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THE   SCOTT   LIBRARY. 


CHESTERFIELD'S  LETTERS. 


OCT  -  5  < 


FOR    FULL   LIST  OF   THE   VOLUMES   IN   THIS   SERIES, 
SEE   CATALOGUE   AT   END  OF   BOOK. 


LETTERS  WRITTEN  BY  LORD 
CHESTERFIELD  TO  HIS  SON. 
SELECTED  BY  CHARLES  SAYLE. 


THE  WALTER   SCOTT   PUBLISHING  CO.,  LTD. 

LONDON   AND   FELLING-ON-TYNE. 

NEW  YORK:  j  EAST  i4TH  STREET. 


LORD  CHESTERFIELD. 

Born         .»••..,.,  1694 

Goes  to  Cambridge    ......  1712 

Goes  abroad         .......  1714 

Gentleman  of  the  Bed-chamber  to  the  Prince  of  Wales         .  1715 

M.  P.  for  S.  Ger mains      ......  1715 

Votes  for  the  Schism  Bill      .            .            .            .            .  1718 

Cap  tain  of  the  Yeoman  of  the  Guards      ....  1723 

Refuses  the  Red  Ribbon        .....  1725 

Becomes  Earl  of  Chesterfield       .  .  .  .  .1726 

Sent  as  Ambassador  to  Holland        ....  1728 

High  Steward  of  His  Majesty's  Household         .           .            .  1730 
Philip  Stanhope  born            .            .1731 

Married    .                         1733 

Dismissed      .            .    - 1733 

Goes  abroad  for  a  year     ......  1741 

Ambassador  to  Holland         .  1745 

Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland          .  1745 

Retires           .                         .....  1748 

Reforms  the  Calendar      .  .  ,  .  .  '.1751 

Becomes  deaf             ......  1752 

Philip  Stanhope,  M.P.  for  Liskeard  1754 

Philip  Stanhope  at  Ratisbon       ,  1763 

Philip  Stanhope  envoy  at  Dresden    .  1764 

Philip  Stanhope  dies       .         '  t>  1768 

Dies '          •  1773 


He  who  intends  t'  advise  the  young  and  gay, 
Must  quit  the  common  road — the  former  way 
Which  hum  drum  pedants  take  to  make  folks  wise, 
By  praising  virtue,  and  decrying  vice. 
Let  Parsons  tell  what  dreadful  ills  will  fall 
On  such  as  listen  when  their  passions  call : 
We,  from  such  things  our  pupils  to  affright, 
8ay  not  they're  sins,  but  that  they're  unpolite." 

[Lieut.-Col.  JAMEP  FOBHESTER.] 


PREFATORY  NOTE. 


IT  is  a  singular  fate  that  has  overtaken  Lord  Chesterfield. 
One  of  the  more  important  figures  in  the  political 
world  of  his  time;  one  of  the  few  Lord-Lieutenants 
of  Ireland  whose  name  was  afterwards  respected  and 
admired ;  the  first  man  to  introduce  Voltaire  and  Montes- 
quieu to  England;  and  the  personal  acquaintance  of  men 
like  Addison  and  Swift,  Pope  and  Bolingbroke ;  the  ally  of 
Pitt,  and  the  enemy  of  three  Georges  ;  though  he  married  a 
king's  daughter  and  took  up  the  task  of  the  world's  greatest 
emperor :  yet  the  record  of  his  actions  has  passed  away,  and 
he  is  remembered  now  only  by  an  accident. 

Lord  Chesterfield  lives  by  that  which  he  never  intended 
for  publication,  while  that  which  he  published  has  already 
passed  from  the  thoughts  of  men.  It  is  one  more  example 
of  the  fact  that  our  best  work  is  that  which  is  our  heart's 
production.  We  have  Lord  Chesterfield's  secret,  and  it 
bears  witness  to  the  strength  of  that  part  of  him  in  which 
an  intellectual  anatomist  has  declared  him  to  be  deficient 
— a  criticism  which  is  but  another  proof  of  that  which  has 
been  somewhere  said  of  him,  that  he  has  had  the  fate  to  be 
generally  misunderstood.  Yet  nothing  is  more  certain  than 
that  Lord  Chesterfield  did  not  mean  to  be  anything  but 
inscrutable.  "  Dissimilation  is  a  shield,"  he  used  to  say, 
"as  secrecy  is  armour."  "A  young  fellow  ought  to  be 
wiser  than  he  should  seem  to  be,  and  an  old  fellow  ought  to 


viii  PREFATOR  Y  NOTE. 

seem  wise  whether  he  really  be  so  or  not."  It  is  still  worth 
while  attempting  to  solve  the  problem  which  is  offered 
to  us  by  his  inscrutability,  not  only  on  its  own  account,  but 
because  Lord  Chesterfield  is  a  representative  spirit  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  * 


Philip  Dormer  Stanhope  did  not  experience  in  his  youth 
either  of  those  influences  which  are  so  important  in  the  lives 
of  most  of  us.  His  mother  died  before  he  could  know  her, 
and  his  father  was  one  of  those  living  nonentities  whom  his 
biographer  sums  up  in  saying  that  '  We  know  little  more  of 
him  than  that  he  was  an  Earl  of  Chesterfield.'  Indeed, 
what  influence  there  may  have  been  was  of  a  negative 
kind,  for  he  had,  if  anything,  an  avowed  dislike  for  his  son. 
Naturally  under  these  conditions  he  had  to  endure  the 
slings  and  arrows  of  fortune  alone  and  uncounselled.  One 
domestic  influence  was  allowed  him  in  the  mother  of  his 
mother,  whose  face  still  looks  out  at  us  from  the  pages  of 
Dr.  Maty,  engraved  by  Bartolozzi  from  the  original  of  Sir 
Peter  Lely — a  face  sweet,  intellectual,  open — over  the  title 
of  Gertrude  Savile,  Marchioness  of  Halifax.  She  it  was 
who  undertook,  at  any  rate  to  some  small  degree,  the 
rearing  of  her  daughter's  child  Lord  Chesterfield  is  rather 
a  Savile  than  a  Stanhope. 

He  heard  French  from  a  Normandy  nurse  in  his  cradle, 
and  he  received,  when  he  grew  a  little  older,  "such  a 

*  The  greatest  English  writer  of  the  present  day  thus  sums  up  the 
eighteenth  century  : — "  An  age  of  which  Hoadly  was  the  bishop,  and 
Walpole  the  minister,  and  Pope  the  poet,  and  Chesterfield  the  wit,  and 
Tillotson  the  ruling  doctor." — Newman,  Essays  Critical  and  Historical^ 
i.  388. 


PREFATORY  NOTE.  in 

general  idea  of  the  sciences  as  it  is  a  disgrace  to  a  gentleman 
not  to  possess."  But  it  is  not  till  he  gets  to  Cambridge 
at  the  age  of  eighteen  that  we  hear  anything  definite.  He 
writes  to  his  tutor  of  former  days,  whom  he  seems  to  have 
made  a  real  friend,  from  Trinity  Hall : — 

"I  find  the  college  where  I  am  infinitely  the  best  in  the 
University ;  for  it  is  the  smallest,  and  filled  with  lawyers  who 
have  lived  in  the  world,  and  know  how  to  behave.  Whatever 
may  be  said  to  the  contrary,  there  is  certainly  very  little 
debauchery  in  the  university,  especially  amongst  people  of 
fashion,  for  a  man  must  have  the  inclinations  of  a  porter  to 
endure  it  here." 

Thirty-six  years  later  he  draws  for  his  son  this  picture  of 
his  college-life : — 

'*  As  I  make  no  difficulty  of  confessing  my  past  errors,  where 
I  think  the  confession  may  be  of  use  to  you,  I  will  own  that, 
when  I  first  went  to  the  university,  I  drank  and  smoked, 
notwithstanding  the  aversion  I  had  to  wine  and  tobacco,  only 
because  I  thought  it  genteel,  and  that  it  made  me  look  a  man." 

This  touch  of  nature  it  is  interesting  to  find  in  one  who 
gave  so  much  to  the  Graces.  But  to  get  at  what  he  really 
did  we  may  take  the  following : — 

"  It  is  now,  Sir,  I  have  a  great  deal  of  business  upon  my 
hands  j  for  I  spend  an  hour  every  day  in  studying  civil  law, 
and  as  much  in  philosophy ;  and  next  week  the  blind  man  [Dr. 
Sanderson]  begins  his  lectures  upon  the  mathematics  ;  so  that 
I  am  now  fully  employed.  Would  you  believe,  too,  that  I  read 
Lucian  and  Xenophon  in  Greek,  which  is  made  easy  to  me  ; 
for  I  do  not  take  the  pains  to  learn  the  grammatical  rules  ;  but 
the  gentleman  who  is  with  me,  and  who  is  a  living  grammar, 
teaches  me  them  all  as  I  go  along.  I  reserve  time  for  playing 
at  tennis,  for  I  wish  to  have  the  corpus  sanum  as  well  as  the 
mens  sana  :  I  think  the  one  is  not  good  for  much  without  the 
other.  As  for  anatomy,  I  shall  not  have  an  opportunity  of 


x  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

learning  it ;  for  though  a  poor  man  has  been  hanged,  the 
surgeon  who  used  to  perform  those  operations  would  not  this 
year  give  any  lectures,  because,  he  says,  .  .  .  the  scholars 
will  not  come. 

"  Methinks  our  affairs  are  in  a  very  bad  way,  but  as  I 
cannot  mend  them,  I  meddle  very  little  in  politics ;  only  I 
take  a  pleasure  in  going  sometimes  to  the  coffee  house  to 
see  the  pitched  battles  that  are  fought  between  the  heroes  of 
each  party  with  inconceivable  bravery,  and  are  usually  ter- 
minated by  the  total  defeat  of  a  few  tea-cups  on  both  sides."* 

He  only  stayed  in  Cambridge  two  years,  and  then 
travelled  abroad  to  Flanders  and  Holland.  He  had  just 
left  the  Hague  when  the  news  reached  him  across  the 
water  which  only  then  was  not  stale — Queen  Anne  was 
dead. 

It  was  the  turning-point  of  his  career,  for  his  great- 
uncle,  who  had  influence  and  position  at  the  court, 
obtained  for  him  from  George  I.  the  post  of  Gentleman 
of  the  Bed-chamber  to  the  Prince  of  Wales.  At  the 
same  time  he  obtained  a  pocket-borough  in  Cornwall, 
and  appeared  in  the  House  of  Commons.  He  was  not 
yet  of  age,  of  which  fact  a  friend  in  the  opposition  politely 
and  quietly  informed  him  after  he  had  made  his  first 
speech.  He  was,  therefore,  not  only  debarred  from  voting, 
but  liable  to  a  fine  of  ^500.  He  made  a  low  bow,  left 
the  House,  and  posted  straightway  to  Paris. 

He  was  not  there  long.  Advancing  months  soon 
removed  the  objection  of  age,  and  we  find  him  again 
frequently  in  the  House.  His  position  on  the  Schism 
and  Occasional  Conformity  Bills  was  one  which  he  him- 
self in  after  years  regretted.  He  was  still,  however, 

*  For  another,  very  different,  view  of  the  life  and  studies  at 
Cambridge  at  the  time,  see  the  Life  of  Ambrose  Bonwicke  (1694-1714). 


PREFATORY  NOTE.  xi 

swimming  with  the  stream,  and  the  stream  led  on  to 
fortune.  In  1723  he  was  made  Captain  of  the  Yeomen 
of  the  Guards,  and  two  years  later,  when  the  Order  of  the 
Bath  was  revived,  was  offered  by  the  king  the  red  ribbon. 
But  this  he  refused;  and  not  contented  with  so  much 
discourtesy,  objected  to  others  accepting  it  He  wrote  a 
ballad  on  Sir  William  Morgan,  who  had  received  the 
same  offer.  The  ballad  came  to  the  ears  of  the  king; 
and  for  this,  or  for  other  reasons,  Stanhope  the  courtier 
lost  his  place. 

At  this  juncture  two  changes  took  place,  to  him  of 
equal  importance.  George  I.  died  and  brought  Stanhope's 
former  master  to  the  throne;  and  Lord  Chesterfield  died, 
leaving  his  son  his  title.  The  latter  event  raised  him  to 
the  House  of  Lords — the  ^Hospital  for  Incurables,  as 
Lord  Chesterfield  calls  it.  The  former  should  have 
raised  him  to  higher  office  still;  but  that  policy  of 
scheming  for  which  Lord  Chesterfield  has  become  almost 
as  famous  as  Macchiavelli  in  this  case  played  him  false. 
Believing  that  where  marriage  begins,  love,  as  a  necessary 
consequence,  ends,  he  had  paid  all  his  attentions  to  the 
new  king's  mistress,  while  he  was  still  Prince  of  Wales, 
and  none  to  his  queen.  And  Caroline  of  Anspach  took 
precaution  that  when  George  II.  came  to  the  throne  the 
courtier's  negligence  should  be  treated  as  it  deserved. 
Thus  at  the  age  of  thirty-three,  while  still  a  young  man, 
Chesterfield  was  cut  off  from  the  Court:  and  he  was 
already  in  opposition  to  Walpole.  The  King  as  a  subter- 
fuge offered  him  the  post  of  Ambassador  to  Holland, 
and  the  offended  courtier  was  thus  removed.  But 
political  events  were  moving  rapidly,  and  in  two  years' 
time  it  was  rumoured  that  Chesterfield  would  be  reinstated 
in  favour.  The  King,  however,  was  still  obdurate,  and 


xii  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

instead  of  Secretary  of  State  he  was  made  High  Steward 
of  the  Household.  Chesterfield  remained  in  Holland, 
gambling,  and  watching  events.  "I  find  treating  with 
two  hundred  sovereigns  of  different  tempers  and  pro- 
fessions," he  writes,  "is  as  laborious  as  treating  with  one 
fine  woman,  who  is  at  least  of  two  hundred  minds  in 
one  day." 

The  game  went  on  for  a  year  more.  Then  he  was  by 
his  own  wish  recalled.  On  the  2nd  of  May  of  this  same 
year  he  was  presented  with  a  son  by  a  Mme.  Du  JBouchet. 
"A  beautiful  young  lady  at  the  Hague,"  says  one  writer, 
"set  her  wits  against  his  and  suffered  the  usual  penalty; 
she  fell,  and  this  son  was  the  result."  This  son  was 
the  object  of  all  Lord  Chesterfield's  care  and  affectidh. 
It  was  to  him  that  his  now  famous  letters  were  written. 
The  father  we  find,  on  his  return  to  England,  in  the  House 
talking  indefatigably  as  ever.  It  was  the  year  of  Walpole's 
Excise  Bill  which  was  to  have  freed  the  country  by  changing 
the  system  of  taxation  from  direct  to  indirect  methods.  It 
was  a  good  measure  and  a  just  one.  Every  part  of 
Walpole's  scheme  has  been  since  carried  into  effect.  But 
then  there  was  a  general  cry  raised  against  it.  The  liberties 
of  the  people,  it  was  said,  were  being  attacked.  Chester- 
field, with  the  rest  of  the  Patriots,  and  with  the  country 
behind  them,  fought  hard,  and  the  Bill  was  dropped 
(nth  April  1731).  Two  days  afterwards,  going  up  the 
steps  of  S.  James's  Palace,  he  was  stopped  by  a  servant 
in  the  livery  of  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  who  told  him  that 
his  master  must  see  him  immediately.  He  drove  off  at 
once  in  the  Duke's  carriage,  and  found  that  he  was  to 
surrender  the  White  Staff.  He  demanded  an  audience  at 
Court,  obtained  it,  and  was  snubbed.  Of  course  he  left  it 
immediately. 


PREFATORY  NOTE.  xiii 

We  could  have  wished  perhaps  that  Lord  Chesterfield's 
affection  and  character  had  prevented  him  from  falling — 
especially  so  soon  after  the  affair  at  the  Hague — into  so 
unpraiseworthy  an  undertaking  as  a  manage  de  con- 
venance.  Yet  whether  it  was  to  spite  his  royal  enemy, 
or  because  in  financial  difficulties  he  remembered  the 
existence  of  the  will  of  George  I. — or  even  from  love ;  at 
any  rate  in  the  following  year  he  married,  in  lawful  wedlock, 
Melusina  de  Schulenberg,  whom,  though  merely  the 
"  niece  "  of  the  Duchess  of  Kendale,  George  the  First  had 
thought  fit  to  create  Lady  Walsingham  and  the  possessor 
by  his  will  of  ,£2 0,000.  Scandal  or  truth  has  been  very 
busy  about  the  relationship  of  Lady  Walsingham  and  her 
aunt.  Posterity  openly  declares  her  to  have  been  the 
daughter  of  that  lady  by  a  royal  sire.  But  good  Dr.  Maty, 
as  though  by  the  quantity  of  his  information,  wishing  to 
override  its  quality,  tells  us  that  her  father  was  none  other 
than  one  "Frederick  Achatz  de  Schulenburg,  privy 
counsellor  to  the  Duke  of  Brunswick-Lunenburg,  Lord  of 
Stehler,  Bezendorff,  Angern,"  etc.  But  we  may  well 
remember  Lord  Chesterfield's  own  words  here:  "It  is  a 
happy  phrase  that  a  lady  has  presented  her  husband  with  a 
son,  for  this  does  not  admit  anything  of  its  parentage." 
Anyhow  Lord  Chesterfield  lost  the  money,  for  George  the 
Second,  on  being  shown  his  father's  will  by  the  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury,  put  it  in  his  pocket  and  walked  hastily  out 
of  the  room.  It  never  was  seen  again. 

But  to  have  quarrelled  with  George  II.  had  one  recom- 
mendation. It  made  him  a  friend  of  the  Prince  of  Wales. 
No  sooner  was  Lord  Chesterfield  married  than  the  Prince 
and  Princess  sent  round  their  cards,  and  the  rest  of  their 
Court,  of  course,  followed  them.  It  seems  to  have  been 
Lord  Chesterfield's  fate  to  be  opposed  to  the  reigning 


xiv  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

power.      His   opposition  now,  however,  was   quite   spon- 
taneous. 

We  need  not  follow  him  through  all  the  political  entangle- 
ments of  the  time.  Smollett  said  of  him  that  he  was  the 
only  man  of  genius  employed  under  Walpole,  and  though 
history  has  hardly  justified  such  praise,  yet  it  certainly 
illustrates  a  truth.  We  may  take  his  speech  in  1737  against 
the  Playhouse  Bill  as  a  sample  of  his  oratory.  I  borrow 
from  Lord  Mahon : — 

*  [The  speech]  contains  many  eloquent  predictions,  that, 
should  the  Bill  be  enacted,  the  ruin  of  liberty  and   the 
introduction   of  despotism  would  inevitably   follow.     Yet 
even  Chesterfield  owns  that  "he  has  observed  of  late   a 
remarkable  licentiousness  in  the  stage.     In  one  play  very 
lately  acted  (Pasquin*)  the  author  thought  fit  to  represent 
the  three   great   professions,  religion,  physic,  and   law  as 
inconsistent  with  common  sense ;  in  another  (King  Charles 
the  Firstf),  a  most   tragical   story  was  brought  upon   the 
stage, — a  catastrophe  too  recent,  too  melancholy,  and  of  too 
solemn  a  nature,  to  be  heard  of  anywhere  but  from  the 
pulpit.     How  these  pieces  came  to  pass  unpunished,  I  do 
not   know.  .  .  .  The   Bill,   my   Lords,   may    seem   to   be 
designed  only  against    the    stage ;    but   to   me  it  plainly 
appears    to  point   somewhere   else.     It  is  an   arrow  that 
does  but  glance  upon  the  stage :  the  mortal  wound  seems 
designed    against  the  liberty  of  the  press.     By  this   Bill 
you   prevent   a  play's  being  acted,   but  you   do   not   pre- 
vent  it    being  printed.      Therefore   if    a    licence    should 
be  refused  for  its    being    acted,   we  may   depend   upon 
it   the  play   will    be   printed.      It    will    be    printed    and 

*  ["  Pasquin.     A  Dramatic  Satire  on  the  Times,  by  Henry  Field- 
ing.    Acted  at  the  Hay  market,  1736;  1740."     (Baker.).] 

t  ["  King  Charles  /.     Hist.  Tr.  by  W.  Havard,  1737."     (Ibid.).] 


PREFATORY  NOTE.  XT 

published,  my  Lords,  with  the  refusal,  in  capital  letters, 
upon  the  title-page.  People  are  always  fond  of  what  is  for- 
bidden. Libri  prohibiti  are,  in  all  countries,  diligently  and 
generally  sought  after.  It  will  be  much  easier  to  procure  a 
refusal  than  it  ever  was  to  procure  a  good  house  or  a  good 
sale ;  therefore  we  may  expect  that  plays  will  be  wrote  on 
purpose  to  have  a  refusal :  this  will  certainly  procure  a 
good  house  or  a  good  sale.  Thus  will  satires  be  spread 
and  dispersed  through  the  whole  nation ;  and  thus  every 
man  in  the  kingdom  may,  and  probably  will,  read  for 
sixpence  what  a  few  only  could  have  seen  acted  for  half 
a  crown.  We  shall  then  be  told,  What !  will  you  allow 
an  infamous  libel  to  be  printed  and  dispersed,  which  you 
will  not  allow  to  be  acted  ?  If  we  agree  to  the  Bill  now 
before  us,  we  must,  perhaps,  next  session,  agree  to  a  Bill 
for  preventing  any  plays  being  printed  without  a  licence. 
Then  satires  will  be  wrote  by  way  of  novels,  secret  histories, 
dialogues,  or  under  some  such  title;  and  thereupon  we 
shall  be  told,  What !  will  you  allow  an  infamous  libel  to  be 
printed  and  dispersed,  only  because  it  does  not  bear  the 
title  of  a  play?  Thus,  my  Lords,  from  the  precedent  now 
before  us,  we  shall  be  induced,  nay,  we  can  find  no  reason 
for  refusing,  to  lay  the  press  under  a  general  licence,  and 
then  we  may  bid  adieu  to  the  liberties  of  Great  Britain."  '  * 
Of  course  it  is  impossible  from  single  passages,  even  perhaps 
from  single  speeches,  to  infer  that  he  was  ever  a  great 
orator,  but  Horace  Walpole  has  declared  one  of  his 
speeches  the  finest  that  he  had  ever  listened  to,  and,  as 
Lord  Mahon  justly  observes,  "  Horace  Walpole  had  heard 
his  own  father ;  had  heard  Pitt ;  had  heard  Pulteney ;  had 

*  Chesterfield  says  he  had  been  accustomed  to  read  and  translate 
the  great  masterpieces  to  improve  and  form  his  style.  His  indebted- 
ness to  Milton  in  his  Arcopagitica  in  the  above  passage  is  obvious. 


xvi  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

heard  Windham;  had  heard  Carteret;  yet  he  declares  in 
1743  that  the  finest  speech  he  had  ever  listened  to  was  one 
from  Lord  Chesterfield." 

He  was,  with  the  other  'Patriots,'  in  clamouring  for  war 
with  Spain,  pursuing  Walpole  with  an  opposition  which 
has  been  characterised  as  "more  factious  and  unprincipled 
than  any  that  had  ever  disgraced  English  politics  "  (Green). 
In  1739,  it  will  be  remembered,  Walpole  bowed  to  the 
storm.  The  following  extract  from  An  Ode  to  a  Number 
of  Great  Men^  published  in  1742,  will  show  underneath 
its  virulence  who  were  expected  to  take  the  lead : — 

"  But  first  to  C[arteret]  fain  you'd  sing, 
Indeed  he's  nearest  to  the  king, 

Yet  careless  how  to  use  him, 
Give  him,  I  beg,  no  labour'd  lays, 
He  will  but  promise  if  you  praise, 

And  laugh  if  you  abuse  him. 

"  Then  (but  there's  a  vast  space  betwixt) 
The  new-made  E[arl]  of  B[ath]  comes  next, 

Stiff  in  his  popular  pride  : 
His  step,  his  gait  describe  the  man, 
They  paint  him  better  than  I  can, 

Wabbling  from  side  to  side. 

"  Each  hour  a  different  face  he  wears, 
Now  in  a  fury,  now  in  tears, 

Now  laughing,  now  in  sorrow, 
Now  he'll  command,  and  now  obey, 
Bellows  for  liberty  to-day, 

And  roars  for  power  to-morrow. 

"  At  noon  the  Tories  had  him  tight, 
With  staunchest  Whigs  he  supped  at  night, 

Each  party  thought  to  have  won  him  : 
But  he  himself  did  so  divide, 
Shuffled  and  cut  from  side  to  side, 

That  now  both  parties  shun  him. 


PR EFA  TOR  Y  NOTE.  xvii 


"  More  changes,  better  times  this  isle 
Demands,  oh !  Chesterfield,  Argyll, 

To  bleeding  Britain  bring  'em  ; 
Unite  all  hearts,  appease  each  storm, 
'Tis  yours  such  actions  to  perform, 

My  pride  shall  be  to  sing  'em." 

Affairs  in  Holland  again  compelled  him  to  seek  that 
Court,  and  it  is  thence  that  he  was  summoned  to  Ireland  in 
1744.  "Make  Chenevix  an  Irish  Bishop,"  he  had  written. 
"We  cannot,"  was  the  reply,  "but  any  other  condition." 
"  Then  make  me  Lord-Lieutenant,"  he  wrote  back.  They 
took  him  at  his  word,  and  Chenevix  soon  obtained  his 
place. 

Chesterfield  had  always  looked  forward  to  the  post 
with  longing.  "  I  would  rather  be  called  the  Irish  Lord- 
Lieutenant,"  he  had  said,  "than  go  down  to  Posterity  as 
the  Lord-Lieutenant  of  Ireland."  It  was,  as  has  been  truly 
observed,  the  most  brilliant  and  useful  part  of  his  career. 
I  shall  be  pardoned  for  quoting  again  from  Mahon.  "  It 
was  he  who  first,  since  the  revolution,  had  made  that  office 
a  post  of  active  exertion.  Only  a  few  years  before  the 
Earl  of  Shrewsbury  had  given  as  a  reason  for  accepting 
it,  that  it  was  a  place  where  a  man  had  business  enough 
to  hinder  him  from  falling  asleep,  and  not  enough  to  keep 
him  awake.  Chesterfield,  on  the  contrary,  left  nothing 
undone  nor  for  others  to  do.  ...  [He]  was  the  first  to 
introduce  in  Dublin  the  principle  of  impartial  justice.  It 
is  very  easy,  as  was  formerly  the  case,  to  chose  the  great 
Protestant  families  as  managers ;  to  see  only  through  their 
eyes,  and  to  hear  only  through  their  ears ;  it  is  very  easy, 
according  to  the  modern  fashion,  to  become  the  tool  and 
the  champion  of  Roman  Catholic  agitators;  but  to  hold 

2 


xviii  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

the  balance  even  between  both :  to  protect  the  Establish- 
ment, yet  never  wound  religious  liberty;  to  repress  the 
lawlessness,  yet  not  chill  the  affection  of  that  turbulent 
but  warm-hearted  people ;  to  be  the  arbiter,  not  the  slave 
of  parties;  this  is  the  true  object  worthy  that  a  states- 
man should  strive  for,  and  fit  only  for  the  ablest  to  attain ! 
'I  came  determined,'  writes  Chesterfield  many  years  after- 
wards, 'to  proscribe  no  set  of  persons  whatever;  and 
determined  to  be  governed  by  none.  Had  the  Papists 
made  any  attempt  to  put  themselves  above  the  law,  I  should 
have  taken  good  care  to  have  quelled  them  again.  It  was 
said  that  my  lenity  to  the  Papists  had  wrought  no  alteration, 
either  in  their  religion  or  political  sentiments.  I  did  not 
expect  that  it  would  :  but  surely  there  was  no  reason  of 
cruelty  towards  them.'  ...  So  able  were  the  measures  of 
Chesterfield;  so  clearly  did  he  impress  upon  the  public 
mind  that  his  moderation  was  not  weakness,  nor  his 
clemency  cowardice,  but  that,  to  quote  his  own  words, 
'his  hand  should  be  as  heavy  as  Cromwell's  upon  them 
if  they  once  forced  him  to  raise  it.'  So  well  did  he  know 
how  to  scare  the  timid,  while  conciliating  the  generous, 
that  this  alarming  period  [1745]  passed  over  with  a  degree 
of  tranquillity  such  as  Ireland  has  not  often  displayed  even 
in  orderly  and  settled  times.  This  just  and  wise — wise 
because  just — administration  has  not  failed  to  reward  him 
with  its  meed  of  fame ;  his  authority  has,  I  find,  been 
appealed  to  even  by  those  who,  as  I  conceive,  depart 
most  widely  from  his  maxims ;  and  his  name,  I  am  assured, 
lives  in  the  honoured  remembrance  of  the  Irish  people,  as 
perhaps,  next  to  Ormond,  the  best  and  worthiest  in  their 
long  Viceregal  line." 

We  know  that  it  was  a  complete  success,  so  far  as  it 
went.     But  he  held  the  post  only  for  four  years.     He  had 


PREFATORY  NOTE.  xix 

held  the  highest  offices,  he  had  attained  his  highest  wishes : 
yet  his  membership  in  the  Cabinet  had  been  made  nominal 
rather  than  real,  and  his  power  was  ever  controlled  by  the 
hand  of  the  king.  Nowhere,  in  whatever  direction  he 
might  care  to  turn  his  eyes  along  the  political  landscape, 
could  he  see  anything  but  what  was  rotten  and  revolting. 
In  1748  he  retired. 

We  cannot  call  his  political  career  an  unsuccessful  one. 
It  was  probably  as  brilliant  as  it  was  possible  for  a  man 
of  his  parts  to  enjoy.  He  was  a  good  talker  and  an 
incomparable  ambassador.  His  action  in  Holland  had 
permanent  influence  on  the  politics  of  Europe.  But 
indeed,  if  he  had  been  freed  from  the  opposition  of  a 
profligate  Court  and  all  that  it  entailed;  if,  as  has  been 
implied  by  some,  he  would  have  been  a  greater  man  had 
not  the  death  of  his  father  driven  him  into  the  House 
of  Lords;  if  he  would  then  have  risen  to  be  anything 
greater  than  a  second-rate  Minister:  this  we  may  doubt. 
Yet  we  are  not  entitled  to  draw  an  estimate  of  his  character 
before  we  have  studied  its  other  side. 

Chesterfield  did  not  entirely  give  up  attendance  or  even 
speaking  at  the  House,  but  his  energies  henceforward 
were  devoted  to  literary  rather  than  political  matters.  One 
further  act  he  performed  before  he  left  for  good;  he 
carried  out  three  years  later  the  reform  of  the  English 
Calendar,  an  account  of  which  he  gives  in  one  of  his  letters, 
and  I  cannot  equal  his  words.*  This  was  the  last  important 
public  event  in  his  life.  Next  year  he  was  attacked  with 
deafness,  which  incapacitated  him  of  necessity  from  affairs. 
It  does  not  seem  that  he  was  ever  very  sorry  to  leave 
them.  Ever  and  anon  the  old  political  fire  breaks  out, 
and  we  find  him  keeping  an  observant  eye  on  the  course 
*  Sec  Letter  CCXV.,  also  CCXII. 


xx  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

of  events.  But  he  was  thoroughly  despondent  of  the 
prestige  and  ascendancy  of  England  by  the  time  of  the 
outbreak  of  the  Seven  Years'  War.  "  Nation  ! "  he  had 
cried,  "  we  are  no  longer  a  nation."  We  find  him 
sympathising  with  Wilkes,  and  to  the  end  on  the  side  of 
Pitt.  But  about  1765  his  letters  begin  to  bear  the  mark 
of  decrepitude,  and  his  brains  to  be  unable  to  cope  with 
the  situations  that  arose. 

"  I  see  and  hear  these  storms  from  shore,  suave  man  magno^ 
&*c.  I  enjoy  my  own  security  and  tranquillity,  together  with 
better  health  than  I  have  reason  to  expect  at  my  age  and  with 
my  constitution  :  however  I  feel  a  gradual  decay,  though  a 
gentle  one  ;  and  I  think  I  shall  not  tumble,  but  slide  gently  to 
the  bottom  of  the  hill  of  life.  When  that  will  be  I  neither  know 
nor  care,  for  I  am  very  weary." 

And  in  the  following  August,  anticipating  alike  the  autumn 
of  his  life  and  of  the  year,  he  writes  :  — 

"  1  feel  this  beginning  of  the  autumn,  which  is  already 
very  cold;  the  leaves  are  withered,  fall  apace,  and  seem  to 
intimate  that  I  must  follow  them,  which  I  shall  do  without 
reluctance,  being  extremely  weary  of  this  silly  world."— (Letter 
CCCLV.) 

Yet  even  a  year  later  we  find  him  giving  dinner  parties 
to  the  Duke  of  Brunswick,  and  wishing  that  he  had  both 
the  monarchs  of  Austria  and  Prussia,  that  they  should, 
"together  with  some  of  their  allies,  take  Lorraine  and 
Alsace  from  France."  (Letter  CCCLXIV.)  For  a  few 
more  years  he  lingered  on,  gardening,  reading,  and  writing, 
and  then  in  1773,  almost  alone,  he  parted  with  "this  silly 
world." 


PREFATORY  NOTE.  xxi 

ii. 

I  have  omitted  from  this  sketch  of  Lord  Chesterfield's 
political  life  any  reference  to  the  literary  side  of  his 
character.  I  have,  however,  spoken  of  his  friendship  with 
Voltaire.  Voltaire  came  to  England  in  the  same  year  that 
Chesterfield's  father  died,  to  obtain,  among  other  things, 
a  publisher  for  the  Henriade.  Chesterfield  and  Bolingbroke 
at  once  took  him  up  and  introduced  him  into  high  places.* 
Voltaire  never  forgot  him  nor  the  services  which  he  had 
rendered;  and  one  of  the  most  charming  lights  thrown 
upon  the  end  of  Lord  Chesterfield's  career  is  in  a  letter 
from  the  old  sage  of  Ferney  to  his  friend  of  younger  days, 
now  grown  old  as  himself.  Chesterfield  was  always  a  great 
admirer  of  Voltaire's,  though  by  no  means  a  blind  one : — 

"  I  strongly  doubt,"  he  writes,  "  whether  it  is  permissible  for 
a  man  to  write  against  the  worship  and  belief  of  his  country, 
even  if  he  be  fully  persuaded  of  its  error,  on  account  of  the 
terrible  trouble  and  disorder  it  might  cause ;  but  I  am  sure  it 
is  in  no  wise  allowable  to  attack  the  foundations  of  true  morality, 
and  to  break  unnecessary  bonds  which  are  already  too  weak  to 
keep  men  in  the  path  of  duty." 

But  differences  upon  points  of  morality  and  religion  did  not 
prevent  his  having  an  immense  regard  for  Voltaire's  genius. 
There  is  yet  the  other  transaction  in  which  Lord  Chester- 
field was  engaged,  and  it  will  probably  be  as  long  re- 
membered against  him  as  the  letters, — his  ill-famed  treat- 
ment of  Dr.  Johnson.  It  is  too  well  known  how  Johnson 

*  It  is  just  possible,  though  I  have  nowhere  seen  it  affirmed,  that 
Voltaire  and  Chesterfield  may  have  met,  still  earlier,  in  Holland.  For 
in  1713  they  were  both  there.  Their  attainments  there  were  all 
but  parallel,  Voltaire  succumbing  to  a  fatal  passion  in  1713,  which  did 
not,  to  our  knowledge,  overtake  Chesterfield  till  his  second  visit  in 
1729. 


xxii  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

came  to  his  door,  and  how  Chesterfield,  who  could  never 
be  impolite,  received  the  ill-mannered  Doctor.  But  either 
the  Earl  objected  to  having  the  old  man  annoying  his 
guests  at  table,  or  else  he  was  not  sufficiently  pressing  with 
his  money ;  anyhow,  the  Doctor  felt  repelled,  left  off  calling, 
and  never  sought  another  patron.  Years  afterwards,  when 
he  brought  out  his  Dictionary  (1755),  there  was  a  letter  pre- 
fixed to  the  first  edition,  entitled  "  The  Blast  of  Doom,  pro- 
claiming that  patronage  shall  be  no  more."  Bos  well  solicited 
the  Doctor  for  many  years  to  give  him  a  copy,  but  he  did 
not  do  so  until  1781,  and  then  gave  it  from  memory : — 

"...  Seven  years,  my  lord,  have  passed  since  I  waited  in 
your  outward  rooms,  or  was  repulsed  from  your  door ;  during 
which  time  I  have  been  pushing  on  my  work  under  difficulties, 
of  which  it  is  useless  to  complain,  and  have  brought  it  to  the 
verge  of  publication  without  one  act  of  assistance,  one  word  of 
encouragement,  or  one  smile  of  favour.  Such  treatment  I  did 
not  expect ;  for  I  never  had  a  patron  before.  .  .  . 

"  Is  not  a  patron,  my  lord,  one  who  looks  with  unconcern  on 
a  man  struggling  for  life  in  the  water,  and,  when  he  has  reached 
ground,  encumbers  him  with  help  ?  The  notice  you  have  been 
pleased  to  take  of  my  labours,  had  it  been  early,  had  been, 
kind ;  but  it  has  been  delayed  till  I  am  indifferent,  and  cannot 
enjoy  it ;  till  I  am  solitary  and  cannot  impart  it ;  till  I  am 
known  and  do  not  want  it.  I  hope  it  is  no  very  cynical  asperity 
not  to  confess  obligations,  where  no  benefit  has  been  received  ; 
or  to  be  unwilling  that  the  publick  should  consider  me  as  owing 
that  to  a  patron  which  providence  has  enabled  me  to  do  for  myself. 

"  Having  carried  on  my  work  thus  far,  with  so  little  obligation 
to  any  favourer  of  learning,  I  shall  not  be  disappointed,  though 
I  should  conclude  it,  if  possible,  with  less ;  for  I  have  been  long 
wakened  from  that  dream  of  hope  in  which  I  once  boasted 
myself  with  so  much  exaltation,  my  lord,  your  lordship's  most 
humble  and  most  obedient  servant, 

SAMUEL  JOHNSON." 


PREFATORY  NOTE.  xxiii 

Such  a  transaction  is  but  little  to  the  praise  of  Lord 
Chesterfield,  who  would  have  posed  as  the  Maecenas  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  But  there  the  matter  rests.  It  is 
another  proof  of  what  the  Earl  was  not,  but  with  the 
slightest  bend  of  his  body  might  have  been.  He  lost  the 
Dedication  to  one  of  the  greatest  achievements  of  the  time. 


in. 

Let  us  turn  to  Lord  Chesterfield's  son.  Sainte-Beuve 
says  of  him — he  was  "  one  of  those  ordinary  men  of  the 
world  of  whom  it  suffices  to  say  there  is  nothing  to  be 
said."  But  there  is  so  much  melancholy  interest  attaching 
to  his  history  that  we  may  well  try  to  discern  some  of  the 
features  of  the  youth.  No  portrait  of  Philip  Stanhope,  so 
far  as  I  am  aware,  has  ever  been  given  to  the  public, 
though  we  know  from  his  father's  letters  that  one,  if  not 
more  than  one,  was  executed  at  Venice  during  his  stay 
there,  so  that  I  am  unable,  as  yet,  to  surmise  anything 
from  physical  feature  of  form  and  angle.  We  know  that 
his  father  sent  him  to  Westminster  school,  and  that  there 
he  was  slovenly  and  dirty.  Of  his  intellectual  qualities  we 
hear  nothing.  ±iisTaflfeifs  letter  to  the  boy,  then  sixteen, 
is  subtle : — 

"  Since  you  do  not  care  to  be  an  Assessor  of  the  Imperial 
Chamber,  and  desire  an  establishment  in  England,  what  do  you 
think  of  being  Greek  Professor  at  one  of  our  Universities?  It 
is  a  very  pretty  sinecure,  and  requires  very  little  knowledge 
(much  less  than,  I  hope,  you  have  already)  of  that  language. 
If  you  do  not  approve  of  this,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  what  else 
to  propose  to  you." 

The  old  earl,  six  months  later,  added  as  follows : — 


xxiv  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

"  The  end  I  propose  by  your  education,  and  which  (if  you 
please)  I  shall  certainly  attain,  is,  to  unite  in  you  all  the  know- 
ledge of  a  scholar,  with  the  manners  of  a  courtier,  and  to  join 
'  what  is  seldom  joined  in  any  of  my  countrymen,  Books  and  the 
Worhk  They  are  commonly  twenty  years  old  before  they  have 
spoken  to  anybody  above  their  schoolmaster,  and  the  Fellows 
of  their  College.  If  they  happen  to  have  learning,  it  is  only 
Greek  and  Latin ;  but  not  one  word  of  Modern  History  or 
Modern  Languages.  Thus  prepared,  they  go  abroad,  as  they 
'call  it;  but,  in  truth,  they  stay  at  home  all  that  while;  for, 
being  very  awkward,  confoundedly  ashamed,  and  not  speaking 
the  languages,  they  go  into  no  foreign  company,  at  least  none 
good,  but  dine  and  sup  with  one  another  at  the  tavern.  Such 
example,  I  am  sure  you  will  not  imitate,  but  carefully  avoid." 

Young  Stanhope  went  abroad  with  a  tutor,  Mr.  Harte,  to 
the  chief  towns,  first,  of  Germany,  followed  everywhere  by 
letters  from  his  father,  though,  as  his  father  says  in  one  of 
them,  "  God  knows  whether  to  any  purpose  or  not."  He 
never  escaped  from  the  paternal  care.  Wherever  you  are 
"  I  have  Arguses  with  a  hundred  eyes,"  his  father  told  him. 
The  boy  was  affectionately  fond  of  his  father,  though  he  did 
not  inherit  his  father's  epistolary  taste.  Yet  we  find  him 
on  corresponding  terms  with  Lady  Chesterfield.  He  was 
inclined  to  be  stout,  a  fault  which  his  father  tells  him  to 
remedy  by  abstaining  from  Teutonic  beer.  He  wore  long 
hair.  "  I  by  no  means  agree  to  your  cutting  off  your  hair." 
(Stanhope  had  suggested  this  as  a  remedy  for  headaches.) 
"  Your  own  hair  is  at  your  age  such  an  ornament ;  and  a 
wig,  however  well  made,  such  a  disguise  that  I  will  upon 
no  account  whatever  have  you  cut  off  your  hair."  We  hear 
that  he  was  already  within  two  inches  of  his  father's  height. 
Boswell  met  him  at  Dresden,  and  has  left  us  the  following 
picture  of  him  : — "  Mr.  Stanhope's  character  has  been 
unjustly  represented  as  being  diametrically  opposed  to  what 


PREFATORY  NOTE.  xxv 

Lord  Chesterfield  wished  him  to  be.  He  has  been  called 
dull,  gross,  awkward,  but  I  knew  him  at  Dresden  when  he 
was  envoy  to  that  Court,  and  though  he  could  not  boast  of 
the  Graces,  he  was,  in  fact,  a  sensible,  civil,  well-behaved 
man."  And  what  he  was  as  envoy  he  seems  to  have  been 
all  his  life.  Lord  Chesterfield  sent  him  to  Berlin  first,*  and 
Turin  afterwards,  as  there  was  to  be  found  the  next  fittest 
training  in  Europe  at  that  Court.  Nothing  could  exceed 
his  father's  care  in  warning  him  against  such  dangers  as 
usually  attend  Court  life.  Against  evils  of  all  kind  he 
cautions  and  guards  him.  Yet  there  is  this  continual 
insistence  on  the  Graces.  "The  Graces!  The  Graces!" 
he  writes,  "  Remember  the  Graces  !  I  would  have  you  sacri- 
fice to  the  Graces."  By  no  means  must  a  man  neglect  the 
Graces  if  he  would  pursue  his  object,  the  object  of  getting  on. 
After  all  this  schooling  he  went  to  Paris,  and  seems  to 
have  made  a  tolerable  debut.  There  must  have  been  a 
strange  measuring  up  of  qualities  when  father  and  son  met. 
At  twenty-two  Lord  Chesterfield  obtained  for  him  a  seat  in 
the  House,  but  he  was  never  a  brilliant  speaker.  He,  like 
the  younger  Pitt,  was  a  parliamentary  experiment;  but  it 
was  not  given  to  Stanhope  to  succeed.  In  1757  he  goes  to 
Hamburg.  Two  years  later  his  health  broke  down,  and  he 
came  to  England.  But  feeling  better  again,  in  1763  he 
obtained  a  post  at  Ratisbon,  whence  he  was  once  summoned 
to  vote  in  the  English  Parliament.  Next  year  he  went  to 
Dresden  as  envoy,  but  there  his  constitution  was  ruined,  and 
he  set  off  for  Berlin,  and  afterwards  for  France.  In  the  spring 
of  1767  he  returned  to  Dresden,  fancying  himself  better,  but 
in  the  following  year  the  old  symptoms  returned,  and  he  died 
on  the  1 7th  of  October  1768,  near  Avignon.  It  was  then 

*  He  must  just  have  escaped  travelling  from  Leipzig  to  Berlin  with 
Lcssing.     Both  took  the  journey  in  February  1749. 


xxvi  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

• 

only  that  his  father  discovered  he  was  the  father  of  two 
children— by  a  secret  marriage.  And  these,  together  with 
their  mother,  were  thrown  upon  Lord  Chesterfield  for 
support.  It  is  one  of  the  examples  of  his  characteristic 
traits  that  he  supported  and  loved  all  three.  There  is  no 
more  charming  pendant  to  the  whole  series  of  letters  than 
a  short  one  of  three  paragraphs  which  he  wrote  to  the  two 
children  of  his  illegitimate  son  only  two  years  before  he  left 
them  for  ever. 

Here  my  biographical  notice  of  the  three  generations  ends. 
But  the  lives  of  father  and  son  will  ever  remain  full  of  interest 
and  suggestion  to  those  who  would  study  human  character. 

There  are  several  portraits  of  the  Earl  of  Chesterfield. 
The  most  striking,  and  at  the  same  time  probably  the 
most  faithful  which  we  have,  is  that  by  Bartolozzi  in 
the  Maty  Memoirs.  It  is  clear,  mobile,  and  benevolent. 
The  features  are  very  large,  and  the  eyes  of  that  cold 
meditative  species  which  look  as  though  they  were  the 
altar  stone  of  that  fire  of  wit  and  quaint  humour  which 
we  know  he  possessed.  It  is  a  fine  intellectual,  if  some- 
what too  receding,  forehead,  with  protruding  temples  and 
clear-cut  eyebrows ;  the  nose  prominent,  and  the  mouth 
pronounced.  There  is  a  great  diversity  however  in  the 
portraits,  and  he  seems  sometimes  to  have  been  unable 
to  hide  the  traits  of  sensuality.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  it  is 
as  inscrutable  as  his  own  scheming  diplomatic  soul  could 
ever  have  wished  for  its  earthly  representative  in  clay. 


IV. 

If  we  ask  ourselves  what  is  the  moral  of  the  Letters, 
and  what  is  their  significance,  we  are  met  with  a  varied 
reply.  We  have  here  the  outpourings  of  a  man's  soul  in 


PREFATORY  NOTE.  xxvii 

penetralibus.  As  such  the  book  stands  for  its  time  unique. 
Chesterfield,  when  he  wrote  these  letters,  was  not  actuated 
by  the  criticisms  of  Grub  Street,  nor  indeed  any  criticisms. 
He  never  for  a  moment  dreamt  that  his  letters  would  be 
published,  and  they  are  therefore  bereft  of  that  stifling  self- 
consciousness  which  is  the  bane  of  so  many  writers.  It  is 
this  which  makes  so  frequently  a  man's  letters  more  living 
than  his  published  works,  at  any  rate  more  real.  So  far,  of 
course,  Lord  Chesterfield  shares  this  distinction  with  other 
writers.  But  his  letters  are  noteworthy  for  more  than 
this.  They  combine  with  it  a  complete  system  of  educa- 
tion, a  system  which  was  thought  out  without  opposition 
and  expressed  without  fear.  In  such  a  case,  of  course, 
we  do  not  look  for  style;  but  so  perfect  and  so  equal 
was  the  man  that  we  are  even  told  that  these  letters  are 
not  exceeded  in  style  by  anything  in  the  language.* 

Manuals,  of  course,  there  have  been  many.  In  the  age 
gone  by  there  had  been  Walsingham's,  there  had  been 
Burghley's  Advice,  there  had  been  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's; 
but  from  the  time  that  Cicero  wrote  his  De  Officiis  for 
his  own  child  down  to  these,  we  come  upon  but  few  of 
this  sort.  There  had  been  Castiglione's  Cortegiano,  and 
in  a  few  years  Delia  Casa's  Galateo\  there  is  Roger 
Ascham's  Scholemastcr.  Chesterfield  had  found  much  to 
his  taste  and  method  in  the  Moral  Reflections  of  La 
Rochefoucauld  and  the  Characters  of  La  Bruyere.  In 
our  own  country  had  just  appeared  Locke's  Essay  on 
Education^  and  this  he  sends  for  his  son  to  read.f 

*  For  his  fiufiLSgnse  of  the  quality  of  words  witness :  "  An  unhar- 
monious  and  rugged  period  at  this  time  shocks  my  ears,  and  I,  like  all 
the  rest  of  the  world,  will  willingly  exchange  and  give  up  some  degree 
of  rough  sense  for  a  good  degree  of  pleasing  sound." 

t  Characteristically,  no  mention  is  made  of  Shaftesbury  nor  of 
Hutcheson. 


xxviii  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

In  1759  Lessing  and  Wieland  were  writing  on  the  same 
subject;  and  in  1762  Rousseau  published  Emile.  Every- 
where education  was,  to  use  a  common  phrase,  in  the 
air.  Chesterfield  loved  his  son  passionately  and  unremit- 
tingly. He  had  been  much  in  France,  and  admired  the 
French  nation ;  and  he  determined  that  his  son  should 
combine  the  good  qualities  of  both  nationalities — the 
ideal  statesman  and  the  ideal  polished  man  of  society. 
He  did  not  forget  that  on  Philip  Stanhope  would  ever 
remain  the  brand  of  the  bar  sinister;  but  we  may  well 
believe  that  this  was  only  one  more  daring  reason  for 
the  experiment  which  he  chose  to  make.  He  was  playing 
for  high  stakes,  and  he  was  not  careless  of  the  issue. 
"My  only  ambition,"  he  writes  in  1754,  "remaining  is  to 
be  the  counsellor  and  minister  of  your  rising  ambition. 
Let  me  see  my  own  youth  revived  in  you  ;  let  me  be  your 
mentor,  and  I  promise  you,  with  your  parts  and  knowledge, 
you  shall  go  far."— (Letter  CCLXXIV.) 

It  is  seldom  that  we  have  such  a  continuous  series  of 
original  letters  as  these.  From  the  first  badinage  to  his 
son,  then  five  years  old,  who  was  .then  in  Holland, 
in  which  he  explains  what  a  republic  is,  and  how  clean  is 
Holland  in  comparison  with  London  ;  from  the  times  when 
he  explains  how  Poetry  is  made,  and  who  the  Muses  are, 
and  sends  his  little  son  accounts  of  all  the  Greek  and 
Roman  legends  ;  from  the  times  when  he  writes,  "  Let  us 
return  to  our  Geography  that  we  may  amuse  ourselves  with 
maps ; "  and  in  the  middle  of  a  letter  of  affection,  having 
mentioned  Cicero,  starts  off  "apropos  of  him,"  and  gives 
his  little  son  his  whole  history,  and  that  of  Demosthenes 
after  him;  to  the  times  when  the  boy  is  able  to  retort- 
on  him  for  inconsistency  in  calling  Ovidius  Ovid,  and 
not  calling  Tacitus  Tacit;  through  all  his  explanations  of 


PREFATORY  NOTE.  xxix 

what  Irony  is  and  is  not;  through  his  pedantic  "by  the 
ways ; "  his  definitions  (pace  Professor  Freeman)  of  Ancient 
and  Modern  History ;  his  sarcasms  and  his  descriptions : 
down  to  the  time  when  his  advice  is  about  quadrille  tables 
and  ministers  and  kings,  the  series  is  absolutely  unbroken 
and  of  unflagging  interest. 

They  are  at  the  best,  as  he  says  himself,  "What  one 
man  of  the  world  writes  to  another."  "  I  am  not  writing 
poetry,"  he  says,  "but  useful  reflections."  "Surely  it  is 
of  great  use  to  a  young  man  before  he  starts  out  for  a 
country  full  of  mazes,  windings  and  turnings,  to  have  at 
least  a  good  map  of  it  by  some  experienced  traveller." 
And  so  the  old  man  gives  us  his  niap_joMjfe  as  he  had 
seen  it.  It  is  exactly  the  same  estimate  in  result  as  Cicero 
gave  in  the  De  Orators :  "  Men  judge  most  things  under 
the  influence  of  either  hate,  or  love,  or  desire,  or  anger,  or 
grief,  or  joy,  or  hope,  or  fear,  or  error,  or  some  other 
passion,  than  by  truth,  or  precepts,  or  standard  of  right, 
or  justice,  or  law." 

"  The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man," 

and  if  we  disapprove  of  the  morality  of  Cicero  and  his 
epoch  no  less  than  of  Chesterfield's,  we  must  yet  remember 
that  in  the  one  instance,  as  in  the  other,  their  precepts  were 
the  purveyors  of  very  soundest  advice.  His  standard  is, 
as  has  been  already  pointed  out,  that  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  "  Be  wiser  than  other  people  if  you  can ;  but 
do  not  tell  them  so."  "  It  is  an  active,  cheerful,  seducing 
good-breeding  which  must  gain  you  the  good-will  and 
first  sentiments  of  the  men  and  the  affections  of  the  women. 
You  must  carefully  watch  and  attend  to  their  passions, 
their  tastes,  their  little  humours  and  weaknesses,  and  alter 
au  devant"  "  Make  love  to  the  most  impertinent  beauty 
that  you  meet  with,  and  be  gallant  with  all  the  rest" 


XXT  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

It  would  be  a  not  uninteresting  task  to  see  how  many  of 
his  moral  sentiments  would  stand  fire  at  the  present  day. 
We  know  all  the  facts  of  his  life,  and  we  have  here  his 
opinions  on  nearly  every  matter.  His  opinions  are  as 
concise  as  they  are  outspoken.  "  The  best  of  us  have  had 
our  bad  sides,  and  it  is  as  imprudent  as  it  is  ill-bred  to 
i  exhibit  them,"*  he  says.  It  is  this  absence  of  ceremony 
which  makes  him  so  living  and  real.  Even  in  Dr. 
Johnson's  time  the  merit  as  well  as  the  demerit  of  this 
series  of  letters  had  been  settled  for  the  standard  of  that 
day.  "  Take  out  the  immorality,"  said  the  worthy  Doctor, 
"and  it  should  be  put  into  the  hands  of  every  young 
gentleman." 

The  training  to  which  he  subjected  his  son  was  in  many 
ways  admirable.  Rise  regularly,  however  late  o'  nights ; 
work  all  the  morning ;  take  exercise  in  the  afternoon ;  and 
see  good  company  in  the  evening.  The  impressing  of  this 
advice  upon  his  son  has  left  us  in  the  possession  of  one  of 
the  most  charming  examples  of  Lord  Chesterfield's  most 
playful  style.— (Letter  CLXI.) 

Lord  Chesterfield  was  all  fqr  modern  to  the  disadvantage 
of  a  classical  education.  Learn  all  the  modern  history  and 
modern  languages  you  can,  and  if  at  the  same  time  you 
can  throw  in  a  little  Latin  and  Greek,  so  much  the 
better  for  you.  Roman  history  study  as  much  as  you  will, 
for  of  all  ancient  histories  it  is  the  most  instructive,  and 
furnishes  most  examples  of  virtue,  wisdom,  and  courage. 
History  is  to  be  studied  morally,  he  says,  but  not  only  so. 

When  we  turn  to  his  judgment  of  the  ancients  we  are 
considerably  startled.  He  seems  to  have  preferred 
Voltaire's  Henriadt  to  any  epic.  "  Judge  whether,"  he 

*  Cf.  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  "  Every  Man's  Folly  ought  to  be  his 
greatest  Secret." — (Instructions  to  his  Son.) 


PREFATORY  NOTE.  xxxi 

writes,  "  I  can  read  all  Homer  through  tout  de  suite.  I 
admire  his  beauties ;  but,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  when  he 
slumbers  I  sleep.  Virgil,  I  confess,  is  all  sense,  and  there- 
fore I  like  him  better  than  his  model;  but  he  is  often 
languid,  especially  in  his  five  or  six  last  books,  during 
which  I  am  obliged  to  take  a  good  deal  of  snuff.  ..." 

If  his  views  on  Milton  should  be  known,  he  adds,  he 
would  be  abused  by  every  tasteless  pedant  and  every  solid 
divine  in  England.  His  criticism  of  Dante  it  will  be  best 
for  the  reader  himself  to  discover. 

The  weightier  questions  and  the  weightiest  he  pushed 
altogether  aside.  "I  don't  speak  of  religion,"  he  writes. 
"  I  am  not  in  a  position  to  do  so — the  excellent  Mr.  Harte 
will  do  that."  At  any  rate,  Chesterfield  knew  his  own 
ground.  Incidentally  we  find  his  position  cropping  up. 
"  The  reason  of  every  man  is,  or  ought  to  be,  his  guide ; 
and  I  should  have  as  much  right  to  expect  every  man  to 
be  of  my  height  and  temperament  as  to  wish  that  he 
should  reason  precisely  as  I  do."  It  was  the  doctrine  of 
the  French  school  that  he  had  adopted,  with  something 
of  a  quietism  of  his  own.  "  Let  them  enjoy  quietly  their 
errors,"  he  says  somewhere,  "both  in  taste  and  religion."* 
It  would  be  interesting  to  compare  in  these  matters  the 
relative  positions  of  Chesterfield  and  Bolingbroke. 

Of  the  movement  headed  by  Wesley,  as  we  have  seen 
earlier  in  his  career,  Chesterfield  seems  to  have  taken  as 
little  heed  as  the  younger  Pliny  did  of  the  first  holders 
of  Wesley's  faith. 

It  is  a  harder  and  more  delicate  question  which  we  are 
met  with  in  discussing  Lord  Chesterfield's  position  with 

*  '  A  wise  Atheist  (if  such  a  thing  there  is)  would,  for  his  own 
interest  and  character  in  the  world,  pretend  to  some  religion.' — 
Letter  CLXXX. 


xxxii  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

regard  to  morality.  Johnson's  criticism  of  the  Letters^ 
that  "  they  taught  the  morals  of  a  courtesan  and  manners 
of  a  dancing  master,"  even  though  epigrammatic,  yet  bears 
within  it  traces  of  the  sting  which  the  lexicologist  felt 
about  the  matter  of  the  Dedication.  Of  the  Earl's 
opinions  we  have  seen  something  in  former  extracts  and 
in  his  own  life.  He  speaks  quite  openly — "  I  wish  to 
speak  as  one  man  of  pleasure  does  to  another."  "  A  polite 
arrangement,"  he  says  elsewhere,  "becomes  a  gallant  man." 
Anything  disgraceful  or  impolite  he  will  not  stand. 

Yet  as  a  human  Picciola  does  Lord  Chesterfield  guard 
the  soul  of  his  son  within  its  prison-house  of  life.  He 
never  speaks,  however,  to  his  son  pulpitically.  It  is 
ever  as  a  wise  counsellor :  and  his  tendency  is  always  the 
same. 

It  is  suggestive  of  much  to  turn  aside  from  the  petitesses 
of  these  instructions  to  the  thoughts  which  were  occupying 
the  brain  of  the  author  of  Emilius  about  the  same  time. 
From  very  much  the  same  foundations  and  the  same 
materials  how  different  is  the  result!  In  the  one  we 
breathe  the  fresh  air  of  the  country,  of  the  rustic  home  and 
the  carpenter's  shop :  in  the  other  we  are  stifled  by  the 
perfumes  of  the  court-room  and  suffocated  by  tight  lacing. 
In  the  one  we  are  never  for  a  moment  to  wear  a  mask :  in 
the  other  we  are  never  for  a  moment  to  move  without  it 
Yet,  though  the  one  is  built  up  of  social  theories  by  an 
enthusiastic  dreamer,  and  the  other  is  a  cold,  practical  experi- 
ment by  a  man  of  the  world,  and  "  an  imperfect  man  of 
action,  whom  politics  had  made  a  perfect  moralist,"  there  is 
the  same  verdict  of  failure  to  be  pronounced  upon  them 
both.  Voltaire  said  of  Emilius  that  it  was  a  stupid 
romance,  but  admitted  that  it  contained  fifty  pages  which 
he  would  have  bound  in  morocco.  Lord  Chesterfield's  was 


PREFATORY  NOTE.       m  xxxiii 

no  romance,  but  its  pages  deserve  perhaps  as  careful  treat 
ment.  "  It  is  a  rich  book,"  says  Sainte-Beuve ;  "  one 
cannot  read  a  page  without  finding  some  happy  observation 
worthy  of  being  mentioned."  Yet,  as  a  system  of  education, 
it  is  blasted  with  the  foul  air  of  the  charnel-house. 


v. 

If  we  look  at  the  result  we  must  pronounce  his  experi- 
ment no  less  a  failure.  The  odds  were  too  heavy  in  the 
first  instance,  and  a  man  of  less  energy  and  stability  than 
Lord  Chesterfield  would  not  have  dared  to  have  played  at 
such  high  stakes.  He  ought  to  have  considered  what  an 
infliction  he  was  casting  upon  his  son,  and  respected  the 
feelings  of  others  rather  than  his  own  ambition.  He  has 
reaped  the  harvest  which  he  had  sown.  When  Philip 
Stanhope  tried  to  obtain  an  appointment  at  the  embassy  in 
Brussels  the  Marquis  de  Botta  made  so  much  to  do  on  the 
ground  of  his  illegitimacy  that  his  claim  was  disallowed. 
When  there  was  a  chance  of  his  receiving  an  appointment 
at  Venice,  the  king  objected  on  the  same  grounds.  Not 
one  word  of  displeasure  is  handed  down  to  us  in  these 
familiar  letters,  but  we  know  that  both  felt  it  deeply  and 
never  forgave.  But  even  Philip  Stanhope  himself  must 
have  disappointed  his  father.  When  his  widow,  with  her 
two  children,  walked  up  the  hall  of  Chesterfield  House, 
where  the  earl  sat  alone  in  solitary  childless  grandeur,  it 
must  have  seemed  a  strange  answer  to  the  question  which 
he  had  asked  Time  some  thirty-eight  years  before.  He 
may  well  have  grown  weary  of  sitting  at  the  table  at  which 
he  had  staked  his  all  and  lost. 

Vivacious,  sincere,  plain,  and  liberal-minded,  his  memory 
may  well  pass  down  to  posterity  as  that  of  a  great  man 

3 


xxxiv  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

with  mean  aspirations.  That  ambition  was  not  wanting  in 
his  composition  is  true,  and  it  was  this  which  encompassed 
his  ruin.  He  reminds  us  of  the  melancholy  structure 
of  S.  Petronio  at  Bologna,  begun  in  emulation  of  the 
Florentine  Duomo  by  the  Bolognese.  One  sees  the  out- 
line of  the  structure  which  was  to  have  been  raised,  but 
for  two  centuries  it  has  stood  uncompleted,  a  monument  to 
her  greatness  and  her  shame. 

Careless  of  the  interests  of  those  around  him ;  careless 
and  callous  of  what  was  demanded  of  man  by  men ;  care- 
less of  speech  so  long  as  he  could  create  a  bon-mot  or  a  well- 
balanced  phrase,  Lord  Chesterfield's  life  is  characteristic  of 
his  time. 

Chesterfield,  if  we  may  make  one  more  comparison,  is 
like  one  of  those  great  trees  that  we  see  upon  the  banks  of 
a  river,  which,  while  drawing  its  nurture  half  from  its 
native  soil  and  the  stream  by  its  side,  and  half  from  the 
sky  above  it,  has  had  that  very  soil  worn  away  by  the 
current  of  the  stream,  so  that  the  tree,  by  its  own  natural 
weight  and  under  the  force  of  adverse  winds  and  circum- 
stance, has  bowed  itself  over  towards  the  waves,  losing 
its  natural  height  and  grandeur  for  ever. 

Dead  to  the  higher  interests  of  humanity;  dead  to  the 
deeper  influences  which  keep  us  sober  and  thoughtful  and 
earnest ;  dead,  again,  to  any  ideal  save  such  as  might  serve 
his  own  designs : — such  was  the  man  who  deemed  himself 
called  upon,  or  fitted,  to  perform  the  sacred  office  of 
Education  to  his  darling  child. 

C.  S. 


CHESTERFIELD'S    LETTERS. 


LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S  LETTERS. 


LETTER  I. 

DEAR  BOY,  Tunbridge,  July  the  1 5th,  1739. 

I  THANK  you  for  your  concern  about  my  health ;  which 
I  would  have  given  you  an  account  of  sooner,  but  that 
writing  does  not  agree  with  these  waters.  I  am  better 
since  I  have  been  here ;  and  shall  therefore  stay  a  month 
longer. 

Signor  Zamboni  compliments  me,  through  you,  much 
more  than  I  deserve;  but  pray  do  you  take  care  to 
deserve  what  he  says  of  you ;  and  remember,  that  praise, 
when  it  is  not  deserved,  is  the  severest  satire  and  abuse; 
and  the  most  effectual  way  of  exposing  people's  vices  and 
follies.  This  is  a  figure  of  speech  called  Irony;  which 
is  saying  directly  the  contrary  of  what  you  mean ;  but  yet 
it  is  not  a  lie,  because  you  plainly  show,  that  you  mean 
directly  the  contrary  of  what  you  say ;  so  that  you  deceive 
nobody.  For  example;  if  one  were  to  compliment  a 
notorious  knave  for  his  singular  honesty  and  probity,  and 
an  eminent  fool  for  his  wit  and  parts,  the  irony  is  plain, 
and  everybody  would  discover  the  satire.  Or,  suppose 
that  I  were  to  commend  you  for  your  great  attention  to 
your  book,  and  for  your  retaining  and  remembering  what 
you  have  once  learned;  would  not  you  plainly  perceive 


2  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

the  irony,  and  see  that  I  laughed  at  you  ?  Therefore, 
whenever  you  are  commended  for  anything,  consider  fairly, 
with  yourself,  whether  you  deserve  it  or  not;  and  if  you 
do  not  deserve  it,  remember  that  you  are  only  abused  and 
laughed  at ;  and  endeavour  to  deserve  better  for  the  future 
and  to  prevent  the  irony. 

Make  my  compliments  to  Mr.  Maittaire,  and  return  him 
my  thanks  for  his  letter.  He  tells  me,  that  you  are  again 
to  go  over  your  Latin  and  Greek  Grammar ;  so  that  when 
I  return,  I  expect  to  find  you  very  perfect  in  it;  but  if  I 
do  not,  I  shall  compliment  you  upon  your  application  and 
memory.  Adieu. 


LETTER  II. 

DEAR   BOY,  November  the  2oth,  1739. 

As  you  are  now  reading  the  Roman  History,  I  hope 
you  do  it  with  that  care  and  attention  which  it  deserves. 
The  utility  of  History  consists  principally  in  the  examples 
it  gives  us  of  the  virtues  and  vices  of  those  who  have  gone 
before  us :  upon  which  we  ought  to  make  the  proper 
observations.  History  animates  and  excites  us  to  the  love 
and  the  practice  of  virtue ;  by  showing  us  the  regard  and 
veneration  that  was  always  paid  to  great  and  virtuous 
men,  in  the  times  in  which  they  lived,  and  the  praise 
and  glory  with  which  their  names  are  perpetuated,  and 
transmitted  down  to  our  times.  The  Roman  History 
furnishes  more  examples  of  virtue  and  magnanimity,  or 
greatness  of  mind,  than  any  other.  It  was  a  common  thing 
to  see  their  Consuls  and  Dictators  (who,  you  know,  were 
their  chief  Magistrates)  taken  from  the  plough,  to  lead  tneir 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  3 

armies  against  their  enemies;  and,  after  victory,  returning 
to  their  plough  again,  and  passing  the  rest  of  their  lives 
in  modest  retirement :  a  retirement  more  glorious,  if  pos- 
sible, than  the  victories  that  preceded  it !  Many  of  their 
greatest  men  died  so  poor,  that  they  were  buried  at  the 
expense  of  the  public.  Curius,  who  had  no  money  of 
his  own,  refused  a  great  sum  that  the  Samnites  offered  him, 
saying,  that  he  saw  no  glory  in  having  money  himself,  but 
in  commanding  those  that  had.  Cicero  relates  it  thus  : 
"  Curio  adfocum  sedenti  magnum  auri  pondus  Samnites  cum 
attulissent,  repudiati  ab  eo  sunt.  Non  enim  aurum  habere 
pradarum  sibi  videri,  sed  it's,  qui  habercnt  aurum,  imperare" 
And  Fabricms,  who  had  often  commanded  the  Roman 
armies,  and  as  often  triumphed  over  their  enemies,  was 
found  by  his  fireside,  eating  those  roots  and  herbs  which  he 
had  planted  and  cultivated  himself  in  his  own  field.  Seneca 
tells  it  thus:  Fabridus  ad focum  canat  illas  ipsas  radices^ 
guasy  in  agro  repurgando,  triumphalis  Senex  vulsit.  Scipio, 
after  a  victory  he  had  obtained  in  Spain,  found  among  the 
prisoners  a  young  Princess  of  extreme  beauty,  who,  he  was 
informed,  was  soon  to  have  been  married  to  a  man  of 
quality  of  that  country.  He  ordered  her  to  be  entertained 
and  attended  with  the  same  care  and  respect,  as  if  she  had 
been  in  her  father's  house ;  and,  as  soon  as  he  could  find 
her  lover,  he  gave  her  to  him,  and  added  to  her  portion 
the  money  that  her  father  had  brought  for  her  ransom. 
Valerius  Maximus  says,  Eximia  forma  virgincm  accersitis 
parentibus,  et  sponso  inviolatam  tradidit,  et  fuvenis,  et  Calebs^ 
et  Victor.  This  was  a  most  glorious  example  of  modera- 
tion, continence,  and  generosity,  which  gained  him  the 
hearts  of  all  the  people  of  Spain  \  and  made  them  say,  as 
Livy  tells  us,  Venisse  Diis  simillimum  juvenem,  vincentem 
omnia,  cum  armis,  turn  benignilate^  ac  benefidis. 


4  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

Such  are  the  rewards  that  always  crown  virtue;  and 
such  the  characters  that  you  should  imitate,  if  you  would  be 
a  great  and  a  good  man,  which  is  the  only  way  to  be  a 
happy  one  1  Adieu. 


LETTER  III. 
DEAR   BOY,  Saturday. 

SINCE  you  choose  the  name  of  Polyglot,  I  hope  you  will 
take  care  to  deserve  it ;  which  you  can  only  do  by  care  and 
application.  I  confess  the  names  of  Frisky,  and  Colas,  are 
not  quite  so  honourable ;  but  then,  remember  too,  that 
there  cannot  be  a  stronger  ridicule,  than  to  call  a  man  by 
an  honourable  name,  when  he  is  known  not  to  deserve  it. 
For  example ;  it  would  be  a  manifest  irony  to  call  a  very 
ugly  fellow  an  Adonis  (who,  you  know,  was  so  handsome, 
that  Venus  herself  fell  in  love  with  him),  or  to  call  a 
cowardly  fellow  an  Alexander,  or  an  ignorant  fellow,  Poly- 
glot ;  for  everybody  would  discover  the  sneer :  and  Mr. 
Pope  observes  very  truly,  that 

c<  Praise  undeserved  is  satire  in  disguise." 

Next  to  the  doing  of  things  that  deserve  to  be  written, 
there  is  nothing  that  gets  a  man  more  credit,  or  gives  him 
more  pleasure,  than  to  write  things  that  deserve  to  be  read. 
The  younger  Pliny  (for  there  were  two  Plinys,  the  uncle 
and  the  nephew)  expresses  it  thus  :  "  Equidem  beatos  puto, 
quibus  Deorum  munere  datum  est,  aut  facere  scribenda^  aut 
legenda  scribere;  beatissimos  verb  quibus  utrumque" 

Pray  mind  your  Greek  particularly ;  for  to  know  Greek 
very  well  is  to  be  really  learned:  there  is  no  great  credit 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  5 

in  knowing  Latin,  for  everybody  knows  it ;  and  it  is  only  a 
shame  not  to  know  it.  Besides  that,  you  will  understand 
Latin  a  great  deal  the  better  for  understanding  Greek  very 
well ;  a  great  number  of  Latin  words,  especially  the  technical 
words,  being  derived  from  the  Greek.  Technical  words 
mean  such  particular  words  as  relate  to  any  art  or  science ; 
from  the  Greek  word  TfXvr1i  which  signifies  Art,  and 
TfxviKos,  which  signifies  Artificial.  Thus,  a  Dictionary, 
that  explains  the  terms  of  Art,  is  called  a  Lexicon 
Technicum,  or  a  Technical  Dictionary.  Adieu. 


LETTER  IV. 
DEAR  BOY, 

I  SEND  you  here  a  few  more  Latin  roots,  though  I  am 
not  sure  that  you  will  like  my  roots  so  well  as  those  that 
grow  in  your  garden ;  however,  if  you  will  attend  to  them, 
they  may  save  you  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  These  few  will 
naturally  point  out  many  others  to  your  own  observation ; 
and  enable  you,  by  comparison,  to  find  out  most  derived 
and  compound  words,  when  once  you  know  the  original 
root  of  them.  You  are  old  enough  now  to  make  observa- 
tions upon  what  you  learn ;  which,  if  you  would  be  pleased 
to  do,  you  cannot  imagine  how  much  time  and  trouble  it 
would  save  you.  Remember,  you  are  now  very  near  nine 
years  old  ;  an  age  at  which  all  boys  ought  to  know  a  great 
deal,  but  you,  particularly,  a  great  deal  more,  considering 
the  care  and  pains  that  have  been  employed  about  you; 
and  if  you  do  not  answer  those  expectations,  you  will  lose 
your  character ;  which  is  the  most  mortifying  thing  that  can 
happen  to  a  generous  mind.  Everybody  has  ambition,  of 


6  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

some  kind  or  other,  and  is  vexed  when  that  ambition  is 
disappointed :  the  difference  is,  that  the  ambition  of  silly 
people  is  a  silly  and  mistaken  ambition;  and  the  ambition 
of  people  of  sense  is  a  right  and  commendable  one.  For 
instance  ;  the  ambition  of  a  silly  boy,  of  your  age,  would  be 
to  have  fine  clothes,  and  money  to  throw  away  in  idle 
follies ;  which,  you  plainly  see,  would  be  no  proofs  of  merit 
in  him,  but  only  of  folly  in  his  parents,  in  dressing  him  out 
like  a  jackanapes,  and  giving  him  money  to  play  the  fool 
with.  Whereas  a  boy  of  good  sense  places  his  ambition  in 
excelling  other  boys  of  his  own  age,  and  even  older,  in 
virtue  and  knowledge.  His  glory  is  in  being  known  always 
to  speak  the  truth,  in  showing  good-nature  and  compassion, 
in  learning  quicker,  and  applying  himself  more  than  other 
boys.  These  are  real  proofs  of  merit  in  him,  and  conse- 
quently proper  objects  of  ambition  ;  and  will  acquire  him  a 
solid  reputation  and  character.  This  holds  true  in  men,  as 
well  as  in  boys :  the  ambition  of  a  silly  fellow  will  be,  to 
have  a  fine  equipage,  a  fine  house,  and  fine  clothes  ;  things 
which  anybody,  that  has  as  much  money,  may  have  as  well 
as  he ;  for  they  are  all  to  be  bought :  but  the  ambition  of  a 
man  of  sense  and  honour  is,  to  be  distinguished  by  a 
character  and  reputation  of  knowledge,  truth,  and  virtue; 
things  which  are  not  to  be  bought,  and  that  can  only  be 
acquired  by  a  good  head  and  a  good  heart.  Such  was  the 
ambition  of  the  Lacedaemonians  and  the  Romans,  when 
they  made  the  greatest  figure ;  and  such,  I  hope,  yours  will 
always  be.  Adieu. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SOW.  7 

LETTER  V.    •-. 

DEAR  BOY,  Wednesday. 

You  behaved  yourself  so  well  at  Mr.  Boden's,  last 
Sunday,  that  you  justly  deserve  commendation  :  besides, 
you  encourage  me  to  give  you  some  rules  of  politeness  and 
good  breeding,  being  persuaded  that  you  will  observe  them. 
Know,  then,  that  as  learning,  honour,  and  virtue  are 
absolutely  necessary  to  g"'"  y™1  <*"*  pgtpprn  an^  admiration 
ofL  mankind  ;-  politeness  and  good  breeding  are  equally 
necessary  to  make  y_Qu_W-£lcQ_me  and  agreeable  in  conversa- 
tion  and  mmmpn  Ufa.  Great  talents,  such  as  honour, 
virtue,  learning,  and  parts,  are  above  the  generality  of  the 
who  neither  possess  them  fhpmsplvps,  nor 


r>f  fhprp  rightly  in  nthen  •  hiU  all  people  are  judges  of  the 
]p_ssgr  talents,  such  as  ^iyjlitv^  affability,  and  an  obliging, 
agreeable  a^ress  ^H  ™onrwrTU™iicA  they  feel  the  good 
effects  of  them,  as  making  society  easy  and  pleasing.  Good 

ir>     ™a"y    racpg      Hpfprmin^     good 


because  the  same  thing  that  would  be  civil  at  one  time,  and 
to  one  person,  may  be  quite  otherwise  at  another  time,  and 
to  another  person;  but  there  are  some  general  rules  of 
good  breeding,  that  hold  always  true,  and  in  all  cases.  As, 
for  example,  it  is  always  extremely  rude  to  answer  only  Yes, 
Dr  No,  to  anybody,  without  adding,  Sir,  my  Lord,  or  Madam, 
jiccording  to  the  quality  of  the  person  you  speak  to  ;  as,  in 
French,  you  must  always  say,  Monsieur,  Milord,  Madame, 
and  Mademoiselle.  I  suppose  you  know  that  every  married 
woman  is,  in  French,  Madame,  and  every  unmarried  one  is 
Mademoiselle.  It  is  likewise  extremely  rude  not  to  give  the 
proper  attention,  and  a  civil  answer,  when  people  speak  to 
you  ;  or  to  go  away,  or  be  doing  something  else,  while  they 
are  speaking  to  you  ;  for  that  convinces  them  that  you 


8  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

despise  them,  and  do  not  think  it  worth  your  while  to  hear 
or  answer  what  they  say.  I  dare  say  I  need  not  tell  you 
how  rude  it  is  to  take  the  best  place  in  a  room,  or  to  seize 
immediately  upon  what  you  like  at  table,  without  offering 
first  to  help  others,  as  if  you  considered  nobody  but  your- 
self. On  the  contrary,  you  should  always  endeavour  to 
procure  all  the  conveniences  you  can  to  the  people  you  are 
with.  Besi  des  _  being  ...civil,  .  which  .  is^ 


~P£~^^  *°  b£-  c^v^  with  -.ease, 

and  in  .a...gentlemanlik&_T"annftr.  For  this,  you  should 
observe  the  French  people,  who  excel  in  it,  and  whose 
politeness  seems  as  easy  and  natural  as  any  other  part  of 
their  conversation.  Whereas  the  English  are  often  awkward 
in  their  civilities,  and,  when  they  mean  to  be  civil,  are  too 
much  ashamed  to  get  it  out.  But,  pray,  do  you  remember 
never  to  be  ashamed  of  doing  what  is  right  :  you  would 
have  a  great  deal  of  reason  to  be  ashamed  if  you  were  not 
civil  ;  but  what  reason  can  you  have  to  be  ashamed  of 
being  civil  ?  And  why  not  say  a  civil  and  an  obliging  thing 
as  easily  and  as  naturally  as  you  would  ask  what  o'clock  it 
is  ?  This  kind  of  bashfulness,  which  is  justly  called,  by 
the  French,  mauvaise  honte,  is  the  distinguishing  character 
of  an  English  booby;  who  is  frightened  out  of  his  wits. 
when  people  of  fashion  speak  to  him  ;  and  when  he  is  tc 
answer  them,  blushes,  stammers,  can  hardly  get  out  what 
he  would  say,  and  becomes  really  ridiculous,  from  a 
groundless  fear  of  being  laughed  at  :  whereas  a  real  well- 
bred  man  would  speak  to  all  the  Kings  in  the  world,  with 
as  little  concern,  and  as  much  ease,  as  he  would  speak  to 
you. 

