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diff --git a/old/69855-0.txt b/old/69855-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 686dcee..0000000 --- a/old/69855-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8334 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Letters, sentences and maxims, by -Philip Dormer Stanhope (Lord Chesterfield) - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Letters, sentences and maxims - -Author: Philip Dormer Stanhope (Lord Chesterfield) - -Contributors: Charles Sayle - C. A. Sainte-Beuve - -Release Date: January 22, 2023 [eBook #69855] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Turgut Dincer, Krista Zaleski and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS, SENTENCES AND -MAXIMS *** - - - -[Illustration: LORD CHESTERFIELD - -(Philip Dormer Stanhope).] - - - - - LETTERS, SENTENCES - AND MAXIMS - - By LORD CHESTERFIELD - - WITH A PREFATORY NOTE BY CHARLES SAYLE - AND A CRITICAL ESSAY BY C. A. SAINTE-BEUVE, - DE L’ACADEMIE FRANCAISE - - [Illustration] - - “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing; - Drink deep, or taste not the Castalian spring.” - - POPE. - - A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, - NEW YORK - - “Viewed as compositions, they appear almost unrivalled for - a serious epistolary style; clear, elegant, and terse, - never straining at effect, and yet never hurried into - carelessness.”--LORD MAHON, 1845. - - “In point of style, a finished classical work; they contain - instructions for the conduct of life that will never be - obsolete. Instinct with the most consummate good sense and - knowledge of life and business, and certainly nothing can be - more attractive than the style in which they are set before - their readers.”--_Quarterly Review_, vol. lxxvi., 1845. - - “Lord Chesterfield’s letters are, I will venture to - say, masterpieces of good taste, good writing, and good - sense.”--JOHN WILSON CROKER, 1846. - - - - -PREFATORY NOTE. - -BY CHARLES SAYLE. - - -It is a singular fate that has overtaken Lord Chesterfield. One of the -more important figures in the political world of his time; one of the -few Lord-Lieutenants of Ireland whose name was afterward respected -and admired; the first man to introduce Voltaire and Montesquieu to -England; and the personal acquaintance of men like Addison and Swift, -Pope and Bolingbroke; the ally of Pitt and the enemy of three Georges; -though he married a king’s daughter and took up the task of the world’s -greatest emperor; yet the record of his actions has passed away, and he -is remembered now only by an accident. - -Lord Chesterfield lives by that which he never intended for -publication, while that which he published has already passed from the -thoughts of men. It is one more example of the fact that our best work -is that which is our heart’s production. We have Lord Chesterfield’s -secret, and it bears witness to the strength of that part of him in -which an intellectual anatomist has declared him to be deficient--a -criticism which is but another proof of that which has been somewhere -said of him, that he has had the fate to be generally misunderstood. -Yet nothing is more certain than that Lord Chesterfield did not mean -to be anything but inscrutable. “Dissimilation is a shield,” he used -to say, “as secrecy is armor.” “A young fellow ought to be wiser than -he should seem to be, and an old fellow ought to seem wise whether he -really be so or not.” It is still worth while attempting to solve the -problem which is offered to us by his inscrutability, not only on its -own account, but because Lord Chesterfield is a representative spirit -of the eighteenth century.[1] - - -I. - -Philip Dormer Stanhope did not experience in his youth either of those -influences which are so important in the lives of most of us. His -mother died before he could know her, and his father was one of those -living nonentities whom his biographer sums up in saying that “We know -little more of him than that he was an Earl of Chesterfield.” Indeed, -what influence there may have been was of a negative kind, for he had, -if anything, an avowed dislike for his son. Naturally under these -conditions he had to endure the slings and arrows of fortune alone and -uncounselled. One domestic influence was allowed him in the mother of -his mother, whose face still looks out at us from the pages of Dr. -Maty, engraved by Bartolozzi from the original of Sir Peter Lely--a -face sweet, intellectual, open--over the title of Gertrude Savile, -Marchioness of Halifax. She it was who undertook, at any rate to some -small degree, the rearing of her daughter’s child. Lord Chesterfield is -rather a Savile than a Stanhope. - -He heard French from a Normandy nurse in his cradle, and he received, -when he grew a little older, “such a general idea of the sciences as -it is a disgrace to a gentleman not to possess.” But it is not till -he gets to Cambridge at the age of eighteen that we hear anything -definite. He writes to his tutor of former days, whom he seems to have -made a real friend, from Trinity Hall: - - “I find the college where I am infinitely the best in the - university; for it is the smallest, and filled with lawyers - who have lived in the world, and know how to behave. Whatever - may be said to the contrary, there is certainly very little - debauchery in the university, especially amongst people of - fashion, for a man must have the inclinations of a porter to - endure it here.” - -Thirty-six years later he draws for his son this picture of his -college-life: - - “As I make no difficulty of confessing my past errors, where - I think the confession may be of use to you, I will own that, - when I first went to the university, I drank and smoked, - notwithstanding the aversion I had to wine and tobacco, only - because I thought it genteel, and that it made me look a man.” - -This touch of nature it is interesting to find in one who gave so -much to the Graces. But to get at what he really did we may take the -following: - - “It is now, Sir, I have a great deal of business upon my hands; - for I spend an hour every day in studying civil law, and as - much in philosophy; and next week the blind man [Dr. Sanderson] - begins his lectures upon the mathematics; so that I am now - fully employed. Would you believe, too, that I read Lucian and - Xenophon in Greek, which is made easy to me; for I do not take - the pains to learn the grammatical rules; but the gentleman who - is with me, and who is a living grammar, teaches me them all as - I go along. I reserve time for playing at tennis, for I wish - to have the _corpus sanum_ as well as the _mens sana_: I think - the one is not good for much without the other. As for anatomy, - I shall not have an opportunity of learning it; for though a - poor man has been hanged, the surgeon who used to perform those - operations would not this year give any lectures, because, he - says, ... the scholars will not come. - - “Methinks our affairs are in a very bad way, but as I cannot - mend them, I meddle very little in politics; only I take a - pleasure in going sometimes to the coffee house to see the - pitched battles that are fought between the heroes of each - party with inconceivable bravery, and are usually terminated by - the total defeat of a few tea-cups on both sides.”[2] - -He only stayed in Cambridge two years, and then travelled abroad to -Flanders and Holland. He had just left The Hague when the news reached -him across the water which only then was not stale--Queen Anne was dead. - -It was the turning point of his career, for his great-uncle, who had -influence and position at the court, obtained for him from George I. -the post of Gentleman of the Bedchamber to the Prince of Wales. At the -same time he obtained a pocket-borough in Cornwall, and appeared in -the House of Commons. He was not yet of age, of which fact a friend in -the opposition politely and quietly informed him after he had made his -first speech. He was, therefore, not only debarred from voting, but -liable to a fine of £500. He made a low bow, left the House, and posted -straightway to Paris. - -He was not there long. Advancing months soon removed the objection of -age, and we find him again frequently in the House. His position on -the Schism and Occasional Conformity Bills was one which he himself -in after years regretted. He was still, however, swimming with the -stream, and the stream led on to fortune. In 1723 he was made Captain -of the Yeomen of the Guards, and two years later, when the Order of -the Bath was revived, was offered by the King the red ribbon. But this -he refused; and not contented with so much discourtesy, objected to -others accepting it. He wrote a ballad on Sir William Morgan, who had -received the same offer. The ballad came to the ears of the King; and -for this, or for other reasons, Stanhope the courtier lost his place. - -At this juncture two changes took place, to him of equal importance. -George I. died and brought Stanhope’s former master to the throne; and -Lord Chesterfield died, leaving his son his title. The latter event -raised him to the House of Lords--the Hospital for Incurables, as Lord -Chesterfield calls it. The former should have raised him to higher -office still; but that policy of scheming for which Lord Chesterfield -has become almost as famous as Macchiavelli in this case played him -false. Believing that where marriage begins, love, as a necessary -consequence, ends, he had paid all his attentions to the new King’s -mistress, while he was still Prince of Wales, and none to his queen. -And Caroline of Anspach took precaution that when George II. came to -the throne the courtier’s negligence should be treated as it deserved. -Thus at the age of thirty-three, while still a young man, Chesterfield -was cut off from the Court: and he was already in opposition to -Walpole. The King as a subterfuge offered him the post of Ambassador -to Holland, and the offended courtier was thus removed. But political -events were moving rapidly, and in two years’ time it was rumored that -Chesterfield would be reinstated in favor. The King, however, was still -obdurate, and instead of Secretary of State he was made High Steward of -the Household. Chesterfield remained in Holland, gambling and watching -events. “I find treating with two hundred sovereigns of different -tempers and professions,” he writes, “is as laborious as treating with -one fine woman, who is at least of two hundred minds in one day.” - -The game went on for a year more. Then he was by his own wish recalled. -On the 2d of May of this same year he was presented with a son by -Mme. Du Bouchet. “A beautiful young lady at The Hague,” says one -writer, “set her wits against his and suffered the usual penalty; she -fell, and this son was the result.” This son was the object of all -Lord Chesterfield’s care and affection. It was to him that his now -famous letters were written. The father, we find, on his return to -England, in the House talking indefatigably as ever. It was the year of -Walpole’s Excise Bill which was to have freed the country by changing -the system of taxation from direct to indirect methods. It was a good -measure and a just one. Every part of Walpole’s scheme has been since -carried into effect. But then there was a general cry raised against -it. The liberties of the people, it was said, were being attacked. -Chesterfield, with the rest of the Patriots, and with the country -behind them, fought hard, and the Bill was dropped (11th April, 1731). -Two days afterward, going up the steps of St. James’ Palace, he was -stopped by a servant in the livery of the Duke of Grafton, who told him -that his master must see him immediately. He drove off at once in the -Duke’s carriage, and found that he was to surrender the White Staff. He -demanded an audience at Court, obtained it, and was snubbed. Of course -he left it immediately. - -We could have wished perhaps that Lord Chesterfield’s affection and -character had prevented him from falling--especially so soon after -the affair at The Hague--into so unpraiseworthy an undertaking as a -_mariage de convenance_. Yet whether it was to spite his royal enemy, -or because in financial difficulties he remembered the existence of -the will of George I.--or even from love; at any rate in the following -year he married, in lawful wedlock, Melusina de Schulenberg, whom, -though merely the “niece” of the Duchess of Kendale, George the -First had thought fit to create Lady Walsingham and the possessor by -his will of £20,000. Scandal or truth has been very busy about the -relationship of Lady Walsingham and her aunt. Posterity openly declares -her to have been the daughter of that lady by a royal sire. But good -Dr. Maty, as though by the quantity of his information, wishing to -override its quality, tells us that her father was none other than -one “Frederick Achatz de Schulenburg, privy counsellor to the Duke of -Brunswick-Lunenburg, Lord of Stehler, Bezendorff, Angern,” etc. But we -may well remember Lord Chesterfield’s own words here: “It is a happy -phrase that a lady has presented her husband with a son, for this does -not admit anything of its parentage.” Anyhow Lord Chesterfield lost the -money, for George the Second, on being shown his father’s will by the -Archbishop of Canterbury, put it in his pocket and walked hastily out -of the room. It never was seen again. - -But to have quarrelled with George II. had one recommendation. It made -him a friend of the Prince of Wales. No sooner was Lord Chesterfield -married than the Prince and Princess sent round their cards, and the -rest of their Court, of course, followed them. It seems to have been -Lord Chesterfield’s fate to be opposed to the reigning power. His -opposition now, however, was quite spontaneous. - -We need not follow him through all the political entanglements of the -time. Smollet said of him that he was the only man of genius employed -under Walpole, and though history has hardly justified such praise, -yet it certainly illustrates a truth. We may take his speech in 1737 -against the Playhouse Bill as a sample of his oratory. I borrow from -Lord Mahon: - -“[The speech] contains many eloquent predictions, that, should the Bill -be enacted, the ruin of liberty and the introduction of despotism would -inevitably follow. Yet even Chesterfield owns that ‘he has observed of -late a remarkable licentiousness in the stage. In one play very lately -acted (Pasquin[3]) the author thought fit to represent the three great -professions, religion, physic, and law as inconsistent with common -sense; in another (King Charles the First[4]), a most tragical story -was brought upon the stage--a catastrophe too recent, too melancholy, -and of too solemn a nature, to be heard of anywhere but from the -pulpit. How these pieces came to pass unpunished, I do not know.... The -Bill, my Lords, may seem to be designed only against the stage; but to -me it plainly appears to point somewhere else. It is an arrow that does -but glance upon the stage: the mortal wound seems designed against the -liberty of the press. By this Bill you prevent a play’s being acted, -but you do not prevent it being printed. Therefore if a license should -be refused for its being acted, we may depend upon it the play will be -printed. It will be printed and published, my Lords, with the refusal, -in capital letters, upon the title-page. People are always fond of what -is forbidden. _Libri prohibiti_ are, in all countries, diligently and -generally sought after. It will be much easier to procure a refusal -than it ever was to procure a good house or a good sale; therefore we -may expect that plays will be wrote on purpose to have a refusal; this -will certainly procure a good house or a good sale. Thus will satires -be spread and dispersed through the whole nation; and thus every man in -the kingdom may, and probably will, read for sixpence what a few only -could have seen acted for half a crown. We shall then be told, What! -will you allow an infamous libel to be printed and dispersed, which you -will not allow to be acted? If we agree to the Bill now before us, we -must, perhaps, next session, agree to a Bill for preventing any plays -being printed without a license. Then satires will be wrote by way of -novels, secret histories, dialogues, or under some such title; and -thereupon we shall be told, What! will you allow an infamous libel to -be printed and dispersed, only because it does not bear the title of -a play? Thus, my Lords, from the precedent now before us, we shall be -induced, nay, we can find no reason for refusing, to lay the press -under a general license, and then we may bid adieu to the liberties of -Great Britain.’”[5] Of course it is impossible from single passages, -even perhaps from single speeches, to infer that he was ever a great -orator, but Horace Walpole has declared one of his speeches the finest -that he had ever listened to, and, as Lord Mahon justly observes, -“Horace Walpole had heard his own father; had heard Pitt; had heard -Pulteney; had heard Windham; had heard Carteret; yet he declares in -1743 that the finest speech he had ever listened to was one from Lord -Chesterfield.” - -He was, with the other “Patriots,” in clamoring for war with Spain, -pursuing Walpole with an opposition which has been characterized as -“more factious and unprincipled than any that had ever disgraced -English politics” (Green). In 1739, it will be remembered, Walpole -bowed to the storm. The following extract from _An Ode to a Number of -Great Men_, published in 1742, will show underneath its virulence who -were expected to take the lead: - - “But first to C[arteret] fain you’d sing, - Indeed he’s nearest to the king, - Yet careless how to use him, - Give him, I beg, no labor’d lays, - He will but promise if you praise, - And laugh if you abuse him. - - “Then (but there’s a vast space betwixt) - The new-made E[arl] of B[ath] comes next, - Stiff in his popular pride: - His step, his gait describe the man, - They paint him better than I can, - Wabbling from side to side. - - “Each hour a different face he wears, - Now in a fury, now in tears, - Now laughing, now in sorrow, - Now he’ll command, and now obey, - Bellows for liberty to-day, - And roars for power to-morrow. - - “At noon the Tories had him tight, - With staunchest Whigs he supped at night, - Each party thought to have won him: - But he himself did so divide, - Shuffled and cut from side to side, - That now both parties shun him. - - “More changes, better times this isle - Demands, oh! Chesterfield, Argyll, - To bleeding Britain bring ’em; - Unite all hearts, appease each storm, - ’Tis yours such actions to perform, - My pride shall be to sing ’em.” - -Affairs in Holland again compelled him to seek that Court, and it is -thence that he was summoned to Ireland in 1744. “Make Chenevix an Irish -Bishop,” he had written. “We cannot,” was the reply, “but any other -condition.” “Then make me Lord-Lieutenant,” he wrote back. They took -him at his word, and Chenevix soon obtained his place. - -Chesterfield had always looked forward to the post with longing. “I -would rather be called the Irish Lord-Lieutenant,” he had said, “than -go down to Posterity as the Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland.” It was, as -has been truly observed, the most brilliant and useful part of his -career. I shall be pardoned for quoting again from Mahon. “It was -he who first, since the revolution, had made that office a post of -active exertion. Only a few years before the Earl of Shrewsbury had -given as a reason for accepting it, that it was a place where a man -had business enough to hinder him from falling asleep, and not enough -to keep him awake. Chesterfield, on the contrary, left nothing undone -nor for others to do.... [He] was the first to introduce in Dublin -the principle of impartial justice. It is very easy, as was formerly -the case, to choose the great Protestant families as managers; to see -only through their eyes, and to hear only through their ears; it is -very easy, according to the modern fashion, to become the tool and the -champion of Roman Catholic agitators; but to hold the balance even -between both; to protect the Establishment, yet never wound religious -liberty; to repress the lawlessness, yet not chill the affection of -that turbulent but warm-hearted people; to be the arbiter, not the -slave of parties; this is the true object worthy that a statesman -should strive for, and fit only for the ablest to attain! ‘I came -determined,’ writes Chesterfield many years afterward, ‘to proscribe no -set of persons whatever; and determined to be governed by none. Had the -Papists made any attempt to put themselves above the law, I should have -taken good care to have quelled them again. It was said that my lenity -to the Papists had wrought no alteration, either in their religion or -political sentiments. I did not expect that it would; but surely there -was no reason of cruelty toward them.’... So able were the measures of -Chesterfield; so clearly did he impress upon the public mind that his -moderation was not weakness, nor his clemency cowardice, but that, to -quote his own words, ‘his hand should be as heavy as Cromwell’s upon -them if they once forced him to raise it.’ So well did he know how to -scare the timid, while conciliating the generous, that this alarming -period [1745] passed over with a degree of tranquillity such as Ireland -has not often displayed even in orderly and settled times. This just -and wise--wise because just--administration has not failed to reward -him with its meed of fame; his authority has, I find, been appealed to -even by those who, as I conceive, depart most widely from his maxims; -and his name, I am assured, lives in the honored remembrance of the -Irish people, as perhaps, next to Ormond, the best and worthiest in -their long Viceregal line.” - -We know that it was a complete success, so far as it went. But he held -the post only for four years. He had held the highest offices, he had -attained his highest wishes; yet his membership in the Cabinet had been -made nominal rather than real, and his power was ever controlled by the -hand of the King. Nowhere, in whatever direction he might care to turn -his eyes along the political landscape, could he see anything but what -was rotten and revolting. In 1748 he retired. - -We cannot call his political career an unsuccessful one. It was -probably as brilliant as it was possible for a man of his parts to -enjoy. He was a good talker and an incomparable ambassador. His action -in Holland had permanent influence on the politics of Europe. But -indeed, if he had been freed from the opposition of a profligate Court -and all that it entailed; if, as has been implied by some, he would -have been a greater man had not the death of his father driven him -into the House of Lords; if he would then have risen to be anything -greater than a second-rate Minister: this we may doubt. Yet we are not -entitled to draw an estimate of his character before we have studied -its other side. - -Chesterfield did not entirely give up attendance or even speaking at -the House, but his energies henceforward were devoted to literary -rather than political matters. One further act he performed before -he left for good; he carried out three years later the reform of the -English Calendar, an account of which he gives in one of his letters, -and I cannot equal his words.[6] This was the last important public -event in his life. Next year he was attacked with deafness, which -incapacitated him of necessity from affairs. It does not seem that he -was ever sorry to leave them. Ever and anon the old political fire -breaks out, and we find him keeping an observant eye on the course -of events. But he was thoroughly despondent of the prestige and -ascendancy of England by the time of the outbreak of the Seven Years’ -War. “Nation!” he had cried, “we are no longer a nation.” We find him -sympathizing with Wilkes, and to the end on the side of Pitt. But about -1765 his letters begin to bear the mark of decrepitude, and his brains -to be unable to cope with the situations that arose. - - “I see and hear these storms from shore, _suave mari magno, - &c._ I enjoy my own security and tranquillity, together with - better health than I have reason to expect at my age and with - my constitution: however, I feel a gradual decay, though a - gentle one; and I think I shall not tumble, but slide gently - to the bottom of the hill of life. When that will be I neither - know nor care, for I am very weary.” - -And in the following August, anticipating alike the autumn of his life -and of the year, he writes: - - “I feel this beginning of the autumn, which is already very - cold; the leaves are withered, fall apace, and seem to intimate - that I must follow them, which I shall do without reluctance, - being extremely weary of this silly world.”--(Letter CCCLV.) - -Yet even a year later we find him giving dinner parties to the Duke of -Brunswick, and wishing that he had both the monarchs of Austria and -Prussia, that they should, “together with some of their allies, take -Lorraine and Alsace from France.” (Letter CCCLXIV.) For a few more -years he lingered on, gardening, reading, and writing, and then in -1773, almost alone, he parted with “this silly world.” - - -II. - -I have omitted from this sketch of Lord Chesterfield’s political life -any reference to the literary side of his character. I have, however, -spoken of his friendship with Voltaire. Voltaire came to England in -the same year that Chesterfield’s father died, to obtain, among other -things, a publisher for the _Henriade_. Chesterfield and Bolingbroke -at once took him up and introduced him into high places.[7] Voltaire -never forgot him nor the services which he had rendered; and one of the -most charming lights thrown upon the end of Lord Chesterfield’s career -is in a letter from the old sage of Ferney to his friend of younger -days, now grown old as himself. Chesterfield was always a great admirer -of Voltaire’s, though by no means a blind one: - - “I strongly doubt,” he writes, “whether it is permissible for - a man to write against the worship and belief of his country, - even if he be fully persuaded of its error, on account of the - terrible trouble and disorder it might cause; but I am sure - it is in no wise allowable to attack the foundations of true - morality, and to break unnecessary bonds which are already too - weak to keep men in the path of duty.” - -But differences upon points of morality and religion did not prevent -his having an immense regard for Voltaire’s genius. - -There is yet the other transaction in which Lord Chesterfield was -engaged, and it will probably be as long remembered against him as the -letters--his ill-famed treatment of Dr. Johnson. It is too well known -how Johnson came to his door, and how Chesterfield, who could never -be impolite, received the ill-mannered Doctor. But either the Earl -objected to having the old man annoying his guests at table, or else -he was not sufficiently pressing with his money; anyhow, the Doctor -felt repelled, left off calling, and never sought another patron. -Years afterward, when he brought out his Dictionary (1755), there was -a letter prefixed to the first edition, entitled “The Blast of Doom, -proclaiming that patronage shall be no more.” Boswell solicited the -Doctor for many years to give him a copy, but he did not do so until -1781, and then gave it from memory: - - “... Seven years, my lord, have passed since I waited in your - outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door; during which - time I have been pushing on my work under difficulties, of - which it is useless to complain, and have brought it to the - verge of publication without one act of assistance, one word of - encouragement, or one smile of favor. Such treatment I did not - expect; for I never had a patron before.... - - “Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with unconcern on a - man struggling for life in the water, and, when he has reached - ground, encumbers him with help? The notice you have been - pleased to take of my labors, had it been early, had been kind; - but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy - it; till I am solitary and cannot impart it; till I am known - and do not want it. I hope it is no very cynical asperity not - to confess obligations, where no benefit has been received; or - to be unwilling that the public should consider me as owing - that to a patron which providence has enabled me to do for - myself. - - “Having carried on my work thus far, with so little obligation - to any favorer of learning, I shall not be disappointed, though - I should conclude it, if possible, with less; for I have been - long wakened from that dream of hope in which I once boasted - myself with so much exaltation, my lord, your lordship’s most - humble and most obedient servant, - - “SAMUEL JOHNSON.” - -Such a transaction is but little to the praise of Lord Chesterfield, -who would have posed as the Mæcenas of the eighteenth century. But -there the matter rests. It is another proof of what the Earl was not, -but with the slightest bend of his body might have been. He lost the -Dedication to one of the greatest achievements of the time. - - -III. - -Let us turn to Lord Chesterfield’s son. Sainte-Beuve says of him--he -was “one of those ordinary men of the world of whom it suffices to say -there is nothing to be said.” But there is so much melancholy interest -attaching to his history that we may well try to discern some of the -features of the youth. No portrait of Philip Stanhope, so far as I -am aware, has ever been given to the public, though we know from his -father’s letters that one, if not more than one, was executed at Venice -during his stay there, so that I am unable, as yet, to surmise anything -from physical feature of form and angle. We know that his father sent -him to Westminster School, and that there he was slovenly and dirty. -Of his intellectual qualities we hear nothing. His father’s letter to -the boy, then sixteen, is subtle: - - “Since you do not care to be an Assessor of the Imperial - Chamber, and desire an establishment in England, what do you - think of being Greek Professor at one of our Universities? It - is a very pretty sinecure, and requires very little knowledge - (much less than, I hope, you have already) of that language. If - you do not approve of this, I am at a loss to know what else to - propose to you.” - -The old earl, six months later, added as follows: - - “The end I propose by your education, and which (_if you - please_) I shall certainly attain, is, to unite in you all the - knowledge of a scholar, with the manners of a courtier, and to - join what is seldom joined in any of my countrymen, Books and - the World. They are commonly twenty years old before they have - spoken to anybody above their schoolmaster, and the Fellows - of their College. If they happen to have learning, it is only - Greek and Latin; but not one word of Modern History or Modern - Languages. Thus prepared, they go abroad, as they call it; but, - in truth, they stay at home all that while; for, being very - awkward, confoundedly ashamed, and not speaking the languages, - they go into no foreign company, at least none good, but dine - and sup with one another at the tavern. Such example, I am sure - you will not imitate, but carefully avoid.” - -Young Stanhope went abroad with a tutor, Mr. Harte, to the chief towns, -first, of Germany, followed everywhere by letters from his father, -though, as his father says in one of them, “God knows whether to any -purpose or not.” He never escaped from the paternal care. Wherever you -are “I have Arguses with a hundred eyes,” his father told him. The -boy was affectionately fond of his father, though he did not inherit -his father’s epistolary taste. Yet we find him on corresponding terms -with Lady Chesterfield. He was inclined to be stout, a fault which -his father tells him to remedy by abstaining from Teutonic beer. He -wore long hair. “I by no means agree to your cutting off your hair.” -(Stanhope had suggested this as a remedy for headaches.) “Your own -hair is at your age such an ornament; and a wig, however well made, -such a disguise that I will upon no account whatever have you cut -off your hair.” We hear that he was already within two inches of his -father’s height. Boswell met him at Dresden, and has left us the -following picture of him:--“Mr. Stanhope’s character has been unjustly -represented as being diametrically opposed to what Lord Chesterfield -wished him to be. He has been called dull, gross, awkward, but I knew -him at Dresden when he was envoy to that Court, and though he could not -boast of the Graces, he was, in fact, a sensible, civil, well-behaved -man.” And what he was as envoy he seems to have been all his life. -Lord Chesterfield sent him to Berlin first,[8] and Turin afterward, -as there was to be found the next fittest training in Europe at that -Court. Nothing could exceed his father’s care in warning him against -such dangers as usually attend Court life. Against evils of all kind he -cautions and guards him. Yet there is this continual insistence on the -Graces. “The Graces! The Graces!” he writes, “Remember the Graces! I -would have you sacrifice to the Graces.” By no means must a man neglect -the Graces if he would pursue his object, the object of getting on. - -After all this schooling he went to Paris, and seems to have made a -tolerable _début_. There must have been a strange measuring up of -qualities when father and son met. At twenty-two Lord Chesterfield -obtained for him a seat in the House, but he was never a brilliant -speaker. He, like the younger Pitt, was a parliamentary experiment; but -it was not given to Stanhope to succeed. In 1757 he goes to Hamburg. -Two years later his health broke down, and he came to England. But -feeling better again, in 1763 he obtained a post at Ratisbon, whence -he was once summoned to vote in the English Parliament. Next year he -went to Dresden as envoy, but there his constitution was ruined, and he -set off for Berlin, and afterward for France. In the spring of 1767 he -returned to Dresden, fancying himself better, but in the following year -the old symptoms returned, and he died on the 17th of October, 1768, -near Avignon. It was then only that his father discovered he was the -father of two children--by a secret marriage. And these, together with -their mother, were thrown upon Lord Chesterfield for support. It is -one of the examples of his characteristic traits that he supported and -loved all three. There is no more charming pendant to the whole series -of letters than a short one of three paragraphs which he wrote to the -two children of his illegitimate son only two years before he left them -forever. - -Here my biographical notice of the three generations ends. But -the lives of father and son will ever remain full of interest and -suggestion to those who would study human character. - -There are several portraits of the Earl of Chesterfield. The most -striking, and at the same time probably the most faithful which we -have, is that by Bartolozzi in the _Maty Memoirs_. It is clear, mobile, -and benevolent. The features are very large, and the eyes of that cold -meditative species which look as though they were the altar stone of -that fire of wit and quaint humor which we know he possessed. It is a -fine intellectual, if somewhat too receding, forehead, with protruding -temples and clear-cut eyebrows; the nose prominent, and the mouth -pronounced. There is a great diversity however in the portraits, -and he seems sometimes to have been unable to hide the traits of -sensuality. Yet, on the whole, it is as inscrutable as his own scheming -diplomatic soul could ever have wished for its earthly representative -in clay. - - -IV. - -If we ask ourselves what is the moral of the Letters, and what is -their significance, we are met with a varied reply. We have here the -outpourings of a man’s soul _in penetralibus_. As such the book stands -for its time unique. Chesterfield, when he wrote these letters, was not -actuated by the criticisms of Grub Street, nor indeed any criticisms. -He never for a moment dreamt that his letters would be published, and -they are therefore bereft of that stifling self-consciousness which is -the bane of so many writers. It is this which makes so frequently a -man’s letters more living than his published works, at any rate more -real. So far, of course, Lord Chesterfield shares this distinction with -other writers. But his letters are noteworthy for more than this. They -combine with it a complete system of education, a system which was -thought out without opposition and expressed without fear. In such a -case, of course, we do not look for style; but so perfect and so equal -was the man that we are even told that these letters are not exceeded -in style by anything in the language.[9] - -Manuals, of course, there have been many. In the age gone by there -had been Walsingham’s, there had been Burghley’s _Advice_, there had -been Sir Walter Raleigh’s; but from the time that Cicero wrote his -_De Officiis_ for his own child down to these, we come upon but few -of this sort. There had been Castiglione’s _Cortegiano_, and in a few -years Della Casa’s _Galateo_; there is Roger Ascham’s _Scholemaster_. -Chesterfield had found much to his taste and method in the _Moral -Reflections_ of La Rochefoucauld and the _Characters_ of La Bruyère. -In England had just appeared Locke’s _Essay on Education_, and this he -sends for his son to read.[10] In 1759 Lessing and Wieland were writing -on the same subject; and in 1762 Rousseau published _Emile_. Everywhere -education was, to use a common phrase, in the air. Chesterfield loved -his son passionately and unremittingly. He had been much in France, -and admired the French nation; and he determined that his son should -combine the good qualities of both nationalities--the ideal statesman -and the ideal polished man of society. He did not forget that on -Philip Stanhope would ever remain the brand of the bar sinister; but -we may well believe that this was only one more daring reason for the -experiment which he chose to make. He was playing for high stakes, and -he was not careless of the issue. “My only ambition,” he writes in -1754, “remaining is to be the counsellor and minister of your rising -ambition. Let me see my own youth revived in you; let me be your -mentor, and I promise you, with your parts and knowledge you shall go -far.”--(Letter CCLXXIV.) - -It is seldom that we have such a continuous series of original letters -as these. From the first _badinage_ to his son, then five years old, -who was then in Holland, in which he explains what a republic is, and -how clean is Holland in comparison with London; from the times when -he explains how Poetry is made, and who the Muses are, and sends his -little son accounts of all the Greek and Roman legends; from the times -when he writes, “Let us return to our Geography that we may amuse -ourselves with maps;” and in the middle of a letter of affection, -having mentioned Cicero, starts off “apropos of him,” and gives his -little son his whole history, and that of Demosthenes after him; to -the times when the boy is able to retort on him for inconsistency in -calling Ovidius Ovid, and not calling Tacitus Tacit; through all his -explanations of what Irony is and is not; through his pedantic “by the -ways;” his definitions (_pace_ Professor Freeman) of Ancient and Modern -History; his sarcasms and his descriptions: down to the time when his -advice is about quadrille tables and ministers and kings, the series is -absolutely unbroken and of unflagging interest. - -They are at the best, as he says himself, “what one man of the world -writes to another.” “I am not writing poetry,” he says, “but useful -reflections.” “Surely it is of great use to a young man before he -starts out for a country full of mazes, windings and turnings, to have -at least a good map of it by some experienced traveller.” And so the -old man gives us his map of life as he had seen it. It is exactly the -same estimate in result as Cicero gave in the _De Oratore_: “Men judge -most things under the influence of either hate, or love, or desire, -or anger, or grief, or joy, or hope, or fear, or error, or some other -passion, than by truth, or precepts, or standard of right, or justice, -or law.” - - “The proper study of mankind is man,” - -and if we disapprove of the morality of Cicero and his epoch no less -than of Chesterfield’s, we must yet remember that in the one instance, -as in the other, their precepts were the purveyors of very soundest -advice. His standard is, as has been already pointed out, that of the -eighteenth century. “Be wiser than other people if you can; but do -not tell them so.” “It is an active, cheerful, seducing good breeding -which must gain you the good-will and first sentiments of the men and -affections of the women. You must carefully watch and attend to their -passions, their tastes, their little humors and weaknesses, and _aller -au devant_.” “Make love to the most impertinent beauty that you meet -with, and be gallant with all the rest.” - -It would be a not uninteresting task to see how many of his moral -sentiments would stand fire at the present day. We know all the facts -of his life, and we have here his opinions on nearly every matter. His -opinions are as concise as they are outspoken. “The best of us have -had our bad sides, and it is as imprudent as it is ill-bred to exhibit -them,”[11] he says. It is this absence of ceremony which makes him so -living and real. Even in Dr. Johnson’s time the merit as well as the -demerit of this series of letters had been settled for the standard of -that day. “Take out the immorality,” said the worthy Doctor, “and it -should be put into the hands of every young gentleman.” - -The training to which he subjected his son was in many ways admirable. -Rise regularly, however late o’ nights; work all the morning; take -exercise in the afternoon; and see good company in the evening. The -impressing of this advice upon his son has left us in the possession of -one of the most charming examples of Lord Chesterfield’s most playful -style.--(Letter CLXI.) - -Lord Chesterfield was all for modern to the disadvantage of a classical -education. Learn all the modern history and modern languages you can, -and if at the same time you can throw in a little Latin and Greek, so -much the better for you. Roman history study as much as you will, for -of all ancient histories it is the most instructive, and furnishes -most examples of virtue, wisdom, and courage. History is to be studied -morally, he says, but not _only_ so. - -When we turn to his judgment of the ancients we are considerably -startled. He seems to have preferred Voltaire’s _Henriade_ to any -epic. “Judge whether,” he writes, “I can read all Homer through _tout -de suite_. I admire his beauties; but, to tell you the truth, when he -slumbers I sleep. Virgil, I confess, is all sense, and therefore I like -him better than his model; but he is often languid, especially in his -five or six last books, during which I am obliged to take a good deal -of snuff....” - -If his views on Milton should be known, he adds, he would be abused by -every tasteless pedant and every solid divine in England. His criticism -of Dante it will be best for the reader to discover. - -The weightier questions and the weightiest he pushed altogether aside. -“I don’t speak of religion,” he writes. “I am not in a position to do -so--the excellent Mr. Harte will do that.” At any rate, Chesterfield -knew his own ground. Incidentally we find his position cropping -up. “The reason of every man is, or ought to be, his guide; and I -should have as much right to expect every man to be of my height and -temperament as to wish that he should reason precisely as I do.” -It was the doctrine of the French school that he had adopted, with -something of a quietism of his own. “Let them enjoy quietly their -errors,” he says somewhere, “both in taste and religion.”[12] It would -be interesting to compare in these matters the relative positions of -Chesterfield and Bolingbroke. - -Of the movement headed by Wesley, as we have seen earlier in his -career, Chesterfield seems to have taken as little heed as the younger -Pliny did of the first holders of Wesley’s faith. - -It is a harder and more delicate question which we are met with in -discussing Lord Chesterfield’s position with regard to morality. -Johnson’s criticism of the _Letters_, that “they taught the morals of a -courtesan and manners of a dancing master,” even though epigrammatic, -yet bears within it traces of the sting which the lexicologist felt -about the matter of the Dedication. Of the Earl’s opinions we have -seen something in former extracts and in his own life. He speaks quite -openly--“I wish to speak as one man of pleasure does to another.” -“A polite arrangement,” he says elsewhere, “becomes a gallant man.” -Anything disgraceful or impolite he will not stand. - -Yet as a human Picciola does Lord Chesterfield guard the soul of his -son within its prison-house of life. He never speaks, however, to his -son _pulpitically_. It is ever as a wise counsellor: and his tendency -is always the same. - -It is suggestive of much to turn aside from the _petitesses_ of these -instructions to the thoughts which were occupying the brain of the -author of _Emilius_ about the same time. From very much the same -foundations and the same materials how different is the result! In the -one we breathe the fresh air of the country, of the rustic home and -the carpenter’s shop: in the other we are stifled by the perfumes of -the court-room and suffocated by tight lacing. In the one we are never -for a moment to wear a mask: in the other we are never for a moment to -move without it. Yet, though the one is built up of social theories by -an enthusiastic dreamer, and the other is a cold, practical experiment -by a man of the world, and “an imperfect man of action, whom politics -had made a perfect moralist,” there is the same verdict of failure to -be pronounced upon them both. Voltaire said of _Emilius_ that it was -a stupid romance, but admitted that it contained fifty pages which he -would have bound in morocco. Lord Chesterfield’s was no romance, but -its pages deserve perhaps as careful treatment. “It is a rich book,” -says Sainte-Beuve; “one cannot read a page without finding some happy -observation worthy of being mentioned.” Yet, as a system of education, -it is blasted with the foul air of the charnel-house. - - -V. - -If we look at the result we must pronounce his experiment no less a -failure. The odds were too heavy in the first instance, and a man of -less energy and stability than Lord Chesterfield would not have dared -to have played at such high stakes. He ought to have considered what -an infliction he was casting upon his son, and respected the feelings -of others rather than his own ambition. He has reaped the harvest which -he had sown. When Philip Stanhope tried to obtain an appointment at -the embassy in Brussels the Marquis de Botta made so much to do on -the ground of his illegitimacy that his claim was disallowed. When -there was a chance of his receiving an appointment at Venice, the king -objected on the same grounds. Not one word of displeasure is handed -down to us in these familiar letters, but we know that both felt it -deeply and never forgave. But even Philip Stanhope himself must have -disappointed his father. When his widow, with her two children, walked -up the hall of Chesterfield House, where the Earl sat alone in solitary -childless grandeur, it must have seemed a strange answer to the -question which he had asked Time some thirty-eight years before. He may -well have grown weary of sitting at the table at which he had staked -his all and lost. - -Vivacious, sincere, plain, and liberal-minded, his memory may well pass -down to posterity as that of a great man with mean aspirations. That -ambition was not wanting in his composition is true, and it was this -which encompassed his ruin. He reminds us of the melancholy structure -of S. Petronio at Bologna, begun in emulation of the Florentine Duomo -by the Bolognese. One sees the outline of the structure which was to -have been raised, but for two centuries it has stood uncompleted, a -monument to her greatness and her shame. - -Careless of the interests of those around him; careless and callous of -what was demanded of man by men; careless of speech so long as he could -create a _bon mot_ or a well-balanced phrase, Lord Chesterfield’s life -is characteristic of his time. - -Chesterfield, if we may make one more comparison, is like one of those -great trees that we see upon the banks of a river, which, while drawing -its nurture half from its native soil and the stream by its side, and -half from the sky above it, has had that very soil worn away by the -current of the stream, so that the tree, by its own natural weight and -under the force of adverse winds and circumstance, has bowed itself -over toward the waves, losing its natural height and grandeur for ever. - -Dead to the higher interests of humanity; dead to the deeper influences -which keep us sober and thoughtful and earnest; dead, again, to any -ideal save such as might serve his own designs:--such was the man who -deemed himself called upon, or fitted, to perform the sacred office of -Education to his darling child. - - - - -CRITICAL ESSAY. - -BY C. A. SAINTE-BEUVE.