

#Mary Pendarves's letters to Ann Granville about her visit to Killala, 1732


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Mary Pendarves's letters to Ann Granville about her visit to Killala, 1732
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Author: Mary Pendarves
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Lady Augusta Hall LlanoverElectronic edition compiled by Beatrix Färber

Proof corrections by Beatrix Färber

Funded by University College, Cork, School of History 1. First draft.Extent of text: 13625 words#### Publication


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 (2014) Distributed by CELT online at University College, Cork, Ireland.  
Text ID Number: E730001-001Availability [RESTRICTED] 
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#### Notes

CELT is indebted to C.J. Woods, formerly of the R.I.A., for drawing our attention to these documents in 2012.

#### Sources


**Manuscript source**2. National Library of Wales, correspondence and papers.
**Edition**2. See below.
**Literature/Further reading**2. Sir James Ware, Antiquities and History of Ireland (London/Dublin 1705).
3. Letters from Mrs Delany to Mrs Frances Hamilton (1820).
4. Samuel Lewis, A Topographical Dictionary of Ireland, comprising the several counties, cities, boroughs, corporate, market, and post towns. Parishes, and villages, with historical and statistical descriptions (...) (London 1837). [Available online at http://www.libraryireland.com/topog/index.php].
5. Samuel Carter Hall, Ireland: its scenery, character etc. 3 volumes (London 1841–43) [Available online at http://www.askaboutireland.ie/reading-room/digital-book-collection/digital-books-by-subject/history-of-ireland/hall-ireland-its-scenery-/].
6. George Paston, Mrs. Delany (Mary Granville): a memoir, 1700–1788. Compiled by George Paston, with seven portraits in photogravure (London 1900).
7. Colwyn Edward Vulliamy, Aspasia: the life and letters of Mary Granville, Mrs. Delany (1700–1788) (London 1935).
8. Simon Dewes, Mrs. Delany (London [1940]).
9. Ruth Hayden, Mrs Delany: her life and flowers (1980).
10. Viola Barrow, 'Mary Delany, 1700–1788', Dublin Historical Record 42 (1989) 106–113.
11. Angélique Day (ed), Letters from Georgian Ireland: the correspondence of Mary Delany, 1731–68. Foreword by Sybil Connolly (Belfast 1991).
12. Ruth Hayden, Mrs Delany and her flower collages (London 1992).
13. Patrick Kelly, 'Anne Donnellan: Irish proto-Bluestocking', Hermathena, 154 (1993), 39–68.
14. J. F. Thaddens, 'Mary Delany: model to the age', in: History, gender, and eighteenth century literature, ed. Beth Fowkes Tobin (University of Georgia Press, 1994), 113–40.
15. Betty Rizzo, Companions without vows: relationships among eighteenth-century British women (1994).
16. Patricia Deevy and Jane Hanly, Imitating nature: Mrs Mary Delany or 'Aspasia' (1700–1788), in: Mary Mulvihill (ed), Stars, shells and bluebells: women scientists and pioneers (Dublin 1997) 16–27.
17. Francesca Suzanne Wilde, London letters (1720–1728): written by Mary (Granville) Pendarves to her sister, Anne Granville, in Gloucester. A sequence from the autobiography and correspondence of Mary Delany, formery Mary Pendarves, née Granville (1700–1788) (York: University of York, 2003.)
18. Lisa L. Moore, 'Queer Gardens: Mary Delany's Flowers and Friendships', Eighteenth-Century Studies 39:1 (2005) 49–70.
19. Mark Laird and Alicia Weisberg-Roberts, Mrs. Delany and Her Circle (New Haven 2009).
20. On Mary Delany, (née Granville, married Pendarves) (1700-1788) see entry in Oxford DNB (online) written by Barbara Brandon Schnorrenberg [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/7442].
21. Explore Mary Delany's beautiful illustrations of 'Flora Danica' at the British Museum website: http://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection\_online/search.aspx?searchText=mrs+delany
22. On the editor, Lady Augusta Hall (née Waddington), baroness Llandover, see entry in Oxford DNB (online) written by Siân Rhiannon Williams: [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/39088].
**The edition used in the digital edition**2. **Lady Llandover**, [Mary Pendarves's letters to Ann Granville about her visit to Killala, 1732] in The autobiography and correspondence of Mary Granville, Mrs Delany, 1700–1788. , London , Bentley (1861–62) volume 1 page 348–357, 360–389

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The present text covers pages 348–357, 360–389 of volume 1, including letters written from Killala and other places, such as Nenagh.


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The electronic text represents the edited text. Text supplied by the editor is marked; her footnotes are retained. Where the editor inserts explanatory matter extraneous to the letters, this has been added to the footnotes too keep the div1 letter entries free of accretions. The CELT edition therefore contains more footnotes than the print edition. They have been numbered in sequence. In one case the explanatory matter contains a footnote; this has been put in square brackets. Words and phrases in languages other than English are tagged; dates are tagged. Personal and place-names are not encoded. The Bishop of Killala mentioned is Robert Clayton (1695–1758). His wife, Mrs Clayton, was né Katherine Donnellan, a daughter of the Lord Chief Justice James Donnellan.


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This text uses the DIV1 element to represent the Entry. ### Profile Description


Created: by Mary Pendarves, née Granville (1700–1788)
 Date range: 25 May to 30 October 1732.#### Use of language


##### Language: [EN] The text is in eighteenth-century English.


##### Language: [FR] Some words in the editor's notes are in French.


##### Language: [CY] Some words in the editor's notes are in Welsh.


##### Language: [GA] Some Irish words are retained in anglicized spelling.


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#### Corpus of Electronic Texts Edition: E730001-001


### Mary Pendarves's letters to Ann Granville about her visit to Killala, 1732: Author: Mary Pendarves




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p.348


To Mrs. Ann Granville.
----------------------


  
**Dangan**,


27 May, 1732
We left Dublin, last Thursday at twelve o'clock, stopped at a place called the **Pace**, where we bated ourselves and our horses. Miss Kelly and Letty Bushe accompanied us so far on our journey in a chaise, Mr. Usher, Nemmy Donnellan and Mr. Lloyd on horseback; those that we were to leave behind had most sorrowful faces. Phillis's love, and mine (that is Miss Kelly and Letty Bushe) played their parts very handsomely, and I should have been very glad could they have proceeded on the journey with us, but that was not practicable, so part we must, and did; at five o'clock I went in a chaise with my L*or*d Bishop; the evening was very pleasant, and the road very good.


