You expect Mrs. Walls,
Be dressed when she calls,
To carry you to Stoyte,
Or else _honi soit_.
Henley told me that the Tories were insup-port-able people, because they
are for bringing in French claret, and will not _sup-port_. Mr. Harley
will hardly get abroad this week or ten days yet. I reckon, when I send
away this letter, he will be just got into the House of Commons. My last
letter went in twelve days, and so perhaps may this. No it won’t, for
those letters that go under a fortnight are answers to one of yours,
otherwise you must take the days as they happen, some dry, some wet, some
barren, some fruitful, some merry, some insipid; some, etc.—I will write
you word exactly the first day I see young gooseberries, and pray observe
how much later you are. We have not had five fine days this five weeks,
but rain or wind. ’Tis a late spring they say here.—Go to bed, you two
dear saucy brats, and don’t keep me up all night.
7. Ford has been at Epsom, to avoid Good Friday and Easter Sunday. He
forced me to-day to dine with him; and tells me there are letters from
Ireland, giving an account of a great indiscretion in the Archbishop of
Dublin, who applied a story out of Tacitus very reflectingly on Mr.
Harley, and that twenty people have written of it; I do not believe it
yet. {188a} I called this evening to see Mr. Secretary, who has been
very ill with the gravel and pain in his back, by burgundy and champagne,
added to the sitting up all night at business; I found him drinking tea
while the rest were at champagne, and was very glad of it. I have chid
him so severely that I hardly knew whether he would take it well: then I
went and sat an hour with Mrs. St. John, who is growing a great favourite
of mine; she goes to the Bath on Wednesday, for she is much out of
health, and has begged me to take care of the Secretary.
8. I dined to-day with Mr. Secretary St. John; he gave me a letter to
read, which was from the publisher of the newspaper called the _Postboy_;
{188b} in it there was a long copy of a letter from Dublin, giving an
account of what the Whigs said upon Mr. Harley’s being stabbed, and how
much they abuse him and Mr. Secretary St. John; and at the end there were
half a dozen lines, telling the story of the Archbishop of Dublin, and
abusing him horribly; this was to be printed on Tuesday. I told the
Secretary I would not suffer that about the Archbishop to be printed, and
so I crossed it out; and afterwards, to prevent all danger, I made him
give me the letter, and, upon further thought, would let none of it be
published: and I sent for the printer, and told him so, and ordered him,
in the Secretary’s name, to print nothing reflecting on anybody in
Ireland till he had showed it me. Thus I have prevented a terrible
scandal to the Archbishop, by a piece of perfect good fortune. I will
let him know it by next post; and pray, if you pick it out, let me know,
and whether he is thankful for it; but say nothing.
9. I was to-day at the House of Commons again about their yarn, at Lord
Anglesea’s desire; but the business is again put off till Monday. I
dined with Sir John Stanley, by an assignation I had made with Mr. St.
John, and George Granville, the Secretary at War; but they let in other
company, some ladies, and so we were not so easy as I intended. My head
is pretty tolerable, but every day I feel some little disorders; I have
left off snuff since Sunday, finding myself much worse after taking a
good deal at the Secretary’s. I would not let him drink one drop of
champagne or burgundy without water, and in compliment I did so myself.
He is much better; but when he is well, he is like Stella, and will not
be governed. So go to your Stoyte’s, and I’ll go sleep.
10. I have been visiting Lady Worsley and Mrs. Barton to-day, and dined
soberly with my friend Lewis. The Dauphin is dead of an apoplexy; I wish
he had lived till the finishing of this letter, that it might be news to
you. Duncombe, {189} the rich alderman, died to-day, and I hear has left
the Duke of Argyle, who married his niece, two hundred thousand pounds; I
hope it is true, for I love that Duke mightily. I writ this evening to
the Archbishop of Dublin, about what I told you; and then went to take
leave of poor Mrs. St. John, who gave me strict charge to take care of
the Secretary in her absence; said she had none to trust but me; and the
poor creature’s tears came fresh in her eyes. Before we took leave, I
was drawn in by the other ladies and Sir John Stanley to raffle for a
fan, with a pox; it was four guineas, and we put in seven shillings
apiece, several raffling for absent people; but I lost, and so missed an
opportunity of showing my gallantry to Mrs. St. John, whom I designed to
have presented it to if I had won. Is Dilly {190a} gone to the Bath?
His face will whizz in the water; I suppose he will write to us from
thence, and will take London in his way back.—The rabble will say, “There
goes a drunken parson”; and, which is worse, they will say true. Oh, but
you must know I carried Ford to dine with Mr. St. John last Sunday, that
he may brag, when he goes back, of dining with a Secretary of State. The
Secretary and I went away early, and left him drinking with the rest, and
he told me that two or three of them were drunk. They talk of great
promotions to be made; that Mr. Harley is to be Lord Treasurer, and Lord
Poulett {190b} Master of the Horse, etc., but they are only conjecture.
The Speaker is to make Mr. Harley a compliment the first time he comes
into the House, which I hope will be in a week. He has had an ill
surgeon, by the caprice of that puppy Dr. Radcliffe, which has kept him
back so long; and yesterday he got a cold, but is better to-day.—What! I
think I am stark mad, to write so much in one day to little saucy MD;
here is a deal of stuff, indeed! can’t you bid those little dear rogues
good-night, and let them go sleep, Mr. Presto? When your tongue runs
there’s no ho with you, pray.
