CHAPTER I. Preliminary Positions and Remarks. Observations on some Passages in the Letters of the late Lady Mary Wortl [...]y Montague.

TO be ever restless and dissatisfied, is natural to man­kind; and this disposition impells us to seek plea­sure in variety, and happiness in something unpossessed. That desirable something none ever attain, but all find amusement in its pursuit. Our time being thus engaged and our passions employed, we pass through life in a continual agitation, and often enjoy in idea, what Prov­idence [Page 4] never permits us to taste in reality, during the period of our mortal existence.

Nor is it sit we should be entirely happy in this world, for if we were, we should think of no other; and the necessary thoughts of futurity would be sacrificed to the present enjoyments; permanent blessings would be for­got in the captivating charms of transitory pleasures; and mankind lost to active bliss, would place all their happiness in a serene apathy, and find their greatest lux­ury in laziness.

But Providence, very wisely, to prevent the whole world from running to rust, if I may be allowed the ex­pression, hath implanted in our natures a perpetual desire of change; an impulsive principle which renders the same objects satiating, and the same situations irksome. It is this principle which hath occasioned the rise and fall of empires in all ages, and furnished the materials for all the histories and biographical productions that ever were written. This hath impelled to the most im­portant discoveries, and the noblest atchievements; and a more than ordinary share of this fire of impatience or active principle, is what forms the hero, philosopher, poet, or any other character which renders itself singu­lar, or performs what is remarkable. Thus we may perceive, if order is heaven's first law, action is its, great­est agent.

But though this active principle is diffused through the whole human race, yet it has not a similar operation in every individual; we find many whose natures are more heterogeneous, and whose imaginations are more eccen­tric than the generality of mankind. It is the actions of such that furnish entertainment for the more phlegmatic, the more fedate, or the more sedentary part of the crea­tion. Mr. Pope very justly observes, that

Such form the bulk of mankind, who, if they can in the least vary their daily amusements, never wish to change the place of their residence. Their passions are domestic, their curiosity limited, and the daily occurren­ces which may happen in the course of their business, or in the circle of their acquaintance, is all the variety they desire to know. The strange and furprizing they are content to take at second hand, and being perfectly sat­isfied with reading and hearing of things that are uncom­mon, they never wish to run any hazard in seeing or knowing experimentally what others relate. The actions of such are so little interesting, that a recital of their lives would appear extremely insipid and unentertaining.

But we may naturally expect a fund of amusement, as well as instruction from the authentic memoirs of such whose lives have been a continual scene of variety. Whose active spirits have perpetually impelled them to a change of place, as well as sentiments, and the great­ness of whose souls, scorning to be prejudiced by vulgar customs, transmitted by received opinions, or biass'd by common systems, hath led them to search for happiness, or seek amusement in various countries and in different capacities.

We have no doubt but as the extraordinary character of the late honourable Mr. Wortley Montague hath ex­cited curiosity in many nations, and among all ranks of people, that it will prove infinitely agreeable to the pub­lic, to lay before them an authentic narrative of his re­remarkable travels, entertaining adventures, and singular amours, which having all the merit of fact, are at the same time so surprizing as to exceed the most celebrated productions of fiction.

But as this restless and uncommon phaenomenon was the son of a lady, whose personal and mental accomplish­ments have made a great noise in the world, and whose various adventures were likewise very extraordinary, it [Page 6] may not be amiss to preface the life of Mr. Montague, by mentioning a few particulars relative to his noble mother. This seems the more necessary, as a very re­markable circumstance previous to his birth, and which was indeed the primitive cause of his existence, seems so intimately connected with these memoirs, that we could not with propriety begin them without it.

Some time in the year 1716, the celebrated Lady Mary Wortley Montague set out with her husband, who was appointed to go to Constantinople in a public capa­city, for that famous city.

They proceeded through Holland, Germany, Hunga­ry, &c. to the place of their destination: the particulars of their journey and the principal curiosities of the places through which they passed, are frequently de­scribed by the lady herself in a course of admirable letters written to many persons of the first distincton.

In a letter written at Vienna, dated Sept. 20, 1716, she says, speaking of the ladies of that court, ‘I have not seen any such prudes as to pretend fidelity to their hus­bands, who are certainly the best natured set of people in the world, and took upon their wive's gallants as fa­vourably as men do upon their deputies that take the troublesome part of their business off their hands.’

In what light this lady might hold that part of prudery called chastity, or how she might estimate her husband's temper, we cannot pretend to say; a little farther how­ever, she insinuates, that she had not imbibed the Aus­trian customs, by telling us the following tale: ‘One of the pleasantest adventures I ever met with in my life, was last night; and it will give you a just idea in what a delicate manner the belles passions are managed in this country; I was at the assemply of the countess of—, and the young count of—, lead­ing me down stairs, asked me how long I was to stay at Vienna; I made answer that my stay depended on the emperor, and it was not in my power to determine it. [Page 7] Well, Madam, (said he) whether your time here is to be longer or shorter, I think you ought to pass it agree­ably, and to that end you must engage in a little affair of the heart. My heart, (answered I, gravely enough) does not engage very easily, and I have no design of parting with it. I see, Madam, (said he, sighing,) by the ill [...]na [...]ure of that answer, that I am not to hope for it, which is a great mortification to me that am charm­ed with you; but however, I am still devoted to your service, and since I am not worthy of entertaining you myself, do me the honour of letting me know whom you like best amongst us, and I'll engage to manage the affair entirely to your satisfaction. You may judge in what manner I should have received this compli­ment in my own country, but I was well enough ac­quainted with this to know that he really intended me an obligation; and I thanked him with a very grave courtesy, and only assured him, that I had no occasion to make use of it.’

Now, if this be fact, and who would be so impolite as to doubt the veracity of a lady, in such a case especially, what conclusion must the mind, acquainted with her lady­ship's character draw? We must naturally conjecture that either the abruptness or indelicacy of the address, or the person from whom it came, displeased her, or that she certainly was, as she says in a subsequent letter of the 26th of the same month, ‘already infected with the phlegm of the country,’ for it is most certain that the prolific and warm climate of Turkey greatly altered her ladyship's sentiments soon after, and rendered her not quite so scrupulous and phlegmatic.

It must be consessed, that if she had even a little as­fair of the heart, it would have impeached her under­standing to have consessed it, as not to have informed her fair correspondent that she had been addressed by a lover, would have seemed a tacit confession that her charms had been neglected; an idea which her lady­ship's natural vanity could not on any account suffer to take root.

CHAPTER II. Continuation of Remarks on the before mentioned Let­ters. —Some curious inferences.—A singular Detec­tion in a very singular Circumstance.

THE celebrated lady mentioned in the last chapter, might, with propriety, be termed the Sapho of the present century. In point of personal charms, she eclip­sed the Grecian poctess, and was her equal, if not her superior, with respect to the elegance of her wit, and her love of resinement in the most voluptuous pleasures.

We should not have taken the liberty to make re­marks on letters which art to be admired for the ele­gance of their composition, and the accuracy of their information, nor to have scrutinized the conduct of a lady, whose great abilities we venerate, and whose faults none were to answer for but herself, had not our sub­ject, and truth rendered such crititical inquiries abso­utely necessary.

Though the lady herself, or her friends who publish­ed her letters after her death, took infinite pains not to betray secrets, yet circumstances that have since trans­pired, and several passages in the epistles themselves, have given foundation to more than bare surmise.

What are we to think of the expressions used in de­scribing her visit to the lovely Fatima,the Thabya's lady when her young damsels are ordered to dance before our modern Sapho?

‘This dance (she says) was very different from what I had seen before: nothing can be more artful, or more proper to raise certain ideas, the tunes so sost, the motions so languishing, accompanied with pauses and dying eyes, half falling back, and then recovering themselves in so artful a manner, that I am very pos­itive, the coldest and most rigid prude upon earth could [Page 9] not have looked upon them without thinking of some­thing not to be spoken of.’

Does not the soul of the lady speak in these words? Warmed by the subject, her inclination appears without disguise; her prudence is lost in passion, that frigid turn of thinking contracted in the dominions of the House of Austna, seems to have vanished before the captivating soft music, and languishing dances of the Turkish harams. We have no doubt but these soft and foothing incen­tives might overcome the purer resolutions which her cooler reason might have wished to cherish. And that aided by sach blandishments, that love inspiring climate had sacrificed sentiment at the throne of sensation, and by giving birth to certain ideas had stimulated the fair voluptuary to something not to be spoken of.

In her 43d letter, she again says, ‘it is certain what we feel and see is properly (if any thing is properly) our own; but the good of same, the folly of praise, are hardly purchased, and when obtained, poor recom­pense for the loss of time and health. We die, or grow old before we can reap the fruit of our labours; considering what short-liv'd weak animals men are, is there any study so beneficial as the study of present pleasure?’

Is it not naturally to be supposed, that a person who held out such a system as rational, and seemed so fond of the theory, would adopt the practical part, and miss no present opportunity of enjoying a more substantial satisfaction, than what would accrue from the mere intel­lectual pleasures of platonic gratification.

In another place she informs us that she is no enemy to pleasure ‘when it is properly seasoned, and of a good composition.’

The above passages are sufficient to evince the nature of the lady's ideas, and the bent of her inclinations.

We do not wish to build upon what has been re­ported [Page 10] of her by common fame, as common fame is cer­tainly a very great magnisier of facts, as well as inventor of falsehoods. Without therefore recurring to the ex­aggerations of the chronicles of scaindal or spleen, if the public only believe a fiftieth part of what hath been asserted concerning this remarkable personage, it will be sufficient to corroborate what we mean to advance.

This lady in her writings frequently insinuates that she never saw the inside of the imperial seraglio; yet she tells as, that she was informed by the Sultana Hafiten favorite of the Emperor Mustapha who was deposed, ‘that the story of the Sultan's throwing a handkerchief is altogether fabulous, and the manner upon that oc­casion no other than this; He sends the Kyster Age to signify to the lady the honour he intends her, she is immediately complimented upon it by the others, and led to the bath, where she is persumed and dres­sed in the most magnificent and becoming manner; the emperor precedes his visit by a royal present, and then comes into her apartment. Neither is there any such thing as her creeping in at the bed's foot. Sometimes the Sultan diverts himself in the company of all his ladies, who stand in a circle around him; when they were ready to die with envy and jealousy of the happy she, that he distinguished by any appear­ance of preference.’

We are sorry to be under the disagreeable necessity of not assenting implicitly to what is advanced by a lady, but the character of a faithful biographer, and a strict adherence to facts render a contrary conduct absolutely requisite.

We cannot condemn our modern Sapho for the pru­dent concealment of an error, which perhaps was not intentional; but we must beg leave to say that the Sul­tana Hafiten did not tell her the above particulars.

This may seem a bold assertion, but there is the strongest presumption of its being a fact, for the Otto­mans of both sexes would sooner lose their lives than re­veal [Page 11] veal to any one, upon any occasion whatever, the most trisling circumstance relative to their policy or internal management of their seraglios ^* or harams, as they hold all connubial secrets sacred.

We give the lady the credit of being a pleasing, as well as an elegant writer, and of describing things in [...] most striking, and minute manner. But wha [...]er in other respects she may have wri [...]en upon hear-say, we are clearly of opinion, that in this point her intelligence is derived from personal knowledge, which she obtained by the following adventure.

CHAPTER III. The Ambassador taken ill.—His Lady's behaviour.— Amorous Propensity of the Turkish Ladies.—Facility of intriguing in Turkey—The singular Adventures of the Seraglio.—Its consequences, &c.

THE husband of our modern Sapho had not been long at Constantinople, before he was attacked by a kind of malignant disorder, which confined him for some weeks to his bed, and for some months to his chamber.

His lady behaved with great respect, and indeed ten­derness during his illness; but she was neither so pas­sionately tender as to fall sick to keep him company, nor so doatingly fond as to become his nurse.

She knew that there were plenty of those about him who were much better qualified than herself to prescribe remedies, or administer necessaries to him. Knowing therefore that the utmost human care was taken of him. she left the event to Providence with singular resignation, and, gave way to the propensities natural to her disposi­tion; that is, she pursued knowledge with unwearied [Page 12] diligence, and then to sosten the severity of her studies, fought the relaxation of the amusements and pleasures of the cast, or took every means to gratify her curiosity, which was excessive.

She had frequently intimated a strong desire to gain admission into the imperial seraglio, that she might be­hold the internal wonders of that celebrated place. But all whom she ever mentioned this to, represented the thing as impossible, except a Jew merchant, who informed her, that such favour he believed, might be procured, but the utmost privacy and precaution must be used.

Eager to gratify her curiosity, she did not recur to consequences, and stimulated by the idea, perhaps mixed with vanity, of beholding so remarkable a place, from which all except those doomed to reside there, were ex­cluded, she did not give herself time to reflect on a step, if not dangerous, at least indiscreet.

It may not be here amiss to mention, that soon after her arrival at Constantinople, she assumed the Turkish habit, in order, upon any occasion to gratify her curios­ity with greater case and privacy, and without being no­ticed, as she must have been in her own dress.

With respect to the facility of a lady's going undis­covered wherever she pleases in a Turkish dress, and the case with which the females of those eastern countries manage their intrigues, take her own words.

‘As to their morality, meaning the Turkish ladies, or good conduct, I can say like Harlequin, that it is just as it is with you, and the Turkish ladies, do not commit one sin the less for not being Christians. Now that I am a little acquainted with their ways, I cannot forbear admiring either the exemplary discretion, or extreme stupidity of all the writers that have given an account of them: it is very casy to see, they have in reality more liberty than we have; no woman of what rank soever is permitted to go into the streets without two marlins, one that covers her face all but her eyes, [Page 13] and another, that hides the whole dress of her head, and hangs half way down her back; their shapes are also wholly concealed by a thing they call a ferigce, which no woman of any sort appears without, this has strait sleeves that reach to their singers' ends, and it laps all around them, not unlike a riding hood; in winter it is of cloth, and in summer of plain stuff or silk. You may guess then, how effectually this dis­guises them, so that there is no distingushing the great lady from her slave. It is impossible for the most jea­lous husband to know his wife when he meets her, and no man dare touch or follow a woman in the streets. This perpetual [...]asquerade gives them entire liberty of following their inclinations without danger of discovery.’

The before mentioned Jew was as good as his word, and in the above drscribed disguise she was introduced into the seraglio of his sublime higness, that sanctum sanctorum of voluptuous gratification, and grand reposi­tory of terrestrial beauties.

After she had gratified her curiosity by examining the elegance of the apartments, the splendour of the furni­ture, the beauties of the garden, and the charms of the ladies, she was given to understand that no female was ever permitted to enter that place without being subser­vient to the inclinations of his sublime highness; that as it was a ceremonial never dispensed with, it was expected in the present instance, that it would be complied with without resistance.

Whether the lady made a virtue of necessary, and submitted with a good grace to what she had no power to prevent, whether she affected to expostulate, yielded with reluctance, or was compelled into a compliance, we cannot pretend to assert; suffice it to say, that in the spring of the year 1718, our hero came into the world.

He wsw a fine boy, hut it is said Mr. Montague could not endure the sight of him; his mother however was fond of him to an excess, and though she had other chil­dren [Page 14] took singular pleasure in evincing upon every oc­casion a peculiar partiality for young Montague.

In his maturer years he is said frequently to have boast­ed of his illustrious lineage, and many who have seen the then Grand Signior have declared that he bore some re­semblance of that monarch.

CHAPTER IV. Young Montague's great natural Endowments—He is put to Westminster School—His roving disposition— Runs away from School—Finds himself advertised —Changes Cloaths with a Chimney Sweeper, and com­mences Brother of the Brush.

AS young Montague's years increased, the shining qualities of his mind were the admiration of all who knew him. He possessed all that elegance of wit and vivacity which distinguished his illustrious mother; together with the voluptuous disposition and love of pleasure that marked the character of the great peison­age from whom he was always proud to deduce his origin.

At the proper age he was put to Westminster school, where the brilliancy of his genius, the tenaciousness of his memory and quickness of his penetration attracted the notice of the master of that seminary; while his whimsical temper afforded a continual fund of amuse­ment to the young gentleman who were the companions of his studies.

Considering his volatile disposition, he improved amaz­ingly; but a restless temper, an impatience of contr [...]ul, and a roaming desire seemed to evince themselves in his composition. He would frequently absent himself from school, and make excursions into the fields for a whole day together, for which he was as often corrected; but correction did not pro [...]ent him from repeating his fault, till he had been so often punished that cheslilement lost, [Page 15] its terrors, and he determined to attempt quitting the school for ever, let what would be the event.

In consequence of this determination, he one morn­ing early made an elopement, and wandered about the chief part of the day, wonderfully pleased with the en­joyment of unrestrained liberty.

Hunger at length compelled him to seek some re­sreshment, he immediately repaired to a pastry cook's shop, and gratified his appetite with [...]hat he there thought most delicious, assuaging his thim at the same time with some whey.

As it was now in the midst of summer, and the wea­ther remarkably serene and fine, he never once thought of a place to lodge in at night; however, when it drew toward: evening, he rambled into the fields and very comsortably reposed himself upon a hay-cock.

Another day and night passed exactly in a similar [...]anner, and he began to think his new method of pass­ing his time extremely insipid, if not tiresome, Not being accommodated with substantial food, as customary, indisposed him very much, and he felt himself exceed­ingly stiff and full of pain in all his limbs, which he righdy attributed to sleeping in the open air.

But another inconvenience appeared to him more dis­agreeable than the above, which was, not having any person to converse with, or to communicate his thoughts. to; he began to wish himself at school again, or at least that he had enticed some of his school fellows to elope with him and share the same fate as himself.

He therefore determined to seek some better accom [...] dation than he had had since his absenting himself from school, in a place of pul he entertainment, which [...]l near the field that had ser [...]ed him as a bed-chamber.

He entered the heuse, and enquired if he could breakfast thare; the landlady replied he might; but at [Page 16] the same time surveyed him with surprize, on account of his youth, a certain noble air which was natural to him, the elegance of his dress, and the hay which every where hung about his cloaths, and was entangled with his hair.

Break fast was [...]arce over when a hawker brought in a news-paper, and threw it down near where young Montague sat.

He took it up in order to amuse himself; but what Was his confusion, when casting his eyes over it, he found an advertisement sully describing himself; and offering a reward for seizing and bringing him back again to the school.

His perplexity was inexpressible. He fancied the people of the house knew the whole affair, and could read the misdemeanor he had been guilty of in his face, and began to be apprehensive that they were about to seize him, and deliver him up to the master of the sem­inary, from which he had eloped.

These reflections alarmed him so much that he asked what was to pay, in great disorder, and being told, threw down the money in haste, and decamped with the ut­most precipitation, frequently looking behind him with the greatest confusion and terror.

After he had run himself out of breath, and out of danger, as he fancied, he began to moderate his pace, and to consider what was to be done in his present dilemma.

While he was ruminating, a chimney sweeper's boy appeared in view. A thought immediately struck him, tnat if he should change his apparel with this boy, who was about his size, that the dress of a chimney sweeper would effectually disguise him.

He made the proposal to the boy, who seeing the ele­gance of young Montague's garb, vary readily [...]sented [Page 17] to a change, which appeared to be so greatly to his own advantage.

They retired to an empty house to make the ex­change; which was no sooner effected, than the chim­ney-sweeper drily asked young Montague, if, now he had the dress, he had a mind to leam the trade?

Montague replied in the affirmative, provided he could have a good master.

‘As for that (replied young Sable) I'll take you to my master, you can't have a better; he'll fill your belly, if he beats your back.’

This information did not intimidate young Montague. The idea of commencing chimney-sweeper tickled his imagination, and suited exactly with his natural inclina­tion for novelty.

His new comrade immediately conducted him to his master, who was sitting by the fire-fide with his wise.

The singularity of their appearance threw the sooty couple into great consternation; they could not con­ceive the meaning of such strange metamorphoses; fig­ure to the imagination a boy as black as soot could make him, dressed in an elegant suit of light coloured cloaths, white silk slockings, and a silver-laced hat, while a comely youth appeared by the side of him, with a skin as fair as alabaster, yet clad in the sable garments of a chimney-sweeper, and whose fine head of hair was cov­ered with a dirty woollen night-cap full of holes.

But their doubts were soon solved by their appren­tice, who informed them of the particulars of the whole affair, and of young Montague's desire to commence a brother of the brush.

The master immediately consented to receive him as one of the fraternity, and to initiate him in the myste­ries of the profession. But deeming our hero's cloaths [Page 18] to be too good a prize for his boy, he determined to con­vert them to his own use: Therefore, ordering the boy to strip, he gave him the same kind of apparel as he had lately parted from to young Montague, and promised to keep the others safely for him, till he was out of his time.

CHAPTER V. A curious Adventure.—Terrifies some Gamesters, and seixes their Money. — Another whimsical Exploit.— He is apprehended, carried before a Magistrate, and delivered to his Friends.—The judicious Behaviour of the Master of Westminster School.

DISAGREEABLE as this dirty profession may seem, young Montague grew fond of it; and be­came so great a proficient in the sooty business, that his master was very nappy in having met with him.

Add to this, his comical humours and whirnsical ways diverted all that he came near; so that wherever he went to sweep chimneys he was sure to be well treated, and often had money given him as a recom­pence. for the mirth he occasioned; this money he con­stantly spent upon his sable comrades, which made them exceedingly fond of his company, and always ready to oblige him: thus he lived much happier than the idea of such an employment could permit one to suppose.

A publican who was an acquaintance and neighbour of his master, had some company in his house one even­ing, who refused to leave the house when he wanted to retire to rest.

They were in a back parlour pretty much intoxica­ted, and busily employed in gaming: a large sum of money was deposited on the table, dependent on the play; while the effects of the liquor tney had drank, with the eagerness and anxiety on account of their [Page 19] stakes, occasioned them frequently to utter the most bit­ter imprecations.

The landlord expostulated with them in vain, they positively refused either to quit the house or cease from swearing.

At length it came into the landlord's head to apply to our hero's master for one of his boys to execute a scheme which he had conceived.

Young Montague was sent with him: he led him into a room adjoining to that in which the gamesters were at play, and directed him to ascend the chimney there and descend through that which belonged to the parlour where they were so busily engaged.

Our hero followed his instructions, and descended the chimney without their hearing him, when creeping softly into the midst of the room unperceived, he sud­denly cried out with a loud voice, "My master Luci­fer has sent me for you all." Hearing the words, they all instantaneously turned their eyes to the place from whence the sound proceeded, and perceiving his sable appearance, a general panic seized them, they started up suddenly, crowded to the door with the ut­most terror, and made their escape with the greatest precipitation.

This whimsical method of driving away troublesome campany was attended with these further good conse­quences. The fright cured every individual of them of the itch for gaming, and the habit of swearing.

As they were too much ternflod to reslect, and in too great a hurry to make their escape, they never thought of thei [...] money, which remained on the table, and was seized upon by the landlord and our her [...] who divided it equally between them as lawful prize money.

As there was something whimsical in another of our [Page 20] hero's adventures while he remained in the capacity of a chimney-sweeper, we shall recite it.

