 CHESTORFIELD'S LETTERS TO HIS SON Red for LibriVox.org into the public domain. LETTER 138 LONDON, APRIL 15TH, OLD STYLE, 1751 MY DEAR FRIEND What success with the graces, and in the accomplishments, elegancies, and all those little nothings so indispensably necessary to constitute an amiable man? Do you take them? Do you make a progress in them? The great secret is the art of pleasing, and that art is to be attained by every man who has a good fund of common sense. If you are pleased with any person, examine why. Do as he does, and you will charm others by the same things which please you in him. To be liked by women you must be esteemed by men, and to please men you must be agreeable to women. Vanity is unquestionably the ruling passion in women, and it is much flattered by the attentions of a man who is generally esteemed by men. When his merit has received the stamp of their approbation, women make it current, that is to say, put him in fashion. On the other hand, if a man has not received the last polish from women, he may be estimable among men, but will never be amiable. The concurrence of the two sexes is as necessary to the perfection of our being as to the formation of it. Go among women with the good qualities of your sex, and you will acquire from them the softness and the graces of theirs. Men will then add affection to the esteem which they before had for you. Women are the only refiners of the merit of men. It is true they cannot add weight, but they polish and give luster to it. Apropos, I am assured that Madame de Blu, although she has no great regularity of features, is notwithstanding excessively pretty, and that for all that she has as yet been scrupulously constant to her husband, though she has now been married above a year. Surely she does not reflect, that woman wants polishing. I would have you polish another reciprocally. Force, assiduities, attentions, tender looks, and passionate declarations on your side will produce some irresolute wishes at least on hers, and when even the slightest wishes arise, the rest will soon follow. As I take you to be the greatest jurist, perutus, and politician of the whole Germanic body, I suppose you will have read the King of Prussia's letter to the Elector of Mayans upon the election of a king of the Romans, and on the other side, a memorial entitled, Impartial Representation of What is Just with Regard to the Election of a King of the Romans, etc. The first is extremely well written, but not grounded upon the laws and customs of the Empire. The second is very ill-written, at least in French, but well grounded. I fancy the author as some German who has taken it into his head that he understands French. I am, however, persuaded that the elegance and delicacy of the King of Prussia's letter will prevail with two-thirds of the public, in spite of the solidity and truth contained in the other piece. Such is the force of an elegant and delicate style. I wish you would be so good as to give me a more particular and circumstantial account of the method of passing your time at Paris. For instance, where is it that you dine every Friday, in company with that amiable and respectable old man, Fontenelle? Which is the house where you would think yourself at home? For one always has such a one, where one is better established, and more at ease than anywhere else. Who are the young Frenchmen with whom you are most intimately connected? Do you frequent the Dutch ambassadors? Have you penetrated yet into Count Cunutz's house? Has Monsieur de Pinatelli the honour of being one of your humble servants? And has the Pope's nancyo included you in the jubilee? Tell me also how freely you are with Lord Huntington. Do you see him often? Do you connect yourself with him? Answer all these questions circumstantially in your first letter. I am told that Duclos's book is not in vogue at Paris, and that it is violently criticised. I suppose that is because one understands it, and being intelligible is now no longer the fashion. I have a very great respect for fashion, but a much greater respect for this book, which is, all at once, true, solid and bright. It contains even epigrams. What can one wish for more? Mr. Will, I suppose, have left Paris by this time for his residence at Toulouse. I hope he will acquire manners there. I am sure he wants them. He is awkward, he is silent, and has nothing agreeable in his address. Most necessary qualifications to distinguish one's self in business, as well as in the polite world. In truth these two things are so connected that a man cannot make a figure in business, who is not qualified to shine in the great world, and to succeed perfectly in either with one or the other, one must be in entrumpquet paratis. May you be that, my dear friend, and so we wish you a good night. P.S. Lord and Lady Blessington, with their son Lord Mountjoy, will be at Paris next week, in their way to the south of France. I send you a little packet of books by them. Pray go wait upon them as soon as you hear of their arrival, and show them all the attentions you can. End of Section 107. Red for LibriVox.org. Section 108 of Chesterfield's Letters to his Son. Red for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Letter 139. London, April 22nd, Old Style, 1751. My dear friend, I apply to you now as to the greatest virtuoso of this, or perhaps any other age, one whose superior judgment and distinguishing eye hindered the king of Poland from buying a bad picture at Venice, and whose decisions in the realms of virtue are final and without appeal. Now to the point. I have had a catalogue sent to me, d'une trinque à l'amiable de tableaux des plus grands matres, appartenant aux cieux régnants appérants, vallées de chambre de la reine, sur la quille de la megassérie, au coin de Archmerion. There I observed two large pictures of Titian, as described in the enclosed page of the catalogue, number 18, which I should be glad to purchase upon two conditions. The first is that they be undoubted originals of Titian in good preservation, and the other that they come cheap. To ascertain the first, but without disparaging her skill, I wish you would get some undoubted connoisseurs to examine them carefully, and if, upon such critical examination, they should be unanimously allowed to be undisputed originals of Titian and well preserved, then comes the second point, the price. I will not go above two hundred pounds sterling for the two together, but as much less as you can get them for. I acknowledge that two hundred pounds seems to be a very small sum for two undoubted Titians of that size, but on the other hand, as large Italian pictures are now out of fashion at Paris, where fashion decides of everything, and as these pictures are too large for common rooms, they may possibly come within the price above limited. I leave the whole of this transaction, the price accepted, which I will not exceed, to your consummate skill and prudence, with proper advice joined to them. Should you happen to buy them for that price, carry them to your own lodgings, and get a frame made to the second, which I observe has none, exactly the same with the other frame, and have the old one new guilt, and then get them carefully packed up and sent me by Rouen. I hear much of your conversing with Les Beaux Esprit at Paris. I am very glad of it. It gives a degree of reputation, especially at Paris, and their conversation is generally instructive, though sometimes affected. It must be owned that the polite conversation of the men and women of fashion at Paris, though not always very deep, is much less futile and frivolous than ours here. It turns at least upon some subject, something of taste, some point of history, criticism, and even philosophy, which though probably not quite so solid as Mr. Loft's, is, however, better and more becoming rational beings, than our frivolous dissertations upon the weather or upon whisked. Monsieur Duclos observes, and I think very justly, qu'il y a a présent en France une fermentation universelle de la raison qui tend à se développer. Whereas I am sorry to say that here that fermentation seems to have been over some years ago, the spirit evaporated, and only the dregs left. Moreover, Les Beaux Esprit at Paris are commonly well bred, which ours very frequently are not. With the former your manners will be formed, with a latter, wit must generally be compounded for at the expense of manners. Are you acquainted with Maravel, who has certainly studied and is well acquainted with the heart, but who refined so much upon its pli et creply, and describes them so effectively, that he often is unintelligible to his readers, and sometimes so I dare say to himself? Do you know Crebillon Le Fils? He is a fine painter and a pleasing writer. His characters are admirable in his reflections just. Frequent these people and be glad, but not proud of frequenting them. Never boast of it, as a proof of your own merit, nor insult in a manner other companies by telling them effectively what you, Montesquieu, and Fontenelle were talking of the other day, as I have known many people do here, with regard to Pope and Swift, who had never been twice in company with either, nor carry into other companies the ton of those meetings of Beaux Esprit. Talk literature, taste, philosophy, et cetera with them, à la bonne heure. But then with the same ease and more enjouement, talk pompon, mort, et cetera, with Madame de Bleu, if she requires it. Almost every subject in the world has its proper time and place, in which no one is above or below discussion. The point is, to talk well upon the subject you talk upon, and the most trifling, frivolous subjects will still give a man of parts an opportunity of showing them. L'usage du grand mot can alone teach that. That was the distinguishing characteristic of Alcibiades, and a happy one it was, that he could occasionally, and with so much ease, adopt the most different and even the most opposite habits and manners, that each seemed natural to him. Prepare yourself for the great world, as the athlete used to for their exercises. Oil, if I may use that expression, your mind and your manners, to give them the necessary suppleness and flexibility. Strength alone will not do, as young people are too apt to think. How do your exercises go on? Can you manage a pretty vigorous saw-tour between the pillars? Are you got into stirrups yet? Fais-vous-a-ceaux aux armes? But above all, what does Marcelle say of you? Is he satisfied? Pray be more particular in your accounts of yourself, for though I have frequent accounts of you from others, I desire to have your own, too. Adieu. Yours truly and friendly. End of Section 108, read by Professor Heather Mby. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Section 109 of Chesterfield's Sutter to His Son. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Letter 140. London, May 2nd, Old Style, 1751. Dear friend, Two accounts, which I have very lately received of you, from two good judges, have put me into great spirits, as they have given me reasonable hopes that you will soon acquire all that I believe you want. I mean the air, the address, the graces, and the manners of a man of fashion. As these two pictures of you are very unlike that which I received, and sent you some months ago, I will name the two painters. The first is an old friend and acquaintance of mine, Monsieur Daillon. His picture is, I hope, like you, for it is a very good one. Monsieur Toulouse is still a better and so advantageous a one that I will not send you a copy of it, for fear of making you too vain. So far only I will tell you that there was but one but in either of their accounts, and it was this. I gave Daillon the question ordinary and extraordinary upon the important article of manners, and extorted this from him. But, since you will know it, he still wants that last beautiful varnish, which raises the colors and gives brilliancy to the peace. Be persuaded that he will acquire it. He has too much sense not to know its value, and if I am not greatly mistaken, more persons than one are now endeavoring to give it him. Monsieur Toulouse says, In order to be exactly all that you wish him, he only wants those little nothings, those graces in detail, and that amiable ease which can only be acquired by usage of the great world. I am assured that he is in that respect in good hands. I do not know whether that does not rather imply in fine arms. Without entering into a nice discussion of the last question, I congratulate you and myself upon your being so near that point, at which I so anxiously wish you to arrive. I am sure that all your attention and endeavors will be exerted, and if exerted they will succeed. Monsieur Toulouse says, That you are inclined to be fat, but I hope you will decline it as much as you can, by not taking anything corrosive to make you lean, but by taking as little as you can of those things that would make you fat. Drink no chocolate. Take your coffee without cream. You cannot possibly avoid suppers at Paris unless you avoid Company 2, which I would by no means have you do, but eat as little at supper as you can, and make even an allowance for that little at your dinners. Take occasionally a double dose of riding and fencing, and now that summer has come, walk a good deal in the Tuileries. It is a real inconvenience to anybody to be fat, and besides it