CHELSEA, _June_ 30, 1711.
SEE what large paper I am forced to take, to write to MD; Patrick has
brought me none clipped; but, faith, the next shall be smaller. I dined
to-day, as I told you, with Dilly at Sir Andrew Fountaine’s: there were
we wretchedly punning, and writing together to Lord Pembroke. Dilly is
just such a puppy as ever; and it is so uncouth, after so long an
intermission. My twenty-fifth is gone this evening to the post. I think
I will direct my next (which is this) to Mr. Curry’s, and let them send
it to Wexford; and then the next enclosed to Reading. Instruct me how I
shall do. I long to hear from you from Wexford, and what sort of place
it is. The town grows very empty and dull. This evening I have had a
letter from Mr. Philips, the pastoral poet, to get him a certain
employment from Lord Treasurer. I have now had almost all the Whig poets
my solicitors; and I have been useful to Congreve, Steele, and Harrison:
but I will do nothing for Philips; I find he is more a puppy than ever,
so don’t solicit for him. Besides, I will not trouble Lord Treasurer,
unless upon some very extraordinary occasion.
July 1. Dilly lies conveniently for me when I come to town from Chelsea
of a Sunday, and go to the Secretary’s; so I called at his lodgings this
morning, and sent for my gown, and dressed myself there. He had a letter
from the Bishop, with an account that you were set out for Wexford the
morning he writ, which was June 26, and he had the letter the 30th; that
was very quick: the Bishop says you design to stay there two months or
more. Dilly had also a letter from Tom Ashe, full of Irish news; that
your Lady Lyndon {245a} is dead, and I know not what besides of Dr.
Coghill {245b} losing his drab, etc. The Secretary was gone to Windsor,
and I dined with Mrs. Vanhomrigh. Lord Treasurer is at Windsor too; they
will be going and coming all summer, while the Queen is there, and the
town is empty, and I fear I shall be sometimes forced to stoop beneath my
dignity, and send to the ale-house for a dinner. Well, sirrahs, had you
a good journey to Wexford? did you drink ale by the way? were you never
overturned? how many things did you forget? do you lie on straw in your
new town where you are? Cudshoe, {246} the next letter to Presto will be
dated from Wexford. What fine company have you there? what new
acquaintance have you got? You are to write constantly to Mrs. Walls and
Mrs. Stoyte: and the Dean said, “Shall we never hear from you?” “Yes,
Mr. Dean, we’ll make bold to trouble you with a letter.” Then at
Wexford; when you meet a lady, “Did your waters pass well this morning,
madam?” Will Dingley drink them too? Yes, I warrant; to get her a
stomach. I suppose you are all gamesters at Wexford. Do not lose your
money, sirrah, far from home. I believe I shall go to Windsor in a few
days; at least, the Secretary tells me so. He has a small house there,
with just room enough for him and me; and I would be satisfied to pass a
few days there sometimes. Sirrahs, let me go to sleep, it is past twelve
in our town.
2. Sterne came to me this morning, and tells me he has yet some hopes of
compassing his business: he was with Tom Harley, the secretary of the
Treasury, and made him doubt a little he was in the wrong; the poor man
tells me it will almost undo him if he fails. I called this morning to
see Will Congreve, who lives much by himself, is forced to read for
amusement, and cannot do it without a magnifying-glass. I have set him
very well with the Ministry, and I hope he is in no danger of losing his
place. I dined in the City with Dr. Freind, not among my merchants, but
with a scrub instrument of mischief of mine, whom I never mentioned to
you, nor am like to do. You two little saucy Wexfordians, you are now
drinking waters. You drink waters! you go fiddlestick. Pray God send
them to do you good; if not, faith, next summer you shall come to the
Bath.
3. Lord Peterborow desired to see me this morning at nine; I had not
seen him before since he came home. I met Mrs. Manley {247a} there, who
was soliciting him to get some pension or reward for her service in the
cause, by writing her _Atalantis_, and prosecution, etc., upon it. I
seconded her, and hope they will do something for the poor woman. My
lord kept me two hours upon politics: he comes home very sanguine; he has
certainly done great things at Savoy and Vienna, by his negotiations: he
is violent against a peace, and finds true what I writ to him, that the
Ministry seems for it. He reasons well; yet I am for a peace. I took
leave of Lady Kerry, who goes to-morrow for Ireland; she picks up Lord
Shelburne and Mrs. Pratt at Lord Shelburne’s house. I was this evening
with Lord Treasurer: Tom Harley was there, and whispered me that he began
to doubt about Sterne’s business; I told him he would find he was in the
wrong. I sat two or three hours at Lord Treasurer’s; he rallied me
sufficiently upon my refusing to take him into our Club, and told a judge
who was with us that my name was Thomas Swift. I had a mind to prevent
Sir H. Belasyse {247b} going to Spain, who is a most covetous cur, and I
fell a railing against avarice, and turned it so that he smoked me, and
named Belasyse. I went on, and said it was a shame to send him; to which
he agreed, but desired I would name some who understood business, and do
not love money, for he could not find them. I said there was something
in a Treasurer different from other men; that we ought not to make a man
a Bishop who does not love divinity, or a General who does not love war;
and I wondered why the Queen would make a man Lord Treasurer who does not
love money. He was mightily pleased with what I said. He was talking of
the First-Fruits of England, and I took occasion to tell him that I would
not for a thousand pounds anybody but he had got them for Ireland, who
got them for England too. He bid me consider what a thousand pounds was;
I said I would have him to know I valued a thousand pounds as little as
he valued a million.—Is it not silly to write all this? but it gives you
an idea what our conversation is with mixed company. I have taken a
lodging in Suffolk Street, and go to it on Thursday; and design to walk
the Park and the town, to supply my walking here: yet I will walk here
sometimes too, in a visit now and then to the Dean. {248} When I was
almost at home, Patrick told me he had two letters for me, and gave them
to me in the dark, yet I could see one of them was from saucy MD. I went
to visit the Dean for half an hour; and then came home, and first read
the other letter, which was from the Bishop of Clogher, who tells me the
Archbishop of Dublin mentioned in a full assembly of the clergy the
Queen’s granting the First-Fruits, said it was done by the Lord
Treasurer, and talked much of my merit in it: but reading yours I find
nothing of that: perhaps the Bishop lies, out of a desire to please me.
I dined with Mrs. Vanhomrigh. Well, sirrahs, you are gone to Wexford;
but I’ll follow you.
4. Sterne came to me again this morning, to advise about reasons and
memorials he is drawing up; and we went to town by water together; and
having nothing to do, I stole into the City to an instrument of mine, and
then went to see poor Patty Rolt, {249a} who has been in town these two
months with a cousin of hers. Her life passes with boarding in some
country town as cheap as she can, and, when she runs out, shifting to
some cheaper place, or coming to town for a month. If I were rich, I
would ease her, which a little thing would do. Some months ago I sent
her a guinea, and it patched up twenty circumstances. She is now going
to Berkhamstead in Hertfordshire. It has rained and hailed prodigiously
to-day, with some thunder. This is the last night I lie at Chelsea; and
I got home early, and sat two hours with the Dean, and ate victuals,
having had a very scurvy dinner. I’ll answer your letter when I come to
live in town. You shall have a fine London answer: but first I will go
sleep, and dream of MD.
London, July 5. This day I left Chelsea for good (that’s a genteel
phrase), and am got into Suffolk Street. I dined to-day at our Society,
and we are adjourned for a month, because most of us go into the country:
we dined at Lord Keeper’s with young Harcourt, and Lord Keeper was forced
to sneak off, and dine with Lord Treasurer, who had invited the Secretary
and me to dine with him; but we scorned to leave our company, as George
Granville did, whom we have threatened to expel: however, in the evening
I went to Lord Treasurer, and, among other company, found a couple of
judges with him; one of them, Judge Powell, {249b} an old fellow with
grey hairs, was the merriest old gentleman I ever saw, spoke pleasant
things, and laughed and chuckled till he cried again. I stayed till
eleven, because I was not now to walk to Chelsea.
