LO RD WH AR NC L I FEE'S LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE

OF LADY MARY WORTLEY :MONTAGU.

LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU was an unfortunate woman. In despite of vulgar prejudice and interested professional oppo- sition, she introduced to civilized Europe inoculation for the small- pox, which was then a disorder as destructive as the plague, and more loathsome. But scarcely had that "dire disease" been stripped of its horrors and its terrors, when JENNER's vaccinatiori superseded 1Vonmsv's inoculation. Excepting BUSBEQUICS, " the charming MARY MONTAGU" was the first person who formed a true judgment of the Turkish character,—w Welt had been usually drawn after the fashion of a Saracen's head on a sign- post,—as she was certainly the first who gave a lively and accurate description of their women and their harems: when, lo ! as if to spite her fame, and remove her use and authority to bookmakers upon Turkey, reform extends to the Grand Porte ; the Turks throw off one half of their customs, and throw open the others to the scrutiny of creditable observers. The remainder of Lady MARY'S productions were for the most part too fugitive in their subjects to support her as an author of the people ; the traditional celebrity of a wit and a beauty gets weaker and weaker with each generation, and the compliments which POPE paid her in over- wrought and artificial prose, are perused by few and by those few distrusted, whilst the hearty bitterness of his subsequent satire is remembered by all his readers. Nay, such was her imprudence, or ill-hick, or both, that even in the zenith of her fame she was perhaps better known for the scandalous reports of her visit to the Seraglio, and the throwing of the Grand Seignor's handker- chief at her Ladyship herself, than for her contributions to human knowledge or human happiness. The present edition of her works will do something towards re- viving her fame : partly from containing, as we think, new matter of more permanent interest than her former productions, partly from the light which they throw upon her personal character, and the very delightful introduction by which they are prefaced by her great-grandson, Lord WHARNCLIFFE. Everybody, or at least every biographical dictionary, knew that Lady MARY was born in 1690; that she was the daughter of the Earl (subsequently created Duke) of KINGSTON ; that she acquired Latin somehow or other, and translated a translation of the "Enchiridion " of EPICTETUS in her twentieth year; and that she shortly after married Mr. WORTLEY MONTAGU. But we had not till now the exquisite sketches of the KINGSTON family, especially of the Duke himself; the equally exquisite pictures of Lady MARY'S probable self-education, and the old books she read ; the nar- rative of her loves and marriage, and the reminiscences from her journal, kept by her daughter Lady BUTE till near her death, and then destroyed, lest it should get into print and revive the scandal of the times in which it was written. Besides all these points of interest, the Introduction is varied by anecdotes of the heroine's contemporaries; sometimes extending to a pithy memoir, at others noting a characteristic trait, and sometimes being merely an animated piece of genealogy. Still, the matter is inferior to the spirit. Slight as is the nature of the Introduction, and familiar if not careless as is its form, it contains the essence of a life. Lord WHARNCLIFFE has not only unconsciously poured his own soul into his writings, but we catch the character of the class to which he belongs. Well read, if not learned, especially in the literature of the last and preceding centuries; very finished and with a laboured ease in composition, the result rather of early training than of actual effort, but with neither a very penetrating nor a very profound mind ; gravely gossipy ; skilled in genealogy ; an ad- vocate of distinct but not of unpassable gradation of ranks ; always ready to render honour due to virtue wherever found ; measured, but unsparing, in censure of low vices ; tolerant of gentlemanly irregularities; and estimating wrong deeds rather by their conventional consequences than their evil nature. In short, we have in the tone of the writing the perfect picture of the re- spectable old English aristocracy, untinged by modern improve- ments—uninfected by modern fooleries and fashions : one can readily fancy how their fathers were consternated by the French

Revolution, and with what feelings of wonderful horror they them- selves must regard even a proposal to reform the Peers.

