or some fine editions of fine authors. But
'tis too far, and I shall let it slip, as I usually do all such
opportunities. I dined in a coffee-house with Stratford upon chops and
some of his wine. Where did MD dine? Why, poor MD dined at home to-day,
because of the Archbishop, and they could not go abroad, and had a
breast of mutton and a pint of wine. I hope Mrs. Walls mends; and pray
give me an account what sort of godfather I made, and whether I behaved
myself handsomely. The Duke of Argyle is gone; and whether he has my
memorial, I know not, till I see Dr. Arbuthnot,(11) to whom I gave it.
That hard name belongs to a Scotch doctor, an acquaintance of the Duke's
and me; Stella can't pronounce it. Oh that we were at Laracor this fine
day! the willows begin to peep, and the quicks to bud. My dream is out:
I was a-dreamed last night that I ate ripe cherries.--And now they
begin to catch the pikes, and will shortly the trouts (pox on these
Ministers!)--and I would fain know whether the floods were ever so high
as to get over the holly bank or the river walk; if so, then all my
pikes are gone; but I hope not. Why don't you ask Parvisol these things,
sirrahs? And then my canal, and trouts, and whether the bottom be fine
and clear? But harkee, ought not Parvisol to pay in my last year's rents
and arrears out of his hands? I am thinking, if either of you have heads
to take his accounts, it should be paid in to you; otherwise to Mr.
Walls. I will write an order on t'other side; and do as you will. Here's
a world of business; but I must go sleep, I'm drowsy; and so goodnight,
etc.

20. This sore shin ruins me in coach-hire; no less than two shillings
to-day going and coming from the City, where I dined with one you never
heard of, and passed an insipid day. I writ this post to Bernage, with
the account I told you above. I hope he will like it; 'tis his own
fault, or it would have been better. I reckon your next letter will
be full of Mr. Harley's stabbing. He still mends, but abundance of
extravasated blood has come out of the wound: he keeps his bed, and sees
nobody. The Speaker's eldest son(12) is just dead of the smallpox, and
the House is adjourned a week, to give him time to wipe off his tears.
I think it very handsomely done; but I believe one reason is, that they
want Mr. Harley so much. Biddy Floyd is like to do well: and so go to
your Dean's, and roast his oranges, and lose your money, do so, you
saucy sluts. Stella, y