After this true picture of myself, in which I have struggled to exert the noble impartiality and candour which shine in all your writings, my first care is, sir, to acknowledge the infinite obligations you have conferred upon me by your kind letter. I have translated the P. S. to send it to my friend. The esteem of such a man must be the best balm for his wounded heart. But I am afraid he will not accept the glorious support you are so good as to offer him. I fear that the weight of his calamities has impaired his health, and he cannot sustain the fatigues of a long journey. In his last letter to me, he expresses a resolution never to see England upon that account. Nevertheless, I am informed since, that new persecutions may possibly determine him to alter his mind. An irregular trial has deprived him of the natural rights in his own country. The commonwealth of Berne, from the example of Geneva and France, has burnt his book, and he has been reduced to leave in a hurry the asylum that a friend had proffered him there. Such are the grievous misfortunes of this virtuous and unhappy man. I pity, I love him, and wish earnestly to sooth the sorrows under which he labours. Nevertheless, sir, I would fain also vindicate the honour of my nation in the eyes of so good a judge as you are. The reflection you cast upon it gives uneasiness; but mistrusting greatly my capacity, I fear to betray the cause I would defend by an enterprise so unequal to my force. I dare only to say, that your happy country has not attained in a moment the perfect constitution which gives us admiration. All convenient and well-calculated laws are not framed at once; and those most exceptionable, while they stand, deserve obedience and respect.
Is it possible, sir, that this late unhappy event could deprive of the honour of your presence, a country filled with your fervent admirers, and where every one will endeavour to outdo each other in expressing the veneration and regard you so justly deserve? I hope you will not keep this severe resolution. If we want a liberty you think an advantage, 'tis a reason to pity, and not to punish us. Besides, your case and that of M. Rousseau, though both foreigners in France, are quite different. Few days before I received your letter, I heard that it was a friend of mine who has favoured me with your last performance. I am infinitely obliged to him for this gracious gift, and to you, sir, for your good intention.