Mr. Wesley took a walk to meet us two mile from his house; we got to our journey's end about eight o'clock, were received with a very hearty welcome; we shall not stay here longer than the latter end of next week. Our young men are not with us now, but are expected to day. The house is very large, handsome, and convenient, the situation not very pleasant, the country being flat about it, and great want of trees. Mr. Wesley is making great improvements of planting trees and making canals. You know the good people so well that belong to this place, that there is no occasion for me to say how agreeable they make their house, and they never fail of obliging me by enquiring after my dearest sister. The sweet little girls remember you and all your pretty ways. Miss Wesley does the honours of the house as well as if she was a woman. We live magnificently, and at the same time without



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ceremony. There is a charming large hall with an organ and harpsichord, where all the company meet when they have a mind to be together, and where music, dancing, shuttlecock, draughts, and prayers, take their turn. Our hours for eating are ten, three, and ten again; I am afraid I shall not be able to write to you again a great while, if I can once more before I leave **Dangan**[1](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note001.html')) I will, but what I shall do on the road I cannot tell, however I *will write* though I may run the hazard of a miscarriage by it; my brother I suppose is still with you. After this post I will not trust to that, because Sir John Stanley writ me word, he expected him soon to town. Our correspondence will have a cruel interruption till I am settled at **Killala**; tongues are already levelled at me for writing so much; let them scold on, I will find time to fill this sheet. I hope my dear sister will endeavour to make herself and my mama easy at my staying so much longer in Ireland than I at first designed, for I never had my health better in my life; this country agrees perfectly well with me. Sir John Stanley, I find by one of his letters, has been told that I am going to be married: I easily guessed the party though he did not name him; it is very likely the same report may reach your ears, — this is therefore to give you notice that it is altogether groundless. I cannot perform my promise of filling this sheet of paper; I am called off from my employment, but 'tis not in the power of mortal man or woman to call my thoughts from my dearest sister, who occupies all my tender faculties. My duty to dear mama.


Yours entirely, 
M. Pen.


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p.350


To Mrs. Ann Granville.
----------------------


  
**Newtown Gore***[2](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note002.html'))*,


12th June, 1732
We are now, my dear sister, within six mile of **Killala**. We came here on Saturday night, and are to decamp this morning. But before I say anything of this place or the person it belongs to, I must let you know all that has happened since I last wrote to you. This is the third letter I have addressed to you in my travels; my first was from Mr. Wesley, **Dangan**; the other was from Mr. Mahone, **Castlegar**. I hope you have received both those letters, that you may see that wherever I go you are still in mind; not that I believe you want a confirmation of



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that. Well, (as I was saying in my last to you), we went a-fishing to the most beautiful river that ever was seen, full of islands delightfully wooded. We landed on one of the islands belonging to the gentleman that carried us there — Mr. Mahone. A cloth was immediately spread on the grass under the shade of the trees, and within view of the winding of the river, great variety of provisions was produced. We sat ourselves down and partook very plentifully and merrily of the good cheer before us; our sweet Phill supplied the place of nightingales, and the weather favoured us. I often sighed that you were not there to share so agreeable an entertainment, for I think I have not met with anything since my being in Ireland that I have liked so well. We staid on the water till eight o'clock, then went to a cabin, which is such a thing as this thatched. It belongs to a gentleman of fifteen hundred pounds a year, who spends most part of his time and fortune in that place: the situation is pretty, being just by the river side, but the house *is worse* than I have represented. He keeps a man cook, and has given entertainments of twenty dishes of meat! The people of this country don't seem solicitous of having *good dwellings* or more furniture than is absolutely necessary — *hardly so much*, but they make it up in *eating and drinking!* I have not seen less than fourteen dishes of meat for dinner, and seven for supper, during my peregrination; and they not only treat us at their houses magnificently, but if we are to go to an inn, they constantly provide us with a basket crammed with good things: no people *can be more hospitable or obliging,* and there is not only great abundance but great order and neatness. All this by way of digression. We went to the above-mentioned cabin, where we had tea,


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wine, bread and butter, and might have had a supper would we have accepted of it. At nine we mounted our chaises and returned to Mr. Mahone's, where we had spent Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. On Tuesday we proceeded on our journey; that night lay at **Tuam**, where we had a very tolerable inn, where Mr. Loyd met us; his living is near **Killala**, and he is to be all the summer with us, which I am glad of, for he is a very good-humoured, well-behaved man. From **Tuam** we went to Mr. Bingham's, the name of the place **Castlebar**,[3](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note003.html')) where we staid Thursday and Friday. The house is a good old house, and Mr. Bingham is improving about it, so that in time it will be a very pretty place, there are very pretty shady lanes about it, at the end of them a wood; at some distance from the house there is a lough, which in our language is a lake.


The face of the country has very much improved since we left Mr. Mahone's, bogs less frequent, and pretty woods and water have supplied their place — a good exchange you'll say. The country of Ireland has no fault but want of inhabitants to cultivate it; the mountains and noble *loughs*, of which there are abundance, make a fine variety, but they *cut down all their woods* instead of preserving them here. Mr. Bingham and his lady are very agreeable people; he has been a great beau, and has seen a good deal of the world, is now turned perfect country gentleman, and affects bluntness and humour, which he manages so as to be very entertaining; Mrs. Bingham is very civil, and a smart woman. We left them on Saturday morning, travelled that day over very high mountains — a pretty romantic road. The roads are much better in Ireland than England,



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mostly causeways, a little jumbling, but *very safe*. We arrived at this place on Saturday about nine o'clock; 'tis an old castle *patched up* and very irregular, but well fitted up, and good handsome rooms within. The master of the house, Sir Arthur Gore,[4](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note004.html')) a jolly red-faced widower, has one daughter, a quiet thing that lives in the house with him; his dogs and horses are *as dear* to him as his children, his laugh is hearty, though his jests are coarse. His eldest son married a widow of great fortune, daughter to Mr. Saunders; her father I believe has something to do with Snowhill, for Sally writ to me about her father's having a mind to *plough up the hill,* and I hope soon I shall have an opportunity of doing him some service. Mrs. Gore is expected here, and I will not forget Sally. By the wall of this garden runs a river that ends in a lough, we rowed all over it yesterday; 'tis bounded by vast mountains, such as you never saw. As soon as I have finished this letter I must eat my breakfast, and then depart, for all things are ready.


Phill hopes she shall find a letter from you at **Killala**; you may now direct your letters to me there; you need say no more than *for me "at Killala, in Ireland."* The poverty of the people as I have passed through the country has made *my heart ache,* I never saw greater appearance of misery, they live in great extremes, either *profusely* or *wretchedly.*




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Mrs. Pendarves to Mrs. Ann Granville
------------------------------------


  
**Killala**,


21st June, 1732
**Killala** is a very pretty spot of ground; the house old, and indifferent enough, the sea so near us, that we can see it out of our window; the garden, which is laid out entirely for use, is pretty, — a great many shady walks and full-grown forest trees. The Bishop has added a field, and planted it in very good taste; there are abundance of green hills on one side of the garden, on the other a fine view of the Bay, and main ocean beyond it, and several pleasant islands. I have given already an account of our journey, and how my heart fluttered as I went further from you, but I must not turn my thoughts that way now, if I do I shall soon grow incapable of finishing my letter.


