robably with that aunt
whom she mentioned before as one who was always ready to find her a
husband other than Temple. Of the plot against the Protector in which my
Lord of Dorchester is said to be engaged, an account is given in
connection with _Letter 59_; that is, presuming it to be the same plot,
and that Lord Dorchester is one of the many persons arrested under
suspicion of being concerned in it. I cannot find anything which
identifies him with a special plot.

Lady Sandis [Sandys], who seems so fond of race meetings and other less
harmless amusements, was the wife of William Lord Sandys, and daughter
of the Earl of Salisbury. Lord Sandys' country house was Motesfont or
Mottisfont Priory, in Hampshire, "which the King had given him in
exchange for Chelsea, in Westminster." So says Leland, the antiquary and
scholar, in his _Itinerary_; but it is a little puzzling to the modern
mind with preconceived notions of Chelsea, to hear it spoken of as a
seat or estate in Westminster. Colonel Tom Paunton is to me merely a
name; and J. Morton is nothing more, unless we may believe him to be Sir
John Morton, Bart. of Milbourne, St. Andrew, in Nottinghamshire. This
addition of a local habitation and a name gives us no further knowledge,
however, of the scandal to which Dorothy alludes.

Mistress Stanley and Mistress Witherington have left no trace of their
identity that I can find, but Mistress Philadelphia Carey is not wholly
unknown. She was the second daughter of Thomas Carey, one of the Earl of
Monmouth's sons, and readers may be pleased to know that she did marry
Sir Henry Littleton.

Of the scandal concerning Lord Rich I am not sorry to know nothing.

_May 25th_ [1654].

This world is composed of nothing but contrarieties and sudden
accidents, only the proportions are not at all equal; for to a great
measure of trouble it allows so small a quantity of joy, that one may
see 'tis merely intended to keep us alive withal. This is a formal
preface, and looks as if there were something of very useful to follow;
but I would not wish you to expect it. I was only considering my own
ill-humour last night, I had not heard from you in a week or more, my
brother had been with me and we had talked ourselves both out of breath
and patience too, I was not very well, and rose this morning only
because I was weary of lying in bed. When I had dined I took a coach and
went to see whether there was ever a letter for me, and was this once