would soon do it; but I am in less haste, because here I have as much of my sister's company, or more, than I can quietly enjoy there; and a certain person seems - - - - I can never describe how, nor tell why, but they look a little awful, and pish! and phoo! with a dignity age will never give me; really it is droll, and some things I have seen lately would furnish out scenes for a play; to me indeed it would be neither comedy nor tragedy; I can neither laugh at what I don't like, nor cry for what I don't deserve. I am very cautious as to my conversation, for I never pretend to think, or to know, or to hear, or to see. I am a sceptic, and doubt of all things; and as a mediator between my opinion and all positive affirmation, make use of an- -It seems to me, and a-Perhaps, and-It may be; and then I can tack about to the right point of the compass at a short warning. The other day, seeing Dr. Middleton's book upon the table, they discoursed the whole matter over, and set things in so new a light, that I was extremely entertained for two hours, though I had full exercise in following with my assent all that was advanced; we condemned Cicero for folly, Cato for cowardice, Brutus for subjection, Cassius for gaiety; and then we talked it all back again, and left them the very men we found them; for you must know there are persons who, if no one will contradict them, will contradict themselves rather than not debate. I am very glad to hear those I value so much as Pen, Dash, and Don, love me; but I approve their prudence in not telling me so too often, for I am by nature prone to vanity. Indeed, as to Dash, I have been the aggressor, and I

have not a good title to complain of Mrs. Pendarvis; but as to Mrs. Donellan, she has not wrote to me this age; I hope they are all well, and desire my compliments, or, in a style which better suits the simplicity and sincerity of my manners, my love. I need not say I am always glad, and I dare not say desirous, to hear from you: let me never interrupt your pleasure, nor hurt your health; but when you have a moment in which it will be agreeable to you to write, remember, my dear lady duchess, that you can bestow it on one whom it will make happy; indeed there are many who may assert that claim, but no one is with more gratitude, esteem, affection, and constancy, yours,

&c. &c.

E. R.

LETTER XIV.

FROM MRS. ELIZABETH MONTAGU TO THE REV. MR. AND MRS. FREIND.

Bullstrode, Tuesday 24th, 1741. Two so united in my thoughts shall not be separated in my words; so, my good cousins, accept my salutations from the country. I took leave of our smoky metropolis on Monday morning, and changed the scene for one better suited to the season. The agreeable freedom I live in, and the rural beauties of the place, would persuade me I was in the plains of Arcadia: but the magnificence of the building, under whose gilded roofs I dwell, have a pomp far beyond pastoral. In one thing I fall short of Chloe and Phillis, I have no Pastor fido, no languishing Corydon to sigh with the ze

VOL. V.

D

phyrs, and complain to the murmuring brooks; but those things are unnecessary to a heart taken up and sufficiently softened by friendship. Here I know Mrs. Freind and you shake your heads, and think a little bergerie a proper amusement for the country; but, in my opinion, friendship is preferable to love. The presence of a friend is deligntful, their absence supportable; delicacy without jealousy, and tenderness without weakness, transports without madness, and pleasure without satiety. No fear that caprice should destroy what reason established; but even time, which perfects friendship, destroys love. I may now say this to you, who, from constant lovers, are become faithful friends. I congratulate your change; to have passed from hope to security, and from admiration to esteem. If you knew the charming friend I am with, you would not wonder at my encomjums upon friendship, which she makes one taste in its greatest perfection. I have greater pleasure in walking in these fine gardens because they are hers; and the place is very delightful. I am sorry to think I have lost so much sunshine in town. Society, and coal fires, are very proper for frost; but solitude and green trees for summer. Then the care selve beate come in season, and Philomel sings sweeter than Farinelli. The beasts of the field, and the birds of the air, are better company than the beau monde: and a butterfly and a magpie, in my opinion, are at all times better company than a fop or a coxcomb. It is the necessity of the one to be gaudy, and of the other to chatter; but where folly and foppery are by choice, my contempt must attend the absurdity. I like an owl,

very often, better than an alderman; a spaniel better than a courtier; and a hound is more sagacious than a fox-hunter; for a fox-hunter is only the follower of another creature's instinct, and is but a second instrument in the important affair of killing a fox. I could say a great deal more of them, if supper was not ready; so leaving you to balance their merits, and determine their sagacity, I must take my leave, only desiring my compliments to Mrs. Freind and the Doctor; if, at his years and wisdom, things so trifling as women and compliments can take any place in his remembrance. Pray let me hear from the writing half very soon; the husband is always allowed to be the head, and I think in your family he is the hand too. A letter directed to Bullstrode, by Gerrard's bag, will find and rejoice your most faithful friend and affectionate cousin, E. ROBINSON*.

LETTER XV.

FROM MRS. ELIZABETH MONTAGU TO THE REV. DR. SHAW, F. R. S. &c. &ct.

REV. SIR,

You will perhaps think me rather too hasty in my congratulations if I wish you joy of being going to

This letter probably belongs to a former year, and to some previous visit to Bullstrode; but having no other date than Tuesday, 24th, the year cannot be ascertained. The date 1741, is added to recall to the reader the progress of the series.

This anonymous letter was written by miss Robinson, and sent to Dr. Shaw, the traveller, at the instigation, and for the amusement, of the duchess of Portland and her society.

be married, whereas it is generally usual to stay till people really are so, before we offer to make our compliments. But joy is a very transitory thing; therefore I am willing to seize on the first occasion; and as I imagine you are glad you are going to be married, I wish you joy of that gladness; for whether you will be glad after you are married, is more than mortal wight can determine; and having prepared myself to rejoice with you, I should be loth to defer writing till, perhaps, you were become sorrowful; I must therefore in prudence prevent your espousals. I would not have you imagine I shall treat matrimony in a ludicrous manner; it is impossible for a man who, alas! has had two wives, to look upon it as a jest, or think it a light thing; indeed it has several advantages over a single life. You, that have made many voyages, know that a tempest is better than a dead calm; and matrimony teaches many excellent lessons, particularly patience and submission, and brings with it all the advantages of reproof, and the great profit of remonstrances. These indeed are only temporal benefits; but besides, any wife will save you from purgatory, and a diligent one will secure heaven to you. If you would atone for your sins, and do a work meet for repentance, marry. Some people wonder how Cupid has been able to wound a person of your prowess; you, who wept not with the crocodile, listened not to the Sirens, stared the basilisk in the face, whistled to the rattlesnake, went to the masquerade with Proteus, danced the hays with Scylla and Charybdis, taught the dog of the Nile to fetch and carry, walked cheek-by-jowl with a lion, made an inti