had it here:  how long is it?  I suppose half a sheet:  was the answer written in Ireland?  Yes, yes, you shall have a letter when you come from Ballygall.  I need not tell you again who’s out and who’s in:  we can never get out the Duchess of Somerset.—­So, they say Presto writ the Conduct, etc.  Do they like it?  I don’t care whether they do or no; but the resolutions printed t’other day in the Votes are almost quotations from it, and would never have passed if that book had not been written.  I will not meddle with the Spectator, let him fair-sex it to the world’s end.  My disorder is over, but blood was not from the p-les.—­Well, Madam Dingley, the frost; why, we had a great frost, but I forget how long ago; it lasted above a week or ten days:  I believe about six weeks ago; but it did not break so soon with us, I think, as December 29; yet I think it was about that time, on second thoughts.  MD can have no letter from Presto, says you; and yet four days before you own you had my thirty-seventh, unreasonable sluts!  The Bishop of Gloucester is not dead,[24] and I am as likely to succeed the Duke of Marlborough as him if he were; there’s enough for that now.  It is not unlikely that the Duke of Shrewsbury will be your Governor; at least I believe the Duke of Ormond will not return.—­Well, Stella again:  why, really three editions of the Conduct, etc., is very much for Ireland; it is a sign you have some honest among you.  Well; I will do Mr. Manley[25] all the service I can; but he will ruin himself.  What business had he to engage at all about the City?  Can’t he wish his cause well, and be quiet, when he finds that stirring will do it no good, and himself a great deal of hurt?  I cannot imagine who should open my letter:  it must be done at your side.—­If I hear of any thoughts of turning out Mr. Manley, I will endeavour to prevent it.  I have already had all the gentlemen of Ireland here upon my back often, for defending him.  So now I have answered your saucy letter.  My humble service to Goody Stoyte and Catherine; I will come soon for my dinner.

9.  Morning.  My cold goes off at last; but I think I have got a small new one.  I have no news since last.  They say we hear by the way of Calais, that peace is very near concluding.  I hope it may be true.  I’ll go and seal up my letter, and give it myself to-night into the post-office; and so I bid my dearest MD farewell till to-night.  I heartily wish myself with them, as hope saved.  My willows, and quicksets, and trees, will be finely improved, I hope, this year.  It has been fine hard frosty weather yesterday and to-day.  Farewell, etc. etc. etc.

LETTER 41.[1]

London, Feb. 9, 1711-12.