London, Sept. 30, 1710
HAN’T I brought myself into a fine premunire to begin writing letters in whole sheets, and now I dare not leave it off. I can’t tell whether you like these journal letters: I believe they would be dull to me to read them over; but, perhaps, little MD is pleased to know how Presto passes his time in her absence.1 I always begin my last the same day I ended my former. I told you where I dined to-day at a tavern with Stratford: Lewis, who is a great favourite of Harley’s, was to have been with us; but he was hurried to Hampton-court, and sent his excuse, and that next Wednesday he would introduce me to Harley. ’Tis good to see what a lamentable confession the Whigs all make me of my ill usage: but I mind them not. I am already represented to Harley as a discontented person, that was used ill for not being Whig enough; and I hope for good usage from him. The Tories dryly tell me, I may make my fortune, if I please; but I do not understand them, or rather, I do understand them.
Oct. 1. To-day I dined at Molesworth’s, the Florence envoy; and sat this evening with my friend Darteneuf, whom you have heard me talk of; the greatest punner of this town next myself. Have you smoakt the Tatler that I writ? It is much liked here, and I think it a pure one.2 To-morrow I go with Delaval the Portugal envoy, to dine with lord Halifax near Hampton-court. Your Manley’s brother, a parliament-man here, has gotten an employment; and I am informed uses much interest to preserve his brother: and to-day, I spoke to the elder Frankland to engage his father, (post-master here) and I hope he will be safe, although he is cruelly hated by all the Tories of Ireland.3 I have almost finished my lampoon, and will print it for revenge on a certain great person.4 It has cost me but three shillings in meat and drink since I came here, as thin as the town is. I laugh to see myself so disengaged in these revolutions. Well, I must leave off and go write to sir John Stanley, to desire him to engage lady Hyde as my mistress to engage lord Hyde in favour of Mr. Pratt.5
2. Lord Halifax was at Hampton-court at his lodgings, and I dined with him there with Methuen, and Delaval, and the late attorney-general.6 I went to the drawing-room before dinner, (for the queen was at Hampton-court) and expected to see nobody; but I met acquaintance enough. I walked in the gardens, saw the cartons of Raphael, and other things, and with great difficulty got from lord Halifax, who would have kept me to-morrow to shew me his house and park, and improvements.7 We left Hampton-court at sun-set, and got here in a chariot and two horses time enough by star-light. That’s something charms me mightily about London; that you go dine a dozen miles off in October, stay all day, and return so quickly: you cannot do any thing like this in Dublin.8 I writ a second penny-post letter to your mother, and hear nothing of her. Did I tell you that earl Berkeley died last Sunday was se’nnight, at Berkeley-castle, of a dropsy? Lord Halifax began a health to me to-day; it was the Resurrection of the Whigs, which I refused unless he would add their Reformation too: and I told him he was the only Whig in England I loved, or had any good opinion of.