Being sent to sweep some chimneys at a house in Golden-Square, he got out of the top of the chimney, and after looking about for some time from the leads of the house, curiosity at length prompted him to de­scend a chimney which belonged to the next house.

He descended into an elegant bed-chamber, where he perceived a fine down bed, which the lady of the house had just quitted.

As he had lodged but indifferently for some time past, he determined to give his limbs a quarter of an hour's indulgence, by creeping into the lady's place, and covering himself over head and ears, where he lay for some time buried in down, and exulting in the success of the whim.

At length a chamber-maid came into the room to make the bed, and place every thing in its proper order.

This girl it seems had for a long time made a prac­tice of stealing her mistress's marmalade, and other sweetmeats, which were deposited in a closet in this bed­chamber, and which the girl got at by means of a salse key she kept for that purpose.

According to custom she went to the closet and re­galed herself as long as she thought proper, with what she fancied the most delicious.

As soon as she was satisfied, she carelessly approached towards the bed in order to make it, when pulling off the cloaths, up started young Montague, who retreated towards the chimney, and scrambling up with great ex­pedition and dexterity, got into the next house, finished him business, and went home.

As for the poor girl she was so exceedingly terrified, that she gave only one violent seream, and fainted away.

[Page 21]Alarmed by the noise, the rest of the servants ran to see what had occasioned it.

When they perceived her condition, they used their utmost endeavours to recover her, and soon succeeded.

She had no sooner recovered her recollection, than she hastened to her mistress, and throwing herself at her feet, with tears in her eyes, implored her forgiveness for the wrong she had done her, confessing in what man­ner, and how long she had stolen her sweetmeats, and delivering up the false key with which she had perpetra­ted the crime. At the same time she solemnly promi­sed never to repeat that or any offence of a similar na­ture, since a judgement had befallen her for what she had already done.

She then in a most pitiful tone gave an account of the devil's having appeared to her, exaggerating every circumstance, and giving all that dreadful magnitude to the supposed apparition, which a terrified imagination could conceive. She declared he was upward of seven feet in height, that his eyes were as large as saucers, and as fierce as fire, that blue flames issued from his mouth and nostrils, that his tail was as big as a ship's cable, and his cloven foot, of which she gave a particular descrip­tion, was much larger than the foot of the largest ox. She concluded this monstrous detail by asserting that he vanished away in a flash of lightning.

The other servants corroborated what she said, in re­spect to some circumstances, such as the room and bed being covered with a sort of black dirt, which as they were wonderfully sagacious, they supposed must be brim­stone ashes; and the sooty smell they insisted could proceed from nothing but sulphur.

Whatever the lady thought, she pretended to credit the whole story, and took an occasion to give them a lecture on the moral duties, dwelling largely on the old proverb, that honesty is the best policy, and expatia­ting [Page 22] on the dreadful consequences attending a breach of the seventh commandmen

This whimsical adventure however, luckily reformed the girl; who was naturally d [...]sposed to pilfer whate­ver came in her way, but the sight ever after rendered her conscientiously honest. Thus many of young Mon­tague's whims, which were infinitely diverting to himself, became beneficial in the end to others.

As our hero was exceedingly liberal to his sable com­rades upon all occasions, he soon exhausted not only what money had been given him, but all which he had gained by frightening the gamesters.

Many of the chimney-sweepers with whom he had contracted an intimacy, designed to celebrate the ensuing 5th of November. They had prepared some faggots for a bonfire, and purchased fire-works according to their respective abilities.

Our hero, who was naturally ambitious, wished to outdo them all, in the article of fire-works, by making a superior purchase.

But not having any money left, he determined to gratify his inclination by disposing of a gold watch, which had formerly been given him by a relation, and which he had not parted with when he changed apparel with the chimney-sweeper's boy.

To this end, he went into a watch-maker's shop, without having the least apprehension that he should meet with any difficulty, and asked the master of the shop, if he would purchase a watch.

The watch-maker finding it to be a very valuable one, could not conceive that it came honestly into the possession of a chimney-sweepers boy; in fact, he had no doubt but he had stole it from some house, where he had been employed to sweep the chimneys.

[Page 23]Full of this idea, he kept young Montague in talk while one of his men fetched a constable, who imme­diately carried him before a magistrate.

Our hero was now frightened out of his wits; in vain he pleaded that it was his own—the Justice so far from beliving him, was about to commit him to goal, that he might be tried for stealing it.

Reduced to this dilemma, he was obliged to con­fess his birth and family, who he had the watch as a present from, and his elopement from Westminster School.

The Justice immediately sent an account of the whole transaction to his relations, and the head master of the school, who all very soon made their appearance.

The magistrate was sincerely thanked by his friends— the master chimney-sweeper was sent for, and severely rep­rimanded for having concealed a youth of his appear­ance, in a clandestine manner; and young Montague was again committed to the care of the reverend gen­tleman, who then presided over that seminary of learning.

It required a great deal of trouble and a considerable time to bring his skin to its natural colour again, and to eradicate the particles of soot which had penetrated into the very pores.

As severe methods had been formerly found to be ineffectual with young Montague, his master judiciously determined to try what lenient measures would do, and therefore, instead of chastising him for absenting him­self from school, he was forgiven, caressed, and receiv­ed every kind of indulgence.

CHAPTER VI. Runs away again.—Goes to New-Market.—Is de­frauded by Sharpers.—A Relation seizes him.—The Sharpers obliged to refund.—Montague is brought to London.—Sent again to School, and treated with great Rigour.

BUT a disposition constitutionally volatile, and a mind naturally roving, can only be checked for a time. Such a temper when curbed or restrained, sud­denly breaks out and evinces itself with a greater de­gree of violence.

Thus our hero, who had behaved pretty circum­spectly for a few months, began again to grow tired of the regularity of school-discipline, and to resolve up­on another excursion without the leave of his preceptor.

His imagination had lately been fired by the accounts he had heard of the horse races at New-Market. He determined to be an eye-witness of what in description appeared so pleasing.

To this end, he again absented himself from school òne morning early, a few days previous to the com­mencement of the races, and having enquired the road to New-Market, he made haste to quit the town, and being overtaken by the New-Market stage-coach, he got into it, and arrived there that evening.

Nor had he forgot the principal article, a large sum of money: For he had been plentifully supplied by an usurer, who made it his business to get acquainted with the young noblemen and gentlemen of Westminster school, that by administering to their propensity to vice, he might take the advantage of their follies, and by the help of his own cunning and artifice, reap the beu­esit of their carelessness and inexperience.

[Page 25]The races at length began; young Montague was wonderfully delighted with them, and perceiving with what ardor the betts were laid, he was desirous of com­mencing adventurer; but did not know who to address himself to, or how to proceed.

He was not suffered long to remain in this state of uncertainty and perplexity. Some sharpers had ob­served the elegance of his dress, and a certain noble­ness of deportment by which, from his infancy, he had always been peculiarly distinguished. They justly jud­ged that he was of some considerable family, and con­cluded from his being at New-Market, that he was hardly deficient in point of cash. These ideas were sufficient to induce them to mark him as a proper ob­ject, to be made a prey of.

One of the sharpers was therefore deputed from the rest to try the experiment. He addressed himself to young Montague, by asking him if he would bett and choose to take odds.

Though our hero was ignorant of what he meant by odds, he did not choose to betray his ignorance, but answered briskly in the affirmative.

They began to bett with great spirit, and our hero lost his money with the greatest good temper, and much seeming satisfaction. Indeed they found him to use the sharpers own technical phrases, a willing Pi­geon, mighty easy to be plucked. We scarce need to add that he was stripped of every shilling which he had about him.

His youth and inexperience, the little knowledge he had of the use of money, and the novelty of the thing, prevented him from perceiving his losses in any other light, than as occurrences that must happen upon such occasions of course. Nay, so far was he from supposing that he had heen defrauded, or any advan­tage taken of his simplicity or ignorance of such af­fairs, that he very willingly disposed of his watch, and a [Page 26] valuable ring he had with him, in order to continue the sport, as he called it, and indeed he did continue it, till he had nothing left.

In the evening he retired from the course much fati­gued, and repaired to the inn where he had hitherto put up, when he soon went to bed.

The next morning he seemed rather chagrined, that he had not money to repeat his diversions. He however repaired to the course at the usual time, thinking that he might meet with those who had won his money the day before, and not doubting but they would lend him a tri­fle to try his luck again.

He had however not been above a quarter of an hour upon the course, before he was perceived by the very relation, who as before mentioned, gave him the gold watch, which he had the preceding day entirely parted with.

This gentleman had been apprized of young Monta­gue's elopement from school before he left London, and was very happy to have an opportunity of securing him, and sending him to town again.

He seized him immediately, and taking him to an inn, strictly interrogated and severely reprimanded him. Montague confessed the truth of every thing with great candour, except the borrowing of the money of the u­surer, and the sum he had lost; he told his relation in deed that he had lost all he brought with him, as well as his watch and ring.

The gentleman now explained to him in what man­ner he had been defrauded; informed him, that those he had betted with, were no other than common sharp­ers, and warned him in the most lively manner against gaming in general: he then determined to take our hero to the course again, that he might, if possible, point out those honest gentlemen, who so d [...]xterously plucked his feathers as they [...] might apprehend them.

[Page 27]Young Montague accompanied his relation upon this expedition with great pleasure. As his pride was piqued to think he had believed those to be gentlemen, who in reality were only sharpers, and to have been defrauded at a time he fancied he had lost his money fairly.

They had not been long upon the turf, before our hero perceived the black legged gentry who had so egre­gioussy imposed upon him: he pointed them out to his noble relation, and those that were with him; they were easily seized upon, and sensible of the consequence and dignity of those in whose power they were, they gladly compounded for their release, by a restitution of the watch and ring; they would indeed have restored the money, but that was generously refused, and very glad our hero was that it happened so, as the restitution would have occasioned his intercourse with the usurer to have been detected, for the largeness of the sum would have caused an enquiry into the manner by which he became possessed of so much cash.

In a few days his relation returned with him to Lon­don, having during the remainder of his stay at New-Market, caused him to be narrowly watched to prevent his escaping from him, if he meditated any such thing.

On his arrival in town, he underwent a great number of severe lectures, and at length was returned to school with particlar directions to his master to chastise him with tne utmost severity.

Those directions were punctually complied with, and he felt the terrors of school-discipline in their greatest rigour.

This, instead of changing his disposition, only served to confirm him in a determination to quit the school en­tirely on the first opportunity, and to take such measures as would effectually prevent his being again retaken.

CHAPTER VII. Absents himself a third time. Is intoxicated and rob­bed. —Sequel of a villainous Confederacy—Roguery of a trading Captain.—Embarks for Spain.—Is very ill used during the Voyage.—Runs away from the Ship.

IT was not long before he put his design in execution. He had a pretty considerable sum with him, with which he was furnished by the before mentioned usurer, who was always willing to accommodate any whom he knew to be heirs to ample fortunes, with whatever sums their follies or vanities might require; that is, in con­sideration of being allowed to extort an unconscionable premium and exorbitant interest for his kindness.

He made the best of his way to Wapping, where he enquired for the captain of a trading vessel, of whom he had been previously informed.

He soon found him. The captain was bound to Ca­diz, and intended to sail the next day, if the weather permitted.

Young Montague had a passionate desire to see Spain from the accounts he had heard and read concerning it; he determined to take this opportunity, and promised the captain to become a passenger.

Willing to pass the last evening that he intended to remain in England in a convivial manner; he went into a tavern, and ordered an elegant supper. The people were surprized at his youth, but did not hesitate to com­ply with his desire, as they perceived he was possessed of money, and had other valuables about him.

The master of the tavern was himself a notable sharper and perceiving the simplicity and inexperience of his ju­venile guest, he determined to make the most of him.

[Page 29]Young Montague anticipated his desires by requesting him to give him his company at supper. This request he not only complied with, out introduced two of his intimates who were as great rogues as himself, to assist in the execution of his scheme.

After supper, the glass was pushed briskly about, and cards introduced, intoxication soon banished our hero's reflection; he lost his money without repining. What little precaution, or prudence he might have possessed when sober, was drowned in copious bumpers of claret. At length he was so inebriated, as to sink down senseless on the floor.

This was what the honest gentry with whom he was in company wanted; what they had not cheated him of before, they now robb'd him of, and then left him, with­out the least farther concern, to sleep off the fumes of those copious libations, which had reduced him to such a shameful state of insensibility.

When he came to himself in the morning he scarce recollected where he was; for never having been used to intemperance before, the excess had almost obliterated the remembrance of every thing that had happened.

He however called aloud; when the waiter appeared, he desired some coffee, which was presently brought him, accompanied by an enormous bill of the preceding [...]ight's expences.

When he had read the bill, he put his hand into his pocket to discharge it. Words cannot express his aston­ishment, nor imagination paint his agonies, when he per­ceived that he had been plundered, not only of every sixpence he possessed, but of his watch, ring, and every other moveable value about him.

He called for the landlord with an air of desperation, which sufficiently evinced the horror of his mind.

The landlord appeared—he recited his misfortune— [Page 30] the landlord affected to fly into a violent passion, called him a sharper—told him he came there with a design to bilk his house, and that he would send for a constable; saying these words, he hastily flung out of the room.

The mistress now appeared, and with an affected con­cern, pretended to have great compassion upon his youth, and to pity his indiscretion, she represented her husband as a most terrible man, litigious and rash to the last de­gree, and exceedingly malicious when provoked; she therefore advised him to make his escape during her hus­band's absence, as he was gone for a constable, for, said she, in a very moving accent, ‘If you are carried before a magistrate, and committed to Newgate, heaven knows what will be the consequence.’

Her artifice succeeded; the very name of Newgate was sufficient to terrify young Montague, to whom con­finement seemed terrible, though under the most unex­ceptionable circumstances; and he was too much of a novice to see through the finesse of these consederated sharpers.

He thanked the mistress for her kindness, as he [...] ed it, and hasted from the house; winged by his fears, he hurried to the place of the captain's residence, with whom he had conversed the day before. Here he re­peated his dismal tale, and with the most doleful accen [...] of unaffected sorrow, related his misfortunes to the captain.

Mr. James. for that was the captain's name, saw into the whole affair immediately, he well knew the house and the people, and consequently could give a pretty near guess at the nature of the collusive transaction.

Without saying a word to our he [...] (whom he left at his house)he repaired to the tavern, and calling the mas­ter aside, flatly accused him of the whole affair, telling, him that the young gentleman whom he had defrauded, was of a great family, and had most powerful friends, that the consequence of a discovery of this iniquitous transaction, would be his inevitable ruin.

[Page 31]After a little more conversation, the landlord perceiv­ed that the captain had taken this trouble upon himself, not as an advocate for justice, but on the more sordid motives of self interest.

They were not long now in understanding each other. Upon a promise of secrefy, the captain was admitted to partake liberally of what young Montague had been de­spoiled, and became in reality an accessary after the fact. In return for this generosity of the landlord, he promised to let our hero work his passage to Spain, during which voyage, he would take care to use him so ill, that he should be glad to run away from the ship as soon as he landed, and then it would be a miracle if ever he return­ed to England again, to accuse them of defrauding him.

Thus we may perceive that Captain James was no honester than his worthy neighbours.

That evening our hero embarked on board the ship, on the stipulated agreement of working his passage.

During the voyage, the captain punctually performed the promise he had made to the landlord, for he used poor Montague so exceeding ill, that when they arrived at Cadiz, he took the first opportunity of quitting de ship.

The repeated misfortunes he had met with at so early an age, one would imagine, ought to have cured him of his roving disposition; but it had the contrary effect; his inclination increased with difficulties, and a resolu­tion which never forsook his mind, supported him under all misfortunes.

CHAPTER VIII. Montague's literary Acquisitions, —Engages to serve a Mulateer. —Bad accommodations for Travellers in Spain, —Inconvenience of the Spanish Inns.—Food. Excessive Heat.—Singular Customs.—Frequent Mur­ders. —Sanctuaries.—Character of the Spaniards.

YOUNG Montague though of so volatile a disposi­tion, had made an amazing progress in his studies. The strength of his memory, and quickness of his pene­tration enabled him to make greater literary acquisitions than many of a much more sedate turn of mind, and as­siduous disposition.

He was exceedingly well acquainted with the Latin classics, and had some knowledge of the Greek. He was well verled in French, having been taught to speak it from his infancy; and had a tolerable smattering of the Spanish: so that he was not at so great a loss as might at first be conceived.

Luckily in plundering him, the sharpers had over­looked a pair of Mocoa sleeve buttons set in gold. These he sold at Cadiz, and by that means [...]rocured subsistence for some days.

When his money was just exhausted, he by chance fell into conversation with a Muleteer, who wanted an assistant. Montague readily offered his service, which was accepted.

This employ though one of the meanest in Spain, seemed the most eligible and pleasing to our hero, as it would give him an opportunity of travelling unquestion­ed and unmolested, and of seeing many parts of the kingdom at his leisure.

In travelling with his now master be found great plea­sure, as every day presented him with something new, [Page 33] and every object was food for his curiosity; but his satis­faction was dash'd with some difficulties and inconveni­ences. There are no beds in the inns to accommodate travellers; he was frequently obliged to lay on the boards, and even there, was almost tormented to death with vermin.

Sometimes by choice, he lay in the stable with the mules, but here another plague attended him, for he was so pestered with rats and mice, that he very seldom could get a wink of sleep.

With respect to the inns in Spain, it is remarkable that you enter the houses through the stables, nay, even the stairs that lead to the different bed chambers are in the, stables, and always exceedingly dark and dirty.

Another disagreeable circumstance was the article of food. Every thing the Spaniards eat is so full of gar­lick, saffron, spice, and pepper, that it is impossible for those who are not used to such high seasoning, to swal­low their food; and unluckily, his master happened to be fond to an excess of such relishing dishes, so that poor Montague was often obliged to go without his dinner, or to eat only a piece of dry bread, which was as black as a coal, and often so stale and hard that he was forced to dip it in water to soften it before he was able to bite it.

The excessive heat in Spain occasions a copious per­spiration; this young Montague, who was naturally in­clining to corpulency, found! exceedingly troublesome. He, however frequently relieved himself by wiping the sweat which trickled down his face, with a very fine and beautiful India handkerchief.

His master frequently saw this handkerchief with an envious eye. One day he asked to look at it.

Montague gave it him. He admired it for some time, and at length kissing it very devoutly, put it into his pocket, saying at the same time, that he did not think our hero of so liberal a temper; but that he should for [Page 34] ever esteem him for a present which shewed at once his generosity and good nature. He then kissed his thumb, laid across one of his fingers, and swore to be his friend as long as he lived.^*

Our hero was astonished at this proceeding; but said nothing to his master; he was however sorry for the loss of his handkerchief, as the want of it proved a great in­convenience.

To account for this transaction of his master, it is ne­cessary to observe, that young Montague afterwards found that it was customary in Spain, for any one who had a desire for something belonging to another, to [...] to see it, when, if they chuse to keep it, they kiss it and re­turn thanks for it, as if it had been given them. This method of converting one person's property to the use of another, is so common in Spain, that the natives take no notice of its inconveniency.

Being once near Berberana, a town in Old-Castile, our hero perceived a gentleman lying in a ditch, wel­tering in his blood; he would fain have gone to have seen if he was quite dead, but his master would not let him, telling him to take no notice of it, but to keep on his way, and not to mention a syllable about the matter to any person.

This at once alarmed young Montague, and excited his curiosity; he began to enquire more particularly into the customs and manners of the country than he had hitherto done; and his master, who was not defi­cient in point of understanding, gave him a very judi­cious account, which in substance was as follows:

That the Spaniards affect a solemn deportment, flow and steady pace, and serious countenance, that this stud­ied gravity is only a veil to cover an infinite fund of wit [Page 35] and humour. They speak with great deliberation, and a majestic tone, which, when they utter a joke or piece of raillery, gives it a double force. They are brave without being rash, for they do not love to attack, but to stand on the defensive; and this indolent intrepidity they ascribe to prudence. They are ostentatious in pageantry and show, yet unaffectedly liberal; revenge­ful without appearing angry, libidinous and luxurious with respect to women, but temperate and sober, in re­gard to eating and drinking. They are tenacious of their honour, and great observers of tneir words, though it cost them their lives. Patient, obstinate, and great humourists; they are vivacious, penetrating, fluent in speaking, but jealous to an excess; exceedingly super­stitious, and very bad oeconomists. Their behaviour is affected, formal and stiff, they are naturally ingenious, but too lazy to employ their ingenuity, and of that im­placable disposition, that they never forgive an injury, or fail to resent an affront, which is seldom done in an honourable manner, but usually by assassination. Nay, they not only cause those to be murdered who have af­fronted them, but likewise such as they have affronted, lest they should take the same advantage, for their max­im is, kill or be killed.

One great reason of the frequent murders in Spain, is the easiness with which the assassin can screen himself from justice; for if he flies to a church or a convent, he is safe; and he generally takes care to commit the crime near some sanctuary. These fanctuaries are al­most innumerable.

The Spaniard are short and lean. Leanness indeed is deemed a beauty among them, but they are well made, and have fine features. They have indeed a yel­low or dusky completion, but their eyes are remarkably bright, and their teeth regular and well set they have large legs and small feet, their hair is parted in the mid­dle, strait cut, and tucked behind the ears.

They wear a large [...] their cloaths are always black, over which they have a black s [...]ieze cloak.

[Page 36]They have strait breeches and hanging sleeves a long sword and a poinard.

Our hero found one advantage however in belonging to a Muleteer, which was, being better treated at the inns than even people of fashion, for as the Muleteers are constant customers and take their passengers to what inn they please, they are more caressed by the innkeepers, than genteeler persons whom they may never see again.

They have seldom above one cup in an inn, and if the mule driver gets hold of it, even a nobleman must stay with patience till he has done with it, or drink out of a wooden bowl or earthen pitcher.

As there are no chimneys in the inns, but in lieu thereof a hole in the cieling to let the smoke through, people in cold weather are almost choaked and blinded. Besides, every thing must be paid for before you have it, for the inn-keeper is only allowed to lodge ye, but not to find you either in eating or drinking. He is therefore (being very poor himself) obliged to ask the traveller for money, to go for what he wants, to the butcher, baker, fruiterer, vintner, &c.

The innkeepers are great extortioners, and will de­fraud you if they can, though at the same time they pre­tend to do you the greatest honour; for as soon as ever you enter their house, they run to dress themselves in their best, being perhaps the poorest and the proudest publicans in the universe, the good woman of the house then brings all her children, if she has any, about you, and obliges them to touch your cloaths, and rub their eyes, throats, checks and hands with them.

In noblemen and gentlemen's families, the servants all live upon board wages, which are very low, and in fact, though naturally abstemious, they are half starved; this renders them so ravenous, that they pilfer as much as they can from what is drest for their master's tables; to prevent which, the grand dinners in Spain are usually sent up in disher and covers, which are padlocked to­gether, [Page 37] to prevent the depredation that would otherwise be made between the kitchen and dining-room.

