerity seems lost in words of too high sense and studied meaning. If differ from me in opinion, I fear I may not have your judgment by which to examine my own

you

to town.

till we meet, for I desire you would not write when you are not well. I hope it will not be very long before I may come I shall send Mrs. Percival some potted moor-game; I am mortified I cannot send her any more than a brace of birds, but they are so scarce I have not been able to get more at any one time, though I have endeavoured it these two months.

I am your's, dear friend, &c. &c.

E. MONTAGU.

This letter should have been placed in 1743, as Hammond died in 1742, and the Elegies were published after his death.

To the Same.

December 28, 1747.

DEAR MADAM,

I RECEIVED your kind letter just as I was in the hurry of my departure from Sandleford, so I thought it best to defer

writing till I could give you an account of myself from Bath. As to my journey, I performed pretty well; the first day indeed I was taken ill on the road, and obliged to repose myself for some time at an alehouse; which, as the delice of the greater part of our countrymen, you would imagine no very bad place. My landlady was a very good woman, and, between comforts of mild and stale, grown to a comely size; she informed me her husband made malt, as well as brewed it; as soon as I grew better I desired to see the performance of that noble English manufacture, and was accordingly initi ated into the mysteries of making malt. Content with my refreshment and instruction, I went forward with my journey, and performed it pretty well. The day after I came I consulted Dr. Hartley; he gave me comfortable words, said mine was a Bath case, would be cured by the waters, but medicines were improper and dangerous; and neither ordered bolus, draught, or electuary, or any of the warlike stores of the faculty. The waters do not