better company.  Yet, that you may not imagine we are quite out of the world here, and so be frighted from coming, I can assure you we are seldom without news, such as it is; and at this present we do abound with stories of my Lady Sunderland and Mr. Smith; with what reverence he approaches her, and how like a gracious princess she receives him, that they say ’tis worth one’s going twenty miles to see it.  All our ladies are mightily pleased with the example, but I do not find that the men intend to follow it, and I’ll undertake Sir Solomon Justinian wishes her in the Indias, for fear she should pervert his new wife.

Your fellow-servant kisses your hands, and says, “If you mean to make love to her old woman this is the best time you can take, for she is dying; this cold weather kills her, I think.”  It has undone me, I am sure, in killing an old knight that I have been waiting for this seven year, and now he dies and will leave me nothing, I believe, but leaves a rich widow for somebody.  I think you had best come a wooing to her; I have a good interest in her, and it shall be all employed in your service if you think fit to make any addresses there.  But to be sober now again, for God’s sake send me word how your journey goes forward, when you think you shall begin it, and how long it may last, when I may expect your coming this way; and of all things, remember to provide a safe address for your letters when you are abroad.  This is a strange, confused one, I believe; for I have been called away twenty times, since I sat down to write it, to my father, who is not well; but you will pardon it—­we are past ceremony, and excuse me if I say no more now but that I am toujours le mesme, that is, ever

Your affectionate
friend and servant.

Letter 10.—­Dorothy is suffering from the spleen, a disease as common to-day as then, though we have lost the good name for it.  This and the ague plague her continually.  My Lord Lisle’s proposed embassy to Sweden is, we see, still delayed; ultimately Bulstrode Whitelocke is chosen ambassador.

Dorothy’s cousin Molle, here mentioned, seems to have been an old bachelor, who spent his time at one country house or another, visiting his country friends; and playing the bore not a little, I should fear, with his gossip and imaginary ailments.

Temple’s father was at this time trying to arrange a match for him with a certain Mrs. Ch. as Dorothy calls her.  Courtenay thinks she may be one Mistress Chambers, an heiress, who ultimately married Temple’s brother John, and this conjecture is here followed.