Oh! how I long to evict the tenants! They can't have my feeling for the place where I was born.

They're people of tolerably good connections, middling wealthy, I suppose, of the name of Warwick, and, as far as I can understand, they stick there to be near the Sussex Downs, for a nephew, who likes to ride on them.

I've a half engagement, barely legible, to visit them on an indefinite day, and can't bear the idea of strangers masters in the old house.

I must be driven there for shelter, for a roof, some month.

And I could make a pilgrimage in rain or snow just to doat on the outside of it.