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LITERARY NOTICES. THE LETTERS AND WORKS OF LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. Edited by her Great Gra ndso n, Lord Wharncliffe: Third Edition, with Additions and Corrections derived from the Original Manuscripts, Illustrated Notes, and a new Memoir. By W. Moy Thomas. In two volumes. H. G. Bohn, York-street, Covent Garden, London. THESE two volumes comprise the whole of Lord Wharn- cliffe's edition of the works of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, published in 1837, except the memoir written by Mr. Dallaway, which contained so many mis-concep- tions and errors as to exclude it from this edition. Mr. Thomas has, however, supplied its place by a memoir which remedies some defects in the Introductory Anec- dotes contributed by the late Lady Louisa Stuart, who only lightly touches some points of interest in Lady Mon- tagu's life. Mr. Thomas, in his memoir, minutely investigates the charges preferred against Lady Mary by Pope and Horace Walpole, to which we shall presently refer. In the process of revision he has introduced fresh matter, and removed much that was false and worthless. He has carefully compared the letters with their originals, and they are now for the first time faithfully printed. In the former editions they were tampered with in a most unjustifiable manner. Single letters were composed of several letters, or made up from passages of letters written at different periods. Exact dates were affixed which were manifestly incorrect, or, if correct, were not in the originals. Passages were continually omitted and names inserted without warning to the reader; and numberless minute alterations were introduced, ap- parently with no object but to improve the language of the letters in conformity with the editor's taste. The Turkish Letters are now printed from the manuscript, in Lady Montagu's handwriting, given to Mr. Sowden, which varies in numberless instances from the published version. Mr. Thomas, than whom a better editor could not have been found, has thus prepared an accurate and complete edition of the letters and works of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, which Mr. Bohn, the enter- prising publisher, issues in his handsomely printed Gentlemen's Library." Lady Mary was born in 1689. She was the daughter of Evelyn Peirpoint, Esq., afterwards Marquis of Dor- chester and Duke of Kingston. He was thoughtless and fond of pleasure, but took a busy part in the politics of the stirring times in which he lived, and was a conspicuous man in the reigns of Queen Ann and George the First. Her mother, Lady Mary Fielding, died in 1692, and thus at three years of age she was left under the protection of her thoughtless father, who she says entrusted the training of his children too much to subordinates, and she was herself left to the care of an old governess, who, though perfectly good and pious, wanted capacity" for her task. It does not appear that her father determined to give her an education beyond what was generally thought suf- ficient for the daughter of a nobleman in those days; but her love of reading, and the well furnished library in her father's house, quickly supplied the defects of her instructor. She greedily devoured works of fiction and entertainment, the old courtly romances then in fashion, and some old stories in her own handwriting are still preserved. She was not, however, satisfied with these studies; and, she tells us, that by the help of an un- common memory and indefatigable labour" she taught herself Latin. She probably had some assistance from ¡ Mr. Wm. Fielding, her mother's brother, a man of I parts, who encouraged her pursuit of knowledge; and also from Bishop Burnet, to whom she expressed her obligation for condescending to direct the studies of a girl." Although her father did not interest himself in her masculine studies, he took care that in one part of a lady's education she should not be deficient. Lord Dorchester, having no wife to do the honours of his table at Thoresby, imposed that task upon his eldest daughter, as soon as she had bodily strength for the office: which in those days required no small share. For the mistress of a country mansion was not only to invite-that is, urge and tease-her company to eat more thin human throats could conveniently swallow, but to carre every dish, when chosen, with her own bands. The greater the lady, the more indispensable the duty. Each joint was carried up in its turn, to be operated upon by her, and her alone since the peers and knights on either hand were so far from being bound to offer their assistance, that the very master of the house, posted opposite to her, might not act as her croupier; his department was to p;ish the bottle after dinner. Aa for the crowd of guests, the most inconsiderable among them-the curate, or subaltern, or squire's younger brother-if suffering through her neglect to help himself to a slice of the mutton placed before him, w^uld have chewed it in bitterness, and gone home an affronted man, half inclined to give a wrong vote at the next election. There were then professed carving-masters, who taught young ladies the art scientifically