have many relations left, I reflect that even this circumstance makes me more liable to have the same affliction repeated; but I will mention this no more; I should rather endeavour to raise your spirits than depress them; so to call a new subject-Have you read the new French play, called Le Méchant? You will not find the comic wit of Moliere in it, nor much conduct as to the plot, but I think there is a great deal of good sense and morality; the méchant is a character one should not think had existed if one had not seen it I fear it had been still better had it been La Méchante; for the love of mere unprofitable mischief I fear the women are most noted; the men are for any ill they can get by, and as they have more ways of being bad, they are not so idly so as the women. I think the character of Valere, in the play, is not uncommon; a young person of good disposition, but by the influence of bad company made a knave for fear of being a fool, would forsake the woman he loves rather than be censured for constancy,

and disobey the parent he honours, for fear of being ridiculed for submission; he speaks ill of people without malice, makes connections without affection, and all this to conform to the maxims of his bad companion; but as he is rather seduced than depraved, he is soon brought back by Ariste, who says many things that I think will please you, and shews the difference between what is true and what is plausible; and indeed the errors and misdoings of those who are not naturally bad arise from not being able to distinguish in that point. I am very sorry for the account you give of Miss Southwell, but I hope when the spring advances she will recover. Why did not Lady Sunderland come to Bath for her cholic? You are very good to say you should not want any temptation to come into Berkshire but what I and my little Sandleford could offer; I will flatter myself that Mr. Percival will be so well as to set you at liberty this summer. do not mention the little Pere, he does not write, and I want grievously to know

You

how he does. Mr. Montagu and my sister join in respects to you. I am always dear Mrs. Donnellan's

affectionate friend, and obliged

humble servant,

E. MONTAGU.

To the Dutchess of Portland.

MADAM,

Bath, 1748.

I THANK your Grace a thousand times for your kind letter; but why will my Lord Duke persevere in the gout? Pray tell his Grace it is a shame he should use a crutch while his grand-mamma trips like a roe-buck; she has been more than parboiled in Medea's kettle, and without the help of a Jason too, without which few dowagers look so smug. Mrs. Honywood has lost her new husband; the Fates will make her a widow in spite of her haste to be a wife. I hear the

Dutchess of Kent is still very ill. Pray do you know Mrs. Trevanion, Lord Berkeley of Stratton's sister? she goes away from us to-morrow, which I am sorry for; she seems very agreeable and well-bred, and has a thousand other good qualities that do not abound at our morning coffee-house, where I meet her. We are too dull here to furnish any news or scandal. Whisk, and the noble game of EO, employ the evening; three glasses of water, a toasted roll, a Bath cake, and a cold walk, the mornings. I cannot say I have yet dared to cast a hope towards London; my physician says three months will be necessary for me to drink the waters. My constitution may perhaps be still more tardy; I have yet been here but about five weeks, so half my time is not expired. To say the truth, I imagine I cannot be immediately so well as to make a tolerable figure any where but among invalids. I am forced to dine by myself, not being yet able to bear the smell of what common mortals call a dinner; as yet I live with the fairies. I am much

obliged to those who told your Grace I was coming to town, as they said something I should be glad to have true; but here is another Mrs. Montagu who is like me, hath a long nose, pale face, thin cheeks, and also, I believe, diets with fairies, and she is much better than when she came, and many people give me the

honour of her recovery.

I am, Madam,

your Grace's most obliged, most faithful,

To Mrs. Anstey.

E. M.

Sandleford, 1749.

My dear friend's letters are always welcome, pleasing, agreeable, &c. but the last was delightful, as it flattered me with the hope of seeing you at Tunbridge. Why do you doubt? Why hesitate a moment about going thither? The waters are good, the air incomparable, the place

VOL. III.