12.  It is terrible rainy weather, and has cost me three shillings in coaches and chairs to-day, yet I was dirty into the bargain.  I was three hours this morning with the Secretary about some business of moment, and then went into the City to dine.  The printer tells me he sold yesterday a thousand of Prior’s Journey, and had printed five hundred more.  It will do rarely, I believe, and is a pure bite.  And what is MD doing all this while? got again to their cards, their Walls, their deans, their Stoytes, and their claret?  Pray present my service to Mr. Stoyte and Catherine.  Tell Goody Stoyte she owes me a world of dinners, and I will shortly come over and demand them.—­Did I tell you of the Archbishop of Dublin’s last letter?  He had been saying, in several of his former, that he would shortly write to me something about myself; and it looked as if he intended something for me:  at last out it comes, and consists of two parts.  First, he advises me to strike in for some preferment now I have friends; and secondly, he advises me, since I have parts, and learning, and a happy pen, to think of some new subject in divinity not handled by others, which I should manage better than anybody.  A rare spark this, with a pox! but I shall answer him as rarely.  Methinks he should have invited me over, and given me some hopes or promises.  But hang him! and so good-night, etc.

13.  It rained most furiously all this morning till about twelve, and sometimes thundered; I trembled for my shillings, but it cleared up, and I made a shift to get a walk in the Park, and then went with the Secretary to dine with Lord Treasurer.  Upon Thursdays there is always a select company:  we had the Duke of Shrewsbury, Lord Rivers, the two Secretaries, Mr. Granville, and Mr. Prior.  Half of them went to Council at six; but Rivers, Granville, Prior, and I, stayed till eight.  Prior was often affecting to be angry at the account of his journey to Paris; and indeed the two last pages, which the printer got somebody to add,[4] are so romantic, they spoil all the rest.  Dilly Ashe pretended to me that he was only going to Oxford and Cambridge for a fortnight, and then would come back.  I could not see him as I appointed t’other day; but some of his friends tell me he took leave of them as going to Ireland; and so they say at his lodging.  I believe the rogue was ashamed to tell me so, because I advised him to stay the winter, and he said he would.  I find he had got into a good set of scrub acquaintance, and I thought passed his time very merrily; but I suppose he languished after Balderig, and the claret of Dublin; and, after all, I think he is in the right; for he can eat, drink, and converse better there than here.  Bernage was with me this morning:  he calls now and then; he is in terrible fear of a peace.  He said he never had his health so well as in Portugal.  He is a favourite of his Colonel.