I yet retain, and carefully cherish, my love of reading. If relays of
eyes were to be hired like post-horses, I would never admit any but
silent companions: they afford a constant variety of entertainment,
which is almost the only one pleasing in the enjoyment, and inoffensive
in the consequence.... Every woman endeavours to breed her daughter a
fine lady, qualifying her for a station in which she never will appear:
and at the same time incapacitating her for that retirement to which she
is destined. Learning, if she has a real taste 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
she can be amused with an author in her closet.... Daughter! daughter!
don't call names; you are always abusing my pleasures, which is what no
mortal will bear. Trash, lumber, sad stuff, are the titles you give to
my favourite amusement. If I called a white staff a stick of wood, a
gold key gilded brass, and the ensigns of illustrious orders coloured
strings, this may be philosophically true, but would be very ill
received. We have all our playthings; happy are they that can be
contented with those they can obtain: those hours are spent in the
wisest manner that can easiest shade the ills of life, and are least
productive of ill consequences. I think my time better employed in
reading the adventures of imaginary people, than the Duchess of
Marlborough's, who passed the latter years of her life in paddling with
her will, and contriving schemes of plaguing some, and extracting praise
from others to no purpose; eternally disappointed and eternally
fretting. The active scenes are over at my age. I indulge, with all the
art I can, my taste for reading. If I would confine it to valuable
books, they are almost as rare as valuable men. I must be content with
what I can find. As I approach a second childhood, I endeavour to enter
into the pleasures of it. Your youngest son is, perhaps, at this very
moment riding on a poker with great delight, not at all regretting that
it is not a gold one, and much less wishing it an Arabian horse, which
he would not know how to manage; I am reading an idle tale, not
expecting wit or truth in it, and am very glad it is not metaphysics to
puzzle my judgement, or history to mislead my opinion: he fortifies his
health by exercise; I calm my cares by oblivion. The methods may appear
low to busy people; but if he improves his strength, and I forget my
infirmities, we both attain very desirable ends.--LADY MARY WORTLEY
MONTAGU. _Letters._