John[38] (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 everything to bring me over. 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 LETTER 5.
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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[39] 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,[40] to give him a ballad, and dine with him; but he was not at home: so I was forced to go to a blind[41] chop−house, and dine for tenpence upon gill−ale,[42] 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. 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;[43] 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. 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[44] 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 today for a dinner, unless I would have gone a great way, so I dined with some friends that board hereabout,[45] as a spunger;[46] and this evening Sir Andrew Fountaine 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 it among my extraordinaries but we had a neck of mutton dressed 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,[47] as I used to be. 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[48] to dine with Charles Main,[49] 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, etc.
9. I dined to−day at Sir John Stanley’s; my Lady Stanley[50] 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 everything 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: faith, ’tis true; for I am going now to write to him an account of what I have done in the business with Harley:[51] 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 bellman.[52] 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 LETTER 5.
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bed: see the ugly wide lines. God Almighty ever bless you, etc.
Faith, this is a whole treatise; I’ll go reckon the lines on the other sides. I’ve reckoned them.[53]
LETTER 6.
LONDON, Oct. 10, 1710.
So, as I told you just now in the letter I sent half an hour ago, I dined with Mr. Harley to−day, who presented me to the Attorney−General, Sir Simon Harcourt, with much compliment on all sides, etc. Harley told me he had shown my memorial to the Queen, and seconded it very heartily; and he desires me to dine with him again on Sunday, when he promises to settle it with Her Majesty, before she names a Governor:[1] and I protest I am in hopes it will be done, all but the forms, by that time; for he loves the Church. This is a popular thing, and he would not have a Governor share in it; and, besides, I am told by all hands, he has a mind to gain me over. But in the letter I writ last post (yesterday) to the Archbishop, I did not tell him a syllable of what Mr. Harley said to me last night, because he charged me to keep it secret; so I would not tell it to you, but that, before this goes, I hope the secret will be over. I am now writing my poetical “Description of a Shower in London,” and will send it to the Tatler.[2] This is the last sheet of a whole quire I have written since I came to town. Pray, now it comes into my head, will you, when you go to Mrs. Walls, contrive to know whether Mrs. Wesley[3] be in town, and still at her brother’s, and how she is in health, and whether she stays in town. I writ to her from Chester, to know what I should do with her note; and I believe the poor woman is afraid to write to me: so I must go to my business, etc.
11. To−day at last I dined with Lord Mountrath,[4] and carried Lord Mountjoy, and Sir Andrew Fountaine with me; and was looking over them at ombre till eleven this evening like a fool: they played running ombre half−crowns; and Sir Andrew Fountaine won eight guineas of Mr. Coote;[5] so I am come home late, and will say but little to MD this night. I have gotten half a bushel of coals, and Patrick, the extravagant whelp, had a fire ready for me; but I picked off the coals before I went to bed. It is a sign London is now an empty place, when it will not furnish me with matter for above five or six lines in a day. Did you smoke in my last how I told you the very day and the place you were playing at ombre? But I interlined and altered a little, after I had received a letter from Mr. Manley, that said you were at it in his house, while he was writing to me; but without his help I guessed within one day. Your town is certainly much more sociable than ours. I have not seen your mother yet, etc.