LONDON, _Jan._ 4, 1710–11.
I WAS going into the City (where I dined) and put my 12th, with my own
fair hands, into the post-office as I came back, which was not till nine
this night. I dined with people that you never heard of, nor is it worth
your while to know; an authoress and a printer. {118a} I walked home for
exercise, and at eleven got to bed; and, all the while I was undressing
myself, there was I speaking monkey things in air, just as if MD had been
by, and did not recollect myself till I got into bed. I writ last night
to the Archbishop, and told him the warrant was drawn for the
First-Fruits; and I told him Lord Peterborow was set out for his journey
to Vienna; but it seems the Lords have addressed to have him stay, to be
examined about Spanish affairs, upon this defeat there, and to know where
the fault lay, etc. So I writ to the Archbishop a lie; but I think it
was not a sin.
5. Mr. Secretary St. John sent for me this morning so early, that I was
forced to go without shaving, which put me quite out of method. I called
at Mr. Ford’s, and desired him to lend me a shaving; and so made a shift
to get into order again. Lord! here is an impertinence: Sir Andrew
Fountaine’s mother and sister {118b} are come above a hundred miles, from
Worcester, to see him before he died. They got here but yesterday; and
he must have been past hopes, or past fears, before they could reach him.
I fell a scolding when I heard they were coming; and the people about him
wondered at me, and said what a mighty content it would be on both sides
to die when they were with him! I knew the mother; she is the greatest
Overdo {118c} upon earth; and the sister, they say, is worse; the poor
man will relapse again among them. Here was the scoundrel brother always
crying in the outer room till Sir Andrew was in danger; and the dog was
to have all his estate if he died; and it is an ignorant, worthless,
scoundrel-rake: and the nurses were comforting him, and desiring he would
not take on so. I dined to-day the first time with Ophy Butler {119a}
and his wife; and you supped with the Dean, and lost two-and-twenty pence
at cards. And so Mrs. Walls is brought to bed of a girl, who died two
days after it was christened; and, betwixt you and me, she is not very
sorry: she loves her ease and diversions too well to be troubled with
children. I will go to bed.
6. Morning. I went last night to put some coals on my fire after
Patrick was gone to bed; and there I saw in a closet a poor linnet he has
bought to bring over to Dingley: it cost him sixpence, and is as tame as
a dormouse. I believe he does not know he is a bird: where you put him,
there he stands, and seems to have neither hope nor fear; I suppose in a
week he will die of the spleen. Patrick advised with me before he bought
him. I laid fairly before him the greatness of the sum, and the rashness
of the attempt; showed how impossible it was to carry him safe over the
salt sea: but he would not take my counsel; and he will repent it. ’Tis
very cold this morning in bed; and I hear there is a good fire in the
room without (what do you call it?), the dining-room. I hope it will be
good weather, and so let me rise, sirrahs, do so.—At night. I was this
morning to visit the Dean, {119b} or Mr. Prolocutor, I think you call
him, don’t you? Why should not I go to the Dean’s as well as you? A
little, black man, of pretty near fifty? Ay, the same. A good, pleasant
man? Ay, the same. Cunning enough? Yes. One that understands his own
interests? As well as anybody. How comes it MD and I don’t meet there
sometimes? A very good face, and abundance of wit? Do you know his
lady? O Lord! whom do you mean? {120a} I mean Dr. Atterbury, Dean of
Carlisle and Prolocutor. Pshaw, Presto, you are a fool: I thought you
had meant our Dean of St. Patrick’s.—Silly, silly, silly, you are silly,
both are silly, every kind of thing is silly. As I walked into the city
I was stopped with clusters of boys and wenches buzzing about the
cake-shops like flies. {120b} There had the fools let out their shops
two yards forward into the streets, all spread with great cakes frothed
with sugar, and stuck with streamers of tinsel. And then I went to
Bateman’s the bookseller, and laid out eight-and-forty shillings for
books. I bought three little volumes of Lucian in French for our Stella,
and so and so. Then I went to Garraway’s {120c} to meet Stratford and
dine with him; but it was an idle day with the merchants, and he was gone
to our end of the town: so I dined with Sir Thomas Frankland at the Post
Office, and we drank your Manley’s health. It was in a newspaper that he
was turned out; but Secretary St. John told me it was false: only that
newswriter is a plaguy Tory. I have not seen one bit of Christmas
merriment.
