_March 16._
_Dear old Guy,_
_If you will bury yourself like a misanthropic badger, you can't
expect to be written to by every post. Oddly enough there has been
some talk of starting a new paper; at least it isn't really very
odd because the subject is mooted three times a day in the advanced
political circles round which I revolve. However, just at present
the scheme is in abeyance. Never mind, I'll fetch you out of your
earth at the first excuse that offers itself. Do you ever go in and
see the Balliol people? My young brother's up now, you know. Ask
him over to lunch some day. He's a shining light of Tory Democracy
and is going to preserve or I suppose I ought to say conserve the
honour of our family. When are your poems coming out? I heard from
Tom Anstruther the other day. He seems rather hurt that an attache
at Madrid is not given an opportunity of adjusting or upsetting the
balance of power in Europe. I'll try to get down for a week-end,
but I'm betraying my order by voting against an obscurantist
majority whenever I can, and plotting hard against the liberties of
landowners when I'm not voting. However, when the House flies away
to search for summer I'll drop out of the flock and perch a while
on your roof. One thing I will promise, which is that when I'm
Prime Minister you shall be offered the Laurel at L200 a year._
_Yours ever