It is very cold this morning in bed, and I hear there is a good fire in the room without, what do you call it, the diningroom. I hope it will be good weather, and so let me rise, sirrrahs, do so. At night. I was this morning to visit the dean, or Mr. prolocutor, I think you call him, do not you? Why should not I go to the dean's as well as you? A little black man of pretty near fifty? Ay, the same. A good pleasant man? Ay, the same. Cunning enough? Yes. One that understands his own interest? As well as any body. How comes it MD and I do not meet there sometimes? A very good face, and abundance of wit; do you know his lady? O Lord! whom do you mean[1]? I mean Dr. Atturbury, dean of Carlisle and prolocutor. Pshaw, Presto you are a fool; I thought you had meant our dean of St. Patrick's. Silly, silly, silly, you are silly, both are silly, every kind of thing is silly. As I walked into the city, I was stopped with clusters of boys and wenches buzzing about the cakeshops like flies. There had the fools let out their shops two yards forward into the streets, all spread with great cakes frothed with sugar, and stuck with streamers of tinsel. And then I went to Bateman's the bookseller[2], and laid out eight and forty shillings for books. I bought three little volumes of Lucian in French for our Stella, and so, and so. Then I went to Garraway's to meet Stratford, and dine with him; but it was an idle day with the
- ↑ Dr. Sterne, dean of St. Patrick's, was not a married man, which seems to have been the cause of this surprise in MD.
- ↑ Mr. Bateman, who lived in Little Britain, dealt principally in old books.
