LONDON, April 1, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY: I have not received any letter, either from you or from Mr.
Harte, these three posts, which I impute wholly to accidents between this
place and Leipsig; and they are distant enough to admit of many. I always
take it for granted that you are well, when I do not hear to the
contrary; besides, as I have often told you, I am much more anxious about
your doing well, than about your being well; and, when you do not write,
I will suppose that you are doing something more useful. Your health will
continue, while your temperance continues; and at your age nature takes
sufficient care of the body, provided she is left to herself, and that
intemperance on one hand, or medicines on the other, do not break in upon
her. But it is by no means so with the mind, which, at your age
particularly, requires great and constant care, and some physic. Every
quarter of an hour, well or ill employed, will do it essential and
lasting good or harm. 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 as
much more above him as 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. If Shakespeare’s genius had
been cultivated, those beauties, which we so justly admire in him, would
have been undisgraced by those extravagancies, and that nonsense, with
which they are frequently accompanied. People are, in general, what they
are made, by education and company, from fifteen to five-and-twenty;
consider well, therefore, the importance of your next eight or nine
years; your whole depends upon them. I will tell you sincerely, my hopes
and my fears concerning you. I think you will be a good scholar; and that
you will acquire a considerable stock of knowledge of various kinds; but
I fear that you neglect what are called little, though, in truth, they
are very material things; I mean, a gentleness of manners, an engaging
address, and an insinuating behavior; they are real and solid advantages,
and none but those who do not know the world, treat them as trifles. I am
told that you speak very quick, and not distinctly; this is a most
ungraceful and disagreeable trick, which you know I have told you of a
thousand times; pray attend carefully to the correction of it. An
agreeable and, distinct manner of speaking adds greatly to the matter;
and I have known many a very good speech unregarded, upon account of the
disagreeable manner in which it has been delivered, and many an
indifferent one applauded, from the contrary reason. Adieu!