while "purest of the pure"; which was equally pleasant for herself and for Mr. Montagu. She wrote more letters, with fewer punctuation marks, than any Englishwoman of her day; and her nephew, the fourth Baron Rokeby, nearly blinded himself in deciphering the two volumes of undated correspondence which were printed in 1810. Two more followed in 1813, after which the gallant Baron either died at his post or was smitten with despair; for sixty-eight cases of letters lay undisturbed for the best part of a century, when they passed into Miss Climenson's hands. This intrepid lady received them—so she says—with "unbounded joy"; and has already published two fat volumes, with the promise of several others in the near future. "Les morts n'écrivent point," said Madame de Maintenon hopefully; but of what benefit is this inactivity, when we still continue to receive their letters?
Miss Elizabeth Carter, called by courtesy Mrs. Carter, was the most vigorous of Mrs. Montagu's correspondents. Although a lady of learning, who read Greek and had dipped into Hebrew, she was far too "humble and
