You have now got a footing in a great many good houses at Paris, in which I advise you to make yourself domestic.  This is to be done by a certain easiness of carriage, and a decent familiarity.  Not by way of putting yourself upon the frivolous footing of being ‘sans consequence’, but by doing in some degree, the honors of the house and table, calling yourself ‘en badinant le galopin d’ici’, saying to the masters or mistress, ’ceci est de mon departement; je m’en charge; avouez, que je m’en acquitte a merveille.’  This sort of ‘badinage’ has something engaging and ‘liant’ in it, and begets that decent familiarity, which it is both agreeable and useful to establish in good houses and with people of fashion.  Mere formal visits, dinners, and suppers, upon formal invitations, are not the thing; they add to no connection nor information; but it is the easy, careless ingress and egress at all hours, that forms the pleasing and profitable commerce of life.

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.