LONDON, _Feb._ 10, 1710–11.
I HAVE just despatched my fifteenth to the post; I tell you how things
will be, after I have got a letter from MD. I am in furious haste to
finish mine, for fear of having two of MD’s to answer in one of Presto’s,
which would be such a disgrace, never saw the like; but, before you write
to me, I write at my leisure, like a gentleman, a little every day, just
to let you know how matters go, and so and so; and I hope before this
comes to you, you’ll have got your box and chocolate, and Presto will
take more care another time.
11. Morning. I must rise and go see my Lord Keeper, {148a} which will
cost me two shillings in coach-hire. Don’t you call them two thirteens?
{148b}—At night. It has rained all day, and there was no walking. I
read prayers to Sir Andrew Fountaine in the forenoon, and I dined with
three Irishmen, at one Mr. Cope’s {148c} lodgings; the other two were one
Morris an archdeacon, {148d} and Mr. Ford. When I came home this
evening, I expected that little jackanapes Harrison would have come to
get help about his _Tatler_ for Tuesday: I have fixed two evenings in the
week which I allow him to come. The toad never came, and I expecting him
fell a reading, and left off other business.—Come, what are you doing?
How do you pass your time this ugly weather? Gaming and drinking, I
suppose: fine diversions for young ladies, truly! I wish you had some of
our Seville oranges, and we some of your wine. We have the finest
oranges for twopence apiece, and the basest wine for six shillings a
bottle. They tell me wine grows cheap with you. I am resolved to have
half a hogshead when I get to Ireland, if it be good and cheap, as it
used to be; and I will treat MD at my table in an evening, oh hoa, and
laugh at great Ministers of State.
12. The days are grown fine and long, — be thanked. O, faith, you
forget all our little sayings, and I am angry. I dined to-day with Mr.
Secretary St. John: I went to the Court of Requests at noon, and sent Mr.
Harley into the House to call the Secretary, to let him know I would not
dine with him if he dined late. By good luck the Duke of Argyle was at
the lobby of the House too, and I kept him in talk till the Secretary
came out; then told them I was glad to meet them together, and that I had
a request to the Duke, which the Secretary must second, and his Grace
must grant. The Duke said he was sure it was something insignificant,
and wished it was ten times greater. At the Secretary’s house I writ a
memorial, and gave it to the Secretary to give the Duke, and shall see
that he does it. It is, that his Grace will please to take Mr. Bernage
into his protection; and if he finds Bernage answers my character, to
give him all encouragement. Colonel Masham {149a} and Colonel Hill
{149b} (Mrs. Masham’s {149c}) brother tell me my request is reasonable,
and they will second it heartily to the Duke too: so I reckon Bernage is
on a very good foot when he goes to Spain. Pray tell him this, though
perhaps I will write to him before he goes; yet where shall I direct? for
I suppose he has left Connolly’s. {149d}
13. I have left off Lady Kerry’s bitter, and got another box of pills.
I have no fits of giddiness, but only some little disorders towards it;
and I walk as much as I can. Lady Kerry is just as I am, only a great
deal worse: I dined to-day at Lord Shelburne’s, where she is, and we con
ailments, which makes us very fond of each other. I have taken Mr.
Harley into favour again, and called to see him, but he was not within; I
will use to visit him after dinner, for he dines too late for my head:
then I went to visit poor Congreve, who is just getting out of a severe
fit of the gout; and I sat with him till near nine o’clock. He gave me a
_Tatler_ {150a} he had written out, as blind as he is, for little
Harrison. It is about a scoundrel that was grown rich, and went and
bought a coat of arms at the Herald’s, and a set of ancestors at Fleet
Ditch; ’tis well enough, and shall be printed in two or three days, and
if you read those kind of things, this will divert you. It is now
between ten and eleven, and I am going to bed.
14. This was Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s daughter’s {150b} birthday, and Mr. Ford
and I were invited to dinner to keep it, and we spent the evening there,
drinking punch. That was our way of beginning Lent; and in the morning
Lord Shelburne, Lady Kerry, Mrs. Pratt, and I, went to Hyde Park, instead
of going to church; for, till my head is a little settled, I think it
better not to go; it would be so silly and troublesome to go out sick.
Dr. Duke {150c} died suddenly two or three nights ago; he was one of the
wits when we were children, but turned parson, and left it, and never
writ farther than a prologue or recommendatory copy of verses. He had a
fine living given him by the Bishop of Winchester {150d} about three
months ago; he got his living suddenly, and he got his dying so too.