[13] - - -Each epoch has produced its treatise intended for the formation of the -_polite man_, the man _of the world_, the _courtier_, when men only -lived for courts, and the accomplished _gentleman_. In these various -treatises on knowledge of life and politeness, if opened after a -lapse of ages, we at once see portions which are as antiquated as the -cut and fashion of our forefathers’ coats; the _model_ has evidently -changed. But looking into it carefully as a whole, if the book has been -written by a sensible man with a true knowledge of mankind, we shall -find profit in studying these models which have been placed before -preceding generations. The letters that Lord Chesterfield wrote to his -son, and which contain a whole school of _savoir vivre_ and worldly -science, are interesting in this particular, that there has been no -idea of forming a model for imitation, but they are simply intended -to bring up a pupil in the closest intimacy. They are confidential -letters, which, suddenly produced in the light of day, have betrayed -all the secrets and ingenious artifices of paternal solicitude. If, -in reading them nowadays, we are struck with the excessive importance -attached to accidental and promiscuous circumstances, with pure details -of costume, we are not less struck with the durable part, with that -which belongs to human observation in all ages; and this last part is -much more considerable than at a superficial glance would be imagined. -In applying himself to the formation of his son as a _polite man_ in -society, Lord Chesterfield has not given us a treatise on _duty_ as -Cicero has; but he has left letters which, by their mixture of justness -and lightness, by certain lightsome airs which insensibly mingle with -the serious graces, preserve the medium between the _Mémoires of the -Chevalier de Grammont_ and _Télémaque_. - -Before going into detail, it will be necessary to know a little about -Lord Chesterfield, one of the most brilliant English wits of his time, -and one most closely allied to France. Philip Dormer Stanhope, Earl of -Chesterfield, was born in London on the 22d of September, 1694, the -same year as Voltaire. The descendant of an illustrious race, he knew -the value of birth, and wished to sustain its honor; nevertheless, -it was difficult for him not to laugh at genealogical pretensions -when carried too far. To keep himself from this folly, he had placed -amongst the portraits of his ancestors two old figures of a man and a -woman: beneath one was written, “_Adam_ de Stanhope”; and beneath the -other “_Eve_ de Stanhope.” Thus, while upholding the honor of race, he -put his veto upon chimerical vanities arising from it. - -His father paid no attention whatever to his education; he was placed -under the care of his grandmother, Lady Halifax. From a very early age -he manifested a desire to excel in everything, a desire which later he -did his utmost to excite in the breast of his son, and which for good -or ill is the principle of all that is great. It appears that, in his -early youth, he was without guidance, he was deceived more than once -in the objects of his emulation, and followed some ridiculous chimera. -He confesses that at one period of inexperience he gave himself up -to wine, and other excesses, for which he was not at all inclined by -nature, but it flattered his vanity to hear himself cited as a man -of pleasure. In this way he plunged into play (which he considered a -necessary ingredient in the composition of a young man of fashion), at -first without passion, but afterwards without being able to withdraw -himself from it, and by that means compromised his fortune for years. -“Take warning by my conduct,” said he to his son, “choose your own -pleasures, and do not let others choose them for you.” - -The desire to excel and to distinguish himself did not always lead him -astray, and he often applied it rightly; his first studies were the -best. Placed at the University of Cambridge, he studied all that was -there taught, civil law and philosophy; he attended the mathematical -classes of Saunderson, the blind professor, he read Greek fluently, and -sent accounts of his progress in French to his old tutor, M. Jouneau, -a French clergyman and refugee. Lord Chesterfield had, when a child, -learnt our tongue from a Norman nurse who attended him. When he visited -Paris the last time, in 1744, M. de Fontenelle having remarked a slight -Norman accent in his pronunciation, spoke of it to him, and asked him -if he had not first been taught French by a person from Normandy, which -turned out to be the case. - -After two years of university life, he made his Continental tour, -according to the custom of young Englishmen. He visited Holland, Italy, -and France. He wrote from Paris to M. Jouneau on the 7th of December, -1714, as follows: - -“I shall not tell you what I think of the French, because I am being -often taken for a Frenchman, and more than one of them has paid me the -highest possible compliment, by saying: ‘_Monsieur, you are quite one -of ourselves._’ I shall only tell you that I am impudent; that I talk a -great deal very loudly and with an air of authority; that I sing; that -I dance in my walk; and, finally, that I spend immense sums in powder, -feathers, white gloves, etc.” - -In this extract one recognizes the mocking, satirical, and slightly -_insolent_ wit, who makes his mark for the first time at the expense of -the French; he will do justice later to our serious qualities. In his -letters to his son, he has pictured himself the first day he made his -_entrée_ into good society, still covered with the rust of Cambridge, -shamefaced, embarrassed, silent; and, finally, forcing his courage -with both hands to say to a beautiful woman near him: “Madame, don’t -you find it very warm to-day?” But Lord Chesterfield told his son that -to encourage him, and to show what it is necessary to pass through. -He makes himself an example to embolden him, and to draw the boy more -readily to him. I shall be careful not to take his word for this -anecdote. If he was for a moment embarrassed in the world, the moment -was assuredly very short, nor was he much concerned with it. - -Immediately on the death of Queen Anne, Chesterfield hailed the -accession of the house of Hanover, of which he became an avowed -champion. He had at first a seat in the House of Commons, and made -his _début_ there with fair credit. But a circumstance, in appearance -frivolous, kept him, it is said, in check, and in some measure -paralyzed his eloquence. One of the members of the House, who was -distinguished by no talent of a superior order, had that of imitating -and counterfeiting to perfection the orators to whom he replied. -Chesterfield was afraid of ridicule; it was one of his weaknesses, -and he kept silence more than he otherwise would have done for fear -of giving occasion for the exercise of his colleague and opponent’s -talent. He inherited a large property on the death of his father, and -was raised to the Upper House, which was, perhaps, a better setting -for the grace, finish, and urbanity of his eloquence. He found no -comparison between the two scenes with regard to the importance of the -debates and the political influence to be acquired. - -“It is surprising,” he said later of Pitt, at the time when that great -orator consented to enter the Upper House as Lord Chatham, “it is -surprising that a man in the plenitude of his power, at the very moment -when his ambition has obtained the most complete triumph, should leave -the House which procured him that power, and which alone could ensure -its maintenance, to retire into that Hospital for Incurables, the House -of Lords.” - -It is not my intention here to estimate the political career of Lord -Chesterfield. Nevertheless, if I hazarded a judgment upon it as a -whole, I should say that his ambition was never wholly satisfied, and -that the brilliant distinctions with which his public life was filled, -covered, at bottom, many lost desires and the decay of many hopes. -Twice, in the two decisive circumstances of his political life, he -failed. Young, and in the first heat of ambition, he took an early -opportunity of staking his odds on the side of the heir presumptive -to the throne, who became George the Second. He was one of those who, -at the accession of that prince, counted most surely upon his favor, -and upon enjoying a share of power. But this clever man, wishing to -turn himself to the rising sun, knew not how to accomplish it with -perfect justice; he had paid court to the prince’s mistress, believing -in her destined influence, and he had neglected the legitimate wife, -the future queen, who alone had the real power. Queen Caroline never -pardoned him, and this was the first check in the political fortune of -Lord Chesterfield, then thirty-three years old, and in the full flush -of hope. He was in too great a hurry and took the wrong road. Robert -Walpole, less active, and with less apparent skill, took his measures -and made his calculations better. - -Thrown with _éclat_ into the opposition, especially from 1732, the time -when he had to cease his court duties, Lord Chesterfield worked with -all his might for ten years for the downfall of Walpole, which did not -take place until 1742. But even then he inherited none of his power, -and he remained out of the new ministries. When two years afterward, -in 1744, he became one of the administration, first as ambassador to -The Hague and Viceroy of Ireland, then as Secretary of State and member -of the Cabinet (1746-1748), the honor was more nominal than real. In -a word, Lord Chesterfield, at all times a noted politician in his own -country, whether as one of the chiefs of the opposition, or as a clever -diplomatist, was never a powerful, or even a very influential, minister. - -In politics he certainly possessed that far-sightedness and those -glimpses into the future which belong to very wide intelligence, but -he possessed those qualities to a much greater degree than the patient -perseverance and constant practical firmness that are so necessary -to the members of a government. It may truly be said of him, as of -Rochefoucauld, that politics served to make an accomplished moralist of -the imperfect man of action. - -In 1744, when he was only fifty years of age, his political ambition, -seemed, in part, to have died out, and the indifferent state of his -health led him to choose a private life. And then the object of his -secret ideal and his real ambition we know now. Before his marriage he -had, about the year 1732, by a French lady (Madame de Bouchet) whom -he met in Holland, a natural son to whom he was tenderly attached. -He wrote to this son, in all sincerity: “From the first day of your -life, the dearest object of mine has been to make you as perfect as -the weakness of human nature will allow.” Toward the education of this -son all his wishes, all his affectionate and worldly predilections -tended. And whether Viceroy of Ireland or Secretary of State in London, -he found time to write long letters full of minute details to him, to -instruct him in small matters and to perfect him in mind and manner. - -The Chesterfield, then, that we love especially to study is the man -of wit and experience, who knew all the affairs and passed through -all phases of political and public life only to find out its smallest -resources, and to tell us the last _mot_; he who from his youth was -the friend of Pope and Bolingbroke, the introducer into England of -Montesquieu and Voltaire, the correspondent of Fontenelle and Madame de -Teucin, he whom the Academy of Inscriptions placed among its members, -who united the wit of the two nations, and who, in more than one -intellectual essay, but particularly in his letters to his son, shows -himself to us as a moralist as amiable as he is consummate, and one -of the masters of life. It is the Rochefoucauld of England of whom -we speak. Montesquieu, after the publication of _L’Esprit des Lois_, -wrote to the Abbé de Guasco, who was then in England: “Tell my Lord -Chesterfield that nothing is so flattering to me as his approbation; -but that, though he is reading my work for the third time, he will -only be in a better position to point out to me what wants correcting -and rectifying in it; nothing could be more instructive to me than his -observations and his critique.” It was Chesterfield who, speaking to -Montesquieu one day of the readiness of the French for revolutions, -and their impatience at slow reforms, spoke this sentence, which is a -_résumé_ of our whole history: “You French know how to make barricades, -but you never raise barriers.” - -Lord Chesterfield certainly appreciated Voltaire; he remarked, _à -propos_ of the _Siècle de Louis XIV._: “Lord Bolingbroke had taught me -how to read history; Voltaire teaches me how it should be written.” -But, at the same time, with that practical sense which rarely abandons -men of wit on the other side of the Straits, he felt the imprudences -of Voltaire, and disapproved of them. When he was old, and living in -retirement, he wrote to a French lady on the subject thus: - -“Your good authors are my principal resource: Voltaire especially -charms me, with the exception of his impiety, with which he cannot help -seasoning all that he writes, and which he would do better carefully to -suppress, for one ought not to disturb established order. Let every one -think as he will, or rather as he can, but let him not communicate his -ideas if they are of a nature to trouble the peace of society.” - -What he said then, in 1768, Chesterfield had already said more than -twenty years previously, writing to the younger Crebillon, a singular -correspondent and a singular confidant in point of morality. Voltaire -was under consideration, on account of his tragedy of _Mahomet_, and -the daring ideas it contains: - -“What I do not pardon him for, and that which is not deserving of -pardon in him,” wrote Chesterfield to Crebillon, “is his desire to -propagate a doctrine as pernicious to domestic society as contrary to -the common religion of all countries. I strongly doubt whether it is -permissible for a man to write against the worship and belief of his -country, even if he be fully persuaded of its error, on account of the -trouble and disorder it might cause; but I am sure that it is in no -wise allowable to attack the foundations of true morality, and to break -necessary bonds which are already too weak to keep men in the path of -duty.” - -Chesterfield, in speaking thus, was not mistaken as to the great -inconsistency of Voltaire. His inconsistency, in a few words, was this: -Voltaire, who looked upon men as fools or children, and who could never -laugh at them enough, at the same time put loaded firearms into their -hands, without troubling himself as to the use they would put them to. - -Lord Chesterfield himself, in the eyes of the Puritans of his country, -has been accused, I should state here, of a breach of morality in the -letters addressed to his son. The strict Johnson, who was not impartial -on the subject, and who thought he had cause to complain against -Chesterfield, said, when the letters were published, that “they taught -the morals of a courtesan, and the manners of a dancing master.” - -Such a judgment is supremely unjust, and if Chesterfield, in particular -instances, insists upon graces of manner at any price, it is because he -has already provided for the more solid parts of education, and because -his pupil is not in the least danger of sinning on the side which makes -man _respectable_, but rather on that which renders him _agreeable_. -Although more than one passage in these letters may seem very strange, -coming from a father to a son, the whole is animated with a true spirit -of tenderness and wisdom. If Horace had had a son, I imagine he would -not have written to him very differently. - -The letters begin with the A B C of education and instruction. -Chesterfield teaches his son in French the rudiments of mythology and -history. I do not regret the publication of these first letters. He -lets slip some very excellent advice in those early pages. The little -Stanhope is no more than eight years old when his father suits a -little rhetoric to his juvenile understanding, and tries to show him -how to use good language, and to express himself well. He especially -recommends to him _attention_ in all that he does, and he gives the -word its full value. “It is attention alone,” he says, “which fixes -objects in the memory. There is no surer mark of a mean and meagre -intellect in the world than inattention. All that is worth the trouble -of doing at all deserves to be done well, and nothing can be well -done without attention.” This precept he incessantly repeats, and -varies the application of it as his pupil grows, and is in a condition -to comprehend it to its fullest extent. Whether pleasure or study, -everything one does must be done well, done entirely and at its proper -time, without allowing any distraction to intervene. “When you read -Horace pay attention to the accuracy of his thoughts, to the elegance -of his diction, and to the beauty of his poetry, and do not think of -the ‘_De Homine et Cive_’ of Puffendorf; and when you read Puffendorf -do not think of Madame de St. Germain; nor of Puffendorf when you speak -of Madame de St. Germain.” But this strong and easy subjugation of -the order of thought to the will only belongs to great or very good -intellects. M. Royer-Collard used to say that “what was most wanting in -our day was _respect_ in the moral disposition, and _attention_ in the -intellectual.” Lord Chesterfield, in a less grave manner, might have -said the same thing. He was not long in finding out what was wanting in -this child whom he wished to bring up; whose bringing up was, indeed, -the end and aim of his life. “On sounding your character to its very -depths,” he said to him, “I have not, thank God, discovered any vice -of heart or weakness of head so far; but I have discovered idleness, -inattention, and indifference, defects which are only pardonable in -the aged, who, in the decline of life, when health and spirits give -way, have a sort of right to that kind of tranquillity. But a young man -ought to be ambitious to shine and excel.” And it is precisely this -sacred fire, this lightning, that makes the Achilles, the Alexanders, -and the Cæsars _to be the first in every undertaking_, this motto -of noble hearts and of eminent men of all kinds, that nature had -primarily neglected to place in the honest but thoroughly mediocre -soul of the younger Stanhope: “You appear to want,” said his father, -“that _vivida vis animi_ which excites the majority of young men to -please, to strive, and to outdo others.” “When I was your age,” he -again says, “I should have been ashamed for another to know his lesson -better, or to have been before me in a game, and I should have had no -rest till I had regained the advantage.” All this little course of -education by letters offers a sort of continuous dramatic interest; we -follow the efforts of a fine distinguished, energetic nature as Lord -Chesterfield’s was, engaged in a contest with a disposition honest but -indolent, with an easy and dilatory temperament, from which it would, -at any expense, form a masterpiece accomplished, amiable and original, -and with which it only succeeded in making a sort of estimable copy. -What sustains and almost touches the reader in this strife, where so -much art is used, and where the inevitable counsel is the same beneath -all metamorphoses, is the true fatherly affection which animates and -inspires the delicate and excellent master, as patient as he is full of -vigor, lavish in resources and skill, never discouraged, untiring in -sowing elegances and graces on this infantile soil. Not that this son, -the object of so much culture and zeal, was in any way unworthy of his -father. It has been pretended that there could be no one duller or more -sullen than he was, and Johnson is quoted in support of the statement. -There are caricatures which surpass the truth. It appears from the -best authorities, that Mr. Stanhope, without being a model of grace, -had the air of a man who had been well brought up, and was polite and -agreeable. But do you not think that that is the most grievous part of -all? It would have been better worth while, almost, to have totally -failed, and to have only succeeded in making an original in the inverse -sense, rather than with so much care and expense to have produced -nothing more than an ordinary and insignificant man of the world, one -of those about whom it suffices to say, there is nothing to be said of -them; he had cause to be truly grieved and pity himself for his work if -he were not a father. - -Lord Chesterfield had early thought of France to polish his son, and -to give him that courtesy which cannot be acquired late in life. In -private letters written to a lady at Paris, whom I believe to be Madame -de Monconseil,[14] we see that he had thought of sending him to France -from his childhood. - -“I have a boy,” he wrote to this friend, “who is now thirteen years -old; I freely confess to you that he is not legitimate; but his mother -was well born and was kinder to me than I deserved. As to the boy, -perhaps it is partiality, but I think him amiable; he has a pretty -face; he has much sprightliness, and I think intelligence, for his age. -He speaks French perfectly; he knows a good deal of Latin and Greek, -and he has ancient and modern history at his fingers’ ends. He is at -school at present, but as they never dream of forming the manners of -young people, and they are almost all foolish, awkward, and unpolished, -in short such as you see them when they come to Paris at the age of -twenty or twenty-one, I do not wish my boy to remain here to acquire -such bad habits; for this reason, when he is fourteen I think of -sending him to Paris. As I love the child dearly, and have set myself -to make something good of him, as I believe he has the stuff in him, -my idea is to unite in him what has never been found in one person -before--I mean the best qualities of the two nations.” - -And he enters into the details of his plan, and the means he thinks -of using: a learned Englishman every morning, a French teacher after -dinner, but above all the help of the fashionable world and good -society. The war which broke out between France and England postponed -this plan, and the young man did not make his _début_ in Paris until -1751, when he was nineteen years old, and had finished his tour through -Switzerland, Germany, and Italy. - -Everything has been arranged by the most attentive of fathers for his -success and well-being upon this novel scene. The young man is placed -at the Academy with M. de la Guérinière; the morning he devotes to -study, and the rest of the time is to be consecrated to the world. -“Pleasure is now the last branch of your education,” this indulgent -father writes; “it will soften and polish your manners; it will incite -you to seek and finally to acquire _graces_.” Upon this last point he -is exacting, and shows no quarter. _Graces_, he returns continually to -them, for without them all effort is vain. “If they are not natural to -you, cultivate them,” he cries. He indeed speaks confidently; as if to -cultivate graces, it is not necessary to have them already! - -Three ladies, friends of his father, are especially charged to -watch over and guide the young man at his _début_; they are his -_governantes_: Madame de Monconseil, Lady Hervey, and Madame de -Bocage. But these introducers appear essential for the first time -only; the young man must afterward depend upon himself, and choose -some charming and more familiar guide. Upon this delicate subject of -women, Lord Chesterfield breaks the ice: “I shall not talk to you on -this subject like a theologian, or a moralist, or a father,” he says; -“I set aside my age, and only take yours into consideration. I wish to -speak to you as one man of pleasure would to another if he has taste -and spirit.” And he expresses himself in consequence, stimulating the -young man as much as possible toward _polite arrangements_ and delicate -pleasures, to draw him from common and coarse habits. His principle is -that “a polite arrangement becomes a gallant man.” All his morality on -this point is summed up in a line of Voltaire: - - “Il n’est jamais de mal en bonne compagnie.” - -It is at these sentences more especially that the modesty of the grave -Johnson is put to the blush; ours is content to smile at them. - -The serious and the frivolous are perpetually mingling in these -letters. Marcel, the dancing master, is very often recommended, -Montesquieu no less. The Abbé de Guasco, a sort of toady to -Montesquieu, is a useful personage for introductions. “Between you -and me,” writes Chesterfield, “he has more knowledge than genius; but -_a clever man knows how to make use of everything_, and every man -is good for something. As to the Président of Montesquieu, he is in -all respects a precious acquaintance: _He has genius, with the most -extensive reading in the world. Drink of his fountain as much as -possible._” - -Of authors, those whom Chesterfield particularly recommends at this -time, and those whose names occur most frequently in his counsels, -are La Rochefoucauld and La Bruyère. “If you read some of La -Rochefoucauld’s maxims in the morning, consider them, examine them -well, and compare them with the originals you meet in the evening. Read -La Bruyère in the morning, and see in the evening if his portraits -are correct.” But these guides, excellent as they are, have no other -use by themselves than that of a map. Without personal observation -and experience, they would be useless, and would even be conducive -to error, as a map might be if one thought to get from it a complete -knowledge of towns and provinces. Better read one man than ten books. -“The world is a country that no one has ever known by means of -descriptions; each of us must traverse it in person to be thoroughly -initiated into its ways.” - -Here are some precepts or remarks which are worthy of those masters of -human morality: - -“The most essential of all knowledge, I mean the knowledge of the -world, is never acquired without great attention, and I know a great -many aged persons who, after having had an extensive acquaintance, are -still mere children in the knowledge of the world.” - -“Human nature is the same all over the world; but its operations are -so varied by education and custom that we ought to see it in all its -aspects to get an intimate knowledge of it.” - -“Almost all men are born with every passion to some extent, but there -is hardly a man who has not a dominant passion to which the others -are subordinate. Discover this governing passion in every individual; -search into the recesses of his heart, and observe the different -effects of the same passion in different people. And when you have -found the master passion of a man, remember never to trust to him where -that passion is concerned.” - -“If you wish particularly to gain the good graces and affection of -certain people, men or women, try to discover their most striking -merit, if they have one, and their dominant weakness, for every one has -his own, then do justice to the one, and _a little more than justice to -the other_.” - -“Women, in general, have only one object, which is their beauty, upon -which subject hardly any flattery can be too gross to please them.” - -“The flattery which is most pleasing to really beautiful or decidedly -ugly women, is that which is addressed to their intellect.” - -On the subject of women, again, if he seems disdainful now and then, -he makes reparation elsewhere; and, above all, whatever he thinks of -them, he never allows his son to slander them too much. “You appear to -think that from the days of _Eve_ to the present time they have done -much harm: as regards _that lady_ I agree with you; but from her time -history teaches you that men have done more harm in the world than -women; and to speak truly, I would warn you not to trust either sex -more than is absolutely necessary. But what I particularly advise you -is this: never to attack whole bodies, whatever they may be.” - -“Individuals occasionally forgive, but bodies and societies never do.” - -In general, Chesterfield counsels his son to be circumspect and to -preserve a sort of prudent neutrality, even in the case of the knaves -and fools with which the world abounds. “After their friendship there -is nothing more dangerous than to have them for enemies.” It is not the -morality of Cato nor of Zeno, but that of Alcibiades, of Aristippus, -or Atticus. - -Upon religion he shall speak, in reply to some trenchant opinion that -his son had expressed: “The reason of every man is and ought to be his -guide; and I shall have as much right to expect every man to be of my -height and temperament, as to wish that he should reason precisely as I -do.” - -In everything he is of the opinion that the good and the best should -be known and loved, but that it is not necessary to make one’s self a -champion for or against everything. One must know even in literature -how to tolerate the weaknesses of others: “Let them enjoy quietly their -errors both in taste and religion.” Oh! how far from such wisdom is the -bitter trade of criticism, as we do it! - -He does not, however, advise lying; he is precise in this particular. -His precept always runs thus: do not tell all, but never tell a lie. “I -have always observed,” he frequently repeats, “that the greatest fools -are the greatest liars. For my part, I judge of the truth of a man by -the extent of his intellect.” - -We see how really he mixes the useful and the agreeable. He is -perpetually demanding from the intellect something resolute and subtle, -sweetness in the manner, energy at bottom. - -Lord Chesterfield thoroughly appreciated the serious state of France -and the dread events that the eighteenth century brought to light. -According to him, Duclos, in his _Reflections_, is right when he says -that “_a germ of reason is beginning to appear in France_.” “What I can -confidently predict,” adds Chesterfield, “is that before the end of -this century the trades of king and priest will have lost half their -power.” - -Our revolution has been clearly predicted by him since 1750. - -He warned his son from the beginning against the idea that the French -are entirely frivolous. “The cold inhabitants of the north look upon -the French as a frivolous people who sing and whistle and dance -perpetually; this is very far from being the truth, though the army -of _fops_ seems to justify it. But these _fops_, ripened by age and -experience, often turn into very able men.” The ideal, according to -him, would be to unite the merits of the two nations; but in this -mixture he still seems to lean toward France: “I have said many times, -and I really think, that a Frenchman who joins to a good foundation -of virtue, learning, and good sense, the manners and politeness of -his country, has attained the perfection of human nature.” He unites -sufficiently well in himself the advantages of the two nations, with -one characteristic which belongs exclusively to his race--there is -imagination even in his wit. Hamilton himself has this distinctive -characteristic, and introduces it into French wit. Bacon, the great -moralist, is almost a poet by expression. One cannot say so much of -Lord Chesterfield; nevertheless, he has more imagination in his sallies -and in the expression of his wit than one meets with in Saint Evremond -and our acute moralists in general. He resembles his friend Montesquieu -in this respect. - -If in the letters to his son we can, without being severe, lay hold -of some cases of slightly damaged morality, we should have to point -out, by way of compensation, some very serious and really admirable -passages, where he speaks of the Cardinal de Retz, of Mazarin, of -Bolingbroke, of Marlborough, and of many others. It is a rich book. One -cannot read a page without finding some happy observation worthy of -being remembered. - -Lord Chesterfield intended this beloved son for a diplomatic life; -he at first found some difficulties in the way on account of his -illegitimacy. To cut short these objections, he sent his son to -Parliament; it was the surest method of conquering the scruples of the -court. Mr. Stanhope, in his maiden speech, hesitated a moment, and was -obliged to have recourse to notes. He did not make a second attempt at -speaking in public. It appears that he succeeded better in diplomacy, -in those second-rate places where solid merit is sufficient. He filled -the post of ambassador extraordinary to the court of Dresden. But his -health, always delicate, failed before he was old, and his father -had the misfortune to see him die before him when he was scarcely -thirty-six years old (1768). Lord Chesterfield at that time lived -entirely retired from the world, on account of his infirmities, the -most painful of which was complete deafness. Montesquieu, whose sight -failed, said to him once, “_I know how to be blind._” But he was not -able to say as much; he did not know how to be deaf. He wrote of it to -his friends, even to those in France, thus: “The exchange of letters,” -he remarked, “is the conversation of deaf people, and the only link -which connects them with society.” He found his latest consolations -in his pretty country-house at Blackheath, which he had called by the -French name of Babiole. He employed his time there in gardening and -cultivating his melons and pineapples; he amused himself by vegetating -_in company with them_. - -“I have vegetated here all this year,” he wrote to a French friend -(September, 1753), “without pleasures and without troubles; my age and -deafness prevented the first; my philosophy, or rather my temperament -(for one often confounds them), guaranteed me against the last. I -always get as much as I can of the quiet pleasures of gardening, -walking, and reading, and in the meantime _I await death without -desiring or fearing it_.” - -He never undertook long works, not feeling himself sufficiently strong, -but he sometimes sent agreeable essays to a periodical publication, -_The World_. These essays are quite worthy of his reputation for skill -and urbanity. Nevertheless, nothing approaches the work--which was no -work to him--of those letters, which he never imagined any one would -read, and which are yet the foundation of his literary success. - -His old age, which was an early one, lasted a long time. His wit gave -a hundred turns to this sad theme. Speaking of himself and one of his -friends, Lord Tyrawley, equally old and infirm: “Tyrawley and I,” he -said, “have been dead two years, but we do not wish it to be known.” - -Voltaire, who under the pretence of being always dying, had preserved -his youth much better, wrote to him on the 24th of October, 1771, this -pretty letter, signed “_Le vieux malade de Ferney_”: - -“Enjoy an honorable and happy old age, after having passed through -the trials of life. Enjoy your wit and preserve the health of your -body. Of the five senses with which we are provided, you have only one -enfeebled, and Lord Huntingdon assures me that you have a good stomach, -which is worth a pair of ears. It will be perhaps my place to decide -which is the most sorrowful, to be deaf or blind, or have no digestion. -I can judge of all these three conditions with a knowledge of the -cause; but it is a long time since I ventured to decide upon trifles, -least of all upon things so important. I confine myself to the belief -that, if you have sun in the beautiful house that you have built, you -will spend some tolerable moments; that is all we can hope for at our -age. Cicero wrote a beautiful treatise upon old age, but he did not -verify his words by deeds; his last years were very unhappy. You have -lived longer and more happily than he did. You have had to do neither -with perpetual dictators nor with triumvirs. Your lot has been, and -still is, one of the most desirable in that great lottery where good -tickets are so scarce, and where the Great Prize of continual happiness -has never been gained by any one. Your philosophy has never been upset -by chimeras which have sometimes perplexed tolerably good brains. _You -have never been in any sense a charlatan, nor the dupe of charlatans_, -and that I reckon as a rare merit, which adds something to the shadow -of happiness that we are allowed to taste of in this short life.” - -Lord Chesterfield died on the 24th of March, 1773. In pointing out his -charming course of worldly education, we have not thought it out of -place even in a Democracy,[15] to take lessons of _savoir vivre_ and -politeness, and to receive them from a man whose name is so closely -connected with those of Montesquieu and Voltaire, who, more than any -other of his countrymen in his own time, showed singular fondness -for our nation; who delighted, more than was right, perhaps, in our -amiable qualities; who appreciated our solid virtues, and of whom it -might be said, as his greatest praise, that he was a French wit, if he -had not introduced into the _verve_ and vivacity of his sallies that -inexplicable something of imagination and color that bears the impress -of his race. - - - - -LORD CHESTERFIELD’S LETTERS, SENTENCES, AND MAXIMS. - - -TRAVEL IN HOLLAND.--On me dit, Monsieur! que vous vous disposez à -voyager, et que vous débutez par la Hollande. De sorte j’ai crû de mon -devoir, de vous souhaiter un bon voyage, et des vents favorables. Vous -aurez la bonté, j’espère, de me faire part de votre arrivée à la Haye; -et si après cela, dans le cours de vos voyages, vous faites quelques -remarques curieuses, vous voudrez bien me les communiquer. - -La Hollande, où vous allez, est de beaucoup la plus belle, et la -plus riche des Sept Provinces-Unies, qui, toutes ensemble, forment -la République. Les autres sont celles de Gueldres, Zélande, Frise, -Utrecht, Groningue, et Over-Yssel. Les Sept Provinces composent, ce -qu’on appelle les Etats Généraux des Provinces-Unies, et font une -République très-puissante, et très-considérable.[16] - -_Translation._--I am informed, sir, that you are about to travel, and -that you will start with Holland. Therefore I have thought it my duty -to wish you a pleasant journey and favorable winds. You will, I am -sure, be so good as to acquaint me with your arrival at The Hague; and -afterward, if in your travels you should observe anything curious, will -you let me know? - -Holland, where you are going, is by far the finest and richest of the -seven united provinces, which together form the Republic. The other -provinces are Guelderland, Zealand, Friesland, Utrecht, Groningen, and -Overyssel; these seven provinces form what is called the States-General -of the United Provinces, etc.[17] - -TRUE DECENCY.--One of the most important points of life is decency; -which is to do what is proper, and where it is proper; for many -things are proper at one time, and in one place, that are extremely -improper in another; for example, it is very proper and decent that -you should play some part of the day; but you must feel that it would -be very improper and indecent if you were to fly your kite, or play at -nine-pins while you are with Mr. Maittaire.[18] It is very proper and -decent to dance well; but then you must dance only at balls and places -of entertainment; for you would be reckoned a fool if you were to dance -at church or at a funeral. I hope, by these examples, you understand -the meaning of the word _decency_, which in French is _bienséance_; -in Latin, _decorum_; and in Greek, πρέπον. Cicero says of -it, _Sic hoc decorum quod elucet in vitâ, movet approbationem earum -quibuscum vivatur, ordine et constantiâ, et moderatione dictorum omnium -atque factorum_: by which you see how necessary decency is to gain -the approbation of mankind. And, as I am sure you desire to gain Mr. -Maittaire’s approbation, without which you will never have mine, I -dare say you will mind and give attention to whatever he says to you, -and behave yourself seriously and decently while you are with him; -afterward play, run, and jump as much as ever you please. [_July 24, -1739._] - -THE ART OF SPEAKING.--You cannot but be convinced that a man who speaks -and writes with elegance and grace; who makes choice of good words, -and adorns and embellishes the subject upon which he either speaks or -writes, will persuade better, and succeed more easily in obtaining what -he wishes, than a man who does not explain himself clearly; speaks -his language ill; or makes use of low and vulgar expressions; and who -has neither grace nor elegance in anything that he says. Now it is by -rhetoric that the art of speaking eloquently is taught; and, though I -cannot think of grounding you in it as yet, I would wish, however, to -give you an idea of it suitable to your age.[19] - -The first thing you should attend to is, to speak whatever language -you do speak, in its greatest purity, and according to the rules of -grammar; for we must never offend against grammar, nor make use of -words which are not really words. This is not all; for not to speak -ill, is not sufficient; we must speak well; and the best method of -attaining to that, is to read the best authors with attention; and to -observe how people of fashion speak, and those who express themselves -best; for shopkeepers, common people, footmen, and maid-servants all -speak ill. [_Bath, Oct. 17, 1739._] - -ORATORY.--The business of oratory is to persuade people; and you easily -feel that to please people is a great step toward persuading them. You -must, then, consequently, be sensible how advantageous it is for a -man, who speaks in public, whether it be in Parliament, in the pulpit, -or at the bar (that is, in the courts of law), to please his hearers so -much as to gain their attention: which he can never do without the help -of oratory. It is not enough to speak the language he speaks in its -utmost purity, and according to the rules of grammar; but he must speak -it elegantly; that is, he must choose the best and most expressive -words, and put them in the best order. He should likewise adorn what he -says by proper metaphors, similes, and other figures of rhetoric; and -he should enliven it, if he can, by quick and sprightly turns of wit. -[_November, 1739._] - - -THE FOLLY OF IGNORANCE.--An ignorant man is insignificant and -contemptible; nobody cares for his company, and he can just be said to -live, and that is all. There is a very pretty French epigram upon the -death of such an ignorant, insignificant fellow, the sting of which is, -that all that can be said of him is, that he was once alive, and that -he is now dead. This is the epigram, which you may get by heart: - - “Colas est mort de maladie, - Tu veux que j’en pleure le sort, - Que diable veux-tu que j’en dis? - Colas vivoit. Colas est mort.” - -Take care not to deserve the name of Colas,[20] which I shall certainly -give you, if you do not learn well. [_No date._] - - -_Philippus Chesterfield parvulo suo Philippo Stanhope_, S. P. D. - -PERGRATA mihi fuit epistola tua, quam nuper accepi, eleganter enim -scripta erat, et polliceris te summam operam daturum, ut veras laudes -meritò adipisci possis. Sed ut planè dicam; valde suspicor te, in ea -scribenda, optimum et eruditissimum adjutorem habuisse; quo duce et -auspice, nec elegantia, nec doctrina, nec quicquid prorsus est dignum -sapiente bonoque, unquam tibi deesse poterit. Illum ergo ut quam -diligenter colas, te etiam atque etiam rogo; et quo magis eum omni -officio, amore, et obsequio persequeris, eo magis te me studiosum, et -observantem existimabo.[21] - - -A STUDY IN VERSE.--To use your ear a little to English verse, and to -make you attend to the sense, too, I have transposed the words of the -following lines; which I would have you put in their proper order, and -send me in your next: - - “Life consider cheat a when ’tis all I - Hope the fool’d deceit men yet with favor - Repay will to-morrow trust on think and - Falser former day to-morrow’s than the - Worse lies blest be shall when and we says it - Hope new some possess’d cuts off with we what.” - -[This is curious, and truly no bad way of teaching a child the -structure of verse. The citation, a fine one, is from Dryden: - - “When I consider life, ’tis all a cheat, - Yet fool’d with hope men favor the deceit.” - -The reader may puzzle out the rest.] - - -VIRTUE DISCOURAGED.--If six hundred citizens of Athens gave in the -name of any one Athenian, written upon an oyster-shell (from whence -it is called ostracism), that man was banished Athens for ten years. -On one hand, it is certain, that a free people cannot be too careful -or jealous of their liberty; and it is certain, too, that the love -and applause of mankind will always attend a man of eminent and -distinguished virtue; and, consequently, they are more likely to give -up their liberties to such-a-one than to another of less merit. But -then, on the other hand, it seems extraordinary to discourage virtue -upon any account; since it is only by virtue that any society can -flourish, and be considerable. There are many more arguments, on each -side of this question, which will naturally occur to you; and when you -have considered them well, I desire you will write me your opinion, -whether the ostracism was a right or a wrong thing, and your reasons -for being of that opinion. Let nobody help you, and give me exactly -your own sentiments and your own reasons, whatever they are. [_October, -1740._] - - -AMBITION.--Everybody has ambition of some kind or other, and is -vexed when that ambition is disappointed; the difference is, that -the ambition of silly people is a silly and mistaken ambition; and -the ambition of people of sense is a right and commendable one. For -instance, the ambition of a silly boy, of your age, would be to have -fine clothes, and money to throw away in idle follies; which, you -plainly see, would be no proofs of merit in him, but only of folly in -his parents, in dressing him out like a jackanapes, and giving him -money to play the fool with. Whereas a boy of good sense places his -ambition in excelling other boys of his own age, and even older, in -virtue and knowledge. His glory is in being known always to speak the -truth, in showing good nature and compassion, in learning quicker, -and applying himself more than other boys. These are real proofs of -merit in him, and consequently proper objects of ambition; and will -acquire him a solid reputation and character. This holds true in men -as well as in boys; the ambition of a silly fellow will be to have a -fine equipage, a fine house, and fine clothes; things which anybody, -that has as much money, may have as well as he; _for they are all -to be bought_; but the ambition of a man of sense and honor is to -be distinguished by a character and reputation of knowledge, truth, -and virtue--things which are not to be bought, and that can only be -acquired by a good head and a good heart. [_Not dated._] - - -HUMANITY.--It is certain that humanity is the particular -_characteristic_ of a great mind; little, vicious minds are full of -anger and revenge, and are incapable of feeling the _exalted_ pleasure -of forgiving their enemies, and of bestowing marks of favor and -generosity upon those of whom they have gotten the better. Adieu![22] - - -NOVELS AND ROMANCES.--A novel is a kind of abbreviation of a romance; -for a romance generally consists of twelve volumes, all filled with -insipid love nonsense, and most incredible adventures. The subject of -a romance is sometimes a story entirely fictitious, that is to say, -quite invented; at other times a true story, but generally so changed -and altered that one cannot know it. For example: in “Grand Cyrus,” -“Clelia,” and “Cleopatra,” three celebrated romances, there is some -true history; but so blended with falsities and silly love adventures, -that they confuse and corrupt the mind, instead of forming and -instructing it. The greatest heroes of antiquity are there represented -in woods and forests, whining insipid love tales to their inhuman fair -one; who answers them in the same style. In short, the reading of -romances is a most frivolous occupation, and time merely thrown away. -[The little boy was then reading the historical novel of “Don Carlos,” -by the Abbé de St. Real. (_Not dated._)] - - -VIRTUE.--Virtue is a subject that deserves your and every man’s -attention; and suppose I were to bid you make some verses, or give -me your thoughts in prose, upon the subject of virtue, how would you -go about it? Why, you would first consider what virtue is, and then -what are the effects and marks of it, both with regard to others and -one’s self. You would find, then, that virtue consists in doing good, -and in speaking truth; and that the effects of it are advantageous to -all mankind, and to one’s self in particular. Virtue makes us pity -and relieve the misfortunes of mankind; it makes us promote justice -and good order in society; and, in general, contributes to whatever -tends to the real good of mankind. To ourselves it gives an inward -comfort and satisfaction which nothing else can do, and which nothing -can rob us of. All other advantages depend upon others, as much as -upon ourselves. Riches, power, and greatness may be taken away from us -by the violence and injustice of others or inevitable accidents, but -virtue depends only on ourselves and nobody can take it away. [_Headed -only Sunday._] - - -THE REWARD OF VIRTUE.--If a virtuous man be ever so poor or unfortunate -in the world, still his virtue is his own reward and will comfort him -under his afflictions. The quiet and satisfaction of his conscience -make him cheerful by day and sleep sound of nights; he can be alone -with pleasure and is not afraid of his own thoughts. Besides this, he -is esteemed and respected; for even the most wicked people themselves -cannot help admiring and respecting virtue in others. A poet says: - - “Ipsa quidem virtus, sibimet pulcherrima merces.”[23] - - -POLITENESS A NECESSITY.--Know, then, that as learning, honor, and -virtue are absolutely necessary to gain you the esteem and admiration -of mankind; politeness and good breeding are equally necessary, to -make you welcome and agreeable in conversation and common life. Great -talents, such as honor, virtue, learning, and parts, are above the -generality of the world; who neither possess them themselves, nor judge -of them rightly in others; but all people are judges of the lesser -talents, such as civility, affability, and an obliging, agreeable -address and manner; because they feel the good effects of them, as -making society easy and pleasing. - - -GOOD BREEDING AND GOOD SENSE.--Good sense must, in many cases, -determine good breeding; because the same thing that would be civil -at one time, and to one person, may be quite otherwise at another -time, and to another person; but there are some general rules of good -breeding, that hold always true, and in all cases. [_About February, -1741._] - - -RUDENESS AND CIVILITY.--I dare say I need not tell you how rude it -is, to take the best place in a room, or to seize immediately upon -what you like at table, without offering first to help others; as -if you consider nobody but yourself. On the contrary, you should -always endeavor to procure all the conveniences you can to the people -you are with. Besides being civil, which is absolutely necessary, -the perfection of good breeding is, to be civil with ease, and in a -gentlemanlike manner. For this, you should observe the French people; -who excel in it, and whose politeness seems as easy and natural as any -other part of their conversation. Whereas the English are often awkward -in their civilities, and, when they mean to be civil, are too much -ashamed to get it out. - - -MAUVAISE HONTE.--Pray, do you remember never to be ashamed of doing -what is right; you would have a great deal of reason to be ashamed, -if you were not civil; but what reason can you have to be ashamed of -being civil? And why not say a civil and an obliging thing, as easily -and as naturally, as you would ask what o’clock it is? This kind of -bashfulness, which is justly called, by the French, _mauvaise honte_, -is the distinguishing character of an English booby; who is frightened -out of his wits when people of fashion speak to him; and when he is to -answer them, blushes, stammers, can hardly get out what he would say, -and becomes really ridiculous, from a groundless fear of being laughed -at; whereas a well bred man would speak to all the kings in the world -with as little concern and as much ease as he would speak to you. - - -YOUTHFUL EMULATION.--This is the last letter I shall write to you -as to a little boy; for, to-morrow, if I am not mistaken, you will -attain your ninth year; so that for the future I shall treat you as a -_youth_. You must now commence a different course of life, a different -course of studies. No more levity; childish toys and playthings must -be thrown aside, and your mind directed to serious objects. What was -not unbecoming of a child would be disgraceful to a youth. Wherefore, -endeavor, with all your might, to show a suitable change; and, by -learning, good manners, politeness, and other accomplishments, to -surpass those youths of your own age, whom hitherto you have surpassed -when boys.[24] May the Almighty preserve you and bestow on you his -choicest blessings. - - -TRUE RESPECT.--The strictest and most scrupulous honor and virtue can -alone make you esteemed and valued by mankind; [remember] that parts -and learning can alone make you admired and celebrated by them; but -that the possession of lesser talents is most absolutely necessary, -toward making you liked, beloved, and sought after in private life. Of -these lesser talents, good breeding is the principal and most necessary -one, not only as it is very important itself; but as it adds great -lustre to the more solid advantages both of the heart and the mind. - - -MANNER.--An easy manner and carriage must be wholly free from those -odd tricks, ill habits, and awkwardnesses, which even very worthy and -sensible people have in their behavior. [_May, 1741._] - - -MANNER--ABSENCE--AWKWARDNESS--ATTENTION.--However trifling a genteel -manner may sound, it is of very great consequence towards pleasing in -private life, especially the women; which (_sic_), one time or other, -you will think worth pleasing; and I have known many a man, from his -awkwardness, give people such a dislike of him at first, that all his -merit could not get the better of it afterwards. Whereas a genteel -manner prepossesses people in your favor, bends them towards you and -makes them wish to like you. Awkwardness can proceed but from two -causes: either from not having kept good company, or from not having -attended to it. As for your keeping good company, I will take care of -that; do you take care to observe their ways and manners, and to form -your own upon them. Attention is absolutely necessary for this, as, -indeed, it is for everything else; and a man without attention is not -fit to live in the world. When an awkward fellow first comes into a -room it is highly probable that his sword gets between his legs, and -throws him down, or makes him stumble at least; when he has recovered -this accident, he goes and places himself in the very place of the -whole room where he should not; there he soon lets his hat fall down, -and, in taking it up again, throws down his cane; in recovering his -cane, his hat falls a second time; so that he is a quarter of an hour -before he is in order again. If he drinks tea or coffee, he certainly -scalds his mouth, and lets either the cup or the saucer fall, and -spills the tea or coffee in his breeches. At dinner his awkwardness -distinguishes itself particularly, as he has more to do; there he -holds his knife, fork, and spoon differently from other people; eats -with his knife to the great danger of his mouth, picks his teeth with -his fork, and puts his spoon, which has been in his throat twenty -times, into the dishes again. If he is to carve, he can never hit the -joint; but, in his vain efforts to cut through the bone, scatters the -sauce in everybody’s face. He generally daubs himself with soup and -grease, though his napkin is commonly stuck through a buttonhole, and -tickles his chin. When he drinks, he infallibly coughs in his glass -and besprinkles the company. Besides all this, he has strange tricks -and gestures; such as snuffing up his nose, making faces, putting -his fingers in his nose, or blowing it and looking afterward in his -handkerchief, so as to make the company sick. His hands are troublesome -to him when he has not something in them, and he does not know where to -put them; but they are in perpetual motion between his bosom and his -breeches; he does not wear his clothes, and, in short, does nothing -like other people. All this, I own, is not in any degree criminal; but -it is highly disagreeable and ridiculous in company, and ought most -carefully to be avoided by whoever desires to please. - -From this account of what you should not do, you may easily judge what -you should do; and a due attention to the manners of people of fashion, -and who have seen the world, will make it habitual and familiar to you. - -There is, likewise, an awkwardness of expression and words, most -carefully to be avoided; such as false English, bad pronunciation, old -sayings, and common proverbs; which are so many proofs of having kept -bad and low company. For example: if, instead of saying that tastes -are different, and that every man has his own peculiar one, you should -let off a proverb, and say, “What is one man’s meat is another man’s -poison”; or else, “Every one as they like, as the good man said when he -kissed his cow”; everybody would be persuaded that you had never kept -company with anybody above footmen and housemaids. - -Attention will do all this; and without attention nothing is to be -done; want of attention, which is really want of thought, is either -folly or madness. You should not only have attention to everything, but -a quickness of attention, so as to observe, at once, all the people -in the room; their motions, their looks, and their words; and yet -without staring at them, and seeming to be an observer. This quick and -unobserved observation is of infinite advantage in life, and is to be -acquired with care; and, on the contrary, what is called absence, which -is a thoughtlessness and want of attention about what is doing, makes -a man so like either a fool or a madman, that, for my part, I see no -real difference. A fool never has thought, a madman has lost it; and an -absent man is, for the time, without it.[25] [_Dated Spa, July 25, N. -S. 1741._] - - -TRUE PRAISE.--_Laudari a viro laudato_ was always a commendable -ambition; encourage that ambition and continue to deserve the praises -of the praiseworthy. While you do so you shall have everything you will -from me; and when you cease to do so you shall have nothing. - - -AN AWKWARD MIND.--I have warned you against odd motions, strange -postures, and ungenteel carriage. But there is likewise an -awkwardness of the mind that ought to be, and with care may be, -avoided; as, for instance, to mistake or forget names; to speak of -Mr. What-d’ye-call-him, or Mrs. Thingum, or How-d’ye-call-her, is -excessively awkward and ordinary. To call people by improper titles and -appellations is so, too; as my Lord for sir; and sir for my Lord. To -begin a story or narration, when you are not perfect in it, and cannot -go through with it, but are forced, possibly, to say in the middle of -it, “I have forgot the rest,” is very unpleasant and bungling. One -must be extremely exact, clear, and perspicuous in everything one -says, otherwise, instead of entertaining or informing others, one only -tires and puzzles them. The voice and manner of speaking, too, are -not to be neglected; some people almost shut their mouths when they -speak, and mutter so, that they are not to be understood; others speak -so fast and sputter so, that they are not to be understood neither; -some always speak as loud as if they were talking to deaf people; and -others so low that one cannot hear them. All these habits are awkward -and disagreeable; and are to be avoided by attention; they are the -distinguishing marks of the ordinary people, who have had no care taken -of their education. You cannot imagine how necessary it is to mind all -these little things; for I have seen many people with great talents -ill received, for want of having these talents, too; and others well -received only from their little talents, and who had no great ones. - - -ORATORY AND HARD WORK.--Demosthenes, the celebrated Greek orator, -thought it so absolutely necessary to speak well, that though he -naturally stuttered, and had weak lungs, he resolved, by application -and care, to get the better of those disadvantages. Accordingly, he -cured his stammering by putting small pebbles into his mouth; and -strengthened his lungs gradually, by using himself every day to speak -aloud and distinctly for a considerable time. He likewise went often -to the seashore, in stormy weather, when the sea made most noise, and -there spoke as loud as he could, in order to use himself to the noise -and murmurs of the popular assemblies of the Athenians, before whom he -was to speak. By such care, joined to the constant study of the best -authors, he became at last the greatest orator of his own or any other -age or country, though he was born without any one natural talent for -it. Adieu! Copy Demosthenes. [(?) _August, 1741._] - - -KEEP YOUR WORD.