6. An ugly rainy day. I was to visit Mrs. Barton, then called at Mrs.
Vanhomrigh’s, where Sir Andrew Fountaine and the rain kept me to dinner;
and there did I loiter all the afternoon, like a fool, out of perfect
laziness, and the weather not permitting me to walk: but I’ll do so no
more. Are your waters at Wexford good in this rain? I long to hear how
you are established there, how and whom you visit, what is your lodging,
what are your entertainments. You are got far southwards; but I think
you must eat no fruit while you drink the waters. I ate some Kentish
cherries t’other day, and I repent it already; I have felt my head a
little disordered. We had not a hot day all June, or since, which I
reckon a mighty happiness. Have you left a direction with Reading for
Wexford? I will, as I said, direct this to Curry’s, and the next to
Reading; or suppose I send this at a venture straight to Wexford? It
would vex me to have it miscarry. I had a letter to-night from Parvisol,
that White has paid me most of my remaining money; and another from Joe,
that they have had their election at Trim, but not a word of who is
chosen portreeve. {250a} Poor Joe is full of complaints, says he has
enemies, and fears he will never get his two hundred pounds; and I fear
so too, although I have done what I could.—I’ll answer your letter when I
think fit, when saucy Presto thinks fit, sirrahs. I am not at leisure
yet; when I have nothing to do, perhaps I may vouchsafe.—O Lord, the two
Wexford ladies; I’ll go dream of you both.
7. It was the dismallest rainy day I ever saw: I went to the Secretary
in the morning, and he was gone to Windsor. Then it began raining, and I
struck in to Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s, and dined, and stayed till night very
dull and insipid. I hate this town in summer; I’ll leave it for a while,
if I can have time.
8. I have a fellow of your town, one Tisdall, {250b} lodges in the same
house with me. Patrick told me Squire Tisdall and his lady lodged here.
I pretended I never heard of him; but I knew his ugly face, and saw him
at church in the next pew to me, and he often looked for a bow, but it
would not do. I think he lives in Capel Street, and has an ugly fine
wife in a fine coach. Dr. Freind and I dined in the City by invitation,
and I drank punch, very good, but it makes me hot. People here are
troubled with agues by this continuance of wet, cold weather; but I am
glad to find the season so temperate. I was this evening to see Will
Congreve, who is a very agreeable companion.
9. I was to-day in the City, and dined with Mr. Stratford, who tells me
Sir Alexander Cairnes makes difficulties about paying my bill; so that I
cannot give order yet to Parvisol to deliver up the bond to Dr. Raymond.
To-morrow I shall have a positive answer: that Cairnes is a shuffling
scoundrel; and several merchants have told me so: what can one expect
from a Scot and a fanatic? I was at Bateman’s the bookseller’s, to see a
fine old library he has bought; and my fingers itched, as yours would do
at a china-shop; but I resisted, and found everything too dear, and I
have fooled away too much money that way already. So go and drink your
waters, saucy rogue, and make yourself well; and pray walk while you are
there: I have a notion there is never a good walk in Ireland. {251} Do
you find all places without trees? Pray observe the inhabitants about
Wexford; they are old English; see what they have particular in their
manners, names, and language: magpies have been always there, and nowhere
else in Ireland, till of late years. They say the cocks and dogs go to
sleep at noon, and so do the people. Write your travels, and bring home
good eyes and health.
10. I dined to-day with Lord Treasurer: we did not sit down till four.
I despatched three businesses with him, and forgot a fourth. I think I
have got a friend an employment; and besides I made him consent to let me
bring Congreve to dine with him. You must understand I have a mind to do
a small thing, only turn out all the Queen’s physicians; for in my
conscience they will soon kill her among them. And I must talk over that
matter with some people. My Lord Treasurer told me the Queen and he
between them have lost the paper about the First-Fruits, but desires I
will let the bishops know it shall be done with the first opportunity.
11. I dined to-day with neighbour Van, and walked pretty well in the
Park this evening. Stella, hussy, don’t you remember, sirrah, you used
to reproach me about meddling in other folk’s affairs? I have enough of
it now: two people came to me to-night in the Park to engage to speak to
Lord Treasurer in their behalf, and I believe they make up fifty who have
asked me the same favour. I am hardened, and resolve to trouble him, or
any other Minister, less than ever. And I observe those who have ten
times more credit than I will not speak a word for anybody. I met
yesterday the poor lad I told you of, who lived with Mr. Tenison, {252a}
who has been ill of an ague ever since I saw him. He looked wretchedly,
and was exceeding thankful for half a crown I gave him. He had a crown
from me before.