15. I walked purely to-day about the Park, the rain being just over, of
which we have had a great deal, mixed with little short frosts. I went
to the Court of Requests, thinking, if Mr. Harley dined early, to go with
him. But meeting Leigh and Sterne, they invited me to dine with them,
and away we went. When we got into his room, one H—, a worthless Irish
fellow, was there, ready to dine with us; so I stepped out, and whispered
them, that I would not dine with that fellow: they made excuses, and
begged me to stay; but away I went to Mr. Harley’s, and he did not dine
at home; and at last I dined at Sir John Germaine’s, {151a} and found
Lady Betty but just recovered of a miscarriage. I am writing an
inscription for Lord Berkeley’s {151b} tomb; you know the young rake his
son, the new Earl, is married to the Duke of Richmond’s daughter, {151c}
at the Duke’s country house, and are now coming to town. She will be
fluxed in two months, and they’ll be parted in a year. You ladies are
brave, bold, venturesome folks; and the chit is but seventeen, and is
ill-natured, covetous, vicious, and proud in extremes. And so get you
gone to Stoyte to-morrow.
16. Faith, this letter goes on but slow; ’tis a week old, and the first
side not written. I went to-day into the City for a walk, but the person
I designed to dine with was not at home; so I came back, and called at
Congreve’s, and dined with him and Estcourt, {151d} and laughed till six;
then went to Mr. Harley’s, who was not gone to dinner; there I stayed
till nine, and we made up our quarrel, and he has invited me to dinner
to-morrow, which is the day of the week (Saturday) that Lord Keeper and
Secretary St. John dine with him privately, and at last they have
consented to let me among them on that day. Atterbury and Prior went to
bury poor Dr. Duke. Congreve’s nasty white wine has given me the
heart-burn.
17. I took some good walks in the Park to-day, and then went to Mr.
Harley. Lord Rivers was got there before me, and I chid him for
presuming to come on a day when only Lord Keeper and the Secretary and I
were to be there; but he regarded me not; so we all dined together, and
sat down at four; and the Secretary has invited me to dine with him
to-morrow. I told them I had no hopes they could ever keep in, but that
I saw they loved one another so well, as indeed they seem to do. They
call me nothing but Jonathan; and I said I believed they would leave me
Jonathan as they found me; and that I never knew a Ministry do anything
for those whom they make companions of their pleasures; and I believe you
will find it so; but I care not. I am upon a project of getting five
hundred pounds, {152a} without being obliged to anybody; but that is a
secret, till I see my dearest MD; and so hold your tongue, and do not
talk, sirrahs, for I am now about it.
18. My head has no fits, but a little disordered before dinner; yet I
walk stoutly, and take pills, and hope to mend. Secretary St. John would
needs have me dine with him to-day; and there I found three persons I
never saw, two I had no acquaintance with, and one I did not care for: so
I left them early and came home, it being no day to walk, but scurvy rain
and wind. The Secretary tells me he has put a cheat on me; for Lord
Peterborow sent him twelve dozen flasks of burgundy, on condition that I
should have my share; but he never was quiet till they were all gone, so
I reckon he owes me thirty-six pounds. Lord Peterborow is now got to
Vienna, and I must write to him to-morrow. I begin now to be towards
looking for a letter from some certain ladies of Presto’s acquaintance,
that live at St. Mary’s, {152b} and are called in a certain language, our
little MD. No, stay, I don’t expect one these six days, that will be
just three weeks; an’t I a reasonable creature? We are plagued here with
an October Club, that is, a set of above a hundred Parliament men of the
country, who drink October beer at home, and meet every evening at a
tavern near the Parliament to consult affairs, and drive things on to
extremes against the Whigs, to call the old Ministry to account, and get
off five or six heads. {152c} The Ministry seem not to regard them; yet
one of them in confidence told me that there must be something thought
on, to settle things better. I’ll tell you one great State secret: the
Queen, sensible how much she was governed by the late Ministry, runs a
little into t’other extreme, and is jealous in that point, even of those
who got her out of the others’ hands. The Ministry is for gentler
measures, and the other Tories for more violent. Lord Rivers, talking to
me the other day, cursed the paper called the _Examiner_, for speaking
civilly of the Duke of Marlborough; this I happened to talk of to the
Secretary, who blamed the warmth of that lord and some others, and swore
that if their advice were followed they would be blown up in twenty-four
hours. And I have reason to think that they will endeavour to prevail on
the Queen to put her affairs more in the hands of a Ministry than she
does at present; and there are, I believe, two men thought on, one of
them you have often met the name of in my letters. But so much for
politics.
19. This proved a terrible rainy day, which prevented my walk into the
City, and I was only able to run and dine with my neighbour Vanhomrigh,
where Sir Andrew Fountaine dined too, who has just began to sally out,
and has shipped his mother and sister, who were his nurses, back to the
country. This evening was fair, and I walked a little in the Park, till
Prior made me go with him to the Smyrna Coffee-house, where I sat a
while, and saw four or five Irish persons, who are very handsome, genteel
fellows; but I know not their names. I came away at seven, and got home.
Two days ago I writ to Bernage, and told him what I had done, and
directed the letter to Mr. Curry’s, to be left with Dingley. Brigadiers
Hill and Masham, brother and husband to Mrs. Masham, the Queen’s
favourite, Colonel Disney, {153} and I, have recommended Bernage to the
Duke of Argyle; and Secretary St. John has given the Duke my memorial;
and, besides, Hill tells me, that Bernage’s colonel, Fielding, {154}
designs to make him his captain-lieutenant: but I believe I said this to
you before, and in this letter; but I will not look.
