LETTER XXXI .-^ 69 



be not unworthy of your preaching in, which that You may often 

 be kind enough to do, God of his Mercy grant ; for I am tired wth 

 the Sound of my own Voice ; & what between Idleness & Indis- 

 position there is no greater Tautologist among ye Clergy. But 

 this, under the Bose ! 



Methinks I grow young again when I think of Oxford ; & be- 

 tween friends, that seems to Me to be now no small Eetrograda- 

 tion : If I should come to it now, it would seem odd to Me, to 

 appear wth Gravity, & be numbered among ye Fuimus's, to 

 assume the short Tuft, & cover my Ears in a grey clerical wig. 

 I am almost ready to bespeak a brown Bob ; I have looked at 

 my Crape Gown twice, which is as much Moth-eaten & decayed 

 as the Fathers in your Library : & 'tis well if I do not appear 

 without a Band, & cock as bold a Hat as any Soph in your Black 

 Eoll : and affect the under-Graduate, while I look in ye Eyes of 

 real Youth, as old as Moses & Aaron at the Altar-Piece. 



I have had a Glimpse of Sr Philip Musgrave's Nephew, Mr 

 Lumley, who I hear is an Orielensis. I am heartily sorry that 

 the Provost is in so very bad a Way. I missed seeing Dr Ben- 

 tham both here & in Town, which was a real Dissappointment. 

 Pray make my Compliments to Him &c. 



Is John Bosworth, & Tom Mander of your Train. Is Tom 

 still the Comus of ye Banquet, & John ye good Steward of the 

 Feast ? I hear that Chardin [Musgrave] is in Wiltshire. There 

 are like to be more Impediments between Him & our small 

 Mannor of Kempton, for my Lady is coming to lie in. If it is a 

 Boy, I shall be more glad than He ; tho' I shall suffer by it ; for 

 I must be a Witness of some of the Extravagancies of Sr John, 

 which as they affect a religious Turn, give me great Disgust and 

 Impatience. 



I hope all Friends in Hampshire are well. I reckon You often 

 turn your Eyes Southward, & pine after ye romantic Vicarage 

 wth the pensile nest-like Bowers of Selbourne.* Yet deign, before 

 the Summer Suns make it too hot for your Imagination to dwell 

 on, to think of poor Sunbury & of Your affte Friend 



J. Mulso. 



This is an allusion to Gilbert White's verses — 

 " To spend in tea the cool refreshing hour. 

 Where nods in air the pensile nest-like bower 



Nor be the Parsonage by the Muse forgot, 

 High on a mound th' exalted Gardens stand ; 

 Beneath, deep Vallies scoop'd by Nature's hand, etc." 



