LONDON, _Oct._ 19, 1710.
FAITH, I am undone! this paper is larger than the other, and yet I am
condemned to a sheet; but, since it is MD, I did not value though I were
condemned to a pair. I told you in my letter to-day where I had been,
and how the day passed; and so, etc.
20. To-day I went to Mr. Lewis, at the Secretary’s office, to know when
I might see Mr. Harley; and by and by comes up Mr. Harley himself, and
appoints me to dine with him to-morrow. I dined with Mrs. Vanhomrigh,
{44a} and went to wait on the two Lady Butlers; {44b} but the porter
answered they were not at home: the meaning was, the youngest, Lady Mary,
is to be married to-morrow to Lord Ashburnham, {44c} the best match now
in England, twelve thousand pounds a year, and abundance of money. Tell
me how my “Shower” is liked in Ireland: I never knew anything pass better
here. I spent the evening with Wortley Montagu {45a} and Mr. Addison,
over a bottle of Irish wine. Do they know anything in Ireland of my
greatness among the Tories? Everybody reproaches me of it here; but I
value them not. Have you heard of the verses about the “Rod of Sid
Hamet”? Say nothing of them for your life. Hardly anybody suspects me
for them; only they think nobody but Prior or I could write them. But I
doubt they have not reached you. There is likewise a ballad full of puns
on the Westminster Election, {45b} that cost me half an hour: it runs,
though it be good for nothing. But this is likewise a secret to all but
MD. If you have them not, I will bring them over.
21. I got MD’s fourth to-day at the Coffee-house. God Almighty bless
poor, dear Stella, and her eyes and head! What shall we do to cure them?
poor, dear life! Your disorders are a pull-back for your good qualities.
Would to Heaven I were this minute shaving your poor, dear head, either
here or there! Pray do not write, nor read this letter, nor anything
else; and I will write plainer for Dingley to read from henceforward,
though my pen is apt to ramble when I think whom I am writing to. I will
not answer your letter until I tell you that I dined this day with Mr.
Harley, who presented me to the Earl of Stirling, {45c} a Scotch lord;
and in the evening came in Lord Peterborow. I stayed till nine before
Mr. Harley would let me go, or tell me anything of my affair. He says
the Queen has now granted the First-Fruits and Twentieth Parts; but he
will not give me leave to write to the Archbishop, because the Queen
designs to signify it to the Bishops in Ireland in form; and to take
notice, that it was done upon a memorial from me; which, Mr. Harley tells
me he does to make it look more respectful to me, etc.; and I am to see
him on Tuesday. I know not whether I told you that, in my memorial which
was given to the Queen, I begged for two thousand pounds a year more,
though it was not in my commission; but that, Mr. Harley says, cannot yet
be done, and that he and I must talk of it further: however, I have
started it, and it may follow in time. Pray say nothing of the
First-Fruits being granted, unless I give leave at the bottom of this. I
believe never anything was compassed so soon, and purely done by my
personal credit with Mr. Harley, who is so excessively obliging, that I
know not what to make of it, unless to show the rascals of the other
party that they used a man unworthily who had deserved better. The
memorial given to the Queen from me speaks with great plainness of Lord
Wharton. I believe this business is as important to you as the
Convocation disputes from Tisdall. {46} I hope in a month or two all the
forms of settling this matter will be over; and then I shall have nothing
to do here. I will only add one foolish thing more, because it is just
come into my head. When this thing is made known, tell me impartially
whether they give any of the merit to me, or no; for I am sure I have so
much, that I will never take it upon me.—Insolent sluts! because I say
Dublin, Ireland, therefore you must say London, England: that is Stella’s
malice.—Well, for that I will not answer your letter till to-morrow-day,
and so and so: I will go write something else, and it will not be much;
for ’tis late.
