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,[11] 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.[12] Yes, I
understand your cypher, and Stella guesses right, as she always does. He[13]
gave me al bsadnuk lboinlpl dfaonr ufainf btoy dpionufnad,[14] 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;[15] 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;[16] 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;[17] 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[18] 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[19] 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[20] cards, where I dined, when
young Arundel[21] 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,[22] 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[23] 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:[24] 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:[25] 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,[26] 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"[27] like Presto? O poor Presto!
Mr. Harley is better to-night, that makes me so pert, you saucy Gog and Magog.
LETTER 18.
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:[1] 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:[2] 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,[3] 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[4] 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;[5] for about ten days ago I was to see Lord
Carteret;[6] 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[7] that I should lose walking
this delicious day. Have you seen the Spectator[8] 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[9] up my leg on
the seat; and as I came home, I went to see poor Charles Barnard's[10] 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,[11] 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
goodnight, 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[12] 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 tomorrow, 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[13] 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.,[14] 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,[15] 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.[16] '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
tomorrow, 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 19.
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[1] 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'[2] down upon the folks as
they come from church; and there comes Mrs. Proby,[3] and that is my Lady
Southwell,[4] and there is Lady Betty Rochfort.[5] 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,[6] 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;[7] t'other I opened, it was from
Staunton;[8] 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.[9] 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;[10] 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,[11] 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[12]
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.[13] It an't my
fault, 'tis Patrick's fault; pray now don't blame Presto. I walked today 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.[14] Sir
Thomas Mansel,[15] one of the Lords of the Treasury, setting me down at my
door to-day, saw Patrick, and swore he was a Teague-lander.[16] 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:[17] 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[18] 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[19] 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.[20] '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[21] 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;[22] 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;[23] 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.[24] 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,[25] I don't keep such company; an old dying fool whom I never was
with in my life. So I am no godfather;[26] all the better. Pray, Stella,
explain those two words of yours to me, what you mean by VILLIAN and
DAINGER;[27] 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.[28]--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.[29] 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[30]
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 20.
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,[1]
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.[2] 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.[3] 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;[4] 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 today, 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,[5] 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[6] 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[7] 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)[8] 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.[9] 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.[10] 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,[11] 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)[12] 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.[13]
But I had like to be drawn into a difficulty; for in two minutes out comes Mr.
Finch,[14] Lord Guernsey's son, to let me know that my Lord Compton,[15] 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,[16] 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 21.
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:[1] 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,[2] 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. Caesar,[3] 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[4]
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,[5] 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--