Remember,  then,  that  tn  fo  ^jyil,  and  jo  fop  nVil  with 
MSP  (which  is  properly  railed  gnnH  breeding),  i>  thf>  nnly 
way  to  be_belove(^,  and  well  received  in  company:  tjiat  to 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  g' 

^  ill-bred,  and  rude,  is  intolerabIeL_and  the  way  tn  he 
kicked  out  of  company ;  and  that  to  be  bashful  is  to  be 
ridiculous.  As  I  am  sure  you  will  mind  and  practise  all 
this,  I  expect  that  when  you  are  novennis,  you  will  not  only 
be  the  best  scholar,  but  the  best-bred  boy  in  England  of 
your  age.  Adieu. 

LETTER  VI. 

DEAR  BOY,  Spa,  the  25th  July,  N.  S.  1741, 

I  HAVE  often  told  you  in  my  former  letters  (and  it  is 
most  certainly  true)  that  the  strictest  and  most  scrupulous 
honour  and  virtue  can  alone  make  you  esteemed  and 
valued  by  mankind;  that  parts  and  learning  can  alone 
make  you  admired  and  celebrated  by  them  ;  but  that  the 
possession  of  lesser  talents  was  most  absolutely  necessary 
towards  making  yoTi^Jikfd,  bH^vod)  nnrf  i might  after  in 
private  life.  Of  these  lesser  talents,  good /breeding  is  the 
principal  and  most  necessary  one,  not  only  as  it  is  very 
important  in  itself,  but  as  it  adds  great  lustre  jo  the  more 
solid  advantages  both  of  the  heart  and  the  maid  I  have 
ofteiTTouched  upon  good  breeding  tcTyou  before,  so  that 
this  letter  shall  be  upon  the  next  necessary  qualification  to 
it,  which  is  a  genteel,  easy  manner  and  carriage,  wholly  free 
from  those  odd  tricks,  ill  habits,  and  awkwardnesses  which 
even  many  very  worthy  and  sensible  people  have  in  their 

behaviour.      Hpwpypr  trifling   n    gpptppl  mflnn£T~w^y-CTTrmf^ 

it  is  of  very  gr^  rnn^qnpnrp  towards  pleasing  in  private, 
lifaj  pgppcially  thfi  yrnmpnA  whifh^  one  time  or  other,  you 
will  think  worth  pleasing ;  and  I  have  known  many  a  man, 
from  his  awkwardness,  give  people  such  a  dislike  of  him  at 


io  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

first,  that  all  his  merit  could  not  get  the  better  of  it  after- 
wards. Whereas  a  genteel  manner  prepossesses  people  in 
your  favour,  bends  them  towards  you,  and  makes  them  wish 
to  like  you.  Awkwardness  can  proceed  but  from  two 
causes — either  from  not  having  kept  good  company,  or 
from  not  having  attended  to  it.  As  for  your  keeping  good 
company,  I  will  take  care  of  that;  do  you  take  care  to 
observe  their  ways  and  manners,  and  to  form  your  own 
upon  them.  Attention  is  absolutely  necessary  for  this,  as 
indeed  it  is  for  everything  else,  and  a  man  without  attention 
is  not  fit  to  live  in  the  world.  When  an  awkward  fellow 
first  comes  into  a  room,  it  is  highly  probable  that  his  sword 
gets  between  his  legs  and  throws  him  down,  or  makes  him 
stumble,  at  least.  When  he  has  recovered  this  accident,  he 
goes  and  places  himself  in  the  very  place  of  the  whole  room 
where  he  should  not ;  there  he  soon  lets  his  hat  fall  down, 
and  in  taking  it  up  again,  throws  down  his  cane ;  in 
recovering  his  cane,  his  hat  falls  a  second  time ;  so  that 
he  is  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  he  is  in  order  again.  If 
he  drinks  tea  or  coffee  he  certainly  scalds  his  mouth,  and 
lets  either  the  cup  or  the  saucer  fall,  and  spills  the  tea  or 
coffee  in  his  breeches.  At  dinner  his  awkwardness  dis- 
tinguishes itself  particularly,  as  he  has  more  to  do  :  there 
he  holds  his  knife,  fork,  and  spoon  differently  from  other 
people ;  eats  with  his  knife  to  the  great  danger  of  his 
mouth ;  picks  his  teeth  with  his  fork,  and  puts  his  spoon, 
which  has  been  in  his  throat  twenty  times,  into  the  dishes 
again.  If  he  is  to  carve,  he  can  never  hit  the  joint,  but,  in 
his  vain  efforts  to  cut  through  the  bone,  scatters  the  sauce 
in  everybody's  face.  He  generally  daubs  himself  with  soup 
and  grease,  though  his  napkin  is  commonly  stuck  through 
a  buttonhole  and  tickles  his  chin.  When  he  drinks  he 
infallibly  coughs  in  his  glass,  and  besprinkles  the  company. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  n 

Besides  all  this,  he  has  strange  tricks  and  gestures  ;  such  as 
snuffing  up  his  nose,  making  faces,  putting  his  fingers  in  his 
nose,  or  blowing  it  and  looking  afterwards  in  his  handker- 
chief, so  as  to  make  the  company  sick.  His  hands  are 
troublesome  to  him  when  he  has  not  something  in  them, 
and  he  does  not  know  where  to  put  them  ;  but  they  are  in 
perpetual  motion  between  his  bosom  and  his  breeches  :  he 
does  not  wear  his  clothes,  and,  in  short,  does  nothing, 
like  other  people.  AlLtfe_I  own,  is  not  in  any  degree 

ridiculous   in 


company,  and  ought   mnsf-    carefully  -to  —  bo  avoided  -by 
whoeyjer-jdesires  to  please. 

From  this  account  of  what  you  should  not  do,  you  may 
easily  judge  what  you  should  do;  and  a  due  attention  to 
the  manners  of  people  of  fashion,  and  who  have  seen  the 
world,  will  make  it  habitual  and  familiar  to  you. 

There  is,  likewise,  an  awkwardness  of  expression  and 
words,  iriost  carefully  to  be  avoided  ;  such  as  false  English, 
bad_2rpnunciation,  old  sayings,  and  common  proverbs  ; 
which  are  so  many  proofs  of  having  kept  bad  and  low 
company.  For  example;  if,  instead  of  saying  that  tastes  i 
are  different,  and  that  every  man  has  his  own  peculiar  one, 
you  should  let  off  a  proverb,  and  say,  That  what  is  one 
man's  meat  is  another  man's  poison  ;  or  else,  Every  one  as 
they  like,  as  the  good  man  said  when  he  kissed  his  cow  ;( 
everybody  would  be  persuaded  that  you  had  never  kej 
company  with  anybody  above  footmen  and  housemaids. 

Attention  will  do  all  this  ;  and  without  attention  nothing 
is  to  be  done  :  want  of  attention,  which  is  really  want  of 
thought,  is  either  folly  or  madness.  You  should  not  only 
have  attention  to  everything,  but  a  quickness  of  attention, 
so  as  to  observe,  at  once,  all  the  people  in  the  room,  their 
motions,  their  looks,  and  their  words,  and  yet  without 


12  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

staring  at  them,  and  seeming  to  be  an  observer.  This 
quick  and  unobserved  observation  is  of  infinite  advantage 
in  life,  and  is  to  be  acquired  with  care ;  and,  on  the  con- 
trary, what  is  called  absence,  which  is  a  thoughtlessness, 
and  want  of  attention  about  what  is  doing,  makes  a  man  so 
like  either  a  fool  or  a  madman,  that  for  my  part  I  see 
no  real  difference.  A  fool  never  has  thought ;  a  mad- 
man has  lost  it ;  and  an  absent  man  is,  for  the  time, 
without  it. 

Adieu  !  Direct  your  next  to  me,  chez  Monsieur  Chabert, 
Banquier,  d  Paris ;  and  take  care  that  I  find  the  improve- 
ments I  expect,  at  my  return. 


LETTER  VII. 

DEAR   BOY,  Spa,  August  the  6th,  1741. 

I  AM  very  well  pleased  with  the  several  performances  you 
sent  me,  and  still  more  so  with  Mr.  Maittaire's  letter,  that 
accompanied  them,  in  which  he  gives  me  a  much  better 
account  of  you  than  he  did  in  his  former.  Laudari 
a  laudato  viro^  was  always  a  commendable  ^ambition  \ 
encourage  that  ambition,  and  continue  to  deserve  the 
praises  of  the  praiseworthy.  White  ynn  do  sq,  yon  shp|l 
hn,Yf  whatever  ymi  will  from  mp;  nnrl  wb^"  yn^  cease  to 
do jsp,  you  shalljha^e_nothing. 

I  am  glad  you  have  begun  to  compose  a  little ;  it  will 
give  you  a  habit  of  thinking  upon  subjects,  which  is  at 
least  as  necessary  as  reading  them ;  therefore  pray  send  me 
your  thoughts  upon  this  subject : — 

"  Non  sibi,  sed  toti  genitum  se  credere  mundo." 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON  13 

It  is  a  part  of  Cato's  character  in  Lucan  ;  who  says,  that 
Cato  did  not  think  himself  born  for  himself  only,  but  for 
all  mankind.  Let  me  know,  then,  whether  you  think  that 
a  man  is  born  only  for  his  own  pleasure  and  advantage, 
or  whether  he  is  not  obliged  to  contribute  to  the  good 
of  the  society  in  which  he  lives,  and  of  all  mankind  in 
general.  This  is  certain,  that  every  man  receives  advan- 
tages from  society,  which  he  could  not  have,  if  he  were 
the  only  man  in  the  world  :  therefore,  is  he  not  in  some 
measure  in  debt  to  society?  and  is  he  not  obliged  to  do 
for  others  what  they  do  for  him  ?  You  may  do  this  in 
English  or  Latin,  which  you  please  ;  for  it  is  the  thinking 
part,  and  not  the  language,  that  I  mind  in  this  case. 

I  warned  you,  in  my  last,  against  those  disagreeable 
tricks  and  awkwardnesses,  which  many  people  contract 
when  they  are  young,  by  the  negligence  of  their  parents, 
and  cannot  get  quit  of  them  when  they  are  old  ;  such  as 
odd  motions,  strange  postures,  and  ungenteel  carriage 
But  there  is  likewise  an  awkwardnfss  nf  * 


oughLJ-Q  be,  —  nnd  with  °arp  r"ay  ^  gynidpH  :  as,  for 
instance,  to  mistake  or  forget  names  ;  to  speak  of  Mr. 
What-d'ye-call-him,  or  Mrs.  Thingum,  or  How-d'ye-call-her, 
is  excessively  awkward  and  ordinary.  To  call  people  by 
improper  titles  and  appellations  is  so  too  ;  as  my  Lord,  for 
Sir  ;  and  Sir,  for  my  Lord.  To  begin  a  story  or  narration, 
when  you  are  not  perfect  in  it,  and  cannot  go  through 
with  it,  but  are  forced,  possibly,  to  say  in  the  middle  of 
it,  "I  have  forgot  the  rest,"  is  very  unpleasant  and  hnnglinp 
One,  must  bfi  extremely  exar.r,  clear,  and  perspicuous  in 
pypryfhing  nnp  says,  Othfarwl'gp,  insiwiH  pf  entertaining  or 
informing  others,  one  only  tires  and  puzzles  them.  The 
voice  and  manner  of  speaking,  too,  are  not  to  be  neglected  : 
some  people  almost  shut  their  mouths  when  they  speak,  and 

4 


14  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

mutter  so  that  they  are  not  to  be  understood  ;  others  speak 
so  fast,  and  sputter,  that  they  are  not  to  be  understood 
neither  ;  some  always  speak  as  loud  as  if  they  were  talking 
to  deaf  people  ;  and  others  so  low  that  one  cannot  hear 
them.  All  these  habits  are  awkward  and  disagreeable,  and 
are  to  be  avoided  by  attention  :  they  are  the  distinguishing 
rnarlfs  of  thp  nrrjjnary  people,  who  have  had  no  care  taken 
of  their  education.  You  cannot  imagine  how  necessary  it 
is  to  mind  all  these  little  things  ;  for  I 


talents,  ill  received,  for  want  of  having 


faints  tOn  ;  and  nthprc  wHl  "^''vpd,  only  from  their 
little  talents  and  who  hafl  no  grpat 


LETTER    VIII. 
SlR,  Saturday. 

THE  fame  of  your  erudition,  and  other  shining  qualifi- 
cations, having  reached  to  Lord  Orrery,  he  desired  me,  that 
you  might  dine  with  him  and  his  son,  Lord  Boyle,  next 
Sunday;  which  I  told  him  you  should.  By  this  time,  I 
suppose,  you  have  heard  from  him ;  but,  if  you  have 
not,  you  must,  however,  go  there  between  two  and  three 
to-morrow,  and  say,  that  you  come  to  wait  upon  Lord 
Boyle,  according  to  his  Lordship's  orders,  which  I 
informed  you  of.  As  this  will  deprive  me  of  the  honour 
and  pleasure  of  your  company  at  dinner  to-morrow,  I  will 
hope  for  it  at  breakfast,  and  shall  take  care  to  have  your 
chocolate  ready. 

Though  I  need  not  tell  one  of  your  age,  experience, 
and  knowledge  of  the  world,  how  necessary  good-breeding 
is,  to  recommend  one  to  mankind;  yet,  as  your  various 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  15 

occupations  of  Greek  and  cricket,  Latin  and  pitch-farthing, 
may  possibly  divert  your  attention  from  this  object,  I 
take  the  liberty  of  reminding  you  of  it,  and  desiring  you 
to  be  very  well  bred  at  Lord  Orrery's.  Tf  is  gnnri  breading 
llfmp  t^nf  nnn  prApnccgcjfi  people  in  yonr  favnur  tt  first 
gighf;  F"™*  tirpp  bging  necessary  to  Hisr.nver  greater 
tajfipts.  This  good  breeding,  you  know,  does  not  consist 
in  low  bows  and  formal  ceremony;  hnf  fa  ^n  easy,  civilf 

You  will   therefore  take  care 


to  answer  with  complaisance,  when  you  are  spoken  to; 
to  place  yourself  at  the  lower  end  of  the  table,  unless 
bid  to  go  higher  ;  to  drink  first  to  the  Lady  of  the  house, 
and  next  to  the  Master;  not  to  eat  awkwardly  or  dirtily; 
not  to  sit  when  others  stand  :  and  to  do  all  this  with  an 
air  of  complaisance,  and  not  with  a  grave,  sour  look,  as 
if  you  did  it  all  unwillingly.  I  do  not  mean  a  silly,  insipid 
smile,  that  fools  have  when  they  would  be  civil;  but  an 
air  nf  sensible  gnnd  humour.  I  hardly  know  anything  so 
difficult  to  attain,  or  so  necessary  to  possess,  as  perfect 
good  breeding,  which  is  equally  inconsistent  with  a  stiff 
formality,  an  impertinent  forwardness,  and  an  awkward 
bashfulness.  A  little  ceremony  is  often  necessary;  a 
certain  degree  of  firmness  is  absolutely  so  ;  and  an  outward 
modesty  is  extremely  becoming  :  the  knowledge  of  the 
world,  and  your  own  observations,  must,  and  alone  can, 
tell  you  the  proper  quantities  of  each. 

Mr.  Fitzgerald  was  with  me  yesterday,  and  commended 
you  much  ;  go  on  to  deserve  commendations,  and  you  will 
certainly  meet  with  them.  Adieu. 


16  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 


LETTER  IX. 

DEAR  BOY,  Dublin,  January  the  25th,  1745. 

As  there  are  now  four  mails  due  from  England,  one  of 
which,  at  least,  will,  I  suppose,  bring  me  a  letter  from  you,  I 
take  this  opportunity  of  acknowledging  it  beforehand,  that 
you  may  not  accuse  me  (as  you  once  or  twice  have  done)  of 
negligence.  I  am  very  glad  to  find,  by  your  letter  which  I 
am  to  receive,  that  you  are  determined  to  apply  yourself 
seriously  to  your  business ;  to  attend  to  what  you  learn,  in 
order  to  learn  it  well ;  and  to  reflect  and  reason  upon  what 
you  have  learned,  that  your  learning  may  be  of  use  to  you. 
These  are  very  good  resolutions,  and  I  applaud  you  mightily 
for  them.  Now  for  your  last  letter,  which  I  have  received. 
You  rebuke  me  very  severely  for  not  knowing,  or  at  least 
not  remembering,  that  you  have  been  some  time  in  the  fifth 
form.  Here,  I  confess,  I  am  at  a  loss  what  to  say  for 
myself;  for,  on  the  one  hand,  I  own  it  is  not  probable  that 
you  would  not,  at  the  time,  have  communicated  an  event  of 
that  importance  to  me;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  not 
likely  that,  if  you  had  informed  me  of  it,  I  could  have  for- 
gotten it.  You  say  that  it  happened  six  months  ago;  in 
which,  with  all  due  submission  to  you,  I  apprehend  you  are 
mistaken,  because  that  must  have  been  before  I  left 
England,  which  I  am  sure  it  was  not;  and  it  does  not 
appear,  in  any  of  your  original  manuscripts,  that  it  happened 
since.  May  not  this  possibly  proceed  from  the  oscitancy 
of  the  writer?  To  this  oscitancy  of  the  librarians,  we  owe 
so  many  mistakes,  hiatuses,  lacunae,  etc.,  in  ancient  manu- 
scripts. It  may  here  be  necessary  to  explain  to  you  the 
meaning  of  the  Oscitantes  librarii  ;  which,  I  believe,  you  will 
easily  take.  These  persons  (before  printing  was  invented) 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  17 

transcribed  the  works  of  authors,  sometimes  for  their  own 
profit,  but  oftener  (as  they  were  generally  slaves)  for  the 
profit  of  their  masters.  In  the  first  case,  dispatch,  more  than 
accuracy,  was  their  object ;  for  the  faster  they  wrote  the  more 
they  got :  in  the  latter  case  (observe  this),  as  it  was  a  task 
imposed  on  them,  which  they  did  not  dare  to  refuse,  they 
were  idle,  careless,  and  incorrect ;  not  giving  themselves  the 
trouble  to  read  over  what  they  had  written.  The  celebrated 
Atticus  kept  a  great  number  of  these  transcribing  slaves,  and 
got  great  sums  of  money  by  their  labours. 

But,  to  return  now  to  your  fifth  form,  from  whence  I  have 
strayed,  it  may  be,  too  long ;  Pray  what  do  you  do  in  that 
country  ?  Be  so  kind  as  to  give  me  a  description  of  it. 
What  Latin  and  Greek  books  do  you  read  there  ?  Are  your 
exercises  exercises  of  invention  ?  or  do  you  still  put  the  bad 
English  of  the  psalms  into  bad  Latin,  and  only  change  the 
shape  of  Latin  verse,  from  long  to  short,  and  from  short  tc 
long  ?  People  do  not  improve,  singly,  by  travelling,  but  by 
the  observations  they  make,  and  by  keeping  good  company 
where  they  do  travel.  So  I  hope,  in  your  travels,  through 
the  fifth  form,  you  keep  company  with  Horace  and  Cicero, 
among  the  Romans ;  and  Homer  and  Xenophon,  among  the 
Greeks ;  and  that  you  are  got  out  of  the  worst  company  in 
the  world,  the  Greek  epigrams.  Martial  has  wit,  and  is 
worth  your  looking  into  sometimes ;  but  I  recommend  the 
Greek  epigrams  to  your  supreme  contempt.  Good-night 
to  you. 


i8  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 


LETTER  X. 

DEAR  BOY,  Dublin  Castle,  November  the  igth,  174$. 

I  HAVE  received  your  last  Saturday's  performance,  with 
which  I  am  very  well  satisfied  I  know  or  have  heard  of  no 
Mr.  St.  Maurice  here ;  and  young  Pain,  whom  I  have  made 
an  Ensign,  was  here  upon  the  spot,  as  were  every  one  of 
those  I  have  named  in  these  new  levies. 

Now  that  the  Christmas  breaking  up  draws  near,  I  have 
ordered  Mr.  Desnoyers  to  go  to  you,  during  that  time,  to 
teach  you  to  dance.  I  desire  you  will  particularly  attend  to 
the  graceful  motion  of  your  arms ;  which,  with  the  manner 
of  putting  on  your  hat,  and  giving  your  hand,  is  all  that 
a  gentleman  need  attend  to.  pancing  is  in  itself  a  very 
trifling,  silly  thing :  but  it  is  one  of  those  established  follies 
to  which  people  of  sense  are  sometimes  obliged  to  conform  ; 
and  then  they  should  be  able  to  do  it  well.  And,  though  I 
would  not  have  you  a  dancer,  yet,  when  you  do  dance,  I 
would  have  you  dance  well,  as  I  would  have  you  do  every- 
thingf  vou  do  well.  Thpiv*  \<^  J\Q  opp  thinp  Sf^  trifling,  bnt 

which}   (if  it   is   tn   he    rlnnp   at   nil)   nnghf   fn   hf   Hnnp    Wf11 

And  I  have  often  told  you,  that  I  wished  you  even  played  at 
pitch,  and  cricket,  better  than  any  boy  at  Westminster.  For 
instance ;  dress  is  a  very  foolish  thing  ;  and  yet  it  is  a  very 
foolish  thing  for  a  man  not  to  be  well  dressed,  according 
to  his  rank  and  way  of  life ;  and  it  is  so  far  from  being  a 
disparagement  to  any  man's  understanding,  that  it  is  rather 
a  proof  of  it,  to  be  as  well  dressed  as  those  whom  he  lives 
with :  the  difference  in  this  case,  between  a  man  of  sense  and 
a  Jop,  isT  that  the  fop  values  himself  upon  his  dress  ;  andjhe 
man  of  sense  laughs  at  it,  at  the  same  time  that  he  knows^be 
must  not  neglect  it.  There  are  a  thousand  foolish  customs 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SOtf  1$ 

onhis  kindj  which  not  being  criminal  must  be  complied  with, 
and  even  cheerfully,  by  men  of  sense.  Diogenes  the  Cynic  | 
was  a  wise  man  for  despising  them ;  but  a  fool  for  showing! 
it.  Be  wiser  than  other  people,  if  you  can  ;  but  do  not  tell 
them  so. 

It  is  a  very  fortunate  thing  for  Sir  Charles  Hotham  to 
have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  one  of  your  age,  experience, 
and  knowledge  of  the  world ;  I  am  persuaded  you  will  take 
infinite  care  of  him.  Good-night. 


LETTER  XI. 

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

THOUGH  I  employ  so  much  of  my  time  in  writing  to 
you,  I  confess  I  have  often  my  doubts  whether  it  is  to 
any  purpose.  I  know  how  unwelcome  advice  generally 
is ;  I  know  that  those  who  want  it  most  like  it  and  follow 
it  least ;  and  I  know,  too,  that  the  advice  of  parents,  more 
particularly,  is  ascribed  to  the  moroseness,  the  imperious- 
ness,  or  the  garrulity  of  old  age.  But  then,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  flatter  myself,  that  as  your  own  reason  (though 
too  young  as  yet  to  suggest  much  to  you  of  itself)  is, 
however,  strong  enough  to  enable  you  both  to  judge  of 
and  receive  plain  truths:  I  flatter  myself,  I  say,  that 
your  own  reason,  young  as  it  is,  must  tell  you  that  I  can., 
have  no  interest  but  yonrf;  in  th°  arfvirf*  T  gi\T  y^n  ;  and 
that,  consequently,  you  will  at  least  weigh  and  consider 
it  well :  in  which  case,  some  of  it  will,  I  hope,  have  its 
effect.  Do  not  think  that  I  mean  to  dictate  as  a  parent ; 
I  only  mean  to  advise  as  a  friend,  and  an  indulgent  one 


*o  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

too:  and  do  not  apprehend  that  I  mean  to  check  youi 
pleasures ;  of  which,  on  the  contrary,  I  only  desire  to  be 
the  guide,  not  the  censor.  Let  my  experience  supply 
your  want  of  it,  and  clear  your  way  in  the  progress  of 
your  youth  of  those  thorns  and  briers  which  scratched 
and  disfigured  me  in  the  course  of  mine.  I  do  not,  there- 
fore, so  much  as  hint  to  you  how  absolutely  dependent 
you  are  upon  me ;  that  you  neither  have  nor  can  have 
a  shilling  in  the  world  but  from  me ;  and  that,  as  I  have 
no  womanish  weakness  for  your  person,  your  merit  must 
and  will  be  the  only  measure  of  my  kindness.  I  say, 
I  do  not  hint  these  things  to  you,  because  I  am  convinced 
that  you  will  act  right  upon  more  noble  and  generous 
principles ;  I  mean,  for  the  sake  of  doing  right,  and  out 
of  affection  and  gratitude  to  me. 

I  have  so  often  recommended  to  you  attention  and 
application  to  whatever  you  learn,  that  I  do  not  mention 
them  now  as  duties,  but  I  point  them  out  to  you  as 
conducive,  nay,  absolutely  necessary,  to  your  pleasures; 
for  can  there^  be  a  greater  pleasure  th an  _to_he_yji i versal  1  y 
allowed  to  excel  those  of  one's  own  age  gn^  manner  nf 
_life?  And,  consequently,  can  there  be  anything  more 
mortifying  than  to  be  excelled  by  them  ?  In  this  latter 
case,  your  shame  and  regret  must  be  greater  than  any- 
body's, because  everybody  knows  the  uncommon  care 
which  has  been  taken  of  your  education,  and  the  oppor- 
tunities you  have  had  of  knowing  more  than  others  of 
your  age.  I  do  not  confine  the  application  which  T 
recommend,  singly  to  the  view  and  emulation  of  excelling 
ft,  others  (though  that  is  a  very  sensible  pleasure  and  a  very 
I  warrantable  pride)  L-buL  I  mean  likewise  to  excel  in  the 
thing  itself:  for,  in  my  mind,  one  may  as  well  not  know 
a  thing  at  all,  as  know  it  but  imperfectly.  To  know  a  little 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  21 

of  anything,  gives  neither  satisfaction  nor  credit,  but  often 
brings  disgrace  or  ridicule. 
Mr.  Pope  says,  very  truly, 

"  A  little  knowledge  is  a  dangerous  thing  ; 
Drink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Castalian  spring." 

And  what  is  called  a  smattering  01  everything  infallibly 
constitutes  a  coxcomb.  I  have  often,  of  late,  reflected 
what  an  unhappy  man  I  must  now  have  been,  if  I  had 
not  acquired  in  my  youth  some  fund  and  taste  of  learning. 
What  could  I  have  done  with  myself,  at  this  age,  with- 
out them?  I  must,  as  many  ignorant  people  do,  have 
destroyed  my  health  and  faculties  by  sotting  away  the 
evenings ;  or,  by  wasting  them  frivolously  in  the  tattle 
of  women's  company,  must  have  exposed  myself  to  the 
ridicule  and  contempt  of  those  very  women;  or,  lastly, 
I  must  have  hanged  myself,  as  a  man  once  did,  for 
weariness  of  putting  on  and  pulling  off  his  shoes  and 
stockings  every  day.  My  books,  and  only  my  books,  are 
now  left  me ;  and  I  daily  find  what  Cicero  says  of  learning 
to  be  true :  "  Hac  studio,  (says  he)  adolescentiam  aluni> 
senectutem  oblectant,  secundas  res  ornant^  adversis  perfugium 
ac  solatium  prcebent^  delectant  domt\  non  impediunt  fort's, 
pernoclant  nobiscum,  peregrinantur,  rusticantur" 

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

Let  me.  therefore,  most  earnestly  rernmmend  to  you 
to  hoard  up,  while  you 


22  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

for  tnough,  during  the  dissipation  of  your  youth,  you 
may  not  have  occasion  to  spend  much  of  it,  yet  you 
may  depend  upon  it  that  a  time  will  come,  when  you 
will  want  it  to  maintain  you.  Public  granaries  are  filled 
in  plentiful  years ;  not  that  it  is  known  that  the  next, 
or  the  second,  or  third  year  will  prove  a  scarce  one,  but 
because  it  is  known  that  sooner  or  later  such  a  year  will 
come,  in  which  the  grain  will  be  wanted. 

I  will  say  no  more  to  you  upon  this  subject ;  you  have 
Mr.  Harte  with  you  to  enforce  it ;  you  have  Reason  to 
assent  to  the  truth  of  it ;  so  that,  in  short,  "  you  have 
Moses  and  the  Prophets ;  if  you  will  not  believe  them, 
neither  will  you  believe,  though  one  rose  from  the  dead." — 
Do  not  imagine  that  the  knowledge,  which  I  so  much 
recommend  to  you,  is  confined  to  books,  pleasing,  useful, 
and  necessary  as  that  knowledge  is :  but  I  comprehend 
in  it  the  grp£f__knnw1pr|gp  ^  ^  ynrlH,  still  moj^  per.PS-_ 
sary  than  that-flf  books.  In  truth,  they  assist  one  another 
reciprocally ;  and  no  man  will  have  either  perfectly,  who 
has  not  both.  The  knowledge  of  the  world  is  only  to 
be  acquired  in  the  world,  and  not  in  a  closet.  Books 
alone  will  never  teach  it  you ;  but  they  will  suggest  many 
things  to  your  observation,  which  might  otherwise  escape 
you ;  and  your  own  observations  upon  mankind,  when 
compared  with  those  which  you  will  find  in  books,  will 
help  you  to  fix  the  true  point. 

To  know  mankind  well  requires  full  as  much  attention 
and  application  as  to  know  books,  and,  it  may  be,  more 
sagacity  and  discernment.  I  am,  at  this  time,  acquainted 
with  many  elderly  people,  who  have  all  passed  their  whole 
lives  in  the  great  world,  but  with  such  levity  and  in- 
attention, that  they  know  no  more  of  it  now  than  they 
did  at  fifteen.  Do  not  flatter  yourself,  therefore,  with 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  23 

(he  thoughts  that  you  can  acquire  this  knowledge  in  the 
frivolous  chit-chat  of  idle  companies :  no,  you  must  go 
much  deeper  than  that.  You  must  look  into  people,  as  well 
as  at  foem*  Almost  all  people  are  born  with  all  the 
passions,  to  a  certain  degree ;  but  almost  every  man  has  a 
prevailing  one,  to  which  the  others  are  subordinate.  Search 
every  one  for  that  ruling  passion ;  pry  into  the  recesses  of 
liis  Tieart,  and  observe  the  different  workings  of  the  same 
passion  in  different  people.  AgjjhPn  ynn  havp  f™mH 
out  thfi  prevailing  passion  of  any  man,  remember  never  to 
trust  him,  where  that  passion  is  concerned.  Work  upon 
him  by  it,  if  you  please,  but  be  upon  your  guard  yourself 
against  it,  whatever  professions  he  may  make  you. 

I  would  desire  you  to  read  this  letter  twice  over,  but 
ihat  I  much  doubt  whether  you  will  read  once  to  the  end 
Df  it.  I  will  trouble  you  no  longer  now ;  but  we  will  have 
more  upon  this  subject  hereafter.  Adieu. 

CHESTERFIELD 

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


LETTER  XII. 

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

YOUR  distresses  in  your  journey  from  Heidelberg  to 
Schaffhausen,  your  lying  upon  straw,  your  black  bread,  and 
your  broken  Berlinc^  are  proper  seasonings  for  the  greater 
fatigues  and  distresses,  which  you  must  expect  in  the 
course  of  your  travels  ;  and,  if  one  had  a  mind  to  moralise, 
one  might  call  them  the  samples  of  the  accidents,  rubs,  and 


24  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

difficulties,  which  every  man  meets  with  in  his  journey 
through  life.  In  this  journey,  the__Ujad£rstaxadtQg  is  the 
voiturc  that  must  carry  you  through;  and  in  proportion 
as  that  is  stronger  or  weaker,  more  or  less  in  repair,  your 
journey  will  be  better  or  worse ;  though,  at  best,  you  will 
now  and  then  find  some  bad  roads,  and  some  bad  inns. 
Take  care,  therefore,  to  keep  that  necessary  voiture  ic 
perfect  good  repair ;  examine,  improve,  and  strengthen  it 
every  day :  it  is  in  the  power,  and  ought  to  be  the  care,  of 
every  man  to  do  it ;  he  that  neglects  it  deserves  to  feel,  and 
certainly  will  feel,  the  fatal  effects  of  that  negligence. 

A  propos  of  negligence ;  I  must  say  something  to  you 
upon  that  subject.  You  know  I  have  often  told  you  that 
my  affection  for  you  was  not  a  weak,  womanish  one ;  and, 
far  from  blinding  me,  it  makes  me  but  more  quick-sighted 
as  to  your  faults  :  those  it  is  not  only  my  right,  but  my 
duty,  to  tell  you  of,  and  it  is  your  duty  and  your  interest  to 
correct  them.  In  the  strict  scrutiny  which  I  have  made 
into  you,  I  have  (thank  God)  hitherto  not  discovered  any 
vice  of  the  heart,  or  any  peculiar  weakness  of  the  head  : 
but  I  have  discovered  laziness,  inattention,  &nd  indifference ; 
faults  which  are  only  pardonable  in  old  men,  who,  in  the 
decline  of  life,  when  health  and  spirits  fail,  have  a  kind  of 
claim  to  that  sort  of  tranquillity.  ^ut.a_yojing-maft  should 
hfi  nmhi'Hrms  t^  Fihinft  nnrl  oTTfiftl ;  alert,  active,  and  inde- 
fatigable in  the  means  of  doing  it ;  and,  like  Caesar,  Nil 
actum  reputans^  si  quid  supcresset  agendum.  You  seem  to 
want  that  vivida  vis  animi  which  spurs  and  excites  most 
young  men  to  please,  to  shine,  to  excel.  Without—the 
j  d£sire_arjr1  thp  piins  nrroncary  to  bo  concidorablc,  depend- 
I  upon  it  you  never  can  be  so  ;  as,  without  the  desire  and 
attention  necessary  to  please,  you  never  can  please.  Nullum 
numen  abest>  si  sit  prudentia>  is  unquestionably  true  with 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  25 

regard  to  everything  except  poetry ;  and  I  am  very  sure  that 
any  man  of  common  understanding  may,  by  proper  culture, 
care,  attention,  and  labour,  make  himself  whatever  he 
pleases  except  a  good  poet.  Your  destination  is  the  greaa 
and  busy  world ;  your  immediate  object  is  the  affairs,  tha 
interests,  and  the  history,  the  constitutions,  the  customs, 
and  the  manners  of  the  several  parts  of  Europe.  In  this 
any  man  of  common  sense  may,  by  common  application, 
be  sure  to  excel.  Ancient  and  TVftndern  History  are,  by 
attention,  easily  attainable.  Geography  and  Chronology 
the  same ;  none  of  them  requiring  any  uncommon  share  of 
genius  or  invention.  Speaking  and  writing  clearly, 
and  with  ease  and 
reading  the  best  authors  with  care,  and  by  Attention  tn  tv>*> 
best  u'ving_models.  These  are  tfr^  gnp'lificatinns  more 
particularly  necessary  for  you  in  your  department,  which 
you  may  be  possessed  of  if  you  please,  and  which,  I  tell 
you  fairly,  I  shall  be  very  angry  at  you  if  you  are  not ; 
because,  as  you  have  the  means  in  your  hands,  it  will  be 
your  own  fault  only. 

If  care  and  application  are  necessary  to  the  acquiring 
of  those  qualifications,  without  which  you  can  never  be 
considerable  nor  make  a  figure  in  the  world,  they  are  not 
less  necessary  with  regard  to  the  lesser  accomplishments, 
which  are  requisite  to  make  you  agreeable  and  pleasing  in 
society.  In  truth,  whatever  is  worth  doing  at  all  is  worth 
doing  well,  and  nothing  can  be  done  well  without  attention  : 
I  therefore  carry  the  necessity  of  attention  down  to  the 
lowest  things,  even  to  dancing  and  dress.  Custom  has 
made  dancing  sometimes  necessary  for  a  young  man; 
therefore  mind  it  while  you  learn  it,  that  you  may  learn  to 
do  it  well,  and  not  be  ridiculous,  though  in  a  ridiculous  act. 
Dress  is  of  the  same  nature;  you  must  dress,  therefore 


26  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

attend  to  it ;  not  in  order  to  rival  or  to  excel  a  fop  in  it, 
but  inj>rder  to  avoid  singularity^nd  consequently  ridicule. 
Take  great  care  always  to  be  dressed  like  the  reasonable 
people  of  your  own  age,  in  the  place  where  you  are,  whose 
dress  is  never  spoken  of  one  way  or  another,  as  either  too 
negligent  or  too  much  studied. 

What  is  commonly  called  an  absent  man,  is  commonly 
either  a  very  weak  or  a  very  affected  man ;  but  be  he  which 
he  will,  he  is,  I  am  sure,  a  very  disagreeable  man  in  com- 
pany. He  fails  in  all  the  common  offices  of  civility;  he 
seems  not  to  know  those  people  to-day  with  whom  yesterday 
he  appeared  to  live  in  intimacy.  He  takes  no  part  in  the 
general  conversation ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  breaks  into  it 
from  time  to  time  with  some  start  of  his  own,  as  if  he  waked 
from  a  dream.  This  (as  I  said  before)  is  a  sure  indication 
Cither  of  a  mind  so  weak  that  it  is  not  able  to  bear  above 
me  object  at  a  time;  or  so  affected,  that  it  would  be 
supposed  to  be  wholly  engrossed  by,  and  directed  to,  some 
very  great  and  important  objects.  Sir  Isaac  Newton, 
Mr.  Locke,  and  (it  may  be)  five  or  six  more,  since  the 
creation  of  the  world,  may  have  had  a  right  to  absence, 
from  that  intense  thought  which  the  things  they  were 
investigating  required.  But  if  a  young  man,  and  a  man  of 
the  world,  who  has  no  such  avocations  to  plead,  will  claim 
and  exercise  that  right  of  absence  in  company,  his  pretended 
right  should,  in  my  mind,  be  turned  into  an  involuntary 
absence,  by  his  perpetual  exclusion  out  of  company.  How- 
ever frivolous  a  company  may  be,  still,  while  you  are  among 
them,  do  not  show  them,  by  your  inattention,  that  you 
think  them  so ;  but  rather  take  their  tone,  and  coaform  in 
some  degree  to  their  weakness,  instead  of  manifesting  your 
contempt  for  them.  There  is  nothing  that  people  bear 
more  impatiently,  or  forgive  less,  than  contempt :  and  an 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  27 

injury  is  much  sooner  forgotten  than  an  insult.  If,  therefore, 
you  would  rather  please  than  offend,  rather  be  well  than  ill 
spoken  of,  rather  be  loved  than  hated,  remember  to  have 
that  constant  attention  about  yrm  wfric,h  flfltfprs  pYPry  man's 
little  vanity;  and  the  want  of  which,  by  mortifying  his 
pride,  never  fails  to  excite  his  resentment,  or  at  least  his  ill- 
wilL  For  instance  ;  most  people  (I  might  say  all  people) 
have  their  weaknesses  ;  they  have  their  aversions  and  their 
likings,  to  such  and  such  things  ;  so  that,  if  you  were  to 
laugh  at  a  man  for  his  aversion  to  a  cat,  or  cheese  (which 
are  common  antipathies),  or,  by  inattention  and  negligence, 
to  let  them  come  in  his  way  where  you  could  prevent  it, 
he  would,  in  the  first  case,  think  himself  insulted,  and,  in 
the  second,  slighted,  and  would  remember  both.  Whereas 
your  care  to  procure  for  him  what  he  likes,  and  to  remove 
from  him  what  he  hates,  shows  him  that  he  is  at  least  an 
object  of  your  attention;  flutters  hfa  vanity  anrj  maVps  him 
™orA  yniir  /riVn(1,  than  a  more  important 


With  regard  to  women,  attentions  still 
below  these  are  necessary,  and,  by  the  custom  of  the  world, 
in  some  measure  due,  according  to  the  laws  of  good 
breeding. 

My  long  and  frequent  letters  which  I  send  you,  in  great 
doubt  of  their  success,  put  me  in  mind  of  certain  papers 
which  you  have  very  lately,  and  I  formerly,  sent  up  to  kites, 
along  the  string,  which  we  called  messengers  ;  some  of  them 
the  wind  used  to  blow  away,  others  were  torn  by  the  string, 
and  but  few  of  them  got  up  and  stuck  to  the  kite.  But 
I  will  content  myself  now,  as  I  did  then,  if  some  of  my 
present  messengers  do  but  stick  to  you.  Adieu. 


28  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 


LETTER  XIII. 

DEAR   BOY,  London,  December  the  2nd,  O.  S.  1746. 

I  HAVE  not,  in  my  present  situation,  time  to  write  to  you, 
either  so  much  or  so  often  as  I  used,  while  I  was  in  a  place 
of  much  more  leisure  and  profit :  but  my  affection  for  you 
must  not  be  judged  of  by  the  number  of  my  letters  ;  andT 
though  the  one  lessens,  the  other,  I  assure  you,  does  not. 

I  have  just  now  received  your  letter  of  the  25th  past, 
N.  S.,  and,  by  the  former  post,  one  from  Mr.  Harte,  with 
both  which  I  am  very  well  pleased  :  with  Mr.  Harte's,  for 
the  good  account  which  he  gives  me  of  you:  with  yours 
for  the  good  account  you  give  me  of  what  I  desired  to  b( 
informed  of.  Pray  continue  to  give  me  further  information 
of  the  form  of  government  of  the  country  you  are  now  in  ; 
which  I  hope  you  will  know  most  minutely  before  you 
leave  it.  The  inequality  of  the  town  of  Lausanne  seems  to 
be  very  convenient  in  this  cold  weather  ;  because  going  up 
hill  and  down  will  keep  you  warm. — You  say  there  is  a 
good  deal  of  good  company;  pray,  are  you  got  into  it? 

^Have  you  made  acquaintances,  and  with  whom  ?     Let  me 

jknow  some  of  their  names.     Do  you  learn  German  yet,  to 

/read,  write,  and  speak  it? 

Yesterday,  I  saw  a  letter  from  Monsieur  Bochat,  to  a 
friend  of  mine,  which  gave  me  the  greatest  pleasure  that 
I  have  felt  this  great  while,  because  it  gives  so  very  good 
an  account  of  you.  Among  other  things  which  Monsieur 
Bochat  says  to  your  advantage,  he  mentions  the  tender 
uneasiness  and  concern  that  you  showed  during  my  illness ; 
for  which  (though  I  will  say  that  you  owe  it  me)  I  am 

obliged  to  you ;  sentiments  of  gratitude  not  being  universal, 
nor  even  common.      As  your  affection  for  me  can   only 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  29 

proceed  from  your  experience  and  conviction  of  my  fond« 
ness  for  you  (for  to  talk  of  natural  affection  is  talking 
nonsense),  thf  nnly  rfturn  I  de^'rft  is,  what  it  is  chiefly 
tn  maVf  trip  ;  I  mean,  yonr  invariable 


r>f  Virfii^  and  yniir  JnHpfaHprahle  pursuit  of  Knowledge. 
Adieu  !  and  be  persuacTieoTthat  I  shall  love  you  extremely 
jvhile  you  deserve  it,  but  not  one  moment  longer. 


LETTER  XIV. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  December  the  Qth,  O.  S.  1746. 

THOUGH  I  have  very  little  time,  and  though  I  write  by 
this  post  to  Mr.  Harte,  yet  I  cannot  send  a  packet  to 
Lausanne  without  a  word  or  two  to  yourself.  I  thank  you 
for  your  letter  of  congratulation  which  you  wrote  me,  not- 
withstanding the  pain  it  gave  you.  The  accident  that 
caused  the  pain  was,  I  presume,  owing  to  that  degree  of 
giddiness  which  I  have  sometimes  taken  the  liberty  to  speak 
*o  you  of.  The  post  I  am  now  in,  though  the  object  of 
most  people's  views  and  desires,  was  in  some  degree 
inflicted  upon  me;  and  a  certain  concurrence  of  circum- 
stances obliged  me  to  engage  in  it.  But  I  feel  that  it 
requires  more  strength  of  body  and  mind  than  I  have,  to 
go  through  with  it ;  were  you  three  or  four  years  older,  you 
should  share  in  my  trouble,  and  I  would  have  taken  you 
into  my  office ;  but  I  hope  you  will  employ  those  three  or 
four  years  so  well,  as  to  make  yourself  capable  of  being  of 
use  to  me,  if  I  should  continue  in  it  so  long.  The  read- 
ing, writing,  and  speaking  the  modern  languages  correctly ; 
the  knowledge  of  the  laws  of  nations,  and  the  particular 

5 


30  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

constitution  of  the  Empire;  of  History,  Geography,  and 
Chronology, — are  absolutely  necessary  to  this  business,  for 
which  I  have  always  intended  you.  With  these  qualifica- 
tions, you  may  very  possibly  be  my  successor,  though  not 
my  immediate  one. 

I  hope  you  employ  your  whole  time,  which  few  people 
do  ;  and  that  you  put  every  moment  to  profit  of  some  kind 
or  other.  I  call  company,  walking,  riding,  etc.,  employing 
one's  time,  and,  upon  proper  occasions,  very  usefully;  but 
what  I  cannot  forgive,  in  anybody,  is  sauntering,  and  doing 
nothing  at  all,  with  a  thing  so  precious  as  time,  and  so 
irrecoverable  when  lost. 

Are  you  acquainted  with  any  Ladies  at  Lausanne;  and 
do  you  behave  yourself  with  politeness  enough  to  make 
them  desire  your  company  ? 

I  must  finish:  God  bless  you  ! 


LETTER   XV. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  March  the  6th,  O.  S.  1747. 

WHATEVER  you  do  will  always  affect  me  very  sensibly 
one  way  or  another ;  and  I  am  now  most  agreeably  affected 
by  two  letters  which  I  have  lately  seen  from  Lausanne, 
upon  your  subject ;  the  one  was  from  Madame  St.  Germain, 
the  other  from  Monsieur  Pampigny :  they  both  give  so 
good  an  account  of  you,  that  I  thought  myself  obliged,  in 
justice  both  to  them  and  to  you,  to  let  you  know  it.  Those 
who  deserve  a  good  character  ought  to  have  the  satisfaction 
of  knowing  that  they  have  it,  both  as  a  reward  and  as  an 
encouragement.  They  write,  that  you  are  not  only 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  31 

but  tolerably  well-bred ;  and  that  the  English  crust  of 
awkward  bashfulness,  shyness,  and  roughness  (of  which,  by- 
the-by,  you  had  your  share),  is  pretty  well  rubbed  off.  I 
am  most  heartily  glad  of  it ;  for,  as  I  have  often  told  you, 
those  lesser  talents,  of  an  engaging,  insinuating  manner,  an 
easy  good  breeding,  a  genteel  behaviour  and  jiddressT  are  of 
infinitfly  mora  advantage  fhnr>  t,hpy  are  generally  thought  to 
be,  especially  here  in  England.  Virtue  and  learning,  like 
gold,  have  their  intrinsic  value ;  but  if  they  are  not  polished, 
they  certainly  lose  a  great  deal  of  their  lustre:  and  even 
polished  brass  will  pass  upon  more  people  than  rough 
gold.  What  a  number  of  sins  does  the  cheerful,  easy,  good 
breeding  of  the  French  frequently  cover !  Many  of  them 
want  common  sense,  many  more  common  learning ;  but  in 
general  they  make  up  so  much  by  their  manner  for  those 
defects,  that  frequently  they  pass  undiscovered.  I  have 
often  said,  and  do  think,  that  a  Frenchman,  who,  with 
ajund  of  virtueT  learning,  and  good  sense,  has  the  manners! 
and  ppod  breeding  of  his  rnnnfry.  is  Jbhe_jperfection  of 
rjjjyyjaj^atuje.  This  perfection  you  may,  if  you  please,  and 
I  hope  you  will,  arrive  at.  You  know  what  virtufijs :  you 
may  have  it  if  you  will ;  it  is  in  every  man's  power ;  and 
miserable  is  the  man  who  has  it  not.  Good  sense  God  has 
given  you.  Learn  ing,  you  already  possess  enough  of,  to 
have,  in  a  reasonable  time,  all  that  a  man  need  have. 
With  this  you  are  thrown  out  early  into  the  world,  where  it 
will  be  your  own  fault  if  you  do  not  acquire  all  the  other 
accomplishments  necessary  to  complete  and  adorn  your 
character.  You  will  do  well  to  make  your  compliments  to 
Madame  St.  Germain  and  Monsieur  Pampigny,  and  tell  them 
how  sensible  you  are  of  their  partiality  to  you,  in  the 
advantageous  testimonies  which,  you  are  informed,  they 
have  given  of  you  here. 


32  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

Adieu !     Continue  to  deserve  such  testimonies,  and  then 
you  will  not  only  deserve,  but  enjoy,  my  truest  affection. 


LETTER   XVI. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  March  the  27th,  O.  S.  1747. 

PLEASURE  is  the  rock  which  most  young  people  split 
upon ;  they  launch  out  with  crowded  sails  in  quest  of  it,  but 
without  a  compass  to  direct  their  course,  or  reason  sufficient 
to  steer  the  vessel;  for  want  of  which,  pain  and  shame, 
instead  of  Pleasure,  are  the  returns  of  their  voyage.  Do 
not  think  that  I  mean  to  snarl  at  Pleasure,  like  a  Stoic,  or 
to  preach  against  it,  like  a  Parson ;  no,  I  mean  to  point  it 
out,  and  recommend  it  to  you,  like  an  Epicurean :  "Jewish 
you  a  great  deal,  and  my  only  view  is  tn  Kinder  yrm  fmm 
mistaking  it. 

The  character  which  most  young  men  first  aim  at  is, 
that  of  a  Man  of  Pleasure;  but  they  generally  take  it 
upon  trust ;  and  instead  of  consulting  their  own  taste  and 
inclinations,  they  blindly  adopt  whatever  those  with  whom 
they  chiefly  converse  are  pleased  to  call  by  the  name  of 
Pleasure;  and  a  Man  of  Pleasure^  in  the  vulgar  acceptation 
of  that  phrase,  means  only  a  beastly  drunkard,  an  aban- 
doned whoremaster,  and  a  profligate  swearer  and  curser. 
As  it  may  be  of  use  to  you,  I  am  not  unwilling,  though  at 
the  same  time  ashamed,  to  own  that  the  vices  of  my  youth 
proceeded  much  more  from  my  silly  resolution  of  being 
what  I  heard  called  a  Man  of  Pleasure,  than  from  my 
own  inclinations.  I  always  naturally  hated  drinking;  and 
yet  I  have  often  drunk,  with  disgust  at  the  time,  attended 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  33 

by  great  sickness  the  next  day,  only  because  I  then  con- 
sidered drinking  as  a  necessary  qualification  for  a  fine 
gentleman  and  a  Man  of  Pleasure. 

The  same  as  to  gaming.  I  did  not  want  money,  and 
consequently  had  no  occasion  to  play  for  it;  but  I 
thought  Play  another  necessary  ingredient  in  the  com- 
position of  a  Man  of  Pleasure,  and  accordingly  I  plunged 
into  it  without  desire,  at  first;  sacrificed  a  thousand  real 
pleasures  to  it  ;  and  made  myself  solidly  uneasy  by  it,  for 
thirty  of  the  best  years  of  my  life. 

I  was  even  absurd  enough,  for  a  little  while,  to  swear, 
by  way  of  adorning  and  completing  the  shining  character 
which  I  affected;  but  this  folly  I  soon  laid  aside  upon 
finding  both  the  guilt  and  the  indecency  of  it. 

Thus  seduced  by  fashion,  and  blindly  adopting  nominal 
pleasures,  I  lost  real  ones  ;  and  my  fortune  impaired,  and 
my  constitution  shattered,  are,  I  must  confess,  the  just 
punishment  of  my  errors. 

Take  warning,  then,  by  them;  choose  your  pleasures 
for  yourself,  and  do  not  let  them  be  imposed  upon  you. 
Follow  nature,  and  not  fashion  :  weigh  the  present  enjoy- 
ment of  your  pleasures  against  the  necessary  consequences 

own  common  sense  determine 


ygur  r.hnire. 

Were  I  to  begin  the  world  again,  with  the  experience 
which  I  now  have  of  it,  I  would  lead  a  life  of  real,  not 
of  imaginary  pleasure.  I  would  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the 
table,  and  of  wine;  but  stop  short  of  the  pains  insepar- 
ably annexed  to  an  excess  in  either.  I  would  not,  at 
twenty  years,  be  a  preaching  missionary  of  abstemiousness 
and  sobriety;  and  I  should  let  other  people  do  as  they 
would,  without  formally  and  sententiously  rebuking  them 
for  it  ;  but  I  would  be  most  firmly  resolved  not  to  destroy 


34  LORD  CHESTERFIELDS 

my  own  faculties  and  constitution  in  complaisance  to  those 
who  have  no  regard  to  their  own.  I  would  play  to  give 
me  pleasure,  but  not  to  give  me  pain;  that  is,  I  would 
play  for  trifles,  in  mixed  companies,  to  amuse  myself  and 
conform  to  custom ;  but  I  would  take  care  not  to  venture 
for  sums,  which,  if  I  won,  I  should  not  be  the  better  for; 
but,  if  I  lost,  should  be  under  a  difficulty  to  pay;  and, 
when  paid,  would  oblige  me  to  retrench  in  several  other 
articles.  Not  to  mention  the  quarrels  which  deep  play 
commonly  occasions. 

I  would  pass  some  of  my  time  in  reading,  and  the  rest  in 
the  company  of  people  of  sense  and  learning,  and  chiefly 
those  above  me:  and  I  would  frequent  the  mixed  com- 
panies of  men  and  women  of  fashion,  which  though  often 
frivolous,  yet  they  unbend  and  refresh  the  mind,  not  use- 
lessly, because  they  certainly  polish  and  soften  the  manners. 

These  would  be  my  pleasures  and  amusements,  if  I 
were  to  live  the  last  thirty  years  over  again;  they  are 
rational  ones;  and  moreover  I  will  tell  you,  they  are 
really  the  fashionable  ones :  for  the  others  are  not,  in 
truth,  the  pleasures  of  what  I  call  people  of  fashion, 
but  of  those  who  only  call  themselves  so.  Does  good 
company  care  to  have  a  man  reeling  drunk  among  them  ? 
Or  to  see  another  tearing  his  hair,  and  blaspheming,  for 
having  lost,  at  play,  more  than  he  is  able  to  pay  ?  Or  a 
whoremaster  with  half  a  nose,  and  crippled  by  coarse  and 
infamous  debauchery  ?  No  ;  those  who  practise,  and  much 
more  those  who  brag  of  them,  make  no  part  of  good 
company ;  and  are  most  unwillingly,  if  ever,  admitted  into 
it.  A  real  man  of  fashion  and  pleasure  observes  decency; 
at  least,  neither  borrows  nor  affects  vices ;  and,  if  he 
unfortunately  has  any,  he  gratifies  them  with  choice 
delicacy,  and  secrecy. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  35 

I  have  not  mentioned  the  pleasures  of  the  mind  (which 
are  the  solid  and  permanent  ones),  because  they  do  not 
come  under  the  head  of  what  people  commonly  call 
pleasures,  which  they  seem  to  confine  to  the  senses.  The 
pleasure  of  virtue,  of  charity,  and  of  learning  is  true  and 
lasting  pleasure ;  which  I  hope  you  will  be  well  and  long 
acquainted  with.  Adieu. 


LETTER  XVII. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  April  the  3rd,  O.  S.  1747. 

IF  I  am  rightly  informed,  I  am  now  writing  to  a  fine 
Gentleman,  in  a  scarlet  coat  laced  with  gold,  a  brocade 
waistcoat,  and  all  other  suitable  ornaments.  The  natural 
partiality  of  every  author  for  his  own  works,  makes  me  very 
glad  to  hear  that  Mr.  Harte  has  thought  this  last  edition  of 
mine  worth  so  fine  a  binding ;  and  as  he  has  bound  it  in 
red  and  gilt  it  upon  the  back,  I  hope  he  will  take  care  that 
it  shall  be  lettered  too.  A  showish  binding  attracts  the 
eyes,  and  engages  the  attention  of  everybody ;  but  with 
this  difference,  that  women,  and  men  who  are  like  women, 
mind  the  binding  more  than  the  book;  whereas  men  of 
sense  and  learning  immediately  examine  the  inside ;  and  if 
they  find  that  it  does  not  answer  the  finery  on  the  outside, 
they  throw  it  by  with  the  greater  indignation  and  contempt. 
I  hope  that  when  this  edition  of  my  works  shall  be  opened 
and  read,  the  best  judges  will  find  connection,  consistency, 
solidity,  and  spirit  in  it.  Mr.  Harte  may  recensere  and 
emendare  as  much  as  he  pleases,  but  it  will  be  to  little  pur- 
pose if  you  do  not  cooperate  with  him.  The  work  will  be 
imperfect. 


$6  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

I  thank  you  for  your  last  information  of  our  success  in 
the  Mediterranean ;  and  you  say,  very  rightly,  that  a  Secre- 
tary of  State  ought  to  be  well  informed.  I  hope,  therefore, 
you  will  take  care  that  I  shall.  You  are  near  the  busy 
scene  in  Italy:  and  I  doubt  not  but  that,  by  frequently 
looking  at  the  map,  you  have  all  that  theatre  of  the  war 
very  perfect  in  your  mind. 

I  like  your  account  of  the  salt  works ;  which  shows  that 
you  gave  some  attention  while  you  were  seeing  them.  But, 
notwithstanding  that,  by  your  account,  the  Swiss  salt  is  (I 
dare  say)  very  good,  yet  I  am  apt  to  suspect  that  it  falls  a 
little  short  of  the  true  Attic  salt,  in  which  there  was  a 
peculiar  quickness  and  delicacy.  That  same  Attic  salt 
seasoned  almost  all  Greece,  except  Boeotia  j  and  a  great 
deal  of  it  was  exported  afterwards  to  Rome,  where  it  was 
counterfeited  by  a  composition  called  Urbanity,  which  in 
some  time  was  brought  to  very  near  the  perfection  of  the 
original  Attic  salt.  The  more  you  are  powdered  with  these 
two  kinds  of  salt,  the  better  you  will  keep,  and  the  more 
you  will  be  relished. 

Adieu !     My  compliments  to  Mr.  Harte  and  Mr.  Eliot. 


LETTER  XVIII. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  April  the  I4th,  O.  S.  1747. 

IF  you  feel  half  the  pleasure  from  the  consciousness  of 
doing  well,  that  I  do  from  the  informations  I  have  lately 
received  in  your  favour  from  Mr.  Harte,  I  shall  have  little 
occasion  to  exhort  or  admonish  you  any  more,  to  do  what 
your  own  satisfaction  and  self-love  will  sufficiently  prompt 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  37 

you  to.  Mr.  Harte  tells  me  that  you  attend,  that  you 
apply  to  your  studies ;  and  that,  beginning  to  understand, 
you  begin  to  taste  them.  This  pleasure  will  increase  and 
keep  pace  with  your  attention,  so  that  the  balance  will  be 
greatly  to  your  advantage.  You  may  remember,  that  I  have 
always  earnestly  recommended  to  you,  to  do  what  you  are 
about,  be  that  what  it  will ;  and  to  do  nothing  else  at  the 
same  time.  Do  not  imagine  that  I  mean  by  this,  that  you 
should  attend  to,  and  plod  at,  your  book  all  day  long ;  far 
from  it :  I  mean  that  you  should  have  your  pleasures  too ; 
and  that  you  should  attend  to  them,  for  the  time,  as  much 
as  to  your  studies;  and  if  you  do  not  attend  equally  to 
both,  you  will  neither  have  improvement  nor  satisfaction 
from  either.  A  man  is  fit  for  neither  business  nor  pleasure 
who  either  cannot,  or  does  not,  command  and  direct  his 
attention  to  the  present  object,  and  in  some  degree  banish, 
for  that  time,  all  other  objects  from  his  thoughts.  If  at  a 
ball,  a  supper,  or  a  party  of  pleasure,  a  man  were  to  be 
solving,  in  his  own  mind,  a  problem  in  Euclid,  he  would  be 
a  very  bad  companion,  and  make  a  very  poor  figure  in  that 
company  ;  or  if,  in  studying  a  problem  in  his  closet,  he 
were  to  think  of  a  minuet,  I  am  apt  to  believe  that  he 
would  make  a  very  poor  mathematician.  There  is  time 
enough  for  everything,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  if  you  do 
but  one  thing  at  once ;  but  there  is  not  time  enough  in  the 
year,  if  you  will  do  two  things  at  a  time.  The  Pensionary 
de  Witt,  who  was  torn  to  pieces  in  the  year  1672,  did  the 
whole  business  of  the  Republic,  and  yet  had  time  left  to  go 
to  assemblies  in  the  evening,  and  sup  in  company.  Being 
asked  how  he  could  possibly  find  time  to  go  through  so 
much  business,  and  yet  amuse  himself  in  the  evenings  as 
he  did  ?  he  answered,  There  was  nothing  so  easy ;  for  that 
it  was  only  doing  one  thing  at  a  time,  and  never  putting  off 


38  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

anything  till  to-morrow  that  could  be  done  to-day.  This 
steady  and  undissipated  attention  to  one  object  is  a  sure 
mark  of  a  superior  genius ;  as  hurry,  bustle,  and  agitation, 
are  the  never-failing  symptoms  of  a  weak  and  frivolous 
mind.  When  you  read  Horace,  attend  to  the  justness  of 
his  thoughts,  the  happiness  of  his  diction,  and  the  beauty 
of  his  poetry ;  and  do  not  think  of  Puffendorf  de  Homine  et 
Give :  and  when  you  are  reading  Puffendorf,  do  not  think 
of  Madame  de  St.  Germain ;  nor  of  Puffendorf,  when  you 
are  talking  to  Madame  de  St.  Germain. 

Mr.  Harte  informs  me,  that  he  has  reimbursed  you  part 
of  your  losses  in  Germany;  and  I  consent  to  his  reimburs- 
ing you  the  whole,  now  that  I  know  you  deserve  it.  I  shall 
grudge  you  nothing,  nor  shall  you  want  anything,  that  you 
desire,  provided  you  deserve  it:  so  that,  you  see,  it  is  in 
your  own  power  to  have  whatever  you  please. 

There  is  a  little  book  which  you  read  here  with  Monsieur 
Coderc,  entitled,  Maniere  de  bien  penser  dans  les  Outrages 
d'Esprit)  written  by  Pere  Bouhours.  I  wish  you  would 
read  this  book  again,  at  your  leisure  hours ;  for  it  will  not 
only  divert  you,  but  likewise  form  your  taste,  and  give 
you  a  just  manner  of  thinking.  Adieu ! 


LETTER  XIX. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  June  the  3Oth,  O.  S.  1747. 

I  WAS  extremely  pleased  with  the  account,  which  you 
gave  me  in  your  last,  of  the  civilities  that  you  received 
in  your  Swiss  progress ;  and  I  have  wrote,  by  this  post,  to 
Mr.  Burnaby,  and  to  the  Avoyert  to  thank  them  for  their 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  39 

parts..  If  the  attention  you  met  with  pleased  you,  as  I  dare 
say  it  did,  you  will,  I  hope,  draw  this  general  conclusion 
from  it,  That  attention  and  civility  please  all  those  to  whom 
they  are  paid ;  and  that  you  will  please  others,  in  proportion 
as  you  are  attentive  and  civil  to  them. 

Bishop  Burnet  has  wrote  his  travels  through  Switzerland ; 
and  Mr.  Stanyan,  from  a  long  residence  there,  has  written 
the  best  account,  yet  extant,  of  the  thirteen  Cantons ;  but 
those  books  will  be  read  no  more,  I  presume,  after  you 
shall  have  published  your  account  of  that  country.  I  hope 
you  will  favour  me  with  one  of  the  first  copies.  To  be 
serious;  though  I  do  not  desire  that  you  should  imme- 
diately turn  author,  and  oblige  the  world  with  your  travels ; 
yet,  wherever  you  go,  I  would  have  you  as  curious  and 
inquisitive  as  if  you  did  intend  to  write  them.  I  do  not 
mean  that  you  should  give  yourself  so  much  trouble,  to 
know  the  number  of  houses,  inhabitants,  signposts,  and 
tombstones  of  every  town  that  you  go  through;  but  that 
you  should  inform  yourself,  as  well  as  your  stay  will  permit 
you,  whether  the  town  is  free,  or  whom  it  belongs  to,  or  in 
what  manner;  whether  it  has  any  peculiar  privileges  or 
customs ;  what  trade  or  manufactures ;  and  such  other 
particulars  as  people  of  sense  desire  to  know.  And  there 
would  be  no  manner  of  harm,  if  you  were  to  take  memoran- 
dums of  such  things  in  a  paper  book  to  help  your  memory. 
The  only  way  of  knowing  all  these  things  is,  to  keep  the 
best  company,  who  can  best  inform  you  of  them. 

I  am  just  now  called  away ;  so  good-night  1 


40  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 


LETTER  XX. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  July  the  2Oth,  O.  S.  1747- 

IN  your  Mamma's  letter,  which  goes  here  enclosed,  you 
will  find  one  from  my  sister,  to  thank  you  for  the  Arque- 
busade  water  which  you  sent  her,  and  which  she  takes  very 
kindly.  She  would  not  show  me  her  letter  to  you ;  but  told 
me  that  it  contained  good  wishes  and  good  advice ;  and,  as 
I  know  she  will  show  your  letter  in  answer  to  hars,  I  send 
you  here  enclosed  the  draught  of  the  letter  which  I  would 
have  you  write  to  her.  I  hope  you  will  not  be  offended  at 
my  offering  you  my  assistance  upon  this  occasion  :  because, 
I  presume,  that  as  yet  you  are  not  much  used  to  write  to 
Ladies.  A  propos  of  letter-writing ;  the  best  models  that 
you  can  form  yourself  upon,  are  Cicero,  Cardinal  d'Ossat, 
Madame  Sevigne',  and  Comte  Bussy  Rabutin.  Cicero's 
Epistles  to  Atticus,  and  to  his  familiar  friends,  are  the  best 
examples  that  you  can  imitate,  in  the  friendly  and  the 
familiar  style.  The  simplicity  and  clearness  of  Cardinal 
d'Ossat's  letters,  show  how  letters  of  business  ought  to  be 
written:  no  affected  turns,  no  attempt  at  wit,  obscure  or 
perplex  his  matter ;  which  is  always  plainly  and  clearly 
stated,  as  business  always  should  be.  For  gay  and  amus- 
ing letters,  for  enjouement  and  badinage,  there  are  none  that 
equal  Comte  Bussy's  and  Madame  Sevignd's.  They  are  so 
natural,  that  they  seem  to  be  the  extempore  conversations  of 
two  people  of  wit,  rather  than  letters ;  which  are  commonly 
studied,  though  they  ought  not  to  be  so.  I  would  advise 
you  to  let  that  book  be  one  in  your  itinerant  library ;  it  will 
both  amuse  and  inform  you. 

I  have  not  time  to  add  any  more  now  ;  so  good-night. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  41 


LETTER   XXI. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  July  the  soth,  O.  S.  1747. 

IT  is  now  four  posts  since  I  have  received  any  letter, 
either  from  you  or  from  Mr.  Harte.  I  impute  this  to 
the  rapidity  of  your  travels  through  Switzerland ;  which  I 
suppose  are  by  this  time  finished. 

You  will  have  found  by  my  late  letters,  both  to  you  and 
to  Mr.  Harte,  that  you  are  to  be  at  Leipsig  by  next 
Michaelmas,  where  you  will  be  lodged  in  the  house  of 
Professor  Mascow,  and  boarded  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
it,  with  some  young  men  of  fashion.  The  Professor  will 
read  you  lectures  upon  Grotius  de  Jure  Belli  et  Pads,  the 
Institutes  of  Justinian,  and  the  Jus  Publicum  Imperil ; 
which  I  expect  that  you  shall  not  only  hear  but  attend  to, 
and  retain.  I  also  expect  that  you  make  yourself  perfectly 
master  of  the  German  language,  which  you  may  very  soon 
do  there  if  you  please.  I  give  you  fair  warning,  that  at 
Leipsig  I  shall  have  a  hundred  invisible  spies  about  you; 
and  shall  be  exactly  informed  of  everything  that  you  do, 
and  of  almost  everything  that  you  say.  I  hope  that,  in  con- 
sequence of  those  minute  informations,  I  may  be  able  to 
say  of  you,  what  Velleius  Paterculus  says  of  Scipio;  that 
in  his  whole  life,  nihil  non  laudandum  aut  dixit,  aut  fecit, 
aut  sensit.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  good  company  in 
Leipsig,  which  I  would  have  you  frequent  in  the  evenings, 
when  the  studies  of  the  day  are  over.  There  is  likewise 
a  kind  of  Court  kept  there  by  a  Duchess  Dowager  of 
Courland ;  at  which  you  should  get  introduced.  The  King 
of  Poland  and  his  Court  go  likewise  to  the  fair  at  Leipsig, 
twice  a  year;  and  I  shall  write  to  Sir  Charles  Williams, 
the  King's  Minister  there,  to  have  you  presented,  and 


42  LORD  CHESTERFIELD* S 

introduced  into  good  company.  But  I  must  remind  you,  at 
the  same  time,  that  it  will  bft  to  v^ry  b'Uk  purpose  for  yn" 
to  frequent  good  company,  if  yon  Ho  not-  rnnfnrm  t.n.  and 
learn  their  manners  ^  if  YOU,  are  not  attentive  to  please,  and 
well  bred  wjth  the  easiness  of  a  man  of  fashion.  As  you 
must  attend  to  your  manners,  so  you  must  not  neglect  your 
person;  but  take  care  to  be  very  clean,  well  dressed,  and 
genteel;  to  have  no  disagreeable  attitudes,  nor  awkward 
tricks;  which  many  people  use  themselves  to,  and  then 
cannot  leave  them  off.  Do  you  take  care  to  keep  your 
teeth  very  clean,  by  washing  them  constantly  every  morn- 
ing, and  after  every  meal  ?  This  is  very  necessary,  both  to 
preserve  your  teeth  a  great  while,  and  to  save  you  a  great 
deal  of  pain.  Mine  have  plagued  me  long,  and  are  now 
falling  out,  merely  for  want  of  care  when  I  was  of  your  age. 
Do  you  dress  well,  and  not  too  well?  Do  you  consider 
your  air  and  manner  of  presenting  yourself  enough,  and  not 
too  much?  neither  negligent  nor  stiff.  All  these  things 
deserve  a  degree  of  care,  a  second-rate  attention ;  they  give 
an  additional  lustre  to  real  merit.  My  Lord  Bacon  says, 
that  a  pleasing  figure  is  a  perpetual  letter  of  recommenda- 
tion. It  is  certainly  an  agreeable  forerunner  of  merit,  and 
smooths  the  way  for  it. 

Remember  that  I  shall  see  you  at  Hanover  next  summer, 
and  .shall-  expect  perfection ;  which  if  I  do  not  meet  with, 
or  at  least"something  very  near  it,  you  and  I  shall  not  be 
very  well  together.  I  shall  dissect  and  analyze  you  with 
a  microscope,  so  that  I  shall  discover  the  least  speck 
or  blemish.  This  is  fair  warning;  therefore  take  your 
measures  accordingly.  Yours. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON,  43 

LETTER   XXII. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  August  the  7th,  O.  S.  1747. 

I  RECKON  that  this  letter  has  but  a  bare  chance  of 
finding  you  at  Lausanne;  but  I  was  resolved  to  risk  it, 
as  it  is  the  last  that  I  shall  write  to  you  till  you  are  settled 
at  Leipsig.  I  sent  you  by  the  last  post,  under  cover  to  Mr. 
Harte,  a  letter  of  recommendation  to  one  of  the  first  people 
at  Munich  ;  which  you  will  take  care  to  present  to  him  in 
the  politest  manner:  he  will  certainly  have  you  presented 
to  the  Electoral  family;  and  I  hope  you  will  go  through 
that  ceremony  with  crfint  r^sn^rit.  ^ond.  hrfinrHnfy  rind 


As  this  is  the  first  Court  that  ever  you  will  have 
been  at,  take  care  to  inform  yourself,  if  there  be  any 
particular  customs  or  forms  to  be  observed,  that  you  may 
not  commit  any  mistake.  At  Vienna,  men  always  make 
courtesies,  instead  of  bows,  to  the  Emperor;  in  France, 
nobody  bows  at  all  to  the  King,  nor  kisses  his  hand  ;  but  in 
Spain  and  England,  bows  are  made,  and  hands  are  kissed. 
Thus  every  Court  has  some  peculiarity  or  other,  which 
those  who  go  to  them  ought  previously  to  inform  them- 
selves of,  to  avoid  blunders  and  awkwardnesses. 

I  have  not  time  to  say  any  more  now,  than  to  wish  you  a 
good  journey  to  Leipsig;  and  great  attention,  both  there 
and  in  going  thither.  Adieu. 


LETTER  XXIII. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  October  the  Qth,  O.  S.  1747. 

PEOPLE  of  your  age   have  commonly  an   unguarded 
frankness  about  them,  which  makes  them  the  easy  prey  and 


44  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

bubbles  of  the  artful  and  the  experienced :  they  look  upon 
every  knave,  or  fool,  who  tells  them  that  he  is  their  friend, 
to  be  really  so;  and  pay  that  profession  of  simulated 
friendship  with  an  indiscreet  and  unbounded  confidence, 
always  to  their  loss,  often  to  their  ruin.  Beware,  therefore, 
now  that  you  are  coming  into  the  world,  of  these  proffered 
friendships.  Receive  them  with  great  civility,  but  with 
great  inrrprlnlity  foo^  and  pay  thpm  with  ^pmpliments, 
fyif  nr>f  with  rrmfirlpnrg  Do  not  let  your  vanity  and  self- 
love  make  you  suppose  that  people  become  your  friends 
at  first  sight,  or  even  upon  a  short  acquaintance.  Real 
friendship  is  a  slow  grower;  and  never  thrives,  unless 
ingrafted  upon  a  stock  of  known  and  reciprocal  merit. 
There  is  another  kind  of  nominal  friendship,  among  young 
people,  which  is  warm  for  the  time,  but,  by  good  luck,  of 
short  duration.  This  friendship  is  hastily  produced  by 
their  being  accidentally  thrown  together,  and  pursuing  the 
same  course  of  riot  and  debauchery.  A  fine  friendship, 
truly !  and  well  cemented  by  drunkenness  and  lewdness. 
It  should  rather  be  called  a  conspiracy  against  morals  and 
good  manners,  and  be  punished  as  such  by  the  civil 
Magistrate.  However,  they  have  the  impudence  and  the 
folly  to  call  this  confederacy  a  friendship.  They  lend  one 
another  money  for  bad  purposes ;  they  engage  in  quarrels, 
offensive  and  defensive,  for  their  accomplices;  they  tell 
one  another  all  they  know,  and  often  more  too ;  when,  of 
a  sudden,  some  accident  disperses  them,  and  they  think  no 
more  of  each  other,  unless  it  be  to  betray  and  laugh  at 
their  imprudent  confidence.  Remember  to  make  a  great 
difference  between  companions  and  friends ;  for  a  very 
complaisant  and  agreeable  companion  may,  and  often  does, 
prove  a  very  improper  and  a  very  dangerous  friend.  People 
will,  in  a  great  degree,  and  not  without  reason,  form  their 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  45 

opinion  of  you  upon  that  which  they  have  of  your  friends; 
and  there  is  a  Spanish  proverb,  which  says  very  justly,  Tell 
me  whom  you  live  with,  and  I  will  tell  you  who  you  are. 
One  may  fairly  suppose  that  a  man  who  makes  a  knave 
or  a  fool  his  friend,  has  something  very  bad  to  do,  or  to 
conceal.  But,  at  the  same  time  that  you  carefully  decline 
the  friendship  of  knaves  and  fools,  if  it  can  be  called 
friendship,  thgrf*  ii  no  fMTffnnimi  tn  mnkp  pithpr  of  them 
yr>iir  pnpmips,  wantonly  and  unprovoked;  for  they  are 

numerous     bodieg  ;      ?n^     T 


neutrality,  than  alliance  or  war,  with  either  of  them.  You 
may  be  a  declared  enemy  to  their  vices  and  follies,  with- 
out being  marked  out  by  them  as  a  personal  one.  Their 
Hangprnim  thing  to  their  friendship. 


Have  a  real  reserve  with  almost  everybody;  and  have  a 
seeming  reserve  with  almost  nobody  ;  for  it  is  very  disagree- 
able to  seem  reserved,  and  very  dangerous  not  to  be  so. 
Few  people  find  the  true  medium  ;  many  are  ridiculously 
mysterious  and  reserved  upon  trifles;  and  many  impru- 
dently communicative  of  all  they  know. 

The  next  thing  to  the  choice  of  your  friends  is  the  choice 
of  your  company.  Endeavour,  as  much  as  you  can,  to 
keep  company  wi>h  p^pl^  phnvp  you.  There  you  rise,  as 
much  as  you  sink  with  people  below  you  ;  for  (as  I  have 
mentioned  before)  you  are  whatever  the  company  you  keep 
is.  Do  not  mistake,  when  I  say  company  above  you,  and 
think  that  I  mean  with  regard  to  their  birth  ;  that  is  the 
least  consideration  :  bull  mean  with  regard  to  their  merit, 
and  the  Hfiht  in.  wh|jr^  ^  wnrlrl  rnnsirters  fhprq. 

There  are  two  sorts  of  good  company;  one  which  is 
called  the  beau  monde,  and  consists  of  those  people  who 
have  the  lead  in  Courts,  and  in  the  gay  part  of  life;  the 
other  consists  of  those  who  are  distinguished  by  some 

6 


46  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

peculiar  merit,  or  who  excel  in  some  particular  and  valuable 
art  or  science.  For  my  own  part,  I  used  to  think  myself 
in  company  as  much  above  me,  when  I  was  with  Mr. 
Addison  and  Mr.  Pope,  as  if  I  had  been  with  all  the  princes 
in  Europe.  What  I  mean  by  low  company,  which  should 
by  all  means  be  avoided,  is  the  company  of  those  who, 
absolutely  insignificant  and  contemptible  in  themselves, 
think  they  are  honoured  by  being  in  your  company,  and 
who  flatter  every  vice  and  every  folly  you  have,  in  order 
to  engage  you  to  converse  with  them.  The  pride  of  being 
the  first  of  the  company  is  but  too  common ;  but  it  is 
very  silly,  and  very  prejudicial.  Nothing  in  the  world  lets 
down  a  character  more  than  that  wrong  turn. 

