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lately read the fatirical authors you mention, having very little time here to read. But, as soon as I return to England, there is a book that I shall read over very carefully ; a book that I published not quite fourteen years ago: it is a small quarto; and, though I fay it myself, there is fomething good in it; but, at the fame time, it is so incorrecſt, so inaccurate, and has so many faults, that I muſt have a better edition of it published, which I will carefully revife and correct. It will ſoon be much more generally read than it has been yet; and therefore it is neceſſary that it ſhould, prodire in lucem, multi emendatior. I believe you have ſeldom dipped into this book; and, moreover, I believe it will be the laſt book that you will read with proper attention; otherwife, if you would take the trouble, you could help me, in this new edition, more than any body. If you will promife me your affiſtance, I will tell you the book; till then, I ſhall not name it.

You will find all the Spectators that are good; that is, all Addifon's, in my library, in one large quarto volume of his works; which is perfectly at your ſervice.

Pray tell Monfieur Codere, (who you, with great grammatical purity, ſay has been to General Cornwall) that I do not doubt, but that whole affair will be ſet right in a little time. Adieu.

LETTER LXXVII.

Dublin Castle, March the 10th, 1746.

SIR,

I MOST thankfully acknowledge the honour of two or three letters from you, ſince I troubled you with my laſt; and am very proud of the repeated inſtances you give me of your favour and protection, which I ſhall endeavour to deferve.

I am

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I am very glad you went to hear a trial in the Court of King's Bench, and ſtill more ſo, that you made the proper animadverſions upon the inattention of many of the people in the Court. As you obſerved, very well, the indecency of that inattention, I am ſure you will never be guilty of any thing like it yourſelf. There is no ſurer ſign in the world of a little, weak mind, than inattention. Whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well; and nothing can be done well without attention. It is the ſure anſwer of a ſool, when you aſk him about any thing that was faſd or done, where he was preſent, that, "truly he did not mind " it :" And why did not the ſool mind it? What had he eſſe to do there, but to mind what was doing ? A man of ſenſe ſees, hears, and retains, every thing that paffes where he is. I deſire I may never hear you talk of not minding, nor complain, as moſt ſools do, of a treacherous memory. Mind, not only what people ſay, but how they ſay it; and, if you have any ſagacity, you may diſcover more truth by your eyes than by your ears. People can ſay what they will, but they cannot look juſt as they will; and their looks frequently diſcover, what their words are calculated to conceal. Obſerve, therefore, people's looks carefully, when they ſpeak, not only to you, but to each other. I have often gueſſed, by people's ſaces, what they were ſaying, though I could not hear one word they ſaid. The moſt material knowledge of all, I mean the knowledge of the world, is never to be acquired without great attention; and I know many old people, who, though they have lived long in the world, are but children ſtill as to the knowledge of it, from their levity and inattention. Certain ſforms, which all people comply with, and certain arts, which all people aim at, hide, in ſome degree, the truth, and give a general exterior ſemblance to almoſt every body. Attention and ſagacity muſt fee through that veil, and diſcover the natural character. You

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LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

LETTER LXXIX.

Bath, September the 29th, O. S. 1746.

DEAR LOY,

I Received by the left mail your letter of the 23d N. S. from Heidleberg, and am very well pleased to find that you inform yourself of the particulars of the several places you go thorough. You do mighty right to fee the curiosities in those several places; such as the golden *Bull* at Frankfurt, the tun at Heidleberg, &c. Other travellers fee them and talk of them, it is very proper to fee them too; but remember, that feeing is the left material object of travelling; hearing and knowing are the essential points. Therefore pray let your inquiries be chiefly directed to the knowledge of the constitution and particular cuftoms of the places where you either refide at, or pafs through; who they belong to, by what right and tenure, and fince when; in whom the SUPREME AUTHORITY is lodged; and by what Magiftrates, and in what manner, the civil and the criminal justice is adminiftered. It is likewife neceffary to get as much acquaintance as you can, in order to obſerve the characters and maniers of the people; for, though human nature is in truth the fame through the whole human ſpecies, yet it is ſo differently modified and varied, by education, habit, and different cuftoms, that one ſhould, upon a flight and ſupernatural obſervation, almost think it different.

