LONDON, _Feb._ 24, 1710–11.
NOW, young women, I gave in my sixteenth this evening. I dined with Ford
(it was his Opera-day) as usual; it is very convenient to me to do so,
for coming home early after a walk in the Park, which now the days will
allow. I called on the Secretary at his office, and he had forgot to
give the memorial about Bernage to the Duke of Argyle; but, two days ago,
I met the Duke, who desired I would give it him myself, which should have
more power with him than all the Ministry together, as he protested
solemnly, repeated it two or three times, and bid me count upon it. So
that I verily believe Bernage will be in a very good way to establish
himself. I think I can do no more for him at present, and there’s an end
of that; and so get you gone to bed, for it is late.
25. The three weeks are out yesterday since I had your last, and so now
I will be expecting every day a pretty dear letter from my own MD, and
hope to hear that Stella has been much better in her head and eyes: my
head continues as it was, no fits, but a little disorder every day, which
I can easily bear, if it will not grow worse. I dined to-day with Mr.
Secretary St. John, on condition I might choose my company, which were
Lord Rivers, Lord Carteret, Sir Thomas Mansel, {158a} and Mr. Lewis; I
invited Masham, Hill, Sir John Stanley, and George Granville, but they
were engaged; and I did it in revenge of his having such bad company when
I dined with him before; so we laughed, etc. And I ventured to go to
church to-day, which I have not done this month before. Can you send me
such a good account of Stella’s health, pray now? Yes, I hope, and
better too. We dined (says you) at the Dean’s, and played at cards till
twelve, and there came in Mr. French, and Dr. Travors, and Dr.
Whittingham, and Mr. (I forget his name, that I always tell Mrs. Walls
of) the banker’s son, a pox on him. And we were so merry; I vow they are
pure good company. But I lost a crown; for you must know I had always
hands tempting me to go out, but never took in anything, and often two
black aces without a manilio; was not that hard, Presto? Hold your
tongue, etc.
26. I was this morning with Mr. Secretary about some business, and he
tells me that Colonel Fielding is now going to make Bernage his
captain-lieutenant, that is, a captain by commission, and the perquisites
of the company; but not captain’s pay, only the first step to it. I
suppose he will like it; and the recommendation to the Duke of Argyle
goes on. And so trouble me no more about your Bernage; the jackanapes
understands what fair solicitors he has got, I warrant you. Sir Andrew
Fountaine and I dined, by invitation, with Mrs. Vanhomrigh. You say they
are of no consequence: why, they keep as good female company as I do
male; I see all the drabs of quality at this end of the town with them: I
saw two Lady Bettys {158b} there this afternoon; the beauty of one, the
good-breeding and nature of t’other, and the wit of neither, would have
made a fine woman. Rare walking in the Park now: why don’t you walk in
the Green of St. Stephen? The walks there are finer gravelled than the
Mall. What beasts the Irish women are, never to walk!
27. Darteneuf and I, and little Harrison the new Tatler, and Jervas the
painter, dined to-day with James, {159} I know not his other name, but it
is one of Darteneuf’s dining-places, who is a true epicure. James is
clerk of the kitchen to the Queen, and has a little snug house at St.
James’s; and we had the Queen’s wine, and such very fine victuals that I
could not eat it. Three weeks and three days since my last letter from
MD; rare doings! why, truly we were so busy with poor Mrs. Walls, that
indeed, Presto, we could not write, we were afraid the poor woman would
have died; and it pitied us to see the Archdeacon, how concerned he was.
The Dean never came to see her but once; but now she is up again, and we
go and sit with her in the evenings. The child died the next day after
it was born; and I believe, between friends, she is not very sorry for
it.—Indeed, Presto, you are plaguy silly to-night, and han’t guessed one
word right; for she and the child are both well, and it is a fine girl,
likely to live; and the Dean was godfather, and Mrs. Catherine and I were
godmothers; I was going to say Stoyte, but I think I have heard they
don’t put maids and married women together; though I know not why I think
so, nor I don’t care; what care I? but I must prate, etc.
28. I walked to-day into the City for my health, and there dined; which
I always do when the weather is fair, and business permits, that I may be
under a necessity of taking a good walk, which is the best thing I can do
at present for my health. Some bookseller has raked up everything I
writ, and published it t’other day in one volume; but I know nothing of
it, ’twas without my knowledge or consent: it makes a four-shilling book,
and is called _Miscellanies in Prose and Verse_. {160a} Tooke pretends
he knows nothing of it; but I doubt he is at the bottom. One must have
patience with these things; the best of it is, I shall be plagued no
more. However, I will bring a couple of them over with me for MD;
perhaps you may desire to see them. I hear they sell mightily.
