ames's Coffee-house, and the chocolate-houses; and the young son is
principal Secretary of State. Is there not something very odd in that?
He told me, among other things, that Mr. Harley complained he could keep
nothing from me, I had the way so much of getting into him. I knew that
was a refinement; and so I told him, and it was so: indeed, it is hard
to see these great men use me like one who was their betters, and the
puppies with you in Ireland hardly regarding me: but there are some
reasons for all this, which I will tell you when we meet. At coming
home, I saw a letter from your mother, in answer to one I sent her two
days ago. It seems she is in town; but cannot come out in a morning,
just as you said; and God knows when I shall be at leisure in an
afternoon: for if I should send her a penny-post letter, and afterwards
not be able to meet her, it would vex me; and, besides, the days are
short, and why she cannot come early in a morning, before she is wanted,
I cannot imagine. I will desire her to let Lady Giffard know that she
hears I am in town; and that she would go to see me, to inquire after
you. I wonder she will confine herself so much to that old beast's
humour. You know I cannot in honour see Lady Giffard, and consequently
not go into her house. This I think is enough for the first time.

12. And how could you write with such thin paper? (I forgot to say this
in my former.) Cannot you get thicker? Why, that's a common caution that
writing-masters give their scholars; you must have heard it a hundred
times. 'Tis this:

"If paper be thin,
Ink will slip in;
But, if it be thick,
You may write with a stick."(5)

I had a letter to-day from poor Mrs. Long,(6) giving me an account of
her present life, obscure in a remote country town, and how easy she
is under it. Poor creature! 'tis just such an alteration in life, as if
Presto should be banished from MD, and condemned to converse with Mrs.
Raymond. I dined to-day with Ford, Sir Richard Levinge,(7) etc., at a
place where they board, hard by. I was lazy, and not very well, sitting
so long with company yesterday. I have been very busy writing this
evening at home, and had a fire: I am spending my second half-bushel of
coals; and now am in bed, and 'tis late.

13. I dined to-day in the City, and then went to christen Will
Frankland's(8) child; and Lady Falconbridge(9) was one of the
godmothers: this is a daughter of Oliver Cromwell, and