So, here is Mistress Stella again, with her two eggs, etc.  My “Shower” admired with you; why, the Bishop of Clogher says, he has seen something of mine of the same sort, better than the “Shower.”  I suppose he means “The Morning";[13] but it is not half so good.  I want your judgment of things, and not your country’s.  How does MD like it? and do they taste it all? etc.  I am glad Dean Bolton[14] has paid the twenty pounds.  Why should not I chide the Bishop of Clogher for writing to the Archbishop of Cashel,[15] without sending the letter first to me?  It does not signify a ——­; for he has no credit at Court.  Stuff—­they are all puppies.  I will break your head in good earnest, young woman, for your nasty jest about Mrs. Barton.[16] Unlucky sluttikin, what a word is there!  Faith, I was thinking yesterday, when I was with her, whether she could break them or no, and it quite spoilt my imagination.  “Mrs. Walls, does Stella win as she pretends?” “No indeed, Doctor; she loses always, and will play so VENTERSOMELY, how can she win?” See here now; an’t you an impudent lying slut?  Do, open Domville’s letter; what does it signify, if you have a mind?  Yes, faith, you write smartly with your eyes shut; all was well but the n.  See how I can do it; madam Stella, your humble servant.[17] O, but one may look whether one goes crooked or no, and so write on.  I will tell you what you may do; you may write with your eyes half shut, just as when one is going to sleep:  I have done so for two or three lines now; it is but just seeing enough to go straight.—­Now, Madam Dingley, I think I bid you tell Mr. Walls that, in case there be occasion, I will serve his friend as far as I can; but I hope there will be none.  Yet I believe you will have a new Parliament; but I care not whether you have or no a better.  You are mistaken in all your conjectures about the Tatlers.  I have given him one or two hints, and you have heard me talk about the Shilling.[18] Faith, these answering letters are very long ones:  you have taken up almost the room of a week in journals; and I will tell you what, I saw fellows wearing crosses to-day,[19] and I wondered what was the matter; but just this minute I recollect it is little Presto’s birthday; and I was resolved these three days to remember it when it came, but could not.  Pray, drink my health to-day at dinner; do, you rogues.  Do you like “Sid Hamet’s Rod”?  Do you understand it all?  Well, now at last I have done with your letter, and so I will lay me down to sleep, and about, fair maids; and I hope merry maids all.