You  may  possibly  ask  me  whether  a  man  has  it  always  in 
his  power  to  get  into  the  best  company  ?  and  how  ?  I  say, 
Yes,  he  has,  by  deserving  it ;  provided  he  is  but  in  circum- 
stances which  enable  him  to  appear  upon  the  footing  of  a 
gentleman.  Merit  and  good  breeding  will  make  their  way 
everywhere.  Knowledge  will  introduce  him,  and  good 
brrrrling  will  rnrlnnr  hirjL  to  the  best  companies;  for,  as 
I  have  often  told  you,  politeness  and  good  breeding  are 
absolutely  necessary  to  adorn  any  or  all  other  good  qualities 
or  talents.  Without  them,  no  knowledge,  no  perfection 
whatsoever,  is  seen  in  its  best  light.  The  Scholar,  without 
good  breeding,  is  a  Pedant ;  the  Philosopher,  a  Cynic ;  the 
Soldier,  a  Brute ;  and  every  man  disagreeable. 

I  long  to  hear  from  my  several  correspondents  at  Leipsig, 
of  your  arrival  there,  and  what  impression  you  make  on 
them  at  first;  for  I  have  Arguses,  with  a  hundred  eyes 
each,  who  will  watch  you  narrowly,  and  relate  to  me  faith- 
fully. My  accounts  will  certainly  be  true ;  it  depends  upon 
you  entirely  of  what  kind  they  shall  be.  Adieu. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  47 


LETTER  XXIV. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  October  the  i6th  O.  S.  1747. 

THE  art  flf  p^a^f  is  a  very  necessary  one  to  possess,  fa  J  ILU^J 
but  a  very  difficult  one  to  acquire.  It  can  hardly 
reduced  to  rules,  and  your  own  good  sense  and  observation 
will  teach  you  more  of  it  than  I  can.  Do  as  you  would  be 
done  by  is  the  surest  method  that  I  know  of  pleasing. 
Observe  carefully  what  pleases  you  in  others,  and  probably 
the  same  things  in  you  will  please  others.  If  you  are 
pleased  with  the  complaisance  and  attention  of  others  to 
your  humours,  your  tastes,  or  your  weaknesses,  depend 
upon  it  the  same  complaisance  and  attention  on  your  part 
to  theirs,  will  equally  please  them.  Take  the  tone  of  the 
company  that  you  are  in,  and  do  not  pretend  to  give  it ;  be 
serious,  gay,  or  even  trifling,  as  you  find  the  present  humour 
of  the  company ;  this  is  an  attention  due  from  every 
individual  to  the  majority.  Do  not  tell  stories  in  company : 
there  is  nothing  more  tedious  and  disagreeable:  if  by 
chance  you  know  a  very  short  story,  and  exceedingly 
applicable  to  the  present  subject  of  conversation,  tell  it 
in  as  few  words  as  possible ;  and  even  then  throw  out  that 
you  do  not  love  to  tell  stories,  but  that  the  shortness  of  it 
tempted  you.  Of  all  things,  hn.nish  egotism  out  of  your 
^pyprgatmn,  and  never  think  of  entertaining  people  with 
your  own  personal  concerns  or  private  affairs ;  though 
they  are  interesting  to  you,  they  are  tedious  and  impertinent 
to  everybody  else :  besides  that,  one  cannot  keep  one's 
own  private  affairs  too  secret  Whatever  you  think  your 
own  excellencies  may  be,  do  not  affectedly  display  them  in 
company;  nor  labour,  as  many  people  do,  to  give  that 
turn  to  the  conversation  which  may  supply  you  with  an 


48  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

opportunity  of  exhibiting  them.  If  they  are  real,  they  will 
infallibly  be  discovered  without  your  pointing  them  out 
yourself,  and  with  much  more  advantage.  Never  maintain 
an  argument  with  heat  and  clamour,  though  you  think  or 
know  yourself  to  be  in  the  right ;  but  give  your  opinion 
modestly  and  coolly,  which  is  the  only  way  to  convince; 
and  if  that  does  not  do,  try  to  change  the  conversation,  by 
saying,  with  good  humour,  "  We  shall  hardly  convince  one 
another,  nor  is  it  necessary  that  we  should,  so  let  us  talk  of 
something  else." 

Remember  that  there  is  a  local  propriety  to  be  observed 
in  all  companies  \  and  that  what  is  extremely  proper  in 
one  company  may  be,  and  often  is,  highly  improper  in 
another. 

The  jokes,  the  bons  mots,  the  little  adventures,  which 
may  do  very  well  in  one  company,  will  seem  flat  and 
tedious  when  related  in  another.  The  particular  characters, 
the  habits,  the  cant  of  one  company  may  give  merit  to  a 
word,  or  a  gesture,  which  would  have  none  at  all  if  divested 
of  those  accidental  circumstances.  Here  people  very  com- 
monly err ;  and  fond  of  something  that  has  entertained 
them  in  one  company,  and  in  certain  circumstances,  repeat 
it  with  emphasis  in  another,  where  it  is  either  insipid,  or,  it 
may  be,  offensive,  by  being  ill-timed  or  misplaced.  Nay, 
they  often  do  it  with  this  silly  preamble ;  "  I  will  tell  you 
an  excellent  thing ; "  or,  "  I  will  tell  you  the  best  thing  in 
the  world."  This  raises  expectations,  which  when  absolutely 
disappointed,  make  the  relator  of  this  excellent  thing  look, 
very  deservedly,  like  a  fool. 

If  you  would  particularly  gain  the  affection  and  friendship 
of  particular  people,  whether  men  or  women,  endeavour  to 
find  out  their  predominant  excellency,  if  they  have  one,  and 
their  prevailing  weakness,  which  everybody  has ;  and  do 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  49 

justice  to  the  one,  and  something  more  than  justice  to  the 
other.  Men  have  various  objects  in  which  they  may  excel, 
or  at  least  would  be  thought  to  excel ;  and  though  they  love 
to  hear  justice  done  to  them  where  they  know  that  they 
excel,  yet  they  are  most  and  best  flattered  upon  those  points 
where  they  wish  to  excel,  and  yet  are  doubtful  whether 
they  do  or  not.  As,  for  example,  Cardinal  Richelieu,  who 
was  undoubtedly  the  ablest  Statesman  of  his  time,  or 
perhaps  of  any  other,  had  the  idle  vanity  of  being  thought 
the  best  Poet  too ;  he  envied  the  great  Corneille  his 
reputation,  and  ordered  a  criticism  to  be  written  upon  the 
Cid.  Those,  therefore,  who  flattered  skilfully,  said  little 
to  him  of  his  abilities  in  state  affairs,  or  at  least  but  en 
passant,  and  as  it  might  naturally  occur.  But  the  incense 
which  they  gave  him,  the  smoke  of  which  they  knew  would 
turn  his  head  in  their  favour,  was  as  a  bel  esprit  and  a 
Poet.  Why  ?  Because  he  was  sure  of  one  excellency, 
and  distrustful  as  to  the  other.  You  will  easily  discover 
every  man's  prevailing  vanity  by  observing  his  favourite 
topic  of  conversation,  for  every  man  talks  most  of  what  he 
has  most  a  mind  to  be  thought  to  excel  in.  Touch  him 
but  there,  and  you  touch  him  to  the  quick.  The  late  Sir 
Robert  Walpole  (who  was  certainly  an  able  man)  was  little 
open  to  flattery  upon  that  head,  for  he  was  in  no  doubt 
himself  about  it ;  but  his  prevailing  weakness  was  to  be 
thought  to  have  a  polite  and  happy  turn  to  gallantry,  of 
which  he  had  undoubtedly  less  than  any  man  living :  it  was 
his  favourite  and  frequent  subject  of  conversation,  which 
proved  to  those  who  had  any  penetration  that  it  was  his 
prevailing  weakness.  And  they  applied  to  it  with  success. 

Women  have  in  general  but  one  object,  which  is  their 
beauty;  upon  which  scarce  any  flattery  is  too  gross  for 
them  to  follow.  Nature  has  hardly  formed  a  woman  ugly 


50  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

enough  to  be  insensible  to  flattery  upon  her  person  ;  if  her 
face  is  so  shocking,  that  she  must  in  some  degree  be 
conscious  of  it,  her  figure  and  her  air,  she  trusts,  make 
ample  amends  for  it.  If  her  figure  is  deformed,  her  face, 
she  thinks,  counterbalances  it.  If  they  are  both  bad,  she 
comforts  herself  that  she  has  graces,  a  certain  manner,  a 
je  ne  sfais  quoi^  still  more  engaging  than  beauty.  This 
truth  is  evident,  from  the  studied  and  elaborate  dress  of 
the  ugliest  women  in  the  world.  An  undoubted,  uncon- 
tested,  conscious  beauty  is,  of  all  women,  the  least  sensible 
of  flattery  upon  that  head ;  she  knows  it  is  her  due,  and  is 
therefore  obliged  to  nobody  for  giving  it  her.  She  must 
be  flattered  upon  her  understanding;  which,  though  she 
may  possibly  not  doubt  of  herself,  yet  she  suspects  that  men 
may  distrust. 

Do  not  mistake  me,  and  think  that  I  mean  to  recommend 
| to  you  abject  and  criminal  flattery:  no,  flatter  nobody's 
vices  or  crimes ;  on  the  contrary,  abhor  and  discourage 
[them.  But  there  is  no  living  in  the  world  without  a  com- 
plaisant indulgence  for  people's  weaknesses,  and  innocent, 
though  ridiculous  vanities.  If  a  man  has  a  mind  to  be 
thought  wiser,  and  a  woman  handsomer,  than  they  really 
are,  their  error  is  a  comfortable  one  to  themselves,  and  an 
innocent  one  with  regard  to  other  people;  and  I  would 
rather  make  them  my  friends  by  indulging  them  in  it,  than 
my  enemies  by  endeavouring  (and  that  to  no  purpose)  to 
undeceive  them. 

There  are  little  attentions,  likewise,  which  are  infinitely 
engaging,  and  which  sensibly  affect  that  degree  of  pride  and 
self-love,  which  is  inseparable  from  human  nature,  as  they 
are  unquestionable  proofs  of  the  regard  and  consideration 
which  we  have  for  the  persons  to  whom  we  pay  them.  As, 
for  example,  to  observe  the  little  habits,  the  likings,  the 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  51 

antipathies,  and  the  tastes  of  those  whom  we  would  gain ; 
/and 'then  take  care  to  provide  them  with  the  one,  and  to 
(secure  them  from  the  other;  giving  them,  genteelly,  to 
understand,  that  you  had  observed  they  liked  such  a  dish, 
or  such  a  room,  for  which  reason  you  had  prepared  it :  or, 
on  the  contrary,  that  having  observed  they  had  an  aversion 
to  such  a  dish,  a  dislike  to  such  a  person,  etc.,  you  had 
taken  care  to  avoid  presenting  them.  Such  attention  to 
such  trifles  flatters  self-love  much  more  than  greater  things, 
as  it  makes  people  think  themselves  almost  the  only  objects 
of  your  thoughts  and  care. 

These  are  some  of  the  arcana  necessary  for  your  initiation 
in  the  great  society  of  the  world.  I  wish  I  had  known  them 
better  at  your  age  ;  I  have  paid  the  price  of  three  and  fifty 
years  for  them,  and  shall  not  grudge  it  if  you  reap  the 
advantage.  Adieu. 


LETTER  XXV. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  December  the  llth,  O.  S.  1747. 

THERE  is  nothing  which  I  more  wish  that  you  should 
know,  and  which  fewer  people  do  know,  than  the  true  use 
and  value  of  Time.  It  is  in  everybody's  mouth,  but  in  few 
people's  practice.  Every  fool,  who  slatterns  away  his  whole 
time  in  nothings,  utters,  however,  some  trite  commonplace 
sentence,  of  which  there  are  millions,  to  prove  at  once  the 
value  and  the  fleetness  of  time.  The  sun-dials,  likewise,  all 
over  Europe,  have  some  ingenious  inscription  to  that  effect ; 
so  that  nobody  squanders  away  their  time  without  hearing 
and  seeing  daily  how  necessary  it  is  to  employ  it  well,  and 


52  LORD  CHESTERFIELD*  S 

how  irrecoverable  it  is  if  lost.     Bjit  nil  rhpsp 


are  useless,  where  there  is  not  a  f^nd  nf  gnof| 
rppsnn  to  suggest  them,  rather  than  receive  them.  T5y  the 
manner  in  which  you  now  tell  me  that  you  employ  your 
time,  I  flatter  myself  that  you  have  that  fund  :  that  is  the 
fund  which  will  make  you  rich  indeed.  I  do  not,  therefore, 
mean  to  give  you  a  critical  essay  upon  the  use  and  abuse  of 
time  ;  I  will  only  give  you  some  hints  with  regard  to  the  use 
of  one  particular  period  of  that  long  time  which,  I  hope, 
you  have  before  you;  I  mean  the  next  two  years. 
Remember,  then,  that  whatever  knowledge  you  do  not 
solidly  lay  the  foundation  of  before  you  are  eighteen,  you 
will  never  be  master  of  while  you  breathe.  Knowledge  is  a 
comfortable  and  necessary  retreat  and  shelter  for  us  in  an 
advanced  age  ;  and  if  we  do  not  plant  it  while  young, 
it  will  give  us  no  shade  when  we  grow  old.  I  neither 
require  nor  expect  from  you  great  application  to  books, 
after  you  are  once  thrown  out  into  the  great  world.  I  know 
it  is  impossible  ;  and  it  may  even,  in  some  cases,  be 
improper  :  this,  therefore,  is  your  time,  and  your  only  time, 
for  unwearied  and  uninterrupted  application.  _If_^ou_  should 

smTTgtirnes  think   it  a  1i>j-1eUaJwrrnn<tr-^n^  is 

the  unavoidable  fatigue  of  a^aecessary  4ourney^-__The,  more 
hours  a  day  you  travelT—  the  noon^r  yonwill  be  at  your 
journey's  end.  The  sooner  you  are  quaTIHect  for  your 
liberty,  the  sooner  you  shall  have  it  ;  and  your  manumission 
will  entirely  depend  upon  the  manner  in  which  you  employ 
the  intermediate  time.  I  think  I  offer  you  a  very  good 
bargain,  when  I  promise  you,  upon  my  word,  that  if  you 
will  do  everything  that  I  would  have  you  do,  till  you  are 
eighteen,  I  will  do  everything  that  you  would  have  me  do, 
ever  afterwards. 

I  knc\v  a  gentleman  who  was  so  good  a  manager  of  his 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  53 

time,  that  he  would  not  even  lose  that  small  portion  of  it 
which  the  calls  of  nature  obliged  him  to  pass  in  the 
necessary-house ;  but  gradually  went  through  all  the  Latin 
Poets  in  those  moments.  He  bought,  for  example,  a 
common  edition  of  Horace,  of  which  he  tore  off  gradually  a 
couple  of  pages,  carried  them  with  him  to  that  necessary 
place,  read  them  first,  and  then  sent  them  down  as  a 
sacrifice  to  Cloacina  :  this  was  so  much  time  fairly  gained  ; 
and  I  recommend  to  you  to  follow  his  example.  It  is 
better  than  only  doing  what  you  cannot  help  doing  at 
those  moments  ;  and  it  will  make  any  book  which  you  shall 
read  in  that  manner  very  present  in  your  mind.  Books  of 
science,  and  of  a  grave  sort,  must  be  read  with  continuity ; 
but  there  are  very  many,  and  even  very  useful  ones,  which 
may  be  read  with  advantage  by  snatches,  and  uncon- 
nectedly :  such  are  all  the  good  Latin  Poets,  except  Virgil 
in  his  ^Eneid ;  and  such  are  most  of  the  modern  poets,  in 
which  you  will  find  many  pieces  worth  reading,  that  will  not 
take  up  above  seven  or  eight  minutes.  Bayle's,  Moreri's, 
and  other  dictionaries  are  proper  books  to  take  and  shut  up 
for  the  little  intervals  of  (otherwise)  idle  time,  that  every- 
body has  in  the  course  of  the  day,  between  either  their 
studies  or  their  pleasures.  Good-night 


LETTER  XXVI. 

DEAR  BOY,  January  the  2nd,  O.  S.  1748. 

I  AM  edified  with  the  allotment  of  your  time  at  Leipsig ; 
which  is  so  well  employed  from  morning  till  night,  that  a 
fool  would  say,  you  had  none  left  for  yourself;  whereas,  I 


54  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

am  sure,  you  have  sense  enough  to  know  that  such  a 
right  use  of  your  time  is  having  it  all  to  yourself;  nay,  it 
is  even  more,  for  it  is  laying  it  out  to  immense  interest ; 
which  in  a  very  few  years  will  amount  to  a  prodigious 
capital. 

Though  twelve  of  your  fourteen  Commensaux  may  not  be 
the  liveliest  people  in  the  world,  and  may  want  (as  I  easily 
conceive  they  do)  le  ton  de  la  bonne  compagnie,  ft  les  gr&ces, 
which  I  wish  you,  yet  pray  take  care  not  to  express  any 
contempt,  or  throw  out  any  ridicule ;  wjiirh,  T  ran  assure 
jmn,  is  not-  mnrp  rnnfrnry  tn  gnnH  manners  than  to  good 
sense,:  but  endeavour  rather  to  get  all  the  good  you  can 
out  of  them ;  and  something  or  other  is  to  be  got  out  of 
everybody.  They  will,  at  least,  improve  you  in  the  German 
language ;  and,  as  they  come  from  different  countries,  you 
may  put  them  upon  subjects,  concerning  which  they  must 
necessarily  be  able  to  give  you  some  useful  informations,  let 
them  be  ever  so  dull  or  disagreeable  in  general :  they  will 
know  something,  "at  least,  of  the  laws,  customs,  government, 
and  considerable  families  of  their  respective  countries ;  all 
which  are  better  known  than  not,  and  consequently  worth 
inquiring  into.  There  is  hardly  anybody  good  for  every- 
thing, and  there  is  scarcely  anybody  who  is  absolutely  good 
for  nothing.  A  good  chymist  will  extract  some  spirit  or 
other  out  of  every  substance ;  and  a  man  of  parts  will, 
by  his  dexterity  and  management,  elicit  something  worth 
knowing  out  of  every  being  he  converses  with. 

As  you  have  been  introduced  to  the  Duchess  of 
Courland,  pray  go  there  as  often  as  ever  your  more 
necessary  occupations  will  allow  you.  I  am  told  she  is 
extremely  well  bred,  and  has  parts.  Now,  though  I  would 
not  recommend  to  you  to  go  into  women's  company  in 
search  of  solid  knowledge  or  judgment,  yet  it  has  its  use  in 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  55 

other  respects ;  for  it  certainly  polishes  the  manners,  and 
gives  une  certain  tournure^  which  is  very  necessary  in  the 
course  of  the  world ;  and  which  Englishmen  have  generally 
less  of  than  any  people  in  the  world. 

I  cannot  say  that  your  suppers  are  luxurious,  but  you 
must  own  they  are  solid ;  and  a  quart  of  soup  and  two 
pounds  of  potatoes  will  enable  you  to  pass  the  night 
without  great  impatience  for  your  breakfast  next  morning. 
One  part  of  your  supper  (the  potatoes)  is  the  constant  diet 
of  my  old  -friends  and  countrymen,  the  Irish,  who  are  the 
healthiest  and  the  strongest  men  that  I  know  in  Europe. 

As  I  believe  that  many  of  my  letters  to  you  and  to  Mr. 
Harte  have  miscarried,  as  well  as  some  of  yours  and  his 
to  me, — particularly  one  of  his  from  Leipsig,  to  which  he 
refers  in  a  subsequent  one,  and  which  I  never  received, — I 
would  have  you,  for  the  future,  acknowledge  the  dates  of  all 
the  letters  which  either  of  you  shall  receive  from  me ;  and  I 
will  do  the  same  on  my  part. 

That  which  I  received  by  the  last  mail  from  you  was  of 
the  25th  November,  N.S. ;  the  mail  before  that  brought  me 
yours,  of  which  I  have  forgot  the  date,  but  which  enclosed 
one  to  Lady  Chesterfield  :  she  will  answer  it  soon,  and  in 
the  meantime,  thanks  you  for  it. 

My  disorder  was  only  a  very  great  cold,  of  which  I  am 
entirely  recovered.  You  shall  not  complain  for  want  of 
accounts  from  Mr.  Grevenkop,  who  will  frequently  write 
you  whatever  passes  here,  in  the  German  language  and 
character  :  which  will  improve  you  in  both.  Adieu. 


56  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 


LETTER  XXVII. 

DEAR   BOY,  London,  January  the  15th,  O.  S.  1748. 

I  WILLINGLY  accept  the  New  Year's  gift  which  you 
promise  me  for  next  year ;  and  the  more  valuable  you  make 
it,  the  more  thankful  I  shall  be.  That  depends  entirely 
upon  you  ;  and  therefore  I  hope  to  be  presented  every  year 
with  a  new  edition  of  you,  more  correct  than  the  former, 
and  considerably  enlarged  and  amended. 

Since  you  do  not  care  to  be  an  Assessor  of  the  Imperial 
Chamber,  and  desire  an  establishment  in  England,  what  do 
you  think  of  being  Greek  Professor  at  one  of  our  Univer- 
sities ?  It  is  a  very  pretty  sinecure,  and  requires  very  little 
knowledge  (much  less  than,  I  hope,  you  have  already)  of  that 
language.  If  you  do  not  approve  of  this,  I  am  at  a  loss  to 
know  what  else  to  propose  to  you  :  and  therefore  desire  that 
you  will  inform  me  what  sort  of  destination  you  propose 
for  yourself:  for  it  is  now  time  to  fix  it,  and  to  take  our 
measures  accordingly.  Mr.  Harte  tells  me,  that  you  set  up 
for  a  IIoAiTi/cos  avrjp ;  if  so,  I  presume  it  is  in  the  view  of 
succeeding  me  in  my  office;  which  I  will  very  willingly 
resign  to  you,  whenever  you  shall  call  upon  me  for  it. 
But,  if  you  intend  to  be  the  HoAmKos  or  the  BvA^o/oos 
ai/r/p,  there  are  some  trifling  circumstances  upon  which  you 
should  previously  take  your  resolution.  The  first  of  which 
is,  to  be  fit  for  it ;  and  then,  in  order  to  be  so,  make  yourself 
master  of  Ancient  and  Modern  History,  and  Languages.  To 
know  perfectly  the  constitution  and  form  of  government  of 
every  nation ;  the  growth  and  the  decline  of  ancient  and 
modern  Empires;  and  to  trace  out  and  reflect  upon  the 
causes  of  both.  To  know  the  strength,  the  riches,  and  the 
commerce  of  every  country.  These  little  things,  trifling  as 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  57 

they  may  seem,  are  yet  very  necessary  for  a  Politician  to 
know ;  and  which  therefore,  I  presume,  you  will  condescend 
to  apply  yourself  to.  There  are  some  additional  qualifica 
tions  necessary  in  the  practical  part  of  business,  which  may 
deserve  some  consideration  in  your  leisure  moments ;  such 
as  an  absolute  command  of  your  temper,  so  as  not  to  be 
provoked  to  passion  upon  any  account:  Patience  to  hear 
frivolous,  impertinent,  and  unreasonable  applications ;  with 
address  enough  to  refuse,  without  offending;  or  by  your 
manner  of  granting,  to  double  the  obligation  :  Dexterity 
enough  to  conceal  a  truth  without  telling  a  lie:  Sagacity 
enough  to  read  other  people's  countenances :  and  Serenity 
enough  not  to  let  them  discover  anything  by  yours ;  a 
seeming  frankness,  with  a  real  reserve.  These  are  the 
rudiments  of  a  Politician  ;  the  world  must  be  your  grammar. 
Three  mails  are  now  due  from  Holland ;  so  that  I  have  no 
letters  from  you  to  acknowledge.  I  therefore  conclude  with 
recommending  myself  to  your  favour  and  protection,  when 
you  succeed,  Yours. 


LETTER  XXVIII. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  February  the  I3th,  O.  S.  1748. 

YOUR  last  letter  gave  me  a  very  satisfactory  account  of 
your  manner  of  employing  your  time  at  Leipsig.  Go  on  so 
but  for  two  years  more,  and  I  promise  you,  that  you  will 
outgo  all  the  people  of  your  age  and  time.  I  thank  you 
for  your  explication  of  the  Schriftsassen  and  Amptsassen;  and 
pray  let  me  know  the  meaning  of  the  Landsassen.  I  am 
very  willing  that  you  should  take  a  Saxon  servant,  who 
speaks  nothing  but  German  ;  which  will  be  a  sure  way  of 
keeping  up  your  German  after  you  leave  Germany.  But 


58  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

then,  I  would  neither  have  that  man,  nor  him  whom  you 
have  already,  put  out  of  livery,  which  makes  them  both 
impertinent  and  useless.  I  am  sure  that,  as  soon  as  you 
shall  have  taken  the  other  servant,  your  present  man  will 
press  extremely  to  be  out  of  livery,  and  valet  de  chambre ; 
which  is  as  much  as  to  say,  that  he  will  curl  your  hair,  and 
shave  you,  but  not  condescend  to  do  anything  else.  I 
therefore  advise  you  never  to  have  a  servant  out  of  livery ; 
and  though  you  may  not  always  think  proper  to  carry  the 
servant  who  dresses  you,  abroad  in  the  rain  and  dirt,  behind 
a  coach  or  before  a  chair,  yet  keep  it  in  your  power  to  do 
so,  if  you  please,  by  keeping  him  in  livery. 

I  have  seen  Monsieur  and  Madame  Flemming,  who  give 
me  a  very  good  account  of  you,  and  of  your  manners; 
which,  to  tell  you  the  plain  truth,  were  what  I  doubted  of 
the  most.  She  told  me  that  you  were  easy,  and  not 
ashamed ;  which  is  a  great  deal  for  an  Englishman  at  your 
age. 

I  set  out  for  the  Bath  to-morrow,  for  a  month;  only  to 
be  better  than  well,  and  to  enjoy,  in  quiet,  the  liberty 
which  I  have  acquired  by  the  resignation  of  the  seals. 
You  shall  hear  from  me  more  at  large  from  thence ;  and 
now  good-night  to  you. 


LETTER  XXIX. 

DEAR  BOY,  Bath,  February  the  i6th,  O.  S.  1748. 

THE  first  use  that  I  made  of  my  liberty  was  to  come 
hither,  where  I  arrived  yesterday.  My  health,  though  not 
fundamentally  bad,  yet  for  want  of  proper  attention  of  late 
wanted  some  repairs,  which  these  waters  never  fail  giving  it 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  59 

I  shall  drink  them  a  month,  and  return  to  London,  there  to 
enjoy  the  comforts  of  social  life,  instead  of  groaning  under 
the  load  of  business.  I  have  given  the  description  of  the 
life  that  I  propose  to  lead  for  the  future,  in  this  motto, 
which  I  have  put  up  in  the  frize  of  my  library  in  my  new 
house : 

Nunc  veterum  libris,  nunc  somno,  et  inertibus  horis 

Ducere  sollicitae  jucunda  oblivia  vitaa. 

I  must  observe  to  you,  upon  this  occasion,  that  the 
uninterrupted  satisfaction  which  I  expect  to  find  in  that 
library,  will  be  chiefly  owing  to  my  having  employed  some 
part  of  my  life  well  at  your  age.  I  wish  I  had  employed  it 
better,  and  my  satisfaction  would  now  be  complete;  but, 
however,  I  planted,  while  young,  that  degree  of  knowledge 
which  is  now  my  refuge  and  my  shelter.  Make  your 
plantations  still  more  extensive,  they  will  more  than  pay 
you  for  your  trouble.  I  do  not  regret  the  time  that  I 
passed  in  pleasures ;  they  were  seasonable,  they  were  the 
pleasures  of  youth,  and  I  enjoyed  them  while  young.  If  I 
had  not,  I  should  probably  have  overvalued  them  now,  as 
we  are  very  apt  to  do  what  we  do  not  know :  but,  knowing 
them  as  I  do,  I  know  their  real  value,  and  how  much  they 
are  generally  overrated.  Nor  do  I  regret  the  time  that  I 
have  passed  in  business,  for  the  same  reason ;  those  who 
see  only  the  outside  of  it  imagine  that  it  has  hidden 
charms,  which  they  pant  after ;  and  nothing  but  acquaint- 
ance can  undeceive  them.  I,  who  have  been  behind  the 
scenes,  both  of  pleasure  and  business,  and  have  seen  all 
the  springs  and  pullies  of  those  decorations  which  astonish 
and  dazzle  the  audience,  retire,  not  only  without  regret,  but 
with  contentment  and  satisfaction.  But  what  I  do  and 
ever  shall  regret,  is  the  time  which,  while  young,  I  lost  in 
mere  idleness  and  in  doing  nothing.  This  is  the  common 


60  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

effect  of  the  inconsideracy  of  youth,  against  which  I  beg 
you  will  be  most  carefully  upon  your  guard.  The  value  of 
moments,  when  cast  up,  is  immense,  if  well  employed ;  if 
thrown  away,  their  loss  is  irrecoverable.  Every  moment 
may  be  put  to  some  use,  and  that  with  much  more  pleasure 
than  if  unemployed.  Do  not  imagine  that,  by  the  employ- 
ment of  time,  I  mean  an  uninterrupted  application  to 
serious  studies.  No ;  pleasures  are,  at  proper  times,  both 
as  necessary  and  as  useful :  they  fashion  and  form  you  for 
the  world ;  they  teach  you  characters,  and  show  you  the 
human  heart  in  its  unguarded  minutes.  But,  then,  remem- 
ber to  make  that  use  of  them.  I  have  known  many  people, 
from  laziness  of  mind,  go  through  both  pleasure  and 
business  with  equal  inattention ;  neither  enjoying  the  one, 
nor  doing  the  other ;  thinking  themselves  men  of  pleasure, 
because  they  were  mingled  with  those  who  were ;  and  men 
of  business,  because  they  had  business  to  do,  though  they 
did  not  do  it.  Whatever  you  do,  do  it  to  the  purpose  ;  do 
it  thoroughly,  not  superficially.  Approfondissez ;  go  to  the 
bottom  of  things.  Anything  half  done,  or  half  known,  is, 
in  my  mind,  neither  done  nor  known  at  all.  Nay  worse, 
for  it  often  misleads.  There  is  hardly  any  place,  or  any 
company,  where  you  may  not  gain  knowledge  if  you  please ; 
almost  everybody  knows  some  one  thing,  and  is  glad  to 
talk  upon  that  one  thing.  Seek  and  you  will  find,  in  this 
world  as  well  as  in  the  next.  See  everything,  inquire  into 
everything  ;  and  you  may  excuse  your  curiosity,  and  the 
questions  you  ask,  which  otherwise  might  be  thought 
impertinent,  by  your  manner  of  asking  them;  for  most 
things  depend  a  great  deal  upon  the  manner.  As,  for 
example,  /  am  afraid  that  I  am  very  troublesome  with  my 
questions ;  but  nobody  can  inform  me  so  well  as  you ;  or 
something  of  that  kind. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  61 

Now  that  you  are  in  a  Lutheran  country,  go  to  their 
churches,  and  observe  the  manner  of  their  public  worship ; 
attend  to  their  ceremonies,  and  inquire  the  meaning  and 
intention  of  every  one  of  them.  And,  as  you  will  soon 
understand  German  well  enough,  attend  to  their  sermons, 
and  observe  their  manner  of  preaching.  Inform  yourself 
of  their  church  government,  whether  it  resides  in  the 
Sovereign,  or  in  Consistories  and  Synods.  Whence  arises 
the  maintenance  of  their  Clergy;  whether  from  tithes,  as 
in  England,  or  from  voluntary  contributions,  or  from 
pensions  from  the  State.  Do  the  same  thing  when  you 
are  in  Roman  Catholic  countries  ;  go  to  their  churches, 
see  all  their  ceremonies,  ask  the  meaning  of  them,  get  the 
terms  explained  to  you.  As,  for  instance,  Prime,  Tierce, 
Sexte,  Nones,  Matins,  Angelus,  High  Mass,  Vespers, 
Complies,  etc.  Inform  yourself  of  their  several  religious 
Orders,  their  Founders,  their  Rules,  their  Vows,  their 
Habits,  their  Revenues,  etc.  But  when  you  frequent 
places  of  public  worship,  as  I  would  have  you  go  to  all 
the  different  ones  you  meet  with,  remember  that  however 
erroneous,  they  are  none  of  them  objects  of  laughter  and 
ridicule.  Honest  error  is  to  be  pitied,  not  ridiculed. 
The  object  of  all  the  public  worships  in  the  world  is  the 
same;  it  is  that  great  eternal  Being,  who  created  every- 
thing. The  different  manners  of  worship  are  by  no  means 
subjects  of  ridicule.  Each  sect  thinks  its  own  the  best; 
and  I  know  no  infallible  judge  in  this  world  to  decide 
which  is  the  best.  Make  the  same  inquiries,  wherever 
you  are,  concerning  the  revenues,  the  military  establish- 
ment, the  trade,  the  commerce,  and  the  police  of  every 
country.  And  you  would  do  well  to  keep  a  blank  paper 
book,  which  the  Germans  call  an  Album:  and  there, 
instead  of  desiring,  as  they  do,  every  fool  they  meet  with 

7 


62  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

to  scribble  something,  write  down  all  these  things  as  soon 
as  they  come  to  your  knowledge  from  good  authorities. 

I  had  almost  forgotten  one  thing  which  I  would  recom- 
mend as  an  object  for  your  curiosity  and  information, 
that  is,  the  Administration  of  Justice ;  which,  as  it  is 
always  carried  on  in  open  Court,  you  may,  and  I  would 
have  you,  go  and  see  it  with  attention  and  inquiry. 

I  have  now  but  one  anxiety  left  which  is  concerning 
you.  I  would  have  you  be,  what  I  know  nobody  is, 
perfect.  As  that  is  impossible,  I  would  have  you  as  near 
perfection  as  possible.  I  know  nobody  in  a  fairer  way 
towards  it  than  yourself  if  you  please.  Never  were  so 
much  pains  taken  for  anybody's  education  as  for  yours; 
and  never  had  anybody  those  opportunities  of  knowledge 
and  improvement  which  you  have  had  and  still  have.  I 
hope,  I  wish,  I  doubt,  and  I  fear  alternately.  This  only 
I  am  sure  of,  that  you  will  prove  either  the  greatest  pain 
or  the  greatest  pleasure  of  Yours. 


LETTER  XXX. 

DEAR  BOY,  Bath,  February  the  22nd,  O.  S.  1748. 

EVERY  excellency,  and  every  virtue,  has  its  kindred 
vice  or  weakness;  and  if  carried  beyond  certain  bounds, 
sinks  into  the  one  or  the  other.  Generosity  often  runs 
into  Profusion,  Economy  into  Avarice,  Courage  into 
Rashness,  Caution  into  Timidity,  and  so  on : — insomuch 
that,  I  believe,  there  is  more  judgment  required  for  the 
proper  conduct  of  our  virtues,  than  for  avoiding  their 
opposite  vices.  Vice,  in  its  true  light,  is  so  deformed, 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  63 

that  it  shocks  us  at  first  sight;  and  would  hardly  ever 
seduce  us,  if  it  did  not  at  first  wear  the  mask  of  some 
Virtue.  But  Virtue  is  in  itself  so  beautiful,  that  it  charms 
us  at  first  sighty  engages  us  more  and  more,  upon  further 
acquaintance;  and,  as  with  other  Beauties,  we  ^hink 
excess  impossible:  it—  is  hprp  tW  judgment  is  necessary 
-tO  lflCidf*rt\tf*  anH  Hirprf-  tfop  pfTprf-g  nf  an  fvrpllAfit;  cailfig. 

I  shall  apply  this  reasoning,  at  present,  not  to  any  particular 
virtue,  but  to  an  excellency,  which  for  want  of  judgment 
is  often  the  cause  of  ridiculous  and  blamable  effects;  I 
mean,  great  Learning,  which,  if  not  accompanied  with 
sound  judgment,  frequently  carries  us  into  Error,  Pride, 
and  Pedantry.  As  I  hope  you  will  possess  that  excellency 
in  its  utmost  extent,  and  yet  without  its  too  common 
failings,  the  hints  which  my  experience  can  suggest  may 
probably  not  be  useless  .to  you. 

Some   learned    men,   proud    of   their    knowledge,    only 


consequence  of  which  is,  that  mankind,  provoked  by  the 
insuk,  and  injured  by  the  oppression,  revolt  ;  and  in  order 
to  shake  off  the  tyranny,  even  call  the  lawful  authority  in 
question.  The  more  you  know,  the  modester  you  should 
be  :  and  (by  the  by)  that  modesty  is  the  surest  way  of 
gratifying  your  vanity.  Even  where  you  are  sure,  seem 
rather  doubtful  :  represent,  but  do  not  pronounce  ;  and 
if  you  would  convince  others,  seem  open  to  conviction 
yourself. 

Others,  to  show  their  learning,  or  often  from  the  pre- 
judices of  a  school  education,  where  they  hear  of  nothing 
else,  are  always  talking  of  the  Ancients  as  something  more 
than  men,  and  of  the  Moderns  as  something  less.  They 
are  never  without  a  Classic  or  two  in  their  pockets  ;  they 
stick  to  the  old  good  sense;  they  read  none  of  the 


64  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

modern  trash ;  and  will  show  you  plainly  that  no  improve- 
ment has  been  made  in  any  one  art  or  science  these  last 
seventeen  hundred  years.  I  would  by  no  means  have  you 
disown  your  acquaintance  with  the  Ancients ;  but  still  less 
would  I  have  you  brag  of  an  exclusive  intimacy  with 
them.  Speak  of  the  Moderns  without  contempt,  and  of 
the  Ancients  without  idolatry;  judge  them  nil  by  their 
mmtej — I™*  not  ^y  ^^>  qg^s;  and  if  you  happen  to 
have  an  Elzevir  classic  in  your  pocket,  neither  show  it 
nor  mention  it. 

Some  great  Scholars  most  absurdly  draw  all  their 
maxims,  both  for  public  and  private  life,  from  what  they 
call  Parallel  Cases  in  the  ancient  authors;  without  con- 
sidering, that,  in  the  first  place,  there  never  were,  since 
the  creation  of  the  world,  two  cases  exactly  parallel : 
and,  in  the  next  place,  that  there  never  was  a  case 
stated,  or  even  known,  by  any  Historian,  with  every  one 
of  its  circumstances;  which,  however,  ought  to  be  known, 
in  order  to  be  reasoned  from.  E-eason  upon  the  case 
and-ihe  several  circumstances  that  attend  it,  and 
j_  but  not  from  the  authority  of  ancient 


Poets  or  Historians.  Take  into  your  consideration,  if  you 
please,  cases  seemingly  analogous ;  but  take  them  as  helps 
only,  not  as  guides.  We  are  really  so  prejudiced  by  our 
educations,  that,  as  the  Ancients  deified  their  Heroes,  we 
deify  their  Madmen :  of  which,  with  all  due  regard  to 
antiquity,  I  take  Leonidas  and  Curtius  to  have  been  two 
distinguished  ones.  And  yet  a  stolid  Pedant  would,  in 
a  speech  in  Parliament,  relative  to  a  tax  of  twopence  in 
the  pound,  upon  some  commodity  or  other,  quote  those 
two  heroes,  as  examples  of  what  we  ought  to  do  and 
suffer  for  our  country.  I  have  known  these  absurdities 
carried  so  far,  by  people  of  injudicious  learning,  that  I 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  65 

should  not  be  surprised,  if  some  of  them  were  to  propose, 
while  we  are  at  war  with  the  Gauls,  that  a  number  of 
geese  should  be  kept  in  the  Tower,  upon  account  of  the 
infinite  advantage  which  Rome  received,  in  a  parallel  case, 
from  a  certain  number  of  geese  in  the  Capitol.  This  way 
of  reasoning,  and  this  way  of  speaking,  will  always  form 
a  poor  politician,  and  a  puerile  declaimer. 

There  is  another  species  of  learned  men,  who,  though 
less  dogmatical  and  supercilious,  are  not  less  impertinent. 
These  are  the  communicative  and  shining  Pedants,  who 
adorn  their  conversation,  even  with  women,  by  happy 
quotations  of  Greek  and  Latin,  and  who  have  contracted 
such  a  familiarity  with  the  Greek  and  Roman  authors, 
that  they  call  them  by  certain  names  or  epithets  denoting 
intimacy.  As  old  Homer;  that  sly  rogue  Horace;  Maro, 
instead  of  Virgil;  and  Naso,  instead  of  Ovid.  These  are 
often  imitated  by  coxcombs  who  have  no  learning  at  all, 
but  who  have  got  some  names  and  some  scraps  of  ancient 
authors  by  heart,  which  they  improperly  and  impertinently 
retail  in  all  companies,  in  hopes  of  passing  for  scholars. 
If,  therefore,  you  would  avoid  the  accusation  of  pedantry, 
on  one  hand,  or  the  suspicion  of  ignorance,  on  the  other, 
abstain  from  learned  ostentation.  Speak  the  laqgna.^  nf 

thg_  fnmpnny  thqf  VQJ1 — 2LL& — ift-J — sppfllc  il"  purely^  ar»H 
unlarHeH  with  flrw  Other.  Never  seem  wisf>r(  flOf  rnnrp 

learned,  than  the  people  you  are  with.     \War  y^nr  ham- 
ing,  like   your  watch,   in  a  privaff   pnrl-pt-    and   do   not 
pull  it  out,  and  strike  it,  merely  to  show  that  you  have 
one.     If  you  are  asked  what  o'clock  it  is,  tell  it;  but  do  / 
not  proclaim  it  hourly  and  unasked,  like  the  watchman. 

Upon  the  whole,  remember  that  learning  (I  mean  Greek 
and  Roman  learning)  is  a  most^uselul  and  necessary 
flrnnm.-ni.  which  it  is  shameful  nnt  tn  hf>  master  of;  but 


66  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

at  the  same  time  most  carefully  avoid  those  errors  and 
abuses  which  I  have  mentioned,  and  which  too  often 
attend  it.  Remember,  too,  that  great  modern  knowledge 
is  still  more  necessary  than  ancient;  and  that  you  had 
better  know  perfectly  the  present  than  the  old  state  ol 
Europe;  though  I  would  have  you  well  acquainted  with 
both. 

I  have  this  moment  received  your  letter  of  the  iyth 
N.  S.  Though,  I  confess,  there  is  no  great  variety  in  your 
present  manner  of  life,  yet  materials  can  never  be  wanting 
for  a  letter;  you  see,  you  hear,  or  you  read,  something 
new  every  day;  a  short  account  of  which,  with  your  own 
reflections  thereupon,  will  make  out  a  letter  very  well. 
But,  since  you  desire  a  subject,  pray  send  me  an  account 
of  the  Lutheran  establishment  in  Germany ;  their  religiouf 
tenets,  their  church  government,  the  maintenance,  authority 
and  titles  of  their  Clergy. 

Vittorio  Sin]  complete,  is  a  very  scarce  and  very  dear 
book  here;  but  I  do  not  want  it.  If  your  own  library 
grows  too  voluminous,  you  will  not  know  what  to  do 
with  it,  when  you  leave  Leipsig.  Your  best  way  will  be, 
when  you  go  away  from  thence,  to  send  to  England,  by 
Hamburg,  all  the  books  that  you  do  not  absolutely  want 
Yours. 


LETTER  XXXI. 

DEAR  BOY,  Bath,  March  the  pth,  O.  S.  1748. 

I  MUST,  from  time  to  time,  remind  you  of  what  I  have 
often  recommended  to  you,  and  of  what  you  cannot  attend 
to  too  much;  sagrfire.  tn  the,  Graws.  The  different  effects 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  67 

of  the  same  things,  said  or  done,  when  accompanied  or 
abandoned  by  them,  is  almost  inconceivable.  They  pre- 
pare the  way  to  the  heart  ;  and  the  heart  has  such  an 
influence  over  the  understanding,  that  it  is  worth  while  to 
engage  it  in  our  interest.  It  is  the  whole  of  women,  who 
are  guided  by  nothing  else  ;  and  it  has  so  much  to  say, 
even  with  men,  and  the  ablest  men  too,  that  it  commonly 
triumphs  in  every  struggle  with  the  understanding. 
Monsieur  de  Rochefoucault,  in  his  Maxims,  says,  that 
r  esprit  est  souvcnt  la  dupe  du  cc&ur.  If  he  had  said,  instead 
of  souvent,  presque  toujours,  I  fear  he  would  have  been 
nearer  the  truth.  This  being  the  case,  airn  at  the  frpgrt^. 
Intrinsic  merit  alone  wi]J  not  do:  it  will  gain  you  the 


is,  the  heart  of  any.  To  engage  the  affection  of  any 
particular  person,  you  must,  over  and  above  your  general 
merit,  have  some  particular  merit  to  that  person  ;  by 
services  done  or  offered  ;  by  expressions  of  regard  and 
esteem;  by  complaisance,  attentions,  etc.,  for  him:  and 
the  graceful  manner  of  doing  all  these  things  opens  the  way 
to  the  heart,  and  facilitates,  or  rather  insures,  their  effects. 
From  your  own  observation,  reflect  what  a  disagreeable 
impression  an  awkward  address,  a  slovenly  figure,  an 
ungraceful  manner  of  speaking,  whether  stuttering,  mutter- 
ing, monotony,  or  drawling,  an  unattentive  behaviour,  etc., 
make  upon  you,  at  first  sight,  in  a  stranger,  and  how  they 
prejudice  you  against  him,  though,  for  aught  you  know,  he 
may  have  great  intrinsic  sense  and  merit.  And  reflect,  on 
the  other  hand,  how  much  the  opposites  of  all  these  things 
prepossess  you  at  first  sight  in  favour  of  those  who  enjoy 
them.  You  wish  to  find  all  good  qualities  in  them,  and  are 
in  some  degree  disappointed  if  you  do  not.  A  thousand 
little  things,  not  separately  to  be  defined,  conspire  to  form 


68  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

these  Graces,  this  je  ne  sais  quoi>  that  always  pleases.  A 
pretty  person,  genteel  motions,  a  proper  degree  of  dress,  an 
harmonious  voice,  something  open  and  cheerful  in  the 
countenance,  but  without  laughing  ;  a  distinct  and  properly 
varied  manner  of  speaking  :  all  these  things,  and  many 
others,  are  necessary  ingredients  in  the  composition  of  the 
pleasing  je  ne  sais  quoi,  which  everybody  feels,  though 
nobody  can  describe.  Observe  carefully,  then,  what  dis- 
pleases or  pleases  you  in  others,  and  be  persuaded  that  in 
general  the  same  things  will  please  or  displease  them  in 
you.  Having  mentioned  laughing,  I  must  particularly  warn 
you  against  it :  and  I  could  heartily  wish,  that  you  may 
often  be  seen  to  smile,  but  never  heard  to  laugh,  while  you 
live.  Frequent  and  loud  laughter  is  the  characteristic  of 
folly  and  ill  manners  :  it  is  the  manner  in  which  the  mob 
express  their  silly  joy,  at  silly  things  ;  and  they  call  it  being 
merry.  In  my  mind,  there  is  nothing  so  illiberal,  and  so 
ill  bred,  as  audible  laughter.  True  wit,  or  sense,  never  yet 
made  anybody  laugh;  they  are  above  it :  they  please  the 
mind,  and  give  a  cheerfulness  to  the  countenance.  But  it 
is  low  buffoonery,  or  silly  accidents,  that  always  excite 
laughter;  and  that  is  what  people  of  sense  and  breeding 
should  show  themselves  above.  A  man's  going  to  sit 
down,  in  the  supposition  that  he  has  a  chair  behind  him, 
and  falling  down  upon  his  breech  for  want  of  one,  sets 
a  whole  company  a  laughing,  when  all  the  wit  in  the  world 
wouM  not  do  it ;  a  plain  proof,  in  my  mind,  how  low  and 
unbecoming  a  thing  laughter  is.  Not  to  mention  the  dis- 
agreeable noise  that  it  makes,  and  the  shocking  distortion 
of  the  face  that  it  occasions.  Laughter  is  easily  restrained 
by  a  very  little  reflection,  but  as  it  is  generally  connected 
with  the  idea  of  gaiety,  people  do  not  enough  attend  to  its 
absurdity.  I  am  neither  of  a  melancholy  nor  a  cynical 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  69 

disposition;  and  am  as  willing  and  as  apt  to  be  pleased 
as  anybody ;  but  I  am  sure  that,  since  I  have  bad  ftp,  full 

ii^flf  my  rpQsnn,   nnhr^y  frflS  pypr  hpnrH  m?  lanprh        Many 

people,  at  first  from  awkwardness  and  mauvaise  honte^  have 
got  a  very  disagreeable  and  silly  trick  of  laughing  whenever 
they  speak:  and  I  know  a  man  of  very  good  parts,  Mr. 
Waller,  who  cannot  say  the  commonest  thing  without  laugh- 
ing; which  makes  those  who  do  not  know  him,  take  him  at 
first  for  a  natural  fool  This  and  many  other  very  disagree- 
able habits  are  owing  to  mauvaise  honte  at  their  first  setting 
out  in  the  world.  They  are  ashamed  in  company,  and  so 
disconcerted  that  they  do  not  know  what  they  do,  and  try 
a  thousand  tricks  to  keep  themselves  in  countenance ; 
which  tricks  afterwards  grow  habitual  to  them.  «  Some  put 
their  fingers  in  their  nose,  others  scratch  their  head,  others 
twirl  their  hats  ;  in  short,  every  awkward,  ill-bred  body  has 
his  trick.  But  the  frequency  does  not  justify  the  thing ; 
and  all  these  vulgar  habits  and  awkwardness,  though  not 
criminal  indeed,  are  most  carefully  to  be  guarded  against, 
as  thej  are  great  bars  in  the  way  of  the  art  of  pleasing. 
Remember,  that  to  please  is  almost  to  prevail,  or  at  least 
a  necessary  pfgviQm^&tep— io— it^  You,  who  have  your 
fortune  to  make,  should  more  particularly  study  this  art. 
You  had  not,  I  must  tell  you,  when  you  left  England,  Us 
mantires  prevenantes  ;  and  I  must  confess  they  are  not  very 
common  in  England  :  but  I  hope  that  your  good  sense 
will  make  you  acquire  them  abroad.  If  you  desire  to  make 
yourself  considerable  in  the  world  (as,  if  you  have  any 
spirit,  you  do)  it  must  be  entirely  your  own  doing :  for  I 
may  very  possibly  be  out  of  the  world  at  the  time  you  come 
into  it.  Your  own  rank  and  fortune  will  not  assist  you ; 
your  merit  and  your  ninnnprs  ^ff"  alon^  rgjsF.yon  tQ  fignr** 
and  fortune.  I  have  laid  the  foundations  of  them  by  the 


70  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

education  which  I  have  given  you ;  but  you  must  build  the 
superstructure  yourself. 

I  must  now  apply  to  you  for  some  informations,  which  I 
dare  say  you  can,  and  which  I  desire  you  will  give  me. 

Can,  the  Elector  of  Saxony  put  any  of  his  subjects  to 
death  for  high  treason  without  bringing  them  first  to  their 
trial  in  some  public  Court  of  Justice  ? 

Can  he  by  his  own  authority  confine  any  subject  in 
prison  as  long  as  he  pleases,  without  trial  ? 

Can  he  banish  any  subject  out  of  his  dominions  by  his 
own  authority  ? 

Can  he  lay  any  tax  whatsoever  upon  his  subjects,  without 
the  consent  of  the  States  of  Saxony?  and  what  are  those 
States  ?  how  are  they  elected  ?  what  Orders  do  they  con- 
sist of  ?  do  the  Clergy  make  part  of  them  ?  and  when  and 
how  often  do  they  meet  ? 

If  two  subjects  of  the  Elector's  are  at  law  for  an  estate 
situated  in  the  Electorate,  in  what  Court  must  this  suit  be 
tried ;  and  will  the  decision  of  that  Court  be  final,  or  does 
there  lie  an  appeal  to  the  Imperial  Chamber  at  Wetzaler  ? 

What  do  you  call  the  two  chief  Courts,  or  two  chief 
Magistrates,  of  civil  and  criminal  justice  ? 

What  is  the  common  revenue  of  the  Electorate,  one  year 
with  another  ? 

What  number  of  troops  does  the  Elector  now  maintain  ? 
and  what  is  the  greatest  number  that  the  Electorate  is  able 
to  maintain  ? 

I  do  not  expect  to  have  all  these  questions  answered  at 
once ;  but  you  will  answer  them  in  proportion  as  you  get  the 
necessary  and  authentic  informations. 

You  are,  you  see,  my  German  Oracle ;  and  I  consult  you 
so  much  faith,  that  you  need  not,  like  the  Oracles  of 
turn  ambiguous  answers ;  especially  as  you  have  this 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  71 

advantage  over  them,  too,  that  I  only  consult  you  about 
past  and  present,  but  not  about  what  is  to  come. 

I  wish  you  a  good  Easter  fair  at  Leipsig.  See,  with 
attention,  all  the  shops,  drolls,  tumblers,  rope-dancers,  and 
hoc  genus  omne:  but  inform  yourself  more  particularly  of  the 
several  parts  of  trade  there.  Adieu. 


LETTER  XXXII. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  April  the  ist,  O.  S.  1748. 

I  HAVE  not  received  any  letter,  either  from  you  or  from 
Mr.  Harte,  these  three  posts,  which  I  impute  wholly  to 
accidents  between  this  place  and  Leipsig;  and  they  are 
distant  enough  to  admit  of  many.  I  always  take  it  for 
granted  that  you  are  well  when  I  do  not  hear  to  the 
contrary ;  besides,  as  I  have  often  told  you,  I  am  much 
more  anxious  about  your  doing  well,  than  about  your  being 
well ;  and  when  you  do  not  write  I  will  suppose  that  you 
are  doing  something  more  useful.  Your  health  will  con- 
tinue while  your  temperance  continues ;  and  at  your  age 
nature  takes  sufficient  care  of  the  body,  provided  she  is  left 
to  herself,  and  that  intemperance  on  one  hand,  or  medicines 
on  the  other,  do  not  break  in  upon  her.  But  it  is  by  no 
means  so  with  the  mind,  which  at  your  age  particularly 
requires  great  and  constant  care,  and  some  physic.  Every 
quarter  of  an  hour  well  or  ill  employed,  will  do  it  essential 
and  lasting  good  or  harm.  It  requires  also  a  great  deal 
of  exercise  to  bring  it  to  a  state  of  health  and  vigour. 
Observe  the  difference  there  is  between  minds  cultivated  and 
minds  uncultivated,  and  you  will,  I  am  sure,  think  that  you 


72  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

cannot  take  too  much  pains,  nor  employ  too  much  of  youi 
time,  in  the  culture  of  your  own.  A  drayman  is  probably  born 
with  as  good  organs  as  Milton,  Locke,  or  Newton  ;  but  by 
culture  they  are  much  more  above  him  than  he  is  above 
his  horse.  Sometimes,  indeed,  extraordinary  geniuses  have 
broken  out  by  the  force  of  nature  without  the  assistance  of 
education ;  but  those  instances  are  too  rare  for  anybody  to 
trust  to  ;  and  even  they  would  make  a  much  greater  figure 
if  they  had  the  advantage  of  education  into  the  bargain.  If 
Shakspeare's  genius  had  been  cultivated,  those  beauties,  which 
we  so  justly  admire  in  him,  would  have  been  undisgraced 
by  those  extravagancies,  and  that  nonsense,  with  which  they 
are  frequently  accompanied.  People  are  in  general  what 
they  are  made,  by  education  and  company,  from  fifteen  to 
five-and-twenty ;  consider  well,  therefore,  the  importance 
of  your  next  eight  or  nine  years ;  your  whole  depends  upon 
them.  I  will  tell  you  sincerely  my  hopes  and  my  fears 
concerning  you.  I  think  you  will  be  a  good  scholar,  and 
that  you  will  acquire  a  considerable  stock  of  knowledge  of 
various  kinds  :  but  I  fear  that  you  neglect  what  are  called 
little,  though  in  truth  they  are  very  material,  things;  I  mean 
a  gentleness  of  manners,  an  engaging  address,  and  an 
insinuating  behaviour :  they  are  real  and  solid  advantages, 
and  none  but  those  who  do  not  know  the  world,  treat  them 
as  trifles.  I  am  told  that  you  speak  very  quick,  and  not 
distinctly  ;  this  is  a  most  ungraceful  and  disagreeable  trick, 
which  you  know  I  have  told  you  of  a  thousand  times ;  pray 
attend  carefully  to  the  correction  of  it.  An  agreeable  and 
distinct  manner  of  speaking  adds  greatly  to  the  matter ;  and 
I  have  known  many  a  very  good  speech  unregarded  upon 
account  of  the  disagreeable  manner  in  which  it  has  been 
delivered,  and  many  an  indifferent  one  applauded,  for  the 
contrary  reason.  Adieu. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  73 


LETTER  XXXIII. 

DEAR   BOY,  London,  May  the  1 7th,  O.  S.  1748. 

I  RECEIVED,  yesterday,  your  letter  of  the  i6th,  N.  S., 
and  have,  in  consequence  of  it,  written  this  day  to  Sir 
Charles  Williams,  to  thank  him  for  all  the  civilities  he  has 
shown  you.  Your  first  setting  out  at  Court  has,  I  find, 
been  very  favourable;  and  his  Polish  Majesty  has  distin- 
guished you.  I  hope  you  received  that  mark  of  distinction 
with  respect  and  with  steadiness,  which  is  the  proper 
behaviour  of  a  man  of  fashion.  People  of  a  low,  obscure 
education,  cannot  stand  the  rays  of  greatness ;  they  are 
frightened  out  of  their  wits  when  Kings  and  great  men 
speak  to  them;  they  are  awkward,  ashamed,  and  do  not 
know  what  nor  how  to  answer :  whereas  les  honnetes  gens 
are  not  dazzled  by  superior  rank :  they  know  and  pay  all 
the  respect  that  is  due  to  it ;  but  they  do  it  without  being 
disconcerted ;  and  can  converse  just  as  easily  with  a  King 
as  with  any  one  of  his  subjects.  That  is  the  great 
advantage  of  being  introduced  young  into  good  company, 
and  being  used  early  to  converse  with  one's  superiors. 
How  many  men  have  I  seen  here,  who,  after  having  had 
the  full  benefit  of  an  English  Education,  first  at  school,  and 
then  at  the  university,  when  they  have  been  presented  to 
the  King,  did  not  know  whether  they  stood  upon  their 
heads  or  their  heels?  If  the  King  spoke  to  them,  they 
were  annihilated ;  they  trembled,  endeavoured  to  put  their 
hands  in  their  pockets  and  missed  them,  let  their  hats  fall, 
and  were  ashamed  to  take  them  up;  and,  in  short,  put 
themselves  in  every  attitude  but  the  right,  that  is,  the  easy 
and  natural  one.  The  characteristic  of  a  well-bred  man  is, 
to  converse  with  his  inferiors  without  insolence,  and  with. 


74  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

his  superiors  with  respect_jnd_with_ease.  He  talks  to 
Kings^wTtHouFconcern ;  he  trifles  with  women  of  the  first 
condition,  with  familiarity,  gaiety,  but  respect;  and  con- 
verses with  his  equals,  whether  he  is  acquainted  with  them 
or  not,  upon  general,  common  topics,  that  are  not,  however, 
quite  frivolous,  without  the  least  concern  of  mind,  or 
awkwardness  of  body:  neither  of  which  can  appear  to 
advantage,  but  when  they  are  perfectly  easy. 

The  tea-things  which  Sir  Charles  Williams  has  given  you, 
I  would  have  you  make  a  present  of  to  your  Mamma,  and 
send  them  to  her  by  Duval,  when  he  returns.  You  owe 
her,  not  only  duty,  but  likewise  great  obligations,  for  her 
care  and  tenderness;  and  consequently  cannot  take  too 
many  opportunities  of  showing  your  gratitude. 

I  am  impatient  to  receive  your  account  of  Dresden,  and 
likewise  your  answers  to  the  many  questions  that  I  asked 
you. 

Adieu  for  this  time,  and  God  bless  you ! 


LETTER  XXXIV. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  June  the  2ist,  O.  S.  1748. 

YOUR  very  bad  enunciation  runs  so  much  in  my  head 
and  gives  me  such  real  concern,  that  it  will  be  the  subject  of 
this,  and  I  believe  of  many  more,  letters.  I  congratulate 
both  you  and  myself  that  I  was  informed  of  it  (as  I  hope)  in 
time  to  prevent  it ;  and  shall  ever  think  myself,  as  hereafter 
you  will  I  am  sure  think  yourself,  infinitely  obliged  to  Sir 
Charles  Williams  for  informing  me  of  it.  Good  God !  if 
this  ungraceful  and  disagreeable  manner  of  speaking  had 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  75 

either  by  your  negligence  or  mine  become  habitual  to  you, 
as  in  a  couple  of  years  more  it  would  have  been,  what  a 
figure  would  you  have  made  in  company,  or  in  a  public 
assembly  ?      Who  would  have  liked  you  in  the  one  or  have 
attended   to   you  in  the  other?     Read   what   Cicero  and 
Quintilian  say  of  Enunciation,  and  see  what  a  stress  they  lay 
upon  the  gracefulness  of  it ;  nay,  Cicero  goes  further,  and 
even  maintains  that  a  good  figure  is  necessary  for  an  Orator; 
and  particularly  that  he  must  not  be  vastus ;  that  is,  over- 
grown and  clumsy.      He  shows  hy  ft  that;  he  knew  mankind 
well  and  knew  fte  powers  of  an  ayr^M*  fig^  BIT1f  ft- 
nrreflll    """"*"       M™,    PS  V^l  as   women,   are   much 
oftener  led  by  their  hearts  than   by  their  understandings.. 
The  way  to  the  heart  is  through  the  senses;  please  their 
eyes  and  their  ears,  and  the  work  is  half  done.     I  have 
frequently  known  a  man's  fortune  decided  for  ever  by  his 
first  address.     If  it  is  pleasing,  people  are  hurried  involun- 
tarily into  a  persuasion  that  he  has  a  merit,  which  possibly 
he  has  not ;  as,  on  the  other  hand,  if  it  is  ungraceful,  they 
are  immediately  prejudiced  against  him ;  and  unwilling  to 
allow  him  the  merit  which  it  may  be  he  has.    Nor  is  this  sen- 
timent so  unjust  and  unreasonable  as  at  first  it  may  seem ; 
for  if  a  man  has  parts  he  must  know  of  what  infinite  conse- 
quence it  is  to  him  to  have  a  graceful  manner  of  speaking 
and  a  genteel  and  pleasing  address :  he  will  cultivate  and 
improve  them  to  the  utmost.      Your  figure  is  a  good  one ; 
you  have  no  natural  defect  in  the  organs  of  speech;  your 
address  may  be  engaging,  and  your  manner  of  speaking 
graceful,  if  you  will ;   so  that  if  they  are  not  so,  neither  I 
nor  the  world  can  ascribe  it  to  anything  but  your  want  of 
parts.      What  is  the  constant  and  just  observation  as  to  all 
actors  upon  the  stage  ?      Is  it  not  that  those  who  have  the 
best  sense  always  speak  the  best,  though  they  may  happen 


76  LORD  CHESTERFIELD* S 

not  to  have  the  best  voices?  They  will  speak  plainly,  dis- 
tinctly, and  with  the  proper  emphasis,  be  their  voices  ever  so 
bad.  Had  Roscius  spoken  quick,  thick,  and  ungracefully,  I 
will  answer  for  it,  that  Cicero  would  not  have  thought  him 
worth  the  oration  which  he  made  in  -his  favour.  Words 
were  given  us  to  communicate  our  ideas  by;  and  there 
must  be  something  inconceivably  absurd  in  uttering  them  in 
5uch  a  manner  as  that  either  people  cannot  understand 
them  or  will  not  desire  to  understand  them.  I  tell  you 
truly  and  sincerely  that  I  shall  judge  of  your  parts  by  your 
speaking  gracefully  or  ungracefully.  If  you  have  parts  you 
will  never  be  at  rest  till  you  have  brought  yourself  to  a 
habit  of  speaking  most  gracefully ;  for  I  aver  that  it  is  in 
your  power.  You  will  desire  Mr.  Harte  that  you  may  read 
aloud  to  him  every  day;  and  that  he  will  interrupt  and 
correct  you  every  time  that  you  read  too  fast,  do  not 
observe  the  proper  stops,  or  lay  a  wrong  emphasis.  You 
will  take  care  to  open  your  teeth  when  you  speak ;  to 
articulate  every  word  distinctly ;  and  to  beg  of  Mr.  Harte, 
Mr.  Eliot,  or  whomever  you  speak  to,  to  remind  and  stop 
you,  if  ever  you  fall  into  the  rapid  and  unintelligible  mutter. 
You  will  even  read  aloud  to  yourself  and  tune  your  utter- 
ance to  your  own  ear ;  and  read  at  first  much  slower  than 
you  need  to  do,  in  order  to  correct  yourself  of  that  shame- 
ful trick  of  speaking  faster  than  you  ought.  In  short,  you 
will  make  it  your  business,  your  study,  and  your  pleasure, 
to  speak  well  if  you  think  right.  Therefore,  what  I  have 
said  in  this,  and  in  my  last,  is  more  than  sufficient,  if  you 
have  sense ;  and  ten  times  more  would  not  be  sufficient  if 
you  have  not :  so  here  I  rest  it. 

Next  to   graceful   speaking,   a   genteel   carriage,    and   a 
...«.  graceful    manner    of    presenting    yourself,    are    extremely 
necessary,  for  they  are  extremely  engaging ;  and  carelessness 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  77 

in  these  points  is  much  more  unpardonable  in  a  young 
fellow  than  affectation.  It  shows  an  offensive  indifference  < 
about  pleasing.  I  am  told  by  one  here  who  has  seen  you 
lately,  that  you  are  awkward  in  your  motions,  and  negligent 
of  your  person  :  I  am  sorry  for  both ;  and  so  will  you, 
when  it  will  be  too  late,  if  you  continue  so  some  time 
longer  Awkwardness  of  carriage  is  very  alienating ;  and  a 
total  negligence  of  dress,  and  air,  is  an  impertinent  insult 

upon  custom  and  fashion.     You  remember  Mr. very 

jvell,  I  am  sure,  and  you  must  consequently  remember  his 
extreme  awkwardness ;  which,  I  can  assure  you,  has  been  a 
great  clog  to  his  parts  and  merit,  that  have,  with  much 
difficulty,  but  barely  counterbalanced  it  at  last.  Many  to 
whom  I  have  formerly  commended  him,  have  answered  me, 
That  they  were  sure  he  could  not  have  parts,  because  he 
*ras  so  awkward :  so  much  are  people,  as  I  observed  to  you 
before,  taken  by  the  eye.  Women  have  great  influence  as 
to  a  man's  fashionable  character;  and  an  awkward  man 
will  never  have  their  votes ;  which,  by  the  way,  are  very 
numerous,  and  much  oftener  counted  than  weighed.  You 
should  therefore  give  some  attention  to  your  dress,  and  to 
the  gracefulness  of  your  motions.  I  believe,  indeed,  that 
you  have  no  perfect  model  for  either,  at  Leipsig,  to  form 
yourself  upon ;  but,  however,  do  not  get  a  habit  of  neglect- 
ing either:  and  attend  properly  to  both  when  you  go  to 
Courts;  where  they  are  very  necessary,  and  where  you  will 
have  good  masters  and  good  models  for  both.  Your  exer- 
cises of  riding,  fencing,  and  dancing,  will  civilise  and 
fashion  your  body  and  your  limbs,  and  give  you,  if  you  will 
but  take  it,  Fair  (fun  honntte  homme. 

I  will  now  conclude  with  suggesting  one  reflection  to 
you,  which  is,  that  you  should  be  sensible  of  your  good 
fortune,  in  having  one  who  interests  himself  enough  in  you 

8 


78  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

to  inquire  into  your  faults,  in  order  to  inform  you  of  them. 
Nobody  but  myself  would  be  so  solicitous,  either  to  know  or 
correct  them ;  so  that  you  might  consequently  be  ignorant 
of  them  yourself;  for  our  own  self-love  draws  a  thick  veil 
between  us  and  our  faults.  But  when  you  hear  yours  from 
me,  you  may  be  sure  that  you  hear  them  from  one  who,  for 
your  sake  only,  desires  to  correct  them;  from  one  whom 
you  cannot  suspect  of  any  partiality  but  in  your  favour; 
and  from  one  who  heartily  wishes  that  his  care  of  you,  as  a 
father,  may  in  a  little  time  render  every  care  unnecessary 
but  that  of  a  friend.  Adieu. 

P.S. — I  condole  with  you  for  the  untimely  and  violent 
death  of  the  tuneful  Matzel. 


LETTER  XXXV. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  July  the  26th,  O.  S.  1748. 

THERE  are  two  sorts  of  understandings ;  one  of  which 
hinders  a  man  from  ever  being  considerable,  and  the  other 
commonly  makes  him  ridiculous ;  I  mean  the  lazy  mind, 
and  the  trifling,  frivolous  mind.  Yours,  I  hope,  is  neither. 
The  lazy  mind  will  not  take  the  trouble  of  going  to  the 
bottom  of  anything,  but,  discouraged  by  the  first  difficulties 
(and  everything  worth  knowing  or  having  is  attended  with 
some),  stops  short,  contents  itself  with  easy,  and  consequently 
superficial,  knowledge,  and  prefers  a  great  degree  of  ignor- 
ance to  a  small  degree  of  trouble.  These  people  either 
think  or  represent  most  things  as  impossible,  whereas^  few 
things  are  so  to  industry  and  activity.  But  difficulties  seem 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  79 

to  them  impossibilities,  or  at  least  they  pretend  to  think 
them  so,  by  way  of  excuse  for  their  laziness.  An  hour's 
attention  to  the  same  object  is  too  laborious  for  them; 
they  take  everything  in  the  light  in  which  it  first  presents 
itself,  never  consider  it  in  all  its  different  views,  and,  in 
short,  never  think  it  thorough.  The  consequence  of  this  is, 
that  when  they  come  to  speak  upon  these  subjects  before 
people  who  have  considered  them  with  attention,  they  only 
discover  their  own  ignorance  and  laziness,  and  lay  them- 
selves open  to  answers  that  put  them  in  confusion.  Do 
not,  then,  be  discouraged  by  the  first  difficulties,  but  contra 
audentior  ito ;  and  resolve  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  all  those 
things  which  every  gentleman  ought  to  know  well.  Those 
arts  or  sciences  which  are  peculiar  to  certain  professions 
need  not  be  deeply  known  by  those  who  are  not  intended 
for  those  professions.  As,  for  instance,  fortification  and 
navigation  ;  of  both  which,  a  superficial  and  general  know- 
ledge, such  as  the  common  course  of  conversation,  with  a 
very  little  inquiry  on  your  part,  will  give  you,  is  sufficient. 
Though,  by  the  way,  a  little  more  knowledge  of  fortification 
may  be  of  some  use  to  you ;  as  the  events  of  war,  in  sieges, 
make  many  of  the  terms  of  that  science  occur  frequently  in 
common  conversations ;  and  one  would  be  sorry  to  say, 
like  the  Marquis  de  Mascarille,  in  Moliere's  Prccieuses 
Ridicules,  when  he  hears  of  une  demie  Lune ;  Ma  foi, 
fetoit  bien  une  Lune  toute  enttire.  But  those  things  which 
every  gentleman,  independently  of  profession,  should  know, 
he  ought  to  know  well,  and  dive  into  all  the  depths  of 
them.  Such  are  languages,  history,  and  geography  ancient 
and  modern ;  philosophy,  rational  logic,  rhetoric ;  and,  for 
you  particularly,  the  constitution,  and  the  civil  and  military 
state,  of  every  country  in  Europe.  This,  I  confess,  is  a 
pretty  large  circle  of  knowledge,  attended  with  some 


8o  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

difficulties,  and  requiring  some  trouble;  which,  however, 
an  active  and  industrious  mind  will  overcome,  and  be 
amply  repaid.  The  trifling  and  frivolous  mind  is  always 
busied,  but  to  little  purpose;  it  takes  little  objects  for 
great  ones,  and  throws  away  upon  trifles  that  time  and 
attention  which  only  important  things  deserve.  Knick- 
knacks,  butterflies,  shells,  insects,  etc.,  are  the  objects  of 
their  most  serious  researches.  They  contemplate  the  dress, 
not  the  characters,  of  the  company  they  keep.  They  attend 
more  to  the  decorations  of  a  Play,  than  to  the  sense  of  it ; 
and  to  the  ceremonies  of  a  Court,  more  than  to  its  politics. 
Such  an  employment  of  time  is  an  absolute  loss  of  it.  You 
have  now,  at  most,  three  years  to  employ  either  well  or  ill ; 
for  as  I  have  often  told  you,  you  will  be  all  your  life  what 
you  shall  be  three  years  hence.  For  God's  sake,  then, 
reflect :  Will  you  throw  away  this  time,  either  in  laziness,  or 
in  trifles  ?  Or  will  you  not  rather  employ  every  moment  of 
it  in  a  manner  that  must  so  soon  reward  you,  with  so  much 
pleasure,  figure,  and  character  ?  I  cannot,  I  will  not,  doubt 
of  your  choice.  Read  only  useful  books ;  and  never  quit  a 
subject  till  you  are  thoroughly  master  of  it,  but  read  and 
inquire  on  till  then.  When  you  are  in  company,  bring  the 
conversation  to  some  useful  subject,  but  a  forth  of  that 
company.  Points  of  history,  matters  of  literature,  the 
customs  of  particular  countries,  the  several  Orders  of 
Knighthood,  as  Teutonic,  Malthese,  etc.,  are  surely  better 
subjects  of  conversation  than  the  weather,  dress,  or  fiddle- 
faddle  stories,  that  carry  no  information  along  with  them. 
The  characters  of  Kings,  and  great  Men,  are  only  to  be 
learned  in  conversation;  for  they  are  never  fairly  written 
during  their  lives.  This,  therefore,  is  an  entertaining  and 
instructive  subject  of  conversation,  and  will  likewise  give 
you  an  opportunity  of  observing  how  very  differently 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  81 

characters  are  given,  from  the  different  passions  and  views 
of  those*  who  give  them.  Never  be  ashamed  nor  afraid 
of  asking  questions;  for  if  they  lead  to  information,  and 
if  you  accompany  them  with  some  excuse,  you  will  never 
be  reckoned  an  impertinent  or  rude  questioner.  All  those 
things,  in  the  common  course  of  life,  depend  entirely  upon 
the  manner ;  and  in  that  respect  the  vulgar  saying  is  true, 
That  one  man  may  better  steal  a  horse,  than  another  look 
over  the  hedge.  There  are  few  things  that  may  not  be 
said,  in  some  manner  or  other;  either  in  a  seeming  con- 
fidence, or  a  genteel  irony,  or  introduced  with  wit :  and 
one  great  part  of  the  knowledge  of  the  world  consists  in 
knowing  when  and  where  to  make  use  of  these  different 
manners.  The  graces  of  the  person,  the  countenance,  and 
the  way  of  speaking,  contribute  so  much  to  this,  that  I  am 
convinced  the  very  same  thing  said  by  a  genteel  person, 
in  an  engaging  way,  and  gracefully  and  distinctly  spoken, 
would  please;  which  would  shock,  if  muttered  out  by  an 
awkward  figure,  with  a  sullen,  serious  countenance.  The 
Poets  always  represent  Venus  as  attended  by  the  three 
Graces,  to  intimate  that  even  Beauty  will  not  do  without. 
I  think  they  should  have  given  Minerva  three  also;  for 
without  them,  I  am  sure,  learning  is  very  unattractive. 
Invoke  them,  then,  distinctly,  to  accompany  all  your  words 
and  motions.  Adieu. 

p.S. — Since  I  wrote  what  goes  before,  I  have  received 
your  letter,  of  no  date,  with  the  enclosed  state  of  the 
Prussian  forces :  of  which,  I  hope  you  have  kept  a  copy ; 
this  you  should  lay  in  a  porte-feuille,  and  add  to  it  all  the 
military  establishments  tnat  you  can  get  of  other  States  and 
Kingdoms  :  the  Saxon  establishment  you  may,  doubtless, 
easily  find.  By  the  way,  do  not  forget  to  send  me  answers 


82  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

to  the  questions  which  I  sent  you  some  time  ago,  concerning 
both  the  civil  and  the  ecclesiastical  affairs  of  Saxony. 

Do  not  mistake  me,  and  think  I  only  mean  that  you 
should  speak  elegantly  with  regard  to  style,  and  the  purity 
of  language ;  but  I  mean  that  you  should  deliver  and  pro- 
nounce what  you  say  gracefully  and  distinctly,  for  which 
purpose  I  will  have  you  frequently  read,  very  loud,  to  Mr. 
Harte,  recite  parts  of  orations  and  speak  passages  of  plays. 
For  without  a  graceful  and  pleasing  enunciation,  all  your 
elegancy  of  style  in  speaking  is  not  worth  one  farthing. 

I  am  very  glad  that  Mr.  Lyttelton  approves  of  my  new 
house,  and  particularly  of  my  Canonical  pillars.  My  bust 
of  Cicero  is  a  very  fine  one,  and  well  preserved;  it  will 
have  the  best  place  in  my  library,  unless  at  your  return  you 
bring  me  over  as  good  a  modern  head  of  your  own,  which  I 
should  like  still  better.  I  can  tell  you  that  I  shall  examine 
it  as  attentively  as  ever  antiquary  did  an  old  one. 

Make  my  compliments  to  Mr.  Harte,  whose  recovery  I 
rejoice  at. 


LETTER   XXXVI. 

DEAR  BOY,  Bath,  October  the  igth,  O.  S.  1748. 

HAVING  in  my  last  pointed  out  what  sort  of  company 
you  should  keep,  I  will  now  give  you  some  rules  for  your 
conduct  in  it ;  rules  which  my  own  experience  and  observa- 
tion enable  me  to  lay  down,  and  communicate  to  you  with 
some  degree  of  confidence.  I  have  often  given  you  hints 
of  this  kind  before,  but  then  it  has  been  by  snatches ;  I  will 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  83 

now  be  more  regular  and  methodical.  I  shall  say  nothing 
with  regard  to  your  bodily  carriage  and  address,  but  leave 
them  to  the  care  of  your  dancing-master,  and  to  your  own 
attention  to  the  best  models :  remember,  however,  that  they 
are  of  consequence. 

Talk  often,  but  never  long;  in  that  case,  if  you  do  not 
please,  at  least  you  are  sure  not  to  tire  your  hearers.  Pay 
your  own  reckoning,  but  do  not  treat  the  whole  company; 
this  being  one  of  the  very  few  cases  in  which  people  do  not 
care  to  be  treated,  every  one  being  fully  convinced  that  he 
has  wherewithal  to  pay. 

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

Never  hold  anybody  by  the  button,  or  the  hand,  in 
order  to  be  heard  out;  for,  if  people  are  not  willing  to 
hear  you,  you  had  much  better  hold  your  tongue  than 
them. 