--I am sure you know that breaking of your word is a -folly, a dishonor, and a crime. It is a folly, because nobody will -trust you afterward; and it is both a dishonor and a crime, truth being -the first duty of religion and morality; and whoever has not truth -cannot be supposed to have any one good quality, and must become the -detestation of God and man. Therefore I expect, from your truth and -your honor, that you will do that, which independently of your promise, -your own interest and ambition ought to incline you to do; that is, to -excel in everything you undertake. When I was of your age, I should -have been ashamed if any boy of that age had learned his book better, -or played at any play better than I did; and I would not have rested a -moment till I had got before him. Julius Cæsar, who had a noble thirst -of glory, used to say that he would rather be the first in a village -than the second in Rome; and he even cried when he saw the statue -of Alexander the Great, with the reflection of how much more glory -Alexander had acquired, at thirty years old, than he at a much more -advanced age. These are the sentiments to make people considerable; -and those who have them not will pass their lives in obscurity and -contempt; whereas those who endeavor to excel all, are at least sure of -excelling a great many. [_June, 1742._] - - -GOOD BREEDING.--Though I need not tell one of your age,[26] experience, -and knowledge of the world, how necessary good breeding is, to -recommend one to mankind; yet, as your various occupations of Greek and -cricket, Latin and pitch-farthing, may possibly divert your attention -from this object, I take the liberty of reminding you of it, and -desiring you to be very well bred at Lord Orrery’s. It is good breeding -alone that can prepossess people in your favor at first sight; more -time being necessary to discover greater talents. This good breeding, -you know, does not consist in low bows and formal ceremony; but in an -easy, civil, and respectful behavior. You will therefore take care to -answer with complaisance, when you are spoken to; to place yourself at -the lower end of the table, unless bid to go higher; to drink first to -the lady of the house, and next to the master; not to eat awkwardly or -dirtily; not to sit when others stand; and to do all this with an air -of complaisance, and not with a grave, sour look, as if you did it at -all unwillingly. [_No date, Letter 70._] - - -LETTER WRITING.--Let your letter be written as accurately as you are -able--I mean with regard to language, grammar, and stops; for as to the -_matter_ of it the less trouble you give yourself the better it will -be. Letters should be easy and natural, and convey to the persons to -whom we send them, just what we should say to the persons if we were -with them. [_No date, Letter 72._] - - -THE RESULTS OF CARELESSNESS.--To this oscitancy we owe so many -mistakes, hiatus’s (_sic_), lacunæ, etc., in ancient manuscripts. It -may be here necessary to explain to you the meaning of the _oscitantes -librarii_; which I believe you will easily take. These persons (before -printing was invented) transcribed the works of authors, sometimes -for their own profit, but oftener (as they were generally slaves) for -the profit of their masters. In the first case, dispatch, more than -accuracy, was their object; for the faster they wrote the more they -got; in the latter case (observe this), as it was a task imposed on -them, which they did not dare to refuse, they were _idle, careless, -and incorrect; not giving themselves the trouble to read over what -they had written_. The celebrated Atticus kept a great number of these -transcribing slaves, and got great sums of money by their labors. -[_November, 1745._] - - -GREEK EPIGRAMS.--I hope you will keep company with Horace and Cicero -among the Romans; and Homer and Xenophon among the Greeks, and that you -have got out of the worst company in the world, the Greek epigrams. -Martial has wit and is worth your looking into sometimes, but I -recommend the Greek epigrams to your supreme contempt. Good-night to -you. [_Same date._] - - -DANCING TRIFLING.--Dancing is in itself a very trifling, silly thing; -but it is one of those established follies to which people of sense -are sometimes obliged to conform; and then they should be able to do -it well. And, though I would not have you a dancer, yet, when you do -dance, I would have you dance well, as I would have you do everything -you do, well. There is no one thing so trifling, but which (if it is to -be done at all) ought to be done well. And I have often told you that -I wished you even played at pitch and cricket better than any boy at -Westminster. For instance: dress is a very foolish thing; and yet it -is a very foolish thing for a man not to be well dressed, according to -his rank and way of life; and it is so far from being a disparagement -to any man’s understanding, that it is rather a proof of it, to be -as well dressed as those whom he lives with. The difference in this -case between a man of sense and a fop is, that the fop values himself -upon his dress; and the man of sense laughs at it, at the same time -that he knows he must not neglect it. There are a thousand foolish -customs of this kind, which not being criminal must be complied with, -and even cheerfully, by men of sense. Diogenes the cynic was a wise -man for despising them, but a fool for showing it. Be wiser than other -people if you can, but do not tell them so. [_Dublin Castle, Nov. 19, -1745._[27]] - - -THE PASSIONS.--Whenever you would persuade or prevail, address yourself -to the passions; it is by them that mankind is to be taken. Cæsar bade -his soldiers, at the battle of Pharsalia, aim at the faces of Pompey’s -men; they did so, and prevailed. I bid you strike at the passions; and -if you do, you, too, will prevail. If you can once engage people’s -pride, love, pity, ambition (or whichever is their prevailing passion) -on your side, you need not fear what their reason can do against you. -[_Same date._] - - MY DEAR BOY:-- - - “Sunt quibus in Satirâ videar nimis acer.” - -I find, sir, you are one of those; though I cannot imagine why -you think so, unless something that I have said, very innocently, -has happened to be very applicable to somebody or other of your -acquaintance. He makes the satire, who applies it, _qui capit ille -facit_. I hope you do not think I meant you, by anything I have said; -because, if you do, it seems to imply a consciousness of some guilt, -which I dare not presume to suppose, in your case. I know my duty -too well, to express, and your merit too well to entertain, such a -suspicion. I have not lately read the satirical authors you mention, -having very little time here to read. [_Dublin, February, 1746._] - - -INATTENTION.--There is no surer sign in the world of a little, weak -mind, than inattention. Whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing -well; and nothing can be done well without attention. It is the sure -answer of a fool, when you ask him about anything that was said or done -where he was present, that “truly he did not mind it.” And why did not -the fool mind it? What had he else to do there, but to mind what was -doing? A man of sense sees, hears, and retains everything that passes -where he is. I desire I may never hear you talk of not minding, nor -complain, as most fools do, of a treacherous memory. Mind, not only -what people say, but how they say it; and, if you have any sagacity, -you may discover more truth by your eyes than by your ears. People can -say what they will, but they cannot look what they will, and their -looks frequently discover what their words are calculated to conceal. -The most material knowledge of all--I mean the knowledge of the -world--is not to be acquired without great attention. [_Feb. 26, 1746._] - - -WOMEN--CLASSES OF MEN--JUDGMENT.--Before it is very long, I am of -opinion that you will both think and speak more favorably of women than -you do now. You seem to think, that, from Eve downward, they have done -a great deal of mischief. As for that lady, I give her up to you; but, -since her time, history will inform you that men have done much more -mischief in the world than women; and, to say the truth, I would not -advise you to trust either more than is absolutely necessary. But this -I will advise you to, which is, never to attack whole bodies of any -kind; for, besides that all general rules have their exceptions, you -unnecessarily make yourself a great number of enemies, by attacking -a _corps_ collectively. Among women, as among men, there are good as -well as bad, and it may be full as many, or more, good than among men. -This rule holds as to lawyers, soldiers, parsons, courtiers, citizens, -etc. They are all men, subject to the same passions and sentiments, -differing only in the manner, according to their several educations; -and it would be as imprudent as unjust to attack any of them by the -lump. Individuals forgive sometimes; but bodies and societies never do. -Many young people think it very genteel and witty to abuse the clergy; -in which they are extremely mistaken; since, in my opinion, parsons are -very like other men, and neither the better nor the worse for wearing -a black gown. All general reflections, upon nations and societies, are -the trite, threadbare jokes of those who set up for wit without having -any, and so have recourse to commonplace. Judge of individuals from -your own knowledge of them, and not from their sex, profession, or -denomination. [_April, 1746._] - - -HOW TO TRAVEL.--I am very well pleased to find that you inform -yourself of the particulars of the several places you go through. -You do mighty right to see the curiosities in those several places; -such as the golden _Bull_ at Frankfort, the tun at Heidelberg, etc. -Other travellers see them and talk of them; it is very proper to see -them, too; but remember, that seeing is the least material object -of, travelling; hearing and knowing are the essential points.[28] -[_September, 1746. From Bath._] - - -FALSE DELICACY.--As for the _mauvaise honte_, I hope you are above it; -your figure is like other people’s, I hope you will take care that your -dress is so, too. Why, then, should you be ashamed? Why not go into -mixed company with as little concern as you would into your own room? -[_Bath, September._] - - -THE WELL BRED MAN.--Feels himself firm and easy in all companies; is -modest without being bashful, and steady without being impudent; if -he is a stranger, he observes, with care, the manners and ways of the -people the most esteemed at that place, and conforms to them with -complaisance. Instead of finding fault with the customs of that place, -and telling the people that the English ones are a thousand times -better (as my countrymen are very apt to do), he commends their table, -their dress, their houses, and their manners, a little more, it may be, -than he really thinks they deserve. But this degree of complaisance -is neither criminal nor abject; and is but a small price to pay for -the good-will and affection of the people you converse with. As the -generality of people are weak enough to be pleased with these little -things, those who refuse to please them, so cheaply, are, in my mind, -weaker than they. [_Same month, O. S., 1746._] - - -“L’ART DE PLAIRE.”--There is a very pretty little French book -written by L’Abbé de Bellegarde, entitled “_L’Art de Plaire dans la -Conversation_”[29]; and, though I confess that it is impossible to -reduce the art of pleasing to a system, yet this principle I will lay -down, that the desire of pleasing is at least half the art of doing it; -the rest depends only upon the manner, which attention, observation, -and frequenting good company will teach. But if you are lazy, careless, -and indifferent whether you please or not, depend upon it you never -will please. [_Same date._] - - -CHESTERFIELD’S INTENTION.--Do not think I mean to dictate as a parent; -I only mean to advise as a friend, and an indulgent one, too; and -do not apprehend that I mean to check your pleasures; of which, on -the contrary, I only desire to be the guide, not the censor. Let my -experience supply your want of it and clear your way in the progress of -your youth of those thorns and briers which scratched and disfigured -me in the course of mine. [_Bath, Oct. 4, 1746._] - - -HIS SON’S UTTER DEPENDENCE.--I do not, therefore, so much as hint to -you how absolutely dependent you are on me--that you neither have nor -can have a shilling in the world but from me; and that as I have no -womanish weakness for your person, your merit must, and will, be the -only measure of my kindness--I say, I do not hint these things to you -because I am convinced that you will act right, upon more noble and -generous principles; I mean for the sake of doing right, and out of -affection and gratitude to me. [_Same date._] - - -NO SMATTERING.--Mr. Pope says, very truly, - - “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing; - Drink deep, or taste not the Castalian spring.” - -And what is called a _smattering_ of everything infallibly constitutes -a coxcomb. I have often, of late, reflected what an unhappy man I -must now have been, if I had not acquired in my youth some fund and -taste of learning. What could I have done with myself, at this age, -without them? I must, as many ignorant people do, have destroyed my -health and faculties by setting away the evenings; or, by wasting them -frivolously in the tattle of women’s company, must have exposed myself -to the ridicule and contempt of those very women; or, lastly, I must -have hanged myself, as a man once did, for weariness of putting on and -pulling off his shoes and stockings every day. My books, and only my -books, are now left me, and I daily find what Cicero says of learning -to be true: “Hæc studia” (says he) “adolescentiam alunt, senectutem -oblectant, secundas res ornant, adversis perfugium, ac solatium -præbent, delectant domi, non impediunt foris, pernoctant nobiscum, -peregrinantur, rusticantur.” [_October, 1746._] - - -FOOLISH TALK.--The conversation of the ignorant is no conversation, and -gives even them no pleasure; they tire of their own sterility, and have -not matter enough to furnish them with words to keep up a conversation. -[_Same date._] - - -WORLD KNOWLEDGE.--Do not imagine that the knowledge, which I so much -recommend to you, is confined to books, pleasing, useful, and necessary -as that knowledge is; but I comprehend in it the great knowledge of the -world, still more necessary than that of books. In truth, they assist -one another reciprocally; and no man will have either perfectly, who -has not both. The knowledge of the world is only to be acquired in -the world, and not in a closet. Books alone will never teach it you; -but they will suggest many things to your observation, which might -otherwise escape you; and your own observations upon mankind, when -compared with those which you will find in books, will help you to fix -the true point. [_November, 1746._] - - -OLD FOOLS.--To know mankind well requires full as much attention -and application as to know books, and, it may be, more sagacity and -discernment. I am, at this time, acquainted with many elderly people, -who have all passed their whole lives in the great world, but with such -levity and inattention, that they know no more of it now than they did -at fifteen. [_Same date._] - - -INTROSPECTION.--You must look into people, as well as at them. Almost -all people are born with all the passions, to a certain degree; -but almost every man has a prevailing one, to which the others are -subordinate. Search every one for that ruling passion; pry into the -recesses of his heart, and observe the different workings of the -same passion in different people. And, when you have found out the -prevailing passion of any man, remember never to trust him, where that -passion is concerned. Work upon him by it, if you please; but be upon -your guard yourself against it, whatever professions he may make you. -[_Same date._] - - -YOUNG STANHOPE’S CHARACTER.--In the strict scrutiny which I have made -into you, I have (thank God) hitherto not discovered any vice of the -heart, or any peculiar weakness of the head: but I have discovered -laziness, inattention, and indifference; faults which are only -pardonable in old men, who, in the decline of life, when health and -spirits fail, have a kind of claim to that sort of tranquillity. But -a young man should be ambitious to shine, and excel; alert, active, -and indefatigable in the means of doing it; and, like Cæsar, “Nil -actum reputans, si quid superesset agendum.” You seem to want that -“vivida vis animi,” which spurs and excites most young men to please, -to shine, to excel. Without the desire and the pains necessary to be -considerable, depend upon it, you never can be so; as, without the -desire and attention necessary to please, you never can please. “Nullum -numen abest, si sit prudentia,” is unquestionably true, with regard to -everything except poetry. [_November, 1746._] - - -HOW TO DRESS.--Take great care always to be dressed like the reasonable -people of your own age, in the place where you are; whose dress is -never spoken of one way or another, as either too negligent or too much -studied. [_Same date._] - - -ABSENT PEOPLE.--What is commonly called an absent man, is commonly -either a very weak or a very affected man; but be he which he will, he -is, I am sure, a very disagreeable man in company. He fails in all the -common offices of civility; he seems not to know those people to-day, -with whom yesterday he appeared to live in intimacy. He takes no part -in the general conversation; but, on the contrary, breaks into it from -time to time, with some start of his own, as if he waked from a dream. -This (as I said before) is a sure indication, either of a mind so weak -that it is not able to bear above one object at a time; or so affected, -that it would be supposed to be wholly engrossed by, and directed to, -some very great and important objects. Sir Isaac Newton, Mr. Locke, -and (it may be) five or six more, since the creation of the world, may -have had a right to absence, from that intense thought which the things -they were investigating required. But if a young man, and a man of the -world, who has no such avocations to plead, will claim and exercise -that right of absence in company, his pretended right should, in my -mind, be turned into an involuntary absence, by his perpetual exclusion -out of company. [_Same date._] - - -INSULT AND INJURY.--However frivolous a company may be, still, while -you are among them, do not show them by your inattention that you -think them so; but rather take their tone, and conform in some degree -to their weakness, instead of manifesting your contempt for them. There -is nothing that people bear more impatiently, or forgive less, than -contempt; and an injury is much sooner forgotten than an insult. [_Same -date._] - - -FLATTERY.--Most people (I might say all people) have their weaknesses; -they have their aversions and their likings to such and such things; -so that, if you were to laugh at a man for his aversion to a cat, -or cheese (which are common antipathies), or, by inattention and -negligence, to let them come in his way where you could prevent it, he -would, in the first case, think himself insulted, and, in the second, -slighted; and would remember both. Whereas your care to procure for him -what he likes, and to remove from him what he hates, shows him that he -is at least an object of your attention, flatters his vanity, and makes -him possibly more your friend than a more important service would have -done. With regard to women, attentions still below these are necessary, -and, by the custom of the world, in some measure due, according to the -laws of good breeding. - - -HIS LETTERS.--My long and frequent letters, which I send you, in great -doubt of their success, put me in mind of certain papers, which you -have very lately, and I formerly, sent up to kites, along the string, -which we called messengers; some of them the wind used to blow away, -others were torn by the string, and but few of them got up and stuck to -the kite. But I will content myself now, as I did then, if some of my -present messages do but stick to you. - - -EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.--I hope you employ your whole time, which few -people do; and that you put every moment to profit of some kind or -other. I call company, walking, riding, etc., employing one’s time, -and, upon proper occasions, very usefully; but what I cannot forgive -in anybody is sauntering, and doing nothing at all with a thing so -precious as time, and so irrecoverable when lost. [_Dec. 9, O. S., -1746._[30]] - - -VULGAR PLEASURES.--Many young people adopt pleasures for which they -have not the least taste, only because they are called by that name. -They often mistake so totally as to imagine that debauchery is -pleasure. You must allow that drunkenness, which is equally destructive -to body and mind, is a fine pleasure. Gaming, that draws you into a -thousand scrapes, leaves you penniless, and gives you the air and -manners of an outrageous madman, is another most exquisite pleasure, is -it not? As to running after women, the consequences of that vice are -only the loss of one’s nose, the total destruction of health, and, not -unfrequently, the being run through the body. [_March, 1747._] - - -A GENTLEMAN’S PLEASURES.--The true pleasures of a gentleman are, those -of the table, but within the bounds of moderation; good company, that -is to say, people of merit; moderate play, which amuses without any -interested views; and sprightly, gallant conversations with women of -fashion and sense. - -These are the real pleasures of a gentleman: which occasion neither -sickness, shame, nor repentance. Whatever exceeds them becomes low -vice, brutal passion, debauchery, and insanity of mind; all of which, -far from giving satisfaction, bring on dishonor and disgrace. Adieu. -[_Same date._] - - -VIRTUE AND GOLD.--Virtue and learning, like gold, have their intrinsic -value; but if they are not polished they certainly lose a great deal -of their lustre; and even polished brass will pass upon more people -than rough gold. What a number of sins does the cheerful, easy, good -breeding of the French frequently cover? Many of them want common -sense, many more common learning; but, in general, they make up so -much by their manner for those defects, that frequently they pass -undiscovered. I have often said, and do think, that a Frenchman, who, -with a fund of virtue, learning, and good sense, has the manners and -good breeding of his country, is the perfection of human nature. [_Same -date._] - - -PLEASURE.--Do not think that I mean to snarl at pleasure like a stoic, -or to preach against it like a parson; no, I mean to point it out, and -recommend it like an epicurean; I wish you a great deal, and my only -view is to hinder you from mistaking it. [_March 6, 1747._] - - -GOODNESS.--You know what virtue is; you may have it if you will; it is -in every man’s power, and miserable is the man who has it not. [_Same -date._] - - -THE MAN OF PLEASURE.--The character which most young men first aim -at is that of a man of pleasure; but they generally take it upon -trust; and, instead of consulting their own taste and inclinations, -they blindly adopt whatever those with whom they chiefly converse are -pleased to call by the name of pleasure; and a _man of pleasure_, in -the vulgar acceptation of that phrase, means only a beastly drunkard, -an abandoned whoremaster, and a profligate swearer and curser. As it -may be of use to you, I am not unwilling, though at the same time -ashamed, to own that the vices of my youth proceeded much more from my -silly resolution of being what I heard called a man of pleasure, than -from my own inclinations. I always naturally hated drinking; and yet I -have often drunk, with disgust at the time, attended by great sickness -the next day, only because I then considered drinking as a necessary -qualification for a fine gentleman and a man of pleasure. [_March 27, -1747._] - - -GAMBLING.--The same as to gaming. I did not want money, and -consequently had no occasion to play for it; but I thought play another -necessary ingredient in the composition of a man of pleasure, and -accordingly I plunged into it, without desire at first; sacrificed a -thousand real pleasures to it; and made myself solidly uneasy by it for -thirty the best years of my life. - -I was even absurd enough, for a little while, to swear, by way of -adorning and completing the shining character which I affected; but -this folly I soon laid aside upon finding both the guilt and the -indecency of it. - -Thus seduced by fashion, and blindly adopting nominal pleasures, I -lost real ones; and my fortune impaired, and my constitution shattered, -are, I must confess, the just punishment of my errors. - -Take warning then by them; choose your pleasures for yourself, and -do not let them be imposed upon you. Follow nature, and not fashion; -weigh the present enjoyment of your pleasures against the necessary -consequences of them, and then let your own common-sense determine your -choice. [_Same date._] - - -A LIFE OF REAL PLEASURE.--Were I to begin the world again, with the -experience which I now have of it, I would lead a life of real, not -of imaginary pleasure. I would enjoy the pleasures of the table and -of wine; but stop short of the pains inseparably annexed to an excess -in either. I would not, at twenty years, be a preaching missionary of -abstemiousness and sobriety; and I should let other people do as they -would, without formally and sententiously rebuking them for it; but -I would be most firmly resolved not to destroy my own faculties and -constitution, in complaisance to those who have no regard to their -own. I would play to give me pleasure, but not to give me pain; that -is, I would play for trifles, in mixed companies, to amuse myself, -and conform to custom; but I would take care not to venture for sums -which, if I won, I should not be the better for; but which, if I lost, -I should deeply regret. [_Same date._] - - -COARSE AND VULGAR PLEASURES.--Does good company care to have a man -reeling drunk among them? Or to see another tearing his hair and -blaspheming, for having lost at play more than he is able to pay? Or -a whoremaster with half a nose, and crippled by coarse and infamous -debauchery? No; those who practise, and much more those who brag of -them, make no part of good company; and are most unwillingly, if ever, -admitted into it. - - -FASHIONABLE VICES.--A real man of fashion and pleasure observes -decency; at least, neither borrows nor affects vices; and, if he -unfortunately has any, he gratifies them with choice, delicacy, and -secrecy. I have not mentioned the pleasures of the mind (which are the -solid and permanent ones), because they do not come under the head of -what people commonly call pleasures; which they seem to confine to the -senses. The pleasure of virtue, of charity, and of learning is true and -lasting pleasure; which I hope you will be well and long acquainted -with. Adieu! [_March, 1747._] - - -A FINE EDITION.--If I am rightly informed, I am now writing to a fine -gentleman, in a scarlet coat laced with gold, a brocade waistcoat, -and all other suitable ornaments. The natural partiality of every -author for his own works, makes me very glad to hear that Mr. Harte -has thought this last edition of mine worth so fine a binding; and, as -he has bound it in red, and gilt it upon the back, I hope he will take -care that it shall be _lettered_ too. A showish binding attracts the -eyes, and engages the attention of everybody; but with this difference, -that women, and men who are like women, mind the binding more than the -book, whereas men of sense and learning immediately examine the inside, -and, if they find that it does not answer the finery on the outside, -they throw it by with the greater indignation and contempt. I hope that -when this edition of my works shall be opened and read, the best judges -will find connection, consistency, solidity, and spirit in it. Mr. -Harte may _recensere_ and _emendare_ as much as he pleases; but it will -be to little purpose if you do not co-operate with him. The work will -be imperfect. [_April 3, O. S., 1747._] - - -TWO KINDS OF SALT.--Swiss salt is, I dare say, very good, yet I am -apt to suspect it falls a little short of the true Attic salt, in -which there was a peculiar quickness and delicacy. The same Attic salt -seasoned all Greece; a great deal of it was exported afterwards to -Rome, where it was counterfeited by a composition called urbanity, -which, in some time, was brought to very near the perfection of the -original Attic salt. The more you are powdered with these two kinds -of salt the better you will keep, and the more you will be relished. -[_April, 1747._] - - -ONE THING AT A TIME.--If at a ball, a supper, or a party of pleasure, -a man were to be solving, in his own mind, a problem in Euclid, he -would be a very bad companion, and make a very poor figure in that -company; or if, in studying a problem in his closet, he were to think -of a minuet, I am apt to believe that he would make a very poor -mathematician. There is time enough for everything in the course of the -day, if you do but one thing at once; but there is not time enough in -the year, if you will do two things at a time. [_Same date._] - - -LETTER WRITING.--The best models[31] that you can form yourself upon, -are Cicero, Cardinal d’Ossat, Madame Sevigné, and Comte Bussy Rabutin. -Cicero’s epistles to Atticus and to his familiar friends are the best -examples that you can imitate, in the friendly and the familiar style. -The simplicity and clearness of Cardinal d’Ossat’s letters show how -letters of business ought to be written; no affected turns, no attempt -at wit, obscure or perplex his matter; which is always plainly and -clearly stated, as business always should be. For gay and amusing -letters, for _enjouement_ and _badinage_, there are none that equal -Comte Bussy’s and Madame Sevigné’s. They are so natural, they seem -to be the extempore conversations of two people of wit, rather than -letters; which are commonly studied, though they ought not to be so. -I would advise you to let that book be one in your itinerant library. -[_July 20, 1747._] - - -PERSONAL CLEANLINESS.--As you must attend to your manners, so you must -not neglect your person; but take care to be very clean, well dressed, -and genteel; to have no disagreeable attitudes, nor awkward tricks; -which many people use themselves to, and then cannot leave them off. Do -you take care to keep your teeth very clean, by washing them constantly -every morning, and after every meal? This is very necessary, both -to preserve your teeth a great while, and to save you a great deal -of pain. Mine have plagued me long, and are now falling out, merely -for want of care when I was of your age. Do you dress well, and not -too well? Do you consider your air and manner of presenting yourself -enough, and not too much? neither negligent nor stiff. All these -things deserve a degree of care, a second-rate attention; they give an -additional lustre to real merit. My Lord Bacon says that a pleasing -figure is a perpetual letter of recommendation. It is certainly an -agreeable forerunner of merit and smooths the way for it. [_July 30, -1747._] - - -TRUTH.--Every man seeks for truth; but God only knows who has found it. -It is, therefore, as unjust to persecute as it is absurd to ridicule -people for those several opinions which they cannot help entertaining -upon the conviction of their reason. [_Same date._] - - -LYING.--I really know nothing more criminal, more mean, and more -ridiculous than lying. It is the production either of malice, -cowardice, or vanity; and generally misses of its aim in every one of -these views; for lies are always detected, sooner or later. If I tell -a malicious lie, in order to affect any man’s fortune or character, -I may indeed injure him for some time; but I shall be sure to be the -greatest sufferer myself at last; for as soon as ever I am detected -(and detected I most certainly shall be), I am blasted for the infamous -attempt; and whatever is said afterward, to the disadvantage of that -person, however true, passes for calumny. If I lie, or equivocate, -for it is the same thing, in order to excuse myself for something -that I have said or done, and to avoid the danger or the shame that I -apprehend from it, I discover at once my fear, as well as my falsehood; -and only increase instead of avoiding the danger and the shame; I show -myself to be the lowest and the meanest of mankind, and am sure to be -always treated as such. Fear, instead of avoiding, invites danger; -for concealed cowards will insult known ones. If one has had the -misfortune to be in the wrong, there is something noble in frankly -owning it; it is the only way of atoning for it, and the only way of -being forgiven. Equivocating, evading, shuffling, in order to remove a -present danger or inconveniency, is something so mean, and betrays so -much fear, that whoever practises them always deserves to be, and often -will be, kicked. There is another sort of lies, inoffensive enough -in themselves, but wonderfully ridiculous; I mean those lies which a -mistaken vanity suggests, that defeat the very end for which they are -calculated, and terminate in the humiliation and confusion of their -author, who is sure to be detected. These are chiefly narrative and -historical lies, all intended to do infinite honor to their author. He -is always the hero of his own romances; he has been in dangers from -which nobody but himself ever escaped; he has seen with his own eyes -whatever other people have heard or read of; he has had more _bonnes -fortunes_ than ever he knew women; and has ridden more miles post, in -one day, than ever courier went in two. He is soon discovered, and as -soon becomes the object of universal contempt and ridicule. Remember, -then, as long as you live, that nothing but strict truth can carry -you through the world, with either your conscience or your honor -unwounded. It is not only your duty, but your interest; as a proof of -which you may always observe that the greatest fools are the greatest -liars. For my own part, I judge of every man’s truth by his degree of -understanding. [_Sept. 21, 1747._] - - -PERCEPTION OF CHARACTER.--Search, therefore, with the greatest care -into the characters of all those whom you converse with; endeavor to -discover their predominant passions, their prevailing weaknesses, -their vanities, their follies, and their humors; with all the right -and wrong, wise and silly springs of human actions, which make such -inconsistent and whimsical beings of us rational creatures. A moderate -share of penetration, with great attention, will infallibly make these -necessary discoveries. This is the true knowledge of the world; and -the world is a country which nobody ever yet knew by description; -one must travel through it one’s self to be acquainted with it. The -scholar, who in the dust of his closet talks or writes of the world, -knows no more of it than that orator did of war, who judiciously -endeavored to instruct Hannibal in it. Courts and camps are the only -places to learn the world in. [_Oct. 2, 1747._] - - -GOOD BREEDING.--Civility, which is a disposition to accommodate and -oblige others, is essentially the same in every country; but good -breeding, as it is called, which is the manner of exerting that -disposition, is different in almost every country, and merely local; -and every man of sense imitates and conforms to that local good -breeding of the place which he is at. A conformity and flexibility -of manners is necessary in the course of the world; that is, with -regard to all things which are not wrong in themselves. The _versatile -ingenium_ is the most useful of all. It can turn itself instantly from -one object to another, assuming the proper manner for each. It can be -serious with the grave, cheerful with the gay, and trifling with the -frivolous. Endeavor, by all means, to accommodate this talent, for it -is a very great one. [_Same date._] - - -SELF-LOVE.--Do not let your vanity and self-love make you suppose -that people become your friends at first sight, or even upon a short -acquaintance. Real friendship is a slow grower, and never thrives -unless ingrafted upon a stock of known and reciprocal merit. There is -another kind of nominal friendship, among young people, which is warm -for the time, but, by good luck, of short duration. This friendship -is hastily produced, by their being accidentally thrown together, and -pursuing the same course of riot and debauchery. A fine friendship, -truly! and well cemented by drunkenness and lewdness. It should rather -be called a conspiracy against morals and good manners, and be punished -as such by the civil magistrate. The next thing to the choice of your -friends is the choice of your company. Endeavor, as much as you can, to -keep company with people above you. There you rise as much as you sink -with people below you; for, as I mentioned before, you are whatever -the company you keep is. Do not mistake, when I say company above you, -and think that I mean with regard to their birth; that is the least -consideration; but I mean with regard to their merit, and the light in -which the world considers them. [_Oct. 9, 1747._] - - -GOOD COMPANY.--There are two sorts of good company; one, which is -called the _beau monde_, and consists of those people who have the lead -in courts, and in the gay part of life; the other consists of those -who are distinguished by some peculiar merit, or who excel in some -particular and valuable art or science. For my own part, I used to -think myself in company as much above me, when I was with Mr. Addison -and Mr. Pope, as if I had been with all the princes in Europe. What -I mean by low company, which should by all means be avoided, is the -company of those, who, absolutely insignificant and contemptible in -themselves, think they are honored by being in your company, and who -flatter every vice and every folly you have, in order to engage you to -converse with them. The pride of being the first of the company is but -too common; but it is very silly, and very prejudicial. Nothing in the -world lets down a character more than that wrong turn. - -You may possibly ask me, whether a man has it always in his power to -get into the best company? and how? I say, yes, he has, by deserving -it; provided he is but in circumstances which enable him to appear upon -the footing of a gentleman. Merit and good breeding will make their way -everywhere. Knowledge will introduce him, and good breeding will endear -him to the best companies; for, as I have often told you, politeness -and good breeding are absolutely necessary to adorn any, or all other -good qualities or talents. Without them, no knowledge, no perfection -whatsoever, is seen in its best light. The scholar, without good -breeding, is a pedant; the philosopher, a cynic; the soldier, a brute; -and every man disagreeable. [_Same date._] - - -LOCAL PROPRIETY.--Remember that there is a local propriety to be -observed in all companies; and that what is extremely proper in one -company may be, and often is, highly improper in another. [_Same date._] - - -The jokes, the _bon mots_, the little adventures, which may do very -well in one company, will seem flat and tedious, when related in -another. The particular characters, the habits, the cant of one company -may give merit to a word, or a gesture, which would have none at all if -divested of those accidental circumstances. Here people very commonly -err; and, fond of something that has entertained them in one company, -and in certain circumstances, repeat it with emphasis in another, where -it is either insipid, or, it may be, offensive, by being ill-timed or -misplaced. - -Women have, in general, but one object, which is their beauty; upon -which, scarce any flattery is too gross for them to follow. Nature -has hardly formed a woman ugly enough, to be insensible to flattery -upon her person; if her face is so shocking that she must, in some -degree, be conscious of it, her figure and her air, she trusts, make -ample amends for it. If her figure is deformed, her face, she thinks, -counterbalances it. If they are both bad, she comforts herself that she -has graces; a certain manner; a _je ne sçais quoi_, still more engaging -than beauty. This truth is evident, from the studied and elaborate -dress of the ugliest women in the world. An undoubted, uncontested, -conscious beauty is, of all women, the least sensible of flattery upon -that head; she knows it is her due, and is therefore obliged to nobody -for giving it her. She must be flattered upon her understanding; which, -though she may possibly not doubt of herself, yet she suspects that men -may distrust. [_Oct. 16, 1747._] - - -There are a great many people, who think themselves employed all day, -and who, if they were to cast up their accounts at night, would find -that they had done just nothing. They have read two or three hours, -mechanically, without attending to what they read, and, consequently, -without either retaining it, or reasoning upon it. From thence they -saunter into company, without taking any part in it, and without -observing the characters of the persons, or the subjects of the -conversation; but are either thinking of some trifle, foreign to the -present purpose, or, often, not thinking at all; which silly and idle -suspension of thought they would dignify with the name of _absence_ and -_distraction_. They go afterwards, it may be, to the play, where they -gape at the company and the lights; but without minding the very thing -they went to, the play. [_Oct. 30, 1747._] - - -ACTION! ACTION!--Remember the _hoc age_; do what you are about, be that -what it will; it is either worth doing well, or not at all. Wherever -you are, have (as the low, vulgar expression is) your ears and eyes -about you. Listen to everything that is said, and see everything that -is done. Observe the looks and countenances of those who speak, which -is often a surer way of discovering the truth, than from what they say. -[_Same date._] - - -VALUE OF TIME.--I knew, once, a very covetous, sordid fellow, who used -frequently to say: “Take care of the pence, for the pounds will take -care of themselves.” This was a just and sensible reflection in a -miser. I recommend to you to take care of the minutes; for hours will -take care of themselves. I am very sure that many people lose two or -three hours every day, by not taking care of the minutes. Never think -any portion of time, whatsoever, too short to be employed; something or -other may always be done in it. [_Nov. 6, 1747._] - - -YOUNG PEOPLE.--The young leading the young is like the blind leading -the blind; “they will both fall into the ditch.” The only sure guide -is he who has often gone the road which you want to go. Let me be that -guide; who have gone all roads; and who can consequently point out to -you the best. If you ask me why I went any of the bad roads myself? I -will answer you, very truly, that it was for want of a good guide; ill -example invited me one way, and a good guide was wanting, to show me -a better. But if anybody, capable of advising me, had taken the same -pains with me, which I have taken, and will continue to take with you, -I should have avoided many follies and inconveniences, which undirected -youth ran me into. My father was neither desirous nor able to advise -me; which is what, I hope, you cannot say of yours. [_Nov. 24, 1747._] - - -FROM HOME.--I send you, by a person who sets out this day for Leipsic, -a small packet from your mamma, containing some valuable things which -you left behind; to which I have added, by way of New Year’s gift, a -very pretty toothpick case; and, by the way, pray take great care of -your teeth, and keep them extremely clean. I have likewise sent you -the Greek roots, lately translated into English from the French of the -Port Royal. Inform yourself what the Port Royal is. To conclude with -a quibble: I hope you will not only feed upon these Greek roots, but -likewise digest them perfectly. Adieu. [_Same date._] - - -TIME.--There is nothing which I more wish that you should know, and -which fewer people do know, than the true use and value of time. It -is in everybody’s mouth; but in few people’s practice. Every fool, -who slatterns away his whole time in nothings, utters, however, some -trite commonplace sentence, of which there are millions, to prove, at -once, the value and the fleetness of time. The sundials, likewise, all -over Europe, have some ingenious inscription to that effect; so that -nobody squanders away their time without hearing and seeing, daily, how -necessary it is to employ it well, and how irrecoverable it is if lost. -But all these admonitions are useless, where there is not a fund of -good sense and reason to suggest them, rather than receive them. By the -manner in which you now tell me that you employ your time, I flatter -myself that you have that fund: that is the fund which will make you -rich indeed. I do not, therefore, mean to give you a critical essay -upon the use and abuse of time; I will only give you some hints, with -regards to the use of one particular period of that long time which, I -hope, you have before you; I mean, the next two years. Remember then, -that whatever knowledge you do not solidly lay the foundation of before -you are eighteen, you will never be master of while you breathe. [_Dec. -11, 1747._] - - -KNOWLEDGE.--Knowledge is a comfortable and necessary retreat and -shelter for us in an advanced age; and if we do not plant it while -young, it will give us no shade when we grow old. [_Same date._] - - -A CLASSICAL STUDENT.--I knew a gentleman who was so good a manager of -his time that he would not even lose that small portion of it which -the calls of nature obliged him to pass in the necessary house; but -gradually went through all the Latin poets in those moments. He bought, -for example, a common edition of Horace, of which he tore off gradually -a couple of pages, read them first, and then sent them down a sacrifice -to Cloacina; this was so much time fairly gained. [_Same date._] - - -YOUNG STANHOPE.--Hitherto I have discovered nothing wrong in your -heart, or your head; on the contrary, I think I see sense in the one, -and sentiments in the other. This persuasion is the only motive of my -present affection; which will either increase or diminish, according to -your merit or demerit. If you have the knowledge, the honor, and the -probity which you may have, the marks and warmth of my affection shall -amply reward them. [_Dec. 18, 1747._] - - -FASHIONABLE LADIES.--The company of women of fashion will improve your -manners, though not your understanding; and that complaisance and -politeness, which are so useful in men’s company, can only be acquired -in women’s. [_Dec. 29, 1747._] - - -TALENT AND BREEDING.--Remember always, what I have told you a thousand -times, that all the talents in the world will want all their lustre, -and some part of their use too, if they are not adorned with that easy -good breeding, that engaging manner, and those graces which seduce -and prepossess people in your favor at first sight. A proper care of -your person is by no means to be neglected; always extremely clean; -upon proper occasions, fine. Your carriage genteel, and your motions -graceful. Take particular care of your manner and address, when you -present yourself in company. Let them be respectful without meanness, -easy without too much familiarity, genteel without affectation, and -insinuating without any seeming art or design. [_Same date._] - - -POLISH.--Now, though I would not recommend to you to go into woman’s -company in search of solid knowledge or judgment, yet it has its use in -other respects; for it certainly polishes the manners, and gives _une -certaine tournure_, which is very necessary in the course of the world; -and which Englishmen have generally less of than any people in the -world. [_Jan. 2, 1748._] - - -A GOOD SUPPER.--I cannot say that your suppers are luxurious, but -you must own they are solid; and a quart of soup, and two pounds of -potatoes, will enable you to pass the night without great impatience -for your breakfast next morning. One part of your supper (the potatoes) -is the constant diet of my old friends and countrymen, the Irish, who -are the healthiest and the strongest men that I know in Europe. [_Same -date._] - - -A GREEK PROFESSOR.--Since you do not care to be an assessor of the -Imperial Chamber, and desire an establishment in England; what do you -think of being Greek professor at one of our universities? It is a very -pretty sinecure, and requires very little knowledge (much less than, I -hope, you have already) of that language. [_Jan. 15, 1748._] - - -A POLITICIAN.--Mr. Harte tells me that you set up for a πολιτικὸς ανὴρ; -if so, I presume it is in the view of succeeding me in my office; which -I will very willingly resign to you, whenever you shall call upon me -for it. But, if you intend to be the πολιτικὸς ανὴρ, or the βεληφόρος -ανὴρ, there are some trifling circumstances, upon which you should -previously take your resolution. The first of which is, to be fit for -it; and then, in order to be so, make yourself master of ancient and -modern history and languages. To know perfectly the constitution, and -form of government of every nation; the growth and decline of ancient -and modern empires; and to trace out and reflect upon the causes of -both. To know the strength, the riches, and the commerce of every -country. These little things, trifling as they may seem, are yet very -necessary for a politician to know; and which therefore, I presume, -you will condescend to apply yourself to. There are some additional -qualifications necessary, in the practical part of business, which may -deserve some consideration in your leisure moments; such as an absolute -command of your temper, so as not to be provoked to passion, upon any -account: patience, to hear frivolous, impertinent, and unreasonable -applications: with address enough to refuse, without offending; or, by -your manner of granting, to double the obligation: dexterity enough to -conceal a truth, without telling a lie: sagacity enough to read other -people’s countenances: and serenity enough not to let them discover -anything by yours; a seeming frankness, with a real reserve. These are -the rudiments of a politician; the world must be your grammar. - -Three mails are now due from Holland, so that I have no letters from -you to acknowledge. I therefore conclude with recommending myself to -your favor and protection when you succeed. [_Same date._] - - -CONGEALED SPEECH.--I find by Mr. Harte’s last letter, that many of my -letters to you and him have been frozen up in their way to Leipsic; the -thaw has, I suppose, by this time set them at liberty to pursue their -journey to you, and you will receive a glut of them at once. Hudibras -alludes, in this verse, - - “Like words congeal’d in northern air,” - -to a vulgar notion, that in Greenland words were frozen in -their utterance, and that upon a thaw a very mixed conversation was -heard in the air of all those words set at liberty. [_Jan. 29, 1748._] - - -POLITICAL IGNORANCE OF THE ENGLISH.--We are in general in England -ignorant of foreign affairs and of the interests, views, pretensions, -and policy of other courts. That part of knowledge never enters into -our thoughts, nor makes part of our education; for which reason we have -fewer proper subjects for foreign commissions than any other country in -Europe; and, when foreign affairs happen to be debated in Parliament, -it is incredible with how much ignorance. The harvest of foreign -affairs being then so great, and the laborers so few, if you make -yourself master of them, you will make yourself necessary: first as a -foreign, and then as a domestic minister for that department. [_Feb. 9, -1748._] - - -MY LORD’S DISLIKE OF VALETS.--I would neither have your new man nor -him whom you have already, put out of livery, which makes them both -impertinent and useless. I am sure that as soon as you shall have taken -the other servant, your present man will press extremely to be out -of livery, and valet de chambre, which is as much as to say, that he -will curl your hair and shave you, but not condescend to do anything -else. Therefore I advise you never to have a servant out of livery; -and though you may not always think proper to carry the servant who -dresses you abroad in the rain and dirt behind a coach or before a -chair, you keep it in your power to do so, if you please, by keeping -him in livery. [_Feb. 13, 1748._] - - -LEARNED LEISURE.--The first use that I made of my liberty was to -come hither [Bath], where I arrived yesterday. My health, though not -fundamentally bad, yet, for want of proper attention of late, wanted -some repairs, which these waters never fail giving it. I shall drink -them a month, and return to London, there to enjoy the comforts of -social life, instead of groaning under the load of business. I have -given the description of the life that I propose to lead for the future -in this motto, which I have put up in the frize (_sic_) of my library -in my new house: - - “Nunc veterum libris, nunc somno, et inertibus horis - Ducere sollicitæ jucunda oblivia vitæ.” - -I must observe to you upon this occasion, that the uninterrupted -satisfaction which I expect to find in that library will be chiefly -owing to my having employed some part of my life well at your age. -I wish I had employed it better, and my satisfaction would now be -complete. [_Feb. 16, 1748._] - - -WASTE OF TIME.--I, who have been behind the scenes, both of pleasure -and business, and have seen all the springs and pulleys of those -decorations which astonish and dazzle the audience, retire, not only -without regret, but with contentment and satisfaction. But what I do, -and ever shall, regret, is the time which, while young, I lost in -mere idleness, and in doing nothing. This is the common effect of the -inconsideracy of youth, against which I beg you will be most carefully -upon your guard. The value of moments, when cast up, is immense, if -well employed; if thrown away, their loss is irrecoverable. Every -moment may be put to some use, and that with much more pleasure than -if unemployed. Do not imagine that by the employment of time I mean an -uninterrupted application to serious studies. No; pleasures are, at -proper times, both as necessary and as useful; they fashion and form -you for the world; they teach you characters, and show you the human -heart in its unguarded minutes. But then remember to make that use of -them. I have known many people, from laziness of mind, go through both -pleasure and business with equal inattention; neither enjoying the one, -nor doing the other; thinking themselves men of pleasure because they -were mingled with those who were, and men of business, because they had -business to do, though they did not do it. Whatever you do, do it to -the purpose; do it thoroughly, not superficially. _Approfondissez_; go -to the bottom of things. Anything half done, or half known, is, in my -mind, neither done nor known at all. Nay worse, for it often misleads. -There is hardly any place, or any company, where you may not gain -knowledge, if you please; almost everybody knows some one thing, and is -glad to talk upon that one thing. [_Same date._] - - -PROPER INQUISITIVENESS.--Seek, and you will find, in this world as well -as in the next. See everything, inquire into everything; and you may -excuse your curiosity and the questions you ask, which otherwise might -be thought impertinent by your manner of asking them; for most things -depend a great deal upon the manner. As, for example, _I am afraid that -I am very troublesome with my questions; but nobody can inform me so -well as you_; or something of that kind. [_Same date._] - - -RELIGION TO BE RESPECTED.