LETTER 19.
LONDON, March 24, 1710-11.
It was a little cross in Presto not to send to-day to the Coffee-house to see
whether there was a letter from MD before I sent away mine; but, faith, I did
it on purpose, because I would scorn to answer two letters of yours
successively. This way of journal is the worst in the world for writing of
news, unless one does it the last day; and so I will observe henceforward, if
there be any politics or stuff worth sending. My shin mends in spite of the
scratching last night. I dined to-day at Ned Southwell's with the Bishop of
Ossory[1] and a parcel of Irish gentlemen. Have you yet seen any of the
Spectators? Just three weeks to-day since I had your last, N.11. I am afraid
I have lost one by the packet that was taken; that will vex me, considering
the pains MD take to write, especially poor pretty Stella, and her weak eyes.
God bless them and the owner, and send them well, and little me together, I
hope ere long. This illness of Mr. Harley puts everything backwards, and he
is still down, and like to be so, by that extravasated blood which comes from
his breast to the wound: it was by the second blow Guiscard gave him after
the penknife was broken. I am shocked at that villainy whenever I think of
it. Biddy Floyd is past danger, but will lose all her beauty: she had them
mighty thick, especially about her nose.
25. Morning. I wish you a merry New Year; this is the first day of the year,
you know, with us, and 'tis Lady-day. I must rise and go to my Lord Keeper:
it is not shaving-day to-day, so I shall be early. I am to dine with Mr.
Secretary St. John. Good-morrow, my mistresses both, good-morrow. Stella
will be peeping out of her room at Mrs. De Caudres'[2] down upon the folks as
they come from church; and there comes Mrs. Proby,[3] and that is my Lady
Southwell,[4] and there is Lady Betty Rochfort.[5] I long to hear how you are
settled in your new lodgings. I wish I were rid of my old ones, and that Mrs.
Brent could contrive to put up my books in boxes, and lodge them in some safe
place, and you keep my papers of importance. But I must rise, I tell you.--At
night. So I visited and dined as I told you, and what of that? We have let
Guiscard be buried at last, after showing him pickled in a trough this
fortnight for twopence apiece: and the fellow that showed would point to his
body, and, "See, gentlemen, this is the wound that was given him by his Grace
the Duke of Ormond; and this is the wound," etc., and then the show was over,
and another set of rabble came in. 'Tis hard our laws would not suffer us to
hang his body in chains, because he was not tried; and in the eye of our law
every man is innocent till then.--Mr. Harley is still very weak, and never out
of bed.
26. This was a most delicious day; and my shin being past danger, I walked
like lightning above two hours in the Park. We have generally one fair day,
and then a great deal of rain for three or four days together. All things are
at a stop in Parliament for want of Mr. Harley; they cannot stir an inch
without him in their most material affairs: and we fear, by the caprice of
Radcliffe, who will admit none but his own surgeon,[6] he has not been well
looked after. I dined at an alehouse with Mr. Lewis, but had his wine. Don't
you begin to see the flowers and blossoms of the field? How busy should I be
now at Laracor! No news of your box? I hope you have it, and are this minute
drinking the chocolate, and that the smell of the Brazil tobacco has not
affected it. I would be glad to know whether you like it, because I would
send you more by people that are now every day thinking of going to Ireland;
therefore pray tell me, and tell me soon: and I will have the strong box.
27. A rainy, wretched, scurvy day from morning till night: and my neighbour
Vanhomrigh invited me to dine with them and this evening I passed at Mr.
Prior's with Dr. Freind; and 'tis now past twelve, so I must go sleep.
28. Morning. O, faith, you're an impudent saucy couple of sluttikins for
presuming to write so soon, said I to myself this morning; who knows but there
may be a letter from MD at the Coffee-house? Well, you must know, and so, I
just now sent Patrick, and he brought me three letters, but not one from MD,
no indeed, for I read all the superscriptions; and not one from MD. One I
opened, it was from the Archbishop;[7] t'other I opened, it was from
Staunton;[8] the third I took, and looked at the hand. Whose hand is this?
says I; yes, says I, whose hand is this? Then there was wax between the
folds; then I began to suspect; then I peeped; faith, it was Walls's hand
after all: then I opened it in a rage, and then it was little MD's hand,
dear, little, pretty, charming MD's sweet hand again. O Lord, an't here a
clutter and a stir, and a bustle? never saw the like. Faith, I believe yours
lay some days at the post-office, and that it came before my eighteenth went,
but that I did not expect it, and I hardly ever go there. Well, and so you
think I'll answer this letter now; no, faith, and so I won't. I'll make you
wait, young women; but I'll inquire immediately about poor Dingley's exchequer
trangum.[9] What, is that Vedel again a soldier? was he broke? I'll put it
in Ben Tooke's hand. I hope Vedel could not sell it.--At night. Vedel,
Vedel, poh, pox, I think it is Vedeau;[10] ay, Vedeau, now I have it; let me
see, do you name him in yours? Yes, Mr. John Vedeau is the brother; but where
does this brother live? I'll inquire. This was a fast-day for the public; so
I dined late with Sir Matthew Dudley, whom I have not been with a great while.
