10.  It cost me two shillings in coach-hire to dine in the City with a printer.  I have sent, and caused to be sent, three pamphlets out in a fortnight.  I will ply the rogues warm; and whenever anything of theirs makes a noise, it shall have an answer.  I have instructed an under spur-leather to write so, that it is taken for mine.  A rogue that writes a newspaper, called The Protestant Postboy, has reflected on me in one of his papers; but the Secretary has taken him up, and he shall have a squeeze extraordinary.  He says that an ambitious tantivy,[2] missing of his towering hopes of preferment in Ireland, is come over to vent his spleen on the late Ministry, etc.  I’ll tantivy him with a vengeance.  I sat the evening at home, and am very busy, and can hardly find time to write, unless it were to MD.  I am in furious haste.

11.  I dined to-day with Lord Treasurer.  Thursdays are now his days when his choice company comes, but we are too much multiplied.  George Granville sent his excuses upon being ill; I hear he apprehends the apoplexy, which would grieve me much.  Lord Treasurer calls Prior nothing but Monsieur Baudrier, which was the feigned name of the Frenchman that writ his Journey to Paris.[3] They pretend to suspect me, so I talk freely of it, and put them out of their play.  Lord Treasurer calls me now Dr. Martin, because martin[4] is a sort of a swallow, and so is a swift.  When he and I came last Monday from Windsor, we were reading all the signs on the road.[5] He is a pure trifler; tell the Bishop of Clogher so.  I made him make two lines in verse for the Bell and Dragon, and they were rare bad ones.  I suppose Dilly is with you by this time:  what could his reason be of leaving London, and not owning it?  ’Twas plaguy silly.  I believe his natural inconstancy made him weary.  I think he is the king of inconstancy.  I stayed with Lord Treasurer till ten; we had five lords and three commoners.  Go to ombre, sirrahs.

12.  Mrs. Vanhomrigh has changed her lodging as well as I. She found she had got with a bawd, and removed.  I dined with her to-day; for though she boards, her landlady does not dine with her.  I am grown a mighty lover of herrings; but they are much smaller here than with you.  In the afternoon I visited an old major-general, and ate six oysters; then sat an hour with Mrs. Colledge,[6] the joiner’s daughter that was hanged; it was the joiner was hanged, and not his daughter; with Thompson’s wife, a magistrate.  There was the famous Mrs. Floyd of Chester, who, I think, is the handsomest woman (except MD) that ever I saw.  She told me that twenty people had sent her the verses upon Biddy,[7] as meant to her:  and, indeed, in point of handsomeness, she deserves them much better.  I will not go to Windsor to-morrow, and so I told the Secretary to-day.  I hate the thoughts of Saturday and Sunday suppers with Lord Treasurer.  Jack Hill is come home from his unfortunate expedition, and is, I think,