8.  I must tell you a great piece of refinement[44] of Harley.  He charged me to come to him often:  I told him I was loth to trouble him in so much business as he had, and desired I might have leave to come at his levee; which he immediately refused, and said, that was not a place for friends to come to.  ’Tis now but morning; and I have got a foolish trick, I must say something to MD when I wake, and wish them a good-morrow; for this is not a shaving-day, Sunday, so I have time enough:  but get you gone, you rogues, I must go write:  Yes, ’twill vex me to the blood if any of these long letters should miscarry:  if they do, I will shrink to half-sheets again; but then what will you do to make up the journal? there will be ten days of Presto’s life lost; and that will be a sad thing, faith and troth.—­At night.  I was at a loss today for a dinner, unless I would have gone a great way, so I dined with some friends that board hereabout,[45] as a spunger;[46] and this evening Sir Andrew Fountaine would needs have me go to the tavern; where, for two bottles of wine, Portugal and Florence, among three of us, we had sixteen shillings to pay; but if ever he catches me so again, I’ll spend as many pounds:  and therefore I have it among my extraordinaries but we had a neck of mutton dressed a la Maintenon, that the dog could not eat:  and it is now twelve o’clock, and I must go sleep.  I hope this letter will go before I have MD’s third.  Do you believe me? and yet, faith, I long for MD’s third too and yet I would have it to say, that I writ five for two.  I am not fond at all of St. James’s Coffee-house,[47] as I used to be.  I hope it will mend in winter; but now they are all out of town at elections, or not come from their country houses.  Yesterday I was going with Dr. Garth[48] to dine with Charles Main,[49] near the Tower, who has an employment there:  he is of Ireland; the Bishop of Clogher knows him well:  an honest, good-natured fellow, a thorough hearty laugher, mightily beloved by the men of wit:  his mistress is never above a cook-maid.  And so, good-night, etc.

9.  I dined to-day at Sir John Stanley’s; my Lady Stanley[50] is one of my favourites:  I have as many here as the Bishop of Killala has in Ireland.  I am thinking what scurvy company I shall be to MD when I come back:  they know everything of me already:  I will tell you no more, or I shall have nothing to say, no story to tell, nor any kind of thing.  I was very uneasy last night with ugly, nasty, filthy wine, that turned sour on my stomach.  I must go to the tavern:  oh, but I told you that before.  To-morrow I dine at Harley’s, and will finish this letter at my return; but I can write no more now, because of the Archbishop:  faith, ’tis true; for I am going now to write to him an account of what I have done in the business with Harley:[51] and, faith, young women, I’ll tell you what you must count upon, that I never will write one word on the third side in these long letters.