MD rides, and rides, and rides.  Our hot weather ended in May, and all this month has been moderate:  it was then so hot I was not able to endure it; I was miserable every moment, and found myself disposed to be peevish and quarrelsome:  I believe a very hot country would make me stark mad.—­Yes, my head continues pretty tolerable, and I impute it all to walking.  Does Stella eat fruit?  I eat a little; but I always repent, and resolve against it.  No, in very hot weather I always go to town by water; but I constantly walk back, for then the sun is down.  And so Mrs. Proby[13] goes with you to Wexford:  she’s admirable company; you’ll grow plaguy wise with those you frequent.  Mrs. Taylor and Mrs. Proby! take care of infection.  I believe my two hundred pounds will be paid, but that Sir Alexander Cairnes is a scrupulous puppy:  I left the bill with Mr. Stratford, who is to have the money.  Now, Madam Stella, what say you? you ride every day; I know that already, sirrah; and, if you rid every day for a twelvemonth, you would be still better and better.  No, I hope Parvisol will not have the impudence to make you stay an hour for the money; if he does, I’ll Un-Parvisol him; pray let me know.  O Lord, how hasty we are!  Stella can’t stay writing and writing; she must write and go a cock-horse, pray now.  Well, but the horses are not come to the door; the fellow can’t find the bridle; your stirrup is broken; where did you put the whips, Dingley?  Marget, where have you laid Mrs. Johnson’s ribbon to tie about her? reach me my mask:  sup up this before you go.  So, so, a gallop, a gallop:  sit fast, sirrah, and don’t ride hard upon the stones.—­Well, now Stella is gone, tell me, Dingley, is she a good girl? and what news is that you are to tell me?—­ No, I believe the box is not lost:  Sterne says it is not.—­No, faith, you must go to Wexford without seeing your Duke of Ormond, unless you stay on purpose; perhaps you may be so wise.—­I tell you this is your sixteenth letter; will you never be satisfied?  No, no, I will walk late no more; I ought less to venture it than other people, and so I was told:  but I will return to lodge in town next Thursday.  When you come from Wexford, I would have you send a letter of attorney to Mr. Benjamin Tooke, bookseller, in London, directed to me; and he shall manage your affair.  I have your parchment safely locked up in London.—­O, Madam Stella, welcome home; was it pleasant riding? did your horse stumble? how often did the man light to settle your stirrup? ride nine miles! faith, you have galloped indeed.  Well, but where is the fine thing you promised me?  I have been a good boy, ask Dingley else.  I believe you did not meet the fine-thing-man:  faith, you are a cheat.  So you will see Raymond and his wife in town.  Faith, that riding to Laracor gives me short sighs, as well as you.  All the days I have passed here have been dirt to those.  I have been gaining enemies by the scores, and friends by the couples;