He is one of those that must lose his employment whenever the great shake
comes; and I can't contribute to keep him in, though I have dropped words in
his favour to the Ministry; but he is too violent a Whig, and friend to the
Lord Treasurer,[11] to stay in. 'Tis odd to think how long they let those
people keep their places; but the reason is, they have not enough to satisfy
all expecters, and so they keep them all in hopes, that they may be good boys
in the meantime; and thus the old ones hold in still. The Comptroller[12]
told me that there are eight people expect his staff. I walked after dinner
to-day round the Park. What, do I write politics to little young women? Hold
your tongue, and go to your Dean's.
29. Morning. If this be a fine day, I will walk into the City, and see
Charles Barnard's library. What care I for your letter, saucy N.12? I will
say nothing to it yet: faith, I believe this will be full before its time,
and then go it must. I will always write once a fortnight; and if it goes
sooner by filling sooner, why, then there is so much clear gain. Morrow,
morrow, rogues and lasses both, I can't lie scribbling here in bed for your
play; I must rise, and so morrow again.--At night. Your friend Montgomery and
his sister are here, as I am told by Patrick. I have seen him often, but take
no notice of him: he is grown very ugly and pimpled. They tell me he is a
gamester, and wins money.--How could I help it, pray? Patrick snuffed the
candle too short, and the grease ran down upon the paper.[13] It an't my
fault, 'tis Patrick's fault; pray now don't blame Presto. I walked today in
the City, and dined at a private house, and went to see the auction of poor
Charles Barnard's books; they were in the middle of the physic books, so I
bought none; and they are so dear, I believe I shall buy none, and there is an
end; and go to Stoyte's, and I'll go sleep.
30. Morning. This is Good Friday, you must know; and I must rise and go to
Mr. Secretary about some business, and Mrs. Vanhomrigh desires me to breakfast
with her, because she is to intercede for Patrick, who is so often drunk and
quarrelsome in the house, that I was resolved to send him over; but he knows
all the places where I send, and is so used to my ways, that it would be
inconvenient to me; but when I come to Ireland, I will discharge him.[14] Sir
Thomas Mansel,[15] one of the Lords of the Treasury, setting me down at my
door to-day, saw Patrick, and swore he was a Teague-lander.[16] I am so used
to his face, I never observed it, but thought him a pretty fellow. Sir Andrew
Fountaine and I supped this fast-day with Mrs. Vanhomrigh. We were afraid Mr.
Harley's wound would turn to a fistula; but we think the danger is now past.
He rises every day, and walks about his room, and we hope he will be out in a
fortnight. Prior showed me a handsome paper of verses he has writ on Mr.
Harley's accident:[17] they are not out; I will send them to you, if he will
give me a copy.
31. Morning. What shall we do to make April fools this year, now it happens
on Sunday? Patrick brings word that Mr. Harley still mends, and is up every
day. I design to see him in a few days: and he brings me word too that he
has found out Vedeau's brother's shop: I shall call there in a day or two.
It seems the wife lodges next door to the brother. I doubt the scoundrel was
broke, and got a commission, or perhaps is a volunteer gentleman, and expects
to get one by his valour. Morrow, sirrahs, let me rise.--At night. I dined
to-day with Sir Thomas Mansel. We were walking in the Park, and Mr. Lewis
came to us. Mansel asked where we dined. We said, "Together." He said, we
should dine with him, only his wife[18] desired him to bring nobody, because
she had only a leg of mutton. I said I would dine with him to choose; but he
would send a servant to order a plate or two: yet this man has ten thousand
pounds a year in land, and is a Lord of the Treasury, and is not covetous
neither, but runs out merely by slattering[19] and negligence. The worst
dinner I ever saw at the Dean's was better: but so it is with abundance of
people here. I called at night at Mr. Harley's, who begins to walk in his
room with a stick, but is mighty weak.--See how much I have lost with that
ugly grease.[20] 'Tis your fault, pray; and I'll go to bed.