3. This morning Stella’s sister came to me with a letter from her mother, who is at Sheene; but will soon be in town, and will call to see me: she gave me a bottle of palsy water, a small one, and desired I would send it you by the first convenience, as I will; and she promises a quart bottle of the same: your sister lookt very well, and seems a good modest sort of girl.9 I went then to Mr. Lewis, first secretary to lord Dartmouth, and favourite to Mr. Harley, who is to introduce me to-morrow morning. Lewis had with him one Mr. Dyet, a justice of peace worth twenty thousand pounds, a commissioner of the stamp-office, and married to a sister of sir Philip Meadows, envoy to the emperor. I tell you this, because it is odds but this Mr. Dyet will be hanged; for he is discovered to have counterfeited stampt paper, in which he was a commissioner; and, with his accomplices, has cheated the queen of a hundred thousand pounds. You will hear of it before this come to you, but may be not so particularly; and it is a very odd accident in such a man.10 Smoak Presto writing news to MD. I dined to-day with lord Mountjoy at Kensington, and walked from thence this evening to town like an emperor. Remember that yesterday, October 2, was a cruel hard frost with ice; and six days ago I was dying with heat. As thin as the town is, I have more dinners than ever, and am asked this month by some people, without being able to come for pre-engagements. Well, but I should write plainer, when I consider Stella can’t read,11 and Dingley is not so skilful at my ugly hand. I had, to-night, a letter from Mr. Pratt, who tells me, Joe will have his money when there are trustees appointed by the lord lieutenant for receiving and disposing the linen fund; and whenever those trustees are appointed, I will solicit whoever is lord lieutenant, and am in no fear of succeeding.12 So pray tell or write him word, and bid him not be cast down; for Ned Southwell and Mr. Addison both think Pratt in the right. Don’t lose your money at Manley’s to-night, sirrahs.13
4. After I had put out my candle last night, my landlady came into my room with a servant of lord Halifax, to desire I would go dine with him at his house near Hampton-court; but I sent him word I had business of great importance that hindered me, &c. And, to-day, I was brought privately to Mr. Harley, who received me with the greatest respect and kindness imaginable: he has appointed me an hour on Saturday at four, afternoon, when I will open my business to him; which expression I would not use if I were a woman. I know you smoakt it, but I did not till I writ it. I dined to-day at Mr. Delaval’s, the envoy for Portugal, with Nic. Rowe the poet, and other friends; and I gave my lampoon to be printed. I have more mischief in my heart; and I think it shall go round with them all, as this hits, and I can find hints. I am certain I answered your 2d letter, and yet I do not find it here. I suppose it was in my 4th: and why N. 2d, 3d; is it not enough to say as I do, 1, 2, 3? &c. I am going to work at another Tatler:14 I’ll be far enough but I say the same thing over two or three times, just as I do when I am talking to little MD; but what care I? they can read it as easily as I can write it: I think I have brought these lines pretty straight again. I fear it will be long before I finish two sides at this rate. Pray, dear MD, when I occasionally give you any little commission mixt with my letters, don’t forget it, as that to Morgan and Joe, &c. for I write just as I can remember, otherwise I would put them all together. I was to visit Mr. Sterne to-day, and gave him your commission about handkerchiefs: that of chocolate I will do myself, and send it him when he goes, and you’ll pay me when the giver’s bread, &c.15 To-night I will read a pamphlet, to amuse myself. God preserve your dear healths.
5. This morning Delaval came to see me, and we went together to Kneller’s, who was not in town. In the way we met the electors for parliament-men: and the rabble came about our coach, crying A Colt, a Stanhope, &c.16 We were afraid of a dead cat, or our glasses broken, and so were always of their side. I dined again at Delaval’s; and in the evening, at the Coffee-house, heard sir Andrew Fountain was come to town. This has been but an insipid sort of day, and I have nothing to remark upon it worth three-pence: I hope MD had a better, with the dean, the bishop, or Mrs. Walls.17 Why, the reason you lost four and eight-pence last night but one at Manley’s, was because you played bad games: I took notice of six that you had ten to one against you: Would any but a mad lady go out twice upon Manilio, Basto, and two small diamonds? Then in that game of spades, you blundered when you had ten-ace; I never saw the like of you: and now you are in a huff because I tell you this. Well, here’s two and eight-pence half-penny towards your loss.18
6. Sir Andrew Fountain came this morning, and caught me writing in bed. I went into the city with him; and we dined at the Chop-house with Will Pate, the learned woollen-draper: then we sauntered at china-shops and booksellers; went to the tavern, drank two pints of white wine, and never parted till ten: and now I am come home, and must copy out some papers I intend for Mr. Harley, whom I am to see, as I told you, to-morrow afternoon; so that this night I shall say little to MD, but that I heartily wish myself with them, and will come as soon as I either fail or compass my business. We now hear daily of elections; and, in a list I saw yesterday of about twenty, there are seven or eight more Tories than in the last Parliament; so that I believe they need not fear a majority, with the help of those who will vote as the Court pleases. But I have been told that Mr. Harley himself would not let the Tories be too numerous, for fear they should be insolent, and kick against him; and for that reason they have kept several Whigs in employments, who expected to be turned out every day; as sir John Holland the comptroller, and many others. And so get you gone to your cards, and your claret and orange, at the dean’s, and I’ll go write.
