4.  It was the finest day in the world, and we got out before eleven, a noble caravan of us.  The Duchess of Shrewsbury in her own chaise with one horse, and Miss Touchet[12] with her, Mrs. Masham and Mrs. Scarborow, one of the dressers, in one of the Queen’s chaises; Miss Forester and Miss Scarborow,[13] two maids of honour, and Mrs. Hill on horseback.  The Duke of Shrewsbury, Mr. Masham, George Fielding,[14] Arbuthnot, and I, on horseback too.  Mrs. Hill’s horse was hired for Miss Scarborow, but she took it in civility; her own horse was galled and could not be rid, but kicked and winced:  the hired horse was not worth eighteenpence.  I borrowed coat, boots, and horse, and in short we had all the difficulties, and more than we used to have in making a party from Trim to Longfield’s.[15] My coat was light camlet, faced with red velvet, and silver buttons.  We rode in the great park and the forest about a dozen miles, and the Duchess and I had much conversation:  we got home by two, and Mr. Masham, his lady, Arbuthnot and I, dined with Mrs. Hill.  Arbuthnot made us all melancholy, by some symptoms of bloody u—–­e:  he expects a cruel fit of the stone in twelve hours; he says he is never mistaken, and he appears like a man that was to be racked to-morrow.  I cannot but hope it will not be so bad; he is a perfectly honest man, and one I have much obligation to.  It rained a little this afternoon, and grew fair again.  Lady Oglethorpe sent to speak to me, and it was to let me know that Lady Rochester[16] desires she and I may be better acquainted.  ’Tis a little too late; for I am not now in love with Lady Rochester:  they shame me out of her, because she is old.  Arbuthnot says he hopes my strained thumb is not the gout; for he has often found people so mistaken.  I do not remember the particular thing that gave it me, only I had it just after beating Patrick, and now it is better; so I believe he is mistaken.

5.  The Duchess of Shrewsbury sent to invite me to dinner; but I was abroad last night when her servant came, and this morning I sent my excuses, because I was engaged, which I was sorry for.  Mrs. Forester taxed me yesterday about the History of the Maids of Honour;[17] but I told her fairly it was no jest of mine; for I found they did not relish it altogether well; and I have enough already of a quarrel with that brute Sir John Walter, who has been railing at me in all companies ever since I dined with him; that I abused the Queen’s meat and drink, and said nothing at the table was good, and all a d——­d lie; for after dinner, commending the wine, I said I thought it was something small.  You would wonder how all my friends laugh at this quarrel.  It will be such a jest for the Keeper, Treasurer, and Secretary.—­I dined with honest Colonel Godfrey, took a good walk of an hour on the terrace, and then came up to study; but it grows bloody cold, and I have no waistcoat here.