22. I was this morning with Mr. Lewis, the under-secretary to Lord
Dartmouth, two hours, talking politics, and contriving to keep Steele in
his office of stamped paper: he has lost his place of Gazetteer, three
hundred pounds a year, for writing a _Tatler_, {47a} some months ago,
against Mr. Harley, who gave it him at first, and raised the salary from
sixty to three hundred pounds. This was devilish ungrateful; and Lewis
was telling me the particulars: but I had a hint given me, that I might
save him in the other employment: and leave was given me to clear matters
with Steele. Well, I dined with Sir Matthew Dudley, and in the evening
went to sit with Mr. Addison, and offer the matter at distance to him, as
the discreeter person; but found party had so possessed him, that he
talked as if he suspected me, and would not fall in with anything I said.
So I stopped short in my overture, and we parted very drily; and I shall
say nothing to Steele, and let them do as they will; but, if things stand
as they are, he will certainly lose it, unless I save him; and therefore
I will not speak to him, that I may not report to his disadvantage. Is
not this vexatious? and is there so much in the proverb of proffered
service? When shall I grow wise? I endeavour to act in the most exact
points of honour and conscience; and my nearest friends will not
understand it so. What must a man expect from his enemies? This would
vex me, but it shall not; and so I bid you good-night, etc.
23. I know ’tis neither wit nor diversion to tell you every day where I
dine; neither do I write it to fill my letter; but I fancy I shall, some
time or other, have the curiosity of seeing some particulars how I passed
my life when I was absent from MD this time; and so I tell you now that I
dined to-day at Molesworth’s, the Florence Envoy, then went to the
Coffee-house, where I behaved myself coldly enough to Mr. Addison, and so
came home to scribble. We dine together to-morrow and next day by
invitation; but I shall alter my behaviour to him, till he begs my
pardon, or else we shall grow bare acquaintance. I am weary of friends;
and friendships are all monsters, but MD’s.
24. I forgot to tell you, that last night I went to Mr. Harley’s,
hoping—faith, I am blundering, for it was this very night at six; and I
hoped he would have told me all things were done and granted: but he was
abroad, and came home ill, and was gone to bed, much out of order, unless
the porter lied. I dined to-day at Sir Matthew Dudley’s, with Mr.
Addison, etc.
25. I was to-day to see the Duke of Ormond; and, coming out, met Lord
Berkeley of Stratton, {48a} who told me that Mrs. Temple, {48b} the
widow, died last Saturday, which, I suppose, is much to the outward grief
and inward joy of the family. I dined to-day with Addison and Steele,
and a sister of Mr. Addison, who is married to one Mons. Sartre, {48c} a
Frenchman, prebendary of Westminster, who has a delicious house and
garden; yet I thought it was a sort of monastic life in those cloisters,
and I liked Laracor better. Addison’s sister is a sort of a wit, very
like him. I am not fond of her, etc.
26. I was to-day to see Mr. Congreve, {48d} who is almost blind with
cataracts growing on his eyes; and his case is, that he must wait two or
three years, until the cataracts are riper, and till he is quite blind,
and then he must have them couched; and, besides, he is never rid of the
gout, yet he looks young and fresh, and is as cheerful as ever. He is
younger by three years or more than I; and I am twenty years younger than
he. He gave me a pain in the great toe, by mentioning the gout. I find
such suspicions frequently, but they go off again. I had a second letter
from Mr. Morgan, {49a} for which I thank you: I wish you were whipped,
for forgetting to send him that answer I desired you in one of my former,
that I could do nothing for him of what he desired, having no credit at
all, etc. Go, be far enough, you negligent baggages. I have had also a
letter from Parvisol, with an account how my livings are set; and that
they are fallen, since last year, sixty pounds. A comfortable piece of
news! He tells me plainly that he finds you have no mind to part with
the horse, because you sent for him at the same time you sent him my
letter; so that I know not what must be done. It is a sad thing that
Stella must have her own horse, whether Parvisol will or no. So now to
answer your letter that I had three or four days ago. I am not now in
bed, but am come home by eight; and, it being warm, I write up. I never
writ to the Bishop of Killala, which, I suppose, was the reason he had
not my letter. I have not time, there is the short of it.—As fond as the
Dean {49b} is of my letter, he has not written to me. I would only know
whether Dean Bolton {49c} paid him the twenty pounds; and for the rest,
he may kiss—And that you may ask him, because I am in pain about it, that
Dean Bolton is such a whipster. ’Tis the most obliging thing in the
world in Dean Sterne to be so kind to you. I believe he knows it will
please me, and makes up, that way, his other usage. {49d} No, we have
had none of your snow, but a little one morning; yet I think it was great
snow for an hour or so, but no longer. I had heard of Will Crowe’s {49e}
death before, but not the foolish circumstance that hastened his end.
