hat as for
Mademoiselle John, he knew her merit and her circumstances; and asks,
whether it is a sign of madness to have a due regard for the one, and a
just compassion for the other. I will not tire you with enumerating any
more instances of the poor man's frenzy; but conclude this subject with
pitying him, and poor human nature, which holds its reason by so
precarious a tenure. The lady, who you tell me is set out, 'en sera pour
la seine et les fraix du voyage', for her note is worth no more than her
contract. By the way, she must be a kind of 'aventuriere', to engage so
easily in such an adventure with a man whom she had not known above a
week, and whose 'debut' of 10,000 roubles showed him not to be in his
right senses.

You will probably have seen General Yorke, by this time, in his way to
Berlin or Breslau, or wherever the King of Prussia may be. As he keeps
his commission to the States General, I presume he is not to stay long
with his Prussian Majesty; but, however, while he is there, take care to
write to him very constantly, and to give all the information you can.
His father, Lord Hardwicke, is your great puff: he commends your office
letters, exceedingly. I would have the Berlin commission your object, in
good time; never lose view of it. Do all you can to recommend yourself to
the King of Prussia on your side of the water, and to smooth your way for
that commission on this; by the turn which things have taken of late, it
must always be the most important of all foreign commissions from hence.

I have no news to send you, as things here are extremely quiet; so,
good-night.

LETTER CCXX

LONDON, April 25, 1758.

DEAR FRIEND: I am now two letters in your debt, which I think is the
first time that ever I was so, in the long course of our correspondence.
But, besides that my head has been very much out of order of late,
writing is by no means that easy thing that it was to me formerly. I find
by experience, that the mind and the body are more than married, for they
are most intimately united; and when the one suffers, the other
sympathizes. 'Non sum qualis eram': neither my memory nor my invention
are now what they formerly were. It is in a great measure my own fault; I
cannot accuse Nature, for I abused her; and it is reasonable I should
suffer for it.

I do not like the return of the impression upon your lungs; but the rigor
of the cold may probably have brought it upon you, and your lungs not in