5.  Our frost is broke, but it is bloody cold.  Lord Treasurer is recovered, and went out this evening to the Queen.  I dined with Lady Oxford, and then sat with Lord Treasurer while he went out.  He gave me a letter from an unknown hand, relating to Dr. Brown,[3] Bishop of Cork, recommending him to a better bishopric, as a person who opposed Lord Wharton, and was made a bishop on that account, celebrating him for a great politician, etc.:  in short, all directly contrary to his character, which I made bold to explain.  What dogs there are in the world!  I was to see the poor Duke and Duchess of Ormond this morning.  The Duke was in his public room, with Mr. Southwell[4] and two more gentlemen.  When Southwell and I were alone with him, he talked something of Lord Ashburnham, that he was afraid the Whigs would get him again.  He bore up as well as he could, but something falling accidentally in discourse, the tears were just falling out of his eyes, and I looked off to give him an opportunity (which he took) of wiping them with his handkerchief.  I never saw anything so moving, nor such a mixture of greatness of mind, and tenderness, and discretion.  Nite MD.

6.  Lord Bolingbroke and Parnell and I dined, by invitation, with my friend Darteneuf,[5] whom you have heard me talk of.  Lord Bolingbroke likes Parnell mightily; and it is pleasant to see that one who hardly passed for anything in Ireland makes his way here with a little friendly forwarding.  It is scurvy rainy weather, and I have hardly been abroad to-day, nor know anything that passes.—­Lord Treasurer is quite recovered, and I hope will be careful to keep himself well.  The Duchess of Marlborough is leaving England to go to her Duke, and makes presents of rings to several friends, they say worth two hundred pounds apiece.  I am sure she ought to give me one, though the Duke pretended to think me his greatest enemy, and got people to tell me so, and very mildly to let me know how gladly he would have me softened toward him.  I bid a lady of his acquaintance and mine let him know that I had hindered many a bitter thing against him; not for his own sake, but because I thought it looked base; and I desired everything should be left him, except power.  Nite MD.

7.  I dined with Lord and Lady Masham to-day, and this evening played at ombre with Mrs. Vanhom, merely for amusement.  The Ministers have got my papers, and will neither read them nor give them to me; and I can hardly do anything.  Very warm slabby weather, but I made a shift to get a walk; yet I lost half of it, by shaking off Lord Rochester,[6] who is a good, civil, simple man.  The Bishop of Ossory will not be Bishop of Hereford,[7] to the great grief of himself and his wife.  And hat is MD doing now, I wonder?  Playing at cards with the Dean and Mrs. Walls?  I think it is not certain yet that Maccartney is escaped.  I am plagued with bad authors, verse and prose, who send me their books and poems, the vilest trash I ever saw; but I have given their names to my man, never to let them see me.  I have got new ink, and ’tis very white; and I don’t see that it turns black at all.  I’ll go to seep; ’tis past twelve.—­Nite, MD.