hear from you, and to day at the rogue that brought your letter to Mr. Kenrick at ten last night, and the disappointment we have met with from him that was to carry the wine to Cavan. The enclosed letter gives so full an account, that I need add nothing to it, but his being a right county of Cavan man. I desire Dr. Sheridan will take care for the future not to employ them about your business; I owe him this reflection, for trusting such rogues. Pray, sir, tell me what I shall do in this business; shall I get Mr. Shele and Mr. Kenrick to look out for an honest carman, and agree as cheap as we can to carry it to you? for I find there is no depending on the doctor's countrymen. Had you assured me, as you say the surgeon does, that your leg was better, my joy would be equal to the uneasiness I have suffered on that occasion. I fear I shall never have the pleasure of being with you on your birthday; were my purse as heavy as my heart is, that I cannot be with you to morrow, I would this night have been at Cavan, and have left it on Monday morning.

I shall make a great entertainment to morrow for my family, to celebrate the Drapier's birthday, and drink his health. My two eldest cubs (match me that) present you their most humble and obedient respects, with their hearty wishes of long life, health, and happiness, to attend you. They durst not take the liberty to send this with their hand, but do it with their heart. I send you their own words; but where shall I find any that can express what I would say on the subject? The most sincere would be what I desire for myself whilst I continue in this world, which is health and quietness. This

I pray

I

pray God grant you in the largest portion, and life as long as you shall desire it!

Mr. Morgan's heathenish name is Marcus Antonius; I saw him and his lady yesterday, who both say they should be glad to kiss your hand; his eldest son is in the measles. Last night died the bishop of Ossory, of an inflammation on the lungs: he caught cold on Sunday at the castle chapel. We have provided one of the bishopricks for doctor Marlay.

I am told by some people that lord Orrery intends to make you and doctor Sheridan a visit; if so, I fear it will be a long time before you will think of returning here. I expect a long letter from doctor Sheridan, in answer to all that I have said to him in this.

I think this is so well written, that it needs no apology for a bad pen.

I am, sir, your most humble and most obedient servant,

SIR,

M. WHITEWAY.

FROM MRS. WHITEWAY.

DUBLIN, DEC. 2, 1735.

I WADED this morning through dirt and rain to

the deanery; but I place no more to your account from High street. I found every thing in great order; your bed and window curtains cleaned, and, to my satisfaction,

Y 2

satisfaction, the great chairs covered; the dogs in high spirits, the woman in good humour, and Mr. Kenrick and Mrs. Ridgeway on duty. I am quite ashamed of my entertainment on Sunday. The Drapier's birthday was celebrated by Mr. Laud with a dinner of wild duck, plover, turkey, and pullet; two bowls of punch, and three bottles of claret. At night Mr. Kenrick gave a supper, with an ocean of punch. Their houses were illuminated, and the bells rung. Several other houses followed their example.

I am almost reconciled to your surgeon; the next letter, I hope, will finish our quarrel. When he has set you firmly on your legs, if making Gods were not out of fashion, I would translate him; however, he shall be my saint.

As you have been remarkable for never being severe on the ladies, I am surprised you should say that we forsake the men at forty. I deny the fact; while they sing our praises, we continue to hold them in admiration. For an example of this, I give the author of the Ladies' Dressingroom, and Strephon and Chloe, who, by writing these poems, gained the hearts of the whole sex.

I heartily pity you for want of meat; I wish I could send you a large shoulder of mutton, fresh killed; how pure and sweet it would eat! I have just left part of one in the parlour; the very thoughts of it make me hungry again: I think I will go down, and take the other slice. I know it is not to any purpose to reproach

Here Mrs. Whiteway is merry with the doctor, who could not endure mutton which had not been killed three or four days

before:

reproach you with avarice, for a poor pint of wine among three of you. Whatever you do at home, I am ashamed to find you show it Cavan; I suppose your excuse will be at the expense of the poor carman; but, if you had any generosity, you would live on the publick, as I do, till your rents came in. Dr. Sheridan says, " You gave private orders, and coun"termanded the wine, to spunge on him." I own, I think it looks like it, or you would not have let the man come to town without a car.

I see you are proof against storms within and without doors, or you would not think of staying in the country when the doctor leaves it. There is no occasion for you to convince the world that you want but one trial to outdo Socrates in every thing; let not this keep you, for I promise to provide one for three shillings and four pence that shall outshine Solomon's brawler,

Molly and young Harrison are grown so saucy at seeing their names so often in your letters, that I cannot govern them: pray be pleased to take them down a little. All that I can do to vex them, is not to send you their compliments. My son entreats you will finish your Latina Anglia treatise; which he desires you will immediately send him a copy of.

Doctor Sheridan's last letter is so long and full of particulars, that I cannot answer it till I see him. I am so proud of being discarded from being a cousin, that for the future I shall not own either esq. — or Mr. for relations; nor ever dare to think you

before on the contrary, Mrs. Whiteway liked hers so fresh, that Dr. Swift used pleasantly to say of her, "That she liked mutton that was killed to morrow."

a favourite. But I hope you will allow me to term you my oracle, and to acknowlege myself, sir, your most humble and most obedient servant,

MARTHA WHITEWAY.

TO MRS, WHITEWAY.

DEAR MADAM,

CAVAN, DEC. 6, 1733.

I HAVE yours of Nov. the 29th. The doctor, who is always sanguine, reckoned upon the wine as sure as if it had been in his cellar under the stairs; but I, who am ever desponding, told him I was sure there would be some disappointment. I matter it not, for we have enough still to hold us a reasonable term, at one bottle a day between us, at least if he would leave off inviting young Mr. Price, parson Richardson, Mr. Nash, Mr. Jacob, surgeon of the troop, squire Fleming of Balhaynockhye, doctor O'Neil, doctor Fludd, parson Charlton of Evackthonyeul, beside the rest of our Cavan gentry and neighbourhood. I will not have the wine sent by any carrier on purpose it would be a confounded expense: but we will wait until a farther opportunity by Marcus Tully, the genuine orator and carrier of our city. I refused a long time to show the doctor that part of your letter which reflects upon not only his countrymen, but his townsmen, and fifty to one but upon one of his own or madam's cousins; yet there is no danger of kindred, for our town agrees that Tully is an honest carrier. I was in hopes your great enter

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