But although Lord WHARNCLIFFE has done all this, his Intro!! duction, considered as a biography, leaves much undone. It may be that materials were wanting ; that the truths of family tra-

ditions, if any, were doubtful, or that the ground was too tender to tread upon. The Introduction, however, as regards Lady

MARY, is a sketch of her mind and a commentary on her charac-

ter, rather than a narrative of her life. After her marriage, in- deed, we learn little more than what her letters contain, and less than what impressions of rumour, old tradition, and incidental

allusions, whether true or false, have left upon the mind. From 1716 to 1718 indeed, there is nothing to tell, more than she her- self told in her Letters whilst her husband was Ambassador at Constantinople, and during the journey out and at home. The correspondence during her second absence on the Continent (1739-1761)—a virtual separation from her husband, which gave occasion to so much suspicion and talk—contain a tolerably full account of herself. But the long lapse from 1718 to 1739, during which her Ladyship was the life and soul of the fashionable world, the dreaded satirist of the drawing-room, the sarcastic ballad- writer, the shrewd observer, the friend and foe of poets, wits, and scholars—and, as scandal once reported, the Sappho of her day in more ways than one—is all a blank. Even as regards the origin of the quarrel with POPE, we learn nothing. Lord WHARNCLIFFE adopts her Ladyship's account of the affair, without perhaps im- plicitly believing that it is the whole truth. Equally are we left in the dark with regard to her personal habits; though the reiterated charges of the " wicked wasp of Twickenham," against her linen and her cleanliness at least challenged remark.

If nothing but inclination were to be considered, we could take up these volumes, reprint Lord WHARNCLIFFE'S Introduction, Lady MARY'S account of the Court of GEORGE the First, and take the cream of the rest of her Correspondence, interspersing such remarks as might be necessary to preserve the connexion (the only mode, by the by, of now popularizing her as an author): but this may not be. In our extracts, however, we shall endeavour so far to carry out our likings as to convey something of the main features of the work.

,Passing the editor for the present, we will begin with Lady "Woarczv's "Account of the Court of George the First." The reader needs not to be reminded that the Tory Ministry of Queen ANNE, and the party in general, were suspected of a plot to bring in JAMES the Second in preference to the House of Brunswick ; which was defeated by the bold activity of the Whigs. Mr. WORTLEY being a stanch Whig, and a relation of HALIFAX, who bad got the Treasury, was made a Commissioner ; so that his wife had every opportunity of seeing much, and hearing all that passed in the way of scandal. The pith of this she noted down for her amusement ; and Lord WHARNCLIFFE seems to think that the Account is only a fragment of a history of her own times, which she wrote to please herself, and burnt as she wrote. If it be so, the loss is grievous indeed, so far as life, spirit, and entertainment, are in question. That her vivacity sometimes out- ran justice, every reader will easily see ; and if she wrote thus about comparatively indifferent persons, we may conclude that POPE'S characteristic "libelled by her bate" was true enough.

THE FIRST OF THE HOUSE OF BRUNSWICK.

The King's character may be comprised in very few words. In private life he would have been called an honest blockhead ; and fortune, that made him a king, added nothing to his happiness, only prejudiced his honesty and shortened his days. No man was ever inure free from ambition ; he loved money, but loved to keep his own, without being rapacious of other men's. He would have grown rich by saving, but was incapable of laying schemes for gettin; ; he was more properly dull than lazy, and would have been so well contented to have remained in his little town of Hanover, that if the ambition of those about him had not been greater than his own, we should never have seen him in Eng- land ; and the natural honesty of his temper, joined with the narrow notions of a low education, made him look upon his acceptance of the crown as an act of usurpation, which was always uneasy to him. But he was carried by the stream of the people about him in that, as in every action of his life. lie could speak no English, and was past the age for learning it. Our customs and laws were all mysteries to him; which lie neither tried to understand, nor was capable of understanding if he had endeavoured it. He was passively good- natured, and wished all mankind enjoyed quiet, if they would let him do so. The mistress that followed him hither was so much of his o,vn temper, that I do not wonder at the engagement between them. She was duller than himself, and consequently di not find out that he was so ; and had lived in that figure at Hanover almost forty years (for she came hither at threescore), without meddling in any affairs of the Electorate ; content with the small pension he allowed leer and the honour of his visits when he had nothing else to do, which happened very often. She even refused coming hither at first, fearing that the people of England, who, she thought, were accustomed to use their king., bar- barously, might chop off his head in the first fortnight ; and had not love or gratitude enough to venture being involved in his ruin. And the poor man

was in peril of coming hither without knowing where to pass his evenings; which he was accustomed to do in the apartments of women, free from business.

