LETTER 14.

LONDON, Jan. 16, 1710-11.

O faith, young women, I have sent my letter N.13 without one crumb of an
answer to any of MD's, there's for you now; and yet Presto ben't angry,
faith, not a bit, only he will begin to be in pain next Irish post,
except he sees MD's little handwriting in the glass-frame at the bar
of St. James's Coffee-house, where Presto would never go but for that
purpose. Presto is at home, God help him, every night from six till
bed-time, and has as little enjoyment or pleasure in life at present as
anybody in the world, although in full favour with all the Ministry. As
hope saved, nothing gives Presto any sort of dream of happiness but a
letter now and then from his own dearest MD. I love the expectation of
it; and when it does not come, I comfort myself that I have it yet to
be happy with. Yes, faith, and when I write to MD, I am happy too; it is
just as if methinks you were here, and I prating to you, and telling you
where I have been: "Well," says you, "Presto, come, where have you been
to-day? come, let's hear now." And so then I answer: "Ford and I were
visiting Mr. Lewis and Mr. Prior; and Prior has given me a fine Plautus;
and then Ford would have had me dine at his lodgings, and so I would
not; and so I dined with him at an eating-house, which I have not done
five times since I came here; and so I came home, after visiting Sir
Andrew Fountaine's mother and sister, and Sir Andrew Fountaine is
mending, though slowly."

17. I was making, this morning, some general visits, and at twelve I
called at the Coffee-house for a letter from MD; so the man said he had
given it to Patrick. Then I went to the Court of Requests and Treasury,
to find Mr. Harley, and, after some time spent in mutual reproaches,
I promised to dine with him. I stayed there till seven, then called
at Sterne's and Leigh's to talk about your box, and to have it sent by
Smyth. Sterne says he has been making inquiries, and will set things
right as soon as possible. I suppose it lies at Chester, at least I hope
so, and only wants a lift over to you. Here has little Harrison been
to complain that the printer I recommended to him for his Tatler is a
coxcomb; and yet to see how things will happen; for this very printer
is my cousin, his name is Dryden Leach;(1) did you never hear of Dryden
Leach, he that prints the Postman? He acted Oroonoko;(2) he's in love
with Miss Cross.(3)--Well, so I came home to read my letter from