from one of whom Lady Mary laid she took lessons three times a week, that she might be perfect on her father's public days when, in order to per- form her functions without interruption, she was forced to eat her own dinner alone an hour or two beforehand. Her literary accomplishments led to an intimacy with Mr. Wortley, when she was in her fourteenth year. They met at a party given by a friend of Lady Mary's, a woman much older than herself, to whom he was supposed to be paying his addresses. He was struck by her criticisms on a new play and with her general con- versation. The interest he took in her ripened into friendship, and led to that strange courtship and mar- riage recorded in her letters. Mr. Wortley had two sisters, who became friends and correspondents of Lady Mary. Of these Anne was the favourite. She was a kind-hearted, generous girl, but by no means clever; still, she wrote wonderful letters to Lady *Mary, for they were generally composed by her brother, and the drafts of them are preserved. This fact could not have been unknown to her, for she occasionally received a note from her friend, which in style and matter was ridiculously unlike the more laboured composition of the brother's dictation. She, however, affected to see nothing in all this, or in all the compliments to her wit and beauty, but female friendship. By-and-by camo jealous allusions to somebody who had escorted Lady Mary to the races at Nottingham. What could her friend mean ? After giving me imaginary wit and beauty, you give me imaginary passions, and you tell me I m in love: if I am, 'tis a perfect sin of ignorance, for I don t so much as know the man's name. Pray tell me the name of him I love, that I may (according to the laud- able custom of lovers) sigh to the woods and groves. Let me know whether 'tis proper to walk in the woods, increasing the winds with my sighs, or to sit by a purling stream, swelling the rivulet with my tears." The challenge was accepted; and in her next letter Anne names the person who had excited the jealousy of her brother and Lady Mary then told her the greatest secret of her life." To be capable," she says, of preferring the despicable wretch you mention to Mr. Wortley, is as ridiculous, If not as criminal, as forsaking the Deity to worship a calf. My tenderness is always built upon my esteem, and when the foundation perishes, it falls." This of course was to be a secret, but Mr. Wortley read the letter, as it was intended he should. Soon afterwards Anne died, and a direct cor- respondence commenced between the lovers. Mr. Wort- ley doubtless had peculiar attractions in her eyes. Ho was a man of learning, a friend and associate of the most eminent literary men of his day; he had travelled in company with his friend Addison in countries which were very early the subject of her dream. For a knowledge of those classic authors, which at this time were her passion, he enjoyed a reputation among the best scholars. It is probable that he contributed papers to the To tier or Spectator. He represented various places in Parliament, was a rigid Whig, and possessed a handsome personal appearance. Her letters to him are ualike what a lady of twenty might be expected to write to her lover. There is in them a curious inter- mixture of plain speaking and sober discussion of their position and prospects in life. Thus matters went on until Lady Mary was in her twenty-fourth year. They were perpetually on the point of breaking altogether; he felt and knew that they suited each other very ill; lie saw, or thought he saw his rivals encouraged if not preferred; he was more affronted than satisfied with her assurance of a sober esteem and regard; and yet every struggle to get free did but end wheit set out. At last he resolved to marry her, but a difficulty arose about the settlement and caused some delay. Her father had chosen for Lady Mary a Mr. K., who had offered to make such settlements and provisions as were demanded, but she speaks of him as a man whom she hates. The father determined the marriage should proceed, and Mr. Wortley continued obstinate, but still resolved not to lose his chance. He made proposals for a secret mar- riage, and at length they eloped and were married in August, 1712. ilir. Wortley did not treat his wife with the affection- ate attention which her sacrifices for him required although Mr. Thomas says that the complaints of neglect have no other foundation than in the fond anxiety of his young wife. She lived secluded in the country, while he was away seeking place in Parlia- 1 mont and enjoying the society of literarv men in Ijondon. Her letters to him show that she was a thrifty housewife. They are made up of the details of h t domestic economy, homely accounts of the price of butcher's meat, sensible reports of her bargains for the line of kitchen utensils, and her prudent arrange- ments for saving the keep of a horse. Their son Edward was born in the year succeeding their marriage, and thenceforth her child is the constant subject of her 1 tters.. t d b In 1716 Mr. Wortley was appointed ambassador to to the Porte, and his wife accompanied him, takmg hur child with her. It was during her absence from Eng- land at this time that