28.  Morning.  O, faith, you’re an impudent saucy couple of sluttikins for presuming to write so soon, said I to myself this morning; who knows but there may be a letter from MD at the Coffee-house?  Well, you must know, and so, I just now sent Patrick, and he brought me three letters, but not one from MD, no indeed, for I read all the superscriptions; and not one from MD.  One I opened, it was from the Archbishop;[7] t’other I opened, it was from Staunton;[8] the third I took, and looked at the hand.  Whose hand is this? says I; yes, says I, whose hand is this?  Then there was wax between the folds; then I began to suspect; then I peeped; faith, it was Walls’s hand after all:  then I opened it in a rage, and then it was little MD’s hand, dear, little, pretty, charming MD’s sweet hand again.  O Lord, an’t here a clutter and a stir, and a bustle? never saw the like.  Faith, I believe yours lay some days at the post-office, and that it came before my eighteenth went, but that I did not expect it, and I hardly ever go there.  Well, and so you think I’ll answer this letter now; no, faith, and so I won’t.  I’ll make you wait, young women; but I’ll inquire immediately about poor Dingley’s exchequer trangum.[9] What, is that Vedel again a soldier? was he broke?  I’ll put it in Ben Tooke’s hand.  I hope Vedel could not sell it.—­At night.  Vedel, Vedel, poh, pox, I think it is Vedeau;[10] ay, Vedeau, now I have it; let me see, do you name him in yours?  Yes, Mr. John Vedeau is the brother; but where does this brother live?  I’ll inquire.  This was a fast-day for the public; so I dined late with Sir Matthew Dudley, whom I have not been with a great while.  He is one of those that must lose his employment whenever the great shake comes; and I can’t contribute to keep him in, though I have dropped words in his favour to the Ministry; but he is too violent a Whig, and friend to the Lord Treasurer,[11] to stay in.  ’Tis odd to think how long they let those people keep their places; but the reason is, they have not enough to satisfy all expecters, and so they keep them all in hopes, that they may be good boys in the meantime; and thus the old ones hold in still.  The Comptroller[12] told me that there are eight people expect his staff.  I walked after dinner to-day round the Park.  What, do I write politics to little young women?  Hold your tongue, and go to your Dean’s.

29.  Morning.  If this be a fine day, I will walk into the City, and see Charles Barnard’s library.  What care I for your letter, saucy N.12?  I will say nothing to it yet:  faith, I believe this will be full before its time, and then go it must.  I will always write once a fortnight; and if it goes sooner by filling sooner, why, then there is so much clear gain.  Morrow, morrow, rogues and lasses both, I can’t lie scribbling here in bed for your play; I must rise, and so morrow again.—­At night.  Your friend Montgomery and his sister are here, as I am told by Patrick.  I have seen