Mrs. William Robinson, who, with her husband and children, had been so
long abroad, had now returned to England, and had visited Mr. and Mrs.
Montagu. Late in the year, Mrs. Montagu wrote to her sister-in-law:
“_August ye 9th, 1772._ ... I am quite ashamed to think how ungrateful I
must have appeared to you and my brother for your kind visit and obliging
letter, in letting so long a time pass before I returned my thanks. Your
visit appeared to us like a pleasant dream, from which we were sorry to
awake and find ourselves deserted by such agreable guests. The Duchess
of Portland arrived in two or three days after your departure. She made
me rather a longer visit than you did, but still a much shorter than
I wished it. Her grace submitted with infinite good-humour to all the
awkwardnesses of a Tunbridge lodging. We had, happily, that kind of
weather which makes pastoral life agreable. I was delighted to find that
time had not robbed her grace of her pleasing vivacity, and we laugh’d
as heartily as we used to do in our younger days. Her grace gave me as a
fairing the most beautiful, rich, and elegant snuff-box I ever saw, for
which I could only return her thanks; for I thought it would be putting
myself too much upon a par with her, to make a return in kind. If I
could get any natural curiosity to add to her collection, it would make
me very happy.
“Every day after you left us the place began to fill with company.
“... We have had the finest weather I ever saw for any long continuance.
As a farmer, I have some fault to find with it. Our wheat, and barley,
and turnips have all suffered by drought. We had not any reason to
complain of our hay, but the grass is very much burnt. The dearness of
all kinds of provisions have reduced our poor neighbours to a state of
wretchedness which I never saw before in England.... My father has been
ill, but I believe his complaints were nervous, and partly the effects of
hot weather. I wonder how he can endure to live in a brick oven all the
summer season.
“... I went the other day to Winchester, and dined with Doctor Warton,
and saw the school. The doctor allowed me to ask a play for the boys,
which made them very happy, and gave him leisure to pass the time with
me. My sweet, lovely Miss Gregory and I set out very early in the
morning, so that we got to Winchester before eleven o’clock, and staid
there till between six and seven, and were at home in good time.... Miss
Gregory and Mrs. Morgan are much your humble servants.... When you have
an opportunity to get the nankeen, tea, and handkerchiefs, I can pay what
is due for them to your banker. If a blue tafety, or a white of a very
fine colour should come in your way and seem a pennyworth, please to add
it, or anything you may have offered that is plain.... Cheap, pretty,
plain muslin for gowns would not come amiss. But, as smuggling is a
dangerous trade, much counterband goods must not travel in the same box.
All possible love to my dear nephew and neices, with whom I hope to make
a more intimate acquaintance before they have disposed of all their love
and friendship.”
_August 15, 1772._—Mrs. Montagu to Mrs. Robinson. “... I was very sorry
that your races happened so untowardly, that I could not edge in my
visit without being complicated in them. I remember the time when the
said races would have a very different effect than deterring me from the
neighbourhood; but we change to everything and everything changes to
us. I cannot say that as one grows older, one grows so much wiser as to
despise foolish amusements, but one likes new kinds of follies. I mean we
always like some of those things severe and frowning wisdom calls follies.
“I had the pleasure in finding Mr. Montagu in extreme good health, which
gave me the higher satisfaction, as I had been alarmed about him some
time before.
“I went a few miles out of my road to Sandleford, to fulfill my old
promise to Mr. Burke to spend a day or two with him and Mrs. Burke, at
Beaconsfield. I was sorry that I could not continue there longer than
one whole day, as I was then not so assured that Mr. Montagu was in
perfect health. When the talents of a man of genius, the acuteness of a
politician, the alert vivacity of a man of business are all employed to
make conversation agreable and society pleasant, one passes one’s time
very delightfully in such company.
“At Beaconsfield, Mr. Burke is an industrious farmer, a polite husband, a
kind master, a charitable neighbour, and a most excellent companion. The
demons of ambition and party who hover about Westminster do not extend
their influences as far as the villa. I know not why it is, but these
busy spirits seem more tranquil and pleased in their days of retreat
than the honest, dull justice of the quorum, who never stretched forth
his hand to snatch the sceptre of power, or raised his voice in publick
to fill the trumpet of fame. A little mind is for ever in a tracasserie,
because it is moved by little things. I have always found that nothing
is so gentle as the chief out of war, nor so serene and simple as the
statesman out of place. If it were fit to name names and certify places,
I would bring many examples to justify my assertion. I so much delight
in these working master-spirits in their holiday humour, that I had
rather play at tee-totum or cross and pile with Julius Cæsar than with
Sardanapalus. The first would have the easy indifference that belongs to
play; the other, the seriousness and anxiety which belong to business.