One day Miss Don, Miss Forth, Mr. Crofton, Mr. Lloyd, and your Penny, mounted their horses to take the air! We rode very pleasantly for a mile by a sweet river, were caught in a smart shower of rain, took shelter in a cabin as poor as that I described to you some time ago, the master of it the *greatest bear* that ever walked erect on two legs, his wife little better, and that man is absolutely worth two thousand pounds a year; *‘muck is his darling,’* poor miserable wretch! but, however, he had hospitality to receive us as civilly as his sort of manners would allow, made a good fire, and his wife gave us tea; the sky cleared, we took our leave, and returned home wisely moralizing all the way, and condemning the sordidness of the wretch we left behind us.


Last Sunday the Bishop gave us a very good sermon. Perhaps you think our cathedral a vulgar one, and that



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we have an organ and choir; no! *we* have no such popish doings, — a good parish minister and *bawling* of psalms is our method of proceeding! The church is neat, but you *would not dream* it was a cathedral! I suppose you never set your foot within a parish church, now you are placed so near the college. Monday we made visits to some of the townspeople; there are none better than Mrs. Herbert or some of her rank, which eases us of much ceremony. Tuesday we had a very clever expedition, — the Bishop and I in a chaise, Mrs. Clayton, Phill, and Miss Forth on horseback, Mr. Crofton, Mr. Lloyd, and another black coat made up the train. We went to a place about five miles off where the salmon fishery is,[5](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note005.html')) the house put me in mind of Redgate,[6](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note006.html')) in Cornwall, — the place mama used to be so fond of. We saw the river drawn as we stood in the garden, and a whole net full caught of salmon and trout. It was very good sport, but what was best of all, those salmon were dressed for our dinner, and we regaled very plentifully; we might have eat *beef, pig, lamb,* or *goose,* but we stuck to fish and left the flesh for vulgar mouths. Phill and I changed places when we returned home: the evening favoured us; part of our way home was over a pleasant strand. To-day we dined at one Mr. Palmer's, a gentleman that lives a mile off, the only very agreeable neighbour we



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have; he is a very good sort of man, has a handsome fortune, his wife a civil, gentle, agreeable woman: they are very fond of one another, but both melancholy in their dispositions; they were married some time and had no children, at last she had one son, which is so great a darling and so much spoiled, that I believe she'll repent of her wishing so earnestly as she did for a son. He is a fine boy, has great vivacity (the more likely to prove her plague); we had a very fine dinner; she played once very well on the harpsichord, but has left it off, and I am in hopes she will lend us her harpsichord as she has no use for it herself; we have staid longer than we intended.


I expect the post every minute, beside supper stays for me, which puts me into a hurry of the spirits. We rise at eight, meet altogether at breakfast at ten, after that sit to work, Phill holds forth, Zaide[7](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note007.html')) entertains us at present in French, — 'tis a pretty romance. How I love Belasive, Alphonzo's mistress, and pity him, though his folly wrought his destruction. We dine at three, set to work again between five and six, walk out at eight, and come home time enough to sit down to supper, by ten, very pretty chat goes round till eleven, then prayers, and so to bed.


How many of my waking and sleeping hours does my dearest sister occupy! I harassed mama with a long letter



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the post before last; I hope she received it. I have asked you twenty times about the Bishop of Gloucester,[8](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note008.html')) who he is and what he is? I must go — a cruel case. My humble duty and service to all as due. Phill croaks out as hoarse a note as she can by way of reproach for your ill usage of her correspondence. Had my paper been three ells long, I should have reached the bottom I verily believe, though *all the bishops* in the universe were *waiting supper for me.*


I am yours for ever and ever,


M. Pen.


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p.358




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p.360


Mrs. Pendarves to her sister Mrs. Ann Granville.
------------------------------------------------


  
**Killala**,


28 June, 1732
You have already had an account of our journey and safe arrival. You say nothing of my letter from Castle Gar (Mr Mahone's) so I supposed that has escaped you. Another you ought to receive from Sir Arthur Gore's. Poor Mrs Wilson! I am sorry for the shock her death must have given Sally, whose tenderness must sometimes take place of her wisdom, but I hope when she considers the great advantage her sister in all probability will receive by the exchange she has lately made, that she will be reconciled to the loss of a sister that has given her more woe than happiness; pray has Mrs. Wilson left any children? Whilst I am writing this letter my ears are dinged with the Irish howl, our window looks to the churchyard, and during the burial 


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service there is such a *confusion of howls*, that 'tis enough to distract one. The clouds interposes so much while we were at Dangan, that I could not play my homage to the planetary world, as I designed; but I forget myself, and I am talking like a mortal; though you must know that I am nothing less than Madam Venus, Mrs Clayton is Juno, Phill Minerva, Miss Forth *the three graces*, so named by Mr. Wesley, who is Paris. Mr Lloyd Hermes and Mr. Crofton is the Genius of the grotto that we are erecting. About half-a-mile from hence there is a very pretty green hill, one side of it covered with nut wood; on the summit of the hill there is a natural grotto, with seats in it that will hold four people. We go every morn*in*g at seven o'clock to that place to adorn it with shells — the Bishop has a large collection of very fine ones; Phill and I are the engineers, the men fetch and carry for us what we want, and think themselves highly honoured. I forgot to tell you that from the grotto we have an extensive view of the sea and several islands; and **Killala** is no small addition to the beauty of the prospect, for in the midst of it there is a pillar, not unlike a Roman obelisk, of great height. The town is surrounded by trees, and looks as if it was in the middle of a wood; this affair yields us great diversion, and I believe will make us very strong and healthy, if rising early, exercise and mirth have any virtue.


Could you be here with a wish, our godships would soon have their band enlarged, and we would ravage Olympus to find a title suitable to you. I am glad you correspond with Gran, Phill takes it a little to heart that you have neglected her correspondence so much. I am glad Ogleby is worth your acquaintance. Let no



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opportunity of laughter escape you I beg; every hearty laugh you laugh is an addition to my happiness, *so laugh* and *be sure to let me know you do.* I heartily rejoice with you for Mrs. Foley's coming into the country, many pleasant hours may you have together, and much of that time may I employ! ‘An unreasonable, impertinent wish,’ says Mrs. Foley, who has not heard from me since my receiving a very obliging letter from her, but I trust you will make my peace. I will not promise for much better behaviour till I have got off from this same Hibernian land.


