to the same.
Binfield, near Oakingham.
Tuesday.
Dear Sir,
I believe the hurry you were in hindered your giving me a word by the last post, so that I am yet to learn whether you got well to town, or continue so there. I very much fear both for your health, and your quiet, and no man living can be more truly concerned in any thing that touches either, than myself. I would comfort myself, however, with hoping that your business may not be unsuccessful for your sake, and that at least, it may soon be put into other proper hands. For my own, I beg earnestly of you to return to us as soon as possible. You know how very much I want you, and that however your business may depend upon another, my business depends entirely on you, and yet still I hope you will find your man, even though I lose you the mean while. At this time the more I love, the worse I can spare you, which alone will, I dare say, be a reason to you, to let me have you back the sooner. The minute I lost you; Eustathius, with nine hundred pages, and nine thousand contractions of the Greek character, arose to my view. Spondanus with all his auxiliaries, in number a thousand pages (value three shillings), and Dacier's three volumes, Barnes' two, Voltaire's three, Cuperus, half in Greek, Leo Allatius three parts in Greek, Scaliger, Macrobius, and (worse than them all) Aulus Gellius; all these
