No. 190-191. 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 ft 
 
 i 
 
 J&L— 
 
 maynard's 
 English • Classic • Series 
 
 -I-I-I-H-1-1I--1--1-1-1-1- I --1- 
 
 — I — j — W — 1 — j — f — 1 — ^ — ! — 4 — I — ! — t ^ ^8 
 
 rr 
 
 -^ 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 Maynard, Merrill 3c Co. 
 
 43,45 * 47 East IOI2 St. 
 
 L 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 r< v- 
 
 Mailingrrice 24cts, 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap. Copyright No. 
 
 Shelf.. JL?^ 7' 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
 
I 
 
MAYNARD S ENGLISH CLASSIC SERIES. — NOS. I9O-I9I 
 
 Lord Chesterfield's 
 Letters 
 
 To his Son and Godson, Selected 
 
 WITH INTRODUCTION, BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 AND NOTES 
 
 BV 
 
 HENRY H. BELFIELD. PH. D. 
 
 Director of the Chicago Manual Training School 
 
 0/ 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 MAYNARD, MERRILL, & CO. 
 
 29, 31 AND 33 EAST I9TH STREET 
 

 K\ 
 
 Copyright, 1897, by Maynard, Merrill, & Co. 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction, 3 
 
 Sketch of the Life of Lord Chesterfield, . . 7 
 Letters to His Son : 
 
 I. The Value of History, 13 
 
 II. The Ambitions of Boys, .... 15 
 
 III. Good Breeding, 17 
 
 IV. The Athenian Ostracism, . . .19 
 V. The Use of Others' Thoughts : Th^ Proper 
 
 Use of Epithets 21 
 
 VI. The Evils of Awkwardness, ... 23 
 VII. A Severe Reproof, . . . . .27 
 
 VIII. Trifles, 29 
 
 IX. Inattention : Observation, .... 31 
 
 X. The Folly of Wholesale Denunciation, . 33 
 
 XI. The Intelligent Traveler, . . . .35 
 
 XII. The Knowledge of Books and of Men, . 38 
 
 XIII. Thoughtfulness, 41 
 
 XIV. True Pleasure not Vice, .... 45 
 XV. Attic Salt, 47 
 
 XVI. One Thing at a Time, 49 
 
 XVII. Friendships : Company, 51 
 
 XVIII. The Use and Value of Time, . . . 54 
 
 XIX. Be Thorough, 56 
 
 XX. The Modesty of True Learning, ... 59 
 
 XXI. The Lazy Mind : The Frivolous Mind, . . 63 
 
 3 
 
4 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 XXII. Against Casuistry, 67 
 
 XXIII. Rules for Conduct in Company, . . 69 
 
 XXIV. The Graces : The Duke of Marlborough, 76 
 XXV. Dignity of Manners, .... 81 
 
 XXVI. " Complete the Work," .... 83 
 
 XXVII. Low Company, 90 
 
 XXVIII. Style, 92 
 
 XXIX. " A Tongue to Persuade," ... 96 
 
 XXX. Purity of Character, .... 99 
 
 XXXI. Economy of Time : Dispatch of Business, 105 
 
 XXXII. Virtue : Modesty, . . . . .110 
 
 XXXIII. Importance of Good Enunciation, . . 113 
 
 XXXIV. History: Conversation, .... 116 
 XXXV. Good Handwriting, 120 
 
 XXXVI. Engaging Manners : "A Respectable Hot- 
 tentot," 123 
 
 XXXVII. " SUAVITER IN MODO, FORT1TER IN Re," . 125 
 
 XXXVIII. Business Habits, 130 
 
 XXXIX. Reading History, 133 
 
 XL. Aim at Perfection, . . . . .135 
 
 XLI. Health: Time: Idleness, ... 138 
 
 XLII. " Avoir du Monde," 141 
 
 XLIII. Civility, 145 
 
 XLIV. Knowledge of Books: Ignorance of Men, . 148 
 
 XLV. The Value of Method, .... 152 
 
 Letters to His Godson : 
 
 XL VI. Every Man the Architect of His own 
 
 Fortune 156 
 
 XL VII. Attention and Diligence, ... 158 
 
Introduction 
 
 44 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 traveler." Thus did the author 
 of these Letters state their object : and in this spirit lias this selection 
 of them been prepared for the use of American youth. 
 
 For more than a century the Letters of Lord Chesterfield have 
 commanded the admiration of lovers of English literature. " The 
 Letters are brilliantly written — full of elegant wisdom, of keen wit, 
 of admirable portrait painting, of exquisite observation and deduc- 
 tion. Viewed as compositions, they appear almost unrivaled as 
 models for a serious epistolary style : clear, elegant, and terse, never 
 straining at effect and yet never hurried into carelessness." — Lord 
 Mahon. As literature, they have never been criticised : but their 
 morality has been condemned as doubtful, or worse, and their 
 perusal by the yoiing has been regarded as having a tendency to 
 debase, rather than to elevate. The answer to this charge has usually 
 been " that the Letters reflected the morality of the age, and that 
 their author only systematized and reduced to writing the principles 
 of conduct by which, deliberately or unconsciously, the best and the 
 worst of his contemporaries were governed." 
 
 While this is true of some of the letters, it is equally true that, in 
 others, moral conduct is repeatedly and forcibly inculcated, but 
 generally, it is to be regretted, from the lowest motive, selfishness. 
 Lord Chesterfield advocates purity of character as many advocate 
 honesty, because it is the best policy. Between his basis for a cor- 
 rect life, and the New Testament basis, there is a great gulf. Even 
 the stoic Emperor, Marcus Aurelius, lives on a far higher plane. 
 But that Lord Chesterfield does insist upon a moral life is recognized 
 by the readers of his letters, though probably unsuspected by those 
 who know him simply by his general reputation. In the Letter 
 numbered XXX. in this volume, he says : " Your moral character 
 must be not only pure, but, like Caesar's wife, unsuspected. The 
 
 5 
 
6 INTRODUCTION 
 
 least speck or blemish upon it is fatal." " There is nothing so delicate 
 as your moral character, and nothing which it is your interest so 
 much to preserve pure." And he denounces those who believe, or 
 affect to believe, that there is no difference between " moral good 
 and evil," as "unaccountable wretches," "the devil's hypocrites.'' 
 His teaching, therefore, is not adverse to Christian morals : he 
 preaches morality, but on the ground of expediency. He assumes 
 that his son has had no lack of Christian instruction : and he adds his 
 testimony, "asa man of the world," to the value of a good character 
 from a business point of view. In a letter dated May 15, O. S. 1749 
 (not included in this volume), he says : " 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 instruction 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 reason points out, and decency warrants." 
 
 11 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 practiced 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." 
 
 Chesterfield was a life-long admirer of Voltaire, whom he intro- 
 duced to his friends in England ; but he did not hesitate to write thus 
 to the great Frenchman : 
 
 " I strongly doubt whether it is permissible for a man to write 
 against the worship and belief of his country, even if he be fully per- 
 suaded 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/' 
 
 It seems therefore to the present editor that the letters included in 
 this volume are instructive and valuable to the young, as the testi- 
 mony to the necessity of purity of character given by a man wno 
 knew thoroughly the moral rottenness of a dissolute age. 
 
 To the other charge made against the Letters, that they insist ' ' t^ > 
 much on manners and graces, instead of more solid acquirements," 
 Lord Mahon replies that it "is certainly erroneous, and arises only 
 
INTRODUCTION 7 
 
 from the idea and expectation of finding a general system of educa- 
 tion in letters intended solely for the improvement of one man. 
 Young Stanhope was sufficiently inclined to study, and imbued with 
 knowledge ; the difficulty lay in his awkward address and indifference 
 to pleasing. It is against these faults, therefore, and these faults 
 only, that Chesterfield points his battery of eloquence. Had he 
 found his son, on the contrary, a graceful but superficial trifler, his 
 letters would, no doubt, have urged, with equal zeal, how vain are all 
 accomplishments, when not supported by sterling information. In 
 one word, he intended to write for Mr. Philip Stanhope, and not for 
 any other person. And yet, even after this great deduction from 
 general utility, it was still the opinion of a most eminent man, no 
 friend of Chesterfield, and no proficient in the graces — the opinion of 
 Dr. Johnson, ' Take out the immorality, and the letters should be 
 put into the hands of every young gentleman.' " 
 
 It should be remembered that the Letters were not written for 
 publication, nor with any expectation of their being read except by 
 the son to whom the fond and anxious father opened his heart. By 
 his letters is Lord Chesterfield remembered ; while his prominence in 
 political and literary circles is forgotten. 
 
 The constant recurrence of foreign words and phrases illustrates not 
 only the fashion which then prevailed, of making frequent use of such 
 quotations, but the fact, also, that a knowledge of both ancient and 
 modern languages was very common among educated Englishmen. 
 Several of Lord Chesterfield's letters, to his son and to his godson, 
 were written in French, others in Latin. 
 
Biographical Sketch 
 
 Philip Dormer Stanhope, fourth Earl of Chesterfield, was 
 born in London, in 1694, the son of Philip Stanhope, the third Earl, 
 and Elizabeth Savile, daughter of the Marquis of Halifax. He 
 spent two years at Cambridge (17 12-13), where he seems to have 
 studied ancient and modern languages, history, and oratory. As a 
 boy he had formed the habit of early rising, which he always main- 
 tained : and by a systematic use of his time he was able to accomplish 
 much. He regarded his college, Trinity Hall, 4< 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." His immaturity, 
 not to say weakness, of character is shown by his confession to his 
 son, years afterward, that when he first went to the University at 
 eighteen years of age, "he drank and smoked, notwithstanding the 
 aversion he had to wine and tobacco, only because he thought it 
 genteel, and that it made him look like a man/' 
 
 At the age of twenty he Jeft Cambridge for the conventional tour on 
 the Continent, visiting Holland, Belgium, and Paris. He entered the 
 House of Commons in 1715, and made his maiden speech on the 
 impeachment of the Duke of Ormond : and, on its conclusion, was 
 informed that he had rendered himself liable to a heavy fine for 
 addressing the House before he had attained his majority. Although 
 he afterward took frequent part in the debates of the House, his 
 oratory never made the deep impression that it did in the House of 
 Lords, in which he took his seat on the death of his father in 1726. 
 Here his oratorical powers at once commanded attention, and 
 established his reputation as one of the most eloquent speakers of his 
 age. Horace Walpole, who had heard Pitt, Pulteney, Windham, and 
 Carteret, as well as his own father, declared that the finest speech he 
 ever heard was one delivered by Lord Chesterfield.. But this is 
 probably an overestimate. 
 
 On the accession of George II., in 1727, Lord Chesterfield became 
 ambassador to The Hague, where he remained till 1732, distinguish- 
 
 3 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 9 
 
 ing himself by his tact, judgment, and dexterity. His services were 
 rewarded by his being made a Knight of the Garter, and Lord High 
 Steward. Here, at The Hague, in 1732, was born Philip Stanhope, 
 the son to whom the famous letters were written. 
 
 On his return to England he resumed his seat in the House of 
 Lords, in which he was the acknowledged leader of the opposition 
 for several years. He was sent the second time to The Hague in 
 1744 ; and succeeded so well in his mission that he was given the 
 Lord-Lieutenancy of Ireland, a post long coveted by him. 
 
 11 Short as it was, Chesterfield's Irish administration was of great 
 service to his country, and is unquestionably that part of his political 
 life which does him most honor. To have conceived and carried out 
 a policy which, with certain reservations, Burke himself might have 
 originated and owned, is indeed no small title to regard. The earl 
 showed himself finely capable in practice as in theory, vigorous and 
 tolerant, a man to be feared, and a leader to be followed ; he took 
 the government entirely into his own hands, repressed the jobbery 
 traditional to the office, established schools and manufactures, and at 
 once conciliated and kept in check the Orange and Popish factions." — 
 Encyc. Brit. "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. ... 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 con- 
 ciliating 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." — Lord Mahon. 
 
 In 1746 he became Secretary of State for Ireland, from which 
 position he retired in 1748, declining the dukedom offered him by 
 George II. 
 
 In 175 1, assisted by Lord Macclesfield and the mathematician 
 Bradley, he contributed largely to the reform of the calendar. He 
 thus describes to his son his share in the work : "I have of late been 
 a sort of astronome 7?ialgre moi [an astronomer in spite of myself] by 
 
io BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 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 astronomical 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." 
 
 This was his last important public act. Lord Chesterfield's relations 
 with Dr. Johnson will always be remembered : and are here presented 
 in the diction of Lord Macaulay, and of Johnson himself. 
 
 11 The prospectus of the Dictionary he [Dr. Johnson] addressed to 
 the Earl of Chesterfield. Chesterfield had long been celebrated for 
 the politeness of his manners, the brilliancy of his wit, and the 
 delicacy of his taste. He was acknowledged to be the finest speaker 
 in the House of Lords. He had recently governed Ireland, at a 
 momentous conjuncture, with eminent firmness, wisdom, and 
 humanity, and he had since become Secretary of State. He received 
 Johnson's homage with the most winning affability, and requited it 
 with a few guineas, bestowed doubtless in a very graceful manner, 
 but was by no means desirous to see all his carpets blacked with the 
 London mud, and his soups and wines thrown to right and left over 
 the gowns of fine ladies and the waistcoats of fine gentlemen, by an 
 absent, awkward scholar, who gave strange starts and uttered strange 
 growls, who dressed like a scarecrow and ate like a cormorant. Dur- 
 ing some time Johnson continued to call on his patron, but, after 
 being repeatedly told by the porter that his lordship was not at home, 
 took the hint, and ceased to present himself at the inhospitable 
 door. ... It had been generally supposed that this great work 
 would be dedicated to the eloquent and accomplished nobleman to 
 whom the prospectus had been addressed. He well knew the value 
 of such a compliment ; and therefore, when the day of publication 
 drew near, he exerted himself to soothe, by a show of zealous and at 
 the same time of delicate and judicious kindness, the pride which he 
 had so cruelly wounded. Since The Rambler had ceased to appear, 
 the town had been entertained by a journal called The World, to 
 which many men of high rank and fashion contributed. In two suc- 
 cessive numbers of The World, the Dictionary was, to use the modern 
 phrase, puffed w.'th wonderful skill. The writings of Johnson were 
 warmly praised. It was proposed that he should be invested with 
 the authority of a dictator, nay, of a pope, over our language, and 
 that his decisions ^J^M - *J»» meaning and the spelling of words 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH n 
 
 should be received as final. His two folios, it was said, would of 
 course be bought by everybody who couid afford to buy them. It 
 was soon known that these papers were written by Chesterfield. 
 But the just resentment of Johnson was not to be appeased. In a 
 letter written with singular energy and dignity of thought and lan- 
 guage, he repelled the tardy advances of his patron. The Dictionary 
 came forth without a dedication." 
 
 The following is the letter above described, which did not see the 
 light, however, till 1781. 
 
 To the Right Honorable the Earl of Chesterfield. 
 
 February 7, 1755. 
 
 My Lord : I have been lately informed, by the proprietor of The World, that 
 papers, in which my Dictionary is recommended to the public, were written by 
 your Lordship. To be so distinguished is an honor which, being very little accus- 
 tomed to favors from the great, I know not well how to receive, or in what terms 
 to acknowledge. 
 
 When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited your Lordship, I was 
 overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the enchantment of your address, and 
 could not forbear to wish that I might boast myself Le vainqneicr du vainqueur de 
 la terre ; — that I might obtain that regard for which I saw the world contending ; 
 but I found my attendance so little encouraged, that neither pride nor modesty 
 would suffer me to continue it. When I had once addressed your Lordship in 
 public. I had exhausted all the art of pleasing which a retired and uncourtly 
 scholar can possess. I had done all that 1 could, and no man is well pleased to 
 have his all neglected, be it ever so little. • 
 
 Seven years, my Lord, have now passed, since I waited in your outward rooms, 
 or was repulsed from your door ; during which time I have been pushing on my 
 work through difficulties, of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it, 
 at last, to the verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of 
 encouragement, or one smile of favor. Such treatment I did not expect, for I 
 never had a patron before. 
 
 The Shepherd of Virgil grew at last acquainted with Love, and found him a 
 native of the rocks. 
 
 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 which you have been pleased to take of my labors, 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 public 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 favorer of 
 learning, I shall not be disappointed though I should conclude it, if it be 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, 
 
 Most obedient servant, 
 
 Sam. Johnson. 
 
I2 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 During the latter part of Chesterfield's life he was afflicted with 
 deafness. This caused him to withdraw from public life, and 
 devote himself to his books and his pen. Blindness followed. His wit 
 did not forsake him. " Tyrawley and I," he said, " have been dead 
 these two years, but we don't choose to have it known." Nor did his 
 fine manners fail him. His last words were " Give Dayrolles a 
 chair." He died March 24, 1773. 
 
 Chesterfield married, in 1733, Melusina von Schulemberg, a 
 daughter of George I. Philip Stanhope, to whom the Letters were 
 addressed, bad died in 176S ; and Chesterfield made his godson, also 
 named Philip Stanhope, but a distant relative, the heir to his title 
 and estates. 
 
Lord Chesterfield's Letters 
 To His Son 
 
 Letter I 
 
 THE VALUE OF HISTORY 
 
 November the 20th, 1739. 
 Dear Boy: 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 5 
 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 10 
 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 mag- 
 nanimity, or greatness of mind, than any other. It 15 
 was a common thing to see their Consuls and Dicta- 
 tors (who, you know, were their chief Magistrates) 
 taken from the plow, to lead their armies against their 
 enemies; and, after victory, returning to their plow 
 again, and passing the rest of their lives in modest 20 
 retirement: a retirement more glorious, if possible, 
 
 13 
 
14 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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 Sam- 
 5 nites offered him, saying, that he saw no glory in hav- 
 ing money himself, but in commanding those that 
 had. Cicero relates it thus: "Curio ad focum sedenti 
 magnum auri pondus Samnites cum attulissent, repudiati 
 ab eo sunt. Non enim aurum habere prceclarum sibi 
 
 10 videri, sed Us, qui haberent aurum, imperare" And 
 Fabricius, 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 
 
 15 own field; Seneca tells it thus: Fabricius ad focum 
 ccenat Mas ipsas radices, quas, in agro repurgando, tri- 
 umphalis Sencx vulsit. Scipio, after a victory he had 
 obtained in Spain, found among the prisoners a young 
 Princess of extreme beauty, who, he was informed, 
 
 20 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 
 
 25 portion the money that her father had brought for 
 
 3 Curius, M. Dentatus, who defeated Pyrrhus in 275 b. c. 
 
 7 Curio .... imperare. Translated in lines 3 to 7. 
 
 11 Fabricius, Caius. Like his contemporary, Dentatus, he refused large gifts 
 offered by the Samnite ambassadors, and died poor. 
 
 15 Seneca, Lucius Annseus. (3 b. 0-65 a. d.) A Roman philosopher, tutor 
 of Nero, and " the most brilliant figure of his time." 
 
 15 Fabricius .... vuJsit. Translated in lines 10 to 15. 
 
 17 Scipio Africanus, Publius Cornelius. (b. c. 234-183.) Of a noble Roman 
 family of the Cornelian gens* three members of which were particularly celebrated 
 for their valor, patriotism, and generalship in the Punic wars. 
 
TO HIS SON 15 
 
 her ransom. Valerius Maximus says, Eximice forme? 
 virglnem accersitis parentibus, et sponso inviolatam 
 tradidit, et Juvenis, et Ccelebs, et Victor. This was a 
 most glorious example of moderation, continence, 
 and generosity, which gained him the hearts of all 5 
 the people of Spain; and made them say, as Livy tells 
 us, Venisse Diis simillimum juvenetn, vinccntcm omnia, 
 cum armis, turn benignitaie, ac bencficiis. 
 
 Such are the rewards that always crown virtue ; and 
 such the characters that you should imitate, if you 10 
 would be a great and a good man, which is the only 
 way to be a happy one! Adieu. 
 
 Letter II 
 
 THE AMBITIONS OF BOYS 
 
 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; how- 15 
 ever, 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 origi- 20 
 nal root of them. You are old enough now to make 
 observations upon what you learn; which, if you 
 
 1 Valerius Maximus. A compiler of historical anecdotes, who lived in the 
 reign of Tiberius. 
 
 1 Eximise .... Victor. Freely rendered in lines 21 to 25, p. 14. 
 
 6 Livy. (59 B. C.-17 A. d.) A noted Roman historian. 
 
 7 Venisse .... beneficiis. " Scipio came in the likeness of the gods, 
 overcoming everything with his army, his generosity, and his good deeds." 
 
16 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 would be pleased to do, you cannot imagine how 
 much time and trouble it would save you. Remem- 
 ber, you are now very near nine yecrs old; an age at 
 which all boys ought to know a great deal, but you, 
 5 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 
 
 io has ambition, of 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 
 
 15 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 
 
 20 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 
 
 25 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 
 
 30 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 
 
TO HIS SON 17 
 
 and honor 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 5 
 Romans, when they made the greatest figure; and 
 such, I hope, yours will always be. Adieu. 
 
 Letter III 
 
 good breeding 
 
 Wednesday. 
 Dear Boy: You behaved yourself so well at Mr. 
 Boden's last Sunday, that you justly deserve commen- 10 
 dation: besides, you encourage me to give you some 
 rules of politeness and good breeding, being per- 
 suaded that you will observe them. Know, then, 
 that as learning, honor, and virtue are absolutely 
 necessary to gain you the esteem and admiration 15 
 of mankind; politeness and good breeding are equally 
 necessary to make you welcome and agreeable in con- 
 versation and common life. Great talents, such as 
 honor, virtue, learning, and parts, are above the 
 generality of the world; who neither possess them 20 
 themselves, nor judge of them rightly in others: but 
 all people are judges of the lesser talents, such as 
 civility, affability, and an obliging, agreeable address 
 and manner; because they feel the good effects of 
 them, as making society easy and pleasing. Good 25 
 sense must, in many cases, determine good breeding; 
 because the same thing that would be civil at one 
 time, and to one person, may be quite otherwise at 
 
1 8 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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, or No, to any- 
 5 body, without adding, Sir, my Lord, or Madam, 
 according 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 
 
 io 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 
 
 15 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 con- 
 
 20 sidered nobody but yourself. On the contrary, you 
 should always endeavor to procure all the conven- 
 iences you can to the people you are with. Besides 
 being civil, which is absolutely necessary, the perfec- 
 tion of good breeding is, to be civil with ease, and in 
 
 25 a gentlemanlike manner. 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 awkw 7 ard in their civilities, and, when they mean 
 
 30 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 
 
TO HIS SON 19 
 
 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 5 
 character of an English booby; who is frightened 
 out of his wits, when people of fashion speak to him; 
 and when he is to answer them, blushes, stammers, 
 can hardly get out what he would say, and becomes 
 really ridiculous, from a groundless fear of being 10 
 laughed at: whereas a real well-bred man would 
 speak to all the Kings in the world, with as little con- 
 cern, and as much ease, as he would speak to you. 
 
 Remember, then, that to be civil, and to be civil 
 with ease (which is properly called good breeding), 15 
 is the only way to be beloved, and well received in 
 company; that to be ill-bred, and rude, is intolerable, 
 and the way to be kicked out of company; and that 
 to be bashful is to be ridiculous. As I am sure you 
 will mind and practice all this, I expect that when you 20 
 are novennis, you will not only be the best scholar 
 but the best-bred boy in England of your age. Adieu. 
 
 Letter IV 
 
 THE ATHENIAN OSTRACISM * 
 
 Bath, October 14, 1740. 
 Dear Boy: Since I have recommended to you to 
 think upon subjects, and to consider things in their 2.5 
 
 5 Mauvaise honte. False shame or modest}'. 
 31 Novennis. Nine years old. 
 
 * This letter, a request to assist the writer in forming his opinions, is delicate 
 flattery, designed to lead the boy into the habit of thinking on important subjects. 
 
20 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 various lights and circumstances, I am persuaded 
 you have made such a progress that I shall some- 
 times desire your opinion upon difficult points, in 
 order to form my own. For instance, though I have 
 5 in general a great veneration for the manners and 
 customs of the ancients, yet I am in some doubt 
 whether the Ostracism of the Athenians was either 
 just or prudent, and should be glad to be determined 
 by your opinion. You know very well that the 
 
 io Ostracism was the method of banishing those whose 
 distinguished virtue made them popular, and conse- 
 quently (as the Athenians thought) dangerous to the 
 public liberty. And, if six hundred citizens of Athens 
 gave in the name of any one Athenian, written upon an 
 
 15 oyster-shell (from whence it is called ostracism) that 
 man was banished Athens for ten years. On one hand, 
 it is certain that a free people cannot be too careful or 
 jealous of their liberty; and it is certain, too, that the 
 love of applause of mankind will always attend a man 
 
 20 of eminent and distinguished virtue; and, conse- 
 quently, they are more likely to give up their liberties 
 to such a one, than to another of less merit. But 
 then, on the other hand, it seems extraordinary to 
 discourage virtue upon any account, since it is only 
 
 25 by virtue that any society can flourish and be con- 
 siderable. There are many more arguments, on each 
 side of the question, which will naturally occur to 
 you; and, w T hen you have considered them well, I 
 desire you will write me your opinion whether the 
 
 30 Ostracism was a right or a wrong thing, and your 
 reasons for being of that opinion. Let nobody help 
 you; but give me exactly your own sentiments, and 
 your own reasons, whatever they are. 
 
TO HIS SON 21 
 
 Letter V 
 
 the use of others' thoughts.* proper use of 
 epithets 
 
 Thursday. 
 
 Dear Boy: You will seldom hear from me, without 
 an admonition to think. All you learn, and all you 
 can read, will be of little use, if you do not think and 
 reason upon it yourself. One reads, to know other 5 
 people's thoughts; but if we take them upon trust, 
 without examining them and comparing them with 
 our own, it is really living upon other people's goods. 
 To know the thoughts of others is of use, because it 
 suggests thoughts to one's self, and helps to form a 10 
 judgment; but to repeat other people's thoughts, 
 without considering whether they are right or wrong, 
 is the talent only of a parrot, or at most a player. 
 
 If Night were given you as a subject to compose 
 upon, you would do very well to look what the best 15 
 authors have said upon it, in order to help your own 
 invention; but then you must think of it afterward 
 yourself, and express it in your own manner, or else 
 you would be at best but a plagiary. A plagiary is a 
 man who steals other people's thoughts, and puts 20 
 them off for his own. You would find, for example, 
 the following account of Night in Virgil: 
 
 " It was now night, and the weary ones were enjoying sweet slumber 
 Through all the earth ; the woods and wild waves were at rest from 
 
 their raging, 25 
 
 While in the midst of their orbits the stars glide on in their 
 
 courses, 
 
 22 Night in Virgil. Lord Chesterfield quotes the original (^Eneid, IV. 522-528) 
 for which a translation by Howknd is substituted. 
 
22 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 While every field is hushed, the flocks and the birds of gay plum- 
 age, 
 
 Those that inhabit the liquid lakes, or the rough fields and 
 thickets ; 
 5 Through the deep silence of night, these all are buried in slumber, 
 
 Soothing their anxious cares, and their hearts forgetful of sorrow." 
 
 Here you see the effects of Night; that it brings 
 rest to men when they are wearied with the labors of 
 the day; that the stars move in their regular courses; 
 
 io that flocks and birds repose themselves, and enjoy 
 the quiet of the night. This, upon examination, you 
 would find to be all true; but then, upon considera- 
 tion, too, you would find that it is not all that is to 
 be said upon Night, and many more qualities and 
 
 15 effects of night would occur to you. As for instance, 
 though night is in general the time for quiet and re- 
 pose, yet it is often the time for the commission and 
 security of crimes, such as robberies, murders, and 
 violations, which generally seek the advantage of 
 
 20 darkness, as favorable for the escapes of the guilty. 
 Night, too, though it brings rest and refreshment to 
 the innocent and virtuous, brings disquiet and horror 
 to the guilty. The consciousness of their crimes 
 torments them and denies them sleep and quiet. You 
 
 25 might, from these reflections, consider what would be 
 the proper epithets to give to Night; as, for example, 
 if you were to represent Night in its most pleasing 
 shape, as procuring quiet and refreshment from 
 labor and toil, you might call it the friendly Night, 
 
 30 the silent Night, the welcome Night, the peaceful Night ; 
 but if, on the contrary, you were to -represent it as 
 inviting to the commission of crimes, you would call 
 it the guilty Night, the conscious Night, the horrid 
 
TO HIS SON 23 
 
 Night, with many other epithets that carry along with 
 them the idea of horror and guilt; for an epithet, to 
 be proper, must always be adapted (that is, suited) 
 to the circumstances of the person or thing to which 
 it is given. Thus, Virgil, who generally gives ^neas 5 
 the epithet of pious, because of his piety to the gods 
 and his duty to his father, calls him Dux ^Eneas where 
 he represents him making love to Dido, as a proper 
 epithet for him in that situation: because making love 
 becomes a general much better than a man of singular 10 
 piety. 
 
 Lay aside, for a few minutes, the thoughts of play, 
 and think of this seriously. 
 
 Amoto quczramus seria ludo. 
 
 Adieu! 15 
 
 Letter VI 
 
 THE EVILS OF AWKWARDNESS 
 
 Spa, the 25th July, N. S. 1741. 
 Dear Boy: I have often told you in my former 
 letters (and it is most certainly true) that the strictest 
 and most scrupulous honor and virtue can alone 
 make you esteemed and valued by mankind; that 20 
 parts and learning can alone make you admired and 
 celebrated by them; but that the possession of lesser 
 talents was most absolutely necessary toward making 
 you liked, beloved, and sought after in private life. 
 Of these lesser talents, good breeding is the principal 25 
 and most necessary one, not only as it is very impor- 
 
 7 Dux : a leader or general. 
 
 14 Amoto .... ludo. Horace, Satires, I. i, 27. " Let us cease our play 
 and seek serious matters." 
 
24 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 tant in itself, but as it adds great luster to the more 
 solid advantages both of the heart and the mind. I 
 have often touched upon good breeding to you before, 
 so that this letter shall be upon the next necessary 
 5 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 behavior. However 
 trifling a genteel manner may sound, it is of very great 
 
 io consequence toward pleasing in private life, especially 
 the women, which, 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 first, that all his merit could not get the better of 
 
 15 it afterward. Whereas a genteel manner prepossesses 
 people in your favor, bends them toward you, and 
 makes them wish to like you. Awkwardness can pro- 
 ceed but from two causes — either from not having 
 kept good company, or from not having attended 
 
 20 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 
 
 25 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 
 
 30 in the very place of the whole room where he should 
 not; there he soon lets his hat fall down, and in taking 
 
 27 His sword. In Lord Chesterfield's time, a dress suit included a dress 
 sword. 
 
TO HIS SON 25 
 
 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 5 
 the tea or coffee in his breeches. At dinner his awk- 
 wardness distinguishes 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 10 
 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 15 
 soup and grease, though his napkin is commonly 
 stuck through a botton-hole and tickles his chin. 
 When he drinks he infallibly coughs in his glass, and 
 besprinkles the company. His hands are trouble- 
 some to him when he has not something in them, 20 
 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. All this, I own, is 
 not in any degree criminal; but it is highly disagree- 25 
 able and ridiculous in company, and ought most care- 
 fully to be avoided by whoever desires 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 30 
 who have seen the world, will make it habitual and 
 familiar to you. 
 
 There is, likewise, an awkwardness of expression 
 
26 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 and words, most carefully to be avoided; such as false 
 English, bad pronunciation, old sayings, and com- 
 mon proverbs; which are so many proofs of having 
 kept bad and low company. For example; if, instead 
 5 of saying that tastes 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, Everyone as they like, as the 
 good man said when he kissed his cow; everybody 
 
 10 would be persuaded that you had never kept 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. 
 
 15 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 staring at them, 
 and seeming to be an observer. This quick and 
 
 20 unobserved observation is of infinite advantage in life, 
 and is to be acquired with care; and, on the contrary, 
 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 
 
 25 my part I see no real difference. A fool never has 
 thought; a madman has lost it; and an absent man 
 is, for the time, without it. Adieu. 
 
TO HIS SO AT 27 
 
 Letter VII 
 
 A SEVERE REPROOF * 
 
 Dublin, January the 25th, 1745. 
 Dear Boy: 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 5 
 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 10 
 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 remem- 15 
 bering, 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 com- 
 municated an event of that importance to me ; and, 20 
 on the other hand, it is not likely that, if you had 
 informed me of it, I could have forgotten it. You 
 say that it happened six months ago; in which, with 
 all due submission to you, I apprehend you are mis- 
 taken, because that must have been before I left Eng- 25 
 land, which I am sure it w r as not; and it does not 
 
 * This letter was written while Lord Chesterfield was Lord-Lieutenant of 
 Ireland. 
 
28 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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, 
 5 etc., in ancient manuscripts. It may here be neces- 
 sary to explain to you the meaning of the Oscitantes 
 librarii; which, I believe, you will easily take. These 
 persons (before printing was invented) transcribed 
 the works of authors, sometimes for their own profit, 
 
 io 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, 
 
 15 which they did not dare to refuse, they were idle, care- 
 less, 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 labors. 
 
 20 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? 
 