Notwithstanding many pretty things we do here, the shortening of the days gives me a secret joy — not that I wish for a return to Dublin, but the sooner winter comes, the sooner comes spring, the time when I am to take my flight and perch *I know where.*


I had a letter yesterday from my brother, by this time he is playing the coquet among the belles on Tonbridge walks, and *I know not who can do it better!* I have not yet had a letter from Lady Sunderland since Sir Robert's misfortunes. I believe she has not been in a very writing way; I own my heart aches for her, and the thought of her being unhappy comes across my mind too often. Who could have thought that *her fortune should fail her?* We have begun Clelia,[9](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note009.html')) she is a much better French lady than an English one; our hours of work and reading are from breakfast to dinner, and from five to seven our walking hours. You are very good in getting the copple-crowned fowl: I suppose they are white ones. I writ a direction how you were to send them to the Bishop, but for fear that letter should miscarry, I will repeat it.



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You can, I suppose, get them conveyed to Bristol, and a bargain made for their passage thence to Dublin, but great charge must be given about them, for as the poor birds are *eatable* things, some on board may long for a tit-bit; they must be directed to Mr. Ryves, merchant in Dublin. Pray, what is become of Sir Tony? does he correspond with my mother or you? We have not touched a card since we came, but when candle-light is more plenty we shall begin commerce. Must I bid you tell my mother that I am hers most dutifully and affectionately; she does not, I hope, want a confirmation of that, but it cannot be too often repeated. I am now going to build a pyramid for the grotto: I will secretly dedicate it to *you* know who; *if not*, 'tis time you should, and every looking-glass can inform you. Where is the Marquis?




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Mrs Pendarves to Mrs. Ann Granville.
------------------------------------


  
**Killala**,


4 July, 1732
As I was yesterday sitting on a haycock, thinking intensely of her that gives the relish to all my pleasures, and as a reward for so faithfully performing my duty, my dearest sister's letter was brought to me. As for the riddle, I own my ignorance, I cannot find it out; pray always send me the explanations with your riddles, for I am dullness itself.


Poor Mrs. West! there's an end of her beauty and vanity; the illness she had before her death I hope was of service to her. Just as I came was I dragged out, to go to the grotto: I resisted as much as I could, that I might bestow all the evening on you, but company being here, I was afraid they might be affronted if I shut myself up, and country ladies, you know, are *tetchy things.* I have now snatched up my pen in great haste, much afraid I shall not have time to finish my letter before the postman sounds his horn.


You said not one word to me about Bunny's wearing his own hair.[10](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note010.html')) I had a letter yesterday from Lady Carteret: she writes me word that he ‘looks *very well* with his new-adorned pate.’ Tell me what you think? *I fancy* a wig became him better; what provoked him to cut *so bold a stroke?* I received a packet of the same sort as yours, the author is easily guessed — she is made of odd materials; I wonder at this time frolics can take place.


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I have not heard from Lady Sunderland since her misfortunes.[11](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note011.html')) I am not much surprised at it, but I think Bess might have given me some account of their affairs; unhappy as they are, it would be more satisfaction to me to hear it from them than from strangers.


Last Monday our family and Mr. Palmer's met on a very agreeable expedition. We were in all twenty; we left home about eleven, and went four mile in coaches and chaises, then we all mounted our horses, and went to a place called Patrick Down, seven mile from Killala. The road is all the way by the sea-side, over vast cliffs, such as you have seen about Mr. Basset's, in Cornwall. We had no prospect from the Downs where we stood, but the main ocean; about a mile from the cliffs, that are of an immense height, is a rock which formerly was joined, I believe, to the part where we stood, for it seemed to be the same height: grass grows upon it, and there is the remains of a wall; it is so perpendicular that no one could climb it. The day was just so windy as to make the waves roll most beautifully, and dash and foam about the rocks. I never saw anything finer of the kind; it raised a thousand great ideas; oh! how I wished for you there! it is impossible to describe the oddness of the place, the strange rocks and cavities where the sea had forced its way. For our feast there was prepared what here they call a ‘swilled mouton,’ that is, a sheep roasted whole in its skin, scorched like a hog. I never eat anything better; we sat on the grass, had a rock for our table; and though there was great variety of good cheer, nothing was touched but the *mouton*. The day was very agreeable, and all the company in good humour.




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I beg the receipt of American balsam and elder-berry water.


Mrs Pendarves to Mrs. Ann Granville.
------------------------------------


  
**Killala**,


7th August, 1732
Long before this will reach you you will be returned from Staunton.[12](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note012.html')) I can easily guess how well you spent


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your time there, but part of the entertainment you expected at Stanway I am afraid you have been disappointed in, for the Fredericks I hear are at Tunbridge. Sir John and my brother are now, I suppose, at London; they write me word that they have not had a great crowd of company. I had a letter two posts ago from poor Lady Sunderland, who bears her misfortunes with great strength of mind; she goes constantly to Islington wells, where she meets abundance of good company. Those waters are rising in fame, and already pretend to vie with Tunbridge: if they are as good it will be very convenient for all Londoners to have a remedy so near at hand. The Scotts are soon to go to Scofton, there, I hope, to end their days; Bess Tichbourne has a strange disorder in her eyes, and has had it for above two months — little blisters that rise on her eyeballs every morning, and continue two or three hours. I never heard of so odd a complaint; Lady Delawarr is in Holland.


Sir Thomas Peyton[13](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note013.html')) was married on the 2nd June,
at Cambridge — my friend Dr. Williams tied the Gordian
knot; the affair was finished at Emneth.[14](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note014.html')) Very merry doings they have had ever since; the lady is far from a beauty, but every way else much commended. Now you must know I always thought the Tomtit a better judge of beauty than of the agreeable; I have not heard what fortune, but I fancy no great matter, or it would have been mentioned. It is comical that I, who am removed to one of the remotest parts of Hibernia, should be sending you news from your neighbourhood, but



---

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sometimes foreign papers inform one more exactly of our own affairs than domestic ones. I have been at an island inhabited by nothing but *bullocks, rabbits,* and *snails,* it is over against Killala; we took a boat and away we went, the hottest day that ever was felt. When we came to the island every one took a way of his own, my amusement was running after butterflies and gathering weed nosegays, of which there are great plenty; Phill sat down on a bank by the seaside and sung to the fish, got up in haste when she thought it time to join her company, dropped her snuff-box in the sand, and did not recollect it till she was at home. The next day we were to dine at Mr. Lloyd's sister's, who lives four or five miles off; we went by sea, passed the island; Phill said she'd go and look for her box, as odd an undertaking as ‘seeking a needle,’ &c.; but she went *and found it.* So we proceeded merrily to the place appointed, walked a mile or two on a very pleasant strand, and gathered a fresh recruit of shells for our grotto; the whole day was very pleasant, and put me in mind of our jaunt to Rosteague; but the water was somewhat smoother. Mr. Kit Donellan is come among us, and is a very good addition; he is a man of great worth, and must be valued by all that know him; his only fault is being too reserved, and not caring to preach — that last is unpardonable in him, because nobody does it better; his excuse is weakness of his lungs. I writ my mother word that we had company in the house with us; they stay till Wednesday, after that we shall have another supply; in short, we have almost as much company here as in Dublin, and that is *too much,* indeed we never are so well pleased as when we are by ourselves. To-morrow,



---

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madam, we are to have dainty doings; 'tis Killala fair-day. There are to be the following games, viz., two horse races, one race to be won by the *foremost* horse, another by the *last horse.* A prize for the best dancer, another for the best singer, a third for the neatest drest girl in the company. Tobacco to be grinned for by old women, a race run by men in sacks, and a prize for the best singing boy. Judge you if these will not afford us some good sport. I will let you know who are the visitors, and all the grand doings.


