29.  I had a charming walk to and from town to-day:  I washed, shaved and all, and changed gown and periwig, by half an hour after nine, and went to the Secretary, who told me how he had differed with his friends in Parliament:  I apprehended this division, and told him a great deal of it.  I went to Court, and there several mentioned it to me as what they much disliked.  I dined with the Secretary; and we proposed doing some business of importance in the afternoon, which he broke to me first, and said how he and Mr. Harley were convinced of the necessity of it; yet he suffered one of his under-secretaries to come upon us after dinner, who stayed till six, and so nothing was done:  and what care I? he shall send to me the next time, and ask twice.  To-morrow I go to the election at Westminster School, where lads are chosen for the University:  they say it is a sight, and a great trial of wits.  Our Expedition Fleet is but just sailed:  I believe it will come to nothing.  Mr. Secretary frets at their tediousness, but hopes great things from it, though he owns four or five princes are in the secret; and, for that reason, I fear it is no secret to France.  There are eight regiments; and the Admiral[3] is your Walker’s brother the midwife.

30.  Morn.  I am here in a pretty pickle:  it rains hard; and the cunning natives of Chelsea have outwitted me, and taken up all the three stage coaches.  What shall I do?  I must go to town:  this is your fault.  I cannot walk:  I will borrow a coat.  This is the blind side of my lodging out of town; I must expect such inconveniences as these.  Faith, I’ll walk in the rain.  Morrow.—­At night.  I got a gentleman’s chaise by chance, and so went to town for a shilling, and lie this night in town.  I was at the election of lads at Westminster to-day, and a very silly thing it is; but they say there will be fine doings to-morrow.  I dined with Dr. Freind,[4] the second master of the school, with a dozen parsons and others:  Prior would make me stay.  Mr. Harley is to hear the election to-morrow; and we are all to dine with tickets, and hear fine speeches.  ’Tis terrible rainy weather again:  I lie at a friend’s in the City.

May 1.  I wish you a merry May Day, and a thousand more.  I was baulked at Westminster; I came too late:  I heard no speeches nor verses.  They would not let me in to their dining-place for want of a ticket; and I would not send in for one, because Mr. Harley excused his coming, and Atterbury was not there; and I cared not for the rest:  and so my friend Lewis and I dined with Kitt Musgrave,[5] if you know such a man:  and, the weather mending, I walked gravely home this evening; and so I design to walk and walk till I am well:  I fancy myself a little better already.  How does poor Stella?  Dingley is well enough.  Go, get you gone, naughty girl, you are well enough.  O dear MD, contrive to have some share of the country this spring: