24.  I was at Court to-day, and it was comical to see Lord Abercorn bowing to me, but not speaking, and Lord Selkirk the same.[27] I dined with Lord Treasurer and his Saturday Club, and sat with him two hours after the rest were gone, and spoke freer to him of affairs than I am afraid others do, who might do more good.  All his friends repine, and shrug their shoulders; but will not deal with him so freely as they ought.  It is an odd business; the Parliament just going to sit, and no employments given.  They say they will give them in a few days.  There is a new bishop made of Hereford;[28] so Ossory[29] is disappointed.  I hinted so to his friends two months ago, to make him leave off deluding himself, and being indiscreet, as he was.  I have just time to send this, without giving to the bellman.  Nite deelest richar MD. . . . dee MD MD MD FW FW FW me me me Lele Lele Lele.

My second cold is better now.  Lele lele lele lele.

LETTER 59.[1]

London, Jan. 25, 1712-1713.

We had such a terrible storm to-day, that, going to Lord Bolingbroke’s, I saw a hundred tiles fallen down; and one swinger fell about forty yards before me, that would have killed a horse:  so, after church and Court, I walked through the Park, and took a chair to Lord Treasurer’s.  Next door to his house, a tin chimneytop had fallen down, with a hundred bricks.  It is grown calm this evening.  I wonder had you such a wind to-day?  I hate it as much as any hog does.  Lord Treasurer has engaged me to dine again with him to-morrow.  He has those tricks sometimes of inviting me from day to day, which I am forced to break through.  My little pamphlet[2] is out:  ’tis not politics.  If it takes, I say again you shall hear of it.  Nite dee logues.

26.  This morning I felt a little touch of giddiness, which has disordered and weakened me with its ugly remains all this day.  Pity Pdfr.  After dinner at Lord Treasurer’s, the French Ambassador, Duke d’Aumont, sent Lord Treasurer word that his house was burnt down to the ground.  It took fire in the upper rooms, while he was at dinner with Monteleon, the Spanish Ambassador, and other persons; and soon after Lord Bolingbroke came to us with the same story.  We are full of speculations upon it, but I believe it was the carelessness of his French rascally servants.  ’Tis odd that this very day Lord Somers, Wharton, Sunderland, Halifax, and the whole club of Whig lords, dined at Pontack’s[3] in the City, as I received private notice.  They have some damned design.  I tell you another odd thing; I was observing it to Lord Treasurer, that he was stabbed on the day King William died; and the day I saved his life, by opening the bandbox,[4] was King William’s birthday.  My friend Mr. Lewis has had a lie spread on him by the mistake of a man, who went to another of his name, to give him thanks for passing his Privy Seal to come from France.[5]