“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.