7. I wonder when this letter will be finished: it must go by Tuesday, that’s certain; and if I have one from MD before, I will not answer it, that’s as certain too! ’Tis now morning, and I did not finish my papers for Mr. Harley last night; for you must understand Presto was sleepy, and made blunders and blots. Very pretty that I must be writing to young women in a morning fresh and fasting, faith. Well, good morrow to you; and so I go to business, and lay aside this paper till night, sirrahs.—At night. Jack How told Harley, that if there were a lower place in Hell than another, it was reserved for his porter, who tells lies so gravely, and with so civil a manner. This porter I have had to deal with, going this evening at four to visit Mr. Harley, by his own appointment. But the fellow told me no lie, though I suspected every word he said. He told me his master was just gone to dinner, with much company, and desired I would come an hour hence, which I did, expecting to hear Mr. Harley was gone out; but they had just done dinner. Mr. Harley came out to me, brought me in, and presented to me his son-inlaw, lord Doblane (or some such name) and his own son, and, among others, Will Penn the quaker. We sat two hours drinking as good wine as you do; and two hours more he and I alone; where he heard me tell my business; entered into it with all kindness; askt for my powers, and read them; and read likewise a memorial I had drawn up, and put it in his pocket to shew the queen;19 told me the measures he would take; and, in short, said every thing I could wish: told me he must bring Mr. St. John (secretary of state) and me acquainted; and spoke so many things of personal kindness and esteem for me, that I am inclined half to believe what some friends have told me, That he would do every thing to bring me over.20 He has desired to dine with me (what a comical mistake was that) I mean he has desired me to dine with him on Tuesday; and after four hours being with him, set me down at St. James’s Coffee-house, in a hackney-coach. All this is odd and comical, if you consider him and me. He knew my Christian name very well. I could not forbear saying thus much upon this matter, although you will think it tedious. But I’ll tell you; you must know, ’tis fatal to me to be a scoundrel and a prince the same day: for being to see him at four, I could not engage myself to dine at any friend’s; so I went to Tooke, to give him a ballad and dine with him; but he was not at home: so I was forced to go to a blind chophouse, and dine for ten-pence upon gill-ale, bad broth, and three chops of mutton; and then go reeking from thence to the first minister of state. And now I am going in charity to send Steele a Tatler, who is very low of late.21 I think I am civiller than I used to be; and have not used the expression of (you in Ireland) and (we in England) as I did when I was here before, to your great indignation.—They may talk of the you know what; but, gad, if it had not been for that, I should never have been able to get the access I have had; and if that helps me to succeed, then that same thing will be serviceable to the church.22 But how far we must depend upon new friends, I have learnt by long practice, though I think among great ministers, they are just as good as old ones. And so I think this important day has made a great hole in this side of the paper; and the fiddle faddles of tomorrow and Monday will make up the rest; and, besides, I shall see Harley on Tuesday before this letter goes.