Miss Forth made me abundance of speeches the other day for a letter she writ you, with directions how you might enclose my letters free; but as you have never mentioned the receiving it, or taken the advantage she proffered you, I suppose the letter miscarried; I am sorry you should miss of it, because it cost her some pains to write it; her eyes are not well enough to permit her to write often, or hardly at all.


Lord Weymouth has given his house at Old Windsor to his mother,[15](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note015.html')) who *immediately sold it.* I wish he had given it to me! 'twas on a pleasant spot of ground, and the house good enough for me. Lady Carteret writes me word that she has bought the ground her house stood on in Arlington Street, and that my lord designs to build there.[16](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note016.html')) Lady Dysart is at Welmingham, Miss Lewson with her: her daughter, Lady Grace, is at Ham, — a fine thriving child; Mrs. Percival is at a lodging at Little Chelsea, and Dr. Delany with her, who has just married a



---

p.370



very rich widow: Gran has writ me a very comical account of their way of living; she has an excellent talent at description. Mrs. Mahone's being in the house with us has put a stop to our studies for some time. I writ you word that we had read Dr. Delany's and were about Dr. Berkeley's; I wish if Mrs. Chapon could get them to read she would, and send me her judgment of them; and also let me know (if you have an opportunity of reading them) *your* opinion. Did you get my letter about
Nanny Griffith?


Our fiddler has left us, so there's an end of dancing for some time, but we expect a famous piper and haut-boy, and then we shall foot it again most furiously. Miss Granville is gone to England; I hear that Lord Lansdowne went as far as Chester to meet her. Mrs. Graham has got another son. I fancy they will take a trip to France, but I have no authority to say it. Miss Bushe writes me once a fortnight — she has as good a command of her pen as of her pencil: she sends me some pretty produce of her pencil every time she writes: when I see you I shall be able to show you a collection of her works. I must write three or four letters this post besides this, so adieu, my much-loved sister; I have not had any letter from my brother Bevil, but my Lord Lansdowne has had an account since I heard of him, that confirms the news of his extraordinary good fortune.


*The Islington Wells which are mentioned in this letter, were also called Sadler's Wells, from a spring of mineral water, discovered by a man named Sadler, in 1683, in the garden of a house which he had opened as a public music-room, and called by his



---

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own name, ‘Sadler's Music House.’ A pamphlet was published in 1684, giving an account of the discovery, with the virtues of the water, which is there said to be of a ferrugineous nature, and much resembling in quality and effects the water of Tunbridge Wells.*


*> 1. People may talk, of Epsom wells,
>   
> Of Tunbridge springs which most excells
>   
> I'll tell you by my ten year's practice
>   
> Plainly what the matter of fact is:
>   
> *Those* are but good for *one disease,*
>   
> To all distempers *this* gives ease.
> 


A Morning Ramble, or, Islington Wells Burlesqt.
  

London, 1684.*


Mrs. Pendarves to Mrs. Ann Granville.
-------------------------------------


  
**Killala**,


13th August, 1732
Your last letter, my dearest sister, raised an idea that I could not think of without a mixture of pain and pleasure, the remembrance of those happy hours that I have passed with you and Sappho: the arbour, Bunhill, the fields, all the places where we have enjoyed her conversation I have a particular regard for, and could not bear their being passed away, had I not hopes of renewing that satisfaction as soon as I can set my foot on English ground: that prospect indeed is too far off, but winter approaches, and as soon as a safe passage may be depended on, I shall sail over the main to my best beloved sister.


I hope Sally finds a great deal of comfort from her fair companion whose person you commend: if she has a mind capable of improvement she has now a fair opportunity of cultivating it to the utmost advantage. I am glad our goddaughter is such a lively creature, and gives you reason to think she *will* have her *mother's wit.* I hope Mr. Gore has accommodated his affairs to Mr. Kirkham's satisfaction:


---

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they say he is a good sort of a young man, but I question if he is unprejudiced enough to relish the conversation of our friend — his life has not been spent with women of *her turn;* so much for Sally, I delight to talk of her! Mr. Gore could not say more of the Bishop of Killala's, &c., than they deserve. The Bishop seems to be one of the best of men, so even-tempered and obliging, everybody is at liberty to do what they like, and he is never so well pleased as when his company is diverted. Mrs. Clayton has also her charms, and Phill's you are acquainted with better than I can describe. Miss Forth is also a very agreeable creature.


Last week we were hard at work in gathering a fresh recruit of shells to finish the grotto. You lost some sport by the Tracys and Fredericks being from home. The verses on Stella and Flavia *positively* are Mrs. Barber's. Dr. Delany's being married to a very rich widow,[17](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note017.html')) and Mrs. Barber's design of leaving England soon, may be you know already. We have been diverted lately in reading the renowned history of Reynard the Fox. The fair of Killala has added largely to our library — Parismus[18](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note018.html')) and Parismenos,[19](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note019.html')) the Seven Champions, Valentine and Orson, and various other delectable histories too numerous to be here inserted. Philosophy,



---

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romance, and history amuse us by turns; when candles are lighted, Mr. Donnellan, Phill and I, play at backgammon, the Bishop and Mr. Crofton go to chess, the rest saunter and make their observations on the gamesters; we go to supper at nine, after supper play at pope Joan or commerce till eleven, then go to prayers and so to bed.


This is Sunday morning. Mr. Lloyd is to preach to-day, which I rejoice at, for he preaches prodigiously well. I have a very good joke to tell you, but Phill has a mind to be the tell-tale herself, so I think I must leave it to her: it is a thing that has *flustered me* not a little. You must have patience till next week, and considering how long you kept silence, you may be contented.


We had excellent sport at the fair; I gave you an account of the method that was to be observed, the games and the prizes. About eleven o'clock Mrs. Clayton, well attended, in her coach drawn by six flouncing Flanders mares, went on the strand, three heats the first race. The second gave us much more sport; five horses put in, the last horse was to win, and every man rode his neighbour's horse without saddle, whip, or spur. Such hollowing, kicking of legs, sprawling of arms, *could not* be seen *without laughing immoderately;* in the afternoon chairs were placed before the house, where we all took our places in great state, all attired in our best apparel, it being Mrs. Clayton's birthday; then dancing, singing, grinning, accompanied with an excellent bagpipe, the whole concluded with a ball, bonfire, and illuminations; pray does *your Bishop* promote such entertainments at Gloster as ours does at Killala?