her Turkish Letters were written. They were addressed to a great number of persons- to her sister Lady Marr, to the Abbe Conti, to Pope, an,1 others. These arc among the more interesting let rs of Lady Mary, who wrote to her sister and some of tltl; ladies of the English court, describing the places visited by her, the manners and customs of the people, an 1 on topics of a similar character. Her letters to Tope are natural and unaffected, and such as a literary woman would be expected to write. They refer to the plar'ots through which she travelled, to the pleasures she derived from reading his version of Homer, and to some Turkish -verses which wonderfully resemble the Song of Solomon. A striking contrast to the letters which Pope sent to her, in which he says After having dreamed of you several nights, besides a hundred reveries by day, I find it necessary to relieve myself by writing." I prodigiously long for your sonnets, your remarks, your Oriental learning; but I long for nothing so much as your Oriental self. Without offence to your modesty, be it spoken, I have a burning desire to see your soul stark naked, for I am confident it is the prettiest kind of white soul in existence." Dear madam, I am for ever yours, and your slave's slave and servant." These are the sort of materials which compose his letters, and at a later period he had the baseness to use them in defaming the character of Lady Mary. We shall not enter upon the charges made against her by Pope and Horace Walpolo further than in stating that they have no. foundation whatever, and that Mr. Thomas has vindi- cated her reputation, and proved beyond doubt that the accusations arc false. The friendship with Pope, conspicuous in the letters written during the embassy, is an unfortunate episode in the life of Lady Mary. All the stories which have gained credence, to the injury of her reputatiou, are probably due to his subsequent quarrel with her, the hatred and un scrupulousness with which he pursued her, and his fatal, power of circulating scandalous insinuations. It is certain • that the tenor of her life up to the period of her quarrel with Pope, was wholly unlike that career of profligacy which has been popularly attributed to her since the publica- tion of Pope's Satires and the Letters of Horace Walpole— who, it must bo remembered, wrote after Pope's celebrated attacks; and it is no less certain that, on a careful investiga- tion, not one of the charges brought against her will be found to rest on any evidence. Her childhood was passed in a patient and industrious course of self-culture, which was rare, indeed, in that age of female frivolity and ignor- ance. Notwithstanding the temptations of remarkable beauty, her inclination appears at aU times to have been towards a life of study and retirement rather than to one of gaiety or idleness. Although her father occupied a position of the highest influence in the political world, and her hus- band's importance among his party was very considerable, she docs not appear ever to have soaght one of those places about the Court which were the object of the hopes and ambition of young ladies of her ago and station. As a wife and mother, her letters show her homely, frugal, cheerful, and affectionate. When her husband accepted bis post of ambassador to Turkey, she decided to accompany him, taking with her her child, with whom she traversed the uncivilised countries of Eastern Europe, in the midst of a sanguinary war. When abroad, her activo mind found employment in a large correspondence with her friends, in recording in her Diary the customs of the countries through which she passed, in the study of the Turkish language and literature, or in obtaining information as to the practice of inoculation, which she afterwards introduced into England with so great success—pursuits in which the frivolous and the luxurious take no delight. It is not easy to believe that this woman dropped suddenly into a degraded and shame- less way of life as Pope and Walpole, and those who have adopted their statements, have asserted. But we are not left to infer the truth from such considerations. Where the charges against her are distinct, the means of testing them are not wanting. In 1739 Lady Mary, tired of English life, left her husband and connexions to reside on the continent, and did not return for more than twenty years. It is possible that the publicity which the attack of Pope and others, whom she had offended by her unfor- tunate talent for satire, led to her retirement, and that after a few years absence a return to that society by which she was almost forgotten bccame more and more distasteful to her. Whatever the cause of the separation there is abundant evidence in the cor- respondence that it was one which she might have openly avowed without shame. Besides repeated censures upon the ill conduct of others, which it would be impossible to imagine could be written to a husband by a woman whose own wrong-doing had condemned her. as has been insinuated, to a lifelong banishment, there are frequently direct references to her own pro- priety of conduct and faithful discharge of her duties as a mother and a wife. In one letter to Mr. Wortley she writes, with