

This eBook was produced by Les Bowler.





                                   THE
                            JOURNAL TO STELLA


                                    BY
                              JONATHAN SWIFT

                 EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES, BY
                             GEORGE A. AITKEN

                                * * * * *

                              METHUEN & CO.
                           36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
                                  LONDON
                                   1901




PREFACE


THE history of the publication of the _Journal to Stella_ is somewhat
curious.  On Swift’s death twenty-five of the letters, forming the
closing portion of the series, fell into the hands of Dr. Lyon, a
clergyman who had been in charge of Swift for some years.  The letters
passed to a man named Wilkes, who sold them for publication.  They
accordingly appeared in 1766 in the tenth volume of Dr. Hawkesworth’s
quarto edition of Swift’s works; but the editor made many changes in the
text, including a suppression of most of the “little language.”  The
publishers, however, fortunately for us, were public-spirited enough to
give the manuscripts (with one exception) to the British Museum, where,
after many years, they were examined by John Forster, who printed in his
unfinished _Life of Swift_ numerous passages from the originals, showing
the manner in which the text had been tampered with by Hawkesworth.
Swift himself, too, in his later years, obliterated many words and
sentences in the letters, and Forster was able to restore not a few of
these omissions.  His zeal, however, sometimes led him to make guesses at
words which are quite undecipherable.  Besides Forster’s work, I have had
the benefit of the careful collation made by Mr. Ryland for his edition
of 1897.  Where these authorities differ I have usually found myself in
agreement with Mr. Ryland, but I have felt justified in accepting some of
Forster’s readings which were rejected by him as uncertain; and the
examination of the manuscripts has enabled me to make some additions and
corrections of my own.  Swift’s writing is extremely small, and abounds
in abbreviations.  The difficulty of arriving at the true reading is
therefore considerable, apart from the erasures.

The remainder of the _Journal_, consisting of the first forty letters,
was published in 1768 by Deane Swift, Dr. Swift’s second cousin.  These
letters had been given to Mrs. Whiteway in 1788, and by her to her
son-in-law, Deane Swift.  The originals have been lost, with the
exception of the first, which, by some accident, is in the British
Museum; but it is evident that Deane Swift took even greater liberties
with the text than Hawkesworth.  He substituted for “Ppt” the word
“Stella,” a name which Swift seems not to have used until some years
later; he adopted the name “Presto” for Swift, and in other ways tried to
give a greater literary finish to the letters.  The whole of the
correspondence was first brought together, under the title of the
_Journal to Stella_, in Sheridan’s edition of 1784.

Previous editions of the _Journal_ have been but slightly annotated.
Swift’s letters abound with allusions to people of all classes with whom
he came in contact in London, and to others known to Esther Johnson in
Ireland; and a large proportion of these persons have been passed over in
discreet silence by Sir Walter Scott and others.  The task of the
annotator has, of course, been made easier of late years by the
publication of contemporary journals and letters, and of useful works of
reference dealing with Parliament, the Army, the Church, the Civil
Service, and the like, besides the invaluable _Dictionary of National
Biography_.  I have also been assisted by a collection of MS. notes
kindly placed at my disposal by Mr. Thomas Seccombe.  I have aimed at
brevity and relevance, but it is hoped that the reader will find all the
information that is necessary.  Here and there a name has baffled
research, but I have been able to give definite particulars of a very
large number of people—noblemen and ladies in society in London or
Dublin, Members of Parliament, doctors, clergymen, Government officials,
and others who have hitherto been but names to the reader of the
_Journal_.  Where there is no reference at the foot of the page, the note
upon any person alluded to can readily be found by consulting the Index.
I have corrected a good many errors in the older notes, but in dealing
with so large a number of persons, some of whom it is difficult to
identify, I cannot hope that I myself have escaped pitfalls.

                                                                  G. A. A.




INTRODUCTION


WHEN Swift began to write the letters known as the _Journal to Stella_,
he was forty-two years of age, and Esther Johnson twenty-nine.  Perhaps
the most useful introduction to the correspondence will be a brief
setting forth of what is known of their friendship from Stella’s
childhood, the more specially as the question has been obscured by many
assertions and theories resting on a very slender basis of fact.

Jonathan Swift, born in 1667 after his father’s death, was educated by
his uncle Godwin, and after a not very successful career at Trinity
College, Dublin, went to stay with his mother, Abigail Erick, at
Leicester.  Mrs. Swift feared that her son would fall in love with a girl
named Betty Jones, but, as Swift told a friend, he had had experience
enough “not to think of marriage till I settle my fortune in the world,
which I am sure will not be in some years; and even then, I am so hard to
please that I suppose I shall put it off to the other world.”  Soon
afterwards an opening for Swift presented itself.  Sir William Temple,
now living in retirement at Moor Park, near Farnham, had been, like his
father, Master of the Irish Rolls, and had thus become acquainted with
Swift’s uncle Godwin.  Moreover, Lady Temple was related to Mrs. Swift,
as Lord Orrery tells us.  Thanks to these facts, the application to Sir
William Temple was successful, and Swift went to live at Moor Park before
the end of 1689.  There he read to Temple, wrote for him, and kept his
accounts, and growing into confidence with his employer, “was often
trusted with matters of great importance.”  The story—afterwards improved
upon by Lord Macaulay—that Swift received only £20 and his board, and was
not allowed to sit at table with his master, is wholly untrustworthy.
Within three years of their first intercourse, Temple had introduced his
secretary to William the Third, and sent him to London to urge the King
to consent to a bill for triennial Parliaments.

When Swift took up his residence at Moor Park he found there a little
girl of eight, daughter of a merchant named Edward Johnson, who had died
young.  Swift says that Esther Johnson was born on March 18, 1681; in the
parish register of Richmond, {0a} which shows that she was baptized on
March 20, 1680–81, her name is given as Hester; but she signed her will
“Esther,” the name by which she was always known.  Swift says, “Her
father was a younger brother of a good family in Nottinghamshire, her
mother of a lower degree; and indeed she had little to boast in her
birth.”  Mrs. Johnson had two children, Esther and Ann, and lived at Moor
Park as companion to Lady Giffard, Temple’s widowed sister.  Another
member of the household, afterwards to be Esther’s constant companion,
was Rebecca Dingley, a relative of the Temple family. {0b}  She was a
year or two older than Swift.

The lonely young man of twenty-two was both playfellow and teacher of the
delicate child of eight.  How he taught her to write has been charmingly
brought before us in the painting exhibited by Miss Dicksee at the Royal
Academy a few years ago; he advised her what books to read, and
instructed her, as he says, “in the principles of honour and virtue, from
which she never swerved in any one action or moment of her life.”

By 1694 Swift had grown tired of his position, and finding that Temple,
who valued his services, was slow in finding him preferment, he left Moor
Park in order to carry out his resolve to go into the Church.  He was
ordained, and obtained the prebend of Kilroot, near Belfast, where he
carried on a flirtation with a Miss Waring, whom he called Varina.  But
in May 1696 Temple made proposals which induced Swift to return to Moor
Park, where he was employed in preparing Temple’s memoirs and
correspondence for publication, and in supporting the side taken by
Temple in the Letters of Phalaris controversy by writing _The Battle of
the Books_, which was, however, not published until 1704.  On his return
to Temple’s house, Swift found his old playmate grown from a sickly child
into a girl of fifteen, in perfect health.  She came, he says, to be
“looked upon as one of the most beautiful, graceful, and agreeable young
women in London, only a little too fat.  Her hair was blacker than a
raven, and every feature of her face in perfection.”

On his death in January 1699, Temple left a will, {0c} dated 1694,
directing the payment of £20 each, with half a year’s wages, to Bridget
Johnson “and all my other servants”; and leaving a lease of some land in
Monistown, County Wicklow, to Esther Johnson, “servant to my sister
Giffard.”  By a codicil of February 1698, Temple left £100 to “Mr.
Jonathan Swift, now living with me.”  It may be added that by her will of
1722, proved in the following year, Lady Giffard gave £20 to Mrs.
Moss—Mrs. Bridget Johnson, who had married Richard Mose or Moss, Lady
Giffard’s steward.  The will proceeds: “To Mrs. Hester (_sic_) Johnson I
give £10, with the £100 I put into the Exchequer for her life and my own,
and declare the £100 to be hers which I am told is there in my name upon
the survivorship, and for which she has constantly sent over her
certificate and received the interest.  I give her besides my two little
silver candlesticks.”

Temple left in Swift’s hands the task of publishing his posthumous works,
a duty which afterwards led to a quarrel with Lady Giffard and other
members of the family.  Many years later Swift told Lord Palmerston that
he stopped at Moor Park solely for the benefit of Temple’s conversation
and advice, and the opportunity of pursuing his studies.  At Temple’s
death he was “as far to seek as ever.”  In the summer of 1699, however,
he was offered and accepted the post of secretary and chaplain to the
Earl of Berkeley, one of the Lords Justices, but when he reached Ireland
he found that the secretaryship had been given to another.  He soon,
however, obtained the living of Laracor, Agher, and Rathbeggan, and the
prebend of Dunlavin in St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Dublin.  The total value
of these preferments was about £230 a year, an income which Miss Waring
seems to have thought enough to justify him in marrying.  Swift’s reply
to the lady whom he had “singled out at first from the rest of women”
could only have been written with the intention of breaking off the
connection, and accordingly we hear no more of poor Varina.

At Laracor, a mile or two from Trim, and twenty miles from Dublin, Swift
ministered to a congregation of about fifteen persons, and had abundant
leisure for cultivating his garden, making a canal (after the Dutch
fashion of Moor Park), planting willows, and rebuilding the vicarage.  As
chaplain to Lord Berkeley, he spent much of his time in Dublin.  He was
on intimate terms with Lady Berkeley and her daughters, one of whom is
best known by her married name of Lady Betty Germaine; and through them
he had access to the fashionable society of Dublin.  When Lord Berkeley
returned to England in April 1701, Swift, after taking his Doctor’s
degree at Dublin, went with him, and soon afterwards published,
anonymously, a political pamphlet, _A Discourse on the Contests and
Dissentions in Athens and Rome_.  When he returned to Ireland in
September he was accompanied by Stella—to give Esther Johnson the name by
which she is best known—and her friend Mrs. Dingley.  Stella’s fortune
was about £1500, and the property Temple had left her was in County
Wicklow.  Swift, very much for his “own satisfaction, who had few friends
or acquaintance in Ireland,” persuaded Stella—now twenty years old—that
living was cheaper there than in England, and that a better return was
obtainable on money.  The ladies took his advice, and made Ireland their
home.  At first they felt themselves strangers in Dublin; “the adventure
looked so like a frolic,” Swift says, “the censure held for some time as
if there were a secret history in such a removal: which however soon blew
off by her excellent conduct.”  Swift took every step that was possible
to avoid scandal.  When he was away, the ladies occupied his rooms; when
he returned, they went into their own lodgings.  When he was absent, they
often stopped at the vicarage at Laracor, but if he were there, they
moved to Trim, where they visited the vicar, Dr. Raymond, or lived in
lodgings in the town or neighbourhood.  Swift was never with Stella
except in the presence of a third person, and in 1726 he said that he had
not seen her in a morning “these dozen years, except once or twice in a
journey.”

During a visit to England in the winter of 1703–4 we find Swift in
correspondence with the Rev. William Tisdall, a Dublin incumbent whom he
had formerly known at Belfast.  Tisdall was on friendly terms with Stella
and Mrs. Dingley, and Swift sent messages to them through him.  “Pray put
them upon reading,” he wrote, “and be always teaching something to Mrs.
Johnson, because she is good at comprehending, remembering and
retaining.”  But the correspondence soon took a different turn.  Tisdall
paid his addresses to Stella, and charged Swift with opposing his suit.
Tisdall’s letters are missing, but Swift’s reply of April 20, 1704, puts
things sufficiently clearly.  “My conjecture is,” he says, “that you
think I obstructed your inclinations to please my own, and that my
intentions were the same with yours.  In answer to all which I will, upon
my conscience and honour, tell you the naked truth.  First, I think I
have said to you before that, if my fortunes and humour served me to
think of that state, I should certainly, among all persons upon earth,
make your choice; because I never saw that person whose conversation I
entirely valued but hers; this was the utmost I ever gave way to.  And
secondly, I must assure you sincerely that this regard of mine never once
entered into my head to be an impediment to you.”  He had thought Tisdall
not rich enough to marry; “but the objection of your fortune being
removed, I declare I have no other; nor shall any consideration of my own
misfortune, in losing so good a friend and companion as her, prevail on
me, against her interest and settlement in the world, since it is held so
necessary and convenient a thing for ladies to marry, and that time takes
off from the lustre of virgins in all other eyes but mine.  I appeal to
my letters to herself whether I was your friend or not in the whole
concern, though the part I designed to act in it was purely passive.”  He
had even thought “it could not be decently broken,” without disadvantage
to the lady’s credit, since he supposed it was known to the town; and he
had always spoken of her in a manner far from discouraging.  Though he
knew many ladies of rank, he had “nowhere met with an humour, a wit, or
conversation so agreeable, a better portion of good sense, or a truer
judgment of men or things.”  He envied Tisdall his prudence and temper,
and love of peace and settlement, “the reverse of which has been the
great uneasiness of my life, and is likely to continue so.”

This letter has been quoted at some length because of its great
importance.  It is obviously capable of various interpretations, and
some, like Dr. Johnson, have concluded that Swift was resolved to keep
Stella in his power, and therefore prevented an advantageous match by
making unreasonable demands.  I cannot see any ground for this
interpretation, though it is probable that Tisdall’s appearance as a
suitor was sufficiently annoying.  There is no evidence that Stella
viewed Tisdall’s proposal with any favour, unless it can be held to be
furnished by Swift’s belief that the town thought—rightly or wrongly—that
there was an engagement.  In any case, there could be no mistake in
future with regard to Swift’s attitude towards Stella.  She was dearer to
him than anyone else, and his feeling for her would not change, but for
marriage he had neither fortune nor humour.  Tisdall consoled himself by
marrying another lady two years afterwards; and though for a long time
Swift entertained for him feelings of dislike, in later life their
relations improved, and Tisdall was one of the witnesses to Swift’s will.

The _Tale of a Tub_ was published in 1704, and Swift was soon in constant
intercourse with Addison and the other wits.  While he was in England in
1705, Stella and Mrs. Dingley made a short visit to London.  This and a
similar visit in 1708 are the only occasions on which Stella is known to
have left Ireland after taking up her residence in that country.  Swift’s
influence over women was always very striking.  Most of the toasts of the
day were his friends, and he insisted that any lady of wit and quality
who desired his acquaintance should make the first advances.  This, he
says—writing in 1730—had been an established rule for over twenty years.
In 1708 a dispute on this question with one toast, Mrs. Long, was
referred for settlement to Ginckel Vanhomrigh, the son of the house where
it was proposed that the meeting should take place; and by the
decision—which was in Swift’s favour—“Mrs. Vanhomrigh and her fair
daughter Hessy” were forbidden to aid Mrs. Long in her disobedience for
the future.  This is the first that we hear of Hester or Esther
Vanhomrigh, who was afterwards to play so marked a part in the story of
Swift’s life.  Born on February 14, 1690, she was now eighteen.  Her
father, Bartholomew Vanhomrigh, a Dublin merchant of Dutch origin, had
died in 1703, leaving his wife a fortune of some sixteen thousand pounds.
On the income from this money Mrs. Vanhomrigh, with her two daughters,
Hester and Mary, were able to mix in fashionable society in London.
Swift was introduced to them by Sir Andrew Fountaine early in 1708, but
evidently Stella did not make their acquaintance, nor indeed hear much,
if anything, of them until the time of the _Journal_.

Swift’s visit to London in 1707–9 had for its object the obtaining for
the Irish Church of the surrender by the Crown of the First-Fruits and
Twentieths, which brought in about £2500 a year.  Nothing came of Swift’s
interviews with the Whig statesmen, and after many disappointments he
returned to Laracor (June 1709), and conversed with none but Stella and
her card-playing friends, and Addison, now secretary to Lord Wharton.
{0d}  Next year came the fall of the Whigs, and a request to Swift from
the Irish bishops that he would renew the application for the
First-Fruits, in the hope that there would be greater success with the
Tories.  Swift reached London in September 1710, and began the series of
letters, giving details of the events of each day, which now form the
_Journal to Stella_.  “I will write something every day to MD,” he says,
“and make it a sort of journal; and when it is full I will send it,
whether MD writes or no; and so that will be pretty; and I shall always
be in conversation with MD, and MD with Presto.”  It is interesting to
note that by way of caution these letters were usually addressed to Mrs.
Dingley, and not to Stella.

The story of Swift’s growing intimacy with the Tory leaders, of the
success of his mission, of the increasing coolness towards older
acquaintances, and of his services to the Government, can best be read in
the _Journal_ itself.  In the meantime the intimacy with the Vanhomrighs
grew rapidly.  They were near neighbours of Swift’s, and in a few weeks
after his arrival in town we find frequent allusions to the dinners at
their house (where he kept his best gown and periwig), sometimes with the
explanation that he went there “out of mere listlessness,” or because it
was wet, or because another engagement had broken down.  Only thrice does
he mention the “eldest daughter”: once on her birthday; once on the
occasion of a trick played him, when he received a message that she was
suddenly very ill (“I rattled off the daughter”); and once to state that
she was come of age, and was going to Ireland to look after her fortune.
There is evidence that “Miss Essy,” or Vanessa, to give her the name by
which she will always be known, was in correspondence with Swift in July
1710—while he was still in Ireland—and in the spring of 1711; {0e} and
early in 1711 Stella seems to have expressed surprise at Swift’s intimacy
with the family, for in February he replied, “You say they are of no
consequence; why, they keep as good female company as I do male; I see
all the drabs of quality at this end of the town with them.”  In the
autumn Swift seems to have thought that Vanessa was keeping company with
a certain Hatton, but Mrs. Long—possibly meaning to give him a warning
hint—remarked that if this were so “she is not the girl I took her for;
but to me she seems melancholy.”

In 1712 occasional letters took the place of the daily journal to “MD,”
but there is no change in the affectionate style in which Swift wrote.
In the spring he had a long illness, which affected him, indeed,
throughout the year.  Other reasons which he gives for the falling off in
his correspondence are his numerous business engagements, and the hope of
being able to send some good news of an appointment for himself.  There
is only one letter to Stella between July 19 and September 15, and Dr.
Birkbeck Hill argues that the poem “Cadenus and Vanessa” was composed at
that time. {0f}  If this be so, it must have been altered next year,
because it was not until 1713 that Swift was made a Dean.  Writing on
April 19, 1726, Swift said that the poem “was written at Windsor near
fourteen years ago, and dated: it was a task performed on a frolic among
some ladies, and she it was addressed to died some time ago in Dublin,
and on her death the copy shewn by her executor.”  Several copies were in
circulation, and he was indifferent what was done with it; it was “only a
cavalier business,” and if those who would not give allowances were
malicious, it was only what he had long expected.

From this letter it would appear that this remarkable poem was written in
the summer of 1712; whereas the title-page of the pamphlet says it was
“written at Windsor, 1713.”  Swift visited Windsor in both years, but he
had more leisure in 1712, and we know that Vanessa was also at Windsor in
that year.  In that year, too, he was forty-four, the age mentioned in
the poem.  Neither Swift nor Vanessa forgot this intercourse: years
afterwards Swift wrote to her, “Go over the scenes of Windsor. . . .  Cad
thinks often of these”; and again, “Remember the indisposition at
Windsor.”  We know that this poem was revised in 1719, when in all
probability Swift added the lines to which most exception can be taken.
Cadenus was to be Vanessa’s instructor:—

    “His conduct might have made him styled
    A father, and the nymph his child.”

He had “grown old in politics and wit,” and “in every scene had kept his
heart,” so that he now “understood not what was love.”  But he had
written much, and Vanessa admired his wit.  Cadenus found that her
thoughts wandered—

    “Though she seemed to listen more
    To all he spoke than e’er before.”

When she confessed her love, he was filled with “shame, disappointment,
guilt, surprise.”  He had aimed only at cultivating the mind, and had
hardly known whether she was young or old.  But he was flattered, and
though he could not give her love, he offered her friendship, “with
gratitude, respect, esteem.”  Vanessa took him at his word, and said she
would now be tutor, though he was not apt to learn:—

    “But what success Vanessa met
    Is to the world a secret yet.
    Whether the nymph to please her swain
    Talks in a high romantic strain;
    Or whether he at last descends
    To act with less seraphic ends;
    Or, to compound the business, whether
    They temper love and books together,
    Must never to mankind be told,
    Nor shall the conscious Muse unfold.”

Such is the poem as we now have it, written, it must be remembered, for
Vanessa’s private perusal.  It is to be regretted, for her own sake, that
she did not destroy it.

Swift received the reward of his services to the Government—the Deanery
of St. Patrick’s, Dublin—in April 1713.  Disappointed at what he regarded
as exile, he left London in June.  Vanessa immediately began to send him
letters which brought home to him the extent of her passion; and she
hinted at jealousy in the words, “If you are very happy, it is
ill-natured of you not to tell me so, except ’tis what is inconsistent
with my own.”  In his reply Swift dwelt upon the dreariness of his
surroundings at Laracor, and reminded her that he had said he would
endeavour to forget everything in England, and would write as seldom as
he could.

Swift was back again in the political strife in London in September,
taking Oxford’s part in the quarrel between that statesman and
Bolingbroke.  On the fall of the Tories at the death of Queen Anne, he
saw that all was over, and retired to Ireland, not to return again for
twelve years.  In the meantime the intimacy with Vanessa had been
renewed.  Her mother had died, leaving debts, and she pressed Swift for
advice in the management of her affairs.  When she suggested coming to
Ireland, where she had property, he told her that if she took this step
he would “see her very seldom.”  However, she took up her abode at
Celbridge, only a few miles from Dublin.  Swift gave her many cautions,
out of “the perfect esteem and friendship” he felt for her, but he often
visited her.  She was dissatisfied, however, begging him to speak kindly,
and at least to counterfeit his former indulgent friendship.  “What can
be wrong,” she wrote, “in seeing and advising an unhappy young woman?
You cannot but know that your frowns make my life unsupportable.”
Sometimes he treated the matter lightly; sometimes he showed annoyance;
sometimes he assured her of his esteem and love, but urged her not to
make herself or him “unhappy by imaginations.”  He was uniformly
unsuccessful in stopping Vanessa’s importunity.  He endeavoured, she
said, by severities to force her from him; she knew she was the cause of
uneasy reflections to him; but nothing would lessen her “inexpressible
passion.”

Unfortunately he failed—partly no doubt from mistaken considerations of
kindness, partly because he shrank from losing her affection—to take
effective steps to put an end to Vanessa’s hopes.  It would have been
better if he had unhesitatingly made it clear to her that he could not
return her passion, and that if she could not be satisfied with
friendship the intimacy must cease.  To quote Sir Henry Craik, “The
friendship had begun in literary guidance: it was strengthened by
flattery: it lived on a cold and almost stern repression, fed by
confidences as to literary schemes, and by occasional literary
compliments: but it never came to have a real hold over Swift’s heart.”

With 1716 we come to the alleged marriage with Stella.  In 1752, seven
years after Swift’s death, Lord Orrery, in his _Remarks_ on Swift, said
that Stella was “the concealed, but undoubted, wife of Dr. Swift. . . .
If my informations are right, she was married to Dr. Swift in the year
1716, by Dr. Ashe, then Bishop of Clogher.”  Ten years earlier, in 1742,
in a letter to Deane Swift which I have not seen quoted before, Orrery
spoke of the advantage of a wife to a man in his declining years; “nor
had the Dean felt a blow, or wanted a companion, had he been married, or,
in other words, had Stella lived.”  What this means is not at all clear.
In 1754, Dr. Delany, an old friend of Swift’s, wrote, in comment upon
Orrery’s _Remarks_, “Your account of his marriage is, I am satisfied,
true.”  In 1789, George Monck Berkeley, in his _Literary Relics_, said
that Swift and Stella were married by Dr. Ashe, “who himself related the
circumstances to Bishop Berkeley, by whose relict the story was
communicated to me.”  Dr. Ashe cannot have told Bishop Berkeley by word
of mouth, because Ashe died in 1717, the year after the supposed
marriage, and Berkeley was then still abroad.  But Berkeley was at the
time tutor to Ashe’s son, and may therefore have been informed by letter,
though it is difficult to believe that Ashe would write about such a
secret so soon after the event.  Thomas Sheridan, on information received
from his father, Dr. Sheridan, Swift’s friend, accepted the story of the
marriage in his book (1784), adding particulars which are of very
doubtful authenticity; and Johnson, in his _Lives of the Poets_, says
that Dr. Madden told him that Stella had related her “melancholy story”
to Dr. Sheridan before her death.  On the other hand, Dr. Lyon, Swift’s
attendant in his later years, disbelieved the story of the marriage,
which was, he said, “founded only on hearsay”; and Mrs. Dingley “laughed
at it as an idle tale,” founded on suspicion.

Sir Henry Craik is satisfied with the evidence for the marriage.  Mr.
Leslie Stephen is of opinion that it is inconclusive, and Forster could
find no evidence that is at all reasonably sufficient; while Mr. Stanley
Lane-Poole, Mr. Churton Collins, and others are strongly of opinion that
no such marriage ever took place.  A full discussion of the evidence
would involve the consideration of the reliability of the witnesses, and
the probability of their having authentic information, and would be out
of place here.  My own opinion is that the evidence for the marriage is
very far from convincing, and this view seems to be confirmed by all that
we know from his own letters of Swift’s relations with Stella.  It has
been suggested that she was pained by reports of Swift’s intercourse with
Vanessa, and felt that his feelings towards herself were growing colder;
but this is surmise, and no satisfactory explanation has been given to
account for a form of marriage being gone through after so many years of
the closest friendship.  There is no reason to suppose that there was at
the time any gossip in circulation about Stella, and if her reputation
was in question, a marriage of which the secret was carefully kept would
obviously be of no benefit to her.  Moreover, we are told that there was
no change in their mode of life; if they were married, what reason could
there be for keeping it a secret, or for denying themselves the closer
relationship of marriage?  The only possible benefit to Stella was that
Swift would be prevented marrying anyone else.  It is impossible, of
course, to disprove a marriage which we are told was secretly performed,
without banns or licence or witnesses; but we may reasonably require
strong evidence for so startling a step.  If we reject the tale, the
story of Swift’s connection with Stella is at least intelligible; while
the acceptance of this marriage introduces many puzzling circumstances,
and makes it necessary to believe that during the remainder of Stella’s
life Swift repeatedly spoke of his wife as a friend, and of himself as
one who had never married. {0g}  What right have we to put aside Swift’s
plain and repeated statements?  Moreover, his attitude towards Vanessa
for the remaining years of her life becomes much more culpable if we are
to believe that he had given Stella the claim of a wife upon him. {0h}

From 1719 onwards we have a series of poems to Stella, written chiefly in
celebration of her birthday.  She was now thirty-eight (Swift says,
“Thirty-four—we shan’t dispute a year or more”), and the verses abound in
laughing allusions to her advancing years and wasting form.  Hers was “an
angel’s face a little cracked,” but all men would crowd to her door when
she was fourscore.  His verses to her had always been

    “Without one word of Cupid’s darts,
    Of killing eyes, or bleeding hearts;
    With friendship and esteem possessed,
    I ne’er admitted Love a guest.”

Her only fault was that she could not bear the lightest touch of blame.
Her wit and sense, her loving care in illness—to which he owed that fact
that he was alive to say it—made her the “best pattern of true friends.”
She replied, in lines written on Swift’s birthday in 1721, that she was
his pupil and humble friend.  He had trained her judgment and refined her
fancy and taste:—

    “You taught how I might youth prolong
    By knowing what was right and wrong;
    How from my heart to bring supplies
    Of lustre to my fading eyes;
    How soon a beauteous mind repairs
    The loss of changed or falling hairs;
    How wit and virtue from within
    Send out a smoothness o’er the skin
    Your lectures could my fancy fix,
    And I can please at thirty-six.”

In 1723 Vanessa is said to have written to Stella or to Swift—there are
discrepancies in the versions given by Sheridan and Lord Orrery, both of
whom are unreliable—asking whether the report that they were married was
true.  Swift, we are told, rode to Celbridge, threw down Vanessa’s letter
in a great rage, and left without speaking a word. {0i}  Vanessa, whose
health had been failing for some time, died shortly afterwards, having
cancelled a will in Swift’s favour.  She left “Cadenus and Vanessa” for
publication, and when someone said that she must have been a remarkable
woman to inspire such a poem, Stella replied that it was well known that
the Dean could write finely upon a broomstick.

Soon after this tragedy Swift became engrossed in the Irish agitation
which led to the publication of the _Drapier’s Letters_, and in 1726 he
paid a long-deferred visit to London, taking with him the manuscript of
_Gulliver’s Travels_.  While in England he was harassed by bad news of
Stella, who had been in continued ill-health for some years.  His letters
to friends in Dublin show how greatly he suffered.  To the Rev. John
Worrall he wrote, in a letter which he begged him to burn, “What you tell
me of Mrs. Johnson I have long expected with great oppression and
heaviness of heart.  We have been perfect friends these thirty-five
years.  Upon my advice they both came to Ireland, and have been ever
since my constant companions; and the remainder of my life will be a very
melancholy scene, when one of them is gone, whom I most esteemed, upon
the score of every good quality that can possibly recommend a human
creature.”  He would not for the world be present at her death: “I should
be a trouble to her, and a torment to myself.”  If Stella came to Dublin,
he begged that she might be lodged in some airy, healthy part, and not in
the Deanery, where too it would be improper for her to die.  “There is
not a greater folly,” he thinks, “than to contract too great and intimate
a friendship, which must always leave the survivor miserable.”  To Dr.
Stopford he wrote in similar terms of the “younger of the two” “oldest
and dearest friends I have in the world.”  “This was a person of my own
rearing and instructing from childhood, who excelled in every good
quality that can possibly accomplish a human creature. . . .  I know not
what I am saying; but believe me that violent friendship is much more
lasting and as much engaging as violent love.”  To Dr. Sheridan he said,
“I look upon this to be the greatest event that can ever happen to me;
but all my preparation will not suffice to make me bear it like a
philosopher nor altogether like a Christian.  There hath been the most
intimate friendship between us from our childhood, and the greatest merit
on her side that ever was in one human creature towards another.” {0j}
Pope alludes in a letter to Sheridan to the illness of Swift’s
“particular friend,” but with the exception of another reference by Pope,
and of a curiously flippant remark by Bolingbroke, the subject is nowhere
mentioned in Swift’s correspondence with his literary and fashionable
friends in London.

Swift crossed to Ireland in August, fearing the worst; but Stella
rallied, and in the spring of 1727 he returned to London.  In August,
however, there came alarming news, when Swift was himself suffering from
giddiness and deafness.  To Dr. Sheridan he wrote that the last act of
life was always a tragedy at best: “it is a bitter aggravation to have
one’s best friend go before one.”  Life was indifferent to him; if he
recovered from his disorder it would only be to feel the loss of “that
person for whose sake only life was worth preserving.  I brought both
those friends over that we might be happy together as long as God should
please; the knot is broken, and the remaining person you know has ill
answered the end; and the other, who is now to be lost, is all that was
valuable.”  To Worrall he again wrote (in Latin) that Stella ought not to
be lodged at the Deanery; he had enemies who would place a bad
interpretation upon it if she died there.

Swift left London for Dublin in September; he was detained some days at
Holyhead by stress of weather, and in the private journal which he kept
during that time he speaks of the suspense he was in about his “dearest
friend.” {0k}  In December Stella made a will—signed “Esther Johnson,
spinster”—disposing of her property in the manner Swift had suggested.
Her allusions to Swift are incompatible with any such feeling of
resentment as is suggested by Sheridan.  She died on January 28, 1728.
Swift could not bear to be present, but on the night of her death he
began to write his very interesting _Character of Mrs. Johnson_, from
which passages have already been quoted.  He there calls her “the truest,
most virtuous and valuable friend that I, or perhaps any other person,
was ever blessed with.”  Combined with excellent gifts of the mind, “she
had a gracefulness, somewhat more than human, in every motion, word, and
action.  Never was so happy a conjunction of civility, freedom, easiness,
and sincerity.”  Everyone treated her with marked respect, yet everyone
was at ease in her society.  She preserved her wit, judgment, and
vivacity to the last, but often complained of her memory.  She chose men
rather than women for her companions, “the usual topic of ladies’
discourse being such as she had little knowledge of and less relish.”
“Honour, truth, liberality, good nature, and modesty were the virtues she
chiefly possessed, and most valued in her acquaintance.”  In some Prayers
used by Swift during her last sickness, he begged for pity for “the
mournful friends of Thy distressed servant, who sink under the weight of
her present condition, and the fear of losing the most valuable of our
friends.”  He was too ill to be present at the funeral at St. Patrick’s.
Afterwards, we are told, a lock of her hair was found in his desk,
wrapped in a paper bearing the words, “Only a woman’s hair.”

Swift continued to produce pamphlets manifesting growing misanthropy,
though he showed many kindnesses to people who stood in need of help.  He
seems to have given Mrs. Dingley fifty guineas a year, pretending that it
came from a fund for which he was trustee.  The mental decay which he had
always feared—“I shall be like that tree,” he once said, “I shall die at
the top”—became marked about 1738.  Paralysis was followed by aphasia,
and after acute pain, followed by a long period of apathy, death relieved
him in October 1745.  He was buried by Stella’s side, in accordance with
his wishes.  The bulk of his fortune was left to found a hospital for
idiots and lunatics.

There has been much rather fruitless discussion respecting the reason or
reasons why Swift did not marry Stella; for if there was any marriage, it
was nothing more than a form.  Some have supposed that Swift resolved to
remain unmarried because the insanity of an uncle and the fits and
giddiness to which he was always subject led him to fear insanity in his
own case.  Others, looking rather to physical causes, have dwelt upon his
coldness of temperament and indisposition to love; upon the repugnance he
often showed towards marriage, and the tone of some of the verses on the
subject written in his later years.  Others, again, have found a cause in
his parsimonious habits, in his dread of poverty, the effects of which he
had himself felt, and in the smallness of his income, at least until he
was middle-aged. {0l}  It may well be that one or all of these things
influenced Swift’s action.  We cannot say more.  He himself, as we have
seen, said, as early as 1704, that if his humour and means had permitted
him to think of marriage, his choice would have been Stella.  Perhaps,
however, there is not much mystery in the matter.  Swift seems to have
been wanting in passion; probably he was satisfied with the affection
which Stella gave him, and did not wish for more.  Such an attachment as
his usually results in marriage, but not necessarily.  It is not
sufficiently remembered that the affection began in Stella’s childhood.
They were “perfect friends” for nearly forty years, and her advancing
years in no way lessened his love, which was independent of beauty.
Whether Stella was satisfied, who shall say?  Mrs. Oliphant thought that
few women would be disposed to pity Stella, or think her life one of
blight or injury.  Mr. Leslie Stephen says, “She might and probably did
regard his friendship as a full equivalent for the sacrifice. . . .  Is
it better to be the most intimate friend of a man of genius or the wife
of a commonplace Tisdall?”  Whatever we may surmise, there is nothing to
prove that she was disappointed.  She was the one star which brightened
Swift’s storm-tossed course; it is well that she was spared seeing the
wreck at the end.

                                * * * * *

The _Journal to Stella_ is interesting from many points of view: for its
bearing upon Swift’s relations with Stella and upon his own character;
for the light which it throws upon the history of the time and upon
prominent men of the day; and for the illustrations it contains of the
social life of people of various classes in London and elsewhere.  The
fact that it was written without any thought of publication is one of its
greatest attractions.  Swift jotted down his opinions, his hopes, his
disappointments, without thought of their being seen by anybody but his
correspondents.  The letters are transparently natural.  It has been said
more than once that the _Journal_, by the nature of the case, contains no
full-length portraits, and hardly any sketches.  Swift mentions the
people he met, but rarely stops to draw a picture of them.  But though
this is true, the casual remarks which he makes often give a vivid
impression of what he thought of the person of whom he is speaking, and
in many cases those few words form a chief part of our general estimate
of the man.  There are but few people of note at the time who are not
mentioned in these pages.  We see Queen Anne holding a Drawing-room in
her bedroom: “she looked at us round with her fan in her mouth, and once
a minute said about three words to some that were nearest her.”  We see
Harley, afterwards the Earl of Oxford, “a pure trifler,” who was always
putting off important business; Bolingbroke, “a thorough rake”; the
prudent Lord Dartmouth, the other Secretary of State, from whom Swift
could never “work out a dinner.”  There is Marlborough, “covetous as
Hell, and ambitious as the prince of it,” yet a great general and unduly
pressed by the Tories; and the volatile Earl of Peterborough, “above
fifty, and as active as one of five-and-twenty”—“the ramblingest lying
rogue on earth.”  We meet poor Congreve, nearly blind, and in fear of
losing his commissionership; the kindly Arbuthnot, the Queen’s physician;
Addison, whom Swift met more and more rarely, busy with the preparation
and production of _Cato_; Steele, careless as ever, neglecting important
appointments, and “governed by his wife most abominably”; Prior, poet and
diplomatist, with a “lean carcass”; and young Berkeley of Trinity
College, Dublin, “a very ingenious man and great philosopher,” whom Swift
determined to favour as much as he could.  Mrs. Masham, the Duchess of
Somerset, the Duchess of Shrewsbury, the Duchess of Hamilton, Lady Betty
Germaine, and many other ladies appear with more or less distinctness;
besides a host of people of less note, of whom we often know little but
what Swift tells us.

Swift throws much light, too, on the daily life of his time.  The bellman
on his nightly rounds, calling “Paaast twelvvve o’clock”; the dinner at
three, or at the latest, four; the meetings at coffee-houses; the
book-sales; the visit to the London sights—the lions at the Tower,
Bedlam, the tombs in Westminster Abbey, and the puppet-show; the terrible
Mohocks, of whom Swift stood in so much fear; the polite “howdees” sent
to friends by footmen; these and more are all described in the _Journal_.
We read of curious habits and practices of fashionable ladies; of the
snuff used by Mrs. Dingley and others; of the jokes—“bites,” puns, and
the like—indulged in by polite persons.  When Swift lodged at Chelsea, he
reached London either by boat, or by coach,—which was sometimes full when
he wanted it,—or by walking across the “Five Fields,” not without fear of
robbers at night.  The going to or from Ireland was a serious matter;
after the long journey by road came the voyage (weather permitting) of
some fifteen hours, with the risk of being seized or pursued by French
privateers; and when Ireland was reached the roads were of the worst.  We
have glimpses of fashionable society in Dublin, of the quiet life at
Laracor and Trim, and of the drinking of the waters at Wexford, where
visitors had to put up with primitive arrangements: “Mrs. Dingley never
saw such a place in her life.”

Swift’s own characteristics come out in the clearest manner in the
_Journal_, which gives all his hopes and fears during three busy years.
He was pleased to find on his arrival in London how great a value was set
on his friendship by both political parties: “The Whigs were ravished to
see me, and would lay hold on me as a twig while they are drowning;” but
Godolphin’s coldness enraged him, so that he was “almost vowing
vengeance.”  Next day he talked treason heartily against the Whigs, their
baseness and ingratitude, and went home full of schemes of revenge.  “The
Tories drily tell me I may make my fortune, if I please; but I do not
understand them, or rather, I _do_ understand them.”  He realised that
the Tories might not be more grateful than others, but he thought they
were pursuing the true interests of the public, and was glad to
contribute what was in his power.  His vanity was gratified by Harley
inviting him to the private dinners with St. John and Harcourt which were
given on Saturdays, and by their calling him Jonathan; but he did not
hope too much from their friendship: “I said I believed they would leave
me Jonathan, as they found me . . . but I care not.”

Of Swift’s frugal habits there is abundant evidence in the _Journal_.
When he came to town he took rooms on a first floor, “a dining-room and
bed-chamber, at eight shillings a week; plaguy dear, but I spend nothing
for eating, never go to a tavern, and very seldom in a coach; yet after
all it will be expensive.”  In November he mentions that he had a fire:
“I am spending my second half-bushel of coals.”  In another place he
says, “People have so left the town, that I am at a loss for a dinner. . . .
It cost me eighteenpence in coach-hire before I could find a place
to dine in.”  Elsewhere we find: “This paper does not cost me a farthing:
I have it from the Secretary’s office.”  He often complains of having to
take a coach owing to the dirty condition of the streets: “This rain
ruins me in coach-hire; I walked away sixpennyworth, and came within a
shilling length, and then took a coach, and got a lift back for nothing.”
{0m}

Swift’s arrogance—the arrogance, sometimes, of a man who is morbidly
suspicious that he may be patronised—is shown in the manner in which he
speaks of the grand ladies with whom he came in contact.  He calls the
Duke of Ormond’s daughters “insolent drabs,” and talks of his “mistress,
Ophy Butler’s wife, who is grown a little charmless.”  When the Duchess
of Shrewsbury reproached him for not dining with her, Swift said that was
not so soon done; he expected more advances from ladies, especially
duchesses.  On another occasion he was to have supped at Lady
Ashburnham’s, “but the drab did not call for us in her coach, as she
promised, but sent for us, and so I sent my excuses.”  The arrogance was,
however, often only on the surface.  It is evident that Swift was very
kind in many cases.  He felt deeply for Mrs. Long in her misfortunes,
living and dying in an obscure country town.  On the last illness of the
poet Harrison he says, “I am very much afflicted for him, as he is my own
creature. . . .  I was afraid to knock at the door; my mind misgave me.”
He was “heartily sorry for poor Mrs. Parnell’s death; she seemed to be an
excellent good-natured young woman, and I believe the poor lad is much
afflicted; they appeared to live perfectly well together.”  Afterwards he
helped Parnell by introducing him to Bolingbroke and Oxford.  He found
kind words for Mrs. Manley in her illness, and Lady Ashburnham’s death
was “extremely moving. . . .  She was my greatest favourite, and I am in
excessive concern for her loss.”  Lastly, he was extraordinarily patient
towards his servant Patrick, who drank, stopped out at night, and in many
ways tried Swift’s temper.  There were good points about Patrick, but no
doubt the great consideration which Swift showed him was due in part to
the fact that he was a favourite of the ladies in Dublin, and had Mrs.
Vanhomrigh to intercede for him.

But for the best example of the kindly side of Swift’s nature, we must
turn to what he tells us in the _Journal_ about Stella herself.  The
“little language” which Swift used when writing to her was the language
he employed when playing with Stella as a little child at Moor Park.
Thackeray, who was not much in sympathy with Swift, said that he knew of
“nothing more manly, more tender, more exquisitely touching, than some of
these notes.”  Swift says that when he wrote plainly, he felt as if they
were no longer alone, but “a bad scrawl is so snug it looks like a PMD.”
In writing his fond and playful prattle, he made up his mouth “just as if
he were speaking it.” {0n}

Though Mrs. Dingley is constantly associated with Stella in the
affectionate greetings in the _Journal_, she seems to have been included
merely as a cloak to enable him to express the more freely his affection
for her companion.  Such phrases as “saucy girls,” “sirrahs,”
“sauceboxes,” and the like, are often applied to both; and sometimes
Swift certainly writes as if the one were as dear to him as the other;
thus we find, “Farewell, my dearest lives and delights, I love you better
than ever, if possible, as hope saved, I do, and ever will. . . .  I can
count upon nothing, nor will, but upon MD’s love and kindness. . . .  And
so farewell, dearest MD, Stella, Dingley, Presto, all together, now and
for ever, all together.”  But as a rule, notwithstanding Swift’s caution,
the greetings intended for Stella alone are easily distinguishable in
tone.  He often refers to her weak eyes and delicate health.  Thus he
writes, “The chocolate is a present, madam, for Stella.  Don’t read this,
you little rogue, with your little eyes; but give it to Dingley, pray
now; and I will write as plain as the skies.”  And again, “God Almighty
bless poor Stella, and her eyes and head: what shall we do to cure them,
poor dear life?”  Or, “Now to Stella’s little postscript; and I am almost
crazed that you vex yourself for not writing.  Can’t you dictate to
Dingley, and not strain your dear little eyes?  I am sure ’tis the grief
of my soul to think you are out of order.”  They had been keeping his
birthday; Swift wished he had been with them, rather than in London,
where he had no manner of pleasure: “I say Amen with all my heart and
vitals, that we may never be asunder again ten days together while poor
Presto lives.”  A few days later he says, “I wish I were at Laracor, with
dear charming MD,” and again, “Farewell, dearest beloved MD, and love
poor poor Presto, who has not had one happy day since he left you.”  “I
will say no more, but beg you to be easy till Fortune takes his course,
and to believe MD’s felicity is the great goal I aim at in all my
pursuits.”  “How does Stella look, Madam Dingley?” he asks; “pretty well,
a handsome young woman still?  Will she pass in a crowd?  Will she make a
figure in a country church?”  Elsewhere he writes, on receipt of a
letter, “God Almighty bless poor dear Stella, and send her a great many
birthdays, all happy and healthy and wealthy, and with me ever together,
and never asunder again, unless by chance. . . .  I can hardly imagine
you absent when I am reading your letter or writing to you.  No, faith,
you are just here upon this little paper, and therefore I see and talk
with you every evening constantly, and sometimes in the morning.”  The
letters lay under Swift’s pillow, and he fondled them as if he were
caressing Stella’s hand.

Of Stella herself we naturally have no direct account in the _Journal_,
but we hear a good deal of her life in Ireland, and can picture what she
was.  Among her friends in and about Trim and Laracor were Dr. Raymond,
the vicar of Trim, and his wife, the Garret Wesleys, the Percevals, and
Mr. Warburton, Swift’s curate.  At Dublin there were Archdeacon Walls and
his family; Alderman Stoyte, his wife and sister-in-law; Dean Sterne and
the Irish Postmaster-General, Isaac Manley.  For years these friends
formed a club which met in Dublin at each other’s houses, to sup and play
cards (“ombre and claret, and toasted oranges”), and we have frequent
allusions to Stella’s indifferent play, and the money which she lost,
much to Mrs. Dingley’s chagrin: “Poor Dingley fretted to see Stella lose
that four and elevenpence t’other night.”  Mrs. Dingley herself could
hardly play well enough to hold the cards while Stella went into the next
room.  If at dinner the mutton was underdone, and “poor Stella cannot
eat, poor dear rogue,” then “Dingley is so vexed.”  Swift was for ever
urging Stella to walk and ride; she was “naturally a stout walker,” and
“Dingley would do well enough if her petticoats were pinned up.”  And we
see Stella setting out on and returning from her ride, with her riband
and mask: “Ah, that riding to Laracor gives me short sighs as well as
you,” he says; “all the days I have passed here have been dirt to those.”

If the _Journal_ shows us some of Swift’s less attractive qualities, it
shows still more how great a store of humour, tenderness, and affection
there was in him.  In these letters we see his very soul; in his literary
work we are seldom moved to anything but admiration of his wit and
genius.  Such daily outpourings could never have been written for
publication, they were meant only for one who understood him perfectly;
and everything that we know of Stella—her kindliness, her wit, her
vivacity, her loyalty—shows that she was worthy of the confidence.




JOURNAL TO STELLA


LETTER I. {1a}


                                                 CHESTER, _Sept._ 2, 1710.

JOE {1b} will give you an account of me till I got into the boat; after
which the rogues made a new bargain, and forced me to give them two
crowns, and talked as if we should not be able to overtake any ship: but
in half an hour we got to the yacht; for the ships lay by [to] wait for
my Lord Lieutenant’s steward.  We made our voyage in fifteen hours just.
Last night I came to this town, and shall leave it, I believe, on Monday.
The first man I met in Chester was Dr. Raymond. {1c}  He and Mrs. Raymond
were here about levying a fine, in order to have power to sell their
estate.  They have found everything answer very well.  They both desire
to present their humble services to you: they do not think of Ireland
till next year.  I got a fall off my horse, riding here from Parkgate,
{2a} but no hurt; the horse understanding falls very well, and lying
quietly till I get up.  My duty to the Bishop of Clogher. {2b}  I saw him
returning from Dunleary; but he saw not me.  I take it ill he was not at
Convocation, and that I have not his name to my powers. {2c}  I beg you
will hold your resolution of going to Trim, and riding there as much as
you can.  Let the Bishop of Clogher remind the Bishop of Killala {2d} to
send me a letter, with one enclosed to the Bishop of Lichfield. {2e}  Let
all who write to me, enclose to Richard Steele, Esq., at his office at
the Cockpit, near Whitehall. {2f}  But not MD; I will pay for their
letters at St. James’s Coffee-house, {2g} that I may have them the
sooner.  My Lord Mountjoy {2h} is now in the humour that we should begin
our journey this afternoon; so that I have stole here again to finish
this letter, which must be short or long accordingly.  I write this post
to Mrs. Wesley, {2i} and will tell her, that I have taken care she may
have her bill of one hundred and fifteen pounds whenever she pleases to
send for it; and in that case I desire you will send it her enclosed and
sealed, and have it ready so, in case she should send for it: otherwise
keep it.  I will say no more till I hear whether I go to-day or no: if I
do, the letter is almost at an end.  My cozen Abigail is grown
prodigiously old.  God Almighty bless poo dee richar MD; and, for God’s
sake, be merry, and get oo health.  I am perfectly resolved to return as
soon as I have done my commission, whether it succeeds or no.  I never
went to England with so little desire in my life.  If Mrs. Curry {3a}
makes any difficulty about the lodgings, I will quit them and pay her
from July 9 last, and Mrs. Brent {3b} must write to Parvisol {3c} with
orders accordingly.  The post is come from London, and just going out; so
I have only time to pray God to bless poor richr MD FW FW MD MD ME ME ME.



LETTER II.


                                                  LONDON, _Sept._ 9, 1710.

I GOT here last Thursday, {4a} after five days’ travelling, weary the
first, almost dead the second, tolerable the third, and well enough the
rest; and am now glad of the fatigue, which has served for exercise; and
I am at present well enough.  The Whigs were ravished to see me, and
would lay hold on me as a twig while they are drowning, {4b} and the
great men making me their clumsy apologies, etc.  But my Lord Treasurer
{4c} received me with a great deal of coldness, which has enraged me so,
I am almost vowing revenge.  I have not yet gone half my circle; but I
find all my acquaintance just as I left them.  I hear my Lady Giffard
{4d} is much at Court, and Lady Wharton {4e} was ridiculing it t’other
day; so I have lost a friend there.  I have not yet seen her, nor intend
it; but I will contrive to see Stella’s mother {4f} some other way.  I
writ to the Bishop of Clogher from Chester; and I now write to the
Archbishop of Dublin. {4g}  Everything is turning upside down; every Whig
in great office will, to a man, be infallibly put out; and we shall have
such a winter as hath not been seen in England.  Everybody asks me, how I
came to be so long in Ireland, as naturally as if here were my being; but
no soul offers to make it so: and I protest I shall return to Dublin, and
the Canal at Laracor, {4h} with more satisfaction than ever I did in my
life.  The Tatler {5a} expects every day to be turned out of his
employment; and the Duke of Ormond, {5b} they say, will be Lieutenant of
Ireland.  I hope you are now peaceably in Presto’s {5c} lodgings; but I
resolve to turn you out by Christmas; in which time I shall either do my
business, or find it not to be done.  Pray be at Trim by the time this
letter comes to you; and ride little Johnson, who must needs be now in
good case.  I have begun this letter unusually, on the post-night, and
have already written to the Archbishop; and cannot lengthen this.
Henceforth I will write something every day to MD, and make it a sort of
journal; and when it is full, I will send it, whether MD writes or no;
and so that will be pretty: and I shall always be in conversation with
MD, and MD with Presto.  Pray make Parvisol pay you the ten pounds
immediately; so I ordered him.  They tell me I am grown fatter, and look
better; and, on Monday, Jervas {5d} is to retouch my picture.  I thought
I saw Jack Temple {5e} and his wife pass by me to-day in their coach; but
I took no notice of them.  I am glad I have wholly shaken off that
family.  Tell the Provost, {5f} I have obeyed his commands to the Duke of
Ormond; or let it alone, if you please.  I saw Jemmy Leigh {6a} just now
at the Coffee-house, who asked after you with great kindness: he talks of
going in a fortnight to Ireland.  My service to the Dean, {6b} and Mrs.
Walls, and her Archdeacon. {6c}  Will Frankland’s {6d} wife is near
bringing to-bed, and I have promised to christen the child.  I fancy you
had my Chester letter the Tuesday after I writ.  I presented Dr. Raymond
to Lord Wharton {6e} at Chester.  Pray let me know when Joe gets his
money. {6f}  It is near ten, and I hate to send by the bellman. {6g}  MD
shall have a longer letter in a week, but I send this only to tell I am
safe in London; and so farewell, etc.



LETTER III.


                                                  LONDON, _Sept._ 9, 1710.

AFTER seeing the Duke of Ormond, dining with Dr. Cockburn, {7a} passing
some part of the afternoon with Sir Matthew Dudley {7b} and Will
Frankland, the rest at St. James’s Coffee-house, I came home, and writ to
the Archbishop of Dublin and MD, and am going to bed.  I forgot to tell
you, that I begged Will Frankland to stand Manley’s {7c} friend with his
father in this shaking season for places.  He told me, his father was in
danger to be out; that several were now soliciting for Manley’s place;
that he was accused of opening letters; that Sir Thomas Frankland {7d}
would sacrifice everything to save himself; and in that, I fear, Manley
is undone, etc.

10.  To-day I dined with Lord Mountjoy at Kensington; saw my mistress,
Ophy Butler’s {7e} wife, who is grown a little charmless.  I sat till ten
in the evening with Addison and Steele: Steele will certainly lose his
Gazetteer’s place, all the world detesting his engaging in parties. {8a}
At ten I went to the Coffee-house, hoping to find Lord Radnor, {8b} whom
I had not seen.  He was there; and for an hour and a half we talked
treason heartily against the Whigs, their baseness and ingratitude.  And
I am come home, rolling resentments in my mind, and framing schemes of
revenge: full of which (having written down some hints) I go to bed.  I
am afraid MD dined at home, because it is Sunday; and there was the
little half-pint of wine: for God’s sake, be good girls, and all will be
well.  Ben Tooke {8c} was with me this morning.

11.  Seven, morning.  I am rising to go to Jervas to finish my picture,
and ’tis shaving-day, so good-morrow MD; but don’t keep me now, for I
can’t stay; and pray dine with the Dean, but don’t lose your money.  I
long to hear from you, etc.—Ten at night.  I sat four hours this morning
to Jervas, who has given my picture quite another turn, and now approves
it entirely; but we must have the approbation of the town.  If I were
rich enough, I would get a copy of it, and bring it over.  Mr. Addison
and I dined together at his lodgings, and I sat with him part of this
evening; and I am now come home to write an hour.  Patrick {8d} observes,
that the rabble here are much more inquisitive in politics than in
Ireland.  Every day we expect changes, and the Parliament to be
dissolved.  Lord Wharton expects every day to be out: he is working like
a horse for elections; and, in short, I never saw so great a ferment
among all sorts of people.  I had a miserable letter from Joe last
Saturday, telling me Mr. Pratt {9a} refuses payment of his money.  I have
told it Mr. Addison, and will to Lord Wharton; but I fear with no
success.  However, I will do all I can.

12.  To-day I presented Mr. Ford {9b} to the Duke of Ormond; and paid my
first visit to Lord President, {9c} with whom I had much discourse; but
put him always off when he began to talk of Lord Wharton in relation to
me, till he urged it: then I said, he knew I never expected anything from
Lord Wharton, and that Lord Wharton knew that I understood it so.  He
said that he had written twice to Lord Wharton about me, who both times
said nothing at all to that part of his letter.  I am advised not to
meddle in the affair of the First-Fruits, till this hurry is a little
over, which still depends, and we are all in the dark.  Lord President
told me he expects every day to be out, and has done so these two months.
I protest, upon my life, I am heartily weary of this town, and wish I had
never stirred.

13.  I went this morning to the city, to see Mr. Stratford the Hamburg
merchant, my old schoolfellow; {9d} but calling at Bull’s {9e} on Ludgate
Hill, he forced me to his house at Hampstead to dinner among a great deal
of ill company; among the rest Mr. Hoadley, {9f} the Whig clergyman, so
famous for acting the contrary part to Sacheverell: {9g} but to-morrow I
design again to see Stratford.  I was glad, however, to be at Hampstead,
where I saw Lady Lucy {10a} and Moll Stanhope.  I hear very unfortunate
news of Mrs. Long; {10b} she and her comrade {10c} have broke up house,
and she is broke for good and all, and is gone to the country: I should
be extremely sorry if this be true.

14.  To-day, I saw Patty Rolt, {10d} who heard I was in town; and I dined
with Stratford at a merchant’s in the city, where I drank the first Tokay
wine I ever saw; and it is admirable, yet not to the degree I expected.
Stratford is worth a plum, {10e} and is now lending the Government forty
thousand pounds; yet we were educated together at the same school and
university. {10f}  We hear the Chancellor {10g} is to be suddenly out,
and Sir Simon Harcourt {11a} to succeed him: I am come early home, not
caring for the Coffee-house.

15.  To-day Mr. Addison, Colonel Freind, {11b} and I, went to see the
million lottery {11c} drawn at Guildhall.  The jackanapes of bluecoat
boys gave themselves such airs in pulling out the tickets, and showed
white hands open to the company, to let us see there was no cheat.  We
dined at a country-house near Chelsea, where Mr. Addison often retires;
and to-night, at the Coffee-house, we hear Sir Simon Harcourt is made
Lord Keeper; so that now we expect every moment the Parliament will be
dissolved; but I forgot that this letter will not go in three or four
days, and that my news will be stale, which I should therefore put in the
last paragraph.  Shall I send this letter before I hear from MD, or shall
I keep it to lengthen?  I have not yet seen Stella’s mother, because I
will not see Lady Giffard; but I will contrive to go there when Lady
Giffard is abroad.  I forgot to mark my two former letters; but I
remember this is Number 3, and I have not yet had Number 1 from MD; but I
shall by Monday, which I reckon will be just a fortnight after you had my
first.  I am resolved to bring over a great deal of china.  I loved it
mightily to-day. {11d}  What shall I bring?

16.  Morning.  Sir John Holland, {11e} Comptroller of the Household, has
sent to desire my acquaintance: I have a mind to refuse him, because he
is a Whig, and will, I suppose, be out among the rest; but he is a man of
worth and learning.  Tell me, do you like this journal way of writing?
Is it not tedious and dull?

Night.  I dined to-day with a cousin, a printer, {12a} where Patty Rolt
lodges, and then came home, after a visit or two; and it has been a very
insipid day.  Mrs. Long’s misfortune is confirmed to me; bailiffs were in
her house; she retired to private lodgings; thence to the country, nobody
knows where: her friends leave letters at some inn, and they are carried
to her; and she writes answers without dating them from any place.  I
swear, it grieves me to the soul.

17.  To-day I dined six miles out of town, with Will Pate, {12b} the
learned woollen-draper; Mr. Stratford went with me; six miles here is
nothing: we left Pate after sunset, and were here before it was dark.
This letter shall go on Tuesday, whether I hear from MD or no.  My health
continues pretty well; pray God Stella may give me a good account of
hers! and I hope you are now at Trim, or soon designing it.  I was
disappointed to-night: the fellow gave me a letter, and I hoped to see
little MD’s hand; and it was only to invite me to a venison pasty to-day:
so I lost my pasty into the bargain.  Pox on these declining courtiers!
Here is Mr. Brydges, {12c} the Paymaster-General, desiring my
acquaintance; but I hear the Queen sent Lord Shrewsbury {12d} to assure
him he may keep his place; and he promises me great assistance in the
affair of the First-Fruits.  Well, I must turn over this leaf to-night,
though the side would hold another line; but pray consider this is a
whole sheet; it holds a plaguy deal, and you must be content to be weary;
but I’ll do so no more.  Sir Simon Harcourt is made Attorney-General, and
not Lord Keeper.

18.  To-day I dined with Mr. Stratford at Mr. Addison’s retirement near
Chelsea; then came to town; got home early, and began a letter to the
_Tatler_, {13a} about the corruptions of style and writing, etc., and,
having not heard from you, am resolved this letter shall go to-night.
Lord Wharton was sent for to town in mighty haste, by the Duke of
Devonshire: {13b} they have some project in hand; but it will not do, for
every hour we expect a thorough revolution, and that the Parliament will
be dissolved.  When you see Joe, tell him Lord Wharton is too busy to
mind any of his affairs; but I will get what good offices I can from Mr.
Addison, and will write to-day to Mr. Pratt; and bid Joe not to be
discouraged, for I am confident he will get the money under any
Government; but he must have patience.

19.  I have been scribbling this morning, and I believe shall hardly fill
this side to-day, but send it as it is; and it is good enough for naughty
girls that won’t write to a body, and to a good boy like Presto.  I
thought to have sent this to-night, but was kept by company, and could
not; and, to say the truth, I had a little mind to expect one post more
for a letter from MD.  Yesterday at noon died the Earl of Anglesea, {13c}
the great support of the Tories; so that employment of Vice-Treasurer of
Ireland is again vacant.  We were to have been great friends, and I could
hardly have a loss that could grieve me more.  The Bishop of Durham {14a}
died the same day.  The Duke of Ormond’s daughter {14b} was to visit me
to-day at a third place by way of advance, {14c} and I am to return it
to-morrow.  I have had a letter from Lady Berkeley, begging me for
charity to come to Berkeley Castle, for company to my lord, {14d} who has
been ill of a dropsy; but I cannot go, and must send my excuse to-morrow.
I am told that in a few hours there will be more removals.

20.  To-day I returned my visits to the Duke’s daughters; {14e} the
insolent drabs came up to my very mouth to salute me.  Then I heard the
report confirmed of removals; my Lord President Somers; the Duke of
Devonshire, Lord Steward; and Mr. Boyle, {14f} Secretary of State, are
all turned out to-day.  I never remember such bold steps taken by a
Court: I am almost shocked at it, though I did not care if they were all
hanged.  We are astonished why the Parliament is not yet dissolved, and
why they keep a matter of that importance to the last.  We shall have a
strange winter here, between the struggles of a cunning provoked
discarded party, and the triumphs of one in power; of both which I shall
be an indifferent spectator, and return very peaceably to Ireland, when I
have done my part in the affair I am entrusted with, whether it succeeds
or no.  To-morrow I change my lodgings in Pall Mall for one in Bury
Street, {15a} where I suppose I shall continue while I stay in London.
If anything happens to-morrow, I will add it.—Robin’s Coffee-house. {15b}
We have great news just now from Spain; Madrid taken, and Pampeluna.  I
am here ever interrupted.

21.  I have just received your letter, which I will not answer now; God
be thanked all things are so well.  I find you have not yet had my
second: I had a letter from Parvisol, who tells me he gave Mrs. Walls a
bill of twenty pounds for me, to be given to you; but you have not sent
it.  This night the Parliament is dissolved: great news from Spain; King
Charles and Stanhope are at Madrid, and Count Staremberg has taken
Pampeluna.  Farewell.  This is from St. James’s Coffee-house.  I will
begin my answer to your letter to-night, but not send it this week.  Pray
tell me whether you like this journal way of writing.—I don’t like your
reasons for not going to Trim.  Parvisol tells me he can sell your horse.
Sell it, with a pox?  Pray let him know that he shall sell his soul as
soon.  What? sell anything that Stella loves, and may sometimes ride? It
is hers, and let her do as she pleases: pray let him know this by the
first that you know goes to Trim.  Let him sell my grey, and be hanged.



LETTER IV.


                                                 LONDON, _Sept._ 21, 1710.

HERE must I begin another letter, on a whole sheet, for fear saucy little
MD should be angry, and think _much_ that the paper is too _little_.  I
had your letter this night, as told you just and no more in my last; for
this must be taken up in answering yours, saucebox.  I believe I told you
where I dined to-day; and to-morrow I go out of town for two days to dine
with the same company on Sunday; Molesworth {16a} the Florence Envoy,
Stratford, and some others.  I heard to-day that a gentlewoman from Lady
Giffard’s house had been at the Coffee-house to inquire for me.  It was
Stella’s mother, I suppose.  I shall send her a penny-post letter {16b}
to-morrow, and contrive to see her without hazarding seeing Lady Giffard,
which I will not do until she begs my pardon.

22.  I dined to-day at Hampstead with Lady Lucy, etc., and when I got
home found a letter from Joe, with one enclosed to Lord Wharton, which I
will send to his Excellency, and second it as well as I can; but to talk
of getting the Queen’s order is a jest.  Things are in such a combustion
here, that I am advised not to meddle yet in the affair I am upon, which
concerns the clergy of a whole kingdom; and does he think anybody will
trouble the Queen about Joe?  We shall, I hope, get a recommendation from
the Lord Lieutenant to the trustees for the linen business, and I hope
that will do; and so I will write to him in a few days, and he must have
patience.  This is an answer to part of your letter as well as his.  I
lied; it is to-morrow I go to the country, and I won’t answer a bit more
of your letter yet.

23.  Here is such a stir and bustle with this little MD of ours; I must
be writing every night; I can’t go to bed without a word to them; I can’t
put out my candle till I have bid them good-night: O Lord, O Lord!  Well,
I dined the first time to-day, with Will Frankland and his fortune: she
is not very handsome.  Did I not say I would go out of town to-day?  I
hate lying abroad and clutter; I go to-morrow in Frankland’s chariot, and
come back at night.  Lady Berkeley has invited me to Berkeley Castle, and
Lady Betty Germaine {17a} to Drayton in Northamptonshire; and I’ll go to
neither.  Let me alone, I must finish my pamphlet.  I have sent a long
letter to Bickerstaff: {17b} let the Bishop of Clogher smoke {17c} it if
he can.  Well, I’ll write to the Bishop of Killala; but you might have
told him how sudden and unexpected my journey was though.  Deuce take
Lady S—; and if I know D—y, he is a rawboned-faced fellow, not handsome,
nor visibly so young as you say: she sacrifices two thousand pounds a
year, and keeps only six hundred.  Well, you have had all my land journey
in my second letter, and so much for that.  So, you have got into
Presto’s lodgings; very fine, truly!  We have had a fortnight of the most
glorious weather on earth, and still continues: I hope you have made the
best of it.  Ballygall {17d} will be a pure {17e} good place for air, if
Mrs. Ashe makes good her promise.  Stella writes like an emperor: I am
afraid it hurts your eyes; take care of that pray, pray, Mrs. Stella.
Can’t you do what you will with your own horse?  Pray don’t let that
puppy Parvisol sell him.  Patrick is drunk about three times a week, and
I bear it, and he has got the better of me; but one of these days I will
positively turn him off to the wide world, when none of you are by to
intercede for him.—Stuff—how can I get her husband into the
Charter-house? get a — into the Charter-house.—Write constantly!  Why,
sirrah, don’t I write every day, and sometimes twice a day to MD?  Now I
have answered all your letter, and the rest must be as it can be: send me
my bill.  Tell Mrs. Brent {18a} what I say of the Charter-house.  I think
this enough for one night; and so farewell till this time to-morrow.

24.  To-day I dined six miles out of town at Will Pate’s, with Stratford,
Frankland, and the Molesworths, {18b} and came home at night, and was
weary and lazy.  I can say no more now, but good-night.

25.  I was so lazy to-day that I dined at next door, {18c} and have sat
at home since six, writing to the Bishop of Clogher, Dean Sterne, and Mr.
Manley: the last, because I am in fear for him about his place, and have
sent him my opinion, what I and his other friends here think he ought to
do.  I hope he will take it well.  My advice was, to keep as much in
favour as possible with Sir Thomas Frankland, his master here.

26.  Smoke how I widen the margin by lying in bed when I write.  My bed
lies on the wrong side for me, so that I am forced often to write when I
am up.  Manley, you must know, has had people putting in for his place
already; and has been complained of for opening letters.  Remember that
last Sunday, September 24, 1710, was as hot as midsummer.  This was
written in the morning; it is now night, and Presto in bed.  Here’s a
clutter, I have gotten MD’s second letter, and I must answer it here.  I
gave the bill to Tooke, and so—  Well, I dined to-day with Sir John
Holland the Comptroller, and sat with him till eight; then came home, and
sent my letters, and writ part of a lampoon, {18d} which goes on very
slow: and now I am writing to saucy MD; no wonder, indeed, good boys must
write to naughty girls.  I have not seen your mother yet; my penny-post
letter, I suppose, miscarried: I will write another.  Mr. S— came to see
me; and said M— was going to the country next morning with her husband
(who I find is a surly brute); so I could only desire my service to her.

27.  To-day all our company dined at Will Frankland’s, with Steele and
Addison too.  This is the first rainy day since I came to town; I cannot
afford to answer your letter yet.  Morgan, {19a} the puppy, writ me a
long letter, to desire I would recommend him for purse-bearer or
secretary to the next Lord Chancellor that would come with the next
Governor.  I will not answer him; but beg you will say these words to his
father Raymond, {19b} or anybody that will tell him: That Dr. Swift has
received his letter; and would be very ready to serve him, but cannot do
it in what he desires, because he has no sort of interest in the persons
to be applied to.  These words you may write, and let Joe, or Mr.
Warburton, {19c} give them to him: a pox on him!  However, it is by these
sort of ways that fools get preferment.  I must not end yet, because I
cannot say good-night without losing a line, and then MD would scold; but
now, good-night.

28.  I have the finest piece of Brazil tobacco for Dingley that ever was
born. {19d}  You talk of Leigh; why, he won’t be in Dublin these two
months: he goes to the country, then returns to London, to see how the
world goes here in Parliament.  Good-night, sirrahs; no, no, not night; I
writ this in the morning, and looking carelessly I thought it had been of
last night.  I dined to-day with Mrs. Barton {20a} alone at her lodgings;
where she told me for certain, that Lady S— {20b} was with child when she
was last in England, and pretended a tympany, and saw everybody; then
disappeared for three weeks, her tympany was gone, and she looked like a
ghost, etc.  No wonder she married when she was so ill at containing.
Connolly {20c} is out; and Mr. Roberts in his place, who loses a better
here, but was formerly a Commissioner in Ireland.  That employment cost
Connolly three thousand pounds to Lord Wharton; so he has made one ill
bargain in his life.

29.  I wish MD a merry Michaelmas.  I dined with Mr. Addison, and Jervas
the painter, at Addison’s country place; and then came home, and writ
more to my lampoon.  I made a _Tatler_ since I came: guess which it is,
and whether the Bishop of Clogher smokes it.  I saw Mr. Sterne {20d}
to-day: he will do as you order, and I will give him chocolate for
Stella’s health.  He goes not these three weeks.  I wish I could send it
some other way.  So now to your letter, brave boys.  I don’t like your
way of saving shillings: nothing vexes me but that it does not make
Stella a coward in a coach. {20e} I don’t think any lady’s advice about
my ear signifies twopence: however I will, in compliance to you, ask Dr.
Cockburn.  Radcliffe {21a} I know not, and Barnard {21b} I never see.
Walls will certainly be stingier for seven years, upon pretence of his
robbery.  So Stella puns again; why, ’tis well enough; but I’ll not
second it, though I could make a dozen: I never thought of a pun since I
left Ireland.—Bishop of Clogher’s bill?  Why, he paid it to me; do you
think I was such a fool to go without it?  As for the four shillings, I
will give you a bill on Parvisol for it on t’other side of this paper;
and pray tear off the two letters I shall write to him and Joe, or let
Dingley transcribe and send them; though that to Parvisol, I believe, he
must have my hand for.  No, no, I’ll eat no grapes; I ate about six the
other day at Sir John Holland’s; but would not give sixpence for a
thousand, they are so bad this year.  Yes, faith, I hope in God Presto
and MD will be together this time twelvemonth.  What then?  Last year I
suppose I was at Laracor; but next I hope to eat my Michaelmas goose at
my two little gooses’ lodgings.  I drink no _aile_ (I suppose you mean
_ale_); but yet good wine every day, of five and six shillings a bottle.
O Lord, how much Stella writes! pray don’t carry that too far, young
women, but be temperate, to hold out.  To-morrow I go to Mr. Harley.
{21c} Why, small hopes from the Duke of Ormond: he loves me very well, I
believe, and would, in my turn, give me something to make me easy; and I
have good interest among his best friends.  But I don’t think of anything
further than the business I am upon.  You see I writ to Manley before I
had your letter, and I fear he will be out.  Yes, Mrs. Owl, Bligh’s
corpse {22a} came to Chester when I was there; and I told you so in my
letter, or forgot it.  I lodge in Bury Street, where I removed a week
ago.  I have the first floor, a dining-room, and bed-chamber, at eight
shillings a week; plaguy deep, but I spend nothing for eating, never go
to a tavern, and very seldom in a coach; yet after all it will be
expensive.  Why do you trouble yourself, Mistress Stella, about my
instrument?  I have the same the Archbishop gave me; and it is as good
now the bishops are away.  The Dean friendly! the Dean be poxed: a great
piece of friendship indeed, what you heard him tell the Bishop of
Clogher; I wonder he had the face to talk so: but he lent me money, and
that’s enough.  Faith, I would not send this these four days, only for
writing to Joe and Parvisol.  Tell the Dean that when the bishops send me
any packets, they must not write to me at Mr. Steele’s; but direct for
Mr. Steele, at his office at the Cockpit, and let the enclosed be
directed for me: that mistake cost me eighteenpence the other day.

30.  I dined with Stratford to-day, but am not to see Mr. Harley till
Wednesday: it is late, and I send this before there is occasion for the
bell; because I would have Joe have his letter, and Parvisol too; which
you must so contrive as not to cost them double postage.  I can say no
more, but that I am, etc.



LETTER V.


                                                 LONDON, _Sept._ 30, 1710.

HAN’T I brought myself into a fine _præmunire_, {22b} to begin writing
letters in whole sheets? and now I dare not leave it off.  I cannot tell
whether you like these journal letters: I believe they would be dull to
me to read them over; but, perhaps, little MD is pleased to know how
Presto passes his time in her absence.  I always begin my last the same
day I ended my former.  I told you where I dined to-day at a tavern with
Stratford: Lewis, {23a} who is a great favourite of Harley’s, was to have
been with us; but he was hurried to Hampton Court, and sent his excuse;
and that next Wednesday he would introduce me to Harley.  ’Tis good to
see what a lamentable confession the Whigs all make me of my ill usage:
but I mind them not.  I am already represented to Harley as a
discontented person, that was used ill for not being Whig enough; and I
hope for good usage from him.  The Tories drily tell me, I may make my
fortune, if I please; but I do not understand them—or rather, I do
understand them.

Oct. 1.  To-day I dined at Molesworth’s, the Florence Envoy; and sat this
evening with my friend Darteneuf, {23b} whom you have heard me talk of;
the greatest punner of this town next myself.  Have you smoked the
_Tatler_ that I writ? {23c}  It is much liked here, and I think it a pure
{23d} one.  To-morrow I go with Delaval, {23e} the Portugal Envoy, to
dine with Lord Halifax near Hampton Court. {23f}  Your Manley’s brother,
a Parliament-man here, has gotten an employment; {24a} and I am informed
uses much interest to preserve his brother: and, to-day, I spoke to the
elder Frankland to engage his father (Postmaster here); and I hope he
will be safe, although he is cruelly hated by all the Tories of Ireland.
I have almost finished my lampoon, and will print it for revenge on a
certain great person. {24b}  It has cost me but three shillings in meat
and drink since I came here, as thin as the town is.  I laugh to see
myself so disengaged in these revolutions.  Well, I must leave off, and
go write to Sir John Stanley, {24c} to desire him to engage Lady Hyde as
my mistress to engage Lord Hyde {24d} in favour of Mr. Pratt. {24e}

2.  Lord Halifax was at Hampton Court at his lodgings, and I dined with
him there with Methuen, {24f} and Delaval, and the late Attorney-General.
{24g}  I went to the Drawing-room before dinner (for the Queen was at
Hampton Court), and expected to see nobody; but I met acquaintance
enough.  I walked in the gardens, saw the cartoons of Raphael, and other
things; and with great difficulty got from Lord Halifax, who would have
kept me to-morrow to show me his house and park, and improvements.  We
left Hampton Court at sunset, and got here in a chariot and two horses
time enough by starlight.  That’s something charms me mightily about
London; that you go dine a dozen miles off in October, stay all day, and
return so quickly: you cannot do anything like this in Dublin. {25a}  I
writ a second penny post letter to your mother, and hear nothing of her.
Did I tell you that Earl Berkeley died last Sunday was se’nnight, at
Berkeley Castle, of a dropsy?  Lord Halifax began a health to me to-day;
it was the Resurrection of the Whigs, which I refused unless he would add
their Reformation too and I told him he was the only Whig in England I
loved, or had any good opinion of.

3.  This morning Stella’s sister {25b} came to me with a letter from her
mother, who is at Sheen; but will soon be in town, and will call to see
me: she gave me a bottle of palsy water, {25c} a small one, and desired I
would send it you by the first convenience, as I will; and she promises a
quart bottle of the same: your sister looked very well, and seems a good
modest sort of girl.  I went then to Mr. Lewis, first secretary to Lord
Dartmouth, {25d} and favourite to Mr. Harley, who is to introduce me
to-morrow morning.  Lewis had with him one Mr. Dyot, {25e} a Justice of
Peace, worth twenty thousand pounds, a Commissioner of the Stamp Office,
and married to a sister of Sir Philip Meadows, {26a} Envoy to the
Emperor.  I tell you this, because it is odds but this Mr. Dyot will be
hanged; for he is discovered to have counterfeited stamped paper, in
which he was a Commissioner; and, with his accomplices, has cheated the
Queen of a hundred thousand pounds.  You will hear of it before this come
to you, but may be not so particularly; and it is a very odd accident in
such a man.  Smoke Presto writing news to MD.  I dined to-day with Lord
Mountjoy at Kensington, and walked from thence this evening to town like
an emperor.  Remember that yesterday, October 2, was a cruel hard frost,
with ice; and six days ago I was dying with heat.  As thin as the town
is, I have more dinners than ever; and am asked this month by some
people, without being able to come for pre-engagements.  Well, but I
should write plainer, when I consider Stella cannot read, {26b} and
Dingley is not so skilful at my ugly hand.  I had to-night a letter from
Mr. Pratt, who tells me Joe will have his money when there are trustees
appointed by the Lord Lieutenant for receiving and disposing the linen
fund; and whenever those trustees are appointed, I will solicit whoever
is Lord Lieutenant, and am in no fear of succeeding.  So pray tell or
write him word, and bid him not be cast down; for Ned Southwell {26c} and
Mr. Addison both think Pratt in the right.  Don’t lose your money at
Manley’s to-night, sirrahs.

4.  After I had put out my candle last night, my landlady came into my
room, with a servant of Lord Halifax, to desire I would go dine with him
at his house near Hampton Court; but I sent him word, I had business of
great importance that hindered me, etc.  And to-day I was brought
privately to Mr. Harley, who received me with the greatest respect and
kindness imaginable: he has appointed me an hour on Saturday at four,
afternoon, when I will open my business to him; which expression I would
not use if I were a woman.  I know you smoked it; but I did not till I
writ it.  I dined to-day at Mr. Delaval’s, the Envoy for Portugal, with
Nic Rowe {27a} the poet, and other friends; and I gave my lampoon to be
printed.  I have more mischief in my heart; and I think it shall go round
with them all, as this hits, and I can find hints.  I am certain I
answered your 2d letter, and yet I do not find it here.  I suppose it was
in my 4th: and why N. 2d, 3d; is it not enough to say, as I do, 1, 2, 3?
etc.  I am going to work at another _Tatler_: {27b}  I’ll be far enough
but I say the same thing over two or three times, just as I do when I am
talking to little MD; but what care I? they can read it as easily as I
can write it: I think I have brought these lines pretty straight again.
I fear it will be long before I finish two sides at this rate.  Pray,
dear MD, when I occasionally give you any little commission mixed with my
letters, don’t forget it, as that to Morgan and Joe, etc., for I write
just as I can remember, otherwise I would put them all together.  I was
to visit Mr. Sterne to-day, and give him your commission about
handkerchiefs: that of chocolate I will do myself, and send it him when
he goes, and you’ll pay me when _the giver’s bread_, {27c} etc.  To-night
I will read a pamphlet, to amuse myself.  God preserve your dear healths!

5.  This morning Delaval came to see me, and we went together to
Kneller’s, {27d} who was not in town.  In the way we met the electors for
Parliament-men: {28a} and the rabble came about our coach, crying, “A
Colt, a Stanhope,” etc.  We were afraid of a dead cat, or our glasses
broken, and so were always of their side.  I dined again at Delaval’s;
and in the evening, at the Coffee-house, heard Sir Andrew Fountaine {28b}
was come to town.  This has been but an insipid sort of day, and I have
nothing to remark upon it worth threepence: I hope MD had a better, with
the Dean, the Bishop, or Mrs. Walls. {28c}  Why, the reason you lost four
and eightpence last night but one at Manley’s was, because you played bad
games: I took notice of six that you had ten to one against you: Would
any but a mad lady go out twice upon Manilio; Basto, and two small
diamonds? {28d}  Then in that game of spades, you blundered when you had
ten-ace; I never saw the like of you: and now you are in a huff because I
tell you this.  Well, here’s two and eightpence halfpenny towards your
loss.

6.  Sir Andrew Fountaine came this morning, and caught me writing in bed.
I went into the city with him; and we dined at the Chop-house with Will
Pate, {28e} the learned woollen-draper: then we sauntered at China-shops
{29a} and booksellers; went to the tavern, drank two pints of white wine,
and never parted till ten: and now I am come home, and must copy out some
papers I intend for Mr. Harley, whom I am to see, as I told you,
to-morrow afternoon; so that this night I shall say little to MD, but
that I heartily wish myself with them, and will come as soon as I either
fail, or compass my business.  We now hear daily of elections; and, in a
list I saw yesterday of about twenty, there are seven or eight more
Tories than in the last Parliament; so that I believe they need not fear
a majority, with the help of those who will vote as the Court pleases.
But I have been told that Mr. Harley himself would not let the Tories be
too numerous, for fear they should be insolent, and kick against him; and
for that reason they have kept several Whigs in employments, who expected
to be turned out every day; as Sir John Holland the Comptroller, and many
others.  And so get you gone to your cards, and your claret and orange,
at the Dean’s; and I’ll go write.

7.  I wonder when this letter will be finished: it must go by Tuesday,
that’s certain; and if I have one from MD before, I will not answer it,
that’s as certain too.  ’Tis now morning, and I did not finish my papers
for Mr. Harley last night; for you must understand Presto was sleepy, and
made blunders and blots.  Very pretty that I must be writing to young
women in a morning fresh and fasting, faith.  Well, good-morrow to you;
and so I go to business, and lay aside this paper till night, sirrahs.—At
night.  Jack How {29b} told Harley that if there were a lower place in
hell than another, it was reserved for his porter, who tells lies so
gravely, and with so civil a manner.  This porter I have had to deal
with, going this evening at four to visit Mr. Harley, by his own
appointment.  But the fellow told me no lie, though I suspected every
word he said.  He told me his master was just gone to dinner, with much
company, and desired I would come an hour hence: which I did, expecting
to hear Mr. Harley was gone out; but they had just done dinner.  Mr.
Harley came out to me, brought me in, and presented to me his son-in-law
Lord Doblane {30a} (or some such name) and his own son, {30b} and, among
others, Will Penn {30c} the Quaker: we sat two hours drinking as good
wine as you do; and two hours more he and I alone; where he heard me tell
my business; entered into it with all kindness; asked for my powers, and
read them; and read likewise a memorial {30d} I had drawn up, and put it
in his pocket to show the Queen; told me the measures he would take; and,
in short, said everything I could wish: told me, he must bring Mr. St.
John {30e} (Secretary of State) and me acquainted; and spoke so many
things of personal kindness and esteem for me, that I am inclined half to
believe what some friends have told me, that he would do everything to
bring me over.  He has desired to dine with me (what a comical mistake
was that!).  I mean he has desired me to dine with him on Tuesday; and
after four hours being with him, set me down at St. James’s Coffee-house
in a hackney-coach.  All this is odd and comical, if you consider him and
me.  He knew my Christian name very well.  I could not forbear saying
thus much upon this matter, although you will think it tedious.  But I’ll
tell you; you must know, ’tis fatal {31a} to me to be a scoundrel and a
prince the same day: for, being to see him at four, I could not engage
myself to dine at any friend’s; so I went to Tooke, {31b} to give him a
ballad, and dine with him; but he was not at home: so I was forced to go
to a blind {31c} chop-house, and dine for tenpence upon gill-ale, {31d}
bad broth, and three chops of mutton; and then go reeking from thence to
the First Minister of State.  And now I am going in charity to send
Steele a _Tatler_, who is very low of late.  I think I am civiller than I
used to be; and have not used the expression of “you in Ireland” and “we
in England” as I did when I was here before, to your great
indignation.—They may talk of the you know what; {31e} but, gad, if it
had not been for that, I should never have been able to get the access I
have had; and if that helps me to succeed, then that same thing will be
serviceable to the Church.  But how far we must depend upon new friends,
I have learnt by long practice, though I think among great Ministers,
they are just as good as old ones.  And so I think this important day has
made a great hole in this side of the paper; and the fiddle-faddles of
to-morrow and Monday will make up the rest; and, besides, I shall see
Harley on Tuesday before this letter goes.

8.  I must tell you a great piece of refinement {31f} of Harley.  He
charged me to come to him often: I told him I was loth to trouble him in
so much business as he had, and desired I might have leave to come at his
levee; which he immediately refused, and said, that was not a place for
friends to come to.  ’Tis now but morning; and I have got a foolish
trick, I must say something to MD when I wake, and wish them a
good-morrow; for this is not a shaving-day, Sunday, so I have time
enough: but get you gone, you rogues, I must go write: Yes, ’twill vex me
to the blood if any of these long letters should miscarry: if they do, I
will shrink to half-sheets again; but then what will you do to make up
the journal? there will be ten days of Presto’s life lost; and that will
be a sad thing, faith and troth.—At night.  I was at a loss to-day for a
dinner, unless I would have gone a great way, so I dined with some
friends that board hereabout, {32a} as a spunger; {32b} and this evening
Sir Andrew Fountaine would needs have me go to the tavern; where, for two
bottles of wine, Portugal and Florence, among three of us, we had sixteen
shillings to pay; but if ever he catches me so again, I’ll spend as many
pounds: and therefore I have it among my extraordinaries but we had a
neck of mutton dressed _à la Maintenon_, that the dog could not eat: and
it is now twelve o’clock, and I must go sleep.  I hope this letter will
go before I have MD’s third.  Do you believe me? and yet, faith, I long
for MD’s third too and yet I would have it to say, that I writ five for
two.  I am not fond at all of St. James’s Coffee-house, {32c} as I used
to be.  I hope it will mend in winter; but now they are all out of town
at elections, or not come from their country houses.  Yesterday I was
going with Dr. Garth {32d} to dine with Charles Main, {32e} near the
Tower, who has an employment there: he is of Ireland; the Bishop of
Clogher knows him well: an honest, good-natured fellow, a thorough hearty
laugher, mightily beloved by the men of wit: his mistress is never above
a cook-maid.  And so, good-night, etc.

9.  I dined to-day at Sir John Stanley’s; my Lady Stanley {32f} is one of
my favourites: I have as many here as the Bishop of Killala has in
Ireland.  I am thinking what scurvy company I shall be to MD when I come
back: they know everything of me already: I will tell you no more, or I
shall have nothing to say, no story to tell, nor any kind of thing.  I
was very uneasy last night with ugly, nasty, filthy wine, that turned
sour on my stomach.  I must go to the tavern: oh, but I told you that
before.  To-morrow I dine at Harley’s, and will finish this letter at my
return; but I can write no more now, because of the Archbishop: faith,
’tis true; for I am going now to write to him an account of what I have
done in the business with Harley: {33a} and, faith, young women, I’ll
tell you what you must count upon, that I never will write one word on
the third side in these long letters.

10.  Poor MD’s letter was lying so huddled up among papers, I could not
find it: I mean poor Presto’s letter.  Well, I dined with Mr. Harley
to-day, and hope some things will be done; but I must say no more: and
this letter must be sent to the post-house, and not by the bellman. {33b}
I am to dine again there on Sunday next; I hope to some good issue.  And
so now, soon as ever I can in bed, I must begin my 6th to MD as gravely
as if I had not written a word this month: fine doings, faith!  Methinks
I don’t write as I should, because I am not in bed: see the ugly wide
lines.  God Almighty ever bless you, etc.

Faith, this is a whole treatise; I’ll go reckon the lines on the other
sides.  I’ve reckoned them. {33c}



LETTER VI.


                                                  LONDON, _Oct._ 10, 1710.

SO, as I told you just now in the letter I sent half an hour ago, I dined
with Mr. Harley to-day, who presented me to the Attorney-General, Sir
Simon Harcourt, with much compliment on all sides, etc.  Harley told me
he had shown my memorial to the Queen, and seconded it very heartily; and
he desires me to dine with him again on Sunday, when he promises to
settle it with Her Majesty, before she names a Governor: {34a} and I
protest I am in hopes it will be done, all but the forms, by that time;
for he loves the Church.  This is a popular thing, and he would not have
a Governor share in it; and, besides, I am told by all hands, he has a
mind to gain me over.  But in the letter I writ last post (yesterday) to
the Archbishop, I did not tell him a syllable of what Mr. Harley said to
me last night, because he charged me to keep it secret; so I would not
tell it to you, but that, before this goes, I hope the secret will be
over.  I am now writing my poetical “Description of a Shower in London,”
and will send it to the _Tatler_. {34b}  This is the last sheet of a
whole quire I have written since I came to town.  Pray, now it comes into
my head, will you, when you go to Mrs. Walls, contrive to know whether
Mrs. Wesley {34c} be in town, and still at her brother’s, and how she is
in health, and whether she stays in town.  I writ to her from Chester, to
know what I should do with her note; and I believe the poor woman is
afraid to write to me: so I must go to my business, etc.

11.  To-day at last I dined with Lord Mountrath, {34d} and carried Lord
Mountjoy, and Sir Andrew Fountaine with me; and was looking over them at
ombre till eleven this evening like a fool: they played running ombre
half-crowns; and Sir Andrew Fountaine won eight guineas of Mr. Coote;
{34e} so I am come home late, and will say but little to MD this night.
I have gotten half a bushel of coals, and Patrick, the extravagant whelp,
had a fire ready for me; but I picked off the coals before I went to bed.
It is a sign London is now an empty place, when it will not furnish me
with matter for above five or six lines in a day.  Did you smoke in my
last how I told you the very day and the place you were playing at ombre?
But I interlined and altered a little, after I had received a letter from
Mr. Manley, that said you were at it in his house, while he was writing
to me; but without his help I guessed within one day.  Your town is
certainly much more sociable than ours.  I have not seen your mother yet,
etc.

12.  I dined to-day with Dr. Garth and Mr. Addison, at the Devil Tavern
{35a} by Temple Bar, and Garth treated; and ’tis well I dine every day,
else I should be longer making out my letters: for we are yet in a very
dull state, only inquiring every day after new elections, where the
Tories carry it among the new members six to one.  Mr. Addison’s election
{35b} has passed easy and undisputed; and I believe if he had a mind to
be chosen king, he would hardly be refused.  An odd accident has happened
at Colchester: one Captain Lavallin, {35c} coming from Flanders or Spain,
found his wife with child by a clerk of Doctors’ Commons, whose trade,
you know, it is to prevent fornications: and this clerk was the very same
fellow that made the discovery of Dyot’s {35d} counterfeiting the
stamp-paper.  Lavallin has been this fortnight hunting after the clerk,
to kill him; but the fellow was constantly employed at the Treasury,
about the discovery he made: the wife had made a shift to patch up the
business, alleging that the clerk had told her her husband was dead and
other excuses; but t’other day somebody told Lavallin his wife had
intrigues before he married her: upon which he goes down in a rage,
shoots his wife through the head, then falls on his sword; and, to make
the matter sure, at the same time discharges a pistol through his own
head, and died on the spot, his wife surviving him about two hours, but
in what circumstances of mind and body is terrible to imagine.  I have
finished my poem on the “Shower,” all but the beginning; and am going on
with my _Tatler_.  They have fixed about fifty things on me since I came:
I have printed but three. {36a} One advantage I get by writing to you
daily, or rather you get, is, that I shall remember not to write the same
things twice; and yet, I fear, I have done it often already: but I will
mind and confine myself to the accidents of the day; and so get you gone
to ombre, and be good girls, and save your money, and be rich against
Presto comes, and write to me now and then: I am thinking it would be a
pretty thing to hear sometimes from saucy MD; but do not hurt your eyes,
Stella, I charge you.

13.  O Lord, here is but a trifle of my letter written yet; what shall
Presto do for prattle-prattle, to entertain MD?  The talk now grows
fresher of the Duke of Ormond for Ireland; though Mr. Addison says he
hears it will be in commission, and Lord Galway {36b} one.  These letters
of mine are a sort of journal, where matters open by degrees; and, as I
tell true or false, you will find by the event whether my intelligence be
good; but I do not care twopence whether it be or no.—At night.  To-day I
was all about St. Paul’s, and up at the top like a fool, with Sir Andrew
Fountaine and two more; and spent seven shillings for my dinner like a
puppy: this is the second time he has served me so; but I will never do
it again, though all mankind should persuade me, unconsidering puppies!
There is a young fellow here in town we are all fond of, and about a year
or two come from the University, one Harrison, {36c} a little pretty
fellow, with a great deal of wit, good sense, and good nature; has
written some mighty pretty things; that in your 6th _Miscellanea_, {37a}
about the Sprig of an Orange, is his: he has nothing to live on but being
governor to one of the Duke of Queensberry’s {37b} sons for forty pounds
a year.  The fine fellows are always inviting him to the tavern, and make
him pay his club.  Henley {37c} is a great crony of his: they are often
at the tavern at six or seven shillings reckoning, and he always makes
the poor lad pay his full share.  A colonel and a lord were at him and me
the same way to-night: I absolutely refused, and made Harrison lag
behind, and persuaded him not to go to them.  I tell you this, because I
find all rich fellows have that humour of using all people without any
consideration of their fortunes; but I will see them rot before they
shall serve me so.  Lord Halifax is always teasing me to go down to his
country house, which will cost me a guinea to his servants, and twelve
shillings coach-hire; and he shall be hanged first.  Is not this a plaguy
silly story?  But I am vexed at the heart; for I love the young fellow,
and am resolved to stir up people to do something for him: he is a Whig,
and I will put him upon some of my cast Whigs; for I have done with them;
and they have, I hope, done with this kingdom for our time.  They were
sure of the four members for London above all places, and they have lost
three in the four. {37d}  Sir Richard Onslow, {37e} we hear, has lost for
Surrey; and they are overthrown in most places.  Lookee, gentlewomen, if
I write long letters, I must write you news and stuff, unless I send you
my verses; and some I dare not; and those on the “Shower in London” I
have sent to the _Tatler_, and you may see them in Ireland.  I fancy you
will smoke me in the _Tatler_ I am going to write; for I believe I have
told you the hint.  I had a letter sent me to-night from Sir Matthew
Dudley, and found it on my table when I came in.  Because it is
extraordinary, I will transcribe it from beginning to end.  It is as
follows: “Is the Devil in you?  Oct. 13, 1710.”  I would have answered
every particular passage in it, only I wanted time.  Here is enough for
to-night, such as it is, etc.

14.  Is that tobacco at the top of the paper, {38a} or what?  I do not
remember I slobbered.  Lord, I dreamt of Stella, etc., so confusedly last
night, and that we saw Dean Bolton {38b} and Sterne {38c} go into a shop:
and she bid me call them to her, and they proved to be two parsons I know
not; and I walked without till she was shifting, and such stuff, mixed
with much melancholy and uneasiness, and things not as they should be,
and I know not how: and it is now an ugly gloomy morning.—At night.  Mr.
Addison and I dined with Ned Southwell, and walked in the Park; and at
the Coffee-house I found a letter from the Bishop of Clogher, and a
packet from MD.  I opened the Bishop’s letter; but put up MD’s, and
visited a lady just come to town; and am now got into bed, and going to
open your little letter: and God send I may find MD well, and happy, and
merry, and that they love Presto as they do fires.  Oh, I will not open
it yet! yes I will! no I will not!  I am going; I cannot stay till I turn
over. {39a}  What shall I do?  My fingers itch; and now I have it in my
left hand; and now I will open it this very moment.—I have just got it,
and am cracking the seal, and cannot imagine what is in it; I fear only
some letter from a bishop, and it comes too late; I shall employ nobody’s
credit but my own.  Well, I see though—  Pshaw, ’tis from Sir Andrew
Fountaine.  What, another!  I fancy that’s from Mrs. Barton; {39b} she
told me she would write to me; but she writes a better hand than this: I
wish you would inquire; it must be at Dawson’s {39c} office at the
Castle.  I fear this is from Patty Rolt, by the scrawl.  Well, I will
read MD’s letter.  Ah, no; it is from poor Lady Berkeley, to invite me to
Berkeley Castle this winter; and now it grieves my heart: she says, she
hopes my lord is in a fair way of recovery; {39d} poor lady! Well, now I
go to MD’s letter: faith, it is all right; I hoped it was wrong.  Your
letter, N. 3, that I have now received, is dated Sept. 26; and Manley’s
letter, that I had five days ago, was dated Oct. 3, that’s a fortnight
difference: I doubt it has lain in Steele’s office, and he forgot.  Well,
there’s an end of that: he is turned out of his place; {39e} and you must
desire those who send me packets, to enclose them in a paper directed to
Mr. Addison, at St. James’s Coffee-house: not common letters, but
packets: the Bishop of Clogher may mention it to the Archbishop when he
sees him.  As for your letter, it makes me mad: slidikins, I have been
the best boy in Christendom, and you come with your two eggs a
penny.—Well; but stay, I will look over my book: adad, I think there was
a chasm between my N. 2 and N. 3.  Faith, I will not promise to write to
you every week; but I will write every night, and when it is full I will
send it; that will be once in ten days, and that will be often enough:
and if you begin to take up the way of writing to Presto, only because it
is Tuesday, a Monday bedad it will grow a task; but write when you have a
mind.—No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no—Agad, agad, agad, agad, agad, agad;
no, poor Stellakins. {40a}  Slids, I would the horse were in
your—chamber!  Have not I ordered Parvisol to obey your directions about
him?  And han’t I said in my former letters that you may pickle him, and
boil him, if you will?  What do you trouble me about your horses for?
Have I anything to do with them?—Revolutions a hindrance to me in my
business?  Revolutions to me in my business?  If it were not for the
revolutions, I could do nothing at all; and now I have all hopes
possible, though one is certain of nothing; but to-morrow I am to have an
answer, and am promised an effectual one.  I suppose I have said enough
in this and a former letter how I stand with new people; ten times better
than ever I did with the old; forty times more caressed.  I am to dine
to-morrow at Mr. Harley’s; and if he continues as he has begun, no man
has been ever better treated by another.  What you say about Stella’s
mother, I have spoken enough to it already.  I believe she is not in
town; for I have not yet seen her.  My lampoon is cried up to the skies;
but nobody suspects me for it, except Sir Andrew Fountaine: at least they
say nothing of it to me.  Did not I tell you of a great man who received
me very coldly? {40b}  That’s he; but say nothing; ’twas only a little
revenge.  I will remember to bring it over.  The Bishop of Clogher has
smoked my _Tatler_, {40c} about shortening of words, etc.  But, God So!
{40d} etc.

15.  I will write plainer if I can remember it; for Stella must not spoil
her eyes, and Dingley can’t read my hand very well; and I am afraid my
letters are too long: then you must suppose one to be two, and read them
at twice.  I dined to-day with Mr. Harley: Mr. Prior {41a} dined with us.
He has left my memorial with the Queen, who has consented to give the
First-Fruits and Twentieth Parts, {41b} and will, we hope, declare it
to-morrow in the Cabinet.  But I beg you to tell it to no person alive;
for so I am ordered, till in public: and I hope to get something of
greater value.  After dinner came in Lord Peterborow: {41c} we renewed
our acquaintance, and he grew mightily fond of me.  They began to talk of
a paper of verses called “Sid Hamet.”  Mr. Harley repeated part, and then
pulled them out, and gave them to a gentleman at the table to read,
though they had all read them often.  Lord Peterborow would let nobody
read them but himself: so he did; and Mr. Harley bobbed {41d} me at every
line, to take notice of the beauties.  Prior rallied Lord Peterborow for
author of them; and Lord Peterborow said he knew them to be his; and
Prior then turned it upon me, and I on him.  I am not guessed at all in
town to be the author; yet so it is: but that is a secret only to you.
{41e}  Ten to one whether you see them in Ireland; yet here they run
prodigiously.  Harley presented me to Lord President of Scotland, {41f}
and Mr. Benson, {41g} Lord of the Treasury.  Prior and I came away at
nine, and sat at the Smyrna {42a} till eleven, receiving acquaintance.

16.  This morning early I went in a chair, and Patrick before it, to Mr.
Harley, to give him another copy of my memorial, as he desired; but he
was full of business, going to the Queen, and I could not see him; but he
desired I would send up the paper, and excused himself upon his hurry.  I
was a little baulked; but they tell me it is nothing.  I shall judge by
next visit.  I tipped his porter with half a crown; and so I am well
there for a time at least.  I dined at Stratford’s in the City, and had
Burgundy and Tokay: came back afoot like a scoundrel: then went with Mr.
Addison and supped with Lord Mountjoy, which made me sick all night.  I
forgot that I bought six pounds of chocolate for Stella, and a little
wooden box; and I have a great piece of Brazil tobacco for Dingley, {42b}
and a bottle of palsy-water {42c} for Stella: all which, with the two
handkerchiefs that Mr. Sterne has bought, and you must pay him for, will
be put in the box, directed to Mrs. Curry’s, and sent by Dr. Hawkshaw,
{42d} whom I have not seen; but Sterne has undertaken it.  The chocolate
is a present, madam, for Stella.  Don’t read this, you little rogue, with
your little eyes; but give it to Dingley, pray now; and I will write as
plain as the skies: and let Dingley write Stella’s part, and Stella
dictate to her, when she apprehends her eyes, etc.

17.  This letter should have gone this post, if I had not been taken up
with business, and two nights being late out; so it must stay till
Thursday.  I dined to-day with your Mr. Sterne, {43a} by invitation, and
drank Irish wine; {43b} but, before we parted, there came in the prince
of puppies, Colonel Edgworth; {43c} so I went away.  This day came out
the _Tatler_, made up wholly of my “Shower,” and a preface to it.  They
say it is the best thing I ever writ, and I think so too.  I suppose the
Bishop of Clogher will show it you.  Pray tell me how you like it.  Tooke
is going on with my _Miscellany_. {43d}  I’d give a penny the letter to
the Bishop of Killaloe {43e} was in it: ’twould do him honour.  Could not
you contrive to say, you hear they are printing my things together; and
that you with the bookseller had that letter among the rest: but don’t
say anything of it as from me.  I forget whether it was good or no; but
only having heard it much commended, perhaps it may deserve it.  Well, I
have to-morrow to finish this letter in, and then I will send it next
day.  I am so vexed that you should write your third to me, when you had
but my second, and I had written five, which now I hope you have all: and
so I tell you, you are saucy, little, pretty, dear rogues, etc.

18.  To-day I dined, by invitation, with Stratford and others, at a young
merchant’s in the City, with Hermitage and Tokay, and stayed till nine,
and am now come home.  And that dog Patrick is abroad, and drinking, and
I cannot I get my night-gown.  I have a mind to turn that puppy away: he
has been drunk ten times in three weeks.  But I han’t time to say more;
so good-night, etc.

19.  I am come home from dining in the city with Mr. Addison, at a
merchant’s; and just now, at the Coffee-house, we have notice that the
Duke of Ormond was this day declared Lord Lieutenant at Hampton Court, in
Council.  I have not seen Mr. Harley since; but hope the affair is done
about First-Fruits.  I will see him, if possible, to-morrow morning; but
this goes to-night.  I have sent a box to Mr. Sterne, to send to you by
some friend: I have directed it for Mr. Curry, at his house; so you have
warning when it comes, as I hope it will soon.  The handkerchiefs will be
put in some friend’s pocket, not to pay custom.  And so here ends my
sixth, sent when I had but three of MD’s: now I am beforehand, and will
keep so; and God Almighty bless dearest MD, etc.



LETTER VII.


                                                  LONDON, _Oct._ 19, 1710.

FAITH, I am undone! this paper is larger than the other, and yet I am
condemned to a sheet; but, since it is MD, I did not value though I were
condemned to a pair.  I told you in my letter to-day where I had been,
and how the day passed; and so, etc.

20.  To-day I went to Mr. Lewis, at the Secretary’s office, to know when
I might see Mr. Harley; and by and by comes up Mr. Harley himself, and
appoints me to dine with him to-morrow.  I dined with Mrs. Vanhomrigh,
{44a} and went to wait on the two Lady Butlers; {44b} but the porter
answered they were not at home: the meaning was, the youngest, Lady Mary,
is to be married to-morrow to Lord Ashburnham, {44c} the best match now
in England, twelve thousand pounds a year, and abundance of money.  Tell
me how my “Shower” is liked in Ireland: I never knew anything pass better
here.  I spent the evening with Wortley Montagu {45a} and Mr. Addison,
over a bottle of Irish wine.  Do they know anything in Ireland of my
greatness among the Tories?  Everybody reproaches me of it here; but I
value them not.  Have you heard of the verses about the “Rod of Sid
Hamet”?  Say nothing of them for your life.  Hardly anybody suspects me
for them; only they think nobody but Prior or I could write them.  But I
doubt they have not reached you.  There is likewise a ballad full of puns
on the Westminster Election, {45b} that cost me half an hour: it runs,
though it be good for nothing.  But this is likewise a secret to all but
MD.  If you have them not, I will bring them over.

21.  I got MD’s fourth to-day at the Coffee-house.  God Almighty bless
poor, dear Stella, and her eyes and head!  What shall we do to cure them?
poor, dear life!  Your disorders are a pull-back for your good qualities.
Would to Heaven I were this minute shaving your poor, dear head, either
here or there!  Pray do not write, nor read this letter, nor anything
else; and I will write plainer for Dingley to read from henceforward,
though my pen is apt to ramble when I think whom I am writing to.  I will
not answer your letter until I tell you that I dined this day with Mr.
Harley, who presented me to the Earl of Stirling, {45c} a Scotch lord;
and in the evening came in Lord Peterborow.  I stayed till nine before
Mr. Harley would let me go, or tell me anything of my affair.  He says
the Queen has now granted the First-Fruits and Twentieth Parts; but he
will not give me leave to write to the Archbishop, because the Queen
designs to signify it to the Bishops in Ireland in form; and to take
notice, that it was done upon a memorial from me; which, Mr. Harley tells
me he does to make it look more respectful to me, etc.; and I am to see
him on Tuesday.  I know not whether I told you that, in my memorial which
was given to the Queen, I begged for two thousand pounds a year more,
though it was not in my commission; but that, Mr. Harley says, cannot yet
be done, and that he and I must talk of it further: however, I have
started it, and it may follow in time.  Pray say nothing of the
First-Fruits being granted, unless I give leave at the bottom of this.  I
believe never anything was compassed so soon, and purely done by my
personal credit with Mr. Harley, who is so excessively obliging, that I
know not what to make of it, unless to show the rascals of the other
party that they used a man unworthily who had deserved better.  The
memorial given to the Queen from me speaks with great plainness of Lord
Wharton.  I believe this business is as important to you as the
Convocation disputes from Tisdall. {46}  I hope in a month or two all the
forms of settling this matter will be over; and then I shall have nothing
to do here.  I will only add one foolish thing more, because it is just
come into my head.  When this thing is made known, tell me impartially
whether they give any of the merit to me, or no; for I am sure I have so
much, that I will never take it upon me.—Insolent sluts! because I say
Dublin, Ireland, therefore you must say London, England: that is Stella’s
malice.—Well, for that I will not answer your letter till to-morrow-day,
and so and so: I will go write something else, and it will not be much;
for ’tis late.

22.  I was this morning with Mr. Lewis, the under-secretary to Lord
Dartmouth, two hours, talking politics, and contriving to keep Steele in
his office of stamped paper: he has lost his place of Gazetteer, three
hundred pounds a year, for writing a _Tatler_, {47a} some months ago,
against Mr. Harley, who gave it him at first, and raised the salary from
sixty to three hundred pounds.  This was devilish ungrateful; and Lewis
was telling me the particulars: but I had a hint given me, that I might
save him in the other employment: and leave was given me to clear matters
with Steele.  Well, I dined with Sir Matthew Dudley, and in the evening
went to sit with Mr. Addison, and offer the matter at distance to him, as
the discreeter person; but found party had so possessed him, that he
talked as if he suspected me, and would not fall in with anything I said.
So I stopped short in my overture, and we parted very drily; and I shall
say nothing to Steele, and let them do as they will; but, if things stand
as they are, he will certainly lose it, unless I save him; and therefore
I will not speak to him, that I may not report to his disadvantage.  Is
not this vexatious? and is there so much in the proverb of proffered
service?  When shall I grow wise?  I endeavour to act in the most exact
points of honour and conscience; and my nearest friends will not
understand it so.  What must a man expect from his enemies?  This would
vex me, but it shall not; and so I bid you good-night, etc.

23.  I know ’tis neither wit nor diversion to tell you every day where I
dine; neither do I write it to fill my letter; but I fancy I shall, some
time or other, have the curiosity of seeing some particulars how I passed
my life when I was absent from MD this time; and so I tell you now that I
dined to-day at Molesworth’s, the Florence Envoy, then went to the
Coffee-house, where I behaved myself coldly enough to Mr. Addison, and so
came home to scribble.  We dine together to-morrow and next day by
invitation; but I shall alter my behaviour to him, till he begs my
pardon, or else we shall grow bare acquaintance.  I am weary of friends;
and friendships are all monsters, but MD’s.

24.  I forgot to tell you, that last night I went to Mr. Harley’s,
hoping—faith, I am blundering, for it was this very night at six; and I
hoped he would have told me all things were done and granted: but he was
abroad, and came home ill, and was gone to bed, much out of order, unless
the porter lied.  I dined to-day at Sir Matthew Dudley’s, with Mr.
Addison, etc.

25.  I was to-day to see the Duke of Ormond; and, coming out, met Lord
Berkeley of Stratton, {48a} who told me that Mrs. Temple, {48b} the
widow, died last Saturday, which, I suppose, is much to the outward grief
and inward joy of the family.  I dined to-day with Addison and Steele,
and a sister of Mr. Addison, who is married to one Mons. Sartre, {48c} a
Frenchman, prebendary of Westminster, who has a delicious house and
garden; yet I thought it was a sort of monastic life in those cloisters,
and I liked Laracor better.  Addison’s sister is a sort of a wit, very
like him.  I am not fond of her, etc.

26.  I was to-day to see Mr. Congreve, {48d} who is almost blind with
cataracts growing on his eyes; and his case is, that he must wait two or
three years, until the cataracts are riper, and till he is quite blind,
and then he must have them couched; and, besides, he is never rid of the
gout, yet he looks young and fresh, and is as cheerful as ever.  He is
younger by three years or more than I; and I am twenty years younger than
he.  He gave me a pain in the great toe, by mentioning the gout.  I find
such suspicions frequently, but they go off again.  I had a second letter
from Mr. Morgan, {49a} for which I thank you: I wish you were whipped,
for forgetting to send him that answer I desired you in one of my former,
that I could do nothing for him of what he desired, having no credit at
all, etc.  Go, be far enough, you negligent baggages.  I have had also a
letter from Parvisol, with an account how my livings are set; and that
they are fallen, since last year, sixty pounds.  A comfortable piece of
news!  He tells me plainly that he finds you have no mind to part with
the horse, because you sent for him at the same time you sent him my
letter; so that I know not what must be done.  It is a sad thing that
Stella must have her own horse, whether Parvisol will or no.  So now to
answer your letter that I had three or four days ago.  I am not now in
bed, but am come home by eight; and, it being warm, I write up.  I never
writ to the Bishop of Killala, which, I suppose, was the reason he had
not my letter.  I have not time, there is the short of it.—As fond as the
Dean {49b} is of my letter, he has not written to me.  I would only know
whether Dean Bolton {49c} paid him the twenty pounds; and for the rest,
he may kiss—And that you may ask him, because I am in pain about it, that
Dean Bolton is such a whipster.  ’Tis the most obliging thing in the
world in Dean Sterne to be so kind to you.  I believe he knows it will
please me, and makes up, that way, his other usage. {49d}  No, we have
had none of your snow, but a little one morning; yet I think it was great
snow for an hour or so, but no longer.  I had heard of Will Crowe’s {49e}
death before, but not the foolish circumstance that hastened his end.
No, I have taken care that Captain Pratt {50a} shall not suffer by Lord
Anglesea’s death. {50b}  I will try some contrivance to get a copy of my
picture from Jervas.  I will make Sir Andrew Fountaine buy one as for
himself, and I will pay him again, and take it, that is, provided I have
money to spare when I leave this.—Poor John! is he gone? and Madam
Parvisol {50c} has been in town! Humm.  Why, Tighe {50d} and I, when he
comes, shall not take any notice of each other; I would not do it much in
this town, though we had not fallen out.—I was to-day at Mr. Sterne’s
lodging: he was not within; and Mr. Leigh is not come to town; but I will
do Dingley’s errand when I see him.  What do I know whether china be dear
or no?  I once took a fancy of resolving to grow mad for it, but now it
is off; I suppose I told you in some former letter.  And so you only want
some salad-dishes, and plates, and etc.  Yes, yes, you shall.  I suppose
you have named as much as will cost five pounds.—Now to Stella’s little
postscript; and I am almost crazed that you vex yourself for not writing.
Cannot you dictate to Dingley, and not strain your little, dear eyes?  I
am sure it is the grief of my soul to think you are out of order.  Pray
be quiet; and, if you will write, shut your eyes, and write just a line,
and no more, thus, “How do you do, Mrs. Stella?”  That was written with
my eyes shut.  Faith, I think it is better than when they are open: and
then Dingley may stand by, and tell you when you go too high or too
low.—My letters of business, with packets, if there be any more occasion
for such, must be enclosed to Mr. Addison, at St. James’s Coffee-house:
but I hope to hear, as soon as I see Mr. Harley, that the main
difficulties are over, and that the rest will be but form.—Take two or
three nutgalls, take two or three—galls, stop your receipt in your—I have
no need on’t.  Here is a clutter!  Well, so much for your letter, which I
will now put up in my letter-partition in my cabinet, as I always do
every letter as soon as I answer it.  Method is good in all things.
Order governs the world.  The Devil is the author of confusion.  A
general of an army, a minister of state; to descend lower, a gardener, a
weaver, etc.  That may make a fine observation, if you think it worth
finishing; but I have not time.  Is not this a terrible long piece for
one evening?  I dined to-day with Patty Rolt at my cousin Leach’s, {51a}
with a pox, in the City: he is a printer, and prints the _Postman_, oh
hoo, and is my cousin, God knows how, and he married Mrs. Baby Aires of
Leicester; and my cousin Thomson was with us: and my cousin Leach offers
to bring me acquainted with the author of the _Postman_; {51b} and says
he does not doubt but the gentleman will be glad of my acquaintance; and
that he is a very ingenious man, and a great scholar, and has been beyond
sea.  But I was modest and said, may be the gentleman was shy, and not
fond of new acquaintance; and so put it off: and I wish you could hear me
repeating all I have said of this in its proper tone, just as I am
writing it.  It is all with the same cadence with “Oh hoo,” or as when
little girls say, “I have got an apple, miss, and I won’t give you some.”
It is plaguy twelvepenny weather this last week, and has cost me ten
shillings in coach and chair hire.  If the fellow that has your money
will pay it, let me beg you to buy Bank Stock with it, which is fallen
near thirty per cent. and pays eight pounds per cent. and you have the
principal when you please: it will certainly soon rise.  I would to God
Lady Giffard would put in the four hundred pounds she owes you, {51c} and
take the five per cent. common interest, and give you the remainder.  I
will speak to your mother about it when I see her.  I am resolved to buy
three hundred pounds of it for myself, and take up what I have in
Ireland; and I have a contrivance for it, that I hope will do, by making
a friend of mine buy it as for himself, and I will pay him when I can get
in my money.  I hope Stratford will do me that kindness.  I’ll ask him
to-morrow or next day.

27.  Mr. Rowe {52a} the poet desired me to dine with him to-day.  I went
to his office (he is under-secretary in Mr. Addison’s place that he had
in England), and there was Mr. Prior; and they both fell commending my
“Shower” beyond anything that has been written of the kind: there never
was such a “Shower” since Danae’s, etc.  You must tell me how it is liked
among you.  I dined with Rowe; Prior could not come: and after dinner we
went to a blind tavern, {52b} where Congreve, Sir Richard Temple, {52c}
Estcourt, {52d} and Charles Main, {52e} were over a bowl of bad punch.
The knight sent for six flasks of his own wine for me, and we stayed till
twelve.  But now my head continues pretty well; I have left off my
drinking, and only take a spoonful mixed with water, for fear of the
gout, or some ugly distemper; and now, because it is late, I will, etc.

28.  Garth and Addison and I dined to-day at a hedge {52f} tavern; then I
went to Mr. Harley, but he was denied, or not at home: so I fear I shall
not hear my business is done before this goes.  Then I visited Lord
Pembroke, {52g} who is just come to town; and we were very merry talking
of old things; and I hit him with one pun.  Then I went to see the Ladies
Butler, and the son of a whore of a porter denied them: so I sent them a
threatening message by another lady, for not excepting me always to the
porter.  I was weary of the Coffee-house, and Ford {53a} desired me to
sit with him at next door; which I did, like a fool, chatting till
twelve, and now am got into bed.  I am afraid the new Ministry is at a
terrible loss about money: the Whigs talk so, it would give one the
spleen; and I am afraid of meeting Mr. Harley out of humour.  They think
he will never carry through this undertaking.  God knows what will come
of it.  I should be terribly vexed to see things come round again: it
will ruin the Church and clergy for ever; but I hope for better.  I will
send this on Tuesday, whether I hear any further news of my affair or
not.

29.  Mr. Addison and I dined to-day with Lord Mountjoy; which is all the
adventures of this day.—I chatted a while to-night in the Coffee-house,
this being a full night; and now am come home, to write some business.

30.  I dined to-day at Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s, and sent a letter to poor Mrs.
Long, {53b} who writes to us, but is God knows where, and will not tell
anybody the place of her residence.  I came home early, and must go
write.

31.  The month ends with a fine day; and I have been walking, and
visiting Lewis, and concerting where to see Mr. Harley.  I have no news
to send you.  Aire, {53c} they say, is taken, though the Whitehall
letters this morning say quite the contrary: ’tis good, if it be true.  I
dined with Mr. Addison and Dick Stewart, Lord Mountjoy’s brother; {53d} a
treat of Addison’s.  They were half-fuddled, but not I; for I mixed water
with my wine, and left them together between nine and ten; and I must
send this by the bellman, which vexes me, but I will put it off no
longer.  Pray God it does not miscarry.  I seldom do so; but I can put
off little MD no longer.  Pray give the under note to Mrs. Brent.

I am a pretty gentleman; and you lose all your money at cards, sirrah
Stella.  I found you out; I did so.

I am staying before I can fold up this letter, till that ugly D is dry in
the last line but one.  Do not you see it?  O Lord, I am loth to leave
you, faith—but it must be so, till the next time.  Pox take that D; I
will blot it, to dry it.



LETTER VIII.


                                                  LONDON, _Oct._ 31, 1710.

SO, now I have sent my seventh to your fourth, young women; and now I
will tell you what I would not in my last, that this morning, sitting in
my bed, I had a fit of giddiness: the room turned round for about a
minute, and then it went off, leaving me sickish, but not very: and so I
passed the day as I told you; but I would not end a letter with telling
you this, because it might vex you: and I hope in God I shall have no
more of it.  I saw Dr. Cockburn {54a} to-day, and he promises to send me
the pills that did me good last year; and likewise has promised me an oil
for my ear, that he has been making for that ailment for somebody else.

Nov. 1.  I wish MD a merry new year.  You know this is the first day of
it with us. {54b}  I had no giddiness to-day; but I drank brandy, and
have bought a pint for two shillings.  I sat up the night before my
giddiness pretty late, and writ very much; so I will impute it to that.
But I never eat fruit, nor drink ale; but drink better wine than you do,
as I did to-day with Mr. Addison at Lord Mountjoy’s: then went at five to
see Mr. Harley, who could not see me for much company; but sent me his
excuse, and desired I would dine with him on Friday; and then I expect
some answer to this business, which must either be soon done, or begun
again; and then the Duke of Ormond and his people will interfere for
their honour, and do nothing.  I came home at six, and spent my time in
my chamber, without going to the Coffee-house, which I grow weary of; and
I studied at leisure, writ not above forty lines, some inventions of my
own, and some hints, and read not at all, and this because I would take
care of Presto, for fear little MD should be angry.

2.  I took my four pills last night, and they lay an hour in my throat,
and so they will do to-night.  I suppose I could swallow four affronts as
easily.  I dined with Dr. Cockburn to-day, and came home at seven; but
Mr. Ford has been with me till just now, and it is near eleven.  I have
had no giddiness to-day.  Mr. Dopping {55a} I have seen; and he tells me
coldly, my “Shower” is liked well enough; there’s your Irish judgment!  I
writ this post to the Bishop of Clogher.  It is now just a fortnight
since I heard from you.  I must have you write once a fortnight, and then
I will allow for wind and weather.  How goes ombre?  Does Mrs. Walls
{55b} win constantly, as she used to do?  And Mrs. Stoyte; {55c} I have
not thought of her this long time: how does she?  I find we have a cargo
of Irish coming for London: I am sorry for it; but I never go near them.
And Tighe is landed; but Mrs. Wesley, {55d} they say, is going home to
her husband, like a fool.  Well, little monkeys mine, I must go write;
and so good-night.

3.  I ought to read these letters I write, after I have done; for,
looking over thus much, I found two or three literal mistakes, which
should not be when the hand is so bad.  But I hope it does not puzzle
little Dingley to read, for I think I mend: but methinks, when I write
plain, I do not know how, but we are not alone, all the world can see us.
A bad scrawl is so snug, it looks like a PMD. {56a}  We have scurvy
_Tatlers_ of late: so pray do not suspect me.  I have one or two hints I
design to send him, and never any more: he does not deserve it.  He is
governed by his wife most abominably, {56b} as bad as —.  I never saw her
since I came; nor has he ever made me an invitation: either he dares not,
or is such a thoughtless Tisdall {56c} fellow, that he never minds {56d}
it.  So what care I for his wit? for he is the worst company in the
world, till he has a bottle of wine in his head.  I cannot write
straighter in bed, so you must be content.—At night in bed.  Stay, let me
see where’s this letter to MD among these papers?  Oh! here.  Well, I
will go on now; but I am very busy (smoke the new pen.)  I dined with Mr.
Harley to-day, and am invited there again on Sunday.  I have now leave to
write to the Primate and Archbishop of Dublin, that the Queen has granted
the First-Fruits; but they are to take no notice of it, till a letter is
sent them by the Queen’s orders from Lord Dartmouth, Secretary of State,
to signify it.  The bishops are to be made a corporation, to dispose of
the revenue, etc.; and I shall write to the Archbishop of Dublin
to-morrow (I have had no giddiness to-day).  I know not whether they will
have any occasion for me longer to be here; nor can I judge till I see
what letter the Queen sends to the bishops, and what they will do upon
it.  If despatch be used, it may be done in six weeks; but I cannot
judge.  They sent me to-day a new Commission, signed by the Primate and
Archbishop of Dublin, {57a} and promise me letters to the two archbishops
here; but mine a — for it all.  The thing is done, and has been so these
ten days; though I had only leave to tell it to-day.  I had this day
likewise a letter from the Bishop of Clogher, who complains of my not
writing; and, what vexes me, says he knows you have long letters from me
every week.  Why do you tell him so?  ’Tis not right, faith: but I won’t
be angry with MD at distance.  I writ to him last post, before I had his;
and will write again soon, since I see he expects it, and that Lord and
Lady Mountjoy {57b} put him off upon me, to give themselves ease.
Lastly, I had this day a letter from a certain naughty rogue called MD,
and it was N. 5; which I shall not answer to-night, I thank you.  No,
faith, I have other fish to fry; but to-morrow or next day will be time
enough.  I have put MD’s commissions in a memorandum paper.  I think I
have done all before, and remember nothing but this to-day about glasses
and spectacles and spectacle cases.  I have no commission from Stella,
but the chocolate and handkerchiefs; and those are bought, and I expect
they will be soon sent.  I have been with, and sent to, Mr. Sterne, two
or three times to know; but he was not within.  Odds my life, what am I
doing?  I must go write and do business.

4.  I dined to-day at Kensington, with Addison, Steele, etc., came home,
and writ a short letter to the Archbishop of Dublin, to let him know the
Queen has granted the thing, etc.  I writ in the Coffee-house, for I
stayed at Kensington till nine, and am plaguy weary; for Colonel Proud
{58a} was very ill company, and I will never be of a party with him
again; and I drank punch, and that and ill company has made me hot.

5.  I was with Mr. Harley from dinner to seven this night, and went to
the Coffee-house, where Dr. Davenant {58b} would fain have had me gone
and drink a bottle of wine at his house hard by, with Dr. Chamberlen,
{58c} but the puppy used so many words, that I was afraid of his company;
and though we promised to come at eight, I sent a messenger to him, that
Chamberlen was going to a patient, and therefore we would put it off till
another time: so he, and the Comptroller, {58d} and I, were prevailed on
by Sir Matthew Dudley to go to his house, where I stayed till twelve, and
left them.  Davenant has been teasing me to look over some of his
writings that he is going to publish; but the rogue is so fond of his own
productions, that I hear he will not part with a syllable; and he has
lately put out a foolish pamphlet, called _The Third Part of Tom Double_;
to make his court to the Tories, whom he had left.

6.  I was to-day gambling {59a} in the City to see Patty Rolt, who is
going to Kingston, where she lodges; but, to say the truth, I had a mind
for a walk to exercise myself, and happened to be disengaged: for dinners
are ten times more plentiful with me here than ever, or than in Dublin.
I won’t answer your letter yet, because I am busy.  I hope to send this
before I have another from MD: it would be a sad thing to answer two
letters together, as MD does from Presto.  But when the two sides are
full, away the letter shall go, that is certain, like it or not like it;
and that will be about three days hence, for the answering-night will be
a long one.

7.  I dined to-day at Sir Richard Temple’s, with Congreve, Vanbrugh,
Lieutenant-General Farrington, {59b} etc.  Vanbrugh, I believe I told
you, had a long quarrel with me about those verses on his house; {59c}
but we were very civil and cold.  Lady Marlborough used to tease him with
them, which had made him angry, though he be a good-natured fellow.  It
was a Thanksgiving-day, {59d} and I was at Court, where the Queen passed
us by with all Tories about her; not one Whig: Buckingham, {60a}
Rochester, {60b} Leeds, {60c} Shrewsbury, {60d} Berkeley of Stratton,
{60e} Lord Keeper Harcourt, {60f} Mr. Harley, Lord Pembroke, {60g} etc.;
and I have seen her without one Tory.  The Queen made me a curtsey, and
said, in a sort of familiar way to Presto, “How does MD?”  I considered
she was a Queen, and so excused her. {60h}  I do not miss the Whigs at
Court; but have as many acquaintance there as formerly.

8.  Here’s ado and a clutter!  I must now answer MD’s fifth; but first
you must know I dined at the Portugal Envoy’s {60i} to-day, with Addison,
Vanbrugh, Admiral Wager, {60j} Sir Richard Temple, {60k} Methuen, {60l}
etc.  I was weary of their company, and stole away at five, and came home
like a good boy, and studied till ten, and had a fire, O ho! and now am
in bed.  I have no fireplace in my bed-chamber; but ’tis very warm
weather when one’s in bed.  Your fine cap, {60m} Madam Dingley, is too
little, and too hot: I will have that fur taken off; I wish it were far
enough; and my old velvet cap is good for nothing.  Is it velvet under
the fur?  I was feeling, but cannot find: if it be, ’twill do without it
else I will face it; but then I must buy new velvet: but may be I may beg
a piece.  What shall I do?  Well, now to rogue MD’s letter.  God be
thanked for Stella’s eyes mending; and God send it holds; but faith you
writ too much at a time: better write less, or write it at ten times.
Yes, faith, a long letter in a morning from a dear friend is a dear
thing.  I smoke a compliment, little mischievous girls, I do so.  But who
are those _Wiggs_ that think I am turned Tory?  Do you mean Whigs?  Which
_Wiggs_ and _wat_ do you mean?  I know nothing of Raymond, and only had
one letter from him a little after I came here. [Pray remember Morgan.]
Raymond is indeed like to have much influence over me in London, and to
share much of my conversation.  I shall, no doubt, introduce him to
Harley, and Lord Keeper, and the Secretary of State.  The _Tatler_ upon
Ithuriel’s spear {61a} is not mine, madam.  What a puzzle there is
betwixt you and your judgment!  In general you may be sometimes sure of
things, as that about _style_, {61b} because it is what I have frequently
spoken of; but guessing is mine a—, and I defy mankind, if I please.
Why, I writ a pamphlet when I was last in London, that you and a thousand
have seen, and never guessed it to be mine.  Could you have guessed the
“Shower in Town” to be mine?  How chance you did not see that before your
last letter went? but I suppose you in Ireland did not think it worth
mentioning.  Nor am I suspected for the lampoon; only Harley said he
smoked me; (have I told you so before?) and some others knew it.  ’Tis
called “The Rod of Sid Hamet.”  And I have written several other things
that I hear commended, and nobody suspects me for them; nor you shall not
know till I see you again.  What do you mean, “That boards near me, that
I dine with now and then?”  I know no such person: I do not dine with
boarders. {62a}  What the pox!  You know whom I have dined with every day
since I left you, better than I do.  What do you mean, sirrah?  Slids, my
ailment has been over these two months almost.  Impudence, if you vex me,
I will give ten shillings a week for my lodging; for I am almost st—k out
of this with the sink, and it helps me to verses in my “Shower.” {62b}
Well, Madam Dingley, what say you to the world to come?  What ballad?
Why go look, it was not good for much: have patience till I come back:
patience is a gay thing as, etc.  I hear nothing of Lord Mountjoy’s
coming for Ireland.  When is Stella’s birthday? in March?  Lord bless me,
my turn at Christ Church; {62c} it is so natural to hear you write about
that, I believe you have done it a hundred times; it is as fresh in my
mind, the verger coming to you; and why to you?  Would he have you preach
for me?  O, pox on your spelling of Latin, _Johnsonibus atque_, that is
the way.  How did the Dean get that name by the end?  ’Twas you betrayed
me: not I, faith; I’ll not break his head.  Your mother is still in the
country, I suppose; for she promised to see me when she came to town.  I
writ to her four days ago, to desire her to break it to Lady Giffard, to
put some money for you in the Bank, which was then fallen thirty per
cent.  Would to God mine had been here, I should have gained one hundred
pounds, and got as good interest as in Ireland, and much securer.  I
would fain have borrowed three hundred pounds; but money is so scarce
here, there is no borrowing, by this fall of stocks.  ’Tis rising now,
and I knew it would: it fell from one hundred and twenty-nine to
ninety-six.  I have not heard since from your mother.  Do you think I
would be so unkind not to see her, that you desire me in a style so
melancholy?  Mrs. Raymond, {63a} you say, is with child: I am sorry for
it; and so is, I believe, her husband.  Mr. Harley speaks all the kind
things to me in the world; and, I believe, would serve me, if I were to
stay here; but I reckon in time the Duke of Ormond may give me some
addition to Laracor.  Why should the Whigs think I came to England to
leave them?  Sure my journey was no secret.  I protest sincerely, I did
all I could to hinder it, as the Dean can tell you, although now I do not
repent it.  But who the Devil cares what they think?  Am I under
obligations in the least to any of them all?  Rot ’em, for ungrateful
dogs; I will make them repent their usage before I leave this place.
They say here the same thing of my leaving the Whigs; but they own they
cannot blame me, considering the treatment I have had.  I will take care
of your spectacles, as I told you before, and of the Bishop of Killala’s;
but I will not write to him, I have not time.  What do you mean by my
fourth, Madam Dinglibus?  Does not Stella say you have had my fifth,
Goody Blunder?  You frighted me till I looked back.  Well, this is enough
for one night.  Pray give my humble service to Mrs. Stoyte and her
sister, Kate is it, or Sarah? {63b}  I have forgot her name, faith.  I
think I will even (and to Mrs. Walls and the Archdeacon) send this
to-morrow: no, faith, that will be in ten days from the last.  I will
keep it till Saturday, though I write no more.  But what if a letter from
MD should come in the meantime?  Why then I would only say, “Madam, I
have received your sixth letter; your most humble servant to command,
Presto”; and so conclude.  Well, now I will write and think a little, and
so to bed, and dream of MD.

9.  I have my mouth full of water, and was going to spit it out, because
I reasoned with myself, how could I write when my mouth was full?  Han’t
you done things like that, reasoned wrong at first thinking?  Well, I was
to see Mr. Lewis this morning, and am to dine a few days hence, as he
tells me, with Mr. Secretary St. John; and I must contrive to see Harley
soon again, to hasten this business from the Queen.  I dined to-day at
Lord Mountrath’s, {64a} with Lord Mountjoy, {64b} etc.; but the wine was
not good, so I came away, stayed at the Coffee-house till seven, then
came home to my fire, the maidenhead of my second half-bushel, and am now
in bed at eleven, as usual.  ’Tis mighty warm; yet I fear I should catch
cold this wet weather, if I sat an evening in my room after coming from
warm places: and I must make much of myself, because MD is not here to
take care of Presto; and I am full of business, writing, etc., and do not
care for the Coffee-house; and so this serves for all together, not to
tell it you over and over, as silly people do; but Presto is a wiser man,
faith, than so, let me tell you, gentlewomen.  See, I am got to the third
side; but, faith, I will not do that often; but I must say something
early to-day, till the letter is done, and on Saturday it shall go; so I
must leave something till to-morrow, till to-morrow and next day.

10.  O Lord, I would this letter was with you with all my heart!  If it
should miscarry, what a deal would be lost!  I forgot to leave a gap in
the last line but one for the seal, like a puppy; but I should have
allowed for night, good-night; but when I am taking leave, I cannot leave
a bit, faith; but I fancy the seal will not come there.  I dined to-day
at Lady Lucy’s, where they ran down my “Shower”; and said, “Sid Hamet”
was the silliest poem they ever read; and told Prior so, whom they
thought to be author of it.  Don’t you wonder I never dined there before?
But I am too busy, and they live too far off; and, besides, I do not like
women so much as I did.  (MD, you must know, are not women.)  I supped
to-night at Addison’s, with Garth, Steele, and Mr. Dopping; and am come
home late.  Lewis has sent to me to desire I will dine with some company
I shall like.  I suppose it is Mr. Secretary St. John’s appointment.  I
had a letter just now from Raymond, who is at Bristol, and says he will
be at London in a fortnight, and leave his wife behind him; and desires
any lodging in the house where I am: but that must not be.  I shall not
know what to do with him in town: to be sure, I will not present him to
any acquaintance of mine; and he will live a delicate life, a parson and
a perfect stranger!  Paaast twelvvve o’clock, {65} and so good-night,
etc.  Oh! but I forgot, Jemmy Leigh is come to town; says he has brought
Dingley’s things, and will send them with the first convenience.  My
parcel, I hear, is not sent yet.  He thinks of going for Ireland in a
month, etc.  I cannot write to-morrow, because—what, because of the
Archbishop; because I will seal my letter early; because I am engaged
from noon till night; because of many kind of things; and yet I will
write one or two words to-morrow morning, to keep up my journal constant,
and at night I will begin my ninth.

11.  Morning by candlelight.  You must know that I am in my nightgown
every morning between six and seven, and Patrick is forced to ply me
fifty times before I can get on my nightgown; and so now I will take my
leave of my own dear MD for this letter, and begin my next when I come
home at night.  God Almighty bless and protect dearest MD.  Farewell,
etc.

This letter’s as long as a sermon, faith.



LETTER IX.


                                                  LONDON, _Nov._ 11, 1710.

I DINED to-day, by invitation, with the Secretary of State, Mr. St. John.
Mr. Harley came in to us before dinner, and made me his excuses for not
dining with us, because he was to receive people who came to propose
advancing money to the Government: there dined with us only Mr. Lewis,
and Dr. Freind {66a} (that writ “Lord Peterborow’s Actions in Spain”).  I
stayed with them till just now between ten and eleven, and was forced
again to give my eighth to the bellman, which I did with my own hands,
rather than keep it till next post.  The Secretary used me with all the
kindness in the world.  Prior came in after dinner; and, upon an
occasion, he (the Secretary) said, “The best thing I ever read is not
yours, but Dr. Swift’s on Vanbrugh”; which I do not reckon so very good
neither. {66b}  But Prior was damped, until I stuffed him with two or
three compliments.  I am thinking what a veneration we used to have for
Sir William Temple, because he might have been Secretary of State at
fifty; and here is a young fellow, hardly thirty, in that employment.
{66c}  His father is a man of pleasure, {66d} that walks the Mall, and
frequents St. James’s Coffee-house, and the chocolate-houses; and the
young son is principal Secretary of State.  Is there not something very
odd in that?  He told me, among other things, that Mr. Harley complained
he could keep nothing from me, I had the way so much of getting into him.
I knew that was a refinement; and so I told him, and it was so: indeed,
it is hard to see these great men use me like one who was their betters,
and the puppies with you in Ireland hardly regarding me: but there are
some reasons for all this, which I will tell you when we meet.  At coming
home, I saw a letter from your mother, in answer to one I sent her two
days ago.  It seems she is in town; but cannot come out in a morning,
just as you said; and God knows when I shall be at leisure in an
afternoon: for if I should send her a penny-post letter, and afterwards
not be able to meet her, it would vex me; and, besides, the days are
short, and why she cannot come early in a morning, before she is wanted,
I cannot imagine.  I will desire her to let Lady Giffard know that she
hears I am in town; and that she would go to see me, to inquire after
you.  I wonder she will confine herself so much to that old beast’s
humour.  You know I cannot in honour see Lady Giffard, {67a} and
consequently not go into her house.  This I think is enough for the first
time.

12.  And how could you write with such thin paper?  (I forgot to say this
in my former.)  Cannot you get thicker?  Why, that’s a common caution
that writing-masters give their scholars; you must have heard it a
hundred times.  ’Tis this:

    “If paper be thin,
    Ink will slip in;
    But, if it be thick,
    You may write with a stick.” {67b}

I had a letter to-day from poor Mrs. Long, {67c} giving me an account of
her present life, obscure in a remote country town, and how easy she is
under it.  Poor creature! ’tis just such an alteration in life, as if
Presto should be banished from MD, and condemned to converse with Mrs.
Raymond.  I dined to-day with Ford, Sir Richard Levinge, {67d} etc., at a
place where they board, {68a} hard by.  I was lazy, and not very well,
sitting so long with company yesterday.  I have been very busy writing
this evening at home, and had a fire: I am spending my second half-bushel
of coals; and now am in bed, and ’tis late.

13.  I dined to-day in the City, and then went to christen Will
Frankland’s {68b} child; and Lady Falconbridge {68c} was one of the
godmothers: this is a daughter of Oliver Cromwell, and extremely like him
by his pictures that I have seen.  I stayed till almost eleven, and am
now come home and gone to bed.  My business in the City was, to thank
Stratford for a kindness he has done me, which now I will tell you.  I
found Bank Stock was fallen thirty-four in the hundred, and was mighty
desirous to buy it; but I was a little too late for the cheapest time,
being hindered by business here; for I was so wise to guess to a day when
it would fall.  My project was this: I had three hundred pounds in
Ireland; and so I writ to Mr. Stratford in the City, to desire he would
buy me three hundred pounds in Bank Stock, and that he should keep the
papers, and that I would be bound to pay him for them; and, if it should
rise or fall, I would take my chance, and pay him interest in the
meantime.  I showed my letter to one or two people who understand those
things; and they said money was so hard to be got here, that no man would
do it for me.  However, Stratford, who is the most generous man alive,
has done it: but it costs one hundred pounds and a half, that is, ten
shillings; so that three hundred pounds cost me three hundred pounds and
thirty shillings.  This was done about a week ago, and I can have five
pounds for my bargain already.  Before it fell, it was one hundred and
thirty pounds; and we are sure it will be the same again.  I told you I
writ to your mother, to desire that Lady Giffard would do the same with
what she owes you; but she tells your mother she has no money.  I would
to God all you had in the world was there.  Whenever you lend money, take
this rule, to have two people bound, who have both visible fortunes; for
they will hardly die together; and, when one dies, you fall upon the
other, and make him add another security: and if Rathburn (now I have his
name) pays you in your money, let me know, and I will direct Parvisol
accordingly: however, he shall wait on you and know.  So, ladies, enough
of business for one night.  Paaaaast twelvvve o’clock.  I must only add,
that, after a long fit of rainy weather, it has been fair two or three
days, and is this day grown cold and frosty; so that you must give poor
little Presto leave to have a fire in his chamber morning and evening
too; and he will do as much for you.

14.  What, has your Chancellor {69a} lost his senses, like Will Crowe?
{69b}  I forgot to tell Dingley that I was yesterday at Ludgate,
bespeaking the spectacles at the great shop there, and shall have them in
a day or two.  This has been an insipid day.  I dined with Mrs.
Vanhomrigh, and came gravely home, after just visiting the Coffee-house.
Sir Richard Cox, {69c} they say, is sure of going over Lord Chancellor,
who is as arrant a puppy as ever ate bread: but the Duke of Ormond has a
natural affection to puppies; which is a thousand pities, being none
himself.  I have been amusing myself at home till now, and in bed bid you
good-night.

15.  I have been visiting this morning, but nobody was at home, Secretary
St. John, Sir Thomas Hanmer, {69d} Sir Chancellor Cox-comb, etc.  I
attended the Duke of Ormond with about fifty other Irish gentlemen at
Skinners’ Hall, where the Londonderry Society laid out three hundred
pounds to treat us and his Grace with a dinner.  Three great tables with
the dessert laid in mighty figure.  Sir Richard Levinge and I got
discreetly to the head of the second table, to avoid the crowd at the
first: but it was so cold, and so confounded a noise with the trumpets
and hautboys, that I grew weary, and stole away before the second course
came on; so I can give you no account of it, which is a thousand pities.
I called at Ludgate for Dingley’s glasses, and shall have them in a day
or two; and I doubt it will cost me thirty shillings for a microscope,
but not without Stella’s permission; for I remember she is a virtuoso.
Shall I buy it or no?  ’Tis not the great bulky ones, nor the common
little ones, to impale a louse (saving your presence) upon a needle’s
point; but of a more exact sort, and clearer to the sight, with all its
equipage in a little trunk that you may carry in your pocket.  Tell me,
sirrah, shall I buy it or not for you?  I came home straight, etc.

16.  I dined to-day in the city with Mr. Manley, {70} who invited Mr.
Addison and me, and some other friends, to his lodging, and entertained
us very handsomely.  I returned with Mr. Addison, and loitered till nine
in the Coffee-house, where I am hardly known, by going so seldom.  I am
here soliciting for Trounce; you know him: he was gunner in the former
yacht, and would fain be so in the present one if you remember him, a
good, lusty, fresh- fellow.  Shall I stay till I get another
letter from MD before I close up this?  Mr. Addison and I meet a little
seldomer than formerly, although we are still at bottom as good friends
as ever, but differ a little about party.

17.  To-day I went to Lewis at the Secretary’s office; where I saw and
spoke to Mr. Harley, who promised, in a few days, to finish the rest of
my business.  I reproached him for putting me on the necessity of minding
him of it, and rallied him, etc., which he took very well.  I dined
to-day with one Mr. Gore, elder brother to a young merchant of my
acquaintance; and Stratford and my other friend merchants dined with us,
where I stayed late, drinking claret and burgundy; and am just got to
bed, and will say no more, but that it now begins to be time to have a
letter from my own little MD; for the last I had above a fortnight ago,
and the date was old too.

18.  To-day I dined with Lewis and Prior at an eating-house, but with
Lewis’s wine.  Lewis went away, and Prior and I sat on, where we
complimented one another for an hour or two upon our mutual wit and
poetry.  Coming home at seven, a gentleman unknown stopped me in the Pall
Mall, and asked my advice; said he had been to see the Queen (who was
just come to town), and the people in waiting would not let him see her;
that he had two hundred thousand men ready to serve her in the war; that
he knew the Queen perfectly well, and had an apartment at Court, and if
she heard he was there, she would send for him immediately; that she owed
him two hundred thousand pounds, etc., and he desired my opinion, whether
he should go try again whether he could see her; or because, perhaps, she
was weary after her journey, whether he had not better stay till
to-morrow.  I had a mind to get rid of my companion, and begged him of
all love to go and wait on her immediately; for that, to my knowledge,
the Queen would admit him; that this was an affair of great importance,
and required despatch: and I instructed him to let me know the success of
his business, and come to the Smyrna Coffee-house, where I would wait for
him till midnight; and so ended this adventure.  I would have fain given
the man half a crown; but was afraid to offer it him, lest he should be
offended; for, beside his money, he said he had a thousand pounds a year.
I came home not early; and so, madams both, good-night, etc.

19.  I dined to-day with poor Lord Mountjoy, who is ill of the gout; and
this evening I christened our coffee-man Elliot’s {72a} child, where the
rogue had a most noble supper, and Steele and I sat among some scurvy
company over a bowl of punch; so that I am come home late, young women,
and can’t stay to write to little rogues.

