I send this away to-night, and am sorry it must go while I am in so much grief.

LETTER 60.[1]

London, Feb. 15 [1712-13].

I dined to-day with Mr. Rowe[2] and a projector, who has been teasing me with twenty schemes to get grants; and I don’t like one of them; and, besides, I was out of humour for the loss of poor Harrison.  At ten this night I was at his funeral, which I ordered to be as private as possible.  We had but one coach with four of us; and when it was carrying us home after the funeral, the braces broke; and we were forced to sit in it, and have it held up, till my man went for chairs,[3] at eleven at night in terrible rain.  I am come home very melancholy, and will go to bed.  Nite. . .  MD.[4]

16.  I dined to-day with Lord Dupplin and some company to divert me; but left them early, and have been reading a foolish book for amusement.  I shall never have courage again to care for making anybody’s fortune.  The Parliament meets to-morrow, and will be prorogued another fortnight, at which several of both parties were angry; but it cannot be helped, though everything about the peace is past all danger.  I never saw such a continuance of rainy weather.  We have not had two fair days together these ten weeks.  I have not dined with Lord Treasurer these four days, nor can I till Saturday; for I have several engagements till then, and he will chide me to some purpose.  I am perplexed with this hundred pounds of poor Harrison’s, what to do with it.  I cannot pay his relations till they administer, for he is much in debt;[5] but I will have the staff in my own hands, and venture nothing.  Nite poo dee MD.

17.  Lady Jersey and I dined by appointment to-day with Lord Bolingbroke.  He is sending his brother[6] to succeed Mr.[7] Harrison.  It is the prettiest post in Europe for a young gentleman.  I lose my money at ombre sadly; I make a thousand blunders.  I play but[8] threepenny ombre; but it is what you call running ombre.  Lady Clarges,[9] and a drab I hate, won a dozen shillings of me last night.  The Parliament was prorogued to-day; and people grumble; and the good of it is the peace cannot be finished by the time they meet, there are so many fiddling things to do.  Is Ppt an ombre lady yet?  You know all the tricks of it now, I suppose.  I reckon you have all your cards from France, for ours pay sixpence a pack taxes, which goes deep to the box.  I have given away all my Spa water, and take some nasty steel drops, and my head has been better this week past.  I send every day to see how Miss Ashe does:  she is very full, they say, but in no danger.  I fear she will lose some of her beauty.  The son lies out of the house.  I wish he had them too, while he is so young.—­Nite MD.