8. I must tell you a great piece of refinement of Harley. He charged me to come to him often: I told him I was loth to trouble him in so much business as he had, and desired I might have leave to come at his levee; which he immediately refused, and said, That was not a place for friends to come to. ’Tis now but morning, and I have got a foolish trick, I must say something to MD when I wake, and wish them a good morrow; for this is not a shaving-day, Sunday, so I have time enough: but get you gone, you rogues, I must go write: yes, ’twill vex me to the blood if any of these long letters should miscarry: if they do, I will shrink to half sheets again; but then what will you do to make up the journal? there will be ten days of Presto’s life lost; and that will be a sad thing, faith and troth.—At night. I was at a loss to-day for a dinner, unless I would have gone a great way, so I dined with some friends that board hereabout, as a spunger; and this evening sir Andrew Fountain would needs have me go to the tavern, where, for two bottles of wine, Portugal and Florence, among three of us, we had sixteen shillings to pay; but if ever he catches me so again, I’ll spend as many pounds; and therefore I have put it among my extraordinaries: but we had a neck of mutton drest a la Maintenon, that the dog could not eat: and it is now twelve o’clock, and I must go sleep. I hope this letter will go before I have MD’s third. Do you believe me? and yet, faith, I long for MD’s third too: and yet I would have it to say, that I writ five for two. I am not fond at all of St. James’s Coffee-house, as I used to be.23 I hope it will mend in winter; but now they are all out of town at elections, or not come from their country houses. Yesterday I was going with Dr. Garth to dine with Charles Main, near the Tower, who has an employment there: he is of Ireland; the bishop of Clogher knows him well: an honest good-natured fellow, a thorough hearty laugher, mightily beloved by the men of wit: his mistress is never above a cook-maid. And so, good night, &c.
9. I dined to-day at sir John Stanley’s; my lady Stanley is one of my favourites: I have as many here as the bishop of Killala has in Ireland. I am thinking what scurvy company I shall be to MD when I come back: they know every thing of me already: I will tell you no more, or I shall have nothing to say, no story to tell, nor any kind of thing. I was very uneasy last night with ugly, nasty, filthy wine, that turned sour on my stomach. I must go to the tavern: oh, but I told you that before. To-morrow I dine at Harley’s, and will finish this letter at my return; but I can write no more now, because of the archbishop:24 faith ’tis true; for I am going now to write to him an account of what I have done in the business with Harley: and, faith, young women, I’ll tell you what you must count upon, that I never will write one word on the third side in these long letters.
10. Poor MD’s letter was lying so huddled up among papers I could not find it: I mean poor Presto’s letter. Well, I dined with Mr. Harley to-day, and hope some things will be done; but I must say no more: and this letter must be sent to the post-house, and not by the bell-man. I am to dine again there on Sunday next; I hope to some good issue. And so now, soon as ever I can in bed, I must begin my 6th to MD, as gravely as if I had not written a word this month: fine doings, faith. Methinks I don’t write as I should, because I am not in bed: see the ugly wide lines. God Almighty ever bless you, &c.
Faith, this is a whole treatise; I’ll go reckon the lines on t’other sides. I’ve reckoned them.25
London, Feb. 24, 1710–1711
NOW, young women, I gave in my sixteenth this evening. I dined with Ford, it was his Opera-day as usual; it is very convenient to me to do so, for coming home early after a walk in the Park,1 which now the days will allow. I called on the secretary at his office, and he had forgot to give the memorial about Bernage to the duke of Argyle; but two days ago I met the duke, who desired I would give it him myself, which should have more power with him than all the ministry together, as he protested solemnly, repeated it two or three times, and bid me count upon it.2 So that I verily believe Bernage will be in a very good way to establish himself. I think I can do no more for him at present, and there’s an end of that; and so get you gone to bed, for it is late.
