LET. LVI.

[Footnote: As this letter is the supplement to a preceding one, which is not come to the hands of the editor, it was probably, on that account, sent without a date. It seems evidently to have been written after Lady M. W. M. had fixed her residence in Italy.]

To THE COUNTESS OF ——.

Saturday-Florence.

I SET out from Bologne (sic) the moment I had finished the letter I wrote you on Monday last, and shall now continue to inform you of the things that have struck me most in this excursion. Sad roads—hilly and rocky—between Bologna and Fierenzuola. Between this latter place and Florence, I went out of my road to visit the monastery of La Trappe, which is of French origin, and one of the most austere and self-denying orders I have met with. In this gloomy retreat, it gave me pain to observe the infatuation of men, who have devoutly reduced themselves to a much worse condition than that of the beasts. Folly, you see, is the lot of humanity, whether it arises in the flowery paths of pleasure, or the thorny ones of an ill-judged devotion. But of the two sorts of fools, I shall always think that the merry one has the most eligible fate; and I cannot well form a notion of that spiritual and ecstatic joy, that is mixed with sighs, groans, hunger and thirst, and the other complicated miseries of monastic discipline. It is a strange way of going to work for happiness, to excite an enmity between soul and body, which nature and providence have designed to live together in an union and friendship, and which we cannot separate like man and wife, when they happen to disagree. The profound silence that is enjoined upon the monks of La Trappe, is a singular circumstance of their unsociable and unnatural discipline; and were this injunction never to be dispensed with, it would be needless to visit them in any other character than as a collection of statues; but the superior of the convent suspended, in our favour, that rigorous law, and allowed one of the mutes to converse with me, and answer a few discreet questions. He told me, that the monks of this order in France are still more austere than those of Italy, as they never taste wine, flesh, fish, or eggs; but live entirely upon vegetables. The story that is told of the institution of this order is remarkable, and is well attested, if my information be good. Its founder was a French nobleman, whose name was Bouthillier da (sic) Rance, a man of pleasure and gallantry, which were converted into the deepest gloom of devotion, by the following incident. His affairs obliged him to absent himself for some time, from a lady with whom he had lived in the most intimate and tender connections of successful love. At his return to Paris, he proposed to surprise her agreeably; and, at the same time, to satisfy his own impatient desire of seeing her, by going directly, and without ceremony, to her apartment by a back stair, which he was well acquainted with.—But think of the spectacle that presented itself to him at his entrance into the chamber that had so often been the scene of love's highest raptures! His mistress dead—dead of the small-pox—disfigured beyond expression—a loathsome mass of putrified (sic) matter—and the surgeon separating the head from the body, because the coffin had been made too short! He stood for a moment motionless in amazement, and filled with horror—and then retired from the world, shut himself up in the convent of La Trappe, where he passed the remainder of his days in the most cruel and disconsolate devotion.—Let us quit this sad subject.

I MUST not forget to tell you, that before I came to this monastery, I went to see the burning mountains near Fierenzuola, of which the naturalists speak as a great curiosity. The flame it sends forth is without smoke, and resembles brandy set on fire. The ground about it is well cultivated, and the fire appears only in one spot where there is a cavity, whose circumference is small, but in it are several crevices whose depths are unknown. It is remarkable, that when a piece of wood is thrown into this cavity, though it cannot pass through the crevices, yet it is consumed in a moment; and that though the ground about it be perfectly cold, yet if a stick be rubbed with any force against it, it emits a flame, which, however, is neither hot nor durable like that of the volcano. If you desire a more circumstantial account of this phenomenon, and have made a sufficient progress in Italian, to read father Carazzi's description of it, you need not be at a loss, for I have sent this description to Mr F——, and you have only to ask it of him. After observing the volcano, I Scrambled up all the neighbouring hills, partly on horse-back, partly on foot, but could find no vestige of fire in any of them; though common report would make one believe that they all contain volcanos.

I HOPE you have not taken it in your head to expect from me a description of the famous gallery, here, where I arrived on Thursday at noon; this would be requiring a volume instead of a letter; besides I have as yet seen but a part of this immense treasure, and I propose employing some weeks more to survey the whole. You cannot imagine any situation more agreeable than Florence. It lies in a fertile and smiling valley watered by the Arno, which runs through the city; and nothing can surpass the beauty and magnificence of its public buildings, particularly the cathedral, whose grandeur filled me with astonishment. The palaces, squares, fountains, statues, bridges, do not only carry an aspect full of elegance and greatness, but discover a taste quite different, in kind, from that which reigns in the public edifices in other countries. The more I see of Italy, the more I am persuaded that the Italians have a style (if I may use that expression) in every thing, which distinguishes them almost essentially from all other Europeans. Where they have got it,—whether from natural genius or ancient imitation and inheritance, I shall not examine; but the fact is certain. I have been but one day in the gallery, that amazing repository of the most precious remains of antiquity, and which alone is sufficient to immortalize the illustrious house of Medicis, by whom it was built, and enriched as we now see it. I was so impatient to see the famous Venus of Medicis, that I went hastily through six apartments, in order to get a sight of this divine figure; purposing (sic), when I had satisfied this ardent curiosity, to return and view the rest at my leisure. As I, indeed, passed through the great room which contains the ancient statues, I was stopped short at viewing the Antinous, which they have placed near that of Adrian, to revive the remembrance of their preposterous loves; which, I suppose, the Florentines rather look upon as an object of envy, than of horror and disgust. This statue, like that of the Venus de Medicis, spurns description: such figures my eyes never beheld.—I can now understand that Ovid's comparing a fine woman to a statue, which I formerly thought a very disobliging similitude, was the nicest and highest piece of flattery. The Antinous is entirely naked, all its parts are bigger than nature; but the whole, taken together, and the fine attitude of the figure, carry such an expression of ease, elegance and grace, as no words can describe. When I saw the Venus I was rapt in wonder,—and I could not help casting a thought back upon Antinous. They ought to be placed together; they are worthy of each other.—If marble could see and feel, the separation might be prudent,—if it could only see, it would certainly lose its coldness, and learn to feel; and, in such a case, the charms of these two figures would produce an effect quite opposite to that of the Gorgon's head, which turned flesh into stone. Did I pretend to describe to you the Venus, it would only set your imagination at work to form ideas of her figure; and your ideas would no more resemble that figure, than the Portuguese face of Miss ——, who has enchanted our knights, resembles the sweet and graceful countenance of lady ——, his former flame. The description of a face or figure, is a needless thing, as it never conveys a true idea; it only gratifies the imagination with a fantastic one, until the real one is seen. So, my dear, if you have a mind to form a true notion of the divine forms and features of the Venus and Antinous, come to Florence.

