“We have an opera here, which is performed three times in the week.  I was at it last night, and should have been surprised at the neatness of the scenes, goodness of the voices and justness of the actors, if I had not remembered I was in Italy.  Several gentlemen jumped into the orchestra, and joined in the concert, which I suppose is one of the freedoms of the place, for I never saw it in any great town.  I was yet more amazed (while the actors were dressing for the farce that concluded the entertainment) to see one of the principal among them, and as errant a petit maitre as if he had passed all his life at Paris, mount the stage, and present us with a cantata of his own performing.  He had the pleasure of being almost deafened with applause.  The ball began afterwards, but I was not witness of it, having accustomed myself to such early hours, that I was half asleep before the opera finished:  it begins at ten o’clock, so that it was one before I could get to bed, though I had supped before I went, which is the custom.

“I am much better pleased with the diversions on the water, where all the town assembles every night, and never without music; but we have none so rough as trumpets, kettle-drums, and French horns:  they are all violins, lutes, mandolins, and flutes doux.  Here is hardly a man that does not excel in some of these instruments, which he privately addresses to the lady of his affections, and the public has the advantage of it by his adding to the number of the musicians.

“The fountain where we drink the waters rises between two hanging hills, and is overshadowed with large trees, that give a freshness in the hottest time of the day.  The provisions are all excellent, the fish of the lake being as large and well tasted as that of Geneva, and the mountains abounding in game, particularly blackcocks, which I never saw in any other part of Italy.”

Lady Mary, though still corresponding with her husband, had clearly given up all idea of returning to England or of Montagu joining her abroad.  She was quite content with her state, which, after all, so far as we know, was her own choice.  She took a house at Lovere, and interested herself in improving it and developing the grounds.

“I have been these six weeks, and still am, at my dairy-house, which joins to my garden” (she wrote to her daughter in July, 1748).  “I believe I have already told you it is a long mile from the castle, which is situated in the midst of a very large village, once a considerable town, part of the walls still remaining, and has not vacant ground enough about it to make a garden, which is my greatest amusement, it being now troublesome to walk, or even go in the chaise till the evening.  I have fitted up in this farm-house a room for myself—­that is to say, strewed the floor with rushes, covered the chimney with moss and branches, and adorned the room with basins of earthen-ware (which is made here to great perfection) filled with flowers, and put in some