a letter from the Bishop of Clogher, and a packet from MD.  I opened the Bishop’s letter; but put up MD’s, and visited a lady just come to town; and am now got into bed, and going to open your little letter:  and God send I may find MD well, and happy, and merry, and that they love Presto as they do fires.  Oh, I will not open it yet! yes I will! no I will not!  I am going; I cannot stay till I turn over.[21] What shall I do?  My fingers itch; and now I have it in my left hand; and now I will open it this very moment.—­I have just got it, and am cracking the seal, and cannot imagine what is in it; I fear only some letter from a bishop, and it comes too late; I shall employ nobody’s credit but my own.  Well, I see though—­ Pshaw, ’tis from Sir Andrew Fountaine.  What, another!  I fancy that’s from Mrs. Barton;[22] she told me she would write to me; but she writes a better hand than this:  I wish you would inquire; it must be at Dawson’s[23] office at the Castle.  I fear this is from Patty Rolt, by the scrawl.  Well, I will read MD’s letter.  Ah, no; it is from poor Lady Berkeley, to invite me to Berkeley Castle this winter; and now it grieves my heart:  she says, she hopes my lord is in a fair way of recovery;[24] poor lady!  Well, now I go to MD’s letter:  faith, it is all right; I hoped it was wrong.  Your letter, N.3, that I have now received, is dated Sept. 26; and Manley’s letter, that I had five days ago, was dated Oct. 3, that’s a fortnight difference:  I doubt it has lain in Steele’s office, and he forgot.  Well, there’s an end of that:  he is turned out of his place;[25] and you must desire those who send me packets, to enclose them in a paper directed to Mr. Addison, at St. James’s Coffee-house:  not common letters, but packets:  the Bishop of Clogher may mention it to the Archbishop when he sees him.  As for your letter, it makes me mad:  slidikins, I have been the best boy in Christendom, and you come with your two eggs a penny.—­Well; but stay, I will look over my book:  adad, I think there was a chasm between my N.2 and N.3.  Faith, I will not promise to write to you every week; but I will write every night, and when it is full I will send it; that will be once in ten days, and that will be often enough:  and if you begin to take up the way of writing to Presto, only because it is Tuesday, a Monday bedad it will grow a task; but write when you have a mind.—­No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no—­Agad, agad, agad, agad, agad, agad; no, poor Stellakins.[26] Slids, I would the horse were in your—­chamber!  Have not I ordered Parvisol to obey your directions about him?  And han’t I said in my former letters that you may pickle him, and boil him, if you will?  What do you trouble me about your horses for?  Have I anything to do with them?—­Revolutions a hindrance to me in my business?  Revolutions to me in my business?  If it were not for the revolutions, I could do nothing at all; and now I have all hopes possible, though one is certain of nothing;