reference to Lady Bute, I may say with truth that, as even from her infancy I have made her a companion and witness of my actions, she owes me not only the regard due to a parent, but the esteem that ought to be paid to a blameless con- duct.' That their separation was never regarded by Lady Mary as necessarily final, is equally evident. The history of her life in Italy is given in hor letters, which occupy a large portion of the second volume. The greater part of it was spent at Lovero, where she found content and occupation in daily attention to her garden, her dairy, her needlework, and the small farm, in which she produced large quantities of silk. A glimpse at her continental home is obtained from a letter to her daughter, the Countess of Bute, to whom she writes— I have been these six week- and still am, at my dairy- house, which joins to my garden. I believe I have already told you it is a long mile from the castle, which is situate in the midst of a very large village, once a considerable town, part of the walls still remaining, and has not vacant ground enough about it to make a garden, which is my greatest amusement, it being now troublesome to walk, or oven o in the chaise till the evening. I have fitted up in this farm- house a roow for myself-that is to say, strewed the floor With rushes, covered the chimney wi'h moss and branches, and adorned the room with basins of earthenware (which is made here to great perfection) filled with flowers, and put in some straw chairs, and a couch bed, which is my whole furniture. This spot of ground is so beautiful, I am afraid you will scarce credit the description, which, however, I can assure you, shall be very literal, without any embellishment from imagination. It is on a bnuk, forming a kind of penin- sula, raised from the river Oglio fifty feet, to which you may descend by easy stairs cut in the turf, and either take the air on the river, which is as large as the Thames at Richmond, or by walking [in) an avenue t"o hundred yards on the side of it, you find a wood of a hundred acres, which was already cnt intI) walks and ridings when I took it. I bave only added fifteen bowers in difJernt views, with scats of turf. They were easily there being a large quan- tity of underwood, and « great number of wild vines, which twist to the top of the highest trees, and from which they make a very good sort of wine they call brusco. I am now wriIing to you in one of these arbours, which is 80 thickly shaded, the slln i8 not tNub!c8ome, even at noon. Another is on the side of the river, where I ha1'e made a camp kit, chen, that I may take the fish, dress, and eat it immediately, and at the same time see the barks, which ascend or descend every day to or from Mantua, Guastalla, or Pont de Vie, all considerable towns. This little wood is carpeted, in 1 their succeeding seasons, with violents and strawberries, inhabited by a nation of nightingales, and filled with game of all kinds, excepting deer an 1 wild boar, the first being unknown here, and not being large enough for the other. My garden was a plain vineyard when it came into my hands not two years ago, and it is, with a small expense, turned into a garden that (apart from the advantage of the climate) I like better than that of Kensington. The Italian vineyards are not planted like those of France, but in clumps fastened to trees planted in equal ranks (commonly fruit-trees), and continued festoons from one to another, which I have turned into covered galleries of shade, that I can walk in the heat without being incommoded by it. I have made a dining-room of verdure, capable of holding a table of twenty covers the whole ground is three hundred and seventeen feet in length, anJ two hundred in breadth. You see it is far from large but so prettily disposed (though I say it), that I never saw a more agreeable rustic garden, abounding with all sort of fruit, and producing a variety of wines. I would send you a piece [sic] if I did not fear the customs would make you pay too dear for it. I believe my description gives but an imperfect idea of my garden. Per- haps I shall succeed better in describing my manner of life, which is as regular as that of any monastery. I generally rise at six, and as soon as I have breakfasted, put myself at the head of my weedev [sic] women and work with them till nine. I then inspect my dairy, and take a turn among my poultry, which is a very large inquiry. I have, at present, two hundred chickens, berries turkeys, geese, duck', and peacocks. All things have hitherto prospered under my care my becs and silkworms are doubled, and I am told that, without accidents, my capital will be so in two years' time. At eleven o'clock I retire to my books I dilre not indulge myself in that pleasure above an hour. At twelve I constantly dine, and sleep after dinner till about three. I then send for some of my old priests, and either play at piquet or whist, till 'tis cool enough to go out. One evening I walk in my wood, where I often sup, take the air on hotseback the next, and go on the water the third. The fishery of this part of the ri rer belongs to me; and my fisherman s littlc boat (where I have a green lutestring awn- ing) serves me for a