LONDON, _Dec._ 9, 1710.
SO, young women, I have just sent my tenth to the post-office, and, as I
told you, have received your seventh (faith, I am afraid I mistook, and
said your sixth, and then we shall be all in confusion this month.)
Well, I told you I dined with Lord Abercorn to-day; and that is enough
till by and bye; for I must go write idle things, and twittle twattle.
{87a} What’s here to do with your little MD’s? and so I put this by for
a while. ’Tis now late, and I can only say MD is a dear, saucy rogue,
and what then? Presto loves them the better.
10. This son of a b— Patrick is out of the way, and I can do nothing; am
forced to borrow coals: ’tis now six o’clock, and I am come home after a
pure walk in the park; delicate weather, begun only to-day. A terrible
storm last night: we hear one of your packet-boats is cast away, and
young Beau Swift {87b} in it, and General Sankey: {87c} I know not the
truth; you will before me. Raymond talks of leaving the town in a few
days, and going in a month to Ireland, for fear his wife should be too
far gone, and forced to be brought to bed here. I think he is in the
right; but perhaps this packet-boat will fright him. He has no relish
for London; and I do not wonder at it. He has got some Templars from
Ireland that show him the town. I do not let him see me above twice a
week, and that only while I am dressing in the morning.—So, now the
puppy’s come in, and I have got my own ink, but a new pen; and so now you
are rogues and sauceboxes till I go to bed; for I must go study, sirrahs.
Now I think of it, tell the Bishop of Clogher, he shall not cheat me of
one inch of my bell metal. You know it is nothing but to save the town
money; and Enniskillen can afford it better than Laracor: he shall have
but one thousand five hundred weight. I have been reading, etc., as
usual, and am now going to bed; and I find this day’s article is long
enough: so get you gone till to-morrow, and then. I dined with Sir
Matthew Dudley.
11. I am come home again as yesterday, and the puppy had again locked up
my ink, notwithstanding all I said to him yesterday; but he came home a
little after me, so all is well: they are lighting my fire, and I’ll go
study. The fair weather is gone again, and it has rained all day. I do
not like this open weather, though some say it is healthy. They say it
is a false report about the plague at Newcastle. {88a} I have no news
to-day: I dined with Mrs. Vanhomrigh, to desire them to buy me a scarf;
and Lady Abercorn {88b} is to buy me another, to see who does best: mine
is all in rags. I saw the Duke of Richmond {88c} yesterday at Court
again, but would not speak to him: I believe we are fallen out. I am now
in bed; and it has rained all this evening, like wildfire: have you so
much rain in your town? Raymond was in a fright, as I expected, upon the
news of this shipwreck; but I persuaded him, and he leaves this town in a
week. I got him acquainted with Sir Robert Raymond, {88d} the
Solicitor-General, who owns him to be of his family; and I believe it may
do him a kindness, by being recommended to your new Lord Chancellor.—I
had a letter from Mrs. Long, that has quite turned my stomach against
her: no less than two nasty jests in it, with dashes to suppose them.
She is corrupted in that country town {88e} with vile conversation.—I
will not answer your letter till I have leisure: so let this go on as it
will, what care I? what cares saucy Presto?
12. I was to-day at the Secretary’s office with Lewis, and in came Lord
Rivers; {88f} who took Lewis out and whispered him; and then came up to
me to desire my acquaintance, etc., so we bowed and complimented a while,
and parted and I dined with Phil. Savage {89a} and his Irish Club, at
their boarding-place; and, passing an evening scurvily enough, did not
come home till eight. Mr. Addison and I hardly meet once a fortnight;
his Parliament and my different friendships keep us asunder. Sir Matthew
Dudley turned away his butler yesterday morning; and at night the poor
fellow died suddenly in the streets: was not it an odd event? But what
care you? But then I knew the butler.—Why, it seems your packet-boat is
not lost: psha, how silly that is, when I had already gone through the
forms, and said it was a sad thing, and that I was sorry for it! But
when must I answer this letter of our MD’s? Here it is, it lies between
this paper on t’other side of the leaf: one of these odd-come-shortly’s
I’ll consider, and so good-night.