--But when you frequent places of public -worship, as I would have you go to all the different ones you meet -with, remember that, however erroneous, they are none of them objects -of laughter and ridicule. Honest error is to be pitied, not ridiculed. -The object of all the public worships in the world is the same; it is -that great eternal Being who created everything. The different manners -of worship are by no means subjects of ridicule. Each sect thinks its -own the best; and I know no infallible judge, in this world, to decide -which is the best. [_Same date._] - - -USE A NOTE-BOOK.--Make the same inquiries, wherever you are, concerning -the revenues, the military establishment, the trade, the commerce, and -the police of every country. And you would do well to keep a blank -paper book, which the Germans call an _album_; and there, instead of -desiring, as they do, every fool they meet with to scribble something, -write down all these things, as soon as they come to your knowledge -from good authorities. [_Same date._] - - -LORD CHESTERFIELD’S CARE.--I have now but one anxiety left, which is -concerning you. I would have you be, what I know nobody is, perfect. As -that is impossible, I would have you as near perfection as possible. -I know nobody in a fairer way toward it than yourself, if you please. -Never were so much pains taken for anybody’s education as for yours; -and never had anybody those opportunities of knowledge and improvement -which you have had, and still have. I hope, I wish, I doubt, and I fear -alternately. This only I am sure of, that you will prove either the -greatest pain, or the greatest pleasure of, yours always truly. [_Same -date._] - - -PEDANTS.--Others, to show their learning, or often from the prejudices -of a school education, where they hear of nothing else, are always -talking of the ancients, as something more than men, and of the moderns -as something less. They are never without a classic or two in their -pockets; they stick to the old good sense; they read none of the modern -trash; and will show you plainly that no improvement has been made, in -any one art or science, these last seventeen hundred years. I would by -no means have you disown your acquaintance with the ancients; but still -less would I have you brag of an exclusive intimacy with them. Speak -of the moderns without contempt, and of the ancients without idolatry; -judge them all by their merits, but not by their ages; and if you -happen to have an Elzevir classic in your pocket, neither show it nor -mention it. [_Bath, Feb. 22, 1748._] - - -BLINDNESS TO HEROISM.--Take into your consideration, if you please, -cases seemingly analogous; but take them as helps only, not as guides. -We are really so prejudiced by our educations that, as the ancients -deified their heroes, we deify their madmen; of which, with all due -regard to antiquity, I take Leonidas and Curtius to have been two -distinguished ones. And yet a solid pedant would, in a speech in -Parliament, relative to a tax of twopence in the pound, upon some -commodity or other, quote those two heroes as examples of what we ought -to do and suffer for our country. [_Same date._] - - -INJUDICIOUS LEARNING.--I have known these absurdities carried so far -by people of injudicious learning, that I should not be surprised if -some of them were to propose, while we were at war with the Gauls, -that a number of geese should be kept in the Tower, upon account of -the infinite advantage which Rome received, in a parallel case, from -a certain number of geese in the Capitol. This way of reasoning and -this way of speaking will always form a poor politician and a puerile -declaimer. [_Same date._] - - -HOW “TO WEAR” LEARNING.--Wear your learning like your watch, in a -private pocket; and do not pull it out and strike it, merely to show -that you have one. If you are asked what o’clock it is, tell it, but do -not proclaim it hourly and unasked, like the watchman. [_Same date._] - - -THE GRACES.--A thousand little things, not separately to be defined, -conspire to form these graces, this _je ne sais quoi_ that always -pleases. A pretty person, genteel motions, a proper degree of dress, -an harmonious voice, something open and cheerful in the countenance, -but without laughing; a distinct and properly varied manner of -speaking; all these things, and many others, are necessary ingredients -in the composition of the pleasing _je ne sais quoi_, which everybody -feels, though nobody can describe. Observe carefully, then, what -displeases or pleases you, in others, and be persuaded, that, in -general, the same things will please or displease others, in you. -Having mentioned laughing, I must particularly warn you against it; -and I could heartily wish that you may often be seen to smile, but -never heard to laugh while you live. Frequent and loud laughter is the -characteristic of folly and ill-manners; it is the manner in which the -mob express their silly joy at silly things; and they call it being -merry. In my mind, there is nothing so illiberal and so ill-bred as -audible laughter. [_March 9, 1748._] - - -THE FOLLY OF LAUGHTER.--True wit or sense never yet made anybody laugh; -they are above it; they please the mind and give a cheerfulness to the -countenance. But it is low buffoonery or silly accidents that always -excite laughter; and that is what people of sense and breeding should -show themselves above. A man’s going to sit down, in the supposition -that he has a chair behind him, and falling down upon his breech -for want of one, sets a whole company a-laughing, when all the wit -in the world would not do it; a plain proof, in my mind, how low -and unbecoming a thing laughter is. Not to mention the disagreeable -noise that it makes, and the shocking distortion of the face that it -occasions. Laughter is easily restrained by a very little reflection; -but as it is generally connected with the idea of gaiety, people do -not enough attend to its absurdity. I am neither of a melancholy nor -a cynical disposition; and am as willing and as apt to be pleased -as anybody; but I am sure that, since I have had the full use of my -reason, nobody has ever heard me laugh. [_Same date._] - - -THE MIND.--It requires, also, a great deal of exercise, to bring it to -a state of health and vigor. Observe the difference there is between -minds cultivated and minds uncultivated, and you will, I am sure, think -that you cannot take too much pains, nor employ too much of your time -in the culture of your own. A drayman is probably born with as good -organs as Milton, Locke, or Newton; but, by culture, they are much more -above him than he is above his horse. Sometimes, indeed, extraordinary -geniuses have broken out by the force of nature, without the assistance -of education; but those instances are too rare for anybody to trust -to; and even they would make a much greater figure if they had the -advantage of education into the bargain. [_April 1, 1748._] - - -SEE ALL THINGS.--At least, see everything that you can see, and know -everything that you can know of it, by asking questions. See likewise -everything at the fair, from operas and plays down to the Savoyards’ -rareeshows. Everything is worth seeing once; and the more one sees, the -less one either wonders or admires. [_April 15, 1748._] - - -FALSEHOOD UNIVERSAL.--Falsehood and dissimulation are certainly to be -found at courts; but where are they not to be found? Cottages have them -as well as courts; only with worse manners. A couple of neighboring -farmers, in a village, will contrive and practice as many tricks to -overreach each other at the next market, or to supplant each other -in the favor of the squire, as any two courtiers can do to supplant -each other in the favor of their prince. Whatever poets may write, or -fools believe, of rural innocence and truth, and of the perfidy of -courts, this is most undoubtedly true--that shepherds and ministers are -both men; their nature and passions the same, the modes of them only -different. [_May 10, 1748._] - - -VULGAR SCOFFERS.--Religion is one of their favorite topics; it is all -priestcraft; and an invention contrived and carried on by priests, of -all religions, for their own power and profit; from this absurd and -false principle flow the commonplace, insipid jokes and insults upon -the clergy. With these people, every priest, of every religion, is -either a public or a concealed unbeliever, drunkard, and whoremaster; -whereas I conceive that priests are extremely like other men, and -neither the better nor the worse for wearing a gown or a surplice; -but, if they are different from other people, probably it is rather -on the side of religion and morality, or at least decency, from their -education and manner of life. [_Same date._] - - -WIT--FALSE AND VULGAR.--Another common topic for false wit and -cold raillery is matrimony. Every man and his wife hate each other -cordially, whatever they may pretend, in public, to the contrary. The -husband certainly wishes his wife at the devil, and the wife certainly -cuckolds her husband. Whereas I presume that men and their wives -neither love nor hate each other the more upon account of the form of -matrimony which has been said over them. The cohabitation, indeed, -which is the consequence of matrimony, makes them either love or hate -more, accordingly as they respectively deserve it; but that would be -exactly the same, between any man and woman, who lived together without -being married. [_Same date._] - - -SNUBBING A “WIT.”--I always put these pert jackanapeses out of -countenance, by looking extremely grave, when they expect that I should -laugh at their pleasantries; and by saying _Well, and so_; as if they -had not done, and that the sting were still to come. This disconcerts -them, as they have no resources in themselves, and have but one set of -jokes to live upon. [_Same date._] - - -METHOD AND MANNER.--The manner of doing things is often more important -than the things themselves; and the very same thing may become either -pleasing or offensive, by the manner of saying or doing it. _Materiam -superabat opus_ is often said of works of sculpture, where though the -materials were valuable, as silver, gold, etc., the workmanship was -still more so. [_Same date._] - - -CHESTERFIELD’S PROPOSED AIM.--The end which I propose by your -education, and which (if you please) I shall certainly attain, is to -unite in you the knowledge of a scholar with the manners of a courtier; -and to join, what is seldom joined in any of my countrymen, books and -the world. They are commonly twenty years old before they have spoken -to anybody above their schoolmaster and the fellows of their college. -If they happen to have learning, it is only Greek and Latin; but not -one word of modern history or modern languages. Thus prepared, they -go abroad, as they call it; but, in truth, they stay at home all that -while; for being very awkward, confoundedly ashamed, and not speaking -the languages, they go into no foreign company, at least none good; but -dine and sup with one another only, at the tavern. Such examples, I am -sure, you will not imitate, but even carefully avoid. [_Same date._] - - -GOOD COMPANY.--You will always take care to keep the best company in -the place where you are, which is the only use of travelling; and (by -the way) the pleasures of a gentleman are only to be found in the best -company; for that riot which low company, most falsely and impudently, -call pleasure, is only the sensuality of a swine. [_Same date._] - - -MANLY DEFERENCE TO RANK.--People of a low, obscure education cannot -stand the rays of greatness; they are frightened out of their wits when -kings and great men speak to them; they are awkward, ashamed, and do -not know what nor how to answer, whereas: _les honnêtes gens_ are not -dazzled by superior rank; they know and pay all the respect that is -due to it; but they do it without being disconcerted; and can converse -just as easily with a king as with any one of his subjects. That is the -great advantage of being introduced young into good company, and being -used early to converse with one’s superiors. How many men have I seen -here, who, after having had the full benefit of an English education, -first at school and then at the university, when they have been -presented to the king, did not know whether they stood upon their heads -or their heels. [_May 17, 1748._] - - -VULGARITY AND GOOD BREEDING AT COURT.--If the king spoke to them, they -were annihilated; they trembled, endeavored to put their hands in -their pockets and missed them, let their hats fall, and were ashamed -to take them up; and, in short, put themselves in every attitude but -the right, that is, the easy and natural one. The characteristic of a -well-bred man is, to converse with his inferiors without insolence, -and with his superiors with respect and with ease. He talks to kings -without concern; he trifles with women of the first condition, with -familiarity, gaiety, but respect; and converses with his equals, -whether he is acquainted with them or not, upon general, common topics, -that are not, however, quite frivolous, without the least concern of -mind or awkwardness of body; neither of which can appear to advantage, -but when they are perfectly easy. [_Same date._] - - -FILIAL LOVE TO THE MOTHER.--You owe her not only duty, but likewise -great obligations, for her care and tenderness; and consequently cannot -take too many opportunities of showing your gratitude.[32] [_Same -date._] - - -CONSIDER YOUR OWN SITUATION.--You have not the advantage of rank and -fortune to bear you up; I shall, very probably, be out of the world -before you can properly be said to be in it. What then will you have to -rely on but your own merit? That alone must raise you, and that alone -will raise you, if you have but enough of it. I have often heard and -read of oppressed and unrewarded merit, but I have oftener (I might say -always) seen great merit make its way, and meet with its reward, to a -certain degree at least, in spite of all difficulties. By merit I mean -the moral virtues, knowledge, and manners; as to the moral virtues, I -say nothing to you; they speak best for themselves; nor can I suspect -that they want any recommendation with you; I will, therefore, only -assure you that, without them you will be most unhappy. [_May 27, -1748._] - - -DIPLOMATIC EDUCATION.--You must absolutely speak all the modern -languages, as purely and correctly as the natives of the respective -countries; for whoever does not speak a language perfectly and easily, -will never appear to advantage in conversation, nor treat with others -in it upon equal terms. As for French, you have it very well already; -and must necessarily, from the universal usage of that language, know -it better and better every day; so that I am in no pain about that. -German, I suppose, you know pretty well by this time, and will be quite -master of it before you leave Leipsic; at least I am sure you may. -Italian and Spanish will come in their turns; and, indeed, they are -both so easy, to one who knows Latin and French, that neither of them -will cost you much time or trouble. [_Same date._] - - -ADVANTAGES OF MANNERS.--Manners, though the last, and it may be the -least ingredient of real merit, are, however, very far from being -useless in its composition; they adorn, and give an additional force -and lustre to both virtue and knowledge. They prepare and smooth -the way for the progress of both; and are, I fear, with the bulk of -mankind, more engaging than either. Remember, then, the infinite -advantage of manners; cultivate and improve your own to the utmost; -good sense will suggest the great rules to you, good company will do -the rest. [_Same date._] - - -FOREIGN MINISTERS.--You are the only one I ever knew, of this country, -whose education was, from the beginning, calculated for the department -of foreign affairs; in consequence of which, if you will invariably -pursue, and diligently qualify yourself for that object, you may make -yourself absolutely necessary to the government; and, after having -received orders as a minister abroad, send orders, in your turn, as -Secretary of State at home. Most of our ministers abroad have taken -up that department occasionally, without having ever thought of -foreign affairs before--many of them, without speaking any one foreign -language; and all of them without the manners which are absolutely -necessary towards being well received and making a figure at foreign -courts. [_Same date._] - - -HOW TO BE CONSIDERABLE.--Upon the whole, if you have a mind to be -considerable, and to shine hereafter, you must labor hard now. No -quickness of parts, no vivacity, will do long, or go far, without a -solid fund of knowledge; and that fund of knowledge will amply repay -all the pains that you can take in acquiring it. Reflect seriously, -within yourself, upon all this, and ask yourself, whether I can have -any view, but your interest, in all that I recommend to you. [_Same -date._] - - -THE POPE’S POWER.--Indulgences stood instead of armies, in the times -of ignorance and bigotry; but now that mankind is better informed, -the spiritual authority of the Pope is not only less regarded, but -even despised, by the Catholic princes themselves; and his holiness is -actually little more than Bishop of Rome. [_May 31, 1748._] - - -PAPAL VIRTUES.--Alexander VI., together with his natural son, Cæsar -Borgia, was famous for his wickedness, in which he, and his son too, -surpassed all imagination. Their lives are well worth your reading. -They were poisoned themselves by the poisoned wine which they had -prepared for others; the father died of it, but Cæsar recovered. - -Sixtus V. was the son of a swineherd, and raised himself to the popedom -by his abilities; he was a great knave, but an able and a singular one. - -Here is history enough for to-day. [_Same date._] - - -AWKWARD SPEECH.--Good God! if this ungraceful and disagreeable manner -of speaking had, either by your negligence or mine, become habitual -to you, as in a couple of years more it would have been, what a figure -would you have made in company, or in a public assembly? Who would -have liked you in the one, or have attended to you in the other? Read -what Cicero and Quintilian say of enunciation, and see what a stress -they lay upon the gracefulness of it; nay, Cicero goes further, and -even maintains that a good figure is necessary for an orator; and, -particularly, that he must not be _vastus_; that is, overgrown and -clumsy. He shows by it that he knew mankind well, and knew the powers -of an agreeable figure and a graceful manner. [_June 21, 1748._] - - -ENUNCIATION--ELOQUENCE.--Your figure is a good one; you have no natural -defect in the organs of speech; your address may be engaging, and your -manner of speaking graceful, if you will; so that, if they are not -so, neither I nor the world can ascribe it to any thing but your want -of parts. What is the constant and just observation as to all actors -upon the stage? Is it not, that those who have the best sense always -speak the best, though they may happen not to have the best voices? -They will speak plainly, distinctly, and with the proper emphasis, -be their voices ever so bad. Had Roscius spoken _quick_, _thick_, -and _ungracefully_, I will answer for it that Cicero would not have -thought him worth the oration which he made in his favor. Words were -given us to communicate our ideas by; and there must be something -inconceivably absurd in uttering them in such a manner as that either -people cannot understand them, or will not desire to understand them. I -tell you truly and sincerely that I shall judge of your parts by your -speaking gracefully or ungracefully. If you have parts, you will never -be at rest till you have brought yourself to a habit of speaking most -gracefully; for I aver that it is in your power. [_Same date._] - - -ARTICULATION.--You will take care to open your teeth when you speak; to -articulate every word distinctly; and to beg of Mr. Harte, Mr. Eliot, -or whomever you speak to, to remind and stop you, if ever you fall -into the rapid and unintelligible mutter. You will even read aloud to -yourself, and tune your utterance to your own ear; and read at first -much slower than you need to do, in order to correct yourself of that -shameful trick of speaking faster than you ought. - - -PROPER CARRIAGE.--Next to graceful speaking, a genteel carriage and a -graceful manner of presenting yourself are extremely necessary, for -they are extremely engaging; and carelessness in these points is much -more unpardonable in a young fellow than affectation. It shows an -offensive indifference about pleasing. I am told by one here, who has -seen you lately, that you are awkward in your motions, and negligent -of your person. I am sorry for both; and so will you, when it will be -too late, if you continue so some time longer. Awkwardness of carriage -is very alienating, and a total negligence of dress and air is an -impertinent insult upon custom and fashion. [_Same date._] - - -DESERT AND REWARD.--Deserve a great deal, and you shall have a great -deal; deserve little, and you shall have but a little; and be good for -nothing at all, and I assure you, you shall have nothing at all. - -Solid knowledge, as I have often told you, is the first and great -foundation of your future fortune and character; for I never mention -to you the two much greater points of religion and morality, because I -cannot possibly suspect you as to either of them. [_July 1, 1748._] - - -NO ONE CONTEMPTIBLE.--Be convinced that there are no persons so -insignificant and inconsiderable, but may some time or other, and in -something or other, have it in their power to be of use to you; which -they certainly will not, if you have once shown them contempt. [_Same -date._] - - -THE FOLLY OF CONTEMPT.--Wrongs are often given, but contempt never is. -Our pride remembers it forever. It implies a discovery of weaknesses, -which we are much more careful to conceal than crimes. Many a man will -confess his crimes to a common friend, but I never knew a man who would -tell his silly weaknesses to his most intimate one. As many a friend -will tell us our faults without reserve, who will not so much as hint -at our follies; that discovery is too mortifying to our self-love, -either to tell another, or to be told of, one’s self. You must, -therefore, never expect to hear of your weaknesses, or your follies, -from anybody but me; those I will take pains to discover, and whenever -I do, I shall tell you of them. [_Same date._] - - -GOOD NATURE.--Your school-fellow, Lord Pulteney, set out last week for -Holland, and will, I believe, be at Leipsic soon after this letter. -You will take care to be extremely civil to him, and to do him any -service that you can, while you stay there; let him know that I wrote -you to do so. As being older, he should know more than you; in that -case, take pains to get up to him; but if he does not, take care not -to let him feel his inferiority. He will find it out of himself, -without your endeavors; and that cannot be helped; but nothing is more -insulting, more mortifying, and less forgiven, than avowedly to take -pains to make a man feel a mortifying inferiority in knowledge, rank, -fortune, etc. In the two last articles it is unjust, they not being in -his power; and in the first it is both ill-bred and ill-natured. Good -breeding and good nature do incline us rather to help and raise people -up to ourselves, than to mortify and depress them, and, in truth, our -own private interest concurs in it, as it is making ourselves so many -friends, instead of so many enemies. [_July 6, 1748._] - - -LES ATTENTIONS.--The constant practice of what the French call _les -attentions_ is a most necessary ingredient in the art of pleasing; they -flatter the self-love of those to whom they are shown; they engage, -they captivate, more than things of much greater importance. The duties -of social life every man is obliged to discharge; but these attentions -are voluntary acts, the free-will offerings of good breeding and good -nature; they are received, remembered, and returned as such. Women, -particularly, have a right to them; and any omission in that respect is -downright ill breeding. [_Same date._] - - -AN EDUCATIONAL TEST.--Tell me what Greek and Latin books you can now -read with ease. Can you open Demosthenes at a venture, and understand -him? Can you get through an oration of Cicero, or a satire of Horace, -without difficulty? What German book do you read to make yourself -master of that language? And what French books do you read for your -amusement? Pray give me a particular and true account of all this; for -I am not indifferent as to any one thing that relates to you. [_Same -date._] - - -LAZY MINDS.--There are two sorts of understandings; one of which -hinders a man from ever being considerable, and the other commonly -makes him ridiculous; I mean the lazy mind, and the trifling, frivolous -mind. Yours, I hope, is neither. The lazy mind will not take the -trouble of going to the bottom of anything; but, discouraged by the -difficulties (and everything worth knowing or having is attended with -some), stops short, contents itself with easy and, consequently, -superficial knowledge, and prefers a great degree of ignorance to -a small degree of trouble. These people either think or represent -most things as impossible; whereas few things are so to industry and -activity. [_July 26, 1748._] - - -RESOLUTION.--But difficulties seem to them (lazy people) -impossibilities, or at least they pretend to think them so, by way of -excuse for their laziness. An hour’s attention to the same object is -too laborious for them; they take everything in the light in which it -first presents itself, never considering it in all its different views; -and, in short, never think it thorough. The consequence of this is, -that when they come to speak upon these subjects before people who have -considered them with attention, they only discover their own ignorance -and laziness, and lay themselves open to answers that put them in -confusion. Do not then be discouraged by the first difficulties, but -_contra audentior ito_; and resolve to go to the bottom of all those -things which every gentleman ought to know well. [_Same date._] - - -CONVERSATION.--When you are in company, bring the conversation to some -useful subject, but _à portée_ of that company. Points of history, -matters of literature, the customs of particular countries, the several -orders of knighthood, as Teutonic, Maltese, etc., are surely better -subjects of conversation than the weather, dress, or fiddle-faddle -stories, that carry no information along with them. The characters of -kings and great men are only to be learned in conversation; for they -are never fairly written during their lives. [_Same date._] - - -ALWAYS ASK.--Never be ashamed nor afraid of asking questions; for if -they lead to information, and if you accompany them with some excuse, -you will never be reckoned an impertinent or rude questioner. All those -things, in the common course of life, depend entirely upon the manner; -and in that respect the vulgar saying is true, “That one man may better -steal a horse, than another look over the hedge.” [_Same date._] - - -TWO HEADS.--I am very glad that Mr. Lyttelton approves of my new house, -and particularly of my _Canonical_[33] pillars. My bust of Cicero is a -very fine one, and well preserved; it will have the best place in my -library, unless, at your return, you bring me over as good a modern -head of your own, which I should like still better. I can tell you that -I shall examine it as attentively as ever antiquary did an old one. -[_Same date._] - - -A PICTURE.--Duval, the jeweler, is arrived, and was with me three or -four days ago. You will easily imagine that I asked him a few questions -concerning you; and I will give you the satisfaction of knowing that, -upon the whole, I was very well pleased with the account he gave me. -But, though he seemed to be much in your interest, yet he fairly -owned to me that your utterance was rapid, thick, and ungraceful. I -can add nothing to what I have already said upon this subject; but I -can and do repeat the absolute necessity of speaking distinctly and -gracefully.[34] [_Aug. 2, 1748._] - - -DIET.--He tells me that you are pretty fat for one of your age; this -you should attend to in a proper way; for if, while very young, you -should grow fat, it would be troublesome, unwholesome, and ungraceful; -you should therefore, when you have time, take very strong exercise, -and in your diet avoid fattening things. All malt liquors fatten, or at -least bloat; and I hope you do not deal much in them. [_Same date._] - - -BE NATURAL.--I have this moment received your letter of the 4th, N. -S., and have only time to tell you, that I can by no means agree to -your cutting off your hair. I am very sure that your headaches cannot -proceed from thence. And as for the pimples upon your head, they are -only owing to the heat of the season; and consequently will not last -long. But your own hair is, at your age, such an ornament, and a wig, -however well made, such a disguise, that I will upon no account -whatsoever have you cut off your hair. Nature did not give it you for -nothing, still less to cause you the headache. Mr. Eliot’s hair grew so -ill and bushy, that he was in the right to cut it off; but you have not -the same reason. [_Same date._] - - -BUYING BOOKS.--Mr. Harte wrote me word some time ago, and Mr. Eliot -confirms it now, that you employ your pin-money in a very different -manner from that in which pin-money[35] is commonly lavished. Not in -gewgaws and baubles, but in buying good and useful books. This is an -excellent symptom, and gives me very good hopes. Go on thus, my dear -boy, but for these two next years, and I ask no more. You must then -make such a figure, and such a fortune in the world, as I wish you, and -as I have taken all these pains to enable you to do. After that time, I -allow you to be as idle as ever you please; because I am sure that you -will not then please to be so at all. The ignorant and the weak only -are idle; but those, who have once acquired a good stock of knowledge, -always desire to increase it. Knowledge is like power, in this respect, -that those who have the most, are most desirous of having more. It does -not clog, by possession, but increases desires; which is the case of -very few pleasures. [_Aug. 23, 1748._] - - -GRATITUDE TO A TUTOR.--Upon receiving this congratulatory letter, -and reading your own praises, I am sure that it must naturally occur -to you, how great a share of them you owe to Mr. Harte’s care and -attention; and, consequently, that your regard and affection for him -must increase, if there be room for it, in proportion as you reap, -which you do daily, the fruits of his labors. [_Same date._] - - -HISTORICAL FAITH.--Take nothing for granted, upon the bare authority of -the author; but weigh and consider, in your own mind, the probability -of the facts, and the justness of the reflections. Consult different -authors upon the same facts, and form your opinion upon the greater or -lesser degree of probability arising from the whole, which, in my mind, -is the utmost stretch of historical faith, certainty (I fear) not being -to be found. [_Aug. 30, 1748._] - - -GOOD AND BAD MIXED.--The best have something bad, and something little; -the worst have something good, and sometimes something great; for I do -not believe what Valleius Paterculus (for the sake of saying a pretty -thing) says of Scipio, “Qui nihil non laudandum aut fecit, aut dixit, -aut sensit.” [_Same date._] - - -THE RULING PASSION.--Seek for their particular merit, their predominant -passion, or their prevailing weakness, and you will then know what to -bait your hook with, to catch them. Man is a composition of so many -and such various ingredients, that it requires both time and care to -analyze him: for though we have, all, the same ingredients in our -general composition, as reason, will, passions, and appetites, yet the -different proportions and combinations of them, in each individual, -produce that infinite variety of characters, which, in some particular -or other, distinguishes every individual from another. Reason ought to -direct the whole, but seldom does. [_Sept. 5, 1748._] - - -BRUYÈRE AND ROCHEFOUCAULT.--I will recommend to your attentive perusal, -now you are going into the world, two books, which will let you as much -into the characters of men as books can do. I mean “Les Réflexions -Morales de Monsieur de la Rochefoucault,” and “Les Caractères de la -Bruyère”: but remember, at the same time, that I only recommend them to -you as the best general maps, to assist you in your journey, and not as -marking out every particular turning and winding that you will meet -with. There, your own sagacity and observation must come to their aid. -La Rochefoucault is, I know, blamed, but I think without reason, for -deriving all our actions from the source of self-love. For my own part, -I see a great deal of truth, and no harm at all, in that opinion. - -The reflection which is the most censured in Monsieur de la -Rochefoucault’s book, as a very ill-natured one, is this: “On trouve -dans le malheur de son meilleur ami, quelque chose qui ne déplaît pas.” -And why not? Why may I not feel a very tender and real concern for -the misfortune of my friend, and yet at the same time feel a pleasing -consciousness at having discharged my duty to him, by comforting and -assisting him to the utmost of my power in that misfortune? Give me but -virtuous actions, and I will not quibble and chicane about the motives. -And I will give anybody their choice of these two truths, which amount -to the same thing: He who loves himself best is the honestest man; or, -The honestest man loves himself best. [_Same date._] - - -WOMAN.--As women are a considerable, or at least a pretty numerous part -of company, and as their suffrages go a great way toward establishing -a man’s character, in the fashionable part of the world (which is of -great importance to the fortune and figure he proposes to make in it), -it is necessary to please them. I will, therefore, upon this subject, -let you into certain _arcana_ that will be very useful for you to know, -but which you must, with the utmost care, conceal; and never seem to -know. Women, then, are only children of a larger growth; they have -an entertaining tattle, and sometimes wit; but for solid, reasoning -good sense, I never in my life knew one that had it, or who reasoned -or acted consequentially for four-and-twenty hours together. Some -little passion or humor always breaks in upon their best resolutions. -Their beauty neglected or controverted, their age increased, or their -supposed understandings depreciated, instantly kindles their little -passions, and overturns any system of consequential conduct, that in -their most reasonable moments they might have been capable of forming. -A man of sense only trifles with them, plays with them, humors and -flatters them, as he does with a sprightly, forward child; but he -neither consults them about, nor trusts them with, serious matters; -though he often makes them believe that he does both, which is the -thing in the world that they are proud of, for they love mightily to be -dabbling in business (which, by the way, they always spoil); and being -justly distrustful, that men in general look upon them in a trifling -light, they almost adore that man who talks more seriously to them, and -who seems to consult and trust them--I say, who seems--for weak men -really do, but wise ones only seem to do it. No flattery is either too -high or too low for them. They will greedily swallow the highest, and -gracefully accept of the lowest; and you may safely flatter any woman, -from her understanding down to the exquisite taste of her fan. Women, -who are either indisputably beautiful or indisputably ugly, are best -flattered upon the score of their understandings; but those who are in -a state of mediocrity are best flattered upon their beauty, or at least -their graces, for every woman who is not absolutely ugly thinks herself -handsome, but not hearing often that she is so, is the more grateful -and the more obliged to the few who tell her so; whereas a decided and -conscious beauty looks upon every tribute paid to her beauty only as -her due, but wants to shine, and to be considered on the side of her -understanding; and a woman, who is ugly enough to know that she is so, -knows that she has nothing left for it but her understanding, which is -consequently, (and probably in more senses than one) her weak side. But -these are secrets which you must keep inviolably, if you would not, -like Orpheus, be torn to pieces by the whole sex. On the contrary, a -man who thinks of living in the great world must be gallant, polite, -and attentive to please the women. They have from the weakness of men, -more or less influence in all courts; they absolutely stamp every man’s -character in the _beau monde_, and make it either current, or cry it -down, and stop it in payments. It is, therefore, absolutely necessary -to manage, please, and flatter them; and never to discover the least -marks of contempt, which is what they never forgive; but in this they -are not singular, for it is the same with men; who will much sooner -forgive an injustice than an insult. [_Same date_.] - - -CONTEMPT.--Every man is not ambitious, or covetous, or passionate; -but every man has pride enough in his composition to feel and resent -the least slight and contempt. Remember, therefore, most carefully to -conceal your contempt, however just, wherever you would not make an -implacable enemy. Men are much more unwilling to have their weaknesses -and their imperfections known, than their crimes; and, if you hint to -a man that you think him silly, ignorant or even ill-bred or awkward, -he will hate you more and longer than if you tell him, plainly, that -you think him a rogue. Never yield to that temptation, which, to most -young men, is very strong, of exposing other people’s weaknesses -and infirmities, for the sake either of diverting the company, or of -showing your own superiority. You may get the laugh on your side by -it, for the present; but you will make enemies by it for ever; and -even those who laugh with you then, will, upon reflection, fear, and -consequently hate you; besides that, it is ill-natured; and a good -heart desires rather to conceal, than expose, other people’s weaknesses -or misfortunes. If you have wit, use it to please, and not to hurt; you -may shine, like the sun in the temperate zones, without scorching. Here -it is wished for; under the line it is dreaded. [_Same date._] - - -CALIGULA.--Another very just observation of the Cardinal’s[36] is, that -the things which happen in our own times, and which we see ourselves, -do not surprise us near so much as the things which we read of in times -past, though not in the least more extraordinary; and adds that he is -persuaded that, when Caligula made his horse a consul, the people of -Rome at that time were not greatly surprised at it, having necessarily -been in some degree prepared for it, by an insensible gradation of -extravagancies from the same quarter. [_Sept. 13, 1748._] - - -ANTIQUITY IS STRANGE.--We read every day, with astonishment, things -which we see every day without surprise. We wonder at the intrepidity -of a Leonidas, a Codrus, and a Curtius; and are not the least surprised -to hear of a sea captain who has blown up his ship, his crew, and -himself, that they might not fall into the hands of the enemies of his -country. I cannot help reading of Porsenna and Regulus with surprise -and reverence; and yet I remember that I saw, without either, the -execution of Shepherd, a boy of eighteen years old, who intended to -shoot the late king, and who would have been pardoned if he would -have expressed the least sorrow for his intended crime; but, on the -contrary, he declared, that, if he was pardoned, he would attempt it -again; that he thought it a duty which he owed his country; and that he -died with pleasure for having endeavored to perform it. Reason equals -Shepherd to Regulus; but prejudice, and the recency of the fact, make -Shepherd a common malefactor, and Regulus a hero. [_Same date._] - - -SECRETS.--The last observation that I shall now mention of the -Cardinal’s is, “That a secret is more easily kept by a good many people -than one commonly imagines.” By this he means a secret of importance -among people interested in the keeping of it. And it is certain that -people of business know the importance of secrecy, and will observe -it where they are concerned in the event. To go and tell any friend, -wife, or mistress, any secret with which they have nothing to do, is -discovering to them such an unretentive weakness as must convince them -that you will tell it to twenty others, and consequently that they may -reveal it without the risk of being discovered. But a secret properly -communicated only to those who are to be concerned in the thing in -question, will probably be kept by them, though they should be a good -many. Little secrets are commonly told again, but great ones generally -kept. Adieu. [_Same date._] - - -TRIFLES.--How trifling soever these things may seem, or really be, in -themselves, they are no longer so, when above half the world thinks -them otherwise. And, as I would have you _omnibus ornatum--excellere -rebus_, I think nothing above or below my pointing out to you, or your -excelling in. You have the means of doing it, and time before you to -make use of them. Take my word for it, I ask nothing now but what you -will, twenty years hence, most heartily wish that you had done. [_Sept. -20, 1748._] - -THE PEDANT AND THE SCHOLAR.--A gentleman has, probably, read no other -Latin than that of the Augustan age; and therefore can write no -other; whereas the pedant has read much more bad Latin than good; and -consequently writes so too. He looks upon the best classical books -as books for schoolboys, and consequently below him, but pores over -fragments of obscure authors, treasures up the obsolete words which he -meets with there, and uses them upon all occasions, to show his reading -at the expense of his judgment. Plautus is his favorite author, not -for the sake of the wit and the _vis comica_ of his comedies; but upon -account of the many obsolete words and the cant of low characters, -which are to be met with nowhere else. He will rather use _olli_ than -_illi_, _optumè_ than _optimè_, and any bad word, rather than any good -one, provided he can but prove that, strictly speaking, it is Latin; -that is, that it was written by a Roman. [_Sept. 27, 1748._] - -A DETESTABLE DOCTRINE.--I must now say something as to the matter of -the lecture; in which I confess there is one doctrine laid down that -surprises me; it is this: “Quum vero hostis sit lenta citave morte -omnia dira nobis minitans quocunque bellantibus negotium est, parum -sane interfuerit quo modo eum obruere et interficere satagamus si -ferociam exuere cunctetur. Ergo veneno quoque uti fas est,” etc., -whereas I cannot conceive that the use of poison can, upon any -account, come within the lawful means of self-defence. Force may, -without doubt, be justly repelled by force; but not by treachery and -fraud; for I do not call the stratagems of war, such as ambuscades, -masked batteries, false attacks, etc., frauds or treachery; they are -mutually to be expected and guarded against; but poisoned arrows, -poisoned waters, or poison administered to your enemy (which can only -be done by treachery), I have always heard, read, and thought to be -unlawful and infamous means of defence, be your danger ever so great; -but, _si ferociam exuere cunctetur_; must I rather die than poison -this enemy? Yes, certainly, much rather die than do a base or criminal -action; nor can I be sure, beforehand, that this enemy may not in the -last moment _ferociam exuere_. But the public lawyers now seem to me -rather to warp the law, in order to authorize than to check those -unlawful proceedings of princes and states; which, by being become -common, appear less criminal; though custom can never alter the nature -of good and ill. - -Pray let no quibbles of lawyers, no refinements of casuists break into -the plain notions of right and wrong which every man’s right reason and -plain common sense suggest to him. To do as you would be done by is -the plain, sure, and undisputed rule of morality and justice. Stick -to that; and be convinced that whatever breaks into it, in any degree, -however speciously it may be turned, and however puzzling it may be to -answer it, is, notwithstanding, false in itself, unjust, and criminal. -I do not know a crime in the world which is not, by the casuists among -the Jesuits (especially the twenty-four collected, I think, by Escobar) -allowed in some, or many cases, not to be criminal. The principles -first laid down by them are often specious, the reasonings plausible; -but the conclusion always a lie; for it is contrary to that evident -and undeniable rule of justice which I have mentioned above, of not -doing to any one what you would not have him do to you. But, however, -these refined pieces of casuistry and sophistry being very convenient -and welcome to people’s passions and appetites, they gladly accept the -indulgence without desiring to detect the fallacy of the reasoning; -and indeed many, I might say most people, are not able to do it; which -makes the publication of such quibblings and refinements the more -pernicious. I am no skilful casuist nor subtle disputant; and yet I -would undertake to justify and qualify the profession of a highwayman -step by step, and so plausibly as to make many ignorant people embrace -the profession as an innocent, if not even a laudable one; and to -puzzle people of some degree of knowledge to answer me point by point. -I have seen a book entitled “Quidlibet ex Quolibet,” or the art of -making any thing out of any thing; which is not so difficult as it -would seem, if once one quits certain plain truths, obvious in growth -to every understanding, in order to run after the ingenious refinements -of warm imaginations and speculative reasonings. Doctor Berkeley, -Bishop of Cloyne, a very worthy, ingenious, and learned man, has -written a book to prove that there is no such thing as matter, and that -nothing exists but in idea; that you and I only fancy ourselves eating, -drinking, and sleeping; you at Leipsic, and I at London; that we think -we have flesh and blood, legs, arms, etc., but that we are only spirit. -His arguments are, strictly speaking, unanswerable; but yet I am so far -from being convinced by them that I am determined to go on to eat and -drink, and walk and ride, in order to keep that _matter_, which I so -mistakenly imagine my body at present to consist of, in as good plight -as possible. Common sense (which, in truth, is very uncommon) is the -best sense I know of; abide by it; it will counsel you best. Read and -hear for your amusement, ingenious systems, nice questions, subtlely -agitated, with all the refinements that warm imaginations suggest; but -consider them only as exercitations for the mind, and return always to -settle with common sense. [_Same date._] - -LETTERS.--Your letters, except when upon a given subject, are -exceedingly laconic, and neither answer my desires, nor the purpose -of letters; which should be familiar conversations, between absent -friends. As I desire to live with you upon the footing of an intimate -friend, and not of a parent, I could wish that your letters gave me -more particular accounts of yourself, and of your lesser transactions. -When you write to me, suppose yourself conversing freely with me, by -the fireside. In that case, you would naturally mention the incidents -of the day; as where you had been, whom you had seen, what you thought -of them, etc. Do this in your letters; acquaint me sometimes with your -studies, sometimes with your diversions; tell me of any new persons and -characters that you meet with in company, and add your own observations -upon them; in short, let me see more of you, in your letters. [_Same -date._] - -GOOD COMPANY.--To keep good company, especially at your first setting -out, is the way to receive good impressions. If you ask me what I mean -by good company, I will confess to you that it is pretty difficult to -define; but I will endeavor to make you understand it as well as I can. - -Good company is not what respective sets of company are pleased -either to call or think themselves; but it is that company which all -the people of the place call, and acknowledge to be good company, -notwithstanding some objections which they may form to some of the -individuals who compose it. It consists chiefly (but by no means -without exception) of people of considerable birth, rank, and -character: for people of neither birth nor rank are frequently and -very justly admitted into it, if distinguished by any peculiar merit, -or eminency in any liberal art or science. Nay, so motley a thing is -good company, that many people without birth, rank, or merit, intrude -into it by their own forwardness; and others slide into it by the -protection of some considerable person; and some even of indifferent -characters and morals make part of it. But, in the main, the good part -preponderates, and people of infamous and blasted characters are never -admitted. In this fashionable good company the best manners and the -best language of the place are most unquestionably to be learnt; for -they establish and give the tone to both, which are therefore called -the language and manners of good company; there being no legal tribunal -to ascertain either. - -A company consisting wholly of people of the first quality cannot, -for that reason, be called good company, in the common acceptation of -the phrase, unless they are, into the bargain, the fashionable and -accredited company of the place; for people of the very first quality -can be as silly, as ill-bred, and as worthless, as people of the -meanest degree. On the other hand, a company consisting entirely of -people of very low condition, whatever their merits or parts may be, -can never be called good company; and consequently, should not be much -frequented, though by no means despised. - -A company wholly composed of men of learning, though greatly to be -valued and respected, is not meant by the words _good company_: they -cannot have the easy manners and _tournure_ of the world, as they do -not live in it. If you can bear your part well in such a company, it -is extremely right to be in it sometimes, and you will be but more -esteemed, in other companies, for having a place in that. But then do -not let it engross you; for if you do, you will be only considered as -one of the _litterati_ by profession; which is not the way either to -shine or rise in the world. - -The company of professed wits and poets is extremely inviting to most -young men; who, if they have wit themselves, are pleased with it, and -if they have none, are sillily proud of being one of it: but it should -be frequented with moderation and judgment, and you should by no means -give yourself up to it. A wit is a very unpopular denomination, as it -carries terror along with it; and people in general are as much afraid -of a live wit, in company, as a woman is of a gun, which she thinks -may go off of itself, and do her a mischief. Their acquaintance is, -however, worth seeking, and their company worth frequenting; but not -exclusively of others, nor to such a degree as to be considered only as -one of that particular set. - -But the company, which of all others you should most carefully avoid, -is that low company, which in every sense of the word, is low indeed; -low in rank, low in parts, low in manners, and low in merit [_Oct. 12, -1748._] - -ASSOCIATES.--There is good sense in the Spanish saying, “Tell me whom -you live with, and I will tell you who you are.” Make it therefore your -business, wherever you are, to get into that company which everybody -of the place allows to be the best company, next to their own: which -is the best definition that I can give you of good company. But here, -too, one caution is very necessary; for want of which many young men -have been ruined, even in good company. Good company (as I have -before observed) is composed of a great variety of fashionable people, -whose characters and morals are very different, though their manners -are pretty much the same. When a young man, now in the world, first -gets into that company, he very rightly determines to conform to and -imitate it. But then he too often, and fatally, mistakes the objects -of his imitation. He has often heard that absurd term of genteel and -fashionable vices. [_Same date._] - - -BEHAVIOR.--Imitate, then, with discernment and judgment, the real -perfections of the good company into which you may get; copy their -politeness, their carriage, their address, and the easy and well-bred -turn of their conversation; but remember that, let them shine ever so -bright, their vices, if they have any, are so many spots which you -would no more imitate than you would make an artificial wart upon your -face, because some very handsome man had the misfortune to have a -natural one upon his; but, on the contrary, think how much handsomer he -would have been without it. [_Same date._] - - -TALKING.--Talk often, but never long; in that case, if you do not -please, at least you are sure not to tire your hearers. Pay your own -reckoning, but do not treat the whole company; this being one of the -very few cases in which people do not care to be treated, every one -being fully convinced that he has wherewithal to pay. - -Tell stories seldom, and absolutely never but where they are very apt -and very short. Omit every circumstance that is not material, and -beware of digressions. To have frequent recourse to narrative betrays -great want of imagination. - -Never hold anybody by the button or the hand, in order to be heard out; -for if people are not willing to hear you, you had much better hold -your tongue than them. - -Most long talkers single out some one unfortunate man in company -(commonly him whom they observe to be the most silent, or their next -neighbor) to whisper, or at least, in a half voice, to convey a -continuity of words to. This is excessively ill-bred, and, in some -degree, a fraud; conversation stock being a joint and common property. -But, on the other hand, if one of these unmerciful talkers lays hold -of you, hear him with patience (and at least seeming attention) if he -is worth obliging; for nothing will oblige him more than a patient -hearing, as nothing would hurt him more than either to leave him in -the midst of his discourse or to discover your impatience under your -affliction. - -Take rather than give the tone of the company you are in. If you have -parts you will show them more or less upon every subject; and if you -have not, you had better talk sillily upon a subject of other people’s -than of your own choosing. - -Avoid as much as you can in mixed companies, argumentative, polemical -conversations; which, though they should not, yet certainly do, -indispose, for a time, the contending parties towards each other; and -if the controversy grows warm and noisy, endeavor to put an end to it -by some genteel levity or joke. I quieted such a conversation hubbub -once by presenting to them that, though I was persuaded none there -present would repeat out of company what passed in it, yet I could not -answer for the discretion of the passengers in the street, who must -necessarily hear all that was said. - -Above all things, and upon all occasions, avoid speaking of yourself if -it be possible. Such is the natural pride and vanity of our hearts that -it perpetually breaks out, even in people of the best parts, in all the -various modes and figures of the egotism. [_Oct. 19, 1748._] - - -SILLY VANITY.