12. I dined to-day with young Manley {252b} in the City, who is to get
me out a box of books and a hamper of wine from Hamburg. I inquired of
Mr. Stratford, who tells me that Cairnes has not yet paid my two hundred
pounds, but shams and delays from day to day. Young Manley’s wife is a
very indifferent person of a young woman, goggle-eyed, and looks like a
fool: yet he is a handsome fellow, and married her for love after long
courtship, and she refused him until he got his last employment.—I
believe I shall not be so good a boy for writing as I was during your
stay at Wexford, unless I may send my letters every second time to
Curry’s; pray let me know. This, I think, shall go there: or why not to
Wexford itself? That is right, and so it shall this next Tuesday,
although it costs you tenpence. What care I?
13. This toad of a Secretary is come from Windsor, and I cannot find
him; and he goes back on Sunday, and I can’t see him to-morrow. I dined
scurvily to-day with Mr. Lewis and a parson; and then went to see Lord
Treasurer, and met him coming from his house in his coach: he smiled, and
I shrugged, and we smoked each other; and so my visit is paid. I now
confine myself to see him only twice a week: he has invited me to
Windsor, and betwixt two stools, etc. I will go live at Windsor, if
possible, that’s pozzz. I have always the luck to pass my summer in
London. I called this evening to see poor Sir Matthew Dudley, a
Commissioner of the Customs; I know he is to be out for certain: he is in
hopes of continuing: I would not tell him bad news, but advised him to
prepare for the worst. Dilly was with me this morning, to invite me to
dine at Kensington on Sunday with Lord Mountjoy, who goes soon for
Ireland. Your late Chief-Justice Broderick {253a} is here, and they say
violent as a tiger. How is party among you at Wexford? Are the majority
of ladies for the late or present Ministry? Write me Wexford news, and
love Presto, because he is a good boy.
14. Although it was shaving-day, I walked to Chelsea, and was there by
nine this morning; and the Dean of Carlisle and I crossed the water to
Battersea, and went in his chariot to Greenwich, where we dined at Dr.
Gastrell’s, and passed the afternoon at Lewisham, at the Dean of
Canterbury’s; {253b} and there I saw Moll Stanhope, {253c} who is grown
monstrously tall, but not so handsome as formerly. It is the first
little rambling journey I have had this summer about London, and they are
the agreeablest pastimes one can have, in a friend’s coach, and to good
company. Bank Stock is fallen three or four per cent. by the whispers
about the town of the Queen’s being ill, who is however very well.
15. How many books have you carried with you to Wexford? What, not one
single book? Oh, but your time will be so taken up; and you can borrow
of the parson. I dined to-day with Sir Andrew Fountaine and Dilly at
Kensington with Lord Mountjoy; and in the afternoon Stratford came there,
and told me my two hundred pounds were paid at last; so that business is
over, and I am at ease about it; and I wish all your money was in the
Bank too. I will have my other hundred pounds there, that is in
Hawkshaw’s hands. Have you had the interest of it paid yet? I ordered
Parvisol to do it. What makes Presto write so crooked? I will answer
your letter to-morrow, and send it on Tuesday. Here’s hot weather come
again, yesterday and to-day: fine drinking waters now. We had a sad pert
dull parson at Kensington to-day. I almost repent my coming to town; I
want the walks I had.
16. I dined in the City to-day with a hedge {254} acquaintance, and the
day passed without any consequence. I will answer your letter to-morrow.
