peaks with too much indifference of her husband's several
amours, and commends Bussy as if she were a little concerned in him. I
think her a better sister than a wife, and believe she might have made a
better wife to a better husband. But the story of Mademoiselle de
Tournon is so sad, that when I had read it I was able to go no further,
and was fain to take up something else to divert myself withal. Have you
read _Cleopatre_? I have six tomes on't here that I can lend you if you
have not; there are some stories in't you will like, I believe. But what
an ass am I to think you can be idle enough at London to read romance!
No, I'll keep them till you come hither; here they may be welcome to you
for want of better company. Yet, that you may not imagine we are quite
out of the world here, and so be frighted from coming, I can assure you
we are seldom without news, such as it is; and at this present we do
abound with stories of my Lady Sunderland and Mr. Smith; with what
reverence he approaches her, and how like a gracious princess she
receives him, that they say 'tis worth one's going twenty miles to see
it. All our ladies are mightily pleased with the example, but I do not
find that the men intend to follow it, and I'll undertake Sir Solomon
Justinian wishes her in the Indias, for fear she should pervert his new
wife.

Your fellow-servant kisses your hands, and says, "If you mean to make
love to her old woman this is the best time you can take, for she is
dying; this cold weather kills her, I think." It has undone me, I am
sure, in killing an old knight that I have been waiting for this seven
year, and now he dies and will leave me nothing, I believe, but leaves a
rich widow for somebody. I think you had best come a wooing to her; I
have a good interest in her, and it shall be all employed in your
service if you think fit to make any addresses there. But to be sober
now again, for God's sake send me word how your journey goes forward,
when you think you shall begin it, and how long it may last, when I may
expect your coming this way; and of all things, remember to provide a
safe address for your letters when you are abroad. This is a strange,
confused one, I believe; for I have been called away twenty times, since
I sat down to write it, to my father, who is not well; but you will
pardon it--we are past ceremony, and excuse me if I say no more now but
that I am _toujours le mesme_, that is, ever

Your affectionate
friend