Dec. 1.  Morning.  I wish Smyth were hanged.  I was dreaming the most melancholy things in the world of poor Stella, and was grieving and crying all night.—­Pshah, it is foolish:  I will rise and divert myself; so good-morrow; and God of His infinite mercy keep and protect you!  The Bishop of Clogher’s letter is dated Nov. 21.  He says you thought of going with him to Clogher.  I am heartily glad of it, and wish you would ride there, and Dingley go in a coach.  I have had no fit since my first, although sometimes my head is not quite in good order.—­At night.  I was this morning to visit Mr. Pratt, who is come over with poor, sick Lord Shelburne:  they made me dine with them; and there I stayed, like a booby, till eight, looking over them at ombre, and then came home.  Lord Shelburne’s giddiness is turned into a colic, and he looks miserably.

2.  Steele, the rogue, has done the imprudentest thing in the world:  he said something in a Tatler,[20] that we ought to use the word Great Britain, and not England, in common conversation, as, “The finest lady in Great Britain,” etc.  Upon this, Rowe, Prior, and I sent him a letter, turning this into ridicule.  He has to-day printed the letter,[21] and signed it J.S., M.P., and N.R., the first letters of all our names.  Congreve told me to-day, he smoked it immediately.  Congreve and I, and Sir Charles Wager, dined to-day at Delaval’s, the Portugal Envoy; and I stayed there till eight, and came home, and am now writing to you before I do business, because that dog Patrick is not at home, and the fire is not made, and I am not in my gear.  Pox take him!—­I was looking by chance at the top of this side, and find I make plaguy mistakes in words; so that you must fence against that as well as bad writing.  Faith, I can’t nor won’t read what I have written. (Pox of this puppy!) Well, I’ll leave you till I am got to bed, and then I will say a word or two.—­Well, ’tis now almost twelve, and I have been busy ever since, by a fire too (I have my coals by half a bushel at a time, I’ll assure you), and now I am got to bed.  Well, and what have you to say to Presto now he is abed?  Come now, let us hear your speeches.  No, ’tis a lie; I an’t sleepy yet.  Let us sit up a little longer, and talk.  Well, where have you been to-day, that you are but just this minute come home in a coach?  What have you lost?  Pay the coachman, Stella.  No, faith, not I, he’ll grumble.—­What new acquaintance have you got? come, let us hear.  I have made Delaval promise to send me some Brazil tobacco from Portugal for you, Madam Dingley.  I hope you will have your chocolate and spectacles before this comes to you.

3.  Pshaw, I must be writing to these dear saucy brats every night, whether I will or no, let me have what business I will, or come home ever so late, or be ever so sleepy; but an old saying, and a true one,

     “Be you lords, or be you earls,
      You must write to naughty girls.”