9.  I could not go sleep last night till past two, and was waked before three by a noise of people endeavouring to break open my window.  For a while I would not stir, thinking it might be my imagination; but hearing the noise continued, I rose and went to the window, and then it ceased.  I went to bed again, and heard it repeated more violently; then I rose and called up the house, and got a candle:  the rogues had lifted up the sash a yard; there are great sheds before my windows, although my lodgings be a storey high; and if they get upon the sheds they are almost even with my window.  We observed their track, and panes of glass fresh broken.  The watchmen told us to-day they saw them, but could not catch them.  They attacked others in the neighbourhood about the same time, and actually robbed a house in Suffolk Street, which is the next street but one to us.  It is said they are seamen discharged from service.  I went up to call my man, and found his bed empty; it seems he often lies abroad.  I challenged him this morning as one of the robbers.  He is a sad dog; and the minute I come to Ireland I will discard him.  I have this day got double iron bars to every window in my dining-room and bed-chamber; and I hide my purse in my thread stocking between the bed’s head and the wainscot.  Lewis and I dined with an old Scotch friend, who brought the Duke of Douglas[17] and three or four more Scots upon us.

10.  This was our Society day, you know; but the Duke of Ormond could not be with us, because he dined with Prince Eugene.  It cost me a guinea contribution to a poet, who had made a copy of verses upon monkeys, applying the story to the Duke of Marlborough; the rest gave two guineas, except the two physicians,[18] who followed my example.  I don’t like this custom:  the next time I will give nothing.  I sat this evening at Lord Masham’s with Lord Treasurer:  I don’t like his countenance; nor I don’t like the posture of things well.

     We cannot be stout,
     Till Somerset’s out: 

as the old saying is.

11.  Mr. Lewis and I dined with the Chancellor of the Exchequer, who eats the most elegantly of any man I know in town.  I walked lustily in the Park by moonshine till eight, to shake off my dinner and wine; and then went to sup at Mr. Domville’s with Ford, and stayed till twelve.  It is told me to-day as a great secret that the Duke of Somerset will be out soon, that the thing is fixed; but what shall we do with the Duchess?  They say the Duke will make her leave the Queen out of spite, if he be out.  It has stuck upon that fear a good while already.  Well, but Lewis gave me a letter from MD, N.25.  O Lord, I did not expect one this fortnight, faith.  You are mighty good, that’s certain:  but I won’t answer it, because this goes to-morrow, only what you say of the printer being taken up; I value it not; all’s safe there; nor do I fear anything, unless the Ministry be changed:  I hope that danger is over.  However, I shall be in Ireland before such a change; which could not be, I think, till the end of the session, if the Whigs’ designs had gone on.—­Have not you an apron by Leigh, Madam Stella? have you all I mentioned in a former letter?