20.  I loitered at home, and dined with Sir Andrew Fountaine at his
lodging, and then came home: a silly day.

21.  I was visiting all this morning, and then went to the Secretary’s
office, and found Mr. Harley, with whom I dined; and Secretary St. John,
etc., and Harley promised in a very few days to finish what remains of my
business.  Prior was of the company, and we all dine at the Secretary’s
to-morrow.  I saw Stella’s mother this morning: she came early, and we
talked an hour.  I wish you would propose to Lady Giffard to take the
three hundred pounds out of her hands, and give her common interest for
life, and security that you will pay her: the Bishop of Clogher, or any
friend, would be security for you, if you gave them counter-security; and
it may be argued that it will pass better to be in your hands than hers,
in case of mortality, etc.  Your mother says, if you write, she will
second it; and you may write to your mother, and then it will come from
her.  She tells me Lady Giffard has a mind to see me, by her discourse;
but I told her what to say, with a vengeance.  She told Lady Giffard she
was going to see me: she looks extremely well.  I am writing {72b} in my
bed like a tiger; and so good-night, etc.

22.  I dined with Secretary St. John; and Lord Dartmouth, who is t’other
Secretary, dined with us, and Lord Orrery {72c} and Prior, etc.  Harley
called, but could not dine with us, and would have had me away while I
was at dinner; but I did not like the company he was to have.  We stayed
till eight, and I called at the Coffee-house, and looked where the
letters lie; but no letter directed for Mr. Presto: at last I saw a
letter to Mr. Addison, and it looked like a rogue’s hand; so I made the
fellow give it me, and opened it before him, and saw three letters all
for myself: so, truly, I put them in my pocket, and came home to my
lodging.  Well, and so you shall hear: well, and so I found one of them
in Dingley’s hand, and t’other in Stella’s, and the third in Domville’s.
{73a}  Well, so you shall hear; so, said I to myself, What now, two
letters from MD together?  But I thought there was something in the wind;
so I opened one, and I opened t’other; and so you shall hear, one was
from Walls.  Well, but t’other was from our own dear MD; yes it was.  O
faith, have you received my seventh, young women, already?  Then I must
send this to-morrow, else there will be old {73b} doings at our house,
faith.—Well, I won’t answer your letter in this: no, faith, catch me at
that, and I never saw the like.  Well; but as to Walls, tell him (with
service to him and wife, etc.) that I have no imagination of Mr. Pratt’s
{73c} losing his place: and while Pratt continues, Clements is in no
danger; and I have already engaged Lord Hyde {73d} he speaks of, for
Pratt and twenty others; but, if such a thing should happen, I will do
what I can.  I have above ten businesses of other people’s now on my
hands, and, I believe, shall miscarry in half.  It is your sixth I now
have received.  I writ last post to the Bishop of Clogher again.  Shall I
send this to-morrow?  Well, I will, to oblige MD.  Which would you
rather, a short letter every week, or a long one every fortnight?  A long
one; well, it shall be done, and so good-night.  Well, but is this a long
one?  No, I warrant you: too long for naughty girls.

23.  I only ask, have you got both the ten pounds, or only the first; I
hope you mean both.  Pray be good housewives; and I beg you to walk when
you can, for health.  Have you the horse in town? and do you ever ride
him? how often?  Confess.  Ahhh, sirrah, have I caught you?  Can you
contrive to let Mrs. Fenton {74a} know, that the request she has made me
in her letter I will use what credit I have to bring about, although I
hear it is very difficult, and I doubt I shall not succeed?  Cox is not
to be your Chancellor: all joined against him.  I have been supping with
Lord Peterborow at his house, with Prior, Lewis, and Dr. Freind.  ’Tis
the ramblingest lying rogue on earth.  Dr. Raymond is come to town: ’tis
late, and so I bid you good-night.

24.  I tell you, pretty management!  Ned Southwell told me the other day
he had a letter from the bishops of Ireland, with an address to the Duke
of Ormond, to intercede with the Queen to take off the First-Fruits.  I
dined with him to-day, and saw it, with another letter to him from the
Bishop of Kildare, {74b} to call upon me for the papers, etc.; and I had
last post one from the Archbishop of Dublin, telling me the reason of
this proceeding; that, upon hearing the Duke of Ormond was declared Lord
Lieutenant, they met; and the bishops were for this project, and talked
coldly of my being solicitor, as one that was favoured by t’other party,
etc., but desired that I would still solicit. {74c}  Now the wisdom of
this is admirable; for I had given the Archbishop an account of my
reception from Mr. Harley, and how he had spoken to the Queen, and
promised it should be done; but Mr. Harley ordered me to tell no person
alive.  Some time after, he gave me leave to let the Primate and
Archbishop know that the Queen had remitted the First-Fruits; and that in
a short time they should have an account of it in form from Lord
Dartmouth, Secretary of State.  So while their letter was on the road to
the Duke of Ormond and Southwell, mine was going to them with an account
of the thing being done.  I writ a very warm answer {75} to the
Archbishop immediately; and showed my resentments, as I ought, against
the bishops; only, in good manners, excepting himself.  I wonder what
they will say when they hear the thing is done.  I was yesterday forced
to tell Southwell so, that the Queen had done it, etc.; for he said, my
Lord Duke would think of it some months hence, when he was going for
Ireland; and he had it three years in doing formerly, without any
success.  I give you free leave to say, on occasion, that it is done; and
that Mr. Harley prevailed on the Queen to do it, etc., as you please.  As
I hope to live, I despise the credit of it, out of an excess of pride;
and desire you will not give me the least merit when you talk of it; but
I would vex the bishops, and have it spread that Mr. Harley had done it:
pray do so.  Your mother sent me last night a parcel of wax candles, and
a bandbox full of small plumcakes.  I thought it had been something for
you; and, without opening them, sent answer by the maid that brought
them, that I would take care to send the things, etc.; but I will write
her thanks.  Is this a long letter, sirrahs?  Now, are you satisfied?  I
have had no fit since the first: I drink brandy every morning, and take
pills every night.  Never fear, I an’t vexed at this puppy business of
the bishops, although I was a little at first.  I will tell you my
reward: Mr. Harley will think he has done me a favour; the Duke of
Ormond, perhaps, that I have put a neglect on him; and the bishops in
Ireland, that I have done nothing at all.  So goes the world.  But I have
got above all this, and, perhaps, I have better reason for it than they
know: and so you shall hear no more of First-Fruits, dukes, Harleys,
archbishops, and Southwells.

I have slipped off Raymond upon some of his countrymen, to show him the
town, etc., and I lend him Patrick.  He desires to sit with me in the
evenings; upon which I have given Patrick positive orders that I am not
within at evenings.



LETTER X.


                                                  LONDON, _Nov._ 25, 1710.

I WILL tell you something that’s plaguy silly: I had forgot to say on the
23d in my last, where I dined; and because I had done it constantly, I
thought it was a great omission, and was going to interline it; but at
last the silliness of it made me cry, Pshah, and I let it alone.  I was
to-day to see the Parliament meet; but only saw a great crowd; and Ford
and I went to see the tombs at Westminster, and sauntered so long I was
forced to go to an eating-house for my dinner.  Bromley {76a} is chosen
Speaker, _nemine contradicente_: Do you understand those two words?  And
Pompey, Colonel Hill’s {76b} black, designs to stand Speaker for the
footmen. {76c}  I am engaged to use my interest for him, and have spoken
to Patrick to get him some votes.  We are now all impatient for the
Queen’s speech, what she will say about removing the Ministry, etc.  I
have got a cold, and I don’t know how; but got it I have, and am hoarse:
I don’t know whether it will grow better or worse.  What’s that to you?
I won’t answer your letter to-night.  I’ll keep you a little longer in
suspense: I can’t send it.  Your mother’s cakes are very good, and one of
them serves me for a breakfast, and so I’ll go sleep like a good boy.

26.  I have got a cruel cold, and stayed within all this day in my
nightgown, and dined on sixpennyworth of victuals, and read and writ, and
was denied to everybody.  Dr. Raymond {77a} called often, and I was
denied; and at last, when I was weary, I let him come up, and asked him,
without consequence, how Patrick denied me, and whether he had the art of
it?  So by this means he shall be used to have me denied to him;
otherwise he would be a plaguy trouble and hindrance to me: he has sat
with me two hours, and drank a pint of ale cost me fivepence, and smoked
his pipe, and it is now past eleven that he is just gone.  Well, my
eighth is with you now, young women; and your seventh to me is somewhere
in a post-boy’s bag; and so go to your gang of deans, and Stoytes, and
Walls, and lose your money; go, sauceboxes: and so good-night, and be
happy, dear rogues.  Oh, but your box was sent to Dr. Hawkshaw by Sterne,
and you will have it with Hawkshaw, and spectacles, etc., etc.

27.  To-day Mr. Harley met me in the Court of Requests, {77b} and
whispered me to dine with him.  At dinner I told him what those bishops
had done, and the difficulty I was under.  He bid me never trouble
myself; he would tell the Duke of Ormond the business was done, and that
he need not concern himself about it.  So now I am easy, and they may
hang themselves for a parcel of insolent, ungrateful rascals.  I suppose
I told you in my last, how they sent an address to the Duke of Ormond,
and a letter to Southwell, to call on me for the papers, after the thing
was over; but they had not received my letter, though the Archbishop
might, by what I writ to him, have expected it would be done.  Well,
there is an end of that; and in a little time the Queen will send them
notice, etc.  And so the methods will be settled; and then I shall think
of returning, although the baseness of those bishops makes me love
Ireland less than I did.

28.  Lord Halifax sent to invite me to dinner; where I stayed till six,
and crossed him in all his Whig talk, and made him often come over to me.
I know he makes court to the new men, although he affects to talk like a
Whig.  I had a letter to-day from the Bishop of Clogher; but I writ to
him lately, that I would obey his commands to the Duke of Ormond.  He
says I bid him read the London “Shaver,” and that you both swore it was
“Shaver,” and not “Shower.” {78a}  You all lie, and you are puppies, and
can’t read Presto’s hand.  The Bishop is out entirely in his conjectures
of my share in the _Tatlers_.—I have other things to mind, and of much
greater importance; {78b} else I have little to do to be acquainted with
a new Ministry, who consider me a little more than Irish bishops do.

29.  Now for your saucy, good dear letter: let me see, what does it say?
come then.  I dined to-day with Ford, and went home early; he debauched
{78c} me to his chamber again with a bottle of wine till twelve: so
good-night.  I cannot write an answer now, you rogues.

30.  To-day I have been visiting, which I had long neglected; and I dined
with Mrs. Barton alone; and sauntered at the Coffee-house till past
eight, and have been busy till eleven, and now I’ll answer your letter,
saucebox.  Well, let me see now again.  My wax candle’s almost out, but
however I’ll begin.  Well then, do not be so tedious, Mr. Presto; what
can you say to MD’s letter?  Make haste, have done with your
preambles—Why, I say I am glad you are so often abroad; your mother
thinks it is want of exercise hurts you, and so do I.  (She called here
to-night, but I was not within, that’s by the bye.)  Sure you do not
deceive me, Stella, when you say you are in better health than you were
these three weeks; for Dr. Raymond told me yesterday, that Smyth of the
Blind Quay had been telling Mr. Leigh that he left you extremely ill; and
in short, spoke so, that he almost put poor Leigh into tears, and would
have made me run distracted; though your letter is dated the 11th
instant, and I saw Smyth in the city above a fortnight ago, as I passed
by in a coach.  Pray, pray, don’t write, Stella, until you are mighty,
mighty, mighty, mighty well in your eyes, and are sure it won’t do you
the least hurt.  Or come, I’ll tell you what; you, Mistress Stella, shall
write your share at five or six sittings, one sitting a day; and then
comes Dingley all together, and then Stella a little crumb towards the
end, to let us see she remembers Presto; and then conclude with something
handsome and genteel, as your most humblecumdumble, or, etc.  O Lord!
does Patrick write word of my not coming till spring?  Insolent man! he
know my secrets?  No; as my Lord Mayor said, No; if I thought my shirt
knew, etc.  Faith, I will come as soon as it is any way proper for me to
come; but, to say the truth, I am at present a little involved with the
present Ministry in some certain things (which I tell you as a secret);
and soon as ever I can clear my hands, I will stay no longer; for I hope
the First-Fruit business will be soon over in all its forms.  But, to say
the truth, the present Ministry have a difficult task, and want me, etc.
Perhaps they may be just as grateful as others: but, according to the
best judgment I have, they are pursuing the true interest of the public;
and therefore I am glad to contribute what is in my power.  For God’s
sake, not a word of this to any alive.—Your Chancellor? {80a}  Why,
madam, I can tell you he has been dead this fortnight.  Faith, I could
hardly forbear our little language about a nasty dead Chancellor, as you
may see by the blot. {80b}  Ploughing?  A pox plough them; they’ll plough
me to nothing.  But have you got your money, both the ten pounds?  How
durst he pay you the second so soon?  Pray be good huswifes.  Ay, well,
and Joe, why, I had a letter lately from Joe, desiring I would take some
care of their poor town, {80c} who, he says, will lose their liberties.
To which I desired Dr. Raymond would return answer, that the town had
behaved themselves so ill to me, so little regarded the advice I gave
them, and disagreed so much among themselves, that I was resolved never
to have more to do with them; but that whatever personal kindness I could
do to Joe, should be done.  Pray, when you happen to see Joe, tell him
this, lest Raymond should have blundered or forgotten—Poor Mrs.
Wesley!—Why these poligyes {80d} for being abroad?  Why should you be at
home at all, until Stella is quite well?—So, here is Mistress Stella
again, with her two eggs, etc.  My “Shower” admired with you; why, the
Bishop of Clogher says, he has seen something of mine of the same sort,
better than the “Shower.”  I suppose he means “The Morning”; {80e} but it
is not half so good.  I want your judgment of things, and not your
country’s.  How does MD like it? and do they taste it _all_? etc.  I am
glad Dean Bolton {81a} has paid the twenty pounds.  Why should not I
chide the Bishop of Clogher for writing to the Archbishop of Cashel,
{81b} without sending the letter first to me?  It does not signify a —;
for he has no credit at Court.  Stuff—they are all puppies.  I will break
your head in good earnest, young woman, for your nasty jest about Mrs.
Barton. {81c}  Unlucky sluttikin, what a word is there!  Faith, I was
thinking yesterday, when I was with her, whether she could break them or
no, and it quite spoilt my imagination.  “Mrs. Walls, does Stella win as
she pretends?”  “No indeed, Doctor; she loses always, and will play so
_ventersomely_, how can she win?”  See here now; an’t you an impudent
lying slut?  Do, open Domville’s letter; what does it signify, if you
have a mind?  Yes, faith, you write smartly with your eyes shut; all was
well but the _n_.  See how I can do it; _Madam Stella_, _your humble
servant_. {81d}  O, but one may look whether one goes crooked or no, and
so write on.  I will tell you what you may do; you may write with your
eyes half shut, just as when one is going to sleep: I have done so for
two or three lines now; it is but just seeing enough to go straight.—Now,
Madam Dingley, I think I bid you tell Mr. Walls that, in case there be
occasion, I will serve his friend as far as I can; but I hope there will
be none.  Yet I believe you will have a new Parliament; but I care not
whether you have or no a better.  You are mistaken in all your
conjectures about the _Tatlers_.  I have given him one or two hints, and
you have heard me talk about the Shilling. {81e}  Faith, these answering
letters are very long ones: you have taken up almost the room of a week
in journals; and I will tell you what, I saw fellows wearing crosses
to-day, {81f} and I wondered what was the matter; but just this minute I
recollect it is little Presto’s birthday; and I was resolved these three
days to remember it when it came, but could not.  Pray, drink my health
to-day at dinner; do, you rogues.  Do you like “Sid Hamet’s Rod”?  Do you
understand it all?  Well, now at last I have done with your letter, and
so I will lay me down to sleep, and about, fair maids; and I hope merry
maids all.

Dec. 1.  Morning.  I wish Smyth were hanged.  I was dreaming the most
melancholy things in the world of poor Stella, and was grieving and
crying all night.—Pshah, it is foolish: I will rise and divert myself; so
good-morrow; and God of His infinite mercy keep and protect you!  The
Bishop of Clogher’s letter is dated Nov. 21.  He says you thought of
going with him to Clogher.  I am heartily glad of it, and wish you would
ride there, and Dingley go in a coach.  I have had no fit since my first,
although sometimes my head is not quite in good order.—At night.  I was
this morning to visit Mr. Pratt, who is come over with poor, sick Lord
Shelburne: they made me dine with them; and there I stayed, like a booby,
till eight, looking over them at ombre, and then came home.  Lord
Shelburne’s giddiness is turned into a colic, and he looks miserably.

2.  Steele, the rogue, has done the imprudentest thing in the world: he
said something in a _Tatler_, {82a} that we ought to use the word Great
Britain, and not England, in common conversation, as, “The finest lady in
Great Britain,” etc.  Upon this, Rowe, Prior, and I sent him a letter,
turning this into ridicule.  He has to-day printed the letter, {82b} and
signed it J.S., M.P., and N.R., the first letters of all our names.
Congreve told me to-day, he smoked it immediately.  Congreve and I, and
Sir Charles Wager, dined to-day at Delaval’s, the Portugal Envoy; and I
stayed there till eight, and came home, and am now writing to you before
I do business, because that dog Patrick is not at home, and the fire is
not made, and I am not in my gear.  Pox take him!—I was looking by chance
at the top of this side, and find I make plaguy mistakes in words; so
that you must fence against that as well as bad writing.  Faith, I can’t
nor won’t read what I have written.  (Pox of this puppy!) Well, I’ll
leave you till I am got to bed, and then I will say a word or two.—Well,
’tis now almost twelve, and I have been busy ever since, by a fire too (I
have my coals by half a bushel at a time, I’ll assure you), and now I am
got to bed.  Well, and what have you to say to Presto now he is abed?
Come now, let us hear your speeches.  No, ’tis a lie; I an’t sleepy yet.
Let us sit up a little longer, and talk.  Well, where have you been
to-day, that you are but just this minute come home in a coach?  What
have you lost?  Pay the coachman, Stella.  No, faith, not I, he’ll
grumble.—What new acquaintance have you got? come, let us hear.  I have
made Delaval promise to send me some Brazil tobacco from Portugal for
you, Madam Dingley.  I hope you will have your chocolate and spectacles
before this comes to you.

3.  Pshaw, I must be writing to these dear saucy brats every night,
whether I will or no, let me have what business I will, or come home ever
so late, or be ever so sleepy; but an old saying, and a true one,

    “Be you lords, or be you earls,
    You must write to naughty girls.”

I was to-day at Court, and saw Raymond among the Beefeaters, staying to
see the Queen: so I put him in a better station, made two or three dozen
of bows, and went to church, and then to Court again, to pick up a
dinner, as I did with Sir John Stanley; and then we went to visit Lord
Mountjoy, and just now left him; and ’tis near eleven at night, young
women; and methinks this letter comes pretty near to the bottom, and ’tis
but eight days since the date, and don’t think I’ll write on the other
side, I thank you for nothing.  Faith, if I would use you to letters on
sheets as broad as this room, you would always expect them from me.  O,
faith, I know you well enough; but an old saying, etc.,

    “Two sides in a sheet,
    And one in a street.”

I think that’s but a silly old saying; and so I’ll go to sleep, and do
you so too.

4.  I dined to-day with Mrs. Vanhomrigh, and then came home, and studied
till eleven.  No adventure at all to-day.

5.  So I went to the Court of Requests (we have had the Devil and all of
rain by the bye) to pick up a dinner; and Henley made me go dine with him
and one Colonel Bragg {84a} at a tavern; cost me money, faith.  Congreve
was to be there, but came not.  I came with Henley to the Coffee-house,
where Lord Salisbury {84b} seemed mighty desirous to talk with me; and,
while he was wriggling himself into my favour, that dog Henley asked me
aloud, whether I would go to see Lord Somers as I had promised (which was
a lie); and all to vex poor Lord Salisbury, who is a high Tory.  He
played two or three other such tricks; and I was forced to leave my lord,
and I came home at seven, and have been writing ever since, and will now
go to bed.  The other day I saw Jack Temple {84c} in the Court of
Requests: it was the first time of seeing him; so we talked two or three
careless words, and parted.  Is it true that your Recorder and Mayor, and
fanatic aldermen, a month or two ago, at a solemn feast, drank Mr.
Harley’s, Lord Rochester’s, {84d} and other Tory healths?  Let me know;
it was confidently said here.—The scoundrels!  It shan’t do, Tom.

6.  When is this letter to go, I wonder? harkee, young women, tell me
that.  Saturday next for certain, and not before: then it will be just a
fortnight; time enough for naughty girls, and long enough for two
letters, faith.  Congreve and Delaval have at last prevailed on Sir
Godfrey Kneller to entreat me to let him draw my picture for nothing; but
I know not yet when I shall sit. {84e}—It is such monstrous rainy
weather, that there is no doing with it.  Secretary St. John sent to me
this morning, that my dining with him to-day was put off till to-morrow;
so I peaceably sat with my neighbour Ford, dined with him, and came home
at six, and am now in bed as usual; and now it is time to have another
letter from MD, yet I would not have it till this goes; for that would
look like two letters for one.  Is it not whimsical that the Dean has
never once written to me?  And I find the Archbishop very silent to that
letter I sent him with an account that the business was done.  I believe
he knows not what to write or say; and I have since written twice to him,
both times with a vengeance. {85a}  Well, go to bed, sirrahs, and so will
I.  But have you lost to-day?  Three shillings!  O fie, O fie!

7.  No, I won’t send this letter to-day, nor till Saturday, faith; and I
am so afraid of one from MD between this and that; if it comes, I will
just say I received a letter, and that is all.  I dined to-day with Mr.
Secretary St. John, where were Lord Anglesea, {85b} Sir Thomas Hanmer,
Prior, Freind, etc., and then made a debauch after nine at Prior’s house,
and have eaten cold pie, and I hate the thoughts of it, and I am full,
and I don’t like it, and I will go to bed, and it is late, and so
good-night.

8.  To-day I dined with Mr. Harley and Prior; but Mr. St. John did not
come, though he promised: he chid me for not seeing him oftener.  Here is
a damned, libellous pamphlet come out against Lord Wharton, giving the
character first, and then telling some of his actions: the character is
very well, but the facts indifferent. {85c}  It has been sent by dozens
to several gentlemen’s lodgings, and I had one or two of them; but nobody
knows the author or printer.  We are terribly afraid of the plague; they
say it is at Newcastle. {86a}  I begged Mr. Harley for the love of God to
take some care about it, or we are all ruined.  There have been orders
for all ships from the Baltic to pass their quarantine before they land;
but they neglect it.  You remember I have been afraid these two years.

9.  O, faith, you are a saucy rogue.  I have had your sixth letter just
now, before this is gone; but I will not answer a word of it, only that I
never was giddy since my first fit; but I have had a cold just a
fortnight, and cough with it still morning and evening; but it will go
off.  It is, however, such abominable weather that no creature can walk.
They say here three of your Commissioners will be turned out, Ogle,
South, and St. Quintin; {86b} and that Dick Stewart {86c} and Ludlow will
be two of the new ones.  I am a little soliciting for another: it is poor
Lord Abercorn, {86d} but that is a secret; I mean, that I befriend him is
a secret; but I believe it is too late, by his own fault and ill fortune.
I dined with him to-day.  I am heartily sorry you do not go to Clogher,
faith, I am; and so God Almighty protect poor, dear, dear, dear, dearest
MD.  Farewell till to-night.  I’ll begin my eleventh to-night; so I am
always writing to little MD.



LETTER XI.


                                                   LONDON, _Dec._ 9, 1710.

SO, young women, I have just sent my tenth to the post-office, and, as I
told you, have received your seventh (faith, I am afraid I mistook, and
said your sixth, and then we shall be all in confusion this month.)
Well, I told you I dined with Lord Abercorn to-day; and that is enough
till by and bye; for I must go write idle things, and twittle twattle.
{87a}  What’s here to do with your little MD’s? and so I put this by for
a while.  ’Tis now late, and I can only say MD is a dear, saucy rogue,
and what then?  Presto loves them the better.

10.  This son of a b— Patrick is out of the way, and I can do nothing; am
forced to borrow coals: ’tis now six o’clock, and I am come home after a
pure walk in the park; delicate weather, begun only to-day.  A terrible
storm last night: we hear one of your packet-boats is cast away, and
young Beau Swift {87b} in it, and General Sankey: {87c}  I know not the
truth; you will before me.  Raymond talks of leaving the town in a few
days, and going in a month to Ireland, for fear his wife should be too
far gone, and forced to be brought to bed here.  I think he is in the
right; but perhaps this packet-boat will fright him.  He has no relish
for London; and I do not wonder at it.  He has got some Templars from
Ireland that show him the town.  I do not let him see me above twice a
week, and that only while I am dressing in the morning.—So, now the
puppy’s come in, and I have got my own ink, but a new pen; and so now you
are rogues and sauceboxes till I go to bed; for I must go study, sirrahs.
Now I think of it, tell the Bishop of Clogher, he shall not cheat me of
one inch of my bell metal.  You know it is nothing but to save the town
money; and Enniskillen can afford it better than Laracor: he shall have
but one thousand five hundred weight.  I have been reading, etc., as
usual, and am now going to bed; and I find this day’s article is long
enough: so get you gone till to-morrow, and then.  I dined with Sir
Matthew Dudley.

11.  I am come home again as yesterday, and the puppy had again locked up
my ink, notwithstanding all I said to him yesterday; but he came home a
little after me, so all is well: they are lighting my fire, and I’ll go
study.  The fair weather is gone again, and it has rained all day.  I do
not like this open weather, though some say it is healthy.  They say it
is a false report about the plague at Newcastle. {88a}  I have no news
to-day: I dined with Mrs. Vanhomrigh, to desire them to buy me a scarf;
and Lady Abercorn {88b} is to buy me another, to see who does best: mine
is all in rags.  I saw the Duke of Richmond {88c} yesterday at Court
again, but would not speak to him: I believe we are fallen out.  I am now
in bed; and it has rained all this evening, like wildfire: have you so
much rain in your town?  Raymond was in a fright, as I expected, upon the
news of this shipwreck; but I persuaded him, and he leaves this town in a
week.  I got him acquainted with Sir Robert Raymond, {88d} the
Solicitor-General, who owns him to be of his family; and I believe it may
do him a kindness, by being recommended to your new Lord Chancellor.—I
had a letter from Mrs. Long, that has quite turned my stomach against
her: no less than two nasty jests in it, with dashes to suppose them.
She is corrupted in that country town {88e} with vile conversation.—I
will not answer your letter till I have leisure: so let this go on as it
will, what care I? what cares saucy Presto?

12.  I was to-day at the Secretary’s office with Lewis, and in came Lord
Rivers; {88f} who took Lewis out and whispered him; and then came up to
me to desire my acquaintance, etc., so we bowed and complimented a while,
and parted and I dined with Phil. Savage {89a} and his Irish Club, at
their boarding-place; and, passing an evening scurvily enough, did not
come home till eight.  Mr. Addison and I hardly meet once a fortnight;
his Parliament and my different friendships keep us asunder.  Sir Matthew
Dudley turned away his butler yesterday morning; and at night the poor
fellow died suddenly in the streets: was not it an odd event?  But what
care you?  But then I knew the butler.—Why, it seems your packet-boat is
not lost: psha, how silly that is, when I had already gone through the
forms, and said it was a sad thing, and that I was sorry for it!  But
when must I answer this letter of our MD’s?  Here it is, it lies between
this paper on t’other side of the leaf: one of these odd-come-shortly’s
I’ll consider, and so good-night.

13.  Morning.  I am to go trapesing with Lady Kerry {89b} and Mrs. Pratt
{89c} to see sights all this day: they engaged me yesterday morning at
tea.  You hear the havoc making in the army: Meredith, Maccartney, and
Colonel Honeywood {89d} are obliged to sell their commands at half-value,
and leave the army, for drinking destruction to the present Ministry, and
dressing up a hat on a stick, and calling it Harley; then drinking a
glass with one hand, and discharging a pistol with the other at the
maukin, {90a} wishing it were Harley himself; and a hundred other such
pretty tricks, as inflaming their soldiers, and foreign Ministers,
against the late changes at Court.  Cadogan {90b} has had a little
paring: his mother {90c} told me yesterday he had lost the place of
Envoy; but I hope they will go no further with him, for he was not at
those mutinous meetings.—Well, these saucy jades take up so much of my
time with writing to them in a morning; but, faith, I am glad to see you
whenever I can: a little snap and away; and so hold your tongue, for I
must rise: not a word, for your life.  How nowww?  So, very well; stay
till I come home, and then, perhaps, you may hear further from me.  And
where will you go to-day, for I can’t be with you for these ladies?  It
is a rainy, ugly day.  I’d have you send for Walls, and go to the Dean’s;
but don’t play small games when you lose.  You’ll be ruined by Manilio,
Basto, the queen, and two small trumps, in red. {90d}  I confess ’tis a
good hand against the player: but then there are Spadilio, Punto, the
king, strong trumps, against you, which, with one trump more, are three
tricks ten ace: for, suppose you play your Manilio—Oh, silly, how I
prate, and can’t get away from this MD in a morning!  Go, get you gone,
dear naughty girls, and let me rise.  There, Patrick locked up my ink
again the third time last night: the rogue gets the better of me; but I
will rise in spite of you, sirrahs.—At night.  Lady Kerry, Mrs. Pratt,
Mrs. Cadogan, {90e} and I, in one coach; Lady Kerry’s son {91a} and his
governor, and two gentlemen, in another; maids, and misses and little
master (Lord Shelburne’s {91b} children), in a third, all hackneys, set
out at ten o’clock this morning from Lord Shelburne’s house in Piccadilly
to the Tower, and saw all the sights, lions, {91c} etc.; then to Bedlam;
{91d} then dined at the chop-house behind the Exchange; then to Gresham
College {91e} (but the keeper was not at home); and concluded the night
at the Puppet-show, {91f} whence we came home safe at eight, and I left
them.  The ladies were all in mobs {91g} (how do you call it?), undrest;
and it was the rainiest day that ever dripped; and I am weary; and it is
now past eleven.

14.  Stay, I’ll answer some of your letter this morning in bed: let me
see; come and appear, little letter.  Here I am, says he: and what say
you to Mrs. MD this morning fresh and fasting?  Who dares think MD
negligent?  I allow them a fortnight; and they give it me.  I could fill
a letter in a week; but it is longer every day; and so I keep it a
fortnight, and then ’tis cheaper by one half.  I have never been giddy,
dear Stella, since that morning: I have taken a whole box of pills, and
kecked {91h} at them every night, and drank a pint of brandy at
mornings.—Oh then, you kept Presto’s little birthday: {92a} would to God
I had been with you!  I forgot it, as I told you before.  R_e_diculous,
madam?  I suppose you mean r_i_diculous: let me have no more of that;
’tis the author of the _Atalantis’s_ {92b} spelling.  I have mended it in
your letter.  And can Stella read this writing without hurting her dear
eyes?  O, faith, I am afraid not.  Have a care of those eyes, pray, pray,
pretty Stella.—’Tis well enough what you observe, that, if I writ better,
perhaps you would not read so well, being used to this manner; ’tis an
alphabet you are used to: you know such a pot-hook makes a letter; and
you know what letter, and so and so.—I’ll swear he told me so, and that
they were long letters too; but I told him it was a gasconnade of yours,
etc.  I am talking of the Bishop of Clogher, how he forgot.  Turn over.
{92c}  I had not room on t’other side to say that, so I did it on this: I
fancy that’s a good Irish blunder.  Ah, why do not you go down to
Clogher, nautinautinautideargirls; I dare not say _nauti_ without _dear_:
O, faith, you govern me.  But, seriously, I’m sorry you don’t go, as far
as I can judge at this distance.  No, we would get you another horse; I
will make Parvisol get you one.  I always doubted that horse of yours:
prythee sell him, and let it be a present to me.  My heart aches when I
think you ride him.  Order Parvisol to sell him, and that you are to
return me the money: I shall never be easy until he is out of your hands.
Faith, I have dreamt five or six times of horses stumbling since I had
your letter.  If he can’t sell him, let him run this winter.  Faith, if I
was near you, I would whip your — to some tune, for your grave, saucy
answer about the Dean and _Johnsonibus_; I would, young women.  And did
the Dean preach for me? {93a}  Very well.  Why, would they have me stand
here and preach to them?  No, the _Tatler_ of the Shilling {93b} was not
mine, more than the hint, and two or three general heads for it.  I have
much more important business on my hands; and, besides, the Ministry hate
to think that I should help him, and have made reproaches on it; and I
frankly told them I would do it no more.  This is a secret though, Madam
Stella.  You win eight shillings? you win eight fiddlesticks.  Faith, you
say nothing of what you lose, young women.—I hope Manley is in no great
danger; for Ned Southwell is his friend, and so is Sir Thomas Frankland;
and his brother John Manley stands up heartily for him.  On t’other side,
all the gentlemen of Ireland here are furiously against him.  Now,
Mistress Dingley, an’t you an impudent slut, to expect a letter next
packet from Presto, when you confess yourself that you had so lately two
letters in four days?  Unreasonable baggage!  No, little Dingley, I am
always in bed by twelve; I mean my candle is out by twelve, and I take
great care of myself.  Pray let everybody know, upon occasion, that Mr.
Harley got the First-Fruits from the Queen for the clergy of Ireland, and
that nothing remains but the forms, etc.  So you say the Dean and you
dined at Stoyte’s, and Mrs. Stoyte was in raptures that I remembered her.
I must do it but seldom, or it will take off her rapture. But what now,
you saucy sluts? all this written in a morning, and I must rise and go
abroad.  Pray stay till night: do not think I will squander mornings upon
you, pray, good madam.  Faith, if I go on longer in this trick of writing
in the morning, I shall be afraid of leaving it off, and think you expect
it, and be in awe.  Good-morrow, sirrahs, I will rise.—At night.  I went
to-day to the Court of Requests (I will not answer the rest of your
letter yet, that by the way), in hopes to dine with Mr. Harley: but Lord
Dupplin, {94a} his son-in-law, told me he did not dine at home; so I was
at a loss, until I met with Mr. Secretary St. John, and went home and
dined with him, where he told me of a good bite. {94b}  Lord Rivers told
me two days ago, that he was resolved to come Sunday fortnight next to
hear me preach before the Queen.  I assured him the day was not yet
fixed, and I knew nothing of it.  To-day the Secretary told me that his
father, Sir Harry St. John, {94c} and Lord Rivers were to be at St.
James’s Church, to hear me preach there; and were assured I was to
preach: so there will be another bite; for I know nothing of the matter,
but that Mr. Harley and St. John are resolved I must preach before the
Queen; and the Secretary of State has told me he will give me three
weeks’ warning; but I desired to be excused, which he will not.  St.
John, “You shall not be excused”: however, I hope they will forget it;
for if it should happen, all the puppies hereabouts will throng to hear
me, and expect something wonderful, and be plaguily baulked; for I shall
preach plain honest stuff.  I stayed with St. John till eight, and then
came home; and Patrick desired leave to go abroad, and by and by comes up
the girl to tell me, a gentleman was below in a coach, who had a bill to
pay me; so I let him come up, and who should it be but Mr. Addison and
Sam Dopping, to haul me out to supper, where I stayed till twelve.  If
Patrick had been at home, I should have ’scaped this; for I have taught
him to deny me almost as well as Mr. Harley’s porter.—Where did I leave
off in MD’s letter? let me see.  So, now I have it.  You are pleased to
say, Madam Dingley, that those who go for England can never tell when to
come back.  Do you mean this as a reflection upon Presto, madam?
Sauceboxes, I will come back as soon as I can, as hope saved, {95a} and I
hope with some advantage, unless all Ministries be alike, as perhaps they
may.  I hope Hawkshaw is in Dublin before now, and that you have your
things, and like your spectacles: if you do not, you shall have better.
I hope Dingley’s tobacco did not spoil Stella’s chocolate, and that all
is safe: pray let me know.  Mr. Addison and I are different as black and
white, and I believe our friendship will go off, by this damned business
of party: he cannot bear seeing me fall in so with this Ministry: but I
love him still as well as ever, though we seldom meet.—Hussy, Stella, you
jest about poor Congreve’s eyes; {95b} you do so, hussy; but I’ll bang
your bones, faith.—Yes, Steele was a little while in prison, or at least
in a spunging-house, some time before I came, but not since. {95c}—Pox on
your convocations, and your Lamberts; {95d} they write with a vengeance!
I suppose you think it a piece of affectation in me to wish your Irish
folks would not like my “Shower,”; but you are mistaken.  I should be
glad to have the general applause there as I have here (though I say it);
but I have only that of one or two, and therefore I would have none at
all, but let you all be in the wrong.  I don’t know, this is not what I
would say; but I am so tosticated with supper and stuff, that I can’t
express myself.—What you say of “Sid Hamet” is well enough; that an enemy
should like it, and a friend not; and that telling the author would make
both change their opinions.  Why did you not tell Griffyth {95e} that you
fancied there was something in it of my manner; but first spur up his
commendation to the height, as we served my poor uncle about the sconce
that I mended?  Well, I desired you to give what I intended for an answer
to Mrs. Fenton, {96a} to save her postage, and myself trouble; and I hope
I have done it, if you han’t.

15.  Lord, what a long day’s writing was yesterday’s answer to your
letter, sirrahs!  I dined to-day with Lewis and Ford, whom I have brought
acquainted.  Lewis told me a pure thing.  I had been hankering with Mr.
Harley to save Steele his other employment, and have a little mercy on
him; and I had been saying the same thing to Lewis, who is Mr. Harley’s
chief favourite.  Lewis tells Mr. Harley how kindly I should take it, if
he would be reconciled to Steele, etc.  Mr. Harley, on my account, falls
in with it, and appoints Steele a time to let him attend him, which
Steele accepts with great submission, but never comes, nor sends any
excuse.  Whether it was blundering, sullenness, insolence, or rancour of
party, I cannot tell; but I shall trouble myself no more about him.  I
believe Addison hindered him out of mere spite, being grated {96b} to the
soul to think he should ever want my help to save his friend; yet now he
is soliciting me to make another of his friends Queen’s Secretary at
Geneva; and I’ll do it if I can; it is poor Pastoral Philips. {96c}

16.  O, why did you leave my picture behind you at t’other lodgings?
Forgot it?  Well; but pray remember it now, and don’t roll it up, d’ye
hear; but hang it carefully in some part of your room, where chairs and
candles and mop-sticks won’t spoil it, sirrahs.  No, truly, I will not be
godfather to Goody Walls this bout, and I hope she will have no more.
There will be no quiet nor cards for this child.  I hope it will die the
day after the christening.  Mr. Harley gave me a paper, with an account
of the sentence you speak of against the lads that defaced the statue,
{97a} and that Ingoldsby {97b} reprieved that part of it of standing
before the statue.  I hope it was never executed.  We have got your
Broderick out; {97c} Doyne {97d} is to succeed him, and Cox {97e} Doyne.
And so there’s an end of your letter; ’tis all answered; and now I must
go on upon my own stock.  Go on, did I say?  Why, I have written enough;
but this is too soon to send it yet, young women; faith, I dare not use
you to it, you’ll always expect it; what remains shall be only short
journals of a day, and so I’ll rise for this morning.—At night.  I dined
with my opposite neighbour, Darteneuf; and I was soliciting this day to
present the Bishop of Clogher Vice-Chancellor; {97f} but it won’t do;
they are all set against him, and the Duke of Ormond, they say, has
resolved to dispose of it somewhere else.  Well; little saucy rogues, do
not stay out too late to-night, because it is Saturday night, and young
women should come home soon then.

17.  I went to Court to seek a dinner: but the Queen was not at church,
she has got a touch of the gout; so the Court was thin, and I went to the
Coffee-house; and Sir Thomas Frankland and his eldest son and I went and
dined with his son William. {98a}  I talked a great deal to Sir Thomas
about Manley; and find he is his good friend, and so has Ned Southwell
been, and I hope he will be safe, though all the Irish folks here are his
mortal enemies.  There was a devilish bite to-day.  They had it, I know
not how, that I was to preach this morning at St. James’s Church; an
abundance went, among the rest Lord Radnor, who never is abroad till
three in the afternoon.  I walked all the way home from Hatton Garden at
six, by moonlight, a delicate night.  Raymond called at nine, but I was
denied; and now I am in bed between eleven and twelve, just going to
sleep, and dream of my own dear roguish impudent pretty MD.

18.  You will now have short days’ works, just a few lines to tell you
where I am, and what I am doing; only I will keep room for the last day
to tell you news, if there be any worth sending.  I have been sometimes
like to do it at the top of my letter, until I remark it would be old
before it reached you.  I was hunting to dine with Mr. Harley to-day, but
could not find him; and so I dined with honest Dr. Cockburn, and came
home at six, and was taken out to next door by Dopping and Ford, to drink
bad claret and oranges; and we let Raymond come to us, who talks of
leaving the town to-morrow, but I believe will stay a day or two longer.
It is now late, and I will say no more, but end this line with bidding my
own dear saucy MD good-night, etc.

19.  I am come down proud stomach in one instance, for I went to-day to
see the Duke of Buckingham, {98b} but came too late: then I visited Mrs.
Barton, {98c} and thought to have dined with some of the Ministry; but it
rained, and Mrs. Vanhomrigh was nigh, and I took the opportunity of
paying her for a scarf she bought me, and dined there; at four I went to
congratulate with Lord Shelburne, for the death of poor Lady Shelburne
dowager; {99a} he was at his country house, and returned while I was
there, and had not heard of it, and he took it very well.  I am now come
home before six, and find a packet from the Bishop of Clogher, with one
enclosed to the Duke of Ormond, which is ten days earlier dated than
another I had from Parvisol; however, ’tis no matter, for the Duke has
already disposed of the Vice-Chancellorship to the Archbishop of Tuam,
{99b} and I could not help it, for it is a thing wholly you know in the
Duke’s power; and I find the Bishop has enemies about the Duke.  I write
this while Patrick is folding up my scarf, and doing up the fire (for I
keep a fire, it costs me twelvepence a week); and so be quiet till I am
gone to bed, and then sit down by me a little, and we will talk a few
words more.  Well; now MD is at my bedside; and now what shall we say?
How does Mrs. Stoyte?  What had the Dean for supper?  How much did Mrs.
Walls win?  Poor Lady Shelburne: well, go get you to bed, sirrahs.

20.  Morning.  I was up this morning early, and shaved by candlelight,
and write this by the fireside.  Poor Raymond just came in and took his
leave of me; he is summoned by high order from his wife, but pretends he
has had enough of London.  I was a little melancholy to part with him; he
goes to Bristol, where they are to be with his merchant brother, and now
thinks of staying till May; so she must be brought to bed in England.  He
was so easy and manageable, that I almost repent I suffered him to see me
so seldom.  But he is gone, and will save Patrick some lies in a week:
Patrick is grown admirable at it, and will make his fortune.  How now,
sirrah, must I write in a morning to your impudence?

    Stay till night,
    And then I’ll write,
    In black and white,
    By candlelight,
    Of wax so bright,
    It helps the sight—
    A bite, a bite!

Marry come up, Mistress Boldface.—At night.  Dr. Raymond came back, and
goes to-morrow.  I did not come home till eleven, and found him here to
take leave of me.  I went to the Court of Requests, thinking to find Mr.
Harley and dine with him, and refused Henley, and everybody, and at last
knew not where to go, and met Jemmy Leigh by chance, and he was just in
the same way, so I dined at his lodgings on a beef-steak, and drank your
health; then left him and went to the tavern with Ben Tooke and Portlack,
the Duke of Ormond’s secretary, drinking nasty white wine till eleven.  I
am sick, and ashamed of it, etc.

21.  I met that beast Ferris, Lord Berkeley’s {100a} steward formerly; I
walked with him a turn in the Park, and that scoundrel dog is as happy as
an emperor, has married a wife with a considerable estate in land and
houses about this town, and lives at his ease at Hammersmith.  See your
confounded sect! {100b}  Well; I had the same luck to-day with Mr.
Harley; ’twas a lovely day, and went by water into the City, and dined
with Stratford at a merchant’s house, and walked home with as great a
dunce as Ferris, I mean honest Colonel Caulfeild, {100c} and came home by
eight, and now am in bed, and going to sleep for a wager, and will send
this letter on Saturday, and so; but first I will wish you a merry
Christmas and a happy New Year, and pray God we may never keep them
asunder again.

22.  Morning.  I am going now to Mr. Harley’s levee on purpose to vex
him; I will say I had no other way of seeing him, etc.  Patrick says it
is a dark morning, and that the Duke of Argyle {101a} is to be knighted
to-day; the booby means installed at Windsor.  But I must rise, for this
is a shaving-day, and Patrick says there is a good fire; I wish MD were
by it, or I by MD’s.—At night.  I forgot to tell you, Madam Dingley, that
I paid nine shillings for your glass and spectacles, of which three were
for the Bishop’s case: I am sorry I did not buy you such another case;
but if you like it, I will bring one over with me; pray tell me: the
glass to read was four shillings, the spectacles two.  And have you had
your chocolate?  Leigh says he sent the petticoat by one Mr. Spencer.
Pray have you no further commissions for me?  I paid the glass-man but
last night, and he would have made me a present of the microscope worth
thirty shillings, and would have sent it home along with me; I thought
the deuce was in the man: he said I could do him more service than that
was worth, etc.  I refused his present, but promised him all service I
could do him; and so now I am obliged in honour to recommend him to
everybody.—At night.  I went to Mr. Harley’s levee; he came and asked me
what I had to do there, and bid me come and dine with him on a family
dinner; which I did, and it was the first time I ever saw his lady {101b}
and daughter; {101c} at five my Lord Keeper {101d} came in: I told Mr.
Harley, he had formerly presented me to Sir Simon Harcourt, but now must
to my Lord Keeper; so he laughed, etc.

23.  Morning.  This letter goes to-night without fail; I hope there is
none from you yet at the Coffee-house; I will send and see by and by, and
let you know, and so and so.  Patrick goes to see for a letter: what will
you lay, is there one from MD or no?  No, I say; done for sixpence.  Why
has the Dean never once written to me?  I won sixpence; I won sixpence;
there is not one letter to Presto.  Good-morrow, dear sirrahs: Stratford
and I dine to-day with Lord Mountjoy.  God Almighty preserve and bless
you; farewell, etc.

I have been dining at Lord Mountjoy’s; and am come to study; our news
from Spain this post takes off some of our fears.  The Parliament is
prorogued to-day, or adjourned rather till after the holidays.  Bank
Stock is 105, so I may get 12 shillings for my bargain already.  Patrick,
the puppy, is abroad, and how shall I send this letter?  Good-night,
little dears both, and be happy; and remember your poor Presto, that
wants you sadly, as hope saved.  Let me go study, naughty girls, and
don’t keep me at the bottom of the paper.  O, faith, if you knew what
lies on my hands constantly, you would wonder to see how I could write
such long letters; but we’ll talk of that some other time.  Good-night
again, and God bless dear MD with His best blessings, yes, yes, and
Dingley and Stella and me too, etc.

Ask the Bishop of Clogher about the pun I sent him of Lord Stawel’s
brother; {102} it will be a pure bite.  This letter has 199 lines in it,
beside all postscripts; I had a curiosity to reckon.

There is a long letter for you.

It is longer than a sermon, faith.

I had another letter from Mrs. Fenton, who says you were with her; I hope
you did not go on purpose.  I will answer her letter soon; it is about
some money in Lady Giffard’s hands.

They say you have had eight packets due to you; so pray, madams, do not
blame Presto, but the wind.

My humble service to Mrs. Walls and Mrs. Stoyte; I missed the former a
good while.



LETTER XII.


                                                  LONDON, _Dec._ 23, 1710.

I HAVE sent my 11th to-night as usual, and begin the dozenth, and I told
you I dined with Stratford at Lord Mountjoy’s, and I will tell you no
more at present, guess for why; because I am going to mind things, and
mighty affairs, not your nasty First-Fruits—I let them alone till Mr.
Harley gets the Queen’s letter—but other things of greater moment, that
you shall know one day, when the ducks have eaten up all the dirt.  So
sit still a while just by me, while I am studying, and don’t say a word,
I charge you, and when I am going to bed, I will take you along, and talk
with you a little while, so there, sit there.—Come then, let us see what
we have to say to these saucy brats, that will not let us go sleep at
past eleven.  Why, I am a little impatient to know how you do; but that I
take it for a standing maxim, that when you are silent, all is pretty
well, because that is the way I will deal with you; and if there was
anything you ought to know now, I would write by the first post, although
I had written but the day before.  Remember this, young women; and God
Almighty preserve you both, and make us happy together; and tell me how
accompts stand between us, that you may be paid long before it is due,
not to want.  I will return no more money while I stay, so that you need
not be in pain to be paid; but let me know at least a month before you
can want.  Observe this, d’ye hear, little dear sirrahs, and love Presto,
as Presto loves MD, etc.

24.  You will have a merrier Christmas Eve than we here.  I went up to
Court before church; and in one of the rooms, there being but little
company, a fellow in a red coat without a sword came up to me, and, after
words of course, asked me how the ladies did?  I asked, “What ladies?”
He said, “Mrs. Dingley and Mrs. Johnson.”  “Very well,” said I, “when I
heard from them last: and pray when came you from thence, sir?”  He said,
“I never was in Ireland”; and just at that word Lord Winchelsea {104a}
comes up to me, and the man went off: as I went out I saw him again, and
recollected him, it was Vedeau {104b} with a pox: I then went and made my
apologies, that my head was full of something I had to say to Lord
Winchelsea, etc., and I asked after his wife, and so all was well; and he
inquired after my lodging, because he had some favour to desire of me in
Ireland, to recommend somebody to somebody, I know not what it is.  When
I came from church, I went up to Court again, where Sir Edmond Bacon
{104c} told me the bad news from Spain, {104d} which you will hear before
this reaches you; as we have it now, we are undone there, and it was odd
to see the whole countenances of the Court changed so in two hours.  Lady
Mountjoy {104e} carried me home to dinner, where I stayed not long after,
and came home early, and now am got into bed, for you must always write
to your MD’s in bed, that is a maxim.

    Mr. White and Mr. Red,
    Write to MD when abed;
    Mr. Black and Mr. Brown,
    Write to MD when you’re down;
    Mr. Oak and Mr. Willow,
    Write to MD on your pillow.—

What is this? faith, I smell fire; what can it be? this house has a
thousand stinks in it.  I think to leave it on Thursday, and lodge over
the way.  Faith, I must rise, and look at my chimney, for the smell grows
stronger, stay—I have been up, and in my room, and found all safe, only a
mouse within the fender to warm himself, which I could not catch.  I
smelt nothing there, but now in my bed-chamber I smell it again; I
believe I have singed the woollen curtain, and that is all, though I
cannot smoke it.  Presto is plaguy silly to-night, an’t he?  Yes, and so
he be.  Ay, but if I should wake and see fire.  Well; I will venture; so
good-night, etc.

25.  Pray, young women, if I write so much as this every day, how will
this paper hold a fortnight’s work, and answer one of yours into the
bargain?  You never think of this, but let me go on like a simpleton.  I
wish you a merry Christmas, and many, many a one with poor Presto at some
pretty place.  I was at church to-day by eight, and received the
Sacrament, and came home by ten; then went to Court at two: it was a
Collar-day, that is, when the Knights of the Garter wear their collars;
but the Queen stayed so late at Sacrament, that I came back, and dined
with my neighbour Ford, because all people dine at home on this day.
This is likewise a Collar-day all over England in every house, at least
where there is _brawn_: that’s very well.—I tell you a good pun; a fellow
hard by pretends to cure agues, and has set out a sign, and spells it
_egoes_; a gentleman and I observing it, he said, “How does that fellow
pretend to cure _agues_?”  I said I did not know; but I was sure it was
not by a _spell_.  That is admirable.  And so you asked the Bishop about
that pun of Lord Stawel’s brother.  Bite!  Have I caught you, young
women?  Must you pretend to ask after roguish puns, and Latin ones too?
Oh but you smoked me, and did not ask the Bishop.  Oh but you are a fool,
and you did.  I met Vedeau again at Court to-day, and I observed he had a
sword on; I fancy he was broke, and has got a commission, but I never
asked him.  Vedeau I think his name is, yet Parvisol’s man is Vedel, that
is true.  Bank Stock will fall like stock-fish by this bad news, and two
days ago I could have got twelve pounds by my bargain; but I do not
intend to sell, and in time it will rise.  It is odd that my Lord
Peterborow foretold this loss two months ago, one night at Mr. Harley’s,
when I was there; he bid us count upon it, that Stanhope would lose Spain
before Christmas; that he would venture his head upon it, and gave us
reasons; and though Mr. Harley argued the contrary, he still held to his
opinion.  I was telling my Lord Angelsea this at Court this morning; and
a gentleman by said he had heard my Lord Peterborow affirm the same
thing.  I have heard wise folks say, “An ill tongue may do much.”  And
’tis an odd saying,

    “Once I guessed right,
    And I got credit by’t;
    Thrice I guessed wrong,
    And I kept my credit on.”

No, it is you are sorry, not I.

26.  By the Lord Harry, I shall be undone here with Christmas boxes.  The
rogues of the Coffee-house have raised their tax, everyone giving a
crown; and I gave mine for shame, besides a great many half-crowns to
great men’s porters, etc.  I went to-day by water into the city, and
dined with no less a man than the City Printer. {106a}  There is an
intimacy between us, built upon reasons that you shall know when I see
you; but the rain caught me within twelvepenny length of home.  I called
at Mr. Harley’s, who was not within, dropped my half-crown with his
porter, drove to the Coffee-house, where the rain kept me till nine.  I
had letters to-day from the Archbishop of Dublin and Mr. Bernage; {106b}
the latter sends me a melancholy account of Lady Shelburne’s {106c}
death, and his own disappointments, and would gladly be a captain; if I
can help him, I will.

27.  Morning.  I bespoke a lodging over the way for to-morrow, and the
dog let it yesterday to another; I gave him no earnest, so it seems he
could do it; Patrick would have had me give him earnest to bind him; but
I would not.  So I must go saunter to-day for a lodging somewhere else.
Did you ever see so open a winter in England?  We have not had two frosty
days; but it pays it off in rain: we have not had three fair days these
six weeks.  O, faith, I dreamt mightily of MD last night; but so
confused, I cannot tell a word.  I have made Ford acquainted with Lewis;
and to-day we dined together: in the evening I called at one or two
neighbours, hoping to spend a Christmas evening; but none were at home,
they were all gone to be merry with others.  I have often observed this,
that in merry times everybody is abroad; where the deuce are they?  So I
went to the Coffee-house, and talked with Mr. Addison an hour, who at
last remembered to give me two letters, which I cannot answer to-night,
nor to-morrow neither, I can assure you, young women, count upon that.  I
have other things to do than to answer naughty girls, an old saying and
true,

    Letters from MD’s
    Must not be answered in ten days:

it is but bad rhyme, etc.

28.  To-day I had a message from Sir Thomas Hanmer, to dine with him; the
famous Dr. Smalridge {107a} was of the company, and we sat till six; and
I came home to my new lodgings in St. Albans Street, {107b} where I pay
the same rent (eight shillings a week) for an apartment two pair of
stairs; but I have the use of the parlour to receive persons of quality,
and I am got into my new bed, etc.

29.  Sir Andrew Fountaine has been very ill this week; and sent to me
early this morning to have prayers, which you know is the last thing.  I
found the doctors and all in despair about him.  I read prayers to him,
found he had settled all things; and, when I came out, the nurse asked me
whether I thought it possible he could live; for the doctors thought not.
I said, I believed he would live; for I found the seeds of life in him,
which I observe seldom fail (and I found them in poor, dearest Stella,
when she was ill many years ago); and to-night I was with him again, and
he was mightily recovered, and I hope he will do well, and the doctor
approved my reasons; but, if he should die, I should come off scurvily.
The Secretary of State (Mr. St. John) sent to me to dine with him; Mr.
Harley and Lord Peterborow dined there too; and at night came Lord
Rivers.  Lord Peterborow goes to Vienna in a day or two: he has promised
to make me write to him.  Mr. Harley went away at six; but we stayed till
seven.  I took the Secretary aside, and complained to him of Mr. Harley,
that he had got the Queen to grant the First-Fruits, promised to bring me
to her, and get her letter to the bishops of Ireland; but the last part
he had not done in six weeks, and I was in danger to lose reputation,
etc.  He took the matter right, desired me to be with him on Sunday
morning, and promises me to finish the affair in four days; so I shall
know in a little time what I have to trust to.—It is nine o’clock, and I
must go study, you little rogues; and so good-night, etc.

30.  Morning.  The weather grows cold, you sauceboxes.  Sir Andrew
Fountaine, they bring me word, is better.  I will go rise, for my hands
are starving while I write in bed.  Night.  Now Sir Andrew Fountaine is
recovering, he desires to be at ease; for I called in the morning to read
prayers, but he had given orders not to be disturbed.  I have lost a
legacy by his living; for he told me he had left me a picture and some
books, etc.  I called to see my quondam neighbour Ford (do you know what
_quondam_ is, though?), and he engaged me to dine with him; for he always
dines at home on Opera-days.  I came home at six, writ to the Archbishop,
then studied till past eleven, and stole to bed, to write to MD these few
lines, to let you know I am in good health at the present writing hereof,
and hope in God MD is so too.  I wonder I never write politics to you: I
could make you the profoundest politician in all the lane.—Well, but when
shall we answer this letter, No. 8 of MD’s?  Not till next year, faith.
O Lord—bo—but that will be a Monday next.  Cod’s-so, is it? and so it is:
never saw the like.—I made a pun t’other day to Ben Portlack {109} about
a pair of drawers.  Poh, said he, that’s mine a— all over.  Pray, pray,
Dingley, let me go sleep; pray, pray, Stella, let me go slumber; and put
out my wax-candle.

31.  Morning.  It is now seven, and I have got a fire, but am writing
abed in my bed-chamber.  ’Tis not shaving-day, so I shall be ready early
to go before church to Mr. St. John; and to-morrow I will answer our MD’s
letter.

    Would you answer MD’s letter,
    On New Year’s Day you’ll do it better;
    For, when the year with MD ’gins,
    It without MD never lins.

(These proverbs have always old words in them; lins is leave off.)

    But, if on New Year you write nones,
    MD then will bang your bones.

But Patrick says I must rise.—Night.  I was early this morning with
Secretary St. John, and gave him a memorial to get the Queen’s letter for
the First-Fruits, who has promised to do it in a very few days.  He told
me he had been with the Duke of Marlborough, who was lamenting his former
wrong steps in joining with the Whigs, and said he was worn out with age,
fatigues, and misfortunes.  I swear it pitied me; and I really think they
will not do well in too much mortifying that man, although indeed it is
his own fault.  He is covetous as hell, and ambitious as the Prince of
it: he would fain have been General for life, and has broken all
endeavours for peace, to keep his greatness and get money.  He told the
Queen he was neither covetous nor ambitious.  She said if she could have
conveniently turned about, she would have laughed, and could hardly
forbear it in his face.  He fell in with all the abominable measures of
the late Ministry, because they gratified him for their own designs.  Yet
he has been a successful General, and I hope he will continue his
command.  O Lord, smoke the politics to MD!  Well; but, if you like them,
I will scatter a little now and then, and mine are all fresh from the
chief hands.  Well, I dined with Mr. Harley, and came away at six: there
was much company, and I was not merry at all.  Mr. Harley made me read a
paper of verses of Prior’s.  I read them plain, without any fine manner;
and Prior swore, I should never read any of his again; but he would be
revenged, and read some of mine as bad.  I excused myself, and said I was
famous for reading verses the worst in the world; and that everybody
snatched them from me when I offered to begin.  So we laughed.—Sir Andrew
Fountaine still continues ill.  He is plagued with some sort of bile.

Jan. 1.  Morning.  I wish my dearest, pretty Dingley and Stella a happy
New Year, and health, and mirth, and good stomachs, and Fr’s company.
Faith, I did not know how to write Fr.  I wondered what was the matter;
but now I remember I always write Pdfr.  Patrick wishes me a happy New
Year, and desires I would rise, for it is a good fire, and faith ’tis
cold.  I was so politic last night with MD, never saw the like.  Get the
_Examiners_, and read them; the last nine or ten are full of the reasons
for the late change, and of the abuses of the last Ministry; and the
great men assure me they are all true.  They are written by their
encouragement and direction.  I must rise and go see Sir Andrew
Fountaine; but perhaps to-night I may answer MD’s letter: so good-morrow,
my mistresses all, good-morrow.

    I wish you both a merry New Year,
    Roast beef, minced pies, and good strong beer,
    And me a share of your good cheer,
    That I was there, or you were here;
    And you’re a little saucy dear.

Good-morrow again, dear sirrahs; one cannot rise for your play.—At night.
I went this morning to visit Lady Kerry and Lord Shelburne; and they made
me dine with them.  Sir Andrew Fountaine is better.  And now let us come
and see what this saucy, dear letter of MD says.  Come out, letter, come
out from between the sheets; here it is underneath, and it will not come
out.  Come out again, I say: so there.  Here it is.  What says Presto to
me, pray? says it.  Come, and let me answer for you to your ladies.  Hold
up your head then, like a good letter.  There.  Pray, how have you got up
with Presto, Madam Stella?  You write your eighth when you receive mine:
now I write my twelfth when I receive your eighth.  Do not you allow for
what are upon the road, simpleton?  What say you to that?  And so you
kept Presto’s little birthday, I warrant: would to God I had been at the
health rather than here, where I have no manner of pleasure, nothing but
eternal business upon my hands.  I shall grow wise in time; but no more
of that: only I say Amen with my heart and vitals, that we may never be
asunder again ten days together while poor Presto lives.—————————————I
can’t be merry so near any splenetic talk; so I made that long line, and
now all’s well again.  Yes, you are a pretending slut, indeed, with your
fourth and fifth in the margin, and your journal, and everything.
Wind—we saw no wind here, nothing at all extraordinary at any time.  We
had it once when you had it not.  But an old saying and a true:

    “I hate all wind,
    Before and behind,
    From cheeks with eyes,
    Or from blind.—”

Your chimney fall down!  God preserve you.  I suppose you only mean a
brick or two: but that’s a d—ned lie of your chimney being carried to the
next house with the wind.  Don’t put such things upon us; those matters
will not pass here: keep a little to possibilities.  My Lord Hertford
{112a} would have been ashamed of such a stretch.  You should take care
of what company you converse with: when one gets that faculty, ’tis hard
to break one’s self of it.  Jemmy Leigh talks of going over; but
_quando_?  I do not know when he will go.  Oh, now you have had my ninth,
now you are come up with me; marry come up with you, indeed.  I know all
that business of Lady S—. {112b}  Will nobody cut that D—y’s throat?
Five hundred pounds do you call poor pay for living three months the life
of a king?  They say she died with grief, partly, being forced to appear
as a witness in court about some squabble among their servants.—The
Bishop of Clogher showed you a pamphlet. {112c}  Well, but you must not
give your mind to believe those things; people will say anything.  The
_Character_ is here reckoned admirable, but most of the facts are
trifles.  It was first printed privately here; and then some bold cur
ventured to do it publicly, and sold two thousand in two days: who the
author is must remain uncertain.  Do you pretend to know, impudence?  How
durst you think so?  Pox on your Parliaments: the Archbishop has told me
of it; but we do not vouchsafe to know anything of it here.  No, no, no
more of your giddiness yet; thank you, Stella, for asking after it; thank
you; God Almighty bless you for your kindness to poor Presto.  You write
to Lady Giffard and your mother upon what I advise when it is too late.
But yet I fancy this bad news will bring down stocks so low, that one
might buy to great advantage.  I design to venture going to see your
mother some day when Lady Giffard is abroad.  Well, keep your Rathburn
{112d} and stuff.  I thought he was to pay in your money upon his houses
to be flung down about the what do you call it.—Well, Madam Dingley, I
sent your enclosed to Bristol, but have not heard from Raymond since he
went.  Come, come, young women, I keep a good fire; it costs me
twelvepence a week, and I fear something more; vex me, and I will have
one in my bed-chamber too.  No, did not I tell you but just now, we have
no high winds here?  Have you forgot already?—Now you’re at it again,
silly Stella; why does your mother say my candles are scandalous?  They
are good sixes in the pound, and she said I was extravagant enough to
burn them by daylight.  I never burn fewer at a time than one.  What
would people have?  The D— burst Hawkshaw.  He told me he had not the
box; and the next day Sterne told me he had sent it a fortnight ago.
Patrick could not find him t’other day, but he shall to-morrow.  Dear
life and heart, do you tease me? does Stella tease Presto?  That
palsy-water was in the box; it was too big for a packet, and I was afraid
of its breaking.  Leigh was not in town then; or I would not have trusted
it to Sterne, whom yet I have befriended enough to do me more kindness
than that.  I’ll never rest till you have it, or till it is in a way for
you to have it.  Poor dear rogue, naughty to think it teases me; how
could I ever forgive myself for neglecting anything that related to your
health?  Sure I were a Devil if I did. ———————————— See how far I am
forced to stand from Stella, because I am afraid she thinks poor Presto
has not been careful about her little things; I am sure I bought them
immediately according to order, and packed them up with my own hands, and
sent them to Sterne, and was six times with him about sending them away.
I am glad you are pleased with your glasses.  I have got another velvet
cap; a new one Lord Herbert {113} bought and presented me one morning I
was at breakfast with him, where he was as merry and easy as ever I saw
him, yet had received a challenge half an hour before, and half an hour
after fought a duel.  It was about ten days ago.  You are mistaken in
your guesses about _Tatlers_: I did neither write that on Noses nor
Religion, {114} nor do I send him of late any hints at all.—Indeed,
Stella, when I read your letter, I was not uneasy at all; but when I came
to answer the particulars, and found that you had not received your box,
it grated me to the heart, because I thought, through your little words,
that you imagined I had not taken the care I ought.  But there has been
some blunder in this matter, which I will know to-morrow, and write to
Sterne, for fear he should not be within.—And pray, pray, Presto, pray
now do.—No, Raymond was not above four times with me while he stayed, and
then only while I was dressing.  Mrs. Fenton has written me another
letter about some money of hers in Lady Giffard’s hands, that is
entrusted to me by my mother, not to come to her husband.  I send my
letters constantly every fortnight, and, if you will have them oftener,
you may, but then they will be the shorter.  Pray, let Parvisol sell the
horse.  I think I spoke to you of it in a former letter: I am glad you
are rid of him, and was in pain while I thought you rode him; but, if he
would buy you another, or anybody else, and that you could be often able
to ride, why do not you do it?

2.  I went this morning early to the Secretary of State, Mr. St. John;
and he told me from Mr. Harley that the warrant was now drawn, in order
for a patent for the First-Fruits: it must pass through several offices,
and take up some time, because in things the Queen gives they are always
considerate; but that, he assures me, ’tis granted and done, and past all
dispute, and desires I will not be in any pain at all.  I will write
again to the Archbishop to-morrow, and tell him this, and I desire you
will say it on occasion.  From the Secretary I went to Mr. Sterne, who
said he would write to you to-night; and that the box must be at Chester;
and that some friend of his goes very soon, and will carry it over.  I
dined with Mr. Secretary St. John, and at six went to Darteneufs house to
drink punch with him, and Mr. Addison, and little Harrison, {115a} a
young poet, whose fortune I am making.  Steele was to have been there,
but came not, nor never did twice, since I knew him, to any appointment.
I stayed till past eleven, and am now in bed.  Steele’s last _Tatler_
came out to-day.  You will see it before this comes to you, and how he
takes leave of the world.  He never told so much as Mr. Addison of it,
who was surprised as much as I; but, to say the truth, it was time, for
he grew cruel dull and dry.  To my knowledge he had several good hints to
go upon; but he was so lazy and weary of the work that he would not
improve them.  I think I will send this after {115b} to-morrow: shall I
before ’tis full, Dingley?

3.  Lord Peterborow yesterday called me into a barber’s shop, and there
we talked deep politics: he desired me to dine with him to-day at the
Globe in the Strand; he said he would show me so clearly how to get
Spain, that I could not possibly doubt it.  I went to-day accordingly,
and saw him among half a dozen lawyers and attorneys and hang-dogs,
signing of deeds and stuff before his journey; for he goes to-morrow to
Vienna.  I sat among that scurvy company till after four, but heard
nothing of Spain; only I find, by what he told me before, that he fears
he shall do no good in his present journey. {115c}  We are to be mighty
constant correspondents.  So I took my leave of him, and called at Sir
Andrew Fountaine’s, who mends much.  I came home, an’t please you, at
six, and have been studying till now past eleven.

4.  Morning.  Morrow, little dears.  O, faith, I have been dreaming; I
was to be put in prison.  I do not know why, and I was so afraid of a
black dungeon; and then all I had been inquiring yesterday of Sir Andrew
Fountaine’s sickness I thought was of poor Stella.  The worst of dreams
is, that one wakes just in the humour they leave one.  Shall I send this
to-day?  With all my heart: it is two days within the fortnight; but may
be MD are in haste to have a round dozen: and then how are you come up to
me with your eighth, young women?  But you indeed ought to write twice
slower than I, because there are two of you; I own that.  Well then, I
will seal up this letter by my morning candle, and carry it into the city
with me, where I go to dine, and put it into the post-office with my own
fair hands.  So, let me see whether I have any news to tell MD.  They say
they will very soon make some inquiries into the corruptions of the late
Ministry; and they must do it, to justify their turning them out.
Atterbury, {116a} we think, is to be Dean of Christ Church in Oxford; but
the College would rather have Smalridge—What’s all this to you?  What
care you for Atterburys and Smalridges?  No, you care for nothing but
Presto, faith.  So I will rise, and bid you farewell; yet I am loth to do
so, because there is a great bit of paper yet to talk upon; but Dingley
will have it so: “Yes,” says she, “make your journals shorter, and send
them oftener;” and so I will.  And I have cheated you another way too;
for this is clipped paper, and holds at least six lines less than the
former ones.  I will tell you a good thing I said to my Lord Carteret.
{116b}  “So,” says he, “my Lord came up to me, and asked me,” etc.  “No,”
said I, “my Lord never did, nor ever can come up to you.”  We all pun
here sometimes.  Lord Carteret set down Prior t’other day in his chariot;
and Prior thanked him for his _charity_; that was fit for Dilly. {117a}
I do not remember I heard one good one from the Ministry; which is really
a shame.  Henley is gone to the country for Christmas.  The puppy comes
here without his wife, {117b} and keeps no house, and would have me dine
with him at eating-houses; but I have only done it once, and will do it
no more.  He had not seen me for some time in the Coffee-house, and
asking after me, desired Lord Herbert to tell me I was a beast for ever,
after the order of Melchisedec.  Did you ever read the Scripture? {117c}
It is only changing the word priest to beast.—I think I am bewitched, to
write so much in a morning to you, little MD.  Let me go, will you? and
I’ll come again to-night in a fine clean sheet of paper; but I can nor
will stay no longer now; no, I won’t, for all your wheedling: no, no,
look off, do not smile at me, and say, “Pray, pray, Presto, write a
little more.”  Ah! you are a wheedling slut, you be so.  Nay, but prithee
turn about, and let me go, do; ’tis a good girl, and do.  O, faith, my
morning candle is just out, and I must go now in spite of my teeth; for
my bed-chamber is dark with curtains, and I am at the wrong side.  So
farewell, etc. etc.

I am in the dark almost: I must have another candle, when I am up, to
seal this; but I will fold it up in the dark, and make what you can of
this, for I can only see this paper I am writing upon.  Service to Mrs.
Walls and Mrs. Stoyte.

God Almighty bless you, etc.  What I am doing I can’t see; but I will
fold it up, and not look on it again.



LETTER XIII.


                                                LONDON, _Jan._ 4, 1710–11.

I WAS going into the City (where I dined) and put my 12th, with my own
fair hands, into the post-office as I came back, which was not till nine
this night.  I dined with people that you never heard of, nor is it worth
your while to know; an authoress and a printer. {118a}  I walked home for
exercise, and at eleven got to bed; and, all the while I was undressing
myself, there was I speaking monkey things in air, just as if MD had been
by, and did not recollect myself till I got into bed.  I writ last night
to the Archbishop, and told him the warrant was drawn for the
First-Fruits; and I told him Lord Peterborow was set out for his journey
to Vienna; but it seems the Lords have addressed to have him stay, to be
examined about Spanish affairs, upon this defeat there, and to know where
the fault lay, etc.  So I writ to the Archbishop a lie; but I think it
was not a sin.

5.  Mr. Secretary St. John sent for me this morning so early, that I was
forced to go without shaving, which put me quite out of method.  I called
at Mr. Ford’s, and desired him to lend me a shaving; and so made a shift
to get into order again.  Lord! here is an impertinence: Sir Andrew
Fountaine’s mother and sister {118b} are come above a hundred miles, from
Worcester, to see him before he died.  They got here but yesterday; and
he must have been past hopes, or past fears, before they could reach him.
I fell a scolding when I heard they were coming; and the people about him
wondered at me, and said what a mighty content it would be on both sides
to die when they were with him!  I knew the mother; she is the greatest
Overdo {118c} upon earth; and the sister, they say, is worse; the poor
man will relapse again among them.  Here was the scoundrel brother always
crying in the outer room till Sir Andrew was in danger; and the dog was
to have all his estate if he died; and it is an ignorant, worthless,
scoundrel-rake: and the nurses were comforting him, and desiring he would
not take on so.  I dined to-day the first time with Ophy Butler {119a}
and his wife; and you supped with the Dean, and lost two-and-twenty pence
at cards.  And so Mrs. Walls is brought to bed of a girl, who died two
days after it was christened; and, betwixt you and me, she is not very
sorry: she loves her ease and diversions too well to be troubled with
children.  I will go to bed.

6.  Morning.  I went last night to put some coals on my fire after
Patrick was gone to bed; and there I saw in a closet a poor linnet he has
bought to bring over to Dingley: it cost him sixpence, and is as tame as
a dormouse.  I believe he does not know he is a bird: where you put him,
there he stands, and seems to have neither hope nor fear; I suppose in a
week he will die of the spleen.  Patrick advised with me before he bought
him.  I laid fairly before him the greatness of the sum, and the rashness
of the attempt; showed how impossible it was to carry him safe over the
salt sea: but he would not take my counsel; and he will repent it.  ’Tis
very cold this morning in bed; and I hear there is a good fire in the
room without (what do you call it?), the dining-room.  I hope it will be
good weather, and so let me rise, sirrahs, do so.—At night.  I was this
morning to visit the Dean, {119b} or Mr. Prolocutor, I think you call
him, don’t you?  Why should not I go to the Dean’s as well as you?  A
little, black man, of pretty near fifty?  Ay, the same.  A good, pleasant
man?  Ay, the same.  Cunning enough?  Yes.  One that understands his own
interests?  As well as anybody.  How comes it MD and I don’t meet there
sometimes?  A very good face, and abundance of wit?  Do you know his
lady?  O Lord! whom do you mean? {120a}  I mean Dr. Atterbury, Dean of
Carlisle and Prolocutor.  Pshaw, Presto, you are a fool: I thought you
had meant our Dean of St. Patrick’s.—Silly, silly, silly, you are silly,
both are silly, every kind of thing is silly.  As I walked into the city
I was stopped with clusters of boys and wenches buzzing about the
cake-shops like flies. {120b}  There had the fools let out their shops
two yards forward into the streets, all spread with great cakes frothed
with sugar, and stuck with streamers of tinsel.  And then I went to
Bateman’s the bookseller, and laid out eight-and-forty shillings for
books.  I bought three little volumes of Lucian in French for our Stella,
and so and so.  Then I went to Garraway’s {120c} to meet Stratford and
dine with him; but it was an idle day with the merchants, and he was gone
to our end of the town: so I dined with Sir Thomas Frankland at the Post
Office, and we drank your Manley’s health.  It was in a newspaper that he
was turned out; but Secretary St. John told me it was false: only that
newswriter is a plaguy Tory.  I have not seen one bit of Christmas
merriment.

7.  Morning.  Your new Lord Chancellor {120d} sets out to-morrow for
Ireland: I never saw him.  He carries over one Trapp {120e} a parson as
his chaplain, a sort of pretender to wit, a second-rate pamphleteer for
the cause, whom they pay by sending him to Ireland.  I never saw Trapp
neither.  I met Tighe {120f} and your Smyth of Lovet’s yesterday by the
Exchange.  Tighe and I took no notice of each other; but I stopped Smyth,
and told him of the box that lies for you at Chester, because he says he
goes very soon to Ireland, I think this week: and I will send this
morning to Sterne, to take measures with Smyth; so good-morrow, sirrahs,
and let me rise, pray.  I took up this paper when I came in at evening, I
mean this minute, and then said I, “No, no, indeed, MD, you must stay”;
and then was laying it aside, but could not for my heart, though I am
very busy, till I just ask you how you do since morning; by and by we
shall talk more, so let me leave you: softly down, little paper, till
then; so there—now to business; there, I say, get you gone; no, I will
not push you neither, but hand you on one side—So—Now I am got into bed,
I’ll talk with you.  Mr. Secretary St. John sent for me this morning in
all haste; but I would not lose my shaving, for fear of missing church.
I went to Court, which is of late always very full; and young Manley and
I dined at Sir Matthew Dudley’s.—I must talk politics.  I protest I am
afraid we shall all be embroiled with parties.  The Whigs, now they are
fallen, are the most malicious toads in the world.  We have had now a
second misfortune, the loss of several Virginia ships.  I fear people
will begin to think that nothing thrives under this Ministry: and if the
Ministry can once be rendered odious to the people, the Parliament may be
chosen Whig or Tory as the Queen pleases.  Then I think our friends press
a little too hard on the Duke of Marlborough.  The country members {121}
are violent to have past faults inquired into, and they have reason; but
I do not observe the Ministry to be very fond of it.  In my opinion we
have nothing to save us but a Peace; and I am sure we cannot have such a
one as we hoped; and then the Whigs will bawl what they would have done
had they continued in power.  I tell the Ministry this as much as I dare;
and shall venture to say a little more to them, especially about the Duke
of Marlborough, who, as the Whigs give out, will lay down his command;
and I question whether ever any wise State laid aside a general who had
been successful nine years together, whom the enemy so much dread, and
his own soldiers cannot but believe must always conquer; and you know
that in war opinion is nine parts in ten.  The Ministry hear me always
with appearance of regard, and much kindness; but I doubt they let
personal quarrels mingle too much with their proceedings.  Meantime, they
seem to value all this as nothing, and are as easy and merry as if they
had nothing in their hearts or upon their shoulders; like physicians, who
endeavour to cure, but feel no grief, whatever the patient
suffers.—Pshaw, what is all this?  Do you know one thing, that I find I
can write politics to you much easier than to anybody alive?  But I swear
my head is full; and I wish I were at Laracor, with dear, charming MD,
etc.

8.  Morning.  Methinks, young women, I have made a great progress in four
days, at the bottom of this side already, and no letter yet come from MD
(that word interlined is morning).  I find I have been writing State
affairs to MD.  How do they relish it?  Why, anything that comes from
Presto is welcome; though really, to confess the truth, if they had their
choice, not to disguise the matter, they had rather, etc.  Now, Presto, I
must tell you, you grow silly, says Stella.  That is but one body’s
opinion, madam.  I promised to be with Mr. Secretary St. John this
morning; but I am lazy, and will not go, because I had a letter from him
yesterday, to desire I would dine there to-day.  I shall be chid; but
what care I?—Here has been Mrs. South with me, just come from Sir Andrew
Fountaine, and going to market.  He is still in a fever, and may live or
die.  His mother and sister are now come up, and in the house; so there
is a lurry. {122}  I gave Mrs. South half a pistole for a New Year’s
gift.  So good-morrow, dears both, till anon.—At night.  Lord! I have
been with Mr. Secretary from dinner till eight; and, though I drank wine
and water, I am so hot!  Lady Stanley {123a} came to visit Mrs. St. John,
{123b} and sent up for me to make up a quarrel with Mrs. St. John, whom I
never yet saw; and do you think that devil of a Secretary would let me
go, but kept me by main force, though I told him I was in love with his
lady, and it was a shame to keep back a lover, etc.?  But all would not
do; so at last I was forced to break away, but never went up, it was then
too late; and here I am, and have a great deal to do to-night, though it
be nine o’clock; but one must say something to these naughty MD’s, else
there will be no quiet.

9.  To-day Ford and I set apart to go into the City to buy books; but we
only had a scurvy dinner at an alehouse; and he made me go to the tavern
and drink Florence, four and sixpence a flask; damned wine! so I spent my
money, which I seldom do, and passed an insipid day, and saw nobody, and
it is now ten o’clock, and I have nothing to say, but that ’tis a
fortnight to-morrow since I had a letter from MD; but if I have it time
enough to answer here, ’tis well enough, otherwise woe betide you, faith.
I will go to the toyman’s, here just in Pall Mall, and he sells great
hugeous battoons; {123c} yes, faith, and so he does.  Does not he,
Dingley?  Yes, faith.  Don’t lose your money this Christmas.

10.  I must go this morning to Mr. Secretary St. John.  I promised
yesterday, but failed, so can’t write any more till night to poor, dear
MD.—At night.  O, faith, Dingley.  I had company in the morning, and
could not go where I designed; and I had a basket from Raymond at
Bristol, with six bottles of wine and a pound of chocolate, and some
tobacco to snuff; and he writ under, the carriage was paid; but he lied,
or I am cheated, or there is a mistake; and he has written to me so
confusedly about some things, that Lucifer could not understand him.
This wine is to be drunk with Harley’s brother {124a} and Sir Robert
Raymond, Solicitor-General, in order to recommend the Doctor to your new
Lord Chancellor, who left this place on Monday; and Raymond says he is
hasting to Chester, to go with him.—I suppose he leaves his wife behind;
for when he left London he had no thoughts of stirring till summer.  So I
suppose he will be with you before this.  Ford came and desired I would
dine with him, because it was Opera-day; which I did, and sent excuses to
Lord Shelburne, who had invited me.

11.  I am setting up a new Tatler, little Harrison, {124b} whom I have
mentioned to you.  Others have put him on it, and I encourage him; and he
was with me this morning and evening, showing me his first, which comes
out on Saturday.  I doubt he will not succeed, for I do not much approve
his manner; but the scheme is Mr. Secretary St. John’s and mine, and
would have done well enough in good hands.  I recommended him to a
printer, {124c} whom I sent for, and settled the matter between them this
evening.  Harrison has just left me, and I am tired with correcting his
trash.

12.  I was this morning upon some business with Mr. Secretary St. John,
and he made me promise to dine with him; which otherwise I would have
done with Mr. Harley, whom I have not been with these ten days.  I cannot
but think they have mighty difficulties upon them; yet I always find them
as easy and disengaged as schoolboys on a holiday.  Harley has the
procuring of five or six millions on his shoulders, and the Whigs will
not lend a groat; {125a} which is the only reason of the fall of stocks:
for they are like Quakers and fanatics, that will only deal among
themselves, while all others deal indifferently with them.  Lady
Marlborough offers, if they will let her keep her employments, never to
come into the Queen’s presence.  The Whigs say the Duke of Marlborough
will serve no more; but I hope and think otherwise.  I would to Heaven I
were this minute with MD at Dublin; for I am weary of politics, that give
me such melancholy prospects.

13.  O, faith, I had an ugly giddy fit last night in my chamber, and I
have got a new box of pills to take, and hope I shall have no more this
good while.  I would not tell you before, because it would vex you,
little rogues; but now it is over.  I dined to-day with Lord Shelburne;
and to-day little Harrison’s new _Tatler_ came out: there is not much in
it, but I hope he will mend.  You must understand that, upon Steele’s
leaving off, there were two or three scrub _Tatlers_ {125b} came out, and
one of them holds on still, and to-day it advertised against Harrison’s;
and so there must be disputes which are genuine, like the strops for
razors. {125c}  I am afraid the little toad has not the true vein for it.
I will tell you a copy of verses.  When Mr. St. John was turned out from
being Secretary at War, three years ago, he retired to the country: there
he was talking of something he would have written over his summer-house,
and a gentleman gave him these verses—

    From business and the noisy world retired,
    Nor vexed by love, nor by ambition fired;
    Gently I wait the call of Charon’s boat,
    Still drinking like a fish, and — like a stoat.

He swore to me he could hardly bear the jest; for he pretended to retire
like a philosopher, though he was but twenty-eight years old: and I
believe the thing was true: for he had been a thorough rake.  I think the
three grave lines do introduce the last well enough.  Od so, but I will
go sleep; I sleep early now.

14.  O, faith, young women, I want a letter from MD; ’tis now nineteen
days since I had the last: and where have I room to answer it, pray?  I
hope I shall send this away without any answer at all; for I’ll hasten
it, and away it goes on Tuesday, by which time this side will be full.  I
will send it two days sooner on purpose out of spite; and the very next
day after, you must know, your letter will come, and then ’tis too late,
and I will so laugh, never saw the like!  ’Tis spring with us already.  I
ate asparagus t’other day.  Did you ever see such a frostless winter?
Sir Andrew Fountaine lies still extremely ill; it costs him ten guineas a
day to doctors, surgeons, and apothecaries, and has done so these three
weeks.  I dined to-day with Mr. Ford; he sometimes chooses to dine at
home, and I am content to dine with him; and at night I called at the
Coffee-house, where I had not been in a week, and talked coldly a while
with Mr. Addison.  All our friendship and dearness are off: we are civil
acquaintance, talk words of course, of when we shall meet, and that is
all.  I have not been at any house with him these six weeks: t’other day
we were to have dined together at the Comptroller’s; {126a} but I sent my
excuses, being engaged to the Secretary of State.  Is not it odd?  But I
think he has used me ill; and I have used him too well, at least his
friend Steele.

15.  It has cost me three guineas to-day for a periwig. {126b}  I am
undone!  It was made by a Leicester lad, who married Mr. Worrall’s
daughter, where my mother lodged; {127a} so I thought it would be cheap,
and especially since he lives in the city.  Well, London lickpenny:
{127b}  I find it true.  I have given Harrison hints for another _Tatler_
to-morrow.  The jackanapes wants a right taste: I doubt he won’t do.  I
dined with my friend Lewis of the Secretary’s office, and am got home
early, because I have much business to do; but before I begin, I must
needs say something to MD, faith—No, faith, I lie, it is but nineteen
days to-day since my last from MD.  I have got Mr. Harley to promise that
whatever changes are made in the Council, the Bishop of Clogher shall not
be removed, and he has got a memorial accordingly.  I will let the Bishop
know so much in a post or two.  This is a secret; but I know he has
enemies, and they shall not be gratified, if they designed any such
thing, which perhaps they might; for some changes there will be made.  So
drink up your claret, and be quiet, and do not lose your money.

16.  Morning.  Faith, I will send this letter to-day to shame you, if I
han’t one from MD before night, that’s certain.  Won’t you grumble for
want of the third side, pray now?  Yes, I warrant you; yes, yes, you
shall have the third, you shall so, when you can catch it, some other
time; when you be writing girls.—O, faith, I think I won’t stay till
night, but seal up this just now, and carry it in my pocket, and whip it
into the post-office as I come home at evening.  I am going out early
this morning.—Patrick’s bills for coals and candles, etc., come sometimes
to three shillings a week; I keep very good fires, though the weather be
warm.  Ireland will never be happy till you get small coal {128a}
likewise; nothing so easy, so convenient, so cheap, so pretty, for
lighting a fire.  My service to Mrs. Stoyte and Walls; has she a boy or a
girl?  A girl, hum; and died in a week, humm; and was poor Stella forced
to stand for godmother?—Let me know how accompts stand, that you may have
your money betimes.  There’s four months for my lodging, that must be
thought on too: and so go dine with Manley, and lose your money, do,
extravagant sluttikin, but don’t fret.—It will be just three weeks when I
have the next letter, that’s to-morrow.  Farewell, dearest beloved MD;
and love poor, poor Presto, who has not had one happy day since he left
you, as hope saved.—It is the last sally I will ever make, but I hope it
will turn to some account.  I have done more for these, {128b} and I
think they are more honest than the last; however, I will not be
disappointed.  I would make MD and me easy; and I never desired
more.—Farewell, etc. etc.



LETTER XIV.


                                               LONDON, _Jan._ 16, 1710–11.

O FAITH, young women, I have sent my letter N. 13 without one crumb of an
answer to any of MD’s, there’s for you now; and yet Presto ben’t angry,
faith, not a bit, only he will begin to be in pain next Irish post,
except he sees MD’s little handwriting in the glass-frame at the bar of
St. James’s Coffee-house, where Presto would never go but for that
purpose.  Presto is at home, God help him, every night from six till
bed-time, and has as little enjoyment or pleasure in life at present as
anybody in the world, although in full favour with all the Ministry.  As
hope saved, nothing gives Presto any sort of dream of happiness but a
letter now and then from his own dearest MD.  I love the expectation of
it; and when it does not come, I comfort myself that I have it yet to be
happy with.  Yes, faith, and when I write to MD, I am happy too; it is
just as if methinks you were here, and I prating to you, and telling you
where I have been: “Well,” says you, “Presto, come, where have you been
to-day? come, let’s hear now.”  And so then I answer: “Ford and I were
visiting Mr. Lewis and Mr. Prior; and Prior has given me a fine Plautus;
and then Ford would have had me dine at his lodgings, and so I would not;
and so I dined with him at an eating-house, which I have not done five
times since I came here; and so I came home, after visiting Sir Andrew
Fountaine’s mother and sister, and Sir Andrew Fountaine is mending,
though slowly.”

17.  I was making, this morning, some general visits, and at twelve I
called at the Coffee-house for a letter from MD; so the man said he had
given it to Patrick.  Then I went to the Court of Requests and Treasury,
to find Mr. Harley, and, after some time spent in mutual reproaches, I
promised to dine with him.  I stayed there till seven, then called at
Sterne’s and Leigh’s to talk about your box, and to have it sent by
Smyth.  Sterne says he has been making inquiries, and will set things
right as soon as possible.  I suppose it lies at Chester, at least I hope
so, and only wants a lift over to you.  Here has little Harrison been to
complain that the printer I recommended to him for his _Tatler_ is a
coxcomb; and yet to see how things will happen; for this very printer is
my cousin, his name is Dryden Leach; {129a} did you never hear of Dryden
Leach, he that prints the _Postman_?  He acted Oroonoko; {129b} he’s in
love with Miss Cross. {129c}—Well, so I came home to read my letter from
Stella, but the dog Patrick was abroad; at last he came, and I got my
letter.  I found another hand had superscribed it; when I opened it, I
found it written all in French, and subscribed Bernage: {130a} faith, I
was ready to fling it at Patrick’s head.  Bernage tells me he had been to
desire your recommendation to me, to make him a captain; and your
cautious answer, that he had as much power with me as you, was a notable
one; if you were here, I would present you to the Ministry as a person of
ability.  Bernage should let me know where to write to him; this is the
second letter I have had without any direction; however, I beg I may not
have a third, but that you will ask him, and send me how I shall direct
to him.  In the meantime, tell him that if regiments are to be raised
here, as he says, I will speak to George Granville, {130b} Secretary at
War, to make him a captain; and use what other interest I conveniently
can.  I think that is enough, and so tell him, and do not trouble me with
his letters, when I expect them from MD; do you hear, young women? write
to Presto.

18.  I was this morning with Mr. Secretary St. John, and we were to dine
at Mr. Harley’s alone, about some business of importance; but there were
two or three gentlemen there.  Mr. Secretary and I went together from his
office to Mr. Harley’s, and thought to have been very wise; but the deuce
a bit, the company stayed, and more came, and Harley went away at seven,
and the Secretary and I stayed with the rest of the company till eleven;
I would then have had him come away; but he was in for’t; and though he
swore he would come away at that flask, there I left him.  I wonder at
the civility of these people; when he saw I would drink no more, he would
always pass the bottle by me, and yet I could not keep the toad from
drinking himself, nor he would not let me go neither, nor Masham, {131a}
who was with us.  When I got home, I found a parcel directed to me; and
opening it, I found a pamphlet written entirely against myself, not by
name, but against something I writ: {131b} it is pretty civil, and
affects to be so, and I think I will take no notice of it; ’tis against
something written very lately; and indeed I know not what to say, nor do
I care.  And so you are a saucy rogue for losing your money to-day at
Stoyte’s; to let that bungler beat you, fie, Stella, an’t you ashamed?
Well, I forgive you this once, never do so again; no, noooo.  Kiss and be
friends, sirrah.—Come, let me go sleep, I go earlier to bed than
formerly; and have not been out so late these two months; but the
Secretary was in a drinking humour.  So good-night,
myownlittledearsaucyinsolentrogues.

19.  Then you read that long word in the last line; no, {131c} faith,
han’t you.  Well, when will this letter come from our MD? to-morrow or
next day without fail; yes, faith, and so it is coming.  This was an
insipid snowy day, no walking day, and I dined gravely with Mrs.
Vanhomrigh, and came home, and am now got to bed a little after ten; I
remember old Culpepper’s maxim:

    “Would you have a settled head,
    You must early go to bed:
    I tell you, and I tell’t again,
    You must be in bed at ten.”

20.  And so I went to-day with my new wig, o hoao, to visit Lady Worsley,
{132} whom I had not seen before, although she was near a month in town.
Then I walked in the Park to find Mr. Ford, whom I had promised to meet;
and coming down the Mall, who should come towards me but Patrick, and
gives me five letters out of his pocket.  I read the superscription of
the first, “Pshoh,” said I; of the second, “Pshoh” again; of the third,
“Pshah, pshah, pshah”; of the fourth, “A gad, a gad, a gad, I’m in a
rage”; of the fifth and last, “O hoooa; ay marry this is something, this
is our MD”; so truly we opened it, I think immediately, and it began the
most impudently in the world, thus: “Dear Presto, We are even thus far.”
“Now we are even,” quoth Stephen, when he gave his wife six blows for
one.  I received your ninth four days after I had sent my thirteenth.
But I’ll reckon with you anon about that, young women.  Why did not you
recant at the end of your letter, when you got my eleventh, tell me that,
huzzies base? were we even then, were we, sirrah?  But I won’t answer
your letter now, I’ll keep it for another time.  We had a great deal of
snow to-day, and ’tis terrible cold.  I dined with Ford, because it was
his Opera-day and snowed, so I did not care to stir farther.  I will send
to-morrow to Smyth.

21.  Morning.  It has snowed terribly all night, and is vengeance cold.
I am not yet up, but cannot write long; my hands will freeze.  “Is there
a good fire, Patrick?”  “Yes, sir.”  “Then I will rise; come, take away
the candle.”  You must know I write on the dark side of my bed-chamber,
and am forced to have a candle till I rise, for the bed stands between me
and the window, and I keep the curtains shut this cold weather.  So pray
let me rise; and Patrick, here, take away the candle.—At night.  We are
now here in high frost and snow, the largest fire can hardly keep us
warm.  It is very ugly walking; a baker’s boy broke his thigh yesterday.
I walk slow, make short steps, and never tread on my heel.  ’Tis a good
proverb the Devonshire people have:

          “Walk fast in snow,
          In frost walk slow;
          And still as you go,
          Tread on your toe.
    When frost and snow are both together,
    Sit by the fire, and spare shoe-leather.”

I dined to-day with Dr. Cockburn, {133a} but will not do so again in
haste, he has generally such a parcel of Scots with him.

22.  Morning.  Starving, starving, uth, uth, uth, uth, uth.—Don’t you
remember I used to come into your chamber, and turn Stella out of her
chair, and rake up the fire in a cold morning, and cry Uth, uth, uth?
etc.  O, faith, I must rise, my hand is so cold I can write no more.  So
good-morrow, sirrahs.—At night.  I went this morning to Lady Giffard’s
house, and saw your mother, and made her give me a pint bottle of
palsy-water, {133b} which I brought home in my pocket; and sealed and
tied up in a paper, and sent it to Mr. Smyth, who goes to-morrow for
Ireland, and sent a letter to him to desire his care of it, and that he
would inquire at Chester about the box.  He was not within: so the bottle
and letter were left for him at his lodgings, with strict orders to give
them to him; and I will send Patrick in a day or two, to know whether it
was given, etc.  Dr. Stratford {133c} and I dined to-day with Mr.
Stratford {133d} in the City, by appointment; but I chose to walk there,
for exercise in the frost.  But the weather had given a little, as you
women call it, so it was something slobbery.  I did not get home till
nine.

   And now I’m in bed,
   To break your head.

23.  Morning.  They tell me it freezes again, but it is not so cold as
yesterday: so now I will answer a bit of your letter.—At night.  O,
faith, I was just going to answer some of our MD’s letter this morning,
when a printer came in about some business, and stayed an hour; so I
rose, and then came in Ben Tooke, and then I shaved and scribbled; and it
was such a terrible day, I could not stir out till one, and then I called
at Mrs. Barton’s, and we went to Lady Worsley’s, where we were to dine by
appointment.  The Earl of Berkeley {134a} is going to be married to Lady
Louisa Lennox, the Duke of Richmond’s daughter.  I writ this night to
Dean Sterne, and bid him tell you all about the bottle of palsy-water by
Smyth; and to-morrow morning I will say something to your letter.

24.  Morning.  Come now to your letter.  As for your being even with me,
I have spoken to that already.  So now, my dearly beloved, let us proceed
to the next.  You are always grumbling that you han’t letters fast
enough; “surely we shall have your tenth;” and yet, before you end your
letter, you own you have my eleventh.—And why did not MD go into the
country with the Bishop of Clogher? faith, such a journey would have done
you good; Stella should have rode, and Dingley gone in the coach.  The
Bishop of Kilmore {134b} I know nothing of; he is old, and may die; he
lives in some obscure corner, for I never heard of him.  As for my old
friends, if you mean the Whigs, I never see them, as you may find by my
journals, except Lord Halifax, and him very seldom; Lord Somers never
since the first visit, for he has been a false, deceitful rascal. {134c}
My new friends are very kind, and I have promises enough, but I do not
count upon them, and besides my pretences are very young to them.
However, we will see what may be done; and if nothing at all, I shall not
be disappointed; although perhaps poor MD may, and then I shall be
sorrier for their sakes than my own.—Talk of a merry Christmas (why do
you write it so then, young women? sauce for the goose is sauce for the
gander), I have wished you all that two or three letters ago.  Good lack;
and your news, that Mr. St. John is going to Holland; he has no such
thoughts, to quit the great station he is in; nor, if he had, could I be
spared to go with him.  So, faith, politic Madam Stella, you come with
your two eggs a penny, etc.  Well, Madam Dingley, and so Mrs. Stoyte
invites you, and so you stay at Donnybrook, and so you could not write.
You are plaguy exact in your journals, from Dec. 25 to Jan. 4.  Well,
Smyth and the palsy-water I have handled already, and he does not lodge
(or rather did not, for, poor man, now he is gone) at Mr. Jesse’s, and
all that stuff; but we found his lodging, and I went to Stella’s mother
on my own head, for I never remembered it was in the letter to desire
another bottle; but I was so fretted, so tosticated, and so impatient
that Stella should have her water (I mean decently, do not be rogues),
and so vexed with Sterne’s carelessness.—Pray God, Stella’s illness may
not return!  If they come seldom, they begin to be weary; I judge by
myself; for when I seldom visit, I grow weary of my acquaintance.—Leave a
good deal of my tenth unanswered!  Impudent slut, when did you ever
answer my tenth, or ninth, or any other number? or who desires you to
answer, provided you write?  I defy the D— to answer my letters:
sometimes there may be one or two things I should be glad you would
answer; but I forget them, and you never think of them.  I shall never
love answering letters again, if you talk of answering.  Answering,
quotha! pretty answerers truly.—As for the pamphlet you speak of, and
call it scandalous, and that one Mr. Presto is said to write it, hear my
answer.  Fie, child, you must not mind what every idle body tells you—I
believe you lie, and that the dogs were not crying it when you said so;
come, tell truth.  I am sorry you go to St. Mary’s {136} so soon, you
will be as poor as rats; that place will drain you with a vengeance:
besides, I would have you think of being in the country in summer.
Indeed, Stella, pippins produced plentifully; Parvisol could not send
from Laracor: there were about half a score, I would be glad to know
whether they were good for anything.—Mrs. Walls at Donnybrook with you;
why is not she brought to bed?  Well, well, well, Dingley, pray be
satisfied; you talk as if you were angry about the Bishop’s not offering
you conveniences for the journey; and so he should.—What sort of
Christmas?  Why, I have had no Christmas at all; and has it really been
Christmas of late?  I never once thought of it.  My service to Mrs.
Stoyte, and Catherine; and let Catherine get the coffee ready against I
come, and not have so much care on her countenance; for all will go
well.—Mr. Bernage, Mr. Bernage, Mr. Fiddlenage, I have had three letters
from him now successively; he sends no directions, and how the D— shall I
write to him?  I would have burnt his last, if I had not seen Stella’s
hand at the bottom: his request is all nonsense.  How can I assist him in
buying? and if he be ordered to go to Spain, go he must, or else sell,
and I believe one can hardly sell in such a juncture.  If he had stayed,
and new regiments raised, I would have used my endeavour to have had him
removed; although I have no credit that way, or very little: but, if the
regiment goes, he ought to go too; he has had great indulgence, and
opportunities of saving; and I have urged him to it a hundred times.
What can I do? whenever it lies in my power to do him a good office, I
will do it.  Pray draw up this into a handsome speech, and represent it
to him from me, and that I would write, if I knew where to direct to him;
and so I have told you, and desired you would tell him, fifty times.
Yes, Madam Stella, I think I can read your long concluding word, but you
can’t read mine after bidding you good-night.  And yet methinks, I mend
extremely in my writing; but when Stella’s eyes are well, I hope to write
as bad as ever.—So now I have answered your letter, and mine is an
answer; for I lay yours before me, and I look and write, and write and
look, and look and write again.—So good-morrow, madams both, and I will
go rise, for I must rise; for I take pills at night, and so I must rise
early, I don’t know why.

25.  Morning.  I did not tell you how I passed my time yesterday, nor bid
you good-night, and there was good reason.  I went in the morning to
Secretary St. John about some business; he had got a great Whig with him;
a creature of the Duke of Marlborough, who is a go-between to make peace
between the Duke and the Ministry: so he came out of his closet, and,
after a few words, desired I would dine with him at three; but Mr. Lewis
stayed till six before he came; and there we sat talking, and the time
slipped so, that at last, when I was positive to go, it was past two
o’clock; so I came home, and went straight to bed.  He would never let me
look at his watch, and I could not imagine it above twelve when we went
away.  So I bid you good-night for last night, and now I bid you
good-morrow, and I am still in bed, though it be near ten, but I must
rise.

26, 27, 28, 29, 30.  I have been so lazy and negligent these last four
days that I could not write to MD.  My head is not in order, and yet is
not absolutely ill, but giddyish, and makes me listless; I walk every
day, and take drops of Dr. Cockburn, and I have just done a box of pills;
and to-day Lady Kerry sent me some of her bitter drink, which I design to
take twice a day, and hope I shall grow better.  I wish I were with MD; I
long for spring and good weather, and then I will come over.  My riding
in Ireland keeps me well.  I am very temperate, and eat of the easiest
meats as I am directed, and hope the malignity will go off; but one fit
shakes me a long time.  I dined to-day with Lord Mountjoy, yesterday at
Mr. Stone’s, in the City, on Sunday at Vanhomrigh’s, Saturday with Ford,
and Friday I think at Vanhomrigh’s; and that is all the journal I can
send MD, for I was so lazy while I was well, that I could not write.  I
thought to have sent this to-night, but ’tis ten, and I’ll go to bed, and
write on t’other side to Parvisol to-morrow, and send it on Thursday; and
so good-night, my dears; and love Presto, and be healthy, and Presto will
be so too, etc.

Cut off these notes handsomely, d’ye hear, sirrahs, and give Mrs. Brent
hers, and keep yours till you see Parvisol, and then make up the letter
to him, and send it him by the first opportunity; and so God Almighty
bless you both, here and ever, and poor Presto.

What, I warrant you thought at first that these last lines were another
letter.

Dingley, Pray pay Stella six fishes, and place them to the account of
your humble servant, Presto.

Stella, Pray pay Dingley six fishes, and place them to the account of
your humble servant, Presto.

There are bills of exchange for you.



LETTER XV.


                                               LONDON, _Jan._ 31, 1710–11.

I AM to send you my fourteenth to-morrow; but my head, having some little
disorders, confounds all my journals.  I was early this morning with Mr.
Secretary St. John about some business, so I could not scribble my
morning lines to MD.  They are here intending to tax all little printed
penny papers a halfpenny every half-sheet, which will utterly ruin Grub
Street, and I am endeavouring to prevent it. {138a}  Besides, I was
forwarding an impeachment against a certain great person; that was two of
my businesses with the Secretary, were they not worthy ones?  It was
Ford’s birthday, and I refused the Secretary, and dined with Ford.  We
are here in as smart a frost for the time as I have seen; delicate
walking weather, and the Canal and Rosamond’s Pond {138b} full of the
rabble sliding and with skates, if you know what those are.  Patrick’s
bird’s water freezes in the gallipot, and my hands in bed.

Feb. 1.  I was this morning with poor Lady Kerry, who is much worse in
her head than I.  She sends me bottles of her bitter; and we are so fond
of one another, because our ailments are the same; don’t you know that,
Madam Stella?  Han’t I seen you conning ailments with Joe’s wife, {139a}
and some others, sirrah?  I walked into the City to dine, because of the
walk, for we must take care of Presto’s health, you know, because of poor
little MD.  But I walked plaguy carefully, for fear of sliding against my
will; but I am very busy.

2.  This morning Mr. Ford came to me to walk into the City, where he had
business, and then to buy books at Bateman’s; and I laid out one pound
five shillings for a Strabo and Aristophanes, and I have now got books
enough to make me another shelf, and I will have more, or it shall cost
me a fall; and so as we came back, we drank a flask of right French wine
at Ben Tooke’s chamber; and when I got home, Mrs. Vanhomrigh sent me word
her eldest daughter {139b} was taken suddenly very ill, and desired I
would come and see her.  I went, and found it was a silly trick of Mrs.
Armstrong, {139c} Lady Lucy’s sister, who, with Moll Stanhope, was
visiting there: however, I rattled off the daughter.

3.  To-day I went and dined at Lady Lucy’s, where you know I have not
been this long time.  They are plaguy Whigs, especially the sister
Armstrong, the most insupportable of all women, pretending to wit,
without any taste.  She was running down the last _Examiner_, {139d} the
prettiest I had read, with a character of the present Ministry.—I left
them at five, and came home.  But I forgot to tell you, that this morning
my cousin Dryden Leach, the printer, came to me with a heavy complaint,
that Harrison the new Tatler had turned him off, and taken the last
Tatler’s printers again.  He vowed revenge; I answered gravely, and so he
left me, and I have ordered Patrick to deny me to him from henceforth:
and at night comes a letter from Harrison, telling me the same thing, and
excused his doing it without my notice, because he would bear all the
blame; and in his _Tatler_ of this day {140a} he tells you the story, how
he has taken his old officers, and there is a most humble letter from
Morphew and Lillie to beg his pardon, etc. {140b}  And lastly, this
morning Ford sent me two letters from the Coffee-house (where I hardly
ever go), one from the Archbishop of Dublin, and t’other from—Who do you
think t’other was from?—I’ll tell you, because you are friends; why, then
it was, faith, it was from my own dear little MD, N. 10.  Oh, but will
not answer it now, no, noooooh, I’ll keep it between the two sheets; here
it is, just under; oh, I lifted up the sheet and saw it there: lie still,
you shan’t be answered yet, little letter; for I must go to bed, and take
care of my head.

4.  I avoid going to church yet, for fear of my head, though it has been
much better these last five or six days, since I have taken Lady Kerry’s
bitter.  Our frost holds like a dragon.  I went to Mr. Addison’s, and
dined with him at his lodgings; I had not seen him these three weeks, we
are grown common acquaintance; yet what have not I done for his friend
Steele?  Mr. Harley reproached me the last time I saw him, that to please
me he would be reconciled to Steele, and had promised and appointed to
see him, and that Steele never came.  Harrison, whom Mr. Addison
recommended to me, I have introduced to the Secretary of State, who has
promised me to take care of him; and I have represented Addison himself
so to the Ministry, that they think and talk in his favour, though they
hated him before.—Well, he is now in my debt, and there’s an end; and I
never had the least obligation to him, and there’s another end.  This
evening I had a message from Mr. Harley, desiring to know whether I was
alive, and that I would dine with him to-morrow.  They dine so late, that
since my head has been wrong I have avoided being with them.—Patrick has
been out of favour these ten days; I talk dry and cross to him, and have
called him “friend” three or four times.  But, sirrahs, get you gone.

5.  Morning.  I am going this morning to see Prior, who dines with me at
Mr. Harley’s; so I can’t stay fiddling and talking with dear little brats
in a morning, and ’tis still terribly cold.—I wish my cold hand was in
the warmest place about you, young women, I’d give ten guineas upon that
account with all my heart, faith; oh, it starves my thigh; so I’ll rise
and bid you good-morrow, my ladies both, good-morrow.  Come, stand away,
let me rise: Patrick, take away the candle.  Is there a good
fire?—So—up-a-dazy.—At night.  Mr. Harley did not sit down till six, and
I stayed till eleven; henceforth I will choose to visit him in the
evenings, and dine with him no more if I can help it.  It breaks all my
measures, and hurts my health; my head is disorderly, but not ill, and I
hope it will mend.

6.  Here has been such a hurry with the Queen’s Birthday, so much fine
clothes, and the Court so crowded that I did not go there.  All the frost
is gone.  It thawed on Sunday, and so continues, yet ice is still on the
Canal (I did not mean that of Laracor, but St. James’s Park) and boys
sliding on it.  Mr. Ford pressed me to dine with him in his chamber.—Did
not I tell you Patrick has got a bird, a linnet, to carry over to
Dingley?  It was very tame at first, and ’tis now the wildest I ever saw.
He keeps it in a closet, where it makes a terrible litter; but I say
nothing: I am as tame as a clout.  When must we answer our MD’s letter?
One of these odd-come-shortlies.  This is a week old, you see, and no
farther yet.  Mr. Harley desired I would dine with him again to-day; but
I refused him, for I fell out with him yesterday, {141} and will not see
him again till he makes me amends: and so I go to bed.

7.  I was this morning early with Mr. Lewis of the Secretary’s office,
and saw a letter Mr. Harley had sent to him, desiring to be reconciled;
but I was deaf to all entreaties, and have desired Lewis to go to him,
and let him know I expect further satisfaction.  If we let these great
Ministers pretend too much, there will be no governing them.  He promises
to make me easy, if I will but come and see him; but I won’t, and he
shall do it by message, or I will cast him off.  I’ll tell you the cause
of our quarrel when I see you, and refer it to yourselves.  In that he
did something, which he intended for a favour; and I have taken it quite
otherwise, disliking both the thing and the manner, and it has heartily
vexed me, and all I have said is truth, though it looks like jest; and I
absolutely refused to submit to his intended favour, and expect further
satisfaction.  Mr. Ford and I dined with Mr. Lewis.  We have a monstrous
deal of snow, and it has cost me two shillings to-day in chair and coach,
and walked till I was dirty besides.  I know not what it is now to read
or write after I am in bed.  The last thing I do up is to write something
to our MD, and then get into bed, and put out my candle, and so go sleep
as fast as ever I can.  But in the mornings I do write sometimes in bed,
as you know.

8.  Morning.  _I have desired Apronia to be always careful_, _especially
about the legs_.  Pray, do you see any such great wit in that sentence?
I must freely own that I do not.  But party carries everything nowadays,
and what a splutter have I heard about the wit of that saying, repeated
with admiration above a hundred times in half an hour!  Pray read it over
again this moment, and consider it.  I think the word is _advised_, and
not _desired_.  I should not have remembered it if I had not heard it so
often.  Why—ay—You must know I dreamed it just now, and waked with it in
my mouth.  Are you bit, or are you not, sirrahs?  I met Mr. Harley in the
Court of Requests, and he asked me how long I had learnt the trick of
writing to myself?  He had seen your letter through the glass case at the
Coffee-house, and would swear it was my hand; and Mr. Ford, who took and
sent it me, was of the same mind.  I remember others have formerly said
so too.  I think I was little MD’s writing-master. {143}—But come, what
is here to do, writing to young women in a morning?  I have other fish to
fry; so good-morrow, my ladies all, good-morrow.  Perhaps I’ll answer
your letter to-night, perhaps I won’t; that’s as saucy little Presto
takes the humour.—At night.  I walked in the Park to-day in spite of the
weather, as I do always when it does not actually rain.  Do you know what
it has gone and done?  We had a thaw for three days, then a monstrous
dirt and snow, and now it freezes, like a pot-lid, upon our snow.  I
dined with Lady Betty Germaine, the first time since I came for England;
and there did I sit, like a booby, till eight, looking over her and
another lady at piquet, when I had other business enough to do.  It was
the coldest day I felt this year.

9.  Morning.  After I had been abed an hour last night, I was forced to
rise and call to the landlady and maid to have the fire removed in a
chimney below stairs, which made my bed-chamber smoke, though I had no
fire in it.  I have been twice served so.  I never lay so miserable an
hour in my life.  Is it not plaguy vexatious?—It has snowed all night,
and rains this morning.—Come, where’s MD’s letter?  Come, Mrs. Letter,
make your appearance.  Here am I, says she, answer me to my face.—O,
faith, I am sorry you had my twelfth so soon; I doubt you will stay
longer for the rest.  I’m so ’fraid you have got my fourteenth while I am
writing this; and I would always have one letter from Presto reading, one
travelling, and one writing.  As for the box, I now believe it lost.  It
is directed for Mr. Curry, at his house in Capel Street, etc.  I had a
letter yesterday from Dr. Raymond in Chester, who says he sent his man
everywhere, and cannot find it; and God knows whether Mr. Smyth will have
better success.  Sterne spoke to him, and I writ to him with the bottle
of palsy-water; that bottle, I hope, will not miscarry: I long to hear
you have it.  O, faith, you have too good an opinion of Presto’s care.  I
am negligent enough of everything but MD, and I should not have trusted
Sterne.—But it shall not go so: I will have one more tug for it.—As to
what you say of Goodman Peasly and Isaac, {144a} I answer as I did
before.  Fie, child, you must not give yourself the way to believe any
such thing: and afterwards, only for curiosity, you may tell me how these
things are approved, and how you like them; and whether they instruct you
in the present course of affairs, and whether they are printed in your
town, or only sent from hence.—Sir Andrew Fountaine is recovered; so take
your sorrow again, but don’t keep it, fling it to the dogs.  And does
little MD walk indeed?—I’m glad of it at heart.—Yes, we have done with
the plague here: it was very saucy in you to pretend to have it before
your betters.  Your intelligence that the story is false about the
officers forced to sell, {144b} is admirable.  You may see them all three
here every day, no more in the army than you.  Twelve shillings for
mending the strong box; that is, for putting a farthing’s worth of iron
on a hinge, and gilding it; give him six shillings, and I’ll pay it, and
never employ him or his again.—No indeed, I put off preaching as much as
I can.  I am upon another foot: nobody doubts here whether I can preach,
and you are fools.—The account you give of that weekly paper {144c}
agrees with us here.  Mr. Prior was like to be insulted in the street for
being supposed the author of it; but one of the last papers cleared him.
Nobody knows who it is, but those few in the secret, I suppose the
Ministry and the printer.—Poor Stella’s eyes!  God bless them, and send
them better.  Pray spare them, and write not above two lines a day in
broad daylight.  How does Stella look, Madam Dingley?  Pretty well, a
handsome young woman still.  Will she pass in a crowd?  Will she make a
figure in a country church?—Stay a little, fair ladies.  I this minute
sent Patrick to Sterne: he brings back word that your box is very safe
with one Mr. Earl’s sister in Chester, and that Colonel Edgworth’s widow
{145a} goes for Ireland on Monday next, and will receive the box at
Chester, and deliver it you safe: so there are some hopes now.—Well, let
us go on to your letter.—The warrant is passed for the First-Fruits.  The
Queen does not send a letter; but a patent will be drawn here, and that
will take up time.  Mr. Harley of late has said nothing of presenting me
to the Queen: I was overseen {145b} when I mentioned it to you.  He has
such a weight of affairs on him, that he cannot mind all; but he talked
of it three or four times to me, long before I dropped it to you.  What,
is not Mrs. Walls’ business over yet?  I had hopes she was up and well,
and the child dead before this time.—You did right, at last, to send me
your accompts; but I did not stay for them, I thank you.  I hope you have
your bill sent in my last, and there will be eight pounds’ interest soon
due from Hawkshaw: pray look at his bond.  I hope you are good managers;
and that, when I say so, Stella won’t think I intend she should grudge
herself wine.  But going to those expensive lodgings requires some fund.
I wish you had stayed till I came over, for some reasons.  That
Frenchwoman {145c} will be grumbling again in a little time: and if you
are invited anywhere to the country, it will vex you to pay in absence;
and the country may be necessary for poor Stella’s health: but do as you
like, and do not blame Presto.—Oh, but you are telling your
reasons.—Well, I have read them; do as you please.—Yes, Raymond says he
must stay longer than he thought, because he cannot settle his affairs.
M— is in the country at some friend’s, comes to town in spring, and then
goes to settle in Herefordshire.  Her husband is a surly, ill-natured
brute, and cares not she should see anybody.  O Lord, see how I
blundered, and left two lines short; it was that ugly score in the paper
{146a} that made me mistake.—I believe you lie about the story of the
fire, only to make it more odd.  Bernage must go to Spain; and I will see
to recommend him to the Duke of Argyle, his General, when I see the Duke
next: but the officers tell me it would be dishonourable in the last
degree for him to sell now, and he would never be preferred in the army;
so that, unless he designs to leave it for good and all, he must go.
Tell him so, and that I would write if I knew where to direct to him;
which I have said fourscore times already.  I had rather anything almost
than that you should strain yourselves to send a letter when it is
inconvenient; we have settled that matter already.  I’ll write when I
can, and so shall MD; and upon occasions extraordinary I will write,
though it be a line; and when we have not letters soon, we agree that all
things are well; and so that’s settled for ever, and so hold your
tongue.—Well, you shall have your pins; but for candles’ ends, I cannot
promise, because I burn them to the stumps; besides, I remember what
Stella told Dingley about them many years ago, and she may think the same
thing of me.—And Dingley shall have her hinged spectacles.—Poor dear
Stella, how durst you write those two lines by candlelight? bang your
bones!  Faith, this letter shall go to-morrow, I think, and that will be
in ten days from the last, young women; that’s too soon of all
conscience: but answering yours has filled it up so quick, and I do not
design to use you to three pages in folio, no, nooooh.  All this is one
morning’s work in bed;—and so good-morrow, little sirrahs; that’s for the
rhyme. {146b}  You want politics: faith, I can’t think of any; but may be
at night I may tell you a passage.  Come, sit off the bed, and let me
rise, will you?—At night.  I dined to-day with my neighbour Vanhomrigh;
it was such dismal weather I could not stir further.  I have had some
threatenings with my head, but no fits.  I still drink Dr. Radcliffe’s
{147a} bitter, and will continue it.

10.  I was this morning to see the Secretary of State, and have engaged
him to give a memorial from me to the Duke of Argyle in behalf of
Bernage.  The Duke is a man that distinguishes people of merit, and I
will speak to him myself; but the Secretary backing it will be very
effectual, and I will take care to have it done to purpose.  Pray tell
Bernage so, and that I think nothing can be luckier for him, and that I
would have him go by all means.  I will order it that the Duke shall send
for him when they are in Spain; or, if he fails, that he shall receive
him kindly when he goes to wait on him.  Can I do more?  Is not this a
great deal?—I now send away this letter, that you may not stay.—I dined
with Ford upon his Opera-day, and am now come home, and am going to
study; do not you presume to guess, sirrahs, impudent saucy dear boxes.
Towards the end of a letter I could not say saucy boxes without putting
dear between.  An’t that right now?  Farewell.  _This_ should _be_
longer, _but_ that _I_ send _it_ to-_night_. {147b}

O silly, silly loggerhead!

I send a letter this post to one Mr. Staunton, and I direct it to Mr.
Acton’s in St. Michael’s Lane.  He formerly lodged there, but he has not
told me where to direct.  Pray send to that Acton, whether {147c} the
letter is come there, and whether he has sent it to Staunton.

If Bernage designs to sell his commission and stay at home, pray let him
tell me so, that my recommendation to the Duke of Argyle may not be in
vain.



LETTER XVI.


                                               LONDON, _Feb._ 10, 1710–11.

I HAVE just despatched my fifteenth to the post; I tell you how things
will be, after I have got a letter from MD.  I am in furious haste to
finish mine, for fear of having two of MD’s to answer in one of Presto’s,
which would be such a disgrace, never saw the like; but, before you write
to me, I write at my leisure, like a gentleman, a little every day, just
to let you know how matters go, and so and so; and I hope before this
comes to you, you’ll have got your box and chocolate, and Presto will
take more care another time.

11.  Morning.  I must rise and go see my Lord Keeper, {148a} which will
cost me two shillings in coach-hire.  Don’t you call them two thirteens?
{148b}—At night.  It has rained all day, and there was no walking.  I
read prayers to Sir Andrew Fountaine in the forenoon, and I dined with
three Irishmen, at one Mr. Cope’s {148c} lodgings; the other two were one
Morris an archdeacon, {148d} and Mr. Ford.  When I came home this
evening, I expected that little jackanapes Harrison would have come to
get help about his _Tatler_ for Tuesday: I have fixed two evenings in the
week which I allow him to come.  The toad never came, and I expecting him
fell a reading, and left off other business.—Come, what are you doing?
How do you pass your time this ugly weather?  Gaming and drinking, I
suppose: fine diversions for young ladies, truly!  I wish you had some of
our Seville oranges, and we some of your wine.  We have the finest
oranges for twopence apiece, and the basest wine for six shillings a
bottle.  They tell me wine grows cheap with you.  I am resolved to have
half a hogshead when I get to Ireland, if it be good and cheap, as it
used to be; and I will treat MD at my table in an evening, oh hoa, and
laugh at great Ministers of State.

12.  The days are grown fine and long, — be thanked.  O, faith, you
forget all our little sayings, and I am angry.  I dined to-day with Mr.
Secretary St. John: I went to the Court of Requests at noon, and sent Mr.
Harley into the House to call the Secretary, to let him know I would not
dine with him if he dined late.  By good luck the Duke of Argyle was at
the lobby of the House too, and I kept him in talk till the Secretary
came out; then told them I was glad to meet them together, and that I had
a request to the Duke, which the Secretary must second, and his Grace
must grant.  The Duke said he was sure it was something insignificant,
and wished it was ten times greater.  At the Secretary’s house I writ a
memorial, and gave it to the Secretary to give the Duke, and shall see
that he does it.  It is, that his Grace will please to take Mr. Bernage
into his protection; and if he finds Bernage answers my character, to
give him all encouragement.  Colonel Masham {149a} and Colonel Hill
{149b} (Mrs. Masham’s {149c}) brother tell me my request is reasonable,
and they will second it heartily to the Duke too: so I reckon Bernage is
on a very good foot when he goes to Spain.  Pray tell him this, though
perhaps I will write to him before he goes; yet where shall I direct? for
I suppose he has left Connolly’s. {149d}

13.  I have left off Lady Kerry’s bitter, and got another box of pills.
I have no fits of giddiness, but only some little disorders towards it;
and I walk as much as I can.  Lady Kerry is just as I am, only a great
deal worse: I dined to-day at Lord Shelburne’s, where she is, and we con
ailments, which makes us very fond of each other.  I have taken Mr.
Harley into favour again, and called to see him, but he was not within; I
will use to visit him after dinner, for he dines too late for my head:
then I went to visit poor Congreve, who is just getting out of a severe
fit of the gout; and I sat with him till near nine o’clock.  He gave me a
_Tatler_ {150a} he had written out, as blind as he is, for little
Harrison.  It is about a scoundrel that was grown rich, and went and
bought a coat of arms at the Herald’s, and a set of ancestors at Fleet
Ditch; ’tis well enough, and shall be printed in two or three days, and
if you read those kind of things, this will divert you.  It is now
between ten and eleven, and I am going to bed.

14.  This was Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s daughter’s {150b} birthday, and Mr. Ford
and I were invited to dinner to keep it, and we spent the evening there,
drinking punch.  That was our way of beginning Lent; and in the morning
Lord Shelburne, Lady Kerry, Mrs. Pratt, and I, went to Hyde Park, instead
of going to church; for, till my head is a little settled, I think it
better not to go; it would be so silly and troublesome to go out sick.
Dr. Duke {150c} died suddenly two or three nights ago; he was one of the
wits when we were children, but turned parson, and left it, and never
writ farther than a prologue or recommendatory copy of verses.  He had a
fine living given him by the Bishop of Winchester {150d} about three
months ago; he got his living suddenly, and he got his dying so too.

15.  I walked purely to-day about the Park, the rain being just over, of
which we have had a great deal, mixed with little short frosts.  I went
to the Court of Requests, thinking, if Mr. Harley dined early, to go with
him.  But meeting Leigh and Sterne, they invited me to dine with them,
and away we went.  When we got into his room, one H—, a worthless Irish
fellow, was there, ready to dine with us; so I stepped out, and whispered
them, that I would not dine with that fellow: they made excuses, and
begged me to stay; but away I went to Mr. Harley’s, and he did not dine
at home; and at last I dined at Sir John Germaine’s, {151a} and found
Lady Betty but just recovered of a miscarriage.  I am writing an
inscription for Lord Berkeley’s {151b} tomb; you know the young rake his
son, the new Earl, is married to the Duke of Richmond’s daughter, {151c}
at the Duke’s country house, and are now coming to town.  She will be
fluxed in two months, and they’ll be parted in a year.  You ladies are
brave, bold, venturesome folks; and the chit is but seventeen, and is
ill-natured, covetous, vicious, and proud in extremes.  And so get you
gone to Stoyte to-morrow.

16.  Faith, this letter goes on but slow; ’tis a week old, and the first
side not written.  I went to-day into the City for a walk, but the person
I designed to dine with was not at home; so I came back, and called at
Congreve’s, and dined with him and Estcourt, {151d} and laughed till six;
then went to Mr. Harley’s, who was not gone to dinner; there I stayed
till nine, and we made up our quarrel, and he has invited me to dinner
to-morrow, which is the day of the week (Saturday) that Lord Keeper and
Secretary St. John dine with him privately, and at last they have
consented to let me among them on that day.  Atterbury and Prior went to
bury poor Dr. Duke.  Congreve’s nasty white wine has given me the
heart-burn.

17.  I took some good walks in the Park to-day, and then went to Mr.
Harley.  Lord Rivers was got there before me, and I chid him for
presuming to come on a day when only Lord Keeper and the Secretary and I
were to be there; but he regarded me not; so we all dined together, and
sat down at four; and the Secretary has invited me to dine with him
to-morrow.  I told them I had no hopes they could ever keep in, but that
I saw they loved one another so well, as indeed they seem to do.  They
call me nothing but Jonathan; and I said I believed they would leave me
Jonathan as they found me; and that I never knew a Ministry do anything
for those whom they make companions of their pleasures; and I believe you
will find it so; but I care not.  I am upon a project of getting five
hundred pounds, {152a} without being obliged to anybody; but that is a
secret, till I see my dearest MD; and so hold your tongue, and do not
talk, sirrahs, for I am now about it.

18.  My head has no fits, but a little disordered before dinner; yet I
walk stoutly, and take pills, and hope to mend.  Secretary St. John would
needs have me dine with him to-day; and there I found three persons I
never saw, two I had no acquaintance with, and one I did not care for: so
I left them early and came home, it being no day to walk, but scurvy rain
and wind.  The Secretary tells me he has put a cheat on me; for Lord
Peterborow sent him twelve dozen flasks of burgundy, on condition that I
should have my share; but he never was quiet till they were all gone, so
I reckon he owes me thirty-six pounds.  Lord Peterborow is now got to
Vienna, and I must write to him to-morrow.  I begin now to be towards
looking for a letter from some certain ladies of Presto’s acquaintance,
that live at St. Mary’s, {152b} and are called in a certain language, our
little MD.  No, stay, I don’t expect one these six days, that will be
just three weeks; an’t I a reasonable creature?  We are plagued here with
an October Club, that is, a set of above a hundred Parliament men of the
country, who drink October beer at home, and meet every evening at a
tavern near the Parliament to consult affairs, and drive things on to
extremes against the Whigs, to call the old Ministry to account, and get
off five or six heads. {152c}  The Ministry seem not to regard them; yet
one of them in confidence told me that there must be something thought
on, to settle things better.  I’ll tell you one great State secret: the
Queen, sensible how much she was governed by the late Ministry, runs a
little into t’other extreme, and is jealous in that point, even of those
who got her out of the others’ hands.  The Ministry is for gentler
measures, and the other Tories for more violent.  Lord Rivers, talking to
me the other day, cursed the paper called the _Examiner_, for speaking
civilly of the Duke of Marlborough; this I happened to talk of to the
Secretary, who blamed the warmth of that lord and some others, and swore
that if their advice were followed they would be blown up in twenty-four
hours.  And I have reason to think that they will endeavour to prevail on
the Queen to put her affairs more in the hands of a Ministry than she
does at present; and there are, I believe, two men thought on, one of
them you have often met the name of in my letters.  But so much for
politics.

19.  This proved a terrible rainy day, which prevented my walk into the
City, and I was only able to run and dine with my neighbour Vanhomrigh,
where Sir Andrew Fountaine dined too, who has just began to sally out,
and has shipped his mother and sister, who were his nurses, back to the
country.  This evening was fair, and I walked a little in the Park, till
Prior made me go with him to the Smyrna Coffee-house, where I sat a
while, and saw four or five Irish persons, who are very handsome, genteel
fellows; but I know not their names.  I came away at seven, and got home.
Two days ago I writ to Bernage, and told him what I had done, and
directed the letter to Mr. Curry’s, to be left with Dingley.  Brigadiers
Hill and Masham, brother and husband to Mrs. Masham, the Queen’s
favourite, Colonel Disney, {153} and I, have recommended Bernage to the
Duke of Argyle; and Secretary St. John has given the Duke my memorial;
and, besides, Hill tells me, that Bernage’s colonel, Fielding, {154}
designs to make him his captain-lieutenant: but I believe I said this to
you before, and in this letter; but I will not look.

20.  Morning.  It snows terribly again; and ’tis mistaken, for I now want
a little good weather.  I bid you good-morrow; and, if it clear up, get
you gone to poor Mrs. Walls, who has had a hard time of it, but is now
pretty well again.  I am sorry it is a girl: the poor Archdeacon too, see
how simply he looked when they told him: what did it cost Stella to be
gossip?  I’ll rise; so, d’ye hear, let me see you at night; and do not
stay late out, and catch cold, sirrahs.—At night.  It grew good weather,
and I got a good walk, and dined with Ford upon his Opera-day; but, now
all his wine is gone, I shall dine with him no more.  I hope to send this
letter before I hear from MD, methinks there is—something great in doing
so, only I can’t express where it lies; and, faith, this shall go by
Saturday, as sure as you’re a rogue.  Mrs. Edgworth was to set out but
last Monday; so you won’t have your box so soon perhaps as this letter;
but Sterne told me since that it is safe at Chester, and that she will
take care of it.  I’d give a guinea you had it.

21.  Morning.  Faith, I hope it will be fair for me to walk into the
City; for I take all occasions of walking.—I should be plaguy busy at
Laracor if I were there now, cutting down willows, planting others,
scouring my canal, and every kind of thing.  If Raymond goes over this
summer, you must submit, and make them a visit, that we may have another
eel and trout fishing; and that Stella may ride by, and see Presto in his
morning-gown in the garden, and so go up with Joe to the Hill of Bree,
and round by Scurlock’s Town.  O Lord, how I remember names! faith, it
gives me short sighs; therefore no more of that, if you love me.
Good-morrow, I will go rise like a gentleman; my pills say I must.—At
night.  Lady Kerry sent to desire me to engage some lords about an affair
she has in their house here: I called to see her, but found she had
already engaged every lord I knew, and that there was no great difficulty
in the matter; and it rained like a dog; so I took coach, for want of
better exercise, and dined privately with a hang-dog in the City, and
walked back in the evening.  The days are now long enough to walk in the
Park after dinner; and so I do whenever it is fair.  This walking is a
strange remedy: Mr. Prior walks, to make himself fat, and I to bring
myself down; he has generally a cough, which he only calls a cold; we
often walk round the Park together.  So I’ll go sleep.

22.  It snowed all this morning prodigiously, and was some inches thick
in three or four hours.  I dined with Mr. Lewis of the Secretary’s office
at his lodgings: the chairmen that carried me squeezed a great fellow
against a wall, who wisely turned his back, and broke one of the
side-glasses in a thousand pieces.  I fell a scolding, pretended I was
like to be cut to pieces, and made them set down the chair in the Park,
while they picked out the bits of glasses; and, when I paid them, I
quarrelled still; so they dared not grumble, and I came off for my fare;
but I was plaguily afraid they would have said, “God bless your honour,
won’t you give us something for our glass?”  Lewis and I were forming a
project how I might get three or four hundred pounds, {155} which I
suppose may come to nothing.  I hope Smyth has brought you your
palsy-drops.  How does Stella do?  I begin more and more to desire to
know.  The three weeks since I had your last is over within two days, and
I will allow three for accidents.

23.  The snow is gone every bit, except the remainder of some great balls
made by the boys.  Mr. Sterne was with me this morning about an affair he
has before the Treasury.  That drab Mrs. Edgworth is not yet set out, but
will infallibly next Monday: and this is the third infallible Monday, and
pox take her!  So you will have this letter first; and this shall go
to-morrow; and, if I have one from MD in that time, I will not answer it
till my next; only I will say, “Madam, I received your letter, and so,
and so.”  I dined to-day with my Mistress Butler, {156a} who grows very
disagreeable.

24.  Morning.  This letter certainly goes this evening, sure as you’re
alive, young women, and then you will be so shamed that I have had none
from you; and, if I was to reckon like you, I would say, I were six
letters before you, for this is N. 16, and I have had your N. 10.  But I
reckon you have received but fourteen, and have sent eleven.  I think to
go to-day a Minister-of-State-hunting in the Court of Requests; for I
have something to say to Mr. Harley.  And it is fine, cold, sunshiny
weather; I wish dear MD would walk this morning in your Stephen’s Green;
’tis as good as our Park, but not so large. {156b}  Faith, this summer
we’ll take a coach for sixpence {156c} to the Green Well, the two walks,
and thence all the way to Stoyte’s. {156d}  My hearty service to Goody
Stoyte and Catherine; and I hope Mrs. Walls had a good time.  How
inconstant I am! I can’t imagine I was ever in love with her.  Well, I’m
going; what have you to say?  _I do not care how I write now_. {156e}  I
don’t design to write on this side; these few lines are but so much more
than your due; so I will write _large_ or small as I please.  O, faith,
my hands are starving in bed; I believe it is a hard frost.  I must rise,
and bid you good-bye, for I’ll seal this letter immediately, and carry it
in my pocket, and put it into the post-office with my own fair hands.
Farewell.

This letter is just a fortnight’s journal to-day.  Yes, and so it is, I’m
sure, says you, with your two eggs a penny.

Lele, lele, lele. {157}

O Lord, I am saying lele, lele, to myself, in all our little keys: and,
now you talk of keys, that dog Patrick broke the key-general of the chest
of drawers with six locks, and I have been so plagued to get a new one,
besides my good two shillings!



LETTER XVII.


                                               LONDON, _Feb._ 24, 1710–11.

NOW, young women, I gave in my sixteenth this evening.  I dined with Ford
(it was his Opera-day) as usual; it is very convenient to me to do so,
for coming home early after a walk in the Park, which now the days will
allow.  I called on the Secretary at his office, and he had forgot to
give the memorial about Bernage to the Duke of Argyle; but, two days ago,
I met the Duke, who desired I would give it him myself, which should have
more power with him than all the Ministry together, as he protested
solemnly, repeated it two or three times, and bid me count upon it.  So
that I verily believe Bernage will be in a very good way to establish
himself.  I think I can do no more for him at present, and there’s an end
of that; and so get you gone to bed, for it is late.

25.  The three weeks are out yesterday since I had your last, and so now
I will be expecting every day a pretty dear letter from my own MD, and
hope to hear that Stella has been much better in her head and eyes: my
head continues as it was, no fits, but a little disorder every day, which
I can easily bear, if it will not grow worse.  I dined to-day with Mr.
Secretary St. John, on condition I might choose my company, which were
Lord Rivers, Lord Carteret, Sir Thomas Mansel, {158a} and Mr. Lewis; I
invited Masham, Hill, Sir John Stanley, and George Granville, but they
were engaged; and I did it in revenge of his having such bad company when
I dined with him before; so we laughed, etc.  And I ventured to go to
church to-day, which I have not done this month before.  Can you send me
such a good account of Stella’s health, pray now?  Yes, I hope, and
better too.  We dined (says you) at the Dean’s, and played at cards till
twelve, and there came in Mr. French, and Dr. Travors, and Dr.
Whittingham, and Mr. (I forget his name, that I always tell Mrs. Walls
of) the banker’s son, a pox on him.  And we were so merry; I vow they are
pure good company.  But I lost a crown; for you must know I had always
hands tempting me to go out, but never took in anything, and often two
black aces without a manilio; was not that hard, Presto?  Hold your
tongue, etc.

26.  I was this morning with Mr. Secretary about some business, and he
tells me that Colonel Fielding is now going to make Bernage his
captain-lieutenant, that is, a captain by commission, and the perquisites
of the company; but not captain’s pay, only the first step to it.  I
suppose he will like it; and the recommendation to the Duke of Argyle
goes on.  And so trouble me no more about your Bernage; the jackanapes
understands what fair solicitors he has got, I warrant you.  Sir Andrew
Fountaine and I dined, by invitation, with Mrs. Vanhomrigh.  You say they
are of no consequence: why, they keep as good female company as I do
male; I see all the drabs of quality at this end of the town with them: I
saw two Lady Bettys {158b} there this afternoon; the beauty of one, the
good-breeding and nature of t’other, and the wit of neither, would have
made a fine woman.  Rare walking in the Park now: why don’t you walk in
the Green of St. Stephen?  The walks there are finer gravelled than the
Mall.  What beasts the Irish women are, never to walk!

27.  Darteneuf and I, and little Harrison the new Tatler, and Jervas the
painter, dined to-day with James, {159} I know not his other name, but it
is one of Darteneuf’s dining-places, who is a true epicure.  James is
clerk of the kitchen to the Queen, and has a little snug house at St.
James’s; and we had the Queen’s wine, and such very fine victuals that I
could not eat it.  Three weeks and three days since my last letter from
MD; rare doings! why, truly we were so busy with poor Mrs. Walls, that
indeed, Presto, we could not write, we were afraid the poor woman would
have died; and it pitied us to see the Archdeacon, how concerned he was.
The Dean never came to see her but once; but now she is up again, and we
go and sit with her in the evenings.  The child died the next day after
it was born; and I believe, between friends, she is not very sorry for
it.—Indeed, Presto, you are plaguy silly to-night, and han’t guessed one
word right; for she and the child are both well, and it is a fine girl,
likely to live; and the Dean was godfather, and Mrs. Catherine and I were
godmothers; I was going to say Stoyte, but I think I have heard they
don’t put maids and married women together; though I know not why I think
so, nor I don’t care; what care I? but I must prate, etc.

28.  I walked to-day into the City for my health, and there dined; which
I always do when the weather is fair, and business permits, that I may be
under a necessity of taking a good walk, which is the best thing I can do
at present for my health.  Some bookseller has raked up everything I
writ, and published it t’other day in one volume; but I know nothing of
it, ’twas without my knowledge or consent: it makes a four-shilling book,
and is called _Miscellanies in Prose and Verse_. {160a}  Tooke pretends
he knows nothing of it; but I doubt he is at the bottom.  One must have
patience with these things; the best of it is, I shall be plagued no
more.  However, I will bring a couple of them over with me for MD;
perhaps you may desire to see them.  I hear they sell mightily.

March 1.  Morning.  I have been calling to Patrick to look in his almanac
for the day of the month; I did not know but it might be leap-year.  The
almanac says ’tis the third after leap-year; and I always thought till
now, that every third year was leap-year.  I am glad they come so seldom;
but I’m sure ’twas otherwise when I was a young man; I see times are
mightily changed since then.—Write to me, sirrahs; be sure do by the time
this side is done, and I’ll keep t’other side for the answer: so I’ll go
write to the Bishop of Clogher; good-morrow, sirrahs.—Night.  I dined
to-day at Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s, being a rainy day; and Lady Betty Butler,
knowing it, sent to let me know she expected my company in the evening,
where the Vans (so we call them) were to be.  The Duchess {160b} and they
do not go over this summer with the Duke; so I go to bed.

2.  This rainy weather undoes me in coaches and chairs.  I was traipsing
to-day with your Mr. Sterne, to go along with them to Moore, {160c} and
recommend his business to the Treasury.  Sterne tells me his dependence
is wholly on me; but I have absolutely refused to recommend it to Mr.
Harley, because I have troubled him lately so much with other folks’
affairs; and besides, to tell the truth, Mr. Harley told me he did not
like Sterne’s business: however, I will serve him, because I suppose MD
would have me.  But, in saying his dependence lies wholly on me, he lies,
and is a fool.  I dined with Lord Abercorn, whose son Peasley {161a} will
be married at Easter to ten thousand pounds.

3.  I forgot to tell you that yesterday morning I was at Mr. Harley’s
levee: he swore I came in spite, to see him among a parcel of fools.  My
business was to desire I might let the Duke of Ormond know how the affair
stood of the First-Fruits.  He promised to let him know it, and engaged
me to dine with him to-day.  Every Saturday, Lord Keeper, Secretary St.
John, and I dine with him, and sometimes Lord Rivers; and they let in
none else.  Patrick brought me some letters into the Park; among which
one was from Walls; and t’other, yes, faith, t’other was from our little
MD, N. 11.  I read the rest in the Park, and MD’s in a chair as I went
from St. James’s to Mr. Harley; and glad enough I was, faith, to read it,
and see all right.  Oh, but I won’t answer it these three or four days at
least, or may be sooner.  An’t I silly? faith, your letters would make a
dog silly, if I had a dog to be silly, but it must be a little dog.—I
stayed with Mr. Harley till past nine, where we had much discourse
together after the rest were gone; and I gave him very truly my opinion
where he desired it.  He complained he was not very well, and has engaged
me to dine with him again on Monday.  So I came home afoot, like a fine
gentleman, to tell you all this.

4.  I dined to-day with Mr. Secretary St. John; and after dinner he had a
note from Mr. Harley, that he was much out of order. {161b}  Pray God
preserve his health! everything depends upon it.  The Parliament at
present cannot go a step without him, nor the Queen neither.  I long to
be in Ireland; but the Ministry beg me to stay: however, when this
Parliament lurry {161c} is over, I will endeavour to steal away; by which
time I hope the First-Fruit business will be done.  This kingdom is
certainly ruined as much as was ever any bankrupt merchant.  We must have
peace, let it be a bad or a good one, though nobody dares talk of it.
The nearer I look upon things, the worse I like them.  I believe the
confederacy will soon break to pieces, and our factions at home increase.
The Ministry is upon a very narrow bottom, and stand like an isthmus,
between the Whigs on one side, and violent Tories on the other.  They are
able seamen; but the tempest is too great, the ship too rotten, and the
crew all against them.  Lord Somers has been twice in the Queen’s closet,
once very lately; and your Duchess of Somerset, {162} who now has the
key, is a most insinuating woman; and I believe they will endeavour to
play the same game that has been played against them.—I have told them of
all this, which they know already, but they cannot help it.  They have
cautioned the Queen so much against being governed, that she observes it
too much.  I could talk till to-morrow upon these things, but they make
me melancholy.  I could not but observe that lately, after much
conversation with Mr. Harley, though he is the most fearless man alive,
and the least apt to despond, he confessed to me that uttering his mind
to me gave him ease.

5.  Mr. Harley continues out of order, yet his affairs force him abroad:
he is subject to a sore throat, and was cupped last night: I sent and
called two or three times.  I hear he is better this evening.  I dined
to-day in the City with Dr. Freind at a third body’s house, where I was
to pass for somebody else; and there was a plaguy silly jest carried on,
that made me sick of it.  Our weather grows fine, and I will walk like
camomile.  And pray walk you to your Dean’s, or your Stoyte’s, or your
Manley’s, or your Walls’.  But your new lodgings make you so proud, you
will walk less than ever.  Come, let me go to bed, sirrahs.

6.  Mr. Harley’s going out yesterday has put him a little backwards.  I
called twice, and sent, for I am in pain for him.  Ford caught me, and
made me dine with him on his Opera-day; so I brought Mr. Lewis with me,
and sat with him till six.  I have not seen Mr. Addison these three
weeks; all our friendship is over.  I go to no Coffee-house.  I presented
a parson of the Bishop of Clogher’s, one Richardson, {163a} to the Duke
of Ormond to-day: he is translating prayers and sermons into Irish, and
has a project about instructing the Irish in the Protestant religion.

