LONDON, _Nov._ 3, 1711.
MY thirty-third lies now before me just finished, and I am going to seal
and send it, so let me know whether you would have me add anything: I
gave you my journal of this day; and it is now nine at night, and I am
going to be busy for an hour or two.
4. I left a friend’s house to-day where I was invited, just when dinner
was setting on, and pretended I was engaged, because I saw some fellows I
did not know; and went to Sir Matthew Dudley’s, where I had the same
inconvenience, but he would not let me go; otherwise I would have gone
home, and sent for a slice of mutton and a pot of ale, rather than dine
with persons unknown, as bad, for aught I know, as your deans, parsons,
and curates. Bad slabby weather to-day.—Now methinks I write at ease,
when I have no letter of MD’s to answer. But I mistook, and have got the
large paper. The Queen is laid up with the gout at Hampton Court: she is
now seldom without it any long time together; I fear it will wear her out
in a very few years. I plainly find I have less twitchings about my toes
since these Ministers are sick and out of town, and that I don’t dine
with them. I would compound for a light easy gout to be perfectly well
in my head.—Pray walk when the frost comes, young ladies go a
frost-biting. It comes into my head, that, from the very time you first
went to Ireland, I have been always plying you to walk and read. The
young fellows here have begun a kind of fashion to walk, and many of them
have got swingeing strong shoes on purpose; it has got as far as several
young lords; if it hold, it would be a very good thing. Lady Lucy {332a}
and I are fallen out; she rails at me, and I have left visiting her.
5. MD was very troublesome to me last night in my sleep; I was a
dreamed, methought, that Stella was here. I asked her after Dingley, and
she said she had left her in Ireland, because she designed her stay to be
short, and such stuff.—Monsieur Pontchartain, the Secretary of State in
France, and Monsieur Fontenelle, the Secretary of the Royal Academy there
(who writ the _Dialogues des Morts_, etc.), have sent letters to Lord
Pembroke that the Academy have, with the King’s consent, chosen him one
of their members in the room of one who is lately dead. But the cautious
gentleman has given me the letters to show my Lord Dartmouth and Mr. St.
John, our two Secretaries, and let them see there is no treason in them;
which I will do on Wednesday, when they come from Hampton Court. The
letters are very handsome, and it is a very great mark of honour and
distinction to Lord Pembroke. I hear the two French Ministers are come
over again about the peace; but I have seen nobody of consequence to know
the truth. I dined to-day with a lady of my acquaintance, who was sick,
in her bed-chamber, upon three herrings and a chicken: the dinner was my
bespeaking. We begin now to have chestnuts and Seville oranges; have you
the latter yet? ’Twas a terrible windy day, and we had processions in
carts of the Pope and the Devil, and the butchers rang their cleavers.
You know this is the Fifth of November, Popery and gunpowder.
6. Since I am used to this way of writing, I fancy I could hardly make
out a long letter to MD without it. I think I ought to allow for every
line taken up by telling you where I dined; but that will not be above
seven lines in all, half a line to a dinner. Your Ingoldsby {332b} is
going over, and they say here he is to be made a lord.—Here was I staying
in my room till two this afternoon for that puppy Sir Andrew Fountaine,
who was to go with me into the City, and never came; and if I had not
shot a dinner flying, with one Mr. Murray, I might have fasted, or gone
to an alehouse.—You never said one word of Goody Stoyte in your letter;
but I suppose these winter nights we shall hear more of her. Does the
Provost {333a} laugh as much as he used to do? We reckon him here a
good-for-nothing fellow.—I design to write to your Dean one of these
days, but I can never find time, nor what to say.—I will think of
something: but if DD {333b} were not in Ireland I believe seriously I
should not think of the place twice a year. Nothing there ever makes the
subject of talk in any company where I am.