I WOULD be glad to oblige you and your friend Vertue, by executing your commission with respect to the sketches of Raphael's cartoons at Hampton-court; but I cannot do it to my satisfaction. I have, indeed, seen, in the grand duke's collection, four pieces, in which that wonderful artist had thrown freely from his pencil the first thoughts and rude lines of some of these compositions; and as the first thoughts of a great genius are precious, these pieces attracted my curiosity in a particular manner; but when I went to examine them closely, I found them so damaged and effaced, that they did not at all answer my expectation. Whether this be owing to negligence or envy, I cannot say; I mention the latter, because it is notorious, that many of the modern painters have discovered ignoble marks of envy at a view of the inimitable productions Of the ancients. Instead of employing their art to preserve the master-pieces of antiquity, they have endeavoured to destroy and efface many of them. I have seen with my own eyes an evident proof of this at Bologna, where the greatest part of the paintings in fresco on the walls of the convent of St Michael in Bosco, done by the Carracci, and Guido Rheni, have been ruined by the painters, who, after having copied some of the finest heads, scraped them almost entirely out with nails. Thus, you see, nothing is exempt from human malignity.

THE word malignity, and a passage in your letter, call to my mind the wicked wasp of Twickenham; his lies affect me now no more; they will be all as much despised as the story of the seraglio and the handkerchief, of which I am persuaded he was the only inventor. That man has a malignant and ungenerous heart; and he is base enough to assume the mark of a moralist in order to decry human nature, and to give a decent vent to his hatred to man and woman kind.—But I must quit this contemptible subject, on which a just indignation would render my pen so fertile, that, after having fatigued you with a long letter, I would surfeit you with a supplement twice as long. Besides, a violent head-ach (sic) advertises me that it is time to lay down my pen and get me to bed. I shall say some things to you in my next, that I would have you to impart to the strange man, as from yourself. My mind is at present tolerably quiet; if it were as dead to sin, as it is to certain connections, I should be a great saint. Adieu, my dear madam. Yours very affectionately, &c.

LET. LVII.

TO MR P.

I HAVE been running about Paris at a strange rate with my sister, and strange sights have we seen. They are, at least, strange sights to me; for, after having been accustomed to the gravity of Turks, I can scarce look with an easy and familiar aspect at the levity and agility of the airy phantoms that are dancing about me here; and I often think that I am at a puppet-shew, amidst the representations of real life. I stare prodigiously, but nobody remarks it, for every body stares here, staring is a-la-mode—there is a stare of attention and interet, a stare of curiosity, a stare of expectation, a stare of surprise; and it will greatly amuse you to see what trifling objects excite all this staring. This staring would have rather a solemn kind of air, were it not alleviated by grinning; for at the end of a stare, there comes always a grin; and very commonly, the entrance of a gentleman or lady into a room is accompanied with a grin, which is designed to express complacence and social pleasure, but really shews nothing more than a certain contortion of muscles, that must make a stranger laugh really, as they laugh artificially. The French grin is equally remote from the cheerful serenity of a smile, and the cordial mirth of an honest English horse-laugh. I shall not perhaps stay here long enough to form a just idea of French manners and characters, though this I believe would require but little study, as there is no great depth in either. It appears, on a superficial view, to be a frivolous, restless, and agreeable people. The abbot is my guide, and I could not easily light upon a better; he tells me, that here the women form the character of the men, and I am convinced in the persuasion of this, by every company into which I enter. There seems here to be no intermediate state between infancy and manhood; for as soon as the boy has quit his leading-strings, he is set agog in the world; the ladies are his tutors, they make the first impressions, which, generally remain, and they render the men ridiculous, by the imitation of their humours and graces; so that dignity in manners, is a rare thing here before the age of sixty. Does not king David say somewhere, that Man walketh in a vain shew? I think he does; and I am sure this is peculiarly true of the Frenchman—but he walks merrily, and seems to enjoy the vision; and may he not therefore be esteemed more happy than many of our solid thinkers, whose brows are furrowed by deep reflection, and whose wisdom is so often clothed with a misty mantle of spleen and vapours?

WHAT delights me most here, is a view of the magnificence, often accompanied with taste, that reigns in the king's palaces and gardens; for tho' I don't admire much the architecture, in which there is great irregularity and want of proportion, yet the statues, paintings, and other decorations, afford me high entertainment. One of the pieces of antiquity that struck me most in the gardens of Versailles, was the famous Colossean statue of Jupiter, the workmanship of Myron, which Mark Anthony carried away from Samos, and Augustus ordered to be placed in the capitol. It is of Parian marble; and though it has suffered in the ruin of time, it still preserves striking lines of majesty. But surely, if marble could feel, the god would frown with a generous indignation, to see himself transported from the capitol into a French garden; and, after having received the homage of the Roman emperors, who laid their laurels at his feet when they returned from their conquests, to behold now nothing but frizzled beaus passing by him with indifference.

I PROPOSE setting out soon from this place, so that you are to expect no more letters from this side of the water; besides, I am hurried to death, and my head swims with that vast variety of objects which I am obliged to view with such rapidity, the shortness of my time not allowing me to examine them at my leisure. There is here an excessive prodigality of ornaments and decorations, that is just the opposite extreme to what appears in our royal gardens; this prodigality is owing to the levity and inconstancy of the French taste, which always pants after something new, and thus heaps ornament upon ornament, without end or measure. It is time, however, that I should put an end to my letter; so I wish you good night, And am, &c.

LET. LVIII.

TO THE COUNT ——.

Translated from the French.

I AM charmed, Sir, with your obliging letter; and you may perceive, by the largeness of my paper, that I intend to give punctual answers to all your questions, at least if my French will permit me; for, as it is a language I do not understand to perfection, so I much fear, that, for want of expressions, I shall be quickly obliged to finish. Keep in mind, therefore, that I am writing in a foreign language, and be sure to attribute all the impertinencies and triflings (sic) dropping from my pen, to the want of proper words for declaring my thoughts, but by no means to dulness, or natural levity.

