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350

pany, 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 confidered
only as one of that particular fet.

But the company, which of all others you should most carefully avoid, is, that low company, which, in every fenfe of the word, is low indeed; low in rank, low in parts, low in manners, and low in merit. You will, perhaps, be furprized, that I should think it neceffary to warn you againft such company; but yet I do not think it wholly unneceffary, after the many inſtances which I have seen, of men of fenfe and rank, diſcredited, vilified, and undone, by keeping such company. Vanity, that source of many of our follies, and of ſome of our crimes, has funk many a man into company, in every light infinitely below himſelf, for the fake of being the firſt man in it. There he dictates, is applauded, admired; and, for the fake of being the Corypbæus of that wretched chorus, diſgraces, and diſqualifies himſelf ſoon for any better company. Depend upon it, you will ſink or rife to the level of the company which you commonly keep: people will judge of you, and not unreaſonably, by that. There is good fenfe in the Spaniſh ſaying, "Tell me who you live with, and I " will tell you who you are." Make it therefore your bufineſs, wherever you are, to get into that company, which every body 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 fashional people, whose characters and morals are very different, though their manners are pretty much the fame. When a young man, new in the world, firſt gets into that company,

TO HIS SON.

351

pany, 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 fashional vices. He there fees ſome people who ſhine, and who in general are admired and eſteemed; and obſerves, that theſe people are whoſemaſters, drunkards, or gameſters: upon which he adopts their vices, miſtaking their defects for their perſections, and thinking that they owe their fashion and their luſtre to theſe genteel vices. Whereas it is exaſtly 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 fashional vices. A whoſemaſter, 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 ſtupeſed by the head-ach all the next, is, doubtlesſ, a fine model to copy from. And a gameſter, tearing his hair, and blaſpheming, for having loft more than he had in the world, is ſurely a moſt amiable character. No; theſe are allays, 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 whoſemaſter, a drunkard, or a gameſter; How will he be looked upon, by all forts 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.

2

As

352 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

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 ſaſhion; and where I obſerved that many people, of ſhining rank and character, gamed too. I was then young enough, and filly enough, to believe, that gaming was one of their accomplishments; and, as I aimed at perſection, I adopted gaming as a neceſſary ſlep 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 per-
fections of the good company which you may get into; copy
their politenesſs, their carriage, their addreſs, and the eafy 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 hand-
ſome 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 *égaremens*, I will now ſhow
you a little of my right ſide. I always endeavoured to get into the
beſt company, wherever I was, and commonly ſucceeded. There
I pleafed, to ſome degree, by ſhowing a defire to pleafe. I took
care never to be abſent or *dijſprait*; but, on the contrary, attended
to every thing that was faſd, done, or even looked, in company :
I never failed in the minuteſt attentions, and was never *journalier*.
These things, and not my *égaremens*, made me fashionable.

Adieu! this letter is full long enough.

LETTER

TO HIS SON.

353

LETTER CXXXIV.

Bath, October the 19th, O. S. 1748.

DEAR BOY,

HAVING, in my laſt, pointed out, what ſort of com-
pany you ſhould keep, I will now give you ſome rules
for your conduct in it; rules which my own experience and ob-
fervation enable me to lay down, and communicate to you, with
ſome degree of confidence. I have often given you hints of this
kind before, but then it has been by ſnatches; I will now be
more regular and methodical. I ſhall fay nothing with regard to
your bodily carriage and addreſs, but leave them to the care of
your dancing-mafter, and to your own attention to the beſt mo-
dels: remember, however, that they are of conſequence.

Talk often, but never long; in that cafe, if you do not pleafe,
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 cafes in which people do not care to be treated,
every one being fully convinced that he has wherewithal to pay.

Tell ſtories very ſeldom, and, absolutely, never, but where they
are very apt, and very ſhort. Omit every circumſtance that is
not material, and beware of digreflions. To have frequent recourse
to narrative, betrays great want of imagination.

Never hold any body by the button, or the hand, in order to
be heared 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 com-
pany (commonly him whom they obſerve to be the moſt filent) or
their next neighbour, to whifper, or at leaſt, in a half voice, to
convey a continuity of words to. This is exceſſively ill-bred,

Vol. I.

Zz

and,

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355

and, in fome degree, a fraud; converfation-flock being a joint
and common property. But, on the other hand, if one of thefe
unmerciful talkers lays hold of you, hear him with patience, (and
at leaft feeming 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 midft of his difcourfe,
or to discover your impatience under your afflіction.

Take, rather than give, the tone of the company you are in. If
you have parts you will show them, more or lefs, upon every sub-
jeft; and if you have not, you had better talk fillily upon a sub-
jeft of other people's, than of your own chufing.

Avoid, as much as you can, in mixed companies, argumentative,
polemical converfations; which, though they should not, yet cer-
tainly do, indifpofe, for a time, the contending parties towards each
other: and, if the controversy grows warm and noify, endeavour to
put an end to it, by fome genteel levity or joke. I quieted fuch a
converfation-hubbub once, by repreſenting to them, that, though
I was perfuaded none there prefent would repeat, out of company,
what pafled in it, yet I could not anſwer for the difcretion of the
pafengers in the street, who muſt neceſſarily hear all that was
faid.

Above all things, and upon all occafions, avoid ſpeaking of
yourself, if it be poffible. 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 egotifm.

Some, abruptly, ſpeak advantageouſly of themselves, without
either pretence or provocation. They are impudent. Others
proceed more artfully, as they imagine; and forge accufations
againſt themselves, complain of calumnies which they never
heared, in order to juſtify themselves, by exhibiting a catalogue
of their many virtues. They acknowledge that it may, indeed,
seem

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TO HIS SON.

355

seem old, that they ſhould talk in that manner of themselves; it is
what they do not like, and what they never would have done; no,
no tortures ſhould ever have forced it from them, if they had not
been thus unſuably and monſtrously accuſed. But, in these cafes,
juſtice is ſurely due to one's ſelf, as well as to others; and, when
our character is attacked, we may ſay, in our own justification,
what otherwife we never would have faid. This thin veil of
Modeſtly, drawn before Vanity, is much too transparent, to con-
ceal it, even from very moderate discernment.

Others go more modeſtly and more flily fill (as they think) to
work; but, in my mind, fill more ridicuſlly. They confefs
themselves (not without ſome degree of ſhame and confuſion)
into all the Cardinal Virtues; by firſt degrading them into weak-
neſſes, and then owning their misfortune, in being made up of
thoſe weakneſſes. They cannot ſee people ſuffer, without ſympa-
thiſing with, and endeavouring to help them. They cannot ſee people
want, without relieving them; though, truly, their own circum-
flances cannot very well afford it. They cannot help ſpeaking truth,
though they know all the imprudence of it. In ſhort, they know
that, with all theſe weakneſſes, they are not fit to live in the world,
much leſs to thrive in it. But they are now too old to change, and
muſt rub on as well as they can. This ſounds too ridiculous and
outré, almoſt, for the ſtage; and yet, take my word for it, you will
frequently meet with it, upon the common ſtage of the world. And
here I will obſerve, by the bye, that you will often meet with
characters in nature ſo extravagant, that a diſcreet Poet would not
venture to fet them upon the ſtage, in their true and high colouring.

This principle of vanity and pride is ſo ſtrong in hu-
man nature, that it defcends even to the lowest objects; and
one often fees people angling for praeſe, where, admitting all
they ſay to be true, (which, by the way, it ſeldom is) no juſt
praeſe

Z z 2

356 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

praife is to be caught. One man affirms that he has rode poft
an hundred miles in fix hours: probably it is a lie; but, fup-
poſing it to be true, what then? Why he is a very good poſt-boy,
that is all. Another aflerts, and probably not without oaths,
that he has drank fix or eight bottles of wine at a fitting: out
of charity, I will believe him a liar; for, if I do not, I muſt
think him a beaſt.

Such, and a thouſand more, are the follies and extravagancies,
which vanity draws people into, and which always defeat their
own purpofe; and, as Waller ſays, upon another ſubject,

Make the wretch the moſt deſpised,
Where moſt he wishes to be prized.

The only ſure way of avoiding theſe evils, is, never to ſpeak of
yourſelf at all. But when, hiftorically, you are obliged to mention
yourſelf, take care not to drop one ſingle word, that can, directly
or indirectly, be conftrued as ſtringing for applaſe. Be your
character what it will, it will be known; and nobody will take it
upon your own word. Never imagine that any thing you can
ſay, yourſelf, will varnifh your deſfects, or add luſtre to your per-
fections; but, on the contrary, it may, and nine times in ten
will, make the former more glaring, and the latter obſcure. If
you are filent upon your own ſubject, neither envy, indignation,
nor ridicule, will obſtruct or allay the applaſe which you may
really deferve; but if you publifh your own panegyric, upon
any occafion, or in any ſhape whatsoever, and however artfully
dressed or diſguſed, they will all confpire againſt you, and you
will be diſappointed at the very end you aim at.

Take care never to ſeem dark and myſterious; which is not
only a very unamiable character, but a very ſuſpicious one too:
if you ſeem myſterious with others, they will be really ſo
with

TO HIS SON.

with you, and you will know nothing. The height of abilities is,
to have volto ſciolto, and penſieri ſbretti; that is, a frank, open,
and ingenuous exterior, with a prudent and reſerved interior: to
be upon your own guard, and yet, by a ſeeming natural openneſs,
to put people off of theirs. Depend upon it, nine in ten of every
company that you are in, will avail themſelves of every indifcreet
and unguarded expreſſion of yours, if they can turn it to their
own advantage. A prudent reſerve is therefore as neceſſary, as a
ſeeming openneſs is prudent. Always look people in the face
when you ſpeak to them; the not doing it is thought to imply
conſcious guilt; heſides, that you loſe the advantage of obſerving,
by their countenances, what impreſſion your diſcourſe makes upon
them. In order to know people's real ſentiments, I truſt much
more to my eyes than to my ears; for they can ſay whatever they
have a mind I should hear; but they can ſeldom help looking,
what they have no intention that I should know.

Neither retail nor receive ſcandal, willingly; for though the de-
famation of others may, for the preſent, gratify the malignity of the
pride of our hearts, cool reflection will drawvery diſadvantageous
conſuſions from ſuch a diſpoſition: and in the cafe of ſcandal, as
in that of robbery, the receiver is always thought as bad as the thief.

Mimickry, which is the common and favourite 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
practife it yourſelf, nor applaud it in others. Befides 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) advife you to adapt your converſation to
the people you are converſing with: for I ſuppofe you would not,
without this caution, have talked upon the fame ſubject, and in
the

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358

the fame manner, to a Minifter of State, a Bishop, a Philoso-
pher, a Captain, and a Woman. A man of the world muft,
like the Cameleon, be able to take every different hue; which is
by no means a criminal or abject, but a neceflary complaifance,
for it relates only to Manners, and not to Morals.

One word only, as to fwearing; and that, I hope and believe,
is more than is neceflary. You may fometimes hear fome people,
in good company, interlard their difcourfe with oaths by way of
embellifhment, as they think; but you muft obſerve, too, that
thofe who do ſo, are never thofe 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 prac-
tife, befides that it has no one temptation to plead, is as filly,
and as illiberal, as it is wicked.

Loud laughter is the mirth of the mob, who are only pleaded
with filly things; for true Wit or good Senſe never excited a
laugh, ſince the creation of the world. A man of parts and fa-
ſhion 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
eſfect, if unaccompanied by the Graces. Whatever you ſay, if
you ſay it with a ſupercilious, Cynical face, or an embarrafled
countenance, or a filly, diſconcerted grin, will be ill received. If,
into the bargain, you mutter it, or utter it indilfinſely, and un-
gracefully, 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 pleafe: and,
without pleafing, you will rife but heavily. Venus, among the An-
cients, was ſynomous with the Graces, who were always ſup-
poſed to accompany her: and Horace tells us, that even Youth,
and

TO HIS SON.

359

and Mercury, the God of Arts and Eloquence, would not do
without her.

Parum comis fine to Juventas Mercuriufque.

They are not inexorable Ladies, and may be had, if properly
and diligently purfued. Adieu.

LETTER CXXXV.

Bath, October the 29th, O. S. 1748.

DEAR BOY,

MY anxiety for your ſuccesſes increaſes, in proportion as the time approaches of your taking your part upon the great ſtage of the world. The audience will form their opinion of you upon your firſt appearance, (making the proper allowance for your inexperience) and ſo far it will be final, that, though it may vary as to the degrees, it will never totally change. This confidence excites that reſtleſs attention, with which I am conſtantly examining how I can beſt contribute to the perfection of that character, in which the leaſt ſpot or blemiſh would give me more real concern, than I am now capable of feeling upon any other account whatsoever.

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 ſuppofe that you wanted, or could
receive, any new inſtructions upon thofe two important points. Mr.
Harte, I am ſure, has not neglected them; and, befides, they are
ſo obvious to common ſenſe and reaſon, that commentators may
(as they often do) perplex, but cannot make them clearer. My
province,

360 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

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 flate of natural ebriety; and want rails, and garde-
fous, wherever they go, to hinder them from breaking their
necks. This drunkenneſs of youth, is not only tolerated, but
even pleafes, 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 ex-
perience 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 defer, than who
like cenſure. Should you therefore expatiate in the praife of ſome
virtue, which ſome in company notoriously want ; or declaim
againſt any vice, which others are notoriously inſected with ; your
reflections, however general and unapplied, will, by being appli-
cable, be thought perſonal, and levelled at thoſe people. This
consideration points out to you, ſufficiently, not to be ſuſpicious
and captious yourſelf, nor to ſuppofe that things, becauſe they
may, are therefore meant at you. The manners of well-bred
people ſecure one from thoſe indirect and mean attacks; but if,
by chance, a ſlippant woman, or a pert coxcomb, lets off any
thing of that kind, it is much better not to ſeem to underſtand,
than to reply to it.

Cautiously avoid talking of either your own or other people's
domeſtic affairs. Yours are nothing to them, but tedious; theirs
are nothing to you. The ſubject is a tender one; and it is odds
but

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361

but that you touch somebody or other's fore place: for, in this
cafe, there is no truſting to ſpecious appearances; which may be,
and often are, so contrary to the real ſituations of things,
between men and their wives, parents and their children, ſeem-
ing friends, &c. that, with the best intentions in the world, one
often blunders diſagreeably.

Remember, that the wit, humour, and jokes, of moſt mixed
companies, are local. They thrive in that particular foil, but will
not, often, bear tranſplanting. Every company is differently
circumſtanced, has its particular cant, and jargon; which may give
occafion to wit, and mirth, within that circle, but would ſeem
flat and infipid in any other, and therefore will not bear repeat-
ing. Nothing makes a man look ſillier, than a pleafantry, not
reliſhed or not underſood; and if he meets with a profound
ſilence, when he expected a general applaſe, or, what is worſe, if
he is defired to explain the *bon mot*, his awkward and embarraſſed
ſituation is eaprof imagined than deſcribed. *A propos* of repeat-
ing; take great care never to repeat (I do not mean here the plea-
fantries) in one company what you hear in another. Things,
ſeemingly indifferent, may, by circulation, have much graver con-
ſequences than you would imagine. Befides, there is a general
tacit truſt in converſation, by which a man is obliged not to report
any thing out of it, though he is not immediately enjoined
ſecrecy. A retailer of this kind is ſure to draw himſelf into a
thouſand ſerapes and diſcuffions, and to be ſhily and uncomfort-
ably received, wherever he goes.

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 ſollows*, 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 affent to,
concur

3 A

concur

362 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

concur in, and applaud, whatever is said or done in the company; and adopt, with the fame alacrity, the most virtuous or the most criminal, the wisest or the filliest scheme, that happens to be entertained by the majority of the company. This foolish, and often criminal complaifance, flows from a foolish caufe; the want of any other merit. I hope that 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 ftreadly; but then do it with good-humour, good-breeding; and (if you have it) with urbanity; for you have not yet heard enough, either to preach or cenfure.

All other kinds of complaifance are not only blameleſs, but neceſſary, in good company. Not to feem to perceive the little weakneſſes, and the idle but innocent affectations of the company, but even to flatter them, in a certain manner, is not only very allowable, but, in truth, a fort of polite duty. They will be pleafed with you, if you do; and will certainly not be re- formed by you, if you do not. For inſtance; you will find, in every groupe of company, two principal figures, wize, the fine Lady and the fine Gentleman; who absolutely give the law of Wit, Lan- guage, Fafhion, and Taſte, to the reſt of that ſociety. There is always a ftrict, and often, for the time being, a tender alliance between theſe two figures. The Lady looks upon her empire as founded upon the divine right of Beauty, (and full as good a divine right it is, as any King, Emperor, or Pope, can pretend to;) ſhe requires, and commonly meets with, unlimited paffive obedi- ence. And why ſhould ſhe not meet with it? Her demands go no higher, than to have her unqueſtioned pre-eminence in Beauty, Wit, and Fafhion, firmly eſtabliſhed. Few Sovereigns (by the way) are ſo reaſonable. The fine Gentleman's claims of right are, mutatis mutandis, the fame; and though, indeed, he is not always a Wit de jure,

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TO HIS SON.

jure, yet, as he is the Wit de faſto of that company, he is intitled to a ſhare of your allegiance; and every body expects, at least, as much as they are entitled to, if not ſomething more. Prudence bids you make your court to theſe joint Sovereigns; and no duty, that I know of, forbids it. Rebellion, here, is exceedingly dan- gerous, and inevitably puniſhed, by baniſhment, and immediate forfeiture of all your wit, manners, taſte, and fashión: as, on the other hand, a chearful ſubmiſſion, not without ſome flattery, is ſure to procure you a ſtrong recommendation, and moſt eſſec- tual pafs, throughout all their, and probably the neighbouring dominions. With a moderate ſhare of ſagacity, you will, before you have been half an hour in their company, eaſily diſcover theſe two principal figures; both by the deference which you will obſerve the whole company pay them, and by that eaſy, careleſs, and ſerene air, which their conſciouſneſs of power gives them. As in this cafe, ſo in all others, aim always at the higheſt; get always into the higheſt company, and addreſs yourſelf particu- larly to the higheſt in it. The ſearch after the unattainable philoso- pher's ſtone has occaſioned a thouſand uſeful diſcoveries, which, otherwife, would never have been made.

What the French juſtly call les manieres nobles, are only to be acquired in the very beſt companies. They are the diſtinguifhing characteriſtics of men of fashión: people of low education never wear them ſo cloſe, but that ſome part or other of the original vulgarism appears. Les manieres nobles equally forbid infolent contempt, or low envy and jealouſy. Low people, in good circum- stances, fine clothes, and equipages, will infolently ſhow con- tempt for all theſe, who cannot afford as fine clothes, as good an equipage, and who have not (as their term is) as much money in their pockets: on the other hand, they are gnawed with envy, and cannot help diſcovering it, of theſe who ſurpafs them in any

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of these articles; which are far from being pure criterions of merit. They are, likewise, jealous of being flighted; and, consequently, fuspicious and captious: they are eager and hot about trifles; becaufe trifles were, at first, their affairs of confequence. *Les manieres nobles* imply exacely the reverfe of all this. Study them early; you cannot make them too habitual and familiar to you.

Juft as I had written what goes before, I received your letter of the 24th, N. S. but I have not received that which you mention from Mr. Harte. Yours is of the kind that I defire; for I want to fee your private picture, drawn by yourfelf, at different fittings; for though, as it is drawn by yourfelf, I prefume you will take the moſt advantageous likenefs; yet, I think, that I have ſkill enough in that kind of painting, to diſcover the true features, though ever ſo artfully coloured, or thrown into ſkilful lights and flades.

By your account of the German Play, which I do not know whether I ſhould call Tragedy or Comedy, the only fining part of it (since I am in a way of quibbling) ſeems to have been the Fox's Tail. I prefume, too, that the Play has had the fame fate with the Squib, and has gone off no more. I remember a ſquib much better applied, when it was made the device of the colours of a French regiment of grenadiers; it was reſrefented burſting, with this motto under it: *Peream dum luccam*.

I like the deſcription of your *Pic-nic*; where, I take it for granted, that your cards are only to break the formality of a circle, and your *Sympofion* intended more to promote converfation than drinking. Such an *amicable collifon*, as Lord Shaftesbury very pretty calls it, rubs off and smooths thefe rough corners, which mere nature has given to the ſmootheſt of us. I hope ſome part, at least, of the converſation is in German. *A propos*; tell

TO HIS SON.

365

tell me, do you ſpeak that language correctly, and do you write it with eafe? I have no doubt of your maſtering the other modern languages, which are much easier, and occur much oftener; for which reaſon, I define that you will apply moſt dili-gently to German, while you are in Germany, that you may ſpeak and write that language moſt correctly.

I expect to meet Mr. Eliot in London, in about three weeks, after which you will foon fee him at Leipzig. Adieu.

## LETTER CXXXVI.

London, November the 18th, O. S. 1748.

DEAR BOY,

WHATEVER I fee, or whatever I hear, my firſt confidence is, whether it can, in any way, be uſeful to you. As a proof of this, I went accidentally, the other day, into a print-shop; where, among many others, I found one print from a famous defign of Carlo Maratti, who died about thirty years ago, and was the laſt eminent painter in Europe: the ſubject is, *il Studio del Difegno*; or, the School of Drawing. An old man, ſuppoſed to be the Maſter, points to his Scholars, who are variously employed, in Perſpective, Geometry, and the obſerva-tion of the ſtatures of antiquity. With regard to Perſpective, of which there are ſome little ſpecimens; he has wrote, *Tanto che baſti*, that is, *As much as is ſufficient*; with regard to Geometry, *Tanto che baſti* again; with regard to the contemplation of the ancient ſtatures, there is written, *Non mai a baſtanza*; *There never can be enough*. But, in the clouds, at top of the piece, are reſrefented the three Graces; with this juſt ſentence written over them, *Senza di noi ogni fatica è vana*; that is, *Without us, all*

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all labour is vain. This, every body allows to be true, in
painting; but all people do not seem to consider, as I hope
you will, that this truth is full as applicable to every other
art or science; indeed to every thing that is to be said or done.
I will fend you the print itself, by Mr. Eliot, when he returns;
and I will advise you to make the fame of it, that the Roman
Catholics say they do of the pictures and images of their faints;
which is, only to remind them of that; for the adoration they
difclaim. Nay, I will go farther, and, as the transition
from Popery to Paganifm is short and easy, I will classically
and poetically advise you to invoke, and sacrifice to them every
day, and all the day. It must be owned, that the Graces do not
 seem to be natives of Great Britain; and, I doubt, the best of
 us, here, have more of the rough than the polished diamond.
Since barbarifm drove them out of Greece and Rome, they seem
to have taken refuge in France, where their temples are numerous,
and their worship the established one. Examine yourself ferioufly,
why such and such people please and engage you, more than
such and such others, of equal merit; and you will always find,
that it is because the former have the Graces, and the latter not.
I have known many a woman, with an exact shape, and a fymme-
trical affemblage of beautiful features, please nobody; while
others, with very moderate shapes and features, have charmed
every body. Why? Because Venus will not charm so much,
without her attendant Graces, as they will without her. Among
men, how often have I seen the moft solid merit and knowledge
neglected, unwelcome, or even rejected, for want of them?
While flimzy parts, little knowledge, and lefs merit, introduced
by the Graces, have been received, cherifhed, and admired.
Even virtue, which is moral beauty, wants fome of its charms,
if unaccompanied by them.

If you ask me how you shall acquire what neither you nor
I can

TO HIS SON.

367

I can define or ascertain; I can only answer, By observation.
Form yourself, with regard to others, upon what you
feel please you, in them. I can tell you the importance, the
advantage, of having the Graces; but I cannot give them you: I
heartily wish I could, and I certainly would; for I do not know
a better prefent that I could make you. To show you that a
very wife, philosophical, and retired man, thinks upon that sub-
ject as I do, who have always lived in the world, I fend you, by
Mr. Eliot, the famous Mr. Locke's book upon Education; in
which you will find the ſtrefi that he lays upon the Graces,
which he calls (and very truly) Good-breeding. I have marked all
the parts of that book, that 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 feat of the Graces; however, you had as good not ſay
fo while you are there. But the place which you are going to, in
a great degree, is; for I have known as many well-bred, pretty
men come from Turin, as from any part of Europe. The late
King Victor Amedee took great pains to form ſuch of his ſubjeſts
as were of any consideration, both to bufineſs and manners; the
prefent King, I am told, follows his example: this however is cer-
tain, that in all Courts and Congrefſes, where there are various
foreign Minifters, that of the King of Sardinia are generally the
ableſt, the politeſt, and les plus déliés. You will therefore, at Tu-
rin, have very good models to form yourself upon; and remember,
that with regard to the beſt models, as well as to the antique
Greek statues in the print, non mai a bafſanza. Obſerve every
word, look, and motion of thate who are allowed to be the moſt
accomplified perſons there. Obſerve their natural and careleſs,
but genteel air; their unembarraſed good-breeding; their unaſ-
fuming, but yet unprofitited dignity. Mind their decent mirth,
their

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

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their disfereet frankneſs, and that *entregent*, which, as much above the frivolous as below the important and the ſecret, is the proper medium for converſation in mixed companies. I will obſerve, by the bye, that the talent of that light *entregent* is often of great uſe to a foreign Minifter; not only as it helps him to domeſticate himſelf in many families, but alſo, as it enables him to put by, and parry ſome ſubjects of converſation, which might poſſibly lay him under difficulties, both what to ſay, and how to look.

Of all the men that ever I knew in my life, (and I knew him ex-
tremely well) the late Duke of Marlborough poſſeſed 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 hiftorians, who always aſſign deep cauſes for great
events) to aſcribe the better half of the Duke of Marlborough's
greatneſs and riches to thofe 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
thefe, alone, would probably have raiſed him but ſomething higher
than they found him; which was Page to King James the Se-
cond's Queen. There the Graces protected and promoted
him; for, while he was an Enſign of the Guards, the Dut-
chefs of Cleveland, then favourite miſtreſs to King Charles
the II, ſtruck by thofe 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, Hali-
fax; which was the foundation of his ſubſquent fortune. His
figure was beautiful; but his manner was irrefiſible, by 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

TO HIS SON.

369

jarring Powers of the Grand Alliance, and to carry them on to the
main object of the war, notwithstanding their private and ſepa-
rate views, jealousies, and wrongheadedneſs. Whatever Court
he went to, (and he was often obliged to go himſelf to ſome reſty
and refractory ones) he as conſtantly prevailed, and brought them
into his meaſures. The Penſionary Heinſius, a venerable old
Minifter, grown grey in buſineſs, and who had governed the Re-
public of the United Provinces for more than forty years, was
abſolutely governed by the Duke of Marlborough, as that Repub-
lic feels to this day. He was alwaſ cool; and nobody ever ob-
ferved the leaſt variation in his countenance: he could ſerefu more
gracefully than other people could grant; and thofe 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 gentlenefs and
graceſuſneſs, no man living was more confcious of his ſituation,
nor maintained his dignity better.

With the ſhare of knowledge which you have already gotten,
and with the much greater, which, I hope, you will ſoon acquire,
what may you not expect to arrive at, if you join all theſe graces
to it? In your deſ destination, particularly, they are, in truth, half
your buſineſs; for, if you can once gain the affections, as well as
the cſteem of the Prince or Minifter of the Court to which you
are ſent, I will anſwer for it, that will effectually do the buſineſs
of the Court that ſent you; otherwife, it is up-hill work. Do
not miſtake, and think, that theſe graces, which I ſo often and
ſo earneſtly recommend to you, ſhould only accompany impor-
tant tranſactions, and be worn only *les jours de gala*; no; they
ſhould, if poſſible, accompany every, the leaſt, thing that you do
or ſay; for, if you negleft them in little things, they will leave
you in great ones. I ſhould, for inſtance, be extremely concerned
VOL. I.

3 B
to

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LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

370

to fee you even drink a cup of coffee ungracefully, and flop your-
felf with it, by your awkward manner of holding it; nor should
I like to fee your coat buttoned, or your shoes buckled awry.
But I should be outrageous, if I heard you mutter your words un-
intelligibly, flammer in your speech, or hefitate, misplace, and
miftake in your narrations: and I should run away from you, with
greater rapidity, if poffible, than I should, now, run to embrace
you, if I found you deftitute of all thofe graces, which I have
fet my heart upon their making you one day, omnibus ornatum
excellere rebus.

This ſubject is inexhauſtible, as it extends to every thing
that is to be faid or done; but I will leave it for the pre-
fent, as this letter is already pretty long. Such is my defire,
my anxiety, for your perſection; that I never think I have faid
enough, though you may poffiblly think that I have faid 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 any body eſſe can ſay, will be inſufficient. But, where you
are concerned, I am the infatiable 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 poffible) no one defect.

I this moment receive yours of the 17th, N. S. and cannot
condole with you upon the ſeceedion of your German Com-
menfaux; who, both by your and Mr. Harte's deſcription, ſeem
to be des gens d'une aimable abſence: and, if you can replace
them by any other German converſation, you will be a gainer by
the bargain. I cannot conceive, if you underſtand German well
enough to read any German book, how the writing of the
German character can be ſo difficult and tedious to you, the
ſeventy-four letters being very ſoon learned; and I do not
expect

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TO HIS SON.

371

expect that you ſhould write yet with the utmoſt purity and cor-
rectneſs, as to the language: what I meant by your writing
once a fortnight to Grevenkop, was only to make the written cha-
racter familiar to you. However, I will be content with one in
three weeks, or ſo.

I believe you are not likely to fee Mr. Eliot again ſoon, he
being ſtill in Cornwall with his father; who, I hear, is not
likely to recover. Adieu.

LETTER CXXXVII.

London, November the 29th, O. S. 1748.

DEAR BOY,

I Delayed writing to you, till I could give you ſome account of
the motions of your friend, Mr. Eliot; for whom, I know,
you have, and very juſtly, the moſt friendly concern. His father
and he came to town together, in a poſt-chaife, a fortnight
ago, the reſt of the family remaining in Cornwall. His father,
with difficulty, ſurvived the journey, and died laſt Saturday was
fevennight. Both concern and decency confined your friend, till
two days ago, when I ſaw him: he has determined, and, I think,
very prudently, to go abroad again; but how ſoon, it is yet im-
poffible for him to know; as he muſt, neceſſarily, put his own pri-
vate affairs in ſome order firſt: but I conjecture, that he may pof-
fibly join you at Turin; ſooner, to be ſure, not. I am very forry
that you are likely to be ſo long without the company and the
example of ſo valuable a friend; and therefore, I hope, that you
will make it up to yourſelf, as well as you can, at this diſtance,
by remembering and following his example. Imitate that appli-
cation

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cation

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LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

cation of his, which has made him know all thoroughly, and to
the bottom. He does not content himself with the surface of
knowledge; but works in the Mine for it, knowing that it lies
deep. Pope says, very truly, in his Essay upon Criticism;

A little Learning is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian Spring.

I shall send you, by a ship that goes to Hamburgh next
week (and by which Hawkins sends Mr. Harte some things that
he wrote for) all those which I proposed sending you by Mr.
Eliot; together with a very little box, that I am desired to
forward to Mr. Harte. There will be, likewife, two letters of re-
commendation for you to Monsieur Andrié, and Comte Algarotti,
at Berlin, which you will take care to deliver to them, as soon as
you shall be rigged, and fitted out, to appear there. They will
introduce you into the best company; and I depend upon your
own good sense, for your avoiding of bad. If you fall into bad and
low company there, or any where else, you will be irrecoverably
loft; whereas, if you keep good company, and company above
yourself, your character and your fortune will be immove-
ably fixed.

I have not time, to-day, upon account of the meeting of the
Parliament, to make this letter of the usual length; and indeed,
after the volumes that I have written to you, all I can add
must be unnecessary. However, I shall, probably, *ex abundanti*,
return soon to my former proximity; and you will receive more
and more last words, from
Yours.

LETTER

TO HIS SON.

373

LETTER CXXXVIII.

London, December the 6th, O. S. 1748.

DEAR BOY,

I AM at present under very great concern for the lots of a
most affectionate brother, with whom I had always lived in
the closeft friendship. My brother John died laft 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 laft upon his stomach and head.
As he grew, towards the laft, lethargic, his end was not painful
to himself. At the distance which you are at 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.

By a ship which fails this week for Hamburgh, I shall send
you those things which I proposed to have sent you by Mr. Eliot,
ez. a little box from your Mamma; a box for Mr. Harte; Mr.
Locke's book upon Education; the print of Carlo Maratti, which
I mentioned to you some time ago; and two letters of recom-
 mendation, one to Monsieur Andrié, and the other to Comte
 Algarotti, at Berlin. Both those gentlemen will, I am sure, be
 as willing as they are able, to introduce you into the best com-
 pany; and I hope you will not (as many of your countrymen
 are apt to do) decline it. It is in the best companies only, that
 you can learn the best manners, and that *tournure*, and those
 graces, which I have so often recommended to you, as the necef-
fary means of making a figure in the world.

I am most extremely pleased with the account which Mr.
Harte gives me of your progress in Greek, and of your having
read Heibod, almost critically. Upon this subject I suggeft but
one thing to you, of many that I might suggeft; which is, that
you

374 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

you have now got over the difficulties of that language, and
therefore it would be unpardonable not to perfecvere to your
journey's end, now that all the reft of your way is down-hill.

I am also very well pleafed, to hear, that you have fuch a know-
ledge of, and taſte for curious books, and ſcarce and valuable
traicts. This is a kind of knowledge, which very well becomes
a man of ſound and ſolid learning, but which only expofes a
man of flight and ſuperficial reading; therefore, pray make the
ſubſtance and matter of ſuch books your firſt objeſt, and their
title pages, indexes, letter, and binding, but your ſecond. It
is the charaſteriſtique of a man of parts, and good judgment, to
know, and give that degree of attention, that each objeſt
deferves. Whereas little minds miſtake little objeſts for great
ones, and lavifh away upon the former, that time and attention
which only the latter deferve. To ſuch miſtakes we owe the
numerous and frivolous tribe of inſect-mongers, ſhell-mongers,
and purſuers and driers of butterflies, &c. The ſtrong mind
diſlinguifhes, not only between the uſeful and the uſeſls, but
likewise, between the uſeful and the curious. He applies him-
felf intenſely to the former; he only amuſes himſelf with the
latter. Of this little fort of knowledge, which I have juſt hinted
at, you will find, at laſt, as much as you need wifh to know,
in a ſuperficial but pretty French book, entitled, *Speſtacle de la
Nature*; which will amufe you while you read it, and give you
a ſufficient notion of the various parts of nature: I would advife
you to read it, at leifure hours. But that part of nature, which,
Mr. Harte tells me, you have begun to ſtudy, with the *Reſtor
magnificus*, is of much greater importance, and deferves much
more attention; I mean Aſtronomy. The vaſt and immenſe
planetary ſyſtem, the aſtoniſhing order and regularity of thofe
innumerable worlds, will open a ſcene to you, which not only
deferves

TO HIS SON.

deferves your attention as a matter of curioſity, or rather aſtoniſh-
ment; but, ſtill more, as it will give you greater, and conſequently
juſter ideas of that eternal and omnipotent Being, who contrived,
made, and ſtill prefers, that univerſe, than all the con-
templation of this, comparatively, very little orb, which we
at preſent inſhабit, could poffiblу give you. Upon this ſubject,
Monfieur Fontenelle's *pluralité des mondes*, which you may read
in two hours time, will both inform and pleafe you. God bleſs
you! Yours.

