Bradley[4] here.  He is very well, very old, and very wise:  I believe I must go see his wife, when I have leisure.  I should be glad to see Goody Stoyte and her husband; pray give them my humble service, and to Catherine, and to Mrs. Walls—­I am not the least bit in love with Mrs. Walls—­I suppose the cares of the husband increase with the fruitfulness of the wife.  I am grad at halt[5] to hear of Ppt’s good health:  pray let her finish it by drinking waters.  I hope DD had her bill, and has her money.  Remember to write a due time before me money is wanted, and be good galls, dood dallars, I mean, and no crying dallars.  I heard somebody coming upstairs, and forgot I was in the country; and I was afraid of a visitor:  that is one advantage of being here, that I am not teased with solicitors.  Molt, the chemist, is my acquaintance.  My service to Dr. Smith.  I sent the question to him about Sir Walter Raleigh’s cordial, and the answer he returned is in these words:  “It is directly after Mr. Boyle’s receipt.”  That commission is performed; if he wants any of it, Molt shall use him fairly.  I suppose Smith is one of your physicians.  So, now your letter is fully and impartially answered; not as rascals answer me:  I believe, if I writ an essay upon a straw, I should have a shoal of answerers:  but no matter for that; you see I can answer without making any reflections, as becomes men of learning.  Well, but now for the peace:  why, we expect it daily; but the French have the staff in their own hands, and we trust to their honesty.  I wish it were otherwise.  Things are now in the way of being soon in the extremes of well or ill.  I hope and believe the first.  Lord Wharton is gone out of town in a rage, and curses himself and friends for ruining themselves in defending Lord Marlborough and Godolphin, and taking Nottingham into their favour.  He swears he will meddle no more during this reign; a pretty speech at sixty-six, and the Queen is near twenty years younger, and now in very good health; for you must know her health is fixed by a certain reason, that she has done with braces (I must use the expression), and nothing ill is happened to her since; so she has a new lease of her life.  Read the Letter to a Whig Lord.[6] Do you ever read?  Why don’t you say so?  I mean does DD read to Ppt?  Do you walk?  I think Ppt should walk to[7] DD; as DD reads to Ppt, for Ppt oo must know is a good walker; but not so good as Pdfr.  I intend to dine to-day with Mr. Lewis, but it threatens rain; and I shall be too late to get a lift; and I must write to the Bishop of Clogher.  ’Tis now ten in the morning; and this is all writ at a heat.  Farewell deelest. . . deelest MD, MD, MD, MD, MD, FW, FW, FW, me, me, me, Lele, me, Lele, me, Lele, me, Lele, Lele, Lele, me.

LETTER 49.[1]

Kensington, July 1, 1712.