LETTER 24.
CHELSEA, May 24, 1711.
Morning. Once in my life the number of my letters and of the day of the month
is the same; that's lucky, boys; that's a sign that things will meet, and that
we shall make a figure together. What, will you still have the impudence to
say London, England, because I say Dublin, Ireland? Is there no difference
between London and Dublin, saucyboxes? I have sealed up my letter, and am
going to town. Morrow, sirrahs.--At night. I dined with the Secretary to-
day; we sat down between five and six. Mr. Harley's patent passed this
morning: he is now Earl of Oxford, Earl Mortimer, and Lord Harley of Wigmore
Castle. My letter was sealed, or I would have told you this yesterday; but
the public news may tell it you. The Queen, for all her favour, has kept a
rod[1] for him in her closet this week; I suppose he will take it from her,
though, in a day or two. At eight o'clock this evening it rained
prodigiously, as it did from five; however, I set out, and in half-way the
rain lessened, and I got home, but tolerably wet; and this is the first wet
walk I have had in a month's time that I am here but, however, I got to bed,
after a short visit to Atterbury.
25. It rained this morning, and I went to town by water; and Ford and I dined
with Mr. Lewis by appointment. I ordered Patrick to bring my gown and periwig
to Mr. Lewis, because I designed to go to see Lord Oxford, and so I told the
dog; but he never came, though I stayed an hour longer than I appointed; so I
went in my old gown, and sat with him two hours, but could not talk over some
business I had with him; so he has desired me to dine with him on Sunday, and
I must disappoint the Secretary. My lord set me down at a coffee-house, where
I waited for the Dean of Carlisle's chariot to bring me to Chelsea; for it has
rained prodigiously all this afternoon. The Dean did not come himself, but
sent me his chariot, which has cost me two shillings to the coachman; and so I
am got home, and Lord knows what is become of Patrick. I think I must send
him over to you; for he is an intolerable rascal. If I had come without a
gown, he would have served me so, though my life and preferment should have
lain upon it: and I am making a livery for him will cost me four pounds; but
I will order the tailor to-morrow to stop till further orders. My Lord Oxford
can't yet abide to be called "my lord"; and when I called him "my lord," he
called me "Dr. Thomas Swift,"[2] which he always does when he has a mind to
tease me. By a second hand, he proposed my being his chaplain, which I by a
second hand excused; but we had no talk of it to-day: but I will be no man's
chaplain alive. But I must go and be busy.
26. I never saw Patrick till this morning, and that only once, for I dressed
myself without him; and when I went to town he was out of the way. I
immediately sent for the tailor, and ordered him to stop his hand in Patrick's
clothes till further orders. Oh, if it were in Ireland, I should have turned
him off ten times ago; and it is no regard to him, but myself, that has made
me keep him so long. Now I am afraid to give the rogue his clothes. What
shall I do? I wish MD were here to entreat for him, just here at the bed's
side. Lady Ashburnham[3] has been engaging me this long time to dine with
her, and I set to-day apart for it; and whatever was the mistake, she sent me
word she was at dinner and undressed, but would be glad to see me in the
afternoon: so I dined with Mrs. Vanhomrigh, and would not go to see her at
all, in a huff. My fine Florence is turning sour with a vengeance, and I have
not drunk half of it. As I was coming home to-night, Sir Thomas Mansel and
Tom Harley[4] met me in the Park, and made me walk with them till nine, like
unreasonable whelps; so I got not here till ten: but it was a fine evening,
and the foot-path clean enough already after this hard rain.
27. Going this morning to town, I saw two old lame fellows, walking to a
brandy-shop, and when they got to the door, stood a long time complimenting
who should go in first. Though this be no jest to tell, it was an admirable
one to see. I dined to-day with my Lord Oxford and the ladies, the new
Countess, and Lady Betty,[5] who has been these three days a lady born. My
lord left us at seven, and I had no time to speak to him about some affairs;
but he promises in a day or two we shall dine alone; which is mighty likely,
considering we expect every moment that the Queen will give him the staff, and
then he will be so crowded he will be good for nothing: for aught I know he
may have it to-night at Council.