LETTER CXXXIX.

London, December the 13th, O. S. 1748.

DEAR BOY,

THE laſt four poſts have brought me no letters, either from
you, or from Mr. Harte; which I am uneaſy at; not as a
Mamma would be, but as a Father ſhould be; for I do not want
your letters as bills of health, you are young, ſtrong, and healthy,
and I am, conſequently, in no pain about that: moreover,
were either you or Mr. Harte ill, the other would doubtlesſ write
me word of it. My impatience for yours or Mr. Harte's letters
arifes from a very different cauſe, which is, my defire to hear fre-
quently of the ſtate and progreſs of your mind. You are now at
that critical period of life, when every week ought to produce
fruit or flowers anſwerable to your culture, which I am ſure
has not been negleſted; and it is by your letters, and Mr. Harte's
accounts of you, that, at this diſtance, I can only judge of your
gradations to maturity: I defire, therefore, that one of you two
will not fail to write to me once a week. The famenefs of your
prefent way of life, I eafily conceive, would not make out a
very

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

376

very interesting letter to an indifferent by-flander; but, so deeply concerned as I am in the game you are playing, every the least move is to me of importance, and helps me to judge of the final event.

As you will be leaving Leipzig pretty soon after you shall have received this letter, I here find you one enclosed, to deliver to Mr. Mafcow. It is to thank him for his attention and civility to you, during your stay with him: and I take it for granted, that you will not fail making him the proper compliments at parting; for the good name that we leave behind, at one place, often gets before us to another, and is of great use. As Mr. Mafcow is much known and esteemed in the Republic of letters, I think it would be of advantage to you, if you got letters of recommendation from him to come of the learned men at Berlin. Those testimonials give a lufte, which is not to be despised; for the most ignorant are forced to seem, at least, to pay a regard to learning, as the most wicked are to virtue. Such is their intrinsic worth!

Your friend, Duval, dined with me the other day, and complained most grievously, that he had not heard from you of above a year; I bid him abufe you for it himself; and advifed him to do it in verfe, which, if he was really angry, his indignation would enable him to do. He accordingly brought me, yefterday, the enclosed reproaches, and challenge, which he defired me to transmit to you. As this is his firſt Effay in English Poetry, the inaccuracies in the rhimes, and the numbers, are very excusable. He infiſts, as you will find, upon being anſwered in verſe; which, I ſhould imagine, that you and Mr. Harte, together, could bring about; as the late Lady Dorchefter uſed to ſay, that he and Dr. Radcliffe, together, could cure a ſever. This is however true, that it now reſts upon you; and no man can ſay what methods

Duval

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TO HIS SON.

377

Duval may take, if you decline his challenge. I am fenſible that you are under ſome difadvantages in this proſered combat. Your climate, at this time of the year, especially, delights more in the wood fire, than in the poetic fire; and I conceive the Mufes, if there are any at Leipzig, to be rather ſhivering, than ſinging; nay, I queſtion whether Apollo is even known there as God of Verſe, or as God of Light; perhaps a little, as God of Phyſic. These will be fair excufes, if your performance ſhould fall ſomewhat short; though I do not apprehend that it will.

While you have been at Leipzig, which is a place of ſtudy, more than of pleafure or company, you have had all opportunities of purfuing your ſtudies uninterruptedly; and have had, I believe, very few temptations to the contrary. But the cafe will be quite different at Berlin, where the ſplendor and diffipation of a Court, and the *beau monde*, will preſent themſelves to you, in gawdy ſhapes, attractive enough to all young people. Do not think, now, that, like an old fellow, I am going to adviſe you to reject them, and ſhut your ſelf up in your cloſet: quite the contrary; I adviſe to take your ſhare, and enter into them with ſpirit and pleafure; but then I adviſe you, too, to allot your time ſo prudently, as that learning may keep pace with pleafures; there is full time, in the course of the day, for both, if you do but manage that time right, and like a good œconomift. 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 pleafures 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 fee 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

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378 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

pleatures and diffipation 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 rife early in the morning, however late I went to bed at night; and this resolution I have kept so sacred, that, unlefs when I have been confined to my bed by ill-nefs, I have not, for more than forty years, ever been in bed at nine o'clock in the morning; but commonly up before eight.

When you are at Berlin, remember to speak German, as often as you can, in company: for every body there will speak French to you, unlefs you let them know that you can speak German, which then they will chufe to speak. Adieu.

LETTER CXL.

DEAR BOY,

London, December the 20th, O. S. 1749.

I Received, laft Saturday, by three mails which came in at once, two letters from Mr. Harte, and yours of the 8th, N. S.

It was I who miftook your meaning, with regard to your German letters, and not you who expreſſed it ill. I thought it was the writing of the German character that took up so much of your time, and therefore I advifed you, by the frequent writing of that character, to make it eafy and familiar to you. But, ſince it is only the propriety and purity of the German language, which make your writing it so tedious and laborious, I will tell you that I ſhall not be nice upon that article; and did not expect that you ſhould yet be maſter of all the idioms, delicacies, and peculiarities of that difficult language. That can only come by ſuſe,

TO HIS SON.

379

uſe, eſpecially frequent ſpeaking; therefore, when you ſhall be at Berlin, and afterwards at Turin, where you will meet many Germans, pray take all opportunities of converſing in German, in order not only to keep what you have got of that language, but likewife to improve and perfect yourſelf in it. As to the chara- ters, you form them very well, and, as you yourſelf own, better than your English ones; but then, let me aſk you this queſtion; Why do you not form your Roman charaſters 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 ſſ in zig-zag, inſtead of making them ſtreight, as thus, ee, ll; a fault very eafily 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. Mr. Harte's laſt letter, of the 14th, N. S. parti- cularly, makes me extremely happy, by affuſing me, that, in every reſpect, you do exceedingly well. I am not aſraid, by what I now ſay, of making you too vain; becauſe I do not think that a juſt confciouſneſs, and an honeſt pride of doing well, can be called vanity; for vanity is either the filly affectation of good qualities which one has not, or the ſillier pride of what does not deferve commendation in itſelf. By Mr. Harte's account, you are got very near the goal of Greek and Latin; and therefore I cannot ſuppofe that, as your ſenſe increaſes, your endeavours and your ſpeed will ſlacken, in finiſhing the ſmall remains of your course. Confider what luſtre and éclat it will give you, when you return here, to be allowed to be the beſt ſcholar, of a gentleman, in Eng-land; 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

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LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

is, that when you read aloud, or repeat part of plays, you speak
very properly and distinctly. This relieves me from great uneafi-
nefs, which I was under, upon account of your former bad
enunciation. Go on, and attend moft diligently to this important
article. It is, of all the Graces, (and they are all neceffary) the
moft neceffary one.

Comte Pertingue, who has been here about a fortnight, far from
difavowing, confirms all that Mr. Harte has faid to your advantage.
He thinks that he fhall be at Turin much about the time of
your arrival there, and pleafes himself with the hopes of being
uſeful to you: though, ſhould you get there before him, he
fays that Comte du Perron, with whom you are a favourite,
will take that care. You fee, by this one inſtance, and, in
the courſe of your life, you will fee by a million of in-
flances, of what uſe a good reputation is, and how ſwift and
advantageous a harbinger it is, wherever one goes. Upon this
point, too, Mr. Harte does you juſtice, and tells me, that you
are defirous of prauſe from the prauſe-worthy: this is a right and
generous ambition; and without which, I fear, few people would
deſerve prauſe.

But here let me, as an old flager upon the theatre of the
world, fuggeſt one confideration to you; which is, to extend
your defire of prauſe a little beyond the ſtrictly prauſe-worthy;
or eſſe you may be apt to diſcover too much contempt for at leaſt
three parts in five of the world; who will never forgive it you.
In the mafs of mankind, I fear, there is too great a majority of
fools and knaves; who, fingly from their number, muſt, to a cer-
tain 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 thofe that he and his allies can bring into the
field.

TO HIS SON.

384

field. Abhor a knave, and pity a fool, in your heart; but let
neither of them, unneceflarily, fee that you do ſo. Some com-
plaifance and attention to fools is prudent, and not mean : as a
filent abhorrence of individual knaves is often neceffary, and not
criminal.

As you will now ſoon part with Lord Pultency, with whom,
during your flay together at Leipzig, I fuppofe you have formed a
connection; I imagine that you will continue it by letters, which
I would advife you to do. They tell me, that he is good-natured,
and does not want parts; which are of themſelves two good reaſons
for keeping it up; but there is alſo a third reaſon, which, in the
courſe of the world, is not to be deſpifed: his father cannot live
long, and will leave him an immenſe fortune; which, in all events,
will make him of ſome conſequence, and, if he has parts into the
bargain, of very great conſequence; ſo that his friendſhip may be
extremely well worth your cultivating, eſpecially as it will not coſt
you above one letter in one month.

I do not know whether this letter will find you at Leipzig; at
leaſt, it is the laſt that I ſhall direct there. My next, to either
you or Mr. Harte, will be directed to Berlin; but, as I do not
know to what houſe or ſtreet there, I fuppofe it will remain at
the poſt-houſe till you ſend for it. Upon your arrival at Berlin,
you will ſend me your particular direction; and alſo, pray be
minute in your accounts of your reception there, by thofe whom
I recommend you to, as well as by thofe to whom they preſent
you. Remember, too, that you are going to a polite, literate
Court, where the Graces will beſt introduce you.

Adieu. God bleſs you! and may you continue to deferve my
love, as much as you now enjoy it.

P. S. Lady

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

382

P. S. Lady Chefterfield bids me tell you, that she decides entirely in your favour, 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 favour; and that you true Germans cannot allow Danes to be competent judges of your language, &c.

LETTER CXLI.

London, December the 30th, O. S. 1748.

DEAR BOY,

Direct this letter to Berlin, where, I fuppofe, it will either find you, or, at least, wait but a very little time for you. I cannot help being anxious for your fucceſs, at this your firſt appearance upon the great ſtage of the world; for, though the ſpectators are always candid enough to give great allowances, and to show great indulgence to a new aſtor, yet, from the firſt impreſſions which he makes upon them, they are apt to decide, in their own minds at least, whether he will ever be a good one or not: if he ſeems to underſtand what he ſays, by ſpeaking it properly; if he is attentive to his part, inſtead of flaring negligently about; and, if, upon the whole, he ſeems ambitious to pleafe, they willingly pafs over little awkwardneſſes and inaccuracies, which they aſcribe to a commendable modeſty in a young and unexperienced aſtor. They pronounce that he will be a good one in time; and, by the encouragement which they give him, make him ſo the sooner. This, I hope, will be your cafe: you have ſenſe enough to underſtand your part; a conſant attention, and

ambition

6

TO HIS SON.

383

ambition to excel in it, with a careful observation of the best actors, will inevitably qualify you, if not for the firſt, at least for considerable parts.

Your drefs (as insignificant a thing as drefs is in itself) is now become an object worthy of ſome attention; for, I confess, I cannot help forming ſome opinion of a man's ſenſe and character from his drefs; and, I believe, moſt people do, as well as myſelf. Any affectation whatsoever, in drefs, implies, in my mind, a flaw in the underſtanding. Moſt of our young fellows, here, display ſome character or other by their drefs; 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 drefs; he is accurately clean for his own ſake; but all the reſt is for other people's. He dreffes as well, and in the fame manner, as the people of ſenſe and ſashion of the place where he is. If he dreffes better, as he thinks, that is, more than they, he is a ſop; if he dreffes worſe, he is unpardonably negligent: but, of the two, I would rather have a young fellow too much than too little dreffed; 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 ſink at fifty years old. Drefs yourſelf fine, where others are fine; and plain, where others are plain; but take care, always, that your clothes are

well.

384 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

well made, and fit you, for otherwife 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 diffiſeſs for fear of
difcompoſing that drefs, let all your motions be as eafy and natu-
ral, as if you had no clothes on at all: so much for drefs, which I
maintain to be a thing of conſequence in the polite world.

As to Manners, Good-breeding, and the Graces, I have ſo often
entertained you upon thole important ſubjects, that I can add
nothing to what I have formerly faſed. Your own good ſenſe will
fuggeſt to you the ſubſtance of them; and obſervation, expe-
rience, and good company, the ſeveral modes of them. Your
great vivacity, which I hear of from many people, will be no
hindrance to your pleafing in good company; on the contrary,
will be of uſe to you, if tempered by Good-breeding, and
accompanied by the Graces. But then, I ſuppofe your vivacity
to be a vivacity of parts, and not a constitutional diffiſeſs;
for the moſt diſagreeable composition that I know, in the world,
is that of ſtrong animal ſpirits, with a cold genius. Such a
fellow is troubleſomely active, frivolouſly busy, fooliſhly lively;
talks much, with little meaning, and laughs more, with leſs reaſon:
whereas, in my opinion, a warm and lively genius, with a cool
conſtitution, is the perſection of human nature.

Do what you will, at Berlin, provided you do but do ſomething
all day long. All that I defire of you is, that you will never
flattern away one minute in idlenefs and in doing of nothing.
When you are not in company, learn what either books, maſters,
or Mr. Harte, can teach you; and, when you are in company,
learn (what company can only teach you) the charaſters and man-
ners of mankind. I really aſk your pardon for giving you this
advice; becauſe, if you are a rational creature, and a thinking be-
ing, as I ſuppofe, and verily believe you are, it muſt be unnceſſary,
and,

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TO HIS SON.

385

and, to a certain degree, injurious. If I did not know by expe-
rience, that ſome men paſs their whole time in doing nothing, I
ſhould not think it poffible for any Being, ſuperior to Monſieur
Deſeartes's Automatons, to ſquander away, in abſolute idlenſs, one
ſingle minute of that ſmall portion of time which is allotted us in
this world.

I have lately ſeen one Mr. Cranmer, a very ſenſible merchant;
who told me that he had dined with you, and ſeen you often, at
Leipſig. And, yeſterday, I ſaw an old footman of mine, whom I
made a Meſſenger; who told me that he had ſeen you laſt Au-
guſt. You will eafily imagine, that I was not the leſs glad to ſee
them, becauſe they had ſeen you; and I examined them both
narrowly, in their reſpective departments; the former, as to your
mind, the latter, as to your body. Mr. Cranmer gave me great
ſatifaſtion, not only by what he told me of himſelf concern-
ing you, but by what he was commiſſed to tell me from Mr.
Maſcow. As he ſpeaks German perfectly himſelf, I aſked him
how you ſpoke it; and he aſſured me, very well, for the time, and
that a very little more practice would make you perfectly maſter
of it. The Meſſenger told me, that you were much grown, and,
to the beſt of his gueſs, within two inches as tall as I am. That
you were plump, and looked healthy and ſtrong; which was all
that I could expeſt, or hope, from the ſagacity of the perſon.

I ſend you, my dear child, (and you will not doubt) very
fincerely, the wifhes of the ſeafon. May you deferve a great
number of happy New-years; and, if you deferve, may you
have them! Many New-years, indeed, you may fee, but happy
ones you cannot fee without deferving them. Theſe, Virtue,
Honour, and Knowledge, alone can merit, alone can procure.
Dii tibi ent annos, de te nam cetera ſumet, was a pretty piece of
poetical flattery, where it was ſaid; I hope that, in time, it may
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be no flattery when faid to you. But, I affure you, that, whenever
I cannot apply the latter part of the line to you with truth, I
shall neither fay, think, nor with the former. Adieu.

LETTER CXLII.

London, January the 10th, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

I Have received your letter of the 31st December, N. S. Your thanks for my Prefent, as you call it, exceed the value of the Prefent; but the ufe, which you affure me that you will make of it, is the thanks which I defire to receive. Due attention to the infide of books, and due contempt for the outside, is the proper relation between a man of fenſe and his books.

Now that you are going a little more into the world, I will
take this occasion to explain my intentions as to your future
expences, 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 neceflary, for either your improve-
ment or your pleafures; I mean, the pleafures 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 expence of
lodgings, coach, drefs, ſervants, &c. 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 Pleafures,
I comprehend, Firſt, proper charities, to real and compaſſionate
objeſts of it; Secondly, proper preſents, to thofe to whom you are
obliged, or whom you defire to oblige; Thirdly, a conformity of
expence to that of the company which you keep; as in public
ſpectacles;

TO HIS SON.

387

ſpectacles; your ſhare of little entertainments; a few pifloles at
games of mere commerce; and other incidental calls of good com-
pany. The only two articles, which I will never ſupply, are, the
profuſion of low riot, and the idle lavifhneſs of negligence and
lazineſs. A fool ſquanders away, without credit or advantage, to
himſelf, more than a man of fenſe ſpends with both. The latter
employs his money as he does his time, and never ſpends a ſhil-
ling of the one, nor a minute of the other, but in ſomething
that is either uſeful or rationally pleafing 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, &c. are his de-
ſtruction. His ſervants and trademen confpire with his own in-
dolence, to cheat him; and, in a very little time, he is aftonifh-
ed, in the midſt of all the ridiculous ſuperfluities, to find himſelf
in want of all the real comforts and neceſſaries of life. With-
out care and method, the largeſt fortune will not, and with
them, almoſt the ſmallest will, ſupply all neceſſary expences.
As far as you can poffibly, pay ready money for every thing you
buy, and avoid bills. Pay that money too, yourſelf, and not
thorough the hands of any ſervant; who always, either ſtipulates
poundage, or requires a prefent for his good word, as they call
it. Where you muſt have bills (as for meat and drink, clothes,
&c.) pay them regularly every month, and with your own hand.
Never, from a miſtaken œconomy, buy a thing you do not want,
becaufe it is cheap; or, from a filly pride, becaufe 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, &c. they are unworthy of the time,

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LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

388

and of the ink, that they would consume; leave such minuties to dull, penny-wife 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 fees things in their true proportions: a weak one views them thorough 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 pafs for a mifer, by faving a penny, and wrangling for two pence, who was undoing himself, at the fame time, by living above his income, and not attending to eflential articles, which were above his portée. The fure characteriſtique of a found and strong mind, is, to find, in every thing, thofe certain bounds, *quos ultra citrave nequit consſuere rectum*. These boundaries are marked out by a very fine line, which only good fenſe 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 often-tatious Puritanifm, from criminal Relaxation. In Religion, Superſtition from Impiety; and, in ſhort, every virtue from its kindred vice or weakneſs. I think you have fenſe enough to diſcover the line: keep it always in your eye, and learn to walk upon it; reſt upon Mr. Harte, and he will poize 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.

Your friend, Comte Pertingue, who conſtantly inquires after you, has written to Comte Salmour, the Governor of the Academy at Turin, to prepare a room for you there, immediately after the Ascension; and has recommended you to him, in a manner which, I hope, you will give him no reaſon to repent or be aſhamed of.

As

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TO HIS SON.

389

As Comte Salmour's son, now refiding at the Hague, is my particular acquaintance, I ſhall have regular and authentic accounts of all that you do at Turin.

During your ſlay at Berlin, I expeſt that you ſhould inform yourſelf thoroughly of the preſent ſtate of the Civil, Military, and Eccl[esi]ſtical government of the King of Prussia's dominions; particularly of the Military, which is upon a better footing, in that country, than in any other in Europe. You will attend at the reviews, fee the troops exerſife, and inquire into the numbers of troops and companies in the reſpective regiments of horſe, foot, and dragoons; the numbers and titles of the commiſſioned and non-commissioned Officers in the ſeveral troops and companies; and alſo, take care to learn the technical military terms, in the German language: for, though you are not to be a military man, yet theſe military matters are ſo frequently the ſubjects of converſation, that you will look very awkwardly, if you are ignorant of them. Moreover, they are commonly the objects of negotiation, and, as ſuch, fall within your future proſeffion. You muſt alſo inform yourſelf of the reformation which the King of Prussia has lately made in the law; by which he has both leſſened the number, and ſhonſened the duration of law-ſuits: a great work, and worthy of ſo great a Prince! As he is indiſputably the ableſt Prince in Europe, every part of his government deſerves your moſt diligent inquiry, and your moſt ſerious attention. It muſt be owned, that you ſet out well, as a young Politician, by beginning at Berlin, and then going to Turin, where you will fee the next ableſt Monarch to that of Prussia; ſo that, if you are capable of making political reflections, thofe two Princes will furniſh you with ſufficient matter for them.

I would have you endeavour to get acquainted with Monſieur de Maupertuis, who is ſo eminently diſtinguified, by all kinds of learning.

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

390

learning and merit, that one should be both forry and affamed
of having been even a day in the fame place with him, and not to
have seen him. If you should have no other way of being intro-
duced to him, I will send you a letter from hence. Monfieur
Cagnoni, at Berlin, to whom I know you are recommended, is a
very able man of buſineſs, thoroughly informed of every part of
Europe; and his acquaintance, if you deferve, and improve it, as
you ſhould do, may be of great uſe to you.

Remember to take the beſt dancing-maſter at Berlin, more to
teach you to fit, ſtand, and walk gracefully, than to dance finely.
The Graces, the Graces; remember the Graces! Adieu.

LETTER CXLIII.

London, January the 24th O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

I Have received your letter of the 12th, N. S. in which I was
furprifed to find no mention of your approaching journey to
Berlin, which, according to the firſt plan, was to be on the 20th,
N. S. and upon which ſuppofition I have, for ſome time, directed
my letters to you, and Mr. Harte, at Berlin. I ſhould be glad
that yours were more minute, with regard to your motions
and tranſaCTIONS; and I defire, that, for the future, they may
contain accounts of what, and who, you fee and hear, in your ſe-
veral places of reſidence; for I intereſt myſelf as much in the
company you keep, and the pleafures you take, as in the ſtudies
you purſue; and, therefore, equally deſire to be informed of them
all. Another thing I deſire, which is, that you will acknowledge
my letters by their dates, that I may know which you do and
which you do not receive.

7

As

TO HIS SON.

391

As you found your brain conſiderably affected by the cold,
you were very prudent not to turn it to poetry, in that ſituation;
and not leſs judicious, in declining the borrowed aid of a ſtove,
whofe ſumigation, inſtead of inſpiration, would, at beſt, have
produced what Mr. Pope calls a *fouterkin* of wit. I will ſhow
your letter to Duval, by way of juſtification for not anſwering
his challenge; and I think he muſt allow the validity of it; for a
frozen brain is as unfit to anſwer a challenge in poetry, as a blunt
ſword is for ſingle combat.

You may, if you pleafe, and therefore I flatter myſelf that you
will, profit conſiderably by your ſtay at Berlin, in the article of
Manners, and uſeful knowledge. Attention to what you will fee
and hear there, together with proper inquiries, and a little care
and method in taking notes of what is more material, will pro-
cure you much uſeful knowledge. Many young people are ſo
light, ſo diſſipated, and ſo incurious, that they can hardly be
faſd to fee what they fee, or hear what they hear; that is, they
hear in ſo ſupernical and inattentive a manner, that they might
as well not fee nor hear at all. For inſtance; if they fee a public
building, as a College, an Hofpital, an Arſenal, &c. they content
themselves with the firſt *coup d'œil*, and neither take the time nor
the trouble of informing themselves of the material parts of
them; which are, the conſtitution, the rules, and the order and
œconomy in the inſide. You will, I hope, go deeper, and make
your way into the ſubſtance of things. For example; ſhould
you fee a regiment reviewed at Berlin or Potſiam, inſtead of
contenting yourſelf with the general glitter of the collective
corps, and ſaying, *par maniere d'acquit*, that is very fine; I
hope you will aſk, what number of troops or companies it con-
fits of; what number of Officers of the *Etat Major*, and what
number of *Subalternes*; how many *Bas Officiers*, or non-com-
miffioned Officers, as *Sergeants*, *Corporals*, *Anſpeſtades*, *frey*
*Corporals*,

392 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

392

Corporals, &c. their pay, their cloathing, and by whom; whether by the Colonels or Captains, or Committaries appointed for that purpose; to whom they are accountable; the method of recruiting, compleating, &c.

The fame in Civil Matters: inform yourself of the jurisdiction of a Court of Justice; of the rules and members, and endowments, of a College, or an Academy, and not only of the dimensions of the respective edifices: and let your letters to me contain these informations, in proportion as you acquire them.

I often reflected, with the most flattering hopes, how proud I should be of you, if you should profit as you may, of the opportunities which you have had, still have, and will have, of arriving at perfection; and, on the other hand, with dread of the grief and shame you will give me, if you do not. May the first be the case. God blefs you !

LETTER CXLIV.

London, February the 7th, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

YOU are now come to an age capable of reflection, and I hope you will do, what, however, few people at your age do; exert it, for your own sake, in the search of truth and found knowledge. I will confess (for I am not unwilling to discover my secrets to you) that it is not many years since I have presumed to reflect for myself. Till fixteen or seventeen, I had no reflection; and, for many years after that, I made no use of what I had. I adopted the notions of the books I read, or the company I kept, without examining whether they were just or not; and I rather chose to run the risk of easy error, than to take the

TO HIS SON.

393

the time and trouble of investigating truth. Thus, partly from laziness, partly from diffipation, and partly from the mauvaise bonte of rejecting fashionable notions, I was (as I have since found) hurried away by prejudices, instead of being guided by reason; and quietly cherished error, instead of seeking for truth. But, since I have taken the trouble of reasoning for myself, and have had the courage to own that I do so, you cannot imagine how much my notions of things are altered, and in how different a light I now see them, from that in which I formerly viewed them, through the deceitful medium of prejudice or authority. Nay, I may possibly still retain many errors, which, from long habit, have perhaps grown into real opinions; for it is very difficult to distinguish habits, early acquired and long entertained, from the result of our reason and reflection.

My first prejudice (for I do not mention the prejudices of boys and women, such as hobgoblins, ghouls, dreams, spilling falt, &c.) 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 fenſe nor common honeſy 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 Taffo 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 fame three thouſand years ago, as it is at prefent; that men were but men then as well as now; that modes and cuſtoms vary often, but that human nature is always the fame. And I can no more fuppofe, that men were

VOL. I.

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better,

394 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

better, braver, or wiser, fifteen hundred or three thousand years ago, than I can fuppose that the animals or vegetables were better then, than they are now. I dare affert too, in defiance of the favourers of the ancients, that Homer's Hero, Achilles, was both a brute and a foundrel, and confequently 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, becaufe he had quarrelled with Agamemnon about a w-e; and then afterwards, animated by private refentment only, he went about killing people bafely, I will call it, becaufe he knew himfelf invulnera-ble; and yet, invulnerable as he was, he wore the ftrongeft armour in the world; which I humbly apprehend to be a blunder; for a horfe-fhoc, clapped to his vulnerable heel, would have been sufficient. On the other hand, with submiffion to the favourers of the moderns, I affert, with Mr. Dryden, that the Devil is in truth, the Hero of Milton's poem. His plan, which he lays, purfues, and at laft executes, being the fubject of the Poem. From all which confiderations, I impartially conclude, that the ancients had their excellencies and their def defects, their virtues and their vices, juſt like the moderns: pedan-try and affection of learning, decide clearly in favour of the former; vanity and ignorance, as peremptorily, in favour of the latter. Religious prejudices kept pace with my classical ones; and there was a time when I thought it impoffible for the honeſteſt man in the world to be faved, out of the pale of the church of England: not confidering that matters of opinion do not depend upon the will; and that it is as natural, and as allowable, that an-other man ſhould differ in opinion from me, as that I ſhould differ from him; and that, if we are both fincere, we are both blameleſs: and ſhould conſequently have mutual indulgence for each other.

The next prejudices that I adopted, were thofe of the *beau*

monde;

2

TO HIS SON.

395

monde; in which, as I was determined to ſhine, I took what are commonly called the genteel vices, to be neceſſary. I had heard them reckoned ſo, and, without farther inquiry, I believed it; or, at leaſt, ſhould have been affamed to have denied it, for fear of expofing myſelf to the ridicule of thofe whom I confidered as the models of fine gentlemen. But I am now neither affamed nor afraid to affert, that thofe genteel vices, as they are falſely called, are only ſo many blemiſhes in the charaſter of even a man of the world, and what is called a fine gentleman, and degrade him in the opinions of thofe very people, to whom he hopes to recommend himſelf by them. Nay, this prejudice often extends ſo far, that I have known people pretend to vices they had not, inſtead of carefully concealing thofe they had.

Uſe and affert your own reaſon; reflect, examine, and analyse every thing, in order to form a found and mature judgment; let no *ερος ερα* impoſe upon your underſtanding, miſlead your actions, or diſtate your converſation. Be early, what, if you are not, you will, when too late, with you had been. Conſult your reaſon be-times: 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 contri-bute more to order and quiet, than their own ſeparate reaſonings would do, uncultivated and unimproved as they are. We have many of thofe useful prejudices in this country, which I ſhould be very ſorry to ſee removed. The good Proteſtant conviction, that

the

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396 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

the Pope is both Antichrift, and the Whore of Babylon, is a
more effectual prefervative, in this country, against Popery, than
all the solid and unanfwearable arguments of Chillingworth.

The idle flory of the Pretender's having been introduced in a
warming-pan, into the Queen's bed, though as defitute of all
probability as of all foundation, has been much more prejudi-
cial to the caufe of Jacobitifm, than all that Mr. Locke and
others have written, to ſhow the unreaſonableneſs and abſurdity
of the doſtrines of indefeasible hereditary right, and unlimited
paffive obedience. And that ſilly, ſanguine notion, which is
firmly entertained here, that one Englishman can beat three
Frenchmen, encourages, and has ſometimes enabled, one English-
man, in reality, to beat two.

A Frenchman ventures his life with alacrity pour l'honneur du Rei; were you to change the object, which he has been taught to have in view, and tell him that it was pour le bien de la Patrie, he would very probably run away. Such gros, local prejudices prevail with the herd of mankind; and do not impoſe upon cul-tivated, informed, and reflecting minds: but then there are no-tions equally falſe, though not ſo glaringly abſurd, which are entertained by people of ſuperior, and improved underſtandings, merely for want of the neceſſary pains to inſtigate, the proper attention to examine, and the penetration requisite to determine the truth. Thoſe are the prejudices which I would have you guard againſt, by a manly exertion and attention of your reaſoning faculty. To mention one inſtance, of a thousand that I could give you—It is a general prejudice, and has been propagated for theſe fixteen hundred years, that Arts and Sciences cannot flourifh under an abſolute government; and that Genius muſt neceſſarily be cramped, where Freedom is refrained. This ſounds plausible, but is falſe in fact. Mechanic arts, as Agriculture, Manufactures,

c. &c.

TO HIS SON.

Se. will indeed be difcouraged, where the profits and property
are, from the nature of the government, inſecure. But why the
déſpotifm of a government ſhould cramp the genius of a Mathe-
matician, an Aſtronomer, a Poet, or an Orator, I confefs I never
could diſcover. It may indeed deprive the Poet, or the Orator, of
the liberty of treating of certain ſubjeſts in the manner they would
wifh; but it leaves them ſubjeſts enough to exert genius upon, if
they have it. Can an author, with reaſon, complain, that he is
cramped and ſhackled, if he is not at liberty to publifh blaſphemy,
bawdry, or ſedition ? all which are equally prohibited in the freeſt
governments, if they are wife and well-regulated ones. This is the
prefent general complaint of the French authors; but, indeed, chiefly
of the bad ones. No wonder, ſay they, that England produces
ſo many great geniüſes; people there may think as they pleaſe,
and publifh what they think. Very true; but who hinders them
from thinking as they pleaſe ? If, indeed, they think in a manner
déſtruſive of all religion, morality, or good manners, or to the
difurbance of the State; an abſolute government will, certainly,
more effectually prohibit them from, or puniſh them for, pub-
lilihing 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 ? The number of good French authors, ſuch as
Corneille, Racine, Moliere, Boileau, and La Fontaine, who
feemed to diſpute it with the Auguſtan age, flourilhed under the
déſpotifm of Lewis XIV; and the celebrated authors of the
Auguſtan age did not ſhine, till after the fetters were rivetted
upon the Roman people, by that cruel and worthleſs Emperor.
The revival of letters was not owing, neither, to any free govern-
ment, but to the encouragement and protection of Leo X. and
Francis I; the one as abſolute a Pope, and the other as déſpotic

a Prince,

4

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

398

a Prince, as ever reigned. Do not miscalcute, and imagine, that,
while I am only exposing a prejudice, I am speaking in favour of
arbitrary power; which, from my foul, I abhor, and look upon
as a grofs and criminal violation of the natural rights of man-
kind. Adieu.

LETTER CXLV.

London, February the 28th O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

I WAS very much pleafed with the account that you gave me
of your reception at Berlin; but I was ſtill better pleafed with
the account, which Mr. Harte ſent me, of your manner of receiving
that reception; for he ſays that you behaved yourſelf, to thofe
crowned heads, with all the reſpect and modeſtly due to them;
but, at the fame time, without being any more embarrafſed, than
if you had been converſing with your equals. This eafy reſpect
is the perſection of good-breeding, which nothing but ſuperior
good ſenſe, or a long ſusage of the world, can produce; and as,
in your cafe, it could not be the latter, it is a pleafing indication
to me of the former.

You will now, in the course of a few months, have been
rubbed at three of the confiderable Courts of Europe; Berlin,
Dreſſen, and Vienna; ſo that I hope you will arrive at Turin
tolerably ſmooth, and fit for the laſt polifh. There you may
get the beſt; there being no Court, I know of, that forms more
well-bred and agreeable people. Remember, now, that good-
breeding, genteel carriage, addreſs, and even drefs (to a certain
degree) are become ſerious objects, and deferve a part of your
attention.

The

TO HIS SON.

399

The day, if well employed, is long enough for them all.
One half of it beſtowed upon your ſtudies, and your exerciſes,
will finiſh your mind and your body; the remaining part of it,
ſpent in good company, will form your manners, and complete
your character. What would I not give, to have you read
Demofhenes critically in the morning, and underſand him better
than any body; at noon, behave yourſelf better than any perſon
at Court; and, in the evenings, trifle more agreeably than any
body in mixed companies? All this you may compaſs if you
pleaſe; you have the means, you have the opportunities. Em-
ploy them, for God's ſake, while you may, and make yourſelf that
all-accompliſhed man, that I wiſh to have you. It entirely
depends upon theſe two years; they are the deciſive ones.

I ſend you here encloſed, a letter of recommendation to Mon-
fieur Capello, at Venice, which you will deliver him immediately
upon your arrival, accompanying it with compliments from
me to him, and Madame; both whom you have ſeen here. He
will, I am ſure, be both very civil and very useful to you there, as
he will alſo be afterwards at Rome, where he is appointed to go
Embaſſador. By the way, wherever you are, I would adviſe
you to frequent, as much as you can, the Venetian Minifers; who
are always better informed of the Courts they reſide at, than any
other Minifter: the ſtrict and regular accounts, which they are
obliged to give to their own government, making them very dili-
gent and inquiſitive.

You will ſtay at Venice as long as the Carnaval laſts; for
though I am impatient to have you at Turin, yet I would
wiſh you to fee thoroughly all that is to be ſeen at ſo ſin-
gular a place as Venice, and at ſo ſhowiſh a time as the Carna-
val. You will take, alſo, particular care to view all thofe meet-
ings of the government, which ſtrangers are allowed to fee; as the

Aſſembly

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

400

Assembly of the Senate, &c.; and also, to inform yourself of that
peculiar and intricate form of government. There are books
which give an account of it, among which, the beſt is Amelot de
la Houſlaye, which I would advife you to read previously; it
will not only give you a general notion of that conſtitution, but
also furnish you with materials for proper queſtions and oral in-
formations upon the place, which are always the beſt. There are
likewise many very valuable remains, in ſculpture and paintings,
of the beſt maſters, which deferve your attention.

I fuppofe you will be at Vienna as soon as this letter will get
thither; and I fuppofe, too, that I muſt not direct above one more to
you there. After which, my next ſhall be directed to you, at Venice,
the only place where a letter will be likely to find you, till you are
at Turin; but you may, and I defire that you will, write to me,
from the ſeveral places in your way, from whence the poſt goes.

I will ſend you ſome other letters, for Venice, to Vienna, or to
your Banker at Venice; to whom you will, upon your arrival there,
fend for them: for I will take care to have you ſo recommended
from place to place, that you ſhall not run through them, as moſt
of your countrymen do, without the advantage of ſeeing and
knowing what beſt deferves to be ſeen and known; I mean, the
Men and the Manners.

God bleſs you, and make you anſwer my wifhes; I will now
fay, my hopes ! Adieu.

LETTER

TO HIS SON.

401

LETTER CXLVI.

DEAR BOY,

I Direct this letter to your Banker at Venice, the ſureſt place for
you to meet with it, though, I fuppofe, that it will be there
fome time before you; for, as your intermediate ſtay any where
eſſe will be but ſhort, and as the poſt from hence, in this ſeason
of Eafterly winds, is uncertain, I direct no more letters to Vienna;
where I hope both you and Mr. Harte will have received the
two letters which I ſent you reſpectively; with a letter of recom-
mendation to Monfieur Capello at Venice, which was en-
cloſed in mine to you. I will fuppofe too, that the inland poſt,
on your ſide of the water, has not done you juſtice; for I re-
received but one ſingle letter from you, and one from Mr. Harte,
during your whole ſtay at Berlin; from whence I hoped for, and
expected very particular accounts.

I perfuade myſelf, that the time you ſtay at Venice will be
properly employed, in ſeeing all that is to be ſeen at that extraor-
dinary place; and in converſing with people who can inform
you, not of the raree-shows of the town, but of the conſtitution
of the government; for which purpofe, I ſend you the encloſed
letters of recommendation from Sir James Gray, the King's Re-
fident at Venice; but who is now in England. Theſe, with
mine to Monfieur Capello, will carry you, if you will go, into all
the beſt company at Venice.

But the important point, and the important place, is Turin;
for there I propoſe your ſtaying a confiderable time, to purfue
your ſtudies, learn your exerciſes, and form your manners. I
own, I am not without my anxiety for the conſequence of your
VOL. I.
3 F

flay

There are no letters
from Diſ. to Berlin;
therefore probably
supplied.

402 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

flay there; which muſt be either very good or very bad. To you
it will be entirely a new ſcene. Wherever you have hitherto
been, you have converſed, chiefly, with people wiser and dif-
creeter than yourſelf; and have been equally out of the way of
bad advice or bad example: but, in the Academy at Turin, you
will, probably, meet with both, confidering the variety of
young fellows of about your own age; among whom, it is to be
expected that ſome will be diffipated and idle, others vicious and
profligate. I will believe, till the contrary appears, that you
have ſagacity enough to diſtinguish the good from the bad cha-
raſters; and both ſenſe and virtue enough to ſhun the latter, and
conneſt yourſelf with the former: but, however, for greater
ſecurity, and for your ſake alone, I muſt acquaint you, that I
have ſent poffitive orders to Mr. Harte, to carry you off, inſantly,
to a place which I have named to him, upon the very firſt symp-
tom, which he ſhall diſcover in you, of Drinking, Gaming,
Idlenefs, or Difobedience to his orders; ſo that, whether Mr.
Harte inſorms me, or not, of the particulars, I ſhall be able to
judge of your conduct in general, by the time of your flay at
Turin. If it is ſhort, I ſhall know why; and I promiſe you,
that you ſhall ſoon find that I do: but, if Mr. Harte lets you
continue there, as long as I propoſe that you ſhould, I ſhall then
be convinced, that you make the proper use of your time;
which is the only thing that I have to aſk of you. One year is
the moſt that I propoſe you ſhould flay at Turin; and that year,
if you employ it well, perſects you. One year more of your
late application, with Mr. Harte, will complete your Clauſical
ſtudies. You will be, likewife, maſter of your exerciſes in that
time; and will have formed yourſelf ſo well at that Court, as
to be fit to appear advantageouſly at any other. Theſe will be
the happy effects of your year's flay at Turin, if you behave,
and

TO HIS SON.

and apply yourſelf there as you have done at Leipzig; but, if
either ill advice, or ill example, affect and ſeduce you, you are
ruined for ever. I look upon that year as your deciſive year
of probation; go thorough it well, and you will be all accom-
pliſhed, and fixed in my tendereſt affection for ever: but,
ſhould the contagion of vice or idlenefs lay hold of you there,
your character, your fortune, my hopes, and, conſequently, my
favour, are all blaſted, and you are undone. The more I love
you now, from the good opinion that I have of you, the greater
will be my indignation, if I ſhould have reaſon to change it.
Hitherto you have had every poffible proof of my affection, be-
caſe you have deferved it: but, when you ceaſe to deferve it,
you may expect every poffible mark of my reſentment. To
leave nothing doubtful, upon this important point, I will tell
you fairly, before-hand, by what rule I ſhall judge of your
conduct. By Mr. Harte's accounts. He will not, I am ſure,
nay, I will ſay more, he cannot be in the wrong, with regard to
you. He can have no other view but your good; and you will,
I am ſure, allow, that he muſt be a better judge of it than you
can poffibly be, at your age. While he is ſatisfied, I ſhall be ſo
too; but whenever he is diſſatisfied with you, I ſhall be much
more ſo. If he complains, you muſt be guilty; and I ſhall not
have the leaſt regard for any thing that you may alledge in your
own defence.

I will now tell you what I expect and inſiſt upon from you at
Turin: Firſt, That you purſue your Clauſical and other ſtudies, every
morning, with Mr. Harte, as long, and in whatever manner Mr.
Harte ſhall be pleafed to require: Secondly, That you learn, uninter-
ruptedly, your exerciſes, of riding, dancing, and fencing: Thirdly,
That you make yourſelf maſter of the Italian language: and, laſt-
ly, That you paſs your evenings in the beſt company. I alſo re-

quire

3 F 2

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

404

quire a strict conformity to the hours and rules of the Academy. If you will but finish your year in this manner, at Turin, I have nothing further to ask of you; and I will give you every thing that you can ask of me: you shall, after that, be entirely your own master; I shall think you safe; shall lay aside all authority over you; and friendship shall be our mutual and only tie. Weigh this, I beg of you, deliberately, in your own mind, and confider, whether the application, and the degree of restraint, which I require, but for one year more, will not be amply repaid by all the advantages, and the perfect liberty, which you will receive at the end of it. Your own good fame will, I am sure, not allow you to hesitate one moment in your choice. God bless you! Adieu.

P.S. Sir James Gray's letters not being yet sent me, as I thought they would, I shall enclose them in my next, which, I believe, will get to Venice as soon as you.

LETTER CXLVII.

DEAR BOY,

London, April the 12th, O. S. 1749.

I Received, by the last mail, a letter from Mr. Harte, dated Prague, April the 1st, N. S.; for which, I defire, you will return him my thanks, and affure him that I extremely approve of what he has done, and propofes eventually to do, in your way to Turin. Who would have thought you were old enough to have been so well acquainted with the Heroes of the Bellum Triennale, as to be looking out for their great grandfons in Bohemia, with that affection with which, I am informed, that you seek for the Wallsteins, the Kinskis, &c. &c. As I cannot affcribe it to your age,

TO HIS SON.

405

age, I must to your consummate knowledge of Hiftory, that makes every country, and every century, as it were, your own. Seriously; I am told, that you are both very strong and very correct in Hiftory; of which I am extremely glad. This is useful knowledge.

Comte du Perron, and Comte Lafcaris, are arrived here; the former gave me a letter from Sir Charles Williams, the latter brought me your orders. They are very pretty men, and have both Knowledge and Manners; which, though they always ought, seldom do, go together. I examined them, particularly Comte Lafcaris, concerning you: their report is a very favourable one, especially on the side of Knowledge: the quickneſs of conception, which they allow you, I can easily credit; but the attention, which they add to it, pleafes me the more, as, I own, I expected it leſs. Go on in the purſuit and the increase of Knowledge; nay, I am ſure you will, for you now know too much to ſtop; and if Mr. Harte would let you be idle, I am convinced that you would not. But now, that you have left Leipſig, and are entered into the great world, remember there is another object that muſt keep pace with, and accompany Knowledge; I mean, Manners, Politenefs, and the Graces; in which Sir Charles Williams, though very much your friend, owns that you are very deficient. The manners of Leipſig 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 falt-cellars; no horſe play. On the contrary, a gentlenefs of manners, a graceful carriage, and an infinuating address, muſt take their place. I repeat, and ſhall never ceaſe repeating to you, the Graces, the Graces.

I defire, that, as soon as ever you get to Turin, you will apply
yourself diligently to the Italian language; that, before you leave
that

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

406

that place, you may know it well enough to be able to speak tolerably, when you get to Rome; where you will soon make yourself perfectly master of Italian, from the daily necessity that you will be under of speaking it. In the mean time, I infest upon your not neglecting, much less forgetting, the German you already know; which you may not only continue but improve, by speaking it constantly to your Saxon boy, and, as often as you can, to the several Germans you will meet in your travels. You remember, no doubt, that you must never write to me, from Turin, but in the German language and character.

I send you the enclosed letter of recommendation to Mr. Smith, the King's Conful at Venice; who can, and I dare say will, be more useful to you there than any body. Pray make your court, and behave your best, to Monfieur and Madame Capello; who will be of great use to you at Rome. Adieu! Yours tenderly,

LETTER CXLVIII.

London, April the 19th, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

THIS letter will, I believe, fill you at Venice, in all the diffipation of Masquerades, Ridottos, Operas, &c.: with all my heart; they are decent evenings amusements, and very properly succeeded that serious application to which I am fure you devote your mornings. There are liberal and illiberal pleafures, as well as liberal and illiberal arts. There are some pleafures, that degrade a gentleman, as much as some trades could do. Sottish drinking, indiferiminate gluttony, driving coaches, rufic sports, such as fox-chaces, horfe-races, &c. are, in my opinion, infinitely

TO HISSON.

407

infinitely below the honest and industrious professions of a taylor, and a shoemaker, which are said to déroger.

As you are now in a musical country, where singing, fiddling, and piping, are not only the common topics of conversation, but almost the principal objects of attention; I cannot help cautioning you against giving into thofe (I will call them illiberal) pleafures, (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 infest 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.

I have had a great deal of conversation with Comte du Perron, and Comte Lafearis, upon your subject; and I will tell you, very truly, what Comte du Perron (who is, in my opinion, a very pretty man) said of you. *Il a de l'esprit, un savoir peu commun à son age, une grande vivacité, et quand il aura pris des manières il sera parfait; car il faut avouer qu'il fent encore le collège; mais cela viendra.* I was very glad to hear, from one whom I think so good a judge, that you wanted nothing but *des manieres*; which I am convinced you will now soon acquire, in the company which henceforwards you are likely to keep. But I must add too, that, if you should not acquire them, all the reft will be of very little use to you. *By manieres,* I do not mean bare common civility; every body must have that, who would not be kicked out of company: but I mean engaging, infinuating, chining Manners; a diftinguished politenes, an almost irrefittible addrefs;

7

408

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

addrefs; 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 prin-
cipal object of your attention. Obſerve minutely, wherever you
go, the allowed and eſtablished models of good-breeding, and form
yourſelf upon them. Whatever pleafes 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.

Pray make my compliments to Mr. Harte; and tell him I
have received his letter from Vienna, of the 16th N. S. but that
I ſhall not trouble him with an anſwer to it, till I have received
the other letter, which he promiſes me, upon the ſubject of one of
my laſt. I long to hear from him, after your ſettlement at Turin:
the months that you are to paſs there, will be very deciſive ones
for you. The exerciſes of the Academy, and the manners of
Courts, muſt be attended to and acquired, and, at the fame time,
your other ſtudies continued. I am ſure you will not paſs, nor
defire, one ſingle idle hour there; for I do not foreſee that you
can, in any part of your life, put out ſix months to greater in-
tereſt, than thofe next ſix at Turin.

We will talk hereafter about your ſtay at Rome, and in other
parts of Italy. This only I will now recommend to you; which
is, to extraſt the ſpirit of every place you go to. In thofe places,
which are only diſtinguſhed by claſſical fame, and valuable
remains of antiquity, have your Clauſics in your hand and in
your head; compare the ancient geography, and deſcriptions, with
the modern; and never fail to take notes. Rome will furniſh
you with buſineſs enough of that ſort; but then it furniſhes you
with many other objects, well deferring your attention; ſuch as
deep eccleſiſtcal craft and policy. Adieu.

LETTER

TO HIS SON.

409

LETTER CXLIX.

London, April the 27th, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

I Have received your letter from Vienna, of the 19th N. S.
which gives me great uneafineſs, upon Mr. Harte's account.
You and I have reaſon to intereſt ourſelves very particularly in
every thing that relates to him. I am glad, however, that no
bone is broken or diſlocated; which being the cafe, I hope he
will have been able to purfue his journey to Venice: in that ſup-
poſition I direct this letter to you at Turin; where it will either
find, or, at least, not wait very long for you; as I calculate that
you will be there by the end of next month, N. S. I hope
you reflect how much you have to do there, and that you are
determined to employ every moment of your time accordingly.
You have your claſſical and ſeverer ſtudies to continue, with Mr.
Harte; you have your exerciſes to learn; the turn and manners
of a Court to acquire: reſerving always ſome time for the decent
amuſements and pleaſures of a gentleman. You fee that I am
never againſt pleaſures; I loved them myſelf, when I was of your
age; and it is as reaſonable that you ſhould love them now. But
I infiſt upon it, that pleaſures are very combineable with both
buſineſs and ſtudies, and have a much better reſiſh from the mix-
ture. The man who cannot join buſineſs and pleaſure, is either
a formal coxcomb in the one, or a ſenſual beaſt in the other.
Your evenings I therefore allot for company, aſſemblies, balls, and
fuch ſort of amuſements; as I look upon thofe to be the beſt
ſchools for the manners of a gentleman; which nothing can give
but uſe, obſervation, and experience. You have, beſides, Ita-
lian to learn, which I define you will diligently apply to; for
VOL. I.
3 G
though

410 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

though French is, I believe, the language of the Court at Turin,
yet Italian will be very necessary for you at Rome, and in other
parts of Italy; and if you are well grounded in it, while you are
at Turin, (as you easily may, for it is a very easy language) your
subsequent fly at Rome will make you perfect in it. I would
also have you acquire a general notion of Fortification; I mean so
far as not to be ignorant of the terms, which you will often hear
mentioned in company; such as Ravelin, Baffion, Glacis, Contre-
fearpe, &c. In order to this, I do not propose that you should
make a study of Fortification, as if you were to be an Engineer:
but a very easy way of knowing, as much as you need know of
them, will be to visit often the fortifications of Turin, in company
with some old Officer or Engineer, who will show, and explain to
you the several works themselves; by which means you will get
a clearer notion of them, than if you were to see them only
upon paper for seven years together. Go to originals whenever
you can, and trust to copies and descriptions as little as possible.
At your idle hours, while you are at Turin, pray read the history
of the House of Savoy; which has produced a great many very
great men. The late King, Victor Amédée, was undoubtedly one,
and the present King is, in my opinion, another. 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 a security; which commonly produces negligence and
indolence. A little Prince, in the neighbourhood 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 endeavour to make them. No Princes
have ever posseffed this art better than those of the House of Savoy;
who have enlarged their dominions prodigiously within a century,
by profiting of conjunctures.

I send

TO HIS SON.

411

I send you here enclosed, a letter from Comte Lafaris, who is
a warm friend of yours: I desire that you will answer it very
fool, and very cordially; and remember to make your compli-
ments in it to Comte du Perron. A young man should never be
wanting in those attentions; they coft 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 advifed you to apply your-
felf particularly: it guides ten thoufand, for one that reafon in-
fluences.

I cannot end this letter, or (I believe) any other, without repeat-
ing my recommendation of the Graces. They are to be met
with at Turin; for God's fake, sacrifice to them, and they will
be propitious. People mistake grofly, to imagine that the leaft
awkwardneſs, in either matter or manner, mind or body, is an
indifferent thing, and not worthy of attention. It may poffibly
be a weakneſs in me (but in ſhort we are all fo made): I confefs
to you fairly, that when you ſhall come home, and that I firſt fee
you, if I find you ungraceful in your addrefs, and awkward in
your perſon and drefs, it will be impoſſible for me to love you
half fo well as I ſhould otherwife do, let your intrinsic merit and
knowledge be ever ſo great. If that would be your cafe with me,
as it really would, judge how much worse it might be with others,
who have not the fame affection and partiality for you, and to
whose hearts you muſt make your own way.

Remember to write to me conſtantly, while you are in Italy,
in the German language and character, till you can write to me in
Italian; which will not be till you have been some time at Rome.

Adieu, my dear boy: may you turn out, what Mr. Harte and
I wish you! I muſt add, that, if you do not, it will be both your
own fault, and your own misfortune.

3 G 2

LETTER

412 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

LETTER CL.

London, May the 15th, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

THIS letter will, I hope, find you settled to your serious
studies, and your necessary exercises, at Turin, after the
hurry and diffipation of the Carnaval at Venice. I mean that
your stay at Turin should, and I flatter myself that it will, be an
useful and ornamental period of your education; but, at the fame
time, I must tell you, that all my affection for you has never
yet given me so much anxiety, as that which I now feel. While
you are in danger, I shall be in fear; and you are in danger at
Turin. Mr. Harte will, by his care, arm you as well as he can
against it; but your own good sense and resolution can alone
make you invulnerable. 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 be-
haviour, and the illiberal views, of my young countrymen abroad;
specially wherever they are in numbers together. Ill example
is of itself dangerous enough; but those who give it, seldom fop
there; they add their infamous exhortations and invitations; and,
if they 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 con-
verse with your own countrymen: among them, in general, you will
get little knowledge, no languages, and, I am sure, no manners.
I define, that you will form no connections, nor (what they impu-
dently call) friendships, with these people; which are, in truth, only
combinations

6

TO HIS SON.

combinations and conspiracies against good morals and good man-
ners. There is commonly, in young people, a facility that makes
them unwilling to refuse any thing that is asked of them; a mau-
waife horse, that makes them ashamed to refuse; and, at the fame
time, an ambition of pleasing and flshing in the company they
keep; these several cautions produce the best effect in good company,
but the very worst in bad. If people had no vices but their own,
few would have so many as they have. For my own part, I would
fooner wear other people's clothes than their vices; and they
would fit 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 difgraceful and unpardon-
able. There are degrees in vices, as well as in virtues; and I
must do my countrymen the justice to say, that they generally
take their vices in the lowest degree. Their gallantry is the in-
famous mean debauchery of flets, justly attended and rewarded
by the lots of their health, as well as their character. Their plea-
fures of the table end in beaftly drunkennesfs, low riot, broken
windows, and very often (as they well deferve) broken bones.
They game, for the fake of the vice, not of the amufement; and
therefore carry it to excess; undo, or are undone by, their com-
panions. By such conduct, and in such company, abroad, they
come home, the unimproved, illiberal, and ungentleman-like
creatures, that one daily sees them; that is, in title Park, and in the
fleets, for one never meets them in good company; where they
have neither manners to present themselves, nor merit to be re-
ceived. But, with the manners of footmen and grooms, they
affume their dres too; for you must have observed them in the
fleets here, in dirty blue frocks, with oaken flicks 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 disscurers of playhouses; they break the win-
dows,

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

414

dows, 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 theyfhine, and so they do indeed; but it is as putrefaction flines, in the dark.

I am not now preaching to you, like an old fellow, upon either religious or moral texts; I am perfuaded that you do not want the best inſtructions of that kind: but I am advifing you as a friend, as a man of the world, as one who would not have you old while you are young, but would have you take all the pleasures that reafon points out, and that decency warrants. I will therefore ſuppofe, for argument's-fake (for upon no other account can it be ſuppofed) that all the vices above mentioned were perſectly innocent in themſelves; they would fill degrade, vilify, and ſink, those who praeſtifed them; would obſtruct their riling in the world, by debaſing their characters; and give them a low turn of mind and manners, abſolutely Inconſiſtent with their making any figure in upper life, and great buſineſs.

What I have now ſaid, together with your own good ſenſe, is, I hope, ſufficient to arm you againſt the ſeduction, the invita-
tions, or the proſligate exhortations (for I cannot call them
temptations) of thofe unfortunate young people. On the other
hand, when they would engage you in theſe ſchemes, content
yourſelf with a decent but ſteady refuſal; avoid controverſy upon
fuch plain points. You are too young to convert them, and, I
truſt, too wife to be converted by them. Shun them, not only in
reality, but even in appearance, if you would be well received in
good company; for people will always be ſhy of receiving a man,
who comes from a place where the plague rages, let him look
ever ſo healthy. There are ſome expreſſions, both in French and
Engliſh, and ſome characters, both in thofe two and in other

countries,

3

TO HIS SON.

415

countries, which have, I dare say, mifled many young men to
their ruin. Une honnête débauche, une jolie débauche; an agree-
able 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 oppofition to duſneſs, formality, and want of ſpirit. A
commerce galant, infenſibly formed with a woman of fashion; a
glaſs of wine or two too much, unwarily taken, in the warmth
and joy of good company; or ſome innocent frolic, by which
nobody is injured; are the utmoſt bounds of that life of pleasure,
which a man of ſenſe and decency, who has a regard for his
character, will allow himſelf, or be allowed by others. Thofe
who tranſſeſſs them, in the hopes of ſhining, miſs their aim, and
become infamous, or at least contemptible.

The length or thortneſs of your ſlay at Turin will ſufficiently
inform me (even though Mr. Harte ſhould not) of your conduct
there; for, as I have told you before, Mr. Harte has the ſtrictest
orders to carry you away immediately from thence, upon the firſt
and leaſt ſymptom of inſection that he diſeovers about you; and
I know him to be too conſcientiouſly ſerupulous, and too much
your friend and mine, not to execute them exacely. Moreover,
I will inform you, that I ſhall have conſtant accounts of your
behaviour, from Comte Salmour, the Governor of the Academy;
whofe ſon is now here, and my particular friend. I have, alſo, other
good channels of intelligence, of which I do not apprife you.
But, ſuppofing that all turns out well at Turin, yet, as I pro-
pofe your being at Rome, for the Jubilee, at Chriflmas, I defire
that you will apply yourſelf diligently to your exerciſes of dancing,
ſencing, and riding, at the Academy; as well for the ſake of
your health and growth, as to ſashion and ſupple you. You
muſt not neglect your drefs, neither, but take care to be *bien mis*.

Pray,

416 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

Pray lend for the beſt Operator for the teeth, at Turin; where,
I ſuppole, there is ſome famous one; and let him put yours in
perſeſt order; and then take care to keep them ſo, afterwards,
yourſelf. You had very good teeth, and I hope they are ſo full;
but even thoſe who have bad ones, ſhould keep them clean; for
a dirty mouth is, in my mind, ill manners. In ſhort, neglect
nothing that can poffibly pleaſe. A thousand nameleſs little
things, which nobody can deſcribe, but which every body feels,
confſpire to form that whole of pleafing; as the ſeveral pieces of
a Mofaie work, though ſeparately of little beauty or value, when
properly joined, form thoſe beautiful figures which pleaſe every
body. A look, a geſture, an attitude, a tone of voice, all bear
their parts in the great work of pleafing. The art of pleafing
is more particularly neceſſary in your intended proſeſſion, than
perhaps in any other; it is, in truth, the firſt half of your buſi-
neſs; 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 diſtinguſhed attentions,
to ſuch men and women as are beſt at Court, higheſt in the ſashion,
and in the opinion of the public; ſpeak advantageouſly of them
behind their backs, in companies whom 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 re-
doubled them, in the perſons of the prefent King, and the Duke
of Savoy; wonder, at this rate, where it will end; and conclude
that it muſt end in the government of all Europe. Say this, like-
wife, where it will probably be repeated; but ſay it unaſſelectedly,
and, the laſt eſpecially, with a kind of enjouement. These little
arts

TO HIS SON.

417

arts are very allowable, and muſt be made uſe of in the courſe of
the world; they are pleafing to one party, uſeful to the other,
and injurious to nobody.

What I have faſd with regard to my countrymen in general,
does not extend to them all without exception; there are ſome
who have both merit and manners. Your friend, Mr. Stevens, is
among the latter, and I approve of your connection with him.
You may happen to meet with ſome others, whose friendſhip
may be of great uſe to you hereafter, either from their ſuperior
talents, or their rank and fortune; cultivate them: but then I
defire that Mr. Harte may be the judge of thoſe perſons.

Adieu, my dear child! Confider ſeriously the importance of
the two next years, to your character, your figure, and your
fortune.

LETTER CLI.

London, May the 22d, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

I
Recommended to you, in my laſt, an innocent piece of art;
that of flattering people behind their backs, in prefence of
thoſe, who, to make their own court, much more than for your
fake, will not fail to repeat, and even amplify the praife, to the
party concerned. This is, of all flattery, the moſt pleafing, 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
pleafe the moſt, and rife the ſoonerſt. The ſpirits and vivacity of
youth are apt to neglect them as uſeleſs, or reject them as trou-
bleſome.

VOL. I.

3 H

418 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

419

blesome. But subsequent knowledge and experience of the world
reminds us of their importance, commonly when it is too late.
The principal of these things, is the maflery of one's temper, and
that coolness of mind, and serenity of countenance, which hinders
us from discovery, by words, actions, or even looks, those paffions
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 great bufinefs, but in all the moft
common occurrences of life. A man who does not poſſeſs him-
felf enough to hear diſagreeable things, without viſible marks of
anger and change of countenance, or agreeable ones without fud-
den burſs of joy, and expanſion of countenance, is at the mercy
of every artful knave, or pert coxcomb : the former will
provoke or pleafe you by defign, 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. The latter will, by his abſurdity, and with-
out intending it, produce the fame diſcoveries, of which other
people will avail themſelves. You will ſay, poſſibly, that this
coolneſs muſt be constitutional, and conſequently does not depend
upon the will : and I will allow that conſtitution has ſome power
over us; but I will maintain, too, that people very often, to
excufe themſelves, very unjuſtly accuse their conſtitutions. Care
and reflection, if properly uſed, will get the better; and a man
may as surely get a habit of letting his reaſon prevail over his con-
ſtitution, as of letting, as moſt people do, the latter prevail over
the former. If you find yourſelf ſubject to ſudden flarts of
paffion, or madneſs, (for I fee no difference between them, but in
their duration) resolve within yourſelf, at leaſt, never to ſpeak one-
word, while you feel that emotion within you. Determine, too,
to keep your countenance as unmoved and unembarraſed as
poſſible;

TO HIS SON.

420

poſſible; which fteadineſs you may get a habit of, by conſtant at-
tention. I ſhould defire nothing better, in any negotiation, than
to have to do with one of theſe men of warm, quick paffions;
which I would take care to fet in motion. By artful provocations,
I would extort rafh and unguard ed expreſſions; and, by hinting
at all the ſeveral things that I could ſuſpect, inſallibly diſcover the
true one, by the alteration it occaſioned in the countenance of
the perſon. Volto ſeien to con poffieri ſtretti is a moſt uſeful maxim
in bufineſs. It is ſo neceſſary at ſome games, ſuch as Berlan,
Quinze, &c. that a man who had not the command of his temper,
and countenance, would inſallibly be undone by thofe who had,
even though they played fair. Whereas, in bufineſs, you always
play with ſharpers; to whom, at leaſt, you ſhould give no fair
advantages. It may be objeſted, that I am now recommending
diſſimulation to you; I both own and juſtify it. It has been
long ſaid, Qui neſcit diffimulare neſcit regnare: I go ſiill farther,
and ſay, that without ſome diſſimulation no bufineſs 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 thofe who have
not true wisdom. And the fame great man ſays, that diſſimu-
lation 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 publifhed, and
which I will ſend you by the firſt opportunity, ſays, very juſtly,
that ſimulation is a ſiletto; not only an unjuſt but an unlawful
weapon, and the uſe of it very rarely to be excufed, never
juſtified. Whereas diſſimulation is a ſhield, as ſecrecy is armour;
and it is no more poſſible to preferve ſecrecy in bufineſs, with-
out ſome degree of diſſimulation, than it is to ſucceed in bufineſs
without ſecrecy. He goes on, and ſays, that thofe two arts, of

3 H 2

diſſimulation

420 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

diffusion and fecrecy, are like the alloy mingled with pure ore: a little is necessary, and will not debase the coin below its proper standard; but if more than that little be employed (that is, simulation and cunning) the coin loses its currency, and the coiner his credit.

Make yourfelf absolute mafter, therefore, of your temper, and your countenance, so far, at least, as that no vifible change do appear in either, whatever you may feel inwardly. This may be difficult, but it is by no means impoffible; and, as a man of fenfe never attempts impoffibilities, on one hand, on the other, he is never difcouraged by difficulties: on the contrary, he redoubles his induftry and his diligence, he perfevers, and infallibly prevails at laft. In any point, which prudence bids you purfue, and which a manifeft utility attends, let difficulties only animate your induftry, not deter you from the purfuit. If one way has failed, try another; be active, perfevere, and you will conquer. Some people are to be reafoned, some flattered, some intimidated, and some teazed into a thing; but, in general, all are to be brought into it at laft, if skilfully applied to, properly managed, and indefatigably attacked in their several weak places. The time ſhould likewife be judiciouſly choſen; every man has his *mollia tempora*, but that is far from being all day long; and you would chufe your time very ill, if you applied to a man about one bufineſs, when his head was full of another, or when his heart was full of grief, anger, or any other difagreeable ſentiment.

In order to judge of the infide of others, ſtudy your own; for men in general are very much alike; and though one has one prevailing paffion, and another has another, yet their operations are much the fame; and whatever engages or difguſts, pleafes or offends you, in others, will, *mutatis mutandis*, engage, diſguſt, pleafe, or offend others, in you. Obferve, with the utmoft attention,

TO HIS SON.

421

attention, all the operations of your own mind, the nature of your paffions, and the various motives that determine your will; and you may, in a great degree, know all mankind. For instance; do you find yourfelf hurt and mortified, when another makes you feel his fuperiority, and your own inferiority, in knowledge, parts, rank, or fortune? You will certainly take great care not to make a perfon, whose good will, good word, intereſt, eſteem, or friendlip, you would gain, feel that fuperiority in you, in cafe you have it. If difagreeable infuations, fly ſneers, or repeated contradictions, teaze and irritate you, would you uſe them, where you wifhed to engage and pleafe? Surely not; and I hope you wifh to engage and pleafe, almoſt univerſally. The temptation of faying a ſmart and witty thing, or *bon mot*; and the malicious applaſe with which it is commonly received; has made people who can ſay them, and, fill 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 faid at your expence, (as ſometimes they certainly will) reflect ſeriously upon the ſentiments of uneaſineſs, anger, and ſentment, which they excite in you; and confider whether it can be prudent, by the fame means, to excite the fame 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 perfon, for the ſake of a *bon mot*. When things of this kind happen to be faid of you, the moſt prudent way is to ſeem not to ſuppofe that they are meant at you, but to diſſemble and conceal what-ever degree of anger you may feel inwardly; but, ſhould they be ſo plain, that you cannot be ſuppofed ignorant of their meaning, to join in the laugh of the company againſt yourfelf; acknowledge the hit to be a fair one, and the jeſt a good one, and play off

422 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

off the whole thing in feeming good-humour: but by no means
reply in the fame way; which only shows that you are hurt, and
publishes the victory which you might have concealed. Should
the thing faid, indeed, injure your honour, or moral character,
there is but one proper reply; which I hope you never will have
occasion to make.

As the female part of the world has some influence, and often
too much, over the male, your conduct, with regard to women,
(I mean women of fashion, for I cannot fuppose you capable of
converfing with any others) deferves some share in your reflections.
They are a numerous and loquacious body: their hatred would
be more prejudicial, than their friendship can be advanta-
geous to you. A general complaifance, and attention to that
fex, is therefore eftabliſhed by cuſtom, and certainly neceffary.
But where you would particularly pleafe any one, whole fitua-
tion, intereſt, or connections, can be of ufe to you, you muſt
how particular preference. The leaſt attentions pleafe, the
greatest charm them. The innocent, but pleafing flattery of
their perſons, however groſs, is greedily fwallowed, and kindly
digested; but a feeming regard for their underſtandings, a feem-
ing defire of, and deference for, their advice, together with a
feeming confidence in their moral virtues, turns their heads
intirely in your favour. 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
fure of gaining their friendship, if you ſeem to think it worth
gaining. Here, diffimulation is very often neceffary, and even
fimulation fometimes allowable; which, as it pleafes them, may
be uſeful to you, and is injurious to nobody.

* This torn ſheet, which I did not obſerve when I began upon

* The original is written upon a ſheet of paper, the corner of which is torn.

it,

TO HIS SON.

it; as it alters the figure, ſhortens too the length of my letter. It
may very well afford it: my anxiety for you, carries me inſen-
bly to theſe lengths. I am apt to flatter myſelf, that my expe-
rience, at the latter end of my life, may be of uſe to you, at the
beginning of yours; and I do not grudge the greateſt trouble, if it
can procure you the leaſt advantage. I even repeat frequently the
fame things, the better to imprint them on your young, and, I
fuppofe, yet giddy mind; and I ſhall think that part of my time
the beſt employed, that contributes to make you employ yours
well. God bleſs you, child !

LETTER CLII.

London, June the 16th, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

I Do not gueſs where this letter will find you; but, I hope, it
will find you well: I direct it, eventually, to Laubach; from
whence, I fuppofe, you have taken care to have your letters ſent
after you. I received no account, from Mr. Harte, by laſt poſt;
and the mail due this day is not yet come in; ſo that my informa-
tions come down no lower than the 2d June, N. S. the date of
Mr. Harte's laſt letter. As I am now eafy about your health, I
am only curious about your motions, which, I hope, have been
either to Inſpruck or Verona; for I diſapprove extremely of your
propoſed long and troubleſome journey to Switzerland. Where-
ever you may be, I recommend to you, to get as much Italian
as you can, before you go either to Rome or Naples: a little will
be of great uſe to you upon the road; and the knowledge of the
grammatical part, which you can eafily acquire in two or three
months, will not only facilitate your progreſs, but accelerate your
perfection.

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

424

perfection in that language, when you go to those places where it
is generally spoken; as Naples, Rome, Florence, &c.

Should the state of your health not yet admit of your usual
application to books, you may, in a great degree, and I hope
you will, repair that loss, by useful and instructive conversations
with Mr. Harte: you may, for example, define him to give you,
in conversation, the outlines, at least, of Mr. Locke's Logic; a
general notion of Ethics, and a verbal epitome of Rhetoric; of
all which, Mr. Harte will give you clearer ideas in half an hour,
by word of mouth, than the books of most of the dull fellows,
who have written upon those subjects, would do in a week.

I have waited so long for the poft, which I hoped would come,
that the poft, which is just going out, obliges me to cut this
letter short. God blefs you, my dear child, and restore you soon
to perfect health !

My compliments to Mr. Harte; to whose care, your life is the
least thing that you owe.

LETTER CLIII.

London, June the 22d, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

THE outside of your letter of the 7th, N. S. directed by
your own hand, gave me more pleasure, than the infide
of any other letter ever did. I received it yesterday, at the
fame time with one from Mr. Harte, of the 6th. They arrived
at a very proper time, for they found a consultation of Physicians
in my room, upon account of a fever, which I had for four or
five days, but which has now entirely left me. As Mr. Harte
fays,

TO HIS SON.

425

fays, that your lungs, now and then, give you a little pain; and that
your fwellings come and go variably; but, as he mentions nothing
of your coughing, spitting, or sweating, the Doctors take it for
granted, that you are intirely free from those three bad ſym-
toms; and from thence conclude, that the pain, which you fome-
times feel upon your lungs, is only ſymptomatical of your rheu-
matic diſorder, from the preſsure of the muscles, which hinders the
free play of the lungs. But however, as the lungs are a point of
the utmoſt importance and delicacy, they infiſt upon your drink-
ing, in all events, affes milk twice a day, and goat's whey as
often as you pleafe, the oftener the better: in your common diet,
they recommend an attention to pectorals, ſuch as fago, barley,
turnips, &c. These rules are equally good in rheumatic, as
in consumptive cafes; you will therefore, I hope, ftrictly obſerve
them; for I take it for granted that you are above the filly
likings, or diſlikings, in which filly people indulge their taſtes,
at the expence of their healths.

I approve of your going to Venice, as much as I difapproved of
your going to Switzerland. I fuppofe, that you are by this time
arrived; and, in thatSUPPOſITION, I direct this letter there. But
if you ſhould find the heat too great, or the water offenſive, at this
time of the year, I would have you go immediately to Verona,
and fly there till the great heats are over, before you return to
Venice.

The time which 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 any thing of.
Read, ask, and fee every thing, 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 deferve a
different fort of attention from that which your countrymen com-

VOL. I.

3 I

monly

426 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

monly give them. They go to fee them, as they go to fee the
Lions, and Kings on horfeback, at the Tower here; only to fay
that they have been them. You will, I am sure, view them in
another light; you will confider them as you would a Poem, to
which indeed they are akin. You will obferve, whether the
feulptor has animated his ſtone, or the painter his canvas, into the
juſt expreflion of thofe ſentiments and paſſions, which ſhould
characterife and mark their ſeveral figures. You will examine,
likewise, whether, in their groupes, there be an unity of action, or
proper relation; a truth of drefs and manners. Sculpture and
painting are very juſtly called liberal arts; a lively and ſtrong
imagination, together with a juſt obſervation, being absolutely ne-
ceffary to excel in either: which, in my opinion, is by no means
the cafe 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. The Venetian ſchool produced many great painters,
fuch as Paul Veroneſe, Titian, Palma, &c. of whom you will
fee, as well in private houſes as in churches, very fine pieces. The
Laſt Supper, of Paul Veroneſe, in the church of St. George, is
reckoned his capital performance, and deferves your attention;
as does alſo the famous picture of the Cornaro family, by Titian.
A taſte of ſculpture and painting, is, in my mind, as becoming, as
a taſte of fiddling and piping is unbecoming, a man of ſaſhion.
The former is connected with Hiftory and Poetry; the latter, with
nothing, that I know of, but bad company.

Learn Italian as ſaſt as ever you can, that you may be able to
underſtand it tolerably, and ſpeak it a little, before you go to
Rome and Naples. There are many good Hiflorians in that lan-
guage, and excellent Translations of the ancient Greek and
Latin authors; which are called the *Collana*: but the only two

Italian

TO HISSON.

Italian Poets, that deferve your acquaintance, are Arioſto and
Taſſo; and they undoubtedly have great merit.

Make my compliments to Mr. Harte, and tell him, that I have
confulted about his leg; and that, if it was only a ſprain, he
ought to keep a tight bandage about the part, for a considerable
time, and do nothing eſſe to it. Adieu! *Jubeo te bene valere.*

LETTER CLIV.

London, July the 6th, O. S. 1749-

DEAR BOY,

AS I am now no longer in pain about your health, which, I
truſt, is perfectly reſtored; and as, by the various accounts
I have had of you, I need not be in pain about your learning;
our correfpondence may, for the future, turn upon leſs important
points, comparatively; though ſtill very important ones: I mean,
the Knowledge of the World, Decorum, Manners, Addrefs, and
all thofe (commonly called little) accompliſhments, which are
absolutely neceſſary, to give greater accompliſhments their full
value and luſtre.

Had I the admirable ring of Gyges, which rendered the wearer
invifible; and had I, at the fame time, thofe magic powers,
which were very common formerly, but are now very ſcarce, of
tranſporting myſelf, by a wifh, to any given place; my firſt ex-
pedition would be to Venice, there to *reconnoitre* you, unſeen my-
felf. I would, firſt, take you in the morning, at breakfaſt with Mr.
Harte, and attend to your natural and ungunſted converſation with
him; from whence, I think, I could pretty well judge of your
natural turn of mind. How I ſhould rejoice, if I overheard you aſking
him pertinent queſtions upon uſeful ſubjeſts! or making judicious

reflections

3 I 2

428 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

reflections upon the studies of that morning, or the occurrences
of the former day! Then, I would follow you into the different
companies of the day, and carefully observe, in what manner
you prefented yourfelf to, and behaved yourfelf with, men of
fene and dignity: whether your addrefs was refpeſtful, and yet
eafy; your air modeſt, and yet unembarraſed: and I would, at
the fame time, penetrate into their thoughts, in order to know
whether your firſt abord made that advantageous impreſſion upon
their fancies, which a certain addrefs, air, and manners, never
fail doing. I would, afterwards, follow you to the mixed com-
panies of the evening; ſuch as affemblies, fuppers, &c. and there
watch if you trifled gracefully and genteely: if your good-breed-
ing and politenefs, made way for your parts and knowledge.
With what pleasure ſhould I hear people cry out, Che garbato
Cavaliere, com'è pulito, diſinvolto, ſpiritoſo! If all theſe things
turned out to my mind, I would, immediately, affume my own
ſhape, become viſible, and embrace you: but, if the contrary
happened, I would preferve my inviſibility, make the beſt of my
way home again, and ſink my diſappointment upon you and
the world. As, unfortunately, theſe ſupernatural powers of
Genii, Fairies, Sylphs, and Gnomes, have had the fate of the
oracles they ſucceeded, and have ceaſed for ſome time, I muſt
content myſelf, (till we meet naturally, and in the common way)
with Mr. Harte's written accounts of you, and the verbal ones
which I now and then receive from people who have ſeen you.
However, I believe, it would do you no harm, if you would al-
ways imagine that I were preſent, and ſaw and heard every
thing you did and faſd.

There is a certain concurrence of various little circumftances,
which compoſe what the French call l'aimable; and which, now
that you are entering into the world, you ought to make it your
particular

TO HIS SON.

particular ſtudy to acquire. Without them, your learning will
be pedantry, your converſation often improper, always unpleafant,
and your figure, however good in itſelf, awkward and unengaging.
A diamond, while rough, has, indeed, its intrinsic value; but,
till polifhed, is of no uſe, and would neither be fought for nor
worn. Its great luſtre, it is true, proceeds from its ſolidity;
and ſtrong coheſion of parts; but, without the laſt polifh, it would
remain, for ever, a dirty, rough mineral, in the cabinets of
ſome ſew 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 polifh. A *propos* of dia-
monds; I have ſent you, by Sir James Gray, the King's Minifter,
who will be at Venice about the middle of September, my own
diamond buckles; which are ſitter for your young ſeet, than for
my old ones: they will properly adorn you; they would only
expoſe me. If Sir James finds any body whom he can truſt,
and who will be at Venice before him, he will ſend them by that
perſon; but if he ſhould not, and that you ſhould be gone from
Venice before he gets there, he will, in that cafe, give them to
your Banker, Monſieur Cornet, to forward to you, wherever you
may then be. You are now of an age, at which the adorning
your perſon is not only not ridiculous, but proper and becoming.
Negligence would imply, either an indifference about pleafing, or
elſe an infolent ſecurity of pleafing, without uſing theſe means
to which others are obliged to have recourse. A thorough cleanli-
neſs in your perſon is as neſſary, for your own health, as it is not
to be offenſive to other people. Waſhing yourfelf, and rubbing
your body and limbs frequently with a fleſh-brush, will conduce as
much to health as to cleanlineſs. A particular attention to
the cleanlineſs of your mouth, teeth, hands, and nails, is
but

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

430

but common decency, in order not to offend people's eyes and nofes.

I fend you here encloſed, a letter of recommendation to the Duke of Nivernois, the French Embaſliador at Rome; who is, in my opinion, one of the prettiest men I ever knew in my life. I do not know a better model for you to form yourſelf upon: pray obſerve and frequent him as much as you can. He will flow you what Manners and Graces are. I ſhall, by ſucceſſive poſts, fend you more letters, both for Rome and Naples, where, it will be your own fault intirely, if you do not keep the very beſt company.

As you will meet ſwarms of Germans wherever you go, I defire that you will conſtantly converſe with them in their own lan-
guage; which will improve you in that language, and be, at the fame time, an agreeable piece of civility to them.

Your ſtay in Italy will, I do not doubt, make you critically
maſter of Italian; I know it may, if you pleaſe, for it is a very
regular, and conſequently a very eafy language. Adieu! God
bleſs you.

LETTER CLV.

DEAR BOY,

London, July the 20th, O. S. 1749.

I Wrote to Mr. Harte laſt Monday, the 17th, O. S. in anſwer to his letter of the 20th June, N. S. which I had received but the day before, after an interval of eight poſts; during which, I did not know whether you or he exiſted, and indeed I began to think that you did not. By that letter, you ought at this time to be at Venice; where I hope you are arrived in perſect health, after the

baths

4

TO HIS SON.

431

baths of Tieſſer, in caſe you have made uſe of them. I hope
they are not hot baths, if your lungs are ſtill tender.

Your friend, the Comte d'Einfiedlen, is arrived here: he has been
at my door, and I have been at his; but we have not yet met.
He will dine with me some day this week. Comte Lafearis in-
quires after you very frequently, and with great affection: pray
anſwer the letter which I forwarded to you a great while ago
from him. You may enclose your anſwer to me, and I will take
care to give it him. Thoſe attentions ought never to be omitted;
they coſt little, and pleaſe a great deal; but the neglect of
them offends more than you can yet imagine. Great merit, or
great failings, will make you be reſpected or despifed; 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
fentiments proceed from very flight 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. My heart is ſo fet upon your pleafing, and conſequently
ſucceeding, in the world, that poſſibly I have already (and probably
ſhall again) repeat the fame things over and over to you. How-
ever, to err, if I do err, on the ſurer ſide, I ſhall continue to
communicate to you thoſe obſervations upon the world, which
long experience has enabled me to make, and which I have gene-
rally found to hold true. Your youth and talents, armed with
my experience, may go a great way; and that armour is very
much at your ſervice, if you pleaſe to wear it. I premife that it
is not my imagination, but my memory, that gives you theſe rules:
I am not writing pretty, but uſeful, ſ reflections. A man of ſenſe
foon diſcovers, becauſe he carefully obſerves, where, and how long,
he

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

432

he is welcome; and takes care to leave the company, at least as
foon as he is wifhed out of it. Fools never perceive where they
are either ill timed or ill placed.

I am this moment agreeably ftopped, in the course of my re-
flections, by the arrival of Mr. Harte's letter of the 13th July,
N. S. to Mr. Grevenkop, with one encloſed for your Mamma.
I find by it, that many of his and your letters to me muſt have
mifcarried; for he fays, that I have had regular accounts of you.
Whereas all thofe accounts have been only, his letter of the 6th
and yours of the 7th June, N. S; his of the 20th June, N. S. to
me; and now his of the 13th July, N. S. to Mr. Grevenkop.
However, ſince you are ſo well, as Mr. Harte ſays you are, all is
well. I am extremely glad that you have no complaint upon
your lungs; but I defire that you will think you have, for
three or four months to come. Keep in a course of affes or
goats milk, for one is as good as the other, and poffibly the
latter is the beſt; and let your common food be as pec-
toral as you can conveniently make it. Pray tell Mr. Harte
that, according to his defire, I have wrote a letter of thanks to
Mr. Firmian. I hope you write to him too, from time to time.
The letters of recommendation of a man of his merit and learn-
ing, will, to be ſure, be of great uſe to you among the learned
world in Italy; that is, provided you take care to keep up to the
charaſter he gives you in them; otherwife they will only add to
your diſgrace.

Confider, that you have loft a good deal of time by your illneſs;
fetch it up now that you are well. At prefent you ſhould be a
good œconomift of your moments, of which company and fights
will claim a confiderable ſhare; ſo that thofe which remain, for
ſtudy, muſt be not only attentively, but greedily employed. But,
indeed, I do not ſuſpect you of one ſingle moment's idlenefs in the
whole

TO HIS SON.

433

whole day. Idlenefs is only the refuge of weak minds; and the
holyday of fools. I do not call good company and liberal pleas-
fures, idlenefs; far from it: I recommend to you a good ſhare
of both.

I ſend you here encloſed, a letter for Cardinal Alexander
Albani, which you will give him, as ſoon as you can get to
Rome, and before you deliver any others; the Purple expects
that preference: go next to the Due de Nivernois, to whom
you are recommended by ſeveral people at Paris, as well as by
my ſelf. Then you may carry your other letters occasionally.

Remember to pry narrowly into every part of the government
of Venice; inform yourſelf of the Hiftory of that Republic,
eſpecially of its moſt remarkable aras; ſuch as the *Ligue de Cam-
bray*, in 1509, by which it had like to have been deſtroyed; and
the confiracy formed by the Marquis de Bedmar, the Spaniſh
Embaffador, to ſubjeſt it to the Crown of Spain. The famous
difputes between that Republic and the Pope, are worth your
knowledge; and the writings of the celebrated and learned *Fra
Paolo di Sarpi*, upon that occafion, worth your reading. It was
once the greateſt commercial power in Europe, and, in the 14th
and 15th centuries, made a confiderable figure; but at preſent
its commerce is decayed, and its riches conſequently decreaſed;
and, far from meddling now with the affairs of the continent, it
owes its ſecurity to its neutrality and inefficiency: and that
ſecurity will laſt no longer, than till one of the great Powers in
Europe engroſſes the reſt of Italy; an event which this century
poffibly may, but which the next probably will fee.

Your friend Comte d'Einfiedlen, and his Governor, have been
with me this moment, and delivered me your letter from Berlin,
of February the 28th, N. S. I like them both ſo well, that I am
glad you did; and ſtill gladder to hear what they ſay of you.

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Go on, and continue to defer the praifes of thofe who deferve praifes themselves. Adieu.

I break open this letter to acknowledge yours of the 30th June, N. S. which I have but this inſant received, though thirteen days antecedent in date to Mr. Harte's laſt. I never, in my life, heard of bathing four hours a day; and I am impatient to hear of your ſafe arrival at Venice, after ſo extraordinary an operation.

LETTER CLVI.

London, July the 30th, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

M
R. Harte's letters and yours drop in upon me moſt irre-
gularly; for I received, by the laſt poſt, one from Mr.
Harte, of the 9th, N. S. and that which Mr. Grevenkop had
received from him, the poſt before, was of the 13th; at laſt, I
fuppofe, I ſhall receive them all.

I am very glad that my letter, with Dr. Shaw's opinion, has
leſiened 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.

Though, in that letter of mine, I propofed your going to In-
fpruck, it was only in oppofition to Laufanne, which, I thought,
much too long and painful a journey for you; but you will have
found, by my ſubsequent letters, that I intirely approved of
Venice; where, I hope, you have now been ſome time, and
which is a much better place for you to refide at, till you go to
Naples, than either Tieſier or Laubach. I love Capitals extremely;
it

TO HIS SON.

435

it is in Capitals that the beſt company is always to be found;
and, conſequently, the beſt manners to be learned. The very
beſt Provincial places have ſome awkwardneſſes, that diſtinguish
their manners from thofe of the Metropolis. A *propofes of Capitals*;
I ſend you here two letters of recommendation to Naples, from
Monſieur Finochetti, the Neapolitan Minifter at the Hague; and,
in my next, I ſhall ſend you two more, from the fame perſon, to
the fame place.

I have examined Count Einſiedlen ſo narrowly, concerning you,
that I have extorted from him a conſeſſion, that you do not care
to ſpeak German, unleſs to ſuch who underſand no other lan-
guage. At this rate, you will never ſpeak it well, which I am very
defirous that you ſhould do, and of which you would, in time,
find the advantage. Whoever has not the command of a lan-
guage, and does not ſpeak it with facility, will always appear
below himſelf, when he converſes in that language: the want
of words and phraſes will cramp and lame his thoughts. As you
now know German enough to exprefs yourſelf tolerably, ſpeaking
it very often will ſoon make you ſpeak it very well; and then you
will appear in it whatever you are. What with your own Saxon
fervant, and the ſwarms of Germans you will meet with wherever
you go, you may have opportunities of converſing in that lan-
guage half the day; and I do very ſeriously define that you will,
or eſſe all the pains that you have already taken about it are
loſt. You will remember, likewife, that, till you can write in
Italian, you are always to write to me in German.

Mr. Harte's conjecture, concerning your diſtemper, ſeems to
be a very reaſonable one; it agrees intirely with mine, which
is the univerſal rule by which every man judges of another
man's opinion. But, whatever may have been the cauſe of your
rheumatic diſorder, the effects are ſill to be attended to; and, as

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436 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

there must be a remaining acrimony in your blood, you ought to
have regard to that, in your common diet, as well as in your medi-
cines; both which should be of a sweetening alkaline nature, and
promotive of perfpiration. Rheumatic complaints are very apt to
return, and those returns would be very vexatious and detrimental
to you, at your age, and in your course of travels. Your time is, now
particularly, ineffectible; and every hour of it, at present, worth
more than a year will be to you twenty years hence. You are
now laying the foundation of your future character and fortune;
and one single one wanting in that foundation, is of more con-
sequence than fifty in the superfluity; which can always be
mended and embellished, if the foundation is solid. To carry on
the metaphor of building: I would with you to be a Corinthian
e政difice, upon a Tuscan foundation; the latter having the utmost
strength and solidity to support, and the former all possible orna-
ments to decorate. The Tuscan column is coarse, clumsy, and
unpleaSCnt; no body looks at it twice: the Corinthian fluted
column is beautiful and attractive; but, without a solid founda-
tion, can hardly be seen twice, because it must soon tumble
down. Yours affectionately.

LETTER CLVII.

DEAR BOY,

London, August the 7th, O.S. 1749.

BY Mr. Harte's letter to me of the 18th July, N. S. which I
received by the last post, I am at length informed, of the
particulars both of your past diftemper, and of your future mo-
tions. As to the former, I am now convinced, and so is Doctor
Shaw, that your lungs were only symptomatically affected; and
that

TO HIS SON.

that the rheumatic tendency is what you are chiefly now to guard
against, but (for greater security) with due attention still to your
lungs, as if they had been, and still were, a little affected. In
either case, a cooling, pectoral regimen is equally good. By cool-
ing, I mean cooling in its consequences, not cold to the palate:
for nothing is more dangerous than very cold liquors, at the
very time that one longs for them the most; which is, when one
is very hot. Fruit, when full ripe, is very wholesome; but then
it must be within certain bounds as to quantity; for I have
known many of my countrymen die of bloody fluxes, by indulg-
ing in too great a quantity of fruit, in those countries, where,
from the goodness and ripeness of it, they thought it could do
them no harm. *Ne quid nimis* is a most excellent rule in every
thing; but commonly the least observed, by people of your age,
in any thing.

As to your future motions, I am very well pleased with them,
and greatly prefer your intended play at Verona, to Venice, whose
almost flaguating waters must, at this time of the year, corrupt
the air. Verona has a pure and clear air, and, as I am informed,
a great deal of good company. Marquis Maffei, alone, would be
worth going there for. You may, I think, very well leave
Verona about the middle of September, when the great heats
will be quite over, and then make the best of your way to Naples,
where, I own, I want to have you, by way of precaution (I
hope it is rather over caution) in case of the least remains of
a pulmonic disorder. The amphitheatre at Verona is worth
your attention; as are, alfo, many buildings there and at
Vicenza, of the famous Andrea Palladio, whose taste and style of
building were truly *antique*. It would not be amiss, if you
employed three or four days in learning the five Orders of
Architecture, with their general proportions; and you may know
all

438 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

TO HIS SON.

all that you need know of them in that time. Palladio's own
book of Architecture is the best you can make use of for that
purpose, skipping over the lowest mechanical parts of it, such
as the materials, the cement, &c.

Mr. Harte tells me, that your acquaintance with the Classics
is renewed; the suspension of which has been so short, that I
dare say it has produced no coldness. I hope, and believe,
that you are now so much master of them, that two hours
every day, uninterruptedly, for a year or two more, will make
you perfectly so; and I think you cannot now allot them a
greater share than that of your time, confiding the many
other things you have to learn and to do. You must know how
to speak and write Italian perfectly: you must learn some
Logic, some Geometry, and some Astronomy; not to mention
your Exercises, where they are to be learnt: and, above all,
you must learn the World, which is not soon learnt; and only
to be learnt by frequenting good and various companies.

Confider, therefore, how precious every moment of time is to you
now. The more you apply to your bufinefs, the more you will
taste your pleafures. The exercife of the mind in the morning
whets the appetite for the pleafures of the evening, as much as the
exercife of the body whets the appetite for dinner. Bufinefs and
pleasure, rightly understood, mutually affift each other; inftead
of being enemies, as filly or dull people often think them. No
man tastes pleafures truly, who does not earn them by previous
bufinefs; and few people do bufinefs well, who do nothing else.
Remember, that when I speak of pleafures, I always mean the
elegant pleafures of a rational Being, and not the brutal ones of a
wine. I mean *la bonne Chere*, short of gluttony; Wine, infinitely
short of drunkennefs; Play, without the leaft Gaming; and Gallantry,
without Debauchery. There is a line in all thefe things, which
men

TO HIS SON.

439

men of fenfe, for greater fecurity, take care to keep a good deal on
the right side of: for fickneſs, pain, contempt, and infamy, lie
immediately on the other side of it. Men of fenſe 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:
and whoever thinks them fathionable, will not be ſo himself; I
have often known a fathionable man have ſome one vice; but I
never, in my life, knew a vicious man a fathionable man. Vice is
as degrading as it is criminal. God bleſs you, my dear child !

LETTER CLVIII.

London, August the 30th, 1749.

DEAR BOY,

LET us refume our reflections upon Men, their characters,
their manners; in a word, our reflections upon the World.
They may help you to form yourself, and to know others. A
knowledge very useful at all ages, very rare at yours: it feems
as if it were no body's bufineſs to communicate it to young
men. Their Maſters teach them, fingly, the languages, or the
ſciences of their ſeveral departments; and are indeed generally
incapable of teaching them the World: their Parents are often
ſo too, or at leaſt neglect doing it; either from avocations, indif-
ference, or from an opinion, that throwing them into the world
(as they call it) is the beſt way of teaching it them. This laſt
notion is in a great degree true; that is, the World can doubtleſs
never be well known by theory; practice is absolutely neceſſary:
but, ſurely, it is of great uſe to a young man, before he fets out for
that country, full of mazes, windings, and turniags, to have at leaſt
a general map of it, made by ſome experienced traveller.

There

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LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

449

There is a certain dignity of Manners absolutely necessary, to
make even the most valuable character either respected or re-
spected.

Horde-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 dubbs you their dependent, and led captain. It gives your
inferiors, juft, but troublesome and improper claims of equality.
A joker is near a kin to a buffoon; and neither of them is the
least related to wit. Whoever is admitted or fought for, in com-
pany, upon any other 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 all vilifying distinctions, mortifying preferences, and
exclude all ideas of esteem and regard. Whoever is had (as it
is called) in company, for the fake of any one thing singly,
is singly that thing, and will never be confidered in any other
light; consequently never respected, let his merits be what
they will.

This dignity of Manners, which I recommend so much to you,
is not only as different from pride, as true courage is from bluster-
ing, or true wit from joking; but is absolutely infidelent with
it; for nothing vilifies and degrades more than pride. The
pretensions of the proud man, are oftener treated with finer and
contempt, than with indignation: as we offer ridiculously too
little to a tradesman, who asks ridiculously too much for his
goods;

TO HIS SON.

442

goods; but we do not haggle with one who only asks a just
and reasonable price.

Abject flattery and indiscriminate affentation degrade, as much
as indiscriminate contradiction and nosey debate difguft. But a
modeft afflertion of one's own opinion, and a complaisant acqui-
ceance to other people's, preferve dignity.

Vulgar, low expressions, awkward motions and addrefs, vilify,
as they imply, either a very low turn of mind, or low education
and low company.

Frivolous curiosity about trifles, and a laborious attention to
little objects, which neither require, nor deferve, a moment's
thought, lower a man; who from thence is thought (and not un-
justly) incapable of greater matters. Cardinal de Retz, very fa-
gacioufly, marked out Cardinal Chigi for a little mind, from the
moment that he told him he had wrote three years with the fame
pen, and that it was an excellent good one flill.

A certain degree of exterior ferioufnefs in looks and mo-
tions, gives dignity, without excluding wit and decent chearful-
nefs, which are always ferious themselves. A confiant 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. Hafte and hurry are very
different things.

I have only mentioned some of those things which may, and
do, in the opinion of the world, lower and sink characters, in
other respects valuable enough; but I have taken no notice of those
that affect and sink the moral characters. They are sufficiently
obvious. A man who has patiently been kicked, may as well pre-
tend to courage, as a man, blafped by vices and crimes, may to
dignity of any kind. But an exterior decency and dignity of
manners, will even keep such a man longer from sinking, than

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442 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

otherwife he would be: of such confequence is the το πεπον,
even though affected and put on! Pray read frequently, and
with the utmost attention, may get by heart if you can, that in-
comparable chapter in Cicero's Offices, upon the το πεπον,
or the *Decorum*. It contains whatever is necessary for the dig-
nity of Manners.

In my next, I will send you a general map of Courts; a region
yet unexplored by you; but which you are one day to inhabit.
The ways are generally crooked and full of turnings, sometimes
swallowed with flowers, sometimes choaked up with briars; rotten
ground and deep pits frequently lie concealed under a smooth
and pleafing surface: all the paths are slippery, and every slip is
dangerous. Senfe and difcretion muſt accompany you at your
firſt fetting out; but, notwithstanding thofe, till experience is
your guide, you will every now and then ſtep out of your way,
or ſtumble.

Lady Cheſterfield has juſt now received your German letter,
for which ſhe thanks you; ſhe ſays that the language is very
correct; and I can plainly fee that the character is well formed,
not to ſay better than your English character. Continue to write
German frequently, that it may become quite familiar to you.
Adieu.

LETTER CLIX.

DEAR BOY,

London, August the 21ſt, O. S. 1749.

BY the laſt letter that I received from Mr. Harte, of the 31ſt
July, N. S. I fuppofe you are now either at Venice or Ve-
rona, and perfectly recovered of your late illneſs; which, I am
daily

TO HIS SON.

daily more and more convinced, had no consumptive tendency:
however, for fome time ſtill, *faites comme s'il y en avoir*, be re-
gular, and live pectorally.

You will soon be at Courts, where, though you will not be
concerned, yet, reflection and obſervation, upon what you fee
and hear there, may be of uſe to you, when, hereafter, you
may come to be concerned in Courts yourſelf. Nothing in Courts
is exaſtly as it appears to be; often very different; sometimes
directly contrary. Intereſt, which is the real ſpring of every
thing there, equally creates and diffolves friendſhips, produces and
reconciles enmities; or rather, allows of neither real friendſhips
nor enmities; for, as Dryden very juſtly obſerves, *Politicians
neither love nor hate*. This is ſo true, that you may think
you connect yourſelf with two friends to-day, and be obliged,
to-morrow, to make your option between them as enemies: ob-
ſerve, therefore, ſuch a degree of reſerve with your friends, as
not to put yourſelf in their power, if they ſhould become your
enemies; and ſuch a degree of moderation with your enemies,
as not to make it impoffible for them to become your friends.

Courts are, unqueſtionably, the ſeats of Politenefs and Good-
breeding; were they not ſo, they would be the ſeats of ſlaughter
and defolation. Thoſe who now ſmile upon, and embrace, would
aſſront and ſlab each other, if Manners did not interpoſe: but
Ambition and Avarice, the two prevailing paſſions at Courts,
found Diſſimulation more effectual than Violence; and Diſlinu-
lation introduced that habit of Politenefs, which diſtinguifies the
Courtier from the Country Gentleman. In the former cafe, the
ſtrongeft body would prevail; in the latter, the ſtrongeſt mind.

A man of parts and efficiency need not flatter every body at
Court; but he muſt take great care to offend no body perſonally;
it being in the power of very many to hurt him, who cannot ſerve

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446 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

LETTER CLX.

London, September the 5th O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

I Have received yours from Laubach, of the 17th of August, N. S. with the enclosed for Comte Lafearis; which I have given him, and with which he is extremely pleased, as I am with your account of Carniola. I am very glad that you attend to, and inform yourself of, the political objects of the countries you go through. Trade and Manufactures are very considerable, not to say the most important ones: for, though Armies and Navies are the shining marks of the strength of countries, they would be very ill paid, and consequently fight very ill, if manufactures and commerce did not support them. You have certainly observed, in Germany, the inefficiency of great Powers, with great traits of country, and fwarms of men; which are absolutely useles, if not paid by other Powers, who have the resources of manufactures and commerce. This we have lately experienced to be the case of the two Empires of Germany and Russia: England, France, and Spain must pay their respective allies, or they may as well be without them.

I have not the least objection to your taking, into the bargain, the observation of natural curiosities; they are very welcome, provided they do not take up the room of better things. But the forms of government, the maxims of policy, the strength or weak- nefs, the trade and commerce, of the several countries you fee or hear of, are the important objects, which I recommend to your most minute inquiries, and most serious attention. I thought that the Republic of Venice had, by this time, laid aside that filly and

frivolous

TO HIS SON.

frivolous piece of policy, of endeavouring to conceal their form of government; which any body may know, pretty near, by taking the pains to read four or five books, which explain all the great parts of it; and as for some of the little wheels of that machine, the knowledge of them would be as little useful to others, as dangerous to themselves. Their best policy (I can tell them) is to keep quiet, and to offend no one great Power, by joining with another. Their escape after the Ligue of Cambray, should prove an useful leçon to them.

I am glad you frequent the assemblies at Venice. Have you seen Monfieur and Madame Capello; and how did they receive you ? Let me know who are the ladies whose houfes you frequent the most. Have you seen the Comteffe d'Orfelska, Princes of Hofstein? Is Comte Algarotti, who was the tenant there, at Venice.

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 busines to declare war to 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 depofer 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,

448 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

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 Englishman) 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 alterations with them, about the imaginary right of their King, as they call him.

It is to no fort of purpose to talk to those people of the natural rights of mankind, and the particular constitution of this country. Blinded by prejudices, soured by misfortunes, and tempted by their necessities, they are as incapable of re reasoning rightly, as they have hitherto been of acting wifely. The late Lord Pembroke never would know any thing that he had not a mind to know; and, in this cafe, I advise you to follow his example. Never know either the father or the two sons, any otherwife than as foreigners; and so not knowing their pretenfions you have no occasion to dispute them.

I can never help recommending to you the utmost attention and care, to acquire, les Manieres, la Tournure, et les Graces, d'un Galant Homme, et d'un Homme de Cour. They should appear in every look, in every action; in your address, and even in your drefis, if you would either please or rife in the world. That you may do both (and both are in your power) is most ardently wished you, by Yours,

P. S. I

TO HIS SON.

449

P. S. I made Comte Lafaris show me your letter, which I liked very well: the style was easy and natural, and the French pretty correct. There were so few faults in the orthography, that a little more observation of the best French authors, will make you a correct master of that necessary language.

I will not conceal from you, that I have lately had extraordinary good accounts of you, from an unsuspected and judicious person; who promises me, that, with a little more of the world, your Manners and Addrefs will equal your Knowledge. This is the more pleasing to me, as those were the two articles which I was the most doubtful of. These commendations will not, I am perfuaded, make you gain and coxcomical, but only encourage you to go on in the right way.

LETTER CLXI.

London, September the 12th, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

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 laboured to bring you fife into, that my concern would be doubled, should you be shipwrecked within fight of it. The object, therefore, of this letter is, (laying aside all the authority of a parent) to conjure you as a friend, by the affection you have for me (and surely you have reason to have fome) and by the regard you have for your self, to go on, with affiuuity and attention, to compleat that work, which, VOL. I.

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450 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

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. Deep learning is
generally tainted with pedantry, or at least unadorned by man-
ners; as, on the other hand, polite manners, and the turn of the
world, are too often unsupported by knowledge, and consequent-
ly end contemptibly, in the frivolous diffipation of drawing-rooms
and ruelles. You are now got over the dry and difficult parts
of learning, what remains, requires much more time than trouble.
You have lost time by your illnesses; you must regain it now
or never. I therefore moft earneftly defire, for your own fake,
that for these next fix months, at least, fix hours every morn-
ing, uninterruptedly, may be inviolably sacred to your studies,
with Mr. Harte. I do not know whether he will require so much,
but I know that I do, and hope you will, and confemmently
prevail with him to give you that time: I own it is a good deal;
but when both you and he confider, that the work will be so much
better, and so much sooner done, by such an affiduous and con-
tinued application, you will, neither of you, think it too much,
and each will find his account in it. So much for the mornings,
which, from your own good senfe, and Mr. Harte's tenderness
and care of you, will, I am sure, be thus well employed. It is
not only reasonable, but useful too, that your evenings should
be devoted to amusements and pleasures; and therefore I not
only allow, but recommend, that they should be employed at
affemblies, balls, spectacles, and in the best companies; with this
restriction only, that the consequences of the evenings diverfions,
may not break in upon the mornings studies, by breakfastings,
vitits, and idle parties into the country. At your age, you need
not be affhamed, when any of these morning parties are propofed,
to

TO HIS SON.

451

to say that you must beg to be excused, for you are obliged
to devote your mornings to Mr. Harte; that I will have it so;
and that you dare not do otherwise. Lay it all upon me; though
I am perfuaded it will be as much your own inclination
as it is mine. But those frivolous, idle people, whose time
hangs upon their own hands, and who define to make others lofe
theirs too, are not to be reafoned with; and indeed it would be
doing them too much honour. The shortest, civil anfwers, are
the beft; I cannot, I dare not, instead of I will not; for, if you
were to enter with them into the neceffity of study, and the ufe-
fulneſs of knowledge, it would only furnish them with matter for
their filly jeſts; which, though I would not have you mind, I
would not have you invite. I will fuppofe you at Rome, studying
fix hours uninterruptedly with Mr. Harte, every morning, and
pafling your evenings with the beſt company of Rome, obſerving
their manners and forming your own; and I will fuppofe a num-
ber of idle, fauntering, illiterate English, as there commonly is
there, living intirely with one another, fupping, drinking, and
fitting up late at each other's lodgings; commonly in riots and
ferapes, 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 yourfelf; such as I dare say it will be on his
fide, and such as I hope it will be on yours.

Englifhman. Will you come and breakfast with me to-morrow;
there will be four or five of our countrymen; we have provided
chaifes, and we will drive somewhere out of town after break-
fast?

Stanhope. I am very sorry I cannot; but I am obliged to be at
home all morning.

Englifhman. Why then we will come and breakfast with you.

Stanhope. I can't do that neither, I am engaged.

3 M 2

Englifhman.

452

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

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 any body 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 amusements indeed! Are you to take Orders then?

Stanhope. Yes, my father's orders, I believe I must take.

Englishman. Why haft 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 fay 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 fays. 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 immoveable, 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 fay: and pray, are you to obey your dry-nurse too, this fame, what's his name—Mr. Harte?

3

Stanhope.

TO HIS SON.

453

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 loufe if I never see it again.

Stanhope. My dry-nurse never defines any thing of me that is not reasonable, and for my own good; and therefore I like to be with him.

Englishman. Very fententious 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 Embassadres's.

Englishman. How the devil can you like being always with those 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 easy abroad for. Is it not?

Englishman. I hate your modeft women's company; your women of fashion as they call 'em. I don't know what to fay to them, for my part.

Stanhope. Have you ever conversed with them?

Englishman.

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

454

Englifhman. No. I never converfed 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.

Englifhman. 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 ſaſhion the year round.

Stanhope. Taſtes are different, you know, and every man fol-
lows his own.

Englifhman. That's true; but thine's a devilifh 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 no-
thing to be made of thee.

Stanhope. I am afraid I do too.

Englifhman. Well then; good night to you; you have no objec-
tion, I hope, to my being drunk to-night, which I certainly will be.

Stanhope. Not in the leaſt; nor to your being ſick to-mor-
row, 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 occafion 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, difgrace-
ful vices. They will feverely feel the effects of them, when it
will be too late. Without the comfortable refuge of learning,
and

TO HIS SON.

455

and with all the fickneſs and pains of a ruined ſtomach, and a
rotten carcaſe, if they happen to arrive at old age, it is an uneaſy
and ignominious one. The ridicule which ſuch fellows endeav-
vour to throw upon thoſe who are not like them, is, in the opi-
nion of all men of ſenſe, the moſt authentic panegyrie. Go on,
then, my dear child, in the way you are in, only for a year and
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 re-
quiſite, not only for your conveniency, but alſo for your pleafures,
which I always defire ſhould be gratiſed. You will ſuppoſe that
I mean the pleafures d'un honnête homme.

While you are learning Italian, which I hope you do with dili-
gence, pray take care to continue your German, which you may
have frequent opportunities of ſpeaking; I would alſo have you
keep up your knowledge of the *Jus Publicum Imperii*, by looking-
over, now and then, thoſe *inſeſimable manuſcripts*, which Sir Charles
Williams, who arrived here laſt week, affures me that you have
made upon that ſubject. It will be of very great uſe to you,
when you come to be concerned in foreign affairs; as you ſhall be
(if you qualify yourſelf for them) younger than ever any other was;
I mean before you are twenty. Sir Charles tells me, that he will
anſwer for your learning; and that, he believes, you will acquire
that addrefs, and thoſe graces, which are ſo neceſſary to give it its
full luſtre and value. But he confesſes, that he doubts more of the
latter than of the former. The juſtice which he does Mr. Harte, in
his panegyrics of him, makes me hope, that there is likewise a
great deal of truth in his encomiums of you. Are you pleafed
with,

6

456 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

with, and proud of the reputation which you have already ac-
quired? Surely you are, for I am sure I am. Will you do any
thing to lefen or forfeit it? Surely you will not. And will you
not do all you can to extend and increafe it? Surely you will.
It is only going on for a year and half longer, as you have gone on
for the two years laft paft, and devoting half the day only to ap-
plication; and you will be fure to make the earlieft figure and
fortune in the world, that ever man made. Adieu.

LETTER CLXII.

London, September the 22d, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

I F 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 every body ſelfe. 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 eafily 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 wifhed; till, ſatified intirely with his accounts of your character and learning, I inquired into other matters, intrinſically indeed of leſs conſequence, but ſill of great conſequence to every man, and of more to you than to almoſt any man; I mean, your addreſs, manners, and air. To theſe queſtions, the fame truth which he had obſerved before, obliged him to give me much leſs ſatisfactory anſwers. And, as he thought himſelf, in friendſhip both to you and me, obliged to tell me the diſagreeable,
as

TO HISSON.

457

as well as the agreeable truths, upon the fame principle, I think
myself obliged to repeat them to you.

He told me then, that in company you were frequently moſt
provokingly inattentive, abſent, and diſtrait. That you came into
a room, and prefented yourſelf, very awkwardly; that at table
you conſtantly threw down, knives, forks, napkins, bread, &c.
and that you neglected your perſon and drefs, to a degree unpar-
donable at any age, and much more fo at yours.

These things, how immaterial ſoever they may ſeem to people
who do not know the world, and the nature of mankind, give
me, who know them to be exceedingly material, very great con-
cern. I have long diſtruſted you, and therefore frequently ad-
moniſhed you, upon theſe articles; and, I tell you plainly, that I
ſhall not be eafy, till I hear a very different account of them. I
know no one thing more offenſive to a company, than that
inattention and diſtraſtion. It is ſhowing them the utmoſt con-
tempt; 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 diſtraſtion, 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 pleafure, at least he ſhows me
no contempt; whereas the abſent man, filently indeed, but very
plainly, tells me that he does not think me worth his attention.
Befides, 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 life-time (if they will admit
him, which, if I were they, I would not) and never be one
jot the wifer. 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, whom we ſee plainly, nei-
ther

VOL. I.

3 N

ther

458 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

ther hears, minds, nor underflands us. Moreover, I aver that
no man is, in any degree, fit for either bufneſs or conversation,
who cannot, and does not, direſt and command his attention to
the preſent object, be that what it will. You know, by expe-
rience, that I grudge no expence in your education, but I will
poſtively not keep you a Flapper. You may read, in Dr. Swift,
the deſcription of these Flappers, and the uſe they were of to
your friends the Laputans; whole minds (Gulliver ſays) are ſo
taken up with intenſe ſpeculations, that they neither can ſpeak,
or attend to the diſcourſes of others, without being roused by
ſome external taſtion upon the organs of ſpeech and hearing;
for which reaſon, thoſe people who are able to aſford it, always
keep a Flapper in their family, as one of their domeſtics; nor
ever walk about, or make viſits, without him. This Flapper
is likewife employed diligently to attend his mafter in his walks;
and, upon occaſion, to give a ſoft flap upon his eyes; becauſe
he is always ſo wrapped up in cogitation, that he is in ma-
nifeſt danger of falling down every precipice, and bouncing his
head againſt every poſt, and, in the ſtreets, of jostling others, or
being jostled into the kennel himselfſ. If Chriſtian will undertake
this province into the bargain, with all my heart; but I will not al-
low him any increaſe of wages upon that ſcore. In ſhort, I give
you fair warning, that, when we meet, if you are abſent in mind,
I will ſoon be abſent in body; for it will be impoſſible for me to
ſtay in the room: and if, at table, you throw down your knife,
plate, bread, &c. and hack the wing of a chicken for half an
hour, without being able to cut it off, and your ſleeve, all the
time, in another diſh, I muſt rife from table to eſcape the fever
you would certainly give me. Good God! how I ſhould be
ſhocked, if you came into my room, for the firſt time, with two
left legs, preſenting yourſelf with all the graces and dignity of a

Taylor,

2

TO HIS SON.

459

Taylor, and your cloaths hanging upon you, like thoſe in Mon-
mouth-flreet, upon tenterhooks! whereas I expect, nay, re-
quire to fee you preſent yourſelf with the eafy and genteel air of
a Man of Faſhion, who has kept good company. I expect you
not only well drefſed, but very well drefſed: I expect a graceful-
neſs in all your motions, and ſomething particularly engaging in
your addreſs. All this I expect, and all this it is in your power,
by care and attention, to make me find; but, to tell you the
plain truth, if I do not find it, we shall not converſe very much
together; for I cannot ſtand inattention and awkwardneſs; it
would endanger my health. You have often ſeen, and I have as
often made you obſerve L**'s diſtinguifhed inattention and
awkwardneſs. Wrapped up, like a Laputan, in intenſe thought,
and poffibly, ſometimes, in no thought at all; which, I believe, is
very often the cafe of abſent people; he does not know his moſt
intimate acquaintance by ſight, or anſwers them as if he were at
croſs-purpoſes. He leaves his hat in one room, his ſword in ano-
ther, and would leave his ſhoes in a third, if his buckles, though
awry, did not ſave them: his legs and arms, by his awkward
management of them, ſeem to have undergone the Question extra-
ordinaire; and his head, always hanging upon one or other of his
shoulders, ſeems to have received the firſt ſtroke upon a block. I
fincerely value and eſteem him for his Parts, Learning, and Virtue;
but, for the foul of me, I cannot love him in company. This will
be, univerſally, the cafe, in common life, of every inattentive, awk-
ward man, let his real merit and knowledge be ever ſo great. When
I was of your age, I deſired to ſhine, as far as I was able, in every
part of life; and was as attentive to my Manners, my Drefs, and
my Air, in company of evenings, as to my Books and my Tu-
tor in the mornings. A young fellow ſhould be ambitious to ſhine
in every thing; and, of the two, always rather overdo than underdo.

3 N 2

These

georgefordycebon.

460 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

Thefe things are, by no means, trifles; they are of infinite confe-
quence to thofe who are to be thrown into the great world, and
who would make a figure or a fortune in it. It is not sufficient to
deferve well; one muſt pleafe well too. Awkward, difagreable
merit, will never carry any body far. Wherever you find a good
dancing-mafter, pray let him put you upon your haunches; not
fo much for the fake of dancing, as for coming into a room, and
prefenting yourſelf genteely and gracefully. Women, whom you
ought to endeavour to pleafe, cannot forgive vulgar and awkward air
and geſtures; *il leur faut du brillant.* The generality of men are pretty
like them, and are equally taken by the fame exterior graces.

I am very glad that you have received the diamond buckles
faſe: all I defire, in return for them, is, that they may be
buckled even upon your feet, and that your ſtockings may not
hide them. I ſhould be forry that you were an egregious ſop;
but, I proteſt, that, of the two, I would rather have you a Fop
than a Sloven. I think negligence, in my own drefſs, even at my
age, when, certainly, I expect no advantages from my drefſs,
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 com-
pany 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
fhine, equally in the learned and in the polite world; the former
part is almoſt completed to my wishes, and will, I am perfuaded,
ina little time more, be quite ſo. The latter part is ſill 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,

4

TO HIS SON.

461

deparment, where the exterior addrefs and graces do half the
bufineſs; 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 foot ten, or even nine inches,
your figure will, probably, be a good one; and, if well drefſed
and genteel, will, probably, pleafe; which is a much greater ad-
vantage to a man, than people commonly think. Lord Bacon
calls it a letter of recommendation.

I would wifh you to be the *omnis homo, l'homme universel.*
You are nearer it, if you pleafe, than ever any body was at your
age; and if you will but, for the courfe of this next year only,
exert your whole attention to your ſtudies in the morning, and
to your addrefs, manners, air, and *tournure*, in the evenings,
you will be the man I wifh you, and the man that is rarely
ſeen.

Our letters go, at beſt, ſo irregularly, and ſo often miſcarry
totally; that, for greater ſecurity, I repeat the fame things. So,
though I acknowledged by laſt poſt Mr. Harte's letter of the
8th September, N. S. I acknowledge it again by this to you. If
this ſhould find you ſtill at Verona, let it inform you, that I wifh
you would ſet out ſoon for Naples; unleſs Mr. Harte ſhould
think it better for you to ſtay at Verona, or any other place on
this ſide Rome, till you go there for the Jubilee. Nay, if he
likes it better, I am very willing that you ſhould go directly
from Verona to Rome; for you cannot have too much of Rome,
whether upon account of the language, the curiosities, or the
company. My only reaſon for mentioning Naples, is for the
fake of the climate, upon account of your health; but, if Mr.
Harte thinks that your health is now ſo well reſtored, as to b:
above

462 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

above climate, he may fleer your course wherever he thinks pro-
per; and, for ought I know, your going directly to Rome, and
consequently flaying there so much the longer, may be as well as
any thing elfe. I think you and I cannot put our affairs in
better hands than in Mr. Harte's; and I will take his infallibility
against the Pope's, with fome odds on his fide. A *propos* of the
Pope; remember to be prefented to him before you leave Rome,
and go through the neceffary ceremonies for it, whether of kifling
his flipper or his b—h; for I would never deprive myfelf of any
thing that I wanted to do or fee, by refufing to comply with an
eftablifhed cuftom. When I was in Catholic countries, I never
declined knceling in their churches at the elevation, nor elfe-
where, when the Hoft went by. It is a complaifance due to the
cuftom of the place, and by no means, as fome filly people have
imagined, an implied approbation of their doctrine. Bodily
attitudes and situations are things fo very indifferent in them-
felves, that I would quarrel with nobody about them. It may,
indeed, be improper for Mr. Harte to pay that tribute of com-
plaisance, upon account of his character.

This letter is a very long, and poſſibly a very tedious one;
but my anxiety for your perfection is ſo great, and particularly
at this critical and decifive period of your life, that I am only
afraid of omitting, but never of repeating or dwelling too long,
upon any thing that I think may be of the leaſt uſe to you.
Have the fame anxiety for yourſelf, that I have for you, and all
will do well. Adieu ! my dear child.

LETTER

TO HIS SON.

LETTER CLXIII.

London, September the 27th, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

A Vulgar, ordinary way of thinking, acting, or speaking, im-
plies a low education, and a habit of low company. Young
people contraſt it at ſchool, or among ſervants, with whom they
are too often uſed to converſe; but, after they frequent good com-
pany, they muſt want attention and obſervation very much, if they
do not lay it quite aſide. And indeed if they do not, good com-
pany will be very apt to lay them aſide. The various kinds of
vulgarisms are infinite; I cannot pretend to point them out to you;
but I will give ſome ſamples, by which you may gueſt at the reſt.

A vulgar man is captious and jealous; eager and impetuous
about trifles. He ſuppects himſelf to be ſlighted, thinks every
thing that is faſd meant at him; if the company hap-
pens to laugh, he is perſuaded they laugh at him; he grows
angry and teſtly, ſays ſomething very impertinent, and draws
himſelf into a ſerape, by ſhowing what he calls a proper ſpirit,
and aſſerting himſelf. A man of ſaſhion does not ſuppoſe himſelf
to be either the ſole or principal object of the thoughts, looks, or
words of the company; and never ſuppects that he is either
ſlighted or laughed at, unleſs he is confecious that he deferves it.
And if (which very ſeldom happens) the company is abſurd or ill-
bred enough to do either, he does not care two pence, 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 favours
ſtrongly of the lowneſs of his education and company. It turns
chiefly

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

464

chiefly upon his dem flie affairs, his servants, the excellent order
he keeps in his own family, and the little anecdotes of the neigh-
bourhood ; all which he relates with emphatis, as interefling
matters. He is a man goflip.

Vulgarifm in language is the next, and diſtinguifhing charac-
teriflic of bad company, and a bad education. A man of ſashion
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 Poſſon. If any
body attempts being ſmarte, as he calls it, upon him; he gives them
Tit for Tat, aye, that he does. He has always ſome favourite word
for the time being ; which, for the fake of uſing often, he com-
monly abufes. Such as vaſſly angry, vaſſly kind, vaſſly handſome,
and vaſſly ugly. Even his pronunciation of proper words, carries
the mark of the beaſt along with it. He calls the earth yeaſth ; he
is obſeiged not obſliged to you. He goes to wards, and not towards
fuch a place. He fometimes affects hard words, by way of orna-
ment, which he always mangles like a learned woman. A man
of ſashion never has recourse to proverbs, and vulgar aphorisms;
uſes neither favourite words nor hard words ; but takes great care
to ſpeak very correctly and grammatically, and to pronounce pro-
perly ; that is, according to the ſusage of the beaſt companies.

An awkward addrefs, ungraceful attitudes and actions, and a
certain left-handineſs (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-
raifed man is diſtinguifhed in a regiment by his awkwardneſs ; but
he muſt be impenetrably dull, if, in a month or two's time, he
cannot

TO HIS SON.

465

cannot perform, at leaſt, the common manual exercife, and look
like a ſoldier. The very accoutrements of a man of ſashion, are
grievous incumbrances to a vulgar man. He is at a laſs what to
do with his hat, when it is not upon his head; his cane (if un-
fortunately 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. His ſword is formidable only to his own legs,
which would poffibly carry him faſt enough out of the way of any
ſword but his own. His clothes fit him ſo ill, and conſtrain him
ſo much, that he ſeems rather their prifoner than their proprietor.
He prefents himſelf in company, like a criminal in a court of
juſtice; his very air condemns him; and people of ſashion will
no more connect themselves with the one, than people of character
will with the other. This repulſe drives and finks him into low
company; a gulph from whence no man, after a certain age, ever
emerged.

Les manières nobles et aifées, la tournerure d'un homme de condi-
tion, le ton de la bonne compagnie, les Graces, le je ne ſais qui, qui
plait, are as neceſsary to adorn and introduce your intrinsic merit
and knowledge, as the polifh is to the diamond; which, without
that polifh, would never be worn, whatever it might weigh. Do
not imagine that theſe accomplishments are only uſeful with
women; they are much more ſo with men. In a public affem-
bly, what an advantage has a graceful ſpeaker, with genteel mo-
tions, a handſome figure, and a liberal air, over one, who ſhall ſpeak
full as much good ſenſe, but deſtitute of theſe ornaments ? In
bufineſs, how prevalent are the graces, how detrimental is the
want of them ? By the help of theſe I have known ſome men
refuse favours, 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,

VOL. I.

30

that

get the fire, &c.
Hastily drawn up
have ingenuous
This is your province.

466 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

that you have to do with, in spight even of their prudence;
which will, nine times in ten, be the dupe of their hearts and
of their senes. Confider the importance of these things as they
deferve, and you will not lose one moment in the purfuit of
them.

You are travelling now in a country once so famous both
for arts and arms, that (however degenerated at prefent) it
still deferves your attention and reflection. View it therefore
with care, compare its former with its prefent state, and examine
into the caues of its rife, and its decay. Confider it clasically
and politically, and do not run through it, as too many of your
young countrymen do, mufically, and (to ufe a ridiculous word)
knick-knackically. No piping nor fiddling, I befeech you; no
days loft in poring upon almoft imperceptible Intaglios and Cameos:
and do not become a Virtuoſo of ſmall wares. Form a taſte of
Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture, if you pleafe, by a careful
examination of the works of the beſt ancient and modern artiſts;
thofe are liberal arts, and a real taſte and knowledge of them
become a man of ſaſhion 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 yel-
terday. He has more good-nature and generofity, than parts.
However, I will show him all the civilities that his kindneſs to
you, so juſtly deferves; he tells me that you are taller than I am,
which I am very glad of. I defire that you may excel me in
every thing else too; and, far from repining, I ſhall rejoice at
your ſuperiority. He commends your friend Mr. Stevens, ex-
tremely; of whom, too, I have heard so good a character from
other people, that I am very glad of your connection with him.
It may prove of uſe to you hereafter. When you meet with ſuch
fort of Englishmen abroad, who, either from their parts, or their
rank,

TO HIS SON.

467

rank, are likely to make a figure at home, I would advife you
to cultivate them, and get their favourable teſtimony of you here,
eſpecially thofe who are to return to England before you. Sir
Charles Williams has puffed you (as the mob call it) here ex-
tremely. If three or four more people of parts do the fame, be-
fore you come back, your firſt appearance in London will be to
great advantage. Many people do, and indeed ought, to take
things upon truſt; many more do, who need not; and few dare
diffent from an eſtabliſhed opinion. Adieu.

LETTER CLXIV.

London, October the 2d, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

I Received by the laſt poſt your letter of the 22d September,
N. S. but I have not received that from Mr. Harte, to which
you refer, and which, you ſay, contained your reaſons for leaving
Verona, and returning to Venice; ſo that I am intirely ignorant
of them. Indeed the irregularity and negligence of the poſt pro-
voke 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 defire, for the future, that both you and
Mr. Harte will, conſtantly, in your letters, mention the dates
of mine. Had it not been for their miſcarriage, you would
not have been in the uncertainty, you ſeem to be in at pre-
fent, with regard to your future motions. Had you received

302

my

468 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

my letters, you would have been, by this time, at Naples: but
we must, now, take things where they are.

Upon the receipt, then, of this letter, you will, as soon as
conveniently you can, set out for Rome; where you will not
arrive too long before the Jubilee, confidering the difficulties of
getting lodgings, and other accommodations, there at this time. I
leave the choice of the route to you; but I do, by no means,
intend, that you should leave Rome after the Jubilee, as you
feem to hint in your letter; on the contrary, I will have Rome
your head-quarters for fix months, at leaft; till you shall have, in
a manner, acquired the Jus Civitatis there. There are more things
to be seen and learned there, than in any other town in Europe;
there are the beſt maſters to inſtruct, and the beſt companies
to poliſh you. In the ſpring, you may make (if you pleafe) fre-
quent excurſions to Naples; but Rome muſt ſtill be your head-
quarters, till the heats of June drive you from thence to ſome
other place in Italy, which we ſhall think of by that time. As
to the expence, which you mention, I do not regard it in the leaſt;
from your infancy to this day, I never grudged any expence in
your education, and ſtill leſs do it now, that it is become more
important and deciſive. I attend to the objects of your expences,
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 chearfully ſupply, not only every neceſſary, but every decent
expence you can make. I do not care what the beſt maſters coſt.
I would have you as well dreſt, lodged, and attended, as any
reafonable man of ſaſhion is in his travels. I would have you
have that pocket-money that ſhould enable you to make the pro-
per expence, d'un honnête homme. In ſhort, I bar no expence,
that

TO HIS SON.

469

that has neither vice nor folly for its object; and, under thoſe two
reafonable reſtrictions, draw and welcome.

As for Turin, you may go there hereafter, as a traveller, for a
month or two; but you cannot conveniently reſide there as an
academician, for reaſons which I have formerly communicated to
Mr. Harte, and which Mr. Villettes, ſince his return here, has
ſhown me in a ſtill ſtronger light than he had done by his letters
from Turin, of which I ſent copies to Mr. Harte, though pro-
bably he never received them.

After you have left Rome, Florence is one of the places which
you should be thoroughly acquainted with. I know that there
is a great deal of gaming there; but, at the fame time, there are,
in every place, ſome people whole fortunes are either too ſmall, or
whole underſtandings are too good, to allow them to play for any
thing above trifles; and with thoſe people you will affociate
yourſelf, if you have not (as I am affured you have not, in the
leaſt) the ſpirit of gaming in you. Moreover, at ſuſpected places,
ſuch as Florence, Turin, and Paris, I ſhall be more attentive to
your draughts, and ſuch as exceed a proper and handſome ex-
pence will not be anſwered; for I can eaſily know whether you
game or not, without being told.

Mr. Harte will determine your route to Rome, as he ſhall think
beſt; whether along the coaſt of the Adriatic, or that of the Me-
diterranean, it is equal to me; but you will obſerve to come
back a different way from that you went.

Since your health is ſo well reſtored, I am not ſorry that you
are returned to Venice, for I love Capitals. Every thing is beſt at
Capitals; the beſt maſters, the beſt companies, and the beſt man-
ners. Many other places are worth ſeeing, but Capitals only are
worth reſiding at. I am very glad that Madame Capello received
you ſo well; Monfieur, I was ſure would: pray affiure them both

470

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

of my respects, and of my sensibility of their kindneſs to you.
Their house will be a very good one for you at Rome; and I
would advife you to be domestic in it, if you can. But Madame,
I can tell you, requires great attentions. Madame Micheli has
written a very favourable account of you, to my friend, the Abbé
Groſſa Teſta, in a letter, which he showed me, and in which
there are ſo many civil things to myſelf, that I would wifh to tell
her how much I think myſelf obliged to her. I approve very
much of the allotment of your time at Venice; pray go on ſo, for a
twelvemonth at leaſt, wherever you are. You will find your own
account in it.

I like your laſt letter, which gives me an account of yourſelf,
and your own transactions; for, though I do not recommend the
egotism to you, with regard to any body eſſe, I defire that you
will uſe it with me, and with me only. I intereſt myſelf in all
that you do; and as yet, (excepting Mr. Harte) no body eſſe does.
He muſt of course know all, and I defire to know a great deal.

I am glad you have received, and that you like the dia-
mond buckles. I am very willing that you should make, but
very unwilling that you should cut a figure with them at the Ju-
bilee; the cutting a figure being the very loweft vulgarifm in the
English language; and equal in elegancy to Yes, my Lady, and
No, my Lady. The words *vaſt* and *vaproſt*, you will have found
by my former letter, that I had proſcribed out of the diſion of a
gentleman; unleſs in their proper ſignification of *ſize* and *bulk*.
Not only in language, but in every thing eſſe, take great care
that the firſt impreſſions, you give of yourſelf, may be not only
favourable, but pleafing, engaging, nay ſeducing. They are
often decisive; I confefs they are a good deal ſo with me: and
I cannot wifh for farther acquaintance with a man, whose firſt
abord and addrefs diſpleafe me.

6

So

471

TO HIS SON.

So many of my letters have miſcarried, and I know ſo little
which, that I am forced to repeat the fame 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, wher-
ether in enamel or in water colours, provided it is but very like
you. I would have you drawn exaſtly as you are, and in no
whimſical drefs: and I lay more drefs upon the likeneſs of the
picture, than upon the taſte and ſkill of the painter. If this be-
not already done, I defire 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 defire Sir James Gray
to encloſe in his packet to the office; as I, for the fame reaſon, ſend
this under his cover. If the picture be done upon vellum, it will
be the moſt portable. Send me, at the fame time, a thread or filk
of your own length, exaſtly. I am ſollicitous about your figure:
convinced, by a thouſand instances, that a good one is a real ad-
vantage. *Mens ſana in corpore ſano*, is the firſt and greatest
bleſſing. I would add, *et pulchro*, to compleat it. May you have
that, and every other! Adieu.

Have you received my letters of recommendation to Cardinal
Albani, and the Duke de Nivernois, at Rome?

LETTER CLXV.

London, October the 9th, O. S. 1749-

DEAR BOY,

I
f this letter finds you at all, which I am very doubtful of, it
will find you at Venice, preparing for your journey to Rome;
which, by my laſt letter to Mr. Harte, I advifed you to make.
along the coaſt of the Adriatic, thorough Rimini, Loretto, An-
cona,

con

472

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

conas, &c., places that are all worth seeing, but not worth staying at. And such I reckon all places, where the eyes only are employed. Remains of antiquity, public buildings, paintings, sculptures, &c., ought to be seen, and that with a proper degree of attention; but this is soon done, for they are only outfides. It is not so with more important objects; the insides of which must be seen; and they require and deferve much more attention. The Characters, the Heads, and the Hearts of men, are the useful science of which I would have you perfect master. That science is best taught and best learnt in Capitals, where every human passion has its object, and exerts all its force or all its art in the puruit. I believe there is no place in the world, where every passion is bufier, appears in more shapes, and is conducted with more art, than at Rome. Therefore, when you are there, do not imagine that the Capitol, the Vatican, and the Pantheon, are the principal objects of your curiosify. But, for one minute that you beflow upon thofe, employ ten days in informing yourself of the nature of that government, the rife and decay of the Papal power, the politics of that Court, the *Brigues* of the Cardinals, the tricks of the Conclaves; and, in general, every thing that relates to the interior of that extraordinary government; founded originally upon the ignorance and superflftition of mankind, extended by the weakneſs of ſome Princes, and the ambition of others; declining of late, in proportion as knowledge has increafed; and owing its prefent precarious ſecurity, not to the religion, the affection, or the fear, of the Temporal Powers, but to the jealousy of each other. The Pope's Excommunications are no longer dreaded; his Indulgencies 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 divifion of the Bear's skin.

2

Pray

TO HIS SON.

473

Pray inform yourſelf thoroughly of the hiftory of the Popes and of the Popedom; which, for many centuries, is interwoven with the Hiftory of all Europe. Read the beſt authors, who treat of theſe matters, and eſpecially *Frà Paolo, de Beneficis*; a ſhort, but very material book. You will find at Rome ſome of all the religious Orders in the Christian world. Inform yourſelf carefully of their origin, their founders, their rules, their reforms, and even their dreffes: get acquainted with ſome of all of them, but particularly with the Jefuſts; whole ſociety I look upon to be the moſt able and beſt-governed ſociety in the world. Get acquainted, if you can, with their General, who always refides at Rome; and who, though he has no ſeeming power out of his own Society, has (it may be) more real influence over the whole world, than any temporal Prince in it. They have almoſt engroſſed the education of youth. They are, in general, Conſeſsors to moſt of the Princes of Europe; and they are the principal Miſionaries out of it: which three articles give them a moſt extenſive influence, and ſolid advantages; witneſs their ſettlement in Paraguay. The Catholics, in general, declaim againſt that ſociety; and yet are all governed by individuals of it. They have, by turns, been banifhed, 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 Inquifition; which, though not ſo confiderable at Rome as in Spain and Portugal, will, however, be a good fample to you of what the villany of ſome men can contrive, the folly of others receive, and both together eſtabliſh; in ſpight of the firſt natural principles of reafon, juſlice, and equity.

VOL. I.

3 P

These.

474

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

These are the proper and useful objects of the attention of a man of fenfe, when he travels; and these are the objects for which I have sent you abroad; and I hope you will return thoroughly informed of them.

I receive, this very moment, Mr. Harte's letter of the 1st October, N. S. but I have never received his former, to which he refers in this, and you refer in your laft; in which he gave me the reasons for your leaving Verona so soon: nor have I ever received that letter in which your cafe was flated by your physicians. Letters to and from me have wofe luck than other people's; for you have written to me, and I to you, for these laft three months, by way of Germany, with as little fuccefs as before.

I am edified with your morning applications, and your evening gallantries, at Venice, which Mr. Harte gives me an account of. Pray go on with both, there, and afterwards at Rome; where, provided you arrive in the beginning of December, you may flay at Venice as much longer as you pleafe.

Make my compliments to Sir James Gray and Mr. Smith, with my acknowledgments for the great civilities they show you.

I wrote to Mr. Harte, by the laft poft, October the 6th, O. S. and will write to him in a poft or two, upon the contents of his laft. Adieu! Point de difprætions; and remember the Graces.

Resident at Venetia.

LETTER CLXVI.

London, October the 17th, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

I Have, at laft, received Mr. Harte's letter, of the 19th Sep-
tember, N. S. from Verona. Your reafons for leaving that
place were very good ones; and, as you flaid there long enough
to

475

TO HIS SON.

to fee what was to be seen, Venice (as a Capital) is, in my opinion, a much better place for your refidence. Capitals are always the feats of Arts and Sciences, and the beſt companies. I have ſtuck to them all my life-time; and I advife you to do ſo too.

You will have received, in my three or four laft letters, my directions for your further motions to another Capital; where I propofe that your ſtay ſhall be pretty confiderable. The expence, I am well aware, will be ſo too; but that, as I told you before, will have no weight, when your improvement and advantage are in the other ſcale. I do not care a groat what it is, if neither Vice nor Folly are the objects of it, and if Mr. Harte gives his ſanction.

I am very well pleafed with your account of Carniola: thofe are the kind of objects worthy of your inquiries and knowledge. The Produce, the Taxes, the Trade, the Manufactures, the Strength, the Weakneſs, the Government, of the ſeveral countries, which a man of fenſe travels thorough, are the material points to which he attends; and leaves the Steeples, the Market-places, and the Signs, to the laborious and curious reſearches of Dutch and German travellers.

Mr. Harte tells me, that he intends to give you, by means of Signor Vicentini, a general notion of Civil and Military Architecture; which I am very well pleafed with. They are frequent ſubjects of converſation; and it is very right that you ſhould have ſome idea of the latter, and a good taſte of the former; and you may very ſoon learn as much as you need know of either. If you read about one-third of Palladio's Book of Architecture, with ſome ſkilful perſon, and then, with that perſon, examine the beſt buildings by thofe rules, you will know the different proportions of the different Orders; the ſeveral diameters of their columns; their intercolumniations, their ſeveral uſes, &c. The

3 P 2

Corinthian

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

476

Corinthian Order is chiefly used in magnificent buildings, where
ornament and decoration are the principal objects; the Doric is
calculated for strength; and the Ionic partakes of the Doric
strength and of the Corinthian ornaments. The Composite and
the Tufcan Orders are more modern, and were unknown to the
Greeks: the one is too light, the other too clumsy. You may
foon be acquainted with the considerable parts of Civil Architec-
ture; and for the minute and mechanical parts of it, leave them
to mafons, bricklayers, and Lord Burlington; who has, to a cer-
tain degree, lefiened himfelf, by knowing them too well. Ob-
ferve the fame method as to Military Architecture; underftand
the terms; know the general rules, and then fee them in execu-
tion with fome ſkilful perfon. Go with fome Engineer or old
Officer, and view, with care, the real fortifications of fome strong
place; and you will get a clearer idea of Baftions, Half-moons,
Horn-works, Ravelins, Glacis, &c. 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 Archi-
tecture.