I had a letter last post from Lady Carteret Lady


---

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Dysart is at Welmington, Miss Lewson with her. Lady Chen's[20](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note020.html')) death has enriched my Lord Gower's family; he is a worthy man, and I am glad he should prosper.


You say nothing of my brother's having left off his wig: *how does* his hair become him? what work are you about, and what book?


I suppose you saw the Winningtons and Griffiths; are they as usual, or has any alteration happened? Where is Sir Tony? Now I am drawing towards my fortieth year,[21](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note021.html')) 'tis time to enquire after him. Did Mrs. Wilson leave any children? No end of my questions to-day.


August the 24th, 1732
Left Dublin
[22](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note022.html')) Dined at Lismullen;[23](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note023.html')) Mr. Dillon's house made mighty neat; a vast deal of wood and wild gardens about it. Walked to see the ruins of the old Abby near them — a vast building enclosed with large trees, great subterraneous buildings, with arches of cut stone, which make no other appearance above the earth than as little green hillocks, like mole-hills. The arches seem to have been openings to little cells, rather than continued passages to any place; they are very low — whether it be that


---

p.375




they are sunk into the ground, or always were so, I can't judge, but they are formed of very fine cut stone. The Abbey is in the prettiest spot about the house; 'tis surrounded with tall trees, and a little clear rivulet winds about it. The road from Lismullen to Naver very pleasant; passed by Arsalah, which lies upon the Boyn. The house seems a very antique edifice, it has fine gardens, but the trees and meadows that lie by the river are extremely beautiful; their domains reach all along the river, and half the way to Naver. Naver stands just where the Boyn and Blackwater meet, high over the river. I walked over the bridge by moonlight, along a walk of tall elms which leads to a ruined house they call the Black Castle, from a vulgar tradition of its being haunted; it lies over the Blackwater, has a vast number of trees about it, and seems to have been pretty. The ‘spirit’ it was visited by was *extravagance;* it belonged two young men, who in a few years ruined themselves, and let the seat go to destruction, and ever since they give out it is haunted, it is now another person's property, and going to be repaired.


The 25th, left Naver, and travelled through bad roads and a dull uninhabited country, till we came to Cabaragh, Mr. Prat's house, an old castle modernized, and made very pretty: the master of it is a virtuoso, and discovers *whim* in all his improvements. The house stands on the side of a high hill; has some tall old trees about it; the gardens are small but neat; there are two little terrace walks, and down in a hollow is a little commodious lodge where Mr. Prat lived whilst his house was repairing. But the thing that most pleased me, was a rivulet that tumbles down from rocks in



---

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a little glen, full of shrub-wood and trees; here a fine spring joins the river, of the sweetest water in the world.


The 26th, left Mr. Prat's, and travelled over the most mountainous country I ever was in; still as we had passed over one hill, another showed itself, Alps peeped over Alps, and ‘hills on hills’ arose: the face of the country not pleasant till I came to Shercock, which is a handsome house, and stands over a fine lake, that has several woods and meadows on the sides of it. A vast deal of heath and ploughed land from that till I came within three miles of Coote Hill, then the scene changed most surprisingly, and the contrast is so strong, that one imagines they are leaving a desert and coming into Paradise. The town of Coote Hill is like a pretty English village, well situated, and all the land about it cultivated and enclosed with cut hedges and tall trees in rows. From the town one drives nearly a mile on a fine gravelled road, a cut hedge on each side, and rows of old oak and ash trees, to Mr. Coote's house. Within two hundred yards of the house is a handsome gate-way, which is built in great taste, with a fine arch to drive through. This house lies on the top of a carpet hill, with large lakes on each side which extend four miles, and are surrounded by fine groves of well-grown forest trees. Below the house and between the lakes is a little copsewood which is cut into vistas and serpentine walks that have the softest sods imaginable, and here and there overgrown forest trees, in the midst of them there is jessamine, woodbine, and sweetbrier, that climb up the trees; and all sorts of flowers sprinkled in the woods; all these have end in the view of a lake of four or five miles long. From the copsewood you go into a spacious moss-walk,



---

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by the lake side: on the other side towards a spacious kitchen-garden, there is a wood of scrub and timber trees mixed, of twelve hundred acres, with avenues cut for a coach to drive through, and up and down little openings into fine lawns, and views of the lake and town of Coote Hill. From this wood I rode, and saw the demesnes in Mr. Coote's hands, which are about thirty fields, finely enclosed with full hedge-rows, corn-meadows, pastures, and a deer-park, enclosed with a high stone wall well stocked with deer it is a very convenient ground.[24](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note024.html'))


Mrs. Pendarves to Mrs. Ann Granville.
-------------------------------------


  
**Killala**,


27th August, 1732
I believe Gloster looked dirty enough after the sweets of the Vale of Evesham and Glostershire hills. I have not heard lately of young Walpole's[25](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note025.html')) love: I do



---

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not hear he has applied elsewhere since his disappointment, and am willing to believe him that rarity, — a
*constant man.* Puzzle has acted like one of his profession: I think him monstrously ungrateful to my mother; I have no notion of Tom Frederick's[26](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note026.html')) marrying *for love,* I fear the love of money has too powerfully got the possession of him, to let in a spark of generosity.


Now, having answered all your queries, I proceed to inform you how we have passed our time since I last wrote. Last Tuesday our family and the Palmers went to a place called Kilcummin, not very unlike Down Patrick, but nearer to us; the day was very fine, the sea in a great agitation; we had a magnificent entertainment, with a rock our table, and rocks for seats, where we had a full prospect of the sea in *all its glory,* and were shaded from the wind. We were exceedingly merry; no one of the company seemed to want anything to complete their pleasure, except myself. I fell into my usual reveries, which are now so well understood, that I am indulged in them. We returned home well satisfied with our entertainment.


Last Friday we were diverted in another way: it was Mr. Lloyd's birthday, his father was bishop of this place, and Mr. Lloyd was born in this house, for which reasons it was thought proper to solemnize it. We all dressed ourselves out with all our gaiety and abundance of good taudry fancy. After dinner a fiddler appeared, to dancing we went ding dong, in the midst of which I received your last dear letter. Notice was given that a set of maskers desired admittance; so in they



---

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marched, three couple well adorned with leeks, and a He and She goat were led bridled and saddled with housings and pistols, and their horns tipped with leeks; the whole concluded with an entertainment of toasted cheese.