11. Again at the lobby (like a lobcock) {190c} of the House of Commons,
about your Irish yarn, and again put off till Friday; and I and Patrick
went into the City by water, where I dined, and then I went to the
auction of Charles Barnard’s books; but the good ones were so monstrous
dear, I could not reach them, so I laid out one pound seven shillings but
very indifferently, and came away, and will go there no more. Henley
would fain engage me to go with Steele and Rowe, etc., to an invitation
at Sir William Read’s. {191a} Surely you have heard of him. He has been
a mountebank, and is the Queen’s oculist; he makes admirable punch, and
treats you in gold vessels. But I am engaged, and will not go, neither
indeed am I fond of the jaunt. So good-night, and go sleep.
12. I went about noon to the Secretary, who is very ill with a cold, and
sometimes of the gravel, with his champagne, etc. I scolded him like a
dog, and he promises faithfully more care for the future. To-day my Lord
Anglesea, and Sir Thomas Hammer, and Prior, and I dined, by appointment,
with Lieutenant-General Webb. {191b} My lord and I stayed till ten
o’clock; but we drank soberly, and I always with water. There was with
us one Mr. Campain, {191c} one of the October Club, if you know what that
is; a Club of country members, who think the Ministers are too backward
in punishing and turning out the Whigs. I found my lord and the rest
thought I had more credit with the Ministry than I pretend to have, and
would have engaged me to put them upon something that would satisfy their
desires, and indeed I think they have some reason to complain; however, I
will not burn my fingers. I will remember Stella’s chiding, “What had
you to do with what did not belong to you?” etc. However, you will give
me leave to tell the Ministry my thoughts when they ask them, and other
people’s thoughts sometimes when they do not ask; so thinks Dingley.
13. I called this morning at Mrs. Vedeau’s again, who has employed a
friend to get the money; it will be done in a fortnight, and then she
will deliver me up the parchment. I went then to see Mr. Harley, who I
hope will be out in a few days; he was in excellent good humour, only
complained to me of the neglect of Guiscard’s cure, how glad he would
have been to have had him live. Mr. Secretary came in to us, and we were
very merry till Lord Chamberlain (Duke of Shrewsbury) {192a} came up;
then Colonel Masham and I went off, after I had been presented to the
Duke, and that we made two or three silly compliments suitable to the
occasion. Then I attended at the House of Commons about your yarn, and
it is again put off. Then Ford drew me to dine at a tavern; it happened
to be the day and the house where the October Club dine. After we had
dined, coming down we called to inquire whether our yarn business had
been over that day, and I sent into the room for Sir George Beaumont.
{192b} But I had like to be drawn into a difficulty; for in two minutes
out comes Mr. Finch, {192c} Lord Guernsey’s son, to let me know that my
Lord Compton, {192d} the steward of this feast, desired, in the name of
the Club, that I would do them the honour to dine with them. I sent my
excuses, adorned with about thirty compliments, and got off as fast as I
could. It would have been a most improper thing for me to dine there,
considering my friendship with the Ministry. The Club is about a hundred
and fifty, and near eighty of them were then going to dinner at two long
tables in a great ground-room. At evening I went to the auction of
Barnard’s books, and laid out three pounds three shillings, but I’ll go
there no more; and so I said once before, but now I’ll keep to it. I
forgot to tell that when I dined at Webb’s with Lord Anglesea, I spoke to
him of Clements, as one recommended for a very honest gentleman and good
officer, and hoped he would keep him. He said he had not thought
otherwise, and that he should certainly hold his place while he continued
to deserve it; and I could not find there had been any intentions from
his lordship against him. But I tell you, hunny, the impropriety of
this. A great man will do a favour for me, or for my friend; but why
should he do it for my friend’s friend? Recommendations should stop
before they come to that. Let any friend of mine recommend one of his to
me for a thing in my power, I will do it for his sake; but to speak to
another for my friend’s friend is against all reason; and I desire you
will understand this, and discourage any such troubles given me.—I hope
this may do some good to Clements, it can do him no hurt; and I find by
Mrs. Pratt, {193} that her husband is his friend; and the Bishop of
Clogher says Clements’s danger is not from Pratt, but from some other
enemies, that think him a Whig.
14. I was so busy this morning that I did not go out till late. I writ
to-day to the Duke of Argyle, but said nothing of Bernage, who, I
believe, will not see him till Spain is conquered, and that is, not at
all. I was to-day at Lord Shelburne’s, and spoke to Mrs. Pratt again
about Clements; her husband himself wants some good offices, and I have
done him very good ones lately, and told Mrs. Pratt I expected her
husband should stand by Clements in return. Sir Andrew Fountaine and I
dined with neighbour Vanhomrigh; he is mighty ill of an asthma, and
apprehends himself in much danger; ’tis his own fault, that will rake and
drink, when he is but just crawled out of his grave. I will send this
letter just now, because I think my half-year is out for my lodging; and,
if you please, I would be glad it were paid off, and some deal boxes made
for my books, and kept in some safe place. I would give something for
their keeping: but I doubt that lodging will not serve me when I come
back; I would have a larger place for books, and a stable, if possible.
So pray be so kind to pay the lodging, and all accounts about it; and get
Mrs. Brent to put up my things. I would have no books put in that trunk
where my papers are. If you do not think of going to the Bath, I here
send you a bill on Parvisol for twenty pounds Irish, out of which you
will pay for the lodging, and score the rest to me. Do as you please,
and love poor Presto, that loves MD better than his life a thousand
millions of times. Farewell, MD, etc. etc.