fellow of that haunch of venison I sent to
London; 'twas mighty fat and good, and eight people at dinner; that was
bad. The Queen and I were going to take the air this afternoon, but
not together; and were both hindered by a sudden rain. Her coaches
and chaises all went back, and the guards too; and I scoured into the
market-place for shelter. I intended to have walked up the finest avenue
I ever saw, two miles long, with two rows of elms on each side. I walked
in the evening a little upon the terrace, and came home at eight: Mr.
Secretary came soon after, and we were engaging in deep discourse, and I
was endeavouring to settle some points of the greatest consequence, and
had wormed myself pretty well into him, when his Under Secretary came in
(who lodges in the same house with us) and interrupted all my scheme. I
have just left him: it is late, etc.

2. I have been now five days at Windsor, and Patrick has been drunk
three times that I have seen, and oftener I believe. He has lately had
clothes that have cost me five pounds, and the dog thinks he has the
whip-hand of me: he begins to master me; so now I am resolved to part
with him, and will use him without the least pity. The Secretary and
I have been walking three or four hours to-day. The Duchess of
Shrewsbury(12) asked him, was not that Dr.--Dr.--and she could not say
my name in English, but said Dr. Presto, which is Italian for Swift.
Whimsical enough, as Billy Swift(13) says. I go to-morrow with the
Secretary to his house at Bucklebury, twenty-five miles from hence,
and return early on Sunday morning. I will leave this letter behind me
locked up, and give you an account of my journey when I return. I had
a letter yesterday from the Bishop of Clogher, who is coming up to his
Parliament. Have you any correspondence with him to Wexford? Methinks,
I now long for a letter from you, dated Wexford, July 24, etc. O Lord,
that would be so pretending;(14) and then, says you, Stella can't write
much, because it is bad to write when one drinks the waters; and I
think, says you, I find myself better already, but I cannot tell yet
whether it be the journey or the waters. Presto is so silly to-night;
yes he be; but Presto loves MD dearly, as hope saved.

3. Morning. I am to go this day at noon, as I told you, to Bucklebury:
we dine at twelve, and expect to be there in four hours. I cannot bid
you good-night now, because I shall be twenty-five miles from this paper
to-night, an