27.  Going this morning to town, I saw two old lame fellows, walking to a brandy-shop, and when they got to the door, stood a long time complimenting who should go in first.  Though this be no jest to tell, it was an admirable one to see.  I dined to-day with my Lord Oxford and the ladies, the new Countess, and Lady Betty,[5] who has been these three days a lady born.  My lord left us at seven, and I had no time to speak to him about some affairs; but he promises in a day or two we shall dine alone; which is mighty likely, considering we expect every moment that the Queen will give him the staff, and then he will be so crowded he will be good for nothing:  for aught I know he may have it to-night at Council.

28.  I had a petition sent me t’other day from one Stephen Gernon, setting forth that he formerly lived with Harry Tenison,[6] who gave him an employment of gauger, and that he was turned out after Harry’s death, and came for England, and is now starving, or, as he expresses it, that the staff of life has been of late A stranger to his appetite.  Today the poor fellow called, and I knew him very well, a young slender fellow with freckles in his face:  you must remember him; he waited at table as a better sort of servant.  I gave him a crown, and promised to do what I could to help him to a service, which I did for Harry Tenison’s memory.  It was bloody hot walking to-day, and I was so lazy I dined where my new gown was, at Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s, and came back like a fool, and the Dean of Carlisle has sat with me till eleven.  Lord Oxford has not the staff yet.

29.  I was this morning in town by ten, though it was shaving-day, and went to the Secretary about some affairs, then visited the Duke and Duchess of Ormond; but the latter was dressing to go out, and I could not see her.  My Lord Oxford had the staff given him this morning; so now I must call him Lord Oxford no more, but Lord Treasurer:  I hope he will stick there:  this is twice he has changed his name this week; and I heard to-day in the City (where I dined) that he will very soon have the Garter.—­Pr’ythee, do not you observe how strangely I have changed my company and manner of living?  I never go to a coffee-house; you hear no more of Addison, Steele, Henley, Lady Lucy, Mrs. Finch,[7] Lord Somers, Lord Halifax, etc.  I think I have altered for the better.  Did I tell you the Archbishop of Dublin has writ me a long letter of a squabble in your town about choosing a Mayor, and that he apprehended some censure for the share he had in it?[8] I have not heard anything of it here; but I shall not be always able to defend him.  We hear your Bishop Hickman is dead;[9] but nobody here will do anything for me in Ireland; so they may die as fast or slow as they please.—­Well, you are constant to your deans, and your Stoyte, and your Walls.  Walls will have her tea soon; Parson Richardson is