April 1. The Duke of Buckingham's house fell down last night with an
earthquake, and is half swallowed up; won't you go and see it?--An April fool,
an April fool, oh ho, young women. Well, don't be angry. I will make you an
April fool no more till the next time; we had no sport here, because it is
Sunday, and Easter Sunday. I dined with the Secretary, who seemed terribly
down and melancholy, which Mr. Prior and Lewis observed as well as I: perhaps
something is gone wrong; perhaps there is nothing in it. God bless my own
dearest MD, and all is well.
2. We have such windy weather, 'tis troublesome walking, yet all the rabble
have got into our Park these Easter holidays. I am plagued with one
Richardson, an Irish parson, and his project of printing Irish Bibles, etc.,
to make you Christians in that country: I befriend him what I can, on account
of the Archbishop and Bishop of Clogher.--But what business have I to meddle,
etc. Do not you remember that, sirrah Stella? what was that about, when you
thought I was meddling with something that was not my business? O, faith, you
are an impudent slut, I remember your doings, I'll never forget you as long as
I live. Lewis and I dined together at his lodgings. But where's the answer
to this letter of MD's? O, faith, Presto, you must think of that. Time
enough, says saucy Presto.
3. I was this morning to see Mrs. Barton: I love her better than anybody
here, and see her seldomer. Why, really now, so it often happens in the
world, that where one loves a body best--pshah, pshah, you are so silly with
your moral observations. Well, but she told me a very good story. An old
gentlewoman died here two months ago, and left in her will, to have eight men
and eight maids bearers, who should have two guineas apiece, ten guineas to
the parson for a sermon, and two guineas to the clerk. But bearers, parson,
and clerk must be all true virgins; and not to be admitted till they took
their oaths of virginity: so the poor woman still lies unburied, and so must
do till the general resurrection.--I called at Mr. Secretary's, to see what
the D---- ailed him on Sunday. I made him a very proper speech; told him I
observed he was much out of temper; that I did not expect he would tell me the
cause, but would be glad to see he was in better; and one thing I warned him
of, never to appear cold to me, for I would not be treated like a schoolboy;
that I had felt too much of that in my life already (meaning from Sir William
Temple); that I expected every great Minister who honoured me with his
acquaintance, if he heard or saw anything to my disadvantage, would let me
know it in plain words, and not put me in pain to guess by the change or
coldness of his countenance or behaviour; for it was what I would hardly bear
from a crowned head, and I thought no subject's favour was worth it; and that
I designed to let my Lord Keeper[21] and Mr. Harley know the same thing, that
they might use me accordingly. He took all right; said I had reason; vowed
nothing ailed him but sitting up whole nights at business, and one night at
drinking; would have had me dine with him and Mrs. Masham's brother, to make
up matters; but I would not. I don't know, but I would not. But indeed I was
engaged with my old friend Rollinson;[22] you never heard of him before.
4. I sometimes look a line or two back, and see plaguy mistakes of the pen;
how do you get over them? You are puzzled sometimes. Why, I think what I
said to Mr. Secretary was right. Don't you remember how I used to be in pain
when Sir William Temple would look cold and out of humour for three or four
days, and I used to suspect a hundred reasons? I have plucked up my spirit
since then, faith; he spoilt a fine gentleman. I dined with my neighbour
Vanhomrigh, and MD, poor MD, at home on a loin of mutton and half a pint of
wine, and the mutton was raw, poor Stella could not eat, poor dear rogue, and
Dingley was so vexed; but we will dine at Stoyte's to-morrow. Mr. Harley
promised to see me in a day or two, so I called this evening; but his son and
others were abroad, and he asleep, so I came away, and found out Mrs. Vedeau.
She drew out a letter from Dingley, and said she would get a friend to receive
the money. I told her I would employ Mr. Tooke in it henceforward. Her
husband bought a lieutenancy of foot, and is gone to Portugal. He sold his
share of the shop to his brother, and put out the money to maintain her, all
but what bought the commission. She lodges within two doors of her brother.
She told me it made her very melancholy to change her manner of life thus, but
trade was dead, etc. She says she will write to you soon. I design to engage
Ben Tooke, and then receive the parchment from her.--I gave Mr. Dopping a copy
of Prior's verses on Mr. Harley; he sent them yesterday to Ireland, so go look
for them, for I won't be at the trouble to transcribe them here. They will be
printed in a day or two. Give my hearty service to Stoyte and Catherine:
upon my word I love them dearly, and desire you will tell them so: pray
desire Goody Stoyte not to let Mrs. Walls and Mrs. Johnson cheat her of her
money at ombre, but assure her from me that she is a bungler. Dine with her
to-day, and tell her so, and drink my health, and good voyage, and speedy
return, and so you're a rogue.