No, I have taken care that Captain Pratt {50a} shall not suffer by Lord
Anglesea’s death. {50b} I will try some contrivance to get a copy of my
picture from Jervas. I will make Sir Andrew Fountaine buy one as for
himself, and I will pay him again, and take it, that is, provided I have
money to spare when I leave this.—Poor John! is he gone? and Madam
Parvisol {50c} has been in town! Humm. Why, Tighe {50d} and I, when he
comes, shall not take any notice of each other; I would not do it much in
this town, though we had not fallen out.—I was to-day at Mr. Sterne’s
lodging: he was not within; and Mr. Leigh is not come to town; but I will
do Dingley’s errand when I see him. What do I know whether china be dear
or no? I once took a fancy of resolving to grow mad for it, but now it
is off; I suppose I told you in some former letter. And so you only want
some salad-dishes, and plates, and etc. Yes, yes, you shall. I suppose
you have named as much as will cost five pounds.—Now to Stella’s little
postscript; and I am almost crazed that you vex yourself for not writing.
Cannot you dictate to Dingley, and not strain your little, dear eyes? I
am sure it is the grief of my soul to think you are out of order. Pray
be quiet; and, if you will write, shut your eyes, and write just a line,
and no more, thus, “How do you do, Mrs. Stella?” That was written with
my eyes shut. Faith, I think it is better than when they are open: and
then Dingley may stand by, and tell you when you go too high or too
low.—My letters of business, with packets, if there be any more occasion
for such, must be enclosed to Mr. Addison, at St. James’s Coffee-house:
but I hope to hear, as soon as I see Mr. Harley, that the main
difficulties are over, and that the rest will be but form.—Take two or
three nutgalls, take two or three—galls, stop your receipt in your—I have
no need on’t. Here is a clutter! Well, so much for your letter, which I
will now put up in my letter-partition in my cabinet, as I always do
every letter as soon as I answer it. Method is good in all things.
Order governs the world. The Devil is the author of confusion. A
general of an army, a minister of state; to descend lower, a gardener, a
weaver, etc. That may make a fine observation, if you think it worth
finishing; but I have not time. Is not this a terrible long piece for
one evening? I dined to-day with Patty Rolt at my cousin Leach’s, {51a}
with a pox, in the City: he is a printer, and prints the _Postman_, oh
hoo, and is my cousin, God knows how, and he married Mrs. Baby Aires of
Leicester; and my cousin Thomson was with us: and my cousin Leach offers
to bring me acquainted with the author of the _Postman_; {51b} and says
he does not doubt but the gentleman will be glad of my acquaintance; and
that he is a very ingenious man, and a great scholar, and has been beyond
sea. But I was modest and said, may be the gentleman was shy, and not
fond of new acquaintance; and so put it off: and I wish you could hear me
repeating all I have said of this in its proper tone, just as I am
writing it. It is all with the same cadence with “Oh hoo,” or as when
little girls say, “I have got an apple, miss, and I won’t give you some.”