7. Morning. Your new Lord Chancellor {120d} sets out to-morrow for
Ireland: I never saw him. He carries over one Trapp {120e} a parson as
his chaplain, a sort of pretender to wit, a second-rate pamphleteer for
the cause, whom they pay by sending him to Ireland. I never saw Trapp
neither. I met Tighe {120f} and your Smyth of Lovet’s yesterday by the
Exchange. Tighe and I took no notice of each other; but I stopped Smyth,
and told him of the box that lies for you at Chester, because he says he
goes very soon to Ireland, I think this week: and I will send this
morning to Sterne, to take measures with Smyth; so good-morrow, sirrahs,
and let me rise, pray. I took up this paper when I came in at evening, I
mean this minute, and then said I, “No, no, indeed, MD, you must stay”;
and then was laying it aside, but could not for my heart, though I am
very busy, till I just ask you how you do since morning; by and by we
shall talk more, so let me leave you: softly down, little paper, till
then; so there—now to business; there, I say, get you gone; no, I will
not push you neither, but hand you on one side—So—Now I am got into bed,
I’ll talk with you. Mr. Secretary St. John sent for me this morning in
all haste; but I would not lose my shaving, for fear of missing church.
I went to Court, which is of late always very full; and young Manley and
I dined at Sir Matthew Dudley’s.—I must talk politics. I protest I am
afraid we shall all be embroiled with parties. The Whigs, now they are
fallen, are the most malicious toads in the world. We have had now a
second misfortune, the loss of several Virginia ships. I fear people
will begin to think that nothing thrives under this Ministry: and if the
Ministry can once be rendered odious to the people, the Parliament may be
chosen Whig or Tory as the Queen pleases. Then I think our friends press
a little too hard on the Duke of Marlborough. The country members {121}
are violent to have past faults inquired into, and they have reason; but
I do not observe the Ministry to be very fond of it. In my opinion we
have nothing to save us but a Peace; and I am sure we cannot have such a
one as we hoped; and then the Whigs will bawl what they would have done
had they continued in power. I tell the Ministry this as much as I dare;
and shall venture to say a little more to them, especially about the Duke
of Marlborough, who, as the Whigs give out, will lay down his command;
and I question whether ever any wise State laid aside a general who had
been successful nine years together, whom the enemy so much dread, and
his own soldiers cannot but believe must always conquer; and you know
that in war opinion is nine parts in ten. The Ministry hear me always
with appearance of regard, and much kindness; but I doubt they let
personal quarrels mingle too much with their proceedings. Meantime, they
seem to value all this as nothing, and are as easy and merry as if they
had nothing in their hearts or upon their shoulders; like physicians, who
endeavour to cure, but feel no grief, whatever the patient
suffers.—Pshaw, what is all this? Do you know one thing, that I find I
can write politics to you much easier than to anybody alive? But I swear
my head is full; and I wish I were at Laracor, with dear, charming MD,
etc.
8. Morning. Methinks, young women, I have made a great progress in four
days, at the bottom of this side already, and no letter yet come from MD
(that word interlined is morning). I find I have been writing State
affairs to MD. How do they relish it? Why, anything that comes from
Presto is welcome; though really, to confess the truth, if they had their
choice, not to disguise the matter, they had rather, etc. Now, Presto, I
must tell you, you grow silly, says Stella. That is but one body’s
opinion, madam. I promised to be with Mr. Secretary St. John this
morning; but I am lazy, and will not go, because I had a letter from him
yesterday, to desire I would dine there to-day. I shall be chid; but
what care I?—Here has been Mrs. South with me, just come from Sir Andrew
Fountaine, and going to market. He is still in a fever, and may live or
die. His mother and sister are now come up, and in the house; so there
is a lurry. {122} I gave Mrs. South half a pistole for a New Year’s
gift. So good-morrow, dears both, till anon.—At night. Lord! I have
been with Mr. Secretary from dinner till eight; and, though I drank wine
and water, I am so hot! Lady Stanley {123a} came to visit Mrs. St. John,
{123b} and sent up for me to make up a quarrel with Mrs. St. John, whom I
never yet saw; and do you think that devil of a Secretary would let me
go, but kept me by main force, though I told him I was in love with his
lady, and it was a shame to keep back a lover, etc.? But all would not
do; so at last I was forced to break away, but never went up, it was then
too late; and here I am, and have a great deal to do to-night, though it
be nine o’clock; but one must say something to these naughty MD’s, else
there will be no quiet.
