CHELSEA, _May_ 12, 1711.
I SENT you my twenty-second this afternoon in town. I dined with Mr.
Harley and the old Club, Lord Rivers, Lord Keeper, and Mr. Secretary.
They rallied me last week, and said I must have Mr. St. John’s leave; so
I writ to him yesterday, that foreseeing I should never dine again with
Sir Simon Harcourt, Knight, and Robert Harley, Esq., I was resolved to do
it to-day. The jest is, that before Saturday {214} next we expect they
will be lords; for Mr. Harley’s patent is drawing, to be Earl of Oxford.
Mr. Secretary and I came away at seven, and he brought me to our town’s
end in his coach; so I lost my walk. St. John read my letter to the
company, which was all raillery, and passed purely.
13. It rained all last night and this morning as heavy as lead; but I
just got fair weather to walk to town before church. The roads are all
over in deep puddle. The hay of our town is almost fit to be mowed. I
went to Court after church (as I always do on Sundays), and then dined
with Mr. Secretary, who has engaged me for every Sunday; and poor MD
dined at home upon a bit of veal and a pint of wine. Is it not plaguy
insipid to tell you every day where I dine? yet now I have got into the
way of it, I cannot forbear it neither. Indeed, Mr. Presto, you had
better go answer MD’s letter, N. 14. I will answer it when I please, Mr.
Doctor. What is that you say? The Court was very full this morning,
expecting Mr. Harley would be declared Earl of Oxford and have the
Treasurer’s staff. Mr. Harley never comes to Court at all; somebody
there asked me the reason. “Why,” said I, “the Lord of Oxford knows.”
He always goes to the Queen by the back stairs. I was told for certain,
you jackanapes, Lord Santry {215a} was dead, Captain Cammock {215b}
assured me so; and now he’s alive again, they say; but that shan’t do: he
shall be dead to me as long as he lives. Dick Tighe {215c} and I meet,
and never stir our hats. I am resolved to mistake him for Witherington,
the little nasty lawyer that came up to me so sternly at the Castle the
day I left Ireland. I’ll ask the gentleman I saw walking with him how
long Witherington has been in town.
14. I went to town to-day by water. The hail quite discouraged me from
walking, and there is no shade in the greatest part of the way. I took
the first boat, and had a footman my companion; then I went again by
water, and dined in the City with a printer, to whom I carried a pamphlet
in manuscript, that Mr. Secretary gave me. The printer sent it to the
Secretary for his approbation, and he desired me to look it over, which I
did, and found it a very scurvy piece. The reason I tell you so, is
because it was done by your parson Slap, Scrap, Flap (what d’ye call
him), Trapp, {215d} your Chancellor’s chaplain. ’Tis called _A Character
of the Present Set of Whigs_, and is going to be printed, and no doubt
the author will take care to produce it in Ireland. Dr. Freind was with
me, and pulled out a twopenny pamphlet just published, called _The State
of Wit_, {216a} giving a character of all the papers that have come out
of late. The author seems to be a Whig, yet he speaks very highly of a
paper called the _Examiner_, and says the supposed author of it is Dr.
Swift. But above all things he praises the _Tatlers_ and _Spectators_;
and I believe Steele and Addison were privy to the printing of it. Thus
is one treated by these impudent dogs. And that villain Curll {216b} has
scraped up some trash, and calls it Dr. Swift’s _Miscellanies_, with the
name at large: and I can get no satisfaction of him. Nay, Mr. Harley
told me he had read it, and only laughed at me before Lord Keeper and the
rest. Since I came home, I have been sitting with the Prolocutor, Dean
Atterbury, who is my neighbour over the way, but generally keeps in town
with his Convocation. ’Tis late, etc.
