23.  So you expect an answer to your letter, do you so?  Yes, yes, you shall have an answer, you shall, young women.  I made a good pun on Saturday to my Lord Keeper.  After dinner we had coarse Doiley napkins,[6] fringed at each end, upon the table, to drink with:  my Lord Keeper spread one of them between him and Mr. Prior; I told him I was glad to see there was such a fringeship [friendship] between Mr. Prior and his lordship.  Prior swore it was the worst he ever heard:  I said I thought so too; but at the same time I thought it was most like one of Stella’s that ever I heard.  I dined to-day with Lord Mountjoy, and this evening saw the Venetian Ambassador[7] coming from his first public audience.  His coach was the most monstrous, huge, fine, rich gilt thing that ever I saw.  I loitered this evening, and came home late.

24.  I was this morning to visit the Duchess of Ormond,[8] who has long desired it, or threatened she would not let me visit her daughters.  I sat an hour with her, and we were good company, when in came the Countess of Bellamont,[9] with a pox.  I went out, and we did not know one another; yet hearing me named, she asked, “What, is that Dr. Swift?” said she and I were very well acquainted, and fell a railing at me without mercy, as a lady told me that was there; yet I never was but once in the company of that drab of a Countess.  Sir Andrew Fountaine and I dined with my neighbour Van.  I design in two days, if possible, to go lodge at Chelsea for the air, and put myself under a necessity of walking to and from London every day.  I writ this post to the Bishop of Clogher a long politic letter, to entertain him.  I am to buy statues and harnese[10] for them, with a vengeance.  I have packed and sealed up MD’s twelve letters against I go to Chelsea.  I have put the last commissions of MD in my account-book; but if there be any former ones, I have forgot them.  I have Dingley’s pocket-book down, and Stella’s green silk apron, and the pound of tea; pray send me word if you have any other, and down they shall go.  I will not answer your letter yet, saucy boxes.  You are with the Dean just now, Madam Stella, losing your money.  Why do not you name what number you have received?  You say you have received my letters, but do not tell the number.

25.  I was this day dining in the City with very insignificant, low, and scurvy company.  I had a letter from the Archbishop of Dublin, with a long denial of the report raised on him,[11] which yet has been since assured to me from those who say they have it from the first hand; but I cannot believe them.  I will show it to the Secretary to-morrow.  I will not answer yours till I get to Chelsea.