Most  long  talkers  single  out  some  one  unfortunate  man 
in  company  (commonly  him  whom  they  observe  to  be  the 
most  silent,  or  their  next  neighbour)  to  whisper,  or  at  least, 
in  a  half  voice,  to  convey  a  continuity  of  words  to.  This  is 
excessively  ill-bred,  and,  in  some  degree,  a  fraud ;  conversa- 
tion stock  being  a  joint  and  common  property.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  if  one  of  these  unmerciful  talkers  lays  hold 
of  you,  hear  him  with  patience  (and  at  least  seeming 
attention),  if  fa  y  ^Bflfth  gl?^ginff '  f°r  nothing  will  oblige 
him  more  than  a  patient  hearing,  as  nothing  would  hurt  him 
more,  than  either  to  leave  him  in  the  midst  of  his  discourse, 
or  to  discover  your  impatience  under  your  affliction. 

Take,  rather  than  give,  the  tone  of  the  company  you  are 


84  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

in.  If  you  have  parts,  you  will  show  them,  more  or  less, 
upon  every  subject ;  and  if  you  have  not,  you  had  better 
talk  sillily  upon  a  subject  of  other  people's  than  of  your 
own  choosing. 

Avoid  as  much  as  you  can,  in  mixed  companies,  argument- 
ative, polemical  conversations  ;  which,  though  they  should 
not,  yet  certainly  do,  indispose,  for  a  time,  the  contending 
parties  towards  each  other :  and,  if  the  controversy  grows 
warm  and  noisy,  endeavour  to  put  an  end  to  it  by  some 
genteel  levity  or  joke.  I  quieted  such  a  conversation 
hubbub  once,  by  representing  to  them  that  though  I  was 
persuaded  none  there  present  would  repeat,  out  of  company, 
what  passed  in  it,  yet  I  could  not  answer  for  the  discretion 
of  the  passengers  in  the  street,  who  must  necessarily  hear  all 
that  was  said. 

Above  all  things,  and  upon  all  occasions,  avoid  speaking 
of  yourself,  if  it  be  possible.  Such  is  the  natural  pride  and 
vanity  of  our  hearts,  that  it  perpetually  breaks  out,  even  in 
people  of  the  best  parts,  in  all  the  various  modes  and  figures 
of  the  egotism. 

Some  abruptly  speak  advantageously  of  themselves, 
without  either  pretence  or  provocation.  They  are  impudent. 
Others  proceed  more  artfully,  as  they  imagine ;  and  forge 
accusations  against  themselves,  complain  of  calumnies  which 
they  never  heard,  in  order  to  justify  themselves,  by  exhibit- 
ing a  catalogue  of  their  many  virtues.  They  acknowledge  it 
may,  indeed,  seem  odd,  that  they  should  talk  in  that  manner 
of  themselves ;  it  is  what  they  do  not  like,  and  what  they  never 
would  have  done  ;  no,  no  tortures  should  ever  have  forced  it 
from  them,  if  they  had  not  been  thus  unjustly  and  monstrously 
accused.  But,  in  these  cases,  justice  is  surely  due  to  one's  self, 
as  well  as  to  others ;  and,  when  our  character  is  attacked,  we 
may  say,  in  our  own  justification,  what  otherwise  we  never 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  85 

would  have  said.  This  thin  veil  of  Modesty,  drawn  before 
Vanity,  is  much  too  transparent  to  conceal  it,  even  from 
very  moderate  discernment. 

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

This  principle  of  vanity  and  pride  is  so  strong  in  human 
nature,  that  it  descends  even  to  the  lowest  objects ;  and  one 
often  sees  people  angling  for  praise,  where,  admitting  all 
they  say  to  be  true  (which,  by  the  way,  it  seldom  is),  no 
just  praise  is  to  be  caught.  One  man  affirms  that  he  has 
rode  post  a  hundred  miles  in  six  hours :  probably  it  is  a  lie ; 
but  supposing  it  to  be  true,  what  then  ?  Why,  he  is  a  very 
good  postboy,  that  is  all.  Another  asserts,  and  probably 
not  without  oaths,  that  he  has  drunk  six  or  eight  bottles  of 


86  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

wine  at  a  sitting  :  out  of  charity  I  will  believe  him  a  liar ; 
for  if  I  do  not  I  must  think  him  a  beast. 

Such,  and  a  thousand  more,  are  the  follies  and  extrava- 
gancies which  vanity  draws  people  into,  and  which  always 
defeat  their  own  purpose :  and,  as  Waller  says,  upon 
another  subject, 

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

The  only  sure  way  of  avoiding  these  evils  is,  never  to 
speak  of  yourself  at  all.  But  when  historically  you  are 
obliged  to  mention  yourself,  take  care  not  to  drop  one 
single  word  that  can  directly  or  indirectly  be  construed  as 
fishing  for  applause.  Be  your  character  what  it  will,  it  will 
be  known ;  and  nobody  will  take  it  upon  your  own  word. 
Never  imagine  that  anything  you  can  say  yourself  will 
varnish  your  defects,  or  add  lustre  to  your  perfections : 
but,  on  the  contrary,  it  may,  and  nine  times  in  ten  will, 
make  the  former  more  glaring,  and  the  latter  obscure.  If 
you  are  silent  upon  your  own  subject,  neither  envy, 
indignation,  nor  ridicule  will  obstruct  or  allay  the  applause 
which  you  may  really  deserve  ;  but  if  you  publish  your  own 
panegyric,  upon  any  occasion  or  in  any  shape  whatsoever, 
and  however  artfully  dressed  or  disguised,  they  will  all 
conspire  against  you,  and  you  will  be  disappointed  of  the 
very  end  you  aim  at. 

Take  care  never  to  seem  dark  and  mysterious ;  which 
is  not  only  a  very  unamiable  character,  but  a  very 
suspicious  one  too  :  if  you  seem  mysterious  with  others, 
they  will  be  really  so  with  you,  and  you  will  know  nothing. 
The  height  of  abilities  is,  to  have  volto  sciolto,  and  pensien 
stretti;  that  is,  a  frank,  open,  and  ingenuous  exterior,  with 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  87 

a  prudent  and  reserved  interior;  to  be  upon  your  own 
guard,  and  yet,  by  a  seeming  natural  openness,  to  put 
people  off  of  theirs.  Depend  upon  it,  nine  in  ten  of 
every  company  you  are  in,  will  avail  themselves  of  every 
indiscreet  and  unguarded  expression  of  yours,  if  they  can 
turn  it  to  their  own  advantage.  A  prudent  reserve  is  there- 
fore as  necessary  as  a  seeming  openness  is  prudent 
Always  look  people  in  the  face  when  you  speak  to  them ; 
the  not  doing  it  is  thought  to  imply  conscious  guilt;  besides 
that,  you  lose  the  advantage  of  observing  by  their  counten- 
ances what  impression  your  discourse  makes  upon  them. 
In  order  to  know  people's  real  sentiments,  I  trust  much 
more  to  my  eyes  than  to  my  ears ;  for  they  can  say  what- 
ever they  have  a  mind  I  should  hear,  but  they  can  seldom 
help  looking  what  they  have  no  intention  that  I  should 
znow. 

Neither  retail  nor  receive  scandal,  willingly;  for  though 
the  defamation  of  others  may,  for  the  present,  gratify  the 
malignity  or  the  pride  of  our  hearts,  cool  reflection  will 
draw  very  disadvantageous  conclusions  from  such  a  dis- 
position ;  and  in  the  case  of  scandal,  as  in  that  of  robbery, 
the  receiver  is  always  thought  as  bad  as  the  thief. 

Mimicry,  which  is  the  common  and  favourite  amuse- 
ment of  little,  low  minds,  is  in  the  utmost  contempt  with 
great  ones.  It  is  the  lowest  and  most  illiberal  of  all 
buffoonery.  Pray  neither  practise  it  yourself,  nor  applaud 
it  in  others.  Besides  that,  the  person  mimicked  is  insulted; 
and,  as  I  have  often  observed  to  you  before,  an  insult 
is  never  forgiven. 

I  need  not  (I  believe)  advise  you  to  adapt  your  con- 
versation to  the  people  you  are  conversing  with ;  for  I 
suppose  you  would  not,  without  this  caution,  have  talked 
upon  the  same  subject,  and  in  the  same  manner,  to  a 


88  LORD  CHESTER FIELD'S 

Minister  of  State,  a  Bishop,  a  Philosopher,  a  Captain,  and 
a  Woman.  A  man  of  the  world  must,  like  the  Cameleon, 
be  able  to  take  every  different  hue ;  which  is  by  no  means 
a  criminal  or  abject,  but  a  necessary  complaisance,  for  it 
relates  only  to  Manners,  and  not  to  Morals. 

One  word  only  as  to  swearing;  and  that  I  hope  and 
believe  is  more  than  is  necessary.  You  may  sometimes 
hear  some  people  in  good  company  interlard  their  discourse 
vith  oaths,  by  way  of  embellishment,  as  they  think ;  but 
you  must  observe  too,  that  those  who  do  so  are  never  those 
who  contribute,  in  any  degree,  to  give  that  company  the 
denomination  of  good  company.  They  are  always  sub- 
alterns, or  people  of  low  education ;  for  that  practice, 
besides  that  it  has  no  one  temptation  to  plead,  is  as  silly 
and  as  illiberal  as  it  is  wicked. 

Loud  laughter  is  the  mirth  of  the  mob,  who  are  only 
pleased  with  silly  things;  for  true  Wit  or  good  Sense 
never  excited  a  laugh  since  the  creation  of  the  world. 
A  man  of  parts  and  fashion  is  therefore  only  seen  to 
smile,  but  never  heard  to  laugh. 

But,  to  conclude  this  long  letter;  all  the  above-men- 
tioned rules,  however  carefully  you  may  observe  them, 
will  lose  half  their  effect  if  unaccompanied  by  the  Graces. 
Whatever  you  say,  if  you  say  it  with  a  supercilious, 
cynical  face,  or  an  embarrassed  countenance,  or  a  silly 
disconcerted  grin,  will  be  ill  received.  If,  into  the  bar- 
gain, you  mutter  it,  or  utter  it  indistinctly  and  ungracefully, 
it  will  be  still  worse  received.  If  your  air  and  address  are 
vulgar,  awkward,  and  gauche,  you  may  be  esteemed  indeed, 
if  you  have  great  intrinsic  merit,  but  you  will  never  please ; 
and  without  pleasing,  you  will  rise  but  heavily.  Venus, 
among  the  Ancients,  was  synonymous  with  the  Graces, 
who  were  always  supposed  to  accompany  her ;  and  Horace 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  89 

• 

tells  us  that  even  Youth,  and  Mercury,  the  God  of  Arts 
and  Eloquence,  would  not  do  without  her. 

" — Parum  comis  sine  tejuventas 

Mercuriusquf. " 

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


LETTER  XXXVII. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  November  the  i8th,  O.  S.  1748. 

WHATEVER  I  see  or  whatever  I  hear,  my  first  con- 
sideration is,  whether  it  can  in  any  way  be  useful  to  you. 
As  a  proof  of  this,  I  went  accidentally  the  other  day  into  a 
print-shop,  where,  among  many  others,  I  found  one  print 
from  a  famous  design  of  Carlo  Maratti,  who  died  about 
thirty  years  ago,  and  was  the  last  eminent  painter  in 
Europe:  the  subject  is,  il  Studio  del  Disegno  ;  or,  the 
School  of  Drawing.  An  old  man,  supposed  to  be  the 
Master,  points  to  his  Scholars,  who  are  variously  employed, 
in  Perspective,  Geometry,  'and  the  observation  of  the 
statues  of  antiquity.  With  regard  to  Perspective,  of  which 
there  are  some  little  specimens;  he  has  wrote,  Tanto  die 
basti,  that  is,  As  much  as  is  sufficient ;  with  regard  to 
Geometry,  Tanto  che  basti  again ;  with  regard  to  the  con- 
templation of  the  ancient  statues,  there  is  written,  Non  mat 
a  bastanza  ;  There  never  can  be  enough.  But  in  the  clouds, 
at  the  top  of  the  piece,  are  represented  the  three  Graces ; 
with  this  just  sentence  written  over  them,  Senza  di  not  ogni 
Jatica  I  vana  y  that  is,  Without  us  all  labour  is  vain.  This 


go  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

• 

everybody  allows  to  be  true,  in  painting ;  but  all  people  do 
not  seem  to  consider,  as  I  hope  you  will,  that  this  truth  is 
full  as  applicable  to  every  other  art  or  science ;  indeed,  to 
everything  that  is  to  be  said  or  done.  I  will  send  you  the 
print  itself,  by  Mr.  Eliot,  when  he  returns;  and  I  will 
advise  you  to  make  the  same  use  of  it  that  the  Roman 
Catholics  say  they  do  of  the  pictures  and  images  of  their 
saints;  which  is,  only  to  remind  them  of  those;  for  the 
adoration  they  disclaim.  Nay,  I  will  go  further,  and,  as  the 
transition  from  Popery  to  Paganism  is  short  and  easy,  I  will 
classically  and  poetically  advise  you  to  invoke  and  sacrifice 
to  them  every  day,  and  all  the  day.  It  must  be  owned  that 
the  Graces  do  not  seem  to  be  natives  of  Great  Britain,  and 
I  doubt  the  best  of  us  here  have  more  of  the  rough  than 
the  polished  diamond.  Since  barbarism  drove  them  out 
of  Greece  and  Rome,  they  seem  to  have  taken  refuge  in 
France,  where  their  temples  are  numerous,  and  their 
worship  the  established  one.  Examine  yourself  seriously, 
why  such  and  such  people  please  and  engage  you,  more 
than  such  and  such  others  of  equal  merit,  and  you  will 
always  find,  that  it  is  because  the  former  have  the  Graces, 
and  the  latter  not.  I  have  known  many  a  woman  with  an 
exact  shape,  and  a  symmetrical  assemblage  of  beautiful 
features,  please  nobody;  while  others,  with  very  moderate 
shapes  and  features,  have  charmed  everybody.  Why? 
because  Venus  will  not  charm  so  much  without  her 
attendant  Graces,  as  they  will  without  her.  Among  men 
how  often  have  I  seen  the  most  solid  merit  and  knowledge 
neglected,  unwelcome,  or  even  rejected,  for  want  of  them  ? 
While  flimsy  parts,  little  knowledge,  and  less  merit,  intro- 
duced by  the  Graces,  have  been  received,  cherished,  and 
admired.  Even  virtue,  which  is  moral  beauty,  wants  some 
of  its  charms,  if  unaccompanied  by  them. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  91 

If  you  ask  me  how  you  shall  acquire  what  neither  you 
nor  I  can  define  or  ascertain,  I  can  only  answer,  By  obser- 
vation. Form  yourself,  with  regard  to  others,  upon  what 
you  feel  pleases  you  in  them.  I  can  tell  you  the  import- 
ance, the  advantaj 
give  them  you ;  I  heartily  wish  I  could,  and  I  certainly 
would;  for  I  do  not  know  a  better  present  that  I  could 
make  you.  To  show  you  that  a  very  wise,  philosophical, 
and  retired  man  thinks  upon  that  subject  as  I  do,  who  have 
always  lived  in  the  world,  I  send  you,  by  Mr.  Eliot,  the 
famous  Mr.  Locke's  book  upon  Education;  in  which  you 
will  find  the  stress  that  he  lays  upon  the  Graces,  which  he 
calls  (and  very  truly)  Good  breeding.  I  have  marked  all 
the  parts  of  that  book  which  are  worth  your  attention ;  for 
as  he  begins  with  the  child  almost  from  its  birth,  the  parts 
relative  to  its  infancy  would  be  useless  to  you.  Germany  is 
still  less  than  England  the  seat  of  the  Graces ;  however,  you 
had  as  good  not  say  so  while  you  are  there.  But  the  place 
which  you  are  going  to,  in  a  great  degree  is,  for  I  have 
known  as  many  well-bred  pretty  men  come  from  Turin  as 
from  any  part  of  Europe.  The  late  King  Victor  Amede'e 
took  great  pains  to  form  such  of  his  subjects  as  were  of  any 
consideration,  both  to  business  and  manners;  the  present 
King,  I  am  told,  follows  his  example:  this,  however,  is 
certain,  that  in  all  Courts  and  Congresses,  where  there  are 
various  foreign  Ministers,  those  of  the  King  of  Sardinia  are 
generally  the  ablest,  the  politest,  and  ks  plus  delies.  You 
will,  therefore,  at  Turin  have  very  good  models  to  form 
yourself  upon ;  and  remember,  that  with  regard  to  the  best 
models,  as  well  as  to  the  antique  Greek  statues  in  the  print, 
non  mai  a  bastanza.  Observe  every  word,  look,  and 
motion,  of  those  who  are  allowed  to  be  the  most  accom- 
plished persons  there.  Observe  their  natural  and  careless, 


9»  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

but  genteel  air ;  their  unembarrassed  good  breeding ;  their 
unassuming,  but  yet  unprostituted,  dignity.  Mind  their 
decent  mirth,  their  discreet  frankness,  and  that  entregent, 
which,  as  much  above  the  frivolous  as  below  the  important 
and  the  secret,  is  the  proper  medium  for  conversation  in 
mixed  companies.  I  will  observe,  by-the-by,  that  the  talent 
of  that  light  entregent  is  often  of  great  use  to  a  foreign 
Minister ;  not  only  as  it  helps  him  to  domesticate  himself  in 
many  families,  but  also  as  it  enables  him  to  put  by  and  parry 
some  subjects  of  conversation,  which  might  possibly  lay  him 
under  difficulties,  both  what  to  say  and  how  to  look. 

Of  all  the  men  that  ever  I  knew  in  my  life  (and  I 
knew  him  extremely  well),  the  late  Duke  of  Marlborough 
possessed  the  Graces  in  the  highest  degree,  not  to 
say  engrossed  them;  and  indeed  he  got  the  most  by 
them  ;  for  I  will  venture  (contrary  to  the  custom  of  pro- 
found historians,  who  always  assign  deep  causes  for 
great  events)  to  ascribe  the  better  half  of  the  Duke  of 
Marlborough's  greatness  and  riches  to  those  Graces.  He 
was  eminently  illiterate ;  wrote  bad  English,  and  spelled  it 
still  worse.  He  had  no  share  of  what  is  commonly  called 
Parts;  that  is,  he  had  no  brightness,  nothing  shining  in  his 
genius.  He  had,  most  undoubtedly,  an  excellent  good 
plain  understanding,  with  sound  judgment.  But  these 
alone  would  probably  have  raised  him  but  something  higher 
than  they  found  him,  which  was  Page  to  King  James  the 
Second's  Queen.  There  the  Graces  protected  and  promoted 
him ;  for,  while  he  was  an  Ensign  of  the  Guards,  the 
Duchess  of  Cleveland,  then  favourite  mistress  to  King 
Charles  the  Second,  struck  by  those  very  Graces,  gave  him 
five  thousand  pounds  ;  with  which  he  immediately  bought 
an  annuity  for  his  life,  of  five  hundred  pounds  a  year,  of 
my  grandfather,  Halifax,  which  was  the  foundation  of  his 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  93 

subsequent  fortune.  His  figure  was  beautiful;  but  his 
manner  was  irresistible,  by  either  man  or  woman.  It  was 
by  this  engaging,  graceful  manner  that  he  was  enabled, 
during  all  his  war,  to  connect  the  various  and  jarring 
Powers  of  the  Grand  Alliance,  and  to  carry  them  on  to  the 
main  object  of  the  war,  notwithstanding  their  private  and 
separate  views,  jealousies,  and  wrongheadednesses.  What- 
ever Court  he  went  to  (and  he  was  often  obliged  to  go 
himself  to  some  resty  and  refractory  ones),  he  as  constantly 
prevailed,  and  brought  them  into  his  measures.  The 
Pensionary  Heinsius,  a  venerable  old  Minister,  grown  gray 
in  business,  and  who  had  governed  the  Republic  of  the 
United  Provinces  for  more  than  forty  years,  was  absolutely 
governed  by  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  as  that  Republic 
feels  to  this  day.  He  was  always  cool ;  and  nobody  ever 
observed  the  least  variation  in  his  countenance :  he  could 
refuse  more  gracefully  than  other  people  could  grant ;  and 
those  who  went  away  from  him  the  most  dissatisfied,  as  to 
the  substance  of  their  business,  were  yet  personally  charmed 
with  him,  and,  in  some  degree,  comforted  by  his  manner. 
With  all  his  gentleness  and  gracefulness,  no  man  living  was 
more  conscious  of  his  situation,  nor  maintained  his  dignity 
better. 

With  the  share  of  knowledge  which  you  have  already 
gotten,  and  with  the  much  greater  which,  I  hope,  you  will 
soon  acquire,  what  may  you  not  expect  to  arrive  at,  if  you 
join  all  these  graces  to  it  ?  In  your  destination  particularly 
they  are,  in  truth,  half  your  business ;  for,  if  you  can  once 
gain  the  affections,  as  well  as  the  esteem,  of  the  Prince  or 
Minister  of  the  Court  to  which  you  are  sent,  I  will  answer 
for  it,  that  will  effectually  do  the  business  of  the  Court  that 
sent  you;  otherwise,  it  is  up-hill  work.  Do  not  mistake, 
and  think  that  these  graces,  which  I  so  often  and  earnestly 

9 


94  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

recommend  to  you,  should  only  accompany  important 
transactions,  and  be  worn  only  les  jours  de  gala:  no  ;  they 
should,  if  possible,  accompany  every  the  least  thing  that  you 
do  or  say;  for,  if  you  neglect  them  in  little  things,  they 
will  leave  you  in  great  ones.  I  should,  for  instance,  be 
extremely  concerned  to  see  you  even  drink  a  cup  of  coffee 
ungracefully,  and  slop  yourself  with  it,  by  your  awkward 
manner  of  holding  it ;  nor  should  I  like  to  see  your  coat 
buttoned  nor  your  shoes  buckled  awry.  But  I  should  be 
outrageous  if  I  heard  you  mutter  your  words  unintelligibly, 
stammer  in  your  speech,  or  hesitate,  misplace,  and  mistake 
in  your  narrations :  and  I  should  run  away  from  you,  with 
greater  rapidity,  if  possible,  than  I  should  now  run  to 
embrace  you,  if  I  found  you  destitute  of  all  those  graces, 
which  I  have  set  my  heart  upon  their  making  you  one  day, 
omnibus  ornatum  excellere  rebus. 

This  subject  is  inexhaustible,  as  it  extends  to  everything 
that  is  to  be  said  or  done;  but  I  will  leave  it  for  the 
present,  as  this  letter  is  already  pretty  long.  Such  is  my 
desire,  my  anxiety  for  your  perfection,  that  I  never  think 
I  have  said  enough,  though  you  may  possibly  think  I  have 
said  too  much ;  and  though,  in  truth,  if  your  own  good 
sense  is  not  sufficient  to  direct  you,  in  many  of  these  plain 
points,  all  that  I  or  anybody  else  can  say  will  be  insufficient. 
But,  where  you  are  concerned,  I  am  the  insatiable  Man  in 
Horace,  who  covets  still  a  little  corner  more,  to  complete 
the  figure  of  his  field.  I  dread  every  little  corner  that  may 
deform  mine,  in  which  I  would  have  (if  possible)  no  one 
defect. 

I  this  moment  receive  yours  of  the  i7th,  N.  S.,  and 
cannot  condole  with  you  upon  the  secession  of  your  German 
Commensaux  ;  who,  both  by  your  and  Mr.  Harte's  descrip- 
tion, seem  to  be  de s  gens  d"une  aimable  absence :  and,  if  you 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  95 

can  replace  them  by  any  other  German  conversation,  you 
will  be  a  gainer  by  the  bargain.  I  cannot  conceive,  if  you 
understand  German  well  enough  to  read  any  German  book, 
how  the  writing  of  the  German  character  can  be  so  difficult 
and  tedious  to  you,  the  twenty-four  letters  being  very  soon 
learned ;  and  I  do  not  expect  that  you  should  write  yet 
with  the  utmost  purity  and  correctness,  as  to  the  language: 
what  I  meant  by  your  writing  once  a  fortnight  to 
Grevenkop,  was  only  to  make  the  written  character  familiar 
to  you.  However,  I  will  be  content  with  •  one  in  three 
weeks,  or  so. 

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


LETTER  XXXVIII. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  January  the  loth,  O.  S.  1749. 

I  HAVE  received  your  letter  of  the  jist  December, 
N.  S.  Your  thanks  for  my  present,  as  you  call  it,  exceed 
the  value  of  the  present ;  but  the  use  which  you  assure  me 
that  you  will  make  of  it  is  the  thanks  which  I  desire  to 
receive.  Due  attention  to  the  inside  of  books,  and  due 
contempt  for  the  outside,  is  the  proper  relation  between  a 
man  of  sense  and  his  books. 

Now  that  you  are  going  a  little  more  into  the  world,  I 
will  take  this  occasion  to  explain  my  intentions  as  to  your 
future  expenses,  that  you  may  know  what  you  have  to 
expect  from  me,  and  make  your  plan  accordingly.  I  shall 


96  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

neither  deny  nor  grudge  you  any  money,  that  may  be 
necessary,  for  either  your  improvement  or  your  pleasures; 
I  mean,  the  pleasures  of  a  rational  being.  Under  the  head 
of  Improvement,  I  mean  the  best  Books,  and  the  best 
Masters,  cost  what  they  will ;  I  also  mean,  all  the  expense 
of  lodgings,  coach,  dress,  servants,  etc.,  which,  according  to 
the  several  places  where  you  may  be,  shall  be  respectively 
necessary,  to  enable  you  to  keep  the  best  company.  Under 
the  head  of  rational  Pleasures,  I  comprehend,  First,  proper 
charities,  to  real  and  compassionate  objects  of  it ;  Secondly, 
proper  presents,  to  those  to  whom  you  are  obliged,  or  whom 
you  desire  to  oblige ;  Thirdly,  a  conformity  of  expense  to 
that  of  the  company  which  you  keep;  as  in  public 
spectacles,  your  share  of  little  entertainments;  a  few 
pistoles  at  games  of  mere  commerce ;  and  other  incidental 
calls  of  good  company.  The  only  two  articles  which  I  will 
never  supply,  are  the  profusion  of  low  riot,  and  the  idle 
lavishness  of  negligence  and  laziness.  A  fool  squanders 
away,  without  credit  or  advantage  to  himself,  more  than  a 
man  of  sense  spends  with  both.  The  latter  employs  his 
money  as  he  does  his  time,  and  never  spends  a  shilling  of 
the  one,  nor  a  minute  of  the  other,  but  in  something  that  is 
either  useful  or  rationally  pleasing  to  himself  or  others. 
The  former  buys  whatever  he  does  not  want,  and  does  not 
pay  for  what  he  does  want.  He  cannot  withstand  the 
charms  of  a  toy-shop  ;  snuff-boxes^  watches,  heads  of  canes, 
etc.,  are  his  destruction.  His  servants  and  tradesmen 
conspire  with  his  own  indolence  to  cheat  him ;  and  in  a 
very  little  time,  he  is  astonished,  in  the  midst  of  all  his 
ridiculous  superfluities,  to  find  himself  in  want  of  all  the 
real  comforts  and  necessaries  of  life.  Without  care  and 
method,  the  largest  fortune  will  not,  and  with  them,  almost 
the  smallest  will,  supply  all  necessary  expenses.  As  far  as 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  97 

you  can  possibly,  pay  ready  money  for  everything  you  buy, 
and  avoid  bills.  Pay  that  money,  too,  yourself,  and  not 
through  the  hands  of  any  servant,  who  always  eithei 
stipulates  poundage,  or  requires  a  present  for  his  good 
word,  as  they  call  it.  Where  you  must  have  bills  (as  for 
meat  and  drink,  clothes,  etc.),  pay  them  regularly  every 
month,  and  with  your  own  hand.  Never,  from  a  mistaken 
economy,  buy  a  thing  you  do  not  want,  because  it  is  cheap ; 
or  from  a  silly  pride,  because  it  is  dear.  Keep  an  account, 
in  a  book,  of  all  that  you  receive,  and  of  all  that  you  pay, 
for  no  man  who  knows  what  he  receives  and  what  he  pays 
ever  runs  out.  I  do  not  mean  that  you  should  keep  an 
account  of  the  shillings  and  half-crowns  which  you  may 
spend  in  chair-hire,  operas,  etc. ;  they  are  unworthy  of  the 
time,  and  of  the  ink  that  they  would  consume ;  leave  such 
minuties  to  dull,  penny  wise  fellows;  but  remember,  in 
economy,  as  well  as  in  every  other  part  of  life,  to  have  the 
proper  attention  to  proper  objects,  and  the  proper  contempt 
for  little  ones.  A  strong  mind  sees  things  in  their  true 
proportions :  a  weak  one  views  them  through  a  magnifying 
medium ;  which,  like  the  microscope,  makes  an  elephant  of 
a  flea ;  magnifies  all  little  objects,  but  cannot  receive  great 
ones.  I  have  known  many  a  man  pass  for  a  miser,  by 
saving  a  penny,  and  wrangling  for  twopence,  who  was 
undoing  himself  at  the  same  time,  by  living  above  his 
income,  and  not  attending  to  essential  articles  which  were 
above  his  portic.  The  sure  characteristic  of  a  sound  and 
strong  mind  is,  to  find  in  everything  those  certain  bounds, 
quos  ultra  citrave  nequit  consistere  rectum.  These  boundaries 
are  marked  out  by  A  very  fine  line,  which  only  good  sense 
and  attention  can  discover ;  it  is  much  too  fine  for  vulgar 
eyes.  In  Manners,  this  line  is  Good  Breeding;  beyond 
it,  is  troublesome  ceremony;  short  of  it  i?  unbecoming 


98  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

negligence  and  inattention.  In  Morals,  it  divides  osten- 
tatious Puritanism  from  criminal  Relaxation.  In  Religion, 
Superstition  from  Impiety ;  and,  in  short,  every  virtue  from 
its  kindred  vice  or  weakness.  I  think  you  have  sense 
enough  to  discover  the  line :  keep  it  always  in  your  eye, 
and  learn  to  walk  upon  it ;  rest  upon  Mr.  Harte,  and  he 
will  poize  you,  till  you  are  able  to  go  alone.  By  the  way, 
there  are  fewer  people  who  walk  well  upon  that  line,  than 
upon  the  slack  rope ;  and  therefore  a  good  performer  shines 
so  much  the  more. 

Your  friend,  Comte  Pertingue,  who  constantly  inquires 
after  you,  has  written  to  Compte  Salmour,  the  Governor  of 
the  Academy  at  Turin,  to  prepare  a  room  for  you  there, 
immediately  after  the  Ascension;  and  has  recommended 
you  to  him,  in  a  manner  which  I  hope  you  will  give  him  no 
reason  to  repent  or  be  ashamed  of.  As  Compte  Salmour's 
son,  now  residing  at  the  Hague,  is  my  particular  acquaint- 
ance, I  shall  have  regular  and  authentic  accounts  of  all 
that  you  do  at  Turin. 

During  your  stay  at  Berlin,  I  expect  that  you  should 
inform  yourself  thoroughly  of  the  present  state  of  the  Civil, 
Military,  and  Ecclesiastical  government  of  the  King  ol 
Prussia's  dominions,  particularly  of  the  Military,  which  is 
upon  a  better  footing  in  that  country  than  in  any  other  in 
Europe.  You  will  attend  at  the  reviews,  see  the  troops 
exercise,  and  inquire  into  the  number  of  troops  and 
companies  in  the  respective  regiments  of  horse,  foot,  and 
dragoons ;  the  numbers  and  titles  of  the  commissioned 
and  non-commissioned  Officers  in  the  several  troops  and 
companies;  and  also,  take  care  to  learn  the  technical 
military  terms  in  the  German  language  :  for,  though  you 
are  not  to  be  a  military  man,  yet  these  military  matters  are 
so  frequently  the  subjects  of  conversation,  that  you  will  look 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  99 

very  awkwardly  if  you  are  ignorant  of  them.  Moreover, 
they  are  commonly  the  objects  of  negotiation,  and  as  such 
fall  within  your  future  profession.  You  must  also  inform 
yourself  of  the  reformation  which  the  King  of  Prussia  has 
lately  made  in  the  law  ;  by  which  he  has  both  lessened  the 
^number  and  shortened  the  duration  of  lawsuits:  a  great 
work,  and  worthy  of  so  great  a  Prince!  As  he  is  in- 
disputably the  ablest  Prince  in  Europe,  every  part  of  his 
government  deserves  your  most  diligent  inquiry  and  your 
most  serious  attention.  It  must  be  owned  that  you  set  out 
well,  as  a  young  Politician,  by  beginning  at  Berlin,  and  then 
going  to  Turin,  where  you  will  see  the  next  ablest  Monarch 
to  that  of  Prussia ;  so  that,  if  you  are  capable  of  making 
political  reflections,  those  two  Princes  will  furnish  you  with 
sufficient  matter  for  them. 

I  would  have  you  endeavour  to  get  acquainted  with 
Monsieur  de  Maupertuis,  who  is  so  eminently  distinguished 
by  all  kinds  of  learning  and  merit,  that  one  should  be  both 
sorry  and  ashamed  of  having  been  even  a  day  in  the  same 
place  with  him,  and  not  to  have  seen  him.  If  you  should 
have  no  other  way  of  being  introduced  to  him,  I  will  send 
you  a  letter  from  hence.  Monsieur  Cagnoni,  at  Berlin,  to 
whom  I  know  you  are  recommended,  is  a  very  able  man  of 
business,  thoroughly  informed  of  every  part  of  Europe :  and 
his  acquaintance,  if  you  deserve  and  improve  it  as  you 
should  do,  may  be  of  great  use  to  you. 

Remember  to  take  the  best  dancing-master  at  Berlin, 
more  to  teach  you  to  sit,  stand,  and  walk  gracefully,  than  to 
dance  finely.  The  Graces,  the  Graces ;  remember  the 
Graces  1  Adieu. 


ioo  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 


LETTER  XXXIX. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  February  the  28th,  O.  S.  1749- 

I  WAS  very  much  pleased  with  the  account  that  you  . 
gave  me  of  your  reception  at  Berlin ;  but  I  was  still  better 
pleased  with  the  account  which  Mr.  Harte  sent  me  of  your 
manner  of  receiving  that  reception  ;  for  he  says  you 
behaved  yourself  to  those  crowned  heads,  with  all  the 
respect  and  modesty  due  to  them ;  but,  at  the  same  time, 
without  being  any  more  embarrassed  than  if  you  had  been 
conversing  with  your  equals.  This  easy  respect  is  the 
perfection  of  good  breeding,  which  nothing  but  superior 
good  sense,  or  a  long  usage  of  the  world,  can  produce ;  and 
as  in  your  case  it  could  not  be  the  latter,  it  is  a  pleasing 
indication  to  me  of  the  former. 

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

The  day,  if  well  employed,  is  long  enough  for  them  all. 
One  half  of  it  bestowed  upon  your  studies,  and  your 
exercises,  will  finish  your  mind  and  your  body  \  the  remain- 
ing part  of  it,  spent  in  good  company,  will  form  your 
manners,  and  complete  your  character.  What  would  I 
not  give,  to  have  you  read  Demosthenes  critically  in  the 
morning,  and  understand  him  better  than  anybody;  at 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  101 

noon,  behave  yourself  better  than  any  person  at  Court; 
and,  in  the  evenings,  trifle  more  agreeably  than  anybody  in 
mixed  companies  ?  All  this  you  may  compass  if  you 
please;  you  have  the  means,  you  have  the  opportunities. 
Employ  them,  for  God's  sake,  while  you  may,  and  make 
yourself  that  all-accomplished  man  that  I  wish  to  have  you. 
It  entirely  depends  upon  these  two  years;  they  are  the 
decisive  ones. 

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

You  will  stay  at  Venice  as  long  as  the  Carnival  lasts ;  for 
though  I  am  impatient  to  have  you  at  Turin,  yet  I  would 
wish  you  to  see  thoroughly  all  that  is  to  be  seen  at  so 
singular  a  place  as  Venice,  and  at  so  showish  a  time  as  the 
Carnival.  You  will  take,  also,  particular  care  to  view  all 
those  meetings  of  the  government,  which  strangers  are 
allowed  to  see,  as  the  Assembly  of  the  Senate,  etc. ;  and 
likewise,  to  inform  yourself  of  that  peculiar  and  intricate 
form  of  government.  There  are  books  that  give  an  account 
of  it,  among  which  the  best  is  Amelot  de  la  Houssaye :  this 
I  would  advise  you  to  read  previously ;  it  will  not  only  give 
you  a  general  notion  of  that  constitution,  but  also  furnish 


102  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

you  with  materials  for  proper  questions  and  oral  informa- 
tions upon  the  place,  which  are  always  the  best.  There 
are  likewise  many  very  valuable  remains,  in  sculpture  and 
paintings  of  the  best  masters  which  deserve  your  attention. 

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

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

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


LETTER  XL. 

DEAR  BOY, 

I  DIRECT  this  letter  to  your  Banker  at  Venice,  the  surest 
place  for  you  to  meet  with  it,  though  I  suppose  it  will  be 
there  some  time  before  you ;  for,  as  your  intermediate  stay 
anywhere  else  will  be  but  short,  and  as  the  post  from  hence, 
in  this  season  of  Easterly  winds,  is  uncertain,  I  direct  no 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  103 

more  letters  to  Vienna;  where  I  hope  both  you  and  Mr. 
Harte  will  have  received  the  two  letters  which  I  sent  you 
respectively ;  with  a  letter  of  recommendation  to  Monsieur 
Capello  at  Venice,  which  was  enclosed  in  mine  to  you.  I 
will  suppose,  too,  that  the  inland  post,  on  your  side  of  the 
water,  has  not  done  you  justice;  for  I  received  but  one 
single  letter  from  you,  and  one  from  Mr.  Harte,  during  your 
whole  stay  at  Berlin  ;  from  whence  I  hoped  for,  and 
expected,  very  particular  accounts. 

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

But  the  important  point,  and  the  important  place,  is 
Turin;  for  there  I  propose  your  staying  a  considerable 
time,  to  pursue  your  studies,  learn  your  exercises,  and  form 
your  manners.  I  own  I  am  not  without  my  anxiety  for  the 
consequence  of  your  stay  there,  which  must  be  either  very 
good  or  very  bad  To  you  it  will  be  entirely  a  new  scene. 
Wherever  you  have  hitherto  been,  you  have  conversed 
chiefly  with  people  wiser  and  discreeter  than  yourself,  and 
have  been  equally  out  of  the  way  of  bad  advice  or  bad 
example ;  but,  in  the  Academy  at  Turin,  you  will  probably 
meet  with  both,  considering  the  variety  of  young  fellows 
of  about  your  own  age ;  among  whom,,  it  is  to  be  expected, 
that  some  will  be  dissipated  and  idle,  others  vicious  and 
profligate.  I  will  believe,  till  the  contrary  appears,  that  you 


io4  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

have  sagacity  enough  to  distinguish  the  good  from  the  bad 
characters ;  and  both  sense  and  virtue  enough  to  shun  the 
latter,  and  connect  yourself  with  the  former :  but,  however, 
for  greater  security,  and  for  your  sake  alone,  I  must 
acquaint  you,  that  I  have  sent  positive  orders  to  Mr.  Harte 
to  carry  you  off,  instantly,  to  a  place  which  I  have  named 
to  him,  upon  the  very  first  symptom  which  he  shall  dis- 
cover in  you,  of  Drinking,  Gaming,  Idleness,  or  Disobedi- 
ence to  his  orders ;  so  that,  whether  Mr.  Harte  informs  me 
or  not  of  the  particulars,  I  shall  be  able  to  judge  of  your 
conduct  in  general,  by  the  time  of  your  stay  at  Turin.  If  it 
is  short  I  shall  know  why ;  and  I  promise  you,  that  you 
shall  soon  find  that  I  do :  but,  if  Mr.  Harte  lets  you  con- 
tinue there  as  long  as  I  propose  you  should,  I  shall  then  be 
convinced  that  you  make  the  proper  use  of  your  time, 
which  is  the  only  thing  I  have  to  ask  of  you.  One  year  is 
the  most  that  I  propose  you  should  stay  at  Turin ;  and  that 
year,  if  you  employ  it  well,  perfects  you.  One  year  more  of 
your  late  application,  with  Mr.  Harte,  will  complete  your 
Classical  studies.  You  will  be,  likewise,  master  of  your 
exercises  in  that  time ;  and  will  have  formed  yourself  so 
well  at  that  Court,  as  to  be  fit  to  appear  advantageously  at 
any  other.  These  will  be  the  happy  effects  of  your  year's 
stay  at  Turin,  if  you  behave  and  apply  yourself  there  as  you 
have  done  at  Leipsig  ;  but,  if  either  ill  advice,  or  ill 
example,  affect  and  seduce  you,  you  are  ruined  for  ever. 
I  look  upon  that  year  as  your  decisive  year  of  probation ; 
go  through  it  well,  and  you  will  be  all-accomplrshed,  and 
fixed  in  my  tenderest  affection  for  ever :  but,  should  the 
contagion  of  vice  or  idleness  lay  hold  of  you  there,  your 
character,  your  fortune,  my  hopes,  and,  consequently,  my 
favour,  are  all  blasted,  and  you  are  undone.  The  more  I 
love  you  now,  from  the  good  opinion  that  I  have  of  you, 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  I05 

the  greater  will  be  my  indignation,  if  I  should  have  reason 
to  change  it.  Hitherto  you  have  had  every  possible  proof 
of  my  affection,  because  you  have  deserved  it :  but,  when 
you  cease  to  deserve  it,  you  may  expect  every  possible  mark 
of  my  resentment.  To  leave  nothing  doubtful,  upon  this 
important  point,  I  will  tell  you  fairly,  beforehand,  by  what 
rule  I  shall  judge  of  your  conduct.  By  Mr.  Harte's 
accounts.  He  will  not,  I  am  sure,  nay,  I  will  say  more, 
he  cannot  be  in  the  wrong  with  regard  to  you.  He  can 
have  no  other  view  but  your  good ;  and  you  will,  I  am 
sure,  allow  that  he  must  be  a  better  judge  of  it  than  you 
can  possibly  be,  at  your  age.  While  he  is  satisfied,  I  shall 
be  so  too ;  but  whenever  he  is  dissatisfied  with  you,  I  shall 
be  much  more  so.  If  he  complains,  you  must  be  guilty ; 
and  I  shall  not  have  the  least  regard  for  anything  that  you 
may  allege  in  your  own  defence. 

I  will  now  tell  you  what  I  expect  and  insist  upon  from 
you  at  Turin :  First,  That  you  pursue  your  Classical  and 
other  studies,  every  morning,  with  Mr.  Harte,  as  long  and 
in  whatever  manner  Mr.  Harte  shall  be  pleased  to  require : 
Secondly,  That  you  learn,  uninterruptedly,  your  exercises, 
of  riding,  dancing,  and  fencing :  Thirdly,  That  you  make 
yourself  master  of  the  Italian  language  :  and  lastly,  That 
you  pass  your  evenings  in  the  best  company.  I  also 
require  a  strict  conformity  to  the  hours  and  rules  of  the 
Academy.  If  you  will  but  finish  your  year  in  this  manner 
at  Turin,  I  have  nothing  further  to  ask  of  you ;  and  I  will 
give  you  everything  that  you  can  ask  of  me :  you  shall  after 
that  be  entirely  your  own  master ;  I  shall  think  you  safe  \ 
shall  lay  aside  all  authority  over  you ;  and  friendship  shall 
be  our  mutual  and  only  tie.  Weigh  this,  I  beg  of  you, 
deliberately  in  your  own  mind ;  and  consider,  whether  the 
application,  and  the  degree  of  restraint,  which  I  require  but 


ro6  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

for  one  year  more,  will  not  be  amply  repaid  by  all  the 
advantages,  and  the  perfect  liberty,  which  you  will  receive 
at  the  end  of  it.  Your  own  good  sense  will,  I  am  sure,  not 
allow  you  to  hesitate  one  moment  in  your  choice.  God 
bless  you !  Adieu. 

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


LETTER  XLI. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  May  the  I5th,  O.  S.  1749. 

THIS  letter  will,  I  hope,  find  you  settled  to  your  serious 
studies,  and  your  necessary  exercises,  at  Turin,  after  the 
hurry  and  dissipation  of  the  Carnival  at  Venice.  I  mean 
that  your  stay  at  Turin  should,  and  I  flatter  myself  that  it 
will,  be  a  useful  and  ornamental  period  of  your  education ; 
but,  at  the  same  time,  I  must  tell  you,  that  all  my  affection 
for  you  has  never  yet  given  me  so  much  anxiety,  as  that 
which  I  now  feel.  While  you  are  in  danger,  I  shall  be  in 
fear ;  and  you  are  in  danger  at  Turin.  Mr.  Harte  will,  by 
his  care,  arm  you  as  well  as  he  can  against  it ;  but  your 
own  good  sense  and  resolution  can  alone  make  you 
invulnerable.  I  am  informed  there  are  now  many  English 
at  the  Academy  at  Turin  ;  and  I  fear  those  are  just  so 
many  dangers  for  you  to  encounter.  Who  they  are,  I  do 
not  know;  but  I  well  know  the  general  ill  conduct,  the 
indecent  behaviour,  and  the  illiberal  views  of  my  young 
countrymen  abroad ;  especially  wherever  they  are  in 
numbers  together.  Ill  example  is  of  itself  dangerous 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  107 

enough  ;  but  those  who  give  it  seldom  stop  there  :  they 
add  their  infamous  exhortations  and  invitations;  and,  if 
these  fail,  they  have  recourse  to  ridicule ;  which  is  harder 
for  one  of  your  age  and  inexperience  to  withstand,  than 
either  of  the  former.  Be  upon  your  guard,  therefore, 
against  these  batteries,  which  will  all  be  played  upon  you. 
You  are  not  sent  abroad  to  converse  with  your  own 
countrymen :  among  them,  in  general,  you  will  get  little 
knowledge,  no  languages,  and,  I  am  sure,  no  manners.  I 
desire  that  you  will  form  no  connections,  nor  (what  they 
impudently  call)  friendships,  with  these  people  :  which  are, 
in  truth,  only  combinations  and  conspiracies  against  good 
morals  and  good  manners.  There  is  commonly,  in  young 
people,  a  facility  that  makes  them  unwilling  to  refuse  any- 
thing that  is  asked  of  them ;  a  mauvaise  honte,  that  makes 
them  ashamed  to  refuse;  and,  at  the  same  time,  an 
ambition  of  pleasing  and  shining  in  the  company  they 
keep ;  these  several  causes  produce  the  best  effect  in  good 
company,  but  the  very  worst  in  bad.  If  people  had  no  vices 
but  their  own,  few  would  have  so  many  as  they  have.  For 
my  own  part,  I  would  sooner  wear  other  people's  clothes 
than  their  vices  ;  and  they  would  sit  upon  me  just  as  well. 
I  hope  you  will  have  none ;  but,  if  ever  you  have,  I  beg  at 
least  they  may  be  all  your  own.  Vices  of  adoption  are,  of 
all  others,  the  most  disgraceful  and  unpardonable.  There 
are  degrees  in  vices,  as  well  as  in  virtues ;  and  I  must  do 
my  countrymen  the  justice  to  say,  they  generally  take  their 
vices  in  the  lowest  degree.  Their  gallantry  is  the  infamous 
mean  debauchery  of  stews,  justly  attended  and  rewarded  by 
the  loss  of  their  health,  as  well  as  their  character.  Their 
pleasures  of  the  table  end  in  beastly  drunkenness,  low  riot, 
broken  windows,  and  very  often  (as  they  well  deserve) 
broken  bones.  They  game,  for  the  sake  of  the  vice,  not  of 


io8  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

the  amusement ;  and  therefore  carry  it  to  excess  ;  undo,  or 
are  undone  by,  their  companions.  By  such  conduct  and  in 
such  company  abroad,  they  come  home,  the  unimproved, 
illiberal,  and  ungentlemanlike  creatures,  that  one  daily  sees 
them  ;  that  is,  in  the  Park,  and  in  the  streets,  for  one  never 
meets  them  in  good  company;  where  they  have  neither 
manners  to  present  themselves,  nor  merit  to  be  received. 
But,  with  the  manners  of  footmen  and  grooms,  they  assume 
their  dress  too ;  for  you  must  have  observed  them  in  the 
streets  here,  in  dirty  blue  frocks,  with  oaken  sticks  in  their 
hands,  and  their  hair  greasy  and  unpowdered,  tucked  up 
under  their  hats  of  an  enormous  size.  Thus  finished  and 
adorned  by  their  travels,  they  become  the  disturbers  of 
playhouses ;  they  break  the  windows,  and  commonly  the 
landlords,  of  the  taverns  where  they  drink ;  and  are  at  once 
the  support,  the  terror,  and  the  victims,  of  the  bawdy- 
houses  they  frequent.  These  poor  mistaken  people  think 
they  shine,  and  so  they  do,  indeed ;  but  it  is  as  putrefaction 
shines,  in  the  dark. 

I  am  not  now  preaching  to  you,  like  an  old  fellow,  upon 
either  religious  or  moral  texts ;  I  am  persuaded  you  do  not 
want  the  best  instructions  of  that  kind  :  but  I  am  advising 
you  as  a  friend,  as  a  man  of  the  world,  as  one  who  would 
not  have  you  old  while  you  are  young,  but  would  have  you 
take  all  the  pleasures  that  rpnoinn  pr1'"^  but,  and  that 
decency  ^nrrQnfg  I  will  therefore  suppose,  for  argument's 
sake  (for  upon  no  other  account  can  it  be  supposed),  that 
all  the  vices  above-mentioned  were  perfectly  innocent  in 
themselves  ;  they  would  still  degrade,  vilify,  and  sink  those 
who  practised  them ;  would  obstruct  their  rising  in  the 
world,  by  debasing  their  characters ;  and  give  them  a  low 
turn  of  mind  and  manners,  absolutely  inconsistent  with 
their  making  any  figure  in  upper  life,  and  great  business. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  109 

What  I  have  now  said,  together  with  your  own  good 
sense,  is,  I  hope,  sufficient  to  arm  you  against  the  seduc- 
tion, the  invitations,  or  the  profligate  exhortations  (for  I 
cannot  call  them  temptations)  of  those  unfortunate  young 
people.  On  the  other  hand,  when  they  would  engage  you 
in  these  schemes,  content  yourself  with  a  decent  but  steady 
refusal ;  avoid  controversy  upon  such  plain  points.  You 
are  too  young  to  convert  them,  and,  I  trust,  too  wise  to  be 
converted  by  them.  Shun  them,  not  only  in  reality,  but 
2ven  in  appearance,  if  you  would  be  well  received  in  good 
company ;  for  people  will  always  be  shy  of  receiving  any 
man  who  comes  from  a  place  where  the  plague  rages,  let 
him  look  ever  so  healthy.  There  are  some  expressions, 
both  in  French  and  English,  and  some  characters,  both  in 
those  two  and  in  other  countries,  which  have,  I  dare  say, 
misled  many  young  men  to  their  ruin.  Une  honntte 
debauche,  une  jolie  debauche;  an  agreeable  rake,  a  man  of 
pleasure.  Do  not  think  that  this  means  debauchery  and 
profligacy :  nothing  like  it.  It  means,  at  most,  the 
accidental  and  unfrequent  irregularities  of  youth  and 
vivacity,  in  opposition  to  dulness,  formality,  and  want  of 
spirit.  A  commerce  gallant,  insensibly  formed  with  a 
woman  of  fashion;  a  glass  of  wine  or  two  too  much 
unwarily  taken,  in  the  warmth  and  joy  of  good  company ; 
or  some  innocent  frolic,  by  which  nobody  is  injured ;  are 
the  utmost  bounds  of  that  life  of  pleasure,  which  a  man  of 
sense  and  decency,  who  has  a  regard  for  his  character,  will 
allow  himself,  or  be  allowed  by  others.  Those  who 
transgress  them  in  the  hopes  of  shining  miss  their  aim,  and 
become  infamous,  or  at  least  contemptible. 

The  length  or  shortness  of  your  stay  at  Turin  will 
sufficiently  inform  me  (even  though  Mr.  Harte  should  not) 
of  your  conduct  there ;  for,  as  I  have  told  you  before,  Mr. 

10 


no  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

Harte  has  the  strictest  orders  to  carry  you  away  immediately 
from  thence,  upon  the  first  and  least  symptom  of  infection 
that  he  discovers  about  you ;  and  I  know  him  to  be  too 
conscientiously  scrupulous,  and  too  much  your  friend  and 
mine,  not  to  execute  them  exactly.  Moreover,  I  will  in- 
form you  that  I  shall  have  constant  accounts  of  your 
behaviour  from  Comte  Salmour,  the  Governor  of  the 
Academy,  whose  son  is  now  here,  and  my  particular  friend. 
I  have,  also,  other  good  channels  of  intelligence,  of  which  I 
do  not  apprize  you.  But,  supposing  that  all  turns  out  well 
at  Turin,  yet,  as  I  propose  your  being  at  Rome  for  the 
Jubilee  at  Christmas,  I  desire  that  you  will  apply  yourself 
diligently  to  your  exercises  of  dancing,  fencing,  and  riding, 
at  the  Academy ;  as  well  for  the  sake  of  your  health  and 
growth,  as  to  fashion  and  supple  you.  You  must  not 
neglect  your  dress  neither,  but  take  care  to  be  bien  mis. 
Pray  send  for  the  best  Operator  for  the  teeth,  at  Turin, 
where,  I  suppose  there  is  some  famous  one ;  and  let  him 
put  yours  in  perfect  order;  and  then  take  care  to  keep 
them  so,  afterwards,  yourself.  You  had  very  good  teeth, 
and  I  hope  they  are  so  still ;  but  even  those  who  have  bad 
ones  should  keep  them  clean ;  for  a  dirty  mouth  is,  in  my 
mind,  ill  manners.  In  short,  neglect  nothing  that  can 
possibly  please.  A  thousand  nameless  little  things,  which 
nobody  can  describe,  but  which  everybody  feels,  conspire 
to  form  that  whole  of  pleasing;  as  the  several  pieces  of 
a  Mosaic  work,  though  separately  of  little  beauty  or  value, 
when  properly  joined,  form  those  beautiful  figures  which 
please  everybody.  A  look,  a  gesture,  an  attitude,  a  tone  of 
voice,  all  bear  their  parts  in  the  great  work  of  pleasing. 
The  art  of  pleasing  is  more  particularly  necessary  in  youi 
intended  profession  than  perhaps  in  any  other;  it  is,  io 
truth,  the  first  half  of  your  business  ;  for  if  you  do  not 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  m 

please  the  Court  you  are  sent  to,  you  will  be  of  very  little 
use  to  the  Court  you  are  sent  from.  Please  the  eyes  and 
the  ears,  they  will  introduce  you  to  the  heart ;  and,  nine 
times  in  ten,  the  heart  governs  the  understanding. 

Make  your  court  particularly,  and  show  distinguished 
attentions,  to  such  men  and  women  as  are  best  at  Court, 
highest  in  the  fashion,  and  in  the  opinion  of  the  public; 
speak  advantageously  of  them  behind  their  backs,  in  com- 
panies who  you  have  reason  to  believe  will  tell  them  again. 
Express  your  admiration  of  the  many  great  men  that  the 
house  of  Savoy  has  produced  ;  observe,  that  nature,  instead 
of  being  exhausted  by  those  efforts,  seems  to  have  re- 
doubled them,  in  the  persons  of  the  present  King,  and  the 
Duke  of  Savoy :  wonder,  at  this  rate,  where  it  will  end,  and 
conclude  that  it  will  end  in  the  government  of  all  Europe. 
Say  this,  likewise,  where  it  will  probably  be  repeated ;  but 
say  it  unaffectedly,  and,  the  last  especially,  with  a  kind  of 
enjouement.  These  little  arts  are  very  allowable,  and  must 
be  made  use  of  in  the  course  of  the  world;  they  are 
pleasing  to  one  party,  useful  to  the  othci,  and  injurious  to 
nobody. 

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

Adieu,  my  dear  child  !  Consider  seriously  the  import- 
ance of  the  two  next  years,  to  your  character,  your  figure, 
and  your  fortune. 


ii2  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 


LETTER  XLII. 

DEAR   BOY  London,  September  the  I2th,  O.  S.  1749. 

IT  seems  extraordinary,  but  it  is  very  true,  that  my 
anxiety  for  you  increases  in  proportion  to  the  good  accounts 
which  I  receive  of  you  from  all  hands.  I  promise  myself 
so  much  from  you,  that  I  dread  the  least  disappointment. 
You  are  now  so  near  the  port,  which  I  have  so  long 
wished  and  laboured  to  bring  you  into,  that  my  concern 
would  be  doubled  should  you  be  shipwrecked  within  sight 
of  it.  The  object,  therefore,  of  this  letter  is  (laying  aside 
all  the  authority  of  a  parent),  to  conjure  you  as  a  friend, 
by  the  affection  you  have  for  me  (and  surely  you  have 
reason  to  have  some),  and  by  the  regard  you  have  for 
yourself,  to  go  on,  with  assiduity  and  attention,  to  complete 
that  work,  which,  of  late,  you  have  carried  on  so  well, 
and  which  is  now  so  near  being  finished.  ]^y  wishes,  and_ 
my  plan,  were  to  make  you  shine,  and  distinguish  your- 
self equally  in  the  learned  and  the  polite  world.  Few 
have  been  able  to  do  it.  Deep  learning  is  generally 
tainted  with  pedantry,  or  at  least  unadorned  by  manners ; 
as,  on  the  other  hand,  polite  manners,  and  the  turn  of 
the  world,  are  too  often  unsupported  by  knowledge,  and 
consequently  end  contemptibly  in  the  frivolous  dissipation 
of  drawing-rooms  and  ruelles.  You  are  now  got  over  the 
dry  and  difficult  parts  of  learning ;  what  remains  requires 
much  more  time  thai,  trouble.  You  have  lost  time  by 
your  illness ;  you  must  regain  it  now  or  never.  I  there- 
fore most  earnestly  desire,  for  your  own  sake,  that  for 
these  next  six  months,  at  least  six  hours  every  morning, 
uninterruptedly,  may  be  inviolably  sacred  to  your  studies 
with  Mr.  Harte.  I  do  not  know  whether  he  will  require 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  113 

so  much,  but  I  know  that  I  do,  and  hope  you  will,  and 
consequently  prevail  with  him  to  give  you  that  time:  I 
own  it  is  a  good  deal ;  but  when  both  you  and  he  consider, 
that  the  work  will  be  so  much  better  and  so  much  sooner 
done,  by  such  an  assiduous  and  continued  application, 
you  will  neither  of  you  think  it  too  much,  and  each  will 
find  his  account  in  it.  So  much  for  the  mornings  which, 
from  your  own  good  sense,  and  Mr.  Harte's  tenderness 
and  care  of  you,  will,  I  am  sure,  be  thus  well  employed. 
It  is  not  only  reasonable,  but  useful,  too,  that  your  evenings 
should  be  devoted  to  amusements  and  pleasures;  and 
therefore  I  not  only  allow,  but  recommend,  that  they 
should  be  employed  at  assemblies,  balls,  spectacles,  and 
in  the  best  companies ;  with  this  restriction  only,  that 
the  consequences  of  the  evening's  diversions  may  not 
break  in  upon  the  morning's  studies,  by  breakfastings, 
visits,  and  idle  parties  into  the  country.  At  your  age,  you 
need  not  be  ashamed,  when  any  of  these  morning  parties 
are  proposed,  to  say  you  must  beg  to  be  excused,  for 
you  are  obliged  to  devote  your  mornings  to  Mr.  Harte; 
that  I  will  have  it  so;  and  that  you  dare  not  do  other- 
wise. Lay  it  all  upon  me,  though  I  am  persuaded  it  will 
be  as  much  your  own  inclination  as  it  is  mine.  But  those 
frivolous,  idle  people,  whose  time  hangs  upon  their  own 
hands,  and  who  desire  to  make  others  lose  theirs  too, 
are  not  to  be  reasoned  with;  and  indeed  it  would  be 
doing  them  too  much  honour.  The  shortest  civil  answers 
are  the  best ;  /  cannot,  I  dare  not,  instead  of  /  will  not; 
for,  if  you  were  to  enter  with  them  into  the  necessity  of 
study,  and  the  usefulness  of  knowledge,  it  would  only 
furnish  them  with  matter  for  their  silly  jests;  which, 
though  I  would  not  have  you  mind,  I  would  not  have 
you  invite  I  will  suppose  you  at  Rome,  studying  six 


H4  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

hours  interruptedly  with  Mr.  Harte,  every  morning,  and 
passing  your  evenings  with  the  best  company  of  Rome, 
observing  their  manners  and  forming  your  own  ;  and  I  will 
suppose  a  number  of  idle,  sauntering,  illiterate  English,  as 
there  commonly  is  there,  living  entirely  with  one  another, 
supping,  drinking,  and  sitting  up  late  at  each  other's 
lodgings;  commonly  in  riots  and  scrapes  when  drunk; 
and  never  in  good  company  when  sober.  I  will  take 
one  of  these  pretty  fellows,  and  give  you  the  dialogue 
between  him  and  yourself;  such  as  I  dare  say  it  will  be 
on  his  side,  and  such  as  I  hope  it  will  be  on  yours. 

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

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

Englishman  Why,  then,  we  will  come  and  breakfast  with 
you. 

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

Englishman.  Well,  then,  let  it  be  the  next  day. 

Stanhope.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  it  can  be  no  day  in 
the  morning,  for  I  neither  go  out  nor  see  anybody  at 
home  before  twelve. 

Englishman.  And  what  the  devil  do  you  do  with  your- 
self till  twelve  o'clock  ? 

StanJiope.  I  am  not  by  myself,  I  am  with  Mr.  Harte. 

Englishman.  Then  what  the  devil  do  you  do  with  him  ? 

Stanhope.  We  study  different  things;  we  read,  we  converse. 

Englishman.  Very  pretty  amusement  indeed !  Are  you 
to  take  Orders,  then  ? 

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


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  115 

Englishman.  Why,  hast  thou  no  more  spirit  than  to  mind 
an  old  fellow  a  thousand  miles  off? 

Stanhope.  If  I  don't  mind  his  orders  he  won't  mind  my 
draughts. 

Englishman.  What,  does  the  old  prig  threaten,  then? 
threatened  folks  live  long ;  never  mind  threats. 

Stanhope.  No,  I  can't  say  that  he  has  ever  threatened  me 
in  his  life ;  but  I  believe  I  had  best  not  provoke  him. 

Englishman.  Pooh  1  you  would  have  one  angry  letter 
from  the  old  fellow,  and  there  would  be  an  end  of  it 

Stanhope.  You  mistake  him  mightily ;  he  always  does 
more  than  he  says.  He  has  never  been  angry  with  me 
yet,  that  I  remember,  in  his  life ;  but  if  I  were  to  provoke 
him  I  am  sure  he  would  never  forgive  me ;  he  would  be 
coolly  immovable,  and  I  might  beg  and  pray,  and  write 
my  heart  out  to  no  purpose. 

Englishman.  Why,  then,  he  is  an  old  dog,  that's  all  I  can 
say;  and  pray,  are  you  to  obey  your  dry-nurse  too,  this 
same,  what's  his  name — Mr.  Harte  ? 

Stanhope.  Yes.  , 

Englishman.  So  he  stuffs  you  all  morning  with  Greek, 
and  Latin,  and  Logic,  and  all  that.  Egad,  I  have  a  dry- 
nurse,  too,  but  I  never  looked  into  a  book  with  him  in 
my  life ;  I  have  not  so  much  as  seen  the  face  of  him  this 
week,  and  don't  care  a  louse  if  I  never  see  it  again. 

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

Englishman.  Very  sententious  and  edifying,  upon  my 
word!  at  this  rate  you  will  be  reckoned  a  very  good 
young  man. 

Stanhope.  Why,  that  will  do  me  no  harm. 

Englishman.   Will    you    be    with   us   to-morrow   in   the 


n6  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

evening,  then  ?  We  shall  be  ten  with  you,  and  I  have  got 
some  excellent  good  wine,  and  we'll  be  very  merry. 

Stanhope.  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  but  I  am 
engaged  for  all  the  evening  to-morrow;  first  at  Cardinal 
Albani's,  and  then  to  sup  at  the  Venetian  Embassadress's. 

Englishman.  How  the  devil  can  you  like  being  always 
with  these  foreigners  ?  I  never  go  amongst  them,  with 
all  their  formalities  and  ceremonies.  I  am  never  easy  in 
company  with  them,  and  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  am 
ashamed. 

Stanhope.  I  am  neither  ashamed  nor  afraid ;  I  am  very 
easy  with  them ;  they  are  very  easy  with  me ;  I  get  the 
language,  and  I  see  their  characters  by  conversing  with 
them;  and  that  is  what  we  are  sent  abroad  for.  Is  it 
not? 

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

Stanhope.  Have  you  ever  conversed  with  them  ? 

Englishman.  No.  I  never  conversed  with  them  ;  but  I 
have  been  sometimes  in  their  company,  though  much 
against  my  will. 

Stanhope.  But  at  least  they  have  done  you  no  hurt, 
which  is,  probably,  more  than  you  can  say  of  the  women 
you  do  converse  with. 

Englishman.  That's  true,  I  own ;  but  for  all  that,  I 
would  rather  keep  company  with  my  surgeon  half  the  year 
than  with  your  women  of  fashion  the  year  round. 

Stanhope.  Tastes  are  different,  you  know,  and  every  man 
follows  his  own. 

Englishman.  That's  true ;  but  thine's  a  devilish  odd  one, 
Stanhope.  All  morning  with  thy  dry-nurse,  all  the  evening 
in  formal  fine  company,  and  all  day  long  afraid  of  old 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  117 

Daddy  in  England.  Thou  art  a  queer  fellow,  and  I  am 
afraid  there's  nothing  to  be  made  of  thee. 

Stanhope.  I  am  afraid  so  too. 

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

Stanhope.  Not  in  the  least ;  nor  to  your  being  sick  to- 
morrow, which  you  as  certainly  will  be ;  and  oo  good-night 
too. 

You  will  observe  that  I  have  not  put  into  your  mouth 
those  good  arguments  which  upon  such  an  occasion  would, 
I  am  sure,  occur  to  you,  as  piety  and  affection  towards  me, 
regard  and  friendship  for  Mr.  Harte,  respect  for  your  own 
moral  character,  and  for  all  the  relative  duties  of  Man,  Son, 
Pupil,  and  Citizen.  Such  solid  arguments  would  be  thrown 
away  upon  such  shallow  puppies.  Leave  them  to  their 
ignorance,  and  to  their  dirty,  disgraceful  vices.  They  will 
severely  feel  the  effects  of  them,  when  it  will  be  too  late. 
Without  the  comfortable  refuge  of  learning,  and  with  all  the 
sickness  and  pains  of  a  ruined  stomach,  and  a  rotten 
carcass,  if  they  happen  to  arrive  at  old  age,  it  is  an  uneasy 
and  ignominious  one.  The  ridicule  which  such  fellows 
endeavour  to  throw  upon  those  who  are  not  like  them  is,  in 
the  opinion  of  all  men  of  sense,  the  most  authentic 
panegyric.  Go  on,  then,  my  dear  child,  in  the  way  you 
are  in,  only  for  a  year  and  half  more ;  that  is  all  I  ask  of 
you.  After  that,  I  promise  that  you  shall  be  your  own 
master,  and  that  I  will  pretend  to  no  other  title  than  that  of 
your  best  and  truest  friend.  You  shall  receive  advice,  but 
no  orders,  from  me ;  and  in  truth  you  will  want  no  other 
advice  but  such  as  youth  and  inexperience  must  necessarily 
require.  You  shall  certainly  want  nothing  that  is  requisite, 


n8  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

not  only  for  your  conveniency,  but  also  for  your  pleasures, 
which  I  always  desire  should  be  gratified.  You  will  suppose 
that  I  mean  the  pleasures  (Fun  honntte  homme. 

While  you  are  learning  Italian,  which  I  hope  you  do  with 
diligence,  pray  take  care  to  continue  your  German,  which 
you  may  have  frequent  opportunities  of  speaking ;  I  would 
also  have  you  keep  up  your  knowledge  of  the  Jus  Publicum 
Impcrii,  by  looking  over  now  and  then  those  inestimable 
manuscripts  which  Sir  Charles  Williams,  who  arrived  here 
last  week,  assures  me  you  have  made  upon  that  subject. 
It  will  be  of  very  great  use  to  you  when  you  come  to  be 
concerned  in  foreign  affairs,  as  you  shall  be  (if  you  qualify 
yourself  for  them)  younger  than  ever  any  other  was ;  I 
mean,  before  you  are  twenty.  Sir  Charles  tells  me  that  he 
will  answer  for  your  learning,  and  that  he  believes  you  will 
acquire  that  address  and  those  graces  which  are  so  necessary 
to  give  it  its  full  lustre  and  value.  But  he  confesses  that  he 
doubts  more  of  the  latter  than  of  the  former.  The  justice 
which  he  does  Mr.  Harte,  in  his  panegyrics  of  him,  makes 
me  hope  that  there  is  likewise  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  his 
encomiums  of  you.  Are  you  pleased  with  and  proud  of  the 
reputation  which  you  have  already  acquired  ?  Surely  you 
are,  for  I  am  sure  I  am.  Will  you  do  anything  to  lessen  or 
forfeit  it?  Surely  you  will  not.  And  will  you  not  do  all 
you  can  to  extend  and  increase  it  ?  Surely  you  will.  It  is 
only  going  on  for  a  year  and  a  half  longer,  as  you  have  gone 
on  for  the  two  years  last  past,  and  devoting  half  the  day 
only  to  application;  and  you  will  be  sure  to  make  the 
earliest  figure  and  fortune  in  the  world  that  ever  man  made. 
Adieu. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  119 


LETTER  XLIII. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  September  the  22nd,  O.  S.  1749. 

IF  I  had  faith  in  philters  and  love  potions,  I  should 
suspect  that  you  had  given  Sir  Charles  Williams  some,  by 
the  manner  in  which  he  speaks  of  you,  not  only  to  me,  but 
to  everybody  else.  I  will  not  repeat  to  you  what  he  says 
of  the  extent  and  correctness  of  your  knowledge,  as  it 
might  either  make  you  vain,  or  persuade  you  that  you  had 
already  enough  of  what  nobody  can  have  too  much.  You 
will  easily  imagine  how  many  questions  I  asked,  and  how 
narrowly  I  sifted  him  upon  your  subject ;  he  answered  me, 
and  I  dare  say  with  truth,  just  as  I  could  have  wished ;  till, 
satisfied  entirely  with  his  accounts  of  your  character  and 
learning,  I  inquired  into  other  matters,  intrinsically  indeed 
of  less  consequence,  but  still  of  great  consequence  to  every 
man,  and  of  more  to  you  than  to  almost  any  man ;  I  mean 
your  address,  manners,  and  air.  To  these  questions,  the 
same  truth  which  he  had  observed  before,  obliged  him  to 
give  me  much  less  satisfactory  answers.  And,  as  he 
thought  himself,  in  friendship  both  to  you  and  me,  obliged 
to  tell  me  the  disagreeable,  as  well  as  the  agreeable  truths, 
upon  the  same  principle  I  think  myself  obliged  to  repeat 
them  to  you. 

He  told  me,  then,  that  in  company  you  were  frequently 
most  provokintfy  inattentive,  absent,  and  distrait.  That  you 
came  into  a  room  and  presented  yourself  very  awkwardly; 
that  at  table  you  constantly  threw  down  knives,  forks, 
napkins,  bread,  etc.,  and  that  you  neglected  your  person 
and  dress,  to  a  degree  unpardonable  at  any  age,  and  much 
more  so  at  yours. 

These  things,  how  immaterial  soever  they  may  seem  to 


120  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

people  who  do  not  know  the  world  and  the  nature  of  man- 
kind, give  me,  who  know  them  to  be  exceedingly  material, 
very  great  concern.  I  have  long  distrusted  you,  and 
therefore  frequently  admonished  you,  upon  these  articles; 
and  I  tell  you  plainly  that  I  shall  not  be  easy  till  I  hear  a 
very  different  account  of  them.  I  know  no  one  thing  more 
offensive  to  a  company  than  that  inattention  and  distraction. 
It  is  showing  them  the  utmost  contempt,  and  people  never 
forget  contempt.  No  man  is  distrait  with  the  man  he  fears, 
or  the  woman  he  loves ;  which  is  a  proof  that  every  man 
can  get  the  better  of  that  distraction  when  he  thinks  it 
worth  his  while  to  do  so ;  and,  take  my  word  for  it,  it  is 
always  worth  his  while.  For  my  own  part,  I  would  rather 
be  in  company  with  a  dead  man  than  with  an  absent  one; 
for  if  the  dead  man  gives  me  no  pleasure,  at  least  he  shows 
me  no  contempt ;  whereas  the  absent  man,  silently  indeed, 
but  very  plainly,  tells  me  that  he  does  not  think  me  worth 
his  attention.  Besides,  can  an  absent  man  make  any 
observations  upon  the  characters,  customs,  and  manners 
of  the  company  ?  No.  He  may  be  in  the  best  companies 
all  his  lifetime  (if  they  will  admit  him,  which,  if  I  were 
they,  I  would  not)  and  never  be  one  jot  the  wiser.  I  never 
will  converse  with  an  absent  man;  one  may  as  well  talk 
to  a  deaf  one.  It  is  in  truth  a  practical  blunder  to  address 
ourselves  to  a  man,  who  we  see  plainly  neither  hears, 
minds,  nor  understands  us.  Moreover,  I  aver  that  no  man 
is,  in  any  degree,  fit  for  either  business  or  conversation, 
who  cannot,  and  does  not,  direct  and  command  his  atten- 
tion to  the  present  object,  be  that  what  it  will.  You  know 
by  experience  that  I  grudge  no  expense  in  your  education, 
but  I  will  positively  not  keep  you  a  Flapper.  You  may 
read  in  Dr.  Swift  the  description  of  these  Flappers,  and  the 
use  they  were  of  to  your  friends  the  Laputans,  whose  minds 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  iax 

(Gulliver  says)  are  so  taken  up  with  intense  speculations 
that  they  neither  can  speak  nor  attend  to  the  discourses  of 
others,  without  being  roused  by  some  external  action  upon 
the  organs  of  speech  and  hearing ;  for  which  reason  those 
people  who  are  able  to  afford  it  always  keep  a  Flapper  in 
their  family  as  one  of  their  domestics,  nor  ever  walk  about 
or  make  visits  without  him.  This  Flapper  is  likewise 
employed  diligently  to  attend  his  master  in  his  walks,  and 
upon  occasion  to  give  a  soft  flap  upon  his  eyes,  because 
he  is  always  so  wrapped  up  in  cogitation  that  he  is  in 
manifest  danger  of  falling  down  every  precipice,  and 
bouncing  his  head  against  every  post,  and,  in  the  streets, 
of  jostling  others,  or  being  jostled  into  the  kennel  himself. 
If  Christian  will  undertake  this  province  into  the  bargain, 
with  all  my  heart,  but  I  will  not  allow  him  any  increase  of 
wages  upon  that  score.  In  short,  I  give  you  fair  warning 
that  when  we  meet,  if  you  are  absent  in  mind,  I  will  soon 
be  absent  in  body,  for  it  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  stay 
in  the  room ;  and  if  at  table  you  throw  down  your  knife, 
plate,  bread,  etc.,  and  hack  the  wing  of  a  chicken  for  half 
an  hour  without  being  able  to  cut  it  off,  and  your  sleeve 
all  the  time  in  another  dish,  I  must  rise  from  table  to 
escape  the  fever  you  would  certainly  give  me.  Good  God ! 
how  I  should  be  shocked  if  you  came  into  my  room  for  the 
first  time  with  two  left  legs,  presenting  yourself  with  all  the 
graces  and  dignity  of  a  Tailor,  and  your  clothes  hanging 
upon  you  like  those  in  Monmouth  Street,  upon  tenter- 
hooks !  whereas  I  expect,  nay,  require  to  see  you  present 
yourself  with  the  easy  and  genteel  air  of  a  Man  of  Fashion 
who  has  kept  good  company.  I  expect  you  not  only  well 
dressed,  but  very  well  dressed :  I  expect  a  gracefulness  in 
all  your  motions,  and  something  particularly  engaging  in 
your  address.  All  this  I  expect,  and  all  this  is  in  your 


122  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

power,  by  care  and  attention,  to  make  me  find ;  but  to  tell 
you  the  plain  truth,  if  I  do  not  find  it,  we  shall  not 
converse  very  much  together,  for  I  cannot  stand  inattention 
and  awkwardness ;  it  would  endanger  my  health.  You  have 

often  seen,  and  I  have  as  often  made  you  observe,  L 's 

distinguished  inattention  and  awkwardness.  Wrapped  up, 
like  a  Laputan,  in  intense  thought,  and  possibly  sometimes 
in  no  thought  at  all ;  which  I  believe  is  very  often  the  case 
of  absent  people ;  he  does  not  know  his  most  intimate 
acquaintance  by  sight,  or  answers  them  as  if  he  were  at 
cross-purposes.  He  leaves  his  hat  in  one  room,  his  sword 
in  another,  and  would  leave  his  shoes  in  a  third,  if  his 
buckles,  though  awry,  did  not  save  them :  his  legs  and 
arms,  by  his  awkward  management  of  them,  seem  to  have 
undergone  the  Question  extraordinaire;  and  his  head, 
always  hanging  upon  one  or  other  of  his  shoulders,  seems 
to  have  received  the  first  stroke  upon  a  block.  I  sincerely 
value  and  esteem  him  for  his  Parts,  Learning,  and  Virtue; 
but  for  the  soul  of  me  I  cannot  love  him  in  company. 
This  will  be  universally  the  case  in  common  life,  of  every 
inattentive,  awkward  man,  let  his  real  merit  and  knowledge 
be  ever  so  great.  When  I  was  of  your  age  I  desired  to 
shine,  as  far  as  I  was  able,  in  every  part  of  life ;  and  was 
as  attentive  to  my  Manners,  my  Dress,  and  my  Air,  in 
company  on  evenings,  as  to  my  Books  and  my  Tutor  in  the 
mornings.  A  young  fellow  should  be  ambitious  to  shine  in 
everything;  and,  of  the  two,  always  rather  overdo  than 
underdo.  These  things  are  by  no  means  trifles ;  they  are 
of  infinite  consequence  to  those  who  are  to  be  thrown  into 
the  great  world,  and  who  would  make  a  figure  or  a  fortune 
in  it.  It  is  not  sufficient  to  deserve  well ;  one  must  please 
well  too.  Awkward,  disagreeable  merit  will  never  carry 
anybody  far.  Wherever  you  find  a  good  dancing-master, 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  133 

pray  let  him  put  you  upon  your  haunches ;  not  so  much 
for  the  sake  of  dancing,  as  for  coming  into  a  room,  and 
presenting  yourself  genteelly  and  gracefully.  Women, 
whom  you  ought  to  endeavour  to  please,  cannot  forgive  a 
vulgar  and  awkward  air  and  gestures;  //  leur  faut  du 
brillant.  The  generality  of  men  are  pretty  like  them,  and 
are  equally  taken  by  the  same  exterior  graces. 