15. My walk to town to-day was after ten, and prodigiously hot. I dined
with Lord Shelburne, and have desired Mrs. Pratt, who lodges there, to
carry over Mrs. Walls’s tea; I hope she will do it, and they talk of
going in a fortnight. My way is this: I leave my best gown and periwig
at Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s, then walk up the Pall Mall, through the Park, out
at Buckingham House, and so to Chelsea a little beyond the church: I set
out about sunset, and get here in something less than an hour; it is two
good miles, and just five thousand seven hundred and forty-eight steps;
so there is four miles a day walking, without reckoning what I walk while
I stay in town. When I pass the Mall in the evening, it is prodigious to
see the number of ladies walking there; and I always cry shame at the
ladies of Ireland, who never walk at all, as if their legs were of no
use, but to be laid aside. I have been now almost three weeks here, and
I thank God, am much better in my head, if it does but continue. I tell
you what, if I was with you, when we went to Stoyte at Donnybrook, we
would only take a coach to the hither end of Stephen’s Green, and from
thence go every step on foot, yes, faith, every step; it would do DD
{217a} good as well as Presto. {217b} Everybody tells me I look better
already; for, faith, I looked sadly, that is certain. My breakfast is
milk porridge: I do not love it; faith, I hate it, but it is cheap and
wholesome; and I hate to be obliged to either of those qualities for
anything. {217c}
16. I wonder why Presto will be so tedious in answering MD’s letters;
because he would keep the best to the last, I suppose. Well, Presto must
be humoured, it must be as he will have it, or there will be an old to
do. {217d} Dead with heat; are not you very hot? My walks make my
forehead sweat rarely; sometimes my morning journey is by water, as it
was to-day with one Parson Richardson, {217e} who came to see me, on his
going to Ireland; and with him I send Mrs. Walls’s tea, and three books
{217f} I got from the Lords of the Treasury for the College. I dined
with Lord Shelburne to-day; Lady Kerry and Mrs. Pratt are going likewise
for Ireland.—Lord! I forgot, I dined with Mr. Prior to-day, at his house,
with Dean Atterbury and others; and came home pretty late, and I think
I’m in a fuzz, and don’t know what I say, never saw the like.
17. Sterne came here by water to see me this morning, and I went back
with him to his boat. He tells me that Mrs. Edgworth {217g} married a
fellow in her journey to Chester; so I believe she little thought of
anybody’s box but her own. I desired Sterne to give me directions where
to get the box in Chester, which he says he will to-morrow; and I will
write to Richardson to get it up there as he goes by, and whip it over.
It is directed to Mrs. Curry: you must caution her of it, and desire her
to send it you when it comes. Sterne says Jemmy Leigh loves London
mightily; that makes him stay so long, I believe, and not Sterne’s
business, which Mr. Harley’s accident has put much backward. We expect
now every day that he will be Earl of Oxford and Lord Treasurer. His
patent is passing; but, they say, Lord Keeper’s not yet; at least his
son, young Harcourt, told me so t’other day. I dined to-day privately
with my friend Lewis at his lodgings at Whitehall. T’other day at
Whitehall I met a lady of my acquaintance, whom I had not seen before
since I came to England; we were mighty glad to see each other, and she
has engaged me to visit her, as I design to do. It is one Mrs. Colledge:
she has lodgings at Whitehall, having been seamstress to King William,
worth three hundred a year. Her father was a fanatic joiner, {218a}
hanged for treason in Shaftesbury’s plot. This noble person and I were
brought acquainted, some years ago, by Lady Berkeley. {218b} I love good
creditable acquaintance: I love to be the worst of the company: I am not
of those that say, “For want of company, welcome trumpery.” I was this
evening with Lady Kerry and Mrs. Pratt at Vauxhall, to hear the
nightingales; but they are almost past singing.
18. I was hunting the Secretary to-day in vain about some business, and
dined with Colonel Crowe, late Governor of Barbados, {218c} and your
friend Sterne was the third: he is very kind to Sterne, and helps him in
his business, which lies asleep till Mr. Harley is Lord Treasurer,
because nothing of moment is now done in the Treasury, the change being
expected every day. I sat with Dean Atterbury till one o’clock after I
came home; so ’tis late, etc.