barge. He and his son are my rowers without any expense, he being very .veil paid by the profit of the fish, which I give him on condition of having every day one dish for my table. Here is plenty of every sort of [ fresh-water fish (except salmon) but we have a large trout so like it, that I, that have almost forgotten the taste, do not distinguish it. We are both placed properly in regard to our different time. of life; you amidst the fair, the gallant, and the gay; I in a retreat, where I enjoy every amusement that solitude can aff.)r 1. I confess I sometimes wish for a little conversa- tion but I reflect that the commerce of the wo'id gives I' marc uneasiness than pleasure, and quiet is all the hope that can reasonably be indulged at my age. My letter is of an unconscionable length I should ask your pardon for it, but I had a mind to give you an idea of my passing my time,—take it as an instince of the affection of, dear child. Wo could quote pages from these letters illustrative of her life and temper, of her concern for her husband and children, of her highly cultivated intellect and sound criticisms, but we must contcnt ourselves with the following remarks on education, addressed to the Countess of Bute— You have given me a great deal of satisfaction by your account of your eldest daughter. I am particularly pleased to hear she is a good arithmetician it is the best proof of understanding the knowledge of numbers is one of the chief distinctions between us and tho brutes. If there is anything in blood, you may reasonably expect your children shouH be endowed with an uncommon share ofg?od sense. Mr. Wortley family and mine ha?e both produced some of the greatest men that have been born in England I mean Admiral Sandwich, and my grandfather, who was distin- guished by the name of Wise William. I hive heard Lord Bute's father mentioned as au extraordinary genius, though he had not many opportunities of showing it; and his uncle, the present Duke of Argyll, has one of the best heads I ever knew. I will therefore speak to you as supposing Lady Mary nut ouly capable, but desirous of learning in that ciee by all means let her be indulged in it. You will tell me I did not make it a part of your education your pros- prot was very different from hers. As you had no defect either in mind or person to hinder, and much in your cir- cumstances to attract, the highest offers, it seemed your business to learn how to live in the world, as it is hers to know how to be easy out uf it. It is the common error of builders and parents to follow some plan they think beautiful (and perhaps is so), without considering that no- thing is beautiful that is displaced. Hence we see so many ediSces raised that the raisers can never inhabit, being too large for their fortunes. Vistas are laid open over barren iheaths, and apartments contrived for a coolness very agreeable in Italy, but killing in the north of Britain thus every woman endeavours to breed her daughter a fine lady, qualifying her for a station in which she will never appear and at the same time incapacitating her for that retirement to which she is destined. Learning, if she has a real tiste for it, will not only make her contented, but happy in it. No entertainment is so cheap as reading, nor any pleasure so lasting. She will not want new fashions, nor regret the loss of expensive diversions, or variety of company, if sho can be amused with an author in her closet. To render this amusement extensive, she should be permitted to learn the languages. I have heard it lamented that boys lose so many years in mere learning words this is no objection to a girl. whose time is not so precious she cannot advance herself in any profession, andThas therefore more hours to spare; and as you say her memory is good, she will be very agree- ably employed this way. There are two cautions to be given on this subject: first not to think herself learned when she can read Latin, or even Greek. Languages are more properly to be called vehicles of learning than learning itself, as may be observed in many schoolmasters, who, though perhaps critics in grammar, are the most ignorant fellows upon earth. True knowledge consists in knowing things, not words. I would wish her no further a linguist than to enable her to read books in their originals, that are often corrupted, and always injured, by translations. Two hours' application every morning will bring this about much sooner than you can imagine, and she will have lei- sure enough besides to run over the English poetry, which is a more important part of a woman's education than it is generally supposed. Many a young damsel has been ruined by a fine copy of verses, which she would have laughed at if she had known it bad been stolen from Mr. Waller. I remember, when I was a girl, I saved one of my companies ( from destruction, who communicated to me an epistle she was quite charmed with. As she had a natural good taste, she observed the lines were not so smooth as Prior's or Pope's, but had more thought and spirit than any of theirs. She was wonderfully delighted with such a demonstration of her lover's sense and passion, and not a little pleased with her own charms, that had force enough