7.  Morning.  Faith, a little would make me, I could find in my heart, if
it were not for one thing, I have a good mind, if I had not something
else to do, I would answer your dear saucy letter.  O, Lord, I am going
awry with writing in bed.  O, faith, but I must answer it, or I shan’t
have room, for it must go on Saturday; and don’t think I will fill the
third side, I an’t come to that yet, young women.  Well then, as for your
Bernage, I have said enough: I writ to him last week.—Turn over that
leaf.  Now, what says MD to the world to come?  I tell you, Madam Stella,
my head is a great deal better, and I hope will keep so.  How came yours
to be fifteen days coming, and you had my fifteenth in seven?  Answer me
that, rogues.  Your being with Goody Walls is excuse enough: I find I was
mistaken in the sex, ’tis a boy. {163b}  Yes, I understand your cypher,
and Stella guesses right, as she always does.  He {163c} gave me al
bsadnuk lboinlpl dfaonr ufainf btoy dpionufnad, {163d} which I sent him
again by Mr. Lewis, to whom I writ a very complaining letter that was
showed him; and so the matter ended.  He told me he had a quarrel with
me; I said I had another with him, and we returned to our friendship, and
I should think he loves me as well as a great Minister can love a man in
so short a time.  Did not I do right?  I am glad at heart you have got
your palsy-water; {164a} pray God Almighty it may do my dearest little
Stella good!  I suppose Mrs. Edgworth set out last Monday se’ennight.
Yes, I do read the _Examiners_, and they are written very finely, as you
judge.  I do not think they are too severe on the Duke; {164b} they only
tax him of avarice, and his avarice has ruined us.  You may count upon
all things in them to be true.  The author has said it is not Prior, but
perhaps it may be Atterbury.—Now, Madam Dingley, says she, ’tis fine
weather, says she; yes, says she, and we have got to our new lodgings.  I
compute you ought to save eight pounds by being in the others five
months; and you have no more done it than eight thousand.  I am glad you
are rid of that squinting, blinking Frenchman.  I will give you a bill on
Parvisol for five pounds for the half-year.  And must I go on at four
shillings a week, and neither eat nor drink for it?  Who the Devil said
Atterbury and your Dean were alike?  I never saw your Chancellor, nor his
chaplain.  The latter has a good deal of learning, and is a well-wisher
to be an author: your Chancellor is an excellent man.  As for Patrick’s
bird, he bought him for his tameness, and is grown the wildest I ever
saw.  His wings have been quilled thrice, and are now up again: he will
be able to fly after us to Ireland, if he be willing.—Yes, Mrs. Stella,
Dingley writes more like Presto than you; for all you superscribed the
letter, as who should say, Why should not I write like our Presto as well
as Dingley?  You with your awkward SS; {164c} cannot you write them thus,
SS?  No, but always SSS.  Spiteful sluts, to affront Presto’s writing; as
that when you shut your eyes you write most like Presto.  I know the time
when I did not write to you half so plain as I do now; but I take pity on
you both.  I am very much concerned for Mrs. Walls’s eyes.  Walls says
nothing of it to me in his letter dated after yours.  You say, “If she
recovers, she may lose her sight.”  I hope she is in no danger of her
life.  Yes, Ford is as sober as I please: I use him to walk with me as an
easy companion, always ready for what I please, when I am weary of
business and Ministers.  I don’t go to a Coffee-house twice a month.  I
am very regular in going to sleep before eleven.—And so you say that
Stella is a pretty girl; and so she be, and methinks I see her just now
as handsome as the day is long.  Do you know what? when I am writing in
our language, I make up my mouth just as if I was speaking it.  I caught
myself at it just now.  And I suppose Dingley is so fair and so fresh as
a lass in May, and has her health, and no spleen.—In your account you
sent do you reckon as usual from the 1st of November {165a} was
twelvemonth?  Poor Stella, will not Dingley leave her a little daylight
to write to Presto?  Well, well, we’ll have daylight shortly, spite of
her teeth; and zoo {165b} must cly Lele and Hele, and Hele aden.  Must
loo mimitate Pdfr, pay?  Iss, and so la shall.  And so lele’s fol ee
rettle.  Dood-mollow.—At night.  Mrs. Barton sent this morning to invite
me to dinner; and there I dined, just in that genteel manner that MD used
when they would treat some better sort of body than usual.

8.  O dear MD, my heart is almost broken.  You will hear the thing before
this comes to you.  I writ a full account of it this night to the
Archbishop of Dublin; and the Dean may tell you the particulars from the
Archbishop.  I was in a sorry way to write, but thought it might be
proper to send a true account of the fact; for you will hear a thousand
lying circumstances.  It is of Mr. Harley’s being stabbed this afternoon,
at three o’clock, at a Committee of the Council.  I was playing Lady
Catharine Morris’s {166a} cards, where I dined, when young Arundel {166b}
came in with the story.  I ran away immediately to the Secretary, which
was in my way: no one was at home.  I met Mrs. St. John in her chair; she
had heard it imperfectly.  I took a chair to Mr. Harley, who was asleep,
and they hope in no danger; but he has been out of order, and was so when
he came abroad to-day, and it may put him in a fever: I am in mortal pain
for him.  That desperate French villain, Marquis de Guiscard, {166c}
stabbed Mr. Harley.  Guiscard was taken up by Mr. Secretary St. John’s
warrant for high treason, and brought before the Lords to be examined;
there he stabbed Mr. Harley.  I have told all the particulars already to
the Archbishop.  I have now, at nine, sent again, and they tell me he is
in a fair way.  Pray pardon my distraction; I now think of all his
kindness to me.—The poor creature now lies stabbed in his bed by a
desperate French Popish villain.  Good-night, and God preserve you both,
and pity me; I want it.

9.  Morning; seven, in bed.  Patrick is just come from Mr. Harley’s.  He
slept well till four; the surgeon sat {166d} up with him: he is asleep
again: he felt a pain in his wound when he waked: they apprehend him in
no danger.  This account the surgeon left with the porter, to tell people
that send.  Pray God preserve him.  I am rising, and going to Mr.
Secretary St. John.  They say Guiscard will die with the wounds Mr. St.
John and the rest gave him.  I shall tell you more at night.—Night.  Mr.
Harley still continues on the mending hand; but he rested ill last night,
and felt pain.  I was early with the Secretary this morning, and I dined
with him, and he told me several particularities of this accident, too
long to relate now.  Mr. Harley is still mending this evening, but not at
all out of danger; and till then I can have no peace.  Good-night, etc.,
and pity Presto.

10.  Mr. Harley was restless last night; but he has no fever, and the
hopes of his mending increase.  I had a letter from Mr. Walls, and one
from Mr. Bernage.  I will answer them here, not having time to write.
Mr. Walls writes about three things.  First, about a hundred pounds from
Dr. Raymond, of which I hear nothing, and it is now too late.  Secondly,
about Mr. Clements: {167a} I can do nothing in it, because I am not to
mention Mr. Pratt; and I cannot recommend without knowing Mr. Pratt’s
objections, whose relation Clements is, and who brought him into the
place.  The third is about my being godfather to the child: {167b} that
is in my power, and (since there is no remedy) will submit.  I wish you
could hinder it; but if it can’t be helped, pay what you think proper,
and get the Provost to stand for me, and let his Christian name be
Harley, in honour of my friend, now lying stabbed and doubtful of his
life.  As for Bernage, he writes me word that his colonel has offered to
make him captain-lieutenant for a hundred pounds.  He was such a fool to
offer him money without writing to me till it was done, though I have had
a dozen letters from him; and then he desires I would say nothing of
this, for fear his colonel should be angry.  People are mad.  What can I
do?  I engaged Colonel Disney, who was one of his solicitors to the
Secretary, and then told him the story.  He assured me that Fielding
(Bernage’s colonel) said he might have got that sum; but, on account of
those great recommendations he had, would give it him for nothing: and I
would have Bernage write him a letter of thanks, as of a thing given him
for nothing, upon recommendations, etc.  Disney tells me he will again
speak to Fielding, and clear up this matter; then I will write to
Bernage.  A pox on him for promising money till I had it promised to me;
and then making it such a ticklish point, that one cannot expostulate
with the colonel upon it: but let him do as I say, and there is an end.
I engaged the Secretary of State in it; and am sure it was meant a
kindness to me, and that no money should be given, and a hundred pounds
is too much in a Smithfield bargain, {168a} as a major-general told me,
whose opinion I asked.  I am now hurried, and can say no more.  Farewell,
etc. etc.

How shall I superscribe to your new lodgings, pray, madams?  Tell me but
that, impudence and saucy-face.

Are not you sauceboxes to write “lele” {168b} like Presto?  O poor
Presto!

Mr. Harley is better to-night, that makes me so pert, you saucy Gog and
Magog.



LETTER XVIII.


                                              LONDON, _March_ 10, 1710–11.

PRETTY little MD must expect little from me till Mr. Harley is out of
danger.  We hope he is so now; but I am subject to fear for my friends.
He has a head full of the whole business of the nation, was out of order
when the villain stabbed him, and had a cruel contusion by the second
blow.  But all goes on well yet.  Mr. Ford and I dined with Mr. Lewis,
and we hope the best.

11.  This morning Mr. Secretary and I met at Court, where he went to the
Queen, who is out of order, and aguish: I doubt the worse for this
accident to Mr. Harley.  We went together to his house, and his wound
looks well, and he is not feverish at all, and I think it is foolish in
me to be so much in pain as I am.  I had the penknife in my hand, which
is broken within a quarter of an inch of the handle.  I have a mind to
write and publish an account of all the particularities of this fact:
{169a} it will be very curious, and I would do it when Mr. Harley is past
danger.

12.  We have been in terrible pain to-day about Mr. Harley, who never
slept last night, and has been very feverish.  But this evening I called
there; and young Mr. Harley (his only son) tells me he is now much
better, and was then asleep.  They let nobody see him, and that is
perfectly right.  The Parliament cannot go on till he is well, and are
forced to adjourn their money businesses, which none but he can help them
in.  Pray God preserve him.

13.  Mr. Harley is better to-day, slept well all night, and we are a
little out of our fears.  I send and call three or four times every day.
I went into the City for a walk, and dined there with a private man; and
coming home this evening, broke my shin in the Strand over a tub of sand
left just in the way.  I got home dirty enough, and went straight to bed,
where I have been cooking it with gold-beater’s skin, and have been
peevish enough with Patrick, who was near an hour bringing a rag from
next door.  It is my right shin, where never any humour fell when t’other
used to swell; so I apprehend it less: however, I shall not stir till
’tis well, which I reckon will be in a week.  I am very careful in these
sort of things; but I wish I had Mrs. J—’s water: {169b} she is out of
town, and I must make a shift with alum.  I will dine with Mrs.
Vanhomrigh till I am well, who lives but five doors off; and that I may
venture.

14.  My journals are like to be very diverting, now I cannot stir abroad,
between accounts of Mr. Harley’s mending, and of my broken shin.  I just
walked to my neighbour Vanhomrigh at two, and came away at six, when
little Harrison the Tatler came to me, and begged me to dictate a paper
to him, which I was forced in charity to do.  Mr. Harley still mends; and
I hope in a day or two to trouble you no more with him, nor with my shin.
Go to bed and sleep, sirrahs, that you may rise to-morrow and walk to
Donnybrook, and lose your money with Stoyte and the Dean; do so, dear
little rogues, and drink Presto’s health.  O pray, don’t you drink
Presto’s health sometimes with your deans, and your Stoytes, and your
Walls, and your Manleys, and your everybodies, pray now?  I drink MD’s to
myself a hundred thousand times.

15.  I was this morning at Mr. Secretary St. John’s for all my shin; and
he has given me for young Harrison the Tatler the prettiest employment in
Europe; secretary to my Lord Raby, {170a} who is to be Ambassador
Extraordinary at the Hague, where all the great affairs will be
concerted; so we shall lose the _Tatlers_ in a fortnight.  I will send
Harrison to-morrow morning to thank the Secretary.  Poor Biddy Floyd
{170b} has got the smallpox.  I called this morning to see Lady Betty
Germaine, and when she told me so, I fairly took my leave.  I have the
luck of it; {170c} for about ten days ago I was to see Lord Carteret;
{170d} and my lady was entertaining me with telling of a young lady, a
cousin, who was then ill in the house of the smallpox, and is since dead:
it was near Lady Betty’s, and I fancy Biddy took the fright by it.  I
dined with Mr. Secretary; and a physician came in just from Guiscard, who
tells us he is dying of his wounds, and can hardly live till to-morrow.
A poor wench that Guiscard kept, sent him a bottle of sack; but the
keeper would not let him touch it, for fear it was poison.  He had two
quarts of old clotted blood come out of his side to-day, and is
delirious.  I am sorry he is dying; for they had found out a way to hang
him.  He certainly had an intention to murder the Queen.

16.  I have made but little progress in this letter for so many days,
thanks to Guiscard and Mr. Harley; and it would be endless to tell you
all the particulars of that odious fact.  I do not yet hear that Guiscard
is dead, but they say ’tis impossible he should recover.  I walked too
much yesterday for a man with a broken shin; to-day I rested, and went no
farther than Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s, where I dined; and Lady Betty Butler
coming in about six, I was forced in good manners to sit with her till
nine; then I came home, and Mr. Ford came in to visit my shin, and sat
with me till eleven: so I have been very idle and naughty.  It vexes me
to the pluck {171a} that I should lose walking this delicious day.  Have
you seen the _Spectator_ {171b} yet, a paper that comes out every day?
’Tis written by Mr. Steele, who seems to have gathered new life, and have
a new fund of wit; it is in the same nature as his _Tatlers_, and they
have all of them had something pretty.  I believe Addison and he club.  I
never see them; and I plainly told Mr. Harley and Mr. St. John, ten days
ago, before my Lord Keeper and Lord Rivers, that I had been foolish
enough to spend my credit with them in favour of Addison and Steele; but
that I would engage and promise never to say one word in their behalf,
having been used so ill for what I had already done.—So, now I am got
into the way of prating again, there will be no quiet for me.

   When Presto begins to prate,
   Give him a rap upon the pate.

O Lord, how I blot! it is time to leave off, etc.

17.  Guiscard died this morning at two; and the coroner’s inquest have
found that he was killed by bruises received from a messenger, so to
clear the Cabinet Councillors from whom he received his wounds.  I had a
letter from Raymond, who cannot hear of your box; but I hope you have it
before this comes to your hands.  I dined to-day with Mr. Lewis of the
Secretary’s office.  Mr. Harley has abundance of extravasated blood comes
from his breast out of his wound, and will not be well so soon as we
expected.  I had something to say, but cannot call it to mind.  (What was
it?)

18.  I was to-day at Court to look for the Duke of Argyle, and gave him
the memorial about Bernage.  The Duke goes with the first fair wind.  I
could not find him, but I have given the memorial to another to give him;
and, however, it shall be sent after him.  Bernage has made a blunder in
offering money to his colonel without my advice; however, he is made
captain-lieutenant, only he must recruit the company, which will cost him
forty pounds, and that is cheaper than an hundred.  I dined to-day with
Mr. Secretary St. John, and stayed till seven, but would not drink his
champagne and burgundy, for fear of the gout.  My shin mends, but is not
well.  I hope it will by the time I send this letter, next Saturday.

19.  I went to-day into the City, but in a coach, and sossed {172a} up my
leg on the seat; and as I came home, I went to see poor Charles Barnard’s
{172b} books, which are to be sold by auction, and I itch to lay out nine
or ten pounds for some fine editions of fine authors.  But ’tis too far,
and I shall let it slip, as I usually do all such opportunities.  I dined
in a coffee-house with Stratford upon chops and some of his wine.  Where
did MD dine?  Why, poor MD dined at home to-day, because of the
Archbishop, and they could not go abroad, and had a breast of mutton and
a pint of wine.  I hope Mrs. Walls mends; and pray give me an account
what sort of godfather I made, and whether I behaved myself handsomely.
The Duke of Argyle is gone; and whether he has my memorial, I know not,
till I see Dr. Arbuthnot, {173a} to whom I gave it.  That hard name
belongs to a Scotch doctor, an acquaintance of the Duke’s and me; Stella
can’t pronounce it.  Oh that we were at Laracor this fine day! the
willows begin to peep, and the quicks to bud.  My dream is out: I was
a-dreamed last night that I ate ripe cherries.—And now they begin to
catch the pikes, and will shortly the trouts (pox on these
Ministers!)—and I would fain know whether the floods were ever so high as
to get over the holly bank or the river walk; if so, then all my pikes
are gone; but I hope not.  Why don’t you ask Parvisol these things,
sirrahs?  And then my canal, and trouts, and whether the bottom be fine
and clear?  But harkee, ought not Parvisol to pay in my last year’s rents
and arrears out of his hands?  I am thinking, if either of you have heads
to take his accounts, it should be paid in to you; otherwise to Mr.
Walls.  I will write an order on t’other side; and do as you will.
Here’s a world of business; but I must go sleep, I’m drowsy; and so
good-night, etc.

20.  This sore shin ruins me in coach-hire; no less than two shillings
to-day going and coming from the City, where I dined with one you never
heard of, and passed an insipid day.  I writ this post to Bernage, with
the account I told you above.  I hope he will like it; ’tis his own
fault, or it would have been better.  I reckon your next letter will be
full of Mr. Harley’s stabbing.  He still mends, but abundance of
extravasated blood has come out of the wound: he keeps his bed, and sees
nobody.  The Speaker’s eldest son {173b} is just dead of the smallpox,
and the House is adjourned a week, to give him time to wipe off his
tears.  I think it very handsomely done; but I believe one reason is,
that they want Mr. Harley so much.  Biddy Floyd is like to do well: and
so go to your Dean’s, and roast his oranges, and lose your money, do so,
you saucy sluts.  Stella, you lost three shillings and fourpence t’other
night at Stoyte’s, yes, you did, and Presto stood in a corner, and saw
you all the while, and then stole away.  I dream very often I am in
Ireland, and that I have left my clothes and things behind me, and have
not taken leave of anybody; and that the Ministry expect me to-morrow,
and such nonsense.

21.  I would not for a guinea have a letter from you till this goes; and
go it shall on Saturday, faith.  I dined with Mrs. Vanhomrigh, to save my
shin, and then went on some business to the Secretary, and he was not at
home.

22.  Yesterday was a short day’s journal: but what care I? what cares
saucy Presto?  Darteneuf {174a} invited me to dinner to-day.  Do not you
know Darteneuf?  That’s the man that knows everything, and that everybody
knows; and that knows where a knot of rabble are going on a holiday, and
when they were there last: and then I went to the Coffee-house.  My shin
mends, but is not quite healed: I ought to keep it up, but I don’t; I
e’en let it go as it comes.  Pox take Parvisol and his watch!  If I do
not receive the ten-pound bill I am to get towards it, I will neither
receive watch nor chain; so let Parvisol know.

23.  I this day appointed the Duke of Ormond to meet him at Ned
Southwell’s, about an affair of printing Irish Prayer-Books, etc., {174b}
but the Duke never came.  There Southwell had letters that two packets
are taken; so if MD writ then, the letters are gone; for they are packets
coming hither.  Mr. Harley is not yet well, but his extravasated blood
continues, and I doubt he will not be quite well in a good while: I find
you have heard of the fact by Southwell’s letters from Ireland: what do
you think of it?  I dined with Sir John Perceval, {175a} and saw his lady
sitting in the bed, in the forms of a lying-in woman; and coming home my
sore shin itched, and I forgot what it was, and rubbed off the scab, and
blood came; but I am now got into bed, and have put on alum curd, and it
is almost well.  Lord Rivers told me yesterday a piece of bad news, as a
secret, that the Pretender is going to be married to the Duke of Savoy’s
daughter. {175b}  ’Tis very bad if it be true.  We were walking in the
Mall with some Scotch lords, and he could not tell it until they were
gone, and he bade me tell it to none but the Secretary of State and MD.
This goes to-morrow, and I have no room but to bid my dearest little MD
good-night.

24.  I will now seal up this letter, and send it; for I reckon to have
none from you (’tis morning now) between this and night; and I will put
it in the post with my own hands.  I am going out in great haste; so
farewell, etc.



LETTER XIX.


                                              LONDON, _March_ 24, 1710–11.

IT was a little cross in Presto not to send to-day to the Coffee-house to
see whether there was a letter from MD before I sent away mine; but,
faith, I did it on purpose, because I would scorn to answer two letters
of yours successively.  This way of journal is the worst in the world for
writing of news, unless one does it the last day; and so I will observe
henceforward, if there be any politics or stuff worth sending.  My shin
mends in spite of the scratching last night.  I dined to-day at Ned
Southwell’s with the Bishop of Ossory {176a} and a parcel of Irish
gentlemen.  Have you yet seen any of the _Spectators_?  Just three weeks
to-day since I had your last, N. 11.  I am afraid I have lost one by the
packet that was taken; that will vex me, considering the pains MD take to
write, especially poor pretty Stella, and her weak eyes.  God bless them
and the owner, and send them well, and little me together, I hope ere
long.  This illness of Mr. Harley puts everything backwards, and he is
still down, and like to be so, by that extravasated blood which comes
from his breast to the wound: it was by the second blow Guiscard gave him
after the penknife was broken.  I am shocked at that villainy whenever I
think of it.  Biddy Floyd is past danger, but will lose all her beauty:
she had them mighty thick, especially about her nose.

25.  Morning.  I wish you a merry New Year; this is the first day of the
year, you know, with us, and ’tis Lady-day.  I must rise and go to my
Lord Keeper: it is not shaving-day to-day, so I shall be early.  I am to
dine with Mr. Secretary St. John.  Good-morrow, my mistresses both,
good-morrow.  Stella will be peeping out of her room at Mrs. De Caudres’
{176b} down upon the folks as they come from church; and there comes Mrs.
Proby, {176c} and that is my Lady Southwell, {176d} and there is Lady
Betty Rochfort. {176e}  I long to hear how you are settled in your new
lodgings.  I wish I were rid of my old ones, and that Mrs. Brent could
contrive to put up my books in boxes, and lodge them in some safe place,
and you keep my papers of importance.  But I must rise, I tell you.—At
night.  So I visited and dined as I told you, and what of that?  We have
let Guiscard be buried at last, after showing him pickled in a trough
this fortnight for twopence apiece: and the fellow that showed would
point to his body, and, “See, gentlemen, this is the wound that was given
him by his Grace the Duke of Ormond; and this is the wound,” etc., and
then the show was over, and another set of rabble came in.  ’Tis hard our
laws would not suffer us to hang his body in chains, because he was not
tried; and in the eye of our law every man is innocent till then.—Mr.
Harley is still very weak, and never out of bed.

26.  This was a most delicious day; and my shin being past danger, I
walked like lightning above two hours in the Park.  We have generally one
fair day, and then a great deal of rain for three or four days together.
All things are at a stop in Parliament for want of Mr. Harley; they
cannot stir an inch without him in their most material affairs: and we
fear, by the caprice of Radcliffe, who will admit none but his own
surgeon, {177} he has not been well looked after.  I dined at an alehouse
with Mr. Lewis, but had his wine.  Don’t you begin to see the flowers and
blossoms of the field?  How busy should I be now at Laracor!  No news of
your box?  I hope you have it, and are this minute drinking the
chocolate, and that the smell of the Brazil tobacco has not affected it.
I would be glad to know whether you like it, because I would send you
more by people that are now every day thinking of going to Ireland;
therefore pray tell me, and tell me soon: and I will have the strong box.

27.  A rainy, wretched, scurvy day from morning till night: and my
neighbour Vanhomrigh invited me to dine with them and this evening I
passed at Mr. Prior’s with Dr. Freind; and ’tis now past twelve, so I
must go sleep.

28.  Morning.  O, faith, you’re an impudent saucy couple of sluttikins
for presuming to write so soon, said I to myself this morning; who knows
but there may be a letter from MD at the Coffee-house?  Well, you must
know, and so, I just now sent Patrick, and he brought me three letters,
but not one from MD, no indeed, for I read all the superscriptions; and
not one from MD.  One I opened, it was from the Archbishop; {178a}
t’other I opened, it was from Staunton; {178b} the third I took, and
looked at the hand.  Whose hand is this? says I; yes, says I, whose hand
is this?  Then there was wax between the folds; then I began to suspect;
then I peeped; faith, it was Walls’s hand after all: then I opened it in
a rage, and then it was little MD’s hand, dear, little, pretty, charming
MD’s sweet hand again.  O Lord, an’t here a clutter and a stir, and a
bustle? never saw the like.  Faith, I believe yours lay some days at the
post-office, and that it came before my eighteenth went, but that I did
not expect it, and I hardly ever go there.  Well, and so you think I’ll
answer this letter now; no, faith, and so I won’t.  I’ll make you wait,
young women; but I’ll inquire immediately about poor Dingley’s exchequer
trangum. {178c}  What, is that Vedel again a soldier? was he broke?  I’ll
put it in Ben Tooke’s hand.  I hope Vedel could not sell it.—At night.
Vedel, Vedel, poh, pox, I think it is Vedeau; {178d} ay, Vedeau, now I
have it; let me see, do you name him in yours?  Yes, Mr. John Vedeau is
the brother; but where does this brother live?  I’ll inquire.  This was a
fast-day for the public; so I dined late with Sir Matthew Dudley, whom I
have not been with a great while.  He is one of those that must lose his
employment whenever the great shake comes; and I can’t contribute to keep
him in, though I have dropped words in his favour to the Ministry; but he
is too violent a Whig, and friend to the Lord Treasurer, {179a} to stay
in.  ’Tis odd to think how long they let those people keep their places;
but the reason is, they have not enough to satisfy all expecters, and so
they keep them all in hopes, that they may be good boys in the meantime;
and thus the old ones hold in still.  The Comptroller {179b} told me that
there are eight people expect his staff.  I walked after dinner to-day
round the Park.  What, do I write politics to little young women?  Hold
your tongue, and go to your Dean’s.

29.  Morning.  If this be a fine day, I will walk into the City, and see
Charles Barnard’s library.  What care I for your letter, saucy N. 12?  I
will say nothing to it yet: faith, I believe this will be full before its
time, and then go it must.  I will always write once a fortnight; and if
it goes sooner by filling sooner, why, then there is so much clear gain.
Morrow, morrow, rogues and lasses both, I can’t lie scribbling here in
bed for your play; I must rise, and so morrow again.—At night.  Your
friend Montgomery and his sister are here, as I am told by Patrick.  I
have seen him often, but take no notice of him: he is grown very ugly and
pimpled.  They tell me he is a gamester, and wins money.—How could I help
it, pray?  Patrick snuffed the candle too short, and the grease ran down
upon the paper. {179c}  It an’t my fault, ’tis Patrick’s fault; pray now
don’t blame Presto.  I walked to-day in the City, and dined at a private
house, and went to see the auction of poor Charles Barnard’s books; they
were in the middle of the physic books, so I bought none; and they are so
dear, I believe I shall buy none, and there is an end; and go to
Stoyte’s, and I’ll go sleep.

30.  Morning.  This is Good Friday, you must know; and I must rise and go
to Mr. Secretary about some business, and Mrs. Vanhomrigh desires me to
breakfast with her, because she is to intercede for Patrick, who is so
often drunk and quarrelsome in the house, that I was resolved to send him
over; but he knows all the places where I send, and is so used to my
ways, that it would be inconvenient to me; but when I come to Ireland, I
will discharge him. {180a}  Sir Thomas Mansel, {180b} one of the Lords of
the Treasury, setting me down at my door to-day, saw Patrick, and swore
he was a Teague-lander. {180c}  I am so used to his face, I never
observed it, but thought him a pretty fellow.  Sir Andrew Fountaine and I
supped this fast-day with Mrs. Vanhomrigh.  We were afraid Mr. Harley’s
wound would turn to a fistula; but we think the danger is now past.  He
rises every day, and walks about his room, and we hope he will be out in
a fortnight.  Prior showed me a handsome paper of verses he has writ on
Mr. Harley’s accident: {180d} they are not out; I will send them to you,
if he will give me a copy.

31.  Morning.  What shall we do to make April fools this year, now it
happens on Sunday?  Patrick brings word that Mr. Harley still mends, and
is up every day.  I design to see him in a few days: and he brings me
word too that he has found out Vedeau’s brother’s shop: I shall call
there in a day or two.  It seems the wife lodges next door to the
brother.  I doubt the scoundrel was broke, and got a commission, or
perhaps is a volunteer gentleman, and expects to get one by his valour.
Morrow, sirrahs, let me rise.—At night.  I dined to-day with Sir Thomas
Mansel.  We were walking in the Park, and Mr. Lewis came to us.  Mansel
asked where we dined.  We said, “Together.”  He said, we should dine with
him, only his wife {181a} desired him to bring nobody, because she had
only a leg of mutton.  I said I would dine with him to choose; but he
would send a servant to order a plate or two: yet this man has ten
thousand pounds a year in land, and is a Lord of the Treasury, and is not
covetous neither, but runs out merely by slattering {181b} and
negligence.  The worst dinner I ever saw at the Dean’s was better: but so
it is with abundance of people here.  I called at night at Mr. Harley’s,
who begins to walk in his room with a stick, but is mighty weak.—See how
much I have lost with that ugly grease. {181c}  ’Tis your fault, pray;
and I’ll go to bed.

April 1.  The Duke of Buckingham’s house fell down last night with an
earthquake, and is half swallowed up; won’t you go and see it?—An April
fool, an April fool, oh ho, young women.  Well, don’t be angry.  I will
make you an April fool no more till the next time; we had no sport here,
because it is Sunday, and Easter Sunday.  I dined with the Secretary, who
seemed terribly down and melancholy, which Mr. Prior and Lewis observed
as well as I: perhaps something is gone wrong; perhaps there is nothing
in it.  God bless my own dearest MD, and all is well.

2.  We have such windy weather, ’tis troublesome walking, yet all the
rabble have got into our Park these Easter holidays.  I am plagued with
one Richardson, an Irish parson, and his project of printing Irish
Bibles, etc., to make you Christians in that country: I befriend him what
I can, on account of the Archbishop and Bishop of Clogher.—But what
business have I to meddle, etc.  Do not you remember that, sirrah Stella?
what was that about, when you thought I was meddling with something that
was not my business?  O, faith, you are an impudent slut, I remember your
doings, I’ll never forget you as long as I live.  Lewis and I dined
together at his lodgings.  But where’s the answer to this letter of MD’s?
O, faith, Presto, you must think of that.  Time enough, says saucy
Presto.

3.  I was this morning to see Mrs. Barton: I love her better than anybody
here, and see her seldomer.  Why, really now, so it often happens in the
world, that where one loves a body best—pshah, pshah, you are so silly
with your moral observations.  Well, but she told me a very good story.
An old gentlewoman died here two months ago, and left in her will, to
have eight men and eight maids bearers, who should have two guineas
apiece, ten guineas to the parson for a sermon, and two guineas to the
clerk.  But bearers, parson, and clerk must be all true virgins; and not
to be admitted till they took their oaths of virginity: so the poor woman
still lies unburied, and so must do till the general resurrection.—I
called at Mr. Secretary’s, to see what the D— ailed him on Sunday.  I
made him a very proper speech; told him I observed he was much out of
temper; that I did not expect he would tell me the cause, but would be
glad to see he was in better; and one thing I warned him of, never to
appear cold to me, for I would not be treated like a schoolboy; that I
had felt too much of that in my life already (meaning from Sir William
Temple); that I expected every great Minister who honoured me with his
acquaintance, if he heard or saw anything to my disadvantage, would let
me know it in plain words, and not put me in pain to guess by the change
or coldness of his countenance or behaviour; for it was what I would
hardly bear from a crowned head, and I thought no subject’s favour was
worth it; and that I designed to let my Lord Keeper {182a} and Mr. Harley
know the same thing, that they might use me accordingly.  He took all
right; said I had reason; vowed nothing ailed him but sitting up whole
nights at business, and one night at drinking; would have had me dine
with him and Mrs. Masham’s brother, to make up matters; but I would not.
I don’t know, but I would not.  But indeed I was engaged with my old
friend Rollinson; {182b} you never heard of him before.

4.  I sometimes look a line or two back, and see plaguy mistakes of the
pen; how do you get over them?  You are puzzled sometimes.  Why, I think
what I said to Mr. Secretary was right.  Don’t you remember how I used to
be in pain when Sir William Temple would look cold and out of humour for
three or four days, and I used to suspect a hundred reasons?  I have
plucked up my spirit since then, faith; he spoilt a fine gentleman.  I
dined with my neighbour Vanhomrigh, and MD, poor MD, at home on a loin of
mutton and half a pint of wine, and the mutton was raw, poor Stella could
not eat, poor dear rogue, and Dingley was so vexed; but we will dine at
Stoyte’s to-morrow.  Mr. Harley promised to see me in a day or two, so I
called this evening; but his son and others were abroad, and he asleep,
so I came away, and found out Mrs. Vedeau.  She drew out a letter from
Dingley, and said she would get a friend to receive the money.  I told
her I would employ Mr. Tooke in it henceforward.  Her husband bought a
lieutenancy of foot, and is gone to Portugal.  He sold his share of the
shop to his brother, and put out the money to maintain her, all but what
bought the commission.  She lodges within two doors of her brother.  She
told me it made her very melancholy to change her manner of life thus,
but trade was dead, etc.  She says she will write to you soon.  I design
to engage Ben Tooke, and then receive the parchment from her.—I gave Mr.
Dopping a copy of Prior’s verses on Mr. Harley; he sent them yesterday to
Ireland, so go look for them, for I won’t be at the trouble to transcribe
them here.  They will be printed in a day or two.  Give my hearty service
to Stoyte and Catherine: upon my word I love them dearly, and desire you
will tell them so: pray desire Goody Stoyte not to let Mrs. Walls and
Mrs. Johnson cheat her of her money at ombre, but assure her from me that
she is a bungler.  Dine with her to-day, and tell her so, and drink my
health, and good voyage, and speedy return, and so you’re a rogue.

5.  Morning.  Now let us proceed to examine a saucy letter from one Madam
MD.—God Almighty bless poor dear Stella, and send her a great many
birthdays, all happy, and healthy, and wealthy, and with me ever
together, and never asunder again, unless by chance.  When I find you are
happy or merry there, it makes me so here, and I can hardly imagine you
absent when I am reading your letter, or writing to you.  No, faith, you
are just here upon this little paper, and therefore I see and talk with
you every evening constantly, and sometimes in the morning, but not
always in the morning, because that is not so modest to young
ladies.—What, you would fain palm a letter on me more than you sent: and
I, like a fool, must look over all yours, to see whether this was really
N. 12, or more.  [Patrick has this moment brought me letters from the
Bishop of Clogher and Parvisol; my heart was at my mouth for fear of one
from MD; what a disgrace would it be to have two of yours to answer
together!  But, faith, this shall go to-night, for fear; and then come
when it will, I defy it.]  No, you are not naughty at all, write when you
are disposed.  And so the Dean told you the story of Mr. Harley from the
Archbishop; I warrant it never spoiled your supper, or broke off your
game.  Nor yet, have not you the box?  I wish Mrs. Edgworth had the —.
But you have it now, I suppose; and is the chocolate good, or has the
tobacco spoilt it?  Leigh stays till Sterne has done his business, no
longer; and when that will be, God knows: I befriend him as much as I
can, but Harley’s accident stops that as well as all things else.  You
guess, Madam Dingley, that I shall stay a round twelvemonth; as hope
saved, I would come over, if I could, this minute; but we will talk of
that by and by. Your affair of Vedeau I have told you of already; now to
the next, turn over the leaf.  Mrs. Dobbins lies, I have no more
provision here or in Ireland than I had.  I am pleased that Stella the
conjurer approves what I did with Mr. Harley; {184} but your generosity
makes me mad; I know you repine inwardly at Presto’s absence; you think
he has broken his word of coming in three months, and that this is always
his trick; and now Stella says she does not see possibly how I can come
away in haste, and that MD is satisfied, etc.  An’t you a rogue to
overpower me thus?  I did not expect to find such friends as I have done.
They may indeed deceive me too.  But there are important reasons [Pox on
this grease, this candle tallow!] why they should not. {185a}  I have
been used barbarously by the late Ministry; I am a little piqued in
honour to let people see I am not to be despised.  The assurances they
give me, without any scruple or provocation, are such as are usually
believed in the world; they may come to nothing, but the first
opportunity that offers, and is neglected, I shall depend no more, but
come away.  I could say a thousand things on this head, if I were with
you.  I am thinking why Stella should not go to the Bath, if she be told
it will do her good.  I will make Parvisol get up fifty pounds, and pay
it you; and you may be good housewives, and live cheap there some months,
and return in autumn, or visit London, as you please: pray think of it.
I writ to Bernage, directed to Curry’s; I wish he had the letter.  I will
send the bohea tea, if I can.  The Bishop of Kilmore, {185b} I don’t keep
such company; an old dying fool whom I never was with in my life.  So I
am no godfather; {185c} all the better.  Pray, Stella, explain those two
words of yours to me, what you mean by _villian_ and _dainger_; {185d}
and you, Madam Dingley, what is _christianing_?—Lay your letter _this
way_, _this way_, and the devil a bit of difference between this way and
the other way.  No; I will show you, lay them _this way_, _this way_, and
not _that way_, _that way_. {185e}—You shall have your aprons; and I will
put all your commissions as they come, in a paper together, and do not
think I will forget MD’s orders, because they are friends; I will be as
careful as if they were strangers.  I knew not what to do about this
Clements. {186a}  Walls will not let me say anything as if Mr. Pratt was
against him; and now the Bishop of Clogher has written to me in his
behalf.  This thing does not rightly fall in my way, and that people
never consider: I always give my good offices where they are proper, and
that I am judge of; however, I will do what I can.  But, if he has the
name of a Whig, it will be hard, considering my Lord Anglesea and Hyde
{186b} are very much otherwise, and you know they have the employment of
Deputy Treasurer.  If the frolic should take you of going to the Bath, I
here send you a note on Parvisol; if not, you may tear it, and there’s an
end.  Farewell.

If you have an imagination that the Bath will do you good, I say again, I
would have you go; if not, or it be inconvenient, burn this note.  Or, if
you would go, and not take so much money, take thirty pounds, and I will
return you twenty from hence.  Do as you please, sirrahs.  I suppose it
will not be too late for the first season; if it be, I would have you
resolve however to go the second season, if the doctors say it will do
you good, and you fancy so.



LETTER XX.


                                                  LONDON, _April_ 5, 1711.

I PUT my nineteenth in the post-office just now myself, as I came out of
the City, where I dined.  This rain ruins me in coach-hire; I walked away
sixpennyworth, and came within a shilling length, and then took a coach,
{186c} and got a lift back for nothing; and am now busy.

6.  Mr. Secretary desired I would see him this morning; said he had
several things to say to me, and said not one; and the Duke of Ormond
sent to desire I would meet him at Mr. Southwell’s by ten this morning
too, which I did, thinking it was some particular matter.  All the Irish
in town were there, to consult upon preventing a Bill for laying a duty
on Irish yarn; so we talked a while, and then all went to the lobby of
the House of Commons, to solicit our friends, and the Duke came among the
rest; and Lord Anglesea solicited admirably, and I did wonders.  But,
after all, the matter was put off till Monday, and then we are to be at
it again.  I dined with Lord Mountjoy, and looked over him at chess,
which put me in mind of Stella and Griffyth. {187}  I came home, and that
dog Patrick was not within; so I fretted, and fretted, and what good did
that do me?

   And so get you gone to your deans,
   You couple of queans.

I cannot find rhyme to Walls and Stoyte.—Yes, yes,

   You expect Mrs. Walls,
   Be dressed when she calls,
   To carry you to Stoyte,
   Or else _honi soit_.

Henley told me that the Tories were insup-port-able people, because they
are for bringing in French claret, and will not _sup-port_.  Mr. Harley
will hardly get abroad this week or ten days yet.  I reckon, when I send
away this letter, he will be just got into the House of Commons.  My last
letter went in twelve days, and so perhaps may this.  No it won’t, for
those letters that go under a fortnight are answers to one of yours,
otherwise you must take the days as they happen, some dry, some wet, some
barren, some fruitful, some merry, some insipid; some, etc.—I will write
you word exactly the first day I see young gooseberries, and pray observe
how much later you are.  We have not had five fine days this five weeks,
but rain or wind.  ’Tis a late spring they say here.—Go to bed, you two
dear saucy brats, and don’t keep me up all night.

7.  Ford has been at Epsom, to avoid Good Friday and Easter Sunday.  He
forced me to-day to dine with him; and tells me there are letters from
Ireland, giving an account of a great indiscretion in the Archbishop of
Dublin, who applied a story out of Tacitus very reflectingly on Mr.
Harley, and that twenty people have written of it; I do not believe it
yet. {188a}  I called this evening to see Mr. Secretary, who has been
very ill with the gravel and pain in his back, by burgundy and champagne,
added to the sitting up all night at business; I found him drinking tea
while the rest were at champagne, and was very glad of it.  I have chid
him so severely that I hardly knew whether he would take it well: then I
went and sat an hour with Mrs. St. John, who is growing a great favourite
of mine; she goes to the Bath on Wednesday, for she is much out of
health, and has begged me to take care of the Secretary.

8.  I dined to-day with Mr. Secretary St. John; he gave me a letter to
read, which was from the publisher of the newspaper called the _Postboy_;
{188b} in it there was a long copy of a letter from Dublin, giving an
account of what the Whigs said upon Mr. Harley’s being stabbed, and how
much they abuse him and Mr. Secretary St. John; and at the end there were
half a dozen lines, telling the story of the Archbishop of Dublin, and
abusing him horribly; this was to be printed on Tuesday.  I told the
Secretary I would not suffer that about the Archbishop to be printed, and
so I crossed it out; and afterwards, to prevent all danger, I made him
give me the letter, and, upon further thought, would let none of it be
published: and I sent for the printer, and told him so, and ordered him,
in the Secretary’s name, to print nothing reflecting on anybody in
Ireland till he had showed it me.  Thus I have prevented a terrible
scandal to the Archbishop, by a piece of perfect good fortune.  I will
let him know it by next post; and pray, if you pick it out, let me know,
and whether he is thankful for it; but say nothing.

9.  I was to-day at the House of Commons again about their yarn, at Lord
Anglesea’s desire; but the business is again put off till Monday.  I
dined with Sir John Stanley, by an assignation I had made with Mr. St.
John, and George Granville, the Secretary at War; but they let in other
company, some ladies, and so we were not so easy as I intended.  My head
is pretty tolerable, but every day I feel some little disorders; I have
left off snuff since Sunday, finding myself much worse after taking a
good deal at the Secretary’s.  I would not let him drink one drop of
champagne or burgundy without water, and in compliment I did so myself.
He is much better; but when he is well, he is like Stella, and will not
be governed.  So go to your Stoyte’s, and I’ll go sleep.

10.  I have been visiting Lady Worsley and Mrs. Barton to-day, and dined
soberly with my friend Lewis.  The Dauphin is dead of an apoplexy; I wish
he had lived till the finishing of this letter, that it might be news to
you.  Duncombe, {189} the rich alderman, died to-day, and I hear has left
the Duke of Argyle, who married his niece, two hundred thousand pounds; I
hope it is true, for I love that Duke mightily.  I writ this evening to
the Archbishop of Dublin, about what I told you; and then went to take
leave of poor Mrs. St. John, who gave me strict charge to take care of
the Secretary in her absence; said she had none to trust but me; and the
poor creature’s tears came fresh in her eyes.  Before we took leave, I
was drawn in by the other ladies and Sir John Stanley to raffle for a
fan, with a pox; it was four guineas, and we put in seven shillings
apiece, several raffling for absent people; but I lost, and so missed an
opportunity of showing my gallantry to Mrs. St. John, whom I designed to
have presented it to if I had won.  Is Dilly {190a} gone to the Bath?
His face will whizz in the water; I suppose he will write to us from
thence, and will take London in his way back.—The rabble will say, “There
goes a drunken parson”; and, which is worse, they will say true.  Oh, but
you must know I carried Ford to dine with Mr. St. John last Sunday, that
he may brag, when he goes back, of dining with a Secretary of State.  The
Secretary and I went away early, and left him drinking with the rest, and
he told me that two or three of them were drunk.  They talk of great
promotions to be made; that Mr. Harley is to be Lord Treasurer, and Lord
Poulett {190b} Master of the Horse, etc., but they are only conjecture.
The Speaker is to make Mr. Harley a compliment the first time he comes
into the House, which I hope will be in a week.  He has had an ill
surgeon, by the caprice of that puppy Dr. Radcliffe, which has kept him
back so long; and yesterday he got a cold, but is better to-day.—What! I
think I am stark mad, to write so much in one day to little saucy MD;
here is a deal of stuff, indeed! can’t you bid those little dear rogues
good-night, and let them go sleep, Mr. Presto?  When your tongue runs
there’s no ho with you, pray.

11.  Again at the lobby (like a lobcock) {190c} of the House of Commons,
about your Irish yarn, and again put off till Friday; and I and Patrick
went into the City by water, where I dined, and then I went to the
auction of Charles Barnard’s books; but the good ones were so monstrous
dear, I could not reach them, so I laid out one pound seven shillings but
very indifferently, and came away, and will go there no more.  Henley
would fain engage me to go with Steele and Rowe, etc., to an invitation
at Sir William Read’s. {191a}  Surely you have heard of him.  He has been
a mountebank, and is the Queen’s oculist; he makes admirable punch, and
treats you in gold vessels.  But I am engaged, and will not go, neither
indeed am I fond of the jaunt.  So good-night, and go sleep.

12.  I went about noon to the Secretary, who is very ill with a cold, and
sometimes of the gravel, with his champagne, etc.  I scolded him like a
dog, and he promises faithfully more care for the future.  To-day my Lord
Anglesea, and Sir Thomas Hammer, and Prior, and I dined, by appointment,
with Lieutenant-General Webb. {191b}  My lord and I stayed till ten
o’clock; but we drank soberly, and I always with water.  There was with
us one Mr. Campain, {191c} one of the October Club, if you know what that
is; a Club of country members, who think the Ministers are too backward
in punishing and turning out the Whigs.  I found my lord and the rest
thought I had more credit with the Ministry than I pretend to have, and
would have engaged me to put them upon something that would satisfy their
desires, and indeed I think they have some reason to complain; however, I
will not burn my fingers.  I will remember Stella’s chiding, “What had
you to do with what did not belong to you?” etc.  However, you will give
me leave to tell the Ministry my thoughts when they ask them, and other
people’s thoughts sometimes when they do not ask; so thinks Dingley.

13.  I called this morning at Mrs. Vedeau’s again, who has employed a
friend to get the money; it will be done in a fortnight, and then she
will deliver me up the parchment.  I went then to see Mr. Harley, who I
hope will be out in a few days; he was in excellent good humour, only
complained to me of the neglect of Guiscard’s cure, how glad he would
have been to have had him live.  Mr. Secretary came in to us, and we were
very merry till Lord Chamberlain (Duke of Shrewsbury) {192a} came up;
then Colonel Masham and I went off, after I had been presented to the
Duke, and that we made two or three silly compliments suitable to the
occasion.  Then I attended at the House of Commons about your yarn, and
it is again put off.  Then Ford drew me to dine at a tavern; it happened
to be the day and the house where the October Club dine.  After we had
dined, coming down we called to inquire whether our yarn business had
been over that day, and I sent into the room for Sir George Beaumont.
{192b}  But I had like to be drawn into a difficulty; for in two minutes
out comes Mr. Finch, {192c} Lord Guernsey’s son, to let me know that my
Lord Compton, {192d} the steward of this feast, desired, in the name of
the Club, that I would do them the honour to dine with them.  I sent my
excuses, adorned with about thirty compliments, and got off as fast as I
could.  It would have been a most improper thing for me to dine there,
considering my friendship with the Ministry.  The Club is about a hundred
and fifty, and near eighty of them were then going to dinner at two long
tables in a great ground-room.  At evening I went to the auction of
Barnard’s books, and laid out three pounds three shillings, but I’ll go
there no more; and so I said once before, but now I’ll keep to it.  I
forgot to tell that when I dined at Webb’s with Lord Anglesea, I spoke to
him of Clements, as one recommended for a very honest gentleman and good
officer, and hoped he would keep him.  He said he had not thought
otherwise, and that he should certainly hold his place while he continued
to deserve it; and I could not find there had been any intentions from
his lordship against him.  But I tell you, hunny, the impropriety of
this.  A great man will do a favour for me, or for my friend; but why
should he do it for my friend’s friend?  Recommendations should stop
before they come to that.  Let any friend of mine recommend one of his to
me for a thing in my power, I will do it for his sake; but to speak to
another for my friend’s friend is against all reason; and I desire you
will understand this, and discourage any such troubles given me.—I hope
this may do some good to Clements, it can do him no hurt; and I find by
Mrs. Pratt, {193} that her husband is his friend; and the Bishop of
Clogher says Clements’s danger is not from Pratt, but from some other
enemies, that think him a Whig.

14.  I was so busy this morning that I did not go out till late.  I writ
to-day to the Duke of Argyle, but said nothing of Bernage, who, I
believe, will not see him till Spain is conquered, and that is, not at
all.  I was to-day at Lord Shelburne’s, and spoke to Mrs. Pratt again
about Clements; her husband himself wants some good offices, and I have
done him very good ones lately, and told Mrs. Pratt I expected her
husband should stand by Clements in return.  Sir Andrew Fountaine and I
dined with neighbour Vanhomrigh; he is mighty ill of an asthma, and
apprehends himself in much danger; ’tis his own fault, that will rake and
drink, when he is but just crawled out of his grave.  I will send this
letter just now, because I think my half-year is out for my lodging; and,
if you please, I would be glad it were paid off, and some deal boxes made
for my books, and kept in some safe place.  I would give something for
their keeping: but I doubt that lodging will not serve me when I come
back; I would have a larger place for books, and a stable, if possible.
So pray be so kind to pay the lodging, and all accounts about it; and get
Mrs. Brent to put up my things.  I would have no books put in that trunk
where my papers are.  If you do not think of going to the Bath, I here
send you a bill on Parvisol for twenty pounds Irish, out of which you
will pay for the lodging, and score the rest to me.  Do as you please,
and love poor Presto, that loves MD better than his life a thousand
millions of times.  Farewell, MD, etc. etc.



LETTER XXI.


                                                 LONDON, _April_ 14, 1711.

REMEMBER, sirrahs, that there are but nine days between the dates of my
two former letters.  I sent away my twentieth this moment, and now am
writing on like a fish, as if nothing was done.  But there was a cause
for my hasting away the last, for fear it should not come time enough
before a new quarter began.  I told you where I dined to-day; but forgot
to tell you what I believe, that Mr. Harley will be Lord Treasurer in a
short time, and other great removes and promotions made.  This is my
thought, etc.

15.  I was this morning with Mr. Secretary, and he is grown pretty well.
I dined with him to-day, and drank some of that wine which the Duke of
Tuscany used to send to Sir William Temple: {194} he always sends some to
the chief Ministers.  I liked it mightily, but he does not; and he
ordered his butler to send me a chest of it to-morrow.  Would to God MD
had it!  The Queen is well again, and was at chapel to-day, etc.

16.  I went with Ford into the City to-day, and dined with Stratford, and
drank Tokay, and then we went to the auction; but I did not lay out above
twelve shillings.  My head is a little out of order to-night, though no
formal fit.  My Lord Keeper has sent to invite me to dinner to-morrow,
and you’ll dine better with the Dean; and God bless you.  I forgot to
tell you that yesterday was sent me a _Narrative_ printed, with all the
circumstances of Mr. Harley’s stabbing.  I had not time to do it myself;
so I sent my hints to the author of the _Atalantis_, {195a} and she has
cooked it into a sixpenny pamphlet, in her own style, only the first page
is left as I was beginning it.  But I was afraid of disobliging Mr.
Harley or Mr. St. John in one critical point about it, and so would not
do it myself.  It is worth your reading, for the circumstances are all
true.  My chest of Florence was sent me this morning, and cost me seven
and sixpence to two servants.  I would give two guineas you had it, etc.

17.  I was so out of order with my head this morning, that I was going to
send my excuses to my Lord Keeper; but however I got up at eleven, and
walked there after two, and stayed till eight.  There was Sir Thomas
Mansel, Prior, George Granville, and Mr. Cæsar, {195b} and we were very
merry.  My head is still wrong, but I have had no formal fit, only I
totter a little.  I have left off snuff altogether.  I have a noble roll
of tobacco for grating, very good.  Shall I send it to MD, if she likes
that sort?  My Lord Keeper and our this day’s company are to dine on
Saturday with George Granville, and to-morrow I dine with Lord Anglesea.

18.  Did you ever see such a blundering goosecap as Presto?  I saw the
number 21 at top, and so I went on as if it were the day of the month,
whereas this is but Wednesday the 18th.  How shall I do to blot and alter
them?  I have made a shift to do it behind, but it is a great botch.  I
dined with Lord Anglesea to-day, but did not go to the House of Commons
about the yarn; my head was not well enough.  I know not what is the
matter; it has never been thus before: two days together giddy from
morning till night, but not with any violence or pain; and I totter a
little, but can make shift to walk.  I doubt I must fall to my pills
again: I think of going into the country a little way.  I tell you what
you must do henceforward: you must enclose your letter in a fair
half-sheet of paper, and direct the outside “To Erasmus Lewis, Esquire,
at my Lord Dartmouth’s office at Whitehall”: for I never go to the
Coffee-house, and they will grudge to take in my letters.  I forgot to
tell you that your mother was to see me this morning, and brought me a
flask of sweet-water for a present, admirable for my head; but I shall
not smell to it.  She is going to Sheen, with Lady Giffard: she would
fain send your papers over to you, or give them to me.  Say what you
would have done, and it shall be done; because I love Stella, and she is
a good daughter, they say, and so is Dingley.

19.  This morning General Webb was to give me a visit: he goes with a
crutch and stick, yet was forced to come up two pair of stairs.  I
promised to dine with him, but afterwards sent my excuses, and dined
privately in my friend Lewis’s lodgings at Whitehall, with whom I had
much business to talk of, relating to the public and myself.  Little
Harrison the Tatler goes to-morrow to the secretaryship I got him at the
Hague, and Mr. St. John has made him a present of fifty guineas to bear
his charges.  An’t I a good friend?  Why are not you a young fellow, that
I might prefer you?  I had a letter from Bernage from Kinsale: he tells
me his commission for captain-lieutenant was ready for him at his
arrival: so there are two jackanapeses I have done with.  My head is
something better this evening, though not well.

20.  I was this morning with Mr. Secretary, whose packets were just come
in, and among them a letter from Lord Peterborow to me: he writes so
well, I have no mind to answer him, and so kind, that I must answer him.
The Emperor’s {196} death must, I think, cause great alterations in
Europe, and, I believe, will hasten a peace.  We reckon our King Charles
will be chosen Emperor, and the Duke of Savoy set up for Spain; but I
believe he will make nothing of it.  Dr. Freind and I dined in the City
at a printer’s, and it has cost me two shillings in coach-hire, and a
great deal more this week and month, which has been almost all rain, with
now and then sunshine, and is the truest April that I have known these
many years.  The lime-trees in the Park are all out in leaves, though not
large leaves yet.  Wise people are going into the country; but many think
the Parliament can hardly be up these six weeks.  Mr. Harley was with the
Queen on Tuesday.  I believe certainly he will be Lord Treasurer: I have
not seen him this week.

21.  Morning.  Lord Keeper, and I, and Prior, and Sir Thomas Mansel, have
appointed to dine this day with George Granville.  My head, I thank God,
is better; but to be giddyish three or four days together mortified me.
I take no snuff, and I will be very regular in eating little and the
gentlest meats.  How does poor Stella just now, with her deans and her
Stoytes?  Do they give you health for the money you lose at ombre,
sirrah?  What say you to that?  Poor Dingley frets to see Stella lose
that four and elevenpence, the other night.  Let us rise.  Morrow,
sirrahs.  I will rise, spite of your little teeth; good-morrow.—At night.
O, faith, you are little dear saucyboxes.  I was just going in the
morning to tell you that I began to want a letter from MD, and in four
minutes after Mr. Ford sends me one that he had picked up at St. James’s
Coffee-house; for I go to no coffee-house at all.  And, faith, I was glad
at heart to see it, and to see Stella so brisk.  O Lord, what pretending?
Well, but I will not answer it yet; I’ll keep it for t’other side.  Well,
we dined to-day according to appointment: Lord Keeper went away at near
eight, I at eight, and I believe the rest will be fairly fuddled; for
young Harcourt, {197} Lord Keeper’s son, began to prattle before I came
away.  It will not do with Prior’s lean carcass.  I drink little, miss my
glass often, put water in my wine, and go away before the rest, which I
take to be a good receipt for sobriety.  Let us put it into rhyme, and so
make a proverb—

   Drink little at a time;
   Put water with your wine;
   Miss your glass when you can;
   And go off the first man.

God be thanked, I am much better than I was, though something of a
totterer.  I ate but little to-day, and of the gentlest meat.  I refused
ham and pigeons, pease-soup, stewed beef, cold salmon, because they were
too strong.  I take no snuff at all, but some herb snuff prescribed by
Dr. Radcliffe.

   Go to your deans,
   You couple of queans.

I believe I said that already.  What care I? what cares Presto?

22.  Morning.  I must rise and go to the Secretary’s.  Mr. Harley has
been out of town this week to refresh himself before he comes into
Parliament.  Oh, but I must rise, so there is no more to be said; and so
morrow, sirrahs both.—Night.  I dined to-day with the Secretary, who has
engaged me for every Sunday; and I was an hour with him this morning deep
in politics, where I told him the objections of the October Club, and he
answered all except one, that no inquiries are made into past
mismanagement.  But indeed I believe they are not yet able to make any:
the late Ministry were too cunning in their rogueries, and fenced
themselves with an Act of general pardon.  I believe Mr. Harley must be
Lord Treasurer; yet he makes one difficulty which is hard to answer: he
must be made a lord, and his estate is not large enough, and he is too
generous to make it larger; and if the Ministry should change soon by any
accident, he will be left in the suds.  Another difficulty is, that if he
be made a peer, they will want him prodigiously in the House of Commons,
of which he is the great mover, and after him the Secretary, and hardly
any else of weight.  Two shillings more to-day for coach and chair.  I
shall be ruined.

23.  So you expect an answer to your letter, do you so?  Yes, yes, you
shall have an answer, you shall, young women.  I made a good pun on
Saturday to my Lord Keeper.  After dinner we had coarse Doiley napkins,
{199a} fringed at each end, upon the table, to drink with: my Lord Keeper
spread one of them between him and Mr. Prior; I told him I was glad to
see there was such a fringeship [friendship] between Mr. Prior and his
lordship.  Prior swore it was the worst he ever heard: I said I thought
so too; but at the same time I thought it was most like one of Stella’s
that ever I heard.  I dined to-day with Lord Mountjoy, and this evening
saw the Venetian Ambassador {199b} coming from his first public audience.
His coach was the most monstrous, huge, fine, rich gilt thing that ever I
saw.  I loitered this evening, and came home late.

24.  I was this morning to visit the Duchess of Ormond, {199c} who has
long desired it, or threatened she would not let me visit her daughters.
I sat an hour with her, and we were good company, when in came the
Countess of Bellamont, {199d} with a pox.  I went out, and we did not
know one another; yet hearing me named, she asked, “What, is that Dr.
Swift?” said she and I were very well acquainted, and fell a railing at
me without mercy, as a lady told me that was there; yet I never was but
once in the company of that drab of a Countess.  Sir Andrew Fountaine and
I dined with my neighbour Van.  I design in two days, if possible, to go
lodge at Chelsea for the air, and put myself under a necessity of walking
to and from London every day.  I writ this post to the Bishop of Clogher
a long politic letter, to entertain him.  I am to buy statues and harnese
{200a} for them, with a vengeance.  I have packed and sealed up MD’s
twelve letters against I go to Chelsea.  I have put the last commissions
of MD in my account-book; but if there be any former ones, I have forgot
them.  I have Dingley’s pocket-book down, and Stella’s green silk apron,
and the pound of tea; pray send me word if you have any other, and down
they shall go.  I will not answer your letter yet, saucy boxes.  You are
with the Dean just now, Madam Stella, losing your money.  Why do not you
name what number you have received?  You say you have received my
letters, but do not tell the number.

25.  I was this day dining in the City with very insignificant, low, and
scurvy company.  I had a letter from the Archbishop of Dublin, with a
long denial of the report raised on him, {200b} which yet has been since
assured to me from those who say they have it from the first hand; but I
cannot believe them.  I will show it to the Secretary to-morrow.  I will
not answer yours till I get to Chelsea.

26.  Chelsea.  I have sent two boxes of lumber to my friend Darteneuf’s
house, and my chest of Florence and other things to Mrs. Vanhomrigh,
where I dined to-day.  I was this morning with the Secretary, and showed
him the Archbishop’s letter, and convinced him of his Grace’s innocence,
and I will do the same to Mr. Harley.  I got here in the stage-coach with
Patrick and my portmanteau for sixpence, and pay six shillings a week for
one silly room with confounded coarse sheets. {200c}  We have had such a
horrible deal of rain, that there is no walking to London, and I must go
as I came until it mends; and besides the whelp has taken my lodging as
far from London as this town could afford, at least half a mile farther
than he need; but I must be content.  The best is, I lodge just over
against Dr. Atterbury’s house, and yet perhaps I shall not like the place
the better for that.  Well, I will stay till to-morrow before I answer
your letter; and you must suppose me always writing at Chelsea from
henceforward, till I alter, and say London.  This letter goes on
Saturday, which will be just a fortnight; so go and cheat Goody Stoyte,
etc.

27.  Do you know that I fear my whole chest of Florence is turned sour,
at least the two first flasks were so, and hardly drinkable.  How plaguy
unfortunate am I! and the Secretary’s own is the best I ever tasted; and
I must not tell him, but be as thankful as if it were the best in
Christendom.  I went to town in the sixpenny stage to-day; and hearing
Mr. Harley was not at home, I went to see him, because I knew by the
message of his lying porter that he was at home.  He was very well, and
just going out, but made me promise to dine with him; and betwixt that
and indeed strolling about, I lost four pound seven shillings at
play—with a——a—a—bookseller, and got but about half a dozen books. {201a}
I will buy no more books now, that’s certain.  Well, I dined at Mr.
Harley’s, came away at six, shifted my gown, cassock, and periwig, and
walked hither to Chelsea, as I always design to do when it is fair.  I am
heartily sorry to find my friend the Secretary stand a little ticklish
with the rest of the Ministry; there have been one or two disobliging
things that have happened, too long to tell: and t’other day in
Parliament, upon a debate of about thirty-five millions that have not
been duly accounted for, Mr. Secretary, in his warmth of speech, and zeal
for his friend Mr. Brydges, {201b} on whom part of the blame was falling,
said he did not know that either Mr. Brydges or the late Ministry were at
all to blame in this matter; which was very desperately spoken, and
giving up the whole cause: for the chief quarrel against the late
Ministry was the ill management of the treasure, and was more than all
the rest together.  I had heard of this matter: but Mr. Foley {202a}
beginning to discourse to-day at table, without naming Mr. St. John, I
turned to Mr. Harley, and said if the late Ministry were not to blame in
that article, he (Mr. Harley) ought to lose his head for putting the
Queen upon changing them.  He made it a jest; but by some words dropped,
I easily saw that they take things ill of Mr. St. John; and by some hints
given me from another hand that I deal with, I am afraid the Secretary
will not stand long.  This is the fate of Courts.  I will, if I meet Mr.
St. John alone on Sunday, tell him my opinion, and beg him to set himself
right, else the consequences may be very bad; for I see not how they can
well want him neither, and he would make a troublesome enemy.  But enough
of politics.

28.  Morning.  I forgot to tell you that Mr. Harley asked me yesterday
how he came to disoblige the Archbishop of Dublin.  Upon which (having
not his letter about me) I told him what the Bishop had written to me on
that subject, {202b} and desired I might read him the letter some other
time.  But after all, from what I have heard from other hands, I am
afraid the Archbishop is a little guilty.  Here is one Brent Spencer, a
brother of Mr. Proby’s, {202c} who affirms it, and says he has leave to
do so from Charles Dering, {202d} who heard the words; and that
Ingoldsby, {202e} abused the Archbishop, etc.  Well, but now for your
saucy letter: I have no room to answer it; O yes, enough on t’other side.
Are you no sicker?  Stella jeers Presto for not coming over by Christmas;
but indeed Stella does not jeer, but reproach, poor poor Presto.  And how
can I come away and the First-Fruits not finished?  I am of opinion the
Duke of Ormond will do nothing in them before he goes, which will be in a
fortnight, they say; and then they must fall to me to be done in his
absence.  No, indeed, I have nothing to print: you know they have printed
the _Miscellanies_ {203a} already.  Are they on your side yet?  If you
have my snuff box, I will have your strong box.  Hi, does Stella take
snuff again? or is it only because it is a fine box?  Not the _Meddle_,
but the _Medley_, {203b} you fool.  Yes, yes, a wretched thing, because
it is against you Tories: now I think it very fine, and the _Examiner_ a
wretched thing.—Twist your mouth, sirrah.  Guiscard, and what you will
read in the _Narrative_, {203c} I ordered to be written, and nothing
else.  The _Spectator_ is written by Steele, with Addison’s help: it is
often very pretty.  Yesterday it was made of a noble hint I gave him long
ago for his _Tatlers_, about an Indian supposed to write his Travels into
England. {203d}  I repent he ever had it.  I intended to have written a
book on that subject.  I believe he has spent it all in one paper, and
all the under-hints there are mine too; but I never see him or Addison.
The Queen is well, but I fear will be no long liver; for I am told she
has sometimes the gout in her bowels (I hate the word _bowels_).  My ears
have been, these three months past, much better than any time these two
years; but now they begin to be a little out of order again.  My head is
better, though not right; but I trust to air and walking.  You have got
my letter, but what number?  I suppose 18.  Well, my shin has been well
this month.  No, Mrs. Westley {203e} came away without her husband’s
knowledge, while she was in the country: she has written to me for some
tea.  They lie; Mr. Harley’s wound was very terrible: he had convulsions,
and very narrowly escaped.  The bruise was nine times worse than the
wound: he is weak still.  Well, Brooks married; I know all that.  I am
sorry for Mrs. Walls’s eye: I hope ’tis better.  O yes, you are great
walkers: but I have heard them say, “Much talkers, little walkers”: and I
believe I may apply the old proverb to you—

    If you talked no more than you walked,
    Those that think you wits would be baulked.

Yes, Stella shall have a large printed Bible: I have put it down among my
commissions for MD.  I am glad to hear you have taken the fancy of
intending to read the Bible.  Pox take the box; is not it come yet?  This
is trusting to your young fellows, young women; ’tis your fault: I
thought you had such power with Sterne that he would fly over Mount Atlas
to serve you.  You say you are not splenetic; but if you be, faith, you
will break poor Presto’s—I will not say the rest; but I vow to God, if I
could decently come over now, I would, and leave all schemes of politics
and ambition for ever.  I have not the opportunities here of preserving
my health by riding, etc., that I have in Ireland; and the want of health
is a great cooler of making one’s court.  You guess right about my being
bit with a direction from Walls, and the letter from MD: I believe I
described it in one of my last.  This goes to-night; and I must now rise
and walk to town, and walk back in the evening.  God Almighty bless and
preserve poor MD.  Farewell.

O, faith, don’t think, saucy noses, that I’ll fill this third side: I
can’t stay a letter above a fortnight: it must go then; and you would
rather see a short one like this, than want it a week longer.

My humble service to the Dean, and Mrs. Walls, and good, kind, hearty
Mrs. Stoyte, and honest Catherine.



LETTER XXII.


                                                CHELSEA, _April_ 28, 1711.

AT night.  I say at night, because I finished my twenty-first this
morning here, and put it into the post-office my own self, like a good
boy.  I think I am a little before you now, young women: I am writing my
twenty-second, and have received your thirteenth.  I got to town between
twelve and one, and put on my new gown and periwig, and dined with Lord
Abercorn, where I had not been since the marriage of his son Lord
Peasley, {205a} who has got ten thousand pounds with a wife.  I am now a
country gentleman.  I walked home as I went, and am a little weary, and
am got into bed: I hope in God the air and exercise will do me a little
good.  I have been inquiring about statues for Mrs. Ashe: I made Lady
Abercorn {205b} go with me; and will send them word next post to Clogher.
I hate to buy for her: I am sure she will maunder.  I am going to study.

29.  I had a charming walk to and from town to-day: I washed, shaved and
all, and changed gown and periwig, by half an hour after nine, and went
to the Secretary, who told me how he had differed with his friends in
Parliament: I apprehended this division, and told him a great deal of it.
I went to Court, and there several mentioned it to me as what they much
disliked.  I dined with the Secretary; and we proposed doing some
business of importance in the afternoon, which he broke to me first, and
said how he and Mr. Harley were convinced of the necessity of it; yet he
suffered one of his under-secretaries to come upon us after dinner, who
stayed till six, and so nothing was done: and what care I? he shall send
to me the next time, and ask twice.  To-morrow I go to the election at
Westminster School, where lads are chosen for the University: they say it
is a sight, and a great trial of wits.  Our Expedition Fleet is but just
sailed: I believe it will come to nothing.  Mr. Secretary frets at their
tediousness, but hopes great things from it, though he owns four or five
princes are in the secret; and, for that reason, I fear it is no secret
to France.  There are eight regiments; and the Admiral {206a} is your
Walker’s brother the midwife.

30.  Morn.  I am here in a pretty pickle: it rains hard; and the cunning
natives of Chelsea have outwitted me, and taken up all the three stage
coaches.  What shall I do?  I must go to town: this is your fault.  I
cannot walk: I will borrow a coat.  This is the blind side of my lodging
out of town; I must expect such inconveniences as these.  Faith, I’ll
walk in the rain.  Morrow.—At night.  I got a gentleman’s chaise by
chance, and so went to town for a shilling, and lie this night in town.
I was at the election of lads at Westminster to-day, and a very silly
thing it is; but they say there will be fine doings to-morrow.  I dined
with Dr. Freind, {206b} the second master of the school, with a dozen
parsons and others: Prior would make me stay.  Mr. Harley is to hear the
election to-morrow; and we are all to dine with tickets, and hear fine
speeches.  ’Tis terrible rainy weather again: I lie at a friend’s in the
City.

May 1.  I wish you a merry May Day, and a thousand more.  I was baulked
at Westminster; I came too late: I heard no speeches nor verses.  They
would not let me in to their dining-place for want of a ticket; and I
would not send in for one, because Mr. Harley excused his coming, and
Atterbury was not there; and I cared not for the rest: and so my friend
Lewis and I dined with Kitt Musgrave, {206c} if you know such a man: and,
the weather mending, I walked gravely home this evening; and so I design
to walk and walk till I am well: I fancy myself a little better already.
How does poor Stella?  Dingley is well enough.  Go, get you gone, naughty
girl, you are well enough.  O dear MD, contrive to have some share of the
country this spring: go to Finglas, or Donnybrook, or Clogher, or
Killala, or Lowth.  Have you got your box yet?  Yes, yes.  Do not write
to me again till this letter goes: I must make haste, that I may write
two for one.  Go to the Bath: I hope you are now at the Bath, if you had
a mind to go; or go to Wexford: do something for your living.  Have you
given up my lodging, according to order?  I have had just now a
compliment from Dean Atterbury’s lady, {207a} to command the garden and
library, and whatever the house affords.  I lodge just over against them;
but the Dean is in town with his Convocation: so I have my Dean and
Prolocutor as well as you, young women, though he has not so good wine,
nor so much meat.

2.  A fine day, but begins to grow a little warm; and that makes your
little fat Presto sweat in the forehead.  Pray, are not the fine buns
sold here in our town; was it not _Rrrrrrrrrare Chelsea buns_? {207b}  I
bought one to-day in my walk; it cost me a penny; it was stale, and I did
not like it, as the man said, etc.  Sir Andrew Fountaine and I dined at
Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s, and had a flask of my Florence, which lies in their
cellar; and so I came home gravely, and saw nobody of consequence to-day.
I am very easy here, nobody plaguing me in a morning; and Patrick saves
many a score lies.  I sent over to Mrs. Atterbury to know whether I might
wait on her; but she is gone a visiting: we have exchanged some
compliments, but I have not seen her yet.  We have no news in our town.

3.  I did not go to town to-day, it was so terrible rainy; nor have I
stirred out of my room till eight this evening, when I crossed the way to
see Mrs. Atterbury, and thank her for her civilities.  She would needs
send me some veal, and small beer, and ale, to-day at dinner; and I have
lived a scurvy, dull, splenetic day, for want of MD: I often thought how
happy I could have been, had it rained eight thousand times more, if MD
had been with a body.  My Lord Rochester {208a} is dead this morning;
they say at one o’clock; and I hear he died suddenly.  To-morrow I shall
know more.  He is a great loss to us: I cannot think who will succeed him
as Lord President.  I have been writing a long letter to Lord Peterborow,
and am dull.

4.  I dined to-day at Lord Shelburne’s, where Lady Kerry {208b} made me a
present of four India handkerchiefs, which I have a mind to keep for
little MD, only that I had rather, etc.  I have been a mighty
handkerchief-monger, and have bought abundance of snuff ones since I have
left off taking snuff.  And I am resolved, when I come over, MD shall be
acquainted with Lady Kerry: we have struck up a mighty friendship; and
she has much better sense than any other lady of your country.  We are
almost in love with one another: but she is most egregiously ugly; but
perfectly well-bred, and governable as I please.  I am resolved, when I
come, to keep no company but MD: you know I kept my resolution last time;
and, except Mr. Addison, conversed with none but you and your club of
deans and Stoytes.  ’Tis three weeks, young women, since I had a letter
from you; and yet, methinks, I would not have another for five pounds
till this is gone; and yet I send every day to the Coffee-house, and I
would fain have a letter, and not have a letter: and I do not know what,
nor I do not know how, and this goes on very slow; it is a week to-morrow
since I began it.  I am a poor country gentleman, and do not know how the
world passes.  Do you know that every syllable I write I hold my lips
just for all the world as if I were talking in our own little language to
MD?  Faith, I am very silly; but I cannot help it for my life.  I got
home early to-night.  My solicitors, that used to ply me every morning,
knew not where to find me; and I am so happy not to hear “Patrick,
Patrick,” called a hundred times every morning.  But I looked backward,
and find I have said this before.  What care I?  Go to the Dean, and
roast the oranges.

5.  I dined to-day with my friend Lewis, and we were deep in politics how
to save the present Ministry; for I am afraid of Mr. Secretary, as I
believe I told you.  I went in the evening to see Mr. Harley; and, upon
my word, I was in perfect joy.  Mr. Secretary was just going out of the
door; but I made him come back, and there was the old Saturday Club, Lord
Keeper, Lord Rivers, Mr. Secretary, Mr. Harley, and I; the first time
since his stabbing.  Mr. Secretary went away; but I stayed till nine, and
made Mr. Harley show me his breast, and tell all the story; and I showed
him the Archbishop of Dublin’s letter, and defended him effectually.  We
were all in mighty good humour.  Lord Keeper and I left them together,
and I walked here after nine two miles, and I found a parson drunk
fighting with a seaman, and Patrick and I were so wise to part them, but
the seaman followed him to Chelsea, cursing at him, and the parson
slipped into a house, and I know no more.  It mortified me to see a man
in my coat so overtaken.  A pretty scene for one that just came from
sitting with the Prime Ministers!  I had no money in my pocket, and so
could not be robbed.  However, nothing but Mr. Harley shall make me take
such a journey again.  We don’t yet know who will be President in Lord
Rochester’s room.  I measured, and found that the penknife would have
killed Mr. Harley if it had gone but half the breadth of my thumb-nail
lower, so near was he to death.  I was so curious as to ask him what were
his thoughts while they were carrying him home in the chair.  He said he
concluded himself a dead man.  He will not allow that Guiscard gave him
the second stab; though my Lord Keeper, who is blind, and I that was not
there, are positive in it.  He wears a plaster still as broad as half a
crown.  Smoke how wide the lines are, but, faith, I don’t do it on
purpose: but I have changed my side in this new Chelsea bed, and I do not
know how, methinks, but it is so unfit, and so awkward, never saw the
like.

6.  You must remember to enclose your letters in a fair paper, and direct
the outside thus: “To Erasmus Lewis, Esq.; at my Lord Dartmouth’s office
at Whitehall.”  I said so before, but it may miscarry, you know, yet I
think none of my letters did ever miscarry; faith, I think never one;
among all the privateers and the storms.  O, faith, my letters are too
good to be lost.  MD’s letters may tarry, but never miscarry, as the old
woman used to say.  And indeed, how should they miscarry, when they never
come before their time?  It was a terrible rainy day; yet I made a shift
to steal fair weather overhead enough to go and come in.  I was early
with the Secretary, and dined with him afterwards.  In the morning I
began to chide him, and tell him my fears of his proceedings.  But Arthur
Moore {210a} came up and relieved him.  But I forgot, for you never heard
of Arthur Moore.  But when I get Mr. Harley alone, I will know the
bottom.  You will have Dr. Raymond over before this letter, and what care
you?

7.  I hope and believe my walks every day do me good.  I was busy at
home, and set out late this morning, and dined with Mrs. Vanhomrigh, at
whose lodgings I always change my gown and periwig.  I visited this
afternoon, and among others, poor Biddy Floyd, {210b} who is very red,
but I believe won’t be much marked.  As I was coming home, I met Sir
George Beaumont {210c} in the Pall Mall, who would needs walk with me as
far as Buckingham House.  I was telling him of my head; he said he had
been ill of the same disorder, and by all means forbid me bohea tea,
which, he said, always gave it him; and that Dr. Radcliffe said it was
very bad.  Now I had observed the same thing, and have left it off this
month, having found myself ill after it several times; and I mention it
that Stella may consider it for her own poor little head: a pound lies
ready packed up and directed for Mrs. Walls, to be sent by the first
convenience.  Mr. Secretary told me yesterday that Mr. Harley would this
week be Lord Treasurer and a peer; so I expect it every day; yet perhaps
it may not be till Parliament is up, which will be in a fortnight.

8.  I was to-day with the Duke of Ormond, and recommended to him the care
of poor Joe Beaumont, who promises me to do him all justice and favour,
and give him encouragement; and desired I would give a memorial to Ned
Southwell about it, which I will, and so tell Joe when you see him,
though he knows it already by a letter I writ to Mr. Warburton. {211a}
It was bloody hot walking to-day.  I dined in the City, and went and came
by water; and it rained so this evening again, that I thought I should
hardly be able to get a dry hour to walk home in.  I will send to-morrow
to the Coffee-house for a letter from MD; but I would not have one
methinks till this is gone, as it shall on Saturday.  I visited the
Duchess of Ormond this morning; she does not go over with the Duke.  I
spoke to her to get a lad touched for the evil, {211b} the son of a
grocer in Capel Street, one Bell; the ladies have bought sugar and plums
of him.  Mrs. Mary used to go there often.  This is Patrick’s account;
and the poor fellow has been here some months with his boy.  But the
Queen has not been able to touch, and it now grows so warm, I fear she
will not at all.  Go, go, go to the Dean’s, and let him carry you to
Donnybrook, and cut asparagus.  Has Parvisol sent you any this year?  I
cannot sleep in the beginnings of the nights, the heat or something
hinders me, and I am drowsy in the mornings.

9.  Dr. Freind came this morning to visit Atterbury’s lady and children
as physician, and persuaded me to go with him to town in his chariot.  He
told me he had been an hour before with Sir Cholmley Dering, Charles
Dering’s nephew, and head of that family in Kent, for which he is Knight
of the shire.  He said he left him dying of a pistol-shot quite through
the body, by one Mr. Thornhill. {212a}  They fought at sword and pistol
this morning in Tuttle Fields, {212b} their pistols so near that the
muzzles touched.  Thornhill discharged first; and Dering, having received
the shot, discharged his pistol as he was falling, so it went into the
air.  The story of this quarrel is long.  Thornhill had lost seven teeth
by a kick in the mouth from Dering, who had first knocked him down; this
was above a fortnight ago.  Dering was next week to be married to a fine
young lady.  This makes a noise here, but you will not value it.  Well,
Mr. Harley, Lord Keeper, and one or two more, are to be made lords
immediately; their patents are now passing, and I read the preamble to
Mr. Harley’s, full of his praises.  Lewis and I dined with Ford: I found
the wine; two flasks of my Florence, and two bottles of six that Dr.
Raymond sent me of French wine; he sent it to me to drink with Sir Robert
Raymond and Mr. Harley’s brother, {212c} whom I had introduced him to;
but they never could find time to come; and now I have left the town, and
it is too late.  Raymond will think it a cheat.  What care I, sirrah?

10.  Pshaw, pshaw.  Patrick brought me four letters to-day: from Dilly at
Bath; Joe; Parvisol; and what was the fourth, who can tell?  Stand away,
who’ll guess?  Who can it be?  You old man with a stick, can you tell who
the fourth is from?  Iss, an please your honour, it is from one Madam MD,
Number Fourteen.  Well; but I can’t send this away now, because it was
here, and I was in town; but it shall go on Saturday, and this is
Thursday night, and it will be time enough for Wexford.  Take my method:
I write here to Parvisol to lend Stella twenty pounds, and to take her
note promissory to pay it in half a year, etc.  You shall see, and if you
want more, let me know afterwards; and be sure my money shall be always
paid constantly too.  Have you been good or ill housewives, pray?

11.  Joe has written me to get him a collector’s place, nothing less; he
says all the world knows of my great intimacy with Mr. Harley, and that
the smallest word to him will do.  This is the constant cant of puppies
who are at a distance, and strangers to Courts and Ministers.  My answer
is this, which pray send: that I am ready to serve Joe as far as I can;
that I have spoken to the Duke of Ormond about his money, as I writ to
Warburton; that for the particular he mentions, it is a work of time,
which I cannot think of at present; but, if accidents and opportunities
should happen hereafter, I would not be wanting; that I know best how far
my credit goes; that he is at a distance, and cannot judge; that I would
be glad to do him good, and if fortune throws an opportunity in my way I
shall not be wanting.  This is my answer, which you may send or read to
him.  Pray contrive that Parvisol may not run away with my two hundred
pounds; but get Burton’s {213} note, and let the money be returned me by
bill.  Don’t laugh, for I will be suspicious.  Teach Parvisol to enclose,
and direct the outside to Mr. Lewis.  I will answer your letter in my
next, only what I take notice of here excepted.  I forgot to tell you
that at the Court of Requests to-day I could not find a dinner I liked,
and it grew late, and I dined with Mrs. Vanhomrigh, etc.

12.  Morning.  I will finish this letter before I go to town, because I
shall be busy, and have neither time nor place there.  Farewell, etc.
etc.



LETTER XXIII.


                                                  CHELSEA, _May_ 12, 1711.

I SENT you my twenty-second this afternoon in town.  I dined with Mr.
Harley and the old Club, Lord Rivers, Lord Keeper, and Mr. Secretary.
They rallied me last week, and said I must have Mr. St. John’s leave; so
I writ to him yesterday, that foreseeing I should never dine again with
Sir Simon Harcourt, Knight, and Robert Harley, Esq., I was resolved to do
it to-day.  The jest is, that before Saturday {214} next we expect they
will be lords; for Mr. Harley’s patent is drawing, to be Earl of Oxford.
Mr. Secretary and I came away at seven, and he brought me to our town’s
end in his coach; so I lost my walk.  St. John read my letter to the
company, which was all raillery, and passed purely.

13.  It rained all last night and this morning as heavy as lead; but I
just got fair weather to walk to town before church.  The roads are all
over in deep puddle.  The hay of our town is almost fit to be mowed.  I
went to Court after church (as I always do on Sundays), and then dined
with Mr. Secretary, who has engaged me for every Sunday; and poor MD
dined at home upon a bit of veal and a pint of wine.  Is it not plaguy
insipid to tell you every day where I dine? yet now I have got into the
way of it, I cannot forbear it neither.  Indeed, Mr. Presto, you had
better go answer MD’s letter, N. 14.  I will answer it when I please, Mr.
Doctor.  What is that you say?  The Court was very full this morning,
expecting Mr. Harley would be declared Earl of Oxford and have the
Treasurer’s staff.  Mr. Harley never comes to Court at all; somebody
there asked me the reason.  “Why,” said I, “the Lord of Oxford knows.”
He always goes to the Queen by the back stairs.  I was told for certain,
you jackanapes, Lord Santry {215a} was dead, Captain Cammock {215b}
assured me so; and now he’s alive again, they say; but that shan’t do: he
shall be dead to me as long as he lives.  Dick Tighe {215c} and I meet,
and never stir our hats.  I am resolved to mistake him for Witherington,
the little nasty lawyer that came up to me so sternly at the Castle the
day I left Ireland.  I’ll ask the gentleman I saw walking with him how
long Witherington has been in town.

14.  I went to town to-day by water.  The hail quite discouraged me from
walking, and there is no shade in the greatest part of the way.  I took
the first boat, and had a footman my companion; then I went again by
water, and dined in the City with a printer, to whom I carried a pamphlet
in manuscript, that Mr. Secretary gave me.  The printer sent it to the
Secretary for his approbation, and he desired me to look it over, which I
did, and found it a very scurvy piece.  The reason I tell you so, is
because it was done by your parson Slap, Scrap, Flap (what d’ye call
him), Trapp, {215d} your Chancellor’s chaplain.  ’Tis called _A Character
of the Present Set of Whigs_, and is going to be printed, and no doubt
the author will take care to produce it in Ireland.  Dr. Freind was with
me, and pulled out a twopenny pamphlet just published, called _The State
of Wit_, {216a} giving a character of all the papers that have come out
of late.  The author seems to be a Whig, yet he speaks very highly of a
paper called the _Examiner_, and says the supposed author of it is Dr.
Swift.  But above all things he praises the _Tatlers_ and _Spectators_;
and I believe Steele and Addison were privy to the printing of it.  Thus
is one treated by these impudent dogs.  And that villain Curll {216b} has
scraped up some trash, and calls it Dr. Swift’s _Miscellanies_, with the
name at large: and I can get no satisfaction of him.  Nay, Mr. Harley
told me he had read it, and only laughed at me before Lord Keeper and the
rest.  Since I came home, I have been sitting with the Prolocutor, Dean
Atterbury, who is my neighbour over the way, but generally keeps in town
with his Convocation.  ’Tis late, etc.

15.  My walk to town to-day was after ten, and prodigiously hot.  I dined
with Lord Shelburne, and have desired Mrs. Pratt, who lodges there, to
carry over Mrs. Walls’s tea; I hope she will do it, and they talk of
going in a fortnight.  My way is this: I leave my best gown and periwig
at Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s, then walk up the Pall Mall, through the Park, out
at Buckingham House, and so to Chelsea a little beyond the church: I set
out about sunset, and get here in something less than an hour; it is two
good miles, and just five thousand seven hundred and forty-eight steps;
so there is four miles a day walking, without reckoning what I walk while
I stay in town.  When I pass the Mall in the evening, it is prodigious to
see the number of ladies walking there; and I always cry shame at the
ladies of Ireland, who never walk at all, as if their legs were of no
use, but to be laid aside.  I have been now almost three weeks here, and
I thank God, am much better in my head, if it does but continue.  I tell
you what, if I was with you, when we went to Stoyte at Donnybrook, we
would only take a coach to the hither end of Stephen’s Green, and from
thence go every step on foot, yes, faith, every step; it would do DD
{217a} good as well as Presto. {217b}  Everybody tells me I look better
already; for, faith, I looked sadly, that is certain.  My breakfast is
milk porridge: I do not love it; faith, I hate it, but it is cheap and
wholesome; and I hate to be obliged to either of those qualities for
anything. {217c}

16.  I wonder why Presto will be so tedious in answering MD’s letters;
because he would keep the best to the last, I suppose.  Well, Presto must
be humoured, it must be as he will have it, or there will be an old to
do. {217d}  Dead with heat; are not you very hot?  My walks make my
forehead sweat rarely; sometimes my morning journey is by water, as it
was to-day with one Parson Richardson, {217e} who came to see me, on his
going to Ireland; and with him I send Mrs. Walls’s tea, and three books
{217f} I got from the Lords of the Treasury for the College.  I dined
with Lord Shelburne to-day; Lady Kerry and Mrs. Pratt are going likewise
for Ireland.—Lord! I forgot, I dined with Mr. Prior to-day, at his house,
with Dean Atterbury and others; and came home pretty late, and I think
I’m in a fuzz, and don’t know what I say, never saw the like.

17.  Sterne came here by water to see me this morning, and I went back
with him to his boat.  He tells me that Mrs. Edgworth {217g} married a
fellow in her journey to Chester; so I believe she little thought of
anybody’s box but her own.  I desired Sterne to give me directions where
to get the box in Chester, which he says he will to-morrow; and I will
write to Richardson to get it up there as he goes by, and whip it over.
It is directed to Mrs. Curry: you must caution her of it, and desire her
to send it you when it comes.  Sterne says Jemmy Leigh loves London
mightily; that makes him stay so long, I believe, and not Sterne’s
business, which Mr. Harley’s accident has put much backward.  We expect
now every day that he will be Earl of Oxford and Lord Treasurer.  His
patent is passing; but, they say, Lord Keeper’s not yet; at least his
son, young Harcourt, told me so t’other day.  I dined to-day privately
with my friend Lewis at his lodgings at Whitehall.  T’other day at
Whitehall I met a lady of my acquaintance, whom I had not seen before
since I came to England; we were mighty glad to see each other, and she
has engaged me to visit her, as I design to do.  It is one Mrs. Colledge:
she has lodgings at Whitehall, having been seamstress to King William,
worth three hundred a year.  Her father was a fanatic joiner, {218a}
hanged for treason in Shaftesbury’s plot.  This noble person and I were
brought acquainted, some years ago, by Lady Berkeley. {218b}  I love good
creditable acquaintance: I love to be the worst of the company: I am not
of those that say, “For want of company, welcome trumpery.”  I was this
evening with Lady Kerry and Mrs. Pratt at Vauxhall, to hear the
nightingales; but they are almost past singing.

18.  I was hunting the Secretary to-day in vain about some business, and
dined with Colonel Crowe, late Governor of Barbados, {218c} and your
friend Sterne was the third: he is very kind to Sterne, and helps him in
his business, which lies asleep till Mr. Harley is Lord Treasurer,
because nothing of moment is now done in the Treasury, the change being
expected every day.  I sat with Dean Atterbury till one o’clock after I
came home; so ’tis late, etc.

19.  Do you know that about our town we are mowing already and making
hay, and it smells so sweet as we walk through the flowery meads; but the
hay-making nymphs are perfect drabs, nothing so clean and pretty as
farther in the country.  There is a mighty increase of dirty wenches in
straw hats since I knew London.  I stayed at home till five o’clock, and
dined with Dean Atterbury; then went by water to Mr. Harley’s, where the
Saturday Club was met, with the addition of the Duke of Shrewsbury.  I
whispered Lord Rivers that I did not like to see a stranger among us; and
the rogue told it aloud: but Mr. Secretary said the Duke writ to have
leave; so I appeared satisfied, and so we laughed.  Mr. Secretary told me
the Duke of Buckingham {219} had been talking to him much about me, and
desired my acquaintance.  I answered it could not be, for he had not made
sufficient advances.  Then the Duke of Shrewsbury said he thought that
Duke was not used to make advances.  I said I could not help that; for I
always expected advances in proportion to men’s quality, and more from a
duke than any other man.  The Duke replied that he did not mean anything
of his quality; which was handsomely said enough; for he meant his pride:
and I have invented a notion to believe that nobody is proud.  At ten all
the company went away; and from ten to twelve Mr. Harley and I sat
together, where we talked through a great deal of matters I had a mind to
settle with him; and then walked in a fine moonshine night to Chelsea,
where I got by one.  Lord Rivers conjured me not to walk so late; but I
would, because I had no other way; but I had no money to lose.

20.  By what the Lord Keeper told me last night, I find he will not be
made a peer so soon; but Mr. Harley’s patent for Earl of Oxford is now
drawing, and will be done in three days.  We made him own it, which he
did scurvily, and then talked of it like the rest.  Mr. Secretary had too
much company with him to-day; so I came away soon after dinner.  I give
no man liberty to swear or talk b—dy, and I found some of them were in
constraint, so I left them to themselves.  I wish you a merry
Whitsuntide, and pray tell me how you pass away your time; but, faith,
you are going to Wexford, and I fear this letter is too late; it shall go
on Thursday, and sooner it cannot, I have so much business to hinder me
answering yours.  Where must I direct in your absence?  Do you quit your
lodgings?

21.  Going to town this morning, I met in the Pall Mall a clergyman of
Ireland, whom I love very well and was glad to see, and with him a little
jackanapes, of Ireland too, who married Nanny Swift, Uncle Adam’s {220a}
daughter, one Perry; perhaps you may have heard of him.  His wife has
sent him here, to get a place from Lowndes; {220b} because my uncle and
Lowndes married two sisters, and Lowndes is a great man here in the
Treasury; but by good luck I have no acquaintance with him: however, he
expected I should be his friend to Lowndes, and one word of mine, etc.,
the old cant.  But I will not go two yards to help him.  I dined with
Mrs. Vanhomrigh, where I keep my best gown and periwig, to put on when I
come to town and be a spark.

22.  I dined to-day in the City, and coming home this evening, I met Sir
Thomas Mansel and Mr. Lewis in the Park.  Lewis whispered me that Mr.
Harley’s patent for the Earl of Oxford was passed in Mr. Secretary St.
John’s office; so to-morrow or next day, I suppose, he will be declared
Earl of Oxford, and have the staff. {220c}  This man has grown by
persecutions, turnings out, and stabbing.  What waiting, and crowding,
and bowing will be at his levee! yet, if human nature be capable of so
much constancy, I should believe he will be the same man still, bating
the necessary forms of grandeur he must keep up.  ’Tis late, sirrahs, and
I’ll go sleep.

23.  Morning.  I sat up late last night, and waked late to-day; but will
now answer your letter in bed before I go to town, and I will send it
to-morrow; for perhaps you mayn’t go so soon to Wexford.—No, you are not
out in your number; the last was Number 14, and so I told you twice or
thrice; will you never be satisfied?  What shall we do for poor Stella?
Go to Wexford, for God’s sake: I wish you were to walk there by three
miles a day, with a good lodging at every mile’s end.  Walking has done
me so much good, that I cannot but prescribe it often to poor Stella.
Parvisol has sent me a bill for fifty pounds, which I am sorry for,
having not written to him for it, only mentioned it two months ago; but I
hope he will be able to pay you what I have drawn upon him for: he never
sent me any sum before, but one bill of twenty pounds half a year ago.
You are welcome as my blood to every farthing I have in the world; and
all that grieves me is, I am not richer, for MD’s sake, as hope saved.
{221}  I suppose you give up your lodgings when you go to Wexford; yet
that will be inconvenient too: yet I wish again you were under a
necessity of rambling the country until Michaelmas, faith.  No, let them
keep the shelves, with a pox; yet they are exacting people about those
four weeks; or Mrs. Brent may have the shelves, if she please.  I am
obliged to your Dean for his kind offer of lending me money.  Will that
be enough to say?  A hundred people would lend me money, or to any man
who has not the reputation of a squanderer.  O, faith, I should be glad
to be in the same kingdom with MD, however, although you are at Wexford.
But I am kept here by a most capricious fate, which I would break
through, if I could do it with decency or honour.—To return without some
mark of distinction would look extremely little; and I would likewise
gladly be somewhat richer than I am.  I will say no more, but beg you to
be easy till Fortune take her course, and to believe that MD’s felicity
is the great end I aim at in all my pursuits.  And so let us talk no more
on this subject, which makes me melancholy, and that I would fain divert.
Believe me, no man breathing at present has less share of happiness in
life than I: I do not say I am unhappy at all, but that everything here
is tasteless to me for want of being as I would be.  And so, a short
sigh, and no more of this.  Well, come and let’s see what’s next, young
women.  Pox take Mrs. Edgworth and Sterne!  I will take some methods
about that box.  What orders would you have me give about the picture?
Can’t you do with it as if it were your own?  No, I hope Manley will keep
his place; for I hear nothing of Sir Thomas Frankland’s losing his.  Send
nothing under cover to Mr. Addison, but “To Erasmus Lewis, Esq.; at my
Lord Dartmouth’s office at Whitehall.”  Direct your outside so.—Poor dear
Stella, don’t write in the dark, nor in the light neither, but dictate to
Dingley; she is a naughty, healthy girl, and may drudge for both.  Are
you good company together? and don’t you quarrel too often?  Pray love
one another, and kiss one another just now, as Dingley is reading this;
for you quarrelled this morning just after Mrs. Marget {222} had poured
water on Stella’s head: I heard the little bird say so.  Well, I have
answered everything in your letter that required it, and yet the second
side is not full.  I’ll come home at night, and say more; and to-morrow
this goes for certain.  Go, get you gone to your own chambers, and let
Presto rise like a modest gentleman, and walk to town.  I fancy I begin
to sweat less in the forehead by constant walking than I used to do; but
then I shall be so sunburnt, the ladies will not like me.  Come, let me
rise, sirrahs.  Morrow.—At night.  I dined with Ford to-day at his
lodgings, and I found wine out of my own cellar, some of my own chest of
the great Duke’s wine: it begins to turn.  They say wine with you in
Ireland is half a crown a bottle.  ’Tis as Stella says; nothing that once
grows dear in Ireland ever grows cheap again, except corn, with a pox, to
ruin the parson.  I had a letter to-day from the Archbishop of Dublin,
giving me further thanks about vindicating him to Mr. Harley and Mr. St.
John, and telling me a long story about your Mayor’s election, {223}
wherein I find he has had a finger, and given way to further talk about
him; but we know nothing of it here yet.  This walking to and fro, and
dressing myself, takes up so much of my time that I cannot go among
company so much as formerly; yet what must a body do?  I thank God I yet
continue much better since I left the town; I know not how long it may
last.  I am sure it has done me some good for the present.  I do not
totter as I did, but walk firm as a cock, only once or twice for a
minute, I do not know how; but it went off, and I never followed it.
Does Dingley read my hand as well as ever? do you, sirrah?  Poor Stella
must not read Presto’s ugly small hand.

    Preserve your eyes,
    If you be wise.

Your friend Walls’s tea will go in a day or two towards Chester by one
Parson Richardson.  My humble service to her, and to good Mrs. Stoyte,
and Catherine; and pray walk while you continue in Dublin.  I expect your
next but one will be from Wexford.  God bless dearest MD.

24.  Morning.  Mr. Secretary has sent his groom hither, to invite me to
dinner to-day, etc.  God Almighty for ever bless and preserve you both,
and give you health, etc.  Amen.  Farewell, etc.

Do not I often say the same thing two or three times in the same letter,
sirrah?

Great wits, they say, have but short memories; that’s good vile
conversation.



LETTER XXIV.


                                                  CHELSEA, _May_ 24, 1711.

MORNING.  Once in my life the number of my letters and of the day of the
month is the same; that’s lucky, boys; that’s a sign that things will
meet, and that we shall make a figure together.  What, will you still
have the impudence to say London, England, because I say Dublin, Ireland?
Is there no difference between London and Dublin, saucyboxes?  I have
sealed up my letter, and am going to town.  Morrow, sirrahs.—At night.  I
dined with the Secretary to-day; we sat down between five and six.  Mr.
Harley’s patent passed this morning: he is now Earl of Oxford, Earl
Mortimer, and Lord Harley of Wigmore Castle.  My letter was sealed, or I
would have told you this yesterday; but the public news may tell it you.
The Queen, for all her favour, has kept a rod {224} for him in her closet
this week; I suppose he will take it from her, though, in a day or two.
At eight o’clock this evening it rained prodigiously, as it did from
five; however, I set out, and in half-way the rain lessened, and I got
home, but tolerably wet; and this is the first wet walk I have had in a
month’s time that I am here but, however, I got to bed, after a short
visit to Atterbury.

25.  It rained this morning, and I went to town by water; and Ford and I
dined with Mr. Lewis by appointment.  I ordered Patrick to bring my gown
and periwig to Mr. Lewis, because I designed to go to see Lord Oxford,
and so I told the dog; but he never came, though I stayed an hour longer
than I appointed; so I went in my old gown, and sat with him two hours,
but could not talk over some business I had with him; so he has desired
me to dine with him on Sunday, and I must disappoint the Secretary.  My
lord set me down at a coffee-house, where I waited for the Dean of
Carlisle’s chariot to bring me to Chelsea; for it has rained prodigiously
all this afternoon.  The Dean did not come himself, but sent me his
chariot, which has cost me two shillings to the coachman; and so I am got
home, and Lord knows what is become of Patrick.  I think I must send him
over to you; for he is an intolerable rascal.  If I had come without a
gown, he would have served me so, though my life and preferment should
have lain upon it: and I am making a livery for him will cost me four
pounds; but I will order the tailor to-morrow to stop till further
orders.  My Lord Oxford can’t yet abide to be called “my lord”; and when
I called him “my lord,” he called me “Dr. Thomas Swift,” {225a} which he
always does when he has a mind to tease me.  By a second hand, he
proposed my being his chaplain, which I by a second hand excused; but we
had no talk of it to-day: but I will be no man’s chaplain alive.  But I
must go and be busy.

26.  I never saw Patrick till this morning, and that only once, for I
dressed myself without him; and when I went to town he was out of the
way.  I immediately sent for the tailor, and ordered him to stop his hand
in Patrick’s clothes till further orders.  Oh, if it were in Ireland, I
should have turned him off ten times ago; and it is no regard to him, but
myself, that has made me keep him so long.  Now I am afraid to give the
rogue his clothes.  What shall I do?  I wish MD were here to entreat for
him, just here at the bed’s side.  Lady Ashburnham {225b} has been
engaging me this long time to dine with her, and I set to-day apart for
it; and whatever was the mistake, she sent me word she was at dinner and
undressed, but would be glad to see me in the afternoon: so I dined with
Mrs. Vanhomrigh, and would not go to see her at all, in a huff.  My fine
Florence is turning sour with a vengeance, and I have not drunk half of
it.  As I was coming home to-night, Sir Thomas Mansel and Tom Harley
{225c} met me in the Park, and made me walk with them till nine, like
unreasonable whelps; so I got not here till ten: but it was a fine
evening, and the foot-path clean enough already after this hard rain.

27.  Going this morning to town, I saw two old lame fellows, walking to a
brandy-shop, and when they got to the door, stood a long time
complimenting who should go in first.  Though this be no jest to tell, it
was an admirable one to see.  I dined to-day with my Lord Oxford and the
ladies, the new Countess, and Lady Betty, {226a} who has been these three
days a lady born.  My lord left us at seven, and I had no time to speak
to him about some affairs; but he promises in a day or two we shall dine
alone; which is mighty likely, considering we expect every moment that
the Queen will give him the staff, and then he will be so crowded he will
be good for nothing: for aught I know he may have it to-night at Council.

28.  I had a petition sent me t’other day from one Stephen Gernon,
setting forth that he formerly lived with Harry Tenison, {226b} who gave
him an employment of gauger, and that he was turned out after Harry’s
death, and came for England, and is now starving, or, as he expresses it,
_that the staff of life has been of late a stranger to his appetite_.
To-day the poor fellow called, and I knew him very well, a young slender
fellow with freckles in his face: you must remember him; he waited at
table as a better sort of servant.  I gave him a crown, and promised to
do what I could to help him to a service, which I did for Harry Tenison’s
memory.  It was bloody hot walking to-day, and I was so lazy I dined
where my new gown was, at Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s, and came back like a fool,
and the Dean of Carlisle has sat with me till eleven.  Lord Oxford has
not the staff yet.

29.  I was this morning in town by ten, though it was shaving-day, and
went to the Secretary about some affairs, then visited the Duke and
Duchess of Ormond; but the latter was dressing to go out, and I could not
see her.  My Lord Oxford had the staff given him this morning; so now I
must call him Lord Oxford no more, but Lord Treasurer: I hope he will
stick there: this is twice he has changed his name this week; and I heard
to-day in the City (where I dined) that he will very soon have the
Garter.—Pr’ythee, do not you observe how strangely I have changed my
company and manner of living?  I never go to a coffee-house; you hear no
more of Addison, Steele, Henley, Lady Lucy, Mrs. Finch, {227a} Lord
Somers, Lord Halifax, etc.  I think I have altered for the better.  Did I
tell you the Archbishop of Dublin has writ me a long letter of a squabble
in your town about choosing a Mayor, and that he apprehended some censure
for the share he had in it? {227b}  I have not heard anything of it here;
but I shall not be always able to defend him.  We hear your Bishop
Hickman is dead; {227c} but nobody here will do anything for me in
Ireland; so they may die as fast or slow as they please.—Well, you are
constant to your deans, and your Stoyte, and your Walls.  Walls will have
her tea soon; Parson Richardson is either going or gone to Ireland, and
has it with him.  I hear Mr. Lewis has two letters for me: I could not
call for them to-day, but will to-morrow; and perhaps one of them may be
from our little MD, who knows, man? who can tell?  Many a more unlikely
thing has happened.—Pshaw, I write so plaguy little, I can hardly see it
myself.  _Write bigger_, _sirrah_ {227d} Presto.  No, but I won’t.  Oh,
you are a saucy rogue, Mr. Presto, you are so impudent.  Come, dear
rogues, let Presto go to sleep; I have been with the Dean, and ’tis near
twelve.

30.  I am so hot and lazy after my morning’s walk, that I loitered at
Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s, where my best gown and periwig are, and out of mere
listlessness dine there very often; so I did to-day; but I got little
MD’s letter, N. 15 (you see, sirrahs, I remember to tell the number),
from Mr. Lewis, and I read it in a closet they lend me at Mrs. Van’s; and
I find Stella is a saucy rogue and a great writer, and can write finely
still when her hand is in, and her pen good.  When I came here to-night,
I had a mighty mind to go swim after I was cool, for my lodging is just
by the river; and I went down with only my nightgown and slippers on at
eleven, but came up again; however, one of these nights I will venture.

31.  I was so hot this morning with my walk, that I resolve to do so no
more during this violent burning weather.  It is comical that now we
happen to have such heat to ripen the fruit there has been the greatest
blast that was ever known, and almost all the fruit is despaired of.  I
dined with Lord Shelburne: Lady Kerry and Mrs. Pratt are going to
Ireland.  I went this evening to Lord Treasurer, and sat about two hours
with him in mixed company; he left us, and went to Court, and carried two
staves with him, so I suppose we shall have a new Lord Steward or
Comptroller to-morrow; I smoked that State secret out by that accident.
I will not answer your letter yet, sirrahs; no I won’t, madam.

June 1.  I wish you a merry month of June.  I dined again with the Vans
and Sir Andrew Fountaine.  I always give them a flask of my Florence,
which now begins to spoil, but it is near an end.  I went this afternoon
to Mrs. Vedeau’s, and brought away Madam Dingley’s parchment and letter
of attorney.  Mrs. Vedeau tells me she has sent the bill a fortnight ago.
I will give the parchment to Ben Tooke, and you shall send him a letter
of attorney at your leisure, enclosed to Mr. Presto.  Yes, I now think
your mackerel is full as good as ours, which I did not think formerly.  I
was bit about two staves, for there is no new officer made to-day.  This
letter will find you still in Dublin, I suppose, or at Donnybrook, or
losing your money at Walls’ (how does she do?).

2.  I missed this day by a blunder and dining in the City. {229a}

3.  No boats on Sunday, never: so I was forced to walk, and so hot by the
time I got to Ford’s lodging that I was quite spent; I think the weather
is mad.  I could not go to church.  I dined with the Secretary as usual,
and old Colonel Graham {229b} that lived at Bagshot Heath, and they said
it was Colonel Graham’s house.  Pshaw, I remember it very well, when I
used to go for a walk to London from Moor Park.  What, I warrant you do
not remember the Golden Farmer {229c} neither, figgarkick soley? {229d}

4.  When must we answer this letter, this N. 15 of our little MD?  Heat
and laziness, and Sir Andrew Fountaine, made me dine to-day again at Mrs.
Van’s; and, in short, this weather is unsupportable: how is it with you?
Lady Betty Butler and Lady Ashburnham sat with me two or three hours this
evening in my closet at Mrs. Van’s.  They are very good girls; and if
Lady Betty went to Ireland, you should let her be acquainted with you.
How does Dingley do this hot weather?  Stella, I think, never complains
of it; she loves hot weather.  There has not been a drop of rain since
Friday se’ennight.  Yes, you do love hot weather, naughty Stella, you do
so; and Presto can’t abide it.  Be a good girl then, and I will love you;
and love one another, and don’t be quarrelling girls.

5.  I dined in the City to-day, and went from hence early to town, and
visited the Duke of Ormond and Mr. Secretary.  They say my Lord Treasurer
has a dead warrant in his pocket; they mean a list of those who are to be
turned out of employment; and we every day now expect those changes.  I
passed by the Treasury to-day, and saw vast crowds waiting to give Lord
Treasurer petitions as he passes by.  He is now at the top of power and
favour: he keeps no levees yet.  I am cruel thirsty this hot weather.—I
am just this minute going to swim.  I take Patrick down with me, to hold
my nightgown, shirt, and slippers, and borrow a napkin of my landlady for
a cap.  So farewell till I come up; but there is no danger, don’t be
frighted.—I have been swimming this half-hour and more; and when I was
coming out I dived, to make my head and all through wet, like a cold
bath; but, as I dived, the napkin fell off and is lost, and I have that
to pay for.  O, faith, the great stones were so sharp, I could hardly set
my feet on them as I came out.  It was pure and warm.  I got to bed, and
will now go sleep.

6.  Morning.  This letter shall go to-morrow; so I will answer yours when
I come home to-night.  I feel no hurt from last night’s swimming.  I lie
with nothing but the sheet over me, and my feet quite bare.  I must rise
and go to town before the tide is against me.  Morrow, sirrahs; dear
sirrahs, morrow.—At night.  I never felt so hot a day as this since I was
born.  I dined with Lady Betty Germaine, and there was the young Earl of
Berkeley {230a} and his fine lady.  I never saw her before, nor think her
near so handsome as she passes for.—After dinner, Mr. Bertue {230b} would
not let me put ice in my wine, but said my Lord Dorchester {230c} got the
bloody flux with it, and that it was the worst thing in the world.  Thus
are we plagued, thus are we plagued; yet I have done it five or six times
this summer, and was but the drier and the hotter for it.  Nothing makes
me so excessively peevish as hot weather.  Lady Berkeley after dinner
clapped my hat on another lady’s head, and she in roguery put it upon the
rails.  I minded them not; but in two minutes they called me to the
window, and Lady Carteret {231a} showed me my hat out of her window five
doors off, where I was forced to walk to it, and pay her and old Lady
Weymouth {231b} a visit, with some more beldames.  Then I went and drank
coffee, and made one or two puns, with Lord Pembroke, {231c} and designed
to go to Lord Treasurer; but it was too late, and beside I was half
broiled, and broiled without butter; for I never sweat after dinner, if I
drink any wine.  Then I sat an hour with Lady Betty Butler at tea, and
everything made me hotter and drier.  Then I walked home, and was here by
ten, so miserably hot, that I was in as perfect a passion as ever I was
in my life at the greatest affront or provocation.  Then I sat an hour,
till I was quite dry and cool enough to go swim; which I did, but with so
much vexation that I think I have given it over: for I was every moment
disturbed by boats, rot them; and that puppy Patrick, standing ashore,
would let them come within a yard or two, and then call sneakingly to
them.  The only comfort I proposed here in hot weather is gone; for there
is no jesting with those boats after it is dark: I had none last night.
I dived to dip my head, and held my cap on with both my hands, for fear
of losing it.  Pox take the boats!  Amen.  ’Tis near twelve, and so I’ll
answer your letter (it strikes twelve now) to-morrow morning.

7.  Morning.  Well, now let us answer MD’s letter, N. 15, 15, 15, 15.
Now have I told you the number?  15, 15; there, impudence, to call names
in the beginning of your letter, before you say, How do you do, Mr.
Presto?  There is your breeding!  Where is your manners, sirrah, to a
gentleman?  Get you gone, you couple of jades.—No, I never sit up late
now; but this abominable hot weather will force me to eat or drink
something that will do me hurt.  I do venture to eat a few
strawberries.—Why then, do you know in Ireland that Mr. St. John talked
so in Parliament? {232a}  Your Whigs are plaguily bit; for he is entirely
for their being all out.—And are you as vicious in snuff as ever?  I
believe, as you say, it does neither hurt nor good; but I have left it
off, and when anybody offers me their box, I take about a tenth part of
what I used to do, and then just smell to it, and privately fling the
rest away.  I keep to my tobacco still, {232b} as you say; but even much
less of that than formerly, only mornings and evenings, and very seldom
in the day.—As for Joe, {232c} I have recommended his case heartily to my
Lord Lieutenant; and, by his direction, given a memorial of it to Mr.
Southwell, to whom I have recommended it likewise.  I can do no more, if
he were my brother.  His business will be to apply himself to Southwell.
And you must desire Raymond, if Price of Galway comes to town, to desire
him to wait on Mr. Southwell, as recommended by me for one of the Duke’s
chaplains, which was all I could do for him; and he must be presented to
the Duke, and make his court, and ply about, and find out some vacancy,
and solicit early for it.  The bustle about your Mayor I had before, as I
told you, from the Archbishop of Dublin.  Was Raymond not come till May
18?  So he says fine things of me?  Certainly he lies.  I am sure I used
him indifferently enough; and we never once dined together, or walked, or
were in any third place; only he came sometimes to my lodgings, and even
there was oftener denied than admitted.—What an odd bill is that you sent
of Raymond’s!  A bill upon one Murry in Chester, which depends entirely
not only upon Raymond’s honesty, but his discretion; and in money matters
he is the last man I would depend on.  Why should Sir Alexander Cairnes
{232d} in London pay me a bill, drawn by God knows who, upon Murry in
Chester?  I was at Cairnes’s, and they can do no such thing.  I went
among some friends, who are merchants, and I find the bill must be sent
to Murry, accepted by him, and then returned back, and then Cairnes may
accept or refuse it as he pleases.  Accordingly I gave Sir Thomas
Frankland the bill, who has sent it to Chester, and ordered the
postmaster there to get it accepted, and then send it back, and in a day
or two I shall have an answer; and therefore this letter must stay a day
or two longer than I intended, and see what answer I get.  Raymond should
have written to Murry at the same time, to desire Sir Alexander Cairnes
to have answered such a bill, if it come.  But Cairnes’s clerks (himself
was not at home) said they had received no notice of it, and could do
nothing; and advised me to send to Murry.—I have been six weeks to-day at
Chelsea, and you know it but just now.  And so Dean — thinks I write the
_Medley_.  Pox of his judgment!  It is equal to his honesty.  Then you
han’t seen the _Miscellany_ yet? {233a}  Why, ’tis a four-shilling book:
has nobody carried it over?—No, I believe Manley {233b} will not lose his
place; for his friend {233c} in England is so far from being out that he
has taken a new patent since the Post Office Act; and his brother Jack
Manley {233d} here takes his part firmly; and I have often spoken to
Southwell in his behalf, and he seems very well inclined to him.  But the
Irish folks here in general are horribly violent against him.  Besides,
he must consider he could not send Stella wine if he were put out.  And
so he is very kind, and sends you a dozen bottles of wine _at a time_,
and you win eight shillings _at a time_; and how much do you lose?  No,
no, never one syllable about that, I warrant you.—Why, this same Stella
is so unmerciful a writer, she has hardly left any room for Dingley.  If
you have such summer there as here, sure the Wexford waters are good by
this time.  I forgot what weather we had May 6th; go look in my journal.
We had terrible rain the 24th and 25th, and never a drop since.  Yes,
yes, I remember Berested’s bridge; the coach sosses up and down as one
goes that way, just as at Hockley-in-the-Hole. {234a}  I never impute any
illness or health I have to good or ill weather, but to want of exercise,
or ill air, or something I have eaten, or hard study, or sitting up; and
so I fence against those as well as I can: but who a deuce can help the
weather?  Will Seymour, {234b} the General, was excessively hot with the
sun shining full upon him; so he turns to the sun, and says, “Harkee,
friend, you had better go and ripen cucumbers than plague me at this
rate,” etc.  Another time, fretting at the heat, a gentleman by said it
was such weather as pleased God: Seymour said, “Perhaps it may; but I am
sure it pleases nobody else.”  Why, Madam Dingley, the First-Fruits are
done.  Southwell told me they went to inquire about them, and Lord
Treasurer said they were done, and had been done long ago.  And I’ll tell
you a secret you must not mention, that the Duke of Ormond is ordered to
take notice of them in his speech in your Parliament: and I desire you
will take care to say on occasion that my Lord Treasurer Harley did it
many months ago, before the Duke was Lord Lieutenant.  And yet I cannot
possibly come over yet: so get you gone to Wexford, and make Stella well.
Yes, yes, I take care not to walk late; I never did but once, and there
are five hundred people on the way as I walk. Tisdall is a puppy, and I
will excuse him the half-hour he would talk with me.  As for the
_Examiner_, I have heard a whisper that after that of this day, {234c}
which tells us what this Parliament has done, you will hardly find them
so good.  I prophesy they will be trash for the future; and methinks in
this day’s _Examiner_ the author talks doubtfully, as if he would write
no more. {235a}  Observe whether the change be discovered in Dublin, only
for your own curiosity, that’s all.  Make a mouth there.  Mrs. Vedeau’s
business I have answered, and I hope the bill is not lost.  Morrow.  ’Tis
stewing hot, but I must rise and go to town between fire and water.
Morrow, sirrahs both, morrow.—At night.  I dined to-day with Colonel
Crowe, Governor of Jamaica, and your friend Sterne.  I presented Sterne
to my Lord Treasurer’s brother, {235b} and gave him his case, and engaged
him in his favour.  At dinner there fell the swingingest long shower, and
the most grateful to me, that ever I saw: it thundered fifty times at
least, and the air is so cool that a body is able to live; and I walked
home to-night with comfort, and without dirt.  I went this evening to
Lord Treasurer, and sat with him two hours, and we were in very good
humour, and he abused me, and called me Dr. Thomas Swift fifty times: I
have told you he does that when he has mind to make me mad. {235c}  Sir
Thomas Frankland gave me to-day a letter from Murry, accepting my bill;
so all is well: only, by a letter from Parvisol, I find there are some
perplexities.—Joe has likewise written to me, to thank me for what I have
done for him; and desires I would write to the Bishop of Clogher, that
Tom Ashe {235d} may not hinder his father {235e} from being portreve.  I
have written and sent to Joe several times, that I will not trouble
myself at all about Trim.  I wish them their liberty, but they do not
deserve it: so tell Joe, and send to him.  I am mighty happy with this
rain: I was at the end of my patience, but now I live again.  This cannot
go till Saturday; and perhaps I may go out of town with Lord Shelburne
and Lady Kerry to-morrow for two or three days.  Lady Kerry has written
to desire it; but to-morrow I shall know farther.—O this dear rain, I
cannot forbear praising it: I never felt myself to be revived so in my
life.  It lasted from three till five, hard as a horn, and mixed with
hail.

8.  Morning.  I am going to town, and will just finish this there, if I
go into the country with Lady Kerry and Lord Shelburne: so morrow, till
an hour or two hence.—In town.  I met Cairnes, who, I suppose, will pay
me the money; though he says I must send him the bill first, and I will
get it done in absence.  Farewell, etc. etc.



LETTER XXV.


            CHELSEA, _June_ 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20.

I HAVE been all this time at Wycombe, between Oxford and London, with
Lord Shelburne, who has the squire’s house at the town’s end, and an
estate there in a delicious country.  Lady Kerry and Mrs. Pratt were with
us, and we passed our time well enough; and there I wholly disengaged
myself from all public thoughts, and everything but MD, who had the
impudence to send me a letter there; but I’ll be revenged: I will answer
it.  This day, the 20th, I came from Wycombe with Lady Kerry after
dinner, lighted at Hyde Park Corner, and walked: it was twenty-seven
miles, and we came it in about five hours.

21.  I went at noon to see Mr. Secretary at his office, and there was
Lord Treasurer: so I killed two birds, etc., and we were glad to see one
another, and so forth.  And the Secretary and I dined at Sir William
Wyndham’s, {236} who married Lady Catharine Seymour, your acquaintance, I
suppose.  There were ten of us at dinner.  It seems, in my absence, they
had erected a Club, {237a} and made me one; and we made some laws to-day,
which I am to digest and add to, against next meeting.  Our meetings are
to be every Thursday.  We are yet but twelve: Lord Keeper and Lord
Treasurer were proposed; but I was against them, and so was Mr.
Secretary, though their sons are of it, and so they are excluded; but we
design to admit the Duke of Shrewsbury.  The end of our Club is, to
advance conversation and friendship, and to reward deserving persons with
our interest and recommendation.  We take in none but men of wit or men
of interest; and if we go on as we begin, no other Club in this town will
be worth talking of.  The Solicitor-General, Sir Robert Raymond, is one
of our Club; and I ordered him immediately to write to your Lord
Chancellor in favour of Dr. Raymond: so tell Raymond, if you see him; but
I believe this will find you at Wexford.  This letter will come three
weeks after the last, so there is a week lost; but that is owing to my
being out of town; yet I think it is right, because it goes enclosed to
Mr. Reading: {237b} and why should he know how often Presto writes to MD,
pray?—I sat this evening with Lady Betty Butler and Lady Ashburnham, and
then came home by eleven, and had a good cool walk; for we have had no
extreme hot weather this fortnight, but a great deal of rain at times,
and a body can live and breathe.  I hope it will hold so.  We had peaches
to-day.

22.  I went late to-day to town, and dined with my friend Lewis.  I saw
Will Congreve attending at the Treasury, by order, with his brethren, the
Commissioners of the Wine Licences.  I had often mentioned him with
kindness to Lord Treasurer; and Congreve told me that, after they had
answered to what they were sent for, my lord called him privately, and
spoke to him with great kindness, promising his protection, etc.  The
poor man said he had been used so ill of late years that he was quite
astonished at my lord’s goodness, etc., and desired me to tell my lord
so; which I did this evening, and recommended him heartily.  My lord
assured me he esteemed him very much, and would be always kind to him;
that what he said was to make Congreve easy, because he knew people
talked as if his lordship designed to turn everybody out, and
particularly Congreve: which indeed was true, for the poor man told me he
apprehended it.  As I left my Lord Treasurer, I called on Congreve
(knowing where he dined), and told him what had passed between my lord
and me; so I have made a worthy man easy, and that is a good day’s work.
{238a}  I am proposing to my lord to erect a society or academy for
correcting and settling our language, that we may not perpetually be
changing as we do.  He enters mightily into it, so does the Dean of
Carlisle; {238b} and I design to write a letter to Lord Treasurer with
the proposals of it, and publish it; {238c} and so I told my lord, and he
approves it.  Yesterday’s {238d} was a sad _Examiner_, and last week was
very indifferent, though some little scraps of the old spirit, as if he
had given some hints; but yesterday’s is all trash.  It is plain the hand
is changed.

23.  I have not been in London to-day: for Dr. Gastrell {238e} and I
dined, by invitation, with the Dean of Carlisle, my neighbour; so I know
not what they are doing in the world, a mere country gentleman.  And are
not you ashamed both to go into the country just when I did, and stay ten
days, just as I did, saucy monkeys?  But I never rode; I had no horses,
and our coach was out of order, and we went and came in a hired one.  Do
you keep your lodgings when you go to Wexford?  I suppose you do; for you
will hardly stay above two months.  I have been walking about our town
to-night, and it is a very scurvy place for walking.  I am thinking to
leave it, and return to town, now the Irish folks are gone.  Ford goes in
three days.  How does Dingley divert herself while Stella is riding?
work, or read, or walk?  Does Dingley ever read to you?  Had you ever a
book with you in the country?  Is all that left off?  Confess.  Well,
I’ll go sleep; ’tis past eleven, and I go early to sleep: I write nothing
at night but to MD.

24.  Stratford and I, and Pastoral Philips (just come from Denmark) dined
at Ford’s to-day, who paid his way, and goes for Ireland on Tuesday.  The
Earl of Peterborow is returned from Vienna without one servant: he left
them scattered in several towns of Germany.  I had a letter from him,
four days ago, from Hanover, where he desires I would immediately send
him an answer to his house at Parson’s Green, {239} about five miles off.
I wondered what he meant, till I heard he was come.  He sent expresses,
and got here before them.  He is above fifty, and as active as one of
five-and-twenty.  I have not seen him yet, nor know when I shall, or
where to find him.

25.  Poor Duke of Shrewsbury has been very ill of a fever: we were all in
a fright about him: I thank God, he is better.  I dined to-day at Lord
Ashburnham’s, with his lady, for he was not at home: she is a very good
girl, and always a great favourite of mine.  Sterne tells me he has
desired a friend to receive your box in Chester, and carry it over.  I
fear he will miscarry in his business, which was sent to the Treasury
before he was recommended; for I was positive only to second his
recommendations, and all his other friends failed him.  However, on your
account I will do what I can for him to-morrow with the secretary of the
Treasury.

26.  We had much company to-day at dinner at Lord Treasurer’s.  Prior
never fails: he is a much better courtier than I; and we expect every day
that he will be a Commissioner of the Customs, and that in a short time a
great many more will be turned out.  They blame Lord Treasurer for his
slowness in turning people out; but I suppose he has his reasons.  They
still keep my neighbour Atterbury in suspense about the deanery of Christ
Church, {240a} which has been above six months vacant, and he is heartily
angry.  I reckon you are now preparing for your Wexford expedition; and
poor Dingley is full of carking and caring, scolding.  How long will you
stay?  Shall I be in Dublin before you return?  Don’t fall and hurt
yourselves, nor overturn the coach.  Love one another, and be good girls;
and drink Presto’s health in water, Madam Stella; and in good ale, Madam
Dingley.

27.  The Secretary appointed me to dine with him to-day, and we were to
do a world of business: he came at four, and brought Prior with him, and
had forgot the appointment, and no business was done.  I left him at
eight, and went to change my gown at Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s; and there was Sir
Andrew Fountaine at ombre with Lady Ashburnham and Lady Frederic
Schomberg, and Lady Mary Schomberg, {240b} and Lady Betty Butler, and
others, talking; and it put me in mind of the Dean and Stoyte, and Walls,
and Stella at play, and Dingley and I looking on.  I stayed with them
till ten, like a fool.  Lady Ashburnham is something like Stella; so I
helped her, and wished her good cards.  It is late, etc.

28.  Well, but I must answer this letter of our MD’s.  Saturday
approaches, and I han’t written down this side.  O, faith, Presto has
been a sort of a lazy fellow: but Presto will remove to town this day
se’ennight; the Secretary has commanded me to do so; and I believe he and
I shall go for some days to Windsor, where he will have leisure to mind
some business we have together.  To-day, our Society (it must not be
called a Club) dined at Mr. Secretary’s: we were but eight; the rest sent
excuses, or were out of town.  We sat till eight, and made some laws and
settlements; and then I went to take leave of Lady Ashburnham, who goes
out of town to-morrow, as a great many of my acquaintance are already,
and left the town very thin.  I shall make but short journeys this
summer, and not be long out of London.  The days are grown sensibly short
already, all our fruit blasted.  Your Duke of Ormond is still at Chester;
and perhaps this letter will be with you as soon as he.  Sterne’s
business is quite blown up: they stand to it to send him back to the
Commissioners of the Revenue in Ireland for a reference, and all my
credit could not alter it, though I almost fell out with the secretary of
the Treasury, {241} who is my Lord Treasurer’s cousin-germain, and my
very good friend.  It seems every step he has hitherto taken hath been
wrong; at least they say so, and that is the same thing.  I am heartily
sorry for it; and I really think they are in the wrong, and use him
hardly; but I can do no more.

29.  Steele has had the assurance to write to me that I would engage my
Lord Treasurer to keep a friend of his in an employment: I believe I told
you how he and Addison served me for my good offices in Steele’s behalf;
and I promised Lord Treasurer never to speak for either of them again.
Sir Andrew Fountaine and I dined to-day at Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s.  Dilly Ashe
has been in town this fortnight: I saw him twice; he was four days at
Lord Pembroke’s in the country, punning with him; his face is very well.
I was this evening two or three hours at Lord Treasurer’s, who called me
Dr. Thomas Swift twenty times; that’s his way of teasing.  I left him at
nine, and got home here by ten, like a gentleman; and to-morrow morning
I’ll answer your little letter, sirrahs.

30.  Morning.  I am terribly sleepy always in a morning; I believe it is
my walk over-night that disposes me to sleep: faith, ’tis now striking
eight, and I am but just awake.  Patrick comes early, and wakes me five
or six times; but I have excuses, though I am three parts asleep.  I tell
him I sat up late, or slept ill in the night, and often it is a lie.  I
have now got little MD’s letter before me, N. 16, no more, nor no less,
no mistake.  Dingley says, “This letter won’t be above six lines”; and I
was afraid it was true, though I saw it filled on both sides.  The Bishop
of Clogher writ me word you were in the country, and that he heard you
were well: I am glad at heart MD rides, and rides, and rides.  Our hot
weather ended in May, and all this month has been moderate: it was then
so hot I was not able to endure it; I was miserable every moment, and
found myself disposed to be peevish and quarrelsome: I believe a very hot
country would make me stark mad.—Yes, my head continues pretty tolerable,
and I impute it all to walking.  Does Stella eat fruit?  I eat a little;
but I always repent, and resolve against it.  No, in very hot weather I
always go to town by water; but I constantly walk back, for then the sun
is down.  And so Mrs. Proby {242} goes with you to Wexford: she’s
admirable company; you’ll grow plaguy wise with those you frequent.  Mrs.
Taylor and Mrs. Proby! take care of infection.  I believe my two hundred
pounds will be paid, but that Sir Alexander Cairnes is a scrupulous
puppy: I left the bill with Mr. Stratford, who is to have the money.
Now, Madam Stella, what say you? you ride every day; I know that already,
sirrah; and, if you rid every day for a twelvemonth, you would be still
better and better.  No, I hope Parvisol will not have the impudence to
make you stay an hour for the money; if he does, I’ll _un-parvisol_ him;
pray let me know.  O Lord, how hasty we are!  Stella can’t stay writing
and writing; she must write and go a cock-horse, pray now.  Well, but the
horses are not come to the door; the fellow can’t find the bridle; your
stirrup is broken; where did you put the whips, Dingley?  Marget, where
have you laid Mrs. Johnson’s ribbon to tie about her? reach me my mask:
sup up this before you go.  So, so, a gallop, a gallop: sit fast, sirrah,
and don’t ride hard upon the stones.—Well, now Stella is gone, tell me,
Dingley, is she a good girl? and what news is that you are to tell
me?—No, I believe the box is not lost: Sterne says it is not.—No, faith,
you must go to Wexford without seeing your Duke of Ormond, unless you
stay on purpose; perhaps you may be so wise.—I tell you this is your
sixteenth letter; will you never be satisfied?  No, no, I will walk late
no more; I ought less to venture it than other people, and so I was told:
but I will return to lodge in town next Thursday.  When you come from
Wexford, I would have you send a letter of attorney to Mr. Benjamin
Tooke, bookseller, in London, directed to me; and he shall manage your
affair.  I have your parchment safely locked up in London.—O, Madam
Stella, welcome home; was it pleasant riding? did your horse stumble? how
often did the man light to settle your stirrup? ride nine miles! faith,
you have galloped indeed.  Well, but where is the fine thing you promised
me?  I have been a good boy, ask Dingley else.  I believe you did not
meet the fine-thing-man: faith, you are a cheat.  So you will see Raymond
and his wife in town.  Faith, that riding to Laracor gives me short
sighs, as well as you.  All the days I have passed here have been dirt to
those.  I have been gaining enemies by the scores, and friends by the
couples; which is against the rules of wisdom, because they say one enemy
can do more hurt than ten friends can do good.  But I have had my revenge
at least, if I get nothing else.  And so let Fate govern.—Now I think
your letter is answered; and mine will be shorter than ordinary, because
it must go to-day.  We have had a great deal of scattering rain for some
days past, yet it hardly keeps down the dust.—We have plays acted in our
town; and Patrick was at one of them, oh oh.  He was damnably mauled one
day when he was drunk; he was at cuffs with a brother-footman, who
dragged him along the floor upon his face, which looked for a week after
as if he had the leprosy; and I was glad enough to see it.  I have been
ten times sending him over to you; yet now he has new clothes, and a
laced hat, which the hatter brought by his orders, and he offered to pay
for the lace out of his wages.—I am to dine to-day with Dilly at Sir
Andrew Fountaine’s, who has bought a new house, and will be weary of it
in half a year.  I must rise and shave, and walk to town, unless I go
with the Dean in his chariot at twelve, which is too late: and I have not
seen that Lord Peterborow yet.  The Duke of Shrewsbury is almost well
again, and will be abroad in a day or two: what care you?  There it is
now: you do not care for my friends.  Farewell, my dearest lives and
delights; I love you better than ever, if possible, as hope saved, I do,
and ever will.  God Almighty bless you ever, and make us happy together!
I pray for this twice every day; and I hope God will hear my poor hearty
prayers.—Remember, if I am used ill and ungratefully, as I have formerly
been, ’tis what I am prepared for, and shall not wonder at it.  Yet I am
now envied, and thought in high favour, and have every day numbers of
considerable men teasing me to solicit for them.  And the Ministry all
use me perfectly well; and all that know them say they love me.  Yet I
can count upon nothing, nor will, but upon MD’s love and kindness.—They
think me useful; they pretended they were afraid of none but me, and that
they resolved to have me; they have often confessed this: yet all makes
little impression on me.—Pox of these speculations! they give me the
spleen; and that is a disease I was not born to.  Let me alone, sirrahs,
and be satisfied: I am, as long as MD and Presto are well.

    Little wealth,
    And much health,
    And a life by stealth:

that is all we want; and so farewell, dearest MD; Stella, Dingley,
Presto, all together, now and for ever all together.  Farewell again and
again.



LETTER XXVI.


                                                 CHELSEA, _June_ 30, 1711.

SEE what large paper I am forced to take, to write to MD; Patrick has
brought me none clipped; but, faith, the next shall be smaller.  I dined
to-day, as I told you, with Dilly at Sir Andrew Fountaine’s: there were
we wretchedly punning, and writing together to Lord Pembroke.  Dilly is
just such a puppy as ever; and it is so uncouth, after so long an
intermission.  My twenty-fifth is gone this evening to the post.  I think
I will direct my next (which is this) to Mr. Curry’s, and let them send
it to Wexford; and then the next enclosed to Reading.  Instruct me how I
shall do.  I long to hear from you from Wexford, and what sort of place
it is.  The town grows very empty and dull.  This evening I have had a
letter from Mr. Philips, the pastoral poet, to get him a certain
employment from Lord Treasurer.  I have now had almost all the Whig poets
my solicitors; and I have been useful to Congreve, Steele, and Harrison:
but I will do nothing for Philips; I find he is more a puppy than ever,
so don’t solicit for him.  Besides, I will not trouble Lord Treasurer,
unless upon some very extraordinary occasion.

July 1.  Dilly lies conveniently for me when I come to town from Chelsea
of a Sunday, and go to the Secretary’s; so I called at his lodgings this
morning, and sent for my gown, and dressed myself there.  He had a letter
from the Bishop, with an account that you were set out for Wexford the
morning he writ, which was June 26, and he had the letter the 30th; that
was very quick: the Bishop says you design to stay there two months or
more.  Dilly had also a letter from Tom Ashe, full of Irish news; that
your Lady Lyndon {245a} is dead, and I know not what besides of Dr.
Coghill {245b} losing his drab, etc.  The Secretary was gone to Windsor,
and I dined with Mrs. Vanhomrigh.  Lord Treasurer is at Windsor too; they
will be going and coming all summer, while the Queen is there, and the
town is empty, and I fear I shall be sometimes forced to stoop beneath my
dignity, and send to the ale-house for a dinner.  Well, sirrahs, had you
a good journey to Wexford? did you drink ale by the way? were you never
overturned? how many things did you forget? do you lie on straw in your
new town where you are?  Cudshoe, {246} the next letter to Presto will be
dated from Wexford.  What fine company have you there? what new
acquaintance have you got?  You are to write constantly to Mrs. Walls and
Mrs. Stoyte: and the Dean said, “Shall we never hear from you?”  “Yes,
Mr. Dean, we’ll make bold to trouble you with a letter.”  Then at
Wexford; when you meet a lady, “Did your waters pass well this morning,
madam?”  Will Dingley drink them too?  Yes, I warrant; to get her a
stomach.  I suppose you are all gamesters at Wexford.  Do not lose your
money, sirrah, far from home.  I believe I shall go to Windsor in a few
days; at least, the Secretary tells me so.  He has a small house there,
with just room enough for him and me; and I would be satisfied to pass a
few days there sometimes.  Sirrahs, let me go to sleep, it is past twelve
in our town.

2.  Sterne came to me this morning, and tells me he has yet some hopes of
compassing his business: he was with Tom Harley, the secretary of the
Treasury, and made him doubt a little he was in the wrong; the poor man
tells me it will almost undo him if he fails.  I called this morning to
see Will Congreve, who lives much by himself, is forced to read for
amusement, and cannot do it without a magnifying-glass.  I have set him
very well with the Ministry, and I hope he is in no danger of losing his
place.  I dined in the City with Dr. Freind, not among my merchants, but
with a scrub instrument of mischief of mine, whom I never mentioned to
you, nor am like to do.  You two little saucy Wexfordians, you are now
drinking waters.  You drink waters! you go fiddlestick.  Pray God send
them to do you good; if not, faith, next summer you shall come to the
Bath.

3.  Lord Peterborow desired to see me this morning at nine; I had not
seen him before since he came home.  I met Mrs. Manley {247a} there, who
was soliciting him to get some pension or reward for her service in the
cause, by writing her _Atalantis_, and prosecution, etc., upon it.  I
seconded her, and hope they will do something for the poor woman.  My
lord kept me two hours upon politics: he comes home very sanguine; he has
certainly done great things at Savoy and Vienna, by his negotiations: he
is violent against a peace, and finds true what I writ to him, that the
Ministry seems for it.  He reasons well; yet I am for a peace.  I took
leave of Lady Kerry, who goes to-morrow for Ireland; she picks up Lord
Shelburne and Mrs. Pratt at Lord Shelburne’s house.  I was this evening
with Lord Treasurer: Tom Harley was there, and whispered me that he began
to doubt about Sterne’s business; I told him he would find he was in the
wrong.  I sat two or three hours at Lord Treasurer’s; he rallied me
sufficiently upon my refusing to take him into our Club, and told a judge
who was with us that my name was Thomas Swift.  I had a mind to prevent
Sir H. Belasyse {247b} going to Spain, who is a most covetous cur, and I
fell a railing against avarice, and turned it so that he smoked me, and
named Belasyse.  I went on, and said it was a shame to send him; to which
he agreed, but desired I would name some who understood business, and do
not love money, for he could not find them.  I said there was something
in a Treasurer different from other men; that we ought not to make a man
a Bishop who does not love divinity, or a General who does not love war;
and I wondered why the Queen would make a man Lord Treasurer who does not
love money.  He was mightily pleased with what I said.  He was talking of
the First-Fruits of England, and I took occasion to tell him that I would
not for a thousand pounds anybody but he had got them for Ireland, who
got them for England too.  He bid me consider what a thousand pounds was;
I said I would have him to know I valued a thousand pounds as little as
he valued a million.—Is it not silly to write all this? but it gives you
an idea what our conversation is with mixed company.  I have taken a
lodging in Suffolk Street, and go to it on Thursday; and design to walk
the Park and the town, to supply my walking here: yet I will walk here
sometimes too, in a visit now and then to the Dean. {248}  When I was
almost at home, Patrick told me he had two letters for me, and gave them
to me in the dark, yet I could see one of them was from saucy MD.  I went
to visit the Dean for half an hour; and then came home, and first read
the other letter, which was from the Bishop of Clogher, who tells me the
Archbishop of Dublin mentioned in a full assembly of the clergy the
Queen’s granting the First-Fruits, said it was done by the Lord
Treasurer, and talked much of my merit in it: but reading yours I find
nothing of that: perhaps the Bishop lies, out of a desire to please me.
I dined with Mrs. Vanhomrigh.  Well, sirrahs, you are gone to Wexford;
but I’ll follow you.

4.  Sterne came to me again this morning, to advise about reasons and
memorials he is drawing up; and we went to town by water together; and
having nothing to do, I stole into the City to an instrument of mine, and
then went to see poor Patty Rolt, {249a} who has been in town these two
months with a cousin of hers.  Her life passes with boarding in some
country town as cheap as she can, and, when she runs out, shifting to
some cheaper place, or coming to town for a month.  If I were rich, I
would ease her, which a little thing would do.  Some months ago I sent
her a guinea, and it patched up twenty circumstances.  She is now going
to Berkhamstead in Hertfordshire.  It has rained and hailed prodigiously
to-day, with some thunder.  This is the last night I lie at Chelsea; and
I got home early, and sat two hours with the Dean, and ate victuals,
having had a very scurvy dinner.  I’ll answer your letter when I come to
live in town.  You shall have a fine London answer: but first I will go
sleep, and dream of MD.

London, July 5.  This day I left Chelsea for good (that’s a genteel
phrase), and am got into Suffolk Street.  I dined to-day at our Society,
and we are adjourned for a month, because most of us go into the country:
we dined at Lord Keeper’s with young Harcourt, and Lord Keeper was forced
to sneak off, and dine with Lord Treasurer, who had invited the Secretary
and me to dine with him; but we scorned to leave our company, as George
Granville did, whom we have threatened to expel: however, in the evening
I went to Lord Treasurer, and, among other company, found a couple of
judges with him; one of them, Judge Powell, {249b} an old fellow with
grey hairs, was the merriest old gentleman I ever saw, spoke pleasant
things, and laughed and chuckled till he cried again.  I stayed till
eleven, because I was not now to walk to Chelsea.

6.  An ugly rainy day.  I was to visit Mrs. Barton, then called at Mrs.
Vanhomrigh’s, where Sir Andrew Fountaine and the rain kept me to dinner;
and there did I loiter all the afternoon, like a fool, out of perfect
laziness, and the weather not permitting me to walk: but I’ll do so no
more.  Are your waters at Wexford good in this rain?  I long to hear how
you are established there, how and whom you visit, what is your lodging,
what are your entertainments.  You are got far southwards; but I think
you must eat no fruit while you drink the waters.  I ate some Kentish
cherries t’other day, and I repent it already; I have felt my head a
little disordered.  We had not a hot day all June, or since, which I
reckon a mighty happiness.  Have you left a direction with Reading for
Wexford?  I will, as I said, direct this to Curry’s, and the next to
Reading; or suppose I send this at a venture straight to Wexford?  It
would vex me to have it miscarry.  I had a letter to-night from Parvisol,
that White has paid me most of my remaining money; and another from Joe,
that they have had their election at Trim, but not a word of who is
chosen portreeve. {250a}  Poor Joe is full of complaints, says he has
enemies, and fears he will never get his two hundred pounds; and I fear
so too, although I have done what I could.—I’ll answer your letter when I
think fit, when saucy Presto thinks fit, sirrahs.  I am not at leisure
yet; when I have nothing to do, perhaps I may vouchsafe.—O Lord, the two
Wexford ladies; I’ll go dream of you both.

7.  It was the dismallest rainy day I ever saw: I went to the Secretary
in the morning, and he was gone to Windsor.  Then it began raining, and I
struck in to Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s, and dined, and stayed till night very
dull and insipid.  I hate this town in summer; I’ll leave it for a while,
if I can have time.

8.  I have a fellow of your town, one Tisdall, {250b} lodges in the same
house with me.  Patrick told me Squire Tisdall and his lady lodged here.
I pretended I never heard of him; but I knew his ugly face, and saw him
at church in the next pew to me, and he often looked for a bow, but it
would not do.  I think he lives in Capel Street, and has an ugly fine
wife in a fine coach.  Dr. Freind and I dined in the City by invitation,
and I drank punch, very good, but it makes me hot.  People here are
troubled with agues by this continuance of wet, cold weather; but I am
glad to find the season so temperate.  I was this evening to see Will
Congreve, who is a very agreeable companion.

9.  I was to-day in the City, and dined with Mr. Stratford, who tells me
Sir Alexander Cairnes makes difficulties about paying my bill; so that I
cannot give order yet to Parvisol to deliver up the bond to Dr. Raymond.
To-morrow I shall have a positive answer: that Cairnes is a shuffling
scoundrel; and several merchants have told me so: what can one expect
from a Scot and a fanatic?  I was at Bateman’s the bookseller’s, to see a
fine old library he has bought; and my fingers itched, as yours would do
at a china-shop; but I resisted, and found everything too dear, and I
have fooled away too much money that way already.  So go and drink your
waters, saucy rogue, and make yourself well; and pray walk while you are
there: I have a notion there is never a good walk in Ireland. {251}  Do
you find all places without trees?  Pray observe the inhabitants about
Wexford; they are old English; see what they have particular in their
manners, names, and language: magpies have been always there, and nowhere
else in Ireland, till of late years.  They say the cocks and dogs go to
sleep at noon, and so do the people.  Write your travels, and bring home
good eyes and health.

10.  I dined to-day with Lord Treasurer: we did not sit down till four.
I despatched three businesses with him, and forgot a fourth.  I think I
have got a friend an employment; and besides I made him consent to let me
bring Congreve to dine with him.  You must understand I have a mind to do
a small thing, only turn out all the Queen’s physicians; for in my
conscience they will soon kill her among them.  And I must talk over that
matter with some people.  My Lord Treasurer told me the Queen and he
between them have lost the paper about the First-Fruits, but desires I
will let the bishops know it shall be done with the first opportunity.

11.  I dined to-day with neighbour Van, and walked pretty well in the
Park this evening.  Stella, hussy, don’t you remember, sirrah, you used
to reproach me about meddling in other folk’s affairs?  I have enough of
it now: two people came to me to-night in the Park to engage to speak to
Lord Treasurer in their behalf, and I believe they make up fifty who have
asked me the same favour.  I am hardened, and resolve to trouble him, or
any other Minister, less than ever.  And I observe those who have ten
times more credit than I will not speak a word for anybody.  I met
yesterday the poor lad I told you of, who lived with Mr. Tenison, {252a}
who has been ill of an ague ever since I saw him.  He looked wretchedly,
and was exceeding thankful for half a crown I gave him.  He had a crown
from me before.

12.  I dined to-day with young Manley {252b} in the City, who is to get
me out a box of books and a hamper of wine from Hamburg.  I inquired of
Mr. Stratford, who tells me that Cairnes has not yet paid my two hundred
pounds, but shams and delays from day to day.  Young Manley’s wife is a
very indifferent person of a young woman, goggle-eyed, and looks like a
fool: yet he is a handsome fellow, and married her for love after long
courtship, and she refused him until he got his last employment.—I
believe I shall not be so good a boy for writing as I was during your
stay at Wexford, unless I may send my letters every second time to
Curry’s; pray let me know.  This, I think, shall go there: or why not to
Wexford itself?  That is right, and so it shall this next Tuesday,
although it costs you tenpence.  What care I?