“I am now preparing for a little excursion in which I shall see some of
the busy folks of the great world; so I expect to enjoy my time in the
more joyous tranquility. On Friday, I am to go to Stowe, Lord and Lady
Temple having given me repeated invitations there. I am much afraid the
weather will not favour my excursion; however, as I shall stay four
days at Stowe, I hope to see those superbe gardens while I am there
in favourable gleams of sunshine. I have not seen Stowe since I first
married. Lord Temple, I hear, has much improved them.
“I shall have the pleasure of making a visit at another fine place
which I never yet saw, which is Lord Nuneham’s, in Oxfordshire.... Mr.
Herbert has given me a very agreable neighbour in Lady Elizabeth. She has
been very well educated, and I dare say will always behave with great
propriety. Mr. Herbert is a young man of uncommon understanding and
merit. He has come early, and not too early, into ye possession of an
ample fortune.
“... I am much pleased to hear my neice is so tractable and good;
a disposition to oblige her Parents, and to do what those who love
her advise her to, will make her much happier than wilfulness and
obstinacy.... My nephews, Morris and Matthew, are just arrived. They are
fine boys. Morris grows very handsome, and he has a very good character
amongst his schoolfellows. These little men will be a great amusement
to Mr. Montagu in my absence. I passed my time very well at Tunbridge,
having so agreable a companion at home as my sister; so that I depend on
the great world for nothing more than vagrant amusement at idle hours;
and this is all one can reasonably expect of the great world. One should
have one’s solid comforts at home. One makes a good meal; the other a
pleasant dessert.
“... I regret that poor Mr. Gray is now no more than Pindar. One fatal
moment sets two or three thousand years aside, and brings the account
equal. I really believe our British Pindar not unequal in merit to the
bard of Thebes. I hope Mr. Gray has left some works yet unpublished.”
Walpole, who never appears in a more favourable light than when he speaks
with affectionate reverence of Gray, supplemented Mrs. Montagu’s hopes by
saying: “I should earnestly wish, if he has destined anything for the
public, to print it at my press. It would do me honour and give me an
opportunity of expressing what I feel for him. Methinks, as we grow old,
our only business here is to adorn the graves of our friends or dig our
own.”
From these reflections, Mrs. Montagu takes her readers back to life and
its varieties, in a letter without date, but it is endorsed in a hand,
not hers, 1773.
“In the early part of my life I was a most punctual correspondent; but
of late I have been as much too remiss as I was formerly too diligent
in writing letters. I have at length discovered that writing letters is
idleness without ease, and fatigue without a purpose. When newspapers
only told weddings, births, and burials, a letter from London bore some
value; but now that the public papers not only tell when men are born
and dye, but every folly they contrive to insert between those periods,
the literary correspondent has nothing left. Lies and dulness used to be
valued in manuscript, but printing has assumed a right over the lies of
the day and the amusement of the hour. On stamped paper and by authority
are publish’d what Lady B—— L——e says of a fat alderman, and how Miss
Biddy Bellair was dress’d at the last masquerade. I can, however, tell
you some news from St. Vincent, which I had just now from a gentleman
in a public office, which is, that an account has just arrived from
Colonel Dalrymple, with news of the total reduction of the Caribs, in St.
Vincent, and a treaty concluded with them, with small loss on our side. I
could find in my heart to say ‘poor Caribs!’
“I suppose you are not very deeply interested in Sir George C——ke’s
affairs.... I hope no one will lose anything of such importance as to
affect them essentially, as this disaster has been so long expected. It
was said the other day, his effects amounted to £700,000, his debts to
£300,000; but his contracts and dealings have been so universal, that
I presume no one can tell ye just sum of the one or the other. Part of
his effects are hemp and alum. Never was so much of the first used at
Tyburn, nor of the second at the bakers’, as at this moment; but as I
presume those commodities do not bear a settled price, a just estimate
cannot be made. In ye present lack of specie and of confidence, paper,
estates and houses must sell badly. I hope his unmarried sister will not
lose anything, and that his family will not fall from affluence to narrow
circumstances. I hear Lady C——ke has an estate in Jamaica of £4,000 per
annum settled upon her. It is said the Irish Bank has only stopped for
awhile, and that nothing will be lost. The state of that country is very
bad. The poor are wretched, and all people discontented. The condition
of Scotland is not much better. The bankruptcies there are numerous, and
ye manufactories are stopped. I wish the bankruptcies here may not have
as bad an effect on our trade. I rejoice that my brother Robinson has
returned to his native land, and wish he would come and visit his friends
in town.