CHAPTER XI. Spain the Region of Love.—The amorous Disposition of young Montague.—The early age at which the Spaniards engage in Intrigues. Singular method of unveiling a Woman without touching her.—Jour­ney to Madrid.—The Prelude of an Adventure at an inn upon the Road.

SPAIN it certainly the region of love and gallantry; the tender passion is here carried to its utmost ex­cess of refinement; no people in the universe, are by nature more amorous than the Spaniards; the climate and manner of living, increases their natural disposition for voluptuous pleasures, and the great restraint under which the women are kept, is a spur to their ingenuity, and adds to the extacy of every amour, by giving it the air of a deep intrigue.

The inclinations of young Montague were naturally as amorous, and his disposition to the full as voluptuous, as the most libidinous Spaniard existing.

He could not but perceive, that in this country, Cu­pid found employment for many who were much youn­ger than himself, for he was now considerably turned of fifteen years of age, and here it frequently happens, that a youth of fourteen is married to a girl of twelve, he therefore could not but upbraid himself for having lived to so advanced an age, without having had a mistress, or engaging in an amour.

It was his nature to be ardent in whatever he took in his head, these ideas were therefore no sooner established in his imagination, than he began to sigh for every wo­man he saw, or to languish after ideal mistresses. In­deed he never saw any woman but what was veiled, un­less [Page 38] a few by chance, who were either miserably poor, or very old and ugly.

As he had not the liberty of indulging himself with a sight of their features, or permission to admire their complexions, he determined to do in fancy what the custom of the country denied him the enjoyment of in reality. He therefore never met a woman, but he be­gan to unveil her, (in imagination) and to strip her (ide­ally) from those envious robes that prevented him from gazing on her native charms, and we must do the bril­liancy of his fancy in this respect, the justice to say, that he never beheld any Spanish nymph, by this method, but what was a perfect beauty, for he took care to figure to him self, on these occasions, nothing but paragons of perfection.

But this amorous diet was of too thin a consistency, to gratify the warmth of his appetite long; he found speculative passion not at all suitable to the ardor of his disposition, and longed very much to reduce the theory of love to practice.

He was ambitious, but the sphere of life in which he at present moved, prevented him from entertaining the idea of soaring to such exalted beauties, where rank and charms merited that grandees alone should kneel before them. He began for the first time to be ashamed of his situation, and to blame himself for a frolick which had reduced him so low in the scale of human consequence.

As there was no remedy but patience, he determined to make a virtue of necessity, and not to lose the least opportunity of indulging himself in those pleasures which might lie within his reach, but to avail himself of every means of sensual gratification which chance might present, or fortune lay before him.

These [...] similar ideas continually employed his mind, but he did not for some time, meet with any ad­venture worth recording.

[Page 39]At length being obliged to make a journey to Mad­rid with his master, they put up one night at a little lonely inn on the road.

At this inn another carrier besides his master had ta­ken up his lodging on his return from Madrid to Sa­lamanca.

The landlord had a niece, who happened to be of a very amorous complexion. This nymph who was well made and very pretty, appeared witnout her veil

Montague was greatly struck with her appearance. The French je ne s [...]ai quoi which he found in her, took entire possession of his heart, and the tartness of her ans­wers, which to a youthful mind already prejudiced in her favour, might pass for wit, entirely rivetted his chains.

CHAPTER X. Montague smitten with the Charms of a Spanish nymph. —Eulogium on his Person.—His Progress in the Spanish Tongue.—Fortune savours his Wishes.— Night Adventures—Some whimsical Mistakes.—One Error pleasingly rectified by another.—A rapturous Love-scene.—All retire to their separate Apartments.

OUR hero could not keep his eyes from being fixed on the agreeable Jeanot, who, for her part took every opportunity to exchange glances with him. In­deed we cannot be surprized at this, as it is very proba­ble, that she never in her life before, beheld so comely a youth. For Montague was very genteel in his person, and perfectly well made; his features were fine and regular, and though he was a little fun-burnt with tra­velling about, his complexion still far exceeded what was to be seen among the natives of Spain. Add to this, he was sprightly in his conversation, engaging in his manner, and had a most insinuating address. Nei­ther was her eye disgusted by seeing him in a dress to [Page 40] which she was not familiarized; for a little before, his master had made him adopt the Spanish habit.

Our hero, by means of the quickness of his genius, and strength of his memory, had so well improved him­self in the Spanish tongue, that he could speak it almost as fluently as a native, and was scarce to be distinguished for a foreigner by his accent. Thus he was under no apprehension of being misunderstood, if he could but procure an opportunity of addressing himself to Jeanot.

Fortune was propitious to his wishes—the hostess was called out of the house to a daughter of her's in the neighbourhood, who was suddenly taken ill. The land­lord had employment enough in the stable, to keep him far some time from interrupting them, and with respect to his master, the only remaining spy, Morpheus stood his friend by closing his eye-lids with a leaden sleep.

Montague did not let slip this favourable opportunity. He poured forth the most rapturous expressions of love, with an amazing volubility; and took very close liber­ties, which though not authorized by the customs of Spain, yet were by no means displeasing to the blyth, blooming and amorous Jeanot; in fine she let him know the sit­uation of her bed-chamber, and gave him to understand that if he should happen to mistake it for his own in the night, that she should not be terrified, or fancy him to be a ghost.

Montague was quite in raptures at these innuendo's. He impatiently wished for the hour of retiring to rest, and could eat no supper, for the thought of his ap­proaching happiness, as he deemed it.

At length the family retired to rest. Montague was obliged to lay with his master, as there was no other bed vacant. And happy was he, as soon as he found by the melody of his nose, that he was in a profound sleep.

He now crept softly from his master, and pursued, as he thought, the directions given him by the pretty Jea­not [Page 41] He entered the room, and felt about for the bed. Having found it, he called his mistress by the most en­dearing epithets, and began to embrace her as he ima­gined, when he received a box in the car that almost stunned him.

Putting his hands out to guard himself from another salute of a similar nature, if such a repetition should be intended, he was amazed at encountering a rough face, and a pair of mustachios; these he was convinced could not appertain to the lovely Jeanot, he therefore perceiv­ed that he had made a very essential mistake, and thought it expedient to retreat with as much expedition as possible.

He made the best of his way towards the door of the chamber, but unluckily in his hurry ran his nose against it, he not only felt an extremity of pain by the blow, but was coverd with blood in a moment. To add to his embarrassment, his whiskered antagonist had pursued him to be revenged for having his repose disturbed, and was distributing convincing prooss of his resentment upon the back, shoulders, and head of poor Montague.

Our hero at length opened the door, and precipitate­ly fled he knew not which way nor whither, as his principal concern was to escape the fury of his silent as­sailant, for the person who was so liberal in the u [...] of his hands, to the great mortification of poor Montague, made not the least use of his tongue; nor did our hero utter a groan, lest he should be discovered.

But he made haste in vain, for the other pursued him with equal celerity, when a thought came into his head to throw himself suddenly down, which would occasion his pursuer to fall over him, and by this he imagined he might probably escape.

He put this scheme into execution and it succeded to admiration. His antagonist had a, terrible fall, and brake his forehead against the wainscot. He did not however bear his misfortune with that degree of philo­sophic [Page 42] patience which young Montague had shewn un­der the severity of his blows, but roared out with amaz­ing vociferation. The noise alarmed the whole house; our hero's master heard it. He called Montague, but receiving no answer, he felt about the bed for him; not being able to find him, he began to conjecture that he was either the cause of the disturbance, or by some means interested in it. He determined to be convinced of the truth of this surmise, so quitting his bed and room, he made as much haste as the darkness would permit, to­wards the place from whence the found seemed to pre­ceed, and pacing along a gallery, drew nearer and near­er to it.

This noise was made by the muleteer, who as before mentioned, was upon his return fron Madrid to Sala­manca. Our hero having mistaken his room for Jea­not's was the occasion of this terrible fracas, which in the sequel was still more whimsical than what had been already related. For the muleteer having made a tol­erable noise, and cursed our hero, himself, and the inn sufficiently, was about to seek his chamber again, when turning suddenly round, his head came exactly in con­tact with that of Montague's master, and their foreheads rung and rebounded with the violence of the blow. The luckless muleteer fancied that he was indebted for this new insult to the same person as first disturbed him, and afterwards threw him down, the additional pain ren­dered him outrageous; He bellowed like a wounded bull in the Sierra Ronda, ^* and laid about him like a fury.

Montague's master did not remain in debt for any of the blows he received, but honestly returned the princi­pal with substantial interest. At length they closed with each other, and, falling together against a door in the gallery, they burst it open, and both fell into the room with a terrible noise.

This was the bed-chamber belonging to the master and mistress of the inn, who as soon as they heard the [Page 43] first alarm between the Muleteer and Montague, had covered themselves over head and ears with the bed­cloaths, and instead of going to enquire into the cause of the disturbance, were counting their beads, repeating Ave Marias, and addressng themselves to all the saints in the kalendar.

But finding the danger so near them, they grew fran­tic and began to verify the old proverb, which says that cowards will fight valiantly when drove to desperation. They jumped from the bed in a kind of phrenzy, left off saying their prayers to utter imprecations, and threw away their beads that they might have a better opportu­nity of using their hands, which they did in a most fu­rious manner, so that the engagement now became what is usually termed a battle royal, for as they fought at random, it was impossible to distinguish friend from foe; in fine, the noise of blows, oaths and cries in concert made an inexpressible confusion.

During these athletic adventures and manual opera­tions in the dark, the reader may be curious to know what became of young Montague; to say the truth, he was employed much more to his satisfaction, than his master, or the rest of the combatants; for after having escaped from the severity of the muleteer's resentment, he very prudently thought it the most judicious thing to retreat with all possible expedition to his chamber again but endeavouring to execute this resolution, he again mistook another chamber for his own. This second mistake was however much more pleasing than the first, for his error conducted him to the bed-side of the lovely Jeanot, who had long expected him with impatience, but on hearing the various disturbances of the night, had lain for a considerable time panting for fear.

In going to step into bed, our hero by chance put his hand upon her face; he was pleasingly surprize [...] at its softness, he knew it did not belong to his master, he felt no roughness, no mustachios, and began to conceive that he had happily rectified one mistake by another.

[Page 44]The lovers soon understood each other, a long parley would have been the height of absurdity, for the dis­turbance still continued, no time was to be lost, the mo­ments were precious; and the enamoured pair, thus cir­eamstanced, were under the necessity of heartily snatch­ing those inexpressible raptures, which fancy can better paint than words describe.

An extatic feast was denied them, the golden instant Only just permitted them to taste of bliss. The adven­ture however was so singular, and the gratification so pleasing, that the fleeting amour was impressed so forci­bly on the imagination of our youthful voluptuary, as to stamp him ever after a votary, of the Cyprian Queen.

He at length gained his bed before his master, and Jeanot having lighted a lamp, repaired to the field of battle, where the combatants were mutually astonished at the bloody spectacle each other made, ana equally en­raged on account of what they felt.

The muleteer swore the house was haunted. Monta­gue's master declared the same; the inn-keeper and his wife averred they were both mad; and Jeanot who looked mighty innocent upon the occasion, pretended to be frightened almost to death.

After a little more altercation, they retired to [...]ir separate apartments, being all so sorely bruised, and so much exhausted by the scuffle, that they had great need of a little repose.

CHAPTER XI. Singular Appearance of the different Combatants.— Montague's master thinks the Inn haunted.—Arrive at Madrid.—Description of that City.

ON the cusuing morning, the appearance of every one of the combatants was truly singular; the [Page 45] only one in the house not externally marked, was pretty Jeanot, who appeared as demure as a vestal virgin.

The inn-keeper appeared with a large plaister over one eye, and the other so bruised that he could scarcely see out of it. His wife had covered her face almost on­tirely with gold-beater's skin, to hide the marks of vio­lence which had disfigured it; so that she cut a very whimsical figure; the muleteer had bound up his head and jaws with as much cloth, as would have made a tur­ban for a Turkish Bashaw; and young Montague made his appearance with a nose as big as his fist, and one eye entirely closed up; he however, with the other, took care to ogle Jeanot, who now and then returned him a gracious glance.

But our hero concealed his being the primitive cause of this fracas; he averred that he had never been out of bed during the whole night, and that he received several blows, which awaked htm from his sleep, and had done him the injury that was so extremely obvious on his countenance.

As the master gave implicit credit to young Monta­gue, he lest the inn, firmly persuaded that it was haunt­ed, and fully determined never to put up there again, whenever he happened to travel that road.

The same evening they arrived at Madrid, very sort with the bruises they had so recently received, and great­ly fatigued with their journey.

Madrid, which is about two English miles in circum­ference, has a pretty appearance from the country to a stranger as he approaches it. The number of spires, cupolas, and other large edifices, look very noble at a distance; but the idea of magnificence and splender grad­ually decreases as the traveller enters the town.

Its river, called the Manzanares, is for several months in the year quite dry, at other times a muddy stream; but in the spring it contains a prodigious quantity of wa­ter, [Page 46] and indeed frequently overflows, by means of the torrents of rain and the melted snow which pour down from the neighbouring mountains.

There is a magnificent stone bridge over this river, which was built by Philip II. Many travellers who have seen the Manzanares only at the time of its being dried up, or at least a muddy puddle, have made them­selves very merry at that monarch's expence for build­ing so large a bridge, where there was no water; but had these critics seen the river at the time of its swell; they would have been convinced, that their raillety was premature.

Madrid is a very offensive [...]ace to the olfactory nerves, owing to the great quantity of filth, which every where lies about the streets, and the number of stagnant ditches which are to be found in it, so that the garrets are the most eligible apartments to live in, as they are the far­thest removed from the foetid vapors, that arise from the polluted ground. Indeed the streets are pretty straight and tolerably wide, and the houses handsome enough to look at, on the outside; but then the streets are so dusty in dry weather, and so dirty in wet weather, that you are either choaked and blinded, or up to your knees in mud. ^*

The King's palace is extremely grand. Most of the buildings are lofty, but none of the windows are glazed, except they appertain to the houses of considerable persons.

There are in Madrid, twelve parochial, and above an hundred other churches, a great variety of public chap­els and oratories, thirty nunneries, forty convents, seven­teen hospitals and ten colleges for the education of youth

CHAPTER XII. Sameness in the Buildings and Manners of the Span­iards. —Furniture rich, not elegant.—Tables badly supplied.—Young Montague very particular in mi­nuting down all that happened to him.—Disadvan­tages in Spain.—A Billet-doux delivered in the Dark.—Its singular Contents.

THERE is such a sameness in the towns and houses, A and such a singularity of manners among the Span­iards in general, that, according to the best writers, those who have seen one town, the house, or one Spaniard, may entertain a. pretty tolerable idea of the towns, hou­ses, and people in general.

The houses of the Grandees and other capital people, are magnificently furnsihed, particularly with immense quantities of plate; but every thing is rather intrinsi­cally valuable than well executed; superb than elegant. Almost all the common houses, besides being exceed­ingly inconvenient, are deficient in the most necessary utensils.

As the cultivation of the land is much neglected, through the natural indolence of the Spaniards, and as they are carelese about, or rather despise commerce, their tables are not over well supplied, either with their own, or the commodities of other countries. Indeed the poorer sort, though naturally very abstemious have scarce enough to supply even their temperate desires.

Our hero, though young and volatile, yet had an un­bounded curiosity, and took care to minutely observe whatever was in his reach. The preceding, and all sub­sequent observatiom on different countries, were extrac­ted from his minutes and memorandums, which he care­fully preserved through thr course of his life; and was happy to think, that even in the wildness and profligacy of youth, he had never omitted to note down any thing [Page 48] curious which occurred to him, or any thing remarkable which he saw, or any thing singular which befel him.

Indeed in Spain he laboured under very great disad­vantages, as the low station in which he appeared, pre­vented him from obtaining admittance into the houses of the great, which, had his real rank in life been knowr, his illustrious birth would undoubtedly have en­titled him to: but his indefatigable enquiries of the most intelligent people he could meet with, made, in some measure, an atonement for what he could not possibly come personally at the knowledge of.

Madrid was not the place to occasion a decrease of young Montague's natural warmth of disposition and am­orous temper. The recital of uumerous intrigues equally pleasant and surprising, that were continually poured into his east, kept his mind perpetually awake to the tender­est sensatiom: while the idea of the agreeable Jeanot, made him wish for an intrigue in Madrid, equally de­lightful and more permanent.

Montague's master was on account of some prticular business, obliged to remain in Madrid for a few weeks. Our here had therefore a great opportunity of indulging his curiosity, by almost continually rambling about as he had nothing else to do but to take care of his mules, and tale his pleasures; nor was he very sollicitous con­cerning the hour at which he returned to his Posada, ^* as his Posadera was a mighty good-natured facetious man, and now and then woula slip out with his guittar in his hand, and have a night ramble himself; for in Spain the nocturnal excursions are productive of many pleasant intrigues; and indeed as the climate is so ex­ceedingly hot, the night is the most agreeable part of the twenty-four hours.

One evening as our hero was walking very seriously [Page 49] in the Prado, ^* a decent looking, female, as far as he could perceive, (for it was almost dark,) addressing her­self to him by the title of Cavellero, put a note into his hand, and desired him to read it as soon as he conveni­ently could, and to obey the contents.

Though he had great reason to suspect that the billet was given him by mistake, he bowed, and promised a punctual observancc of whatever direction it should con­tain; then repairing to a light, he perused what follows.

CHAPTER XIII. The opening of an Intrigue. An unlucky Omission.— Runs into an Error.—A gloomy Place and gloomy Reflections.—His Hope strangely reversed.—Forms a Resolution to grow mighty wise.—His Reveries interrupted by a Tap on the Shoulder.

THE impatient Lucilla could not possibly be more impatient to see her lover, than young Montague was for the hour of ten, to make if possible an advan­tage of her messenger's mistake.

He deemed this a fair opening of an intrigue, and his heart was in the utmost palpitation, as he entered in the Alcazar Street at the prescribed time.

The billet unluckily did not mention, whether the house was on the right or left hand side of the Fontana d'Ora. Montague however perceiving a door open on the left hand side, did not in the least doubt but that was the passage through which he must sterr to the Ely­sium of his fair and amorous Lucilla's apartment.

Without hesitation he entered the house, and with­out reflecting on the consequences, crept softly up stain.

He perceived a glimmering light to issue from a door, which was left a-Jar.

He pushed it open, and entered, but for some mo­ments, could scarce perceive what was in the apart­ments; a small wax taper being the only light, it threw so dismal a gloom around, as to cast a damp upon the flame of our hero's sanguine expectations. After rub­bing his eyes for some time and advancing a step farther into the room, instead of a beautiful young lady, ready to throw her veil aside and receive him with open arms, [Page 51] as his imagination had painted in the most glowing co­lours on the canvas of nope, he perceived at the farther end of the aparment, (which was entirely hung with black) a coffin, containing a corpse in a winding-sheet, decorated with abundance of flowers. On each side sat a female drest in deep mourning, and covered with a long black veil, under which they frequently wiped the, tears from their eyes with a white handkerchief. These ladies beat their breasts, and sighed [...]ntly, but did not utter a syllable. Our hero indeed spoke no more than they, for he was dumb with astonisnment.^*

The whole was a strange contrast to what he naturally expected, from the contents of the billet-doux, and a dismal reverse to a person of his amorous disposition, in the midst of his exaltation on the stilts ot flattering fairy hope.

Young Montague was exceedingly puzzled to account for so extraordinary a scene, which so little coincided with the nature of the invitation contained in the billet-doux; and as it is very probable that our readers may be as much puzzled as he was, we will not hold them any longer in suspence, but unriddle the whole affair.

Our hero had mistaken the house, the habitation of Lucilla being on the right hand side of the Fontana d, Ora, instead of the lest, which he had entered, and which had been the residence of an eminent jeweller, [Page 52] lately deceased, whose widow and sister were mourning by his coffin.

Doubtless they were surprised and even alarmed at his appearance, but complying with their custom neither to stir nor speak, our hero was suffered to depart un­questioned, and unmolested for his intrusion.

As he left the jeweller's house he began to blame himself greatly for his avidity, in gratifying his passions at the expence of his prudence, and even safety, and was just about to enter into an abundance of wise resolu­tions, by which he designed to regulate his future con­duct, curb his voluptuous disposition, and repress his inordinate curiosity; but just as he had determined to be vastly philosophic and sage, a female tapped him upon the shoulder.

CHAPTER XIV. A singular address.—Our hero's Resolutions vainish.— Conducted into a superb Apartment. A Beauty in­troduced. —An Error discovered.—An Apology made. —A right Understanding commenced.—Anecdotes of a Spanish lady.

THIS was the very person who had given him the billet-doux in the Prado.

‘Cavellero, said she, you have been very dilatory; one should not think that one of your age would be tardy, when a young lady of a noble family and at once so beautiful and fond is in the case. But follow me; I'll conduct you to her, and if she does not chide you, you ought to chide yourself.’

At these words all our hero's new formed resolutions of being mighty wise vanished in an instant, so little are [Page 53] we to depend on any of our determinations, formed un­der the influence of passion.

By the words of his conductness, he easily perceived his previous mistake, and resolved, since fortune had now thought proper to be propitious, to make himself amends for his late chagrin and disappointment.

He was led into a superb apartment, where his con­ductress left him for a few minutes to fetch the lady.

He past this interval in viewing the richness of the furniture, and elegance of the tapestry, till the entrance of the lady presented him with an object more worthy of his admiration. Without particularizing her charms, or dwelling upon single beauties, it is sufficient to say, that she was more than

Young Montague was so astonished with the splendor of her charms, wh [...]ch like a flood of light overpowered his senses, that he stood motionless as a statue, and per­fectly silent. He totally forgot every syllable of a one compliment which he had taken great pains to form, in order to address her; nor had he remembered it, was he able to utter it.

The lady no sooner advanced towards young Monta­gue; but she perceived the error of her confidant, and starting back greatly alarmed, she said with a tremulous voice, "you have ruined me, this is a stranger." Then sinking into a chair, she appeared to be much terrified.

Our hero having now a little recovered, threw him­self at the lady's feet, and entreated her not to discom­pose herself with needless fears, saying that he was ex­ceedingly afflicted to find that the accident which made him the happiest of mortals, was to her a cause of un­easiness. [Page 54] That the interview was certainly founded on a mistake, but fortune, who was the author of all mis­takes, to make amends for the errors she had occasion­ed, generally rendered them of a propitious kind.

Our hero was naturally an orator, his action was graceful, and his eloquence became him exceedingly, nor were his talents lost on an inanimate statue; the lady was not composed of ice, and the following cir­cumstances of her life will evince, that fortune had not directed young Montage to an object, on whom his endowments were unlikely to make an impression, or his eloquence to be unavailing.

This lady, as we have already mentioned, might be deemed a perfect beauty; the natural warmth of her constitution rendered her pretty amorous, and a dispo­sition easily susceptible of the tenderest impressions, made her a willing victim to the shafts of gallantry.

