s ago, was dated Oct. 3, that's a fortnight difference:
I doubt it has lain in Steele's office, and he forgot. Well, there's
an end of that: he is turned out of his place;(25) and you must desire
those who send me packets, to enclose them in a paper directed to Mr.
Addison, at St. James's Coffee-house: not common letters, but packets:
the Bishop of Clogher may mention it to the Archbishop when he sees him.
As for your letter, it makes me mad: slidikins, I have been the best
boy in Christendom, and you come with your two eggs a penny.--Well; but
stay, I will look over my book: adad, I think there was a chasm between
my N.2 and N.3. Faith, I will not promise to write to you every week;
but I will write every night, and when it is full I will send it; that
will be once in ten days, and that will be often enough: and if you
begin to take up the way of writing to Presto, only because it is
Tuesday, a Monday bedad it will grow a task; but write when you have
a mind.--No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no--Agad, agad, agad, agad,
agad, agad; no, poor Stellakins.(26) Slids, I would the horse were in
your--chamber! Have not I ordered Parvisol to obey your directions about
him? And han't I said in my former letters that you may pickle him, and
boil him, if you will? What do you trouble me about your horses for?
Have I anything to do with them?--Revolutions a hindrance to me in
my business? Revolutions to me in my business? If it were not for
the revolutions, I could do nothing at all; and now I have all hopes
possible, though one is certain of nothing; but to-morrow I am to have
an answer, and am promised an effectual one. I suppose I have said
enough in this and a former letter how I stand with new people; ten
times better than ever I did with the old; forty times more caressed.
I am to dine to-morrow at Mr. Harley's; and if he continues as he has
begun, no man has been ever better treated by another. What you say
about Stella's mother, I have spoken enough to it already. I believe she
is not in town; for I have not yet seen her. My lampoon is cried up to
the skies; but nobody suspects me for it, except Sir Andrew Fountaine:
at least they say nothing of it to me. Did not I tell you of a great man
who received me very coldly?(27) That's he; but say nothing; 'twas
only a little revenge. I will remember to bring it over. The Bishop of
Clogher has smoked my Tatler,(28) about shortening of words, etc. But,
God So!(29) etc.

15. I will write