But Madame Kiltnansegg saved him from this misfortune. She was told that.

Mademoiselle Schulenbergscrupled this terrible journey; and took the opportu- nity of offering her service to his Majesty, who willingly accepted of it; though he did not offer to facilitate it to her by the payment of her debts, which made

it very difficult for her to leave Hanover without the permission of her credi- tors. But she was a woman of wit and spirit, and knew very well of what bn- portance this step was to her fortune. She got out of the town in disguise, and made the best of her way in a post-chaise to Holland, from whence she embarked with the King, and arrived at the same time with him in England ; which was enough to make her called his mistress,—or at least so great a favourite that the whole court began to pay her uncommon respect.

"MARK BY WIIAT WRETCHED STEPS THEIR GLORY GROWS I"

Madame Kilmansegg's unlimited expenses had left her with very little mom y remaining, and she made what haste she could to make advantage of the opinion the English had of her power with the King, by receiving the presents

that were made her from all quarters ; and which she knew very well must cease when it was known that the King's idleness carried him to her lodgings with- /rat either regard for her advice or affection for her person, which time and very bid paint had left without any of the charms which had once attracted him. His best-beloved mistress remained still atHanover, which was the beautiful s * Countess of Platen. • •

Lord Halifax was one of the number who thought themselves very politic in securing her favour : his ambition was unbounded, and he aimed at no less than the Treasurer's staff, and thought himself in a fine road for it by furnish- ing Madame Kilmansegg both with money and a lover. Mr. Methuen was the man he picked out for that purpose. He was one of the Lords of the Treasury : he was handsome and well made ; he had wit enough to be able to affect any part he pleased, and a romantic turn in his conversation that could entertain a lady with as many adventures as Othello—and it is no ill way of gaining Desde monas. Women are very apt to take their lovers' characters from their own mouths ; and if you will believe Mr. Methuen's account of himself, neither Artamenes nor Oroondates ever had more valour, honour, constancy, and dis- cretion. Half of these bright qualities were enough to charm Madame Kilmansegg ; and they were very soon in the strictest familiarity, which con- tinued, for different reasons, to the pleasure of both parties, till the arrival of Mademoiselle Schulenberg, which was hastened by the German Ministers, who envied the money accumulated by Madame Kilmansegg, which they longed to turn into another channel ; which they thought would be more easily drawn into their own hands.

The name of CRAGOS is familiar to every one acquainted with the literature of Queen ANNE'S time, as a Whig friend of wits of all parties; the minute historical reader will know him as Secre- tary of State ; the doctor as hat ing died of the smallpox; and the monumental hunter for his tablet in Westminster Abbey. The world at large may gather his want of ancestry from the couplet " Time ennobles or obscures each line,

It brighten'd Craggs's, and may darken thine."

Here is what old Chronos had to brighten, and the first step to the statesmanship of the " statesman yet friend to truth."

Young Craggs came about this time to Hanover, where his father sent him

to take a view of that Court in his tour of travelling. Ile was in his first bloom of youth and vigour ; and had so strong an appearance of that perfection, that it was called beauty by the generality of women ; though in my opinion there was a coarseness in his face and shape that had more the air of a porter than a gentleman ; and, if fortune had not interposed her almighty power, he might by his birth have appeared in that figure; interposed

father being nothing more considerable at his first appearance in the world than footman to Lady Mary Mordant, the gallant Dutchess of Norfolk, who had always half-a-dozen in- trigues to manage. Some servant must always be trusted in affairs of that kind, and James Craggs had the good fortune to be chosen for that purpose. She found him both faithful and discreet, and he was soon advanced to the dignity of valet- de-chambre.

King James the Second had an amour with her after he was upon the throne, and respected the Queen enough to endeavour to keep it entirely froni her knowledge. James Craggs was the messenger between the King and the Dutchess, and did not fail to make the best use of so important a trust. He scraped a greet deal of money from the bounty of this royal -lover, and was too incon- siderable to be hurt by his ruin ; and did not concern himself much for that of his mistress, which, by lower intrigues, happened soon after. This fellow, from the report of all parties, and even from that of his professed enemies, had a very uncommon genius, a head well turned for calculation, great industry, and [was] so just an observer of the world, that the meanness of his education never appeared in his conversation.