--This principle of vanity and pride is so strong in human -nature that it descends even to the lowest objects; and one often sees -people angling for praise, where, admitting all they say to be true -(which, by the way, it seldom is), no just praise is to be caught. -One man affirms that he has rode post a hundred miles in six hours; -probably it is a lie; but supposing it to be true, what then? Why, he -is a very good postboy, that is all. Another asserts, and probably not -without oaths, that he has drunk six or eight bottles of wine at a -sitting; out of charity I will believe him a liar; for if I do not, I -must think him a beast. [_Same date._] - - -YOURSELF.--The only sure way of avoiding these evils is never to speak -of yourself at all. But when historically you are obliged to mention -yourself, take care not to drop one single word that can directly or -indirectly be construed as fishing for applause. Be your character -what it will, it will be known; and nobody will take it upon your own -word. Never imagine that anything you can say yourself will varnish -your defects or add lustre to your perfections; but on the contrary, -it may, and nine times in ten will, make the former more glaring and -the latter obscure. If you are silent upon your own subject, neither -envy, indignation, nor ridicule will obstruct or allay the applause -which you may really deserve; but if you publish your own panegyric -upon any occasion or in any shape whatsoever, and however artfully -dressed or disguised, they will all conspire against you, and you will -be disappointed of the very end you aim at. [_Same date._] - - -SCANDAL--MIMICRY--SWEARING--LAUGHTER.--Neither retail nor receive -scandal willingly; for though the defamation of others may for the -present gratify the malignity of the pride of our hearts, cool -reflection will draw very disadvantageous conclusions from such a -disposition; and in the case of scandal, as in that of robbery, the -receiver is always thought as bad as the thief. - -Mimicry, which is the common and favorite amusement of little, low -minds, is in the utmost contempt with great ones. It is the lowest -and most illiberal of all buffoonery. Pray neither practise it -yourself, nor applaud it in others. Besides that, the person mimicked -is insulted; and as I have often observed to you before, an insult is -never forgiven. - -I need not (I believe) advise you to adapt your conversation to the -people you are conversing with; for I suppose you would not, without -this caution, have talked upon the same subject and in the same manner -to a minister of state, a bishop, a philosopher, a captain, and a -woman. A man of the world must, like the chameleon (_sic_), be able to -take every different hue; which is by no means a criminal or abject, -but a necessary complaisance, for it relates only to manners, and not -to morals. - -One word only as to swearing; and that I hope and believe is more -than is necessary. You may sometimes hear some people in good company -interlard their discourse with oaths by way of embellishment, as they -think; but you must observe, too, that those who do so are never those -who contribute in any degree to give that company the denomination of -good company. They are always subalterns or people of low education; -for that practice, besides that it has no one temptation to plead, is -as silly and as illiberal as it is wicked. - -Loud laughter is the mirth of the mob, who are only pleased with silly -things; for true wit or good sense never excited a laugh since the -creation of the world. A man of parts and fashion is therefore only -seen to smile, but never heard to laugh. - -But to conclude this long letter; all the above-mentioned rules, -however carefully you may observe them, will lose half their effect -if unaccompanied by the Graces. Whatever you say, if you say it with -a supercilious, cynical face, or an embarrassed countenance, or a -silly, disconcerted grin, will be ill received. If, into the bargain, -_you mutter it, or utter it indistinctly and ungracefully_, it will be -still worse received. If your air and address are vulgar, awkward, -and _gauche_, you may be esteemed indeed, if you have great intrinsic -merit; but you will never please, and, without pleasing, you will rise -but heavily. Venus, among the ancients, was synonymous with the Graces, -who were always supposed to accompany her; and Horace tells us that -even Youth and Mercury, the god of arts and eloquence, would not do -without her. - - “--Parùm comis _sine te Juventas, - Mercuriusque_.” - -They are not inexorable ladies, and may be had if properly and -diligently pursued. Adieu. [_Same date._] - - -THE DUTY OF A MENTOR.--I have long since done mentioning your great -religious and moral duties; because I could not make your understanding -so bad a compliment, as to suppose that you wanted, or could receive, -any new instructions upon those two important points. Mr. Harte, I am -sure, has not neglected them; besides, they are so obvious to common -sense and reason, that commentators may (as they often do) perplex, but -cannot make them clearer. My province, therefore, is to supply, by my -experience, your, hitherto, inevitable inexperience in the ways of the -world. People at your age are in a state of natural ebriety; and want -rails, and _gardefous_, wherever they go, to hinder them from breaking -their necks. This drunkenness of youth is not only tolerated, but even -pleases, if kept within certain bounds of discretion and decency. Those -bounds are the point which it is difficult for the drunken man himself -to find out; and there it is that the experience of a friend may not -only serve but save him. - -Carry with you, and welcome, into company, all the gaiety and spirits, -but as little of the giddiness, of youth as you can. The former will -charm; but the latter will often, though innocently, implacably offend. -Inform yourself of the characters and situations of the company, before -you give way to what your imagination may prompt you to say. There are, -in all companies, more wrong heads than right ones, and many more who -deserve than who like censure. [_Oct. 29, 1748._] - - -EGOTISM.--Cautiously avoid talking of either your own or other people’s -domestic affairs.[37] Yours are nothing to them, but tedious; theirs -are nothing to you. The subject is a tender one; and it is odds but -you touch somebody or other’s sore place; for, in this case, there is -no trusting to specious appearances; which may be, and often are, so -contrary to the real situation of things, between men and their wives, -parents and their children, seeming friends, etc., that, with the best -intentions in the world, one often blunders disagreeably. - -Remember, that the wit, humor, and jokes of most mixed companies are -local. They thrive in that particular soil, but will not often bear -transplanting. Every company is differently circumstanced, has its -particular cant, and jargon; which may give occasion to wit and mirth, -within that circle, but would seem flat and insipid in any other, and -therefore will not bear repeating. [_Same date._] - - -GOOD FELLOWS.--You will find, in most good company, some people who -only keep their place there by a contemptible title enough; these -are what we call _very good-natured fellows_, and the French _bons -diables_. The truth is, they are people without any parts or fancy, and -who, having no will of their own, readily assent to, concur in, and -applaud, whatever is said or done in the company; and adopt, with the -same alacrity, the most virtuous or the most criminal, the wisest or -the silliest scheme, that happens to be entertained by the majority of -the company. This foolish, and often criminal, complaisance flows from -a foolish cause; the want of any other merit. I hope you will hold your -place in company by a nobler tenure, and that you will hold it (you -can bear a quibble, I believe, yet) _in capite_. Have a will and an -opinion of your own, and adhere to them steadily; but then do it with -good humor, good breeding, and (if you have it) with urbanity; for you -have not yet beard enough either to preach or censure. [_Same date._] - - -THE FINE GENTLEMAN.--What the French justly call _les manières -nobles_, are only to be acquired in the very best companies. They -are the distinguishing characteristics of men of fashion: people of -low education never wear them so close, but that some part or other -of the original vulgarism appears. _Les manières nobles_ equally -forbid insolent contempt, or low envy and jealousy. Low people, in -good circumstances, fine clothes, and equipage, will insolently show -contempt for all those who cannot afford as fine clothes, as good an -equipage, and who have not (as they term it) as much money in their -pockets: on the other hand, they are gnawed with envy, and cannot help -discovering it, of those who surpass them in any of these articles; -which are far from being sure criterions of merit. They are, likewise, -jealous of being slighted; and, consequently, suspicious and captious: -they are eager and hot about trifles; because trifles were, at first, -their affairs of consequence. _Les manières nobles_ imply exactly -the reverse of all this. Study them early; you cannot make them too -habitual and familiar to you. [_Same date._] - -I like the description of your _pic-nic_;[38] where, I take it for -granted, that your cards are only to break the formality of a circle, -and your symposium intended more to promote conversation than drinking. -Such an _amicable collision_, as Lord Shaftesbury very prettily calls -it, rubs off and smooths those rough corners, which mere nature has -given to the smoothest of us. I hope some part, at least, of the -conversation is in German. [_Same date._] - - -THE GRACES.--I send you Mr. Locke’s book upon education, in which you -will find the stress he lays upon the graces, which he calls (and very -truly) good breeding. I have marked all the parts of that book which -are worth your attention; for as he begins with the child, almost from -its birth, the parts relative to its infancy would be useless to you. -Germany is, still less than England, the seat of the graces; however -you had as good not to say so while you are there. [_Nov. 18, 1748._] - - -THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH.--Of all the men that ever I knew in my life -(and I knew him extremely well), the late Duke of Marlborough possessed -the graces in the highest degree, not to say engrossed them; and indeed -he got the most by them; for I will venture (contrary to the custom of -profound historians, who always assign deep causes for great events) -to ascribe the better half of the Duke of Marlborough’s greatness and -riches to those graces. He was eminently illiterate; wrote bad English, -and spelled it still worse. He had no share of what is commonly called -_parts_; that is, he had no brightness, nothing shining in his genius. -He had, most undoubtedly, an excellent good plain understanding, with -sound judgment. But these alone would probably have raised him but -something higher than they found him; which was page to King James -the Second’s Queen. There the graces protected and promoted him; for, -while he was an ensign of the Guards, the Duchess of Cleveland, then -favorite mistress to King Charles the Second, struck by those very -graces, gave him five thousand pounds, with which he immediately -bought an annuity for his life, of five hundred pounds a year, of -my grandfather, Halifax, which was the foundation of his subsequent -fortune. His figure was beautiful, but his manner was irresistible, -to either man or woman. It was by this engaging, graceful manner -that he was enabled, during all his war, to connect the various and -jarring powers of the Grand Alliance, and to carry them on to the main -object of the war, notwithstanding their private and separate views, -jealousies, and wrongheadedness. Whatever court he went to (and he -was often obliged to go himself to some testy and refractory ones), -he as constantly prevailed, and brought them into his measures. The -Pensionary Heinsius, a venerable old minister, grown gray in business, -and who had governed the Republic of the United Provinces for more than -forty years, was absolutely governed by the Duke of Marlborough, as -that republic feels to this day. He was always cool; and nobody ever -observed the least variation in his countenance; he could refuse more -gracefully than other people could grant; and those who went away from -him the most dissatisfied, as to the substance of their business, were -yet personally charmed with him, and, in some degree, comforted by his -manner. With all his gentleness and gracefulness, no man living was -more conscious of his situation, nor maintained his dignity better. -[_Same date._] - - -A FATHER’S ANXIETY.--This subject is inexhaustible, as it extends to -everything that is to be said or done; but I will leave it for the -present, as this letter is already pretty long. Such is my desire, my -anxiety for your perfection, that I never think I have said enough, -though you may possibly think I have said too much; and though, in -truth, if your own good sense is not sufficient to direct you, in many -of these plain points, all that I or anybody else can say will be -insufficient. But, where you are concerned, I am the insatiable man in -Horace, who covets still a little corner more, to complete the figure -of his field. I dread every little corner that may deform mine, in -which I would have (if possible) no one defect. [_Same date._] - - -MOURNING.--I am at present under very great concern for the loss of a -most affectionate brother, with whom I had always lived in the closest -friendship. My brother John died last Friday night, of a fit of the -gout, which he had had for about a month in his hands and feet, and -which fell at last upon his stomach and head. As he grew, towards the -last, lethargic, his end was not painful to himself. At the distance -which you are from hence, you need not go into mourning upon this -occasion, as the time of your mourning would be near over before you -could put it on. [_Dec. 6, 1748._] - - -FRIVOLITY.--Little minds mistake little objects for great ones, and -lavish away upon the former that time and attention which only the -latter deserve. To such mistakes we owe the numerous and frivolous -tribe of insect-mongers, shell-mongers, and pursuers and driers of -butterflies, etc. The strong mind distinguishes, not only between -the useful and the useless, but likewise between the useful and the -curious. He applies himself intensely to the former; he only amuses -himself with the latter. Of this little sort of knowledge, which I -have just hinted at, you will find, at least, as much as you need wish -to know, in a superficial but pretty French book, entitled “Spectacle -de la Nature,” which will amuse you while you read it, and give you a -sufficient notion of the various parts of nature; I would advise you to -read it at leisure hours. [_Same date._] - - -ASTRONOMY.--But that part of nature which, Mr. Harte tells me, you -have begun to study, with the _Rector magnificus_, is of much greater -importance, and deserves much more attention; I mean astronomy. -The vast and immense planetary system, the astonishing order and -regularity of those innumerable worlds, will open a scene to you -which not only deserves your attention as a matter of curiosity, or -rather astonishment; but, still more, as it will give you greater -and consequently juster ideas of that eternal and omnipotent Being, -who contrived, made, and still preserves that universe, than all the -contemplation of this, comparatively, very little orb, which we at -present inhabit, could possibly give you. Upon this subject, Monsieur -Fontenelle’s “Pluralité des Mondes,” which you may read in two hours’ -time, will both inform and please you. God bless you! Yours. [_Same -date._] - - -The whole morning, if diligently and attentively devoted to solid -studies, will go a great way at the year’s end; and the evenings spent -in the pleasures of good company will go as far in teaching you a -knowledge not much less necessary than the other--I mean the knowledge -of the world. Between these two necessary studies, that of books in -the morning, and that of the world in the evening, you see that you -will not have one minute to squander or slattern away. Nobody ever -lent themselves more than I did, when I was young, to the pleasures -and dissipation of good company; I even did it too much. But then, -I can assure you that I always found time for serious studies; and -when I could find it no other way, I took it out of my sleep, for I -resolved always to rise early in the morning, however late I went to -bed at night; and this resolution I have kept so sacred that, unless -when I have been confined to my bed by illness, I have not for more -than forty years ever been in bed at nine o’clock in the morning, but -commonly up before eight. [_Dec. 13, 1748._] - - -WRITING.--Why do you not form your Roman characters better? for -I maintain that it is in every man’s power to write what hand he -pleases; and consequently that he ought to write a good one. You -form, particularly, your ee and your ll in zigzag, instead of making -them straight, as thus, _ee_, _ll_; a fault very easily mended. You -will not, I believe, be angry with this little criticism, when I tell -you that, by all the accounts I have had of late, from Mr. Harte and -others, this is the only criticism that you give me occasion to make. -[_Dec. 20, 1748._] - - -A PORTRAIT.--Consider what lustre and _éclat_ it will give you when you -return here, to be allowed to be the best scholar, of a gentleman, in -England; not to mention the real pleasure and solid comfort which such -knowledge will give you throughout your whole life. Mr. Harte tells me -another thing which, I own, I did not expect; it is that, when you read -aloud, or repeat part of plays, you speak very properly and distinctly. -This relieves me from great uneasiness, which I was under upon account -of your former bad enunciation. Go on, and attend most diligently to -this important article. It is, of all the graces (and they are all -necessary), the most necessary one. [_Same date._] - - -THE DESIRE OF PRAISE.--But here let me, as an old stager upon the -theatre of the world, suggest one consideration to you, which is, to -extend your desire of praise a little beyond the strictly praiseworthy; -or else you may be apt to discover too much contempt for at least -three parts in the five of the world, who will never forgive it you. -In the mass of mankind, I fear, there is too great a majority of fools -and knaves; who, singly from their number, must to a certain degree -be respected, though they are by no means respectable. And a man, who -will show every knave or fool that he thinks him such, will engage in -a most ruinous war, against numbers much superior to those that he and -his allies can bring into the field. Abhor a knave, and pity a fool in -your heart, but let neither of them, unnecessarily, see that you do so. -Some complaisance and attention to fools is prudent, and not mean; as -a silent abhorrence of individual knaves is often necessary, and not -criminal. [_Same date._] - - -A COMPLIMENT.--Lady Chesterfield bids me tell you that she decides -entirely in your favor,[39] against Mr. Grevenkop, and even against -herself; for she does not think that she could, at this time, write -either so good a character, or so good German. Pray write her a German -letter upon that subject; in which you may tell her that, like the rest -of the world, you approve of her judgment, because it is in your favor; -and that you true Germans cannot allow Danes to be competent judges of -your language, etc. [_Same date._] - - -AFFECTATION.--Any affectation whatsoever in dress implies, in my -mind, a flaw in the understanding. Most of our young fellows here -display some character or other by their dress: some affect the -tremendous, and wear a great and fiercely cocked hat, an enormous -sword, a short waistcoat, and a black cravat; these I should be almost -tempted to swear the peace against, in my own defence, if I were not -convinced that they are but meek asses in lions’ skins. Others go in -brown frocks, leather breeches, great oaken cudgels in their hands, -their hats uncocked, and their hair unpowdered; and imitate grooms, -stage-coachmen, and country bumpkins, so well in their outsides, that I -do not make the least doubt of their resembling them equally in their -insides. A man of sense carefully avoids any particular character in -his dress; he is accurately clean for his own sake; but all the rest -is for other people’s. He dresses as well, and in the same manner, as -the people of sense and fashion of the place where he is. If he dresses -better, as he thinks, that is, more than they, he is a fop; if he -dresses worse, he is unpardonably negligent; but, of the two, I would -rather have a young fellow too much than too little dressed; the excess -on that side will wear off, with a little age and reflection; but if -he is negligent at twenty, he will be a sloven at forty, and stink at -fifty years old. Dress yourself fine, where others are fine; and plain, -where others are plain; but take care, always, that your clothes are -well made and fit you, for otherwise they will give you a very awkward -air. When you are once well dressed for the day, think no more of it -afterwards; and, without any stiffness for fear of discomposing that -dress, let all your motions be as easy and natural as if you had no -clothes on at all. So much for dress, which I maintain to be a thing of -consequence in the polite world. [_Dec. 30, 1748._] - - -A HAPPY NEW YEAR.--I send you, my dear child (and you will not doubt), -very sincerely, the wishes of the season. May you deserve a great -number of happy new years; and, if you deserve, may you have them! Many -new years, indeed, you may see, but happy ones you cannot see without -deserving them. These, virtue, honor, and knowledge, alone can merit, -alone can procure. “Dii tibi dent annos de te nam cætera sumes,” was a -pretty piece of poetical flattery, where it was said; I hope that in -time it may be no flattery when said to you. But, I assure you, that, -whenever I cannot apply the latter part of the line to you with truth, -I shall neither say, think, nor wish the former. Adieu. [_Same date._] - - -RATIONAL PLEASURES.--Now that you are going a little more into the -world, I will take this occasion to explain my intentions as to your -future expenses, that you may know what you have to expect from me, -and make your plan accordingly. I shall neither deny nor grudge you -any money that may be necessary for either your improvement or your -pleasures; I mean, the pleasures of a rational being. Under the head -of improvement, I mean the best books, and the best masters, cost what -they will; I also mean all the expense of lodgings, coach, dress, -servants, etc., which, according to the several places where you may -be, shall be respectively necessary, to enable you to keep the best -company. Under the head of rational pleasures, I comprehend, first, -proper charities, to real and compassionate objects of it; secondly, -proper presents, to those to whom you are obliged, or whom you -desire to oblige; thirdly, a conformity of expense to that of the -company which you keep--as in public spectacles, your share of little -entertainments, a few pistoles at games of mere commerce, and other -incidental calls of good company. The only two articles which I will -never supply, are the profusion of low riot and the idle lavishness -of negligence and laziness. A fool squanders away, without credit or -advantage to himself, more than a man of sense spends with both. The -latter employs his money as he does his time, and neither spends a -shilling of the one, nor a minute of the other, but in something that -is either useful or rationally pleasing to himself or others. The -former buys whatever he does not want, and does not pay for what he -does want. He cannot withstand the charms of a toy-shop; snuff-boxes, -watches, heads of canes, etc., are his destruction. His servants and -tradesmen conspire with his own indolence, to cheat him; and, in a -little time, he is astonished, in the midst of all the ridiculous -superfluities, to find himself in want of all the real comforts and -necessaries of life. Without care and method the largest fortune will -not, and with them, almost the smallest will, supply all necessary -expenses. As far as you can possibly, pay ready money for everything -you buy, and avoid bills. Pay that money too, yourself, and not -through the hands of any servant, who always either stipulates -poundage, or requires a present for his good word, as they call it. -Where you must have bills (as for meat and drink, clothes, etc.) pay -them regularly every month, and with your own hand. Never, from a -mistaken economy, buy a thing you do not want, because it is cheap; or, -from a silly pride, because it is dear. Keep an account, in a book, of -all that you receive, and of all that you pay; for no man, who knows -what he receives, and what he pays, ever runs out. I do not mean that -you should keep an account of the shillings and half-crowns which you -may spend in chair-hire, operas, etc., they are unworthy of the time, -and of the ink, that they would consume; leave such _minutiæ_ to dull, -pennywise fellows; but remember, in economy, as well as in every other -part of life, to have the proper attention to proper objects, and the -proper contempt for little ones. A strong mind sees things in their -true proportions: a weak one views them through a magnifying medium; -which, like the microscope, makes an elephant of a flea; magnifies -all little objects, but cannot receive great ones. I have known many -a man pass for a miser, by saving a penny, and wrangling for two -pence, who was undoing himself, at the same time, by living above his -income, and not attending to essential articles, which were above his -_portée_. The sure characteristic of a sound and strong mind is, to -find, in everything, those certain bounds, _quos ultra citrave nequit -consistere rectum_. These boundaries are marked out by a very fine -line, which only good sense and attention can discover; it is much too -fine for vulgar eyes. In manners, this line is good breeding; beyond -it, is troublesome ceremony; short of it, is unbecoming negligence -and inattention. In morals, it divides ostentatious Puritanism from -criminal relaxation; in religion, superstition from impiety; and, in -short, every virtue from its kindred vice or weakness. I think you have -sense enough to discover the line; keep it always in your eye, and -learn to walk upon it; rest upon Mr. Harte, and he will poise you till -you are able to go alone. By the way, there are fewer people who walk -well upon that line, than upon the slack rope; and therefore a good -performer shines so much the more. [_Jan. 10, 1749._] - - -DANCING.--Remember to take the best dancing master at Berlin, more to -teach you to sit, stand, and walk gracefully, than to dance finely. The -Graces, the Graces; remember the Graces! Adieu. [_Same date._] - - -THE CLASSICS--THEIR VALUE.--My first prejudice (for I do not mention -the prejudices of boys and women, such as hobgoblins, ghosts, dreams, -spilling salt, etc.) was my classical enthusiasm, which I received -from the books I read, and the masters who explained them to me. I was -convinced there had been no common sense nor common honesty in the -world for these last fifteen hundred years; but that they were totally -extinguished with the ancient Greek and Roman governments. Homer and -Virgil could have no faults, because they were ancient; Milton and -Tasso could have no merit, because they were modern. And I could almost -have said, with regard to the ancients, what Cicero, very absurdly and -unbecomingly for a philosopher, says with regard to Plato, “Cum quo -errare malim; quam cum aliis rectè sentire.” Whereas now, without any -extraordinary effort of genius, I have discovered that nature was the -same three thousand years ago as it is at present; that men were but -men then as well as now; that modes and customs vary often, but that -human nature is always the same. And I can no more suppose, that men -were better, braver, or wiser, fifteen hundred or three thousand years -ago, than I can suppose that the animals or vegetables were better -then than they are now. I dare assert too, in defiance of the favorers -of the ancients, that Homer’s hero, Achilles, was both a brute and -a scoundrel, and consequently an improper character for the hero of -an epic poem; he had so little regard for his country, that he would -not act in defence of it, because he had quarrelled with Agamemnon -about a w----e; and then afterward, animated by private resentment -only, he went about killing people basely, I will call it, because he -knew himself invulnerable; and yet, invulnerable as he was, he wore -the strongest armor in the world; which I humbly apprehend to be a -blunder; for a horseshoe clapped to his vulnerable heel would have -been sufficient. On the other hand, with submission to the favorers of -the moderns, I assert with Mr. Dryden, that the Devil is in truth the -hero of Milton’s poem: his plan, which he lays, pursues, and at last -executes, being the subject of the poem. From all which considerations, -I impartially conclude, that the ancients had their excellencies and -their defects, their virtues and their vices, just like the moderns: -pedantry and affectation of learning decide clearly in favor of the -former; vanity and ignorance, as peremptorily, in favor of the latter. -Religious prejudices kept pace with my classical ones; and there was a -time when I thought it impossible for the honestest man in the world -to be saved, out of the pale of the Church of England: not considering -that matters of opinion do not depend upon the will; and that it is as -natural, and as allowable, that another man should differ in opinion -from me, as that I should differ from him; and that, if we are both -sincere, we are both blameless: and should consequently have mutual -indulgence for each other. [_Feb. 7, 1749._] - - -REFLECTION--ITS USE.--Use and assert your own reason; reflect, -examine, and analyze everything, in order to form a sound and mature -judgment; let no ουτος ἔφα impose upon your understanding, mislead -your actions, or dictate your conversation. Be early, what, if you are -not, you will, when too late, wish you had been. Consult your reason -betimes: I do not say that it will always prove an unerring guide; for -human reason is not infallible: but it will prove the least erring -guide that you can follow. Books and conversation may assist it; but -adopt neither, blindly and implicitly; try both by that best rule -which God has given to direct us, Reason. Of all the troubles do not -decline, as many people do, that of thinking. The herd of mankind can -hardly be said to think; their notions are almost all adoptive; and, in -general, I believe it is better that it should be so; as such common -prejudices contribute more to order and quiet, than their own separate -reasonings would do, uncultivated and unimproved as they are. We have -many of those useful prejudices in this country, which I should be very -sorry to see removed. The good Protestant conviction, that the Pope -is both Antichrist, and the Whore of Babylon, is a more effectual -preservative, in this country, against popery, than all the solid and -unanswerable arguments of Chillingworth. - -The idle story of the Pretender’s having been introduced in a -warming-pan, into the queen’s bed, though as destitute of all -probability as of all foundation, has been much more prejudicial to -the cause of Jacobitism, than all that Mr. Locke and others have -written, to show the unreasonableness and absurdity of the doctrines -of indefeasible hereditary right and unlimited passive obedience. And -that silly, sanguine notion, which is firmly entertained here, that -one Englishman can beat three Frenchmen, encourages, and has sometimes -enabled one Englishman, in reality, to beat two. [_Same date._] - - -LIBERTY OF THE PRESS.--Can an author with reason complain that he is -cramped and shackled if he is not at liberty to publish blasphemy, -bawdry, or sedition? all which are equally prohibited in the freest -governments, if they are wise and well regulated ones. This is the -present general complaint of the French authors; but, indeed, chiefly -of the bad ones. No wonder, say they, that England produces so many -great geniuses; people there may think as they please, and publish -what they think. Very true, but who hinders them from thinking as they -please? If, indeed, they think in a manner destructive of all religion, -morality, or good manners, or to the disturbance of the state; an -absolute government will certainly more effectually prohibit them from, -or punish them for publishing such thoughts, than a free one could do. -But how does that cramp the genius of an epic, dramatic, or lyric poet? -Or how does it corrupt the eloquence of an orator, in the pulpit or at -the bar? [_Same date._] - - -GRACEFUL BEHAVIOR.--There is another object that must keep pace with -and accompany knowledge; I mean, manners, politeness, and the graces; -in which Sir Charles Williams, though very much your friend, owns you -are very deficient. The manners of Leipsic must be shook off; and in -that respect you must put on the new man. No scrambling at your meals, -as at a German ordinary; no awkward overturns of glasses, plates, and -salt-cellars; no horse-play. On the contrary, a gentleness of manners, -a graceful carriage, and an insinuating address, must take their place. -I repeat, and shall never cease repeating to you, _the Graces, the -Graces_. [_April 12, 1749._] - - -A GENTLEMAN’S PLEASURES.--DEAR BOY: This letter will, I believe, still -find you at Venice, in all the dissipation of masquerades, ridottos, -operas, etc.: with all my heart; they are decent evening amusements, -and very properly succeed that serious application to which I am sure -you devote your mornings. There are liberal and illiberal pleasures, -as well as liberal and illiberal arts. There are some pleasures, that -degrade a gentleman, as much as some trades could do. Sottish drinking, -indiscriminate gluttony, driving coaches, rustic sports, such as -fox-chases, horse-races, etc., are, in my opinion, infinitely below the -honest and industrious professions of a tailor, and a shoemaker, which -are said to _déroger_. [_April 19, 1749._] - - -MUSIC--FIDDLING.--I cannot help cautioning you against giving into -those (I will call them illiberal) pleasures (though music is commonly -reckoned one of the liberal arts) to the degree that most of your -countrymen do when they travel in Italy. If you love music, hear it; -go to operas, concerts, and pay fiddlers to play to you; but I insist -upon your neither piping nor fiddling yourself. It puts a gentleman in -a very frivolous, contemptible light; brings him into a great deal of -bad company; and takes up a great deal of time, which might be much -better employed. Few things would mortify me more than to see you -bearing a part in a concert, with a fiddle under your chin, or a pipe -in your mouth. [_Same date._] - - -MANIÈRES.--By _manières_, I do not mean bare common civility; everybody -must have that, who would not be kicked out of company; but I mean -engaging, insinuating, shining manners; a distinguished politeness, an -almost irresistible address; a superior gracefulness in all you say and -do. It is this alone that can give all your other talents their full -lustre and value; and consequently, it is this which should now be the -principal object of your attention. Observe minutely, wherever you go, -the allowed and established morals of good breeding, and form yourself -upon them. Whatever pleases you most, in others, will infallibly please -others, in you. I have often repeated this to you; now is your time of -putting it in practice. [_Same date._] - - -LITTLE PRINCES.--In general, I believe that little princes are more -likely to be great men than those whose more extensive dominions, and -superior strength, flatter them with security; which commonly produces -negligence and indolence. A little prince, in the neighborhood of -great ones, must be alert, and look out sharp, if he would secure his -own dominions; much more still, if he would enlarge them. He must -watch for conjunctures, or endeavor to make them. No princes have ever -possessed this art better than those of the House of Savoy, who have -enlarged their dominions prodigiously within a century, by profiting of -conjunctures. [_Same date._] - - -ATTENTIONS.--A young man should never be wanting in these attentions; -they cost little and bring in a great deal, by getting you people’s -good word and affection. They gain the heart, to which I have always -advised you to apply yourself particularly; it guides ten thousand for -one that reason influences. - -I cannot end this letter, or (I believe) any other, without repeating -my recommendation of _the Graces_. They are to be met with at Turin; -for God’s sake, sacrifice to them, and they will be propitious. People -mistake grossly, to imagine that the least awkwardness, in either -matter or manner, mind or body, is an indifferent thing, and not worthy -of attention. It may possibly be a weakness in me (but in short we are -all so made). I confess to you fairly, that when you shall come home, -and that I first see you, if I find you ungraceful in your address, and -awkward in your person and dress, it will be impossible for me to love -you half so well as I should otherwise do, let your intrinsic merit and -knowledge be ever so great. [_Same date._] - - -ENGLISH ABROAD.--I am informed there are now many English at the -Academy at Turin, and I fear those are just so many dangers for you to -encounter. Who they are, I do not know; but I well know the general ill -conduct, the indecent behavior, and the illiberal views of my young -countrymen abroad; especially wherever they are in numbers together. -Ill example is of itself dangerous enough; but those who give it seldom -stop there; they add their infamous exhortations and invitations; and, -if these fail, they have recourse to ridicule, which is harder for one -of your age and inexperience to withstand than either of the former. -Be upon your guard, therefore, against these batteries, which will all -be played upon you. You are not sent abroad to converse with your own -countrymen; among them, in general, you will get little knowledge, no -languages, and, I am sure, no manners. I desire that you will form no -connections, nor (what they impudently call) friendships, with these -people; which are, in truth, only combinations and conspiracies -against good morals and good manners. [_May 15, 1749._] - - -VICES SHOULD BE ORIGINAL.--If people had no vices but their own, few -would have so many as they have. For my own part, I would sooner wear -other people’s clothes than their vices; and they would sit upon me -just as well. I hope you will have none; but, if ever you have, I beg, -at least, they may be all your own. Vices of adoption are, of all -others, the most disgraceful and unpardonable. There are degrees in -vices, as well as in virtues; and I must do my countrymen the justice -to say, they generally take their vices in the lowest degree. Their -gallantry is the infamous mean debauchery of stews, justly attended and -rewarded by the loss of their health as well as their character. Their -pleasures of the table end in beastly drunkenness, low riot, broken -windows, and very often (as they well deserve) broken bones. They game -for the sake of the vice, not of the amusement; and therefore carry it -to excess; undo, or are undone by, their companions. By such conduct, -and in such company abroad, they come home the unimproved, illiberal, -and ungentlemanlike creatures that one daily sees them; that is, in the -park, and in the streets, for one never meets them in good company; -where they have neither manners to present themselves, nor merit to -be received. But, with the manners of footmen and grooms, they assume -their dress too; for you must have observed them in the streets here, -in dirty blue frocks, with oaken sticks in their hands, and their hair -greasy and unpowdered, tucked up under their hats of an enormous size. -Thus finished and adorned by their travels, they become the disturbers -of playhouses; they break the windows, and commonly the landlords, -of the taverns where they drink; and are at once the support, the -terror, and the victims of the bawdy-houses they frequent. These poor -mistaken people think they shine, and so they do indeed; but it is as -putrefaction shines, in the dark. - -I am not now preaching to you, like an old fellow, upon either -religious or moral texts; I am persuaded you do not want the best -instructions of that kind; but I am advising you as a man, as a friend -of the world, as one who would not have you old while you are young, -but would have you take all the pleasures that reason points out, and -that decency warrants. [_Same date._] - - -FOOLISH SAYINGS.--There are some expressions, both in French and -English, and some characters, both in those two and in other countries, -which have, I dare say, misled many young men to their ruin. _Une -honnête débauche, une jolie débauche: an agreeable rake, a man of -pleasure._ Do not think that this means debauchery and profligacy; -nothing like it. It means, at most, the accidental and unfrequent -irregularities of youth and vivacity, in opposition to dulness, -formality, and want of spirit. [_Same date._] - - -HOW TO PLEASE.--You must not neglect your dress neither, but take -care to be _bien mis_. Pray send for the best operator for the teeth -at Turin, where I suppose there is some famous one, and let him put -yours in perfect order; and then take care to keep them so afterwards -yourself. You had very good teeth, and I hope they are so still; but -even those who have bad ones should keep them clean; for a dirty -mouth is, to my mind, ill-manners. In short, neglect nothing that can -possibly please. A thousand nameless little things, which nobody can -describe but which everybody feels, conspire to form that _whole_ of -pleasing; as the several pieces of a mosaic work, though separately -of little beauty or value, when properly joined form those beautiful -figures which please everybody. A look, a gesture, an attitude, a tone -of voice, all bear their parts in the great work of pleasing. The art -of pleasing is more particularly necessary in your intended profession -than perhaps in any other; it is, in truth, the first half of your -business; for if you do not please the court you are sent to, you will -be of very little use to the court you are sent from. Please the eyes -and the ears, they will introduce you to the heart; and, nine times in -ten, the heart governs the understanding. - -Make your court particularly, and show distinguished attentions, to -such men and women as are best at court, highest in the fashion and in -the opinion of the public; speak advantageously of them behind their -backs, in companies who you have reason to believe will tell them -again. Express your admiration of the many great men that the house of -Savoy has produced; observe, that nature, instead of being exhausted -by those efforts, seems to have redoubled them in the persons of the -present king, and the Duke of Savoy; wonder at this rate where it will -end, and conclude that it will end in the government of all Europe. -Say this, likewise, where it will probably be repeated; but say it -unaffectedly, and the last, especially, with a kind of _enjouement_. -These little arts are very allowable, and must be made use of in the -course of the world; they are pleasing to one party, useful to the -other, and injurious to nobody. [_Same date._] - - -FLATTERY.--I recommended to you, in my last, an innocent piece of art; -that of flattering people behind their backs, in presence of those who, -to make their own court, much more than for your sake, will not fail to -repeat, and even amplify the praise to the party concerned. This is of -all flattery the most pleasing, and consequently the most effectual. -There are other, and many other inoffensive arts of this kind, which -are necessary in the course of the world, and which he who practises -the earliest, will please the most, and rise the soonest. [_May 22, -1749._] - - -TEMPER.--The principal of these things, is the mastery of one’s -temper, and that coolness of mind, and serenity of countenance, which -hinders us from discovering, by words, actions, or even looks, those -passions or sentiments, by which we are inwardly moved or agitated; and -the discovery of which, gives cooler and abler people such infinite -advantages over us, not only in business, but in all the most common -occurrences of life. A man who does not possess himself enough to -hear disagreeable things, without visible marks of anger and change -of countenance, or agreeable ones without sudden bursts of joy and -expansion of countenance, is at the mercy of every artful knave, or -pert coxcomb; the former will provoke or please you by design, to -catch unguarded words or looks, by which he will easily decipher the -secrets of your heart, of which you should keep the key yourself, and -trust it with no man living. [_Same date._] - - -IMMOBILITY.--Determine, too, to keep your countenance as unmoved and -unembarrassed as possible which steadiness you may get a habit of, by -constant attention. I should desire nothing better, in any negotiation, -than to have to do with one of these men of warm, quick passions; -which I would take care to set in motion. By artful provocations, I -would extort rash and unguarded expressions; and, by hinting at all -the several things that I could suspect, infallibly discover the true -one, by the alteration it occasioned in the countenance of the person. -_Vólto sciolto con pensieri stretti_,[40] is a most useful maxim in -business. [_Same date._] - - -DISSIMULATION.--It may be objected, that I am now recommending -dissimulation to you; I both own and justify it. It has been long -said: _Qui nescit dissimulare nescit regnare_: I go still farther, -and say, that without some dissimulation, no business can be carried -on at all. It is _simulation_ that is false, mean and criminal; that -is the cunning which Lord Bacon calls crooked or left-handed wisdom, -and which is never made use of but by those who have not true wisdom. -And the same great man says, that dissimulation is only to hide our -own cards; whereas simulation is put on in order to look into other -people’s. Lord Bolingbroke in his “Idea of a Patriot King,” which -he has lately published, and which I will send you by the first -opportunity, says, very justly, that simulation is a _stiletto_; not -only an unjust but an unlawful weapon, and the use of it very rarely -to be excused, never justified. Whereas dissimulation is a shield, as -secrecy is armor; and it is no more possible to preserve secrecy in -business, without some degree of dissimulation, than it is to succeed -in business without secrecy. [_Same date._] - - -THE FACE.--Make yourself absolute master, therefore, of your temper, -and your countenance, so far, at least, as that no visible change -do appear in either, whatever you may feel inwardly. This may be -difficult, but it is by no means impossible; and, as a man of sense -never attempts impossibilities on one hand, on the other he is never -discouraged by difficulties. [_Same date._] - - -THE EASY MOMENT.--Some people are to be reasoned, some flattered, -some intimidated, and some teased into a thing; but, in general, all -are to be brought into it at last, if skilfully applied to, properly -managed, and indefatigably attacked in their several weak places. The -time should likewise be judiciously chosen: every man has his _mollia -tempora_, but that is far from being all day long; and you would choose -your time very ill, if you applied to a man about one business, when -his head was full of another, or when his heart was full of grief, -anger, or any other disagreeable sentiments. [_Same date._] - - -JUDGE OF OTHERS BY YOURSELF.--In order to judge of the inside of -others, study your own; for men in general are very much alike; and -though one has one prevailing passion, and another has another, yet -their operations are much the same; and whatever engages or disgusts, -pleases or offends you, in others, will, _mutatis mutandis_, engage, -disgust, please, or offend others, in you. [_Same date._] - - -SMART SAYINGS.--The temptation of saying a smart and witty thing, -or _bon mot_, and the malicious applause with which it is commonly -received, have made people who can say them, and, still oftener, -people who think they can, but cannot and yet try, more enemies, -and implacable ones too, than any one other thing that I know of. -When such things, then, shall happen to be said at your expense (as -sometimes they certainly will) reflect seriously upon the sentiments -of uneasiness, anger, and resentment, which they excite in you; and -consider whether it can be prudent, by the same means, to excite the -same sentiments in others against you. It is a decided folly to lose -a friend for a jest; but, in my mind, it is not a much less degree of -folly, to make an enemy of an indifferent and neutral person for the -sake of a _bon mot_. When things of this kind happen to be said of you -the most prudent way is to seem not to suppose that they are meant at -you, but to dissemble and conceal whatever degree of anger you may -feel inwardly; and should they be so plain that you cannot be supposed -ignorant of their meaning, to join in the laugh of the company against -yourself; acknowledge the hit to be a fair one, and the jest a good -one, and play off the whole thing in seeming good humor; but by no -means reply in the same way; which only shows that you are hurt, and -publishes the victory which you might have concealed. Should the thing -said, indeed, injure your honor, or moral character, there is but one -proper reply; which I hope you will never have occasion to make. [_Same -date._] - - -WOMEN OF FASHION.--They are a numerous and loquacious body; their -hatred would be more prejudicial than their friendship can be -advantageous to you. A general complaisance and attention to that -sex is, therefore, established by custom, and certainly necessary. -But where you would particularly please any one, whose situation, -interest, or connections can be of use to you, you must show particular -preference. The least attentions please, the greatest charm them. -The innocent but pleasing flattery of their persons, however gross, -is greedily swallowed, and kindly digested, but a seeming regard for -their understandings, a seeming desire of, and deference for, their -advice, together with a seeming confidence in their moral virtues, -turns their head entirely in your favor. Nothing shocks them so much as -the least appearance of that contempt, which they are apt to suspect -men of entertaining of their capacities; and you may be very sure of -gaining their friendship, if you seem to think it worth gaining. Here -dissimulation is very often necessary, and even simulation sometimes -allowable; which, as it pleases them, may be useful to you and is -injurious to nobody. [_Same date._] - - -VENETIAN ART.--The time you will probably pass at Venice will allow -you to make yourself master of that intricate and singular form of -government, which few of our travellers know anything of. Read, ask, -and see everything that is relative to it. There are, likewise, many -valuable remains of the remotest antiquity, and many fine pieces of -the _antico moderno_, all which deserve a different sort of attention -from that which your countrymen commonly give them. They go to see -them as they go to see the lions, and kings on horseback, at the Tower -here, only to say that they have seen them. You will, I am sure, view -them in another light; you will consider them as you would a poem, to -which indeed they are akin. You will observe whether the sculptor has -animated his stone, or the painter his canvas, into the just expression -of those sentiments and passions which should characterize and mark -their several figures. [_June 22, 1749._] - - -SCULPTURE AND PAINTING.--You will examine, likewise, whether, in their -groups there be a unity of action or proper relation; a truth of dress -and manners. Sculpture and painting are very justly called liberal -arts; a lively and strong imagination, together with a just observation -being absolutely necessary to excel in either, which, in my opinion, is -by no means the case of music, though called a liberal art, and now in -Italy placed even above the other two--a proof of the decline of that -country. A taste of sculpture and painting is, in my mind, as becoming -as a taste of fiddling and piping is unbecoming a man of fashion. The -former is connected with history and poetry; the latter, with nothing -that I know of, but bad company. [_Same date._] - - -AMIABILITY.--There is a certain concurrence of various little -circumstances, which compose what the French call _l’amiable_; and -which, now you are entering into the world, you ought to make it your -particular study to acquire. Without them, your learning will be -pedantry, your conversation often improper, always unpleasant, and -your figure, however good in itself, awkward and unengaging. A diamond -while rough has indeed its intrinsic value; but till polished is of -no use, and would neither be sought for nor worn. Its great lustre, -it is true, proceeds from its solidity and strong cohesion of parts; -but without the last polish, it would remain forever a dirty, rough -mineral in the cabinets of some few curious collectors. You have, I -hope, that solidity and cohesion of parts; take now as much pains to -get the lustre. Good company, if you make the right use of it, will -cut you into shape, and give you the true brilliant polish. _Apropos_ -of diamonds, I have sent you, by Sir James Gray, the king’s minister, -who will be at Venice about the middle of September, my own diamond -buckles, which are fitter for your young feet than for my old ones; -they will properly adorn you; they would only expose me. [_Same date._] - - -TRIFLES.--Great merit or great failings will make you respected or -despised; but trifles, little attentions, mere nothings, either done or -neglected, will make you either liked or disliked, in the general run -of the world. Examine yourself, why you like such and such people, and -dislike such and such others; and you will find that those different -sentiments proceed from very slight causes. Moral virtues are the -foundation of society in general, and of friendship in particular; but -attentions, manners, and graces both adorn and strengthen them. [_July -20, 1749._] - - -YOUTH ARMED BY EXPERIENCE.--Your youth and talents, armed with my -experience, may go a great way; and that armor is very much at your -service, if you please to wear it. I premise that it is not my -imagination, but my memory, that gives you these rules; I am not -writing pretty, useful reflections. A man of sense soon discovers, -because he carefully observes where and how long he is welcome; and -takes care to leave the company, at least, as soon as he is wished out -of it. Fools never perceive whether they are ill-timed or ill-placed. -[_Same date._] - - -IDLENESS.--But indeed I do not suspect you of one single moment’s -idleness in the whole day. Idleness is only the refuge of weak minds, -and the holiday of fools. I do not call good company and liberal -pleasures idleness; far from it; I recommend to you a good share of -both. [_Same date._] - - -BATHING.