[? November 1734]

My dear friend, y^r letter has been to me one of the kindest comforts I have receiv'd, in my long tribulation.
I do not call this mine adventure, by its proper name. For a misfortune that has brought to me so many marks of the greatest friendship, is rather a happiness than a misfortune. I never was so well help'd by all my acquaintances. There was a sort of conspiracy amongst my friends against my enemies, but I assure you nothing has reliev'd me much, nothing has been more acceptable to me, than the new assurances of y^r tenderness. You tell me you are ready to leave England, and to come to me. Is it very true? Can you give me such a token of y^r heart? Come then, but come to Paris, I will be there in all likelihood towards Christmas. You know I have a little house where there is a pretty apartment that I may give to a friend; what hinders you from gratifying me with y^r presence? Have you not been long enough in the damp air of London?

Had I consulted but my love for liberty, and my desire of living with you, certainly I had posted away to Covent-garden and to Russel street. But I was nail'd up in France, by all the services, my friends have done to me. I could not without ingratitude forsake my own affairs of which they have taken so constant and so usefull a care. Had it not been for this, depend upon I would have pass'd the rest of my days in London, but as long as I am lov'd so earnestly by some people in France it will be impossible for me to seek for another azylum. Where there is friendship, there is our naturel soïl. Come then, and renew with me the tyes of that sacred and unalterable virtue. Let not be y^r proposal a transient enthousiasm of a tender soul, but the firm resolution of a strong and a virtuous mind. Come my dear, I conjure you to do it. It is most certain I have but few years to live, do not debarr me from the pleasure of passing these moments with you.

I have wrote many things that I long to show to you. The satisfaction a true friend may receive from the communication of my thoughts, is beyond the vain applauses of the publik.

Have you seen the little, and too little book writ by Montesquieu on the decadence of the empire? They call it the decadence of Montesquieu. It is true the book is very far from being what he ought to be, but yet there many things in it which deserve to be read, and that makes me angry with the author for having so lightly treated of so great a matter. This books is full of hints, is less a book than an ingenious table des matières writ in an odd stile. But to enlarge fully upon such a subject requires liberty. An author at London may give a full career to his thoughts, here he must stint them. We have here but the tenth part of our soul. Farewell, my soul is entirely attach'd to y^r.

Write me by the next post at the same adress. Let me know wether, the autor of the pour et contre is at London. Have you any news about literature? Farewell, I am y^r for ever.