28. I had a petition sent me t'other day from one Stephen Gernon, setting
forth that he formerly lived with Harry Tenison,[6] who gave him an employment
of gauger, and that he was turned out after Harry's death, and came for
England, and is now starving, or, as he expresses it, THAT THE STAFF OF LIFE
HAS BEEN OF LATE A STRANGER TO HIS APPETITE. Today the poor fellow called,
and I knew him very well, a young slender fellow with freckles in his face:
you must remember him; he waited at table as a better sort of servant. I gave
him a crown, and promised to do what I could to help him to a service, which I
did for Harry Tenison's memory. It was bloody hot walking to-day, and I was
so lazy I dined where my new gown was, at Mrs. Vanhomrigh's, and came back
like a fool, and the Dean of Carlisle has sat with me till eleven. Lord
Oxford has not the staff yet.
29. I was this morning in town by ten, though it was shaving-day, and went to
the Secretary about some affairs, then visited the Duke and Duchess of Ormond;
but the latter was dressing to go out, and I could not see her. My Lord
Oxford had the staff given him this morning; so now I must call him Lord
Oxford no more, but Lord Treasurer: I hope he will stick there: this is
twice he has changed his name this week; and I heard to-day in the City (where
I dined) that he will very soon have the Garter.--Pr'ythee, do not you observe
how strangely I have changed my company and manner of living? I never go to a
coffee-house; you hear no more of Addison, Steele, Henley, Lady Lucy, Mrs.
Finch,[7] Lord Somers, Lord Halifax, etc. I think I have altered for the
better. Did I tell you the Archbishop of Dublin has writ me a long letter of
a squabble in your town about choosing a Mayor, and that he apprehended some
censure for the share he had in it?[8] I have not heard anything of it here;
but I shall not be always able to defend him. We hear your Bishop Hickman is
dead;[9] but nobody here will do anything for me in Ireland; so they may die
as fast or slow as they please.--Well, you are constant to your deans, and
your Stoyte, and your Walls. Walls will have her tea soon; Parson Richardson
is either going or gone to Ireland, and has it with him. I hear Mr. Lewis has
two letters for me: I could not call for them to-day, but will to-morrow; and
perhaps one of them may be from our little MD, who knows, man? who can tell?
Many a more unlikely thing has happened.--Pshaw, I write so plaguy little, I
can hardly see it myself. WRITE BIGGER, SIRRAH[10] Presto. No, but I won't.
Oh, you are a saucy rogue, Mr. Presto, you are so impudent. Come, dear
rogues, let Presto go to sleep; I have been with the Dean, and 'tis near
twelve.
30. I am so hot and lazy after my morning's walk, that I loitered at Mrs.
Vanhomrigh's, where my best gown and periwig are, and out of mere listlessness
dine there very often; so I did to-day; but I got little MD's letter, N.15
(you see, sirrahs, I remember to tell the number), from Mr. Lewis, and I read
it in a closet they lend me at Mrs. Van's; and I find Stella is a saucy rogue
and a great writer, and can write finely still when her hand is in, and her
pen good. When I came here to-night, I had a mighty mind to go swim after I
was cool, for my lodging is just by the river; and I went down with only my
nightgown and slippers on at eleven, but came up again; however, one of these
nights I will venture.
31. I was so hot this morning with my walk, that I resolve to do so no more
during this violent burning weather. It is comical that now we happen to have
such heat to ripen the fruit there has been the greatest blast that was ever
known, and almost all the fruit is despaired of. I dined with Lord Shelburne:
Lady Kerry and Mrs. Pratt are going to Ireland. I went this evening to Lord
Treasurer, and sat about two hours with him in mixed company; he left us, and
went to Court, and carried two staves with him, so I suppose we shall have a
new Lord Steward or Comptroller to-morrow; I smoked that State secret out by
that accident. I will not answer your letter yet, sirrahs; no I won't, madam.
June 1. I wish you a merry month of June. I dined again with the Vans and
Sir Andrew Fountaine. I always give them a flask of my Florence, which now
begins to spoil, but it is near an end. I went this afternoon to Mrs.
Vedeau's, and brought away Madam Dingley's parchment and letter of attorney.