The Duke of Marlborough, who was sensible how well lie was qualified for affairs that required secresy, employed him as his procurer both for women and money; and he acquitted himself so well of these trusts as to please his master, and yet raise a considerable fortune, by turning his money in the public funds, the secret of which came often to his knowledge by the Duke's employing him. He had this only son, whom he looked on with the partiality of a parent ; and resolved to spare nothing in his education that could add to his figure.

Young Craggs had great vivacity, a happy memory, and flowing elocution ; be was brave and generous ; and had an appearance of open-heartedness in his manner that gained him a universal good-will, if not a universal esteem. It is true, there appeared a heat and want of judgment in all his words and actions, which did not make him very valuable in the eyes of cool judges; but Madame Platen was not of that number. His youth and fire made him appear a con- quest worthy her charms, and her charms made her appear very well worthy his passionate addresses. Two people so well disposed towards each other were very soon in the closest engagement ; and the first proof Madanie Platen gave him of her affection, was introducing him to the favour of the Elector, who took it on her word that he was a young man of extraordinary merit, and he named him for Cofferer at his first accession to the Crown of England, and I believe it was the only place that he then disposed of from any inclination of his own.

THE SECOND OF THE HOUSE OF BRUNSWICK AND HIS SPOUSE.

I have not yet given the character of the i'rince. The fire of his temper appeared in every look and gesture ; which, being unhappily under the direc- tion of a small understanding, was every day throwing him upon some indis- cretion. Ile was naturally sincere ; and his pride told him that lie was placed above constraint ; not reflecting that a high rank carries along with it a neces- sity of a more decent and regular behaviour than is expected from those who are not set in so conspicuous a light. He was so far from being of that opinion, that he looked on all the men and women he saw as creatures he might kick or kiss for his diversion ; and, whenever he met with any opposition in those designs, he thought his opposers insolent rebels to the will of God, who created them for his use; and judged of the merits of all people by their ready sub- mission to his orders, or the relation they had to his power. And in this view he looked upon the Princess as the most meritorious of her sex ; and she took care to keep him in that sentiment by all the arts she was mistress of. lie had married her by inclination ; his good-natured father had been so complaisant as to let him choose a wife for himself. She was of the house of Anspach, and ,brought him no great addition either of money or alliance; but was at that time esteemed a German beauty, and had that genius which qualified her for the government of a fool, and made her despicable in the eyes of men of sense; I mean a low cunning, which gave her an inclination to cheat all the people she conversed with, and often cheated herself in the first place, by showing her the wrong side of her interest, not having understanding enough to observe that falsehood in conversation, like red on the face, should be used very seldom and very sparingly, or they destroy that interest and beauty which they are designed to heighten. Her first thought on her marriage was to secure to herself the sole and whole 8irection of her spouse ; and to that purpose she counterfeited the most extrava- gant fondness for his person ; yet, at the same time, so devoted to his pleasures (which she often told him were the rule of all her thoughts and actions), that whenever he thought proper to find them with other women, she even loved whoever was instrumental to his entertainment, and never resented any thing but what appeared to her a want of respect for him; and in this light ohs

really could not help taking notice that the presents made to her on her wedding were not worthy of his bride, and at least she ought to have had all his mother's jewels. This was enough to make him lose all respect for his indul- gent father. He downright abused his Ministers, and talked impertinently to his old grandmother the Princess Sophia ; which ended in such coldness towards all his family as left him entirely under the government of his wife.