Her family was noble but not rich, which made her father, while she was yet very young, readily listen to the overtures of a gentleman, illustrious by descent, and in possession of an ample fortune.

Though she felt no particular tendemess for this gen­tleman, as her heart was not pre-engaged, she made not the least objection to the match. The union presented her with these two ideas, viz. from the gallantry of the gentleman a greater degree of sensual felicity than a sin­gle life could admit of, and from his large possessions, a full indulgence of all her vanity could sigh for, or her ambition aspire to.

Hence we may perceive she was strongly influenced by those two passions, which Mr. Pope says, predom­inate through the whole sex.

[Page 55]The husband who was a professed libertine, and had travelled, was too well acquainted with human nature in general, and the fair sex in particular, not to perceive his young consorts sanguine disposition. As passion had urged him to the match, the warmth of her con­stitution alarmed him into precaution.

She daily grew fonder and fonder of her husband and fancied the entertained the most unbounded affec­tion for him; but he had too much philosophy not to perceive that her aff [...]tion originated more from the blood, than the judgement, that it was a kind of volup­tious gratitude, to one who was the principal agent in the indulgence of all her passions, and the pleasing grat­ification of her sensations; and not that pure ethereal love which is founded on esteem, and which unites the Platonic refinements to the sympathies of nature:

This was the passion he wished to find. But this sublimity of affection was what his youthful spouse was not qualified to bestow. She was more ardent than delicate, and as a connubial partner, was formed at [...] to communicate pleasure and create distrust.

The gentleman, with the scrupulous nicety of a Spaniard, was alarmed for his honour; he deemed the warm disposition of unexperienced frailty, but a brittle tenure for its security. Such, and a thousand similar ideas passing through his imagination, continually sour­ed his temper, rendered him suspicious and watchful, while his inward anxiety of mind, destroyed that feli­city which had been his only object in the marriage, so little do we know the consequencc of possessing what seems most desirable, and what we most eagerly pursue, and so totally ignorant are we, of what would prove conducive to our real happiness.

[Page 56]A professed libertine, in the early pursuit of his plea­sures, is gross in his appetites, and seeks the sensual gratifications of his wishes, with a kind of indelicate vo­raciousness or brutality of craving; but with satiety he grows delicate, and his libidinous pleasures loosing their novelty, and consequently their zest, he becomes nice and difficult. Whenever he seriously settles, he is more particular than a more temperate person: no­thing but the utmost refinement of passion, the greatest delicacy of affection can please him; while a man of moderate disposition who has lived a regular and chaste life, makes few objections, and even cannot so cafily perceive what is gross. Nothing far short of angelic purity can satisfy the reformed libertine.

Thus, our gentleman from being particular, became cautious; caution soon degenerated into suspicion; suspicion bred jealousy, and jealousy rendered him completely miserable.

Hence his house became a gaol, hlmself a wretched Argus, and his lady a disconsolate prisoner.

They lived this miserable life for a few years, when an affair of the utmost consequcnce, called the gentle­man to Old Castile.

Before he went, he set such a number of spies about his wife, and made it so much the interest of each to betray the others, that he departed with as much com­posure, as such a mind could possibly be capable of knowing. He did not however live to return to Mad­rid, as he was murdered and robbed by some ruffians before he reached the end of his journey.^*

CHAPTER XV. Lucilla entirely independent.—Determines to live sin­gle and become a prudent voluptuary.—Some ac­count of Don Carlos d'Aranda.—Occasion of the Mistake in delivering of the Bittet-doux.—Easy Fluctuation in the mind of an amorous lady.—Se­cond Interview projected.

LUCILLA was now freed from her tyranical hus­band, her father had been dead for some time, and she had neither brothers nor cousins to fear, who jealous of the honour of their family, might have been curbs to her pleasures.

Her remembrance of what she had already suffered, joined to her natural love of liberty, made her abhor the ide [...] of a second marriage. Her fortune was am­ple, and her situation independent. She determined therefore to enjoy her pleasures, but not at the expence of her reputation. Her resolution was to become a prudent voluptuary or rationable libertine, if propriety will admit the expression and criticism give it the stamp of currency.

Having formed, in imagination, this senfual system. she determined to engage in an amour the very first op­portunity; but to proceed with the greatest precaution, and to enjoi [...] the object of her gallantry, the utmost se­crecy Such a conduct she fancied would at once se­cure her reputation, and give the intrigue a more pleas­ing air.

Fraught with these maxims, she fixed her eye upon a young Cavalier, whom she had frequently seen, taking the evening air in the Pra [...], his name was Don Carlos d' Aranda. They soon came to a right understanding. [...] each other every night, but proceeded with such [Page 58] precaution, that their amour was unknown to any, ex­cept her confidant, who by mistake, had given her bil­let to Montague. This woman, from having, been for­merly retained by her husband, in the capacity of a du­enna, to prevent her intriguing, was now become her emissary, to assist her in carrying on her intrigues. A thing in Spain no [...] uncommon, for the spy to turn pimp, and the guardian of a husband's hono [...] to become the pander of a wife's pleasure.

Don Carlos at length, had been, missing for three days; in fact, he had been accused of being concerned in some treasonable practises, and was privately arrested by order of government.

Lucilla, not knowing the true reason of his absence. committed her sentiments to writing, to upbraid him for his apparent defection, and recall him to her embraces.

Our hero was much about the size of Don Carlos. Lucilla's emissary fuund him walking in the same place where that Cavalier usually spent an hour or two every evening. The black cloaks, which both wore over the rest of their garments, prevented her from distinguish­ing their difference by the other parts of their dress, and the darkness of the evening contributed to the mis­take. The consequent interview has already been rela­ted; proceed we now to the sequel of this adventure.

Lucilla found our hero much younger, and much handsomer than Don Carlos; two circumstances highly in his favor, with a lady of her complexion.

The easy flow of his wit, and the ardent volubility of his expressions pleased her exceedingly, and she could not help preferring his vehemence of address, to the cold formal gallantry of her Spanish lover.

She did not, however, think proper to give him too [Page 59] much encouragement the first time of meeting, but de­sired him to withdraw, alledging that the surprize she had received by his first appearance, had greatly disor­dered her, yet with such a languishing tone, and capti­vating glanct was her mandate delivered, that it seemed to entreat him to come again.

The emissary, who perfectly well understood her mistresses meaning, whispered in his ear as he went out at the door, to be on the watch in the street, the ensu­ing evening, at the same hour. He promised obedi­ence, bowed and departed.

CHAPTER XVI. Montague's Hilarity.—A Spanish Custom.—Our Hero unlike the Knights Errant of old.—Goes according to the Appointment.—Is introduced to the Lady.— Love Probations have no Meaning.—Taken at his Word.—Engages to comply with a cruel and ab­surd Custom.

OUR hero was in such high spirits with his success, that he scarce felt the ground beneath his feet, but ran, or rather flew home to his Posada, with won­derful celerity.

Though it was late, he found the Posader [...] up, and just going to supper, for he was in the action of touch­ing the loaf.^*

[Page 60]His mind, it is true, was full of love and admiration, but the finer passions had not destroyed his appetite; he therefore eat very heartily of a dish, composed of pilchards, chick-peas, and garlick, fryed together in oil, then retiring to resthe slept as soundly as if he had never met with an adventure unlike, the Knidhts-Errant of old, who when they fell in love, could not help watching and fasting, till they became mere spectres.

The next evening, young Montague was punctual to his time. The Duenna soon appeared, and introduced him to Lucilla, who condescended to receive him gra­ciously, and like the queen of love on [...]er Cyprian throne,, suffered him to pour the incense of adulation on his knees, with wonderful complacency.

As the raphsodies of lovers are exaltedly pleasing to the parties concerned, but extremely insipid to every body else, we shall omit our hero's conversation with the lovely Lucilla, and proceed to the mutual stipulation.

It was agreed that young Montague, before the lady could admit him as a gallant with propriety, ought to give some incontestible proof of the violence of his af­fection to her.

This he readily promised to do, protesting that there was no torment he would not undergo, no torture he would decline bearing, nor any death but what he would willingly suffer, to serve the object of his affction, or gratify her wishes.

Though this language is the common cant of lovers, and they utter it with vehemence, and under the sanc­tion of innumerable protestation, yet nothing is farther from their intention, than to do as they say, or from their will, than to suffer as they pretend they readily would do. They fancy as they are words of course, that they may be forgotten at pleasure. Hence the an­cients [Page 61] cients used to say, that the gods themselves laughed at the perjuries of lovers.

But Lucilla took our hero at his word, in a more lit­eral manner than he either expcted, or desired; for she declared that she would never admit him to her presence again, unless he appeared the next day in the character of a Disciplinarian, and scourged himself be­fore her window, to evince his affection.

As he knew it was the season of the year when the ladies expect such sanguine proofs of gallantry, and as he was sensible that he could not refuse without nip­ping the amour in the bud, he promised to comply with a good grace.

To make the above request of the lady more intelli­gible, it is proper to observe, that during Passion-week, particularly from Wednesday to Friday, it is a custorm in Spain, for the men to lash themselves heartily about the streets, but more particularly before their mistresses windows.

For this purpose their faces are hid, and their bodies covered with a garment, which leaves their shoulders, back, and sides bare. They are provided with whips, whose lashes are composed either of wh [...]-cord, wire, or thongs of leather. With [...]nese they lash themselves unmercifully, the blood follows every stroke, and they sometimes mangle their bodies in such a manner, as to become self-murderers.

This cruel custom is even formed into a system and masters called Disciplinarian Preceptors, are employed to teach the novices, in what manner to whip them­selve with most effect. These masters are held in greater esteem, than either dancing or fencing masters, and make a greater par [...] in the manner of teaching this barbarous exercise.

[Page 62]Some few perform this office of stage [...]ation, on the Icore of devotion; many on the affectation of it but most Disciplinarians place their lashes to the account of ga [...]antry, when according to the rigour of what they infli [...] upon themselves, their piety, or the servour of their a [...]ion for their mistresses, is estimated.

CHAPTER XVII. Montague's Reflections.—An ingenious Contrivance, to avoid a severe Flagellation.—Gains the Approba­tion of his Mistress by Deception, and retires happy in the Success of his Contrivance.

WHEN our hero returned home, he entertained some qualms in his mind, relative to this en­joined flagellation; he could not help thinking it a very foolish custom, nor could he conceive how a [Page 66] lover's cutting his flesh to pieces, could be of any use to his mistress.

Upon the whole, he found, though he loved Lucilla much, he loved himself more, and discovered, that a lover may say a great deal, and mean little, promise much, and design to perform nothing.

His determination was therefore, neither to hurt him­self, nor lose his mistress; he had an abhorrence for the one, and a contrivance for the other.

Instead of supplying himself with one of the usual whips, he substituted in its place, a whip to all outward appearance similar, but in effect, totally different.

The handle was like the common ones, but in lieu of three leather thongs, he had fastened three small eel-skins filled with blood, to the end of it.

Thus provided, he repaired the next day to the Al­cazar Street, and having just before he approached Lu­cilla's window, pricked tne skins in several places, he began to lash himself to all appearance, in a most un­merciful manner.

The blood plentifully issued from the apertures in the eel-skins: his shoulders, back, and sides were dread­fully crimsoned over, and appeared in a condition so ghastfully sanguine, that even Lucilla, used as she had been to such a custom, and cruelty vain of such a token of respect, thought he had suffered too much, and given a proof sufficiently bloody of a servent, affection.

She beckoned him to cease lashing himself and ap­peared perfectly well satisfied with his excessive gallantry.

He bowed and retired, walking away as if al­most seinting with loss of blood, but laughing in his sleeve at the success of his stratagem, pleasing himself [Page 67] [...]ca of the reward he was to receive for his

CHAPTER XVIII. Again introduced to the Lady.—Rewarded for the sup­posed bloody proof of his Affection.—Treachery of the Duenna.—Horrid Resolution of Don Carlos.

THE ensuing evening, our hero repaired to the usual place, the duenna met him as before, and introduced him to the lady, into whose presence he came, in full expectation of a reward for his ingenious deception; and indeed it must be admitted, that he was much more deserving of it, than if he had really lashed himself as she fancied he had, in compliance with a custom, at once so cruel and absurd.

As for the lady, she was satisfied with the discipline she imagined he had given himself; this consideration, joined to the natural warmth of her disposition, and a kind of prepossession in favor of young Montague, was sufficient to make her recede from any more punctil­ios; she thought he had sacrificed enough at the shrine of decorum, and therefore as a just saint, to whom as a votary, he had appeared assiduously fervent, she deter­mined to reward the ardency of his vows.

In fine, our hero was as happy, as pleasures mereby sensual could make him.

But as the lovers became mutually pleased, the du­enna grew displeased. In the course of her mistress's amour with Don Carlos, she had received many valua­ble douceurs; but this was not the case with our hero, he had nothing worth her acceptance to give, nor in­deed, [Page 68] did he entertain the idea that such presents were necessary.

As for Don Carlos, by the means of friends, and evincing his innocence, he soon obtained his liberty.

The duenna no sooner understood this, than she made him acquainted, that a happy rival had during his confinement, supplanted him in the affections of his mistress; though this rival, she cunningly added, was far his inferior, not only in family and fortune, but in personal and mental accomptishments.

This information was sufficient to rouze the indigna­tion of Don Carlos, who was a true Spaniard as far as a possession of all the local follies oi Spain could go. He thought his honour concerned, he felt his heart touched, and his pride exceedingly hurt. He therefore swore by the blood of an old Christian, to have revenge. ^*

We have already mentioned, that when the Span­iards fancy themselves grosly affronted, they do not seek what in other parts of Europe is called an honour­able revenge, but without remorse, have recourse to assassination. This was the thought that occurred to Don Carlos, and our hero was very near falling a vic­tim to his vindictive temper, and the barbarous custom of his country.

CHAPTER XIX. Don Carlos employs a Bravo.—Our Hero wounded but not mortally.—The Ruffian frighted away.— Montague taken into the English Ambassador's house. —Sent to England.—His Reception by his Friends.

DON Carlos, deeming the office of assassin too mean for himself, employed a Bravo, (that is, one who lets himself out for hire, to execute the hon­ourable office of murderer) to dispateh his rival.

However, on the evening in which the fatal deed was to be perpetrated, young Montague's fortunate star happened to predominate; the Bravo, who way-laid him coming from Lucilla's intended to stab him in the heart with a dagger, but our hero luckily giving a sud­den start, he only slightly wounded him in the shoulder.

Chagrined not to have succeeded, he prepared to repeat his blow, which Montague, apprized of his de­sign, attempted to ward off, by twisting his cloak round his arm, a thing usual in Spain, when a rencounter hap­pens: the stroke did not succeed according to the Ruf­fian's wish; but however, our hero was desperately wounded in the right side. He fell, and the villain would have dispatched him, had it not been for the sound of some Ce [...]ecrro bells, ^* which terrified him away, lest he should be taken by the muleteers, who must of consequence attend them.

[Page 70]The ruffian happily left our hero, but the mules turned down another street, and he remained for some time weltering in his blood, till his cries were over­heard in a house near where he lay.

He waS soon brought in by the servants, and taken proper care of that night.

This timely benevolence happened to be extended to him by the domesties of the English Ambassador, near whose hotel he was attacked.

The next day when he was attended by the surgeon who had dressed his wouads over night, of which, from the lose of blood, he was then insensible, he soon per­ceived that he was an Englishman.

This rejoiced him exceedingly, his misfortune had lessened his avidity for Spanish intrigues, and the loss of his blood had cured him very expeditiously of his passion for Lucilla. He therefore without scruple, in­formed the surgeon who he was, and of every thing which had befallen him since his last elopement from school.

This information was speedily communicated to the ambassador, who no sooner understood his rank and in discretion, than he resolved to send him to his friends with all convenient expedition.

His youth, and the skill of the surgeon who attended him, soon re-established his health; and the difrelish which he now began to entertain for Spain, made him fall into the ambassador's proposal of sending him to England, with great pleasure.

He accordingly embarked for his native country, and after a pleasant voyage, arrived there in very good health and high spirits.

Upon the ambassador's serious representation by let­ter, [Page 71] his noble relations received him with caresses, in­stead of chidings, and, without upbraiding [...] as He expected, treated him in such a manner at to make him forget that he had ever committed an indiscretion.

It was concluded, that he should no more go to Westminster school, or any other public seminary of learning, but regain what he had lost, and complete the remainder of his education at home, under the inspar­tion of some gentlemen, eminent in every branch of useful and polite literature, who were employed as pri­vate preceptors for that purpose.

CHAPTER XX. Young Montague's Progress in his Studies.—Meets a young Washer-woman in the Park.—Addresses her. —Has frequent Interviews with her.—Marries her privately.—The affair is discovered by his Relations. —They send her into the country upon an Annuity, and him to the Continent.

YOUNG Montague's private tuition answered the most sanguine wishes of his relations and friends. His preceptors took uncommon pains, with a genius naturally bright and penetrating, and he repaid their as­siduity by an improvement and persoverance in study little expected from one of his volatile turn of mind. In fine, he happily blended the polite arts with the more abstracted sciences and solid parts of philosophy, and gave the fairest promise of becoming the complete gentleman.

One evening as he was taking his usual walk in the Park, a young woman tripped by him with great soem­ing expedition.

The symmetry of her shape and her nimbleness, at­tracted [Page 72] his notice; he redoubled his haste to get again before her, that he might have an opportunity of ob­serving her countenance.

He soon overtook her, and viewed her with admira­tion. She blushed on noticing the earnestness of his looks. The crimson glow ot modesty which over­spread her cheeks, gave an additional charm to her na­tive beauty.

Her features were regular; her complexion to the last degree lovely; while the brilliancy of her eyes, and ruddiness of her cheeks, bespoke both health and vivacity.

She ap [...]a [...]ed to have been but little used to compa­ny, or the t [...]Iresses of men, by her manifest confusion; and seemed b [...] the simplicity of her dress, which was extremely pl [...] though exceeding neat, not to be above the ordinary [...]nk

He determined to enter into conversation with her. At first she appeared very coy, but at length gave him pertinent answers to every question he asked.

From the conversation he had with her, he found that she was only the daughter of a washer-woman; that her mother, who was a widow, had sufficient busi­ness to enable them to live comfortably; that she as­sisted her mother, and was going to Pimlico to fetch a gentleman's linen for whom they washed.

He would fain have engaged her to meet him again, but this she abolutely refused, alledging that she would do nothing without the knowledge of her mother; she however at length agreed that he should call upon her, and gave him her address accordingly.

He frequently visited her, and having gained upon her affections, made several flattering proposals to se­duce [Page 73] her from her virtue. But he found his endeavors in vain; she had too much modesty to become the vic­tim of his artifices, and her mother too much affection for her child, as well as vigilance, not to prevent his success by an illicit means.

A negative he had never expected, was a double sti­mulative to his disposition, naturally amorous and impa­tient; the obstacles thrown in his way, increased the slame that began to consume him.

He determined to enjoy the fair Patty, (for what was our juvenile washer-woman's name) at any rate. He, therefore, mad with his passion, an careless of the con­sequences, proposed marriage.

This proposal was joyfully received both by mother and daughter and the only stipulations which his small remains of prudence suggested, were to keep the [...] a secret, untill he became of age, as the publication of such a secret might materially affect in future fortune.

This restriction was acceded to by both, for particu­lar reasons, as they imagined that the marriage being known would be the means of hunting both him and themselves.

Our hero was not only become a poet, put a mighty essayist, and having quitted his bed one morning much earlier than usual, he spent about an hour in penning an Essay on Prudence, then dressed himself, and repaired to his pretty washer-woman, with an intent to commit one of the most Imprudent actions he had ever done in his life, for he immediately took her to the Fleet and married her.

Though both mother and daughter had promised, and indeed knew it to be their interest, to keep this indiscreet step of our hero's a secret; yet it did not re­main long so.

[Page 74]The old woman, who was always fond of exhilarating her spirits, and cherishing her heart with a vivifying cordial in secret, thought upon her daughter's good for­tune, that she could not be too bountiful in regaling her neighbours, and pouring forth her thanks in copious li­bations to Bacchus.

One day in the fulness of her joy and plenitude of her cups, she could not forbear communicating her hap­piness to some of her most particular associates. She informed them not only of her daughter's secret mar­riage, but of our hero's rank, family, and expectancies.

This information, instead of giving pleasure, raised the envy of her neighbours; without considering her hospitality, they hated her for her good fortune, and most of them having daughters, could not without sigh­ing see the success of poor Patty. Such is the ca­price of human nature, that our neighbours good seems our bane.

On receiving the intelligence, they had promised the old woman the strictest secrecy, but as they could not imagine that so unequal a match was concluded with the approbation of our hero's family, they determined it should not long remain a secret.

Malice is seldom dilatory in effecting its purposes; it may therefore be naturally supposed, that young Mon­tague's relation and friends were very speedily apprised of his imprudence.

This information gave them more concern than any of his former follies, as it appeared irreparable, the fleet marriage at that time being good in law, and no restric­tive act having then passed to prevent the indiscretion or minors.

But to preserve as much at possible the dignity of their family, and the credit of our hero, they thought [Page 75] proper to enter into a negociation with our newly exalted washer-woman and her mother, who being threatened, persuaded, and promised, and finding what pow­erful people they had to deal with, at length agreed to relinquish all manner of claim to and upon the young gentleman, to forego his name, preserve the most inviolable secrecy in future, and retire upon a decent pension into the country.

These were no sooner sent from the metropolis, than they thought proper to dispatch young Montague to the continent, under the conduct of a gentleman every way qualified for so important a charge.

CHAPTER XXI. Pursues every kind of pleasure in Paris; and enters into several remarkable Societies—Goes to the French Comedy.—An Adventure.—Its singular Consequen­ces. —And his Philosophic Resignation to what could not be remedied.

IN Paris our hero launched into every fashionable dissipation, and his tutor's care and assiduity were too little to restrain him from engaging in all the polite follies, or rather vices, of that celebrated metropolis.

He became a Scavoir Vivre, belonging to all the so­cieties then on the Ten, and being exceedingly fond of occult sciences, entered himself into a select association of Rosicrusians, who went under the denomination of the Mystic Philosophers, These recommended to those of their society to peruse the most obstruse of the pole­mic writers, the works of the hermetic philosphers, and such authors as Cornel [...]us [...]g [...]ipp [...], Trisme [...]stus, Friar Bacon, Albertus Magnu [...], &c. What the particulars were relative to this association, we cannot tell but be­lieve from the slight manner in which Mr. Montague [Page 76] used to mention it in his maturer years, that it promi­sed mere than it performed, and only revealed to its disciples a few secrets that were either futile or danger­ous to be put in experiment.

As it is usual at the French Comedy to sup in the boxes, our hero having been one evening to see the cel­ebrated comedy of Tartuffe and the entertainment of Le Medicin malgre lui, ordered a cold collation.

The moment it was brought in, he perceived in one corner of the box a smart female, whom he had not be­fore observed.

Having since his abode in Paris considered politeness as a science, and studied it even upon Cheston f [...]ldian principles it may be imag [...]d that he could not hesi­tate to ask the lady to partake of his collation with him.

