23.  I this day appointed the Duke of Ormond to meet him at Ned Southwell’s, about an affair of printing Irish Prayer-Books, etc.,[14] but the Duke never came.  There Southwell had letters that two packets are taken; so if MD writ then, the letters are gone; for they are packets coming hither.  Mr. Harley is not yet well, but his extravasated blood continues, and I doubt he will not be quite well in a good while:  I find you have heard of the fact by Southwell’s letters from Ireland:  what do you think of it?  I dined with Sir John Perceval,[15] and saw his lady sitting in the bed, in the forms of a lying-in woman; and coming home my sore shin itched, and I forgot what it was, and rubbed off the scab, and blood came; but I am now got into bed, and have put on alum curd, and it is almost well.  Lord Rivers told me yesterday a piece of bad news, as a secret, that the Pretender is going to be married to the Duke of Savoy’s daughter.[16] ’Tis very bad if it be true.  We were walking in the Mall with some Scotch lords, and he could not tell it until they were gone, and he bade me tell it to none but the Secretary of State and MD.  This goes tomorrow, and I have no room but to bid my dearest little MD good-night. 24.  I will now seal up this letter, and send it; for I reckon to have none from you (’tis morning now) between this and night; and I will put it in the post with my own hands.  I am going out in great haste; so farewell, etc.

LETTER 19.

London, March 24, 1710-11.

It was a little cross in Presto not to send to-day to the Coffee-house to see whether there was a letter from MD before I sent away mine; but, faith, I did it on purpose, because I would scorn to answer two letters of yours successively.  This way of journal is the worst in the world for writing of news, unless one does it the last day; and so I will observe henceforward, if there be any politics or stuff worth sending.  My shin mends in spite of the scratching last night.  I dined to-day at Ned Southwell’s with the Bishop of Ossory[1] and a parcel of Irish gentlemen.  Have you yet seen any of the Spectators?  Just three weeks to-day since I had your last, N.11.  I am afraid I have lost one by the packet that was taken; that will vex me, considering the pains MD take to write, especially poor pretty Stella, and her weak eyes.  God bless them and the owner, and send them well, and little me together, I hope ere long.  This illness of Mr. Harley puts everything backwards, and he is still down, and like to be so, by that extravasated blood which comes from his breast to the wound:  it was by the second blow Guiscard gave him after the penknife was broken.  I am shocked at that villainy whenever I think of it.  Biddy Floyd is past danger, but will lose all her beauty:  she had them mighty thick, especially about her nose.