Such, according to BURKE, grown Conservative and needing th pensions he soon after got, was the social system, " under which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing all its grossness I" The letters written previous to Lady MARY'S going abroad, are chiefly remarkable for the commonplace girlish character of the early ones, and the rapid development of her intellect when she had subjects to excite it. These were her courtship and marriage. Mr. WORTLEY MONTAGU'S sister and she were intimate friends; and the correspondence took place through Miss WORTLEY; the brother, Lord WHARNCLIME conjectures, composing the letters of his sister. On her death, 'they corresponded directly ; and the circumstances of their courtship and marriage were singular in all points. The lover himself was not only, as the editor represents, a singular and speculative character, of greater abilities than have been commonly assigned to him, but, judging from the do- cuments, a kind of Falkland in love matters, and captiously jea- lous and suspicious of his mistress. There would appear, also, to have been in him something of " he would and lie would not." Like Hamlet, and many reflecting people on the question of matrimony, he had qualms of irresolution—the

" Craven scruple Of thinking too precisely on th' event ; A thought which, quarter'd, has but one part wisdom, And ever three parts coward."

Such a man, we can all imagine, is difficult enough to manage; but most admirably was he managed by his future wife. Her love-letters, if not the most sensible ever written, are the most sensible it ever was our fortune to see ; and, considering her age, they may be characterized as wonderful. The manner in which she sooths and assures her admirer, yet without bating one par- ticle of her dignity—her open, and for that period and her cir-

cumstances, bold, avowal of her preference—her flattering re- liance upon "his honour " in making these confessions, but her firm resolution not to plunge headlong into a course whose proba- ble results she cannot form sonic estimate of, and to sacri- fice a whole life for a few months of pleasure to a person with whom she has no reasonable prospects of happiness—are capital. But besides the character of her husband, his opinions threw an obstacle in the way of their marriage. Amongst other specu- lative principles, he was opposed to primogeniture. When he waited on the Earl of KINGSTON, (or, as he had then been created, the Marquis of DORCHESTER,) no objection was made to Mr. MON- TAGU; but when lie proposed, with a prophetic sagacity, to re- tain the power of disinheriting his eldest son, Lord DORCHESTER broke off the match, saying that " these philosophic theories might be very fine, but his grandchildren should not run the risk of being left beggars." Shortly afterwards, another proposal was made; and here is Lady MARY'S account of it to her lover.

I knew the folly of my own temper, and took the method of writing to the disposer of me. I said every thing in this letter I thought proper to move him, and proffered, in atonement for not marrying whom he would, never to marry at all. He did not think tit to answer this letter, but sent for me to him. He told me he was very much surprised that I did not depend on his judgment for toy future happiness; that he knew nothing I had to complain of, &c. ; that he did not doubt I had some other fancy in my head, which en- couraged me to this disobedience ; but he assured me, if refused a settlement he had provided for me, he gave me his word, whatever proposals were made him, he would never so much as enter into a treaty with any other; that, if I founded any hopes upon his death, I should find myself mistaken ; he never intended to leave me any thing but an annuity of 400f. per annum; that, though another would proceed in this manner after I had given so just a pretence for it, yet he had the goodness to leave my destiny yet in my own choice, and at the same time commanded me to communicate my design to my relations, and ask their advice. As hard as this may sound, it did not shock my resolution ; I was pleased to think, at any price, I had it in my power to be free from a man I hated. I told my intention to all my nearest relations. I was surprised at their blaming it to the greatest degree. I was told they were sorry I would ruin myself; but, if I was so unreasonable, they could not blame my father whatever he inflicted on me. I objected I did not love him. They made answer they found no necessity for loving ; if I lived well with him, that was all was required of me ; and that if I considered this town, I should find very few women in love with their husbands, and yet a many happy. It was in vain to dispute with such prudent people ; they looked upon lime as a little ro- mantic, and I found it impossible to persuade them that living in London at liberty was not the height of happiness. However, they could not change my thoughts, though I found I was to expect no protection fro& them. When was to give my final answer to —, I told him that I preferred a single life to any other ; and if he pleased to permit me, I would take that resolution. He replied that he could not himder my resolutions, but I should not pretend after that to please him; since pleasing him was only to be dune by obedience; that if I would disobey, I knew the consequences; he would not fail to confine me, where I might repent at leisure ; that lie had also consulted may relations, and found them all agreeing in his sentiments. He spoke this in a manner hin- dered my answering. I retired to my chamber, where I writ a letter to let him know my aversion to the man proposed was too great to be overcome, that I should be miserable beyond all things could be imagined, but I was in his hands, and he might dispose of me as he thought fit. He was perfectly satisfied with this answer, and proceeded as if I had given swilling consent. I forgot to tell you, he named you, and said, if I thought that way, I was very much mistaken ; that if he had no other engagements, yet he would never have agreed to your proposals, having no inclination to see his grandchildren beggars. The rival decided the business ; and Mr. MONTAGU made up his mind. Several letters on his part appear to have passed sug- gesting elopement ; and, on a " Friday night," Lady MARY con- sented—" I will be only yours, I will do what you please." In the morning, cooler reflection came; and here seems to have been the last letter she " writ " as MARY PIERREPONT—WII0 ever dis- cussed an elopement so fully in all its bearings?