The enclosed poem was presented to the gentleman of the day, which I think well deserves your notice. They were made by Mr. Donnellan, though he will not own them.



> 1. **Recitative**  
> Hail to the day
>   
> That gave the noble Welshman birth;
>   
> Th' illustrious Lloyd.
>   
> The pride of Wales and glory of the earth.
>   
> Descended from a kingly race
>   
> Of Welsh nobility.
>   
> Cadwaladyr and Tudor's grace
>   
> His royal stock and blazon out his pedigree.
> 2. **Air**  
> What tongue can tell, or pen describe the joy
>   
> That ushered in the lovely royal boy.
>   
> The shaggy tribe in transports wild,
>   
> Did frisk, curvet, and play;
>   
> The rugged rocks and mountains smiled,
>   
> And Penmaen mawr looked gay.
>   
> The leek in freshest verdure clad,
>   
> Its choicest odours spread
>   
> And formed a beauteous garland glad
>   
> T' adorn the hero's head.
> 3. **Recitative**  
> From heavenly mansions bright,
>   
> The gods with Taffy posted to the earth,
>   
> And at Penhwnllys[27](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note027.html')) famous castle light,
>   
> T' attend the great, the vast the important birth,
>   
> They club the lovely babe t'endow.
>   
> With every virtue, every grace.
>   
> Each god and goddess did their gifts bestow
>   
> To dizen out his body, soul, and face.
>   
> These Taffy mixed, and his best clay employed,
>   
> *Then called the happy composition, Lloyd.*
> 
> 
> ---
> 
> p.380
> 
> 6. **Air**  
> Let every Welshman then with might and main,
>   
> Echo aloud his praise,
>   
> And every harp with stirring strain
>   
> Call forth its choicest lays.
>   
> Let the seas roar,
>   
> On the bleak shore,
>   
> The rocks their joy proclaim;
>   
> And kids and goats,
>   
> With quivering throats.
>   
> Bleat forth his mighty fame.
>   
> Chorus.
>   
> Let every, etc.[28](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note028.html'))
> 




Mrs. Pendarves to Mrs. Ann Granville, at Gloucester
---------------------------------------------------


  
**Killala**,


6th Sept., 1732
I won't make an apology to you, my dear sister, for not writing to you last post; I know you are better pleased



---

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that I spared my weak eye, than if I had writ you a very entertaining letter, — besides my place was so well supplied that you have no reason to complain. Phill attacked you with a *folio sheet*, which I hope you have received safely*.* I believe it afforded you good entertainment every way. She writes well, and had a very extraordinary affair to relate to you, which she would not suffer me to tell. To speak the truth of the matter, I have been not a little *enraged* about it, but at last I thought it best to make a joke of it: the whole country knows it,[29](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note029.html')) and the wretch is ridiculed to that degree, that he has not made his appearance since he wrote the letter, — so much for that. Now for a more pleasing subject.


Your last letter was kind, entertaining, and delightful. I blame myself for not sometimes shewing your letters, they would do you great honour, but I have a particular pleasure in thinking, though they are worthy of being perused by the best judges, that they are designed only for me, and that my shewing them would rather offend than please you. I however read part of some of them to dear Phill, who has the heart and delicacy to be delighted with them, and she says you write better than anybody and with more ease and liveliness. I hope you have now the pleasure of my brother's company, and that the assizes and review will have given you much diversion: you are list'ning to the sound of the trumpet, the beating of the drum, and the fine speeches of the officers, whilst we are occupied in our rural sports, far



---

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removed from the noise and din of the war and warlike men. Our daily amusements I have so often repeated that you have them by heart, but are they not pretty? do you not wish yourself extended on the beach *gathering shells*, listening to Phill while she sings at her work, or joining in the conversation, always attended with cheerfulness? perhaps you had rather rise by seven and walk to the grotto with your bag of shells, and a humble servant by your side, helping you up the hill and saying pretty things to you as you walk — though may be you choose to be at work in the grotto shewing the elegancy of your fancy, praising your companions' works, and desiring approbation for what you have finished? if this is too fatiguing, 'tis likely you would prefer working or reading till dinner, after that eating nuts and walking to gather mushrooms, &c.


Do *display your fan,* my dear sister, never spare it, and make those wretches tremble that would make you a slave were you in their clutches. I don't believe one word of Tom Tit's great fortune; for I think his aunt and sister would have acquainted me with it were it true. The occasion of Miss Forth's writing to you, was to put you in a way of enclosing your letters to a relation of hers, that would have conveyed them without expense to me; she said nothing of it to me at that time for fear I should oppose her giving herself so much trouble; but I have made your compliments to her, and that will do as well as your writing to her. You have reason to wish to hear Mr. Donnellan preach; he is very excellent that way, but has weak lungs, and is forced to spare himself; he has not brought a sermon with him to Killala, to my great disappointment, I never heard him but once. I believe I


---

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have told you that Mr. Lloyd is a very good preacher, but so modest withall, that 'tis not easily done to get him into the pulpit; he is a mighty good sort of a young man. D's writings are very differently spoke of, some commend them prodigiously, others rail at them, my judgment is that they neither deserve to be extolled nor condemned! he writes with a spirit that sometimes carries him a little towards extravagance, but he means very well, and is hearty and zealous in the cause of religion, is a man of *exemplary charity,* but is very particular in some of his opinions, which he is apt to maintain with obstinacy. Mrs. Barber[30](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note030.html')) is come to Ireland they say in order to transplant her family in England; the copple crown'd[31](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note031.html')) gentry will be extremely welcome; the Bishop and Mrs. Clayton think themselves much obliged to you for the trouble you have had about them.


Yesterday at five o' the clock in the afternoon we took boat and went to a shore about a mile off to gather shells, where we found a vast variety of beauties. We were very merry at our work, but much merrier in our return home, for five of us, viz., Phill, Mrs. Don., Mr. Lloyd, and a young clergyman (who is here very often, one Mr. Langton), *and Penelope* all mounted a cart, and home we drove as jocund as ever five people were. I laughed immoderately at the new carriage, and wished for you there, more than ever I did when flaunting in a coach and six. The rest of the company were conveyed home


---

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in a chaise, being too proud for carting. You must understand that we are as private in this place as heart can wish, and that we may do a hundred frolics of that kind without any other witnesses than the servants of the house. Pray make my compliments in the kindest manner to Mrs. Viney and her family. Where is Mrs. Butler? when you write to her, tell her the reason she has not heard from hence has been because I would not put her to so much expense; I have no opportunity here of getting my letters franked. When I return to Dublin, she shall certainly hear from me. We shall leave this place about the middle of next month. We are all so well pleased with our situation, that if it was convenient to the Bishop, I believe we should prevail on him to stay till Xtmas. My humble duty and tenderest wishes to dear mama.


