LONDON, _Sept._ 30, 1710.
HAN’T I brought myself into a fine _præmunire_, {22b} to begin writing
letters in whole sheets? and now I dare not leave it off. I cannot tell
whether you like these journal letters: I believe they would be dull to
me to read them over; but, perhaps, little MD is pleased to know how
Presto passes his time in her absence. I always begin my last the same
day I ended my former. I told you where I dined to-day at a tavern with
Stratford: Lewis, {23a} who is a great favourite of Harley’s, was to have
been with us; but he was hurried to Hampton Court, and sent his excuse;
and that next Wednesday he would introduce me to Harley. ’Tis good to
see what a lamentable confession the Whigs all make me of my ill usage:
but I mind them not. I am already represented to Harley as a
discontented person, that was used ill for not being Whig enough; and I
hope for good usage from him. The Tories drily tell me, I may make my
fortune, if I please; but I do not understand them—or rather, I do
understand them.
Oct. 1. To-day I dined at Molesworth’s, the Florence Envoy; and sat this
evening with my friend Darteneuf, {23b} whom you have heard me talk of;
the greatest punner of this town next myself. Have you smoked the
_Tatler_ that I writ? {23c} It is much liked here, and I think it a pure
{23d} one. To-morrow I go with Delaval, {23e} the Portugal Envoy, to
dine with Lord Halifax near Hampton Court. {23f} Your Manley’s brother,
a Parliament-man here, has gotten an employment; {24a} and I am informed
uses much interest to preserve his brother: and, to-day, I spoke to the
elder Frankland to engage his father (Postmaster here); and I hope he
will be safe, although he is cruelly hated by all the Tories of Ireland.
I have almost finished my lampoon, and will print it for revenge on a
certain great person. {24b} It has cost me but three shillings in meat
and drink since I came here, as thin as the town is. I laugh to see
myself so disengaged in these revolutions. Well, I must leave off, and
go write to Sir John Stanley, {24c} to desire him to engage Lady Hyde as
my mistress to engage Lord Hyde {24d} in favour of Mr. Pratt. {24e}
2. Lord Halifax was at Hampton Court at his lodgings, and I dined with
him there with Methuen, {24f} and Delaval, and the late Attorney-General.
{24g} I went to the Drawing-room before dinner (for the Queen was at
Hampton Court), and expected to see nobody; but I met acquaintance
enough. I walked in the gardens, saw the cartoons of Raphael, and other
things; and with great difficulty got from Lord Halifax, who would have
kept me to-morrow to show me his house and park, and improvements. We
left Hampton Court at sunset, and got here in a chariot and two horses
time enough by starlight. That’s something charms me mightily about
London; that you go dine a dozen miles off in October, stay all day, and
return so quickly: you cannot do anything like this in Dublin. {25a} I
writ a second penny post letter to your mother, and hear nothing of her.
Did I tell you that Earl Berkeley died last Sunday was se’nnight, at
Berkeley Castle, of a dropsy? Lord Halifax began a health to me to-day;
it was the Resurrection of the Whigs, which I refused unless he would add
their Reformation too and I told him he was the only Whig in England I
loved, or had any good opinion of.
3. This morning Stella’s sister {25b} came to me with a letter from her
mother, who is at Sheen; but will soon be in town, and will call to see
me: she gave me a bottle of palsy water, {25c} a small one, and desired I
would send it you by the first convenience, as I will; and she promises a
quart bottle of the same: your sister looked very well, and seems a good
modest sort of girl. I went then to Mr. Lewis, first secretary to Lord
Dartmouth, {25d} and favourite to Mr. Harley, who is to introduce me
to-morrow morning. Lewis had with him one Mr. Dyot, {25e} a Justice of
Peace, worth twenty thousand pounds, a Commissioner of the Stamp Office,
and married to a sister of Sir Philip Meadows, {26a} Envoy to the
Emperor. I tell you this, because it is odds but this Mr. Dyot will be
hanged; for he is discovered to have counterfeited stamped paper, in
which he was a Commissioner; and, with his accomplices, has cheated the
Queen of a hundred thousand pounds. You will hear of it before this come
to you, but may be not so particularly; and it is a very odd accident in
such a man. Smoke Presto writing news to MD. I dined to-day with Lord
Mountjoy at Kensington, and walked from thence this evening to town like
an emperor. Remember that yesterday, October 2, was a cruel hard frost,
with ice; and six days ago I was dying with heat. As thin as the town
is, I have more dinners than ever; and am asked this month by some
people, without being able to come for pre-engagements. Well, but I
should write plainer, when I consider Stella cannot read, {26b} and
Dingley is not so skilful at my ugly hand. I had to-night a letter from
Mr. Pratt, who tells me Joe will have his money when there are trustees
appointed by the Lord Lieutenant for receiving and disposing the linen
fund; and whenever those trustees are appointed, I will solicit whoever
is Lord Lieutenant, and am in no fear of succeeding. So pray tell or
write him word, and bid him not be cast down; for Ned Southwell {26c} and
Mr. Addison both think Pratt in the right. Don’t lose your money at
Manley’s to-night, sirrahs.
