Dear friend:  Two accounts, which I have very lately received of you, from two good judges, have put me into great spirits, as they have given me reasonable hopes that you will soon acquire all that I believe you want:  I mean the air, the address; the graces, and the manners of a man of fashion.  As these two pictures of you are very unlike that which I received, and sent you some months ago, I will name the two painters:  the first is an old friend and acquaintance of mine, Monsieur d’Aillon.  His picture is, I hope, like you; for it is a very good one:  Monsieur Tollot’s is still a better, and so advantageous a one, that I will not send you a copy of it, for fear of making you too vain.  So far only I will tell you, that there was but one but in either of their accounts; and it was this:  I gave d’Aillon the question ordinary and extraordinary, upon the important article of manners; and extorted this from him:  “But, since you will know it, he still wants that last beautiful varnish, which raises the colors, and gives brilliancy to the piece.  Be persuaded that he will acquire it:  he has too much sense not to know its value; and if I am not greatly mistaken, more persons than one are now endeavoring to give it him.  Monsieur Tollot says:  “In order to be exactly all that you wish him, he only wants those little nothings, those graces in detail, and that amiable ease, which can only be acquired by usage of the great world.  I am assured that he is, in that respect, in good hands.  I do not know whether that does not rather imply in fine arms.”  Without entering into a nice discussion of the last question, I congratulate you and myself upon your being so near that point at which I so anxiously wish you to arrive.  I am sure that all your attention and endeavors will be exerted; and, if exerted, they will succeed.  Mr. Tollot says, that you are inclined to be fat, but I hope you will decline it as much as you can; not by taking anything corrosive to make you lean, but by taking as little as you can of those things that would make you fat.  Drink no chocolate; take your coffee without cream:  you cannot possibly avoid suppers at Paris, unless you avoid company too, which I would by no means have you do; but eat as little at supper as you can, and make even an allowance for that little at your dinners.  Take occasionally a double dose of riding and fencing; and now that summer is come, walk a good deal in the Tuileries.  It is a real inconvenience to anybody to be fat, and besides it is ungraceful for a young fellow.  ‘A propos’, I had like to have forgot to tell you, that I charged Tollot to attend particularly to your utterence and diction; two points of the utmost importance.  To the first he says:  “His enunciation is not bad, but it is to be wished that it were still better; and he expresses himself with more fire than elegance.  Usage of good company will instruct him likewise in that.”  These, I allow, are all little things, separately; but aggregately,