If Bunny is with you, say something very kind from your faithful
M. P.Mrs. Pendarves to Mrs. Ann Granville
------------------------------------


  
**Nenagh**,


Oct. 27, 1732
This is the first opportunity I have had since my leaving **Castlebar**, of writing to my dearest sister; the days that we have rested on the road have not happened on post days. If you have suffered by that, I promise you I have heartily shared with you; and the want of telling you every step I took, made the road tedious and dull. Perhaps you'll say that was owing to the bad ways and weather; no indeed; the roads, though bad for Irish


---

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ground, have been very tolerable, and the weather has favoured us just as you wished it should.


I writ to you from Mr. Bingham's: we staid there Tuesday and Wednesday, and were very merry. Left that place on Thursday morning, and dined at another Mr. Bingham's, about eight miles from **Castlebar**, uncle of the Mr. Bingham we left — a very good, agreeable sort of man, extremely beloved by all the gentlemen of the country; his wife — a plain country lady, civil, hospitable and an immoderate lover of quadrille; their two eldest daughters are beauties — reserved, well-behaved, but not entertaining, so we passed that day *hum-drumish.* The next morning we decamped, and travelled to Tuam; nothing happened on the road remarkable, sometimes I rode, but generally went in the chaise with Phill, that being the way I like best. We got early into our inn, played at my lady's hole, supped, and went early to bed.


The next day we arrived at Mrs. Mahone's, staid there Sunday and Monday, were free and easy, lived as at Killala, everybody went their own way, we *danced and sung,* and were entertained in a very handsome friendly manner. We left them Tuesday morning; jogged on through bogs, and over plains, and about three miles from the place we were to rest, we passed a fine place called Aire's Court, a great many fine woods and improvements that looked very English. We passed the finest river in Ireland — the Shannon, but it was so dark I saw but little of it; it parts Connaught and Munster. The town we lay at that night was **Bannahir**, in the **King's County**. After very little rest in a bad inn, we rose at six, and made the best of our way to the place where we are now lodged, which belongs to Mr. Donellan. The


---

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country we passed through the last day was very pleasant; fine oak woods, great variety of hills, little winding rivers, and every pretty circumstance that can make a prospect agreeable. This moment I have heard a piece of bad news — that the post goes out before twelve. I am summoned to breakfast, and after that we are to drive about Mr. Donellan's grounds, to see his improvements. He is going to build, at present he is in a small house in the town, which is part of his estate. They have very fine children, are sensible and agreable people, and live handsomely.[32](javascript:footNote('E730001-001/note032.html')).


Mrs. Pendarves to Mrs. Ann Granville
------------------------------------


  
**Nenagh**,


30 Oct., 1732
As I was saying, my dearest sister, this place has afforded me very good entertainment of all sorts. The people you know already, by my account of them. Mr. Donellan has only laid the plan of his improvements, and raised fine nurseries for that purpose; he is going immediately to execute his designs, which when finished will be delightful. Nature has done everything for him


---

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he can desire — fine woods of oak, a sweet winding river, and charming lawns, that will afford him sufficient materials to exercise his genius on. He seems to have a very good taste, and if he could prevail on his countrymen to do as much by their estates as he intends doing, Ireland would soon be as beautiful as England, and in some circumstances more so, for it is *better watered.* I was obliged to cut my discourse to you short, so I resolved to give you the sequel the first opportunity; our time for leaving this place is not quite determined. The Bishop talks of Thursday; but I fancy they will prevail on him to stay till Monday.


The weather has been very favorable to us since our being here; we have gone every morning in chaises to view Mr. Donellan's grounds. We dine at three, plenty of excellent food. After tea and coffee, we divide into different parties. The Bishop and Mr. Donellan go to chess, a party of quadrille is made, and the overplus play at backgammon, at which I always make one. Mr. Kit Donellan is here, and young Nemmy, and we are a jolly company; we sup at ten, and go to bed very late. Yesterday we went to church, the Bishop preached. Company came to dinner, among them a great beauty, Miss Pretty: she is very handsome, and if she was less acquainted with it, it would be more agreeable; she is tall and well shaped, and has a great resemblance to Lady Charlotte Hyde and Peg Sutton. We are to dine abroad Tuesday and Wednesday, to my sorrow; for I do hate the fuss of dressing, and unpacking all one's frippery. I have a pretty girl at my elbow, about five years old, who has asked me a thousand questions; Mrs. Donellan has very fine children, her two eldest boys are at school. At home


---

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she has the little girl I just now named, a boy about four, and two younger; I never saw children under better management, and yet have spirit in abundance. I make great diversion out of them, and have made them fond of me.


We shall not go back to Mrs. Wesley's till after we have been at Dublin, which will be more convenient to us all, for our apparel wants to be recruited. I have taken my brother at his word, and have not troubled him with a letter since I began my journey. I suppose you let him know my progress, and that I am now in the County of **Tipperary**. After breakfast I thought myself sure of time enough to finish your letter; but a walk was proposed, and the company insisted on my going with them, and by that means my letter was delayed a post. The weather has happily favoured us ever since our being here, by which means we have had an opportunity of seeing all Mr. Donellan's estate, and knowing all his schemes. How much more laudable is his turn, than most country gentlemen's, who generally prefer a good stable and kennell, to the best house and finest improvements, though the expense would be rather less. Three days together have we dined abroad.


We shall not go away till Monday; you must not expect to hear from *[a piece here out]*, the town of ‘Nenagharoon,’ that is, in English, Sweet **Nenagh**; at the bottom of the hill, which is covered with wood, runs the river, by the side of which Mr. Donellan can make a walk three miles long, of the finest turf that ever was seen. The river is so well disposed, that he can make cascades, and do what he pleases with it; I almost envy him the pleasure his improvements will give him every hour:



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for next to being with the friend one loves best, I have no notion of a higher happiness, in respect to one's fortune, than that of planting and improving a country, I prefer it to all other expenses. I can't address any of my correspondents till my travels are at an end.


Oh, I had almost forgot a request I promised to make, which was for the receipt of your white elder wine; we met with some yesterday that was not quite so good as ours; and Mrs. Clayton wants the receipt mightily. I am always troubling you with some trumpery thing or other: I wish you could contrive to send me over a pattern of your gloves, that I may bring you over a few pair, when I come to you; not that the gloves are better here than in England, but they are cheaper. Does your stuff wear well? Mrs. Clayton designs having her assembly when she goes to town till Lent, so we must prepare for hurrydurry; but as it will be the only agreeable crowd, I think it may be borne once a week. I shall soon now give you an account of your old acquaintances, Will, Usher,
Mrs. Hamilton, etc., whom you have not heard of a great while; till then, my dearest sister, once more adieu, wherever I am my best affections are constantly with you; 'tis not possible for me to be more faithfully than I am,


Yours, M. Pen.