4. After I had put out my candle last night, my landlady came into my
room, with a servant of Lord Halifax, to desire I would go dine with him
at his house near Hampton Court; but I sent him word, I had business of
great importance that hindered me, etc. And to-day I was brought
privately to Mr. Harley, who received me with the greatest respect and
kindness imaginable: he has appointed me an hour on Saturday at four,
afternoon, when I will open my business to him; which expression I would
not use if I were a woman. I know you smoked it; but I did not till I
writ it. I dined to-day at Mr. Delaval’s, the Envoy for Portugal, with
Nic Rowe {27a} the poet, and other friends; and I gave my lampoon to be
printed. I have more mischief in my heart; and I think it shall go round
with them all, as this hits, and I can find hints. I am certain I
answered your 2d letter, and yet I do not find it here. I suppose it was
in my 4th: and why N. 2d, 3d; is it not enough to say, as I do, 1, 2, 3?
etc. I am going to work at another _Tatler_: {27b} I’ll be far enough
but I say the same thing over two or three times, just as I do when I am
talking to little MD; but what care I? they can read it as easily as I
can write it: I think I have brought these lines pretty straight again.
I fear it will be long before I finish two sides at this rate. Pray,
dear MD, when I occasionally give you any little commission mixed with my
letters, don’t forget it, as that to Morgan and Joe, etc., for I write
just as I can remember, otherwise I would put them all together. I was
to visit Mr. Sterne to-day, and give him your commission about
handkerchiefs: that of chocolate I will do myself, and send it him when
he goes, and you’ll pay me when _the giver’s bread_, {27c} etc. To-night
I will read a pamphlet, to amuse myself. God preserve your dear healths!
5. This morning Delaval came to see me, and we went together to
Kneller’s, {27d} who was not in town. In the way we met the electors for
Parliament-men: {28a} and the rabble came about our coach, crying, “A
Colt, a Stanhope,” etc. We were afraid of a dead cat, or our glasses
broken, and so were always of their side. I dined again at Delaval’s;
and in the evening, at the Coffee-house, heard Sir Andrew Fountaine {28b}
was come to town. This has been but an insipid sort of day, and I have
nothing to remark upon it worth threepence: I hope MD had a better, with
the Dean, the Bishop, or Mrs. Walls. {28c} Why, the reason you lost four
and eightpence last night but one at Manley’s was, because you played bad
games: I took notice of six that you had ten to one against you: Would
any but a mad lady go out twice upon Manilio; Basto, and two small
diamonds? {28d} Then in that game of spades, you blundered when you had
ten-ace; I never saw the like of you: and now you are in a huff because I
tell you this. Well, here’s two and eightpence halfpenny towards your
loss.
6. Sir Andrew Fountaine came this morning, and caught me writing in bed.
I went into the city with him; and we dined at the Chop-house with Will
Pate, {28e} the learned woollen-draper: then we sauntered at China-shops
{29a} and booksellers; went to the tavern, drank two pints of white wine,
and never parted till ten: and now I am come home, and must copy out some
papers I intend for Mr. Harley, whom I am to see, as I told you,
to-morrow afternoon; so that this night I shall say little to MD, but
that I heartily wish myself with them, and will come as soon as I either
fail, or compass my business. We now hear daily of elections; and, in a
list I saw yesterday of about twenty, there are seven or eight more
Tories than in the last Parliament; so that I believe they need not fear
a majority, with the help of those who will vote as the Court pleases.
But I have been told that Mr. Harley himself would not let the Tories be
too numerous, for fear they should be insolent, and kick against him; and
for that reason they have kept several Whigs in employments, who expected
to be turned out every day; as Sir John Holland the Comptroller, and many
others. And so get you gone to your cards, and your claret and orange,
at the Dean’s; and I’ll go write.
7. I wonder when this letter will be finished: it must go by Tuesday,
that’s certain; and if I have one from MD before, I will not answer it,
that’s as certain too. ’Tis now morning, and I did not finish my papers
for Mr. Harley last night; for you must understand Presto was sleepy, and
made blunders and blots. Very pretty that I must be writing to young
women in a morning fresh and fasting, faith. Well, good-morrow to you;
and so I go to business, and lay aside this paper till night, sirrahs.—At
night. Jack How {29b} told Harley that if there were a lower place in
hell than another, it was reserved for his porter, who tells lies so
gravely, and with so civil a manner. This porter I have had to deal
with, going this evening at four to visit Mr. Harley, by his own
appointment. But the fellow told me no lie, though I suspected every
word he said. He told me his master was just gone to dinner, with much
company, and desired I would come an hour hence: which I did, expecting
to hear Mr. Harley was gone out; but they had just done dinner. Mr.
Harley came out to me, brought me in, and presented to me his son-in-law
Lord Doblane {30a} (or some such name) and his own son, {30b} and, among
others, Will Penn {30c} the Quaker: we sat two hours drinking as good
wine as you do; and two hours more he and I alone; where he heard me tell
my business; entered into it with all kindness; asked for my powers, and
read them; and read likewise a memorial {30d} I had drawn up, and put it
in his pocket to show the Queen; told me the measures he would take; and,
in short, said everything I could wish: told me, he must bring Mr. St.
