Nevertheless, Mrs. Donnellan continued to enjoy the air of Hampstead from time to time for ten years longer. Mrs. Barbauld, in her ‘Life of Richardson,’ tells us that a friend of hers at Hampstead could remember her ‘a venerable old lady with very sharp, black eyes.’ She was an intimate friend of the famous Mrs. Montague, the acknowledged patron of the literary and artistic celebrities of the time, the entrée to whose drawing-rooms bestowed a sort of diploma on the favoured recipient, which, by the way, was never extended to the literary bookseller. Mrs. Donnellan died of what Mrs. Montague calls ‘a cold and fever,’ the precursor, probably, of our modern influenza, as universal a plague in 1772 as the latter in 1893-94. Though for a brief period after the publication of Dr. Soames’ treatise the presence of an increased number of visitors gladdened his heart, it soon became apparent that no persuasive pamphlet, no poetical puff, could restore it. The favour of people of fashion had passed away from it. The walk without the raffling-shops and gaming-tables, and the ballroom without the freedom of the all-night dancing, had no charms for any others than the real lovers of the delightful suburb for its own sake. It came to be considered as a sort of natural sanatorium, a pleasant rustic summer resort and resting-place; and as the fame of the waters fell away, except in the grateful remembrance of those who had imagined themselves benefited by them, the reputation of its pure, health-giving air and the natural beauty of its situation and surroundings became more obvious to persons who, like Mrs. Donnellan, Mr. Murray, and others, were permeated with an ever-growing love of them. It was no doubt the dearth of entertainment for the visitors that suggested to the inventive imagination of the sexagenarian Robert Causton the idea of opening the tea-drinking house, with pleasure-gardens, waterworks, and various ingenious contrivances (to which I have elsewhere referred) in a part of Turner’s Wood, the wood where the lilies-of-the-valley, once indigenous on Hampstead Heath, lingered latest. It was opened in 1737, and became so popular with Londoners and the general public, that it remained open twenty years afterwards, so that the enterprise must have amply repaid the originator.