7. I went to-day to the City on business; but stopped at a printer’s,
and stayed there: it was a most delicious day. I hear the Parliament is
to be prorogued for a fortnight longer; I suppose, either because the
Queen has the gout, or that Lord Treasurer is not well, or that they
would do something more towards a peace. I called at Lord Treasurer’s at
noon, and sat a while with Lord Harley, but his father was asleep. A
bookseller has reprinted or new-titled a sermon of Tom Swift’s, {333c}
printed last year, and publishes an advertisement calling it _Dr. Swift’s
Sermon_. Some friend of Lord Galway {333d} has, by his directions,
published a four-shilling book about his conduct in Spain, to defend him;
I have but just seen it. But what care you for books, except Presto’s
_Miscellanies_? Leigh promised to call and see me, but has not yet; I
hope he will take care of his cargo, and get your Chester box. A murrain
take that box! everything is spoiled that is in it. How does the strong
box do? You say nothing of Raymond: is his wife brought to bed again; or
how? has he finished his house; paid his debts; and put out the rest of
the money to use? I am glad to hear poor Joe is like to get his two
hundred pounds. I suppose Trim is now reduced to slavery again. I am
glad of it; the people were as great rascals as the gentlemen. But I
must go to bed, sirrahs: the Secretary is still at Hampton Court with my
papers, or is come only to-night. They plague me with attending them.
8. I was with the Secretary this morning, and we dined with Prior, and
did business this afternoon till about eight; and I must alter and undo,
and a clutter. I am glad the Parliament is prorogued. I stayed with
Prior till eleven; the Secretary left us at eight. Prior, I believe,
will be one of those employed to make the peace, when a Congress is
opened. Lord Ashburnham told to-day at the Coffee-house that Lord Harley
{334a} was yesterday morning married to the Duke of Newcastle’s daughter,
the great heiress, and it got about all the town. But I saw Lord Harley
yesterday at noon in his nightgown, and he dined in the City with Prior
and others; so it is not true; but I hope it will be so; for I know it
has been privately managing this long time: {334b} the lady will not have
half her father’s estate; for the Duke left Lord Pelham’s son his heir.
{334c} The widow Duchess will not stand to the will, and she is now at
law with Pelham. However, at worst, the girl will have about ten
thousand pounds a year to support the honour; for Lord Treasurer will
never save a groat for himself. Lord Harley is a very valuable young
gentleman; and they say the girl is handsome, and has good sense, but red
hair.
9. I designed a jaunt into the City to-day to be merry, but was
disappointed; so one always is in this life; and I could not see Lord
Dartmouth to-day, with whom I had some business. Business and pleasure
both disappointed. You can go to your Dean, and for want of him, Goody
Stoyte, or Walls, or Manley, and meet everywhere with cards and claret.
I dined privately with a friend on a herring and chicken, and half a
flask of bad Florence. I begin to have fires now, when the mornings are
cold. I have got some loose bricks at the back of my grate for good
husbandry. Fine weather. Patrick tells me my caps are wearing out. I
know not how to get others. I want a necessary woman strangely. I am as
helpless as an elephant.—I had three packets from the Archbishop of
Dublin, cost me four shillings, all about Higgins, {335a} printed stuff,
and two long letters. His people forgot to enclose them to Lewis; and
they were only directed to Doctor Swift, without naming London or
anything else. I wonder how they reached me, unless the postmaster
directed them. I have read all the trash, and am weary.
10. Why, if you must have it out, something is to be published of great
moment, {335b} and three or four great people are to see there are no
mistakes in point of fact: and ’tis so troublesome to send it among them,
and get their corrections, that I am weary as a dog. I dined to-day with
the printer, and was there all the afternoon; and it plagues me, and
there’s an end, and what would you have? Lady Dupplin, Lord Treasurer’s
daughter, {335c} is brought to bed of a son. Lord Treasurer has had an
ugly return of his gravel. ’Tis good for us to live in gravel pits,
{335d} but not for gravel pits to live in us; a man in this case should
leave no stone unturned. Lord Treasurer’s sickness, the Queen’s gout,
the forwarding the peace, occasion putting off the Parliament a fortnight
longer. My head has had no ill returns. I had good walking to-day in
the City, and take all opportunities of it on purpose for my health; but
I can’t walk in the Park, because that is only for walking’s sake, and
loses time, so I mix it with business. I wish MD walked half as much as
Presto. If I was with you, I’d make you walk; I would walk behind or
before you, and you should have masks on, and be tucked up like anything;
and Stella is naturally a stout walker, and carries herself firm;
methinks I see her strut, and step clever over a kennel; and Dingley
would do well enough if her petticoats were pinned up; but she is so
embroiled, and so fearful, and then Stella scolds, and Dingley stumbles,
and is so daggled. {336a} Have you got the whalebone petticoats among
you yet? I hate them; a woman here may hide a moderate gallant under
them. Pshaw, what’s all this I’m saying? Methinks I am talking to MD
face to face.