Mrs. Vedeau tells me she has sent the bill a fortnight ago. I will give the
parchment to Ben Tooke, and you shall send him a letter of attorney at your
leisure, enclosed to Mr. Presto. Yes, I now think your mackerel is full as
good as ours, which I did not think formerly. I was bit about two staves, for
there is no new officer made to-day. This letter will find you still in
Dublin, I suppose, or at Donnybrook, or losing your money at Walls' (how does
she do?).
2. I missed this day by a blunder and dining in the City.[11]
3. No boats on Sunday, never: so I was forced to walk, and so hot by the
time I got to Ford's lodging that I was quite spent; I think the weather is
mad. I could not go to church. I dined with the Secretary as usual, and old
Colonel Graham[12] that lived at Bagshot Heath, and they said it was Colonel
Graham's house. Pshaw, I remember it very well, when I used to go for a walk
to London from Moor Park. What, I warrant you do not remember the Golden
Farmer[13] neither, figgarkick soley?[14]
4. When must we answer this letter, this N.15 of our little MD? Heat and
laziness, and Sir Andrew Fountaine, made me dine to-day again at Mrs. Van's;
and, in short, this weather is unsupportable: how is it with you? Lady Betty
Butler and Lady Ashburnham sat with me two or three hours this evening in my
closet at Mrs. Van's. They are very good girls; and if Lady Betty went to
Ireland, you should let her be acquainted with you. How does Dingley do this
hot weather? Stella, I think, never complains of it; she loves hot weather.
There has not been a drop of rain since Friday se'ennight. Yes, you do love
hot weather, naughty Stella, you do so; and Presto can't abide it. Be a good
girl then, and I will love you; and love one another, and don't be quarrelling
girls.
5. I dined in the City to-day, and went from hence early to town, and visited
the Duke of Ormond and Mr. Secretary. They say my Lord Treasurer has a dead
warrant in his pocket; they mean a list of those who are to be turned out of
employment; and we every day now expect those changes. I passed by the
Treasury to-day, and saw vast crowds waiting to give Lord Treasurer petitions
as he passes by. He is now at the top of power and favour: he keeps no
levees yet. I am cruel thirsty this hot weather.--I am just this minute going
to swim. I take Patrick down with me, to hold my nightgown, shirt, and
slippers, and borrow a napkin of my landlady for a cap. So farewell till I
come up; but there is no danger, don't be frighted.--I have been swimming this
half-hour and more; and when I was coming out I dived, to make my head and all
through wet, like a cold bath; but, as I dived, the napkin fell off and is
lost, and I have that to pay for. O, faith, the great stones were so sharp, I
could hardly set my feet on them as I came out. It was pure and warm. I got
to bed, and will now go sleep.
6. Morning. This letter shall go to-morrow; so I will answer yours when I
come home to-night. I feel no hurt from last night's swimming. I lie with
nothing but the sheet over me, and my feet quite bare. I must rise and go to
town before the tide is against me. Morrow, sirrahs; dear sirrahs, morrow.--
At night. I never felt so hot a day as this since I was born. I dined with
Lady Betty Germaine, and there was the young Earl of Berkeley[15] and his fine
lady. I never saw her before, nor think her near so handsome as she passes
for.--After dinner, Mr. Bertue[16] would not let me put ice in my wine, but
said my Lord Dorchester[17] got the bloody flux with it, and that it was the
worst thing in the world. Thus are we plagued, thus are we plagued; yet I
have done it five or six times this summer, and was but the drier and the
hotter for it. Nothing makes me so excessively peevish as hot weather. Lady
Berkeley after dinner clapped my hat on another lady's head, and she in
roguery put it upon the rails. I minded them not; but in two minutes they
called me to the window, and Lady Carteret[18] showed me my hat out of her
window five doors off, where I was forced to walk to it, and pay her and old
Lady Weymouth[19] a visit, with some more beldames. Then I went and drank
coffee, and made one or two puns, with Lord Pembroke,[20] and designed to go
to Lord Treasurer; but it was too late, and beside I was half broiled, and
broiled without butter; for I never sweat after dinner, if I drink any wine.