25. The three weeks are out yesterday since I had your last, and so now I will be expecting every day a pretty dear letter from my own MD, and hope to hear that Stella has been much better in her head and eyes; my head continues as it was, no fits, but a little disorder every day, which I can easily bear if it will not grow worse.3 I dined to-day with Mr. secretary St. John, on condition I might chuse my company, which were lord Rivers, lord Carteret, Sir Thomas Mansel, and Mr. Lewis; I invited Masham, Hill, Sir John Stanley, and George Granville, but they were engaged; and I did it in revenge of his having such bad company when I dined with him before; so we laughed, &c. And I ventured to go to church to-day, which I have not done this month before. Can you send me such a good account of Stella’s health, pray now? Yes, I hope, and better too. We dined (says you) at the dean’s, and played at cards till twelve, and there came in Mr. French, and Dr. Travors, and Dr. Whittingham, and Mr. (I forget his name, that I always tell Mrs. Walls of) the banker’s son, a pox on him. And we were so merry; I vow they are pure good company. But I lost a crown; for you must know I had always hands tempting me to go out, but never took in any thing, and often two black aces without a manilio; was not that hard, Presto? Hold your tongue, &c.4
26. I was this morning with Mr. secretary about some business, and he tells me, that colonel Fielding is now going to make Bernage his captain-lieutenant, that is, a captain by commission, and the perquisites of the company, but not captain’s pay, only the first step to it.5 I suppose he will like it, and the recommendation to the duke of Argyle goes on. And so trouble me no more about your Bernage; the jackanapes understands what fair solicitors he has got, I warrant you. Sir Andrew Fountain and I dined, by invitation, with Mrs. Vanhomrigh.6 You say they are of no consequence: why, they keep as good female company as I do male; I see all the drabs of quality at this end of the town with them; I saw two lady Bettys there this afternoon; the beauty of one, the good breeding and nature of t’other, and the wit of neither, would have made a fine woman.7 Rare walking in the Park now: why don’t you walk in the Green of St. Stephen? The walks there are finer gravelled than the Mall. What beasts the Irish women are, never to walk!
27. Dartineuf and I and little Harrison, the new Tatler, and Jervas the painter, dined to-day with James, I know not his other name, but it is one of Dartineuf ’s dining places, who is a true epicure.8 James is clerk of the kitchen to the queen, and has a little snug house at St. James’s, and we had the queen’s wine, and such very fine victuals that I could not eat it.—Three weeks and three days since my last letter from MD, rare doings: why truly we were so busy with poor Mrs. Walls, that indeed, Presto, we could not write, we were afraid the poor woman would have died; and it pitied us to see the archdeacon, how concerned he was. The dean never came to see her but once; but now she is up again, and we go and sit with her in the evenings. The child died the next day after it was born, and I believe, between friends, she is not very sorry for it.—Indeed, Presto, you are plaguy silly to-night, and han’t guest one word right; for she and the child are both well, and it is a fine girl, likely to live; and the dean was godfather, and Mrs. Catherine and I were godmothers; I was going to say Stoite, but I think I have heard they don’t put maids and married women together; though I know not why I think so, nor I don’t care; what care I? but I must prate, &c.9
28. I walked to-day into the city for my health, and there dined, which I always do when the weather is fair, and business permits, that I may be under a necessity of taking a good walk, which is the best thing I can do at present for my health. Some bookseller has raked up every thing I writ and published it t’other day in one volume; but I know nothing of it, ’twas without my knowledge or consent: it makes a four shilling book, and is called Miscellanies in Prose and Verse. Tooke pretends he knows nothing of it, but I doubt he is at the bottom. One must have patience with these things; the best of it is, I shall be plagued no more. However, I’ll bring a couple of them over with me for MD, perhaps you may desire to see them. I hear they sell mightily.10
March 1. Morning. I have been calling to Patrick to look in his Almanack for the day of the month; I did not know but it might be Leap-year.11 The Almanack says ’tis the third after Leap-year, and I always thought till now, that every third year was Leap-year. I’m glad they come so seldom; but I’m sure ’twas otherwise when I was a young man; I see times are mightily changed since then. — Write to me, sirrahs, be sure do by the time this side is done, and I’ll keep t’other side for the answer: so I’ll go write to the bishop of Clogher; good morrow, sirrahs. —— Night. I dined to-day at Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s, being a rainy day, and lady Betty Butler knowing it, sent to let me know she expected my company in the evening, where the Vans (so we call them) were to be. The duchess and [she] do not go over this summer with the duke;12 so I go to bed.
2. This rainy weather undoes me in coaches and chairs. I was traipsing to-day with your Mr. Sterne, to go along with them to Moor, and recommend his business to the treasury. Sterne tells me his dependence is wholly on me; but I have absolutely refused to recommend it to Mr. Harley, because I have troubled him lately so much with other folks affairs; and besides, to tell the truth, Mr. Harley told me he did not like Sterne’s business;13 however, I will serve him, because I suppose MD would have me. But in saying his dependence lies wholly on me, he lies, and is a fool. I dined with lord Abercorn, whose son Peasley will be married at Easter to ten thousand pounds.
