My Lord Broghill, sure, will give us something worth the reading.  My Lord Saye, I am told, has writ a romance since his retirement in the Isle of Lundy, and Mr. Waller, they say, is making one of our wars, which, if he does not mingle with a great deal of pleasing fiction, cannot be very diverting, sure, the subject is so sad.

But all this is nothing to my coming to town, you’ll say.  ’Tis confest; and that I was willing as long as I could to avoid saying anything when I had nothing to say worth your knowing.  I am still obliged to wait my brother Peyton and his lady coming.  I had a letter from him this week, which I will send you, that you may see what hopes he gives.  As little room as I have left, too, I must tell you what a present I had made me to-day.  Two of the finest young Irish greyhounds that e’er I saw; a gentleman that serves the General sent them me.  They are newly come over, and sent for by Henry Cromwell, he tells me, but not how he got them for me.  However, I am glad I have them, and much the more because it dispenses with a very unfit employment that your father, out of his kindness to you and his civility to me, was content to take upon him.

Letter 34.

SIR,—­Jane was so unlucky as to come out of town before your return, but she tells me she left my letter with Nan Stacy for you.  I was in hope she would have brought me one from you; and because she did not I was resolv’d to punish her, and kept her up till one o’clock telling me all her stories.  Sure, if there be any truth in the old observation, your cheeks glowed notably; and ’tis most certain that if I were with you, I should chide notably.  What do you mean to be so melancholy?  By her report your humour is grown insupportable.  I can allow it not to be altogether what she says, and yet it may be very ill too; but if you loved me you would not give yourself over to that which will infallibly kill you, if it continue.  I know too well that our fortunes have given us occasion enough to complain and to be weary of her tyranny; but, alas! would it be better if I had lost you or you me; unless we were sure to die both together, ’twould but increase our misery, and add to that which is more already than we can well tell how to bear.  You are more cruel than she regarding a life that’s dearer to me than that of the whole world besides, and which makes all the happiness I have or ever shall be capable of.  Therefore, by all our friendship I conjure you and, by the power you have given me, command you, to preserve yourself with the same care that you would have me live.  ’Tis all the obedience I require of you, and will be the greatest testimony you can give me of your faith.  When you have promised me this, ’tis not impossible that I may promise you shall see me shortly; though my brother Peyton (who says he will come down to fetch his daughter) hinders me from making the journey in compliment to her.  Yet I shall perhaps find business enough to carry me up to town.  ’Tis all the service I expect from two girls whose friends have given me leave to provide for, that some order I must take for the disposal of them may serve for my pretence to see you; but then I must find you pleased and in good humour, merry as you were wont to be when we first met, if you will not have me show that I am nothing akin to my cousin Osborne’s lady.