THESE conditions being thus agreed and settled, I begin with telling you, that you have a true notion of the alcoran, concerning which the Greek priests (who are the greatest scoundrels in the universe) have invented, out of their own heads, a thousand ridiculous stories, in order to decry the law of Mahomet; to run it down, I say, without any examination, or so much as letting the people read it; being afraid, that if once they began to sift the defects of the alcoran, they might not stop there, but proceed to make use of their judgment about their own legends and fictions. In effect, there is nothing so like as the fables of the Greeks and of the Mahometans; and the last have multitudes of saints, at whose tombs miracles are by them said to be daily performed; nor are the accounts of the lives of those blessed musselmans much less stuffed with extravagancies, than the spiritual romances of the Greek papas.

AS to your next inquiry, I assure you, 'tis certainly false, though commonly believed in our parts of the world, that Mahomet excludes women from any share in a future happy state. He was too much a gentleman, and loved the fair sex too well, to use them so barbarously. On the contrary, he promises a very fine paradise to the Turkish women. He says, indeed, that this paradise will be a separate place from that of their husbands; but I fancy the most part of them won't like it the worse for that; and that the regret of this separation will not render their paradise the less agreeable. It remains to tell you, that the virtues which Mahomet requires of the women, to merit the enjoyment of future happiness, are, not to live in such a manner as to become useless to the world, but to employ themselves, as much as possible, in making little musselmans. The virgins, who die virgins, and the widows who marry not again, dying in mortal sin, are excluded out of paradise: For women, says he, not being capable to manage the affairs of state, nor to support the fatigues of war, God has not ordered them to govern or reform the world; but he has entrusted them with an office which is not less honourable; even that of multiplying the human race: and such as, out of malice or laziness, do not make it their business to bear or to breed children, fulfil not the duty of their vocation, and rebel against the commands of God. Here are maxims for you, prodigiously contrary to those of your convents. What will become of your St Catharines, your St Theresas, your St Claras, and the whole bead-roll of your holy virgins and widows; who, if they are to be judged by this system of virtue, will be found to have been infamous creatures, that passed their whole lives in most abominable libertinism.

I KNOW not what your thoughts may be, concerning a doctrine so extraordinary with respect to us; but I can truly inform you, Sir, that the Turks are not so ignorant as we fancy them to be in matters of politics, or philosophy, or even of gallantry. 'Tis true, that military discipline, such as now practised in Christendom, does not mightily suit them. A long peace has plunged them into an universal sloth. Content with their condition, and accustomed to boundless luxury, they are become great enemies to all manner of fatigues. But, to make amends, the sciences flourish among them. The effendis (that is to say, the learned) do very well deserve this name: They have no more faith in the in inspiration of Mahomet, than in the infallibility of the Pope. They make a frank profession of Deism among themselves, or to those they can trust; and never speak of their law but as of a politic institution, fit now to be observed by wise men, however at first introduced by politicians and enthusiasts.

IF I remember right, I think I have told you, in some former letter, that, at Belgrade, we lodged with a great and rich effendi, a man of wit and learning, and of a very agreeable humour. We were in his house about a month, and he did constantly eat with us, drinking wine without any scruple. As I rallied him a little on this subject, he answered me, smiling, that all creatures in the world were made for the pleasure of man; and that God would not have let the vine grow, were it a sin to taste of its juice; but that, nevertheless, the law, which forbids the use of it to the vulgar, was very wise, because such sort of folks have not sense enough to take it with moderation. This effendi appeared no stranger to the parties that prevail among us: Nay, he seemed to have some knowledge of our religious disputes, and even of our writers; and I was surprised to hear him ask, among other things, how Mr Toland did.

MY paper, large as it is, draws towards an end. That I may not go beyond its limits, I must leap from religions to tulips, concerning which you ask me news. Their mixture produces surprising effects. But, what is to be observed most surprising, are the experiments of which you speak concerning animals, and which are tried here every day. The suburbs of Pera, Jophana, and Galata, are collections of strangers from all countries of the universe. They have so often intermarried, that this forms several races of people, the oddest imaginable. There is not one single family of natives that can value itself on being unmixed. You frequently see a person, whose father was born a Grecian, the mother an Italian, the grandfather a Frenchman, the grandmother an Armenian, and their ancestors English, Muscovites, Asiatics, &c.

THIS mixture produces creatures more extraordinary than you can imagine; nor could I ever doubt, but there were several different species of men; since the whites, the woolly and the long-haired blacks, the small-eyed Tartars and Chinese, the beardless Brasilians, and (to name no more) the oily-skinned yellow Nova Zemblians, have as specific differences, under the same general kind, as grey-hounds, mastiffs, spaniels, bull-dogs, or the race of my little Diana, if nobody is offended at the comparison. Now, as the various intermixing of these latter animals causes mongrels, so mankind have their mongrels too, divided and subdivided into endless sorts. We have daily proofs of it here, as I told you before. In the same animal is not seldom remarked the Greek perfidiousness, the Italian diffidence, the Spanish arrogance, the French loquacity; and, all of a sudden, he is seized with a fit of English thoughtfulness, bordering a little upon dulness, which many of us have inherited from the stupidity of our Saxon progenitors. But the family which charms me most, is that which proceeds from the fantastical conjunction of a Dutch male with a Greek female. As these are natures opposite in extremes, 'tis a pleasure to observe how the differing atoms are perpetually jarring together in the children, even so as to produce effects visible in their external form. They have the large black eyes of the country, with the fat, white, fishy flesh of Holland, and a lively air streaked with dulness. At one and the same time, they shew that love of expensiveness, so universal among the Greeks, and an inclination to the Dutch frugality. To give an example of this; young women ruin themselves, to purchase jewels for adorning their heads, while they have not the heart to buy new shoes, or rather slippers for their feet, which are commonly in a tattered condition; a thing so contrary to the taste of our English women, that it is for shewing how neatly their feet are dressed, and for shewing this only, they are so passionately enamoured with their hoop petticoats. I have abundance of other singularities to communicate to you; but I am at the end, both of my French and my paper.

CONCERNING

Monsieur de la ROCHEFOUCAULT'S Maxim—"That marriage is sometimes "convenient but never delightful."

IT may be thought a presumptuous attempt in me to controvert a maxim advanced by such a celebrated genius as Monsieur Rochefoucault, and received with such implicit faith by a nation which boasts of superior politeness to the rest of the world, and which, for a long time past, has prescribed the rules of gallantry to all Europe.

NEVERTHELESS, prompted by that ardour which truth inspires, I dare to maintain the contrary, and resolutely insist, that there are some marriages formed by love, which may be delightful, where the affections are sympathetic. Nature has presented us with pleasures suitable to our species, and we need only to follow her impulse, refined by taste, and exalted by a lively and agreeable imagination, in order to attain the most perfect felicity of which human nature is susceptible. Ambition, avarice, vanity, when enjoyed in the most exquisite perfection, can yield but trifling and tasteless pleasures, which will be too inconsiderable to affect a mind of delicate sensibility.

