Letter to Mr Moore, Bloomsbury Square. Begins: "I thanke you for yrs this morning I suppose if I shud serve you the same…" D of Northfield. Ld Effingham did not ask for me; gravil laid; John is bottling; we all making ready for you. Mary German I dout will dye though I'm doctoring her and the writing master of Bookham blooded her. Send me turnip seed; one of my patients told me Ld Effingham is sowing. Outrages by Mr Tryon: swears he will grope up every fish in the river with 20 men and is giving them away in Leatherhead; Miss Sands distressed. The Boyes are yours; Atty has been ill at the Springes. Blundel.