. Pope, after his quarrel with her, referred
to Montagu as "Worldly," "Shylock," and "Gripus," and in the fourth
Epistle of the _Essay on Man_ wrote:

"Is yellow dirt the passion of thy life?
Look but on Gripus and Gripus' wife."

Also he lampooned them under the style of Avidieu and Avidieu's wife,
who

"Sell their presented partridges or fruits,
And humbly live on rabbits and on roots;
One half-pint bottle serves them both to dine,
And is at once their vinegar and wine.
But on some lucky day (as when they found
A lost bank note, or heard their son was drowned),
At such a feast old vinegar to spare
Is what two souls so generous cannot bear:
Oil, though it stink, they drop by drop impart,
But souse the cabbage with a bounteous heart."

Lady Mary took her place, as of right, as a leader of society, and for a
while plunged into the gaieties of the town. "Public places flourish
more than ever," she wrote to her sister. "We have assemblies for every
day in the week, besides Court, operas, and masquerades. With youth and
money, 'tis certainly possible to be well diverted in spite of malice
and ill-nature, though they are more and more powerful every day. For my
part, as it is my established opinion that this globe of ours is no
better than a Holland cheese, and the walkers about in it mites, I
possess my soul in patience, let what will happen--and I should feel
tolerably easy, though a great rat came and ate half of it." That is a
philosophical outlook with a vengeance!

However, Lady Mary managed on the whole to enjoy herself. "The town
improves in gaiety every day; the young people are younger than they
used to be, and all the old are grown young. Nothing is talked of but
entertainments of gallantry by land and water, and we insensibly begin
to taste all the joys of arbitrary power. Politics are no more; nobody
pretends to wince or kick under their burdens; but we go on cheerfully
with our bells at our ears, ornamented with ribands, and highly
contented with our present condition; so much for the general state of
the nation," she made her comment on polite circles. "We are much
mistaken here as to our ideas of Paris--to hear gallantry has deserted
it, sounds as extraordinary to me as a want of ice in Greenland.
We have nothing but ugly faces in this country, but more lovers than
ever. There are but three pretty men in England, and they are all in
love with me, at this present writ