WE may consider the gifts of fortune as so many steps necessary to arrive at felicity, which we can never attain, being obliged to set bounds to our desires, and being only gratified with some of her frivolous favours, which are nothing more than the torments of life, when they are considered as the necessary means to acquire or preserve a more exquisite felicity.

THIS felicity consists alone in friendship, founded on mutual esteem, fixed by gratitude, supported by inclination, and animated by the tender solicitudes of love, whom the ancients have admirably described under the appearance of a beautiful infant: It is pleased with infantine amusements; it is delicate and affectionate, incapable of mischief, delighted with trifles; its pleasures are gentle and innocent.

THEY have given a very different representation of another passion, too gross to be mentioned, but of which alone men, in general, are susceptible. This they have described under the figure of a satyr, who has more of the brute than of the man in his composition. By this fabulous animal they have expressed a passion, which is the real foundation of all the fine exploits of modish gallantry, and which only endeavours to glut its appetite with the possession of the object which is most lovely in its estimation: A passion founded in injustice, supported by deceit, and attended by crimes, remorse, jealousy, and contempt. Can such an affection be delightful to a virtuous mind? Nevertheless, such is the delightful attendant on all illicit engagements; gallants are obliged to abandon all those sentiments of honour which are inseparable from a liberal education, and are doomed to live wretchedly in the constant pursuit of what reason condemns, to have all their pleasures embittered by remorse, and to be reduced to the deplorable condition of having renounced virtue, without being able to make vice agreeable.

IT is impossible to taste the delights of love in perfection, but in a well assorted marriage; nothing betrays such a narrowness of mind as to be governed by words. What though custom, for which good reasons may be assigned, has made the words husband and wife somewhat ridiculous? A husband, in common acceptation, signifies a jealous brute, a surly tyrant; or, at best, a weak fool, who may be made to believe any thing. A wife is a domestic termagant, who is destined to deceive or torment the poor devil of a husband. The conduct of married people, in general, sufficiently justifies these two characters.

BUT, as I said before, why should words impose upon us? A well regulated marriage is not like these connections of interest or ambition. A fond couple, attached to each other by mutual affection, are two lovers who live happily together. Though the priest pronounces certain words, though the lawyer draws up certain instruments; yet I look on these preparatives in the same light as a lover considers a rope-ladder which he fastens to his mistress's window: If they can but live together, what does it signify at what price, or by what means, their union is accomplished. Where love is real, and, well founded, it is impossible to be happy but in the quiet enjoyment of the beloved object; and the price at which it is obtained, does not lessen the vivacity and delights of a passion, such as my imagination conceives. If I was inclined to romance, I would not picture images of true happiness in Arcadia. I am not prudish enough to confine the delicacy of affection to wishes only. I would open my romance with the marriage of a couple united by sentiment, taste, and inclination. Can we conceive a higher felicity, than the blending of their interests and lives in such an union? The lover has the pleasure of giving his mistress the last testimony of esteem and confidence; and she, in return, commits her peace and liberty to his protection. Can they exchange more dear and affectionate pledges? Is it not natural, to give the most incontestible proofs of that tenderness with which our minds are impressed? I am sensible, that some are so nice as to maintain, that the pleasures of love are derived from the dangers and difficulties with which it is attended; they very pertly observe, that a rose would not be a rose without thorns. There are a thousand insipid remarks of this sort, which make so little impression on me, that I am persuaded, was I a lover, the dread of injuring my mistress would make me unhappy, if the enjoyment of her was attended with danger to herself.

TWO married lovers lead very different lives: They have the pleasure to pass their time in a successive intercourse of mutual obligations and marks of benevolence; and they have the delight to find, that each forms the entire happiness of the beloved object. Herein consists perfect felicity. The most trivial concerns of economy become noble and elegant, when they are exalted by sentiments of affection: To furnish an apartment, is not barely to furnish an apartment; it is a place where I expect my lover: To prepare a supper, is not merely giving orders to my cook; it is an amusement to regale the object I dote on. In this light, a woman considers these necessary occupations, as more lively and affecting pleasures than those gaudy sights which amuse the greater part of the sex, who are incapable of true enjoyment.

A FIXED and affectionate attachment softens every emotion of the soul, and renders every object agreeable which presents itself to the happy lover (I mean one who is married to his mistress). If he exercises any employment, the fatigues of the camp, the troubles of the court, all become agreeable, when he reflects, that he endures these inconveniences to serve the object of his affections. If fortune is favourable to him, (for success does not depend on merit) all the advantages it procures, are so many tributes which he thinks due to the charms of the lovely fair; and, in gratifying this ambition, he feels a more lively pleasure, and more worthy of an honest man, than that of raising his fortune, and gaining public applause. He enjoys glory, titles, and riches, no farther than as they regard her he loves; and when he attracts the approbation of a senate, the applause of an army, or the commendation of his prince, it is her praises which ultimately flatter him.

IN a reverse of fortune, he has the consolation of retiring to one who is affected by his disgrace; and, locked in her embraces, he has the satisfaction of giving utterance to the following tender reflections: "My happiness does not depend on the caprice of fortune; "I have a constant asylum against inquietude. Your esteem renders me "insensible of the injustice of a court, or the ingratitude of a "master; and my losses afford me a kind of pleasure, since they "furnish me with fresh proofs of your virtue and affection. Of what "use is grandeur to those who are already happy? We have no need of "flatterers, we want no equipages; I reign in your affections, and I "enjoy every delight in the possession of your person."

IN short, there is no situation in which melancholy may not be assuaged by the company of the beloved object. Sickness itself is not without its alleviation, when we have the pleasure of being attended by her we love. I should never conclude, if I attempted to give a detail of all the delights of an attachment, wherein we meet with every thing which can flatter the senses with the most lively and diffusive raptures. But I must not omit taking notice of the pleasure of beholding the lovely pledges of a tender friendship, daily growing up, and of amusing ourselves, according to our different sexes, in training them to perfection. We give way to this agreeable instinct of nature, refined by love. In a daughter, we praise the beauty of her mother; in a son, we commend the understanding, and the appearance of innate probity, which we esteem in his father. It is a pleasure which, according to Moses, the Almighty himself enjoyed, when he beheld the work of his hands; and saw that all was good.