is ungraceful for a young fellow. Apropos, I had liked to have forgot to tell you that I charged Toulot to attend particularly to your utterance and diction, two points of the utmost importance. To the first he says, His annunciation is not bad, but it is to be wished that it were still better, and he expresses himself with more fire than elegance. Usage of good company will instruct him likewise in that. These I allow are all little things separately, but aggregately they make a most important and great article in the account of a gentleman. In the House of Commons you can never make a figure without elegance of style, and gracefulness of utterance, and you can never succeed as a court here at your own court, or as a minister at any other, without those innumerable petit-riens dans les maniers et dans les attentions. Mr. York is by this time at Paris. Make your court to him, but not so as to disgust, in the least, Lord Abelmoral, who may possibly dislike your considering Mr. York as the man of business, and him only as pour au nea sain. Whatever your opinion may be upon that point, take care not to let it appear, but be well with them both by showing no public preference to either. Though I must necessarily fall into repetitions by treating the same subject so often, I cannot help recommending to you again the utmost attention to your air and address. Apply yourself now to Marcel's lectures, as diligently as you formally did to Professor Mascows. Desire him to teach you every gentile attitude that the human body can be put into. Let him make you go in and out of his room frequently, and present yourself to him, as if he were by turns different persons, such as a minister, a lady, a superior, an equal, an inferior, etc. Learn to seat gentilely in different companies, to lull gentilely and with good manners, in those companies where you are authorized to be free, and even sit up respectfully where the same freedom is not allowable. Learn even to compose your countenance occasionally to the respectful, the cheerful, and the insinuating. Take particular care that the motions of your hands and arms be easy and graceful, for the gentleness of a man consists more in them than in anything else, especially in his dancing. Desire some women to tell you of any little awkwardnesses that they observe in your carriage. They are the best judges of those things, and if they are satisfied, the men will be so too. Think now only of the decorations. Are you acquainted with Madame Joffre, who has a great deal of wit, and who I am informed received only the best company in her house? Do you know Madame Dupin, who I remember had beauty, and I hear has wit and reading? I could wish you to converse only with those who, either from their rank, their merit, or their beauty, require constant attention, for a young man can never improve in company where he thinks he may neglect himself. A new beau must be constantly kept bent. When it grows older and has taken the right turn, it may now in them be relaxed. I have this moment paid your draft of eighty-nine pounds seventy-five shillings. It was signed in a very good hand, which proves that a good hand may be written without the assistance of magic. Nothing provokes me much more than to hear people indolently say that they cannot do what is in everybody's power to do, if it be but in their will. Adjou End of Section 109. Read by Professor Heather and Bye. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer, please visit Librevox.org. Section 110 of Chesterfield's Letters to His Son. Read for Librevox.org into the public domain. Letter 141. London, May 6, Old Style, 1751. My dear friend. The best authors are always the severest critics of their own works. They revise, correct, file, and polish them till they think they have brought them to perfection. Considering you as my work, I do not look upon myself as a bad author, and am therefore a severe critic. I examine narrowly into the least inaccuracy or inelegance in order to correct, not to expose them, and that the work may be perfect at last. You are, I know, exceedingly improved in your air, dress, and manners, since you have been at Paris. But still there is, I believe, room for further improvement before you come to that perfection which I have set my heart upon seeing you arrive at. Until that moment I must continue filing and polishing. In a letter that I received by last post, from a friend of yours at Paris, there was this paragraph. I have the honour to assure you, without flattery, that Mr. Stanhope succeeds beyond what might be expected from a person of his age. He goes into very good company, and that kind of manner, which was at first thought to be too decisive and peremptory, is now judged otherwise, because it is acknowledged to be the effect of an ingenious frankness, accompanied by politeness and by a proper deference. He studies to please and succeeds. Madame du Puisieux was the other day speaking of him with complacency and friendship. You will be satisfied with him in all respects. This is extremely well, and I rejoice at it. One little circumstance only may, and I hope, will be altered for the better. Take pains to undeceive those who thought that. Petit tonne une peu d'ici et une peu brusque, as it is not meant so, let it not appear so. Compose your countenance to an air of gentleness and du sure. Use some expressions of diffidence of your own opinion and deference to other peoples, such as, if I might be permitted to say, I should think. Is it not rather so? At least I have the greatest reason to be diffident of myself. Such mitigating, engaging words do by no means weaken your argument, but on the contrary, make it more powerful by making it more pleasing. If it is a quick and hasty manner of speaking that people mistake, pour d'ici d'eux brusque, prevent their mistakes for the future by speaking more deliberately and taking a softer tone of voice, as in this case you are free from the guilt, be free from the suspicion, too. Mankind, as I have often told you, are more governed by appearances than by realities, and with regard to opinion one had better be really rough and hard with the appearance of gentleness and softness than just the reverse. Few people have penetration enough to discover, attention enough to observe, or even concern enough to examine beyond the exterior. They take their notions from the surface and go no deeper. They commend, as the gentlest and best natured man in the world, that man who has the most engaging, exterior manner, though possibly they have been but once in his company. An air, a tone of voice, a composure of countenance to mildness and softness, which are all easily acquired, do the business, and without further examination, and possibly with the contrary qualities, that man has reckoned the gentlest, the modestest, and the best natured man alive. Happy the man who, with a certain fund of parts and knowledge, gets acquainted with the world early enough to make it his bubble, at an age when most people are the bubbles of the world, for that is the common case of youth. They grow wiser when it is too late, and, ashamed and vexed at having been bubbles so long, too often turn naves at last. Do not, therefore, trust to appearances and outside yourself, but pay other people with them, because you may be sure that nine and ten of mankind do, and ever will, trust to them. This is by no means a criminal or blamable simulation, if not used with an ill intention. I am by no means blamable in desiring to have other people's good word, good will, and affection, if I do not mean to abuse them. Your heart, I know, is good, your senses sound and your knowledge extensive. What then remains for you to do? Nothing but to adorn those fundamental qualifications with such engaging and captivating manners, softness, and gentleness, as will endear you to those who are able to judge of your real merit, and which always stand in the stead of merit with those who are not. I do not mean by this to recommend to you le phare du suret, the insipid softness of a gentle fool. No, assert your own opinion, oppose other people's when wrong, but let your manner, your air, your terms, and your tone of voice be soft and gentle, and that easily and naturally, not effectively. Use palliatives when you contradict, such as, I may be mistaken, I am not sure, but I believe, I should rather think, etc. Finish any argument or dispute with some little good-humored pleasantry, to show that you are neither hurt yourself nor meant to hurt your antagonist, for an argument kept up a good while often occasions a temporary alienation on each side. Pray observe particularly in those French people who are distinguished by that character cet du suret de mur et de manier, which they talk of so much and value so justly. See in what it consists, in mere trifles, and most easy to be acquired, where the heart is really good. Imitate, copy it, till it becomes habitual and easy to you. Without a compliment to you, I take it to be the only thing you now want. Nothing will sooner give it to you than a real passion, or at least, ungut vie, for some woman a fashion, and as I suppose that you have either the one or the other by this time, you are consequently in the best school. Besides this, if you were to say to Lady Hervey, Madame Monconcile, or such others as you look upon to be your friends, it is said that I have a kind of manner which is rather too decisive and too peremptory. It is not, however, my intention that it should be so. I entreat you to correct and even publicly to punish me whenever I am guilty. Do not treat me with the least indulgence, but criticise to the yet most. So clear-sided a judge as you has a right to be severe, and I promise you that the criminal will endeavour to correct himself. Yesterday I had two of your acquaintances to dine with me, Baron B. and his companion, M. S. I cannot say of the former, qui laisse patrie de grâce, and I would rather advise him to go and settle quietly at home than to think of improving himself by further travels. Ce n'est pas le boy d'un homme fait. His companion is much better, though he has a strong taco de Tedesco. They both spoke well of you, and so far I like them both. How go you on with the amiable little blue? Does she listen to your battering tale? Are you numbered among the list of her admirers? Is, madame, your madame de leur say? Does she sometimes not, and are you her male coeur? They say she has softness and engaging manners. In such an apprenticeship much may be learned. Footnote. This whole passage and several others allude to crebillon, agréments du coeur et de l'esprit, a sentimental novel written about that time, and then much in vogue at Paris. And footnote. A woman like her, who has always pleased, and often been pleased, can best teach the art of pleasing. That art without which, on you fatica vana. Marcel's lectures are no small part of that art. They are the engaging for-runner of all other accomplishments. Dress is also an article not to be neglected, and I hope you do not neglect it. It helps in the premier bour, which is often decisive. By dress I mean your clothes being well made, fitting you in the fashion and not above it, your hair well done, and a general cleanliness and spruceness in your person. I hope you take infinite care of your teeth. The consequences of neglecting the mouth are serious, not only to oneself but to others. In short, my dear child, neglect nothing. A little more will complete the whole. Adjou. I have not heard from you these three weeks, which I think are great while. End of Section 110. Read by Professor Heather Mby. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Section 111 of Chesterfield's Letters to His Son. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Letter 142. London, May 10, Old Style, 1751. My dear friend. I received yesterday, at the same time, your letters of the fourth and eleventh new style, and being much more careful of my commissions than you are of yours, I do not delay one moment sending you my final instructions concerning the pictures. The man you allow to be a Titian, and in good preservation. The woman is an indifferent and a damaged picture. But as I want them for furniture for a particular room, companions are necessary, and therefore I am willing to take the woman for better for worse, upon account of the man. And if she is not too much damaged, I can have her tolerably repaired, as many a fine woman is, by a skillful hand here. But then I expect that the lady should be, in a manner, thrown into the bargain with the man. And in this state of affairs, the woman being worth little or nothing, I will not go above Fourscore Louise for the two together. As for the Rembrandt, you mention, though it is very cheap, if good, I do not care for it. I love la belle nature. Rembrandt paints caricatures. Now, for your own commissions, which you seem to have forgotten. You mention nothing of the patterns which you received by Monsieur Talot, though I told you in a former letter, which you must have had before the date of your last, that I should stay till I receive the patterns pitched upon you by your ladies. For as to the instructions which you sent me in Madame Montconcile's hand, I could find no mohairs in London that exactly answered that description. I shall therefore wait till you send me, which you may easily do in a letter, the patterns chosen by your three graces. I would, by all means, have you go now and then, for two or three days, to Marachel Cogniz at Orlie. It is but a proper civility to that family, which has been particularly civil to you. And, moreover, I would have you familiarize yourself with, and learn the interior and domestic manners of, people of that rank and fashion. I also desire that you will frequent Versailles and Saint Cloud, at both of which courts you have been received with distinction. Prophet of that distinction, and familiarize yourself at both. Great courts are the seats of true good breeding. You are to live at courts, lose no time in learning them. Go and stay sometimes at Versailles for three or four days, where you will be domestic in the best families, by means of your friend Madame de Pouissot, and mine, La Baye de la Ville. Go to the kings and the dauphins laves, and distinguish yourself from the rest of your countrymen, who do, I dare say, never go there when they can help it. Though the young Frenchman of fashion may not be worth forming intimate connections with, they are well worth making acquaintance of, and I do not see how you can avoid it, frequenting so many good French houses as you do, where to be sure many of them come. Be cautious how you contract friendships, but be desirous and even industrious to obtain a universal acquaintance. Be easy and even forward in making new acquaintances. That is the only way of knowing manners and characters in general, which is at present your great object. You are en font de famille in three ministers' houses, but I wish you had a footing at least in thirteen, and that, I should think, you might easily bring about, by that common chain, which to a certain degree connects those you do not with those you do know. For instance, I suppose that neither Lord Abomarle nor Marquis de Saint-Germain would make the least difficulty to present you to Comte-Cannottes, the Nuncio, etc. Il faut être grand peu du monde, which can only be done by an extensive, various, and almost universal acquaintance. When you have got your emaciated filimath, I desire that his triangles, rhomboids, etc., may not keep you one moment out of the good company you would otherwise be in. Swallow all your learning in the morning, but digest it in company in the evenings. The reading of ten new characters is more your business now than the reading of twenty old books, showish and shining people always get the better of all others, though ever so solid. If you would be a great man in the world when you are old, shine and be showish in it while you are young. Know everybody, and endeavor to please everybody. I mean exteriorly, for fundamentally it is impossible. Try to engage the heart of every woman and the affections of almost every man you meet with. Madame Monconcile assures me that you are most surprisingly improved in your air, manners, and address. Go on, my dear child, and never think that you are come to a sufficient degree of perfection. Nile, actum, or putans, cid could supresset agendum, and in those shining parts of the character of a gentleman there is always something remaining to be acquired. Modes and manners vary in different places and at different times. You must keep pace with them, know them, and adopt them, wherever you find them. The great usage of the world, the knowledge of characters, the brillant d'une galantome, is all that you now want. Study Marcel in the Beaumont with great application, but read Homer and Horace only when you have nothing else to do. Prey, who is la belle madame duquesse, whom I know you frequent? I like the epithet given her very well. If she deserves it, she deserves your attention too. A man of fashion should be gallant to a fine woman, though he does not make love to her, or may be otherwise engaged. En lui deux des politices ont fait l'éloge de cette charme, et il n'en est ni plus ni moins pour cela. It pleases, it flatters, you get their good word, and you lose nothing by it. These gentilesses should be accompanied, as indeed everything else should, with an air, une air, un temps de d'asseur et de politesse. Les grâces must be of the party, or it will never do, and they are so easily had that it is astonishing to me that everybody has them not. They are sooner gained than any woman of common reputation and decency. Pursue them, but with care and attention, and you are sure to enjoy them at last. Without them, I am sure, you will never enjoy anybody else. You observe truly that Mr. is gauche, it is to be hoped that will mend with keeping company, and is yet pardonable in him, as just come from school. But reflect what you would think of a man who had been any time in the world, and yet should be so awkward. For God's sake, therefore, now think of nothing but shining, and even distinguishing yourself in the most polite courts. By your air, your address, your manners, your politeness, your ducerre, your graces. With those advantages, and not without them, take my word for it, you will get the better of all rivals, in business as well as in ruelle. Adieu. Send me your patterns by the next post, and also your instructions to Grevenkopf about the seal, which you seem to have forgotten. End of Section 111. Read by Professor Heather and Bye. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Section 112 of Chesterfield's Letters to His Son. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Letter 143. London, May 16, Old Style, 1751. My dear friend, In about three months from this day we shall probably meet. I look upon that moment as a young woman does upon her bridal night. I expect the greatest pleasure and yet cannot help fearing some little mixture of pain. My reason bids me doubt a little of what my imagination makes me expect. In some articles I am very sure that my most sanguine wishes will not be disappointed, and those are the most material ones. In others I fear something or other which I can better feel than describe. However, I will attempt it. I fear the want of that amiable and engaging je ne sais quoi which as some philosophers have, unintelligibly enough, said of the soul, is all in all, and all in every part. It should shed its influence over every word in action. I fear the want of that air and first a board which suddenly lays hold of the heart, one does not know distinctly how or why. I fear an inaccuracy, or at least in elegance of diction, which will wrong and lower the best and justice matter. And lastly I fear an ungraceful, if not unpleasant utterance, which would disgrace and vilify the whole. Should those fears be at present founded, yet the objects of them are, thank God, of such a nature that you may if you please, between this and our meeting, remove every one of them. All these engaging and endearing accomplishments are mechanical, and to be acquired by care and observation, as easily as turning or any mechanical trade. A common country fellow, taken from the plough, and enlisted in an old core, soon lays aside his shambling gait, his slouching air, his clumsy and awkward motions, and acquires the martial air, the regular motions, and whole exercise of the core, and particularly of his right and left hand man. How so? Not from his parts, which were just the same before as after he was enlisted, but either from a commendable ambition of being like, and equal to those he is to live with, or else from the fear of being punished for not being so. If then both or either of these motives change such a fellow, in about six months' time, to such a degree, as that he is not to be known again, how much stronger should both these motives be with you, to acquire in the utmost perfection the whole exercise of the people of fashion with whom you are to live all your life. Ambition should make you resolve to be at least their equal in that exercise, as well as the fear of punishment, which most inevitably will attend the want of it. By that exercise I mean the air, the manners, the graces, and the style of people of fashion. A friend of yours, in a letter I received from him by the last post, after some other commendations of you says, it is surprising that, thinking with so much solidity as he does, and having so true and refined a taste, he should express himself with so little elegance and delicacy. He even totally neglects the choice of words and turn of phrases. This I should not be much surprised or concerned at, if it related only to the English language, which hitherto you have had no opportunity of studying, and but few of speaking, at least to those who could correct your inaccuracies. But if you do not express yourself elegantly and delicately in French and German, both languages I know you possess perfectly and speak eternally, it can only be from an unpardonable inattention to what you most erroneously think a little object, though in truth it is one of the most important of your life. Solidity and delicacy of thought must be given us. It cannot be acquired, though it may be improved, but elegance and delicacy of expression may be acquired by whoever will take the necessary care and pains. I am sure you love me so well that you would be very sorry when we meet, that I should be either disappointed or mortified, and I love you so well that I assure you I should be both, if I should find you want any of those exterior accomplishments which are so indispensably necessary steps to that figure and fortune which I so earnestly wish you may one day make in the world. I hope you do not neglect your exercises of writing, fencing, and dancing, but particularly the latter, for they all concur to digudir and give a certain air. To ride well is not only a proper and graceful accomplishment for a gentleman, but may also save you many a fall here after. To fence well may possibly save your life, and to dance well is absolutely necessary in order to sit, stand, and walk well. To tell you the truth, my friend, I have some little suspicion that you now and then neglect or omit your exercises for more serious studies. But now, non est his locus, everything has its time, and this is yours for exercises, for when you return to Paris I only propose your continuing your dancing, which you shall two years longer if you happen to be where there is a good dancing master. Here I will see you take some lessons with your old master des noyers, who is our Marcel. What says Madame Dupin to you? I am told she is very handsome still. I know she was some for you years ago. She has good parts, reading, manners, and delicacy. Such an arrangement would be both creditable and advantageous to you. You will expect to meet with all the good breeding and delicacy that she brings, and as she is past the glare and a clot of youth, may be the more willing to listen to your story, if you tell it well. For an attachment I should prefer her to la petit bleu, and for a mere gallantry I should prefer la petit bleu to her, so that they are consistent, et l'une n'implaît pas l'autre. Remember la du sœur et les grâces. My dear friend, I have this moment received your letter of the twenty-fifth new style, and being rather something more attentive to my commissions than you are to yours, return you this immediate answer to the question you asked me about the two pictures. I will not give one lever more than what I told you in my last, having no sort of occasion for them, and not knowing very well where to put them if I had them. I wait with impatience for your final orders about the Mohairs, the Mercer persecuting me every day for three pieces which I thought pretty, and which I have kept by me eventually, to secure them in case your ladies should pitch upon them. If I durst, what should hinder you from daring? One always dares if there are hopes of success, and even if there are none, one is no loser by daring. A man of fashion knows how and when to dare. He begins his approaches by distant attacks, by assiduities, and by attentions. If he is not immediately and totally repulsed, he continues to advance. After certain steps success is infallible, and none but very silly fellows can then either doubt or not attempt it. Is it the respectable character of Madame de la Valière which prevents your daring, or are you intimidated at the fierce virtue of Madame du Paix? Does the invincible modesty of the handsome Madame case discourage more than her beauty invites you? Fie, for shame, be convinced that the most virtuous woman, far from being offended at a declaration of love, is flattered by it, if it is made in a polite and agreeable manner. It is possible that she may not be propitious to your vows, that is to say, if she has a liking or a passion for another person. But at all events she will not be displeased with you for it, so that, as there is no danger, this cannot even be called daring. But if she attends, if she listens, and allows you to repeat your declaration, be persuaded that if you do not dare all the rest she will laugh at you. I advise you to begin rather by Madame du Paix, who has still more than beauty enough for such a youngster as you. She has besides knowledge of the world, sense, and delicacy. As she is not so extremely young, the choice of her lovers cannot be entirely at her option. I promise you she will not refuse the tender of your most humble services. Distinguish her, then, by attentions and by tender looks. Take favourable opportunities of whispering that