He paid her that compliment; she accepted of it, for the French are easy in their manners, and seldom refuse what is offered with a good grace.

Good-humour gave a relish to their entertainment, and their conversation was enlivened by repartee.

After they had supped, they sat very close together, till the conclusion of the entertainment, when he offer­ed to accommodate her with his carriage to any place she might command.

She accepted his proposal, but slipped from him in the crowd, and on his return home he missed his watch, his purse, and his pocket-book; he had no doubt, but the lady who had partook of his collation, had made free with his property, and his only consolation was, the reflection that he might send sufficiently early in the morning to his banker to stop the payment of some drafts to a considerable amount, which his pocket-book contained.

[Page 77]With this idea he went to bed, but slept till it was late in the morning, and not having given any previous direction to his servant over night to repair to the bank­er before he was up; on sending, he was informed that cash had already been given for the drafts.

To curse his folly would avail nothing, he therefore put up with his loss with a philosophic resignation, and did not in the least repine at what would have cha­grined many.

CHAPTER XXII. Goes to the Play-house again.—Meets the Female that robbed him.—Intends to secure her.—She slips away, —Some surprising Occurrences.—Unrav [...]lment of the whole Mystery.

A FEW nights after his late accident our hero again repaired to the play-house. Curiosity led him to seat himself in Paradis,^* where he had not been long before he perceived the very lady to whom he had been so poiite, and who had so gratefully rewarded him.

He formed the design of having her apprehended. She perceived his intent; and he had no sooner left his feat to go in quest of some officers of justice, than she made her escape.

She however perceived enough to find that he would punish her whenever he met her, though he had not ac­quainted the Police of the affair.

[Page 78]This suggestion led her to keep herself private, until she could put a scheme, which her vindictive spirit had furnished her with, into execution.

A few nights afterwards our hero heard a loud knocking at his door at a very late hour.

He looked out of the window and perceived a fiacre^* very near, and four men at the door.

He enquired who they were; they replied musque­teers, and that they must have immediate admittance.

While he was partying with them, the landlady who heard with terror that tremendous name, opened the street door.

They immediately burst in, and hastening to our he­ro's chamber, broke into the room and seized him with­out ceremony.

He demanded the: reason of this violent proceeding.

They only replied that they belonged to the Bastile, and had an order from government to apprehend him.

It was in vain for him to expostulate, for the only answer was, that they must obey their orders, that he had offended the state and that their business was to seize his person and seal up his effects.

To resist was impossible and they prevented him from crying out by gagging him.

Then dragging him to the fiacre, two of them const­ned him there, while the others were busied in sealing up his effects, as they pretended.

[Page 79]When they had effected their purpose, they all four drove away in the coach with him; but before they had gone far, had the precaution to blindfold him.

Having drove for a considerable time, they at length stopped, and taking him out of the fiac [...]e, led him he knew not whither.

They now bound him fast to something; he entreat­ed to know the rcason of his commitment; if they could inform him.

At length one of them asked him if he had not lately lost a pocket-book.

He replied in the affirmative, at the same time telling them that he had not only; lost his pocket book, but his watch and his money.

As for the watch and the money, returned the person who appeared the most communicative of the four, we know nothing about, nor indeed of the manner in which you lost the whole; but this we know, that your pock­et-book, by some means fell into the hands of govern­ment, who found some offensive papers therein, which have occasioned your apprehension.

Having given him this information, they rifled his pockets and left him.

In this dismal situation he began to ruminate on the misfortune which had befallen him: he recollected that in his.pocket-book there was a saty [...]ical poem, or kind of [...]eud' esp [...]t entitled Royal Ahsurdities, in which he had severely lashed some of the follies to which his most Christian Majesty was addicted.

This he had no doubt was the cffensive paper allu­ [...]ed to; but how it fill into the hands of government, after having had his pocket picked of it, he could not conceive.

[Page 80]Indeed he conjectured that either the person, who had picked his pocket, after taking out the drafts and valuable papers, had thrown it away, and some person finding it, had, on account of that poem, delivered it to the ministry, who soon came to me knowledge of the author, by his name being on the cover of the book, and then had ordered him to be apprehended; or that the lady, who had robbed him, finding that unfortunate paper, had thought it prudent to make her peace with the police, by sacrificing him to administration. For in the arbitrary government of France, an offence against majesty will supercede any against the public at large.

Terrified at the thoughts of being in the Bastile, and wearied with a thousand conjectures, he remained under the most dismal apprehensions till morning, when he was surprized at hearing a voice saying, What do you here?

The absurdity of this interrogatory puzzled him ex­ceedingly, more particularly as he thought the person who uttered it, as one belonging to the prison, must know that he was gagged, and consequently unable to answer it.

At length the bandage was taken from his eyes; and to his amazement, instead of the dismal walls of a [...]l to circumseribe his view, he beheld the glorious expanse of the heavens above his head, and a number of fruit­trees around him; and in lieu of an inhuman [...]o [...]er with a horrid aspect, he saw a peasant, with the [...]les of innocence on his countenance, who appeared to en­joy the singularity of his fituation, and to be laughing at him.

He pointed to his month, the good-natured country­man conceived his meaning, and immediately released him from the gag.

As soon as he had a little recovered from his surprise [Page 81] and brought his jaws, (which had been terribly distended) into some degree of composure, he exclaim­ed in his turn, ‘Where am I, and who brought me here?’

‘As to where you are, replied the peasant, I can inform you; you are tied to a pear-tree in my orchard, from which confinement I will now release you, but as to who brought you here, I cannot tell, unless the devil was concerned in it.’

Our hero let the peasant know as much of the affair as he thought proper: the poor fellow took him into his cottage, and refreshed him with all the place could afford; he then conducted him towards Paris, which was at the distance of about a league.

Montague, who was naturally generous, took him home to reward his hospitality.

When he came there, he found his tutor under the utmost concern for him; being alarmed by the dismal account he had received from the landlady.

Montague, having been stripped of all his money, borrowed sufficient of his tutor to reward the peasant amply, who returned home perfectly well satisfied.

Our hero, on examining, found that these gentry, in­stead of carefully fealing up his effects, had plundered him of every thiag valuable.

The whole mystery was now unriddled; he easily conceived the bottom of the affair for it was evident that these sham musqueteers were emissaries and ac­complices of the lady who had so dexterously picked his pocket; by the direction on his pocket-book they sound out the place of his residence, and the libel before mentioned, gave them the idea, as a colourable pretext of seizing his person in order to make themselves mas­ters [Page 82] ters of his effects, by pretending to be officers of the Bastile, and accusing him of treasornable practices.

CHAPTER XXIII. Determines not to apprize the Police of the Affair,— Sends for Remittances from England.—Goes by land to Holland.—Items to the Reader.—Falls in love with a young Jewess.—A Marriage agreed upon.

NOTWITHSTANDING his accumulated and great losses, be determined not to apprize the Po­lice of his misfortunes.

The artificers of this courtezan, and resolution of her Myrmadons, were too fresh in his memory to permit him to entertain any idea of redress; for he had no doubt, but was he to attempt to stir in the affair, as­sassination would be the inevitable consequence; and being released from the terrours of the Bastile, seemed a solatary consolation for his heavy losses.

He wrote to England for remittances, and letters of credit upon Holland, determining to visit that place be­fore he went to Italy, for he now began to grow dis­gusted with France.

As soon as his remittances arrived, he sat off by land; nothing material happened during his journey, at least nothing worth relating, and the places through which he passed, have been so frequently and accurately described, that it is unnecessary to mention them. Nor shall we in the course of this work, copy the trite senti­ments of other travellers, or the backneyed descriptions of well known places, which are to be found in other authors. We neither write as geographers, ichnogra­phers or navigators, but mean to present our readers with the most remarkable advantures which besol this [Page 83] singular personage, and it the same time not to omit any thing curious relative to the countries through which he travelled.

According to our plan, therefore, as Holland is a country so universally well known, we shall not trouble the reader with any prolix narrations or local descrip­tions, but pass to the only adventure worthy of record, which besel him during his residence in the United Provinces.

At Amsterdam he became intimate with a Jew bro­ker, who transacted business for him.

This broker had a daughter who, though a brunette, possessed the most regular set of features imaginable, and had killing eyes.

She was vivacious and witty, but very positive and mighty fond of the ceremonials of the Mosaic law.

The charms of pretty Judith, for so was our Jewess named, soon awakened all that was amorous in the composition of our hero.

At first, as usual, he attempted seduction, but his ar­tifices not succeeding, he proposed marriage. This mode of proceeding seems to have been our hero's in­variable condact through the whole of his eccentric life.

Judith, knowing his rank and fortune, was proud of her conquest, and fond of his proposal, as she could not be indifferent to his person and accomplishments.

It is true, she was scarce turned of thirteen years of age, but that made no difference to nither. For, as on his part, youth could he no objection to a voluptuary; so on her's the want of a lover appeared more terrible than want of years.

[Page 84]No [...] could her juvenility be any impediment in the [...] of her father; for, (by the laws of the Talmud) [...] of j [...]ws are allowed to marry at eighteen, and the daughters when they have completed twelve years and a day.

When the affair was proposed to the broker,, he could not but be highly flattered by such an overture from a person of Montague's family; but yet, interest­ing as th [...] prospect might appear, he had some reluc­tance to [...] idea of bestowing his daughter on one of the uncircumcised. But as Montague's flame was not so intense as to engage him to undergo the operation, he absolutely refused to hear the affair mentioned, and the old Jew, swayed by motions of avarice, at length agreed to wave so disagreeable a proposition, and to ac­cede to the nuptials.

CHAPTER XXIV. Agrees to be married according to the Ceremonial of the Jews.—Customs solemnly observed previous to a Jew Marriage.—A Jew Wedding fully described, with nccessary Elucidations.

ONE stipulation, however, the old Jew insisted up­on, which was, that our hero should consent to be married after the Jewish ceremonial, and not accord­ing to the Christian ritual.

To this, Montague had no objection; his fondness of novelty, without any other motive, would have in­duced him to come into the proposal; but in fact he well knew that he was legally married to his pretty washer-woman, and that it was immaterial by what ce­remony he joined himself to any other woman. Add to this, he had no very delicate notions of moral recti­tude; his passion was sensual; he wished to enjoy our [Page 85] pretty Jewess, and left to her and her father to fix upon the form by which he was to obtain the gratification of his desires.

The preleminaries being settled, the nuptial ceremo­ny was soon after performed.

As there is something very curious in a Jew marriage, and as many of our readers may be unacquainted with that ceremony, we shall present them with an ac­count of it.

Previous to the marriage, several of the friends meet in a convenient place, each having in his hand an ca [...] en vessel; the contract is then read, notice given of the day of marriage, and a declaration made, that the party who shall not stand to what is agreed, is to pay to the other a stipulated sum.

Then wishing happiness to each other, the young Jews throw their vessels upon the ground, concluding (as the Jews say) that the breaking of them portends plenty and good fortune. But we are rather inclined to think, that this part of the ceremony is an emblem of the frailty of our worldly purposes and delights.

On their departure a person at the door presents ev­ery one with a glass of wine, and some comfits. This is emblematical of chearfulness and plenty.

He that is to bless the marriage takes a glass of wine, and having given it his benediction, presents it to the married couple to drink; this is to signify that we owe a grateful acknowledgment of all our plenty to the bounty of the Almighty. The young couple then must not stir abroad for eight days, during which space their friends are, however, permitted to visit and make merry with them.

The day previous to the marriage, the woman is put [Page 86] into a bath of cold water, by the rest of her sex, who make a hideous noise while they are bathing her.

The bridegroom then sends a matrimonial girdle to the bride, with a gold buckle; the bride returns a sim­ilar present, with this difference, that the buckle is sil­ver; this signifies that the man does more honor to the woman by taking her to be his wife, than she does to him, by admitting him to be her lord and master.

On the nuptial day, the bride is conducted to a chamber appointed for that purpose, by women who sing and dance before her, for a double motive; as they look upon such chearfulness to be both acceptable to God, and a preventive of gloominess or low spirits, which would appear as bad omens.

When the bridegroom is to receive the benediction, four young men carry a canopy into a garden or open place, beneath which the solemnity is performed.

The bridegroom, accompanied by the males, and the bride by the females, preceded by music, meet under the canopy; every one saying, ‘Blessed be he that cometh.’

The bridegroom then walks three times round the bride, and takes her by the hand.

The company then scatter corn on them both, re­peating at the same time the scripture phrase, cre [...]cite et multiplicamini, that is increase and multiply. Thence probably arose the custom of having bride cakes among Christians. The whole is allegorical of an increase both in children and substance.

The bride then holds the bridegroom by the hand, and turns her face to the south, or to the meridian sun, which is the emblem of genral and procreative power.

[Page 87]The Rabbi then taking a glass of wine, and rehears­ing the mahzor prayers, gives it to the married couple to drink; if the bride is a virgin, he gives her a narrow glass; if a widow a wide one. Then receiving a plain gold ring, the Rabbi asks if it is gold; on being an­swered in the affirmative, he puts it on the bride's sec­ond singer, and reads the manage contract.

Then taking another glass of wine, and giving thanks to God, that the new married couple have plighted their troth, he presents it them to drink again; the bridegroom having drank, throws the glass with all his force against the wall of ground, in order to break it in remembrance of the destruction of Jerusalem.

Then black caps are placed on both their heads, to shew they are afflicted for the destruction of the temple, even in their greatest rejoicings.

Being led to a banquet, the bridegroom sings a kind of a hymn, then an egg and a hen, ready dressed are set before him; he presents a small piece to his bride, and immediately the company scramble for the rest, and whoever gets the largest piece, is esteemed the most fortunate.

The egg is then presented to the bride, as a prognos­tic of her bearing children, as easily as the hen her eggs.

They then sit down to a feast; after which a dance begins; the noblest person in the company takes the bridegroom by the hand, he another, and so the rest till they all join.

The principal woman takes the bride by the hand, and the rest of the women join, in a similar manner to the men. Thus the dance is long and confused, and the wedding, or rather the rejoicings, continue eight days.

CHAPTER XXV. Montague grows tired of the young Jewess.—Judith a great Coquette.—Her Father a Cheat.—Our Hero determines to dissolve the Connection.—His Artifices to blind the Jew.—Succeeds, and departs for Italy.

OUR hero for some time was passionately fond of his young bride, but at length his natural vola­tility and sickleness prevailed, and he grew satiated with the enjoyment of that to which he found no obstacle.

As her attractions were only personal, so his passion was not permanent. Besides, he shortly found some real occasions of disgust: Judith was an absolute co­quette, and the broker an egregious sharper, so that he perceived he was likely, in a short time, to have his head furnished by the daughter, while his pockets were unfurnished by the father. He determined, therefore, to put an end to a connection from which he began to receive no pleasures, but knew he should sustain great loss.

But it behoved him to proceed with great caution; the old Jew was crafty, and from being naturally a rogue, was naturally suspicious.

He, therefore, pretended that himself and his wife were an incumbrance to the broker, besides not being sufficiently accommodated themselves; to remedy which, he took a genteel house, furnished and took his wife home.

He then, with as much precaution as possible, drew [Page 89] his cash and notes out of the Jew's hands; not but the broker, though he deemed him his son-in-law, made him pay severely for having ever put any confidence in him.

In a short time, under pretence of being obliged to attend on his friends in England, relative to some af­fairs of the utmost consequence, he shipped his money and the principal of his effects; the youth and inexpe­rience of Judith not permitting her to make such shrewd observations on his conduct as her father, had he been in the same house, would probably have done. Nor, indeed, as she was indulged in every pleasure and amusement, did she in the least suspect has design.

Having every thing on board, which he thought proper to take, he embarked himself, and set sail, (not for England, as she imagined, but for Italy) leaving the house and furniture, with a sum of money, as a recom­pence to Judith for the loss of her supposed husband, and to make her some amends for his infidelity.

CHAPTER XXVI. Lands at Leghorn.—Traverses Italy, —Account of Ge­noa.—Engages with a Mistress.—Quits her.—Goes to Sicily.—Singular Anectdote.—Goes to Ghozzo.— Remarkable Industry of the inhabitants of that Place.

HE landed at Leghorn, and after staying in that place a short time, where nothing material hap­pened, he traversed the Italian States, observed what hath been a thousand times observed and saw what hath been a thousand times seen. He was, (as is usual with young travellers) astonished at the Roman anti­quities; in raptures with the paintings of the Italian masters: in extacies with their music; in admiration of their women, and intoxicated by their wines.

[Page 90]He made some stay at Genoa, which, from the sea, he observed affords one of the finest prospects in the world, as it stands partly on the declivity of a hill, and partly on a flat next to the shore.

The houses are very lofty, and sinely painted on the outside, which gives them a fine and splendid appearance.

The Genoese are industrious, cunning and more hardy than the rest of the Italians.

As for jealousy, of which the Italians are generally accused, the Genoese ought to be exempted from the charge, for their women are allowed as many liberties, and indeed take as many, as any set of people in the world. Hence the Italian proverb, which says, that the ‘Genoese have a sea without fish! land without trees! men without faith! and women without shame!’

Here our hero was under the necessity of using the arts of seduction, or making matrimonial proposals.

Money soon procured him a mistress, who was beau­tiful and witty, but licentious in her principles, and dis­agreeable in her temper, so that Mr. Montague soon grew tired of her; for though she took whatever free­doms she thought proper, without the least modest con­sideration, she was jealous of him to an excess, and so exceedingly capricious, that he determined to free him­self from the uneasiness she gave him, by quitting the place.

He proceeded to Sicily, and traversed the whole of that territory. He found the Sicilians polite, courte­ous, fond of magnisicence, and generous, but vindictive to the last degree; to evince which, the following fact will be sufficient. For the spirit of the modern Sicil­ians greatly resembles that of their ancestors.

[Page 91]In the reign of the emperor Charles the Vth, a so­ciety was formed at Trapani, under the title of "The society of St. Paolo;" the members of which, made a vow to take cognizance not only of the proceedings of their neighbours, and the lower order of the inhabitants of the town, but even of their magistrates and nobility.

Whoever was condemned by this society, was cer­tain of death; for one of the members was deputed to assassinate the obnoxious party, and the person so chosen to the office of murderer, was obliged without any ex­cuse, privately to destroy, the person, so clandestinely condemned.

The women of Sicily are beautiful, amorous, and ex­ceedingly fruitful, for some of them have been known to have had three ox four and twenty children.

Sicily is likewise deemed the granary of Europe, be­ing, perhaps, the richest place for grain in the universe.

From Sicily our hero failed in a little bark, manned by one helms-man and two rowers, to the isle of Ghoz­zo. These. vessels, though very small, and seemingly dangerous, are the safest in the Mediterranean, as by their swiftness they escape pirates, and by their light­ness are secure from the waves.

Ghozzo, of itself is a barren hard rock, but is well cultivated, by the most indefatigable industry; for the upper crust is beaten off, pounded with immense labour, and converted into an excellent soil. Nor does the husbandman envy the fertility of Sicily; if he can but marry an Arabian beauty, and eat his fill of while on­ [...]ons and garlick, he is careless of intense, labour, and thinks himself completely happy.—Would to Heaven every [...]tional creature could so easily content himself in his situation!

CHAPTER XXVII. Goes to Malta.—Debauchery of the Knights.—Town of Catania, built with remarkable Materials.—Singu­lar Instance of Constancy.—Italian Proverb.—A Lady wants to engage Mr. Montague as her Cecis­beo. —He rejects the Overture.

PROCEEDING to Malta, he found that island cul­tivated much in the same manner as Ghozzo.

The Knights of Malta have rendered the manners of the inhabitants so depraved, that there is scarce an hon­est female in the whole island, except what belongs to the sailors. For these fellows, who are ready to sacri­fice their blood for the sake of religion, and to do any thing for the interest of the Grand Master, are never­theless extremely tenacious of the honour of their wives and daughters: if therefore, any female belonging to them, is forced or decoyed from them, the seducer is sure of death. The women belonging to all the other inhabitants are at their disposal.

The town of Catania at the foot of mount AEtna, which was destroyed by the dreadful earthquake in 1693 is now rebuilding, not with stone or brick, but with, the lava disgorged from the mouth of that tremendous mountain. The streets are regular but the houses low, in order the better to sustain the shock of any future earthquake. Our hero sent some pieces of the lava to the Royal Society, and the British Museum, in which latter repository, they may, at any time, be seen by the curious.

The following [...]dote is related as a fact, at Paler­mo. ‘A prince of one of the first families had a se­cret con [...]n with a single lady, who was his equal [Page 93] in rank; at length he married her, but two months after marriage she was delivered of a son; from a motive of shame, the parents determined to deny the child, and to trust its education to a peasant.’

‘This was kept a secret till the mother, on her death bed, discovered it. The youth being sent for, shewed more surprise than joy, on being informed of his rank; but declared, that unless he was permitted to marry a young country girl, with whom he was in love, he would not accept of any advantage they might offer him. This article being denied him, he willingly resigned his claim, in favour of his brother, returned to the country, and lived happily with the object of his heart in the station in which he had been brought up.’ A rare example of constancy! and worthy of imitation. Our hero made it his busi­ness to visit this happy couple, at their little town, and was mightily pleased with their apparent conjugal felicity.

Our hero observed, that though the power of the Pope was greatly on the decline, and his domination, in Italy considerably circumscribed, yet the ecclesiastical patrimony is exceedingly fruitful and rich, which gives rise to the Italian saying, ‘That the Pope has the flesh, and the Great Duke of Tuscany the bones of Italy.’

At Naples a very fine lady would willingly have en­gaged him as her Cecisbeo; that is, (as an obsequious gallant) to play with her, and lose what money she she thinks proper to win; to be at a thousand expences in order to indulge her caprices; to murder all his time in her service, escort her to every place of public resort, and privately to administer to her libidinous Pleasures.

This lady was the wife of a principal Neapolitan no­bleman. For the ladies in Italy are permitted, by their husbands, to entertain lovers of this character. Custom [Page 94] hath established this infamous practice; the women look upon it as one of their privileges, and the men are so afraid of offending against so prevalent a fashion, that they quietly acquiesce with their dishonor, and even ca­ress their wives gallants.

Our hero however thought proper to reject the favor designed him; though he was not over delicate in his amours, yet he had too much sentiment to bear the idea of dividing the affections of a woman with another, or sharing her personal charms, with a rival; how­ever that rival might be entitled to her principal consideration.

Nor could he bear the thoughts of having his liberty so much abridged, as such a piece of gallantry would have rendered necessary.

He loved to pursue pleasure, not to be pursued by it, nor, however, pleasing such customs may be to the Ita­lians, could he approve of being a slave at all times to the satisfaction of another, when, perhaps his own incli­nation pointed a different way.

CHAPTER XXVIII. Consequences of our Hero's Delicacy.—Fights a Duel. —The Lady designs to po [...]son Mr. Montague.—He is apprized of her Intentions, which determines him to quit Italy.

