row, without fail, and follow you to Wexford like a dog.
19. Dean Atterbury sent to me to dine with him at Chelsea; I refused his coach, and walked, and am come back by seven, because I would finish this letter, and some others I am writing. Patrick tells me, the maid said one Mr. Walls, a clergyman, a tall man, was here to visit me. Is it your Irish archdeacon? I shall be sorry for it; but I shall make a shift to see him seldom enough, as I do Dilly. What can he do here? or is it somebody else? The duke of Newcastle[1] is dead by the fall he had from his horse. God send poor Stella her health, and keep MD happy. Farewell, and love Presto, who loves MD above all things ten million of times. God bless the dear Wexford girls. Farewell again, &c. &c.
LETTER XXVII.
I HAVE just sent my 26th, and have nothing to say, because I have other letters to write; (pshaw, I begin too high) but I must lay the beginning like a nestegg; to morrow I'll say more, and fetch up this line to be straight. This is enough at present for two dear saucy naughty girls.
20. Have I told you that Walls has been with me,