you wish esteem and friendship were the only motives of your regard for her, but that it derives from sentiments of a much more tender nature. That you made not this declaration without pain, but that the concealing your passion was a still greater torment. I am sensible that in saying this for the first time you will look silly, abashed, and even express yourself very ill. So much the better. For instead of attributing your confusion to the little usage you have of the world, particularly in these sorts of subjects, she will think that excess of love is the occasion of it. In such a case the lover's best friend is self-love. Do not then be afraid, behave gallantly. Speak well, and you will be heard. If you are not listened to the first time, try a second, a third, and a fourth. If the place is not already taken, depend upon it, it may be conquered. I am very glad you are going to Orly, and from thence to St. Cloud. Go to both and to Versailles also often. It is that interior domestic familiarity with people of fashion that alone can give you l'usage du monde et les manières essaye. It is only with women one loves, or men one respects, that the desire of pleasing exerts itself, and without the desire of pleasing no man living can please. Let that desire be the spring of all your words and actions. That happy talent, the art of pleasing which so few do, though almost all might possess, is worth all your learning and knowledge put together. The latter can never raise you high without the former, but the former may carry you, as it has carried thousands, a great way without the latter. I am glad that you dance so well, as to be reckoned by Marcel among his best scholars. Go on and dance better still. Dancing well is pleasing protanto, and makes a part of that necessary whole, which is composed of a thousand parts, many of them of les enfinements petits croix, confinements nécessaires. I shall never have done upon this subject which is indispensably necessary toward your making any figure or fortune in the world, both which I have set my heart upon, and for both which you now absolutely want no one thing but the art of pleasing. And I must not conceal from you that you have still a good way to go before you arrive at it. You still want a thousand of those little attentions that imply a desire of pleasing. You want a douceur of air and expression that engages. You want an elegance and delicacy of expression, necessary to adorn the best sense and most solid matter. In short, you still want a great deal of the brillions and the polis. Get them at any rate. Sacrifice hectic homes of books to them. Seek for them in company, and renounce your closet till you have got them. I never received the letter you refer to, if ever you wrote it. Adieu et bonsoir, mon Signor. Letter 145, Greenwich, June 6, Old Style, 1751. My dear friend, solicitous and anxious as I have ever been to form your heart, your mind, and your manners, and to bring you as near perfection as the imperfection of our natures will allow, I have exhausted in the course of our correspondence all that my own mind could suggest, and have borrowed from others whatever I thought could be useful to you. But this has necessarily been interruptedly and by snatches. It is now time and your of an age to review and to weigh in your own mind all that you have heard, and all that you have read upon these subjects, and to form your own character, your conduct and your manners for the rest of your life, allowing for such improvements as a further knowledge of the world will naturally give you. In this view I would recommend to you to read, with the greatest attention, such books as treat particularly of those subjects, reflecting seriously upon them, and then comparing the speculation with the practice. For example, if you read in the morning some of La Rocheville Coe's maxims, consider them, examine them well, and compare them with the real characters you meet within the evening. Read Labrouillere in the morning, and see in the evening whether his pictures are like. Study the heart and the mind of man, and begin with your own. Meditation and reflection must lay the foundation of that knowledge, but experience and practice must, and alone can, complete it. Books it is true point out the operations of the mind, the sentiments of the heart, the influence of the passions, and so far they are of previous use. But without subsequent practice, experience and observation, they are as ineffectual and would even lead you into as many errors in fact as a map would do, if you were to take your notions of the towns and provinces from their delineations in it. A man would reap very little benefit by his travels, if he made them only in his closet upon the map of the whole world. Next to the two books that I have already mentioned, I do not know a better for you to read, and seriously reflect upon, than Avis d'une mère d'un fils, par la maquise de l'hambère. She was a woman of a superior understanding and knowledge of the world, had always kept the best company, was solicitous that her son should make a figure and a fortune in the world, and knew better than anybody how to point out the means. It is very short, and will take you much less time to read than you ought to employ in reflecting upon it, after you have read it. Her son was in the army. She wished he might rise there, but she well knew that, in order to rise, he must first please. She says to him therefore, with regard to those upon whom you depend, the chief merit is to please. And in another place, in subaltern employments, the art of pleasing must be your support. Masters are like mistresses, whatever services they may be indebted to you for, they cease to love when you cease to be agreeable. This I can assure you is at least as true in courts as in camps, and possibly more so. If to your merit and knowledge you add the art of pleasing, you may very probably come in time to be Secretary of State, but to take my word for it, twice your merit and knowledge without the art of pleasing would at most raise you to the important post of resident at Hamburg or Ratisbonne. I need not tell you now, for I have often, and your own discernment must have told you, of what numberless little ingredients that the art of pleasing is compounded, and how the want of the least of them lowers the whole. But the principal ingredient is, undoubtedly, la ducère dans les maniers. Nothing will give you this more than keeping company with your superiors. Madam Lambert tells her son, let your connections be with people above you. By that means you will acquire a habit of respect and politeness. With one's equals one is apt to become negligent, and the mind grows torpid. She advises him, too, to frequent those people and to see their inside. In order to judge of men one must be intimately connected. Thus you see them without a veil and with their mere everyday merit. A happy expression. It was for this reason that I have so often advised you to establish and domesticate yourself, wherever you can, in good houses of people above you, that you may see their everyday character, manners, habits, etc. One must see people undressed to judge truly of their shape. When they are dressed to go abroad their clothes are contrived to conceal, or at least palliate the defects of it, as full-bottomed wigs were contrived for the Duke of Burgundy to conceal his humpback. Happy those who have no faults to disguise nor weaknesses to conceal. There are few, if any, such, but unhappy those who know little enough of the world to judge by outward appearances. Courts are the best keys to characters. There every passion is busy, every art exerted, every character analysed, jealousy ever watchful, not only discovers but exposes the mysteries of the trade, so that even bystanders y apreno adivine. There, too, the great art of pleasing is practised, taught, and learned with all its graces and delicacies. It is the first thing needful there. It is the absolutely necessary harbinger of merit and talents. Let them be ever so great. There is no advancing a step without it. Let misanthropes and would-be philosophers declaim as much as they please against the vices, the simulation, and dissimulation of courts. Those invectives are always the result of ignorance, ill-humour, or envy. Let them show me a cottage where there are not the same vices of which they accuse courts, with this difference only, that in a cottage they appear in their native deformity, and that in courts manners and good-breeding make them less shocking, and blunt their edge. No, be convinced that the good-breeding, the tourneur, la ducée dans leur manier, which alone are to be acquired at courts, are not the showish trifles only which some people call or think them. They are a solid good. They prevent a great deal of real mischief. They create adorn and strengthen friendships. They keep hatred within bounds. They promote good humour and goodwill in families. Where the want of good- breeding and gentleness of manners is commonly the original cause of discord. Get, then, before it is too late, a habit of these mitiores virtutes. Practice them upon every the least occasion that they may be easy and familiar to you upon the greatest, for they lose a great degree of their merit if they seem laboured, and only called in upon extraordinary occasions. I tell you truly, this is now the only doubtful part of your character with me, and it is for that reason that I dwell upon it so much, and inculcate it so often. I shall soon see whether this doubt of mine is founded, or rather I hope I shall soon see that it is not. This moment I received your letter of the ninth new style. I am sorry to find that you have had, though ever so slight a return of your carnal young disorder, and I hope that your conclusion will prove a true one, and that this will be the last. I will send the mohairs by the first opportunity. As for the pictures, I am already so full that I am resolved not to buy one more, unless by great accident I should meet with something surprisingly good, and as surprisingly cheap. I should have thought that Lord, at his age, and with his parts in a dress, need not have been reduced to keep an opera whore in such a place as Paris, where so many women of fashion generously serve as volunteers. I am still more sorry that he is in love with her, for that will take him out of good company and sink him into bad, such as fiddlers, pipers, and id genus omne, most unedifying and unbecoming company for a man of fashion. Lady Chesterfield makes you a thousand compliments. Adieu, my dear child. End of Section 114. Read by Professor Heather Mby. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Section 115 of Chesterfield's Letters to His Son. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Letter 146. Greenwich, June 10th, Old Style, 1751. My dear friend. Your ladies were so slow in giving their specific orders, that the mohairs, of which you at last sent me the patterns, were all sold. However, to prevent further delays, for ladies are apt to be very impatient when they at last know their minds, I have taken the quantity desired of three mohairs which come nearest to the description you sent me some time ago, in Madame Montconcile's own hand, and I will send them to Calais by the first opportunity. In giving La Petite Blaux her peace, you have a fine occasion of saying fine things, if so inclined. Lady Hervey, who is your puff and panagiarist, writes me word that she saw you lately dance at a ball, and that you dance very gentilely. I am extremely glad to hear it, for, by the maxim that Omni Magis contended in Semenis, if you dance gentilely I presume you walk, sit, and stand gentilely, too. Things which are much more easy, though much more necessary than dancing well. I have known many very gentile people who could not dance well, but I never knew anybody dance very well who was not gentile in other things. You will probably often have occasion to stand in circles, at the levies of princes and ministers, when it is very necessary, du pays de sa personne est d'être bien plante, with your feet not too near nor too distant from each other. More people stand and walk than sit gentilely. Awkward, ill-bred people, being ashamed, commonly sit bolt upright and stiff. Others, too negligent and easy, se vautrant dans l'heure fatue, which is ungraceful and ill-bred, unless where the familiarity is extreme. But a man of fashion makes himself easy, and appears so by leaning gracefully instead of lolling supinely, and by varying those attitudes instead of that stiff immobility of a bashful booby. You cannot conceive, nor can I express, how advantageous a good air, gentile motions, and engaging address are. Not only among women, but among men, and even in the course of business. They fascinate the affections, they steal a preference, they play about the heart till they engage it. I know a man, and so do you, who, without a grain of merit, knowledge or talents, has raised himself millions of degrees above his level, simply by a good air and engaging manners, in so much that the very Prince who raised him so high calls him mon amiable vautrien, the Marichal de Richelieu. But of this do not open your lips, pour cause. I give you this secret as the strongest proof imaginable of the efficiency of air, address, tournure, et tout ce petit rien. Your other puff and