 25 or do you still put the bad English of the psalms into 
 
 8 Oscitancy. Laziness. 
 
 4 Librarians. Copyists. 
 
 4 Lacunae. Gaps, or defects. 
 
 6 Oscitantes librarii. Lazy scribes. 
 
 18 Atticus. T. Pomponius. (b. c. 109-32.) Called Atticus from his long 
 residence in Athens, and his familiarity with Greek literature. A friend of Cicero, 
 and a lever of books. He owned " transcribing slaves, and book-binders, also." 
 Cicero thanks him for the services of two such slaves, who put Cicero's library in 
 good repair. For an interesting chapter on libraries in ancient Rome, see Lan- 
 ciani's Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent Discoveries. 
 
TO HIS SON 29 
 
 bad Latin, and only change the shape of Latin verse, 
 from long to short, and from short to long? People 
 do not improve, singly, by traveling, but by the 
 observations they make, and by keeping good com- 
 pany where they do travel. So I hope, in your trav- 5 
 els, 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 look- 10 
 ing into sometimes; but I recommend the Greek epi- 
 grams to your supreme contempt. Good-night to you. 
 
 Letter VIII 
 
 TRIFLES 
 
 Dublin Castle, November the 19th, 1745. 
 Dear Boy: Now that the Christmas breaking up 
 draws near, I have ordered Mr. Desnoyers to go to 15 
 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. Dancing is in itself a very trifling, 20 
 silly thing; but it is one of those established follies 
 to which people of sense are sometimes obliged to 
 
 1 Latin verse. The writing of Latin verses forms an important part of a 
 pupil's duties in an English classical school. 
 
 10 Martial. M. Valerius Martialis. (a. d. 43-104.) A Roman poet who wrote 
 his epigrams in Greek, in fourteen books. Roman scholars spoke and wrote 
 Greek as well as Latin. Scipio Africanus (mentioned in Letter I.) spoke Greek and 
 Latin with equal fluency, and wrote his memoirs in Greek. The Emperor Marcus 
 Aurelius (a. d. 121-180) wrote his famous " Meditations " in Greek. 
 
3° LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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 everything you do well. 
 5 There is no one thing so trifling, but which (if it is 
 to be done at all) ought to be done well. 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 
 
 io 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 understand- 
 ing, that it is rather a proof of it, to be as well dressed 
 as those whom he lives with: the difference in this 
 
 15 case, between a man of sense and a fop, is, that the 
 
 E Westminster. One of the great English public schools, not public in the 
 American sense of free, but famous boarding schools for the sons of English 
 nobility and gentry. A fair idea of one of these schools at the time young Stan- 
 hope was a pupil at Westminster can be obtained from Professor Goldwin Smith's 
 description of Eton : 
 
 "At Eton the curriculum was in those days almost entirely classical, even 
 mathematics being taught out of school, and not as a regular part of the course. 
 Not only was the curriculum classical, but it was purely philological ; it did not 
 include ancient history or philosophy. Greek and Latin composition was the 
 exercise most valued, and in this great excellence, for boys, was certainly attained, 
 as an inspection of the Musce Etonenses [Eton Muses] will show. There was little 
 effort on the part of the masters generally to exercise any moral influence over the 
 boys, to mold their character, or impress them with a sense of responsibility. 
 The boys were left to be a law to each other, and their standard was simply that of 
 the class from which they came : high in respect to manners and as to the point 
 of honor, but with regard to morality not so high. The discipline consisted in a 
 set of cast iron and sometimes antiquated regulations, to which everyone rendered 
 a sort of military obedience without asking the reason. It was enforced by rather 
 free use of corporal punishment, which, however, did not break the spirit of the 
 boys, or render them less sensitive about their honor, which they were ready 
 enough to avenge by fighting whenever they deemed themselves insulted." — 
 Educational Review* December, 1892. See also " Tom Brown's School Days at 
 Rugby." Lord Chesterfield appears to have had a poor opinion of Westminster 
 School, which, he says, "is undoubtedly the seat of illiberal manners and brutal 
 behavior." 
 
TO HIS SON 3r 
 
 fop values himself upon his dress; and the man of 
 sense laughs at it, at the same time that he knows 
 he must not neglect it. There are a thousand foolish 
 customs of this kind, which not being criminal must 
 be complied with, and even cheerfully, by men of 5 
 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, 10 
 experience, and knowledge of the world; I am per- 
 suaded you will take infinite care of him. Good- 
 night. 
 
 Letter IX 
 
 inattention: observation 
 
 Dublin Castle, March 10, 1746. 
 
 Sir: I most thankfully acknowledge the honor of 15 
 two or three letters from you, since I troubled you 
 with my last; and am very proud of the repeated 
 instances you give me of your favor and protection, 
 which I shall endeavor to deserve. 
 
 I am very glad that you w r ent to hear a trial in the 20 
 Court of King's Bench: and still more so, that you 
 made the proper animadversions upon the inatten- 
 tion of many of the people in the Court. As you 
 observed very well the indecency of that inattention, 
 I am sure you will never be guilty of anything like 25 
 
 6 Diogenes the Cynic. (About b. c. 412-323.) He despised even the com- 
 forts of life. 
 9 Sir Charles Hotham. A young friend of Mr. Stanhope. 
 81 Court of King's Bench. A court over which the king formerly presided. 
 
32 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 it yourself. There is no surer sign in the world of 
 a little, weak mind than inattention. Whatever is 
 worth doing at all is worth doing well; and nothing 
 can be well done without attention. It is the sure 
 5 answer of a fool, when you ask him about anything 
 that was said or done where he was present, that 
 " truly he did not mind it." And why did not the 
 fool mind it? What else had he to do there but to 
 mind what he was doing? A man of sense sees, hears, 
 
 io and retains everything that passes where he is. I 
 desire I may never hear you talk of not minding, nor 
 complain, as most fools do, of a treacherous memory. 
 Mind not only what people say but how they say it; 
 and if you have any sagacity, you may discover more 
 
 15 truth by your eyes than by your ears. People can 
 say what they will, but they cannot look just as they 
 will; and their looks frequently discover what their 
 words are calculated to conceal. Observe, therefore, 
 people's looks carefully when they speak, not only to 
 
 20 you, but to each other. I have often guessed by 
 people's faces what they were saying, though I could 
 not hear one word they said. The most material 
 knowledge of all — I mean the knowledge of the world 
 — is never to be acquired without great attention; 
 
 25 and I know many old people, who, though they have 
 lived long in the world, are but children still as to 
 the knowledge of it, from their levity and inattention. 
 Certain forms which all people comply with, and cer- 
 tain arts which all people aim at, hide in some degree 
 
 30 the truth and give a general exterior resemblance to 
 
 16 People can say, etc. An experienced diplomatist. Lord Chesterfield had 
 verified Talleyrand's saying that it is the province of language to conceal one's 
 thoughts. 
 
TO HIS SON 33 
 
 almost everybody. Attention and sagacity must see 
 through that veil and discover the natural character. 
 You are at an age now to reflect, to observe and com- 
 pare characters, and to arm yourself against the 
 common arts, — at least of the world. If a man with 5 
 whom you are barely acquainted, and to whom you 
 have made no offers nor given any marks of friend- 
 ship, makes you on a sudden strong professions of 
 his [friendship], receive them with civility, but do not 
 repay them with confidence; he certainly means to 10 
 deceive you, for one man does not fall in love with 
 another at sight. If a man uses strong protestations 
 or oaths to make you believe a thing which is of itself 
 so likely and probable that the bare saying of it would 
 be sufficient, depend upon it he lies, and is highly 15 
 interested in making you believe it; or else he would 
 not take so much pains. 
 
 In about five weeks I propose having the honor 
 of laying myself at your feet, — which I hope to find 
 grown longer than they were when I left them. 20 
 Adieu. 
 
 Letter X 
 
 THE FOLLY OF WHOLESALE DENUNCIATION 
 
 April s, 1746. 
 Dear Boy: Before it is very long, I am of opinion 
 that you will both think and speak more favorably 
 of women than you do now. You seem to think that 25 
 from Eve downward they have done a great deal 
 of mischief. As for that lady, I give her up to you: 
 
 24 Young Stanhope had probably spoken slightingly of women, as many a silly 
 boy has since. 
 
34 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 but since her time, history will inform you that men 
 have done much more mischief in the world than 
 women; and to say the truth, I would not advise you 
 to trust either more than is absolutely necessary. But 
 5 this I will advise you to, which is, never to attack 
 whole bodies of any kind; for besides that all general 
 rules have their exceptions, you unnecessarily make 
 yourself a great number of enemies by attacking a 
 corps collectively. Among women, as among men, 
 
 10 there are good as well as bad; and it may be full as 
 many or more good than among men. This rule 
 holds as to lawyers, soldiers, parsons, courtiers, citi- 
 zens, etc. They are all men, subject to the same pas- 
 sions and sentiments, differing only in the manner, 
 
 15 according to their several educations; and it would 
 be as imprudent as unjust to attack any of them by 
 the lump. Individuals forgive sometimes; but bodies 
 and societies never do. Many young people think 
 it very genteel and witty to abuse the clergy ; in which 
 
 20 they are extremely mistaken, since in my opinion par' 
 sons are very like men, and neither the better nor 
 the worse for wearing a black gown. All general 
 reflections upon nations and societies are the trite, 
 threadbare jokes of those who set up for wit without 
 
 25 having any, and so have recourse to commonplace. 
 Judge of individuals from your own knowledge of 
 them, and not from their sex, profession, or 
 denomination. 
 
TO HIS SON 35 
 
 Letter XI 
 
 THE INTELLIGENT TRAVELER 
 
 Bath, Sept. 29, O. S. 1746. 
 Dear Boy: I received by the last mail your letter 
 cf the 23 N. S. from Heidelberg, and am very well 
 pleased to find that you inform yourself of the par- 
 ticulars of the several places you go through. You 5 
 do mighty right to see the curiosities in those several 
 places, such as the Golden Bull at Frankfort, the Tun 
 at Heidelberg, etc. Other travelers see and talk of 
 them; it is very proper to see them, too, but remem- 
 ber that seeing is the least material object of travel- 10 
 ing, — hearing and knowing are the essential points. 
 Therefore pray let your inquiries be chiefly directed 
 to the knowledge of the constitution and particular 
 customs of the places where you either reside at or 
 pass through, whom they belong to, by what right 15 
 and tenure, and since when; in whom the supreme 
 authority is lodged, and by what magistrates, and in 
 what manner, the civil and criminal justice is adminis- 
 tered. It is likewise necessary to get as much 
 acquaintance as you can, in order to observe the 20 
 characters and manners of the people; for though 
 human nature is in truth the same through the whole 
 human species, yet it is so differently modified and 
 varied by education, habit, and different customs, that 
 
 7 Golden Bull. A decree of the Emperor Charles IV., confirming the right of 
 electing a German emperor in three spiritual and four temporal electors. A gold 
 seal was affixed to the original document. 
 
 7 Tun. A large cask said to be 24 feet in diameter and 30 feet deep, contain- 
 ing 49,000 gallons. 
 
36 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 one should, upon a slight and superficial observation, 
 almost think it different. 
 
 As I have never been in Switzerland myself, I must 
 desire you to inform me, now and then, of the con- 
 5 stitution of that country. As, for instance, do the 
 Thirteen Cantons jointly and collectively form one 
 government where the supreme authority is lodged, 
 or is each canton sovereign in itself, and under no 
 tie or constitutional obligation of acting in common 
 
 io concert with the other cantons? Can any one canton 
 make war or form an alliance with a foreign power 
 without the consent of the other twelve or at least 
 a majority of them? Can one canton declare war 
 against another? If every canton is sovereign and 
 
 15 independent in itself, in whom is the supreme power 
 of that canton lodged? Is it in one man, or in a 
 certain number of men? If in one man, what is he 
 called? If in a number, what are they called, — 
 Senate, Council, or what? I do not suppose that you 
 
 20 can yet know these things yourself; but a very little 
 inquiry of those who do will enable you to answer 
 me these few questions in your next. You see, I 
 am sure, the necessity of knowing these things 
 thoroughly, and consequently the necessity of con- 
 
 25 versing much with the people of the country, who 
 alone can inform you rightly; whereas, most of the 
 English who travel converse only with each other, 
 and consequently know no more when they return to 
 England than they did when they left it. This pro- 
 
 6 Thirteen Cantons at that time : twenty two since 1815. A study of Swiss 
 political institutions, such as is here suggested by Lord Chesterfield, should have 
 great interest for American youth. An English writer remarks, wt Swiss history is 
 a study in federalism.' 1 '' 
 
TO HIS SON 37 
 
 ceeds from a mauvaise honte which makes them 
 ashamed of going into company; and frequently, too, 
 from the want of the necessary language (French) to 
 enable them to bear their part in it. As for the 
 mauvaise honte, I hope you are above it. Your figure 5 
 is like other people's; I suppose you will care that 
 your dress shall be so, too, and to avoid any singu- 
 larity. What, then, should you be ashamed of, and 
 why not go into a mixed company with as much ease 
 and as little concern as you would go into your own 10 
 room? Vice and ignorance are the only things I 
 know which one ought to be ashamed of; keep but 
 clear of them and you may go anywhere without fear 
 or concern. I have known some people who, from 
 feeling the pain and inconveniences of this mauvaise 15 
 honte, have rushed into the other extreme and turned 
 impudent, as cowards sometimes grow desperate from 
 the excess of danger; but this, too, is carefully to be 
 avoided, there being nothing more generally shock- 
 ing than impudence. The medium between these 20 
 two extremes marks out the well-bred man; he feels 
 himself firm and easy in all companies; is modest 
 without being bashful, and steady without being 
 impudent; if he is a stranger, he observes with care 
 the manners and ways of the people most esteemed 25 
 at that place, and conforms to them with complais- 
 ance. Instead of finding fault with the customs of 
 that place and telling the people that the English 
 ones are a thousand times better, — as my country- 
 men are very apt to do, — he commends their table, 30 
 their dress, their houses, and their manners a little 
 more, it may be, than he really thinks they deserve. 
 But this degree of complaisance is neither criminal 
 
 \ 
 
3& LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 nor abject, and is but a small price to pay for the 
 good-will and affection of the people you converse 
 with. As the generality of people are weak enough 
 to be pleased with these little things, those who refuse 
 5 to please them so cheaply are, in my mind, weaker 
 than they. 
 
 Letter XII 
 
 THE KNOWLEDGE OF BOOKS AND OF MEN 
 
 Bath, Oct. 4th, O. S. 1746. 
 Dear Boy: ... I have often of late, reflected 
 what an unhappy man I must now have been, if 
 
 10 1 had not acquired in my youth some fund and 
 taste of learning. What could I have done with 
 myself, at this age, without them? I must, as 
 many ignorant people do, have destroyed my health 
 and faculties by sotting away the evenings; or, by 
 
 15 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 
 
 20 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: " Hcec studia (says he) 
 
 5 Weaker than they. No one should be deceived by this casuistry, which 
 his lordship has himself condemned in Letter XXII. The sacrifice of truth is never 
 made " cheaply." 
 
 22 Hsec studia .... rusticantur. A famous passage from Cicero ; 
 " Learning is the food of youth, the delight of old age : it is an ornament in pros- 
 perity, a refuge and a solace in adversity : it is a delight at home, and no impedi- 
 
TO HIS SON 39 
 
 adolescentiam alunt, senectntem oblectant, secundas res 
 ornant, advcrsis perfugium ac solatium prcebent, delectant 
 domi, non impedhint foris, pemoctant nobiscum, pere- 
 grinantur, rusticantar." 
 
 I do not mean, by this, to exclude conversation out 5 
 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 con- 
 versation, and gives even them no pleasure: they tire 
 of their own sterility, and have not matter enough 10 
 to furnish them with words to keep up a conversation. 
 
 Let me, therefore, most earnestly recommend to 
 you to hoard up, while you can, a great stock of 
 knowledge; for though, during the dissipation of your 
 youth, you may not have occasion to spend much of 15 
 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 the third year 
 will prove a scarce one, but because it is known that 20 
 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, 25 
 " 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 knowl- 
 edge, which I so much recommend to you, is confined 
 
 ment abroad : it stays with us during the night, in our wanderings, in our country 
 homes." 
 
 24 Mr. Harte. The boy's tutor. 
 
 86 " You have Moses," etc. St. Luke, xvi. 31. 
 