13. Morning. I am to go trapesing with Lady Kerry {89b} and Mrs. Pratt
{89c} to see sights all this day: they engaged me yesterday morning at
tea. You hear the havoc making in the army: Meredith, Maccartney, and
Colonel Honeywood {89d} are obliged to sell their commands at half-value,
and leave the army, for drinking destruction to the present Ministry, and
dressing up a hat on a stick, and calling it Harley; then drinking a
glass with one hand, and discharging a pistol with the other at the
maukin, {90a} wishing it were Harley himself; and a hundred other such
pretty tricks, as inflaming their soldiers, and foreign Ministers,
against the late changes at Court. Cadogan {90b} has had a little
paring: his mother {90c} told me yesterday he had lost the place of
Envoy; but I hope they will go no further with him, for he was not at
those mutinous meetings.—Well, these saucy jades take up so much of my
time with writing to them in a morning; but, faith, I am glad to see you
whenever I can: a little snap and away; and so hold your tongue, for I
must rise: not a word, for your life. How nowww? So, very well; stay
till I come home, and then, perhaps, you may hear further from me. And
where will you go to-day, for I can’t be with you for these ladies? It
is a rainy, ugly day. I’d have you send for Walls, and go to the Dean’s;
but don’t play small games when you lose. You’ll be ruined by Manilio,
Basto, the queen, and two small trumps, in red. {90d} I confess ’tis a
good hand against the player: but then there are Spadilio, Punto, the
king, strong trumps, against you, which, with one trump more, are three
tricks ten ace: for, suppose you play your Manilio—Oh, silly, how I
prate, and can’t get away from this MD in a morning! Go, get you gone,
dear naughty girls, and let me rise. There, Patrick locked up my ink
again the third time last night: the rogue gets the better of me; but I
will rise in spite of you, sirrahs.—At night. Lady Kerry, Mrs. Pratt,
Mrs. Cadogan, {90e} and I, in one coach; Lady Kerry’s son {91a} and his
governor, and two gentlemen, in another; maids, and misses and little
master (Lord Shelburne’s {91b} children), in a third, all hackneys, set
out at ten o’clock this morning from Lord Shelburne’s house in Piccadilly
to the Tower, and saw all the sights, lions, {91c} etc.; then to Bedlam;
{91d} then dined at the chop-house behind the Exchange; then to Gresham
College {91e} (but the keeper was not at home); and concluded the night
at the Puppet-show, {91f} whence we came home safe at eight, and I left
them. The ladies were all in mobs {91g} (how do you call it?), undrest;
and it was the rainiest day that ever dripped; and I am weary; and it is
now past eleven.
14. Stay, I’ll answer some of your letter this morning in bed: let me
see; come and appear, little letter. Here I am, says he: and what say
you to Mrs. MD this morning fresh and fasting? Who dares think MD
negligent? I allow them a fortnight; and they give it me. I could fill
a letter in a week; but it is longer every day; and so I keep it a
fortnight, and then ’tis cheaper by one half. I have never been giddy,
dear Stella, since that morning: I have taken a whole box of pills, and
kecked {91h} at them every night, and drank a pint of brandy at
mornings.—Oh then, you kept Presto’s little birthday: {92a} would to God
I had been with you! I forgot it, as I told you before. R_e_diculous,
madam? I suppose you mean r_i_diculous: let me have no more of that;
’tis the author of the _Atalantis’s_ {92b} spelling. I have mended it in
your letter. And can Stella read this writing without hurting her dear
eyes? O, faith, I am afraid not. Have a care of those eyes, pray, pray,
pretty Stella.—’Tis well enough what you observe, that, if I writ better,
perhaps you would not read so well, being used to this manner; ’tis an
alphabet you are used to: you know such a pot-hook makes a letter; and
you know what letter, and so and so.—I’ll swear he told me so, and that
they were long letters too; but I told him it was a gasconnade of yours,
etc. I am talking of the Bishop of Clogher, how he forgot. Turn over.