John {30e} (Secretary of State) and me acquainted; and spoke so many
things of personal kindness and esteem for me, that I am inclined half to
believe what some friends have told me, that he would do everything to
bring me over. He has desired to dine with me (what a comical mistake
was that!). I mean he has desired me to dine with him on Tuesday; and
after four hours being with him, set me down at St. James’s Coffee-house
in a hackney-coach. All this is odd and comical, if you consider him and
me. He knew my Christian name very well. I could not forbear saying
thus much upon this matter, although you will think it tedious. But I’ll
tell you; you must know, ’tis fatal {31a} to me to be a scoundrel and a
prince the same day: for, being to see him at four, I could not engage
myself to dine at any friend’s; so I went to Tooke, {31b} to give him a
ballad, and dine with him; but he was not at home: so I was forced to go
to a blind {31c} chop-house, and dine for tenpence upon gill-ale, {31d}
bad broth, and three chops of mutton; and then go reeking from thence to
the First Minister of State. And now I am going in charity to send
Steele a _Tatler_, who is very low of late. I think I am civiller than I
used to be; and have not used the expression of “you in Ireland” and “we
in England” as I did when I was here before, to your great
indignation.—They may talk of the you know what; {31e} but, gad, if it
had not been for that, I should never have been able to get the access I
have had; and if that helps me to succeed, then that same thing will be
serviceable to the Church. But how far we must depend upon new friends,
I have learnt by long practice, though I think among great Ministers,
they are just as good as old ones. And so I think this important day has
made a great hole in this side of the paper; and the fiddle-faddles of
to-morrow and Monday will make up the rest; and, besides, I shall see
Harley on Tuesday before this letter goes.
8. I must tell you a great piece of refinement {31f} of Harley. He
charged me to come to him often: I told him I was loth to trouble him in
so much business as he had, and desired I might have leave to come at his
levee; which he immediately refused, and said, that was not a place for
friends to come to. ’Tis now but morning; and I have got a foolish
trick, I must say something to MD when I wake, and wish them a
good-morrow; for this is not a shaving-day, Sunday, so I have time
enough: but get you gone, you rogues, I must go write: Yes, ’twill vex me
to the blood if any of these long letters should miscarry: if they do, I
will shrink to half-sheets again; but then what will you do to make up
the journal? there will be ten days of Presto’s life lost; and that will
be a sad thing, faith and troth.—At night. I was at a loss to-day for a
dinner, unless I would have gone a great way, so I dined with some
friends that board hereabout, {32a} as a spunger; {32b} and this evening
Sir Andrew Fountaine would needs have me go to the tavern; where, for two
bottles of wine, Portugal and Florence, among three of us, we had sixteen
shillings to pay; but if ever he catches me so again, I’ll spend as many
pounds: and therefore I have it among my extraordinaries but we had a
neck of mutton dressed _à la Maintenon_, that the dog could not eat: and
it is now twelve o’clock, and I must go sleep. I hope this letter will
go before I have MD’s third. Do you believe me? and yet, faith, I long
for MD’s third too and yet I would have it to say, that I writ five for
two. I am not fond at all of St. James’s Coffee-house, {32c} as I used
to be. I hope it will mend in winter; but now they are all out of town
at elections, or not come from their country houses. Yesterday I was
going with Dr. Garth {32d} to dine with Charles Main, {32e} near the
Tower, who has an employment there: he is of Ireland; the Bishop of
Clogher knows him well: an honest, good-natured fellow, a thorough hearty
laugher, mightily beloved by the men of wit: his mistress is never above
a cook-maid. And so, good-night, etc.
9. I dined to-day at Sir John Stanley’s; my Lady Stanley {32f} is one of
my favourites: I have as many here as the Bishop of Killala has in
Ireland. I am thinking what scurvy company I shall be to MD when I come
back: they know everything of me already: I will tell you no more, or I
shall have nothing to say, no story to tell, nor any kind of thing. I
was very uneasy last night with ugly, nasty, filthy wine, that turned
sour on my stomach. I must go to the tavern: oh, but I told you that
before. To-morrow I dine at Harley’s, and will finish this letter at my
return; but I can write no more now, because of the Archbishop: faith,
’tis true; for I am going now to write to him an account of what I have
done in the business with Harley: {33a} and, faith, young women, I’ll
tell you what you must count upon, that I never will write one word on
the third side in these long letters.
10. Poor MD’s letter was lying so huddled up among papers, I could not
find it: I mean poor Presto’s letter. Well, I dined with Mr. Harley
to-day, and hope some things will be done; but I must say no more: and
this letter must be sent to the post-house, and not by the bellman. {33b}
I am to dine again there on Sunday next; I hope to some good issue. And
so now, soon as ever I can in bed, I must begin my 6th to MD as gravely
as if I had not written a word this month: fine doings, faith! Methinks
I don’t write as I should, because I am not in bed: see the ugly wide
lines. God Almighty ever bless you, etc.
Faith, this is a whole treatise; I’ll go reckon the lines on the other
sides. I’ve reckoned them. {33c}