To Dr. Sheridan

Dec. 14, 1719, Nine at night.

SIR,

It is impossible to know by your letter whether the wine is to be bottled
to-morrow, or no.

If it be, or be not, why did not you in plain English tell us so?

For my part, it was by mere chance I came to sit with the ladies this
night.

And if they had not told me there was a letter from you; and your man
Alexander had not gone, and come back from the deanery; and the boy here
had not been sent, to let Alexander know I was here, I should have missed
the letter outright.

Truly I don't know who's bound to be sending for corks to stop your
bottles, with a vengeance.

Make a page of your own age, and send your man Alexander to buy corks;
for Saunders already has gone above ten jaunts.

Mrs. Dingley and Mrs. Johnson say, truly they don't care for your wife's
company, though they like your wine; but they had rather have it at their
own house to drink in quiet.

However, they own it is very civil in Mrs. Sheridan to make the offer;
and they cannot deny it.

I wish Alexander safe at St. Catherine's to-night, with all my heart and
soul, upon my word and honour:

But I think it base in you to send a poor fellow out so late at this time
of year, when one would not turn out a dog that one valued; I appeal to
your friend Mr. Connor.

I would present my humble service to my Lady Mountcashel; but truly I
thought she would have made advances to have been acquainted with me, as
she pretended.

But now I can write no more, for you see plainly my paper is ended.

1 P.S.

I wish, when you prated, your letter you'd dated:
Much plague it created. I scolded and rated;
My soul is much grated; for your man I long waited.
I think you are fated, like a bear to be baited:
Your man is belated: the case I have stated;
And me you have cheated. My stables unslated.
Come back t'us well freighted.
I remember my late head; and wish you translated,
For teasing me.

2 P.S.

Mrs. Dingley desires me singly
Her service to present you; hopes that will content you;
But Johnson madam is grown a sad dame,
For want of your converse, and cannot send one verse.

3 P.S.

You keep such a twattling with you and your bottling;
But I see the sum total, we shall ne'er have a bottle;
The long and the short, we shall not have a quart,
I wish you would sign't, that we have a pint.
For all your colloguing, I'd be glad for a knoggin:
But I doubt 'tis a sham; you won't give us a dram.
'Tis of shine a mouth moon-ful, you won't part with a spoonful,
And I must be nimble, if I can fill my thimble,
You see I won't stop, till I come to a drop;
But I doubt the oraculum, is a poor supernaculum;
Though perhaps you may tell it, for a grace if we smell it.
STELLA.

[Footnote 1: In this letter, though written in prose, the reader, upon
examining, will find each second sentence rhymes to the former.—H.]

[Footnote 2: Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Dingley.—F.]

[Footnote 3: A phrase used in Ireland for a specious appearance of
kindness without sincerity.—F.]

[Footnote 4: A name used in Ireland for the English quartern.—F.]