“Pray have you read Mr. Hume’s History of James I. and Charles I.? I am afraid it will rather promote Jacobitism, but it is entertaining and lively and will amuse you.... I suppose you know there are two volumes of Madame de Sevigné’s letters come out this winter; they are amusing as the anecdotes of a person one has a great regard for, but they were rejected in former editions as not being so brilliant as those published before. My brother Robinson is emulating the great Diogenes and other budge Drs. of the Stoic fur; he flies the delights of London and leads a life of such privacy and seriousness as looks to the beholder like wisdom, but for my part, I think no life of inaction deserves that name.”
This is the first mention of Matthew’s increasing love of retirement and the hermit-like habits which he adopted at Horton.
[84] This was William Henry, brother of Sir George Lyttelton.
MRS. POCOCKE
In March occurs a long letter from Mrs. Pococke, of Newtown, the very learned lady mentioned before. She dispensed money for charitable purposes given by Mrs. Montagu. She mentions that her son, Dr. Pococke, is coming for a few days to see her before going abroad, “probably for the last time, unless I live to the age of the late Bishop of Man.” She mentions having walked eight miles that day as an excuse for bad writing, which was superfluous, as her handwriting is amazingly good and clear, and she was between eighty and ninety! Mens sana in corpore sano!
LORD BALTIMORE’S HOUSE
On June 9, presumably in this year, Mrs. Montagu writes—
“I suppose you know that Lady Sandwich has at last left her kind Lord. To complete the measure of his good usage, he keeps her daughter to educate with the Miss Courtenays. I hope her Ladyship will be happier than she has been for many years, she has nothing to harass her but the apprehensions for Lady Mary, but God knows that is a dreadful object. She has taken a house at Windsor for the summer.” This daughter died June 25, 1761.
And in the same month to Sarah Scott, she says—
Mrs. Boscawen and Miss Pitt came from Hatchlands to London to spend two days with me; we went to Vauxhall each night, and Mrs. Anstey and I went with them as far as Epsom: we saw Lord Baltimore’s house, [sic] which speaks bad french, so I will not rehearse what I saw there. Why should I teize your imagination with strawberry colour’d wainscotts, doors of looking-glass, fine landskips on gilt leather, and painted pastorals with huge headed Chloes and gouty legg’d Strephons, with french mottoes to explain those tender glances. We were glad to quit this palace of bad taste for a little arbor in the garden of the inn at Epsom. The Sunday following Mr. Montagu and I went to dine with Mr. Bower at Sidcop, his little habitation has the proper perfections of a cottage, neatness, chearfulness, and an air of tranquillity, a pretty grove with woodbines twining round every Elm, a neat kitchen garden, with an Arbor from whence you look on a fine prospect. Here he may write of heresies and schisms, of spiritual pride and papal usurpations, while peaceful retirement and the amenity of the scene about him, rob controversy of its acrimony, and allay the bitterness of censure by a mixture of gentle pity.”