4. Morning. Morrow, little dears. O, faith, I have been dreaming; I was to be put in prison. I do not know why, and I was so afraid of a black dungeon; and then all I had been inquiring yesterday of Sir Andrew Fountaine’s sickness I thought was of poor Stella. The worst of dreams is, that one wakes just in the humour they leave one. Shall I send this to-day? With all my heart: it is two days within the fortnight; but may be MD are in haste to have a round dozen: and then how are you come up to me with your eighth, young women? But you indeed ought to write twice slower than I, because there are two of you; I own that. Well then, I will seal up this letter by my morning candle, and carry it into the city with me, where I go to dine, and put it into the post-office with my own fair hands. So, let me see whether I have any news to tell MD. They say they will very soon make some inquiries into the corruptions of the late Ministry; and they must do it, to justify their turning them out. Atterbury, { 116a} we think, is to be Dean of Christ Church in Oxford; but the College would rather have Smalridge—What’s all this to you? What care you for Atterburys and Smalridges? No, you care for nothing but Presto, faith. So I will rise, and bid you farewell; yet I am loth to do so, because there is a great bit of paper yet to talk upon; but Dingley will have it so: “Yes,” says she, “make your journals shorter, and send them oftener;” and so I will. And I have cheated you another way too; for this is clipped paper, and holds at least six lines less than the former ones. I will tell you a good thing I said to my Lord Carteret. { 116b} “So,” says he, “my Lord came up to me, and asked me,” etc. “No,” said I, “my Lord never did, nor ever can come up to you.” We all pun here sometimes. Lord Carteret set down Prior t’other day in his chariot; and Prior thanked him for his _charity_; that was fit for Dilly. { 117a} I do not remember I heard one good one from the Ministry; which is really a shame. Henley is gone to the country for Christmas. The puppy comes here without his wife, { 117b} and keeps no house, and would have me dine with him at eating-houses; but I have only done it once, and will do it no more. He had not seen me for some time in the Coffee-house, and asking after me, desired Lord Herbert to tell me I was a beast for ever, after the order of Melchisedec. Did you ever read the Scripture? { 117c} 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.