20. Morning. It snows terribly again; and ’tis mistaken, for I now want
a little good weather. I bid you good-morrow; and, if it clear up, get
you gone to poor Mrs. Walls, who has had a hard time of it, but is now
pretty well again. I am sorry it is a girl: the poor Archdeacon too, see
how simply he looked when they told him: what did it cost Stella to be
gossip? I’ll rise; so, d’ye hear, let me see you at night; and do not
stay late out, and catch cold, sirrahs.—At night. It grew good weather,
and I got a good walk, and dined with Ford upon his Opera-day; but, now
all his wine is gone, I shall dine with him no more. I hope to send this
letter before I hear from MD, methinks there is—something great in doing
so, only I can’t express where it lies; and, faith, this shall go by
Saturday, as sure as you’re a rogue. Mrs. Edgworth was to set out but
last Monday; so you won’t have your box so soon perhaps as this letter;
but Sterne told me since that it is safe at Chester, and that she will
take care of it. I’d give a guinea you had it.
21. Morning. Faith, I hope it will be fair for me to walk into the
City; for I take all occasions of walking.—I should be plaguy busy at
Laracor if I were there now, cutting down willows, planting others,
scouring my canal, and every kind of thing. If Raymond goes over this
summer, you must submit, and make them a visit, that we may have another
eel and trout fishing; and that Stella may ride by, and see Presto in his
morning-gown in the garden, and so go up with Joe to the Hill of Bree,
and round by Scurlock’s Town. O Lord, how I remember names! faith, it
gives me short sighs; therefore no more of that, if you love me.
Good-morrow, I will go rise like a gentleman; my pills say I must.—At
night. Lady Kerry sent to desire me to engage some lords about an affair
she has in their house here: I called to see her, but found she had
already engaged every lord I knew, and that there was no great difficulty
in the matter; and it rained like a dog; so I took coach, for want of
better exercise, and dined privately with a hang-dog in the City, and
walked back in the evening. The days are now long enough to walk in the
Park after dinner; and so I do whenever it is fair. This walking is a
strange remedy: Mr. Prior walks, to make himself fat, and I to bring
myself down; he has generally a cough, which he only calls a cold; we
often walk round the Park together. So I’ll go sleep.
22. It snowed all this morning prodigiously, and was some inches thick
in three or four hours. I dined with Mr. Lewis of the Secretary’s office
at his lodgings: the chairmen that carried me squeezed a great fellow
against a wall, who wisely turned his back, and broke one of the
side-glasses in a thousand pieces. I fell a scolding, pretended I was
like to be cut to pieces, and made them set down the chair in the Park,
while they picked out the bits of glasses; and, when I paid them, I
quarrelled still; so they dared not grumble, and I came off for my fare;
but I was plaguily afraid they would have said, “God bless your honour,
won’t you give us something for our glass?” Lewis and I were forming a
project how I might get three or four hundred pounds, {155} which I
suppose may come to nothing. I hope Smyth has brought you your
palsy-drops. How does Stella do? I begin more and more to desire to
know. The three weeks since I had your last is over within two days, and
I will allow three for accidents.
23. The snow is gone every bit, except the remainder of some great balls
made by the boys. Mr. Sterne was with me this morning about an affair he
has before the Treasury. That drab Mrs. Edgworth is not yet set out, but
will infallibly next Monday: and this is the third infallible Monday, and
pox take her! So you will have this letter first; and this shall go
to-morrow; and, if I have one from MD in that time, I will not answer it
till my next; only I will say, “Madam, I received your letter, and so,
and so.” I dined to-day with my Mistress Butler, {156a} who grows very
disagreeable.
24. Morning. This letter certainly goes this evening, sure as you’re
alive, young women, and then you will be so shamed that I have had none
from you; and, if I was to reckon like you, I would say, I were six
letters before you, for this is N. 16, and I have had your N. 10. But I
reckon you have received but fourteen, and have sent eleven. I think to
go to-day a Minister-of-State-hunting in the Court of Requests; for I
have something to say to Mr. Harley. And it is fine, cold, sunshiny
weather; I wish dear MD would walk this morning in your Stephen’s Green;
’tis as good as our Park, but not so large. {156b} Faith, this summer
we’ll take a coach for sixpence {156c} to the Green Well, the two walks,
and thence all the way to Stoyte’s. {156d} My hearty service to Goody
Stoyte and Catherine; and I hope Mrs. Walls had a good time. How
inconstant I am! I can’t imagine I was ever in love with her. Well, I’m
going; what have you to say? _I do not care how I write now_. {156e} I
don’t design to write on this side; these few lines are but so much more
than your due; so I will write _large_ or small as I please. O, faith,
my hands are starving in bed; I believe it is a hard frost. I must rise,
and bid you good-bye, for I’ll seal this letter immediately, and carry it
in my pocket, and put it into the post-office with my own fair hands.
Farewell.
This letter is just a fortnight’s journal to-day. Yes, and so it is, I’m
sure, says you, with your two eggs a penny.