ht me to our town's
end in his coach; so I lost my walk. St. John read my letter to the
company, which was all raillery, and passed purely.

13. It rained all last night and this morning as heavy as lead; but I
just got fair weather to walk to town before church. The roads are all
over in deep puddle. The hay of our town is almost fit to be mowed. I
went to Court after church (as I always do on Sundays), and then dined
with Mr. Secretary, who has engaged me for every Sunday; and poor MD
dined at home upon a bit of veal and a pint of wine. Is it not plaguy
insipid to tell you every day where I dine? yet now I have got into
the way of it, I cannot forbear it neither. Indeed, Mr. Presto, you had
better go answer MD's letter, N.14. I will answer it when I please,
Mr. Doctor. What is that you say? The Court was very full this morning,
expecting Mr. Harley would be declared Earl of Oxford and have the
Treasurer's staff. Mr. Harley never comes to Court at all; somebody
there asked me the reason. "Why," said I, "the Lord of Oxford knows." He
always goes to the Queen by the back stairs. I was told for certain, you
jackanapes, Lord Santry(2) was dead, Captain Cammock(3) assured me so;
and now he's alive again, they say; but that shan't do: he shall be dead
to me as long as he lives. Dick Tighe(4) and I meet, and never stir our
hats. I am resolved to mistake him for Witherington, the little nasty
lawyer that came up to me so sternly at the Castle the day I left
Ireland. I'll ask the gentleman I saw walking with him how long
Witherington has been in town.

14. I went to town to-day by water. The hail quite discouraged me from
walking, and there is no shade in the greatest part of the way. I took
the first boat, and had a footman my companion; then I went again
by water, and dined in the City with a printer, to whom I carried a
pamphlet in manuscript, that Mr. Secretary gave me. The printer sent it
to the Secretary for his approbation, and he desired me to look it over,
which I did, and found it a very scurvy piece. The reason I tell you so,
is because it was done by your parson Slap, Scrap, Flap (what d'ye call
him), Trapp,(5) your Chancellor's chaplain. 'Tis called A Character of
the Present Set of Whigs, and is going to be printed, and no doubt the
author will take care to produce it in Ireland. Dr. Freind was with me,
and pulled out a twopenny pamphlet just published, called The State of
Wit,(6) giving a character of all the pa