My dear old Friend,—Is it impossible for you to come here before the term ends? We could then pass our last days at King’s together, and shed a tear on Haslingfield’s green baulks, if baulks be there still green? Think of this, Master Brooks. I have a letter from Merivale this morning, canvassing for a history of John Sobieski, and accusing me of excessive ‘melancholy, gravity, and refinement!’ I was greatly amused with the charges, having just cut myself shaving from a sudden laugh when the letter came. Lonsdale was with me yesterday and amused me very much by his account of ‘the springs rising’ when you were fishing at Walkerne. Adieu.
