still to read and squeeze a line out of each, or at least the seeds of a line.  Strafford goes back to Holland in a day or two, and I hope our peace is very near.  I have about thirty pages more to write (that is, to be extracted), which will be sixty in print.  It is the most troublesome part of all, and I cannot keep myself private, though I stole into a room up two pair of stairs, when I came from Windsor; but my present man has not yet learned his lesson of denying me discreetly.

30.  The Duchess of Ormond found me out to-day, and made me dine with her.  Lady Masham is still expecting.  She has had a cruel cold.  I could not finish my letter last post for the soul of me.  Lord Bolingbroke has had my papers these six weeks, and done nothing to them.  Is Tisdall yet in the world?  I propose writing controversies, to get a name with posterity.  The Duke of Ormond will not be over these three or four days.  I desire to make him join with me in settling all right among our people.  I have ordered the Duchess to let me have an hour with the Duke at his first coming, to give him a true state of persons and things.  I believe the Duke of Shrewsbury will hardly be declared your Governor yet; at least, I think so now; but resolutions alter very often.  The Duke of Hamilton gave me a pound of snuff to-day, admirable good.  I wish DD had it, and Ppt too, if she likes it.  It cost me a quarter of an hour of his politics, which I was forced to hear.  Lady Orkney[10] is making me a writing-table of her own contrivance, and a bed nightgown.  She is perfectly kind, like a mother.  I think the devil was in it the other day, that I should talk to her of an ugly squinting cousin of hers, and the poor lady herself, you know, squints like a dragon.  The other day we had a long discourse with her about love; and she told us a saying of her sister Fitz-Hardinge,[11] which I thought excellent, that in men, desire begets love, and in women, love begets desire.  We have abundance of our old criers[12] still hereabouts.  I hear every morning your women with the old satin and taffeta, etc., the fellow with old coats, suits or cloaks.  Our weather is abominable of late.  We have not two tolerable days in twenty.  I have lost money again at ombre, with Lord Orkney and others; yet, after all, this year I have lost but three-and-twenty shillings; so that, considering card money, I am no loser.

Our Society hath not yet renewed their meetings.  I hope we shall continue to do some good this winter; and Lord Treasurer promises the Academy for reforming our language shall soon go forward.  I must now go hunt those dry letter for materials.  You will see something very notable, I hope.  So much for that.  God Almighty bless you.

LETTER 55.[1]

London, Nov. 15, 1712.