11. Did I tell you that old Frowde, {336b} the old fool, is selling his
estate at Pepperhara, and is skulking about the town nobody knows where?
and who do you think manages all this for him, but that rogue Child,
{336c} the double squire of Farnham? I have put Mrs. Masham, the Queen’s
favourite, upon buying it, but that is yet a great secret; and I have
employed Lady Oglethorpe to inquire about it. I was with Lady Oglethorpe
to-day, who is come to town for a week or two, and to-morrow I will see
to hunt out the old fool: he is utterly ruined, and at this present in
some blind alley with some dirty wench. He has two sons that must
starve, and he never gives them a farthing. If Mrs. Masham buys the
land, I will desire her to get the Queen to give some pension to the old
fool, to keep him from absolutely starving. What do you meddle with
other people’s affairs for? says Stella. Oh, but Mr. Masham and his wife
are very urgent with me, since I first put them in the head of it. I
dined with Sir Matthew Dudley, who, I doubt, will soon lose his
employment.
12. Morning. I am going to hunt out old Frowde, and to do some business
in the City. I have not yet called to Patrick to know whether it be
fair.—It has been past dropping these two days. Rainy weather hurts my
pate and my purse. He tells me ’tis very windy, and begins to look dark;
woe be to my shillings! an old saying and a true,
Few fillings,
Many shillings.
If the day be dark, my purse will be light.
To my enemies be this curse,
A dark day and a light purse.
And so I’ll rise, and go to my fire, for Patrick tells me I have a fire;
yet it is not shaving-day, nor is the weather cold; this is too
extravagant. What is become of Dilly? I suppose you have him with you.
Stella is just now showing a white leg, and putting it into the slipper.
Present my service to her, and tell her I am engaged to the Dean, and
desire she will come too: or, Dingley, can’t you write a note? This is
Stella’s morning dialogue, no, morning speech I mean.—Morrow, sirrahs,
and let me rise as well as you; but I promise you Walls can’t dine with
the Dean to-day, for she is to be at Mrs. Proby’s just after dinner, and
to go with Gracy Spencer {337} to the shops to buy a yard of muslin, and
a silver lace for an under petticoat. Morrow again, sirrahs.—At night.
I dined with Stratford in the City, but could not finish my affairs with
him; but now I am resolved to buy five hundred pounds South Sea Stock,
which will cost me three hundred and eighty ready money; and I will make
use of the bill of a hundred pounds you sent me, and transfer Mrs. Walls
over to Hawkshaw; or if she dislikes it, I will borrow a hundred pounds
of the Secretary, and repay her. Three shillings coach-hire to-day. I
have spoken to Frowde’s brother to get me the lowest price of the estate,
to tell Mrs. Masham.
13. I dined privately with a friend to-day in the neighbourhood. Last
Saturday night I came home, and the drab had just washed my room, and my
bed-chamber was all wet, and I was forced to go to bed in my own defence,
and no fire: I was sick on Sunday, and now have got a swingeing cold. I
scolded like a dog at Patrick, although he was out with me: I detest
washing of rooms; can’t they wash them in a morning, and make a fire, and
leave open the windows? I slept not a wink last night for hawking {338a}
and spitting: and now everybody has colds. Here’s a clutter: I’ll go to
bed and sleep if I can.
14. Lady Mountjoy sent to me two days ago, so I dined with her to-day,
and in the evening went to see Lord Treasurer. I found Patrick had been
just there with a how d’ye, {338b} and my lord had returned answer that
he desired to see me. Mrs. Masham was with him when I came, and they are
never disturbed: ’tis well she is not very handsome; they sit alone
together settling the nation. I sat with Lady Oxford, and stopped Mrs.