I would also have you acquire a liberal taſte of the two liberal
arts of Painting and Sculpture; but without defcending into
thofe minuties, which our modern Virtuofi moſt affectedly dwell
upon. Obferve the great parts attentively; fee if nature be
truly repreſented; if the paffions are strongly expreſſed; if the
characters are preferred: and leave the trifling parts, with their
little jargon, to affected puppies. I would advife you, alfo, to
read the hiflory of the Painters and Sculptors; and I know none
better than Felibien's. There are many in Italian; you will in-
form yourſelf which are the beſt. It is a part of Hiflory, very en-
tertaining, curious enough, and not quite uſeleſs. All theſe for-
of things I would have you know, to a certain degree; but remem-
ber,

TO HIS SON.

477

her, that they muſt only be the amuſements, and not the buſineſs
of a man of parts.

Since writing to me in German would take up ſo much of
your time, of which I would not now have one moment waſted,
I will accept of your compoſition, and content myſelf with a mo-
derate German letter, once a fortnight, to Lady Cheſterfield, or
Mr. Grevenkop. My meaning was, only that you ſhould not for-
get what you had already learned of the German language and
character; but, on the contrary, that, by frequent uſe, it ſhould
grow more eafy and familiar. Provided you take care of that,
I do not care by what means: but I do defire, that you will,
every day of your life, ſpeak German to somebody or other (for
you will meet with Germans enough) and write a line or two
of it every day, to keep your hand in. Why ſhould you not (for
inſtance) write your own little memorandums and accounts in that
language and character ? by which too, you would have this ad-
vantage into the bargain, that, if miſlaid, few but yourſelf could
read them.

I am extremely glad to hear, that you like the affemblies, at
Venice, well enough to ſacrifice ſome ſuppers to them; for I hear
that you do not diſlike your ſuppers neither. It is there-
fore plain, that there is somebody, or ſomething, at thofe af-
emblies, which you like better than your meat. And as I know
that there is none but good company at thofe affemblies, I am
very glad to find that you like good company ſo well. I already
imagine you a little smoothed by it; and that you have either rea-
foned yourſelf, or that they have laughed you out of your abſences
and diſtractions; for I cannot ſuppofe, that you go there to inſult
them. I likewife imagine, that you wíſh to be welcome, where
you wíſh to go; and, conſequently, that you both preſent and
behave yourſelf there, en galant homme, et pas en bourgeois.

If

478 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

If you have vowed to any body there, one of those eternal paf-
fions, which I have sometimes known, by great accident, laft three
months; I can tell you, that without great attention, infinite
politenefs, and engaging air and manners, the omens will be
finifter, and the Goddeſs unpropitious. Pray tell me, what are
the amufements of those affemblies? Are they little commercial
play, are they muſic, are they la belle conversafion, or are they all
three ? Y file-t'-on le parfait amour ? Y débite-t'-on les beaux ſenti-
mens ? Ou eſt-ce qu'on y parle Epigramme ? And pray which
is your department ? Tutis depone in auribus. Whichever it is,
endeavour to ſhine, and excel in it. Aim, at leaſt, at the perſec-
tion of every thing that is worth doing at all; and you will come
nearer it than you would imagine; but those always crawl in-
finiteſt ſhort of it, whose aim is only mediocrity. Adieu.

P. S. By an uncommon diligence of the poſt, I have this mo-
ment received yours of the 9th, N. S.

LETTER CLXVII.

London, October the 24th, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

By my laſt I only acknowledged, by this I anſwer, your
letter of the 9th October, N. S.

I am very glad that you approved of my letter of September the
12th, O. S. becaufe it is upon that footing that I always propoſe liv-
ing with you. I will advife you ſeriously, as a friend of ſome expe-
rience, and I will converſe with you chearfully, as a companion: the
authority of a parent ſhall for ever be laid afide; for, wherever it is
exerted, it is uſelesſ; ſince, if you have neither ſenſe nor ſentiments
enough

TO HIS SON.

479

enough to follow my advice as a friend, your unwilling obedience
to my orders, as a father, will be a very awkward and unavailing
one, both to yourſelf and me. Tacitus, ſpeaking of an army that
awkwardly and unwillingly obeyed its Generals, only from the
fear of puniſhment, ſays, they obeyed indeed, *Sed ut qui malleat
juſtus Imperatorum interpretari, quam exequi.* For my own part,
I disclaim ſuch obedience.

You think, I find, that you do not understand Italian; but,
I can tell you, that, like the *Bourgeois gentilhomme*, who ſpoke
přofe without knowing it, you understand a great deal, though
you do not know that you do; for, whoever understands French
and Latin, so well as you do, understands at least half the
Italian language, and has very little occasion for a Dictionary,
And for the idioms, the phrases, and the delicacies of it, con-
verſation, and a little attention will teach them you, and that
foon; therefore, *pray* ſpeak it in company, right or wrong, *a tort
ou a travers*: as foon as ever you have got words enough to aſk
a common question, or give a common anſwer. If you can only
ſay *buon giorno*, ſay it, instead of ſaying *bon jour*, I mean,
to every Italian; the anſwer to it will teach you more words,
and, inſenſibly, you will be very foon maſter of that easy language.
You are quite right in not neglecting your German for it, and in
thinking that it will be of more uſe to you: it certainly will, in
the course of your buſineſs; but Italian has its uſe too, and is an
ornament into the bargain; there being many very polite and
good authors in that language. The reaſon you afflign for having
hitherto met with none of my ſwarms of Germans, in Italy,
is a very ſolid one; and I can easily conceive, that the
expence neceſſary for a traveller, muſt amount to a number of
*Thalers, Groſchen, and Kreutzers*, tremendous to a German for-
tune. However, you will find ſeveral at Rome, either Eccleſi-
aſtics,

430

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

aftics, or in the *fiede* of the Imperial Minifler; and more when you
come into the Milanefc; among the Queen of Hungary's Officers.
Befides, you have a Saxon ſervant, to whom, I hope, you ſpeak
nothing but German.

I have had the moſt obliging letter in the world, from Mon-
fieur Capello, in which he ſpeaks very advantageouſly of you,
and promifes you his protection at Rome. I have wrote him an
anſwer, by which I hope I have domeſicated you at his hôtel
there; which I advife you to frequent as much as you can. *Il
eſt vrai qu'il ne paie pas beaucoup de ſa figure*; but he has ſenſe
and knowledge at bottom, with a great experience of bauſeſs,
having been already Embaſſador at Madrid, Vienna, and London.
And I am very ſure that he will be willing to give you any in-
formations in that way, that he can.

Madame, was a capricious whimsical fine lady, till the small-
pox, which ſhe got here, by leſening her beauty, leſened her
humours too; but, as I prefume it did not change her ſex, I truſt
to that for her having ſuch a ſhare of them left, as may contribute
to ſmooth and polifh you. ſhe, doubtlesſ, ſill thinks, that ſhe has
beauty enough remaining, to intitle her to the attentions always
paid to beauty; and ſhe has certainly rank enough to require re-
ſpect. Thoſe are the ſort of women who polifh a young man the
moſt; and who give him that habit of complaifance, and that
flexibility and verfatility of manners, which prove of great uſe to
him with men, and in the course of bauſeſs.

You muſt always expeſt to hear, more or leſs, from me, upon
that important ſubjeſt of Manners, Graces, Addreſs, and that unde-
finable *je ne fais quoi* that ever pleafes. I have reaſon to believe
that you want nothing eſſe; but I have reaſon to fear too, that you
want thoſe; and that want will keep you poor, in the midſt of all the
plenty of knowledge which you may have treaſured up. Adieu.

LETTER

4

TO HIS SON.

431

LETTER CLXVIII.

London, November the 3d, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

FROM the time that you have had life, it has been the prin-
cipal and favourite objeſt of mine, to make you as per-
ſect as the imperfections of human nature will allow: in this
view, I have grudged no pains nor expence in your education; con-
vinced that Education, more than Nature, is the cauſe of that
great difference which we fee in the characters of men. While
you were a child, I endeavoured to form your heart habitually
to Virtue and Honour, 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 perfuaded, fixed and confirmed by reaſon. And indeed they
are ſo plain and clear, that they require but a very moderate de-
gree of underſtanding, either to comprehend or praſtife them.
Lord Shaſteſbury 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 fee him. I have
therefore, ſince you have had the uſe of your reaſon, never written
to you upon thoſe ſubjeſts: 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 diſhonour or vice. This
view of minc, I confider as fully attained. My next objeſt was,
found and useful Learning. My own care firſt, Mr. Harte's after-
wards, and of late (I will own it to your praeſe). your own appli-
cation, have more than anſwered my expeſtations in that parti-
cular; and, I have reaſon to believe, will anſwer even my wiſhes.

VOL. I.

3 Q

All

482 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

All that remains for me then to wish, to recommend, to inculcate, to order, and to infest upon, is Good-breeding; without which, all your other qualifications will be lame, unadorned, and, to a certain degree, unavailing. And here I fear, and have too much reason to believe, that you are greatly deficient. The remainder of this letter, therefore, shall be (and it will not be the least by a great many) upon that subject.

A friend of yours and mine has very justly defined Good-breeding to be, the result of much good-fame, some good-nature, and a little self-denial for the fake of others, and with a view to obtain the fame indulgence from them. Taking this for granted, (as I think it cannot be disputed) it is aftonishing to me, that any body, who has good-fame and good-nature (and I believe you have both) can effentially fail in good-breeding. As to the modes of it, indeed, they vary according to perons, and places, and circumftances; and are only to be acquired by obſervation and experience; but the ſubstance of it is every where, and eternally the fame. 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 me to be leſs difference, both between the crimes and between the puniſhments, than at first one would imagine. The immoral man, who invades another man's property, is juſtly hanged for it; and the ill-bred man, who, by his ill manners, invades and difturbs the quiet and comforts of private life, is by common consent as juſtly baniſhed ſociety. Mutual complaifances, attentions, and ſacrifices of little conveniencies, are as natural as implied compaſt between civilized people, as protection and obedience are between Kings and jefcts:

TO HIS SON.

483

jeſts: whoever, in either cafe, violates that compaſt, juſtly forfeits all advantages arifing 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 pleafing: and the epithet which I ſhould covet the moſt, next to that of Ariftides, would be that of well-bred. Thus much for Good-breeding in general. I will now confider ſome of the various modes and degrees of it.

Very few, ſcarcely any, are wanting in the reſpect which they ſhould flow to thate whom they acknowledge to be infinitely their ſuperiorſ; ſuch as Crowned Heads, Princes, and public perſons of diſtinguifhed and eminent poſts. It is the manner of flowing that reſpect which is different. The man of fashion, and of the world, ex。（exprefſes it in its fulleſt extent;）but naturally, eafily, and without concern: whereas a man, who is not uſed to keep good company, ex。（exprefſes it awkwardly;）one ſees that he is not uſed to it, and that it coſts him a great deal: but I never ſaw the worſt-bred man living, guilty of lolling, whifhling, ſcratching his head, and ſuch like indecencies, in company that he reſpected. In ſuch companies, therefore, the only point to be attended to is, to flow that reſpect, which every body means to flow, in an eafy, unembarraſſed, and graceful manner. This is what obſervation and experience muſt teach you.

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 behaviour, 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 diſtinguifhed marks of reſpect, every one claims, and very juſtly, every mark of civility and good-breeding.

3 Q 2

484

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

ing. Eafe is allowed, but careleſſes and negligence are ſtrictly
forbidden. If a man accoſts you, and talks to you ever ſo dully or
frivolouſly, it is worſe than rudenelſs, 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 intitled, in confideration of their ſex, not only to an attentive,
but an offiſicious good-breeding from men. Their little wants,
likings, diſlikes, preferences, antipathies, fancies, whims, and
even impertinencies, muſt be offiſiouſly attended to, flattered,
and, if poffible, gueſſed at and anticipated, by a well-bred man.
You muſt never uſurp to yourſelf thoſe conveniencies and agré-
ments which are of common right; ſuch as the beſt places, the
beſt diſhes, &c.; but, on the contrary, always decline them
yourſelf, and offer them to others; who, in their turns, will offer
them to you: ſo that, upon the whole, you will, in your turn,
enjoys your ſhare of your common right. It would be endleſs for
me to enumerate all the particular inſtances in which a well-bred
man ſhows his good-breeding in good company; and it would
be injurious to you to ſuppoſe, that your own good-fenſe will not
point them out to you; and then your own good-nature will
recommend, and your ſelf-intereſt enforce the practice.

There is a third ſort of good-breeding, in which people are the
moſt apt to fail, from a very miſtaken notion that they cannot
fail at all. I mean, with regard to one's moſt familiar friends
and acquaintances, or thoſe who really are our inferiors; and
there, undoubtedly, a greater degree of eafe is not only allowed,
but proper, and contributes much to the comforts of a private,
ſocial life. But that eafe and freedom have their bounds too,
which muſt by no means be violated. A certain degree of neglig-
gence and careleſſes becomes injurious and infuſing, from the
real

TO HIS SON.

485

real or ſuppoſed inferiority of the perſons: and that delightful
liberty of converfation among a few friends, is ſoon deftroyed,
as liberty often has been, by being carried to licentiouſeſs. But
example explains things beſt, and I will put a pretty ſtrong eafe.
Suppoſe you and me alone together; I believe you will allow that I
have as good a right to unlimited freedom in your company, as
either you or I can poffiblly have in any other; and I am apt
to believe, too, that you would indulge me in that freedom, as
far as any body would. But, notwithstanding this, do you ima-
gine that I ſhould think there were no bounds to that freedom ?
I aſſure you, I ſhould not think ſo; and I take myſelf to be as
much tied down by a certain degree of good manners, to you, as
by other degrees of them to other people. Were I to ſhow you,
by a manifeſt inattention to what you ſaid to me, that I was
thinking of ſomething eſſe the whole time; were I to yawn ex-
tremely, ſnore, or break wind, in your company, I ſhould think
that I behaved myſelf to you like a beaſt, and ſhould not expeſt
that you would care to frequent me. No. The moſt familiar
and intimate habitudes, connections, and friendſhips, require a
degree of good-breeding, both to prieſerve and cement them. If
ever a man and his wife, or a man and his miſtraſs, 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 miſ-placed 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.

I will ſay no more, now, upon this important ſubject of good-
breeding;

486

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETETS

breeding; upon which I have already dwelt too long, it may be,
for one letter; and upon which I shall frequently refresh your
memory hereafter: but I will conclude with these axioms.

That the deepeſt learning, without good-breeding, is unwelcome
and tireſome pedantry, and of uſe no where but in a man's own
cloſet: and conſequently of little or no uſe at all.

That a man, who is not perfectly well-bred, is unfit for good
company, and unwelcome in it; will conſequently diſlike it ſoon,
afterwards renounce it; and be reduced to ſolitude, or, what is
worſe, low and bad company.

That 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 behaviour and manners of those who are
diſtinguished by their good-breeding; imitate, nay, endeavour to
excell, 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.

LETTER CLXIX.

DEAR BOY,

London, November the 14th, O. S. 1749.

THERE is a natural Good-breeding, which occurs to
every man of common ſenſe, and is practiſed by every
man of common good-nature. This good-breeding is general,
independent

TO HIS SON.

487

independent of modes; and conſiſts in endeavours to pleafe and
oblige our fellow-creatures by all good offices, short of moral
duties. This will be practiſed by a good-natured American ſavage,
as effeſtually as by the beſt-bred European. But then, I do not
take it to extend to the ſacrifice of our own conveniencies, for the
ſake of other people's. Utility introduced this fort of good-
breeding, as it introduced commerce; and eſtablished a truck of
the little agrémens and pleafures of life. I ſacrifice ſuch a con-
veniency to you, you ſacrifice another to me; this commerce cir-
culates, and every individual finds his account in it upon the whole.
The third fort of good-breeding is local, and is variously modifi-
ed, in not only different countries, but in different towns of the
fame country. But it muſt be founded upon the two former forts:
they are the matter; to which, in this cafe, Fashions and Cuſtom
only give the different ſhapes and impreſſions. Whoever has the
two firſt forts, will easily acquire this third fort of good-breed-
ing, which depends ſingly upon attention and obſervation. It is,
properly, the poliſh, the luſtre, the laſt finiſhing ſtrokes, of good-
breeding. It is to be found only in Capitals, and even there it
varies: the good-breeding of Rome differing, in ſome things,
from that of Paris; that of Paris, in others, from that of Madrid;
and that of Madrid, in many things, from that of London. A
man of ſenſe, therefore, carefully attends to the local manners of
the respective places where he is, and takes for his models thate
perſons whom he obſerves to be at the head of the ſashion and
good-breeding. He watches how they addrefs themſelves to their
ſuperiors, how they accoit their equals, and how they treat their
inferiors; and lets none of those little niceties eſcape him;
which are to good-breeding, what the laſt delicate and maſlerly
touches are to a good picture; and which the vulgar have no
notion of, but by which good judges diſtinguish the maſler. He

6

attends.

488 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

attends even to their air, drefs, and motions, and imitates them,
liberally and not fervilely; he copies, but does not mimic. Thefe
perſonal Graces are of very great conſequence. They anticipate
the ſentiments, before merit can engage the understanding; they
captivate the heart, and gave rife, I believe, to the extravagant
notions of Charms and P filters. Their effects were ſo ſurpriz-
ing, that they were reckoned ſupernatural. The moſt graceful
and beſt-bred men, and the handſomeſt and genteeſt women,
give the moſt P filters; and, as I verily believe, without the leaſt
aſſiſtance of the devil. Pray be not only well drefſed, but
ſhining in your drefs; let it have du brillant : I do not mean by
a cluſely load of gold and filer, but by the taſte and ſaſhion of
it. The women like, and require it; they think it an attention
due to them: but, on the other hand, if your motions and car-
riage are not graceful, genteel, and natural, your fine clothes will
only diſplay your awkwardneſs the more. But I am unwilling to
ſuppofe you ſill awkward; for ſurely, by this time, you muſt have
catched a good air in good company. When you went from
hence, you were not naturally awkward; but your awkwardneſs
was adventitious and Weflmonaſterial. Leipſig, I apprehend, is
not the ſeat of the Graces; and I prefume you acquired none
there. But now, if you will be pleafed to obſerve what people
of the firſt ſaſhion do with their legs and arms, heads and bodies,
you will reduce yours to certain decent laws of motion. 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. Befides, la belle danſe donne du brillant à
un jeune homme. And you ſhould endeavour to ſhipe. A calm
ferenity, negative merit and Graces, do not become your age.
You ſhould be alerte, adroit, wif; be wanted, talked of, impatient-
ly expected, and unwillingly parted with in company. I ſhould
be

4

TO HIS SON.

489

be glad to hear half a dozen women of fashion lay, Oueſt 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 objeſt; but with regard to men, and with a view of
your making yourſelf confiderable. For, with very ſmall varia-
tions, the fame things that pleafe women pleafe men : and a
man, whoſe manners are ſoftened and poliſhed by women of
fashion, and who is formed by them to an habitual attention and
complaiſance, will pleafe, engage, and connect men, much eafier
and more than he would otherwife. You muſt be ſenſible that
you cannot rife in the world, without forming conneſtions, and
engaging different charaſters to confpire in your point. You
muſt make them your dependents, without their knowing it, and
diſtate to them while you ſeem to be direſted by them. Thoſe
neceſſary connections can never be formed, or preferved, but
by an uninterrupted ſeries of complaiſance, attentions, politeneſs,
and ſome conſtraint. You muſt engage their hearts, if you
would have their ſupport; you muſt watch the mollia tempora,
and captivate them by the agrémens, and charms of converſation.
People will not be called out to your ſervice, only when you want
them; and, if you expeſt to receive ſtrength from them, they
muſt receive either pleafure or advantage from you.

I received in this inflant a letter from Mr. Harte, of the 2d N.S.
which I will anſwer ſoon; in the mean time, I return him my
thanks for it, through you. The conſant good accounts which
he gives me of you, will make me ſuſpect him of partiality, and
think him le médecin tant mieux. Confider, therefore, what weight
any future depoſition of his, againſt you, muſt neceſſarily have
with me. As, in that cafe, he will be a very unwilling, he muſt
conſequently be a very important witneſs. Adieu.

VOL. I.

3 R

LETTER

490

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

LETTER CLXX.

DEAR BOY,

MY laft was upon the subject of Good-breeding; but, I think, it rather fet before you the unfitneſs and difadvantages 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 politively and actively wellbred, but of ſhining and diſlinguifhing yourſelf, by your good-breeding. Confider your own ſituation, in every particular, and judge whether it is not eſtentially 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 negleſt, and ill manners with worſe; which may engage you in very diſagreeable affairs. In the next place, your proſeffion requires, more than any other, the niceſt and moſt diſlinguifhed good-breeding. You will negotiate with very little ſucces, if you do not, previously, by your manners, conciliate and engage the affections of thofe with whom you are to negotiate. Can you ever get into the confidence and the ſecrets of the Courts, where you may happen to refide, if you have not thofe pleafing, 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 addrefs, are half your bufineſs. 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

491

TO HIS SON.

and hearts are, by no means, to be gained by that mere common civility which every body practicſes. Bowing again to thofe who bow to you, anſwering drily thofe who ſpeak to you, and faying nothing offenſive to any body, 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 ſlink. It is an active, chearful, officious, ſeducing goodbr-eeding, 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 taſſes, their little humours and weakneſſes, and aller au devant. You muſt do it, at the fame time, with alacrity and empreſſement, and not as if you graciously conſeended to humour their weakneſſes.

For inflance; ſuppofe you invited any body to dine or ſup with you, you ought to recollect if you had obſerved that they had any favourite 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. Confult your own breaſt, and recollect how theſe little attentions, when ſhown you by others, flatter that degree of ſelf-love and vanity, which no man living is free from. Reflect how they incline and attraſt you to that perſon, and how you are propitiated afterwards to all which that perſon ſays or does. The fame cauſes will have the fame effects in your favour. Women, in a great degree, eſtabliſh or deſtroy every man's reputation of good-breeding; you muſt, therefore, in a manner, overwhelm them with theſe attentions: they are uſed to them, they expeſt them; and, to do them justice, they commonly requite

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492 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

requite them. You must be fedulous, and rather over officious
than under, in procuring them their coaches, their chairs, their
conveniencies, in public places; not see what you should not
see; and rather affift, where you cannot help feeing. Opportu-
nities of showing thefe attentions prefent themfelves perpetually;
but, if they do not, make them. As Ovid advifes his Lover,
when he fits in the Circus, near his miftrefls, to wipe the duft
off of her neck, even if there be none. *Si nullus, tamen excufe
nullum.* Your converfation with women should always be
respectful; but, at the fame time, *enjoué*, and always addreffed
to their vanity. Every thing you fay 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 poffibly as
much vanity as women, though of another kind; and both art
and good-breeding require, that, inſtead of mortifying, you
should pleafe and flatter it, by words and looks of approbation.
Suppofe (which is by no means improbable) that, at your return to
England, I should place you near the perfon of ſome one of the
Royal Family; in that ſituation, good-breeding, engaging ad-
drefs, adorned with all the graces that dwell at Courts, would
very probably make you a favourite, and, from a favourite, a Mi-
nifter: 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 advife you to give yourfelf much
trouble about their underſtandings. Princes in general (I mean
thofe Porphyrogenets who are born and bred in Purple) are about
the pitch of women; bred up like them, and are to be addref-
fed and gained in the fame manner. They always fee, they fel-
dom weigh. Your luſtre, not your ſolidity, muſt take them;
your infide will afterwards ſupport and ſecure, what your outſide

has

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TO HIS SON.

493

has acquired. With weak people, and they undoubtedly are
three parts in four of mankind, good-breeding, addrefs, and
manners, are every thing; they can go no deeper: but let me
affure you, that they are a great deal, even with people of the beſt
underſtandings. Where the eyes are not pleafed, and the heart is
not flattered, the mind will be apt to ſtand out. Be this right or
wrong, I confefs, 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 inqure into the inſtrinc merit of
that perſon; I haſtily decide in myſelf, that he can have none;
and am not ſure, that I should not even be ſorry to know that
he had any. I often paint you in my imagination, in your pre-
fent lontananza; and, while I view you in the light of ancient
and modern learning, uſeful and ornamental knowledge, I am
charmed with the preſpect; 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
difſtractions, 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 Tufcan is the ſtrongest and moſt ſolid of all the
Orders; but, at the fame time, it is the coarſest and clumſieſt of
them. Its ſolidity does extremely well for the foundation and
bafe ſloor of a great edifice; but, if the whole building be Tufcan,
it will attraſt no eyes, it will ſtop no paffengers, it will invite no
interior examination; people will take it for granted, that the
finiſhing and furniſhing cannot be worth feeing, where the front
is ſo unadorned and clumſy. But if, upon the ſolid Tufcan ſoun-
dation, the Doric, the Ionic, and the Corinthian Orders, ſive gra-
dually with all their beauty, proportions, and ornaments, the
fabric:

494 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

fabric feizes the moſt incurious eye, and ſtops the moſt careleſs
paffenger; who ſolicits admiffion as a favour, nay, often puchafes
it. Jußt ſo will it fare with your little fabric, which, at prefent, I
fear, has more of the Tuſcan than of 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
addrefs; genteel motions; an inſinuating ſoſtneſs in your looks,
words, and aſtions; a ſpruce, lively air, ſaſhionable drefs; and all
the glitter that a young fellow ſhould have.

I am ſure you would do a great deal for my ſake; and there-
fore confider, at your return here, what a diſappointment and con-
cern it would be to me, if I could not faſely depute you to do the
honours of my houſe and table; and if I should be aſhamed to
prefent you to those who frequent both. Should you be awkward,
inattentive, and diſtrait, and happen to meet Mr. Lyneley at my
table, the conſequences of that meeting muſt be fatal; you would
run your heads againſt each other, cut each other's fingers, in-
ſtead of your meat, or die by the precipitate infuſion of ſcalding
foup.

This is really ſo copious a ſubject, that there is no end of being
either ſerious or ludicrous upon it. It is impoſſible, too, to enu-
merate or ſtate to you the various cafés, in good-breeding; they,
are infinite; there is no ſituation or relation in the world, ſo re-
mote or ſo intimate, that does not require a degree of it. Your
own good ſenſe muſt point it out to you; your own good-nature
muſt incline, and your intereſt prompt you to practice it: and ob-
fervation and experience muſt give you the manner, the air, and
the graces, which compleat the whole.

This letter will hardly overtake you, till you are at, or near
Rome. I expeſt a great deal, in every way, from your fix months

flay

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TO HIS SON.

495

ſtay there. My morning hopes are juſtly placed in Mr. Harte, and
the maſters he will give you; my evening ones, in the Roman La-
dies: pray be attentive to both. But I muſt hint to you, that the
Roman Ladies are not les femmes ſcavantes, et ne vous embraffe-
ront point pour l'amour du Grec. They muſt have il garbato, il
leggiadro, il diſinvolto, il lufingbiero, quel non sò che, che piace,
che aletta, che incanta.

I have often aſſerted, that the profoundeſt learning, and the
politeſt manners, were by no means incompatible, though ſo ſeldom
found united in the fame 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 eru-
dition, the moſt elegant politenefs 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 paf-
fions; but they have now ſubſided by age and experience: and I
can wifh you nothing better than to be, what he is now, without
being what he has been formerly. His addrefs pre-engages, his
eloquence persuades, and his knowledge informs, all who ap-
proach him. Upon the whole, I do define, and inſiſt, that, from
after dinner till you go to bed, you make good-breeding, addrefs,
and manners, your ſerious object and your only care. Without
them, you will be nobody; with them you may be any thing.

Adieu, my dear child ! My compliments to Mr. Harte.

LETTER

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

LETTER CLXXI.

London, November the 24th, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

EVERY rational Being (I take it for granted) propofes to himselffome objeet more important than mere reſpiration and obſcure animal exiſtence. He defires to diſtinguifh himselfſelf among his fellow-creatures; and, alicui negotio intentus, præclari facinoris, aut artis bonæ, famam quærit. Cefar, 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 deferves to be written, or of writing what deferves to be read. As for thofe who do neither, eorum vitam mortemque juxta aſtumo; quoniam de utraque filetur. You have, I am convinced, one or both of theſe objeets in view; but you muſt know, and uſe the neceſſary means, or your purſuit will be vain and frivolous. In either cafe, ſapere eſ principium et ſons; 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 eafy 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 every thing but knowledge.

I have written to you ſo often, of late, upon Good-breeding, Addreſs, les manières liantes, the Graces, &c. that I ſhall confine this letter to another ſubjeet, pretty near akin to them, and which, I am ſure, you are full as deficient in; I mean, Style.

Style

TO HIS SON.

Style is the drefs of thoughts; and let them be ever ſo juſt, if your ſtyle is homely, coarſe, and vulgar, they will appear to as much diſadvantage, and be as ill received, as your perſon, though ever ſo well proportioned, would, if drefſed in rags, dirt, and tatters. 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 moſterate 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 cafe, 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, afterwards, laid before Parliament; any one barbariſm, ſoleciſm, or vulgariſm in it, would, in a very ſew days, circulate through the whole kingdom, to your diſgrace and ridicule. For inſtance: I will ſuppofe you had written the following letter from the Hague, to the Secretary of State at London; and leave you to ſuppofe the conſequences of it.

MY LORD,

I bad, laſt night, the honour 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 ſor to give your Lordſhip an account of it by next poſt. I have told the French Minifter, 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 ſor 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

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that

498 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

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 waffly beholden to your Lordship for that there mark of your favour; and so I reft, or remain, Your, &c.

You will tell me, poffibly, that this is a caricatura of an illiberal and inelegant ſtyle; I will admit it: but aſſure you, at the fame time, that a diſpatch with leſs than half theſe faults would blow you up for ever. It is by no means sufficient to be free from faults, in ſpeaking and writing; but you muſt do both correctly and elegantly. In faults of this kind, it is not ille optimus qui minimis argustur. But he is unpardonable who has any at all, because it is his own fault. He need only attend to, obſerve and imitate the beſt authors.

It is a very true ſaying, that a man muſt be born a Poet, but that he may make himſelf an Orator; and the very firſt principle of an Orator is, to ſpeak, his own language, particularly, with the utmoſt purity and elegancy. A man will be forgiven, even great errors, in a foreign language; but in his own, even the leaſt flips are juſtly laid hold of and ridiculed.

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 vulgarifm, you may eaſily imagine, was matter of immediate ridicule; but, I can aſſure you, that it continues ſo firſt, 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.

You have with you three or four of the beſt English Authors, Dryden, Atterbury, and Swift; read them with the utmoſt care, and

TO HIS SON.

499

and with a particular view to their language; and they may poffibly correct that curious infelicity of diſion, which you acquired at Weflminſter. Mr. Harte excepted, I will admit that you have met with very few English abroad, who could improve your ſtyle; and with many, I dare ſay, who ſpeak as ill as yourſelf, and it may be worſe; but, therefore, you muſt take the more pains, and confult your authors, and Mr. Harte, the more. I need not tell you how attentive the Romans and Greeks, particularly the Athenians, were to this object. It is alſo a ſtudy among the Italians and the French, witneſs their respective Academies and Diccionaries, for improving and fixing their languages. To our ſhame be it ſpoken, it is leſs attended to here than in any polite country; but that is no reaſon why you ſhould not attend to it; on the contrary, it will diſtinguifh you the more. Cicero ſays, very truly, that it is glorious to excel other men in that very article, in which men excel brutes; ſpeech.

Conſtant experience has ſhown me, that great purity and ele-
gance of ſtyle, with a graceful elocution, cover a multitude of
faults, in either a ſpeaker or a writer. For my own part, I confefs
(and I believe moſt people are of my mind) that if a ſpeaker
ſhould ungracefully mutter or ſtammer out to me the ſenſe of an
angel, deformed by barbariſms and ſoleciſms, or larded with vul-
garifms, he ſhould never ſpeak to me a ſecond time, if I could
help it. Gain the heart, or you gain nothing; the eyes and the
ears are the only roads to the heart. Merit and knowledge will
not gain hearts, though they will ſecure them when gained.
Pray have that truth ever in your mind. Engage the eyes, by
your addrefs, air, and motions; ſooth the ears, by the elegancy
and harmony of your diſion: the heart will certainly follow; and
the whole man, or woman, will as certainly follow the heart. I
muſt repeat it to you, over and over again, that, with all the

knowledge

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LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

knowledge which you may have at prefent, or hereafter acquire;
and with all the merit that ever man had, if you have not a
graceful addrefs, liberal and engaging manners, a prepoffeffing
air, and a good degree of eloquence in ſpeaking and writing, you
will be nobody: but will have the daily mortification of ſeeing
people, with not one tenth part of your merit or knowledge,
get the ſtart of you, and difgrace you, both in company and
in bufneſs.

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. Tranflate and retranflate, from and to Latin, Greek,
and Englifh; make yourſelf a pure and elegant Englifh 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; there-
fore, for God's ſake, make yourſelf an Orator, which you may
do. Though I ſtill call you boy, I confider you no longer as
fuch; and when I reflect upon the prodigious quantity of ma-
nure that has been laid upon you, I expect that you ſhould pro-
duce more at eighteen, than uncultivated foils do at eight-and-
twenty.

Pray tell Mr. Harte, that I have received his letter of the 13th,
N. S. Mr. Smith was much in the right, not to let you go, at
this time of the year, by ſea; in the ſummer you may navigate
as much as you pleafe: as for example; from Leghorn to
Genoa, &c. Adieu,

LETTER

TO HIS SON.

501

LETTER CLXXII.

London, November the 26th, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

WHILE the Roman Republic flouriſhed, while glory was
purſued, and virtue praeſtifed, and while even little irre-
gularities and indecencies, not cognizable by law, were, however,
not thought below the public care; Cenſors were eſtabliſhed,
difcretionally to ſupply, in particular cafes, the inevitable deſects
of the Law, which muſt, and can only, be general. This employ-
ment I affume to myſelf, with regard to your little Republic,
leaving the Legiſtive power intirely to Mr. Harte; I hope, and
believe, that he will ſeldom, or rather never, have occation to
exert his ſupreme authority; and I do by no means ſuſpect you of
any ſaults that may require that interpoſition. But, to tell you
the plain truth, I am of opinion, that my Cenſorial power will
not be uſeſels to you, nor a fine-cure 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 diffi-
dence: 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 ſeeſ for ſaults, only
to correct, and not to expoſe them. I have often thought, and
ſtill think, that there are ſew things which people in general know
leſs, than how to love, and how to hate. They hurt theſe they
love, by a miſtaken indulgence, by a blindneſs, nay often a parti-
ality.