Then I sat an hour with Lady Betty Butler at tea, and everything made me
hotter and drier. Then I walked home, and was here by ten, so miserably hot,
that I was in as perfect a passion as ever I was in my life at the greatest
affront or provocation. Then I sat an hour, till I was quite dry and cool
enough to go swim; which I did, but with so much vexation that I think I have
given it over: for I was every moment disturbed by boats, rot them; and that
puppy Patrick, standing ashore, would let them come within a yard or two, and
then call sneakingly to them. The only comfort I proposed here in hot weather
is gone; for there is no jesting with those boats after it is dark: I had
none last night. I dived to dip my head, and held my cap on with both my
hands, for fear of losing it. Pox take the boats! Amen. 'Tis near twelve,
and so I'll answer your letter (it strikes twelve now) to-morrow morning.
7. Morning. Well, now let us answer MD's letter, N.15, 15, 15, 15. Now have
I told you the number? 15, 15; there, impudence, to call names in the
beginning of your letter, before you say, How do you do, Mr. Presto? There is
your breeding! Where is your manners, sirrah, to a gentleman? Get you gone,
you couple of jades.--No, I never sit up late now; but this abominable hot
weather will force me to eat or drink something that will do me hurt. I do
venture to eat a few strawberries.--Why then, do you know in Ireland that Mr.
St. John talked so in Parliament?[21] Your Whigs are plaguily bit; for he is
entirely for their being all out.--And are you as vicious in snuff as ever? I
believe, as you say, it does neither hurt nor good; but I have left it off,
and when anybody offers me their box, I take about a tenth part of what I used
to do, and then just smell to it, and privately fling the rest away. I keep
to my tobacco still,[22] as you say; but even much less of that than formerly,
only mornings and evenings, and very seldom in the day.--As for Joe,[23] I
have recommended his case heartily to my Lord Lieutenant; and, by his
direction, given a memorial of it to Mr. Southwell, to whom I have recommended
it likewise. I can do no more, if he were my brother. His business will be
to apply himself to Southwell. And you must desire Raymond, if Price of
Galway comes to town, to desire him to wait on Mr. Southwell, as recommended
by me for one of the Duke's chaplains, which was all I could do for him; and
he must be presented to the Duke, and make his court, and ply about, and find
out some vacancy, and solicit early for it. The bustle about your Mayor I had
before, as I told you, from the Archbishop of Dublin. Was Raymond not come
till May 18? So he says fine things of me? Certainly he lies. I am sure I
used him indifferently enough; and we never once dined together, or walked, or
were in any third place; only he came sometimes to my lodgings, and even there
was oftener denied than admitted.--What an odd bill is that you sent of
Raymond's! A bill upon one Murry in Chester, which depends entirely not only
upon Raymond's honesty, but his discretion; and in money matters he is the
last man I would depend on. Why should Sir Alexander Cairnes[24] in London
pay me a bill, drawn by God knows who, upon Murry in Chester? I was at
Cairnes's, and they can do no such thing. I went among some friends, who are
merchants, and I find the bill must be sent to Murry, accepted by him, and
then returned back, and then Cairnes may accept or refuse it as he pleases.
Accordingly I gave Sir Thomas Frankland the bill, who has sent it to Chester,
and ordered the postmaster there to get it accepted, and then send it back,
and in a day or two I shall have an answer; and therefore this letter must
stay a day or two longer than I intended, and see what answer I get. Raymond
should have written to Murry at the same time, to desire Sir Alexander Cairnes
to have answered such a bill, if it come. But Cairnes's clerks (himself was
not at home) said they had received no notice of it, and could do nothing; and
advised me to send to Murry.--I have been six weeks to-day at Chelsea, and you
know it but just now. And so Dean ------ thinks I write the Medley. Pox of
his judgment! It is equal to his honesty. Then you han't seen the Miscellany
yet?[25] Why, 'tis a four-shilling book: has nobody carried it over?--No, I
believe Manley[26] will not lose his place; for his friend[27] in England is
so far from being out that he has taken a new patent since the Post Office
Act; and his brother Jack Manley[28] here takes his part firmly; and I have
often spoken to Southwell in his behalf, and he seems very well inclined to
him. But the Irish folks here in general are horribly violent against him.
Besides, he must consider he could not send Stella wine if he were put out.