40 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 to books, pleasing, useful, and necessary as that 
 knowledge is : but I comprehend in it the great knowl- 
 edge of the world, still more necessary than that of 
 books. In truth, they assist one another reciprocally; 
 5 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 other- 
 
 10 wise 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 poinL 
 
 To know mankind well requires full as much atten- 
 tion and application as to know books, and, it may 
 
 15 be, more sagacity and discernment. I am, at this 
 time, acquainted with many elderly people, who have 
 all passed their whole lives in the great world, but 
 with such levity and inattention, that they know no 
 more of it now than they did at fifteen. Do not flatter 
 
 20 yourself, therefore, with the thoughts that you can 
 acquire this knowledge in the frivolous chit-chat of 
 idle companies: no, you must go much deeper than 
 that. You must look into people, as well as at them. 
 Almost all people are born with all the passions, to 
 
 25 a certain degree; but almost every man has a prevail- I 
 ing one, to which the others are subordinate. Search \\ 
 everyone for that ruling passion ; pry into the recesses \ 
 of his heart, and observe the different workings of 
 the same passion in different people. And, when you 
 
 30 have found out the prevailing passion of any man, 
 remember never to trust him, where that passion is 
 concerned. Work upon him by it, if you please, but 
 
TO HIS SON 41 
 
 be upon your guard yourself against it, whatever pro- 
 fessions he may make you. 
 Adieu. 
 
 Chesterfield. 
 
 Letter XIII 
 
 THOUGHTFULNESS 
 
 Bath, October the 9th, O. S. 1746. 5 
 Dear Boy: Your distresses in your journey from 
 Heidelberg to Schaffhausen, your lying upon straw, 
 your black bread, and your broken Berline, are proper 
 seasonings for the greater fatigues and distresses, 
 which you must expect in the course of your travels ; 10 
 and, if one had a mind to moralize, one might call 
 them samples of the accidents, rubs, and difficulties, 
 which every man meets with in his journey through 
 life. In this journey, the understanding is the voiture 
 that must carry you through; and in proportion as 15 
 that is stronger or weaker, more or less in repair, your 
 journey w r ill 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 neces- 
 sary voiture in perfect good repair; examine, improve, 20 
 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 25 
 you upon that subject. You know I have often told 
 
 8 Berline. A traveling carriage. 
 14 Voiture. Carnage. 
 
42 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 you that my affection for you was not a weak, woman- 
 ish 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 
 5 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, and indiffer- 
 
 ioence; faults which are only pardonable in old men, 
 who, in the decline of life, when health and spirits 
 fail, have a kind of claim to that sort of tranquillity. 
 But a young man should be ambitious to shine and 
 excel; alert, active, and indefatigable in the means of 
 
 15 doing it; and, like Caesar, Nil actum reputans, si quid 
 superesset agendum. You seem to want that vivida 
 vis animi which spurs and excites most young men 
 to please, to shine, to excel. Without the desire and 
 the pains necessary to be considerable, depend upon 
 
 20 it you never can be so; as, without the desire and 
 attention necessary to please, you never can please. 
 Nullum numen abest, si sit prudentia, is unquestionably 
 true with regard f o everything except poetry; and I 
 am very sure that any man of common understanding 
 
 25 may, by proper culture, care, attention, and labor, 
 make himself whatever he pleases except a good poet. 
 Your destination is the great and busy world; your 
 immediate object is the affairs, the interests, and the 
 
 15 Nil actum .... agendum. "Think nothing done as long as anything 
 remains undone " 
 
 16 Vivida vis animi. Vigorous force of mind 
 
 22 Nullum numen abest, si sit prudentia. " Every power is present when 
 application is present." See note to line 12, page 157. 
 
TO HIS SOIV 43 
 
 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 Modern History are, 
 by attention, easily attainable. Geography and Chro- 5 
 nology the same ; none of them requiring any uncom- 
 mon share of genius or invention. Speaking and 
 writing clearly, correctly, and with ease and grace, 
 are certainly to be acquired by reading the best 
 authors with care, and by attention to the best living 10 
 models. These are the qualifications more particu- 
 larly 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 15 
 hands, it will be your own fault only. 
 
 If care and application are necessary to the acquir- 
 ing 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 20 
 accomplishments, w r hich are requisite to make you 
 agreeable and pleasing in society. In truth, what-, 
 ever is worth doing at all is worth doing well, and 
 nothing can be done well without attention: I there- 
 fore carry the necessity of attention down to the low- 25 
 est 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 30 
 
 12 Your department. Lord Chesterfield intended his son for a public 
 career. 
 
44 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 must dress, therefore attend to it; not in order to 
 rival or to excel a fop in it, but in order to avoid 
 singularity, and consequently ridicule. Take great 
 care always to be dressed like the reasonable people 
 5 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 com- 
 monly either a very weak or a very affected man; but 
 
 io be he which he will, he is, I am sure, a very dis- 
 agreeable man in company. He fails in all the 
 common offices of civility; he seems not to know 
 those people to-day with whom yesterday he appeared 
 to live in intimacy. He takes no part in the general 
 
 15 conversation; but, on the contrary, breaks into it 
 from time to time with some start of his own, as if 
 he waked from a dream. This (as I said before) is 
 a sure indication either of a mind so weak that it is 
 not able to bear above one object at a time; or so 
 
 20 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 
 
 25 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, 
 
 30 be turned into an involuntary absence, by his per- 
 petual exclusion out of company. However frivolous 
 
 22 Newton ; Locke. Both noted for absent-mindedness. 
 
TO HIS SON 45 
 
 a company may be, still, while you are among them, 
 do not show them, by your inattention, that you think 
 them so; but rather take their tone, and conform in 
 some degree to their weakness, instead of manifesting 
 your contempt for them. There is nothing that 5 
 people bear more impatiently, or forgive less, than 
 contempt: and an injury is much sooner forgotten 
 than an insult. 
 
 My long and frequent letters which I send you, in 
 great doubt of their success, put me in mind of cer- 10 
 tain papers which you have very lately, and I for- 
 merly, 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 15 
 content myself now, as I did then, if some of my 
 present messengers do but stick to you. Adieu. 
 
 Letter XIV 
 
 TRUE PLEASURE NOT VICE 
 
 London, March the 27th, O. S. 1747. 
 Dear Boy: Pleasure is the rock which most young 
 people split upon; they launch out with crowded sails 20 
 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 25 
 against it, like a Parson; no, I mean to point it out, 
 and recommend it to you, like an Epicurean: I wish 
 
4^ LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 you a great deal, and my only view is to hinder you 
 from mistaking it. 
 
 The character which most young men first aim at 
 is, that of a Man of Pleasure; but they generally take 
 
 5 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 
 
 10 a beastly drunkard, an abandoned rake, and a profli- 
 gate 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 
 
 15 called a Man of Pleasure, than from my own inclina- 
 tions. I always naturally hated drinking; and yet 
 I have often drunk, with disgust at the time, attended 
 by great sickness the next day, only because I then 
 considered drinking as a necessary qualification for a 
 
 20 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 
 composition of a Man of Pleasure, and accordingly 
 
 25 I plunged into it without desire, at first; sacrificed a 
 
 21 Gaming. Lord Chesterfield's detestation of gambling is seen in the following 
 extract from his will : 
 
 41 In case my said godson, Philip Stanhope, [his heir] shall, at any time here- 
 after, keep, or be concerned in keeping of any race horses, or pack of hounds : or 
 reside one night at Newmarket, that infamous seminary of iniquity and ill-manners, 
 during the course of the races there : or shall resort to the said races : or shall lose 
 in any one day, at any game or bet whatsoever, the sum of ^500 : then, in any of 
 the cases aforesaid, it is my express will that he, my said godson shall forfeit and 
 pay, out of my estate, the sum of ^5000, to and for the use of the Dean and Chap- 
 ter of Westminster." 
 
TO HIS SON 47 
 
 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 shin- 
 ing character which I affected; but this folly I soon 5 
 laid aside upon finding both the guilt and the inde- 
 cency 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 10 
 confess, the just punishment of my errors. 
 
 Take warning, then, by them; choose your pleas- 
 ures for yourself, and do not let them be imposed 
 upon you. Follow nature, and not fashion: weigh 
 the present enjoyment of your pleasures against the 15 j 
 necessary consequences of them, and then let your 
 own common sense determine your choice. 
 
 Letter XV 
 
 ATTIC SALT 
 
 London, April the 3d, O. S. 1747. 
 Dear Boy: If I am rightly informed, I am now 
 writing to a fine Gentleman, in a scarlet coat laced 20 
 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 25 
 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 
 
4$ LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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 
 
 js 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, con- 
 sistency, solidity, and spirit in it. Mr. Hafte may 
 
 10 recensere and emendare as much as he pleases, but it 
 will be to little purpose if you do not cooperate with 
 him. The work will be imperfect. 
 
 I like your account of the salt works; which shows 
 that you gave some attention while you were seeing 
 
 15 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 deli- 
 cacy. That same Attic salt seasoned almost all 
 
 20 Greece, except Boeotia; and a great deal of it was 
 exported afterward to Rome, where it was counter- 
 feited 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 
 
 25 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. 
 
 10 Recensere, Revise : Emendare, Correct. Used of authors' revisions of 
 cheir works. 
 
 17 Attic salt. A delicate wit, supposed to be peculiar to the Athenians. 
 20 Bceotia. Attic writers characterized the Boeotians as boorish. 
 
TO HIS SON 49 
 
 Letter XVI 
 
 ONE THING AT A TIME 
 
 London, April the 14th, O. S. 1747. 
 Dear Boy: If you feel half the pleasure from the 
 consciousness of doing well, that I do from the infor- 
 mations I have lately received in your favor from Mr. 
 Harte, I shall have little occasion to exhort or ad- 5 
 monish you any more, to do what your own satisfac- 
 tion and self-love will sufficiently prompt 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 10 
 keep pace with your attention, so that the balance 
 will be greatly to your advantage. You may remem- 
 ber, 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 15 
 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 20 
 to both, you will neither have improvement nor satis- 
 faction from either. A man is fit for neither business 
 nor pleasure who either cannot, or does not, com- 
 mand and direct his attention to the present object, 
 and in some degree banish, for that time, all other 25 
 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 
 
50 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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 
 5 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 
 
 10 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; 
 
 15 for that it was only doing one thing at a time, and 
 never putting off anything till to-morrow that could 
 be done to-day. This steady and undissipated atten- 
 tion to one object is a sure mark of a superior genius; 
 as hurry, bustle, and agitation, are the never-failing 
 
 20 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 
 Cive: 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. 
 
 6 Pensionary de Witt. (1625-1672.) John de Witt, Grand Pensionary of 
 Holland, one of the greatest of Holland's great men. His death by an infuriated 
 mob was due partly to a misunderstanding of his official acts, partly to the enmity 
 of the Orange family. 
 
 22 Puffendorf, (or Pufendorf), (1632-1694,) a noted Saxon writer on jurispru- 
 dence, professor, successively, at Leyden, Heidelberg, and. Lund. His work De 
 Officiis Hominis et Civis, " On the Duty of the Man and of the Citizen," is an 
 abridgment of a larger work. 
 
TO HIS SON 5 1 
 
 Letter XVII 
 
 friendships: company 
 
 London, October the 9th, O. S. 1747. 
 Dear Boy: People of your age have commonly 
 an unguarded frankness about them, which makes 
 them the easy prey and bubbles of the artful and the 
 experienced: they look upon every knave, or fool, 5 
 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 10 
 proffered friendships. Receive them with great 
 civility, but with great incredulity too; and pay them 
 with compliments, but not with. confidence. Do not 
 let your vanity and self-love make you suppose that 
 people become your friends at first sight, or even upon 15 
 a short acquaintance. Real friendship is a slow 
 grower; and never thrives, unless ingrafted upon a 
 stock of known and reciprocal merit. There is an- 
 other kind of nominal friendship, among young 
 people, which is warm for the time, but, by good luck, 20 
 of short duration. This friendship is hastily pro- 
 duced 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 25 
 called a conspiracy against morals and good manners, 
 and be punished as such by the civil Magistrate. 
 
 4 Bubbles. Dupes. 
 
52 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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 accom- 
 5 plices; 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 com- 
 
 to panions 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 opinion of you upon that which they have of 
 
 15 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 some- 
 thing very bad to do, or to conceal. But, at the same 
 
 20 time that you carefully decline the friendship of 
 knaves and fools, if it can be called friendship, there 
 is no occasion to make either of them your enemies, 
 wantonly and unprovoked; for they are numerous 
 bodies; and I would rather choose a secure neu- 
 
 25 trality, than alliance or war, with either of them. You 
 may be a declared enemy to their vices and follies, 
 without being marked out by them as a personal one. 
 Their enmity is the next dangerous thing to their 
 friendship. Have a real reserve with almost every- 
 
 30 body; and have a seeming reserve with almost 
 nobody; for it is very disagreeable to seem reserved, 
 and very dangerous not to be so. Few people find 
 the true medium; many are ridiculously mysterious 
 
TO HIS SON S3 
 
 and reserved upon trifles; and many imprudently 
 communicative of all they know. 
 
 The next thing to the choice of your friends is the 
 choice of your company. Endeavor, as much as you 
 can, to keep company with people above you. There 5 
 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: 10 
 but I mean with regard to their merit, and the light 
 in which the world considers them. 
 
 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 15 
 life; the other consists of those who are distinguished 
 by some peculiar merit, or who excel in some par- 
 ticular 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 Air. Pope, as if I 20 
 had been with all the princes in Europe. What I 
 mean by low company, which should by all means be 
 avoided, is the company of those who, absolutely 
 insignificant and contemptible in themselves, think 
 they are honored by being in your company, and who 25 
 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 30 
 turn. 
 
 You may possibly ask me whether a man has it 
 always in his power to get into the best company? 
 
54 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 and how? I say, Yes, he has, by deserving it; pro- 
 vided he is but in circumstances which enable him to 
 appear upon the footing of a gentleman. Merit and 
 good breeding will make their way everywhere. 
 
 5 Knowledge will introduce him, and good breeding 
 will endear him to the best companies; for, as I have 
 often told you, politeness and good breeding are 
 absolutely necessary to adorn any or all other good 
 qualities or talents. Without them, no knowledge, 
 
 io 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 
 
 15 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 faithfully. My accounts will cer- 
 tainly be true; it depends upon you entirely of what 
 
 20 kind they shall be. Adieu. 
 
 Letter XVIII 
 
 THE USE AND VALUE OF TIME 
 
 London, December the nth, O. S. 1747. 
 
 Dear Boy: 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 
 
 25 everybody's mouth, but in few people's practice. 
 
 Every fool, who slatterns away his whole time in 
 
 16 Arguses. In Greek mythology, Argus, the guardian of Io, had one hun- 
 dred eye*. 
 
TO HIS SON 55 
 
 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 in- 
 scription to that effect; so that nobody squanders 5 
 away their time without hearing and seeing daily how 
 necessary it is to employ it well, and how irrecover- 
 able it is if lost. But all these admonitions are use- 
 less, where there is not a fund of good sense and 
 reason to suggest them, rather than receive them. 10 
 By the manner in which you now tell me that you 
 employ your time, I flatter myself that you have that 
 fund: that is the fund which will make you rich in- 
 deed. I do not, therefore, mean to give you a criti- 
 cal essay upon the use and abuse of time; I will only 15 
 give you some hints with regard to the use of one par- 
 ticular period of that long time which, I hope, you 
 have before you; I mean the next two years. Re- 
 member, then, that whatever knowledge you do not 
 solidly lay the foundation of before you are eighteen, 20 
 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 25 
 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, there- 
 fore, is your time, and your only time, for unwearied 
 and uninterrupted application. If -you should some- 30 
 times think it a little laborious, consider that labor is 
 the unavoidable fatigue of a necessary journey. The 
 more hours a day you travel, the sooner you will be 
 
56 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 at your journey's end. The sooner you are qualified 
 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. 
 5 I think I offer you a very good bargain, when I 
 promise you, upon my word, that if you will do every- 
 thing that I would have you do, till you are eighteen, 
 I will do everything that you would have me do, ever 
 afterward. 
 
 Letter XIX 
 
 BE THOROUGH 
 
 10 Bath, February the 16th, O. S. 1748. 
 
 Dear Boy: 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 
 
 15 these waters never fail giving it. I shall drink them 
 a month, and return to London, there to enjoy the 
 comforts of social life, instead of groaning under 
 the load of business. I have given the description 
 of the life that I propose to lead for the future, in this 
 
 20 motto, which I have put up in the frieze of my library 
 in my new house: 
 
 Nunc veterum libris, nunc somno, et inertibus horis 
 Ducere sollicitse jucunda oblivia vitse. 
 
 I must observe to you, upon this occasion, that the 
 
 25 uninterrupted satisfaction which I expect to find in 
 
 that library, will be chiefly owing to my having em- 
 
 21 New house. In London. 
 
 22 Nunc .... vitae. Horace, Satires, II. 6, 62. " In agreeable forgetfulness 
 of the cares of life, I devote myself to ancient literature, to sleep, and to leisure." 
 
