LONDON, _Aug._ 7, 1712.
I HAD your N. 32 at Windsor: I just read it, and immediately sealed it up
again, and shall read it no more this twelvemonth at least. The reason
of my resentment at it is, because you talk as glibly of a thing as if it
were done, which, for aught I know, is farther from being done than ever,
since I hear not a word of it, though the town is full of it, and the
Court always giving me joy and vexation. You might be sure I would have
let you know as soon as it was done; but I believe you fancied I would
affect not to tell it you, but let you learn it from newspapers and
reports. I remember only there was something in your letter about ME’s
money, and that shall be taken care of on the other side. I left Windsor
on Monday last, upon Lord Bolingbroke’s being gone to France, and
somebody’s being here that I ought often to consult with in an affair I
am upon: but that person talks of returning to Windsor again, and I
believe I shall follow him. I am now in a hedge-lodging very busy, as I
am every day till noon: so that this letter is like to be short, and you
are not to blame me these two months; for I protest, if I study ever so
hard, I cannot in that time compass what I am upon. We have a fever both
here and at Windsor, which hardly anybody misses; but it lasts not above
three or four days, and kills nobody. {452b} The Queen has forty
servants down of it at once. I dined yesterday with Treasurer, but could
do no business, though he sent for me, I thought, on purpose; but he
desires I will dine with him again to-day. Windsor is a most delightful
place, and at this time abounds in dinners. My lodgings there look upon
Eton and the Thames. I wish I was owner of them; they belong to a
prebend. God knows what was in your letter; and if it be not answered,
whose fault is it, sauci dallars?—Do you know that Grub Street is dead
and gone last week? No more ghosts or murders now for love or money. I
plied it pretty close the last fortnight, and published at least seven
penny papers of my own, besides some of other people’s: but now every
single half-sheet pays a halfpenny to the Queen. {453a} The _Observator_
is fallen; the _Medleys_ are jumbled together with the _Flying Post_; the
_Examiner_ is deadly sick; the _Spectator_ keeps up, and doubles its
price; I know not how long it will hold. Have you seen the red stamp the
papers are marked with? Methinks it is worth a halfpenny, the stamping
it. Lord Bolingbroke and Prior set out for France last Saturday. My
lord’s business is to hasten the peace before the Dutch are too much
mauled, and hinder France from carrying the jest of beating them too far.
Have you seen the Fourth Part of _John Bull_? {453b} It is equal to the
rest, and extremely good. The Bishop of Clogher’s son has been ill of
St. Anthony’s fire, but is now quite well. I was afraid his face would
be spoiled, but it is not. Dilly is just as he used to be, and puns as
plentifully and as bad. The two brothers see one another; but I think
not the two sisters. Raymond writ to me that he intended to invite you
to Trim. Are you, have you, will you be there? Won’t oo see pool
Laratol? {453c} Parvisol says I shall have no fruit. Blasts have taken
away all. Pray observe the cherry-trees on the river-walk; but oo are
too lazy to take such a journey. If you have not your letters in due
time for two months hence, impute it to my being tosticated between this
and Windsor. And pray send me again the state of ME’s money; for I will
not look into your letter for it. Poor Lord Winchelsea {454a} is dead,
to my great grief. He was a worthy honest gentleman, and particular
friend of mine: and, what is yet worse, my old acquaintance, Mrs. Finch,
{454b} is now Countess of Winchelsea, the title being fallen to her
husband, but without much estate. I have been poring my eyes all this
morning, and it is now past two afternoon, so I shall take a little walk
in the Park. Do you play at ombre still? Or is that off by Mr. Stoyte’s
absence, and Mrs. Manley’s grief? Somebody was telling me of a strange
sister that Mrs. Manley has got in Ireland, who disappointed you all
about her being handsome. My service to Mrs. Walls. Farewell, deelest
MD MD MD, FW FW FW, ME ME ME ME ME. Lele, logues both; rove poo Pdfr.