have me dine with him at eating-houses; but I have only done it once, and will do it no more.  He had not seen me for some time in the Coffee-house, and asking after me, desired Lord Herbert to tell me I was a beast for ever, after the order of Melchisedec.  Did you ever read the Scripture?[25] It is only changing the word priest to beast.—­I think I am bewitched, to write so much in a morning to you, little MD.  Let me go, will you? and I’ll come again to-night in a fine clean sheet of paper; but I can nor will stay no longer now; no, I won’t, for all your wheedling:  no, no, look off, do not smile at me, and say, “Pray, pray, Presto, write a little more.”  Ah! you are a wheedling slut, you be so.  Nay, but prithee turn about, and let me go, do; ’tis a good girl, and do.  O, faith, my morning candle is just out, and I must go now in spite of my teeth; for my bed-chamber is dark with curtains, and I am at the wrong side.  So farewell, etc. etc.

I am in the dark almost:  I must have another candle, when I am up, to seal this; but I will fold it up in the dark, and make what you can of this, for I can only see this paper I am writing upon.  Service to Mrs. Walls and Mrs. Stoyte.

God Almighty bless you, etc.  What I am doing I can’t see; but I will fold it up, and not look on it again.

LETTER 13.

London, Jan. 4, 1710-11.

I was going into the City (where I dined and put my 12th, with my own fair hands, into the post-office as I came back, which was not till nine this night.  I dined with people that you never heard of, nor is it worth your while to know; an authoress and a printer.[1] I walked home for exercise, and at eleven got to bed; and, all the while I was undressing myself, there was I speaking monkey things in air, just as if MD had been by, and did not recollect myself till I got into bed.  I writ last night to the Archbishop, and told him the warrant was drawn for the First-Fruits; and I told him Lord Peterborow was set out for his journey to Vienna; but it seems the Lords have addressed to have him stay, to be examined about Spanish affairs, upon this defeat there, and to know where the fault lay, etc.  So I writ to the Archbishop a lie; but I think it was not a sin.

5.  Mr. Secretary St. John sent for me this morning so early, that I was forced to go without shaving, which put me quite out of method.  I called at Mr. Ford’s, and desired him to lend me a shaving; and so made a shift to get into order again.  Lord! here is an impertinence:  Sir Andrew Fountaine’s mother and sister[2] are come above a hundred miles, from Worcester, to see him before he died.  They got here but yesterday; and he must have been past hopes, or past fears, before they could reach him.  I fell a scolding when I heard they were coming; and the people about him wondered at me, and said what a mighty content it would be on both sides to die when