I  am  very  glad  that  you  have  received  the  diamond 
buckles  safe :  all  I  desire,  in  return  for  them,  is,  that  they 
may  be  buckled  even  upon  your  feet,  and  that  your  stock- 
ings may  not  hide  them.  I  should  be  sorry  you  were 
an  egregious  fop ;  but  I  protest  that,  of  the  two,  I  would 
rather  have  you  a  Fop  than  a  Sloven.  I  think  negligence 
in  my  own  dress,  even  at  my  age,  when  certainly  I  expect 
no  advantages  from  my  dress,  would  be  indecent  with 
regard  to  others.  I  have  done  with  fine  clothes;  but  I 
will  have  my  plain  clothes  fit  me,  and  made  like  other 
people's.  In  the  evenings,  I  recommend  to  you  the  com- 
pany of  women  of  fashion,  who  have  a  right  to  attention, 
and  will  be  paid  it.  Their  company  will  smooth  your 
manners,  and  give  you  a  habi:  of  attention  and  respect ;  of 
which  you  will  find  the  advantage  among  men. 

My  plan  for  you,  from  the  beginning,  has  been  to  make 
you  sHme,  equally  in  the  learned  and  in  the  polite  world ; 
the  former  part  is  almost  completed  to  my  wishes,  and  will, 
I  am  persuaded,  in  a  little  time  more,  be  quite  so.  The 
latter  part  is  still  in  your  power  to  complete ;  and  I  flatter 
myself  that  you  will  do  it,  or  else  the  former  part  will 
avail  you  very  little,  especially  in  your  department,  where 
the  exterior  address  and  graces  do  half  the  business ;  they 
must  be  the  harbingers  of  your  merit,  or  your  merit  will 
be  very  coldly  received:  all  can  and  do  judge  of  the 
former,  few  of  the  latter. 


124  LOXD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

Mr.  Harte  tells  me  that  you  have  grown  very  much 
since  your  illness:  if  you  get  up  to  five  feet  ten,  or 
even  nine,  inches,  your  figure  will,  probably,  be  a  good 
one ;  and,  if  well  dressed  and  genteel,  will  probably 
please,  which  is  a  much  greater  advantage  to  a  man  than 
people  commonly  think.  Lord  Bacon  calls  it  a  letter  of 
recommendation . 

I  would  wish  you  to  be  the  omnis  homo^  fhomme 
universe!.  You  are  nearer  it,  if  you  please,  than  ever  any- 
body was  at  your  age ;  and  if  you  will  but,  for  the  course 
of  this  next  year  only,  exert  your  whole  attention  to  your 
studies  in  the  mornings,  and  to  your  address,  manners, 
air,  and  tournure^  in  the  evenings,  you  will  be  the  man 
I  wish  you,  and  the  man  that  is  rarely  seen. 

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


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  125 

and  I  cannot  put  our  affairs  in  better  hands  than  in 
Mr.  Harte's  ;  and  I  will  take  his  infallibility  against  the 
Pope's,  with  some  odds  on  his  side.  A  propos  of  the 
Pope;  remember  to  be  presented  to  him  before  you  leave 
Rome,  and  go  through  the  necessary  ceremonies  for  it, 
whether  of  kissing  his  slipper  or  his  b — h ;  for  I  would 
never  deprive  myself  of  anything  that  I  wanted  to  do  or 
see,  by  refusing  to  comply  with  an  established  custom. 
When  I  was  in  Catholic  countries,  I  never  declined 
kneeling  in  their  churches  at  the  elevation,  nor  elsewhere, 
when  the  Host  went  by.  It  is  a  complaisance  due  to 
the  custom  of  the  place,  and  by  no  means,  as  some  silly 
people  have  imagined,  an  implied  approbation  of  their 
doctrine.  Bodily  attitudes  and  situations  are  things  so 
very  indifferent  in  themselves,  that  I  would  quarrel  with 
nobody  about  them.  It  may,  indeed,  be  improper  for  Mr. 
Harte  to  pay  that  tribute  of  complaisance,  upon  account 
of  his  character. 

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


LETTER  XLIV. 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  September  the  2;th,  O.  S.  1749. 

A  VULGAR,  ordinary  way  of  thinking,  acting,  or  speaking, 
implies  a  low   education,   and  a  habit   of  low   company. 

ii 


126  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

Young  people  contract  it  at  school,  or  among  servants, 
with  whom  they  are  too  often  used  to  converse :  but,  after 
they  frequent  good  company,  they  must  want  attention  and 
observation  very  much,  if  they  do  not  lay  it  quite  aside. 
And  indeed  if  they  do  not,  good  company  will  be  very  apt 
to  lay  them  aside.  The  various  kinds  of  vulgarisms  are 
infinite;  I  cannot  pretend  to  point  them  out  to  you;  but  I 
will  give  you  some  samples,  by  which  you  may  guess  at  the 
rest. 

A  vulgar  man  is  captious  and  jealous ;  eager  and  impetu- 
ous aliout  trifles.  He  suspects  himself  to  be  slighted, 
thinks  everything  that  is  said  meant  at  him ;  if  the  company 
happens  to  laugh,  he  is  persuaded  they  laugh  at  him ;  he 
grows  angry  and  testy,  says  something  very  impertinent, 
and  draws  himself  into  a  scrape,  by  showing  what  he  calls  a 
proper  spirit,  and  asserting  himself.  A  man  of  fashion  does 
not  suppose  himself  to  be  either  the  sole  or  principal  object 
of  the  thoughts,  looks,  or  words  of  the  company ;  and  never 
suspects  that  he  is  either  slighted  or  laughed  at,  unless  he  is 
conscious  that  he  deserves  it.  And  if  (which  very  seldom 
happens)  the  company  is  absurd  or  ill-bred  enough  to  do 
either,  he  does  not  care  twopence,  unless  the  insult  be  so 
gross  and  plain  as  to  require  satisfaction  of  another  kind. 
As  he  is  above  trifles,  he  is  never  vehement  and  eager 
about  them ;  and,  wherever  they  are  concerned,  rather 
acquiesces  than  wrangles.  A  vulgar  man's  conversation 
always  savours  strongly  of  the  lowness  of  his  education 
and  company.  It  turns  chiefly  upon  his  domestic  affairs, 
his  servants,  the  excellent  order  he  keeps  in  his  own  family, 
and  the  little  anecdotes  of  the  neighbourhood ;  all  which 
he  relates  with  emphasis,  as  interesting  matters.  He  is  a 
man  gossip. 

Vulgarism  in  language  is   the   next   and   distinguishing 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  127 

characteristic  of  bad  company  and  a  bad  education.  A 
man  of  fashion  avoids  nothing  with  more  care  than  that 
Proverbial  expressions  and  trite  sayings  are  the  flowers  of 
the  rhetoric  of  a  vulgar  man.  Would  he  say  that  men 
differ  in  their  tastes,  he  both  supports  and  adorns  that 
opinion  by  the  good  old  saying,  as  he  respectfully  calls  it, 
that  what  is  one  man's  Meat  is  another  man's  Poison.  If 
anybody  attempts  being  smart,  as  he  calls  it,  upon  him,  he 
gives  them  Tit  for  Tat,  ay,  that  he  does.  He  has  always 
some  favourite  word  for  the  time  being,  which,  for  the  sake 
of  using  often,  he  commonly  abuses.  Such  as  vastly  angry, 
vastly  kind,  vastly  handsome,  and  vastly  ugly.  Even  his 
pronunciation  of  proper  words  carries  the  mark  of  the  beast 
along  with  it.  He  calls  the  earth  yearth  ;  he  is  obkiged  not 
obliged  to  you.  He  goes  to  wards  and  not  towards  such 
a  place.  He  sometimes  affects  hard  words,  by  way  of 
ornament,  which  he  always  mangles  like  a  learned  woman. 
A  man  of  fashion  never  has  recourse  to  proverbs  and  vulgar 
aphorisms,  uses  neither  favourite  words  nor  hard  words ;  but 
takes  great  care  to  speak  very  correctly  and  grammatically, 
and  to  pronounce  properly ;  that  is,  according  to  the  usage 
of  the  best  companies. 

An  awkward  address,  ungraceful  attitudes  and  actions, 
and  a  certain  left-handedness  (if  I  may  use  that  word), 
loudly  proclaim  low  education  and  low  company ;  for  it  is 
impossible  to  suppose  that  a  man  can  have  frequented  good 
company,  without  having  catched  something,  at  least,  of  their 
air  and  motions.  A  new  raised  man  is  distinguished  in  a 
regiment  by  his  awkwardness ;  but  he  must  be  impenetrably 
dull  if,  in  a  month  or  two's  time,  he  cannot  perform  at  least 
the  common  manual  exercise,  and  look  like  a  soldier. 
The  very  accoutrements  of  a  man  of  fashion  are  grievous 
encumbrances  to  a  vulgar  man.  He  is  at  a  loss  what  to  do 


128  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

with  his  hat,  when  it  is  not  upon  his  head ;  his  cane  (if 
unfortunately  he  wears  one)  is  at  perpetual  war  with  every 
cup  of  tea  or  coffee  he  drinks ;  destroys  them  first,  and 
then  accompanies  them  in  their  fall.  His  sword  is  formid- 
able only  to  his  own  legs,  which  would  possibly  carry  him 
fast  enough  out  of  the  way  of  any  sword  but  his  own.  His 
clothes  fit  him  so  ill,  and  constrain  him  so  much,  that  he 
seems  rather  their  prisoner  than  their  proprietor.  He 
presents  himself  in  company  like  a  criminal  in  a  court  of 
justice;  his  very  air  condemns  him;  and  people  of  fashion 
will  no  more  connect  themselves  with  the  one,  than  people 
of  character  will  with  the  other.  This  repulse  drives  and 
sinks  him  into  low  company ;  a  gulf  from  whence  no  man, 
after  a  certain  age,  ever  emerged. 

x"  Lts  manures  nobles  et  aisees,  la  tournure  d'un  homme  de 
condition,  le  ton  de  la  bonne  compagnie,  les  Graces,  le  je  nt 
sais  quoi,  qui plait,  are  as  necessary  to  adorn  and  introduce 
your  intrinsic  merit  and  knowledge,  as  the  polish  is  to  the 
diamond,  which,  without  that  polish,  would  never  be  worn, 
whatever  it  might  weigh.  Do  not  imagine  that  these 
accomplishments  are  only  useful  with  women;  they  are 
much  more  so  with  men.  In  a  public  assembly,  what  an 
advantage  has  a  graceful  speaker,  with  genteel  motions,  a 
handsome  figure,  and  a  liberal  air,  over  one  who  shall 
speak  full  as  much  good  sense,  but  destitute  of  these 
ornaments !  In  business,  how  prevalent  are  the  graces, 
how  detrimental  is  the  want  of  them  !  By  the  help  of  these 
I  have  known  some  men  refuse  favours  less  offensively  than 
others  granted  them.  The  utility  of  them  in  Courts,  and 
Negotiations,  is  inconceivable.  You  gain  the  hearts  and 
consequently  the  secrets,  of  nine  in  ten  that  you  have  to 
do  with,  in  spite  even  of  their  prudence,  which  will,  nine 
times  in  ten,  be  the  dupe  of  their  hearts,  and  of  their 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  129 

senses.  Consider  the  importance  of  these  things  as  they 
deserve,  and  you  will  not  lose  one  moment  in  the  pursuit 
of  them. 

You  are  travelling  now  in  a  country  once  so  famous  both 
for  arts  and  arms,  that  (however  degenerated  at  present)  it 
still  deserves  your  attention  and  reflection.  View  it  there- 
fore with  care,  compare  its  former  with  its  present  state, 
and  examine  into  the  causes  of  its  rise,  and  its  decay. 
Consider  it  classically  and  politically,  and  do  not  run 
through  it,  as  too  many  of  your  young  countrymen  do, 
musically,  and  (to  use  a  ridiculous  word)  knick-knackically. 
No  piping  nor  fiddling,  I  beseech  you;  no  days  lost  in 
poring  upon  almost  imperceptible  Intaglios  and  Canicos  : 
and  do  not  betome  a  Virtuoso  of  small  wares.  Form  a 
taste  of  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture,  if  you  please, 
by  a  careful  examination  of  the  works  of  the  best  ancient 
and  modern  artists ;  those  are  liberal  arts,  and  a  real  taste 
and  knowledge  of  them  become  a  man  of  fashion  very  well. 
But,  beyond  certain  bounds,  the  Man  of  Taste  ends,  and 
the  frivolous  Virtuoso  begins. 

Your  friend  Mendes,  the  good  Samaritan,  dined  with  me 
yesterday.  He  has  more  good  nature  and  generosity  than 
parts.  However,  I  will  show  him  all  the  civilities  that  his 
kindness  to  you  so  justly  deserves;  he  tells  me  that  you 
are  taller  than  I  am,  which  I  am  very  glad  of.  I  desire 
you  may  excel  me  in  everything  else  too;  and,  far  from 
repining,  I  shall  rejoice  at  your  superiority.  He  commends 
your  friend  Mr.  Stevens  extremely;  of  whom,  too,  I  have 
heard  so  good  a  character  from  other  people,  that  I  am 
very  glad  of  your  connection  with  him.  It  may  prove  of 
use  to  you  hereafter.  When  you  meet  with  such  sort  of 
Englishmen  abroad,  who,  either  from  their  parts  or  their 
rank,  are  likely  to  make  a  figure  at  home,  I  would  advise 


1 30  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

you  to  cultivate  them,  and  get  their  favourable  testimony  of 
you  here,  especially  those  who  are  to  return  to  England 
before  you.  Sir  Charles  Williams  has  puffed  you  (as  the 
mob  called  it)  here  extremely.  If  three  or  four  more 
people  of  parts  do  the  same,  before*  you  come  back,  your 
first  appearance  in  London  will  be  to  great  advantage. 
Many  people  do,  and  indeed  ought,  to  take  things  upon 
trust ;  many  more  do  who  need  not ;  and  few  dare  dissent 
from  an  established  opinion.  Adieu. 


LETTER  XLV. 

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

EVERY  rational  being  (I  take  it  for  granted)  proposes  to 
himself  some  object  more  important  than  mere  respiration 
and  obscure  animal  existence.  He  desires  to  distinguish 
himself  among  his  fellow-creatures  ;  and,  alicui  negotio 
intentus^  pradari  fatinoris,  aut  artis  bona,  famam  qucerit. 
Caesar,  when  embarking  in  a  storm,  said  that  it  was  not 
necessary  he  should  live,  but  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary 
he  should  get  to  the  place  to  which  he  was  going.  And 
Pliny  leaves  mankind  this  only  alternative ;  either  of  doing 
what  deserves  to  be  written,  or  of  writing  what  deserves  to 
be  read.  As  for  those  who  do  neither,  eorum  vitam  mor- 
temque  juxta  astumo  ;  quoniam  de  utraque  siletur.  You 
have,  I  am  convinced,  one  or  both  of  these  objects  in  view; 
but  you  must  know  and  use  the  necessary  means,  or  your 
pursuit  will  be  vain  and  frivolous.  In  either  case,  sapere 
cst  prindpium  et  fons ;  but  it  is  by  no  means  all.  That 
knowledge  must  be  adorned,  it  must  have  lustre  as  well  as 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  13! 

weight,  or  it  will  be  oftener  taken  for  Lead  than  for  Gold. 
Knowledge  you  have,  and  will  have  :  I  am  easy  upon  that 
article.  But  my  business,  as  your  friend,  is  not  to  com- 
pliment you  upon  what  you  have,  but  to  tell  you  with 
freedom  what  you  want ;  and  I  must  tell  you  plainly  that  I 
fear  you  want  everything  but  knowledge. 

I  have  written  to  you  so  often  of  late  upon  Good  Breed- 
ing, Address,  les  Miantires  liantes^  the  Graces,  etc.,  that  I 
shall  confine  this  letter  to  another  subject,  pretty  near  akin 
to  them,  and  which,  I  am  sure,  you  are  full  as  deficient  in ; 
I  mean,  Style. 

Style  is  the  dress  of  thoughts ;  and  let  them  be  ever  so 
just,  if  your  style  is  homely,  coarse,  and  vulgar,  they  will 
appear  to  as  much  disadvantage,  and  be  as  ill  received,  as 
your  person,  though  ever  so  well-proportioned,  would  if 
dressed  in  rags,  dirt,  and  tatters.  It  is  not  every  under- 
standing that  can  judge  of  matter ;  but  every  ear  can  and 
does  judge,  more  or  less,  of  style  :  and  were  I  either  to 
speak  or  write  to  the  public,  I  should  prefer  moderate 
matter,  adorned  with  all  the  beauties  and  elegancies  ot 
style,  to  the  strongest  matter  in  the  world,  ill  worded  and 
ill  delivered.  Your  business  is,  Negotiation  abroad  and 
Oratory  in  the  House  of  Commons  at  home.  What  figure 
can  you  make  in  either  case,  if  your  style  be  inelegant,  I  do 
not  say  bad  ?  Imagine  yourself  writing  an  office-letter  to  a 
Secretary  of  State,  which  letter  is  to  be  read  by  the  whole 
Cabinet  Council,  and  very  possibly  afterwards  laid  before 
Parliament ;  any  one  barbarism,  solecism,  or  vulgarism  in  it 
would,  in  a  very  few  days,  circulate  through  the  whole 
kingdom,  to  your  disgrace  and  ridicule.  For  instance ;  I 
will  suppose  you  had  written  the  following  letter  from  the 
Hague,  to  the  Secretary  of  State  at  London ;  and  leave  you 
to  suppose  the  consequences  of  it. 


132  LORD 

MY  LORD, 

I  had,  last  night,  the  honour  of  your  Lordship's  letter 
of  the  24th,  and  will  set  about  doing  the  orders  contained 
therein;  and  if  so  be  that  1  can  get  that  affair  done  by  the 
next  post,  I  will  not  fail  for  to  give  your  Lordship  an 
account  of  it  by  next  post.  I  have  told  the  French  Minister, 
as  how,  that  if  that  affair  be  not  soon  concluded,  your 
Lordship  would  think  it  all  long  of  him;  and  that  he  must 
have  neglected  for  to  have  wrote  to  his  Court  about  it.  I 
must  beg  leave  to  put  your  Lordship  in  mind,  as  how  that  I 
am  now  full  three  quarters  in  arrear ;  and  if  so  be  that  I  do 
not  very  soon  receive  at  least  one  half  year,  I  shall  cut  a 
very  bad  figure,  for  this  here  place  is  very  dear.  I  shall  be 
vastly  beholden  to  your  Lordship  for  that  there  mark  of  your 
favour ;  and  so  I  rest,  or  remain,  Your,  etc. 

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

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


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SOA\  133 

A  person  of  the  House  of  Commons,  speaking  two  years 
ago  upon  naval  affairs,  asserted  that' we  had  then  the  finest 
navy  upon  the  face  of  the  yearth.  This  happy  mixture  of 
blunder  and  vulgarism,  you  may  easily  imagine,  was  matter 
of  immediate  ridicule ;  but  I  can  assure  you  that  it  con- 
tinues so  still,  and  will  be  remembered  as  long  as  he  lives 
and  speaks.  Another,  speaking  in  defence  of  a  gentleman 
upon  whom  a  censure  was  moved,  happily  said,  that  he 
thought  that  gentleman  was  more  liable  to  be  thanked  and 
rewarded,  than  censured.  You  know,  I  presume,  that  liable 
can  never  be  used  in  a  good  sense. 

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

Constant  experience  has  shown  me,  that  great  purity  and 
elegance  of  style,  with  a  graceful  elocution,  cover  a  multitude 


T34  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

of  faults,  in  either  a  speaker  or  a  writer.  For  my  own  part, 
I  confess  (and  I  believe  most  people  are  of  my  mind)  that 
if  a  speaker  should  ungracefully  mutter  or  stammer  out  to 
me  the  sense  of  an  angel,  deformed  by  barbarisms  and 
solecisms,  or  larded  with  vulgarisms,  he  should  never  speak 
to  me  a  second  time,  if  I  could  help  it.  Gain  the  heart,  or 
you  gain  nothing ;  the  eyes  and  the  ears  are  the  only  roads 
to  the  heart.  Merit  and  knowledge  will  not  gain  hearts, 
though  they  will  secure  them  when  gained.  Pray  have  that 
truth  ever  in  your  mind.  Engage  the  eyes,  by  your  address, 
air,  and  motions;  soothe  the  ears,  by  the  elegancy  and 
harmony  of  your  diction  :  the  heart  will  certainly  follow ; 
and  the  whole  man,  or  woman,  will  as  certainly  follow  the 
heart.  I  must  repeat  it  to  you,  over  and  over  again,  that, 
with  all  the  knowledge  which  you  may  have  at  present,  or 
hereafter  acquire,  and  with  all  the  merit  that  ever  man  had, 
if  you  have  not  a  graceful  address,  liberal  and  engaging 
manners,  a  prepossessing  air,  and  a  good  degree  of  eloquence 
in  speaking  and  writing,  you  will  be  nobody :  but  will  have 
the  daily  mortification  of  seeing  people,  with  not  one  tenth 
part  of  your  merit  or  knowledge,  get  the  start  of  you,  and 
disgrace  you,  both  in  company  and  in  business. 

You  have  read  Quintilian,  the  best  book  in  the  world  to 
form  an  Orator ;  pray  read  Cicero,  de  Oratore^  the  best 
book  in  the  world  to  finish  one.  Translate  and  retranslate, 
from  and  to  Latin,  Greek,  and  English  ;  make  yourself  a 
pure  and  elegant  English  style  :  it  requires  nothing  but 
application.  I  do  not  find  that  God  has  made  you  a  Poet ; 
and  I  am  very  glad  that  He  has  not ;  therefore,  for  God's 
sake,  make  yourself  an  Orator,  which  you  may  do. 
Though  I  still  call  you  boy,  I  consider  you  no  longer  as 
such ;  and  when  I  reflect  upon  the  prodigious  quantity  of 
manure  that  has  been  laid  upon  you,  I  expect  you  should 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  135 

produce   more  at  eighteen   than   uncultivated  soils  do  at 
eight  and  twenty. 

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


LETTER 

DEAR  BOY,  London,  December  the  gth,  1749. 

IT  is  now  above  forty  years  since  I  have  never  spoken 
nor  written  one  single  word  without  giving  myself  at  least 
one  moment's  time  to  consider  whether  it  was  a  good  one 
or  a  bad  one,  and  whether  I  could  not  find  out  a  better  in 
its  place.  An  unharmonious  and  rugged  period,  at  this 
time,  shocks  my  ears ;  and  I,  like  all  the  rest  of  the  world, 
will  willingly  exchange  and  give  up  some  degree  of  rough 
sense,  for  a  good  degree  of  pleasing  sound.  I  will  freely 
and  truly  own  to  you,  without  either  vanity  or  false 
modesty,  that  whatever  reputation  I  have  acquired  as  a 
speaker  is  more  owing  to  my  constant  attention  to  my 
diction,  than  to  my  matter,  which  was  necessarily  just  the 
same  of  other  people's.  When  you  come  into  Parliament, 
your  reputation  as  a  speaker  will  depend  much  more  upon 
your  words,  and  your  periods,  than  upon  the  subject.  The 
same  matter  occurs  equally  to  everybody  of  common 
sense,  upon  the  same  question ;  the  dressing  it  well  is  what 
excites  the  attention  and  admiration  of  the  audience. 

It  is  in  Parliament  that  I  have  set  my  heart  upon  youi 


136  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

making  a  figure  ;  it  is  there  that  I  want  to  have  you  justly 
proud  of  yourself,  and  to  make  me  justly  proud  of  you. 
This  means  that  you  must  be  a  good  speaker  there ;  I  use 
the  word  must,  because  I  know  you  may  if  you  will.  The 
vulgar,  who  are  always  mistaken,  look  upon  a  Speaker  and 
a  Comet  with  the  same  astonishment  and  admiration, 
taking  them  both  for  preternatural  phenomena.  This 
error  discourages  many  young  men  from  attempting  that 
character;  and  good  speakers  are  willing  to  have  their 
talent  considered  as  something  very  extraordinary,  if  not  a 
peculiar  gift  of  God  to  His  elect.  But  let  you  and  I  analyze 
and  simplify  this  good  speaker ;  let  us  strip  him  of  those 
adventitious  plumes,  with  which  his  own  pride,  and  the 
ignorance  of  others  have  decked  him,  and  we  shall  find  the 
true  definition  of  him  to  be  no  more  than  this : — A  man  of 
good  common  sense,  who  reasons  justly,  and  expresses 
himself  elegantly  on  that  subject  upon  which  he  speaks. 
There  is  surely  no  witchcraft  in  this.  A  man  of  sense, 
without  a  superior  and  astonishing  degree  of  parts,  will  not 
talk  nonsense  upon  any  subject ;  nor  will  he,  if  he  has  the 
least  taste  or  application,  talk  inelegantly.  What,  then, 
does  all  this  mighty  art  and  mystery  of  speaking  in  Parlia- 
ment amount  to  ?  Why,  no  more  than  this,  That  the  man 
who  speaks  in  the  House  of  Commons,  speaks  in  that 
House,  and  to  four  hundred  people,  that  opinion,  upon  a 
given  subject,  which  he  would  make  no  difficulty  of 
speaking  in  any  house  in  England,  round  the  fire,  or  at 
table,  to  any  fourteen  people  whatsoever ;  better  judges, 
perhaps,  and  severer  critics  of  what  he  says,  than  any 
fourteen  gentlemen  of  the  House  of  Commons. 

I  have  spoken  frequently  in  Parliament,  and  not  always 
without  some  applause;  and  therefore  I  can  assure  you, 
from  my  experience,  that  there  is  very  little  in .  it.  The 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  137 

elegancy  of  the  style,  and  the  turn  of  the  periods,  make  the 
chief  impression  upon  the  hearers.  Give  them  but  one  or 
two  round  and  harmonious  periods  in  a  speech,  which  they 
will  retain  and  repeat;  and  they  will  go  home  as  well  satisfied 
as  people  do  from  an  Opera,  humming  all  the  way  one  or 
two  favourite  tunes  that  have  struck  their  ears  and  were 
easily  caught.  Most  people  have  ears,  but  few  have  judg- 
ment; tickle  those  ears,  and  depend  upon  it  you  will  catch 
their  judgments,  such  as  they  are. 

Cicero,  conscious  that  he  was  at  the  top  of  his  profession 
(for  in  his  time  Eloquence  was  a  profession),  in  order  to  set 
himself  off,  defines,  in  his  Treatise  de  Oratore,  an  Orator  to 
be  such  a  man  as  never  was,  or  never  will  be ;  and,  by  this 
fallacious  argument,  says,  that  he  must  know  every  art  and 
science  whatsoever,  or  how  shall  he  speak  upon  them  ? 
But  with  submission  to  so  great  an  authority,  my  definition 
of  an  Orator  is  extremely  different  from,  and  I  believe 
much  truer  than  his.  I_call  that  man  an  Orator  who 
reasons  justly,  and  expresses  himself  elegantly  upon  what- 
ever subject  he  treats.  Problems  in  Geometry,  Equations 
in  Algebra,  Processes  in  Chymistry,  and  Experiments  in 
Anatomy,  are  never,  that  I  have  heard  of,  the  objects  of 
Eloquence;  and  therefore  I  humbly  conceive  that  a  man 
may  be  a  very  fine  speaker,  and  yet  know  nothing  of 
Geometry,  Algebra,  Chymistry,  or  Anatomy.  The  subjects 
of  all  Parliamentary  debates  are  subjects  of  common  sense 
singly. 

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


138  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 


LETTER  XLVII. 

DEAR   BOY,  London,  December  the  I2th,  O.  S.  1749. 

LORD  CLARENDON,  in  his  history,  says  of  Mr.  John 
Hampden,  that  he  had  a  head  to  contrive,  a  tongue  to 
persuade,  and  a  hand  to  execute,  any  mischief.  I  shall  not 
now  enter  into  the  justness  of  this  character  of  Mr. 
Hampden,  to  whose  brave  stand  against  the  illegal  demand 
of  ship-money  we  owe  our  present  liberties ;  but  I 
mention  it  to  you  as  the  character  which,  with  the  altera- 
tion of  one  single  word,  Good,  instead  of  Mischief,  I  would 
have  you  aspire  to,  and  use  your  utmost  endeavours  to 
deserve.  The  head  to  contrive,  God  must  to  a  certain 
degree  have  given  you ;  but  it  is  in  your  own  power  greatly 
to  improve  it  by  study,  observation,  and  reflection.  As  for 
the  tongue  to  persuade,  it  wholly  depends  upon  yourself; 
and  without  it  the  best  head  will  contrive  to  very  little 
purpose.  The  hand  to  execute  depends,  likewise,  in 
my  opinion,  in  a  great  measure  upon  yourself.  Serious 
reflection  will  always  give  courage  in  a  good  cause ;  and 
the  courage  arising  from  reflection  is  of  a  much  superior 
nature  to  the  animal  and  constitutional  courage  of  a  foot 
soldier.  The  former  is  steady  and  unshaken,  where  the 
nodus  is  dignus  vindice;  the  latter  is  oftener  improperly  than 
properly  exerted,  but  always  brutally. 

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

You    must    certainly,    in    the    course     of   your     little 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  139 

experience,  have  felt  the  different  effects  of  elegant  and 
inelegant  speaking.  Do  you  not  suffer  when  people 
accost  you  in  a  stammering  or  hesitating  manner :  in  an 
untuneful  voice,  with  false  accents  and  cadences ;  puzzling 
and  blundering  through  solecisms,  barbarisms,  and  vulgar- 
isms ;  misplacing  even  their  bad  words,  and  inverting  all 
method  ?  Does  not  this  prejudice  you  against  their  matter, 
be  it  what  it  will ;  nay,  even  against  their  persons  ?  I  am 
sure  it  does  me.  On  the  other  hand,  do  you  not  feel  your- 
self inclined,  prepossessed,  nay,  even  engaged  in  favour  of 
those  who  address  you  in  the  direct  contrary  manner  ? 
The  effects  of  a  correct  and  adorned  style  of  method  and 
perspicuity,  are  incredible  towards  persuasion ;  they  often 
supply  the  want  of  reason  and  argument,  but  when  used 
in  the  support  of  reason  and  argument  they  are  irresistible. 
The  French  attend  very  much  to  the  purity  and  elegancy 
of  their  style,  even  in  common  conversation ;  insomuch 
that  it  is  a  character,  to  say  of  a  man,  gu'il  narre  bien. 
Their  conversations  frequently  turn  upon  the  delicacies  of 
their  language,  and  an  Academy  is  employed  in  fixing  it 
The  Crusca,  in  Italy,  has  the  same  object ;  and  I  have  met 
with  very  few  Italians  who  did  not  speak  their  own 
language  correctly  and  elegantly.  How  much  more 
necessary  is  it  for  an  Englishman  to  do  so  who  is  to  speak 
it  in  a  public  assembly,  where  the  laws  and  liberties  of  his 
country  are  the  subjects  of  his  deliberation  ?  The  tongue 
that  would  persuade  there  must  not  content  itself  with  mere 
articulation.  You  know  what  pains  Demosthenes  took  to 
correct  his  naturally  bad  elocution;  you  know  that  he 
declaimed  by  the  seaside  in  storms,  to  prepare  himself  for 
the  noise  of  the  tumultuous  assemblies  he  was  to  speak  to ; 
and  you  can  now  judge  of  the  correctness  and  elegancy  of 
his  style.  He  thought  all  these  things  of  consequence,  and 


140  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

t 

he  thought  right ;  pray  do  you  think  so  too.  It  is  of  the 
utmost  consequence  to  you  to  be  of  that  opinion  Tf  you 
have  the  least  defect  in  your  elocution,  take  the  utmost  care 
and  pains  to  correct  it.  Do  not  neglect  your  style,  what- 
ever language  you  speak  in,  or  whomever  you  speak  to, 
were  it  your  footman.  Seek  always  for  the  best  words  and 
the  happiest  expressions  you  can  find.  Do  not  content 
yourself  with  being  barely  understood;  but  adorn  your 
thoughts,  and  dress  them  as  you  would  your  person ; 
which,  however  well  proportioned  it  might  be,  it  would  be 
very  improper  and  indecent  to  exhibit  naked,  or  even  worse 
dressed  than  people  of  your  sort  are. 

I  have  sent  you,  in  a  packet  which  your  Leipsig  acquaint- 
ance, Duval,  sends  to  his  correspondent  at  Rome,  Lord 
Bolingbroke's  book,  which  he  published  about  a  year  ago. 
I  desire  that  you  will  read  it  over  and  over  again,  with 
particular  attention  to  the  style,  and  to  all  those  beauties 
of  Oratory  with  which  it  is  adorned.  Till  I  read  that  book, 
I  confess  I  did  not  know  all  the  extent  and  powers  of  the 
English  language.  Lord  Bolingbroke  has  both  a  tongue 
and  a  pen  to  persuade ;  his  manner  of  speaking  in  private 
conversation  is  full  as  elegant  as  his  writings ;  whatever 
subject  he  either  speaks  or  writes  upon,  he  adorns  it  with 
the  most  splendid  eloquence;  not  a  studied  or  laboured 
eloquence,  but  such  a  flowing  happiness  of  diction,  which 
(from  care  perhaps  at  first)  is  become  so  habitual  to  him, 
that  even  his  most  familiar  conversations,  if  taken  down  in 
writing,  would  bear  the  Press,  without  the  least  correction 
either  as  to  method  or  style.  If  his  conduct,  in  the  former 
part  of  his  life,  had  been  equal  to  all  his  natural  and 
acquired  talents,  he  would  most  justly  have  merited  the 
epithet  of  all-accomplished.  He  is  himself  sensible  of  his 
past  errors :  those  violent  passions,  which  seduced  him 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  141 

in  his  youth,  have  now  subsided  by  age ;  and,  take  him  as 
he  is  now,  the  character  of  all-accomplished  is  more  his  due 
than  any  man's  I  ever  knew  in  my  life. 

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

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

He  has  noble  and  generous  sentiments,  rather  than  fixed 
reflected  principles  of  good  nature  and  friendship ;  but  they 
are  more  violent  than  lasting,  and  suddenly  and  often 
varied  to  their  opposite  extremes,  with  regard  even  to  the 
same  persons.  He  receives  the  common  attentions  of 
civility  as  obligations,  which  he  returns  with  interest ;  and 
resents  with  passion  the  little  inadvertencies  of  human 
nature,  which  he  repays  with  interest  too.  Even  a 
difference  of  opinion  upon  a  philosophical  subject  would 
provoke,  and  prove  him  no  practical  Philosopher,  at  least. 

12 


142  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

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

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

During  his  long  exile  in  France  he  applied  himself  to 
study  with  his  characteristical  ardour ;  and  there  he  formed, 
and  chiefly  executed,  the  plan  of  a  great  philosophical 
work  The  common  bounds  of  human  knowledge  are  too 
narrow  for  his  warm  and  aspiring  imagination.  He  must 
go  extra  flammantia  mania  Mundi,  and  explore  the 
unknown  and  unknowable  regions  of  Metaphysics;  which 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  143 

open  an  unbounded  field  for  the  excursions  of  an  ardent 
imagination ;  where  endless  conjectures  supply  the  defect  of 
unattainable  knowledge,  and  too  often  usurp  both  its  name 
and  influence. 

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

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

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

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


144  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 


LETTER  XLVIII. 

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

I  HAVE  seldom  or  never  written  to  you  upon  the 
subject  of  Religion  and  Morality :  your  own  reason,  I  am 
persuaded,  has  given  you  true  notions  of  both ;  they  speak 
best  for  themselves  ;  but,  if  they  wanted  assistance,  you 
have  Mr.  Harte  at  hand,  both  for  precept  and  example: 
to_you?  own  reason,  therefore,  and  to  Mr.  Harte,  shall  I 
refer  you,  for  the  Reality  of  both ;  and  confine  myself,  in 
this  letter,  to  the  decency,  the  utility,  and  the  necessity  of 
scrupulously  preserving  the  appearances  of  both.  When  I 
say  the  appearances  of  religion,  I  do  not  mean  that  you 
should  talk  or  act  like  a  Missionary,  or  an  Enthusiast,  nor 
that  you  should  take  up  a  controversial  cudgel  against 
whoever  attacks  the  sect  you  are  of;  this  would  be  both 
useless,  and  unbecoming  your  age  :  but  I  mean  that  you 
should  by  no  means  seem  to  approve,  encourage,  "or 
applaud,  those  libertine  notions,  which  strike  at  religions 
equally,  and  which  are  the  poor  threadbare  topics  of  half 
Wits,  and  minute  Philosophers.  Even  those  who  are  silly 
enough  to  laugh  at  their  jokes  are  still  wise  enough  to 
distrust  and  detest  their  characters:  for,  putting  moral 
virtues  at  the  highest,  and  religion  at  the  lowest,  religion^ 
must  still  be  allowed  to  be  a  collateral  security,  at  least,  to 
Virtue ;  and  every  prudent  man  will  sooner  trust  to  two 
securities  than  to  one.  Whenever,  therefore,  you  happen  to 
be  in  company  with  those  pretended  Esprits  forts>  or  with 
thoughtless  libertines,  who  laugh  at  all  religion  to  show 
their  wit,  or  disclaim  it  to  complete  their  riot,  let  no  word 
or  look  of  yours  intimate  the  least  approbation  ;  on  the 
contrary,  let  a  silent  gravity  express  your  dislike  :  but  enter 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  145 

not  into  the  subject,  and  decline  such  unprofitable  and 
indecent  controversies.  Depend  upon  this  truth,  That 
every  man  is  the  worse  looked  upon,  and  the  less  trusted, 
for  being  thought  to  have  no  religion;  in  spite  of  all  the 
pompous  and  specious  epithets  he  may  assume,  of  Esprit 
ort)  Free-thinker,  or  Moral  Philosopher;  and  a  wise 
Atheist  (if  such  a  thing  there  is)  would,  for  his  own  interest, 
and  character  in  this  world,  pretend  to  some  religion. 

Your  moral  character  must  be  not  only  pure^but,  like 
Caesar's  wife,  unsuspected.  The  least  speck  or  blemish 
upon  it  is  fatal.  Nothing  degrades  and  vilifies  more,  for  it 
excites  and  unites  detestation  and  r  on  tempt.  There  are, 
however,  wretches  in  the  world  profligate  enough  to  explode 
all  notions  of  moral  good  and  evil ;  to  maintain  that  they 
are  merely  local,  and  depend  entirely  upon  the  customs 
and  fashions  of  different  countries :  nay,  there  are  still,  if 
possible,  more  unaccountable  wretches ;  I  mean  those  who 
affect  to  preach  and  propagate  such  absurd  and  infamous 
notions,  without  believing  them  themselves.  These  are  the 
devil's  hypocrites.  Avoid,  as  much  as  possible,  the  com- 
pany of  such  people ;  who  reflect  a  degree  of  discredit  and 
infamy  upon  all  who  converse  with  them.  But  as  you  may 
sometimes,  by  accident,  fall  into  such  company,  take  great 
care  that  no  complaisance,  no  good-humour,  no  warmth  of 
festal  mirth,  ever  make  you  seem  even  to  acquiesce,  much 
less  to  approve  or  applaud,  such  infamous  doctrines.  On  the 
other  hand,  do  not  debate,  nor  enter  into  serious  argument, 
upon  a  subject  so  much  below  it :  but  content  yourself  with 
telling  these  Apostles^  that  you  know  they  are  not  serious  ; 
that  you  have  a  much  better  opinion  of  them  than  they 
would  have  you  have ;  and  that  you  are  very  sure  they  would 
not  practise  the  doctrine  they  preach.  But  put  your  private 
mark  upon  them,  and  shun  them  for  ever  afterwards. 


146  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

There  is  nothing  so  delicate  as  your  Moral  character,  and 
nothing  which  it  is  your  interest  so  much  to  preserve  pure. 
Should  you  be  suspected  of  Injustice,  Malignity,  Per- 
fidy, Lying,  etc.,  all  the  parts  and  knowledge  in  the  world 
will  never  procure  you  esteem,  friendship,  or  respect.  A 
strange  concurrence  of  circumstances  has  sometimes  raised 
very  bad  men  to  high  stations ;  but  they  have  been 
raised  like  criminals  to  a  pillory,  where  their  persons 
and  their  crimes,  by  being  more  conspicuous,  are  only  the 
more  known,  the  more  detested,  and  the  more  pelted  and 
insulted.  If,  in  any  case  whatsoever,  affectation  and 
ostentation  are  pardonable,  it  is  in  the  case  of  morality; 
though,  even  there,  I  would  not  advise  you  to  a  pharisaical 
pomp  of  virtue.  But  I  will  recommend  to  you  a  most 
scrupulous  tenderness  for  your  moral  character,  and  the 
utmost  care  not  to  say  or  do  the  least  thing  that  may,  ever 
so  slightly,  taint  it.  Show  yourself,  upon  all  occasions,  the 
advocate,  the  friend,  but  not  the  bully,  of  Virtue.  Colonel 
Chartres,  whom  you  have  certainly  heard  of  (who  was,  I 
believe,  the  most  notorious  blasted  rascal  in  the  world,  and 
who  had,  by  all  sorts  of  crimes,  amassed  immense  wealth), 
was  so  sensible  of  the  disadvantage  of  a  bad  character,  that 
I  heard  him  once  say,  in  his  impudent,  profligate  manner, 
that  though  he  would  not  give  one  farthing  for  Virtue,  he 
would  give  ten  thousand  pounds  for  a  character ;  because 
he  should  get  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  by  it:  whereas  he 
was  so  blasted  that  he  had  no  longer  an  opportunity  of 
cheating  people.  Is  it  possible,  then,  that  an  honest 
man  can  neglect  what  a  wise  rogue  would  purchase  so 
dear  ? 

There  is  one  of  the  vices  above-mentioned,  into  which 
people  of  good  education,  and,  in  the  main,  of  good 
principles,  sometimes  fall,  from  mistaken  notions  of  skill, 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  147 

^^     'v 

dexterity,  and  self-defence;  I  mean  Lying:  though  it  is 
inseparably  attended  with  more  infamy  and  loss  than  any 
other.  The  prudence  and  necessity  of  often  concealing 
the  truth  insensibly  seduces  people  to  violate  it.  It  is 
the  only  art  of  mean  capacities,  and  the  only  refuge  of 
mean  spirits.  Whereas  concealing  the  truth,  upon  proper 
occasions,  is  as  prudent  and  as  innocent,  as  telling  a  lie, 
upon  any  occasion,  is  infamous  and  foolish.  I  will  state  you 
a  case  In  your  own  department  Suppose  you  are  employed 
at  a  foreign  Court,  and  that  the  Minister  of  that  Court 
is  absurd  or  impertinent  enough  to  ask  you  what  your 
instructions  are ;  will  you  tell  him  a  lie ;  which,  as  soon 
as  found  out,  and  found  out  it  certainly  will  be,  must 
destroy  your  credit,  blast  your  character,  and  render  you 
useless  there?  No.  Will  you  tell  him  the  truth,  then, 
and  betray  your  trust  ?  As  certainly,  No.  But  you  will 
answer,  with  firmness,  That  you  are  surprised  at  such  a 
question;  that  you  are  persuaded  he  does  not  expect  an 
answer  to  it ;  but  that,  at  all  events,  he  certainly  will  not 
have  one.  Such  an  answer  will  give  him  confidence  in 
you;  he  will  conceive  an  opinion  of  your  veracity,  of 
which  opinion  you  may  afterwards  make  very  honest  and 
fair  advantages.  But  if,  in  negotiations,  you  are  looked 
upon  as  a  liar,  and  a  trickster,  no  confidence  will  be 
placed  in  you,  nothing  will  be  communicated  to  you,  and 
you  will  be  in  the  situation  of  a  man  who  has  been 
burnt  in  the  cheek;  and  who,  from  that  mark,  cannot 
afterwards  get  an  honest  livelihood,  if  he  would,  but 
must  continue  a  thief. 

Lord  Bacon  very  justly  makes  a  distinction  between 
Simulation  and  Dissimulation ;  and  allows  the  latter  rather 
than  the  former:  but  still  observes,  that  they  are  the 
weaker  sort  of  Politicians  who  have  recourse  to  either. 


148  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

A  man  who  has  strength  of  mind,  and  strength  of  parts, 
wants  neither  of  them.  Certainly  (says  he)  the  ablest 
men  that  ever  were  have  all  had  an  openness  and  frank- 
ness of  dealing,  and  a  name  of  certainty  and  veracity;  but 
then  they  were  like  horses  well  managed ;  for  they  could 
tell)  passing  we!!,  when  to  stop,  or  turn :  and  at  such  times, 
when  they  thought  the  case  indeed  required  some  dissimula- 
tion, if  then  they  used  it,  it  came  to  pass  that  the  former 
opinion  spread  abroad,  of  their  good  faith  and  clearness  of 
dealing,  made  them  almost  invisible.  There  are  people 
who  indulge  themselves  in  a  sort  of  lying,  which  they 
reckon  innocent,  and  which  in  one  sense  is  so;  for  it 
hurts  nobody  but  themselves.  This  sort  of  lying  is  the 
spurious  offspring  of  vanity,  begotten  upon  folly  :  these 
people  deal  in  the  marvellous;  they  have  seen  some 
things  that  never  existed;  they  have  seen  other  things 
which  they  never  really  saw,  though  they  did  exist,  only 
because  they  were  thought  worth  seeing.  Has  anything 
remarkable  been  said  or  done  in  any  place,  or  in  any 
company  ?  they  immediately  present  and  declare  them- 
selves eye  or  ear  witnesses  of  it.  They  have  done  feats 
themselves,  unattempted,  or  at  least  unperformed,  by 
others.  They  are  always  the  heroes  of  their  own  fables ; 
and  think  that  they  gain  consideration,  or  at  least  present 
attention,  by  it.  Whereas,  in  truth,  all  they  get  is  ridicule 
and  contempt,  not  without  a  good  degree  of  distrust :  for 
one  must  naturally  conclude,  that  he  who  will  tell  any 
lie  from  idle  vanity,  will  not  scruple  telling  a  greater  for 
interest.  Had  I  really  seen  anything  so  very  extraordinary 
as  to  be  almost  incredible,  I  would  keep  it  to  myself, 
rather  than,  by  telling  it,  give  any  one  body  room  to 
doubt  for  one  minute  my  veracity.  It  is  most  certain 
ihat  the  reputation  of  chastity  is  not  so  necessary  for  a 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  149 

woman,  as  that  of  veracity  is  for  a  man :  and  with 
reason :  for  it  is  possible  for  a  woman  to  be  virtuous 
though  not  strictly  chaste;  but  it  is  not  possible  for  a 
man  to  be  virtuous  without  strict  veracity.  The  slips  of 
the  poor  women  are  some  times  mere  bodily  frailties; 
but  a  lie  in  a  man  is  a  vice  of  the  mind,  and  of  the 
heart.  For  God's  sake,  be  scrupulously  jealous  of  the 
purity  of  your  moral  character;  keep  it  immaculate, 
unblemished,  unsullied;  and  it  will  be  unsuspected. 
Defamation  and  calumny  never  attack,  where  there  is  no 
weak  place ;  they  magnify,  but  they  do  not  create. 

There  is  a  very  great  difference  between  that  purity  of 
character,  which  I  so  earnestly  recommend  to  you,  and 
the  Stoical  gravity  and  austerity  of  character,  which  I  do 
by  no  means  recommend  to  you.  At  your  age,  I  would 
no  more  wish  you  to  be  a  Cato,  than  a  Clodius.  Be,  and 
be  reckoned,  a  man  of  pleasure,  as  well  as  a  man  of 
business.  Enjoy  this  happy  and  giddy  time  of  your  life; 
shine  in  the  pleasures  and  in  the  company  of  people  of 
your  own  age.  This  is  all  to  be  done,  and  indeed  only 
can  be  done,  without  the  least  taint  to  the  purity  of  your 
moral  character:  for  those  mistaken  young  fellows,  who 
think  to  shine  by  an  impious  or  immoral  licentiousness, 
shine  only  from  their  stinking,  like  corrupted  flesh,  in 
the  dark.  Without  this  purity,  you  can  have  no  dignity  of 
character,  and  without  dignity  of  character  it  is  impossible 
to  rise  in  the  world.  You  must  be  respectabler  if  yon 
will  ^A  rfifipfiftfd  I  have  known  people  slattern  away 
their  character,  without  really  polluting  it;  the  conse- 
quence of  which  has  been,  that  they  have  become 
innocently  contemptible;  their  merit  has  been  dimmed, 
their  pretensions  unregarded,  and  all  their  views  defeated. 
Character  m,u§t  hp  Vppf  hright-j  QS  urnll  IB  rlflTn  Content 


I5o  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

yourself  with  mediocrity  in  nothing.  In  purity  of  character, 
and  in  politeness  of  manners,  labour  to  excel  all,  if  you 
wish  to  equal  many.  Adieu. 


LETTER  XLIX. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  January  the  1 8th,  O.  S.  1750. 

I  CONSIDER  the  solid  part  of  your  little  edifice  as  so  near 
being  finished  and  completed,  that  my  only  remaining  care 
is  about  the  embellishments;  and  that  must  now  be  your 
principal  care  too.  Adorn  yourself  with  all  those  graces 
and  accomplishments,  which,  without  solidity,  are  frivolous ; 
but  without  which,  solidity  is  to  a  great  degree  useless. 
Take  one  man,  with  a  very  moderate  degree  of  knowledge, 
but  with  a  pleasing  figure,  a  prepossessing  address,  graceful 
in  all  that  he  says  and  does,  polite,  Kant,  and,  in  short, 
adorned  with  all  the  lesser  talents ;  and  take  another  man, 
with  sound  sense  and  profound  knowledge,  but  without  the 
above-mentioned  advantages ;  the  former  will  not  only  get 
the  better  of  the  latter,  in  every  pursuit  of  every  kind,  but 
in  truth  there  will  be  no  sort  of  competition  between  them. 
But  can  every  man  acquire  these  advantages  ?  I  say,  Yes, 
if  he  please ;  supposing  he  is  in  a  situation,  and  in  circum- 
stances, to  frequent  good  company.  Attention,  observa- 
tion, and  imitation,  will  most  infallibly  do  it  When  you 
see  a  man,  whose  first  abord  strikes  you,  prepossesses  you 
in  his  favour,  and  makes  you  entertain  a  good  opinion  of 
him,  you  do  not  know  why ;  analyze  that  abord,  and 
examine  within  yourself  the  several  parts  that  composed  it ; 
and  you  will  generally  find  it  to  be  the  result,  the  happy 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  151 

assemblage  of  modesty  unembarrassed,  respect  without 
timidity,  a  genteel  but  unaffected  attitude  of  body  and 
limbs,  an  open,  cheerful,  but  unsmirking  countenance,  and  a 
dress,  by  no  means  negligent,  and  yet  not  foppish.  Copy 
him,  then,  not  servilely,  but  as  some  of  the  greatest  masters 
of  painting  have  copied  others ;  insomuch  that  their  copies 
have  been  equal  to  the  originals,  both  as  to  beauty  and 
freedom.  When  you  see  a  man,  who  is  universally  allowed 
to  shine  as  an  agreeable,  well-bred  man,  and  a  fine  gentle- 
man (as,  for  example,  the  Duke  de  Nivernois),  attend  to 
him,  watch  him  carefully ;  observe  in  what  manner  he 
addresses  himself  to  his  superiors,  how  he  lives  with  his 
equals,  and  how  he  treats  his  inferiors.  Mind  his  turn  of 
conversation,  in  the  several  situations  of  morning  visits,  the 
table,  and  the  evening  amusements.  Imitate,  without 
mimicking  him ;  and  be  his  duplicate,  but  not  his  ape. 
You  will  find  that  he  takes  care  never  to  say  or  do  anything 
that  can  be  construed  into  a  slight  or  a  negligence,  or  that 
can,  in  any  degree,  mortify  people's  vanity  and  self-love: 
on  the  contrary,  you  will  perceive  that  he  makes  people 
pleased  with  him,  by  making  them  first  pleased  with  them- 
selves: he  shows  respect,  regard,  esteem,  and  attention, 
where  they  are  severally  proper ;  he  sows  them  with  care, 
and  he  reaps  them  in  plenty. 

These  amiable  accomplishments  are  all  to  be  acquired 
by  use  and  imitation ;  for  we  are,  in  truth,  more  than  half 
what  we  are  by  imitation.  The  great  point  is,  to  choose 
good  models,  and  to  study  them  with  care.  People  insen- 
sibly contract,  not  only  the  air,  the  manners,  and  the  vices 
of  those  with  whom  they  commonly  converse,  but  their 
virtues,  too,  and  even  their  way  of  thinking.  This  is  so 
true,  that  I  have  known  very  plain  understandings  catch  a 
certain  degree  of  wit,  by  constantly  conversing  with  those 


jS2  LORD  CHESTERFIELDS 

who  had  a  great  deal.  Persist,  therefore,  in  keeping  the 
best  company,  and  you  will  insensibly  become  like  them ; 
but  if  you  add  attention  and  observation,  you  will  very  soon 
be  one  of  them.  This  inevitable  contagion  of  company 
shows  you  the  necessity  of  keeping  the  best,  and  avoiding 
all  other;  for  in  every  one  something  will  stick.  You  have 
hitherto,  I  confess,  had  very  few  opportunities  of  keeping 
polite  company.  Westminster  School  is,  undoubtedly,  the 
seat  of  illiberal  manners  and  brutal  behaviour.  Leipsig,  I 
suppose,  is  not  the  seat  of  refined  and  elegant  manners. 
Venice,  I  believe,  has  done  something  ;  Rome,  I  hope,  will 
do  a  great  deal  more;  and  Paris  will,  I  dare  say,  do  all 
that  you  want :  always  supposing  that  you  frequent  the 
best  companies,  and  in  the  intention  of  improving  and 
forming  yourself;  for  without  that  intention,  nothing 
will  do. 

I  here  subjoin  a  list  of  all  those  necessary  ornamental 
accomplishments  (without  which,  no  man  living  can  either 
please,  or  rise  in  the  world),  which  hitherto  I  fear  you 
want,  and  which  only  require  your  care  and  attention  to 
possess. 

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

An  agreeable  and  distinct  elocution ;  without  which 
nobody  will  hear  you  with  patience :  this  everybody  may 
acquire,  who  is  not  born  with  some  imperfection  in  the 
organs  of  speech.  You  are  not ;  and  therefore  it  is  wholly 
in  your  power.  You  need  take  much  less  pains  for  it  than 
Demosthenes  did. 

A  distinguished  politeness  of  manners  and  address; 
which  common  sense,  observation,  good  company,  and 
imitation,  will  infallibly  give  you,  if  you  will  accept  of  it. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  153 

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

To  be  extremely  clean  in  your  person,  and  perfectly  well 
dressed,  according  to  the  fashion,  be  that  what  it  will. 
Your  negligence  of  dress,  while  you  were  a  schoolboy,  was 
pardonable,  but  would  not  be  so  now. 

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


LETTER  L. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  February  the  5th,  O.  S.  1750. 

VERY  few  people  are  good  economists  of  their  Fortune, 
and  still  fewer  of  their  Time ;  and  yet,  of  the  two,  the 
latter  is  the  most  precious.  I  heartily  wish  you  to  be  a 
good  economist  of  both ;  and  you  are  now  of  an  age  to 
begin  to  think  seriously  of  these  two  important  articles. 
Young  people  are  apt  to  think  they  have  so  much  time 
before  them,  that  they  may  squander  what  they  please  of  it, 
and  yet  have  enough  left;  as  very  great  fortunes  have 
frequently  seduced  people  to  a  ruinous  profusion.  Fatal 
mistakes,  always  repented  of,  but  always  too  late  I  Old 
Mr.  Lowndes,  the  famous  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  in 
the  reigns  of  King  William,  Queen  Anne,  and  King  George 
the  First,  used  to  say,  Take  care  of  the  pence^  and  the  pounds 
will  take  care  of  themselves.  To  this  maxim,  which  he  not 


i54  LORD  CHESTERFIELDS 

only  preached,  but  practised,  his  two  grandsons,  at  this 
time,  owe  the  very  considerable  fortunes  that  he  left 
them. 

This  holds  equally  true  as  to  time ;  and  I  most  earnestly 
recommend  to  you  the  care  of  those  minutes  and  quarters 
of  hours,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  which  people  think  too 
short  to  deserve  their  attention ;  and  yet,  if  summed  up  at 
the  end  of  the  year,  would  amount  to  a  very  considerable 
portion  of  time.  For  example;  you  are  to  be  at  such  a 
place  at  twelve,  by  appointment;  you  go  out  at  eleven, 
to  make  two  or  three  visits  first ;  those  persons  are  not  at 
home:  instead  of  sauntering  away  that  intermediate  time 
at  a  coffee-house,  and  possibly  alone,  return  home,  write 
a  letter,  beforehand,  for  the  ensuing  post,  or  take  up  a  good 
book,  I  do  not  mean  Descartes,  Mallebranche,  Locke,  or 
Newton,  by  way  of  dipping,  but  some  book  of  rational 
amusement,  and  detached  pieces,  as  Horace,  Boileau, 
Waller,  La  Bruyere,  etc.  This  will  be  so  much  time  saved, 
and  by  no  means  ill  employed.  Many  people  lose  a  great 
deal  of  time  by  reading ;  for  they  read  frivolous  and  idle 
books,  such  as  the  absurd  Romances  of  the  two  last 
centuries ;  where  characters,  that  never  existed,  are  insipidly 
displayed,  and  sentiments,  that  were  never  felt,  pompously 
described :  the  oriental  ravings  and  extravagancies  of  the 
Arabian  Nights,  and  Mogul  Tales;  or  the  new  flimsy 
brochures  that  now  swarm  in  France,  of  Fairy  Tales, 
Reflexions  sur  le  Caur  et  PEsprit^  Metaphysique  de  I' Amour, 
Analyse  des  beaux  Sentiments;  and  such  sort  of  idle 
frivolous  stuff,  that  nourishes  and  improves  the  mind  just 
as  much  as  whipped  cream  would  the  body.  Stick  to  the 
best  established  books  in  every  language;  the  celebrated 
Poets,  Historians,  Orators,  or  Philosophers.  By  these 
means  (to  use  a  city  metaphor)  you  will  make  fifty  per 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SOX.  155 

tent,  of  that  time,  of  which  others  do  not  make  above 
three  or  four,  or  probably  nothing  at  all. 

Many  people  lose  a  great  deal  of  their  time  by  laziness  ; 
they  loll  and  yawn  in  a  great  chair,  tell  themselves  that  they 
have  not  time  to  begin  anything  then,  and  that  it  will  do  as 
well  another  time.  This  is  a  most  unfortunate  disposition, 
and  the  greatest  obstruction  to  both  knowledge  and 
business.  At  your  age,  you  have  no  right  nor  claim  to 
laziness ;  I  have,  if  I  please,  being  emeritus.  You  are  but 
just  listed  in  the  world,  and  must  be  active,  diligent,  inde- 
fatigable. If  ever  you  propose  commanding  with  dignity, 
you  must  serve  up  to  it  with  diligence.  Never  put  off  till 
to-morrow  what  you  can  do  to-day. 

Dispatch  is  the  soul  of  business  \  and  nothing  contributes 
more  to  Dispatch,  than  Method.  Lay  down  a  method  for 
everything,  and  stick  to  it  inviolably,  as  far  as  unexpected 
incidents  may  allow.  Fix  one  certain  hour  and  day  in  the 
week  for  your  accompts,  and  keep  them  together  in  their 
proper  order ;  by  which  means  they  will  require  very  little 
time,  and  you  can  never  be  much  cheated.  Whatever 
letters  and  papers  you  keep,  docket  and  tie  them  up  in 
their  respective  classes,  so  that  you  may  instantly  have 
recourse  to  any  one.  Lay  down  a  method  also  for  your 
reading,  for  which  you  allot  a  certain  share  of  your 
mornings ;  let  it  be  in  a  consistent  and  consecutive  course, 
and  not  in  that  desultory  and  immethodical  manner,  in 
which  many  people  read  scraps  of  different  authors,  upon 
different  subjects.  Keep  a  useful  and  short  common-place 
book  of  what  you  read,  to  help  your  memory  only,  and 
not  for  pedantic  quotations.  Never  read  History  without 
having  maps,  and  a  chronological  book,  or  tables,  lying  by 
you,  and  constantly  recurred  to ;  without  which,  History 
is  only  a  confused  heap  of  facts.  One  method  more  I 


i56  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

recommend  to  you,  by  which  I  have  found  great  benefit, 
even  in  the  most  dissipated  part  of  my  life  ;  that  is,  to  rise 
early,  and  at  the  same  hour  every  morning,  how  late  soever 
you  may  have  sat  up  the  night  before.  This  secures  you  an 
hour  or  two,  at  least,  of  reading  or  reflection,  before  the 
common  interruptions  of  the  morning  begin ;  and  it  will 
save  your  constitution,  by  forcing  you  to  go  to  bed  early,  at 
least  one  night  in  three. 

You  will  say,  it  may  be,  as  many  young  people  would, 
that  all  this  order  and  method  is  very  troublesome,  only  fit 
for  dull  people,  and  a  disagreeable  restraint  upon  the  noble 
spirit  and  fire  of  youth.  I  deny  it ;  and  assert,  on  the 
contrary,  that  it  will  procure  you  both  more  time  and  more 
taste  for  your  pleasures ;  and  so  far  from  being  troublesome 
to  you,  that  after  you  have  pursued  it  a  month  it  would  be 
troublesome  to  you  to  lay  it  aside.  Business  whets  the 
appetite,  and  gives  a  taste  to  pleasures,  as  exercise  does  to 
food  :  and  business  can  never  be  done  without  method : 
it  raises  the  spirits  for  pleasure ;  and  a  spectacle^  a  ball,  an 
assembly,  will  much  more  sensibly  affect  a  man  who  has 
employed,  than  a  man  who  has  lost,  the  preceding  part  of 
the  day ;  nay,  I  will  venture  to  say,  that  a  fine  lady  will 
seem  to  have  more  charms  to  a  man  of  study  or  business, 
than  to  a  saunterer.  The  same  listlessness  runs  through 
his  whole  conduct,  and  he  is  as  insipid  in  his  pleasures  as 
inefficient  in  everything  else. 

I  hope  you  earn  your  pleasures,  and  consequently  taste 
them  ;  for,  by  the  way,  I  know  a  great  many  men,  who  call 
themselves  Men  of  Pleasure,  but  who,  in  truth,  have  none. 
They  adopt  other  people's  indiscriminately,  but  without 
any  taste  of  their  own.  I  have  known  them  often  inflict 
excesses  upon  themselves,  because  they  thought  them 
genteel ;  though  they  sat  as  awkwardly  upon  them  as  other 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  157 

people's  clothes  would  have  done.  Have  no  pleasures  but 
your  own,  and  then  you  will  shine  in  them.  What  are 
yours  ?  Give  me  a  short  history  of  them.  Tenez-vous  votre 
coin  d  table,  et  dans  les  bonnes  compagnies  ?  y  brillez-vous  du 
cote  de  la  politesse,  de  l*enjouement,  du  badinage  ?  Etes-vous 
galant?  Filez-vous  le  parfait  amour  ?  Est-il  question  de 
flechir  par  vos  soins  et  par  vos  attentions  les  rigueurs  de 
quelque  fiere  Princesse  ?  You  may  safely  trust  me  ;  for, 
though  I  am  a  severe  censor  of  Vice  and  Folly,  I  am  a 
friend  and  advocate  for  Pleasures,  and  will  contribute  all 
in  my  power  to  yours. 

There  is  a  certain  dignity  to  be  kept  up  in  pleasures,  as 
well  as  in  business.  In  love,  a  man  may  lose  his  heart 
with  dignity ;  but  if  he  loses  his  nose,  he  loses  his  character 
into  the  bargain.  At  table,  a  man  may  with  decency  have 
a  distinguishing  palate ;  but  indiscriminate  voraciousness 
degrades  him  to  a  glutton.  A  man  may  play  with  decency; 
but  if  he  games,  he  is  disgraced.  Vivacity  and  wit  make 
a  man  shine  in  company ;  but  trite  jokes  and  loud  laughter 
reduce  him  to  a  buffoon.  Every  virtue,  they  say,  has  its 
kindred  vice ;  every  pleasure,  I  am  sure,  has  its  neighbour- 
ing disgrace.  Mark  carefully,  therefore,  the  line  that 
separates  them,  and  rather  stop  a  yard  short,  than  step  an 
inch  beyond  it. 

I  wish  to  God  that  you  had  as  much  pleasure  in  follow- 
ing my  advice,  as  I  have  in  giving  it  you ;  and  you  may 
the  easier  have  it,  as  I  give  you  none  that  is  inconsistent 
with  your  pleasure.  In  all  that  I  say  to  you,  it  is  your 
interest  alone  that  I  consider  :  trust  to  my  experience  ;  you 
know. you  may  to  my  affection.  Adieu. 

I  have  received  no  letter  yet,  from  you  or  Mr.  Harte. 


158  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

LETTER  LI. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  February  the  8th,  O.  S.  1750. 

You  have  by  this  time,  I  hope  and  believe,  made  such 
a  progress  in  the  Italian  language  that  you  can  read  it 
with  ease ;  I  mean  the  easy  books  in  it :  and  indeed, 
in  that,  as  well  as  in  every  other  language,  the  easiest 
books  are  generally  the  best;  for,  whatever  author  is 
obscure  and  difficult,  in  his  own  language,  certainly  does 
not  think  clearly.  This  is,  in  my  opinion,  the  case  of  a 
celebrated  Italian  author;  to  whom  the  Italians,  from 
the  admiration  they  have  of  him,  have  given  the  epithet 
of  il  divino ;  I  mean  Dante.  Though  I  formerly  knew 
Italian  extremely  well,  I  could  never  understand  him  ;  for 
which  reason  I  had  done  with  him,  fully  convinced  that 
he  was  not  worth  the  pains  necessary  to  understand  him. 

The  good  Italian  authors  are,  in  my  mind,  but  few; 
I  mean  authors  of  invention;  for  there  are,  undoubtedly, 
very  good  Historians,  and  excellent  Translators.  The 
two  Poets  worth  your  reading,  and,  I  was  going  to  say, 
the  only  two,  are  Tasso  and  Ariosto.  Tasso's  Gierusalemme 
Liberata  is  altogether  unquestionably  a  fine  Poem,  though 
it  has  some  low  and  many  false  thoughts  in  it:  and 
Boileau  very  justly  makes  it  the  mark  of  a  bad  taste, 
to  compare  le  Clinquant  dtt  Tassc  &  FOr  de  Virgik. 
The  image  with  which  he  adorns  the  introduction  of  his 
Epic  Poem,  is  low  and  disgusting ;  it  is  that  of  a  froward, 
sick,  puking  child,  who  is  deceived  into  a  dose  of  necessary 
physic  by  du  bon  bon.  The  verses  are  these : 

"Cosi  all'  egro  fanciul  porgiamo  aspersi 
Di  soavi  licor  gli  orli  del  vaso  : 
Succhi  amari  ingannato  intanto  ei  beve, 
E  dall'  inganno  suo  vita  riceve. " 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON  159 

However,  the  Poem,  with  all  its  faults  about  it,  may 
justly  be  called  a  fine  one. 

If  fancy,  imagination,  invention,  description,  etc.,  con- 
stitute a  Poet,  Ariosto  is,  unquestionably,  a  great  one. 
His  Orlando,  it  is  true,  is  a  medley  of  lies  and  truths, 
sacred  and  profane,  wars,  loves,  enchantments,  giants, 
mad  heroes,  and  adventurous  damsels :  but  then,  he  gives 
it  you  very  fairly  for  what  it  is,  and  does  not  pretend  to 
put  it  upon  you  for  the  true  Epoph,  or  Epic  Poem.  He 

says, 

"  Le  Donne,  i  Cavalier,  I'arme,  gli  amori 
Le  cortesie,  1'audaci  imprese,  io  canto." 

The  connections  of  his  stories  are  admirable,  his  reflec- 
tions just,  his  sneers  and  ironies  incomparable,  and  his 
painting  excellent.  When  Angelica,  after  having  wandered 
over  half  the  world  alone  with  Orlando,  pretends,  not- 
withstanding, 

" ch'el  fior  virginal  cosi  avea  salvo, 

Come  selo  port6  dal  matera'  alvo  ;  " 

the  Author  adds,  very  gravely, 

"  Forse  era  ver,  ma  non  per6  credibile 
A  chi  del  senso  suo  fosse  Signore." 

Astolpho's  being  carried  to  the  moon,  by  St  John,  in 
order  to  Io6k  for  Orlando's  lost  wits,  at  the  end  of  the 
34th  book,  and  the  many  lost  things  that  he  finds  there, 
is  a  most  happy  extravagancy,  and  contains,  at  the  same 
time,  a  great  deal  of  sense.  I  would  advise  you  to  read 
this  Poem  with  attention.  It  is,  also,  the  source  of  half 
the  tales,  novels,  and  plays,  that  have  been  written  since. 

The  Pastor  Fido  of  Guarini  is  so  celebrated,  that  you 
should  read  it ;  but  in  reading  it  you  will  judge  of  the 


160  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

great  propriety  of  the  characters.  A  parcel  of  shepherds 
and  shepherdesses,  with  the  true  pastoral  simplicity,  talk 
metaphysics,  epigrams,  concetti  and  quibbles,  by  the  hour, 
to  each  other. 

The  Aminta  del  Tasso  is  much  more  what  it  is  intended 
to  be,  a  Pastoral ;  the  shepherds,  indeed,  have  their  concetti^ 
and  their  antitheses,  but  are  not  quite  so  sublime  and 
abstracted  as  those  in  Pastor  Fido.  I  think  that  you  will 
like  it  much  the  best  of  the  two. 

Petrarca  is,  in  my  mind,  a  sing-song  love-sick  Poet; 
much  admired,  however,  by  the  Italians:  but  an  Italian, 
who  should  think  no  better  of  him  than  I  do,  would 
certainly  say,  that  he  deserved  his  Laura  better  than  his 
Lauro;  and  that  wretched  quibble  would  be  reckoned  an 
excellent  piece  of  Italian  wit. 

The  Italian  Prose  writers  (of  invention  I  mean),  which  I 
would  recommend  to  your  acquaintance,  are  Machiavello  and 
Bocaccio;  the  former,  for  the  established  reputation  which 
he  has  acquired,  of  a  consummate  Politician  (whatever  my 
own  private  sentiments  may  be  of  either  his  politics  or  his 
morality):  the  latter,  for  his  great  invention,  and  for  his 
natural  and  agreeable  manner  of  telling  his  stones. 

Guicciardini,  Bentivoglio,  Divila,  etc.,  are  excellent 
Historians,  and  deserve  being  read  with  attention.  The 
nature  of  History  checks,  a  little,  the  flights  of  Italian 
imaginations ;  which,  in  works  of  invention,  are  very  high 
indeed.  Translations  curb  them  still  more;  and  their 
translations  of  the  Classics  are  incomparable;  particularly 
the  first  ten,  translated  in  the  time  of  Leo  the  Xth,  and 
inscribed  to  him,  under  the  title  of  the  Collana.  That 
original  Collana  has  been  lengthened  since ;  and,  if  I 
mistake  not,  consists,  now,  of  one  hundred  and  ten 
volumes. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  161 

From  what  I  have  said  you  will  easily  guess  that  I  meant 
to  put  you  upon  your  guard ;  and  not  to  let  your  fancy  be 
dazzled  and  your  taste  corrupted,  by  the  concetti^  the 
quaintnesses,  and  false  thoughts,  which  are  too  much  the 
characteristics  of  the  Italian  and  Spanish  authors.  I  think 
you  are  in  no  great  danger,  as  your  taste  has  been  formed 
upon  the  best  ancient  models ;  the  Greek  and  Latin 
authors  of  the  best  ages,  who  indulge  themselves  in  none 
of  the  puerilities  I  have  hinted  at.  I  think  I  may  say,  with 
truth,  that  true  wit,  sound  taste,  and  good  sense,  are  now 
as  it  were  engrossed  by  France  and  England.  Your  old 
acquaintances,  the  Germans,  I  fear  are  a  little  below  them ; 
and  your  new  acquaintances,  the  Italians,  are  a  great  dea. 
too  much  above  them.  The  former,  I  doubt,  crawl  a  little ; 
the  latter,  I  am  sure,  very  often  fly  out  of  sight. 

I  recommended  to  you,  a  good  many  years  ago,  and  I 
believe  you  then  read,  La  Manilre  de  bien  penser  dans  les 
Ouvrages  d*  Esprit ,  par  le  Plre  Bouhours  ;  and  I  think  it  is 
very  well  worth  your  reading  again,  now  that  you  can  judge 
of  it  better.  I  do  not  know  any  book  that  contributes 
more  to  form  a  true  taste;  and  you  find  there,  into  the 
bargain,  tne  moct  celebrated  passages,  both  of  the  ancients 
and  the  moderns;  which  refresh  your  memory  with  what 
you  have  formerly  read  in  them  separately.  It  is  followed 
by  a  book  much  of  the  same  size,  by  the  same  author, 
entitled,  Suite  des  Pensees  ingenieuses. 

To  do  justice  to  the  best  English  and  French  authors, 
they  have  not  given  in  to  that  false  taste;  they  allow  no 
thoughts  to  be  good  that  are  not  just  and  founded  upon 
truth.  The  Age  of  Lewis  XIV.  was  very  like  the  Augustan ; 
Boileau,  Moliere,  la  Fontaine,  Racine,  etc.,  established  the 
true  and  exposed  the  false  taste.  The  reign  of  King 
Charles  II.  (meritorious  in  no  other  respect)  banished 


162  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

false  taste  out  of  England,  and  proscribed  Puns,  Quibbles, 
Acrostics,  etc.  Since  that,  false  wit  has  renewed  its 
attacks,  and  endeavoured  to  recover  its  lost  empire,  both 
in  England  and  France,  but  without  success :  though,  I 
must  say,  with  more  success  in  France  than  in  England : 
Addison,  Pope,  and  Swift  having  vigorously  defended  the 
rights  of  good  sense ;  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of 
their  contemporary  French  authors ;  who  have  of  late  had 
a  great  tendency  to  le  faux  brillant,  ie  rafinement,  et 
Pentortillement.  And  Lord  Roscommon  would  be  more  in 
the  right  now,  than  he  was  then,  in  saying,  that 

"  The  English  bullion  of  one  sterling  line, 
Drawn  to  French  wire,  would  through  whole  pages  shine. " 

Lose  no  time,  my  dear  child,  I  conjure  you,  in  forming 
your  taste,  your  manners,  your  mind,  your  everything :  you 
have  but  two  years  time  to  do  it  in ;  for,  whatever  you  are, 
to  a  certain  degree,  at  twenty,  you  will  be,  more  or  less,  all 
the  rest  of  your  life.  May  it  be  a  long  and  a  happy  one ! 
Adieu. 


LETTER  LII. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,          London,  February  the  22nd,  O.  S.  1750. 

IF  the  Italian  of  your  letter  to  Lady  Chesterfield  was  all 
your  own,  I  am  very  well  satisfied  with  the  progress  which 
you  have  made  in  that  language  in  so  short  a  time ;  accord- 
ing to  that  gradation,  you  will,  in  a  very  little  time  more, 
be  master  of  it.  Except  at  the  French  Embassador's,  I 
believe  you  hear  only  Italian  spoken  :  for  the  Italians  speak 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  163 

very  little  French,  and  that  little,  generally,  very  ill.  The 
French  are  even  with  them,  and  generally  speak  Italian  as 
ill ;  for  I  never  knew  a  Frenchman  in  my  life  who  could 
pronounce  the  Italian  ce  ri,  or  ge  gt.  Your  desire  of  pleas- 
ing the  Roman  Ladies  will  of  course  give  you,  not  only  the 
desire,  but  the  means,  of  speaking  to  them  elegantly  in 
their  own  language.  The  Princess  Borghese,  I  am  told, 
speaks  French  both  ill  and  unwillingly ;  and  therefore  you 
should  make  a  merit  to  her  of  your  application  to  her 
language.  She  is,  by  a  kind  of  prescription  (a  longer  than 
she  would  probably  wish)  at  the  head  of  the  beau  monde 
at  Rome;  and  can,  consequently,  establish  or  destroy  a 
young  fellow's  fashionable  character.  If  she  declares  him 
amabile  e  leggiadro^  others  will  think  him  so,  or,  at  least, 
those  who  do  not,  will  not  dare  to  say  so.  There  are  in 
every  great  town  some  such  women,  whose  rank,  beauty, 
and  fortune  have  conspired  to  place  them  at  the  head  of 
the  fashion.  They  have  generally  been  gallant,  but  within 
certain  decent  bounds.  Their  gallantries  have  taught,  both 
them  and  their  admirers,  good  breeding ;  without  which 
they  could  keep  up  no  dignity;  but  would  be  vilified  by 
those  very  gallantries  which  put  them  in  vogue.  It  is  with 
these  women,  as  with  Ministers  and  Favourites  at  Court; 
they  decide  upon  fashion  and  characters,  as  these  do  on 
fortunes  and  preferments.  Pay  particular  court,  therefore, 
wherever  you  are,  to  these  female  sovereigns  of  the  beau 
monde:  their  recommendation  is  a  passport  through  all 
the  realms  of  politeness.  But  then,  remember  that  they 
require  minute,  officious  attentions.  You  should,  if 
possible,  guess  at  and  anticipate  all  their  little  fancies 
and  inclinations ;  make  yourself  familiarly  and  domestically 
useful  to  them,  by  offering  yourself  for  all  their  little 
commissions,  and  assisting  in  doing  the  honours  of  their 


164  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

houses,  and  entering  with  seeming  unction  into  all  theii 
little  grievances,  bustles,  and  views  ;  for  they  are  always 
busy.  If  you  are  once  ben  ficcato  at  the  Palazzo  Borghese, 
you  will  soon  be  in  fashion  at  Rome ;  and  being  in  fashion, 
will  soon  fashion  you ;  for  that  is  what  you  must  now  think 
of  very  seriously. 

I  am  sorry  that  there  is  no  good  dancing-master  at 
Rome,  to  form  your  exterior  air  and  carriage;  which,  I 
doubt,  are  not  the  genteelest  in  the  world.  But  you  may, 
and  I  hop 3  you  will,  in  the  meantime,  observe  the  air  and 
carriage  of  those  who  are  reckoned  to  have  the  best,  and 
form  your  own  upon  them.  Ease,  gracefulness,  and 
dignity,  compose  the  air  and  address  of  a  Man  of  Fashion  ; 
which  is  as  unlike  the  affected  attitudes  and  motions  of  a 
petit  mditre,  as  it  is  to  the  awkward,  negligent,  clumsy,  and 
slouching  manner  of  a  booby. 

I  am  extremely  pleased  with  the  account  Mr.  Harte  has 
given  me  of  the  allotment  of  your  time  at  Rome.  Those 
five  hours  every  morning,  which  you  employ  in  serious 
studies  with  Mr.  Harte,  are  laid  out  with  great  interest,  and 
will  make  you  rich  all  the  rest  of  your  life.  I  do  not  look 
upon  the  subsequent  morning  hours,  which  you  pass  with 
your  Cicerone,  to  be  ill  disposed  of;  there  is  a  kind  of  con- 
nection between  them  :  and  your  evening  diversions,  in 
good  company,  are,  in  their  way,  as  useful  and  necessary. 
This  is  the  way  for  you  to  have  both  weight  and  lustre  in 
the  world ;  and  this  is  the  object  which  I  always  had  in 
view  in  your  education. 