to inspire such el", gancies. In the midst of this triumph I showed her that they were taken from Randolph's poems, and the utifor- tunate transcriber was dismissed with the scorn he deserved, To say truth, the poor plagiary was very unlucky to fall into my hands thu author, being no longer in fashion, would have escaped any one of less universal reading than Myself. You should encourage your daughter to talk over with you what she reads; and, as you are very capable of distinguishing, take care she does not mistake pert folly for wit and humour, or rhyme for poetry, which aro the Common errors of young people, and have a train of ill consequences. The second caution to be given her (and which is most absolutely neccssury) is to conceal whatever learning she attains, with as much solicitude as she would lide crookedness or lameness the parade of it can only serve do draw on her the envy, and consequently the most inveterate hatred, of all he and she fools, which will cci tainly he at least three parts in four of all her acquaintance. The use of knowledge in our sex, besides the amusement of solitude, is to moderate th. passions, and leirit to be contented with a small expense, which are the certain effects of a studious life and it may be preferable even to that fame which men have engrossed to tikeinsel-es, and will not suffer us to share. You will tell me I have not observed this rule my- self but you are mistaken it is only inevitable accident that has given me any reputation that way. I have always carefully avoided it, and ever thought it a misfortune. The explanation of this paragraph would occasion a long digression, which I will not trouble you with, it being my present design only to say what I think useful for the in- struction of my granddaughter, which I have much at heart. If she has the same inclination (I should say passion) for learning that I was born with, history, geography, and philosophy will furnish her with materials ti pass away cheerfully a longer life than is allotted to mortals. I believe there are few heads capable of making Sir 1. New- ton's calculations, but the result of them ii not difficult to be understood by a moderate capacity. Do not fear this should make her affect the character of La(ly-, or Lady or Mrs. those women are ridiculous, not because they have learning, but because they have it not. One thinks herself a complete historian, after reading Ealiard's ltotnan History; another a profound philosopher, having got by heart some of Pope's uniyitelligihle pii;iys and a third an able divine, on the strength at Whitefield's sermons: thus you hear them screaming politics and con- troversy. It is a saying of Thueydides, ignorance is bold, and know- ledge reserved. Indeed, it is impossible to be far advanced in it without being more humbled by a conviction of human ignorance, than elated by learning. At the same time 1 re- cornmend books, I neither exclude work nor drawing. I think it as scandalous for a woman not to know how to use a needle, as for a man not to know how to use a sword. I was once extremely fond of my pencil, and it was a great mortification to me when my father turned off my master, ha-iig made a considerable progress for the short time I learnt. My over-eag<raess in the pursuit of it had brought, a weakness in my eyes that made it necessary to leave it off; and all the advantage I got was the improvement of my hand. I see, by hers, that practice will make her a ready wricer: she may attain it by serving you for a secretary, when your health or affairs make it troublesome to you to write yourself; and custom will make it an agreeable amusement to her. She cannot have too many for that station of life which will probably be her fate. The ulti- mate end of your education was to make you a good wife (and I have the comfort to hear that you are one) hers ought to be to make her happy in a virgin state. I will not say it is happier; but it is undoubtedly safer than any marriage. Her life was embittered by the misconduct of her son, whose persecutions followed her even in her distant re- treat. She was in Venice in 1761, when the news reached her of her husband's death, and she writes upon the subject in sorrow too deep to have been feigned. She was now upwards of seventy years of age, and in ill health; but at the solicitation of her daughter she re- turned to England, whore she died in 1762. THE LIFE OF NELso. By Robert Southoy. New edition, with additional notes and plates, and a a general index. H. G. Bohn, York-street, Covent Garden. MR. BOHN has recently added to his Illustrated Li- brary" Sontheif s Life of Nelson, a book known wherever the English language is read. It has been read with breathless interest by thousands of British youths, who have learnt from its pages how to admire the heroism and bravery of England's greatest sailor, and many of them have been led to emulate his great achievements. The book has an enduring fame; and this handsome illustrated edition is most acceptable, and should be put into the hands of every young sailor, that he might carry it about with him till he has treasured up the example in his memory and in his heart."

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