LONDON, _Aug._ 25, 1711.
I HAVE got a pretty small gilt sheet of paper, to write to MD. I have
this moment sent my 28th by Patrick, who tells me he has put it in the
post-office; ’tis directed to your lodgings: if it wants more particular
direction, you must set me right. It is now a solar month and two days
since the date of your last, N. 18; and I reckon you are now quiet at
home, and thinking to begin your 19th, which will be full of your quarrel
between the two Houses, all which I know already. Where shall I dine
to-morrow? can you tell? Mrs. Vanhomrigh boards now, and cannot invite
one; and there I used to dine when I was at a loss: and all my friends
are gone out of town, and your town is now at the fullest, with your
Parliament and Convocation. But let me alone, sirrahs; for Presto is
going to be very busy; not Presto, but the other I.
26. People have so left the town that I am at a loss for a dinner. It
is a long time since I have been at London upon a Sunday; and the
Ministers are all at Windsor. It cost me eighteenpence in coach-hire
before I could find a place to dine in. I went to Frankland’s, {281a}
and he was abroad, and the drab his wife looked out at window, and bowed
to me without inviting me up: so I dined with Mr. Coote, {281b} my Lord
Mountrath’s brother; my lord is with you in Ireland. This morning at
five my Lord Jersey {281c} died of the gout in his stomach, or apoplexy,
or both: he was abroad yesterday, and his death was sudden. He was
Chamberlain to King William, and a great favourite, turned out by the
Queen as a Tory, and stood now fair to be Privy Seal; and by his death
will, I suppose, make that matter easier, which has been a very stubborn
business at Court, as I have been informed. I never remember so many
people of quality to have died in so short a time.
27. I went to-day into the City, to thank Stratford for my books, and
dine with him, and settle my affairs of my money in the Bank, and receive
a bill for Mrs. Wesley for some things I am to buy for her; and the d— a
one of all these could I do. The merchants were all out of town, and I
was forced to go to a little hedge place for my dinner. May my enemies
live here in summer! and yet I am so unlucky that I cannot possibly be
out of the way at this juncture. People leave the town so late in
summer, and return so late in winter, that they have almost inverted the
seasons. It is autumn this good while in St. James’s Park; the limes
have been losing their leaves, and those remaining on the trees are all
parched: I hate this season, where everything grows worse and worse. The
only good thing of it is the fruit, and that I dare not eat. Had you any
fruit at Wexford? A few cherries, and durst not eat them. I do not hear
we have yet got a new Privy Seal. The Whigs whisper that our new
Ministry differ among themselves, and they begin to talk out Mr.
Secretary: they have some reasons for their whispers, although I thought
it was a greater secret. I do not much like the posture of things; I
always apprehended that any falling out would ruin them, and so I have
told them several times. The Whigs are mighty full of hopes at present;
and whatever is the matter, all kind of stocks fall. I have not yet
talked with the Secretary about Prior’s journey. I should be apt to
think it may foretell a peace, and that is all we have to preserve us.
The Secretary is not come from Windsor, but I expect him to-morrow. Burn
all politics!
28. We begin to have fine weather, and I walked to-day to Chelsea, and
dined with the Dean of Carlisle, who is laid up with the gout. It is now
fixed that he is to be Dean of Christ Church in Oxford. I was advising
him to use his interest to prevent any misunderstanding between our
Ministers; but he is too wise to meddle, though he fears the thing and
the consequences as much as I. He will get into his own warm, quiet
deanery, and leave them to themselves; and he is in the right.—When I
came home to-night, I found a letter from Mr. Lewis, who is now at
Windsor; and in it, forsooth, another which looked like Presto’s hand;
and what should it be but a 19th from MD? O, faith, I ’scaped narrowly,
for I sent my 28th but on Saturday; and what should I have done if I had
two letters to answer at once? I did not expect another from Wexford,
that is certain. Well, I must be contented; but you are dear saucy
girls, for all that, to write so soon again, faith; an’t you?
29. I dined to-day with Lord Abercorn, and took my leave of them: they
set out to-morrow for Chester, and, I believe, will now fix in Ireland.
