26, 27, 28, 29, 3O.  I have been so lazy and negligent these last four days that I could not write to MD.  My head is not in order, and yet is not absolutely ill, but giddyish, and makes me listless; I walk every day, and take drops of Dr. Cockburn, and I have just done a box of pills; and to-day Lady Kerry sent me some of her bitter drink, which I design to take twice a day, and hope I shall grow better.  I wish I were with MD; I long for spring and good weather, and then I will come over.  My riding in Ireland keeps me well.  I am very temperate, and eat of the easiest meats as I am directed, and hope the malignity will go off; but one fit shakes me a long time.  I dined to-day with Lord Mountjoy, yesterday at Mr. Stone’s, in the City, on Sunday at Vanhomrigh’s, Saturday with Ford, and Friday I think at Vanhomrigh’s; and that is all the journal I can send MD, for I was so lazy while I was well, that I could not write.  I thought to have sent this to-night, but ’tis ten, and I’ll go to bed, and write on t’other side to Parvisol to-morrow, and send it on Thursday; and so good-night, my dears; and love Presto, and be healthy, and Presto will be so too, etc.

Cut off these notes handsomely, d’ye hear, sirrahs, and give Mrs. Brent hers, and keep yours till you see Parvisol, and then make up the letter to him, and send it him by the first opportunity; and so God Almighty bless you both, here and ever, and poor Presto.

What, I warrant you thought at first that these last lines were another letter.

Dingley, Pray pay Stella six fishes, and place them to the account of your humble servant, Presto.

Stella, Pray pay Dingley six fishes, and place them to the account of your humble servant, Presto.

There are bills of exchange for you.

LETTER 15.

London, Jan. 31, 1710-11.

I am to send you my fourteenth to-morrow; but my head, having some little disorders, confounds all my journals.  I was early this morning with Mr. Secretary St. John about some business, so I could not scribble my morning lines to MD.  They are here intending to tax all little printed penny papers a halfpenny every half-sheet, which will utterly ruin Grub Street, and I am endeavouring to prevent it.[1] Besides, I was forwarding an impeachment against a certain great person; that was two of my businesses with the Secretary, were they not worthy ones?  It was Ford’s birthday, and I refused the Secretary, and dined with Ford.  We are here in as smart a frost for the time as I have seen; delicate walking weather, and the Canal and Rosamond’s Pond[2] full of the rabble sliding and with skates, if you know what those are.  Patrick’s bird’s water freezes in the gallipot, and my hands in bed.

Feb. 1.  I was this morning with poor Lady Kerry, who is much worse in her head than I. She sends me bottles of her bitter; and we are so fond of one another, because our ailments are the same; don’t you know that, Madam Stella?  Han’t I seen you conning ailments with Joe’s wife,[3] and some others, sirrah?  I walked into the City to dine, because of the walk, for we must take care of Presto’s health, you know, because of poor little MD.  But I walked plaguy carefully, for fear of sliding against my will; but I am very busy.