9. To-day Ford and I set apart to go into the City to buy books; but we
only had a scurvy dinner at an alehouse; and he made me go to the tavern
and drink Florence, four and sixpence a flask; damned wine! so I spent my
money, which I seldom do, and passed an insipid day, and saw nobody, and
it is now ten o’clock, and I have nothing to say, but that ’tis a
fortnight to-morrow since I had a letter from MD; but if I have it time
enough to answer here, ’tis well enough, otherwise woe betide you, faith.
I will go to the toyman’s, here just in Pall Mall, and he sells great
hugeous battoons; {123c} yes, faith, and so he does. Does not he,
Dingley? Yes, faith. Don’t lose your money this Christmas.
10. I must go this morning to Mr. Secretary St. John. I promised
yesterday, but failed, so can’t write any more till night to poor, dear
MD.—At night. O, faith, Dingley. I had company in the morning, and
could not go where I designed; and I had a basket from Raymond at
Bristol, with six bottles of wine and a pound of chocolate, and some
tobacco to snuff; and he writ under, the carriage was paid; but he lied,
or I am cheated, or there is a mistake; and he has written to me so
confusedly about some things, that Lucifer could not understand him.
This wine is to be drunk with Harley’s brother {124a} and Sir Robert
Raymond, Solicitor-General, in order to recommend the Doctor to your new
Lord Chancellor, who left this place on Monday; and Raymond says he is
hasting to Chester, to go with him.—I suppose he leaves his wife behind;
for when he left London he had no thoughts of stirring till summer. So I
suppose he will be with you before this. Ford came and desired I would
dine with him, because it was Opera-day; which I did, and sent excuses to
Lord Shelburne, who had invited me.
11. I am setting up a new Tatler, little Harrison, {124b} whom I have
mentioned to you. Others have put him on it, and I encourage him; and he
was with me this morning and evening, showing me his first, which comes
out on Saturday. I doubt he will not succeed, for I do not much approve
his manner; but the scheme is Mr. Secretary St. John’s and mine, and
would have done well enough in good hands. I recommended him to a
printer, {124c} whom I sent for, and settled the matter between them this
evening. Harrison has just left me, and I am tired with correcting his
trash.
12. I was this morning upon some business with Mr. Secretary St. John,
and he made me promise to dine with him; which otherwise I would have
done with Mr. Harley, whom I have not been with these ten days. I cannot
but think they have mighty difficulties upon them; yet I always find them
as easy and disengaged as schoolboys on a holiday. Harley has the
procuring of five or six millions on his shoulders, and the Whigs will
not lend a groat; {125a} which is the only reason of the fall of stocks:
for they are like Quakers and fanatics, that will only deal among
themselves, while all others deal indifferently with them. Lady
Marlborough offers, if they will let her keep her employments, never to
come into the Queen’s presence. The Whigs say the Duke of Marlborough
will serve no more; but I hope and think otherwise. I would to Heaven I
were this minute with MD at Dublin; for I am weary of politics, that give
me such melancholy prospects.
13. O, faith, I had an ugly giddy fit last night in my chamber, and I
have got a new box of pills to take, and hope I shall have no more this
good while. I would not tell you before, because it would vex you,
little rogues; but now it is over. I dined to-day with Lord Shelburne;
and to-day little Harrison’s new _Tatler_ came out: there is not much in
it, but I hope he will mend. You must understand that, upon Steele’s
leaving off, there were two or three scrub _Tatlers_ {125b} came out, and
one of them holds on still, and to-day it advertised against Harrison’s;
and so there must be disputes which are genuine, like the strops for
razors. {125c} I am afraid the little toad has not the true vein for it.