panagyrus, Mr. Hart, is gone to Windsor in his way to Cornwall, in order to be back soon enough to meet you here. I really believe he is as impatient for that moment as I am. Et s'est tout dear. But, however notwithstanding my impatience, if by chance you should then be in a situation, that leaving Paris would cost your heart too many pangs, I allow you to put off your journey, and to tell me, as Festus did Paul, at a more convenient season I will speak to thee. You see by this that I eventually sacrifice my sentiments to yours, and this in a very uncommon object of paternal complacence. Provide it always, and be it understood, as they say in Acts of Parliament, that quite to cum could d'amat minus non erbesendus adurit ignibus. If your heart will let you come, bring with you only your valet de chambre, Christian, and your own footmen. Let not your valet de place, whom you may dismiss for the time, as also your coach. But you had best keep on your lodgings, the intermediate expense of which will be but inconsiderable, and you will want them to leave your books and baggage in. Bring only the clothes you travel in, one suit of black, for the morning for the prince will not be quite out by that time, and one suit of your fine clothes, two or three of your laced shirts, and the rest plain ones, of other things, as bags, feathers, et cetera, as you think proper. Bring no books, unless two or three for your amusement upon the road, for we must apply simply to English, in which you are certainly no pure East, and I will supply you sufficiently with the proper English authors. I shall probably keep you here till about the middle of October, and certainly not longer, it being absolutely necessary for you to pass the next winter at Paris. So that, should any fine eyes shed ears for your departure, you may dry them by the promise of your return in two months. Have you got a master for geometry? If the weather is very hot, you may leave your writing at the manage till you return to Paris, unless you think the exercise does you more good than the heat can do you harm. But I desire you will not leave off Marcel for one moment. Your fencing, likewise if you have a mind, may subside for the summer, but you will do well to resume it in the winter and to be adroit at it. But by no means for a defense in case of necessity. Good night, yours. P.S. I forgot to give you one commission when you come here, which is, not fail to bring you the graces along with you. End of Section 115. Read by Professor Heather M. Bye. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Section 116 of Chesterfield's Letters to His Son. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Chapter 147. Greenwich. June 13. Old Style. 1751. My dear friend. Les biens séances. This single word implies decorum, good-breeding, and propriety are a most necessary part of the knowledge of the world. They consist in the relations of persons, things, time, and place. Good sense points them out, good company perfects them, supposing always an attention and a desire to please, and good policy recommends them. Were you to converse with a king you ought to be as easy and unembarrassed as with your own valet de chambre. But yet every look, word, and action should imply the utmost respect. What would be proper and well-bred with others, much your superiors, would be absurd and ill-bred with one so very much so. You must wait till you are spoken to. You must receive, not to give, the subject of conversation, and you must even take care that the given subject of conversation do not lead you into any impropriety. The art would be to carry it, if possible, to some indirect flattery, such as commending those virtues in some other person, in which that prince either thinks he does, or at least would be thought by others to excel. Almost the same precautions are necessary to be used with ministers, generals, etc., who expect to be treated with very near the same respect as their masters, and commonly deserve it better. There is, however, this difference, that one may begin the conversation with them, if on their side it should happen to drop, provided one does not carry it to any subject upon which it is improper either for them to speak or to be spoken to. In these two cases certain attitudes and actions would be extremely absurd, because too easy and consequently disrespectful. As, for instance, if you were to put your arms across your bosom, twirl your snuff-box, trample with your feet, scratch your head, etc., it would be shockingly ill bread in that company, and indeed not extremely well bread in any other. The great difficulty in those cases, though a very surmountable one by attention and custom, is to join perfect inward ease with perfect outward respect. In mixed companies with your equals, for in mixed companies all people are to a certain degree equal. Greater ease and liberty are allowed, but they too have their bounds within bien-séance. There is a certain social respect necessary. You may start your own subject of conversation with modesty, taking great care, however, de ne jamais parler de corde dans la maison d'une pandue. Never mention a rope in the family of a man who has been hanged. Your words, gestures and attitudes have a greater degree of latitude, though by no means an unbounded one. You may have your hands in your pockets, take snuff, sit, stand or occasionally walk as you like, but I believe you would not think it very bien-séant to whistle, put on your hat, loosen your garters or your buckles, lie down upon a couch or go to bed, and welter in an easy chair. These are negligences and freedoms which one can only take when quite alone. They are injurious to superiors, shocking and offensive to equals, brutal and insulting to inferiors. That easiness of carriage and behavior which is exceedingly engaging widely differs from negligence and inattention, and by no means implies that one may do whatever one pleases. It only means that one is not to be stiff, formal, embarrassed, disconcerted and ashamed, like country bumpkins, and people who have never been in good company. But it requires great attention too and a scrupulous observation of les biens séances, whatever one ought to do, is to be done with ease and unconcern. Whatever is improper must not be done at all. In mixed companies also, different ages and sexes are to be differently addressed. You would not talk of your pleasures to men of a certain age, gravity, and dignity. They justly expect from young people a degree of deference in regard. You should be full as easy with them as with people of your own years. But your manner must be different, more respect must be implied, and it is not a miss to insinuate that from them you expect to learn. It flatters and comforts age for not being able to take part in the joy and titter of youth. To women you should always address yourself with great outward respect and attention, whatever you feel inwardly. Their sex is by long prescription entitled to it, and it is among the duties of biens séances. At the same time, that respect is very properly and very agreeably mixed with a degree of enjouement, if you have it, but then that bandinage must either directly or indirectly tend to their praise, and even not be liable to a malicious construction to their disadvantage. But here, too, great attention must be had to the difference of age, rank, and situation. A marachal of fifty must not be played with like a young coquette of fifteen, respect and serious enjouement. If I may couple those two words, must be used with a former, and mere badenage zest même d'un peu de polisserie is pardonable with the latter. Another important point of les biens séances seldom enough attended to is not to run your own present humor and disposition indiscriminately against everybody, but to observe, conform to, and adopt them. For example, if you happen to be in a high good humor and a flow of spirits, would you go and sing a pont-neuf, or cut a caper, to la marachale de Cogni, the Pope's nanzio, or Abbe-Salier, or to any person of natural gravity in melancholy, or who at that time should be in grief? I believe not. As on the other hand, I suppose, that if you were in low spirits or real grief, you would not choose to bewail your situation with la petit bleu. If you cannot command your present humor and disposition, single out those to converse with, who happen to be in the humor nearest to your own. Loud laughter is extremely inconsistent with les biens séances, as it is only the illiberal and noisy testimony of the joy of the mob at some very silly thing. A gentleman is often seen, but very seldom heard to laugh. Nothing is more contrary to les biens séances than horse-play, or jugement of any kind, whatever, and has often very serious, sometimes very fatal consequences. Ramping, struggling, throwing things at one another's head, are the becoming pleasantries of the mob, but degrade a gentleman. Gucchio di mano, Gucchio di villano, is a very true saying, among the few true sayings of the Italians. Peremptoriness and decision in young people is contraire aux biens séances, and they should seldom seem to assert, and always use some softening, mitigating expressions, such as, su me permis de le dire, j'ai croyé plutôt si je m'expliquais, which softened the manner, without giving up or even weakening the thing. People of more age and experience expect, and are entitled to, that degree of deference. There is a biens séance also with regard to people of the lowest degree. A gentleman observes it with his footmen, even with a beggar in the street. He considers them as objects of compassion, not of insult. He speaks to neither d'une tombrusque, but corrects the one couli, and refuses the other with humanity. There is one occasion in the world in which le tombrusque is becoming in a gentleman. In short, les biens séances are another word for manners, and extend to every part of life. They are propriety. The graces should attend, in order to complete them. The graces enable us to do, gentilely and pleasingly, what les biens séances require to be done at all. The latter are an obligation upon every man. The former are an infinite advantage in ornament to any man. May you unite both. Though you dance well, do not think that you dance well enough, and consequently not endeavor to dance still better. And though you should be told that you are gentile, still aim at being gentiler. If Marcel should, do not you be satisfied. Go on, court the graces all your lifetime. You will find no better friends at court. They will speak in your favour to the hearts of princes, ministers, and mistresses. Now that all tumultuous passions and quick sensations have subsided with me, and that I have no tormenting cares nor boisterous pleasures to agitate me, my greatest joy is to consider the fair prospect you have before you, and to hope and believe you will enjoy it. You are already in the world, at an age when others have hardly heard of it. Your character is hitherto not only unblemished in its mortal part, but even unsullied by any low, dirty, and un-gentleman-like vice, and will, I hope, continue so. Your knowledge is sound, extensive, and avowed, especially in everything relative to your destination. With such materials to begin with, what then is wanting? Not fortune, as you have found by experience. You have had and shall have fortune sufficient to assist your merit in your industry, and if I can help it, you shall never have enough to make you negligent of either. You have, too, men's sana and corpore sano, the greatest blessing of all. All therefore that you want is as much in your power to acquire as to eat your breakfast when set before you. It is only that knowledge of the world, that elegance of manners, that universal politeness, and those graces which keeping good company and seeing variety of places and characters must inevitably, with the least attention on your part, give you. Your foreign destination leads you to the greatest things, and your parliamentary situation will facilitate your progress. Consider then this pleasing prospect as attentively for yourself as I consider it for you. Labor on your part to realize it, as I will on mine to assist, and enable you to do it. Nullam numen abest si sit prudentia. Adju, my dear child, I count the days till I have the pleasure of seeing you. I shall soon count the hours and at last the minutes, with increasing impatience. P.S. The mohairs are this day gone from hence for Calais, recommended to the care of Madame Morel, and directed as desired to the Comptroller General. The three pieces come to six hundred and eighty French leavers. End of Section One Hundred and Sixteen. Read by Professor Heathern By. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer, please visit Librevox.org. Section One Hundred and Seventeen of Chesterfield's Letters to His Son. Read for Librevox.org into the public domain. Letter One Hundred and Forty Eight. Greenwich. June Twentieth Old Style, Seventeen Fifty One. My dear friend. So very few people, especially young travelers, see what they see or hear what they hear, that though I really believe it may be unnecessary with you, yet there can be no harm in reminding you, from time to time, to see what you see and to hear what you hear. That is, to see and hear as you should do. Frivolous, feudal people, who make at least three parts and four of mankind, only desire to see and hear what their frivolous and futile precursors have seen and heard, as St. Peter's, the Pope and High Mass, at Rome, Notre-Dame, Versailles, the French King and the French Comedy in France. A man of parts sees and hears very differently from these gentlemen, and a great deal more. He examines and informs himself thoroughly of everything he sees or hears, and more particularly, as it is relative to his own profession or destination. Your destination is political, the object, therefore, of your inquiries and observations should be the political interior of things, the forms of government, laws, regulations, customs, trade, manufacturers, etc., of the several nations of Europe. This knowledge is much better required by conversation with sensible and well-informed people than by books, the best of which upon these subjects are always imperfect. For example, there are present states of France as there are of England, but they are always defective, being published by people uninformed, who only copy one another. They are, however, worth looking into because they point out objects for inquiry, which otherwise might possibly never have occurred to one's mind. But an hour's conversation with a sensible president or consulateur will let you more into the true state of the Parliament of Paris than all the books in France. In the same manner the Almanac military is worth your having, but two or three conversations with officers will inform you much better of their military regulations. People have, commonly, a partiality for their own professions, love to talk of them, and are even flattered by being consulted upon the subject. When, therefore, you are with any of those military gentlemen, and you can hardly be in any company without some, ask them military questions, inquire into their methods of discipline, quartering and clothing their men, inform yourself of their pay, their perquisites, le mantra, le étape, etc. Do the same as to the Marine, and make yourself particularly master of that detail, which has and always will have a great relation to the affairs of England, and in proportion as you get good informations, take minutes of them in writing. The regulations of trade and commerce in France are excellent, as appears but too plainly for us, by the great increase of both within these thirty years. For not to mention their extensive commerce in both the East and West Indies, they have got the whole trade of the Levant from us, and now supply all the foreign markets with their sugars, to the ruin of almost all of our sugar colonies, as Jamaica, Barbados, and the Leroy Islands. Get, therefore, what informations you can of those matters also. Inquire too into their church matters, for which the present disputes between the court and the clergy give you fair and frequent opportunities. Know the particular rights of the Gallican church, in opposition to the pretensions of the sea of Rome. I do not recommend ecclesiastical history to you, since I hear that you study Dupin very assiduously. You cannot imagine how much this solid and useful knowledge of other countries will distinguish you in your own. Where to say the truth, it is very little known or cultivated. Besides the great use it is of in all foreign negotiations, not to mention that it enables a man to shine in all companies. When kings and princes have any knowledge, it is of this sort, and more particularly, and therefore it is the usual topic of their levy conversations, in which it will qualify you to bear a considerable part. It brings you more acquainted with them, and they are pleased to have people talk to them on a subject in which they think to shine. There is a sort of chit-chat, or small talk, which is the general run of conversation at courts, and in most mixed companies. It is a sort of middling conversation, neither silly nor edifying, but, however, very necessary for you to become master of. It turns upon the public events of Europe, and then it is at its best, very often upon the number, the goodness or badness, the discipline or the clothing of the troops of different princes, sometimes upon the families, the marriages, the relations of princes, and considerable people, and sometimes, seulement cher, the magnificence of public entertainments, balls, masquerades, etc. I would wish you to be able to talk upon all these things better, and with more knowledge than other people, in so much that upon those occasions you should be applied to, and that people should say, I dare say Mr. Stanhope can tell us. Second-rate knowledge and middling talents carry a man further at courts, and in the busy part of the world, than superior knowledge and shining parts. Tacitus very justly accounts for a man's having always kept in favour and enjoyed the best employments under the tyrannical reigns of three or four of the very worst emperors, by saying that it was not, proctor, aliquam, exameum, artum, sedquia, parnegotius, necca, supraeret. Discretion is the great article, and all these things are to be learned, and only learned by keeping a great deal of the best company. Frequent those good houses where you have already a footing, and wiggle yourself somehow or other into every other. Haunt the courts particularly in order to get that routine. This moment I received yours of the eighteenth new style. You will have had some time ago my final answers concerning the pictures, and by my last an account that the mohairs were gone to Madame Morel at Calais with the proper directions. I am very sorry that your two sons-in-law, the princes be, are such boobies. However, as they have the honour of being so nearly related to you, I will show them what civilities I can. I confess that you have not time for long absences from Paris, at present, because of your various masters, all of which I would have you apply too closely while you are now in that capital. But when you return thither, after the visit you intend me the honour of, I do not propose your having any master at all except Marcel, once or twice a week. And then the courts will, I hope, be no longer strange countries to you, for I would have you run down frequently to Versailles and St. Cloud for three or four days at a time. You know the abbey de la ville, who will present you to others, so that you will soon be fafile with the rest of the court. Court is the soil in which you are to grow and flourish. You ought to be well acquainted with the nature of it. Like all other soil it is in some places deeper, in others lighter, but always capable of great improvement by cultivation and experience. You say that you want some hints for a letter to Lady Chesterfield. More use and knowledge of the world will teach you occasionally to write and talk gentilly. S'up de rien, which I can tell you is a very useful part upon worldly knowledge, for in some companies it would be imprudent to talk of anything else, and with very many people it is impossible to talk of anything else. They would not understand you. Adieu. Section 118 of Chesterfield's Letters to His Son. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Letter 149. London, June 24, Old Style, 1751. My dear friend, ere address, manners, and graces are of such infinite advantage to whoever has them, and so peculiarly and essentially necessary for you, that now, as the time of our meeting draws near, I tremble for fear I should not find you possessed of them, and to tell you the truth, I doubt you are not yet sufficiently convinced for their importance. There is, for instance, your intimate friend, Mr. H., who with great merit, deep knowledge, and a thousand good qualities will never make a figure in the world while he lives. Why? merely for want of those external and showish accomplishments which he began the world too late to acquire, and which, with his studious and philosophical turn, I believe he thinks are not worth his attention. He may very probably make a figure in the Republic of Letters, but he had ten thousand times better make a figure as a man of the world and a business in the Republic of the United Provinces, which take my word for it he never will. As I open myself without the least reserve, whenever I think that my doing so can be of any use to you, I will give you a short account of myself. When I first came into the world, which was at the age you are of now, so that by the way you have got the start of me in that important article by two or three years at least, at nineteen I left the University of Cambridge, where I was an absolute pedant. When I talked my best I quoted Horace. When I aimed at being facetious I quoted Marshall. And when I had a mind to be a fine gentleman I talked Ovid. I was convinced that none but the ancients had common sense, that the classics contained everything that was either necessary, useful, or ornamental to men, and I was not without thoughts of wearing the toga virilis of the Romans, instead of the vulgar and illiberal dress of the moderns. With these excellent notions I went first to the Hague, where by the help of several letters of recommendation I was soon introduced into all the best company, and where I very soon discovered that I was totally mistaken in almost every one notion I had entertained. Fortunately, I had a strong desire to please, the mixed result of good nature and vanity by no means flammable, and I was sensible that I had nothing but the desire. I therefore resolved, if possible, to acquire the means, too. I studied attentively and minutely the dress, the air, the manners, the address, and the turn of conversation of all those whom I found to be the people in passion, and most generally allowed to please. I imitated them as well as I could. If I heard that one man was reckoned remarkably genteel, I carefully watched his dress, motions, and attitudes, and formed my own upon them. When I heard of another whose conversation was agreeable and engaging, I listened and attended to the turn of it. I addressed myself through de très mauvais grâce to all the most fashionable fine ladies, confessed and laughed with them at my own awkwardness and rawness, recommending myself as an object for them to try their skill in forming. By these means, and with a passionate desire of pleasing everybody, I came by degrees to please some, and I can assure you that what little figure I have made in the world has been much more owing to that passionate desire of pleasing universally than to any intrinsic merit or sound knowledge I might ever have been master of. My passion for pleasing was so strong, and I am very glad it was so, that I own to you fairly, I wish to make every woman I saw in love with me, and every man I met with admire me. Without this passion for the object I should never have been so attentive to the means, and I own I cannot conceive how it is possible for any man of good nature and good sense to be without this passion. Does not good nature incline us to please all those we converse with, of whatever rank or station they may be? And does not good sense and common observations show of what infinite use it is to please? Oh, but one may please by the good qualities of the heart, and the knowledge of the head, without that passionable air, address, and manner which is mere tinsel. I deny it. A man may be esteemed and respected, but I defy him to please without them. Moreover, at your age I would not have contented myself with barely pleasing. I wanted to shine and to distinguish myself in the world as a man of fashion and gallantry, as well as business. And that ambition or vanity, call it what you please, was a right one. It hurt nobody, and made me exert whatever talents I had. It is the spring of a thousand right and good things. I was talking you over the other day with one very much your friend, and who had often been with you, both at Paris and in Italy. Among the innumerable questions which you may be sure I asked him concerning you, I happened to mention your dress, for to say the truth it was the only thing of which I thought him a competent judge, upon which he said that you dressed tolerably well at Paris, but that in Italy you dressed so ill that he used to joke with you upon it, and even to tear your clothes. Now I must tell you that at your age it is as ridiculous not to be very well dressed, as at my age it would be if I were to wear white feather and red-heeled shoes. Dress is one of various ingredients that contribute to the art of pleasing. It pleases the eyes at least, and more especially of women. Address yourself to the senses, if you would please. Dazzle the eyes, soothe and flatter the ears of mankind, engage their hearts and let their reason do its worst against you. Savite in modo is the great secret. Whenever you find yourself engaged insensibly in favor of anybody of no superior merit nor distinguished talents, examine and see what it is that has made those impressions upon you, and you will find it to be that duceur, that gentleness of manners, that air and address, which I have so often recommended to you, and from thence draw this obvious conclusion, that what pleases you in them will please others in you, for we are all made of the same clay, though some of the lumps are a little finer, and some a little coarser. But in general, the surest way to judge of others is to examine and analyze one's self thoroughly. When we meet I will assist you in that analysis, in which every man wants some assistance against his own self-love. Adju. Which I am really very glad of, and I hope it will fatten him up to Boilot's chanoine. At present he is as meager as an apostle or prophet. By the way, has he ever introduced you to La Duchesse d'Aguillon? If he has not, make him present you, and if he has, frequent her, and make her many compliments for me. She has uncommon sense and knowledge for a woman, and her house is the resort of one set of Les Beaux Esprits. It is a satisfaction and a sort of credit to be acquainted with those gentlemen, and it puts a young fellow in fashion. Apropos des Beaux Esprits, you have Les Entres at Lady Sandwiches, who, old as she was when I saw her last, had the strongest parts of any woman I ever knew in my life. If you are not acquainted with her, either the Duchesse d'Aguillon or Lady Herbie can, and I dare say will, introduce you. I can assure you it is very well worth your while, both upon her own account and for the sake of the people of wit and learning who frequent her. In such companies there is always something to be learned as well as manners. The conversation turns upon something above trifles, some point of literature, criticism, history, etc., is discussed with ingenuity in good manners. For I must do the French people of learning justice. They are not bears, as most of ours are. They are gentlemen. Our abbey writes me word that you were gone to Campigny. I am very glad of it. Other courts must form you for your own. He tells me, too, that you have left off riding at the menage. I have no objection to that. It takes up a great deal of the morning, and if you have got a gentile and firm seat on horseback, it is enough for you, now that tilts and tournaments are laid aside. I suppose you have hunted at Campigny. The king's hunting there, I am told, is a fine sight. The French manner of hunting is gentlemanlike. Ours is only for bumpkins and boobies. The poor beasts are here pursued and run down by much greater beasts than themselves, and the true British fox hunter is most undoubtedly a species appropriate and peculiar to this country, which no other part of the globe produces. I hope you apply the time you have saved from the riding-house to useful more than to learned purposes, for I can assure you that they are very different things. I would have you allowed but one hour a day for Greek, and that more to keep what you have than to increase it. By Greek, I mean useful Greek books, such as Demosthenes, Thucydides, etc., and not the poets, with whom you are already enough acquainted. Your Latin will take care of itself. Whatever more time you may have for reading, pray bestow it upon those books which are immediately relative to your destination, such as modern history, in the modern languages, memoirs, anecdotes, letters, negotiations, etc. Collect also, if you can, authentically the present states of all the courts and countries in Europe, the characters of the kings and princes, their wives, their ministers, and their whores, their several views, connections, and interests, the state of their finances, their military force, their trade, manufacturers, and commerce. That is the useful, the necessary knowledge for you, and indeed for every gentleman. But with all this remember that living books are much better than dead ones, and throw away no time, for it is thrown away, with the latter, which you can employ well with the former, for books must now be your only amusement, but by no means your business. I had much rather that you were passionately in love with some determined coquette of condition, who would lead you a dance, fashion, supple, and polish you, than that you knew all Plato and Aristotle by heart. An hour at Versailles, Compagnier, St. Cloud, is now worth more to you than three hours in your closet, with the best books that were ever written. I hear the dispute between the court and the clergy is made up amicably. Both parties have yielded something, the king being afraid of losing more of his soul, and the clergy more of their revenue. Those gentlemen are very skillful in making the most of the vices and the weaknesses of the laity. I hope you have read and informed yourself fully of everything relative to that affair. It is a very important question, in which the priesthood of every country in Europe is highly concerned. If you would be thoroughly convinced that their tithes are of divine institution, and their property the property of God himself, not to be touched by any power on earth, read for a Paolo de Beneficius, an excellent and short book, for which, and some other treatises against the court of Rome, he was stilettowed, which made him say afterward, upon seeing an anonymous book written against him by order of the Pope, The Parliament of Paris and the States of Languedoc will, I believe, hardly scramble off, having only reason and justice, but no terrors on their side. Those are political and constitutional questions that well deserve your attention and inquiries. I hope you are thoroughly master of them. It is also worth your while to collect and keep all the pieces written upon those subjects. I hope you have been thanked by your ladies, at least if not paid in money for the mohairs, which I sent by a courier to Paris some time ago, instead of sending them to Madame Morelle at Calais, as I told you I should. Do they like them, and do they like you the better for getting them? Le petit bleu devroy au moins pays de sa peçon. As for Madame de Polignac, I believe you will very willingly hold her excused from personal payment. Before you return to England, pray go again to Orly, for two or three days, and also to St. Cloud, in order to secure a good reception there at your return. Ask the Marquis de Matignon, too, if he has any orders for you in England, or any letters or packets for Lord Bollingbroke. Adieu. Go on and prosper. End of Section One Hundred and Nineteen. Read by Professor Heather Mby. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Section One Hundred and Twenty of Chesterfield's Letters to His Son. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Letter One Hundred and Fifty-One. Greenwich. July Eighth. Old Style. Seventeen Fifty-One. My dear friend. The last mail brought me your letter of the Third July New Style. I am glad that you are so well with Colonel York as to be let into secret correspondences. Lord Abomarle's reserve to you is, I believe, more owing to his secretary than to himself, for you seem to be much in favor with him, and possibly, too, he has no very secret letters to communicate. However, take care not to discover the least satisfaction upon this score. Make the proper acknowledgments to Colonel York for what he does show you, but let neither Lord Abomarle nor his people perceive the least coldness on your part upon account of what they do not show you. It is very often necessary not to manifest all one feels. Make your court too and connect yourself as much as possible with Colonel York. He may be of great use to you hereafter, and when you take leave not only offer to bring over any letters or packets, by way of security, but even ask as a favor to be the carrier of a letter from him to his father, the Chancellor. I propose you're coming here. I confess that I am weakly impatient for it, and think a few days worth getting. I would, therefore, instead of the twenty-fifth of the next month, new style, which was the day that I some time ago appointed for your leaving Paris, have you set out on Friday the twentieth of August, new style, in consequence of which you will be at Calais some time on the Sunday following, and probably at Dover within four and twenty hours afterward. If you land in the morning, you may, in a post-chase, get to Sitting-Born that day. If you come on shore in the evening, you can only get to Canterbury, where you will be better lodged than at Dover. I will not have you travel in the night, nor fatigue and overheat yourself by running on four score miles the moment you land. You will come straight to Black Heath, where I shall be ready to meet you, and which is directly upon the Dover Road to London, and we will go to town together after you have rested yourself a day or two here. All the other directions, which I gave you in my former letter, hold still the same. But notwithstanding this regulation, should you have any particular reasons for leaving Paris two or three days sooner or later than the above mentioned, vous êtes mâtre. Make all your arrangements at Paris for about a six-week stay in England at farthest. I had a letter the other day from Lord Huntington, of which one-half at least was your Panageric. It was extremely welcome to me from so good a hand. Cultivate that friendship. It will do you honour and give you strength. Connections in our mixed parliamentary government are of great use. I send you here and close the particular price of each of the mohairs, but I do not suppose that you will receive a shilling for any one of them. However, if any of your ladies should take an odd fancy to pay, the shortest way in the course of business is for you to keep the money, and to take so much less from you, Sir John Lambert, in your next draft upon him. I am very sorry to hear that Lady Hervey is ill. Paris does not seem to agree with her. She used to have great health here. Apropos of her, remember when you are with me, not to mention her but when you and I are quite alone, for reasons which I will tell you when we meet. But this is only between you and me, and I desire that you will not so much as hint it to her or to anybody else. If Old Cursey goes to the Valley of Jehoshaphat, I cannot help it. It will be an ease to our friend Madame Montconcile, who I believe maintains her, and a little will not satisfy her in any way. Remember to bring your mother some little presents. They need not be a value, but only marks of your affection and duty for one who has always been tenderly fond of you. You may bring Lady Chesterfield a little Martin's snuff-box of about five louis, and you need bring over no other presents. You and I not wanting les petits-presents pour entretenir la mythé. Since I wrote what goes before, I have talked you over my Newtley with Lord Abomarle, who told me that he could very sincerely commend you upon every article but one. Upon that one you are often joked, both by him and others. I desired to know what that was. He laughed and told me it was the article of dress in which you were exceedingly negligent. Though he laughed, I can assure you that it is no laughing matter for you, and you will possibly be surprised when I assert, but upon my word it is literally true, that to be very well dressed is of much more importance to you than all the Greek you know will be of these thirty years. Remember that the world is now your only business, and that you must adopt its customs and manners, be they silly or be they not. To neglect your dress is in affront to all the women you keep company with, as it implies that you do not think them worth that attention which everybody else doth. They mind dress, and you will never please them if you neglect yours, and if you do not please the women, you will not please half the men you otherwise might. It is the women who put a young fellow in fashion even with the men. A young fellow ought to have a certain fund of coquetry, which should make him try all the means of pleasing as much as any coquette in Europe can do. Old as I am and little thinking of women, God knows, I am very far from being negligent of my dress and why, from conformity to custom and out of decency to men, who expect that degree of complacence. I do not indeed wear feathers and red heels which would ill-suit my age, but I take care to have my clothes well made, my wig well combed and powdered, my linen and person extremely clean. I even allow my footmen forty shillings a year extraordinary that they may be spruce and neat. Your figure especially, which from its stature cannot be very majestic and interesting, should be the more attended to in point of dress as it cannot be impulsant. It should be gentile, amiable, bienmise. It will not admit of a negligence and carelessness. I believe Mr. Hayes thinks you have slighted him a little of late, since you have got into so much other company. I do not by any means blame you for not frequenting his house so much as you did at first, before you had got into so many other houses more entertaining and more instructing than his. On the contrary, you do very well. But, however, as he was extremely civil to you, take care to be so to him, and make up in manner what you omit in matter. See him, dine with him before you come away, and ask his commands for England. Your triangle seal is done, and I have given it to an English gentleman, who sets out in a week for Paris, and who will deliver it to Sir John Lambert for you. I cannot conclude this letter without returning again to the showish, the ornamental, the shining parts of your character, which if you neglect upon my word you will render the solid ones absolutely useless. Nay, such is the present turn of the world that some valuable qualities are even ridiculous, if not accompanied by the gentiler accomplishments. Plainness, simplicity, and quakerism, either in dress or manners, will by no means do. They must both be laced and embroidered, speaking or writing sense, without elegance and turn, will be very little persuasive, and the best figure in the world without air and address will be very ineffectual. Some penance may have told you that sound sense and learning stand in need of no ornaments, and to support that assertion elegantly quote the vulgar proverb, that good wine needs no bush, but surely the little experience you have already had of the world must have convinced you that the contrary of that assertion is true. All those accomplishments are now in your power. Think of them and of them only. I hope you frequent LaFroix Saint Laurent, which I see is now open. You will improve more by going there with your mistress than by staying at home and reading Euclid with your Geometry Master. Adieu. D'avertez-vous, il n'y a reine de terre. CHESTORFIELDS' LETTERS TO HIS SON. LETTER 152. GRENACHE. JOLY XV. OLD STYLE. 