We are terribly afraid of the plague; they
say it is at Newcastle.(30) I begged Mr. Harley for the love of God to
take some care about it, or we are all ruined. There have been orders
for all ships from the Baltic to pass their quarantine before they land;
but they neglect it. You remember I have been afraid these two years.

9. O, faith, you are a saucy rogue. I have had your sixth letter just
now, before this is gone; but I will not answer a word of it, only
that I never was giddy since my first fit; but I have had a cold just a
fortnight, and cough with it still morning and evening; but it will go
off. It is, however, such abominable weather that no creature can walk.
They say here three of your Commissioners will be turned out, Ogle,
South, and St. Quintin;(31) and that Dick Stewart(32) and Ludlow will
be two of the new ones. I am a little soliciting for another: it is poor
Lord Abercorn,(33) but that is a secret; I mean, that I befriend him
is a secret; but I believe it is too late, by his own fault and ill
fortune. I dined with him to-day. I am heartily sorry you do not go
to Clogher, faith, I am; and so God Almighty protect poor, dear,
dear, dear, dearest MD. Farewell till to-night. I'll begin my eleventh
to-night; so I am always writing to little MD.

LETTER 11.

LONDON, Dec. 9, 1710.

So, young women, I have just sent my tenth to the post-office, and, as I
told you, have received your seventh (faith, I am afraid I mistook,
and said your sixth, and then we shall be all in confusion this month.)
Well, I told you I dined with Lord Abercorn to-day; and that is
enough till by and bye; for I must go write idle things, and twittle
twattle.(1) What's here to do with your little MD's? and so I put this
by for a while. 'Tis now late, and I can only say MD is a dear, saucy
rogue, and what then? Presto loves them the better.

10. This son of a b---- Patrick is out of the way, and I can do nothing;
am forced to borrow coals: 'tis now six o'clock, and I am come home
after a pure walk in the park; delicate weather, begun only to-day.
A terrible storm last night: we hear one of your packet-boats is cast
away, and young Beau Swift(2) in it, and General Sankey:(3) I know not
the truth; you will before me. Raymond talks of leaving the town in a
few days, and going in a month to Ireland, for fear his wife should be
too far gone, and forced to be brought to bed here. I think he is in the
right; but perhaps this packet-bo