my story with the beginning of Faulconbridge's soliloquy, in King John, " Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!" The Dutchess of Portland is just gone from me; she is very well now, but has had a great cold. The Dutchess of Leeds is dangerously ill, but not without hopes of recovery, though the newspapers say otherwise. The town is very sickly, and the disorder among the cattle does not abate. There are rumours that we have been beat in Scotland; but, I believe, they are owing to the fears of the weak or wishes of the wicked, for I cannot hear any grounds for them in fact.

I am, Sir, &c. &c.

E. MONTAGU.

To the Dutchess of Portland.

DEAR MADAM,

Tunbridge Wells, the 27th, 1745.

I was very agreeably surprized with your Grace's letter, and a visit from our friend, who is so variously dignified and distinguished. He will give you a good ac count of the hurly-burly he found me in amidst boxes, trunks, portmanteaus, and all travelling incumbrances He will tell you also how his ears were entertained with nailing and cording of boxes, and all the fracas one could possibly make for a journey to Tunbridge, which we performed very well the next day. Your Grace has seen the place, so I shall not say any thing of it in general, but only as to the company here at present. cannot complain of want of numbers, for all nations and sects contribute to make up our complement of people. Here are Hungarians, Italians, French, Portuguese, Irish, and Scotch. Then we have a great

We

many Jews, with worse countenances than their friend Pontius Pilate, in a bad tapestry hanging. In opposition to these unbelievers, we have the very believing Roman Catholics; and to contrast with these ceremonious religionists, we have the quaint puritans, and rigid presbyterians. I never saw a worse collection of human creatures in all my life. My comfort is, that as there are not many of them I ever saw before, I flatter myself there are few of them I shall ever see again. I have great joy in Dr. Young, whom I disturbed in a reverie; at first he started, then bowed, then fell back into a surprize, then began a speech, relapsed into his astonishment two or three times, forgot what he had been saying, began a, new subject, and so went on. I told him your Grace desired he would write longer letters; to which he cried Ha! most emphatically, and I leave you to interpret what it meant. He has made a friendship with one person here, whom, I believe, you would not imagine to have been made for his bosom friend. You would, perhaps

suppose it was a bishop, a dean, a prebend, a pious preacher, a clergyman of exemplary life; or if a layman, of most virtuous conversation, one that had paraphrased St. Matthew, or wrote comments on Saint Paul; one blind with studying the Hebrew text, and more versed in the Jewish Chronicle than the English history; a man that knew more of the Levitical law, than of the civil, or common law of England. You would not guess that this associate of the Doctor's wasold Cibber! Certainly in their religious, moral, and civil character, there is no relation, but in their dramatic capacity there is some. But why the reverend divine, and serious author of the melancholy Night Thoughts, should desire to appear as a persona dramatis here I cannot imagine. The waters have raised his spirits to a fine pitch, as your Grace will imagine when I tell you how sublime an answer he made to a very vulgar question; I asked him how long he staid at the Wells? he said, as long as my rival staid. I was astonished how one who made no preten

sions to any thing could have a rival, so I asked him for an explanation; he said, he would stay as long as the sun did. He did an admirable thing to Lady Sunderland: * on her mentioning Sir Robert Sutton, he asked her where Sir Robert's Lady was; on which we all laughed very heartily, and I brought him off, half ashamed, to my lodgings; where, during breakfast, he assured me he asked after Lady Sunderland, because he had a great honour for her; and that having a respect for her sister, he designed to have enquired after her, if we had not put it out of his head by laughing at him. You must know, Mrs. Tichborne sat next to Lady Sunderland; it would have been admirable to have had him finish his compliment in that manner. paring for the ball. I am just come from riding, which is something for me to do, in a place where one groans under the pains and penalties of idleness. I beg my best respects to my Lord Duke; my

I am pre

• Lady Sunderland was married to Sir Robert Sutton; Mrs. Tichborne was her sister.