In consequence of this arrangement, to which I readily agreed, I disposed of the lease of my farm in Hertfordshire, and sent my books and other effects which I might want to Cork by sea, going myself to Dublin, where I resided some time in a constant round of Dublin dinners, till I was informed by Lord Kingsborough that the house at Mitchelstown was ready in which I was to reside, whilst a new one was building on a plan and in a situation approved of myself. In September I left Dublin for Mitchelstown—130 miles off—making a detour through those counties which I had not sufficiently seen the preceding year. And here I cannot avoid inserting the following excellent advice from my ever affectionate mother: ‘My memory begins to fail me, but no wonder at 72. That is not the cause of yours doing so, but the multiplicity of business you are engaged in. I attribute it also to being overburthened with your affairs. I can get neither ploughman nor footman to go over to Ireland, so you must see what you can do when you come yourself, which, I am sorry to hear, is not till (next) September. God only knows if I shall live so long as to see you once more. However, to hear you are well and happy is a great comfort to me, and the only one I have left, for it is my lot to be deprived of all those who to me are dearest. I hate now to do anything but sit by the fire and write to you.... But the happiness of this world, Arthur, is but of a short duration; I therefore wish you would bestow some thoughts on that happiness which will have eternal duration.[59]