March 1. Morning. I have been calling to Patrick to look in his almanac
for the day of the month; I did not know but it might be leap-year. The
almanac says ’tis the third after leap-year; and I always thought till
now, that every third year was leap-year. I am glad they come so seldom;
but I’m sure ’twas otherwise when I was a young man; I see times are
mightily changed since then.—Write to me, sirrahs; be sure do by the time
this side is done, and I’ll keep t’other side for the answer: so I’ll go
write to the Bishop of Clogher; good-morrow, sirrahs.—Night. I dined
to-day at Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s, being a rainy day; and Lady Betty Butler,
knowing it, sent to let me know she expected my company in the evening,
where the Vans (so we call them) were to be. The Duchess {160b} and they
do not go over this summer with the Duke; so I go to bed.
2. This rainy weather undoes me in coaches and chairs. I was traipsing
to-day with your Mr. Sterne, to go along with them to Moore, {160c} and
recommend his business to the Treasury. Sterne tells me his dependence
is wholly on me; but I have absolutely refused to recommend it to Mr.
Harley, because I have troubled him lately so much with other folks’
affairs; and besides, to tell the truth, Mr. Harley told me he did not
like Sterne’s business: however, I will serve him, because I suppose MD
would have me. But, in saying his dependence lies wholly on me, he lies,
and is a fool. I dined with Lord Abercorn, whose son Peasley {161a} will
be married at Easter to ten thousand pounds.
3. I forgot to tell you that yesterday morning I was at Mr. Harley’s
levee: he swore I came in spite, to see him among a parcel of fools. My
business was to desire I might let the Duke of Ormond know how the affair
stood of the First-Fruits. He promised to let him know it, and engaged
me to dine with him to-day. Every Saturday, Lord Keeper, Secretary St.
John, and I dine with him, and sometimes Lord Rivers; and they let in
none else. Patrick brought me some letters into the Park; among which
one was from Walls; and t’other, yes, faith, t’other was from our little
MD, N. 11. I read the rest in the Park, and MD’s in a chair as I went
from St. James’s to Mr. Harley; and glad enough I was, faith, to read it,
and see all right. Oh, but I won’t answer it these three or four days at
least, or may be sooner. An’t I silly? faith, your letters would make a
dog silly, if I had a dog to be silly, but it must be a little dog.—I
stayed with Mr. Harley till past nine, where we had much discourse
together after the rest were gone; and I gave him very truly my opinion
where he desired it. He complained he was not very well, and has engaged
me to dine with him again on Monday. So I came home afoot, like a fine
gentleman, to tell you all this.
4. I dined to-day with Mr. Secretary St. John; and after dinner he had a
note from Mr. Harley, that he was much out of order. {161b} Pray God
preserve his health! everything depends upon it. The Parliament at
present cannot go a step without him, nor the Queen neither. I long to
be in Ireland; but the Ministry beg me to stay: however, when this
Parliament lurry {161c} is over, I will endeavour to steal away; by which
time I hope the First-Fruit business will be done. This kingdom is
certainly ruined as much as was ever any bankrupt merchant. We must have
peace, let it be a bad or a good one, though nobody dares talk of it.
The nearer I look upon things, the worse I like them. I believe the
confederacy will soon break to pieces, and our factions at home increase.
The Ministry is upon a very narrow bottom, and stand like an isthmus,
between the Whigs on one side, and violent Tories on the other. They are
able seamen; but the tempest is too great, the ship too rotten, and the
crew all against them. Lord Somers has been twice in the Queen’s closet,
once very lately; and your Duchess of Somerset, {162} who now has the
key, is a most insinuating woman; and I believe they will endeavour to
play the same game that has been played against them.—I have told them of
all this, which they know already, but they cannot help it. They have
cautioned the Queen so much against being governed, that she observes it
too much. I could talk till to-morrow upon these things, but they make
me melancholy. I could not but observe that lately, after much
conversation with Mr. Harley, though he is the most fearless man alive,
and the least apt to despond, he confessed to me that uttering his mind
to me gave him ease.
5. Mr. Harley continues out of order, yet his affairs force him abroad:
he is subject to a sore throat, and was cupped last night: I sent and
called two or three times. I hear he is better this evening. I dined
to-day in the City with Dr. Freind at a third body’s house, where I was
to pass for somebody else; and there was a plaguy silly jest carried on,
that made me sick of it. Our weather grows fine, and I will walk like
camomile. And pray walk you to your Dean’s, or your Stoyte’s, or your
Manley’s, or your Walls’. But your new lodgings make you so proud, you
will walk less than ever. Come, let me go to bed, sirrahs.
