here among the ladies;[3] so that I never play when I can help it, being sure to lose.  I have lost five pounds the five weeks I have been here.  I hope Ppt is luckier at picquet with the Dean and Mrs. Walls.  The Dean never answered my letter, though.  I have clearly forgot whether I sent a bill for me in any of my last letters.  I think I did; pray let me know, and always give me timely notice.  I wait here but to see what they will do for me; and whenever preferments are given from me, as hope saved, I will come over.

18.  I have taken a vomit to-day, and hope I shall be better.  I have been very giddy since I writ what is before, yet not as I used to be:  more frequent, but not so violent.  Yesterday we were alarmed with the Queen’s being ill:  she had an aguish and feverish fit; and you never saw such countenances as we all had, such dismal melancholy.  Her physicians from town were sent for, but towards night she grew better; to-day she missed her fit, and was up:  we are not now in any fear; it will be at worst but an ague, and we hope even that will not return.  Lord Treasurer would not come here from London, because it would make a noise if he came before his usual time, which is Saturday, and he goes away on Mondays.  The Whigs have lost a great support in the Earl of Godolphin.[4] It is a good jest to hear the Ministers talk of him now with humanity and pity, because he is dead, and can do them no more hurt.  Lady Orkney,[5] the late King’s mistress (who lives at a fine place, five miles from hence, called Cliffden[6]), and I, are grown mighty acquaintance.  She is the wisest woman I ever saw; and Lord Treasurer made great use of her advice in the late change of affairs.  I heard Lord Marlborough is growing ill of his diabetes; which, if it be true, may soon carry him off; and then the Ministry will be something more at ease.  MD has been a long time without writing to Pdfr, though they have not the same cause:  it is seven weeks since your last came to my hands, which was N.32, that you may not be mistaken.  I hope Ppt has not wanted her health.  You were then drinking waters.  The doctor tells me I must go into a course of steel, though I have not the spleen; for that they can never give me, though I have as much provocation to it as any man alive.  Bernage’s[7] regiment is broke; but he is upon half-pay.  I have not seen him this long time; but I suppose he is overrun with melancholy.  My Lord Shrewsbury is certainly designed to be Governor of Ireland; and I believe the Duchess will please the people there mightily.  The Irish Whig leaders promise great things to themselves from his government; but care shall be taken, if possible, to prevent them.  Mrs. Fenton[8] has writ to me that she has been forced to leave Lady Giffard, and come to town, for a rheumatism:  that lady does not love to be troubled with sick people.  Mrs. Fenton writes to me as one dying, and desires I would think of her son:  I have