OUR hero's delicacy, however, in rejecting the over­tures of the Italian lady, had very near cost him his life. For the husband took it as an affr [...]nt, that any man should have the insolence to refuse becoming the Cecisbeo of a lady of his wife's rank and distinguished beauty; he, therefore, sent him a formal challenge up­on the occasion.

[Page 95]Our hero was surprised at the unaccountable humour of these people, and that the manners of even polished nations should be so diametrically opposite to each other. In England, Holland, France, Germany, and Spain, if one man attempts the honor of another's wife, he runs the hazard of having his throat cut; but in Italy if you refuse to cuckold a man, according to the polite custom of the place, you are liable to be run through the body, even by the husband himself.

Our hero, who was not deficient in personal courage, accepted the challenge; the parties met, fought, and the husband was disarmed. Thus fortune decided, that his brow should not be equipped either by laurels or horns, at least upon that occasion; as doubtless from the natural temperature of the lady, it is reasonable to suppose, that he did not die without the latter dignity.

The lady was greatly exasperated to be disappointed both in her desires and revenge, and therefore determin­ed (according to the Italian mode) to take off our hero by poison; of this intention he was secretly apprized by a friend, which determined him to leave, with all expe­dition, a place where the inhabitants were so absurd in their notions, and so litigious and revengeful in their tempers.

For the bigness of the place, there are perhaps, more lawyers in Naples than any other part of the world; a certain proof of the litigious spirit of the people. It is asserted, that when Pope Innocent XI had desired the Marquis de Carpio, the viceroy at Naples to furnish him with 30,000 head of swine, the Marquis replied, that with respect to his swine, he could not spare them; but if his holiness had occasion for 30,000 lawyers, they were at his service.

CHAPTER XXIX. Embarks for Constantinople.—Sees the fiery mountain Strombolo.—Sails between Scylla and Charybdis.— Corsu.—Zante.—Pursued by a Pirate to Cerige, Scio, &c.—Lands at Rhodosto.—Proceeds to Constanti­nople in a Turkish Coach.

OUR hero embarked at Naples, as soon as he con­veniently could, in order to sail for Constantino­ple, as he could no longer repress his ardent desire to see that celebrated city, which he used to term his pa­ternal metropolis.

The ensuing night he was called upon deck, to see the famous Strombolo, a mountain which stands in the sea, like a sugar loaf, and emits continual flames from its summit. At sea it appears even more terrible than either Vesuvius or AEtna.

They then steered between the celebrated rocks of Scylla and Charybdis, which are not near so dangerous as they have been formerly represented; indeed every place and circumstance which had been described by the ancients prove that writers as well as poets have ex­aggerated.

They passed Corfu and steered towards Zante; an is­land famous for two remarkable fountains of pitch.

Here they were pursued by a pirate; for the coasts of Greece and Barbary swarm with Corsairs. This ro­ver did not quit the pursuit, till they reached the first island in the Archipelago, called Cerigo; [...] was the Cytherea, or seat of the goddess of beauty [...] the ancients.

[Page 97]From thence they proceeded to the beautiful island of Scio, one of the reputed birth-places of Homer.

Passing by Myteline, they came to Tenedos, which is about two leagues distance from the shore of Troy.

Having passed the first castles of the Dardanelles, they soon made the second, called Sestos and Abydos: Abydos being the celebrated place from whence Lean­der used to swim across the Hellespont to Sestos, in or­der to see his mistress Hero, by which means he was at length drowned.

Having cast anchor at Rhodosto, a city about sixty miles from Constantinople, our hero landed, and pur­sued the rest of his journey in a Turkish coach, which he hired for that purpose. These coaches are covered with fearlet cloth, and painted of lively colours on the outside, besides heing embellished by a variety of beau­tiful flowers, printed on a gold and silver ground inter­mixed; they are [...] like a hearse, and without seats; instead of doors or glass [...]s, they have painted lattices, and are entered by means of a ladder.

At length our hero entered that famous city, where his mother had enjoyed so much felicity.

Lady Mary had been so attentive and minute an ob­server, that our hero found very little worth noticing, but what she had made some observations upon, and those were so accurate and jus [...], that in his own minutes he had scarce any thing to add.

CHAPTER XXX. Description of Constantinople.—Dfferent Colours worn as Mourning, by d [...]fferent Nations.—The Reason and Meaning thereof.—Slave Market.—Is cordially re­ceived by the Grand Signior.—Is made an Aga.— And has Permission to marry a Turkish Lady.

CONSTANTINOPLE is one of the largest, and at the same time best situated ci [...]ies in the world; it is supposed to contain about 800,000 souls, and would be still more populous, did not the arbitrary spirit of the government prevent it.

The streets are paved and tolerable clean. The hou­ses are built of wood or plaister, and make but an in­different outside appearance, but are convenient, and sometimes richly embellished within.

The inhabitants are clean and well dressed; the dif­ferent occupations are distinguished by a variety of tur­bans, every one's profession being known by the turban he wears.

The markets are plentifully supplied, and the best regulated in the world, which is owing to their being inspected by the Grand Vizier himself, at certain times.

Their police is excellent, perhaps the best in the universe. They have very few physicians here, fewer apothecaries, and no surgeons at all.

They act in direct opposition to the European cus­toms, in many particulars; thus, they sit, lie, eat, and even write low; we high.

Their cloathes are long; ours short.

[Page 99]They have many wives, and many mistresses allowed them by law. The law allows us but one wife and no mistress; however, that does not prevent many, who call themselves Christians, from making their will their law.

Our potentates send ambassadors to each other. The Grand Signior sends none.

We have many public prostitutes; they none; but it must be admitted, that no part of the world contains more libidinous females, or a greater number of pri­vate demireps.

Their dead they carry out head foremost. We carry ours out feet foremost.

When we mourn for the dead, we wear black. They wear blue or violet colour; indeed In this par­ticular, many countries differ. For in China their mourning is white, in Egypt yellow, in Ethiopia brown, while kings and cardinals mourn in purple. Indeed all these colours appear to be allegorical; for black being a privation of light, expresses the darkness of the grave; white denotes purity, and is typical of the soul's being freed from the dross of the body; blue, the co­lour of the sky, signifies the happiness, we hope the de­ceased enjoys in heaven; yellow allude to the leaves of the trees, which become of that colour when they fall to the ground; brown denotes the earth, whither the dead return; and purple expresses both sorrow and hope, being a mixture of black and blue.

The slave market is in the middle of the city; it is a quadrangle, surrounded with apartments for white Haves; the black ones sit underneath. These latter are almost naked; but the w [...]te female slaves, when shewn for sale, are handsomely dressed in blue, black, or crimson velvet, embroidered.

[Page 100]Our hero having made known who he was, easily obtained the honour of being introduced to the Grand Signior, by whom he was most cordially received, and treated with greater familiarity and affection, than was ever before experit [...]ed by any Christian. The reason must he obvious to any intelligent reader, when it is understood that the Grand Signior, to whom our hero was introduced, was the son of him who ruled the Ot­toman empire at the time Lady Mary was at Constanti­nople [...] he, therefore, without any manner of doubt, beheld him with a kind of fraternal regard.

The Grand Signior, as a proof of his affection, im­mediately created him an Aga, which word implies commander. Thus the Aga of the Janizaries is their colonel, and the Capi-aga, the captain of the gate of the seraglio. But the title of Aga is frequently given by way of courteousy, as an honorary appellative, which was the case upon the present occasion.

This was not the only favour, for he gave him per­mission to marry a Turkish lady, if he thought proper; a favour never before granted to any Christian, for it is death by the Mahometan law, for a Christian even to cohabit with a Turkish woman.

The titulary honour of Aga was less pleasing to our hero, than the permission to marry a Turkish lady, of which he was very desirous, both from the native warmth of his disposition, and from motives of curiosity.

CHAPTER XXXI. Mr. Montague marries a Turkish Lady.—Particular Description of the Ceremonies used at a Turkish Wedding, &c.

MR. Montague soon made use of the Grand Sig­nior's permission, by entering into a matrimo­nial negociation with a rich Emir, who had a daughter remarkable for her singular beauty, and every accomp­lishment which the politest oriental education could bestow.

The marriage being concluded on, the nuptials were performed with great pomp. To gratify the reader's curiosity, we shall describe the various ceremonies used at Turkish weddings.

In the first place the friends on both sides meet to settle what dowry the husband is to give his intended wife; for the parents give nothing to their daughters. This renders a woman desirable only for herself. For on the contrary, he that has no other consideration for a woman in marriage than what she has, will seldom regard what she is.

The following is an exact translation of a Turkish song, which seems to satirize the breach of the above custom.

‘There was a man had a daughter, whom he brought up to spinning, and also he married her, in hopes that both by her work and her marriage, she would curich his family; but he found by experi­ence, that she spent the price of her labour before she had earned it, and that her husband being poor, had [...] with her for nothing.’

[Page 102]The sum being agreed upon, it is sent to the father, or next relation. The bride continues covered eight days before marriage; on the wedding day she bathes, and is washed by two or three women, with great form; nay so solemn is this bathing, that her nearest relations walk before her to the bath with lighted torches in their hands.

To make the bride's hair red, which they look upon as the most glorious colour, they sprinkle it with a dust called. elcana. They likewise make her nails, the palms of her hands, her feet, and her heels red.

The nuptial day being come, the bridegroom sends a present to the cadis; then the sagois, or manager of the nuptials, accompanied by all the guests with musi­cal instruments, goes to the bride's house, where he and the company with him are entreated to sit down.

After a banquet, the [...] father takes her by the hand, and delivers her to the sagois, which seems to intimate, that nature ought to submit to policy; for the father surrenders her to the magistrate, who be­comes her civil parent, and disposes of her.

The sagois then sets her on ho [...]s [...] back, and carries her to the bridegroom's house; the guests follow, and are succeeded by carts and horses that carry the furniture.

The bride rides with a veil over her [...]ce and an umbrella over her head, being surrounded by her ser­vants who lament the approaching loss of her virginity. During the cavalcade, she may salute every one she meets, which Turkish women are never permitted to do but on the day of their marriage.

When she arrives at the bridegroom's house, he con­ducts her into a chamber, distinct from the rest; after supper, the sagois takes her by the hand, and leads her [Page 103] to the bridgroom's chamber, and delivers her to the eu­nuchs, who look after till he comes.

When he is with her, he takes off her veil, then the rest of her cloaths; the pretending some resistance.

The ensuing day, the sagois compliments and jokes with the bridegroom, while the bride is taken by her relations to the bath.

Mr. Montague was mighty fond of his Turkish wise, and though of an amorous disposition, and naturally prone to change, did not entertain a thought of availing himself of the privilege allowed by the laws of that country, which permits a man to marry four lawful wives, and keep as many Mistresses as they can main­tain. Nay, a Turk may marry his sister, provided he begins with the eldest, (for if he begins with the young­est, he must not marry the others.)

CHAPTER XXXII. His Wife dies.—Goes to Greece.—Description of the Grecian Ladies.—Mount Ida.—Candia, or Cretc.— Whimsical Vanity of the Ladies of Naxia.—Marries a Greek Girl.—Ceremonies used at the Marriages of of the Greeks.—Athens, &c.

THE only time that Mr. Montague, during the course of his life, seemed inclined to constancy, Fortune appeared determined to cross his laudable in­clinations, by depriving him of the beautiful and ac­complished Fatima.

This lady died in child-bed, as did the infant of which she was pregnant.

[Page 104]Our hero was sensibly affected by this loss, as he sin­cerely loved this lady.

As his melancholy grew upon him, and seemed to injure his health, his friends advised him to travel, in or­der to blunt the edge of affliction.

This advice he the more readily received, as he had always found travelling, not only agreeable to his natu­ral curiosity, but a certain specific against melancholy of every kind.

In pursuance of this resolution, he begged the Grand S [...]gnior's permission to depart from Constantinople.

His sublime highness was unwilling to part from him, but out of regard to his health, gave him leave to go, and furnished him with proper passports to all parts of his extensive empire.

His curiosity led him to see all that was curious in Greece, and to compare the ruins and miserable state of that now wretched country, with its former splendor and magnificence.

He visited all the places which are usually visited by strangers, and examined all those remarkable antiqui­ties, which have been so frequently and minutely de­scribed by travellers.

He perceived that the Greek ladies were remarkably handsome, and that their limbs were formed with that beautiful symmetry of proportion, which is observable in the works of their ancient statuaries. Indeed noth­ing can be more majestic or lovely than their persons; but to balance their beauty, they are exceedingly igno­rant, very proud, and very coquettish; not but a kind of natural politeness makes some amends for their want of the polish of education.

He had the curiosity to ascend the celebrated mount [Page 105] Ida, but was greatly disappointed, for instead of meet­ing with those beautiful prospects, which the exagger­ated descriptions of the ancients naturally led him to expect, he found it to be nothing but a prodigious large barren rock, without the least landscape to be seen, to make any amends for the trouble of climbing it.

After having seen the famous labyrinth of Gortyna, he proceeded to Candia, which city, when in the hands of the Venetians, sustained a siege by the Turks, which lasted above twice as long as that of Troy, that is, from the year 1645 to 1669.

The Inhabitants of Candia, (or Crete, as it was an­ciently called) were always celebrated as excellent arch­ers, and even to this day are skilled in the use of the bow, as Mr. Montague saw upon several occasions.

The Greek peasants here, wear a red leather cap, a vest, and a pair of blue callico drawers, very wide, and so deep behind, as to be ridiculous. In the country they wear short boots of Turkey leather, which are very neat and lasting; but in the towns they wear pumps or slippers.

The women wear an upper garment of reddish cloth, full of plaits, with long sleeves, but put on in such a manner, as to leave their breasts naked.

He then proceeded to Naxia, which is deemed one of the most fertile and agreeable islands of the Archipe­lago; as the country is so pleasant, every one who can afford it, keeps a country house.

As the gentlemen of Naxia frequently retire to their villa's, it is humorous enough to observe the whimsical vanity of the Greek ladies, who, on retiring to the coun­try, or to the town, are attended by thirty or forty women, some on soot, some mounted upon asses, [...]ch of these carries upon her head, or in her hand. [Page 106] some article of her mistress's cloaths, or of the moveable furniture, which is exposed to the view of every one. For instance, one carries a pair of stockings. another a petticoat, a third an earthen dish, &c. Thus they enter the city, the lady riding at the head of the calvacade, the children in the middle, and the husband on his mule, closing the pompous procession.

After having taken a view of the isle of Paros, which produces the finest marble in the world, Mr. Montague proceeded to Thermia, which receives its name from some remarkable hot springs with which the island abounds.

Here Mr. Montague saw a beautiful Greek girl, whose charms easily made an impression on a heart so susceptible of tender emotions, and seemed at once to banish his melancholy, and obliterate the memory of the lovely Fatima.

Though the Greeks are not so reserved as the other nations, subject to the Ottoman sovereigns, yet their women are modest.

Our pretty Grecian, therefore, stood upon punctilios, when Mr. Montague, not to lose time, or have any un­necessary trouble, had recourse to his old maxim, and freely proposed marriage: Matrimony now being so fa­miliar to him, that the most trisling inclination would have induced him to marry almost any woman, on con­dition it was in a country where the law could not take cognizance of the affair.

The most remarkable circumstances in the marriage ceremonies of the Greeks are these.

The bride is obliged to let her husband know what fortune she has, and he is under the necessity of acting in the same candid manner: the men sitting round a long table, the women on benches raised behind it.

[Page 107]When the bride receives the usual presents from the relations and guests, she sits with a gilt crown on her head, in the midst of the gincco, or women's apartment.

As soon as they have all drank wine and eaten sweet­meats, they make an excursion to take the air, then they return to supper, after which, the new married couple go to bed together, without any farther ceremony or publication, as among the Roman Catholicks.

This compendious method of marrying was mighty pleasing to our hero, who was no friend to long ce­remonies.

Indeed the young Greek understood so well the art of pleasing, that she fixed his wavering heart to constan­cy much longer than could have been expected; for her beauty and blandishments prevailed over his sickleness, during the space of two years, in which he never left her, except to make a few excursions, in order to take a survey of those parts of Greece, which he had not hi­therto seen.

At Athens he could not see, without some painful reflections on the uncertainty of all sublunary things, the stupendous ruins of those beautiful structures, which were once the admiration of the universe; n [...]r could he, without a variety of melancholy ideas, behold the barbarity and ignorance of those who now inhabit a place, which was celebrated once as the seat of the muses.

After having visited Megara and Corinth, so dimin­ished from their former splendor, he proceeded to The­bes, of which only one part is now inhabited, that is, what was formerly called the castle of Cadmus.

Though the Anchorites live very retired and the her­mits very austere lives, yet the Greek nuns know noth­ing of the severities of a M [...] life [...]ir characteris­tic [Page 108] is that of being magdale is reformed, who towards the decline of life, make a vow to observe some virtues they have neglected in their youth, and so retire into a monastery, there to lead a life less scandalous, or per­haps less publickly so, under the inspection of a good­natured abbess, who is not very rigid. Hence travellers may be accommodated with certain favours, if they chuse to put up with the autumn of beauty.

At length the volatility of our hero's disposition pre­vailing, he grew tired of his wife, and quitting her with­out ceremony, which he seldom used upon such occa­sions, [...]turned again to Constantinople. Here as be­fore, he was cordially received by the Grand Signior.

CHAPTER XXXIII. Settles at Constantinople.—His Seraglio.—Goes to E­gypt. —His journey not political.—Description of Egypt, Grand Cairo, &c.

HE now established a houshold at Constantinople de­termining to reside there some time. The read­er may easily conceive, that he did not forget a seraglio in this establishment.

His women consisted of various beautiful slaves from divers countries, which he purchased as essential to his sensual felicity.

But a life of inactivity and repose was not suited to his restless disposition; in less than a twelvemonth Con­stantinople grew insipid to him, and his roving temper being predominant, he again took leave of the Grand Signior, and having received proper passports, resolved to see Egypt.

Here it is proper to re [...] a mistake which the pub­lic [Page 109] have been led into, by several homespun newsp [...] paragraphs, which intimate that Mr. Montague's [...]ney to Egypt was chiefly political.

But this is false; he was not entrusted with any com­mission of a political kind by the Grand Signior, n [...] would he willingly have been engaged in any such mat­ter, as his disposition led him to pursuits of a far differ­ent nature; besides, though he greatly respected the Grand Signior, he was not fond of the arbitrary severity of that government to its respective officers, and there­fore always preserved the following Turkish maxims in his memory, viz. Four things should never flatter us, ‘Familiarity with princes, the caresses of women, the smiles of our enemies, and a warm day in winter!’ for these things are not of long duration.

Mr. Montague did not find Egypt to be that fertile country which it has been represented.

By Egypt is understood a narrow tract of land, divid­ed in two by the river Nile, inclosed with high moun­tains on the east and west, beginning at the cataracts and ending near Cairo, together with what is called the Delta.

The length of Egypt from north to south, is about 600 miles, the breadth in the Delta is 120 miles, but in the middle of the other part only 21.

They have but one harvest in the year in Egypt, any more than in other places, though it hath been errone­ously reported that they have two.

Egypt can hardly supply its inhabitants with corn; many of the people live chiesly upon barley-slour, mixed with water; indeed half of them do not eat bread above once a week, and that bread is not made of wheat, but of coarse millet.

The soil is clayey, mixed with salt petre, which ren­ders [Page 110] the land so sterile, that few plants or shrubs grow upon it; neither tree or wood will vegetate there, with­out being frequently watered; therefore neither timber nor wood for fuel grow in Egypt.

The vast rains which fall in Abyssinia and Ethiopia, occasion the overflowings of the Nile. This river be­gins to swell at the latter end of May or beginning of June, when the north winds set in, and about the 24th of September, the waters begin to fall.

It hath been said that it never rains in Egypt, but that is a mistake, it frequently rains in lower Egypt, but in middle Egypt very rarely, and in upper Egypt never.

The air of this country is very unhealthy, most of the people are afflicted with bad eyes, the humour of which is so inveterate, that abundance lose their sight, so that Egypt may well be called proverbially the Land of the blind.

A few hours after Mr. Montague's arrival at Grand Cairo, he was witness to the opening the canal, when the waters of the Nile entered that city. The joy of the people was inexpressible, and indeed it is very natu­ral it should, as they are much in want of water.

In the road from Minie to Cairo there is a fine pyra­mid at Benisuef. The Arabs say, that Joseph the son of Jacob built it. Fifteen miles lower there are two more, in the form of a hat; and about nine miles far­ther, at Sacarra, are thirteen large and a great number of smaller pyramids, but the greater part of the latter are fallen into ruins.

Cairo is supposed to contain as many inhabitants as London. There are seven hundred and twenty mosques in it with priests, four hundred and thirty without, and seventy public baths.

[Page 111]The streets are narrow, crooked, and without pave­ment, consequently dusty. The houses have many sto­ries, and flat roofs; they are built of brick; the win­dows have iron [...]ails, and curtains to them. There is but one square in the whole town, which lies before the castle. There are no trees, [...]ountains, or any other or­naments to it.

The castle is large but irregular. An aqueduct of 320 arches carries the waters of the Nile into it.

Modern Egypt is divided into twenty-four provinces, but no part of the country is so populous as it was for­merly said to be.

In the desert of Rayan, there are some craggy stones, which resemble, and which the superstitious believe to be petrified sheep.

CHAPTER XXVIII. Goes to the Lake of Natrum, and the Lake of Petrified Ships.—Fallacy of the Common Notion, —A monkish Story.—Engages in some Am [...]ars.—Goes to Suez with a Caravan.—Curious Method of Fishing.— Dolphins.—Remarkable Deception.—Crocodile.— Artificial Method of hatching Chickens.

MR. Montague having a great desire to see the lake from whence the Natrum is taken, and the lake without, water, where it is said there are petrified ships.

He accordingly set out for Terane, a place about 42 miles, distant from Cairo, situated on that branch of the Nile which goes to Rose [...]ta, laving applied to the go­vernor, he ordered some Arabs to attend him.

They joined a drove of camels, who were bound to [Page 112] the desart of Scete, to procure Natrum. On the road they saw the ruins of various towns; after passing along a sandy plain, interfected by torrents, they arrived at the lake, which is 24 miles long, and two broad.

The salt had formed a crust over the lake, which bore the whole company, and their camels.

Having passed over, Mr. Montague left the caravan and went to a Coptic Monastery, where the monks shew­ed him a stone, which greatly resembled wood, and which, they said, was part of a mast belonging to one of the petrified ships.

The next day he arrived at the lake without water, which is only a number of torrents united in one, and dry all the summer. The petrified ships are nothing but pointed rocks, buried in the sand; they resemble ships at a distance, and look very much like wood. Some pieces are scattered about, which are six or seven feet in length, and five or six inches in diameter, and these are what are taken for pieces of masts.

At the Coptic Monastery, which is very mean, and does not deserve a description, they told him this ridi­culous story; That formerly some Arabians arrived in ships, in their lake without water; that these Arabians having been very troublesome to the hermits of the place, St. Ephraim, who was then abbot of the monas­tery, prayed to God to dry up the lake; this God not only granted, but changed their ships into stone.

