And she, the works of Phœbus aiding,
Both poet saves, and plume, from fading.”
To Mrs. Robinson. “Portman Square, February 8, 1787. ... I have been in town almost three weeks, in all which time I have not had three hours of leisure. At my arrival in Portman Square, my porter presented me with an infinite number of cards of invitation, letters, notes, and not a few books, presents from their authors. I flattered myself that in four or five days this bustle would begin to subside, but another cause of receiving visits and writing notes and letters began. The occasion was, indeed, such as gave me great pleasure, even that on which you so obligingly congratulated me. So good-natured was the world to the old aunt, that many members of the House of Commons who had heard his speech, and many of the House of Lords who had heard of it, called in the morning to congratulate me, and, indeed, for several mornings, I had a levée like a minister. Nothing ominous; I hope that ye young man who was the occasion, will never be in that situation which, I perfectly agree with my friend Soame Jenyns, is the most miserable of any, except that of king in a free country. Ladies wrote me congratulatory notes from all quarters of the town, and I have since had letters from my distant correspondents in the country, on the subject of the Drawing-room. I received many compliments, but those which most flattered my vanity were from the greatest lady there, the first minister, the Lord Chancellor, and some distinguished persons in the opposition. However, as these glories soon fade away, and such a kind of speech is forgotten in a few days, the most heartfelt joy I had, arose from the delight his brother express’d on his success. The wise man says, A brother is born for the day of adversity; and, indeed, there are few men so wicked as not to pity and assist a brother in misfortune. But the good and great mind alone takes delight in the success and fame of a brother. The envious think they can escape censure when they neglect a friend or relative in prosperity, and indulge their malice safely in giving little hints to their disadvantage; but my nephew show’d a different kind of spirit. As soon as the House was up, he ran to Mrs. M. Montagu, to his mother, and to me, and with a most joyous countenance, and in a most expressive manner, told me in what manner our young orator’s speech had been received in the House. Montagu felt this instance of fraternal affection with the tenderness and gratitude it deserved, and I hope they will be through life an honour and happiness to each other. You rightly imagine the wife and aunt are not without anxiety, lest parliamentary exertions and attendance should hurt our young man’s health, but at present he is perfectly well.
“... The only thing that induces the primate to prolong his stay at Bath is that he is not lame. The dumb gout, as he calls it, which used to make him so, has for some months in a manner forsaken him, and he thinks it prudent to endeavour to bring it back.
“... I should have been very anxious if such a cargo as the virtues and amiabilities of dear Miss Arnold had been put on board the horrid mail-coach; so, I am obliged to her for complying with my entreaties to take a slower but safer conveyance.... I write in much hurry; the letter-bell tinkles.”
The speech referred to in the above letter was made by Mr. Matthew Montagu, when seconding the motion on the royal address with which Parliament was opened. The speech was warmly eulogistic of Mr. Eden’s commercial treaty. Fox praised the young speaker and tore his argument to pieces.
Wraxall, referring, in the “Memoirs of His Own Time,” to Mrs. Montagu’s nephew, Matthew Robinson, says: “The celebrated Mrs. Montagu, his aunt, who so long occupied the first place among the gens de lettres, in London, having adopted him as her heir, he received her husband’s name. At her feet he was brought up,—a school more adapted to form a man of taste and improvement than a statesman or a man of the world. After this gentleman entered the House of Commons, there was some difficulty in distinguishing between him (Matthew Montagu) and Montagu Matthew. General Matthew himself defined the distinction. ‘I wish it to be understood,’ said he, ‘that there is no more likeness between Montagu Matthew and Matthew Montagu than between a chesnut horse and a horse-chesnut.’”
On the Sea-wall at Southampton