Masham as she came out, and told her what progress I had made, etc., and
then went to Lord Treasurer: he is very well, only uneasy at rising or
sitting, with some rheumatic pain in his thigh, and a foot weak. He
showed me a small paper, sent by an unknown hand to one Mr. Cook, who
sent it to my lord: it was written in plain large letters thus
“Though G—d’s knife did not succeed,
A F—n’s yet may do the deed.”
And a little below: “_Burn this_, _you dog_.” My lord has frequently
such letters as these: once he showed me one, which was a vision
describing a certain man, his dress, his sword, and his countenance, who
was to murder my lord. And he told me he saw a fellow in the chapel at
Windsor with a dress very like it. They often send him letters signed,
“Your humble servant, The Devil,” and such stuff. I sat with him till
after ten, and have business to do.
15. The Secretary came yesterday to town from Hampton Court, so I went
to him early this morning; but he went back last night again: and coming
home to-night I found a letter from him to tell me that he was just come
from Hampton Court, and just returning, and will not be here till
Saturday night. A pox take him! he stops all my business. I’ll beg
leave to come back when I have got over this, and hope to see MD in
Ireland soon after Christmas.—I’m weary of Courts, and want my journeys
to Laracor; they did me more good than all the Ministries these twenty
years. I dined to-day in the City, but did no business as I designed.
Lady Mountjoy tells me that Dilly is got to Ireland, and that the
Archbishop of Dublin was the cause of his returning so soon. The
Parliament was prorogued two days ago for a fortnight, which, with the
Queen’s absence, makes the town very dull and empty. They tell me the
Duke of Ormond brings all the world away with him from Ireland. London
has nothing so bad in it in winter as your knots of Irish folks; but I go
to no coffee-house, and so I seldom see them. This letter shall go on
Saturday; and then I am even with the world again. I have lent money,
and cannot get it, and am forced to borrow for myself.
16. My man made a blunder this morning, and let up a visitor, when I had
ordered to see nobody; so I was forced to hurry a hang-dog instrument of
mine into my bed-chamber, and keep him cooling his heels there above an
hour.—I am going on fairly in the common forms of a great cold; I believe
it will last me about ten days in all.—I should have told you, that in
those two verses sent to Lord Treasurer, G—d stands for Guiscard; that is
easy; but we differed about F—n; I thought it was for Frenchman, because
he hates them, and they him: and so it would be, That although Guiscard’s
knife missed its design, the knife of a Frenchman might yet do it. My
lord thinks it stands for Felton, the name of him that stabbed the first
Duke of Buckingham. Sir Andrew Fountaine and I dined with the Vans
to-day, and my cold made me loiter all the evening. Stay, young women,
don’t you begin to owe me a letter? just a month to-day since I had your
N. 22. I’ll stay a week longer, and then, I’ll expect like agog; till
then you may play at ombre, and so forth, as you please. The Whigs are
still crying down our peace, but we will have it, I hope, in spite of
them: the Emperor comes now with his two eggs a penny, and promises
wonders to continue the war; but it is too late; only I hope the fear of
it will serve to spur on the French to be easy and sincere: Night,
sirrahs; I’ll go early to bed.
17. Morning. This goes to-night; I will put it myself in the
post-office. I had just now a long letter from the Archbishop of Dublin,
giving me an account of the ending your session, how it ended in a storm;
which storm, by the time it arrives here, will be only half nature. I
can’t help it, I won’t hide. I often advised the dissolution of that
Parliament, although I did not think the scoundrels had so much courage;
but they have it only in the wrong, like a bully that will fight for a
whore, and run away in an army. I believe, by several things the
Archbishop says, he is not very well either with the Government or
clergy.—See how luckily my paper ends with a fortnight.—God Almighty
bless and preserve dearest little MD.—I suppose your Lord Lieutenant is
now setting out for England. I wonder the Bishop of Clogher does not
write to me, or let me know of his statues, and how he likes them: I will
write to him again, as soon as I have leisure. Farewell, dearest MD, and
love Presto, who loves MD infinitely above all earthly things, and who
will.—My service to Mrs. Stoyte and Catherine. I’m sitting in my bed,
but will rise to seal this. Morrow, dear rogues: Farewell again, dearest
MD, etc.