{92c} I had not room on t’other side to say that, so I did it on this: I
fancy that’s a good Irish blunder. Ah, why do not you go down to
Clogher, nautinautinautideargirls; I dare not say _nauti_ without _dear_:
O, faith, you govern me. But, seriously, I’m sorry you don’t go, as far
as I can judge at this distance. No, we would get you another horse; I
will make Parvisol get you one. I always doubted that horse of yours:
prythee sell him, and let it be a present to me. My heart aches when I
think you ride him. Order Parvisol to sell him, and that you are to
return me the money: I shall never be easy until he is out of your hands.
Faith, I have dreamt five or six times of horses stumbling since I had
your letter. If he can’t sell him, let him run this winter. Faith, if I
was near you, I would whip your — to some tune, for your grave, saucy
answer about the Dean and _Johnsonibus_; I would, young women. And did
the Dean preach for me? {93a} Very well. Why, would they have me stand
here and preach to them? No, the _Tatler_ of the Shilling {93b} was not
mine, more than the hint, and two or three general heads for it. I have
much more important business on my hands; and, besides, the Ministry hate
to think that I should help him, and have made reproaches on it; and I
frankly told them I would do it no more. This is a secret though, Madam
Stella. You win eight shillings? you win eight fiddlesticks. Faith, you
say nothing of what you lose, young women.—I hope Manley is in no great
danger; for Ned Southwell is his friend, and so is Sir Thomas Frankland;
and his brother John Manley stands up heartily for him. On t’other side,
all the gentlemen of Ireland here are furiously against him. Now,
Mistress Dingley, an’t you an impudent slut, to expect a letter next
packet from Presto, when you confess yourself that you had so lately two
letters in four days? Unreasonable baggage! No, little Dingley, I am
always in bed by twelve; I mean my candle is out by twelve, and I take
great care of myself. Pray let everybody know, upon occasion, that Mr.
Harley got the First-Fruits from the Queen for the clergy of Ireland, and
that nothing remains but the forms, etc. So you say the Dean and you
dined at Stoyte’s, and Mrs. Stoyte was in raptures that I remembered her.
I must do it but seldom, or it will take off her rapture. But what now,
you saucy sluts? all this written in a morning, and I must rise and go
abroad. Pray stay till night: do not think I will squander mornings upon
you, pray, good madam. Faith, if I go on longer in this trick of writing
in the morning, I shall be afraid of leaving it off, and think you expect
it, and be in awe. Good-morrow, sirrahs, I will rise.—At night. I went
to-day to the Court of Requests (I will not answer the rest of your
letter yet, that by the way), in hopes to dine with Mr. Harley: but Lord
Dupplin, {94a} his son-in-law, told me he did not dine at home; so I was
at a loss, until I met with Mr. Secretary St. John, and went home and
dined with him, where he told me of a good bite. {94b} Lord Rivers told
me two days ago, that he was resolved to come Sunday fortnight next to
hear me preach before the Queen. I assured him the day was not yet
fixed, and I knew nothing of it. To-day the Secretary told me that his
father, Sir Harry St. John, {94c} and Lord Rivers were to be at St.
James’s Church, to hear me preach there; and were assured I was to
preach: so there will be another bite; for I know nothing of the matter,
but that Mr. Harley and St. John are resolved I must preach before the
Queen; and the Secretary of State has told me he will give me three
weeks’ warning; but I desired to be excused, which he will not. St.
John, “You shall not be excused”: however, I hope they will forget it;
for if it should happen, all the puppies hereabouts will throng to hear
me, and expect something wonderful, and be plaguily baulked; for I shall
preach plain honest stuff. I stayed with St. John till eight, and then
came home; and Patrick desired leave to go abroad, and by and by comes up
the girl to tell me, a gentleman was below in a coach, who had a bill to
pay me; so I let him come up, and who should it be but Mr. Addison and
Sam Dopping, to haul me out to supper, where I stayed till twelve. If
Patrick had been at home, I should have ’scaped this; for I have taught
him to deny me almost as well as Mr. Harley’s porter.—Where did I leave
off in MD’s letter? let me see. So, now I have it. You are pleased to
say, Madam Dingley, that those who go for England can never tell when to
come back. Do you mean this as a reflection upon Presto, madam?
