LETTER 52.[1]
WINDSOR, Sept. 15, 1712.
I never was so long without writing to MD as now, since I left them, nor ever
will again while I am able to write. I have expected from one week to another
that something would be done in my own affairs; but nothing at all is, nor I
don't know when anything will, or whether ever at all, so slow are people at
doing favours. I have been much out of order of late with the old giddiness
in my head. I took a vomit for it two days ago, and will take another about a
day or two hence. I have eat mighty little fruit; yet I impute my disorder to
that little, and shall henceforth wholly forbear it. I am engaged in a long
work, and have done all I can of it, and wait for some papers from the
Ministry for materials for the rest; and they delay me, as if it were a favour
I asked of them; so that I have been idle here this good while, and it
happened in a right time, when I was too much out of order to study. One is
kept constantly out of humour by a thousand unaccountable things in public
proceedings; and when I reason with some friends, we cannot conceive how
affairs can last as they are. God only knows, but it is a very melancholy
subject for those who have any near concern in it. I am again endeavouring,
as I was last year, to keep people[2] from breaking to pieces upon a hundred
misunderstandings. One cannot withhold them from drawing different ways,
while the enemy is watching to destroy both. See how my style is altered, by
living and thinking and talking among these people, instead of my canal and
river-walk and willows. I lose all my money here among the ladies;[3] so that
I never play when I can help it, being sure to lose. I have lost five pounds
the five weeks I have been here. I hope Ppt is luckier at picquet with the
Dean and Mrs. Walls. The Dean never answered my letter, though. I have
clearly forgot whether I sent a bill for ME in any of my last letters. I
think I did; pray let me know, and always give me timely notice. I wait here
but to see what they will do for me; and whenever preferments are given from
me, as hope saved, I will come over.
18. I have taken a vomit to-day, and hope I shall be better. I have been
very giddy since I writ what is before, yet not as I used to be: more
frequent, but not so violent. Yesterday we were alarmed with the Queen's
being ill: she had an aguish and feverish fit; and you never saw such
countenances as we all had, such dismal melancholy. Her physicians from town
were sent for, but towards night she grew better; to-day she missed her fit,
and was up: we are not now in any fear; it will be at worst but an ague, and
we hope even that will not return. Lord Treasurer would not come here from
London, because it would make a noise if he came before his usual time, which
is Saturday, and he goes away on Mondays. The Whigs have lost a great support
in the Earl of Godolphin.[4] It is a good jest to hear the Ministers talk of
him now with humanity and pity, because he is dead, and can do them no more
hurt. Lady Orkney,[5] the late King's mistress (who lives at a fine place,
five miles from hence, called Cliffden[6]), and I, are grown mighty
acquaintance. She is the wisest woman I ever saw; and Lord Treasurer made
great use of her advice in the late change of affairs. I heard Lord
Marlborough is growing ill of his diabetes; which, if it be true, may soon
carry him off; and then the Ministry will be something more at ease. MD has
been a long time without writing to Pdfr, though they have not the same cause:
it is seven weeks since your last came to my hands, which was N.32, that you
may not be mistaken. I hope Ppt has not wanted her health. You were then
drinking waters. The doctor tells me I must go into a course of steel, though
I have not the spleen; for that they can never give me, though I have as much
provocation to it as any man alive. Bernage's[7] regiment is broke; but he is
upon half-pay. I have not seen him this long time; but I suppose he is
overrun with melancholy. My Lord Shrewsbury is certainly designed to be
Governor of Ireland; and I believe the Duchess will please the people there
mightily. The Irish Whig leaders promise great things to themselves from his
government; but care shall be taken, if possible, to prevent them. Mrs.
Fenton[8] has writ to me that she has been forced to leave Lady Giffard, and
come to town, for a rheumatism: that lady does not love to be troubled with
sick people. Mrs. Fenton writes to me as one dying, and desires I would think
of her son: I have not answered her letter. She is retired[9] to Mrs.
Povey's. Is my aunt alive yet? and do you ever see her? I suppose she has
forgot the loss of her son. Is Raymond's new house quite finished? and does
he squander as he used to do? Has he yet spent all his wife's fortune? I
hear there are five or six people putting strongly in for my livings; God help
them! But if ever the Court should give me anything, I would recommend
Raymond to the Duke of Ormond; not for any particular friendship to him, but
because it would be proper for the minister of Trim to have Laracor. You may
keep the gold-studded snuff-box now; for my brother Hill, Governor of Dunkirk,
has sent me the finest that ever you saw.[10] It is allowed at Court that
none in England comes near it, though it did not cost above twenty pounds.
And the Duchess of Hamilton has made me pockets for [it] like a woman's, with
a belt and buckle (for, you know, I wear no waistcoat in summer), and there
are several divisions, and one on purpose for my box, oh ho!--We have had most
delightful weather this whole week; but illness and vomiting have hindered me
from sharing in a great part of it. Lady Masham made the Queen send to
Kensington for some of her preserved ginger for me, which I take in the
morning, and hope it will do me good. Mrs. Brent[11] sent me a letter by a
young fellow, a printer, desiring I would recommend him here, which you may
tell her I have done: but I cannot promise what will come of it, for it is
necessary they should be made free here[12] before they can be employed. I
remember I put the boy prentice to Brent. I hope Parvisol has set my tithes
well this year: he has writ nothing to me about it; pray talk to him of it
when you see him, and let him give me an account how things are. I suppose
the corn is now off the ground. I hope he has sold that great ugly horse.
Why don't you sell to him? He keeps me at charges for horses that I never
ride: yours is lame, and will never be good for anything. The Queen will
stay here about a month longer, I suppose; but Lady Masham will go in ten days
to lie in at Kensington. Poor creature, she fell down in the court here
t'other day. She would needs walk across it upon some displeasure with her
chairmen, and was likely to be spoiled so near her time; but we hope all is
over for a black eye and a sore side: though I shall not be at ease till she
is brought to bed. I find I can fill up a letter, some way or other, without
a journal. If I had not a spirit naturally cheerful, I should be very much
discontented at a thousand things. Pray God preserve MD's health, and Pdfr's,
and that I may live far from the envy and discontent that attends those who
are thought to have more favour at Courts than they really possess. Love
Pdfr, who loves MD above all things. Farewell, deelest, ten thousand times
deelest, MD MD MD, FW FW, ME ME ME ME. Lele, Lele, Lele, Lele.