--I am very glad that my letter, with Dr. Shaw’s opinion, has -lessened your bathing; for, since I was born, I never heard of bathing -four hours a day, which would surely be too much, even in Medea’s -kettle, if you wanted (as you do not yet) new boiling. [_July 30, -1749._] - - -ARCHITECTURE--A SIMILE.--To carry on the metaphor of building, I would -wish you to be a Corinthian edifice, upon a Tuscan foundation; the -latter having the utmost strength and solidity to support, and the -former all possible ornaments to decorate. The Tuscan column is coarse, -clumsy, and unpleasant; nobody looks at it twice: the Corinthian fluted -column is beautiful and attractive; but without a solid foundation, -can hardly be seen twice, because it must soon tumble down. Yours -affectionately. [_Same date._] - - -EARN YOUR PLEASURES.--No man tastes pleasures truly who does not earn -them by previous business; and few people do business well who do -nothing else. Remember, that when I speak of pleasures I always mean -the elegant pleasures of a rational being, and not the brutal ones of -a swine. I mean _la bonne chere_, short of gluttony; wine, infinitely -short of drunkenness; play, without the least gaming; and gallantry, -without debauchery. There is a line in all these things which men of -sense, for greater security, take care to keep a good deal on the right -side of; for sickness, pain, contempt, and infamy lie immediately on -the other side of it. Men of sense and merit in all other respects may -have had some of these failings; but then those few examples, instead -of inviting us to imitation, should only put us the more upon our guard -against such weaknesses. Whoever thinks them fashionable will not be so -himself. I have often known a fashionable man to have some one vice, -but I never, in my life, knew a vicious man a fashionable man. Vice is -as degrading as it is criminal. God bless you, my dear child! [_Aug. 7, -1749._] - - -DIGNITY OF MANNERS.--There is a certain dignity of manners absolutely -necessary, to make even the most valuable character either respected -or respectable. Horse-play, romping, frequent and loud fits of -laughter, jokes, waggery, and indiscriminate familiarity, will sink -both merit and knowledge into a degree of contempt. They compose at -most a merry fellow; and a merry fellow was never yet a respectable -man. Indiscriminate familiarity either offends your superiors, or else -dubs you their dependent, and led captain. It gives your inferiors just -but troublesome and improper claims of equality. A joker is near akin -to a buffoon; and neither of them is the least related to wit. Whoever -is admitted or sought for in company upon any account than that of his -merit and manners, is never respected there, but only made use of. We -will have such-a-one, for he sings prettily; we will invite such-a-one -to a ball, for he dances well; we will have such-a-one at supper, for -he is always joking and laughing; we will ask another, because he plays -deep at all games, or because he can drink a great deal. These are -vilifying distinctions, mortifying preferences, and exclude all ideas -of esteem and regard. Whoever _is had_ (as it is called) in company, -for the sake of any one thing singly, is singly that thing, and will -never be considered in any other light, consequently never respected, -let his merits be what they will. [_Aug. 10, 1749._] - - -FOOLS AND THEIR FLATTERY.--Abject flattery and indiscriminate -assentation degrade, as much as indiscriminate contradiction and noisy -debate disgust. But a modest assertion of one’s own opinion, and a -complaisant acquiescence in other people’s, preserve dignity. - -Vulgar, low expressions, awkward motions and address, vilify, as -they imply either a very low turn of mind, or low education, and low -company. [_Same date._] - - -A TRIFLER.--Cardinal de Retz, very sagaciously marked out Cardinal -Chigi for a little mind, from the moment that he told him he had wrote -(_sic_) three years with the same pen, and that it was an excellent -good one still. - -A certain degree of exterior seriousness, in looks and motions, gives -dignity, without excluding wit and decent cheerfulness, which are -always serious themselves. A constant smirk upon the face, and a -whiffling activity of the body, are strong indications of futility. -Whoever is in a hurry shows that the thing he is about is too big for -him. Haste and hurry are very different things. [_Same date._] - - -THE PRETENDER--POLITICAL CAUTION.--You will, in many parts of Italy, -meet with numbers of the Pretender’s people (English, Scotch, and Irish -fugitives) especially at Rome; and probably the Pretender himself. It -is none of your business to declare war on these people; as little as -it is your interest, or, I hope, your inclination to connect yourself -with them: and therefore I recommend to you a perfect neutrality. Avoid -them as much as you can with decency and good manners; but, when you -cannot avoid any political conversation or debates with them, tell them -that you do not concern yourself with political matters; that you are -neither a maker nor a deposer of kings; that, when you left England, -you left a king in it, and have not since heard either of his death, -or of any revolution that has happened, and that you take kings and -kingdoms as you find them; but enter no farther into matters with them, -which can be of no use, and might bring on heat and quarrels. When you -speak of the old Pretender you will call him only, the Chevalier de -St. George; but mention him as seldom as possible. Should he chance to -speak to you at any assembly (as, I am told, he sometimes does to the -English) be sure that you seem not to know him; and answer him civilly, -but always either in French or in Italian; and give him, in the former, -the appellation of _Monsieur_, and in the latter of _Signore_. Should -you meet with the Cardinal of York, you will be under no difficulty, -for he has, as Cardinal, an undoubted right to _Eminenza_. Upon the -whole, see any of those people as little as possible; when you do -see them be civil to them, upon the footing of strangers; but never -be drawn into any altercations with them about the imaginary right of -their king, as they call him. - -It is to no sort of purpose to talk to those people of the natural -rights of mankind and particular constitution of this country. Blinded -by prejudices, soured by misfortunes, and tempted by their necessities, -they are as incapable of reasoning rightly, as they have hitherto been -of acting wisely. The late Lord Pembroke never would know anything -that he had not a mind to know; and, in this case, I advise you to -follow his example. Never know either the father or the two sons, any -otherwise than as foreigners; and so not knowing their pretensions you -have no occasion to dispute them. [_Sept. 5, 1749._] - - -A FATHER’S ANXIETY.--It seems extraordinary, but it is very true, that -my anxiety for you increases in proportion to the good accounts which I -receive of you from all hands. I promise myself so much from you, that -I dread the least disappointment. You are now so near the port, which I -have so long wished and labored to bring you safe into, that my concern -would be doubled, should you be shipwrecked within sight of it. The -object, therefore, of this letter is (laying aside all the authority -of the parent), to conjure you as a friend, by the affection you have -for me (and surely you have reason to have some), and by the regard you -have for yourself, to go on with assiduity and attention, to complete -that work, which, of late, you have carried on so well, and which is -now so near being finished. My wishes, and my plan, were to make you -shine, and distinguish yourself equally in the learned and the polite -world. Few have been able to do it. [_Sept. 12, 1749._] - - -THE STUDENT OF LIFE AND THE TRIFLER: A DIALOGUE.--I will suppose you -at Rome, studying six hours uninterruptedly with Mr. Harte, every -morning, and passing your evenings with the best company of Rome, -observing their manners and forming your own; and I will suppose a -number of idle, sauntering, illiterate English, as there commonly is -there, living entirely with one another, supping, drinking, and sitting -up late at each other’s lodgings; commonly in riots and scrapes when -drunk, and never in good company when sober. I will take one of these -pretty fellows, and give you the dialogue between him and yourself; -such as I dare say it will be on his side, and such as I hope it will -be on yours. - -_Englishman._ Will you come and breakfast with me to-morrow; there will -be four or five of our countrymen; we have provided chaises, and we -will drive somewhere out of town after breakfast? - -_Stanhope._ I am very sorry I cannot; but I am obliged to be at home -all the morning. - -_Englishman._ Why then we will come and breakfast with you. - -_Stanhope._ I can’t do that neither, I am engaged. - -_Englishman._ Well, then, let it be the next day. - -_Stanhope._ To tell you the truth, it can be no day in the morning; for -I neither go out, nor see anybody at home before twelve. - -_Englishman._ And what the devil do you do with yourself till twelve -o’clock? - -_Stanhope._ I am not by myself, I am with Mr. Harte. - -_Englishman._ Then what the devil do you do with him? - -_Stanhope._ We study different things; we read, we converse. - -_Englishman._ Very pretty amusement indeed! Are you to take orders then? - -_Stanhope._ Yes, my father’s orders, I believe, I must take. - -_Englishman._ Why, hast thou no more spirit than to mind an old fellow -a thousand miles off? - -_Stanhope._ If I don’t mind his orders he won’t mind my draughts. - -_Englishman._ What, does the old prig threaten, then? Threatened folks -live long; never mind threats. - -_Stanhope._ No, I can’t say that he has ever threatened me in his life; -but I believe I had best not provoke him. - -_Englishman._ Pooh! you would have one angry letter from the old -fellow, and there would be an end of it. - -_Stanhope._ You mistake him mightily; he always does more than he says. -He has never been angry with me yet, that I remember, in his life; but -if I were to provoke him, I am sure he would never forgive me; he would -be coolly immovable, and I might beg and pray, and write my heart out -to no purpose. - -_Englishman._ Why then, he is an old dog, that’s all I can say: -and pray, are you to obey your dry-nurse too, this same what’s his -name--Mr. Harte? - -_Stanhope._ Yes. - -_Englishman._ So he stuffs you all morning with Greek, and Latin, and -logic, and all that. Egad, I have a dry-nurse too, but I never looked -into a book with him in my life; I have not so much as seen the face of -him this week, and don’t care a louse if I never see it again. - -_Stanhope._ My dry-nurse never desires anything of me that is not -reasonable, and for my own good; and therefore I like to be with him. - -_Englishman._ Very sententious and edifying, upon my word! at this rate -you will be reckoned a very good young man. - -_Stanhope._ Why, that will do me no harm. - -_Englishman._ Will you be with us to-morrow in the evening, then? We -shall be ten with you; and I have got some excellent good wine; and -we’ll be very merry. - -_Stanhope._ I am very much obliged to you but I am engaged for all the -evening, to-morrow; first at Cardinal Albani’s; and then to sup at the -Venetian Embassadress’s. - -_Englishman._ How the devil can you like being always with these -foreigners? I never go amongst them, with all their formalities and -ceremonies. I am never easy in company with them, and I don’t know why, -but I am ashamed. - -_Stanhope._ I am neither ashamed nor afraid; I am very easy with -them; they are very easy with me; I get the language, and I see their -characters, by conversing with them; and that is what we are sent -abroad for. Is it not? - -_Englishman._ I hate your modest women’s company; your women of -fashion, as they call ’em. I don’t know what to say to them, for my -part. - -_Stanhope._ Have you ever conversed with them? - -_Englishman._ No, I never conversed with them; but I have been -sometimes in their company, though much against my will. - -_Stanhope._ But at least they have done you no hurt; which is, -probably, more than you can say of the women you do converse with. - -_Englishman._ That’s true, I own; but for all that, I would rather keep -company with my surgeon half the year, than with your women of fashion -the year round. - -_Stanhope._ Tastes are different, you know, and every man follows his -own. - -_Englishman._ That’s true; but thine’s a devilish odd one, Stanhope. -All morning with thy dry-nurse; all the evening in formal fine company; -and all day long afraid of old Daddy in England. Thou art a queer -fellow, and I am afraid there’s nothing to be made of thee. - -_Stanhope._ I am afraid so, too. - -_Englishman._ Well, then, good-night to you; you have no objection, I -hope, to my being drunk to-night, which I certainly will be? - -_Stanhope._ Not in the least; nor to your being sick to-morrow, which -you as certainly will be; and so good-night too. - -You will observe, that I have not put into your mouth those good -arguments, which upon such an occasion would, I am sure, occur to you; -as piety and affection towards me; regard and friendship for Mr. Harte; -respect for your own moral character, and for all the relative duties -of man, son, pupil and citizen. Such solid arguments would be thrown -away upon such shallow puppies. Leave them to their ignorance, and to -their dirty, disgraceful vices. They will severely feel the effects -of them, when it will be too late. Without the comfortable refuge of -learning, and with all the sickness and pains of a ruined stomach, -and a rotten carcass, if they happen to arrive at old age, it is an -uneasy and ignominious one. The ridicule which such fellows endeavor to -throw upon those who are not like them is, in the opinion of all men -of sense, the most authentic panegyric. Go on, then, my dear child, -in the way you are in, only for a year and a half more; that is all I -ask of you. After that, I promise that you shall be your own master, -and that I will pretend to no other title than that of your best and -truest friend. You shall receive advice, but no orders, from me; and in -truth you will want no other advice, but such as youth and inexperience -must necessarily require. You shall certainly want nothing that is -requisite, not only for your conveniency, but also for your pleasures, -which I always desire should be gratified. You will suppose that I mean -the pleasures _d’un honnête homme_. [_Same date._] - - -A PANEGYRIST.--If I had faith in philters and love potions, I should -suspect that you had given Sir Charles Williams some, by the manner in -which he speaks of you, not only to me, but to everybody else. I will -not repeat to you what he says of the extent and correctness of your -knowledge, as it might either make you vain, or persuade you that you -had already enough of what nobody can have too much. You will easily -imagine how many questions I asked, and how narrowly I sifted him upon -your subject; he answered me, and I dare say with truth, just as I -could have wished. [_Sept. 22, 1749._] - - -NECESSITY OF ATTENTION.--Sir Charles Williams told me then, that in -company you were frequently most _provokingly_ inattentive, absent, -_and distrait_. That you came into a room and presented yourself very -awkwardly; that at table you constantly threw down knives, forks, -napkins, bread, etc., and that you neglected your person and dress to a -degree unpardonable at any age, and much more so at yours. - - -DISTRACTION AND INATTENTION.--I know no one thing more offensive to a -company than that inattention and _distraction_. It is showing them -the utmost contempt; and people never forgive contempt. No man is -_distrait_ with the man he fears or the woman he loves; which is a -proof that every man can get the better of that _distraction_, when he -thinks it worth his while to do so; and, take my word for it, it is -always worth his while. For my own part, I would rather be in company -with a dead man than with an absent one; for if the dead man gives me -no pleasure, at least he shows me no contempt; whereas the absent man, -silently indeed, but very plainly, tells me that he does not think me -worth his attention. Besides, can an absent man make any observations -upon the characters, customs, and manners of the company? No. He may be -in the best companies all his lifetime (if they will admit him, which, -if I were they, I would not), and never be one jot the wiser. I never -will converse with an absent man; one may as well talk to a deaf one. -It is, in truth, a practical blunder to address ourselves to a man who, -we see plainly, neither hears, minds, nor understands us. Moreover, -I aver that no man is, in any degree, fit for either business or -conversation who cannot and does not direct and command his attention -to the present object, be that what it will. You know, by experience, -that I grudge no expense in your education, but I will positively not -keep you a flapper. You may read, in Dr. Swift, the description of -these flappers, and the use they were of to their friends. - - -DANCING.--Learn to dance, not so much for the sake of dancing, as for -coming into a room, and presenting yourself genteelly and gracefully. -Women, whom you ought to endeavor to please, cannot forgive a vulgar -and awkward air and gesture; _il leur faut du brillant_. The generality -of men are pretty like them, and are equally taken by the same exterior -graces. [_Same date._] - - -FINERY UNFIT FOR THE OLD.--I am very glad that you have received the -diamond buckles safe: all I desire in return for them is, that they may -be buckled upon your feet, and that your stockings may not hide them. I -should be sorry you were an egregious fop; but I protest that, of the -two, I would rather have you a fop than a sloven. I think negligence -in my own dress, even at my age, when certainly I expect no advantages -from my dress, would be indecent with regard to others. I have done -with fine clothes; but I will have my plain clothes fit me, and made -like other people’s. In the evenings I recommend to you the company -of women of fashion, who have a right to attention, and will be paid -it. Their company will smooth your manners, and give you a habit of -attention and respect; of which you will find the advantage among men. - -My plan for you, from the beginning, has been to make you shine equally -in the learned and in the polite world; the former part is almost -completed to my wishes, and will, I am persuaded, in a little time more -be quite so. The latter part is still in your power to complete; and I -flatter myself that you will do it, or else the former part will avail -you very little; especially in your department, where the exterior -address and graces do half the business; they must be the harbingers of -your merit, or your merit will be very coldly received: all can and do -judge of the former, few of the latter. - -Mr. Harte tells me that you have grown very much since your illness; -if you get up to five feet ten, or even nine inches, your figure will, -probably, be a good one. [_Same date._] - - -MIS-SENT LETTERS.--Our letters go, at best, so irregularly, and so -often miscarry totally, that, for greater security, I repeat the same -things. So, though I acknowledge by last post Mr. Harte’s letter of -the 8th September, N. S., I acknowledge it again by this to you.[41] -[_Same date._] - - -BEND TO CEREMONY.--_Apropos_ of the Pope, remember to be presented to -him before you leave Rome, and go through the necessary ceremonies for -it, whether of kissing his slipper or his breech; for I would never -deprive myself of anything that I wanted to do or see by refusing to -comply with an established custom. When I was in Catholic countries, -I never declined kneeling in their churches at the elevation, nor -elsewhere, when the host went by. It is a complaisance due to the -custom of the place, and by no means, as some silly people have -imagined, an implied approbation of their doctrine. Bodily attitudes -and situations are things so very indifferent in themselves, that I -would quarrel with nobody about them. It may, indeed, be improper for -Mr. Harte to pay that tribute of complaisance, upon account of his -character. [_Same date._] - - -THE VULGAR MAN--TRIFLES--VULGARISM.--A vulgar man is captious and -jealous; eager and impetuous about trifles. He suspects himself to be -slighted, thinks everything that is said meant at him; if the company -happens to laugh, he is persuaded they laugh at him; he grows angry -and testy, says something very impertinent, and draws himself into -a scrape, by showing what he calls a proper spirit, and asserting -himself. A man of fashion does not suppose himself to be either the -sole or principal object of the thoughts, looks, or words of the -company; and never suspects that he is either slighted or laughed at, -unless he is conscious that he deserves it. And if (which very seldom -happens) the company is absurd or ill-bred enough to do either, he -does not care twopence, unless the insult be so gross and plain as to -require satisfaction of another kind. As he is above trifles, he is -never vehement and eager about them; and, wherever they are concerned, -rather acquiesces than wrangles. A vulgar man’s conversation always -savors strongly of the lowness of his education and company. It turns -chiefly upon his domestic affairs, his servants, the excellent order he -keeps in his own family, and the little anecdotes of the neighborhood; -all which he relates with emphasis, as interesting matters. He is a man -gossip. - -Vulgarism in language is the next and distinguishing characteristic of -bad company and a bad education. A man of fashion avoids nothing with -more care than that. Proverbial expressions, and trite sayings, are the -flowers of the rhetoric of a vulgar man. Would he say, that men differ -in their tastes, he both supports and adorns that opinion, by the good -old saying, as he respectfully calls it, that _what is one man’s meat -is another man’s poison_. If anybody attempts being _smart_, as he -calls it, upon him, he gives them _tit for tat_, ay, that he does. He -has always some favorite word for the time being, which, for the sake -of using often, he commonly abuses. Such as _vastly_ angry, _vastly_ -kind, _vastly_ handsome, and _vastly_ ugly. Even his pronunciation of -proper words carries the mark of the beast along with it. He calls the -earth _yearth_; he is _obleiged_[42] not _obliged_ to you. He goes _to -wards_, and not towards such a place. He sometimes affects hard words, -by way of ornament, which he always mangles like a learned woman. A man -of fashion never has recourse to proverbs and vulgar aphorisms: uses -neither favorite words nor hard words, but takes great care to speak -very correctly and grammatically, and to pronounce properly; that is, -according to the usage of the best companies. [_Sept. 27, 1749._] - - -LEFT-HANDEDNESS.--An awkward address, ungraceful attitudes and actions, -and a certain left-handedness (if I may use that word) loudly proclaim -low education and low company; for it is impossible to suppose that a -man can have frequented good company without having catched something, -at least, of their air and motions. A new-raised man is distinguished -in a regiment by his awkwardness; but he must be impenetrably dull if, -in a month or two’s time, he cannot perform at least the common manual -exercise, and look like a soldier. The very accoutrements of a man of -fashion are grievous incumbrances to a vulgar man. He is at a loss -what to do with his hat, when it is not upon his head; his cane (if -unfortunately he wears one) is at perpetual war with every cup of tea -or coffee he drinks; destroys them first, and then accompanies them in -their fall. - - -A NOBLE EASE AND GRACE.--Do not imagine that these accomplishments -are only useful with women; they are much more so with men. In a -public assembly, what an advantage has a graceful speaker, with -genteel motions, a handsome figure, and a liberal air, over one, who -shall speak full as much sense, but destitute of these ornaments! In -business, how prevalent are the graces, how detrimental is the want -of them! By the help of these I have known some men refuse favors -less offensively than others granted them. The utility of them in -courts and negotiations is inconceivable. You gain the hearts, and -consequently the secrets, of nine in ten that you have to do with, in -spite even of their prudence; which will, nine times in ten, be the -dupe of their hearts and of their senses. Consider the importance of -these things as they deserve, and you will not lose one moment in the -pursuit of them. [_Same date._] - - -THE FRIBBLE AND THE VIRTUOSO.--No piping nor fiddling, I beseech you; -no days lost in poring upon almost imperceptible _intaglios_ and -_cameos_: and do not become a virtuoso of small wares. Form a taste -of painting, sculpture, and architecture, if you please, by a careful -examination of the works of the best ancient and modern artists; those -are liberal arts, and a real taste and knowledge of them become a man -of fashion very well. But, beyond certain bounds, the man of taste -ends, and the frivolous virtuoso begins. - -Your friend Mendes, the good Samaritan, dined with me yesterday. He -has more good nature and generosity, than parts. However, I will show -him all the civilities that his kindness to you so justly deserves; -he tells me that you are taller than I am, which I am very glad of. -I desire you may excel me in everything else too; and, far from -repining, I shall rejoice at your superiority. [_Same date._] - - -FREQUENT LETTERS.--Indeed the irregularity and negligence of the post -provoke me, as they break the thread of the accounts I want to receive -from you, and of the instructions and orders which I send you almost -every post. Of these last twenty posts, I am sure that I have wrote -eighteen, either to you or to Mr. Harte, and it does not appear, by -your letter, that all, or even any of my letters have been received. I -desire, for the future, that both you and Mr. Harte will constantly, in -your letters, mention the dates of mine. [_Oct. 2, 1749._] - - -PROPER EXPENSES TO BE PAID.--As to the expense which you mention, I -do not regard it in the least; from your infancy to this day, I never -grudged any expense in your education, and still less do it now, that -it is become more important and decisive. I attend to the objects -of your expenses, but not to the sums. I will certainly not pay one -shilling for your losing your nose, your money, or your reason; that -is, I will not contribute to women, gaming, and drinking. But I will -most cheerfully supply, not only every necessary, but every decent -expense you can make. I do not care what the best masters cost. I would -have you as well dressed, lodged, and attended, as any reasonable man -of fashion in his travels. I would have you have that pocket-money that -should enable you to make the proper expense, _d’un honnête homme_. -In short, I bar no expense, that has neither vice nor folly for its -object; and under those two reasonable restrictions, draw and welcome. -[_Same date._] - - -A PORTRAIT.--So many of my letters have miscarried, and I know so -little which, that I am forced to repeat the same thing over and over -again eventually. This is one. I have wrote twice to Mr. Harte, to -have your picture drawn in miniature, while you were at Venice, and -to send it me in a letter: it is all one to me, whether in enamel or -in water-colors, provided it is but very like you. I would have you -drawn exactly as you are, and in no whimsical dress. I lay more stress -upon the likeness of the picture, than upon the taste and skill of the -painter. If this be not already done, I desire that you will have it -done forthwith, before you leave Venice; and enclose it in a letter -to me; which letter, for greater security, I would have you desire -Sir James Gray to enclose in his packet to the office; as I, for the -same reason, send this under his cover. If the picture be done upon -vellum, it will be the most portable. Send me, at the same time, a -thread or silk of your own length, exactly. I am solicitous about -your figure; convinced, by a thousand instances, that a good one is a -real advantage. _Mens sana in corpore sano_, is the first and greatest -blessing. I would add, _et pulchro_, to complete it. May you have that, -and every other! Adieu. [_Same date._] - - -A CENTURY AGO.--The papal power, founded originally upon the ignorance -and superstition of mankind, extended by the weakness of some princes, -and the ambition of others; is declining of late, in proportion as -knowledge has increased; and owing its present precarious security not -to the religion, the affection, or the fear, of the temporal powers, -but to their jealousy of each other. The Pope’s excommunications are no -longer dreaded; his indulgences little solicited, and sell very cheap; -and his territories, formidable to no power, are coveted by many, and -will, most undoubtedly, within a century, be scantled out among the -great powers, who have now a footing in Italy; whenever they can agree -upon the division of the bear’s skin. [_Oct. 9, 1749._] - - -THE JESUITS.--They have, by turns, been banished, and with infamy, -almost every country in Europe; and have always found means to be -restored, even with triumph. In short, I know no government in the -world that is carried on upon such deep principles of policy, I will -not add morality. Converse with them, frequent them, court them; _but -know them_. - -Inform yourself too of that infernal court, the inquisition; which, -though not so considerable at Rome as in Spain and Portugal, will, -however, be a good sample to you of what the villainy of some men can -contrive, the folly of others receive, and both together establish; in -spite of the first natural principles of reason, justice, and equity. -[_Same date._] - - -MILITARY STUDY.--Go with some engineer or old officer, and view, with -care, the real fortifications of some strong place; and you will get -a clearer idea of bastions, half-moons, horn-works, ravelins, glacis, -etc., than all the masters in the world could give you upon paper. -And thus much I would, by all means, have you know of both civil and -military architecture. [_Oct. 17, 1749._] - - -A FATHER’S OBJECT.--DEAR BOY: From the time that you have had life, -it has been the principal and favorite object of mine, to make you as -perfect as the imperfections of human nature will allow; in this view -I have grudged no pains nor expense in your education; convinced that -education, more than nature, is the cause of that great difference -which we see in the characters of men. While you, were a child, I -endeavored to form your heart habitually to virtue and honor, before -your understanding was capable of showing you their beauty and utility. -Those principles, which you then got like your grammar rules, only -by rote, are now, I am persuaded, fixed and confirmed by reason. And -indeed they are so plain and clear, that they require but a very -moderate degree of understanding, either to comprehend or practice -them. Lord Shaftesbury says, very prettily, that he would be virtuous -for his own sake, though nobody were to know it; as he would be clean -for his own sake, though nobody were to see him. I have therefore, -since you have had the use of your reason, never written to you upon -those subjects; they speak best for themselves; and I should, now, just -as soon think of warning you gravely not to fall into the dirt or the -fire, as into dishonor or vice. [_Nov. 5, 1749._] - - -GOOD BREEDING.--A friend of yours and mine has very justly defined -good breeding to be _the result of much good sense, some good nature, -and a little self-denial for the sake of others, and with a view to -obtain the same indulgence from them_. Taking this for granted (as I -think it cannot be disputed), it is astonishing to me, that anybody, -who has good sense and good nature (and I believe you have both), can -essentially fail in good breeding. As to the modes of it, indeed, they -vary according to persons, places, and circumstances; and are only to -be acquired by observation and experience; but the substance of it is -everywhere and eternally the same. Good-manners are, to particular -societies, what good morals are to society in general--their cement -and their security. And as laws are enacted to enforce good morals, -or at least to prevent the ill-effects of bad ones, so there are -certain rules of civility, universally implied and received, to enforce -good manners, and punish bad ones. And indeed there seems to be less -difference, both between the crimes and punishments, than at first one -would imagine. The immoral man, who invades another’s property, is -justly hanged for it; and the ill-bred man, who, by his ill-manners, -invades and disturbs the quiet comforts of private life, is by common -consent as justly banished from society. Mutual complaisances, -attentions, and sacrifices of little conveniences, are as natural an -implied compact between civilized people, as protection and obedience -are between kings and subjects; whoever, in either case, violates that -compact, justly forfeits all advantages arising from it. For my own -part, I really think that, next to the consciousness of doing a good -action, that of doing a civil one is the most pleasing; and the epithet -which I should covet the most, next to that of Aristides, would be that -of well-bred. [_Same date._] - - -MIXED COMPANY--LEARNING--PEDANTS.--In mixed companies, whoever is -admitted to make part of them is, for the time at least, supposed to be -upon a footing of equality with the rest; and, consequently, as there -is no one principal object of awe and respect, people are apt to take -a greater latitude in their behavior, and to be less upon their guard; -and so they may, provided it be within certain bounds, which are upon -no occasion to be transgressed. But, upon these occasions, though no -one is entitled to distinguished marks of respect, every one claims, -and very justly, every mark of civility and good breeding. Ease is -allowed, but carelessness and negligence are strictly forbidden. If -a man accosts you, and talks to you ever so dully or frivolously, it -is worse than rudeness, it is brutality, to show him, by a manifest -inattention to what he says, that you think him a fool or a blockhead, -and not worth hearing. It is much more so with regard to women; who, of -whatever rank they are, are entitled, in consideration of their sex, -not only to an attentive, but an officious good breeding from men. - - -NOT TOO MUCH FAMILIARITY.--The most familiar and intimate habitudes, -connections, and friendships require a degree of good breeding both -to preserve and cement them. If ever a man and his wife, or a man and -his mistress, who pass nights as well as days together, absolutely -lay aside all good breeding, their intimacy will soon degenerate into -a coarse familiarity, infallibly productive of contempt or disgust. -The best of us have our bad sides; and it is as imprudent, as it is -ill-bred, to exhibit them. I shall certainly not use ceremony with you; -it would be misplaced between us: but I shall certainly observe that -degree of good breeding with you, which is, in the first place, decent, -and which, I am sure, is absolutely necessary to make us like one -another’s company long. - -The deepest learning, without good breeding, is unwelcome and -tiresome pedantry, and of use nowhere but in a man’s own closet; and -consequently of little or no use at all. - -A man, who is not perfectly well-bred, is unfit for good company, and -unwelcome in it; will consequently dislike it soon, afterward renounce -it; and be reduced to solitude, or, what is worse, low and bad company. - -A man, who is not well-bred, is full as unfit for business as for -company. - -Make then, my dear child, I conjure you, good breeding the great object -of your thoughts and actions at least half the day. Observe carefully -the behavior and manners of those who are distinguished by their -good breeding; imitate, nay, endeavor to excel, that you may at least -reach them; and be convinced that good breeding is, to all worldly -qualifications, what charity is to all Christian virtues. Observe how -it adorns merit, and how often it covers the want of it. May you wear -it to adorn, and not to cover you! Adieu. [_Same date._] - - -PERSONAL GRACES.--These personal graces are of very great consequence. -They anticipate the sentiments, before merit can engage the -understanding; they captivate the heart, and gave rise, I believe, to -the extravagant notions of charms and philters. Their efforts were so -surprising, that they were reckoned supernatural. The most graceful and -best-bred men, and the handsomest and genteelest women, give the most -philters; and, as I verily believe, without the least assistance of -the Devil. Pray be not only well dressed, but shining in your dress; -let it have _du brillant_: I do not mean by a clumsy load of gold and -silver, but by the taste and fashion of it. Women like and require it; -they think it an attention due to them. [_Nov. 14, 1749._] - - -DANCING YOUTH.--You danced pretty well here, and ought to dance very -well before you come home; for what one is obliged to do sometimes, one -ought to be able to do well. Besides, _la belle danse donne du brillant -à un jeune homme_. And you should endeavor to shine. A calm serenity, -negative merit and graces, do not become your age. You should be -_alerte_, _adroit_, _vif_; be wanted, talked of, impatiently expected, -and unwillingly parted with in company. I should be glad to hear half -a dozen women of fashion say: “_Où est donc le petit Stanhope? Que ne -vient-il? Il faut avouer qu’il est aimable._” All this I do not mean -singly with regard to women as the principal object; but with regard to -men, and with a view of your making yourself considerable. For, with -very small variations, the same things that please women please men. -[_Same date._] - - -ILL BREEDING.--My last was upon the subject of good breeding; but, I -think, it rather set before you the unfitness and disadvantages of -ill breeding, than the utility and necessity of good; it was rather -negative than positive. This, therefore, shall go further, and -explain to you the necessity, which you, of all people living, lie -under, not only of being positively and actively well-bred, but of -shining and distinguishing yourself by your good breeding. Consider -your own situation in every particular, and judge whether it is not -essentially your interest, by your own good breeding to others, to -secure theirs to you; and that, let me assure you, is the only way of -doing it; for people will repay, and with interest too, inattention -with inattention, neglect with neglect, and ill-manners with worse; -which may engage you in very disagreeable affairs. In the next place -your profession requires, more than any other, the nicest and most -distinguished good breeding. You will negotiate with very little -success, if you do not, previously, by your manners, conciliate and -engage the affections of those with whom you are to negotiate. Can -you ever get into the confidence and the secrets of the courts where -you may happen to reside, if you have not those pleasing, insinuating -manners, which alone can procure them? Upon my word, I do not say too -much, when I say that superior good breeding, insinuating manners, and -genteel address are half your business. Your knowledge will have but -very little influence upon the mind, if your manners prejudice the -heart against you; but, on the other hand, how easily will you _dupe_ -the understanding, where you have first engaged the heart? and hearts -are, by no means, to be gained by that mere common civility which -everybody practises. Bowing again to those who bow to you, answering -dryly those who speak to you, and saying nothing offensive to anybody, -is such negative good breeding that it is only not being a brute; as it -would be but a very poor commendation of any man’s cleanliness to say -that he did not stink. It is an active, cheerful, officious, seducing -good breeding that must gain you the good-will and first sentiments -of the men, and the affections of the women. You must carefully watch -and attend to their passions, their tastes, their little humors -and weaknesses, and _aller au devant_. You must do it, at the same -time, with alacrity and _empressement_, and not as if you graciously -condescended to humor their weaknesses. - -For instance; suppose you invited anybody to dine or sup with you, -you ought to recollect if you had observed that they had any favorite -dish, and take care to provide it for them: and, when it came, you -should say: “_You seemed to me, at such and such a place, to give this -dish a preference, and therefore I ordered it. This is the wine that I -observed you liked, and therefore I procured some._” The more trifling -these things are, the more they prove your attention for the person, -and are consequently the more engaging. Consult your own breast, and -recollect how these little attentions, when shown you by others, -flatter that degree of self-love and vanity, from which no man living, -is free. Reflect how they incline and attract you to that person, and -how you are propitiated afterward to all which that person says or -does. The same causes will have the same effects in your favor. - - -ATTENTIONS TO LADIES.--Women, in a great degree, establish or destroy -every man’s reputation of good breeding; you must, therefore, in a -manner, overwhelm them with the attentions of which I have spoken; -they are used to them, they expect them; and, to do them justice, they -commonly requite them. You must be sedulous, and rather over officious -than under, in procuring them their coaches, their chairs, their -conveniences in public places; not see what you should not see; and -rather assist, where you cannot help seeing. Opportunities of showing -these attentions present themselves perpetually; but if they do not, -make them. As Ovid advises his lover, when he sits in the _circus_ near -his mistress, to wipe the dust off her neck, even if there be none. -_Si nullus, tamen excute nullum._ Your conversation with women should -always be respectful; but, at the same time, _enjoué_, and always -addressed to their vanity. Everything you say or do should convince -them of the regard you have (whether you have it or not) for their -beauty, their wit, or their merit. Men have possibly as much vanity as -women, though of another kind; and both art and good breeding require -that, instead of mortifying, you should please and flatter it, by words -and looks of approbation. Suppose (which is by no means improbable) -that, at your return to England, I should place you near the person -of some one of the royal family; in that situation, good breeding, -engaging address, adorned with all the graces that dwell at courts, -would very probably make you a favorite, and from a favorite, a -minister; but all the knowledge and learning in the world, without -them, never would. The penetration of princes seldom goes deeper than -the surface. It is the exterior that always engages their hearts; and -I would never advise you to give yourself much trouble about their -understandings. Princes in general (I mean those _Porphyrogenets_ -who are born and bred in purple) are about the pitch of women; bred -up like them, and are to be addressed and gained in the same manner. -They always see, they seldom weigh. Your lustre, not your solidity, -must take them; your inside will afterward support and secure what -your outside has acquired. With weak people (and they undoubtedly are -three parts in four of mankind) good breeding, address, and manners are -everything; they can go no deeper; but let me assure you that they are -a great deal, even with people of the best understandings. Where the -eyes are not pleased, the heart is not flattered, the mind will be apt -to stand out. Be this right or wrong, I confess I am so made myself. -Awkwardness and ill breeding shock me, to that degree, that where I -meet with them, I cannot find in my heart to inquire into the intrinsic -merit of that person; I hastily decide in myself that he can have none; -and am not sure I should not even be sorry to know that he had any. I -often paint you in my imagination, in your present _lontananza_; and, -while I view you in the light of ancient and modern learning, useful -and ornamental knowledge, I am charmed with the prospect; but when -I view you in another light, and represent you awkward, ungraceful, -ill-bred, with vulgar air and manners, shambling towards me with -inattention and _distractions_, I shall not pretend to describe to you -what I feel; but will do as a skilful painter did formerly, draw a veil -before the countenance of the father. - -I dare say you know already enough of architecture, to know that the -Tuscan is the strongest and most solid of all the orders; but, at the -same time, it is the coarsest and clumsiest of them. Its solidity does -extremely well for the foundation and base floor of a great edifice; -but, if the whole building be Tuscan, it will attract no eyes, it will -stop no passengers, it will invite no interior examination; people -will take it for granted that the finishing and furnishing cannot -be worth seeing, where the front is so unadorned and clumsy. But -if, upon the solid Tuscan foundation, the Doric, the Ionic, and the -Corinthian orders, rise gradually with all their beauty, proportions, -and ornaments, the fabric seizes the most incurious eye, and stops the -most careless passenger; who solicits admission as a favor, nay, often -purchases it. Just so will it fare with your little fabric, which, at -present, I fear, has more of the Tuscan than the Corinthian order. -You must absolutely change the whole front, or nobody will knock at -the door. The several parts, which must compose this new front, are -elegant, easy, natural, superior good breeding; an engaging address; -genteel motions; an insinuating softness in your looks, words, and -actions; a spruce, lively air, and fashionable dress; and all the -glitter that a young fellow should have. [_No date._] - - -LEARNING AND POLITENESS.--I have often asserted, that the profoundest -learning, and the politest manners, were by no means incompatible, -though so seldom found united in the same person; and I have engaged -myself to exhibit you, as a proof of the truth of this assertion. -Should you, instead of that, happen to disprove me, the concern indeed -will be mine, but the loss will be yours. Lord Bolingbroke is a -strong instance on my side of the question; he joins, to the deepest -erudition, the most elegant politeness and good breeding that ever any -courtier and man of the world was adorned with. And Pope very justly -called him All Accomplished St. John, with regard to his knowledge -and his manners. He had, it is true, his faults; which proceeded from -unbounded ambition and impetuous passions; but they have now subsided -by age and experience; and I can wish you nothing better than to be, -what he is now, without being what he has been formerly. His address -pre-engages, his eloquence persuades, and his knowledge informs all -who approach him. Upon the whole, I do desire, and insist, that, from -after dinner till you go to bed, you make good breeding, address, and -manners your serious object and your only care. Without them, you will -be nobody; with them, you may be anything. [_No date._] - - -PROPER DISTINCTION.--Every rational being (I take it for granted) -proposes to himself some object more important than mere respiration -and obscure animal existence. He desires to distinguish himself among -his fellow-creatures; and _alicui negotio intentus, præclari facinoris, -aut artis bonæ, famam quærit_. Cæsar, when embarking, in a storm, said, -that it was not necessary he should live; but that it was absolutely -necessary he should get to the place to which he was going. And Pliny -leaves mankind this only alternative; either of doing what deserves to -be written, or of writing what deserves to be read. As for those who -do neither, _eorum vitam mortemque juxta æstumo; quoniam de utraque -siletur_. You have, I am convinced, one or both of these objects in -view; but you must know, and use the necessary means, or your pursuit -will be vain and frivolous. In either case, _capere est principium et -fons_; but it is by no means all. That knowledge must be adorned, it -must have lustre as well as weight, or it will be oftener taken for -lead than for gold. Knowledge you have, and will have; I am easy upon -that article. But my business, as your friend, is not to compliment you -upon what you have, but to tell you with freedom what you want; and I -must tell you plainly, that I fear you want everything but knowledge. -[_Nov. 24, 1749._] - - -STYLE.--It is not every understanding that can judge of matter; but -every ear can and does judge, more or less, of style; and were I -either to speak or write to the public, I should prefer moderate -matter, adorned with all the beauties and elegancies of style, to the -strongest matter in the world, ill worded and ill delivered. Your -business is, negotiation abroad, and oratory in the House of Commons -at home. What figure can you make in either case, if your style be -inelegant, I do not say bad? Imagine yourself writing an office-letter -to a secretary of state, which letter is to be read by the whole -cabinet council, and very possibly afterward, laid before parliament; -any one barbarism, solecism, or vulgarism in it would, in a very -few days, circulate through the whole kingdom, to your disgrace and -ridicule. For instance; I will suppose you had written the following -letter from The Hague to the secretary of state at London, and leave -you to suppose the consequences of it: - -“MY LORD,--I _had_, last night, the honor of your lordship’s letter, of -the 24th; and will _set about doing_ the orders contained _therein_; -and _if so be_ that I can get that affair done by the next post, I will -not fail _for to_ give your lordship an account of it by _next post_. -I have told the French minister _as how_, _that if_ that affair be not -soon concluded, your lordship would think it _all long of him_; and -that he must have neglected _for to_ have wrote to his court about -it. I must beg leave to put your lordship in mind, _as how_, that I am -now full three quarters in arrear; and if _so be_ that I do not very -soon receive at least one half year, I shall _cut a very bad figure_; -for _this here_ place is very dear. I shall be _vastly beholden_ to -your lordship for _that there_ mark of your favor; and so I _rest_, or -_remain_, Yours,” etc. - -You will tell me, possibly, that this is a _caricatura_ of an illiberal -and inelegant style; I will admit it; but assure you, at the same -time, that a dispatch with less than half these faults would blow you -up forever. It is by no means sufficient to be free from faults in -speaking and writing; you must do both correctly and elegantly. [_Same -date._] - - -MISPRONUNCIATION AND MISUSE OF WORDS.--A person of the House of -Commons, speaking two years ago upon naval affairs, asserted, that we -had then the finest navy _upon the face of the yearth_. This happy -mixture of blunder and vulgarism, you may easily imagine, was matter -of immediate ridicule; but I can assure you that it continues so -still, and will be remembered as long as he lives and speaks. Another, -speaking in defence of a gentleman, upon whom a censure was moved, -happily said that he thought that gentleman was more _liable_ to be -thanked and rewarded, than censured. You know, I presume, that _liable_ -can never be used in a good sense. [_Same date._] - - -BOOKS FOR ORATORY.--You have read Quintilian--the best book in the -world to form an orator; pray read _Cicero, de Oratore_--the best book -in the world to finish one. Translate and retranslate, from and to -Latin, Greek, and English; make yourself a pure and elegant English -style: it requires nothing but application. I do not find that God has -made you a poet; and I am very glad that he has not; therefore, for -God’s sake, make yourself an orator, which you may do. Though I still -call you a boy, I consider you no longer as such; and when I reflect -upon the prodigious quantity of manure that has been laid upon you, I -expect you should produce more at eighteen, than uncultivated soils do -at eight and twenty. [_Same date._] - - -CHESTERFIELD A CENSOR-CRITIC.--While the Roman republic flourished, -while glory was pursued and virtue practised, and while even little -irregularities and indecencies, not cognizable by law, were, however, -not thought below the public care, censors were established, -discretionally to supply, in particular cases, the inevitable defects -of the law, which must, and can only be general. This employment I -assume to myself, with regard to your little republic, leaving the -legislative power entirely to Mr. Harte; I hope, and believe, that -he will seldom, or rather never, have occasion to exert his supreme -authority; and I do by no means suspect you of any faults that may -require that interposition. But, to tell you the plain truth, I am -of opinion, that my censorial power will not be useless to you, nor -a _sinecure_ to me. The sooner you make it both, the better for us -both. I can now exercise this employment only upon hearsay, or, at -most, written evidence; and therefore shall exercise it with great -lenity, and some diffidence; but when we meet, and that I can form -my judgment upon ocular and auricular evidence, I shall no more let -the least impropriety, indecorum, or irregularity pass uncensured, -than my predecessor Cato did. I shall read you with the attention of -a critic, not with the partiality of an author: different in this -respect, indeed, from most critics, that I shall seek for faults only -to correct, and not to expose them. [_Nov. 26, 1749._] - - -NICKNAMES.--The little defects in manners, elocution, address, and -air (and even of figure, though very unjustly), are the objects of -ridicule, and the causes of nicknames. You cannot imagine the grief -it would give me, and the prejudice it would do you, if, by way of -distinguishing you from others of your name, you should happen to be -called Muttering Stanhope, Absent Stanhope, Ill-bred Stanhope, or -Awkward, Left-legged Stanhope; therefore, take great care to put it out -of the power of ridicule itself to give you any of these ridiculous -epithets; for, if you get one, it will stick to you like the envenomed -shirt. The very first day that I see you, I shall be able to tell you, -and certainly shall tell you, what degree of danger you are in; and I -hope that my admonitions, as censor, may prevent the censures of the -public. [_Same date._] - - -YOUNG STANHOPE’S PORTRAIT.