SPEAKING of Moses, I cannot forbear observing, that the primitive plan of felicity infinitely surpasses all others; and I cannot form an idea Of paradise, more like a paradise, than the state in which our first parents were placed: That proved of short duration, because they were unacquainted with the world; and it is for the same reason, that so few love matches prove happy. Eve was like a silly child, and Adam was not much enlightened. When such people come together, their being amorous is to no purpose, for their affections must necessarily be short-lived. In the transports of their love, they form supernatural ideas of each other. The man thinks his mistress an angel, because she is handsome; and she is enraptured with the merit of her lover, because he adores her. The first decay of her complexion deprives her of his adoration; and the husband, being no longer an adorer, becomes hateful to her who had no other foundation for her love. By degrees, they grow disgustful (sic) to each other; and, after the example of our first parents, they do not fail to reproach each other With the crime of their mutual imbecillity (sic). After indifference, contempt comes apace, and they are convinced, that they must hate each other, because they are married. Their smallest defects swell in each other's view, and they grow blind to those charms, which, in any other object, would affect them. A commerce founded merely on sensation can be attended with no other consequences.

A MAN, when he marries the object of his affections, should forget that she appears to him adorable, and should consider her merely as a mortal, subject to disorders, caprice, and ill temper; he should arm himself with fortitude, to bear the loss of her beauty, and should provide himself with a fund of complaisance, which is requisite to support a constant intercourse with a person, even of the highest understanding and the greatest equanimity. The wife, on the other hand, should not expect a continued course of adulation and obedience, she should dispose herself to obey in her turn with a good grace: A science very difficult to attain, and consequently the more estimable in the opinion of a man who is sensible of the merit. She should endeavour to revive the charms of the mistress, by the solidity and good sense of the friend.

WHEN a pair who entertain such rational sentiments, are united by indissoluble bonds, all nature smiles upon them, and the most common objects appear delightful. In, my opinion, such a life is infinitely more happy and more voluptuous, than the most ravishing and best regulated gallantry.

A WOMAN who is capable of reflection, can consider a gallant in no other light than that of a seducer, who would take advantage of her weakness, to procure a momentary pleasure, at the expence of her glory, her peace, her honour, and perhaps, her life. A highwayman, who claps a pistol to your breast, to rob you of your purse, is less dishonest and less guilty; and I have so good an opinion of myself, as to believe, that if I was a man, I should be as capable of assuming the character of an assassin, as that of defiling an honest woman, esteemed in the world, and happy in her husband, by inspiring her with a passion, to which she must sacrifice her honour, her tranquillity, and her virtue.

SHOULD I make her despicable, who appears amiable in my eyes? Should I reward her tenderness, by making her abhorred by her family, by rendering her children indifferent to her, and her husband detestible (sic)? I believe that these reflections would have appeared to me in as strong a light, if my sex had not rendered them excusable in such cases; and I hope, that I should have had more sense, than to imagine vice the less vicious, because it is the fashion.

N. B. I AM much pleased with the Turkish manners; a people, though ignorant, yet, in my judgment, extremely polite. A gallant, convicted of having debauched a married Woman, is regarded as a pernicious being, and held in the same abhorrence as a prostitute with us. He is certain of never making his fortune; and they would deem it scandalous to confer any considerable employment on a man suspected of having committed such enormous injustice.

WHAT would these moral people think of our antiknights-errant, who are ever in pursuit of adventures to reduce innocent virgins to distress, and to rob virtuous women of their honour; who regard beauty, youth, rank, nay virtue itself, as so many incentives, which inflame their desires, and render their efforts more eager; and who, priding themselves in the glory of appearing expert seducers, forget, that with all their endeavours, they can only acquire the second rank in that noble order, the devil having long since been in possession of the first?

OUR barbarous manners are so well calculated for the establishment of vice and wretchedness, which are ever inseparable, that it requires a degree of understanding and sensibility, infinitely above the common, to relish the felicity of a marriage, such as I have described. Nature is so weak, and so prone to change, that it is difficult to maintain the best grounded constancy, in the midst of those dissipations, which our ridiculous customs have rendered unavoidable.

IT must pain an amorous husband, to see his wife take all the fashionable liberties; it seems harsh not to allow them; and, to be conformable, he is reduced to the necessity of letting every one take them that will; to hear her impart the charms of her understanding to all the world, to see her display her bosom at noon-day, to behold her bedeck herself for the ball, and for the play, and attract a thousand and a thousand (sic) adorers, and listen to the insipid flattery of a thousand and a thousand coxcombs. Is it possible to preserve an esteem for such a creature? or, at least, must not her value be greatly diminished by such a commerce?

I MUST still resort to the maxims of the East, where the most beautiful women are content to confine the power of their charms to him who has a right to enjoy them; and they are too sincere, not to confess, that they think themselves capable of exciting desires.

I RECOLLECT a conversation that I had with a lady of great quality at Constantinople, (the most amiable woman I ever knew in my life, and with whom I afterwards contracted the closest friendship.) She frankly acknowledged, that she was satisfied with her husband. What libertines, said she, you Christian ladies are! you are permitted to receive visits from as many men as you think proper, and your laws allow you the unlimited use of love and wine. I assured her, that she was wrong informed, and that it was criminal to listen to, or to love, any other than our husbands. "Your husbands are great fools," she replied smiling, "to be content with so precarious a fidelity. "Your necks, your eyes, your hands, your conversation are all for the "public, and what do you pretend to reserve for them? Pardon me, "my pretty sultana," she added, embracing me, "I have a strong "inclination to believe all that you tell me, but you would impose "impossibilities upon me. I know the filthiness of the infidels; I "perceive that you are ashamed, and I will say no more."

I FOUND so much good sense and propriety in what she said, that I knew not how to contradict her; and, at length, I acknowledged, that she had reason to prefer the Mahometan manners to our ridiculous customs, which form a confused medley of the rigid maxims of Christianity, with all the libertinism (sic) of the Spartans: And, notwithstanding our absurd manners, I am persuaded, that a woman who is determined to place her happiness in her husband's affections, should abandon the extravagant desire of engaging public adoration; and that a husband, who tenderly loves his wife, should, in his turn, give up the reputation of being a gallant. You find that I am supposing a very extraordinary pair; it is not very surprising, therefore, that such an union should be uncommon in those countries, where it is requisite to conform to established customs, in order to be happy.

VERSES

Written in the Chiask, at Pera, overlooking Constantinople, December 26th, 1718.

By Lady MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE.