“... Mr. Montagu has (in the main) had a pretty healthful winter. His
cough is at present troublesome to him, but I hope the warm weather we
have now a right to expect will soon cure him.
“The Archbishop of York’s second son, a fine youth dyed of a milliary
fever this morning. I lament the young man, and am heartily concerned for
his family.
“As I have good luck in smuggling, I will wait for my gown till you come
to town, and will send you a black silk, for which it may serve as a
lining. The taffety will serve for another year, if it be too warm for
this season, when it comes to London.
“I am glad you intend to send my eldest neice to a boarding-school. What
girls learn at these schools is trifling, but they unlearn what would be
of great disservice—a provincial dialect, which is extreamly ungenteel,
and other tricks that they learn in the nursery. The carriage of the
person, which is of great importance, is well attended to, and dancing
is well taught. As for the French language I do not think it necessary,
unless for persons in very high life. It is rarely much cultivated at
schools. I believe all the boarding-schools are much on the same plan, so
that you may place the young lady wherever there is a good air and a good
dancing-master. I dare say you will find great improvement in her air and
her speech by the time she has been there a year, and these are points
of great importance. The Kentish dialect is abominable, tho’ not so bad
as ye Northumberland and some others; but in this polish’d age, it is so
unusual to meet with young Ladies who have any _patois_, that I mightily
wish to see my neice cured of it.
“The Duke of Gloucester is relapsed into a bad state of health. Miss
Linley, who I suppose you have seen at Bath, is much in vogue. I am to
hear her sing to-morrow morn at ye Bishop of Bristol’s.
“... Papa bears Sir G. C——’s shutting shop very patiently. If his money
is safe, he has no objection to its being locked up. I do not imagine
we shall lose anything. I am only sorry for him and for his family, as
these things must be very unpleasant. There is a great deal of poverty
and distress in London and in the southern counties. I wish very much to
see my brother Robinson after his long absence. I rejoice that his health
is so good. I wish you could persuade him to come to London. He improves
society, and it is a pity he should not live in it.”
Another of the writer’s nieces is referred to in the following discursive
letter:
“_January ye 1st, 1774._ DEAR MADAM,—I was very glad to hear that my
pretty little friend got safe to you. I dare say the holidays will pass
with her and her brother and sister in all the gayety and jolly mirth
which belong’d to them in former times. When our maccaronic beaux and
cotterie dames go into the country to pass the Christmas holydays, I have
no great opinion of the festivity and joy of the party. Mirth belongs to
youth and innocence. When the World was young and innocent, its laugh
was hearty, and its mirth sincere, and festivals were gay. Old Father
Christmas must now be content to gambol in the nursery; but such is the
force of custom, that many persons go at this dreary season to their
dreary mansions to keep their Christmas, who will not laugh till they
return to London.
“... I think the fish will come safest by my neice, as it will escape
being rummaged by the custom-house officers, who will be apt to suspect
it has a pudding of Brussels lace in it. I thank you for two pound more
of excellent tea. I think it full as good as that which costs me 16_s._ a
pound.... My pretty neice is so good-humoured: she is never troublesome.
She is a mighty orderly person, folds up her things very nicely. She will
be both a notable housewife and a good-humoured woman, and therefore will
make an excellent wife. Happy will be the man to whose lot she will fall.
It is very rarely that one sees these characters meet. A good housewife
is generally an anxious, peevish thing; and a good-humoured woman is too
often careless and unmindful of her family. As she is your daughter, I
do not wonder at her uniting perfections that are but rarely united. My
brother William was a favourite of my mother’s, and she certainly made
his whole christening suit of that part of her linnen which is supposed
to derive matrimonial blessings on the son. For what mother’s darling my
neice is reserved I do not know, but I hope one who will deserve her.
“I believe you will hardly be able to read my scrawl, which is even worse
than usual; for I have almost put my eyes out with accounts, of which our
steward brings a plentiful quantity at this time of year. He is a very
diligent Person, and expects that I will apply many hours in the day. Our
affairs go on very prosperously and in great order, so that I have as
little trouble as is possible in a case where so many and large accounts
are to be look’d over.
