And a little below:  “Burn this, you dog.”  My lord has frequently such letters as these:  once he showed me one, which was a vision describing a certain man, his dress, his sword, and his countenance, who was to murder my lord.  And he told me he saw a fellow in the chapel at Windsor with a dress very like it.  They often send him letters signed, “Your humble servant, The Devil,” and such stuff.  I sat with him till after ten, and have business to do.

15.  The Secretary came yesterday to town from Hampton Court, so I went to him early this morning; but he went back last night again:  and coming home to-night I found a letter from him to tell me that he was just come from Hampton Court, and just returning, and will not be here till Saturday night.  A pox take him! he stops all my business.  I’ll beg leave to come back when I have got over this, and hope to see MD in Ireland soon after Christmas.—­I’m weary of Courts, and want my journeys to Laracor; they did me more good than all the Ministries these twenty years.  I dined to-day in the City, but did no business as I designed.  Lady Mountjoy tells me that Dilly is got to Ireland, and that the Archbishop of Dublin was the cause of his returning so soon.  The Parliament was prorogued two days ago for a fortnight, which, with the Queen’s absence, makes the town very dull and empty.  They tell me the Duke of Ormond brings all the world away with him from Ireland.  London has nothing so bad in it in winter as your knots of Irish folks; but I go to no coffee-house, and so I seldom see them.  This letter shall go on Saturday; and then I am even with the world again.  I have lent money, and cannot get it, and am forced to borrow for myself.

16.  My man made a blunder this morning, and let up a visitor, when I had ordered to see nobody; so I was forced to hurry a hang-dog instrument of mine into my bed-chamber, and keep him cooling his heels there above an hour.—­I am going on fairly in the common forms of a great cold; I believe it will last me about ten days in all.—­I should have told you, that in those two verses sent to Lord Treasurer, G—–­d stands for Guiscard; that is easy; but we differed about F—–­n; I thought it was for Frenchman, because he hates them, and they him:  and so it would be, That although Guiscard’s knife missed its design, the knife of a Frenchman might yet do it.  My lord thinks it stands for Felton, the name of him that stabbed the first Duke of Buckingham.  Sir Andrew Fountaine and I dined with the Vans to-day, and my cold made me loiter all the evening.  Stay, young women, don’t you begin to owe me a letter? just a month to-day since I had your N.22.  I’ll stay a week longer, and then, I’ll expect like agog; till then you may play at ombre, and so forth, as you please.  The Whigs are still crying down our peace, but we will have it, I hope, in spite of them:  the Emperor comes now with his two eggs a penny, and promises wonders to continue the war; but it is too late; only I hope the fear of it will serve to spur on the French to be easy and sincere:  Night, sirrahs; I’ll go early to bed.