13.  This toad of a Secretary is come from Windsor, and I cannot find
him; and he goes back on Sunday, and I can’t see him to-morrow.  I dined
scurvily to-day with Mr. Lewis and a parson; and then went to see Lord
Treasurer, and met him coming from his house in his coach: he smiled, and
I shrugged, and we smoked each other; and so my visit is paid.  I now
confine myself to see him only twice a week: he has invited me to
Windsor, and betwixt two stools, etc.  I will go live at Windsor, if
possible, that’s pozzz.  I have always the luck to pass my summer in
London.  I called this evening to see poor Sir Matthew Dudley, a
Commissioner of the Customs; I know he is to be out for certain: he is in
hopes of continuing: I would not tell him bad news, but advised him to
prepare for the worst.  Dilly was with me this morning, to invite me to
dine at Kensington on Sunday with Lord Mountjoy, who goes soon for
Ireland.  Your late Chief-Justice Broderick {253a} is here, and they say
violent as a tiger.  How is party among you at Wexford?  Are the majority
of ladies for the late or present Ministry?  Write me Wexford news, and
love Presto, because he is a good boy.

14.  Although it was shaving-day, I walked to Chelsea, and was there by
nine this morning; and the Dean of Carlisle and I crossed the water to
Battersea, and went in his chariot to Greenwich, where we dined at Dr.
Gastrell’s, and passed the afternoon at Lewisham, at the Dean of
Canterbury’s; {253b} and there I saw Moll Stanhope, {253c} who is grown
monstrously tall, but not so handsome as formerly.  It is the first
little rambling journey I have had this summer about London, and they are
the agreeablest pastimes one can have, in a friend’s coach, and to good
company.  Bank Stock is fallen three or four per cent. by the whispers
about the town of the Queen’s being ill, who is however very well.

15.  How many books have you carried with you to Wexford?  What, not one
single book?  Oh, but your time will be so taken up; and you can borrow
of the parson.  I dined to-day with Sir Andrew Fountaine and Dilly at
Kensington with Lord Mountjoy; and in the afternoon Stratford came there,
and told me my two hundred pounds were paid at last; so that business is
over, and I am at ease about it; and I wish all your money was in the
Bank too.  I will have my other hundred pounds there, that is in
Hawkshaw’s hands.  Have you had the interest of it paid yet?  I ordered
Parvisol to do it.  What makes Presto write so crooked?  I will answer
your letter to-morrow, and send it on Tuesday.  Here’s hot weather come
again, yesterday and to-day: fine drinking waters now.  We had a sad pert
dull parson at Kensington to-day.  I almost repent my coming to town; I
want the walks I had.

16.  I dined in the City to-day with a hedge {254} acquaintance, and the
day passed without any consequence.  I will answer your letter to-morrow.

17.  Morning.  I have put your letter before me, and am going to answer
it.  Hold your tongue: stand by.  Your weather and ours were not alike;
we had not a bit of hot weather in June, yet you complain of it on the
19th day.  What, you used to love hot weather then?  I could never endure
it: I detest and abominate it.  I would not live in a hot country, to be
king of it.  What a splutter you keep about my bonds with Raymond, and
all to affront Presto!  Presto will be suspicious of everything but MD,
in spite of your little nose.  Soft and fair, Madam Stella, how you
gallop away, in your spleen and your rage, about repenting my journey,
and preferment here, and sixpence a dozen, and nasty England, and Laracor
all my life.  Hey-dazy, will you never have done?  I had no offers of any
living.  Lord Keeper told me some months ago he would give me one when I
pleased; but I told him I would not take any from him; and the Secretary
told me t’other day he had refused a very good one for me, but it was in
a place he did not like; and I know nothing of getting anything here,
and, if they would give me leave, I would come over just now.  Addison, I
hear, has changed his mind about going over; but I have not seen him
these four months.—Oh ay, that’s true, Dingley; that’s like herself:
millions of businesses to do before she goes.  Yes, my head has been
pretty well, but threatening within these two or three days, which I
impute to some fruit I ate; but I will eat no more: not a bit of any
sort.  I suppose you had a journey without dust, and that was happy.  I
long for a Wexford letter, but must not think of it yet: your last was
finished but three weeks ago.  It is d—d news you tell me of Mrs. F—; it
makes me love England less a great deal.  I know nothing of the trunk
being left or taken; so ’tis odd enough, if the things in it were mine;
and I think I was told that there are some things for me that my mother
left particularly to me.  I am really sorry for —; that scoundrel — will
have his estate after his mother’s death.  Let me know if Mrs. Walls has
got her tea: I hope Richardson {255a} stayed in Dublin till it came.
Mrs. Walls needed not have that blemish in her eye; for I am not in love
with her at all.  No, I do not like anything in the _Examiner_ after the
45th, except the first part of the 46th; {255b} all the rest is trash;
and if you like them, especially the 47th, your judgment is spoiled by
ill company and want of reading, which I am more sorry for than you
think: and I have spent fourteen years in improving you to little
purpose.  (Mr. Tooke is come here, and I must stop.)—At night.  I dined
with Lord Treasurer to-day, and he kept me till nine; so I cannot send
this to-night, as I intended, nor write some other letters.  Green,
{255c} his surgeon, was there, and dressed his breast; that is, put on a
plaster, which is still requisite: and I took an opportunity to speak to
him of the Queen; but he cut me short with this saying, “_Laissez faire à
Don Antoine_,” which is a French proverb, expressing, “Leave that to me.”
I find he is against her taking much physic; and I doubt he cannot
persuade her to take Dr. Radcliffe.  However, she is very well now, and
all the story of her illness, except the first day or two, was a lie.  We
had some business, that company hindered us from doing, though he is
earnest for it, yet would not appoint me a certain day, but bids me come
at all times till we can have leisure.  This takes up a great deal of my
time, and I can do nothing I would do for them.  I was with the Secretary
this morning, and we both think to go to Windsor for some days, to
despatch an affair, if we can have leisure.  Sterne met me just now in
the street by his lodgings, and I went in for an hour to Jemmy Leigh, who
loves London dearly: he asked after you with great respect and
friendship.—To return to your letter.  Your Bishop Mills {256a} hates me
mortally: I wonder he should speak well of me, having abused me in all
places where he went.  So you pay your way.  Cudsho: you had a fine
supper, I warrant; two pullets, and a bottle of wine, and some
currants.—It is just three weeks to-day since you set out to Wexford; you
were three days going, and I do not expect a letter these ten days yet,
or rather this fortnight.  I got a grant of the _Gazette_ {256b} for Ben
Tooke this morning from Mr. Secretary: it will be worth to him a hundred
pounds a year.

18.  To-day I took leave of Mrs. Barton, who is going into the country;
and I dined with Sir John Stanley, {256c} where I have not been this
great while.  There dined with us Lord Rochester, and his fine daughter,
Lady Jane, {256d} just growing a top-toast.  I have been endeavouring to
save Sir Matthew Dudley, {257a} but fear I cannot.  I walked the Mall six
times to-night for exercise, and would have done more; but, as empty as
the town is, a fool got hold of me, and so I came home, to tell you this
shall go to-morrow, without fail, and follow you to Wexford, like a dog.

19.  Dean Atterbury sent to me to dine with him at Chelsea.  I refused
his coach, and walked, and am come back by seven, because I would finish
this letter, and some others I am writing.  Patrick tells me the maid
says one Mr. Walls, a clergyman, a tall man, was here to visit me.  Is it
your Irish Archdeacon?  I shall be sorry for it; but I shall make shift
to see him seldom enough, as I do Dilly.  What can he do here? or is it
somebody else?  The Duke of Newcastle {257b} is dead by the fall he had
from his horse.  God send poor Stella her health, and keep MD happy!
Farewell, and love Presto, who loves MD above all things ten million of
times.  God bless the dear Wexford girls.  Farewell again, etc. etc.



LETTER XXVII.


                                                  LONDON, _July_ 19, 1711.

I HAVE just sent my 26th, and have nothing to say, because I have other
letters to write (pshaw, I began too high); but I must lay the beginning
like a nest-egg: to-morrow I will say more, and fetch up this line to be
straight.  This is enough at present for two dear saucy naughty girls.

20.  Have I told you that Walls has been with me, and leaves the town in
three days?  He has brought no gown with him.  Dilly carried him to a
play.  He has come upon a foolish errand, and goes back as he comes.  I
was this day with Lord Peterborow, who is going another ramble: I believe
I told you so.  I dined with Lord Treasurer, but cannot get him to do his
own business with me; he has put me off till to-morrow.

21, 22.  I dined yesterday with Lord Treasurer, who would needs take me
along with him to Windsor, although I refused him several times, having
no linen, etc.  I had just time to desire Lord Forbes {258a} to call at
my lodging and order my man to send my things to-day to Windsor by his
servant.  I lay last night at the Secretary’s lodgings at Windsor, and
borrowed one of his shirts to go to Court in.  The Queen is very well.  I
dined with Mr. Masham; and not hearing anything of my things, I got Lord
Winchelsea to bring me to town.  Here I found that Patrick had broke open
the closet to get my linen and nightgown, and sent them to Windsor, and
there they are; and he, not thinking I would return so soon, is gone upon
his rambles: so here I am left destitute, and forced to borrow a
nightgown of my landlady, and have not a rag to put on to-morrow: faith,
it gives me the spleen.

23.  Morning.  It is a terrible rainy day, and rained prodigiously on
Saturday night.  Patrick lay out last night, and is not yet returned:
faith, poor Presto is a desolate creature; neither servant, nor linen,
nor anything.—Night.  Lord Forbes’s man has brought back my portmantua,
and Patrick is come; so I am in Christian circumstances: I shall hardly
commit such a frolic again.  I just crept out to Mrs. Van’s, and dined,
and stayed there the afternoon: it has rained all this day.  Windsor is a
delicious place: I never saw it before, except for an hour about
seventeen years ago.  Walls has been here in my absence, I suppose, to
take his leave; for he designed not to stay above five days in London.
He says he and his wife will come here for some months next year; and, in
short, he dares not stay now for fear of her.

24.  I dined to-day with a hedge {258b} friend in the City; and Walls
overtook me in the street, and told me he was just getting on horseback
for Chester.  He has as much curiosity as a cow: he lodged with his horse
in Aldersgate Street: he has bought his wife a silk gown, and himself a
hat.  And what are you doing? what is poor MD doing now? how do you pass
your time at Wexford? how do the waters agree with you?  Let Presto know
soon; for Presto longs to know, and must know.  Is not Madam Proby
curious company?  I am afraid this rainy weather will spoil your waters.
We have had a great deal of wet these three days.  Tell me all the
particulars of Wexford: the place, the company, the diversions, the
victuals, the wants, the vexations.  Poor Dingley never saw such a place
in her life; sent all over the town for a little parsley to a boiled
chicken, and it was not to be had; the butter is stark naught, except an
old English woman’s; and it is such a favour to get a pound from her now
and then!  I am glad you carried down your sheets with you, else you must
have lain in sackcloth.  O Lord!

25.  I was this forenoon with Mr. Secretary at his office, and helped to
hinder a man of his pardon, who is condemned for a rape.  The Under
Secretary was willing to save him, upon an old notion that a woman cannot
be ravished; but I told the Secretary he could not pardon him without a
favourable report from the judge; besides, he was a fiddler, and
consequently a rogue, and deserved hanging for some thing else; and so he
shall swing.  What, I must stand up for the honour of the fair sex!  ’Tis
true the fellow had lain with her a hundred times before, but what care I
for that!  What, must a woman be ravished because she is a whore?—The
Secretary and I go on Saturday to Windsor for a week.  I dined with Lord
Treasurer, and stayed with him till past ten.  I was to-day at his levee,
where I went against my custom, because I had a mind to do a good office
for a gentleman: so I talked with him before my lord, that he might see
me, and then found occasion to recommend him this afternoon.  I was
forced to excuse my coming to the levee, that I did it to see the sight;
for he was going to chide me away: I had never been there but once, and
that was long before he was Treasurer.  The rooms were all full, and as
many Whigs as Tories.  He whispered me a jest or two, and bid me come to
dinner.  I left him but just now; and ’tis late.

26.  Mr. Addison and I have at last met again.  I dined with him and
Steele to-day at young Jacob Tonson’s.  The two Jacobs {260a} think it is
I who have made the Secretary take from them the printing of the
_Gazette_, which they are going to lose, and Ben Tooke and another {260b}
are to have it.  Jacob came to me the other day, to make his court; but I
told him it was too late, and that it was not my doing.  I reckon they
will lose it in a week or two.  Mr. Addison and I talked as usual, and as
if we had seen one another yesterday; and Steele and I were very easy,
though I writ him lately a biting letter, in answer to one of his, where
he desired me to recommend a friend of his to Lord Treasurer.  Go, get
you gone to your waters, sirrah.  Do they give you a stomach?  Do you eat
heartily?—We have had much rain to-day and yesterday.

27.  I dined to-day in the City, and saw poor Patty Rolt, and gave her a
pistole to help her a little forward against she goes to board in the
country.  She has but eighteen pounds a year to live on, and is forced to
seek out for cheap places.  Sometimes they raise their price, and
sometimes they starve her, and then she is forced to shift.  Patrick the
puppy put too much ink in my standish, {260c} and, carrying too many
things together, I spilled it on my paper and floor.  The town is dull,
wet, and empty; Wexford is worth two of it; I hope so at least, and that
poor little MD finds it so.  I reckon upon going to Windsor to-morrow
with Mr. Secretary, unless he changes his mind, or some other business
prevents him.  I shall stay there a week, I hope.

28.  Morning.  Mr. Secretary sent me word he will call at my lodgings by
two this afternoon, to take me to Windsor; so I must dine nowhere; and I
promised Lord Treasurer to dine with him to-day; but I suppose we shall
dine at Windsor at five, for we make but three hours there. {261a}  I am
going abroad, but have left Patrick to put up my things, and to be sure
to be at home half an hour before two.—Windsor, at night.  We did not
leave London till three, and dined here between six and seven; at nine I
left the company, and went to see Lord Treasurer, who is just come.  I
chid him for coming so late; he chid me for not dining with him; said he
stayed an hour for me.  Then I went and sat with Mr. Lewis till just now,
and it is past eleven.  I lie in the same house with the Secretary, one
of the Prebendary’s houses.  The Secretary is not come from his apartment
in the Castle.  Do you think that abominable dog Patrick was out after
two to-day, and I in a fright every moment, for fear the chariot should
come; and when he came in, he had not put up one rag of my things!  I
never was in a greater passion, and would certainly have cropped one of
his ears, if I had not looked every moment for the Secretary, who sent
his equipage to my lodging before, and came in a chair from Whitehall to
me, and happened to stay half an hour later than he intended.  One of
Lord Treasurer’s servants gave me a letter to-night: I found it was from
—, with an offer of fifty pounds, to be paid me in what manner I pleased;
because, he said, he desired to be well with me.  I was in a rage; {261b}
but my friend Lewis cooled me, and said it is what the best men sometimes
meet with; and I have been not seldom served in the like manner, although
not so grossly.  In these cases I never demur a moment, nor ever found
the least inclination to take anything.  Well, I will go try to sleep in
my new bed, and to dream of poor Wexford MD, and Stella that drinks
water, and Dingley that drinks ale.

29.  I was at Court and church to-day, as I was this day se’ennight: I
generally am acquainted with about thirty in the drawing-room, and I am
so proud I make all the lords come up to me: one passes half an hour
pleasant enough.  We had a dunce to preach before the Queen to-day, which
often happens.  Windsor is a delicious situation, but the town is
scoundrel.  I have this morning got the _Gazette_ for Ben Tooke and one
Barber a printer; it will be about three hundred pounds a year between
them.  The other fellow was printer of the _Examiner_, which is now laid
down. {262a}  I dined with the Secretary: we were a dozen in all, three
Scotch lords, and Lord Peterborow.  The Duke of Hamilton {262b} would
needs be witty, and hold up my train as I walked upstairs.  It is an ill
circumstance that on Sundays much company always meet at the great
tables.  Lord Treasurer told at Court what I said to Mr. Secretary on
this occasion.  The Secretary showed me his bill of fare, to encourage me
to dine with him.  “Poh,” said I, “show me a bill of company, for I value
not your dinner.”  See how this is all blotted, {262c} I can write no
more here, but to tell you I love MD dearly, and God bless them.

30.  In my conscience, I fear I shall have the gout.  I sometimes feel
pains about my feet and toes: I never drank till within these two years,
and I did it to cure my head.  I often sit evenings with some of these
people, and drink in my turn; but I am now resolved to drink ten times
less than before; but they advise me to let what I drink be all wine, and
not to put water to it.  Tooke and the printer stayed to-day to finish
their affair, and treated me and two of the Under Secretaries upon their
getting the _Gazette_.  Then I went to see Lord Treasurer, and chid him
for not taking notice of me at Windsor.  He said he kept a place for me
yesterday at dinner, and expected me there; but I was glad I did not go,
because the Duke of Buckingham was there, and that would have made us
acquainted; which I have no mind to.  However, we appointed to sup at Mr.
Masham’s, and there stayed till past one o’clock; and that is late,
sirrahs: and I have much business.

31.  I have sent a noble haunch of venison this afternoon to Mrs.
Vanhomrigh: I wish you had it, sirrahs.  I dined gravely with my landlord
the Secretary.  The Queen was abroad to-day in order to hunt; but,
finding it disposed to rain, she kept in her coach; she hunts in a chaise
with one horse, which she drives herself, and drives furiously, like
Jehu, and is a mighty hunter, like Nimrod.  Dingley has heard of Nimrod,
but not Stella, for it is in the Bible.  I was to-day at Eton, which is
but just cross the bridge, to see my Lord Kerry’s son, {263} who is at
school there.  Mr. Secretary has given me a warrant for a buck; I can’t
send it to MD.  It is a sad thing, faith, considering how Presto loves
MD, and how MD would love Presto’s venison for Presto’s sake.  God bless
the two dear Wexford girls!

Aug. 1.  We had for dinner the fellow of that haunch of venison I sent to
London; ’twas mighty fat and good, and eight people at dinner; that was
bad.  The Queen and I were going to take the air this afternoon, but not
together; and were both hindered by a sudden rain.  Her coaches and
chaises all went back, and the guards too; and I scoured into the
market-place for shelter.  I intended to have walked up the finest avenue
I ever saw, two miles long, with two rows of elms on each side.  I walked
in the evening a little upon the terrace, and came home at eight: Mr.
Secretary came soon after, and we were engaging in deep discourse, and I
was endeavouring to settle some points of the greatest consequence, and
had wormed myself pretty well into him, when his Under Secretary came in
(who lodges in the same house with us) and interrupted all my scheme.  I
have just left him: it is late, etc.

2.  I have been now five days at Windsor, and Patrick has been drunk
three times that I have seen, and oftener I believe.  He has lately had
clothes that have cost me five pounds, and the dog thinks he has the
whip-hand of me: he begins to master me; so now I am resolved to part
with him, and will use him without the least pity.  The Secretary and I
have been walking three or four hours to-day.  The Duchess of Shrewsbury
{264a} asked him, was not that Dr.—Dr.— and she could not say my name in
English, but said Dr. Presto, which is Italian for Swift.  Whimsical
enough, as Billy Swift {264b} says.  I go to-morrow with the Secretary to
his house at Bucklebury, twenty-five miles from hence, and return early
on Sunday morning.  I will leave this letter behind me locked up, and
give you an account of my journey when I return.  I had a letter
yesterday from the Bishop of Clogher, who is coming up to his Parliament.
Have you any correspondence with him to Wexford?  Methinks, I now long
for a letter from you, dated Wexford, July 24, etc.  O Lord, that would
be so pretending; {264c} and then, says you, Stella can’t write much,
because it is bad to write when one drinks the waters; and I think, says
you, I find myself better already, but I cannot tell yet whether it be
the journey or the waters.  Presto is so silly to-night; yes he be; but
Presto loves MD dearly, as hope saved.

3.  Morning.  I am to go this day at noon, as I told you, to Bucklebury:
we dine at twelve, and expect to be there in four hours.  I cannot bid
you good-night now, because I shall be twenty-five miles from this paper
to-night, and so my journal must have a break; so good-morrow, etc.

4, 5.  I dined yesterday at Bucklebury, where we lay two nights, and set
out this morning at eight, and were here at twelve; in four hours we went
twenty-six miles.  Mr. Secretary was a perfect country gentleman at
Bucklebury: he smoked tobacco with one or two neighbours; he inquired
after the wheat in such a field; he went to visit his hounds, and knew
all their names; he and his lady saw me to my chamber just in the country
fashion.  His house is in the midst of near three thousand pounds a year
he had by his lady, {265} who is descended from Jack Newbury, of whom
books and ballads are written; and there is an old picture of him in the
house.  She is a great favourite of mine.  I lost church to-day; but I
dressed and shaved, and went to Court, and would not dine with the
Secretary, but engaged myself to a private dinner with Mr. Lewis, and one
friend more.  We go to London to-morrow; for Lord Dartmouth, the other
Secretary, is come, and they are here their weeks by turns.

6.  Lord Treasurer comes every Saturday to Windsor, and goes away on
Monday or Tuesday.  I was with him this morning at his levee, for one
cannot see him otherwise here, he is so hurried: we had some talk; and I
told him I would stay this week at Windsor by myself, where I can have
more leisure to do some business that concerns them.  Lord Treasurer and
the Secretary thought to mortify me; for they told me they had been
talking a great deal of me to-day to the Queen, and she said she had
never heard of me.  I told them that was their fault, and not hers, etc.,
and so we laughed.  I dined with the Secretary, and let him go to London
at five without me; and here am I alone in the Prebendary’s house, which
Mr. Secretary has taken; only Mr. Lewis is in my neighbourhood, and we
shall be good company.  The Vice-Chamberlain, {266a} and Mr. Masham, and
the Green Cloth, {266b} have promised me dinners.  I shall want but four
till Mr. Secretary returns.  We have a music-meeting in our town
to-night.  I went to the rehearsal of it, and there was Margarita, {266c}
and her sister, and another drab, and a parcel of fiddlers: I was weary,
and would not go to the meeting, which I am sorry for, because I heard it
was a great assembly.  Mr. Lewis came from it, and sat with me till just
now; and ’tis late.

7.  I can do no business, I fear, because Mr. Lewis, who has nothing or
little to do here, sticks close to me.  I dined to-day with the gentlemen
ushers, among scurvy company; but the Queen was hunting the stag till
four this afternoon, and she drove in her chaise above forty miles, and
it was five before we went to dinner.  Here are fine walks about this
town.  I sometimes walk up the avenue.

8.  There was a Drawing-room to-day at Court; but so few company, that
the Queen sent for us into her bed-chamber, where we made our bows, and
stood about twenty of us round the room, while she looked at us round
with her fan in her mouth, and once a minute said about three words to
some that were nearest her, and then she was told dinner was ready, and
went out.  I dined at the Green Cloth, by Mr. Scarborow’s {266d}
invitation, who is in waiting.  It is much the best table in England, and
costs the Queen a thousand pounds a month while she is at Windsor or
Hampton Court, and is the only mark of magnificence or hospitality I can
see in the Queen’s family: it is designed to entertain foreign Ministers,
and people of quality, who come to see the Queen, and have no place to
dine at.

9.  Mr. Coke, the Vice-Chamberlain, made me a long visit this morning,
and invited me to dinner; but the toast, his lady, {267a} was
unfortunately engaged to Lady Sunderland. {267b}  Lord Treasurer stole
here last night, but did not lie at his lodgings in the Castle; and,
after seeing the Queen, went back again.  I just drank a dish of
chocolate with him.  I fancy I shall have reason to be angry with him
very soon; but what care I?  I believe I shall die with Ministries in my
debt.—This night I received a certain letter from a place called Wexford,
from two dear naughty girls of my acquaintance; but, faith, I will not
answer it here, no in troth.  I will send this to Mr. Reading, supposing
it will find you returned; and I hope better for the waters.

10.  Mr. Vice-Chamberlain lent me his horses to ride about and see the
country this morning.  Dr. Arbuthnot, the Queen’s physician and
favourite, went out with me to show me the places: we went a little after
the Queen, and overtook Miss Forester, {267c} a maid of honour, on her
palfrey, taking the air; we made her go along with us.  We saw a place
they have made for a famous horse-race to-morrow, where the Queen will
come.  We met the Queen coming back, and Miss Forester stood, like us,
with her hat off while the Queen went by.  The Doctor and I left the lady
where we found her, but under other conductors; and we dined at a little
place he has taken, about a mile off.—When I came back I found Mr.
Scarborow had sent all about to invite me to the Green Cloth, and
lessened his company on purpose to make me easy.  It is very obliging,
and will cost me thanks.  Much company is come to town this evening, to
see to-morrow’s race.  I was tired with riding a trotting mettlesome
horse a dozen miles, having not been on horseback this twelvemonth.  And
Miss Forester did not make it easier; she is a silly true maid of honour,
and I did not like her, although she be a toast, and was dressed like a
man. {268a}

11.  I will send this letter to-day.  I expect the Secretary by noon.  I
will not go to the race unless I can get room in some coach.  It is now
morning.  I must rise, and fold up and seal my letter.  Farewell, and God
preserve dearest MD.

I believe I shall leave this town on Monday.



LETTER XXVIII.


                                                 WINDSOR, _Aug._ 11, 1711.

I SENT away my twenty-seventh this morning in an express to London, and
directed to Mr. Reading: this shall go to your lodgings, where I reckon
you will be returned before it reaches you.  I intended to go to the race
{268b} to-day, but was hindered by a visit: I believe I told you so in my
last.  I dined to-day at the Green Cloth, where everybody had been at the
race but myself, and we were twenty in all, and very noisy company; but I
made the Vice-Chamberlain and two friends more sit at a side table, to be
a little quiet.  At six I went to see the Secretary, who is returned; but
Lord Keeper sent to desire I would sup with him, where I stayed till just
now: Lord Treasurer and Secretary were to come to us, but both failed.
’Tis late, etc.

12.  I was this morning to visit Lord Keeper, who made me reproaches that
I had never visited him at Windsor.  He had a present sent him of
delicious peaches, and he was champing and champing, but I durst not eat
one; I wished Dingley had some of them, for poor Stella can no more eat
fruit than Presto.  Dilly Ashe is come to Windsor; and after church I
carried him up to the drawing-room, and talked to the Keeper and
Treasurer, on purpose to show them to him; and he saw the Queen and
several great lords, and the Duchess of Montagu; {269a} he was mighty
happy, and resolves to fill a letter to the Bishop. {269b}  My friend
Lewis and I dined soberly with Dr. Adams, {269c} the only neighbour
prebendary.  One of the prebendaries here is lately a peer, by the death
of his father.  He is now Lord Willoughby of Broke, {269d} and will sit
in the House of Lords with his gown.  I supped to-night at Masham’s with
Lord Treasurer, Mr. Secretary, and Prior.  The Treasurer made us stay
till twelve, before he came from the Queen, and ’tis now past two.

13.  I reckoned upon going to London to-day; but by an accident the
Cabinet Council did not sit last night, and sat to-day, so we go
to-morrow at six in the morning.  I missed the race to-day by coming out
too late, when everybody’s coach was gone, and ride I would not: I felt
my last riding three days after.  We had a dinner to-day at the
Secretary’s lodgings without him: Mr. Hare, {269e} his Under Secretary,
Mr. Lewis, Brigadier Sutton, {269f} and I, dined together; and I made the
Vice-Chamberlain take a snap with us, rather than stay till five for his
lady, who was gone to the race.  The reason why the Cabinet Council was
not held last night was because Mr. Secretary St. John would not sit with
your Duke of Somerset. {270a}  So to-day the Duke was forced to go to the
race while the Cabinet was held.  We have music-meetings in our town, and
I was at the rehearsal t’other day; but I did not value it, nor would go
to the meeting.  Did I tell you this before?

London, 14.  We came to town this day in two hours and forty minutes:
twenty miles are nothing here.  I found a letter from the Archbishop of
Dublin, sent me the Lord knows how.  He says some of the bishops will
hardly believe that Lord Treasurer got the Queen to remit the
First-Fruits before the Duke of Ormond was declared Lord Lieutenant, and
that the bishops have written a letter to Lord Treasurer to thank him.
He has sent me the address of the Convocation, ascribing, in good part,
that affair to the Duke, who had less share in it than MD; for if it had
not been for MD, I should not have been so good a solicitor.  I dined
to-day in the City, about a little bit of mischief, with a printer.—I
found Mrs. Vanhomrigh all in combustion, squabbling with her rogue of a
landlord; she has left her house, and gone out of our neighbourhood a
good way.  Her eldest daughter is come of age, and going to Ireland to
look after her fortune, and get it in her own hands. {270b}

15.  I dined to-day with Mrs. Van, who goes to-night to her new lodgings.
I went at six to see Lord Treasurer; but his company was gone, contrary
to custom, and he was busy, and I was forced to stay some time before I
could see him.  We were together hardly an hour, and he went away, being
in haste.  He desired me to dine with him on Friday, because there would
be a friend of his that I must see: my Lord Harley told me, when he was
gone, that it was Mrs. Masham his father meant, who is come to town to
lie-in, and whom I never saw, though her husband is one of our Society.
God send her a good time! her death would be a terrible thing. {271a}—Do
you know that I have ventured all my credit with these great Ministers,
to clear some misunderstandings betwixt them; and if there be no breach,
I ought to have the merit of it.  ’Tis a plaguy ticklish piece of work,
and a man hazards losing both sides.  It is a pity the world does not
know my virtue.—I thought the clergy in Convocation in Ireland would have
given me thanks for being their solicitor; but I hear of no such thing.
Pray talk occasionally on that subject, and let me know what you hear.
Do you know the greatness of my spirit, that I value their thanks not a
rush, but at my return shall freely let all people know that it was my
Lord Treasurer’s action, wherein the Duke of Ormond had no more share
than a cat?  And so they may go whistle, and I’ll go sleep.

16.  I was this day in the City, and dined at Pontack’s {271b} with
Stratford, and two other merchants.  Pontack told us, although his wine
was so good, he sold it cheaper than others; he took but seven shillings
a flask.  Are not these pretty rates?  The books he sent for from Hamburg
are come, but not yet got out of the custom-house.  My library will be at
least double when I come back.  I shall go to Windsor again on Saturday,
to meet our Society, who are to sup at Mr. Secretary’s; but I believe I
shall return on Monday, and then I will answer your letter, that lies
here safe underneath;—I see it; lie still: I will answer you when the
ducks have eaten up the dirt.

17.  I dined to-day at Lord Treasurer’s with Mrs. Masham, and she is
extremely like one Mrs. Malolly, that was once my landlady in Trim.  She
was used with mighty kindness and respect, like a favourite.  It
signifies nothing going to this Lord Treasurer about business, although
it be his own.  He was in haste, and desires I will come again, and dine
with him to-morrow.  His famous lying porter is fallen sick, and they
think he will die: I wish I had all my half-crowns again.  I believe I
have told you he is an old Scotch fanatic, and the damn’dest liar in his
office alive. {272a}  I have a mind to recommend Patrick to succeed him:
I have trained him up pretty well.  I reckon for certain you are now in
town.  The weather now begins to alter to rain.

Windsor, 18.  I dined to-day with Lord Treasurer, and he would make me go
with him to Windsor, although I was engaged to the Secretary, to whom I
made my excuses: we had in the coach besides, his son and son-in-law,
Lord Harley and Lord Dupplin, who are two of our Society, and seven of us
met by appointment, and supped this night with the Secretary.  It was
past nine before we got here, but a fine moonshiny night.  I shall go
back, I believe, on Monday.  ’Tis very late.

19.  The Queen did not stir out to-day, she is in a little fit of the
gout.  I dined at Mr. Masham’s; we had none but our Society members, six
in all, and I supped with Lord Treasurer.  The Queen has ordered twenty
thousand pounds to go on with the building at Blenheim, which has been
starved till now, since the change of the Ministry. {272b}  I suppose it
is to reward his last action of getting into the French lines. {273a}
Lord Treasurer kept me till past twelve.

London, 20.  It rained terribly every step of our journey to-day: I
returned with the Secretary after a dinner of cold meat, and went to Mrs.
Van’s, where I sat the evening.  I grow very idle, because I have a great
deal of business.  Tell me how you passed your time at Wexford; and are
not you glad at heart you have got home safe to your lodgings at St.
Mary’s, pray?  And so your friends come to visit you; and Mrs. Walls is
much better of her eye; and the Dean is just as he used to be: and what
does Walls say of London? ’tis a reasoning coxcomb.  And Goody Stoyte,
and Hannah what d’ye call her; no, her name an’t Hannah, Catherine I
mean; they were so glad to see the ladies again! and Mrs. Manley wanted a
companion at ombre.

21.  I writ to-day to the Archbishop of Dublin, and enclosed a long
politic paper by itself.  You know the bishops are all angry (smoke the
wax-candle drop at the bottom of this paper) I have let the world know
the First-Fruits were got by Lord Treasurer before the Duke of Ormond was
Governor.  I told Lord Treasurer all this, and he is very angry; but I
pacified him again by telling him they were fools, and knew nothing of
what passed here; but thought all was well enough if they complimented
the Duke of Ormond.  Lord Treasurer gave me t’other day a letter of
thanks he received from the bishops of Ireland, signed by seventeen; and
says he will write them an answer.  The Dean of Carlisle sat with me
to-day till three; and I went to dine with Lord Treasurer, who dined
abroad, so did the Secretary, and I was left in the suds.  ’Twas almost
four, and I got to Sir Matthew Dudley, who had half dined.  Thornhill,
who killed Sir Cholmley Dering, {273b} was murdered by two men, on
Turnham Green, last Monday night: as they stabbed him, they bid him
remember Sir Cholmley Dering.  They had quarrelled at Hampton Court, and
followed and stabbed him on horseback.  We have only a Grub Street paper
of it, but I believe it is true.  I went myself through Turnham Green the
same night, which was yesterday.

22.  We have had terrible rains these two or three days.  I intended to
dine at Lord Treasurer’s, but went to see Lady Abercorn, who is come to
town, and my lord; and I dined with them, and visited Lord Treasurer this
evening.  His porter is mending.  I sat with my lord about three hours,
and am come home early to be busy.  Passing by White’s Chocolate-house,
{274a} my brother Masham called me, and told me his wife was brought to
bed of a boy, and both very well.  (Our Society, you must know, are all
brothers.)  Dr. Garth told us that Mr. Henley {274b} is dead of an
apoplexy.  His brother-in-law, Earl Poulett, is gone down to the Grange,
to take care of his funeral.  The Earl of Danby, {274c} the Duke of
Leeds’s eldest grandson, a very hopeful young man of about twenty, is
dead at Utrecht of the smallpox.—I long to know whether you begin to have
any good effect by your waters.—Methinks this letter goes on slowly;
’twill be a fortnight next Saturday since it was begun, and one side not
filled.  O fie for shame, Presto!  Faith, I’m so tosticated to and from
Windsor, that I know not what to say; but, faith, I’ll go to Windsor
again on Saturday, if they ask me, not else.  So lose your money again,
now you are come home; do, sirrah.

Take your magnifying-glass, Madam Dingley.

You shan’t read this, sirrah Stella; don’t read it for your life, for
fear of your dearest eyes.

There’s enough for this side; these Ministers hinder me.

Pretty, dear, little, naughty, saucy MD.

Silly, impudent, loggerhead Presto.

23.  Dilly and I dined to-day with Lord Abercorn, and had a fine fat
haunch of venison, that smelt rarely on one side: and after dinner Dilly
won half a crown of me at backgammon at his lodgings, to his great
content.  It is a scurvy empty town this melancholy season of the year;
but I think our weather begins to mend.  The roads are as deep as in
winter.  The grapes are sad things; but the peaches are pretty good, and
there are some figs.  I sometimes venture to eat one, but always repent
it.  You say nothing of the box sent half a year ago.  I wish you would
pay me for Mrs. Walls’s tea.  Your mother is in the country, I suppose.
Pray send me the account of MD, Madam Dingley, as it stands since
November, {275a} that is to say, for this year (excluding the twenty
pounds lent Stella for Wexford), for I cannot look in your letters.  I
think I ordered that Hawkshaw’s interest should be paid to you.  When you
think proper, I will let Parvisol know you have paid that twenty pounds,
or part of it; and so go play with the Dean, and I will answer your
letter to-morrow.  Good-night, sirrahs, and love Presto, and be good
girls.

24.  I dined to-day with Lord Treasurer, who chid me for not dining with
him yesterday, for it seems I did not understand his invitation; and
their Club of the Ministry dined together, and expected me.  Lord Radnor
{275b} and I were walking the Mall this evening; and Mr. Secretary met
us, and took a turn or two, and then stole away, and we both believed it
was to pick up some wench; and to-morrow he will be at the Cabinet with
the Queen: so goes the world!  Prior has been out of town these two
months, nobody knows where, and is lately returned.  People confidently
affirm he has been in France, and I half believe it.  It is said he was
sent by the Ministry, and for some overtures towards a peace.  The
Secretary pretends he knows nothing of it.  I believe your Parliament
will be dissolved.  I have been talking about the quarrel between your
Lords and Commons with Lord Treasurer, and did, at the request of some
people, desire that the Queen’s answer to the Commons’ address might
express a dislike of some principles, etc.; but was answered
dubiously.—And so now to your letter, fair ladies.  I know drinking is
bad; I mean writing is bad in drinking the waters; and was angry to see
so much in Stella’s hand.  But why Dingley drinks them, I cannot imagine;
but truly she’ll drink waters as well as Stella: why not?  I hope you now
find the benefit of them since you are returned; pray let me know
particularly.  I am glad you are forced upon exercise, which, I believe,
is as good as the waters for the heart of them.  ’Tis now past the middle
of August; so by your reckoning you are in Dublin.  It would vex me to
the dogs that letters should miscarry between Dublin and Wexford, after
’scaping the salt seas.  I will write no more to that nasty town in haste
again, I warrant you.  I have been four Sundays together at Windsor, of
which a fortnight together; but I believe I shall not go to-morrow, for I
will not, unless the Secretary asks me.  I know all your news about the
Mayor: it makes no noise here at all, but the quarrel of your Parliament
does; it is so very extraordinary, and the language of the Commons so
very pretty.  The _Examiner_ has been down this month, and was very silly
the five or six last papers; but there is a pamphlet come out, in answer
to a letter to the seven Lords who examined Gregg. {276a}  The Answer
{276b} is by the real author of the _Examiner_, as I believe; for it is
very well written.  We had Trapp’s poem on the Duke of Ormond {276c}
printed here, and the printer sold just eleven of them.  ’Tis a dull
piece, not half so good as Stella’s; and she is very modest to compare
herself with such a poetaster.  I am heartily sorry for poor Mrs.
Parnell’s {277a} death; she seemed to be an excellent good-natured young
woman, and I believe the poor lad is much afflicted; they appeared to
live perfectly well together.  Dilly is not tired at all with England,
but intends to continue here a good while: he is mighty easy to be at
distance from his two sisters-in-law.  He finds some sort of scrub
acquaintance; goes now and then in disguise to a play; smokes his pipe;
reads now and then a little trash, and what else the Lord knows.  I see
him now and then; for he calls here, and the town being thin, I am less
pestered with company than usual.  I have got rid of many of my
solicitors, by doing nothing for them: I have not above eight or nine
left, and I’ll be as kind to them.  Did I tell you of a knight who
desired me to speak to Lord Treasurer to give him two thousand pounds, or
five hundred pounds a year, until he could get something better?  I
honestly delivered my message to the Treasurer, adding, the knight was a
puppy, whom I would not give a groat to save from the gallows.  Cole
Reading’s father-in-law has been two or three times at me, to recommend
his lights to the Ministry, assuring me that a word of mine would, etc.
Did not that dog use to speak ill of me, and profess to hate me?  He
knows not where I lodge, for I told him I lived in the country; and I
have ordered Patrick to deny me constantly to him.—Did the Bishop of
London {277b} die in Wexford? poor gentleman!  Did he drink the waters?
were you at his burial? was it a great funeral? so far from his friends!
But he was very old: we shall all follow.  And yet it was a pity, if God
pleased.  He was a good man; not very learned: I believe he died but
poor.  Did he leave any charity legacies? who held up his pall? was there
a great sight of clergy? do they design a tomb for him?—Are you sure it
was the Bishop of London? because there is an elderly gentleman here that
we give the same title to: or did you fancy all this in your water, as
others do strange things in their wine?  They say these waters trouble
the head, and make people imagine what never came to pass.  Do you make
no more of killing a Bishop? are these your Whiggish tricks?—Yes, yes, I
see you are in a fret.  O, faith, says you, saucy Presto, I’ll break your
head; what, can’t one report what one hears, without being made a jest
and a laughing-stock?  Are these your English tricks, with a murrain?
And Sacheverell will be the next Bishop?  He would be glad of an addition
of two hundred pounds a year to what he has, and that is more than they
will give him, for aught I see.  He hates the new Ministry mortally, and
they hate him, and pretend to despise him too.  They will not allow him
to have been the occasion of the late change; at least some of them will
not: but my Lord Keeper owned it to me the other day.  No, Mr. Addison
does not go to Ireland this year: he pretended he would; but he is gone
to Bath with Pastoral Philips, for his eyes.—So now I have run over your
letter; and I think this shall go to-morrow, which will be just a
fortnight from the last, and bring things to the old form again, after
your rambles to Wexford, and mine to Windsor.  Are there not many literal
faults in my letters?  I never read them over, and I fancy there are.
What do you do then? do you guess my meaning, or are you acquainted with
my manner of mistaking?  I lost my handkerchief in the Mall to-night with
Lord Radnor; but I made him walk with me to find it, and find it I did
not.  Tisdall {278} (that lodges with me) and I have had no conversation,
nor do we pull off our hats in the streets.  There is a cousin of his (I
suppose,) a young parson, that lodges in the house too; a handsome,
genteel fellow.  Dick Tighe {279a} and his wife lodged over against us;
and he has been seen, out of our upper windows, beating her two or three
times: they are both gone to Ireland, but not together; and he solemnly
vows never to live with her.  Neighbours do not stick to say that she has
a tongue: in short, I am told she is the most urging, provoking devil
that ever was born; and he a hot, whiffling {279b} puppy, very apt to
resent.  I’ll keep this bottom till to-morrow: I’m sleepy.

25.  I was with the Secretary this morning, who was in a mighty hurry,
and went to Windsor in a chariot with Lord Keeper; so I was not invited,
and am forced to stay at home, but not at all against my will; for I
could have gone, and would not.  I dined in the City with one of my
printers, for whom I got the _Gazette_, and am come home early; and have
nothing to say to you more, but finish this letter, and not send it by
the bellman.  Days grow short, and the weather grows bad, and the town is
splenetic, and things are so oddly contrived that I cannot be absent;
otherwise I would go for a few days to Oxford, as I promised.—They say it
is certain that Prior has been in France, {279c} nobody doubts it: I had
not time to ask the Secretary, he was in such haste.  Well, I will take
my leave of dearest MD for a while; for I must begin my next letter
to-night: consider that, young women; and pray be merry, and good girls,
and love Presto.  There is now but one business the Ministry want me for,
and when that is done, I will take my leave of them.  I never got a penny
from them, nor expect it.  In my opinion, some things stand very
ticklish; I dare say nothing at this distance.  Farewell, dear sirrahs,
dearest lives: there is peace and quiet with MD, and nowhere else.  They
have not leisure here to think of small things, which may ruin them; and
I have been forward enough.  Farewell again, dearest rogues; I am never
happy but when I write or think of MD.  I have enough of Courts and
Ministries, and wish I were at Laracor; and if I could with honour come
away this moment, I would.  Bernage {280} came to see me to-day; he is
just landed from Portugal, and come to raise recruits; he looks very
well, and seems pleased with his station and manner of life.  He never
saw London nor England before; he is ravished with Kent, which was his
first prospect when he landed.  Farewell again, etc. etc.



LETTER XXIX.


                                                  LONDON, _Aug._ 25, 1711.

I HAVE got a pretty small gilt sheet of paper, to write to MD.  I have
this moment sent my 28th by Patrick, who tells me he has put it in the
post-office; ’tis directed to your lodgings: if it wants more particular
direction, you must set me right.  It is now a solar month and two days
since the date of your last, N. 18; and I reckon you are now quiet at
home, and thinking to begin your 19th, which will be full of your quarrel
between the two Houses, all which I know already.  Where shall I dine
to-morrow? can you tell?  Mrs. Vanhomrigh boards now, and cannot invite
one; and there I used to dine when I was at a loss: and all my friends
are gone out of town, and your town is now at the fullest, with your
Parliament and Convocation.  But let me alone, sirrahs; for Presto is
going to be very busy; not Presto, but the other I.

26.  People have so left the town that I am at a loss for a dinner.  It
is a long time since I have been at London upon a Sunday; and the
Ministers are all at Windsor.  It cost me eighteenpence in coach-hire
before I could find a place to dine in.  I went to Frankland’s, {281a}
and he was abroad, and the drab his wife looked out at window, and bowed
to me without inviting me up: so I dined with Mr. Coote, {281b} my Lord
Mountrath’s brother; my lord is with you in Ireland.  This morning at
five my Lord Jersey {281c} died of the gout in his stomach, or apoplexy,
or both: he was abroad yesterday, and his death was sudden.  He was
Chamberlain to King William, and a great favourite, turned out by the
Queen as a Tory, and stood now fair to be Privy Seal; and by his death
will, I suppose, make that matter easier, which has been a very stubborn
business at Court, as I have been informed.  I never remember so many
people of quality to have died in so short a time.

27.  I went to-day into the City, to thank Stratford for my books, and
dine with him, and settle my affairs of my money in the Bank, and receive
a bill for Mrs. Wesley for some things I am to buy for her; and the d— a
one of all these could I do.  The merchants were all out of town, and I
was forced to go to a little hedge place for my dinner.  May my enemies
live here in summer! and yet I am so unlucky that I cannot possibly be
out of the way at this juncture.  People leave the town so late in
summer, and return so late in winter, that they have almost inverted the
seasons.  It is autumn this good while in St. James’s Park; the limes
have been losing their leaves, and those remaining on the trees are all
parched: I hate this season, where everything grows worse and worse.  The
only good thing of it is the fruit, and that I dare not eat.  Had you any
fruit at Wexford?  A few cherries, and durst not eat them.  I do not hear
we have yet got a new Privy Seal.  The Whigs whisper that our new
Ministry differ among themselves, and they begin to talk out Mr.
Secretary: they have some reasons for their whispers, although I thought
it was a greater secret.  I do not much like the posture of things; I
always apprehended that any falling out would ruin them, and so I have
told them several times.  The Whigs are mighty full of hopes at present;
and whatever is the matter, all kind of stocks fall.  I have not yet
talked with the Secretary about Prior’s journey.  I should be apt to
think it may foretell a peace, and that is all we have to preserve us.
The Secretary is not come from Windsor, but I expect him to-morrow.  Burn
all politics!

28.  We begin to have fine weather, and I walked to-day to Chelsea, and
dined with the Dean of Carlisle, who is laid up with the gout.  It is now
fixed that he is to be Dean of Christ Church in Oxford.  I was advising
him to use his interest to prevent any misunderstanding between our
Ministers; but he is too wise to meddle, though he fears the thing and
the consequences as much as I.  He will get into his own warm, quiet
deanery, and leave them to themselves; and he is in the right.—When I
came home to-night, I found a letter from Mr. Lewis, who is now at
Windsor; and in it, forsooth, another which looked like Presto’s hand;
and what should it be but a 19th from MD?  O, faith, I ’scaped narrowly,
for I sent my 28th but on Saturday; and what should I have done if I had
two letters to answer at once?  I did not expect another from Wexford,
that is certain.  Well, I must be contented; but you are dear saucy
girls, for all that, to write so soon again, faith; an’t you?

29.  I dined to-day with Lord Abercorn, and took my leave of them: they
set out to-morrow for Chester, and, I believe, will now fix in Ireland.
They have made a pretty good journey of it: his eldest son {282} is
married to a lady with ten thousand pounds; and his second son {283a}
has, t’other day, got a prize in the lottery of four thousand pounds,
beside two small ones of two hundred pounds each: nay, the family was so
fortunate, that my lord bestowing one ticket, which is a hundred pounds,
to one of his servants, who had been his page, the young fellow got a
prize, which has made it another hundred.  I went in the evening to Lord
Treasurer, who desires I will dine with him to-morrow, when he will show
me the answer he designs to return to the letter of thanks from your
bishops in Ireland.  The Archbishop of Dublin desired me to get myself
mentioned in the answer which my lord would send; but I sent him word I
would not open my lips to my lord upon it.  He says it would convince the
bishops of what I have affirmed, that the First-Fruits were granted
before the Duke of Ormond was declared Governor; and I writ to him that I
would not give a farthing to convince them.  My Lord Treasurer began a
health to my Lord Privy Seal: Prior punned, and said it was so privy, he
knew not who it was; but I fancy they have fixed it all, and we shall
know to-morrow.  But what care you who is Privy Seal, saucy sluttikins?

30.  When I went out this morning, I was surprised with the news that the
Bishop of Bristol is made Lord Privy Seal.  You know his name is
Robinson, {283b} and that he was many years Envoy in Sweden.  All the
friends of the present Ministry are extremely glad, and the clergy above
the rest.  The Whigs will fret to death to see a civil employment given
to a clergyman.  It was a very handsome thing in my Lord Treasurer, and
will bind the Church to him for ever.  I dined with him to-day, but he
had not written his letter; {283c} but told me he would not offer to send
it without showing it to me: he thought that would not be just, since I
was so deeply concerned in the affair.  We had much company: Lord Rivers,
Mar, {284a} and Kinnoull, {284b} Mr. Secretary, George Granville, and
Masham: the last has invited me to the christening of his son to-morrow
se’ennight; and on Saturday I go to Windsor with Mr. Secretary.

31.  Dilly and I walked to-day to Kensington to Lady Mountjoy, who
invited us to dinner.  He returned soon, to go to a play, it being the
last that will be acted for some time: he dresses himself like a beau,
and no doubt makes a fine figure.  I went to visit some people at
Kensington: Ophy Butler’s wife {284c} there lies very ill of an ague,
which is a very common disease here, and little known in Ireland. I am
apt to think we shall soon have a peace, by the little words I hear
thrown out by the Ministry.  I have just thought of a project to bite the
town.  I have told you that it is now known that Mr. Prior has been
lately in France.  I will make a printer of my own sit by me one day, and
I will dictate to him a formal relation of Prior’s journey, {284d} with
several particulars, all pure invention; and I doubt not but it will
take.

Sept. 1.  Morning.  I go to-day to Windsor with Mr. Secretary; and Lord
Treasurer has promised to bring me back.  The weather has been fine for
some time, and I believe we shall have a great deal of dust.—At night.
Windsor.  The Secretary and I dined to-day at Parson’s Green, at my Lord
Peterborow’s house, who has left it and his gardens to the Secretary
during his absence.  It is the finest garden I have ever seen about this
town; and abundance of hot walls for grapes, where they are in great
plenty, and ripening fast.  I durst not eat any fruit but one fig; but I
brought a basket full to my friend Lewis here at Windsor.  Does Stella
never eat any? what, no apricots at Donnybrook! nothing but claret and
ombre!  I envy people maunching and maunching peaches and grapes, and I
not daring to eat a bit.  My head is pretty well, only a sudden turn any
time makes me giddy for a moment, and sometimes it feels very stuffed;
but if it grows no worse, I can bear it very well.  I take all
opportunities of walking; and we have a delicious park here just joining
to the Castle, and an avenue in the great park very wide and two miles
long, set with a double row of elms on each side.  Were you ever at
Windsor?  I was once, a great while ago; but had quite forgotten it.

2.  The Queen has the gout, and did not come to chapel, nor stir out from
her chamber, but received the sacrament there, as she always does the
first Sunday in the month.  Yet we had a great Court; and, among others,
I saw your Ingoldsby, {285a} who, seeing me talk very familiarly with the
Keeper, Treasurer, etc., came up and saluted me, and began a very
impertinent discourse about the siege of Bouchain.  I told him I could
not answer his questions, but I would bring him one that should; so I
went and fetched Sutton (who brought over the express about a month ago),
and delivered him to the General, and bid him answer his questions; and
so I left them together.  Sutton after some time comes back in a rage,
finds me with Lord Rivers and Masham, and there complains of the trick I
had played him, and swore he had been plagued to death with Ingoldsby’s
talk.  But he told me Ingoldsby asked him what I meant by bringing him;
so, I suppose, he smoked me a little.  So we laughed, etc.  My Lord
Willoughby, {285b} who is one of the chaplains, and Prebendary of
Windsor, read prayers last night to the family; and the Bishop of
Bristol, who is Dean of Windsor, officiated last night at the Cathedral.
This they do to be popular; and it pleases mightily.  I dined with Mr.
Masham, because he lets me have a select company: for the Court here have
got by the end a good thing I said to the Secretary some weeks ago.  He
showed me his bill of fare, to tempt me to dine with him.  “Poh,” said I,
“I value not your bill of fare; give me your bill of company.”  Lord
Treasurer was mightily pleased, and told it everybody as a notable thing.
I reckon upon returning to-morrow: they say the Bishop will then have the
Privy Seal delivered him at a great Council.

3.  Windsor still.  The Council was held so late to-day that I do not go
back to town till to-morrow.  The Bishop was sworn Privy Councillor, and
had the Privy Seal given him: and now the patents are passed for those
who were this long time to be made lords or earls.  Lord Raby, {286} who
is Earl of Strafford, is on Thursday to marry a namesake of Stella’s; the
daughter of Sir H. Johnson in the City; he has three-score thousand
pounds with her, ready money; besides the rest at the father’s death.  I
have got my friend Stratford to be one of the directors of the South Sea
Company, who were named to-day.  My Lord Treasurer did it for me a month
ago; and one of those whom I got to be printer of the _Gazette_ I am
recommending to be printer to the same company.  He treated Mr. Lewis and
me to-day at dinner.  I supped last night and this with Lord Treasurer,
Keeper, etc., and took occasion to mention the printer.  I said it was
the same printer whom my Lord Treasurer has appointed to print for the
South Sea Company.  He denied, and I insisted on it; and I got the laugh
on my side.

London, 4.  I came as far as Brentford in Lord Rivers’s chariot, who had
business with Lord Treasurer; then I went into Lord Treasurer’s.  We
stopped at Kensington, where Lord Treasurer went to see Mrs. Masham, who
is now what they call in the straw.  We got to town by three, and I
lighted at Lord Treasurer’s, who commanded me not to stir: but I was not
well; and when he went up, I begged the young lord to excuse me, and so
went into the City by water, where I could be easier, and dined with the
printer, and dictated to him some part of Prior’s _Journey to France_.  I
walked from the City, for I take all occasions of exercise.  Our journey
was horridly dusty.

5.  When I went out to-day, I found it had rained mightily in the night,
and the streets were as dirty as winter: it is very refreshing after ten
days dry.—I went into the City, and dined with Stratford, thanked him for
his books, gave him joy of his being director, of which he had the first
notice by a letter from me.  I ate sturgeon, and it lies on my stomach.
I almost finished Prior’s _Journey_ at the printer’s; and came home
pretty late, with Patrick at my heels.

7.  Morning.  But what shall we do about this letter of MD’s, N. 19?  Not
a word answered yet, and so much paper spent!  I cannot do anything in
it, sweethearts, till night.—At night.  O Lord, O Lord! the greatest
disgrace that ever was has happened to Presto.  What do you think? but,
when I was going out this forenoon a letter came from MD, N. 20, dated
Dublin.  O dear, O dear!  O sad, O sad!—Now I have two letters together
to answer: here they are, lying together.  But I will only answer the
first; for I came in late.  I dined with my friend Lewis at his lodgings,
and walked at six to Kensington to Mrs. Masham’s son’s christening.  It
was very private; nobody there but my Lord Treasurer, his son and
son-in-law, that is to say, Lord Harley and Lord Dupplin, and Lord Rivers
and I.  The Dean of Rochester {287a} christened the child, but soon went
away.  Lord Treasurer and Lord Rivers were godfathers; and Mrs. Hill,
{287b} Mrs. Masham’s sister, godmother.  The child roared like a bull,
and I gave Mrs. Masham joy of it; and she charged me to take care of my
nephew, because, Mr. Masham being a brother of our Society, his son, you
know, is consequently a nephew.  Mrs. Masham sat up dressed in bed, but
not, as they do in Ireland, with all smooth about her, as if she was cut
off in the middle; for you might see the counterpane (what d’ye call it?)
rise about her hips and body.  There is another name of the counterpane;
and you will laugh now, sirrahs.  George Granville came in at supper, and
we stayed till eleven; and Lord Treasurer set me down at my lodging in
Suffolk Street.  Did I ever tell you that Lord Treasurer hears ill with
the left ear, just as I do?  He always turns the right, and his servants
whisper him at that only.  I dare not tell him that I am so too, for fear
he should think I counterfeited, to make my court.

6.  You must read this before the other; for I mistook, and forgot to
write yesterday’s journal, it was so insignificant.  I dined with Dr.
Cockburn, and sat the evening with Lord Treasurer till ten o’clock.  On
Thursdays he has always a large select company, and expects me.  So
good-night for last night, etc.

8.  Morning.  I go to Windsor with Lord Treasurer to-day, and will leave
this behind me, to be sent to the post.  And now let us hear what says
the first letter, N. 19.  You are still at Wexford, as you say, Madam
Dingley.  I think no letter from me ever yet miscarried.  And so
Inish-Corthy, {288a} and the river Slainy; fine words those in a lady’s
mouth.  Your hand like Dingley’s, you scambling, {288b} scattering
sluttikin!  _Yes_, _mighty like indeed_, _is not it_? {288c}  Pisshh, do
not talk of writing or reading till your eyes are well, and long well;
only I would have Dingley read sometimes to you, that you may not lose
the desire of it.  God be thanked, that the ugly numbing is gone!  Pray
use exercise when you go to town.  What game is that ombra which Dr.
Elwood {288d} and you play at? is it the Spanish game ombre?  Your
card-purse? you a card-purse! you a fiddlestick.  You have luck indeed;
and luck in a bag.  What a devil! is that eight-shilling tea-kettle
copper, or tin japanned?  It is like your Irish politeness, raffling for
tea-kettles.  What a splutter you keep, to convince me that Walls has no
taste!  My head continues pretty well.  Why do you write, dear sirrah
Stella, when you find your eyes so weak that you cannot see? what comfort
is there in reading what you write, when one knows that?  So Dingley
cannot write, because of the clutter of new company come to Wexford!  I
suppose the noise of their hundred horses disturbs you; or do you lie in
one gallery, as in an hospital?  What! you are afraid of losing in Dublin
the acquaintance you have got in Wexford, and chiefly the Bishop of
Raphoe, {289a} an old, doting, perverse coxcomb?  Twenty at a time at
breakfast.  That is like five pounds at a time, when it was never but
once.  I doubt, Madam Dingley, you are apt to lie in your travels, though
not so bad as Stella; she tells thumpers, as I shall prove in my next, if
I find this receives encouragement.—So Dr. Elwood says there are a world
of pretty things in my works.  A pox on his praises! an enemy here would
say more.  The Duke of Buckingham would say as much, though he and I are
terribly fallen out; and the great men are perpetually inflaming me
against him: they bring me all he says of me, and, I believe, make it
worse out of roguery.—No, ’tis not your pen is bewitched, Madam Stella,
but your old _scrawling_, _splay-foot pot-hooks_, _s_, _s_, {289b} ay
that’s it: there the s, s, s, there, there, that’s exact.  Farewell, etc.

Our fine weather is gone; and I doubt we shall have a rainy journey
to-day.  Faith, ’tis shaving-day, and I have much to do.  When Stella
says her pen was bewitched, it was only because there was a hair in it.
You know, the fellow they call God-help-it had the same thoughts of his
wife, and for the same reason.  I think this is very well observed, and I
unfolded the letter to tell you it.

Cut off those two notes above; and see the nine pounds indorsed, and
receive the other; and send me word how my accounts stand, that they may
be adjusted by Nov. 1. {290a}  Pray be very particular; but the twenty
pounds I lend you is not to be included: so make no blunder.  I won’t
wrong you, nor you shan’t wrong me; that is the short.  O Lord, how stout
Presto is of late!  But he loves MD more than his life a thousand times,
for all his stoutness; tell them that; and that I’ll swear it, as hope
saved, ten millions of times, etc. etc.

I open my letter once more, to tell Stella that if she does not use
exercise after her waters, it will lose all the effects of them: I should
not live if I did not take all opportunities of walking.  Pray, pray, do
this, to oblige poor Presto.



LETTER XXX.


                                                 WINDSOR, _Sept._ 8, 1711.

I MADE the coachman stop, and put in my twenty-ninth at the post-office
at two o’clock to-day, as I was going to Lord Treasurer, with whom I
dined, and came here by a quarter-past eight; but the moon shone, and so
we were not in much danger of overturning; which, however, he values not
a straw, and only laughs when I chide at him for it.  There was nobody
but he and I, and we supped together, with Mr. Masham, and Dr. Arbuthnot,
the Queen’s favourite physician, a Scotchman.  I could not keep myself
awake after supper, but did all I was able to disguise it, and thought I
came off clear; but, at parting, he told me I had got my nap already.  It
is now one o’clock; but he loves sitting up late.

9.  The Queen is still in the gout, but recovering: she saw company in
her bed-chamber after church; but the crowd was so great, I could not see
her.  I dined with my brother Sir William Wyndham, {290b} and some others
of our Society, to avoid the great tables on Sunday at Windsor, which I
hate.  The usual company supped to-night at Lord Treasurer’s, which was
Lord Keeper, Mr. Secretary, George Granville, Masham, Arbuthnot, and I.
But showers have hindered me from walking to-day, and that I do not
love.—Noble fruit, and I dare not eat a bit.  I ate one fig to-day, and
sometimes a few mulberries, because it is said they are wholesome, and
you know a good name does much.  I shall return to town to-morrow, though
I thought to have stayed a week, to be at leisure for something I am
doing.  But I have put it off till next; for I shall come here again on
Saturday, when our Society are to meet at supper at Mr. Secretary’s.  My
life is very regular here: on Sunday morning I constantly visit Lord
Keeper, and sup at Lord Treasurer’s with the same set of company.  I was
not sleepy to-night; I resolved I would not; yet it is past midnight at
this present writing.

London, 10.  Lord Treasurer and Masham and I left Windsor at three this
afternoon: we dropped Masham at Kensington with his lady, and got home by
six.  It was seven before we sat down to dinner, and I stayed till past
eleven.  Patrick came home with the Secretary: I am more plagued with
Patrick and my portmantua than with myself.  I forgot to tell you that
when I went to Windsor on Saturday I overtook Lady Giffard and Mrs.
Fenton {291a} in a chariot, going, I suppose, to Sheen.  I was then in a
chariot too, of Lord Treasurer’s brother, who had business with the
Treasurer; and my lord came after, and overtook me at Turnham Green, four
miles from London; and then the brother went back, and I went in the
coach with Lord Treasurer: so it happened that those people saw me, and
not with Lord Treasurer.  Mrs. F. was to see me about a week ago; and
desired I would get her son into the Charter-house.

11.  This morning the printer sent me an account of Prior’s _Journey_;
{291b} it makes a twopenny pamphlet.  I suppose you will see it, for I
dare engage it will run; ’tis a formal, grave lie, from the beginning to
the end.  I writ all but about the last page; that I dictated, and the
printer writ.  Mr. Secretary sent to me to dine where he did; it was at
Prior’s: when I came in, Prior showed me the pamphlet, seemed to be
angry, and said, “Here is our English liberty!”  I read some of it, and
said I liked it mightily, and envied the rogue the thought; for, had it
come into my head, I should have certainly done it myself.  We stayed at
Prior’s till past ten; and then the Secretary received a packet with the
news of Bouchain being taken, for which the guns will go off to-morrow.
Prior owned his having been in France, for it was past denying: it seems
he was discovered by a rascal at Dover, who had positive orders to let
him pass.  I believe we shall have a peace.

12.  It is terrible rainy weather, and has cost me three shillings in
coaches and chairs to-day, yet I was dirty into the bargain.  I was three
hours this morning with the Secretary about some business of moment, and
then went into the City to dine.  The printer tells me he sold yesterday
a thousand of Prior’s _Journey_, and had printed five hundred more.  It
will do rarely, I believe, and is a pure bite.  And what is MD doing all
this while? got again to their cards, their Walls, their deans, their
Stoytes, and their claret?  Pray present my service to Mr. Stoyte and
Catherine.  Tell Goody Stoyte she owes me a world of dinners, and I will
shortly come over and demand them.—Did I tell you of the Archbishop of
Dublin’s last letter?  He had been saying, in several of his former, that
he would shortly write to me something about myself; and it looked as if
he intended something for me: at last out it comes, and consists of two
parts.  First, he advises me to strike in for some preferment now I have
friends; and secondly, he advises me, since I have parts, and learning,
and a happy pen, to think of some new subject in divinity not handled by
others, which I should manage better than anybody.  A rare spark this,
with a pox! but I shall answer him as rarely.  Methinks he should have
invited me over, and given me some hopes or promises.  But hang him! and
so good-night, etc.

13.  It rained most furiously all this morning till about twelve, and
sometimes thundered; I trembled for my shillings, but it cleared up, and
I made a shift to get a walk in the Park, and then went with the
Secretary to dine with Lord Treasurer.  Upon Thursdays there is always a
select company: we had the Duke of Shrewsbury, Lord Rivers, the two
Secretaries, Mr. Granville, and Mr. Prior.  Half of them went to Council
at six; but Rivers, Granville, Prior, and I, stayed till eight.  Prior
was often affecting to be angry at the account of his journey to Paris;
and indeed the two last pages, which the printer got somebody to add,
{293a} are so romantic, they spoil all the rest.  Dilly Ashe pretended to
me that he was only going to Oxford and Cambridge for a fortnight, and
then would come back.  I could not see him as I appointed t’other day;
but some of his friends tell me he took leave of them as going to
Ireland; and so they say at his lodging.  I believe the rogue was ashamed
to tell me so, because I advised him to stay the winter, and he said he
would.  I find he had got into a good set of scrub acquaintance, and I
thought passed his time very merrily; but I suppose he languished after
Balderig, and the claret of Dublin; and, after all, I think he is in the
right; for he can eat, drink, and converse better there than here.
Bernage was with me this morning: he calls now and then; he is in
terrible fear of a peace.  He said he never had his health so well as in
Portugal.  He is a favourite of his Colonel.

14.  I was mortified enough to-day, not knowing where in the world to
dine, the town is so empty.  I met H. Coote, {293b} and thought he would
invite me, but he did not: Sir John Stanley did not come into my head; so
I took up with Mrs. Van, and dined with her and her damned landlady, who,
I believe, by her eyebrows, is a bawd.  This evening I met Addison and
Pastoral Philips in the Park, and supped with them at Addison’s lodgings:
we were very good company, and I yet know no man half so agreeable to me
as he is.  I sat with them till twelve, so you may think it is late,
young women; however, I would have some little conversation with MD
before your Presto goes to bed, because it makes me sleep, and dream, and
so forth.  Faith, this letter goes on slowly enough, sirrahs; but I
cannot write much at a time till you are quite settled after your
journey, you know, and have gone all your visits, and lost your money at
ombre.  You never play at chess now, Stella.  That puts me in mind of
Dick Tighe; I fancy I told you he used to beat his wife here; and she
deserved it; and he resolves to part with her; and they went to Ireland
in different coaches.  O Lord, I said all this before, I am sure.  Go to
bed, sirrahs.

Windsor, 15.  I made the Secretary stop at Brentford, because we set out
at two this afternoon, and fasting would not agree with me.  I only
designed to eat a bit of bread-and-butter; but he would light, and we ate
roast beef like dragons.  And he made me treat him and two more
gentlemen; faith, it cost me a guinea.  I do not like such jesting, yet I
was mightily pleased with it too.  To-night our Society met at the
Secretary’s: there were nine of us; and we have chosen a new member, the
Earl of Jersey, {294a} whose father died lately.  ’Tis past one, and I
have stolen away.

16.  I design to stay here this week by myself, about some business that
lies on my hands, and will take up a great deal of time.  Dr. Adams,
{294b} one of the canons, invited me to-day to dinner.  The tables are so
full here on Sunday that it is hard to dine with a few, and Dr. Adams
knows I love to do so; which is very obliging.  The Queen saw company in
her bed-chamber; she looks very well, but she sat down.  I supped with
Lord Treasurer as usual, and stayed till past one as usual, and with our
usual company, except Lord Keeper, who did not come this time to Windsor.
I hate these suppers mortally, but I seldom eat anything.

17.  Lord Treasurer and Mr. Secretary stay here till to-morrow; some
business keeps them, and I am sorry for it, for they hinder me a day.
Mr. Lewis and I were going to dine soberly with a little Court friend at
one.  But Lord Harley and Lord Dupplin kept me by force, and said we
should dine at Lord Treasurer’s, who intended to go at four to London.  I
stayed like a fool, and went with the two young lords to Lord Treasurer,
who very fairly turned us all three out of doors.  They both were invited
to the Duke of Somerset, but he was gone to a horse-race, and would not
come till five; so we were forced to go to a tavern, and sent for wine
from Lord Treasurer’s, who at last, we were told, did not go to town till
the morrow, and at Lord Treasurer’s we supped again; and I desired him to
let me add four shillings to the bill I gave him.  We sat up till two,
yet I must write to little MD.

18.  They are all gone early this morning, and I am alone to seek my
fortune; but Dr. Arbuthnot engages me for my dinners; and he yesterday
gave me my choice of place, person, and victuals for to-day.  So I chose
to dine with Mrs. Hill, who is one of the dressers, and Mrs. Masham’s
sister, no company but us three, and to have a shoulder of mutton, a
small one; which was exactly, only there was too much victuals besides;
and the Doctor’s wife {295a} was of the company.  And to-morrow Mrs. Hill
and I are to dine with the Doctor.  I have seen a fellow often about
Court whom I thought I knew.  I asked who he was, and they told me it was
the gentleman porter; then I called him to mind; he was Killy’s
acquaintance (I won’t say yours); I think his name is Lovet, {295b} or
Lovel, or something like it.  I believe he does not know me, and in my
present posture I shall not be fond of renewing old acquaintance; I
believe I used to see him with the Bradleys; and, by the way, I have not
seen Mrs. Bradley since I came to England.  I left your letter in London,
like a fool; and cannot answer it till I go back, which will not be until
Monday next; so this will be above a fortnight from my last; but I will
fetch it up in my next; so go and walk to the Dean’s for your health this
fine weather.

19.  The Queen designs to have cards and dancing here next week, which
makes us think she will stay here longer than we believed.  Mrs. Masham
is not well after her lying-in: I doubt she got some cold; she is lame in
one of her legs with a rheumatic pain.  Dr. Arbuthnot and Mrs. Hill go
to-morrow to Kensington to see her, and return the same night.  Mrs. Hill
and I dined with the Doctor to-day.  I rode out this morning with the
Doctor to see Cranburn, a house of Lord Ranelagh’s, {296a} and the
Duchess of Marlborough’s lodge, and the Park; the finest places they are,
for nature and plantations, that ever I saw; and the finest riding upon
artificial roads, made on purpose for the Queen.  Arbuthnot made me draw
up a sham subscription for a book, called _A History of the Maids of
Honour since Harry the Eighth_, showing they make the best wives, with a
list of all the maids of honour since, etc.; to pay a crown in hand, and
the other crown upon delivery of the book; and all in common forms of
those things.  We got a gentleman to write it fair, because my hand is
known; and we sent it to the maids of honour, when they came to supper.
If they bite at it, it will be a very good Court jest; and the Queen will
certainly have it: we did not tell Mrs. Hill.

20.  To-day I was invited to the Green Cloth by Colonel Godfrey, who
married the Duke of Marlborough’s sister, {296b} mother to the Duke of
Berwick by King James: I must tell you those things that happened before
you were born.  But I made my excuses, and young Harcourt (Lord Keeper’s
son) and I dined with my next neighbour, Dr. Adams. {297a}  Mrs. Masham
is better, and will be here in three or four days.  She had need; for the
Duchess of Somerset is thought to gain ground daily.—We have not sent you
over all your bills; and I think we have altered your money-bill.  The
Duke of Ormond is censured here, by those in power, for very wrong
management in the affair of the mayoralty. {297b}  He is governed by
fools, and has usually much more sense than his advisers, but never
proceeds by it.  I must know how your health continues after Wexford.
Walk and use exercise, sirrahs both; and get somebody to play at
shuttlecock with you, Madam Stella, and walk to the Dean’s and
Donnybrook.

21.  Colonel Godfrey sent to me again to-day; so I dined at the Green
Cloth, and we had but eleven at dinner, which is a small number there,
the Court being always thin of company till Saturday night.—This new ink
and pen make a strange figure; _I must write larger_, _yes I must_, _or
Stella will not be able to read this_. {297c}  S. S. S., there is your
S’s for you, Stella.  The maids of honour are bit, and have all
contributed their crowns, and are teasing others to subscribe for the
book.  I will tell Lord Keeper and Lord Treasurer to-morrow; and I
believe the Queen will have it.  After a little walk this evening, I
squandered away the rest of it in sitting at Lewis’s lodging, while he
and Dr. Arbuthnot played at picquet.  I have that foolish pleasure, which
I believe nobody has beside me, except old Lady Berkeley. {297d}  But I
fretted when I came away: I will loiter so no more, for I have a plaguy
deal of business upon my hands, and very little time to do it.  The
pamphleteers begin to be very busy against the Ministry: I have begged
Mr. Secretary to make examples of one or two of them, and he assures me
he will.  They are very bold and abusive.

22.  This being the day the Ministry come to Windsor, I ate a bit or two
at Mr. Lewis’s lodgings, because I must sup with Lord Treasurer; and at
half an hour after one, I led Mr. Lewis a walk up the avenue, which is
two miles long.  We walked in all about five miles; but I was so tired
with his slow walking, that I left him here, and walked two miles towards
London, hoping to meet Lord Treasurer, and return with him; but it grew
darkish, and I was forced to walk back, so I walked nine miles in all;
and Lord Treasurer did not come till after eight; which is very wrong,
for there was no moon, and I often tell him how ill he does to expose
himself so; but he only makes a jest of it.  I supped with him, and
stayed till now, when it is half an hour after two.  He is as merry and
careless and disengaged as a young heir at one-and-twenty.  ’Tis late
indeed.

23.  The Secretary did not come last night, but at three this afternoon.
I have not seen him yet, but I verily think they are contriving a peace
as fast as they can, without which it will be impossible to subsist.  The
Queen was at church to-day, but was carried in a chair.  I and Mr. Lewis
dined privately with Mr. Lowman, {298} Clerk of the Kitchen.  I was to
see Lord Keeper this morning, and told him the jest of the maids of
honour; and Lord Treasurer had it last night.  That rogue Arbuthnot puts
it all upon me.  The Court was very full to-day.  I expected Lord
Treasurer would have invited me to supper; but he only bowed to me; and
we had no discourse in the drawing-room.  It is now seven at night, and I
am at home; and I hope Lord Treasurer will not send for me to supper: if
he does not, I will reproach him; and he will pretend to chide me for not
coming.—So farewell till I go to bed, for I am going to be busy.—It is
now past ten, and I went down to ask the servants about Mr. Secretary:
they tell me the Queen is yet at Council, and that she went to supper,
and came out to the Council afterwards.  It is certain they are managing
a peace.  I will go to bed, and there is an end.—It is now eleven, and a
messenger is come from Lord Treasurer to sup with them; but I have
excused myself, and am glad I am in bed; for else I should sit up till
two, and drink till I was hot.  Now I’ll go sleep.

London, 24.  I came to town by six with Lord Treasurer, and have stayed
till ten.  That of the Queen’s going out to sup, and coming in again, is
a lie, as the Secretary told me this morning; but I find the Ministry are
very busy with Mr. Prior, and I believe he will go again to France.  I am
told so much, that we shall certainly have a peace very soon.  I had
charming weather all last week at Windsor; but we have had a little rain
to-day, and yesterday was windy.  Prior’s _Journey_ sells still; they
have sold two thousand, although the town is empty.  I found a letter
from Mrs. Fenton here, desiring me, in Lady Giffard’s name, to come and
pass a week at Sheen, while she is at Moor Park.  I will answer it with a
vengeance: and now you talk of answering, there is MD’s N. 20 is yet to
be answered: I had put it up so safe, I could hardly find it; but here it
is, faith, and I am afraid I cannot send this till Thursday; for I must
see the Secretary to-morrow morning, and be in some other place in the
evening.

25.  Stella writes like an emperor, and gives such an account of her
journey, never saw the like.  Let me see; stand away, let us compute; you
stayed four days at Inish-Corthy, two nights at Mrs. Proby’s mother’s,
and yet was but six days in journey; for your words are, “We left Wexford
this day se’ennight, and came here last night.”  I have heard them say
that “travellers may lie by authority.”  Make up this, if you can.  How
far is it from Wexford to Dublin? how many miles did you travel in a day?
{299}  Let me see—thirty pounds in two months is nine score pounds a
year; a matter of nothing in Stella’s purse!  I dreamed Billy Swift was
alive, and that I told him you writ me word he was dead, and that you had
been at his funeral; and I admired at your impudence, and was in mighty
haste to run and let you know what lying rogues you were.  Poor lad! he
is dead of his mother’s former folly and fondness; and yet now I believe,
as you say, that her grief will soon wear off.—O yes, Madam Dingley,
mightily tired of the company, no doubt of it, at Wexford!  And your
description of it is excellent; clean sheets, but bare walls; I suppose
then you lay upon the walls.—Mrs. Walls has got her tea; but who pays me
the money?  Come, I shall never get it; so I make a present of it, to
stop some gaps, etc.  Where’s the thanks of the house?  So, that’s well;
why, it cost four-and-thirty shillings English—you must adjust that with
Mrs. Walls; I think that is so many pence more with you.—No, Leigh and
Sterne, I suppose, were not at the water-side: I fear Sterne’s business
will not be done; I have not seen him this good while.  I hate him, for
the management of that box; and I was the greatest fool in nature for
trusting to such a young jackanapes; I will speak to him once more about
it, when I see him.  Mr. Addison and I met once more since, and I supped
with him; I believe I told you so somewhere in this letter.  The
Archbishop chose an admirable messenger in Walls, to send to me; yet I
think him fitter for a messenger than anything.—The D— she has!  I did
not observe her looks.  Will she rot out of modesty with Lady Giffard?  I
pity poor Jenny {300}—but her husband is a dunce, and with respect to him
she loses little by her deafness.  I believe, Madam Stella, in your
accounts you mistook one liquor for another, and it was an hundred and
forty quarts of wine, and thirty-two of water.—This is all written in the
morning before I go to the Secretary, as I am now doing.  I have answered
your letter a little shorter than ordinary; but I have a mind it should
go to-day, and I will give you my journal at night in my next; for I’m so
afraid of another letter before this goes: I will never have two together
again unanswered.—What care I for Dr. Tisdall and Dr. Raymond, or how
many children they have!  I wish they had a hundred apiece.—Lord
Treasurer promises me to answer the bishops’ letter to-morrow, and show
it me; and I believe it will confirm all I said, and mortify those that
threw the merit on the Duke of Ormond; for I have made him jealous of it;
and t’other day, talking of the matter, he said, “I am your witness, you
got it for them before the Duke was Lord Lieutenant.”  My humble service
to Mrs. Walls, Mrs. Stoyte, and Catherine.  Farewell, etc.

What do you do when you see any literal mistakes in my letters? how do
you set them right? for I never read them over to correct them.
Farewell, again.

Pray send this note to Mrs. Brent, to get the money when Parvisol comes
to town, or she can send to him.



LETTER XXXI.


                                                 LONDON, _Sept._ 25, 1711.

I DINED in the City to-day, and at my return I put my 30th into the
post-office; and when I got home I found for me one of the noblest
letters I ever read: it was from —, three sides and a half in folio, on a
large sheet of paper; the two first pages made up of satire upon London,
and crowds and hurry, stolen from some of his own schoolboy’s exercises:
the side and a half remaining is spent in desiring me to recommend Mrs.
South, your Commissioner’s widow, {301} to my Lord Treasurer for a
pension.  He is the prettiest, discreetest fellow that ever my eyes
beheld, or that ever dipped pen into ink.  I know not what to say to him.
A pox on him, I have too many such customers on this side already.  I
think I will send him word that I never saw my Lord Treasurer in my life:
I am sure I industriously avoided the name of any great person when I saw
him, for fear of his reporting it in Ireland.  And this recommendation
must be a secret too, for fear the Duke of Bolton {302a} should know it,
and think it was too mean.  I never read so d—d a letter in my life: a
little would make me send it over to you.—I must send you a pattern, the
first place I cast my eyes on, I will not pick and choose.  _In this
place_ (meaning the Exchange in London), _which is the compendium of old
Troynovant_, _as that is of the whole busy world_, _I got such a
surfeit_, _that I grew sick of mankind_, _and resolved for ever after to
bury myself in the shady retreat of_ —.  You must know that London has
been called by some Troynovant, or New Troy.  Will you have any more?
Yes, one little bit for Stella, because she’ll be fond of it.  This
wondrous theatre (meaning London) was no more to me than a desert, and I
should less complain of solitude in a Connaught shipwreck, or even the
great bog of Allen.  A little scrap for Mrs. Marget, {302b} and then I
have done.  _Their royal fanum_, _wherein the idol Pecunia is daily
worshipped_, _seemed to me to be just like a hive of bees working and
labouring under huge weights of cares_.  Fanum is a temple, but he means
the Exchange; and Pecunia is money: so now Mrs. Marget will understand
her part.  One more paragraph, and I—  Well, come, don’t be in such a
rage, you shall have no more.  Pray, Stella, be satisfied; ’tis very
pretty: and that I must be acquainted with such a dog as this!—Our peace
goes on fast.  Prior was with the Secretary two hours this morning: I was
there a little after he went away, and was told it.  I believe he will
soon be despatched again to France; and I will put somebody to write an
account of his second journey: I hope you have seen the other.  This
latter has taken up my time with storming at it.

26.  Bernage has been with me these two days; yesterday I sent for him to
let him know that Dr. Arbuthnot is putting in strongly to have his
brother made a captain over Bernage’s {303a} head.  Arbuthnot’s brother
is but an ensign, but the Doctor has great power with the Queen: yet he
told me he would not do anything hard to a gentleman who is my friend;
and I have engaged the Secretary and his Colonel {303b} for him.  To-day
he told me very melancholy, that the other had written from Windsor
(where he went to solicit) that he has got the company; and Bernage is
full of the spleen.  I made the Secretary write yesterday a letter to the
Colonel in Bernage’s behalf.  I hope it will do yet; and I have written
to Dr. Arbuthnot to Windsor, not to insist on doing such a hardship.  I
dined in the City at Pontack’s, with Stratford; it cost me seven
shillings: he would have treated, but I did not let him.  I have removed
my money from the Bank to another fund.  I desire Parvisol may speak to
Hawkshaw to pay in my money when he can, for I will put it in the funds;
and, in the meantime, borrow so much of Mr. Secretary, who offers to lend
it me.  Go to the Dean’s, sirrahs.

27.  Bernage was with me again to-day, and is in great fear, and so was
I; but this afternoon, at Lord Treasurer’s, where I dined, my brother,
George Granville, Secretary at War, after keeping me a while in suspense,
told me that Dr. Arbuthnot had waived the business, because he would not
wrong a friend of mine; that his brother is to be a lieutenant, and
Bernage is made a captain.  I called at his lodging, and the soldier’s
coffee-house, to put him out of pain, but cannot find him; so I have left
word, and shall see him to-morrow morning, I suppose.  Bernage is now
easy; he has ten shillings a day, beside lawful cheating.  However, he
gives a private sum to his Colonel, but it is very cheap: his Colonel
loves him well, but is surprised to see him have so many friends.  So he
is now quite off my hands.  I left the company early to-night, at Lord
Treasurer’s; but the Secretary followed me, to desire I would go with him
to W—.  Mr. Lewis’s man came in before I could finish that word beginning
with a W, which ought to be Windsor, and brought me a very handsome
rallying letter from Dr. Arbuthnot, to tell me he had, in compliance to
me, given up his brother’s pretensions in favour of Bernage, this very
morning; that the Queen had spoken to Mr. Granville to make the company
easy in the other’s having the captainship.  Whether they have done it to
oblige me or no, I must own it so.  He says he this very morning begged
Her Majesty to give Mr. Bernage the company.  I am mighty well pleased to
have succeeded so well; but you will think me tedious, although you like
the man, as I think.

Windsor, 28.  I came here a day sooner than ordinary, at Mr. Secretary’s
desire, and supped with him and Prior, and two private Ministers from
France, and a French priest. {304a}  I know not the two Ministers’ names;
but they are come about the peace.  The names the Secretary called them,
I suppose, were feigned; they were good rational men.  We have already
settled all things with France, and very much to the honour and advantage
of England; and the Queen is in mighty good humour.  All this news is a
mighty secret; the people in general know that a peace is forwarding.
The Earl of Strafford {304b} is to go soon to Holland, and let them know
what we have been doing: and then there will be the devil and all to pay;
but we’ll make them swallow it with a pox.  The French Ministers stayed
with us till one, and the Secretary and I sat up talking till two; so you
will own ’tis late, sirrahs, and time for your little saucy Presto to go
to bed and sleep adazy; and God bless poor little MD: I hope they are now
fast asleep, and dreaming of Presto.

29.  Lord Treasurer came to-night, as usual, at half an hour after eight,
as dark as pitch.  I am weary of chiding him; so I commended him for
observing his friend’s advice, and coming so early, etc.  I was two hours
with Lady Oglethorpe {304c} to-night, and then supped with Lord
Treasurer, after dining at the Green Cloth: I stayed till two; this is
the effect of Lord Treasurer’s being here; I must sup with him; and he
keeps cursed hours.  Lord Keeper and the Secretary were absent; they
cannot sit up with him.  This long sitting up makes the periods in my
letters so short.  I design to stay here all the next week, to be at
leisure by myself, to finish something of weight I have upon my hands,
and which must soon be done.  I shall then think of returning to Ireland,
if these people will let me; and I know nothing else they have for me to
do.  I gave Dr. Arbuthnot my thanks for his kindness to Bernage, whose
commission is now signed.  Methinks I long to know something of Stella’s
health, how it continues after Wexford waters.

30.  The Queen was not at chapel to-day, and all for the better, for we
had a dunce to preach: she has a little of the gout.  I dined with my
brother Masham, and a moderate company, and would not go to Lord
Treasurer’s till after supper at eleven o’clock, and pretended I had
mistaken the hour; so I ate nothing: and a little after twelve the
company broke up, the Keeper and Secretary refusing to stay; so I saved
this night’s debauch.  Prior went away yesterday with his Frenchmen, and
a thousand reports are raised in this town.  Some said they knew one to
be the Abbé de Polignac: others swore it was the Abbé du Bois.  The Whigs
are in a rage about the peace; but we’ll wherret {305a} them, I warrant,
boys.  Go, go, go to the Dean’s and don’t mind politics, young women,
they are not good after the waters; they are stark naught: they strike up
into the head.  Go, get two black aces, and fish for a manilio.

Oct. 1.  Sir John Walter, {305b} an honest drunken fellow, is now in
waiting, and invited me to the Green Cloth to-day, that he might not be
behindhand with Colonel Godfrey, who is a Whig.  I was engaged to the
Mayor’s feast with Mr. Masham; but waiting to take leave of Lord
Treasurer, I came too late, and so returned sneaking to the Green Cloth,
and did not see my Lord Treasurer neither; but was resolved not to lose
two dinners for him.  I took leave to-day of my friend and solicitor Lord
Rivers, who is commanded by the Queen to set out for Hanover on Thursday.
The Secretary does not go to town till to-morrow; he and I, and two
friends more, drank a sober bottle of wine here at home, and parted at
twelve; he goes by seven to-morrow morning, so I shall not see him.  I
have power over his cellar in his absence, and make little use of it.
Lord Dartmouth and my friend Lewis stay here this week; but I can never
work out a dinner from Dartmouth.  Masham has promised to provide for me:
I squired his lady out of her chaise to-day, and must visit her in a day
or two.  So you have had a long fit of the finest weather in the world;
but I am every day in pain that it will go off.  I have done no business
to-day; I am very idle.

2.  My friend Lewis and I, to avoid over much eating and great tables,
dined with honest Jemmy Eckershall, {306} Clerk of the Kitchen, now in
waiting, and I bespoke my dinner: but the cur had your acquaintance
Lovet, the gentleman porter, to be our company.  Lovet, towards the end
of dinner, after twenty wrigglings, said he had the honour to see me
formerly at Moor Park, and thought he remembered my face.  I said I
thought I remembered him, and was glad to see him, etc., and I escaped
for that much, for he was very pert.  It has rained all this day, and I
doubt our good weather is gone.  I have been very idle this afternoon,
playing at twelvepenny picquet with Lewis: I won seven shillings, which
is the only money I won this year: I have not played above four times,
and I think always at Windsor.  Cards are very dear: there is a duty on
them of sixpence a pack, which spoils small gamesters.

3.  Mr. Masham sent this morning to desire I would ride out with him, the
weather growing again very fine.  I was very busy, and sent my excuses;
but desired he would provide me a dinner.  I dined with him, his lady,
and her sister, Mrs. Hill, who invites us to-morrow to dine with her, and
we are to ride out in the morning.  I sat with Lady Oglethorpe till eight
this evening, then was going home to write; looked about for the woman
that keeps the key of the house: she told me Patrick had it.  I cooled my
heels in the cloisters till nine, then went in to the music-meeting,
where I had been often desired to go; but was weary in half an hour of
their fine stuff, and stole out so privately that everybody saw me; and
cooled my heels in the cloisters again till after ten: then came in
Patrick.  I went up, shut the chamber door, and gave him two or three
swinging cuffs on the ear, and I have strained the thumb of my left hand
with pulling him, which I did not feel until he was gone.  He was
plaguily afraid and humbled.

4.  It was the finest day in the world, and we got out before eleven, a
noble caravan of us.  The Duchess of Shrewsbury in her own chaise with
one horse, and Miss Touchet {307a} with her, Mrs. Masham and Mrs.
Scarborow, one of the dressers, in one of the Queen’s chaises; Miss
Forester and Miss Scarborow, {307b} two maids of honour, and Mrs. Hill on
horseback.  The Duke of Shrewsbury, Mr. Masham, George Fielding, {307c}
Arbuthnot, and I, on horseback too.  Mrs. Hill’s horse was hired for Miss
Scarborow, but she took it in civility; her own horse was galled and
could not be rid, but kicked and winced: the hired horse was not worth
eighteenpence.  I borrowed coat, boots, and horse, and in short we had
all the difficulties, and more than we used to have in making a party
from Trim to Longfield’s. {307d}  My coat was light camlet, faced with
red velvet, and silver buttons.  We rode in the great park and the forest
about a dozen miles, and the Duchess and I had much conversation: we got
home by two, and Mr. Masham, his lady, Arbuthnot and I, dined with Mrs.
Hill.  Arbuthnot made us all melancholy, by some symptoms of bloody u—e:
he expects a cruel fit of the stone in twelve hours; he says he is never
mistaken, and he appears like a man that was to be racked to-morrow.  I
cannot but hope it will not be so bad; he is a perfectly honest man, and
one I have much obligation to.  It rained a little this afternoon, and
grew fair again.  Lady Oglethorpe sent to speak to me, and it was to let
me know that Lady Rochester {308a} desires she and I may be better
acquainted.  ’Tis a little too late; for I am not now in love with Lady
Rochester: they shame me out of her, because she is old.  Arbuthnot says
he hopes my strained thumb is not the gout; for he has often found people
so mistaken.  I do not remember the particular thing that gave it me,
only I had it just after beating Patrick, and now it is better; so I
believe he is mistaken.

5.  The Duchess of Shrewsbury sent to invite me to dinner; but I was
abroad last night when her servant came, and this morning I sent my
excuses, because I was engaged, which I was sorry for.  Mrs. Forester
taxed me yesterday about the _History of the Maids of Honour_; {308b} but
I told her fairly it was no jest of mine; for I found they did not relish
it altogether well; and I have enough already of a quarrel with that
brute Sir John Walter, who has been railing at me in all companies ever
since I dined with him; that I abused the Queen’s meat and drink, and
said nothing at the table was good, and all a d—d lie; for after dinner,
commending the wine, I said I thought it was something small.  You would
wonder how all my friends laugh at this quarrel.  It will be such a jest
for the Keeper, Treasurer, and Secretary.—I dined with honest Colonel
Godfrey, took a good walk of an hour on the terrace, and then came up to
study; but it grows bloody cold, and I have no waistcoat here.

6.  I never dined with the chaplains till to-day; but my friend Gastrell
and the Dean of Rochester {309a} had often invited me, and I happened to
be disengaged: it is the worst provided table at Court.  We ate on
pewter: every chaplain, when he is made a dean, gives a piece of plate,
and so they have got a little, some of it very old.  One who was made
Dean of Peterborough (a small deanery) said he would give no plate; he
was only Dean of Pewterborough.  The news of Mr. Hill’s miscarriage in
his expedition {309b} came to-day, and I went to visit Mrs. Masham and
Mrs. Hill, his two sisters, to condole with them.  I advised them by all
means to go to the music-meeting to-night, to show they were not cast
down, etc., and they thought my advice was right, and went.  I doubt Mr.
Hill and his admiral made wrong steps; however, we lay it all to a storm,
etc.  I sat with the Secretary at supper; then we both went to Lord
Treasurer’s supper, and sat till twelve.  The Secretary is much mortified
about Hill, because this expedition was of his contriving, and he counted
much upon it; but Lord Treasurer was just as merry as usual, and old
laughing at Sir John Walter and me falling out.  I said nothing grieved
me but that they would take example, and perhaps presume upon it, and get
out of my government; but that I thought I was not obliged to govern
bears, though I governed men.  They promise to be as obedient as ever,
and so we laughed; and so I go to bed; for it is colder still, and you
have a fire now, and are at cards at home.

7.  Lord Harley and I dined privately to-day with Mrs. Masham and Mrs.
Hill, and my brother Masham.  I saw Lord Halifax at Court, and we joined
and talked; and the Duchess of Shrewsbury came up and reproached me for
not dining with her.  I said that was not so soon done, for I expected
more advances from ladies, especially duchesses: she promised to comply
with any demands I pleased; and I agreed to dine with her to-morrow, if I
did not go to London too soon, as I believe I shall before dinner.  Lady
Oglethorpe brought me and the Duchess of Hamilton {310a} together to-day
in the drawing-room, and I have given her some encouragement, but not
much.  Everybody has been teasing Walter.  He told Lord Treasurer that he
took his company from him that were to dine with him: my lord said, “I
will send you Dr. Swift:”  Lord Keeper bid him take care what he did;
“for,” said he, “Dr. Swift is not only all our favourite, but our
governor.”  The old company supped with Lord Treasurer, and got away by
twelve.

London, 8.  I believe I shall go no more to Windsor, for we expect the
Queen will come in ten days to Hampton Court.  It was frost last night,
and cruel cold to-day.  I could not dine with the Duchess, for I left
Windsor half an hour after one with Lord Treasurer, and we called at
Kensington, where Mrs. Masham was got to see her children for two days.
I dined, or rather supped, with Lord Treasurer, and stayed till after
ten.  Tisdall {310b} and his family are gone from hence, upon some
wrangle with the family.  Yesterday I had two letters brought me to Mr.
Masham’s; one from Ford, and t’other from our little MD, N. 21.  I would
not tell you till to-day, because I would not.  I won’t answer it till
the next, because I have slipped two days by being at Windsor, which I
must recover here.  Well, sirrahs, I must go to sleep.  The roads were as
dry as at midsummer to-day.  This letter shall go to-morrow.

9.  Morning.  It rains hard this morning.  I suppose our fair weather is
now at an end.  I think I’ll put on my waistcoat to-day: shall I?  Well,
I will then, to please MD.  I think of dining at home to-day upon a chop
and a pot.  The town continues yet very thin.  Lord Strafford is gone to
Holland, to tell them what we have done here toward a peace.  We shall
soon hear what the Dutch say, and how they take it.  My humble service to
Mrs. Walls, Mrs. Stoyte, and Catherine.—Morrow, dearest sirrahs, and
farewell; and God Almighty bless MD, poor little dear MD, for so I mean,
and Presto too.  I’ll write to you again to-night, that is, I’ll begin my
next letter.  Farewell, etc.

This little bit belongs to MD; we must always write on the margin: {311a}
you are saucy rogues.



LETTER XXXII.


                                                   LONDON, _Oct._ 9, 1711.

I WAS forced to lie down at twelve to-day, and mend my night’s sleep: I
slept till after two, and then sent for a bit of mutton and pot of ale
from the next cook’s shop, and had no stomach.  I went out at four, and
called to see Biddy Floyd, which I had not done these three months: she
is something marked, but has recovered her complexion quite, and looks
very well.  Then I sat the evening with Mrs. Vanhomrigh, and drank
coffee, and ate an egg.  I likewise took a new lodging to-day, not liking
a ground-floor, nor the ill smell, and other circumstances.  I lodge, or
shall lodge, by Leicester Fields, and pay ten shillings a week; that
won’t hold out long, faith.  I shall lie here but one night more.  It
rained terribly till one o’clock to-day.  I lie, for I shall lie here two
nights, till Thursday, and then remove.  Did I tell you that my friend
Mrs. Barton has a brother {311b} drowned, that went on the expedition
with Jack Hill?  He was a lieutenant-colonel, and a coxcomb; and she
keeps her chamber in form, and the servants say she receives no
messages.—Answer MD’s letter, Presto, d’ye hear?  No, says Presto, I
won’t yet, I’m busy; you’re a saucy rogue.  Who talks?

10.  It cost me two shillings in coach-hire to dine in the City with a
printer.  I have sent, and caused to be sent, three pamphlets out in a
fortnight.  I will ply the rogues warm; and whenever anything of theirs
makes a noise, it shall have an answer.  I have instructed an under
spur-leather to write so, that it is taken for mine.  A rogue that writes
a newspaper, called _The Protestant Postboy_, has reflected on me in one
of his papers; but the Secretary has taken him up, and he shall have a
squeeze extraordinary.  He says that an ambitious tantivy, {312a} missing
of his towering hopes of preferment in Ireland, is come over to vent his
spleen on the late Ministry, etc.  I’ll tantivy him with a vengeance.  I
sat the evening at home, and am very busy, and can hardly find time to
write, unless it were to MD.  I am in furious haste.

11.  I dined to-day with Lord Treasurer.  Thursdays are now his days when
his choice company comes, but we are too much multiplied.  George
Granville sent his excuses upon being ill; I hear he apprehends the
apoplexy, which would grieve me much.  Lord Treasurer calls Prior nothing
but Monsieur Baudrier, which was the feigned name of the Frenchman that
writ his _Journey to Paris_. {312b}  They pretend to suspect me, so I
talk freely of it, and put them out of their play.  Lord Treasurer calls
me now Dr. Martin, because martin {312c} is a sort of a swallow, and so
is a swift.  When he and I came last Monday from Windsor, we were reading
all the signs on the road. {312d}  He is a pure trifler; tell the Bishop
of Clogher so.  I made him make two lines in verse for the Bell and
Dragon, and they were rare bad ones.  I suppose Dilly is with you by this
time: what could his reason be of leaving London, and not owning it?
’Twas plaguy silly.  I believe his natural inconstancy made him weary.  I
think he is the king of inconstancy.  I stayed with Lord Treasurer till
ten; we had five lords and three commoners.  Go to ombre, sirrahs.

12.  Mrs. Vanhomrigh has changed her lodging as well as I.  She found she
had got with a bawd, and removed.  I dined with her to-day; for though
she boards, her landlady does not dine with her.  I am grown a mighty
lover of herrings; but they are much smaller here than with you.  In the
afternoon I visited an old major-general, and ate six oysters; then sat
an hour with Mrs. Colledge, {313a} the joiner’s daughter that was hanged;
it was the joiner was hanged, and not his daughter; with Thompson’s wife,
a magistrate.  There was the famous Mrs. Floyd of Chester, who, I think,
is the handsomest woman (except MD) that ever I saw.  She told me that
twenty people had sent her the verses upon Biddy, {313b} as meant to her:
and, indeed, in point of handsomeness, she deserves them much better.  I
will not go to Windsor to-morrow, and so I told the Secretary to-day.  I
hate the thoughts of Saturday and Sunday suppers with Lord Treasurer.
Jack Hill is come home from his unfortunate expedition, and is, I think,
now at Windsor: I have not yet seen him.  He is privately blamed by his
own friends for want of conduct.  He called a council of war, and therein
it was determined to come back.  But they say a general should not do
that, because the officers will always give their opinion for returning,
since the blame will not lie upon them, but the general.  I pity him
heartily.  Bernage received his commission to-day.

13.  I dined to-day with Colonel Crowe, {313c} late Governor of
Barbadoes; he is a great acquaintance of your friend Sterne, to whom I
trusted the box.  Lord Treasurer has refused Sterne’s business, and I
doubt he is a rake; Jemmy Leigh stays for him, and nobody knows where to
find him.  I am so busy now I have hardly time to spare to write to our
little MD, but in a fortnight I hope it will be over.  I am going now to
be busy, etc.

14.  I was going to dine with Dr. Cockburn, but Sir Andrew Fountaine met
me, and carried me to Mrs. Van’s, where I drank the last bottle of
Raymond’s wine, admirable good, better than any I get among the Ministry.
I must pick up time to answer this letter of MD’s; I’ll do it in a day or
two for certain.—I am glad I am not at Windsor, for it is very cold, and
I won’t have a fire till November.  I am contriving how to stop up my
grate with bricks.  Patrick was drunk last night; but did not come to me,
else I should have given him t’other cuff.  I sat this evening with Mrs.
Barton; it is the first day of her seeing company; but I made her merry
enough, and we were three hours disputing upon Whig and Tory.  She
grieved for her brother only for form, and he was a sad dog.  Is Stella
well enough to go to church, pray? no numbings left? no darkness in your
eyes? do you walk and exercise?  Your exercise is ombre.—People are
coming up to town: the Queen will be at Hampton Court in a week.  Lady
Betty Germaine, I hear, is come; and Lord Pembroke is coming: his wife
{314a} is as big with child as she can tumble.

15.  I sat at home till four this afternoon to-day writing, and ate a
roll and butter; then visited Will Congreve an hour or two, and supped
with Lord Treasurer, who came from Windsor to-day, and brought Prior with
him.  The Queen has thanked Prior for his good service in France, and
promised to make him a Commissioner of the Customs.  Several of that
Commission are to be out; among the rest, my friend Sir Matthew Dudley.
I can do nothing for him, he is so hated by the Ministry.  Lord Treasurer
kept me till twelve, so I need not tell you it is now late.

16.  I dined to-day with Mr. Secretary at Dr. Coatesworth’s, {314b} where
he now lodges till his house be got ready in Golden Square.  One Boyer,
{314c} a French dog, has abused me in a pamphlet, and I have got him up
in a messenger’s hands: the Secretary promises me to swinge him.  Lord
Treasurer told me last night that he had the honour to be abused with me
in a pamphlet.  I must make that rogue an example, for warning to others.
I was to see Jack Hill this morning, who made that unfortunate
expedition; and there is still more misfortune; for that ship, which was
admiral of his fleet, {315a} is blown up in the Thames, by an accident
and carelessness of some rogue, who was going, as they think, to steal
some gunpowder: five hundred men are lost.  We don’t yet know the
particulars.  I am got home by seven, and am going to be busy, and you
are going to play and supper; you live ten times happier than I; but I
should live ten times happier than you if I were with MD.  I saw Jemmy
Leigh to-day in the street, who tells me that Sterne has not lain above
once these three weeks in his lodgings, and he doubts he takes ill
courses; he stays only till he can find Sterne to go along with him, and
he cannot hear of him.  I begged him to inquire about the box when he
comes to Chester, which he promises.

17.  The Secretary and I dined to-day with Brigadier Britton, {315b} a
great friend of his.  The lady of the house is very gallant, about
thirty-five; she is said to have a great deal of wit; but I see nothing
among any of them that equals MD by a bar’s length, as hope saved.  My
Lord Treasurer is much out of order; he has a sore throat, and the
gravel, and a pain in his breast where the wound was: pray God preserve
him.  The Queen comes to Hampton Court on Tuesday next; people are coming
fast to town, and I must answer MD’s letter, which I can hardly find time
to do, though I am at home the greatest part of the day.  Lady Betty
Germaine and I were disputing Whig and Tory to death this morning.  She
is grown very fat, and looks mighty well.  Biddy Floyd was there, and she
is, I think, very much spoiled with the smallpox.

18.  Lord Treasurer is still out of order, and that breaks our method of
dining there to-day.  He is often subject to a sore throat, and some time
or other it will kill him, unless he takes more care than he is apt to
do.  It was said about the town that poor Lord Peterborow was dead at
Frankfort; but he is something better, and the Queen is sending him to
Italy, where I hope the warm climate will recover him: he has abundance
of excellent qualities, and we love one another mightily.  I was this
afternoon in the City, ate a bit of meat, and settled some things with a
printer.  I will answer your letter on Saturday, if possible, and then
send away this; so to fetch up the odd days I lost at Windsor, and keep
constant to my fortnight.  Ombre time is now coming on, and we shall have
nothing but Manley, and Walls, and Stoytes, and the Dean.  Have you got
no new acquaintance?  Poor girls; nobody knows MD’s good qualities.—’Tis
very cold; but I will not have a fire till November, that’s pozz.—Well,
but coming home to-night, I found on my table a letter from MD; faith, I
was angry, that is, with myself; and I was afraid too to see MD’s hand so
soon, for fear of something, I don’t know what: at last I opened it, and
it was over well, and a bill for the two hundred guineas.  However, ’tis
a sad thing that this letter is not gone, nor your twenty-first answered
yet.

19.  I was invited to-day to dine with Mrs. Van, with some company who
did not come; but I ate nothing but herrings; you must know I hardly ever
eat of above one thing, and that the plainest ordinary meat at table; I
love it best, and believe it wholesomest.  You love rarities; yes you do;
I wish you had all that I ever see where I go.  I was coming home early,
and met the Secretary in his chair, who persuaded me to go with him to
Britton’s; for he said he had been all day at business, and had eaten
nothing.  So I went, and the time passed so, that we stayed till two, so
you may believe ’tis late enough.

20.  This day has gone all wrong, by sitting up so late last night.  Lord
Treasurer is not yet well, and can’t go to Windsor.  I dined with Sir
Matthew Dudley, and took occasion to hint to him that he would lose his
employment, for which I am very sorry.  Lord Pembroke and his family are
all come to town.  I was kept so long at a friend’s this evening that I
cannot send this to-night.  When I knocked at my lodgings, a fellow asked
me where lodged Dr. Swift?  I told him I was the person: he gave me a
letter he brought from the Secretary’s office, and I gave him a shilling:
when I came up, I saw Dingley’s hand: faith, I was afraid, I do not know
what.  At last it was a formal letter, from Dingley about her exchequer
business.  Well, I’ll do it on Monday, and settle it with Tooke.  And
now, boys, for your letter, I mean the first, N. 21.  Let’s see; come
out, little letter.  I never had the letter from the Bishop that Raymond
mentions; but I have written to Ned Southwell, to desire the Duke of
Ormond to speak to his reverence, that he may leave off his impertinence.
What a pox can they think I am doing for the Archbishop here?  You have a
pretty notion of me in Ireland, to make me an agent for the Archbishop of
Dublin.—Why! do you think I value your people’s ingratitude about my part
in serving them?  I remit them their first-fruits of ingratitude, as
freely as I got the other remitted to them.  The Lord Treasurer defers
writing his letter to them, or else they would be plaguily confounded by
this time.  For he designs to give the merit of it wholly to the Queen
and me, and to let them know it was done before the Duke of Ormond was
Lord Lieutenant.  You visit, you dine abroad, you see friends; you
pilgarlick; {317a} you walk from Finglas, you a cat’s foot.  O Lord—Lady
Gore {317b} hung her child by the _waist_; what is that waist? {318}  I
don’t understand that word; he must hang on till you explain or spell
it.—I don’t believe he was pretty, that’s a liiii.—Pish! burn your
First-Fruits; again at it.  Stella has made twenty false spellings in her
writing; I’ll send them to you all back again on the other side of this
letter, to mend them; I won’t miss one.  Why, I think there were
seventeen bishops’ names to the letter Lord Oxford received.—I will send
you some pamphlets by Leigh; put me in mind of it on Monday, for I shall
go then to the printer; yes, and the _Miscellany_.  I am mightily obliged
to Walls, but I don’t deserve it by any usage of him here, having seen
him but twice, and once en passant.  Mrs. Manley forsworn ombre!  What!
and no blazing star appear? no monsters born? no whale thrown up? have
you not found out some evasion for her?  She had no such regard to oaths
in her younger days.  I got the books for nothing, Madam Dingley; but the
wine I got not; it was but a promise.—Yes, my head is pretty well in the
main, only now and then a little threatening or so.—You talk of my
reconciling some great folks.  I tell you what.  The Secretary told me
last night that he had found the reason why the Queen was cold to him for
some months past; that a friend had told it him yesterday; and it was,
that they suspected he was at the bottom with the Duke of Marlborough.
Then he said he had reflected upon all I had spoken to him long ago, but
he thought it had only been my suspicion, and my zeal and kindness for
him.  I said I had reason to take that very ill, to imagine I knew so
little of the world as to talk at a venture to a great Minister; that I
had gone between him and Lord Treasurer often, and told each of them what
I had said to the other, and that I had informed him so before.  He said
all that you may imagine to excuse himself, and approve my conduct.  I
told him I knew all along that this proceeding of mine was the surest way
to send me back to my willows in Ireland, but that I regarded it not,
provided I could do the kingdom service in keeping them well together.  I
minded him how often I had told Lord Treasurer, Lord Keeper, and him
together, that all things depended on their union, and that my comfort
was to see them love one another; and I had told them all singly that I
had not said this by chance, etc. He was in a rage to be thus suspected;
swears he will be upon a better foot, or none at all; and I do not see
how they can well want him in this juncture.  I hope to find a way of
settling this matter.  I act an honest part, that will bring me neither
honour nor praise.  MD must think the better of me for it: nobody else
shall ever know of it.  Here’s politics enough for once; but Madam DD
gave me occasion for it.  I think I told you I have got into lodgings
that don’t smell ill—O Lord! the spectacles: well, I’ll do that on Monday
too; although it goes against me to be employed for folks that neither
you nor I care a groat for.  Is the eight pounds from Hawkshaw included
in the thirty-nine pounds five shillings and twopence?  How do I know by
this how my account stands?  Can’t you write five or six lines to cast it
up?  Mine is forty-four pounds per annum, and eight pounds from Hawkshaw
makes fifty-two pounds.  Pray set it right, and let me know; you had
best.—And so now I have answered N. 21, and ’tis late, and I will answer
N. 22 in my next: this cannot go to-night, but shall on Tuesday: and so
go to your play, and lose your money, with your two eggs a penny; silly
jade; you witty? very pretty.

21.  Mrs. Van would have me dine with her again to-day, and so I did,
though Lady Mountjoy has sent two or three times to have me see and dine
with her, and she is a little body I love very well.  My head has ached a
little in the evenings these three or four days, but it is not of the
giddy sort, so I do not much value it.  I was to see Lord Harley to-day,
but Lord Treasurer took physic; and I could not see him.  He has voided
much gravel, and is better, but not well: he talks of going on Tuesday to
see the Queen at Hampton Court; I wish he may be able.  I never saw so
fine a summer day as this was: how is it with you, pray? and can’t you
remember, naughty packs?  I han’t seen Lord Pembroke yet.  He will be
sorry to miss Dilly: I wonder you say nothing of Dilly’s being got to
Ireland; if he be not there soon, I shall have some certain odd thoughts:
guess them if you can.

22.  I dined in the City to-day with Dr. Freind, at one of my printers: I
inquired for Leigh, but could not find him: I have forgot what sort of
apron you want.  I must rout among your letters, a needle in a bottle of
hay.  I gave Sterne directions, but where to find him Lord knows.  I have
bespoken the spectacles; got a set of _Examiners_, and five pamphlets,
which I have either written or contributed to, except the best, which is
the _Vindication of the Duke of Marlborough_, and is entirely of the
author of the _Atalantis_. {320}  I have settled Dingley’s affair with
Tooke, who has undertaken it, and understands it.  I have bespoken a
_Miscellany_: what would you have me do more?  It cost me a shilling
coming home; it rains terribly, and did so in the morning.  Lord
Treasurer has had an ill day, in much pain.  He writes and does business
in his chamber now he is ill: the man is bewitched: he desires to see me,
and I’ll maul him, but he will not value it a rush.  I am half weary of
them all.  I often burst out into these thoughts, and will certainly
steal away as soon as I decently can.  I have many friends, and many
enemies; and the last are more constant in their nature.  I have no
shuddering at all to think of retiring to my old circumstances, if you
can be easy; but I will always live in Ireland as I did the last time; I
will not hunt for dinners there, nor converse with more than a very few.

23.  Morning.  This goes to-day, and shall be sealed by and by.  Lord
Treasurer takes physic again to-day: I believe I shall dine with Lord
Dupplin.  Mr. Tooke brought me a letter directed for me at Morphew’s the
bookseller.  I suppose, by the postage, it came from Ireland.  It is a
woman’s hand, and seems false spelt on purpose: it is in such sort of
verse as Harris’s petition; {321a} rallies me for writing merry things,
and not upon divinity; and is like the subject of the Archbishop’s last
letter, as I told you.  Can you guess whom it came from?  It is not ill
written; pray find it out.  There is a Latin verse at the end of it all
rightly spelt; yet the English, as I think, affectedly wrong in many
places.  My plaguing time is coming.  A young fellow brought me a letter
from Judge Coote, {321b} with recommendation to be lieutenant of a
man-of-war.  He is the son of one Echlin, {321c} who was minister of
Belfast before Tisdall, and I have got some other new customers; but I
shall trouble my friends as little as possible.  Saucy Stella used to
jeer me for meddling with other folks’ affairs; but now I am punished for
it.—Patrick has brought the candle, and I have no more room.  Farewell,
etc. etc.

Here is a full and true account of Stella’s new spelling:—{321d}

Plaguely,          Plaguily.
Dineing,           Dining.
Straingers,        Strangers.
Chais,             Chase.
Waist,             Wast.
Houer,             Hour.
Immagin,           Imagine.
A bout,            About.
Intellegence,      Intelligence.
Merrit,            Merit.
Aboundance,        Abundance.
Secreet,           Secret.
Phamphlets,        Pamphlets.
Bussiness,         Business.

Tell me truly, sirrah, how many of these are mistakes of the pen, and how
many are you to answer for as real ill spelling?  There are but fourteen;
I said twenty by guess.  You must not be angry, for I will have you spell
right, let the world go how it will.  Though, after all, there is but a
mistake of one letter in any of these words.  I allow you henceforth but
six false spellings in every letter you send me.



LETTER XXXIII.


                                                  LONDON, _Oct._ 23, 1711.

I DINED with Lord Dupplin as I told you I would, and put my thirty-second
into the post-office my own self; and I believe there has not been one
moment since we parted wherein a letter was not upon the road going or
coming to or from PMD.  If the Queen knew it, she would give us a
pension; for it is we bring good luck to their post-boys and their
packets; else they would break their necks and sink.  But, an old saying
and a true one:

   Be it snow, or storm, or hail,
   PMD’s letters never fail;
   Cross winds may sometimes make them tarry,
   But PMD’s letters can’t miscarry.

Terrible rain to-day, but it cleared up at night enough to save my
twelvepence coming home.  Lord Treasurer is much better this evening.  I
hate to have him ill, he is so confoundedly careless.  I won’t answer
your letter yet, so be satisfied.

24.  I called at Lord Treasurer’s to-day at noon: he was eating some
broth in his bed-chamber, undressed, with a thousand papers about him.
He has a little fever upon him, and his eye terribly bloodshot; yet he
dressed himself and went out to the Treasury.  He told me he had a letter
from a lady with a complaint against me; it was from Mrs. Cutts, a sister
of Lord Cutts, who writ to him that I had abused her brother: {323a} you
remember the “Salamander,” it is printed in the _Miscellany_.  I told my
lord that I would never regard complaints, and that I expected, whenever
he received any against me, he would immediately put them into the fire,
and forget them, else I should have no quiet.  I had a little turn in my
head this morning; which, though it did not last above a moment, yet
being of the true sort, has made me as weak as a dog all this day.  ’Tis
the first I have had this half-year.  I shall take my pills if I hear of
it again.  I dined at Lady Mountjoy’s with Harry Coote, {323b} and went
to see Lord Pembroke upon his coming to town.—The Whig party are furious
against a peace, and every day some ballad comes out reflecting on the
Ministry on that account.  The Secretary St. John has seized on a dozen
booksellers and publishers into his messengers’ hands. {323c}  Some of
the foreign Ministers have published the preliminaries agreed on here
between France and England; and people rail at them as insufficient to
treat a peace upon; but the secret is, that the French have agreed to
articles much more important, which our Ministers have not communicated,
and the people, who think they know all, are discontented that there is
no more.  This was an inconvenience I foretold to the Secretary, but we
could contrive no way to fence against it.  So there’s politics for you.

25.  The Queen is at Hampton Court: she went on Tuesday in that terrible
rain.  I dined with Lewis at his lodgings, to despatch some business we
had.  I sent this morning and evening to Lord Treasurer, and he is much
worse by going out; I am in pain about evening.  He has sent for Dr.
Radcliffe; pray God preserve him.  The Chancellor of the Exchequer {324a}
showed me to-day a ballad {324b} in manuscript against Lord Treasurer and
his South Sea project; it is very sharply written: if it be not printed,
I will send it you.  If it be, it shall go in your packet of pamphlets.—I
found out your letter about directions for the apron, and have ordered to
be bought a cheap green silk work apron; I have it by heart.  I sat this
evening with Mrs. Barton, who is my near neighbour.  It was a delicious
day, and I got my walk, and was thinking whether MD was walking too just
at that time that Presto was. This paper does not cost me a farthing, I
have it from the Secretary’s office.  I long till to-morrow to know how
my Lord Treasurer sleeps this night, and to hear he mends: we are all
undone without him; so pray for him, sirrahs, and don’t stay too late at
the Dean’s.

26.  I dined with Mrs. Van; for the weather is so bad, and I am so busy,
that I can’t dine with great folks: and besides I dare eat but little, to
keep my head in order, which is better.  Lord Treasurer is very ill, but
I hope in no danger.  We have no quiet with the Whigs, they are so
violent against a peace; but I’ll cool them, with a vengeance, very soon.
I have not heard from the Bishop of Clogher, whether he has got his
statues. {324c}  I writ to him six weeks ago; he’s so busy with his
Parliament.  I won’t answer your letter yet, say what you will, saucy
girls.

27.  I forgot to go about some business this morning, which cost me
double the time; and I was forced to be at the Secretary’s office till
four, and lose my dinner; so I went to Mrs. Van’s, and made them get me
three herrings, which I am very fond of, and they are a light victuals:
besides, I was to have supped at Lady Ashburnham’s; but the drab did not
call for us in her coach, as she promised, but sent for us, and so I sent
my excuses.  It has been a terrible rainy day, but so flattering in the
morning, that I would needs go out in my new hat.  I met Leigh and Sterne
as I was going into the Park.  Leigh says he will go to Ireland in ten
days, if he can get Sterne to go with him; so I will send him the things
for MD, and I have desired him to inquire about the box.  I hate that
Sterne for his carelessness about it; but it was my fault.

29.  I was all this terrible rainy day with my friend Lewis upon business
of importance; and I dined with him, and came home about seven, and
thought I would amuse myself a little, after the pains I had taken.  I
saw a volume of Congreve’s plays in my room, that Patrick had taken to
read; and I looked into it, and in mere loitering read in it till twelve,
like an owl and a fool: if ever I do so again; never saw the like.  Count
Gallas, {325a} the Emperor’s Envoy, you will hear, is in disgrace with
us: the Queen has ordered her Ministers to have no more commerce with
him; the reason is, the fool writ a rude letter to Lord Dartmouth,
Secretary of State, complaining of our proceedings about a peace; and he
is always in close confidence with Lord Wharton and Sunderland, and
others of the late Ministry.  I believe you begin to think there will be
no peace; the Whigs here are sure it cannot be, and stocks are fallen
again.  But I am confident there will, unless France plays us tricks; and
you may venture a wager with any of your Whig acquaintance that we shall
not have another campaign.  You will get more by it than by ombre,
sirrah.—I let slip telling you yesterday’s journal, which I thought to
have done this morning, but blundered.  I dined yesterday at Harry
Coote’s, with Lord Hatton, {325b} Mr. Finch, a son of Lord Nottingham,
and Sir Andrew Fountaine.  I left them soon, but hear they stayed till
two in the morning, and were all drunk: and so good-night for last night,
and good-night for to-night.  You blundering goosecap, an’t you ashamed
to blunder to young ladies?  I shall have a fire in three or four days
now, oh ho.

30.  I was to-day in the City concerting some things with a printer, and
am to be to-morrow all day busy with Mr. Secretary about the same.  I
won’t tell you now; but the Ministers reckon it will do abundance of
good, and open the eyes of the nation, who are half bewitched against a
peace.  Few of this generation can remember anything but war and taxes,
and they think it is as it should be; whereas ’tis certain we are the
most undone people in Europe, as I am afraid I shall make appear beyond
all contradiction.  But I forgot; I won’t tell you what I will do, nor
what I will not do: so let me alone, and go to Stoyte, and give Goody
Stoyte and Catherine my humble service; I love Goody Stoyte better than
Goody Walls.  Who’ll pay me for this green apron?  I will have the money;
it cost ten shillings and sixpence.  I think it plaguy dear for a cheap
thing; but they said that English silk would cockle, {326a} and I know
not what.  You have the making into the bargain.  ’Tis right Italian: I
have sent it and the pamphlets to Leigh, and will send the _Miscellanies_
and spectacles in a day or two.  I would send more; but, faith, I’m
plaguy poor at present.

31.  The devil’s in this Secretary: when I went this morning he had
people with him; but says he, “we are to dine with Prior to-day, and then
will do all our business in the afternoon”: at two, Prior sends word he
is otherwise engaged; then the Secretary and I go and dine with Brigadier
Britton, sit till eight, grow merry, no business done; he is in haste to
see Lady Jersey; {326b} we part, and appoint no time to meet again.  This
is the fault of all the present Ministers, teasing me to death for my
assistance, laying the whole weight of their affairs upon it, yet
slipping opportunities.  Lord Treasurer mends every day, though slowly: I
hope he will take care of himself.  Pray, will you send to Parvisol to
send me a bill of twenty pounds as soon as he can, for I want money.  I
must have money; I will have money, sirrahs.

Nov. 1.  I went to-day into the City to settle some business with
Stratford, and to dine with him; but he was engaged, and I was so angry I
would not dine with any other merchant, but went to my printer, and ate a
bit, and did business of mischief with him, and I shall have the
spectacles and _Miscellany_ to-morrow, and leave them with Leigh.  A fine
day always makes me go into the City, if I can spare time, because it is
exercise; and that does me more good than anything.  I have heard nothing
since of my head, but a little, I don’t know how, sometimes: but I am
very temperate, especially now the Treasurer is ill, and the Ministers
often at Hampton Court, and the Secretary not yet fixed in his house, and
I hate dining with many of my old acquaintance.  Here has been a fellow
discovered going out of the East India House with sixteen thousand pounds
in money and bills; he would have escaped, if he had not been so uneasy
with thirst, that he stole out before his time, and was caught.  But what
is that to MD?  I wish we had the money, provided the East India Company
was never the worse; you know we must not covet, etc.  Our weather, for
this fortnight past, is chequered, a fair and a rainy day: this was very
fine, and I have walked four miles; wish MD would do so, lazy sluttikins.

2.  It has rained all day with a continuendo, and I went in a chair to
dine with Mrs. Van; always there in a very rainy day.  But I made a shift
to come back afoot.  I live a very retired life, pay very few visits, and
keep but very little company; I read no newspapers.  I am sorry I sent
you the _Examiner_, for the printer is going to print them in a small
volume: it seems the author is too proud to have them printed by
subscription, though his friends offered, they say, to make it worth five
hundred pounds to him.  The _Spectators_ are likewise printing in a
larger and a smaller volume, so I believe they are going to leave them
off, and indeed people grow weary of them, though they are often prettily
written.  We have had no news for me to send you now towards the end of
my letter.  The Queen has the gout a little: I hoped the Lord Treasurer
would have had it too, but Radcliffe told me yesterday it was the
rheumatism in his knee and foot; however, he mends, and I hope will be
abroad in a short time.  I am told they design giving away several
employments before the Parliament sits, which will be the thirteenth
instant.  I either do not like, or not understand this policy; and if
Lord Treasurer does not mend soon, they must give them just before the
session.  But he is the greatest procrastinator in the world.

3.  A fine day this, and I walked a pretty deal.  I stuffed the
Secretary’s pockets with papers, which he must read and settle at Hampton
Court, where he went to-day, and stays some time.  They have no lodgings
for me there, so I can’t go, for the town is small, chargeable, and
inconvenient.  Lord Treasurer had a very ill night last night, with much
pain in his knee and foot, but is easier to-day.—And so I went to visit
Prior about some business, and so he was not within, and so Sir Andrew
Fountaine made me dine to-day again with Mrs. Van, and I came home soon,
remembering this must go to-night, and that I had a letter of MD’s to
answer.  O Lord, where is it? let me see; so, so, here it is.  You grudge
writing so soon.  Pox on that bill! the woman would have me manage that
money for her.  I do not know what to do with it now I have it: I am like
the unprofitable steward in the Gospel: I laid it up in a napkin; there
thou hast what is thine own, etc.  Well, well, I know of your new Mayor.
(I’ll tell you a pun: a fishmonger owed a man two crowns; so he sent him
a piece of bad ling and a tench, and then said he was paid: how is that
now? find it out; for I won’t tell it you: which of you finds it out?)
Well, but as I was saying, what care I for your Mayor?  I fancy Ford may
tell Forbes right about my returning to Ireland before Christmas, or soon
after.  I’m sorry you did not go on with your story about Pray God you be
John; I never heard it in my life, and wonder what it can be.—Ah, Stella,
faith, you leaned upon your Bible to think what to say when you writ
that.  Yes, that story of the Secretary’s making me an example is true;
“never heard it before;” why, how could you hear it? is it possible to
tell you the hundredth part of what passes in our companies here?  The
Secretary is as easy with me as Mr. Addison was.  I have often thought
what a splutter Sir William Temple makes about being Secretary of State:
{329a} I think Mr. St. John the greatest young man I ever knew; wit,
capacity, beauty, quickness of apprehension, good learning, and an
excellent taste; the best orator in the House of Commons, admirable
conversation, good nature, and good manners; generous, and a despiser of
money.  His only fault is talking to his friends in way of complaint of
too great a load of business, which looks a little like affectation; and
he endeavours too much to mix the fine gentleman and man of pleasure with
the man of business.  What truth and sincerity he may have I know not: he
is now but thirty-two, and has been Secretary above a year.  Is not all
this extraordinary? how he stands with the Queen and Lord Treasurer I
have told you before.  This is his character; and I believe you will be
diverted by knowing it.  I writ to the Archbishop of Dublin, Bishop of
Cloyne {329b} and of Clogher together, five weeks ago from Windsor: I
hope they had my letters; pray know if Clogher had his.—Fig for your
physician and his advice, Madam Dingley: if I grow worse, I will;
otherwise I will trust to temperance and exercise: your fall of the leaf;
what care I when the leaves fall?  I am sorry to see them fall with all
my heart; but why should I take physic because leaves fall off from
trees? that won’t hinder them from falling.  If a man falls from a horse,
must I take physic for that?—This arguing makes you mad; but it is true
right reason, not to be disproved.—I am glad at heart to hear poor Stella
is better; use exercise and walk, spend pattens and spare potions, wear
out clogs and waste claret.  Have you found out my pun of the fishmonger?
don’t read a word more till you have got it.  And Stella is handsome
again, you say? and is she fat?  I have sent to Leigh the set of
_Examiners_: the first thirteen were written by several hands, some good,
some bad; the next three-and-thirty were all by one hand, that makes
forty-six: then that author, {330a} whoever he was, laid it down on
purpose to confound guessers; and the last six were written by a woman.
{330b}  Then there is an account of Guiscard by the same woman, but the
facts sent by Presto.  Then an answer to the letter to the Lords about
Gregg by Presto; Prior’s _Journey_ by Presto; _Vindication of the Duke of
Marlborough_, entirely by the same woman; Comment on Hare’s Sermon by the
same woman, only hints sent to the printer from Presto to give her.
{330c}  Then there’s the _Miscellany_, an apron for Stella, a pound of
chocolate, without sugar, for Stella, a fine snuff-rasp of ivory, given
me by Mrs. St. John for Dingley, and a large roll of tobacco, which she
must hide or cut shorter out of modesty, and four pair of spectacles for
the Lord knows who.  There’s the cargo, I hope it will come safe.  Oh,
Mrs. Masham and I are very well; we write to one another, but it is upon
business; I believe I told you so before: pray pardon my forgetfulness in
these cases; poor Presto can’t help it.  MD shall have the money as soon
as Tooke gets it.  And so I think I have answered all, and the paper is
out, and now I have fetched up my week, and will send you another this
day fortnight.—Why, you rogues, two crowns make _tench-ill-ling_: {331}
you are so dull you could never have found it out.  Farewell, etc. etc.



LETTER XXXIV.


                                                   LONDON, _Nov._ 3, 1711.

MY thirty-third lies now before me just finished, and I am going to seal
and send it, so let me know whether you would have me add anything: I
gave you my journal of this day; and it is now nine at night, and I am
going to be busy for an hour or two.

4.  I left a friend’s house to-day where I was invited, just when dinner
was setting on, and pretended I was engaged, because I saw some fellows I
did not know; and went to Sir Matthew Dudley’s, where I had the same
inconvenience, but he would not let me go; otherwise I would have gone
home, and sent for a slice of mutton and a pot of ale, rather than dine
with persons unknown, as bad, for aught I know, as your deans, parsons,
and curates.  Bad slabby weather to-day.—Now methinks I write at ease,
when I have no letter of MD’s to answer.  But I mistook, and have got the
large paper.  The Queen is laid up with the gout at Hampton Court: she is
now seldom without it any long time together; I fear it will wear her out
in a very few years.  I plainly find I have less twitchings about my toes
since these Ministers are sick and out of town, and that I don’t dine
with them.  I would compound for a light easy gout to be perfectly well
in my head.—Pray walk when the frost comes, young ladies go a
frost-biting.  It comes into my head, that, from the very time you first
went to Ireland, I have been always plying you to walk and read.  The
young fellows here have begun a kind of fashion to walk, and many of them
have got swingeing strong shoes on purpose; it has got as far as several
young lords; if it hold, it would be a very good thing.  Lady Lucy {332a}
and I are fallen out; she rails at me, and I have left visiting her.

5.  MD was very troublesome to me last night in my sleep; I was a
dreamed, methought, that Stella was here.  I asked her after Dingley, and
she said she had left her in Ireland, because she designed her stay to be
short, and such stuff.—Monsieur Pontchartain, the Secretary of State in
France, and Monsieur Fontenelle, the Secretary of the Royal Academy there
(who writ the _Dialogues des Morts_, etc.), have sent letters to Lord
Pembroke that the Academy have, with the King’s consent, chosen him one
of their members in the room of one who is lately dead.  But the cautious
gentleman has given me the letters to show my Lord Dartmouth and Mr. St.
John, our two Secretaries, and let them see there is no treason in them;
which I will do on Wednesday, when they come from Hampton Court.  The
letters are very handsome, and it is a very great mark of honour and
distinction to Lord Pembroke.  I hear the two French Ministers are come
over again about the peace; but I have seen nobody of consequence to know
the truth.  I dined to-day with a lady of my acquaintance, who was sick,
in her bed-chamber, upon three herrings and a chicken: the dinner was my
bespeaking.  We begin now to have chestnuts and Seville oranges; have you
the latter yet?  ’Twas a terrible windy day, and we had processions in
carts of the Pope and the Devil, and the butchers rang their cleavers.
You know this is the Fifth of November, Popery and gunpowder.

6.  Since I am used to this way of writing, I fancy I could hardly make
out a long letter to MD without it.  I think I ought to allow for every
line taken up by telling you where I dined; but that will not be above
seven lines in all, half a line to a dinner.  Your Ingoldsby {332b} is
going over, and they say here he is to be made a lord.—Here was I staying
in my room till two this afternoon for that puppy Sir Andrew Fountaine,
who was to go with me into the City, and never came; and if I had not
shot a dinner flying, with one Mr. Murray, I might have fasted, or gone
to an alehouse.—You never said one word of Goody Stoyte in your letter;
but I suppose these winter nights we shall hear more of her.  Does the
Provost {333a} laugh as much as he used to do?  We reckon him here a
good-for-nothing fellow.—I design to write to your Dean one of these
days, but I can never find time, nor what to say.—I will think of
something: but if DD {333b} were not in Ireland I believe seriously I
should not think of the place twice a year.  Nothing there ever makes the
subject of talk in any company where I am.

7.  I went to-day to the City on business; but stopped at a printer’s,
and stayed there: it was a most delicious day.  I hear the Parliament is
to be prorogued for a fortnight longer; I suppose, either because the
Queen has the gout, or that Lord Treasurer is not well, or that they
would do something more towards a peace.  I called at Lord Treasurer’s at
noon, and sat a while with Lord Harley, but his father was asleep.  A
bookseller has reprinted or new-titled a sermon of Tom Swift’s, {333c}
printed last year, and publishes an advertisement calling it _Dr. Swift’s
Sermon_.  Some friend of Lord Galway {333d} has, by his directions,
published a four-shilling book about his conduct in Spain, to defend him;
I have but just seen it.  But what care you for books, except Presto’s
_Miscellanies_?  Leigh promised to call and see me, but has not yet; I
hope he will take care of his cargo, and get your Chester box.  A murrain
take that box! everything is spoiled that is in it.  How does the strong
box do?  You say nothing of Raymond: is his wife brought to bed again; or
how? has he finished his house; paid his debts; and put out the rest of
the money to use?  I am glad to hear poor Joe is like to get his two
hundred pounds.  I suppose Trim is now reduced to slavery again.  I am
glad of it; the people were as great rascals as the gentlemen.  But I
must go to bed, sirrahs: the Secretary is still at Hampton Court with my
papers, or is come only to-night.  They plague me with attending them.

8.  I was with the Secretary this morning, and we dined with Prior, and
did business this afternoon till about eight; and I must alter and undo,
and a clutter.  I am glad the Parliament is prorogued.  I stayed with
Prior till eleven; the Secretary left us at eight.  Prior, I believe,
will be one of those employed to make the peace, when a Congress is
opened.  Lord Ashburnham told to-day at the Coffee-house that Lord Harley
{334a} was yesterday morning married to the Duke of Newcastle’s daughter,
the great heiress, and it got about all the town.  But I saw Lord Harley
yesterday at noon in his nightgown, and he dined in the City with Prior
and others; so it is not true; but I hope it will be so; for I know it
has been privately managing this long time: {334b} the lady will not have
half her father’s estate; for the Duke left Lord Pelham’s son his heir.
{334c}  The widow Duchess will not stand to the will, and she is now at
law with Pelham.  However, at worst, the girl will have about ten
thousand pounds a year to support the honour; for Lord Treasurer will
never save a groat for himself.  Lord Harley is a very valuable young
gentleman; and they say the girl is handsome, and has good sense, but red
hair.

9.  I designed a jaunt into the City to-day to be merry, but was
disappointed; so one always is in this life; and I could not see Lord
Dartmouth to-day, with whom I had some business.  Business and pleasure
both disappointed.  You can go to your Dean, and for want of him, Goody
Stoyte, or Walls, or Manley, and meet everywhere with cards and claret.
I dined privately with a friend on a herring and chicken, and half a
flask of bad Florence.  I begin to have fires now, when the mornings are
cold.  I have got some loose bricks at the back of my grate for good
husbandry.  Fine weather.  Patrick tells me my caps are wearing out.  I
know not how to get others.  I want a necessary woman strangely.  I am as
helpless as an elephant.—I had three packets from the Archbishop of
Dublin, cost me four shillings, all about Higgins, {335a} printed stuff,
and two long letters.  His people forgot to enclose them to Lewis; and
they were only directed to Doctor Swift, without naming London or
anything else.  I wonder how they reached me, unless the postmaster
directed them.  I have read all the trash, and am weary.

10.  Why, if you must have it out, something is to be published of great
moment, {335b} and three or four great people are to see there are no
mistakes in point of fact: and ’tis so troublesome to send it among them,
and get their corrections, that I am weary as a dog.  I dined to-day with
the printer, and was there all the afternoon; and it plagues me, and
there’s an end, and what would you have?  Lady Dupplin, Lord Treasurer’s
daughter, {335c} is brought to bed of a son.  Lord Treasurer has had an
ugly return of his gravel.  ’Tis good for us to live in gravel pits,
{335d} but not for gravel pits to live in us; a man in this case should
leave no stone unturned.  Lord Treasurer’s sickness, the Queen’s gout,
the forwarding the peace, occasion putting off the Parliament a fortnight
longer.  My head has had no ill returns.  I had good walking to-day in
the City, and take all opportunities of it on purpose for my health; but
I can’t walk in the Park, because that is only for walking’s sake, and
loses time, so I mix it with business.  I wish MD walked half as much as
Presto.  If I was with you, I’d make you walk; I would walk behind or
before you, and you should have masks on, and be tucked up like anything;
and Stella is naturally a stout walker, and carries herself firm;
methinks I see her strut, and step clever over a kennel; and Dingley
would do well enough if her petticoats were pinned up; but she is so
embroiled, and so fearful, and then Stella scolds, and Dingley stumbles,
and is so daggled. {336a}  Have you got the whalebone petticoats among
you yet?  I hate them; a woman here may hide a moderate gallant under
them.  Pshaw, what’s all this I’m saying?  Methinks I am talking to MD
face to face.

11.  Did I tell you that old Frowde, {336b} the old fool, is selling his
estate at Pepperhara, and is skulking about the town nobody knows where?
and who do you think manages all this for him, but that rogue Child,
{336c} the double squire of Farnham?  I have put Mrs. Masham, the Queen’s
favourite, upon buying it, but that is yet a great secret; and I have
employed Lady Oglethorpe to inquire about it.  I was with Lady Oglethorpe
to-day, who is come to town for a week or two, and to-morrow I will see
to hunt out the old fool: he is utterly ruined, and at this present in
some blind alley with some dirty wench.  He has two sons that must
starve, and he never gives them a farthing.  If Mrs. Masham buys the
land, I will desire her to get the Queen to give some pension to the old
fool, to keep him from absolutely starving.  What do you meddle with
other people’s affairs for? says Stella.  Oh, but Mr. Masham and his wife
are very urgent with me, since I first put them in the head of it.  I
dined with Sir Matthew Dudley, who, I doubt, will soon lose his
employment.

12.  Morning.  I am going to hunt out old Frowde, and to do some business
in the City.  I have not yet called to Patrick to know whether it be
fair.—It has been past dropping these two days.  Rainy weather hurts my
pate and my purse.  He tells me ’tis very windy, and begins to look dark;
woe be to my shillings! an old saying and a true,

   Few fillings,
   Many shillings.

If the day be dark, my purse will be light.

   To my enemies be this curse,
   A dark day and a light purse.

And so I’ll rise, and go to my fire, for Patrick tells me I have a fire;
yet it is not shaving-day, nor is the weather cold; this is too
extravagant.  What is become of Dilly?  I suppose you have him with you.
Stella is just now showing a white leg, and putting it into the slipper.
Present my service to her, and tell her I am engaged to the Dean, and
desire she will come too: or, Dingley, can’t you write a note?  This is
Stella’s morning dialogue, no, morning speech I mean.—Morrow, sirrahs,
and let me rise as well as you; but I promise you Walls can’t dine with
the Dean to-day, for she is to be at Mrs. Proby’s just after dinner, and
to go with Gracy Spencer {337} to the shops to buy a yard of muslin, and
a silver lace for an under petticoat.  Morrow again, sirrahs.—At night.
I dined with Stratford in the City, but could not finish my affairs with
him; but now I am resolved to buy five hundred pounds South Sea Stock,
which will cost me three hundred and eighty ready money; and I will make
use of the bill of a hundred pounds you sent me, and transfer Mrs. Walls
over to Hawkshaw; or if she dislikes it, I will borrow a hundred pounds
of the Secretary, and repay her.  Three shillings coach-hire to-day.  I
have spoken to Frowde’s brother to get me the lowest price of the estate,
to tell Mrs. Masham.

13.  I dined privately with a friend to-day in the neighbourhood.  Last
Saturday night I came home, and the drab had just washed my room, and my
bed-chamber was all wet, and I was forced to go to bed in my own defence,
and no fire: I was sick on Sunday, and now have got a swingeing cold.  I
scolded like a dog at Patrick, although he was out with me: I detest
washing of rooms; can’t they wash them in a morning, and make a fire, and
leave open the windows?  I slept not a wink last night for hawking {338a}
and spitting: and now everybody has colds.  Here’s a clutter: I’ll go to
bed and sleep if I can.

14.  Lady Mountjoy sent to me two days ago, so I dined with her to-day,
and in the evening went to see Lord Treasurer.  I found Patrick had been
just there with a how d’ye, {338b} and my lord had returned answer that
he desired to see me.  Mrs. Masham was with him when I came, and they are
never disturbed: ’tis well she is not very handsome; they sit alone
together settling the nation.  I sat with Lady Oxford, and stopped Mrs.
Masham as she came out, and told her what progress I had made, etc., and
then went to Lord Treasurer: he is very well, only uneasy at rising or
sitting, with some rheumatic pain in his thigh, and a foot weak.  He
showed me a small paper, sent by an unknown hand to one Mr. Cook, who
sent it to my lord: it was written in plain large letters thus

    “Though G—d’s knife did not succeed,
    A F—n’s yet may do the deed.”

And a little below: “_Burn this_, _you dog_.”  My lord has frequently
such letters as these: once he showed me one, which was a vision
describing a certain man, his dress, his sword, and his countenance, who
was to murder my lord.  And he told me he saw a fellow in the chapel at
Windsor with a dress very like it.  They often send him letters signed,
“Your humble servant, The Devil,” and such stuff.  I sat with him till
after ten, and have business to do.

15.  The Secretary came yesterday to town from Hampton Court, so I went
to him early this morning; but he went back last night again: and coming
home to-night I found a letter from him to tell me that he was just come
from Hampton Court, and just returning, and will not be here till
Saturday night.  A pox take him! he stops all my business.  I’ll beg
leave to come back when I have got over this, and hope to see MD in
Ireland soon after Christmas.—I’m weary of Courts, and want my journeys
to Laracor; they did me more good than all the Ministries these twenty
years.  I dined to-day in the City, but did no business as I designed.
Lady Mountjoy tells me that Dilly is got to Ireland, and that the
Archbishop of Dublin was the cause of his returning so soon.  The
Parliament was prorogued two days ago for a fortnight, which, with the
Queen’s absence, makes the town very dull and empty.  They tell me the
Duke of Ormond brings all the world away with him from Ireland.  London
has nothing so bad in it in winter as your knots of Irish folks; but I go
to no coffee-house, and so I seldom see them.  This letter shall go on
Saturday; and then I am even with the world again.  I have lent money,
and cannot get it, and am forced to borrow for myself.

16.  My man made a blunder this morning, and let up a visitor, when I had
ordered to see nobody; so I was forced to hurry a hang-dog instrument of
mine into my bed-chamber, and keep him cooling his heels there above an
hour.—I am going on fairly in the common forms of a great cold; I believe
it will last me about ten days in all.—I should have told you, that in
those two verses sent to Lord Treasurer, G—d stands for Guiscard; that is
easy; but we differed about F—n; I thought it was for Frenchman, because
he hates them, and they him: and so it would be, That although Guiscard’s
knife missed its design, the knife of a Frenchman might yet do it.  My
lord thinks it stands for Felton, the name of him that stabbed the first
Duke of Buckingham. Sir Andrew Fountaine and I dined with the Vans
to-day, and my cold made me loiter all the evening.  Stay, young women,
don’t you begin to owe me a letter? just a month to-day since I had your
N. 22.  I’ll stay a week longer, and then, I’ll expect like agog; till
then you may play at ombre, and so forth, as you please.  The Whigs are
still crying down our peace, but we will have it, I hope, in spite of
them: the Emperor comes now with his two eggs a penny, and promises
wonders to continue the war; but it is too late; only I hope the fear of
it will serve to spur on the French to be easy and sincere:  Night,
sirrahs; I’ll go early to bed.

17.  Morning.  This goes to-night; I will put it myself in the
post-office.  I had just now a long letter from the Archbishop of Dublin,
giving me an account of the ending your session, how it ended in a storm;
which storm, by the time it arrives here, will be only half nature.  I
can’t help it, I won’t hide.  I often advised the dissolution of that
Parliament, although I did not think the scoundrels had so much courage;
but they have it only in the wrong, like a bully that will fight for a
whore, and run away in an army.  I believe, by several things the
Archbishop says, he is not very well either with the Government or
clergy.—See how luckily my paper ends with a fortnight.—God Almighty
bless and preserve dearest little MD.—I suppose your Lord Lieutenant is
now setting out for England.  I wonder the Bishop of Clogher does not
write to me, or let me know of his statues, and how he likes them: I will
write to him again, as soon as I have leisure.  Farewell, dearest MD, and
love Presto, who loves MD infinitely above all earthly things, and who
will.—My service to Mrs. Stoyte and Catherine.  I’m sitting in my bed,
but will rise to seal this.  Morrow, dear rogues: Farewell again, dearest
MD, etc.