GIVE me, great God! Said I, a little farm, In summer shady, and in winter warm; Where a clear spring gives birth to murm'ring brooks, By nature gliding down the mossy rocks. Not artfully by leading pipes convey'd, Or greatly falling in a forc'd cascade, Pure and unsully'd winding thro' the shade. All-bounteous Heaven has added to my prayer A softer climate, and a purer air.

OUR frozen ISLE now chilling winter binds, Deform'd by rains, and rough with blasting winds; The wither'd woods grow white with hoary frost, By driving storms their verdant beauty lost, The trembling birds their leafless covert shun, And seek, in distant climes a warmer sun: The water-nymphs their silent urns deplore, Ev'n Thames benum'd's a river now no more: The barren meads no longer yield delight, By glist'ring snows made painful to the sight.

HERE summer reigns with one eternal smile, Succeeding harvests bless the happy soil. Fair fertile fields, to whom indulgent Heaven Has ev'ry charm of ev'ry season given; No killing cold deforms the beauteous year, The springing flowers no coming winter fear. But as the parent Rose decays and dies, The infant-buds with brighter colour rise, And with fresh sweets the mother's scent supplies, Near them the Violet grows with odours blest, And blooms in more than Tyrian purple drest; The rich Jonquils their golden beams display, And shine in glories emulating day; The peaceful groves their verdant leaves retain, The streams still murmur undefil'd with rain, And tow'ring greens adorn the fruitful plain. The warbling kind uninterrupted sing, Warm'd with enjoyments of perpetual spring.

HERE, at my window, I at once survey The crowded city and resounding sea; In distant views the Asian mountains rise, And lose their snowy summits in the skies; Above those mountains proud Olympus towers, The parliamental seat of heavenly powers. New to the sight, my ravish'd eyes admire Each gilded crescent and each antique spire, The marble mosques, beneath whose ample domes Fierce warlike sultans sleep in peaceful tombs; Those lofty structures, once the Christians boast, Their names, their beauty, and their honours lost; Those altars bright with gold and sculpture grac'd, By barb'rous zeal of savage foes defac'd: Sophia alone her ancient name retains, Tho' unbelieving vows her shrine profanes; Where holy saints have died in sacred cells, Where monarchs pray'd, the frantic Dervise dwells. How art thou fall'n, imperial city, low! Where are thy hopes of Roman glory now? Where are thy palaces by prelates rais'd? Where Grecian artists all their skill display'd, Before the happy sciences decay'd; So vast, that youthful kings might here reside, So splendid, to content a patriarch's pride; Convents where emperors profess'd of old, Their labour'd pillars that their triumphs told; Vain monuments of them that once were great, Sunk undistinguish'd by one common fate; One little spot, the tenure small contains, Of Greek nobility, the poor remains. Where other Helens with like powerful charms, Had once engag'd the warring world in arms; Those names which royal ancestors can boast, In mean mechanic arts obscurely lost: Those eyes a second Homer might inspire, Fix'd at the loom destroy their useless fire; Griev'd at a view which struck upon my mind The short-liv'd vanity of human kind.

IN gaudy objects I indulge my sight, And turn where Eastern pomp gives gay delight; See the vast train in various habits drest, By the bright scimitar and sable vest, The proud vizier distinguish'd o'er the rest; Six slaves in gay attire his bridle hold, His bridle rich with gems, and stirrups gold; His snowy steed adorn'd with costly pride, Whole troops of soldiers mounted by his side, These top the plumy crest Arabian courtiers guide. With artful duty, all decline their eyes, No bellowing shouts of noisy crowds arise; Silence, in solemn state, the march attends, Till at the dread divan the slow procession ends.

YET not these prospects all profusely gay, The gilded navy that adorns the sea, The rising city in confusion fair, Magnificently form'd irregular; Where woods and palaces at once surprise, Gardens on gardens, domes on domes arise, And endless beauties tire the wand'ring eyes; So sooth my wishes, or so charm my mind, As this retreat secure from human kind. No knave's successful craft does spleen excite, No coxcomb's tawdry splendour shocks my sight; No mob-alarm awakes my female fear, No praise my mind, nor envy hurts my ear, Ev'n fame itself can hardly reach me here: Impertinence with all her tattling train, Fair-sounding flattery's delicious bane; Censorious folly, noisy party-rage The thousand tongues with which she must engage, Who dares have virtue in a vicious age.

VERSES

TO THE Lady MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE,

By Mr POPE.

I.

IN beauty or wit, No mortal as yet To question your empire has dar'd; But men of discerning Have thought that in learning, To yield to a lady was hard.

II.

Impertinent schools, With musty dull rules Have reading to females deny'd; So papists refuse The BIBLE to use, Lest flocks should be wise as their guide.

III.

'Twas a woman at first (Indeed she was curst) In knowledge that tasted delight; And sages agree, The laws should decree To the first possessor the right.

IV.

Then bravely, fair dame, Renew the old claim, Which to your whole sex does belong, And let men receive, From a second bright Eve, The knowledge of right and of wrong.

V.

But if the first Eve Hard doom did receive, When only one apple had she, What a punishment new Shall be found out for you, Who tasting have robb'd the whole tree?

A SUMMARY OF THE CONTENTS.

LET. 1. From Rotterdam.—Voyage to Helvoetsluys—general view of Rotterdam—remarks on the female dresses there.

LET. II. From the Hague.—The pleasure of travelling in Holland—the Hague—the Voorhout there.

LET. III. From Nimeguen.—Nimeguen compared to Nottingham—the Belvidera—the bridge—ludicrous service at the French church.

LET. IV. From Cologn.—Journey from Nimeguen to Cologn—the Jesuits church—plate—relics—the sculls of the eleven thousand virgins.

LET. V. From Nuremberg.—Difference between the free towns, and those under absolute princes—the good effects of sumptuary laws—humorous remarks on relics, and the absurd representations in the churches at Nuremberg.

LET. VI. From Ratisbon.—Ridiculous disputes concerning punctilios among the envoys at the Diet—the churches and relics—silver image of the Trinity.

LET. VII. From Vienna.—Voyage from Ratisbon down the Danube— general description of Vienna—the houses—furniture— entertainments—the Fauxbourg—Count Schoonbourn's villa.

LET. VIII. Vienna.—Opera in the garden of the Favorita— playhouse and representation of the story of Amphitrion.