Adieu,  my  friend  !     Go  on  and  prosper. 

Mr.  Grevenkop  has  just  received  Mr.  Harte's  letter  of  the 
19th,  N.  S. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  165 

LETTER  LIIL 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  April  the  26th,  O.  S.  1750. 

As  your  journey  to  Paris  approaches,  and  as  that  period 
will,  one  -way  or  another,  be  of  infinite  consequence  to  you, 
my  letters  will  henceforwards  be  principally  calculated  for 
that  meridian.  You  will  be  left  there  to  your  own  discre- 
tion, instead  of  Mr.  Harte's ;  and  you  will  allow  me,  I  am 
sure,  to  distrust  a  little  the  discretion  of  eighteen.  You  will 
find  in  the  Academy  a  number  of  young  fellows  much  less 
discreet  than  yourself.  These  will  all  be  your  acquaint- 
ances ;  but  look  about  you  first  and  inquire  into  their 
respective  characters,  before  you  form  any  connections 
among  them;  and,  cateris paribus^  single  out  those  of  the 
most  considerable  rank  and  family.  Show  them  a  dis- 
tinguishing attention ;  by  which  means  you  will  get  into 
their  respective  houses,  and  keep  the  best  company.  All 
those  French  young  fellows  are  excessively  etourdis :  be 
upon  your  guard  against  scrapes  and  quarrels  :  have  no 
corporal  pleasantries  with  them,  no  jeux  de  main,  no 
coups  de  chambr&rc,  which  frequently  bring  on  quarrels. 
Be  as  lively  as  they,  if  you  please,  but  at  the  same  time 
be  a  little  wiser  than  they.  As  to  letters,  you  will  find 
most  of  them  ignorant ;  do  not  reproach  them  with  that 
ignorance,  nor  make  them  feel  your  superiority ;  it  is  not 
their  fault  they  are  all  bred  up  for  the  army ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  do  not  allow  their  ignorance  and  idleness  to 
break  in  upon  those  morning  hours  which  you  may  be  able 
to  allot  to  your  serious  studies.  No  breakfastings  with 
them,  which  consume  a  great  deal  of  time ;  but  tell  them 
(not  magisterially  and  sententiously)  that  you  will  read  two 
or  three  hours  in  the  morning,  and  that  for  the  rest  of  the 


166  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

day  you  are  very  much  at  their  service.  Though,  by  the 
way,  I  hope  you  will  keep  wiser  company  in  the  evenings. 

I  must  insist  upon  your  never  going  to  what  is  called  tht 
English  coffee-house  at  Paris,  which  is  the  resort  of  all  the 
scrub  English,  and  also  of  the  fugitive  and  attainted  Scotch 
and  Irish :  party  quarrels  and  drunken  squabbles  are  very 
frequent  there ;  and  I  do  not  know  a  more  degrading  place 
in  all  Paris.  Coffee-houses  and  taverns  are  by  no  means 
creditable  at  Paris.  Be  cautiously  upon  your  guard  against 
the  infinite  number  of  fine-dressed  and  fine-spoken 
chevaliers  ^Industrie  and  aventuriers,  which  swarm  at  Paris ; 
and  keep  everybody  civilly  at  arm's  length,  of  whose  real 
character  or  rank  you  are  not  previously  informed.  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte  or  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  in  a  handsome 
laced  coat,  et  trts  bien  mis,  accosts  you  at  the  play,  or  some 
other  public  place;  he  conceives  at  first  sight  an  infinite 
regard  for  you,  he  sees  that  you  are  a  stranger  of  the  first 
distinction,  he  offers  you  his  services,  and  wishes  nothing 
more  ardently  than  to  contribute,  as  far  as  may  be  in  his 
little  power,  to  procure  you  les  agremens  de  Paris.  He  is 
acquainted  with  some  ladies  of  condition,  qui  preferent  une 
petite  societe  agreable,  et  des  petits  soupers  aimables  d'Jionnetes 
gens,  au  tumulte  et  &  la  dissipation  de  Paris ;  and  he  will 
with  the  greatest  pleasure  imaginable  have  the  honour  of 
introducing  you  to  these  ladies  01  quality.  Well,  if  you 
were  to  accept  of  this  kind  offer,  and  go  with  him,  you 

would  find  au  troisieme  a  handsome,  painted,  and  p d 

strumpet,  in  a  tarnished  silver  or  gold  second-hand  robe ; 
playing  a  sham  party  at  cards  for  livres,  with  three  or  four 
sharpers  well  dressed  enough,  and  dignified  by  the  titles  of 
Marquis,  Comte,  and  Chevalier.  The  lady  receives  you  m 
the  most  polite  and  gracious  manner,  and  with  all  those 
compliments  de  routine  which  every  French  woman  has 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  167 

equally.  Though  she  loves  retirement  and  shuns  It  grand 
monde,  yet  she  confesses  herself  obliged  to  the  Marquis  for 
having  procured  for  her  so  inestimable,  so  accomplished,  an 
acquaintance  as  yourself;  but  her  concern  is  how  to  amuse 
you,  for  she  never  suffers  play  at  her  house  above  a  livre ; 
if  you  can  amuse  yourself  with  that  low  play  till  supper,  a 
la  bonne  heure.  Accordingly  you  sit  down  to  that  little 
play,  at  which  the  good  company  takes  care  tha-t  you  shall 
win  fifteen  or  sixteen  livres,  which  gives  them  an  oppor- 
tunity of  celebrating  both  your  good  luck  and  your  good 
play.  Supper  comes  up,  and  a  good  one  it  is,  upon  the 
strength  of  your  being  to  pay  for  it.  La  Marquise  en  fait 
les  honneurs  au  mieux,  talks  sentiments,  moeurs,  et  morale ; 
interlarded  with  enjouement,  and  accompanied  with  some 
oblique  ogles,  which  bid  you  not  despair  in  time.  After 
supper,  pharaon,  lansquenet,  or  quinze  happen  accidently  to 
be  mentioned:  the  Chevalier  proposes  playing  at  one  of 
them  for  half-an-hour ;  the  Marquise  exclaims  against  it, 
and  vows  she  will  not  suffer  it,  but  is  at  last  prevailed  upon 
by  being  assured  que  ce  ne  sera  que  pour  des  riens.  Then 
the  wished-for  moment  is  come,  the  operation  begins :  you 
are  cheated,  at  best,  of  all  the  money  in  your  pocket,  and  if 
you  stay  late,  very  probably  robbed  of  your  watch  and  snuff- 
box, possibly  murdered  for  greater  security.  This,  I  can 
assure  you,  is  not  an  exaggerated  but  a  literal  description 
of  what  happens  every  day  to  some  raw  and  inexperienced 
stranger  at  Paris.  Remember  to  receive  all  these  civil 
gentlemen,  who  take  such  a  fancy  to  you  at  first  sight, 
very  coldly,  and  take  care  always  to  be  previously  engaged, 
whatever  party  they  propose  to  you.  You  may  happen 
sometimes  in  very  great  and  good  companies  to  meet  with 
some  dexterous  gentlemen,  who  may  be  very  desirous,  and 
also  very  sure,  to  win  your  money,  if  they  can  but  engage 


168  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

you  to  play  with  them.  Therefore  lay  it  down  as  an 
invariable  rule  never  to  play  with  men,  but  only  with 
women  of  fashion,  at  low  play,  or  with  women  and  men 
mixed.  But  at  the  same  time,  whenever  you  are  asked  to 
play  deeper  than  you  would,  do  not  refuse  it  gravely  and 
sententiously,  alleging  the  folly  of  staking  what  would  be 
very  inconvenient  to  one  to  lose,  against  what  one  does  not 
want  to  win ;  but  parry  those  invitations  ludicrously,  et  en 
badinant.  Say  that  if  you  were  sure  to  lose,  you  might 
possibly  play,  but  that  as  you  may  as  well  win,  you  dread 
tembarras  des  richesses  ever  since  you  have  seen  what  an 
incumbrance  they  were  to  poor  Harlequin,  and  that  there- 
fore you  are  determined  never  to  venture  the  winning  above 
two  Louis  a  day :  this  sort  of  light  trifling  way  of  declining 
invitations  to  vice  and  folly,  is  more  becoming  your  age, 
and  at  the  same  time  more  effectual,  than  grave  philo- 
sophical refusals.  A  young  fellow  who  seems  to  have  no 
will  of  his  own,  and  who  does  everything  that  is  asked  of 
him,  is  called  a  very  good-natured,  but  at  the  same  time  is 
thought  a  very  silly,  young  fellow.  Act  wisely,  upon  solid 
principles,  and  from  true  motives,  but  keep  them  to  your- 
self, and  never  talk  sententiously.  When  you  are  invited 
to  drink,  say  you  wish  you  could,  but  that  so  little  makes 
you  both  drunk  and  sick,  que  lejeu  ne  vaut  pas  la  chandelle. 
Pray  show  great  attention,  and  make  your  court  to 
Monsieur  de  la  Gueriniere  \  he  is  well  with  Prince  Charles, 
and  many  people  of  the  first  distinction  at  Paris ;  his 
commendations  will  raise  your  character  there,  not  to 
mention  that  his  favour  will  be  of  use  to  you  in  the 
Academy  itself.  For  the  reasons  which  I  mentioned  to  you 
in  my  last,  I  would  have  you  be  interne  in  the  Academy  for 
the  first  six  months ;  but  after  that  I  promise  you  that  you 
shall  have  lodgings  of  your  own  dans  un  hotel  garni,  if  in 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  169 

the  meantime  I  hear  well  of  you,  and  that  you  frequent, 
and  are  esteemed  in,  the  best  French  companies.  You 
want  nothing  now,  thank  God,  but  exterior  advantages,  that 
last  polish  that  tournure  du  monde^  and  those  graces,  which 
are  so  necessary  to  adorn  and  give  efficacy  to  the  most  solid 
merit.  They  are  only  to  be  acquired  in  the  best  companies, 
and  better  in  the  best  French  companies  than  in  any  other. 
You  will  not  want  opportunities,  for  I  shall  send  you  letters 
that  will  establish  you  in  the  most  distinguished  companies, 
not  only  of  the  beau  monde,  but  of  the  beaux  esprits  too. 
Dedicate  therefore,  I  beg  of  you,  that  whole  year  to  your 
own  advantage  and  final  improvement,  and  do  not  be 
diverted  from  those  objects  by  idle  dissipations,  low 
seduction,  or  bad  example.  After  that  year,  do  whatever 
you  please:  I  will  interfere  no  longer  in  your  conduct. 
For  I  am  sure  both  you  and  I  shall  be  safe  then.  Adieu. 


LETTER  LIV. 

MY  DEAR   FRIEND,  London,  April  the  3oth,  O.  S.  1750. 

MR.  HARTE,  who  in  all  his  letters  gives  you  some  dash 
of  panegyric,  told  me  in  his  last  a  thing  that  pleases  me 
extremely;  which  was,  that  at  Rome  you  had  constantly 
preferred  the  established  Italian  assemblies  to  the  English 
conventicles  set  up  against  them  by  dissenting  English 
ladies.  That  shows  sense,  and  that  you  know  what  you  are 
sent  abroad  for.  It  is  of  much  more  consequence  to  know 
the  Mores  multorum  hominum  than  the  Urbes.  Pray 
continue  this  judicious  conduct  wherever  you  go,  especially 
at  Paris,  where,  instead  of  thirty,  you  will  find  above  three 


i7o  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

hundred  English,  herding  together,  and  conversing  with  no 
one  French  body. 

The  life  of  les  Milords  Anglois  is  regularly,  or  if  you  will 
irregularly,  this.  As  soon  as  they  rise,  which  is  very  late, 
they  breakfast  together,  to  the  utter  loss  of  two  good 
morning  hours.  Then  they  go  by  coachfulls  to  the  Palais, 
the  Invalides,  and  Notre-Dame ;  from  thence  to  the  English 
coffee-house,  where  they  make  up  their  tavern  party  for 
dinner.  From  dinner,  where  they  drink  quick,  they  adjourn 
in  clusters  to  the  play,  where  they  crowd  up  the  stage, 
drest  up  in  very  fine  clothes,  very  ill  made  by  a  Scotch  or 
Irish  tailor.  From  the  play  to  the  tavern  again,  where  they 
get  very  drunk,  and  where  they  either  quarrel  among  them- 
selves, or  sally  forth,  commit  some  riot  in  the  streets,  and 
are  taken  up  by  the  watch.  Those  who  do  not  speak 
French  before  they  go  are  sure  to  learn  none  there.  Their 
tender  vows  are  addressed  to  their  Irish  laundress,  unless 
by  chance  some  itinerant  English  woman,  eloped  from  her 
husband,  or  her  creditors,  defrauds  her  of  them.  Thus 
they  return  home,  more  petulant,  but  not  more  informed, 
than  when  they  left  it;  and  show,  as  they  think,  their 
improvement,  by  affectedly  both  speaking  and  dressing  in 
broken  French. 

"  Hunc  tu  Romanc  caveto." 

Connect  yourself,  while  you  are  in  France,  entirely  with 
the  French ;  improve  yourself  with  the  old,  divert  yourself 
with  the  young ;  conform  cheerfully  to  their  customs,  even 
to  their  little  follies,  but  not  to  their  vices.  Do  not  how- 
ever remonstrate  or  preach  against  them,  for  remonstrances 
do  not  suit  with  your  age.  In  French  companies  in  general 
you  will  not  find  much  learning,  therefore  take  care  not  to 
brandish  yours  in  their  faces.  People  hate  those  who  make 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  171 

them  feel  their  own  inferiority.  Conceal  all  your  learning 
carefully,  and  reserve  it  for  the  company  of  les  Gens 
d'Eglise,  or  les  Gens  de  Robe ;  and  even  then  let  them 
rather  extort  it  from  you,  than  find  you  over-willing  to  draw 
it.  You  are  then  thought,  from  that  seeming  unwillingness, 
to  have  still  more  knowledge  than  it  may  be  you  really 
have,  and  with  the  additional  merit  of  modesty  into  the 
bargain.  A  man  who  talks  of,  or  even  hints  at,  his  bonnes 
fortunes,  is  seldom  believed,  or  if  believed,  much  blamed : 
whereas  a  man  who  conceals  with  care  is  often  supposed  to 
have  more  than  he  has,  and  his  reputation  of  discretion  gets 
him  others.  It  is  just  so  with  a  man  of  learning;  if  he 
affects  to  show  it,  it  is  questioned,  and  he  is  reckoned  only 
superficial ;  but  if  afterwards  it  appears  that  he  really  has  it, 
he  is  pronounced  a  pedant.  Real  merit  of  any  kind,  ubi 
est  non  potest  diu  celari ;  it  will  be  discovered,  and  nothing 
can  depreciate  it  but  a  man's  exhibiting  it  himself.  It  may 
not  always  be  rewarded  as  it  ought ;  but  it  will  always  be 
known.  You  will  in  general  find  the  women  of  the  beau 
monde  at  Paris  more  instructed  than  the  men,  who  are  bred 
up  singly  for  the  army,  and  thrown  into  it  at  twelve  or 
thirteen  years  old ;  but  then  that  sort  of  education,  which 
makes  them  ignorant  of  books,  gives  them  a  great 
knowledge  of  the  world,  an  easy  address,  and  polite 
manners. 

Fashion  is  more  tyrannical  at  Paris  than  in  any  other 
place  in  the  world ;  it  governs  even  more  absolutely  than 
their  King,  which  is  saying  a  great  deal.  The  least  revolt 
against  it  is  punished  by  proscription.  You  must  observe 
and  conform  to  all  the  minuties  of  it,  if  you  will  be  in 
fashion  there  yourself ;  and  if  you  are  not  in  fashion,  you 
are  nobody.  Get  therefore,  at  all  events,  into  the  company 
of  those  men  and  women  qui  donnent  le  ton;  and  though  at 


i7 2  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

first  you  should  be  admitted  upon  that  shining  theatre  only 
as  a  persona  muta,  persist,  persevere,  and  you  will  soon 
have  a  part  given  you.  Take  great  care  never  to  tell  in  one 
company  what  you  see  or  hear  in  another,  much  less  to 
divert  the  present  company  at  the  expense  of  the  last ;  but 
let  discretion  and  secrecy  be  known  parts  of  your  character. 
They  will  carry  you  much  farther,  and  much  safer,  than 
more  shining  talents.  Be  upon  your  guard  against  quarrels 
at  Paris  ;  honour  is  extremely  nice  there,  though  the 
asserting  of  it  is  exceedingly  penal.  Therefore  point  de 
mauvaises  plaisanteries^  point  de  jeux  de  main,  et  point  de 
raillerie  piquante. 

Paris  is  the  place  in  the  world  where,  if  you  please,  you 
may  the  best  unite  the  utile  and  the  duke.  Even  your 
pleasures  will  be  your  improvements,  if  you  take  them  with 
the  people  of  the  place,  and  in  high  life.  From  what  you 
have  hitherto  done  everywhere  else,  I  have  just  reason  to 
believe  that  you  will  do  everything  you  ought  at  Paris. 
Remember  that  it  is  your  decisive  moment ;  whatever  you 
do  there  will  be  known  to  thousands  here,  and  your 
character  there,  whatever  it  is,  will  get  before  you  hither. 
You  will  meet  with  it  at  London.  May  you  and  I  both 
have  reason  to  rejoice  at  that  meeting  !  Adieu. 


LETTER  LV. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  June  the  5th,  O.  S.  1750. 

I  HAVE  received  your  picture,  which  I  have  long  waited 
for  with  impatience;  I  wanted  to  see  your  countenance, 
from  whence  I  am  very  apt,  as  I  believe  most  people 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  173 

are,  to  form  some  general  opinion  of  the  mind.  If  the 
painter  has  taken  you  as  well  as  he  has  done  Mr.  Harte 
(for  his  picture  is  by  far  the  most  like  I  ever  saw  in  my 
life),  I  draw  good  conclusions  from  your  countenance, 
which  has  both  spirit  and  finesse  in  it.  In  bulk  you  are 
pretty  well  increased  since  I  saw  you ;  if  your  height  is 
not  increased  in  proportion,  I  desire  that  you  will  make 
haste  to  complete  it.  Seriously,  I  believe  that  your 
exercises  at  Paris  will  make  you  shoot  up  to  a  good  size ; 
your  legs,  by  all  accounts,  seem  to  promise  it  Dancing 
excepted,  the  wholesome  part  is  the  best  part  of  those 
academical  exercises.  Us  degraissent  leur  homme.  A 
propos  of  exercises;  I  have  prepared  everything  for  your 
reception  at  Monsieur  de  la  Gue'riniere's,  and  your  room, 
etc.,  will  be  ready  at  your  arrival.  I  am  sure  you  must 
be  sensible  how  much  better  it  will  be  for  you  to  be 
interne  in  the  Academy,  for  the  first  six  or  seven  months 
at  least,  than  to  be  en  hotel  garni^  at  some  distance  from 
it,  and  obliged  to  go  to  it  every  morning,  let  the  weather 
be  what  it  will,  not  to  mention  the  loss  of  time  too; 
besides,  by  living  and  boarding  in  the  Academy,  you  will 
make  an  acquaintance  with  half  the  young  fellows  of 
fashion  at  Paris;  and  in  a  very  little  while  be  looked 
upon  as  one  of  them  in  all  French  companies ;  an  advan- 
tage that  has  never  yet  happened  to  any  one  Englishman 
that  I  have  known.  I  am  sure  you  do  not  suppose  that 
the  difference  of  the  expense,  which  is  but  a  trifle,  has 
any  weight  with  me  in  this  resolution.  You  have  the 
French  language  so  perfectly,  and  you  will  acquire  the 
French  tournure  so  soon,  that  I  do  not  know  anybody 
likely  to  pass  his  time  so  well  at  Paris  as  yourself.  Our 
young  countrymen  have  generally  too  little  French,  and 
too  bad  address,  either  to  present  themselves,  or  be  well 

14 


174  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

received  in  the  best  French  companies ;  and,  as  a  proof 
of  it,  there  is  no  one  instance  of  an  Englishman's  having 
ever  been  suspected  of  a  gallantry  with  a  French  woman 
of  condition,  though  every  French  woman  of  condition 
is  more  than  suspected  of  having  a  gallantry.  But  they 
take  up  with  the  disgraceful  and  dangerous  commerce  of 
prostitutes,  actresses,  dancing  women,  and  that  sort  of 
trash ;  though,  if  they  had  common  address,  better  achieve- 
ments would  be  extremely  easy.  Un  a?-rangement,  which 
is  in  plain  English  a  gallantry,  is,  at  Paris,  as  necessary 
a  part  of  a  woman  of  fashion's  establishment,  as  her 
house,  table,  coach,  etc.  A  young  fellow  must  therefore  be 
a  very  awkward  one,  to  be  reduced  to,  or  of  a  very  singular 
taste,  to  prefer  drabs  and  danger  to  a  commerce  (in  the 
course  of  the  world  not  disgraceful)  with  a  woman  of 
health,  education,  and  rank.  Nothing  sinks  a  young  man 
into  low  company,  both  of  men  and  women,  so  surely  as 
timidity,  and  diffidence  of  himself.  If  he  thinks  that 
he  shall  not,  he  may  depend  upon  it  he  will  not,  please. 
But  with  proper  endeavours  to  please,  and  a  degree  of 
persuasion  that  he  shall,  it  is  almost  certain  that  he  will. 
How  many  people  does  one  meet  with  everywhere,  who 
with  very  moderate  parts,  and  very  little  knowledge,  push 
themselves  pretty  far,  singly  by  being  sanguine,  enter- 
prising, and  persevering  ?  They  will  take  no  denial  from 
man  or  woman;  difficulties  do  not  discourage  them; 
repulsed  twice  or  thrice,  they  rally,  they  charge  again, 
and  nine  times  in  ten  prevail  at  last.  The  same  means 
will  much  sooner,  and  more  certainly,  attain  the  same 
ends,  with  your  parts  and  knowledge.  You  have  a  fund 
to  be  sanguine  upon,  and  good  forces  to  rally.  In  business 
(talents  supposed)  nothing  is  more  effectual,  or  successful, 
than  a  good,  though  concealed,  opinion  of  one's  self,  a 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  175 

firm  resolution,  and  an  unwearied  perseverance.  None 
but  madmen  attempt  impossibilities ;  and  whatever  is 
possible  is  one  way  or  another  to  be  brought  about.  If 
one  method  fails,  try  another,  and  suit  your  methods  to 
the  characters  you  have  to  do  with.  At  the  treaty  of  the 
Pyrenees,  which  Cardinal  Mazarin  and  Don  Louis  %  de 
Haro  concluded,  dans  I' Isle  des  Faisans ;  the  latter  carried 
some  very  important  points  by  his  constant  and  cool 
perseverance. 

The  Cardinal  had  all  the  Italian  vivacity  and  impatience ; 
Don  Louis  all  the  Spanish  phlegm  and  tenaciousness. 
The  point  which  the  Cardinal  had  most  at  heart  was, 
to  hinder  the  re-establishment  of  the  Prince  of  Conde', 
his  implacable  enemy;  but  he  was  in  haste  to  conclude, 
and  impatient  to  return  to  Court,  where  absence  is  always 
dangerous.  Don  Louis  observed  this,  and  never  failed 
at  every  conference  to  bring  the  affair  of  the  Prince  of 
Condd  upon  the  tapis.  The  Cardinal  for  some  time 
refused  even  to  treat  upon  it ;  Don  Louis,  with  the  same 
sens  froid^  as  constantly  persisted,  till  he  at  last  prevailed, 
contrary  to  the  intentions  and  the  interest  both  of  the 
Cardinal  and  of  his  Court.  Sense  must  distinguish  between 
what  is  impossible  and  what  is  only  difficult,  and  spirit 
and  perseverance  will  get  the  better  of  the  latter.  Every 
man  is  to  be  had  one  way  or  another,  and  every  woman 
almost  any  way.  I  must  not  omit  one  thing,  which  is 
previously  necessary  to  this,  and  indeed  to  everything 
else ;  which  is  attention,  a  flexibility  of  attention ;  never 
to  be  wholly  engrossed  by  any  past  or  future  object,  but 
instantly  directed  to  the  present  one,  be  it  what  it  will. 
An  absent  man  can  make  but  few  observations ;  and  those 
will  be  disjointed  and  imperfect  ones,  as  half  the  circum- 
stances must  necessarily  escape  him.  He  can  pursue 


1 76  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

nothing  steadily,  because  his  absences  make  him  lose 
his  way.  They  are  very  disagreeable,  and  hardly  to  be 
tolerated  in  old  age ;  but  in  youth  they  cannot  be  forgiven. 
If  you  find  that  you  have  the  least  tendency  to  them, 
pray  watch  yourself  very  carefully,  and  you  may  prevent 
them  now;  but  if  you  let  them  grow  into  a  habit,  you 
will  find  it  very  difficult  to  cure  them  hereafter;  and  a 
vorse  distemper  I  do  not  know. 

I  heard  with  great  satisfaction  the  other  day,  from  one  who 
has  been  lately  at  Rome,  that  nobody  was  better  received 
in  the  best  companies  than  yourself.  The  same  thing, 
I  dare  say,  will  happen  to  you  at  Paris;  where  they  are 
particularly  kind  to  all  strangers,  who  will  be  civil  to 
them,  and  show  a  desire  of  pleasing.  But  they  must  be 
flattered  a  little,  not  only  by  words,  but  by  a  seeming 
preference  given  to  their  country,  their  manners,  and  their 
customs;  which  is  but  a  very  small  price  to  pay  for  a 
very  good  reception.  Were  I  in  Africa,  I  would  pay  it 
to  a  negro  for  his  good-will.  Adieu. 


LETTER  LVI. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  July  the  gth,  O.  S.  1750. 

I  SHOULD  not  deserve  that  appellation  in  return  from 
you,  if  I  did  not  freely  and  explicitly  inform  you  of  every 
corrigible  defect,  which  I  may  either  hear  of,  suspect,  or  at 
any  time  discover  in  you.  Those  who  in  the  common 
course  of  the  world  will  call  themselves  your  friends,  or 
whom,  according  to  the  common  notions  of  friendship, 
you  may  possibly  think  such,  will  never  tell  you  of  your 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  177 

faults,  still  less  of  your  weaknesses.  But  on  the  contrary, 
more  desirous  to  make  you  their  friend  than  to  prove 
themselves  yours,  they  will  flatter  both,  and,  in  truth,  not 
be  sorry  for  either.  Interiorly,  most  people  enjoy  the 
inferiority  of  their  best  friends.  The  useful  and  essential 
part  of  friendship  to  you  is  reserved  singly  for  Mr.  Harte 
and  myself;  our  relations  to  you  stand  pure,  and  un- 
suspected of  all  private  views.  In  whatever  we  say  to  you, 
we  can  have  no  interest  but  yours.  We  can  have  no 
competition,  no  jealousy,  no  secret  envy  or  malignity. 
We  are  therefore  authorised  to  represent,  advise,  and 
remonstrate;  and  your  reason  must  tell  you  that  you  ought 
to  attend  to  and  believe  us. 

I  am  credibly  informed  that  there  is  still  a  considerable 
hitch  or  hobble  in  your  enunciation ;  and  that  when  you 
speak  fast,  you  sometimes  speak  unintelligibly.  I  have 
formerly  and  frequently  laid  my  thoughts  before  you  so 
fully  upon  this  subject,  that  I  can  say  nothing  new  upon 
it  now.  I  must  therefore  only  repeat,  that  your  whole 
depends  upon  it.  Your  trade  is  to  speak  well,  both  in 
public  and  in  private.  The  manner  of  your  speaking  is 
full  as  important  as  the  matter,  as  more  people  have  ears  to 
be  tickled  than  understandings  to  judge.  Be  your  pro- 
ductions ever  so  good,  they  will  be  of  no  use,  if  you  stifle 
and  strangle  them  in  their  birth.  The  best  compositions  of 
Corelli,  if  ill  executed,  and  played  out  of  tune,  instead  of 
touching,  as  they  do  when  well  performed,  would  only 
excite  the  indignation  of  the  hearers,  when  murdered  by  an 
unskilful  performer.  But  to  murder  your  own  productions, 
and  that  coram  populo,  is  a  Medean  cruelty ',  which  Horace 
absolutely  forbids.  Remember  of  what  importance  Demos- 
thenes, and  one  of  the  Gracchi,  thought  enunciation  ;  read 
what  stress  Cicero  and  Quintilian  lay  upon  it;  even  the 


i78  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

herb-women  at  Athens  were  correct  judges  of  it.  Oratory 
with  all  its  graces,  that  of  enunciation  in  particular,  is  full 
as  necessary  in  our  government,  as  it  ever  was  in  Greece  or 
Rome.  No  man  can  make  a  fortune  or  a  figure  in  this 
country,  without  speaking,  and  speaking  well,  in  public.  It 
you  will  persuade,  you  must  first  please ;  and  if  you  will 
please,  you  must  tune  your  voice  to  harmony;  you  must 
articulate  every  syllable  distinctly ;  your  emphasis  and 
cadences  must  be  strongly  and  properly  marked ;  and  the 
whole  together  must  be  graceful  and  engaging ;  if  you  do 
not  speak  in  that  manner,  you  had  much  better  not  speak 
at  all.  All  the  learning  you  have,  or  ever  can  have,  is  not 
worth  one  groat  without  it.  It  may  be  a  comfort  and  an 
amusement  to  you  in  your  closet,  but  can  be  of  no  use  to 
you  in  the  world.  Let  me  conjure  you  therefore  to  make 
this  your  only  object,  till  you  have  absolutely  conquered  it, 
for  that  is  in  your  power ;  think  of  nothing  else,  read  and 
speak  for  nothing  else.  Read  aloud,  though  alone,  and 
read  articulately  and  distinctly,  as  if  you  were  reading  in 
public,  and  on  the  most  important  occasion.  Recite  pieces 
of  eloquence,  declaim  scenes  of  tragedies,  to  Mr.  Jrlarte,  as 
if  he  were  a  numerous  audience.  If  there  is  any  particular 
consonant  which  you  have  a  difficulty  in  articulating,  as  I 
think  you  had  with  the  R,  utter  it  millions  and  millions  of 
times,  till  you  have  uttered  it  right.  Never  speak  quick, 
till  you  have  first  learned  to  speak  well.  In  short,  lay  aside 
every  book  and  every  thought,  that  does  not  directly  tend 
to  this  great  object,  absolutely  decisive  of  your  future 
fortune  and  figure. 

The  next  thing  necessary  in  your  destination  is,  writing 
correctly,  elegantly,  and  in  a  good  hand  too;  in  which 
three  particulars,  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you  that  you  hitherto 
fail.  Your  hand-writing  is  a  very  bad  one,  and  would  make 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  179 

a  scurvy  figure  in  a-n  office-book  of  letters,  or  even  in  a 
lady's  pocket-book.  But  that  fault  is  easily  cured  by  care, 
since  every  man  who  has  the  use  of  his  eyes  and  of  his 
right  hand  can  write  whatever  hand  he  pleases.  As  to  the 
correctness  and  elegancy  of  your  writing,  attention  to 
grammar  does  the  one,  and  to  the  best  authors  the  other. 
In  your  letter  to  me  of  the  2yth  June,  N.  S.,  you  omitted 
the  date  of  the  place,  so  that  I  only  conjectured  from  the 
contents  that  you  were  at  Rome. 

Thus  I  have,  with  the  truth  and  freedom  of  the  tenderest 
affection,  told  you  all  your  defects,  at  least  all  that  I  know 
or  have  heard  of.  Thank  God  they  are  all  very  curable, 
they  must  be  cured,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  cure  them. 
That  once  done,  nothing  remains  for  you  to  acquire,  or  for 
me  to  wish  you,  but  the  turn,  the  manners,  the  address,  and 
the  graces  of  the  polite  world ;  which  experience,  observation, 
and  good  company  will  insensibly  give  you.  Few  people  at 
your  age  have  read,  seen,  and  known  so  much  as  you  have, 
and  consequently  few  are  so  near  as  yourself  to  what  I  call 
perfection,  by  which  I  only  mean  being  very  near  as  well  as 
the  best.  Far,  therefore,  from  being  discouraged  by  what 
you  still  want,  what  you  already  have  should  encourage  you 
to  attempt,  and  convince  you  that  by  attempting  you  will 
inevitably  obtain  it.  The  difficulties  which  you  have  sur- 
mounted were  much  greater  than  any  you  have  now  to 
encounter.  Till  very  lately  your  way  has  been  only  through 
thorns  and  briers  ;  the  few  that  now  remain  are  mixed  with 
roses.  Pleasure  is  now  the  principal  remaining  part  of  your 
education.  It  will  soften  and  polish  your  manners  ;  it  will 
make  you  pursue  and  at  last  overtake  the  graces.  Pleasure 
is  necessarily  reciprocal ;  no  one  feels  who  does  not  at  the 


i8o  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

same  time  give  it.  To  be  pleased,  one  must  please.  What 
pleases  you  in  others,  will  in  general  please  them  in  you. 
Paris  is  indisputably  the  seat  of  the  graces  ;  they  will  even 
court  you,  if  you  are  not  too  coy.  Frequent  and  observe 
the  best  companies  there,  and  you  will  soon  be  naturalised 
among  them ;  you  will  soon  find  how  particularly  attentive 
they  are  to  the  correctness  and  elegancy  of  their  language, 
and  to  the  graces  of  their  enunciation  ;  they  would  even 
call  the  understanding  of  a  man  in  question,  who  should 
neglect  or  not  know  the  infinite  advantages  arising  from 
them.  Narrer,  reciter,  dedamer  Men,  are  serious  studies 
among  them,  and  well  deserve  to  be  so  everywhere.  The 
conversations  even  among  the  women  frequently  turn  upon 
the  elegancies,  and  minutest  delicacies,  of  the  French 
language.  An  enjouement,  a  gallant  turn  prevails  in  all 
their  companies,  to  women,  with  whom  they  neither  are, 
nor  pretend  to  be,  in  love ;  but  should  you  (as  may  very 
possibly  happen)  fall  really  in  love  there  with  some  woman 
of  fashion  and  sense  (for  I  do  not  suppose  you  capable  of 
falling  in  love  with  a  strumpet),  and  that  your  rival,  without 
half  your  parts  or  knowledge,  should  get  the  better  of  you, 
merely  by  dint  of  manners,  enjouement,  badinage,  etc.,  how 
would  you  regret  not  having  sufficiently  attended  to  these 
accomplishments,  which  you  despised  a's  superficial  and 
trifling,  but  which  you  would  then  find  of  real  consequence 
in  the  course  of  the  world !  And  men,  as  well  as  women, 
are  taken  by  these  external  graces.  Shut  up  your  books, 
then,  now  as  a  business,  and  open  them  only  as  a  pleasure  : 
but  let  the  great  book  of  the  world  be  your  serious  study ; 
read  it  over  and  over,  get  it  by  heart,  adopt  its  style,  and 
make  it  youi  own. 

When  I  cast  up  your  account  as  it  now  stands,  I  rejoice 
to  see  the  balance  so  much  in  your  favour ;  and  that  the 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  181 

items  per  contra  are  so  few,  and  of  such  a  nature  that  they 
may  be  very  easily  cancelled.  By  way  of  debtor  and 
creditor,  it  stands  thus  : 

Creditor.  By  French.  Debtor.   To  English. 

German.  Enunciation. 

Italian.  Manners. 

Latin. 

Greek. 

Logic. 

Ethics. 

History. 
fNaturae. 
Jus-j  Gentium. 
[Publicum. 

This,  my  dear  friend,  is  a  very  true  account,  and  a  very 
encouraging  one  for  you.  A  man  who  owes  so  little,  can 
clear  it  off  in  a  very  little  time,  and  if  he  is  a  prudent  man, 
will ;  whereas  a  man  who  by  long  negligence  owes  a  great 
deal,  despairs  of  ever  being  able  to  pay ;  and  therefore  never 
looks  into  his  accounts  at  all 

When  you  go  to  Genoa,  pray  observe  carefully  all  the 
environs  of  it,  and  view  them  with  somebody  who  can  tell 
you  all  the  situations  and  operations  of  the  Austrian  army 
during  that  famous  siege,  if  it  deserves  to  be  called  one ;  for 
in  reality  the  town  never  was  besieged,  nor  had  the  Austrians 
any  one  thing  necessary  for  a  siege.  If  Marquis  Centurioni, 
who  was  last  winter  in  England,  should  happen  to  be  there, 
go  to  him  with  my  compliments,  and  he  will  show  you  all 
imaginable  civilities. 

I  could  have  sent  you  some  letters  to  Florence,  but  that  I 
knew  Mr.  Mann  would  be  of  more  use  to  you  than  all  of 


i82  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

them.  Pray  make  hkn  my  compliments.  Cultivate  your 
Italian  while  you  are  at  Florence ;  where  it  is  spoken  in  its 
utmost  purity,  but  ill  pronounced. 

Pray  save  me  the  seed  of  some  of  the  best  melons  you 
eat,  and  put  it  up  dry  in  paper.  You  need  not  send  it  me ; 
but  Mr.  Harte  will  bring  it  in  his  pocket  when  he  comes 
over.  I  should  likewise  be  glad  of  some  cuttings  of  the 
best  figs,  especially  //  Fico  gentile,  and  the  Malthese ;  but 
as  this  is  not  the  season  for  them,  Mr.  Mann  will,  I  dare 
say,  undertake  that  commission,  and  send  them  to  me  at  the 
proper  time  by  Leghorn.  Adieu.  Endeavour  to  please 
others,  and  divert  yourself  as  much  as  ever  you  can,  en 
honntte  et  galant  Homme, 

P.  S. — I  send  you  the  enclosed  to  deliver  to  Lord  Roch- 
ford,  upon  your  arrival  at  Turin. 


LETTER   LVIL 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,        London,  November  the  I2th,  O.  S.  1750. 

You  will  possibly  think  that  this  letter  turns  upon 
strange,  little,  trifling  objects ;  and  you  will  think  right,  if 
you  consider  them  separately ;  but  if  you  take  them  aggre- 
gately you  will  be  convinced  that  as  parts,  which  conspire 
to  form  that  whole,  called  the  exterior  of  a  man  of  fashion, 
they  are  of  importance.  I  shall  not  dwell  now  upon  those 
personal  graces,  that  liberal  air,  and  that  engaging  address, 
which  I  have  so  often  recommended  to  you,  but  descend 
still  lower,  to  your  dress,  cleanliness,  and  cars  of  your 
person. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  183 

When  you  come  to  Paris  you  must  take  care  to  be 
extremely  well  dressed,  that  is,  as  the  fashionable  people 
are;  this  does  by  no  means  consist  in  the  finery,  but  in 
the  taste,  fitness,  and  manner  of  wearing  your  clothes:  a 
fine  suit  ill  made,  and  slatternly  or  stiffly  worn,  far  from 
adorning,  only  exposes  the  awkwardness  of  the  wearer. 
Get  the  best  French  tailor  to  make  your  clothes,  whatever 
they  are,  in  the  fashion,  and  to  fit  you :  and  then  wear 
them,  button  them,  or  unbutton  them,  as  the  genteelest 
people  you  see  do.  Let  your  man  learn  of  the  best/riseur 
to  do  your  hair  well,  for  that  is  a  very  material  part  of  your 
dress.  Take  care  to  have  your  stockings  well  gartered  up, 
and  your  shoes  well  buckled;  for  nothing  gives  a  more 
slovenly  air  to  a  man  than  ill-dressed  legs.  In  your  person 
you  must  be  accurately  clean ;  and  your  teeth,  hands,  and 
nails  should  be  superlatively  so :  a  dirty  mouth  has  real  ill 
consequences  to  the  owner,  for  it  infallibly  causes  the 
decay,  as  well  as  the  intolerable  pain,  of  the  teeth ;  and  it  is 
•very  offensive  to  his  acquaintance,  for  it  will  most  inevitably 
stink.  I  insist,  therefore,  that  you  wash  your  teeth  the  first 
thing  you  do  every  morning,  with  a  soft  sponge  and  warm 
water,  for  four  or  five  minutes ;  and  then  wash  your  mouth 
five  or  six  times.  Mouton,  whom  I  desire  you  will  send  for 
upon  your  ai  rival  at  Paris,  will  give  you  an  opiate,  and 
a  liquor  to  be  used  sometimes.  Nothing  looks  more 
ordinary,  vulgar,  ind  illiberal,  than  dirty  hands,  and  ugly, 
uneven,  and  ragged  nails :  I  do  not  suspect  you  of  that 
shocking,  awkward  trick,  of  biting  yours ;  but  that  is  not 
enough;  you  must  keep  the  ends  of  them  smooth  and 
clean,  not  tipped  with  black,  as  the  ordinary  people's  always 
are.  The  ends  of  your  nails  should  be  small  segments  of 
circles,  which,  by  a  very  little  care  in  the  cutting,  they  are 
very  easily  brought  to;  every  time  that  you  wipe  your 


i84  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

hands,  rub  the  skin  round  your  nails  backwards,  that  it  may 
not  grow  up,  and  shorten  your  nails  too  much.     The  clean- 
liness of  the  rest  of  your  person,  which,  by  the  way,  will 
conduce  greatly  to  your  health,  I  refer  from  time  to  time 
to  the  bagnio.     My  mentioning  these  particulars  arises  (I 
freely  own)  from  some  suspicion  that  the   hints   are   not 
unnecessary;    for  when  you  were  a  schoolboy,   you  were 
slovenly    and    dirty,    above    your   fellows.      I    must    add 
another  caution,  which  is,  that  upon  no  account  whatever 
you  put  your  fingers,  as  too  many  people  are  apt  to  do,  in 
your  nose  or  ears.     It  is  the  most  shocking,  nasty,  vulgar 
rudeness  that  can  be  offered  to  company;  it  disgusts  one, 
it  turns  one's  stomach;  and,  for  my  own  part,   I  would 
much  rather  know  that  a  man's  finger  were  actually  in  his 
breech,  than  see  them  in  his  nose.     Wash  your  ears  well 
every  morning,  and  blow  your  nose  in  your  handkerchief 
whenever   you   have   occasion :  but,   by  the  way,   without 
looking  at  it  afterwards.     There  should  be  in  the  least  as 
well  as  in  the  greatest  parts  of  a  gentleman,  les  mantires 
nobles.     Sense  will   teach   you    some,   observation    others : 
attend  carefully  to  the  manners,  the  diction,  the  motions,  of 
people  of  the  first  fashion,  and  form  your  own  upon  them. 
On  the  other  hand,  observe  a  little  those  of  the  vulgar, 
in  order  to  avoid  them :  for  though  the  things  which  they 
say  or  do  may  be  the  same,  the  manner  is  always  totally 
different:    and    in    that,    and    nothing    else,   consists    the 
characteristic  of  a  man   of  fashion.      The  lowest   peasant 
speaks,  moves,  dresses,  eats,  and  drinks,  as  much  as  a  man 
of  the  first  fashion,  but  does  them  all  quite  differently ;  so 
that  by  doing  and  saying  most  things  in  a  manner  opposite 
to  that  of  the  vulgar,  you  have  a  great  chance  of  doing  and 
saying  them  right.     There  are  gradations  in  awkwardness 
and  vulgarism,  as  there  are  in  everything  else.    Les  manures 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  185 

de  Robe^  though  not  quite  right,  are  still  better  than  les 
manieres  Bourgeoises;  and  these,  though  bad,  are  still 
better  than  les  manieres  de  Campagne.  But  the  language, 
the  air,  the  dress,  and  the  manners,  of  the  Court,  are  the 
only  true  standard  des  manieres  nobles,  et  d'un  honnete 
homme.  Ex  pede  Herculem  is  an  old  and  true  saying,  and 
very  applicable  to  our  present  subject ;  for  a  man  of  parts, 
who  has  been  bred  at  Courts,  and  used  to  keep  the  best 
company,  will  distinguish  himself,  and  is  to  be  known  from 
the  vulgar,  by  every  word,  attitude,  gesture,  and  even  look. 
I  cannot  leave  these  seeming  minuties,  without  repeating  to 
you  the  necessity  of  your  carving  well ;  which  is  an  article, 
little  as  it  is,  that  is  useful  twice  every  day  of  one's  life ; 
and  the  doing  it  ill  is  very  troublesome  to  one's  self,  and 
very  disagreeable,  often  ridiculous,  to  others. 

Having  said  all  this,  I  cannot  help  reflecting  what  a 
formal  dull  fellow,  or  a  cloistered  pedant,  would  say,  if  they 
were  to  see  this  letter :  they  would  look  upon  it  with  the 
utmost  contempt,  and  say,  that  surely  a  father  might  find 
much  better  topics  for  advice  to  a  son.  I  would  admit  it  if 
I  had  given  you,  or  that  you  were  capable  of  receiving,  no 
better ;  but  if  sufficient  pains  had  been  taken  to  form  your 
heart  and  improve  your  mind,  and,  as  I  hope,  not  without 
success,  I  will  tell  tbose  solid  Gentlemen  that  all  these 
trifling  things,  as  they  think  them,  collectively  form  that 
pleasing  je  ne  sais  quoi,  that  ensemble^  which  they  are  utter 
strangers  to  both  in  themselves  and  others.  The  word 
aimable  is  not  known  in  their  language,  or  the  thing  in  their 
manners.  Great  usage  of  the  world,  great  attention,  and  a 
great  desire  of  pleasing,  can  alone  give  it ;  and  it  is  no 
trifle.  It  is  from  old  people's  looking  upon  these  things  as 
trifles,  or  not  thinking  of  them  at  all,  that  so  many  young 
people  are  so  awkward,  and  so  ill  bred.  Their  parents, 


r 86  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

often  careless  and  unmindful  of  them,  give  them  only  the 
common  run  of  education,  as  school,  university,  and  then 
travelling ;  without  examining,  and  very  often  without  being 
able  to  judge  if  they  did  examine,  what  progress  they  make 
in  any  one  of  these  stages.  Then  they  carelessly  comfort 
themselves,  and  say  that  their  sons  will  do  like  other 
people's  sons ;  and  so  they  do,  that  is,  commonly  very  ill. 
They  correct  none  of  the  childish,  nasty  tricks,  which  they 
get  at  school ;  nor  the  illiberal  manners  which  they  contract 
at  the  university;  nor  the  frivolous  and  superficial  pertness 
which  is  commonly  all  that  they  acquire  by  their  travels. 
As  they  do  not  tell  them  of  these  things,  nobody  else  can ; 
so  they  go  on  in  the  practice  of  them,  without  ever  hearing 
or  knowing  that  they  are  unbecoming,  indecent,  and 
shocking.  For,  as  I  have  often  formerly  observed  to  you, 
nobody  but  a  father  can  take  the  liberty  to  reprove  a 
young  fellow  grown  up  for  those  kind  of  inaccuracies  and 
improprieties  of  behaviour.  The  most  intimate  friendship, 
unassisted  by  the  paternal  superiority,  will  not  authorise  it. 
I  may  truly  say,  therefore,  that  you  are  happy  in  having  me 
for  a  sincere,  friendly,  and  quick-sighted  monitor.  Nothing 
will  escape  me;  I  shall  pry  for  your  defects,  in  order  to 
correct  them,  as  curiously  as  I  shall  seek  for  your  perfec- 
tions, in  order  to  applaud  and  reward  them ;  with  this 
difference  only,  that  I  shall  publicly  mention  the  latter,  and 
never  hint  at  the  former,  but  in  a  letter  to,  or  a  tete-h-ttte 
with,  you.  I  will  never  put  you  out  of  countenance  before 
company;  and  I  hope  you  will  never  give  me  reason  to 
be  out  of  countenance  for  you,  as  any  one  of  the  above- 
mentioned  defects  would  make  me.  Prator  non  curat  de 
mim'mis,  was  a  maxim  in  the  Roman  law ;  for  causes  only 
of  a  certain  value  were  tried  by  him;  but  there  were 
inferior  jurisdictions,  that  took  cognizance  of  the  smallest 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  187 

Now  I  shall  try  you,  not  only  as  Praetor  in  the  greatest,  but 
as  Censor  in  lesser,  and  as  the  lowest  magistrate  in  the 
least,  cases. 

I  have  this  moment  received  Mr.  Harte's  letter  of  the  ist 
November,  new  style ;  by  which  I  am  very  glad  to  find  that 
he  thinks  of  moving  towards  Paris  the  end  of  this  month, 
which  looks  as  if  his  leg  were  better;  besides,  in  my 
opinion,  you  both  of  you  only  lose  time  at  Montpellier ; 
he  would  find  better  advice,  and  you  better  company,  at 
Paris.  In  the  meantime,  I  hope  you  go  into  the  best 
company  there  is  at  Montpellier,  and  there  always  is  some 
at  the  Intendant's  or  the  Commandant's.  You  will  have 
had  full  time  to  have  learned,  les  petites  chansons  Langue- 
doriennes,  which  are  exceeding  pretty  ones,  both  words  and 
tunes.  I  remember,  when  I  was  in  those  parts,  I  was 
surprised  at  the  difference  which  I  found  between  the 
people  on  one  side  and  those  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Rhone.  The  Provenceaux  were,  in  general,  surly,  ill-bred, 
ugly,  and  swarthy :  the  Languedocians  the  very  reverse ; 
a  cheerful,  well-bred,  handsome  people.  Adieu !  Yours 
most  affectionately. 

P.S. — Upon  reflection,  I  direct  this  letter  to  Paris ;  I 
think  you  must  have  left  Montpellier  before^t  could  arrive 
there. 


LETTER  LVIII. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  January  the  3rd,  O.  S.  1751. 

BY  your  letter  of  the  5th,  N.  S.,  I  find  that  your  debut 
at  Paris  has  been  a  good  one ;  you  are  entered  into  good 


i88  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

company,  and  I  dare  say  you  will  not  sink  into  bad. 
Frequent  the  houses  where  you  have  been  once  invited, 
and  have  none  of  that  shyness  which  makes  most  of  your 
countrymen  strangers,  where  they  might  be  intimate  and 
domestic  if  they  pleased.  Wherever  you  have  a  general 
invitation  to  sup  when  you  please,  profit  of  it  with  decency, 
and  go  every  now  and  then.  Lord  Albemarle  will,  I  am 
sure,  be  extremely  kind  to  you ;  but  his  house  is  only  a 
dinner  house,  and,  as  I  am  informed,  frequented  by  no 
French  people.  Should  he  happen  to  employ  you  in  his 
bureau,  which  I  much  doubt,  you  must  write  a  better  hand 
than  your  common  one,  or  you  will  get  no  great  credit  by 
your  manuscripts ;  for  your  hand  is  at  present  an  illiberal 
one,  it  is  neither  a  hand  of  business,  nor  of  a  gentleman ; 
but  the  hand  of  a  school-boy  writing  his  exercise,  which  he 
hopes  will  never  be  read. 

Madame  de  Monconseil  gives  me  a  favourable  account  of 
you,  and  so  do  Marquis  de  Matignon,  and  Madame  du 
Boccage ;  they  all  say  that  you  desire  to  please,  and  con- 
sequently promise  me  that  you  will :  and  they  judge  right ; 
for  whoever  really  desires  to  please,  and  has  (as  you  now 
have)  the  means  of  learning  how,  certainly  will  please :  and 
that  is  the  great  point  of  life  ;  it  makes  all  other  things  easy. 
Whenever  you  are  with  Madame  de  Monconseil,  Madame 
du  Boccage,  or  other  women  of  fashion,  with  whom  you 
are  tolerably  free,  say  frankly  and  naturally,  Je  riai  point 
d'usage  du  monde,  j'y  suis  encore  bien  neuf,  je  souhaiterois 
ardemment  de  plaire,  mats  je  ne  sais  gulres  comment 
m^y  prendre ;  ayez  la  bonte,  Madame,  de  me  faire  part  de 
votre  secret  de  plaire  a  tout  le  monde.  J'enferai  ma  'fortune, 
et  il  vous  en  restera  pourtant  toujours,  plus  qtfil  ne  vous  en 
faut.  When,  in  consequence  of  this  request,  they  shall  tell 
you  of  any  little  error,  awkwardness,  or  impropriety,  you 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  189 

should  not  only  feel,  but  express,  the  warmest  acknowledg- 
ment. Though  nature  should  suffer,  and  she  will  at  first 
hearing  them,  tell  them,  Que  la  critique  la  phis  severe  est, 
a  votre  egard,  la  preuve  la  plus  marquee  de  leur  amitie. 
Madame  du  Boccage  tells  me  particularly  to  inform  you, 
Qu'il  me  fera  toujours  plaisir  et  honneur  de  me  venir  voir  ; 
il  est  vrai  quya  son  age  le  plaisir  de  causer  est  froid,  mats  je 
tacherai  de  lui  faire  faire  connoissance  avec  des  jeunes 
gens,  etc.  Make  use  of  this  invitation,  and  as  you  live  in 
a  manner  next  door  to  her,  step  in  and  out  there  frequently. 
Monsieur  du  Boccage  will  go  with  you,  he  tells  me,  with 
great  pleasure,  to  the  plays,  and  point  out  to  you  whatever 
deserves  your  knowing  there.  This  is  worth  your  accept- 
ance too,  he  has  a  very  good  taste.  I  have  not  yet  heard 
from  Lady  Hervey  upon  your  subject,  but  as  you  inform 
me  that  you  have  already  supped  with  her  once,  I  look 
upon  you  as  adopted  by  her :  consult  her  in  all  your  little 
matters ;  tell  her  any  difficulties  that  may  occur  to  you ; 
ask  her  what  you  should  do  or  say  in  such  or  such  cases ; 
she  has  Vusage  du  monde  en  perfection,  and  will  help  you  to 
acquire  it.  Madame  de  Berkenrode  est  paitrie  de  graces, 
and  your  quotation  is  very  applicable  to  her.  You  may  be 
there,  I  dare  say,  as  often  as  you  please,  and  I  would  advise 
you  to  sup  there  once  a  week. 

You  say,  very  justly,  that  as  Mr.  Harte  is  leaving  you, 
you  shall  want  advice  more  than  ever ;  you  shall  never 
want  mine ;  and  as  you  have  already  had  so  much  of  it,  I 
must  rather  repeat,  than  add  to  what  I  have  already  given 
you :  but  that  I  will  do,  and  add  to  it  occasionally,  as 
circumstances  may  require. 

At  present  I  shall  only  remind  you  of  your  two  great 
objects,  which  you  should  always  attend  to :  they  are 
Parliament  and  Foreign  affairs.  With  regard  to  the  former, 


1 9o  LORD  CHESTERFIELD fS 

you  can  do  nothing,  while  abroad,  but  attend  carefully  to 
the  purity,  correctness,  and  elegancy  of  your  diction,  the 
clearness  and  gracefulness  of  your  utterance,  in  whatever 
language  you  speak.  As  for  the  parliamentary  knowledge, 
I  will  take  care  of  that,  when  you  come  home.  With 
regard  to  foreign  affairs,  everything  you  do  abroad  may 
and  ought  to  tend  that  way.  Your  reading  should  be 
chiefly  historical;  I  do  not  mean  of  remote,  dark,  and 
fabulous  history,  still  less  of  jimcrack  natural  history  of 
fossils,  minerals,  plants,  etc.,  but  I  mean  the  useful, 
political,  and  constitutional  history  of  Europe  for  these 
last  three  centuries  and  a  half.  The  other  thing  necessary 
for  your  foreign  object,  and  not  less  necessary  than  either 
ancient  or  modern  knowledge,  is  a  great  knowledge  of  the 
world,  manners,  politeness,  address,  and  le  ton  de  la  bonne 
compagnie.  In  that  view,  keeping  a  great  deal  of  good 
company  is  the  principal  point  to  which  you  are  now  to 
attend.  It  seems  ridiculous  to  tell  you,  but  it  is  most 
certainly  true,  that  your  dancing-master  is  at  this  time  the 
man  in  all  Europe  of  the  greatest  importance  to  you.  You 
must  dance  well,  in  order  to  sit,  stand,  and  walk  well ;  and 
you  must  do  all  these  well,  in  order  to  please.  What  with 
your  exercises,  some  reading,  and  a  great  deal  of  company, 
your  day  is,  I  confess,  extremely  taken  up;  but  the  day, 
if  well  employed,  is  long  enough  for  everything ;  and  I 
am  sure  you  will  not  slattern  away  one  moment  of  it  in 
inaction.  At  your  age  people  have  strong  and  active 
spirits,  alacrity  and  vivacity  in  all  they  do ;  are  impigri, 
indefatigable,  and  quick.  The  difference  is,  that  a  young 
fellow  of  parts  exerts  all  those  happy  dispositions  in  the 
pursuit  of  proper  objects ;  endeavours  to  excel  in  the  solid 
and  in  the  showish  parts  of  life  :  whereas  a  silly  puppy  or  a 
dull  rogue  throws  away  all  his  youth  and  spirits  upon  trifles 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  191 

when  he  is  serious ;  or  upon  disgraceful  vices,  while  he 
aims  at  pleasures.  This,  I  am  sure,  will  not  be  your  case ; 
your  good  sense  and  your  good  conduct  hitherto  are  your 
guarantees  with  me  for  the  future.  Continue  only  at  Paris 
as  you  have  begun,  and  your  stay  there  will  make  you,  what 
I  have  always  wished  you  to  be,  as  near  perfection  as  our 
nature  permits. 

Adieu,  my  dear ;  remember  to  write  to  me  once  a  week, 
not  as  to  a  father,  but  without  reserve  as  to  a  friend. 


LETTER   LIX. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  Jan.  the  28th,  O.  S.  1751. 

A  BILL  for  ninety  pounds  sterling  was  brought  me  the 
other  day,  said  to  be  drawn  upon  me  by  you ;  I  scrupled 
paying  it  at  first,  not  upon  account  of  the  sum,  but 
because  you  had  sent  me  no  letter  of  advice,  which  is 
always  done  in  those  transactions;  and  still  more,  because  I 
did  not  perceive  that  you  had  signed  it.  The  person  who 
presented  it  desired  me  to  look  again,  and  that  I  should 
discover  your  name  at  the  bottom;  accordingly  I  looked 
again,  and  with  the  help  of  my  magnifying  glass  did  per- 
ceive that  what  I  had  first  taken  only  for  somebody's  mark 
was,  in  truth,  your  name,  written  in  the  worst  and  smallest 
hand  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  I  cannot  write  quite  so  ill, 

but  it  was  something  like  this,  ^/^z^ps  ^z^^^Tt'*'. 
However,  I  paid  it  at  a  venture ;  though  I  would  almost 
rather  lose  the  money,  than  that  such  a  signature  should  be 
yours.  All  gentlemen,  and  all  men  of  business,  write  their 
names  always  in  the  same  way,  that  their  signature  may 


i92  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

be  so  well  known  as  not  to  be  easily  counterfeited ;  and 
they  generally  sign  in  rather  a  larger  character  than  their 
common  hand;  whereas  your  name  was  in  a  less,  and  a 
worse,  than  your  common  writing.  This  suggested  to  me 
the  various  accidents  which  may  very  probably  happen  to 
you,  while  you  write  so  ill.  For  instance ;  if  you  were  to 
write  in  such  a  character  to  the  secretary's  office,  your 
letter  would  immediately  be  sent  to  the  decipherer,  as 
containing  matters  of  the  utmost  secrecy,  not  fit  to  be 
trusted  to  the  common  character.  If  you  were  to  write 
so  to  an  antiquarian,  he  (knowing  you  to  be  a  man  of 
learning)  would  certainly  try  it  by  the  Runic,  Celtic,  or 
Sclavonian  alphabet,  never  suspecting  it  to  be  a  modern 
character.  And  if  you  were  to  send  a  poulet  to  a  fine 
woman  in  such  a  hand,  she  would  think  that  it  really 
came  from  the  poulailler^  which,  by-the-by,  is  the 
etymology  of  the  word,  poulet ;  for  Henry  the  Fourth  of 
France  used  to  send  billets-doux  to  his  mistresses,  by  his 
poulailler,  under  pretence  of  sending  them  chickens ; 
which  gave  the  name  of  poukts  to  those  short,  but 
expressive  manuscripts.  I  have  often  told  you  that  every 
man  who  has  the  use  of  his  eyes  and  of  his  hand  can 
write  whatever  hand  he  pleases;  and  it  is  plain  that  you 
can,  since  you  write  both  the  Greek  and  German  characters, 
which  you  never  learned  of  a  writing-master,  extremely 
well,  though  your  common  hand,  which  you  learned  of 
a  master,  is  an  exceeding  bad  and  illiberal  one,  equally 
unfit  for  business  or  common  use.  I  do  not  desire  that 
you  should  write  the  laboured,  stiff  character  of  a  writing- 
master :  a  man  of  business  must  write  quick  and  well, 
and  that  depends  singly  upon  use.  I  would  therefore 
advise  you  to  get  some  very  good  writing-master  at  Paris, 
and  apply  to  it  for  a  month  only,  which  will  be  sufficient ; 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  193 

for,  upon  my  word,  the  writing  of  a  genteel  plain  hand 
of  business  is  of  much  more  importance  than  you  think. 
You  will  say,  it  may  be,  that  when  you  write  so  very  ill, 
it  is  because  you  are  in  a  hurry :  to  which  I  answer,  Why 
are  you  ever  in  a  hurry?  a  man  of  sense  may  be  in 
haste,  but  can  never  be  in  a  hurry,  because  he  knows, 
that  whatever  he  does  in  a  hurry  he  must  necessarily  do 
very  ill.  He  may  be  in  haste  to  dispatch  an  affair,  but 
he  will  take  care  not  to  let  that  haste  hinder  his  doing 
it  well.  Little  minds  are  in  a  hurry,  when  the  object 
proves  (as  it  commonly  does)  too  big  for  them ;  they  run, 
they  hare,  they  puzzle,  confound,  and  perplex  themselves ; 
they  want  to  do  everything  at  once,  and  never  do  it  at 
all.  But  a  man  of  sense  takes  the  time  necessary  for 
doing  the  thing  he  is  about,  well;  and  his  haste  to 
dispatch  a  business,  only  appears  by  the  continuity  of  his 
application  to  it:  he  pursues  it  with  a  cool  steadiness, 
and  finishes  it  before  he  begins  any  other.  I  own  your 
time  is  much  taken  up,  and  you  have  a  great  many 
different  things  to  do ;  but  remember  that  you  had  much 
better  do  half  of  them  well,  and  leave  the  other  half 
undone,  than  do  them  all  indifferently.  Moreover,  the 
few  seconds  that  are  saved  in  the  course  of  the  day,  by 
writing  ill  instead  of  well,  do  not  amount  to  an  object 
of  time,  by  any  means  equivalent  to  the  disgrace  or 
ridicule  of  writing  the  scrawl  of  a  common  whore.  Con- 
sider, that  if  your  very  bad  writing  could  furnish  me  with 
matter  of  ridicule,  what  will  it  not  do  to  others,  who  dc 
not  view  you  in  that  partial  light  that  I  do.  There  was 
a  Pope,  I  think  it  was  Pope  Chigi,  who  was  justly  ridiculed 
for  his  attention  to  little  things,  and  his  inability  in  great 
ones ;  and  therefore  called  maximus  in  minimi's,  and 
minimus  in  maximi*.  Why?  Because  he  attended  to 


i94  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

little  things,  when  he  had  great  ones  to  do.  At  this 
particular  period  of  your  life,  and  at  the  place  you  are 
now  in,  you  have  only  little  things  to  do ;  and  you  should 
make  it  habitual  to  you  to  do  them  well,  that  they  may 
require  no  attention  from  you  when  you  have,  as  I  hope 
you  will  have,  greater  things  to  mind.  Make  a  good 
handwriting  familiar  to  you  now,  that  you  may  hereafter 
have  nothing  but  your  matter  to  think  of,  when  you 
have  occasion  to  write  to  Kings  and  Ministers.  Dance, 
dress,  present  yourself  habitually  well  now,  that  you  may 
have  none  of  those  little  things  to  think  of  hereafter,  and 
which  will  be  all  necessary  to  be  done  well  occasionally, 
when  you  will  have  greater  things  to  do. 

As  I  am  eternally  thinking  of  everything  that  can  be 
relative  to  you,  one  thing  has  occurred  to  me,  which  I 
think  necessary  to  mention,  in  order  to  prevent  the  diffi- 
culties which  it  might  otherwise  lay  you  under :  it  is  this ; 
as  you  get  more  acquaintances  at  Paris,  it  will  be  impossible 
for  you  to  frequent  your  first  acquaintances  so  much  as  you 
did,  while  you  had  no  others.  As,  for  example,  at  your 
first  debu^  I  suppose,  you  were  chiefly  at  Madame  Mon- 
conseil's,  Lady  Hervey's,  and  Madame  du  Boccage's. 
Now  that  you  have  got  so  many  other  houses,  you  cannot 
be  at  theirs  so  often  as  you  used ;  but  pray  take  care  not 
to  give  them  the  least  reason  to  think  that  you  neglect  or 
despise  them  for  the  sake  of  new  and  more  dignified  and 
shining  acquaintances ;  which  would  be  ungrateful  and 
imprudent  on  your  part,  and  never  forgiven  on  theirs. 
Call  upon  them  often,  though  you  do  not  stay  with  them 
so  long  as  formerly ;  tell  them  that  you  are  sorry  you  are 
obliged  to  go  away,  but  that  you  have  such  and  such 
engagements,  with  which  good  breeding  obliges  you  to 
comply;  and  insinuate  that  you  would  rather  stay  with 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  195 

them.  In  short,  take  care  to  make  as  many  personal 
friends,  and  as  few  personal  enemies,  as  possible.  I  do 
not  mean,  by  personal  friends,  intimate  and  confidential 
friends,  of  which  no  man  can  hope  to  have  half-a-dozen  in 
the  whole  course  of  his  life,  but  I  mean  friends  in  the 
common  acceptation  of  the  word,  that  is,  people  who 
speak  well  of  you,  and  who  would  rather  do  you  good 
than  harm,  consistently  with  their  own  interest,  and  no 
further.  Upon  the  whole,  I  recommend  to  you  again  and 
again  les  gr&ces.  Adorned  by  them,  you  may,  in  a  manner, 
do  what  you  please  ;  it  will  be  approved  of :  without  them, 
your  best  qualities  will  lose  half  their  efficacy.  Endeavour 
to  be  fashionable  among  the  French,  which  will  soon  make 
you  fashionable  here.  Monsieur  de  Matignon  already 
calls  you  le  petit  Francois.  If  you  can  get  that  name 
generally  at  Paris,  it  will  put  you  &  la  mode.  Adieu,  my 
dear  child 


LETTER  LX. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  Feb.  the  28th,  O.  S.  1751. 

THIS  epigram  in  Martial, 

"  Non  amo  te,  Sabidi,  nee  possum  dicere  quare, 
Hoc  tantum  possum  dicere,  non  amo  te  ; >M 

has  puzzled  a  great  many  people ;  who  cannot  conceive  how 
it  is  possible  not  to  love  anybody,  and  yet  not  to  know  the 
reason  why.  I  think  I  conceive  Martial's  meaning  very 
clearly,  though  the  nature  of  epigram,  which  is  to  be  short, 

*  "  I  do  not  love  thee,  Dr.  Fell  ; 
The  reason  why,  I  cannot  tell  ; 
But  this  I'm  sure  I  know  full  well, 
I  do  not  love  thee,  Dr.  Fell.  "—Anon. 


i9b  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

would  not  allow  him  to  explain  it  more  fully ;   and  I  take  it 
to  be  this  :   O  Sabidis,  you  arc  a  very  worthy  deserving  man  ; 
you  have  a  thousand  good  qualities,  you  have  a  great  deal  of 
learning  :    I  esteem,  I  respect,  but  for  the  soul  of  me  I  cannot 
love,  you,  though  I  cannot  particularly  say   why.      You  are 
not  aimable  ;  you  have  not  those  engaging  manners,   those 
pleasing  attentions,  those  graces,  and  thai  address,  which  are 
absolutely  necessary  to  please,  though  impossible  to  define.     I 
cannot  say  it  is  this  or  that  particular  thing  that  hinders  me 
from  loving  you,  it  is  the  whole  together;  and  upon  the  whole 
you  are  not  agreeable.     How  often  have  I,  in  the  course  of 
my  life,  found  myself  in  this  situation,  with  regard  to  many 
of  my  acquaintance,  whom  I  have  honoured  and  respected, 
without  being  able  to  love  !     I  did  not  know  why,  because, 
when  one  is  young,  one  does  not   take  the  trouble,  nor 
allow  one's  self  the  time,  to  analyse  one's  sentiments,  and 
to  trace  them  up  to  their  source.     But  subsequent  observa- 
tion and  reflection  have  taught  me  why. — There  is  a  man, 
whose  moral  character,  deep  learning,  and  superior  parts, 
I  acknowledge,   admire,   and  respect ;    but   whom  it  is  so 
impossible  for  me  to  love,  that   I   am   almost  in  a  fever 
whenever  I  am  in  his  company.     His  figure  (without  being 
deformed)  seems  made  to  disgrace  or  ridicule  the  common 
structure  of  the  human  body.     His  legs  and  arms  are  never 
in   the   position   which,   according  to  the   situation  of  his 
body,  they  ought  to  be  in ;    but  constantly  employed  in 
committing  acts  of  hostility  upon  the  graces.     He  throws 
anywhere,    but   down    his   throat,    whatever   he   means   to 
drink;  and  only  mangles  what  he  means  to  carve.     Inatten- 
tive to  all  the  regards  of  social  life,  he  mistimes  or  misplaces 
everything.      He  disputes  with  heat,  and  indiscriminately; 
mindless  of  the  rank,  character,  and  situation  of  those  with 
whom   he    disputes:    absolutely    ignorant   of    the   several 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  197 

gradations  of  familiarity  or  respect,  he  is  exactly  the  same  to 
his  superiors,  his  equals,  and  his  inferiors;  and  therefore,  by 
a  necessary  consequence,  absurd  to  two  of  the  three.  Is  it 
possible  to  love  such  a  man  ?  No.  The  utmost  I  can  do 
for  him,  is  to  consider  him  as  a  respectable  Hottentot. 

I  remember,  that  when  I  came  from  Cambridge,  I  had 
acquired,  among  the  pedants  of  that  illiberal  seminary,  a 
sauciness  of  literature,  a  turn  to  satire  and  contempt,  and  a 
strong  tendency  to  argumentation  and  contradiction.  But 
I  had  been  but  a  very  little  while  in  the  world,  before  1 
found  that  this  would  by  no  means  do ;  and  I  immediately 
adopted  the  opposite  character :  1  concealed  what  learning 
I  had;  I  applauded  often,  without  approving;  and  I 
yielded  commonly,  without  conviction.  Suaviter  in  modo 
was  my  Law  and  my  Prophets ;  and  if  I  pleased  (between 
you  and  me)  it  was  much  more  owing  to  that  than  to  any 
superior  knowledge  or  merit  of  my  own.  A  propos^  the 
word  pleasing  puts  one  always  in  mind  of  Lady  Hervey : 
pray  tell  her  that  I  declare  her  responsible  to  me  for  your 
pleasing ;  that  I  consider  her  as  a  pleasing  Falstaff,  who  not 
only  pleases  herself,  but  is  the  cause  of  pleasing  in  others : 
that  I  know  she  can  make  anything  of  anybody ;  and  that, 
as  your  governess,  if  she  does  not  make  you  please,  it  must 
be  only  because  she  will  not,  and  not  because  she  cannot. 
I  hope  you  are,  du  bois  dont  on  en  fait ;  and  if  so,  she  is  so 
good  a  sculptor,  that  1  am  sure  she  can  give  you  whatever 
form  she  pleases.  A  versatility  of  manners  is  as  necessary 
in  social,  as  a  versatility  of  parts  is  in  political,  life.  One 
must  often  yield  in  order  to  prevail;  one  must  humble 
one's  self  to  be  exalted ;  one  must,  like  St.  Paul,  become  all 
things  to  all  men  to  gain  some ;  and  (by  'the  way)  men  are 
taken  by  the  same  means,  mutatis  mutandis,  that  women 
are  gained ;  by  gentleness,  insinuation,  and  submission : 


i98  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

and  these  lines  of  Mr.  Dryden's  will  hold  to  a  Minister  as 
well  as  to  a  Mistress  : 

"  The  prostrate  lover,  when  he  lowest  lies, 
But  stoops  to  conquer,  and  but  kneels  to  rise.' 

In  the  course  of  the  world,  the  qualifications  of  the 
cameleon  are  often  necessary ;  nay,  they  must  be  carried  a 
little  farther,  and  exerted  a  little  sooner ;  for  you  should,  to 
a  certain  degree,  take  the  hue  of  either  the  man  or  the 
woman  that  you  want,  and  wish  to  be  upon  terms  with.  A 
propos,  Have  you  yet  found  out  at  Paris  any  friendly  and 
hospitable  Madame  de  Lursay,  qui  veut  bien  se  charger  du 
soin  de  vous  eduquerl  And  have  you  had  any  occasion  of 
representing  to  her,  qifellc  faisoit  done  des  nceudsf  But  I 
ask  your  pardon,  Sir,  for  the  abruptness  of  the  question, 
and  acknowledge  that  I  am  meddling  with  matters  that  are 
out  of  my  department.  However,  in  matters  of  less 
importance  I  desire  to  be,  de  vos  secrets  le  fidlle  depositaire. 
Trust  me  with  the  general  turn  and  colour  of  your  amuse- 
ments at  Paris.  Is  it  le  fracas  du  grand  mondet  comedies^ 
bals,  operas^  cour,  etc.?  Or  is  it  des  petites  societes  moins 
brulantes  mats  pas  pour  cela  moins  agreables  ?  Where  are 
you  the  most  etablil  Where  are  you  le  petit  Stanhope  1 
Voyez-vous  encore  jour  a  quelque  arrangement  honntiel — 
Have  you  made  many  acquaintances  among  the  young 
Frenchmen  who  ride  at  your  Academy ;  and  who  are  they  ? 
Send  me  this  sort  of  chit-chat  in  your  letters,  which,  by-the- 
by,  I  wish  you  would  honour  me  with  somewhat  oftener. 
If  you  frequent  any  of  the  myriads  of  polite  Englishmen 
who  infest  Paris,  who  are  they  ?  Have  you  finished  with 
Abbe  Nolet,  and  are  you  au  fait  of  all  the  properties  and 
effects  of  air  ?  Were  I  inclined  to  quibble,  I  would  say 
that  the  effects  of  air,  at  least,  are  best  to  be  learned  of 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  199 

Marcel.  If  you  have  quite  done  with  PAbb£  Nolet,  ask  my 
friend  l'Abb£  Sallier  to  recommend  to  you  some  meagre 
philomath,  to  teach  you  a  little  geometry  and  astronomy, 
not  enough  to  absorb  your  attention  and  puzzle  your  intel- 
lects, but  only  enough  not  to  be  grossly  ignorant  of  either. 
I  have  of  late  been  a  sort  of  an  astronome  malgre  moi,  by 
bringing  last  Monday,  into  the  House  of  Lords,  a  bill  for 
reforming  our  present  Calendar,  and  taking  the  New  Style. 
Upon  which  occasion  I  was  obliged  to  talk  some  astro- 
nomical jargon,  of  which  I  did  not  understand  one  word, 
but  got  it  by  heart,  and  spoke  it  by  rote  from  a  master.  I 
wished  that  I  had  known  a  little  more  of  it  myself;  and 
so  much  I  would  have  you  know.  But  the  great  and 
necessary  knowledge  of  all  is,  to  know  yourself  and  others : 
this  knowledge  requires  great  attention  and  long  experi- 
ence; exert  the  former,  and  may  you  have  the  latter! 
Adieu. 

P.S. — I  have  this  moment  received  your  letters  of  the 
27th  February,  and  the  2nd  March,  N.  S.  The  seal  shall 
be  done  as  soon  as  possible.  I  am  glad  that  you  are 
employed  in  Lord  Albemarle's  bureau ;  it  will  teach  you,  at 
least,  the  mechanical  part  of  that  business,  such  as  folding, 
entering,  and  docketing  letters;  for  you  must  not  imagine 
that  you  are  let  into  \htfinfin  of  the  correspondence,  nor 
indeed  is  it  fit  that  you  should  at  your  age.  However,  use 
yourself  to  secrecy  as  to  the  letters  you  either  read  or  write, 
that  in  time  you  may  be  trusted  with  secret,  very  secret, 
separate,  apart,  etc.  I  am  sorry  that  this  business 
interferes  with  your  riding;  I  hope  it  is  but  seldom;  but 
I  insist  upon  its  not  interfering  with  your  dancing-master, 
who  is  at  this  time  the  most  useful  and  necessary  of  all  the 
masters  you  have  or  can  have. 


200  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 


LETTER  LXI. 

MY  DEAR   FRIEND,  London,  March  the  i8th,  O.  S.  1751. 

I  ACQUAINTED  you  in  a  former  letter,  that  I  had  brought 
a  bill  into  the  House  of  Lords  for  correcting  and  reforming 
our  present  calendar,  which  is  the  Julian ;  and  for  adopt- 
ing the  Gregorian.  I  will  now  give  you  a  more  particular 
account  of  that  affair ;  from  which  reflections  will  naturally 
occur  to  you,  that  I  hope  may  be  useful,  and  which  I  fear 
you  have  not  made.  It  was  notorious  that  the  Julian 
calendar  was  erroneous,  and  had  overcharged  the  solar 
year  with  eleven  days.  Pope  Gregory  the  i3th  corrected 
this  error  ;  his  reformed  calendar  was  immediately  received 
by  all  the  Catholic  Powers  of  Europe,  and  afterwards 
adopted  by  all  the  Protestant  ones,  except  Russia,  Sweden, 
and  England.  It  was  not,  in  my  opinion,  very  honourable 
for  England  to  remain  in  a  gross  and  avowed  error, 
especially  in  such  company;  the  inconveniency  of  it  was 
likewise  felt  by  all  those  who  had  foreign  correspondences, 
whether  political  or  mercantile.  I  determined,  therefore, 
to  attempt  the  reformation ;  I  consulted  the  best  lawyers, 
and  the  most  skilful  astronomers,  and  we  cooked  up  a  bill 
for  that  purpose.  But  then  my  difficulty  began:  I  was 
to  bring  in  this  bill,  which  was  necessarily  composed  of 
law  jargon  and  astronomical  calculations,  to  both  which 
I  am  an  utter  stranger.  However,  it  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  make  the  House  of  Lords  think  that  I  knew 
something  of  the  matter ;  and  also  to  make  them  believe 
that  they  knew  something  of  it  themselves,  which  they 
do  not.  For  my  own  part,  I  could  just  as  soon 
have  talked  Celtic  or  Sclavonian  to  them,  as  astronomy, 
and  they  would  have  understood  me  full  as  well:  so  I 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  201 

resolved  to  do  better  than  speak  to  the  purpose,  and  to 
please  instead  of  informing  them.  I  gave  them,  there- 
fore, only  an  historical  account  of  calendars,  from  the 
Egyptian  down  to  the  Gregorian,  amusing  them  now  and 
then  with  little  episodes ;  but  I  was  particularly  attentive 
to  the  choice  of  my  words,  to  the  harmony  and  roundness 
of  my  periods,  to  my  elocution,  to  my  action.  This 
succeeded,  and  ever  will  succeed  ;  they  thought  I  informed, 
because  I  pleased  them :  and  many  of  them  said  that  I 
had  made  the  whole  very  clear  to  them ;  when,  God  knows, 
I  had  not  even  attempted  it.  Lord  Macclesfield,  who 
had  the  greatest  share  in  forming  the  bill,  and  who  is 
one  of  the  greatest  mathematicians  and  astronomers  in 
Europe,  spoke  afterwards  with  infinite  knowledge,  and 
all  the  clearness  that  so  intricate  a  matter  would  admit 
of;  but  as  his  words,  his  periods,  and  his  utterance  were 
not  near  so  good  as  mine,  the  preference  was  most  unani- 
mously, though  most  unjustly,  given  to  me.  This  will 
ever  be  the  case ;  every  numerous  assembly  is  mob,  let 
the  individuals  who  compose  it  be  what  they  will.  Mere 
reason  and  good  sense  is  never  to  be  talked  to  a  mob: 
their  passions,  their  sentiments,  their  senses,  and  their 
seeming  interests,  are  alone  to  be  applied  to.  Under- 
standing they  have  collectively  none ;  but  they  have  ears 
and  eyes,  which  must  be  flattered  and  seduced;  and  this 
can  only  be  done  by  eloquence,  tuneful  periods,  graceful 
action,  and  all  the  various  parts  of  oratory. 

