not to be learnt by telling of noses, for every tory has not a nose. — 'Tis a loss, you are not here to partake of three weeks frost, and eat gingerbread in a booth by a fire upon the Thames. Mrs. Floyd looked out with both her eyes, and we had one day's thaw; but she drew in her head, and it now freezes as hard as ever. As for the convocation, the queen thought fit to prorogue it, though at the expense of Dr. Atterbury's displeasure, who was designed their prolocutor, and is now raging at the disappointment. I amuse myself sometimes with writing verses to Mrs. Finch, and sometimes with projects for the uniting of parties, which I perfect over night, and burn in the morning. Sometimes Mr. Addison and I steal to a pint of bad wine, and wish for no third person but you; who, if you were with us, would never be satisfied without three more. You know I believe that poor Dr. Gregory[1] is dead, and Keil[1]solicits to be his successor; but party reaches even to lines and circles, and he will hardly carry it, being reputed a tory, which yet he utterly denies. We are here nine times madder after operas than ever; and have got a new castrato from Italy, called Nicolini, who exceeds Valentini, I know not how many bars length. Lord Somers and Halifax are as well as busy statesmen can be in parliament time. Lord Dorset is nobody's favourite but your's and Mr. Prior's, who has lately dedicated his book of poems to him; which is all the press has furnished us of any value since you went. Mr. Pringle, a gentleman of Scotland, succeeds Mr. Addison in