I writ you a letter last night in some passion. I begin to fear again; I own myself a coward. You made no reply to one part of my letter concern- ing my fortune. I am afraid you flatter yourself that my father may be at length reconciled and brought to reasonable terms. I am convinced, by what 1 have often heard him say, speaking of other cases like this, that he never will. The fortune that he has engaged to give with me, was settled, on my brother's marriage, on my sister and on myself; but in such a manner, that it was left in his power to give it all to either of us, or divide it as be thought fit. He has given it all to me. Nothing remains for my sister but the free bounty of my father from what he can save ; which, notwithstanding the greatness of his estate, may be very little. Possibly, after I have disobliged him so much, he may be glad to have her so easily provided for, with money already raised ; especially it he has a design to marry himself, as I hear. I do not speak this that you should not endeavour to conic to terms with him. if you please; but I am fully persuaded it will be to no purpose. He will have a very good answer to make ; that I suffered the match to proceed ; that I made him make a very silly figure in it ; that I have let hiin spend 400/. in wedding-clothes ; all which I saw without saying any thing. When I first pretended to oppose this match, he told me he was sure I had some other design in toy head ; I denied it with truth. But you see how little appear- ance there is of this truth. lle proceeded with telling me he would never enter into a treaty with another man. fee. and that I should be sent immedi- ately into the Ninth to stay there ; and, whea he died, he would only leave IOC an annuity of 4001. 1 had not courage to stand this view, and I submitted to what he pleased. He will now object against me,—why, since I intended to marry in this manner, I did not persist in my first resolution ; that it would have been as easy for me to run away from Thoresby as from hence ; and to what purpose did I put him, and the gentleman I was to marry, to expenses, &e. ? He will have a thousand plausible reasons for being irreconcileable, and 'tis only probable the world will be on his side. Reflect now fur the last time in what manner you must take me. I shall come to you with only a night- gown and a petticoat, and that is all you will get by me. I told a lady of my friends what I intend to do. You will think her a very good friend, when I tell you she proffered to lend us her house. I did not except of this till I had let you know it. If you think it more convenient to carry me to your lodgings, make no scruple of it. Let it be where it will : if I sin your wife, I shall think no place unfit for me where you are. I beg we may leave London next morning, wherever you intend to go. I should wish too out of England, if it suits your affairs. You are the best judge of your father's temper. If you think it would he obliging to him, or necessary for you, I will go with you immediately to ask his pardon and his blessing. If that is not proper at first, I think the best scheme is going to the Spa. When you come b:.ck, you may endeavour to snake your father admit of seeing me, and treat with mine (though I persist in believing it will be to no purpose). But I cannot think of living in the midst of my relations and acquaintances after so unjustifiable a:stem—so unjustifiable to the world ; but I think I can justify myself to myself. 1 again beg you to have a coach to be at the door early Monday morning, to carry us some part of our way, wherever you resolve our journey shall be. If you determine to go to the lady's house, you had best come with a coach and she at seven o'clock tomorrow. She and I will be in the balcony which looks on the road ; you have nothing to do but stop under it, and we will come down to you. Do in this what you like ; but after all think very seriously. Your letter, which will be waited for, is to determine every thing. You can show see no goodness I shall not be sensible of. However, think again, and resolve never to think of me if you have the least doubt, or that it is likely to make you uneasy in your fortune. I believe, to travel is the most likely way to make a solitude agreeable, and not tiresome. Remember you have promised it.

