full of small plumcakes.  I thought it had been something for you; and, without opening them, sent answer by the maid that brought them, that I would take care to send the things, etc.; but I will write her thanks.  Is this a long letter, sirrahs?  Now, are you satisfied?  I have had no fit since the first:  I drink brandy every morning, and take pills every night.  Never fear, I an’t vexed at this puppy business of the bishops, although I was a little at first.  I will tell you my reward:  Mr. Harley will think he has done me a favour; the Duke of Ormond, perhaps, that I have put a neglect on him; and the bishops in Ireland, that I have done nothing at all.  So goes the world.  But I have got above all this, and, perhaps, I have better reason for it than they know:  and so you shall hear no more of First-Fruits, dukes, Harleys, archbishops, and Southwells.

I have slipped off Raymond upon some of his countrymen, to show him the town, etc., and I lend him Patrick.  He desires to sit with me in the evenings; upon which I have given Patrick positive orders that I am not within at evenings.

LETTER 10.

London, Nov. 25, 1710.

I will tell you something that’s plaguy silly:  I had forgot to say on the 23d in my last, where I dined; and because I had done it constantly, I thought it was a great omission, and was going to interline it; but at last the silliness of it made me cry, Pshah, and I let it alone.  I was to-day to see the Parliament meet; but only saw a great crowd; and Ford and I went to see the tombs at Westminster, and sauntered so long I was forced to go to an eating-house for my dinner.  Bromley[1] is chosen Speaker, nemine contradicente:  Do you understand those two words?  And Pompey, Colonel Hill’s[2] black, designs to stand Speaker for the footmen.[3] I am engaged to use my interest for him, and have spoken to Patrick to get him some votes.  We are now all impatient for the Queen’s speech, what she will say about removing the Ministry, etc.  I have got a cold, and I don’t know how; but got it I have, and am hoarse:  I don’t know whether it will grow better or worse.  What’s that to you?  I won’t answer your letter to-night.  I’ll keep you a little longer in suspense:  I can’t send it.  Your mother’s cakes are very good, and one of them serves me for a breakfast, and so I’ll go sleep like a good boy.

26.  I have got a cruel cold, and stayed within all this day in my nightgown, and dined on sixpennyworth of victuals, and read and writ, and was denied to everybody.  Dr. Raymond[4] called often, and I was denied; and at last, when I was weary, I let him come up, and asked him, without consequence, how Patrick denied me, and whether he had the art of it?  So by this means he shall be used to have me denied to him; otherwise he would be a plaguy trouble and hindrance to me:  he has sat with me two hours,