TO HIS SON 57 
 
 ployed 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 5 
 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 10 
 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 15 
 imagine that it has hidden charms, which they pant 
 after; and nothing but acquaintance 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 20 
 dazzle the audience, retire, not only without regret, 
 but with contentment and satisfaction. But what I 
 do and ever shall regret, is the time which, while 
 young, I lost in mere idleness and in doing nothing. 
 This is the common effect of the inconsideracy of 25 
 youth, against w T hich 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 30 
 than if unemployed. Do not imagine that, by the 
 employment of time, I mean an uninterrupted appli- 
 cation to serious studies. No; pleasures are, at 
 
58 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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 un- 
 guarded minutes. But, then, remember to make that 
 
 5. use of them. I have known many people, from lazi- 
 ness of mind, go through both pleasure and business 
 with equal inattention; neither enjoying the one, nor 
 doing the other; thinking themselves men of pleas- 
 ure, because they were mingled with those who were; 
 
 10 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. Any- 
 thing half done, or half known, is, in my mind, neither 
 
 15 done nor known at all. Nay worse, for it often mis- 
 leads. 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, 
 
 20 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 ask- 
 ing them; for most things depend a great deal upon 
 
 25 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. 
 
 I have now but one anxiety left which is concern- 
 ing you. I would have you be, what I know nobody 
 30 is, perfect. As that is impossible, I would have you 
 as near perfection as possible. I know nobody in a 
 
 18 Approfondissez. Go to the bottom of things. 
 
TO HIS soy 59 
 
 fairer way toward it than yourself if you please. 
 Never were so much pains taken for anybody's educa- 
 tion 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, 5 
 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 XX 
 
 THE MODESTY OF TRUE LEARNING 
 
 Bath, February the 22d, O. S. 1748. 
 Dear Boy: Every excellency, and every virtue, 10 
 has its kindred vice or weakness; and if carried be- 
 yond 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 15 
 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, 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 20 
 Virtue is in itself so beautiful, that it charms us at 
 first sight; engages us more and more, upon further 
 acquaintance; and, as with other Beauties, we think 
 excess impossible: it is here that judgment is neces- 
 
 19 Vice. " Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 
 
 As, to b*. hated, needs but to be seen ; 
 Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, 
 We first endure, — then pity, then embrace." 
 
 — Pope's Essay on Man, H» «i7« 
 
60 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 sary to moderate and direct the effects of an excellent 
 cause. 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 
 
 5 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 
 
 10 hints which my experience can suggest may prob- 
 ably not be useless to you. 
 
 Some learned men, proud of their knowledge, only 
 speak to decide, and give judgment without appeal. 
 The consequence of which is, that mankind, provoked 
 
 15 by the insult, 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. 
 
 20 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 
 prejudices of a school education, where they hear of 
 
 25 nothing else, are always talking of the Ancients as 
 something more than men, and of the Moderns as 
 something less. They are never without a Classic 
 or two in their pockets; they stick to the old good 
 sense; they read none of the modern trash; and will 
 
 30 show you plainly that no improvement has been made 
 in any one art or science these last seventeen hundred 
 years. I would by no means have you disown your 
 acquaintance with the Ancients; but still less would I 
 
TO HIS SON 6 1 
 
 have you brag of an exclusive intimacy with them. 
 Speak of the Moderns without contempt, and of the 
 Ancients without idolatry; judge them all by their 
 merits, but not by their ages; and if you happen to 
 have an Elzevir classic in your pocket, neither show 5 
 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; with- 
 out considering, that, in the first place, there never 10 
 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 His- 
 torian, with every one of its circumstances; which, 
 however, ought to be known, in order to be reasoned 15 
 from. Reason upon the case itself and the several 
 circumstances that attend it, and act accordingly: 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, 20 
 not as guides. We are really so prejudiced by our 
 educations, that, as the Ancients deified their Heroes, 
 we deify their Madmen: of which, w T ith all due regard 
 to antiquity, I take Leonidas and Curtius to have been 
 two distinguished ones. And yet a stolid Pedant 25 
 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 
 
 6 Elzevir classic. The Elzevirs, publi>hers, of Amsterdam and Leyden, 
 issued editions of the classics and of the New Testament, celebrated for the beauty 
 of their typography. (1592-1681.) 
 
 24 Leonidas and Curtius. Leonidas sacrificed his life at Thermopylae in 
 battle with the Persians, in obedience to the laws of his native Sparta. Tradition 
 says that Curtius leaped into a chasm in order to save Rome. 
 
02 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 we ought to do and suffer for our country. I have 
 known these absurdities carried so far, by people of 
 injudicious learning, that I should not be surprised, 
 if some of them were to propose, while we are at war 
 5 with the Gauls, that a number of geese should be 
 kept in the Tower, upon account of the infinite advan- 
 tage 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 
 
 to 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 shin- 
 ing Pedants, who adorn their conversation, even with 
 
 15 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 
 
 20 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 
 
 25 scholars. If, therefore, you would avoid the accusa- 
 tion of pedantry, on one hand, or the suspicion of 
 ignorance, on the other, abstain from learned osten- 
 tation. Speak the language of the company that you 
 
 6 Gauls, i. e., the French. While the ancient Gauls were besieging the capitol 
 of Rome, their night attack was made known to the sleeping garrison by the cack- 
 ling of geese. 
 
 19 Maro. Publius Vergilius Maro, Virgil. 
 
 20 Naso. Publius Ovidius Naso, Ovid. 
 
TO HIS SON 63 
 
 are in; speak it purely, and unlarded with any other. 
 Never seem wiser, nor more learned, than the people 
 you are with. Wear your learning, like your watch, 
 in a private pocket; and do not pull it out, and strike 
 it, merely to show that you have one. If you are 5 
 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 useful and 
 necessary ornament, which it is si ameful not to be 10 
 master of; but 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 15 
 present than the old state of Europe; though I would 
 have you well acquainted with both. 
 
 Letter XXI 
 
 THE LAZY MIND: THE FRIVOLOUS MIND 
 
 London, July the 26th, O. S. 1748. 
 Dear Boy: There are two sorts of understandings; 
 one of which hinders a man from ever being con- 20 
 siderable, and the other commonly makes him ridicu- 
 lous; 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 25 
 (and everything worth knowing or having is attended 
 with some), stops short, contents itself with easy, and 
 consequently superficial, knowledge, and prefers a 
 
64 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 great degree of ignorance 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 to them 
 5 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 pre- 
 sents itself, never consider it in all its different views, 
 
 io and, in short, never think it thorough. The con- 
 sequence 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 themselves open to 
 
 15 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 
 
 20 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 knowledge, 
 such as the common course of conversation, 
 
 25 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 
 
 30 conversations; and one would be sorry to say, like the 
 
 16 Contra audentior ito. " Tu ne cede malis sed contra audentior ito." 
 iEneid, VI. 95. "Yet do not yield to your ills, but advance ever bolder 
 against them." Howland's translation. 
 
TO HIS SON 65 
 
 Marquis de Mascarille, in Moliere's Prccienses Ridi- 
 cules, when he hears of une detni Lime; Ma foi c'etoit 
 bien une Lune toute entiere. But those things which 
 every gentleman, independently of profession, should 
 know, he ought to know well, and dive into all the 5 
 depths of them. Such are languages, history, and 
 geography ancient and modern; philosophy, rational 
 logic, rhetoric; and, for you particularly, the consti- 
 tution, and the civil and military state, of every coun- 
 try in Europe. This, I confess, is a pretty large circle 10 
 of knowledge, attended with some 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 15 
 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 com- 20 
 pany they keep. They attend more to the decora- 
 tions 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 25 
 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 39 
 
 1 Precieuses Ridicules. A comedy by Moliere. 
 
 2 Une demi Lune. A half moon : in fortification, an outwork. 
 2 Ma foi . . . . entiere. " Faith, surely, it is a full moon." 
 
66 
 
 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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, 
 
 5 but read and inquire on till then. When you are in 
 company, bring the conversation to some useful sub- 
 ject, but a portce of that company. Points of history, 
 matters of literature, the customs of particular coun- 
 tries, the several Orders of Knighthood, as Teutonic, 
 
 10 Maltese, etc., are surely better subjects of conversa- 
 tion 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 
 
 15 written during their lives. This, therefore, is an 
 entertaining and instructive subject of conversation, 
 and will likewise give you an opportunity of observ- 
 ing how very differently characters are given, from 
 the different passions and views of those who give 
 
 20 them. Never be ashamed nor afraid of asking ques- 
 tions; 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 
 
 25 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 
 
 3 Read only useful books. In another letter his lordship writes : " But 
 throw away none of your time upon those trivial futile books published by idle or 
 necessitous authors for the amusement of idle and ignorant readers : such books 
 swarm and buzz about me every day ; flap them away ; they have no sting ; 
 certum pete finem ; have some one object for your leisure moments, and pursue 
 that object invariably till you have obtained it." 
 
 7 A portee. Within the comprehension of. 
 
TO HIS SO AT 67 
 
 are few things that may not be said, in some manner 
 or other; either in a seeming confidence, 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. 5 
 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 dis- 
 tinctly spoken, would please; which would shock, ific 
 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 15 
 them, I am sure, learning is \ery unattractive. 
 Invoke them, then, distinctly, to accompany all your 
 words and motions. Adieu. 
 
 Letter XXII 
 
 AGAINST CASUISTRY 
 
 London, Sept. 27, O. S. 1748. 
 
 Pray let no quibbles of lawyers, no refinement of 20 
 casuists, break into the plain notions of right and 
 wrong which every man's right reason and plain 
 
 18 Venus. The goddess of love and beauty. 
 
 *• Graces. The name usually given to the Greek goddesses Ckarites — Aglaia. 
 Euphrosyne, and Thalia^ the personifications of beauty, grace, and cheerfulness, 
 in nature and in morals. 
 
 15 Minerva. The goddess of wisdom : Athena. 
 
68 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 common sense suggest to him. To do as you would 
 be done by is the plain, sure, and undisputed rule of 
 morality and justice. Stick to that; and be convinced 
 that whatever breaks into it in any degree, however 
 5 speciously it may be termed, and however puzzling 
 it may be to answer it, is notwithstanding false in 
 itself, unjust, and criminal. I do not know a crime 
 in the world which is not by casuists allowed in some 
 or many cases not to be criminal. The principles 
 
 10 first laid down by them are often specious, the reason- 
 ings plausible, but the conclusion always a lie; for 
 it is contrary to that evident and undeniable rule of 
 justice which I have mentioned above, of not doing 
 to anyone what you would not have him do to you. 
 
 15 But, however, these refined pieces of casuistry and 
 sophistry being very convenient and welcome to 
 people's passions and appetites, they gladly accept 
 the indulgence without desiring to detect the fallacy 
 of the reasoning: and indeed many, I might say most 
 
 20 people, are not able to do it, — which makes the pub- 
 lication of such quibblings and refinements the more 
 pernicious. I am no skillful casuist nor subtle dis- 
 putant; and yet I would undertake to justify and 
 qualify the profession of a highwayman, step by step, 
 
 25 and so plausibly as to make many ignorant people 
 embrace the profession as an innocent if not even a 
 laudable one, and to puzzle people of some degree 
 of knowledge to answer me point by point. I have 
 seen a book, entitled " Quidlibet ex Quolibet," or 
 
 30 the art of making anything out of anything; which is 
 not so difficult as it w r ould seem, if one once quits 
 
 29 Quidlibet ex quolibet. " Whatever you please from whatever you please." 
 
 That is : Any conclusion may be derived from any premises. 
 
TO HIS SON 69 
 
 certain plain truths, obvious in gross to every 
 understanding, in order to run after the ingenious 
 refinements of warm imaginations and speculative rea- 
 sonings. Doctor Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne, a very 
 worthy, ingenious, and learned man, has written a 5 
 book to prove that there is no such thing as matter, 
 and that nothing exists but in idea; that you and I 
 only fancy ourselves eating, drinking, and sleeping, 
 you at Leipsig, and I at London; that we think we 
 have flesh and blood, legs, arms, etc., but that we 10 
 are only spirit. His arguments are, strictly speaking, 
 unanswerable; but yet I am so far from being con- 
 vinced by them that I am determined to go on to 
 eat and drink, and walk and ride, in order to keep 
 that matter, which I so mistakenly imagine my body 15 
 at present to consist of, in as good a plight as pos- 
 sible. Common sense (which in truth is very uncom- 
 mon) is the best sense I know of. Abide by it: it 
 will counsel you best. Read and hear for your 
 amusement ingenious systems, nice questions sub- 20 
 tilely agitated, with all the refinements that warm 
 imaginations suggest; but consider them only as 
 exercitations for the mind, and return always to settle 
 with common sense. 
 
 Letter XXIII 
 
 RULES FOR CONDUCT IN COMPANY 
 
 Bath, October the 19th, O. S. 1748. 25 
 Dear Boy: Having in my last pointed out what 
 sort of company you should keep, I will now give 
 
 4 Doctor Berkeley. George Berkeley. (1685-1753.) A celebrated Eng- 
 lish metaphysician. 
 
70 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 you some rules for your conduct in it; rules which 
 my own experience and observation enable me to lay 
 down, and communicate to you with some degree of 
 confidence. I have often given you hints of this kind 
 5 before, but then it has been by snatches; I will 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, 
 
 io 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 
 
 15 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 
 
 2c circumstance 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 
 
 25 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 neighbor) to 
 
 30 whisper, or at least, in a half voice, to convey a con- 
 tinuity of words to.^ This is excessively ill-bred, and, 
 in some degree, a fraud; conversation stock being a 
 joint and common property. But, on the other hand, 
 
TO HIS SON 7 1 
 
 if one of these unmerciful talkers lays hold of you, 
 hear him with patience (and at least seeming atten- 
 tion), if he is worth obliging; for nothing will oblige 
 him more than a patient hearing, as nothing would 
 hurt him more, than either to leave him in the midst 5 
 of his discourse, or to discover your impatience under 
 your affliction. 
 
 Take, rather than give, the tone of the company 
 you are in. If you have parts, you will show them, 
 more or less, upon every subject; and if you have 10 
 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, 
 argumentative, polemical conversations ; which 
 though they should not, yet certainly do, indispose, 15 
 for a time, the contending parties toward each other: 
 and, if the controversy grows warm and noisy, 
 endeavor 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 20 
 none there present would repeat, out of company, 
 what passed in it, yet I could not answer for the dis- 
 cretion of the passengers in the street, who must 
 necessarily hear all that was said. 
 
 Above all things, and upon all occasions, avoid 25 
 speaking of yourself, if it be possible. Such is the 
 natural pride and vanity of our hearts, that it per- 
 petually 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, 30 | 
 without either pretense or provocation. They are 
 impudent. Others proceed more artfully, as they 
 imagine; and forge accusations against themselves, 
 
72 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 complain of calumnies which they never heard, in 
 order to justify themselves, by exhibiting a catalogue 
 of their many virtues. They acknowledge it may, 
 indeed, seem odd, that they should talk in that manner 
 5 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 
 
 10 others; and, when our character is attacked, we may 
 say, in our own justification, what otherwise we never 
 would have said. This thin veil of Modesty, drawn 
 before Vanity, is much too transparent to conceal it, 
 even from very moderate discernment. 
 
 15 Others go more modestly and more slyly 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 weak- 
 
 20 nesses, and then owning their misfortune, in being 
 made up of those weaknesses. They cannot see 
 people suffer without sympathizing with, and endeav- 
 oring to help them. They cannot see people want 
 without relieving them: though truly their own cir- 
 
 25 cumstances cannot very well afford it. They cannot 
 help speaking truth, though they know all the impru- 
 dence 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 
 
 30 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 
 
TO HIS SON 73 
 
 here I will observe, by the bye, that you will often 
 meet with characters in nature so extravagant, that a 
 discreet Poet would not venture to set them upon the 
 stage in their true and high coloring. 
 
 This principle of vanity and pride is so strong in 5 
 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, seldom is), no just praise is to be caught. 
 One man affirms that he has rode post a hundred 10 
 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 wine at a sitting: out of charity I will believe 15 
 him a liar; for if I do not I must think him a beast. 
 
 Such, and a thousand more, are thvi follies and 
 extravagances which vanity draws people into, and 
 which always defeat their own purpose : and, as Waller 
 says, upon another subject, 20 
 
 " 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 25 
 drop one single word that can directly or indirectly 
 be construed as fishing for applause. Be your char- 
 acter what it will, it will be known; and nobody will 
 take it upon your own word. Never imagine that any- 
 thing you can say yourself will varnish your defects, 30 
 or add luster to your perfections: but, on the con- 
 
 19 Waller. Edmund. (1605-1687.) An English panegyrical poet. 
 
74 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 trary, 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, indig- 
 nation, nor ridicule will obstruct or allay the applause 
 
 5 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. 
 
