but now they begin to be a little out of order again. My head is
better, though not right; but I trust to air and walking. You have got
my letter, but what number? I suppose 18. Well, my shin has been
well this month. No, Mrs. Westley(24) came away without her husband's
knowledge, while she was in the country: she has written to me for some
tea. They lie; Mr. Harley's wound was very terrible: he had convulsions,
and very narrowly escaped. The bruise was nine times worse than the
wound: he is weak still. Well, Brooks married; I know all that. I am
sorry for Mrs. Walls's eye: I hope 'tis better. O yes, you are great
walkers: but I have heard them say, "Much talkers, little walkers": and
I believe I may apply the old proverb to you--

If you talked no more than you walked,
Those that think you wits would be baulked.

Yes, Stella shall have a large printed Bible: I have put it down among
my commissions for MD. I am glad to hear you have taken the fancy of
intending to read the Bible. Pox take the box; is not it come yet?
This is trusting to your young fellows, young women; 'tis your fault:
I thought you had such power with Sterne that he would fly over Mount
Atlas to serve you. You say you are not splenetic; but if you be, faith,
you will break poor Presto's--I will not say the rest; but I vow to God,
if I could decently come over now, I would, and leave all schemes of
politics and ambition for ever. I have not the opportunities here of
preserving my health by riding, etc., that I have in Ireland; and the
want of health is a great cooler of making one's court. You guess right
about my being bit with a direction from Walls, and the letter from MD:
I believe I described it in one of my last. This goes to-night; and
I must now rise and walk to town, and walk back in the evening. God
Almighty bless and preserve poor MD. Farewell.

O, faith, don't think, saucy noses, that I'll fill this third side: I
can't stay a letter above a fortnight: it must go then; and you would
rather see a short one like this, than want it a week longer.

My humble service to the Dean, and Mrs. Walls, and good, kind, hearty
Mrs. Stoyte, and honest Catherine.

LETTER 22.

CHELSEA, April 28, 1711.

At night. I say at night, because I finished my twenty-first this
morning here, and put it into the post-office my own self, like a good
boy. I think I am a little before you now, young women: I am writing my
twenty-second, and have rec