LETTER 2.

LONDON, Sept. 9, 1710.

Got here last Thursday,[1] after five days' travelling, weary the first,
almost dead the second, tolerable the third, and well enough the rest; and am
now glad of the fatigue, which has served for exercise; and I am at present
well enough. The Whigs were ravished to see me, and would lay hold on me as a
twig while they are drowning,[2] and the great men making me their clumsy
apologies, etc. But my Lord Treasurer[3] received me with a great deal of
coldness, which has enraged me so, I am almost vowing revenge. I have not yet
gone half my circle; but I find all my acquaintance just as I left them. I
hear my Lady Giffard[4] is much at Court, and Lady Wharton[5] was ridiculing
it t'other day; so I have lost a friend there. I have not yet seen her, nor
intend it; but I will contrive to see Stella's mother[6] some other way. I
writ to the Bishop of Clogher from Chester; and I now write to the Archbishop
of Dublin.[7] Everything is turning upside down; every Whig in great office
will, to a man, be infallibly put out; and we shall have such a winter as hath
not been seen in England. Everybody asks me, how I came to be so long in
Ireland, as naturally as if here were my being; but no soul offers to make it
so: and I protest I shall return to Dublin, and the Canal at Laracor,[8] with
more satisfaction than ever I did in my life. The Tatler[9] expects every day
to be turned out of his employment; and the Duke of Ormond,[10] they say, will
be Lieutenant of Ireland. I hope you are now peaceably in Presto's[11]
lodgings; but I resolve to turn you out by Christmas; in which time I shall
either do my business, or find it not to be done. Pray be at Trim by the time
this letter comes to you; and ride little Johnson, who must needs be now in