22. I was this morning with Mr. Lewis, the under-secretary to Lord Dartmouth,
two hours, talking politics, and contriving to keep Steele in his office of
stamped paper: he has lost his place of Gazetteer, three hundred pounds a
year, for writing a Tatler,[8] some months ago, against Mr. Harley, who gave
it him at first, and raised the salary from sixty to three hundred pounds.
This was devilish ungrateful; and Lewis was telling me the particulars: but I
had a hint given me, that I might save him in the other employment: and leave
was given me to clear matters with Steele. Well, I dined with Sir Matthew
Dudley, and in the evening went to sit with Mr. Addison, and offer the matter
at distance to him, as the discreeter person; but found party had so possessed
him, that he talked as if he suspected me, and would not fall in with anything
I said. So I stopped short in my overture, and we parted very drily; and I
shall say nothing to Steele, and let them do as they will; but, if things
stand as they are, he will certainly lose it, unless I save him; and therefore
I will not speak to him, that I may not report to his disadvantage. Is not
this vexatious? and is there so much in the proverb of proffered service?
When shall I grow wise? I endeavour to act in the most exact points of honour
and conscience; and my nearest friends will not understand it so. What must a
man expect from his enemies? This would vex me, but it shall not; and so I
bid you good-night, etc.

23. I know 'tis neither wit nor diversion to tell you every day where I dine;
neither do I write it to fill my letter; but I fancy I shall, some time or
other, have the curiosity of seeing some particulars how I passed my life when
I was absent from MD this time; and so I tell you now that I dined to-day at
Molesworth's, the Florence Envoy, then went to the Coffee-house, where I
behaved myself coldly enough to Mr. Addison, and so came home to scribble. We
dine together to-morrow and next day by invitation; but I shall alter my
behaviour to him, till he begs my pardon, or else we shall grow bare
acquaintance. I am weary of friends; and friendships are all monsters, but