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,[6] 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[7] 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,[8] 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,[9] 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[10] 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,[11] 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. Vanhomrigb, 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.[12] 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.[13] 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,[14] 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[15] 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,[16]
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,[17] who affirms
it, and says he has leave to do so from Charles Dering,[18] who heard the
words; and that Ingoldsby,[19] 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[20] 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,[21] 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,[22] 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.[23] 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[24] 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 22.
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,[1] 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[2] 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[3] 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,[4] 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,[5] 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,[6] 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?[7] 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[8] 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[9] 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[10] 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,[11] who is very red, but I believe won't be much
marked. As I was coming home, I met Sir George Beaumont[12] 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.[13] 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,[14] 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.[15] They fought at sword and pistol this morning in Tuttle
Fields,[16] 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,[17] 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[18] 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 23.
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[1] 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[2] was dead, Captain Cammock[3] 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[4] 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,[5] 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,[6] 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[7] 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[8] good as well as Presto.[9] 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.[10]
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.[11] 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,[12] who came to see me, on his going to Ireland; and with him I
send Mrs. Walls's tea, and three books[13] 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[14] 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,[15] hanged for treason in
Shaftesbury's plot. This noble person and I were brought acquainted, some
years ago, by Lady Berkeley.[16] 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,[17] 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[18] 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[19]
daughter, one Perry; perhaps you may have heard of him. His wife has sent him
here, to get a place from Lowndes;[20] 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.[21] 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.[22] 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[23] 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,[24] 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 24.
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[1] 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,"[2] 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[3] 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[4] 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,[5] 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,[6] 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. Today 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,[7] 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?[8] 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;[9] 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[10] 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.[11]
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[12] 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[13] neither, figgarkick soley?[14]
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[15] and his fine
lady. I never saw her before, nor think her near so handsome as she passes
for.--After dinner, Mr. Bertue[16] would not let me put ice in my wine, but
said my Lord Dorchester[17] 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[18] 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[19] a visit, with some more beldames. Then I went and drank
coffee, and made one or two puns, with Lord Pembroke,[20] 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?[21] 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,[22] as you say; but even much less of that than formerly,
only mornings and evenings, and very seldom in the day.--As for Joe,[23] 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[24] 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?[25] Why, 'tis a four-shilling book: has nobody carried it over?--No, I
believe Manley[26] will not lose his place; for his friend[27] 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[28] 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.[29] 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,[30] 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,[31] 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.[32] 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,[33] 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.[34] 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[35] may not hinder his father[36] 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 tomorrow 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.
