20.  Morning.  I was up this morning early, and shaved by candlelight, and write this by the fireside.  Poor Raymond just came in and took his leave of me; he is summoned by high order from his wife, but pretends he has had enough of London.  I was a little melancholy to part with him; he goes to Bristol, where they are to be with his merchant brother, and now thinks of staying till May; so she must be brought to bed in England.  He was so easy and manageable, that I almost repent I suffered him to see me so seldom.  But he is gone, and will save Patrick some lies in a week:  Patrick is grown admirable at it, and will make his fortune.  How now, sirrah, must I write in a morning to your impudence?

     Stay till night,
     And then I’ll write,
     In black and white,
     By candlelight,
     Of wax so bright,
     It helps the sight—­
     A bite, a bite!

Marry come up, Mistress Boldface.—­At night.  Dr. Raymond came back, and goes to-morrow.  I did not come home till eleven, and found him here to take leave of me.  I went to the Court of Requests, thinking to find Mr. Harley and dine with him, and refused Henley, and everybody, and at last knew not where to go, and met Jemmy Leigh by chance, and he was just in the same way, so I dined at his lodgings on a beef-steak, and drank your health; then left him and went to the tavern with Ben Tooke and Portlack, the Duke of Ormond’s secretary, drinking nasty white wine till eleven.  I am sick, and ashamed of it, etc.

21.  I met that beast Ferris, Lord Berkeley’s[54] steward formerly; I walked with him a turn in the Park, and that scoundrel dog is as happy as an emperor, has married a wife with a considerable estate in land and houses about this town, and lives at his ease at Hammersmith.  See your confounded sect![55] Well; I had the same luck to-day with Mr. Harley; ’twas a lovely day, and went by water into the City, and dined with Stratford at a merchant’s house, and walked home with as great a dunce as Ferris, I mean honest Colonel Caulfeild,[56] and came home by eight, and now am in bed, and going to sleep for a wager, and will send this letter on Saturday, and so; but first I will wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year, and pray God we may never keep them asunder again.

22.  Morning.  I am going now to Mr. Harley’s levee on purpose to vex him; I will say I had no other way of seeing him, etc.  Patrick says it is a dark morning, and that the Duke of Argyle[57] is to be knighted to-day; the booby means installed at Windsor.  But I must rise, for this is a shaving-day, and Patrick says there is a good fire; I wish MD were by it, or I by MD’s.—­At night.  I forgot to tell you, Madam Dingley, that I paid nine shillings for your glass and spectacles, of which three were for the Bishop’s case:  I am sorry I did not buy you such another case; but if you like it, I will bring one over with me; pray tell