 10 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 observ- 
 ing by their countenances what impression your dis- 
 course makes upon them. In order to know people's 
 
 15 real sentiments, I trust much more to my eyes than 
 to my ears; for they can say whatever they have a 
 mind I should hear, but they can seldom help looking 
 what they have no intention that I should know. 
 
 Neither retail nor receive scandal, willingly; for / 
 
 20 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 disposition; and in the case of scandal, 
 as in that of robbery, the receiver is always thought 
 
 25 as bad as the thief. 
 
 Mimicry, which is the common and favorite 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 practice it yourself, 
 
 30 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 
 
TO HIS SON 75 
 
 conversation 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 Minister of State, a Bishop, a Philoso- 
 pher, a Captain, and a Woman. A man of the world 5 
 must, like the Chameleon, be able to take every differ- 
 ent 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 10 
 and believe is more than is necessary. You may 
 sometimes hear some people in good company inter- 
 lard their discourse with oaths, by the way of embel- 
 lishment, as they think; but you must observe, too, 
 that those who do so are never those who contribute, 15 
 in any degree, to give that company the denomination 
 of good company. They are always subalterns, or 
 people of low education; for. that practice, besides 
 that is has no one temptation to plead, is as silly and 
 as illiberal as it is wicked. 20 
 
 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. 25 
 
 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 super- 
 cilious, cynical face, or an embarrassed countenance, 30 
 or a silly disconcerted grin, will be ill received. If, into 
 the bargain, you mutter it, or utter it indistinctly and 
 ungracefully, it will be still worse received. If your 
 
7 6 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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 An- 
 5 cients, was synonymous with the Graces, who were 
 always supposed to accompany her; and Horace tells 
 us that even Youth, and Mercury, the God of Arts 
 and Eloquence, would not do without her. 
 
 14 — Parum com is sine te Juventas 
 to Mercuriusque" 
 
 They are not inexorable Ladies, and may be had 
 if properly and diligently pursued. Adieu. 
 
 Letter XXIV 
 
 THE GRACES: THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH 
 
 London, November the i8th, O. S. 1748. 
 Dear Boy: Whatever I see or whatever I hear, my 
 
 15 first consideration 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 
 
 20 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 per- 
 spective, geometry, and the observation of the statues 
 
 1 Gauche. Literally, left, left-handed, hence abruptness of manner. 
 
 9 Parum .... Mercuriusque. Horace, Odes, I. 30, 7. "Youth and 
 
 Mercury less agreeable without thee." 
 
TO HIS SON 77 
 
 of antiquity. With regard to perspective, of which 
 there are some little specimens, he has wrote, Tanto 
 che basti, that is, As much as is sufficient; with regard 
 to geometry, Tanto che basti again; with regard to 
 the contemplation of the ancient statues, there is 5 
 written, Non mai a bastanza; There never can be enough. 
 But in the clouds, at the top of the piece, are repre- 
 sented the three Graces; with this just sentence written 
 over them, Senza di noi ogni fatica e vana; that is, 
 Without us all labor is vain. This everybody allows 10 
 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. 15 
 
 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 dia- 
 mond. Since barbarism drove them out of Greece 
 and Rome, they seem to have taken refuge in France, 20 
 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 25 
 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 30 
 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, unwel- 
 
78 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 come, 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, 
 5 wants some of its charms, if unaccompanied by them. 
 If you ask me how you shall acquire what neither 
 you nor I can define or ascertain, I can only answer, 
 By observation. Form yourself, with regard to others, 
 upon what you feel pleases you in them. I can tell 
 
 10 you the importance, the advantage, of having the 
 Graces, but I cannot give them you: I heartily wish 
 I could, and I certainly would; for I do not know 
 a better present that I could make you. To show you 
 that a very wise, philosophical, and retired man thinks 
 
 15 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 
 
 20 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 
 
 25 you are there. But the place which you are going to, 
 in a great degree is, for I have known as many well- 
 bred pretty men come from Turin as from any part 
 of Europe. The late King Victor Amedee took great 
 pains to form such of his subjects as were of any con- 
 
 30 sideration, 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 
 
TO HIS SON 79 
 
 of Sardinia are generally the a'blest, the politest, and 
 les plus delies. You will, therefore, at Turin, have 
 very good models to form yourself upon; and remem- 
 ber, that with regard to the best models, as well as 
 to the antique Greek statues in the print, non mais 
 a bastanza. Observe every word, look, and motion, 
 of those who are allowed to be the most accomplished 
 persons there. Observe their natural and careless, 
 but genteel air; their unembarrassed good breeding; 
 their unassuming, but yet unprostituted, dignity. 10 
 Mind their decent mirth, their discreet frankness, and 
 that entregenty which, as much above the frivolous as 
 below the important and the secret, is the proper 
 medium for conversation in mixed companies. I will 
 observe, by the bye, that the talent of that light entre- 15 
 gent 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 pos- 
 sibly lay him under difficulties, both what to say and 20 
 how to look. 
 
 Of all the men that ever I knew in my life (and 
 I knew him extremely well), the late Duke of Marl- 
 borough possessed the Graces in the highest degree, 
 not to say engrossed them; and indeed he got the 25 
 most by them; for I will venture (contrary to the 
 custom of profound historians, who always assign 
 deep causes for great events) to ascribe the better 
 half of the Duke of Marlborough's greatness and 
 
 2 Le plus delies. The shrewdest. 
 
 12 Entregent. Tact. 
 
 29 Duke of Marlborough. (1650-1722.) His wealth, power, and fame were 
 due to his tact and skill in managing men, to the influence of his wife, and to his 
 marvelous military genius. M But courage and skill in arms did less for Marl- 
 
80 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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. 
 5 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 pro- 
 
 io tected and promoted him; for, while he was an Ensign 
 of the Guards, the Duchess of Cleveland, then favorite 
 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, 
 
 15 of five hundred pounds a year, of my grandfather, 
 Halifax, which was the foundation of his 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, 
 
 20 during all this war, to connect the various and jarring 
 Powers of the Grand Alliance, and to carry them on 
 
 borough on his return to the English court than his personal beauty .... and his 
 manners were as winning as his person."— J. R. Green. His wife, Sarah Jennings, 
 was the intimate friend of Queen Anne, and was often called lt Queen Sarah." 
 11 Queen Anne only reigned, while Queen Sarah governed." — Temple Bar. Marl- 
 borough was chief of the triumvirate composed of himself. Prince Eugene, and 
 Heinsius, the Grand Pensionary of Amsterdam : and was the general in chief of 
 the combined English and Dutch armies in the war with France. Chesterfield 
 exaggerates his influence over his colleagues : had it been greater, their victories 
 would have been greater. Marlborough was a traitor to James II. and to William. 
 "So notorious was his treason that on the eve of the French invasion of 1692 he 
 was one of the first of the suspected persons to be sent to the Tower."— J. R. Green. 
 
 16 Halifax. George Savile, Marquis of Halifax. (1630-1695.) Statesman, 
 orator, author : not to be confounded with Charles Montague, Earl of Halifax, 
 (1661-1715), the financier, author of the bill establishing the Bank of England. 
 
 21 Powers of the Grand Alliance. The Grand Alliance was signed May 
 12, 1689, and included England, Germany, and Holland ; afterward, Spain and 
 Savoy, also. Its object was to prevent the union of France and Spain. 
 
TO HIS SON 8l 
 
 to the main object of the war, notwithstanding their 
 private and separate views, jealousies, and wrong- 
 headednesses. Whatever Court he went to (and he 
 was often obliged to go himself to some resty and 
 refractory ones), he as constantly prevailed, and 5 
 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 abso- 
 lutely governed by the Duke of Marlborough, as that 10 
 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 15 
 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 liv- 
 ing was more conscious of his situation, nor main- 
 tained his dignity better. 20 
 
 Letter XXV 
 
 DIGNITY OF MANNERS 
 
 London, Aug. 10, O. S. 1749. 
 
 There is a certain dignity of manners absolutely 
 necessary to make even the most valuable character 
 either respected or respectable. 
 
 Horse-play, romping, frequent and loud fits of 25 
 laughter, jokes, waggery, and indiscriminate familiar- 
 ity will sink both merit and knowledge into a degree 
 
LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 of contempt. They compose at most a merry fellow, 
 and a merry fellow was never yet a respectable man. 
 Indiscriminate familiarity either offends your su- 
 periors, or else dubs you their dependent and led cap- 
 5 tain. It gives your inferiors just but troublesome 
 and improper claims of equality. A joker is near 
 akin to a buffoon, and neither of them is the nearest 
 related to wit. Whoever is either admitted or sought 
 for in company upon any other account than that 
 
 io of his merit and manners, is never respected there 
 but only made use of. We will have such-a-one, for he 
 sings prettily; we will invite such-a-one to a ball, for 
 he dances well; we will have such-a-one at supper, for 
 he is always joking and laughing; we will ask another 
 
 15 because he plays deep at all games, or because he 
 can drink a great deal. These are all vilifying dis- 
 tinctions, mortifying preference, and exclude all ideas 
 of esteem and regard. Whoever is had (as it is called) 
 in company for the sake of any one thing singly, is 
 
 20 singly that thing, and will never be considered in 
 any other light; consequently never respected, let his 
 merits be what they will. 
 
 This dignity of manners which I recommend so 
 much to you is not only as different from pride as 
 
 25 true courage is from blustering, or true wit from 
 joking, but is absolutely inconsistent with it; for 
 nothing vilifies and degrades more than pride. The 
 pretensions of the proud man are oftener treated with 
 sneer and contempt than with indignation ; as we offer 
 
 30 ridiculously too little to a tradesman who asks ridicu- 
 lously too much for his goods, but we do not haggle 
 with one who only asks a just and reasonable price. 
 Abject flattery and indiscriminate assentation de- 
 
TO II IS soy 83 
 
 grade as much as indiscriminate contradiction and 
 noisy debate disgust. But a modest assertion of one's 
 own opinion and a complaisant acquiescence in other 
 people's preserve dignity. 
 
 Vulgar, low expressions, awkward motions and 5 
 address, vilify; as they imply either a very low turn 
 of mind or low education and low company. 
 
 Frivolous curiosity about trifles and laborious 
 attention to little objects, which neither require nor 
 deserve a moment's thought, lower a man, who from 10 
 thence is thought (and not unjustly) incapable of 
 greater matters. Cardinal de Retz very sagaciously 
 marked out Cardinal Chigi for a little mind from the 
 moment that he told him he had wrote three years 
 with the same pen, and that it was an excellent good 15 
 one still. 
 
 Letter XXVI 
 
 " COMPLETE THE WORK " 
 
 London, September the 12th, O. S. 1749. 
 Dear Boy: It seems extraordinary, but it is very 
 true, that my anxiety for you increases in proportion 
 to the good accounts which I receive of you from all 20 
 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 
 labored to bring you into, that my concern would be 
 doubled should you be shipwrecked within sight of 25 
 
 12 Cardinal de Retz. (1614-1679.) An able French politician and diplomat- 
 ist. He was largely responsible for the war of the Fronde, which began in 1648. 
 
 13 Cardinal Chigi. An Italian prelate, member of a noted family. 
 
84 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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 
 5 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. My wishes, and my plan, were to 
 make you shine, and distinguish yourself equally in 
 
 io 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 
 
 15 consequently end contemptibly in the frivolous dissi- 
 pation of drawing rooms. You are now got over the 
 dry and difficult parts of learning; what remains 
 requires much more time than trouble. You have 
 lost time by your illness; you must regain it now or 
 
 20 never. I therefore most earnestly desire, for your 
 own sake, that for these next six months, at least six 
 hours every morning, uninterruptedly, may be in- 
 violably sacred to your studies with Mr. Harte. I do 
 not know T whether he will require so much, but I 
 
 25 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 w 7 ork will be so much better and so much sooner 
 done, by such an assiduous and continued applica- 
 
 30 tion, 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, 
 
TO HIS SON 85 
 
 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 5 
 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 morn- 10 
 ing 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 otherwise. Lay it all upon me, though I am 
 persuaded it will be as much your own inclination as 15 
 '; is mine. But those frivolous, idle people, whose 
 ame 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 
 honor. The shortest civil answers are the best; 1 20 
 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 w T ould not have you 25 
 invite. I will suppose you at Rome, studying six 
 hours uninterruptedly 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, saunter- 30 
 ing, illiterate English, as there commonly is there, 
 living entirely with one another, supping, drinking, 
 and sitting up late at each other's lodgings; com- 
 
S6 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 monly 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 be- 
 tween him and yourself; such as I dare say it will be 
 5 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 country- 
 men; we have provided chaises, and we will drive 
 somewhere out of town after breakfast? 
 10 Stanhope. I am very sorry I cannot, but I am 
 obliged to be at home all morning. 
 
 Englishman. Why, then, we will come and break- 
 fast with you. 
 
 Stanhope. I can't do that neither, I am engaged. 
 15 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 
 20 yourself till twelve o'clock? 
 
 Stanhope. I am not by myself, I am with Mr. Harte. 
 
 Englishman. Then what the devil do you do with 
 him? 
 
 Stanhope. We study different things; we read, we 
 25 converse. 
 
 Englishman. Very pretty amusement indeed! Are 
 you to take Orders, then? 
 
 Stanhope. Yes, my father's orders, I believe, I must 
 take. 
 30 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. 
 
TO HIS SOiV 87 
 
 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 threat- 
 ened me in his life; but I believe I had best not 
 provoke him. 5 
 
 Englishman. Pooh! you would have one angry 
 letter from the old fellow, and there would be an end 
 of it. 
 
 Stanhope. You mistake him mightily; he always 
 does more than he says. He has never been angry 10 
 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 15 
 I can say; and pray, are you to obey your dry-nurse 
 too, this same, what's his name — Air. Harte? 
 
 Stanhope. Yes. 
 
 Englishman. So he stuffs you all morning with 
 Greek, and Latin, and Logic, and all that. Egad, I 20 
 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 25 
 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. 30 
 
 Stanhope. Why, that will do me no harm. 
 
 Englishman. Will you be with us to-morrow in the 
 evening, then? We shall be ten with you, and I have 
 
88 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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 Car- 
 5 dinal 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 
 
 io 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 con- 
 
 15 versing with them; and that is what we are sent 
 
 abroad for. Is it not? 
 
 Englislinian. I hate your modest women's com- 
 pany; your women of fashion, as they call 'em. I 
 don't know what to say to them, for my part. 
 20 Stanhope. Have you ever conversed with them? 
 
 Englishman. Xo. 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, 
 25 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. 
 
 30 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 
 
 
TO HIS SON 89 
 
 the evening in formal fine company, and all day 
 long afraid of old Daddy in England. Thou art a 
 queer fellow, and I am afraid there's nothing to be 
 made of thee. 
 
 Stanhope. I am afraid so too. 5 
 
 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. Xot in the least; nor to your being sick 
 to-morrow, which you as certainly will be; and so 10 
 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 15 
 affection toward 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 ignor- 20 
 ance, 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 25 
 at old age, it is an uneasy and ignominious one. The 
 ridicule which such fellows endeavor 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 30 
 year and a 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 
 
9° LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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 noth- 
 5 ing that is requisite, 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 d'un honnete hotntne. 
 
 Letter XXVII 
 
 LOW COMPANY 
 
 London, September the 27th, O. S. 1749. 
 
 10 Dear Boy: A vulgar, ordinary way of thinking, 
 acting, or speaking, implies a low education, and a 
 habit of low company. Young people contract it at 
 school, or among servants, with whom they are too 
 often used to converse; but, after they frequent good 
 
 15 company, they must want attention and observation 
 very much, if they do not lay it quite aside. And in- 
 deed 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 
 
 20 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 
 impetuous about trifles. He suspects himself to be 
 slighted, thinks everything that is said meant at him; 
 
 25 if the company happens to laugh, he is persuaded they 
 
 8 D'un honnete homme. Of an honorable man. 
 
TO HIS SON 9 1 
 
 laugh at him; he grows angry and testy, says some- 
 thing 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 sup- 
 pose himself to be either the sole or principal object 5 
 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 two- 1° 
 pence, unless the insult be so gross and plain as to 
 require satisfaction of another kind. As he is above 
 trifles, he is never vehement and eager about them; 
 and, wherever they are concerned, rather acquiesces 
 than wrangles. A vulgar man's conversation always 15 
 savors 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 neighborhood; 
 all which he relates with emphasis, as interesting 20 
 matters. He is a man gossip. 
 
 Vulgarism in language is the next and distinguish- 
 ing characteristic of bad company and a bad educa- 
 tion. A man of fashion avoids nothing with more 
 care than that. Proverbial expressions and trite say- 25 
 ings 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 it'hat is one man's 
 Meat is another man's Poison. If anybody attempts 30 
 being smart, as he calls it, upon him, he gives them 
 Tit for Tat, ay, that he does. He has always some 
 favorite word for the time being, which, for the sake 
 
9 2 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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 
 5 yearth; he is obleiged] 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 
 10 aphorisms, uses neither favorite 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. 
 