LETTER XXXV.


                                                  LONDON, _Nov._ 17, 1711.

I PUT my last this evening in the post-office.  I dined with Dr.
Cockburn.  This being Queen Elizabeth’s birthday, we have the D— and all
to do among us.  I just heard of the stir as my letter was sealed this
morning, and was so cross I would not open it to tell you.  I have been
visiting Lady Oglethorpe {341a} and Lady Worsley; {341b} the latter is
lately come to town for the winter, and with child, and what care you?
This is Queen Elizabeth’s birthday, usually kept in this town by
apprentices, etc.; but the Whigs designed a mighty procession by
midnight, and had laid out a thousand pounds to dress up the Pope, Devil,
cardinals, Sacheverell, etc., and carry them with torches about, and burn
them.  They did it by contribution.  Garth gave five guineas; Dr. Garth I
mean, if ever you heard of him.  But they were seized last night, by
order from the Secretary: you will have an account of it, for they bawl
it about the streets already. {341c}  They had some very foolish and
mischievous designs; and it was thought they would have put the rabble
upon assaulting my Lord Treasurer’s house and the Secretary’s, and other
violences.  The militia was raised to prevent it, and now, I suppose, all
will be quiet.  The figures are now at the Secretary’s office at
Whitehall.  I design to see them if I can.

18.  I was this morning with Mr. Secretary, who just came from Hampton
Court.  He was telling me more particulars about this business of burning
the Pope.  It cost a great deal of money, and had it gone on, would have
cost three times as much; but the town is full of it, and half a dozen
Grub Street papers already.  The Secretary and I dined at Brigadier
Britton’s, but I left them at six, upon an appointment with some sober
company of men and ladies, to drink punch at Sir Andrew Fountaine’s.  We
were not very merry; and I don’t love rack punch, I love it better with
brandy; are you of my opinion?  Why then, twelvepenny weather; sirrahs,
why don’t you play at shuttlecock?  I have thought of it a hundred times;
faith, Presto will come over after Christmas, and will play with Stella
before the cold weather is gone.  Do you read the _Spectators_?  I never
do; they never come in my way; I go to no coffee-houses.  They say
abundance of them are very pretty; they are going to be printed in small
volumes; I’ll bring them over with me.  I shall be out of my hurry in a
week, and if Leigh be not gone over, I will send you by him what I am now
finishing.  I don’t know where Leigh is; I have not seen him this good
while, though he promised to call: I shall send to him.  The Queen comes
to town on Thursday for good and all.

19.  I was this morning at Lord Dartmouth’s office, and sent out for him
from the Committee of Council, about some business.  I was asking him
more concerning this bustle about the figures in wax-work of the Pope,
and Devil, etc.  He was not at leisure, or he would have seen them.  I
hear the owners are so impudent, that they design to replevin them by
law.  I am assured that the figure of the Devil is made as like Lord
Treasurer as they could.  Why, I dined with a friend in St. James’s
Street.  Lord Treasurer, I am told, was abroad to-day; I will know
to-morrow how he does after it.  The Duke of Marlborough is come, and was
yesterday at Hampton Court with the Queen; no, it was t’other day; no, it
was yesterday; for to-day I remember Mr. Secretary was going to see him,
when I was there, not at the Duke of Marlborough’s, but at the
Secretary’s; the Duke is not so fond of me.  What care I?  I won seven
shillings to-night at picquet: I play twice a year or so.

20.  I have been so teased with Whiggish discourse by Mrs. Barton and
Lady Betty Germaine, never saw the like.  They turn all this affair of
the Pope-burning into ridicule; and, indeed, they have made too great a
clutter about it, if they had no real reason to apprehend some tumults.
I dined with Lady Betty.  I hear Prior’s commission is passed to be
Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary for the peace; my Lord Privy
Seal, who you know is Bishop of Bristol, is the other; and Lord
Strafford, already Ambassador at The Hague, the third: I am forced to
tell you, ignorant sluts, who is who.  I was punning scurvily with Sir
Andrew Fountaine and Lord Pembroke this evening: do you ever pun now?
Sometimes with the Dean, or Tom Leigh. {343a}  Prior puns very well.
Odso, I must go see His Excellency, ’tis a noble advancement: but they
could do no less, after sending him to France.  Lord Strafford is as
proud as Hell, and how he will bear one of Prior’s mean birth on an equal
character with him, I know not.  And so I go to my business, and bid you
good-night.

21.  I was this morning busy with my printer: I gave him the fifth sheet,
{343b} and then I went and dined with him in the City, to correct
something, and alter, etc., and I walked home in the dusk, and the rain
overtook me: and I found a letter here from Mr. Lewis; well, and so I
opened it; and he says the peace is past danger, etc.  Well, and so there
was another letter enclosed in his: well, and so I looked on the outside
of this t’other letter.  Well, and so who do you think this t’other
letter was from?  Well, and so I’ll tell you; it was from little MD, N.
23, 23, 23, 23.  I tell you it is no more, I have told you so before: but
I just looked again to satisfy you.  Hie, Stella, you write like an
emperor, a great deal together; a very good hand, and but four false
spellings in all.  Shall I send them to you?  I am glad you did not take
my correction ill.  Well, but I won’t answer your letter now, sirrah
saucyboxes, no, no; not yet; just a month and three days from the last,
which is just five weeks: you see it comes just when I begin to grumble.

22.  Morning.  Tooke has just brought me Dingley’s money.  I will give
you a note for it at the end of this letter.  There was half a crown for
entering the letter of attorney; but I swore to stop that.  I’ll spend
your money bravely here.  Morrow, dear sirrahs.—At night.  I dined to-day
with Sir Thomas Hanmer; his wife, the Duchess of Grafton, {344a} dined
with us: she wears a great high head-dress, such as was in fashion
fifteen years ago, and looks like a mad woman in it; yet she has great
remains of beauty.  I was this evening to see Lord Harley, and thought to
have sat with Lord Treasurer, but he was taken up with the Dutch Envoy
and such folks; and I would not stay.  One particular in life here,
different from what I have in Dublin, is, that whenever I come home I
expect to find some letter for me, and seldom miss; and never any worth a
farthing, but often to vex me.  The Queen does not come to town till
Saturday.  Prior is not yet declared; but these Ministers being at
Hampton Court, I know nothing; and if I write news from common hands, it
is always lies.  You will think it affectation; but nothing has vexed me
more for some months past, than people I never saw pretending to be
acquainted with me, and yet speak ill of me too; at least some of them.
An old crooked Scotch countess, whom I never heard of in my life, told
the Duchess of Hamilton {344b} t’other day that I often visited her.
People of worth never do that; so that a man only gets the scandal of
having scurvy acquaintance.  Three ladies were railing against me some
time ago, and said they were very well acquainted with me; two of which I
had never heard of, and the third I had only seen twice where I happened
to visit.  A man who has once seen me in a coffee-house will ask me how I
do, when he sees me talking at Court with a Minister of State; who is
sure to ask me how I came acquainted with that scoundrel.  But come,
sirrahs, this is all stuff to you, so I’ll say no more on this side the
paper, but turn over.

23.  My printer invited Mr. Lewis and me to dine at a tavern to-day,
which I have not done five times since I came to England; I never will
call it Britain, pray don’t call it Britain.  My week is not out, and one
side of this paper is out, and I have a letter to answer of MD’s into the
bargain: must I write on the third side? faith, that will give you an ill
habit.  I saw Leigh last night: he gives a terrible account of Sterne; he
reckons he is seduced by some wench; he is over head and ears in debt,
and has pawned several things.  Leigh says he goes on Monday next for
Ireland, but believes Sterne will not go with him; Sterne has kept him
these three months.  Leigh has got the apron and things, and promises to
call for the box at Chester; but I despair of it.  Good-night, sirrahs; I
have been late abroad.

24.  I have finished my pamphlet {345a} to-day, which has cost me so much
time and trouble: it will be published in three or four days, when the
Parliament begins sitting.  I suppose the Queen is come to town, but know
nothing, having been in the City finishing and correcting with the
printer.  When I came home, I found letters on my table as usual, and one
from your mother, to tell me that you desire your writings and a picture
should be sent to me, to be sent over to you.  I have just answered her
letter, and promised to take care of them if they be sent to me.  She is
at Farnham: it is too late to send them by Leigh; besides, I will wait
your orders, Madam Stella.  I am going to finish a letter to Lord
Treasurer about reforming our language; {345b} but first I must put an
end to a ballad; and go you to your cards, sirrahs, this is card season.

25.  I was early with the Secretary to-day, but he was gone to his
devotions, and to receive the sacrament: several rakes did the same; it
was not for piety, but employments; according to Act of Parliament.  I
dined with Lady Mary Dudley; {346a} and passed my time since insipidly,
only I was at Court at noon, and saw fifty acquaintance I had not met
this long time: that is the advantage of a Court, and I fancy I am better
known than any man that goes there.  Sir John Walter’s {346b} quarrel
with me has entertained the town ever since; and yet we never had a word,
only he railed at me behind my back.  The Parliament is again to be
prorogued for eight or nine days, for the Whigs are too strong in the
House of Lords: other reasons are pretended, but that is the truth.  The
prorogation is not yet known, but will be to-morrow.

26.  Mr. Lewis and I dined with a friend of his, and unexpectedly there
dined with us an Irish knight, one Sir John St. Leger, {346c} who follows
the law here, but at a great distance: he was so pert, I was forced to
take him down more than once.  I saw to-day the Pope, and Devil, and the
other figures of cardinals, etc., fifteen in all, which have made such a
noise.  I have put an under-strapper upon writing a twopenny pamphlet
{346d} to give an account of the whole design.  My large pamphlet {346e}
will be published to-morrow; copies are sent to the great men this night.
Domville {346f} is come home from his travels; I am vexed at it: I have
not seen him yet; I design to present him to all the great men.

27.  Domville came to me this morning, and we dined at Pontack’s, and
were all day together, till six this evening: he is perfectly as fine a
gentleman as I know; he set me down at Lord Treasurer’s, with whom I
stayed about an hour, till Monsieur Buys, the Dutch Envoy, came to him
about business.  My Lord Treasurer is pretty well, but stiff in the hips
with the remains of the rheumatism.  I am to bring Domville to my Lord
Harley in a day or two.  It was the dirtiest rainy day that ever I saw.
The pamphlet is published; Lord Treasurer had it by him on the table, and
was asking me about the mottoes in the title-page; he gave me one of them
himself. {347a}  I must send you the pamphlet, if I can.

28.  Mrs. Van sent to me to dine with her to-day, because some ladies of
my acquaintance were to be there; and there I dined.  I was this morning
to return Domville his visit, and went to visit Mrs. Masham, who was not
within.  I am turned out of my lodging by my landlady: it seems her
husband and her son are coming home; but I have taken another lodging
hard by, in Leicester Fields.  I presented Mr. Domville to Mr. Lewis and
Mr. Prior this morning.  Prior and I are called the two Sosias, {347b} in
a Whig newspaper.  Sosias, can you read it?  The pamphlet begins to make
a noise: I was asked by several whether I had seen it, and they advised
me to read it, for it was something very extraordinary.  I shall be
suspected; and it will have several paltry answers.  It must take its
fate, as Savage {347c} said of his sermon that he preached at Farnham on
Sir William Temple’s death.  Domville saw Savage in Italy, and says he is
a coxcomb, and half mad: he goes in red, and with yellow waistcoats, and
was at ceremony kneeling to the Pope on a Palm Sunday, which is much more
than kissing his toe; and I believe it will ruin him here when ’tis told.
I’ll answer your letter in my new lodgings: I have hardly room; I must
borrow from the other side.

29.  New lodgings.  My printer came this morning to tell me he must
immediately print a second edition, {347d} and Lord Treasurer made one or
two small additions: they must work day and night to have it out on
Saturday; they sold a thousand in two days.  Our Society met to-day; nine
of us were present: we dined at our brother Bathurst’s. {348a}  We made
several regulations, and have chosen three new members, Lord Orrery,
{348b} Jack Hill, who is Mrs. Masham’s brother, he that lately miscarried
in the expedition to Quebec, and one Colonel Disney. {348c}—We have taken
a room in a house near St. James’s to meet in.  I left them early about
correcting the pamphlet, etc., and am now got home, etc.

30.  This morning I carried Domville to see my Lord Harley, and I did
some business with Lord Treasurer, and have been all this afternoon with
the printer, adding something to the second edition.  I dined with the
printer: the pamphlet makes a world of noise, and will do a great deal of
good; it tells abundance of most important facts which were not at all
known.  I’ll answer your letter to-morrow morning; or suppose I answer it
just now, though it is pretty late.  Come then.—You say you are busy with
Parliaments, etc.; that’s more than ever I will be when I come back; but
you will have none these two years.  Lord Santry, etc., yes, I have had
enough on’t. {348d}  I am glad Dilly is mended; does not he thank me for
showing him the Court and the great people’s faces?  He had his glass out
at the Queen and the rest.  ’Tis right what Dilly says: I depend upon
nothing from my friends, but to go back as I came.  Never fear Laracor,
’twill mend with a peace, or surely they’ll give me the Dublin parish.
Stella is in the right: the Bishop of Ossory {348e} is the silliest,
best-natured wretch breathing, of as little consequence as an egg-shell.
Well, the spelling I have mentioned before; only the next time say _at
least_, and not _at lest_.  Pox on your Newbury! {349a} what can I do for
him?  I’ll give his case (I am glad it is not a woman’s) to what members
I know; that’s all I can do.  Lord Treasurer’s lameness goes off daily.
Pray God preserve poor good Mrs. Stoyte; she would be a great loss to us
all: pray give her my service, and tell her she has my heartiest prayers.
I pity poor Mrs. Manley; but I think the child is happy to die,
considering how little provision it would have had.—Poh, every pamphlet
abuses me, and for things that I never writ.  Joe {349b} should have
written me thanks for his two hundred pounds: I reckon he got it by my
means; and I must thank the Duke of Ormond, who I dare swear will say he
did it on my account.  Are they golden pippins, those seven apples?  We
have had much rain every day as well as you.  £7, 17s., 8d., old
blunderer, not 18s.: I have reckoned it eighteen times.  Hawkshaw’s eight
pounds is not reckoned and if it be secure, it may lie where it is,
unless they desire to pay it: so Parvisol may let it drop till further
orders; for I have put Mrs. Wesley’s money into the Bank, and will pay
her with Hawkshaw’s.—I mean that Hawkshaw’s money goes for an addition to
MD, you know; but be good housewives.  Bernage never comes now to see me;
he has no more to ask; but I hear he has been ill.—A pox on Mrs. South’s
{349c} affair; I can do nothing in it, but by way of assisting anybody
else that solicits it, by dropping a favourable word, if it comes in my
way.  Tell Walls I do no more for anybody with my Lord Treasurer,
especially a thing of this kind.  Tell him I have spent all my
discretion, and have no more to use.—And so I have answered your letter
fully and plainly.—And so I have got to the third side of my paper, which
is more than belongs to you, young women.

   It goes to-morrow,
   To nobody’s sorrow.

You are silly, not I; I’m a poet, if I had but, etc.—Who’s silly now?
rogues and lasses, tinderboxes and buzzards.  O Lord, I am in a high vein
of silliness; methought I was speaking to dearest little MD face to face.
There; so, lads, enough for to-night; to cards with the blackguards.
Good-night, my delight, etc.

Dec. 1.  Pish, sirrahs, put a date always at the bottom of your letter,
as well as the top, that I may know when you send it; your last is of
November 3, yet I had others at the same time, written a fortnight after.
Whenever you would have any money, send me word three weeks before, and
in that time you will certainly have an answer, with a bill on Parvisol:
pray do this; for my head is full, and it will ease my memory.  Why, I
think I quoted to you some of —’s letter, so you may imagine how witty
the rest was; for it was all of a bunch, as Goodman Peesley {350} says.
Pray let us have no more _bussiness_, but _busyness_: the deuce take me
if I know how to spell it; your wrong spelling, Madam Stella, has put me
out: it does not look right; let me see, _bussiness_, _busyness_,
_business_, _bisyness_, _bisness_, _bysness_; faith, I know not which is
right, I think the second; I believe I never writ the word in my life
before; yes, sure I must, though; _business_, _busyness_, _bisyness_.—I
have perplexed myself, and can’t do it.  Prithee ask Walls.  _Business_,
I fancy that’s right.  Yes it is; I looked in my own pamphlet, and found
it twice in ten lines, to convince you that I never writ it before.  Oh,
now I see it as plain as can be; so yours is only an _s_ too much.  The
Parliament will certainly meet on Friday next: the Whigs will have a
great majority in the House of Lords, no care is taken to prevent it;
there is too much neglect; they are warned of it, and that signifies
nothing: it was feared there would be some peevish address from the Lords
against a peace.  ’Tis said about the town that several of the Allies
begin now to be content that a peace should be treated.  This is all the
news I have.  The Queen is pretty well: and so now I bid poor dearest MD
farewell till to-night; then I will talk with them again.

The fifteen images that I saw were not worth forty pounds, so I stretched
a little when I said a thousand.  The Grub Street account of that tumult
is published.  The Devil is not like Lord Treasurer: they were all in
your odd antic masks, bought in common shops. {351a}  I fear Prior will
not be one of the plenipotentiaries.

I was looking over this letter, and find I make many mistakes of leaving
out words; so ’tis impossible to find my meaning, unless you be
conjurers.  I will take more care for the future, and read over every day
just what I have written that day, which will take up no time to speak
of.



LETTER XXXVI.


                                                   LONDON, _Dec._ 1, 1711.

MY last was put in this evening.  I intended to dine with Mr. Masham
to-day, and called at White’s chocolate house to see if he was there.
Lord Wharton saw me at the door, and I saw him, but took no notice, and
was going away, but he came through the crowd, called after me, and asked
me how I did, etc.  This was pretty; and I believe he wished every word
he spoke was a halter to hang me.  Masham did not dine at home, so I ate
with a friend in the neighbourhood.  The printer has not sent me the
second edition; I know not the reason, for it certainly came out to-day;
perhaps they are glutted with it already.  I found a letter from Lord
Harley on my table, to tell me that his father desires I would make two
small alterations.  I am going to be busy, etc.

2.  Morning.  See the blunder; I was making it the 37th day of the month,
from the number above.  Well, but I am staying here for old Frowde, who
appointed to call this morning: I am ready dressed to go to church: I
suppose he dare not stir out but on Sundays. {351b}  The printer called
early this morning, told me the second edition went off yesterday in five
hours, and he must have a third ready to-morrow, for they might have sold
half another: his men are all at work with it, though it be Sunday.  This
old fool will not come, and I shall miss church.  Morrow, sirrahs.—At
night.  I was at Court to-day: the Queen is well, and walked through part
of the rooms.  I dined with the Secretary, and despatched some business.
He tells me the Dutch Envoy designs to complain of that pamphlet.  The
noise it makes is extraordinary.  It is fit it should answer the pains I
have been at about it.  I suppose it will be printed in Ireland.  Some
lay it to Prior, others to Mr. Secretary St. John, but I am always the
first they lay everything to.  I’ll go sleep, etc.

3.  I have ordered Patrick not to let any odd fellow come up to me; and a
fellow would needs speak with me from Sir George Pretyman. {352a}  I had
never heard of him, and would not see the messenger: but at last it
proved that this Sir George has sold his estate, and is a beggar.
Smithers, the Farnham carrier, brought me this morning a letter from your
mother, with three papers enclosed of Lady Giffard’s writing; one owning
some exchequer business of £100 to be Stella’s; {352b} another for £100
that she has of yours, which I made over to you for Mariston; and a third
for £300; the last is on stamped paper.  I think they had better lie in
England in some good hand till Lady Giffard dies; and I will think of
some such hand before I come over.  I was asking Smithers about all the
people of Farnham.  Mrs. White {352c} has left off dressing, is troubled
with lameness and swelled legs, and seldom stirs out; but her old
hang-dog husband as hearty as ever.  I was this morning with Lord
Treasurer, about something he would have altered in the pamphlet; {352d}
but it can’t be till the fourth edition, which I believe will be soon;
for I dined with the printer, and he tells me they have sold off half the
third.  Mrs. Perceval {352e} and her daughter have been in town these
three weeks, which I never heard till to-day; and Mrs. Wesley {353a} is
come to town too, to consult Dr. Radcliffe.  The Whigs are resolved to
bring that pamphlet into the House of Lords to have it condemned, so I
hear.  But the printer will stand to it, and not own the author; he must
say he had it from the penny-post.  Some people talk as if the House of
Lords would do some peevish thing, for the Whigs are now a great majority
in it; our Ministers are too negligent of such things: I have never
slipped giving them warning; some of them are sensible of it; but Lord
Treasurer stands too much upon his own legs.  I fancy his good fortune
will bear him out in everything; but in reason I should think this
Ministry to stand very unsteady; if they can carry a peace, they may
hold; I believe not else.

4.  Mr. Secretary sent to me to-day to dine with him alone; but we had
two more with us, which hindered me doing some business.  I was this
morning with young Harcourt, secretary to our Society, to take a room for
our weekly meetings; and the fellow asked us five guineas a week only to
have leave to dine once a week; was not that pretty? so we broke off with
him, and are to dine next Thursday at Harcourt’s (he is Lord Keeper’s
son).  They have sold off above half the third edition, and answers are
coming out: the Dutch Envoy refused dining with Dr. Davenant, {353b}
because he was suspected to write it: I have made some alterations in
every edition, and it has cost me more trouble, for the time, since the
printing, than before.  ’Tis sent over to Ireland, and I suppose you will
have it reprinted.

5.  They are now printing the fourth edition, which is reckoned very
extraordinary, considering ’tis a dear twelvepenny book, and not bought
up in numbers by the party to give away, as the Whigs do, but purely upon
its own strength.  I have got an under spur-leather to write an
_Examiner_ again, {354a} and the Secretary and I will now and then send
hints; but we would have it a little upon the Grub Street, to be a match
for their writers.  I dined with Lord Treasurer to-day at five: he dined
by himself after his family, and drinks no claret yet, for fear of his
rheumatism, of which he is almost well.  He was very pleasant, as he is
always: yet I fancied he was a little touched with the present posture of
affairs.  The Elector of Hanover’s Minister here has given in a violent
memorial against the peace, and caused it to be printed.  The Whig lords
are doing their utmost for a majority against Friday, and design, if they
can, to address the Queen against the peace.  Lord Nottingham, {354b} a
famous Tory and speech-maker, is gone over to the Whig side: they toast
him daily, and Lord Wharton says, It is Dismal (so they call him from his
looks) will save England at last.  Lord Treasurer was hinting as if he
wished a ballad was made on him, and I will get up one against to-morrow.
{354c}  He gave me a scurrilous printed paper of bad verses on himself,
under the name of the English Catiline, and made me read them to the
company.  It was his birthday, which he would not tell us, but Lord
Harley whispered it to me.

6.  I was this morning making the ballad, two degrees above Grub Street:
at noon I paid a visit to Mrs. Masham, and then went to dine with our
Society.  Poor Lord Keeper dined below stairs, I suppose, on a bit of
mutton.  We chose two members: we were eleven met, the greatest meeting
we ever had: I am next week to introduce Lord Orrery.  The printer came
before we parted, and brought the ballad, which made them laugh very
heartily a dozen times.  He is going to print the pamphlet {355} in
small, a fifth edition, to be taken off by friends, and sent into the
country.  A sixpenny answer is come out, good for nothing, but guessing
me, among others, for the author.  To-morrow is the fatal day for the
Parliament meeting, and we are full of hopes and fears.  We reckon we
have a majority of ten on our side in the House of Lords; yet I observed
Mrs. Masham a little uneasy: she assures me the Queen is stout.  The Duke
of Marlborough has not seen the Queen for some days past; Mrs. Masham is
glad of it, because she says he tells a hundred lies to his friends of
what she says to him: he is one day humble, and the next day on the high
ropes.  The Duke of Ormond, they say, will be in town to-night by twelve.

7.  This being the day the Parliament was to meet, and the great question
to be determined, I went with Dr. Freind to dine in the City, on purpose
to be out of the way, and we sent our printer to see what was our fate;
but he gave us a most melancholy account of things.  The Earl of
Nottingham began, and spoke against a peace, and desired that in their
address they might put in a clause to advise the Queen not to make a
peace without Spain; which was debated, and carried by the Whigs by about
six voices: and this has happened entirely by my Lord Treasurer’s
neglect, who did not take timely care to make up all his strength,
although every one of us gave him caution enough.  Nottingham has
certainly been bribed.  The question is yet only carried in the Committee
of the whole House, and we hope when it is reported to the House
to-morrow, we shall have a majority, by some Scotch lords coming to town.
However, it is a mighty blow and loss of reputation to Lord Treasurer,
and may end in his ruin.  I hear the thing only as the printer brought
it, who was at the debate; but how the Ministry take it, or what their
hopes and fears are, I cannot tell until I see them.  I shall be early
with the Secretary to-morrow, and then I will tell you more, and shall
write a full account to the Bishop of Clogher to-morrow, and to the
Archbishop of Dublin, if I have time.  I am horribly down at present.  I
long to know how Lord Treasurer bears this, and what remedy he has.  The
Duke of Ormond came this day to town, and was there.

8.  I was early this morning with the Secretary, and talked over this
matter.  He hoped that when it was reported this day in the House of
Lords, they would disagree with their Committee, and so the matter would
go off, only with a little loss of reputation to the Lord Treasurer.  I
dined with Mr. Cockburn, and after, a Scotch member came in, and told us
that the clause was carried against the Court in the House of Lords
almost two to one.  I went immediately to Mrs. Masham, and meeting Dr.
Arbuthnot (the Queen’s favourite physician), we went together.  She was
just come from waiting at the Queen’s dinner, and going to her own.  She
had heard nothing of the thing being gone against us.  It seems Lord
Treasurer had been so negligent that he was with the Queen while the
question was put in the House: I immediately told Mrs. Masham that either
she and Lord Treasurer had joined with the Queen to betray us, or that
they two were betrayed by the Queen: she protested solemnly it was not
the former, and I believed her; but she gave me some lights to suspect
the Queen is changed.  For yesterday, when the Queen was going from the
House, where she sat to hear the debate, the Duke of Shrewsbury, Lord
Chamberlain, asked her whether he or the Great Chamberlain Lindsey {356}
ought to lead her out; she answered short, “Neither of you,” and gave her
hand to the Duke of Somerset, who was louder than any in the House for
the clause against peace.  She gave me one or two more instances of this
sort, which convince me that the Queen is false, or at least very much
wavering.  Mr. Masham begged us to stay, because Lord Treasurer would
call, and we were resolved to fall on him about his negligence in
securing a majority.  He came, and appeared in good humour as usual, but
I thought his countenance was much cast down.  I rallied him, and desired
him to give me his staff, which he did: I told him, if he would secure it
me a week, I would set all right: he asked how; I said I would
immediately turn Lord Marlborough, his two daughters, {357a} the Duke and
Duchess of Somerset, and Lord Cholmondeley, {357b} out of all their
employments; and I believe he had not a friend but was of my opinion.
Arbuthnot asked how he came not to secure a majority.  He could answer
nothing but that he could not help it, if people would lie and forswear.
A poor answer for a great Minister.  There fell from him a Scripture
expression, that “the hearts of kings are unsearchable.” {357c}  I told
him it was what I feared, and was from him the worst news he could tell
me.  I begged him to know what he had to trust to: he stuck a little; but
at last bid me not fear, for all would be well yet.  We would fain have
had him eat a bit where he was, but he would go home, it was past six: he
made me go home with him.  There we found his brother and Mr. Secretary.
He made his son take a list of all in the House of Commons who had
places, and yet voted against the Court, in such a manner as if they
should lose their places: I doubt he is not able to compass it.  Lord
Keeper came in an hour, and they were going upon business.  So I left
him, and returned to Mrs. Masham; but she had company with her, and I
would not stay.—This is a long journal, and of a day that may produce
great alterations, and hazard the ruin of England.  The Whigs are all in
triumph; they foretold how all this would be, but we thought it boasting.
Nay, they said the Parliament should be dissolved before Christmas, and
perhaps it may: this is all your d—d Duchess of Somerset’s doings.  I
warned them of it nine months ago, and a hundred times since: the
Secretary always dreaded it.  I told Lord Treasurer I should have the
advantage of him; for he would lose his head, and I should only be
hanged, and so carry my body entire to the grave.

9.  I was this morning with Mr. Secretary: we are both of opinion that
the Queen is false.  I told him what I heard, and he confirmed it by
other circumstances.  I then went to my friend Lewis, who had sent to see
me.  He talks of nothing but retiring to his estate in Wales.  He gave me
reasons to believe the whole matter is settled between the Queen and the
Whigs; he hears that Lord Somers is to be Treasurer, and believes that,
sooner than turn out the Duchess of Somerset, she will dissolve the
Parliament, and get a Whiggish one, which may be done by managing
elections.  Things are now in the crisis, and a day or two will
determine.  I have desired him to engage Lord Treasurer that as soon as
he finds the change is resolved on, he will send me abroad as Queen’s
Secretary somewhere or other, where I may remain till the new Ministers
recall me; and then I will be sick for five or six months, till the storm
has spent itself.  I hope he will grant me this; for I should hardly
trust myself to the mercy of my enemies while their anger is fresh.  I
dined to-day with the Secretary, who affects mirth, and seems to hope all
will yet be well.  I took him aside after dinner, told him how I had
served them, and had asked no reward, but thought I might ask security;
and then desired the same thing of him, to send me abroad before a
change.  He embraced me, and swore he would take the same care of me as
himself, etc., but bid me have courage, for that in two days my Lord
Treasurer’s wisdom would appear greater than ever; that he suffered all
that had happened on purpose, and had taken measures to turn it to
advantage.  I said, “God send it”; but I do not believe a syllable; and,
as far as I can judge, the game is lost.  I shall know more soon, and my
letters will at least be a good history to show you the steps of this
change.

10.  I was this morning with Lewis, who thinks they will let the
Parliament sit till they have given the money, and then dissolve them in
spring, and break the Ministry.  He spoke to Lord Treasurer about what I
desired him.  My lord desired him with great earnestness to assure me
that all would be well, and that I should fear nothing.  I dined in the
City with a friend.  This day the Commons went to the Queen with their
address, and all the Lords who were for the peace went with them, to show
their zeal.  I have now some further conviction that the Queen is false,
and it begins to be known.

11.  I went between two and three to see Mrs. Masham; while I was there
she went to her bed-chamber to try a petticoat.  Lord Treasurer came in
to see her, and seeing me in the outer room, fell a rallying me: says he,
“You had better keep company with me, than with such a fellow as Lewis,
who has not the soul of a chicken, nor the heart of a mite.”  Then he
went in to Mrs. Masham, and as he came back desired her leave to let me
go home with him to dinner.  He asked whether I was not afraid to be seen
with him.  I said I never valued my Lord Treasurer in my life, and
therefore should have always the same esteem for Mr. Harley and Lord
Oxford.  He seemed to talk confidently, as if he reckoned that all this
would turn to advantage.  I could not forbear hinting that he was not
sure of the Queen, and that those scoundrel, starving lords would never
have dared to vote against the Court, if Somerset had not assured them
that it would please the Queen.  He said that was true, and Somerset did
so.  I stayed till six; then De Buys, the Dutch Envoy, came to him, and I
left him.  Prior was with us a while after dinner.  I see him and all of
them cast down, though they make the best of it.

12.  Ford is come to town; I saw him last night: he is in no fear, but
sanguine, although I have told him the state of things.  This change so
resembles the last, that I wonder they do not observe it.  The Secretary
sent for me yesterday to dine with him, but I was abroad; I hope he had
something to say to me.  This is morning, and I write in bed.  I am going
to the Duke of Ormond, whom I have not yet seen.  Morrow, sirrahs.—At
night.  I was to see the Duke of Ormond this morning: he asked me two or
three questions after his civil way, and they related to Ireland: at last
I told him that, from the time I had seen him, I never once thought of
Irish affairs.  He whispered me that he hoped I had done some good things
here: I said, if everybody else had done half as much, we should not be
as we are: then we went aside, and talked over affairs.  I told him how
all things stood, and advised him what was to be done.  I then went and
sat an hour with the Duchess; then as long with Lady Oglethorpe, {360a}
who is so cunning a devil that I believe she could yet find a remedy, if
they would take her advice.  I dined with a friend at Court.

13.  I was this morning with the Secretary: he will needs pretend to talk
as if things would be well: “Will you believe it,” said he, “if you see
these people turned out?”  I said, yes, if I saw the Duke and Duchess of
Somerset out: he swore if they were not, he would give up his place.  Our
Society dined to-day at Sir William Wyndham’s; we were thirteen present.
Lord Orrery and two other members were introduced: I left them at seven.
I forgot to tell you that the printer told me yesterday that Morphew, the
publisher, was sent for by that Lord Chief-Justice, {360b} who was a
manager against Sacheverell; he showed him two or three papers and
pamphlets; among the rest mine of the _Conduct of the Allies_, threatened
him, asked who was the author, and has bound him over to appear next
term.  He would not have the impudence to do this, if he did not foresee
what was coming at Court.

14.  Lord Shelburne was with me this morning, to be informed of the state
of affairs, and desired I would answer all his objections against a
peace, which was soon done, for he would not give me room to put in a
word.  He is a man of good sense enough; but argues so violently, that he
will some day or other put himself into a consumption.  He desires that
he may not be denied when he comes to see me, which I promised, but will
not perform.  Leigh and Sterne set out for Ireland on Monday se’nnight: I
suppose they will be with you long before this.—I was to-night drinking
very good wine in scurvy company, at least some of them; I was drawn in,
but will be more cautious for the future; ’tis late, etc.

15.  Morning.  They say the Occasional Bill {361} is brought to-day into
the House of Lords; but I know not.  I will now put an end to my letter,
and give it into the post-house myself.  This will be a memorable letter,
and I shall sigh to see it some years hence.  Here are the first steps
toward the ruin of an excellent Ministry; for I look upon them as
certainly ruined; and God knows what may be the consequences.—I now bid
my dearest MD farewell; for company is coming, and I must be at Lord
Dartmouth’s office by noon.  Farewell, dearest MD; I wish you a merry
Christmas; I believe you will have this about that time.  Love Presto,
who loves MD above all things a thousand times.  Farewell again, dearest
MD, etc.



LETTER XXXVII.


                                                  LONDON, _Dec._ 15, 1711.

I PUT in my letter this evening myself.  I was to-day inquiring at the
Secretary’s office of Mr. Lewis how things went: I there met Prior, who
told me he gave all for gone, etc., and was of opinion the whole Ministry
would give up their places next week: Lewis thinks they will not till
spring, when the session is over; both of them entirely despair.  I went
to see Mrs. Masham, who invited me to dinner; but I was engaged to Lewis.
At four I went to Masham’s.  He came and whispered me that he had it from
a very good hand that all would be well, and I found them both very
cheerful.  The company was going to the opera, but desired I would come
and sup with them.  I did so at ten, and Lord Treasurer was there, and
sat with us till past twelve, and was more cheerful than I have seen him
these ten days.  Mrs. Masham told me he was mightily cast down some days
ago, and he could not indeed hide it from me.  Arbuthnot is in good hopes
that the Queen has not betrayed us, but only has been frightened, and
flattered, etc.  But I cannot yet be of his opinion, whether my reasons
are better, or that my fears are greater.  I do resolve, if they give up,
or are turned out soon, to retire for some months, and I have pitched
upon the place already: but I will take methods for hearing from MD, and
writing to them.  But I would be out of the way upon the first of the
ferment; for they lay all things on me, even some I have never read.

16.  I took courage to-day, and went to Court with a very cheerful
countenance.  It was mightily crowded; both parties coming to observe
each other’s faces.  I have avoided Lord Halifax’s bow till he forced it
on me; but we did not talk together.  I could not make less than
fourscore bows, of which about twenty might be to Whigs.  The Duke of
Somerset is gone to Petworth, and, I hear, the Duchess too, of which I
shall be very glad.  Prince Eugene, {362} who was expected here some days
ago, we are now told, will not come at all.  The Whigs designed to have
met him with forty thousand horse.  Lord Treasurer told me some days ago
of his discourse with the Emperor’s Resident, that puppy Hoffman, about
Prince Eugene’s coming; by which I found my lord would hinder it, if he
could; and we shall be all glad if he does not come, and think it a good
point gained.  Sir Andrew Fountaine, Ford, and I dined to-day with Mrs.
Van, by invitation.

17.  I have mistaken the day of the month, and been forced to mend it
thrice.  I dined to-day with Mr. Masham and his lady, by invitation.
Lord Treasurer was to be there, but came not.  It was to entertain Buys,
the Dutch Envoy, who speaks English well enough: he was plaguily politic,
telling a thousand lies, of which none passed upon any of us.  We are
still in the condition of suspense, and I think have little hopes.  The
Duchess of Somerset is not gone to Petworth; only the Duke, and that is a
poor sacrifice.  I believe the Queen certainly designs to change the
Ministry, but perhaps may put it off till the session is over: and I
think they had better give up now, if she will not deal openly; and then
they need not answer for the consequences of a peace, when it is in other
hands, and may yet be broken.  They say my Lord Privy Seal sets out for
Holland this week: so the peace goes on.

18.  It has rained hard from morning till night, and cost me three
shillings in coach-hire.  We have had abundance of wet weather.  I dined
in the City, and was with the printer, who has now a fifth edition of the
_Conduct_, etc.: it is in small, and sold for sixpence; they have printed
as many as three editions, because they are to be sent in numbers into
the country by great men, etc., who subscribe for hundreds.  It has been
sent a fortnight ago to Ireland: I suppose you will print it there.  The
Tory Lords and Commons in Parliament argue all from it; and all agree
that never anything of that kind was of so great consequence, or made so
many converts.  By the time I have sent this letter, I expect to hear
from little MD: it will be a month, two days hence, since I had your
last, and I will allow ten days for accidents.  I cannot get rid of the
leavings of a cold I got a month ago, or else it is a new one.  I have
been writing letters all this evening till I am weary, and I am sending
out another little thing, which I hope to finish this week, and design to
send to the printer in an unknown hand.  There was printed a Grub Street
speech of Lord Nottingham; {363} and he was such an owl to complain of it
in the House of Lords, who have taken up the printer for it.  I heard at
Court that Walpole {364a} (a great Whig member) said that I and my
whimsical Club writ it at one of our meetings, and that I should pay for
it.  He will find he lies: and I shall let him know by a third hand my
thoughts of him.  He is to be Secretary of State, if the Ministry
changes; but he has lately had a bribe proved against him in Parliament,
while he was Secretary at War.  He is one of the Whigs’ chief speakers.

19.  Sad dismal weather.  I went to the Secretary’s office, and Lewis
made me dine with him.  I intended to have dined with Lord Treasurer.  I
have not seen the Secretary this week.  Things do not mend at all.  Lord
Dartmouth despairs, and is for giving up; Lewis is of the same mind; but
Lord Treasurer only says, “Poh, poh, all will be well.”  I am come home
early to finish something I am doing; but I find I want heart and humour,
and would read any idle book that came in my way.  I have just sent away
a penny paper to make a little mischief.  Patrick is gone to the burial
of an Irish footman, who was Dr. King’s {364b} servant; he died of a
consumption, a fit death for a poor starving wit’s footman.  The Irish
servants always club to bury a countryman.

20.  I was with the Secretary this morning, and, for aught I can see, we
shall have a languishing death: I can know nothing, nor themselves
neither.  I dined, you know, with our Society, and that odious Secretary
would make me President next week; so I must entertain them this day
se’nnight at the Thatched House Tavern, {364c} where we dined to-day: it
will cost me five or six pounds; yet the Secretary says he will give me
wine.  I found a letter when I came home from the Bishop of Clogher.

21.  This is the first time I ever got a new cold before the old one was
going: it came yesterday, and appeared in all due forms, eyes and nose
running, etc., and is now very bad; and I cannot tell how I got it.  Sir
Andrew Fountaine and I were invited to dine with Mrs. Van.  I was this
morning with the Duke of Ormond; and neither he nor I can think of
anything to comfort us in present affairs.  We must certainly fall, if
the Duchess of Somerset be not turned out; and nobody believes the Queen
will ever part with her.  The Duke and I were settling when Mr. Secretary
and I should dine with him, and he fixes upon Tuesday; and when I came
away I remembered it was Christmas Day.  I was to see Lady —, who is just
up after lying-in; and the ugliest sight I have seen, pale, dead, old and
yellow, for want of her paint.  She has turned my stomach.  But she will
soon be painted, and a beauty again.

22.  I find myself disordered with a pain all round the small of my back,
which I imputed to champagne I had drunk; but find it to have been only
my new cold.  It was a fine frosty day, and I resolved to walk into the
City.  I called at Lord Treasurer’s at eleven, and stayed some time with
him.—He showed me a letter from a great Presbyterian parson {365} to him,
complaining how their friends had betrayed them by passing this
Conformity Bill; and he showed me the answer he had written, which his
friends would not let him send; but was a very good one.  He is very
cheerful; but gives one no hopes, nor has any to give.  I went into the
City, and there I dined.

23.  Morning.  As I was dressing to go to church, a friend that was to
see me advised me not to stir out; so I shall keep at home to-day, and
only eat some broth, if I can get it.  It is a terrible cold frost, and
snow fell yesterday, which still remains: look there, you may see it from
the penthouses.  The Lords made yesterday two or three votes about peace,
and Hanover, of a very angry kind to vex the Ministry, and they will meet
sooner by a fortnight than the Commons; and they say, are preparing some
knocking addresses.  Morrow, sirrahs.  I’ll sit at home, and when I go to
bed I will tell you how I am.—I have sat at home all day, and eaten only
a mess of broth and a roll.  I have written a _Prophecy_, {366a} which I
design to print; I did it to-day, and some other verses.

24.  I went into the City to-day in a coach, and dined there.  My cold is
going.  It is now bitter hard frost, and has been so these three or four
days.  My _Prophecy_ is printed, and will be published after Christmas
Day; I like it mightily: I don’t know how it will pass.  You will never
understand it at your distance, without help.  I believe everybody will
guess it to be mine, because it is somewhat in the same manner with that
of “Merlin” {366b} in the _Miscellanies_.  My Lord Privy Seal set out
this day for Holland: he’ll have a cold journey.  I gave Patrick half a
crown for his Christmas box, on condition he would be good, and he came
home drunk at midnight.  I have taken a memorandum of it, because I never
design to give him a groat more.  ’Tis cruel cold.

25.  I wish MD a merry Christmas, and many a one; but mine is melancholy:
I durst not go to church to-day, finding myself a little out of order,
and it snowing prodigiously, and freezing.  At noon I went to Mrs. Van,
who had this week engaged me to dine there to-day: and there I received
the news that poor Mrs. Long {366c} died at Lynn in Norfolk on Saturday
last, at four in the morning: she was sick but four hours.  We suppose it
was the asthma, which she was subject to as well as the dropsy, as she
sent me word in her last letter, written about five weeks ago; but then
said she was recovered.  I never was more afflicted at any death.  The
poor creature had retired to Lynn two years ago, to live cheap, and pay
her debts.  In her last letter she told me she hoped to be easy by
Christmas; and she kept her word, although she meant it otherwise.  She
had all sorts of amiable qualities, and no ill ones, but the indiscretion
of too much neglecting her own affairs.  She had two thousand pounds left
her by an old grandmother, {367a} with which she intended to pay her
debts, and live on an annuity she had of one hundred pounds a year, and
Newburg House, which would be about sixty pounds more.  That odious
grandmother living so long, forced her to retire; for the two thousand
pounds was settled on her after the old woman’s death, yet her brute of a
brother, Sir James Long, {367b} would not advance it for her; else she
might have paid her debts, and continued here, and lived still: I believe
melancholy helped her on to her grave.  I have ordered a paragraph to be
put in the _Postboy_, {367c} giving an account of her death, and making
honourable mention of her; which is all I can do to serve her memory: but
one reason was spite; for her brother would fain have her death a secret,
to save the charge of bringing her up here to bury her, or going into
mourning.  Pardon all this, for the sake of a poor creature I had so much
friendship for.

26.  I went to Mr. Secretary this morning, and he would have me dine with
him.  I called at noon at Mrs. Masham’s, who desired me not to let the
_Prophecy_ be published, for fear of angering the Queen about the Duchess
of Somerset; so I writ to the printer to stop them.  They have been
printed and given about, but not sold.  I saw Lord Treasurer there, who
had been two hours with the Queen; and Mrs. Masham is in hopes things
will do well again.  I went at night again, and supped at Mr. Masham’s,
and Lord Treasurer sat with us till one o’clock.  So ’tis late, etc.

27.  I entertained our Society at the Thatched House Tavern to-day at
dinner; but brother Bathurst sent for wine, the house affording none.
The printer had not received my letter, and so he brought up dozens
apiece of the _Prophecy_; but I ordered him to part with no more.  ’Tis
an admirable good one, and people are mad for it.  The frost still
continues violently cold.  Mrs. Masham invited me to come to-night and
play at cards; but our Society did not part till nine.  But I supped with
Mrs. Hill, her sister, and there was Mrs. Masham and Lord Treasurer, and
we stayed till twelve.  He is endeavouring to get a majority against next
Wednesday, when the House of Lords is to meet, and the Whigs intend to
make some violent addresses against a peace, if not prevented.  God knows
what will become of us.—It is still prodigiously cold; but so I told you
already.  We have eggs on the spit, I wish they may not be addled.  When
I came home to-night I found, forsooth, a letter from MD, N. 24, 24, 24,
24; there, do you know the numbers now? and at the same time one from
Joe, {368a} full of thanks: let him know I have received it, and am glad
of his success, but won’t put him to the charge of a letter.  I had a
letter some time ago from Mr. Warburton, {368b} and I beg one of you will
copy out what I shall tell you, and send it by some opportunity to
Warburton.  ’Tis as follows: The Doctor has received Mr. Warburton’s
letter, and desires he will let the Doctor know where {368c} that
accident he mentions is like soon to happen, and he will do what he can
in it.—And pray, madam, let them know that I do this to save myself the
trouble, and them the expense of a letter.  And I think that this is
enough for one that comes home at twelve from a Lord Treasurer and Mrs.
Masham.  Oh, I could tell you ten thousand things of our mad politics,
upon what small circumstances great affairs have turned.  But I will go
rest my busy head.

28.  I was this morning with brother Bathurst to see the Duke of Ormond.
We have given his Grace some hopes to be one of our Society.  The
Secretary and I and Bathurst are to dine with him on Sunday next.  The
Duke is not in much hopes, but has been very busy in endeavouring to
bring over some lords against next Wednesday.  The Duchess caught me as I
was going out; she is sadly in fear about things, and blames me for not
mending them by my credit with Lord Treasurer; and I blame her.  She met
me in the street at noon, and engaged me to dine with her, which I did;
and we talked an hour after dinner in her closet.  If we miscarry on
Wednesday, I believe it will be by some strange sort of neglect.  They
talk of making eight new lords by calling up some peers’ eldest sons; but
they delay strangely.  I saw Judge Coote {369a} to-day at the Duke of
Ormond’s: he desires to come and see me, to justify his principles.

29.  Morning.  This goes to-day.  I will not answer yours, your 24th,
till next, which shall begin to-night, as usual.  Lord Shelburne has sent
to invite me to dinner, but I am engaged with Lewis at Ned Southwell’s.
Lord Northampton and Lord Aylesbury’s sons {369b} are both made peers;
but we shall want more.  I write this post to your Dean.  I owe the
Archbishop a letter this long time.  All people that come from Ireland
complain of him, and scold me for protecting him.  Pray, Madam Dingley,
let me know what Presto has received for this year, or whether anything
is due to him for last: I cannot look over your former letters now.  As
for Dingley’s own account of her exchequer money, I will give it on
t’other side.  Farewell, my own dearest MD, and love Presto; and God ever
bless dearest MD, etc. etc.  I wish you many happy Christmases and new
years.

I have owned to the Dean a letter I just had from you, but that I had not
one this great while before.

                            DINGLEY’S ACCOUNT

Received of Mr. Tooke                                £6      17      6
Deducted for entering the letter of attorney          0       2      6
For the three half-crowns it used to cost you,        0       7      6
I don’t know why nor wherefore
For exchange to Ireland                               0      10      0
For coach-hire                                        0       2      6
                                   In all, just       8       0      0

So there’s your money, and we are both even: for I’ll pay you no more
than that eight pounds Irish, and pray be satisfied.

                      Churchwarden’s accounts, boys.

Saturday night.  I have broke open my letter, and tore it into the
bargain, to let you know that we are all safe: the Queen has made no less
than twelve lords, {370} to have a majority; nine new ones, the other
three peers’ sons; and has turned out the Duke of Somerset.  She is
awaked at last, and so is Lord Treasurer: I want nothing now but to see
the Duchess out.  But we shall do without her.  We are all extremely
happy.  Give me joy, sirrahs.  This is written in a coffee-house.  Three
of the new lords are of our Society.



LETTER XXXVIII.


                                                  LONDON, _Dec._ 29, 1711.

I PUT my letter in this evening, after coming from dinner at Ned
Southwell’s, where I drank very good Irish wine, and we are in great joy
at this happy turn of affairs.  The Queen has been at last persuaded to
her own interest and security, and I freely think she must have made both
herself and kingdom very unhappy, if she had done otherwise.  It is still
a mighty secret that Masham is to be one of the new lords; they say he
does not yet know it himself; but the Queen is to surprise him with it.
Mr. Secretary will be a lord at the end of the session; but they want him
still in Parliament.  After all, it is a strange unhappy necessity of
making so many peers together; but the Queen has drawn it upon herself,
by her confounded trimming and moderation.  Three, as I told you, are of
our Society.

30.  I writ the Dean and you a lie yesterday; for the Duke of Somerset is
not yet turned out.  I was to-day at Court, and resolved to be very civil
to the Whigs; but saw few there.  When I was in the bed-chamber talking
to Lord Rochester, he went up to Lady Burlington, {371a} who asked him
who I was; and Lady Sunderland and she whispered about me: I desired Lord
Rochester to tell Lady Sunderland I doubted she was not as much in love
with me as I was with her; but he would not deliver my message.  The
Duchess of Shrewsbury came running up to me, and clapped her fan up to
hide us from the company, and we gave one another joy of this change; but
sighed when we reflected on the Somerset family not being out.  The
Secretary and I, and brother Bathurst, and Lord Windsor, dined with the
Duke of Ormond.  Bathurst and Windsor {371b} are to be two of the new
lords.  I desired my Lord Radnor’s brother, {372a} at Court to-day, to
let my lord know I would call on him at six, which I did, and was arguing
with him three hours to bring him over to us, and I spoke so closely that
I believe he will be tractable; but he is a scoundrel, and though I said
I only talked for my love to him, I told a lie; for I did not care if he
were hanged: but everyone gained over is of consequence.  The Duke of
Marlborough was at Court to-day, and nobody hardly took notice of him.
Masham’s being a lord begins to take wind: nothing at Court can be kept a
secret.  Wednesday will be a great day: you shall know more.

31.  Our frost is broken since yesterday, and it is very slabbery; {372b}
yet I walked to the City and dined, and ordered some things with the
printer.  I have settled Dr. King in the Gazette; it will be worth two
hundred pounds a year to him.  Our new lords’ patents are passed: I don’t
like the expedient, if we could have found any other.  I see I have said
this before.  I hear the Duke of Marlborough is turned out of all his
employments: I shall know to-morrow when I am to carry Dr. King to dine
with the Secretary.—These are strong remedies; pray God the patient is
able to bear them.  The last Ministry people are utterly desperate.

Jan. 1.  Now I wish my dearest little MD many happy new years; yes, both
Dingley and Stella, ay and Presto too, many happy new years.  I dined
with the Secretary, and it is true that the Duke of Marlborough is turned
out of all.  The Duke of Ormond has got his regiment of foot-guards, I
know not who has the rest. If the Ministry be not sure of a peace, I
shall wonder at this step, and do not approve it at best. The Queen and
Lord Treasurer mortally hate the Duke of Marlborough, and to that he owes
his fall, more than to his other faults: unless he has been tampering too
far with his party, of which I have not heard any particulars; however it
be, the world abroad will blame us.  I confess my belief that he has not
one good quality in the world beside that of a general, and even that I
have heard denied by several great soldiers.  But we have had constant
success in arms while he commanded.  Opinion is a mighty matter in war,
and I doubt the French think it impossible to conquer an army that he
leads, and our soldiers think the same; and how far even this step may
encourage the French to play tricks with us, no man knows.  I do not love
to see personal resentment mix with public affairs.

2.  This being the day the Lords meet, and the new peers to be
introduced, I went to Westminster to see the sight; but the crowd was too
great in the house.  So I only went into the robing-room, to give my four
brothers joy, and Sir Thomas Mansel, {373} and Lord Windsor; the other
six I am not acquainted with.  It was apprehended the Whigs would have
raised some difficulties, but nothing happened.  I went to see Lady
Masham at noon, and wish her joy of her new honour, and a happy new year.
I found her very well pleased; for peerage will be some sort of
protection to her upon any turn of affairs.  She engaged me to come at
night, and sup with her and Lord Treasurer: I went at nine, and she was
not at home, so I would not stay.—No, no, I won’t answer your letter yet,
young women.  I dined with a friend in the neighbourhood.  I see nothing
here like Christmas, except brawn or mince-pies in places where I dine,
and giving away my half-crowns like farthings to great men’s porters and
butlers.  Yesterday I paid seven good guineas to the fellow at the tavern
where I treated the Society.  I have a great mind to send you the bill.
I think I told you some articles.  I have not heard whether anything was
done in the House of Lords after introducing the new ones.  Ford has been
sitting with me till peeast tweeleve a clock.

3.  This was our Society day: Lord Dupplin was President; we choose every
week; the last President treats and chooses his successor.  I believe our
dinner cost fifteen pounds beside wine.  The Secretary grew brisk, and
would not let me go, nor Lord Lansdowne, {374a} who would fain have gone
home to his lady, being newly married to Lady Mary Thynne.  It was near
one when we parted, so you must think I cannot write much to-night.  The
adjourning of the House of Lords yesterday, as the Queen desired, was
just carried by the twelve new lords, and one more.  Lord Radnor was not
there: I hope I have cured him.  Did I tell you that I have brought Dr.
King in to be Gazetteer?  It will be worth above two hundred pounds a
year to him: I believe I told you so before, but I am forgetful.  Go, get
you gone to ombre, and claret, and toasted oranges.  I’ll go sleep.

4.  I cannot get rid of the leavings of my cold.  I was in the City
to-day, and dined with my printer, and gave him a ballad made by several
hands, I know not whom.  I believe Lord Treasurer had a finger in it; I
added three stanzas; I suppose Dr. Arbuthnot had the greatest share.  I
had been overseeing some other little prints, and a pamphlet made by one
of my under-strappers.  Somerset is not out yet.  I doubt not but you
will have the _Prophecy_ in Ireland, although it is not published here,
only printed copies given to friends.  Tell me, do you understand it?
No, faith, not without help.  Tell me what you stick at, and I’ll
explain.  We turned out a member of our Society yesterday for gross
neglect and non-attendance.  I writ to him by order to give him notice of
it.  It is Tom Harley, {374b} secretary to the Treasurer, and
cousin-german to Lord Treasurer.  He is going to Hanover from the Queen.
I am to give the Duke of Ormond notice of his election as soon as I can
see him.

5.  I went this morning with a parishioner of mine, one Nuttal, who came
over here for a legacy of one hundred pounds, and a roguish lawyer had
refused to pay him, and would not believe he was the man.  I writ to the
lawyer a sharp letter, that I had taken Nuttal into my protection, and
was resolved to stand by him, and the next news was, that the lawyer
desired I would meet him, and attest he was the man, which I did, and his
money was paid upon the spot.  I then visited Lord Treasurer, who is now
right again, and all well, only that the Somerset family is not out yet.
I hate that; I don’t like it, as the man said, by, etc.  Then I went and
visited poor Will Congreve, who had a French fellow tampering with one of
his eyes; he is almost blind of both.  I dined with some merchants in the
City, but could not see Stratford, with whom I had business.  Presto,
leave off your impertinence, and answer our letter, saith MD.  Yes, yes,
one of these days, when I have nothing else to do.  O, faith, this letter
is a week written, and not one side done yet. These ugly spots are not
tobacco, but this is the last gilt sheet I have of large paper, therefore
hold your tongue.  Nuttal was surprised when they gave him bits of paper
instead of money, but I made Ben Tooke put him in his geers: {375} he
could not reckon ten pounds, but was puzzled with the Irish way.  Ben
Tooke and my printer have desired me to make them stationers to the
Ordnance, of which Lord Rivers is Master, instead of the Duke of
Marlborough.  It will be a hundred pounds a year apiece to them, if I can
get it.  I will try to-morrow.

6.  I went this morning to Earl Rivers, gave him joy of his new
employment, and desired him to prefer my printer and bookseller to be
stationers to his office.  He immediately granted it me; but, like an old
courtier, told me it was wholly on my account, but that he heard I had
intended to engage Mr. Secretary to speak to him, and desired I would
engage him to do so, but that, however, he did it only for my sake.  This
is a Court trick, to oblige as many as you can at once.  I read prayers
to poor Mrs. Wesley, who is very much out of order, instead of going to
church; and then I went to Court, which I found very full, in expectation
of seeing Prince Eugene, who landed last night, and lies at Leicester
House; he was not to see the Queen till six this evening.  I hope and
believe he comes too late to do the Whigs any good.  I refused dining
with the Secretary, and was like to lose my dinner, which was at a
private acquaintance’s.  I went at six to see the Prince at Court, but he
was gone in to the Queen; and when he came out, Mr. Secretary, who
introduced him, walked so near him that he quite screened me from him
with his great periwig.  I’ll tell you a good passage: as Prince Eugene
was going with Mr. Secretary to Court, he told the Secretary that
Hoffman, the Emperor’s Resident, said to His Highness that it was not
proper to go to Court without a long wig, and his was a tied-up one:
“Now,” says the Prince, “I knew not what to do, for I never had a long
periwig in my life; and I have sent to all my valets and footmen, to see
whether any of them have one, that I might borrow it, but none of them
has any.”—Was not this spoken very greatly with some sort of contempt?
But the Secretary said it was a thing of no consequence, and only
observed by gentlemen ushers.  I supped with Lord Masham, where Lord
Treasurer and Mr. Secretary supped with us: the first left us at twelve,
but the rest did not part till two, yet I have written all this, because
it is fresh: and now I’ll go sleep if I can; that is, I believe I shall,
because I have drank a little.

7.  I was this morning to give the Duke of Ormond notice of the honour
done him to make him one of our Society, and to invite him on Thursday
next to the Thatched House: he has accepted it with the gratitude and
humility such a preferment deserves, but cannot come till the next
meeting, because Prince Eugene is to dine with him that day, which I
allowed for: a good excuse, and will report accordingly.  I dined with
Lord Masham, and sat there till eight this evening, and came home,
because I was not very well, but a little griped; but now I am well
again, I will not go, at least but very seldom, to Lord Masham’s suppers.
Lord Treasurer is generally there, and that tempts me, but late sitting
up does not agree with me: there’s the short and the long, and I won’t do
it; so take your answer, dear little young women; and I have no more to
say to you to-night, because of the Archbishop, for I am going to write a
long letter to him, but not so politely as formerly: I won’t trust him.

8.  Well, then, come, let us see this letter; if I must answer it, I
must.  What’s here now? yes, faith, I lamented my birthday {377a} two
days after, and that’s all: and you rhyme, Madam Stella; were those
verses made upon my birthday? faith, when I read them, I had them running
in my head all the day, and said them over a thousand times; they drank
your health in all their glasses, and wished, etc.  I could not get them
out of my head.  What? no, I believe it was not; what do I say upon the
eighth of December?  Compare, and see whether I say so.  I am glad of
Mrs. Stoyte’s recovery, heartily glad; your Dolly Manley’s and Bishop of
Cloyne’s {377b} child I have no concern about: I am sorry in a civil way,
that’s all.  Yes, yes, Sir George St. George dead. {377c}—Go, cry, Madam
Dingley; I have written to the Dean.  Raymond will be rich, for he has
the building itch.  I wish all he has got may put him out of debt.  Poh,
I have fires like lightning; they cost me twelvepence a week, beside
small coal.  I have got four new caps, madam, very fine and convenient,
with striped cambric, instead of muslin; so Patrick need not mend them,
but take the old ones.  Stella snatched Dingley’s word out of her pen;
Presto a cold?  Why, all the world here is dead with them: I never had
anything like it in my life; ’tis not gone in five weeks.  I hope Leigh
is with you before this, and has brought your box.  How do you like the
ivory rasp?  Stella is angry; but I’ll have a finer thing for her.  Is
not the apron as good?  I’m sure I shall never be paid it; so all’s well
again.—What? the quarrel with Sir John Walter? {378a}  Why, we had not
one word of quarrel; only he railed at me when I was gone: and Lord
Keeper and Treasurer teased me for a week.  It was nuts to them; a
serious thing with a vengeance.—The Whigs may sell their estates then, or
hang themselves, as they are disposed; for a peace there will be.  Lord
Treasurer told me that Connolly {378b} was going to Hanover.  Your
Provost {378c} is a coxcomb.  Stella is a good girl for not being angry
when I tell her of spelling; I see none wrong in this.  God Almighty be
praised that your disorder lessens; it increases my hopes mightily that
they will go off.  And have you been plagued with the fear of the plague?
never mind those reports; I have heard them five hundred times.  Replevi?
Replevin, simpleton, ’tis Dingley I mean; but it is a hard word, and so
I’ll excuse it.  I stated Dingley’s accounts in my last. I forgot
Catherine’s sevenpenny dinner.  I hope it was the beef-steaks; I’ll call
and eat them in spring; but Goody Stoyte must give me coffee, or green
tea, for I drink no bohea.  Well, ay, the pamphlet; but there are some
additions to the fourth edition; the fifth edition was of four thousand,
in a smaller print, sold for sixpence.  Yes, I had the twenty-pound bill
from Parvisol: and what then?  Pray now eat the Laracor apples; I beg you
not to keep them, but tell me what they are.  You have had Tooke’s bill
in my last.  And so there now, your whole letter is answered.  I tell you
what I do; I lay your letter before me, and take it in order, and answer
what is necessary; and so and so.  Well, when I expected we were all
undone, I designed to retire for six months, and then steal over to
Laracor; and I had in my mouth a thousand times two lines of Shakespeare,
where Cardinal Wolsey says,

    “A weak old man, battered with storms of state,
    Is come to lay his weary bones among you.” {378d}

I beg your pardon; I have cheated you all this margin, I did not perceive
it; and I went on wider and wider like Stella; awkward sluts; _she writes
so so_, _there_: {379} that’s as like as two eggs a penny.—“A weak old
man,” now I am saying it, and shall till to-morrow.—The Duke of
Marlborough says there is nothing he now desires so much as to contrive
some way how to soften Dr. Swift.  He is mistaken; for those things that
have been hardest against him were not written by me.  Mr. Secretary told
me this from a friend of the Duke’s; and I’m sure now he is down, I shall
not trample on him; although I love him not, I dislike his being
out.—Bernage was to see me this morning, and gave some very indifferent
excuses for not calling here so long.  I care not twopence.  Prince
Eugene did not dine with the Duke of Marlborough on Sunday, but was last
night at Lady Betty Germaine’s assemblee, and a vast number of ladies to
see him.  Mr. Lewis and I dined with a private friend.  I was this
morning to see the Duke of Ormond, who appointed me to meet him at the
Cockpit at one, but never came.  I sat too some time with the Duchess.
We don’t like things very well yet.  I am come home early, and going to
be busy.  I’ll go write.

9.  I could not go sleep last night till past two, and was waked before
three by a noise of people endeavouring to break open my window.  For a
while I would not stir, thinking it might be my imagination; but hearing
the noise continued, I rose and went to the window, and then it ceased.
I went to bed again, and heard it repeated more violently; then I rose
and called up the house, and got a candle: the rogues had lifted up the
sash a yard; there are great sheds before my windows, although my
lodgings be a storey high; and if they get upon the sheds they are almost
even with my window.  We observed their track, and panes of glass fresh
broken.  The watchmen told us to-day they saw them, but could not catch
them.  They attacked others in the neighbourhood about the same time, and
actually robbed a house in Suffolk Street, which is the next street but
one to us.  It is said they are seamen discharged from service.  I went
up to call my man, and found his bed empty; it seems he often lies
abroad.  I challenged him this morning as one of the robbers.  He is a
sad dog; and the minute I come to Ireland I will discard him.  I have
this day got double iron bars to every window in my dining-room and
bed-chamber; and I hide my purse in my thread stocking between the bed’s
head and the wainscot.  Lewis and I dined with an old Scotch friend, who
brought the Duke of Douglas {380a} and three or four more Scots upon us.

10.  This was our Society day, you know; but the Duke of Ormond could not
be with us, because he dined with Prince Eugene.  It cost me a guinea
contribution to a poet, who had made a copy of verses upon monkeys,
applying the story to the Duke of Marlborough; the rest gave two guineas,
except the two physicians, {380b} who followed my example.  I don’t like
this custom: the next time I will give nothing.  I sat this evening at
Lord Masham’s with Lord Treasurer: I don’t like his countenance; nor I
don’t like the posture of things well.

   We cannot be stout,
   Till Somerset’s out:

as the old saying is.

11.  Mr. Lewis and I dined with the Chancellor of the Exchequer, who eats
the most elegantly of any man I know in town.  I walked lustily in the
Park by moonshine till eight, to shake off my dinner and wine; and then
went to sup at Mr. Domville’s with Ford, and stayed till twelve.  It is
told me to-day as a great secret that the Duke of Somerset will be out
soon, that the thing is fixed; but what shall we do with the Duchess?
They say the Duke will make her leave the Queen out of spite, if he be
out.  It has stuck upon that fear a good while already.  Well, but Lewis
gave me a letter from MD, N. 25.  O Lord, I did not expect one this
fortnight, faith.  You are mighty good, that’s certain: but I won’t
answer it, because this goes to-morrow, only what you say of the printer
being taken up; I value it not; all’s safe there; nor do I fear anything,
unless the Ministry be changed: I hope that danger is over.  However, I
shall be in Ireland before such a change; which could not be, I think,
till the end of the session, if the Whigs’ designs had gone on.—Have not
you an apron by Leigh, Madam Stella? have you all I mentioned in a former
letter?

12.  Morning.  This goes to-day as usual.  I think of going into the
City; but of that at night.  ’Tis fine moderate weather these two or
three days last. Farewell, etc. etc.



LETTER XXXIX.


                                               LONDON, _Jan._ 12, 1711–12.

WHEN I sealed up my letter this morning, I looked upon myself to be not
worth a groat in the world.  Last night, after Mr. Ford and I left
Domville, Ford desired me to go with him for a minute upon earnest
business, and then told me that both he and I were ruined; for he had
trusted Stratford with five hundred pounds for tickets for the lottery,
and he had been with Stratford, who confessed he had lost fifteen
thousand pounds by Sir Stephen Evans, {381} who broke last week; that he
concluded Stratford must break too; that he could not get his tickets,
but Stratford made him several excuses, which seemed very blind ones,
etc.  And Stratford had near four hundred pounds of mine, to buy me five
hundred pounds in the South Sea Company.  I came home reflecting a
little; nothing concerned me but MD.  I called all my philosophy and
religion up; and, I thank God, it did not keep me awake beyond my usual
time above a quarter of an hour.  This morning I sent for Tooke, whom I
had employed to buy the stock of Stratford, and settle things with him.
He told me I was secure; for Stratford had transferred it to me in form
in the South Sea House, and he had accepted it for me, and all was done
on stamped parchment.  However, he would be further informed; and at
night sent me a note to confirm me.  However, I am not yet secure; and,
besides, am in pain for Ford, whom I first brought acquainted with
Stratford.  I dined in the City.

13.  Domville and I dined with Ford to-day by appointment: the Lord
Mansel told me at Court to-day that I was engaged to him; but Stratford
had promised Ford to meet him and me to-night at Ford’s lodgings.  He did
so; said he had hopes to save himself in his affair with Evans.  Ford
asked him for his tickets: he said he would send them to-morrow; but
looking in his pocket-book, said he believed he had some of them about
him, and gave him as many as came to two hundred pounds, which rejoiced
us much; besides, he talked so frankly, that we might think there is no
danger.  I asked him, Was there any more to be settled between us in my
affair?  He said, No; and answered my questions just as Tooke had got
them from others; so I hope I am safe.  This has been a scurvy affair.  I
believe Stella would have half laughed at me, to see a suspicious fellow
like me overreached.  I saw Prince Eugene to-day at Court: I don’t think
him an ugly-faced fellow, but well enough, and a good shape.

14.  The Parliament was to sit to-day, and met; but were adjourned by the
Queen’s directions till Thursday.  She designs to make some important
speech then.  She pretended illness; but I believe they were not ready,
and they expect some opposition: and the Scotch lords are angry, {382}
and must be pacified.  I was this morning to invite the Duke of Ormond to
our Society on Thursday, where he is then to be introduced.  He has
appointed me at twelve to-morrow about some business: I would fain have
his help to impeach a certain lord; but I doubt we shall make nothing of
it.  I intended to have dined with Lord Treasurer, but I was told he
would be busy: so I dined with Mrs. Van; and at night I sat with Lord
Masham till one.  Lord Treasurer was there, and chid me for not dining
with him: he was in very good humour.  I brought home two flasks of
burgundy in my chair: I wish MD had them.  You see it is very late; so
I’ll go to bed, and bid MD good night.

15.  This morning I presented my printer and bookseller to Lord Rivers,
to be stationers to the Ordnance; stationers, that’s the word; I did not
write it plain at first. I believe it will be worth three hundred pounds
a year between them.  This is the third employment I have got for them.
Rivers told them the Doctor commanded him, and he durst not refuse it.  I
would have dined with Lord Treasurer to-day again, but Lord Mansel would
not let me, and forced me home with him.  I was very deep with the Duke
of Ormond to-day at the Cockpit, where we met to be private; but I doubt
I cannot do the mischief I intended.  My friend Penn came there, Will
Penn the Quaker, at the head of his brethren, to thank the Duke for his
kindness to their people in Ireland.  To see a dozen scoundrels with
their hats on, and the Duke complimenting with his off, was a good sight
enough.  I sat this evening with Sir William Robinson, {383} who has
mighty often invited me to a bottle of wine: and it is past twelve.

16.  This being fast-day, Dr. Freind and I went into the City to dine
late, like good fasters.  My printer and bookseller want me to hook in
another employment for them in the Tower, because it was enjoyed before
by a stationer, although it be to serve the Ordnance with oil, tallow,
etc., and is worth four hundred pounds per annum more: I will try what I
can do.  They are resolved to ask several other employments of the same
nature to other offices; and I will then grease fat sows, and see whether
it be possible to satisfy them.  Why am not I a stationer?  The
Parliament sits to-morrow, and Walpole, late Secretary at War, is to be
swinged for bribery, and the Queen is to communicate something of great
importance to the two Houses, at least they say so.  But I must think of
answering your letter in a day or two.

17.  I went this morning to the Duke of Ormond about some business, and
he told me he could not dine with us to-day, being to dine with Prince
Eugene.  Those of our Society of the House of Commons could not be with
us, the House sitting late on Walpole.  I left them at nine, and they
were not come.  We kept some dinner for them.  I hope Walpole will be
sent to the Tower, and expelled the House; but this afternoon the members
I spoke with in the Court of Requests talked dubiously of it.  It will be
a leading card to maul the Duke of Marlborough for the same crime, or at
least to censure him.  The Queen’s message was only to give them notice
of the peace she is treating, and to desire they will make some law to
prevent libels against the Government; so farewell to Grub Street.

18.  I heard to-day that the commoners of our Society did not leave the
Parliament till eleven at night, then went to those I left, and stayed
till three in the morning.  Walpole is expelled, and sent to the Tower.
I was this morning again with Lord Rivers, and have made him give the
other employment to my printer and bookseller; ’tis worth a great deal.
I dined with my friend Lewis privately, to talk over affairs.  We want to
have this Duke of Somerset out, and he apprehends it will not be, but I
hope better.  They are going now at last to change the Commissioners of
the Customs; my friend Sir Matthew Dudley will be out, and three more,
and Prior will be in.  I have made Ford copy out a small pamphlet, and
sent it to the press, that I might not be known for author; ’tis _A
Letter to the October Club_, {384} if ever you heard of such a
thing.—Methinks this letter goes on but slowly for almost a week: I want
some little conversation with MD, and to know what they are doing just
now.  I am sick of politics.  I have not dined with Lord Treasurer these
three weeks: he chides me, but I don’t care: I don’t.

19.  I dined to-day with Lord Treasurer: this is his day of choice
company, where they sometimes admit me, but pretend to grumble.  And
to-day they met on some extraordinary business; the Keeper, Steward, both
Secretaries, Lord Rivers, and Lord Anglesea: I left them at seven, and
came away, and have been writing to the Bishop of Clogher.  I forgot to
know where to direct to him since Sir George St. George’s death, {385a}
but I have directed to the same house: you must tell me better, for the
letter is sent by the bellman.  Don’t write to me again till this is
gone, I charge you, for I won’t answer two letters together.  The Duke of
Somerset is out, and was with his yellow liveries at Parliament to-day.
You know he had the same with the Queen, when he was Master of the Horse:
we hope the Duchess will follow, or that he will take her away in spite.
Lord Treasurer, I hope, has now saved his head.  Has the Dean received my
letter? ask him at cards to-night.

20.  There was a world of people to-day at Court to see Prince Eugene,
but all bit, for he did not come.  I saw the Duchess of Somerset talking
with the Duke of Buckingham; she looked a little down, but was extremely
courteous.  The Queen has the gout, but is not in much pain.  Must I fill
this line too? {385b} well then, so let it be.  The Duke of Beaufort
{385c} has a mighty mind to come into our Society; shall we let him?  I
spoke to the Duke of Ormond about it, and he doubts a little whether to
let him in or no.  They say the Duke of Somerset is advised by his
friends to let his wife stay with the Queen; I am sorry for it.  I dined
with the Secretary to-day, with mixed company; I don’t love it.  Our
Society does not meet till Friday, because Thursday will be a busy day in
the House of Commons, for then the Duke of Marlborough’s bribery is to be
examined into about the pension paid him by those that furnished bread to
the army.

21.  I have been five times with the Duke of Ormond about a perfect
trifle, and he forgets it: I used him like a dog this morning for it.  I
was asked to-day by several in the Court of Requests whether it was true
that the author of the _Examiner_ was taken up in an action of twenty
thousand pounds by the Duke of Marlborough? {386a}  I dined in the City,
where my printer showed me a pamphlet, called _Advice to the October
Club_, which he said was sent him by an unknown hand: I commended it
mightily; he never suspected me; ’tis a twopenny pamphlet.  I came home
and got timely to bed; but about eleven one of the Secretary’s servants
came to me to let me know that Lord Treasurer would immediately speak to
me at Lord Masham’s upon earnest business, and that, if I was abed, I
should rise and come.  I did so: Lord Treasurer was above with the Queen;
and when he came down he laughed, and said it was not he that sent for
me: the business was of no great importance, only to give me a paper,
which might have been done to-morrow.  I stayed with them till past one,
and then got to bed again.  Pize {386b} take their frolics.  I thought to
have answered your letter.

22.  Dr. Gastrell was to see me this morning: he is an eminent divine,
one of the canons of Christ Church, and one I love very well: he said he
was glad to find I was not with James Broad.  I asked what he meant.
“Why,” says he, “have you not seen the Grub Street paper, that says Dr.
Swift was taken up as author of the _Examiner_, on an action of twenty
thousand pounds, and was now at James Broad’s?” who, I suppose, is some
bailiff.  I knew of this; but at the Court of Requests twenty people told
me they heard I had been taken up.  Lord Lansdowne observed to the
Secretary and me that the Whigs spread three lies yesterday; that about
me; and another, that Maccartney, who was turned out last summer, {387a}
is again restored to his places in the army; and the third, that Jack
Hill’s commission for Lieutenant of the Tower is stopped, and that
Cadogan is to continue.  Lansdowne thinks they have some design by these
reports; I cannot guess it.  Did I tell you that Sacheverell has desired
mightily to come and see me? but I have put it off: he has heard that I
have spoken to the Secretary in behalf of a brother whom he maintains,
and who desires an employment. {387b}  T’other day at the Court of
Requests Dr. Yalden {387c} saluted me by name: Sacheverell, who was just
by, came up to me, and made me many acknowledgment and compliments.  Last
night I desired Lord Treasurer to do something for that brother of
Sacheverell’s: he said he never knew he had a brother, but thanked me for
telling him, and immediately put his name in his table-book. {387d}  I
will let Sacheverell know this, that he may take his measures
accordingly, but he shall be none of my acquaintance.  I dined to-day
privately with the Secretary, left him at six, paid a visit or two, and
came home.

23.  I dined again to-day with the Secretary, but could not despatch some
business I had with him, he has so much besides upon his hands at this
juncture, and preparing against the great business to-morrow, which we
are top full of.  The Minister’s design is that the Duke of Marlborough
shall be censured as gently as possible, provided his friends will not
make head to defend him, but if they do, it may end in some severer
votes.  A gentleman, who was just now with him, tells me he is much cast
down, and fallen away; but he is positive, if he has but ten friends in
the House, that they shall defend him to the utmost, and endeavour to
prevent the least censure upon him, which I think cannot be, since the
bribery is manifest.  Sir Solomon Medina {388a} paid him six thousand
pounds a year to have the employment of providing bread for the army, and
the Duke owns it in his letter to the Commissioners of Accounts.  I was
to-night at Lord Masham’s: Lord Dupplin took out my new little pamphlet,
and the Secretary read a great deal of it to Lord Treasurer: they all
commended it to the skies, and so did I, and they began a health to the
author.  But I doubt Lord Treasurer suspected; for he said, “This is Mr.
Davenant’s style,” which is his cant when he suspects me. {388b}  But I
carried the matter very well.  Lord Treasurer put the pamphlet in his
pocket to read at home.  I’ll answer your letter to-morrow.

24.  The Secretary made me promise to dine with him to-day, after the
Parliament was up: I said I would come; but I dined at my usual time,
knowing the House would sit late on this great affair.  I dined at a
tavern with Mr. Domville and another gentleman; I have not done so before
these many months.  At ten this evening I went to the Secretary, but he
was not come home: I sat with his lady till twelve, then came away; and
he just came as I was gone, and he sent to my lodgings, but I would not
go back; and so I know not how things have passed, but hope all is well;
and I will tell you to-morrow day.  It is late, etc.

25.  The Secretary sent to me this morning to know whether we should dine
together.  I went to him, and there I learned that the question went
against the Duke of Marlborough, by a majority of a hundred; so the
Ministry is mighty well satisfied, and the Duke will now be able to do no
hurt.  The Secretary and I, and Lord Masham, etc., dined with
Lieutenant-General Withers, {389a} who is just going to look after the
army in Flanders: the Secretary and I left them a little after seven, and
I am come home, and will now answer your letter, because this goes
to-morrow: let me see—The box at Chester; oh, burn that box, and hang
that Sterne; I have desired one to inquire for it who went toward Ireland
last Monday, but I am in utter despair of it.  No, I was not splenetic;
you see what plunges the Court has been at to set all right again.  And
that Duchess is not out yet, and may one day cause more mischief.
Somerset shows all about a letter from the Queen, desiring him to let his
wife continue with her.  Is not that rare!  I find Dingley smelled a rat;
because the Whigs are _upish_; but if ever I hear that word again, I’ll
_uppish_ you.  I am glad you got your rasp safe and sound; does Stella
like her apron?  Your critics about guarantees of succession are puppies;
that’s an answer to the objection.  The answerers here made the same
objection, but it is wholly wrong.  I am of your opinion that Lord
Marlborough is used too hardly: I have often scratched out passages from
papers and pamphlets sent me, before they were printed, because I thought
them too severe.  But he is certainly a vile man, and has no sort of
merit beside the military.  The _Examiners_ are good for little: I would
fain have hindered the severity of the two or three last, but could not.
I will either bring your papers over, or leave them with Tooke, for whose
honesty I will engage.  And I think it is best not to venture them with
me at sea.  Stella is a prophet, by foretelling so very positively that
all would be well.  Duke of Ormond speak against peace?  No, simpleton,
he is one of the staunchest we have for the Ministry.  Neither trouble
yourself about the printer: he appeared the first day of the term, and is
to appear when summoned again; but nothing else will come of it.  Lord
Chief-Justice {389b} is cooled since this new settlement.  No; I will not
split my journals in half; I will write but once a fortnight: but you may
do as you will; which is, read only half at once, and t’other half next
week.  So now your letter is answered.  (P— on these blots.)  What must I
say more?  I will set out in March, if there be a fit of fine weather;
unless the Ministry desire me to stay till the end of the session, which
may be a month longer; but I believe they will not: for I suppose the
peace will be made, and they will have no further service for me.  I must
make my canal fine this summer, as fine as I can.  I am afraid I shall
see great neglects among my quicksets.  I hope the cherry-trees on the
river walk are fine things now.  But no more of this.

26.  I forgot to finish this letter this morning, and am come home so
late I must give it to the bellman; but I would have it go to-night, lest
you should think there is anything in the story of my being arrested in
an action of twenty thousand pounds by Lord Marlborough, which I hear is
in Dyer’s Letter, {390} and, consequently, I suppose, gone to Ireland.
Farewell, dearest MD, etc. etc.



LETTER XL.


                                               LONDON, _Jan._ 26, 1711–12.

I HAVE no gilt paper left of this size, so you must be content with
plain.  Our Society dined together to-day, for it was put off, as I told
you, upon Lord Marlborough’s business on Thursday.  The Duke of Ormond
dined with us to-day, the first time: we were thirteen at table; and Lord
Lansdowne came in after dinner, so that we wanted but three.  The
Secretary proposed the Duke of Beaufort, who desires to be one of our
Society; but I stopped it, because the Duke of Ormond doubts a little
about it; and he was gone before it was proposed.  I left them at seven,
and sat this evening with poor Mrs. Wesley, who has been mightily ill
to-day with a fainting fit; she has often convulsions, too: she takes a
mixture with asafoetida, which I have now in my nose, and everything
smells of it.  I never smelt it before; ’tis abominable.  We have eight
packets, they say, due from Ireland.

27.  I could not see Prince Eugene at Court to-day, the crowd was so
great.  The Whigs contrive to have a crowd always about him, and employ
the rabble to give the word, when he sets out from any place.  When the
Duchess of Hamilton came from the Queen after church, she whispered me
that she was going to pay me a visit.  I went to Lady Oglethorpe’s, the
place appointed; for ladies always visit me in third places; and she kept
me till near four: she talks too much, is a plaguy detractor, and I
believe I shall not much like her.  I was engaged to dine with Lord
Masham: they stayed as long as they could, yet had almost dined, and were
going in anger to pull down the brass peg for my hat, but Lady Masham
saved it.  At eight I went again to Lord Masham’s; Lord Treasurer is
generally there at night: we sat up till almost two.  Lord Treasurer has
engaged me to contrive some way to keep the Archbishop of York {391} from
being seduced by Lord Nottingham.  I will do what I can in it to-morrow.
’Tis very late, so I must go sleep.

28.  Poor Mrs. Manley, the author, is very ill of a dropsy and sore leg:
the printer tells me he is afraid she cannot live long.  I am heartily
sorry for her: she has very generous principles for one of her sort, and
a great deal of good sense and invention: she is about forty, very
homely, and very fat.  Mrs. Van made me dine with her to-day.  I was this
morning with the Duke of Ormond and the Prolocutor about what Lord
Treasurer spoke to me yesterday; I know not what will be the issue.
There is but a slender majority in the House of Lords, and we want more.
We are sadly mortified at the news of the French taking the town in
Brazil from the Portuguese.  The sixth edition of three thousand of the
_Conduct of the Allies_ is sold, and the printer talks of a seventh:
eleven thousand of them have been sold, which is a most prodigious run.
The little twopenny _Letter of Advice to the October Club_ does not sell:
I know not the reason, for it is finely written, I assure you; and, like
a true author, I grow fond of it, because it does not sell: you know that
it is usual to writers to condemn the judgment of the world: if I had
hinted it to be mine, everybody would have bought it, but it is a great
secret.

29.  I borrowed one or two idle books of _Contes des Fées_, {392a} and
have been reading them these two days, although I have much business upon
my hands.  I loitered till one at home; then went to Mr. Lewis at his
office; and the Vice-Chamberlain told me that Lady Rialton {392b} had
yesterday resigned her employment of lady of the bed-chamber, and that
Lady Jane Hyde, {392c} Lord Rochester’s daughter, a mighty pretty girl,
is to succeed.  He said, too, that Lady Sunderland would resign in a day
or two.  I dined with Lewis, and then went to see Mrs. Wesley, who is
better to-day.  But you must know that Mr. Lewis gave me two letters, one
from the Bishop of Cloyne, with an enclosed from Lord Inchiquin {392d} to
Lord Treasurer, which he desires I would deliver and recommend.  I am
told that lord was much in with Lord Wharton, and I remember he was to
have been one of the Lords Justices by his recommendation; yet the Bishop
recommends him as a great friend to the Church, etc.  I’ll do what I
think proper.  T’other letter was from little saucy MD, N. 26.  O Lord,
never saw the like, under a cover, too, and by way of journal; we shall
never have done.  Sirrahs, how durst you write so soon, sirrahs?  I won’t
answer it yet.

30.  I was this morning with the Secretary, who was sick, and out of
humour: he would needs drink champagne some days ago, on purpose to spite
me, because I advised him against it, and now he pays for it.  Stella
used to do such tricks formerly; he put me in mind of her.  Lady
Sunderland has resigned her place too.  It is Lady Catherine Hyde {393a}
that succeeds Lady Rialton, and not Lady Jane.  Lady Catherine is the
late Earl of Rochester’s daughter.  I dined with the Secretary, then
visited his lady; and sat this evening with Lady Masham: the Secretary
came to us; but Lord Treasurer did not; he dined with the Master of the
Rolls, {393b} and stayed late with him.  Our Society does not meet till
to-morrow se’nnight, because we think the Parliament will be very busy
to-morrow upon the state of the war, and the Secretary, who is to treat
as President, must be in the House.  I fancy my talking of persons and
things here must be very tedious to you, because you know nothing of
them, and I talk as if you did.  You know Kevin’s Street, and Werburgh
Street, and (what do you call the street where Mrs. Walls lives?) and
Ingoldsby, {393c} and Higgins, {393d} and Lord Santry; {393e} but what
care you for Lady Catherine Hyde?  Why do you say nothing of your health,
sirrah?  I hope it is well.

31.  Trimnel, Bishop of Norwich, {393f} who was with this Lord Sunderland
at Moor Park in their travels, preached yesterday before the House of
Lords; and to-day the question was put to thank him, and print his
sermon; but passed against him; for it was a terrible Whig sermon.  The
Bill to repeal the Act for naturalising Protestant foreigners passed the
House of Lords to-day by a majority of twenty, though the Scotch lords
went out, and would vote neither way, in discontent about the Duke of
Hamilton’s patent, if you know anything of it.  A poem is come out to-day
inscribed to me, by way of a flirt; {394a} for it is a Whiggish poem, and
good for nothing.  They plagued me with it in the Court of Requests.  I
dined with Lord Treasurer at five alone, only with one Dutchman.  Prior
is now a Commissioner of the Customs.  I told you so before, I suppose.
When I came home to-night, I found a letter from Dr. Sacheverell,
thanking me for recommending his brother to Lord Treasurer and Mr.
Secretary for a place.  Lord Treasurer sent to him about it: so good a
solicitor was I, although I once hardly thought I should be a solicitor
for Sacheverell.

Feb. 1.  Has not your Dean of St. Patrick received my letter? you say
nothing of it, although I writ above a month ago.  My printer has got the
gout, and I was forced to go to him to-day, and there I dined.  It was a
most delicious day: why don’t you observe whether the same days be fine
with you?  To-night, at six, Dr. Atterbury, and Prior, and I, and Dr.
Freind, met at Dr. Robert Freind’s {394b} house at Westminster, who is
master of the school: there we sat till one, and were good enough
company.  I here take leave to tell politic Dingley that the passage in
the _Conduct of the Allies_ is so far from being blamable that the
Secretary designs to insist upon it in the House of Commons, when the
Treaty of Barrier {394c} is debated there, as it now shortly will, for
they have ordered it to be laid before them.  The pamphlet of Advice to
the October Club begins now to sell; but I believe its fame will hardly
reach Ireland: ’tis finely written, I assure you.  I long to answer your
letter, but won’t yet; you know, ’tis late, etc.

2.  This ends Christmas, {395a} and what care I?  I have neither seen,
nor felt, nor heard any Christmas this year.  I passed a lazy dull day.
I was this morning with Lord Treasurer, to get some papers from him,
which he will remember as much as a cat, although it be his own business.
It threatened rain, but did not much; and Prior and I walked an hour in
the Park, which quite put me out of my measures.  I dined with a friend
hard by; and in the evening sat with Lord Masham till twelve.  Lord
Treasurer did not come; this is an idle dining-day usually with him.  We
want to hear from Holland how our peace goes on; for we are afraid of
those scoundrels the Dutch, lest they should play us tricks.  Lord Mar,
{395b} a Scotch earl, was with us at Lord Masham’s: I was arguing with
him about the stubbornness and folly of his countrymen; they are so angry
about the affair of the Duke of Hamilton, whom the Queen has made a duke
of England, and the House of Lords will not admit him.  He swears he
would vote for us, but dare not, because all Scotland would detest him if
he did: he should never be chosen again, nor be able to live there.

3.  I was at Court to-day to look for a dinner, but did not like any that
were offered me; and I dined with Lord Mountjoy.  The Queen has the gout
in her knee, and was not at chapel.  I hear we have a Dutch mail, but I
know not what news, although I was with the Secretary this morning.  He
showed me a letter from the Hanover Envoy, Mr. Bothmar, complaining that
the Barrier Treaty is laid before the House of Commons; and desiring that
no infringement may be made in the guarantee of the succession; but the
Secretary has written him a peppering answer.  I fancy you understand all
this, and are able states-girls, since you have read the _Conduct of the
Allies_.  We are all preparing against the Birthday; I think it is
Wednesday next.  If the Queen’s gout increases, it will spoil sport.
Prince Eugene has two fine suits made against it; and the Queen is to
give him a sword worth four thousand pounds, the diamonds set
transparent.

4.  I was this morning soliciting at the House of Commons’ door for Mr.
Vesey, a son of the Archbishop of Tuam, {396} who has petitioned for a
Bill to relieve him in some difficulty about his estate: I secured him
above fifty members.  I dined with Lady Masham.  We have no packet from
Holland, as I was told yesterday: and this wind will hinder many people
from appearing at the Birthday, who expected clothes from Holland.  I
appointed to meet a gentleman at the Secretary’s to-night, and they both
failed.  The House of Commons have this day made many severe votes about
our being abused by our Allies.  Those who spoke drew all their arguments
from my book, and their votes confirm all I writ; the Court had a
majority of a hundred and fifty: all agree that it was my book that
spirited them to these resolutions; I long to see them in print.  My head
has not been as well as I could wish it for some days past, but I have
not had any giddy fit, and I hope it will go over.

5.  The Secretary turned me out of his room this morning, and showed me
fifty guineas rolled up, which he was going to give some French spy.  I
dined with four Irishmen at a tavern to-day: I thought I had resolved
against it before, but I broke it.  I played at cards this evening at
Lady Masham’s, but I only played for her while she was waiting; and I won
her a pool, and supped there.  Lord Treasurer was with us, but went away
before twelve.  The ladies and lords have all their clothes ready against
to-morrow: I saw several mighty fine, and I hope there will be a great
appearance, in spite of that spiteful French fashion of the Whiggish
ladies not to come, which they have all resolved to a woman; and I hope
it will more spirit the Queen against them for ever.

6.  I went to dine at Lord Masham’s at three, and met all the company
just coming out of Court; a mighty crowd: they stayed long for their
coaches: I had an opportunity of seeing several lords and ladies of my
acquaintance in their fineries.  Lady Ashburnham {397a} looked the best
in my eyes.  They say the Court was never fuller nor finer.  Lord
Treasurer, his lady, and two daughters and Mrs. Hill, dined with Lord and
Lady Masham; the five ladies were monstrous fine.  The Queen gave Prince
Eugene the diamond sword to-day; but nobody was by when she gave it
except my Lord Chamberlain.  There was an entertainment of opera songs at
night, and the Queen was at all the entertainment, and is very well after
it.  I saw Lady Wharton, {397b} as ugly as the devil, coming out in the
crowd all in an undress; she has been with the Marlborough daughters
{397c} and Lady Bridgewater {397d} in St. James’s, looking out of the
window all undressed to see the sight.  I do not hear that one Whig lady
was there, except those of the bed-chamber.  Nothing has made so great a
noise as one Kelson’s chariot, that cost nine hundred and thirty pounds,
the finest was ever seen.  The rabble huzzaed him as much as they did
Prince Eugene.  This is Birthday chat.

7.  Our Society met to-day: the Duke of Ormond was not with us; we have
lessened our dinners, which were grown so extravagant that Lord Treasurer
and everybody else cried shame.  I left them at seven, visited for an
hour, and then came home, like a good boy.  The Queen is much better
after yesterday’s exercise: her friends wish she would use a little more.
I opposed Lord Jersey’s {397e} election into our Society, and he is
refused: I likewise opposed the Duke of Beaufort; but I believe he will
be chosen in spite of me: I don’t much care; I shall not be with them
above two months; for I resolve to set out for Ireland the beginning of
April next (before I treat them again), and see my willows.

8.  I dined to-day in the City.  This morning a scoundrel dog, one of the
Queen’s music, a German, whom I had never seen, got access to me in my
chamber by Patrick’s folly, and gravely desired me to get an employment
in the Customs for a friend of his, who would be very grateful; and
likewise to forward a project of his own, for raising ten thousand pounds
a year upon operas: I used him civiller than he deserved; but it vexed me
to the pluck. {398a}  He was told I had a mighty interest with Lord
Treasurer, and one word of mine, etc.  Well; I got home early on purpose
to answer MD’s letter, N. 26; for this goes to-morrow.—Well; I never saw
such a letter in all my life; so saucy, so journalish, so sanguine, so
pretending, so everything.  I satisfied all your fears in my last: all is
gone well, as you say; yet you are an impudent slut to be so positive;
you will swagger so upon your sagacity that we shall never have done.
Pray don’t mislay your reply; I would certainly print it, if I had it
here: how long is it? I suppose half a sheet: was the answer written in
Ireland?  Yes, yes, you shall have a letter when you come from Ballygall.
I need not tell you again who’s out and who’s in: we can never get out
the Duchess of Somerset.—So, they say Presto writ the _Conduct_, etc.  Do
they like it?  I don’t care whether they do or no; but the resolutions
printed t’other day in the Votes are almost quotations from it, and would
never have passed if that book had not been written.  I will not meddle
with the Spectator, let him fair-sex it to the world’s end.  My disorder
is over, but blood was not from the p-les.—Well, Madam Dingley, the
frost; why, we had a great frost, but I forget how long ago; it lasted
above a week or ten days: I believe about six weeks ago; but it did not
break so soon with us, I think, as December 29; yet I think it was about
that time, on second thoughts.  MD can have no letter from Presto, says
you; and yet four days before you own you had my thirty-seventh,
unreasonable sluts!  The Bishop of Gloucester is not dead, {398b} and I
am as likely to succeed the Duke of Marlborough as him if he were;
there’s enough for that now.  It is not unlikely that the Duke of
Shrewsbury will be your Governor; at least I believe the Duke of Ormond
will not return.—Well, Stella again: why, really three editions of the
_Conduct_, etc., is very much for Ireland; it is a sign you have some
honest among you.  Well; I will do Mr. Manley {399a} all the service I
can; but he will ruin himself.  What business had he to engage at all
about the City?  Can’t he wish his cause well, and be quiet, when he
finds that stirring will do it no good, and himself a great deal of hurt?
I cannot imagine who should open my letter: it must be done at your
side.—If I hear of any thoughts of turning out Mr. Manley, I will
endeavour to prevent it.  I have already had all the gentlemen of Ireland
here upon my back often, for defending him.  So now I have answered your
saucy letter.  My humble service to Goody Stoyte and Catherine; I will
come soon for my dinner.

9.  Morning.  My cold goes off at last; but I think I have got a small
new one.  I have no news since last.  They say we hear by the way of
Calais, that peace is very near concluding.  I hope it may be true.  I’ll
go and seal up my letter, and give it myself to-night into the
post-office; and so I bid my dearest MD farewell till to-night.  I
heartily wish myself with them, as hope saved.  My willows, and
quicksets, and trees, will be finely improved, I hope, this year.  It has
been fine hard frosty weather yesterday and to-day.  Farewell, etc. etc.
etc.



LETTER XLI. {399b}


                                                LONDON, _Feb._ 9, 1711–12.

WHEN my letter is gone, and I have none of yours to answer, my conscience
is so clear, and my shoulder so light, and I go on with such courage to
prate upon nothing to deerichar MD, oo would wonder.  I dined with Sir
Matthew Dudley, who is newly turned out of Commission of the Customs.  He
affects a good heart, and talks in the extremity of Whiggery, which was
always his principle, though he was gentle a little, while he kept in
employment.  We can yet get no packets from Holland.  I have not been
with any of the Ministry these two or three days.  I keep out of their
way on purpose, for a certain reason, for some time, though I must dine
with the Secretary to-morrow, the choosing of the company being left to
me.  I have engaged Lord Anglesea {400a} and Lord Carteret, {400b} and
have promised to get three more; but I have a mind that none else should
be admitted: however, if I like anybody at Court to-morrow, I may perhaps
invite them.  I have got another cold, but not very bad.  Nite . . . MD.

10.  I saw Prince Eugene at Court to-day very plain; he’s plaguy yellow,
and tolerably ugly besides.  The Court was very full, and people had
their Birthday clothes.  I dined with the Secretary to-day.  I was to
invite five, but I only invited two, Lord Anglesea and Lord Carteret.
Pshaw, I told you this but yesterday.  We have no packets from Holland
yet.  Here are a parcel of drunken Whiggish lords, like your Lord Santry,
{400c} who come into chocolate-houses and rail aloud at the Tories, and
have challenges sent them, and the next morning come and beg pardon.
General Ross {400d} was like to swinge the Marquis of Winchester {400e}
for this trick t’other day; and we have nothing else now to talk of till
the Parliament has had another bout with the state of the war, as they
intended in a few days.  They have ordered the Barrier Treaty to be laid
before them; and it was talked some time ago, as if there was a design to
impeach Lord Townshend, who made it.  I have no more politics now.  Nite
dee MD.

11.  I dined with Lord Anglesea to-day, who had seven Irishmen to be my
companions, of which two only were coxcombs; one I did not know, and
t’other was young Blith, {401a} who is a puppy of figure here, with a
fine chariot.  He asked me one day at Court, when I had been just talking
with some lords who stood near me, “Doctor, when shall we see you in the
county of Meath?”  I whispered him to take care what he said, for the
people would think he was some barbarian.  He never would speak to me
since, till we met to-day.  I went to Lady Masham’s to-night, and sat
with Lord Treasurer and the Secretary there till past two o’clock; and
when I came home, found some letters from Ireland, which I read, but can
say nothing of them till to-morrow, ’tis so very late; but I {401b} must
always be . . ., {401c} late or early.  Nite deelest sollahs. {401d}

12.  One letter was from the Bishop of Clogher last night, and t’other
from Walls, about Mrs. South’s {401e} salary, and his own pension of £18
for his tithe of the park.  I will do nothing in either; the first I
cannot serve in, and the other is a trifle; only you may tell him I had
his letter, and will speak to Ned Southwell about what he desires me.
You say nothing of your Dean’s receiving my letter.  I find Clements,
{401f} whom I recommended to Lord Anglesea last year, at Walls’s desire,
or rather the Bishop of Clogher’s, is mightily in Lord Anglesea’s favour.
You may tell the Bishop and Walls so; I said to Lord Anglesea that I was
[glad] I had the good luck to recommend him, etc.  I dined in the City
with my printer, to consult with him about some papers Lord Treasurer
gave me last night, as he always does, too late; however, I will do
something with them.  My third cold is a little better; I never had
anything like it before, three colds successively; I hope I shall have
the fourth. {402a}  Those messengers come from Holland to-day, and they
brought over the six packets that were due.  I know not the particulars
yet, for when I was with the Secretary at noon they were just opening;
but one thing I find, that the Dutch are playing us tricks, and tampering
with the French; they are dogs; I shall know more tomollow . . . MD.
{402b}

13.  I dined to-day privately with my friend Lewis, at his lodgings, to
consult about some observations on the Barrier Treaty.  Our news from
Holland is not good.  The French raise difficulties, and make such offers
to the Allies as cannot be accepted.  And the Dutch are uneasy that we
are likely to get anything for ourselves; and the Whigs are glad at all
this.  I came home early, and have been very busy three or four hours.  I
had a letter from Dr. Pratt {402c} to-day by a private hand, recommending
the bearer to me, for something that I shall not trouble myself about.
Wesley {402d} writ to recommend the same fellow to me.  His expression is
that, hearing I am acquainted with my Lord Treasurer, he desires I would
do so and so: a matter of nothing.  What puppies are mankind!  I hope I
shall be wiser when I have once done with Courts.  I think you han’t
troubled me much with your recommendations.  I would do you all the
saavis {402e} I could.

Pray have you got your aplon, {402f} maram Ppt?  I paid for it but
yesterday; that puts me in mind of it.  I writ an inventory of what
things I sent by Leigh in one of my letters; did you compare it with what
you got?  I hear nothing of your cards now; do you never play?  Yes, at
Ballygall.  Go to bed.  Nite, deelest MD. {402g}

14.  Our Society dined to-day at Mr. Secretary’s house.  I went there at
four; but hearing the House of Commons would sit late upon the Barrier
Treaty, I went for an hour to Kensington, to see Lord Masham’s children.
My young nephew, {403a} his son of six months old, has got a swelling in
his neck; I fear it is the evil.  We did not go to dinner till eight at
night, and I left them at ten.  The Commons have been very severe on the
Barrier Treaty, as you will find by their votes.  A Whig member took out
the _Conduct of the Allies_, and read that passage about the succession
with great resentment; but none seconded him.  The Church party carried
every vote by a great majority.  The A.B. {403b} Dublin is so railed at
by all who come from Ireland that I can defend him no longer.  Lord
Anglesea assured me that the story of applying Piso out of Tacitus {403c}
to Lord Treasurer’s being wounded is true.  I believe the Duke of
Beaufort will be admitted to our Society next meeting.  To-day I
published the _Fable of Midas_, {403d} a poem, printed in a loose
half-sheet of paper.  I know not how it will sell; but it passed
wonderfully at our Society to-night; and Mr. Secretary read it before me
the other night to Lord Treasurer, at Lord Masham’s, where they equally
approved of it.  Tell me how it passes with you.  I think this paper is
larger than ordinary; for here is six days’ journal, and no nearer the
bottom.  I fear these journals are very dull.  Nite my deelest lives.

15.  Mr. Lewis and I dined by invitation with a Scotch acquaintance,
after I had been very busy in my chamber till two afternoon.  My third
cold is now very troublesome on my breast, especially in the morning.
This is a great revolution in my health; colds never used to return so
soon with me, or last so long.  ’Tis very surprising this news to-day of
the Dauphin and Dauphiness both dying within six days.  They say the old
King is almost heart-broke.  He has had prodigious mortifications in his
family.  The Dauphin has left two little sons, of four and two years old;
the eldest is sick.  There is a foolish story got about the town that
Lord Strafford, one of our Plenipotentiaries, is in the interests of
France; and it has been a good while said that Lord Privy Seal {404a} and
he do not agree very well.  They are both long practised in business, but
neither of them of much parts.  Strafford has some life and spirit, but
is infinitely proud, and wholly illiterate.  Nite, MD.

16.  I dined to-day in the City with my printer, to finish something I am
doing about the Barrier Treaty; {404b} but it is not quite done.  I went
this evening to Lord Masham’s, where Lord Treasurer sat with us till past
twelve.  The Lords have voted an Address to the Queen, to tell her they
are not satisfied with the King of France’s offers.  The Whigs brought it
in of a sudden; and the Court could not prevent it, and therefore did not
oppose it.  The House of Lords is too strong in Whigs, notwithstanding
the new creations; for they are very diligent, and the Tories as lazy:
the side that is down has always most industry.  The Whigs intended to
have made a vote that would reflect on Lord Treasurer; but their project
was not ripe.  I hit my face such a rap by calling the coach to stop
to-night, that it is plaguy sore, the bone beneath the eye.  Nite dee
logues.

17.  The Court was mighty full to-day, and has been these many Sundays;
but the Queen was not at chapel.  She has got a little fit of the gout in
her foot.  The good of going to Court is that one sees all one’s
acquaintance, whom otherwise I should hardly meet twice a year.  Prince
Eugene dines with the Secretary to-day, with about seven or eight General
Officers, or foreign Ministers.  They will be all drunk, I am sure.  I
never was in company with this Prince: I have proposed to some lords that
we should have a sober meal with him; but I can’t compass it.  It is come
over in the Dutch news prints that I was arrested on an action of twenty
thousand pounds by the Duke of Marlborough.  I did not like my Court
invitation to-day; so Sir Andrew Fountaine and I went and dined with Mrs.
Van.  I came home at six, and have been very busy till this minute, and
it is past twelve.  So I got into bed to write to MD . . . MD. {405a}  We
reckon the Dauphin’s death will put forward the peace a good deal.  Pray
is Dr. Griffith {405b} reconciled to me yet?  Have I done enough to
soften him? . . . {405c}  Nite deelest logues.

18.  Lewis had Guiscard’s picture: he bought it, and offered it to Lord
Treasurer, who promised to send for it, but never did; so I made Lewis
give it me, and I have it in my room; and now Lord Treasurer says he will
take it from me: is that fair?  He designs to have it at length in the
clothes he was when he did the action, and a penknife in his hand; and
Kneller is to copy it from this that I have.  I intended to dine with
Lord Treasurer to-day, but he has put me off till to-morrow; so I dined
with Lord Dupplin.  You know Lord Dupplin very well; he is a brother of
the Society.  Well, but I have received a letter from the Bishop of
Cloyne, to solicit an affair for him with Lord Treasurer, and with the
Parliament, which I will do as soon as fly.  I am not near so keen about
other people’s affairs as . . . {405d}  Ppt used to reproach me about; it
was a judgment on me.  Harkee, idle dearees both, meetinks I begin to
want a rettle flom {405e} MD: faith, and so I do.  I doubt you have been
in pain about the report of my being arrested.  The pamphleteers have let
me alone this month, which is a great wonder: only the third part of the
_Answer to the Conduct_, which is lately come out.  (Did I tell you of it
already?)  The House of Commons goes on in mauling the late Ministry and
their proceedings.  Nite deelest MD. {406a}

19.  I dined with Lord Treasurer to-day, and sat with him till ten, in
spite of my teeth, though my printer waited for me to correct a sheet.  I
told him of four lines I writ extempore with my pencil, on a bit of paper
in his house, while he lay wounded.  Some of the servants, I suppose,
made waste-paper of them, and he never had heard of them.  Shall I tell
them you?  They were inscribed to Mr. Harley’s physician.  Thus

    On Britain Europe’s safety lies; {406b}
    Britain is lost, if Harley dies.
    Harley depends upon your skill:
    Think what you save, or what you kill.

Are not they well enough to be done off-hand; for that is the meaning of
the word extempore, which you did not know, did you?  I proposed that
some company should dine with him on the 8th of March, which was the day
he was wounded, but he says he designs that the Lords of the Cabinet, who
then sat with him, should dine that day with him: {406c} however, he has
invited me too.  I am not got rid of my cold; it plagues me in the
morning chiefly.  Nite, MD.

20.  After waiting to catch the Secretary coming out from Sir Thomas
Hanmer, for two hours, in vain, about some business, I went into the City
to my printer, to correct some sheets of the _Barrier Treaty and
Remarks_, which must be finished to-morrow: I have been horrible busy for
some days past, with this and some other things; and I wanted some very
necessary papers, which the Secretary was to give me, and the pamphlet
must now be published without them.  But they are all busy too.  Sir
Thomas Hanmer is Chairman of the Committee for drawing up a
Representation of the state of the nation {406d} to the Queen, where all
the wrong steps of the Allies and late Ministry about the war will be
mentioned.  The Secretary, I suppose, was helping him about it to-day; I
believe it will be a pepperer.  Nite, deel MD.

21.  I have been six hours to-day morning writing nineteen pages of a
letter to Lord Treasurer, about forming a Society or Academy to correct
and fix the English language. {407a}  (Is English a speech or a
language?)  It will not be above five or six more.  I will send it to him
to-morrow, and will print it, if he desires me.  I dined, you know, with
our Society to-day: Thursday is our day.  We had a new member admitted;
it was the Duke of Beaufort.  We had thirteen met: brother Ormond was not
there, but sent his excuse that Prince Eugene dined with him.  I left
them at seven, being engaged to go to Sir Thomas Hanmer, who desired I
would see him at that hour.  His business was that I would _hoenlbp
ihainm itavoi dsroanws ubpl tohne sroegporaensiepnotlastoigobn_, {407b}
which I consented to do; but know not whether I shall succeed, because it
is a little out of my way.  However, I have taken my share.  Nite, MD.

22.  I finished the rest of my letter to Lord Treasurer to-day, and sent
it to him about one o’clock; and then dined privately with my friend Mr.
Lewis, to talk over some affairs of moment.  I had gotten the thirteenth
volume of Rymer’s Collection of the Records of the Tower for the
University of Dublin. {407c}  I have two volumes now.  I will write to
the Provost, to know how I shall send them to him; no, I won’t, for I
will bring them myself among my own books.  I was with Hanmer this
morning, and there were the Secretary and Chancellor of the Exchequer
{407d} very busy with him, laying their heads together about the
representation.  I went to Lord Masham’s to-night, and Lady Masham made
me read to her a pretty twopenny pamphlet, called _The St. Albans
__Ghost_. {408a}  I thought I had writ it myself; so did they; but I did
not.  Lord Treasurer came down to us from the Queen, and we stayed till
two o’clock.  That is the best night-place I have.  The usual {408b}
company are Lord and Lady Masham, Lord Treasurer, Dr. Arbuthnot, and I;
sometimes the Secretary, and sometimes Mrs. Hill of the bed-chamber, Lady
Masham’s sister.  I assure oo, it im vely rate now; but zis goes
to-morrow: and I must have time to converse with own richar MD.  Nite,
deelest sollahs. {408c}

23.  I have no news to tell you this last day, nor do I know where I
shall dine.  I hear the Secretary is a little out of order; perhaps I may
dine there, perhaps not.  I sent Hanmer what he wanted from me, I know
not how he will approve of it.  I was to do more of the same sort; I am
going out, and must carry zis in my pottick to give it at some general
post-house.  I will talk further with oo at night.  I suppose in my next
I shall answer a letter from MD that will be sent me.  On Tuesday it will
be four weeks since I had your last, N. 26.  This day se’nnight I expect
one, for that will be something more than a full month.  Farewell, MD . . .
deelest . . . MD MD MD . . . ME ME ME . . . logues . . . lele. {408d}



LETTER XLII. {408e}


                                               LONDON, _Feb._ 23, 1711–12.

AFTER having disposed my last letter in the post-office, I am now to
begin this with telling MD that I dined with the Secretary to-day, who is
much out of order with a cold, and feverish; yet he went to the Cabinet
Council to-night at six, against my will.  The Secretary is much the
greatest commoner in England, and turns the whole Parliament, who can do
nothing without him; and if he lives and has his health, will, I believe,
be one day at the head of affairs.  I have told him sometimes that, if I
were a dozen years younger, I would cultivate his favour, and trust my
fortune with his.  But what care oo for all this?  I am sorry when I came
first acquainted with this Ministry that I did not send you their names
and characters, and then you would have relished what {409a} I would have
writ, especially if I had let you into the particulars of affairs: but
enough of this.  Nite, deelest logues.

24.  I went early this morning to the Secretary, who is not yet well.
Sir Thomas Hanmer and the Chancellor of the Exchequer came while I was
there, and he would not let me stir; so I did not go to church, but was
busy with them till noon, about the affair I told you in my last.  The
other two went away; and I dined with the Secretary, and found my head
very much out of order, but no absolute fit; and I have not been well all
this day.  It has shook me a little.  I sometimes sit up very late at
Lord Masham’s, and have writ much for several days past: but I will amend
both; for I have now very little business, and hope I shall have no more,
and I am resolved to be a great rider this summer in Ireland.  I was to
see Mrs. Wesley this evening, who has been somewhat better for this month
past, and talks of returning to the Bath in a few weeks.  Our peace goes
on but slowly; the Dutch are playing tricks, and we do not push it
strongly as we ought.  The fault of our Court is delay, of which the
Queen has a great deal; and Lord Treasurer is not without his share.  But
pay richar MD ret us know a little of your life and tonvelsasens. {409b}
Do you play at ombre, or visit the Dean, and Goody Walls and Stoytes and
Manleys, as usual?  I must have a letter from oo, to fill the other side
of this sheet.  Let me know what you do.  Is my aunt alive yet?

Oh, pray, now I think of it, be so kind to step to my aunt, and take
notice of my great-grandfather’s picture; you know he has a ring on his
finger, with a seal of an anchor and dolphin about it; but I think there
is besides, at the bottom of the picture, the same coat of arms quartered
with another, which I suppose was my great-grandmother’s.  If this be so,
it is a stronger argument than the seal.  And pray see whether you think
that coat of arms was drawn at the same time with the picture, or whether
it be of a later hand; and ask my aunt what she knows about it.  But
perhaps there is no such coat of arms on the picture, and I only dreamed
it.  My reason is, because I would ask some herald here, whether I should
choose that coat, or one in Guillim’s large folio of heraldry, {410a}
where my uncle Godwin is named with another coat of arms of three stags.
This is sad stuff to rite; so nite, MD.

25.  I was this morning again with the Secretary, and we were two hours
busy; and then went together to the Park, Hyde Park, I mean; and he
walked to cure his cold, and we were looking at two Arabian horses sent
some time ago to Lord Treasurer. {410b}  The Duke of Marlborough’s coach
overtook us, with his Grace and Lord Godolphin in it; but they did not
see us, to our great satisfaction; for neither of us desired that either
of those two lords should see us together.  There was half a dozen ladies
riding like cavaliers to take the air.  My head is better to-day.  I
dined with the Secretary; but we did no business after dinner, and at six
I walked into the fields; the days are grown pure and long; then I went
to visit Perceval {410c} and his family, whom I had seen but twice since
they came to town.  They too are going to the Bath next month.  Countess
Doll of Meath {410d} is such an owl that, wherever I visit, people are
asking me whether I know such an Irish lady, and her figure and her
foppery?  I came home early, and have been amusing myself with looking
into one of Rymer’s volumes of the Records of the Tower, and am mighty
easy to think I have no urgent business upon my hands.  My third cold is
not yet off; I sometimes cough, and am not right with it in the morning.
Did I tell you that I believe it is Lady Masham’s hot room that gives it
me?  I never knew such a stove; and in my conscience I believe both my
lord and she, my Lord Treasurer, Mr. Secretary, and myself have all
suffered by it.  We have all had colds together, but I walk home on foot.
Nite dee logues.

26.  I was again busy with the Secretary. {411}  We read over some
papers, and did a good deal of business; and I dined with him, and we
were to do more business after dinner; but after dinner is after
dinner—an old saying and a true, “much drinking, little thinking.”  We
had company with us, and nothing could be done, and I am to go there
again to-morrow.  I have now nothing to do; and the Parliament, by the
Queen’s recommendation, is to take some method for preventing libels,
etc., which will include pamphlets, I suppose.  I don’t know what method
they will take, but it comes on in a day or two.  To-day in the morning I
visited upwards: first I saw the Duke of Ormond below stairs, and gave
him joy of his being declared General in Flanders; then I went up one
pair of stairs, and sat with the Duchess; then I went up another pair of
stairs, and paid a visit to Lady Betty; and desired her woman to go up to
the garret, that I might pass half an hour with her, but she was young
and handsome, and would not.  The Duke is our President this week, and I
have bespoke a small dinner on purpose, for good example.  Nite mi
deelest logues.

27.  I was again with the Secretary this morning; but we only read over
some papers with Sir Thomas Hanmer; then I called at Lord Treasurer’s; it
was his levee-day, but I went up to his bed-chamber, and said what I had
to say.  I came down and peeped in at the chamber, where a hundred fools
were waiting, and two streets were full of coaches.  I dined in the City
with my printer, {412a} and came back at six to Lord Treasurer, who had
invited me to dinner, but I refused him.  I sat there an hour or two, and
then went to Lord Masham’s.  They were all abroad: so truly I came, and
read whatever stuff was next me.  I can sit and be idle now, which I have
not been above a year past.  However, I will stay out the session, to see
if they have any further commands for me, and that, I suppose, will end
in April.  But I may go somewhat before, for I hope all will be ended by
then, and we shall have either a certain peace, or certain war.  The
Ministry is contriving new funds for money by lotteries, and we go on as
if the war were to continue, but I believe it will not.  ’Tis pretty late
now, ung oomens; so I bid oo nite, own dee dallars.

28.  I have been packing up some books in a great box I have bought, and
must buy another for clothes and luggage.  This is a beginning towards a
removal.  I have sent to Holland for a dozen shirts, and design to buy
another new gown and hat.  I will come over like a zinkerman, {412b} and
lay out nothing in clothes in Ireland this good while.  I have writ this
night to the Provost.  Our Society met to-day as usual, and we were
fourteen, beside the Earl of Arran, {412c} whom his brother, the Duke of
Ormond, brought among us against all order.  We were mightily shocked;
but, after some whispers, it ended in choosing Lord Arran one of our
Society, which I opposed to his face, but it was carried by all the rest
against me.

29.  This is leap year, and this is leap day.  Prince George was born on
this day.  People are mistaken; and some here think it is St. David’s
Day; but they do not understand the virtue of leap year.  I have nothing
to do now, boys, and have been reading all this day like Gumdragon; and
yet I was dictating some trifles this morning to a printer.  I dined with
a friend hard by, and the weather was so discouraging I could not walk.
I came home early, and have read two hundred pages of Arran.  Alexander
the Great is just dead: I do not think he was poisoned; betwixt you and
me, all those are but idle stories: it is certain that neither Ptolemy
nor Aristobulus thought so, and they were both with him when he {413a}
died.  It is a pity we have not their histories.  The Bill for limiting
Members of Parliament to have but so many places passed the House of
Commons, and will pass the House of Lords, in spite of the Ministry,
which you know is a great lessening of the Queen’s power.  Four of the
new lords voted against the Court in this point.  It is certainly a good
Bill in the reign of an ill prince, but I think things are not settled
enough for it at present.  And the Court may want a majority upon a
pinch.  Nite deelest logues.  Rove Pdfr.

March 1.  I went into the City to inquire after poor Stratford, {413b}
who has put himself a prisoner into the Queen’s Bench, for which his
friends blame him much, because his creditors designed to be very easy
with him.  He grasped at too many things together, and that was his ruin.
There is one circumstance relative to Lieutenant-General Meredith {413c}
that is very melancholy: Meredith was turned out of all his employments
last year, and had about £10,000 left to live on.  Stratford, upon
friendship, desired he might have the management of it for Meredith, to
put it into the stocks and funds for the best advantage, and now he has
lost it all.  You have heard me often talk of Stratford; we were
class-fellows at school and university.  I dined with some merchants, his
friends, to-day, and they said they expected his breaking this good
while.  I gave him notice of a treaty of peace, while it was a secret, of
which he might have made good use, but that helped to ruin him; for he
gave money, reckoning there would be actually a peace by this time, and
consequently stocks rise high.  Ford narrowly ’scaped losing £500 by him,
and so did I too.  Nite, my two deelest rives MD.

2.  Morning.  I was wakened at three this morning, my man and the people
of the house telling me of a great fire in the Haymarket.  I slept again,
and two hours after my man came in again, and told me it was my poor
brother Sir William Wyndham’s {414a} house burnt, and that two maids,
leaping out of an upper room to avoid the fire, both fell on their heads,
one of them upon the iron spikes before the door, and both lay dead in
the streets.  It is supposed to have been some carelessness of one or
both those maids.  The Duke of Ormond was there helping to put out the
fire.  Brother Wyndham gave £6,000 but a few months ago for that house,
as he told me, and it was very richly furnished.  I shall know more
particulars at night.  He married Lady Catherine Seymour, the Duke of
Somerset’s daughter; you know her, I believe.—At night.  Wyndham’s young
child escaped very narrowly; Lady Catherine escaped barefoot; they all
went to Northumberland House.  Mr. Brydges’s {414b} house, at next door,
is damaged much, and was like to be burnt.  Wyndham has lost above
£10,000 by this accident; his lady above a thousand pounds worth of
clothes.  It was a terrible accident.  He was not at Court to-day.  I
dined with Lord Masham.  The Queen was not at church.  Nite, MD.

3.  Pray tell Walls that I spoke to the Duke of Ormond and Mr. Southwell
about his friend’s affair, who, I find, needed not me for a solicitor,
for they both told me the thing would be done.  I likewise mentioned his
own affair to Mr. Southwell, and I hope that will be done too, for
Southwell seems to think it reasonable, and I will mind him of it again.
Tell him this nakedly.  You need not know the particulars.  They are
secrets: one of them is about Mrs. South having a pension; the other
about his salary from the Government for the tithes of the park that lie
in his parish, to be put upon the establishment, but oo must not know
zees sings, zey are secrets; and we must keep them flom nauty dallars.  I
dined in the City with my printer, with whom I had some small affair; but
I have no large work on my hands now.  I was with Lord Treasurer this
morning, and hat {415a} care oo for zat?  Oo dined with the Dean to-day.
Monday is parson’s holiday, and oo lost oo money at cards and dice; ze
Givars {415b} device.  So I’ll go to bed.  Nite, my two deelest logues.

4.  I sat to-day with poor Mrs. Wesley, who made me dine with her.  She
is much better than she was.  I heartily pray for her health, out of the
entire love I bear to her worthy husband.  This day has passed very
insignificantly.  But it is a great comfort to me now that I can come
home and read, and have nothing upon my hands to write.  I was at Lord
Masham’s to-night, and stayed there till one.  Lord Treasurer was there;
but I thought, I thought he looked melancholy, just as he did at the
beginning of the session, and he was not so merry as usual.  In short,
the majority in the House of Lords is a very weak one: and he has much
ado to keep it up; and he is not able to make those removes he would, and
oblige his friends; and I doubt too {415c} he does not take care enough
about it, or rather cannot do all himself, and will not employ others:
which is his great fault, as I have often told you.  ’Tis late.  Nite,
MD.

5.  I wish you a merry Lent.  I hate Lent; I hate different diets, and
furmity and butter, and herb porridge; and sour devout faces of people
who only put on religion for seven weeks.  I was at the Secretary’s
office this morning; and there a gentleman brought me two letters, dated
last October; one from the Bishop of Clogher, t’other from Walls.  The
gentleman is called Colonel Newburgh. {416a}  I think you mentioned him
to me some time ago; he has business in the House of Lords.  I will do
him what service I can.  The Representation of the House of Commons is
printed: {416b}  I have not seen it yet; it is plaguy severe, they say.
I dined with Dr. Arbuthnot, and had a true Lenten dinner, not in point of
victuals, but spleen; for his wife and a child or two were sick in the
house, and that was full as mortifying as fish.  We have had fine mighty
cold frosty weather for some days past.  I hope you take the advantage of
it, and walk now and then.  You never answer that part of my letters
where I desire you to walk.  I must keep my breath to cool my Lenten
porridge.  Tell Jemmy Leigh that his boy that robbed him now appears
about the town: Patrick has seen him once or twice.  I knew nothing of
his being robbed till Patrick told me he had seen the boy.  I wish it had
been Sterne that had been robbed, to be revenged for the box that he
lost, {416c} and be p-xed to him.  Nite, MD.

6.  I hear Mr. Prior has suffered by Stratford’s breaking.  I was
yesterday to see Prior, who is not well, and I thought he looked
melancholy.  He can ill afford to lose money.  I walked before dinner in
the Mall a good while with Lord Arran and Lord Dupplin, two of my
brothers, and then we went to dinner, where the Duke of Beaufort was our
President.  We were but eleven to-day.  We are now in all nine lords and
ten commoners.  The Duke of Beaufort had the confidence to propose his
brother-in-law, the Earl of Danby, {417a} to be a member; but I opposed
it so warmly that it was waived.  Danby is not above twenty, and we will
have no more boys, and we want but two to make up our number.  I stayed
till eight, and then we all went away soberly.  The Duke of Ormond’s
treat last week cost £20, though it was only four dishes and four,
without a dessert; and I bespoke it in order to be cheap.  Yet I could
not prevail to change the house.  Lord Treasurer is in a rage with us for
being so extravagant: and the wine was not reckoned neither; for that is
always brought by him that is President.  Lord Orrery {417b} is to be
President next week; and I will see whether it cannot be cheaper; or else
we will leave the house. . . . {417c}  Lord Masham made me go home with
him to-night to eat boiled oysters.  Take oysters, wash them clean; that
is, wash their shells clean; then put your oysters into an earthen pot,
with their hollow sides down, then put this pot into a great kettle with
water, and so let them boil.  Your oysters are boiled in their own
liquor, and not mixed water.  Lord Treasurer was not with us; he was very
ill to-day with a swimming in the head, and is gone home to be cupped,
and sent to desire Lady Masham to excuse him to the Queen.  Nite, dee MD.

7.  I was to-day at the House of Lords about a friend’s Bill.  Then I
crossed the water at Westminster Stairs to Southwark, went through St.
George’s Fields to the Mint, which is the dominion of the King’s {417d}
Bench Prison, where Stratford lodges in a blind alley, and writ to me to
come to him; but he was gone to the ’Change.  I thought he had something
to say to me about his own affairs.  I found him at his usual
coffee-house, and went to his own lodgings, and dined with him and his
wife, and other company.  His business was only to desire I would
intercede with the Ministry about his brother-in-law, Ben Burton, {417e}
of Dublin, the banker, who is likely to come into trouble, as we hear,
about spreading false Whiggish news.  I hate Burton, and told Stratford
so; and I will advise the Duke of Ormond to make use of it, to keep the
rogue in awe.  Mrs. Stratford tells me her husband’s creditors have
consented to give him liberty to get up his debts abroad; and she hopes
he will pay them all.  He was cheerfuller than I have seen him this great
while.  I have walked much to-day.—Night, deelest logues.

8.  This day twelvemonth Mr. Harley was stabbed; but he is ill, and takes
physic to-day, I hear (’tis now morning), and cannot have the Cabinet
Council with him, as he intended, nor me to say grace.  I am going to see
him.  Pray read the Representation; ’tis the finest that ever was writ.
Some of it is Pdfr’s style, but not very much.  This is the day of the
Queen’s accession to the Crown; so it is a great day.  I am going to
Court, and will dine with Lord Masham; but I must go this moment to see
the Secretary about some businesses; so I will seal up this, and put it
in the post my own self.  Farewell, deelest hearts and souls, MD.
Farewell MD MD MD FW FW FW ME ME Lele Lele Lele Sollahs lele.



LETTER XLIII. {418a}


                                               LONDON, _March_ 8, 1711–12.

I CARRIED my forty-second letter in my pocket till evening, and then put
it in the general post.—I went in the morning to see Lord Treasurer, who
had taken physic, and was drinking his broth.  I had been with the
Secretary before, to recommend a friend, one Dr. Freind, {418b} to be
Physician-General; and the Secretary promised to mention it to the Queen.
I can serve everybody but myself.  Then I went to Court, and carried Lord
Keeper and the Secretary to dine with Lord Masham, when we drank the
Queen and Lord Treasurer with every health, because this was the day of
his stabbing.—Then I went and played pools at picquet with Lady Masham
and Mrs. Hill; won ten shillings, gave a crown to the box, and came home.
I met at my lodgings a letter from Joe, with a bit annexed from Ppt.
What Joe asks is entirely out of my way, and I take it for a foolish whim
in him.  Besides, I know not who is to give a patent: if the Duke of
Ormond, I would speak to him; and if it come in my head I will mention it
to Ned Southwell.  They have no patents that I know of for such things
here, but good security is all; and to think that I would speak to Lord
Treasurer for any such matter at random is a jest.  Did I tell you of a
race of rakes, called the Mohocks, {419a} that play the devil about this
town every night, slit people’s noses, and beat them, etc.?  Nite,
sollahs, and rove Pdfr.  Nite, MD.

9.  I was at Court to-day, and nobody invited me to dinner, except one or
two, whom I did not care to dine with; so I dined with Mrs. Van.  Young
Davenant {419b} was telling us at Court how he was set upon by the
Mohocks, and how they ran his chair through with a sword.  It is not safe
being in the streets at night for them.  The Bishop of Salisbury’s son
{419c} is said to be of the gang.  They are all Whigs; and a great lady
sent to me, to speak to her father and to Lord Treasurer, to have a care
of them, and to be careful likewise of myself; for she heard they had
malicious intentions against the Ministers and their friends.  I know not
whether there be anything in this, though others are of the same opinion.
The weather still continues very fine and frosty.  I walked in the Park
this evening, and came home early to avoid the Mohocks.  Lord Treasurer
is better.  Nite, my own two deelest MD.

10.  I went this morning again to the Lord Treasurer, who is quite
recovered; and I stayed till he went out.  I dined with a friend in the
City, about a little business of printing; but not my own.  You must buy
a small twopenny pamphlet, called _Law is a Bottomless Pit_. {420a}  ’Tis
very prettily written, and there will be a Second Part.  The Commons are
very slow in bringing in their Bill to limit the press, and the
pamphleteers make good use of their time; for there come out three or
four every day.  Well, but is not it time, methinks, to have a letter
from MD?  ’Tis now six weeks since I had your Number 26.  I can assure oo
I expect one before this goes; and I’ll make shorter day’s journals than
usual, ’cause I hope to fill up a good deal of t’other side with my
answer.  Our fine weather lasts yet, but grows a little windy.  We shall
have rain soon, I dispose.  Go to cards, sollahs, and I to seep.  Nite,
MD.

11.  Lord Treasurer has lent the long letter I writ him {420b} to Prior,
and I can’t get Prior to return it.  I want to have it printed, and to
make up this Academy for the improvement of our language.  Faith, we
never shall improve it so much as FW has done; sall we?  No, faith,
ourrichar gangridge. {420c}  I dined privately with my friend Lewis, and
then went to see Ned Southwell, and talk with him about Walls’s business,
and Mrs. South’s.  The latter will be done; but his own not.  Southwell
tells me that it must be laid before Lord Treasurer, and the nature of it
explained, and a great deal of clutter, which is not worth the while; and
maybe Lord Treasurer won’t do it [at] last; and it is, as Walls says
himself, not above forty shillings a year difference.  You must tell
Walls this, unless he would have the business a secret from you: in that
case only say I did all I could with Ned Southwell, and it can’t be done;
for it must be laid before Lord Treasurer, etc., who will not do it; and
besides, it is not worth troubling his lordship.  So nite, my two deelest
nuntyes nine MD. {421a}

12.  Here is the D— and all to do with these Mohocks.  Grub Street papers
about them fly like lightning, and a list printed of near eighty put into
several prisons, and all a lie; and I begin almost to think there is no
truth, or very little, in the whole story.  He that abused Davenant was a
drunken gentleman; none of that gang.  My man tells me that one of the
lodgers heard in a coffee-house, publicly, that one design of the Mohocks
was upon me, if they could catch me; and though I believe nothing of it,
I forbear walking late, and they have put me to the charge of some
shillings already.  I dined to-day with Lord Treasurer and two gentlemen
of the Highlands of Scotland, yet very polite men.  I sat there till
nine, and then went to Lord Masham’s, where Lord Treasurer followed me,
and we sat till twelve; and I came home in a chair for fear of the
Mohocks, and I have given him warning of it too.  Little Harrison, {421b}
whom I sent to Holland, is now actually made Queen’s Secretary at The
Hague.  It will be in the _Gazette_ to-morrow.  ’Tis worth twelve hundred
pounds a year.  Here is a young fellow has writ some Sea Eclogues, poems
of Mermen, resembling pastorals of shepherds, and they are very pretty,
and the thought is new.  Mermen are he-mermaids; Tritons, natives of the
sea.  Do you understand me?  I think to recommend him to our Society
to-morrow.  His name is Diaper. {422a}  P— on him, I must do something
for him, and get him out of the way.  I hate to have any new wits rise,
but when they do rise I would encourage them; but they tread on our heels
and thrust us off the stage.  Nite deelest MD.

13.  You would laugh to see our printer constantly attending our Society
after dinner, and bringing us whatever new thing he has printed, which he
seldom fails to do.  Yet he had nothing to-day.  Lord Lansdowne, one of
our Society, was offended at a passage in this day’s _Examiner_, which he
thinks reflects on him, as I believe it does, though in a mighty civil
way.  ’Tis only that his underlings cheat; but that he is a very fine
gentleman every way, etc. {422b}  Lord Orrery was President to-day; but
both our dukes were absent.  Brother Wyndham recommended Diaper to the
Society.  I believe we shall make a contribution among ourselves, which I
don’t like.  Lord Treasurer has yet done nothing for us, but we shall try
him soon.  The company parted early, but Freind, and Prior, and I, sat a
while longer and reformed the State, and found fault with the Ministry.
Prior hates his Commission of the Customs, because it spoils his wit.  He
says he dreams of nothing but cockets, {422c} and dockets, and drawbacks,
and other jargon words of the custom-house.  Our good weather went away
yesterday, and the nights are now dark, and I came home before ten.
Night nown . . . deelest sollahs.

14.  I have been plagued this morning with solicitors, and with nobody
more than my brother, Dr. Freind, who must needs have to get old Dr.
Lawrence, {422d} the Physician-General, turned out and himself in.  He
has argued with me so long upon the reasonableness of it, that I am fully
convinced it is very unreasonable; and so I would tell the Secretary, if
I had not already made him speak to the Queen.  Besides, I know not but
my friend Dr. Arbuthnot would be content to have it himself, and I love
him ten times better than Freind.  What’s all this to you? but I must
talk of things as they happen in the day, whether you know anything of
them or no.  I dined in the City, and, coming back, one Parson Richardson
{423a} of Ireland overtook me.  He was here last summer upon a project of
converting the Irish and printing Bibles, etc., in that language, and is
now returned to pursue it on.  He tells me Dr. Coghill {423b} came last
night [to] town.  I will send to see how he does to-morrow.  He gave me a
letter from Walls about his old business.  Nite, deelest MD.

15.  I had intended to be early with the Secretary this morning, when my
man admitted upstairs one Mr. Newcomb, {423c} an officer, who brought me
a letter from the Bishop of Clogher, with four lines added by Mrs. Ashe,
all about that Newcomb.  I think, indeed, his case is hard, but God knows
whether I shall be able to do him any service.  People will not
understand: I am a very good second, but I care not to begin a
recommendation, unless it be for an intimate friend.  However, I will do
what I can.  I missed the Secretary, and then walked to Chelsea to dine
with the Dean of Christ Church, {423d} who was engaged to Lord Orrery
with some other Christ Church men.  He made me go with him whether I
would or not, for they have this long time admitted me a Christ Church
man.  Lord Orrery, generally every winter, gives his old acquaintance of
that college a dinner.  There were nine clergymen at table, and four
laymen.  The Dean and I soon left them, and after a visit or two, I went
to Lord Masham’s, and Lord Treasurer, Arbuthnot and I sat till twelve.
And now I am come home and got to bed.  I came afoot, but had my man with
me.  Lord Treasurer advised me not to go in a chair, because the Mohocks
insult chairs more than they do those on foot.  They think there is some
mischievous design in those villains.  Several of them, Lord Treasurer
told me, are actually taken up.  I heard at dinner that one of them was
killed last night.  We shall know more in a little time.  I don’t like
them, as the men said. {424a}  Nite MD.

16.  This morning, at the Secretary’s, I met General Ross, {424b} and
recommended Newcomb’s case to him, who promises to join with me in
working up the Duke of Ormond to do something for him.  Lord Winchelsea
{424c} told me to-day at Court that two of the Mohocks caught a maid of
old Lady Winchelsea’s, {424d} at the door of their house in the Park,
where she was with a candle, and had just lighted out somebody.  They cut
all her face, and beat her without any provocation.  I hear my friend
Lewis has got a Mohock in one of the messenger’s hands.  The Queen was at
church to-day, but was carried in an open chair.  She has got an ugly
cough, Arbuthnot, her physician, says.  I dined with Crowe, {424e} late
Governor of Barbados; an acquaintance of Sterne’s. {424f}  After dinner I
asked him whether he had heard of Sterne.  “Here he is,” said he, “at the
door in a coach:” and in came Sterne.  He has been here this week.  He is
buying a captainship in his cousin Sterne’s {424g} regiment.  He told me
he left Jemmy Leigh playing at cards with you.  He is to give 800 guineas
for his commission.  I suppose you know all this better than I.  How
shall I have room to answer oo rettle {425a} hen I get it, I have gone so
far already?  Nite, deelest logues MD.

17.  Dr. Sacheverell came this morning to give me thanks for getting his
brother an employment.  It was but six or seven weeks since I spoke to
Lord Treasurer for him.  Sacheverell brought Trapp {425b} along with him.
We dined together at my printer’s, and I sat with them till seven.  I
little thought, and I believe so did he, that ever I should be his
solicitor to the present Ministry, when I left Ireland.  This is the
seventh I have now provided for since I came, and can do nothing for
myself.  I don’t care; I shall have Ministries and other people obliged
to me.  Trapp is a coxcomb, and the t’other is not very deep; and their
judgment in things of wit or sense is miraculous.  The Second _Part of
Law is a Bottomless Pit_ {425c} is just now printed, and better, I think,
than the first.  Night, my two deel saucy dallars.

18.  There is a proclamation out against the Mohocks.  One of those that
are taken is a baronet.  I dined with poor Mrs. Wesley, who is returning
to the Bath.  Mrs. Perceval’s {425d} young daughter has got the smallpox,
but will do well.  I walked this evening in the Park, and met Prior, who
made me go home with him, where I stayed till past twelve, and could not
get a coach, and was alone, and was afraid enough of the Mohocks.  I will
do so no more, though I got home safe.  Prior and I were talking
discontentedly of some managements, that no more people are turned out,
which get Lord Treasurer many enemies: but whether the fault be in him,
or the Queen, I know not; I doubt, in both.  Ung omens, it is now seven
weeks since I received your last; but I expect one next Irish packet, to
fill the rest of this paper; but if it don’t come, I’ll do without it: so
I wish oo good luck at ombre with the Dean.  Nite, nuntyes nine. {425e}

19.  Newcomb came to me this morning, and I went to the Duke of Ormond to
speak for him; but the Duke was just going out to take the oaths for
General.  The Duke of Shrewsbury is to be Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.  I
walked with Domville and Ford to Kensington, where we dined, and it cost
me above a crown.  I don’t like it, as the man said. {426a}  It was very
windy walking.  I saw there Lord Masham’s children.  The youngest, my
nephew, I fear, has got the king’s evil; the other two are daughters of
three and four years old.  ’Twas very windy walking.  The gardens there
are mighty fine.  I passed the evening at Lord Masham’s with Lord
Treasurer and Arbuthnot, as usual, and we stayed till past one; but I had
my man to come with me, and at home I found three letters; one from one
Fetherston, a parson, with a postscript of Tisdall’s to recommend him:
and Fetherston, whom I never saw, has been so kind to give me a letter of
attorney to recover a debt for him.  Another from Lord Abercorn, to get
him the dukedom of Chatelherault {426b} from the King of France; in which
I will do what I can, for his pretensions are very just.  The third, I
warrant you, from our MD.  ’Tis a great stir this, of getting a dukedom
from the King of France: but it is only to speak to the Secretary, and
get the Duke of Ormond to engage in it, and mention the case to Lord
Treasurer, etc., and this I shall do.  Nite deelest richar MD.

20.  I was with the Duke of Ormond this morning, about Lord Abercorn, Dr.
Freind, and Newcomb.  Some will do, and some will not do; that’s wise,
marams. {426c}  The Duke of Shrewsbury is certainly to be your Governor.
I will go in a day or two, and give the Duchess joy, and recommend the
Archbishop of Dublin to her.  I writ to the Archbishop, some months ago,
that it would be so, and told him I would speak a good word for him to
the Duchess; and he says he has a great respect for her, etc.  I made our
Society change their house, and we met to-day at the Star and Garter in
the Pall Mall.  Lord Arran was President.  The other dog was so
extravagant in his bills, that for four dishes and four, first and second
course, without wine or dessert, he charged twenty-one pounds, six
shillings, and eightpence, to the Duke of Ormond.  We design, when all
have been Presidents this turn, to turn it into a reckoning of so much a
head; but we shall break up when the session ends.  Nite deelest MD.

21.  Morning.  Now I will answer MD’s rettle, N. 27; you that are adding
to your number and grumbling, had made it 26, and then altered {427a} it
to 27.  I believe it is above a month since your last; yes, it is above
seven weeks since I had your last: but I ought to consider that this was
twelve days right, {427b} so that makes it pretty even.  O, the sirry
zade, {427c} with her excuses of a fortnight at Ballygall, seeing their
friends, and landlord running away.  O Rold, hot a cruttle {427d} and a
bustle!—No—if you will have it—I am not Dean of Wells, {427e} nor know
anything of being so; nor is there anything in the story; and that’s
enough.  It was not Roper {427f} sent that news: Roper is my humble
slave.—Yes, I heard of your resolves, and that Burton was embroiled.
Stratford spoke to me in his behalf; but I said I hated the rascal.  Poor
Catherine gone to Wales?  But she will come back again, I hope.  I would
see her in my journey, if she were near the road; and bring her over.
Joe {427g} is a fool; that sort of business is not at all in my way, pray
put him off it.  People laugh when I mention it.  Bed ee paadon, Maram;
I’m drad oo rike ee aplon: {428a} no harm, I hope.  And so . . . DD
wonders she has not a letter at the day; oo’ll have it soon. . . .  The
D— he is! married to that vengeance!  Men are not to be believed.  I
don’t think her a fool.  Who would have her?  Dilly will be governed like
an ass; and she will govern like a lion.  Is not that true, Ppt?  Why,
Sterne told me he left you at ombre with Leigh; and yet you never saw
him.  I know nothing of his wife being here: it may cost her a c— {428b}
(I don’t care to write that word plain).  He is a little in doubt about
buying his commission.  Yes, I will bring oo over all the little papers I
can think on.  I thought I sent you, by Leigh, all that were good at that
time.  The author of the _Sea Eclogues_ sent books to the Society
yesterday, and we gave him guineas apiece; and, maybe, will do further
from him (for him, I mean).  So the Bishop of Clogher, and lady, were
your guests for a night or two.  Why, Ppt, you are grown a great gamester
and company keeper.  I did say to myself, when I read those names, just
what you guess; and you clear up the matter wonderfully.  You may
converse with those two nymphs if you please, but the — take me if ever I
do.  Iss, fais, it is delightful to hear that Ppt is every way Ppt now,
in health, and looks, and all.  Pray God keep her so, many, many, many
years.  I doubt the session will not be over till the end of April;
however, I shall not wait for it, if the Ministry will let me go sooner.
I wish I were just now in my garden at Laracor.  I would set out for
Dublin early on Monday, and bring you an account of my young trees, which
you are better acquainted with than the Ministry, and so am I.  Oh, now
you have got Number 41, have you so?  Why, perhaps, I forgot, and kept it
to next post in my pocket: I have done such tricks.  My cold is better,
but not gone.  I want air and riding.  Hold ee tongue, oo Ppt, about
colds at Moor Park! the case is quite different.  I will do what you
desire me for Tisdall, when I next see Lord Anglesea.  Pray give him my
service.  The weather is warm these three or four days, and rainy.  I am
to dine to-day with Lewis and Darteneuf at Somers’s, {429a} the Clerk of
the Kitchen at Court.  Darteneuf loves good bits and good sups.  Good
mollows richar sollohs.—At night.  I dined, as I said; and it cost me a
shilling for a chair.  It has rained all day, and is very warm.  Lady
Masham’s young son, my nephew, is very ill; and she is out of mind {429b}
with grief.  I pity her mightily.  I am got home early, and going to
write to the Bishop of Clogher, but have no politics to send him.  Nite
my own two deelest saucy d[ear] ones.

22.  I am going into the City this morning with a friend about some
business; so I will immediately seal up this, and keep it in my pottick
till evening, and zen put it in the post.  The weather continues warm and
gloomy.  I have heard no news since I went to bed, so can say no more.
Pray send . . . that I may have time to write to . . . {429c} about it.
I have here underneath given order for forty shillings to Mrs. Brent,
which you will send to Parvisol.  Farewell, deelest deel MD, and rove
Pdfr dearly dearly.  Farewell, MD, MD, FW, FW, FW, ME, ME, ME, Lele lele
lele lele lele lele, and lele aden.



LETTER XLIV. {429d}


                                              LONDON, _March_ 22, 1711–12.