When  you  come  into  the  House  of  Commons,  if  you 
imagine  that  speaking  plain  and  unadorned  sense  and 
reason  will  do  your  business,  you  will  find  yourself  most 
grossly  mistaken.  As  a  speaker,  you  will  be  ranked 
only  according  to  your  eloquence,  and  by  no  means 
according  to  your  matter;  everybody  knows  the  matter 


202  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

almost  alike,  but  few  can  adorn  it.  I  was  early  convinced 
of  the  importance  and  powers  of  eloquence;  and  from 
that  moment  I  applied  myself  to  it.  I  resolved  not  to 
utter  one  word,  even  in  common  conversation,  that  should 
not  be  the  most  expressive,  and  the  most  elegant,  that 
the  language  could  supply  me  with  for  that  purpose;  by 
which  means  I  have  acquired  such  a  certain  degree  of 
habitual  eloquence,  that  I  must  now  really  take  some 
pains,  if  I  would  express  myself  very  inelegantly.  I 
want  to  inculcate  this  known  truth  into  you,  which  you 
seem  by  no  means  to  be  convinced  of  yet,  That  orna- 
ments are  at  present  your  only  objects.  Your  sole  business 
now  is  to  shine,  not  to  weigh.  Weight  without  lustre 
is  lead.  You  had  better  talk  trifles  elegantly,  to  the  most 
trifling  woman,  than  coarse  inelegant  sense  to  the  most 
solid  man ;  you  had  better  return  a  dropped  fan  genteelly, 
than  give  a  thousand  pounds  awkwardly;  and  you  had 
better  refuse  a  favour  gracefully,  than  grant  it  clumsily. 
Manner  is  all,  in  everything :  it  is  by  Manner  only  that 
you  can  please,  and  consequently  rise.  All  your  Greek 
will  never  advance  you  from  Secretary  to  Envoy,  or  from 
Envoy  to  Embassador;  but  your  address,  your  manner, 
your  air,  if  good,  very  probably  may.  Marcel  can  be  of 
much  more  use  to  you  than  Aristotle.  I  would,  upon 
my  word,  much  rather  that  you  had  Lord  Bolingbroke's 
style  and  eloquence,  in  speaking  and  writing,  than  all 
the  learning  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences,  the  Royal 
Society,  and  the  two  Universities,  united. 

Having  mentioned  Lord  Bolingbroke's  style,  which  is, 
undoubtedly,  infinitely  superior  to  anybody's,  I  would 
have  you  read  his  works,  which  you  have,  over  and  over 
again,  with  particular  attention  to  his  style.  Transcribe, 
imitate,  emulate  it,  if  possible :  that  would  be  of  real  use 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  20^ 

to  you  in  the  House  of  Commons,  in  negotiations,  in 
conversation ;  with  that,  you  may  justly  hope  to  please, 
to  persuade,  to  seduce,  to  impose;  and  you  will  fail  in 
those  articles,  in  proportion  as  you  fall  short  of  it.  Upon 
the  whole,  lay  aside,  during  your  year's  residence  at  Paris, 
all  thoughts  of  all  that  dull  fellows  call  solid,  and  exert 
your  utmost  care  to  acquire  what  people  of  fashion  call 
shining.  Prenez  rtclat  et  le  brillant  <Fun  galant  homme. 

Among  the  commonly  called  little  things,  to  which  you 
do  not  attend,  your  hand-writing  is  one,  which  is  indeed 
shamefully  bad,  and  illiberal;  it  is  neither  the  hand  of 
a  man  of  business,  nor  of  a  gentleman,  but  of  a  truant 
school-boy;  as  soon,  therefore,  as  you  have  done  with 
Abb£  Nolet,  pray  get  an  excellent  writing-master,  since 
you  think  that  you  cannot  teach  yourself  to  write  what 
hand  you  please,  and  let  him  teach  you  to  write  a  genteel, 
legible,  liberal  hand,  and  quick ;  not  the  hand  of  kprocureur^ 
or  a  writing-master,  but  that  sort  of  hand  in  which  the 
first  Commis  in  foreign  bureaus  commonly  write:  for  I 
tell  you  truly,  that  were  I  Lord  Albemarle,  nothing  should 
remain  in  my  bureau  written  in  your  present  hand.  From 
hand  to  arms  the  transition  is  natural;  is  the  carriage 
and  motion  of  your  arms  so  too  ?  The  motion  of  the 
arms  is  the  most  material  part  of  a  man's  air,  especially 
in  dancing;  the  feet  are  not  near  so  material.  If  a 
man  dances  well  from  the  waist  upwards,  wears  his  hat 
well,  and  moves  his  head  properly,  he  dances  well.  Do 
the  women  say  that  you  dress  well?  for  that  is  necessary 
too  for  a  young  fellow.  Have  you  un  gofit  vif,  or  a  passion 
for  anybody?  I  do  not  ask  for  whom;  an  Iphigenia 
would  both  give  you  the  desire  and  teach  you  the  means 
to  please. 

In  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks,  you  will  see  Sir  Charles 


204  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

Hotham  at  Paris,  in  his  way  to  Toulouse,  where  he  is  to 
stay  a  year  or  two.  Pray  be  very  civil  to  him,  but  do 
not  carry  him  into  company,  except  presenting  him  to 
Lord  Albemarle;  for  as  he  is  not  to  stay  at  Paris  above 
a  week,  we  do  not  desire  that  he  should  taste  of  that 
dissipation :  you  may  show  him  a  play  and  an  opera. 
Adieu,  my  dear  child. 


LETTER  LXII. 

MY  DEAR   FRIEND,  London,  May  the  6th,  O,  S.  1751. 

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.  Con- 
sidering 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  inelegancy,  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,  address,  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 :  and  till  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 :  Sans  flatterie,  fat  fhonneur  de 
vous  assurer  que  Monsieur  Stanhope  reussit  id  au  de  la  de 
ce  qdon  attendroit  d?une  personne  de  son  age ;  il  voit  trts- 
bonne  compagnie^  et  ce  petit  ton  qdon  regardoit  tfabord  comme 
un  peii  decide  et  un  peu  brusque^  rfest  rien  mains  que 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  205 

parce  qdil  est  Feffet  de  la  franchise^  accompagn'ee  de  la 
politesse  et  de  la  deference.  II  f'etudie  d'  plaire^  et  il  y 
teussit.  Madame  de  Puisieux  en  parloit  Vautre  jour  avec 
Complaisance  et  interet :  vous  en  serez  content  a  tons  egard*. 
This  is  extremely  well,  and  I  rejoice  at  it :  one  little  circum- 
stance only  may,  and  I  hope  will,  be  altered  for  the  better. 
Take  pains  to  undeceive  those  who  thought  that  petit  ton  un 
peu  decide  et  un  peu  brusque  ;  as  it  is  not  meant  so,  let  it  not 
appear  so.  Compose  your  countenance  to  an  air  of  gentle- 
ness and  douceur^  use  some  expressions  of  diffidence  of 
your  own  opinion,  and  deference  to  other  people's  ;  such  as, 
fil  ntest  permis  de  le  dire — -je  croirois — ne  seroit-ce  pas  plutot 
comme  cela  f  Au  mains  fat  tout  lieu  de  me  defter  de  moi- 
meme:  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  decide  et 
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,  is  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 , 

16 


206  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

and  without  further  examination,  and  possibly  with  the 
contrary  qualities,  that  man  is  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  knaves  at  last.  Do 
not  therefore  trust  to  appearances  and  outside  yourself,  but 
pay  other  people  with  them  ;  because  you  may  be  sure  that 
nine  in  ten  ot  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  blam- 
able 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  sense  is  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  fade  doucereux,  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  affectedly.  Use  palliatives  when 
you  contradict ;  such  as,  /  may  be  mistaken,  I  am  not  sure, 
but  I  believe,  I  should  rather  think,  etc.  Finish  any 
argument  or  dispute  with  some  little  good-humoured 
pleasantly,  to  show  that  you  are  neither  hurt  yourself,  nor 
meant  to  hurt  your  antagonist ;  for  an  argument,  kept  up  a 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  207 

good  while,  often  occasions  a  temporary  alienation  on  each 
side.  Pray  observe  particularly,  in  those  French  people 
who  are  distinguished  by  that  character,  cette  douceur  de 
moeurs  et  de  manilres^  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  you  than  a 
real  passion,  or,  at  least,  un  gout  vi£  for  some  woman  of 
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  Monconseil,  or  such  others  as  you  look  upon  to 
be  your  friends,  On  dit  que  fai  un  certain  petit  ton  trop 
decide  et  trop  brusque,  Fintention  pourtant  riy  est  pas; 
corrigez-moi)  je  vous  en  supplie>  et  chatiez-moi  meme  publique- 
ment  quand  vous  me  trouverez  sur  le  fait.  Ne  me  passez 
rien,  poussez  votre  critique  jusqu'd  Vexces  ;  un  juge  aussi 
eclaire  est  en  droit  d'ttre  s'evere,  et  je  vous  promets  que  le 
coupable  t&chera  de  se  corriger. 

Yesterday  I  had  two  of  your  acquaintances  to  dine  with 
me,  Baron  B.  and  his  companion  Monsieur  S.  I  cannot 
say  of  the  former,  qu'il  est  paitri  de  graces;  and  I  would 
rather  advise  him  to  go  and  settle  quietly  at  home,  than  to 
think  of  improving  himself  by  further  travels,  Ce  riestpas  le 
bois  dont  on  en  fait.  His  companion  is  much  better,  though 
he  has  a  strong  tocco  di  tedesco.  They  both  spoke  well  of 
you,  and  so  far  I  liked  them  both.  Comment  vont  nos 
affaires  avec  Vaimable  petite  Blotl  Se  prtte-t-elle  a  vos 
fleuretteS)  ttes-vous  cens'e  d'etre  sur  les  rangsl  Madame  du 

est-elle  votre  Madame  de  Lursay^  et  fait-elle  quelque- 

fois  det  nceuds  1     Seriez  vous  son  Meilcour  1    Elle.  a,  dit  on 


zoS  LORD  CHESTERFIELD* S 

de  la  douceur,  de  V esprit,  des  mantires  ;  il  y  a  b  apprendre 
dans  un  tel  apprentissage.  A  woman  like  her,  who  has 
always  pleased,  and  often  been  pleased,  can  best  teach  the 
art  of  pleasing ;  that  art,  without  which  ogni  fatica  2  vana. 
Marcel's  lectures  are  no  small  part  of  that  art ;  they  are  the 
engaging  forerunner  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  abord,  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  one's  self  but  to  others.  In  short,  my  dear  child,  neglect 
nothing  ;  a  little  more  will  complete  the  whole.  Adieu  !  I 
have  not  heard  from  you  these  three  weeks,  which  I  think  a 
great  while. 


LETTER  LXIII. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  Greenwich,  June  the  I3th,  O.  S.  1751. 

Les  biens'eances  are  a  most  necessary  part  of  the  know- 
ledge 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  recom- 
mends 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 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  209 

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  give,  the  subject  of  con- 
versation ;  and  you  must  even  take  care  that  the  given 
subject  of  such  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  be  spoken  to.  In  these  two  cases,  certain  atti- 
tudes and  actions  would  be  extremely  absurd,  because  too 
easy,  and  consequently  disrespectful.  As,  for  instance,  if 
you  were  to  put  your  arms  across  in  your  bosom,  twirl  your 
snuff-box,  trample  with  your  feet,  scratch  your  head,  etc.,  it 
would  be  shockingly  ill  bred  in  that  company  ;  and,  indeed, 
not  extremely  well  bred  in  any  other.  The  great  difficulty 
in  those  cases,  though  a  very  surmountable  one  by  atten- 
tion and  custom,  is  to  jioin  perfect  inward  ease  with  perfect 
outward  respect. 

Iifmixed  companies  with  your  equals  (for  in  mixed  com- 
panies all  people  are  to  a  certain  degree  equal)  greater  ease 
and  liberty  are  allowed ;  but  they  too  have  their  bounds 
within  bienseance.  There  is  a  social  respect  necessary:  you 
may  start  your  own  subject  of  conversation  with  modesty, 
taking  great  care,  however,  de  nejamais  parkr  de  cordes  dun.; 
la  maison  d*un  pendu.  Your  words,  gestures,  and  attitudes 


2io  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

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  bienseant  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  behaviour,  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  to,  and  a 
scrupulous    observation    of,  les  bienseances :    whatever   one 
ought  to  do  is  to  be  done  with  ease  and  unconcern ;  what- 
ever  is   improper   must   not  be   done  at   all.      In   mixed 
companies,  also,  different  ages  and  sexes  are  to  be  differ- 
ently 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  and 
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 
amiss  to  insinuate,  that  from  them  you  expect  to  learn.     It 
flatters  and  comforts  age,  for  not  being  able  to  take  a  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 
bienseance :  at  the  same  time  that  respect  is  very  properly, 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  211 

and  very  agreeably,  mixed  with  a  degree  of  enjouement^  if 
you  have  it :  but  then,  that  badinage  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  Marechale  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  the  former,  and  mere  badinage,  zeste  mtme  djun 
peu  de  polissonnerie,  is  pardonable  with  the  latter. 

Another  important  point  of  les  bienseances,  seldom  enough 
attended  to,  is,  not  to  run  your  own  present  humour  and 
disposition  indiscriminately  against  everybody :  but  to  ob- 
serve, conform  to,  and  adopt,  theirs.  For  example ;  if  you 
happened  to  be  in  high  good-humour  and  a  flow  of  spirits, 
would  you  go  and  sing  a  pont  neufy  or  cut  a  caper,  to  la 
Mardchale  de  Coigny,  the  Pope's  Nuncio,  or  Abbd  Sallier, 
or  to  any  person  of  natural  gravity  and  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  petite  Blot.  If  you  cannot  command  your  present 
humour  and  disposition,  single  out  those  to  converse  with, 
who  happen  to  be  in  the  humour  nearest  to  your  own. 

Loud  laughter  is  extremely  inconsistent  with  les  bien- 
seances,  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  bienseances  than  horse-play,  or  jeux  de 
main  of  any  kind  whatever,  and  has  often  very  serious, 
sometimes  very  fatal,  consequences.  Romping,  struggling, 
throwing  things  at  one  another's  head,  are  the  becoming 
pleasantries  of  the  mob,  but  degrade  a  gentleman ;  giuoco  di 


212  LO&D  CHESTERFIELD'S 

mano,  giuoco  di  villano,  is  a  very  true  saying,  among  the  fer 
true  sayings  of  the  Italians. 

Peremptoriness  and  decision  in  young  people  is  contraire 
aux  bienseances :  they  should  seem  to  assert,  and  always  use 
some  softening  mitigating  expression;  such  as  s'il  m'est 
permis  de  le  dire,  je  croirois  plutot,  si  fose  iriexpliquer, 
which  softens  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  bienseance  also  with  regard  to  people  of  the 
lowest  degree ;  a  gentleman  observes  it  with  his  footman, 
even  with  the  beggar  in  the  street.  He  considers  them  as 
objects  of  compassion,  not  of  insult ;  he  speaks  to  neither 
d'un  ton  brusque,  but  corrects  the  one  coolly,  and  refuses  the 
other  with  humanity.  There  is  no  one  occasion  in  the 
world,  in  which  le  ton  brusque  is  becoming  a  gentleman. 
In  short,  les  bienseances  are  another  word  for  manners,  and 
extend  to  every  part  of  life.  They  are  propriety;  the 
Graces  should  attend  ki  order  to  complete  them :  the 
Graces  enable  us  to  do,  genteelly  and  pleasingly,  what  les 
bienseances  require  to  be  done  at  all.  The  latter  are  an 
obligation  upon  every  man ;  the  former  are  an  infinite 
advantage  and  ornament  to  any  man.  May  you  unite 
both! 

Though  you  dance  well,  do  not  think  that  you  dance 
well  enough,  and  consequently  not  endeavour  to  dance  still 
better.  And  though  you  should  be  told  that  you  are 
genteel,  still  aim  at  being  genteeler.  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 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  213 

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 
moral  part,  but  even  unsullied  by  any  low,  dirty,  and 
ungentlemanlike  vice ;  and  will,  I  hope,  continue  so.  Your 
knowledge  is  sound,  extensive,  and  avowed,  especially  in 
everything  relative  to  your  destination.  With  such  mate- 
rials 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  and  your  indus- 
try ;  and,  if  I  can  help  it,  you  never  shall  have  enough  to 
make  you  negligent  of  either.  You  have,  too,  mens  sana  in 
wrpore  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  know- 
ledge of  the  world,  that  elegancy  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  to  the  greatest  things,  and  your 
parliamentary  situation  will  facilitate  your  progress ;  con- 
sider, then,  this  pleasing  prospect  as  attentively  for  yourself, 
as  I  consider  it  for  you.  Labour  on  your  part  to  realise  it, 
as  I  will  on  mine  to  assist  and  enable  you  to  do  it.  Nullum 
numen  abest,  si  sit  prudentia. 

Adieu !  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 


2i4  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

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  livres. 


LETTER  LXIV. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  June  24th,  O.  S.  1751. 

AIR,  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  of  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  philo- 
sophical 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  of  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 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  215 

by  two  or  three  years  at  least.  At  nineteen,  I  left  the 
university  of  Cambridge,  where  I  was  an  absolute  pedant : 
when  I  talked  ray  best,  I  quoted  Horace ;  when  I  aimed  at 
being  facetious,  I  quoted  Martial ;  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 
a  vanity  by  no  means  blamable),  and  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  manner,  the  address,  and 
the  turn  of  conversation  of  all  those  whom  I  found  to  be 
the  people  in  fashion,  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,  though  de  trh-mauvaise  grdce,  to 
all  the  most  fashionable  fine  ladies ;  confessed,  and  laughed 
with  them  at  my  own  awkwardness  and  rawness,  recom- 
mending 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, 


?i6  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

I  can  assure  you,  that  what  little  figure  I  have  made  in  the 
world,  has  been  much  more  owing  to  that  passionate  desire 
I  had  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  wished  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  observation  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  fashionable  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.  More- 
over, 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 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  217 

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  a 
white  feather  and  red-heeled  shoes.  Dress  is  one  of  the 
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  heart,  and  let  their  reason  do  its  worst  against  you. 
Suaviter  in  modo  is  the  great  secret.  Whenever  you  find 
yourself  engaged  insensibly  in  favour  ot  anybody,  of  no 
superior  merits  nor  distinguished  talents,  examine,  and  see 
what  it  is  that  has  made  those  impressions  upon  you  :  you 
will  find  it  to  be  that  douceur^  that  gentleness  of  manners, 
that  air  and  address,  which  I  have  so  often  recommended  to 
you;  and  from  therice  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  analyse 
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.  Adieu. 


LETTER  LXV. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  Greenwich,  July  the  I5th,  O.  S.  1751. 

As  this  is  the  last,  or  the  last  letter  but  one,  that  I  think 
I  shall  write  before  I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  here,  it 


2i8  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

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  co-operate  with  me.  Whether,  by  making  it 
wholesome,  I  shall  make  it  pleasant  to  you,  I  am  not  sure. 
Emetics  and  cathartics  I  shall  not  administer,  because  I  am 
sure  you  do  not  want  them ;  but  for  alteratives  you  must 
expect  a  great  many;  and  I  can  tell  you  that  I  have  a 
number  of  nostrums^  which  I  shall  communicate  to  nobody 
but  yourself.  To  speak  without  a  metaphor,  I  shall 
endeavour  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  admoni- 
tions 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  in  company,  nor  out  of 
humour  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  endeavour  to  give  them  you  ; 
and  I  am  sure  you  will  endeavour  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  has  not  at  your  age), 
which  few  people  will  tell  you  of,  and  some  nobody  can  tell 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  219 

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  inelegance  of  diction,  the  least  awkwardness  in 
your  dress  and  carriage,  will  not  escape  my  observation,  nor 
pass  without  amicable  correction.  Two  of  the  most  intimate 
friends  in  the  world  can  freely  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  authorise  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  them,  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  of  himself, 
that  hints  of  them  were  lost  upon  him.  He  had  a  scrag 
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  forwards  over  one  shoulder  or  the 
other.  He  took  it  into  his  head,  too,  that  he  must  occa- 
sionally dance  minuets,  because  other  people  did ;  and  he 
did  so,  not  only  extremely  ill,  but  so  awkward,  so  dis- 
jointed, so  slim,  so  meagre,  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 


220  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

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  oui 
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.  Harte  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  possibly  not  be  so  good  a  judge  of 
as  I  am,  not  having  lived  so  much  in  the  great  world. 

One  principal  topic  of  our  conversation  will  be  not  only 
the  purity  but  the  elegancy  of  the  English  language,  in  both 
which  you  are  very  deficient.  Another  will  be  the  con- 
stitution of  this  country,  which,  I  believe,  you  know  less  of 
than  of  most  other  countries  in  Europe.  Manners,  atten- 
tions, 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  com- 
municate 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  Mascow'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,  acquaint- 
ances, and  mistresses,  if  you  have  any  at  Paris,  in  such  a 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  221 

manner,  as  may  make  them  not  only  willing,  but  impatient,  to 
see  you  there  again.  Assure  them  of  your  desire  of  return- 
ing to  them ;  and  do  it  in  a  manner,  that  they  may  think 
you  in  earnest,  that  is,  avec  onction  et  une  esplce  <T  attendrisse- 
ment.  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  give 
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. 


LETTER  LXV1. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  Dec.  the  iQth,  O.  S.  1751. 

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  obliged  to  read  it  twice 


222  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

in  order  to  understand  it.  This  necessary  clearness  implies 
a  correctness,  without  excluding  an  elegancy  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,  an  elegant  simplicity,  the  result  of  care  not  of 
labour,  is  required.  Business  must  be  well,  not  affectedly, 
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.  Clarke,  to  return  him  (Mr.  Johnson)  those 
papers,  which  he  (Mr.  Smith)  had  left  some  time  ago  with 
him  (Mr.  Clarke) :  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  much  better  to  say,  the  man  who  robbed  or  killed. 
One  never  says,  the  man  or  the  woman  which.  Which  and 
that,  though  chiefly  relative  to '  things,  cannot  be  always 
used  indifferently  as  to  things ;  and  the  cv<£ovia  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  Albemarle's  messenger,  and 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  223 

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  Albemarle's  messenger, 
and  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 
honour  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  a  skilful  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  d'Ossat's  letters  are  the  true  letters  of  business; 
those  of  Monsieur  d'Avaux  are  excellent ;  Sir  William 
Temple's  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  laboured ;  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 


224  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

that  particular,  which  will  bring  ridicule  upon  you ;  for  no 
man  is  allowed  to  spell  ill.  I  wish,  too,  that  your  hand- 
writing  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  dare  say  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.  Par  negotiiS)  neque  supra^  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  vacuus,  and  idle,  when  you  have  the 
most  business.  Of  all  things  the  volto  sriolto,  and  the 
pensieri  strettt,  are  necessary.  Adieu. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  225 

LETTER  LXVII. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  February  the  I4th,  O.  S.  1752. 

IN  a  month's  time,  I  believe,  I  shall  have  the  pleasure 
of  sending  you,  and  you  will  have  the  pleasure  of  reading,  a 
work  of  Lord  Bolingbroke's,  in  two  volumes  octavo,  upon 
the  use  of  History  ;  in  several  Letters  to  Lord  Hyde,  then 
Lord  Cornbury,  It  is  now  put  into  the  press.  It  is  hard 
to  determine  whether  this  work  will  instruct  or  please  most : 
the  most  material  historical  facts,  from  the  great  era  of  the 
treaty  of  Munster,  are  touched  upon,  accompanied  by  the 
most  solid  reflections,  and  adorned  by  all  that  elegancy  of 
style,  which  was  peculiar  to  himself,  and  in  which,  if  Cicero 
equals,  he  certainly  does  not  exceed  him ;  but  every  other 
writer  falls  short  of  him.  I  would  advise  you  almost  to  get 
this  book  by  heart.  I  think  you  have  a  turn  to  history,  you 
love  it,  and  have  a  memory  to  retain  it;  this  book  will 
teach  you  the  proper  use  of  it.  Some  people  load  their 
memories,  indiscriminately,  with  historical  facts,  as  others 
do  their  stomachs  with  food;  and  bring  out  the  one,  and 
bring  up  the  other,  entirely  crude  and  undigested.  You 
will  find  in  Lord  Bolingbroke's  book,  an  infallible  specific 
against  that  epidemical  complaint. 

I  remember  a  gentleman,  who  had  read  History  in  this 
thoughtless  and  undistinguishing  manner,  and  who,  having 
travelled,  had  gone  through  the  Valteline.  He  told  me 
that  it  was  a  miserable,  poor  country,  and  therefore  it  was, 
surely,  a  great  error  in  Cardinal  Richelieu,  to  make  such  a 
rout,  and  put  France  to  so  much  expense  about  it.  Had 
my  friend  read  History  as  he  ought  to  have  done,  he  would 
have  known  that  the  great  object  of  that  great  Minister  was 
to  reduce  the  power  of  the  house  of  Austria ;  and,  in  order 


226  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S     - 

to  that,  to  cut  off  as  much  as  he  could  the  communication 
between  the  several  parts  of  their  then  extensive  dominions ; 
which  reflections  would  have  justified  the  Cardinal  to  him 
in  the  affair  of  the  Valteline.  But  it  was  easier  to  him  to 
remember  facts,  than  to  combine  and  reflect. 

One  observation  I  hope  you  will  make  in  reading  History, 
for  it  is  an  obvious  and  a  true  one.  It  is,  That  more  people 
have  made  great  figures  and  great  fortunes  in  Courts,  by 
their  exterior  accomplishments,  than  by  their  interior  quali- 
fications. Their  engaging  address,  the  politeness  of  their 
manners,  their  air,  their  turn,  hath  almost  alway  paved  the 
way  for  their  superior  abilities,  if  they  have  such  to  exert 
themselves.  They  have  been  Favourites  before  they  have 
been  Ministers.  In  courts  a  universal  gentleness  and 
douceur  dans  les  manures  is  most  absolutely  necessary :  an 
offended  fool,  or  a  slighted  valet  dc  chambre,  may  very 
possibly  do  you  more  hurt  at  Court,  than  ten  men  of  merit 
can  do  you  good.  Fools,  and  low  people,  are  always 
jealous  of  their  dignity,  and  never  forget  nor  forgive  what 
they  reckon  a  slight.  On  the  other  hand,  they  take  civility, 
and  a  little  attention,  as  a  favour ;  remember,  and  acknow- 
ledge it :  this,  in  my  mind,  is  buying  them  cheap ;  and, 
therefore,  they  are  worth  buying.  The  Prince  himself,  who 
is  rarely  the  shining  genius  of  his  Court,  esteems  you  only 
by  hearsay,  but  likes  you  by  his  senses ;  that  is,  from  your 
air,  your  politeness,  and  your  manner  of  addressing  him ;  of 
which  alone  he  is  a  judge.  There  is  a  Court  garment,  as 
well  as  a  wedding  garment,  without  which  you  will  not  be 
received.  That  garment  is  the  volto  sciolto ;  an  imposing 
air,  an  elegant  politeness,  easy  and  engaging  manners, 
universal  attention,  an  insinuating  gentleness,  and  all  those 
je  nt  sais  quoi  that  compose  the  Graces. 

I  am  this  moment  disagreeably  interrupted  by  a  letter ; 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SOtf.  **t 

not  from  you,  as  I  expected,  but  from  a  friend  of  yours  at 
Paris,  who  informs  me  that  you  have  a  fever,  which  confines 
you  at  home.  Since  you  have  a  fever,  I  am  glad  you  have 
prudence  enough  with  it,  to  stay  at  home,  and  take  care 
of  yourself;  a  little  more  prudence  might  probably  have 
prevented  it.  Your  blood  is  young,  and  consequently  hot ; 
and  you  naturally  make  a  great  deal,  by  your  good  stomach 
and  good  digestion;  you  should  therefore  necessarily 
attenuate  and  cool  it,  from  time  to  time,  by  gentle  purges 
or  by  a  very  low  diet,  for  two  or  three  days  together,  if  you 
would  avoid  fevers. — Lord  Bacon,  who  was  a  very  great 
physician,  in  both  senses  of  the  word,  hath  this  aphorism  in 
his  Essay  upon  Health,  Nihil  magis  ad  sanitatem  tribuit 
quam  crebrtK  et  domestic^  purgationes.  By  domestic^  he 
means  those  simple  uncompounded  purgatives,  which  every- 
body can  administer  to  themselves;  such  as  senna  tea, 
stewed  prunes  and  senna,  chewing  a  little  rhubarb  or 
dissolving  an  ounce  and  a  half  of  manna  in  fair  water,  with 
the  juice  of  half  a  lemon  to  make  it  palatable.  Such  gentle 
and  unconfining  evacuations  would  certainly  prevent  those 
feverish  attacks,  to  which  everybody  at  your  age  is  subject 

By  the  way,  I  do  desire  and  insist,  that  whenever,  from 
any  indisposition,  you  are  not  able  to  write  to  me  upon  the 
fixed  days,  that  Christian  shall ;  and  give  me  a  true  account 
how  you  are.  I  do  not  expect  from  him  the  Ciceronian 
epistolary  style;  but  I  will  content  myself  with  the  Swiss 
simplicity  and  truth. 

I  hope  you  extend  your  acquaintance  at  Paris,  and 
frequent  variety  of  companies;  the  only  way  of  knowing 
the  world  :  every  set  of  company  differs  in  some  particulars 
from  another ;  and  a  man  of  business  must,  in  the  course  of 
his  life,  have  to  do  with  all  sorts.  It  is  a  very  great  advan- 
tage to  know  the  languages  of  the  several  countries  one 


228  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

travels  in;  and  different  companies  may,  in  some  degree, 
be  considered  as  different  countries  :  each  hath  its  distinctive 
language,  customs,  and  manners ;  know  them  all,  and  you 
will  wonder  at  none. 

Adieu,  child.     Take  care  of  your  health ;  there  are  no 
pleasures  without  it 


LETTER  LXVIII. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  March  the  5th,  O.  S.  1752. 

As  I  have  received  no  letter  from  you  by  the  usual  post, 
I  am  uneasy  upon  account  of  your  health ;  for,  had  you 
been  well,  I  am  sure  you  would  have  written,  according  to 
your  engagement,  and  my  requisition.  You  have  not  the 
least  notion  of  any  care  of  your  health  :  but,  though  I  would 
not  have  you  be  a  valetudinarian,  I  must  tell  you,  that  the 
best  and  most  robust  health  requires  some  degree  of  atten- 
tion to  preserve.  Young  fellows,  thinking  they  have  so 
much  health  and  time  before  them,  are  very  apt  to  neglect 
or  lavish  both,  and  beggar  themselves  before  they  are 
aware  :  whereas  a  prudent  economy  in  both,  would  make 
them  rich  indeed ;  and  so  far  from  breaking  in  upon  their 
pleasures,  would  improve  and  almost  perpetuate  them.  Be 
you  wiser ;  and,  before  it  is  too  late,  manage  both  with  care 
and  frugality;  and  lay  out  neither,  but  upon  good  interest 
and  security. 

I  will  now  confine  myself  to  the  employment  of  your 
time,  which,  though  I  have  often  touched  upon  formerly,  is 
a  subject  that,  from  its  importance,  will  bear  repetition. 
You  have,  it  is  true,  a  great  deal  of  time  before  you ;  but, 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  229 

in  this  period  of  your  life,  one  hour  usefully  employed  may 
be  worth  more  than  four-and-twenty  hereafter  ;  a  minute  is 
precious  to  you  now,  whole  days  may  possibly  not  be  so 
forty  years  hence.  Whatever  time  you  allow  or  can  snatch 
for  serious  reading  (I  say  snatch,  because  company,  and  the 
knowledge  of  the  world,  is  now  your  chief  object),  employ 
it  in  the  reading  of  some  one  book,  and  that  a  good  one, 
till  you  have  finished  it :  and  do  not  distract  your  mind 
with  various  matters  at  the  same  time.  In  this  light  I 
would  recommend  to  you  to  read  toute  de  suite  Grotius  de 
Jure  Belli  et  Pacis^  translated  by  Barbeyrac,  and  Puflfen- 
dorf's  Jus  Gentium,  translated  by  the  same  hand.  For 
accidental  quarters  of  hours,  read  works  of  invention,  wit, 
and  humour,  of  the  best,  and  not  of  trivial,  authors,  either 
ancient  or  modern. 

Whatever  business  you  have,  do  it  the  first  moment  you 
can ;  never  by  halves,  but  finish  it  without  interruption,  if 
possible.  Business  must  not  be  sauntered  and  trifled  with; 
and  you  must  not  say  to  it,  as  Felix  did  to  Paul,  "at  a 
more  convenient  season  I  will  speak  to  thee."  The  most 
convenient  season  for  business  is  the  first ;  but  study  and 
business,  in  some  measure,  point  out  their  own  times  to  a 
man  of  sense;  time  is  much  oftener  squandered  away  in 
the  wrong  choice  and  improper  methods  of  amusement  and 
pleasures. 

Many  people  think  that  they  are  in  pleasures,  provided 
they  are  neither  in  study  nor  in  business.  Nothing  like  it ; 
they  are  doing  nothing,  and  might  just  as  well  be  asleep. 
They  contract  habitudes  from  laziness,  and  they  only 
frequent  those  places  where  they  are  free  from  all  restraints 
and  attentions.  Be  upon  your  guard  against  this  idle 
profusion  of  time  :  and  let  every  place  you  go  to  be  either 
the  scene  of  quick  and  lively  pleasures,  or  the  school  of 


230  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

your  improvements  :  let  every  company  you  go  into,  either 
gratify  your  senses,  extend  your  knowledge,  or  refine  your 
manners.  Have  some  decent  object  of  gallantry  in  view  at 
some  places  ;  frequent  others,  where  people  of  wit  and  taste 
assemble ;  get  into  others,  where  people  of  superior  rank 
and  dignity  command  respect  and  attention  from  the  rest 
of  the  company;  but  pray  frequent  no  neutral  places,  from 
mere  idleness  and  indolence.  Nothing  forms  a  young  man 
so  much  as  being  used  to  keep  respectable  and  superior 
company,  where  a  constant  regard  and  attention  is  neces- 
sary. It  is  true,  this  is  at  first  a  disagreeable  state  of 
restraint ;  but  it  soon  grows  habitual,  and  consequently 
easy ;  and  you  are  amply  paid  for  it,  by  the  improvement 
you  make,  and  the  credit  it  gives  you.  What  you  said 
some  time  ago  was  very  true,  concerning  le  Palais  Royal ; 
to  one  of  your  age  the  situation  is  disagreeable  enough; 
you  cannot  expect  to  be  much  taken  notice  of ;  but  all  that 
time  you  can  take  notice  of  others  ;  observe  their  manners, 
decipher  their  characters,  and  insensibly  you  will  become 
one  of  the  company. 

All  this  I  went  through  myself,  when  I  was  of  your  age. 
I  have  sat  hours  in  company,  without  being  taken  the  least 
notice  of;  but  then  I  took  notice  of  them,  and  learned,  in 
their  company,  how  to  behave  myself  better  in  the  next,  till 
by  degrees  I  became  part  of  the  best  companies  myself. 
But  I  took  great  care  not  to  lavish  away  my  time  in  those 
companies,  where  there  were  neither  quick  pleasures  nor 
useful  improvements  to  be  expected. 

Sloth,  indolence,  and  mollessc  are  pernicious  and  unbe- 
coming a  young  fellow;  let  them  be  your  ressource  forty 
years  hence  at  soonest.  Determine,  at  all  events  and 
however  disagreeable  it  may  be  to  you  in  some  respects, 
and  for  some  time,  to  keep  the  most  distinguished  and 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  231 

fashionable  company  of  the  place  you  are  at,  either  for  their 
rank,  or  for  their  learning,  or  le  bel  esprit  et  le  gout.  This 
gives  you  credentials  to  the  best  companies,  wherever  you 
go  afterwards.  Pray,  therefore,  no  indolence,  no  laziness ; 
but  employ  every  minute  of  your  life  in  active  pleasures  or 
useful  employments.  Address  yourself  to  some  woman  ot 
fashion  and  beauty,  wherever  you  are,  and  try  how  far 
that  will  go.  If  the  place  be  not  secured  beforehand, 
and  garrisoned,  nine  times  in  ten  you  will  take  it.  By 
attentions  and  respect,  you  may  always  get  into  the  highest 
company;  and  by  some  admiration  and  applause,  whether 
merited  or  not,  you  may  be  sure  of  being  welcome  among 
Ies  savants  et  ies  beaux  esprits.  There  are  but  these  three 
sorts  of  company  for  a  young  fellow;  there  being  neither 
pleasure  nor  profit  in  any  other. 

My  uneasiness  with  regard  to  your  health,  is  this  moment 
removed  by  your  letter  of  the  8th,  N.  S.,  which,  by  what 
accident  I  do  not  know,  I  did  not  receive  before. 

I  long  to  read  Voltaire's  Rome  Sauvee>  which,  by  the  very 
faults  that  your  severe  critics  find  with  it,  I  am  sure  I  shall 
like ;  for  I  will,  at  any  time,  give  up  a  good  deal  of 
regularity  for  a  great  deal  of  brillant ;  and  for  the  brillant^ 
surely  nobody  is  equal  to  Voltaire.  Catiline's  conspiracy  is 
an  unhappy  subject  for  a  tragedy;  it  is  too  single,  and 
gives  no  opportunity  to  the  poet  to  excite  any  of  the 
tender  passions ;  the  whole  is  one  intended  act  of  horror. 
Cr^billon  was  sensible  of  this  defect,  and  to  create  another 
interest,  most  absurdly  made  Catiline  in  love  with  Cicero's 
daughter,  and  her  with  him. 

I  am  very  glad  you  went  to  Versailles,  and  dined  with 
Monsieur  de  St.  Contest.  That  is  company  to  learn  Ies 
bonnes  man&res  in;  and  it  seems  you  had  Ies  bons  morceaux 
into  the  bargain.  Though  you  were  no  part  of  the  King 


232  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

of  France's  conversation  with  the  foreign  ministers,  and 
probably  not  much  entertained  with  it ;  do  you  think  that 
this  is  not  very  useful  to  you  to  hear  it,  and  to  observe  the 
turn  and  manners  of  people  of  that  sort  ?  It  is  extremely 
useful  to  know  it  well.  The  same  in  the  next  rank  of 
people,  such  as  ministers  of  state,  etc.,  in  whose  company, 
though  you  cannot  yet,  at  your  age,  bear  a  part,  and 
consequently  be  diverted,  you  will  observe  and  learn,  what 
hereafter  it  may  be  necessary  for  you  to  act. 

Tell  Sir  John  Lambert  that  I  have  this  day  fixed  Mr. 
Spencer's  having  his  credit  upon  him  ;  Mr.  Hoare  had  also 
recommended  him.  I  believe  Mr.  Spencer  will  set  out  next 
month  for  some  place  in  France,  but  not  Paris.  I  am  sure 
he  wants  a  great  deal  of  France,  for  at  present  he  is  most 
entirely  English ;  and  you  know  very  well  what  I  think  of 
that.  And  so  we  bid  you  heartily  good-night. 


LETTER  LXIX. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  April  the  I3th,  O.  S.  1752. 

I  RECEIVED  this  moment  your  letter  of  the  igth,  N.  S., 
with  the  enclosed  pieces  relative  to  the  present  dispute 
between  the  King  and  the  Parliament.  I  shall  return  them 
by  Lord  Huntingdon,  whom  you  will  soon  see  at  Paris, 
and  who  will  likewise  carry  you  the  piece,  which  I  forgot 
in  making  up  the  packet  I  sent  you  by  the  Spanish 
Ambassador.  The  representation  of  the  Parliament  is  very 
well  drawn,  suavitir  in  modo>  fortiter  in  re.  They  tell  the 
King  very  respectfully,  that  in  a  certain  case,  which  they 
should  think  it  criminal  to  suppose^  they  would  not  obey  him 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  233 

This  hath  a  tendency  to  what  we  call  here  revolution 
principles.  I  do  not  know  what  the  Lord's  anointed,  his 
vicegerent  upon  earth,  divinely  appointed  by  him,  and 
accountable  to  none  but  him  for  his  actions,  will  either 
think  or  do,  upon  these  symptoms  of  reason  and  good 
sense,  which  seem  to  be  breaking  out  all  over  France  ;  but 
this  I  foresee,  that  before  the  end  of  this  century,  the  trade 
of  both  King  and  Priest  will  not  be  half  so  good  a  one  as  it 
has  been.  Du  Clos,  in  his  reflections,  hath  observed,  and 
very  truly,  qu'il  y  a  un  germe  de  raison  qui  commence  &  se 
developper  en  France.  A  developpement  that  must  prove 
fatal  to  Regal  and  Papal  pretensions.  Prudence  may,  in 
many  cases,  recommend  an  occasional  submission  to  either; 
but  when  that  ignorance,  upon  which  an  implicit  faith  in 
both  could  only  be  founded,  is  once  removed,  God's 
Vicegerent,  and  Christ's  Vicar,  will  only  be  obeyed  and 
believed,  as  far  as  what  the  one  orders,  and  the  other  says, 
is  conformable  to  reason  and  to  truth. 

I  am  very  glad  (to  use  a  vulgar  expression)  that  you  make 
as  if  you  were  not  well,  though  you  really  are ;  I  am  sure  it 
is  the  likeliest  way  to  keep  so.  Pray  leave  off  entirely  your 
greasy,  heavy  pastry,  fat  creams,  and  indigestible  dumplings; 
and  then  you  need  not  confine  yourself  to  white  meats, 
which  I  do  not  take  to  be  one  jot  wholesomer  than  beef, 
mutton,  and  partridge. 

Voltaire  sent  me  from  Berlin  his  History  du  Sftcle  de 
Louis  XIV.  It  came  at  a  very  proper  time;  Lord 
Bolingbroke  had  just  taught  me  how  History  should  be 
read;  Voltaire  shows  me  how  it  should  be  written.  I 
am  sensible  that  it  will  meet  with  almost  as  many  critica  as 
readers.  Voltaire  must  be  criticised  :  besides,  every  man's 
favourite  is  attacked;  for  every  prejudice  is  exposed,  and 
our  prejudices  are  our  mistresses :  reason  is  at  best  our 


234  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

wife,  very  often  heard  indeed,  but  seldom  minded.  It  is 
the  history  of  the  human  understanding,  written  by  a  man 
of  parts,  for  the  use  of  men  of  parts.  Weak  minds  will  not 
like  it,  even  though  they  do  not  understand  it ;  which  is 
commonly  the  measure  of  their  admiration.  Dull  ones  will 
want  those  minute  and  uninteresting  details,  with  which 
most  other  histories  are  encumbered.  He  tells  me  all  I 
want  to  know,  and  nothing  more.  His  reflections  are  short, 
just,  and  produce  others  in  his  readers.  Free  from 
religious,  philosophical,  political,  and  national  prejudices, 
beyond  any  historian  I  ever  met  with,  he  relates  all  those 
matters  as  truly  and  as  impartially  as  certain  regards,  which 
must  always  be  to  some  degree  observed,  will  allow  him  : 
for  one  sees  plainly,  that  he  often  says  much  less  than  he 
would  say,  if  he  might.  He  hath  made  me  much  better 
acquainted  with  the  times  of  Lewis  XIV.  than  the  innumer- 
able volumes  which  I  had  read  could  do ;  and  hath  sug- 
gested this  reflection  to  me,  which  I  had  never  made  before 
— His  vanity,  not  his  knowledge,  made  him  encourage  all, 
and  introduce  many  arts  and  sciences  in  his  country.  He 
opened  in  a  manner  the  human  understanding  in  France, 
and  brought  it  to  its  utmost  perfection ;  his  age  equalled  in 
all,  and  greatly  exceeded  in  many  things  (pardon  me, 
pedants !)  the  Augustan.  This  was  great  and  rapid ;  but 
still  it  might  be  done,  by  the  encouragement,  the  applause, 
and  the  rewards  of  a  vain,  liberal,  and  magnificent  Prince. 
What  is  much  more  surprising,  is,  that  he  stopped  the 
operations  of  the  human  mind,  just  where  he  pleased  ;  and 
seemed  to  say,  "thus  far  shalt  thou  go,  and  no  farther." 
For,  a  bigot  to  his  religion,  and  jealous  of  his  power,  free 
and  rational  thoughts  upon  either  never  entered  into  a 
French  head  during  his  reign ;  and  the  greatest  geniuses 
that  ever  any  age  produced  never  entertained  a  doubt  of  the 


LETTERS  TO  /fIS  SON.  235 

divine  right  of  Kings,  or  the  infallibility  of  the  Church. 
Poets,  Orators,  and  Philosophers,  ignorant  of  their  natural 
rights,  cherished  their  chains ;  and  blind  active  faith 
triumphed,  in  those  great  minds,  over  silent  and  passive 
reason.  The  reverse  of  this  seems  now  to  be  the  case  in 
France :  reason  opens  itself;  fancy  and  invention  fade  and 
decline. 

I  will  send  you  a  copy  of  this  history  by  Lord  Hunting- 
don, as  I  think  it  very  probable  that  it  is  not  allowed  to  be 
published  and  sold  at  Paris.  Pray  read  it  more  than  once, 
and  with  attention,  particularly  the  second  volume ;  which 
contains  short  but  very  clear  accounts  of  many  very 
interesting  things,  which  are  talked  of  by  everybody,  though 
fairly  understood  by  very  few.  There  are  two  very  puerile 
affectations,  which  I  wish  this  book  had  been  free  from; 
the  one  is,  the  total  subversion  of  all  the  old-established 
French  orthography;  the  other  is,  the  not  making  use  of 
any  one  capital  letter  throughout  the  whole  book,  except  at 
the  beginning  of  a  paragraph.  It  offends  my  eyes  to  see 
rome,  paris,  france,  caesar,  henry  the  4th,  etc.,  begin  with 
small  letters ;  and  I  do  not  conceive  that  there  can  be  any 
reason  for  doing  it  half  so  strong  as  the  reason  of  long 
usage  is  to  the  contrary.  This  is  an  affectation  below 
Voltaire ;  whom  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  that  I  admire  and 
delight  in,  as  an  author,  equally  in  prose  and  in  verse. 

I  had  a  letter,  a  few  days  ago,  from  Monsieur  du  Boccage; 
in  which  he  says,  Monsieur  Stanhope  Jest  jette  dans  la 
politique,  et  je  crois  qtfil  y  reussira  :  you  do  very  well,  it  is 
your  destination ;  but  remember,  that,  to  succeed  in  great 
things,  one  must  first  learn  to  please  in  little  ones. 
Engaging  manners  and  address  must  prepare  the  way  for 
superior  knowledge  and  abilities  to  act  with  effect.  The 
late  Duke  of  Marlborough's  manners  and  address  prevailed 


236  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

with  the  first  King  of  Prussia,  to  let  his  troops  remain  in 
the  army  of  the  allies ;  when  neither  their  representations, 
nor  his  own  share  in  the  common  cause,  could  do  it.  The 
Duke  of  Marlborough  had  no  new  matter  to  urge  to  him  j 
but  had  a  manner,  which  he  could  not,  and  did  not,  resist. 
Voltaire,  among  a  thousand  little  delicate  strokes  of  that 
kind,  says  of  the  Duke  de  la  Feuillade,  qu'il  etoit  Vhomme  It 
plus  brillant  et  k  plus  aimable  du  fioyaume,  et  quoique  gendre 
du  General  et  Ministre,  il  avoit  pour  lui  la  faveur  publique. 
Various  little  circumstances  of  that  sort  will  often  make  a 
man  of  great  real  merit  be  hated,  if  he  hath  not  address  and 
manners  to  make  him  be  loved.  Consider  all  your  own 
circumstances  seriously;  and  you  will  find  that,  of  all  arts, 
the  art  of  pleasing  is  the  most  necessary  for  you  to  study 
and  possess.  A  silly  tyrant  said,  oderint  modo  timeant  : 
a  wise  man  would  have  said,  modo  ament  nihil  timendum  esi 
mihi.  Judge,  from  your  own  daily  experience,  of  the 
efficacy  of  that  pleasing  je  ne  sais  quoi,  when  you  feel,  as 
you  and  everybody  certainly  do,  that  in  men  it  is  more 
engaging  than  knowledge,  in  women  than  beauty. 

I  long  to  see  Lord  and  Lady  (who  are  not   yet 

arrived),  because  they  have  lately  seen  you ;  and  I  always 
fancy  that  I  can  fish  out  something  new  concerning  you 
from  those  who  have  seen  you  last :  not  that  I  shall  much 
rely  upon  their  accounts,  because  I  distrust  the  judgment  of 

Lord  and  Lady ,  in  those  matters  about  which  I  am 

most  inquisitive.  They  have  ruined  their  own  son,  by 
what  they  called  and  thought  loving  him.  They  have  made 
him  believe  that  the  world  was  made  for  him,  not  he  for  the 
world ;  and  unless  he  stays  abroad  a  great  while,  and  falls 
into  very  good  company,  he  will  expect,  what  he  will  never 
find,  the  attentions  and  complaisance  from  others,  which 
he  has  hitherto  been  used  to  from  Papa  and  Mamma. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  237 

This,  I  fear,  is  too  much  the  case  of  Mr.  -  - ;  who,  I 
doubt,  will  be  run  through  the  body,  and  be  near  dying, 
before  he  knows  how  to  live.  However  you  may  turn  out, 
you  can  never  make  me  any  of  these  reproaches.  I 
indulged  no  silly  womanish  fondness  for  ^you  :  instead  of 
inflicting  my  tenderness  upon  you,  I  have  taken  all  possible 
methods  to  make  you  deserve  it ;  and  thank  God  you  do ; 
at  least,  I  know  but  one  article  in  which  you  are  different 
from  what  I  could  wish  you  ;  and  you  very  well  know  what 
that  is.  I  want  that  I  and  all  the  world  should  like  you,  as 
well  as  I  love  you.  Adieu. 


LETTER  LXX. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  April  the  soth,  O.  S.  1752. 

Avoir  du  monde  is,  in  my  opinion,  a  very  just  and  happy 
expression,  for  having  address,  manners,  and  for  knowing 
how  to  behave  properly  in  all  companies ;  and  it  implies, 
very  truly,  that  a  man  that  hath  not  these  accomplish- 
ments is  not  of  the  world.  Without  them,  the  best  parts 
are  inefficient,  civility  is  absurd,  and  freedom  offensive.  A 
learned  parson,  rusting  in  his  cell  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge, 
will  reason  admirably  well  upon  the  nature  of  man ;  will 
profoundly  analyse  the  head,  the  heart,  the  reason,  the 
will,  the  passions,  the  senses,  the  sentiments,  and  all  those 
sub-divisions  of  we  know  not  what ;  and  yet,  unfortunately, 
he  knows  nothing  of  man :  for  he  hath  not  lived  with 
him;  and  is  ignorant  of  all  the  various  modes,  habits, 
prejudices,  and  tastes,  that  always  influence,  and  often 
determine  him.  He  views  man  as  he  does  colours  in 

18 


238  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

Sir  Isaac  Newton's  prism,  where  only  the  capital  ones  are 
seen;  tmt  an  experienced  dyer  knows  all  their  various 
shades  and  gradations,  together  with  the  result  of  their 
several  mixtures.  Few  men  are  of  one  plain,  decided 
colour;  most  are  mixed,  shaded,  and  blended;  and  vary 
as  much,  from  different  situations,  as  changeable  silks  do 
from  different  lights.  The  man  qui  a  du  monde  knows 
all  this  from  his  own  experience  and  observation :  the 
conceited,  cloistered  philosopher  knows  nothing  of  it  from 
his  own  theory;  his  practice  is  absurd  and  improper; 
and  he  acts  as  awkwardly  as  a  man  would  dance,  who 
had  never  seen  others  dance,  nor  learned  of  a  dancing- 
master;  but  who  had  only  studied  the  notes  by  which 
dances  are  now  pricked  down,  as  well  as  tunes.  Observe 
and  imitate,  then,  the  address,  the  arts,  and  the  manners 
of  those  qui  out  du  monde;  see  by  what  methods  they 
first  make,  and  afterwards  improve,  impressions  in  their 
favour.  Those  impressions  are  much  -oftener  owing  to 
little  causes,  than  to  intrinsic  merit ;  wnich  is  less  volatile, 
and  hath  not  so  sudden  an  effect.  Strong  minds  have 
undoubtedly  an  ascendant  over  weak  ones,  as  Galigai 
Marechale  d'Ancre  very  justly  observed,  when,  to  the 
disgrace  and  reproach  of  those  times,  she  was  executed 
for  having  governed  Mary  of  Medicis  by  the  arts  of  witch- 
craft and  magic.  But  the  ascendant  is  to  be  gained  by 
degrees,  and  by  those  arts  only  which  experience  and  the 
knowledge  ot  the  world  teaches :  for  few  are  mean  enough 
to  be  bullied,  though  most  are  weak  enough  to  be  bubbled. 
I  have  often  seen  people  of  superior  governed  by  people 
of  much  inferior  parts,  without  knowing  or  even  suspecting 
that  they  were  so  governed.  This  can  only  happen,  when 
those  people  of  inferior  parts  have  more  worldly  dexterity 
and  experience  than  those  they  govern.  They  see  the 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  239 

weak  and  unguarded  part,  and  apply  to  it :  they  take  it, 
and  all  the  rest  follows.  Would  you  gain  either  men  or 
women,  and  every  man  of  sense  desires  to  gain  both,  // 
faut  du  monde.  You  have  had  more  opportunities  than 
ever  any  man  had,  at  your  age,  of  acquiring  ce  monde ; 
you  have  been  in  the  best  companies  of  most  countries, 
at  an  age  when  others  have  hardly  been  in  any  company 
at  all.  You  are  master  of  all  those  languages,  which  John 
Trott  seldom  speaks  at  all,  and  never  well;  consequently 
you  need  be  a  stranger  nowhere.  This  is  the  way,  and 
the  only  way,  of  having  du  monde ;  but  if  you  have  it  not, 
and  have  still  any  coarse  rusticity  about  you,  may  one 
not  apply  to  you  the  rusticus  expectat  of  Horace  ? 

This  knowledge  of  the  world  teaches  us  more  particularly 
two  things,  both  which  are  of  infinite  consequence,  and  to 
neither  of  which  nature  inclines  us ;  I  mean,  the  command 
of  our  temper  and  of  our  countenance.  A  man  who  has 
no  monde  is  inflamed  with  anger,  or  annihilated  with  shame, 
at  every  disagreeable  incident :  the  one  makes  him  act  and 
talk  like  a  madman,  the  other  makes  him  look  like  a  fool. 
But  a  man  who  has  du  monde  seems  not  to  understand 
what  he  cannot  or  ought  not  to  resent.  If  he  makes  a 
slip  himself,  he  recovers  it  by  his  coolness,  instead  of 
plunging  deeper  by  his  confusion,  like  a  stumbling  horse. 
He  is  firm,  but  gentle;  and  practises  that  most  excellent 
maxim,  suaviferin  modo}  fortitir  in  re.  The  other  is  the 
volto  stiolto  e  pensieri  stretti.  People  unused  to  the  world 
have  babbling  countenances ;  and  are  unskilful  enough  to 
show  what  they  have  sense  enough  not  to  tell.  In  the 
course  of  the  world,  a  man  must  very  often  put  on  an 
easy,  frank  countenance  upon  very  disagreeable  occasions ; 
he  must  seem  pleased  when  he  is  very  much  otherwise; 
he  must  be  able  to  accost,  and  receive  with  smiles,  those 


240  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

whom  he  would  much  rather  meet  with  swords.  In  Courts 
he  must  not  turn  himself  inside  out.  All  this  may,  nay 
must,  be  done  without  falsehood  and  treachery :  for  it 
must  go  no  further  than  politeness  and  manners,  and 
must  stop  short  of  assurances  and  professions  of  simulated 
friendship.  Good  manners,  to  those  one  does  not  love, 
are  no  more  a  breach  of  truth  than  "your  humble  servant" 
at  the  bottom  of  a  challenge  is ;  they  are  universally 
agreed  upon,  and  understood,  to  be  things  of  course. 
They  are  necessary  guards  of  the  decency  and  peace  of 
society :  they  must  only  act  defensively ;  and  then  not 
with  arms  poisoned  with  perfidy.  Truth,  but  not  the 
whole  truth,  must  be  the  invariable  principle  of  every 
man,  who  hath  either  religion,  honour,  or  prudence. 
Those  who  violate  it  may  be  cunning,  but  they  are  not 
able.  Lies  and  perfidy  are  the  refuge  of  fools  and  cowards. 
Adieu  ! 

P.S. — I  must  recommend  to  you  again,  to  take  your 
leave  of  all  your  French  acquaintance,  in  such  a  manner 
as  may  make  them  regret  your  departure,  and  wish  to  see 
and  welcome  you  at  Paris  again ;  where  you  may  possibly 
return  before  it  is  very  long.  This  must  not  be  done  in 
a  cold,  civil  manner,  but  with,  at  least,  seeming  warmth, 
sentiment,  and  concern.  Acknowledge  the  obligations  you 
have  to  them,  for  the  kindness  they  have  shown  you 
during  your  stay  at  Paris ;  assure  them,  that,  wherever 
you  are,  you  shall  remember  them  with  gratitude;  wish 
for  opportunities  of  giving  them  proofs  of  your  plus  tendre 
et  respectueux  souvenir ;  beg  of  them,  in  case  your  good 
fortune  should  carry  you  to  any  part  of  the  world  where 
you  could  be  of  any  the  least  use  to  them,  that  they  would 
employ  you  without  reserve.  Say  all  this,  and  a  great  deal 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  241 

more,  emphatically  and  pathetically;  for  you  know  si  vis 
me  flere.  This  can  do  you  no  harm,  if  you  never  return 
to  Paris ;  but  if  you  do,  as  probably  you  may,  it  will  be 
of  infinite  use  to  you.  Remember,  too,  not  to  omit  going 
to  every  house  where  you  have  ever  been  once,  to  take 
leave,  and  recommend  yourself  to  their  remembrance. 
The  reputation  which  you  leave  at  one  place,  where  you 
have  been,  will  circulate,  and  you  will  meet  with  it  at 
twenty  places,  where  you  are  to  go.  That  is  a  labour 
never  quite  lost. 

This  letter  will  show  you,  that  the  accident  which 
happened  to  me  yesterday,  and  of  which  Dr.  Grevenkop 
gives  you  an  account,  hath  had  no  bad  consequences. 
My  escape  was  a  great  one. 


LETTER  LXXI. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  May  the  nth,  O.  S.  1752. 

I  BREAK  my  word  by  writing  this  letter ;  but  I  break 
it  on  the  allowable  side,  by  doing  more  than  I  promised 
I  have  pleasure  in  writing  to  you ;  and  you  may  possibly 
have  some  profit  in  reading  what  I  write ;  either  of  the 
motives  were  sufficient  for  me,  both  I  cannot  withstand. 
By  your  last,  I  calculate  that  you  will  leave  Paris  this 
day  se'nnight;  upon  that  supposition,  this  letter  may  still 
find  you  there. 

Colonel  Perry  arrived  here  two  or  three  days  ago,  and 
sent  me  a  book  from  you,  Cassandra  abridged.  I  am 
sure  it  cannot  be  too  much  abridged.  The  spirit  of  that 
most  voluminous  work,  fairly  extracted,  may  be  contained 


242  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

in  the  smallest  duodecimo ;  and  it  is  most  astonishing  that 
there  ever  could  have  been  people  idle  enough  to  write 
or  read  such  endless  heaps  of  the  same  stuff.  It  was, 
however,  the  occupation  of  thousands  in  the  last  century ; 
and  is  still  the  private,  though  disavowed,  amusement  o{ 
young  girls  and  sentimental  ladies.  A  lovesick  girl  finds, 
in  the  Captain  with  whom  she  is  in  love,  all  the  courage 
and  all  the  graces  of  the  tender  and  accomplished  Oroon- 
dates;  and  many  a  grown-up,  sentimental  lady,  talks 
delicate  Clelia  to  the  hero,  whom  she  would  engage  to 
eternal  love,  or  laments  with  her  that  love  is  not  eternal. 

"  Ah  !  qu'il  est  doux  d'aimer,  si  Ton  aimoit  toujours  ! 
Mais,  helas  !  il  n'est  point  d'eternelles  amours."* 

It  is,  however,  very  well  to  have  read  one  of  those 
extravagant  works  (of  all  which  La  Calprenede's  are  the 
best)  because  it  is  well  to  be  able  to  talk,  with  some  degree 
of  knowledge,  upon  all  those  subjects  that  other  people 
talk  sometimes  upon;  and  I  would  by  no  means  have 
anything,  that  is  known  to  others,  be  totally  unknown  to 
you.  It  is  a  great  advantage  for  any  man  to  be  able  to 
talk  or  to  hear,  neither  ignorantly  nor  absurdly,  upon  any 
subject;  for  I  have  known  people,  who  have  not  said 
one  word,  hear  ignorantly  and  absurdly;  it  has  appeared 
in  their  inattentive  and  unmeaning  faces. 

This,  I  think,  is  as  little  likely  to  happen  to  you,  as 
to  anybody  of  your  age ;  and  if  you  will  but  add  a 
versatility,  and  easy  conformity  of  manners,  I  know  no 
company  in  which  you  are  likely  to  be  de  trop. 

This  versatility  is  more  particularly   necessary  for   you 

*  "  Ah  !  how  sweet  it  were  to  love  if  one  loved  always  ! 
But,  alas  !  there  are  no  everlasting  attachments." 


LETTERS  TO  HIS.  SON.  243 

at  this  time,  now  that  you  are  going  to  so  many  different 
places ;  for  though  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  several 
Courts  of  Germany  are  in  general  the  same,  yet  every 
one  has  its  particular  characteristic ;  some  peculiarity  or 
other  which  distinguishes  it  from  the  next.  This  you 
should  carefully  attend  to,  and  immediately  adopt.  Nothing 
flatters  people  more,  nor  makes  strangers  so  welcome,  as 
such  an  occasional  conformity.  I  do  not  mean  by  this, 
that  you  should  mimic  the  air  and  stiffness  of  every 
awkward  German  Court;  no,  by  no  means;  but  I  mean 
that  you  should  only  cheerfully  comply  and  fall  in  with 
certain  local  habits,  such  as  ceremonies,  diet,  turn  of  con- 
versation, etc.  People  who  are  lately  come  from  Paris,  and 
who  have  been  a  good  while  there,  are  generally  suspected, 
and  especially  in  Germany,  of  having  a  degree  of  contempt 
for  every  other  place.  Take  great  care  that  nothing  of 
this  kind  appear,  at  least  outwardly,  in  your  behaviour: 
but  commend  whatever  deserves  any  degree  of  commenda- 
tion, without  comparing  it  with  what  you  may  have  left, 
much  better,  of  the  same  kind  at  Paris.  As,  for  instance, 
the  German  kitchen  is,  without  doubt,  execrable,  and  the 
French  delicious,  however,  never  commend  the  French 
kitchen  at  a  German  table ;  but  eat  of  what  you  can  find 
tolerable  there,  and  commend  it,  without  comparing  it  to 
anything  better.  I  have  known  many  British  Yahoos,  who, 
though  while  they  were  at  Paris  conformed  to  no  one 
French  custom,  as  soon  as  they  got  anywhere  else,  talked 
of  nothing  but  what  they  did,  saw,  and  ate  at  Paris.  The 
freedom  of  the  French  is  not  to  be  used  indiscrimin- 
ately at  all  the  Courts  in  Germany,  though  their  easiness 
may,  and  ought;  but  that,  too,  at  some  places  more  than 
others.  The  Courts  of  Mannheim  and  Bonn,  I  take  to 
be  a  little  more  unbarbarised  than  some  others;  that  of 


244  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

Mai'ence,  an  ecclesiastical  one,  as  well  as  that  of  Treves 
(neither  of  which  is  much  frequented  by  foreigners),  retains, 
I  conceive,  a  great  deal  of  the  Goth  and  Vandal  still. 
There,  more  reserve  and  ceremony  are  necessary;  and 
not  a  word  of  the  French.  At  Berlin,  you  cannot  be  too 
French.  Hanover,  Brunswick,  Cassel,  etc.,  are  of  the 
mixed  kind,  un  peu  d'ecrottes>  mats  pas  assez. 

Another  thing,  which  I  most  earnestly  recommend  to  you, 
not  only  in  Germany,  but  in  every  part  of  the  world,  where 
you  may  ever  be,  is,  not  only  real,  but  seeming  attention,  to 
whomever  you  speak  to,  or  to  whoever  speaks  to  you. 
There  is  nothing  so  brutally  shocking,  nor  so  little  forgiven, 
as  a  seeming  inattention  to  the  person  who  is  speaking  to 
you;  and  I  have  known  many  a  man  knocked  down,  for 
(in  my  opinion)  a  much  slighter  provocation,  than  that 
shocking  inattention  which  I  mean.  I  have  seen  many 
people,  who  while  you  are  speaking  to  them,  instead  of 
looking  at,  and  attending  to,  you,  fix  their  eyes  upon  the 
ceiling,  or  some  other  part  of  the  room,  look  out  of  the 
window,  play  with  a  dog,  twirl  their  snuff-box,  or  pick  their 
nose.  Nothing  discovers  a  little,  futile,  frivolous  mind  more 
than  this,  and  nothing  is  so  offensively  ill  bred :  it  is  an 
explicit  declaration  on  your  part,  that  every,  the  most 
trifling  object,  deserves  your  attention  more  than  all  that 
can  be  said  by  the  person  who  is  speaking  to  you.  Judge 
of  the  sentiments  of  hatred  and  resentment,  which  such 
treatment  must  excite,  in  every  breast  where  any  degree 
of  self-love  dwells;  and  I  am  sure,  I  never  yet  met  with 
that  breast  where  there  was  not  a  great  deal.  I  repeat  it 
again  and  again  (for  it  is  highly  necessary  for  you  to 
remember  it),  that  sort  of  vanity  and  self-love  is  inseparable 
from  human  nature,  whatever  may  be  its  rank  or  condition ; 
even  your  footman  will  sooner  forget  and  forgive  a  beating, 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  245 

than  any  manifest  mark  of  slight  and  contempt.  Be 
therefore,  I  beg  of  you,  not  only  really,  but  seemingly 
and  manifestly,  attentive  to  whoever  speaks  to  you  ;  nay 
more,  take  their  tone,  and  tune  yourself  to  their  unison. 
Be  serious  with  the  serious,  gay  with  the  gay,  and  trifle 
with  the  triflers.  In  assuming  these  various  shapes,  endea- 
vour to  make  each  of  them  seem  to  sit  easy  upon  you, 
and  even  to  appear  to  be  your  own  natural  one.  This  is 
the  true  and  useful  versatility  of  which  a  thorough  know- 
ledge of  the  world  at  once  teaches  the  utility,  and  the 
means  of  acquiring. 

I  am  very  sure,  at  least  I  hope,  that  you  will  never 
make  use  of  a  silly  expression,  which  is  the  favourite 
expression,  and  the  absurd  excuse  of  all  fools  and  block- 
heads; /  cannot  do  such  a  thing,  a  thing  by  no  means 
either  morally  or  physically  impossible.  I  cannot  attend 
long  together  to  the  same  thing,  says  one  fool :  that  is, 
he  is  such  a  fool  that  he  will  not.  I  remember  a  very 
awkward  fellow,  who  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  his 
sword,  and  who  always  took  it  off  before  dinner,  saying, 
that  he  could  not  possibly  dine  with  his  sword  on ;  upon 
which  I  could  not  help  telling  him  that  I  really  believed 
he  could,  without  any  probable  danger  either  to  himself 
or  others.  It  is  a  shame  and  an  absurdity,  for  any  man 
to  say,  that  he  cannot  do  all  those  things  which  are 
commonly  done  by  all  the  rest  of  mankind. 

Another  thing,  that  I  must  earnestly  warn  you  against, 
is  laziness;  by  which  more  people  have  lost  the  fruit  of 
their  travels,  than  (perhaps)  by  any  other  thing.  Pray 
be  always  in  motion.  Early  in  the  morning  go  and  see 
things;  and  the  rest  of  the  day  go  and  see  people.  If 
you  stay  but  a  week  at  a  place,  and  that  an  insignificant 
one,  see,  however,  all  that  is  to  be  seen  there ;  know  as 


246  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

many  people,  and  get  into  as  many  houses,  as  ever  you 
can. 

I  recommend  to  you  likewise,  though  probably  you  have 
thought  of  it  yourself,  to  carry  in  your  pocket  a  map  of 
Germany,  in  which  the  post  roads  are  marked ;  and  also 
some  short  book  of  travels  through  Germany.  The  former 
will  help  to  imprint  in  your  memory  situations  and  dis- 
tances ;  and  the  latter  will  point  out  many  things  for  you 
to  see,  that  might  otherwise  possibly  escape  you;  and 
which,  though  they  may  in  themselves  be  of  little 
consequence,  you  would  regret  not  having  seen,  after 
having  been  at  the  places  where  they  were. 

Thus  warned  and  provided  for  your  journey,  God  speed 
you;  Felix faustumque  sit!  Adieu. 


LETTER  LXXII. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  May  the  3ist,  O.  S.  1752. 

THE  world  is  the  book,  and  the  only  one  to  which,  at 
present,  I  would  have  you  apply  yourself ;  and  the  thorough 
knowledge  of  it  will  be  of  more  use  to  you  than  all  the 
books  that  ever  were  read.  Lay  aside  the  best  book 
whenever  you  can  go  into  the  best  company ;  and  depend 
upon  it  you  change  for  the  better.  However,  as  the  most 
tumultuous  life,  whether  of  business  or  pleasure,  leaves 
some  vacant  moments  every  day,  in  which  a  book  is  the 
refuge  of  a  rational  being,  I  mean  now  to  point  out  to  you 
the  method  of  employing  those  moments  (which  will  and 
ought  to  be  but  few)  in  the  most  Advantageous  manner. 
Throw  away  none  of  your  time  upon  those  trivial  futile 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  24? 

books,  published  by  idle  or  necessitous  authors,  for  the 
amusement  of  idle  and  ignorant  readers  :  such  sort  of  books 
swarm  and  buzz  about  one  every  day ;  flap  them  away,  they 
have  no  sting.  Cerium  pete  finem,  have  some  one  object 
for  those  leisure  moments,  and  pursue  that  object  invariably 
till  you  have  attained  it ;  and  then  take  some  other.  For 
instance ;  considering  your  destination,  I  would  advise  you 
to  single  out  the  most  remarkable  and  interesting  aeras  of 
modern  history,  and  confine  all  your  reading  to  that  s&ra 
If  you  pitch  upon  the  Treaty  of  Munster  (and  that  is  the 
proper  period  to  begin  with,  in  the  course  which  I  am  now 
recommending),  do  not  interrupt  it  by  dipping  and  deviating 
into  other  books,  unrelative  to  it :  but  consult  only  the  most 
authentic  histories,  letters,  memoirs,  and  negotiations  rela- 
tive to  that  great  transaction ;  reading  and  comparing  them, 
with  all  that  caution  and  distrust  which  Lord  Bolingbroke 
recommends  to  you,  in  a  better  manner  and  in  better  words 
than  I  can.  The  next  period,  worth  your  particular  know- 
ledge, is  the  Treaty  of  the  Pyrenees ;  which  was  calculated 
to  lay,  and  in  effect  did  lay,  the  foundation  of  the  succession 
of  the  House  of  Bourbon  to  the  Crown  of  Spain.  Pursue 
that  in  the  same  manner,  singling,  out  of  the  millions  of 
volumes  written  upon  that  occasion,  the  two  or  three  most 
authentic  ones ;  and  particularly  letters,  which  are  the  best 
authorities  in  matters  of  negotiation.  Next  come  the 
Treaties  of  Nimeguen  and  Ryswick,  postscripts  in  a  man- 
ner to  those  of  Munster  and  the  Pyrenees.  Those  two 
transactions  have  had  great  light  thrown  upon  them  by 
the  publication  of  many  authentic  and  original  letters  and 
pieces.  The  concessions  made  at  the  Treaty  of  Ryswick,  by 
the  then  triumphant  Lewis  the  Fourteenth,  astonished  all 
those  who  viewed  things  only  superficially ;  but,  I  should 
think,  must  have  been  easily  accounted  for  by  those  who 


248  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

knew  the  state  of  the  kingdom  of  Spain,  as  well  as  of  the 
health  of  its  King,  Charles  the  Second,  at  that  time.  The 
interval  between  the  conclusion  of  the  peace  of  Ryswick, 
and  the  breaking  out  of  the  great  war  in  170;,  though  a 
short,  is  a  most  interesting  one.  Every  week  of  it  almost 
produced  some  great  event.  Two  Partition  Treaties,  the 
deaih  of  the  King  of  Spain,  his  unexpected  Will,  and  the 
acceptance  of  it  by  Lewis  the  Fourteenth,  in  violation  of 
the  second  treaty  of  partition,  just  signed  and  ratified  by 
him.  Philip  the  Fifth,  quietly  and  cheerfully  received  in 
Spain,  and  acknowledged  as  King  of  it,  by  most  of  those 
Powers,  who  afterwards  joined  in  an  alliance  to  dethrone 
him.  I  cannot  help  making  this  observation  upon  that 
occasion;  That  character  has  often  more  to  do  in  great 
transactions,  than  prudence  and  sound  policy :  for  Lewis 
the  Fourteenth  gratified  his  personal  pride,  by  giving  a 
Bourbon  King  to  Spain,  at  the  expense  of  the  true  interest 
of  France ;  which  would  have  acquired  much  more  solid 
and  permanent  strength  by  the  addition  of  Naples,  Sicily, 
and  Lorraine,  upon  the  foot  of  the  second  Partition  Treaty ; 
and  I  think  it  was  fortunate  for  Europe  that  he  preferred 
the  Will.  It  is  true,  he  might  hope  to  influence  his  grand- 
son ;  but  he  could  never  expect  that  his  Bourbon  posterity 
in  France  should  influence  his  Bourbon  posterity  in  Spain  \ 
*>'"  » •  he  knew  too  well  how  weak  the  ties  of  blood  are  among 
men,  and  how  much  weaker  still  they  are  among  Princes. 
The  Memoirs  of  Count  Harrach,  and  of  Las  Torres,  give  a 
good  deal  of  light  into  the  transactions  of  the  Court  of  Spain, 
previous  to  the  death  of  that  weak  King;  and  the  letters 
of  the  Marechal  d'Harcourt,  then  the  French  Ambassador 
in  Spain,  of  which  I  have  authentic  copies  in  manuscript, 
from  the  year  1698  to  1701,  have  cleared  up  that  whole 
affair  to  me.  I  keep  that  book  for  you.  It  appears  by 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  249 

those  letters,  that  the  imprudent  conduct  of  the  House  of 
Austria,  with  regard  to  the  King  and  Queen  of  Spain,  and 
Madame  Berlips,  her  favourite,  together  with  the  knowledge 
of  the  Partition  Treaty,  which  incensed  all  Spain,  were  the 
true  and  only  reasons  of  the  Will  in  favour  of  the  Duke  of 
Anjou.  Cardinal  Portocarrero,  nor  any  of  the  Grandees, 
were  bribed  by  France,  as  was  generally  reported  and 
believed  at  that  time ;  which  confirms  Voltaire's  anecdote 
upon  that  subject.  Then  opens  a  new  scene  and  a  new 
century :  Lewis  the  Fourteenth's  good  fortune  forsakes  him, 
till  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  and  Prince  Eugene  make  him 
amends  for  all  the  mischief  they  had  done  him,  by  mak- 
ing the  allies  refuse  the  terms  of  peace  offered  by  him 
at  Gertruydenberg.  How  the  disadvantageous  peace  of 
Utrecht  was  afterwards  brought  on,  you  have  lately  read; 
and  you  cannot  inform  yourself  too  minutely  of  all  those 
circumstances,  that  treaty  being  the  freshest  source,  from 
whence  the  late  transactions  of  Europe  have  flowed.  The 
alterations  which  have  since  happened,  whether  by  wars  or 
treaties,  are  so  recent,  that  all  the  written  accounts  are  to  be 
helped  out,  proved,  or  contradicted,  by  the  oral  ones  of 
almost  every  informed  person  of  a  certain  age  or  rank  in 
life.  For  the  facts,  dates,  and  original  pieces  of  this  century, 
you  will  find  them  in  Lamberti,  till  the  year  1715,  and  after 
that  time  in  Rousset's  Rccueil. 

I  do  not  mean  that  you  should  plod  hours  together  in 
researches  of  this  kind;  no,  you  may  employ  your  time 
more  usefully ;  but  I  mean  that  you  should  make  the  most 
of  the  moments  you  do  employ,  by  method,  and  the  pursuit 
of  one  single  object  at  a  time ;  nor  should  I  call  it  a  digres- 
sion from  that  object,  if,  when  you  meet  with  clashing  and 
jarring  pretensions  of  different  Princes  to  the  same  thing, 
you  had  immediate  recourse  to  other  books,  in  which  those 


2 5o  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

several  pretensions  were  clearly  stated ;  on  the  contrary,  that 
is  the  only  way  of  remembering  those  contested  rights  and 
claims :  for,  were  a  man  to  read  tout  de  suite^  Schwederus's 
Thcatrum  Pretensionum^  he  would  only  be  confounded  by 
the  variety,  and  remember  none  of  them;  whereas,  by 
examining  them  occasionally,  as  they  happen  to  occur, 
either  in  the  course  of  your  historical  reading,  or  as  they 
are  agitated  in  your  own  times,  you  will  retain  them,  by 
connecting  them  with  those  historical  facts  which  occasioned 
your  inquiry.  For  example ;  had  you  read,  in  the  course  of 
two  or  three  folios  of  Pretensions,  those,  among  others,  of 
the  two  Kings  of  England  and  Prussia  to  Oost  Frise,  it  is 
impossible  that  you  should  have  remembered  them;  but 
now  that  they  are  become  the  debated  object  at  the  Diet  at 
Ratisbon,  and  the  topic  of  all  political  conversations,  if  you 
consult  both  books  and  persons  concerning  them,  and 
inform  yourself  thoroughly,  you  will  never  forget  them  as 
long  as  you  live.  You  will  hear  a  great  deal  of  them  on 
one  side,  at  Hanover ;  and  as  much  on  the  other  side, 
afterwards,  at  Berlin :  hear  both  sides,  and  form  your  own 
opinion ;  but  dispute  with  neither. 