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LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

ality to their faults. Where they hate, they hurt themselves, by ill-timed passion and rage: fortunately for you, I never loved you in that mistaken manner. From your infancy, I made you the object of my most serious attention, and not my play-thing. I confuted your real good, not your humours or fancies; and I shall continue to do so while you want it, which will probably be the case during our joint lives: for, considering the difference of our ages, in the course of nature, you will hardly have acquired experience enough of your own, while I shall be in a condition of lending you any of mine. People in general will much better bear being told of their vices or crimes, than of their little failings and weaknesses. They, in fome degree, justify or excuse (as they think) the former, by strong passions, seduction, and artifices of others; but to be told of, or to confess, their little failings and weaknesses, implies an inferiority of parts, too mortifying to that self-love and vanity, which are inseparable from our natures. I have been intimate enough with several people, to tell them, that they had faid or done a very criminal thing; but I never was intimate enough with any man, to tell him, very seriously, that he had faid or done a very foolish one. Nothing less than the relation between you and me, can possibly authorize that freedom; but, fortunately for you, my Parental rights, joined to my Cenforial powers, give it me in its fullest extent, and my concern for you will make me exert it. Rejoice, therefore, that there is one person in the world, who can, and will tell you, what will be very useful to you to know; and yet, what no other man living could or would tell you. Whatever I shall tell you, of this kind, you are very fure, can have no other motive than your interest: I can neither be jealous nor envious of your reputation or your fortune, which I must be both desirous and proud to eftablisth and promote: I cannot be your rival, either in love or in bufines;

TO HIS SON.

503

fines; on the contrary, I want the Rays of your riling, to reflect new luftre upon my fetting Light. In order to this, I shall analyse you minutely, and confure you freely, that you may not (if possible) have one single spot, when in your Meridian.

There is nothing that a young fellow, at his first appearance in the world, has more reason to dread, and, consequently, should take more pains to avoid, than having any ridicule fixed upon him. It degrades him with the most reasonable part of mankind; but it ruins him with the rest; and I have known many a man undone, by acquiring a ridiculous nick-name: I would not, for all the riches in the world, that you should acquire one when you return to England. Vices and crimes excite hatred and reproach; failings, weaknesses, and awkwardnesses, excite ridicule; they are laid hold of, by mimicks, who, though very contemptible wretches themselves, often, by their buffoonery, fix ridicule upon their betters. The little defects in manners, elocution, addrefs, and air, (and even of figure, though very unjustly) are the objects of ridicule, and the caufes of nick-names. 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 flick to you like the envenomed shirt. The very first day that I fee 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 Cenfor, may prevent the censure of the public. Admonitions are always useful; is this one or not? You are the best judge: it is your own picture which I lend you, drawn, at my request, by a Lady at Venice: pray let me know, how far, in

504 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

in your confidence, you think it like; for there are some parts
of it, which I wish may, and others, which I should be forry
were. I fend you, literally, the copy of that part of her letter,
to her friend here, which relates to you.

Tell Mr. Harte that I have this moment received his letter of
the 22d, N. S. and that I approve extremely of the long flay you
have made at Venice. I love long refidences at Capitals; running
poft through different places is a moft unprofitable way of travel-
ling, and admits of no application. Adieu.

This letter was
correctly written,
by Lord Chatham.

"Selon vos ordres, j'ay soigneusement examiné le jeune Stanhope, et je crois l'avoir approfondi. En voici le portrait que je crois très fidèle. Il a le visage joli, l'air spirituel, et le regard fin. "Sa figure eft à prefent trop quarçée, mais s'il grandit, comme "il en a encore et le tems et l'étoffé, elle fera bonne. Il a certainement beaucoup d'acquit, et on m'afiure qu'il ſoit à fond "les langues ſavantes. Pour le François, je ſçais qu'il le parle "parfaitement bien; et l'on dit qu'il en eft de même de l'Allemand. "Les queffions qu'il fait font judicieufes, et marquent qu'il cherche "à s'inftruire. Je ne vous dirai pas qu'il cherche autant à claire; "puifqu'il paroit négliger les attentions et les Graces. Il ſe préfente mal, et n'a rien moins que l'air et la tournure aſſée et noble "qu'il

"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 pleafing, his countenance fenible, and his look clever. His figure is at prefent rather too iquare, but if he floots up, which he has matter and "years for, he will then be of a good fize. He has, undoubtedly, a great fund of ac- "quired knowledge; I am affured that he is matter of the learned languages. As for "French, I know he speaks it perfectly, and I am told German, as well. The queffions "he affs, are judicious, and denote a thirt after knowledge. I cannot ſay that he "appears equally defirous of pleafing, for he seems to neglect attentions and the Graces. "He does not come into a room well, nor has he that eafy, noble carriage, which would "be

TO HIS SON.

"qu'il lui faudroit. Il eſt vrai qu'il eſt encore jeune et neuf, de
"forte qu'on a lieu d'espérer que ſes exercices, qu'il n'a pas encore
"faits, et la bonne compagnie ou il eſt encore novice, le décrotte-
"ront, et lui donneront tout ce qui lui manque à prefent. Un ar-
"rangement avec quelque femme de condition et qui a du monde,
"quelque Madame de l'Urfay, eſt précifement ce qu'il lui faut.
"Enfin j'ofe vous aſfurer qu'il a tout ce que Monfieur de Chefter-
"field pourroit lui fouhaiter, à l'exception des Manières, des Graces,
"et du ton de la bonne Compagnie, qu'il prendra furement avec le
"tems, et l'usage du grand monde. Ce ſeroit bien dommage au
"moins qu'il ne les prit point, puifqu'il mérite tant de les avoir.
"Et vous ſçavez bien de quelle importance elles font. Monfieur fon
"Pere le ſcait auſi, les poſſedant lui même comme il fait. Bref,
"fi le petit Stanhope acquiert les Graces, il ira loin, je vous en ré-
"ponds; fi non, il s'arrêtera court dans une belle carrière, qu'il
"pourroit autrement fournir."

You fee by this extraſt of what conſequence other people think
theſe things. Therefore, I hope you will no longer look upon them
as trifles. It is the character of an able man to deſpife little
things, in great buſineſs; but then he knows what things are

"be proper for him. It is true, he is as yet young, and inexperienced; one may there-
"fore reasonably hope, that his exercifes, which he has not yet gone thorough, and good
"company, in which he is ſtill a novice, will polifh, and give all that is wanting to com-
"pleat him. What ſeems neceſſary for that purpofe, would be an attachment to
"fome woman of fashion, and who knows the world. Some Madame de L'Urfay
"would be the proper perſon. In flort, I can affure you, that he has every thing
"which Lord Chefterfield can with him, excepting that carriage, thate Graces, and the
"ſtyle, uſed in the belt 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 deferves to poſſeſa them. You know their importance. My Lord, his
"father, knows it too, he being mafter of them all. To conclude, if little Stanhope
"acquires the Graces, I promife you he will make his way; if not, he will be flopt in
"a courfe, the goal of which he might attain with honour."

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506 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

little, and what not. He does fuppofe things little, becaufe they are commonly called so; but by the confequences that may or may not attend them. If gaining people's affections, and in-terefting their hearts in your favour, be of confequence, as it undoubtedly is; he knows very well, that a happy concurrence of all thofe, commonly called, little things, Manners, Air, Addrefs, Graces, &c. is of the utmoft confequence, and will never be at reft till he has acquired them. The world is taken by the outſide of things, and we muſt take the world as it is; you nor I cannot fet it right. I know, at this time, a man of great quality and ſtation, who has not the parts of a porter; but raifed himſelf to the ſtation he is in, ſingly by having a graceful figure, polite manners, and an engaging addrefs: which, by the way, he only acquired by habit; for he had not ſenſe enough to get them by reflection. Parts and habit should confpire to compleat you. You will have the habit of good company, and you have reflection in your power.

LETTER CLXXIII.

London, December the 5th, O. S. 1749,

DEAR BOY,

T
HOSE who fuppoſe, 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 groſly miſtaken. That
man is, animal bipes, implume, rishbile, I entirely agree; but
for the *rationals*, I can only allow it him in *actu primo* (to
talk Logic) and ſeldom in *actu ſecundo*. Thus, the ſpeculative,
cloyſtered pedant, in his ſolitary cell, forms ſystems of things as

2
they

TO HIS SON.

507

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 inflruſt Hannibal in the art of
war. Such cloſet politicians never fail to aſſign the deepeſt
motives for the moſt trifling actions; inſtead of often aſſeribing
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 doing any thing but upon
the deepeſt principles of ſound policy. But thofe who fee and
obſerve Kings, Heroes, and Stateſmen, diſcover that they have
head-achs, indigetions, humours, and paſſions, juſt like other
people; every one of which, in their turns, determine their wills,
in defiance of their reaſon. Had we only read in the Life of
Alexander, that he burnt Perſepolis, it would doubleſs have
been accounted for from deep policy; we ſhould have been told,
that his new conqueſt could not have been ſecured without the
deſtruction of that Capital, which would have been the conſtant
feat of cabals, confpiracies, and revolts. But, luckily, we are
informed at the fame time, that this hero, this demi-god, this
ſon and heir of Jupiter Ammon, happened to get extremely
drunk with his w—e; and, by way of frolick, deftroyed one of
the fineſt cities in the world. Read men, therefore, yourſelf,
not in books, but in nature. Adopt no ſystems, but ſtudy
them yourſelf. Obſerve their weakneſſes, their paſſions, their
humours, of all which, their underſtandings are, nine times in ten,
the dupes. You will then know that they are to be gained,
influenced, or led, much oftener by little things than by great
ones; and, conſequently, you will no longer think thofe things
little, which tend to ſuch great purpoſes.

Let us apply this now to the particular object of this letter; I
mean, ſpeaking in, and influencing public assemblies. The nature

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of

508 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

TO HIS SON.

of our constitution makes Eloquence more useful, and more necessary, in this country, than in any other in Europe. A certain degree of good sense and knowledge is requisite for that, as well as for every thing else; but beyond that, the purity of diction, the elegancy of style, the harmony of periods, a pleasing elocution, and a graceful action, are the things which a public speaker should attend to the most; because his audience certainly does, and understands them the best: or rather indeed understands little else. The late Lord Chancellor Cowper's strength, as an Orator, lay by no means in his reafonings, for he often hazarded very weak ones. But such was the purity and elegancy of his style, such the propriety and charms of his elocution, and such the gracefulness of his action, that he never spoke without universal applause: the ears and the eyes gave him up the hearts and the understandings of the audience. On the contrary, the late Lord Townshend always spoke materially, with argument and knowledge, but never pleaded. Why? His diction was not only inelegant, but frequently ungrammatical, always vulgar; his cadences false, his voice unharmonious, and his action ungraceful. No body 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 reafoner, was the most pleasing speaker I ever knew in my life. He charmed, he warmed, he forcibly rivifhed 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 emphafis, confipred to make him the most affecting, perſuasive, and applauded speaker, I ever law. I was captivated like others; but when I came home, and coolly considered what he had faid, I tripped of all the former ornaments in which he had drefled it, I often found the matter flimzy, the arguments weak, and I was convinced of the

power of those adventitious circumstances, which ignorance of mankind only, calls trifling ones. Cicero in his Book de Oratore, in order to raise the dignity of that profession, which he well knew himself to be at the head of, affords; that a compleat Orator must be a compleat every thing, Lawyer, Philosopher, Divine, &c. That would be extremely well, if it were possible: but man's life is not long enough; and I hold him to be the compleateft Orator, who speaks the best upon that subject which occurs; whose happy choice of words, whose lively imagination, whose elocution and action adorn and grace his matter; at the fame time that they excite the attention, and engage the paflions of his audience.

You will be of the House of Commons as soon as you are of age; and you must first make a figure there, if you would make a figure, or a fortune, in your country. This you can never do without that correctness and elegancy in your own language, which you now seem to neglect, and which you have intirely to learn. Fortunately for you, it is to be learned. Care and obſervation will do it; but do not flatter yourself, that all the knowledge, sense, and reafoning in the world will ever make you a popular and applauded speaker, without the ornaments and the graces of ſtyle, elocution, and action. Sense and argument, though coarſely delivered, will have their weight in a private conversation, with two or three people of ſense; but in a public ſ Assembly they will have none, if naked and deftitute of the advantages I have mentioned. Cardinal De Retz obſerves, very juſtly, that every numerous ſtlembly is mob; influenced by their paflions, humours, and affections, which nothing but eloquence ever did, or ever can engage. This is too important a consideration for every body in this country, and more particularly for you, that I carefully recommend it to your most serious care and attention. Mind your diction, in whatever language

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

language you either write or speak; contract a habit of correct-
ness and elegance. Confider your style, even in the freest con-
versation, and most familiar letters. After, at least, if not before,
you have said a thing, reflect if you could not have said it better.
Where you doubt of the propriety or elegance of a word or a
phrase, consult some good dead, or living authority in that lan-
guage. Use yourself to translate, from various languages, into
English: correct those translations till they satisfy your ear, as
well as your understanding. And be convinced of this truth, that
the best fense and reason in the world will be as unwelcome in a
public assembly, without these ornaments, as they will in public
companies, without the affiftance of manners and politeness. 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 fenses and their
hearts. Rabelais firſt wrote a moſt excellent book, which nobody
liked; then, determined to conform to the public tafe, he wrote
Gargantua and Pantagruel, which every body liked, extravagant
as it was. Adieu.

LETTER CLXXIV.

London, December the 9th, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

It is now above forty years since I have never spoken, nor
written one single word, without giving myself at least one
moment's time to confider, whether it was a good one or a bad
one, and whether I could not find out a better in its place. 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

TO HIS SON.

give up some degree of rough fense, for a good degree of pleasing
found. I will freely and truly own to you, without either vanity
or falfe modefty, that whatever reputation I have acquired, as a
ſpeaker, is more owing to my conſant attention to my diction,
than to my matter, which was neceſarily juſt the fame of other
people's. When you come into Parliament, your reputation as a
ſpeaker will depend much more upon your words, and your
periods, than upon the ſubject. The fame matter occurs equally
to every body of common-fense, upon the fame question; the
dreſſing it well, is what excites the attention and admiration of
the audience.

It is in Parliament that I have fet my heart upon your making
a figure; it is there that I want to have you juſtly proud of your-
self, and to make me juſtly proud of you. This means that you
muſt be a good ſpeaker there; I uſe the word muſt, becauſe I
know you may if you will. The vulgar, who are always miſtaken,
look upon a Speaker and a Comet with the fame aſtoniſhment and
admiration, taking them both for preternatural phenomena.
This error discourages many young men from attempting that
character; and good ſpeakers are willing to have their talent
confidered as ſomething very extraordinary, if not a peculiar gift of
God to his cleft. But let you and me analyſe and simplify this
good ſpeaker; let us ſtrip him of thofe adventitious plumes, with
which his own pride, and the ignorance of others have decked
him; and we ſhall find the true definition of him to be no more
than this—A man of good common ſense, who reaſons juſtly,
and exprefſes himſelf elegantly, upon that ſubject upon which he
ſpeaks. There is, ſurely, no witcheraſt in this. A man of
ſense, without a ſuperior and aſtoniſhing degree of parts, will
not talk nonſense upon any ſubject; nor will he, if he has the
leaſt tafe or application, talk inelegantly. What then does all
this

512 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

this mighty art 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 ſubjeſt, 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 with-
out ſome ſapplaſe; and therefore, I can aſſure you from my ex-
perience, that there is very little in it. The elegancy of the ſtyle,
and the turn of the periods, make the chief imprefſion 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 favourite 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.

Cicero, confious that he was at the top of his proſſion,
(for in his time Eloquence was a proſſion) in order to get
himſelf off, defines, in his Treatife de Oratore, an Orator to be ſuch
a man as never was, nor never will be; and by this fallacious ar-
gument, ſays, that he muſt know every art and ſcience whatso-
ever, or how ſhall he ſpeak upon them? But with ſubmiſſion to
ſo great an authority, my definition of an Orator is extremely dif-
ferent from, and I believe much truer than his. I call that man
an Orator, who reaſons juſtly, and expreſſes himſelf elegantly
upon whatever ſubjeſt he treats. Problems in Geometry, Equa-
tions in Algebra, Proceſſes in Chemiſtry, and Experiments in
Anatomy, are never, that I have heared of, the objects of Elo-
quence;

4

TO HIS SON.

quence; and therefore, I humbly conceive, that a man may be
a very fine ſpeaker, and yet know nothing of Geometry, Algebra,
Chemiftry, or Anatomy. The ſubjeſts of all Parliamentary de-
bates, are ſubjeſts of common ſenſe ſingly.

Thus I write, whatever occurs to me, that I think may con-
tribute either to form or inform you. May my labour not be in
vain! and it will not, if you will but have half the concern for
yourself, that I have for you. Adieu.

LETTER CLXXV.

DEAR BOY,

London, December the 12th, O. S. 1749.

L
O
R
D
Clarendon, in his hiftory, ſays of Mr. John Hamp-
den, 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 prefent
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 endeavours to
deferve. 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 purpofe. The hand to exe-
cute, depends likewife, in my opinion, in a great meaſure upon
yourſelf. Serious reflection will always give courage in a good
caufe; and the courage arifing from reflection is of a much fu-
perior nature to the animal and conſtitutional courage of a foot-


VOL. I.

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ſoldier.

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

514

foldier. The former is fleady and unshaken, where the nodus is
dignus vindice; the latter is oftener improperly than properly
exerted, but always brutally.

The second member of my text (to speak ecclesiastically) shall be the subject of my following discourse; the tongue to perfuade. As judicious Preachers recommend those virtues, which they think that their several audiences want the most: such as truth and continence, at Court; difinterestedness, in the City; and sobriety, in the Country.

You must certainly, in the course of your little experience, have felt the different effects of elegant and inelegant speaking. Do you not suffer, when people accost you in a flammering or heftitating manner; in an untuneful voice, with false accents and cadences; puzzling and blundering through folecisms, barbarisms, and vulgarisms; misplacing even their bad words, and inverting all method? Does not this prejudice you againft their matter, be it what it will; nay, even againſt their perſons? I am fure it does me. On the other hand, Do you not feel yourſelf inclined, prepoſſed, nay even engaged in favour of those who addreſs you in the direct contrary manner? The effects of a correct and adorned ſtyle, of method and perſpicuity, are incredible, towards perſuafion; they often ſupply the want of reaſon and argument; but, when uſed in the ſupport of reaſon and argument, they are irrefiſtible. The French attend very much to the purity and elegancy of their ſtyle, even in common converſation; inſomuch, that it is a character, to ſay of a man, qu'il n'arre bien. Their converſations frequently turn upon the delicacies of their language, and an Academy is employed in fixing it. The Cruſa, in Italy, has the fame object; and I have met with very few Italians, who did not ſpeak their own language correctly and elegantly. How much more neceſſary is it for an Englishman to do ſo, who is to

ſpeak

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TO HIS SON.

515

speak it in a public asſembly, where the laws and liberties of his
country are the ſubjects of his deliberation? The tongue that
would perſuade, there, muſt not content itſelf with mere articula-
tion. You know what pains Demoſthenes took to correct his
naturally bad elocution; you know that he declaimed by the ſea-
fide in ſtrorms, to prepare himſelf for the noife of the tumultuous
asſembles he was to ſpeak to; and you can now judge of the
correctneſs and elegancy of his ſtyle. 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 lan-
guage you ſpeak in, or whoever you ſpeak to, were it your foot-
man. Seek always for the beſt words and the happieſt expreſſions
you can find. Do not content yourſelf with being barely under-
ſlood; but adorn your thoughts, and drefs 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 dreffed than people of your fort are.

I have ſent you, in a packet which your Leipzig acquaintance,
Duval, ſends to his correfpondent at Rome, Lord Bolingbroke's
book *, which he published about a year ago. I define 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 confefs I did not know all the extent and
powers of the English language. Lord Bolingbroke has both a
tongue and a pen to perſuade; his manner of speaking in private
converſation, is full as elegant as his writings; whatever ſubject he
either ſpeaks or writes upon, he adorns with the moſt splendid
eloquence; not a ſtudied or laboured eloquence, but such a flow-

* Letters on the Spirit of Patriotism, on the Idea of a Patriot King.

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ing

516 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

ing happiness of diction, which (from care perhaps at first) is become so habitual to him, that even his most familiar conversations, if taken down in writing, would bear the Prefs, without the least correction either as to method or style. If his conduct, in the former part of his life, had been equal to all his natural and acquired talents, he would most justly have merited the epithet of all-accomplished. He is himself sensible of his fault errors: those violent passions, which seduced him in his youth, have now subordinated by age; and, take him as he is now, the character of all-accomplished is more his due, than any man's I ever knew in my life.

But he has been a most mortifying instance of the violence of human passions, and of the weak points of the most exalted human reason. His virtues and his vices, his reason and his passions, did not blend themselves by a gradation of tints, but formed a thining and sudden contrast.

Here the darkest, there the most splendid colours, and both rendered more thining from their proximity. Impetuosity, excess, and almost extravagancy, characterised not only his passions, but even his senses. His youth was distinguished by all the tumult and form of pleasures, in which he most licentiously triumphed, disdaining all decorum. His fine imagination has often been heated and exhausted with his body, in celebrating and deifying the profit of the night; and his convivial joys were pushed to all the extravagancy of frantic Bacchanals. Those passions were interrupted but by a stronger, Ambition. The former impaired both his constitution and his character, but the latter destroyed both his fortune and his reputation.

He has noble and generous sentiments, rather than fixed reflected principles of good-nature and friendship; but they are more violent than lafting, and suddenly and often varied to their opposite

TO HIS SON.

517

opposite extremes, with regard even to the same persons. He receives the common attentions of civility as obligations, which he returns with interest; and refrains with passion the little inadvertencies of human nature, which he repays with interest too. Even a difference of opinion upon a Philosophical subject, would provoke, and prove him no practical Philosopher, at least.

Notwithstanding the diffipation of his youth, and the tumultuous agitation of his middle age, he has an infinite fund of various and almost universal knowledge, which, from the clearness and quickest conception, and happiest memory, that ever man was blest with, he always carries about him. It is his pocket-money, and he never has occasion to draw upon a book for any fun. He excels more particularly in History, as his historical works plainly prove. The relative Political and Commercial interests of every country in Europe, particularly of his own, are better known to him, than perhaps to any man in it; but how readily he has purged the latter, in his public conduct, his enemies, of all parties and denominations, tell with joy.

He engaged young, and distinguished himself in bufnefs; and his penetration was almost intuition. I am old enough to have heared him speak in Parliament. And I remember, that, though prejudiced against him by party, I felt all the force and charms of his eloquence. Like Belial, in Milton, "he made the worse " appear the better cause." All the internal and external advantages and talents of an Orator are undoubtedly his. Figure, voice, elocution, knowledge; and, above all, the purest and most florid diction, with the judest metaphors, and happiest images, had railed him to the poft of Secretary at War, at four-and-twenty years old; an age at which others are hardly thought fit for the smallest employments.

During his long exile in France, he applied himself to study with

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518

with his characteristical ardour; and there he formed, and chiefly executed the plan of a great Philosophical work. The common bounds of human knowledge are too narrow for his warm and afpir-
ing imagination. He muſt go, extra ſiſiantia mænia Mundi, and explore the unknown and unknowable regions of Metaphysics; which open an unbounded field for the excursions of an ar-
dent imagination; where endleſs conjectures ſupply the defect of unattainable knowledge, and too often ſurp both its name and its influence.

He has had a very handſome perſon, with a moſt engaging addreſs in his air and manners: he has all the dignity and good-breeding which a man of quality ſhould or can have, and which ſo few, in this country, at leaſt, really have.

He proſeſes himſelf a Deiſt; believing in a general Providence, but doubting of, though by no means rejecting (as is commonly ſuppoſed) the immortality of the ſoul, and a future ſtate.

Upon the whole, of this extraordinary man, what can we ſay,
but alas, poor human nature !

In your deſtination, you will have frequent occafions to ſpeak in public; to Princes and States, abroad; to the Houſe of Com-
mons, at home: judge then, whether Eloquence is neceſſary for you or not; not only common Eloquence, which is rather free from faults, than adorned by beauties; but the highest, the moſt
ſhining degree of Eloquence. For God's ſake, have this objeſt always in your view, and in your thoughts. Tune your tongue early to perſuafion; and let no jarring, diffiſiong accents ever fall from it. Contraſt an habit of ſpeaking well, upon every occa-
ſion, and neglect yourſelf in no one. Eloquence and good-
breeding, alone, with an exceeding ſmall degree of parts and knowledge, will carry a man a great way; with your parts and knowledge, then, how far will they not carry you? Adieu.

LETTER

TO HIS SON.

519

LETTER CLXXVI.

London, December the 16th, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

T
HIS letter will, I hope, find you safely arrived and well
fettled at Rome, after the usual diffrettes and accidents
of a winter journey; which are very proper to teach you patience.
Your ſay there, I look upon as a very important period of your
life; and I do believe, that you will fill it up well. I hope you
will employ the mornings diligently with Mr. Harte, in acquiring
weight; and the evenings in the best companies at Rome, in ac-
quiring luſtre. A formal, dull father, would recommend to you
to plod out the evenings, too, at home over a book, by a dim
taper; but I recommend to you the evenings for your pleafures,
which are as much a part of your education, and almost as ne-
ceſſary a one, as your morning ſtudies. Go to whatever aſſem-
blies or ſpectacles people of fashion go to, and, when you are
there, do as they do. Endeavour to outſhine that, who ſhine
there the moſt; get the Garbo, the Gentilezza, the Leg-
giadria of the Italians; make love to the moſt impertinent
beauty of condition that you meet with, and be gallant with all
the reſt. Speak Italian, right or wrong, to every body; and if
you do but laugh at yourſelf firſt, for your bad Italian, nobody
elſe will laugh at you for it. That is the only way of ſpeaking it
perfectly; which I expeſt you will do, becauſe I am ſure you
may, before you leave Rome. View the moſt curious remains of
antiquity, with a claſſical ſpirit; and they will clear up to your
many paſſages of the claſſical authors: particularly the Trajan,
and Antonine Columns; where you find the warlike instruments,
the

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the dreffes, and the triumphal ornaments of the Romans. Buy
also the prints and explanations of all thofe reſpectable remains of
Roman grandeur, and compare them with the originals. Moft
young travellers are contented with a general view of thofe
things, ſay they are very fine, and then go about their buſineſs. I
hope you will examine them in a very different way. Appra-
fondiffiez every thing you fee or hear; and learn, if you can, the
why and the wherefore. Inquire into the meaning and the ob-
jects of the innumerable proceflions, which you will fee at Rome
at this time. Aſſift at all the ceremonies, and know the reaſon,
or at leaſt the pretences of them; and, however abſurd they may
be, fee and ſpeak of them with great decency. Of all things, I beg
of you not to herd with your own countrymen, but to be always
either with the Romans, or with the foreign Miniflers refiding at
Rome. You are ſent abroad to fee the manners and charaſters,
and learn the languages, of foreign countries; and not to converſe
with Engliſh, in Engliſh; which would defeat all thofe ends.
Among your graver company, I recommend (as I have done be-
fore) the Jefuits to you; whoſe learning and addrefs will both
pleafe and improve you: inform yourſelf, as much as you can, of
the hiftory, policy, and practice of that ſociety, from the time of its
founder, Ignatius of Loyola, who was himſelf a mad-man. If you
would know their morality, you will find it fully and admirably
ſtated, in Les Lettres d'un Provinciale, by the famous Monfieur
Paſcal; and it is a book very well worth your reading. Few
people fee what they fee, or hear what they hear; that is, they fee
and hear ſo inattentively and ſuperficially, that they are very little
the better for what they do fee and hear. This, I dare ſay, neither
is, nor will be your eafe. You will underſtand, reflect upon, and
conſequently retain, what you fee and hear. You have ſtill two
years good, but no more, to form your character in the world de-
cifively;

TO HIS SON.

521

cifively; for, within two months after your arrival in England, it
will be finally and irrevocably determined, one way or another, in
the opinion of the public. Devote, therefore, theſe two years to
the purſuit of perſection; which ought to be every body's objeſt,
though in ſome particulars unattainable: thofe who ſtrive and
labour the moſt, will come the neareſt to it. But, above all things,
aim at it, in the two important arts of ſpeaking, and pleading;
without them, all your other talents are maimed and crippled.
They are the wings upon which you muſt foar above other people;
without them you will only crawl with the dull maſs of man-
kind. Prepoſſed by your Air, Addrefs, and Manners, perſuade
by your tongue; and you will eafily execute, what your head has
contrived. I define that you will ſend me very minute accounts
from Rome; not of what you fee, but of who you fee: of your
pleaſures and entertainments. Tell me what companies you fre-
quent moſt, and how you are received. Mi dica anche ſe l'Italia-
no va bene, e ſe lo parla facilmente; ma in ogni caſo bisogna parlarlo
ſempre per potere al fine parlarlo bene e pulito. Le donne l'infeg-
nano meglio affai dei maeſtri. Addio Caro Ragazzo, ſi ricordi del
Garbo, della Gentilezza, e della Leggiadria: coſe tante neceſſaria
ad un Cavaliero.

LETTER CLXXVII.

London, December the 19th, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY,

THE knowledge of mankind is a very uſeful knowledge for every body; a moſt neceſſary one for you, who are defined to an active, public life. You will have to do with all ſorts of charaſters; you ſhould, therefore, know them thoroughly, in order

3 X

as good letters as the
former but one.

522 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

order to manage them ably. This knowledge is not to be gotten
systematically; you must acquire it yourself, by your own obser-
vation and sagacity: I will give you such hints as I think may be
useful land-marks in your intended progrefs.

I have often told you (and it is most true) that, with regard to man-
kind, we must not draw general conclusions from certain particular
principles, though, in the main, true ones. We must not fuppofe,
that, because a man is a rational animal, he will, therefore, always
act rationally; or, because he has such or such a predominant paſ-
fion, that he will act invariably and confequentially in the pur-
fuit 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, preci-
pitate, and sometimes stop that motion. Let us exemplify. I
will fuppofe Ambition to be (as it commonly is) the predominant
paſsion of a Minifter of State; and I will fuppofe that Minifter
to be an able one. Will he, therefore, invariably purfue the
object of that predominant paſsion? May I be fure that he will
do so and so, because he ought? Nothing lefs. Sickneſs, or low
spirits, may damp this predominant paſſion; humour and peec-
vifhneſs may triumph over it; inferior paſſions may, at times,
furprize it, and prevail. Is this ambitious Statesman amorous?
Indiscreet and unguard ed confidences, made in tender moments,
to his wife or his miftreſs, may defeat all his ſchemes. Is he
avaricious? Some great lucrative object, suddenly prefent ing it ſelf,
may unravel all the work of his ambition. Is he paſſionate? Con-
tradiction and provocation (sometimes, it may be, too, artfully
intended) may extort rafh and inconfiderate exprefſions, or
actions, deſtruetive of his main object. Is he vain, and open to
flattery? An artful, flattering favourite may miſlead him; and
even lazineſs may, at certain moments, make him negleſt or
omit

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TO HIS SON.

523

omit the neceſſary ſteps to that height which he wants to arrive
at. Seek firſt, then, for the predominant paſſion of the character
which you mean to engage and influence, and addreſs yourſelf
to it; but without defying or desſpifing the inferior paſſions: get
them in your intereſt too, for now and then they will have their
turns. In many cafés, you may not have it in your power to
contribute to the gratification of the prevailing paſſion; then take
the next beſt to your aid. There are many avenues to every
man; and, when you cannot get at him through the great one,
try the ſerpentine ones, and you will arrive at laſt.

There are two inconfiſtent paſſions, which, however, fre-
quently 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 any thing, ſub-
mitted to any thing, and forgave any thing, for the ſake of plun-
der. He loved and courted Power like an ufurer; because it
carried Profit along with it. Whoever should have formed his
opinion, or taken his measures, fingly, from the ambitious part of
Cardinal Mazarin's character, would have found himſelf often miſ-
taken. Some, who had found this out, made their fortunes by
letting him cheat them at play. On the contrary, Cardinal Riche-
dieu's prevailing paſſion ſeems to have been Ambition, and his im-
menſe 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 inconfiſtency
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

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524

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 Stateman in Europe; and affairs flood still, while he was concerting the criticism upon the *Cid*. Could one think this possible, if one did not know it to be true? Though men are all of one composition, the several ingredients are so differently proportioned in each individual, that no two are exactly alike; and no one, at all times, like himself. The ablest man will, sometimes, do weak things; the proudest man, mean things; the honest man, ill things; and the wicked man, good ones. Study individuals, then; and if you take (as you ought to do) their outlines from their prevailing passions, suspend your last finishing strokes, till you have attended to, and discovered, the operations of their inferior passions, appetites, and humours. A man's general character may be that of the Honest Man of the world: do not dispute it; you might be thought envious or ill-natured: but, at the same time, do not take this probity upon trust, to such a degree as to put your life, fortune, or reputation, in his power. This honest man may happen to be your rival in power, in interest, or in love; three passions that often put honesty to moft severe trials, in which it is too often said: but first analyse this Honest Man yourself; and then, only, you will be able to judge, how far you may, or may not, with safety, trust him.

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 Aggripina may sacrifice them to Ambition, or a Mefialina to Luft; but those 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 moft,

pleases

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TO HIS SON.

525

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 affinity too great; no simulation of passion too groans: as, on the other hand, the least word or action, that can poffibly be construed into a flight 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 wrong-headed: but every man living has such a share of Vanity, as to be hurt by marks of flight and contempt. Every man does not pretend to be a Poet, a Mathematician, or a Stateman, and confidered 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 negligences, inattentions, and flights, which seem to call in question, or utterly deny him both these pretenfions.

Sufpect, in general, though who remarkably affect any one virtue; who raise it above all others, and who, in a manner, intimate that they poffess it exclusively. I fay suspect them; for they are commonly impostors: but do not be sure that they are always so; for I have fometimes known Saints really religious, Blusterers really brave, Reformers of manners really honest, and Prudes really chafte. Pry into the recefes of their hearts yourfelf, as far as you are able, and never implicitly adopt a character upon common fame; which, though generally right as to the great outlines of characters, is always wrong in fome particulars.