UGLY, nasty weather.  I was in the City to-day with Mrs. Wesley and Mrs.
Perceval, to get money from a banker for Mrs. Wesley, who goes to Bath on
Thursday.  I left them there, and dined with a friend, and went to see
Lord Treasurer; but he had people with him I did not know: so I went to
Lady Masham’s, and lost a crown with her at picquet, and then sat with
Lord Masham and Lord Treasurer, etc., there till past one; but I had my
man with me, to come home.  I gave in my forty-third, and one for the
Bishop of Clogher, to the post-office, as I came from the City; and so oo
know ’tis late now, and I have nothing to say for this day.  Our Mohocks
are all vanished; however, I shall take care of my person.  Nite my own
two deelest nuntyes MD.

23.  I was this morning, before church, with the Secretary, about Lord
Abercorn’s business, and some others.  My soliciting season is come, and
will last as long as the session.  I went late to Court, and the company
was almost gone.  The Court serves me for a coffee-house; once a week I
meet acquaintance there, that I should not otherwise see in a quarter.
There is a flying report that the French have offered a cessation of
arms, and to give us Dunkirk, and the Dutch Namur, for security, till the
peace is made.  The Duke of Ormond, they say, goes in a week.  Abundance
of his equipage is already gone.  His {430a} friends are afraid the
expense of this employment will ruin him, since he must lose the
government of Ireland.  I dined privately with a friend, and refused all
dinners offered me at Court; which, however, were but two, and I did not
like either.  Did I tell you of a scoundrel about the Court that sells
employments to ignorant people, and cheats them of their money?  He
lately made a bargain for the Vice-Chamberlain’s place, for seven
thousand pounds, and had received some guineas earnest; but the whole
thing was discovered t’other day, and examination taken of it by Lord
Dartmouth, and I hope he will be swinged.  The Vice-Chamberlain told me
several particulars of it last night at Lord Masham’s.  Can DD play at
ombre yet, enough to hold the cards while Ppt steps into the next room?
Nite deelest sollahs. {430b}

24.  This morning I recommended Newcomb again to the Duke of Ormond, and
left Dick Stewart {431a} to do it further.  Then I went to visit the
Duchess of Hamilton, who was not awake.  So I went to the Duchess of
Shrewsbury, and sat an hour at her toilet.  I talked to her about the
Duke’s being Lord Lieutenant.  She said she knew nothing of it; but I
rallied her out of that, and she resolves not to stay behind the Duke.  I
intend to recommend the Bishop of Clogher to her for an acquaintance.  He
will like her very well: she is, indeed, a most agreeable woman, and a
great favourite of mine.  I know not whether the ladies in Ireland will
like her.  I was at the Court of Requests, to get some lords to be at a
committee to-morrow, about a friend’s Bill: and then the Duke of Beaufort
gave me a poem, finely bound in folio, printed at Stamford, and writ by a
country squire.  Lord Exeter {431b} desired the Duke to give it the
Queen, because the author is his friend; but the Duke desired I would let
him know whether it was good for anything.  I brought it home, and will
return it to-morrow, as the dullest thing I ever read; and advise the
Duke not to present it.  I dined with Domville at his lodgings, by
invitation; for he goes in a few days for Ireland.  Nite dee MD.

25.  There is a mighty feast at a Tory sheriff’s to-day in the City:
twelve hundred dishes of meat.—Above five lords, and several hundred
gentlemen, will be there, and give four or five guineas apiece, according
to custom.  Dr. Coghill and I dined, by invitation, at Mrs. Van’s.  It
has rained or mizzled all day, as my pockets feel.  There are two new
answers come out to the _Conduct of the Allies_.  The last year’s
_Examiners_, printed together in a small volume, go off but slowly.  The
printer over-printed himself by at least a thousand; so soon out of
fashion are party papers, however so well writ.  The _Medleys_ are coming
out in the same volume, and perhaps may sell better.  Our news about a
cessation of arms begins to flag, and I have not these three days seen
anybody in business to ask them about it.  We had a terrible fire last
night in Drury Lane, or thereabouts, and three or four people destroyed.
One of the maids of honour has the smallpox; but the best is, she can
lose no beauty; and we have one new handsome maid of honour.  Nite MD.

26.  I forgot to tell you that on Sunday last, about seven at night, it
lightened above fifty times as I walked the Mall, which I think is
extraordinary at this time of the year, and the weather was very hot.
Had you anything of this in Dublin?  I intended to dine with Lord
Treasurer to-day; but Lord Mansel and Mr. Lewis made me dine with them at
Kit Musgrave’s. {432a}  I sat the evening with Mrs. Wesley, who goes
to-morrow morning to the Bath.  She is much better than she was.  The
news of the French desiring a cessation of arms, etc., was but town talk.
We shall know in a few days, as I am told, whether there will be a peace
or not.  The Duke of Ormond will go in a week for Flanders, they say.
Our Mohocks go on still, and cut people’s faces every night; fais, they
shan’t cut mine, I like it better as it is.  The dogs will cost me at
least a crown a week in chairs.  I believe the souls of your houghers of
cattle have got into them, and now they don’t distinguish between a cow
and a Christian.  I forgot to wish you yesterday a happy New Year.  You
know the twenty-fifth of March is the first day of the year, and now you
must leave off cards, and put out your fire.  I’ll put out mine the first
of April, cold or not cold.  I believe I shall lose credit with you by
not coming over at the beginning of April; but I hoped the session would
be ended, and I must stay till then; yet I would fain be at the beginning
of my willows growing.  Perceval tells me that the quicksets upon the
flat in the garden do not grow so well as those famous ones on the ditch.
They want digging about them.  The cherry-trees, by the river-side, my
heart is set upon.  Nite MD.

27.  Society day.  You know that, I suppose.  Dr. Arthburnett {432b} was
President.  His dinner was dressed in the Queen’s kitchen, and was mighty
fine.  We ate it at Ozinda’s Chocolate-house, {433a} just by St. James’s.
We were never merrier, nor better company, and did not part till after
eleven.  I did not summon Lord Lansdowne: he and I are fallen out.  There
was something in an _Examiner_ a fortnight ago that he thought reflected
on the abuses in his office (he is Secretary at War), and he writ to the
Secretary that he heard I had inserted that paragraph.  This I resented
highly, that he should complain of me before he spoke to me.  I sent him
a peppering letter, and would not summon him by a note, as I did the
rest; nor ever will have anything to say to him, till he begs my pardon.
I met Lord Treasurer to-day at Lady Masham’s.  He would fain have carried
me home to dinner, but I begged his pardon.  What! upon a Society day!
No, no.  ’Tis rate, sollahs.  I an’t dlunk.  Nite MD.

28.  I was with my friend Lewis to-day, getting materials for a little
mischief; and I dined with Lord Treasurer, and three or four fellows I
never saw before.  I left them at seven, and came home, and have been
writing to the Archbishop of Dublin, and cousin Deane, {433b} in answer
to one of his of four months old, that I spied by chance, routing among
my papers.  I have a pain these two days exactly upon the top of my left
shoulder.  I fear it is something rheumatic; it winches {433c} now and
then.  Shall I put flannel to it?  Domville is going to Ireland; he came
here this morning to take leave of me, but I shall dine with him
to-morrow.  Does the Bishop of Clogher talk of coming for England this
summer?  I think Lord Molesworth told me so about two months ago.  The
weather is bad again; rainy and very cold this evening.  Do you know what
the longitude is?  A projector {433d} has been applying himself to me, to
recommend him to the Ministry, because he pretends to have found out the
longitude.  I believe he has no more found it out than he has found out
mine . . . {434a}  However, I will gravely hear what he says, and
discover him a knave or fool.  Nite MD.

29.  I am plagued with these pains in my shoulder; I believe it is
rheumatic; I will do something for it to-night.  Mr. Lewis and I dined
with Mr. Domville, to take our leave of him.  I drank three or four
glasses of champagne by perfect teasing, though it is bad for my pain;
but if it continue, I will not drink any wine without water till I am
well.  The weather is abominably cold and wet.  I am got into bed, and
have put some old flannel, for want of new, to my shoulder, and rubbed it
with Hungary water. {434b}  It is plaguy hard.  I never would drink any
wine, if it were not for my head, and drinking has given me this pain.  I
will try abstemiousness for a while.  How does MD do now; how does DD and
Ppt?  You must know I hate pain, as the old woman said.  But I’ll try to
go seep.  My flesh sucks up Hungary water rarely.  My man is an awkward
rascal, and makes me peevish.  Do you know that t’other day he was forced
to beg my pardon, that he could not shave my head, his hand shook so?  He
is drunk every day, and I design to turn him off soon as ever I get to
Ireland.  I’ll write no more now, but go to sleep, and see whether sleep
and flannel will cure my shoulder.  Nite deelest MD.

30.  I was not able to go to church or Court to-day for my shoulder.  The
pain has left my shoulder, and crept to my neck and collar-bone.  It
makes me think of poo Ppt’s bladebone.  Urge, urge, urge; dogs gnawing.
I went in a chair at two, and dined with Mrs. Van, where I could be easy,
and came back at seven.  My Hungary water is gone; and to-night I use
spirits of wine, which my landlady tells me is very good.  It has rained
terribly all day long, and is extremely cold.  I am very uneasy, and such
cruel twinges every moment!  Nite deelest MD.

31.  April 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.  All these days I have been extremely
ill, though I twice crawled out a week ago; but am now recovering, though
very weak.  The violence of my pain abated the night before last: I will
just tell you how I was, and then send away this letter, which ought to
have gone Saturday last.  The pain increased with mighty violence in my
left shoulder and collar-bone, and that side my neck.  On Thursday
morning appeared great red spots in all those places where my pain was,
and the violence of the pain was confined to my neck behind, a little on
the left side; which was so violent that I had not a minute’s ease, nor
hardly a minute’s sleep in three days and nights.  The spots increased
every day, and bred little pimples, which are now grown white, and full
of corruption, though small.  The red still continues too, and most
prodigious hot and inflamed.  The disease is the shingles.  I eat nothing
but water-gruel; am very weak; but out of all violent pain.  The doctors
say it would have ended in some violent disease if it had not come out
thus.  I shall now recover fast.  I have been in no danger of life, but
miserable torture.  I must not write too much.  So adieu, deelest MD MD
MD FW FW, ME ME ME, Lele.  I can say lele yet, oo see.  Fais, I don’t
conceal a bit, as hope saved. {435a}

I {435b} must purge and clyster after this; and my next letter will not
be in the old order of journal, till I have done with physic.  An’t oo
surprised to see a letter want half a side?



LETTER XLV. {436a}


                                                 LONDON, _April_ 24, 1712.

I HAD your twenty-eighth two or three days ago.  I can hardly answer it
now.  Since my last I have been extremely ill.  ’Tis this day just a
month since I felt a small pain on the tip of my left shoulder, which
grew worse, and spread for six days; then broke all out by my collar and
left side of my neck in monstrous red spots inflamed, and these grew to
small pimples.  For four days I had no rest, nor nights, for a pain in my
neck; then I grew a little better; afterward, where my pains were, a
cruel itching seized me, beyond whatever I could imagine, and kept me
awake several nights.  I rubbed it vehemently, but did not scratch it:
then it grew into three or four great sores like blisters, and run; at
last I advised the doctor to use it like a blister, so I did with melilot
{436b} plasters, which still run: and am now in pain enough, but am daily
mending.  I kept my chamber a fortnight, then went out a day or two, but
then confined myself again.  Two days ago I went to a neighbour to dine,
but yesterday again kept at home.  To-day I will venture abroad a little,
and hope to be well in a week or ten days.  I never suffered so much in
my life.  I have taken my breeches in above two inches, so I am leaner,
which answers one question in your letter.  The weather is mighty fine.
I write in the morning, because I am better then.  I will go and try to
walk a little.  I will give DD’s certificate to Tooke to-morrow.
Farewell, MD MD MD, ME ME, FW FW ME ME.



LETTER XLVI. {437a}


                                                   LONDON, _May_ 10, 1712.

I HAVE not yet ease or humour enough to go on in my journal method,
though I have left my chamber these ten days.  My pain continues still in
my shoulder and collar: I keep flannel on it, and rub it with brandy, and
take a nasty diet drink.  I still itch terribly, and have some few
pimples; I am weak, and sweat; and then the flannel makes me mad with
itching; but I think my pain lessens.  A journal, while I was sick, would
have been a noble thing, made up of pain and physic, visits, and
messages; the two last were almost as troublesome as the two first.  One
good circumstance is that I am grown much leaner.  I believe I told you
that I have taken in my breeches two inches.  I had your N. 29 last
night.  In answer to your good opinion of my disease, the doctors said
they never saw anything so odd of the kind; they were not properly
shingles, but _herpes miliaris_, and twenty other hard names.  I can
never be sick like other people, but always something out of the common
way; and as for your notion of its coming without pain, it neither came,
nor stayed, nor went without pain, and the most pain I ever bore in my
life.  Medemeris {437b} is retired in the country, with the beast her
husband, long ago.  I thank the Bishop of Clogher for his proxy; I will
write to him soon.  Here is Dilly’s wife in town; but I have not seen her
yet.  No, sinkerton: {437c} ’tis not a sign of health, but a sign that,
if it had not come out, some terrible fit of sickness would have
followed.  I was at our Society last Thursday, to receive a new member,
the Chancellor of the Exchequer; {437d} but I drink nothing above wine
and water.  We shall have a peace, I hope, soon, or at least entirely
broke; but I believe the first.  My _Letter to Lord Treasurer_, about the
English tongue, {437e} is now printing; and I suffer my name to be put at
the end of it, which I never did before in my life.  _The Appendix to the
Third Part of John Bull_ {438a} was published yesterday; it is equal to
the rest.  I hope you read _John Bull_.  It was a Scotch gentleman,
{438b} a friend of mine, that writ it; but they put it upon me.  The
Parliament will hardly be up till June.  We were like to be undone some
days ago with a tack; but we carried it bravely, and the Whigs came in to
help us.  Poor Lady Masham, I am afraid, will lose her only son, about a
twelvemonth old, with the king’s evil.  I never would let Mrs. Fenton see
me during my illness, though she often came; but she has been once here
since I recovered.  Bernage has been twice to see me of late.  His
regiment will be broke, and he only upon half-pay; so perhaps he thinks
he will want me again.  I am told here the Bishop of Clogher and family
are coming over, but he says nothing of it himself.  I have been
returning the visits of those that sent howdees {438c} in my sickness;
particularly the Duchess of Hamilton, who came and sat with me two hours.
I make bargains with all people that I dine with, to let me scrub my back
against a chair; and the Duchess of Ormond {438d} was forced to bear it
the other day.  Many of my friends are gone to Kensington, where the
Queen has been removed for some time.  This is a long letter for a kick
{438e} body.  I will begin the next in the journal way, though my
journals will be sorry ones.  My left hand is very weak, and trembles;
but my right side has not been touched.

   This is a pitiful letter
   For want of a better;
   But plagued with a tetter,
   My fancy does fetter.

Ah! my poor willows and quicksets!  Well, but you must read _John Bull_.
Do you understand it all?  Did I tell you that young Parson Gery {439a}
is going to be married, and asked my advice when it was too late to break
off?  He tells me Elwick has purchased forty pounds a year in land
adjoining to his living.  Ppt does not say one word of her own little
health.  I am angry almost; but I won’t, ’cause see im a dood dallar in
odle sings; {439b} iss, and so im DD too.  God bless MD, and FW, and ME,
ay and Pdfr too.  Farewell, MD, MD, MD, FW, FW, FW.  ME, ME Lele.  I can
say lele it, ung oomens, iss I tan, well as oo.



LETTER XLVII. {439c}


                                                   LONDON, _May_ 31, 1712.

I CANNOT yet arrive to my journal letters, my pains continuing still,
though with less violence; but I don’t love to write journals while I am
in pain; and above all, not journals to MD.  But, however, I am so much
mended, that I intend my next shall be in the old way; and yet I shall,
perhaps, break my resolution when I feel pain.  I believe I have lost
credit with you, in relation to my coming over; but I protest it is
impossible for one who has anything to do with this Ministry to be
certain when he fixes any time.  There is a business which, till it take
some turn or other, I cannot leave this place in prudence or honour.  And
I never wished so much as now that I had stayed in Ireland; but the die
is cast, and is now a spinning, and till it settles, I cannot tell
whether it be an ace or a sise. {439d}  I am confident by what you know
yourselves, that you will justify me in all this.  The moment I am used
ill, I will leave them; but know not how to do it while things are in
suspense. The session will soon be over (I believe in a fortnight), and
the peace, we hope, will be made in a short time; and there will be no
further occasion for me; nor have I anything to trust to but Court
gratitude, so that I expect to see my willows {440a} a month after the
Parliament is up: but I will take MD in my way, and not go to Laracor
like an unmannerly spraenekich ferrow. {440b}  Have you seen my _Letter
to Lord Treasurer_?  There are two answers come out to it already; {440c}
though it is no politics, but a harmless proposal about the improvement
of the English Tongue.  I believe if I writ an essay upon a straw some
fool would answer it.  About ten days hence I expect a letter from MD; N.
30.—You are now writing it, near the end, as I guess.—I have not received
DD’s money; but I will give you a note for it on Parvisol, and bed oo
paadon {440d} I have not done it before.  I am just now thinking to go
lodge at Kensington for the air.  Lady Masham has teased me to do it, but
business has hindered me; but now Lord Treasurer has removed thither.
Fifteen of our Society dined together under a canopy in an arbour at
Parson’s Green {440e} last Thursday: I never saw anything so fine and
romantic.  We got a great victory last Wednesday in the House of Lords by
a majority, I think, of twenty-eight; and the Whigs had desired their
friends to bespeak places to see Lord Treasurer carried to the Tower.
{440f}  I met your Higgins {440g} here yesterday: he roars at the
insolence of the Whigs in Ireland, talks much of his own sufferings and
expenses in asserting the cause of the Church; and I find he would fain
plead merit enough to desire that his fortune should be mended.  I
believe he designs to make as much noise as he can in order to
preferment.  Pray let the Provost, when he sees you, give you ten English
shillings, and I will give as much here to the man who delivered me
Rymer’s books: {441a} he knows the meaning.  Tell him I will not trust
him, but that you can order it to be paid me here; and I will trust you
till I see you.  Have I told you that the rogue Patrick has left me these
two months, to my great satisfaction?  I have got another, who seems to
be much better, if he continues it.  I am printing a threepenny pamphlet,
{441b} and shall print another in a fortnight, and then I have done,
unless some new occasion starts.  Is my curate Warburton married to Mrs.
Melthrop in my parish? so I hear.  Or is it a lie?  Has Raymond got to
his new house?  Do you see Joe now and then?  What luck have you at
ombre?  How stands it with the Dean? . . . {441c}  My service to Mrs.
Stoyte, and Catherine, if she be come from Wales.  I have not yet seen
Dilly Ashe’s wife.  I called once, but she was not at home: I think she
is under the doctor’s hand. . . . {441d}  I believe the news of the Duke
of Ormond producing letters in the council of war, with orders not to
fight, will surprise you in Ireland.  Lord Treasurer said in the House of
Lords that in a few days the treaty of peace should be laid before them;
and our Court thought it wrong to hazard a battle, and sacrifice many
lives in such a juncture.  If the peace holds, all will do well,
otherwise I know not how we shall weather it.  And it was reckoned as a
wrong step in politics for Lord Treasurer to open himself so much.  The
Secretary would not go so far to satisfy the Whigs in the House of
Commons; but there all went swimmingly.  I’ll say no more to oo to-nite,
sellohs, because I must send away the letter, not by the bell, {441e} but
early: and besides, I have not much more to say at zis plesent liting.
{442a}  Does MD never read at all now, pee? {442b}  But oo walk
plodigiousry, I suppose; oo make nothing of walking to, to, to, ay, to
Donnybrook.  I walk too as much as I can, because sweating is good; but
I’ll walk more if I go to Kensington.  I suppose I shall have no apples
this year neither, for I dined t’other day with Lord Rivers, who is sick
at his country-house, and he showed me all his cherries blasted.  Nite
deelest sollahs; farewell deelest rives; rove poo poo Pdfr.  Farewell
deelest richar MD, MD, MD, FW, FW, FW, FW, FW, ME, ME, Lele, ME, Lele,
Lele, richar MD.



LETTER XLVIII. {442c}


                                              KENSINGTON, _June_ 17, 1712.

I HAVE been so tosticated about since my last, that I could not go on in
my journal manner, though my shoulder is a great deal better; however, I
feel constant pain in it, but I think it diminishes, and I have cut off
some slices from my flannel.  I have lodged here near a fortnight, partly
for the air and exercise, partly to be near the Court, where dinners are
to be found.  I generally get a lift in a coach to town, and in the
evening I walk back.  On Saturday I dined with the Duchess of Ormond at
her lodge near Sheen, and thought to get a boat back as usual.  I walked
by the bank to Cue [Kew], but no boat, then to Mortlake, but no boat, and
it was nine o’clock.  At last a little sculler called, full of nasty
people.  I made him set me down at Hammersmith, so walked two miles to
this place, and got here by eleven.  Last night I had another such
difficulty.  I was in the City till past ten at night; it rained hard,
but no coach to be had.  It gave over a little, and I walked all the way
here, and got home by twelve.  I love these shabby difficulties when they
are over; but I hate them, because they arise from not having a thousand
pound a year.  I had your N. 30 about three days ago, which I will now
answer.  And first, I did not relapse, but found {443a} I came out before
I ought; and so, and so, as I have told you in some of my last.  The
first coming abroad made people think I was quite recovered, and I had no
more messages afterwards.  Well, but _John Bull_ is not writ by the
person you imagine, as hope! {443b}  It is too good for another to own.
Had it been Grub Street, I would have let people think as they please;
and I think that’s right: is not it now? so flap ee hand, and make wry
mouth oo-self, sauci doxi.  Now comes DD.  Why sollah, I did write in a
fortnight my 47th; and if it did not come in due time, can I help wind
and weather? am I a Laplander? am I a witch? can I work miracles? can I
make easterly winds?  Now I am against Dr. Smith.  I drink little water
with my wine, yet I believe he is right.  Yet Dr. Cockburn told me a
little wine would not hurt me; but it is so hot and dry, and water is so
dangerous.  The worst thing here is my evenings at Lord Masham’s, where
Lord Treasurer comes, and we sit till after twelve.  But it is convenient
I should be among them for a while as much as possible.  I need not tell
oo why.  But I hope that will be at an end in a month or two, one way or
other, and I am resolved it shall.  But I can’t go to Tunbridge, or
anywhere else out of the way, in this juncture.  So Ppt designs for
Templeoag (what a name is that!).  Whereabouts is that place?  I hope not
very far from Dublin.  Higgins is here, roaring that all is wrong in
Ireland, and would have me get him an audience of Lord Treasurer to tell
him so; but I will have nothing to do in it, no, not I, faith.  We have
had no thunder till last night, and till then we were dead for want of
rain; but there fell a great deal: no field looked green.  I reckon the
Queen will go to Windsor in three or four weeks: and if the Secretary
takes a house there, I shall be sometimes with him.  But how affectedly
Ppt talks of my being here all the summer; which I do not intend: nor to
stay one minute longer in England than becomes the circumstances I am in.
I wish you would go soon into the country, and take a good deal of it;
and where better than Trim?  Joe will be your humble servant, Parvisol
your slave, and Raymond at your command, for he piques himself on good
manners.  I have seen Dilly’s wife—and I have seen once or twice old
Bradley {444a} here.  He is very well, very old, and very wise: I believe
I must go see his wife, when I have leisure.  I should be glad to see
Goody Stoyte and her husband; pray give them my humble service, and to
Catherine, and to Mrs. Walls—I am not the least bit in love with Mrs.
Walls—I suppose the cares of the husband increase with the fruitfulness
of the wife.  I am grad at halt {444b} to hear of Ppt’s good health: pray
let her finish it by drinking waters.  I hope DD had her bill, and has
her money.  Remember to write a due time before ME money is wanted, and
be good galls, dood dallars, I mean, and no crying dallars.  I heard
somebody coming upstairs, and forgot I was in the country; and I was
afraid of a visitor: that is one advantage of being here, that I am not
teased with solicitors.  Molt, the chemist, is my acquaintance.  My
service to Dr. Smith.  I sent the question to him about Sir Walter
Raleigh’s cordial, and the answer he returned is in these words: “It is
directly after Mr. Boyle’s receipt.”  That commission is performed; if he
wants any of it, Molt shall use him fairly.  I suppose Smith is one of
your physicians.  So, now your letter is fully and impartially answered;
not as rascals answer me: I believe, if I writ an essay upon a straw, I
should have a shoal of answerers: but no matter for that; you see I can
answer without making any reflections, as becomes men of learning.  Well,
but now for the peace: why, we expect it daily; but the French have the
staff in their own hands, and we trust to their honesty.  I wish it were
otherwise.  Things are now in the way of being soon in the extremes of
well or ill.  I hope and believe the first.  Lord Wharton is gone out of
town in a rage, and curses himself and friends for ruining themselves in
defending Lord Marlborough and Godolphin, and taking Nottingham into
their favour.  He swears he will meddle no more during this reign; a
pretty speech at sixty-six, and the Queen is near twenty years younger,
and now in very good health; for you must know her health is fixed by a
certain reason, that she has done with braces (I must use the
expression), and nothing ill is happened to her since; so she has a new
lease of her life.  Read the _Letter to a Whig Lord_. {445a}  Do you ever
read?  Why don’t you say so?  I mean does DD read to Ppt?  Do you walk?
I think Ppt should walk to {445b} DD; as DD reads to Ppt, for Ppt oo must
know is a good walker; but not so good as Pdfr.  I intend to dine to-day
with Mr. Lewis, but it threatens rain; and I shall be too late to get a
lift; and I must write to the Bishop of Clogher.  ’Tis now ten in the
morning; and this is all writ at a heat.  Farewell deelest . . . deelest
MD, MD, MD, MD, MD, FW, FW, FW, ME, ME, ME, Lele, ME, Lele, ME, Lele, ME,
Lele, Lele, Lele, ME.



LETTER XLIX. {445c}


                                               KENSINGTON, _July_ 1, 1712.

I NEVER was in a worse station for writing letters than this, especially
for writing to MD, since I left off my journals.  For I go to town early;
and when I come home at night, I generally go to Lord Masham, where Lord
Treasurer comes, and we stay till past twelve.  But I am now resolved to
write journals again, though my shoulder is not yet well; for I have
still a few itching pimples, and a little pain now and then.  It is now
high cherry-time with us; take notice, is it so soon with you?  And we
have early apricots, and gooseberries are ripe.  On Sunday Archdeacon
Parnell came here to see me.  It seems he has been ill for grief of his
wife’s death, {445d} and has been two months at the Bath.  He has a mind
to go to Dunkirk with Jack Hill, {446a} and I persuade him to it, and
have spoke to Hill to receive him; but I doubt he won’t have spirit to
go.  I have made Ford {446b} Gazetteer, and got two hundred pounds a year
settled on the employment by the Secretary of State, beside the
perquisites.  It is the prettiest employment in England of its bigness;
yet the puppy does not seem satisfied with it.  I think people keep some
follies to themselves, till they have occasion to produce them.  He
thinks it not genteel enough, and makes twenty difficulties.  ’Tis
impossible to make any man easy.  His salary is paid him every week, if
he pleases, without taxes or abatements.  He has little to do for it.  He
has a pretty office, with coals, candles, papers, etc.; can frank what
letters he will; and his perquisites, if he takes care, may be worth one
hundred pounds more.  I hear the Bishop of Clogher is landing, or landed,
in England; and I hope to see him in a few days.  I was to see Mrs.
Bradley {446c} on Sunday night.  Her youngest son is married to somebody
worth nothing, and her daughter was forced to leave Lady Giffard, because
she was striking up an intrigue with a footman, who played well upon the
flute.  This is the mother’s account of it.  Yesterday the old Bishop of
Worcester, {446d} who pretends to be a prophet, went to the Queen, by
appointment, to prove to Her Majesty, out of Daniel and the Revelations,
that four years hence there would be a war of religion; that the King of
France would be a Protestant, and fight on their side; that the Popedom
would be destroyed, etc.; and declared that he would be content to give
up his bishopric if it were not true.  Lord Treasurer, who told it me,
was by, and some others; and I am told Lord Treasurer confounded him
sadly in his own learning, which made the old fool very quarrelsome.  He
is near ninety years old.  Old Bradley is fat and lusty, and has lost his
palsy.  Have you seen _Toland’s Invitation to Dismal_? {447a}  How do you
like it?  But it is an imitation of Horace, and perhaps you don’t
understand Horace.  Here has been a great sweep of employments, and we
expect still more removals.  The Court seems resolved to make thorough
work.  Mr. Hill intended to set out to-morrow for Dunkirk, of which he is
appointed Governor; but he tells me to-day that he cannot go till
Thursday or Friday.  I wish it were over.  Mr. Secretary tells me he is
[in] no fear at all that France will play tricks with us.  If we have
Dunkirk once, all is safe.  We rail now all against the Dutch, who,
indeed, have acted like knaves, fools, and madmen.  Mr. Secretary is soon
to be made a viscount.  He desired I would draw the preamble of his
patent; but I excused myself from a work that might lose me a great deal
of reputation, and get me very little.  We would fain have the Court make
him an earl, but it would not be; and therefore he will not take the
title of Bullenbrook, {447b} which is lately extinct in the elder branch
of his family.  I have advised him to be called Lord Pomfret; but he
thinks that title is already in some other family; {447c} and, besides,
he objects that it is in Yorkshire, where he has no estate; but there is
nothing in that, and I love Pomfret.  Don’t you love Pomfret?  Why?  ’Tis
in all our histories; they are full of Pomfret Castle.  But what’s all
this to you?  You don’t care for this.  Is Goody Stoyte come to London?
I have not heard of her yet.  The Dean of St. Patrick’s never had the
manners to answer my letter.  I was t’other day to see Sterne {447d} and
his wife.  She is not half so handsome as when I saw her with you at
Dublin.  They design to pass the summer at a house near Lord Somers’s,
about a dozen miles off.  You never told me how my _Letter to Lord
Treasurer_ passes in Ireland.  I suppose you are drinking at this time
Temple-something’s {448a} waters.  Steele was arrested the other day for
making a lottery directly against an Act of Parliament.  He is now under
prosecution; but they think it will be dropped out of pity. {448b}  I
believe he will very soon lose his employment, for he has been mighty
impertinent of late in his _Spectators_; and I will never offer a word in
his behalf.  Raymond writes me word that the Bishop of Meath {448c} was
going to summon me, in order to suspension, for absence, if the Provost
had not prevented him.  I am prettily rewarded for getting them their
First-Fruits, with a p—.  We have had very little hot weather during the
whole month of June; and for a week past we have had a great deal of
rain, though not every day.  I am just now told that the Governor of
Dunkirk has not orders yet to deliver up the town to Jack Hill and his
forces, but expects them daily.  This must put off Hill’s journey a
while, and I don’t like these stoppings in such an affair.  Go, get oo
gone, and drink oo waters, if this rain has not spoiled them, sauci doxi.
I have no more to say to oo at plesent; but rove Pdfr, and MD, and ME.
And Podefr will rove Pdfr, and MD and ME.  I wish you had taken any
account when I sent money to Mrs. Brent.  I believe I han’t done it a
great while.  And pray send me notice when ME . . . to have it when it is
due. {448d}  Farewell, dearest MD FW FW FW ME ME ME.



LETTER L. {449a}


                                              KENSINGTON, _July_ 17, 1712.

I AM weary of living in this place, and glad to leave it soon.  The Queen
goes on Tuesday to Windsor, and I shall follow in three or four days
after.  I can do nothing here, going early to London, and coming late
from it, and supping at Lady Masham’s.  I dined to-day with the Duke of
Argyle at Cue [Kew], and would not go to the Court to-night, because of
writing to MD.  The Bishop of Clogher has been here this fortnight: I see
him as often as I can.  Poor Master Ashe has a sad redness in his face;
it is St. Anthony’s fire; his face all swelled, and will break in his
cheek, but no danger.  Since Dunkirk has been in our hands, Grub Street
has been very fruitful.  Pdfr has writ five or six Grub Street papers
this last week.  Have you seen _Toland’s Invitation to Dismal_, _or Hue
and Cry after Dismal_, _or Ballad on Dunkirk_, _or Argument that Dunkirk
is not in our Hands_?  Poh! you have seen nothing.  I am dead here with
the hot weather; yet I walk every night home, and believe it does me
good: but my shoulder is not yet right; itchings, and scratchings, and
small achings.  Did I tell you I had made Ford Gazetteer, with two
hundred pounds a year salary, beside perquisites?  I had a letter lately
from Parvisol, who says my canal looks very finely; I long to see it; but
no apples; all blasted again.  He tells me there will be a triennial
visitation in August.  I must send Raymond another proxy.  So now I will
answer oo rettle N. 33, {449b} dated June 17.  Ppt writes as well as
ever, for all her waters.  I wish I had never come here, as often and as
heartily as Ppt.  What had I to do here?  I have heard of the Bishop’s
making me uneasy, but I did not think it was because I never writ to him.
A little would make me write to him, but I don’t know what to say.  I
find I am obliged to the Provost for keeping the Bishop {450a} from being
impertinent.  Yes, Maram DD, but oo would not be content with letters
flom Pdfr of six lines, or twelve either, fais.  I hope Ppt will have
done with the waters soon, and find benefit by them.  I believe, if they
were as far off as Wexford, they would do as much good; for I take the
journey to contribute as much as anything.  I can assure you the Bishop
of Clogher’s being here does not in the least affect my staying or going.
I never talked to Higgins but once in my life in the street, and I
believe he and I shall hardly meet but by chance.  What care I whether my
_Letter to Lord Treasurer_ be commended there or no?  Why does not
somebody among you answer it, as three or four have done here?  (I am now
sitting with nothing but my nightgown, for heat.)  Ppt shall have a great
Bible.  I have put it down in my memlandums {450b} just now.  And DD
shall be repaid her t’other book; but patience, all in good time: you are
so hasty, a dog would, etc.  So Ppt has neither won nor lost.  Why, mun,
I play sometimes too at picket, that is picquet, I mean; but very
seldom.—Out late? why, ’tis only at Lady Masham’s, and that is in our
town; but I never come late here from London, except once in rain, when I
could not get a coach.  We have had very little thunder here; none these
two months.  Why, pray, madam philosopher, how did the rain hinder the
thunder from doing any harm?  I suppose it ssquenched it.  So here comes
Ppt aden {450c} with her little watery postscript.  O Rold, dlunken srut!
{450d} drink Pdfr’s health ten times in a morning! you are a whetter,
fais; I sup MD’s fifteen times evly molning in milk porridge.  Lele’s fol
oo now—and lele’s fol oo rettle, and evly kind of sing {450e}—and now I
must say something else.  You hear Secretary St. John is made Viscount
Bullinbrook. {450f}  I can hardly persuade him to take that title,
because the eldest branch of his family had it in an earldom, and it was
last year extinct.  If he did not take it, I advised him to be Lord
Pomfret, which I think is a noble title.  You hear of it often in the
_Chronicles_, Pomfret Castle: but we believed it was among the titles of
some other lord.  Jack Hill sent his sister a pattern of a head-dress
from Dunkirk; it was like our fashion twenty years ago, only not quite so
high, and looked very ugly.  I have made Trapp {451a} chaplain to Lord
Bullinbroke, and he is mighty happy and thankful for it.  Mr. Addison
returned me my visit this morning.  He lives in our town.  I shall be
mighty retired, and mighty busy for a while at Windsor.  Pray why don’t
MD go to Trim, and see Laracor, and give me an account of the garden, and
the river, and the holly and the cherry-trees on the river-walk?

19.  I could not send this letter last post, being called away before I
could fold or finish it.  I dined yesterday with Lord Treasurer; sat with
him till ten at night; yet could not find a minute for some business I
had with him.  He brought me to Kensington, and Lord Bulingbrook would
not let me go away till two; and I am now in bed, very lazy and sleepy at
nine.  I must shave head and face, and meet Lord Bullinbrook at eleven,
and dine again with Lord Treasurer.  To-day there will be another Grub,
{451b} _A Letter from the Pretender to a Whig Lord_.  Grub Street has but
ten days to live; then an Act of Parliament takes place that ruins it, by
taxing every half-sheet at a halfpenny.  We have news just come, but not
the particulars, that the Earl of Albemarle, {451c} at the head of eight
thousand Dutch, is beaten, lost the greatest part of his men, and himself
a prisoner.  This perhaps may cool their courage, and make them think of
a peace.  The Duke of Ormond has got abundance of credit by his good
conduct of affairs in Flanders.  We had a good deal of rain last night,
very refreshing.  ’Tis late, and I must rise.  Don’t play at ombre in
your waters, sollah.  Farewell, deelest MD, MD MD MD FW FW ME ME ME Lele
Lele Lele.



LETTER LI. {452a}


                                                   LONDON, _Aug._ 7, 1712.

I HAD your N. 32 at Windsor: I just read it, and immediately sealed it up
again, and shall read it no more this twelvemonth at least.  The reason
of my resentment at it is, because you talk as glibly of a thing as if it
were done, which, for aught I know, is farther from being done than ever,
since I hear not a word of it, though the town is full of it, and the
Court always giving me joy and vexation.  You might be sure I would have
let you know as soon as it was done; but I believe you fancied I would
affect not to tell it you, but let you learn it from newspapers and
reports.  I remember only there was something in your letter about ME’s
money, and that shall be taken care of on the other side.  I left Windsor
on Monday last, upon Lord Bolingbroke’s being gone to France, and
somebody’s being here that I ought often to consult with in an affair I
am upon: but that person talks of returning to Windsor again, and I
believe I shall follow him.  I am now in a hedge-lodging very busy, as I
am every day till noon: so that this letter is like to be short, and you
are not to blame me these two months; for I protest, if I study ever so
hard, I cannot in that time compass what I am upon.  We have a fever both
here and at Windsor, which hardly anybody misses; but it lasts not above
three or four days, and kills nobody. {452b}  The Queen has forty
servants down of it at once.  I dined yesterday with Treasurer, but could
do no business, though he sent for me, I thought, on purpose; but he
desires I will dine with him again to-day.  Windsor is a most delightful
place, and at this time abounds in dinners.  My lodgings there look upon
Eton and the Thames.  I wish I was owner of them; they belong to a
prebend.  God knows what was in your letter; and if it be not answered,
whose fault is it, sauci dallars?—Do you know that Grub Street is dead
and gone last week?  No more ghosts or murders now for love or money.  I
plied it pretty close the last fortnight, and published at least seven
penny papers of my own, besides some of other people’s: but now every
single half-sheet pays a halfpenny to the Queen. {453a}  The _Observator_
is fallen; the _Medleys_ are jumbled together with the _Flying Post_; the
_Examiner_ is deadly sick; the _Spectator_ keeps up, and doubles its
price; I know not how long it will hold.  Have you seen the red stamp the
papers are marked with?  Methinks it is worth a halfpenny, the stamping
it.  Lord Bolingbroke and Prior set out for France last Saturday.  My
lord’s business is to hasten the peace before the Dutch are too much
mauled, and hinder France from carrying the jest of beating them too far.
Have you seen the Fourth Part of _John Bull_? {453b}  It is equal to the
rest, and extremely good.  The Bishop of Clogher’s son has been ill of
St. Anthony’s fire, but is now quite well.  I was afraid his face would
be spoiled, but it is not.  Dilly is just as he used to be, and puns as
plentifully and as bad.  The two brothers see one another; but I think
not the two sisters.  Raymond writ to me that he intended to invite you
to Trim.  Are you, have you, will you be there?  Won’t oo see pool
Laratol? {453c}  Parvisol says I shall have no fruit.  Blasts have taken
away all.  Pray observe the cherry-trees on the river-walk; but oo are
too lazy to take such a journey.  If you have not your letters in due
time for two months hence, impute it to my being tosticated between this
and Windsor.  And pray send me again the state of ME’s money; for I will
not look into your letter for it.  Poor Lord Winchelsea {454a} is dead,
to my great grief.  He was a worthy honest gentleman, and particular
friend of mine: and, what is yet worse, my old acquaintance, Mrs. Finch,
{454b} is now Countess of Winchelsea, the title being fallen to her
husband, but without much estate.  I have been poring my eyes all this
morning, and it is now past two afternoon, so I shall take a little walk
in the Park.  Do you play at ombre still?  Or is that off by Mr. Stoyte’s
absence, and Mrs. Manley’s grief?  Somebody was telling me of a strange
sister that Mrs. Manley has got in Ireland, who disappointed you all
about her being handsome.  My service to Mrs. Walls.  Farewell, deelest
MD MD MD, FW FW FW, ME ME ME ME ME.  Lele, logues both; rove poo Pdfr.



LETTER LII. {454c}


                                                WINDSOR, _Sept._ 15, 1712.

I NEVER was so long without writing to MD as now, since I left them, nor
ever will again while I am able to write.  I have expected from one week
to another that something would be done in my own affairs; but nothing at
all is, nor I don’t know when anything will, or whether ever at all, so
slow are people at doing favours.  I have been much out of order of late
with the old giddiness in my head.  I took a vomit for it two days ago,
and will take another about a day or two hence.  I have eat mighty little
fruit; yet I impute my disorder to that little, and shall henceforth
wholly forbear it.  I am engaged in a long work, and have done all I can
of it, and wait for some papers from the Ministry for materials for the
rest; and they delay me, as if it were a favour I asked of them; so that
I have been idle here this good while, and it happened in a right time,
when I was too much out of order to study.  One is kept constantly out of
humour by a thousand unaccountable things in public proceedings; and when
I reason with some friends, we cannot conceive how affairs can last as
they are.  God only knows, but it is a very melancholy subject for those
who have any near concern in it.  I am again endeavouring, as I was last
year, to keep people {455a} from breaking to pieces upon a hundred
misunderstandings.  One cannot withhold them from drawing different ways,
while the enemy is watching to destroy both.  See how my style is
altered, by living and thinking and talking among these people, instead
of my canal and river-walk and willows.  I lose all my money here among
the ladies; {455b} so that I never play when I can help it, being sure to
lose.  I have lost five pounds the five weeks I have been here.  I hope
Ppt is luckier at picquet with the Dean and Mrs. Walls.  The Dean never
answered my letter, though.  I have clearly forgot whether I sent a bill
for ME in any of my last letters.  I think I did; pray let me know, and
always give me timely notice.  I wait here but to see what they will do
for me; and whenever preferments are given from me, as hope saved, I will
come over.

18.  I have taken a vomit to-day, and hope I shall be better.  I have
been very giddy since I writ what is before, yet not as I used to be:
more frequent, but not so violent.  Yesterday we were alarmed with the
Queen’s being ill: she had an aguish and feverish fit; and you never saw
such countenances as we all had, such dismal melancholy.  Her physicians
from town were sent for, but towards night she grew better; to-day she
missed her fit, and was up: we are not now in any fear; it will be at
worst but an ague, and we hope even that will not return.  Lord Treasurer
would not come here from London, because it would make a noise if he came
before his usual time, which is Saturday, and he goes away on Mondays.
The Whigs have lost a great support in the Earl of Godolphin. {456a}  It
is a good jest to hear the Ministers talk of him now with humanity and
pity, because he is dead, and can do them no more hurt.  Lady Orkney,
{456b} the late King’s mistress (who lives at a fine place, five miles
from hence, called Cliffden {456c}), and I, are grown mighty
acquaintance.  She is the wisest woman I ever saw; and Lord Treasurer
made great use of her advice in the late change of affairs.  I heard Lord
Marlborough is growing ill of his diabetes; which, if it be true, may
soon carry him off; and then the Ministry will be something more at ease.
MD has been a long time without writing to Pdfr, though they have not the
same cause: it is seven weeks since your last came to my hands, which was
N. 32, that you may not be mistaken.  I hope Ppt has not wanted her
health.  You were then drinking waters.  The doctor tells me I must go
into a course of steel, though I have not the spleen; for that they can
never give me, though I have as much provocation to it as any man alive.
Bernage’s {456d} regiment is broke; but he is upon half-pay.  I have not
seen him this long time; but I suppose he is overrun with melancholy.  My
Lord Shrewsbury is certainly designed to be Governor of Ireland; and I
believe the Duchess will please the people there mightily.  The Irish
Whig leaders promise great things to themselves from his government; but
care shall be taken, if possible, to prevent them.  Mrs. Fenton {456e}
has writ to me that she has been forced to leave Lady Giffard, and come
to town, for a rheumatism: that lady does not love to be troubled with
sick people.  Mrs. Fenton writes to me as one dying, and desires I would
think of her son: I have not answered her letter.  She is retired {457a}
to Mrs. Povey’s.  Is my aunt alive yet? and do you ever see her?  I
suppose she has forgot the loss of her son.  Is Raymond’s new house quite
finished? and does he squander as he used to do?  Has he yet spent all
his wife’s fortune?  I hear there are five or six people putting strongly
in for my livings; God help them!  But if ever the Court should give me
anything, I would recommend Raymond to the Duke of Ormond; not for any
particular friendship to him, but because it would be proper for the
minister of Trim to have Laracor.  You may keep the gold-studded
snuff-box now; for my brother Hill, Governor of Dunkirk, has sent me the
finest that ever you saw. {457b}  It is allowed at Court that none in
England comes near it, though it did not cost above twenty pounds.  And
the Duchess of Hamilton has made me pockets for [it] like a woman’s, with
a belt and buckle (for, you know, I wear no waistcoat in summer), and
there are several divisions, and one on purpose for my box, oh ho!—We
have had most delightful weather this whole week; but illness and
vomiting have hindered me from sharing in a great part of it.  Lady
Masham made the Queen send to Kensington for some of her preserved ginger
for me, which I take in the morning, and hope it will do me good.  Mrs.
Brent {457c} sent me a letter by a young fellow, a printer, desiring I
would recommend him here, which you may tell her I have done: but I
cannot promise what will come of it, for it is necessary they should be
made free here {457d} before they can be employed.  I remember I put the
boy prentice to Brent.  I hope Parvisol has set my tithes well this year:
he has writ nothing to me about it; pray talk to him of it when you see
him, and let him give me an account how things are.  I suppose the corn
is now off the ground.  I hope he has sold that great ugly horse.  Why
don’t you sell to him?  He keeps me at charges for horses that I never
ride: yours is lame, and will never be good for anything.  The Queen will
stay here about a month longer, I suppose; but Lady Masham will go in ten
days to lie in at Kensington.  Poor creature, she fell down in the court
here t’other day.  She would needs walk across it upon some displeasure
with her chairmen, and was likely to be spoiled so near her time; but we
hope all is over for a black eye and a sore side: though I shall not be
at ease till she is brought to bed.  I find I can fill up a letter, some
way or other, without a journal.  If I had not a spirit naturally
cheerful, I should be very much discontented at a thousand things.  Pray
God preserve MD’s health, and Pdfr’s, and that I may live far from the
envy and discontent that attends those who are thought to have more
favour at Courts than they really possess.  Love Pdfr, who loves MD above
all things.  Farewell, deelest, ten thousand times deelest, MD MD MD, FW
FW, ME ME ME ME.  Lele, Lele, Lele, Lele.



LETTER LIII. {458}


                                                   LONDON, _Oct._ 9, 1712.

I HAVE left Windsor these ten days, and am deep in pills with asafoetida,
and a steel bitter drink; and I find my head much better than it was.  I
was very much discouraged; for I used to be ill for three or four days
together, ready to totter as I walked.  I take eight pills a day, and
have taken, I believe, a hundred and fifty already.  The Queen, Lord
Treasurer, Lady Masham, and I, were all ill together, but are now all
better; only Lady Masham expects every day to lie in at Kensington.
There was never such a lump of lies spread about the town together as
now.  I doubt not but you will have them in Dublin before this comes to
you, and all without the least grounds of truth.  I have been mightily
put backward in something I am writing by my illness, but hope to fetch
it up, so as to be ready when the Parliament meets.  Lord Treasurer has
had an ugly fit of the rheumatism, but is now near quite well.  I was
playing at one-and-thirty with him and his family t’other night.  He gave
us all twelvepence apiece to begin with: it put me in mind of Sir William
Temple. {459a}  I asked both him and Lady Masham seriously whether the
Queen were at all inclined to a dropsy, and they positively assured me
she was not: so did her physician Arbuthnot, who always attends her.  Yet
these devils have spread that she has holes in her legs, and runs at her
navel, and I know not what.  Arbuthnot has sent me from Windsor a pretty
Discourse upon Lying, and I have ordered the printer to come for it.  It
is a proposal for publishing a curious piece, called _The Art of
Political Lying_, in two volumes, etc.  And then there is an abstract of
the first volume, just like those pamphlets which they call _The Works of
the Learned_. {459b}  Pray get it when it comes out.  The Queen has a
little of the gout in one of her hands.  I believe she will stay a month
still at Windsor.  Lord Treasurer showed me the kindest letter from her
in the world, by which I picked out one secret, that there will be soon
made some Knights of the Garter.  You know another is fallen by Lord
Godolphin’s death: he will be buried in a day or two at Westminster
Abbey.  I saw Tom Leigh {459c} in town once.  The Bishop of Clogher has
taken his lodging for the winter; they are all well.  I hear there are in
town abundance of people from Ireland; half a dozen bishops at least. The
poor old Bishop of London, {459d} at past fourscore, fell down backward
going upstairs, and I think broke or cracked his skull; yet is now
recovering.  The town is as empty as at midsummer; and if I had not
occasion for physic, I would be at Windsor still.  Did I tell you of Lord
Rivers’s will?  He has left legacies to about twenty paltry old whores by
name, and not a farthing to any friend, dependent, or relation: he has
left from his only child, Lady Barrymore, {460a} her mother’s estate, and
given the whole to his heir-male, a popish priest, a second cousin, who
is now Earl Rivers, and whom he used in his life like a footman.  After
him it goes to his chief wench and bastard.  Lord Treasurer and Lord
Chamberlain are executors of this hopeful will.  I loved the man, and
detest his memory.  We hear nothing of peace yet: I believe verily the
Dutch are so wilful, because they are told the Queen cannot live.  I had
poor MD’s letter, N. 3, {460b} at Windsor: but I could not answer it
then; poor Pdfr was vely kick {460c} then: and, besides, it was a very
inconvenient place to send letters from.  Oo thought to come home the
same day, and stayed a month: that was a sign the place was agreeable.
{460d}  I should love such a sort of jaunt.  Is that lad Swanton {460e} a
little more fixed than he used to be?  I think you like the girl very
well.  She has left off her grave airs, I suppose.  I am now told Lord
Godolphin was buried last night.—O poo Ppt! lay down oo head aden, fais I
. . . ; I always reckon if oo are ill I shall hear it, and therefore hen
oo are silent I reckon all is well. {460f}  I believe I ’scaped the new
fever {460g} for the same reason that Ppt did, because I am not well; but
why should DD ’scape it, pray?  She is melthigal, oo know, and ought to
have the fever; but I hope it is now too late, and she won’t have it at
all.  Some physicians here talk very melancholy, and think it foreruns
the plague, which is actually at Hamburg.  I hoped Ppt would have done
with her illness; but I think we both have that faculty never to part
with a disorder for ever; we are very constant.  I have had my giddiness
twenty-three years by fits.  Will Mrs. Raymond never have done lying-in?
He intends to leave beggars enough; for I daresay he has squandered away
the best part of his fortune already, and is not out of debt.  I had a
letter from him lately.

Oct. 11.  Lord Treasurer sent for me yesterday and the day before to sit
with him, because he is not yet quite well enough to go abroad; and I
could not finish my letter.  How the deuce come I to be so exact in ME
money?  Just seventeen shillings and eightpence more than due; I believe
you cheat me.  If Hawkshaw does not pay the interest I will have the
principal; pray speak to Parvisol and have his advice what I should do
about it.  Service to Mrs. Stoyte and Catherine and Mrs. Walls.  Ppt
makes a petition with many apologies.  John Danvers, you know, is Lady
Giffard’s friend.  The rest I never heard of.  I tell you what, as things
are at present, I cannot possibly speak to Lord Treasurer for anybody.  I
need tell you no more.  Something or nothing will be done in my own
affairs: if the former, I will be a solicitor for your sister; {461a} if
the latter, I have done with Courts for ever.  Opportunities will often
fall in my way, if I am used well, and I will then make it my business.
It is my delight to do good offices for people who want and deserve, and
a tenfold delight to do it to a relation of Ppt, whose affairs she has so
at heart. {461b}  I have taken down his name and his case (not _her_
case), and whenever a proper time comes, I will do all I can; zat’s
enough to say when I can do no more; and I beg oo pardon a sousand times,
{462a} that I cannot do better.  I hope the Dean of St. P[atrick’s] is
well of his fever: he has never writ to me: I am glad of it; pray don’t
desire him to write.  I have dated your bill late, because it must not
commence, ung oomens, till the first of November {462b} next.  O, fais, I
must be ise; {462c} iss, fais, must I; else ME will cheat Pdfr.  Are you
good housewives and readers?  Are you walkers?  I know you are gamesters.
Are you drinkers?  Are you—  O Rold, I must go no further, for fear of
abusing fine radies. {462d}  Parvisol has never sent me one word how he
set this year’s tithes.  Pray ask whether tithes set well or ill this
year.  The Bishop of Killaloe {462e} tells me wool bears a good rate in
Ireland: but how is corn?  I dined yesterday with Lady Orkney, and we sat
alone from two till eleven at night.—You have heard of her, I suppose.  I
have twenty letters upon my hands, and am so lazy and so busy, I cannot
answer them, and they grow upon me for several months.  Have I any apples
at Laracor?  It is strange every year should blast them, when I took so
much care for shelter.  Lord Bolingbroke has been idle at his
country-house this fortnight, which puts me backward in a business I
have.  I am got into an ordinary room two pair of stairs, and see nobody,
if I can help it; yet some puppies have found me out, and my man is not
such an artist as Patrick at denying me.  Patrick has been soliciting to
come to me again, but in vain.  The printer has been here with some of
the new whims printed, and has taken up my time.  I am just going out,
and can only bid oo farewell.  Farewell, deelest ickle MD, MD MD MD FW FW
FW FW ME ME ME ME.  Lele deel ME.  Lele lele lele sollahs bose. {462f}



LETTER LIV. {463a}


                                                  LONDON, _Oct._ 28, 1712.

I HAVE been in physic this month, and have been better these three weeks.
I stop my physic, by the doctor’s orders, till he sends me further
directions.  DD grows politician, and longs to hear the peace is
proclaimed.  I hope we shall have it soon, for the Dutch are fully
humbled; and Prior is just come over from France for a few days; I
suppose upon some important affair.  I saw him last night, but had no
private talk with him.  Stocks rise upon his coming.  As for my stay in
England, it cannot be long now, so tell my friends.  The Parliament will
not meet till after Christmas, and by that time the work I am doing will
be over, and then nothing shall keep me.  I am very much discontented at
Parvisol, about neglecting to sell my horses, etc.

Lady Masham is not yet brought to bed; but we expect it daily.  I dined
with her to-day.  Lord Bolingbroke returned about two months ago, and
Prior about a week; and goes back (Prior I mean) in a few days.  Who told
you of my snuff-box and pocket?  Did I?  I had a letter to-day from Dr.
Coghill, {463b} desiring me to get Raphoe for Dean Sterne, and the
deanery for myself.  I shall indeed, I have such obligations to Sterne.
But however, if I am asked who will make a good bishop, I shall name him
before anybody.  Then comes another letter, desiring I would recommend a
Provost, {463c} supposing that Pratt (who has been here about a week)
will certainly be promoted; but I believe he will not.  I presented Pratt
to Lord Treasurer, and truly young Molyneux {463d} would have had me
present him too; but I directly answered him I would not, unless he had
business with him.  He is the son of one Mr. Molyneux of Ireland.  His
father wrote a book; {464a} I suppose you know it.  Here is the Duke of
Marlborough going out of England (Lord knows why), which causes many
speculations.  Some say he is conscious of guilt, and dare not stand it.
Others think he has a mind to fling an odium on the Government, as who
should say that one who has done such great services to his country
cannot live quietly in it, by reason of the malice of his enemies.  I
have helped to patch up these people {464b} together once more.  God
knows how long it may last. I was to-day at a trial between Lord
Lansdowne and Lord Carteret, two friends of mine.  It was in the Queen’s
Bench, for about six thousand a year (or nine, I think).  I sat under
Lord Chief-Justice Parker, and his pen falling down I reached it up.  He
made me a low bow; and I was going to whisper him that _I had done good
for evil_; _for he would have taken mine from me_. {464c}  I told it Lord
Treasurer and Bolingbroke.  Parker would not have known me, if several
lords on the bench, and in the court, bowing, had not turned everybody’s
eyes, and set them a whispering.  I owe the dog a spite, and will pay him
in two months at furthest, if I can.  So much for that.  But you must
have chat, and I must say every sorry thing that comes into my head.
They say the Queen will stay a month longer at Windsor.  These devils of
Grub Street rogues, that write the _Flying Post_ and _Medley_ in one
paper, {464d} will not be quiet.  They are always mauling Lord Treasurer,
Lord Bolingbroke, and me.  We have the dog under prosecution, but
Bolingbroke is not active enough; but I hope to swinge him.  He is a
Scotch rogue, one Ridpath. {464e}  They get out upon bail, and write on.
We take them again, and get fresh bail; so it goes round.  They say some
learned Dutchman has wrote a book, proving by civil law that we do them
wrong by this peace; but I shall show by plain reason that we have
suffered the wrong, and not they.  I toil like a horse, and have hundreds
of letters still to read and squeeze a line out of each, or at least the
seeds of a line.  Strafford goes back to Holland in a day or two, and I
hope our peace is very near.  I have about thirty pages more to write
(that is, to be extracted), which will be sixty in print.  It is the most
troublesome part of all, and I cannot keep myself private, though I stole
into a room up two pair of stairs, when I came from Windsor; but my
present man has not yet learned his lesson of denying me discreetly.

30.  The Duchess of Ormond found me out to-day, and made me dine with
her.  Lady Masham is still expecting.  She has had a cruel cold.  I could
not finish my letter last post for the soul of me.  Lord Bolingbroke has
had my papers these six weeks, and done nothing to them.  Is Tisdall yet
in the world?  I propose writing controversies, to get a name with
posterity.  The Duke of Ormond will not be over these three or four days.
I desire to make him join with me in settling all right among our people.
I have ordered the Duchess to let me have an hour with the Duke at his
first coming, to give him a true state of persons and things.  I believe
the Duke of Shrewsbury will hardly be declared your Governor yet; at
least, I think so now; but resolutions alter very often.  The Duke of
Hamilton gave me a pound of snuff to-day, admirable good.  I wish DD had
it, and Ppt too, if she likes it.  It cost me a quarter of an hour of his
politics, which I was forced to hear.  Lady Orkney {466a} is making me a
writing-table of her own contrivance, and a bed nightgown.  She is
perfectly kind, like a mother.  I think the devil was in it the other
day, that I should talk to her of an ugly squinting cousin of hers, and
the poor lady herself, you know, squints like a dragon.  The other day we
had a long discourse with her about love; and she told us a saying of her
sister Fitz-Hardinge, {466b} which I thought excellent, that in men,
desire begets love, and in women, love begets desire.  We have abundance
of our old criers {466c} still hereabouts.  I hear every morning your
women with the old satin and taffeta, etc., the fellow with old coats,
suits or cloaks.  Our weather is abominable of late.  We have not two
tolerable days in twenty.  I have lost money again at ombre, with Lord
Orkney and others; yet, after all, this year I have lost but
three-and-twenty shillings; so that, considering card money, I am no
loser.

Our Society hath not yet renewed their meetings.  I hope we shall
continue to do some good this winter; and Lord Treasurer promises the
Academy for reforming our language shall soon go forward.  I must now go
hunt those dry letter for materials.  You will see something very
notable, I hope.  So much for that.  God Almighty bless you.



LETTER LV. {466d}


                                                  LONDON, _Nov._ 15, 1712.

BEFORE this comes to your hands, you will have heard of the most terrible
accident that hath almost ever happened.  This morning, at eight, my man
brought me word that the Duke of Hamilton had fought with Lord Mohun,
{467a} and killed him, and was brought home wounded. {467b}  I
immediately sent him to the Duke’s house, in St. James’s Square; but the
porter could hardly answer for tears, and a great rabble was about the
house.  In short, they fought at seven this morning.  The dog Mohun was
killed on the spot; and while {467c} the Duke was over him, Mohun,
shortening his sword, stabbed him in at the shoulder to the heart.  The
Duke was helped toward the cake-house by the Ring in Hyde Park (where
they fought), and died on the grass, before he could reach the house; and
was brought home in his coach by eight, while the poor Duchess {467d} was
asleep.  Maccartney, {467e} and one Hamilton, {467f} were the seconds,
who fought likewise, and are both fled.  I am told that a footman of Lord
Mohun’s stabbed the Duke of Hamilton; and some say Maccartney did so too.
Mohun gave the affront, and yet sent the challenge.  I am infinitely
concerned for the poor Duke, who was a frank, honest, good-natured man.
I loved him very well, and I think he loved me better.  He had {467g} the
greatest mind in the world to have me go with him to France, but durst
not tell it me; and those he did, said I could not be spared, which was
true.  They have removed the poor Duchess to a lodging in the
neighbourhood, where I have been with her two hours, and am just come
away.  I never saw so melancholy a scene; for indeed all reasons for real
grief belong to her; nor is it possible for anybody to be a greater loser
in all regards.  She has moved my very soul.  The lodging was
inconvenient, and they would have removed her to another; but I would not
suffer it, because it had no room backward, and she must have been
tortured with the noise of the Grub Street screamers mention[ing] her
husband’s murder to her ears.

I believe you have heard the story of my escape, in opening the bandbox
sent to Lord Treasurer. {468a}  The prints have told a thousand lies of
it; but at last we gave them a true account of it at length, printed in
the evening; {468b} only I would not suffer them to name me, having been
so often named before, and teased to death with questions.  I wonder how
I came to have so much presence of mind, which is usually not my talent;
but so it pleased God, and I saved myself and him; for there was a bullet
apiece.  A gentleman told me that if I had been killed, the Whigs would
have called it a judgment, because the barrels were of inkhorns, with
which I had done them so much mischief.  There was a pure Grub Street of
it, full of lies and inconsistencies. {468c}  I do not like these things
at all, and I wish myself more and more among my willows. {468d}  There
is a devilish spirit among people, and the Ministry must exert
themselves, or sink.  Nite dee sollahs, I’ll go seep. {469a}

16.  I thought to have finished this yesterday; but was too much
disturbed.  I sent a letter early this morning to Lady Masham, to beg her
to write some comforting words to the poor Duchess.  I dined to-[day]
with Lady Masham at Kensington, where she is expecting these two months
to lie in.  She has promised me to get the Queen to write to the Duchess
kindly on this occasion; and to-morrow I will beg Lord Treasurer to visit
and comfort her.  I have been with her two hours again, and find her
worse: her violences not so frequent, but her melancholy more formal and
settled.  She has abundance of wit and spirit; about thirty-three years
old; handsome and airy, and seldom spared anybody that gave her the least
provocation; by which she had many enemies and few friends.  Lady Orkney,
her sister-in-law, is come to town on this occasion, and has been to see
her, and behaved herself with great humanity.  They have been always very
ill together, and the poor Duchess could not have patience when people
told her I went often to Lady Orkney’s.  But I am resolved to make them
friends; for the Duchess is now no more the object of envy, and must
learn humility from the severest master, Affliction.  I design to make
the Ministry put out a proclamation (if it can be found proper) against
that villain Maccartney.  What shall we do with these murderers?  I
cannot end this letter to-night, and there is no occasion; for I cannot
send it till Tuesday, and the crowner’s inquest on the Duke’s body is to
be to-morrow, and I shall know more.  But what care oo for all this?
Iss, poo MD im sorry for poo Pdfr’s {469b} friends; and this is a very
surprising event.  ’Tis late, and I’ll go to bed.  This looks like
journals.  Nite.

17.  I was to-day at noon with the Duchess of Hamilton again, after I had
been with Lady Orkney, and charged her to be kind to her sister in her
affliction.  The Duchess told me Lady Orkney had been with her, and that
she did not treat her as gently as she ought.  They hate one another, but
I will try to patch it up.  I have been drawing up a paragraph for the
_Postboy_, to be out to-morrow, and as malicious as possible, and very
proper for Abel Roper, {470a} the printer of it.  I dined at Lord
Treasurer’s at six in the evening, which is his usual hour of returning
from Windsor: he promises to visit the Duchess to-morrow, and says he has
a message to her from the Queen.  Thank God.  I have stayed till past one
with him.  So nite deelest MD. {470b}

18.  The Committee of Council is to sit this afternoon upon the affair of
the Duke of Hamilton’s murder, and I hope a proclamation will be out
against Maccartney.  I was just now (’tis now noon) with the Duchess, to
let her know Lord Treasurer will see her.  She is mightily out of order.
The jury have not yet brought in their verdict upon the crowner’s
inquest. We suspect Maccartney stabbed the Duke while he was fighting.
The Queen and Lord Treasurer are in great concern at this event.  I dine
to-day again with Lord Treasurer; but must send this to the post-office
before, because else I shall not have time; he usually keeping me so
late.  Ben Tooke bid me write to DD to send her certificate, for it is
high time it should be sent, he says.  Pray make Parvisol write to me,
and send me a general account of my affairs; and let him know I shall be
over in spring, and that by all means he sells the horses.  Prior has
kissed the Queen’s hand, and will return to France in a few days, and
Lord Strafford to Holland; and now the King of Spain has renounced his
pretensions to France, the peace must follow very soon unavoidably.  You
must no more call Philip, Duke of Anjou, for we now acknowledge him King
of Spain.  Dr. Pratt tells me you are all mad in Ireland with your
playhouse frolics and prologues, and I know not what.  The Bishop of
Clogher and family are well: they have heard from you, or you from them,
lately, I have forgot which: I dined there t’other day, but the Bishop
came not till after dinner; and our meat and drink was very so so.  Mr.
Vedeau {471a} was with me yesterday, and inquired after you.  He was a
lieutenant, and is now broke, and upon half-pay.  He asked me nothing for
himself; but wanted an employment for a friend, who would give a handsome
pair of gloves.  One Hales sent me up a letter t’other day, which said
you lodged in his house, and therefore desired I would get him a civil
employment.  I would not be within, and have directed my man to give him
an answer, that I never open letters brought me by the writers, etc.  I
was complaining to a lady that I wanted to mend an employment from forty
to sixty pounds a year, in the Salt Office, and thought it hard I could
not do it.  She told me one Mr. Griffin {471b} should do it.  And
afterward I met Griffin at her lodgings; and he was, as I found, one I
had been acquainted with.  I named Filby {471c} to him, and his abode
somewhere near Nantwich.  He said frankly he had formerly examined the
man, and found he understood very little of his business; but if he heard
he mended, he would do what I desired.  I will let it rest a while, and
then resume it; and if Ppt writes to Filby, she may advise him to
diligence, etc.  I told Griffin positively I would have it done, if the
man mended.  This is an account of poo Ppt’s commission to her most
humble servant Pdfr.  I have a world of writing to finish, and little
time; these toads of Ministers are so slow in their helps.  This makes me
sometimes steal a week from the exactness I used to write to MD.
Farewell, dee logues, deelest MD MD MD, . . . FW FW FW ME ME ME Lele.

Smoke the folding of my letters of late. {471d}



LETTER LVI. {472a}


                                                  LONDON, _Dec._ 12, 1712.

HERE is now a stlange ting; a rettle flom MD unanswered: never was
before.  I am slower, and MD is faster: but the last was owing to DD’s
certificate.  Why could it not be sent before, pay now?  Is it so hard
for DD to prove she is alive?  I protest solemnly I am not able to write
to MD for other business, but I will resume my journal method next time.
I find it is easier, though it contains nothing but where I dine, and the
occurrences of the day.  I will write now but once in three weeks till
this business is off my hands, which must be in six, I think, at
farthest. O Ppt, I remember your reprimanding me for meddling in other
people’s affairs: I have enough of it now, with a wanion. {472b}  Two
women have been here six times apiece; I never saw them yet.  The first I
have despatched with a letter; the other I must see, and tell her I can
do nothing for her: she is wife of one Connor, {472c} an old college
acquaintance, and comes on a foolish errand, for some old pretensions,
that will succeed when I am Lord Treasurer.  I am got [up] two pair of
stairs, in a private lodging, and have ordered all my friends not to
discover where I am; yet every morning two or three sots are plaguing me,
and my present servant has not yet his lesson perfect of denying me.  I
have written a hundred and thirty pages in folio, to be printed, and must
write thirty more, which will make a large book of four shillings. {472d}
I wish I knew an opportunity of sending you some snuff.  I will watch who
goes to Ireland, and do it if possible.  I had a letter from Parvisol,
and find he has set my livings very low.  Colonel Hamilton, who was
second to the Duke of Hamilton, is tried to-day.  I suppose he is come
off, but have not heard. {473a}  I dined with Lord Treasurer, but left
him by nine, and visited some people.  Lady Betty, {473b} his {473c}
daughter, will be married on Monday next (as I suppose) to the Marquis of
Caermarthen.  I did not know your country place had been Portraine, till
you told me so in your last.  Has Swanton taken it of Wallis?  That
Wallis was a grave, wise coxcomb.  God be thanked that Ppt im better of
her disoddles. {473d}  Pray God keep her so.  The pamphlet of _Political
Lying_ is written by Dr. Arbuthnot, the author of _John Bull_; ’tis very
pretty, but not so obvious to be understood.  Higgins, {473e} first
chaplain to the Duke of Hamilton?  Why, the Duke of Hamilton never dreamt
of a chaplain, nor I believe ever heard of Higgins.  You are glorious
newsmongers in Ireland—Dean Francis, {473f} Sir R. Levinge, {473g} stuff
stuff: and Pratt, more stuff.  We have lost our fine frost here; and Abel
Roper tells as you have had floods in Dublin; ho, brave {473h} you!  Oh
ho! Swanton seized Portraine, now I understand oo.  Ay, ay, now I see
Portraune at the top of your letter.  I never minded it before.  Now to
your second, N. 36.  So, you read one of the Grub Streets about the
bandbox. {473i}  The Whig papers have abused me about the bandbox.  God
help me, what could I do?  I fairly ventured my life.  There is a
particular account of it in the _Postboy_, and Evening Post of that day.
Lord Treasurer has had the seal sent him that sealed the box, and
directions where to find the other pistol in a tree in St. James’s Park,
which Lord Bolingbroke’s messenger found accordingly; but who sent the
present is not yet known.  The Duke of Hamilton avoided the quarrel as
much as possible, according to the foppish rules of honour in practice.
What signified your writing angry to Filby?  I hope you said nothing of
hearing anything from me.  Heigh! do oo write by sandlelight! nauti,
nauti, nauti dallar, a hundred times, fol doing so.  O, fais, DD, I’ll
take care of myself!  The Queen is in town, and Lady Masham’s month of
lying-in is within two days of being out.  I was at the christening on
Monday.  I could not get the child named Robin, after Lord Treasurer; it
is Samuel, after the father.  My brother Ormond sent me some chocolate
to-day.  I wish you had share of it: but they say ’tis good for me, and I
design to drink some in a morning.  Our Society meets next Thursday, now
the Queen is in town; and Lord Treasurer assures me that the Society for
reforming the language shall soon be established.  I have given away ten
shillings to-day to servants; ’tan’t be help if one should cry one’s eyes
out. {474}  Hot a stir is here about your company and visits!  Charming
company, no doubt; now I keep no company at all, nor have I any desire to
keep any.  I never go to a coffee-house nor a tavern, nor have touched a
card since I left Windsor.  I make few visits, nor go to levees; my only
debauching is sitting late where I dine, if I like the company.  I have
almost dropped the Duchesses of Shrewsbury and Hamilton, and several
others.  Lord Treasurer, the Duke of Ormond, and Lady Orkney are all that
I see very often.  Oh yes, and Lady Masham and Lord Bolingbroke, and one
or two private friends.  I make no figure but at Court, where I affect to
turn from a lord to the meanest of my acquaintance, and I love to go
there on Sundays to see the world.  But, to say the truth, I am growing
weary of it.  I dislike a million of things in the course of public
affairs; and if I were to stay here much longer, I am sure I should ruin
myself with endeavouring to mend them.  I am every day invited into
schemes of doing this, but I cannot find any that will probably succeed.
It is impossible to save people against their own will; and I have been
too much engaged in patchwork already.  Do you understand all this stuff?
No.  Well zen, you are now returned to ombre and the Dean, and Christmas;
I wish oo a very merry one; and pray don’t lose oo money, nor play upon
Watt Welch’s game.  Nite, sollahs, ’tis rate I’ll go to seep; I don’t
seep well, and therefore never dare to drink coffee or tea after dinner:
but I am very seepy in a molning.  This is the effect of time and years.
Nite deelest MD.

18.  Morn.  I am so very seepy in the morning that my man wakens me above
ten times; and now I can tell oo no news of this day.  (Here is a
restless dog, crying cabbages and savoys, plagues me every morning about
this time; he is now at it.  I wish his largest cabbage were sticking in
his throat.)  I lodge over against the house in Little Rider Street,
where DD lodged.  Don’t oo lememble, maram?  To-night I must see the Abbé
Gaultier, {475a} to get some particulars for my History.  It was he who
was first employed by France in the overtures of peace, and I have not
had time this month to see him; he is but a puppy too.  Lady Orkney has
just sent to invite me to dinner; she has not given me the bed-nightgown;
{475b} besides, I am come very much off from writing in bed, though I am
doing it this minute; but I stay till my fire is burnt up.  My grate is
very large; two bushels of coals in a week: but I save it in lodgings.
Lord Abercorn is come to London, and will plague me, and I can do him no
service.  The Duke of Shrewsbury goes in a day or two for France, perhaps
to-day.  We shall have a peace very soon; the Dutch are almost entirely
agreed, and if they stop we shall make it without them; that has been
long resolved.  One Squire Jones, {475c} a scoundrel in my parish, has
writ to me to desire I would engage Joe Beaumont to give him his interest
for Parliament-man for Trim: pray tell Joe this; and if he designed to
vote for him already, then he may tell Jones that I received his letter,
and that I writ to Joe to do it.  If Joe be engaged for any other, then
he may do what he will: and Parvisol may say he spoke to Joe, but Joe’s
engaged, etc.  I received three pair of fine thread stockings from Joe
lately.  Pray thank him when you see him, and that I say they are very
fine and good.  (I never looked at them yet, but that’s no matter.)  This
is a fine day.  I am ruined with coaches and chairs this twelvepenny
weather.  I must see my brother Ormond at eleven, and then the Duchess of
Hamilton, with whom I doubt I am in disgrace, not having seen her these
ten days.  I send this to-day, and must finish it now; and perhaps some
people may come and hinder me; for it im ten o’clock (but not
shaving-day), and I must be abroad at eleven.  Abbé Gaultier sends me
word I can’t see him to-night; pots cake him!  I don’t value anything but
one letter he has of Petecum’s, {476a} showing the roguery of the Dutch.
Did not the _Conduct of the Allies_ make you great politicians?  Fais, I
believe you are not quite so ignorant as I thought you.  I am glad to
hear oo walked so much in the country.  Does DD ever read to you, ung
ooman?  O, fais! I shall find strange doings hen I tum ole! {476b}  Here
is somebody coming that I must see that wants a little place; the son of
cousin Rooke’s eldest daughter, that died many years ago.  He’s here.
Farewell, deelest MD MD MD ME ME ME FW FW FW, Lele.



LETTER LVII. {476c}


                                                  LONDON, _Dec._ 18, 1712.

OUR Society was to meet to-day; but Lord Harley, who was President this
week, could not attend, being gone to Wimbledon with his new
brother-in-law, the young Marquis of Caermarthen, who married Lady Betty
Harley on Monday last; and Lord Treasurer is at Wimbledon too.  However,
half a dozen of us met, and I propose our meetings should be once a
fortnight; for, between you and me, we do no good.  It cost me nineteen
shillings to-day for my Club at dinner; I don’t like it, fais.  We have
terrible snowy slobbery weather.  Lord Abercorn is come to town, and will
see me, whether I will or no.  You know he has a pretence to a dukedom in
France, which the Duke of Hamilton was soliciting for; but Abercorn
resolves to spoil their title, if they will not allow him a fourth part;
and I have advised the Duchess to compound with him, and have made the
Ministry of my opinion.  Night, dee sollahs, MD, MD.

19.  Ay mally zis is sumsing rike, {477a} for Pdfr to write journals
again!  ’Tis as natural as mother’s milk, now I am got into it.  Lord
Treasurer is returned from Wimbledon (’tis not above eight miles off),
and sent for me to dine with him at five; but I had the grace to be
abroad, and dined with some others, with honest Ben Tooke, by invitation.
The Duchess of Ormond promised me her picture, and coming home to-night,
I found hers and the Duke’s both in my chamber.  Was not that a pretty
civil surprise?  Yes, and they are in fine gilded frames, too.  I am
writing a letter to thank her, which I will send to-morrow morning.  I’ll
tell her she is such a prude that she will not let so much as her picture
be alone in a room with _a man_, unless the Duke’s be with it; and so
forth. {477b}  We are full of snow, and dabbling.  Lady Masham has come
abroad these three days, and seen the Queen.  I dined with her t’other
day at her sister Hill’s.  I hope she will remove in a few days to her
new lodgings at St. James’s from Kensington.  Nite, dee logues MD.

20.  I lodge [up] two pair of stairs, have but one room, and deny myself
to everybody almost, yet I cannot be quiet; and all my mornings are lost
with people, who will not take answers below stairs; such as Dilly, and
the Bishop, and Provost, etc.  Lady Orkney invited me to dinner to-day,
which hindered me from dining with Lord Treasurer.  This is his day that
his chief friends in the Ministry dine with him.  However, I went there
about six, and sat with them till past nine, when they all went off; but
he kept me back, and told me the circumstances of Lady Betty’s match.
The young fellow has £60,000 ready money, three great houses furnished,
£7,000 a year at present, and about five more after his father and mother
die.  I think Lady Betty’s portion is not above £8,000.  I remember
either Tisdall writ to me in somebody’s letter, or you did it for him,
that I should mention him on occasion to Lord Anglesea, with whom, he
said, he had some little acquaintance.  Lord Anglesea was with me
to-night at Lord Treasurer’s; and then I asked him about Tisdall, and
described him.  He said he never saw him, but that he had sent him his
book. {478a}  See what it is to be a puppy.  Pray tell Mr. Walls that
Lord Anglesea thanked me for recommending Clements {478b} to him; that he
says he is £20,000 the better for knowing Clements.  But pray don’t let
Clements go and write a letter of thanks, and tell my lord that he hears
so and so, etc.  Why, ’tis but like an Irish understanding to do so.  Sad
weather; two shillings in coaches to-day, and yet I am dirty.  I am now
going to read over something and correct it.  So, nite.

21.  Puppies have got a new way of plaguing me.  I find letters directed
for me at Lord Treasurer’s, sometimes with enclosed ones to him, and
sometimes with projects, and some times with libels.  I usually keep them
three or four days without opening.  I was at Court to-day, as I always
am on Sundays, instead of a coffee-house, to see my acquaintance.  This
day se’nnight, after I had been talking at Court with Sir William
Wyndham, the Spanish Ambassador {478c} came to him and said he heard that
was Dr. Swift, and desired him to tell me that his master, and the King
of France, and the Queen, were more obliged to me than any man in Europe;
so we bowed, and shook hands, etc.  I took it very well of him.  I dined
with Lord Treasurer, and must again to-morrow, though I had rather not
(as DD says); but now the Queen is in town, he does not keep me so late.
I have not had time to see Fanny Manley since she came, but intend it one
of these days.  Her uncle, Jack Manley, {479a} I hear, cannot live a
month, which will be a great loss to her father in Ireland, for I believe
he is one of his chief supports.  Our peace now will soon be determined;
for Lord Bolingbroke tells me this morning that four provinces of Holland
{479b} have complied with the Queen, and we expect the rest will do so
immediately.  Nite MD.

22.  Lord Keeper promised me yesterday the first convenient living to
poor Mr. Gery, {479c} who is married, and wants some addition to what he
has.  He is a very worthy creature.  I had a letter some weeks ago from
Elwick, {479d} who married Betty Gery.  It seems the poor woman died some
time last summer.  Elwick grows rich, and purchases lands.  I dined with
Lord Treasurer to-day, who has engaged me to come again to-morrow.  I
gave Lord Bolingbroke a poem of Parnell’s. {479e}  I made Parnell insert
some compliments in it to his lordship.  He is extremely pleased with it,
and read some parts of it to-day to Lord Treasurer, who liked it as much.
And indeed he outdoes all our poets here a bar’s length.  Lord
Bolingbroke has ordered me to bring him to dinner on Christmas Day, and I
made Lord Treasurer promise to see him; and it may one day do Parnell a
kindness.  You know Parnell.  I believe I have told you of that poem.
Nite, deel MD.

23.  This morning I presented one Diaper, {479f} a poet, to Lord
Bolingbroke, with a new poem, which is a very good one; and I am to give
him a sum of money from my lord; and I have contrived to make a parson of
him, for he is half one already, being in deacon’s orders, and serves a
small cure in the country; but has a sword at his a— here in town.  ’Tis
a poor little short wretch, but will do best in a gown, and we will make
Lord Keeper give him a living.  Lord Bolingbroke writ to Lord Treasurer
to excuse me to-day; so I dined with the former, and Monteleon, the
Spanish Ambassador, who made me many compliments.  I stayed till nine,
and now it is past ten, and my man has locked me up, and I have just
called to mind that I shall be in disgrace with Tom Leigh. {480a}  That
coxcomb had got into acquaintance with one Eckershall, {480b} Clerk of
the Kitchen to the Queen, who was civil to him at Windsor on my account;
for I had done some service to Eckershall.  Leigh teases me to pass an
evening at his lodgings with Eckershall.  I put it off several times, but
was forced at last to promise I would come to-night; and it never was in
my head till I was locked up, and I have called and called, but my man is
gone to bed; so I will write an excuse to-morrow.  I detest that Tom
Leigh, and am as formal to him as I can when I happen to meet him in the
Park.  The rogue frets me, if he knew it.  He asked me why I did not wait
on the Bishop of Dromore. {480c}  I answered I had not the honour to be
acquainted with him, and would not presume, etc.  He takes me seriously,
and says the Bishop is no proud man, etc.  He tells me of a judge in
Ireland that has done ill things.  I ask why he is not out?  Says he, “I
think the bishops, and you, and I, and the rest of the clergy, should
meet and consult about it.”  I beg his pardon, and say, “I cannot be
serviceable that way.”  He answers, “Yes, everybody may help
something.”—Don’t you see how curiously he contrives to vex me; for the
dog knows that with half a word I could do more than all of them
together.  But he only does it from the pride and envy of his own heart,
and not out of a humorous design of teasing.  He is one of those that
would rather a service should not be done, than done by a private man,
and of his own country.  You take all this, don’t you?  Nite dee sollahs,
I’ll go seep a dozey.

24.  I dined to-day with the Chancellor of the Exchequer, in order to
look over some of my papers; but nothing was done.  I have been also
mediating between the Hamilton family and Lord Abercorn, to have them
compound with him; and I believe they will do it.  Lord Selkirk, {480d}
the late Duke’s brother, is to be in town, in order to go to France, to
make the demands; and the Ministry are of opinion they will get some
satisfaction, and they empowered me to advise the Hamilton side to agree
with Abercorn, who asks a fourth part, and will go to France and spoil
all if they won’t yield it.  Nite sollahs.

25.  All melly Titmasses—melly Titmasses—I said it first—I wish it a
souzand [times] zoth with halt {481a} and soul. {481b}  I carried Parnell
to dine at Lord Bolingbroke’s, and he behaved himself very well; and Lord
Bolingbroke is mightily pleased with him.  I was at St. James’s Chapel by
eight this morning; and church and sacrament were done by ten.  The Queen
has the gout in her hand, and did not come to church to-day; and I stayed
so long in my chamber that I missed going to Court.  Did I tell you that
the Queen designs to have a Drawing-room and company every day?  Nite dee
logues.

26.  I was to wish the Duke of Ormond a happy Christmas, and give half a
crown to his porter.  It will cost me a dozen half-crowns among such
fellows.  I dined with Lord Treasurer, who chid me for being absent three
days.  Mighty kind, with a p—; less of civility, and more of his
interest!  We hear Maccartney is gone over to Ireland.  Was it not
comical for a gentleman to be set upon by highwaymen, and to tell them he
was Maccartney?  Upon which they brought him to a justice of peace, in
hopes of the reward, {481c} and the rogues were sent to gaol.  Was it not
great presence of mind?  But maybe you heard this already; for there was
a Grub Street of it.  Lord Bolingbroke told me I must walk away to-day
when dinner was done, because Lord Treasurer, and he, and another, were
to enter upon business; but I said it was as fit I should know their
business as anybody, for I was to justify [it]. {482}  So the rest went,
and I stayed, and it was so important, I was like to sleep over it.  I
left them at nine, and it is now twelve.  Nite, MD.

27.  I dined to-day with General Hill, Governor of Dunkirk.  Lady Masham
and Mrs. Hill, his two sisters, were of the company, and there have I
been sitting this evening till eleven, looking over others at play; for I
have left off loving play myself; and I think Ppt is now a great
gamester.  I have a great cold on me, not quite at its height.  I have
them seldom, and therefore ought to be patient.  I met Mr. Addison and
Pastoral Philips on the Mall to-day, and took a turn with them; but they
both looked terrible dry and cold.  A curse of party!  And do you know I
have taken more pains to recommend the Whig wits to the favour and mercy
of the Ministers than any other people.  Steele I have kept in his place.
Congreve I have got to be used kindly, and secured.  Rowe I have
recommended, and got a promise of a place.  Philips I could certainly
have provided for, if he had not run party mad, and made me withdraw my
recommendation; and I set Addison so right at first that he might have
been employed, and have partly secured him the place he has; yet I am
worse used by that faction than any man.  Well, go to cards, sollah Ppt,
and dress the wine and olange, sollah MD, and I’ll go seep.  ’Tis rate.
Nite MD.

28.  My cold is so bad that I could not go to church to-day, nor to
Court; but I was engaged to Lord Orkney’s with the Duke of Ormond, at
dinner; and ventured, because I could cough and spit there as I pleased.
The Duke and Lord Arran left us, and I have been sitting ever since with
Lord and Lady Orkney till past eleven: and my cold is worse, and makes me
giddy.  I hope it is only my cold.  Oh, says Ppt, everybody is giddy with
a cold; I hope it is no more; but I’ll go to bed, for the fellow has
bawled “Past twelve.”  Night, deels.

29.  I got out early to-day, and escaped all my duns.  I went to see Lord
Bolingbroke about some business, and truly he was gone out too.  I dined
in the City upon the broiled leg of a goose and a bit of brawn, with my
printer.  Did I tell you that I forbear printing what I have in hand,
till the Court decides something about me?  I will contract no more
enemies, at least I will not embitter worse those I have already, till I
have got under shelter; and the Ministers know my resolution, so that you
may be disappointed in seeing this thing as soon as you expected.  I hear
Lord Treasurer is out of order.  My cold is very bad.  Every[body] has
one.  Nite two dee logues.

30.  I suppose this will be full by Saturday; zen {483a} it sall go.
Duke of Ormond, Lord Arran, and I, dined privately to-day at an old
servant’s house of his.  The Council made us part at six.  One Mrs.
Ramsay dined with us; an old lady of about fifty-five, that we are all
very fond of.  I called this evening at Lord Treasurer’s, and sat with
him two hours.  He has been cupped for a cold, and has been very ill.  He
cannot dine with Parnell and me at Lord Bolingbroke’s to-morrow, but says
he will see Parnell some other time.  I hoise {483b} up Parnell partly to
spite the envious Irish folks here, particularly Tom Leigh.  I saw the
Bishop of Clogher’s family to-day; Miss is mighty ill of a cold, coughs
incessantly. {483c}  Nite MD.

31.  To-day Parnell and I dined with Lord Bolingbroke, to correct
Parnell’s poem.  I made him show all the places he disliked; and when
Parnell has corrected it fully he shall print it.  I went this evening to
sit with Lord Treasurer.  He is better, and will be out in a day or two.
I sat with him while the young folks went to supper; and then went down,
and there were the young folks merry together, having turned Lady Oxford
up to my lord, and I stayed with them till twelve.  There was the young
couple, Lord and Lady Caermarthen, and Lord and Lady Dupplin, and Lord
Harley and I; and the old folks were together above.  It looked like what
I have formerly done so often; stealing together from the old folks,
though indeed it was not from poor Lord Treasurer, who is as young a
fellow as any of us: but Lady Oxford is a silly mere old woman. {484a}
My cold is still so bad that I have not the least smelling.  I am just
got home, and ’tis past twelve; and I’ll go to bed, and settle my head,
heavy as lead.  Nite MD.

Jan. 1, 1712–13.  A sousand melly new eels {484b} to deelest richar MD.
Pray God Almighty bless you, and send you ever happy!  I forgot to tell
you that yesterday Lord Abercorn was here, teasing me about his French
duchy, and suspecting my partiality to the Hamilton family in such a
whimsical manner that Dr. Pratt, who was by, thought he was mad.  He was
no sooner gone but Lord Orkney sent to know whether he might come and sit
with me half an hour upon some business.  I returned answer that I would
wait on him; which I did.  We discoursed a while, and he left me with
Lady Orkney; and in came the Earl of Selkirk, whom I had never seen
before.  He is another brother of the Duke of Hamilton, and is going to
France, by a power from his mother, the old Duchess, {484c} to negotiate
their pretensions to the duchy of Chatelherault.  He teased me for two
hours in spite of my teeth, and held my hand when I offered to stir;
would have had me engage the Ministry to favour him against Lord
Abercorn, and to convince them that Lord Abercorn had no pretensions; and
desired I would also convince Lord Abercorn himself so; and concluded he
was sorry I was a greater friend to Abercorn than Hamilton.  I had no
patience, and used him with some plainness.  Am not I purely handled
between a couple of puppies?  Ay, says Ppt, you must be meddling in other
folks’ affairs.  I appeal to the Bishop of Clogher whether Abercorn did
not complain that I would not let him see me last year, and that he swore
he would take no denial from my servant when he came again.  The
Ministers gave me leave to tell the Hamilton family it was their opinion
that they ought to agree with Abercorn.  Lord Anglesea was then by, and
told Abercorn; upon which he gravely tells me I was commissioned by the
Ministers, and ought to perform my commission, etc.—But I’ll have done
with them.  I have warned Lord Treasurer and Lord Bolingbroke to beware
of Selkirk’s teasing, —x on him!  Yet Abercorn vexes me more.  The whelp
owes to me all the kind receptions he has had from the Ministry.  I dined
to-day at Lord Treasurer’s with the young folks, and sat with Lord
Treasurer till nine, and then was forced to Lady Masham’s, and sat there
till twelve, talking of affairs, till I am out of humour, as everyone
must that knows them inwardly.  A thousand things wrong, most of them
easy to mend; yet our schemes availing at best but little, and sometimes
nothing at all.  One evil, which I twice patched up with the hazard of
all the credit I had, is now spread more than ever. {485a}  But burn
politics, and send me from Courts and Ministers!  Nite deelest richar MD.

2.  I sauntered about this morning, and went with Dr. Pratt to a picture
auction, where I had like to be drawn in to buy a picture that I was fond
of, but, it seems, was good for nothing.  Pratt was there to buy some
pictures for the Bishop of Clogher, who resolves to lay out ten pounds to
furnish his house with curious pieces.  We dined with the Bishop, I being
by chance disengaged.  And this evening I sat with the Bishop of Ossory,
{485b} who is laid up with the gout.  The French Ambassador, Duke
d’Aumont, {485c} came to town to-night; and the rabble conducted him home
with shouts.  I cannot smell yet, though my cold begins to break.  It
continues cruel hard frosty weather.  Go and be melly, . . . sollahs.
{486a}

3.  Lord Dupplin and I went with Lord and Lady Orkney this morning at ten
to Wimbledon, six miles off, to see Lord and Lady Caermarthen.  It is
much the finest place about this town.  Did oo never see it?  I was once
there before, about five years ago.  You know Lady Caermarthen is Lord
Treasurer’s daughter, married about three weeks ago.  I hope the young
fellow will be a good husband.—I must send this away now.  I came back
just by nightfall, cruel cold weather; I have no smell yet, but my cold
something better.  Nite (?) sollahs; I’ll take my reeve.  I forget how
MD’s accounts are.  Pray let me know always timely before MD wants; and
pray give the bill on t’other side to Mrs. Brent as usual.  I believe I
have not paid her this great while.  Go, play cards, and . . . rove Pdfr.
Nite richar MD . . . roves Pdfr.  FW lele . . . MD MD MD MD MD FW FW FW
FW MD MD Lele . . . {486b}

The six odd shillings, tell Mrs. Brent, are for her new year’s gift.

                                * * * * *

I {486c} am just now told that poor dear Lady Ashburnham, {486d} the Duke
of Ormond’s daughter, died yesterday at her country house.  The poor
creature was with child.  She was my greatest favourite, and I am in
excessive concern for her loss.  I hardly knew a more valuable person on
all accounts.  You must have heard me talk of her.  I am afraid to see
the Duke and Duchess.  She was naturally very healthy; I am afraid she
has been thrown away for want of care.  Pray condole with me.  ’Tis
extremely moving.  Her lord’s a puppy; and I shall never think it worth
my while to be troubled with him, now he has lost all that was valuable
in his possession; yet I think he used her pretty well.  I hate life when
I think it exposed to such accidents; and to see so many thousand
wretches burdening the earth, while such as her die, makes me think God
did never intend life for a blessing.  Farewell.



LETTER LVIII. {487a}


                                                LONDON, _Jan._ 4, 1712–13.

I ENDED my last with the melancholy news of poor Lady Ashburnham’s death.
The Bishop of Clogher and Dr. Pratt made me dine with them to-day at Lord
Mountjoy’s, pursuant to an engagement, which I had forgot.  Lady Mountjoy
told me that Maccartney was got safe out of our clutches, for she had
spoke with one who had a letter from him from Holland.  Others say the
same thing.  ’Tis hard such a dog should escape.—As I left Lord
Mountjoy’s I saw the Duke d’Aumont, the French Ambassador, going from
Lord Bolingbroke’s, where he dined, to have a private audience of the
Queen.  I followed, and went up to Court, where there was a great crowd.
I was talking with the Duke of Argyle by the fireside in the bed-chamber,
when the Ambassador came out from the Queen.  Argyle presented me to him,
and Lord Bolingbroke and we talked together a while.  He is a fine
gentleman, something like the Duke of Ormond, and just such an expensive
man.  After church to-day I showed the Bishop of Clogher, at Court, who
was who.  Nite my two dee logues, and . . . {487b}

5.  Our frost is broke, but it is bloody cold.  Lord Treasurer is
recovered, and went out this evening to the Queen.  I dined with Lady
Oxford, and then sat with Lord Treasurer while he went out.  He gave me a
letter from an unknown hand, relating to Dr. Brown, {488a} Bishop of
Cork, recommending him to a better bishopric, as a person who opposed
Lord Wharton, and was made a bishop on that account, celebrating him for
a great politician, etc.: in short, all directly contrary to his
character, which I made bold to explain.  What dogs there are in the
world!  I was to see the poor Duke and Duchess of Ormond this morning.
The Duke was in his public room, with Mr. Southwell {488b} and two more
gentlemen.  When Southwell and I were alone with him, he talked something
of Lord Ashburnham, that he was afraid the Whigs would get him again.  He
bore up as well as he could, but something falling accidentally in
discourse, the tears were just falling out of his eyes, and I looked off
to give him an opportunity (which he took) of wiping them with his
handkerchief.  I never saw anything so moving, nor such a mixture of
greatness of mind, and tenderness, and discretion.  Nite MD.

6.  Lord Bolingbroke and Parnell and I dined, by invitation, with my
friend Darteneuf, {488c} whom you have heard me talk of.  Lord
Bolingbroke likes Parnell mightily; and it is pleasant to see that one
who hardly passed for anything in Ireland makes his way here with a
little friendly forwarding.  It is scurvy rainy weather, and I have
hardly been abroad to-day, nor know anything that passes.—Lord Treasurer
is quite recovered, and I hope will be careful to keep himself well.  The
Duchess of Marlborough is leaving England to go to her Duke, and makes
presents of rings to several friends, they say worth two hundred pounds
apiece.  I am sure she ought to give me one, though the Duke pretended to
think me his greatest enemy, and got people to tell me so, and very
mildly to let me know how gladly he would have me softened toward him.  I
bid a lady of his acquaintance and mine let him know that I had hindered
many a bitter thing against him; not for his own sake, but because I
thought it looked base; and I desired everything should be left him,
except power.  Nite MD.

7.  I dined with Lord and Lady Masham to-day, and this evening played at
ombre with Mrs. Vanhom, merely for amusement.  The Ministers have got my
papers, and will neither read them nor give them to me; and I can hardly
do anything.  Very warm slabby weather, but I made a shift to get a walk;
yet I lost half of it, by shaking off Lord Rochester, {489a} who is a
good, civil, simple man.  The Bishop of Ossory will not be Bishop of
Hereford, {489b} to the great grief of himself and his wife.  And hat is
MD doing now, I wonder?  Playing at cards with the Dean and Mrs. Walls?
I think it is not certain yet that Maccartney is escaped.  I am plagued
with bad authors, verse and prose, who send me their books and poems, the
vilest trash I ever saw; but I have given their names to my man, never to
let them see me.  I have got new ink, and ’tis very white; and I don’t
see that it turns black at all.  I’ll go to seep; ’tis past twelve.—Nite,
MD.

8.  Oo must understand that I am in my geers, and have got a
chocolate-pot, a present from Mrs. Ashe of Clogher, and some chocolate
from my brother Ormond, and I treat folks sometimes.  I dined with Lord
Treasurer at five o’clock to-day, and was by while he and Lord
Bolingbroke were at business; for it is fit I should know all that passes
now, because, etc.  The Duke of Ormond employed me to speak to Lord
Treasurer to-day about an affair, and I did so; and the Duke had spoke
himself two hours before, which vexed me, and I will chide the Duke about
it.  I’ll tell you a good thing; there is not one of the Ministry but
what will employ me as gravely to speak for them to Lord Treasurer as if
I were their brother or his; and I do it as gravely: though I know they
do it only because they will not make themselves uneasy, or had rather I
should be denied than they.  I believe our peace will not be finished
these two months; for I think we must have a return from Spain by a
messenger, who will not go till Sunday next.  Lord Treasurer has invited
me to dine with him again to-morrow.  Your Commissioner, Keatley, {490a}
is to be there.  Nite dee richar MD. {490b}

9.  Dr. Pratt drank chocolate with me this morning, and then we walked.
I was yesterday with him to see Lady Betty Butler, grieving for her
sister Ashburnham.  The jade was in bed in form, and she did so cant, she
made me sick.  I meet Tom Leigh every day in the Park, to preserve his
health.  He is as ruddy as a rose, and tells me his Bishop of Dromore
{490c} recovers very much.  That Bishop has been very near dying.  This
day’s _Examiner_ talks of the play of “What is it like?” {490d} and you
will think it to be mine, and be bit; for I have no hand in these papers
at all.  I dined with Lord Treasurer, and shall again to-morrow, which is
his day when all the Ministers dine with him.  He calls it whipping-day.
It is always on Saturday, and we do indeed usually rally him about his
faults on that day.  I was of the original Club, when only poor Lord
Rivers, Lord Keeper, and Lord Bolingbroke came; but now Ormond, Anglesea,
Lord Steward, {490e} Dartmouth, and other rabble intrude, and I scold at
it; but now they pretend as good a title as I; and, indeed, many
Saturdays I am not there.  The company being too many, I don’t love it.
Nite MD.

10.  At seven this evening, as we sat after dinner at Lord Treasurer’s, a
servant said Lord Peterborow was at the door.  Lord Treasurer and Lord
Bolingbroke went out to meet him, and brought him in.  He was just
returned from abroad, where he has been above a year.  Soon as he saw me,
he left the Duke of Ormond and other lords, and ran and kissed me before
he spoke to them; but chid me terribly for not writing to him, which I
never did this last time he was abroad, not knowing where he was; and he
changed places so often, it was impossible a letter should overtake him.
He left England with a bruise, by his coach overturning, that made him
spit blood, and was so ill, we expected every post to hear of his death;
but he outrode it or outdrank it, or something, and is come home lustier
than ever.  He is at least sixty, and has more spirits than any young
fellow I know in England.  He has got the old Oxford regiment of horse,
and I believe will have a Garter.  I love the hang-dog dearly.  Nite dee
MD.

11.  The Court was crammed to-day to see {491a} the French Ambassador;
but he did not come.  Did I never tell you that I go to Court on Sundays
as to a coffee-house, to see acquaintance, whom I should otherwise not
see twice a year?  The Provost {491b} and I dined with Ned Southwell, by
appointment, in order to settle your kingdom, if my scheme can be
followed; but I doubt our Ministry will be too tedious.  You must
certainly have a new Parliament; but they would have that a secret yet.
Our Parliament here will be prorogued for three weeks.  Those puppies the
Dutch will not yet come in, though they pretend to submit to the Queen in
everything; but they would fain try first how our session begins, in
hopes to embroil us in the House of Lords: and if my advice had been
taken, the session should have begun, and we would have trusted the
Parliament to approve the steps already made toward the peace, and had an
Address perhaps from them to conclude without the Dutch, if they would
not agree.—Others are of my mind, but it is not reckoned so safe, it
seems; yet I doubt whether the peace will be ready so soon as three
weeks, but that is a secret.  Nite MD.

12.  Pratt and I walked into the City to one Bateman’s, {491c} a famous
bookseller, for old books.  There I laid out four pounds like a fool, and
we dined at a hedge ale-house, for two shillings and twopence, like
emperors.  Let me see, I bought Plutarch, two volumes, for thirty
shillings, etc.  Well, I’ll tell you no more; oo don’t understand Greek.
{492a}  We have no news, and I have nothing more to say to-day, and I
can’t finish my work.  These Ministers will not find time to do what I
would have them.  So nite, nown dee dallars.

13.  I was to have dined to-day with Lord Keeper, but would not, because
that brute Sir John Walter {492b} was to be one of the company.  You may
remember he railed at me last summer was twelvemonth at Windsor, and has
never begged my pardon, though he promised to do it; and Lord Mansel, who
was one of the company, would certainly have set us together by the ears,
out of pure roguish mischief.  So I dined with Lord Treasurer, where
there was none but Lord Bolingbroke.  I stayed till eight, and then went
to Lady Orkney’s, who has been sick, and sat with her till twelve, from
whence you may consider it is late, sollahs.  The Parliament was
prorogued to-day, as I told you, for three weeks.  Our weather is very
bad and slobbery, and I shall spoil my new hat (I have bought a new hat),
or empty my pockets.  Does Hawkshaw pay the interest he owes?  Lord
Abercorn plagues me to death.  I have now not above six people to provide
for, and about as many to do good offices to; and thrice as many that I
will do nothing for; nor can I if I would.  Nite dee MD.

14.  To-day I took the circle of morning visits.  I went to the Duchess
of Ormond, and there was she, and Lady Betty, and Lord Ashburnham
together: this was the first time the mother and daughter saw each other
since Lady Ashburnham’s death.  They were both in tears, and I chid them
for being together, and made Lady Betty go to her own chamber; then sat a
while with the Duchess, and went after Lady Betty, and all was well.
There is something of farce in all these mournings, let them be ever so
serious.  People will pretend to grieve more than they really do, and
that takes off from their true grief.  I then went to the Duchess of
Hamilton, who never grieved, but raged, and stormed, and railed. {493a}
She is pretty quiet now, but has a diabolical temper.  Lord Keeper and
his son, and their two ladies, and I, dined to-day with Mr. Cæsar, {493b}
Treasurer of the Navy, at his house in the City, where he keeps his
office.  We happened to talk of Brutus, and I said something in his
praise, when it struck me immediately that I had made a blunder in doing
so; and, therefore, I recollected myself, and said, “Mr. Cæsar, I beg
your pardon.”  So we laughed, etc.  Nite, my own deelest richar logues,
MD.

15.  I forgot to tell you that last night I had a present sent me (I
found it, when I came home, in my chamber) of the finest wild fowl I ever
saw, with the vilest letter, and from the vilest poet in the world, who
sent it me as a bribe to get him an employment.  I knew not where the
scoundrel lived, so I could not send them back, and therefore I gave them
away as freely as I got them, and have ordered my man never to let up the
poet when he comes.  The rogue should have kept the wings at least for
his muse.  One of his fowls was a large capon pheasant, as fat as a
pullet.  I ate share of it to-day with a friend.  We have now a
Drawing-room every Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday at one o’clock.  The
Queen does not come out; but all her Ministers, foreigners, and persons
of quality are at it.  I was there to-day; and as Lord Treasurer came
towards me, I avoided him, and he hunted me thrice about the room.  I
affect never to take notice of him at church or Court.  He knows it, for
I have told him so; and to-night, at Lord Masham’s, he gave an account of
it to the company; but my reasons are, that people seeing me speak to him
causes a great deal of teasing.  I tell you what comes into my head, that
I never knew whether MD were Whigs or Tories, and I value our
conversation the more that it never turned on that subject.  I have a
fancy that Ppt is a Tory, and a violent one.  I don’t know why; but
methinks she looks like one, and DD a sort of a Trimmer.  Am I right?  I
gave the Examiner a hint about this prorogation, and to praise the Queen
for her tenderness to the Dutch in giving them still more time to submit.
{494a}  It fitted the occasions at present.  Nite MD.

16.  I was busy to-day at the Secretary’s office, and stayed till past
three.  The Duke of Ormond and I were to dine at Lord Orkney’s.  The Duke
was at the Committee, so I thought all was safe.  When I went there, they
had almost dined; for the Duke had sent to excuse himself, which I never
knew.  I came home at seven, and began a little whim, which just came
into my head; and will make a threepenny pamphlet. {494b}  It shall be
finished and out in a week; and if it succeeds, you shall know what it
is; otherwise, not.  I cannot send this to-morrow, and will put it off
till next Saturday, because I have much business.  So my journals shall
be short, and Ppt must have patience.  So nite, dee sollahs.

17.  This rogue Parnell has not yet corrected his poem, and I would fain
have it out.  I dined to-day with Lord Treasurer, and his Saturday
company, nine of us in all.  They went away at seven, and Lord Treasurer
and I sat talking an hour after.  After dinner he was talking to the
lords about the speech the Queen must make when the Parliament meets.  He
asked me how I would make it.  I was going to be serious, because it was
seriously put; but I turned it to a jest.  And because they had been
speaking of the Duchess of Marlborough going to Flanders after the Duke,
I said the speech should begin thus: “My Lords and Gentlemen, In order to
my own quiet, and that of my subjects, I have thought fit to send the
Duchess of Marlborough abroad after the Duke.”  This took well, and
turned off the discourse.  I must tell you I do not at all like the
present situation of affairs, and remember I tell you so.  Things must be
on another foot, or we are all undone.  I hate this driving always to an
inch.  Nite MD.

18.  We had a mighty full Court to-day.  Dilly was with me at the French
church, and edified mightily.  The Duke of Ormond and I dined at Lord
Orkney’s; but I left them at seven, and came home to my whim.  I have
made a great progress.  My large Treatise {495a} stands stock still.
Some think it too dangerous to publish, and would have me print only what
relates to the peace.  I cannot tell what I shall do.—The Bishop of
Dromore is dying.  They thought yesterday he could not live two hours;
yet he is still alive, but is utterly past all hopes.  Go to cards,
sollahs, and nite.

19.  I was this morning to see the Duke and Duchess of Ormond.  The Duke
d’Aumont came in while I was with the Duke of Ormond, and we complimented
each other like dragons.  A poor fellow called at the door where I lodge,
with a parcel of oranges for a present for me.  I bid my man know what
his name was, and whence he came.  He sent word his name was Bun, and
that I knew him very well.  I bid my man tell him I was busy, and he
could not speak to me; and not to let him leave his oranges.  I know no
more of it, but I am sure I never heard the name, and I shall take no
such presents from strangers.  Perhaps he might be only some beggar, who
wanted a little money.  Perhaps it might be something worse.  Let them
keep their poison for their rats.  I don’t love it. {495b}  That blot is
a blunder.  Nite dee MD. . . .

20.  A Committee of our Society dined to-day with the Chancellor of the
Exchequer.  Our Society does not meet now as usual, for which I am
blamed: but till Lord Treasurer will agree to give us money and
employments to bestow, I am averse to it; and he gives us nothing but
promises.  The Bishop of Dromore is still alive, and that is all.  We
expect every day he will die, and then Tom Leigh must go back, which is
one good thing to the town.  I believe Pratt will drive at one of these
bishoprics.  Our English bishopric {496a} is not yet disposed of.  I
believe the peace will not be ready by the session.  Nite MD.

21.  I was to-day with my printer, to give him a little pamphlet I have
written, but not politics.  It will be out by Monday.  If it succeeds, I
will tell you of it; otherwise, not.  We had a prodigious thaw to-day, as
bad as rain; yet I walked like a good boy all the way.  The Bishop of
Dromore still draws breath, but cannot live two days longer.  My large
book lies flat.  Some people think a great part of it ought not to be now
printed.  I believe I told you so before.  This letter shall not go till
Saturday, which makes up the three weeks exactly; and I allow MD six
weeks, which are now almost out; so oo must know I expect a rettle vely
soon, and that MD is vely werr; {496b} and so nite, dee MD.

22.  This is one of our Court days, and I was there.  I told you there is
a Drawing-room, Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday.  The Hamiltons and
Abercorns have done teasing me.  The latter, I hear, is actually going to
France.  Lord Treasurer quarrelled with me at Court for being four days
without dining with him; so I dined there to-day, and he has at last
fallen in with my project (as he calls it) of coining halfpence and
farthings, with devices, like medals, in honour of the Queen, every year
changing the device.  I wish it may be done.  Nite MD.

23.  The Duke of Ormond and I appointed to dine with Ned Southwell
to-day, to talk of settling your affairs of Parliament in Ireland, but
there was a mixture of company, and the Duke of Ormond was in haste, and
nothing was done.  If your Parliament meets this summer, it must be a new
one; but I find some are of opinion there should be none at all these two
years.  I will trouble myself no more about it.  My design was to serve
the Duke of Ormond.  Dr. Pratt and I sat this evening with the Bishop of
Clogher, and played at ombre for threepences.  That, I suppose, is but
low with you.  I found, at coming home, a letter from MD, N. 37.  I shall
not answer it zis bout, but will the next.  I am sorry for poo poo Ppt.
Pray walk hen oo can.  I have got a terrible new cold before my old one
was quite gone, and don’t know how.  Pay. . . . {497a}  I shall have DD’s
money soon from the Exchequer.  The Bishop of Dromore is dead now at
last.  Nite, dee MD.

24.  I was at Court to-day, and it was comical to see Lord Abercorn
bowing to me, but not speaking, and Lord Selkirk the same. {497b}  I
dined with Lord Treasurer and his Saturday Club, and sat with him two
hours after the rest were gone, and spoke freer to him of affairs than I
am afraid others do, who might do more good.  All his friends repine, and
shrug their shoulders; but will not deal with him so freely as they
ought.  It is an odd business; the Parliament just going to sit, and no
employments given.  They say they will give them in a few days.  There is
a new bishop made of Hereford; {497c} so Ossory {497d} is disappointed.
I hinted so to his friends two months ago, to make him leave off deluding
himself, and being indiscreet, as he was.  I have just time to send this,
without giving to the bellman.  Nite deelest richar MD. . . . dee MD MD
MD FW FW FW ME ME ME Lele Lele Lele.

My second cold is better now.  Lele lele lele lele.



LETTER LIX. {498a}


                                             LONDON, _Jan._ 25, 1712–1713.

WE had such a terrible storm to-day, that, going to Lord Bolingbroke’s, I
saw a hundred tiles fallen down; and one swinger fell about forty yards
before me, that would have killed a horse: so, after church and Court, I
walked through the Park, and took a chair to Lord Treasurer’s.  Next door
to his house, a tin chimneytop had fallen down, with a hundred bricks.
It is grown calm this evening.  I wonder had you such a wind to-day?  I
hate it as much as any hog does.  Lord Treasurer has engaged me to dine
again with him to-morrow.  He has those tricks sometimes of inviting me
from day to day, which I am forced to break through.  My little pamphlet
{498b} is out: ’tis not politics.  If it takes, I say again you shall
hear of it.  Nite dee logues.

26.  This morning I felt a little touch of giddiness, which has
disordered and weakened me with its ugly remains all this day.  Pity
Pdfr.  After dinner at Lord Treasurer’s, the French Ambassador, Duke
d’Aumont, sent Lord Treasurer word that his house was burnt down to the
ground.  It took fire in the upper rooms, while he was at dinner with
Monteleon, the Spanish Ambassador, and other persons; and soon after Lord
Bolingbroke came to us with the same story.  We are full of speculations
upon it, but I believe it was the carelessness of his French rascally
servants.  ’Tis odd that this very day Lord Somers, Wharton, Sunderland,
Halifax, and the whole club of Whig lords, dined at Pontack’s {498c} in
the City, as I received private notice.  They have some damned design.  I
tell you another odd thing; I was observing it to Lord Treasurer, that he
was stabbed on the day King William died; and the day I saved his life,
by opening the bandbox, {498d} was King William’s birthday.  My friend
Mr. Lewis has had a lie spread on him by the mistake of a man, who went
to another of his name, to give him thanks for passing his Privy Seal to
come from France. {499a}  That other Lewis spread about that the man
brought him thanks from Lord Perth and Lord Melfort (two lords with the
Pretender), for his great services, etc.  The Lords will examine that
t’other Lewis to-morrow in council; and I believe you will hear of it in
the prints, for I will make Abel Roper give a relation of it.  Pray tell
me if it be necessary to write a little plainer; for I looked over a bit
of my last letter, and could hardly read it.  I’ll mend my hand, if oo
please: but you are more used to it nor I, as Mr. Raymond says.  Nite MD.

27.  I dined to-day with Lord Treasurer: this makes four days together;
and he has invited me again to-morrow, but I absolutely refused him.  I
was this evening at a christening with him of Lord Dupplin’s {499b}
daughter.  He went away at ten; but they kept me and some others till
past twelve; so you may be sure ’tis late, as they say.  We have now
stronger suspicions that the Duke d’Aumont’s house was set on fire by
malice.  I was to-day to see Lord Keeper, who has quite lost his voice
with a cold.  There Dr. Radcliffe told me that it was the Ambassador’s
confectioner set the house on fire by boiling sugar, and going down and
letting it boil over.  Yet others still think differently; so I know not
what to judge.  Nite my own deelest MD, rove Pdfr.

28.  I was to-day at Court, where the Spanish Ambassador talked to me as
if he did not suspect any design in burning d’Aumont’s house: but Abbé
Gaultier, Secretary for France here, said quite otherwise; and that
d’Aumont had a letter the very same day to let him know his house should
be burnt, and they tell several other circumstances too tedious to write.
One is, that a fellow mending the tiles just when the fire broke out, saw
a pot with wildfire {499c} in the room.  I dined with Lord Orkney.
Neither Lord Abercorn nor Selkirk will now speak with me.  I have
disobliged both sides.  Nite dear MD.

29.  Our Society met to-day, fourteen of us, and at a tavern.  We now
resolve to meet but once a fortnight, and have a Committee every other
week of six or seven, to consult about doing some good.  I proposed
another message to Lord Treasurer by three principal members, to give a
hundred guineas to a certain person, and they are to urge it as well as
they can.  We also raised sixty guineas upon our own Society; but I made
them do it by sessors, {500a} and I was one of them, and we fitted our
tax to the several estates.  The Duke of Ormond pays ten guineas, and I
the third part of a guinea; at that rate, they may tax as often as they
please.  Well, but I must answer oor rettle, ung oomens: not yet; ’tis
rate now, and I can’t tind it.  Nite deelest MD.

30.  I have drank Spa waters this two or three days; but they do not
pass, and make me very giddy.  I an’t well; faith, I’ll take them no
more.  I sauntered after church with the Provost to-day to see a library
to be sold, and dined at five with Lord Orkney.  We still think there was
malice in burning d’Aumont’s house.  I hear little Harrison {500b} is
come over; it was he I sent to Utrecht.  He is now Queen’s Secretary to
the Embassy, and has brought with him the Barrier Treaty, as it is now
corrected by us, and yielded to by the Dutch, which was the greatest
difficulty to <DW44> the peace.  I hope he will bring over the peace a
month hence, for we will send him back as soon as possible.  I long to
see the little brat, my own creature.  His pay is in all a thousand
pounds a year, and they have never paid him a groat, though I have teased
their hearts out.  He must be three or four hundred pounds in debt at
least, the brat!  Let me go to bed, sollahs.—Nite dee richar MD.

31.  Harrison was with me this morning: we talked three hours, and then I
carried him to Court.  When we went down to the door of my lodging, I
found a coach waited for him.  I chid him for it; but he whispered me it
was impossible to do otherwise; and in the coach he told me he had not
one farthing in his pocket to pay it; and therefore took the coach for
the whole day, and intended to borrow money somewhere or other.  So there
was the Queen’s Minister entrusted in affairs of the greatest importance,
without a shilling in his pocket to pay a coach!  I paid him while he was
with me seven guineas, in part of a dozen of shirts he bought me in
Holland.  I presented him to the Duke of Ormond, and several lords at
Court; and I contrived it so that Lord Treasurer came to me and asked (I
had Parnell by me) whether that was Dr. Parnell, and came up and spoke to
him with great kindness, and invited him to his house.  I value myself
upon making the Ministry desire to be acquainted with Parnell, and not
Parnell with the Ministry.  His poem is almost fully corrected, and shall
soon be out.  Here’s enough for to-day: only to tell you that I was in
the City with my printer to alter an _Examiner_ about my friend Lewis’s
story, {501} which will be told with remarks.  Nite MD.

Feb. 1.  I could do nothing till to-day about the _Examiner_, but the
printer came this morning, and I dictated to him what was fit to be said,
and then Mr. Lewis came, and corrected it as he would have it; so I was
neither at church nor Court.  The Duke of Ormond and I dined at Lord
Orkney’s.  I left them at seven, and sat with Sir Andrew Fountaine, who
has a very bad sore leg, for which he designs to go to France.  Fais,
here’s a week gone, and one side of this letter not finished.  Oh, but I
write now but once in three weeks; iss, fais, this shall go sooner.  The
Parliament is to sit on the third, but will adjourn for three or four
days; for the Queen is laid up with the gout, and both Speakers out of
order, though one of them, the Lord Keeper, is almost well.  I spoke to
the Duke of Ormond a good deal about Ireland.  We do not altogether
agree, nor am I judge enough of Irish affairs; but I will speak to Lord
Treasurer to-morrow, that we three may settle them some way or other.
Nite sollahs both, rove Pdfr.

2.  I had a letter some days ago from Moll Gery; {502a} her name is now
Wigmore, and her husband has turned parson.  She desires nothing but that
I would get Lord Keeper to give him a living; but I will send her no
answer, though she desires it much.  She still makes mantuas at Farnham.
It rained all this day, and Dilly came to me, and was coaching it into
the City; so I went with him for a shaking, because it would not cost me
a farthing.  There I met my friend Stratford, {502b} the merchant, who is
going abroad to gather up his debts, and be clear in the world.  He
begged that I would dine with some merchant friends of ours there,
because it was the last time I should see him: so I did, and thought to
have seen Lord Treasurer in the evening, but he happened to go out at
five; so I visited some friends, and came home.  And now I have the
greatest part of your letter to answer; and yet I will not do it
to-night, say what oo please.  The Parliament meets to-morrow, but will
be prorogued for a fortnight; which disappointment will, I believe, vex
abundance of them, though they are not Whigs; for they are forced to be
in town at expense for nothing: but we want an answer from Spain, before
we are sure of everything being right for the peace; and God knows
whether we can have that answer this month.  It is a most ticklish
juncture of affairs; we are always driving to an inch: I am weary of it.
Nite MD.

3.  The Parliament met, and was prorogued, as I said, and I found some
cloudy faces, and heard some grumbling.  We have got over all our
difficulties with France, I think.  They have now settled all the
articles of commerce between us and them, wherein they were very much
disposed to play the rogue if we had not held them to [it]; and this
business we wait from Spain is to prevent some other rogueries of the
French, who are finding an evasion to trade to the Spanish West Indies;
but I hope we shall prevent it.  I dined with Lord Treasurer, and he was
in good humour enough.  I gave him that part of my book in manuscript to
read where his character was, and drawn pretty freely.  He was reading
and correcting it with his pencil, when the Bishop of St. David’s [{503a}
(now removing to Hereford) came in and interrupted us.  I left him at
eight, and sat till twelve with the Provost and Bishop of Clogher at the
Provost’s.  Nite MD.

4.  I was to-day at Court, but kept out of Lord Treasurer’s way, because
I was engaged to the Duke of Ormond, where I dined, and, I think, ate and
drank too much.  I sat this evening with Lady Masham, and then with Lord
Masham and Lord Treasurer at Lord Masham’s.  It was last year, you may
remember, my constant evening place.  I saw Lady Jersey {503b} with Lady
Masham, who has been laying out for my acquaintance, and has forced a
promise for me to drink chocolate with her in a day or two, which I know
not whether I shall perform (I have just mended my pen, you see), for I
do not much like her character; but she is very malicious, and therefore
I think I must keep fair with her.  I cannot send this letter till
Saturday next, I find; so I will answer oors now.  I see no different
days of the month; yet it is dated January 3: so it was long a coming.  I
did not write to Dr. Coghill that I would have nothing in Ireland, but
that I was soliciting nothing anywhere, and that is true.  I have named
Dr. Sterne to Lord Treasurer, Lord Bolingbroke, and the Duke of Ormond,
for a bishopric, and I did it heartily.  I know not what will come of it;
but I tell you as a great secret that I have made the Duke of Ormond
promise me to recommend nobody till he tells me, and this for some
reasons too long to mention.  My head is still in no good order.  I am
heartily sorry for poo Ppt, I’m sure.  Her head is good for . . . {503c}
I’ll answer more to-mollow.  Nite, dearest MD; nite dee sollahs, MD.
{503d}

5.  I must go on with oo letter.  I dined to-day with Sir Andrew
Fountaine and the Provost, and I played at ombre with him all the
afternoon.  I won, yet Sir Andrew is an admirable player.  Lord Pembroke
{504a} came in, and I gave him three or four scurvy Dilly puns, that
begin with an IF.  Well, but oor letter, well, ret me see.—No; I believe
I shall write no more this good while, nor publish what I have done.
Nauty (?) Ppt, oo are vely tempegant.  I did not suspect oo would tell
Filby. {504b}  Oo are so . . . {504c}  Turns and visitations—what are
these?  I’ll preach and visit as much for Mr. Walls.  Pray God mend
poopt’s {504d} health; mine is but very indifferent.  I have left off Spa
water; it makes my leg swell.  Nite deelest MD.

6.  This is the Queen’s Birthday, and I never saw it celebrated with so
much luxury and fine clothes.  I went to Court to see them, and I dined
with Lord Keeper, where the ladies were fine to admiration.  I passed the
evening at Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s, and came home pretty early, to answer oo
rettle again.  Pray God keep the Queen.  She was very ill about ten days
ago, and had the gout in her stomach.  When I came from Lord Keeper’s, I
called at Lord Treasurer’s, because I heard he was very fine, and that
was a new thing; and it was true, for his coat and waistcoat were
embroidered.  I have seen the Provost often since, and never spoke to him
to speak to the Temples about Daniel Carr, nor will; I don’t care to do
it.  I have writ lately to Parvisol.  Oo did well to let him make up his
accounts.  All things grow dear in Ireland, but corn to the parsons; for
my livings are fallen much this year by Parvisol’s account.  Nite dee
logues, MD.

7. [8]  I was at Court to-day, but saw no Birthday clothes; the great
folks never wear them above once or twice.  I dined with Lord Orkney, and
sat the evening with Sir Andrew Fountaine, whose leg is in a very dubious
condition.  Pray let me know when DD’s money is near due: always let me
know it beforehand.  This, I believe, will hardly go till Saturday; for I
tell you what, being not very well, I dare not study much: so I let
company come in a morning, and the afternoon pass in dining and sitting
somewhere.  Lord Treasurer is angry if I don’t dine with him every second
day, and I cannot part with him till late: he kept me last night till
near twelve.  Our weather is constant rain above these two months, which
hinders walking, so that our spring is not like yours.  I have not seen
Fanny Manley {505a} yet; I cannot find time.  I am in rebellion with all
my acquaintance, but I will mend with my health and the weather.  Clogher
make a figure!  Clogher make a —.  Colds! why, we have been all dying
with colds; but now they are a little over, and my second is almost off.
I can do nothing for Swanton indeed.  It is a thing impossible, and
wholly out of my way.  If he buys, he must buy.  So now I have answered
oo rettle; and there’s an end of that now; and I’ll say no more, but bid
oo nite, dee MD.

8. [9]  It was terrible rainy to-day from morning till night.  I intended
to have dined with Lord Treasurer, but went to see Sir Andrew Fountaine,
and he kept me to dinner, which saved coach-hire; and I stayed with him
all the afternoon, and lost thirteen shillings and sixpence at ombre.
There was management! and Lord Treasurer will chide; but I’ll dine with
him to-morrow.  The Bishop of Clogher’s daughter has been ill some days,
{505b} and it proves the smallpox.  She is very full; but it comes out
well, and they apprehend no danger.  Lady Orkney has given me her
picture; a very fine original of Sir Godfrey Kneller’s; it is now a
mending.  He has favoured her squint admirably; and you know I love a
cast in the eye.  I was to see Lady Worsley {505c} to-day, who is just
come to town; she is full of rheumatic pains.  All my acquaintance grow
old and sickly.  She lodges in the very house in King Street, between St.
James’s Street and St. James’s Square, where DD’s brother bought the
sweetbread, when I lodged there, and MD came to see me.  Short sighs.
{505d}  Nite MD.

9. [10]  I thought to have dined with Lord Treasurer to-day, but he dined
abroad at Tom Harley’s; so I dined at Lord Masham’s, and was winning all
I had lost playing with Lady Masham at crown picquet, when we went to
pools, and I lost it again.  Lord Treasurer came in to us, and chid me
for not following him to Tom Harley’s.  Miss Ashe is still the same, and
they think her not in danger; my man calls there daily after I am gone
out, and tells me at night.  I was this morning to see Lady Jersey, and
we have made twenty parties about dining together, and I shall hardly
keep one of them.  She is reduced after all her greatness to seven
servants, and a small house, and no coach. {506a}  I like her tolerably
as yet.  Nite MD.

10. [11]  I made visits this morning to the Duke and Duchess of Ormond,
and Lady Betty, and the Duchess of Hamilton.  (When I was writing this
near twelve o’clock, the Duchess of Hamilton sent to have me dine with
her to-morrow.  I am forced to give my answer through the door, for my
man has got the key, and is gone to bed; but I cannot obey her, for our
Society meets to-morrow.)  I stole away from Lord Treasurer by eight, and
intended to have passed the evening with Sir Thomas Clarges {506b} and
his lady; but met them in another place, and have there sat till now.  My
head has not been ill to-day.  I was at Court, and made Lord Mansel walk
with me in the Park before we went to dinner.—Yesterday and to-day have
been fair, but yet it rained all last night.  I saw Sterne staring at
Court to-day.  He has been often to see me, he says: but my man has not
yet let him up.  He is in deep mourning; I hope it is not for his wife.
{507a}  I did not ask him.  Nite MD.

12. {507b}  I have reckoned days wrong all this while; for this is the
twelfth.  I do not know when I lost it.  I dined to-day with our Society,
the greatest dinner I have ever seen.  It was at Jack Hill’s, the
Governor of Dunkirk.  I gave an account of sixty guineas I had collected,
and am to give them away to two authors to-morrow; and Lord Treasurer has
promised us a hundred pounds to reward some others.  I found a letter on
my table last night to tell me that poor little Harrison, the Queen’s
Secretary, that came lately from Utrecht with the Barrier Treaty, was
ill, and desired to see me at night; but it was late, and I could not go
till to-day.  I have often mentioned him in my letters, you may remember.
. . . I went in the morning, and found him mighty ill, and got thirty
guineas for him from Lord Bolingbroke, and an order for a hundred pounds
from the Treasury to be paid him to-morrow; and I have got him removed to
Knightsbridge for air.  He has a fever and inflammation on his lungs; but
I hope will do well.  Nite.

13.  I was to see a poor poet, one Mr. Diaper, {507c} in a nasty garret,
very sick.  I gave him twenty guineas from Lord Bolingbroke, and disposed
the other sixty to two other authors, and desired a friend to receive the
hundred pounds for poor Harrison, and will carry it to him to-morrow
morning.  I sent to see how he did, and he is extremely ill; and I very
much afflicted for him, for he is my own creature, and in a very
honourable post, and very worthy of it.  I dined in the City.  I am in
much concern for this poor lad.  His mother and sister attend him, and he
wants nothing.  Nite poo dee MD.

14.  I took Parnell this morning, and we walked to see poor Harrison.  I
had the hundred pounds in my pocket.  I told Parnell I was afraid to
knock at the door; my mind misgave me.  I knocked, and his man in tears
told me his master was dead an hour before.  Think what grief this is to
me!  I went to his mother, and have been ordering things for his funeral
with as little cost as possible, to-morrow at ten at night.  Lord
Treasurer was much concerned when I told him.  I could not dine with Lord
Treasurer, nor anywhere else; but got a bit of meat toward evening.  No
loss ever grieved me so much: poor creature!  Pray God Almighty bless
poor MD.  Adieu.

I send this away to-night, and am sorry it must go while I am in so much
grief.



LETTER LX. {508a}


                                              LONDON, _Feb._ 15 [1712–13].

I DINED to-day with Mr. Rowe {508b} and a projector, who has been teasing
me with twenty schemes to get grants; and I don’t like one of them; and,
besides, I was out of humour for the loss of poor Harrison.  At ten this
night I was at his funeral, which I ordered to be as private as possible.
We had but one coach with four of us; and when it was carrying us home
after the funeral, the braces broke; and we were forced to sit in it, and
have it held up, till my man went for chairs, {508c} at eleven at night
in terrible rain.  I am come home very melancholy, and will go to bed.
Nite . . . MD. {508d}

16.  I dined to-day with Lord Dupplin and some company to divert me; but
left them early, and have been reading a foolish book for amusement.  I
shall never have courage again to care for making anybody’s fortune.  The
Parliament meets to-morrow, and will be prorogued another fortnight, at
which several of both parties were angry; but it cannot be helped, though
everything about the peace is past all danger.  I never saw such a
continuance of rainy weather.  We have not had two fair days together
these ten weeks.  I have not dined with Lord Treasurer these four days,
nor can I till Saturday; for I have several engagements till then, and he
will chide me to some purpose.  I am perplexed with this hundred pounds
of poor Harrison’s, what to do with it.  I cannot pay his relations till
they administer, for he is much in debt; {509a} but I will have the staff
in my own hands, and venture nothing.  Nite poo dee MD.

17.  Lady Jersey and I dined by appointment to-day with Lord Bolingbroke.
He is sending his brother {509b} to succeed Mr. {509c} Harrison.  It is
the prettiest post in Europe for a young gentleman.  I lose my money at
ombre sadly; I make a thousand blunders.  I play but {509d} threepenny
ombre; but it is what you call running ombre.  Lady Clarges, {509e} and a
drab I hate, won a dozen shillings of me last night.  The Parliament was
prorogued to-day; and people grumble; and the good of it is the peace
cannot be finished by the time they meet, there are so many fiddling
things to do.  Is Ppt an ombre lady yet?  You know all the tricks of it
now, I suppose.  I reckon you have all your cards from France, for ours
pay sixpence a pack taxes, which goes deep to the box.  I have given away
all my Spa water, and take some nasty steel drops, and my head has been
better this week past.  I send every day to see how Miss Ashe does: she
is very full, they say, but in no danger.  I fear she will lose some of
her beauty.  The son lies out of the house.  I wish he had them too,
while he is so young.—Nite MD.

18.  The Earl of Abingdon {510a} has been teasing me these three months
to dine with him; and this day was appointed about a week ago, and I
named my company; Lord Stawel, {510b} Colonel Disney, {510c} and Dr.
Arbuthnot; but the two last slipped out their necks, and left Stawell and
me to dine there.  We did not dine till seven, because it is Ash
Wednesday.  We had nothing but fish, which Lord Stawell could not eat,
and got a broiled leg of a turkey.  Our wine was poison; yet the puppy
has twelve thousand pound a year.  His carps were raw, and his candles
tallow.  He {510d} shall not catch me in haste again, and everybody has
laughed at me for dining with him.  I was to-day to let Harrison’s mother
know I could not pay till she administers; which she will do.  I believe
she is an old bawd, {510e} and her daughter a —.  There were more Whigs
to-day at Court than Tories.  I believe they think the peace must be
made, and so come to please the Queen.  She is still lame with the gout.
Nite MD.

19.  I was at Court to-day, to speak to Lord Bolingbroke to look over
Parnell’s poem since it is corrected; and Parnell and I dined with him,
and he has shown him three or four more places to alter a little.  Lady
Bolingbroke came down to us while we were at dinner, and Parnell stared
at her as if she were a goddess.  I thought she was like Parnell’s wife,
and he thought so too.  Parnell is much pleased with Lord Bolingbroke’s
favour to him, and I hope it may one day turn to his advantage.  His poem
will be printed in a few days.  Our weather continues as fresh raining as
if it had not rained at all.  I sat to-night at Lady Masham’s, where Lord
Treasurer came and scolded me for not dining with him.  I told him I
could not till Saturday.  I have stayed there till past twelve.  So nite
dee sollahs, nite.

20.  Lady Jersey, Lady Catherine Hyde, {511a} the Spanish Ambassador, the
Duke d’Atree, {511b} another Spaniard, and I, dined to-day by appointment
with Lord Bolingbroke; but they fell a drinking so many Spanish healths
in champagne that I stole away to the ladies, and drank tea till eight;
and then went and lost my money at ombre with Sir Andrew Fountaine, who
has a very bad leg.  Miss Ashe is past all danger; and her eye, which was
lately bad (I suppose one effect of her distemper), is now better.  I do
not let the Bishop see me, nor shall this good while.  Good luck! when I
came home, I warrant, I found a letter from MD, No.38; and oo write so
small nowadays, I hope oo poor eyes are better.  Well, this shall go
to-morrow se’nnight, with a bill for MD.  I will speak to Mr. Griffin
{511c} to-morrow about Ppt’s brother Filby, and desire, whether he
deserves or no, that his employment may be mended; that is to say, if I
can see Griffin; otherwise not; and I’ll answer oo rettle hen I Pdfr
think fit.  Nite MD.

21.  Methinks I writ a little saucy last night.  I mean the last . . .
{511d} I saw Griffin at Court.  He says he knows nothing of a salt-work
at Recton; but that he will give Filby a better employment, and desires
Filby will write to him.  If I knew how to write to Filby, I would; but
pray do you.  Bid him make no mention of you; but only let Mr. Griffin
know that he has the honour to be recommended by Dr. S—, etc.; that he
will endeavour to deserve, etc.; and if you dictated a whole letter for
him, it would be better; I hope he can write and spell well.  I’ll
inquire for a direction to Griffin before I finish this.  I dined with
Lord Treasurer and seven lords to-day.  You know Saturday is his great
day, but I sat with them alone till eight, and then came home, and have
been writing a letter to Mrs. Davis, at York.  She took care to have a
letter delivered for me at Lord Treasurer’s; for I would not own one she
sent by post.  She reproaches me for not writing to her these four years;
and I have honestly told her it was my way never to write to those whom I
am never likely to see, unless I can serve them, which I cannot her, etc.
Davis the schoolmaster’s widow.  Nite MD.

22.  I dined to-day at Lord Orkney’s, with the Duke of Ormond and Sir
Thomas Hanmer. {512}  Have you ever heard of the latter?  He married the
Duchess of Grafton in his youth (she dined with us too).  He is the most
considerable man in the House of Commons.  He went last spring to
Flanders, with the Duke of Ormond; from thence to France, and was going
to Italy; but the Ministry sent for him, and he has been come over about
ten days.  He is much out of humour with things: he thinks the peace is
kept off too long, and is full of fears and doubts.  It is thought he is
designed for Secretary of State, instead of Lord Dartmouth.  We have been
acquainted these two years; and I intend, in a day or two, to have an
hour’s talk with him on affairs.  I saw the Bishop of Clogher at Court;
Miss is recovering.  I know not how much she will be marked.  The Queen
is slowly mending of her gout, and intends to be brought in a chair to
Parliament when it meets, which will be March 3; for I suppose they will
prorogue no more; yet the peace will not be signed then, and we apprehend
the Tories themselves will many of them be discontented.  Nite dee MD.

23.  It was ill weather to-day, and I dined with Sir Andrew Fountaine,
and in the evening played at ombre with him and the Provost, and won
twenty-five shillings; so I have recovered myself pretty well.  Dilly has
been dunning me to see Fanny Manley; but I have not yet been able to do
it.  Miss Ashe is now quite out of danger; and hope will not be much
marked.  I cannot tell how to direct to Griffin; and think he lives in
Bury Street, near St. James’s Street, hard by me; but I suppose your
brother may direct to him to the Salt Office, and, as I remember, he
knows his Christian name, because he sent it me in the list of the
Commissioners.  Nite dee MD.

24.  I walked this morning to Chelsea, to see Dr. Atterbury, Dean of
Christ Church.  I had business with him about entering Mr. Fitzmaurice,
{513a} my Lord Kerry’s son, into his College; and Lady Kerry {513b} is a
great favourite of mine.  Lord Harley, Lord Dupplin, young Bromley {513c}
the Speaker’s son, and I, dined with Dr. Stratford {513d} and some other
clergymen; but I left them at seven to go to Lady Jersey, to see
Monteleon the Spanish Ambassador play at ombre.  Lady Jersey was abroad,
and I chid the servants, and made a rattle; but since I came home she
sent me a message that I was mistaken, and that the meeting is to be
to-morrow.  I have a worse memory than when I left you, and every day
forget appointments; but here my memory was by chance too good.  But I’ll
go to-morrow; for Lady Catherine Hyde and Lady Bolingbroke are to be
there by appointment, and I listed {513e} up my periwig, and all, to make
a figure.  Well, who can help it?  Not I, vow to . . . ! {513f}  Nite MD.

25.  Lord Treasurer met me last night at Lord Masham’s, and thanked me
for my company in a jeer, because I had not dined with him in three days.
He chides me if I stay away but two days together.  What will this come
to?  Nothing.  My grandmother used to say, “More of your lining, and less
of your dining.”  However, I dined with him, and could hardly leave him
at eight, to go to Lady Jersey’s, where five or six foreign Ministers
were, and as many ladies.  Monteleon played like the English, and cried
“gacco,” and knocked his knuckles for trump, and played at small games
like Ppt.  Lady Jersey whispered me to stay and sup with the ladies when
the fellows were gone; but they played till eleven, and I would not stay.
I think this letter must go on Saturday; that’s certain; and it is not
half full yet.  Lady Catherine Hyde had a mighty mind I should be
acquainted with Lady Dalkeith, {514a} her sister, the Duke of Monmouth’s
eldest son’s widow, who was of the company to-night; but I did not like
her; she paints too much.  Nite MD.

26.  This day our Society met at the Duke of Ormond’s, but I had business
that called me another way; so I sent my excuses, and dined privately
with a friend.  Besides, Sir Thomas Hanmer whispered me last night at
Lady Jersey’s that I must attend Lord Treasurer and Duke of Ormond at
supper at his house to-night; which I did at eleven, and stayed till one,
so oo may be sure ’tis late enough.  There was the Duchess of Grafton,
and the Duke her son; nine of us in all.  The Duke of Ormond chid me for
not being at the Society to-day, and said sixteen were there.  I said I
never knew sixteen people good company in my life; no, fais, nor eight
either.  We have no news in this town at all.  I wonder why I don’t write
you news.  I know less of what passes than anybody, because I go to
{514b} no coffee-house, nor see any but Ministers, and such people; and
Ministers never talk politics in conversation.  The Whigs are forming
great schemes against the meeting of Parliament, which will be next
Tuesday, I still think, without fail; and we hope to hear by then that
the peace is ready to sign.  The Queen’s gout mends daily.  Nite MD.

27.  I passed a very insipid day, and dined privately with a friend in
the neighbourhood.  Did I tell you that I have a very fine picture of
Lady Orkney, {515a} an original, by Sir Godfrey Kneller, three-quarters
length?  I have it now at home, with a fine frame.  Lord Bolingbroke and
Lady Masham have promised to sit for me; but I despair of Lord Treasurer;
only I hope he will give me a copy, and then I shall have all the
pictures of those I really love here; just half a dozen; only I’ll make
Lord Keeper give me his print in a frame.  This letter must go to-morrow,
because of sending ME a bill; else it should not till next week, I assure
oo.  I have little to do now with my pen; for my grand business stops
till they are more pressing, and till something or other happens; and I
believe I shall return with disgust to finish it, it is so very
laborious.  Sir Thomas Hanmer has my papers now.  And hat is MD doing
now?  Oh, at ombre with the Dean always on Friday night, with Mrs. Walls.
Pray don’t play at small games.  I stood by, t’other night, while the
Duke d’Atree {515b} lost six times with manilio, basto, and three small
trumps; and Lady Jersey won above twenty pounds.  Nite dee richar {515c}
MD.

28.  I was at Court to-day, when the Abbé Gaultier whispered me that a
courier was just come with an account that the French King had consented
to all the Queen’s demands, and his consent was carried to Utrecht, and
the peace will be signed in a few days.  I suppose the general peace
cannot be so soon ready; but that is no matter.  The news presently ran
about the Court.  I saw the Queen carried out in her chair, to take the
air in the garden.  I met Griffin at Court, and he told me that orders
were sent to examine Filby; and, if he be fit, to make him (I think he
called it) an assistant; I don’t know what, Supervisor, I think; but it
is some employment a good deal better than his own.  The Parliament will
have another short prorogation, though it is not known yet.  I dined with
Lord Treasurer and his Saturday company, and left him at eight to put
this in the post-office time enough.  And now I must bid oo farewell,
deelest richar Ppt.  God bless oo ever, and rove Pdfr.  Farewell MD MD MD
FW FW FW FW ME ME ME Lele Lele.



LETTER LXI. {516a}


                                               LONDON, _March_ 1, 1712–13.

’TIS out of my head whether I answered all your letter in my last
yesterday or no.  I think I was in haste, and could not: but now I see I
answered a good deal of it; no, only about your brother, and ME’s bill.
I dined with Lady Orkney, and we talked politics till eleven at night;
and, as usual, found everything wrong, and put ourselves out of humour.
Yes, I have Lady Giffard’s picture sent me by your mother.  It is boxed
up at a place where my other things are.  I have goods in two or three
places; and when I leave a lodging, I box up the books I get (for I
always get some), and come naked into a new lodging; and so on.  Talk not
to me of deaneries; I know less of that than ever by much.  Nite MD.

2.  I went to-day into the City to see Pat Rolt, {516b} who lodges with a
City cousin, a daughter of coz Cleve; (you are much the wiser).  I had
never been at her house before.  My he-coz Thompson the butcher is dead,
or dying.  I dined with my printer, and walked home, and went to sit with
Lady Clarges.  I found four of them at whist; Lady Godolphin {516c} was
one.  I sat by her, and talked of her cards, etc., but she would not give
me one look, nor say a word to me.  She refused some time ago to be
acquainted with me.  You know she is Lord Marlborough’s eldest daughter.
She is a fool for her pains, and I’ll pull her down.  What can I do for
Dr. Smith’s daughter’s husband?  I have no personal credit with any of
the Commissioners.  I’ll speak to Keatley; {517a} but I believe it will
signify nothing.  In the Customs people must rise by degrees, and he must
at first take what is very low, if he be qualified for that.  Ppt
mistakes me; I am not angry at your recommending anyone to me, provided
you will take my answer.  Some things are in my way, and then I serve
those I can.  But people will not distinguish, but take things ill, when
I have no power; but Ppt is wiser.  And employments in general are very
hard to be got.  Nite MD.

3.  I dined to-day with Lord Treasurer, who chid me for my absence, which
was only from Saturday last.  The Parliament was again prorogued for a
week, and I suppose the peace will be ready by then, and the Queen will
be able to be brought to the House, and make her speech.  I saw Dr.
Griffith {517b} two or three months ago, at a Latin play at Westminster;
but did not speak to him.  I hope he will not die; I should be sorry for
Ppt’s sake; he is very tender of her.  I have long lost all my colds, and
the weather mends a little.  I take some steel drops, and my head is
pretty well.  I walk when I can, but am grown very idle; and, not
finishing my thing, I gamble {517c} abroad and play at ombre.  I shall be
more careful in my physic than Mrs. Price: ’tis not a farthing matter her
death, I think; and so I say no more to-night, but will read a dull book,
and go sleep.  Nite dee MD.

4.  Mr. Ford has been this half-year inviting me to dine at his lodgings:
so I did to-day, and brought the Provost and Dr. Parnell with me, and my
friend Lewis was there.  Parnell went away, and the other three played at
ombre, and I looked on; which I love, and would not play.  Tisdall is a
pretty fellow, as you say; and when I come back to Ireland with nothing,
he will condole with me with abundance of secret pleasure.  I believe I
told you what he wrote to me, that I have saved England, and he Ireland;
{517d} but I can bear that.  I have learned to hear and see, and say
nothing.  I was to see the Duchess of Hamilton to-day, and met Blith
{518a} of Ireland just going out of her house into his coach.  I asked
her how she came to receive young fellows.  It seems he had a ball in the
Duke of Hamilton’s house when the Duke died; and the Duchess got an
advertisement put in the _Postboy_, {518b} reflecting on the ball,
because the Marlborough daughters {518c} were there; and Blith came to
beg the Duchess’s pardon, and clear himself.  He’s a sad dog.  Nite poo
dee deelest MD.

