of him; and his great temperance and economy are so signal, that the first is fit for my constitution, and the latter would enable you to lay up so much money as to buy a bishopric in England.  As to the return of his health and vigour, were you here, you might inquire of his haymakers; but as to his temperance, I can answer that (for one whole day) we have had nothing for dinner but mutton broth, beans, and bacon, and a barn-door fowl.

Now his lordship is run after his cart, I have a moment left to myself to tell you, that I overheard him yesterday agree with a painter for L200, to paint his country hall with trophies of rakes, spades, prongs, &c., and other ornaments, merely to countenance his calling this place a farm—­now turn over a new leaf.

He bids me assure you, he should be sorry not to have more schemes of kindness for his friends than of ambition for himself; there, though his schemes may be weak, the motives at least are strong; and he says farther, if you could bear as great a fall and decrease of your revenues, as he knows by experience he can, you would not live in Ireland an hour.

The Dunciad is going to be printed in all pomp, with the inscription, which makes me proudest.  It will be attended with proeme, prolegomena, testimonia scriptorum, index authorum, and notes variorum.  As to the latter, I desire you to read over the text, and make a few in any way you like best; whether dry raillery, upon the style and way of commenting of trivial critics; or humourous, upon the authors in the poem; or historical, of persons, places, times; or explanatory, or collecting the parallel passages of the ancients.  Adieu.  I am pretty well, my mother not ill, Dr. Arbuthnot vexed with his fever by intervals; I am afraid he declines, and we shall lose a worthy man:  I am troubled about him very much.

TO THE SAME

An invitation to England

23 March, 1736-7.

Though you were never to write to me, yet what you desired in your last, that I would write often to you, would be a very easy task:  for every day I talk with you, and of you, in my heart; and I need only set down what that is thinking of.  The nearer I find myself verging to that period of life which is to be labour and sorrow, the more I prop myself upon those few supports that are left me.  People in this state are like props indeed; they cannot stand alone, but two or more of them can stand, leaning and bearing upon one another.  I wish you and I might pass this part of life together.  My only necessary care is at an end.  I am now my own master too much; my house is too large; my gardens furnish too much wood and provision for my use.  My servants are sensible and tender of me; they have intermarried, and are become rather low friends than servants; and to all those that I see here with pleasure, they take a pleasure in being useful.  I conclude