--I send you here a portrait, drawn by a -lady at Venice, by my orders: “In compliance to your orders, I have -examined young Stanhope carefully, and think I have penetrated into -his character. This is his portrait, which I take to be a faithful -one. His face is pleasing, his countenance sensible, and his look -clever. His figure is at present rather too square; but if he shoots -up, which he has matter and years for, he will then be of a good size. -He has, undoubtedly, a great fund of acquired knowledge; I am assured -that he is master of the learned languages. As for French, I know he -speaks it perfectly, and I am told German, as well. The questions he -asks are judicious, and denote a thirst after knowledge. I cannot -say that he appears equally desirous of pleasing, for he seems to -neglect attentions and the graces. He does not come into a room well, -nor has he that easy, noble carriage, which would be proper for him. -It is true, he is as yet young and inexperienced; one may therefore -reasonably hope that his exercises, which he has not yet gone through, -and good company, in which he is still a novice, will polish, and give -all that is wanting to complete him. What seems necessary for that -purpose, would be an attachment to some woman of fashion, and who knows -the world. Some Madame de L’Ursay would be the proper person. In short, -I can assure you that he has everything which Lord Chesterfield can -wish him, excepting that carriage, those graces, and the style used -in the best company; which he will certainly acquire in time, and by -frequenting the polite world. If he should not, it would be great pity, -since he so well deserves to possess them. You know their importance. -My lord, his father, knows it too, he being master of them all. To -conclude, if little Stanhope acquires the graces, I promise you he will -make his way; if not, he will be stopped in a course, the goal of which -he might attain with honor.”[43] - - -MAN UNRATIONAL, YET ALL MEN THE SAME IN FEELING.--Those who suppose -that men in general act rationally, because they are called rational -creatures, know very little of the world; and if they act themselves -upon that supposition, will, nine times in ten, find themselves -grossly mistaken. That man is, _animal bipes_, _implume_, _risibile_, -I entirely agree; but for the _rationale_, I can only allow it him in -_actu primo_ (to talk logic), and seldom _in actu secundo_. Thus, the -speculative, cloistered pedant, in his solitary cell, forms systems of -things, as they should be, not as they are; and writes as decisively -and absurdly upon war, politics, manners, and characters, as that -pedant talked, who was so kind as to instruct Hannibal in the art of -war. Such closet politicians never fail to assign the deepest motives -for the most trifling actions; instead of often ascribing the greatest -actions to the most trifling causes, in which they would be much -seldomer mistaken. They read and write of kings, heroes, and statesmen, -as never do anything but upon the deepest principles of sound policy. -But those who see and observe kings, heroes, and statesmen, discover -that they have headaches, indigestions, humors, and passions, just -like other people; every one of which, in their turns, determine their -wills, in defiance of their reason. [_Dec. 5, 1749._] - - -CHARM OF MANNER.--The late Lord Townshend always spoke materially, -with argument and knowledge, but never pleased. Why? His diction was -not only inelegant, but frequently ungrammatical, always vulgar; his -cadences false, his voice unharmonious, and his action ungraceful. -Nobody heard him with patience; and the young fellows used to joke -upon him, and repeat his inaccuracies. The late Duke of Argyle, though -the weakest reasoner, was the most pleasing speaker I ever knew in -my life. He charmed, he warmed, he forcibly ravished the audience; -not by his matter certainly, but by his manner of delivering it. A -most genteel figure, a graceful, noble air, an harmonious voice, an -elegancy of style, and a strength of emphasis, conspired to make him -the most affecting, persuasive, and applauded speaker I ever saw. I was -captivated like others; but when I came home, and coolly considered -what he had said, stripped of all those ornaments in which he had -dressed it, I often found the matter flimsy, the arguments weak, -and I was convinced of the power of those adventitious concurring -circumstances, which ignorance of mankind only, calls trifling ones. -[_Same date._] - - -TICKLING FOLLIES.--If you will please people, you must please them -in their own way; and, as you cannot make them what they should be, -you must take them as they are. I repeat it again, they are only to -be taken by _agrémens_, and by what flatters their senses and their -hearts. Rabelais first wrote a most excellent book, which nobody liked; -then, determined to conform to the public taste, he wrote “Gargantua -and Pantagruel,” which everybody liked, extravagant as it was. Adieu. -[_Same date._] - - -TRUE ELOCUTION.--What then does all this mighty heart and mystery of -speaking in Parliament amount to? Why, no more than this, that the man -who speaks in the House of Commons, speaks in that house, and to four -hundred people, that opinion, upon a given subject, which he would make -no difficulty of speaking in any house in England, round the fire, or -at table, to any fourteen people whatsoever; better judges, perhaps, -and severer critics of what he says, than any fourteen gentlemen of the -House of Commons. - -I have spoken frequently in Parliament, and not always without some -applause; and therefore I can assure you, from my experience, that -there is very little in it. The elegancy of the style, and the turn of -the periods, make the chief impression upon the hearers. Give them but -one or two round and harmonious periods in a speech, which they will -retain and repeat, and they will go home as well satisfied, as people -do from an opera, humming all the way one or two favorite tunes that -have struck their ears and were easily caught. Most people have ears, -but few have judgment; tickle those ears, and, depend upon it, you will -catch their judgments, such as they are. [_Dec. 9, 1749._] - - -HAMPDEN A LESSON.--Lord Clarendon, in his history, says of Mr. John -Hampden, _that he had a head to contrive, a tongue to persuade, and a -hand to execute, any mischief_. I shall not now enter into the justness -of this character of Mr. Hampden, to whose brave stand against the -illegal demand of ship-money, we owe our present liberties; but I -mention it to you as the character, which, with the alteration of one -single word, _good_, instead of _mischief_, I would have you aspire -to, and use your utmost endeavors to deserve. The head to contrive, -God must to a certain degree have given you; but it is in your own -power greatly to improve it, by study, observation, and reflection. -As for the _tongue to persuade_, it wholly depends upon yourself; and -without it the best head will contrive to very little purpose. The hand -to execute depends, likewise, in my opinion, in a great measure upon -yourself. Serious reflection will always give courage in a good cause; -and the courage arising from reflection is of a much superior nature to -the animal and constitutional courage of a foot-soldier. The former is -steady and unshaken, where the _nodus_ is _dignus vindice_; the latter -is oftener improperly than properly exerted, but always brutally. -[_Dec. 12, 1749._] - - -THINGS OF CONSEQUENCE--BOLINGBROKE.--He thought all these things of -consequence, and he thought right; pray do you think so too? It is -of the utmost consequence to you to be of that opinion. If you have -the least defect in your elocution, take the utmost care and pains to -correct it. Do not neglect your style, whatever language you speak in, -or whomever you speak to, were it your footman. Seek always for the -best words and the happiest expressions you can find. Do not content -yourself with being barely understood; but adorn your thoughts, and -dress them as you would your person; which, however well proportioned -it might be, it would be very improper and indecent to exhibit naked, -or even worse dressed than people of your sort are. - -I have sent you, in a packet which your Leipsic acquaintance, Duval, -sends to his correspondent at Rome, Lord Bolingbroke’s book,[44] which -he published about a year ago. I desire that you will read it over -and over again, with particular attention to the style, and to all -those beauties of oratory with which it is adorned. Till I read that -book, I confess I did not know all the extent and powers of the English -language. Lord Bolingbroke has both a tongue and a pen to persuade. -[_Same date._] - - -COMPLICATED MACHINES.--I have often told you (and it is most true) -that, with regard to mankind, we must not draw general conclusions -from certain particular principles, though, in the main, true ones. We -must not suppose that, because a man is a rational animal, he will, -therefore, always act rationally; or, because he has such or such a -predominant passion, that he will act invariably and consequentially in -the pursuit of it. No, we are complicated machines; and though we have -one main spring that gives motion to the whole, we have an infinity -of little wheels, which, in their turns, retard, precipitate, and -sometimes stop that motion. [_Dec. 19, 1749._] - - -AMBITION AND AVARICE.--There are two inconsistent passions, which, -however, frequently accompany each other, like man and wife; and -which, like man and wife too, are commonly clogs upon each other. I -mean ambition and avarice: the latter is often the true cause of -the former; and then is the predominant passion. It seems to have -been so in Cardinal Mazarin; who did anything, submitted to anything, -and forgave anything, for the sake of plunder. He loved and courted -power like a usurer; because it carried profit along with it. Whoever -should have formed his opinion, or taken his measures, singly, from -the ambitious part of Cardinal Mazarin’s character, would have found -himself often mistaken. Some, who had found this out, made their -fortunes by letting him cheat them at play. On the contrary, Cardinal -Richelieu’s prevailing passion seems to have been ambition, and -his immense riches, only the natural consequences of that ambition -gratified; and yet, I make no doubt but that ambition had now and then -its turn with the former, and avarice with the latter. Richelieu (by -the way) is so strong a proof of the inconsistency of human nature, -that I cannot help observing to you that, while he absolutely governed -both his king and his country, and was, in a great degree, the arbiter -of the fate of all Europe, he was more jealous of the great reputation -of Corneille, than of the power of Spain; and more flattered with being -thought (what he was not) the best poet, than with being thought (what -he certainly was) the greatest statesman in Europe; and affairs stood -still, while he was concerting the criticism upon the _Cid_. Could one -think this possible, if one did not know it to be true? [_Same date._] - - -WOMEN, VANITY, AND LOVE.--Women are much more like each other than men; -they have, in truth, but two passions, vanity and love: these are their -universal characteristics. An Agrippina may sacrifice them to ambition, -or a Messalina to lust; but such instances are rare; and, in general, -all they say, and all they do, tends to the gratification of their -vanity, or their love. He who flatters them most pleases them best; and -they are most in love with him who they think is the most in love with -them. No adulation is too strong for them; no assiduity too great; no -simulation of passion too gross; as, on the other hand, the least word -or action, that can possibly be construed into a slight or contempt, is -unpardonable, and never forgotten. Men are, in this respect, tender, -too, and will sooner forgive an injury than an insult. Some men are -more captious than others; some are always wrongheaded; but every man -living has such a share of vanity, as to be hurt by marks of slight and -contempt. Every man does not pretend to be a poet, a mathematician, -or a statesman, and considered as such; but every man pretends to -common-sense, and to fill his place in the world with common decency; -and, consequently, does not easily forgive those negligencies, -inattentions, and slights, which seem to call in question, or utterly -deny him, both these pretensions. [_Same date._] - - -TOO READY FRIENDS.--Be upon your guard against those who, upon very -slight acquaintance, obtrude their unasked and unmerited friendship -and confidence upon you; for they probably cram you with them only -for their own eating; but, at the same time, do not roughly reject -them upon that general supposition. Examine further, and see whether -those unexpected offers flow from a warm heart and a silly head, or a -designing head and a cold heart; for knavery and folly have often the -same symptoms. In the first case, there is no danger in accepting them, -_valeant quantum valere possunt_. In the latter case, it may be useful -to seem to accept them, and artfully to turn the battery upon him who -raised it. - -There is an incontinency of friendship among young fellows, who are -associated by their mutual pleasures only; which has, very frequently, -bad consequences. A parcel of warm hearts, and unexperienced heads, -heated by convivial mirth, and possibly a little too much wine, vow, -and really mean at the time, eternal friendships to each other, and -indiscreetly pour out their whole souls in common, and without the -least reserve. These confidences are as indiscreetly repealed, as they -were made; for new pleasures, and new places, soon dissolve this ill -cemented connection; and then very ill uses are made of these rash -confidences. Bear your part, however, in young companies; nay, excel, -if you can, in all the social and convivial joy and festivity that -become youth. Trust them with your love tales, if you please; but keep -your serious views secret. [_Same date._] - - -THE GENTLER VIRTUES.--Cæsar had all the great vices, and Cato all -the great virtues, that men could have. But Cæsar had the _leniores -virtutes_, which Cato wanted; and which made him beloved, even by -his enemies, and gained him the hearts of mankind, in spite of their -reason; while Cato was not even beloved by his friends, notwithstanding -the esteem and respect which they could not refuse to his virtues; and -I am apt to think that if Cæsar had wanted, and Cato possessed, those -_leniores virtutes_, the former would not have attempted (at least with -success), and the latter could have protected, the liberties of Rome. -Mr. Addison, in his Cato, says of Cæsar (and I believe with truth): - - “Curse on his virtues, they’ve undone his country.” - - -PRIDE AND PEDANTRY.--The costive liberality of a purse-proud man -insults the distresses it sometimes relieves; he takes care to make you -feel your own misfortunes, and the difference between your situation -and his; both which he insinuates to be justly merited: yours, by your -folly; his, by his wisdom. The arrogant pedant does not communicate, -but promulgates his knowledge. He does not give it to you, but he -inflicts it upon you; and is (if possible) more desirous to show you -your own ignorance, than his own learning. Such manners as these, not -only in the particular instances which I have mentioned, but likewise -in all others, shock and revolt that little pride and vanity, which -every man has in his heart; and obliterate in us the obligation for the -favor conferred, by reminding us of the motive which produced and the -manner which accompanied it. [_No date._] - - -GREETINGS AND GOOD WISHES.--The New Year is the season in which custom -seems more particularly to authorize civil and harmless lies, under the -name of compliments. People reciprocally profess wishes, which they -seldom form; and concern, which they seldom feel. That is not the case -between you and me, where truth leaves no room for compliments. - -_Dii tibi dent annos, de te nam cætera sumes_, was said formerly to -one, by a man who certainly did not think it. With the variation of -one word only, I will with great truth say it to you. I will make the -first part conditional, by changing, in the second, the _nam_ into -_si_. May you live, as long as you are fit to live, but no longer! or, -may you rather die, before you cease to be fit to live, than after! My -true tenderness for you makes me think more of the manner than of the -length of your life, and forbids me to wish it prolonged, by a single -day, that should bring guilt, reproach, and shame upon you. I have not -malice enough in my nature to wish that to my greatest enemy. You are -the principal object of all my cares, the only object of all my hopes: -I have now reason to believe, that you will reward the former, and -answer the latter; in that case, may you live long, for you must live -happy; _de te nam cætera sumes_. Conscious virtue is the only solid -foundation of all happiness; for riches, power, rank, or whatever, -in the common acceptation of the word, is supposed to constitute -happiness, will never quiet, much less cure, the inward pangs of -guilt. To that main wish I will add those of the good old nurse of -Horace, in his Epistle to Tibullus: _Sapere_, you have it in a good -degree already. _Et fari ut possit quæ sentiat._ Have you that? More, -much more, is meant by it, than common speech, or mere articulation. -I fear that still remains to be wished for, and I earnestly wish it -you. _Gratia_ and _fama_ will inevitably accompany the above-mentioned -qualifications. The _valetudo_ is the only one that is not in your own -power, Heaven alone can grant it you, and may it do so abundantly! As -for the _mundus victus, non deficiente crumenâ_, do you deserve, and I -will provide them. [_Dec. 26, 1749._] - - -POETS AND ORATORS.--A man who is not born with a poetical genius can -never be a poet, or, at best, an extreme bad one: but every man, who -can speak at all, can speak elegantly and correctly, if he pleases, -by attending to the best authors and orators; and, indeed, I would -advise those who do not speak elegantly, not to speak at all; for, I am -sure, they will get more by their silence than by their speech. As for -politeness; whoever keeps good company, and is not polite, must have -formed a resolution, and taken some pains not to be so; otherwise he -would naturally and insensibly acquire the air, the address, and the -tone of those he converses with. [_Same date._] - - -METHOD OF STUDY--THE WORLD AND BOOKS.--Your first morning hours, I -would have you devote to your graver studies with Mr. Harte; the -middle part of the day, I would have employed in seeing things; -and the evenings, in seeing people. You are not, I hope, of a lazy, -inactive turn, in either body or mind; and, in that case, the day is -full long enough for everything; especially at Rome, where it is not -the fashion, as it is here and at Paris, to embezzle at least half of -it at table. But if, by accident, two or three hours are sometimes -wanting for some useful purpose, borrow them from your sleep. Six, -or at most seven hours’ sleep is, for a constancy, as much as you -or anybody can want: more is only laziness and dozing; and is, I -am persuaded, both unwholesome and stupefying. If, by chance, your -business, or your pleasures, should keep you up till four or five -o’clock in the morning, I would advise you, however, to rise exactly -at your usual time, that you may not lose the precious morning hours; -and that the want of sleep may force you to go to bed earlier the next -night. This is what I was advised to do when very young, by a very wise -man; and what, I assure you, I always did in the most dissipated part -of my life. I have very often gone to bed at six in the morning, and -rose, notwithstanding, at eight; by which means I got many hours, in -the morning, that my companions lost; and the want of sleep obliged -me to keep good hours the next, or at least the third night. To this -method I owe the greatest part of my reading; for, from twenty to -forty, I should certainly have read very little, if I had not been -up while my acquaintances were in bed. Know the true value of time; -snatch, seize, and enjoy every moment of it. No idleness, no laziness, -no procrastination: never put off till to-morrow what you can do -to-day. That was the rule of the famous and unfortunate pensionary De -Witt; who, by strictly following it, found time, not only to do the -whole business of the republic, but to pass his evenings at assemblies -and suppers, as if he had nothing else to do or think of. [_Same date._] - - -RELIGION, WHY SILENT ON.--I have seldom or never written to you upon -the subject of religion and morality: your own reason, I am persuaded, -has given you true notions of both; they speak best for themselves; -but, if they wanted assistance, you have Mr. Harte at hand, both for -precept and example: to your own reason, therefore, and to Mr. Harte, -shall I refer you, for the reality of both; and confine myself, in this -letter, to the decency, the utility, and the necessity of scrupulously -preserving the appearances of both. When I say the appearances of -religion, I do not mean that you should act or talk like a missionary, -or an enthusiast, nor that you should take up a controversial cudgel -against whoever attacks the sect you are of; this would be both -useless and unbecoming your age; but I mean that you should by no -means seem to approve, encourage, or applaud those libertine notions, -which strike at religions equally, and which are the poor, threadbare -topics of half wits and minute philosophers. Even those who are silly -enough to laugh at their jokes are still wise enough to distrust and -detest their characters; for, putting moral virtues at the highest, -and religion at the lowest, religion must still be allowed to be a -collateral security, at least, to virtue; and every prudent man will -sooner trust to two securities than to one. Whenever, therefore, you -happen to be in company with those pretended _esprits forts_, or with -thoughtless libertines, who laugh at all religion, to show their wit, -or disclaim it, to complete their riot, let no word or look of yours -indicate the least approbation; on the contrary, let a silent gravity -express your dislike: but enter not into the subject, and decline -such unprofitable and indecent controversies. Depend upon this truth, -that every man is the worse looked upon, and the less trusted, for -being thought to have no religion; in, spite of all the pompous and -specious epithets he may assume of _esprit fort_ free-thinker, or moral -philosopher; and a wise atheist (if such a thing there is) would, -for his own interest and character in this world, pretend to some -religion. [_Jan. 8, 1750._] - - -MORAL CHARACTER.--Your moral character must be not only pure, but, -like Cæsar’s wife, unsuspected. The least speck or blemish upon it is -fatal. Nothing degrades and vilifies more, for it excites and unites -detestation and contempt. There are, however, wretches in the world -profligate enough to explode all notions of moral good and evil; to -maintain that they are merely local, and depend entirely upon the -customs and fashions of different countries: nay, there are still, -if possible, more unaccountable wretches; I mean, those who affect -to preach and propagate such absurd and infamous notions, without -believing them themselves. These are the Devil’s hypocrites. Avoid, as -much as possible, the company of such people; who reflect a degree of -discredit and infamy upon all who converse with them. But as you may, -sometimes, by accident, fall into such company, take great care that no -complaisance, no good humor, no warmth of festal mirth, ever make you -seem even to acquiesce, much less to approve or applaud, such infamous -doctrines. On the other hand, do not debate, nor enter into serious -argument, upon a subject so much below it: but content yourself with -telling these _apostles_, that you know they are not serious, that -you have a much better opinion of them than they would have you have, -and that you are very sure they would not practise the doctrine they -preach. But put your private mark upon them, and shun them for ever -afterwards. [_Same date._] - - -VALUE OF CHARACTER.--Show yourself, upon all occasions, the advocate, -the friend, but not the bully, of virtue. Colonel Chartres,[45] whom -you have certainly heard of (who was, I believe, the most notorious -blasted rascal in the world, and who had, by all sorts of crimes, -amassed immense wealth), was so sensible of the disadvantage of a -bad character that I heard him once say, in his impudent, profligate -manner, that though he would not give one farthing for virtue, he would -give ten thousand pounds for a character, because he should get a -hundred thousand pounds by it; whereas he was so blasted that he had no -longer an opportunity of cheating people. Is it possible, then, that an -honest man can neglect what a wise rogue would purchase so dear? [_Same -date._] - - -A NICE DISTINCTION--EXAGGERATION.--Lord Bacon, very justly, makes a -distinction between simulation and dissimulation, and allows the latter -rather than the former; but still observes that they are the weaker -sort of politicians who have recourse to either. A man who has strength -of mind and strength of parts wants neither of them. “Certainly,” -says he, “the ablest men that ever were have all had an openness and -frankness of dealing, and a name of certainty and veracity; but then -they were like horses well managed, for they could tell, passing well, -when to stop or turn; and at such times, when they thought the case -indeed required some dissimulation, if then they used it, it came to -pass that the former opinion spread abroad, of their good faith and -clearness of dealing, made them almost invisible.” There are people who -indulge themselves in a sort of lying, which they reckon innocent, and -which in one sense is so; for it hurts nobody but themselves. This sort -of lying is the spurious offspring of vanity, begotten upon folly. -These people deal in the marvellous; they have seen some things that -never existed: they have seen other things which they never really saw, -though they did exist, only because they were thought worth seeing. Has -anything remarkable been said or done in any place, or in any company? -they immediately present and declare themselves eye or ear witnesses -of it. They have done feats themselves, unattempted, or at least -unperformed by others. They are always the heroes of their own fables, -and think that they gain consideration, or at least present attention, -by it. Whereas, in truth, all they get is ridicule and contempt, not -without a good degree of distrust: for one must naturally conclude that -he who will tell any lie from idle vanity will not scruple telling a -greater for interest. [_Same date._] - - -THE NOVICE IN SOCIETY.--I remember that when, with all the awkwardness -and rust of Cambridge about me, I was first introduced into good -company, I was frightened out of my wits. I was determined to be -what I thought civil; I made fine low bows, and placed myself below -everybody; but when I was spoken to, or attempted to speak myself, -_obstupui, steteruntque comæ et vox faucibus hæsit_. If I saw people -whisper, I was sure it was at me; and I thought myself the sole object -of either the ridicule or the censure of the whole company, who, God -knows, did not trouble their heads about me. In this way I suffered, -for some time, like a criminal at the bar; and should certainly have -renounced all polite company forever, if I had not been so convinced -of the absolute necessity of forming my manners upon those of the -best companies, that I determined to persevere, and suffer anything, -or everything, rather than not compass that point. Insensibly it grew -easier to me; and I began not to bow so ridiculously low, and to answer -questions without great hesitation or stammering; if, now and then, -some charitable people, seeing my embarrassment, and being _désœuvré_ -themselves, came and spoke to me, I considered them as angels sent -to comfort me; and that gave me a little courage. I got more soon -afterward, and was intrepid enough to go up to a fine woman, and tell -her that I thought it a warm day; she answered me, very civilly, that -she thought so too; upon which the conversation ceased, on my part, for -some time, till she, good-naturedly resuming it, spoke to me thus: “I -see your embarrassment, and I am sure that the few words you said to -me cost you a great deal; but do not be discouraged for that reason, -and avoid good company. We see that you desire to please, and that is -the main point; you want only the manner, and you think that you want -it still more than you do. You must go through your noviciate before -you can profess good breeding; and, if you will be my novice, I will -present you to my acquaintance as such.” [_Jan. 11, 1750._] - - -THE CHAPERONE.--There is a sort of veteran women (_sic_) of condition, -who, having lived always in the _grand monde_, and having possibly had -some gallantries, together with the experience of five and twenty or -thirty years, form a young fellow better than all the rules that can be -given him. These women, being past their bloom, are extremely flattered -by the least attention from a young fellow; and they will point out -to him those manners and _attentions_ that pleased and engaged them, -when they were in the pride of their youth and beauty. Wherever you go, -make some of those women your friends, which a very little matter will -do. Ask their advice, tell them your doubts or difficulties as to your -behavior; but take great care not to drop one word of their experience; -for experience implies age, and the suspicion of age, no woman, let her -be ever so old, ever forgives. [_Same date._] - - -NECESSARY ACCOMPLISHMENTS.--I here subjoin a list of all those -necessary, ornamental accomplishments (without which no man living can -either please or rise in the world), which hitherto I fear you want, -and which only require your care and attention to possess. - -To speak elegantly whatever language you speak in; without which nobody -will hear you with pleasure, and, consequently, you will speak to very -little purpose. - -An agreeable and distinct elocution; without which nobody will hear -you with patience; this everybody may acquire who is not born with -some imperfection in the organs of speech. You are not; and therefore -it is wholly in your power. You need take much less pains for it than -Demosthenes did. - -A distinguished politeness of manners and address; which common-sense, -observation, good company, and imitation will infallibly give you, if -you will accept of it. - -A genteel carriage, and graceful motions, with the air of a man of -fashion. A good dancing master, with some care on your part, and some -imitation of those who excel, will soon bring this about. - -To be extremely clean in your person, and perfectly well dressed, -according to the fashion, be that what it will. Your negligence of -dress, while you were a schoolboy, was pardonable, but would not be so -now. - -Upon the whole, take it for granted, that, without these -accomplishments, all you know, and all you can do, will avail you very -little. Adieu. [_Jan. 18, 1750._] - - -TIME--ITS VALUE.--Very few people are good economists of their fortune, -and still fewer of their time; and yet, of the two, the latter is the -most precious. I heartily wish you to be a good economist of both; -and you are now of an age to begin to think seriously of these two -important articles. Young people are apt to think they have so much -time before them, that they may squander what they please of it, and -yet have enough left; as very great fortunes have frequently seduced -people to a ruinous profusion. Fatal mistakes, always repented of, but -always too late! Old Mr. Lowndes, the famous Secretary of the Treasury, -in the reigns of King William, Queen Anne, and King George the First, -used to say, “_Take care of the pence, and the pounds will take care of -themselves._” To this maxim, which he not only preached, but practised, -his two grandsons, at this time, owe the very considerable fortunes -that he left them. [_Feb. 5, 1750._] - - -LAZY PEOPLE--DISPATCH--HOW TO READ.--Many people lose a great deal of -their time by laziness; they loll and yawn in a great chair, tell -themselves that they have not time to begin anything then, and that it -will do as well another time. This is a most unfortunate disposition, -and the greatest obstruction to both knowledge and business. At your -age, you have no right nor claim to laziness; I have, if I please, -being _emeritus_. You are but just listed in the world, and must be -active, diligent, indefatigable. If ever you propose commanding with -dignity, you must serve up to it with diligence. Never put off till -to-morrow what you can do to-day. - -Dispatch is the soul of business; and nothing contributes more to -dispatch than method. Lay down a method for everything, and stick to it -inviolably, as far as unexpected incidents may allow. Fix one certain -hour and day in the week for your accompts, and keep them together -in their proper order; by which means they will require very little -time, and you can never be much cheated. Whatever letters and papers -you keep, docket and tie them up in their respective classes, so that -you may instantly have recourse to any one. Lay down a method also for -your reading, for which you allot a certain share of your mornings; -let it be in a consistent and consecutive course, and not in that -desultory and immethodical manner, in which many people read scraps of -different authors, upon different subjects. Keep a useful and short -commonplace book of what you read, to help your memory only, and not -for pedantic quotations. Never read history without having maps, and a -chronological book, or tables, lying by you, and constantly recurred -to; without which history is only a confused heap of facts. One method -more I recommend to you, by which I have found great benefit, even in -the most dissipated part of my life; that is, to rise early, and at -the same hour every morning, how late soever you may have sat up the -night before. This secures you an hour or two, at least, of reading and -reflection, before the common interruptions of the morning begin; and -it will save your constitution, by forcing you to go to bed early, at -least one night in three. [_Feb. 5, 1750._] - - -DIGNITY IN PLEASURE.--There is a certain dignity to be kept up in -pleasures, as well as in business. In love, a man may lose his heart -with dignity; but if he loses his nose, he loses his character into the -bargain. At table, a man may with decency have a distinguishing palate; -but indiscriminate voraciousness degrades him to a glutton. A man may -play with decency; but if he games, he is disgraced. Vivacity and wit -make a man shine in company; but trite jokes and loud laughter reduce -him to a buffoon. Every virtue, they say, has its kindred vice; every -pleasure, I am sure, has its neighboring disgrace. Mark carefully, -therefore, the line that separates them, and carefully stop a yard -short, than step an inch beyond it. - -I wish to God that you had as much pleasure in following my advice, as -I have in giving it you; and you may the easier have it, as I give you -none that is inconsistent with your pleasure. [_Same date._] - - -FALSE WIT.--To do justice to the best English and French authors; -they have not given in to that false taste; they allow no thoughts -to be good, that are not just, and founded upon truth. The age of -Louis XIV. was very like the Augustan; Boileau, Molière, La Fontaine, -Racine, etc., established the true, and exposed the false taste. The -reign of King Charles II. (meritorious in no other respect) banished -false tastes out of England, and proscribed puns, quibbles, acrostics, -etc. Since that, false wit has renewed its attacks, and endeavored -to recover its lost empire, both in England and France, but without -success; though, I must say, with more success in France than in -England: Addison, Pope and Swift, having vigorously defended the rights -of good-sense, which is more than can be said of their contemporary -French authors, who have of late had a great tendency to _le faux -brillant, le ranfiement, et l’entortillement_. And Lord Roscommon would -be more in the right now, than he was then, in saying, that - - “The English bullion of one sterling line, - Drawn to French wire, would through whole pages shine.” - -[_Same date._] - - -NO STOIC.--I confess, the pleasures of high life are not always -strictly philosophical; and I believe a stoic would blame my -indulgence; but I am yet no stoic, though turned of five-and-fifty; -and I am apt to think that you are rather less so, at eighteen. The -pleasures of the table, among people of the first fashion, may, indeed, -sometimes, by accident, run into excesses; but they will never sink -into a continued course of gluttony and drunkenness. The gallantry -of high life, though not strictly justifiable, carries, at least, no -external marks of infamy about it. [_March 8, 1750._] - - -ETIQUETTE.--I did not think that the present Pope[46] was a sort of man -to build seven modern little chapels at the expense of so respectable -a piece of antiquity as the _Coliseum_. However, let his holiness’ -taste of _vertu_ be ever so bad, pray get somebody to present you to -him, before you leave Rome; and without hesitation kiss his slipper, -or whatever else the _etiquette_ of that court requires. I would have -you see all those ceremonies; and I presume that you are, by this time, -ready enough at Italian to understand and answer _il Santo Padre_ in -that language. [_March 19, 1750._] - - -BIBLIOMANIA.--When you return here, I am apt to think that you will -find something better to do than to run to Mr. Osborne’s at Gray’s-Inn, -to pick up scarce books. Buy good books, and read them; the best books -are the commonest, and the last editions are always the best, if the -editors are not blockheads; for they may profit of the former. But take -care not to understand editions and title-pages too well. It always -smells of pedantry, and not always of learning. What curious books -I have, they are indeed but few, shall be at your service. I have -some of the Old Collana, and the Macchiavel of 1550. Beware of the -_Bibliomanie_. [_Same date._] - - -CONSTITUTIONAL MONARCHY.--England is now the only monarchy in the world -that can properly be said to have a constitution; for the people’s -rights and liberties are secured by laws. I cannot reckon Sweden and -Poland to be monarchies. [_March 29, 1750._] - - -AIM HIGH.--Aim at perfection in everything, though in most things it -is unattainable; however, they who aim at it, and persevere, will come -much nearer it than those whose laziness and despondency, make them -give it up as unattainable. _Magnis tamen excidit ausis_ is a degree -of praise which will always attend a noble and shining temerity, and a -much better sign in a young fellow, than _serpere humi, tutus nimium -timidusque procellæ_, for men, as well as women. [_May 24, 1750._] - - -A DUE RETURN.--I heard with great satisfaction the other day, from one -who has been lately at Rome, that nobody was better received in the -best companies than yourself. The same thing, I dare say, will happen -to you at Paris, where they are particularly kind to all strangers who -will be civil to them and show a desire of pleasing. But they must be -flattered a little, not only by words, but by a seeming preference -given to their country, their manners, and their customs; which is but -a small price to pay for a very good reception. Were I in Africa, I -would pay it to a negro for his good-will. Adieu. [_June 5, 1750._] - - -USE OF ORATORY.--Your trade is to speak well, both in public and in -private. The manner of your speaking is full as important as the -matter, as more people have ears to be tickled than understandings -to judge. Be your productions ever so good, they will be of no use if -you stifle and strangle them in their birth. The best compositions of -Corelli, if ill executed, and played out of tune, instead of touching, -as they do when well performed, would only excite the indignation -of the hearers, when murdered by an unskilful performer. But to -murder your own productions, and that _coram populo_, is a _Medean -cruelty_, which Horace absolutely forbids. Remember of what importance -Demosthenes, and one of the Gracchi, thought _enunciation_; read what -stress Cicero and Quintilian lay upon it; even the herb-women at -Athens were correct judges of it. Oratory with all its graces, that of -enunciation in particular, is full as necessary in our government, as -it ever was in Greece or Rome. No man can make a fortune or a figure in -this country, without speaking, and speaking well in public. [_July 9, -1750._] - - -SPEAK WELL.--Recite pieces of eloquence, declaim scenes of tragedies -to Mr. Harte, as if he were a numerous audience. If there is any -particular consonant which you have a difficulty in articulating, as I -think you had with the _R_, utter it millions and millions of times, -till you have uttered it right. Never speak quick, till you have -first learned to speak well. In short, lay aside every book and every -thought, that does not directly tend to this great object, absolutely -decisive of your future fortune and figure. [_Same date._] - - -A TRUTH.--Pleasure is necessarily reciprocal; no one feels who does not -at the same time give it. To be pleased, one must please. What pleases -you in others, will in general please them in you. [_Same date._] - - -LEARNED IGNORANCE.--A man of the best parts, and the greatest learning, -if he does not know the world by his own experience and observation, -will be very absurd, and consequently very unwelcome in company. He -may say very good things; but they will probably be so ill-timed, -misplaced, or improperly addressed, that he had much better hold his -tongue. Full of his own matter, and uninformed of, or inattentive -to, the particular circumstances and situations of the company, he -vents it indiscriminately; he puts some people out of countenance; he -shocks others; and frightens all, who dread what may come out next. -The most general rule that I can give you for the world, and which -your experience will convince you of the truth of, is: Never to give -the tone to the company, but to take it from them; and to labor more -to put them in conceit with themselves, than to make them admire you. -Those whom you can make like themselves better, will, I promise you, -like you very well. [_Aug. 6, 1750._] - - -A PORTRAIT.--It is Lady Hervey,[47] whom I directed you to call upon -at Dijon; but who, to my great joy, because to your great advantage, -passes all this winter at Paris. She has been bred all her life at -courts; of which she has acquired all the easy good breeding and -politeness, without the frivolousness. She has all the reading that -a woman should have: and more than any woman need have; for she -understands Latin perfectly well, though she wisely conceals it. As -she will look upon you as her son, I desire that you will look upon -her as my delegate: trust, consult, and apply to her without reserve. -No woman ever had, more than she has, _le ton de la parfaitement bonne -compagnie, les manières engageantes et le je ne sais quoi qui plaît_. -Desire her to reprove and correct any, and every, the least error and -inaccuracy in your manners, air, addresses, etc. No woman in Europe can -do it so well; none will do it more willingly, or in a more proper and -obliging manner. [_Oct. 22, 1750._] - - -HISTORY.--While you are in France, I could wish that the hours you -allot for historical amusement should be entirely devoted to the -history of France. One always reads history to most advantage in that -country to which it is relative, not only books but persons being ever -at hand to solve the doubts and clear up difficulties. I do by no -means advise you to throw away your time in ransacking, like a dull -antiquarian, the minute and important parts of remote and fabulous -times. Let blockheads read what blockheads wrote. A general notion of -the history of France, from the conquest of that country by the Franks, -to the reign of Lewis the Eleventh, is sufficient for use, consequently -sufficient for you. There are, however, in those remote times, some -remarkable eras, that deserve more particular attention; I mean those -in which some notable alterations happened in the constitution and form -of government. [_Nov. 1, 1750._] - - -SMALL TALK.--I am far from meaning by this, that you should always -be talking wisely, in company, of books, history, and matters of -knowledge. There are many companies which you will and ought to keep, -where such conversations would be misplaced and ill-timed; your own -good sense must distinguish the company, and the time. You must trifle -with triflers, and be serious only with the serious, but dance to those -who pipe. _Cur in theatrum Cato severe venisti?_ was justly said to -an old man; how much more so would it be to one of your age? From the -moment that you are dressed, and go out, pocket all your knowledge -with your watch, and never pull it out in company unless desired: the -producing of the one unasked implies that you are weary of the company; -and the producing of the other unrequired will make the company weary -of you. Company is a republic too jealous of its liberties to suffer -a dictator even for a quarter of an hour; and yet in that, as in all -republics, there are some who really govern, but then it is by seeming -to disclaim, instead of attempting to usurp, the power; that is the -occasion in which manners, dexterity, address, and the undefinable _je -ne sais quoi_ triumph; if properly exerted, their conquest is sure, and -the more lasting for not being perceived. Remember, that this is not -only your first and greatest, but ought to be almost your only object, -while you are in France. [_Same date._] - - -A RAKE.--Having mentioned the word rake, I must say a word or two -more upon that subject, because young people too frequently, and -always fatally, are apt to mistake that character for that of a man -of pleasure; whereas, there are not in the world two characters more -different. A rake is a composition of all the lowest, most ignoble, -degrading, and shameful vices; they all conspire to disgrace his -character, and to ruin his fortune; while wine and disease contend -which shall soonest and most effectually destroy his constitution. A -dissolute, flagitious footman, or porter, makes full as good a rake as -a man of the first quality. By the by, let me tell you, that in the -wildest part of my youth I never was a rake, but, on the contrary, -always detested and despised the character.[48] [_Nov. 8, 1750._] - - -KEEP THE PEACE.--Keep carefully out of all scrapes and quarrels. -They lower a character extremely; and are particularly dangerous in -France; where a man is dishonored by not resenting an affront, and -utterly ruined by resenting it. The young Frenchmen are hasty, giddy, -and petulant; extremely national, and _avantageux_. Forbear from any -national jokes or reflections, which are always improper, and commonly -unjust. The colder northern nations generally look upon France as a -whistling, singing, dancing, frivolous nation; this notion is very far -from being a true one, though many _petits maîtres_ by their behavior -seem to justify it; but those very _petits maîtres_, when mellowed by -age and experience, very often turn out very able men. The number of -great generals and statesmen, as well as excellent authors, that France -has produced, is an undeniable proof, that it is not that frivolous, -unthinking, empty nation that the northern prejudices suppose it. [_No -date._] - - -A NEW CONSTITUTION.--This epigram in Martial: - - “Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare, - Hoc tantum possum dicere, non amo te”--[49] - -has puzzled a great many people; who cannot conceive how it -is possible not to love anybody, and yet not to know the reason why. I -think I conceive Martial’s meaning very clearly, though the nature of -epigram, which is to be short, would not allow him to explain it more -fully; and I take it to be this: “O Sabidis, you are a very worthy, -deserving man; you have a thousand good qualities, you have a great -deal of learning; I esteem, I respect, but for the soul of me, I cannot -love you, though I cannot particularly say why. You are not amiable; -you have not those engaging manners, those pleasing attentions, those -graces, and that address, which are absolutely necessary to please, -though impossible to define. I cannot say it is this or that particular -thing which hinders me from loving you, it is the whole together; and -upon the whole you are not agreeable.” How often have I, in the course -of my life, found myself in this situation, with regard to many of my -acquaintance, whom I have honored and respected, without being able -to love? I did not know why, because, when one is young, one does not -take the trouble, nor allow one’s self the time, to analyze one’s -sentiments, and to trace them up to their source. [_Feb. 28, 1751._] - - -CARRIAGE OF THE BODY.--It sounds ridiculously to bid you study with -your dancing master; and yet I do. The bodily carriage and graces are -of infinite consequence to everybody, and more particularly to you. -Adieu for this time, my dear child. Yours tenderly. [_No date._] - - -HOW TO PLEASE.--An air, a tone of voice, a composure of countenance to -mildness and softness, which are all easily acquired, do the business; -and without further examination, and possibly with the contrary -qualities, that man is reckoned the gentlest, the modestest, and the -best-natured man alive. Happy the man who, with a certain fund of -parts and knowledge, gets acquainted with the world early enough to -make it his bubble, at an age when most people are the bubbles of the -world! for that is the common case of youth. They grow wiser when it -is too late; and, ashamed and vexed at having been bubbles so long, -too often turn knaves at last. Do not, therefore, trust to appearances -and outside yourself, but pay other people with them, because you may -be sure that nine in ten of mankind do, and ever will, trust to them. -This is by no means a criminal or blamable simulation, if not used -with an ill intention. I am by no means blamable in desiring to have -other people’s good word, good-will, and affection, if I do not mean to -abuse them. Your heart, I know, is good, your sense is sound, and your -knowledge extensive. [_May 6, 1751._] - - -PICTURES.--I received yesterday, at the same time, your letters of the -4th and the 11th, N. S., and being much more careful of my commissions -than you are of yours, I do not delay one moment sending you my final -instructions concerning the pictures. The man, you allow to be a -Titian, and in good preservation; the woman is an indifferent and a -damaged picture; but, as I want them for furniture for a particular -room, companions are necessary; and therefore I am willing to take -the woman, for better for worse, upon account of the man; and if she -is not too much damaged, I can have her tolerably repaired, as many -a fine woman is, by a skilful hand here; but then I expect the lady -should be, in a manner, thrown into the bargain with the man; and in -this state of affairs, the woman being worth little or nothing, I will -not go above fourscore louis for the two together. As for the Rembrandt -you mention, though it is very cheap, if good, I do not care for it. I -love _la belle nature_; Rembrandt paints caricatures. Now for your own -commissions, which you seem to have forgotten. [_May 10, 1751._] - - -DANCING AND DEPORTMENT.--Lady Hervey, who is your puff and panegyrist, -writes me word, that she saw you lately dance at a ball, and that you -dance very genteelly. I am extremely glad to hear it; for (by the -maxim that _omne majus continet in se minus_) if you dance genteelly, -I presume you walk, sit, and stand genteelly too; things which are -much more easy, though much more necessary, than dancing well. I have -known many very genteel people, who could not dance well; but I never -knew anybody dance very well, who was not genteel in other things. You -will probably often have occasion to stand in circles, at the levees -of princes and ministers, when it is very necessary, _de payer de -sa personne, et d’être bien planté_, with your feet not too near nor -too distant from each other. More people stand and walk, than sit -genteelly. Awkward, ill-bred people, being ashamed, commonly sit up -bolt upright and stiff; others, too negligent and easy, _se vautrent -dans leur fauteuil_, which is ungraceful and ill-bred, unless where the -familiarity is extreme. [_June 10, 1751._] - - -LITTLE NOTHINGS.--I know a man, and so do you, who, without a grain of -merit, knowledge, or talents, has raised himself millions of degrees -above his level, simply by a good air and engaging manners; insomuch -that the very prince, who raised him so high, calls him, _mon aimable -vaurien_[50]: but of this do not open your lips, _pour cause_. I give -you this secret, as the strongest proof imaginable, of the efficacy of -air, address, _tournure, et tous ces petits riens_. [_Same date._] - - -EASE OF MANNER.--_Les bienséances_[51] are a most necessary part of -the knowledge of the world. They consist in the relations of persons, -things, time, and place; good sense points them out, good company -perfects them (supposing always an attention and a desire to please), -and good policy recommends them. - -Were you to converse with a king, you ought to be as easy and -unembarrassed as with your own valet de chambre; but yet every look, -word, and action should imply the utmost respect. What would be proper -and well-bred with others much your superiors, would be absurd and -ill-bred with one so very much so. You must wait till you are spoken -to; you must receive, not give, the subject of conversation, and you -must even take care that the given subject of such conversation do not -lead you into any impropriety. [_June 13, 1751._] - - -SOCIAL RESPECT.--In mixed companies with your equals (for in mixed -companies all people are to a certain degree equal) greater ease -and liberty are allowed; but they too have their bounds within -_bienséance_. There is a social respect necessary; you may start your -own subject of conversation with modesty, taking great care, however, -_de ne jamais parler de cordes dans la maison d’un pendu_. Your words, -gestures, and attitudes have a greater degree of latitude, though by -no means an unbounded one. You may have your hands in your pockets, -take snuff, sit, stand, or occasionally walk, as you like; but I -believe you would not think it very _bienséant_ to whistle, put on -your hat, loosen your garters or your buckles, lie down upon a couch, -or go to bed, and welter in an easy chair. These are negligences and -freedoms which one can only take when quite alone; they are injurious -to superiors, shocking and offensive to equals, brutal and insulting to -inferiors. That easiness of carriage and behavior, which is exceedingly -engaging, widely differs from negligence and inattention, and by no -means implies that one may do whatever one pleases. [_Same date._] - - -RESPECT DUE TO WOMAN.--To women you should always address yourself with -great outward respect and attention, whatever you feel inwardly; their -sex is by long prescription entitled to it; and it is among the duties -of _bienséance_; at the same time that respect is very properly, and -very agreeably, mixed with a degree of _enjouement_, if you have it; -but then, that _badinage_ must either directly or indirectly tend to -their praise, and even not be liable to a malicious construction to -their disadvantage. But here, too, great attention must be had to the -difference of age, rank, and situation. A _maréchale_ of fifty must not -be played with like a young coquette of fifteen; respect and _serious -enjouement_, if I may couple those two words, must be used with the -former, and mere _badinage, zesté même d’un peu de polissonerie_, is -pardonable with the latter. [_Same date._] - - -HORSE-LAUGHTER.