London, 20.  It rained terribly every step of our journey to-day:  I returned with the Secretary after a dinner of cold meat, and went to Mrs. Van’s, where I sat the evening.  I grow very idle, because I have a great deal of business.  Tell me how you passed your time at Wexford; and are not you glad at heart you have got home safe to your lodgings at St. Mary’s, pray?  And so your friends come to visit you; and Mrs. Walls is much better of her eye; and the Dean is just as he used to be:  and what does Walls say of London? ’tis a reasoning coxcomb.  And Goody Stoyte, and Hannah what d’ye call her; no, her name an’t Hannah, Catherine I mean; they were so glad to see the ladies again! and Mrs. Manley wanted a companion at ombre.

21.  I writ to-day to the Archbishop of Dublin, and enclosed a long politic paper by itself.  You know the bishops are all angry (smoke the wax-candle drop at the bottom of this paper) I have let the world know the First-Fruits were got by Lord Treasurer before the Duke of Ormond was Governor.  I told Lord Treasurer all this, and he is very angry; but I pacified him again by telling him they were fools, and knew nothing of what passed here; but thought all was well enough if they complimented the Duke of Ormond.  Lord Treasurer gave me t’other day a letter of thanks he received from the bishops of Ireland, signed by seventeen; and says he will write them an answer.  The Dean of Carlisle sat with me to-day till three; and I went to dine with Lord Treasurer, who dined abroad, so did the Secretary, and I was left in the suds.  ’Twas almost four, and I got to Sir Matthew Dudley, who had half dined.  Thornhill, who killed Sir Cholmley Dering,[15] was murdered by two men, on Turnham Green, last Monday night:  as they stabbed him, they bid him remember Sir Cholmley Dering.  They had quarrelled at Hampton Court, and followed and stabbed him on horseback.  We have only a Grub Street paper of it, but I believe it is true.  I went myself through Turnham Green the same night, which was yesterday.

22.  We have had terrible rains these two or three days.  I intended to dine at Lord Treasurer’s, but went to see Lady Abercorn, who is come to town, and my lord; and I dined with them, and visited Lord Treasurer this evening.  His porter is mending.  I sat with my lord about three hours, and am come home early to be busy.  Passing by White’s Chocolate-house,[16] my brother Masham called me, and told me his wife was brought to bed of a boy, and both very well. (Our Society, you must know, are all brothers.) Dr. Garth told us that Mr. Henley[17] is dead of an apoplexy.  His brother-in-law, Earl Poulett, is gone down to the Grange, to take care of his funeral.  The Earl of Danby,[18] the Duke of Leeds’s eldest grandson, a very hopeful young man of about twenty, is dead at Utrecht of the smallpox.—­I long to know whether you begin to have any good effect by your waters.—­Methinks this letter goes on slowly; ’twill be a fortnight next Saturday since it was begun, and one side not filled.  O fie for shame, Presto!  Faith, I’m so tosticated to and from Windsor, that I know not what to say; but, faith, I’ll go to Windsor again on Saturday, if they ask me, not else.  So lose your money again, now you are come home; do, sirrah.