19. Do you know that about our town we are mowing already and making
hay, and it smells so sweet as we walk through the flowery meads; but the
hay-making nymphs are perfect drabs, nothing so clean and pretty as
farther in the country. There is a mighty increase of dirty wenches in
straw hats since I knew London. I stayed at home till five o’clock, and
dined with Dean Atterbury; then went by water to Mr. Harley’s, where the
Saturday Club was met, with the addition of the Duke of Shrewsbury. I
whispered Lord Rivers that I did not like to see a stranger among us; and
the rogue told it aloud: but Mr. Secretary said the Duke writ to have
leave; so I appeared satisfied, and so we laughed. Mr. Secretary told me
the Duke of Buckingham {219} had been talking to him much about me, and
desired my acquaintance. I answered it could not be, for he had not made
sufficient advances. Then the Duke of Shrewsbury said he thought that
Duke was not used to make advances. I said I could not help that; for I
always expected advances in proportion to men’s quality, and more from a
duke than any other man. The Duke replied that he did not mean anything
of his quality; which was handsomely said enough; for he meant his pride:
and I have invented a notion to believe that nobody is proud. At ten all
the company went away; and from ten to twelve Mr. Harley and I sat
together, where we talked through a great deal of matters I had a mind to
settle with him; and then walked in a fine moonshine night to Chelsea,
where I got by one. Lord Rivers conjured me not to walk so late; but I
would, because I had no other way; but I had no money to lose.
20. By what the Lord Keeper told me last night, I find he will not be
made a peer so soon; but Mr. Harley’s patent for Earl of Oxford is now
drawing, and will be done in three days. We made him own it, which he
did scurvily, and then talked of it like the rest. Mr. Secretary had too
much company with him to-day; so I came away soon after dinner. I give
no man liberty to swear or talk b—dy, and I found some of them were in
constraint, so I left them to themselves. I wish you a merry
Whitsuntide, and pray tell me how you pass away your time; but, faith,
you are going to Wexford, and I fear this letter is too late; it shall go
on Thursday, and sooner it cannot, I have so much business to hinder me
answering yours. Where must I direct in your absence? Do you quit your
lodgings?
21. Going to town this morning, I met in the Pall Mall a clergyman of
Ireland, whom I love very well and was glad to see, and with him a little
jackanapes, of Ireland too, who married Nanny Swift, Uncle Adam’s {220a}
daughter, one Perry; perhaps you may have heard of him. His wife has
sent him here, to get a place from Lowndes; {220b} because my uncle and
Lowndes married two sisters, and Lowndes is a great man here in the
Treasury; but by good luck I have no acquaintance with him: however, he
expected I should be his friend to Lowndes, and one word of mine, etc.,
the old cant. But I will not go two yards to help him. I dined with
Mrs. Vanhomrigh, where I keep my best gown and periwig, to put on when I
come to town and be a spark.
22. I dined to-day in the City, and coming home this evening, I met Sir
Thomas Mansel and Mr. Lewis in the Park. Lewis whispered me that Mr.
Harley’s patent for the Earl of Oxford was passed in Mr. Secretary St.
John’s office; so to-morrow or next day, I suppose, he will be declared
Earl of Oxford, and have the staff. {220c} This man has grown by
persecutions, turnings out, and stabbing. What waiting, and crowding,
and bowing will be at his levee! yet, if human nature be capable of so
much constancy, I should believe he will be the same man still, bating
the necessary forms of grandeur he must keep up. ’Tis late, sirrahs, and
I’ll go sleep.
23. Morning. I sat up late last night, and waked late to-day; but will
now answer your letter in bed before I go to town, and I will send it
to-morrow; for perhaps you mayn’t go so soon to Wexford.—No, you are not
out in your number; the last was Number 14, and so I told you twice or
thrice; will you never be satisfied? What shall we do for poor Stella?
Go to Wexford, for God’s sake: I wish you were to walk there by three
miles a day, with a good lodging at every mile’s end. Walking has done
me so much good, that I cannot but prescribe it often to poor Stella.
Parvisol has sent me a bill for fifty pounds, which I am sorry for,
having not written to him for it, only mentioned it two months ago; but I
hope he will be able to pay you what I have drawn upon him for: he never
sent me any sum before, but one bill of twenty pounds half a year ago.
You are welcome as my blood to every farthing I have in the world; and
all that grieves me is, I am not richer, for MD’s sake, as hope saved.
