in Capel Street, one Bell; the ladies have bought sugar and plums of him.  Mrs. Mary used to go there often.  This is Patrick’s account; and the poor fellow has been here some months with his boy.  But the Queen has not been able to touch, and it now grows so warm, I fear she will not at all.  Go, go, go to the Dean’s, and let him carry you to Donnybrook, and cut asparagus.  Has Parvisol sent you any this year?  I cannot sleep in the beginnings of the nights, the heat or something hinders me, and I am drowsy in the mornings.

9.  Dr. Freind came this morning to visit Atterbury’s lady and children as physician, and persuaded me to go with him to town in his chariot.  He told me he had been an hour before with Sir Cholmley Dering, Charles Dering’s nephew, and head of that family in Kent, for which he is Knight of the shire.  He said he left him dying of a pistol-shot quite through the body, by one Mr. Thornhill.[15] They fought at sword and pistol this morning in Tuttle Fields,[16] their pistols so near that the muzzles touched.  Thornhill discharged first; and Dering, having received the shot, discharged his pistol as he was falling, so it went into the air.  The story of this quarrel is long.  Thornhill had lost seven teeth by a kick in the mouth from Dering, who had first knocked him down; this was above a fortnight ago.  Dering was next week to be married to a fine young lady.  This makes a noise here, but you will not value it.  Well, Mr. Harley, Lord Keeper, and one or two more, are to be made lords immediately; their patents are now passing, and I read the preamble to Mr. Harley’s, full of his praises.  Lewis and I dined with Ford:  I found the wine; two flasks of my Florence, and two bottles of six that Dr. Raymond sent me of French wine; he sent it to me to drink with Sir Robert Raymond and Mr. Harley’s brother,[17] whom I had introduced him to; but they never could find time to come; and now I have left the town, and it is too late.  Raymond will think it a cheat.  What care I, sirrah?

10.  Pshaw, pshaw.  Patrick brought me four letters to-day:  from Dilly at Bath; Joe; Parvisol; and what was the fourth, who can tell?  Stand away, who’ll guess?  Who can it be?  You old man with a stick, can you tell who the fourth is from?  Iss, an please your honour, it is from one Madam MD, Number Fourteen.  Well; but I can’t send this away now, because it was here, and I was in town; but it shall go on Saturday, and this is Thursday night, and it will be time enough for Wexford.  Take my method:  I write here to Parvisol to lend Stella twenty pounds, and to take her note promissory to pay it in half a year, etc.  You shall see, and if you want more, let me know afterwards; and be sure my money shall be always paid constantly too.  Have you been good or ill housewives, pray?