 Letter XXVIII 
 
 STYLE 
 
 London, November the 24th, O. S. 1749. 
 
 15 Dear Boy: Every rational being (I take it for 
 granted) proposes to himself some object more impor- 
 tant than mere respiration and obscure animal 
 existence. He desires to distinguish himself among 
 his fellow-creatures; and, alicui negotio intentus, 
 
 20 prcBclari facinoris, aut artis bonce famam qucrrit. 
 Caesar, when embarking in a storm, said that it was 
 not necessary he should live, but that it was abso- 
 lutely necessary he should get to the place to which 
 he was going. And Pliny leaves mankind this only 
 
 1 Vastly. The American, with equal impropriety, says awful : awfully 
 nice, etc. 
 
 » 9 Alicui .... quaerit. "Devoting himself to a specialty, he seeks the 
 renown of a brilliant achievement or of great virtue." 
 
TO HIS SON- 93 
 
 alternative; either of doing what deserves to be 
 written, or of writing what deserves to be read. As 
 for those w r ho do neither, eorum vitammortemque juxta 
 cestumo; quoniam de utraque siletur. You have, I am 
 convinced, one or both of these objects in view 7 ; but 5 
 you must know and use the necessary means or your 
 pursuit will be vain and frivolous. In either case, 
 sapere est principium et fons; but it is by no means all. 
 That knowledge must be adorned, it must have luster 
 as well as weight, or it will be oftener taken for Lead 10 
 than for Gold. Knowledge you have, and will have: 
 I am easy upon that article. But my business, as 
 your friend, is not to compliment you upon what you 
 have, but to tell you with freedom what you want; 
 and I must tell you plainly that I fear you want every- 15 
 thing but knowledge. 
 
 I have written to you so often of late upon Good 
 Breeding, Address, les Manieres liantes, the Graces, 
 etc., that I shall confine this letter to another subject, 
 pretty near akin to them, and which, I am sure, you 20 
 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, 
 
 3 Eorum .... siletur. Sallust's Catiline, 2, 8. " I consider their lives 
 
 and deaths equally worthless, since no memorial remains of either." (Scribendi 
 
 recte) sapere est et principium et fons. Horace: Ars Poetica,2oq. "Wisdom 
 
 is both the beginning and the constant source of good composition "). Wickham 
 says this line is the motto of the Ars Poetica. Howes renders it. 
 
 " In the philosophy of man to excel 
 Is the prime root and spring of writing well." 
 Byron paraphrases it thus : 
 
 " Though modern practice sometimes differs quite, 
 'Tis just as well to think before you write." 
 Another writer : 
 
 " Good writing begins in good thinking." 
 18 Les Manieres liantes. Easy manners. 
 
94 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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 understanding that can judge 
 5 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 of style, to the 
 strongest matter in the world, ill worded and ill 
 
 10 delivered. 
 
 You have with you three or four of the best Eng- 
 lish Authors, Dryden, Atterbury, and Swift; read 
 them with the utmost care, and with a particular 
 view to their language; and they may possibly cor- 
 
 15 rect that curious infelicity of diction, which you ac- 
 quired at Westminster. Mr. Ilarte 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 
 
 20 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 
 
 25 French, witness their respective Academies and Dic- 
 tionaries, 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 
 
 30 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 
 
TO HIS SOX 95 
 
 purity and elegance of style, with a graceful elocution, 
 cover a multitude 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 5 
 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 10 
 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 1 5 
 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 20 
 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, 25 
 both in company and in business. 
 
9^ LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 Letter XXIX 
 
 " A TONGUE TO PERSUADE " 
 
 London, December the 12th, O. S. 1749. 
 Dear Boy: 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, 
 5 I shall not now enter into the justness of this char- 
 acter 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 alteration of one single word, Good, 
 
 10 instead of Mischief, I would have you aspire to, and 
 use your utmost endeavors to deserve. The head to 
 contrive, God must to a certain degree have given 
 you; but it is in your own power grer.tly to improve 
 it by study, observation, and reflection. As for the 
 
 15 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, like- 
 wise, in my opinion, in a great measure upon yourself. 
 Serious reflection will always give courage in a good 
 
 20 cause; and the courage arising from reflection is of 
 a much superior nature to the animal and constitu- 
 tional 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 
 
 25 always brutally. 
 
 23 Nodus (literally knot, here difficult). Dignus vindice. Worthy of a pro- 
 tector. Lord Chesterfield had in mind, doubtless : " Nee dens intersit, nisi dignus 
 vindice nodus incident. 11 Horace : Ars Poetica, iqi. "Nor let a god interfere, 
 unless a difficulty presents itself worthy of a god's unraveling." 
 
TO HIS SON 97 
 
 The second member of my text (to speak eccle- 
 siastically, 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 truths 
 and continence at Court; disinterestedness in the 
 City; and sobriety in the Country. 
 
 You must certainly, in the course of your little 
 experience, have felt the different effects of elegant 
 and inelegant speaking. Do you not suffer when 10 
 people accost you in a stammering or hesitating man- 
 ner: in an untuneful voice, with false accents and 
 cadences; puzzling and blundering through sole- 
 cisms, barbarisms, and vulgarisms; misplacing even 
 their bad words, and inverting all method? Does not 15 
 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 favor 
 of those who address you in the direct contrary man- 20 
 ner? The effects of a correct and adorned style of 
 method and perspicuity, are incredible toward per- 
 suasion; they often supply the want of reason and 
 argument, but when used in the support of reason 
 and argument they are irresistible. The French 25 
 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, qvtil narre bien. 
 Their conversations frequently turn upon the deli- 
 cacies of their language, and an Academy is employed 30 
 in fixing it. The Crasca, in Italy, has the same 
 
 28 Qu'il narre bien. How well he tells a story. 
 
 81 Crusca. The Accademia della Crusca, corresponding to the French Academy. 
 
9>8 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 object; and I have met with very few Italians who 
 did not speak their own language correctly and ele- 
 gantly. How much more necessary is it for an Eng- 
 lishman to do so who is to speak it in a public 
 5 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 Demos- 
 thenes took to correct his naturally bad elocution; 
 
 io 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 he 
 
 15 thought right; pray do you think so too. It is of the 
 utmost consequence to you to be of that opinion. If 
 you have the least defect in your elocution, take the 
 utmost care and pains to correct it. Do not neglect 
 your style, whatever language you speak in, or whom- 
 
 20 ever you speak to, were it your footman. Seek 
 always for the best words and the happiest expres- 
 sions you can find. Do not content yourself with 
 being barely understood; but adorn your thoughts, 
 and dress them as you would your person; which, 
 
 25 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. 
 
TO HIS SON 99 
 
 Letter XXX 
 
 PURITY OF CHARACTER 
 
 London, January the 8th, O. S. 1750. 
 Dear Boy: I have seldom or never written to you 
 upon the subject of Religion and Morality: your own 
 reason, I am persuaded, has given you true notions 
 of both; they speak best for themselves; but, if they 5 
 wanted assistance, you have Mr. Harte at hand, both 
 for precept and example: to your own reason, there- 
 fore, 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 scrupu- 10 
 lously 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 Enthu- 
 siast, nor that you should take up a controversial 
 cudgel against whoever attacks the sect you are of; 15 
 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, w 7 hich strike at religions equally, and which 
 are the poor threadbare topics of half Wits, and 20 
 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 25 
 security, at least, to Virtue; and every prudent man 
 will sooner trust to tw r o securities than to one. 
 Whenever, therefore, you happen to be in company 
 
ioo LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 with those pretended Esprits forts, or with thought- 
 less 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 
 5 the contrary, let a silent gravity express your dislike: 
 but enter not into the subject, and decline such un- 
 profitable 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 
 
 10 religion; in spite of all the pompous and specious 
 epithets he may assume, of Esprit fort, Free-thinker, 
 or Moral Philosopher; and a wise Atheist (if such a 
 thing there is) would, for his own interest, and char- 
 acter in this world, pretend to some religion. 
 
 15 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 vili- 
 fies more, for it excites and unites detestation and 
 contempt. There are, however, Wretches in the 
 
 20 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 
 
 25 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 company of such people; who reflect a 
 degree of discredit and infamy upon all who converse 
 
 30 with them. But as you may sometimes, by accident, 
 fall into such company, take great care that no com- 
 plaisance, no good-humor, no warmth of festal mirth, 
 
 1 Esprits forts. Strong-minded men. 
 
TO HIS SON IOI 
 
 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 con- 
 tent yourself with telling these Apostles, that you know 5 
 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 practice the 
 doctrine they preach. But put your private mark 
 upon them, and shun them forever afterward. 10 
 
 There is nothing so delicate as your Moral charac- 
 ter, and nothing which it is your interest so much to 
 preserve pure. Should you be suspected of Injustice, 
 Malignity, Perfidy, Lying, etc., all the parts and 
 knowledge in the world will never procure you 15 
 esteem, friendship, or respect. A strange concur- 
 rence 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 20 
 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 recom- 25 
 mend 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, 3c 
 whom you have certainly heard of (who was, I be- 
 lieve, the most notorious blasted rascal in the. world, 
 and who had, by all sorts of crimes, amassed immense 
 
102 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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 
 5 pounds for a character; because he should get a hun- 
 dred thousand pounds by it; whereas he was so 
 blasted that he had no longer an opportunity of cheat- 
 ing people. Is it possible, then, that an honest man 
 can neglect what a wise rogue would purchase so 
 
 10 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, dexterity, and self-defense; I mean 
 
 15 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. 
 
 20 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 
 
 25 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 
 
 30 you tell him the truth, then, and betray your trust? 
 As certainly, No. But you will answer, with firm- 
 ness, That you are surprised at such a question; that 
 you are persuaded he does not expect an answer to 
 
TO HIS SON 103 
 
 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 afterward make very honest 
 and fair advantages. But if, in negotiations, you are 5 
 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 afterward get an honest livelihood, if he 10 
 would, but must continue a thief. 
 
 Lord Bacon very justly makes a distinction be- 
 tween Simulation and Dissimulation; and allows the 
 latter rather than the former: but still observes, that 
 they are the weaker sort of Politicians who have 15 
 recourse to either. A man who has strength of mind, 
 and strength of parts, wants neither of them. " Cer- 
 tainly (says he) the ablest men that ever were have all 
 had an openness and frankness of dealing, and a name 
 of certainty and veracity; but then they were like 20 
 horses well managed; for they could tell, passing 
 well, when to stop, or turn: and at such times, when 
 they thought the case indeed required some dissimu- 
 lation, if then they used it, it came to pass that the 
 former opinion spread abroad, of their good faith and 25 
 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 
 
 12 Lord Bacon. Lord Bacon also says: "It will be acknowledged even by 
 those that practice it not, that clear and sound dealing is the honor of man's nature, 
 and that mixture of falsehood is like alloy in coin of gold and silver, which may 
 make the metal work the better, but it embaseth [debases] it. There is no vice 
 that doth so cover a man with shame as to be found false and perfidious." 
 
104 LORD CHESTERFIELD 'S LETTERS 
 
 sort of lying is the spurious offspring of vanity, be- 
 gotten upon folly: these people deal in the marvelous; 
 they have seen some things that never existed; they 
 have seen other things which they never really saw, 
 5 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 imme- 
 diately present and declare themselves eye or ear 
 witnesses of it. They have done feats themselves, 
 
 10 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 
 
 15 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 any- 
 thing so very extraordinary as to be almost incredible, 
 I would keep it to myself, rather than, by telling it, 
 
 20 give any one body room to doubt for one minute my 
 veracity. For God's sake, be scrupulously jealous of 
 the purity of your moral character; keep it immacu- 
 late, unblemished, unsullied; and it will be unsus- 
 pected. Defamation and calumny never attack, where 
 
 25 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, 
 
 30 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, 
 
 32 Clodius. Publius Clodius (or Claudius) Pulcher, " one of the most profligate 
 
TO HIS SON 105 
 
 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, with- 
 out the least taint to the purity of your moral char- 5 
 acter: 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 10 
 it is impossible to rise in the world. You must be 
 respectable, if you will be respected. I have known 
 people slattern away their character, without really 
 polluting it; the consequence of which has been, that 
 they have become innocently contemptible; their 15 
 merit has been dimmed, their pretensions unregarded, 
 and all their views defeated. Character must be kept 
 bright, as well as clean. Content yourself with 
 mediocrity in nothing. In purity of character, and 
 in politeness of manners, labor to excel all, if you wish 20 
 to equal many. Adieu. 
 
 Letter XXXI 
 
 ECONOMY OF TIME: DISPATCH OF BUSINESS 
 
 London, February the 5th, O. S. 1750. 
 My Dear Friend: Very few people are good 
 economists of their Fortune, and still fewer of their 
 
 characters of a profligate age." He was a contemporary and an enemy of Cicero. 
 Lord Chesterfield does injustice to Cato, who was intensely patriotic, and, in morals, 
 far in advance of his age. 
 
 23 Observe the change of address ; hereafter it is " My dear Friend." 
 
106 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 Time; and yet, of the two, the latter is the most 
 precious. I heartily wish you to be a good econo- 
 mist of both; and you are now of an age to begin 
 to think seriously of these two important articles. 
 
 5 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 
 
 10 always too late! 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 
 
 15 only preached, but practiced, 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 
 
 20 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 
 
 25 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 
 
 30 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 
 
 30 Descartes, etc. Four celebrated philosophers. 
 
TO HIS SON 107 
 
 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 5 
 characters, that never existed, are insipidly displayed, 
 and sentiments, that were never felt, pompously 
 described: the oriental ravings and extravagances of 
 the Arabian Nights, and Mogul Tales; or the new 
 flimsy brochures that now swarm in France, of Fairy 10 
 Tales, Reflexions sur le Ccear et V Esprit, Metaphysique 
 de V Amour, Analyse des beaux Sentiments; and such 
 sort of idle frivolous stuff, that nourishes and im- 
 proves the mind just as much as whipped cream 
 would the body. Stick to the best established books 15 
 in every language; the celebrated Poets, Historians, 
 Orators, or Philosophers. By these means (to use a 
 city metaphor) you will make fifty per cent, of that 
 time, of which others do not make above three or 
 four, or probably nothing at all. 20 
 
 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 1 
 then, and that it will do as well another time. This 
 is a most unfortunate disposition, and the greatest 25 
 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 
 
 I Horace, etc. Young Stanhope's scholarship seems to have been sufficient to 
 enable him to enjoy Latin and French authors in their original languages. 
 
 - Mogul Tales. Mongolian Tales, similar to the better known Arabian Nights. 
 
 II Reflexions .... Sentiments. Reflections on the Heart and Spirit ; The 
 Philosophy of Love ; x\nalysis of Fine Sentiment. 
 
 28 Emeritus. Literally, Having- earned (a rest). A title given to one honor- 
 ably retired from active duty. 
 
108 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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. 
 5 Dispatch is the soul of business; and nothing con- 
 tributes 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 accounts, 
 
 io 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 
 
 15 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 con- 
 secutive course, and not in that desultory and 
 unmethodical manner, in which many people read 
 
 20 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. Xever read History without 
 having maps, and a chronological book, or tables, 
 
 25 lying by you, and constantly recurred to; without 
 which, History is only a confused heap of facts. One 
 method more I 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 
 
 30 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 
 
TO HIS SON- 109 
 
 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 trouble- 
 some, only fit for dull people, and a disagreeable 5 
 restraint upon the noble spirit and fire of youth. I 
 deny it; and assert, on the contrary, that it will pro- 
 cure 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 10 
 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 specta- 
 cle, a ball, an assembly, will much more sensibly affect 15 
 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, 20 
 and he is as insipid in his pleasures as inefficient in 
 everything else. 
 
 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 25 
 his character into the bargain. At table, a man may 
 with decency have a distinguishing palate; but indis- 
 criminate 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 30 
 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 neigh- 
 
 J 
 
no LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 boring 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 
 5 following 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. 
 10 Adieu. 
 
