A cloud now came, and long rested, between her and the sun of her happiness. The death, in 1748, of her brother “Tom,” a man of wit, taste, and judgment, after her own heart; “the man in England for a point of law,” as Chief Justice Lee remarked; a man who had accomplished much, and who might have reasonably looked to the highest position, which could be attained in his branch of the profession, as his own,—the death of such a man, good, bright, aspiring, and qualified for success, was a loss to his brilliant sister for which she never found compensation. “As for this good young man,” she wrote, “I hoped it would rather have been his business to have grieved for me. Mr. Montagu is most careful of us, and I cannot, amidst my sorrow, help thanking Heaven for such a friend.” A letter from her husband in London confirms this statement: “I long to leave this place, and to be with you now, rather than at a time when you have less occasion for a friend. Be sure that you are constantly in my thoughts, and that no accidents of sickness or any other matter can work any change in me, or make me be with less affection than I have been, my dearest life, your most obliged and affectionate E. M.” Compelled, subsequently, to repair to Bath for her health, she despised no innocent amusement. “I want mechanic helps,” she said, “for my real happiness, God knows, is lessened; and, though I have many relations left, I reflect that even this circumstance makes me more liable to have the same affliction repeated.” Then, after a week or two of omnivorous reading and friendly intercourse, she writes to the duchess: “Mrs. Trevanion, Lord Berkley of Stratton’s sister, goes away from us to-morrow, which I am sorry for; she seems very agreeable and well-bred, and has a thousand other good qualities that do not abound at our morning coffee-house, where I meet her. Whist and the noble game of E. O. employ the evening; three glasses of water, a toasted roll, a Bath cake, and a cold walk, the mornings.... My physician says three months will be necessary for me to drink the waters.... I am forced to dine by myself, not yet being able to bear the smell of what common mortals call a dinner. As yet I live with the fairies.... But here is another Mrs. Montagu, who is like me, hath a long nose, pale face, thin cheeks, and also, I believe, diets with fairies, and she is much better than when she came, and many people give me the honour of her recovery.” After returning to Sandleford, she began again to need, or to fancy she needed, the restoring waters of Tunbridge. To Mrs. Anstey she wrote: