MY DEAR FRIEND: Since your letter from Sienna, which gave me a very
imperfect account both of your illness and your recovery, I have not
received one word either from you or Mr. Harte. I impute this to the
carelessness of the post simply: and the great distance between us at
present exposes our letters to those accidents. But when you come to
Paris, from whence the letters arrive here very regularly, I shall insist
upon you writing to me constantly once a week; and that upon the same
day, for instance, every Thursday, that I may know by what mail to expect
your letter. I shall also require you to be more minute in your account
of yourself than you have hitherto been, or than I have required, because
of the informations which I receive from time to time from Mr. Harte. At
Paris you will be out of your time, and must set up for yourself; it is
then that I shall be very solicitous to know how you carry on your
business. While Mr. Harte was your partner, the care was his share, and
the profit yours. But at Paris, if you will have the latter, you must
take the former along with it. It will be quite a new world to you; very
different from the little world that you have hitherto seen; and you will
have much more to do in it. You must keep your little accounts constantly
every morning, if you would not have them run into confusion, and swell
to a bulk that would frighten you from ever looking into them at all. You
must allow some time for learning what you do not know, and some for
keeping what you do know; and you must leave a great deal of time for
your pleasures; which (I repeat it, again) are now become the most
necessary part of your education. It is by conversations, dinners,
suppers, entertainments, etc., in the best companies, that you must be
formed for the world. ‘Les manieres les agremens, les graces’ cannot be
learned by theory; they are only to be got by use among those who have
them; and they are now the main object of your life, as they are the
necessary steps to your fortune. 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.
A system-monger, who, without knowing anything of the world by
experience, has formed a system, of it in his dusty cell, lays it down,
for example, that (from the general nature of mankind) flattery is
pleasing. He will therefore flatter. But how? Why, indiscriminately. And
instead of repairing and heightening the piece judiciously, with soft
colors and a delicate pencil,--with a coarse brush and a great deal of
whitewash, he daubs and besmears the piece he means to adorn. His
flattery offends even his patron; and is almost too gross for his
mistress. A man of the world knows the force of flattery as well as he
does; but then he knows how, when, and where to give it; he proportions
his dose to the constitution of the patient. He flatters by application,
by inference, by comparison, by hint, and seldom directly. In the course
of the world, there is the same difference in everything between system
and practice.
I long to have you at Paris, which is to be your great school; you will
be then in a manner within reach of me.
Tell me, are you perfectly recovered, or do you still find any remaining
complaint upon your lungs? Your diet should be cooling, and at the same
time nourishing. Milks of all kinds are proper for you; wines of all
kinds bad. A great deal of gentle, and no violent exercise, is good for
you. Adieu. ‘Gratia, fama, et valetudo, contingat, abunde!’