'Tis something odd for a woman that brings nothing to expect any thing; but after the way of my education I dare not pretend to live but in some degree suitable to it. I had rather die than return to a dependency upon relations I have disobliged. Save me from that fear, if you love me. If you cannot, or think that I ought not to expect it, be sincere and tell me so. 'Tis better I should not be yours at all, than, for a short happiness, involve myself in ages of misery. I hope there will never be occasion for this precaution ; but, however, 'tis necessary to make it. I depend entirely upon your honour, and I cannot suspect you of any way doing wrong. Do not imagine I shall be angry at any thing you can tell me. Let it be sincere : do not impose upon a woman that leaves all things for you.

Here is a very pleasant annotation, we suppose by Lord %YEARN- CLIFFE, springing out of a complimentary letter written by Lady PEMBROKE. The principle of the old gentleman is truly philoso- phical, and the instances good as examples to fathers, husbands, and masters.

Mary Howe, daughter of Lord Viscount Ifowe, married to Thomas eighth Earl of Pembroke, 1725 ; the Lord Pembroke who collected the statues and medals at Wilton, and whose knowledge of classical antiquity might therefore make his praise flattering to Lady Mary Wortley. He had been a principal member of the Whig Administrations under King William and Queen Anne, and the last person who held the office of Lord High Admiral; but now, being old and a great humorist, distinguished himself chiefly by odd whims and peculiarities; one of which was a fixed resolution not to believe that any thing he disliked, ever did or could happen. One must explain this by instances. Be chose that his eldest son should always live in the house with him, while nnmarlied. The son, who was more than of age, and had a will of his own, often chose to live elsewhere. But let him be ever so distant, or stay away ever se long, his father still insisted on supposing him present; every day gravely bidding the butler tell Lord Herbert dinner was ready ; and the butler every day as gravely bringing word, that "his Lordship dined abroad."

Marrying for the third time at seventy-five, he maintained strict dominion over a wife whom other people thought safely arrived at years of discretion, and quite fit to take care of herself. She had leave to visit in an evening, but must never on any account stay out a minute later than ten o'clock, his supper hour. One night, however, she stayed till past twelve. He declined supping, telling the servants it could not be ten o'clock, as their lady was not come home. When at last she came in a terrible fright, and began making a thousand apologies, "My dear," said be very coolly, "you ate under a mistake, it is but Just ten ; your watch, I see, goes too fast, and so does mine : we must have the man to-morrow to set them to rights ; meanwhile, let us go to supper."

His example on another occasion might be worth following. Of all the Mede- and-Persian laws established in his house, the most peremptory was, that any servant who once got drunk should be instantly discharged—no pardon granted, no excuse listened to. Yet an old footman, who had lived with him many years, would sometimes indulge in a pot of ale extraordinary, trusting to the wilful blindness which he saw assumed when convenient. One fatal day even this could not avail. As my Lord crossed the hall, John appearedin full view ; not rather tipsy, or a little disguised, but dead drunk and unable to stand. Lord P. went up to him : "My poor fellow, what ails you ? you seem dreadfully ill ; let me feel your pulse. God bless us, he is in a raging fever ; get him to bed directly, and send for the apothecary." The apothecary came ; not to be consulted—for his Lordship was physician-general in his own family ; but to obey orders—to bleed the patient copiously, clap a huge blister on his back, and give him a powerful dose of physic. After a few days of this treatment, when the fellow emerged weak and wan as the severest illness could have left him, " Ilah, honest John," cried his master, " I ant truly glad to see thee alive; you have had a wonderful escape though, and ought to be thankful— very thankful indeed. Why, man, it' I had notpassed by and spied the con- dition you were in, you would have been dead before now. But John, John," lifting up his finger, "NO MORE OF TIIESE FEVERS !" Our hasty notice, long as it is, has been formed upon an im- perfect copy of two volumes, without portraits, preface, or title- pages, and without time or means at hand of distinguishing new from old, except the faint impressions of a long-ago desultory reading. When we get a complete copy, we may, if the ad- ditional matter warrants it, take a further notice of Lady MARY'S Letters, and enter into a fuller examination of her character. If not, there is this comfort in store, that the world will go on very well without it.