5.  Lady Masham has miscarried; but is well almost again.  I have many
visits to-day.  I met Blith at the Duke of Ormond’s; and he begged me to
carry him to the Duchess of Hamilton, to beg her pardon again.  I did on
purpose to see how the blunderbuss behaved himself; but I begged the
Duchess to use him mercifully, for she is the devil of a teaser.  The
good of it is, she ought to beg his pardon, for he meant no harm; yet she
would not allow him to put in an advertisement to clear himself from
hers, though hers was all a lie.  He appealed to me, and I gravely gave
it against him.  I was at Court to-day, and the foreign Ministers have
got a trick of employing me to speak for them to Lord Treasurer and Lord
Bolingbroke; which I do when the case is reasonable.  The College {518d}
need not fear; I will not be their Governor.  I dined with Sir Thomas
Hanmer and his Duchess. {518e}  The Duke of Ormond was there, but we
parted soon, and I went to visit Lord Pembroke for the first time; but it
was to see some curious books.  Lord Cholmondeley {518f} came in; but I
would not talk to him, though he made many advances.  I hate the
scoundrel for all he is your Griffith’s friend.—Yes, yes, I am abused
enough, if that be all.  Nite sollahs.

6.  I was to-day at an auction of pictures with Pratt, {519a} and laid
out two pound five shillings for a picture of Titian, and if it were a
Titian it would be worth twice as many pounds.  If I am cheated, I’ll
part with it to Lord Masham: if it be a bargain, I’ll keep it to myself.
That’s my conscience.  But I made Pratt buy several pictures for Lord
Masham.  Pratt is a great virtuoso that way.  I dined with Lord
Treasurer, but made him go to Court at eight.  I always tease him to be
gone.  I thought to have made Parnell dine with him, but he was ill; his
head is out of order like mine, but more constant, poor boy!—I was at
Lord Treasurer’s levee with the Provost, to ask a book for the College.—I
never go to his levee, unless to present somebody.  For all oor rallying,
saucy {519b} Ppt, as hope saved, I expected they would have decided about
me long ago; and as hope saved, as soon as ever things are given away and
I not provided for, I will be gone with the very first opportunity, and
put up bag and baggage.  But people are slower than can be thought.  Nite
MD.

7.  Yes, I hope Leigh will soon be gone, a p— on him!  I met him once,
and he talked gravely to me of not seeing the Irish bishops here, and the
Irish gentlemen; but I believe my answers fretted him enough.  I would
not dine with Lord Treasurer to-day, though it was Saturday (for he has
engaged me for to-morrow), but went and dined with Lord Masham, and
played at ombre, sixpenny running ombre, for three hours.  There were
three voles {519c} against me, and I was once a great loser, but came off
for three shillings and sixpence.  One may easily lose five guineas at
it.  Lady Orkney is gone out of town to-day, and I could not see her for
laziness, but writ to her.  She has left me some physic.  Fais, I never
knew MD’s politics before, and I think it pretty extraordinary, and a
great compliment to you, and I believe never three people conversed so
much with so little politics.  I avoid all conversation with the other
party; it is not to be borne, and I am sorry for it.  O yes, things [are]
very dear.  DD must come in at last with DD’s two eggs a penny.  There
the proverb was well applied.  Parvisol has sent me a bill of fifty
pounds, as I ordered him, which, I hope, will serve me, and bring me
over.  Pray God MD does not be delayed for it; but I have had very little
from him this long time.  I was not at Court to-day; a wonder!  Nite
sollahs . . . Pdfr.

8.  Oo must know, I give chocolate almost every day to two or three
people that I suffer to come to see me in a morning.  My man begins to
lie pretty well.  ’Tis nothing for people to be denied ten times.  My man
knows all I will see, and denies me to everybody else.  This is the day
of the Queen’s coming to the Crown, and the day Lord Treasurer was
stabbed by Guiscard.  I was at Court, where everybody had their Birthday
clothes on, and I dined with Lord Treasurer, who was very fine.  He
showed me some of the Queen’s speech, which I corrected in several
places, and penned the vote of address of thanks for the speech; but I
was of opinion the House should not sit on Tuesday next, unless they hear
the peace is signed; that is, provided they are sure it will be signed
the week after, and so have one scolding for all.  Nite MD.

9.  Lord Treasurer would have had me dine with him to-day; he desired me
last night, but I refused, because he would not keep the day of his
stabbing with all the Cabinet, as he intended: so I dined with my friend
Lewis; and the Provost and Parnell, and Ford, was with us.  I lost
sixteen shillings at ombre; I don’t like it, as etc.  At night Lewis
brought us word that the Parliament does not sit to-morrow.  I hope they
are sure of the peace by next week, and then they are right in my
opinion: otherwise I think they have done wrong, and might have sat three
weeks ago.  People will grumble; but Lord Treasurer cares not a rush.
Lord Keeper is suddenly taken ill of a quinsy, and some lords are
commissioned, I think Lord Trevor, {520} to prorogue the Parliament in
his stead.  You never saw a town so full of ferment and expectation.  Mr.
Pope has published a fine poem, called _Windsor Forest_. {521a}  Read it.
Nite.

10.  I was early this morning to see Lord Bolingbroke.  I find he was of
opinion the Parliament should sit; and says they are not sure the peace
will be signed next week.  The prorogation is to this day se’nnight.  I
went to look on a library I am going to buy, if we can agree.  I have
offered a hundred and twenty pounds, and will give ten more.  Lord
Bolingbroke will lend me the money.  I was two hours poring on the books.
I will sell some of them, and keep the rest; but I doubt they won’t take
the money.  I dined in the City, and sat an hour in the evening with Lord
Treasurer, who was in very good humour; but reproached me for not dining
with him yesterday and to-day.  What will all this come to?  Lord Keeper
had a pretty good night, and is better.  I was in pain for him.  How do
oo do sollahs? . . . Nite MD. {521b}

11.  I was this morning to visit the Duke and Duchess of Ormond, and the
Duchess of Hamilton, and went with the Provost to an auction of pictures,
and laid out fourteen shillings.  I am in for it, if I had money; but I
doubt I shall be undone; for Sir Andrew Fountaine invited the Provost and
me to dine with him, and play at ombre, when I fairly lost fourteen
shillings.  Fais, it won’t do; and I shall be out of conceit with play
this good while.  I am come home; and it is late, and my puppy let out my
fire, and I am gone to bed and writing there, and it is past twelve a
good while.  Went out four matadores and a trump in black, and was
bested.  Vely bad, fais! Nite my deelest logues MD.

12.  I was at another auction of pictures to-day, and a great auction it
was.  I made Lord Masham lay out forty pounds.  There were pictures sold
of twice as much value apiece.  Our Society met to-day at the Duke of
Beaufort’s: a prodigious fine dinner, which I hate; but we did some
business.  Our printer was to attend us, as usual; and the Chancellor of
the Exchequer sent the author of the _Examiner_ {522a} twenty guineas.
He is an ingenious fellow, but the most confounded vain coxcomb in the
world, so that I dare not let him see me, nor am acquainted with him.  I
had much discourse with the Duke of Ormond this morning, and am driving
some points to secure us all in case of accidents, etc. {522b}  I left
the Society at seven.  I can’t drink now at all with any pleasure.  I
love white Portugal wine better than claret, champagne, or burgundy.  I
have a sad vulgar appetite.  I remember Ppt used to maunder, when I came
from a great dinner, and DD had but a bit of mutton.  I cannot endure
above one dish; nor ever could since I was a boy, and loved stuffing.  It
was a fine day, which is a rarity with us, I assure [you].  Never fair
two days together.  Nite dee MD.

13.  I had a rabble of Irish parsons this morning drinking my chocolate.
I cannot remember appointments.  I was to have supped last night with the
Swedish Envoy at his house, and some other company, but forgot it; and he
rallied me to-day at Lord Bolingbroke’s, who excused me, saying, the
Envoy ought not to be angry, because I serve Lord Treasurer and him the
same way.  For that reason, I very seldom promise to go anywhere.  I
dined with Lord Treasurer, who chid me for being absent so long, as he
always does if I miss a day.  I sat three hours this evening with Lady
Jersey; but the first two hours she was at ombre with some company.  I
left Lord Treasurer at eight: I fancied he was a little thoughtful, for
he was playing with an orange by fits, which, I told him, among common
men looked like the spleen.  This letter shall not go to-morrow; no
haste, ung oomens; nothing that presses.  I promised but once in three
weeks, and I am better than my word.  I wish the peace may be ready, I
mean that we have notice it is signed, before Tuesday; otherwise the
grumbling will much increase.  Nite logues.

14.  It was a lovely day this, and I took the advantage of walking a good
deal in the Park, before I went to Court.  Colonel Disney, one of our
Society, is ill of a fever, and, we fear, in great danger.  We all love
him mightily, and he would be a great loss.  I doubt I shall not buy the
library; for a roguey bookseller has offered sixty pounds more than I
designed to give; so you see I meant to have a good bargain.  I dined
with Lord Treasurer and his Saturday company; but there were but seven at
table.  Lord Peterborrow is ill, and spits blood, with a bruise he got
before he left England; but, I believe, an Italian lady he has brought
over is the cause that his illness returns.  You know old Lady Bellasis
{523a} is dead at last?  She has left Lord Berkeley of Stratton {523b}
one of her executors, and it will be of great advantage to him; they say
above ten thousand pounds.  I stayed with Lord Treasurer upon business,
after the company was gone; but I dare not tell you upon what.  My
letters would be good memoirs, if I durst venture to say a thousand
things that pass; but I hear so much of letters opening at your
post-office that I am fearful, etc., and so good-nite, sollahs, rove
Pdfr, MD.

15.  Lord Treasurer engaged me to dine with him again to-day, and I had
ready what he wanted; but he would not see it, but put me off till
to-morrow.  The Queen goes to chapel now.  She is carried in an open
chair, and will be well enough to go to Parliament on Tuesday, if the
Houses meet, which is not yet certain; neither, indeed, can the Ministers
themselves tell; for it depends on winds and weather, and circumstances
of negotiation.  However, we go on as if it was certainly to meet; and I
am to be at Lord Treasurer’s to-morrow, upon that supposition, to settle
some things relating that way.  Ppt {524a} may understand me.  The
doctors tell me that if poor Colonel Disney does not get some sleep
to-night, he must die.  What care you?  Ah! but I do care.  He is one of
our Society; a fellow of abundance of humour; an old battered rake, but
very honest, not an old man, but an old rake.  It was he that said of
Jenny Kingdom, {524b} the maid of honour, who is a little old, that,
since she could not get a husband, the Queen should give her a brevet to
act as a married woman.  You don’t understand this.  They give brevets to
majors and captains to act as colonels in the army.  Brevets are
commissions.  Ask soldiers, dull sollahs.  Nite MD.

16.  I was at Lord Treasurer’s before he came; and, as he entered, he
told me the Parliament was prorogued till Thursday se’nnight.  They have
had some expresses, by which they count that the peace may be signed by
that time; at least, that France, Holland, and we, will sign some
articles, by which we shall engage to sign the peace when it is ready:
but Spain has no Minister there; for Monteleon, who is to be their
Ambassador at Utrecht, is not yet gone from hence; and till he is there,
the Spaniards can sign no peace: and [of] one thing take notice, that a
general peace can hardly be finished these two months, so as to be
proclaimed here; for, after signing, it must be ratified; that is,
confirmed by the several princes at their Courts, which to Spain will
cost a month; for we must have notice that it is ratified in all Courts
before we can proclaim it.  So be not in too much haste.  Nite MD.

17.  The Irish folks were disappointed that the Parliament did not meet
to-day, because it was St. Patrick’s Day; and the Mall was so full of
crosses that I thought all the world was Irish.  Miss Ashe is almost
quite well, and I see the Bishop, but shall not yet go to his house.  I
dined again with Lord Treasurer; but the Parliament being prorogued, I
must keep what I have till next week: for I believe he will not see it
till just the evening before the session.  He has engaged me to dine with
him again to-morrow, though I did all I could to put it off; but I don’t
care to disoblige him.  Nite dee sollahs ’tis late.  Nite MD.

18.  I have now dined six days successively with Lord Treasurer; but
to-night I stole away while he was talking with somebody else, and so am
at liberty to-morrow.  There was a flying report of a general cessation
of arms: everybody had it at Court; but, I believe, there is nothing in
it.  I asked a certain French Minister how things went.  And he whispered
me in French, “Your Plenipotentiaries and ours play the fool.”  None of
us, indeed, approve of the conduct of either at this time; but Lord
Treasurer was in full good-humour for all that.  He had invited a good
many of his relations; and, of a dozen at table, they were all of the
Harley family but myself.  Disney is recovering, though you don’t care a
straw.  Dilly murders us with his _if_ puns.  You know them. . . . {525a}
Nite MD.

19.  The Bishop of Clogher has made an _if_ pun that he is mighty proud
of, and designs to send it over to his brother Tom.  But Sir Andrew
Fountaine has wrote to Tom Ashe last post, and told him the pun, and
desired him to send it over to the Bishop as his own; and, if it
succeeds, ’twill be a pure bite.  The Bishop will tell it us as a wonder
that he and his brother should jump so exactly.  I’ll tell you the
pun:—If there was a hackney coach at Mr. Pooley’s {525b} door, what town
in Egypt would it be?  Why, it would be Hecatompolis; _Hack at Tom
Pooley’s_.  “Sillly,” says Ppt.  I dined with a private friend to-day;
for our Society, I told you, meet but once a fortnight.  I have not seen
Fanny Manley yet; I can’t help it.  Lady Orkney is come to town: why, she
was at her country house; hat {526a} care you?  Nite darling (?) dee MD.

20.  Dilly read me a letter to-day from Ppt.  She seems to have scratched
her head when she writ it.  ’Tis a sad thing to write to people without
tact.  There you say, you hear I was going to Bath.  No such thing; I am
pretty well, I thank God.  The town is now sending me to Savoy. {526b}
Forty people have given me joy of it, yet there is not the least truth
that I know in it.  I was at an auction of pictures, but bought none.  I
was so glad of my liberty, that I would dine nowhere; but, the weather
being fine, I sauntered into the City, and ate a bit about five, and then
supped at Mr. Burke’s {526c} your Accountant-General, who had been
engaging me this month.  The Bishop of Clogher was to have been there,
but was hindered by Lord Paget’s {526d} funeral.  The Provost and I sat
till one o’clock; and, if that be not late, I don’t know what is late.
Parnell’s poem will be published on Monday, and to-morrow I design he
shall present it to Lord Treasurer and Lord Bolingbroke at Court.  The
poor lad is almost always out of order with his head.  Burke’s wife is
his sister.  She has a little of the pert Irish way.  Nite MD.

21.  Morning.  I will now finish my letter; for company will come, and a
stir, and a clutter; and I’ll keep the letter in my pottick, {526e} and
give it into the post myself.  I must go to Court, and you know on
Saturdays I dine with Lord Treasurer, of course.  Farewell, deelest MD MD
MD, FW FW FW, MD ME ME ME Lele sollahs. {526f}



LETTER LXII. {527a}


                                              LONDON, _March_ 21, 1712–13.

I GAVE your letter in this night.  I dined with Lord Treasurer to-day,
and find he has been at a meeting at Lord Halifax’s house, with four
principal Whigs; but he is resolved to begin a speech against them when
the Parliament sits; and I have begged that the Ministers may have a
meeting on purpose to settle that matter, and let us be the attackers;
and I believe it will come to something, for the Whigs intend to attack
the Ministers: and if, instead of that, the Ministers attack the Whigs,
it will be better: and farther, I believe we shall attack them on those
very points they intend to attack us.  The Parliament will be again
prorogued for a fortnight, because of Passion Week.  I forgot to tell you
that Mr. Griffin has given Ppt’s brother {527b} a new employment, about
ten pounds a year better than his former; but more remote, and
consequently cheaper.  I wish I could have done better, and hope oo will
take what can be done in good part, and that oo brother will not dislike
it.—Nite own dear . . . MD.

22.  I dined to-day with Lord Steward. {527c}  There Frank Annesley
{527d} (a Parliament-man) told me he had heard that I had wrote to my
friends in Ireland to keep firm to the Whig interest; for that Lord
Treasurer would certainly declare for it after the peace.  Annesley said
twenty people had told him this.  You must know this is what they
endeavour to report of Lord Treasurer, that he designs to declare for the
Whigs; and a Scotch fellow has wrote the same to Scotland; and his
meeting with those lords gives occasion to such reports.  Let me
henceforth call Lord Treasurer Eltee, because possibly my letters may be
opened.  Pray remember Eltee.  You know the reason; L. T. and Eltee
pronounced the same way.  Stay, ’tis five weeks since I had a letter from
MD.  I allow you six.  You see why I cannot come over the beginning of
April; whoever has to do with this Ministry can fix no time: but as
{528a} hope saved, it is not Pdfr’s fault.  Pay don’t blame poo Pdfr.
Nite deelest logues MD. {528b}

23.  I dined to-day at Sir Thomas Hanmer’s, by an old appointment: there
was the Duke of Ormond, and Lord and Lady Orkney.  I left them at six.
Everybody is as sour as vinegar.  I endeavour to keep a firm friendship
between the Duke of Ormond and Eltee.  (Oo know who Eltee is, or have oo
fordot already?)  I have great designs, if I can compass them; but delay
is rooted in Eltee’s heart; yet the fault is not altogether there, that
things are no better.  Here is the cursedest libel in verse come out that
ever was seen, called _The Ambassadress_; {528c} it is very dull, too; it
has been printed three or four different ways, and is handed about, but
not sold.  It abuses the Queen horribly.  The _Examiner_ has cleared me
to-day of being author of his paper, and done it with great civilities to
me. {528d}  I hope it will stop people’s mouths; if not, they must go on
and be hanged, I care not.  ’Tis terribly rainy weather, I’ll go sleep.
Nite deelest MD.

24.  It rained all this day, and ruined me in coach-hire.  I went to
Colonel Disney, who is past danger.  Then I visited Lord Keeper, who was
at dinner; but I would not dine with him, but drove to Lord Treasurer
(Eltee I mean), paid the coachman, and went in; but he dined abroad: so I
was forced to call the coachman again, and went to Lord Bolingbroke’s.
He dined abroad too; and at Lord Dupplin’s I alighted, and by good luck
got a dinner there, and then went to the Latin play at Westminster
School, acted by the boys; and Lord Treasurer (Eltee I mean again)
honoured them with his presence.  Lady Masham’s eldest son, about two
years old, is ill, and I am afraid will not live: she is full of grief,
and I pity and am angry with her.  Four shillings to-day in coach-hire;
fais, it won’t do.  Our peace will certainly be ready by Thursday
fortnight; but our Plenipotentiaries were to blame that it was not done
already.  They thought their powers were not full enough to sign the
peace, unless every Prince was ready, which cannot yet be; for Spain has
no Minister yet at Utrecht; but now ours have new orders.  Nite MD.

25.  Weather worse than ever; terrible rain all day, but I was resolved I
would spend no more money.  I went to an auction of pictures with Dr.
Pratt, and there met the Duke of Beaufort, who promised to come with me
to Court, but did not.  So a coach I got, and went to Court, and did some
little business there, but was forced to go home; for oo must understand
I take a little physic over-night, which works me next day.  Lady Orkney
is my physician.  It is hiera picra, {529a} two spoonfuls, devilish
stuff!  I thought to have dined with Eltee, but would not, merely to save
a shilling; but I dined privately with a friend, and played at ombre, and
won six shillings.  Here are several people of quality lately dead of the
smallpox.  I have not yet seen Miss Ashe, but hear she is well.  The
Bishop of Clogher has bought abundance of pictures, and Dr. Pratt has got
him very good pennyworths. {529b}  I can get no walks, the weather is so
bad.  Is it so with oo, sollahs? . . . {529c}

26.  Though it was shaving-day, head and beard, yet I was out early to
see Lord Bolingbroke, and talk over affairs with him; and then I went to
the Duke of Ormond’s, and so to Court, where the Ministers did not come,
because the Parliament was prorogued till this day fortnight.  We had
terrible rain and hail to-day.  Our Society met this day, but I left them
before seven, and went to Sir A[ndrew] F[ountaine], and played at ombre
with him and Sir Thomas Clarges, till ten, and then went to Sir Thomas
Hanmer.  His wife, the Duchess of Grafton, left us after a little while,
and I stayed with him about an hour, upon some affairs, etc.  Lord
Bolingbroke left us at the Society before I went; for there is an express
from Utrecht, but I know not yet what it contains; only I know the
Ministers expect the peace will be signed in a week, which is a week
before the session.  Nite, MD.

27.  Parnell’s poem is mightily esteemed; but poetry sells ill.  I am
plagued with that . . . {530a} poor Harrison’s mother; you would laugh to
see how cautious I am of paying her the £100 I received for her son from
the Treasury.  I have asked every creature I know whether I may do it
safely, yet durst not venture, till my Lord Keeper assured me there was
no danger.  I have not paid her, but will in a day or two: though I have
a great mind to stay till Ppt sends me her opinion, because Ppt is a
great lawyer.  I dined to-day with a mixture of people at a Scotchman’s,
who made the invitation to Mr. Lewis and me, and has some design upon us,
which we know very well.  I went afterwards to see a famous moving
picture, {530b} and I never saw anything so pretty.  You see a sea ten
miles wide, a town on t’other end, and ships sailing in the sea, and
discharging their cannon.  You see a great sky, with moon and stars, etc.
I’m a fool.  Nite, dee MD.

28.  I had a mighty levee to-day.  I deny myself to everybody, except
about half a dozen, and they were all here, and Mr. Addison was one, and
I had chocolate twice, which I don’t like.  Our rainy weather continues.
Coach-hire goes deep.  I dined with Eltee and his Saturday company, as
usual, and could not get away till nine.  Lord Peterborow was making long
harangues, and Eltee kept me in spite.  Then I went to see the Bishop of
Ossory, who had engaged me in the morning; he is going to Ireland.  The
Bishop of Killaloe {531a} and Tom Leigh was with us.  The latter had
wholly changed his style, by seeing how the bishops behaved themselves,
and he seemed to think me one of more importance than I really am.  I put
the ill conduct of the bishops about the First-Fruits, with relation to
Eltee and me, strongly upon Killaloe, and showed how it had hindered me
from getting a better thing for them, called the Crown rents, which the
Queen had promised.  He had nothing to say, but was humble, and desired
my interest in that and some other things.  This letter is half done in a
week: I believe oo will have it next.  Nite MD.

29.  I have been employed in endeavouring to save one of your junior
Fellows, {531b} who came over here for a dispensation from taking orders,
and, in soliciting it, has run out his time, and now his fellowship is
void, if the College pleases, unless the Queen suspends the execution,
and gives him time to take orders.  I spoke to all the Ministers
yesterday about it; but they say the Queen is angry, and thought it was a
trick to deceive her; and she is positive, and so the man must be ruined,
for I cannot help him.  I never saw him in my life; but the case was so
hard, I could not forbear interposing.  Your Government recommended him
to the Duke of Ormond, and he thought they would grant it; and by the
time it was refused, the fellowship by rigour is forfeited.  I dined with
Dr. Arbuthnot (one of my brothers) at his lodgings in Chelsea, and was
there at chapel; and the altar put me in mind of Tisdall’s outlandish
would {531c} at your hospital for the soldiers.  I was not at Court
to-day, and I hear the Queen was not at church.  Perhaps the gout has
seized her again.  Terrible rain all day.  Have oo such weather?  Nite
MD.

30.  Morning.  I was naming some time ago, to a certain person, another
certain person, that was very deserving, and poor and sickly; and
t’other, that first certain person, gave me a hundred pounds to give the
other, which I have not yet done.  The person who is to have it never saw
the giver, nor expects one farthing, nor has the least knowledge or
imagination of it; so I believe it will be a very agreeable surprise; for
I think it is a handsome present enough.  At night I dined in the City,
at Pontack’s, {532a} with Lord Dupplin, and some others.  We were treated
by one Colonel Cleland, {532b} who has a mind to be Governor of Barbados,
and is laying these long traps for me and others, to engage our interests
for him.  He is a true Scotchman.  I paid the hundred pounds this
evening, and it was an agreeable surprise to the receiver.  We reckon the
peace is now signed, and that we shall have it in three days.  I believe
it is pretty sure.  Nite MD.

31.  I thought to-day on Ppt when she told me she suppose[d] I was
acquainted with the steward, when I was giving myself airs of being at
some lord’s house.  Sir Andrew Fountaine invited the Bishop of Clogher
and me, and some others, to dine where he did; and he carried us to the
Duke of Kent’s, {532c} who was gone out of town; but the steward treated
us nobly, and showed us the fine pictures, etc.  I have not yet seen Miss
Ashe.  I wait till she has been abroad, and taken the air.  This evening
Lady Masham, Dr. Arbuthnot, and I, were contriving a lie for to-morrow,
that Mr. Noble, {533a} who was hanged last Saturday, was recovered by his
friends, and then seized again by the sheriff, and is now in a
messenger’s hands at the Black Swan in Holborn.  We are all to send to
our friends, to know whether they have heard anything of it, and so we
hope it will spread.  However, we shall do our endeavours; nothing shall
be wanting on our parts, and leave the rest to fortune.  Nite MD.

April 1.  We had no success in our story, though I sent my man to several
houses, to inquire among the footmen, without letting him into the
secret; but I doubt my colleagues did not contribute as they ought.
Parnell and I dined with Darteneuf {533b} to-day.  You have heard of
Darteneuf: I have told you of Darteneuf.  After dinner we all went to
Lord Bolingbroke’s, who had desired me to dine with him; but I would not,
because I heard it was to look over a dull poem of one parson Trapp
{533c} upon the peace.  The Swedish Envoy told me to-day at Court that he
was in great apprehensions about his master; {533d} and indeed we are
afraid that prince has {533e} died among those Turkish dogs.  I prevailed
on Lord Bolingbroke to invite Mr. Addison to dine with him on Good
Friday.  I suppose we shall be mighty mannerly.  Addison is to have a
play of his acted on Friday in Easter Week: ’tis a tragedy, called
_Cato_; I saw it unfinished some years ago. {533f}  Did I tell you that
Steele has begun a new daily paper, called the _Guardian_? {533g} they
say good for nothing.  I have not seen it.  Nite dee MD.

2.  I was this morning with Lord Bolingbroke, and he tells me a Spanish
courier is just come, with the news that the King of Spain has agreed to
everything that the Queen desires; and the Duke d’Ossuna has left Paris
in order to his journey to Utrecht.  I was prevailed on to come home with
Trapp, and read his poem and correct it; but it was good for nothing.
While I was thus employed, Sir Thomas Hanmer came up to my chamber, and
balked me of a journey he and I intended this week to Lord Orkney’s at
Cliffden; {534a} but he is not well, and his physician will not let him
undertake such a journey.  I intended to dine with Lord Treasurer; but
going to see Colonel Disney, who lives with General Withers, {534b} I
liked the General’s little dinner so well, that I stayed and took share
of it, and did not go to Lord Treasurer till six, where I found Dr.
Sacheverell, who told us that the bookseller had given him £100 for his
sermon, {534c} preached last Sunday, and intended to print 30,000: I
believe he will be confoundedly bit, and will hardly sell above half.  I
have fires still, though April has begun, against my old maxim; but the
weather is wet and cold.  I never saw such a long run of ill weather in
my life.  Nite dee logues MD.

3.  I was at the Queen’s chapel to-day, but she was not there.  Mr. St.
John, Lord Bolingbroke’s brother, came this day at noon with an express
from Utrecht, that the peace is signed by all the Ministers there, but
those of the Emperor, who will likewise sign in a few days; so that now
the great work is in effect done, and I believe it will appear a most
excellent peace for Europe, particularly for England.  Addison and I, and
some others, dined with Lord Bolingbroke, and sat with him till twelve.
We were very civil, but yet when we grew warm, we talked in a friendly
manner of party.  Addison raised his objections, and Lord Bolingbroke
answered them with great complaisance.  Addison began Lord Somers’s
health, which went about; but I bid him not name Lord Wharton’s, for I
would not pledge it; and I told Lord Bolingbroke frankly that Addison
loved Lord Wharton as little as I did: so we laughed, etc.  Well, but you
are glad of the peace, you Ppt the Trimmer, are not you?  As for DD I
don’t doubt her.  Why, now, if I did not think Ppt had been a violent
Tory, and DD the greater Whig of the two!  ’Tis late.  Nite MD.

4.  This Passion Week, people are so demure, especially this last day,
that I told Dilly, who called here, that I would dine with him, and so I
did, faith; and had a small shoulder of mutton of my own bespeaking.  It
rained all day.  I came home at seven, and have never stirred out, but
have been reading Sacheverell’s long dull sermon, which he sent me.  It
is the first sermon since his suspension is expired; but not a word in it
upon the occasion, except two or three remote hints.  The Bishop of
Clogher has been sadly bit by Tom Ashe, who sent him a pun, which the
Bishop had made, and designed to send to him, but delayed it; and Lord
Pembroke and I made Sir Andrew Fountaine write it to Tom.  I believe I
told you of it in my last; it succeeded right, and the Bishop was
wondering to Lord Pembroke how he and his brother could hit on the same
thing.  I’ll go to bed soon, for I must be at church by eight to-morrow,
Easter Day.  Nite dee MD.

5.  Warburton {535a} wrote to me two letters about a living of one
Foulkes, who is lately dead in the county of Meath.  My answer is, that
before I received the first letter, General Gorges {535b} had recommended
a friend of his to the Duke of Ormond, which was the first time I heard
of its vacancy, and it was the Provost told me of it.  I believe verily
that Foulkes was not dead when Gorges recommended the other: for
Warburton’s last letter said that Foulkes was dead the day before the
date.—This has prevented me from serving Warburton, as I would have done,
if I had received early notice enough.  Pray say or write this to
Warburton, to justify me to him.  I was at church at eight this morning,
and dressed and shaved after I came back, but was too late at Court; and
Lord Abingdon {536a} was like to have snapped me for dinner, and I
believe will fall out with me for refusing him; but I hate dining with
them, and I dined with a private friend, and took two or three good
walks; for it was a very fine day, the first we have had a great while.
Remember, was Easter Day a fine day with you?  I have sat with Lady
Worsley till now.  Nite dee MD.

6.  I was this morning at ten at the rehearsal of Mr. Addison’s play,
called Cato, which is to be acted on Friday.  There were not above half a
score of us to see it.  We stood on the stage, and it was foolish enough
to see the actors prompted every moment, and the poet directing them; and
the drab that acts Cato’s daughter, {536b} out in the midst of a
passionate part, and then calling out, “What’s next?”  The Bishop of
Clogher was there too; but he stood privately in a gallery.  I went to
dine with Lord Treasurer, but he was gone to Wimbledon, his daughter
Caermarthen’s {536c} country seat, seven miles off.  So I went back, and
dined privately with Mr. Addison, whom I had left to go to Lord
Treasurer.  I keep fires yet; I am very extravagant.  I sat this evening
with Sir A. Fountaine, and we amused ourselves with making _ifs_ for
Dilly.  It is rainy weather again; nevle saw ze rike. {536d}  This letter
shall go to-morrow; remember, ung oomens, it is seven weeks since oor
last, and I allow oo but five weeks; but oo have been galloping into the
country to Swanton’s. {536e}  O pray tell Swanton I had his letter, but
cannot contrive how to serve him.  If a Governor were to go over, I would
recommend him as far as lay in my power, but I can do no more: and you
know all employments in Ireland, at least almost all, are engaged in
reversions.  If I were on the spot, and had credit with a Lord
Lieutenant, I would very heartily recommend him; but employments here are
no more in my power than the monarchy itself.  Nite, dee MD.

7.  Morning.  I have had a visitor here, that has taken up my time.  I
have not been abroad, oo may be sure; so I can say nothing to-day, but
that I rove MD bettle zan ever, if possibbere.  I will put this in the
post-office; so I say no more.  I write by this post to the Dean, but it
is not above two lines; and one enclosed to you, but that enclosed to you
is not above three lines; and then one enclosed to the Dean, which he
must not have but upon condition of burning it immediately after reading,
and that before your eyes; for there are some things in it I would not
have liable to accident.  You shall only know in general that it is an
account of what I have done to serve him in his pretensions on these
vacancies, etc.  But he must not know that you know so much. {537a}  Does
this perplex you?  Hat care I?  But rove Pdfr, saucy Pdfr.  Farewell,
deelest MD MD MD FW FW FW, . . . ME, MD Lele.



LETTER LXIII. {537b}


                                                  LONDON, _April_ 7, 1713.

I FANCY I marked my last, which I sent this day, wrong; only 61, and it
ought to be 62.  I dined with Lord Treasurer, and though the business I
had with him is something against Thursday, when the Parliament is to
meet, and this is Tuesday, yet he put it off till to-morrow.  I dare not
tell you what it is, lest this letter should miscarry or be opened; but I
never saw his fellow for delays.  The Parliament will now certainly sit,
and everybody’s expectations are ready to burst.  At a Council to-night
the Lord Chief-Justice Parker, a Whig, spoke against the peace; so did
Lord Chomley, {538a} another Whig, who is Treasurer of the Household.  My
Lord Keeper {538b} was this night made Lord Chancellor.  We hope there
will soon be some removes.  Nite, dee sollahs; Late.  Rove Pdfr. {538c}

8.  Lord Chomley (the right name is Cholmondeley) is this day removed
from his employment, for his last night’s speech; and Sir Richard Temple,
{538d} Lieutenant-General, the greatest Whig in the army, is turned out;
and Lieutenant-General Palmes {538e} will be obliged to sell his
regiment.  This is the first-fruits of a friendship I have established
between two great men.  I dined with Lord Treasurer, and did the business
I had for him to his satisfaction.  I won’t tell MD what it was. . . .
{538f} for zat.  The Parliament sits to-morrow for certain.  Here is a
letter printed in Maccartney’s name, vindicating himself from the murder
of the Duke of Hamilton.  I must give some hints to have it answered;
’tis full of lies, and will give an opportunity of exposing that party.
To morrow will be a very important day.  All the world will be at
Westminster.  Lord Treasurer is as easy as a lamb.  They are mustering up
the proxies of the absent lords; but they are not in any fear of wanting
a majority, which death and accidents have increased this year.  Nite MD.

9.  I was this morning with Lord Treasurer, to present to him a young son
{538g} of the late Earl of Jersey, at the desire of the widow.  There I
saw the mace and great coach ready for Lord Treasurer, who was going to
Parliament.  Our Society met to-day; but I expected the Houses would sit
longer than I cared to fast; so I dined with a friend, and never inquired
how matters went till eight this evening, when I went to Lord Orkney’s,
where I found Sir Thomas Hanmer.  The Queen delivered her speech very
well, but a little weaker in her voice.  The crowd was vast.  The order
for the Address {539a} was moved, and opposed by Lord Nottingham,
Halifax, and Cowper.  Lord Treasurer spoke with great spirit and
resolution; Lord Peterborow flirted {539b} against the Duke of
Marlborough (who is in Germany, you know), but it was in answer to one of
Halifax’s impertinences.  The order for an Address passed by a majority
of thirty-three, and the Houses rose before six.  This is the account I
heard at Lord Orkney’s.  The Bishop of Chester, {539c} a high Tory, was
against the Court.  The Duchess of Marlborough sent for him some months
ago, to justify herself to him in relation to the Queen, and showed him
letters, and told him stories, which the weak man believed, and was
perverted.  Nite MD.

10.  I dined with a cousin in the City, and poor Pat Rolt was there.  I
have got her rogue of a husband leave to come to England from Port-Mahon.
The Whigs are much down; but I reckon they have some scheme in agitation.
This Parliament-time hinders our Court meetings on Wednesdays, Thursdays,
and Saturdays.  I had a great deal of business to-night, which gave me a
temptation to be idle, and I lost a dozen shillings at ombre, with Dr.
Pratt and another.  I have been to see t’other day the Bishop of Clogher
and lady, but did not see Miss.  It rains every day, and yet we are all
over dust.  Lady Masham’s eldest boy is very ill: I doubt he will not
live, and she stays at Kensington to nurse him, which vexes us all.  She
is so excessively fond, it makes me mad.  She should never leave the
Queen, but leave everything, to stick to what is so much the interest of
the public, as well as her own.  This I tell her; but talk to the winds.
Nite MD.

11.  I dined at Lord Treasurer’s, with his Saturday company.  We had ten
at table, all lords but myself and the Chancellor of the Exchequer.
Argyle went off at six, and was in very indifferent humour as usual.
Duke of Ormond and Lord Bolingbroke were absent.  I stayed till near ten.
Lord Treasurer showed us a small picture, enamelled work, and set in
gold, worth about twenty pounds; a picture, I mean, of the Queen, which
she gave to the Duchess of Marlborough, set in diamonds.  When the
Duchess was leaving England, she took off all the diamonds, and gave the
picture to one Mrs. Higgins (an old intriguing woman, whom everybody
knows), bidding her make the best of it she could.  Lord Treasurer sent
to Mrs. Higgins for this picture, and gave her a hundred pounds for it.
Was ever such an ungrateful beast as that Duchess? or did you ever hear
such a story?  I suppose the Whigs will not believe it.  Pray, try them.
Takes off the diamonds, and gives away the picture to an insignificant
woman, as a thing of no consequence: and gives it to her to sell, like a
piece of old-fashioned plate.  Is she not a detestable slut?  Nite
deelest MD.

12.  I went to Court to-day, on purpose to present Mr. Berkeley, {540}
one of your Fellows of Dublin College, to Lord Berkeley of Stratton.
That Mr. Berkeley is a very ingenious man, and great philosopher, and I
have mentioned him to all the Ministers, and given them some of his
writings; and I will favour him as much as I can.  This I think I am
bound to, in honour and conscience, to use all my little credit toward
helping forward men of worth in the world.  The Queen was at chapel
to-day, and looks well.  I dined at Lord Orkney’s with the Duke of
Ormond, Lord Arran, and Sir Thomas Hanmer.  Mr. St. John, Secretary at
Utrecht, expects every moment to return there with the ratification of
the peace.  Did I tell you in my last of Addison’s play called Cato, and
that I was at the rehearsal of it?  Nite MD.

13.  This morning my friend, Mr. Lewis, came to me, and showed me an
order for a warrant for the three vacant deaneries; but none of them to
me.  This was what I always foresaw, and received the notice of it
better, I believe, than he expected.  I bid Mr. Lewis tell Lord Treasurer
that I took nothing ill of him but his not giving me timely notice, as he
promised to do, if he found the Queen would do nothing for me.  At noon,
Lord Treasurer hearing I was in Mr. Lewis’s office, came to me, and said
many things too long to repeat.  I told him I had nothing to do but go to
Ireland immediately; for I could not, with any reputation, stay longer
here, unless I had something honourable immediately given to me.  We
dined together at the Duke of Ormond’s.  He there told me he had stopped
the warrants for the deans, that what was done for me might be at the
same time, and he hoped to compass it to-night; but I believe him not.  I
told the Duke of Ormond my intentions.  He is content Sterne should be a
bishop, and I have St. Patrick’s; but I believe nothing will come of it,
for stay I will not; and so I believe for all oo . . . {541} oo may see
me in Dublin before April ends.  I am less out of humour than you would
imagine: and if it were not that impertinent people will condole with me,
as they used to give me joy, I would value it less.  But I will avoid
company, and muster up my baggage, and send them next Monday by the
carrier to Chester, and come and see my willows, against the expectation
of all the world.—Hat care I?  Nite deelest logues, MD.

14.  I dined in the City to-day, and ordered a lodging to be got ready
for me against I came to pack up my things; for I will leave this end of
the town as soon as ever the warrants for the deaneries are out, which
are yet stopped.  Lord Treasurer told Mr. Lewis that it should be
determined to-night: and so he will for {542a} a hundred nights.  So he
said yesterday, but I value it not.  My daily journals shall be but short
till I get into the City, and then I will send away this, and follow it
myself; and design to walk it all the way to Chester, my man and I, by
ten miles a day.  It will do my health a great deal of good.  I shall do
it in fourteen days.  Nite dee MD.

15.  Lord Bolingbroke made me dine with him to-day; he {542b} was as good
company as ever; and told me the Queen would determine something for me
to-night.  The dispute is, Windsor or St. Patrick’s.  I told him I would
not stay for their disputes, and he thought I was in the right.  Lord
Masham told me that Lady Masham is angry I have not been to see her since
this business, and desires I will come to-morrow.  Nite deelest MD.

16.  I was this noon at Lady Masham’s, who was just come from Kensington,
where her eldest son is sick.  She said much to me of what she had talked
to the Queen and Lord Treasurer.  The poor lady fell a shedding tears
openly.  She could not bear to think of my having St. Patrick’s, etc.  I
was never more moved than to see so much friendship.  I would not stay
with her, but went and dined with Dr. Arbuthnot, with Mr. Berkeley, one
of your Fellows, whom I have recommended to the Doctor, and to Lord
Berkeley of Stratton.  Mr. Lewis tells me that the Duke of Ormond has
been to-day with the Queen; and she was content that Dr. Sterne should be
Bishop of Dromore, and I Dean of St. Patrick’s; but then out came Lord
Treasurer, and said he would not be satisfied but that I must be
Prebend[ary] of Windsor.  Thus he perplexes things.  I expect neither;
but I confess, as much as I love England, I am so angry at this treatment
that, if I had my choice, I would rather have St. Patrick’s.  Lady Masham
says she will speak to purpose to the Queen to-morrow.  Nite, . . . dee
MD.

17.  I went to dine at Lady Masham’s to-day, and she was taken ill of a
sore throat, and aguish.  She spoke to the Queen last night, but had not
much time.  The Queen says she will determine to-morrow with Lord
Treasurer.  The warrants for the deaneries are still stopped, for fear I
should be gone.  Do you think anything will be done?  I don’t care
whether it is or no.  In the meantime, I prepare for my journey, and see
no great people, nor will see Lord Treasurer any more, if I go.  Lord
Treasurer told Mr. Lewis it should be done to-night; so he said five
nights ago.  Nite MD.

18.  This morning Mr. Lewis sent me word that Lord Treasurer told him the
Queen would determine at noon.  At three Lord Treasurer sent to me to
come to his lodgings at St. James’s, and told me the Queen was at last
resolved that Dr. Sterne should be Bishop of Dromore, and I Dean of St.
Patrick’s; and that Sterne’s warrant should be drawn immediately.  You
know the deanery is in the Duke of Ormond’s gift; but this is concerted
between the Queen, Lord Treasurer, and the Duke of Ormond, to make room
for me.  I do not know whether it will yet be done; some unlucky accident
may yet come.  Neither can I feel joy at passing my days in Ireland; and
I confess I thought the Ministry would not let me go; but perhaps they
can’t help it.  Nite MD.

19.  I forgot to tell you that Lord Treasurer forced me to dine with him
yesterday as usual, with his Saturday company; which I did after frequent
refusals.  To-day I dined with a private friend, and was not at Court.
After dinner Mr. Lewis sent me a note, that the Queen stayed till she
knew whether the Duke of Ormond approved of Sterne for Bishop.  I went
this evening, and found the Duke of Ormond at the Cock-pit, and told him,
and desired he would go to the Queen, and approve of Sterne.  He made
objections, desired I would name any other deanery, for he did not like
Sterne; that Sterne never went to see him; that he was influenced by the
Archbishop of Dublin, etc.; so all now is broken again.  I sent out for
Lord Treasurer, and told him this.  He says all will do well; but I value
not what he says.  This suspense vexes me worse than anything else.  Nite
MD.

20.  I went to-day, by appointment, to the Cock-pit, to talk with the
Duke of Ormond.  He repeated the same proposals of any other deanery,
etc.  I desired he would put me out of the case, and do as he pleased.
Then, with great kindness, he said he would consent; but would do it for
no man alive but me, etc.  And he will speak to the Queen to-day or
to-morrow; so, perhaps, something will come of it.  I can’t tell.  Nite
dee dee logues, MD.

21.  The Duke of Ormond has told the Queen he is satisfied that Sterne
should be Bishop, and she consents I shall be Dean; and I suppose the
warrants will be drawn in a day or two.  I dined at an ale-house with
Parnell and Berkeley; for I am not in humour to go among the Ministers,
though Lord Dartmouth invited me to dine with him to-day, and Lord
Treasurer was to be there.  I said I would, if I were out of suspense.
Nite deelest MD.

22.  The Queen says warrants shall be drawn, but she will dispose of all
in England and Ireland at once, to be teased no more.  This will delay it
some time; and, while it is delayed, I am not sure of the Queen, my
enemies being busy.  I hate this suspense.  Nite deelest MD. {544a}

23.  I dined yesterday with General Hamilton. {544b}  I forgot to tell
oo.  I write short journals now.  I have eggs on the spit.  This night
the Queen has signed all the warrants, among which Sterne is Bishop of
Dromore, and the Duke of Ormond is to send over an order for making me
Dean of St. Patrick’s.  I have no doubt of him at all.  I think ’tis now
passed.  And I suppose MD is malicious enough to be glad, and rather have
it than Wells. {545a}  But you see what a condition I am in.  I thought I
was to pay but six hundred pounds for the house; but the Bishop of
Clogher says eight hundred pounds; first-fruits one hundred and fifty
pounds, and so, with patent, a thousand pounds in all; so that I shall
not be the better for the deanery these three years.  I hope in some time
they will be persuaded here to give me some money to pay off these debts.
I must finish the book I am writing, {545b} before I can go over; and
they expect I shall pass next winter here, and then I will dun them to
give me a sum of money.  However, I hope to pass four or five months with
MD, and whatever comes on it.  MD’s allowance must be increased, and
shall be too, fais . . . {545c}  I received oor rettle No. 39 to-night;
just ten weeks since I had your last.  I shall write next post to Bishop
Sterne.  Never man had so many enemies of Ireland {545d} as he.  I
carried it with the strongest hand possible.  If he does not use me well
and gently in what dealings I shall have with him, he will be the most
ungrateful of mankind.  The Archbishop of York, {545e} my mortal enemy,
has sent, by a third hand, that he would be glad to see me.  Shall I see
him, or not?  I hope to be over in a month, and that MD, with their
raillery, will be mistaken, that I shall make it three years.  I will
answer oo rettle soon; but no more journals.  I shall be very busy.
Short letters from hence forward.  I shall not part with Laracor.  That
is all I have to live on, except the deanery be worth more than four
hundred pounds a year.  Is it?  If it be, the overplus shall be divided
between MD and FW beside usual allowance of MD. . . . {545f}  Pray write
to me a good-humoured letter immediately, let it be ever so short.  This
affair was carried with great difficulty, which vexes me.  But they say
here ’tis much to my reputation that I have made a bishop, in spite of
all the world, to get the best deanery in Ireland.  Nite dee sollahs.

24.  I forgot to tell you I had Sterne’s letter yesterday, in answer to
mine.  Oo performed oor commission well, dood dallars both. {546a}  I
made mistakes the three last days, and am forced to alter the number.
{546b}  I dined in the City to-day with my printer, and came home early,
and am going to [be] busy with my work.  I will send this to-morrow, and
I suppose the warrants will go then.  I wrote to Dr. Coghill, to take
care of passing my patent; and to Parvisol, to attend him with money, if
he has any, or to borrow some where he can.  Nite MD.

25.  Morning.  I know not whether my warrant be yet ready from the Duke
of Ormond.  I suppose it will by to-night.  I am going abroad, and will
keep this unsealed, till I know whether all be finished.  Mollow, {546c}
sollahs.

I had this letter all day in my pocket, waiting till I heard the warrants
were gone over.  Mr. Lewis sent to Southwell’s clerk at ten; and he said
the Bishop of Killaloe {546d} had desired they should be stopped till
next post.  He sent again, that the Bishop of Killaloe’s business had
nothing to do with ours.  Then I went myself, but it was past eleven, and
asked the reason.  Killaloe is removed to Raphoe, and he has a mind to
have an order for the rents of Raphoe, that have fallen due since the
vacancy, and he would have all stop till he has gotten that.  A pretty
request!  But the clerk, at Mr. Lewis’s message, sent the warrants for
Sterne and me; but then it was too late to send this, which frets me
heartily, that MD should not have intelligence first from Pdfr.  I think
to take a hundred pounds a year out of the deanery, and divide it between
MD and Pr, {546e} and so be one year longer in paying the debt; but we’ll
talk of zis hen I come over.  So nite dear sollahs.  Lele. {547a}

26.  I was at Court to-day, and a thousand people gave me joy; so I ran
out.  I dined with Lady Orkney.  Yesterday I dined with Lord Treasurer
and his Saturday people as usual; and was so bedeaned!  The Archbishop of
York says he will never more speak against me.  Pray see that Parvisol
stirs about getting my patent.  I have given Tooke DD’s note to prove she
is alive.  I’ll answer oo rettle. . . .  Nite.

27.  Nothing new to-day.  I dined with Tom Harley, etc.  I’ll seal up
this to-night.  Pray write soon. . . . MD MD MD FW FW FW ME ME ME Lele,
lele.



LETTER LXIV. {547b}


                                                  LONDON, _May_ 16 [1713].

I HAD yours, No. 40, yesterday.  Your new Bishop acts very ungratefully.
I cannot say so bad of it as he deserved.  I begged at the same post his
warrant and mine went over, that he would leave those livings to my
disposal.  I shall write this post to him to let him know how ill I take
it.  I have letters to tell me that I ought to think of employing some
body to set the tithes of the deanery.  I know not what to do at this
distance.  I cannot be in Ireland under a month.  I will write two
orders; one to Parvisol, and t’other to Parvisol, and a blank for
whatever fellow it is whom the last Dean employed; and I would desire you
to advise with friends which to make use of: and if the latter, let the
fellow’s name be inserted, and both act by commission.  If the former,
then speak to Parvisol, and know whether he can undertake it.  I doubt it
is hardly to be done by a perfect stranger alone, as Parvisol is.  He may
perhaps venture at all, to keep up his interest with me; but that is
needless, for I am willing to do him any good, that will do me no harm.
Pray advise with Walls and Raymond, and a little with Bishop Sterne for
form.  Tell Raymond I cannot succeed for him to get that living of
Moimed.  It is represented here as a great sinecure.  Several chaplains
have solicited for it; and it has vexed me so, that, if I live, I will
make it my business to serve him better in something else.  I am heartily
sorry for his illness, and that of the other two.  If it be not necessary
to let the tithes till a month hence, you may keep the two papers, and
advise well in the meantime; and whenever it is absolutely necessary,
then give that paper which you are most advised to.  I thank Mr. Walls
for his letter.  Tell him that must serve for an answer, with my service
to him and her.  I shall buy Bishop Sterne’s hair as soon as his
household goods.  I shall be ruined, or at least sadly cramped, unless
the Queen will give me a thousand pounds.  I am sure she owes me a great
deal more.  Lord Treasurer rallies me upon it, and I believe intends it;
but, quando?  I am advised to hasten over as soon as possible, and so I
will, and hope to set out the beginning of June.  Take no lodging for me.
What? at your old tricks again?  I can lie somewhere after I land, and I
care not where, nor how.  I will buy your eggs and bacon, DD . . . {548a}
your caps and Bible; and pray think immediately, and give me some
commissions, and I will perform them as far as oo poo Pdfr can. {548b}
The letter I sent before this was to have gone a post before; but an
accident hindered it; and, I assure oo, I wam very akkree {548c} MD did
not write to Dean Pdfr, and I think oo might have had a Dean under your
girdle for the superscription.  I have just finished my Treatise, {548d}
and must be ten days correcting it.  Farewell, deelest MD, MD, MD, FW,
FW, FW, ME, ME, ME, Lele.

You’ll seal the two papers after my name.

                                                  “LONDON, _May_ 16, 1713.

    “I appoint Mr. Isaiah Parvisol and Mr. . . . to set and let the
    tithes of the Deanery of St. Patrick’s for this present year.  In
    witness whereof, I hereunto set my hand and seal, the day and year
    above written.

                                                   [JONAT. SWIFT.” {549a}]

                                * * * * *

                                                  “LONDON, _May_ 16, 1713.

    “I do hereby appoint Mr. Isaiah Parvisol my proctor, to set and let
    the tithes of the Deanery of St. Patrick’s.  In witness whereof, I
    have hereunto set my hand and seal, the day and year above written.

                                                            JONAT. SWIFT.”



LETTER LXV. {549b}


                                                  CHESTER, _June_ 6, 1713.

I AM come here after six days.  I set out on Monday last, and got here
to-day about eleven in the morning.  A noble rider, fais! and all the
ships and people went off yesterday with a rare wind.  This was told me,
to my comfort, upon my arrival.  Having not used riding these three
years, made me terrible weary; yet I resolve on Monday to set out for
Holyhead, as weary as I am.  ’Tis good for my health, mam.  When I came
here, I found MD’s letter of the 26th of May sent down to me.  Had you
writ a post sooner I might have brought some pins: but you were lazy, and
would not write your orders immediately, as I desired you.  I will come
when God pleases; perhaps I may be with you in a week.  I will be three
days going to Holyhead; I cannot ride faster, say hat oo will.  I am upon
Stay-behind’s mare.  I have the whole inn to myself.  I would fain ’scape
this Holyhead journey; but I have no prospect of ships, and it will be
almost necessary I should be in Dublin before the 25th instant, to take
the oaths; {549c} otherwise I must wait to a quarter sessions.  I will
lodge as I can; therefore take no lodgings for me, to pay in my absence.
The poor Dean can’t afford it.  I spoke again to the Duke of Ormond about
Moimed for Raymond, and hope he may yet have it, for I laid it strongly
to the Duke, and gave him the Bishop of Meath’s memorial.  I am sorry for
Raymond’s fistula; tell him so.  I will speak to Lord Treasurer about
Mrs. South {550a} to-morrow.  Odso! I forgot; I thought I had been in
London.  Mrs. Tisdall {550b} is very big, ready to lie down.  Her husband
is a puppy.  Do his feet stink still?  The letters to Ireland go at so
uncertain an hour, that I am forced to conclude.  Farewell, MD, MD MD FW
FW FW ME ME ME ME.

   Lele lele
   lele logues and
   Ladies bose fair
   and slender.

[_On flyleaf_.]

I mightily approve Ppt’s project of hanging the blind parson.  When I
read that passage upon Chester walls, as I was coming into town, and just
received your letter, I said aloud—Agreeable B—tch.




FOOTNOTES.


{0a}  _Notes and Queries_, Sixth Series, x. 287.

{0b}  See letter from Swift to John Temple, February 1737.  She was then
“quite sunk with years and unwieldliness.”

{0c}  _Athenæum_, Aug. 8, 1891.

{0d}  _Journal_, May 4, 1711.

{0e}  Craik’s _Life of Swift_, 269.

{0f}  _Unpublished Letters of Dean Swift_, pp. 189–96.

{0g}  In 1730 he wrote, “Those who have been married may form juster
ideas of that estate than I can pretend to do” (Dr. Birkbeck Hill’s
_Unpublished Letters of Dean Swift_, p. 237).

{0h}  Scott added a new incident which has become incorporated in the
popular conception of Swift’s story.  Delany is said to have met Swift
rushing out of Archbishop King’s study, with a countenance of
distraction, immediately after the wedding.  King, who was in tears,
said, “You have just met the most unhappy man on earth; but on the
subject of his wretchedness you must never ask a question.”  Will it be
believed that Scott—who rejects Delany’s inference from this alleged
incident—had no better authority for it than “a friend of his (Delany’s)
relict”?

{0i}  This incident, for which there is probably some foundation of
fact—we cannot say how much—has been greatly expanded by Mrs. Woods in
her novel _Esther Vanhomrigh_.  Unfortunately most of her readers cannot,
of course, judge exactly how far her story is a work of imagination.

{0j}  In October Swift explained that he had been in the country “partly
to see a lady of my old acquaintance, who was extremely ill”
(_Unpublished Letters of Dean Swift_, p. 198).

{0k}  There is a story that shortly before her death Swift begged Stella
to allow herself to be publicly announced as his wife, but that she
replied that it was then too late.  The versions given by Delany and
Theophilus Swift differ considerably, while Sheridan alters the whole
thing by representing Swift as brutally refusing to comply with Stella’s
last wishes.

{0l}  There has also been the absurd suggestion that the impediment was
Swift’s knowledge that both he and Stella were the illegitimate children
of Sir William Temple—a theory which is absolutely disproved by known
facts.

{0m}  It is curious to note the intimate knowledge of some of Swift’s
peculiarities which was possessed by the hostile writer of a pamphlet
called _A Hue and Cry after Dr. S—t_, published in 1714.  That piece
consists, for the most part, of extracts from a supposed Diary by Swift,
and contains such passages as these: “_Friday_.  Go to the Club . . .  Am
treated.  Expenses one shilling.”  “_Saturday_.  Bid my servant get all
things ready for a journey to the country: mend my breeches; hire a
washerwoman, making her allow for old shirts, socks, dabbs and markees,
which she bought of me . . .  Six coaches of quality, and nine hacks,
this day called at my lodgings.”  “_Thursday_.  The Earl looked queerly:
left him in a huff.  Bid him send for me when he was fit for company. . . .
Spent ten shillings.”

{0n}  The “little language” is marked chiefly by such changes of letters
(e.g., l for r, or r for l) as a child makes when learning to speak.  The
combinations of letters in which Swift indulges are not so easy of
interpretation.  For himself he uses Pdfr, and sometimes Podefar or FR
(perhaps Poor dear foolish rogue).  Stella is Ppt (Poor pretty thing).
MD (my dears) usually stands for both Stella and Mrs. Dingley, but
sometimes for Stella alone.  Mrs. Dingley is indicated by ME (Madam
Elderly), D, or DD (Dear Dingley).  The letters FW may mean Farewell, or
Foolish Wenches.  Lele seems sometimes to be There, there, and sometimes
Truly.

{1a}  Addressed “To Mrs. Dingley, at Mr. Curry’s house over against the
Ram in Capel Street, Dublin, Ireland,” and endorsed by Esther Johnson,
“Sept. 9. Received.”  Afterwards Swift added, “MD received this Sept. 9,”
and “Letters to Ireland from Sept.1710, begun soon after the change of
Ministry.  Nothing in this.”

{1b}  Beaumont is the “grey old fellow, poet Joe,” of Swift’s verses “On
the little house by the Churchyard at Castlenock.”  Joseph Beaumont, a
linen-merchant, is described as “a venerable, handsome, grey-headed man,
of quick and various natural abilities, but not improved by learning.”
His inventions and mathematical speculations, relating to the longitude
and other things, brought on mental troubles, which were intensified by
bankruptcy, about 1718.  He was afterwards removed from Dublin to his
home at Trim, where he rallied; but in a few years his madness returned,
and he committed suicide.

{1c}  Vicar of Trim, and formerly a Fellow of Trinity College, Dublin.
In various places in his correspondence Swift criticises the failings of
Dr. Anthony Raymond, who was, says Scott, “a particular friend.”  His
unreliability in money matters, the improvidence of his large family, his
peculiarities in grammar, his pride in his good manners, all these points
are noticed in the journal and elsewhere.  But when Dr. Raymond returned
to Ireland after a visit to London, Swift felt a little melancholy, and
regretted that he had not seen more of him.  In July 1713 Raymond was
presented to the Crown living of Moyenet.

{2a}  A small township on the estuary of the Dee, between twelve and
thirteen miles north-west of Chester.  In the early part of the
eighteenth century Parkgate was a rival of Holyhead as a station for the
Dublin packets, which started, on the Irish side, from off Kingsend.

{2b}  Dr. St. George Ashe, afterwards Bishop of Derry, who had been
Swift’s tutor at Trinity College, Dublin.  He died in 1718.  It is this
lifelong friend who is said to have married Swift and Esther Johnson in
1716.

{2c}  The Commission to solicit for the remission of the First-Fruits and
twentieth parts, payable to the Crown by the Irish clergy, was signed by
the Archbishops of Armagh, Dublin, and Cashel, and the Bishops of
Kildare, Meath, and Killala.

{2d}  Dr. William Lloyd was appointed Bishop of Killala in 1690.  He had
previously been Dean of Achonry.

{2e}  Dr. John Hough (1651–1743).  In 1687 he had been elected President
of Magdalen College, Oxford, in place of the nominee of James II.  Hough
was Bishop of Oxford, Lichfield, and Worcester successively, and declined
the primacy in 1715.

{2f}  Steele was at this time Gazetteer.  The Cockpit, in Whitehall,
looked upon St. James’s Palace, and was used for various Government
purposes.

{2g}  This coffee-house, the resort of the Whig politicians, was kept by
a man named Elliot.  It is often alluded to in the _Tatler_ and
_Spectator_.

{2h}  William Stewart, second Viscount Mountjoy, a friend and
correspondent of Swift’s in Ireland.  He was the son of one of William’s
generals, and was himself a Lieutenant-General and Master-General of the
Ordnance; he died in 1728.

{2i}  Catherine, daughter of Maurice Keating, of Narraghmore, Kildare,
and wife of Garret Wesley, of Dangan, M.P. for Meath.  She died in 1745.
On the death of Garret Wesley without issue in 1728, the property passed
to a cousin, Richard Colley, who was afterwards created Baron Mornington,
and was grandfather to the Duke of Wellington.

{3a}  The landlady of Esther Johnson and Mrs. Dingley.

{3b}  Swift’s housekeeper at Laracor. Elsewhere Swift speaks of his “old
Presbyterian housekeeper,” “who has been my Walpole above thirty years,
whenever I lived in this kingdom.”  “Joe Beaumont is my oracle for public
affairs in the country, and an old Presbyterian woman in town.”

{3c}  Isaiah Parvisol, Swift’s tithe-agent and steward at Laracor, was an
Irishman of French extraction, who died in 1718 (Birkbeck’s _Unpublished
Letters of Dean Swift_, 1899, p.85).

{4a}  In some MS. Accounts of Swift’s, in the Forster Collection at South
Kensington there is the following entry:—“Set out for England Aug. 31st
on Thursday, 10 at night; landed at Parkgate Friday 1st at noon.  Sept.
1, 1710, came to London.  Thursday at noon, Sept. 7th, with Lord
Mountjoy, etc.  Mem.: Lord Mountjoy bore my expenses from Chester to
London.”

{4b}  In a letter to Archbishop King of the same date Swift says he was
“equally caressed by both parties; by one as a sort of bough for drowning
men to lay hold of, and by the other as one discontented with the late
men in power.”

{4c}  The Earl of Godolphin, who was severely satirised by Swift in his
_Sid Hamet’s Rod_, 1710.  He had been ordered to break his staff as
Treasurer on August 8.  Swift told Archbishop King that Godolphin was
“altogether short, dry, and morose.”

{4d}  Martha, widow of Sir Thomas Giffard, Bart., of County Kildare, the
favourite sister of Sir William Temple, had been described by Swift in
early pindaric verses as “wise and great.”  Afterwards he was to call her
“an old beast” (_Journal_, Nov. 11, 1710).  Their quarrel arose, towards
the close of 1709, out of a difference with regard to the publication of
Sir William Temple’s Works.  On the appearance of vol. v. Lady Giffard
charged Swift with publishing portions of the writings from an unfaithful
copy in lieu of the originals in his possession, and in particular with
printing laudatory notices of Godolphin and Sunderland which Temple
intended to omit, and with omitting an unfavourable remark on Sunderland
which Temple intended to print.  Swift replied that the corrections were
all made by Temple himself.

{4e}  Lord Wharton’s second wife, Lucy, daughter of Lord Lisburn.  She
died in 1716, a few months after her husband.  See Lady M. W. Montagu’s
_Letters_.

{4f}  Mrs. Bridget Johnson, who married, as her second husband, Ralph
Mose or Moss, of Farnham, an agent for Sir William Temple’s estate, was
waiting-woman or companion to Lady Giffard.  In her will (1722) Lady
Giffard left Mrs. Moss £20, “with my silver cup and cover.”  Mrs. Moss
died in 1745, when letters of administration were granted to a creditor
of the deceased.

{4g}  Dr. William King (1650–1729), a Whig and High Churchman, had more
than one difference with Swift during the twenty years following Swift’s
first visit to London in connection with the First-Fruits question.

{4h}  Swift’s benefice, in the diocese of Meath, two miles from Trim.

{5a}  Steele, who had been issuing the _Tatler_ thrice weekly since April
1709.  He lost the Gazetteership in October.

{5b}  James, second Duke of Ormond (1665–1745) was appointed Lord
Lieutenant on the 26th of October.  In the following year he became
Captain-General and Commander-in-Chief.  He was impeached of high treason
and attainted in 1715; and he died in exile.

{5c}  “Presto,” substituted by the original editor for “Pdfr,” was
suggested by a passage in the _Journal_ for Aug. 2, 1711, where Swift
says that the Duchess of Shrewsbury “could not say my name in English,
but said Dr. Presto, which is Italian for Swift.”

{5d}  Charles Jervas, the popular portrait-painter, has left two
portraits of Swift, one of which is in the National Portrait Gallery, and
the other in the Bodleian Library.

{5e}  Sir William Temple’s nephew, and son of Sir John Temple (died
1704), Solicitor and Attorney-General, and Speaker of the Irish House of
Commons.  “Jack” Temple acquired the estate of Moor Park, Surrey, by his
marriage with Elizabeth, granddaughter of Sir William Temple, and elder
daughter of John Temple, who committed suicide in 1689.  As late as 1706
Swift received an invitation to visit Moor Park.

{5f}  Dr. Benjamin Pratt, Provost of Trinity College, Dublin, was
appointed Dean of Down in 1717.  Swift calls him “a person of wit and
learning,” and “a gentleman of good birth and fortune, . . . very much
esteemed among us” (_Short Character of Thomas_, _Earl of Wharton_).  On
his death in 1721 Swift wrote, “He was one of the oldest acquaintance I
had, and the last that I expected to die.  He has left a young widow, in
very good circumstances.  He had schemes of long life. . . .  What a
ridiculous thing is man!”  (_Unpublished Letters of Dean Swift_, 1899, p.
106).

{6a}  A Westmeath landlord, whom Swift met from time to time in London.
The Leighs were well acquainted with Esther Johnson.

{6b}  Dr. Enoch Sterne, appointed Dean of St. Patrick’s, Dublin, in 1704.
Swift was his successor in the deanery on Dr. Sterne’s appointment as
Bishop of Dromore in 1713.  In 1717 Sterne was translated to the
bishopric of Clogher.  He spent much money on the cathedrals, etc., with
which he was connected.

{6c}  Archdeacon Walls was rector of Castle Knock, near Trim.  Esther
Johnson was a frequent visitor at his house in Queen Street, Dublin.

{6d}  William Frankland, Comptroller of the Inland Office at the Post
Office, was the second son of the Postmaster-General, Sir Thomas
Frankland, Bart.  Luttrell (vi. 333) records that in 1708 he was made
Treasurer of the Stamp Office, or, according to Chamberlayne’s _Mag.
Brit. Notitia_ for 1710, Receiver-General.

{6e}  Thomas Wharton, Earl and afterwards Marquis of Wharton, had been
one of Swift’s fellow-travellers from Dublin.  Lord Lieutenant of Ireland
under the Whig Government, from 1708 to 1710, Wharton was the most
thorough-going party man that had yet appeared in English politics; and
his political enemies did not fail to make the most of his well-known
immorality.  In his Notes to Macky’s _Characters_ Swift described Wharton
as “the most universal villain that ever I knew.”  On his death in 1715
he was succeeded by his profligate son, Philip, who was created Duke of
Wharton in 1718.

{6f}  This money was a premium the Government had promised Beaumont for
his Mathematical Sleying Tables, calculated for the improvement of the
linen manufacture.

{6g}  The bellman was both town-crier and night-watchman.

{7a}  Dr. William Cockburn (1669–1739), Swift’s physician, of a good
Scottish family, was educated at Leyden.  He invented an electuary for
the cure of fluxes, and in 1730, in _The Danger of Improving Physick_,
satirised the academical physicians who envied him the fortune he had
made by his secret remedy.  He was described in 1729 as “an old very rich
quack.”

{7b}  Sir Matthew Dudley, Bart., an old Whig friend, was M.P. for
Huntingdonshire, and Commissioner of the Customs from 1706 to 1712, and
again under George I., until his death in 1721.

{7c}  Isaac Manley, who was appointed Postmaster-General in Ireland in
1703 (Luttrell, v. 333).  He had previously been Comptroller of the
English Letter Office, a post in which he was succeeded by William
Frankland, son of Sir Thomas Frankland.  Dunton calls Manley “loyal and
acute.”

{7d}  Sir Thomas Frankland was joint Postmaster-General from 1691 to
1715.  He succeeded to the baronetcy on the death of his father, Sir
William Frankland, in 1697, and he died in 1726.  Macky describes Sir
Thomas as “of a sweet and easy disposition, zealous for the Constitution,
yet not forward, and indulgent to his dependants.”  On this Swift
comments, “This is a fair character.”

{7e}  Theophilus Butler, elected M.P. for Cavan, in the Irish Parliament,
in 1703, and for Belturbet (as “the Right Hon. Theophilus Butler”) in
1713.  On May 3, 1710, Luttrell wrote (_Brief Relation of State Affairs_,
vi. 577), “’Tis said the Earl of Montrath, Lord Viscount Mountjoy . . .
and Mr. Butler will be made Privy Councillors of the Kingdom of Ireland.”
Butler—a contemporary of Swift’s at Trinity College, Dublin—was created
Baron of Newtown-Butler in 1715, and his brother, who succeeded him in
1723, was made Viscount Lanesborough.  Butler’s wife was Emilia, eldest
daughter and co-heir of James Stopford, of Tara, County Meath.

{8a}  No. 193 of the _Tatler_, for July 4, 1710, contained a letter from
Downes the Prompter—not by Steele himself—in ridicule of Harley and his
proposed Ministry.

{8b}  Charles Robartes, second Earl of Radnor, who died in 1723.  In the
_Journal_ for Dec. 30, 1711, Swift calls him “a scoundrel.”

{8c}  Benjamin Tooke, Swift’s bookseller or publisher, lived at the
Middle Temple Gate.  Dunton wrote of him, “He is truly honest, a man of
refined sense, and is unblemished in his reputation.” Tooke died in 1723.

{8d}  Swift’s servant, of whose misdeeds he makes frequent complaints in
the _Journal_.

{9a}  Deputy Vice-Treasurer of Ireland.  In one place Swift calls him
Captain Pratt; and in all probability he is the John Pratt who, as we
learn from Dalton’s _English Army Lists_, was appointed captain in
General Erle’s regiment of foot in 1699, and was out of the regiment by
1706.  In 1702 he obtained the Queen’s leave to be absent from the
regiment when it was sent to the West Indies.  Pratt seems to have been
introduced to Swift by Addison.

{9b}  Charles Ford, of Wood Park, near Dublin, was a great lover of the
opera and a friend of the Tory wits.  He was appointed Gazetteer in 1712.
Gay calls him “joyous Ford,” and he was given to over-indulgence in
conviviality.  See Swift’s poem on Stella at Wood Park.

{9c}  Lord Somers, to whom Swift had dedicated _The Tale of a Tub_, with
high praise of his public and private virtues.  In later years Swift said
that Somers “possessed all excellent qualifications except virtue.”

{9d}  At the foundation school of the Ormonds at Kilkenny (see p. 10,
note 6.)

{9e}  A Whig haberdasher.

{9f}  Benjamin Hoadley, the Whig divine, had been engaged in controversy
with Sacheverell, Blackall, and Atterbury.  After the accession of George
I. he became Bishop of Bangor, Hereford, Salisbury, and Winchester in
success.

{9g}  Dr. Henry Sacheverell, whose impeachment and trial had led to the
fall of the Whig Government.

{10a}  Sir Berkeley Lucy, Bart., F.R.S., married Katherine, daughter of
Charles Cotton, of Beresford, Staffordshire, Isaac Walton’s friend.  Lady
Lucy died in 1740, leaving an only surviving daughter, Mary, who married
the youngest son of the Earl of Northampton, and had two sons, who became
successively seventh and eighth Earls of Northampton.  Forster and others
assumed that “Lady Lucy” was a Lady Lucy Stanhope, though they were not
able to identify her.  It was reserved for Mr. Ryland to clear up this
difficulty.  As he points out, Lady Lucy’s elder sister, Olive, married
George Stanhope, Dean of Canterbury, and left a daughter Mary,—Swift’s
“Moll Stanhope,”—a beauty and a madcap, who married, in 1712, William
Burnet, son of Bishop Burnet, and died in 1714.  Mary, another sister of
Lady Lucy’s, married Augustine Armstrong, of Great Ormond Street, and is
the Mrs. Armstrong mentioned by Swift on Feb. 3, 1711, as a pretender to
wit, without taste.  Sir Berkeley Lucy’s mother was a daughter of the
first Earl of Berkeley, and it was probably through the Berkeleys that
Swift came to know the Lucys.

{10b}  Ann Long was sister to Sir James Long, and niece to Colonel
Strangeways.  Once a beauty and toast of the Kit-Cat Club, she fell into
narrow circumstances through imprudence and the unkindness of her
friends, and retired under the name of Mrs. Smythe to Lynn, in Norfolk,
where she died in 1711 (see _Journal_, December 25, 1711).  Swift said,
“She was the most beautiful person of the age she lived in; of great
honour and virtue, infinite sweetness and generosity of temper, and true
good sense” (Forster’s _Swift_, 229).  In a letter of December 1711,
Swift wrote that she “had every valuable quality of body and mind that
could make a lady loved and esteemed.”

{10c}  Said, I know not on what authority, to be Swift’s friend, Mrs.
Barton.  But Mrs. Barton is often mentioned by Swift as living in London
in 1710–11.

{10d}  One of Swift’s cousins, who was separated from her husband, a man
of bad character, living abroad.  Her second husband, Lancelot, a servant
of Lord Sussex, lived in New Bond Street, and there Swift lodged in 1727.

{10e}  £100,000.

{10f}  Francis Stratford’s name appears in the Dublin University Register
for 1686 immediately before Swift’s.  Budgell is believed to have
referred to the friendship of Swift and Stratford in the _Spectator_, No.
353, where he describes two schoolfellows, and says that the man of
genius was buried in a country parsonage of £160 a year, while his
friend, with the bare abilities of a common scrivener, had gained an
estate of above £100,000.

{10g}  William Cowper, afterwards Lord Cowper.

{11a}  Sir Simon Harcourt, afterwards Viscount Harcourt, had been counsel
for Sacheverell.  On Sept. 19, 1710, he was appointed Attorney-General,
and on October 19 Lord Keeper of the Great Seal.  In April 1713 he became
Lord Chancellor.

{11b}  This may be some relative of Dr. John Freind (see p. 65), or, more
probably, as Sir Henry Craik suggests, a misprint for Colonel Frowde,
Addison’s friend (see _Journal_, Nov. 4, 1710).  No officer named Freind
or Friend is mentioned in Dalton’s _English Army Lists_.

{11c}  See the _Tatler_, Nos. 124, 203.  There are various allusions in
the “Wentworth Papers” to this, the first State Lottery of 1710; and two
bluecoat boys drawing out the tickets, and showing their hands to the
crowd, as Swift describes them, are shown in a reproduction of a picture
in a contemporary pamphlet given in Ashton’s _Social Life in the Reign of
Queen Anne_, i. 115.

{11d}  A few weeks later Swift wrote, “I took a fancy of resolving to
grow mad for it, but now it is off.”

{11e}  Sir John Holland, Bart., was a leading manager for the Commons in
the impeachment of Sacheverell.  He succeeded Sir Thomas Felton in the
Comptrollership in March 1710.

{12a}  Dryden Leach. (see p. 51.)

{12b}  William Pate, “_bel esprit_ and woollen-draper,” as Swift called
him, lived opposite the Royal Exchange.  He was Sheriff of London in
1734, and died in 1746.  Arbuthnot, previous to matriculating at Oxford,
lodged with Pate, who gave him a letter of introduction to Dr. Charlett,
Master of University College; and Pate is supposed to have been the
woollen-draper, “remarkable for his learning and good-nature,” who is
mentioned by Steele in the _Guardian_, No. 141.

{12c}  James Brydges, son of Lord Chandos of Sudeley, was appointed
Paymaster-General of Forces Abroad in 1707.  He succeeded his father as
Baron Chandos in 1714, and was created Duke of Chandos in 1729.  The
“princely Chandos” and his house at Canons suggested to Pope the Timon’s
villa of the “Epistle to Lord Burlington.”  The Duke died in 1744.

{12d}  Charles Talbot, created Duke of Shrewsbury in 1694, was held in
great esteem by William III., and was Lord Chamberlain under Anne.  In
1713 he became Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and held various offices under
George I., until his death in 1718.  “Before he was o. age,” says
Macaulay, “he was allowed to be one of the finest gentlemen and finest
scholars of his time.”

{13a}  See p. 230.

{13b}  William Cavendish, second Duke of Devonshire (1673–1729), who was
Lord Steward from 1707 to 1710 and from 1714 to 1716.  Afterwards he was
Lord President of the Council.  Swift’s comment on Macky’s character of
this Whig nobleman was, “A very poor understanding.”

{13c}  John Annesley, fourth Earl of Anglesea, a young nobleman of great
promise, had only recently been appointed joint Vice-Treasurer,
Receiver-General, and Paymaster of the Forces in Ireland, and sworn of
the Privy Council.

{14a}  Nichols, followed by subsequent editors, suggested that “Durham”
was a mistake for “St. David’s,” because Dr. George Bull, Bishop of St.
David’s, died in 1710.  But Dr. Bull died on Feb. 17, 1710, though his
successor, Dr. Philip Bisse, was not appointed until November; and Swift
was merely repeating a false report of the death of Lord Crewe, Bishop of
Durham, which was current on the day on which he wrote.  Luttrell says,
on Sept. 19, “The Lord Crewe . . . died lately”; but on the 23rd he adds,
“The Bishop of Durham is not dead as reported” (_Brief Relation_, vi.
630, 633).

{14b}  Lady Elizabeth (“Betty”) Butler, who died unmarried in 1750.

{14c}  Swift wrote in 1734, “Once every year I issued out an edict,
commanding that all ladies of wit, sense, merit, and quality, who had an
ambition to be acquainted with me, should make the first advances at
their peril: which edict, you may believe, was universally obeyed.”

{14d}  Charles, second Earl of Berkeley (1649–1710), married Elizabeth,
daughter of Baptist Noel, Viscount Campden.  The Earl died on Sept. 24,
1710, and his widow in 1719.  Swift, it will be remembered, had been
chaplain to Lord Berkeley in Ireland in 1699.

{14e}  Lady Betty and Lady Mary Butler. (see p. 44.)

{14f}  Henry Boyle, Chancellor of the Exchequer from 1702 to 1708, was
Secretary of State from 1708 to 1710, when he was succeeded by St. John.
In 1714 he was created Baron Carleton, and he was Lord President from
1721 until his death in 1725.

{15a}  On Sept. 29 Swift wrote that his rooms consisted of the first
floor, a dining-room and bed-chamber, at eight shillings a week.  On his
last visit to England, in 1726, he lodged “next door to the Royal Chair”
in Bury Street.  Steele lived in the same street from 1707 to 1712; and
Mrs. Vanhomrigh was Swift’s next-door neighbour.

{15b}  In Exchange Alley.  Cf. _Spectator_, No. 454: “I went afterwards
to Robin’s, and saw people who had dined with me at the fivepenny
ordinary just before, give bills for the value of large estates.”

{16a}  John Molesworth, Commissioner of the Stamp Office, was sent as
Envoy to Tuscany in 1710, and was afterwards Minister at Florence,
Venice, Geneva, and Turin.  He became second Viscount Molesworth in 1725,
and died in 1731.

{16b}  Misson says, “Every two hours you may write to any part of the
city or suburbs: he that receives it pays a penny, and you give nothing
when you put it into the Post; but when you write into the country both
he that writes and he that receives pay each a penny.”  The Penny Post
system had been taken over by the Government, but was worked separately
from the general Post.

{17a}  The Countess of Berkeley’s second daughter, who married, in 1706,
Sir John Germaine, Bart. (1650–1718), a soldier of fortune.  Lady Betty
Germaine is said to have written a satire on Pope (Nichols’ _Literary
Anecdotes_, ii. 11), and was a constant correspondent of Swift’s.  She
was always a Whig, and shortly before her death in 1769 she made a
present of £100 to John Wilkes, then in prison in the Tower.  Writing of
Lady Betty Butler and Lady Betty Germaine, Swift says elsewhere, “I saw
two Lady Bettys this afternoon; the beauty of one, the good breeding and
nature of the other, and the wit of either, would have made a fine
woman.”  Germaine obtained the estate at Drayton through his first wife,
Lady Mary Mordaunt—Lord Peterborough’s sister—who had been divorced by
her first husband, the Duke of Norfolk.  Lady Betty was thirty years
younger than her husband, and after Sir John’s death she remained a widow
for over fifty years.

{17b}  The letter in No. 280 of the _Tatler_.

{17c}  Discover, find out.  Cf.  Shakespeare’s _All’s Well that Ends
Well_, iii. 6: “He was first smoked by the old Lord Lafeu.”

{17d}  A village near Dublin.

{17e}  Excellent.

{18a}  See p. 3.

{18b}  John Molesworth, and, probably, his brother Richard, afterwards
third Viscount Molesworth, who had saved the Duke of Marlborough’s life
at the battle of Ramillies, and had been appointed, in 1710, colonel of a
regiment of foot.

{18c}  Presumably at Charles Ford’s.

{18d}  _The Virtues of Sid Hamet the Magician’s Rod_, published as a
single folio sheet, was a satire on Godolphin.

{19a}  Apparently Marcus Antonius Morgan, steward to the Bishop of
Kildare (Craik).  Swift wrote to the Duke of Montagu on Aug. 12, 1713
(_Buccleuch MSS._, 1899, i. 359). “Mr. Morgan of Kingstrope is a friend,
and was, I am informed, put out of the Commission of justice for being
so.”

{19b}  Dr. Raymond is called Morgan’s “father” because he warmly
supported Morgan’s interests.

{19c}  The Rev. Thomas Warburton, Swift’s curate at Laracor, whom Swift
described to the Archbishop as “a gentleman of very good learning and
sense, who has behaved himself altogether unblamably.”

{19d}  The tobacco was to be used as snuff.  About this time ladies much
affected the use of snuff, and Steele, in No. 344 of the _Spectator_,
speaks of Flavilla pulling out her box, “which is indeed full of good
Brazil,” in the middle of the sermon.  People often made their own snuff
out of roll tobacco, by means of rasps.  On Nov. 3, 1711, Swift speaks of
sending “a fine snuff rasp of ivory, given me by Mrs. St. John for
Dingley, and a large roll of tobacco.”

{20a}  Katherine Barton, second daughter of Robert Barton, of Brigstock,
Northamptonshire, and niece of Sir Isaac Newton.  She was a favourite
among the toasts of the Kit-Cat Club, and Lord Halifax, who left her a
fortune, was an intimate friend.  In 1717 she married John Conduitt,
afterwards Master of the Mint.

{20b}  See p. 17.

{20c}  William Connolly, appointed a Commissioner of the Revenue in 1709,
was afterwards Speaker of the Irish House of Commons.  He died in 1729.
Francis Robarts, appointed a Commissioner of the Revenue in 1692, was
made a Teller of the Exchequer in England in 1704, and quitted that
office, in September 1710, on his reappointment, in Connolly’s place, as
Revenue Commissioner in Ireland.  In 1714 Robarts was removed, and
Connolly again appointed Commissioner.

{20d}  Enoch Sterne, Collector of Wicklow and Clerk to the Irish House of
Lords.  Writing to Dr. Sterne on Sept. 26, Swift said, “I saw Collector
Sterne, who desired me to present his service to you, and to tell you he
would be glad to hear from you, but not about business.”

{20e}  In his _Character of Mrs. Johnson_ Swift says, “She was never
known to cry out, or discover any fear, in a coach.” The passage in the
text is obscure.  Apparently Esther Johnson had boasted of saving money
by walking, instead of riding, like a coward.

{21a}  John Radcliffe (1650–1714), the well-known physician and wit, was
often denounced as a clever empiric.  Early in 1711 he treated Swift for
his dizziness.  By his will, Radcliffe left most of his property to the
University of Oxford.

{21b}  Charles Barnard, Sergeant-Surgeon to the Queen, and Master of the
Barber Surgeons’ Company.  His large and valuable library, to which Swift
afterwards refers, fetched great prices.  Luttrell records Barnard’s
death in his diary for Oct. 12, 1710.

{21c}  Robert Harley, afterwards Earl of Oxford, had been appointed
Chancellor of the Exchequer in August 1710.  In May 1711 he was raised to
the peerage and made Lord High Treasurer; and he is constantly referred
to in the _Journal_ as “Lord Treasurer.”  He was impeached in 1715, but
was acquitted to 1717; he died in 1724.

{22a}  The Right Hon. Thomas Bligh, M.P., of Rathmore, County Meath, died
on Aug. 28, 1710.  His son, mentioned later in the _Journal_, became Earl
of Darnley.

{22b}  Penalty.

{23a}  Erasmus Lewis, Under Secretary of State under Lord Dartmouth, was
a great friend of Swift, Pope, and Arbuthnot.  He had previously been one
of Harley’s secretaries, and in his _Horace Imitated_, _Book I. Ep.
vii_., Swift describes him as “a cunning shaver, and very much in
Harley’s favour.”  Arbuthnot says that under George I. Lewis kept company
with the greatest, and was “principal governor” in many families.  Lewis
was a witness to Arbuthnot’s will.  Pope and Esther Vanhomrigh both left
him money to buy rings.  Lewis died in 1754, aged eighty-three.

{23b}  Charles Darteneuf, or Dartiquenave, was a celebrated epicure, who
is said to have been a son of Charles II.  Lord Lyttleton, in his
_Dialogues of the Dead_, recalling Pope’s allusions to him, selects him
to represent modern _bon vivants_ in the dialogue between Darteneuf and
Apicius.  See _Tatler_ 252.  Darteneuf was Paymaster of the Royal Works
and a member of the Kit-Cat Club.  He died in 1737.

{23c}  No. 230.

{23d}  Good, excellent.

{23e}  Captain George Delaval, appointed Envoy Extraordinary to the King
of Portugal in Oct. 1710, was with Lord Peterborough in Spain in 1706.
In May 1707 he went to Lisbon with despatches for the Courts of Spain and
Portugal, from whence he was to proceed as Envoy to the Emperor of
Morocco, with rich presents (Luttrell, vi. 52, 174, 192).

{23f}  Charles Montagu, Earl of Halifax, as Ranger of Bushey Park and
Hampton Court, held many offices under William III., and was First Lord
of the Treasury under George I., until his death in 1715.  He was great
as financier and as debater, and he was a liberal patron of literature.

{24a}  John Manley, M.P. for Bossiney, was made Surveyor-General on Sept.
30, 1710, and died in 1714.  In 1706 he fought a duel with another
Cornish member (Luttrell, vi. 11, 535, 635).  He seems to be the cousin
whom Mrs. De la Riviere Manley accuses of having drawn her into a false
marriage.  For Isaac Manley and Sir Thomas Frankland, see p. 7.

{24b}  The Earl of Godolphin (see p. 18).

{24c}  Sir John Stanley, Bart., of Northend, Commissioner of Customs,
whom Swift knew through his intimate friends the Pendarves.  His wife,
Anne, daughter of Bernard Granville, and niece of John, Earl of Bath, was
aunt to Mary Granville, afterwards Mrs. Delany, who lived with the
Stanleys at their house in Whitehall.

{24d}  Henry, Viscount Hyde, eldest son of Laurence Hyde, Earl of
Rochester, succeeded his father in the earldom in 1711, and afterwards
became Earl of Clarendon.  His wife, Jane, younger daughter of Sir
William Leveson Gower,—who married a daughter of John Granville, Earl of
Bath,—was a beauty, and the mother of two beauties—Jane, afterwards
Countess of Essex (see _Journal_, Jan. 29, 1712), and Catherine,
afterwards Countess of Queensberry.  Lady Hyde was complimented by Prior,
Pope, and her kinsman, Lord Lansdowne, and is said to have been more
handsome than either of her daughters.  She died in 1725; her husband in
1753.  Lord Hyde became joint Vice-Treasurer for Ireland in 1710; hence
his interest with respect to Pratt’s appointment.

{24e}  See p. 9.

{24f}  Sir Paul Methuen (1672–1757), son of John Methuen, diplomatist and
Lord Chancellor of Ireland.  Methuen was Envoy and Ambassador to Portugal
from 1697 to 1708, and was M.P. for Devizes from 1708 to 1710, and a Lord
of the Admiralty.  Under George I. he was Ambassador to Spain, and held
other offices.  Gay speaks of “Methuen of sincerest mind, as Arthur
grave, as soft as womankind,” and Steele dedicated to him the seventh
volume of the _Spectator_.  In his Notes on Macky’s _Characters_, Swift
calls him “a profligate rogue . . . without abilities of any kind.”

{24g}  Sir James Montagu was Attorney-General from 1708 to Sept. 1710,
when he resigned, and was succeeded by Sir Simon Harcourt.  Under George
I. Montagu was raised to the Bench, and a few months before his death in
1723 became Chief Baron of the Exchequer.

{25a}  The turnpike system had spread rapidly since the Restoration, and
had already effected an important reform in the English roads.  Turnpike
roads were as yet unknown in Ireland.

{25b}  Ann Johnson, who afterwards married a baker named Filby.

{25c}  An infusion of which the main ingredient was cowslip or
palsy-wort.

{25d}  William Legge, first Earl of Dartmouth (1672–1750), was St. John’s
fellow Secretary of State.  Lord Dartmouth seems to have been a plain,
unpretending man, whose ignorance of French helped to throw important
matters into St. John’s hands.

{25e}  Richard Dyot was tried at the Old Bailey, on Jan. 13, 1710–11, for
counterfeiting stamps, and was acquitted, the crime being found not
felony, but only breach of trust.  Two days afterwards a bill of
indictment was found against him for high misdemeanour.

{26a}  Sir Philip Meadows (1626–1718) was knighted in 1658, and was
Ambassador to Sweden under Cromwell.  His son Philip (died 1757) was
knighted in 1700, and was sent on a special mission to the Emperor in
1707.  A great-grandson of the elder Sir Philip was created Earl Manvers
in 1806.

{26b}  Her eyes were weak.

{26c}  The son of the Sir Robert Southwell to whom Temple had offered
Swift as a “servant” on his going as Secretary of State to Ireland in
1690.  Edward Southwell (1671–1730) succeeded his father as Secretary of
State for Ireland in 1702, and in 1708 was appointed Clerk to the Privy
Council of Great Britain.  Southwell held various offices under George I.
and George II., and amassed a considerable fortune.

{27a}  Nicholas Rowe (1674–1718), dramatist and poet laureate, and one of
the first editors of Shakespeare, was at this time under-secretary to the
Duke of Queensberry, Secretary of State for Scotland.

{27b}  No. 238 contains Swift’s “Description of a Shower in London.”

{27c}  This seems to be a vague allusion to the text, “Cast thy bread
upon the waters,” etc.

{27d}  Sir Godfrey Kneller (1646–1723), the fashionable portrait-painter
of the period.

{28a}  At the General election of 1710 the contest at Westminster excited
much interest.  The number of constituents was large, and the franchise
low, all householders who paid scot and lot being voters.  There were,
too, many houses of great Whig merchants, and a number of French
Protestants.  But the High Church candidates, Cross and Medlicott, were
returned by large majorities, though the Whigs had chosen popular
candidates—General Stanhope, fresh from his successes in Spain, and Sir
Henry Dutton Colt, a Herefordshire gentleman.

{28b}  Sir Andrew Fountaine (1676–1753), a distinguished antiquary, of an
old Norfolk family, was knighted by William III. in 1699, and inherited
his father’s estate at Norfolk in 1706.  He succeeded Sir Isaac Newton as
Warden of the Mint in 1727, and was Vice-Chamberlain to Queen Caroline.
He became acquainted with Swift in Ireland in 1707, when he went over as
Usher of the Black Rod in Lord Pembroke’s Court.

{28c}  See p. 6.  The Bishop was probably Dr. Moreton, Bishop of Meath
(see _Journal_, July 1, 1712).

{28d}  The game of ombre—of Spanish origin—is described in Pope’s _Rape
of the Lock_.  See also the _Compleat Gamester_, 1721, and _Notes and
Queries_, April 8, 1871.  The ace of spades, or Spadille, was always the
first trump; the ace of clubs (Basto) always the third.  The second trump
was the worst card of the trump suit in its natural order, _i.e._ the
seven in red and the deuce in black suits, and was called Manille.  If
either of the red suits was trumps, the ace of the suit was fourth trump
(Punto).  Spadille, Manille, and Basto were “matadores,” or murderers, as
they never gave suit.

{28e}  See p. 12

{29a}  In the _Spectator_, No. 337, there is a complaint from “one of the
top China women about town,” of the trouble given by ladies who turn over
all the goods in a shop without buying anything.  Sometimes they
cheapened tea, at others examined screens or tea-dishes.

{29b}  The Right Hon. John Grubham Howe, M.P. for Gloucestershire, an
extreme Tory, had recently been appointed Paymaster of the Forces.  He is
mentioned satirically as a patriot in sec. 9 of _The Tale of a Tub_.

{30a}  George Henry Hay, Viscount Dupplin, eldest son of the sixth Earl
of Kinnoull, was made a Teller of the Exchequer in August, and a peer of
Great Britain in December 1711, with the title of Baron Hay.  He married,
in 1709, Abigail, Harley’s younger daughter, and he succeeded his father
in the earldom of Kinnoull in 1719.

{30b}  Edward Harley, afterwards Lord Harley, who succeeded his father as
Earl of Oxford in 1724.  He married Lady Henrietta Cavendish Holles,
daughter of the Duke of Newcastle, but died without male issue in 1741.
His interest in literature caused him to form the collection known as the
Harleian Miscellany.

{30c}  William Penn (1644–1718), the celebrated founder of Pennsylvania.
Swift says that he “spoke very agreeably, and with much spirit.”

{30d}  This “Memorial to Mr. Harley about the First-Fruits” is dated Oct.
7, 1710.

{30e}  Henry St. John, created Viscount Bolingbroke in July 1712.  In the
quarrel between Oxford and Bolingbroke in 1714, Swift’s sympathies were
with Oxford.

{31a}  _I.e._, it is decreed by fate.  So Tillotson says, “These things
are fatal and necessary.”

{31b}  See p. 8.

{31c}  Obscure.  Hooker speaks of a “blind or secret corner.”

{31d}  Ale served in a gill measure.

{31e}  Scott suggests that the allusion is to _The Tale of a Tub_.

{31f}  An extravagant compliment.

{32a}  See p. 62.

{32b}  L’Estrange speaks of “trencher-flies and spungers.”

{32c}  See p. 2.

{32d}  Samuel Garth, physician and member of the Kit-Cat Club, was
knighted in 1714.  He is best known by his satirical poem, _The
Dispensary_, 1699.

{32e}  Gay speaks of “Wondering Main, so fat, with laughing eyes” (_Mr.
Pope’s Welcome from Greece_, st. xvii.).

{32f}  See p. 24, note 3.

{33a}  See the letter of Oct. 10, 1710, to Archbishop King.

{33b}  See p. 6.

{33c}  “Seventy-three lines in folio upon one page, and in a very small
hand.” (Deane Swift).

{34a}  _I.e._, Lord Lieutenant.

{34b}  _Tatler_, No. 238.

{34c}  See p. 2.

{34d}  Charles Coote, fourth Earl of Mountrath, and M.P. for
Knaresborough.  He died unmarried in 1715.

{34e}  Henry Coote, Lord Mountrath’s brother.  He succeeded to the
earldom in 1715, but died unmarried in 1720.

{35a}  The Devil Tavern was the meeting-place of Ben Jonson’s Apollo
Club.  The house was pulled down in 1787.

{35b}  Addison was re-elected M.P. for Malmesbury in Oct. 1710, and he
kept that seat until his death in 1719.

{35c}  Captain Charles Lavallee, who served in the Cadiz Expedition of
1702, and was appointed a captain in Colonel Hans Hamilton’s Regiment of
Foot in 1706 (Luttrell, v. 175, vi. 640; Dalton’s _English Army Lists_,
iv. 126).

{35d}  See p. 25.

{36a}  The _Tatler_, No. 230, _Sid Hamet’s Rod_, and the ballad (now
lost) on the Westminster Election.

{36b}  The Earl of Galway (1648–1720), who lost the battle of Almanza to
the Duke of Berwick in 1707.  Originally the Marquis de Ruvigny, a French
refugee, he had been made Viscount Galway and Earl of Galway successively
by William III.

{36c}  William Harrison, the son of a doctor at St. Cross, Winchester,
had been recommended to Swift by Addison, who obtained for him the post
of governor to the Duke of Queensberry’s son.  In Jan. 1711 Harrison
began the issue of a continuation of Steele’s _Tatler_ with Swift’s
assistance, but without success.  In May 1711, St. John gave Harrison the
appointment of secretary to Lord Raby, Ambassador Extraordinary at the
Hague, and in Jan. 1713 Harrison brought the Barrier Treaty to England.
He died in the following month, at the age of twenty-seven, and Lady
Strafford says that “his brother poets buried him, as Mr. Addison, Mr.
Philips, and Dr. Swift.”  Tickell calls him “that much loved youth,” and
Swift felt his death keenly.  Harrison’s best poem is _Woodstock Park_,
1706.

{37a}  The last volume of Tonson’s _Miscellany_, 1708.

{37b}  James Douglas, second Duke of Queensberry and Duke of Dover
(1662–1711), was appointed joint Keeper of the Privy Seal in 1708, and
third Secretary of State in 1709.  Harrison must have been “governor”
either to the third son, Charles, Marquis of Beverley (born 1698), who
succeeded to the dukedom in 1711, or to the fourth son, George, born in
1701.

{37c}  Anthony Henley, son of Sir Robert Henley, M.P. for Andover, was a
favourite with the wits in London.  He was a strong Whig, and
occasionally contributed to the _Tatler_ and Maynwaring’s _Medley_.
Garth dedicated _The Dispensary_ to him.  Swift records Henley’s death
from apoplexy in August 1711.

{37d}  Sir William Ashurst, Sir Gilbert Heathcote, and Mr. John Ward were
replaced by Sir Richard Hoare, Sir George Newland, and Mr. John Cass at
the election for the City in 1710.  Scott was wrong in saying that the
Whigs lost also the fourth seat, for Sir William Withers had been member
for the City since 1707.

{37e}  Sir Richard Onslow, Bart., was chosen Speaker of the House of
Commons in 1708.  Under George I. he was Chancellor of the Exchequer, and
was elevated to the peerage as Baron Onslow in 1716.  He died in the
following year.

{38a}  “The upper part of the letter was a little besmeared with some
such stuff; the mark is still on it” (Deane Swift).

{38b}  John Bolton, D.D., appointed a prebendary of St. Patrick’s in
1691, became Dean of Derry in 1699.  He died in 1724.  Like Swift, Bolton
was chaplain to Lord Berkeley, the Lord Lieutenant, and, according to
Swift, he obtained the deanery of Derry through Swift having declined to
give a bribe of £1000 to Lord Berkeley’s secretary.  But Lord Orrery says
that the Bishop of Derry objected to Swift, fearing that he would be
constantly flying backwards and forwards between Ireland and England.

{38c}  See p. 6, note 2.

{39a}  “That is, to the next page; for he is now within three lines of
the bottom of the first” (Deane Swift).

{39b}  See p. 20.

{39c}  Joshua Dawson, secretary to the Lords Justices.  He built a fine
house in Dawson Street, Dublin, and provided largely for his relatives by
the aid of the official patronage in his hands.

{39d}  He had been dead three weeks (see pp. 14, 25).

{39e}  In _The Importance of the Guardian Considered_, Swift says that
Steele, “to avoid being discarded, thought fit to resign his place of
Gazetteer.”

{40a}  As Swift never used the name “Stella” in the _Journal_, this
fragment of his “little language” must have been altered by Deane Swift,
the first editor.  Forster makes the excellent suggestion that the
correct reading is “sluttikins,” a word used in the _Journal_ on Nov. 28,
1710.  Swift often calls his correspondents “sluts.”

{40b}  Godolphin, who was satirised in _Sid Hamel’s Rod_ (see p. 4).

{40c}  No. 230.

{40d}  “This appears to be an interjection of surprise at the length of
his journal” (Deane Swift).

{41a}  Matthew Prior, poet and diplomatist, had been deprived of his
Commissionership of Trade by the Whigs, but was rewarded for his Tory
principles in 1711 by a Commissionership of Customs.

{41b}  “The twentieth parts are 12d. in the £1 paid annually out of all
ecclesiastical benefices as they were valued at the Reformation.  They
amount to about £500 per annum; but are of little or no value to the
Queen after the offices and other charges are paid, though of much
trouble and vexation to the clergy” (Swift’s “Memorial to Mr. Harley”).

{41c}  Charles Mordaunt, the brilliant but erratic Earl of Peterborough,
had been engaged for two years, after the unsatisfactory inquiry into his
conduct in Spain by the House of Lords in 1708, in preparing an account
of the money he had received and expended.  The change of Government
brought him relief from his troubles; in November he was made
Captain-General of Marines, and in December he was nominated Ambassador
Extraordinary to Vienna.

{41d}  Tapped, nudged.

{41e}  _I.e._, told only to you.

{41f}  Sir Hew Dalrymple (1652–1737), Lord President of the Court of
Session, and son of the first Viscount Stair.

{41g}  Robert Benson, a moderate Tory, was made a Lord of the Treasury in
August 1710, and Chancellor of the Exchequer in the following June, and
was raised to the peerage as Baron Bingley in 1713.  He died in 1731.

{42a}  The Smyrna Coffee-house was on the north side of Pall Mall,
opposite Marlborough House.  In the _Tatler_ (Nos. 10, 78) Steele laughed
at the “cluster of wise heads” to be found every evening at the Smyrna;
and Goldsmith says that Beau Nash would wait a whole day at a window at
the Smyrna, in order to receive a bow from the Prince or the Duchess of
Marlborough, and would then look round upon the company for admiration
and respect.

{42b}  See p. 19.

{42c}  See p. 25.

{42d}  An Irish doctor, with whom Swift invested money.

{43a}  Enoch Sterne, Collector of Wicklow and Clerk to the House of Lords
in Ireland.

{43b}  Claret.

{43c}  Colonel Ambrose Edgworth, a famous dandy, who is supposed to have
been referred to by Steele in No. 246 of the _Tatler_.  Edgworth was the
son of Sir John Edgworth, who was made Colonel of a Regiment of Foot in
1689 (Dalton, iii, 59).  Ambrose Edgworth was a Captain in the same
regiment, but father and son were shortly afterwards turned out of the
regiment for dishonest conduct in connection with the soldiers’ clothing.
Ambrose was, however, reappointed a Captain in General Eric’s Regiment of
Foot in 1691.  He served in Spain as Major in Brigadier Gorge’s regiment;
was taken prisoner in 1706; and was appointed Lieutenant-Colonel of
Colonel Thomas Allen’s Regiment of Foot in 1707.

{43d}  This volume of _Miscellanies in Prose and Verse_ was published by
Morphew in 1711.

{43e}  Dr. Thomas Lindsay, afterwards Bishop of Raphoe.

{44a}  The first mention of the Vanhomrighs in the _Journal_.  Swift had
made their acquaintance when he was in London in 1708.

{44b}  Lady Elizabeth and Lady Mary (see p. 40 and below).

{44c}  John, third Lord Ashburnham, and afterwards Earl of Ashburnham
(1687–1737), married, on Oct. 21, 1710, Lady Mary Butler, younger
daughter of the Duke of Ormond.  She died on Jan. 2, 1712–3, in her
twenty-third year.  She was Swift’s “greatest favourite,” and he was much
moved at her death.

{45a}  Edward Wortley Montagu, grandson of the first Earl of Sandwich,
and M.P. for Huntingdon.  He was a great friend of Addison’s, and the
second volume of the _Tatler_ was dedicated to him.  In 1712 he married
the famous Lady Mary Pierrepont, eldest daughter of the Duke of Kingston,
and under George I. he became Ambassador Extraordinary to the Porte.  He
died in 1761, aged eighty.

{45b}  See p. 28.  No copy of these verses is known.

{45c}  Henry Alexander, fifth Earl of Stirling, who died without issue in
1739.  His sister, Lady Judith Alexander, married Sir William Trumbull,
Pope’s friend.

{46}  “These words, notwithstanding their great obscurity at present,
were very clear and intelligible to Mrs. Johnson: they referred to
conversations, which passed between her and Dr. Tisdall seven or eight
years before; when the Doctor, who was not only a learned and faithful
divine, but a zealous Church-Tory, frequently entertained her with
Convocation disputes.  This gentleman, in the year 1704, paid his
addresses to Mrs. Johnson” (Deane Swift).  The Rev. William Tisdall was
made D.D. in 1707.  Swift never forgave Tisdall’s proposal to marry
Esther Johnson in 1704, and often gave expression to his contempt for
him.  In 1706 Tisdall married, and was appointed Vicar of Kerry and
Ruavon; in 1712 he became Vicar of Belfast.  He published several
controversial pieces, directed against Presbyterians and other
Dissenters.

{47a}  No. 193 of the _Tatler_, for July 4, 1710, contained a letter from
Downes the Prompter in ridicule of Harley’s newly formed Ministry.  This
letter, the authorship of which Steele disavowed, was probably by Anthony
Henley.

{48a}  William Berkeley, fourth Baron Berkeley of Stratton, was sworn of
the Privy Council in September 1710, and was appointed Chancellor of the
Duchy of Lancaster.  He married Frances, youngest daughter of Sir John
Temple, of East Sheen, Surrey, and died in 1740.

{48b}  Probably the widow of Sir William Temple’s son, John Temple (see
p. 5).  She was Mary Duplessis, daughter of Duplessis Rambouillet, a
Huguenot.

{48c}  The Rev. James Sartre, who married Addison’s sister Dorothy, was
Prebendary and Archdeacon of Westminster.  He had formerly been French
pastor at Montpelier.  After his death in 1713 his widow married a Mr.
Combe, and lived until 1750.

{48d}  William Congreve’s last play was produced in 1700.  In 1710, when
he was forty, he published a collected edition of his works.  Swift and
Congreve had been schoolfellows at Kilkenny, and they had both been
pupils of St. George Ashe—afterwards Bishop of Clogher—at Trinity
College, Dublin.  On Congreve’s death, in 1729, Swift wrote, “I loved him
from my youth.”

{49a}  See p. 19.

{49b}  Dean Sterne.

{49c}  See p. 38.

{49d}  When he became Dean he withheld from Swift the living of St.
Nicholas Without, promised in gratitude for the aid rendered by Swift in
his election.

{49e}  Crowe was a Commissioner for Appeals from the Revenue
Commissioners for a short time in 1706, and was Recorder of Blessington,
Co. Wicklow.  In his _Short Character of Thomas_, _Earl of Wharton_,
1710, Swift speaks of Whartons “barbarous injustice to . . . poor Will
Crowe.”

{50a}  See p. 9.

{50b}  See p. 13.

{50c}  See p. 3.

{50d}  Richard Tighe, M.P. for Belturbet, was a Whig, much disliked by
Swift.  He became a Privy Councillor under George I.

{51a}  Dryden Leach, of the Old Bailey, formerly an actor, was son of
Francis Leach.  Swift recommended Harrison to employ Leach in printing
the continuation of the _Tatler_; but Harrison discarded him.  (See
_Journal_, Jan. 16, 1710–11, and Timperley’s _Literary Anecdotes_, 600,
631).

{51b}  The _Postman_, which appeared three days in the week, written by
M. Fonvive, a French Protestant, whom Dunton calls “the glory and mirror
of news writers, a very grave, learned, orthodox man.”  Fonvive had a
universal system of intelligence, at home and abroad, and “as his news is
early and good, so his style is excellent.”

{51c}  Sir William Temple left Esther Johnson the lease of some property
in Ireland.

{52a}  See p. 27.

{52b}  An out-of-the-way or obscure house.  So Pepys (_Diary_, Oct. 15,
1661) “To St. Paul’s Churchyard to a blind place where Mr. Goldsborough
was to meet me.”

{52c}  Sir Richard Temple, Bart., of Stowe, a Lieutenant-General who saw
much service in Flanders, was dismissed in 1713 owing to his Whig views,
but on the accession of George I. was raised to the peerage, and was
created Viscount Cobham in 1718.  He died in 1749.  Congreve wrote in
praise of him, and he was the “brave Cobham” of Pope’s first _Moral
Essay_.

{52d}  Richard Estcourt, the actor, died in August 1712, when his
abilities on the stage and as a talker were celebrated by Steele to No.
468 of the _Spectator_.  See also _Tatler_, Aug. 6, 1709, and
_Spectator_, May 5, 1712.  Estcourt was “providore” of the Beef-Steak
Club, and a few months before his death opened the Bumper Tavern in James
Street, Covent Garden.

{52e}  See p. 32.

{52f}  Poor, mean.  Elsewhere Swift speaks of “the corrector of a hedge
press in Little Britain,” and “a little hedge vicar.”

{52g}  Thomas Herbert, eighth Earl of Pembroke, was Lord Lieutenant from
April 1707 to December 1708.  A nobleman of taste and learning, he was,
like Swift, very fond of punning, and they had been great friends in
Ireland.

{53a}  See p. 9.

{53b}  See p. 10.

{53c}  A small town and fortress in what is now the Pas de Calais.

{53d}  Richard Stewart, third son of the first Lord Mountjoy (see p. 2),
was M.P. at various times for Castlebar, Strabane, and County Tyrone.  He
died in 1728.

{54a}  See p. 7.

{54b}  Swift, Esther Johnson, and Mrs. Dingley seem to have begun their
financial year on the 1st of November.  Swift refers to “MD’s allowance”
in the _Journal_ for April 23, 1713.

{55a}  Samuel Dopping, an Irish friend of Stella’s, who was probably
related to Anthony Dopping, Bishop of Meath (died 1697), and to his son
Anthony (died 1743), who became Bishop of Ossory.

{55b}  See p. 6.

{55c}  The wife of Alderman Stoyte, afterwards Lord Mayor of Dublin.
Mrs. Stoyte and her sister Catherine; the Walls; Isaac Manley and his
wife; Dean Sterne, Esther Johnson and Mrs. Dingley, and Swift, were the
principal members of a card club which met at each other’s houses for a
number of years.

{55d}  See p. 2.

{56a}  “This cypher stands for Presto, Stella, and Dingley; as much as to
say, it looks like us three quite retired from all the rest of the world”
(Deane Swift).

{56b}  Steele’s “dear Prue,” Mary Scurlock, whom he married as his second
wife in 1707, was a lady of property and a “cried-up beauty.”  She was
somewhat of a prude, and did not hesitate to complain to her husband, in
and out of season, of his extravagance and other weaknesses.  The other
lady to whom Swift alludes is probably the Duchess of Marlborough.

{56c}  See p. 46.

{56d}  Remembers: an Irish expression.

{57a}  This new Commission, signed by Narcissus Marsh, Archbishop of
Armagh, and William King, was dated Oct. 24, 1710.  In this document
Swift was begged to take the full management of the business of the
First-Fruits into his hands, the Bishops of Ossory and Killala—who were
to have joined with him in the negotiations—having left London before
Swift arrived.  But before this commission was despatched the Queen had
granted the First-Fruits and Twentieth Parts to the Irish clergy.

{57b}  Lady Mountjoy, wife of the second Viscount Mountjoy (see p. 2),
was Anne, youngest daughter of Murrough Boyle, first Viscount
Blessington, by his second wife, Anne, daughter of Charles Coote, second
Earl of Mountrath.  After Lord Mountjoy’s death she married John
Farquharson, and she died in 1741.

{58a}  Forster suggests that Swift wrote “Frond” or “Frowde” and there is
every reason to believe that this was the case.  No Colonel Proud appears
in Dalton’s _Army Lists_.  A Colonel William Frowde, apparently third son
of Sir Philip Frowde, Knight, by his third wife, Margaret, daughter of
Sir John Ashburnham, was appointed Lieutenant-Colonel in Colonel
Farrington’s (see 59) Regiment of Foot in 1694.  He resigned his
commission on his appointment to the First Life Guards in 1702, and he
was in this latter regiment in 1704.  In November and December 1711 Swift
wrote of Philip Frowde the elder (Colonel William Frowde’s brother) as
“an old fool,” in monetary difficulties.  It is probable that Swift’s
Colonel Proud (? Frowde) was not Colonel William Frowde, but his nephew,
Philip Frowde, junior, who was Addison’s friend at Oxford, and the author
of two tragedies and various poems.  Nothing seems known of Philip
Frowde’s connection with the army, but he is certainly called “Colonel”
by Swift, Addison, and Pope (see Forster’s _Swift_, 159; Addison’s
_Works_, v. 324; Pope’s _Works_, v. 177, vi. 227).  Swift wrote to
Ambrose Philips in 1705, “Col. Frond is just as he was, very friendly and
_grand rêveur et distrait_.  He has brought his poems almost to
perfection.”  It will be observed that when Swift met Colonel “Proud” he
was in company with Addison, as was also the case when he was with
Colonel “Freind” (p. 11).

{58b}  Charles Davenant, LL.D., educated at Balliol College, Oxford, was
the eldest son of Sir William Davenant, author of _Gondibert_.  In
Parliament he attacked Ministerial abuses with great bitterness until, in
1703, he was made secretary to the Commissioners appointed to treat for a
union with Scotland.  To this post was added, in 1705, an
Inspector-Generalship of Exports and Imports, which he retained until his
death in 1714.  _Tom Double_, a satire on his change of front after
obtaining his place, was published in 1704.  In a Note on Macky’s
character of Davenant, Swift says, “He ruined his estate, which put him
under a necessity to comply with the times.” Davenant’s _True Picture of
a Modern Whig_, _in Two Parts_, appeared in 1701–2; in 1707 he published
_The True Picture of a Modern Whig revived_, _set forth in a third
dialogue between Whiglove and Double_, which seems to be the piece
mentioned in the text, though Swift speaks of the pamphlet as “lately put
out.”

{58c}  Hugh Chamberlen, the younger (1664–1728), was a Fellow of the
College of Physicians and Censor in 1707, 1717, and 1721.  Atterbury and
the Duchess of Buckingham and Normanby were among his fashionable
patients.  His father, Hugh Chamberlen, M.D., was the author of the Land
Bank Scheme of 1693–94.

{58d}  Sir John Holland (see p. 11).

{59a}  Swift may mean either rambling or gambolling.

{59b}  Thomas Farrington was appointed Colonel of the newly raised 29th
Regiment of Foot in 1702.  He was a subscriber for a copy of the _Tatler_
on royal paper (Aitken, _Life of Steele_, i. 329, 330).

{59c}  In _The History of Vanbrugh’s House_, Swift described everyone as
hunting for it up and down the river banks, and unable to find it, until
at length they—

    “— in the rubbish spy
    A thing resembling a goose pie.”

Sir John Vanbrugh was more successful as a dramatist than as an
architect, though his work at Blenheim and elsewhere has many merits.

{59d}  For the successes of the last campaign.

{60a}  John Sheffield, third Earl of Mulgrave, was created Duke of
Buckingham and Normanby in 1703, and died in 1721.  On Queen Anne’s
accession he became Lord Privy Seal, and on the return of the Tories to
power in 1710 he was Lord Steward, and afterward (June 1710) Lord
President of the Council.  The Duke was a poet, as well as a soldier and
statesman, his best known work being the _Essay on Poetry_.  He was
Dryden’s patron, and Pope prepared a collected edition of his works.

{60b}  Laurence Hyde, created Earl of Rochester in 1682, died in 1711.
He was the Hushai of Dryden’s _Absalom and Achitophel_, “the friend of
David in distress.”  In 1684 he was made Lord President of the Council,
and on the accession of James II., Lord Treasurer; he was, however,
dismissed in 1687.  Under William III. Rochester was Lord Lieutenant of
Ireland, an office he resigned in 1703; and in September 1710 he again
became Lord President.  His imperious temper always stood in the way of
popularity or real success.

{60c}  Sir Thomas Osborne, Charles II.’s famous Minister, was elevated to
the peerage in 1673, and afterwards was made successively Earl of Danby,
Marquis of Caermarthen, and Duke of Leeds.  On Nov. 29, 1710, a few days
after this reference to him, the Duke was granted a pension of £3500 a
year out of the Post Office revenues.  He died in July 1712, aged
eighty-one, and soon afterwards his grandson married Lord Oxford’s
daughter.

{60d}  See p. 12.

{60e}  See p. 48.

{60f}  See p. 11.

{60g}  See p. 52.

{60h}  This is, of course, a joke; Swift was never introduced at Court.

{60i}  Captain Delaval (see p. 23).

{60j}  Admiral Sir Charles Wager (1666–1743) served in the West Indies
from 1707 to 1709, and gained great wealth from the prizes he took.
Under George I. he was Comptroller of the Navy, and in 1733 he became
First Lord of the Admiralty, a post which he held until 1742.

{60k}  See p. 52.

{60l}  See p. 24.

{60m}  Isaac Bickerstaff’s “valentine” sent him a nightcap, finely
wrought by a maid of honour to Queen Elizabeth (_Tatler_, No. 141).  The
“nightcap” was a periwig with a short tie and small round head, and
embroidered nightcaps were worn chiefly by members of the graver
professions.

{61a}  _Tatler_, No. 237.

{61b}  _Tatler_, No. 230.

{62a}  See pp. 32, 68.

   {62b}  “Returning home at night, you’ll find the sink
   Strike your offended sense with double stink.”

                                 (Description of a City Shower, ll. 5, 6.)

{62c}  Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin.

{63a}  See p. 1.

{63b}  See p. 55.

{64a}  See p. 34.

{64b}  See p. 2.

{65}  The bellman’s accents.  Cf. Pepys’ _Diary_, Jan. 16, 1659–60: “I
staid up till the bellman came by with his bell just under my window as I
was writing of this very line, and cried, ‘Past one of the clock, and a
cold, frosty, windy morning.’”

{66a}  John Freind, M.D. (1675–1728), was a younger brother of the Robert
Freind, of Westminster School, mentioned elsewhere in the _Journal_.
Educated under Dr. Busby at Westminster, he was in 1694 elected a student
of Christ Church, where he made the acquaintance of Atterbury, and
supported Boyle against Bentley in the dispute as to the authorship of
the letters of Phalaris.  In 1705 he attended the Earl of Peterborough to
Spain, and in the following year wrote a defence of that commander
(_Account of the Earl of Peterborough’s Conduct in Spain_).  A steady
Tory, he took a share in the defence of Dr. Sacheverell; and in 1723,
when M.P. for Launceston, he fell under the suspicion of the Government,
and was sent to the Tower.  On the accession of George II., however, he
came into favour with the Court, and died Physician to the Queen.

{66b}  See p. 59.

{66c}  St. John was thirty-two in October 1710.  He had been Secretary at
War six years before, resigning with Harley in 1707.  Swift repeats this
comparison elsewhere.  Temple was forty-six when he refused a
Secretaryship of State in 1674.

{66d}  Sir Henry St. John seems to have continued a gay man to the end of
his life.  In his youth he was tried and convicted for the murder of Sir
William Estcourt in a duel (Scott).  In 1716, after his son had been
attainted, he was made Viscount St. John.  He died in 1742, aged ninety.

{67a}  See p. 4.

{67b}  “Swift delighted to let his pen run into such rhymes as these,
which he generally passes off as old proverbs” (Scott).  Many of the
charming scraps of “Old Ballads” and “Old Plays” at the head of Scott’s
own chapters are in reality the result of his own imagination.

{67c}  See p. 10.

{67d}  Sir Richard Levinge, Bart., had been Solicitor-General for Ireland
from 1704 to 1709, and was Attorney-General from 1711 to 1714.
Afterwards he was Speaker of the Irish House of Commons and Chief-Justice
of the Common Pleas in Ireland.

{68a}  See pp. 32, 62.

{68b}  See p. 6.

{68c}  Thomas Belasyse, second Viscount Fauconberg, or Falconbridge (died
1700), a nobleman of hereditary loyalty, married, in 1657, the
Protector’s youngest daughter, Mary Cromwell, who is represented as a
lady of high talent and spirit.  She died on March 14, 1712.  Burnet
describes her as “a wise and worthy woman,” who would have had a better
prospect of maintaining her father’s post than either of her brothers.

{69a}  Richard Freeman, Chief Baron, was Lord Chancellor of Ireland from
1707 until his death in November 1710.

{69b}  See p. 49.

{69c}  Sir Richard Cox, Bart. (1650–1733), was Lord Chancellor of Ireland
from 1703 to 1707.  In 1711 he was appointed Chief-Justice of the Queen’s
Bench, but he was removed from office on the death of Queen Anne.  His
zealous Protestantism sometimes caused his views to be warped, but he was
honest and well-principled.

{69d}  Sir Thomas Hanmer, Bart. (1676–1746), succeeded Bromley as Speaker
in 1714.  In February 1713 Swift said, “He is the most considerable man
in the House of Commons.”  His edition of Shakespeare was published by
the University of Oxford in 1743–44.  Pope called it “pompous,” and
sneered at Hanmer’s “superior air” (_Dunciad_, iv. 105).

{70}  See p. 24.

{72a}  Elliot was keeper of the St. James’s Coffee-house (see 2).

{72b}  Forster suggested that the true reading is “writhing.”  If so, it
is not necessary to suppose that Lady Giffard was the cause of it.
Perhaps it is the word “tiger” that is corrupt.

{72c}  The Hon. Charles Boyle (1676–1731), of the Boyle and Bentley
controversy, succeeded to the peerage as Lord Orrery in 1703.  When he
settled in London he became the centre of a Christ Church set, a strong
adherent of Harley’s party, and a member of Swift’s “club.”  His son
John, fifth Earl of Orrery, published _Remarks on the Life and Writings
of Jonathan Swift_ in 1751.

{73a}  William Domville, a landed proprietor in County Dublin, whom Swift
called “perfectly as fine a gentleman as I know.”

{73b}  On May 16, 1711, Swift wrote, “There will be an old to do.”  The
word is found in Elizabethan writers in the sense of “more than enough.”
Cf. _Macbeth_, ii. 3: “If a man were porter of hell gate, he should have
old turning the key.”

{73c}  See p. 9.  Clements was related to Pratt, the Deputy
Vice-Treasurer, and was probably the Robert Clements who became Deputy
Vice-Treasurer, and whose grandson Robert was created Earl of Leitrim in
1795.

{73d}  See p. 24.

{74a}  Swift’s sister Jane, who had married a currier in Bride Street,
named Joseph Fenton, a match to which Swift strongly objected.  Deane
Swift says that Swift never saw his sister again after the marriage; he
had offered her £500 if she would show a “proper disdain” of Fenton.  On
her husband’s dying bankrupt, however, Swift paid her an annuity until
1738, when she died in the same lodging with Esther Johnson’s mother,
Mrs. Bridget Mose, at Farnham (Forster’s _Swift_, pp. 118–19).

{74b}  Welbore Ellis, appointed Bishop of Kildare in 1705.  He was
translated to Meath in 1731, and died three years later.

{74c}  The expression of the Archbishop is, “I am not to conceal from you
that some expressed a little jealously, that you would not be acceptable
to the present courtiers; intimating that you were under the reputation
of being a favourite of the late party in power” (King to Swift, Nov. 2,
1710).

{75}  This indignant letter is dated Nov. 23, 1710.  It produced an
apologetic reply from the Archbishop (Nov. 30, 1710), who represented
that the letter to Southwell was a snare laid in his way, since if he
declined signing it, it might have been interpreted into disrespect to
the Duke of Ormond.  Of the bishops King said, “You cannot do yourself a
greater service than to bring this to a good issue, to their shame and
conviction.”

{76a}  William Bromley (died 1732) was M.P. for the University of Oxford.
A good debater and a strong High Churchman, he was Secretary of State
from August 1713 until the Queen’s death in the following year.

{76b}  Colonel, afterwards Major-General, John Hill (died 1735) was
younger brother of Mrs. Masham, the Queen’s favourite, and a poor
relation of the Duchess of Marlborough.  He was wounded at Mons in 1709,
and in 1711 was sent on an unsuccessful expedition to attack the French
settlements in North America.  In 1713 he was appointed to command the
troops at Dunkirk.

{76c}  “The footmen in attendance at the Houses of Parliament used at
this time to form themselves into a deliberative body, and usually
debated the same points with their masters.  It was jocularly said that
several questions were lost by the Court party in the menial House of
Lords which were carried triumphantly in the real assembly; which was at
length explained by a discovery that the Scottish peers whose votes were
sometimes decisive of a question had but few representatives in the
convocation of lacqueys.  The sable attendant mentioned by Swift, being
an appendage of the brother of Mrs. Masham, the reigning favourite, had a
title to the chair, the Court and Tory interest being exerted in his
favour” (Scott).  Steele alludes to the “Footmen’s Parliament” in No. 88
of the _Spectator_.

{77a}  See p. 1.

{77b}  A Court of Equity abolished in the reign of Charles I.  It met in
the _Camera Alba_, or Whitehall, and the room appears to have retained
the name of the old Court.

{78a}  See p. 24.

{78b}  Swift’s first contribution to the _Examiner_ (No. 13) is dated
Nov. 2, 1710.

{78c}  Seduced, induced.  Dryden (_Spanish Friar_) has “To debauch a king
to break his laws.”

{80a}  Freeman (see p. 69).

{80b}  “To make this intelligible, it is necessary to observe, that the
words ‘_this fortnight_’, in the preceding sentence, were first written
in what he calls their little language, and afterwards scratched out and
written plain.  It must be confessed this little language, which passed
current between Swift and Stella, has occasioned infinite trouble in the
revisal of these papers” (Deane Swift).

{80c}  Trim.  An attack upon the liberties of this corporation is among
the political offences of Wharton’s Lieutenancy of Ireland set forth in
Swift’s _Short Character of the Earl of Wharton_.

{80d}  Apologies.

{80e}  “A Description of the Morning,” in No. 9 of the _Tatler_.

{81a}  See p. 38.

{81b}  William Palliser (died 1726).

{81c}  See p. 20.

{81d}  “Here he writ with his eyes shut; and the writing is somewhat
crooked, although as well in other respects as if his eyes had been open”
(Deane Swift).

{81e}  _Tatler_, No. 249; cf. p. 93.  During this visit to London Swift
contributed to only three _Tatlers_, viz. Nos. 230, 238, and 258.

{81f}  St. Andrew’s Day.

{82a}  No. 241.

{82b}  _Tatler_, No. 258.

{84a}  Lieutenant-General Philip Bragg, Colonel of the 28th Regiment of
Foot, and M.P. for Armagh, died in 1759.

{84b}  James Cecil, fifth Earl of Salisbury, who died in 1728.

{84c}  See p. 5.

{84d}  See p. 60.

{84e}  Kneller seems never to have painted Swift’s portrait.

{85a}  On Nov. 25 and 28.

{85b}  Arthur Annesley, M.P. for Cambridge University, had recently
become fifth Earl of Anglesea, on the death of his brother (see p. 13).
Under George I. he was Joint Treasurer of Ireland, and Treasurer at War.

{85c}  _A Short Character of the Earl of Wharton_, by Swift himself,
though the authorship was not suspected at the time.  “Archbishop King,”
says Scott, “would have hardly otherwise ventured to mention it to Swift
in his letter of Jan. 9, 1710, as ‘a wound given in the dark.’”
Elsewhere, however, in a note, Swift hints that Archbishop King was
really aware of the authorship of the pamphlet.

{86a}  A false report: see p. 88 below.

{86b}  None of these Commissioners of Revenue lost their places at this
time.  Samuel Ogle was Commissioner from 1699 to 1714; John South from
1696 until his death in 1711; and Sir William St. Quintin, Bart., from
1706 to 1713.  Stephen Ludlow succeeded South in September 1711.

{86c}  See p. 53.

{86d}  James Hamilton, sixth Earl of Abercorn (1656–1734), a Scotch peer
who had strongly supported the Union of 1706.

{87a}  L’Estrange speaks of “insipid twittle twattles.” Johnson calls
this “a vile word.”

{87b}  A cousin of Swift’s; probably a son of William Swift.

{87c}  Nicholas Sankey (died 1722) succeeded Lord Lovelace as Colonel of
a Regiment of Foot in Ireland in 1689.  He became Brigadier-General in
1704, Major-General 1707, and Lieutenant-General 1710.  He served in
Spain, and was taken prisoner at the battle of the Caya in 1709.

{88a}  See p. 88.

{88b}  The Earl of Abercorn (see p. 86) married, in 1686, Elizabeth, only
child of Sir Robert Reading, Bart., of Dublin, by Jane, Dowager Countess
of Mountrath.  Lady Abercorn survived her husband twenty years, dying in
1754, aged eighty-six.

{88c}  Charles Lennox, first Duke of Richmond and Gordon (1672–1723), was
the illegitimate son of Charles II. by Madame de Querouaille.

{88d}  Sir Robert Raymond, afterwards Lord Raymond (1673–1733), M.P. for
Bishop’s Castle, Shropshire, was appointed Solicitor-General in May 1710,
and was knighted in October.  He was removed from office on the accession
of George I., but was made Attorney-General in 1720, and in 1724 became a
judge of the King’s Bench.  In the following year he was made Lord
Chief-Justice, and was distinguished both for his learning and his
impartiality.

{88e}  Lynn-Regis.

{88f}  Richard Savage, fourth Earl Rivers, the father of Richard Savage,
the poet.  Under the Whigs Lord Rivers was Envoy to Hanover; and after
his conversion by Harley, he was Constable of the Tower under the Tories.
He died in 1712.

{89a}  Chancellor of the Exchequer in Ireland from 1695 until his death
in 1717.

{89b}  Lord Shelburne’s clever sister, Anne, only daughter of Sir William
Petty, and wife of Thomas Fitzmaurice, Lord of Kerry, afterwards created
first Earl of Kerry.

{89c}  Mrs. Pratt, an Irish friend of Lady Kerry, lodged at Lord
Shelburne’s during her visit to London.  The reference to Clements (see
p. 73), Pratt’s relative, in the _Journal_ for April 14, 1711, makes it
clear that Mrs. Pratt was the wife of the Deputy Vice-Treasurer of
Ireland, to whom Swift often alludes (see p. 9).

{89d}  Lieutenant-General Thomas Meredith, Major-General Maccartney, and
Brigadier Philip Honeywood.  They alleged that their offence only
amounted to drinking a health to the Duke of Marlborough, and confusion
to his enemies.  But the Government said that an example must be made,
because various officers had dropped dangerous expressions about standing
by their General, Marlborough, who was believed to be aiming at being
made Captain General for life.  For Maccartney see the _Journal_ for Nov.
15, 1712, seq.  Meredith, who was appointed Adjutant-General of the
Forces in 1701, was made a Lieutenant-General in 1708.  He saw much
service under William III., and Marlborough, and was elected M.P. for
Midhurst in 1709.  He died in 1719 (Dalton’s _Army Lists_, iii. 181).
Honeywood entered the army in 1694; was at Namur; and was made a
Brigadier-General before 1711.  After the accession of George I. he
became Colonel of a Regiment of Dragoons, and commanded a division at
Dettingen.  At his death in 1752 he was acting as Governor of Portsmouth,
with the rank of General (Dalton, iv. 30).

{90a}  Or “malkin”; a counterfeit, or scarecrow.

{90b}  William Cadogan, Lieutenant-General and afterwards Earl Cadogan
(1675–1726), a great friend of Marlborough, was Envoy to the United
Provinces and Spanish Flanders.  Cadogan retained the post of Lieutenant
to the Tower until 1715.

{90c}  Earl Cadogan’s father, Henry Cadogan, barrister, married Bridget,
daughter of Sir Hardresse Waller, and sister of Elizabeth, Baroness
Shelburne in her own right.

{90d}  See p. 28.

{90e}  Cadogan married Margaretta, daughter of William Munter, Counsellor
of the Court of Holland.

{91a}  Presumably the eldest son, William, who succeeded his father as
second Earl of Kerry in 1741, and died in 1747.  He was at Eton and
Christ Church, Oxford, and was afterwards a Colonel in the Coldstream
Guards.

{91b}  Henry Petty, third Lord Shelburne, who became Earl of Shelburne in
1719.  His son predeceased him, without issue, and on Lord Shelburne’s
death, in 1751, his honours became extinct.  His daughter Anne also died
without issue.

{91c}  The menagerie, which had been one of the sights of London, was
removed from the Tower in 1834.  In his account of the Tory Fox Hunter in
No. 47 of the _Freeholder_, Addison says, “Our first visit was to the
lions.”

{91d}  Bethlehem Hospital, for lunatics, in Moorfields, was a popular
“sight” in the eighteenth century.  Cf. the _Tatler_, No. 30: “On Tuesday
last I took three lads, who are under my guardianship, a rambling, in a
hackney coach, to show them the town: as the lions, the tombs, Bedlam.”

{91e}  The Royal Society met at Gresham College from 1660 to 1710.  The
professors of the College lectured on divinity, civil law, astronomy,
music, geometry, rhetoric, and physic.

{91f}  The most important of the puppet-shows was Powell’s, in the Little
Piazza, Covent Garden, which is frequently mentioned in the _Tatler_.

{91g}  The precise nature this negligent costume is not known, but it is
always decried by popular writers of the time.

{91h}  Retched.  Bacon has “Patients must not keck at them at the first.”

{92a}  Swift was born on November 30.

{92b}  Mrs. De la Riviere Manley, daughter of Sir Roger Manley, and
cousin of John Manley, M.P., and Isaac Manley (see pp. 7, 24), wrote
poems and plays, but is best known for her _Secret Memoirs and Manners of
Several Persons of Quality_, _of both sexes_.  _From the New Atalantis_,
1709, a book abounding in scandalous references to her contemporaries.
She was arrested in October, but was discharged in Feb. 1710.  In May
1710 she brought out a continuation of the _New Atalantis_, called
_Memoirs of Europe towards the Close of the Eighth Century_.  In June
1711 she became editress of the Tory _Examiner_, and wrote political
pamphlets with Swift’s assistance.  Afterwards she lived with Alderman
Barber, the printer, at whose office she died in 1724.  In her will she
mentioned her “much honoured friend, the Dean of St. Patrick, Dr. Swift.”

{92c}  “He seems to have written these words in a whim; for the sake of
what follows” (Deane Swift).

{93a}  See p. 62.

{93b}  No. 249 (see p. 81).

{94a}  See p. 30.

{94b}  In a letter to the Rev. Dr. Tisdall, of Dec. 16, 1703, Swift said:
“I’ll teach you a way to outwit Mrs. Johnson: it is a new-fashioned way
of being witty, and they call it a _bite_.  You must ask a bantering
question, or tell some damned lie in a serious manner, and then she will
answer or speak as if you were in earnest; and then cry you, ‘Madam,
there’s a _bite_!’  I would not have you undervalue this, for it is the
constant amusement in Court, and everywhere else among the great people.”
See, too, the _Tatler_, No. 12, and _Spectator_, Nos. 47, 504: “In a
word, a Biter is one who thinks you a fool, because you do not think him
a knave.”

{94c}  See p. 66.

{95a}  “As I hope to be saved;” a favourite phrase in the _Journal_.

{95b}  See p. 48.

{95c}  This statement receives some confirmation from a pamphlet
published in September 1710, called _A Condoling Letter to the Tatler_:
_On Account of the Misfortunes of Isaac Bickerstaf Esq._, _a Prisoner in
the — on Suspicion of Debt_.

{95d}  Dr. Lambert, chaplain to Lord Wharton, was censured in Convocation
for being the author of a libellous letter.

{95e}  Probably the same person as Dr. Griffith, spoken of in the
_Journal_ for March 3, 1713,—when he was ill,—as having been “very tender
of” Stella.

{96a}  See p. 74, note 1.

{96b}  Vexed, offended.  Elsewhere Swift wrote, “I am apt to grate the
ears of more than I could wish.”

{96c}  Ambrose Philips, whose Pastorals had been published in the same
volume of Tonson’s _Miscellany_ as Pope’s.  Two years later Swift wrote,
“I should certainly have provided for him had he not run party mad.”  In
1712 his play, _The Distrest Mother_, received flattering notice in the
_Spectator_, and in 1713, to Pope’s annoyance, Philips’ Pastorals were
praised in the _Guardian_.  His pretty poems to children led Henry Carey
to nickname him “Namby Pamby.”

{97a}  An equestrian statue of William III., in College Green, Dublin.
It was common, in the days of party, for students of the University of
Dublin to play tricks with this statue.

{97b}  Lieutenant-General Richard Ingoldsby (died 1712) was Commander of
the Forces in Ireland, and one of the Lords Justices in the absence of
the Lord Lieutenant.

{97c}  This seems to have been a mistake; cf. _Journal_ for July 13,
1711, Alan Brodrick, afterwards Viscount Midleton, a Whig politician and
lawyer, was made Chief Justice of the Queen’s Bench in Ireland in 1709,
but was removed from office in June 1711, when Sir Richard Cox succeeded
him.  On the accession of George I. he was appointed Lord Chancellor for
Ireland.  Afterwards he declined to accept the dedication to him of
Swift’s _Drapiers Letters_, and supported the prosecution of the author.
He died in 1728.

{97d}  Robert Doyne was appointed Chief Baron of the Exchequer in Ireland
in 1695, and Chief Justice of the Common Pleas in 1703.  This appointment
was revoked on the accession of George I.

{97e}  See p. 69.

{97f}  Of the University of Dublin.

{98a}  See pp. 6, 7.  Sir Thomas Frankland’s eldest son, Thomas, who
afterwards succeeded to the baronetcy, acquired a fortune with his first
wife, Dinah, daughter of Francis Topham, of Agelthorpe, Yorkshire.  He
died in 1747.

{98b}  See p. 60.

{98c}  See p. 20.

{99a}  Mary, daughter of Sir John Williams, Bart., and widow of Charles
Petty, second Lord Shelburne, who died in 1696.  She had married, as her
second husband, Major-General Conyngham, and, as her third husband,
Colonel Dallway.

{99b}  Dr. John Vesey became Bishop of Limerick in 1672, and Archbishop
of Tuam in 1678.  He died in 1716.

{100a}  See p. 14.

{100b}  Sex.

{100c}  Toby Caulfeild, third son of the fifth Lord Charlemont.  In 1689
he was Colonel to the Earl of Drogheda’s Regiment of Foot, and about 1705
he succeeded to the command of Lord Skerrin’s Regiment of Foot.  After
serving in Spain his regiment was reduced, having lost most of its men
(Luttrell, vi. 158).

{101a}  John Campbell, second Duke of Argyle (1680–1743), was installed a
Knight of the Garter in December 1710, after he had successfully opposed
a vote of thanks to Marlborough, with whom he had quarrelled.  It was of
this nobleman that Pope wrote—

    “Argyle, the State’s whole thunder born to wield,
    And shake alike the senate and the field.”

In a note to Macky’s _Memoirs_, Swift describes the Duke as an
“ambitious, covetous, cunning Scot, who had no principle but his own
interests and greatness.”

{101b}  Harley’s second wife, Sarah, daughter of Simon Middleton, of
Edmonton, and sister of Sir Hugh Middleton, Bart.  She died, without
issue, in 1737.

{101c}  Elizabeth Harley, then unmarried, the daughter of Harley’s first
wife, Elizabeth, daughter of Thomas Foley, of Whitley Court,
Worcestershire.  She subsequently married the Marquis of Caermarthen,
afterwards Duke of Leeds.

{101d}  Harcourt (see p. 11).

{102}  William Stawel, the third baron, who succeeded to the title in
1692, was half-brother to the second Baron Stawel.  The brother here
referred to was Edward, who succeeded to the title as fourth baron in
1742.

{104a}  Charles Finch, third Earl of Winchelsea, son of Lord Maidstone,
and grandson of Heneage, second Earl of Winchelsea.  On his death in 1712
Swift spoke of him as “a worthy honest gentleman, and particular friend
of mine.”

{104b}  Vedeau was a shopkeeper, who abandoned his trade for the army
(_Journal_, March 28, April 4, 1711).  Swift calls him “a lieutenant, who
is now broke, and upon half pay” (_Journal_, Nov. 18, 1712).

{104c}  Sir Edmund Bacon, Bart. (died 1721), of Herringflat, Suffolk,
succeeded his father in the baronetcy in 1686.

{104d}  The reverse at Brihuega.

{104e}  See p. 57.

{106a}  John Barber, a printer, became Lord Mayor of London in 1732, and
died in 1741.  Mrs. Manley was his mistress, and died at his printing
office.  Swift speaks of Barber as his “very good and old friend.”

{106b}  Bernage was an officer serving under Colonel Fielding.  In August
1710 a difficulty arose through Arbuthnot trying to get his brother
George made Captain over Bernage’s head; but ultimately Arbuthnot waived
the business, because he would not wrong a friend of Swift’s.

{106c}  See p. 99.

{107a}  George Smalridge (1663–1719), the High Church divine and popular
preacher, was made Dean of Carlisle in 1711, and Bishop of Bristol in
1714.  Steele spoke of him in the _Tatler_ (Nos. 73, 114) as “abounding
in that sort of virtue and knowledge which makes religion beautiful.”

{107b}  St. Albans Street, Pall Mall, was removed in 1815 to make way for
Waterloo Place.  It was named after Henry Jermyn, Earl of St. Albans.

{109}  See p. 100

{112a}  Algernon Seymour, Earl of Hertford (1684–1750), only son of
Charles Seymour, Duke of Somerset.  Lord Hertford succeeded to the
dukedom in 1748.  From 1708 to 1722 he was M.P. for Northumberland, and
from 1708 to 1713 he took an active part in the war in Flanders.

{112b}  See p. 17.

{112c}  _A Short Character of the Earl of Wharton_ (see p. 85).

{112d}  See 69.

{113}  Henry Herbert, the last Baron Herbert of Cherbury, succeeded to
the peerage in 1709, and soon afterwards married a sister of the Earl of
Portsmouth.  A ruined man, he committed suicide in 1738.

{114}  Nos. 257, 260.

{115a}  See p. 26.

{115b}  “_After_ is interlined” (Deane Swift).

{115c}  With this account may be compared what Pope says, as recorded in
Spence’s _Anecdotes_, p. 223: “Lord Peterborough could dictate letters to
nine amanuenses together, as I was assured by a gentleman who saw him do
it when Ambassador at Turin.  He walked round the room, and told each of
them in his turn what he was to write.  One perhaps was a letter to the
emperor, another to an old friend, a third to a mistress, a fourth to a
statesman, and so on: yet he carried so many and so different connections
in his head, all at the same time.”

{116a}  Francis Atterbury, Dean of Carlisle, had taken an active part in
the defence of Dr. Sacheverell.  After a long period of suspense he
received the appointment of Dean of Christ Church, and in 1713 he was
made Bishop of Rochester and Dean of Westminster.  Atterbury was on
intimate terms with Swift, Pope, and other writers on the Tory side, and
Addison—at whose funeral the Bishop officiated—described him as “one of
the greatest geniuses of his age.”

{116b}  John Carteret, second Baron Carteret, afterwards to be well known
as a statesman, succeeded to the peerage in 1695, and became Earl
Granville and Viscount Carteret on the death of his brother in 1744.  He
died in 1763.  In October 1710, when twenty years of age, he had married
Frances, only daughter of Sir Robert Worsley, Bart., of Appuldurcombe,
Isle of Wight.

{117a}  Dillon Ashe, D.D., Vicar of Finglas, and brother of the Bishop of
Clogher.  In 1704 he was made Archdeacon of Clogher, and in 1706
Chancellor of Armagh.  He seems to have been too fond of drink.

{117b}  Henley (see p. 37) married Mary, daughter of Peregrine Bertie,
the second son of Montagu, Earl of Lindsey, and with her obtained a
fortune of £30,000.  After Henley’s death his widow married her relative,
Henry Bertie, third son of James, Earl of Abingdon.

{117c}  Hebrews v. 6.

{118a}  Probably Mrs. Manley and John Barber (see pp. 92, 106).

{118b}  Sir Andrew Fountaine’s (see p. 28) father, Andrew Fountaine,
M.P., married Sarah, daughter of Sir Thomas Chicheley, Master of the
Ordnance.  Sir Andrew’s sister, Elizabeth, married Colonel Edward Clent.
The “scoundrel brother,” Brig, died in 1746, aged sixty-four
(Blomefield’s _Norfolk_, vi. 233–36).

{118c}  Dame Overdo, the justice’s wife in Ben Jonson’s _Bartholomew
Fair_.

{119a}  See p. 7.

{119b}  Atterbury, who had recently been elected Prolocutor to the Lower
House of Convocation.

{120a}  Dr. Sterne, Dean of St. Patrick’s, was not married.

{120b}  January 6 was Twelfth-night.

{120c}  Garraway’s Coffee-house, in Change Alley, was founded by Thomas
Garway, the first coffee-man who sold and retailed tea.  A room upstairs
was used for sales of wine “by the candle.”

{120d}  Sir Constantine Phipps, who had taken an active part in
Sacheverell’s defence.  Phipps’ interference in elections in the Tory
interest made him very unpopular in Dublin, and he was recalled on the
death of Queen Anne.

{120e}  Joseph Trapp, one of the seven poets alluded to in the distich:—

    “Alma novem genuit celebres Rhedycina poetas,
    Bubb, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trapp, Young, Carey, Tickell, Evans.”

Trapp wrote a tragedy in 1704, and in 1708 was chosen the first Professor
of Poetry at Oxford.  In 1710 he published pamphlets on behalf of
Sacheverell, and in 1712 Swift secured for him the post of chaplain to
Bolingbroke.  During his latter years he held several good livings.
Elsewhere Swift calls him a “coxcomb.”

{120f}  See p. 50.

{121}  The extreme Tories, who afterwards formed the October Club.

{122}  Crowd.  A Jacobean writer speaks of “the lurry of lawyers,” and “a
lurry and rabble of poor friars.”

{123a}  See p. 24, note 3.