Sauceboxes, I will come back as soon as I can, as hope saved, {95a} and I
hope with some advantage, unless all Ministries be alike, as perhaps they
may. I hope Hawkshaw is in Dublin before now, and that you have your
things, and like your spectacles: if you do not, you shall have better.
I hope Dingley’s tobacco did not spoil Stella’s chocolate, and that all
is safe: pray let me know. Mr. Addison and I are different as black and
white, and I believe our friendship will go off, by this damned business
of party: he cannot bear seeing me fall in so with this Ministry: but I
love him still as well as ever, though we seldom meet.—Hussy, Stella, you
jest about poor Congreve’s eyes; {95b} you do so, hussy; but I’ll bang
your bones, faith.—Yes, Steele was a little while in prison, or at least
in a spunging-house, some time before I came, but not since. {95c}—Pox on
your convocations, and your Lamberts; {95d} they write with a vengeance!
I suppose you think it a piece of affectation in me to wish your Irish
folks would not like my “Shower,”; but you are mistaken. I should be
glad to have the general applause there as I have here (though I say it);
but I have only that of one or two, and therefore I would have none at
all, but let you all be in the wrong. I don’t know, this is not what I
would say; but I am so tosticated with supper and stuff, that I can’t
express myself.—What you say of “Sid Hamet” is well enough; that an enemy
should like it, and a friend not; and that telling the author would make
both change their opinions. Why did you not tell Griffyth {95e} that you
fancied there was something in it of my manner; but first spur up his
commendation to the height, as we served my poor uncle about the sconce
that I mended? Well, I desired you to give what I intended for an answer
to Mrs. Fenton, {96a} to save her postage, and myself trouble; and I hope
I have done it, if you han’t.
15. Lord, what a long day’s writing was yesterday’s answer to your
letter, sirrahs! I dined to-day with Lewis and Ford, whom I have brought
acquainted. Lewis told me a pure thing. I had been hankering with Mr.
Harley to save Steele his other employment, and have a little mercy on
him; and I had been saying the same thing to Lewis, who is Mr. Harley’s
chief favourite. Lewis tells Mr. Harley how kindly I should take it, if
he would be reconciled to Steele, etc. Mr. Harley, on my account, falls
in with it, and appoints Steele a time to let him attend him, which
Steele accepts with great submission, but never comes, nor sends any
excuse. Whether it was blundering, sullenness, insolence, or rancour of
party, I cannot tell; but I shall trouble myself no more about him. I
believe Addison hindered him out of mere spite, being grated {96b} to the
soul to think he should ever want my help to save his friend; yet now he
is soliciting me to make another of his friends Queen’s Secretary at
Geneva; and I’ll do it if I can; it is poor Pastoral Philips. {96c}
16. O, why did you leave my picture behind you at t’other lodgings?
Forgot it? Well; but pray remember it now, and don’t roll it up, d’ye
hear; but hang it carefully in some part of your room, where chairs and
candles and mop-sticks won’t spoil it, sirrahs. No, truly, I will not be
godfather to Goody Walls this bout, and I hope she will have no more.
There will be no quiet nor cards for this child. I hope it will die the
day after the christening. Mr. Harley gave me a paper, with an account
of the sentence you speak of against the lads that defaced the statue,
{97a} and that Ingoldsby {97b} reprieved that part of it of standing
before the statue. I hope it was never executed. We have got your
Broderick out; {97c} Doyne {97d} is to succeed him, and Cox {97e} Doyne.
And so there’s an end of your letter; ’tis all answered; and now I must
go on upon my own stock. Go on, did I say? Why, I have written enough;
but this is too soon to send it yet, young women; faith, I dare not use
you to it, you’ll always expect it; what remains shall be only short
journals of a day, and so I’ll rise for this morning.—At night. I dined
with my opposite neighbour, Darteneuf; and I was soliciting this day to
present the Bishop of Clogher Vice-Chancellor; {97f} but it won’t do;
they are all set against him, and the Duke of Ormond, they say, has
resolved to dispose of it somewhere else. Well; little saucy rogues, do
not stay out too late to-night, because it is Saturday night, and young
women should come home soon then.
