ty by my deafness, and dispirited by my ill health, where
could I be better? You will say, perhaps, where could you be worse? Only
in prison, or the galleys, I confess. However, I see a period to my stay
here; and I have fixed, in my own mind, a time for my return to London;
not invited there by either politics or pleasures, to both which I am
equally a stranger, but merely to be at home; which, after all, according
to the vulgar saying, is home, be it ever so homely.

The political settlement, as it is called, is, I find, by no means
settled; Mr. Fox, who took this place in his way to his brother's, where
he intended to pass a month, was stopped short by an express, which he
received from his connection, to come to town immediately; and
accordingly he set out from hence very early, two days ago. I had a very
long conversation with him, in which he was, seemingly at least, very
frank and communicative; but still I own myself in the dark. In those
matters, as in most others, half knowledge (and mine is at most that) is
more apt to lead one into error, than to carry one to truth; and our own
vanity contributes to the seduction. Our conjectures pass upon us for
truths; we will know what we do not know, and often, what we cannot know:
so mortifying to our pride is the bare suspicion of ignorance!

It has been reported here that the Empress of Russia is dying; this would
be a fortunate event indeed for the King of Prussia, and necessarily
produce the neutrality and inaction, at least, of that great power; which
would be a heavy weight taken out of the opposite scale to the King of
Prussia. The 'Augustissima' must, in that case, do all herself; for
though France will, no doubt, promise largely, it will, I believe,
perform but scantily; as it desires no better than that the different
powers of Germany should tear one another to pieces.

I hope you frequent all the courts: a man should make his face familiar
there. Long habit produces favor insensibly; and acquaintance often does
more than friendship, in that climate where 'les beaux sentimens' are not
the natural growth.

Adieu! I am going to the ball, to save my eyes from reading, and my mind
from thinking.

LETTERS TO HIS SON

LETTER CCV

BATH, January 12, 1757

MY DEAR FRIEND: I waited quietly, to see when either your leisure, or
your inclinations, would al low you to honor me with a letter; and at
last I received one this morning, very near a fortnight after