22.  I find myself disordered with a pain all round the small of my back, which I imputed to champagne I had drunk; but find it to have been only my new cold.  It was a fine frosty day, and I resolved to walk into the City.  I called at Lord Treasurer’s at eleven, and stayed some time with him.—­He showed me a letter from a great Presbyterian parson[6] to him, complaining how their friends had betrayed them by passing this Conformity Bill; and he showed me the answer he had written, which his friends would not let him send; but was a very good one.  He is very cheerful; but gives one no hopes, nor has any to give.  I went into the City, and there I dined.

23.  Morning.  As I was dressing to go to church, a friend that was to see me advised me not to stir out; so I shall keep at home to-day, and only eat some broth, if I can get it.  It is a terrible cold frost, and snow fell yesterday, which still remains:  look there, you may see it from the penthouses.  The Lords made yesterday two or three votes about peace, and Hanover, of a very angry kind to vex the Ministry, and they will meet sooner by a fortnight than the Commons; and they say, are preparing some knocking addresses.  Morrow, sirrahs.  I’ll sit at home, and when I go to bed I will tell you how I am.—­I have sat at home all day, and eaten only a mess of broth and a roll.  I have written a Prophecy,[7] which I design to print; I did it to-day, and some other verses.

24.  I went into the City to-day in a coach, and dined there.  My cold is going.  It is now bitter hard frost, and has been so these three or four days.  My Prophecy is printed, and will be published after Christmas Day; I like it mightily:  I don’t know how it will pass.  You will never understand it at your distance, without help.  I believe everybody will guess it to be mine, because it is somewhat in the same manner with that of “Merlin"[8] in the Miscellanies.  My Lord Privy Seal set out this day for Holland:  he’ll have a cold journey.  I gave Patrick half a crown for his Christmas box, on condition he would be good, and he came home drunk at midnight.  I have taken a memorandum of it, because I never design to give him a groat more.  ’Tis cruel cold.

25.  I wish MD a merry Christmas, and many a one; but mine is melancholy:  I durst not go to church to-day, finding myself a little out of order, and it snowing prodigiously, and freezing.  At noon I went to Mrs. Van, who had this week engaged me to dine there to-day:  and there I received the news that poor Mrs. Long[9] died at Lynn in Norfolk on Saturday last, at four in the morning:  she was sick but four hours.  We suppose it was the asthma, which she was subject to as well as the dropsy, as she sent me word in her last letter, written about five weeks ago; but then said she was recovered.  I never was more afflicted at any death.  The poor creature had retired to Lynn two years ago, to live cheap, and pay her debts.  In her last letter