5. Morning. Now let us proceed to examine a saucy letter from one Madam MD.-
-God Almighty bless poor dear Stella, and send her a great many birthdays, all
happy, and healthy, and wealthy, and with me ever together, and never asunder
again, unless by chance. When I find you are happy or merry there, it makes
me so here, and I can hardly imagine you absent when I am reading your letter,
or writing to you. No, faith, you are just here upon this little paper, and
therefore I see and talk with you every evening constantly, and sometimes in
the morning, but not always in the morning, because that is not so modest to
young ladies.--What, you would fain palm a letter on me more than you sent:
and I, like a fool, must look over all yours, to see whether this was really
N.12, or more. [Patrick has this moment brought me letters from the Bishop of
Clogher and Parvisol; my heart was at my mouth for fear of one from MD; what a
disgrace would it be to have two of yours to answer together! But, faith,
this shall go to-night, for fear; and then come when it will, I defy it.] No,
you are not naughty at all, write when you are disposed. And so the Dean told
you the story of Mr. Harley from the Archbishop; I warrant it never spoiled
your supper, or broke off your game. Nor yet, have not you the box? I wish
Mrs. Edgworth had the -----. But you have it now, I suppose; and is the
chocolate good, or has the tobacco spoilt it? Leigh stays till Sterne has
done his business, no longer; and when that will be, God knows: I befriend
him as much as I can, but Harley's accident stops that as well as all things
else. You guess, Madam Dingley, that I shall stay a round twelvemonth; as
hope saved, I would come over, if I could, this minute; but we will talk of
that by and by. Your affair of Vedeau I have told you of already; now to the
next, turn over the leaf. Mrs. Dobbins lies, I have no more provision here or
in Ireland than I had. I am pleased that Stella the conjurer approves what I
did with Mr. Harley;[23] but your generosity makes me mad; I know you repine
inwardly at Presto's absence; you think he has broken his word of coming in
three months, and that this is always his trick; and now Stella says she does
not see possibly how I can come away in haste, and that MD is satisfied, etc.
An't you a rogue to overpower me thus? I did not expect to find such friends
as I have done. They may indeed deceive me too. But there are important
reasons[Pox on this grease, this candle tallow!] why they should not.[24] I
have been used barbarously by the late Ministry; I am a little piqued in
honour to let people see I am not to be despised. The assurances they give
me, without any scruple or provocation, are such as are usually believed in
the world; they may come to nothing, but the first opportunity that offers,
and is neglected, I shall depend no more, but come away. I could say a
thousand things on this head, if I were with you. I am thinking why Stella
should not go to the Bath, if she be told it will do her good. I will make
Parvisol get up fifty pounds, and pay it you; and you may be good housewives,
and live cheap there some months, and return in autumn, or visit London, as
you please: pray think of it. I writ to Bernage, directed to Curry's; I wish
he had the letter. I will send the bohea tea, if I can. The Bishop of
Kilmore,[25] I don't keep such company; an old dying fool whom I never was
with in my life. So I am no godfather;[26] all the better. Pray, Stella,
explain those two words of yours to me, what you mean by VILLIAN and
DAINGER;[27] and you, Madam Dingley, what is CHRISTIANING?--Lay your letter
THIS WAY, THIS WAY, and the devil a bit of difference between this way and the
other way. No; I will show you, lay them THIS WAY, THIS WAY, and not THAT
WAY, THAT WAY.[28]--You shall have your aprons; and I will put all your
commissions as they come, in a paper together, and do not think I will forget
MD's orders, because they are friends; I will be as careful as if they were
strangers. I knew not what to do about this Clements.[29] Walls will not let
me say anything as if Mr. Pratt was against him; and now the Bishop of Clogher
has written to me in his behalf. This thing does not rightly fall in my way,
and that people never consider: I always give my good offices where they are
proper, and that I am judge of; however, I will do what I can. But, if he has
the name of a Whig, it will be hard, considering my Lord Anglesea and Hyde[30]
are very much otherwise, and you know they have the employment of Deputy
Treasurer. If the frolic should take you of going to the Bath, I here send
you a note on Parvisol; if not, you may tear it, and there's an end.
Farewell.
If you have an imagination that the Bath will do you good, I say again, I
would have you go; if not, or it be inconvenient, burn this note. Or, if you
would go, and not take so much money, take thirty pounds, and I will return
you twenty from hence. Do as you please, sirrahs. I suppose it will not be
too late for the first season; if it be, I would have you resolve however to
go the second season, if the doctors say it will do you good, and you fancy
so.
