BATH, October 12, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY: I came here three days ago upon account of a disorder in my
stomach, which affected my head and gave me vertigo. I already find
myself something better; and consequently do not doubt but that the
course of these waters will set me quite right. But however and wherever
I am, your welfare, your character, your knowledge, and your morals,
employ my thoughts more than anything that can happen to me, or that I
can fear or hope for myself. I am going off the stage, you are coming
upon it; with me what has been, has been, and reflection now would come
too late; with you everything is to come, even, in some manner,
reflection itself; so that this is the very time when my reflections, the
result of experience, may be of use to you, by supplying the want of
yours. As soon as you leave Leipsig, you will gradually be going into the
great world; where the first impressions that you shall give of yourself
will be of great importance to you; but those which you shall receive
will be decisive, for they always stick. 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
motly 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 learned;
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 merit 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 ‘literati’
by profession; which is not the way either, to shine, or rise in the
world.
The company of professed wits and pests 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. You will,
perhaps, be surprised that I should think it necessary to warn you
against such company, but yet I do not think it wholly, unnecessary, from
the many instances which I have seen of men of sense and rank,
discredited, verified, and undone, by keeping such company.
Vanity, that source of many of our follies, and of some of our crimes,
has sunk many a man into company, in every light infinitely, below
himself, for the sake of being the first man in it. There he dictates, is
applauded, admired; and, for the sake of being the Coryphceus of that
wretched chorus, disgraces and disqualifies himself soon for any better
company. Depend upon it, you will sink or rise to the level of the
company which you commonly keep: people will judge of you, and not
unreasonably, by that. 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 in 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, new 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. He there sees some people who shine, and
who in general are admired and esteemed; and observes that these people
are whoremasters, drunkards, or gamesters, upon which he adopts their
vices, mistaking their defects for their perfections, and thinking that
they owe their fashions and their luster to those genteel vices. Whereas
it is exactly the reverse; for these people have acquired their
reputation by their parts, their learning, their good-breeding, and other
real accomplishments: and are only blemished and lowered, in the opinions
of all reasonable people, and of their own, in time, by these genteel and
fashionable vices. A whoremaster, in a flux, or without a nose, is a very
genteel person, indeed, and well worthy of imitation. A drunkard,
vomiting up at night the wine of the day, and stupefied by the headache
all the next, is, doubtless, a fine model to copy from. And a gamester,
tearing his hair, and blaspheming, for having lost more than he had in
the world, is surely a most amiable character. No; these are alloys, and
great ones too, which can never adorn any character, but will always
debase the best. To prove this, suppose any man, without parts and some
other good qualities, to be merely a whoremaster, a drunkard, or a
gamester; how will he be looked upon by all sorts of people? Why, as a
most contemptible and vicious animal. Therefore it is plain, that in
these mixed characters, the good part only makes people forgive, but not
approve, the bad.
I will hope and believe that you will have no vices; but if,
unfortunately, you should have any, at least I beg of you to be content
with your own, and to adopt no other body’s.
The adoption of vice has, I am convinced, ruined ten times more young men
than natural inclinations.
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 like a man. When I went abroad, I first went to The Hague, where
gaming was much in fashion, and where I observed that many people of
shining rank and character gamed too. I was then young enough, and silly
enough, to believe that gaming was one of their accomplishments; and, as
I aimed at perfection, I adopted gaming as a necessary step to it. Thus I
acquired by error the habit of a vice which, far from adorning my
character, has, I am conscious, been a great blemish in it.
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.
Having thus confessed some of my ‘egaremens’, I will now show you a
little of my right side. I always endeavored to get into the best company
wherever I was, and commonly succeeded. There I pleased to some degree by
showing a desire to please. I took care never to be absent or ‘distrait’;
but on the contrary, attended to everything that was said, done, or even
looked, in company; I never failed in the minutest attentions and was
never ‘journalier’. These things, and not my ‘egaremens’, made me
fashionable. Adieu! This letter is full long enough.