and divers other effects, all of which Mr Taafe (one of Montagu’s co-defendants) packed up in one box, and, by the help of his footman, carried in a coach to his own apartment.  That afterwards Mr Taafe carried Miss Rose and her sister in another coach to his lodgings, where they remained three days, and then sent them to London, under the care of one of his friends.”

Fortunately for Montagu, the verdict of the Court was in his favour; and, after such an unpleasant experience, he was glad to return to England, where, such an adept at quick-changing was he, that we soon find him a full-blown Member of Parliament for Bossinery, lightening his legislative labours by writing a learned treatise on the rise and fall of ancient Republics.  Was there ever such a man?  Duke’s grandson, fish-hawker, common sailor, peasant, roue, gambler, Member of Parliament, scholar—­all roles came equally easily to him; and many more just as varied were to follow.  It was while thus wearing the halo of learning and high respectability that his father died, leaving him a substantial income, and a large estate in Yorkshire to his eldest son, if he should have one.  And now we find him leaving his law-making and cultivating letters and science in Italy, further enriched by the guinea which was all his mother, Lady Mary, condescended to leave her vagrant son.  The rest—­an enormous property—­went to his sister, the Countess of Bute.

From Italy he went on a long tour through the East, where he seems to have played the role of Lothario very effectually.  At Alexandria (to give only one of his love adventures) he lost his fickle heart to the beautiful wife of the Danish Ambassador, whom, under various pretences, he induced to leave the coast clear by getting him to go to Holland.  The husband thus safely out of the way, Montagu proceeded to dispose of him.  He showed the lady a letter from Holland giving sad details of his sudden death, and consoled the bereaved “widow” so well that she consented to reward him with her hand and to accompany him to Syria.

By the time the dead husband had returned to life Montagu was already weary of honeymooning, and was thankful to make his escape to Italy, free to woo, and, if necessary, to wed again.

We next find this human chameleon at Venice, wearing a beard down to his waist, sleeping on the ground, eating rice and drinking water, and recounting his adventures to all who cared to hear them.  He was an Armenian, and played the part to perfection—­until he wearied of it, and found another to play.  At this time he wrote: 

“I have been a labourer in the fields of Switzerland and Holland, and have not disdained the humble profession of postillion and ploughman.  I was a petit maitre at Paris, and an abbe at Rome.  I put on, at Hamburg, the Lutheran ruff, and with a triple chin and a formal countenance I dealt about me the word of God so as to excite the envy of the