Letters of the Right Honourable Lady M-y W-y M-e | Page 4

I shall content myself
with telling you, 'tis a very pretty walk on the ramparts, on which there
is a tower, very deservedly called the Belvidera; where people go to
drink coffee, tea, &c. and enjoy one of the finest prospects in the world.
The public walks have no great beauty but the thick shade of the trees,
which is solemnly delightful. But I must not forget to take notice of the
bridge, which appeared very surprising to me. It is large enough to hold
hundreds of men, with horses and carriages. They give the value of an
English two-pence to get upon it, and then away they go, bridge and all,
to the other side of the river, with so slow a motion, one is hardly
sensible of any at all. I was yesterday at the French church, and stared
very much at their manner of service. The parson clapped on a
broad-brimmed hat in the first place, which gave him entirely the air of
what d'ye call him, in Bartholomew fair, which he kept up by
extraordinary antic gestures, and preaching much such stuff as the other
talked to the puppets. However, the congregation seemed to receive it
with great devotion; and I was informed by some of his flock, that he is
a person of particular fame amongst them. I believe, by this time, you
are as much tired with my account of him, as I was with his sermon;

but I am sure your brother will excuse a digression in favour of the
church of England. You know speaking disrespectfully of the
Calvinists, is the same thing as speaking honourably of the church.
Adieu, my dear S. always remember me; and be assured I can never
forget you, &c. &c.
LET. IV.
TO THE LADY ----.
Cologn (sic), Aug, 16. O. S. 1716.
IF my lady ---- could have any notion of the fatigues that I have
suffered these two last days, I am sure she would own it a great proof
of regard, that I now sit down to write to her. We hired horses from
Nimeguen hither, not having the conveniency (sic) of the post, and
found but very indifferent accommodations at Reinberg, our first stage;
but it was nothing to what I suffered yesterday. We were in hopes to
reach Cologn; our horses tired at Stamel, three hours from it, where I
was forced to pass the night in my clothes, in a room not at all better
than a hovel; for though I have my bed with me, I had no mind to
undress, where the wind came from a thousand places. We left this
wretched lodging at day-break, and about six this morning came safe
here, where I got immediately into bed. I slept so well for three hours,
that I found myself perfectly recovered, and have had spirits enough to
go and see all that is curious in the town, that is to say, the churches,
for here is nothing else worth seeing. This is a very large town, but the
most part of it is old built. The Jesuits church, which is the neatest, was
shewed (sic) me, in a very complaisant manner, by a handsome young
Jesuit; who, not knowing who I was, took a liberty in his compliments
and railleries, which very much diverted me. Having never before seen
any thing of that nature, I could not enough admire the magnificence of
the altars, the rich images of the saints (all massy silver) and the
enchassures of the relicks (sic); though I could not help murmuring, in
my heart, at the profusion of pearls, diamonds, and rubies, bestowed on
the adornment of rotten teeth, and dirty rags. I own that I had
wickedness enough to covet St Ursula's pearl necklaces; though
perhaps this was no wickedness at all, an image not being certainly

one's neighbour's; but I went yet farther, and wished the wench herself
converted into dressing-plate. I should also gladly see converted into
silver, a great St Christopher, which I imagine would look very well in
a cistern. These were my pious reflections: though I was very well
satisfied to see, piled up to the honour of our nation, the skulls of the
eleven thousand virgins. I have seen some hundreds of relicks here of
no less, consequence; but I will not imitate the common stile (sic) of
travellers so far, as to give you a list of them; being persuaded, that you
have no manner of curiosity for the titles given to jaw-bones and bits of
worm-eaten wood.--Adieu, I am just going to supper, where I shall
drink your health in an admirable sort of Lorrain (sic) wine, which I am
sure is the same you call Burgundy in London, &c. &c.
LET. V.
TO THE