I am now going out of town, with an intention to roll about from place to place, till about Michaelmas next. If you write to me, direct to me hither as usual, and your letter will be conveyed to me, whereever I am.
Dr. Arbuthnot, Mr. Charleton, and Mr. Currey, have dined with me to day, and you have not been forgot. I was in hopes we should have seen you ere this. The doctor says, you wait for the act of grace.
Is it so? I hope to see you by next winter.
I HAVE the favour of four letters from you, of the ninth, thirteenth, sixteenth, and twentieth instant. They all came safe to me, however variously directed; but the last to me at my house in Duke street, is the rightest. I find myself equally comforted by your philosophy, and assisted by your friendship. You will easily imagine, that I have a hundred things to say to you, which for as many reasons I omit, and only touch upon that business, to which, in the pride of your heart, you give the epithet of sorry[2].