They have made a pretty good journey of it: his eldest son {282} is
married to a lady with ten thousand pounds; and his second son {283a}
has, t’other day, got a prize in the lottery of four thousand pounds,
beside two small ones of two hundred pounds each: nay, the family was so
fortunate, that my lord bestowing one ticket, which is a hundred pounds,
to one of his servants, who had been his page, the young fellow got a
prize, which has made it another hundred. I went in the evening to Lord
Treasurer, who desires I will dine with him to-morrow, when he will show
me the answer he designs to return to the letter of thanks from your
bishops in Ireland. The Archbishop of Dublin desired me to get myself
mentioned in the answer which my lord would send; but I sent him word I
would not open my lips to my lord upon it. He says it would convince the
bishops of what I have affirmed, that the First-Fruits were granted
before the Duke of Ormond was declared Governor; and I writ to him that I
would not give a farthing to convince them. My Lord Treasurer began a
health to my Lord Privy Seal: Prior punned, and said it was so privy, he
knew not who it was; but I fancy they have fixed it all, and we shall
know to-morrow. But what care you who is Privy Seal, saucy sluttikins?
30. When I went out this morning, I was surprised with the news that the
Bishop of Bristol is made Lord Privy Seal. You know his name is
Robinson, {283b} and that he was many years Envoy in Sweden. All the
friends of the present Ministry are extremely glad, and the clergy above
the rest. The Whigs will fret to death to see a civil employment given
to a clergyman. It was a very handsome thing in my Lord Treasurer, and
will bind the Church to him for ever. I dined with him to-day, but he
had not written his letter; {283c} but told me he would not offer to send
it without showing it to me: he thought that would not be just, since I
was so deeply concerned in the affair. We had much company: Lord Rivers,
Mar, {284a} and Kinnoull, {284b} Mr. Secretary, George Granville, and
Masham: the last has invited me to the christening of his son to-morrow
se’ennight; and on Saturday I go to Windsor with Mr. Secretary.
31. Dilly and I walked to-day to Kensington to Lady Mountjoy, who
invited us to dinner. He returned soon, to go to a play, it being the
last that will be acted for some time: he dresses himself like a beau,
and no doubt makes a fine figure. I went to visit some people at
Kensington: Ophy Butler’s wife {284c} there lies very ill of an ague,
which is a very common disease here, and little known in Ireland. I am
apt to think we shall soon have a peace, by the little words I hear
thrown out by the Ministry. I have just thought of a project to bite the
town. I have told you that it is now known that Mr. Prior has been
lately in France. I will make a printer of my own sit by me one day, and
I will dictate to him a formal relation of Prior’s journey, {284d} with
several particulars, all pure invention; and I doubt not but it will
take.
Sept. 1. Morning. I go to-day to Windsor with Mr. Secretary; and Lord
Treasurer has promised to bring me back. The weather has been fine for
some time, and I believe we shall have a great deal of dust.—At night.
Windsor. The Secretary and I dined to-day at Parson’s Green, at my Lord
Peterborow’s house, who has left it and his gardens to the Secretary
during his absence. It is the finest garden I have ever seen about this
town; and abundance of hot walls for grapes, where they are in great
plenty, and ripening fast. I durst not eat any fruit but one fig; but I
brought a basket full to my friend Lewis here at Windsor. Does Stella
never eat any? what, no apricots at Donnybrook! nothing but claret and
ombre! I envy people maunching and maunching peaches and grapes, and I
not daring to eat a bit. My head is pretty well, only a sudden turn any
time makes me giddy for a moment, and sometimes it feels very stuffed;
but if it grows no worse, I can bear it very well. I take all
opportunities of walking; and we have a delicious park here just joining
to the Castle, and an avenue in the great park very wide and two miles
long, set with a double row of elms on each side. Were you ever at
Windsor? I was once, a great while ago; but had quite forgotten it.
2. The Queen has the gout, and did not come to chapel, nor stir out from
her chamber, but received the sacrament there, as she always does the
first Sunday in the month. Yet we had a great Court; and, among others,
I saw your Ingoldsby, {285a} who, seeing me talk very familiarly with the
Keeper, Treasurer, etc., came up and saluted me, and began a very
impertinent discourse about the siege of Bouchain. I told him I could
not answer his questions, but I would bring him one that should; so I
went and fetched Sutton (who brought over the express about a month ago),
and delivered him to the General, and bid him answer his questions; and
so I left them together. Sutton after some time comes back in a rage,
finds me with Lord Rivers and Masham, and there complains of the trick I
had played him, and swore he had been plagued to death with Ingoldsby’s
talk. But he told me Ingoldsby asked him what I meant by bringing him;
so, I suppose, he smoked me a little. So we laughed, etc. My Lord
Willoughby, {285b} who is one of the chaplains, and Prebendary of
Windsor, read prayers last night to the family; and the Bishop of
Bristol, who is Dean of Windsor, officiated last night at the Cathedral.
