ve me the
Dublin parish. Stella is in the right: the Bishop of Ossory(24) is the
silliest, best-natured wretch breathing, of as little consequence as
an egg-shell. Well, the spelling I have mentioned before; only the next
time say AT LEAST, and not AT LEST. Pox on your Newbury!(25) what can I
do for him? I'll give his case (I am glad it is not a woman's) to what
members I know; that's all I can do. Lord Treasurer's lameness goes off
daily. Pray God preserve poor good Mrs. Stoyte; she would be a great
loss to us all: pray give her my service, and tell her she has my
heartiest prayers. I pity poor Mrs. Manley; but I think the child is
happy to die, considering how little provision it would have had.--Poh,
every pamphlet abuses me, and for things that I never writ. Joe(26)
should have written me thanks for his two hundred pounds: I reckon he
got it by my means; and I must thank the Duke of Ormond, who I dare
swear will say he did it on my account. Are they golden pippins, those
seven apples? We have had much rain every day as well as you. 7 pounds,
17 shillings, 8 pence, old blunderer, not 18 shillings: I have reckoned
it eighteen times. Hawkshaw's eight pounds is not reckoned and if it
be secure, it may lie where it is, unless they desire to pay it: so
Parvisol may let it drop till further orders; for I have put Mrs.
Wesley's money into the Bank, and will pay her with Hawkshaw's.--I mean
that Hawkshaw's money goes for an addition to MD, you know; but be good
housewives. Bernage never comes now to see me; he has no more to ask;
but I hear he has been ill.--A pox on Mrs. South's(27) affair; I can do
nothing in it, but by way of assisting anybody else that solicits it,
by dropping a favourable word, if it comes in my way. Tell Walls I do
no more for anybody with my Lord Treasurer, especially a thing of this
kind. Tell him I have spent all my discretion, and have no more to
use.--And so I have answered your letter fully and plainly.--And so I
have got to the third side of my paper, which is more than belongs to
you, young women.

It goes to-morrow,
To nobody's sorrow.

You are silly, not I; I'm a poet, if I had but, etc.--Who's silly now?
rogues and lasses, tinderboxes and buzzards. O Lord, I am in a high
vein of silliness; methought I was speaking to dearest little MD face
to face. There; so, lads, enough for to-night; to cards with the
blackguards. Goodnight, my delight, etc.

Dec. 1. Pish, sirrahs, put a date