And so he is very kind, and sends you a dozen bottles of wine AT A TIME, and
you win eight shillings AT A TIME; and how much do you lose? No, no, never
one syllable about that, I warrant you.--Why, this same Stella is so
unmerciful a writer, she has hardly left any room for Dingley. If you have
such summer there as here, sure the Wexford waters are good by this time. I
forgot what weather we had May 6th; go look in my journal. We had terrible
rain the 24th and 25th, and never a drop since. Yes, yes, I remember
Berested's bridge; the coach sosses up and down as one goes that way, just as
at Hockley-in-the-Hole.[29] I never impute any illness or health I have to
good or ill weather, but to want of exercise, or ill air, or something I have
eaten, or hard study, or sitting up; and so I fence against those as well as I
can: but who a deuce can help the weather? Will Seymour,[30] the General,
was excessively hot with the sun shining full upon him; so he turns to the
sun, and says, "Harkee, friend, you had better go and ripen cucumbers than
plague me at this rate," etc. Another time, fretting at the heat, a gentleman
by said it was such weather as pleased God: Seymour said, "Perhaps it may;
but I am sure it pleases nobody else." Why, Madam Dingley, the First-Fruits
are done. Southwell told me they went to inquire about them, and Lord
Treasurer said they were done, and had been done long ago. And I'll tell you
a secret you must not mention, that the Duke of Ormond is ordered to take
notice of them in his speech in your Parliament: and I desire you will take
care to say on occasion that my Lord Treasurer Harley did it many months ago,
before the Duke was Lord Lieutenant. And yet I cannot possibly come over yet:
so get you gone to Wexford, and make Stella well. Yes, yes, I take care not to
walk late; I never did but once, and there are five hundred people on the way
as I walk. Tisdall is a puppy, and I will excuse him the half-hour he would
talk with me. As for the Examiner, I have heard a whisper that after that of
this day,[31] which tells us what this Parliament has done, you will hardly
find them so good. I prophesy they will be trash for the future; and methinks
in this day's Examiner the author talks doubtfully, as if he would write no
more.[32] Observe whether the change be discovered in Dublin, only for your
own curiosity, that's all. Make a mouth there. Mrs. Vedeau's business I have
answered, and I hope the bill is not lost. Morrow. 'Tis stewing hot, but I
must rise and go to town between fire and water. Morrow, sirrahs both,
morrow.--At night. I dined to-day with Colonel Crowe, Governor of Jamaica,
and your friend Sterne. I presented Sterne to my Lord Treasurer's
brother,[33] and gave him his case, and engaged him in his favour. At dinner
there fell the swingingest long shower, and the most grateful to me, that ever
I saw: it thundered fifty times at least, and the air is so cool that a body
is able to live; and I walked home to-night with comfort, and without dirt. I
went this evening to Lord Treasurer, and sat with him two hours, and we were
in very good humour, and he abused me, and called me Dr. Thomas Swift fifty
times: I have told you he does that when he has mind to make me mad.[34] Sir
Thomas Frankland gave me to-day a letter from Murry, accepting my bill; so all
is well: only, by a letter from Parvisol, I find there are some
perplexities.--Joe has likewise written to me, to thank me for what I have
done for him; and desires I would write to the Bishop of Clogher, that Tom
Ashe[35] may not hinder his father[36] from being portreve. I have written
and sent to Joe several times, that I will not trouble myself at all about
Trim. I wish them their liberty, but they do not deserve it: so tell Joe,
and send to him. I am mighty happy with this rain: I was at the end of my
patience, but now I live again. This cannot go till Saturday; and perhaps I
may go out of town with Lord Shelburne and Lady Kerry to-morrow for two or
three days. Lady Kerry has written to desire it; but tomorrow I shall know
farther.--O this dear rain, I cannot forbear praising it: I never felt myself
to be revived so in my life. It lasted from three till five, hard as a horn,
and mixed with hail.
8. Morning. I am going to town, and will just finish this there, if I go
into the country with Lady Kerry and Lord Shelburne: so morrow, till an hour
or two hence.--In town. I met Cairnes, who, I suppose, will pay me the money;
though he says I must send him the bill first, and I will get it done in
absence. Farewell, etc. etc.