I will tell you a copy of verses. When Mr. St. John was turned out from
being Secretary at War, three years ago, he retired to the country: there
he was talking of something he would have written over his summer-house,
and a gentleman gave him these verses—
From business and the noisy world retired,
Nor vexed by love, nor by ambition fired;
Gently I wait the call of Charon’s boat,
Still drinking like a fish, and — like a stoat.
He swore to me he could hardly bear the jest; for he pretended to retire
like a philosopher, though he was but twenty-eight years old: and I
believe the thing was true: for he had been a thorough rake. I think the
three grave lines do introduce the last well enough. Od so, but I will
go sleep; I sleep early now.
14. O, faith, young women, I want a letter from MD; ’tis now nineteen
days since I had the last: and where have I room to answer it, pray? I
hope I shall send this away without any answer at all; for I’ll hasten
it, and away it goes on Tuesday, by which time this side will be full. I
will send it two days sooner on purpose out of spite; and the very next
day after, you must know, your letter will come, and then ’tis too late,
and I will so laugh, never saw the like! ’Tis spring with us already. I
ate asparagus t’other day. Did you ever see such a frostless winter?
Sir Andrew Fountaine lies still extremely ill; it costs him ten guineas a
day to doctors, surgeons, and apothecaries, and has done so these three
weeks. I dined to-day with Mr. Ford; he sometimes chooses to dine at
home, and I am content to dine with him; and at night I called at the
Coffee-house, where I had not been in a week, and talked coldly a while
with Mr. Addison. All our friendship and dearness are off: we are civil
acquaintance, talk words of course, of when we shall meet, and that is
all. I have not been at any house with him these six weeks: t’other day
we were to have dined together at the Comptroller’s; {126a} but I sent my
excuses, being engaged to the Secretary of State. Is not it odd? But I
think he has used me ill; and I have used him too well, at least his
friend Steele.
15. It has cost me three guineas to-day for a periwig. {126b} I am
undone! It was made by a Leicester lad, who married Mr. Worrall’s
daughter, where my mother lodged; {127a} so I thought it would be cheap,
and especially since he lives in the city. Well, London lickpenny:
{127b} I find it true. I have given Harrison hints for another _Tatler_
to-morrow. The jackanapes wants a right taste: I doubt he won’t do. I
dined with my friend Lewis of the Secretary’s office, and am got home
early, because I have much business to do; but before I begin, I must
needs say something to MD, faith—No, faith, I lie, it is but nineteen
days to-day since my last from MD. I have got Mr. Harley to promise that
whatever changes are made in the Council, the Bishop of Clogher shall not
be removed, and he has got a memorial accordingly. I will let the Bishop
know so much in a post or two. This is a secret; but I know he has
enemies, and they shall not be gratified, if they designed any such
thing, which perhaps they might; for some changes there will be made. So
drink up your claret, and be quiet, and do not lose your money.
16. Morning. Faith, I will send this letter to-day to shame you, if I
han’t one from MD before night, that’s certain. Won’t you grumble for
want of the third side, pray now? Yes, I warrant you; yes, yes, you
shall have the third, you shall so, when you can catch it, some other
time; when you be writing girls.—O, faith, I think I won’t stay till
night, but seal up this just now, and carry it in my pocket, and whip it
into the post-office as I come home at evening. I am going out early
this morning.—Patrick’s bills for coals and candles, etc., come sometimes
to three shillings a week; I keep very good fires, though the weather be
warm. Ireland will never be happy till you get small coal {128a}
likewise; nothing so easy, so convenient, so cheap, so pretty, for
lighting a fire. My service to Mrs. Stoyte and Walls; has she a boy or a
girl? A girl, hum; and died in a week, humm; and was poor Stella forced
to stand for godmother?—Let me know how accompts stand, that you may have
your money betimes. There’s four months for my lodging, that must be
thought on too: and so go dine with Manley, and lose your money, do,
extravagant sluttikin, but don’t fret.—It will be just three weeks when I
have the next letter, that’s to-morrow. Farewell, dearest beloved MD;
and love poor, poor Presto, who has not had one happy day since he left
you, as hope saved.—It is the last sally I will ever make, but I hope it
will turn to some account. I have done more for these, {128b} and I
think they are more honest than the last; however, I will not be
disappointed. I would make MD and me easy; and I never desired
more.—Farewell, etc. etc.