The Duchess of Montague, (Lady Mary Churchill, the youngest of her grace’s daughters,) like her eldest sister Henrietta, lived in constant altercation with her mother, whom she survived; the only one of her children whom the Duchess did not follow to the grave. The character of the Duke of Montague, and the honours which he received, have been before mentioned. The Duchess mingled greatly in the world; her concerts and assemblies are mentioned frequently in the letters of Lady Mary Wortley. Her daughter Isabella, Duchess of Manchester, by her sweetness of temper and superior qualities, fastened herself upon the affections of that heart where so few could find a place. Such are some of the details which relate to the domestic troubles of the aged Duchess. Her frequent absence from her children when they were young; the absorbing nature of political pursuits, for which she sacrificed the blessings of affection, and the enjoyment of a peaceful home; the consequent necessity of consigning her children wholly to instructors and servants; perhaps, too, the manners of the times, which conduced to banish love between parent and child by a harsh, unnatural substitution of fear as the principle of conduct;[350] all contributed to alienate those young minds from her, whilst yet the angry passions which maturity draws forth were unknown. Consistency, impartiality, and a freedom from selfishness, are the qualities essential to win back the filial affection of which nature has implanted the germ in every bosom if, unhappily, it be destroyed. The Duchess was not only totally deficient in these attributes, but she possessed not that easy and kindly temper which can secure affection, even if it fail to command respect. In her family, notwithstanding all their advantages of person and fortune, she was singularly unfortunate; and she affords a striking instance of the incompatibility of a political career with the habits and feelings of domestic life. It cannot be, therefore, a matter of surprise that her latter days were clouded by depression; that she found herself neglected, and that she hovered between a state of irritated pride, and that condition of low spirits in which we fancy ourselves of no importance to the world, and as well out of it as cumbering the ground. Often, describing herself as generally very “ill and very infirm,” she declares that life has ceased to have any charms for her; that she only wishes “to make the passage out of it as easily as possible.” To her correspondent, Mr. Scrope, from whom she declares she received more civility than she had met with for years, the Duchess partially discloses her feelings. He seems kindly, and we hope with no interested motive, to have entered into the feelings of a morose old woman, who had placed all her felicity in a consciousness of importance, and who found herself “insignificant.”[351] A few short years previously, and who would have anticipated such a confession? Yet the