On the road from this place to the monastery of St. Macarius, there are three deserted glass houses.

It may not be improper to remark, that the Egyp­sians are of a very dark complexion, with very disagree­able features; they are timid, effeminate, incapable of hardships, have a very down look, owing perhaps to their sore eyes, are conceited, superstitious and too of­ten treacherous.

[Page 113]The forbidding aspect of the people of this country did not, however, deter our hero from engaging in some amours, especially from the Arabian girls, with whom he diverted himself in maay parts of Egypt.

Having joined company with some gentleman, who where going to Suez, he determined to visit that place.

At Heliopolis they were entertained by a Turk. They sat down to dinner upon their heels; above three­score dishes were served up, consisting of rice or flesh, bolled or roasted, prepared with spices, milk of al­moads and [...]agar; other dishes of meat were prepared with milk and fruit. Many of the disnes were placed upon each other in a very artful manner, and formed a py [...]nid.

After dinner the company were served with coffee, sherbet, and a pipe of tobacco.

At noon they sat off with some other travellers, who had joined them.

The whole caravan consisted of fifty gentlemen, and their servants on hor [...]eback, and thirty slaves mounted on dromedaries, laden with water and provisions. These were followed by two hundred camels, laden with money and merchandizes; those which carried the money, were adorned with bushes of feathers, and other ornaments, and went first, the kettle drums beat­ring before them.

In the evening they passed a dangerous desil, where the Arabs usually watch, when they intend to attack the caravans going to or coming from Mecca.

In two days they arrived at Suez, which is a very small town, situated on a pcninsula, at the extremity of the Red Sea. There is a governor, with a garrison of three hundred men; the inhahitants get all the necesla­ [...] of the, even their put-h [...]s, from Cairo.

[Page 114]He afterwards visited Lake Menslet, which is 64 miles long, and 24 broad; being the largest in Egypt. Here they have a curious method of catching fish, by means of a bird. Having set their nets, the fishermen let two tame pelicans swim in the lake; they fasten a piece of thread to their eyelids, by which means they can tie up their eyes during the whole fishery; this precaution is necessary, to prevent them from eating too many fish. The pelican having a strong seent, pursues the fish around him, and the fishermen prevent their going off sideways, so they are driven into the net.

In some parts of the lake, the dolphins pursue the fish into little ponds, full of reeds, from whence they cannot return, because the fishermen immediately shut up the entrance into the lake with large nets. The benefits which these people reap by means of the dol­phin, induces them to look upon that fish with the ut­most reverence; nay, some of them go so far as to deem dolphins good spirits, sent on parpose to do them a service; on which account, they would not destroy a dolphin by any means.

From hence our hero passed to Damiata, which, next to Cairo, is the finest and largest city in Egypt.

Twenty-three miles from this city is Rosetta, a town of great trade, in flax, cottons, linens, rice, and leather.

There is-no other place of any great consequence in Egypt, except Alexandria, a town of considerable trade, supposed to contain about 15,000 inhabitants.

We shall here notice a circumstance which our hero thought worthy of a memorandum.

On the east side of the Nile lies a village, called Eridy, where a sheik of the same name resides.

It is famed through Egypt for a snake, of which many miraculous stories are related.

[Page 115]The vulgar believe it to be the devil, banished into the mountains of upper Egypt, by the angel Raphael, to prevent his strangling young Tobias, as he had done with the six former husbands, which his bride had married.

The sheik keeps this serpent in possession, as his pre­decessors for time immemorial has done. It is an inch thick, two fee 'ong, and the skin is smooth and red­dish; it plays thousand tricks, and will twine about the arms or neck of any person; without hurting them; what is remarkable, it is fonder of women than men. An annual feast is held in honour of this serpent. The sheik pretends that he can cut it in pieces at night, and find it whole in the morning.

Mr. Montague looked upon this serpent to be noth­ing but a tohbam, a serpent common enough in Egypt; it hath more sagacity than the European dogs, and may be taught a great variety of tricks.

The land crocodile of Egypt resembles the water crocodile in form, but it is small and harmless. The water crocodile, or that which is commonly understood by the name, inhabits the Nile, and is particularly fond of the lakes, formed by channels, derived from thence; they fly from those parts which are near towns and from boats which contain many men; but will attack a single man, or a boat with a single man in it. This creature is to the last degree, voracious, terrible, and cruel; it is sometimes thirty feet in length; it runs swift, but cannot casily turn, and iu chief strength lies in its tail.

With respect to the artificial method of hatching ch [...]kens, it is to be observed that the inhabitants of Ber [...]e, a village 60 miles from Cairo, are the only possessors of the secret; parents teach it to their chil­dren, and keep it from strangers. The proprietors of ovens are therefore obliged to have recourse to them, and pay them well for their trouble.

[Page 116]The ovens have two stories, consisting of twenty­eight small cells, into which the eggs are laid; round these there is a hollow, about an inch and a half deep, and six inches broad; this contains the fire to heat the oven; the hollows are between the lower and upper range of cells, so that the fire heats both stories. The floor which divides the stories is made of reeds, covered with cow-dung; the walls are of brick.

The eggs are put upon a mat, in the lowest cells; the fire is made of cakes of cow-dung.

The inspector at various times increases or diminishes the heat, by giving the cells less or more air.

In tweenty-one days the operation is concluded, and all the chickens are seen running about in the cells.

CHAPTER XXXV. Goes to England.—His Mother dies.—Takes possession if his large Fortune.—His Enmity to lord Bute.— Returns to Constantinople.—Assumes the Armenian Habit.—Description of that Habit.

HAVING seen all that is deemed curious in E­gypt, Mr. Montague returned to Constantinople, where, finding some dispatches for him from his rela­tions, which appeared of the utmost consequence, he determined to depart for England.

He soon embarked on hoard a trading vessel, and ar­rived (after a voyage in which nothing material hap­pened) at Marseilles; from whence, travelling by land to Calais, he went on board the packet, and in a few hours landed safe at Dover.

His reputed father, whose name he had always gone [Page 117] by, had been dead for some years, and his mother, who had desired his presence in England, on account of her precarious state of health, was on the verge of a disso­lution when he arrived.

She died soon after, and left him in possession of an immense fortune; indeed she went so far as to be ex­ceedingly partial in his savour, with respect to person­als contrary to the interest of his sister, the present Countess of Bute.

This occasioned a coolness between him and Lord Bute's family; and that nobleman having done him some disservices, he conceived a most implacable re­sentment against him, which continued till his death.

Though his ample fortune would have enabled him to enjoy all the luxuries of the east, in the northern regions, where his patrimony was situated; yet a pecu­liarity of disposition induced him to sigh for the essemi­nating pleasures of Asia. Grown fond of the eastern countries by familiarity, he determined to dissipate his income in the pleasures which those prolific climes afford.

Before his departure, he made a present of somc cu­rious medals and other antiquities to the Royal Society; on which account, he was made a member of that learned body.

He soon after embarked on board a merchant-ship, bound for Turkey, and on his arrival at Constantinople presented himself to the Grand Signior, by whom he was, as usually, most cordially received.

He had formerly adopted the Turkish habit, but now he thought proper to assume the Armcnian, deem­ing it not only superior to the Turkish, but to all other dresses in the universe.

[Page 118]As Mr. Montague never after appeared in any other habit, it may not be improper to describe it.

The Armenian dress, then, consists of a magnificent turban; and it is to be observed, that the Armenians have a particular maxion to keep their heads very warm, so that they never pull off their turbans out of respect to any one; the other parts of their dress are simple, neat and elegant; next to their skin they wear callico shirts, then a vest, which rcaches below the knee, girt with a sash, and over that a loose garment, somewhat shorter.

Their clothes are, however, generally expensive, con­sisting of the richest furs, silks, muslms, cottons, and the like valuable stuffs embroidered in a very rich man­ner with gold and silver.

On their legs they wear loose boots, and slippers on their feet; they wear a dagger in their sash, and linen trowsers; their clothes and the collar of their strits are open, so that their health is better adapted to the pur­poses of health and activity, than the dress of the Turks.

CHAPTER XXXVI. Makes the Tour of Persia.—Of Ispahan.—Intrigues with a Persian Lady.—Comoustible Earth.—Capi­tation Tax.—Falls in Love with a Circassian Lady. —Marries her.—Marriage Ceremonies in Persia.

MR. Montague, whose dispositions was ever rest­less, and his imagination always upon the wing, could not long remain inactive; he therefore made the tour of Persia, and saw as much of that country as the distracted state of affairs would permit.

He perceived that the soil itself was exceedingly [Page 119] fruitful; but the government was so arbitrary that the inhabitants could neither enjoy plenty or safety.

There are vast mountains in this country, such as Caucasus, Ararat, and Taurus; but no country in the world hath so few rivers.

The women are sufficiently handsome, but they are coquetts, mad continue to heighten their beauty as much as possible, by art.

Ispahan, the capital city of Persia, is 12 miles in cir­cumference, but the strects are narrow and crooked: the chief amusement of the inhabitants is to walk upon the flat roofs of the houses, when the weather will per­mit; the houses are but of one story, and since the late troubles in Persia, not above five thousand of them are inhabited.

With respect to Asia, the Persians stand in the same predicament us the Fre [...]ch do in Europe; that is, they are the models of politeness, and not to imitate their manners, and understand their language, argues low breeding. Indeed their manners are the most refined of any people in the eastem countries, and their lan­guage is the most poetical and nervous. In short, in Asia the Arabic is to be considered as the learned lan­guage, the Persian as the polite, and the Turkish or the Coptic as the vulgar language.

The wornen are so far from being reserved as in most other eastern countries, that they will not scruple to make advances to those they like. Of this our hero had a proof, while at Ispahan. A widow lady had ta­ken particular notice of him, and not being able to bri­dle her passion, she sent him a billet doux, written from the right hand to the left, (for the Persians, like the Hebrews, write in that manner.)

Mr. Montague was too much a cavalier not to dis [Page 120] honour to the overture. The lady received him in a magnificent apartment, which was close shut; it was illuminated by a great number of wax tapers, as well as lamps filled with the most odorise [...]ous oil; and on a hearth of the finest marble, there was a large fire of the wood of aloes, though the weather was warm; this rendered the room so hot, that our hero begged to re­move to some cooler place. To this request the lady complied with great difficulty, for in her heart she was a gaur or worshipper of fire.

This lady was so extremely ceremonious in her am­ours, that the intrigue became troublesome to our hero, who lest lspahan, a [...]ravelled to the north of Persia, to see a celebrated natural phaenomenon, near Baku. This is a combustible ground, filled with fiery and in­flammable particles being the chief scene of the guebres devotion. These guebres are the priests of the gaurs or fire worshippers. Several temples are scattered about this ground, in one of which the guebres pretend to preserve the sacred slame of the universal fire. This rises from the end of a large hollow cane stuck into the ground, and filled with the purest spirits.

The Persians certainly exceed all the manufacturers in the universe, in silk, woollen carpets, leather and mohair. They do not, however, pursue trade with that avidity which might be expected from people so excellently well situated for commerce.

It is to be observed, that foreigners, who are not Mahometans, pay a ducat a head for being permited to reside in the Persian territories. Though this tax should only be paid once, yet the officers take care to exact it in almost every town, alledging that they are not cer­tain it has been paid in any other place. Thus our hero was under the necessity of paying the tax above fifty different times.

At Schims, a sine open town, with beautiful invi­rous, [Page 121] Mr. Montague determined to remain for some time. The country is fruitful to the last degree, and the wines the best in Asia.

Here our hero fell in love with, or rather conceived a strong inclination for a beautiful Circassian lady. Not being able to obtain her for a mistress, he as usual addressed her for a wife; he pretended to be an Ar­menian merchant, and lived in a very prosuse mannor, to captivate her by generosity. But liberality will not succeed in this country, without the addition of a very absurd piece of gallantry; that is [...]o evince his passion, a lover must burn himself in several parts of his body, and in this scarified manner pr [...] [...] before his mistresfs; if she accepts his love she is cousiderace enough to send him fillets and scarss of silk to bind up the sores; but if his passion is dis [...]greeable to her, [...] has only the pain for his recompen [...]e. Where the lady likes the lover, her esterm rises in proportion to the torture he gives himself; and was he to make him­self cripple, his passion would be deemed the most sublime imaginable.

This method of wooing was not at all agreeable to our hero; be could flatter, swear, and embellish be­yond the truth, as well as any man, but a red hot iron did not fall in with his ideas of pleasure.

Finding he could not obtain the lady, without some such burning proff of his passion, he determied to bave rccourse to art.

In pursuance of this resolution, he stained himself in several parts, in a manner so ingenious that the most discerning eye could not discover but that he was scari­fied in a most termble manner.

Having made himself apear most dreadfully burnt, he presented himself before his mishess, who, kind soul, was melted into compassion at the sight; the li­quid [Page 122] quit [...]arls streamed from her eyes, and she presented him with the choicest scarfs and silk handkerchiefs, to bind [...] his wounds, entreating him to be careful of himself for her sake.

When sufficient time had elapsed for him to appear to be well, the marriage was concluded on as a matter of course; for the gift of the scarfs implies an absolute consent. The ceremony it as follows:

The bride goes from her house with her relations and friends, all on horseback, singers precede them.

The bridegroom leaves his house in the same manner.

When the two troops meet, they return to the bride's house where they have a ball.

The bridegroom is then conducted to the bride's chamber, by two man; the bride comes in another way, being led by two women; the new married cou­ple are then left together, and the company continue dancing during the whole night.

CHAPTER XXXVII. Goes to Arabi [...].-Character of the Arabs, and De­scription of A [...]abia.—Bany [...]n's Ridiculous Notions. —Customs of the Women.—A curious Intrigue—Mr. Montague is apprehended, and carried before the Governour.

MR. Montague, as usual, was not long satisfied ei­ther with remaining in one place, or with one woman; he therefore packed up his baggage, that is, all but his spouse; for he deemed a wife a cumber­some commodity to travel with, and determined to pro­ceed towards Arabia.

[Page 123]It is remarkable that this country hath always pre­served its ancient name; for the word Arab signifies [...] robber, and robbers the Arabians always were, and still remain so.

It is well known that Arabia is divided into three parts, viz. Arabia Petraea or stony, Desarta or desart, and Felix or happy, and that the celebrated mountains Sinai and Horeb are in Arabia Petr [...]a, cast of the Red Sea.

The desart part of Arabia is a most horrid place, composed of immense plains of sand, and diversified only by frightful craggy mountains, or rocks.

These plains of sand are sometimes moved by hurri­canes, in the same dreadful manner as the waves of the sea are by storms. Beneath these terrible m [...]ptaips of sand, whole caravans have sometimes been [...]

The southern parts of Arabia are indeed deservedly called the happy, as the air is exceedingly temperate, and the soil fertile, producing balm of gilead, my [...]h, manna, cassia, aloes, frankincense, and other valuable gums; the finest spices, and the most delic [...]bus fruits. But Arabia Felix is most celebrated for i [...] coffea and dates.

At the Arabians live in a wild manner, and contin­ually rove about from place to place, they pitch their tents sometimes as conveniency and sometimes as whim directs them.

This occasions a [...]igious scarcity of towns in this immense country, as there are none worth observation except Mocho, Aden, Muchat, and Suez, (trading ci­ties;) and Mecca, and Medina, the cities whither the Mahometan pilgrims resort; the first being the place of Mahomet's birth, and the latter of his burial. Every Mussulman [...] obliged by his religion to visit Mecca once in his lifetime, or send a deputy.

[Page 124]The Banvans, who are Originally Indians, but nu­merous in Arabia, have many whimsical religious no­tions; particularly when they are dying they are de­sirous of nothing so much as to hold a cow by the tail, to the end that their souls may enter into the body of that beloved animal, which is the great object of their adoration.

Mr. Montague took up his abode for some days at Mocha; here he observed that the women [...]ldom ap­pear in the day time: in the evening, however, they were allowed more liberty, and generally form them­selves into small parties to go upon visits. He has fre­quently met them at twelve o'clock at night, or one in the morning, in groupes; but as soon as they perceived a man, they would turn their faces close to the wall, and remain in that position till he was passed by.

Mr. Montague lived next door to a considerable merchant who used to trade to Surat.

This merchant had a daughter of about sixteen, who, though like others of that country, of a swarthy com­plexion, might be deemed a very agreeable brunette; her features were regular, her eyes full of fire and vi­vacity, and her limbs were formed with the utmost symmetry.

Our hero had built a little lodge upon a terrace, ex­actly opposite to this lady's chamber window, in order to enjoy the cool breezes which came from the sea bet­ter than he could do in the house.

Here he frequently amused himself by playing upon the German flute, wich he did to admiration.

The lady who was concealed from his view by a lat­tice, one day lifted up the lattice while he was playing, when he had a full view or her, and was struck with something in her features and manner, that appeared inexpressibly engaging.

[Page 125]He saluted her by touching his turban, in the man­ner of the country; she blushed, but returned his courtesy.

He made a practice now of going daily to the ter­race, and playing some of the most melting tunes he knew.

She was always attentive to the music, seemed highly delighted with it, and frequently opened the lattice to look at our hero.

He one day displayed to her view a great number of ribbons, some glass toys, and a looking glass, intimating at the same time by signs, that they were at her service, provided he could by any means convey them to her.

She understood his meaning perfectly well, and pre­sently dispatched a black female slave to his house, to whom he gave them, together with a letter for the young lady, written in the Arabic language, and filled with the most passionate expressions.

The lady seemed highly delighted with the presents, as she opened the lattice to thank him by signs.

At night when he had retired to rest, he heard a loud knocking at the door, he ordered a Greek slave, whom he had bought several years before, and who acted in the capacity of his valet, to go and see the oc­casion of the disturbance.

The fellow had no sooner opened the door, than sev­eral soldiers rushed in, a [...]d making towards Mr. Monta­gue's chamber ordered him to dress himself immediate­ly, and attend them to the governor.

CHAPTER XXXVIII. The whimsical Charge against Mr. Montague—The al­ternative offered him.—Is married to the Arabian Lady.—Escapes from Arabia.

OUR hero could not conjecture on what account he was apprehended, nor could he get any informa­tion from the soldiers, who said they had received orders to seize him, but for what reason they could not tell.

When he came before the governor, he shewed the Grand Signior's passport and protection.

The governor however, treated them very lightly, and informed our hero, that they were given to protect him from the outrages of others, but not to screen him in injuring others with impunity.

He begged to know who he had injured, as he was not sensible that he had given the least offence to any person.

A slave was then dispatehed to call the person who was to exhibit the charge against him, from another apartment.

In a short time his next door neighbour, the Surat merchant appeared.

The mystery was now explained; he presently un­derstood that the crime alledgcd against him, was mak­ing presents, and writing to that gentleman's daughter, and having seen her face to face.

The governor informed him, that they were most hei­nous offences; that now he had seen the young lady, and made her presents, nobody else would marry her; [Page 127] that therefore he must either marry her himself, or lose both his eyes.

As this was the alternative, the reader may easily con­ceive the choice, which a man of our hero's constitution would naturally make. He did not hesitate a moment to consent to the marriage.

He was immediately discharged; all parties were re­conciled, and the nuptials were soon after solemnized.

The marriage ceremony was the same as that among the Turks, with this addition, that the bride presents the husband with a bearded arrow, which she calls her por­tion. This present is meant to seal the fidelity of her promise, as she gives him an instrument to use, either against herself, it she should prove untrue, or against them who should assault her virtue.

When as usual, he grew tired of his Arabian wife, he found more difficulty in getting rid of her than he had ever done with respect to any of the former. As a foreigner he was naturally suspected, and the idea of having been compelled to marry, increased the suspi­cions of the Arabians.

He soon perceived that he was bu [...] a prisoner at large, and that all his wife's relations, and even his neighbours, were so many spics upon him; the reflections which such a situation naturally gave rise to, were exceedingly disagreeable, and being under a consciousness of restraint the time appeared extremely irksome.

At length an English East-India ship arrived in the port, his spirits began to revive at the event, and he now conceived hopes of a speedy deliverance, from what he deemed an absolute captivity.

He soon let the captain understand who he was, inti­mated the nature of his consine [...]ent, and expressed the desire he had to regain his liberty.

[Page 128]The captain promised to do him every service that lay in his power; but the utmost precaution was neces­sary. On account of an English ship being in the port, he was more closely watched than ever.

The captain having taken a house near the strand, our hero repaired to it, when he was on the eve of depart­ing from Mocho. He was sent on board the ship in a chest, with holes bored in it to give him air, and his de­parture was not even suspected untill the ship was un­der weigh.

Indeed he was obliged to leave the property he had at Mocho behind him; but that he thought but trisling, when set in competition with the liberty he obtained.

During the voyage they met a ship bound to Constan­tinople; he immediately went on board this vessel af­ter making the captain of the East-India ship a present of a draft on a banker at London, for his civility, and being the instrument of his deliverance as he termed it.

He soon arrived at Constantinople, the emporium of the eastern part of the world, and our hero's favourite metropolis.

CHAPTER XXXIX. Journey from Grand Cairo to the written Mountains in the desart of Sinai, performed and written by E. W. Montague. Esq.

MR. Montague, ever restless in his disposition, made another excursion into Egypt.

From Grand Cairo he set out on a journey to the celebrated written mountains in the desart of Sinai. But [Page 129] as he has given an ample account of that journey in a letter to the Royal Society, we shall transcribe his own words.

A letter from Edward Wortley Montague,Esq. F. R. S. to William Williamson, M. D. F. R. S. containing an account of his journey from Cairo in E­gypt, to the written mountains in the desart of Sinai, re­ceived January 3 d, and read before the Royal Society, March 13, 1776.

"It is with a good deal of difficulty that I have pre­vailed upon myself to write to you, for as coming now to Italy was quite unforeseen, and I am immediately going back to the east, I have not my journal with me, but luckily have the famous inscription. I am sensiple every paper I send to the Royal Society, exposes more and more my incapacity; however, as these inscrip­tions are much wanted, I cannot avoid sending them. I shall only speak to some of the points the bishop of Clogher mentions, but cannot avoid being now and then a little prolix.

I sat out from Cairo by the road known by the name of Tauricke Beni Israel; after twenty-four hours trav­elling, at about three miles an hour, we passed by an opening in the mountains on our right hand, viz, the mountains Maxattec. There are two more roads, one to the northward of this, which the Mecca pilgrims go, and one to the south between the mountains, but never travelled, (as it does not lead to Saez, which is thirty hours march from Cairo,) Through this breach the children of Israel are said to have entered the moun­tains; and not to have taken the most southern road, which I think most probable; for those valleys, to judge by what are now seen, could not be passable for Pharaoh's chariots. This breach, the inhabitants told me, leads directly to a plain called Badeah, which, in Arabic signifies something new or extraordinary, as the beginning of every thing is new which was not be­fore known.

[Page 130]At Suez I found an opportunity of going to Tor, by sea, which I gladly embraced; that by going nearer the place, at which the Israelites are supposed to have en­tered the gulph, and having a view from the sea as well an that of the opposite shore, I might be a little better [...]ble to form a judgment about it; besides, I was wil­ling to have the views, bearings, and soundings, which I took.