Letters  from  foreign  Ministers  to  their  Courts,  and  from 
their  Courts  to  them,  are,  if  genuine,  the  best  and  most 
authentic  records  you  can  read,  as  far  as  they  go.  Cardinal 
D'Ossat's,  President  Jeannin's,  D'Estrade's,  Sir  William 
Temple's,  will  not  only  inform  your  mind,  but  form  your 
style ;  which,  in  letters  of  business,  should  be  very  plain  and 
simple,  but  at  the  same  time,  exceedingly  clear,  correct, 
and  pure. 

All  that  I  have  said  may  be  reduced  to  these  two  or  three 
plain  principles  :  isi,  That  you  should  now  read  very  little, 
but  converse  a  great  deal;  2ndly,  To  read  no  useless, 
unprofitable  books;  and  3rdly,  That  those  which  you  do 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  251 

read,  may  all  tend  to  a  certain  object,  and  be  relative  to, 
and  consequential  of,  each  other.  In  this  method,  half-an- 
hour's  reading,  every  day,  will  carry  you  a  great  way. 
People  seldom  know  how  to  employ  their  time  to  the  best 
advantage,  till  they  have  too  little  left  to  employ ;  but  if,  at 
your  age,  in  the  beginning  of  life,  people  would  but  consider 
the  value  of  it,  and  put  every  moment  to  interest,  it  is 
incredible  what  an  additional  fund  of  knowledge  and 
pleasure  such  £n  economy  would  bring  in.  I  look  back 
with  regret  upon  that  large  sum  of  time,  which,  in  my 
youth,  I  lavished  away  idly,  without  either  improvement  or 
pleasure.  Take  warning  betimes,  and  enjoy  every  moment ; 
pleasures  do  not  commonly  last  so  long  as  life,  and  therefore 
should  not  be  neglected ;  and  the  longest  life  is  too  short 
for  knowledge,  consequently  every  moment  is  precious. 

I  am  surprised  at  having  received  no  letter  from  you  since 
you  left  Paris.  I  still  direct  this  to  Strasburg,  as  I  did 
my  two  last.  I  shall  direct  my  next  to  the  post-house 
at  Mai'ence,  unless  I  receive,  in  the  meantime,  contrary 
instructions  from  you.  Adieu  !  Remember  les  attentions: 
they  must  be  your  passports  into  good  company. 


LETTER  LXXIII. 
A  Monsieur  de  Voltaire  pour  lors  a  Berlin. 

MONSIEUR,  A  Londres,  27  d'Aoflt,  V.  S.  1752. 

JE  m'inte*resse  infiniment  a  tout  ce  qui  touche  Monsieur 
Stanhope,  qui  aura  1'honneur  de  vous  rendre  cette  lettre ; 
c'est  pourquoi  je  prens  la  liberte*  de  vous  le  presenter ;  je 
ne  peux  pas  lui  en  donner  une  preuve  plus  convainquante. 
II  a  beaucoup  lu,  il  a  beaucoup  vu;  s'il  1'a  bien  dige're', 


252  LORD  CHESTERFIELDS 

voila  ce  que  je  ne  sais  pas  ;  il  n'a  que  vmgt  aas.  II  a  deja 
dte  a  Berlin  il  y  a  quelques  anne'es,  et  c'est  pourquoi  il  y 
retourne  a  present ;  car  a  cette  heure  on  revient  ail  Nord 
par  les  merries  raisons,  pour  lesquelles  on  alloit  il  n'y  a  pas 
long  terns  au  Sud. 

Permettez,  Monsieur,  que  je  vous  remercie  du  plaisir  el 
de  1'instruction  que  m'a  donne  votre  Histoire  du  Siecle  de 
Louis  XIV.  Je  ne  1'ai  lu  encore  que  quatre  fois,  c'est  que 
je  voudrois  1'oublier  un  peu  avant  la  cinquieme,  mais  je 
vois  que  cela  m'est  impossible ;  j'attendrai  done  1'augmen- 
tation  que  vous  nous  en  avez  promis,  mais  je  vous  supplie 
de  ne  me  la  pas  faire  attendre  long  terns.  Je  croyois  savoir 
passablement  1'Histoire  du  Siecle  de  Louis  XIV.  moyen- 
nant  les  milliers  d'Histoires,  de  Memoires,  d' Anecdotes, 
etc.,  que  j'en  avois  lu,  mais  vous  m'avez  bien  montre*  que  je 
m'e"tois  trompe,  et  que  je  n'en  avois  qu'une  ide*e  tres-confuse 
a  bien  des  dgards,  et  tres-fausse  a  bien  d'autres.  Que  je  vous 
sais  gre'  sur  tout,  Monsieur,  du  jour  dans  lequel  vous  avez 
mis  les  folies  et  les  fureurs  des  sectes.  Vous  employez 
centre  ces  fous  ou  ces  imposteurs  les  armes  convenables; 
d'en  employer  d'autres  ce  seroit  les  imiter:  c'est  par  le 
ridicule  qu'il  faut  les  attaquer,  c'est  par  le  me'pris  qu'il  faul 
les  punir.  A  propos  de  ces  fous,  je  vous  envoie  ci-jointe 
une  piece  sur  leur  sujet  par  le  feu  Docteur  Swift,  laquelle  je 
crois  ne  vous  ddplaira  pas.  Elle  n'a  jamais  e*te  imprime'e, 
vous  en  devinerez  bien  la  raison,  mais  elle  est  authentique. 
J'en  ai  1'original  dent  de  sa  propre  main.  Son  Jupiter,  au 
jour  du  jugement,  les  traite  a  peu  pres  comme  vous  les 
traiteX  et  comme  ils  le  me'ritent. 

Au  reste,  Monsieur,  je  vous  dirai  franchement,  que  je 
suis  embarrasse*  sur  votre  sujet,  et  que  je  ne  peux  pas  me 
decider  sur  ce  que  je  souhaiterois  de  votre  part.  Quand 
je  lis  votre  dernie^e  histoire,  je  voudrois  que  vous  fussiez 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  253 

toujotirs  historien ;  mais  quand  je  lis  votre  Rome  Sauvee 
(toute  mal  imprimee  ct  deTigure'e  qu'elle  est)  je  vous 
voudrois  toujours  Poete.  J'avoue  pourtant  qu'il  vous  reste 
encore  une  histoire  &  ecrire  digne  de  votre  plume,  et  dont 
votre  plume  est  seule  digne.  Vous  nous  avez  donnd  il  y 
a  long  terns  Phistoire  du  plus  grand  Furieux  (je  vous 
demande  pardon  si  je  ne  peus  pas  dire  du  plus  grand 
He'ros)  de  1'Europe.  Vous  nous  avez  donne"  en  dernier 
lieu,  Phistoire  du  plus  grand  Roi ;  donnez-nous,  a  present, 
Thistoire  du  plus  grand  et  du  plus  honnete  Homme  de 
1'Europe,  que  je  croirois  ddgrader  en  appellant  Roi. 
Vous  1'avez  toujours  devant  vos  yeux,  rien  ne  vous  seroit 
plus  facile;  sa  gloire  n'exigeant  pas  votre  invention 
poetique,  mais  pouvant  se  reposer  en  toute  suretd  sur  votre 
ve'rite'  historique.  II  n'a  rien  a  demander  a  son  historien, 
que  son  premier  devoir  comme  historien,  qui  est,  JVe  quid 
falsi  dicere  audeat,  ne  quid  veri  non  audeat.  Adieu,  Monsieur, 
je  vois  bien  que  je  dois  vous  admirer  de  plus  en  plus  tous 
les  jours,  mais  aussi  je  sais  bien  que  rien  ne  pourra  jamais 
ajouter  a  1'estime  et  a  1'attachement  avec  lesquels  je  suis 
actuellement, 

Votre  tres-humble  et  tres-obdissant  serviteur, 

CHESTERFIELD. 


LETTER  LXXIV. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  September  the  29th,  1752. 

THERE  is  nothing  so  necessary,  but  at  the  same  time 
there  is  nothing  more  difficult  (I  know  it  by  experience),  for 
you  young  fellows,  than  to  know  how  to  behave  yourselves 
prudently  towards  those  whom  you  do  not  like.  Your 

19 


254  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

passions  are  warm,  and  your  heads  are  light ;  you  hate  all 
those  who  oppose  your  views,  either  of  ambition  or  love ; 
and  a  rival  in  either  is  almost  a  synonymous  term  for 
an  enemy.  Whcnerer  you  meet  such  a  man,  you  are 
awkwardly  cold  to  him,  at  best ;  but  often  rude,  and  always 
desirous  to  give  him  some  indirect  slap.  This  is  unreason- 
able; for  one  man  has  as  good  a  right  to  pursue  an 
employment,  or  a  mistress,  as  another ;  but  it  is,  into  the 
bargain,  extremely  imprudent ;  because  you  commonly 
defeat  your  own  purpose  by  it,  and  while  you  are  con- 
tending with  each  other  a  third  often  prevails.  I  grant  you, 
that  the  situation  is  irksome  ;  a  man  cannot  help  thinking 
as  he  thinks,  nor  feeling  what  he  feels ;  and  it  is  a  very 
tender  and  sore  point  to  be  thwarted  and  counter-worked 
in  one's  pursuits  at  Court,  or  with  a  mistress  :  but  prudence 
and  abilities  must  check  the  effects,  though  they  cannot 
remove  the  cause.  Both  the  pretenders  make  themselves 
disagreeable  to  their  mistress,  when  they  spoil  the  company 
by  their  pouting,  or  their  sparring ;  whereas,  if  one  of  them 
has  command  enough  over  himself  (whatever  he  may  feel 
inwardly)  to  be  cheerful,  gay,  and  easily  and  unaffectedly 
civil  to  the  other,  as  if  there  were  no  manner  of  com- 
petition between  them,  the  Lady  will  certainly  like  him  the 
best,  and  his  rival  will  be  ten  times  more  humbled  and 
discouraged ;  for  he  will  look  upon  such  a  behaviour  as  a 
proof  of  the  triumph  and  security  of  his  rival ;  he  will  grow 
outrageous  with  the  Lady,  and  the  warmth  of  his  reproaches 
will  probably  bring  on  a  quarrel  between  them.  It  is  the 
same  in  business ;  where  he  who  can  command  his  temper 
and  his  countenance  the  best,  will  always  have  an  infinite 
advantage  over  the  other.  This  is  what  the  French  call  un 
precede  honntti  et  galant,  to  pique  yourself  upon  showing 
particular  civilities  to  a  man,  to  whom  lesser  minds  would 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  255 

in  the  same  case  show  dislike,  or  perhaps  rudeness.  I  will 
give  you  an  instance  of  this  in  my  own  case ;  and  pray 
remember  it,  whenever  you  come  to  be,  as  I  hope  you  will, 
in  a  like  situation. 

When  I  went  to  the  Hague,  in  1744,  it  was  to  engage  the 
Dutch  to  come  roundly  into  the  war,  and  to  stipulate  their 
quotas  of  troops,  etc. ;  your  acquaintance,  the  Abbd  de  la 
Ville,  was  there  on  the  part  of  France,  to  endeavour  to 
hinder  them  from  coming  into  the  war  at  all.  I  was 
informed,  and  very  sorry  to  hear  it,  that  he  had  abilities, 
temper,  and  industry.  We  could  not  visit,  our  two  masters 
being  at  war ;  but  the  first  time  I  met  him  at  a  third  place, 
I  got  somebody  to  present  me  to  him ;  and  I  told  him,  that 
though  we  were  to  be  national  enemies,  I  flattered  myself 
we  might  be,  however,  personal  friends  ;  with  a  good  deal 
more  of  the  same  kind ;  which  he  returned  in  full  as  polite 
a  manner.  Two  days  afterwards  I  went,  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, to  solicit  the  Deputies  of  Amsterdam,  where  I  found 
TAbbe*  de  la  Ville,  who  had  been  beforehand  with  me; 
upon  which  I  addressed  myself  to  the  Deputies,  and  said, 
smilingly,  Je  suis  Men  fache^  Messieurs^  de  trouver  mon 
Ennemi  avec  vous  ;  je  le  connois  deja  assez  pour  le  craindre  : 
la  partie  riest  pas  egale,  mats  je  me  fie  b  vos  propres  interets 
contre  les  talens  de  mon  Ennemi;  et  au  mains  si  je  n'at  pas 
eu  le  premier  mot,  faurai  le  dernier  aujouid'hui.  They 
smiled :  the  Abbd  was  pleased  with  the  compliment,  and 
the  manner  of  it,  stayed  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and 
then  left  me  to  my  Deputies,  with  whom  I  continued  upon 
the  same  tone,  though  in  a  very  serious  manner,  and  told 
them  that  I  was  only  come  to  state  their  own  true  interests 
to  them,  plainly  and  simply,  without  any  of  those  arts  which 
it  was  very  necessary  for  my  friend  to  make  use  of  to 
deceive  them.  I  carried  my  point,  and  continued  my 


256  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

procede  with  the  Abb<£ ;  and  by  this  easy  and  polite  com- 
merce with  him,  at  third  places,  I  often  found  means  to  fish 
out  from  him  whereabouts  he  was. 

Remember,  there  are  but  two  precedes  in  the  world  for  a 
gentleman  and  a  man  of  parts :  either  extreme  politeness, 
or  knocking  down.  If  a  man  notoriously  and  designedly 
insults  and  affronts  you,  knock  him  down ;  but  if  he  only 
injures  you,  your  best  revenge  is  to  be  extremely  civil  to 
him  in  your  outward  behaviour,  though  at  the  same  time 
you  counterwork  him,  and  return  him  the  compliment, 
perhaps  with  interest.  This  is  not  perfidy  nor  dissimula- 
tion :  it  would  be  so  if  you  were  at  the  same  time  to  make 
professions  of  esteem  and  friendship  to  this  man,  which  I 
by  no  means  recommend,  but,  on  the  contrary,  abhor.  All 
acts  of  civility  are,  by  common  consent,  understood  to  be 
no  more  than  a  conformity  to  custom,  for  the  quiet  and 
convenience  of  society,  the  agremens  of  which  are  not  to  be 
disturbed  by  private  dislikes  and  jealousies.  Only  women 
and  little  minds  pout  and  spar  for  the  entertainment  of  the 
company  that  always  laughs  at,  and  never  pities  them.  For 
my  own  part,  though  I  would  by  no  means  give  up  any 
point  to  a  competitor,  yet  I  would  pique  myself  upon 
showing  him  rather  more  civility  than  to  another  man.  In 
the  first  place,  this  precede  infallibly  makes  all  les  rieurs  of 
your  side,  which  is  a  considerable  party ;  and  in  the  next 
place,  it  certainly  pleases  the  object  of  the  competition,  be 
it  either  man  or  woman ;  who  never  fail  to  say,  upon  such 
an  occasion,  that  they  must  own  you  have  behaved  yourself 
very  handsomely  in  the  whole  affair.  The  world  judges  from 
the  appearances  of  things,  and  not  from  the  reality,  which 
few  are  able,  and  still  fewer  are  inclined,  to  fathom ;  and  a 
man,  who  will  take  care  always  to  be  in  the  right  in  those 
things,  may  afford  to  be  sometimes  a  little  in  the  wrong  in 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  257 

more  essential  ones :  there  is  a  willingness,  a  desire  to 
excuse  him.  With  nine  people  in  ten  good  breeding  passes 
for  good  nature,  and  they  take  attentions  for  good  offices. 
At  Courts  there  will  be  always  coldnesses,  dislikes, 
jealousies,  and  hatred ;  the  harvest  being  but  small  in  pro- 
portion to  the  number  of  labourers ;  but  then,  as  they  arise 
often,  they  die  soon,  unless  they  are  perpetuated  by  the 
manner  in  which  they  have  been  carried  on  more  than  by 
the  matter  which  occasioned  them.  The  turns  and  vicis- 
situdes of  Courts  frequently  make  friends  of  enemies,  and 
enemies  of  friends  :  you  must  labour,  therefore,  to  acquire 
that  great  and  uncommon  talent,  of  hating  with  good 
breeding,  and  loving  with  prudence ;  to  make  no  quarrel 
irreconcilable,  by  silly  and  unnecessary  indications  of  anger ; 
and  no  friendship  dangerous,  in  case  it  breaks,  by  a  wanton, 
indiscreet,  and  unreserved  confidence. 

Few  (especially  young)  people  know  how  to  love,  or  how 
to  hate ;  their  love  is  an  unbounded  weakness,  fatal  to  the 
person  they  love ;  their  hate  is  a  hot,  rash,  and  imprudent 
violence,  always  fatal  to  themselves.  Nineteen  fathers  in 
twenty,  and  every  mother,  who  had  loved  you  half  as 
well  as  I  do,  would  have  ruined  you  ;  whereas  I  always 
made  you  feel  the  weight  of  my  authority,  that  you  might 
one  day  know  the  force  of  my  love.  Now,  I  both  hope 
and  believe  my  advice  will  have  the  same  weight  with  you 
from  choice,  that  my  authority  had  from  necessity.  My 
advice  is  just  eight-and-thirty  years  older  than  your  own, 
aad  consequently,  I  believe  you  think;  rather  better.  As 
for  your  tender  and  pleasurable  passions,  manage  them 
yourself;  but  let  me  have  the  direction  of  all  the  others. 
Your  ambition,  your  figure,  and  your  fortune  will,  for  some 
time  at  least,  be  rather  safer  in  my  keeping  than  in  your 
own.  Adieu. 


LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 


LETTER  LXXV. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  May  the  2;th,  O.  S.  1753. 

I  HAVE  this  day  been  tired,  jaded,  nay,  tormented,  by 
the  company  of  a  most  worthy,  sensible,  and  learned  man, 
a  near  relation  of  mine,  who  dined  and  passed  the  evening 
with  me.  This  seems  a  paradox,  but  is  a  plain  truth ;  he 
has  no  knowledge  of  the  world,  no  manners,  no  address ; 
far  from  talking  without  book,  as  is  commonly  said  of 
people  who  talk  sillily,  he  only  talks  by  book ;  which,  in 
general  conversation,  is  ten  times  worse.  He  has  formed 
in  his  own  closet,  from  books,  certain  systems  of  every- 
thing, argues  tenaciously  upon  those  principles,  and  is  both 
surprised  and  angry  at  whatever  deviates  from  them.  His 
theories  are  good,  but,  unfortunately,  are  all  impracticable. 
Why  ?  Because  he  has  only  read,  and  not  conversed,  jle 
is  acquainted  with  books,  and  an  absolute  stranger  to  men. 
Labouring  with  his  matter,  he  is  delivered  of  it  with  pangs ; 
he  hesitates,  stops  in  his  utterance,  and  always  expresses 
himself  inelegantly.  His  actions  are  all  ungraceful ;  so 
that,  with  all  his  merit  and  knowledge,  I  would  rather 
converse  six  hours  with  the  most  frivolous  tittle-tattle 
woman,  who  knew  something  of  the  world,  than  with  him. 
The  preposterous  notions  of  a  systematical  man,  who  does 
not  know  the  world,  tire  the  patience  of  a  man  who  does. 
It  would  be  endless  to  correct  his  mistakes,  nor  would  he 
take  it  kindly;  for  he  has  considered  everything  deliber- 
ately, and  is  very  sure  that  he  is  in  the  right.  Impropriety 
is  a  characteristic,  and  a  never-failing  one,  of  these  people. 
Regardless,  because  ignorant,  of  custom  and  manners,  they 
violate  them  every  moment.  They  often  shock,  though 
they  never  mean  to  offend ;  never  attending  either  to  the 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  259 

general  character,  or  the  particular  distinguishing  circum- 
stances of  the  people  to  whom,  or  before  whom,  they  talk : 
whereas  the  knowledge  of  the  world  teaches  one  that  the 
very  same  things  which  are  exceedingly  right  and  proper  in 
one  company,  time,  and  place,  are  exceedingly  absurd  in 
others.  In  short,  a  man  who  has  great  knowledge,  from 
experience  and  observation  of  the  characters,  customs,  and 
manners  of  mankind,  is  a  being  as  different  from,  and  as 
superior  to,  a  man  of  mere  book  and  systematical  know- 
ledge, as  a  well-managed  horse  is  to  an  ass.  Study  there- 
fore,  cultivate,  and  frequent,  men  and  women;  not  only  in 
theTf  "outward,  and  consequently  guarded,  but  in  their 
interior,  domestic,  and  consequently  less  disguised,  char- 
acters, and  manners.  Take  your  notions  of  things,  as  by 
observation  and  experience  you  find  they  really  are,  and 
not  as  you  read  that  they  are  or  should  be ;  for  they  never 
are  quite  what  they  should  be.  For  this  purpose  do  not 
content  yourself  with  general  and  common  acquaintance ; 
but,  wherever  you  can,  establish  yourself,  with  a  kind  of 
domestic  familiarity,  in  good  houses.  For  instance;  go  again 
to  Orli  for  two  or  three  days,  and  so  at  two  or  three  reprises. 
Go  and  stay  two  or  three  days  at  a  time  at  Versailles,  and 
improve  and  extend  the  acquaintance  you  have  there.  Be 
at  home  at  St.  Cloud ;  and  whenever  any  private  person  of 
fashion  invites  you  to  pass  a  few  days  at  his  country-house, 
accept  of  the  invitation.  This  will  necessarily  give  you  a 
versatility  of  mind,  and  a  facility  to  adopt  various  manners 
and  customs;  for  everybody  desires  to  please  those  in 
whose  house  they  are ;  and  people  are  only  to  be  pleased 
in  their  own  way.  Nothing  is  more  engaging  than  a  cheer- 
ful and  easy  conformity  to  people's  particular  manners, 
habits,  and  even  weaknesses ;  nothing  (to  use  a  vulgar 
expression)  should  come  amiss  to  a  young  fellow.  He 


260  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

should  be,  for  good  purposes,  what  Alcibiades  was  com- 
monly for  bad  ones,  a  Proteus,  assuming  with  ease,  and 
wearing  with  cheerfulness,  any  shape.  Heat,  cold,  luxury, 
abstinence,  gravity,  gaiety,  ceremony,  easiness,  learning, 
trifling,  business,  and  pleasure,  are  modes  which  he  should 
be  able  to  take,  lay  aside,  or  change  occasionally,  with  as 
much  ease  as  he  would  take  or  lay  aside  his  hat.  All  this 
is  only  to  be  acquired  by  use  and  knowledge  of  the  world, 
by  keeping  a  great  deal  of  company,  analysing  every 
character,  and  insinuating  yourself  into  the  familiarity  of 
various  acquaintance.  A  right,  a  generous  ambition  to 
make  a  figure  in  the  world,  necessarily  gives  the  desire  of 
pleasing;  the  desire  of  pleasing  points  out,  to  a  great 
degree,  the  means  of  doing  it ;  and  the  art  of  pleasing  is, 
in  truth,  the  art  of  rising,  of  distinguishing  one's  self,  of 
making  a  figure  and  a  fortune  in  the  world.  But  without 
pleasing,  without  the  Graces,  as  I  have  told  you  a  thousand 
times,  ogni  fatica  i  vana.  You  are  now  but  nineteen,  an 
age  at  which  most  of  your  countrymen  are  illiberally  getting 
drunk  in  Port,  at  the  University.  You  have  greatly  got  the 
start  of  them  in  learning ;  and  if  you  can  equally  get  the 
start  of  them  in  the  knowledge  and  manners  of  the  world, 
you  may  be  very  sure  of  outrunning  them  in  Court  and 
Parliament,  as  you  set  out  so  much  earlier  than  they.  They 
generally  begin  but  to  see  the  world  at  one-and-twenty ; 
you  will  by  that  age  have  seen  all  Europe.  They  set  out 
upon  their  travels  unlicked  cubs ;  and  in  their  travels  they 
only  lick  one  another,  for  they  seldom  go  into  any  other 
company.  They  know  nothing  but  the  English  world,  and 
the  worst  part  of  that  too,  and  generally  very  little  of  any 
but  the  English  language ;  and  they  come  home,  at  three  or 
four-and-twenty,  refined  and  polished  (as  is  said  in  one  of 
Congreve's  plays)  like  Dutch  skippers  from  a  whale-fishing 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  261 

The  care  which  has  been  taken  of  you,  and  (to  do  you 
justice)  the  care  you  have  taken  of  yourself,  has  left  you,  at 
the  age  of  nineteen  only,  nothing  to  acquire  but  the  know- 
ledge of  the  world,  manners,  address,  and  those  exterior 
accomplishments.  But  they  are  great  and  necessary  acqui- 
sitions to  those  who  have  sense  enough  to  know  their  true 
value ;  and  your  getting  them  before  you  are  one-and-twenty, 
and  before  you  enter  upon  the  active  and  shining  scene  of 
life,  will  give  you  such  an  advantage  over  all  your  contem- 
poraries, that  they  cannot  overtake  you;  they  must  be 
distanced.  You  may  probably  be  placed  about  a  young 
Prince,  who  will  probably  be  a  young  King.  There  all  the 
various  arts  of  pleasing,  the  engaging  address,  the  versatility 
of  manners,  the  brillant,  the  Graces,  will  outweigh  and  yet 
outrun  all  solid  knowledge  and  unpolished  merit.  Oil 
yourself  therefore,  and  be  both  supple  and  shining  for  that 
race,  if  you  would  be  first,  or  early,  at  the  goal.  Ladies 
will  most  probably,  too,  have  something  to  say  there ;  and 
those  who  are  best  with  them,  will  probably  be  best  some- 
where else.  Labour  this  great  point,  my  dear  child,  inde- 
fatigably ;  attend  to  the  very  smallest  parts,  the  minutest 
graces,  the  most  trifling  circumstances,  that  can  possibly 
concur  in  forming  the  shining  character  of  a  complete 
Gentleman,  un  galant  homme,  un  homme  de  Cour,  a  man 
of  business  and  pleasure ;  estime  des  hommes^  recherche  des 
femmes,  aime  de  tout  !e  monde.  In  this  view  observe  the 
shining  part  of  every  man  of  fashion,  who  is  liked  and 
esteemed ;  attend  to,  and  imitate  that  particular  accom- 
plishment for  which  you  hear  him  chiefly  celebrated  and 
distinguished ;  then  collect  those  various  parts,  and  make 
yourself  a  Mosaic  of  the  whole.  No  one  body  possesses 
everything,  and  almost  everybody  possesses  some  one  thing 
worthy  of  imitation :  cnly  choose  your  models  well ;  and, 


262  LORD  CHESIERFIELD'S 

in  order  to  do  so,  choose  by  your  ear  more  than  by  your 
eye.  The  best  model  is  always  that  which  is  most  univer- 
sally allowed  to  be  the  best,  though  in  strictness  it  may 
possibly  not  be  so.  We  must  take  most  things  as  they  are, 
we  cannot  make  them  what  we  would,  nor  often  what  they 
should  be ;  and  where  moral  duties  are  not  concerned  it  is 
more  prudent  to  follow,  than  to  attempt  to  lead.  Adieu. 


LETTER  LXXVI. 

MY   DEAR   FRIEND,  London,  February  26th,  1754. 

I  HAVE  received  your  letters  of  the  4th  from  Munich,  and 
of  the  nth  from  Ratisbon;  but  I  have  not  received  that  of 
the  3ist  January,  to  which  you  refer  in  the  former.  It  is  to 
this  negligence  and  uncertainty  of  the  post  that  you  owe 
your  accidents  between  Munich  and  Ratisbon;  for  had  you 
received  my  letters  regularly,  you  would  have  received  one 
from  me  before  you  left  Munich,  in  which  I  advised  you  to 
stay,  since  you  were  so  well  there.  But  at  all  events,  you 
were  in  the  wrong  to  set  out  from  Munich  in  such  weather 
and  such  roads ;  since  you  could  never  imagine  that  I  had 
set  my  heart  so  much  upon  your  going  to  Berlin  as  to 
venture  your  being  buried  in  the  snow  for  it.  Upon  the 
whole,  considering  all,  you  are  very  well  off.  You  do  very 
well,  in  my  mind,  to  return  to  Munich,  or  at  least  to  keep 
within  the  circle  of  Munich,  Ratisbon,  and  Mannheim,  till 
the  weather  and  the  roads  are  good  :  stay  at  each  or  any  of 
those  places  as  long  as  ever  you  please,  for  I  am  extremely 
indifferent  about  your  going  to  Berlin. 

As  to  our  meeting,  I  will  tell  you  my  plan,  and  you  may 
form  your   own  accordingly      I  propose  setting  out  from 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  263 

hence  the  last  week  in  April,  then  drinking  the  Aix-la- 
Chapelle  waters  for  a  week,  and  from  thence  being  at  Spa 
about  the  i$th  of  May,  where  I  shall  stay  two  months  at 
most,  and  then  returning  straight  to  England.  As  I  both 
hope  and  believe  that  there  will  be  no  mortal  at  Spa  during 
my  residence  there,  the  fashionable  season  not  beginning 
till  the  middle  of  July,  I  would  by  no  means  have  you  come 
there  at  first,  to  be  locked  up  with  me  and  some  few 
CapucinS)  for  two  months  in  that  miserable  hole;  but  I 
would  advise  you  to  stay  where  you  like  best,  till  about  the 
first  week  in  July,  and  then  to  come  and  pick  me  up  at  Spa, 
or  meet  me  upon  the  road  at  Liege  or  Brussels.  As  for  the 
intermediate  time,  should  you  be  weary  of  Mannheim  and 
Munich,  you  may,  if  you  please,  go  to  Dresden  to  Sir 
Charles  Williams,  who  will  be  there  before  that  time;  or 
you  may  come  for  a  month  or  six  weeks  to  the  Hague,  or, 
in  short,  go  or  stay  wherever  you  like  best.  So  much  for 
your  motions. 

As  you  have  sent  for  all  the  letters  directed  to  you  at 
Berlin,  you  will  receive  from  thence  volumes  of  mine, 
among  which  you  will  easily  perceive  that  some  were 
calculated  for  a  supposed  perusal  previous  to  your  opening 
them.  I  will  not  repeat  anything  contained  in  them, 
excepting  that  I  desire  you  will  send  me  a  warm  and 
cordial  letter  of  thanks  for  Mr.  Eliot,  who  has  in  the  most 
friendly  manner  imaginable  fixed  you  at  his  own  borough  of 
Liskeard,  where  you  will  be  elected,  jointly  with  him,  with- 
out the  least  opposition  or  difficulty.  I  will  forward  that 
letter  to  him  into  Cornwall,  where  he  now  is. 

Now,  that  you  are  soon  to  be  a  man  of  business,  I 
heartily  wish  you  would  immediately  begin  to  be  a  man 
of  method,  nothing  contributing  more  to  facilitate  and 
despatch  business  than  method  and  order.  Have  order 


264  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

and  method  in  your  accounts,  in  your  reading,  in  the  allot- 
ment of  your  time,  in  short,  in  everything.  You  cannot 
conceive  how  much  time  you  will  save  by  it,  nor  how  much 
better  everything  you  do  will  be  done.  The  Duke  of 
Marlborough  did  by  no  means  spend,  but  he  slatterned 
himself  into  that  immense  debt,  which  is  not  yet  near  paid 
off.  The  hurry  and  confusion  of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle  do 
not  proceed  from  his  business,  but  from  his  want  of  method 
in  it.  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  who  had  ten  times  the  business 
to  do,  was  never  seen  in  a  hurry,  because  he  always  did  it 
with  method.  The  head  of  a  man  who  has  business,  and 
no  method  nor  order,  is  properly  that  rudis  indigestaque 
moles  quam  dixere  chaos.  As  you  must  be  conscious  that 
you  are  extremely  negligent  and  slatternly,  I  hope  you  will 
resolve  not  to  be  so  for  the  future.  Prevail  with  yourself 
only  to  observe  good  method  and  order  for  one  fortnight, 
and  I  will  venture  to  assure  you  that  you  will  never  neglect 
them  afterwards,  you  will  find  such  conveniency  and  advan- 
tage arising  from  them.  Method  is  the  great  advantage  that 
lawyers  have  over  other  people  in  speaking  in  Parliament ; 
for,  as  they  must  necessarily  observe  it  in  their  pleadings  in 
the  Courts  of  Justice,  it  becomes  habitual  to  them  every- 
where else.  Without  making  you  a  compliment,  I  can  tell 
you  with  pleasure,  that  order,  method,  and  more  activity  of 
mind,  are  all  that  you  want,  to  make,  some  day  or  other, 
a  considerable  figure  in  business.  You  have  more  useful 
knowledge,  more  discernment  of  characters,  and  much  more 
discretion  than  is  common  at  your  age ;  much  more,  I  am 
sure,  than  I  had  at  that  age. — Experience  you  cannot  yet 
have,  and  therefore  trust  in  the  meantime  to  mine.  I  am 
an  old  traveller ;  am  well  acquainted  with  all  the  by,  as  well 
as  the  great,  roads;  I  cannot  misguide  you  from  ignorance, 
and  you  are  very  sure  I  shall  not  from  design. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  265 

I  can  assure  you  that  you  will  have  no  opportunity  of 
subscribing  yourself,  my  Excellency's,  etc.  Retirement  and 
quiet  were  my  choice  some  years  ago,  while  I  had  all  my 
senses,  and  health  and  spirits  enough  to  carry  on  business ; 
but  now  I  have  lost  my  hearing,  and  find  my  constitution 
declining  daily,  they  are  become  my  necessary  and  only 
refuge.  I  know  myself  (no  common  piece  of  knowledge, 
let  me  tell  you),  I  know  what  I  can,  what  I  cannot,  and 
consequently  what  I  ought  to  do.  I  ought  not,  and  there- 
fore will  not,  return  to  business,  when  I  am  much  less  fit 
for  it  than  I  was  when  I  quitted  it.  Still  less  will  I  go  to 
Ireland,  where,  from  my  deafness  and  infirmities,  I  must 
necessarily  make  a  different  figure  from  that  which  I  once 
made  there.  My  pride  would  be  too  much  mortified  by 
that  difference.  The  two  important  senses  of  seeing  and 
hearing  should  not  only  be  good,  but  quick,  in  business; 
and  the  business  of  a  Lord-Lieutenant  of  Ireland  (if  he  will 
do  it  himself)  requires  both  those  senses  in  the  highest  per- 
fection. It  was  the  Duke  of  Dorset's  not  doing  the  business 
himself,  but  giving  it  up  to  favourites,  that  has  occasioned 
all  this  confusion  in  Ireland;  and  it  was  my  doing  the 
whole  myself,  without  either  Favourite,  Minister,  or  Mistress, 
that  made  my  administration  so  smooth  and  quiet.  I 
remember,  when  I  named  the  late  Mr.  Liddel  for  my 
Secretary,  everybody  was  much  surprised  at  it ;  and  some 
of  my  friends  represented  to  me  that  he  was  no  man  of 
business,  but  only  a  very  genteel,  pretty  young  fellow;  I 
assured  them,  and  with  truth,  that  that  was  the  very  reason 
why  I  chose  him :  for  that  I  was  resolved  to  do  all  the  busi- 
ness myself,  and  without  even  the  suspicion  of  having  a 
Minister ;  which  the  Lord-Lieutenant's  Secretary,  if  he  is  a 
man  of  business,  is  always  supposed,  and  commonly  with 
reason,  to  be.  Moreover,  I  look  upon  myself  now  to  be 


266  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

emeritus  in  business,  in  which  I  have  been  near  forty  years 
together;  I  give  it  up  to  yon:  apply  yourself  to  it,  as  I  have 
done,  for  forty  years,  and  then  I  consent  to  your  leaving  it 
for  a  philosophical  retirement,  among  your  friends  and  your 
books.  Statesmen  and  beauties  are  very  rarely  sensible  of 
the  gradations  of  their  decay;  and,  too  sanguinely  hoping 
to  shine  on  in  their  meridian,  often  set  with  contempt  and 
ridicule.  I  retired  in  time,  uti  conviva  satur ;  or,  as  Pope 
says,  still  better,  "  Ere  tittering  youth  shall  shove  you  from 
the  stage."  My  only  remaining  ambition  is  to  be  the 
Counsellor  and  Minister  of  your  rising  ambition.  Let  me 
see  my  own  youth  revived  in  you ;  let  me  be  your  Mentor, 
and,  with  your  parts  and  knowledge,  I  promise  you,  you 
shall  go  far.  You  must  bring,  on  your  part,  activity  and 
attention,  and  I  will  point  out  to  you  the  proper  objects  for 
them.  I  own  I  fear  but  one  thing  for  you,  and  that  is  what 
one  has  generally  the  least  reason  to  fear,  from  one  of  your 
age ;  I  mean  your  laziness,  which,  if  you  indulge,  will  make 
you  stagnate  in  a  contemptible  obscurity  all  your  life.  It 
will  hinder  you  from  doing  anything  that  will  deserve  to  be 
written,  or  from  writing  anything  that  may  deserve  to  be 
read ;  and  yet  one  or  other  of  these  two  objects  should  be 
at  least  aimed  at  by  every  rational  being.  I  look  upon 
indolence  as  a  sort  of  suicide ;  for  the  Man  is  effectually 
destroyed,  though  the  appetites  of  the  Brute  may  survive. 
Business  by  no  means  forbids  pleasures;  on  the  contrary, 
they  reciprocally  season  each  other ;  and  I  will  venture  to 
affirm,  that  no  man  enjoys  either  in  perfection  that  does  not 
join  both.  They  whet  the  desire  for  each  other.  Use 
yourself  therefore,  in  time,  to  be  alert  and  diligent  in  your 
little  concerns:  never  procrastinate,  never  put  off  till  to 
morrow  what  you  can  do  to-day ;  and  never  do  two  things 
at  a  time  :  pursue  your  object,  be  it  what  it  will,  steadily 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  267 

and  indefatigably ;  and  let  any  difficulties  (if  surmountable) 
rather  animate  than  slacken  your  endeavours.  Perseverance 
has  surprising  effects. 

I  wish  you  would  use  yourself  to  translate,  every  day, 
only  three  or  four  lines,  from  any  book,  in  any  language, 
into  the  correctest  and  most  elegant  English  that  you  can 
think  of;  you  cannot  imagine  how  it  will  insensibly  form 
your  style,  and  give  you  an  habitual  elegancy  :  it  would  not 
take  you  up  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  a  day.  This  letter  is 
so  long,  that  it  will  hardly  leave  you  that  quarter  of  an  hour, 
the  day  you  receive  it.  So  good-night 


LETTER  LXXVII. 

My  DEAR  FRIEND,  Bath,  November  the  15th,  1756. 

I  RECEIVED  yours  yesterday  morning,  together  with  the 
Prussian  papers,  which  I  have  read  with  great  attention.  If 
Courts  could  blush,  those  of  Vienna  and  Dresden  ought,  to 
have  their  falsehoods  so  publicly  and  so  undeniably  exposed. 
The  former  will,  I  presume,  next  year  employ  a  hundred 
thousand  men,  to  answer  the  accusation ;  and  if  the 
Empress  of  the  Two  Russias  is  pleased  to  argue  in  the 
same  cogent  manner,  their  logic  will  be  too  strong  for  all 
the  King  of  Prussia's  rhetoric.  I  well  remember  the  treaty 
so  often  referred  to  in  those  pieces,  between  the  two 
Empresses,  in  1746.  The  King  was  strongly  pressed  by 
the  Empress  Queen  to  accede  to  it.  Wassenaer  communi- 
cated it  to  me  for  that  purpose.  I  asked  him  if  there  were 
no  secret  articles ;  suspecting  that  there  were  some,  because 
the  ostensible  treaty  was  a  mere  harmless  defensive  one. 


268  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

He  assured  me  there  were  none.  Upon  which  I  told  him, 
that  as  the  King  had  already  defensive  alliances  with  those 
two  Empresses,  I  did  not  see  of  what  use  his  accession  to 
this  treaty,  if  merely  a  defensive  one,  could  be  either  to 
himself  or  the  other  contracting  parties ;  but  that,  however, 
if  it  was  only  desired  as  an  indication  of  the  King's  good 
will,  I  would  give  him  an  act,  by  which  his  Majesty  should 
accede  to  that  treaty,  as  far,  but  no  further,  as  at  present  he 
stood  engaged  to  the  respective  Empresses,  by  the  defensive 
alliances  subsisting  with  each.  This  ofier  by  no  means 
satisfied  him ;  which  was  a  plain  proof  of  the  secret  articles 
now  brought  to  light,  and  into  which  the  Court  of  Vienna 
hoped  to  draw  us.  I  told  Wassenaer  so,  and  after  that  I 
heard  no  more  of  his  invitation. 

I  am  still  bewildered  in  the  changes  at  Court,  of  which  I 
find  that  all  the  particulars  are  not  yet  fixed.  Who  would 
have  thought,  a  year  ago,  that  Mr.  Fox,  the  Chancellor,  and 
the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  should  all  three  have  quitted 
together ;  nor  can  I  yet  account  for  it ;  explain  it  to  me  if 
you  can.  I  cannot  see,  neither,  what  the  Duke  of  Devon- 
shire and  Fox,  whom  I  looked  upon  as  intimately  united, 
can  have  quarrelled  about,  with  relation  to  the  Treasury; 
inform  me,  if  you  know.  I  never  doubted  of  the  prudent 
versatility  of  your  Vicar  of  Bray ;  but  I  am  surprised  at 
Obrien  Windham's  going  out  of  the  Treasury,  where  I 
should  have  thought  that  the  interest  of  his  brother-in-law, 
George  Grenville,  would  have  kept  him. 

Having  found  myself  rather  worse  these  two  or  three  last 
days,  I  was  obliged  to  take  some  ipecacuana  last  night ;  and, 
what  you  will  think  odd,  for  a  vomit,  I  brought  it  all  up 
again  in  about  an  hour,  to  my  great  satisfaction  and  emolu- 
ment, which  is  seldom  the  case  in  restitutions. 

You   did  well  to  go  to  the  Duke   of  Newcastle,   who, 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  269 

I  suppose,  will  have  no  more  levees ;  however,  go  from  time 
to  time,  and  leave  your  name  at  his  door,  for  you  have 
obligations  to  him.  Adieu. 


LETTER  LXXVIII. 

MY  DEAR   FRIEND,  Blackheath,  Sept.  the  1st,  1763. 

GREAT  news !  The  King  sent  for  Mr.  Pitt  last  Saturday, 
and  the  conference  lasted  a  full  hour;  on  the  Monday 
following  another  conference,  which  lasted  much  longer ; 
and  yesterday  a  third,  longer  than  either.  You  take  for 
granted  that  the  treaty  was  concluded  and  ratified :  no  such 
matter,  for  this  last  conference  broke  it  entirely  off;  and 
Mr.  Pitt  and  Lord  Temple  went  yesterday  evening  to  their 
respective  country  houses.  Would  you  know  what  it  broke 
off  upon,  you  must  ask  the  newsmongers,  and  the  coffee- 
houses, who,  I  dare  say,  know  it  all  very  minutely ;  but  I, 
who  am  not  apt  to  know  anything  that  I  do  not  know, 
honestly  and  humbly  confess  that  I  cannot  tell  you; 
probably  one  party  asked  too  much,  and  the  other  would 
grant  too  little. — However,  the  King's  dignity  was  not,  in 
my  mind,  much  consulted,  by  their  making  him  sole 
Plenipotentiary  of  a  treaty,  which  they  were  not,  in  all 
events,  determined  to  conclude.  It  ought  surely  to  have 
been  begun  by  some  inferior  agent,  and  his  Majesty  should 
only  have  appeared  in  rejecting  or  ratifying  it.  Louis  the 
XlVth  never  sate  down  before  a  town  in  person,  that  was 
not  sure  to  be  taken. 

However,  ce  qui  est  differe  rfest  pas  perdu;  for  this  matter 
must  be  taken  up  again,  and  concluded  before  the  meeting 
of  the  Parliament,  and  probably  upon  more  disadvantageous 

20 


270  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

terms  to  the  present  Ministers,  who  have  tacitly  admitted, 
by  this  late  negotiation,  what  their  enemies  have  loudly 
proclaimed,  that  they  are  not  able  to  carry  on  affairs.  So 
much  de  re  politico,. 

I  have  at  last  done  the  best  office  that  can  be  done,  to 
most  married  people;  that  is,  I  have  fixed  the  separation 
between  my  brother  and  his  wife  ;  and  the  definitive  treaty 
of  peace  will  be  proclaimed  in  about  a  fortnight ;  for  the 
only  solid  and  lasting  peace  between  a  man  and  his  wife  is, 
doubtless,  a  separation.  God  bless  you  ! 


LETTER  LXXIX. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  Blackheath,  Sept.  the  3Oth,  1763. 

You  will  have  known,  long  before  this,  from  the  office, 
that  the  departments  are  not  cast  as  you  wished ;  for  Lord 
Halifax,  as  senior,  had  of  course  his  choice,  and  chose  the 
Southern,  upon  account  of  the  colonies.  The  Ministry, 
such  as  it  is,  is  now  settled  en  attendant  mieux;  but,  in  my 
opinion,  cannot,  as  they  are,  meet  the  Parliament. 

The  only,  and  all  the  efficient  people  they  have,  are  in  the 
House  of  Lords ;  for,  since  Mr.  Pitt  has  firmly  engaged 
Charles  Townshend  to  him,  there  is  not  a  man  of  the  Court 
side,  in  the  House  of  Commons,  who  has  either  abilities  or 

words  enough  to  call  a  coach.      Lord  B is  certainly 

playing  un  dessous  de  cartes^  and  I  suspect  that  it  is  with 
Mr.  Pitt ;  but  what  that  dessous  is,  I  do  not  know,  though 
all  the  coffee-houses  do  most  exactly. 

The  present  inaction,  I  believe,  gives  you  leisure  enough 
for  ennui,  but  it  gives  you  time  enough,  too,  for  better 
things ;  I  mean  reading  useful  books ;  and,  what  is  still 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  271 

more  useful,  conversing  with  yourself  some  part  of  every 
day.  Lord  Shaftesbury  recommends  self-conversation  to  all 
authors ;  and  I  would  recommend  it  to  all  men ;  they  would 
be  the  better  for  it.  Some  people  have  not  time,  and  fewer 
have  inclination,  to  enter  into  that  conversation ;  nay,  very 
many  dread  it,  and  fly  to  the  most  trifling  dissipations,  in 
order  to  avoid  it;  but  if  a  man  would  allot  half-an-hour 
every  night  for  this  self-conversation,  and  recapitulate  with 
himself  whatever  he  has  done,  right  or  wrong,  in  the  course 
of  the  day,  he  would  be  both  the  better  and  the  wiser  for  it. 
My  deafness  gives  me  more  than  sufficient  time  for  self- 
conversation  ;  and  I  have  found  great  advantages  from  it. 
My  brother,  and  Lady  Stanhope,  are  at  last  finally  parted. 
I  was  the  negotiator  between  them,  and  had  so  much 
trouble  in  it,  that  I  would  much  rather  negotiate  the  most 
difficult  point  of  the  jus  publicum  Sacri  Romani  Imperil, 
with  the  whole  Diet  of  Ratisbon,  than  negotiate  any  point 
with  any  woman.  If  my  brother  had  had  some  of  those 
self-conversations  which  I  recommend,  he  would  not,  I 
believe,  at  past  sixty,  with  a  crazy,  battered  constitution, 
and  deaf  into  the  bargain,  have  married  a  young  girl,  just 
turned  of  twenty,  full  of  health,  and  consequently  of  desires. 
But  who  takes  warning  by  the  fate  of  others?  This, 
perhaps,  proceeds  from  a  negligence  of  self-conversation. 
God  bless  you ! 


LETTER  LXXX. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  Bath,  December  the  i8th,  1763. 

I  RECEIVED  your  letter  this  morning,  in  which  you 
reproach  me  with  not  having  written  to  you  this  week. 
The  reason  was  that  I  did  not  know  what  to  write.  There 


272  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

is  that  sameness  in  my  life  here,  that  every  day  is  still  but  as 
the  first.  I  see  very  few  people ;  and,  in  the  literal  sense 
of  the  word,  I  hear  nothing. 

Mr.  L and  Mr.  C I  hold  to  be  two  very  ingeni- 
ous men ;  and  your  image  of  the  two  men  ruined,  one  by 
losing  his  lawsuit,  and  the  other  by  carrying  it,  is  a  very 
just  one.  To  be  sure  they  felt  in  themselves  uncommon 
talents  for  business  and  speaking,  which  were  to  reimburse 
them. 

Harte  has  a  great  poetical  work  to  publish,  before  it  be 
long ;  he  has  shown  me  some  parts  of  it.  He  had  entitled 
it  Emblems ;  but  I  persuaded  him  to  alter  that  name,  for 
two  reasons  :  the  first  was,  because  they  were  not  emblems, 
but  fables :  the  second  was,  that,  if  they  had  been  emblems, 
Quarles  had  degraded  and  vilified  that  name,  to  such  a 
degree,  that  it  is  impossible  to  make  use  of  it  after  him  :  so 
they  are  to  be  called  fables,  though  moral  tales  would,  in 
my  mind,  be  the  properest  name.  If  you  ask  me  what 
I  think  of  those  I  have  seen,  I  must  say  that  sunt  plura 
bond)  quczdam  mediocria^  et  quadam 

Your  report  of  future  changes,  I  cannot  think  is  wholly 
groundless :  for  it  still  runs  strongly  in  my  head  that  the 
mine  we  talked  of  will  be  sprung,  at,  or  before,  the  end  of 
the  session. 

I  have  got  a  little  more  strength,  but  not  quite  the 
strength  of  Hercules;  so  that  I  will  not  undertake,  like 
him,  fifty  deflorations  in  one  night ;  for  I  really  believe  that 
I  could  not  compass  them.  So  good-night,  and  God  bless 
you  I 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON.  273 


LETTER  LXXXI. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  London,  December  the  2;th,  1765. 

I  ARRIVED  here  from  Bath  last  Monday,  rather,  but 
not  much,  better  than  when  I  went  thither.  My  rheumatic 
pains,  in  my  legs  and  hips,  plague  me  still;  and  I  must 
never  expect  to  be  quite  free  from  them. 

You  have,  to  be  sure,  had  from  the  office  an  account 
of  what  the  Parliament  did,  or  rather  did  not  do,  the  day 
of  their  meeting:  and  the  same  point  will  be  the  great 
object  at  their  next  meeting;  I  mean  the  affair  of  our 
American  Colonies,  relatively  to  the  late  imposed  Stamp 
duty ;  which  our  Colonists  absolutely  refuse  to  pay.  The 
Administration  are  for  some  indulgence  and  forbearance 
to  those  froward  children  of  their  mother  country:  the 
Opposition  are  for  taking  vigorous,  as  they  call  them, 
but  I  call  them  violent,  measures ;  not  less  than  les, 
dragonades  ;  and  to  have  the  tax  collected  by  the  troops 
we  have  there.  For  my  part,  I  never  saw  a  froward  child 
mended  by  whipping :  and  I  would  not  have  the  mother 
country  become  a  stepmother.  Our  trade  to  America 
brings  in,  communibus  annis,  two  millions  a  year ;  and  the 
Stamp  duty  is  estimated  at  but  one  hundred  thousand 
pounds  a  year ;  which  I  would  by  no  means  bring  in  to  the 
stock  of  the  Exchequer,  at  the  loss,  or  even  the  risk,  of 
a  million  a  year  to  the  national  stock. 

I  do  not  tell  you  of  the  Garter,  given  away  yesterday, 
because  the  newspapers  will ;  but  I  must  observe,  that  the 
Prince  of  Brunswick's  riband  is  a  mark  of  great  distinction 
to  that  family;  which,  I  believe,  is  the  first  (except  our 
own  Royal  family)  that  has  ever  had  two  blue  ribands  at 
a  time ;  but  it  must  be  owned  they  deserved  them. 


274  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

One  hears  of  nothing  now,  in  town,  but  the  separation 
of  men  and  their  wives.  Will  Finch  the  ex-vice-Chamber- 
lain,  Lord  Warwick,  and  your  friend  Lord  Bolingbroke. 
I  wonder  at  none  of  them  for  parting;  but  I  wonder  at 
many  for  still  living  together;  for  in  this  country  it  is 
certain  that  marriage  is  not  well  understood. 

I  have  this  day  sent  Mr.  Larpent  two  hundred  pounds 
for  your  Christmas-box,  which  I  suppose  he  will  inform 
you  of  by  this  post.  Make  this  Christmas  as  merry  a  one 
as  you  can ;  for  pour  le  peu  de  bon  terns  qui  nous  reste^ 
rien  rfest  si  funeste  qu'un  noir  chagrin.  For  the  new 
years,  God  send  you  many,  and  happy  ones  1  Adieu. 


LETTER   LXXXII. 

To  Mrs.  Stanhope,  then  at  Paris. 

MADAM,  London,  March  the  i6th,  1769. 

A  TROUBLESOME  and  painful  inflammation  in  my  eyes 
obliges  me  to  use  another  hand  than  my  own,  to  acknow- 
ledge the  receipt  of  your  letter  from  Avignon,  of  the  27th 
past. 

I  am  extremely  surprised  that  Mrs.  du-Bouchet  should 
have  any  objection  to  the  manner  in  which  your  late 
husband  desired  to  be  buried,  and  which  you,  very 
properly,  complied  with.  All  I  desire,  for  rny  own  burial, 
is  not  to  be  buried  alive  ;  but  how  or  where,  I  think,  must 
be  entirely  indifferent  to  every  rational  creature. 

I  have  no  commission  to  trouble  you  with,  during  your 
stay  at  Paris;  from  whence,  I  wish  you  and  your  boys 


LETTERS.  275 

a  good  journey  home ;  where  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see 
you  all :  and  assure  you  of  my  being,  with  great  truth, 
Your  faithful,  humble  servant, 

CHESTERFIELD. 


LETTER   LXXXIII. 

To  the  samet  at  London. 
MADAM, 

THE  last  time  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you,  I  was 
so  taken  up  in  playing  with  the  boys,  that  I  forgot  their 
more  important  affairs.  How  soon  would  you  have  them 
placed  at  school  ?  When  I  know  your  pleasure  as  to  that, 
I  will  send  to  Monsieur  Ferny,  to  prepare  everything  for 
their  reception.  In  the  meantime,  I  beg  that  you  will 
equip  them  thoroughly  with  clothes,  linen,  etc.,  all  good, 
but  plain ;  and  give  me  the  account,  which  I  will  pay ; 
for  I  do  not  intend,  that,  from  this  time  forward,  the  two 
boys  should  cost  you  one  shilling. 

I  am,  with  great  truth,  Madam, 

Your  faithful,  humble  servant, 
Wednesday.  CHESTERFIELD. 


LETTER  LXXXIV. 
MADAM, 

As  some  day  must  be  fixed  for  sending  the  boys  to 
school,  do  you  approve  of  the  8th  of  next  month?  by 
which  time  the  weather  will  probably  be  warm  and  settled, 
and  you  will  be  able  to  equip  them  completely. 


276  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

I  will,  upon  that  day,  send  my  coach  to  you,  to  carry 
you  and  the  boys  to  Loughborough  House,  with  all  their 
immense  baggage.  I  must  recommend  to  you,  when  you 
leave  them  there,  to  suppress,  as  well  as  you  can,  the  over- 
flowings of  maternal  tenderness ;  which  would  grieve  the 
poor  boys  the  more,  and  give  them  a  terror  of  their  new 
establishment. 

I  am,  with  great  truth,  Madam, 

Your  faithful,  humble  servant, 

Thursday  Morning.  CHESTERFIELD. 


LETTER  LXXXV. 

MADAM,  Bath,  October  the  nth,  1769. 

NOBODY  can  be  more  willing  or  ready  to  obey  orders 
than  I  am ;  but  then  I  must  like  the  orders  and  the 
orderer.  Your  orders  and  yourself  come  under  this  de- 
scription ;  and  therefore  I  must  give  you  an  account  of 
my  arrival  and  existence,  such  as  it  is,  here.  1  got  hither 
last  Sunday,  the  day  after  I  left  London,  less  fatigued 
than  I  expected  to  have  been ;  and  now  crawl  about  this 
place  upon  my  three  legs,  but  am  kept  in  countenance 
by  many  of  my  fellow-crawlers :  the  last  part  of  the 
Sphynx's  riddle  approaches,  and  I  shall  soon  end,  as  I 
began,  upon  all  fours. 

When  you  happen  to  see  either  Monsieur  or  Madame 
Perny,  I  beg  you  will  give  them  this  melancholic  proof  of 
my  caducity,  and  tell  them,  that  the  last  time  I  went  to 
see  the  boys,  I  carried  the  Michaelmas  quarteridge  in  my 
pocket,  and  when  I  was  there  I  totally  forgot  it;  but 
assure  them  that  I  have  not  the  least  intention  to  bilk 


LETTERS.  277 

them,    and    will    pay   them    faithfully,    the    two    quarters 
together,  at  Christmas. 

I  hope  our  two  boys  are  well ;  for  then  I  am  sure  you 
are  so. 

I  am,  with  great  truth  and  esteem, 

Your  most  faithful,  humble  servant, 

CHESTERFIELD. 


LETTER  LXXXVI. 

MADAM,  Bath,  October  the  28th,  1769. 

YOUR  kind  anxiety  for  my  health  and  life  is  more  than, 
in  my  opinion,  they  are  both  worth  :  without  the  former, 
the  latter  is  a  burthen;  and,  indeed,  I  am  very  weary  of 
it.  I  think  I  have  got  some  benefit  by  drinking  these 
waters,  and  by  bathing,  for  my  old,  stiff,  rheumatic  limbs ; 
for  I  believe  I  could  now  outcrawl  a  snail,  or  perhaps  even 
a  tortoise. 

I  hope  the  boys  are  well.  Phil,  I  dare  say,  has  been  in 
some  scrape ;  but  he  will  get  triumphantly  out  of  them,  by 
dint  of  strength  and  resolution. 

I  am,  with  great  truth  and  esteem, 

Your  most  faithful,  humble  servant, 

CHESTERFIELD. 


LETTER   LXXXVII. 

MADAM,  Bath,  November  the  5th,  1769. 

I  REMEMBER  very  well  the  paragraph  which  you  quote 
from   a   letter   of  mine   to   Mrs.  du-Bouchct,  and   see   no 


278  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 

reason  yet  to  retract  that  opinion,  in  general,  which  at 
least  nineteen  widows  in  twenty  had  authorised.  I  had  not 
then  the  pleasure  of  your  acquaintance ;  I  had  seen  you 
but  twice  or  thrice;  and  I  had  no  reason  to  think  that 
you  would  deviate,  as  you  have  done,  from  other  widows, 
so  much,  as  to  put  perpetual  shackles  upon  yourself,  for 
the  sake  of  your  children  :  but  (if  I  may  use  a  vulgarism) 
one  swallow  makes  no  summer :  five  righteous  were 
formerly  necessary  to  save  a  city,  and  they  could  not  be 
found ;  so,  till  I  find  four  more  such  righteous  widows 
as  yourself,  I  shall  entertain  my  former  notions  of  widow- 
hood in  general. 

I  can  assure  you  that  I  drink  here  very  soberly  and 
cautiously,  and  at  the  same  time  keep  so  cool  a  diet,  that  I 
do  not  find  the  least  symptom  of  heat,  much  less  of  inflam- 
mation. By  the  way,  I  never  had  that  complaint,  in 
consequence  of  having  drunk  these  waters ;  for  I  have  had 
it  but  four  times,  and  always  in  the  middle  of  summer. 
Mr.  Hawkins  is  timorous,  even  to  minuties,  and  my  sister 
delights  in  them. 

Charles  will  be  a  scholar,  if  you  please;  but  our  little 
Philip,  without  being  one,  will  bs  something  or  other  as 
good,  though  I  do  not  yet  guess  what.  I  am  not  of 
the  opinion  generally  entertained  in  this  country,  that  man 
lives  by  Greek  and  Latin  alone ;  that  is,  by  knowing  a 
great  many  words  of  two  dead  languages,  which  nobody 
living  knows  perfectly,  and  which  are  of  no  use  in  the 
common  intercourse  of  life.  Useful  knowledge,  in  my 
opinion,  consists  of  modern  languages,  history,  and  geo- 
graphy; some  Latin  may  be  thrown  into  the  bargain,  in 
compliance  with  custom,  and  for  closet  amusement 

You  are,  by  this  time,  certainly  tired  with  this  long  letter, 
which  I  could  prove  to  you  from  Horace's  own  words  (for 


LETTERS.  279 

I  am  a  scholar)  to  be  a  bad  one;  he  says,  that  water 
drinkers  can  write  nothing  good ;  so  I  am,  with  real  truth 
and  esteem, 

Your  most  faithful,  humble  servant, 

CHESTERFIELD. 


LETTER   LXXXVIII. 

MADAM,  Bath,  October  the  9th,  1770. 

I  AM  extremely  obliged  to  you  for  the  kind  part  which 
you  take  in  my  health  and  life ;  as  to  the  latter,  I  am  as 
indifferent  myself,  as  any  other  body  can  be ;  but  as  to  the 
former,  I  confess  care  and  anxiety;  for,  while  I  am  to 
crawl  upon  this  Planet,  I  would  willingly  enjoy  the  health 
at  least  of  an  insect.  How  far  these  waters  will  restore  me 
to  that  moderate  degree  of  health,  which  alone  I  aspire  at, 
I  have  not  yet  given  them  a  fair  trial,  having  drunk  them 
but  one  week ;  the  only  difference  I  hitherto  find  is,  that 
I  sleep  better  than  I  did. 

I  beg  that  you  will  neither  give  yourself,  nor  Mr.  Fitzhugh, 
much  trouble  about  the  Pine  plants;  for,  as  it  is  three 
years  before  they  fruit,  I  might  as  well,  at  my  age,  plant 
Oaks,  and  hope  to  have  the  advantage  of  their  timber; 
however,  somebody  or  other,  God  knows  who,  will  eat 
them,  as  somebody  or  other  will  fell  and  sell  the  Oaks 
I  planted  five-and-forty  years  ago. 

I  hope  our  boys  are  well ;  my  respects  to  them  both. 
I  am,  with  the  greatest  truth, 

Your  faithful,  humble  servant, 

CHESTERFIELD 


23o  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S 


LETTER  LXXXIX. 

MADAM,  Bath,  November  the  4th,  1770. 

THE  post  has  been  more  favourable  to  you  than  I 
intended  it  should,  for,  upon  my  word,  I  answered  your 
former  letter  the  post  after  I  had  received  it.  However 
you  have  got  a  loss,  as  we  say,  sometimes,  in  Ireland. 

My  friends,  from  time  to  time,  require  bills  of  health 
from  me,  in  these  suspicious  times,  when  the  Plague  is  busy 
in  some  parts  of  Europe.  All  1  can  say,  in  answer  to  their 
kind  inquiries,  is,  that  I  have  not  the  distemper  properly 
called  the  Plague ;  but  that  I  have  all  the  plagues  of  old 
age,  and  of  a  shattered  carcass.  These  waters  have  done 
me  what  little  good  I  expected  from  them ;  though  by  no 
means  what  I  could  have  wished,  for  I  wished  them  to  be 
les  eaux  de  Jouvence. 

I    had   a   letter,    the   other   day,    from   our   two   boys; 
Charles's  was  very  finely  written,  and  Philip's  very  prettily  : 
they  are  perfectly  well,  and  say  that  they  want  nothing. 
What  grown-up  people  will  or  can  say  as  much  ? 
I  am,  with  the  truest  esteem, 

MADAM, 
Your  most  faithful  servant, 

CHESTERFIELD. 


LETTER  XC. 

MADAM,  Bath,  October  the  2Oth,  1771. 

UPON  my  word,  you  interest  yourself  in  the  state  of  my 
existence  more  than  I  do  myself ;  for  it  is  worth  the  care  of 
neither  of  us.  I  ordered  my  valet  de  chambre^  according 
to  your  orders,  to  inform  you  of  my  safe  arrival  here;  to 


LETTERS.  281 

which  I  can  add  nothing,  being  neither  better  nor  worse 
than  I  was  then. 

I  am  very  glad  that  our  boys  are  well.     Pray  give  them 
the  enclosed. 

I  am  not  at  all  surprised  at  Mr. 's  conversion ;  for 

he  was,  at  seventeen,  the  idol  of  old  women,  for  his  gravity, 
devotion,  and  dulness. 

I  am,  MADAM, 
Your  most  faithful,  humble  servant, 

CHESTERFIELD. 


LETTER  XCI. 
To  Charles  and  Philip  Stanhope. 

Bath,  October  the  27th,  1771. 

I  RECEIVED,  a  few  days  ago,  two  of  the  best  written 
letters  that  ever  I  saw  in  my  life ;  the  one  signed  Charles 
Stanhope,  the  other  Philip  Stanhope.  As  for  you,  Charles, 
I  did  not  wonder  at  it ;  for  you  will  take  pains,  and  are  a 
lover  of  letters :  but  you  idle  rogue,  you  Phil,  how  came 
you  to  write  so  well,  that  one  can  almost  say  of  you  two, 
et  cantare  pares  et  respondere  parati  ?  Charles  will  explain 
this  Latin  to  you. 

I  am  told,  Phil,  that  you  have  got  a  nickname  at  school, 
from  your  intimacy  with  Master  Strangeways ;  and  that  they 
call  you  Master  Strangerways ;  for,  to  be  sure,  you  are  a 
strange  boy.  Is  this  true  ? 

Tell  me  what  you  would  have  me  bring  you  both  from 
hence,  and  I  will  bring  it  you,  when  I  come  to  town.  In 
the  meantime,  God  bless  you  both ! 

CHESTERFIELD. 


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17  LONGFELLOW'S    "HYPERION,"    "  KAVANAGH,"    AND 

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18  GREAT    MUSICAL    COMPOSERS.      BY    G.    F.    FERRIS. 

Edited,  with  Introduction,  by  Mrs.  William  Sharp. 

19  THE  MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS.    EDITED 

by  Alice  Zimmern. 

20  THE  TEACHING  OF  EPICTETUS.    TRANSLATED  FROM 

the  Greek,  with  Introduction  and  Notes,  by  T.  W.  Rolle.ston. 

21  SELECTIONS    PROM   SENECA.    WITH  INTRODUCTION 

by  Walter  Clode. 

22  SPECIMEN  DAYS  IN  AMERICA.     BY  WALT  WHITMAN. 

Revised  by  the  Author,  with  fresh  Preface. 

13  DEMOCRATIC     VISTAS,     AND     OTHER     PAPERS.      BY 
Walt  Whitman.    (Published  by  arrangement  with  the  Author.) 

24  WHITE'S  NATURAL  HISTORY  OF  SELBORXE.     WITH 

a  Preface  by  Richard  Jeff eries. 

25  DEFOE'S      CAPTAIN      SINGLETON.       EDITED,      WITH 

Introduction,  by  H.  Halliday  Sparling. 

26  MAZZINI'S      ESSAYS :     LITERARY,     POLITICAL,     AND 

Religious.    With  Introduction  by  William  Clarke. 

27  PROSE  WRITINGS  OF  HEINE.    WITH  INTRODUCTION 

by  Havelock  Ellis. 

?8  REYNOLDS'S     DISCOURSES.      WITH     INTRODUCTION 
by  Helen  Zimmern. 

?-9  PAPERS    OF    STEELE    AND    ADDISON.      EDITED     BY 
Walter  Lewin. 

30  BURNS'S     LETTERS.       SELECTED     AND     ARRANGED, 

with  Introduction,  by  J.  Logie  Robertson,  M.A. 

31  VOLSUNGA    SAGA.     WILLIAM    MORRIS.      WITH    INTRO- 

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32  SARTOR   RESARTUS.     BY  THOMAS   CARLYLE.     WITH 

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33  SELECT    WRITINGS    OF     EMERSON.      WITH    INTRO- 

duction  by  Percival  Chubb. 

34  AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF     LORD     HERBERT.       EDITED, 

with  an  Introduction,  by  Will  H.  Dirck.s. 

35  ENGLISH     PROSE,     FROM     MAUNDEVILLE     TO 

Thackeray.    Chosen  and  Edited  by  Arthur  Galton. 

36  THE  PILLARS  OF  SOCIETY,  AND  OTHER  PLAYS.     BY 

Henrik  Ibsen.    Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by  Havelock  Ellis. 

37  IRISH     FAIRY    AND     FOLK     TALES.       EDITED    AND 

Selected  by  W.  B.  Yeats. 

38  ESSAYS     OF    DR.    JOHNSON,    WITH    BIOGRAPHICAL 

Introduction  and  Notes  by  Stuart  J.  Reid. 

39  ESSAYS     OF    WILLIAM    HAZLITT.       SELECTED    AND 

Edited,  with  Introduction  and  Notes,  by  Frank  Carr. 

40  LANDOR'S    PENTAMERON    AND    OTHER   IMAGINARY 

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41  POE'S   TALES   AND   ESSAYS.     EDITED,  WITH   INTRO- 

duction,  by  Ernest  Rhys. 

42  VICAR    OF    WAKEFIELD.      BY   OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

Edited,  with  Preface,  by  Ernest  Rhys. 

43  POLITICAL      ORATIONS,     FROM     WENTWORTH     TO 

Macaulay.    Edited,  with  Introduction,  by  William  Clarke. 

44  THE    AUTOCRAT     OF    THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.     BY 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

45  THE  POET  AT  THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.     BY  OLIVER 

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46  THE    PROFESSOR    AT    THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.     BY 

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47  LORD     CHESTERFIELD'S     LETTERS     TO     HIS     SON. 

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48  STORIES  FROM  CARLETON.    SELECTED,  WITH  INTRO- 

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51  THE  PROSE  WRITINGS  OF  THOMAS  DAVIS.     EDITED 

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52  SPENCE'S     ANECDOTES.       A     SELECTION.       EDITED, 

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c3  MO  RE'S  UTOPIA,  AND  LIFE  OF  EDWARD  V.     EDITED, 
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54  SADI'S    GULISTAN,    OR    FLOWER    GARDEN.     TRANS- 

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55  ENGLISH     FAIRY    AND    FOLK    TALES.       EDITED    BY 

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56  NORTHERN    STUDIES.    BY    EDMUND    GOSSE.     WITH 

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57  EARLY  REVIEWS   OF   GREAT  WRITERS.     EDITED  BY 

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58  ARISTOTLE'S      ETHICS.        WITH      GEORGE      HENRY 

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59  LANDOR'S  PERICLES    AND  ASPASIA.     EDITED,  WITH 

an  Introduction,  by  Havelock  Ellis. 

60  ANNALS   OF  TACITUS.      THOMAS   GORDON'S   TRANS- 

lation.    Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by  Arthur  Galton. 

61  ESSAYS    OF    ELIA.      BY    CHARLES    LAMB.      EDITED 

with  an  Introduction,  by  Ernest  Rhys. 

62  BALZAC'S     SHORTER     STORIES.       TRANSLATED     BY 

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63  COMEDIES     OF     DE     MUSSET.       EDITED,    WITH    AN 

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64  CORAL     REEFS.      BY    CHARLES    DARWIN.      EDITED, 

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65  SHERIDAN'S     PLAYS.       EDITED,    WITH     AN     INTRO- 

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67  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK,  AND  OTHER  STORIES. 

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68  OXFORD    MOVEMENT,    THE.      BEING    A    SELECTION 

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69  ESSAYS  AND  PAPERS  BY  DOUGLAS  JERROLD.  EDITED 

by  Walter  Jerrold. 

70  VINDICATION     OF    THE    RIGHTS    OF    WOMAN.      BY 

Mary  Wollstonecrftft.    Introduction  by  Mrs.  E.  Robins  Pennell. 

71  "THE  ATHENIAN  ORACLE."    A  SELECTION.    EDITED 

by  John  Underbill,  with  Prefatory  Note  by  Walter  Besant 

72  ESSAYS     OF     SAINTE-BEUVE.       TRANSLATED    AND 

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73  SELECTIONS     FROM     PLATO.       FROM     THE    TRANS- 

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74  HEINE'S  ITALIAN  TRAVEL  SKETCHES,  ETC.     TRANS- 

lated  by  Elizabeth  A.  Sharp.    With  an  Introduction  from  the  French  of 
Theophile  Gautier. 

75  SCHILLER'S     MAID     OF     ORLEANS.       TRANSLATED, 

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76  SELECTIONS  FROM  SYDNEY  SMITH.     EDITED,  WITH 

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77  THE  NEW  SPIRIT.     BY  HAVELOCK  ELLIS. 

78  THE   BOOK   OF   MARVELLOUS  ADVENTURES.     FROM 

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79  ESSAYS  AND  APHORISMS.     BY  SIR  ARTHUR   HELPS. 

With  an  Introduction  by  E.  A.  Helps. 

80  ESSAYS     OF     MONTAIGNE.       SELECTED,     WITH      A 

Prefatory  Note,  by  Porcival  Chubb. 

81  THE  LUCK  OF  BARRY  LYNDON.   BY  W.  M. 

Thackeray.    Edited  by  P.  T.  Marzlals. 

82  SCHILLER'S   WILLIAM   TELL.       TRANSLATED,   WITH 

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83  CARLYLE'S      ESSAYS      ON      GERMAN     LITERATURE, 

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84  PLAYS  AND  DRAMATIC  ESSAYS  OF  CHARLES   LAMB. 

Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by  Rudolph  Dircks. 

85  THE     PROSE    OF    WORDSWORTH.      SELECTED     AND 

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86  ESSAYS,    DIALOGUES,    AND    THOUGHTS    OF    COUNT 

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Major-Generaf  r&trick  Maxwell. 

87  THE     INSPECTOR-GENERAL.      A    RUSSIAN     COMEDY. 

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S3  ESSAYS  AND  APOTHEGMS  OF  FRANCIS,  LORD  BACON. 
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§9  PROSE  OF  MILTON.     SELECTED  AND  EDITED,  WITH 
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90  THE   REPUBLIC   OF   PLATO.   TRANSLATED   BY 

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91  PASSAGES     FROM     FROISSART.       WITH     AN     INTRO- 

duction  by  Frank  T.  Marzials. 

92  THE  PROSE  AND  TABLE  TALK  OF  COLERIDGE. 

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93  HEINE    IN    ART    AND    LETTERS.      TRANSLATED    BY 

Elizabeth  A.  Sharp. 

94  SELECTED     ESSAYS     OF     DE    QUINCEY.      WITH     AN 

Introduction  by  Sir  George  Douglas,  Bart. 

95  VASARI'S   LIVES  OF  ITALIAN  PAINTERS.     SELECTED 

and  Prefaced  by  Havelock  Ellis. 

96  LAOCOON,      AND      OTHER      PROSE      WRITINGS      OF 

LBSSING.    A  new  Translation  by  W.  B.  Ronnfeldt. 

97  PELLEAS    AND    MELISANDA,  AND   THE    SIGHTLESS. 

Two  Plays  by  Maurice  Maeterlinck.    Translated  from  the  French  by 
Laurence  Alma  Tadema. 

98  THE  COMPLETE  ANGLER  OF  WALTON  AND  COTTON. 

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99  LESSING'S  NATHAN  THE  WISE.  TRANSLATED  BY 
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100  THE  POETRY  OF  THE  CELTIC  RACES,  AND  OTHER 

Essays  of  Ernest  Renan.    Translated  by  W.  G.  Hutchison. 

101  CRITICISMS,  REFLECTIONS,  AND  MAXIMS  OF  GOETHE. 

Translated,  with  an  Introduction,  by  W.  B.  Ronnfeldt. 

102  ESSAYS    OF    SCHOPENHAUER.        TRANSLATED     BY 

Mrs.  Eudolf  Dircks.     With  an  Introduction. 

103  RENAN'S  LIFE  OF  JESUS.       TRANSLATED,  WITH  AN 

Introduction,  by  William  G.  Hutchison. 

104  THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  SAINT  AUGUSTINE.    EDITED, 

with  an  Introduction,  by  Arthur  Symons. 

105  THE    PRINCIPLES    OF    SUCCESS     IN    LITERATURE. 

By  George  Henry  Lewes.    Edited  by  T.  Sharper  Knowlson. 

106  THE  LIVES  OF  DR.  JOHN  DONNE,  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON, 

Mr.  Richard  Hooker,  Mr.  George  Herbert,  and  Dr.  Robert  Sanderson. 
By  Izaac  Walton.    Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by  Charles  Hill  Dick. 

107  POLITICAL      ECONOMY:        EXPOSITIONS      OF      ITS 

Fundamental  Doctrines.      Selected,  with  an   Introduction,  by  W.  B. 
Robertson,  M.A. 

108  RENAN'S    ANTICHRIST.       TRANSLATED,    WITH    AN 

Introduction,  by  W.  G.  Hutchison. 

109  ORATIONS    OF    CICERO.      SELECTED   AND    EDITED, 

with  an  Introduction,  by  Fred.  W.  Norris. 

I  io  REFLECTIONS  ON  THE  REVOLUTION  IN  FRANCE. 
By  Edmund  Burke.  With  an  Introduction  by  George  Sampson. 

in  THE  LETTERS  OF  THE  YOUNGER  PLINY.  SERIES  I. 
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112  THE  LETTERS  OF  THE  YOUNGER  PLINY.     SERIES  II. 

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113  SELECTED  THOUGHTS  OF  BLAISE  PASCAL.     TRANS- 

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114  SCOTS  ESSAYISTS:  FROM  STIRLING  TO  STEVENSON. 

Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by  Oliphant  Smeaton. 

115  ON   LIBERTY.     BY  JOHN   STUART   MILL.     WITH   AN 

Introduction  by  W.  L.  Courtney. 

116  THE  DISCOURSE  ON  METHOD  AND  METAPHYSICAL 

Meditations  of   Rene  Descartes.      Translated,  with  Introduction,   by 
Gertrude  B.  Rawlings. 

-ii;  KALIDASA'S   SAKUNTALA,   ETC.     EDITED,  WITH   AN 
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118  NEWMAN'S  UNIVERSITY  SKETCHES.     EDITED,  WITH 

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119  NEWMAN'S    SELECT    ESSAYS.       EDITED,    WITH    AN 

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120  RENAN'S  MARCUS  AURELIUS.     TRANSLATED,  WITH 

an  Introduction,  by  William  G.  Hutchison. 

121  FROUDE'S   NEMESIS  OF  FAITH.      WITH   AN    INTRO- 

duction  by  William  G.  Hutchison. 

122  WHAT   IS   ART?     BY   LEO   TOLSTOY.     TRANSLATED 

from  the  Original  Russian  MS.,  with  Introduction,  by  Alymer  Maude. 

123  HUME'S    POLITICAL    ESSAYS.      EDITED,    WITH    AN 

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124  SINGOALLA:     A  MEDIAEVAL  LEGEND.       BY  VIKTOR 

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125  PETRONIUS— TRIMALCHIO'S      BANQUET.         TRANS- 

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I  126  OBERMANN.     BY  ETIENNE  PIVERT  DE  SENANCOUR. 
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THE  STORY  OF  THE  HARP,  By  WILLIAM  H.  GRATTAN 
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THE  STORY  OF  ORGAN  MUSIC,  By  C.  F.  ABDY 
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THE  STORY  OF  ENGLISH  MUSIC  (1604-1904):  being  the 
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THE  STORY  OF  MINSTRELSY,     By  EDMONDSTOUNE 

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SAYIZ,  CHARLES 

Wtters  Written  by  Lord 
Chesterfield  to  His  Son 


PR 
3346 

.02  . 
3MC