It is plaguy twelvepenny weather this last week, and has cost me ten
shillings in coach and chair hire. If the fellow that has your money
will pay it, let me beg you to buy Bank Stock with it, which is fallen
near thirty per cent. and pays eight pounds per cent. and you have the
principal when you please: it will certainly soon rise. I would to God
Lady Giffard would put in the four hundred pounds she owes you, {51c} and
take the five per cent. common interest, and give you the remainder. I
will speak to your mother about it when I see her. I am resolved to buy
three hundred pounds of it for myself, and take up what I have in
Ireland; and I have a contrivance for it, that I hope will do, by making
a friend of mine buy it as for himself, and I will pay him when I can get
in my money. I hope Stratford will do me that kindness. I’ll ask him
to-morrow or next day.
27. Mr. Rowe {52a} the poet desired me to dine with him to-day. I went
to his office (he is under-secretary in Mr. Addison’s place that he had
in England), and there was Mr. Prior; and they both fell commending my
“Shower” beyond anything that has been written of the kind: there never
was such a “Shower” since Danae’s, etc. You must tell me how it is liked
among you. I dined with Rowe; Prior could not come: and after dinner we
went to a blind tavern, {52b} where Congreve, Sir Richard Temple, {52c}
Estcourt, {52d} and Charles Main, {52e} were over a bowl of bad punch.
The knight sent for six flasks of his own wine for me, and we stayed till
twelve. But now my head continues pretty well; I have left off my
drinking, and only take a spoonful mixed with water, for fear of the
gout, or some ugly distemper; and now, because it is late, I will, etc.
28. Garth and Addison and I dined to-day at a hedge {52f} tavern; then I
went to Mr. Harley, but he was denied, or not at home: so I fear I shall
not hear my business is done before this goes. Then I visited Lord
Pembroke, {52g} who is just come to town; and we were very merry talking
of old things; and I hit him with one pun. Then I went to see the Ladies
Butler, and the son of a whore of a porter denied them: so I sent them a
threatening message by another lady, for not excepting me always to the
porter. I was weary of the Coffee-house, and Ford {53a} desired me to
sit with him at next door; which I did, like a fool, chatting till
twelve, and now am got into bed. I am afraid the new Ministry is at a
terrible loss about money: the Whigs talk so, it would give one the
spleen; and I am afraid of meeting Mr. Harley out of humour. They think
he will never carry through this undertaking. God knows what will come
of it. I should be terribly vexed to see things come round again: it
will ruin the Church and clergy for ever; but I hope for better. I will
send this on Tuesday, whether I hear any further news of my affair or
not.
29. Mr. Addison and I dined to-day with Lord Mountjoy; which is all the
adventures of this day.—I chatted a while to-night in the Coffee-house,
this being a full night; and now am come home, to write some business.
30. I dined to-day at Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s, and sent a letter to poor Mrs.
Long, {53b} who writes to us, but is God knows where, and will not tell
anybody the place of her residence. I came home early, and must go
write.
31. The month ends with a fine day; and I have been walking, and
visiting Lewis, and concerting where to see Mr. Harley. I have no news
to send you. Aire, {53c} they say, is taken, though the Whitehall
letters this morning say quite the contrary: ’tis good, if it be true. I
dined with Mr. Addison and Dick Stewart, Lord Mountjoy’s brother; {53d} a
treat of Addison’s. They were half-fuddled, but not I; for I mixed water
with my wine, and left them together between nine and ten; and I must
send this by the bellman, which vexes me, but I will put it off no
longer. Pray God it does not miscarry. I seldom do so; but I can put
off little MD no longer. Pray give the under note to Mrs. Brent.
I am a pretty gentleman; and you lose all your money at cards, sirrah
Stella. I found you out; I did so.
I am staying before I can fold up this letter, till that ugly D is dry in
the last line but one. Do not you see it? O Lord, I am loth to leave
you, faith—but it must be so, till the next time. Pox take that D; I
will blot it, to dry it.