faire a Don Antoine,” which is a French proverb, expressing, “Leave that to me.”  I find he is against her taking much physic; and I doubt he cannot persuade her to take Dr. Radcliffe.  However, she is very well now, and all the story of her illness, except the first day or two, was a lie.  We had some business, that company hindered us from doing, though he is earnest for it, yet would not appoint me a certain day, but bids me come at all times till we can have leisure.  This takes up a great deal of my time, and I can do nothing I would do for them.  I was with the Secretary this morning, and we both think to go to Windsor for some days, to despatch an affair, if we can have leisure.  Sterne met me just now in the street by his lodgings, and I went in for an hour to Jemmy Leigh, who loves London dearly:  he asked after you with great respect and friendship.—­To return to your letter.  Your Bishop Mills[21] hates me mortally:  I wonder he should speak well of me, having abused me in all places where he went.  So you pay your way.  Cudsho:  you had a fine supper, I warrant; two pullets, and a bottle of wine, and some currants.—­It is just three weeks to-day since you set out to Wexford; you were three days going, and I do not expect a letter these ten days yet, or rather this fortnight.  I got a grant of the Gazette[22] for Ben Tooke this morning from Mr. Secretary:  it will be worth to him a hundred pounds a year.

18.  To-day I took leave of Mrs. Barton, who is going into the country; and I dined with Sir John Stanley,[23] where I have not been this great while.  There dined with us Lord Rochester, and his fine daughter, Lady Jane,[24] just growing a top-toast.  I have been endeavouring to save Sir Matthew Dudley,[25] but fear I cannot.  I walked the Mall six times to-night for exercise, and would have done more; but, as empty as the town is, a fool got hold of me, and so I came home, to tell you this shall go to-morrow, without fail, and follow you to Wexford, like a dog.

19.  Dean Atterbury sent to me to dine with him at Chelsea.  I refused his coach, and walked, and am come back by seven, because I would finish this letter, and some others I am writing.  Patrick tells me the maid says one Mr. Walls, a clergyman, a tall man, was here to visit me.  Is it your Irish Archdeacon?  I shall be sorry for it; but I shall make shift to see him seldom enough, as I do Dilly.  What can he do here? or is it somebody else?  The Duke of Newcastle[26] is dead by the fall he had from his horse.  God send poor Stella her health, and keep MD happy!  Farewell, and love Presto, who loves MD above all things ten million of times.  God bless the dear Wexford girls.  Farewell again, etc. etc.

LETTER 27.

London, July 19, 1711.

I have just sent my 26th, and have nothing to say, because I have other letters to write (pshaw, I began too high); but I must lay the beginning like a nest-egg:  to-morrow I will say more, and fetch up this line to be straight.  This is enough at present for two dear saucy naughty girls.