This they do to be popular; and it pleases mightily. I dined with Mr.
Masham, because he lets me have a select company: for the Court here have
got by the end a good thing I said to the Secretary some weeks ago. He
showed me his bill of fare, to tempt me to dine with him. “Poh,” said I,
“I value not your bill of fare; give me your bill of company.” Lord
Treasurer was mightily pleased, and told it everybody as a notable thing.
I reckon upon returning to-morrow: they say the Bishop will then have the
Privy Seal delivered him at a great Council.
3. Windsor still. The Council was held so late to-day that I do not go
back to town till to-morrow. The Bishop was sworn Privy Councillor, and
had the Privy Seal given him: and now the patents are passed for those
who were this long time to be made lords or earls. Lord Raby, {286} who
is Earl of Strafford, is on Thursday to marry a namesake of Stella’s; the
daughter of Sir H. Johnson in the City; he has three-score thousand
pounds with her, ready money; besides the rest at the father’s death. I
have got my friend Stratford to be one of the directors of the South Sea
Company, who were named to-day. My Lord Treasurer did it for me a month
ago; and one of those whom I got to be printer of the _Gazette_ I am
recommending to be printer to the same company. He treated Mr. Lewis and
me to-day at dinner. I supped last night and this with Lord Treasurer,
Keeper, etc., and took occasion to mention the printer. I said it was
the same printer whom my Lord Treasurer has appointed to print for the
South Sea Company. He denied, and I insisted on it; and I got the laugh
on my side.
London, 4. I came as far as Brentford in Lord Rivers’s chariot, who had
business with Lord Treasurer; then I went into Lord Treasurer’s. We
stopped at Kensington, where Lord Treasurer went to see Mrs. Masham, who
is now what they call in the straw. We got to town by three, and I
lighted at Lord Treasurer’s, who commanded me not to stir: but I was not
well; and when he went up, I begged the young lord to excuse me, and so
went into the City by water, where I could be easier, and dined with the
printer, and dictated to him some part of Prior’s _Journey to France_. I
walked from the City, for I take all occasions of exercise. Our journey
was horridly dusty.
5. When I went out to-day, I found it had rained mightily in the night,
and the streets were as dirty as winter: it is very refreshing after ten
days dry.—I went into the City, and dined with Stratford, thanked him for
his books, gave him joy of his being director, of which he had the first
notice by a letter from me. I ate sturgeon, and it lies on my stomach.
I almost finished Prior’s _Journey_ at the printer’s; and came home
pretty late, with Patrick at my heels.
7. Morning. But what shall we do about this letter of MD’s, N. 19? Not
a word answered yet, and so much paper spent! I cannot do anything in
it, sweethearts, till night.—At night. O Lord, O Lord! the greatest
disgrace that ever was has happened to Presto. What do you think? but,
when I was going out this forenoon a letter came from MD, N. 20, dated
Dublin. O dear, O dear! O sad, O sad!—Now I have two letters together
to answer: here they are, lying together. But I will only answer the
first; for I came in late. I dined with my friend Lewis at his lodgings,
and walked at six to Kensington to Mrs. Masham’s son’s christening. It
was very private; nobody there but my Lord Treasurer, his son and
son-in-law, that is to say, Lord Harley and Lord Dupplin, and Lord Rivers
and I. The Dean of Rochester {287a} christened the child, but soon went
away. Lord Treasurer and Lord Rivers were godfathers; and Mrs. Hill,
{287b} Mrs. Masham’s sister, godmother. The child roared like a bull,
and I gave Mrs. Masham joy of it; and she charged me to take care of my
nephew, because, Mr. Masham being a brother of our Society, his son, you
know, is consequently a nephew. Mrs. Masham sat up dressed in bed, but
not, as they do in Ireland, with all smooth about her, as if she was cut
off in the middle; for you might see the counterpane (what d’ye call it?)
rise about her hips and body. There is another name of the counterpane;
and you will laugh now, sirrahs. George Granville came in at supper, and
we stayed till eleven; and Lord Treasurer set me down at my lodging in
Suffolk Street. Did I ever tell you that Lord Treasurer hears ill with
the left ear, just as I do? He always turns the right, and his servants
whisper him at that only. I dare not tell him that I am so too, for fear
he should think I counterfeited, to make my court.
