id you
good-night.

21. I was this morning busy with my printer: I gave him the fifth
sheet,(5) and then I went and dined with him in the City, to correct
something, and alter, etc., and I walked home in the dusk, and the rain
overtook me: and I found a letter here from Mr. Lewis; well, and so I
opened it; and he says the peace is past danger, etc. Well, and so there
was another letter enclosed in his: well, and so I looked on the outside
of this t'other letter. Well, and so who do you think this t'other
letter was from? Well, and so I'll tell you; it was from little MD,
N.23, 23, 23, 23. I tell you it is no more, I have told you so before:
but I just looked again to satisfy you. Hie, Stella, you write like an
emperor, a great deal together; a very good hand, and but four false
spellings in all. Shall I send them to you? I am glad you did not take
my correction ill. Well, but I won't answer your letter now, sirrah
saucyboxes, no, no; not yet; just a month and three days from the last,
which is just five weeks: you see it comes just when I begin to grumble.

22. Morning. Tooke has just brought me Dingley's money. I will give
you a note for it at the end of this letter. There was half a crown for
entering the letter of attorney; but I swore to stop that. I'll spend
your money bravely here. Morrow, dear sirrahs.--At night. I dined to-day
with Sir Thomas Hanmer; his wife, the Duchess of Grafton,(6) dined with
us: she wears a great high head-dress, such as was in fashion fifteen
years ago, and looks like a mad woman in it; yet she has great remains
of beauty. I was this evening to see Lord Harley, and thought to have
sat with Lord Treasurer, but he was taken up with the Dutch Envoy and
such folks; and I would not stay. One particular in life here, different
from what I have in Dublin, is, that whenever I come home I expect
to find some letter for me, and seldom miss; and never any worth a
farthing, but often to vex me. The Queen does not come to town till
Saturday. Prior is not yet declared; but these Ministers being at
Hampton Court, I know nothing; and if I write news from common hands, it
is always lies. You will think it affectation; but nothing has vexed
me more for some months past, than people I never saw pretending to be
acquainted with me, and yet speak ill of me too; at least some of them.
An old crooked Scotch countess, whom I never heard of in my life, told
the Duchess of Hamilton(7) t'other day that I often vis