1809.} Original Letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. 5 
out a disappointment. Well, I hope we 
shall meet again at Scofftun—it can be 
for no long time—half a day is very short; 
but however it is better than nothing, and 
that will be soon. 
I don’t mention your accident: you 
may suppose I am sorry for your fright, 
and glad of your ’scape. 
"Tis a cursed condition of humanity, 
we have long entire weeks to give to me- 
lancholy, and so few fleeting minutes to 
pleasure. 
Yo Mrs. Fustice, York. 
Kwowrnc experimentally, my dear, 
the plague of sore eyes, I’m sure you will 
think it sufficient excuse for not sooner 
condoleing with you for the losse of your 
mother, which I am truly and heartily 
sorry for, as [ am for any thing that 
gives you trouble. The greatest I have 
is the weaknesse of my sight, which is 
enough of all conscience. I have sat a 
good while in a dark room, and am in- 
deed not now in acondition of writing ; 
but could not be any longer without let- 
ting you hear from me. Diversions are 
none to me at iny present; and my mi- 
-serable eyes take from me all the recrea- 
tions of my life, both in company and 
solitude. I wish you may be at Scoffton 
some part of this summer, for I dare say 
we shall be in that country, and then I 
may have the pleasure of seeing vou 
again, which you know will be much to 
my satisfaction. lam afraid you'll hard- 
ly be able to read this; but indeed I 
hardly see what I write, and my eyes 
water so, I must conclude; but I hope 
that won’t hinder you trom writing to me 
soon, sincé ’tis none of my fault I did 
not write sooner,or don’t write more now. 
August. 
To Mrs. Ann Justice, York. 
You see I follow my orders, and write 
what I have to say ina bit that may be 
burnt without questions. Lam glad of 
the happynesse of the couple you know, 
tut have malice enough to wish it de- 
fer’d till we came to be witnesses: tho’ 
-I reckon my selfe in part there since you 
are, aud am overjoy’d at your obliging 
promise of an account of all passages. 
You never was in the wrong in your life 
but in one thing, and that is asking my 
pardon for a freedom that pleases and 
obliges me beyond all things. I hope 
they are to hive at Mr. Banks, and that 
youl stay all summer. I saw a very 
sritty northern gentleman t’other day : 
he was talking in great commendations 
ot York. I ask’d him if he knew one 
‘try. 
Miss Justice there? He assur’d me he 
did, and said_a thousand pritty things of 
you. Good buy te’e my dear, I wish 
you all the happynesse you wish your- 
selfe, and that you may be perfecily, per- 
fectly so; and let people say what they 
will, that is possible. I am going to day 
upon a pleasant expedition, and will give 
an account of it in my next. The muller 
told the queen, her inajesty should be in 
great danger of drowning in December, 
whereat her majesty laugh’d very much, 
and was pleas’d to call him a blockhead, 
and say she should never bein danger of 
drowning, because she should never tra- 
vel; but she has writ us word, that, go- 
-ing to Nottingham, the chaise overturn’d 
in a deep ditch full of water, and she 
very narruwly escap’d with her life, which 
confirms usin the opinion of his being a 
conjuror. LTwish to God he was, for 
then—you know. 
You are a very generous friend, to 
be as much pleased with Mrs. Banks’s 
wedding as if it was your own; and I 
am not lesse obliged to vou tor your 
kind wishes about the lottery. I wonder 
you don’t think of putting in yourselfe : 
a thousand pounds per annum is worth 
trying for, though the odds be never so 
great. Prithee do, my dear, imagine to 
yourselfe, how agreeable a surprize twill 
be to have so laige an estate, to come to 
London in your own coach and six horses, 
be the celebrated toast of the town, and 
at last make some true lover happy, to 
the utter disappointment of all fortune- 
hunters, who would allmost stifle you 
with their troublesome assiduities. These 
shining ideas, if I was in ‘your place, 
would perswade me to venture a ticket 
or two. My prospeet is very different : 
if [ win T intend to retire out of the crond 
I am in; my particular pleasure would 
be, in despising the censure of fools, and 
shutting the doors upon three parts of 
my acquaintance, who should never see 
me afterwards. Ll would uo longer visit 
the Dutchesse of Fiddlefaddle, for fear of 
being called rude, and go regularly to my 
Lady Tattle’s visiting night, to avoid be- 
ing the subject of her malice. In short, L 
would shew all that sincerity so natural to 
me, and keep no comoany out of fear, 
nor cringe to detestable prudes to acquire 
areputation. I woald live (you won’t 
believe it)—but I would live in the cour- 
I would have a little neat house, 
which nobody should enter that did not 
in some degree enter into my heart too. 
I would be always my own, or people’s 
that I thought part of my selfe.-—This 
: scene 
