LETTER 18.
LONDON, March 10, 1710-11.
Pretty little MD must expect little from me till Mr. Harley is out of danger.
We hope he is so now; but I am subject to fear for my friends. He has a head
full of the whole business of the nation, was out of order when the villain
stabbed him, and had a cruel contusion by the second blow. But all goes on
well yet. Mr. Ford and I dined with Mr. Lewis, and we hope the best.
11. This morning Mr. Secretary and I met at Court, where he went to the
Queen, who is out of order, and aguish: I doubt the worse for this accident
to Mr. Harley. We went together to his house, and his wound looks well, and
he is not feverish at all, and I think it is foolish in me to be so much in
pain as I am. I had the penknife in my hand, which is broken within a quarter
of an inch of the handle. I have a mind to write and publish an account of
all the particularities of this fact:[1] it will be very curious, and I would
do it when Mr. Harley is past danger.
12. We have been in terrible pain to-day about Mr. Harley, who never slept
last night, and has been very feverish. But this evening I called there; and
young Mr. Harley (his only son) tells me he is now much better, and was then
asleep. They let nobody see him, and that is perfectly right. The Parliament
cannot go on till he is well, and are forced to adjourn their money
businesses, which none but he can help them in. Pray God preserve him.
13. Mr. Harley is better to-day, slept well all night, and we are a little
out of our fears. I send and call three or four times every day. I went into
the City for a walk, and dined there with a private man; and coming home this
evening, broke my shin in the Strand over a tub of sand left just in the way.
I got home dirty enough, and went straight to bed, where I have been cooking
it with gold-beater's skin, and have been peevish enough with Patrick, who was
near an hour bringing a rag from next door. It is my right shin, where never
any humour fell when t'other used to swell; so I apprehend it less: however,
I shall not stir till 'tis well, which I reckon will be in a week. I am very
careful in these sort of things; but I wish I had Mrs. J----'s water:[2] she
is out of town, and I must make a shift with alum. I will dine with Mrs.
Vanhomrigh till I am well, who lives but five doors off; and that I may
venture.
14. My journals are like to be very diverting, now I cannot stir abroad,
between accounts of Mr. Harley's mending, and of my broken shin. I just
walked to my neighbour Vanhomrigh at two, and came away at six, when little
Harrison the Tatler came to me, and begged me to dictate a paper to him, which
I was forced in charity to do. Mr. Harley still mends; and I hope in a day or
two to trouble you no more with him, nor with my shin. Go to bed and sleep,
sirrahs, that you may rise to-morrow and walk to Donnybrook, and lose your
money with Stoyte and the Dean; do so, dear little rogues, and drink Presto's
health. O pray, don't you drink Presto's health sometimes with your deans,
and your Stoytes, and your Walls, and your Manleys, and your everybodies, pray
now? I drink MD's to myself a hundred thousand times.
15. I was this morning at Mr. Secretary St. John's for all my shin; and he
has given me for young Harrison the Tatler the prettiest employment in Europe;
secretary to my Lord Raby,[3] who is to be Ambassador Extraordinary at the
Hague, where all the great affairs will be concerted; so we shall lose the
Tatlers in a fortnight. I will send Harrison to-morrow morning to thank the
Secretary. Poor Biddy Floyd[4] has got the smallpox. I called this morning
to see Lady Betty Germaine, and when she told me so, I fairly took my leave.
I have the luck of it;[5] for about ten days ago I was to see Lord
Carteret;[6] and my lady was entertaining me with telling of a young lady, a
cousin, who was then ill in the house of the smallpox, and is since dead: it
was near Lady Betty's, and I fancy Biddy took the fright by it. I dined with
Mr. Secretary; and a physician came in just from Guiscard, who tells us he is
dying of his wounds, and can hardly live till to-morrow. A poor wench that
Guiscard kept, sent him a bottle of sack; but the keeper would not let him
touch it, for fear it was poison. He had two quarts of old clotted blood come
out of his side to-day, and is delirious. I am sorry he is dying; for they
had found out a way to hang him. He certainly had an intention to murder the
Queen.
16. I have made but little progress in this letter for so many days, thanks
to Guiscard and Mr. Harley; and it would be endless to tell you all the
particulars of that odious fact. I do not yet hear that Guiscard is dead, but
they say 'tis impossible he should recover. I walked too much yesterday for a
man with a broken shin; to-day I rested, and went no farther than Mrs.
Vanhomrigh's, where I dined; and Lady Betty Butler coming in about six, I was
forced in good manners to sit with her till nine; then I came home, and Mr.
Ford came in to visit my shin, and sat with me till eleven: so I have been
very idle and naughty. It vexes me to the pluck[7] that I should lose walking
this delicious day. Have you seen the Spectator[8] yet, a paper that comes
out every day? 'Tis written by Mr. Steele, who seems to have gathered new
life, and have a new fund of wit; it is in the same nature as his Tatlers, and
they have all of them had something pretty. I believe Addison and he club. I
never see them; and I plainly told Mr. Harley and Mr. St. John, ten days ago,
before my Lord Keeper and Lord Rivers, that I had been foolish enough to spend
my credit with them in favour of Addison and Steele; but that I would engage
and promise never to say one word in their behalf, having been used so ill for
what I had already done.--So, now I am got into the way of prating again,
there will be no quiet for me.
When Presto begins to prate,
Give him a rap upon the pate.
O Lord, how I blot! it is time to leave off, etc.
17. Guiscard died this morning at two; and the coroner's inquest have found
that he was killed by bruises received from a messenger, so to clear the
Cabinet Councillors from whom he received his wounds. I had a letter from
Raymond, who cannot hear of your box; but I hope you have it before this comes
to your hands. I dined to-day with Mr. Lewis of the Secretary's office. Mr.
