have got my letter, but what number?  I suppose 18.  Well, my shin has been well this month.  No, Mrs. Westley[24] came away without her husband’s knowledge, while she was in the country:  she has written to me for some tea.  They lie; Mr. Harley’s wound was very terrible:  he had convulsions, and very narrowly escaped.  The bruise was nine times worse than the wound:  he is weak still.  Well, Brooks married; I know all that.  I am sorry for Mrs. Walls’s eye:  I hope ’tis better.  O yes, you are great walkers:  but I have heard them say, “Much talkers, little walkers”:  and I believe I may apply the old proverb to you—­

     If you talked no more than you walked,
     Those that think you wits would be baulked.

Yes, Stella shall have a large printed Bible:  I have put it down among my commissions for MD.  I am glad to hear you have taken the fancy of intending to read the Bible.  Pox take the box; is not it come yet?  This is trusting to your young fellows, young women; ’tis your fault:  I thought you had such power with Sterne that he would fly over Mount Atlas to serve you.  You say you are not splenetic; but if you be, faith, you will break poor Presto’s—­I will not say the rest; but I vow to God, if I could decently come over now, I would, and leave all schemes of politics and ambition for ever.  I have not the opportunities here of preserving my health by riding, etc., that I have in Ireland; and the want of health is a great cooler of making one’s court.  You guess right about my being bit with a direction from Walls, and the letter from MD:  I believe I described it in one of my last.  This goes to-night; and I must now rise and walk to town, and walk back in the evening.  God Almighty bless and preserve poor MD.  Farewell.

O, faith, don’t think, saucy noses, that I’ll fill this third side:  I can’t stay a letter above a fortnight:  it must go then; and you would rather see a short one like this, than want it a week longer.

My humble service to the Dean, and Mrs. Walls, and good, kind, hearty Mrs. Stoyte, and honest Catherine.

LETTER 22.

Chelsea, April 28, 1711.

At night.  I say at night, because I finished my twenty-first this morning here, and put it into the post-office my own self, like a good boy.  I think I am a little before you now, young women:  I am writing my twenty-second, and have received your thirteenth.  I got to town between twelve and one, and put on my new gown and periwig, and dined with Lord Abercorn, where I had not been since the marriage of his son Lord Peasley,[1] who has got ten thousand pounds with a wife.  I am now a country gentleman.  I walked home as I went, and am a little weary, and am got into bed:  I hope in God the air and exercise will do me a little good.  I have been inquiring about statues for Mrs. Ashe:  I made Lady Abercorn[2] go with me; and will send them word next post to Clogher.  I hate to buy for her:  I am sure she will maunder.  I am going to study.