{123b}  St. John’s first wife was Frances, daughter and co-heiress of Sir
Henry Winchcombe, Bart., of Berkshire, and in her right St. John enjoyed
the estates of Bucklebury, which on her death in 1718 passed to her
sister.  In April 1711 Swift said that “poor Mrs. St. John” was growing a
great favourite of his; she was going to Bath owing to ill-health, and
begged him to take care of her husband.  She “said she had none to trust
but me, and the poor creature’s tears came fresh in her eyes.”  Though
the marriage was, naturally enough, unhappy, she did not leave St. John’s
house until 1713, and she returned to him when he fell from power.  There
are letters from her to Swift as late as 1716, not only doing her best to
defend his honour, but speaking of him with tenderness.

{123c}  “Battoon” means (1) a truncheon; (2) a staff of office.
Luttrell, in 1704, speaks of “a battoon set with diamonds sent him from
the French king.”

{124a}  Edward Harley, second son of Sir Edward Harley, was M.P. for
Leominster and Recorder of the same town.  In 1702 he was appointed
Auditor of the Imposts, a post which he held until his death in 1735.
His wife, Sarah, daughter of Thomas Foley, was a sister of Robert
Harley’s wife, and his eldest son eventually became third Earl of Oxford.
Harley published several books on biblical subjects.

{124b}  See p. 36.  The last number of Steele’s _Tatler_ appeared on Jan.
2, 1711; Harrison’s paper reached to fifty-two numbers.

{124c}  Dryden Leach (see p. 51).

{125a}  Cf. Letter 7, October 28th.

{125b}  Published by John Baker and John Morphew.  See Aitken’s _Life of
Steele_, i. 299–301.

{125c}  In No. 224 of the _Tatler_, Addison, speaking of polemical
advertisements, says: “The inventors of Strops for Razors have written
against one another this way for several years, and that with great
bitterness.”  See also _Spectator_, Nos. 428, 509, and the _Postman_ for
March 23, 1703: “The so much famed strops for setting razors, etc., are
only to be had at Jacob’s Coffee-house. . . .  Beware of counterfeits,
for such are abroad.”

{126a}  Sir John Holland (see p. 11).

{126b}  Addison speaks of a fine flaxen long wig costing thirty guineas
(_Guardian_, No. 97), and Duumvir’s fair wig, which Phillis threw into
the fire, cost forty guineas (_Tatler_, No. 54)

{127a}  Swift’s mother, Abigail Erick, was of a Leicestershire family,
and after her husband’s death she spent much of her time with her friends
near her old home.  Mr. Worrall, vicar of St. Patrick’s, with whom Swift
was on terms of intimacy in 1728–29, was evidently a relative of the
Worralls where Mrs. Swift had lodged, and we may reasonably suppose that
he owed the living to Swift’s interest in the family.

{127b}  The title of a humorous poem by Lydgate.  A “lickpenny” is a
greedy or grasping person.

{128a}  Small wooden blocks used for lighting fires.  See Swift
(“Description of the Morning”),

    “The small-coal man was heard with cadence deep,
    Till drowned in shriller notes of chimney-sweep;”

and Gay (_Trivia_, ii. 35),

    “When small-coal murmurs in the hoarser throat,
    From smutty dangers guard thy threatened coat.”

{128b}  The Tory Ministers.

{129a}  See p. 51.

{129b}  Thomas Southerne’s play of _Oroonoko_, based on Mrs. Aphra Behn’s
novel of the same name, was first acted in 1696.

{129c}  “Mrs.” Cross created the part of Mrs. Clerimont in Steele’s
_Tender Husband_ in 1705.

{130a}  See p. 106.

{130b}  George Granville, afterwards Lord Lansdowne, was M.P. for
Cornwall, and Secretary at War.  In December 1711 he was raised to the
peerage, and in 1712 was appointed Comptroller of the Household.  He died
in 1735, when the title became extinct.  Granville wrote plays and poems,
and was a patron of both Dryden and Pope.  Pope called him “Granville the
polite.”  His _Works in Verse and Prose_ appeared in 1732.

{131a}  Samuel Masham, son of Sir Francis Masham, Bart., had been a page
to the Queen while Princess of Denmark, and an equerry and gentleman of
the bed-chamber to Prince George.  He married Abigail Hill (see p. 149),
daughter of Francis Hill, a Turkey merchant, and sister of General John
Hill, and through that lady’s influence with the Queen he was raised to
the peerage as Baron Masham, in January 1712.  Under George I. he was
Remembrancer of the Exchequer.  He died in 1758.

{131b}  A roughly printed pamphlet, _The Honourable Descent_, _Life_,
_and True Character of the_ . . . _Earl of Wharton_, appeared early in
1711, in reply to Swift’s _Short Character_; but that can hardly be the
pamphlet referred to here, because it is directed against libellers and
backbiters, and cannot be described as “pretty civil.”

{131c}  “In that word (the seven last words of the sentence huddled into
one) there were some puzzling characters” (Deane Swift).

{132}  Sir Robert Worsley, Bart., married, in 1690, Frances, only
daughter of the first Viscount Weymouth.  Their daughter Frances married
Lord Carteret (see p. 116) in 1710.  In a letter to Colonel Hunter in
March 1709 Swift spoke of Lady (then Mrs.) Worsley as one of the
principal beauties in town.  See, too, Swift’s letter to her of April 19,
1730: “My Lady Carteret has been the best queen we have known in Ireland
these many years; yet is she mortally hated by all the young girls,
because (and it is your fault) she is handsomer than all of them
together.”

{133a}  See p. 7.

{133b}  See p. 25.

{133c}  William Stratford, son of Nicholas Stratford, Bishop of Chester,
was Archdeacon of Richmond and Canon of Christ Church, Oxford, until his
death in 1729.

{133d}  See p. 10.

{134a}  James, third Earl of Berkeley (1680–1736), whom Swift calls a
“young rake” (see p. 151).  The young Countess of Berkeley was only
sixteen on her marriage.  In 1714 she was appointed a lady of the
bed-chamber to Caroline, Princess of Wales, and she died of smallpox in
1717, aged twenty-two.  The Earl was an Admiral, and saw much service
between 1701 and 1710; under George I. he was First Lord of the
Admiralty.

{134b}  Edward Wettenhall was Bishop of Kilmore from 1699 to 1713.

{134c}  In the Dedication to _The Tale of a Tub_ Swift had addressed
Somers in very different terms: “There is no virtue, either in public or
private life, which some circumstances of your own have not often
produced upon the stage of the world.”

{136}  Their lodgings, opposite to St. Mary’s Church in Stafford Street,
Dublin.

{138a}  The Stamp Act was not passed until June 1712: see the _Journal_
for Aug. 7, 1712.

{138b}  Both in St. James’s Park.  The Canal was formed by Charles II.
from several small ponds, and Rosamond’s Pond was a sheet of water in the
south-west corner of the Park, “long consecrated,” as Warburton said, “to
disastrous love and elegiac poetry.”  It is often mentioned as a place of
assignation in Restoration plays.  Evelyn (_Diary_, Dec. 1, 1662)
describes the “scheets” used on the Canal.

{139a}  Mrs. Beaumont.

{139b}  The first direct mention of Hester Vanhomrigh.  She is referred
to only in two other places in the _Journal_ (Feb. 14, 1710–11, and Aug.
14, 1711).

{139c}  See p. 10.

{139d}  No. 27, by Swift himself.

{140a}  No. 7 of Harrison’s series.

{140b}  The printers of the original _Tatler_.

{141}  Harley had forwarded to Swift a banknote for £50 (see _Journal_,
March 7, 1710–11).

{143}  At Moor Park.

{144a}  Scott says that Swift here alludes to some unidentified pamphlet
of which he was the real or supposed author.

{144b}  See p. 89.

{144c}  The _Examiner_.

{145a}  See p. 43.

{145b}  Mistaken.

{145c}  Mrs. De Caudres, “over against St. Mary’s Church, near Capel
Street,” where Stella now lodged.

{146a}  “A crease in the sheet” (Deane Swift).

{146b}  “In the original it was, _good mallows_, _little sollahs_.  But
in these words, and many others, he writes constantly _ll_ for _rr_”
(Deane Swift).

{147a}  See p. 21.

{147b}  “Those letters which are in italics in the original are of a
monstrous size, which occasioned his calling himself a loggerhead” (Deane
Swift).

{147c}  _I.e._, to ask whether.

{148a}  Harcourt.

{148b}  “A shilling passes for thirteenpence in Ireland” (Deane Swift).

{148c}  Robert Cope, a gentleman of learning with whom Swift
corresponded.

{148d}  Archdeacon Morris is not mentioned in Cotton’s _Fasti Ecclesiæ
Hiberniæ_.

{149a}  See p. 131.

{149b}  See p. 76.

{149c}  Abigail Hill, afterwards Lady Masham, had been introduced into
the Queens service as bed-chamber woman by the Duchess of Marlborough.
Her High Church and Tory views recommended her to Queen Anne, and in 1707
she was privately married to Mr. Samuel Masham, a gentleman in the
service of Prince George (see p. 131).  The Duchess of Marlborough
discovered that Mrs. Masham’s cousin, Harley, was using her influence to
further his own interests with the Queen; and in spite of her violence
the Duchess found herself gradually supplanted.  From 1710 Mrs. Masham’s
only rival in the royal favour was the Duchess of Somerset.  Afterwards
she quarrelled with Harley and joined the Bolingbroke faction.

{149d}  See 20.

{150a}  No. 14 of Harrison’s series.

{150b}  See p. 139.

{150c}  Richard Duke, a minor poet and friend of Dryden’s, entered the
Church about 1685.  In July 1710 he was presented by the Bishop of
Winchester to the living of Witney, Oxfordshire, which was worth £700 a
year.

{150d}  Sir Jonathan Trelawney, one of the seven bishops committed to the
Tower in 1688, was translated to Winchester in 1707, when he appointed
Duke to be his chaplain.

{151a}  See p. 17.

{151b}  See p. 14.

{151c}  See p. 134.

{151d}  See p. 52.

{152a}  Cf. p. 155.

{152b}  Esther Johnson lodged opposite St. Mary’s in Dublin.

{152c}  This famous Tory club began with the meeting together of a few
extreme Tories at the Bell in Westminster.  The password to the
Club—“October”—was one easy of remembrance to a country gentleman who
loved his ale.

{153}  “Duke” Disney, “not an old man, but an old rake,” died in 1731.
Gay calls him “facetious Disney,” and Swift says that all the members of
the Club “love him mightily.”  Lady M. W. Montagu speaks of his

    “Broad plump face, pert eyes, and ruddy skin,
    Which showed the stupid joke which lurked within.”

Disney was a French Huguenot refugee, and his real name was Desaulnais.
He commanded an Irish regiment, and took part in General Hill’s
expedition to Canada in 1711 (Kingsford’s _Canada_, ii. 465).  By his
will (_Wentworth Papers_, 109) he “left nothing to his poor relations,
but very handsome to his bottle companions.”

{154}  There were several Colonel Fieldings in the first half of the
eighteenth century, and it is not clear which is the one referred to by
Swift.  Possibly he was the Edmund Fielding—grandson of the first Earl of
Denbigh—who died a Lieutenant-General in 1741, at the age of sixty-three,
but is best known as the father of Henry Fielding, the novelist.

{155}  Cf. p. 152.

{156a}  See p. 14.

{156b}  “It is a measured mile round the outer wall; and far beyond any
the finest square in London” (Deane Swift).

{156c}  “The common fare for a set-down in Dublin” (_ib._).

{156d}  “Mrs. Stoyte lived at Donnybrook, the road to which from
Stephen’s Green ran into the country about a mile from the south-east
corner” (_ib._).

{156e}  “Those words in italics are written in a very large hand, and so
is the word large” (_ib._).

{157}  Deane Swift alters “lele” to “there,” but in a note states how he
here altered Swift’s “cypher way of writing.”  No doubt “lele” and other
favourite words occurred frequently in the MS., as they do in the later
letters.

{158a}  Sir Thomas Mansel, Bart., Comptroller of the Household to Queen
Anne, and a Lord of the Treasury, was raised to the peerage in December
1711 as Baron Mansel of Margam.  He died in 1723.

{158b}  Lady Betty Butler and Lady Betty Germaine (see pp. 14, 17).

{159}  James Eckershall, “second clerk of the Queen’s Privy Kitchen.”
Chamberlayne (_Magnæ Britanniæ Notitia_, 1710, p. 536) says that his
wages were £11, 8s. 1½d., and board-wages £138, 11s. 10½d., making £150
in all.  Afterwards Eckershall was gentleman usher to Queen Anne; he died
at Drayton in 1753, aged seventy-four.  Pope was in correspondence with
him in 1720 on the subject of contemplated speculations in South Sea and
other stocks.

{160a}  In October 1710 (see p. 43) Swift wrote as if he knew about the
preparation of these _Miscellanies_.  The volume was published by Morphew
instead of Tooke, and it is frequently referred to in the _Journal_.

{160b}  In 1685 the Duke of Ormond (see p. 5) married, as his second
wife, Lady Mary Somerset, eldest surviving daughter of Henry, first Duke
of Beaufort.

{160c}  Arthur Moore, M.P., was a Commissioner of Trade and Plantations
from 1710 until his death in 1730.  Gay calls him “grave,” and Pope
(“Prologue to the Satires,” 23) says that Moore blamed him for the way in
which his “giddy son,” James Moore Smythe, neglected the law.

{161a}  James, Lord Paisley, who succeeded his father (see p. 86) as
seventh Earl of Abercorn in 1734, married, in 1711, Anne, eldest daughter
of Colonel John Plumer, of Blakesware, Herts.

{161b}  Harley’s ill-health was partly due to his drinking habits.

{161c}  Crowd or confusion.

{162}  The first wife of Charles Seymour, sixth Duke of Somerset, was
Lady Elizabeth Percy, only daughter of Joscelyn, eleventh Earl of
Northumberland, and heiress of the house of Percy.  She married the Duke,
her third husband, at the age of eighteen.

{163a}  John Richardson, D.D., rector of Armagh, Cavan, and afterwards
chaplain to the Duke of Ormond.  In 1711 he published a _Proposal for the
Conversion of the Popish Natives of Ireland to the Established Religion_,
and in 1712 a _Short History of the Attempts to Convert the Popish
Natives of Ireland_.  In 1709 the Lower House of Convocation in Ireland
had passed resolutions for printing the Bible and liturgy in Irish,
providing Irish preachers, etc.  In 1711 Thomas Parnell, the poet, headed
a deputation to the Queen on the subject, when an address was presented;
but nothing came of the proposals, owing to fears that the English
interest in Ireland might be injured.  In 1731 Richardson was given the
small deanery of Kilmacluagh.

{163b}  See p. 159.

{163c}  Harley.

{163d}  “Bank bill for fifty pound,” taking the alternate letters (see
pp. 141, 150).

{164a}  See p. 25.

{164b}  See Nos. 27 and 29, by Swift himself.

{164c}  “Print cannot do justice to whims of this kind, as they depend
wholly upon the awkward shape of the letters” (Deane Swift).

{165a}  See p. 54.

{165b}  “Here is just one specimen given of his way of writing to Stella
in these journals.  The reader, I hope, will excuse my omitting it in all
other places where it occurs.  The meaning of this pretty language is:
‘And you must cry There, and Here, and Here again.  Must you imitate
Presto, pray?  Yes, and so you shall.  And so there’s for your letter.
Good-morrow’” (Deane Swift).  What Swift really wrote was probably as
follows: “Oo must cly Lele and Lele and Lele aden.  Must oo mimitate
Pdfr, pay?  Iss, and so oo sall.  And so lele’s fol oo rettle.
Dood-mallow.”

{166a}  Lady Catherine Morice (died 1716) was the eldest daughter of
Thomas Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, and wife of Sir Nicholas Morice, Bart.,
M.P. for Newport.

{166b}  Perhaps Henry Arundell, who succeeded his father as fifth Baron
Arundell of Wardour in 1712, and died in 1726.

{166c}  Antoine, Abbé de Bourlie and Marquis de Guiscard, was a cadet of
a distinguished family of the south of France.  He joined the Church, but
having been driven from France in consequence of his licentious excesses,
he came to England, after many adventures in Europe, with a
recommendation from the Duke of Savoy.  Godolphin gave him the command of
a regiment of refugees, and employed him in projects for effecting a
landing in France.  These schemes proving abortive, Guiscard’s regiment
was disbanded, and he was discharged with a pension of £500 a year.  Soon
after the Tories came to power Guiscard came to the conclusion that there
was no hope of employment for him, and little chance of receiving his
pension; and he began a treacherous correspondence with the French.  When
this was detected he was brought before the Privy Council, and finding
that everything was known, and wishing a better death than hanging, he
stabbed Harley in the breast.  Mrs. Manley, under Swift’s directions,
wrote a _Narrative of Guiscard’s Examination_, and the incident greatly
added to the security of Harley’s position, and to the strength of the
Government.

{166d}  Harley’s surgeon, Mr. Green.

{167a}  See p. 73.

{167b}  Mrs. Walls’ baby (see p. 185).

{168a}  The phrase had its origin in the sharp practices in the horse and
cattle markets.  Writing to Arbuthnot in 1727, Swift said that Gay “had
made a pretty good bargain (that is a Smithfield) for a little place in
the Custom House.”

{168b}  “There.”

{169a}  See Swift’s paper in the _Examiner_, No. 32, and Mrs. Manley’s
pamphlet, already mentioned.

{169b}  Presumably Mrs. Johnson’s palsy-water (see p. 25).

{170a}  Thomas Wentworth, Baron Raby (1672–1739), was created Viscount
Wentworth and Earl of Strafford in June 1711.  Lord Raby was Envoy and
Ambassador at Berlin for some years, and was appointed Ambassador at the
Hague in March 1711.  In November he was nominated as joint
Plenipotentiary with the Bishop of Bristol to negotiate the terms of
peace.  He objected to Prior as a colleague; Swift says he was “as proud
as hell.”  In 1715 it was proposed to impeach Strafford, but the
proceedings were dropped.  In his later years he was, according to Lord
Hervey, a loquacious and illiterate, but constant, speaker in the House
of Lords.

{170b}  A beauty, to whom Swift addressed verses in 1708.  During the
frost of January 1709 Swift wrote: “Mrs. Floyd looked out with both her
eyes, and we had one day’s thaw; but she drew in her head, and it now
freezes as hard as ever.”  She was a great friend of Lady Betty
Germaine’s.

{170c}  Swift never had the smallpox.

{170d}  See p. 116.

{171a}  Heart.

{171b}  The first number of the _Spectator_ appeared on March 1, 1711.

{172a}  In one of his poems Swift speaks of Stella “sossing in an
easy-chair.”

{172b}  See p. 21.

{173a}  “It is reasonable to suppose that Swift’s acquaintance with
Arbuthnot commenced just about this time; for in the original letter
Swift misspells his name, and writes it Arthbuthnet, in a clear large
hand, that MD might not mistake any of the letters” (Deane Swift).  Dr.
John Arbuthnot had been made Physician in Ordinary to the Queen; he was
one of Swift’s dearest friends.

{173b}  Clobery Bromley, M.P. for Coventry, son of William Bromley, M.P.
(see p. 70), died on March 20, 1711, and Boyer (_Political State_, i.
255) says that the House, “out of respect to the father, and to give him
time, both to perform the funeral rites and to indulge his just
affliction,” adjourned until the 26th.

{174a}  See p. 23.

{174b}  See p. 163.

{175a}  Sir John Perceval, Bart. (died 1748), was created Baron Perceval
1715, Viscount Perceval 1722, and Earl of Egmont 1733, all in the Irish
peerage.  He married, in 1710, Catherine, eldest daughter of Sir Philip
Parker A’Morley, Bart., of Erwarton, Suffolk; and his son (born Feb. 27,
1710–11) was made Baron Perceval and Holland, in the English peerage, in
1762.

{175b}  This report was false.  The Old Pretender did not marry until
1718, when he was united to the Princess Clementina Maria, daughter of
Prince James Sobieski.

{176a}  John Hartstonge, D.D. (died 1717), was Bishop of Ossory from 1693
to 1714, when he was translated to Derry.

{176b}  See p. 145.

{176c}  Thomas Proby was Chirurgeon-General in Ireland from 1699 until
his death in 1761.  In his _Short Character of Thomas_, _Earl of
Wharton_, Swift speaks of him as “a person universally esteemed,” who had
been badly treated by Lord Wharton.  In 1724 Proby’s son, a captain in
the army, was accused of popery, and Swift wrote to Lord Carteret that
the charge was generally believed to be false: “The father is the most
universally beloved of any man I ever knew in his station. . . .  You
cannot do any personal thing more acceptable to the people of Ireland
than in inclining towards lenity to Mr. Proby and his family.”  Proby was
probably a near relative of Sir Thomas Proby, Bart., M.P., of Elton,
Hunts, at whose death in 1689 the baronetcy expired.  Mrs. Proby seems to
have been a Miss Spencer.

{176d}  Meliora, daughter of Thomas Coningsby, Baron of Clanbrassil and
Earl of Coningsby, and wife of Sir Thomas Southwell, afterwards Baron
Southwell, one of the Commissioners of Revenue in Ireland, and a member
of the Irish Privy Council.  Lady Southwell died in 1736.

{176e}  Lady Betty Rochfort was the daughter of Henry Moore, third Earl
of Drogheda.  Her husband, George Rochfort, M.P. for Westmeath, was son
of Robert Rochfort, an Irish judge, and brother of Robert Rochford, M.P.,
to whose wife Swift addressed his _Advice to a very Young Lady on her
Marriage_.  Lady Betty’s son Robert was created Earl of Belvedere in
1757.

{177}  See p. 166.  Mr. Bussiere, of Suffolk Street, had been called in
directly after the outrage, but Radcliffe would not consult him.

{178a}  The letter from Dr. King dated March 17, 1711, commenting on
Guiscard’s attack upon Harley.

{178b}  See p. 147.

{178c}  The word “trangram” or “tangram” ordinarily means a toy or
gimcrack, or trumpery article.  Cf. Wycherley (_Plain Dealer_, iii. 1),
“But go, thou trangram, and carry back those trangrams which thou hast
stolen or purloined.”  Apparently “trangum” here means a tally.

{178d}  See p. 104.

{179a}  Swift means Godolphin, the late Lord Treasurer.

{179b}  Sir John Holland (see p. 11).

{179c}  “It caused a violent daub on the paper, which still continues
much discoloured in the original”  (Deane Swift).

{180a}  “He forgot here to say, ‘At night.’  See what goes before” (Deane
Swift).

{180b}  See p. 158.

{180c}  Irishman.  “Teague” was a term of contempt for an Irishman.

{180d}  _To Mr. Harley_, _wounded by Guiscard_.  In this piece Prior
said, “Britain with tears shall bathe thy glorious wound,” a wound which
could not have been inflicted by any but a stranger to our land.

{181a}  Sir Thomas Mansel married Martha, daughter and heiress of Francis
Millington, a London merchant.

{181b}  Slatterning, consuming carelessly.

{181c}  “The candle grease mentioned before, which soaked through,
deformed this part of the paper on the second page” (Deane Swift).

{182a}  Harcourt.

{182b}  William Rollinson, formerly a wine merchant, settled afterwards
in Oxfordshire, where he died at a great age.  He was a friend of Pope,
Bolingbroke, and Gay.

{184}  In relation to the banknote (see p. 163).

{185a}  “Swift was, at this time, their great support and champion”
(Deane Swift).

{185b}  See p. 134.

{185c}  See p. 167.

{185d}  “Stella, with all her wit and good sense, spelled very ill; and
Dr. Swift insisted greatly upon women spelling well” (Deane Swift).

{185e}  “The <DW72> of the letters in the words _this way_, _this way_, is
to the left hand, but the <DW72> of the words _that way_, _that way_, is
to the right hand” (Deane Swift).

{186a}  See p. 167.

{186b}  See pp. 24, 85.

{186c}  By the Act 9 Anne, cap. 23, the number of hackney coaches was
increased to 800, and it was provided that they were to go a mile and a
half for one shilling, two miles for one shilling and sixpence, and so
on.

{187}  See p. 95.

{188a}  In a letter to Swift, of March 17, 1711, King said that it might
have been thought that Guiscard’s attack would have convinced the world
that Harley was not in the French interest; but it did not have that
effect with all, for some whispered the case of Fenius Rufus and Scevinus
in the 15th book of Tacitus: “Accensis indicibus ad prodendum Fenium
Rufum, quem eundem conscium et inquisitorem non tolerabant.”  Next month
Swift told King that it was reported that the Archbishop had applied this
passage in a speech made to his clergy, and explained at some length the
steps he had taken to prevent the story being published in the _Postboy_.
King thanked Swift for this action, explaining that he had been arguing
on Harley’s behalf when someone instanced the story of Rufus.

{188b}  A Tory paper, published thrice weekly by Abel Roper.

{189}  Sir Charles Duncombe, banker, died on April 9, 1711.  The first
wife of the Duke of Argyle (see p. 101) was Duncombe’s niece, Mary
Browne, daughter of Ursula Duncombe and Thomas Browne, of St. Margaret’s,
Westminster.  Duncombe was elected Lord Mayor in 1700, and was the
richest commoner in England.

{190a}  The Rev. Dillon Ashe (see p. 117).

{190b}  John, fourth Baron Poulett, was created Earl Poulett in 1706,
after serving as one of the Commissioners for the Treaty of Union with
Scotland.  From August 1710 to May 1711 he was First Lord of the
Treasury, and from June 1711 to August 1714 he was Lord Steward of the
Household.

{190c}  Lost or stupid person.

{191a}  Sir William Read, a quack who advertised largely in the _Tatler_
and other papers.  He was satirised in No. 547 of the _Spectator_.  In
1705 he was knighted for his services in curing many seamen and soldiers
of blindness gratis, and he was appointed Oculist in Ordinary to the
Queen.  Read died in 1715, but his business was continued by his widow.

{191b}  General John Webb was not on good terms with Marlborough.  He was
a Tory, and had gained distinction in the war at Wynendale (1708), though
the Duke’s secretary gave the credit, in the despatch, to Cadogan.  There
is a well-known account of Webb in Thackeray’s _Esmond_.  He was severely
wounded at Malplaquet in 1709, and in 1710 was given the governorship of
the Isle of Wight.  He died in 1724.

{191c}  Henry Campion, M.P. for Penryn, is mentioned in the _Political
State_ for February 1712 as one of the leading men of the October Club.
Campion seems to have been Member, not for Penryn, but for Bossiney.

{192a}  See p. 12.

{192b}  Sir George Beaumont, Bart., M.P. for Leicester, and an
acquaintance of Swift’s mother, was made a Commissioner of the Privy Seal
in 1712, and one of the Lords of the Admiralty in 1714.  He died in 1737.

{192c}  Heneage Finch, afterwards second Earl of Aylesford, was the son
of Heneage Finch, the chief counsel for the seven bishops, who was
created Baron Guernsey in 1703, and Earl of Aylesford in 1714.

{192d}  James, Lord Compton, afterwards fifth Earl of Northampton, was
the eldest son of George, the fourth Earl.  He was summoned to the House
of Lords in December 1711, and died in 1754.

{193}  See p. 89.

{194}  In 1670 Temple thanked the Grand Duke of Tuscany for “an entire
vintage of the finest wines of Italy” (Temple’s _Works_, 1814, ii.
155–56).

{195a}  Mrs. Manley (see p. 166).

{195b}  Charles Cæsar, M.P. for Hertford, was appointed Treasurer of the
Navy in June 1711, in the room of Robert Walpole.

{196}  Joseph I.  His successor was his brother Charles, the King of
Spain recognised by England.

{197}  Simon Harcourt, M.P. for Wallingford.  He married Elizabeth,
sister of Sir John Evelyn, Bart., and died in 1720, aged thirty-five,
before his father.  He was secretary to the society of “Brothers,” wrote
verses, and was a friend of the poets.  His son Simon was created Earl
Harcourt in 1749, and was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.

{199a}  Doiley, a seventeenth-century linen-draper,—probably “Thomas
Doyley, at the Nun, in Henrietta Street, Covent Garden,”—invented stuffs
which “might at once be cheap and genteel” (_Spectator_, No. 283).

{199b}  A special envoy.  The Resident from Venice in 1710 was Signor
Bianchi.

{199c}  See p. 160.

{199d}  Nanfan Coote, second Earl of Bellamont, who died in 1708,
married, in 1705, Lucia Anna, daughter of Henry de Nassau, Lord of
Auverquerque, and sister of Henry, first Earl of Grantham.  She died in
1744.

{200a}  “Farnese” (Deane Swift).

{200b}  See p. 188.

{200c}  Swift’s changes of residence during the period covered by the
_Journal_ were numerous.  On Sept. 20, 1710, he moved from Pall Mall to
Bury Street, “where I suppose I shall continue while in London.”  But on
Dec. 28 he went to new lodgings in St. Albans Street, Haymarket.  On
April 26, 1711, he moved to Chelsea, and from there to Suffolk Street, to
be near the Vanhomrighs.  He next moved to St. Martins Street, Leicester
Fields; and a month later to Panton Street, Haymarket.  In 1712 he lodged
for a time at Kensington Gravel Pits.

{201a}  At raffling for books.

{201b}  James Brydges, Paymaster-General, and afterwards Duke of Chandos
(see p. 12).

{202a}  Thomas Foley, M.P. for Worcestershire, was created Baron Foley in
December 1711, and died in 1733.

{202b}  See pp. 198, 200.

{202c}  See p. 176.

{202d}  Charles Dering, second son of Sir Edward Dering, Bart., M.P. for
Kent, was Auditor of the Exchequer in Ireland, and M.P. for Carlingford.

{202e}  See p. 97.

{203a}  See pp. 43, 160.

{203b}  A Whig paper, for the most part by Mainwaring and Oldmixon, in
opposition to the _Examiner_.  It appeared weekly from October 1710 to
August 1711.

{203c}  See p. 166.

{203d}  See _Spectator_, No. 50, by Addison.

{203e}  In all probability a mistake for “Wesley” (see p. 2).

{205a}  Lord Paisley (see p. 161).

{205b}  See p. 88.

{206a}  Sir Hovenden Walker.  The “man midwife” was Sir Chamberlen
Walker, his younger brother.  The “secret expedition” against Quebec
conveyed upwards of 5000 soldiers, under the command of General John Hill
(see p. 76), but owing to the want of due preparations and the severe
weather encountered, the fleet was compelled to return to England without
accomplishing anything.

{206b}  Robert Freind, elder brother of John Freind, M.D. (see p. 66),
became headmaster of Westminster School in 1711, and held the appointment
until 1733.  He was Rector of Witney, and afterwards Canon of Windsor,
Prebendary of Westminster, and Canon of Christ Church.  He died in 1751,
aged eighty-four.

{206c}  Christopher Musgrave was Clerk of the Ordnance.

{207a}  Atterbury’s wife, Katherine Osborn, has been described as “the
inspiration of his youth and the solace of his riper years.”

{207b}  The original Chelsea Bun House, in Jew’s Row, was pulled down in
1839.  Sir R. Philips, writing in 1817, said, “Those buns have afforded a
competency, and even wealth, to four generations of the same family; and
it is singular that their delicate flavour, lightness, and richness have
never been successfully imitated.”

{208a}  See p. 60.  King wrote to Swift (May 15, 1711), “The death of the
Earl of Rochester is a great blow to all good men, and even his enemies
cannot but do justice to his character.  What influence it will have on
public affairs God only knows.”

{208b}  See p. 89.

{210a}  See p. 160.

{210b}  See p. 170.

{210c}  See p. 192.

{211a}  Swift’s curate at Laracor.

{211b}  Queen Anne was the last sovereign who exercised the supposed
royal gift of healing by touch.  Dr. Johnson was touched by her, but
without effect.

{212a}  Richard Thornhill was tried at the Old Bailey on May 18, 1711,
for the murder of Sir Cholmley Dering, M.P. for Kent, and found guilty of
manslaughter only; but he was shortly afterwards assassinated (see
_Journal_ for Aug. 21, 1711; _Spectator_, No. 84).  The quarrel began on
April 27, when they fell to blows, and Thornhill being knocked down, had
some teeth struck out by Sir C. Dering stamping on him.  The spectators
then interfered, and Dering expressed himself as ready to beg pardon; but
Thornhill not thinking this was sufficient satisfaction, gave Dering the
lie, and on May 9 sent him a challenge.

{212b}  Tothill Fields, Westminster, was a favourite place for duels in
the seventeenth century.

{212c}  See p. 124.

{213}  Benjamin Burton, a Dublin banker, and brother-in-law of Swift’s
friend Stratford (see p. 10).  Swift says he hated this “rogue.”

{214}  The day on which the Club met.  See letter from Swift to St. John,
May 11, 1711.

{215a}  Henry Barry, fourth Lord Barry of Santry (1680–1734), was an
Irish Privy Councillor, and Governor of Derry.  In 1702 he married
Bridget, daughter of Sir Thomas Domville, Bart., and in an undated letter
(about 1735) to Lady Santry Swift spoke of his esteem for her, “although
I had hardly the least acquaintance with your lord, nor was at all
desirous to cultivate it, because I did not at all approve of his
conduct.”  Lord Santry’s only son and heir, who was born in 1710, was
condemned to death for the murder of a footman in 1739, when the barony
became extinct by forfeiture.  See B. W. Adams’s _History of Santry_.

{215b}  Probably Captain Cammock, of the _Speedwell_, of 28 guns and 125
men (Luttrell, vi. 331), who met on July 13, 1708, off Scotland, two
French privateers, one of 16, the other of 18 guns, and fought them
several hours.  The first privateer got off, much shattered; the other
was brought into Carrickfergus.

{215c}  See 50.

{215d}  See p. 120.

{216a}  This valuable pamphlet is signed “J.G.,” and is believed to be by
John Gay.

{216b}  Edmund Curll’s collection of Swift’s _Miscellanies_, published in
1711, was an expansion of a pamphlet of 1710, _A Meditation upon a
Broomstick_, _and somewhat beside_, _of the same Author’s_.

{217a}  “In this passage DD signifies both Dingley and Stella” (Deane
Swift).

{217b}  Sir Henry Craik’s reading.  The old editions have, “It would do:
DD goes as well as Presto,” which is obviously corrupt.

{217c}  Cf. _Journal_, June 17, 1712.

{217d}  Cf. “old doings” (see p. 73.)

{217e}  See p. 163.

{217f}  Rymer’s _Fœdera_, in three volumes, which Swift obtained for
Trinity College, Dublin.

{217g}  See pp. 43, 145.

{218a}  Stephen Colledge, “the Protestant joiner,” was hanged in 1681.
He had published attacks on the Roman Catholics, and had advocated
resistance to Charles II.

{218b}  See p. 14.

{218c}  Mitford Crowe was appointed Governor of Barbados in 1706, and
before his departure for that island went to Spain, “to settle the
accounts of our army there, of which he is paymaster” (Luttrell, vi.
104).  In 1710 charges of bribery brought against him by merchants were
inquired into by the Privy Council, but he seems to have cleared himself,
for in June 1711 Swift speaks of him as Governor of Jamaica.  He died in
1719.

{219}  See p. 60.

{220a}  Swift’s uncle Adam “lived and died in Ireland,” and left no son.
Another daughter of his became Mrs. Whiteway.

{220b}  William Lowndes, M.P., secretary to the Treasury, whom Walpole
called “as able and honest a servant as ever the Crown had.”

{220c}  The Lord Treasurer’s staff: since the dismissal of Godolphin, the
Treasurership had been held in commission.

{221}  “As I hope to be saved.”

{222}  Stella’s maid.

{223}  See letter from King to Swift, May 15, 1711.  Alderman
Constantine, a High Churchman, indignant at being passed over by a junior
in the contest for the mayoralty, brought the matter before the Council
Board, and produced an old by-law by which aldermen, according to their
ancientry, were required to keep their mayoralty.  King took the side of
the city, but the majority was for the by-law, and disapproved of the
election; whereupon the citizens repealed the by-law and re-elected the
same alderman as before.

{224}  The Lord Treasurer’s staff.

{225a}  Swift’s “little parson cousin,” the resident chaplain at Moor
Park.  He pretended to have had some part in _The Tale of a Tub_, and
Swift always professed great contempt for him.  Thomas Swift was son of
an Oxford uncle of Swift’s, of the same name, and was at school and
college with Swift.  He became Rector of Puttenham, Surrey, and died in
1752, aged eighty-seven.

{225b}  The Duke of Ormond’s daughter, Lady Mary Butler (see p. 44).

{225c}  Thomas Harley, the Lord Treasurer’s cousin, was secretary to the
Treasury.

{226a}  Lord Oxford’s daughter Elizabeth married, in 1712, the Marquis of
Caermarthen.

{226b}  Henry Tenison, M.P. for County Louth, was one of the
Commissioners of the Revenue in Ireland from 1704 until his death in 1709
(Luttrell, v. 381, vi. 523).  Probably he was related to Dr. Tenison,
Bishop of Meath, who died in 1705.

{227a}  Anne Finch (died 1720), daughter of Sir William Kingsmill, and
wife of Heneage Finch, who became fourth Earl of Winchelsea in 1712.
Lady Winchelsea published a volume of poems in 1713, and was a friend of
Pope and Rowe.  Wordsworth recognised the advance in the growth of
attention to “external nature” shown in her writings.

{227b}  See pp. 223, 297.

{227c}  This was a mistake.  Charles Hickman, D.D., Bishop of Derry, died
in November 1713.

{227d}  “These words in italics are written in a large round hand” (Deane
Swift).

{229a}  “This entry is interlined in the original” (Deane Swift).

{229b}  Colonel James Graham (1649–1730) held various offices under James
II., and was granted a lease of a lodge in Bagshot Park.  Like his
brother, Viscount Preston, he was suspected of treasonable practices in
1691, and he was arrested in 1692 and 1696.  Under Queen Anne and George
I., Colonel Graham was M.P. for Appleby and Westmorland.

{229c}  Mr. Leslie Stephen has pointed out that this is the name of an
inn (now the Jolly Farmer) near Frimley, on the hill between Bagshot and
Farnborough.  This inn is still called the Golden Farmer on the Ordnance
map.

{229d}  “Soley” is probably a misreading for “sollah,” a form often used
by Swift for “sirrah,” and “figgarkick” may be “pilgarlick” (a poor
creature) in Swift’s “little language” (cf. 20th Oct. 1711).

{230a}  See p. 134.

{230b}  Probably a misprint for “Bertie.”  This Mr. Bertie may have been
the Hon. James Bertie, second son of the first Earl of Abingdon, and M.P.
for Middlesex.

{230c}  Evelyn Pierrepont, fifth Earl of Kingston, was made Marquis of
Dorchester in 1706.  He became Duke of Kingston-upon-Hull in 1715, and
died in 1726.  Lady Mary Wortley Montagu was his daughter.

{231a}  See p. 116.

{231b}  Sir Thomas Thynne, first Viscount Weymouth, who died in 1714,
aged seventy-four, married Frances, daughter of Heneage Finch, second
Earl of Winchelsea.

{231c}  See p. 52.

{232a}  Swift is referring to St. John’s defence of Brydges (see p. 201.)

{232b}  “He does not mean smoking, which he never practised, but snuffing
up cut-and-dry tobacco, which sometimes was just  with Spanish
snuff; and this he used all his life, but would not own that he took
snuff” (Deane Swift).

{232c}  Beaumont (see p. 1).

{232d}  Sir Alexander Cairnes, M.P. for Monaghan, a banker, was created a
baronet in 1706, and died in 1732.

{233a}  See pp. 43, 160.

{233b}  Isaac Manley (see p. 7.)

{233c}  Sir Thomas Frankland.

{233d}  See p. 24.

{234a}  Hockley-in-the-Hole, Clerkenwell, a place of public diversion,
was famous for its bear and bull baitings.

{234b}  Sir William Seymour, second son of Sir Edward Seymour, Bart., of
Berry Pomeroy, retired from the army in 1717, and died in 1728 (Dalton’s
_Army Lists_).  He was wounded at Landen and Vigo, and saw much service
between his appointment as a Captain of Fusiliers in 1686 and his
promotion to the rank of Lieutenant-General in 1707.

{234c}  No. 45.

{235a}  “And now I conceive the main design I had in writing these papers
is fully executed.  A great majority of the nation is at length
thoroughly convinced that the Queen proceeded with the highest wisdom, in
changing her Ministry and Parliament” (_Examiner_, No. 45).

{235b}  Edward Harley (see p. 124).

{235c}  See p. 225.

{235d}  Tom Ashe was an elder brother of the Bishop of Clogher.  He had
an estate of more than £1000 a year in County Meath, and Nichols
describes him as of droll appearance, thick and short in person: “a
facetious, pleasant companion, but the most eternal unwearied punster
that ever lived.”

{235e}  “Even Joseph Beaumont, the son, was at this time an old man,
whose grey locks were venerable; yet his father lived until about 1719”
(Deane Swift).

{236}  Sir William Wyndham, Bart. (1687–1740), was M.P. for Somerset.  He
was a close partisan of Bolingbroke’s, and in 1713 introduced the Schism
Bill, which drove Oxford from office.  Wyndham became Chancellor of the
Exchequer, and was afterwards a leading opponent of Walpole.  His wife,
Lady Catherine Seymour (died 1713), was the second daughter of Charles,
Duke of Somerset (see p. 270).

{237a}  Swift was afterwards President of this Club, which is better
known as “the Society.”

{237b}  Perhaps Daniel Reading, M.P. for Newcastle, Co. Dublin.

{238a}  Afterwards Congreve formed a friendship with the Whigs; or, as
Swift put it,

    “Took proper principles to thrive,
    And so might every dunce alive.”

{238b}  Atterbury.

{238c}  This pamphlet, published in February 1712, was called _A Proposal
for Correcting_, _Improving_, _and Ascertaining the English Tongue_, _in
a Letter to the_ . . . _Lord High Treasurer_.

{238d}  No. 47

{238e}  Francis Gastrell, Canon of Christ Church, was made Bishop of
Chester in 1713.  His valuable _Notitia Cestriensis_ was published in
1845–50.

{239}  Near Fulham.

{240a}  See p. 116.

{240b}  The daughters of Meinhardt Schomberg, Duke of Leinster, in
Ireland, and third Duke of Schomberg.  Lady Mary married Count
Dagenfeldt, and Lady Frederica married, first, the Earl of Holderness,
and, secondly, Earl Fitz Walter.

{241}  Thomas Harley.

{242}  See p. 176.

{245a}  The widow of Sir John Lyndon, who was appointed a justice of the
Court of King’s Bench in Ireland in 1682, and died in 1699.

{245b}  “Marmaduke Coghill, LL.D., was judge of the Prerogative Court in
Ireland.  About this time he courted a lady, and was soon to have been
married to her; but unfortunately a cause was brought to trial before
him, wherein a man was sued for beating his wife.  When the matter was
agitated, the Doctor gave his opinion, ‘That although a man had no right
to beat his wife unmercifully, yet that, with such a little cane or
switch as he then held in his hand, a husband was at liberty, and was
invested with a power, to give his wife moderate correction’; which
opinion determined the lady against having the Doctor.  He died an old
man and a bachelor” (Deane Swift).  See also Lascelles, _Liber Muner.
Hibern._, part ii. p. 80.

{246}  This was a common exclamation of the time, but the spelling varies
in different writers.  It seems to be a corruption of “God so,” or “God
ho,” but there may have been a confusion with “cat-so,” derived from the
Italian “cazzo.”

{247a}  See p. 92.  Mrs. Manley was now editing the _Examiner_.

{247b}  Sir Henry Belasyse was sent to Spain as Commissioner to inquire
into the state of the English forces in that country.  The son of Sir
Richard Belasyse, Knight of Ludworth, Durham, Sir Henry finished a
chequered career in 1717, when he was buried in Westminster Abbey
(Dalton’s _Army Lists_, ii. 228).  In his earlier years he served under
the United Provinces, and after the accession of William was made a
Brigadier-General in the English army, and in 1694, Lieutenant-General.
In 1702 he was second in command of the expedition to Cadiz, but he was
dismissed the service in consequence of the looting of Port St. Mary.
Subsequently he was elected M.P. for Durham, and in 1713 was appointed
Governor of Berwick.

{248}  Atterbury.

{249a}  See p. 10.

{249b}  Sir John Powell, a Judge of the Queen’s Bench, died in 1713, aged
sixty-eight.  He was a kindly as well as able judge.

{250a}  See p. 235.

{250b}  This Tisdall has been described as a Dublin merchant; but in all
probability he was Richard Tisdall, Registrar of the Irish Court of
Chancery, and M.P. for Dundalk (1707–1713) and County Louth (1713–1727).
He married Marian, daughter of Richard Boyle, M.P., and died in 1742.
Richard Tisdall was a relative of Stella’s suitor, the Rev. William
Tisdall, and years afterwards Swift took an interest in his son Philip,
who became a Secretary of State and Leader of the Irish House of Commons.

{251}  “In Ireland there are not public paths from place to place, as in
England” (Deane Swift).

{252a}  See p. 226.

{252b}  Probably a son of John Manley, M.P. (see p. 24).

{253a}  See p. 97.

{253b}  Dr. George Stanhope, who was Vicar of Lewisham as well as of
Deptford.  He was a popular preacher and a translator of Thomas à Kempis
and other religious writers.

{253c}  See p. 10.

{254}  A favourite word with Swift, when he wished to indicate anything
obscure or humble.

{255a}  See p. 163.

{255b}  See pp. 234–5.

{255c}  See p. 166.

{256a}  Thomas Mills (1671–1740) was made Bishop of Waterford and Lismore
in 1708.  A man of learning and a liberal contributor to the cost of
church restorations, he is charged by Archbishop King with giving all the
valuable livings in his gift to his non-resident relatives.

{256b}  Tooke was appointed printer of the _London Gazette_ in 1711 (see
p. 8).

{256c}  See 24.

{256d}  Lady Jane Hyde, the elder daughter of Henry Hyde, Earl of
Rochester (see p. 24), married William Capel, third Earl of Essex.  Her
daughter Charlotte’s husband, the son of the Earl of Jersey, was created
Earl of Clarendon in 1776.  Lady Jane’s younger sister, Catherine, who
became the famous Duchess of Queensberry, Gay’s patroness, is represented
by Prior, in _The Female Phaeton_, as jealous, when a young girl, of her
sister, “Lady Jenny,” who went to balls, and “brought home hearts by
dozens.”

{257a}  See 257.

{257b}  John Holles, Duke of Newcastle, had held the Privy Seal from
1705, and was regarded by the Ministers as a possible plenipotentiary in
the event of their negotiations for a peace being successful.  He married
Lady Margaret Cavendish, daughter and co-heiress of Henry Cavendish,
second Duke of Newcastle, and was one of the richest nobles in England.
His death, on July 15, 1711, was the result of a fall while stag-hunting.
The Duke’s only daughter married, in 1713, Edward, Lord Harley, the Earl
of Oxford’s son.

{258a}  Alexander Forbes, fourth Lord Forbes, who was afterwards
attainted for his share in the Rebellion of 1745.

{258b}  Obscure (cf. p. 52).

{260a}  Jacob Tonson the elder, who died in 1736, outlived his nephew,
Jacob Tonson the younger, by a few months.  The elder Tonson, the
secretary of the Kit-Cat Club, published many of Dryden’s works, and the
firm continued to be the chief publishers of the time during the greater
part of the eighteenth century.

{260b}  John Barber.

{260c}  By his will Swift left to Deane Swift his “large silver standish,
consisting of a large silver plate, an ink-pot, and a sand-box.”

{261a}  _I.e._, we are only three hours in getting there.

{261b}  Cf. p. 141.

{262a}  The _Examiner_ was revived in December 1711, under Oldisworth’s
editorship, and was continued by him until 1714.

{262b}  James Douglas, fourth Duke of Hamilton, was created Duke of
Brandon in the English peerage in September 1711, and was killed by Lord
Mohun in a duel in 1712.  Swift calls him “a worthy good-natured person,
very generous, but of a middle understanding.”  He married, in 1698, as
his second wife, Elizabeth, daughter and heiress of Digby, Lord Gerard, a
lady to whom Swift often refers in the _Journal_.  She outlived the Duke
thirty-two years.

{262c}  See p. 260.

{263}  William Fitzmaurice (see p. 263).

{264a}  The Duke of Shrewsbury (see p. 12) married an Italian lady,
Adelhida, daughter of the Marquis of Paliotti, of Bologna, descended
maternally from Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, Queen Elizabeth’s
favourite.  Lady Cowper (_Diary_, pp. 8, 9) says that the Duchess “had a
wonderful art of entertaining and diverting people, though she would
sometimes exceed the bounds of decency; . . . but then, with all her
prate and noise, she was the most cunning, designing woman alive,
obliging to people in prosperity, and a great party-woman.”  As regards
the name “Presto,” see p. 5 note 3.

{264b}  Probably a cousin.

{264c}  Presumptuous: claiming much.

{265}  See p. 123.  John Winchcombe, a weaver of Newbury, marched with a
hundred of his workmen, at his own expenses, against the Scots in 1513.

{266a}  Thomas Coke, M.P., of Derbyshire, was appointed a Teller of the
Exchequer in 1704, and Vice-Chamberlain to the Queen in 1706.  In 1706 he
married—as his second wife—Mrs. Hale, one of the maids of honour
(Luttrell, v. 411, 423; vi. 113, 462; Lady Cowper’s _Diary_, 15, 16), a
lady whose “piercing” beauty it was, apparently, that Steele described
under the name of Chloe, in No. 4 of the _Tatler_.  Jervas painted her as
a country girl, “with a liveliness that shows she is conscious, but not
affected, of her perfections.”  Coke was the Sir Plume of Pope’s _Rape of
the Lock_.

{266b}  The committee of management of the Royal household.

{266c}  Francesca Margherita de l’Epine, the famous singer, and principal
rival of Mrs. Tofts, came to England in 1692, and constantly sang in
opera until her retirement in 1718, when she married Dr. Pepusch.  She
died in 1746.  Her sister, Maria Gallia, also a singer, did not attain
the same popularity.

{266d}  Charles Scarborow and Sir William Foster were the Clerks of the
Board of Green Cloth.

{267a}  See note on Thomas Coke, 266.

{267b}  The Earl of Sunderland’s second wife, Lady Anne Churchill, who
died in 1716, aged twenty-eight.  She was the favourite daughter of the
Duke of Marlborough, and was called “the little Whig.”  Verses were
written in honour of her beauty and talent by Charles Montagu, Earl of
Halifax, Dr. Watts and others, and her portrait was painted by Lely and
Kneller.

{267c}  Mary, daughter of Sir William Forester, of Dothill, Shropshire.
In 1700, at the age of thirteen, she had been secretly married to her
cousin, George Downing, a lad of fifteen.  Three years later, Downing, on
his return from abroad, refused to acknowledge his wife, and in 1715 both
parties petitioned the House of Lords for leave to bring in a Bill
declaring the marriage to be void; but leave was refused (Lords’
_Journals_, xx. 41, 45).  Downing had become Sir George Downing, Bart.,
in 1711, and had been elected M.P. for Dunwich; he died without issue in
1749, and was the founder of Downing College, Cambridge.

{268a}  In a discussion upon what would be the result if beards became
the fashion, Budgell (_Spectator_, No. 331) says, “Besides, we are not
certain that the ladies would not come into the mode, when they take the
air on horseback.  They already appear in hats and feathers, coats and
periwigs.”

{268b}  Horse-racing was much encouraged by Charles II., who, as Strutt
tells us, appointed races to be made in Datchet Mead, when he was
residing at Windsor.  By Queen Anne’s time horse-racing was becoming a
regular institution: see _Spectator_, No. 173.

{269a}  John Montagu, second Duke of Montagu, married Lady Mary
Churchill, youngest daughter of the Duke of Marlborough.

{269b}  Of Clogher.

{269c}  John Adams, Prebendary of Canterbury and Canon of Windsor.  He
was made Provost of King’s College, Cambridge, in 1712, and died in 1720.

{269d}  The Hon. and Rev. George Verney, Canon of Windsor (died 1728),
became fourth Lord Willoughby de Broke on the death of his father (Sir
Richard Verney, the third Baron), in July 1711.  Lord Willoughby became
Dean of Windsor in 1713.

{269e}  Thomas Hare, Under Secretary of State in Bolingbroke’s office.

{269f}  Richard Sutton was the second son of Robert Sutton, the nephew of
the Robert Sutton who was created Viscount Lexington by Charles I.
Sutton served under William III. and Marlborough in Flanders, and was
made a Brigadier-General in 1710, in which year also he was elected M.P.
for Newark.  In 1711 he was appointed Governor of Hull, and he died, a
Lieutenant-General, in 1737 (Dalton’s _Army Lists_, iii. 153)

{270a}  Charles Seymour, sixth Duke of Somerset (1662–1748), known as
“the proud Duke of Somerset.”  Through the influence which his
wife—afterwards Mistress of the Robes (see p. 162)—had obtained over the
Queen, he bore no small part in bringing about the changes of 1710.  His
intrigues during this period were, however, mainly actuated by jealousy
of Marlborough, and he had really no sympathies with the Tories.  His
intrigues with the Whigs caused the utmost alarm to St. John and to
Swift.

{270b}  The third and last reference to Vanessa in the _Journal_.

{271a}  “Pray God preserve her life, which is of great importance” (Swift
to Archbishop King, Aug. 15, 1711).  St. John was at this moment very
anxious to conciliate Mrs. Masham, as he felt that she was the only
person capable of counteracting the intrigues of the Duchess of Somerset
with the Queen.

{271b}  Pontack, of Abchurch Lane, son of Arnaud de Pontac, President of
the Parliament of Bordeaux, was proprietor of the most fashionable
eating-house in London.  There the Royal Society met annually at dinner
until 1746.  Several writers speak of the dinners at a guinea a head and
upwards served at Pontack’s, and Swift comments on the price of the wine.

{272a}  “His name was Read” (Scott).

{272b}  Up to the end of 1709 the warrants for the payment of the works
at Blenheim had been regularly issued by Godolphin and paid at the
Treasury; over £200,000 was expended in this manner.  But after the
dismissal of the Whigs the Queen drew tight the purse-strings.  The
£20,000 mentioned by Swift was paid in 1711, but on June 1, 1712, Anne
gave positive orders that nothing further should be allowed for Blenheim,
though £12,000 remained due to the contractors.

{273a}  The piercing of the lines before Bouchain, which Villars had
declared to be the _non plus ultra_ of the Allies, one of the most
striking proofs of Marlborough’s military genius.

{273b}  See p. 212.

{274a}  A fashionable gaming-house in St. James’s Street.

{274b}  See p. 37.  The Grange, near Alresford, Hampshire, was Henley’s
seat.  His wife (see p. 117) was the daughter of Peregrine Bertie, son of
Montagu Bertie, second Earl of Lindsey; and Earl Poulett (see p. 190)
married Bridget, an elder daughter of Bertie’s.

{274c}  William Henry Hyde, Earl of Danby, grandson of the first Duke of
Leeds (see p. 60), and eldest son of Peregrine Osborne, Baron Osborne and
Viscount Dunblane, who succeeded to the dukedom in 1712.  Owing to this
young man’s death (at the age of twenty-one), his brother, Peregrine
Hyde, Marquis of Caermarthen, who married Harley’s daughter Elizabeth,
afterwards became third Duke of Leeds.

{275a}  See p. 54.

{275b}  See p. 8.

{276a}  William Gregg was a clerk in Harley’s office when the latter was
Secretary of State under the Whig Administration.  In 1707–8 he was in
treasonable correspondence with M. de Chamillart, the French Secretary of
State.  When he was detected he was tried for high treason, and hanged on
April 28.  The Lords who examined Gregg did their utmost to establish
Harley’s complicity, which Gregg, however, with his dying breath solemnly
denied.

{276b}  By Swift himself.  The title was, _Some Remarks upon a Pamphlet
entitled_, _A Letter to the Seven Lords of the Committee appointed to
examine Gregg_.

{276c}  See p. 120.  There is no copy in the British Museum.

{277a}  Thomas Parnell, the poet, married, in 1706, Anne, daughter of
Thomas Minchin, of Tipperary.  In 1711 Parnell was thirty-two years of
age, and was Archdeacon of Clogher and Vicar of Clontibret.  Swift took
much trouble to obtain for Parnell the friendship of Bolingbroke and
other persons of note, and Parnell became a member of the Scriblerus
Club.  In 1716 he was made Vicar of Finglas, and after his death in 1718
Pope prepared an edition of his poems.  The fits of depression to which
Parnell was liable became more marked after his wife’s death, and he
seems to have to some extent given way to drink.  His sincerity and charm
of manner made him welcome with men of both parties.

{277b}  Dr. Henry Compton had been Bishop of London since 1675.  He was
dangerously ill early in 1711, but he lived until 1713, when he was
eighty-one.

{278}  See p. 250.

{279a}  See p. 50.

{279b}  L’Estrange speaks of “a whiffling <DW2>” and Swift says, “Every
whiffler in a laced coat, who frequents the chocolate-house, shall talk
of the Constitution.”

{279c}  Prior’s first visit to France with a view to the secret
negotiations with that country which the Ministers were now bent on
carrying through, had been made in July, when he and Gaultier reached
Calais in a fishing-boat and proceeded to Fontainbleau under assumed
names.  He returned to England in August, but was recognised at Dover,
whence the news spread all over London, to the great annoyance of the
Ministers.  The officer who recognised Prior was John Macky, reputed
author of those _Characters_ upon which Swift wrote comments.  Formerly a
secret service agent under William III., Macky had been given the
direction of the Ostend mail packets by Marlborough, to whom he
communicated the news of Prior’s journey.  Bolingbroke threatened to hang
Macky, and he was thrown into prison; but the accession of George I.
again brought him favour and employment.

{280}  See p. 106.

{281a}  See p. 7.

{281b}  See 34.

{281c}  Edward Villiers (1656–1711), created Viscount Villiers in 1691,
was made Earl of Jersey in 1697.  Under William III. he was Lord
Chamberlain and Secretary of State, but he was dismissed from office in
1704.  When he died he had been nominated as a plenipotentiary at the
Congress of Utrecht, and was about to receive the appointment of Lord
Privy Seal.  Lord Jersey married, in 1681, when she was eighteen,
Barbara, daughter of William Chiffinch, closet-keeper to Charles II.; she
died in 1735.

{282}  Lord Paisley was the Earl of Abercorn’s eldest surviving son (see
p. 161).

{283a}  The Hon. John Hamilton, the Earl’s second surviving son, died in
1714.

{283b}  Dr. John Robinson (1650–1723) had gone out as chaplain to the
Embassy at the Court of Sweden in 1682, and had returned in 1708 with the
double reputation of being a thorough Churchman and a sound diplomatist.
He was soon made Dean of Windsor, and afterwards Bishop of Bristol.  He
was now introduced to the Council Board, and it was made known to those
in the confidence of Ministers that he would be one of the English
plenipotentiaries at the coming Peace Congress.  In 1713 Dr. Robinson was
made Bishop of London.

{283c}  To the Irish bishops: see above.

{284a}  John Erskine, Earl of Mar (1675–1732), who was attainted for his
part in the Rebellion of 1715.  His first wife, Lady Margaret Hay, was a
daughter of Lord Kinnoull.

{284b}  Thomas Hay, sixth Earl of Kinnoull (died 1719), a Commissioner
for the Treaty of Union between England and Scotland, and one of the
Scotch representative peers in the first Parliament of Great Britain.
His son and heir, Viscount Dupplin, afterwards Baron Hay (see p. 30), who
married Harley’s daughter Abigail, is often mentioned in the _Journal_.

{284c}  See p. 7.

{284d}  The title of the pamphlet was, _A New Journey to Paris_,
_together with some Secret Transactions between the French King and an
English Gentleman_.  _By the Sieur du Baudrier.  Translated from the
French_.

{285a}  See p. 97.

{285b}  See p. 269.

{286}  The Earl of Strafford (see p. 170) married, on Sept. 6, 1711,
Anne, only daughter and heiress of Sir Henry Johnson, of Bradenham,
Buckinghamshire, a wealthy shipbuilder.  Many of Lady Strafford’s letters
to her husband are given in the _Wentworth Papers_, 1883.

{287a}  Samuel Pratt, who was also Clerk of the Closet.

{287b}  Alice Hill, woman of the bed-chamber to the Queen, died in 1762.

{288a}  Enniscorthy, the name of a town in the county of Wexford.

{288b}  Scrambling.

{288c}  “These words in italics are written in strange, misshapen
letters, inclining to the right hand, in imitation of Stella’s writing”
(Deane Swift).

{288d}  Senior Fellow of Trinity College, Dublin.

{289a}  John Pooley, appointed Bishop of Raphoe in 1702.

{289b}  “These words in italics are miserably scrawled, in imitation of
Stella’s hand” (Deane Swift).

{290a}  See p. 54.

{290b}  See p. 236.

{291a}  See p. 74.

{291b}  See p. 284.

{293a}  Cf. the entry on the 11th (p. 291).

{293b}  See p. 34.

{294a}  William, Lord Villiers, second Earl of Jersey (died 1721), a
strong Jacobite, had been M.P. for Kent before his father’s death.  He
married, in 1704, Judith, only daughter of a City merchant, Frederick
Herne, son of Sir Nathaniel Herne, Alderman; she died in 1735.  Lord
Jersey, one of “the prettiest young peers in England,” was a companion of
Bolingbroke, and stories in the _Wentworth Papers_ (pp. 149, 230, 395,
445), show that he had a bad reputation.

{294b}  See p. 269.

{295a}  The name of Arbuthnot’s wife is not known: she died in 1730.

{295b}  James Lovet, one of the “Yeomen Porters” at Court.

{296a}  Richard Jones, Earl of Ranelagh, who died without male issue in
January 1712.  Writing to Archbishop King on Jan. 8, Swift said, “Lord
Ranelagh died on Sunday morning; he was very poor and needy, and could
hardly support himself for want of a pension which used to be paid him.”

{296b}  Arabella Churchill, maid of honour to the Duchess of York, and
mistress of James II., afterwards married Colonel Charles Godfrey, Clerk
Comptroller of the Green Cloth and Master of the Jewel Office.  Her
second son by James II. was created Duke of Albemarle.

{297a}  See p. 269.

{297b}  The Lord Mayor and Sheriffs of Dublin, elected in August 1711,
“not being approved of by the Government, the City was obliged to proceed
to another election, which occasioned a great ferment among the vulgar
sort” (Boyer, _Political State_, 1711, p. 500).  After two other persons
had been elected and disapproved of, Alderman Gore was elected Lord
Mayor, and approved (_ib._ pp. 612–17).

{297c}  “These words in italics are written enormously large” (Deane
Swift).

{297d}  See p. 14.

{298}  Henry Lowman, First Clerk of the Kitchen.

{299}  “The Doctor was always a bad reckoner, either of money or anything
else; and this is one of his rapid computations.  For, as Stella was
seven days in journey, although Dr. Swift says only six, she might well
have spent four days at Inish-Corthy, and two nights at Mrs. Proby’s
mother’s, the distance from Wexford to Dublin being but two easy days’
journey” (Deane Swift).

{300}  Mrs. Fenton.

{301}  See p. 86.

{302a}  Charles Paulet, second Duke of Bolton, was appointed Lord
Lieutenant of Ireland in 1717, and died in 1722.  In a note on Macky’s
character of the Duke, Swift calls him “a great booby”; and Lady Cowper
(_Diary_, p. 154) says that he was generally to be seen with his tongue
lolling out of his mouth.

{302b}  Stella’s maid.

{303a}  See p. 106.

{303b}  Colonel Fielding (see p. 154).

{304a}  The envoys were Ménager and the Abbé du Bois; the priest was the
Abbé Gaultier.

{304b}  See p. 170.

{304c}  Sir Theophilus Oglethorpe, General, who died in 1702, married
Eleanor, daughter of Richard Wall, of Rogane, Tipperary.  She died in
1732, and Swift described her as so “cunning a devil that she had great
influence as a reconciler of the differences at Court.”  One of her sons
was General James Oglethorpe, the philanthropist, and friend of Dr.
Johnson.

{305a}  “Worrit,” trouble, tease.

{305b}  Sir John Walter, Bart. (died 1722), was M.P. for the city of
Oxford.  He and Charles Godfrey (see p. 296) were the Clerks Comptrollers
of the Green Cloth.

{306}  See p. 306.

{307a}  No doubt one of the daughters of Mervyn Tuchet, fourth Earl of
Castlehaven, who died in 1686.

{307b}  Henrietta Maria, daughter of Charles Scarborow (see p. 266).  She
married, in 1712, Sir Robert Jenkinson, Bart., M.P. for Oxfordshire, who
died without issue in 1717.  See _Wentworth Papers_, 244.

{307c}  In July 1712 a Commission passed empowering Conyers Darcy and
George Fielding (an equerry to the Queen) to execute the office of Master
of the Horse.

{307d}  At Killibride, about four miles from Trim.

{308a}  Swift’s “mistress,” Lady Hyde (see p. 24), whose husband had
become Earl of Rochester in May 1711.  She was forty-one in 1711.

{308b}  See p. 296.

{309a}  See p. 287.

{309b}  See p. 206.

{310a}  See p. 262, note 2.

{310b}  See p. 250.

{311a}  “This happens to be the only single line written upon the margin
of any of his journals.  By some accident there was a margin about as
broad as the back of a razor, and therefore he made this use of it”
(Deane Swift).

{311b}  Lieutenant-Colonel Barton, of Colonel Kane’s regiment.

{312a}  A nickname for the High Church party.

{312b}  See p. 284.

{312c}  “From this pleasantry of my Lord Oxford, the appellative Martinus
Scriblerus took its rise” (Deane Swift).

{312d}  Cf. the _Imitation of the Sixth Satire of the Second Book of
Horace_, 1714, where Swift says that, during their drives together,
Harley would

             “gravely try to read the lines
    Writ underneath the country signs.”

{313a}  See p. 218.

{313b}  See p. 170.

{313c}  See p. 218.

{314a}  Lord Pembroke (see p. 52) married, in 1708, as his second wife,
Barbara, Dowager Baroness Arundell of Trerice, formerly widow of Sir
Richard Mauleverer, and daughter of Sir Thomas Slingsby.  She died in
1722.

{314b}  Caleb Coatesworth, who died in 1741, leaving a large fortune.

{314c}  Abel Boyer, Whig journalist and historian, attacked Swift in his
pamphlet, _An Account of the State and Progress of the Present
Negotiations for Peace_.  Boyer says that he was released from custody by
Harley; and in the _Political State_ for 1711 (p. 646) he speaks of Swift
as “a shameless and most contemptible ecclesiastical turncoat, whose
tongue is as _swift_ to revile as his mind is _swift_ to change.”  The
_Postboy_ said that Boyer would “be prosecuted with the utmost severity
of the law” for this attack.

{315a}  The “Edgar.”  Four hundred men were killed.

{315b}  William Bretton, or Britton, was made Lieutenant-Colonel in 1702,
Colonel of a new Regiment of Foot 1705, Brigadier-General 1710, and
Colonel of the King’s Own Borderers in April 1711 (Dalton, _Army Lists_,
iii. 238).  In December 1711 he was appointed Envoy Extraordinary to the
King of Prussia (_Postboy_, Jan. 1, 1712), and he died in December 1714
or January 1715.

{317a}  See p. 229, note 4.

{317b}  It is not clear which of several Lady Gores is here referred to.
It may be (1) the wife of Sir William Gore, Bart., of Manor Gore, and
Custos Rotulorum, County Leitrim, who married Hannah, eldest daughter and
co-heir of James Hamilton, Esq., son of Sir Frederick Hamilton, and niece
of Gustavus Hamilton, created Viscount Boyne.  She died 1733.  Or (2) the
wife of Sir Ralph Gore, Bart. (died 1732), M.P. for County Donegal, and
afterwards Speaker of the Irish House of Commons.  He married Miss
Colville, daughter of Sir Robert Colville, of Newtown, Leitrim, and, as
his second wife, Elizabeth, only daughter of Dr. Ashe, Bishop of Clogher.
Or (3) the wife of Sir Arthur Gore, Bart. (died 1727), of Newtown Gore,
Mayo, who married Eleanor, daughter of Sir George St. George, Bart., of
Carrick, Leitrim, and was ancestor of the Earls of Arran.

{318}  “Modern usage has sanctioned Stella’s spelling” (Scott).  Swift’s
spelling was “wast.”

{320}  Mrs. Manley.

{321a}  Swift’s own lines, “Mrs. Frances Harris’s Petition.”

{321b}  Thomas Coote was a justice of the Court of Queen’s Bench, in
Ireland, from 1692 until his removal in 1715.

{321c}  Probably a relative of Robert Echlin, Dean of Tuam, who was
killed by some of his own servants in April 1712, at the age of
seventy-three.  His son John became Prebendary and Vicar-General of Tuam,
and died in 1764, aged eighty-three.  In August 1731 Bolingbroke sent
Swift a letter by the hands of “Mr. Echlin,” who would, he said, tell
Swift of the general state of things in England.

{321d}  “This column of words, as they are corrected, is in Stella’s
hand” (Deane Swift).

{323a}  Swift’s verses, “The Description of a Salamander,” are a
scurrilous attack on John, Lord Cutts (died 1707), who was famous for his
bravery.  Joanna Cutts, the sister who complained of Swift’s abuse, died
unmarried.

{323b}  See p. 323.

{323c}  Fourteen printers or publishers were arrested, under warrants
signed by St. John, for publishing pamphlets directed against the
Government.  They appeared at the Court of Queens Bench on Oct. 23, and
were continued on their own recognisances till the end of the term.

{324a}  Robert Benson (see p. 41).

{324b}  “The South Sea Whim,” printed in Scott’s _Swift_, ii. 398.

{324c}  See pp. 200, 205, 340.

{325a}  Count Gallas was dismissed with a message that he might depart
from the kingdom when he thought fit.  He published the preliminaries of
peace in the _Daily Courant_.

{325b}  William, second Viscount Hatton, who died without issue in 1760.
His half-sister Anne married Daniel Finch, second Earl of Nottingham, and
Lord Hatton was therefore uncle to his fellow-guest, Mr. Finch.

{326a}  Crinkle or contract.  Gay writes: “Showers soon drench the
camblet’s cockled grain.”

{326b}  The Countess of Jersey (see p. 294), like her husband, was a
friend of Bolingbroke’s.  Lady Strafford speaks of her having lately
(November 1711) “been in pickle for her sins,” at which she was not
surprised.  Before the Earl succeeded to the title, Lady Wentworth wrote
to her son: “It’s said Lord Villors Lady was worth fower scoar thoussand
pd; you might have got her, as wel as Lord Villors. . . .  He [Lord
Jersey] has not don well by his son, the young lady is not yoused well as
I hear amongst them, which in my openion is not well.”  _Wentworth
Papers_ (pp. 214, 234).

{329a}  Cf. p. 66.

{329b}  Charles Crow, appointed Bishop of Cloyne in 1702.

{330a}  Swift.

{330b}  Mrs. Manley.

{330c}  The titles of these pamphlets are as follows:—(1) _A True
Narrative of . . . the Examination of the Marquis de Guiscard_; (2) _Some
Remarks upon a Pamphlet entitled_, _A Letter to the Seven Lords_; (3) _A
New Journey to Paris_; (4) _The Duke of Marlborough’s Vindication_; (5)
_A Learned Comment on Dr. Hare’s Sermon_.

{331}  See the pun on p. 329.

{332a}  See p. 10.

{332b}  See p. 97.

{333a}  Pratt (see p. 5).

{333b}  Stella and Dingley.

{333c}  _Noah’s Dove_, _an Exhortation to Peace_, _set forth in a Sermon
preached on the Seventh of November_, 1710, _a Thanksgiving Day_, _by
Thomas Swift_, _A.M._, _formerly Chaplain to Sir William Temple_, _now
Rector of Puttenham in Surrey_.  Thomas Swift was Swift’s “little parson
cousin” (see p. 225).

{333d}  See p. 36.  The book referred to is, apparently, _An Impartial
Enquiry into the Management of the War in Spain_, post-dated 1712.

{334a}  Lord Harley (afterwards second Earl of Oxford) (see p. 30)
married, on Oct. 31, 1713, Lady Henrietta Cavendish Holles, only daughter
of John Holles, last Duke of Newcastle of that family (see p. 257).

{334b}  Bolingbroke afterwards said that the great aim (at length
accomplished) of Harley’s administration was to marry his son to this
young lady.  Swift wrote a poetical address to Lord Harley on his
marriage.

{334c}  Thomas Pelham, first Baron Pelham, married, as his second wife,
Lady Grace Holles, daughter of the Earl of Clare and sister of the Duke
of Newcastle.  Their eldest son, Thomas, who succeeded to the barony in
1712, was afterwards created Earl of Clare and Duke of Newcastle,

{335a}  Francis Higgins, Rector of Baldruddery, called “the Sacheverell
of Ireland,” was an extreme High Churchman, who had been charged with
sedition on account of sermons preached in London in 1707.  In 1711 he
was again prosecuted as “a disloyal subject and disturber of the public
peace.”  At that time he was Prebendary of Christ Church, Dublin; in 1725
he was made Archdeacon of Cashel.

{335b}  Swift’s pamphlet, _The Conduct of the Allies_.

{335c}  Lord Oxford’s daughter Abigail married, in 1709, Viscount
Dupplin, afterwards seventh Earl of Kinnoull (see p. 30).  She died in
1750, and her husband in 1758, when the eldest son, Thomas, became Earl.
The second son, Robert, was made Archbishop of York in 1761.

{335d}  Kensington Gravel Pits was then a famous health resort.

{336a}  Draggled.  Pope has, “A puppy, daggled through the town.”

{336b}  Writing of Peperharrow, Manning and Bray state (_Surrey_, ii. 32,
47) that Oxenford Grange was conveyed to Philip Froud (died 1736) in
1700, and was sold by him in 1713 to Alan Broderick, afterwards Viscount
Midleton.  This Froud (Swift’s “old Frowde”) had been Deputy
Postmaster-General; he was son of Sir Philip Frowde, who was knighted in
1665 (Le Neve’s _Knights_, Harleian Society, p. 190), and his son Philip
was Addison’s friend (see p. 58).

{336c}  Probably the Charles Child, Esq., of Farnham, whose death is
recorded in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ for 1754.

{337}  Grace Spencer was probably Mrs. Proby’s sister (see p. 176, 202).

{338a}  Cf. Shakespeare, _As You Like It_, v. 3: “Shall we clap into ’t
roundly, without hawking or spitting, which are the only prologues to a
bad voice?”

{338b}  In the “Verses on his own Death,” 1731, Swift says

    “When daily howd’y’s come of course,
    And servants answer, ‘Worse and worse!’”

Cf. Steele (_Tatler_, No. 109), “After so many howdies, you proceed to
visit or not, as you like the run of each other’s reputation or fortune,”
and (_Spectator_, No. 143), “the howd’ye servants of our women.”

{341a}  See p. 304.

{341b}  See p. 132.

{341c}  The Tories alleged that the Duke of Marlborough, the Duke of
Montagu, Steele, etc., were to take part in the procession (cf.
_Spectator_, No. 269).  Swift admits that the images seized were worth
less than £40, and not £1000, as he had said, and that the Devil was not
like Harley; yet he employed someone to write a lying pamphlet, _A True
Relation of the Several Facts and Circumstances of the Intended Riot and
Tumult_, etc.

{343a}  A brother of Jemmy Leigh (see p. 6), and one of Stella’s
card-playing acquaintances.

{343b}  Of _The Conduct of the Allies_ (see pp. 335, 345).

{344a}  Sir Thomas Hanmer (see p. 69) married, in 1698, Isabella, widow
of the first Duke of Grafton, and only daughter and heiress of Henry,
Earl of Arlington.  She died in 1723.

{344b}  James, Duke of Hamilton (see p. 262), married, in 1698, as his
second wife, Elizabeth, daughter and sole heir of Digby, Lord Gerard.
She died in 1744.

{345a}  _The Conduct of the Allies_.

{345b}  See p. 238.

{346a}  Sir Matthew Dudley (see p. 7) married Lady Mary O’Bryen, youngest
daughter of Henry, Earl of Thomond.

{346b}  See p. 305.

{346c}  Sir John St. Leger (died 1743) was M.P. for Doneraile and a Baron
of the Exchequer in Ireland from 1714 to 1741.  His elder brother,
Arthur, was created Viscount Doneraile in 1703.

{346d}  _Relation of the Facts and Circumstances of the Intended Riot on
Queen Elizabeth’s Birthday_.

{346e}  _The Conduct of the Allies_.

{346f}  See p. 73.

{347a}  The first motto was “Partem tibi Gallia nostri eripuit,” etc.
(Horace, 2 Od. 17–24).

{347b}  See Plautus’s _Amphitrus_, or Dryden’s _Amphitryon_.

{347c}  It is not known whether or no this was Dr. William Savage, Master
of Emmanuel College, Cambridge.  No copy of the sermon—if it was
printed—has been found.  See Courtenay’s _Memoirs of Sir William Temple_.

{347d}  Of _The Conduct of the Allies_, a pamphlet which had a very wide
circulation.  See a paper by Edward Solly in the _Antiquarian Magazine_,
March 1885.

{348a}  Allen Bathurst, M.P. (1684–1775), created Baron Bathurst in
December 1711, and Earl Bathurst in 1772.  His second and eldest
surviving son was appointed Lord Chancellor in the year preceding the
father’s death.  Writing to her son in January 1711 (_Wentworth Papers_,
173), Lady Wentworth said of Bathurst, “He is, next to you, the finest
gentleman and the best young man I know; I love him dearly.”

{348b}  See p. 72.

{348c}  See p. 153.

{348d}  Swift is alluding to the quarrel between Lord Santry (see p. 215)
and Francis Higgins (see p. 335), which led to Higgins’s prosecution.
The matter is described at length in Boyer’s _Political State_, 1711, pp.
617 seq.

{348e}  See p. 176.

{349a}  No doubt the same as Colonel Newburgh (see _Journal_, March 5,
1711–12).

{349b}  Beaumont (see p. 1, 250).

{349c}  See p. 301.

{350}  Cf. p. 144.

{351a}  See p. 341.

{351b}  See p. 336.  Debtors could not be arrested on Sunday.

{352a}  Sir George Pretyman, Bart., dissipated the fortune of the family.
The title became dormant in 1749.

{352b}  See the Introduction.

{352c}  For the Whites of Farnham, see Manning and Bray’s _Surrey_, iii.
177.

{352d}  _The Conduct of the Allies_.

{352e}  The Percevals were among Swift’s principal friends in the
neighbourhood of Laracor.  In a letter to John Temple in 1706 (Forster’s
_Life of Swift_, 182) Swift alludes to Perceval; in spite of different
views in politics, “I always loved him,” says Swift, “very well as a man
of very good understanding and humour.”  Perceval was related to Sir John
Perceval, afterwards Earl of Egmont (see p. 175).

{353a}  See p. 2.

{353b}  See p. 58.

{354a}  The _Examiner_ was resumed on Dec. 6, 1711, under Oldisworth’s
editorship, and was continued by him until July 1714.

{354b}  Daniel Finch, second Earl of Nottingham, a staunch Tory, had
quarrelled with the Government and the Court.  On Dec. 7, 1711, he
carried, by six votes, an amendment to the Address, to the effect that no
peace would be acceptable which left Spain in the possession of the House
of Bourbon.  Harley’s counter-stroke was the creation of twelve new
peers.  The Whigs rewarded Nottingham by withdrawing their opposition to
the Occasional Conformity Bill:

{354c}  This “Song” begins:

    “An orator dismal of Nottinghamshire,
    Who had forty years let out his conscience for hire.”

{355}  _The Conduct of the Allies_.

{356}  Robert Bertie, Lord Willoughby de Eresby, and fourth Earl of
Lindsey, was created Marquis of Lindsay in 1706, and Duke of Ancaster and
Kesteven in 1715.  He died in 1723.

{357a}  Lady Sunderland (see p. 267) and Lady Rialton, ladies of the
bed-chamber to the Queen.

{357b}  Hugh Cholmondeley (died 1724), the second Viscount, was created
Viscount Malpas and Earl of Cholmondeley in 1706, and in 1708 was
appointed Treasurer of Her Majesty’s Household, an office which he held
until 1713, in spite of his Whig sympathies.  “Good for nothing, so far
as ever I knew,” Swift wrote of him.

{357c}  Prov. xxv. 3.

{360a}  See p. 304.

{360b}  Thomas Parker, afterwards created Earl of Macclesfield, was
appointed Lord Chief-Justice in March 1710.  In September 1711 he
declined Harley’s offer of the Lord Chancellorship, a post which he
accepted under a Whig Government in the next reign.

{361}  The Bill against Occasional Conformity.

{362}  The proposed visit to London of Prince Eugene of Savoy, the
renowned General, and friend of Marlborough, was viewed by the Government
with considerable alarm.

{363}  Swift’s “An excellent new Song; being the intended Speech of a
famous orator against Peace,” a ballad “two degrees above Grub Street”
(see p. 354).

{364a}  Robert Walpole was then M.P. for King’s Lynn, and Leader of the
Opposition in the House of Commons.  He had been Secretary at War from
February 1708 to September 1710, and the Commissioners of Public Accounts
having reported, on Dec. 21, 1711, that he had been guilty of venality
and corruption, he was expelled from the House of Commons, and taken to
the Tower.

{364b}  William King, D.C.L., author of the _Journey to London in 1698_,
_Dialogues of the Dead_, _The Art of Cookery_, and other amusing works,
was, at the end of the month, appointed Gazetteer, in succession to
Steele, on Swift’s recommendation.  Writing earlier in the year, Gay said
that King deserved better than to “languish out the small remainder of
his life in the Fleet Prison.”  The duties of Gazetteer were too much for
his easy-going nature and failing health, and he resigned the post in
July 1712.  He died in the following December.

{364c}  At the bottom of St. James’s Street, on the west side.

{365}  The Rev. John Shower, pastor of the Presbyterian Congregation at
Curriers’ Hall, London Wall.

{366a}  _The Windsor Prophecy_, in which the Duchess of Somerset (see p.
162) is attacked as “Carrots from Northumberland.”

{366b}  _Merlin’s Prophecy_, 1709, written in pseudo-mediæval English.

{366c}  See p. 10.

{367a}  Dorothy, daughter of Sir Edward Leach, of Shipley, Derbyshire.

{367b}  Sir James Long, Bart. (died 1729), was at this time M.P. for
Chippenham.

{367c}  The number containing this paragraph is not in the British
Museum.

{368a}  Joseph Beaumont (see pp. 1, 250, 349).

{368b}  See p. 19.

{368c}  Apparently a misprint for “whether.”

{369a}  See p. 321.

{369b}  James Compton, afterwards fifth Earl of Northampton (died 1754),
was summoned to the House of Lords as Baron Compton in December 1711.
Charles Bruce, who succeeded his father as third Earl of Aylesbury in
1741, was created Lord Bruce, of Whorlton, at the same time.

{370}  James, Lord Compton, eldest son of the Earl of Northampton;
Charles, Lord Bruce, eldest son of the Earl of Aylesbury; Henry Paget,
son of Lord Paget; George Hay, Viscount Dupplin, the son-in-law of the
Lord Treasurer, created Baron Hay; Viscount Windsor, created Baron
Montjoy; Sir Thomas Mansel, Baron Mansel; Sir Thomas Willoughby, Baron
Middleton; Sir Thomas Trevor, Baron Trevor; George Granville, Baron
Lansdowne; Samuel Masham, Baron Masham; Thomas Foley, Baron Foley; and
Allen Bathurst, Baron Bathurst.

{371a}  Juliana, widow of the second Earl of Burlington, and daughter of
the Hon. Henry Noel, was Mistress of the Robes to Queen Anne.  She died
in 1750, aged seventy-eight.

{371b}  Thomas Windsor, Viscount Windsor (died 1738), an Irish peer, who
had served under William III. in Flanders, was created Baron Montjoy, of
the Isle of Wight, in December 1711.  He married Charlotte, widow of
John, Baron Jeffries, of Wem, and daughter of Philip Herbert, Earl of
Pembroke.

{372a}  The Hon. Russell Robartes, brother of Lord Radnor (see p. 8), was
Teller of the Exchequer, and M.P. for Bodmin.  His son became third Earl
of Radnor in 1723.

{372b}  Gay (_Trivia_, ii. 92) speaks of “the slabby pavement.”

{373}  See p. 158.

{374a}  George Granville (see p. 130), now Baron Lansdowne, married Lady
Mary Thynne, widow of Thomas Thynne, and daughter of Edward, Earl of
Jersey (see p. 281).  In October 1710 Lady Wentworth wrote to her son,
“Pray, my dear, why will you let Lady Mary Thynne go?  She is young,
rich, and not unhandsome, some say she is pretty; and a virtuous lady,
and of the nobility, and why will you not try to get her?”  (_Wentworth
Papers_, 149).

{374b}  See p. 225.

{375}  Harness.

{377a}  On his birthday Swift read the third chapter of Job.

{377b}  See p. 329.

{377c}  Sir George St. George of Dunmore, Co. Galway, M.P. for Co.
Leitrim from 1661 to 1692, and afterwards for Co. Galway, died in
December 1711.

{378a}  See pp. 305, 346.

{378b}  See p. 20.

{378c}  Dr. Pratt (see p. 5).

{378d}  _King Henry VIII._, act iv. sc. 2; “An old man broken with the
storms,” etc.

{379}  “These words in the manuscript imitate Stella’s writing, and are
sloped the wrong way” (Deane Swift),

{380a}  Archibald Douglas, third Marquis of Douglas, was created Duke of
Douglas in 1703.  He died, without issue, in 1761.

{380b}  Arbuthnot and Freind.

{381}  Sir Stephen Evance, goldsmith, was knighted in 1690.

{382}  Because of the refusal of the House of Lords to allow the Duke of
Hamilton (see p. 262), a Scottish peer who had been raised to the peerage
of Great Britain as Duke of Brandon, to sit under that title.  The
Scottish peers discontinued their attendance at the House until the
resolution was partially amended; and the Duke of Hamilton always sat as
a representative Scottish peer.

{383}  Sir William Robinson (1655–1736), created a baronet in 1689, was
M.P. for York from 1697 to 1722.  His descendants include the late Earl
De Grey and the Marquis of Ripon.

{384}  See p. 152.  The full title was, _Some Advice humbly offered to
the Members of the October Club_, _in a Letter from a Person of Honour_.

{385a}  See p. 377.

{385b}  “It is the last of the page, and written close to the edge of the
paper” (Deane Swift).

{385c}  Henry Somerset, second Duke of Beaufort.  In September 1711 the
Duke—who was then only twenty-seven—married, as his third wife, Mary,
youngest daughter of the Duke of Leeds.  In the following January Lady
Strafford wrote, “The Duke and Duchess of Beaufort are the fondest of one
another in the world; I fear ’tis too hot to hold. . . .  I own I fancy
people may love one another as well without making so great a rout”
(_Wentworth Papers_, 256).  The Duke died in 1714, at the age of thirty.

{386a}  “Upon the 10th and 17th of this month the _Examiner_ was very
severe upon the Duke of Marlborough, and in consequence of this report
pursued him with greater virulence in the following course of his papers”
(Deane Swift).

{386b}  A term of execration.  Scott (_Kenilworth_) has, “A pize on it.”

{387a}  See p. 89.

{387b}  In a letter to Swift of Jan. 31, 1712, Sacheverell, after
expressing his indebtedness to St. John and Harley, said, “For yourself,
good Doctor, who was the first spring to move it, I can never
sufficiently acknowledge the obligation,” and in a postscript he hinted
that a place in the Custom House which he heard was vacant might suit his
brother.

{387c}  Thomas Yalden, D.D., (1671–1736), Addison’s college friend,
succeeded Atterbury as preacher of Bridewell Hospital in 1713.  In 1723
he was arrested on suspicion of being involved in the Atterbury plot.

{387d}  Tablets.

{388a}  Sir Solomon de Medina, a Jew, was knighted in 1700.

{388b}  Davenant had been said to be the writer of papers which Swift
contributed to the _Examiner_.

{389a}  Henry Withers, a friend of “Duke” Disney (see p. 153), was
appointed Lieutenant-General in 1707, and Major-General in 1712.  On his
death in 1729 he was buried in Westminster Abbey.

{389b}  See p. 360.

{390}  Dyer’s _News Letter_, the favourite reading of Sir Roger de
Coverley (_Spectator_, No. 127), was the work of John Dyer, a Jacobite
journalist.  In the _Tatler_ (No. 18) Addison says that Dyer was “justly
looked upon by all the fox-hunters in the nation as the greatest
statesman our country has produced.”  Lord Chief-Justice Holt referred to
the _News Letter_ as “a little scandalous paper of a scandalous author”
(Howell’s _State Trials_, xiv. 1150).

{391}  Dr. John Sharp, made Archbishop of York in 1691, was called by
Swift “the harmless tool of others’ hate.”  Swift believed that Sharp,
owing to his dislike of _The Tale of a Tub_, assisted in preventing the
bishopric of Hereford being offered to him.  Sharp was an excellent
preacher, with a taste for both poetry and science.

{392a}  An edition of the Countess d’Aulnoy’s _Les Contes des Fées_
appeared in 1710, in four volumes.

{392b}  Francis Godolphin, Viscount Rialton, the eldest son of Sidney,
Earl of Godolphin, succeeded his father as second Earl on Sept. 15, 1712.
He held 3 various offices, including that of Lord Privy Seal (1735–1740),
and died in 1766, aged eighty-eight.  He married, in 1698, Lady Henrietta
Churchill, who afterwards was Duchess of Marlborough in her own right.
She died in 1733.

{392c}  See p. 256.  Ladies of the bed-chamber received £1000 a year.

{392d}  William O’Brien, third Earl of Inchiquin, succeeded his father in
1691, and died in 1719.

{393a}  Lady Catherine Hyde was an unmarried daughter of Laurence Hyde,
first Earl of Rochester (see p. 60).  Notwithstanding Swift’s express
statement that the lady to whom he here refers was the late Earl’s
daughter, and the allusion to her sister, Lady Dalkeith, in Letter 60,
note 26, she has been confused by previous editors with her niece, Lady
Catherine Hyde (see p. 256), daughter of the second Earl, and afterwards
Duchess of Queensberry.  That lady, not long afterwards to be celebrated
by Prior, was a child under twelve when Swift wrote.

{393b}  Sir John Trevor (1637–1717), formerly Speaker of the House of
Commons.

{393c}  See p. 97.

{393d}  See p. 335.

{393e}  See p. 215.

{393f}  Charles Trimnel, made Bishop of Norwich in 1708, and Bishop of
Winchester in 1721, was strongly opposed to High Church doctrines.

{394a}  Jibe or jest.

{394b}  See p. 206.

{394c}  The treaty concluded with Holland in 1711.

{395a}  Feb. 2 is the Purification of the Virgin Mary.

{395b}  See p. 284.

{396}  See p. 99.

{397a}  Lady Mary Butler (see pp. 14, 44), daughter of the Duke of
Ormond, who married, in 1710, John, third Lord Ashburnham, afterwards
Earl of Ashburnham.

{397b}  See p. 4.

{397c}  See p. 357.

{397d}  Scroop Egerton, fifth Earl and first Duke of Bridgewater,
married, in 1703, Lady Elizabeth Churchill, third daughter of the Duke of
Marlborough.  She died in 1714, aged twenty-six.

{397e}  See p. 294.

{398a}  Heart.

{398b}  Edward Fowler, D.D., appointed Bishop of Gloucester in 1691, died
in 1714.

{399a}  Isaac Manley (see p. 7).

{399b}  This letter, the first of the series published by Hawkesworth, of
which we have the originals (see Preface), was addressed “To Mrs. Johnson
at her Lodgings over against St. Mary’s Church, near Capell Street,
Dublin, Ireland”; and was endorsed by her “Recd. Mar. 1st.”

{400a}  See p. 85.

{400b}  See p. 116.

{400c}  See p. 215.

{400d}  Charles Ross, son of the eleventh Baron Ross, was Colonel of the
Royal Irish Dragoons from 1695 to 1705.  He was a Lieutenant-General
under the Duke of Ormond in Flanders, and died in 1732 (Dalton, ii. 212,
iii. 34).

{400e}  Charles Paulet, Marquis of Winchester, succeeded his father (see
p. 302) as third Duke of Bolton in 1722.  He married, as his second wife,
Lavinia Fenton, the actress who took the part of Polly Peacham in Gay’s
_Beggars Opera_ in 1728, and he died in 1754.

{401a}  John Blith, or Bligh, son of the Right Hon. Thomas Bligh, M.P. of
Rathmore, Co. Meath (see p. 22).  In August 1713 he married Lady
Theodosia Hyde, daughter of Edward, third Earl of Clarendon.  Lord
Berkeley of Stratton wrote, “Lady Theodosia Hyde . . . is married to an
Irish Mr. Blythe, of a good estate, who will soon have enough of her, if
I can give any guess” (_Wentworth Papers_, 353).  In 1715 Bligh was made
Baron Clifton, of Rathmore, and Earl of Darnley in 1725.  He died in
1728.

{401b}  Obliterated.

{401c}  Word obliterated; probably “found.”  Forster reads “oors, dee
MD.”

{401d}  Words obliterated.

{401e}  See pp. 86, 301.

{401f}  See pp. 73, 192–3.

{402a}  Words obliterated.  Forster reads “fourth.  Euge, euge, euge.”

{402b}  Words obliterated; one illegible.

{402c}  See p. 5.

{402d}  See p. 2.

{402e}  Service.

{402f}  “Aplon”—if this is the right word—means, of course, apron—the
apron referred to on p. 389.

{402g}  Words obliterated.

{403a}  As the son of a “brother” of the Club.

{403b}  The Archbishop, Dr. King.

{403c}  See Tacitus, _Annals_, book ii.  Cn. Calpurnius Piso, who was
said to have poisoned Germanicus, was found with his throat cut.

{403d}  This satire on Marlborough concludes—

    “And Midas now neglected stands,
    With asses’ ears and dirty hands.”

{404a}  Dr. Robinson, Bishop of Bristol.

{404b}  _Some Remarks on the Barrier Treaty_.

{405a}  Several words are obliterated.  Forster reads “MD MD, for we must
always write to MD MD MD, awake or asleep;” but the passage is illegible.

{405b}  See pp. 95, 517–8.

{405c}  A long erasure.  Forster reads “Go to bed.  Help pdfr.  Rove
pdfr.  MD MD.  Nite darling rogues.”

{405d}  Word obliterated.  Forster reads “saucy.”

{405e}  Letter from.

{406a}  Words partially obliterated.

{406b}  Swift wrote by mistake, “On Europe Britain’s safety lies”; the
slip was pointed out by Hawkesworth.  All the verse is written in the
MSS. as prose.

{406c}  “Them” (MS.).

{406d}  See Wyons _Queen Anne_, ii. 366–7.

{407a}  _A Proposal for Correcting_, _Improving_, _and Ascertaining the
English Tongue_, _in a Letter to the Most Honourable Robert_, _Earl of
Oxford_, 1712.

{407b}  “Help him to draw up the representation” (omitting every other
letter).

{407c}  See p. 217.

{407d}  Robert Benson.

{408a}  _The Story of the St. Albans Ghost_, 1712.

{408b}  “Usually” (MS.).

{408c}  These words are partially obliterated.

{408d}  This sentence is obliterated.  Forster reads, “Farewell, mine
deelest rife deelest char Ppt, MD MD MD Ppt, FW, Lele MD, ME ME ME ME
aden FW MD Lazy ones Lele Lele all a Lele.”

{408e}  Endorsed by Stella “Recd. Mar. 19.”

{409a}  “Would” (MS.).

{409b}  Conversation.

{410a}  John Guillim’s _Display of Heraldrie_ appeared first in 1610.
The edition to which Swift refers was probably that of 1679, which is
wrongly described as the “fifth edition,” instead of the seventh.

{410b}  “One of the horses here mentioned may have been the celebrated
Godolphin Arabian from whom descends all the blue blood of the
racecourse, and who was the grandfather of Eclipse” (Larwood’s _Story of
the London Parks_, 99).

{410c}  See p. 352.

{410d}  Dorothea, daughter of James Stopford, of New Hall, County Meath,
and sister of Lady Newtown-Butler, was the second wife of Edward, fourth
Earl of Meath, who died without issue in 1707.  She afterwards married
General Richard Gorges (see _Journal_, April 5, 1713), of Kilbrue, County
Meath, and Swift wrote an epitaph on them—“Doll and Dickey.”

{411}  Here follow some obliterated words.

{412a}  Barber (see p. 106).

{412b}  “The editors supposed Zinkerman (which they printed in capitals)
to mean some outlandish or foreign distinction; but it is the little
language for ‘gentleman’” (Forster).

{412c}  The Hon. Charles Butler, second son of Thomas, Earl of Ossory,
eldest son of James, Duke of Ormond, was elevated to the peerage of
Ireland in 1693 as Earl of Arran, and was also created a peer of England,
as Baron Butler.  He held various offices under William III. and Queen
Anne, and died without issue in 1759.

{413a}  “They” (MS.).

{413b}  See pp. 10, 381–2.

{413c}  See p. 89.

{414a}  Sir William Wyndham, Bart., of Orchard Wyndham, married Lady
Catherine Seymour, daughter of the sixth Duke of Somerset (see p. 236).
Their eldest son, Charles, succeeded his uncle, the Duke of Somerset, as
Earl of Egremont; and the second son, Percy, was afterwards created Earl
of Thomond.  The Wyndhams’ house was in Albemarle Street; the loss was
over £20,000; but they were “much more concerned for their servants than
for all the other losses” (_Wentworth Papers_, 274).  The Duke of Ormond
“worked as hard as any of the ordinary men, and gave many guineas about
to encourage the men to work hard.”  The Queen gave the Wyndhams
temporary lodgings in “St. James’s house.”

{414b}  See p. 12.

{415a}  What.

{415b}  Devil’s.

{415c}  “To” (MS.).

{416a}  See p. 349.

{416b}  See p. 406.

{416c}  See pp. 113–4.

{417a}  Peregrine Hyde Osborne, Earl of Danby, afterwards Marquis of
Caermarthen and third Duke of Leeds (see p. 473).  His sister Mary was
married to the Duke of Beaufort (see p. 385).

{417b}  See p. 72.

{417c}  Several undecipherable words.  Forster reads, “Pidy Pdfr, deelest
Sollahs.”

{417d}  “K” (MS.).  It should, of course, be “Queen’s.”

{417e}  See p. 213.

{418a}  Addressed “To Mrs. Johnson, at her lodgings over against St.
Mary’s Church, near Capel Street, Dublin, Ireland.”  Endorsed “Mar. 30.”

{418b}  See p. 66.

{419a}  The Mohocks succeeded the Scowrers of William III.’s reign.  Gay
(_Trivia_, iii. 325) says—

    “Who has not heard the Scowrers’ midnight fame?
    Who has not trembled at the Mohocks’ name?”

Lady Wentworth (_Wentworth Papers_, 277) says: “They put an old woman
into a hogshead, and rolled her down a hill; they cut off some noses,
others’ hands, and several barbarous tricks, without any provocation.
They are said to be young gentlemen; they never take any money from any.”
See also the _Spectator_, Nos. 324, 332, and 347 (where Budgell alludes
to “the late panic fear”), and Defoe’s _Review_ for March 15, 1712.
Swift was in considerable alarm about the Mohocks throughout March, and
said that they were all Whigs.  The reports that numbers of persons,
including men of figure, had joined together to commit assaults in the
streets, made many fear to leave their houses at night.  A proclamation
was issued for the suppressing of riots and the discovery of those guilty
of the late outrages; but it seems probable that the disorders were not
more frequent than might be expected from time to time in a great city.

{419b}  Henry Davenant, son of Charles Davenant (see p. 58), was Resident
at Frankfort.  Macky described him as “very giddy-headed, with some wit,”
to which Swift added, “He is not worth mentioning.”

{419c}  Thomas Burnet, youngest son of Gilbert Burnet, Bishop of
Salisbury, was at this time a young man about town of no good reputation.
Afterwards he turned his attention to the law, and was appointed a judge
of the Court of Common Pleas in 1741.  He was knighted in 1745, and died
in 1753.

{420a}  By Arbuthnot, written to recommend the peace proposals of the
Government.  The full title was, _Law is a Bottomless Pit_.  _Exemplified
in the case of the Lord Strutt_, _John Bull_, _Nicholas Frog_, _and Lewis
Baboon_; _who spent all they had in a Law Suit_.

{420b}  See pp. 238, 407.

{420c}  Our little language.

{421a}  Forster reads, “two deelest nauty nown MD.”

{421b}  See p. 36.

{422a}  William Diaper, son of Joseph Diaper of Bridgewater, was sent to
Balliol College, Oxford, in 1699, at the age of fourteen.  He entered the
Church, and was curate at Brent, Somerset; but he died in 1717, aged
twenty-nine.

{422b}  The _Examiner_ (vol. ii. No. 15) complained of general bribery
and oppression on the part of officials and underlings in the public
service, especially in matters connected with the army; but the writer
said that the head (Lord Lansdowne) was just and liberal in his nature,
and easy in his fortune, and a man of honour and virtue.

{422c}  Sealed documents given to show that a merchant’s goods are
entered.

{422d}  Thomas Lawrence, First Physician to Queen Anne, and
Physician-General to the Army, died in 1714 (_Gentleman’s Magazine_,
1815, ii. 17).  His daughter Elizabeth was second wife to Lord Mohun.

{423a}  See 163.

{423b}  See 245.

{423c}  No officer named Newcomb appears in Dalton’s _Army Lists_; but
the allusion to General Ross, further on in Letter 43, adds to the
probability that Swift was referring to one of the sons of Sir Thomas
Newcomen, Bart., who was killed at the siege of Enniskillen.  Beverley
Newcomen (Dalton, iii. 52, iv. 60), who was probably Swift’s
acquaintance, was described in a petition of 1706 as a Lieutenant who had
served at Killiecrankie, and had been in Major-General Ross’s regiment
ever since 1695.

{423d}  Atterbury.

{424a}  Evidently a familiar quotation at the time.  Forster reads,
incorrectly, “But the more I lite MD.”

{424b}  See p. 400.

{424c}  See p. 104.

{424d}  In 1681, Elizabeth, only daughter and heiress of John Ayres, of
the City of London, then aged about twenty, became the fourth and last
wife of Heneage Finch, Earl of Winchelsea, who died in 1689.  She lived
until 1745.

{424e}  See p. 218.

{424f}  Enoch Sterne (see p. 20).

{424g}  Lieut.-Col. Robert Sterne was in Col. Frederick Hamilton’s
Regiment in 1695.

{425a}  Letter.

{425b}  See p. 120.

{425c}  The title was, _John Bull in his Senses_: _being the Second Part
of Law is a Bottomless Pit_.

{425d}  See p. 352.

{425e}  Cf. note 9 above.  Forster reads “nautyas,” when the words would
mean “as naughty as nine,” apparently.

{426a}  See p. 424, note 1.

{426b}  In 1549, James, second Earl of Arran, was made Duke of
Chatelherault by Henry II. of France.  His eldest son died without issue;
the _second_, John, became first Marquis of Hamilton, and was
great-grandfather of Lady Anne Hamilton (Duchess of Hamilton), mother of
the Duke of Swift’s _Journal_.  The Earl of Abercorn, on the other hand,
was descended from Claud, _third_ son of the Earl of Arran, but in the
male line; and his claim was therefore the stronger, according to the
French law of inheritance.

{426c}  Madams.

{427a}  This word is doubtful.  Forster reads “cobbled.”

{427b}  A mistake, apparently, for “writing.”  The letter was begun on
March 8.

{427c}  Silly jade.

{427d}  O Lord, what a clutter.

{427e}  On the death of Dr. William Graham, Dean of Wells, it was
reported that Swift was to be his successor.  Dr. Brailsford, however,
received the appointment.

{427f}  Abel Roper (1665–1726), a Tory journalist, published, thrice
weekly, the _Postboy_, to which Swift sometimes sent paragraphs.  Boyer
(_Political State_, 1711, p. 678) said that Roper was only the tool of a
party; “there are men of figure and distinction behind the curtain, who
furnish him with such scandalous reflections as they think proper to cast
upon their antagonists.”

{427g}  Joe Beaumont.

{428a}  Beg your pardon, Madams, I’m glad you like your apron (see p.
402).

{428b}  This word was smudged by Swift.

{429a}  I cannot find Somers in contemporary lists of officials.  Cf. pp.
159, 298.

{429b}  Obliterated and doubtful.

{429c}  Words obliterated and illegible.  Forster reads, conjecturally,
“Pray send Pdfr the ME account that I may have time to write to
Parvisol.”

{429d}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “Apr. 14.”

{430a}  “Is” (MS.).

{430b}  The words after “yet” are partially obliterated.

{431a}  See p. 53.

{431b}  John Cecil, sixth Earl of Exeter (died 1721).

{432a}  See p. 206.

{432b}  Arbuthnot.

{433a}  A resort of the Tories.

{433b}  Deane Swift, a son of Swift’s uncle Godwin, was a merchant in
Lisbon.

{433c}  Winces.  Lyly says, “Rubbe there no more, least I winch.”

{433d}  Probably William Whiston, who was deprived of the Lucasian
professorship at Cambridge in 1710 for his heterodox views.  Parliament
having offered a reward for the discovery of means of finding the
longitude, Whiston made several attempts (1714 and 1721).

{434a}  Word obliterated.

{434b}  Distilled water prepared with rosemary flowers.  In Fielding’s
_Joseph Andrews_, a lady gives up to a highway robber, in her fright, a
silver bottle which, the ruffian said, contained some of the best brandy
he had ever tasted; this she “afterwards assured the company was a
mistake of her maid, for that she had ordered her to fill the bottle with
Hungary water.”

{435a}  As I hope to be saved.

{435b}  Added on the fourth page, as the letter was folded.

{436a}  Addressed to “Mrs. Johnson,” etc.  Endorsed “May 1st.”

{436b}  A kind of clover, used for soothing purposes.

{437a}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “May 15.”

{437b}  Madam Ayris.

{437c}  Simpleton.

{437d}  Robert Benson (see p. 41).

{437e}  See pp. 407, 420.

{438a}  The title was, _An Appendix to John Bull still in his Senses_:
_or_, _Law is a Bottomless Pit_.

{438b}  Arbuthnot.

{438c}  Enquiries by servants.

{438d}  See p. 160.

{438e}  Sick.

{439a}  Afterwards Rector of Letcombe, Berks.  It was to his house that
Swift repaired a few weeks before the Queen’s death.  On June 8, 1714, he
wrote, “I am at a clergyman’s house, whom I love very well, but he is
such a melancholy, thoughtful man, partly from nature, and partly by a
solitary life, that I shall soon catch the spleen from him.  His wife has
been this month twenty miles off at her father’s, and will not return
these ten days, and perhaps the house will be worse when she comes.”
Swift spells the name “Geree”; later on in the _Journal_ he mentions two
of Mr. Gery’s sisters, Betty (Mrs. Elwick) and Moll (Mrs. Wigmore);
probably he made the acquaintance of the family when he was living with
the Temples at Moor Park (see p. 502).

{439b}  Because she is a good girl in other things.

{439c}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “June 5.”

{439d}  Sice, the number six at dice.

{440a}  At Laracor Swift had “a canal and river-walk and willows.”

{440b}  Splenetic fellow.

{440c}  One of them was by Oldmixon: _Reflections on Dr. Swift’s Letter
to the Earl of Oxford_.

{440d}  Beg your pardon.

{440e}  See p. 239.

{440f}  On May 28, Lord Halifax moved an Address to the Queen that the
instructions given to the Duke of Ormond might be laid before the House,
and that further orders might be issued to him to act offensively, in
concert with the Allies.  Wharton and Nottingham supported the motion,
but it was negatived by 68 votes against 40.  A similar motion in the
House of Commons was defeated by 203 against 73.

{440g}  See p. 335.

{441a}  See p. 217.

{441b}  _Some Reasons to prove that no Person is obliged by his
Principles_, _as a Whig_, _to oppose Her Majesty_: _in a Letter to a Whig
Lord_.

{441c}  Several words obliterated.

{441d}  Several words obliterated.

{441e}  The bellman.

{442a}  This present writing.

{442b}  Please.

{442c}  Addressed to “Mrs. Rebecca Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “June 23d.”

{443a}  Mr. Ryland reads “second.”

{443b}  As I hope to be saved.

{444a}  See p. 295.

{444b}  Glad at heart.

{445a}  The threepenny pamphlet mentioned on p. 441.

{445b}  _I.e._, for.

{445c}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley.”  Endorsed “July 8.”

{445d}  See p. 277.

{446a}  See p. 76.

{446b}  See p. 9.

{446c}  See pp. 295, 444.

{446d}  Dr. William Lloyd—one of the Seven Bishops of 1688—was
eighty-four years of age at this time; he died five years later.  He was
a strong antipapist, and a great student of the Apocalypse, besides being
a hard-working bishop.  A curious letter from him to Lord Oxford about a
coming war of religion is given in the Welbeck Papers (Hist. MSS. Comm.)
v. 128.

{447a}  _Toland’s Invitation to Dismal to dine with the Calf’s Head
Club_.  The Earl of Nottingham (Dismal) had deserted the Tories, and
Swift’s imitation of Horace (Epist. I. v.) is an invitation from Toland
to dine with “his trusty friends” in celebration of the execution of
Charles I.  The Calf’s Head Club was in the habit of toasting “confusion
to the race of kings.”

{447b}  Bolingbroke.

{447c}  George Fitzroy, Duke of Northumberland (died 1716), a natural son
of Charles II., was also Viscount Falmouth and Baron of Pontefract.  See
_Notes and Queries_, viii. i. 135.

{447d}  Enoch Sterne.

{448a}  Templeoag (p. 443).

{448b}  Swift probably was only repeating an inaccurate rumour, for there
is no evidence that Steele was arrested.  His gambling scheme was
withdrawn directly an information was laid under the new Act of
Parliament against gambling (Aitken’s _Life of Steele_, i. 347).

{448c}  Dr. William Moreton (1641–1715), Swift’s diocesan, was translated
from the see of Kildare to that of Meath in 1705.

{448d}  Words obliterated.  Forster reads conjecturally, “when ME wants
me to send.  She ought to have it,” etc.

{449a}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “July 23.”

{449b}  “N. 33” seems a mistake.  Letter No. 32 was received after Swift
had left Kensington and gone to Windsor; see pp. 452, 456 (Ryland).

{450a}  Dr. Moreton (see p. 448).

{450b}  Memoranda.

{450c}  Again.

{450d}  O Lord, drunken slut.

{450e}  There’s for you now, and there’s for your letter, and every kind
of thing.

{450f}  Bolingbroke.

{451a}  See p. 120.

{451b}  Grub Street pamphlet.  The title was, _A Supposed Letter from the
Pretender to another Whig Lord_.

{451c}  Arnold Joost Van Keppel, created Earl of Albemarle in 1697.  He
died in 1718.  The action referred to was at Denain, where the Dutch were
defeated by Villars.

{452a}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “Aug. 14.”

{452b}  Perhaps this was influenza.

{453a}  By the Stamp Act passed on June 10, 1712—which was repealed in
1859—a duty of one halfpenny was levied on all pamphlets and newspapers
contained in half a sheet or less, and a duty of one penny on those of
more than half but not exceeding a whole sheet.  Swift opposed the idea
in January 1711 (see p. 138), and Defoe argued against the Bill in the
_Review_ for April 26, 1712, and following numbers.  Addison, in the
_Spectator_, No. 445, spoke of the mortality among authors resulting from
the Stamp Act as “the fall of the leaf.”

{453b}  The title is, _Lewis Baboon turned honest_, _and John Bull
politician_.  _Being the Fourth Part of Law is a Bottomless Pit_.  This
pamphlet—really the fifth of the series—appeared on July 31, 1712.

{453c}  Poor Laracor.

{454a}  See p. 104.

{454b}  On the death of the third Earl in 1712, the title of Earl of
Winchelsea passed to his uncle, Heneage Finch, who had married Anne,
daughter of Sir William Kingsmill (see p. 227).

{454c}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “Oct. 1st.  At
Portraune” [Portraine].

{455a}  Oxford and Bolingbroke.

{455b}  Including Hester Vanhomrigh.

{456a}  He died on Sept. 15, 1712.

{456b}  Elizabeth Villiers, eldest daughter of Sir Edward Villiers,
Knight Marischal of England, and sister of the first Earl of Jersey.  In
1695 she married Lord George Hamilton (son of Lord William Douglas,
afterwards Duke of Hamilton), who was raised to the peerage of Scotland
in 1696 as Earl of Orkney.  William III. gave her an Irish estate worth
£26,000 a year.  Swift’s opinion of her wisdom is confirmed by Lord
Lansdowne, who speaks, in his _Progress of Poetry_, of

    “Villiers, for wisdom and deep judgment famed,
    Of a high race, victorious beauty brings
    To grace our Courts, and captivate our Kings.”

The “beauty” seems a poetic licence; Swift says the lady squinted “like a
dragon.”

{456c}  Cliefden.

{456d}  See p. 106.

{456e}  Swift’s sister (see p. 74).

{457a}  Forster reads “returned.”

{457b}  See Swift’s letter to General Hill of Aug. 12, 1712

{457c}  Swift’s housekeeper at Laracor.

{457d}  _I.e._, be made freemen of the City.

{458}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “Octr. 18.  At
Portraune.”

{459a}  “Sometimes, when better company was not to be had, he [Swift] was
honoured by being invited to play at cards with his patron; and on such
occasions Sir William was so generous as to give his antagonist a little
silver to begin with” (Macaulay, _History of England_, chap. xix.).

{459b}  _The History of the Works of the Learned_, a quarto periodical,
was published from 1699 to 1711.

{459c}  See p. 343.

{459d}  See p. 277.

{460a}  Lady Elizabeth Savage, daughter of Richard, fourth Earl Rivers
(see p. 88), was the second wife of James Barry, fourth Earl of
Barrymore.  Of Earl Rivers’ illegitimate children, one, Bessy, married
(1) Frederick Nassau, third Earl of Rochford, and (2) a clergyman named
Carter; while another, Richard Savage, was the poet.  Earl Rivers’
successor, John Savage, the fifth Earl, was a Roman Catholic priest, the
grandson of John, first Earl Rivers.  On his death in 1728 the title
became extinct.

{460b}  No. 32.

{460c}  Very sick.

{460d}  From “but I” to “agreeable” is partially obliterated.

{460e}  Mrs. Swanton was the eldest daughter of Willoughby Swift, and
therefore Swift’s second cousin.  In her will Esther Johnson left to
Swift “a bond of thirty pounds, due to me by Dr. Russell, in trust for
the use of Mrs. Honoria Swanton.”

{460f}  This sentence is partially obliterated.

{460g}  See p. 452.

{461a}  See p. 25.

{461b}  The latter half of this sentence is partially obliterated.

{462a}  Partly obliterated.

{462b}  See p. 54.

{462c}  Wise.

{462d}  Partly obliterated.

{462e}  See p. 43.

{462f}  This sentence is almost obliterated.

{463a}  The MS. of this letter has not been preserved.

{463b}  See p. 245.

{463c}  Swift’s friend, Dr. Pratt (see p. 5), was then Provost of Trinity
College, Dublin.

{463d}  Samuel Molyneux, then aged twenty-three, was the son of William
Molyneux (1656–1698), M.P. for Dublin University, a writer on
philosophical and scientific subjects, and the friend of Locke.  Samuel
Molyneux took his M.A. degree in Dublin in 1710, and in 1712 visited
England.  He was befriended by the Duke of Marlborough at Antwerp, and in
1714 was sent by the Duke on a mission to the Court of Hanover.  He held
office under George I., but devoted most of his attention to astronomical
research, until his death in 1728.

{464a}  Probably _The Case of Ireland’s being bound by Acts of Parliament
in England stated_ (1698).

{464b}  Oxford and Bolingbroke.

{464c}  See p. 360.

{464d}  See p. 453.

{464e}  George Ridpath (died 1726), a Whig journalist, of whom Pope
(_Dunciad_, i. 208) wrote—

                   “To Dulness Ridpath is as dear as Mist.”

He edited the _Flying Post_ for some years, and also wrote for the
_Medley_ in 1712.  In September William Hurt and Ridpath were arrested
for libellous and seditious articles, but were released on bail.  On
October 23 they appeared before the Court of Queen’s Bench, and were
continued on their recognizances.  In February 1713 Ridpath was tried
and, in spite of an able defence by leading Whig lawyers, was convicted.
Sentence was postponed, and when Ridpath failed to appear, as ordered, in
April, his recognizances were escheated, and a reward offered for his
discovery; but he had fled to Scotland, and from thence to Holland.

{466a}  See p. 456.

{466b}  Lady Orkney’s sister, Barbara Villiers, who married John
Berkeley, fourth Viscount Fitz-Hardinge, had been governess to the Duke
of Gloucester, Queen Anne’s son.  She died in 1708, in her fifty-second
year; and on her husband’s death four years later the peerage became
extinct.

{466c}  For the street criers, see the _Spectator_, No. 251.

{466d}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley.”  Endorsed “Nov. 26, just come from
Portraine”; and “The band-box plot—D: Hamilton’s murther.”

{467a}  Charles Mohun, fifth Baron Mohun, had been twice arraigned of
murder, but acquitted; and during his short but turbulent life he had
taken part in many duels.  Even Burnet could say nothing in his favour.

{467b}  This duel between the Duke of Hamilton (see p. 262) and Lord
Mohun, who had married nieces of Lord Macclesfield, had its origin in a
protracted dispute about some property.  The challenge came from Lord
Mohun, and the combatants fought like “enraged lions.”  Tory writers
suggested that the duel was a Whig conspiracy to get rid of the Duke of
Hamilton (_Examiner_, Nov. 20, 1712).  The whole subject is discussed
from the Whig point of view in Boyer’s _Political State_ for 1712, pp.
297–326.

{467c}  “Will” (MS.).

{467d}  See p. 262, note 2.

{467e}  George Maccartney (see pp. 89, 387) fought at Almanza,
Malplaquet, and Douay.  After the duel, Maccartney escaped to Holland,
but on the accession of George I. he returned to England, and was tried
for murder (June 1716), when Colonel Hamilton gave evidence against him.
Hamilton’s evidence was discredited, and he found it necessary to sell
his commission and leave the country.  Maccartney was found guilty as an
accessory, and “burnt” in the hand.  Within a month he was given an
appointment in the army; and promoted to be Lieutenant-General.  He died
in 1730.

{467f}  Colonel John Hamilton, of the Scots Guards.  He surrendered
himself, and was tried at the Old Bailey on Dec. 12, 1712, when he was
found guilty of manslaughter, on two indictments; and on the following
day he was “burnt” in the hand.  Hamilton died in October 1716, soon
after Maccartney’s trial, from a sudden vomiting of blood.

{467g}  “That” (MS.).

{468a}  The story (as told in the Tory _Postboy_ of Nov. 11 to 13) was
that on Nov. 4 a bandbox was sent to the Earl of Oxford by post. When he
began to open it he saw a pistol, whereupon a gentleman present [Swift]
asked for the box, and opening it, by the window, found powder, nails,
etc., so arranged that, if opened in the ordinary way, the whole would
have been fired, and two barrels discharged different ways.  No doubt a
box so packed was received, but whether anything serious was intended, or
whether it was a hoax, cannot be said with any certainty.  The Earl of
Oxford is said to have met allusions to the subject with a smile, and
Swift seems to have been annoyed at the reports which were put into
circulation.

{468b}  “We have received a more particular account relating to the box
sent to the Lord Treasurer, as mentioned in our last, which is as
follows,” etc.  (_Evening News_, Nov. 11 to 13, 1712).

{468c}  Either _A Letter to the People_, _to be left for them at the
Booksellers_, _with a word or two of the Bandbox Plot_ (by T. Burnet),
1712, or _An Account of the Duel_ . . ., _with Previous Reflections on
Sham Plots_ (by A. Boyer), 1712.  Swift’s connection with the Bandbox
Plot was ridiculed in the _Flying Post_ for Nov. 20 to 22.

{468d}  Cf. p. 154.

{469a}  This sentence is partially obliterated.

{469b}  Part of this sentence has been obliterated.

{470a}  See p. 427.  I have not been able to find a copy of the paper
containing Swift’s paragraph.

{470b}  This sentence is partially obliterated.

{471a}  See p. 104.

{471b}  Apparently Humphrey Griffith, who was one of the Commissioners of
Salt; but Swift gives the name as “Griffin” throughout.

{471c}  See pp. 25, 461.

{471d}  For these shorter letters Swift folded the folio sheet before
writing.

{472a}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “Decr. 18.”

{472b}  Vengeance.

{472c}  Charles Connor, scholar of Trinity College, Dublin, who took his
B.A. degree in the same year as Swift (1686), and his M.A. degree in
1691.

{472d}  _The History of the Peace of Utrecht_.

{473a}  See p. 467, note 6.

{473b}  Lord Oxford’s daughter Elizabeth married, on Dec. 16, 1712,
Peregrine Hyde, Marquis of Caermarthen, afterwards third Duke of Leeds
(see pp. 226, 417).  She died on Nov. 20, 1713, a few days after the
birth of a son.  Swift called her “a friend I extremely loved.”

{473c}  “Is” (MS.).

{473d}  Disorders.

{473e}  See p. 335.

{473f}  John Francis, Rector of St. Mary’s, Dublin, was made Dean of
Leighlin in 1705.

{473g}  See p. 67.

{473h}  Possibly “have.”

{473i}  See p. 468.

{474}  This clause is omitted by Mr. Ryland.

{475a}  See p. 304.

{475b}  See p. 466.

{475c}  Thomas Jones, Esq., was M.P. for Trim in the Parliament of
1713–4.

{476a}  A Dutch agent employed in the negotiations with Lewis XIV.

{476b}  When I come home.

{476c}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “Jan. 13.”

{477a}  “Ay, marry, this is something like.”  The earlier editions give,
“How agreeable it is in a morning.”  The words in the MS. are partially
obliterated.

{477b}  In this letter (Dec. 20, 1712) Swift paid many compliments to the
Duchess of Ormond (see p. 160): “All the accomplishments of your mind and
person are so deeply printed in the heart, and represent you so lively to
my imagination, that I should take it for a high affront if you believed
it in the power of colours to refresh my memory.”

{478a}  Tisdall’s _Conduct of the Dissenters in Ireland_ (see p. 517).

{478b}  See pp. 73, 192–3.

{478c}  Monteleon.

{479a}  See pp. 7, 24.

{479b}  Utrecht, North and South Holland, and West Frieseland.

{479c}  See p. 439.

{479d}  See p. 439.

{479e}  _On Queen Anne’s Peace_.

{479f}  See p. 422.  The poem was _Dryades_, _or the Nymph’s Prophecy_.

{480a}  See p. 343.

{480b}  See p. 159.

{480c}  Dr. Tobias Pullen (1648–1713) was made Bishop of Dromore in 1695.

{480d}  Lord Charles Douglas, Earl of Selkirk, died unmarried in 1739.
When his father, William, first Earl of Selkirk, married Anne, Duchess of
Hamilton, the Duchess obtained for her husband, in 1660, the title of
Duke of Hamilton, for life.  James II. conferred the Earldom of Selkirk
on his Grace’s second and younger sons, primogenitively; and the second
son having died without issue, the third, Charles, became Earl.  The
fifth son, George, was created Earl of Orkney (see p. 456).  The
difference between Lord Selkirk and the Earl of Abercorn (see p. 86) to
which Swift alludes was in connection with the claim to the Dukedom of
Chatelherault (see p. 426).

{481a}  Heart.

{481b}  This sentence is almost illegible.

{481c}  A reward of £500 was offered by the Crown for Maccartney’s
apprehension, and £200 by the Duchess of Hamilton.

{482}  In the proposed _History of the Peace of Utrecht_.

{483a}  Mr. Ryland’s reading.  Forster has “Iss.”  These words are
obliterated.

{483b}  Hoist.  Cf. “Hoised up the mainsail” (Acts xxvii. 40).

{483c}  It was afterwards found that Miss Ashe was suffering from
smallpox.

{484a}  See p. 101.  We are told in the _Wentworth Papers_, p. 268, that
the Duchess of Shrewsbury remarked to Lady Oxford, “Madam, I and my Lord
are so weary of talking politics; what are you and your Lord?” whereupon
Lady Oxford sighed and said she knew no Lord but the Lord Jehovah.  The
Duchess rejoined, “Oh, dear! Madam, who is that?  I believe ’tis one of
the new titles, for I never heard of him before.”

{484b}  A thousand merry new years.  The words are much obliterated.

{484c}  Lady Anne Hamilton, daughter of James, first Duke of Hamilton,
became Duchess on the death of her uncle William, the second Duke, at the
battle of Worcester.

{485a}  The quarrel between Oxford and Bolingbroke.

{485b}  See p. 276.

{485c}  Burnet (_History_, iv. 382) says that the Duc d’Aumont was “a
goodnatured and generous man, of profuse expense, throwing handfuls of
money often out of his coach as he went about the streets.  He was not
thought a man of business, and seemed to employ himself chiefly in
maintaining the dignity of his character and making himself acceptable to
the nation.”

{486a}  Partially obliterated.

{486b}  For the most part illegible.  Forster reads, “Go, play cards, and
be melly, deelest logues, and rove Pdfr.  Nite richar MD, FW oo roves
Pdfr.  FW lele lele ME ME MD MD MD MD MD MD.  MD FW FW FW ME ME FW FW FW
FW FW ME ME ME.”

{486c}  On the third page of the paper.

{486d}  See p. 44.

{487a}  To “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “Feb. 4.”

{487b}  This sentence is scribbled over.  Forster reads the last word as
“lastalls,” _i.e._ rascals, but it seems rather to be “ledles.”

{488a}  Dr. Peter Brown was appointed Bishop of Cork in 1709.

{488b}  See p. 26.

{488c}  See p. 23.

{489a}  See p. 24, note 4.

{489b}  Dr. H. Humphreys, Bishop of Hereford, died on Nov. 20, 1712.  His
successor was Dr. Philip Bisse (1667–1721), Bishop of St. David’s (see p.
14).

{490a}  Thomas Keightley, a Commissioner of the Great Seal in Ireland.

{490b}  Nearly obliterated.  Mr. Ryland reads, “deelest MD.”

{490c}  See p. 480.

{490d}  In the _Examiner_ for Jan. 5 to 9, 1712[–13], there is an account
of the game of Similitudes.  One person thinks of a subject, and the
others, not knowing what it is, name similitudes, and when the subject is
proclaimed, must make good the comparisons.  On the occasion described,
the subject chosen was Faction.  The prize was given to a Dutchman, who
argued that Faction was like butter, because too much fire spoiled its
consistency.

{490e}  Earl Poulett (see p. 190).

{491a}  “Say” (MS.).

{491b}  Dr. Pratt.

{491c}  See p. 120.

{492a}  This sentence is partially obliterated.

{492b}  See pp. 305, 308.

{493a}  Cf. the account of Beatrix’s feelings on the death of the Duke in
_Esmond_, book iii. chaps. 6 and 7.

{493b}  See p. 195.

{494a}  “Her Majesty is all goodness and tenderness to her people and her
Allies.  She has now prorogued the best Parliament that ever assembled in
her reign and respited her own glory, and the wishes, prayers, and wants
of her people, only to give some of her Allies an opportunity to think of
the returns they owe her, and try if there be such a thing as gratitude,
justice, or humanity in Europe.  The conduct of Her Majesty is without
parallel.  Never was so great a condescension made to the unreasonable
clamours of an insolent faction now dwindled to the most contemptible
circumstances.”—_Examiner_, Jan. 12–16, 1712[–13].

{494b}  _Mr. Collins’s Discourse of Freethinking_, _put into plain
English by way of Abstract_, _for the use of the Poor_, an ironical
pamphlet on Arthur Collins’s _Discourse of Freethinking_, 1713.

{495a}  _The History of the Peace of Utrecht_.

{495b}  A line here has been erased.  Forster imagined that he read,
“Nite dear MD, drowsy drowsy dear.”

{496a}  Hereford.

{496b}  Very well.

{497a}  Sentence obliterated.  Forster professes to read, “Pay can oo
walk oftener—oftener still?”

{497b}  See p. 480.

{497c}  Dr. Bisse, translated from St. David’s.

{497d}  See pp. 176, 489.

{498a}  To “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “Febr. 26.”

{498b}  See p. 494.

{498c}  See p. 271.

{498d}  See p. 468.

{499a}  A result of confusion between Erasmus Lewis and Henry Lewis, a
Hamburg merchant.  See Swift’s paper in the _Examiner_ of Jan. 30 to Feb.
2, reprinted in his _Works_ under the title, “A Complete Refutation of
the Falsehoods alleged against Erasmus Lewis, Esq.”

{499b}  Lord Dupplin (see p. 30) had been created Baron Hay in December
1711.

{499c}  A composition of inflammable materials.

{500a}  Assessors.

{500b}  See p. 36.

{501}  See p. 499.

{502a}  See p. 439.

{502b}  See pp. 10, 381, 413.

{503a}  Dr. Bisse.

{503b}  See p. 326.

{503c}  Forster reads, “something.”

{503d}  Hardly legible.

{504a}  See p. 52.

{504b}  Stella’s brother-in-law (See pp. 471, 473).

{504c}  Forster guesses, “Oo are so ’recise; not to oor health.”

{504d}  For “poo Ppt’s.”  Mr. Ryland reads, “people’s.”

{505a}  See p. 478.

{505b}  See p. 483.

{505c}  See p. 132.

{505d}  Obliterated; Forster’s reading.

{506a}  Writing in October 1713, Lord Berkeley of Stratton told Lord
Strafford of “a fine prank of the widow Lady Jersey” (see p. 281).  “It
is well known her lord died much in debt, and she, after taking upon her
the administration, sold everything and made what money she could, and is
run away into France without paying a farthing of the debts, with only
one servant and unknown to all her friends, and hath taken her youngest
son, as ’tis supposed to make herself a merit in breeding him a <DW7>.
My Lord Bolingbroke sent after her, but too late, and they say the Queen
hath writ a letter with her own hand to the King of France to send back
the boy” (_Wentworth Papers_, p. 357).  See also p. 538 below.  I am not
sure whether in the present passage Swift is referring to the widow or
the younger Lady Jersey (see p. 326).

{506b}  Sir Thomas Clarges, Bart. (died 1759), M.P. for Lostwithiel,
married Barbara, youngest daughter of John Berkeley, fourth Viscount
Fitz-Hardinge, and of Barbara Villiers (see p. 466), daughter of Sir
Edward Villiers.

{507a}  See pp. 428, 447.

{507b}  Altered from “11” in the MS.  It is not certain where the error
in the dates began; but the entry of the 6th must be correctly dated,
because the Feb. 6 was the Queen’s Birthday.

{507c}  See pp. 422, 479.

{508a}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “Mar. 7.”

{508b}  See p. 27.

{508c}  Sedan chairs were then comparatively novel (see Gay’s _Trivia_).

{508d}  Some words obliterated.  Forster reads, “Nite MD, My own deelest
MD.”

{509a}  Peter Wentworth wrote to Lord Strafford, on Feb. 17, 1713, “Poor
Mr. Harrison is very much lamented; he died last Saturday.  Dr. Swift
told me that he had told him . . . he owed about £300, and the Queen owed
him £500, and that if you or some of your people could send an account of
his debts, that I might give it to him, he would undertake to solicit
Lord Treasurer and get this £500, and give the remainder to his mother
and sister” (_Wentworth Papers_, 320).

{509b}  George St. John (eldest son of Sir Harry St. John by his second
marriage) was Secretary to the English Plenipotentiaries at Utrecht.  He
died at Venice in 1716 (Lady Cowper’s _Diary_, 65).

{509c}  Forster wrongly reads, “poor.”

{509d}  “Putt” (MS.).

{509e}  See p. 506.

{510a}  Montagu Bertie, second Earl of Abingdon (died 1743), was a strong
Tory.

{510b}  See p. 102.  These friends were together again on an expedition
to Bath in 1715, when Jervas wrote to Pope (Aug. 12, 1715) that
Arbuthnot, Disney, and he were to meet at Hyde Park Corner, proceed to
Mr. Hill’s at Egham, meet Pope next day, and then go to Lord Stawell’s to
lodge the night.  Lord Stawell’s seat, Aldermaston, was seventeen miles
from Binfield.

{510c}  See p. 153.

{510d}  “I” (MS.).

{510e}  Obliterated.  Forster reads, “devil,” and Mr. Ryland, “bitch.”

{511a}  See p. 393.

{511b}  Victor Marie, duc d’Estrées, Marshal of France (died 1727).

{511c}  See 471.

{511d}  Several words are obliterated.  Forster reads, “the last word,
God ’give me”; but “’give me” is certainly wrong.

{512}  See p. 69.  Sir Thomas Hanmer married, in 1698, at the age of
twenty-two, Isabella, Dowager Duchess of Grafton, daughter of Henry, Earl
of Arlington, and Countess of Arlington in her own right.  Hanmer was not
made Secretary of State, but he succeeded Bromley as Speaker of the House
of Commons.

{513a}  William Fitzmaurice (see pp. 91, 263) entered Christ Church,
Oxford, matriculating on March 10, 1712–13, at the age of eighteen.

{513b}  See p. 89.

{513c}  William Bromley, second son of Bromley the Speaker (see p. 76),
was a boy of fourteen at this time.  In 1727 he was elected M.P. for
Warwick, and he died in 1737, shortly after being elected Member for
Oxford University.

{513d}  See 133.

{513e}  Sometimes “list” means to border or edge; at others, to sew
together, so as to make a variegated display, or to form a border.
Probably it here means the curling of the bottom of the wig.

{513f}  The last eight words have been much obliterated, and the reading
is doubtful.

{514a}  Lady Henrietta Hyde, second daughter of Laurence Hyde, first Earl
of Rochester (see p. 60), married James Scott, Earl of Dalkeith, son of
the Duke of Monmouth.  Lord Dalkeith died in 1705, leaving a son, who
succeeded his grandmother (Monmouth’s widow) as second Duke of Buccleuch.
Lady Catherine Hyde (see p. 293) was a younger sister of Lady Dalkeith.

{514b}  Swift first wrote “I frequent.”

{515a}  See p. 456.

{515b}  D’Estrées.

{515c}  Little (almost illegible).

{516a}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “Mar. 27.”

{516b}  See p. 10.

{516c}  Formerly Lady Rialton (see p. 392).

{517a}  See p. 490.

{517b}  See pp. 95, 405.

{517c}  Pun on “gambol.”

{517d}  See p. 478.

{518a}  See p. 401.

{518b}  “Upon Tuesday last, the house where His Grace the late Duke of
Hamilton and Brandon lived was hired for that day, where there was a fine
ball and entertainment; and it is reported in town, that a great lady,
lately gone to travel, left one hundred guineas, with orders that it
should be spent in that manner, and in that house” (_Postboy_, Feb.
26–28, 1712–13).  The “great lady” was, presumably, the Duchess of
Marlborough.

{518c}  See pp. 357, 397.

{518d}  Trinity College, Dublin.

{518e}  See p. 512.

{518f}  See p. 357.

{519a}  Dr. Pratt, Provost of Trinity College.

{519b}  Obliterated, and doubtful.

{519c}  A deal at cards, that draws the whole tricks.

{520}  Previous editors have misread “Trevor” as “Treasurer.” Thomas
Trevor, Chief-Justice of the Common Pleas, was created Baron Trevor, of
Bromham, in January 1712.  By commission of March 9, 1713, he occupied
the woolsack during the illness of the Lord Keeper, Harcourt.

{521a}  This is the only reference to Pope in the _Journal_.  In his
_Windsor Forest_ the young poet assisted the Tories by his reference to
the peace of Utrecht, then awaiting ratification.

{521b}  Several words have been obliterated.  Forster reads, “Rove Pdfr,
poo Pdfr, Nite MD MD MD,” but this is more than the space would contain.

{522a}  William Oldisworth (1680–1734), a Tory journalist and
pamphleteer, who published various works, including a translation of the
_Iliad_.  He died in a debtors’ prison.

{522b}  Some words obliterated.  The reading is Forster’s, and seems to
be correct.

{523a}  Susan Armine, elder daughter of Sir William Armine, Bart., of
Osgodby, Lincolnshire, was created a life peeress in 1674, as Baroness
Belasyse of Osgodby.  She died March 6, 1713.  Her first husband was the
Honourable Sir Henry Belasyse, son and heir of John, Baron Belasyse, of
Worlaby; and her second, Mr. Fortney, of Chequers.

{523b}  See p. 48.

{524a}  A word before “Ppt” is illegible.  Forster’s reading, “yes,” does
not seem right.

{524b}  In November 1711 it was reported that Miss Kingdom was privately
married to Lord Conway (_Wentworth Papers_, 207), but this was not the
case.  Lord Conway was a widower in 1713, but he married an Irish lady
named Bowden.

{525a}  Forster reads, “Nite, my own dee sollahs.  Pdfr roves MD”; but
the last three words, at least, do not seem to be in the MS.

{525b}  Probably the Bishop of Raphoe’s son (see p. 289).

{526a}  What.

{526b}  As Master of the Savoy.

{526c}  William Burgh was Comptroller and Accountant-General for Ireland
from 1694 to 1717, when his patent was revoked.  He was succeeded by
Eustace Budgell.

{526d}  William Paget, sixth Lord Paget, died in March 1713, aged
seventy-six.  He spent a great part of his life as Ambassador at Vienna
and Constantinople.

{526e}  Pocket.

{526f}  Forster reads, “Lele lele logues”; Mr. Ryland, “Lele lele . . . ”

{527a}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “Apr. 13.”

{527b}  Esther Johnson’s brother-in-law, Filby (see p. 471).

{527c}  Earl Poulett (see p. 190).

{527d}  Francis Annesley, M.P. for Westbury.  His colleague in the
representation of that borough was Henry Bertie (third son of James, Earl
of Abingdon), who married Earl Poulett’s sister-in-law, Anthony Henley’s
widow (see p. 117).

{528a}  “Has” (MS.).

{528b}  A dozen words are erased.  The reading is Forster’s, and appears
to be correct.

{528c}  _The British Ambassadress’s Speech to the French King_.  The
printer was sent to the pillory and fined.

{528d}  The _Examiner_ (vol. iii. No. 35) said that Swift—“a gentleman of
the first character for learning, good sense, wit, and more virtues than
even they can set off and illustrate”—was not the author of that
periodical.  “Out of pure regard to justice, I strip myself of all the
honour that lucky untruth did this paper.”

{529a}  A purgative electuary.

{529b}  Bargains.

{529c}  Three or four words illegible.  Forster reads, “Nite, nite, own
MD.”

{530a}  Forster reads, “devil’s brood”; probably the second word is
“bawd:” Cf. p. 510.

{530b}  Several “moving pictures,” mostly brought from Germany, were on
view in London at about this time.  See _Tatler_, No. 129, and Gay’s
_Fables_, No. 6.

{531a}  See p. 43.

{531b}  “Mr. Charles Grattan, afterwards master of a free school at
Enniskillen” (Scott).

{531c}  So given in the MS.  Forster suggests that it is a mistake for
“wood.”

{532a}  See p. 271.

{532b}  It is probable that this is Pope’s friend, William Cleland, who
died in 1741, aged sixty-seven.  William Cleland served in Spain under
Lord Rivers, but was not a Colonel, though he seems to have been a Major.
Afterwards he was a Commissioner of Customs in Scotland and a
Commissioner of the Land Tax in England.  Colonel Cleland cannot, as
Scott suggested (Swift’s _Works_, iii. 142, xviii. 137–39, xix. 8), have
been the son of the Colonel William Cleland, Covenanter and poet, who
died in 1689, at the age of twenty-eight.  William Cleland allowed his
name to be appended to a letter of Pope’s prefixed to the _Dunciad_, and
Pope afterwards described him as “a person of universal learning, and an
enlarged conversation; no man had a warmer heart for his friends, or a
sincerer attachment to the constitution of his country.”  Swift,
referring to this letter, wrote to Pope, “Pray tell me whether your
Colonel (_sic_) Cleland be a tall Scots gentleman, walking perpetually in
the Mall, and fastening upon everybody he meets, as he has often done
upon me?” (Pope’s _Works_, iv. 48, vii. 214).

{532c}  Henry Grey, Lord Lucas (died 1741), who became twelfth Earl of
Kent in 1702, was made Duke of Kent in 1710.  He held various offices
under George I. and George II.

{533a}  Forster found, among the MSS. at Narford, the “lie” thus prepared
for All Fools’ Day.  Richard Noble, an attorney, ran away with a lady who
was the wife of John Sayer and daughter of Admiral Nevill; and he killed
Sayer on the discovery of the intrigue.  The incident was made use of by
Hogarth in the fifth scene of “Marriage a la Mode.”

{533b}  See p. 23.

{533c}  See p. 100.

{533d}  Charles XII.

{533e}  “Is” (MS.).

{533f}  Cibber says that he saw four acts of _Cato_ in 1703; the fifth
act, according to Steele, was written in less than a week.  The famous
first performance was on April 14, 1713.

{533g}  The first number of the _Guardian_ appeared on March 12, and the
paper was published daily until Oct. 1, 1713.  Pope, Addison, and
Berkeley were among the contributors.

{534a}  See p. 456.

{534b}  See p. 389.

{534c}  The first preached after the period of his suspension by the
House of Lords.  It was delivered at St. Saviour’s, Southwark, before his
installation at St. Andrew’s, and was published with the title, _The
Christian’s Triumph_, _or the Duty of praying for our Enemies_.

{535a}  Swift’s curate at Laracor.

{535b}  Richard Gorges (died 1728) was eldest son and heir of Dr. Robert
Gorges, of Kilbrue, County Meath, by Jane, daughter of Sir Arthur Loftus,
and sister of Adam, Viscount Lisburne.  He was appointed Adjutant-General
of the Forces in Ireland 1697, Colonel of a new Regiment of Foot 1703,
Major-General of the Forces 1707, and Lieutenant-General 1710 (Dalton’s
_Army Lists_, iii. 75).

{536a}  See p. 510.

{536b}  Mrs. Oldfield.

{536c}  See p. 473.

{536d}  Never saw the like.

{536e}  See p. 460.

{537a}  The remainder has been partially obliterated.

{537b}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “May 4.”

{538a}  Lord Cholmondeley (see p. 357).

{538b}  Harcourt.

{538c}  Forster’s reading; the last two words are doubtful.

{538d}  See p. 52.

{538e}  Francis Palmes, who was wounded at Blenheim, was made a
Lieutenant-General in 1709.  In 1707 he was elected M.P. for West Loo; in
1708 he was sent as Envoy Extraordinary to the Duke of Savoy, and in 1710
to Vienna.

{538f}  Apparently “so heed.”

{538g}  Henry Villiers (died 1743), second son of the first Earl of
Jersey and of Barbara, daughter of William Chiffinch (see p. 281).

{539a}  See p. 520.  The Speech and Address are in the Commons’ Journals,
xvii. 278, 280.  For the draft Address, in Swift’s handwriting, see the
Portland Papers (1899), v. 276.

{539b}  Scoffed, jeered.

{539c}  Dr. Gastrell (see p. 238).

{540}  George Berkeley, afterwards Bishop of Cloyne, but then a young man
of twenty-eight, came to London in January 1713.  He was already known by
his _New Theory of Vision_ and _Treatise on the Principles of Human
Knowledge_, and he brought with him his _Three Dialogues between Hylas
and Philonous_.  Steele was among the first to welcome him, and he soon
made the acquaintance of Addison, Pope, and Swift.  On March 27, Berkeley
wrote to Sir John Perceval of the breach between Swift and the Whigs:
“Dr. Swift’s wit is admired by both of them [Addison and Steele], and
indeed by his greatest enemies, and . . .  I think him one of the
best-matured and agreeable men in the world.”  In November 1713 Swift
procured for Berkeley the chaplaincy and secretaryship to Lord
Peterborough, the new Envoy to Sicily.

{541}  Forster reads, “all oo sawcy Ppt can say oo may see me”; but the
words are illegible.

{542a}  Possibly “see,” written in mistake for “say.”

{542b}  “J” (MS.).

{544a}  Obliterated.  Forster imagined that he read, “Nite dee logues.
Poo Mr.”

{544b}  There were two General Hamiltons at this time; probably Swift’s
acquaintance was Gustavus Hamilton (1639–1723), who was created Viscount
Boyne in 1717.  Hamilton distinguished himself at the battle of the Boyne
and the capture of Athlone, and was made Brigadier-General in 1696, and
Major General in 1703.  He took part in the siege of Vigo, and was made a
member of the Privy Council in 1710.

{545a}  See p. 427.

{545b}  _The History of the Peace of Utrecht_.

{545c}  This is Forster’s reading, and appears to be correct.  The last
word, which he gives as “iss truly,” is illegible.

{545d}  Belonging to Ireland.

{545e}  See p. 391.

{545f}  Another excellent reading of Forster’s.  I cannot decipher the
last word, which he gives as “dee rogues.”

{546a}  Sentence obliterated.

{546b}  The number at the beginning of each entry in the _Journal_.

{546c}  Mr. Ryland’s reading.  Forster has “morning, dee.”

{546d}  Dr. Thomas Lindsay (see p. 43).

{546e}  I think the “MD” is right, though Forster gives “M.”  The “Pr” is
probably an abbreviation of “Pdfr.”

{547a}  The last three lines have been obliterated.

{547b}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “May 22.”

{548a}  Illegible.  Forster reads, “and dee deelest Ppt.”

{548b}  The last few words have been partially obliterated.

{548c}  Am very angry.  The last word is scribbled over.

{548d}  _The History of the Peace of Utrecht_.

{549a}  The signature has been cut off.

{549b}  Addressed to “Mrs. Dingley,” etc.  Endorsed “Chester Letter.”

{549c}  “Others” (MS.).

{550a}  See pp. 86, 301.

{550b}  See p. 46.




***