6. Mr. Harley’s going out yesterday has put him a little backwards. I
called twice, and sent, for I am in pain for him. Ford caught me, and
made me dine with him on his Opera-day; so I brought Mr. Lewis with me,
and sat with him till six. I have not seen Mr. Addison these three
weeks; all our friendship is over. I go to no Coffee-house. I presented
a parson of the Bishop of Clogher’s, one Richardson, {163a} to the Duke
of Ormond to-day: he is translating prayers and sermons into Irish, and
has a project about instructing the Irish in the Protestant religion.
7. Morning. Faith, a little would make me, I could find in my heart, if
it were not for one thing, I have a good mind, if I had not something
else to do, I would answer your dear saucy letter. O, Lord, I am going
awry with writing in bed. O, faith, but I must answer it, or I shan’t
have room, for it must go on Saturday; and don’t think I will fill the
third side, I an’t come to that yet, young women. Well then, as for your
Bernage, I have said enough: I writ to him last week.—Turn over that
leaf. Now, what says MD to the world to come? I tell you, Madam Stella,
my head is a great deal better, and I hope will keep so. How came yours
to be fifteen days coming, and you had my fifteenth in seven? Answer me
that, rogues. Your being with Goody Walls is excuse enough: I find I was
mistaken in the sex, ’tis a boy. {163b} Yes, I understand your cypher,
and Stella guesses right, as she always does. He {163c} gave me al
bsadnuk lboinlpl dfaonr ufainf btoy dpionufnad, {163d} which I sent him
again by Mr. Lewis, to whom I writ a very complaining letter that was
showed him; and so the matter ended. He told me he had a quarrel with
me; I said I had another with him, and we returned to our friendship, and
I should think he loves me as well as a great Minister can love a man in
so short a time. Did not I do right? I am glad at heart you have got
your palsy-water; {164a} pray God Almighty it may do my dearest little
Stella good! I suppose Mrs. Edgworth set out last Monday se’ennight.
Yes, I do read the _Examiners_, and they are written very finely, as you
judge. I do not think they are too severe on the Duke; {164b} they only
tax him of avarice, and his avarice has ruined us. You may count upon
all things in them to be true. The author has said it is not Prior, but
perhaps it may be Atterbury.—Now, Madam Dingley, says she, ’tis fine
weather, says she; yes, says she, and we have got to our new lodgings. I
compute you ought to save eight pounds by being in the others five
months; and you have no more done it than eight thousand. I am glad you
are rid of that squinting, blinking Frenchman. I will give you a bill on
Parvisol for five pounds for the half-year. And must I go on at four
shillings a week, and neither eat nor drink for it? Who the Devil said
Atterbury and your Dean were alike? I never saw your Chancellor, nor his
chaplain. The latter has a good deal of learning, and is a well-wisher
to be an author: your Chancellor is an excellent man. As for Patrick’s
bird, he bought him for his tameness, and is grown the wildest I ever
saw. His wings have been quilled thrice, and are now up again: he will
be able to fly after us to Ireland, if he be willing.—Yes, Mrs. Stella,
Dingley writes more like Presto than you; for all you superscribed the
letter, as who should say, Why should not I write like our Presto as well
as Dingley? You with your awkward SS; {164c} cannot you write them thus,
SS? No, but always SSS. Spiteful sluts, to affront Presto’s writing; as
that when you shut your eyes you write most like Presto. I know the time
when I did not write to you half so plain as I do now; but I take pity on
you both. I am very much concerned for Mrs. Walls’s eyes. Walls says
nothing of it to me in his letter dated after yours. You say, “If she
recovers, she may lose her sight.” I hope she is in no danger of her
life. Yes, Ford is as sober as I please: I use him to walk with me as an
easy companion, always ready for what I please, when I am weary of
business and Ministers. I don’t go to a Coffee-house twice a month. I
am very regular in going to sleep before eleven.—And so you say that
Stella is a pretty girl; and so she be, and methinks I see her just now
as handsome as the day is long. Do you know what? when I am writing in
our language, I make up my mouth just as if I was speaking it. I caught
myself at it just now. And I suppose Dingley is so fair and so fresh as
a lass in May, and has her health, and no spleen.—In your account you
sent do you reckon as usual from the 1st of November {165a} was
twelvemonth? Poor Stella, will not Dingley leave her a little daylight
to write to Presto? Well, well, we’ll have daylight shortly, spite of
her teeth; and zoo {165b} must cly Lele and Hele, and Hele aden. Must
loo mimitate Pdfr, pay? Iss, and so la shall. And so lele’s fol ee
rettle. Dood-mollow.—At night. Mrs. Barton sent this morning to invite
me to dinner; and there I dined, just in that genteel manner that MD used
when they would treat some better sort of body than usual.