As I have never been in Switzerland myſelf, I muſt define you to inform me, now and then, of the conſtitution of that country. As for inſtance; Do the Thirteen Cantons, jointly and collectively, form one government, where the ſupreme authority is lodged; or is each Canton ſovereign in itſelf, and under no tie or conſtitutional obligation of acting in common concert with the other Cantons?

TO HIS SON.

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Cantons? Can any one Canton make war or alliances with a foreign power, without the conſent of the other twelve, or at least a majority of them? Can one Canton declare war to another? If every Canton is ſovereign and independent in itſelf, in whom is the ſupreme power of that Canton lodged? Is it in one man, or in a certain number of men? If in one man, what is he called? If in a number, what are they called; Senate, Council, or what? I do not fuppofe that you can yet know theſe things yourſelf; but a very little inquiry, of those who do, will enable you to anſwer me theſe few queſtions in your next. You fee, I am fee, the neceſſity of knowing theſe things thoroughly, and, conſequently, the neceſſity of converſing much with the people of the country, who alone can inform you rightly; whereas moſt of the English, who travel, converſe only with each other, and conſequently know no more, when they return to England, than they did when they left it. This proceeds from a *mauvaise bonte*, which makes them afhamed of going into company; and frequently too from the want of the neceſſary language (French) to enable them to bear their part in it. As for the *mauvaise bonte*, I hope you are above it. Your figure is like other people's; I fuppofe you will take care that your drefs shall be ſo too, and to avoid any singularity. What then ſhould you be afhamed of; and why not go into a mixed company, with as much eafe, and as little concern, as you would go into your own room? Vice and Ignorance are the only things I know, which one ought to be afhamed of: keep but clear of them, and you may go any where, without fear or concern. I have known ſome people, who, from feeling the pain and inconveniencies of this *mauvaise bonte*, have rufled into the other extreme, and turned impudent; as cowards ſometimes grow desperate from the expeſs of danger: but this too is carefully to be avoided; there being nothing more generally shocking than

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than impudence. The medium, between these two extremes, marks out the well-bred man; he feels himself firm and easy in all companies; is modeft without being bashful, and steady without being impudent: if he is a stranger, he observes, with care, the manners and ways of the people the most esteemed at that place, and conforms to them with complaisance. Instead of finding fault with the customs of that place, and telling the people that the English ones are a thousand times better, (as my countrymen are very apt to do) he commends their table, their drefes, their houfes, and their manners, a little more, it may be, than he really thinks they deferve. But this degree of complaisance is neither criminal nor abject; and is but a small price to pay for the good-will and affection of the people you converfe with. As the generality of people are weak enough to be pleafed with these little things, those who refuse to pleafe them, is cheap; they are, in my mind, weaker than they. There is a very pretty little French book, written by L'Abbé de Bellegarde, entitled, L'Art de plaire dans la Conversation; and, though I confefs that it is impossible to reduce the art of pleafing to a fyftem; yet this book is not wholly uſeſels; I dare say you may get it at Geneva, if not at Laufanne, and I would advife you to read it. But this principle I will lay down, That the defire of pleafing is at leaſt half the art of doing it; the reſt depends only upon the manner, which attention, obſervation, and frequenting good company will teach. But if you are lazy, careſels, and indifferent whether you pleafe or not, depend upon it you never will pleafe.

This letter is infenſibly grown too long; but, as I always flatter myſelf that my experience may be of ſome uſe to your youth and inexperience, I throw out, as it occurs to me, and ſhall continue to do ſo, every thing that I think may be of the leaſt ad-vantage

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vantage to you in this important and decisive period of your life. God preferve you !

P. S. I am much better, and ſhall leave this place toon.

LETTER LXXX.

Bath, October the 4th, O. S. 1746.

DEAR BOY,

THOUGH I employ ſo much of my time in writing to you, I confefs, I have often my doubts, whether it is to any purpofe. I know how unwelcome advice generally is; I know that those who want it moſt, like it and follow it leaſt; and I know, too, that the advice of parents, more particularly, is aſcribed to the moroſeneſs, the imperioſneſs, or the garrulity of old-age. But then, on the other hand, I flatter myſelf, that as your own reaſon, (though too young as yet to fuffeſt much to you of itself) is, however, ſtrong enough to enable you, both to judge of, and receive plain truths: I flatter myſelf (I ſay) that your own reaſon, young as it is, muſt tell you, that I can have no interest but yours in the advice I give you; and that, conſequently, you will at leaſt weigh and confider it well: in which cafe, ſome of it will, I hope, have its effect. Do not think that I mean to dictate as a parent; I only mean to advife as a friend, and an indulgent one too: and do not apprehend that I mean to check your pleafures; of which, on the contrary, I only defire to be the guide, not the cenfor. Let my experience ſupply your want of it, and clear your way, in the progreſs of your youth, of those thorns and briars, which ſcratched and disfigured me in the courſe of mine. I do not, therefore, ſo much as hint to you, how abſo-

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lutely dependent you are upon me; that you neither have, nor
can have, a shilling in the world but from me; and that, as I have
no womanifh weakneſs for your perſon, your merit muſt, and will,
be the only meaſure of my kindneſs. I ſay, I do not hint theſe
things to you, becauſe I am convinced that you will act right,
upon more noble and generous principles: I mean, for the fake of
doing right, and out of affection and gratitude to me.

I have ſo often recommended, to you, attention and application
to whatever you learn, that I do not mention them now as duties;
but I point them out to you, as conducive, nay, abſolutely neceſſ
ary to your pleaſures; for can there be a greater pleaſure, than to
be univerſally allowed to excel that of one's own age and manner
of life? And, conſequently, can there be any thing more mortifying
than to be excelled by them? In this latter cafe, your ſhame and
regret muſt be greater than any body's, becauſe every body knows
the uncommon care which has been taken of your education, and
the opportunities you have had of knowing more than others of
your age. I do not confine the application which I recommend,
fingly to the view and emulation of excelling others (though that
is a very ſenſible pleaſure and a very warrantable pride;) but I
mean likewife to excel in the thing itself: for, in my mind, one
may as well not know a thing at all, as know it but imperfectly.
To know a little of any thing, gives neither ſatisfaction nor credit;
but often brings diſgrace or ridicule.

Mr. Pope ſays, very truly,

"A little knowledge is a dang'rous thing;

"Drink deep, or taſte not the Caſtalian spring."

And what is called a *ſmattering* of every thing, infallibly confi-
tutes a coxcomb. I have often, of late, reflected what an unhappy
man I muſt now have been, if I had not acquired in my youth
fome fund and taſte of learning. What could I have done with
myself,

TO HIS SON.

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myſelf, at this age, without them? I muſt, as many ignorant people
do, have deſtroyed my health and faculties by ſotting away the
evenings; or, by waſting them frivolouſly in the tattle of women's
company, muſt have expeſed myſelf to the ridicule and contempt
of thate very women; or, laſtly, I muſt have hanged myſelf, as a
man once did, for wearineſs of putting on and pulling off his ſhoes
and flockings every day. My books, and only my books, are now
left me; and I daily find what Cicero ſays of learning to be
true: " *Hec ſtudia* (ſays he) adolescentiam alunt, ſenectutem ob-
leſtant, ſecundas res ornant, adverſis perfugium, ac ſolatium prac-
bent, delectant domi, non impediunt foris, pernoctant nobiscum,
peregrinantur, ruſſicantur.*"

I do not mean, by this, to exclude converſation out of the
pleaſures of an advanced age; on the contrary, it is a very great
and a very rational pleaſure, at all ages; but the converſation of
the ignorant is no converſation, and gives even them no pleaſure:
they tire of their own ſterility, and have not matter enough to
furniſh them with words to keep up a converſation.