{221} I suppose you give up your lodgings when you go to Wexford; yet
that will be inconvenient too: yet I wish again you were under a
necessity of rambling the country until Michaelmas, faith. No, let them
keep the shelves, with a pox; yet they are exacting people about those
four weeks; or Mrs. Brent may have the shelves, if she please. I am
obliged to your Dean for his kind offer of lending me money. Will that
be enough to say? A hundred people would lend me money, or to any man
who has not the reputation of a squanderer. O, faith, I should be glad
to be in the same kingdom with MD, however, although you are at Wexford.
But I am kept here by a most capricious fate, which I would break
through, if I could do it with decency or honour.—To return without some
mark of distinction would look extremely little; and I would likewise
gladly be somewhat richer than I am. I will say no more, but beg you to
be easy till Fortune take her course, and to believe that MD’s felicity
is the great end I aim at in all my pursuits. And so let us talk no more
on this subject, which makes me melancholy, and that I would fain divert.
Believe me, no man breathing at present has less share of happiness in
life than I: I do not say I am unhappy at all, but that everything here
is tasteless to me for want of being as I would be. And so, a short
sigh, and no more of this. Well, come and let’s see what’s next, young
women. Pox take Mrs. Edgworth and Sterne! I will take some methods
about that box. What orders would you have me give about the picture?
Can’t you do with it as if it were your own? No, I hope Manley will keep
his place; for I hear nothing of Sir Thomas Frankland’s losing his. Send
nothing under cover to Mr. Addison, but “To Erasmus Lewis, Esq.; at my
Lord Dartmouth’s office at Whitehall.” Direct your outside so.—Poor dear
Stella, don’t write in the dark, nor in the light neither, but dictate to
Dingley; she is a naughty, healthy girl, and may drudge for both. Are
you good company together? and don’t you quarrel too often? Pray love
one another, and kiss one another just now, as Dingley is reading this;
for you quarrelled this morning just after Mrs. Marget {222} had poured
water on Stella’s head: I heard the little bird say so. Well, I have
answered everything in your letter that required it, and yet the second
side is not full. I’ll come home at night, and say more; and to-morrow
this goes for certain. Go, get you gone to your own chambers, and let
Presto rise like a modest gentleman, and walk to town. I fancy I begin
to sweat less in the forehead by constant walking than I used to do; but
then I shall be so sunburnt, the ladies will not like me. Come, let me
rise, sirrahs. Morrow.—At night. I dined with Ford to-day at his
lodgings, and I found wine out of my own cellar, some of my own chest of
the great Duke’s wine: it begins to turn. They say wine with you in
Ireland is half a crown a bottle. ’Tis as Stella says; nothing that once
grows dear in Ireland ever grows cheap again, except corn, with a pox, to
ruin the parson. I had a letter to-day from the Archbishop of Dublin,
giving me further thanks about vindicating him to Mr. Harley and Mr. St.
John, and telling me a long story about your Mayor’s election, {223}
wherein I find he has had a finger, and given way to further talk about
him; but we know nothing of it here yet. This walking to and fro, and
dressing myself, takes up so much of my time that I cannot go among
company so much as formerly; yet what must a body do? I thank God I yet
continue much better since I left the town; I know not how long it may
last. I am sure it has done me some good for the present. I do not
totter as I did, but walk firm as a cock, only once or twice for a
minute, I do not know how; but it went off, and I never followed it.
Does Dingley read my hand as well as ever? do you, sirrah? Poor Stella
must not read Presto’s ugly small hand.
Preserve your eyes,
If you be wise.
Your friend Walls’s tea will go in a day or two towards Chester by one
Parson Richardson. My humble service to her, and to good Mrs. Stoyte,
and Catherine; and pray walk while you continue in Dublin. I expect your
next but one will be from Wexford. God bless dearest MD.
24. Morning. Mr. Secretary has sent his groom hither, to invite me to
dinner to-day, etc. God Almighty for ever bless and preserve you both,
and give you health, etc. Amen. Farewell, etc.
Do not I often say the same thing two or three times in the same letter,
sirrah?
Great wits, they say, have but short memories; that’s good vile
conversation.