The post is so negligent, that I lose some letters from Paris entirely, and receive others much later than I should.  To this I ascribe my having received no letter from you for above a fortnight, which to my impatience seems a long time.  I expect to hear from you once a-week.  Mr. Harte is gone to Cornwall, and will be back in about three weeks.  I have a packet of books to send you by the first opportunity, which I believe will be Mr. Yorke’s return to Paris.  The, Greek books come from Mr. Harte, and the English ones from your humble servant.  Read Lord Bolingbroke’s with great attention, as well to the style as to the matter.  I wish you could form yourself such a style in every language.  Style is the dress of thoughts; and a well-dressed thought, like a well-dressed man, appears to great advantage.  Yours.  Adieu.

LETTER CXXIX

London, August 28, O. S. 1751

My dear friend:  A bill for ninety pounds sterling was brought me the other day, said to be drawn upon me by you:  I scrupled paying it at first, not upon account of the sum, but because you had sent me no letter of advice, which is always done in those transactions; and still more, because I did not perceive that you had signed it.  The person who presented it, desired me to look again, and that I should discover your name at the bottom:  accordingly I looked again, and, with the help of my magnifying glass, did perceive that what I had first taken only for somebody’s mark, was, in truth, your name, written in the worst and smallest hand I ever saw in my life.

However, I paid it at a venture; though I would almost rather lose the money, than that such a signature should be yours.  All gentlemen, and all men of business, write their names always in the same way, that their signature may be so well known as not to be easily counterfeited; and they generally sign in rather larger character than their common hand; whereas your name was in a less, and a worse, than your common writing.  This suggested to me the various accidents which may very probably happen to you, while you write so ill.  For instance, if you were to write in such a character to the Secretary’s office, your letter would immediately be sent to the decipherer, as containing matters of the utmost secrecy, not fit to be trusted to the common character.  If you were to write so to an antiquarian, he (knowing you to be a man of learning) would certainly try it by the Runic, Celtic, or Sclavonian alphabet, never suspecting it to be a modern character.  And, if you were to send a ‘poulet’ to a fine woman, in such a hand, she would think that it really came from the ‘poulailler’; which, by the bye, is the etymology of the word ‘poulet’; for Henry the Fourth of France used to send billets-doux to his mistresses by his ‘poulailler’, under pretense of sending them chickens; which gave the name of poulets to those short, but expressive