I am very sure, at least I hope, that you will never make use of a silly expression, which is the favorite expression, and the absurd excuse of all fools and blockheads; I cannot do such A thing; a thing by no means either morally or physically impossible.  I cannot attend long together to the same thing, says one fool; that is, he is such a fool that he will not.  I remember a very awkward fellow, who did not know what to do with his sword, and who always took it off before dinner, saying that he could not possibly dine with his sword on; upon which I could not help telling him, that I really believed he could without any probable danger either to himself or others.  It is a shame and an absurdity, for any man to say that he cannot do all those things, which are commonly done by all the rest of mankind.

Another thing that I must earnestly warn you against is laziness; by which more people have lost the fruit of their travels than, perhaps, by any other thing.  Pray be always in motion.  Early in the morning go and see things; and the rest of the day go and see people.  If you stay but a week at a place, and that an insignificant one, see, however, all that is to be seen there; know as many people, and get into as many houses, as ever you can.

I recommend to you likewise, though probably you have thought of it yourself, to carry in your pocket a map of Germany, in which the postroads are marked; and also some short book of travels through Germany.  The former will help to imprint in your memory situations and distances; and the latter will point out many things for you to see, that might otherwise possibly escape you, and which, though they may be in themselves of little consequence, you would regret not having seen, after having been at the places where they were.

Thus warned and provided for your journey, God speed you; ’Felix faustumque sit!  Adieu.

LETTER CLXVII

London, May 27, O. S. 1752

My dear friend:  I send you the inclosed original from a friend of ours, with my own commentaries upon the text; a text which I have so often paraphrased, and commented upon already, that I believe I can hardly say anything new upon it; but, however, I cannot give it over till I am better convinced, than I yet am, that you feel all the utility, the importance, and the necessity of it; nay, not only feel, but practice it.  Your panegyrist allows you, what most fathers would be more than satisified with, in a son, and chides me for not contenting myself with ‘l’essentiellement bon’; but I, who have been in no one respect like other fathers, cannot neither, like them, content myself with ‘l’essentiellement bon’; because I know that it will not do your business in the world, while you want ‘quelques couches de vernis’.  Few fathers care much for their sons, or, at least, most of them care more