3. I forgot to tell you that yesterday morning I was at Mr. Harley’s levee: he swore I came in spight, to see him among a parcel of fools. My business was to desire I might let the duke of Ormond know how the affair stood of the First-Fruits. He promised to let him know it, and engaged me to dine with him to-day. Every Saturday lord keeper,14 secretary St. John, and I dine with him, and sometimes lord Rivers, and they let in none else. Patrick brought me some letters into the Park, among which one was from Walls, and t’other, yes faith, t’other was from our little MD, N. 11. I read the rest in the Park, and MD’s in a chair as I went from St. James’s to Mr. Harley, and glad enough I was faith to read it, and see all right: Oh, but I won’t answer it these three or four days, at least, or may be sooner. An’t I silly? Faith your letters would make a dog silly, if I had a dog to be silly, but it must be a little dog.—I staid with Mr. Harley till past nine, where we had much discourse together after the rest were gone; and I gave him very truly my opinion where he desired it. He complained he was not very well, and has engaged me to dine with him again on Monday. So I came home afoot, like a fine gentleman, to tell you all this.
4. I dined to-day with Mr. secretary St. John; and after dinner he had a note from Mr. Harley, that he was much out of order; pray God preserve his health, every thing depends upon it. The Parliament at present cannot go a step without him, nor the queen neither. I long to be in Ireland, but the ministry beg me to stay: however, when this parliament lurry is over, I will endeavour to steal away; by which time I hope the First-Fruit business will be done. This kingdom is certainly ruined as much as was ever any bankrupt merchant. We must have Peace, let it be a bad or a good one, though no-body dares talk of it. The nearer I look upon things, the worse I like them. I believe the confederacy will soon break to pieces, and our factions at home increase. The ministry is upon a very narrow bottom, and stand like an Isthmus between the Whigs on one side, and violent Tories on the other.15 They are able seamen, but the tempest is too great, the ship too rotten, and the crew all against them. Lord Somers has been twice in the queen’s closet, once very lately; and your duchess of Somerset, who now has the key, is a most insinuating woman, and I believe they will endeavour to play the same game that has been played against them.16—I have told them of all this, which they know already, but they cannot help it. They have cautioned the queen so much against being governed, that she observes it too much. I could talk till to-morrow upon these things, but they make me melancholy. I could not but observe that lately, after much conversation with Mr. Harley, though he is the most fearless man alive, and the least apt to despond, he confessed to me, that uttering his mind to me gave him ease.
5. Mr. Harley continues out of order, yet his affairs force him abroad: he is subject to a sore throat, and was cupped last night: I sent and called two or three times. I hear he is better this evening. I dined to-day in the city with Dr. Freind at a third body’s house, where I was to pass for some body else, and there was a plaguy silly jest carried on that made me sick of it. Our weather grows fine, and I will walk like camomile.17 And pray walk you to your dean’s, or your Stoyte’s, or your Manley’s, or your Walls’. But your new lodgings make you so proud, you’ll walk less than ever.18 Come, let me go to bed, sirrahs.