1751. MY DEAR FRIEND, as this is the last, or last letter but one, that I think I shall write before I have the pleasure of seeing you here. It may not be amiss to prepare you a little for our interview, and for the time we shall pass together. Before kings and princes meet, ministers on each side adjust the important points of precedence, arm-chairs, right-hand and left, etc., so that they know previously what they are to expect, what they have to trust to, and it is right they should, for they commonly envy or hate, but most certainly distrust each other. We shall meet upon very different terms. We want no such preliminaries. You know my tenderness. I know your affection. My only object, therefore, is to make your short stay with me as useful as I can to you, and yours, I hope, is to cooperate with me. Whether by making it wholesome, I shall make it pleasant to you, I am not sure. A medics and cathartics I shall not administer, because I am sure you do not want them. But for alternatives you must expect a great many, and I can tell you that I have a number of no-stroms, which I shall communicate to nobody but yourself. To speak without a metaphor I shall endeavor to assist your youth with all the experience that I have purchased at the price of seven and fifty years. In order to this frequent reproofs, corrections, and admonitions will be necessary, but then I promise you that they shall be in a gentle, friendly, and secret manner. They shall not put you out of countenance and company, nor out of humor when we are alone. I do not expect that, at nineteen, you should have that knowledge of the world, those manners, that dexterity, which few people have at nine and twenty. But I will endeavor to give them to you, and I am sure you will endeavor to learn them as far as your youth, my experience, and the time we shall pass together will allow. You may have many inaccuracies, and to be sure you have, for who is not at your age, which few people will tell you of, and some nobody can tell you of but myself. You may possibly have others, too, which eyes less interested and less vigilant than mine do not discover. All those you shall hear of from one whose tenderness for you will excite his curiosity and sharpen his penetration. The smallest inattention or error in manners, the minutest in elegance of diction, the least awkwardness in your dress and carriage, will not escape my observation, nor pass without amicable correction. Two, the most intimate friends in the world can frequently tell each other their faults, and even their crimes, but cannot possibly tell each other of certain little weaknesses, awkwardnesses, and blindnesses of self-love, to authorize that unreserved freedom the relation between us is absolutely necessary. For example, I had a very worthy friend with whom I was intimate enough to tell him his faults. He had but few. I told him of him. He took it kindly of me and corrected them. But then he had some weaknesses that I could never tell him of directly, and which he was so little sensible himself that hints of them were lost upon him. He had a scragged neck, of about a yard long, notwithstanding which, bags being in fashion, truly he would wear one to his wig, and did so, but never behind him, for upon every motion of his head his bag came forward over one shoulder or the other. He took it into his head, too, that he must occasionally dance minuettes, because other people did. And he did so, not only extremely ill, but so awkward, so disjointed, slim, so meager was his figure, that had he danced as well as ever Marcel did it would have been ridiculous in him to have danced at all. I hinted these things to him as plainly as friendship would allow and to no purpose, but to have told him the whole so as to cure him I must have been his father, which thank God I am not. As fathers commonly go it is seldom a misfortune to be fatherless, and considering the general run of sons as seldom a misfortune to be childless. You and I form, I believe, an exception to that rule, for I am persuaded that we would neither of us change our relation were it in our power. You will, I both hope and believe, be not only the comfort but the pride of my age, and I am sure I will be the support, the friend, the guide of your youth. Trust me without reserve. I will advise you without private interest or secret envy. Mr. Hart will do so too, but still there may be some little things proper for you to know and necessary for you to correct, which even his friendship would not let him tell you of so freely as I should, and some of which he may not possibly be so good a judge of as I am not having lived so much in the great world. One principle topic of our conversation will be not only the purity but the elegance of the English language, in both which you are very deficient. Another will be the constitution of this country, of which, I believe, you know less than of most other countries in Europe. Manners, attentions, and address will also be the frequent subjects of our lectures, and whatever I know of that important and necessary art, the art of pleasing, I will unreservedly communicate to you. Dress, too, which as things are I can logically prove requires some attention, will not always escape our notice. Thus my lectures will be more various and in some respects more useful than Professor Moscow's, and therefore I can tell you that I expect to be paid for them. But as possibly you would not care to part with your ready money, and as I do not think that it would be quite handsome in me to accept it, I will compound for the payment and take it in attention and practice. Pray remember to part with all your friends, acquaintances, and mistresses, if you have any, at Paris, in such a manner as to make them not only willing but impatient to see you there again. Assure them of your desire of returning to them, and do it in a manner that they may think you an earnest, that is, avec encien est une espèce d'attendissement. All people say, pretty near the same things upon those occasions, it is the manner only that makes the difference, and that difference is great. Avoid, however, as much as you can, charging yourself with commissions, in your return from hence to Paris. I know by experience that they are exceedingly troublesome, commonly expensive, and very seldom satisfactory at last, to the persons who gave them. Some you cannot refuse, to people to whom you are obliged, and would oblige in your turn. But as to common fiddle-faddle commissions, you may excuse yourself from them with truth, by saying that you are to return to Paris through Flanders, and see all those great towns, which I intend you shall do, and stay a week or ten days at Brussels. Adieu. A good journey to you if this is my last, if not I can repeat again what I shall wish constantly. My dear friend, you are now entered upon a scene of business, where I hope you will one day make a figure. Use does a great deal, but care and attention must be joined to it. The first thing necessary in writing letters of business is extreme clearness and perspicuity. Every paragraph should be so clear and unambiguous that the dullest fellow in the world may not be able to mistake it, nor oblige to read it twice in order to understand it. This necessary clearness implies a correctness without excluding an elegance of style. Tropes, figures, antitheses, epigrams, etc., would be as misplaced and as impertinent in letters of business as they are sometimes, if judiciously used, proper and pleasing in familiar letters upon common and trite subjects. In business and elegant simplicity the result of care not of labour is required. Business must be well, not effectively dressed, but by no means negligently. Let your first attention be to clearness and read every paragraph after you have written it, in the critical view of discovering whether it is possible that any one man can mistake the true sense of it, and correct it accordingly. Our pronouns and relatives often create obscurity or ambiguity. Be therefore exceedingly attentive to them, and take care to mark out with precision their particular relations. For example, Mr. Johnson acquainted me that he had seen Mr. Smith, who had promised him to speak to Mr. Clark, to return him, Mr. Johnson, those papers, which he, Mr. Smith, had left some time ago with him, Mr. Clark. It is better to repeat a name though unnecessarily ten times than to have the person mistaken once. Who, you know, is singly relative to persons and cannot be applied to things, which and that are chiefly relative to things, but not absolutely exclusive of persons, for one may say, the man that robbed or killed such a one, but it is better to say the man who robbed or killed. One never says the man or woman which. Which and that, though chiefly relative to things, cannot be always used indifferently as to things, and the Iovaca must sometimes determine their place. For instance, the letter which I received from you, which you referred to in your last, which came by Lord Abimaro's messenger, which I showed to such a one, I would change it thus. The letter that I received from you, which you referred to in your last, that came by Lord Abimaro's messenger, which I showed to such a one. Business does not exclude, as possibly you wish it did, the usual terms of politeness and good breeding, but on the contrary strictly requires them, such as, I have the honor to acquaint your lordship, permit me to assure you, if I may be allowed to give my opinion, etc. For the minister abroad who writes to the minister at home writes to his superior, possibly to his patron, or at least to one who he desires should be so. Letters of business will not only admit of, but be the better for certain graces, but then they must be scattered with a sparing and skillful hand. They must fit their place exactly. They must decently adorn without encumbering, and modestly shine without glaring. But as this is the utmost degree of perfection in letters of business, I would not advise you to attempt those embellishments, till you have first laid your foundation well. Cardinal Dussat's letters are the true letters of business. Those of Monsieur Davaut are excellent. Sir William Temples are very pleasing, but I fear too affected. Carefully avoid all Greek or Latin quotations, and bring no precedents from the virtuous Spartans, the polite Athenians, and the brave Romans. Leave all that to futile pedants. No flourishes, no declamation. But I repeat it again, there is an elegant simplicity and dignity of style absolutely necessary for good letters of business. Attend to that carefully. Let your periods be harmonious, without seeming to be labored, and let them not be too long, for that always occasions a degree of obscurity. I should not mention correct orthography, but that you very often fail in that particular, which will bring ridicule upon you, for no man is allowed to spell ill. I wish too that your handwriting were much better, and I cannot conceive why it is not, since every man may certainly write whatever hand he pleases. Neatness in folding up, sealing, and directing your packets is by no means to be neglected, though I daresay you think it is. But there is something in the exterior, even of a packet, that may please or displease, and consequently worth some attention. You say that your time is very well employed, and so it is, though as yet only in the outlines and first routine of business. They are previously necessary to be known. They smooth the way for parts and dexterity. Business requires no conjuration nor supernatural talents, as people unacquainted with it are apt to think. Method, diligence and discretion will carry a man of good strong common sense, much higher than the finest parts without them can do. Parnagotius Nequisupra is the true character of a man of business, but then it implies ready attention and no absences, and a flexibility and versatility of attention from one object to another, without being engrossed by any one. Be upon your guard against the pedantry and affectation of business which young people are apt to fall into, from the pride of being concerned in it young. They look thoughtful, complain of the weight of business, throw out mysterious hints, and seem big with secrets which they do not know. Do you, on the contrary, never talk of business but to those with whom you are to transact it, and learn to seem vacuous and idle when you have the most business. Of all things, the Volte Scoliollo and the Pencieri Stretti are necessary. Adjou.