17. I went to Court to seek a dinner: but the Queen was not at church,
she has got a touch of the gout; so the Court was thin, and I went to the
Coffee-house; and Sir Thomas Frankland and his eldest son and I went and
dined with his son William. {98a} I talked a great deal to Sir Thomas
about Manley; and find he is his good friend, and so has Ned Southwell
been, and I hope he will be safe, though all the Irish folks here are his
mortal enemies. There was a devilish bite to-day. They had it, I know
not how, that I was to preach this morning at St. James’s Church; an
abundance went, among the rest Lord Radnor, who never is abroad till
three in the afternoon. I walked all the way home from Hatton Garden at
six, by moonlight, a delicate night. Raymond called at nine, but I was
denied; and now I am in bed between eleven and twelve, just going to
sleep, and dream of my own dear roguish impudent pretty MD.
18. You will now have short days’ works, just a few lines to tell you
where I am, and what I am doing; only I will keep room for the last day
to tell you news, if there be any worth sending. I have been sometimes
like to do it at the top of my letter, until I remark it would be old
before it reached you. I was hunting to dine with Mr. Harley to-day, but
could not find him; and so I dined with honest Dr. Cockburn, and came
home at six, and was taken out to next door by Dopping and Ford, to drink
bad claret and oranges; and we let Raymond come to us, who talks of
leaving the town to-morrow, but I believe will stay a day or two longer.
It is now late, and I will say no more, but end this line with bidding my
own dear saucy MD good-night, etc.
19. I am come down proud stomach in one instance, for I went to-day to
see the Duke of Buckingham, {98b} but came too late: then I visited Mrs.
Barton, {98c} and thought to have dined with some of the Ministry; but it
rained, and Mrs. Vanhomrigh was nigh, and I took the opportunity of
paying her for a scarf she bought me, and dined there; at four I went to
congratulate with Lord Shelburne, for the death of poor Lady Shelburne
dowager; {99a} he was at his country house, and returned while I was
there, and had not heard of it, and he took it very well. I am now come
home before six, and find a packet from the Bishop of Clogher, with one
enclosed to the Duke of Ormond, which is ten days earlier dated than
another I had from Parvisol; however, ’tis no matter, for the Duke has
already disposed of the Vice-Chancellorship to the Archbishop of Tuam,
{99b} and I could not help it, for it is a thing wholly you know in the
Duke’s power; and I find the Bishop has enemies about the Duke. I write
this while Patrick is folding up my scarf, and doing up the fire (for I
keep a fire, it costs me twelvepence a week); and so be quiet till I am
gone to bed, and then sit down by me a little, and we will talk a few
words more. Well; now MD is at my bedside; and now what shall we say?
How does Mrs. Stoyte? What had the Dean for supper? How much did Mrs.
Walls win? Poor Lady Shelburne: well, go get you to bed, sirrahs.
20. Morning. I was up this morning early, and shaved by candlelight,
and write this by the fireside. Poor Raymond just came in and took his
leave of me; he is summoned by high order from his wife, but pretends he
has had enough of London. I was a little melancholy to part with him; he
goes to Bristol, where they are to be with his merchant brother, and now
thinks of staying till May; so she must be brought to bed in England. He
was so easy and manageable, that I almost repent I suffered him to see me
so seldom. But he is gone, and will save Patrick some lies in a week:
Patrick is grown admirable at it, and will make his fortune. How now,
sirrah, must I write in a morning to your impudence?
Stay till night,
And then I’ll write,
In black and white,
By candlelight,
Of wax so bright,
It helps the sight—
A bite, a bite!
Marry come up, Mistress Boldface.—At night. Dr. Raymond came back, and
goes to-morrow. I did not come home till eleven, and found him here to
take leave of me. I went to the Court of Requests, thinking to find Mr.
Harley and dine with him, and refused Henley, and everybody, and at last
knew not where to go, and met Jemmy Leigh by chance, and he was just in
the same way, so I dined at his lodgings on a beef-steak, and drank your
health; then left him and went to the tavern with Ben Tooke and Portlack,
the Duke of Ormond’s secretary, drinking nasty white wine till eleven. I
am sick, and ashamed of it, etc.