LET. IX. Vienna.—Dress of the ladies—Lady M's reception at court—person of the empress—customs of the drawing-room—the emperor—empress Amelia,—how seated at table—maids of honour, their office and qualifications—dressers—audience of the empress-mother—her extraordinary piety—mourning dress of the ladies at Vienna—audience of the empress Amelia—shooting-match by ladies.

LET. X. Vienna.—Vienna a paradise for old women—different acceptation of the word reputation at London and at Vienna—neither coquettes nor prudes at Vienna—every lady possessed both of a nominal and real husband— gallant overture to lady M. to comply with this custom.

LET. XI. Vienna—Phlegmatic disposition of the Austrians— humorous anecdote of a contest upon a point of ceremony —widows not allowed any rank at Vienna—pride of ancestry—marriage portions limited—different treatment of ambassadors and envoys at Court.

LET. XII. Vienna.—Dress and assemblies of the Austrian ladies—gala days—convent of St Lawrence—wooden head of our Saviour—dress of the Nuns—their amusements— particulars concerning a beautiful Nun—reflections on the monastic state, &c.

LET. XIII. Vienna.—Description of the emperor's repository.

LET. XIV. From Prague.—General state of Bohemia—Prague described with reference to Vienna.

LET. XV. From Leipzig.—Dangerous journey from Prague to Leipzig—character of Dresden—the Saxon and Austrian ladies compared—anecdotes of the countess of Cozelle— Leipzig and its fair described.

LET. XVI. From Brunswick.—Brunswick, for what considerable.

LET. XVII. From Hanover.—Bad regululations of the post in Germany—character of the young prince (afterwards king George II.)—short account of Hanover—view of the country in travelling through Germany, compared with England.

LET. XVIII. Hanover.—Description of the women at Hanover—the traineaus or snow-sledges described—particulars of the empress of Germany.

LET. XIX. Blankenburg.—Motive of Lady M's journey to Blankenburg—her reception by the duchess of Blankenburg—the description of Hanover continued— perfection to which fruit is brought by means of stoves at Herenhausen—recommendation of chamber-stoves.

LET. XX. From Vienna.—Diversions of the carnival—remarks on the music and balls—the Italian comedy—the air and weather at Vienna—the markets and provisions.

LET. XXI. Vienna.—Lady M's audience of leave—absurd taste for dwarfs at the German courts—reflections on this taste —remarks on the inhabitants of Vienna—a word or two concerning prince Eugene, and the young prince of Portugal.

LET. XXII. Vienna.—Reflections on her intended journey to Constantinople.

LET. XXIII. From Peterwaradin.—Journey from Vienna hither— reception at Raab—visit from the bishop of Temeswar, with his character—description of Raab—its revolutions—remarks on the state of Hungary, with the Emperor Leopold's persecution of his protestant Hungarian subjects—description of Buda—its revolutions—the inhabitants of Hungary—Essec described—the Hungarian ladies and their dress.

LET. XXIV. From Belgrade.—Character of the Rascian soldiers— their priests—appearance of the field of Carlowitz, after the late battle between prince Eugene and the Turks—reception at, and account of Belgrade—the murder of the late Bassa—character of Achmet Beg.

LET. XXV. From Adrianople.—Description of the deserts and inhabitants of Servia—Nissa the capital—cruel treatment of the baggage-carriers by the janizaries— some account of Sophia—Philippopolis—fine country about Adrianople.

LET. XXVI. Adrianople.—Entertaining account of the baths at Sophia, and Lady M's reception at them.

LET. XXVII. Adrianople.—Why our account of the Turks are so imperfect—oppressed condition of the Servians—teeth money, what—character of the Turkish effendis—farther particulars of Achmet Beg—Mahometism like Christianity, divided into many sectaries—remarks on some of their notions—religion of the Arnounts— conjectures relating to Trajan's gate—present view of the country.

LET. XXVIII. From Adrianople.—Marriage of the grand signior's eldest daughter—the nature of the Turkish government— grand signior's procession to mosque—his person described—particulars relating to the French ambassador's lady—character and behaviour of the janizaries—the janizaries formidable to the seraglio.

LET. XXIX. Adrianople.—Lady M. describes her Turkish dress—the persons and manners of the Turklsh ladies—their dress when they go abroad—their address at intriguing— possessed of more liberty than is generally imagined— the plurality of wives allowed by the Koran seldom indulged.

LET. XXX. Adrianople.—Manner in which the Turks pass their time —the present pastoral manners of the Easterns, a confirmation of the descriptions in the Grecian poets—give great light into many scripture passages—specimen of Turkish poetry—a version given by Lady M. in the English style.

LET. XXXI. Adrianople.—The plague not so terrible as represented —account of the Turkish method of inoculating the small-pox.

LET. XXXII. Adrianople.—Description of the camel—their use, and method of managing them—the buffalo—the Turkish horses—their veneration for storks—the Turkish houses—why Europeans so ignorant Of the insides of the Turkish houses—their gardens—their mosques and hanns.

LET. XXXIII. Adrianople.—Lady M's visit to the grand vizier's lady—her person described, and manner of entertaining her guest—the victuals, &c.—visit to the kahya's lady, the fair Fatima—her person, dress, and engaging behaviour—her waiting-women—the Turkish music.

LET. XXXIV. Adrianople.—Description of Adrianople—the exchange— the principal traders Jews—the Turkish camp— procession of the grand signior going to command his troops in person—the manner by which Turkish lovers shew their affection for their mistresses—description of sultan Selim's mosque—the seraglio—the young princes.

LET. XXXV. From Constantinople.—Journey from Adrianople—the little seraglio—the Greek church at Selivrea—singular lodging of a hogia or schoolmaster—general view of Pera—Constantinople—their burial places and tombs— manner of renewing a marriage after a divorce— unmarried women, why supposed in Turkey to die in a state of reprobation—this notion compared with the catholic veneration for celibacy—the Eastern taste for antiquities.

LET. XXXVI. From Belgrade Village.—Lady M's agreeable situation there—diary of her way of spending the week, compared with the modish way of spending time.

LET. XXXVII. Belgrade Village.—Turkish female slaves described— voyages to the Levant filled with untruths—balm of Mecca, its extraordinary effects on the ladies faces— Turkish ladies great dealers in magic charms, to command love.

LET. XXXVIII.From Pera of Constantinople.—Barrenness disgraceful among the Turkish ladies—often destroy themselves by quackery on this account—naturally prolific—the Turkish houses why liable to fire—mildness of the winter at Constantinople—Turkish punishment for convicted liars.

