presence of mind, and coolness.  Achilles, though invulnerable, never went to battle but completely armed.  Courts are to be the theatres of your wars, where you should be always as completely armed, and even with the addition of a heel-piece.  The least inattention, the least distraction, may prove fatal.  I would fain see you what pedants call ‘omnis homo’, and what Pope much better calls all-accomplished:  you have the means in your power; add the will; and you may bring it about.  The vulgar have a coarse saying, of spoiling A ship for A halfpenny worth of tar; prevent the application by providing the tar:  it is very easily to be had in comparison with what you have already got.

The fine Mrs. Pitt, who it seems saw you often at Paris, speaking of you the other day, said, in French, for she speaks little English, . . . whether it is that you did not pay the homage due to her beauty, or that it did not strike you as it does others, I cannot determine; but I hope she had some other reason than truth for saying it.  I will suppose that you did not care a pin for her; but, however, she surely deserved a degree of propitiatory adoration from you, which I am afraid you neglected.  Had I been in your case, I should have endeavored, at least, to have supplanted Mr. Mackay in his office of nocturnal reader to her.  I played at cards, two days ago, with your friend Mrs. Fitzgerald, and her most sublime mother, Mrs. Seagrave; they both inquired after you; and Mrs. Fitzgerald said, she hoped you went on with your dancing; I said, Yes, and that you assured me, you had made such considerable improvements in it, that you had now learned to stand still, and even upright.  Your ‘virtuosa’, la Signora Vestri, sung here the other day, with great applause:  I presume you are intimately acquainted with her merit.  Good night to you, whoever you pass it with.

I have this moment received a packet, sealed with your seal, though not directed by your hand, for Lady Hervey.  No letter from you!  Are you not well?

LETTER CLXXXVII

London, May 27, O. S. 1753.

My dear friend:  I have this day been tired, jaded, nay, tormented, by the company of a most worthy, sensible, and learned man, a near relation of mine, who dined and passed the evening with me.  This seems a paradox, but is a plain truth; he has no knowledge of the world, no manners, no address; far from talking without book, as is commonly said of people who talk sillily, he only talks by book; which in general conversation is ten times worse.  He has formed in his own closet from books, certain systems of everything, argues tenaciously upon those principles, and is both surprised and angry at whatever deviates from them.  His theories are good, but, unfortunately, are all impracticable.  Why? because he has only read and not conversed.  He is acquainted