present circumstances to be exactly the same with those of departed spirits. The heats of Constantinople have driven me to this place, which perfectly answers the description of the Elysian fields. I am in the middle of a wood consisting chiefly of fruit trees, watered by a vast number of fountains, famous for the excellency of their water, and divided into many shady walks, upon short grass, that seems to me artificial; but, I am assured, is the pure work of nature-within view of the Black Sea, from whence we perpetually enjoy the refreshment of cool breezes, that make us insensible of the heat of the summer. The village is only inhabited by the richest amongst the Christians, who meet every night at a fountain, forty paces from my house, to sing and dance. The beauty and dress of the women exactly resemble the ideas of the ancient nymphs, as they are given us by the representations of the poets and painters. But what persuades me more fully of my decease, is the situation of my own mind, the profound ignorance I am in, of what passes among the living (which only comes to me by chance), and the great calmness with which I receive it. Yet I have still a hankering after my friends and acquaintances left in the world, according to the authority of that admirable author,

That spirits departed are wondrous kind

To friends and relations left behind,

Which no body can deny.

Of which solemn truth I am a dead instance. I think Virgil is of the same opinion, that in human souls there will be still some remains of human passions:

Curæ non ipsæ in morte relinquunt.

And it is very necessary to make a perfect Elysium, that there should be a river Lethe, which I am not so happy as to find. To say truth, I am sometimes very weary of the singing and dancing, and sunshine, and

wish for the smoke and impertinences in which you toil; though I endeavour to persuade myself that I live in more agreeable variety than you do; and that Monday, setting of partridges; Tuesday, reading English; Wednesday, studying in the Turkish language (in which, by the way, I am already very learned); Thursday, classical authors; Friday, spent in writing; Saturday, at my needle; and Sunday, admitting of visits, and hearing of music, is a better way of disposing of the week, than Monday, at the drawingroom; Tuesday, Lady Mohun's; Wednesday, at the opera; Thursday, the play; Friday, Mrs. Chetwynd's, &c., a perpetual round of hearing the same scandal, and seeing the same follies acted over and over, which here affect me no more than they do other dead people. I can now hear of displeasing things with pity and without indignation. The reflection on the great gulf between you and me, cools all news that come hither. I can neither be sensibly touched with joy or grief, when I consider that, possibly, the cause of either is removed, before the letter comes to my hands. But (as I said before) this indolence does not extend to my few friendships; I am still warmly sensible of yours and Mr. Congreve's, and desire to live in your remembrance, though dead to all the world beside.

LETTER XVII.

I am, &c. &c.

TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU.

I WRITE this after a very severe illness, that had like to have cost you a friend: and in writing I rebel against a despotic doctor, whose tyranny the greatest here obey, and from the same servile principles that most men obey tyrants,-the fear of death.

He says

I must think but slightly of any thing: now I am

practising if I can think so of you, which if I can I shall be above regarding any thing in nature for the future: I may then look upon the sun as a spangle, and the world as a hazel-nut. But in earnest, you should be pleased at my recovery, as it is a thing you will get something by. Heaven has renewed a lease to you of a sincere servant: abundance of good wishes and grateful thanks will be added to those you have had from me already; and Lady Mary will be spoken of with respect and tenderness some years longer.

This last winter has seen great revolutions in my little affairs. My sickness was preceded by the death of my father, which happened within a few days after I had writ to you, inviting myself to meet you in your journey homewards. I have yet a mother of great age and infirmities, whose last precarious days of life I am now attending, with such a solemn pious kind of officiousness as a melancholy recluse watches the last risings and fallings of a dying taper. My natural temper is pretty much broke, and I live half a hermit within five miles of London. A letter from you soothes me in my reveries; it is like a conversation with some spirit of the other world, the least glimpse of whose favour sets one above all taste of the things of this indeed, there is little or nothing angelical left behind you; the women here are-women. cannot express how I long to see you face to face; if ever you come again, I shall never be able to behave with decency, I shall walk, look, and talk at such a rate, that all the town must know I have seen something more than human. Come, for God's sake; come, Lady Mary; come quickly!

I

I extremely regret the loss of your oriental learning, for that letter I never had, but am heartily glad you kept a copy. I believe one of mine had the same fate, wherein I begged a Circassian woman of you, the likest

yourself that could be purchased. Do not think to put me off with a little likeness of you; the girl which I hear you have some way or other procured, and are bringing with you, is not fit for me;-whatever you may fancy, Molineux is married, and I am past a boy.

I must tell you a story of Molineux: the other day, at the prince's levee, he took Mr. Edgecomb aside, and asked, with an air of seriousness, What did the Czar of Muscovy, when he disinherited his son, do with his secretary? To which Edgecomb answered, He was sewed up in a football, and tossed over the

water.

Now I am got among your acquaintance, you must be content to hear how often I talk of you with Mr. Craggs, Mr. Methuen, Mr. Congreve, D. of Buckingham, Sir R. Rich, Miss Griffin", &c. I am almost angry to go into any body's company where I ever saw you; I partly enjoy and partly regret it. It is not without vexation that I roam on the Thames in a fine evening, or walk by moonlight in St. James's park: I can scarce allow any thing should be calm, or any thing sweet without you. Give me leave at this distance to say, that I am something so much between a philosopher and a lover, that I am continually angry at fortune for letting me enjoy those amusements which I fancy you want; and I seldom receive any pleasure, but it is got into my head, why has she not a share of it? This is really true; and yet you are not so prodigiously obliged to me neither, because I wish almost every vanity that can delight them.

Our gallantry and gaiety have been great sufferers by the rupture of the two. courts here: scarce any ball,

5 Miss Griffin is mentioned in the ballad :

"To Bellenden, Lepell, and Griffin, &c.”—Bowles.

6 The rupture between the King and Prince of Wales.-Bowles.

assembly, basset-table, or any place where two or three are gathered together. No lone house in Wales, with a rookery, is more contemplative than Hampton-Court: I walked there the other day by the moon, and met no creature of any quality but the king, who was giving audience all alone to the birds under the garden wall.

How many hundred things have I to say to you, not ten of which, perhaps, I shall remember when we meet. I have seen many fine things, many vile things, and many ridiculous things, all which are an amusement to those who can think; though one emulates the first sort, one is hurt by the second, and vexed at the third. If one laughs at the world they will say he is proud; if one rails at it, they will say he is ill-natured; and yet one or other of these one must do upon the whole. I am melancholy, which (to say truth) is all one gets by pleasures themselves; but I should not tell you this, if I did not think you of opinion, that melancholy does me as little hurt as any man; and after all, he must be a beast that can be melancholy with such a fine woman as you to his friend. Adieu. Were I your guardian spirit, your happiness would be my whole care. As I am a poor mortal, it is one of my most earnest wishes. Yours.

You are now come

I beg you write to me soon. into the region of posts, and under the care of secretaries, the whole succession of whom are your servants, and give me more than pensions and places when they give me your letters.