16.  Morning.  Faith, I will send this letter to-day to shame you, if I han’t one from MD before night, that’s certain.  Won’t you grumble for want of the third side, pray now?  Yes, I warrant you; yes, yes, you shall have the third, you shall so, when you can catch it, some other time; when you be writing girls.—­O, faith, I think I won’t stay till night, but seal up this just now, and carry it in my pocket, and whip it into the post-office as I come home at evening.  I am going out early this morning.—­Patrick’s bills for coals and candles, etc., come sometimes to three shillings a week; I keep very good fires, though the weather be warm.  Ireland will never be happy till you get small coal[27] likewise; nothing so easy, so convenient, so cheap, so pretty, for lighting a fire.  My service to Mrs. Stoyte and Walls; has she a boy or a girl?  A girl, hum; and died in a week, humm; and was poor Stella forced to stand for godmother?—­Let me know how accompts stand, that you may have your money betimes.  There’s four months for my lodging, that must be thought on too:  and so go dine with Manley, and lose your money, do, extravagant sluttikin, but don’t fret.—­It will be just three weeks when I have the next letter, that’s to-morrow.  Farewell, dearest beloved MD; and love poor, poor Presto, who has not had one happy day since he left you, as hope saved.—­It is the last sally I will ever make, but I hope it will turn to some account.  I have done more for these,[28] and I think they are more honest than the last; however, I will not be disappointed.  I would make MD and me easy; and I never desired more.—­Farewell, etc. etc.

LETTER 14.

London, Jan. 16, 171O-11.

O faith, young women, I have sent my letter N.13 without one crumb of an answer to any of MD’s, there’s for you now; and yet Presto ben’t angry, faith, not a bit, only he will begin to be in pain next Irish post, except he sees MD’s little handwriting in the glass-frame at the bar of St. James’s Coffee-house, where Presto would never go but for that purpose.  Presto is at home, God help him, every night from six till bed-time, and has as little enjoyment or pleasure in life at present as anybody in the world, although in full favour with all the Ministry.  As hope saved, nothing gives Presto any sort of dream of happiness but a letter now and then from his own dearest MD.  I love the expectation of it; and when it does not come, I comfort myself that I have it yet to be happy with.  Yes, faith, and when I write to MD, I am happy too; it is just as if methinks you were here, and I prating to you, and telling you where I have been:  “Well,” says you, “Presto, come, where have you been to-day? come, let’s hear now.”  And so then I answer:  “Ford and I were visiting Mr. Lewis and Mr. Prior; and Prior has given me a fine Plautus; and then Ford would have had me dine at his lodgings, and so I would not; and so I dined with him at an eating-house, which I have not done five times since I came here; and so I came home, after visiting Sir Andrew Fountaine’s mother and sister, and Sir Andrew Fountaine is mending, though slowly.”