So now to answer your letter that I had three or four days ago.  I am not now in bed, but am come home by eight; and, it being warm, I write up.  I never writ to the Bishop of Killala, which, I suppose, was the reason he had not my letter.  I have not time, there is the short of it.—­As fond as the Dean[14] is of my letter, he has not written to me.  I would only know whether Dean Bolton[15] paid him the twenty pounds; and for the rest, he may kiss—­And that you may ask him, because I am in pain about it, that Dean Bolton is such a whipster.  ’Tis the most obliging thing in the world in Dean Sterne to be so kind to you.  I believe he knows it will please me, and makes up, that way, his other usage.[16] No, we have had none of your snow, but a little one morning; yet I think it was great snow for an hour or so, but no longer.  I had heard of Will Crowe’s[17] death before, but not the foolish circumstance that hastened his end.  No, I have taken care that Captain Pratt[18] shall not suffer by Lord Anglesea’s death.[19] I will try some contrivance to get a copy of my picture from Jervas.  I will make Sir Andrew Fountaine buy one as for himself, and I will pay him again, and take it, that is, provided I have money to spare when I leave this.—­Poor John! is he gone? and Madam Parvisol[20] has been in town!  Humm.  Why, Tighe[21] and I, when he comes, shall not take any notice of each other; I would not do it much in this town, though we had not fallen out.—­I was to-day at Mr. Sterne’s lodging:  he was not within; and Mr. Leigh is not come to town; but I will do Dingley’s errand when I see him.  What do I know whether china be dear or no?  I once took a fancy of resolving to grow mad for it, but now it is off; I suppose I told you in some former letter.  And so you only want some salad-dishes, and plates, and etc.  Yes, yes, you shall.  I suppose you have named as much as will cost five pounds.—­Now to Stella’s little postscript; and I am almost crazed that you vex yourself for not writing.  Cannot you dictate to Dingley, and not strain your little, dear eyes?  I am sure it is the grief of my soul to think you are out of order.  Pray be quiet; and, if you will write, shut your eyes, and write just a line, and no more, thus, “How do you do, Mrs. Stella?” That was written with my eyes shut.  Faith, I think it is better than when they are open:  and then Dingley may stand by, and tell you when you go too high or too low.—­My letters of business, with packets, if there be any more occasion for such, must be enclosed to Mr. Addison, at St. James’s Coffee-house:  but I hope to hear, as soon as I see Mr. Harley, that the main difficulties are over, and that the rest will be but form.—­Take two or three nutgalls, take two or three —–­galls, stop your receipt in your—­I have no need on’t.  Here is a clutter!  Well, so much for your letter, which I will now put up in my letter-partition in my cabinet, as I always do every letter as soon as