--Loud laughter is extremely inconsistent with _les -bienséances_, as it is only the illiberal and noisy testimony of the -joy of the mob, at some very silly thing. A gentleman is often seen, -but very seldom heard, to laugh. Nothing is more contrary to _les -bienséances_ than horse-play, or _jeux de main_ of any kind whatever, -and has often very serious, sometimes very fatal consequences. Romping, -struggling, throwing things at one another’s head, are the becoming -pleasantries of the mob, but degrade a gentleman; _giuoco di mano, -giuoco di villano_, is a very true saying, among the few true sayings -of the Italians. - -There is a _bienséance_ also with regard to people of the lowest -degree; a gentleman observes it with his footman, even with the beggar -in the street. He considers them as objects of compassion, not of -insult; he speaks to neither _d’un ton brusque_, but corrects the one -coolly, and refuses the other with humanity. There is no one occasion -in the world in which _le ton brusque_ is becoming a gentleman. In -short, _les bienséances_ are another word for _manners_. [_Same date._] - - -THE TWO AGES.--Now that all tumultuous passions and quick sensations -have subsided with me, and that I have no tormenting cares nor -boisterous pleasures to agitate me, my greatest joy is to consider the -fair prospect you have before you, and to hope and believe you will -enjoy it. You are already in the world, at an age when others have -hardly heard of it. Your character is hitherto not only unblemished -in its moral part, but even unsullied by any low, dirty, and -ungentlemanlike vice; and will, I hope, continue so. Your knowledge -is sound, extensive, and avowed, especially in everything relative to -your destination. With such materials to begin, what then is wanting? -Not fortune, as you have found by experience. You have had, and shall -have, fortune sufficient to assist your merit and your industry; and, -if I can help it, you never shall have enough to make you negligent -of either. You have, too, _mens sana in corpore sano_, the greatest -blessing of all. All, therefore, that you want is as much in your power -to acquire, as to eat your breakfast when set before you; it is only -that knowledge of the world, that elegancy of manners, that universal -politeness, and those graces, which keeping good company, and seeing -variety of places and characters, must inevitably, with the least -attention on your part, give you. Your foreign destination leads to -the greatest things, and your parliamentary situation will facilitate -your progress; consider then this pleasing prospect as attentively for -yourself, as I consider it for you. Labor on your part to realize it, -as I will on mine to assist and enable you to do it. _Nullum numen -abest, si sit prudentia._ [_Same date._] - - -A REFERENCE AT COURT.--I would wish you to be able to talk upon all -these things, better and with more knowledge than other people; -insomuch that, upon those occasions, you should be applied to, and that -people should say, _I dare say Mr. Stanhope can tell us_. Second-rate -knowledge, and middling talents, carry a man farther at courts, and -in the busy part of the world, than superior knowledge and shining -parts. Tacitus very justly accounts for a man’s having always kept in -favor, and enjoyed the best employments, under the tyrannical reigns -of three or four of the very worst emperors, by saying that it was -not _propter aliquam eximiam artem, sed quia par negotiis neque supra -erat_. Discretion is the great article; all those things are to be -learned and only learned by keeping a great deal of the best company. -Frequent those good houses where you have already a footing, and -wriggle yourself somehow or other into every other. Haunt the courts -particularly, in order to get that _routine_. [_June 20, 1751._] - - -FRENCH AND ENGLISH HUNTING.--Our abbé writes me word that you were gone -to Compiègne; I am very glad of it; other courts must form you for your -own. He tells me, too, that you have left off riding at the _manège_; I -have no objection to that, it takes up a great deal of the morning; and -if you have got a genteel and firm seat on horseback, it is enough for -you, now that tilts and tournaments are laid aside. I suppose you have -hunted at Compiègne. The king’s hunting there, I am told, is a fine -sight. The French manner of hunting is gentlemanlike; ours is only for -bumpkins and boobies. The poor beasts here are pursued and run down by -much greater beasts than themselves; and the true British fox-hunter is -most undoubtedly a species appropriated and peculiar to this country, -which no other part of the globe produces. [_June 30, 1751._] - - -POLITE AFFECTION.--Remember to bring your mother some little presents; -they need not be of value, but only marks of your affection and duty -for one who has always been tenderly fond of you. You may bring Lady -Chesterfield a little Martin snuff-box, of about five louis; and you -need bring over no other presents; you and I not wanting _les petits -présens pour entretenir l’amitié_. [_July 8, 1751._] - - -INATTENTION.--Laziness of mind, or inattention, are as great enemies -to knowledge, as incapacity; for, in truth, what difference is there -between a man who will not, and a man who cannot, be informed? This -difference only, that the former is justly to be blamed, and the latter -to be pitied. And yet how many are there, very capable of receiving -knowledge, who, from laziness, inattention, and incuriousness, will not -so much as ask for it, much less take the least pains to acquire it. - -Our young English travellers generally distinguish themselves by a -voluntary privation of all that useful knowledge for which they are -sent abroad; and yet, at that age, the most useful knowledge is the -most easy to be acquired; conversation being the book, and the best -book, in which it is contained. [_Jan. 2, 1752._] - - -THE DRAMA.--I could wish there were a treaty made between the -French and the English theatres, in which both parties should make -considerable concessions. The English ought to give up their notorious -violations of all the unities; and all their massacres, racks, dead -bodies, and mangled carcasses, which they so frequently exhibit upon -their stage. The French should engage to have more action, and less -declamation; and not to cram and crowd things together to almost a -degree of impossibility, from a too scrupulous adherence to the -unities. The English should restrain the licentiousness of their -poets, and the French enlarge the liberty of theirs: their poets are -the greatest slaves in their country, and that is a bold word; ours -are the most tumultuous subjects in England, and that is saying a -good deal. Under such regulations, one might hope to see a play, in -which one should not be lulled to sleep by the length of a monotonical -declamation, nor frightened and shocked by the barbarity of the -action. The unity of time extended occasionally to three or four days, -and the unity of place broke into, as far as the same street, or -sometimes the same town; both which, I will affirm, are as probable, as -four-and-twenty hours, and the same room. - -More indulgence, too, in my mind, should be shown, than the French are -willing to allow, to bright thoughts, and to shining images; for though -I confess, it is not very natural for a hero or a princess to say fine -things, in all the violence of grief, love, rage, etc., yet I can as -well suppose that, as I can that they should talk to themselves for -half an hour; which they must necessarily do, or no tragedy could be -carried on, unless they had recourse to a much greater absurdity, the -choruses of the ancients. Tragedy is of a nature, that one must see it -with a degree of self-deception; we must lend ourselves, a little, to -the delusion; and I am very willing to carry that complaisance a little -further than the French do. - -Tragedy must be something bigger than life, or it would not affect us. -In nature the most violent passions are silent; in tragedy they must -speak, and speak with dignity, too. Hence the necessity of their being -written in verse, and, unfortunately for the French, from the weakness -of their language, in rhymes. And for the same reason, Cato, the Stoic, -expiring at Utica, rhymes masculine and feminine,[52] at Paris; and -fetches his last breath at London, in most harmonious and correct blank -verse. - -It is quite otherwise with comedy, which should be mere common life, -and not one jot bigger. Every character should speak upon the stage, -not only what it would utter in the situation there represented, but -in the same manner in which it would express it. For which reason, I -cannot allow rhymes in comedy, unless they were put into the mouth and -came out of the mouth of a mad poet. But it is impossible to deceive -one’s self enough (nor is it the least necessary in comedy) to suppose -a dull rogue of a usurer cheating, or _gros Jean_ blundering, in the -finest rhymes in the world. - -As for operas, they are essentially too absurd and extravagant to -mention: I look upon them as a magic scene, contrived to please the -eyes and the ears, at the expense of the understanding; and I consider -singing, rhyming, and chiming heroes, and princesses, and philosophers, -as I do the hills, the trees, the birds, and the beasts, who amicably -joined in one common country dance, to the irresistible tune of -Orpheus’s lyre. Whenever I go to an opera, I leave my sense and reason -at the door with my half guinea, and deliver myself up to my eyes and -my ears. [_Jan. 23, 1752._] - - -RIDICULE.--It is commonly said, and more particularly by Lord -Shaftesbury, that ridicule is the best test of truth; for that it will -not stick where it is not just. I deny it.[53] A truth learned in a -certain light, and attacked in certain words by men of wit and humor, -may, and often doth, become ridiculous, at least so far, that the -truth is only remembered and repeated for the sake of the ridicule. The -overturn of Mary of Medicis into a river, where she was half drowned, -would never have been remembered, if Madame de Vernueil, who saw -it, had not said _la Reine boit_. Pleasure or malignity often gives -ridicule a weight, which it does not deserve. [_Same date._] - - -COMEDIES.--I chiefly mind dialogue and character in comedies. Let -dull critics feed the carcasses of plays; give me the taste and the -dressing. [_Feb. 6, 1752._] - - -THE WEIGHT OF LOW PEOPLE.--In courts a universal gentleness and -_douceur dans les manières_ is most absolutely necessary: an offended -fool, or a slighted _valet de chambre_, may, very possibly, do more -hurt at court, than ten men of merit can do you good. Fools, and low -people, are always jealous of their dignity; and never forget nor -forgive what they reckon a slight. [_Same date._] - - -AT COURT.--There is a court garment, as well as a wedding garment, -without which you will not be received. That garment is the _volto -sciolto_: an imposing air, an elegant politeness, easy and engaging -manners, universal attention, an insinuating gentleness, and all those -_je ne sais quoi_ that compose the _grâces_. [_Same date._] - - -PERFECTION.--In all systems whatsoever, whether of religion, -government, morals, etc., perfection is the object always proposed, -though possibly unattainable; hitherto, at least, certainly -unattained. However, those who aim carefully at the mark itself, -will unquestionably come nearer to it than those who, from despair, -negligence, or indolence, leave to chance the work of skill. This maxim -holds equally true in common life; those who aim at perfection will -come infinitely nearer it than those desponding or indolent spirits, -who foolishly say to themselves, nobody is perfect; perfection is -unattainable; to attempt it is chimerical; I shall do as well as -others; why then should I give myself trouble to be what I never can, -and what, according to the common course of things, I need not be, -_perfect_? [_Feb. 20, 1752._] - - -OMNIS HOMO.--I would have him have lustre as well as weight. Did you -ever know anybody that reunited all these talents? Yes, I did; Lord -Bolingbroke joined all the politeness, the manners, and the graces -of a courtier, to the solidity of a statesman, and to the learning -of a pedant. He was _omnis homo_; and pray what should hinder my -boy of doing so too, if he hath, as I think he hath, all the other -qualifications that you allow him? [_Same date._] - - -KNOWLEDGE OF LITERATURE.--A gentleman should know those which I call -classical works, in every language: such as Boileau, Corneille, Racine, -Molière, etc., in French; Milton, Dryden, Pope, Swift, etc., in -English; and the three authors above mentioned[54] in Italian: whether -you have any such in German I am not quite sure, nor, indeed, am I -inquisitive. These sort of books adorn the mind, improve the fancy, are -frequently alluded to by, and are often the subjects of conversations -of, the best companies. As you have languages to read, and memory to -retain them, the knowledge of them is very well worth the little pains -it will cost you, and will enable you to shine in company. It is not -pedantic to quote and allude to them, which it would be with regard to -the ancients. [_March 2, 1752._] - - -NOTHING BY HALVES.--Whatever business you have, do it the first moment -you can; never by halves, but finish it without interruption, if -possible. Business must not be sauntered and trifled with; and you must -not say to it, as Felix did to Paul, “at a more convenient season I -will speak to thee.” The most convenient season for business is the -first; but study and business, in some measure, point out their own -times to a man of sense; time is much oftener squandered away in the -wrong choice and improper methods of amusement and pleasures. [_March -5, 1752._] - - -FORMATION OF MANNERS.--Nothing forms a young man so much as being used -to keep respectable and superior company, where a constant regard and -attention is necessary. It is true, this is at first a disagreeable -state of restraint; but it soon grows habitual, and consequently easy; -and you are amply paid for it, by the improvement you make, and the -credit it gives you. [_Same date._] - - -THE BEST SCHOOL.--Company, various company, is the only school for this -knowledge. You ought to be, by this time, at least in the third form of -that school, from whence the rise to the uppermost is easy and quick; -but then you must have application and vivacity, you must not only bear -with, but even seek, restraint in some companies, instead of stagnating -in one or two only, where indolence and love of ease may be indulged. -[_March 16, 1752._] - - -CHESTERFIELD’S PROPHECY.--I do not know what the Lord’s anointed, His -vicegerent upon earth, divinely appointed by Him, and accountable to -none but Him for his actions, will either think or do, upon these -symptoms of reason and good sense, which seem to be breaking out all -over France; but this I foresee, that before the end of this century, -the trade of both king and priest will not be half so good a one as it -has been. Du Clos, in his reflections, hath observed, and very truly, -_qu’il y a un germe de raison qui commence à se développer en France_. -A _développement_ that must prove fatal to regal and papal pretensions. -Prudence may, in many cases, recommend an occasional submission to -either; but when that ignorance, upon which an implicit faith in both -could only be founded, is once removed, God’s vicegerent, and Christ’s -vicar, will only be obeyed and believed, as far as what the one orders, -and the other says, is conformable to reason and to truth. [_April 13, -1752._] - - -SMALL CHANGE.--In common life, one much oftener wants small money, -and silver, than gold. Give me a man who has ready cash about him for -present expenses, shillings, half-crowns, and crowns, which circulate -easily; but a man who has only an ingot of gold about him is much above -common purposes, and his riches are not handy nor convenient. Have as -much gold as you please in one pocket, but take care always to keep -change in the other; for you will much oftener have occasion for a -shilling than for a guinea. [_Sept, 19, 1752._] - - -MAXIMS.--My dear friend,--I never think my time so well employed, as -when I think it employed to your advantage. In that view, I have thrown -together, for your use, the enclosed maxims[55]; or, to speak more -properly, observations of men and things; for I have no merit as to -the invention; I am no system-monger; and, instead of giving way to my -imagination, I have only consulted my memory; and my conclusions are -all drawn from facts, not from fancy. Most maxim-mongers have preferred -the prettiness to the justness of a thought, and the turn to the truth; -but I have refused myself to everything that my own experience did not -justify and confirm. [_Jan. 15, 1753._] - - -A WET SUMMER.--There never was so wet a summer as this has been, in the -memory of man; we have not had one single day, since March, without -some rain; but most days a great deal. I hope that does not affect your -health, as great cold does; for, with all these inundations, it has -not been cold. God bless you! [_Aug. 1, 1766._] - - -THE LAST GREETING.--Poor Harte is in a miserable condition, is -paralyzed in his left side, and can hardly speak intelligibly. I was -with him yesterday. He inquired after you with great affection, and was -in the utmost concern when I showed him your letter. - -My own health is, as it has been ever since I was here last year. I am -neither well nor ill, but _unwell_. I have, in a manner, lost the use -of my legs; for though I can make a shift to crawl upon even ground for -a quarter of an hour, I cannot go up or down stairs, unless supported -by a servant. - -God bless and grant you a speedy recovery! [_Oct. 17, 1768._] - - Here end the letters to Mr. Stanhope, as he died the 16th of - November following. - - -_To Mrs. Stanhope, then at Paris._ - -MADAM:--A troublesome and painful inflammation in my eyes obliges me to -use another hand than my own to acknowledge the receipt of your letter -from Avignon, of the 27th past. - -I am extremely surprised that Mrs. du Bouchet should have any objection -to the manner in which your late husband desired to be buried, and -which you, very properly, complied with. All I desire for my own burial -is not to be buried alive; but how or where, I think, must be entirely -indifferent to every rational creature. - -I have no commission to trouble you with during your stay at Paris, -from whence I wish you and the boys a good journey home, where I shall -be very glad to see you all, and assure you of my being, with great -truth, your faithful, humble servant, CHESTERFIELD. [_March 16, 1769._] - - -_To the same, at London._ - -MADAM:--The last time I had the pleasure of seeing you I was so -taken up in playing with the boys that I forgot their more important -affairs. How soon would you have them placed at school? When I know -your pleasure as to that, I will send to Monsieur Perny to prepare -everything for their reception. In the meantime, I beg that you will -equip them thoroughly with clothes, linen, etc., all good, but plain, -and give me the account, which I will pay, for I do not intend that -from this time forward, the two boys should cost you one shilling. -I am, with great truth, madam, your faithful, humble servant, -CHESTERFIELD. [_Wednesday._] - - -STANHOPE’S CHILDREN.--Charles will be a scholar, if you please, but -our little Philip, without being one, will be something or other as -good, though I do not yet guess what. I am not of the opinion generally -entertained in this country, that man lives by Greek and Latin alone; -that is, by knowing a great many words of two dead languages, which -nobody living knows perfectly, and which are of no use in the common -intercourse of life. Useful knowledge, in my opinion, consists of -modern languages, history, and geography; some Latin may be thrown into -the bargain, in compliance with custom, and for closet amusement. - -You are by this time certainly tired with this long letter, which I -could prove to you from Horace’s own words (for I am a _scholar_) to -be a bad one; he says that water drinkers can write nothing good, so -I am, with real truth and esteem, your most faithful, humble servant, -CHESTERFIELD. [_Nov. 4, 1770._] - - -_To Charles and Philip Stanhope._ - -THE LAST LETTER.--I received, a few days ago, two, the best-written -letters that I ever saw in my life: the one signed Charles Stanhope, -the other Philip Stanhope. As for you, Charles, I do not wonder at -it; for you will take pains, and are a lover of letters: but you idle -rogue, you Phil, how came you to write so well, that one can almost -say of you two, _et cantare pares et respondere parati_? Charles will -explain this Latin to you. - -I am told, Phil, that you have got a nickname at school, from your -intimacy with Master _Strangeways_; and that they call you Master -Strangerways; for, to be sure, you are a strange boy. Is this true? - -Tell me what you would have me bring you both from hence, and I will -bring it to you when I come to town. In the meantime, God bless you -both!--CHESTERFIELD. [BATH, OCT. 27, 1771.] - - -MAXIMS.[56] - -A proper secrecy is the only mystery of able men; mystery is the only -secrecy of weak and cunning ones. - -A man who tells nothing, or who tells all, will equally have nothing -told him. - -If a fool knows a secret, he tells it because he is a fool; if a knave -knows one, he tells it wherever it is his interest to tell it. But -women and young men are very apt to tell what secrets they know, from -the vanity of having been trusted. Trust none of these, whenever you -can help it. - -Inattention to the present business, be it what it will; the doing one -thing, and thinking at the same time of another, or the attempting -to do two things at once, are the never-failing signs of a little, -frivolous mind. - -A man who cannot command his temper, his attention, and his -countenance, should not think of being a man of business. The weakest -man in the world can avail himself of the passion of the wisest. The -inattentive man cannot know the business, and consequently cannot do -it. And he who cannot command his countenance, may e’en as well tell -his thoughts as show them. - -Distrust all those who love you extremely upon a very slight -acquaintance, and without any visible reason. Be upon your guard, too, -against those, who confess, as their weaknesses, all the cardinal -virtues. - -In your friendships, and in your enmities, let your confidence and your -hostilities have certain bounds: make not the former dangerous, nor the -latter irreconcilable. There are strange vicissitudes in business! - -Smooth your way to the head, through the heart. The way of reason is a -good one; but it is commonly something longer, and perhaps not so sure. - -Spirit is now a very fashionable word: to act with spirit, to speak -with spirit, means only, to act rashly, and to talk indiscreetly. An -able man shows his spirit by gentle words and resolute actions: he is -neither hot nor timid. - -When a man of sense happens to be in that disagreeable situation, in -which he is obliged to ask himself more than once, _What shall I do?_ -he will answer himself, Nothing. When his reason points out to him no -good way, or at least no one way less bad than another, he will stop -short, and wait for light. A little busy mind runs on at all events, -must be doing; and, like a blind horse, fears no dangers because he -sees none. _Il faut savoir s’ennuyer._ - -Patience is a most necessary qualification for business; many a man -would rather you heard his story than granted his request. One must -seem to hear the unreasonable demands of the petulant, unmoved, and the -tedious details of the dull, untired. That is the least price a man -must pay for a high station. - -It is always right to detect a fraud, and to perceive a folly; but it -is often very wrong to expose either. A man of business should always -have his eyes open; but must often seem to have them shut. - -In courts, nobody should be below your management and attention: the -links that form the court-chain are innumerable and inconceivable. -You must hear with patience the dull grievances of a gentleman -usher, or a page of the back-stairs; who, very probably, lies with -some near relation of the favorite maid, of the favorite mistress, -of the favorite minister, or perhaps of the king himself; and who, -consequently, may do you more dark or indirect good, or harm, than the -first man of quality. - -One good patron at court may be sufficient, provided you have no -personal enemies; and, in order to have none, you must sacrifice (as -the Indians do to the Devil) most of your passions, and much of your -time, to the numberless evil beings that infest it; in order to prevent -and avert the mischiefs they can do you. - -A young man, be his merit what it will, can never raise himself; but -must, like the ivy round the oak, twine himself round some man of -great power and interest. You must belong to a minister some time, -before anybody will belong to you. And an inviolable fidelity to that -minister, even in his disgrace, will be meritorious, and recommend -you to the next. Ministers love a personal, much more than a party -attachment. - -As kings are begotten and born like other men, it is to be presumed -that they are of the human species; and perhaps, had they the same -education, they might prove like other men. But, flattered from their -cradles, their hearts are corrupted, and their heads are turned, so -that they seem to be a species by themselves. No king ever said to -himself: _Homo sum, nihil humani a me alienum puto_. - -Flattery cannot be too strong for them; drunk with it from their -infancy, like old drinkers, they require drams. - -They prefer a personal attachment to a public service, and reward it -better. They are vain and weak enough to look upon it as a free-will -offering to their merit, and not as a burnt sacrifice to their power. - -If you would be a favorite of your king, address yourself to his -weaknesses. An application to his reason will seldom prove very -successful. - -In courts, bashfulness and timidity are as prejudicial on one hand, -as impudence and rashness are on the other. A steady assurance, and a -cool intrepidity, with an exterior modesty, are the true and necessary -medium. - -Never apply for what you see very little probability of obtaining; -for you will, by asking improper and unattainable things, accustom -the ministers to refuse you so often, that they will find it easy to -refuse you the properest and most reasonable ones. It is a common but -a most mistaken rule at court, to ask for everything, in order to get -something: you do get something by it, it is true; but that something -is refusals and ridicule. - -There is a court jargon, a chit-chat, a small talk, which turns singly -upon trifles; and which, in a great many words, says little or nothing. -It stands fools instead of what they cannot say, and men of sense -instead of what they should not say. It is the proper language of -levees, drawing-rooms, and ante-chambers; it is necessary to know it. - -Whatever a man is at court, he must be genteel and well-bred; that -cloak covers as many follies, as that of charity does sins. I knew a -man of great quality, and in a great station at court, considered and -respected, whose highest character was, that he was humbly proud, and -genteelly dull. - -It is hard to say which is the greatest fool; he who tells the whole -truth, or he who tells no truth at all. Character is as necessary in -business as in trade. No man can deceive often in either. - -At court, people embrace without acquaintance, serve one another -without friendship, and injure one another without hatred. Interest, -not sentiment, is the growth of that soil. - -A difference of opinion, though in the merest trifles, alienates -little minds, especially of high rank. It is full as easy to commend as -to blame a great man’s cook, or his tailor; it is shorter, too; and the -objects are no more worth disputing about, than the people are worth -disputing with. It is impossible to inform, but very easy to displease -them. - -A cheerful, easy countenance and behavior are very useful at court; -they make fools think you are a good-natured man; and they make -designing men think you are an undesigning one. - -There are some occasions in which a man must tell half his secret, -in order to conceal the rest; but there is seldom one in which a man -should tell it all. Great skill is necessary to know how far to go, and -where to stop. - -Ceremony is necessary in courts, as the outwork and defence of manners. - -Flattery, though a base coin, is the necessary pocket-money at court; -where, by custom and consent, it has obtained such a currency, that it -is no longer a fraudulent, but a legal payment. - -If a minister refuses you a reasonable request, and either slights or -injures you, if you have not the power to gratify your resentment, have -the wisdom to conceal and dissemble it. Seeming good humor on your part -may prevent rancor on his, and perhaps bring things aright again: but -if you have the power to hurt, hint modestly that, if provoked, you -may possibly have the will too. Fear, when real, and well founded, is -perhaps a more prevailing motive at courts than love. - -At court, many more people can hurt, than can help you; please the -former, but engage the latter. - -Awkwardness is a more real disadvantage than it is generally thought to -be; it often occasions ridicule, it always lessens dignity. - -A man’s own good breeding is his best security against other people’s -ill-manners. - -Good breeding carries along with it a dignity, that is respected by -the most petulant. Ill breeding invites and authorizes the familiarity -of the most timid. No man ever said a pert thing to the Duke of -Marlborough. No man ever said a civil one (though many a flattering -one) to Sir Robert Walpole. - -When the old clipped money was called in for a new coinage in King -William’s time, to prevent the like for the future, they stamped on the -edges of the crown pieces these words, _et decus et tutamen_. That is -exactly the case of good breeding. - -Knowledge may give weight, but accomplishments only give lustre; and -many more people see than weigh. - -Most arts require long study and application; but the most useful art -of all, that of pleasing, requires only the desire. - -It is to be presumed that a man of common-sense, who does not desire -to please, desires nothing at all, since he must know that he cannot -obtain anything without it. - -A skilful negotiator will most carefully distinguish between the little -and the great objects of his business, and will be as frank and open in -the former as he will be secret and pertinacious in the latter. - -He will, by his manners and address, endeavor, at least, to make his -public adversaries his personal friends. He will flatter and engage the -man, while he counterworks the minister; and he will never alienate -people’s minds from him, by wrangling for points, either absolutely -unattainable, or not worth attaining. He will make even a merit of -giving up what he could not or would not carry, and sell a trifle for a -thousand times its value. - -A foreign minister, who is concerned in great affairs, must necessarily -have spies in his pay; but he must not too easily credit their -informations, which are never exactly true, often very false. His -best spies will always be those whom he does not pay, but whom he has -engaged in his service by his dexterity and address, and who think -themselves nothing less than spies. - -There is a certain jargon which in French I should call _un persiflage -d’affaires_, that a foreign minister ought to be perfectly master -of, and may use very advantageously at great entertainments in mixed -companies, and in all occasions where he must speak and should say -nothing. Well turned and well spoken, it seems to mean something, -though in truth it means nothing. It is a kind of political _badinage_, -which prevents or removes a thousand difficulties to which a foreign -minister is exposed in mixed conversations. - -If ever the _volto sciolto_ and the _pensieri stretti_ are necessary, -they are so in these affairs. A grave, dark, reserved, and mysterious -air has _fœnum in cornu_. An even, easy, unembarrassed one invites -confidence, and leaves no room for guesses and conjectures. - -Both stimulation and dissimulation are absolutely necessary for a -foreign minister; and yet they must stop short of falsehood and -perfidy: that middle point is the difficult one: there ability -consists. He must often seem pleased, when he is vexed; and grave, -when he is pleased; but he must never say either: that would be -falsehood--an indelible stain to character. - -A foreign minister should be a most exact economist. An expense -proportioned to his appointments and fortune is necessary; but, on the -other hand, debt is inevitable ruin to him. It sinks him into disgrace -at the court where he resides, and into the most servile and abject -dependence on the court that sent him. As he cannot resent ill usage, -he is sure to have enough of it. - -The Duc de Sully observes very justly, in his Memoirs, that nothing -contributed more to his rise, than that prudent economy which he had -observed from his youth, and by which he had always a sum of money -beforehand, in case of emergencies. - -It is very difficult to fix the particular point of economy; the best -error of the two is on the parsimonious side. That may be corrected; -the other cannot. - -The reputation of generosity is to be purchased pretty cheap; it does -not depend so much upon a man’s general expense, as it does upon -his giving handsomely where it is proper to give at all. A man, for -instance, who should give a servant four shillings would pass for -covetous, while he who gave him a crown would be reckoned generous; so -that the difference of those two opposite characters turns upon one -shilling. A man’s character, in that particular, depends a great deal -upon the report of his own servants; a mere trifle above common wages -makes their report favorable. - -Take care always to form your establishment so much within your income -as to leave a sufficient fund for unexpected contingencies and a -prudent liberality. There is hardly a year, in any man’s life, in which -a small sum of ready money may not be employed to great advantage. - - -POLITICAL MAXIMS FROM CARDINAL DE RETZ.[57] - -It is often madness to engage in a conspiracy; but nothing is so -effectual to bring people afterward to their senses, at least for a -time. As in such undertakings, the danger subsists, even after the -business is over; this obliges to be prudent and circumspect in the -succeeding moments. - -2. A middling understanding, being susceptible of unjust suspicions, is -consequently, of all characters, the least fit to head a faction; as -the most indispensable qualification in such a chief is to suppress, -in many occasions, and to conceal in all, even the best grounded -suspicions. - -3. Nothing animates and gives strength to a commotion so much as the -ridicule of him against whom it is raised. - -4. Among people used to affairs of moment, secrecy is much less -uncommon than is generally believed. - -5. Descending to the little is the surest way of attaining to an -equality with the great. - -6. Fashion, though powerful in all things, is not more so in any, than -in being well or ill at court. There are times when disgrace is a kind -of fire, that purifies all bad qualities, and illuminates every good -one. There are others, in which the being out of favor is unbecoming a -man of character. - -7. Sufferings, in people of the first rank, supply the want of virtue. - -8. There is a confused kind of jumble, which practice sometimes -teaches; but it is never to be understood by speculation. - -9. The greatest powers cannot injure a man’s character, whose -reputation is unblemished among his party. - -10. We are as often duped by diffidence, as by confidence. - -11. The greatest evils are not arrived at their utmost period until -those who are in power have lost all sense of shame. At such a time -those who should obey shake off all respect and subordination. Then is -lethargic indolence roused; but roused by convulsions. - -12. A veil ought always to be drawn over whatever may be said or -thought concerning the rights of the people, or of kings; which agree -best when least mentioned.[58] - -13. There are, at times, situations so very unfortunate, that whatever -is undertaken must be wrong. Chance, alone, never throws people into -such dilemmas; and they happen only to those who bring them upon -themselves. - -14. It is more unbecoming a minister to say, than to do, silly things. - -15. The advice given to a minister, by an obnoxious person, is always -thought bad. - -16. It is as dangerous, and almost as criminal, with princes, to have -the power of doing good, as the will of doing evil. - -17. Timorous minds are much more inclined to deliberate than to resolve. - -18. It appears ridiculous to assert, but it is not the less true, that -at Paris, during the popular commotions, the most violent will not quit -their homes past a stated hour. - -19. Flexibility is the most requisite qualification for the management -of great affairs. - -20. It is more difficult for the member of a faction to live with those -of his own party, than to act against those who oppose it. - -21. The greatest dangers have their allurements, if the want of success -is likely to be attended with a degree of glory. Middling dangers are -horrid, when the loss of reputation is the inevitable consequence of -ill success. - -22. Violent measures are always dangerous, but when necessary, may -then be looked upon as wise. They have, however, the advantage of -never being matter of indifferency; and, when well concerted, must be -decisive. - -23. There may be circumstances, in which even prudence directs us to -trust entirely to chance. - -24. Everything in this world has its critical moment, and the height of -good conduct consists in knowing and seizing it. - -25. Profligacy, joined to ridicule, forms the most abominable and most -dangerous of all characters. - -26. Weak minds never yield when they ought. - -27. Variety of sights have the greatest effect upon the mob, and also -upon numerous assemblies, who, in many respects, resemble mobs. - -28. Examples taken from past times have infinitely more power over the -minds of men, than any of the age in which they live. Whatever we see, -grows familiar; and perhaps the consulship of Caligula’s horse might -not have astonished us so much as we are apt to imagine. - -29. Weak minds are commonly overpowered by clamor. - -30. We ought never to contend for what we are not likely to obtain. - -31. The instant in which we receive the most favorable accounts, is -just that wherein we ought to redouble our vigilance, even in regard to -the most trifling circumstances. - -32. It is dangerous to have a known influence over people; as thereby -we become responsible even for what is done against our will. - -33. One of the greatest difficulties in civil war is, that more art is -required to know what should be concealed from our friends, than what -ought to be done against our enemies. - -34. Nothing lowers a great man so much, as not seizing the decisive -moment of raising his reputation. This is seldom neglected, but with a -view to fortune; by which mistake, it is not unusual to miss both. - -35. The possibility of remedying imprudent actions is commonly an -inducement to commit them. - -36. Every numerous assembly is a mob; consequently everything there -depends upon instantaneous turns. - -37. Whatever measure seems hazardous, and is in reality not so, is -generally a wise one. - -38. Irresolute minds always adopt with facility whatever measure can -admit of different issues, and consequently do not require an absolute -decision. - -39. In momentous affairs, no step is indifferent. - -40. There are times in which certain people are always in the right. - -41. Nothing convinces persons of a weak understanding so effectually as -what they do not comprehend. - -42. When factions are only upon the defensive, they ought never to -do that which may be delayed. Upon such occasions, nothing is so -troublesome as the restlessness of subalterns; who think a state of -inaction total destruction. - -43. Those who head factions have no way of maintaining their authority, -but by preventing or quieting discontent. - -44. A certain degree of fear produces the same effects as rashness. - -45. In affairs of importance, the choice of words is of as much -consequence, as it would be superfluous in those of little moment. - -46. During those calms which immediately succeed violent storms, -nothing is more difficult for ministers than to act properly; because, -while flattery increases, suspicions are not yet subsided. - -47. The faults of our friends ought never to anger us so far as to give -an advantage to our enemies. - -48. The talent of insinuation is more useful than that of persuasion, -as everybody is open to insinuation, but scarce any to persuasion. - -49. In matters of a delicate nature, all unnecessary alterations are -dangerous, because odious. - -50. The best way to compel weak-minded people to adopt our opinion, is -to frighten them from all others, by magnifying their danger. - -51. We must run all hazards, where we think ourselves in a situation to -reap some advantage, even from the want of success. - -52. Irresolute men are diffident in resolving upon the means, even when -they are determined upon the end. - -53. It is almost a sure game, with crafty men, to make them believe we -intend to deceive those whom we mean to serve. - -54. One of the greatest difficulties with princes is in the being often -obliged, in order to serve them, to give advice, the true reasons of -which we dare not mention. - -55. The saying things which we foresee will not be pleasing, can only -be softened by the greatest appearance of sincerity. - -56. We ought never to trifle with favor. If real, we should hastily -seize the advantage; if pretended, avoid the allurement. - -57. It is very inconsequent to enter into engagements upon suppositions -we think impossible, and yet it is very usual. - -58. The generality of mankind pay less attention to arguments urged -against their opinion, than to such as may engage the disputant to -adopt their own. - -59. In times of faction and intrigue, whatever appears inert is -reckoned mysterious by those who are not accustomed to affairs of -moment. - -60. It is never allowable in an inferior to equal himself in words to a -superior, although he may rival him in actions. - -61. Every man whom chance alone has, by some accident, made a public -character, hardly ever fails of becoming, in a short time, a ridiculous -private one. - -62. The greatest imperfection of men is the complacency with which they -are willing to think others not free from faults, of which they are -themselves conscious. - -63. Experience only can teach men not to prefer what strikes them for -the present moment, to what will have much greater weight with them -hereafter. - -64. In the management of important business, all turn to raillery must -be more carefully avoided than in any other. - -65. In momentous transactions, words cannot be sufficiently weighed. - -66. The permanency of most friendships depends upon the continuity of -good fortune. - -67. Whoever assembles the multitude will raise commotions. - - -LORD CHESTERFIELD’S REMARKS UPON THE FOREGOING MAXIMS. - -I have taken the trouble of extracting and collecting, for your -use, the foregoing Political Maxims of the Cardinal de Retz, in his -Memoirs. They are not aphorisms of his invention, but the true and just -observations of his own experience, in the course of great business. -My own experience attests the truth of them all. Read them over with -attention as here above, and then read with the same attention, -and _tout de suite_, the Memoirs, where you will find the facts and -characters from whence those observations are drawn, or to which they -are applied; and they will reciprocally help to fix each other in your -mind. I hardly know any book so necessary for a young man to read and -remember. You will there find how great business is really carried on; -very differently from what people, who have never been concerned in it, -imagine. You will there see what courts and courtiers really are, and -observe that they are neither so good as they should be, nor so bad -as they are thought by most people. The court poet, and the sullen, -cloistered pedant, are equally mistaken in their notions, or at least -in the accounts they give us of them. You will observe the coolness -in general, the perfidy in some cases, and the truth in a very few, -of court friendships. This will teach you the prudence of a general -distrust, and the imprudence of making no exception to that rule, upon -good and tried grounds. You will see the utility of good breeding -toward one’s greatest enemies, and the high imprudence and folly of -either insulting or injurious expressions. - - - - -FOOTNOTES - -[1] The greatest English writer of the present day thus sums up the -eighteenth century:--“An age of which Hoadly was the bishop, and -Walpole the minister, and Pope the poet, and Chesterfield the wit, -and Tillotson the ruling doctor.”--Newman, _Essays Critical and -Historical_, i. 388. - -[2] For another, very different, view of the life and studies at -Cambridge at the time, see the _Life of Ambrose Bonwicke_ (1694-1714). - -[3] [“_Pasquin._ A Dramatic Satire on the Times, by Henry Fielding. -Acted at the Haymarket, 1736; 1740.” (Baker.)] - -[4] [“_King Charles I._ Hist Tr. by W. Havard, 1737.” (Ibid.).] - -[5] Chesterfield says he had been accustomed to read and translate the -great masterpieces to improve and form his style. His indebtedness to -Milton in his _Areopagitica_ in the above passage is obvious. - -[6] See Letter CCXV., also CCXII. - -[7] It is just possible, though I have nowhere seen it affirmed, that -Voltaire and Chesterfield may have met, still earlier, in Holland. For -in 1713 they were both there. Their attainments there were all but -parallel, Voltaire succumbing to a fatal passion in 1713, which did -not, to our knowledge, overtake Chesterfield till his second visit in -1729. - -[8] He must just have escaped traveling from Leipzig to Berlin with -Lessing. Both took the journey in February, 1749. - -[9] For his fine sense of the quality of words witness: “An -unharmonious and rugged period at this time shocks my ears, and I, like -all the rest of the world, will willingly exchange and give up some -degree of rough sense for a good degree of pleasing sound.” - -[10] Characteristically, no mention is made of Shaftesbury nor of -Hutcheson. - -[11] _Cf._ Sir Walter Raleigh’s “Every Man’s Folly ought to be his -greatest secret.”--(_Instructions to his Son._) - -[12] “A wise Atheist (if such a thing there is) would, for his own -interest and character in the world, pretend to some religion.”--Letter -CLXXX. - -[13] In this Essay, by the late M. Sainte-Beuve, nothing has been -altered, although, in one or two places, even his critical acuteness -seems to have missed its point. - -[14] This is no longer a conjecture, but a certainty, after what I read -in the edition of _Lord Chesterfield’s Letters_, published in London -by Lord Mahon in 1847 (4 vols.). See vol. iii., page 159. I was not -acquainted with this edition when I wrote my article.--C. DE S. B. - -[15] This was written in June, 1850. - -[16] This first letter will form a key to Chesterfield’s character. It -is partly badinage, and yet contains the elements of his lordship’s -idea. He has already begun to teach “Mr. Stanhope,” and addresses as -Monsieur a child of the mature age of five years. We have purposely -omitted other letters, some in Latin, _Phillipo Stanhope, adhuc -puerulo_, which contain merely historical and geographical information -fit for a little schoolboy. - -[17] Lord Chesterfield was, as will be afterwards seen, particularly -anxious that his son should imbibe political, geographical, and -historical knowledge, hence these details to a child of five. - -[18] Young Mr. Stanhope’s tutor. - -[19] In a previous letter, which has been lost, Chesterfield has been -teaching rhetoric to a boy of about seven years old, for, referring -to it, he says: “En vérité je crois que vous êtes le premier garcon à -qui, _avant l’âge de huit ans_, on ait jamais parlé des figures de la -rhétorique, comme j’ai fait dans ma dernière.” - -[20] We learn by a subsequent reference that the little fellow wished -not to be called Colas, but Polyglot, from knowing already three or -four languages. - -[21] CAREFUL IMITATION.--_Philip Chesterfield to his dear little boy -Philip Stanhope, wishing health, etc._ Your last letter was very -grateful to me; not only was it nicely written, but in it you promise -to take great care and to win, deservedly, true praise. But I must -say plainly that I much suspect you of having had the help of a good -and able master in composing it; and he being your guide and adviser, -it will be your own fault if you do not acquire elegancy of style, -learning, and all that can make you good and wise. I entreat you, -therefore, carefully to imitate so good a pattern; the more you regard -him the more you will love me. [_About July, 1741._] - -[22] In the beginning of this letter, which contains a lesson upon -Julius Cæsar, Chesterfield says: “You know so much more and learn so -much better than any boy of your age, that you see I do not treat you -like a boy, but write to you on subjects fit for men to consider.” - -[23] So also Home,-- - - “Amen! and virtue is its own reward.” - - _Douglas_, Act. iii. Sc. 1. - -And Claudian, quoted by Chesterfield, - - “Ipsa quidem virtus pretium sibi, solaque latè - Fortunæ secura nitet,” etc. - -[24] Written in Latin. _Philippus Chesterfield, Phillippo Stanhope -adhuc puerulo, sed eras e pueritiâ egressuro. S. D._ Dated, Kalend, -Maii, 1741. - -[25] In the compilation called “Lord Chesterfield’s Maxims,” wherein -part of this letter is given, all the characteristic points are left -out. Thus, where Chesterfield reminds his son that manner is of -consequence in pleasing, _especially the women_, the purist has excised -the words in italics. - -[26] His Lordship’s badinage, or it may be sarcasm, which the little -boy quickly perceived. - -[27] His lordship was then Viceroy of Ireland. - -[28] Mr. Stanhope was then travelling with his tutor in Germany. - -[29] A good natured but somewhat silly book in which M. L’Abbé -instructs certain young ladies and gentlemen by means of sundry -conversations and reflections. - -[30] His lordship had during this year been made one of his Majesty’s -Secretaries of State. - -[31] Chesterfield had inclosed in a letter from Mr. Stanhope’s mamma -one from his own sister, thanking the boy for some Arquebusade water. -His lordship sent a rough copy of a polite answer to this note. - -[32] Lord Chesterfield had been urging his son to send a Dresden -tea-service to his mother, which he did. - -[33] A pun; the pillars from Canons in Middlesex. - -[34] It is well, in the present state of society, to reflect upon the -intimacy here shown between persons in trade and those in high life. - -[35] A somewhat curious use of the phrase, but well explained by -Johnson. - -[36] De Retz, from whose “Mémoires” Lord Chesterfield quoted a sentence -in the commencement of the letter. - -[37] The author, as he says, often repeats himself; see _ante_, p. 180. - -[38] Pic-nic. Johnson does not mention this word, nor do his -predecessors, Ashe and Bailey. Richardson does not give it even in his -supplement. Worcester cites Widegren, 1788; this then is the earliest -use of the word by an author of weight. - -[39] On a German question. - -[40] An open face with a close (or secret) mind. - -[41] This little note is inserted to show that Lord Chesterfield’s -repetitions were not unknown to himself. The most flagrant we have -omitted. - -[42] As indeed did George III. _teste_ the anecdote of Kemble: “Mr. -Kemble, _obleige_ me with a pinch of snuff.” “It would become your -Majesty’s royal mouth better to say _oblige_.” - -[43] We retain this as a picture of the morals of the time, and to -satisfy the reader’s curiosity as to the subject of so much care on the -part of his father. - -[44] “Letters on the Spirit of Patriotism, on the Idea of a Patriot -King.” - -[45] A notorious, wretched debauchee, who has been pilloried into a -miserable and degraded immortality by Arbuthnot, Pope and Hogarth; the -painter has given us his portrait in “The Harlot’s Progress,” plate 1. -Pope has set him up as an instance of that hardest trial to good men, -the success of the wicked: - - “Should some lone temple, nodding to its fall, - For Chartres’ head reserve the nodding wall.” - -And Arbuthnot wrote the most tremendously severe epitaph in the whole -range of literature on him while yet alive: “Here _continueth to rot_ -the body of Colonel Francis Chartres,” etc. Finally, Chesterfield -points him out to his son as the most notorious blasted rascal in the -world--blasted, indeed, as by lightning. It is needless to say that -this word is not used as a vulgar oath, but to point out a man whose -name is, as the Bible of 1551 has it: “Marred forever by _blastynge_.” - -[46] Benedict XIV.--the amiable Lambertini, who was thought by -Chesterfield too much of a savant and a man of the world to be -foolishly devout. - -[47] The lady was turned fifty, and Chesterfield recommends her as a -chaperone. - -[48] Strong as this reprobation is, it is as much needed to-day as when -written; the whole English race (if we credit _Westminster Review_, -March, 1869), especially the upper class, is suffering from the awful -effects of vice. - -[49] Thus Englished by the famous Tom Brown: - - “I do not love thee, Dr. Fell, the reason why I cannot tell, - But this I know and know full well, I do _not_ love thee, Dr. Fell.” - -[50] The Maréchal de Richelieu. - -[51] This single word implies decorum, good breeding, and propriety. - -[52] As to terminations, so careful were the best French poets of their -rhymes. - -[53] Chesterfield had at once perceived the emptiness of the saying, -which is certainly not in _ipsissimis verbis_ of Lord Shaftesbury. “We -have,” says Carlyle, in his “Essay on Voltaire,” “oftener than once -endeavored to attach some meaning to that aphorism, vulgarly imputed to -Shaftesbury--which, however, _we can find nowhere in his works_,--that -ridicule is the test of truth.” In the “Characteristics of Enthusiasm,” -sec. 2, there is this sentence, which comes very near it:--“How is it, -etc., that we (Christians) appear such cowards in reasoning, and are -so afraid _to stand the test of ridicule_”; but further on (p. 11, ed. -1733, vol. i.) he asks: “For what ridicule can lie against reason? or -how can any one of the least justice of thought admire a ridicule wrong -placed? Nothing is more ridiculous than this itself.” Shaftesbury often -returns to this subject; see “Errors in Wit,” etc. - -[54] Ariosto, Tasso, and Boccaccio: the Orlando, Gierusalemme, and -Decamerone. - -[55] See “Maxims,” p. 328. - -[56] These maxims are referred to on page 324. - -[57] Upon the back of the original is written, in Mr. Stanhope’s hand, -“Excellent Maxims, but more calculated for the meridian of France or -Spain than of England.” - -[58] This Maxim, as well as several others, evidently prove they were -written by a man subject to despotic government. - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - -Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations -in hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other -spelling and punctuation remains unchanged. - -Italics are represented thus _italic_. - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS, SENTENCES AND -MAXIMS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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