WORKS AND LIFE OF LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
ope hér daughter, the coun- 
sss of Bute, to her native land, where 
- she died in August 62. % 
_ The first of these volumes, besides 
the “Memoirs” and a translation of the 
chiridion of Epictetus, made by Lady 
ry in her youth, which was scarcely 
_ worth publishing, contains such of her 
; ae as were written before the year 
_ Those to Mrs. Wortley are written in 
pure and elegant language, and afford 
_ many indications of the sprightly wit, 
ome of the sarcastic humour, for which 
ne was afterwards so eminent. But 
1e had not yet completely thrown off 
the shackles of dull formality, and sub- 
stituted her own inimitable ease and 
artless grace, in place of that style of 
_ high-flown compliment and affected hu- 
mility then in vogue, which she herself 
afterwards did so much to bring into 
_ discredit. 
Her correspondence with Mr. W. 
‘ Montacu before their marriage, presents 
_ perhaps the most curious specimen of 
love letters ever disclosed to public 
_ view. The gentleman appears to have 
' been much enamoured of her, but fear- 
_ ful that she had too little preference of 
him, and too great a love of general 
_ admiration and gay life, to make a good 
wife. “If I have you,” he tells her, 
JT shall act against my own opinion.” 
Quite opposite was the case of the lady: 
_ she greatly esteemed and respected Mr. 
- Wortley, and was eager for the con- 
' nexion, without being actuated, appa- 
_ rently, by any thing like passion. She 
: ety endeavours to convince him that 
| mistakes her character, that her taste 
is entirely domestic, and that an union 
ni would ensure the happiness of them 
both: at the same time she remonstrates 
With spirit against his suspicion and in- 
decision; shows him that she docs not 
lie at his mercy, and more than once 
1 bids him farewel for ever. . 
ie 
a“ 
\ To E.W. Montagu, Esq. 
Seal Indeed Ido not zt all wonder that ab- 
 sthee, and vdricty of new faces, should 
make you forget me; but I am a little sur- 
prized at your curiosity to know what passes 
in my heart, (a thing wholly insignificant to 
you,) except yau propose to yourself a piece 
af ill-natured satisfaction, in finding me 
ery uch disquicted. Pray which, way 
Would you see intomy heart? you can frame 
HO gueéses about it from either my speaking 
503 
or writing; and supposing I should atteapt 
to shew it you, I know no other way. 
<<] begin to be tired of my humility: I 
haye carried my complaisance to you farther 
than I ought. You make new scruples: 
you have a great deal of fancy; and your 
distrusts being all of your own making, are 
more immoveable than if there were some 
real ground for them. Our aunts and grand~ 
mothers always tell us, that men are a soré 
of animals, that if ever they are-constant, "tis 
only where they are ill used. "L'was a kind 
of paradox I could not believe: experience 
has taught me the truth of it. You are the 
first I ever had a correspondence with, and 
T thank God-I have done with it for all my 
life. You needed not to have told me you 
are not what you have been: one must be 
stupid not to find a difference in your let- 
ters. You seem, in one part of your last, 
to excuse yourself from having done me any 
injury in point of fortune, Do I aceuse you 
of any? 
«« [ have not spirits to dispute any longer 
with you. You say you are not yet deter- 
mined: let me determine for you, and save 
you the trouble of writing again. Adieu 
for ever:—make no answer. I wish among 
the variety of acquaintance, you may find 
some one to please you ; and can’t help the 
vanity of thinking, should you try them all, 
you won't find one that will be so sincere in 
their treatment, though a thousand more 
deserving, and every one happier. "Tis a 
piece of vanity and injustice I never forgive 
a woman, to delight to give pain; what 
must I think of a man who takes pleasure in 
making me uneasy? After the folly of let- 
ting you know it is in your power, I ought 
in prudence to let this fe no farther, except 
I thonght you had good nature enough never 
to make use of that power. I have no rea- 
son to think so: however, I am willing, 
you see, to do you the highest obligation ‘tis 
possible for me to do ; that is, to give you a 
fair occasion of being rid of me. 
<M, P2? 
How this singular. couple contrived 
to make a match at last does not ap- 
pear ; but’ married they were, without 
the consent of her father. 
The second and almost half the third 
volume of the present collection, are 
Occupied by the well known “ Letters 
during Mr. Wortley’s embassy,” of 
which it is needless for us to speak. 
‘Lhe letters to the countess of Mar which 
succeed, contain much of the tittle-tat- 
tle of a licentious ‘court, and many sa- 
gacious remarks on life and manners, 
of which her ladyship was a curi- 
ous observer and sharp-sighted critic. 
We are compelled to pronounce these 
letters the most entertaining that ever 
were written, though we must at the 
Kkt 