Let me, therefore, moſt earneſtly recommend to you, to hoard
up, while you can, a great flock of knowledge; for though, during
the diffiſipation of your youth, you may not have occafion to
ſpend much of it; yet, you may depend upon it, that a time will
come, when you will want it to maintain you. Public granaries
are filled in plenteous years; not that it is known that the next, or
the ſecond, or third year will prove a ſearce one; but becauſe it
is known, that, sooner or later, ſuch a year will come, in which
the grain will be wanted.

I will ſay no more to you upon this ſubject; you have *Mr.
Harte* with you to enforce it; you have Reaſon to affent to the
truth of it; ſo that, in ſhort, "you have Moſes and the Pro-
" phets; if you will not believe them, neither will you believe,
Shakspere.

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196 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

"though one rofe from the dead."—Do not imagine that the knowledge, which I so much recommend to you, is confined to books, pleafing, uſeful, and neceffary as that knowledge is: but I comprehend in it the great knowledge of the world, ſtill more neceffary than that of books. In truth, they aſſift one another reciprocally; and no man will have either perfectly, who has not both. The knowledge of the world is only to be acquired in the world, and not in a cloſet. Books alone will never teach it you; but they will ſuggeſt many things to your obſervation, which might otherwife eſcape you; and your own obſervations upon mankind, when compared with that which you will find in books, will help you to fix the true point.

To know mankind well, requires full as much attention and application as to know books, and, it may be, more fagacity and difference. I am, at this time, acquainted with many elderly people, who have all paffed their whole lives in the great world, but with much levity and inattention, that they know no more of it now, than they did at fifteen. Do not flatter yourſelf, therefore, with the thoughts that you can acquire this knowledge in the frivolous chit-chat of idle companies: no, you muſt go much deeper than that. You muſt look into people, as well as at them. Almost all people are born with all the paffions, to a certain degree; but almost every man has one prevailing one, to which the others are subordinate. Search every one for that ruling paffion; try into the receſſes of his heart, and obſerve the different workings of the fame paffion in different people. And, when you have found out the prevailing paffion of any man, remember never to truſt him, where that paffion is concerned. Work upon him by it, if you pleaſe; but be upon your guard yourſelf againſt it, whatever proſeffions he may make you.

I would define you to read this letter twice over, but that I much

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much doubt whether you will read once to the end of it. I will trouble you no longer now; but we will have more upon this ſubject hereafter. Adieu.

CHESTERFIELD.

I have this moment received your letter from Schaffhausen: in the date of it you forgot the month.

LETTER LXXXI.

Bath, October the 9th, O. S. 1746.

DEAR BOY,

YOUR diſtrefſes in your journey from Heidleberg to Schaffhausen, your lying upon aſtraw, your black bread, and your broken *Berline*, are proper ſeaſonings for the greater fatigues and diſtrefſes, which you muſt expeſt in the course of your travels; and, if one had a mind to moralize, one might call them the ſamples of the accidents, rubs, and difficulties, which every man meets with in his journey through life. In this journey, the understanding is the *voiture* that muſt carry you through; and in proportion as that is ſtronger or weaker, more or leſs in repair, your journey will be better or worse; though, at beſt, you will now and then find ſome bad roads, and ſome bad inns. Take care, therefore, to keep that neceſſary *voiture* in perfect good repair; examine, improve, and ſtrengthen it every day: it is in the power, and ought to be the care of every man to do it; he that neglects it, deferves to feel, and certainly will feel, the fatal effects of that negligence.

A *propos* of negligence; I muſt ſay something to you upon that ſubject. You know I have often told you, that my affection for