17. Morning. I have put your letter before me, and am going to answer
it. Hold your tongue: stand by. Your weather and ours were not alike;
we had not a bit of hot weather in June, yet you complain of it on the
19th day. What, you used to love hot weather then? I could never endure
it: I detest and abominate it. I would not live in a hot country, to be
king of it. What a splutter you keep about my bonds with Raymond, and
all to affront Presto! Presto will be suspicious of everything but MD,
in spite of your little nose. Soft and fair, Madam Stella, how you
gallop away, in your spleen and your rage, about repenting my journey,
and preferment here, and sixpence a dozen, and nasty England, and Laracor
all my life. Hey-dazy, will you never have done? I had no offers of any
living. Lord Keeper told me some months ago he would give me one when I
pleased; but I told him I would not take any from him; and the Secretary
told me t’other day he had refused a very good one for me, but it was in
a place he did not like; and I know nothing of getting anything here,
and, if they would give me leave, I would come over just now. Addison, I
hear, has changed his mind about going over; but I have not seen him
these four months.—Oh ay, that’s true, Dingley; that’s like herself:
millions of businesses to do before she goes. Yes, my head has been
pretty well, but threatening within these two or three days, which I
impute to some fruit I ate; but I will eat no more: not a bit of any
sort. I suppose you had a journey without dust, and that was happy. I
long for a Wexford letter, but must not think of it yet: your last was
finished but three weeks ago. It is d—d news you tell me of Mrs. F—; it
makes me love England less a great deal. I know nothing of the trunk
being left or taken; so ’tis odd enough, if the things in it were mine;
and I think I was told that there are some things for me that my mother
left particularly to me. I am really sorry for —; that scoundrel — will
have his estate after his mother’s death. Let me know if Mrs. Walls has
got her tea: I hope Richardson {255a} stayed in Dublin till it came.
Mrs. Walls needed not have that blemish in her eye; for I am not in love
with her at all. No, I do not like anything in the _Examiner_ after the
45th, except the first part of the 46th; {255b} all the rest is trash;
and if you like them, especially the 47th, your judgment is spoiled by
ill company and want of reading, which I am more sorry for than you
think: and I have spent fourteen years in improving you to little
purpose. (Mr. Tooke is come here, and I must stop.)—At night. I dined
with Lord Treasurer to-day, and he kept me till nine; so I cannot send
this to-night, as I intended, nor write some other letters. Green,
{255c} his surgeon, was there, and dressed his breast; that is, put on a
plaster, which is still requisite: and I took an opportunity to speak to
him of the Queen; but he cut me short with this saying, “_Laissez faire à
Don Antoine_,” which is a French proverb, expressing, “Leave that to me.”
I find he is against her taking much physic; and I doubt he cannot
persuade her to take Dr. Radcliffe. However, she is very well now, and
all the story of her illness, except the first day or two, was a lie. We
had some business, that company hindered us from doing, though he is
earnest for it, yet would not appoint me a certain day, but bids me come
at all times till we can have leisure. This takes up a great deal of my
time, and I can do nothing I would do for them. I was with the Secretary
this morning, and we both think to go to Windsor for some days, to
despatch an affair, if we can have leisure. Sterne met me just now in
the street by his lodgings, and I went in for an hour to Jemmy Leigh, who
loves London dearly: he asked after you with great respect and
friendship.—To return to your letter. Your Bishop Mills {256a} hates me
mortally: I wonder he should speak well of me, having abused me in all
places where he went. So you pay your way. Cudsho: you had a fine
supper, I warrant; two pullets, and a bottle of wine, and some
currants.—It is just three weeks to-day since you set out to Wexford; you
were three days going, and I do not expect a letter these ten days yet,
or rather this fortnight. I got a grant of the _Gazette_ {256b} for Ben
Tooke this morning from Mr. Secretary: it will be worth to him a hundred
pounds a year.
18. To-day I took leave of Mrs. Barton, who is going into the country;
and I dined with Sir John Stanley, {256c} where I have not been this
great while. There dined with us Lord Rochester, and his fine daughter,
Lady Jane, {256d} just growing a top-toast. I have been endeavouring to
save Sir Matthew Dudley, {257a} but fear I cannot. I walked the Mall six
times to-night for exercise, and would have done more; but, as empty as
the town is, a fool got hold of me, and so I came home, to tell you this
shall go to-morrow, without fail, and follow you to Wexford, like a dog.
19. Dean Atterbury sent to me to dine with him at Chelsea. I refused
his coach, and walked, and am come back by seven, because I would finish
this letter, and some others I am writing. Patrick tells me the maid
says one Mr. Walls, a clergyman, a tall man, was here to visit me. Is it
your Irish Archdeacon? I shall be sorry for it; but I shall make shift
to see him seldom enough, as I do Dilly. What can he do here? or is it
somebody else? The Duke of Newcastle {257b} is dead by the fall he had
from his horse. God send poor Stella her health, and keep MD happy!
Farewell, and love Presto, who loves MD above all things ten million of
times. God bless the dear Wexford girls. Farewell again, etc. etc.