blame in that article, he (Mr. Harley) ought to lose his head for putting the Queen upon changing them.  He made it a jest; but by some words dropped, I easily saw that they take things ill of Mr. St. John; and by some hints given me from another hand that I deal with, I am afraid the Secretary will not stand long.  This is the fate of Courts.  I will, if I meet Mr. St. John alone on Sunday, tell him my opinion, and beg him to set himself right, else the consequences may be very bad; for I see not how they can well want him neither, and he would make a troublesome enemy.  But enough of politics.

28.  Morning.  I forgot to tell you that Mr. Harley asked me yesterday how he came to disoblige the Archbishop of Dublin.  Upon which (having not his letter about me) I told him what the Bishop had written to me on that subject,[16] and desired I might read him the letter some other time.  But after all, from what I have heard from other hands, I am afraid the Archbishop is a little guilty.  Here is one Brent Spencer, a brother of Mr. Proby’s,[17] who affirms it, and says he has leave to do so from Charles Dering,[18] who heard the words; and that Ingoldsby,[19] abused the Archbishop, etc.  Well, but now for your saucy letter:  I have no room to answer it; O yes, enough on t’other side.  Are you no sicker?  Stella jeers Presto for not coming over by Christmas; but indeed Stella does not jeer, but reproach, poor poor Presto.  And how can I come away and the First-Fruits not finished?  I am of opinion the Duke of Ormond will do nothing in them before he goes, which will be in a fortnight, they say; and then they must fall to me to be done in his absence.  No, indeed, I have nothing to print:  you know they have printed the Miscellanies[20] already.  Are they on your side yet?  If you have my snuff box, I will have your strong box.  Hi, does Stella take snuff again? or is it only because it is a fine box?  Not the Meddle, but the Medley,[21] you fool.  Yes, yes, a wretched thing, because it is against you Tories:  now I think it very fine, and the Examiner a wretched thing.—­Twist your mouth, sirrah.  Guiscard, and what you will read in the Narrative,[22] I ordered to be written, and nothing else.  The Spectator is written by Steele, with Addison’s help:  it is often very pretty.  Yesterday it was made of a noble hint I gave him long ago for his Tatlers, about an Indian supposed to write his Travels into England.[23] I repent he ever had it.  I intended to have written a book on that subject.  I believe he has spent it all in one paper, and all the under-hints there are mine too; but I never see him or Addison.  The Queen is well, but I fear will be no long liver; for I am told she has sometimes the gout in her bowels (I hate the word bowels).  My ears have been, these three months past, much better than any time these two years; but now they begin to be a little out of order again.  My head is better, though not right; but I trust to air and walking.  You