6. You must read this before the other; for I mistook, and forgot to
write yesterday’s journal, it was so insignificant. I dined with Dr.
Cockburn, and sat the evening with Lord Treasurer till ten o’clock. On
Thursdays he has always a large select company, and expects me. So
good-night for last night, etc.
8. Morning. I go to Windsor with Lord Treasurer to-day, and will leave
this behind me, to be sent to the post. And now let us hear what says
the first letter, N. 19. You are still at Wexford, as you say, Madam
Dingley. I think no letter from me ever yet miscarried. And so
Inish-Corthy, {288a} and the river Slainy; fine words those in a lady’s
mouth. Your hand like Dingley’s, you scambling, {288b} scattering
sluttikin! _Yes_, _mighty like indeed_, _is not it_? {288c} Pisshh, do
not talk of writing or reading till your eyes are well, and long well;
only I would have Dingley read sometimes to you, that you may not lose
the desire of it. God be thanked, that the ugly numbing is gone! Pray
use exercise when you go to town. What game is that ombra which Dr.
Elwood {288d} and you play at? is it the Spanish game ombre? Your
card-purse? you a card-purse! you a fiddlestick. You have luck indeed;
and luck in a bag. What a devil! is that eight-shilling tea-kettle
copper, or tin japanned? It is like your Irish politeness, raffling for
tea-kettles. What a splutter you keep, to convince me that Walls has no
taste! My head continues pretty well. Why do you write, dear sirrah
Stella, when you find your eyes so weak that you cannot see? what comfort
is there in reading what you write, when one knows that? So Dingley
cannot write, because of the clutter of new company come to Wexford! I
suppose the noise of their hundred horses disturbs you; or do you lie in
one gallery, as in an hospital? What! you are afraid of losing in Dublin
the acquaintance you have got in Wexford, and chiefly the Bishop of
Raphoe, {289a} an old, doting, perverse coxcomb? Twenty at a time at
breakfast. That is like five pounds at a time, when it was never but
once. I doubt, Madam Dingley, you are apt to lie in your travels, though
not so bad as Stella; she tells thumpers, as I shall prove in my next, if
I find this receives encouragement.—So Dr. Elwood says there are a world
of pretty things in my works. A pox on his praises! an enemy here would
say more. The Duke of Buckingham would say as much, though he and I are
terribly fallen out; and the great men are perpetually inflaming me
against him: they bring me all he says of me, and, I believe, make it
worse out of roguery.—No, ’tis not your pen is bewitched, Madam Stella,
but your old _scrawling_, _splay-foot pot-hooks_, _s_, _s_, {289b} ay
that’s it: there the s, s, s, there, there, that’s exact. Farewell, etc.
Our fine weather is gone; and I doubt we shall have a rainy journey
to-day. Faith, ’tis shaving-day, and I have much to do. When Stella
says her pen was bewitched, it was only because there was a hair in it.
You know, the fellow they call God-help-it had the same thoughts of his
wife, and for the same reason. I think this is very well observed, and I
unfolded the letter to tell you it.
Cut off those two notes above; and see the nine pounds indorsed, and
receive the other; and send me word how my accounts stand, that they may
be adjusted by Nov. 1. {290a} Pray be very particular; but the twenty
pounds I lend you is not to be included: so make no blunder. I won’t
wrong you, nor you shan’t wrong me; that is the short. O Lord, how stout
Presto is of late! But he loves MD more than his life a thousand times,
for all his stoutness; tell them that; and that I’ll swear it, as hope
saved, ten millions of times, etc. etc.
I open my letter once more, to tell Stella that if she does not use
exercise after her waters, it will lose all the effects of them: I should
not live if I did not take all opportunities of walking. Pray, pray, do
this, to oblige poor Presto.