er 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 s