“... It is said that gaming is carried on with greater spirit among
the fine people than ever was known. I desire my most affectionate
compliments to my brothers of Horton, Denton and Canterbury.... My best
love to ye dear little ones who adorn your fireside, and best wishes
for the year begun, and for all succeeding years, to the parents and the
babes.”
It was in this year, 1774, that Mrs. Montagu wrote the following to Mrs.
Robinson, from Sandleford, September the 5th, 1774:
“... I had intended writing to you as soon as I could get a frank....
All frothy matter takes up a great deal of space, and my letters always
run over the fourth side and incur double taxes at the post-office. By
mistake I had left my franks to you in London, so I waited till I could
see Mr. Congreve, the only member of Parliament in our neighbourhood.
“... The wet weather has hurt me as a valetudinarian, and mortified me
as a farmer, so that I cannot say, in the pert fashionable phrase, it
has not made me sick nor sorry, but more of the first than the last, and
not greatly either.... We have a prodigious crop of barley, and there
seems to be a great plenty of it everywhere, and yet the maltsters are
contracting for it already at 30_s._ per quarter. I suppose the ensuing
elections will raise the price of malt. I wish our poor people ate more
and drank less.
“I am extremely mortified at Lord Mahone’s too great vivacity. Lord
Stanhope brought him to Tunbridge to spend a day with me. I was pleased
with his conversation and manners, and particularly in not finding him
so exotick as I expected. His sentiments and language appear to me
perfectly good English, such as suited the heir of an English peer, and
not borrow’d from _un bourgeois de Genève_, which, with all due respect
to Jean Jacques, I take to be much inferior in nobleness of mind as
well as dignity of office. But his lordship’s attack on Mr. Knight and
his presenting articles to a candidate, looks as if he had steep’d his
patriotism in the Lake of Geneva. Lord Stanhope is a very respectable
man; has great virtues and great talents. These, under the military
discipline of worldly warfare, do great things, while they lead and
command regiments of inferior minds which fight under them. But in our
days the unconnected patriot makes just such a figure in the political
system as the _preux_ chevalier would do now in the military. Nothing is
to be done in these days by single combat. Neither the patriot nor the
champion would be able to effect the abolition of the exorbitant toll of
a bridge. If I had a son, I should desire him never to wander single in
quest of adventures. Virtue, wisdom, honours, prosperity, happiness, are
all to be found on the turnpike road, or not to be found at all....
“I had strong inclinations to make you and my brother at Horton a
visit when I left Tunbridge; but as a northern journey was then in
contemplation, I durst not propose such a measure to Mr. Montagu. He
still talks of our going to Northumberland, but delays setting out. In
the meantime, winter approaches. He is in very good health and spirits,
but extremely feeble; goes to bed every afternoon by five o’clock, and
seems by no means equal to so fatiguing a journey; so I hope it will end
in talk.... Mr. Montagu loves delay so well, he intends not to set out
till a fortnight after me. He did not leave London till the middle of
August, tho’ he had not any business to detain him.
“... If I had children, I should be much more solicitous about their
temper than talents. As many hours in the day as a man of the finest
parts is peevish or in a passion, he is more contemptible than a
blockhead, and suffers (though he does not know it) the internal scorn
and contempt of every rational creature that is in good humour. We are,
too, much earlier able to judge of a child’s temper than capacity. Minds
ripen at very different ages. If the understanding is naturally slow,
preceptors should be patient, and not put it too much out of its natural
pace. Some children apprehend quick; others acquire everything with
difficulty. In the latter case, they should be encouraged, led, and not
driven.”
Miss Gregory (a friend and companion of the writer) was very much liked
at Cambridge. “Her sweet temper, good sense, and elegant simplicity of
manners much charm every one who is well acquainted with her. She is
perfectly free from missy pertnesses, airs, and minanderies, which put
many of our girls of fashion upon a line with milliners’ apprentices.
Though she has lived so much with me I never saw her out of humour. She
seems as pleased with retirement as in a publick place; and is as sober
and discreet in a publick place as in retirement.
“There is a report that Captain Darby is going to be married to a widow
worth fourscore thousand pounds. It seems her first husband was a
good-humoured, quiet, dull man. _Elle s’en trouvait bien_, and is going
to take such another; but still, fourscore thousand pounds is a great
price for a dull man.... Miss Snell is married to a gentleman of good
character and six thousand pounds.
“I beg my best respects and most affectionate compliments to my brother
Robinson. Will he never let us have the pleasure of seeing him? I wish he
would visit the farmer and farmeress of Sandleford.”
