28.  Garth and Addison and I dined to-day at a hedge[30] tavern; then I went to Mr. Harley, but he was denied, or not at home:  so I fear I shall not hear my business is done before this goes.  Then I visited Lord Pembroke,[31] who is just come to town; and we were very merry talking of old things; and I hit him with one pun.  Then I went to see the Ladies Butler, and the son of a whore of a porter denied them:  so I sent them a threatening message by another lady, for not excepting me always to the porter.  I was weary of the Coffee-house, and Ford[32] desired me to sit with him at next door; which I did, like a fool, chatting till twelve, and now am got into bed.  I am afraid the new Ministry is at a terrible loss about money:  the Whigs talk so, it would give one the spleen; and I am afraid of meeting Mr. Harley out of humour.  They think he will never carry through this undertaking.  God knows what will come of it.  I should be terribly vexed to see things come round again:  it will ruin the Church and clergy for ever; but I hope for better.  I will send this on Tuesday, whether I hear any further news of my affair or not.

29.  Mr. Addison and I dined to-day with Lord Mountjoy; which is all the adventures of this day.—­I chatted a while to-night in the Coffee-house, this being a full night; and now am come home, to write some business.

30.  I dined to-day at Mrs. Vanhomrigh’s, and sent a letter to poor Mrs. Long,[33] who writes to us, but is God knows where, and will not tell anybody the place of her residence.  I came home early, and must go write.

31.  The month ends with a fine day; and I have been walking, and visiting Lewis, and concerting where to see Mr. Harley.  I have no news to send you.  Aire,[34] they say, is taken, though the Whitehall letters this morning say quite the contrary:  ’tis good, if it be true.  I dined with Mr. Addison and Dick Stewart, Lord Mountjoy’s brother;[35] a treat of Addison’s.  They were half-fuddled, but not I; for I mixed water with my wine, and left them together between nine and ten; and I must send this by the bellman, which vexes me, but I will put it off no longer.  Pray God it does not miscarry.  I seldom do so; but I can put off little MD no longer.  Pray give the under note to Mrs. Brent.

I am a pretty gentleman; and you lose all your money at cards, sirrah Stella.  I found you out; I did so.

I am staying before I can fold up this letter, till that ugly D is dry in the last line but one.  Do not you see it?  O Lord, I am loth to leave you, faith--but it must be so, till the next time.  Pox take that D; I will blot it, to dry it.

LETTER 8.

London, Oct. 31, 1710.