LET. XXXIX. Pera of Constantinople.—Lady M. brought to bed— visits the sultana Hafiten—anecdotes of that lady—her dress—entertainment—story of the sultan's throwing a handkerchief contradicted—amusements of the seraglio— the sultana Hafiten's gardens, bed chamber, and slaves—the Arabian tales, a true representation of Eastern manners—magnificence of the Turkish harams— visit to the fair Fatima—the characters of the sultana Hafiten and Fatima compared—story of Fatima— magnificence of her habitation.

LET. XL. Pera.—Turkish love-letter, with a translation—the confusion of tongues spoke at Pera—Lady M. in danger of losing her English.

LET. XLI. —Suburbs of Constantinople—Turkish water-man— Constantinople, why not easy to be seen by Europeans— pleasure of rowing down the Bosphorus—view of Constantinople from the water—the seraglio—Sancta Sophia—the mosque Of sultan Solyman—of sultana Valida—the atlerdan—the brazen serpentine column—the exchange—the bisisten—humanity of the Turks towards their slaves—the historical pillar fallen down—the dervises—their devotion and dancing.

LET. XLII. —Mr Hill's account of the sweating pillar, and of the Turkish ladies, contradicted—manner of living of the Turkish wives—ceremony of receiving a Turkish bride at the bagnio—no public cognizance taken of murder— generally compounded for by money—story of a Christian lady taken prisoner by a Turkish admiral, who chose to continue with and marry her ravisher—the Turks great venerators of truth—the Eastrn manner of adopting children—account of the Armenians—their strict observance of fasts—summary view of their religion— ceremonies at an Armenian marriage.

LET. XLIII. From Constantinople.—Observations on the accounts given by Sir Paul Rycaut and Gemelli—the canal between Constantinople and Calcedon—the precarious nature of human grandeur in Turky (sic)—description of the house of the grand vizier who was killed at Peterwaradin— moral reflections on the difference between the taste of the Europeans and the Easterns.

LET. XLIV. From Tunis.—Vovage from Constantinople—the Hellespont, and castles of Sestos and Abydos— reflections on the story of Hero and Leander—the burial-places of Hecuba and Achilles—antiquities— habits of the Greek peasants—conjectures as to the ruins of a large city—remarks on the face of the country illustrated by reference to passages from Homer—Troy, no remains of it existing—ruins of old Constantinople—Latin inscriptions, and remains of antiquity—isle of Tenedos—Mytilene—Lesbos—Scio, and its inhabitants—promontory of Lunium the present Cape Colonna—temple of Theseus, how destroyed present condition of the Morea, the ancient Peloponnesus— Candia—reflections on the contrast between ancient and modern Greece—Trinacria—Malta—arrival at Tunis—face of the country—manner of celebrating the Mahometan ramadan or Lent—the natives—ruins of the aqueduct of Carthage—description and chronological anecdotes of the city of Tunis—ruins of Carthage.

LET. XLV. From Genoa.—Description of Genoa and its inhabitants —Cizisbeis, the nature of their employment, and occasion of their institution—the government—palaces —paintings—remark on their fondness for the representation of crucifixes—church of St Lawrence, and the famous emerald plate—their churches not to be compared with the Sancta Sophia at Constantinople.

LET. XLVI. From Turin.—Character of Turin, its palaces and churches—Lady M. waits on the queen—persons of the king and prince of Piedmont described.

LET. XLVII. From Lyons.—Journey from Turin to Lyons—passage over mount Cenis—the frontier towns between Savoy and France.

LET. XLVIII. From Lyons.—Reflections on the insipidity of female visits—the inscriptions on brass tables on each side of the town-house at Lyons—remains of antiquity— cathedral of St John—critique on the statue of Louis XIV.

LET. XLIX. From Paris.—Miserable condition of the French peasants—palace of Fontainbleau—fair of St Lawrence—opera house—general character of the French actors—comparison between the French and English ladies.

LET. L. Paris.—General remarks on the palace of Versailles— Trianon—Marli—St Cloud—paintings at the house of the Duke d'Antin—the Thuilleries—the Louvre—behaviour of Mr Law at Paris—Paris compared with London.

LET. LI. From Dover.—Ludicrous distresses in the passage to Dover—reflections on travelling—brief comparison between England and the rest of the world in general.

LET. LII. Dover.—Reflections on the fates of John Hughes and Sarah Drew—epitaph on them.

LET. LIII. —Character of Mrs D —— and humorous representation of her intended marriage with a greasy curate— anecdotes of another couple—remarks on the abuse of the word nature; applied to the case of a husband who insisted on his wife suckling her own child— observations on the forbidding countenance of a worthy gentleman.

LET. LIV. From Vienna.—Remarks on some illustrious personages at the court of Vienna—character of the poet Rousseau —alchymy much studied at Vienna—prince Eugene's library.

LET. LV. —Victory of prince Eugene over the Turks, and the surrender of Belgrade—the news how received at Constantinople—contrast between European and Asiatic manners—estimate of the pleasures of the seraglio— observations on Mr Addison being appointed secretary of state—Mr Addison, Mr Pope, and Mr Congreve, in what respects three happy poets—reflections on the Iliad, and Mr Pope's translation of it.

LET. LVI. From Florence.—Remarks on the road between Bologna and Florence—visit to the monastery of La Trappe, with reflections on the monastic life—occasion of the institution of the order of La Trappe—the burning mountains near Fierenzuola—general description of Florence—the grand gallery—the statues of Antinous and Venus de Medicis—the first sketches of Raphael's cartoons—envious behaviour of modern painters, in defacing the productions of the ancients—digressions to some reports raised by Mr P. concerning the writer.

LET. LVII. —Remarks on Paris—reflections on staring and grinning—character of the French people—criticism on statues in the gardens of Versailles—the gardens compared with the royal gardens of England.

LET. LVIII. —Observations on the koran, and the conduct of the Greek priests with regard to it—women not excluded from Mahomet's paradise—who among the women excluded— the exhortations of Mahomet to the women, compared with the monastic institution of popery—the sciences cultivated among the Turks by the effendis—sentiments of an intelligent one respecting abstinence from wine— strange mixture of different countries in the suburbs of Constantinople—different species of men asserted— mongrels in the human species—why the English women so fond of hoop-petticoats.

Inquiry into the truth of Monsieur Rochefoucault's maxim, "That marriage is sometimes convenient, but never delightful."

Verses written in the Chiask at Pera, overlooking Constantinople, December 26th, 1718. By Lady Mary Wortley Montague.

Verses to Lady Mary Wortley Montague. By Mr Pope.

F I N I S.

THE END