Harley has abundance of extravasated blood comes from his breast out of his
wound, and will not be well so soon as we expected. I had something to say,
but cannot call it to mind. (What was it?)
18. I was to-day at Court to look for the Duke of Argyle, and gave him the
memorial about Bernage. The Duke goes with the first fair wind. I could not
find him, but I have given the memorial to another to give him; and, however,
it shall be sent after him. Bernage has made a blunder in offering money to
his colonel without my advice; however, he is made captain-lieutenant, only he
must recruit the company, which will cost him forty pounds, and that is
cheaper than an hundred. I dined to-day with Mr. Secretary St. John, and
stayed till seven, but would not drink his champagne and burgundy, for fear of
the gout. My shin mends, but is not well. I hope it will by the time I send
this letter, next Saturday.
19. I went to-day into the City, but in a coach, and sossed[9] up my leg on
the seat; and as I came home, I went to see poor Charles Barnard's[10] books,
which are to be sold by auction, and I itch to lay out nine or ten pounds for
some fine editions of fine authors. But 'tis too far, and I shall let it
slip, as I usually do all such opportunities. I dined in a coffee-house with
Stratford upon chops and some of his wine. Where did MD dine? Why, poor MD
dined at home to-day, because of the Archbishop, and they could not go abroad,
and had a breast of mutton and a pint of wine. I hope Mrs. Walls mends; and
pray give me an account what sort of godfather I made, and whether I behaved
myself handsomely. The Duke of Argyle is gone; and whether he has my
memorial, I know not, till I see Dr. Arbuthnot,[11] to whom I gave it. That
hard name belongs to a Scotch doctor, an acquaintance of the Duke's and me;
Stella can't pronounce it. Oh that we were at Laracor this fine day! the
willows begin to peep, and the quicks to bud. My dream is out: I was a-
dreamed last night that I ate ripe cherries.--And now they begin to catch the
pikes, and will shortly the trouts (pox on these Ministers!)--and I would fain
know whether the floods were ever so high as to get over the holly bank or the
river walk; if so, then all my pikes are gone; but I hope not. Why don't you
ask Parvisol these things, sirrahs? And then my canal, and trouts, and
whether the bottom be fine and clear? But harkee, ought not Parvisol to pay
in my last year's rents and arrears out of his hands? I am thinking, if
either of you have heads to take his accounts, it should be paid in to you;
otherwise to Mr. Walls. I will write an order on t'other side; and do as you
will. Here's a world of business; but I must go sleep, I'm drowsy; and so
goodnight, etc.
20. This sore shin ruins me in coach-hire; no less than two shillings to-day
going and coming from the City, where I dined with one you never heard of, and
passed an insipid day. I writ this post to Bernage, with the account I told
you above. I hope he will like it; 'tis his own fault, or it would have been
better. I reckon your next letter will be full of Mr. Harley's stabbing. He
still mends, but abundance of extravasated blood has come out of the wound:
he keeps his bed, and sees nobody. The Speaker's eldest son[12] is just dead
of the smallpox, and the House is adjourned a week, to give him time to wipe
off his tears. I think it very handsomely done; but I believe one reason is,
that they want Mr. Harley so much. Biddy Floyd is like to do well: and so go
to your Dean's, and roast his oranges, and lose your money, do so, you saucy
sluts. Stella, you lost three shillings and fourpence t'other night at
Stoyte's, yes, you did, and Presto stood in a corner, and saw you all the
while, and then stole away. I dream very often I am in Ireland, and that I
have left my clothes and things behind me, and have not taken leave of
anybody; and that the Ministry expect me tomorrow, and such nonsense.
21. I would not for a guinea have a letter from you till this goes; and go it
shall on Saturday, faith. I dined with Mrs. Vanhomrigh, to save my shin, and
then went on some business to the Secretary, and he was not at home.
22. Yesterday was a short day's journal: but what care I? what cares saucy
Presto? Darteneuf[13] invited me to dinner to-day. Do not you know
Darteneuf? That's the man that knows everything, and that everybody knows;
and that knows where a knot of rabble are going on a holiday, and when they
were there last: and then I went to the Coffee-house. My shin mends, but is
not quite healed: I ought to keep it up, but I don't; I e'en let it go as it
comes. Pox take Parvisol and his watch! If I do not receive the ten-pound
bill I am to get towards it, I will neither receive watch nor chain; so let
Parvisol know.
23. I this day appointed the Duke of Ormond to meet him at Ned Southwell's,
about an affair of printing Irish Prayer-Books, etc.,[14] but the Duke never
came. There Southwell had letters that two packets are taken; so if MD writ
then, the letters are gone; for they are packets coming hither. Mr. Harley is
not yet well, but his extravasated blood continues, and I doubt he will not be
quite well in a good while: I find you have heard of the fact by Southwell's
letters from Ireland: what do you think of it? I dined with Sir John
Perceval,[15] and saw his lady sitting in the bed, in the forms of a lying-in
woman; and coming home my sore shin itched, and I forgot what it was, and
rubbed off the scab, and blood came; but I am now got into bed, and have put
on alum curd, and it is almost well. Lord Rivers told me yesterday a piece of
bad news, as a secret, that the Pretender is going to be married to the Duke
of Savoy's daughter.[16] 'Tis very bad if it be true. We were walking in the
Mall with some Scotch lords, and he could not tell it until they were gone,
and he bade me tell it to none but the Secretary of State and MD. This goes
tomorrow, and I have no room but to bid my dearest little MD good-night.
24. I will now seal up this letter, and send it; for I reckon to have none
from you ('tis morning now) between this and night; and I will put it in the
post with my own hands. I am going out in great haste; so farewell, etc.
