life, and have a new fund of wit; it is in the same nature as his Tatlers, and they have all of them had something pretty.  I believe Addison and he club.  I never see them; and I plainly told Mr. Harley and Mr. St. John, ten days ago, before my Lord Keeper and Lord Rivers, that I had been foolish enough to spend my credit with them in favour of Addison and Steele; but that I would engage and promise never to say one word in their behalf, having been used so ill for what I had already done.—­So, now I am got into the way of prating again, there will be no quiet for me.

     When Presto begins to prate,
     Give him a rap upon the pate.

O Lord, how I blot! it is time to leave off, etc.

17.  Guiscard died this morning at two; and the coroner’s inquest have found that he was killed by bruises received from a messenger, so to clear the Cabinet Councillors from whom he received his wounds.  I had a letter from Raymond, who cannot hear of your box; but I hope you have it before this comes to your hands.  I dined to-day with Mr. Lewis of the Secretary’s office.  Mr. Harley has abundance of extravasated blood comes from his breast out of his wound, and will not be well so soon as we expected.  I had something to say, but cannot call it to mind. (What was it?)

18.  I was to-day at Court to look for the Duke of Argyle, and gave him the memorial about Bernage.  The Duke goes with the first fair wind.  I could not find him, but I have given the memorial to another to give him; and, however, it shall be sent after him.  Bernage has made a blunder in offering money to his colonel without my advice; however, he is made captain-lieutenant, only he must recruit the company, which will cost him forty pounds, and that is cheaper than an hundred.  I dined to-day with Mr. Secretary St. John, and stayed till seven, but would not drink his champagne and burgundy, for fear of the gout.  My shin mends, but is not well.  I hope it will by the time I send this letter, next Saturday.

19.  I went to-day into the City, but in a coach, and sossed[9] up my leg on the seat; and as I came home, I went to see poor Charles Barnard’s[10] books, which are to be sold by auction, and I itch to lay out nine or ten pounds for some fine editions of fine authors.  But ’tis too far, and I shall let it slip, as I usually do all such opportunities.  I dined in a coffee-house with Stratford upon chops and some of his wine.  Where did MD dine?  Why, poor MD dined at home to-day, because of the Archbishop, and they could not go abroad, and had a breast of mutton and a pint of wine.  I hope Mrs. Walls mends; and pray give me an account what sort of godfather I made, and whether I behaved myself handsomely.  The Duke of Argyle is gone; and whether he has my memorial, I know not, till I see Dr. Arbuthnot,[11] to whom I gave it.  That hard name belongs to a Scotch doctor, an acquaintance of the Duke’s and me; Stella can’t pronounce it.  Oh