Be upon your guard against thofe, who, upon very flight ac-
quaintance, obtrude their unafked and unmerited friendthip and
confidence upon you; for they probably cram you with them only
for their own eating: but, at the fame time, do not roughly reject
them upon that general fupposition. Examine further, and fee
whether

whether

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526

whether those unexpected offers flow from a warm heart and a filly head, or from a designing head and a cold heart; for Knavery and Folly have often the fame symptoms. In the first cafe, there is no danger in accepting them, *valeant quantum valere poſſunt*. In the latter cafe, 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 affixed by their mutual pleatures 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 indifferently pour out their whole ſouls in common, and without the least reſerve. These confidences are as indifferently repeated, as they were made: or new pleatures, 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 ſeffivity that become youth. Trust them with your love-tales, if you pleafe; but keep your ſerious views ſecret. Trust those only to those tried friend, more experienced than yourſelf, and who, being in a different walk of life from you, is not likely to become your rival; for I would not advise you to depend ſo much upon the heroic virtue of mankind, as to hope, or believe, that your competitor will ever be your friend, as to the object of that competition.

These are reserves and cautions very neceſſary to have, but very imprudent to show; the volto ſciolto ſhould accompany them. Adieu.

LETTER

TO HIS SON.

527

LETTER CLXXVIII.

DEAR BOY,

GREAT talents, and great virtues (if you should have them) will procure you the respect and the admiration of mankind; but it is the leſſer talents, the *leniores virtutes*, which must procure you their love and affection. The former, unaffiliated and unadorned by the latter, will extort praise; but will, at the fame time, excite both fear and envy; two sentiments absolutely incompatible with love and affection.

Cefar had all the great vices, and Cato all the great virtues, that men could have. But Cefar had the *leniores virtutes*, which Cato wanted; and which made him beloved, even by his enemies, and gained him the hearts of mankind, in ſpight of their reaſon; while Cato was not even beloved by his friends, notwithstanding the eſtream and respect which they could not refuse to his virtues; and, I am apt to think, that if Cefar had wanted, and Cato poſſessed, those *leniores virtutes*, the former would not have attempted (at least with ſucces) and the latter could have protected, the liberties of Rome. Mr. Addifon, in his Cato, ſays of Cefar (and I believe with truth) -

*Curse on his virtues, they've undone his country.*

By which he means, those leſſer, but engaging virtues, of gentle-neſs, affability, complaifance, and good-humour. The know-ledge of a Scholar, the courage of a Hero, and the virtue of a Stoic, will be admired; but if the knowledge be accompanied with arrogance, the courage with ferocity, and the virtue with inflexible ſeverity, the man will never be loved. The heroism of

Charles

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528

Charles XII. of Sweden (if his brutal courage deferves that name) was univerally admired, but the man no where beloved. Whereas Henry IV. of France, who had full as much courage, and was much longer engaged in wars, was generally beloved upon account of his leffer and social virtues. We are all so formed, that our understandings are generally the dupes of our hearts, that is, of our paffions; and the fureſt way to the former, is through the latter, which muſt be engaged by the leniores virtutes alone, and the manner of exerting them. The infolent civility of a proud man, is (for example) if poffible, more ſhocking than his rudenefs could be; becauſe he ſhows you, by his manner, that he thinks it mere condeſſenſion in him; and that his goodneſs alone beſtows upon you, what you have no preſtence to claim. He intimates his proteſſion, inſtead of his friendſhip, by a gracious nod, inſtead of an uſual bow; and rather ſigniſes his conſent that you may, than his invitation that you ſhould fit, walk, eat, or drink with him.

The coſtive liberality of a purſe-proud man, inſults the diſtrefſes it ſometimes relieves; he takes care to make you ſeel 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 wifdom. The arrogant pedant does not communicate, but promulgates his knowledge. He does not give it you, but he inſiſts it upon you; and is (if poffible) 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 likewife in all others, ſhock and revolt that little pride and vanity, which every man has in his heart; and obliter ate in us the obligation for the favour conferred, by reminding us of the motive which produced, and the manner which accompanied it.

Theſe

TO HIS SON.

529

Theſe faults point out their oppoſite perfections, and your own good ſenſe will naturally ſuggeſt them to you.

But beſides theſe leſſer virtues, there are, what may be called the leſſer talents or accompliſhments, which are of great uſe to adorn and recommend all the greater; and the more ſo, as all people are judges of the one, and but few are of the other. Every body feels the impreſſion, which an engaging addreſs, an agreeable manner of ſpeaking, and an eafy politenefs, makes upon them: and they prepare the way for the favourable reception of their betters. Adieu.

LETTER CLXXIX.

London, December the 26th, O. S. 1749.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

THE New-year is the leafon, in which cuſtom ſeems more particularly to authorife civil and harmleſs Lies, under the name of compliments. People reciprocally profefs wifhes, which they ſeldom form; and concern, which they ſeldom feel. This is not the caſe between you and me, where truth leaves no room for compliments.

Dii tibi dent annos, de te nam cœtera ſumes; was faſd formerly to one, by a man who certainly did not think it. With the variaſion 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,

VOL. I.

3 Y

reproach,

530 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

reproach, and flame 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 fumes. Conscientious virtue is the
only solid foundation of all happiness; for riches, power, rank,
or whatever, in the common acceptance 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, that of
the good old nurse of Horace, in his Epistle to Tibullus: Sapere,
you have it in a good degree already. Et fari ut poffit quæ
fentiat. 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 carnegly 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 viestus, non deficiente crumend, do you defer, and I will
provide them.

It is with the greatest pleasure that I confider the fair profpect
which you have before you. You have seen, read, and learned
more, at your age, than most young fellows have done at two or
three and twenty. Your defination is a thining one, and leads to
rank, fortune, and distinction. Your education has been calculated
for it; and, to do you justice, that education has not been thrown
away upon you. You want but two things, which do not want
conjuration, but only care, to acquire; Eloquence and Manners.
That is, the graces of speech and the graces of behaviour. You
may have them; they are as much in your power, as powdering
your hair is: and will you let the want of them obfure (as it
certainly

2

TO HIS SON.

certainly will do) that thining profpect which prefents itself to
you? I am sure you will not. They are the sharp end, the
point, of the nail that you are driving, which must make way
firft, for the larger and more solid parts to enter. Suppofing
your moral character as pure, and your knowledge as found, as I
really believe them both to be; you want nothing for that per-
fection, which I have fo conftantly wifhed you, and taken fo
much pains to give you, but Eloquence and Politenefs. 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 pleafes, by attending
to the beſt Authors and Orators; and, indeed, I would advife thofe,
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
Politenefs; whoever keeps good company, and is not polite, muſt
have formed a refolution, and take ſome pains not to be ſo; other-
wife he would naturally and infenſibly take the air, the addrefs,
and the turn of thofe he converſes with. You will, probably, in
the course of this year, fee as great a variety of good company,
in the ſeveral Capitals you will be at, as in any one year of your
life; and conſequently muſt (I ſhould hope) catch ſome of their
manners, almost whether you will or not; but, as I dare ſay that
you will endeavour to do it, I am convinced you will fucceed,
and that I ſhall have the pleasure of finding you, at your return
here, one of the beſt-bred men in Europe.

I imagine, that when you receive my letters, and come to
thofe parts of them which relate to Eloquence and Politenefs,
you ſay, or at least think, What, will he never have done upon
thofe two ſubjects? Has he not faid all he can ſay upon them?
Why the fame thing over and over again?—If you do think or ſay
fo, it muſt proceed from your not yet knowing the infinite im-
portance

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portance

532 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

portance of those two accomplishments; which I cannot recommend to you too often, nor inculcate too strongly. But if, on the contrary, you are convinced of the utility, or rather the necessity, of those two accomplishments, and are determined to acquire them, my repeated admonitions are only unnecessary; and I grudge no trouble, which can possibly be of the least use to you.

I flatter myself, that your flay at Rome will go a great way towards answering all my views: I am sure it will, if you employ your time, and your whole time, as you should. 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 every thing; especially at Rome, where it is not the fashion, as it is here, and at Paris, to imbezzle 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 conftancy, as much as you or any body can want: more is only laziness and dozing; and is, I am perfuaded, both unwholefome and stupefying. If, by chance, your bufinefs, or your pleafures, should keep you up till four or five o'clock in the morning, I would advife you, however, to rile 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 advifed to do, when very young, by a very wife man; and what, I affure you, I always did, in the most diffipated part of my life. I have very often gone to bed at fix in the morning, and rose, notwithstanding, at eight; by which means I got many hours, in the morning,

TO HIS SON.

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 idlenefs, no lazineſs, no procreafation: 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 bufineſs of the Republic, but to pafs his evenings at asſembles andSUP- PERS, as if he had had nothing eſle to do or think of.

Adieu, my dear friend (for such I shall call you, and as such I shall, for the future, live with you). For I disclaim all titles which imply an authority, that, I am perfuaded, you will never give me occasion to exercise.

Multos, et felices, moſt fincerously, to Mr. Harte.

## LETTER CLXXX.

London, January the 8th, O. S. 1750.

DEAR BOY,

I Have ſeldom or never written to you upon the ſubject of Religion and Morality: your own reaſon, I am perfuaded, 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 my ſelf, in this letter, to the decency, the utility, and the neceſſity, of ſerupulofly preferving the Appearances of both. When I ſay the

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the Appearances of religion, I do not mean that you should talk or act like a Millionary, or an Enthusiast, nor that you should take up a controversial cudgel, against whoever attacks the feet you are of; this would be both unfeels, 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 thread-bare topics of half Wits, and minute Philofophers. Even thoſe who are filly enough to laugh at their jokes, are ſill wife enough to diftruft and deteft 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 compleat their riot; let no word or look of yours intimate the leaſt approbation; on the contrary, let a ſilent gravity exprefs 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 leaſt truſted, for being thought to have no religion; in ſpite of all the pompous and ſpecious epithets he may affume, of *Esprit fort*, Free-thinker, or Moral Philofopher; and a wife Atheiſt (if ſuch a thing there is) would, for his own intereſt, and character in this world, pretend to ſome religion.

Your moral character muſt be not only pure, but, like Cæsar's wife, unſuſpeſted. 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 proſligate enough to explode all notions of moral good and evil;

TO HIS SON.

535

evil; to maintain that they are merely local, and depend entirely upon the cuſtoms and ſalions of different countries: may, there are ſtill, if poffible, 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 poffible, the company of ſuch people; who reflect a degree of diſcredit, and inſamy, upon all who converſe with them. But as you may, ſometimes, by accident, fall into ſuch company, take great care that no complaſance, no good-humour, no warmth of ſeſtal mirth, ever make you ſeem even to acquieſce, much leaſ to approve or applaud, ſuch infamous doſtrines. 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 *Apofſiles*, 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 doſtrine they preach. But put your private mark upon them, and ſhun them for ever afterwards.

There is nothing to delicate as your Moral character, and nothing which it is your intereſt to much to preferve pure. Should you be ſuſpected of Injuſtice, Malignity, Perſidy, Lying, &c. all the parts and knowledge in the world will never procure you eſteem, friendliſp, or reſpect. A ſtrange concurrence of circumftances has ſometimes raſed very bad men to high ſtations; but they have been raſed like criminals to a pillory, where their perſons and their crimes, by being more confiſcuous, are only the more known, the more detefted, and the more pelted and inſulted. If, in any cafe whatsoever, affectation and oftentation are pardonable, it is in the cafe of morality; though, even there, I would not advise you to a pharisaical pomp of virtue. But I will recommend

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mend to you a moſt ſerupulous tenderneſs for your moral cha-
racter, and the utmoſt care not to ſay or do the leaſt thing, that
may, ever ſo flightly, taint it. Show yourſelf, upon all occafions,
the advocate, the friend, but not the bully, of Virtue. Colonel
Chartres, whom you have certainly heard of, (who was, I
believe, the moſt notorious blaſted raſcal in the world, and who
had, by all forts of crimes, amaſſed immenſe wealth) was ſo ſen-
fible of the diſadvantage of a bad character, that I heard him
once ſay, in his impudent, proſligate 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 honſt
man can neglect, what a wife rogue would purchase ſo dear?

There is one of the vices above-mentioned, into which peo-
ple of good education, and, in the main, of good principles,
frequently fall, from miftaken notions of ſkill, dexterity, and ſelf-
defence; I mean Lying: though it is inſeparably attended with more
inſamy and loſs than any other. The prudence and neceſſity
of often concealing the truth, inſenſibly ſeduces people to violate it.
It is the only art of mean capacities, and the only refuge of mean
fpirits. Whereas concealing the truth, upon proper occafions, is as
prudent and as innocent, as telling a lie, upon any occafion, is in-
famous and foolish. I will ſtate you a cafe in your own depart-
ment. Suppofe you are employed at a foreign Court, and that
the Minifter of that Court is abſurd or impertinent enough to aſk
you what your inſtructions are; Will you tell him a lie; which, as
ſoon as found out, and found out it certainly will be, muſt de-
ſtroy your credit, blaſt your character, and render you uſeſſs
there? No. Will you tell him the truth then, and betray your
truſt? As certainly, No. But you will anſwer, with firmneſs, That
you

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TO HIS SON.

537

you are ſurprized at ſuch a queſtion; that you are perſuaded he
does not expeſt an anſwer to it; but that, at all events, he certainly
will not have one. Such an anſwer will give him confidence in
you; he will conceive an opinion of your veracity, of which opinion
you may afterwards make very honſt and fair advantages. But
iſ, in negotiations, you are looked upon as a liar, and a trickſter,
no confidence will be placed in you, nothing will be communi-
cated to you, and you will be in the ſituation of a man who has
been burned in the cheek; and who, from that mark, cannot after-
wards get an honſt livelihood if he would, but muſt continue a
thief.

Lord Bacon, very juſtly, makes a diſtinction between Simulation
and Diffusion; and allows the latter rather than the former:
but ſtill obſerves, that they are the weaker fort of Politicians, who
have recourse to either. A man who has ſtrength of mind, and
ſtrength of parts, wants neither of them. Certainly (fays 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 borſes well managed; for they could tell, paſſing well, when
to ſtop, or turn: and at ſuch times, when they thought the cafe indeed
required ſome diffraction, if then they uſed it, it came to paſſ,
that the former opinion ſpread abroad, of their good faith and clear-
neſs of dealing, made them almost invisible. There are people who
indulge themselves in a fort of lying, which they reckon innocent,
and which in one ſenſe is ſo; for it hurts no body but themselves.
This fort of lying is the ſpurious offspring of vanity, begotten upon
folly: theſe people deal in the marvellous; they have ſeen ſome
things that never exiſt; they have ſeen other things which they
never really ſaw, though they did exiſt, only becauſe they were
thought worth ſeeing. Has any thing remarkable been ſaid or
done in any place, or in any company? they immediately preſent

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3 Z

and

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538

and declare themfelves eye or ear witnesses of it. They have done feats themfelves, 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 prefent attention, by it. Whereas, in truth, all that they get is ridicule and contempt, not without a good degree of diftruft: for one muft naturally conclude, that he who will tell any lie from idle vanity, will not feruple telling a greater for intereft. Had I really been any thing so very extraordinary as to be almost incredible, I would keep it to myfelf, rather than, by telling it, give any one body room to doubt for one minute of my veracity. It is moft certain, that the reputation of chaflity is not so neceffary for a woman, as that of veracity is for a man: and with reafon: for it is poſſible for a woman to be virtuous, though not ftrictly chaſte: but it is not poſſible for a man to be virtuous without ftrict veracity. The flips of the poor women are fometimes mere bodily frailties; but a lie in a man is a vice of the mind, and of the heart. For God's fake, be ſerupulouſly jealous of the purity of your moral character; keep it immaculate, unblemiſhed, unfullied; and it will be unſuſpecteſ. Deſamation and calumny never attack, where there is no weak place; they magnify, but they do not create.

There is a very great difference between that purity of character, which I do earneſtly recommend to you; and the Stoical gravity and auſterity of character, which I do by no means recommend to you. At your age, I would no more with you to be a Cato, than a Clodius. Be, and be reckoned, a man of pleafure, as well as a man of bufi-nefs. Enjoy this happy and giddy time of your life; ſhine in the pleafures, and in the company of people of your own age. This is all to be done, and indeed only can be done, without the least taint to the purity of your moral character: for thofe miſtaken young fellows, who think to ſhine by an impious or immoral licentiouſneſs,

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TO HISSON.

539

neſs, ſhine only from their flinking, like corrupted ſleth in the dark. Without this purity, you can have no dignity of character; and, without dignity of character, it is impoſſible to rife in the world. You muſt be reſpectable, if you will be reſpected. I have known people flattern away their character, without really polluting it; the conſequence of which has been, that they have become innocently contemptible; their merit has been dimmed, their pretenſions unregarded, and all their views defeated. Character muſt be kept bright, as well as clean. Content yourfelf with mediocrity in nothing. In purity of character, and in po-litenefs of manners, labour to excel all, if you wifh to equal many. Adieu.

LETTER CLXXXI.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

London, January the 11th, O.S. 1750.

YESTERDAY I received a letter from Mr. Harte, of the 31st December, N. S. which I will answer ſoon; and for which I defire you to return him my thanks now. He tells me two things, that give me great ſatisfaction; one is, that there are very few English at Rome; the other is, that you frequent the beſt foreign companies. This laſt is a very good ſymptom; for a man of ſenſe is never defirous to frequent thofe companies, where he is not defirous to pleafe, or where he finds that he diſpleafes. It will not be expected in thofe companies, that, at your age, you ſhould have the Garbo, the Difinvoltura, and the Leggiadria of a man of five-and-twenty, who has been long uſed to keep the beſt companies; and therefore do not be diſcouraged, and think yourfelf either flighted or laughed at, becauſe you fee others, older

3 Z 2

and

540

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

and more used to the world, easier, more familiar; and, consequently, rather better received in those companies than yourself. In time your turn will come; and if you do but show an inclination, a desire to please, though you should be embarrassed, or even err in the means, (which must necessarily happen to you at first) yet the will (to use a vulgar expression) will be taken for the deed; and people, instead of laughing at you, will be glad to instruct you. Good-fame can only give you the great outlines of good-breeding; but observation and usage can alone give you the delicate touches, and the fine colouring. You will naturally endeavour to show the utmost respect to people of certain ranks and characters, and, consequently, you will show it; but the proper, the delicate manner of showing that respect, nothing but observation and time can give.

I remember, that when, with all the awkwardness and ruft 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 every body; but when I was spoken to, or attempted to speak myself, obsequious,eterunque comæ, et vox faucibus hæſt. If I saw people whifper, 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 for ever, 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 perfevere, and suffer any thing, or every thing, rather than not compaſs that point. Infinitely it grew easier to me; and I began not to bow so ridiculously low, and to answer queſtions without great heſitation or flammering: if,

4

TO HIS SON.

541

if, now and then, some charitable people, feeing my embarraſſment, and being deſœuvré themselves, came and spoke to me, I confidered them as angels ſent to comfort me; and that gave me a little courage. I got more ſoon afterwards, 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 refuming it, ſpoke to me thus: "I fee your embarraſſment, and I am ſure that the ſew words you "faid to me, coſt you a great deal; but do not be disſouraged "for that reaſon, and avoid good company. We fee that you "defire 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 profefs "good-breeding; and, if you will be my Novice, I will preſent "you to my acquaintance as ſuch."

You will easily imagine how much this ſpeech pleafed me, and how awkwardly I anſWERED it; I hemm'd once or twice (for it gave me a bur in my throat) before I could tell her, that I was very much obliged to her; that it was true, that I had a great deal of reaſon to diſtruſt my own behaviour, not being uſed to fine company; and that I ſhould be proud of being her Novice, and receiving her inſtructions. As ſoon as I had fumbled out this anſwer, ſhe called up three or four people to her, and ſaid, "Sçavez vous (for ſhe was a foreigner, and I was abroad) que j'ai entrepris ce jeune homme, et qu'il le faut raffuser ? Pour moi, je crois en avoir fait la conquête, car il s'éſt émancipé dans "le

" Do you know that I have undertaken this young man, and he muſt be en-
" couraged? As for me, I think I have made a conſeult of him; for he juſt now
" ventured to tell me, altho' tremblingly, that it is warm. You will atſiſt me in
" poſhing

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542

le moment au point de me dire, en tremblant, qu'il faisoit chaud. Il faut que vous m'aidiez à le dérouiller. Il lui faut nécessairement une passion, et s'il ne m'en juge pas digne, nous lui en chercherons quelque autre. Au refle, mon Novice, n'allez pas vous encanailler avec des filles d'Opéra, et des Conédiennes qui vous épargneront les fraix et du Sentiment et de la Politeffe, mais qui vous en couteront bien plus à tout autre égard. Je vous le dis encore; si vous vous encanaillez vous êtes perdu, mon ami. Ces Malheureufes ruineront et votre fortune, et votre fanté, corromperont vos moeurs, et vous n'aurez jamais le ton de la bonne compagnie. The company laughed at this lecture, and I was flunned with it. I did not know whether she was ferious or in jeft. By turns I was pleafed, afhamed, encouraged, and dejected. But when I found, afterwards, that both ſhe, and thofe to whom ſhe had prefented me, countenanced and proteſted me in company, I gradually got more affurance, and began not to be afhamed of endeavouring to be civil. I copied the beſt maſters, at first fervilely, afterwards more freely, and at laſt, I joined habit and invention.

All this will happen to you, if you perſvere in the deſire of pleafing, and ſhining as a Man of the World; that part of your character is the only one, about which I have at preſent the leaſt doubt. I cannot entertain the leaſt suspicion of your moral character; your learned character is out of queſtion. Your polite character is now the only remaining object that gives me the leaſt

"polifhing him. He muſt neceſſarily have a paſſion for fomebody; if he does not

" think me worthy of being the object, we will ſee out ſome other. However, my

" Novice, do not difgrace yourſelf by frequenting Opera girls and Abreffes; who will

" not require of you Sentiments and Politenefs, but will be your ruin in every reſpect.

" I repeat it to you, my friend, if you ſhould get into low, mean company, you will be

" undone. Thofe Creatures will deftroy your fortune and your health, corrupt your

" morals, and you will never acquire the ſtyle of good company."

anxiety;

TO HIS SON.

543

anxiety; and you are now in the right way of finifhing it. Your conſtant collifion with good company will, of courſe, ſmooth and polifh you. I could wifh that you would ſay, to the five or fix men or women with whom you are the moſt acquainted, That you are ſenſible, that, from youth and inexperience, you muſt make many miftakes in good-breeding; that you beg of them to correct you, without reſerve, wherever they fee you fail; and that you ſhall take ſuch admonitions as the ſtrongest proofs of their friendſhip. Such a conſeſſion and application will be very en-gaging to thofe to whom you make them. They will tell others of them, who will be pleafed with that diſpoſition, and, in a friendly manner, tell you of any little ſlip or error. The Duke de Nivernois * would, I am ſure, be charmed, if you dropped ſuch a thing to him; adding, that you loved to addrefs yourſelf always to the beſt maſters. Obſerve alſo, the different modes of good-breeding of ſeveral nations, and conform yourſelf to them reſpectively. Uſe an eafy civility with the French, more cere-mony with the Italians, and ſtill more with the Germans; but let it be without embarraſſment, and with eafe. Bring it, by eſe, to be habitual to you; for, if it ſeems unwilling and forced, it will never pleafe. *Omnis Ariflippum decuit Color, et Res. Acquire an eafineſs and verfatility of manners, as well as of mind; and, like the Cameleon, take the hue of the company you are with.*

There is a fort of veteran women of condition, who, hav-ing lived always in the grand monde, and having poffibly 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. Thesef women, being paſt their bloom, are extremely flattered by the leaſt attention from a young ſellow;

* At that time Embaſſador from the Court of France, at Rome.

and

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544

and they will point out to him those manners and attentions
that pleafed 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. Afk
their advice, tell them your doubts or difficulties, as to your
behaviour: but take great care not to drop one word of their ex-
perience; for experience implies age, and the fufpicion of age,
no woman, let her be ever so old, ever forgives.

I long for your picture, which Mr. Harte tells me is now
drawing. I want to fee your countenance, your air, and even
your drefs; the better they all three are, the better; I am not
wife enough to deſpife any one of them. Your drefs, at leaf,
is in your own power, and I hope that you mind it to a proper
degree. Yours, Adieu.

LETTER CLXXXII.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

London, January the 18th, O. S. 1750.

I
Confider the folio part of your little edifice as far near being
finished and completed, that my only remaining care is about
the embellishments; and that must now be your principal care too.
Adorn yourself with all those graces and accomplishments, which,
without solidity, are frivolous; but without which, solidity is,
to a great degree, uſeles. Take one man, with a very moderate
degree of knowledge, but with a pleafing figure, a prepoſſeſſing
addrefs, graceful in all that he fays and does, polite, lian, and, in
fhort, adorned with all the leſſer talents; and take another man,
with found ſenſe and profound knowledge, but without the above-
mentioned

TO HIS SON.

545

mentioned advantages; the former will not only get the better of
the latter, in every puruit of every kind, but in truth there will
be no fort of competition between them. But can every man
acquire theſe advantages? I fay Yes, if he pleafe; ſuppoſing he
is in a situation, and in circumſtances, to frequent good company.
Attention, obſervation, and imitation, will moſt infallibly do it.
When you fee a man, whose firſt abord ſtrikes you, prepoſſeſſes
you in his favour, and makes you entertain a good opinion of
him, you do not know why: analyſe that abord, and examine,
within yourſelf, the ſeveral parts that compoſed it; and you will
generally find it to be the reſult, the happy affemblage of modeſtly
unembarraſted, reſpect without timidity, a genteel, but unaſſected
attitude of body and limbs, an open, chearful, but unfmirking
countenance, and a drefs, by no means negligent, and yet not
ſoppifh. Copy him, then, not ſervilely, but as ſome of the greateſt
maſters of painting have copied others; inſomuch, that their
copies have been equal to the originals, both as to beauty and
freedom. When you fee a man, who is univerſally allowed to
ſhine as an agreeable, well-bred man, and a fine gentleman, (as
for example, the Duke de Nivernois) attend to him, watch him
carefully; obſerve in what manner he addreſſes himſelf to his
fuperiors, how he lives with his equals, and how he treats his
inferiors. Mind his turn of converſation, in the ſeveral ſituations
of morning vifits, the table, and the evening amuſements. Imi-
tate, without mimicking him; and be his duplicate, but not his
ape. You will find that he takes care never to ſay or do any
thing, that can be conftrued into a flight, or a negligence; or
that can, in any degree, mortify people's vanity and ſelf-love: on
the contrary, you will perceive that he makes people pleafed with
him, by making them firſt pleafed with themſelves: he ſhows
reſpect, regard, eſteem, and attention, where they are ſever-
rally

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LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

546

rally proper; he fows them with care, and he reaps them in
plenty.

These amiable accomplishments are all to be acquired by uſe
and imitation; for we are, in truth, more than half what we are,
by imitation. The great point is, to chufe good models, and to
fludy them with care. People infenſibly contract, not only the
air, the manners, and the vices, of thofe with whom they com-
monly converſe, but their virtues too, and even their way of
thinking. This is ſo true, that I have known very plain under-
flandings catch a certain degree of wit, by conſtantly converſing
with thofe who had a great deal. Perſiſt, therefore, in keeping the
beſt company, and you will inſenſibly become like them; but if
you add attention and obſervation, you will very ſoon be one of
them. This inevitable contagion of company, ſhows you the
neceflity of keeping the beſt, and avoiding all other; for in every
one, ſomething will ſtick. You have hitherto, I confefs, had
very ſew opportunities of keeping polite company. Westminſter
ſchool is, undoubtedly, the ſeat of ills liberal manners and brutal
behaviour. Leipzig, I ſuppofe, is not the ſeat of refined and ele-
gant manners. Venice, I believe, has done ſomething; Rome,
I hope, will do a great deal more; and Paris will, I dare ſay, do
all that you want: always ſuppofing, that you frequent the beſt
companies, and in the intention of improving and forming your-
ſelf; for, without that intention, nothing will do.

I here ſubjoin a lift of all thofe neceſſary, ornamental accom-
pliſhments (without which, no man living can either pleafe, or
rife in the world) which hitherto I fear you want, and which
only require your care and attention to poffeſs.

To ſpeak elegantly, whatever language you ſpeak in; without
which, nobody will hear you with pleafure, and, conſequently,
you will ſpeak to very little purpofe.

6

An

TO HIS SON.

547

An agreeable and diſtinct elocution; without which nobody
will hear you with patience: this, every body 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 Demofthenes did.

A diſtinguified politeness of manners and addrefs; which common ſenſe, obſervation, good company, and imitation, will inſallably give you, if you will accept of it.

A genteel carriage, and graceful motions, with the air of a man
of ſ fashion. A good dancing-maſter, with ſome care on your
part, and ſome imitation of thofe who excel, will ſoon bring this
about.

To be extremely clean in your perſon, and perfectly well
dreffed, according to the ſaſhion, be that what it will. Your
negligence of your drefs, while you were a ſchool-boy, was par-
donable, but would not be ſo now.

Upon the whole, take it for granted, that, without theſe accom-
pliſhments, all you know, and all you can do, will avail you very
little. Adieu.

LETTER CLXXXIII.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

London, January the 25th, O. S. 1750.

T is ſo long ſince I have heard from you, that I ſuppofe
Rome engroſſes every moment of your time; and if it en-
groſſes it in the manner I could wifh, I willingly give up my
ſhare of it. I would rather *prodeſſe quam conſpici.* Put out your
time but to good intereſt; and I do not defire to borrow much

4 A 2

of

548

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

of it. Your studies, the respectable remains of antiquity, and
your evenings amusements, cannot, and indeed ought not, to leave
you much time to write. You will probably never see Rome
again; and therefore you ought to see it well now: by seeing it
well, I do not mean only the buildings, statues, and paintings;
though they undoubtedly deferve your attention: but I mean seeing
into the constitution and government of it. But these things
certainly occur to your own common sense.

How go your pleatures at Rome? Are you in fashion there;
that is, do you live with the people who are? The only way of
being so yourself, in time. Are you domestic enough in any con-
fiderable house to be called le petit Stanhope? Has any woman of
fashion and good-breeding taken the trouble of abusing and laugh-
ing at you amicably to your face? Have you found a good décot-
teufe? For those are the steps by which you must rite to polite-
nefs. I do not prefume to ask if you have any attachment, be-
cause I believe you will not make me your Confident; but this I
will fay eventually, that if you have one, il faut bien paier d'atten-
tions et de petits foins, if you would have your facrifice propitiously
received. Women are not so much taken by beauty as men are,
but prefer those men who show them the moft attention.

* Would you engage the lovely fair ?
  With gentleft manners treat her;
  With tender looks and graceful air,
  In foſteft accents greet her.

Verſe were but vain, the Mufes fail,
  Without the Graces aid;
  The God of verſe could not prevail
  To ſtop the flying maid.

* These three ſtanzas are the late Earl of Chesterfield's

Attention

3

549

TO HIS SON.

Attention by attentions gain,
And merit care by cares;
So shall the nymph reward your pain,
And Venus crown your prayers.

Probatum eſt.

A man's addrefs and manner weighs much more with them
than his beauty; and, without them, the *Abbati* and the *Monfig-
nori* will get the better of you. This addrefs and manner should
be exceedingly refpectful, but at the fame time easy, and unem-
barraſſed. Your chit-chat or *entregent* with them, neither can,
nor ought to be very ſolid; but you ſhould take care to turn and
drefs up your trifles prettily, and make them every now and then
convey indirectly ſome little piece of flattery. A fan, a ribband,
or a head-drefs, are great materials for gallant differtations, to one
who has got *le ton léger et aimable de la bonne compagnie*. At
all events, a man had better talk too much to women, than too
little; they take ſilence for dullneſs, unleſs where they think
that the paffion they have inſpired, occafions it; and in that cafe
they adopt the notion, that.

Silence in love betrays more woe,
Than words, though ne'er so witty;
The beggar that is dumb, we know,
Deferves a double pity.

A *propos* of this ſubject; What preſeds do you make in that
language, in which Charles the Vth ſaid, that he would chufe
to ſpeak to his miſtrefs? Have you got all the tender diminu-
tives, in *etta, ina*, and *ettina*; which, I preſume, he alluded to?
You already poffeſs, and, I hope, take care not to forget, that lan-
guage which he referred for his horſe. You are absolutely
maſter,

550 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

mafter, too, of that language, in which he said he would
converfe with men; French. But, in every language, pray at-
tend carefully to the choice of your words, and to the turn of
your expreflion. Indeed, it is a point of very great confequence.
To be heard with succeds, you muſt be heard with pleafure:
words are the drefs of thoughts; which ſhould no more be
prefented in rags, tatters, and dirt, than your perſon ſhould.
By the way; Do you mind your perſon and your drefs ſufficiently?
Do you take great care of your teeth? Pray have them put in
order by the beſt operator at Rome. Are you be-laced, be-
powdered, and be-feathered, as other young ſellows are, and
ſhould be? At your age, il faut du brillant, et même un peu
de fracas, mais point de médiocre, il faut un air vif, aife et noble.
Avec les hommes, un maintien refpaſſuieux et en même tems re-
fpeſtable; avec les femmes, un caquet léger enjoué, et badin, mais
toujours fort poli.

To give you an opportunity of exerting your talents, I find
you, here inclosed, a letter of recommendation from Monsieur
Villettes, to Madame de Simonetti at Milan; a woman of the firſt
fashion and confideration there: and I ſhall, in my next, ſend
you another, from the fame perſon, to Madame Clerici, at the
fame place. As theſe two Ladies' houſes are the reſort of all the
people of ſashion at Milan, theſe two recommendations will in-
troduce you to them all. Let me know, in due time, if you
have received theſe two letters, that I may have them renewed, in
cafe of accidents.

Adieu, my dear friend! Study hard; divert yourſelf heartily:
diftinguifh, carefully, between the pleaſures of a man of ſashion,
and the vices of a ſoundrel: purſue the former, and abhor the
latter, like a man of ſenſe.

LETTER

TO HIS SON.

LETTER CLXXXIV.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

London, February the 5th, O. S. 1750.

VERY few people are good œconomifts of their Fortune, and
still fewer of their Time; and yet, of the two, the latter is
the moſt precious. I heartily wifh you to be a good œconomift
of both; and you are now of an age to begin to think feriouſly
of theſe two important articles. Young people are apt to think
that they have ſo much time before them, that they may ſquander
what they płaſe 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 Treafury, 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 them-
felves.* To this maxim, which he not only preached, but praſtifed,
his two grandſons, at this time, owe the very confiderable fortunes
that he left them.

This holds equally true as to Time; and I moſt carneſtly recom-
mend to you the care of theſe minutes and quarters of hours, in
the course of the day, which people think too ſhort to deferve
their attention; and yet, if ſummed up at the end of the year,
would amount to a very confiderable portion of time. For
example: you are to be at such a place at twelve, by appointment;
you go out at eleven, to make two or three vifits firſt; theſe perſons
are not at home: inſtead of ſauntering away that intermediate
time at a coffee-houſe, and poffiblly alone; return home, write a
letter, beforehand, for the enfuſing poſt, or take up a good book,
I do not mean D馀cartes, Mallebranche, Leeke, or Newton, by
way