8. O dear MD, my heart is almost broken. You will hear the thing before
this comes to you. I writ a full account of it this night to the
Archbishop of Dublin; and the Dean may tell you the particulars from the
Archbishop. I was in a sorry way to write, but thought it might be
proper to send a true account of the fact; for you will hear a thousand
lying circumstances. It is of Mr. Harley’s being stabbed this afternoon,
at three o’clock, at a Committee of the Council. I was playing Lady
Catharine Morris’s {166a} cards, where I dined, when young Arundel {166b}
came in with the story. I ran away immediately to the Secretary, which
was in my way: no one was at home. I met Mrs. St. John in her chair; she
had heard it imperfectly. I took a chair to Mr. Harley, who was asleep,
and they hope in no danger; but he has been out of order, and was so when
he came abroad to-day, and it may put him in a fever: I am in mortal pain
for him. That desperate French villain, Marquis de Guiscard, {166c}
stabbed Mr. Harley. Guiscard was taken up by Mr. Secretary St. John’s
warrant for high treason, and brought before the Lords to be examined;
there he stabbed Mr. Harley. I have told all the particulars already to
the Archbishop. I have now, at nine, sent again, and they tell me he is
in a fair way. Pray pardon my distraction; I now think of all his
kindness to me.—The poor creature now lies stabbed in his bed by a
desperate French Popish villain. Good-night, and God preserve you both,
and pity me; I want it.
9. Morning; seven, in bed. Patrick is just come from Mr. Harley’s. He
slept well till four; the surgeon sat {166d} up with him: he is asleep
again: he felt a pain in his wound when he waked: they apprehend him in
no danger. This account the surgeon left with the porter, to tell people
that send. Pray God preserve him. I am rising, and going to Mr.
Secretary St. John. They say Guiscard will die with the wounds Mr. St.
John and the rest gave him. I shall tell you more at night.—Night. Mr.
Harley still continues on the mending hand; but he rested ill last night,
and felt pain. I was early with the Secretary this morning, and I dined
with him, and he told me several particularities of this accident, too
long to relate now. Mr. Harley is still mending this evening, but not at
all out of danger; and till then I can have no peace. Good-night, etc.,
and pity Presto.
10. Mr. Harley was restless last night; but he has no fever, and the
hopes of his mending increase. I had a letter from Mr. Walls, and one
from Mr. Bernage. I will answer them here, not having time to write.
Mr. Walls writes about three things. First, about a hundred pounds from
Dr. Raymond, of which I hear nothing, and it is now too late. Secondly,
about Mr. Clements: {167a} I can do nothing in it, because I am not to
mention Mr. Pratt; and I cannot recommend without knowing Mr. Pratt’s
objections, whose relation Clements is, and who brought him into the
place. The third is about my being godfather to the child: {167b} that
is in my power, and (since there is no remedy) will submit. I wish you
could hinder it; but if it can’t be helped, pay what you think proper,
and get the Provost to stand for me, and let his Christian name be
Harley, in honour of my friend, now lying stabbed and doubtful of his
life. As for Bernage, he writes me word that his colonel has offered to
make him captain-lieutenant for a hundred pounds. He was such a fool to
offer him money without writing to me till it was done, though I have had
a dozen letters from him; and then he desires I would say nothing of
this, for fear his colonel should be angry. People are mad. What can I
do? I engaged Colonel Disney, who was one of his solicitors to the
Secretary, and then told him the story. He assured me that Fielding
(Bernage’s colonel) said he might have got that sum; but, on account of
those great recommendations he had, would give it him for nothing: and I
would have Bernage write him a letter of thanks, as of a thing given him
for nothing, upon recommendations, etc. Disney tells me he will again
speak to Fielding, and clear up this matter; then I will write to
Bernage. A pox on him for promising money till I had it promised to me;
and then making it such a ticklish point, that one cannot expostulate
with the colonel upon it: but let him do as I say, and there is an end.
I engaged the Secretary of State in it; and am sure it was meant a
kindness to me, and that no money should be given, and a hundred pounds
is too much in a Smithfield bargain, {168a} as a major-general told me,
whose opinion I asked. I am now hurried, and can say no more. Farewell,
etc. etc.
How shall I superscribe to your new lodgings, pray, madams? Tell me but
that, impudence and saucy-face.
Are not you sauceboxes to write “lele” {168b} like Presto? O poor
Presto!
Mr. Harley is better to-night, that makes me so pert, you saucy Gog and
Magog.