LETTER 51.[1]
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.[2] 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.[3] 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?[4] 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?[5] 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[6] 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,[7] 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.