When we were opposite to Badeah, it seemed to me (for I was not on shore) a plain capable of containing the lsraelites, with a small elevation in the middle of it. I saw something too like ruins; the captains and pilots told me, that this was the place where the Is­raelites entered the sea, and the ruins were those of a convert (I suppose built on the spot in commemoration of the fact;) they added that there was good water there. There is here a strong current, which sets to the opposite shore, about south-east; it forms by its strength a whirlpool, where the sailors said ships were lost, if forced into it for want of wind, by a current. This pool is about six miles northward of Cape Karon­eel, and just below this pool there is a sand, a flat is­land at low water, which runs east and west about three miles. This sand, I suppose, is thrown up by the force of the curent, and the same current by the resistance it meets with from this bank, being forced back into the ravity made by this excavation, forms the whirlpool. This pool it called Birque Pharoone, the pool or well of Pharaoh, and here they affirm his host was destroy­ed. I shall say more of this, as I travel back by land. We came to an anchor in is fathom wather, within a mile and a half of the shore, to the so thward of this sand, and in the Birque Karondel, to the northward of the cape; here the eastern shore is already mountain­ous, which near this place is a sandy beach. The E­gyptian shore from Suez to Badeah is likewise rocky and steep, so that there is no entering upon the gulph from that shore, but at Bddeah or Suez.

[Page 131]It is high water always when the moon is at her mo­ridian height, and it ebbs six hours. At Suez it flows six feet, the spring tidies are nine, and in the variable months, from the beginning of November to the end of April, sometimes twelve. From the beginning of May to the beginning of October a northerly wind gen­erally rises, and goes down with the sun; it is often very strong. This wind never fails in these months, unless there be some violent storm. The rest of the year the winds are variable, and when they blow hard at S. and S. S. E. these winds set up the sea through the narrow streight of Babel Mandel, and up this gulph through its mouth, between C [...]bel at Zait on the west side of this sea, and the southernmost point of the bay of Tor, on the east side of this western branch of this sea, where it is not above twelve or fourteen miles over. I suppose such a wind hindering the water from going out, causes this extraordinary increase in the spring tides. The same thing happens with the same winds at Venice, both gulphi running nearly in the same direction.

The Egyptian, westerm, or Thebaic shore, from Ba­deah southward to opposite Tor, on the eastern shore, is all mountainous and steep, and at Elim, the north­ernmost point of the bay of Tor, ends the ridge of mountains, which begin on the eastern shore of this western branch at Karondel. I say nothing of Elim or Tor, or the marine productions of this gulph, as this paper is intended to give an account of Sharme, Meenah el Dazhab Kadesh Barnea, the stone which Moses strucle twice, and the inscriptions; I however must say, that from this place Mount Sinai, properly so called, cannot be seen, but only the ridge or groupe of mountains in which it is, and which altogether form that part of this tongue of land, called in general Mount Sinai, The garden of the monks of Mount Sinai at Elim, renders in dates, &c. 20,000 piastres per annum, or 2,500 pounds.

[Page 132]We from thence crossed the plain in about eight hours, and entered the mountains of Sinai; they are of granite of different colours. At the entrance of the narrow breach through which we passed; I saw on a large loose granite stone, an inscription in unknown characters, given, I think, by Doctor Po [...]ock, bishop of Ossory. However as the Israelites had no writing that we know of, when they passed here, I did not think it of consequence enough to stop for. The Arabs told me it was relative to a battle fought here between A­rabs, and indeed I did not see what points of history it can illustrate, besides, there are not above five or six words. We arrived at the convent of Mount Sinai, after the usual difficulties mentioned by other travellers, were received as usual, and saw the usual places. I must say that the monks were far from owning to me, that they had ever meddled with the print of the foot of Mahomet's camel. I examined it narrowly, and no chissel has absolutely ever touched it; for the coat of the granite is intire, and unbroke in every part; and every body knows, that if the coat of less hard stones than granite is once destroyed, it never returns. It is a most curious lusus natura, and the Mahometans turn it to their use.

Meribah is, indeed surprizingly striking; I examined the lips of its mouth, and found that no chissel had ever worked there. The channel is plainly worn by only the course of water, and the bare inspection of it is suffi­cient to convince any one it is not the work of a man; amongst the innumerable cracks in rocks, which I have seen in this as well as other parts of the world, I never met with any like this, except that at Jerusalem, and the two which are in the rock which Moses struck twice, of which hereafter.

I had enquired of the captain and the two pilots of our ship, about Sharme and Dzahab, on the western shore of the eastern branch of the Red Sea; they told me that they were often forced up the Elanitic gulf, the eastern branch of the Red Sea, and generally went to [Page 133] Sharme, and sometimes as high as Dzahab. That they generally ran from Cape Mahomet, the southermost part of the peninsula, between those two gulfs to sharme in fix hours; because they made as much more way as they commonly do, they very seldom going there but in a storm. They generally run four knots, so that makes 48 miles, which brings it to the northward of Tor. Tor is in latitude 27 deg 55 min. Cape Mahomet 30 southward, latitude 27 deg. 25 min. Sharme 48 miles, nearly north latitude 23 deg. 13 min. consequently about north-east of Sinai. The port is pretty large, surround­ed by mountains, the entrance very narrow, and the wa­ter deep quite to the rocks, which are so very steep that a stone dropped from the summit falls into the bason. No wind can be felt here; they do not cast anchor, but fasten their cables to the rocks. There is good water; some habitations are found on the sides of the moun­tains, and a pretty large village at top. This seems to answer the idea of Nest-Ken.

Dzahab lies as high again up the gulf, so 48 miles more, or in lat. 29 deg. This port is considerably lar­ger than the former, and very good, but not so closely surrounded with mountains; it is however safe. There is a well of great antiquity, with very good water; very considerable ruins are found, and they say there was a great city formerly, but no inhabitants now, except an Arabian camp of 2000 men. There is a road from it to Jerusalem, formerly much frequented. Thus far the captain and pilots. I enquired from the Monks as well as Arabs, about these places, as well as about the ruins, supposed by my learned friend the bishiop of Ossory, to be Kadesh Barnea. The former could only tell me, they had not received any fish from thence many years; that it was two easy days journey off, but the road was mountainous; so one may [...]uppose the distance less than 40 miles. The Arabs agreed as to the road, but they said it was once a large place, where their prince lived, whose daughter Moses married; that Moses, was after­wards their prince, and the greatest of all prophets.

[Page 134]These Arabs place Moses the first, Solomon the se­cond, Mahomet the third, Christ the fourth, and then the prophets of the bible. As to Dzahab the monks only knew the distance to be four days journey, and that there was a rond from it to Jerusalem; (the Arabs told me the same) so the distance is about 80 miles, I enquired of them all about the ruins. They told me there were confiderable ones about half way to Dzahab, about 40 miles from Sinai; but I should think Kadesh must have been much nearer to Jerusalem. I would willingly have gone to these places, but as the four clans of Arabs, which inhabit this promontory, were then at war with the other, I could get no conductor. In any other journey I hope to be more lucky, or this is all hearsay; however, combining the whole together, and comparing it with what we collect from scripture, I think we may conclude Sharme to be Midian, and Mee­nah el Dzahab to be Eziongeber; what the interjacent ruins are, I cannot, conjecture; but I believe have found Kadesh Barnea to be elsewhere; I think it cannot be here, for the Israelites were on the borders of the holy land, or land of promise, when they were ordered back, and when they were stopped by the Moabites. They are said to have been brought up from Kadesh Barnea, and I meet with no place in sacred writing, or any an­cient geographer, neither Strabo nor any other, that draw the line between this promontory and the land of promise so low down; nor could they do it, as these ruins are within almost 70 miles of the extremity of it.

There and two roads from mount Sinai to Jerusalem, the one through Pharan, the other by the way of Dza­hab. That through Pharan, is eleven days journey, two to Phatah, three to a station of the Mecca pilgrims, cal­led Shei [...]h Ali, and one and a half to some considerable ruins; all this northward. From thence four and some­thing moral to Jerusalem, by the way of Hebron, leav­ing the Asphal [...]ic lake on the night hand, to the, south-east: The other way is longer, on account of the road being more mountainous; that too passes the same ru­ [...], and also Seheich Ali.

[Page 135]I enquired about this when I was at Jerusalem, and received the very same account with this addition, that such Mahometans as went from Jerusalem to Mecca, went that way to join the Cairo car [...] at S [...]heich Ali. This seems to be a situation opposite Kadesh Barnea, as the line drawn by all the geographers; it is without mount Sinai, (taken for this whole tract) and just before the Moabites, as the children of Israel passed by mount Hor, now Acaba, leaving the Asphaltic lake on their left hand to the north-west. The tradition too of the Arabs is, that they passed this way; therefore I think Kadesh Barnea must be near this spot. There are here considerable ruins, and I know of no city that ever was here, for Petra lay more to the east, Asphaltic lake and and the Elanitic gulf. To leave no enquiry wanting, I asked the rabbins of Jerusalem where they placed Ka­desh Barnea, and they said these ruins.

We set out from mount Sinai by the way of Scheich Salem, and after we had passed Mahomet's stone, came to the beautiful valley mentioned in the journal. I lay there, and did not set out before day light, that I might not pass the rock which Moses struck twice; I searched and enquired of my Arabs, but could neither hear nor see any thing of it. I saw several short inscriptions stained on some parts of the mountains; the characters being the same as those on mount Sinai, Meribah, &c. given by the bishop of Ossory. About four miles before we arrived at Pharan, we passed through a remarkable breach in a rock, each side of it is perpendicular as a wall, about 80 feet high, and the breach is about 40 broad. It is at this breach I imagine, the Horites were smote, four miles beyond the present ruins of Pharan, for having passed this breach, they could make a stand, nor could they be pursued. Here on the tops of the mountains, to our right hand, were ruins of buildings, and one seemed a castle. From Meribah to near this place we had always rather d [...]s [...]ended.

In most places there is the bed of a stream, and after rain the water runs; but a little before we came to this [Page 136] breach, it winded off towards the west; for the waters fall into that part of the desart, we crossed from Tor. Between thin breach and Pharan there are several springs and one at Pharan, where we encamped. There is the bed of the river mentioned by the journal; the tradi­tional account of which agrees with what is said by St. Paul. Waters seem to have run from Meribah, to within about six miles of this place; the bed of a stream is here again very plain, and a spring at the upper end of it, which does not yield water enough to make a stream, the bed then is dry; four vallies terminate here, and form a large area. I enquired about the road to Je­rusalem; the people agreed in the distance and ruins.

We travelled in the bed of the river through the val­ley, to the north, and in about half an hour the sight and appearance of a large stone, not unlike Meribah, which lay at some distance from the mountain on our right hand which struck me; and I also observed, it had ina­ny small stones upon it. The Arabs, where they have any stone or spot in veneration, as Makowict's stone and the like, after their devotion, lay some smooth stone upon it. I asked what it was, they told me hagar Mousa, the stone of Moses. I told them that could not be, for that lay in Rephidim; they said that was true, but this was hagar il ck [...]ta [...]ain, the stone of the two strokes; that he struck it twice, and more water came from it than from Meribah, witness the river. The bed of the river, winds to the eastward, about E. S. E. I asked how far it went; they said this bed ran by Sch [...]ich Ali to those ruins, and quite away to the sea; so the river must have began here and not at Pharan, and the bed from Pharan is here only formed, I suppose by win­ter torrents. If this be the bed of the river mentioned by St. Paul, as I dare say it is, we have the second rock. If it run to the ruins, they will be pretty plainly those of Kadesh Barnea, and if it coutinue in the same course to the sea, it is probably the river at Rinocolur [...] suppo­sed by Eratostenes to be formed by the Arabian laker. because he did not know its miraculous head. This river is doubted of by Stra [...], because d [...]ed up to the [Page 137] source from the time the Israelites entered the land of promise, and the tradition was then lost. Pardon this bold conjecture, but it conciliates and coincides sacred history with ancient geography. This too seems a proof that it is really the second struck rock; as to the springs between the beach and Pharan, they certainly did not exist in the time of Moses, or if they did, they would have been as nothing to so many people.

We went down a large valley to the west, towards the sea, and passed the head of a valley, a part of the desart of Sin, which separates the mountains of Pharan from those which run along the coast, and the same plain which we had passed from Tor. We had scarce entered these mountains and travelled an hoar, when af­ter passing a mountain, where there were visible marks of an extinguished subterranean fire, we saw on our left hand a small rock with some unknown characters cut on it, not stained upon it, as those hitherto met with, and in ten minutes we entered a valley, six miles broad, running nearly north and south, with all the rocks which [...]nclose it on the west side covered with characters. These are called gebel el macataab, the written moun­tains. On exa [...]mning these characters, I was greatly dis­appointed in finding; them every where interspersed with figures of men and beasts, wnich convinced me they were not written by the Israelites, for if they had been after the publication of the law. Moses could not permit them to engrave images, so immediately after he had re­ceived the second commandment. If they went this way and not along the coast they had then no charac­ters that we know of, unless some of them were shilled in hieroglyphics, and th [...]se have no connexion with them. It will be difficult to guess what these inscrip­tions are; if con [...]cture be permitted, I will give my weak thoughts. They cannot have been written by Is­raelites, or Mahometans, for the above reason, and if by Mahometans they would have some resemblance to some sort of C [...]phic characters which w [...]re the characters us­ed in the Arabic language before the in [...] of the present Arabic letters.

[Page 138]The first M. S. S. of the Alcoran were in Cuphic. There is a fine one at Cairo, which I could not pur­chase, as it is in the principal mosque, and the iman would not steal it for me under 400 sequins, 200 pounds. These have not the least resemblance of them. Saracen characters are very unlike; I think it not im­probable that they were written in the first ages of Chris­tianity, when pilgrimages from Jerusalem to Mount Sinai were fashionable, consequently frequent and nu­merous, by the new Christian Jews who believed in Christ. Therefore I should believe them Hebrew cha­racters, used vulgarly by the Jews, about the time of Christ. I shewed them at Jeruslem to the rabbins; they were of the same opinion. It seems much easier to say what the inscriptions are not, than what they are. They can scarce be of St. Helen's time, for they would have some analogy with Greek characters, and they have none. Perhaps some gentlemen think them ancient E­gyptian, written by the colony, which, they suppose, went to inhabit China; but such colony, if ever there was such a one, probably went the strait road, from the head of one gulf, to the head of the other, from Hiero­polis to Eloth, the way the Mecca pilgrims now go. This place would have been far out of their way, being at least. sixty miles to the south of the pilgrims' road, unless they were supposed to have had transports at Dza­hab or Sharme. Here are on other parts of this rock, some Greek and Arabic, as well as Saracen inscriptions, and an Hebrew one. The Saracens and Arabic only say, "Such an one was here at such a time." The same say the Greek ones, except one, which says, as I remember, for I have it not with me, ‘The evil geni­us of the army wrote this,’ which can only prove that some body of the Greeks were worsted here.

The third day from this place, travelling westward, we encamped at Sarondon, as the journal calls it, but it is Karondel, where are the bitter waters Marah. I tri­ed if the branches of any of the trees had any effect on the water, but found none; so the effect mentioned in [Page 139] scripture must have been miraculous. These waters at the spring, are somewhat bitter and brackish; but on every foot run over, the sand is covered with bituminous salts, grown up by the excessive heat of the sun; they acquire much saltness and bitterness, and very soon be­come not potable. The place at which the ships cast anchor, is below the s [...]nd, which I mentioned before, near the the [...]irque Karondel.

After nine hours and a half march we arived and en­camped at the desart of Shur or Sour. The constant tradition is, that the Israelites afcended from the sea here; this is opposite to the plain Badeah, to which the above-mentioned pass in the mountains leads. From this place the openings in the mountain appear a great crack, and may be called a mouth, taking Hiroth for an apellative: however, I should rather adopt the signifi­cation of liberty. It could hardly have been necessary for the Israelites to pass the sea, if they were within two or three miles of the northern extremity of the gulf. The space of, at most, two miles, the brea [...]th of the gulf at Suez, and at most, three feet deep, at low water, for it is then constantly waded over, could not have con­tained so many people of drowned Pharaoh's army. There would have been little necessity for his cavalry and chariots to precipitate themselves after a number of people, on foot, incumbered with their wives, children, and baggage, when they could soon have overtaken them by going so little about. These reasons, added to the significant names of the places, Tauriche Ben Israel, road of the children of Israel, Attacah, deliverance, Phahi­roth, whether an appellative or signative, Budeah, new thing or miracle, [...]aohorel Poloum, sea of destruction, convince me that the Israelites entered the sea at Bade­ah, and no where else. Besides, all the rest of the coast from Suez and below Badeah is steep rocks, so there must have been another miracle to descend.

The current too sets from this place where we en­camped, towards the opposite sho [...], into the pool Bir­que [Page 140] Pharaone, pool of Pharaoh, where the tradition is, his host was drowned; a current formed, I suppose, by the rushing and falling of one watery wall on the other, and driving it down; a current, perhaps, by God per­mitted to remain ever since in memoriam re [...]; in me­mory of the thing. The distance to the bitter waters is about 30 miles. The Ain Mousa, which the Israelites would have met with if they had passed at Suez, and the coast from hence south about a mile to Tor, being all rocky and steep, induced me to believe that they en­tered the Red Sea at Badeah, and ascended from it here. If any thing I have said can in the least support that re­velation, to which I declare myslf a friend, even in this enlightened age, I shall be very happy; or if this trip of mine can be of any use whatever, as I had great pleasure in it, I may truly say with Horace, Omne tu [...]t punctum, &c.

The denomination I believe, only regards the Hic [...]a­politic branch, as the marine productions, Madrepores, &c. which form admirable torrents in the bottom of it, are not in the Elanitic branch or gulf. I mean the broad part below Cape Mahomet: no more than that western branch was known to the Israelites at the time of their passage; if it was to the Egyptians. But the name de­scended to the whole, as their knowledge of it. The Red Sea seems to regard the broad part alone. For though there are not the above sea production, yet there is so great a quantity of the tube coral (not found in the western part of the Hierapolitic gulf) and such rocks, as one may say of them, that the Gidda ships fasten them­selves to them instead of casting anchor. It is of a deep red, so that possibly the first navi [...]ors entering at the streight of Babel Mandel, from the red they saw, cal­led it the Red Sea, and that name descended to the whole with their navigation. This sea is tempesluous and full of shoals. There is no harbour an the Arabian coast after Tor, except one; I mean between Suez and Gidda, or Mecca, which is a day and a half from Gidda. Gidda is its port, and there is only one on the other [Page 141] coast, Ca [...]re; but it is a very bad one, however, ships sometimes go thither, and caravans cross the country to Morshout.

The ships are as the bishop of Ossory has described them; the helm is on the outside, as I suppose with his lordship, St. Paul's was. They make use of but [...]o [...]r fails, and no compass, nor do they ever cast the lead, they fail only by day-light from anchoring place to anchoring place, and are not above two day out of sight of land, from Cape Mahomet to the Arabian main. If a gale happen they are often lost about one in ten every year.

I shall be glad to be honoured with the society's com­mands, and in communicating this you will oblige,

Pisa, Dec. 2, 1765."

CHAPTER XL. Mr.Sharp's Character of our Hero.—His Health de­clines—Determines to revisit England—A Sch [...] to disappoint his Relation.—Advertisement [...]er a Wife. —Dies at Venice.

AFTER this excursion to the written mountains, we find that Mr. Montague revisited Italy: since the ingenious Mr. Samuel Sharp, in his letters from Italy, in the year 1767, makes the following mention of him.

‘One of the most curious sights amongst the curiosi­ties at Venice, was the famous Mr. Montague. He was just arrived from the cast, he had travelled [Page 142] through the Holy Land, Egypt, Armenia, &c. with the Old and New Testament in his hands, he had visited Mount Sinai, and flattered himself he had been on the very part of the rock where Moses spake face to face with God Almighty: his beard reached down to his breast, and the dress of his head was Ar­menian. He was in the most enthusiastick raptures with Arabia and the Arabs: his bed was the ground, his food rice, his beverage water, his luxury a pipe and coffee.’

This abstemious method of living in imitation of the Arabs and Armenians, our hero adopted in the latter part: of his life, for he had formerly indulged himself in all the luxuries and sensualities of the east.

Having rather blunted the edge of his curiosity hy continual travel, he resided several years at Constantino­ple. With respect to eating and drinking he affected great temperance, but he was never without a seraglio filled with the beauties of Georgia, Circassia, and Greece; as he deemed a plurality of women consonant to the cus­toms of the patriarchal ages of which he was so fond.

At length growing very infirm, he began to fear an approaching dissolution; this determined him once more to revisit England, in order to settle his temporal con­cerns. He reflected with considerable chagrin, that his sister, the wife of the present Earl of Bute was his heir at law. For his enmity to that nobleman and his family continued, or rather, had im realed with his years, and he seemed to have gath [...]d additional malignity by time.

By his several wives and con [...]ubines he had several children, but was sensible that they could lay no legal claim to his estate after his demise, on account of his pri­or marriage with the pretty washer wom [...]n, who had ne­ver been pregnant by him.

But a letter he received from England gave him new [Page 143] spirits, for it informed him of the death of the washer­woman, his first wife, who had, till this, lived in the country upon her annuity, in a very i [...]ssensive and reti­red manner.

On the receipt of this intelligence, a thought struck his imagination, which gave him a sensible satisfaction, as it presented him with the idea of throwing his estate into another channel, and disappointing those obnoxious relations who were in sanguine expectation of its falling to them.

His scheme was to marry some young woman of indi­gent circumstances, who was pregnant that the child be­ing born in wedlock, might become his heir. For he was too sensible of his own imbecillity from age and infirmities to suppose he should ever have a child of his own.

Warm with the idea of this novel method of shewing the most permanent resentment to those he so much dis­relished, he wrote to a friend in England to procure a proper young woman in a state of pregnancy, with all possible expedition.

This request to his friends occasioned an advertisement to be inserted in the morning papers.

In consequence of this advertisement several unfortu­nate fai [...] ones applied, who had been more prolific than their circumstances rendered convenient, and having been forsaken by their faithless swains, thought by the tenor of the advertisement that it was a favorable oppor­tunity to alleviate their misfortunes.

Four of these were selected for our hero's choice. The first being in the third; the second in the fourth; the third in the fifth; and the fourth in the sixth month of her pregnancy.

[Page 144]They were informed that the person whose happiness it should be to be chosen by Mr. Montague, would have a genteel settlement for life; besides the child of which she was pregnant becoming by the marriage heir to a con­siderable estate; and that the three whose fortune it was to be rejected, would have a present of 200 pounds each. Perfectly satisfied with this, they were sent to France, in in order to proceed to Paris, where Mr. Montague was to meet them, that the hymeneal election might be made with all possible expedition; but the ladies were all dis­appointed, as Mr. Montague did not reach Paris, being seized at Venice with a malignant fever, which carried him off in a few days. Thus his relations who were so obnoxious to him, were much more befriended by for­tune, than by his age or impotency.