21. I met that beast Ferris, Lord Berkeley’s {100a} steward formerly; I
walked with him a turn in the Park, and that scoundrel dog is as happy as
an emperor, has married a wife with a considerable estate in land and
houses about this town, and lives at his ease at Hammersmith. See your
confounded sect! {100b} Well; I had the same luck to-day with Mr.
Harley; ’twas a lovely day, and went by water into the City, and dined
with Stratford at a merchant’s house, and walked home with as great a
dunce as Ferris, I mean honest Colonel Caulfeild, {100c} and came home by
eight, and now am in bed, and going to sleep for a wager, and will send
this letter on Saturday, and so; but first I will wish you a merry
Christmas and a happy New Year, and pray God we may never keep them
asunder again.
22. Morning. I am going now to Mr. Harley’s levee on purpose to vex
him; I will say I had no other way of seeing him, etc. Patrick says it
is a dark morning, and that the Duke of Argyle {101a} is to be knighted
to-day; the booby means installed at Windsor. But I must rise, for this
is a shaving-day, and Patrick says there is a good fire; I wish MD were
by it, or I by MD’s.—At night. I forgot to tell you, Madam Dingley, that
I paid nine shillings for your glass and spectacles, of which three were
for the Bishop’s case: I am sorry I did not buy you such another case;
but if you like it, I will bring one over with me; pray tell me: the
glass to read was four shillings, the spectacles two. And have you had
your chocolate? Leigh says he sent the petticoat by one Mr. Spencer.
Pray have you no further commissions for me? I paid the glass-man but
last night, and he would have made me a present of the microscope worth
thirty shillings, and would have sent it home along with me; I thought
the deuce was in the man: he said I could do him more service than that
was worth, etc. I refused his present, but promised him all service I
could do him; and so now I am obliged in honour to recommend him to
everybody.—At night. I went to Mr. Harley’s levee; he came and asked me
what I had to do there, and bid me come and dine with him on a family
dinner; which I did, and it was the first time I ever saw his lady {101b}
and daughter; {101c} at five my Lord Keeper {101d} came in: I told Mr.
Harley, he had formerly presented me to Sir Simon Harcourt, but now must
to my Lord Keeper; so he laughed, etc.
23. Morning. This letter goes to-night without fail; I hope there is
none from you yet at the Coffee-house; I will send and see by and by, and
let you know, and so and so. Patrick goes to see for a letter: what will
you lay, is there one from MD or no? No, I say; done for sixpence. Why
has the Dean never once written to me? I won sixpence; I won sixpence;
there is not one letter to Presto. Good-morrow, dear sirrahs: Stratford
and I dine to-day with Lord Mountjoy. God Almighty preserve and bless
you; farewell, etc.
I have been dining at Lord Mountjoy’s; and am come to study; our news
from Spain this post takes off some of our fears. The Parliament is
prorogued to-day, or adjourned rather till after the holidays. Bank
Stock is 105, so I may get 12 shillings for my bargain already. Patrick,
the puppy, is abroad, and how shall I send this letter? Good-night,
little dears both, and be happy; and remember your poor Presto, that
wants you sadly, as hope saved. Let me go study, naughty girls, and
don’t keep me at the bottom of the paper. O, faith, if you knew what
lies on my hands constantly, you would wonder to see how I could write
such long letters; but we’ll talk of that some other time. Good-night
again, and God bless dear MD with His best blessings, yes, yes, and
Dingley and Stella and me too, etc.
Ask the Bishop of Clogher about the pun I sent him of Lord Stawel’s
brother; {102} it will be a pure bite. This letter has 199 lines in it,
beside all postscripts; I had a curiosity to reckon.
There is a long letter for you.
It is longer than a sermon, faith.
I had another letter from Mrs. Fenton, who says you were with her; I hope
you did not go on purpose. I will answer her letter soon; it is about
some money in Lady Giffard’s hands.
They say you have had eight packets due to you; so pray, madams, do not
blame Presto, but the wind.
My humble service to Mrs. Walls and Mrs. Stoyte; I missed the former a
good while.