6. Mr. Harley’s going out yesterday has put him a little backwards. I called twice, and sent, for I am in pain for him. Ford caught me, and made me dine with him on his Opera-day; so I brought Mr. Lewis with me, and sat with him till six. I have not seen Mr. Addison these three weeks; all our friendship is over.19 I go to no Coffee-house. I presented a parson of the bishop of Clogher’s, one Richardson, to the duke of Ormond to-day: he is translating prayers and sermons into Irish, and has a project about instructing the Irish in the protestant religion.20
7. Morning. Faith, a little would make me, I could find in my heart, if it were not for one thing, I have a good mind, if I had not something else to do, I would answer your dear saucy letter. O Lord, I am going awry with writing in bed. O faith, but I must answer it, or I shan’t have room, for it must go on Saturday; and don’t think I’ll fill the third side, I an’t come to that yet, young women. Well then, as for your Bernage, I have said enough: I writ to him last week.—Turn over that leaf. Now, what says MD to the world to come? I tell you, madam Stella, my head is a great deal better, and I hope will keep so. How came yours to be fifteen days coming, and you had my fifteenth in seven? Answer me that, rogues. Your being with goody Walls is excuse enough: I find I was mistaken in the sex, ’tis a boy. Yes, I understand your cypher, and Stella guesses right, as she always does. He gave me al bsadnuk lboinlpl dfaonr ufainfbtoy dpionufnad,21 which I sent him again by Mr. Lewis, to whom I writ a very complaining letter that was shewed him; and so the matter ended. He told me he had a quarrel with me; I said I had another with him, and we returned to our friendship; and I should think he loves me as well as a great minister can love a man in so short a time. Did not I do right? I am glad at heart you have got your palsey-water; pray God Almighty it may do my dearest little Stella good. I suppose Mrs. Edgworth set out last Monday se’nnight.22 Yes, I do read the Examiners, and they are written very finely, as you judge.23 I do not think they are too severe on the duke; they only tax him of avarice, and his avarice has ruined us.24 You may count upon all things in them to be true. The author has said, It is not Prior; but perhaps it may be Atterbury.—Now, madam Dingley, says she, ’tis fine weather, says she; yes, says she, and we have got to our new lodgings. I compute you ought to save eight pounds by being in the others five months; and you have no more done it than eight thousand. I am glad you are rid of that squinting, blinking Frenchman.25 I will give you a bill on Parvisol for five pound for the half year. And must I go on at four shillings a week, and neither eat nor drink for it? Who the D— said Atterbury and your dean were alike? I never saw your chancellor, nor his chaplain.26 The latter has a good deal of learning, and is a well-wisher to be an author: your chancellor is an excellent man. As for Patrick’s bird, he bought him for his tameness, and is grown the wildest I ever saw. His wings have been quilled thrice, and are now up again: he will be able to fly after us to Ireland, if he be willing.—Yes, Mrs. Stella, Dingley writes more like Presto than you; for all you superscribed the letter, as who should say, Why should not I write like our Presto as well as Dingley? You with your aukward SSs; can’t you write them thus, SS? No, but always SSS.27 Spiteful sluts, to affront Presto’s writing; as that when you shut your eyes you write most like Presto. I know the time when I did not write to you half so plain as I do now; but I take pity on you both. I am very much concerned for Mrs. Walls’s eyes. Walls says nothing of it to me in his letter dated after yours. You say, If she recovers she may lose her sight. I hope she is in no danger of her life. Yes, Ford is as sober as I please: I use him to walk with me as an easy companion, always ready for what I please, when I am weary of business and ministers. I don’t go to a Coffee-house twice a month. I am very regular in going to sleep before eleven. —— And so you say that Stella’s a pretty girl; and so she be, and methinks I see her just now as handsome as the day’s long. Do you know what? When I am writing in our language I make up my mouth just as if I was speaking it. I caught myself at it just now.28 And I suppose Dingley is so fair and so fresh as a lass in May, and has her health, and no spleen.—In your account you sent do you reckon as usual from the 1st of November was twelvemonth?29 Poor Stella, won’t Dingley leave her a little day-light to write to Presto? Well, well, we’ll have day-light shortly, spight of her teeth; and zoo must cly Lele, and Hele, and Hele aden. Must loo mimitate pdfr, pay? Iss, and so la shall. And so leles fol ee rettle. Dood mollow.30—At night. Mrs. Barton sent this morning to invite me to dinner; and there I dined, just in that genteel manner that MD used when they would treat some better sort of body than usual.
