Mr. Harley. And it is fine cold sunshiny weather; I wish dear MD would walk this morning in your Stephen's green: it is as good as our Park, but not so large[1]. Faith this summer we will take a coach for sixpence[2] to the Green Well, the two walks, and thence all the way to Stoyte's[3]. My hearty service to goody Stoyte and Catherine, and I hope Mrs. Walls had a good time. How inconstant I am? I cannot imagine I was ever in love with her. Well, I am going; what have you to say? I do not care how I write now[4]. I do not design to write on this side, these few lines are but so much more than your due, so I will write large or small as I please. O, faith, my hands are starving in bed; I believe it is a hard frost. I must rise, and bid you good bye, for I will seal this letter immediately, and carry it ia my pocket, and put it into the postoffice with my own fair hands. Farewell.
This letter is just a fortnight's journal to day. Yes, and so it is, I am sure, says you, with your two eggs a penny.
There, there, there[5].
O Lord, I am saying there, there, to myself in all our little keys: and now you talk of keys, that dog
- ↑ It was a measured mile round the outer wall; and far beyond any the finest square in London.
- ↑ The common fare for a set down in Dublin.
- ↑ Mrs. Stoyte lived at Donnybrook, the road to which from Stephen's green ran into the country about a mile from the southeast corner.
- ↑ Those words in italicks are written in a very large hand, and so is the word in one of the next lines.
- ↑ In his cypher way of writing to Stella, he writes the word There, Lele.
Patrick
