dear, unless we have an open winter. I hope you found your hounds in good condition, and that Bright has not made a stirrup-leather of your jockey-belt.
I imagine you now smoking with your humdrum squire (I forget his name) who can go home at midnight, and open a dozen gates when he is drunk.
I beg your lordship not to ask me to lend you any money. If you will come and live at the deanery, and furnish up an apartment, I will find you in victuals and drink, which is more than ever you got by the court: and as proud as you are, I hope to see you accept a part of this offer before I die.
The take this country; it has, in three weeks, spoiled two as good sixpenny pamphlets, as ever a proclamation was issued out against. And since we talk of that, will there not be * * * * * * * * * * * * *[1]? I shall be cured of loving England, as the fellow was of his ague, by getting himself whipped through the town.
I would retire too, if I could; but my country seat, where I have an acre of ground, is gone to ruin. The wall of my own apartment is fallen down, and I want mud to rebuild it, and straw to thatch it. Besides, a spiteful neighbour has seized on six feet of ground, carried off my trees, and spoiled my grove. All this is literally true, and I have not fortitude enough to go and see those devastations.
But, in return, I live a country life in town, see nobody, and go every day once to prayers; and hope, in a few months, to grow as stupid as the present situation of affairs will require.
- ↑ Here are two or three words in the manuscript totally erased and illegible.