8. O dear MD, my heart is almost broken. You will hear the thing before this comes to you. I writ a full account of it this night to the archbishop of Dublin; and the dean may tell you the particulars from the archbishop. I was in a sorry way to write, but thought it might be proper to send a true account of the fact; for you will hear a thousand lying circumstances. ’Tis of Mr. Harley’s being stabbed this afternoon at three o’clock at a committee of the council. I was playing lady Catherine Morris’s cards, where I dined, when young Arundel came in with the story. I ran away immediately to the secretary, which was in my way: no one was at home. I met Mrs. St. John in her chair; she had heard it imperfectly. I took a chair to Mr. Harley, who was asleep, and they hope in no danger; but he has been out of order, and was so when he came abroad to-day, and it may put him in a fever: I am in mortal pain for him. That desperate French villain, marquis de Guiscard, stabbed Mr. Harley. Guiscard was taken up by Mr. secretary St. John’s warrant for high treason, and brought before the lords to be examined; there he stabbed Mr. Harley. I have told all the particulars already to the archbishop.31 I have now at nine sent again, and they tell me he is in a fair way. Pray pardon my distraction; I now think of all his kindness to me.—The poor creature now lies stabbed in his bed by a desperate French popish villain. Good night, and God preserve you both, and pity me; I want it.
9. Morning; seven, in bed. Patrick is just come from Mr. Harley’s. He slept well till four; the surgeon sat up with him:32 he is asleep again: he felt a pain in his wound when he waked: they apprehend him in no danger. This account the surgeon left with the porter, to tell people that send. Pray God preserve him. I am rising and going to Mr. secretary St. John. They say Guiscard will die with the wounds Mr. St. John and the rest gave him. I shall tell you more at night.—Night. Mr. Harley still continues on the mending hand; but he rested ill last night, and felt pain. I was early with the secretary this morning, and I dined with him, and he told me several particularities of this accident, too long to relate now. Mr. Harley is still mending this evening, but not at all out of danger; and till then I can have no peace. Good night, &c. and pity Presto.
10. Mr. Harley was restless last night; but he has no fever, and the hopes of his mending increase. I had a letter from Mr. Walls, and one from Mr. Bernage. I will answer them here, not having time to write. Mr. Walls writes about three things. First, about a hundred pounds from Dr. Raymond, of which I hear nothing, and ’tis now too late. Secondly, about Mr. Clements: I can do nothing in it, because I am not to mention Mr. Pratt; and I cannot recommend without knowing Mr. Pratt’s objections, whose relation Clements is, and who brought him into the place.33 The third is about my being godfather to the child: that is in my power, and (since there is no remedy) will submit. I wish you could hinder it; but if it can’t be helped, pay what you think proper, and get the provost to stand for me, and let his christian name be Harley, in honour to my friend, now lying stabbed and doubtful of his life. As for Bernage, he writes me word, that his colonel has offered to make him captain-lieutenant for a hundred pounds. He was such a fool to offer him money without writing to me till it was done, though I have had a dozen letters from him; and then he desires I would say nothing of this, for fear his colonel should be angry. People are mad. What can I do? I engaged colonel Disney, who was one of his solicitors to the secretary, and then told him the story. He assured me, that Fielding (Bernage’s colonel) said he might have got that sum; but on account of those great recommendations he had, would give it him for nothing: and I would have Bernage write him a letter of thanks, as of a thing given him for nothing, upon recommendations, &c. Disney tells me he will again speak to Fielding, and clear up this matter; and then I will write to Bernage. A pox on him for promising money till I had it promised to me, and then making it such a ticklish point, that one cannot expostulate with the colonel upon it: but let him do as I say, and there’s an end.34 I engaged the secretary of state in it; and am sure it was meant a kindness to me, and that no money should be given, and a hundred pounds is too much in a Smithfield bargain, as a major-general told me, whose opinion I asked. I am now hurried, and can say no more. Farewel, &c. &c.
How shall I superscribe to your new lodgings, pray madams? Tell me but that, impudence and saucy-face.
An’t you sauceboxes to write lele [i.e. there] like Presto?35
O poor Presto!
Mr. Harley is better to-night, that makes me so pert, you saucy Gog and Magog.36