In the course of the above year, 1774, when an invitation to Mrs.
Montagu’s house in Hill Street was not lightly sent and was highly
esteemed, she despatched a card of invitation to Doctor Johnson. The
philosopher neither went to her assembly nor acknowledged the invitation.
In a subsequent apologetic note, he said: “Having committed one fault
by inadvertency, I will not commit another by sullenness.... The favour
of your notice can never miss a suitable return but from ignorance or
thoughtlessness; and to be ignorant of your eminence is not easy but to
him who lives out of reach of the public voice.” Allegiance could not be
more perfect! But Mrs. Montagu was not influenced by it, when, in 1775,
she settled a small annuity on Doctor Johnson’s friend, Mrs. Williams,
saving her from misery; for which rescue Mrs. Williams expressed her
thanks in words almost of divine adoration. Doctor Johnson was moved
by the generous act, when he subsequently heard that Mrs. Montagu was
in town, ill. He wrote like a gallant. “To have you detained among us
by sickness is to enjoy your presence at too dear a rate.” He wishes
she may be “so well as to be able to leave us, and so kind as not to be
willing.”... Here is more: “All that the esteem and reverence of mankind
can give you, are already yours; and the little I can add to the voice of
nations will not much exalt. Of that little, however, you are, I hope,
very certain.”
The poor lady had now more serious matters claiming her attention than
quarrels or compliments with Johnson. Her kind-hearted and now aged
husband had long been slowly dying. His last hour seemed now approaching.
In May, 1775, Mrs. Chapone, in a letter to Mrs. Delany, described Mrs.
Montagu as being “in a most distressful situation.” Mr. Montagu, “instead
of sinking easily, as might have been expected from so long and gradual a
decline, suffers great struggle, and has a fever attended with deliriums,
which are most dreadfully affecting to Mrs. Montagu. If this scene
should continue, I tremble for the effects of it on her tender frame;
but I think it must very soon have an end, and she will then reconcile
herself to a loss so long expected, tho’ I doubt not she will feel it
very sincerely. He is entitled to her highest esteem and gratitude, and,
I believe, possesses them both.”
The aged philomath might have been the original of the legendary
mathematician, who, having been induced to read “Paradise Lost,” asked,
on reaching the last line of the poem, “Well, what does it prove?”
Mr. Montagu’s wonted fires and ruling passion partook exclusively of
a mathematical ardour. His wife, who had, previous to her husband’s
fatal illness, passed from the most sincere spirit of free inquiry into
the equally sincere acceptance of orthodoxy, was very anxious that her
husband should be of the same faith with herself before they were parted
for ever. She begged Beattie to effect this desired consummation, if
it were possible. The aged mathematician was too much, however, for
the minister and his clever wife together. “To her great concern,”
says Beattie, in a letter to Doctor Laing, “he set too much value on
mathematical evidence, and piqued himself too much on his knowledge in
that science. He took it into his head, too, that I was a mathematician,
though I was at a great deal of pains to convince him to the contrary.”
Mr. Montagu died in May, 1775. The poor gentleman’s death was immediately
made the opportunity for speculation on the part of his friends, as to
the prospects of his widow. “Mr. Edward Montagu is dead,” wrote Mrs.
Delany. “He has left his widow everything, both real and personal: only
charging it with a legacy of £3,000. If her heart prove as good as her
head, she may do an abundance of good. Her possessions are very great.”
Walpole speculated in another fashion on this gentleman’s demise. He
wrote to Mason: “The husband of Mrs. Montagu, of Shakespearshire, is
dead, and has left her an estate of £7,000 a year in her own power. Will
you come and be candidate for her hand? I conclude it will be given to a
champion at some Olympic games; and were I she, I would sooner marry you
than Pindar!”
Johnson fully illustrated the charitable side of Mrs. Montagu’s
character, when he said, in 1776, in reply to a hint that her liberality
was pharisaical, “I have seen no beings who do as much good from
benevolence as she does from whatever motive.” Johnson subsequently was
less charitable and less accurate. Mrs. Montagu’s letters abound with
references to her complete ignorance of Greek and her small knowledge of
Latin. “But,” said Johnson, “she is willing you should think she knows
them, but she does not say she does.” A hundred times she wrote that she
did not. Johnson’s were hardly the “respectful sentiments” he professed
to have when he begged for a copy of her engraved portrait, as a reward
for his love and adoration.