 Letter XXXII 
 
 virtue: modesty 
 
 London, May 17, O. S. 1750. 
 My Dear Friend: Your apprenticeship is near out, 
 and you are soon to set up for yourself; that approach- 
 ing moment is a critical one for you, and an anxious 
 
 15 one for me. A tradesman who would succeed in his 
 way must begin by establishing a character of integ- 
 rity and good manners: without the former, nobody 
 will go to his shop at all; without the latter, nobody 
 will go there twice. This rule does not exclude the 
 
 20 fair arts of trade. He may sell his goods at the best 
 price he can, within certain bounds. He may avail 
 himself of the humor, the w T hims, and the fantastical 
 tastes of his customers; but what he warrants to be 
 good must be really so, what he seriously asserts must 
 
 25 be true, or his first fraudulent profits will soon end 
 in a bankruptcy. It is the same in higher life and in 
 the great business of the world. A man who does 
 not solidly establish, and really deserve, a character 
 
TO HIS SON Hi 
 
 of truth, probity, good manners, and good morals at 
 his first setting out in the world, may impose and 
 shine like a meteor for a very short time, but will very 
 soon vanish, and be extinguished with contempt. 
 People easily pardon in young men the common 5 
 irregularities of the senses; but they do not forgive 
 the least vice of the heart. The heart never grows 
 better by age: I fear rather worse; always harder. 
 A young liar will be an old one, and a young knave 
 will only be a greater knave as he grows older. But 10 
 should a bad young heart, accompanied with a good 
 head (which by the way very seldom is the case), really 
 reform in a more advanced age, from a consciousness 
 of its folly, as well as of its guilt, such a conversion 
 would only be thought prudential and political, but 15 
 never sincere. I hope in God, and I verily believe 
 that you want no moral virtue. But the possession 
 of all the moral virtues in actu primo, as the logicians 
 call it, is not sufficient; you must have them in actu 
 secundo too; nay, that is not sufficient, neither, you 20 
 must have the reputation of them also. Your char- 
 acter in the world must be built upon that solid 
 foundation, or it will soon fall, and upon your own 
 head. You cannot therefore be too careful, too nice, 
 loo scrupulous, in establishing this character at first, 25 
 upon which your whole career depends. Let no con- 
 versation, no example, no fashion, no bon mot, no 
 silly desire of seeming to be above what most knaves 
 and many fools call prejudices, ever tempt you to 
 avow, excuse, extenuate, or laugh at the least breach 30 
 
 18 In actu primo. In the first act. 
 
 19 In actu secundo. In the second act. 
 27 Bon mot. Witty remark. 
 
112 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 of morality; but show upon all occasions, and take 
 all occasions to show, a detestation and abhorrence 
 of it. There, though young, you ought to be strict; 
 and there only, while young, it becomes you to be 
 5 strict and severe. But there too, spare the persons 
 while you lash the crimes. All this relates, as you 
 easily judge, to the vices of the heart, such as lying, 
 fraud, envy, malice, detraction, etc. 
 
 To come now to a point of much less but yet of 
 
 io very great consequence at your first setting out. Be 
 extremely on your guard against vanity, the common 
 failing of inexperienced youth ; but particularly against 
 that kind of vanity that dubs a man a coxcomb, — a 
 character which, once acquired, is more indelible than 
 
 15 that of the priesthood. It is not to be imagined by 
 how many different ways vanity defeats its own pur- 
 poses. Some men decide peremptorily upon every 
 subject, betray their ignorance upon many, and show 
 a disgusting presumption upon the rest. Others 
 
 20 flatter their vanity by little extraneous objects, which 
 have not the least relation to themselves, — such as 
 being descended from, related to, or acquainted with 
 people of distinguished merit and eminent characters. 
 They talk perpetually of their grandfather such-a-one, 
 
 25 their uncle such-a-one, and their intimate friend Mr. 
 Such-a-one, with whom possibly they are hardly 
 acquainted. But admitting it all to be as they would 
 have it, what then? Have they the more merit for 
 those accidents? Certainly not. On the contrary, 
 
 30 their taking up adventitious proves their want of 
 intrinsic merit; a rich man never borrows. Take this 
 rule for granted, as a never-failing one, — that you 
 must never seem to affect the character in which you 
 
TO HIS SON 113 
 
 have a mind to shine. Modesty is the only sure bait 
 when you angle for praise. The affectation of 
 courage will make even a brave man pass only for 
 a bully, as the affectation of wit will make a man of 
 parts pass for a coxcomb. By this modesty I do not 5 
 mean timidity and awkward bashfulness. On the 
 contrary, be inwardly firm and steady, know your own 
 value whatever it may be, and act upon that principle; 
 but take care to let nobody discover that you do know 
 your own value. Whatever real merit you have, 10 
 other people will discover, and people always magnify 
 their own discoveries, as they lessen those of others. 
 
 Letter XXXIII 
 
 IMPORTANCE OF GOOD ENUNCIATION 
 
 London, July the 9th, O. S. 1750. 
 My Dear Friend : I should not deserve that appel- 
 lation in return from you, if I did not freely and 15 
 explicitly inform you of every corrigible defect, which 
 I may either hear of, suspect, or at any time discover 
 in you. Those w 7 ho in the common course of the 
 world will call themselves your friends, or whom, 
 according to the common notions of friendship, you 20 
 may possibly think such, will never tell you of your 
 faults, still less of your weaknesses. But on the con- 
 trary, 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 25 
 people enjoy the inferiority of their best friends. The 
 useful and essential part of friendship to you is 
 
H4 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 reserved singly for Mr. Harte and myself; our rela- 
 tions to you stand pure, and unsuspected of all private 
 views. In whatever we say to you, we can have no 
 interest but yours. We can have no competition, no 
 5 jealousy, no secret envy or malignity. We are there- 
 fore authorized 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 con- 
 
 10 siderable hitch or hobble in your enunciation; and that 
 when you speak fast, you sometimes speak unin- 
 telligibly. 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 there- 
 
 15 fore 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 
 
 20 productions 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 
 
 25 hearers, when murdered by an unskillful performer. 
 But to murder your own productions, and that 
 coram populo, is a Mcdcan cruelty, which Horace 
 absolutely forbids. Remember of what importance 
 Demosthenes, and one of the Gracchi, thought enun- 
 
 22 Corelli. (1653-1713.) An Italian violinist and composer. 
 
 27 Coram populo. Public^. 
 
 27 Medean cruelty. Medea is fabled to have murdered her own children. 
 
 29 Gracchi. The two best known Romans of this name were brothers, tribunes, 
 
TO HIS SOY 115 
 
 elation: read what stress Cicero and Quintilian lay 
 upon it; even the 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. Xo 5 
 man can make a fortune or a figure in this country, 
 without speaking, and speaking well, in public. If 
 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 10 
 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 15 
 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 con- 
 quered it, for that is in your power; think of nothing 20 
 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, de- 
 claim scenes of tragedies, to Mr. Harte, as if he were 25 
 a numerous audience. If there is any particular con- 
 sonant 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 learned it right. Never 
 speak quick, till you have first learned to speak well. 30 
 
 who lost their lives in endeavoring to check the avarice of the ruling party at 
 Rome. 
 
 1 Quintilian. (42 ?-ti8?) A noted Roman rhetorician and author. 
 
Il6 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 In short, lay aside every book and every thought, 
 that does not directly tend to this great object, abso- 
 lutely decisive of your future fortune and figure. 
 The next thing necessary in your destination is, 
 5 writing correctly, elegantly, and in a good hand too ; 
 in which three particulars, I am sorry to tell you that 
 you hitherto fail. Your handwriting is a very bad 
 one, and would make a scurvy figure in an office- 
 book of letters, or even in a lady's pocket-book. But 
 10 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. 
 
 Letter XXXIV 
 history: conversation 
 
 London, Nov. i, O. S. 1750. 
 My Dear Friend: While you are in France, I 
 15 could wish that the hours you allot for historical 
 amusement should be entirely devoted to the history 
 of France. One always reads history to most advan- 
 tage in that country to which it is relative, — not only 
 books but persons being ever at hand to solve doubts 
 20 and clear up difficulties. 
 
 Conversation in France, if you have the address 
 and dexterity to turn it upon useful subjects, will 
 exceeding improve your historical knowledge, for 
 people there, however classically ignorant they may 
 25 be, think it a shame to be ignorant of the history of 
 their own country; they read that, if they read nothing 
 else, and having often read nothing else are proud 
 of having read that, and talk of it willingly: even the 
 
TO HIS SON 117 
 
 women are well instructed in that sort of reading. 
 I am far from meaning by this that you should always 
 be talking wisely in company of books, history, and 
 matters of knowledge. There are many companies 
 which you will and ought to keep, where such con- 5 
 versations would be misplaced and ill-timed. Your 
 own good sense must distinguish the company and 
 the time. You must trifle only with triflers and be 
 serious only with the serious, but dance to those who 
 pipe. " Cur in theatrum Cato severe venisti? " was 10 
 justly said to an old man: how much more so would 
 it be to one of your age! From the moment that 
 you are dressed and go out, pocket all your knowl- 
 edge with your watch, and never pull it out in com- 
 pany unless desired; the producing of the one unasked 15 
 implies that you are weary of the company, and the 
 producing of the other unrequired will make the com- 
 pany weary of you. Company is a republic too jeal- 
 ous of its liberties to suffer a dictator even for a 
 quarter of an hour, and yet in that, as in all republics, 20 
 there are some few who really govern; but then it is 
 by seeming to disclaim, instead of attempting to usurp 
 the power. That is the occasion in which manners, 
 dexterity, address, and the undefinable je ne sais quoi 
 triumph; if properly exerted their conquest is sure, 25 
 and the more lasting for not being perceived. Re- 
 member that this is not only your first and greatest, 
 but ought to be almost your only object, while you 
 are in France. 
 
 10 " Q ur .... venisti ?" " Cato, why do you come to the theater with 
 such an austere countenance ? " 
 
 24 Je ne sais quoi. Literally that / do not know what, that indefinable 
 something. 
 
Il8 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 I know that many of your countrymen are apt to 
 call the freedom and vivacity of the French petulancy 
 and ill-breeding; but should you think so, I desire 
 upon many accounts that you will not say so. I 
 5 admit that it may be so in some instances of petit s 
 maitres etourdis and in some young people unbroken 
 to the world; but I can assure you that you will find 
 it much otherwise with people of a certain rank and 
 age, upon whose model you will do very well to form 
 
 io yourself. We call their steady assurance, impudence. 
 Why? Only because what we call modesty is awk- 
 ward bashfulness and mauvaise honte. For my part 
 I see no impudence, but on the contrary infinite utility 
 and advantage, in presenting one's self with the same 
 
 15 coolness and unconcern in any and every company; 
 till one can do that, I am very sure that one can never 
 present one's self well. Whatever is done under con- 
 cern and embarrassment, must be ill done; and till 
 a man is absolutely easy and unconcerned in every 
 
 20 company he will never be thought to have kept good, 
 nor be very welcome in it. A steady assurance with 
 seeming modesty is possibly the most useful qualifica- 
 tion that a man can have in every part of life. A man 
 would certainly not make a very considerable fortune 
 
 25 and figure in the world, whose modesty and timidity 
 should often, as bashfulness always does, put him in 
 the deplorable and lamentable situation of the pious 
 ^Eneas, when obstupuit, steternntque coma, et vox fauci- 
 bus he? sit. Fortune, 
 
 30 " born to be controlled, 
 
 Stoops to the forward and the bold." 
 
 6 Petits maitres etourdis. Silly coxcombs. 
 
 as obstupuit .... haesit. ^Eneid, III. 774. "He was dumfounded. 
 
TO HIS SON 119 
 
 Assurance and intrepidity, under the white banner 
 of seeming modesty, clear the way for merit, that 
 would otherwise be discouraged by difficulties in its 
 journey; whereas barefaced impudence is the noisy 
 and blustering harbinger of a worthless and sense- 5 
 less usurper. 
 
 You will think that I shall never have done recom- 
 mending to you these exterior worldly accomplish- 
 ments, and you will think right, for I never shall. 
 They are of too great consequence to you for me to 10 
 be indifferent or negligent about them; the shining 
 part of your future figure and fortune depends now 
 wholly upon them. They are the acquisitions which 
 must give efficacy and success to those you have 
 already made. To have it said and believed that you 15 
 are the most learned man in England would be no 
 more than was said and believed of Dr. Bentley; but 
 to have it said at the same time that you are also the 
 best bred, most pclite, and agreeable man in the king- 
 dom, would be such a happy composition of a char- 20 
 acter as I never yet knew any one man deserve, and 
 which I endeavor as well as ardently wish that you 
 may. Absolute perfection is, I well know, unattain- 
 able; but I know too that a man of parts may be 
 unweariedly aiming at it, and arrive pretty near it. 25 
 Try, labor, persevere. Adieu. 
 
 his hair stood on end, and his voice stuck in his throat." (The original has the 
 first verb in the first person). 
 
 17 Dr. Bentley. (1662-1742.) The greatest classical scholar in England, who 
 made enemies by his supercilious manner. 
 
120 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 Letter XXXV 
 
 GOOD HANDWRITING 
 
 London, Jan. the 28th, O. S. 1751. 
 My Dear Friend: A bill for ninety pounds ster- 
 ling was brought me the other day, said to be drawn 
 upon me by you; I scrupled paying it at first, not 
 5 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 per- 
 ceive that you had signed it. The person who pre- 
 sented it desired me to look again, and that I should 
 
 10 discover your name at the bottom; accordingly I 
 looked again, and with the help of my magnifying 
 glass did perceive 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. 
 
 15 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 be so well 
 
 20 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 
 
 25 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 
 
TO HIS SOW 121 
 
 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 learn- 
 ing) would certainly try it by the Runic, Celtic, or 
 Sclavonian alphabet, never suspecting it to be a 5 
 modern character. 
 
 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, 10 
 which you never learned of a writing-master, ex- 
 tremely 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 labored, stiff 15 
 character of a writing-master: a man of business must 
 write quick and well, and that depends singly upon 
 use. I w r ould therefore advise you to get some very 
 good writing-master at Paris, and apply to it for a 
 month only, which will be sufficient; for, upon my 20 
 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 25 
 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 30 
 object proves (as it commonly does) too big for them; 
 they run, they hare, they puzzle, confound, and per- 
 plex themselves; they want to do everything at once, 
 
122 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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 
 
 5 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 
 
 io 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 a scrawl. Consider, that if your very bad 
 
 15 writing could furnish me with matter of ridicule, what 
 will it not do to others, who do 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 
 
 20 ones; and therefore called maximus in minimis, and 
 minimus in maximis. Why? Because he attended 
 to 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 
 
 25 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 
 
 30 think of, when you have occasion to write to Kings 
 and Ministers. Dance, dress, present .yourself habitu- 
 
 20 Maximus .... in maximis. " In small things, the greatest ; in great 
 things, the least," 
 
TO HIS SON 123 
 
 ally 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. 
 
 Letter XXXVI 
 
 ENGAGING MANNERS', "a RESPECTABLE HOTTENTOT " 
 
 London, Feb. the 28th, O. S. 1751. 5 
 My Dear Friend: This epigram in Martial, 
 
 11 Non arao te, Sabidi, nee possum dicere quare, 
 Hoc tantum possum dicere, non amo te ; " 
 
 has puzzled a great many people; who cannot con- 
 ceive how it is possible not to love anybody, and yet 10 
 not to know the reason why. I think I conceive Mar- 
 tial's meaning very clearly, though the nature of epi- 
 gram, which is to be short, would not allow him to 
 explain it more fully; and I take it to be this: "O 
 Sabidis, you are a very worthy deserving man; you 15 
 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 20 
 graces, and that address, which are absolutely neces- 
 
 7 Non amo te, etc. Freely translated in lines 14, etc. The familiar English 
 version originated as follows: T. Brown C1663-1704) while a student at Christ 
 Church, Oxford, being in disgrace, was set by Dr. Fell, the Dean of the College, to 
 translate this epigram of Martial. He rendered it thus : 
 
 " I do not love thee, Doctor Fell, 
 The reason why I cannot tell ; 
 But this alone T know full well, 
 I do not love thee, Doctor Fell." 
 19 Aimable. Amiable. 
 
124 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 sary 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 
 5 I, in the course of my life, found myself in this situa- 
 tion, with regard to many of my acquaintance, whom 
 I have honored 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 
 
 io self the time, to analyze 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 learn- 
 ing, and superior parts, I acknowledge, admire, and 
 
 15 respect; but whom it is so impossible for me to love, 
 that I am almost in a fever whenever I am in his com- 
 pany. 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 
 
 20 position which, according to the situation of his body, 
 they ought to be in; but constantly employed in com- 
 mitting 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. 
 
 25 Inattentive to all the regards of social life, he mis- 
 times or misplaces everything. He disputes with 
 heat, and indiscriminately; mindless of the rank, 
 character, and situation of those with whom he dis- 
 putes: absolutely ignorant of the several gradations 
 
 30 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 
 
TO HIS SOIST 125 
 
 utmost I can do for him, is to consider him as a 
 respectable Hottentot. 
 
 Letter XXXVII 
 
 " SUAVITER IN MODO, FORTITER IN RE " 
 
 My Dear Friend: I mentioned to you some time 
 ago, a sentence, which I would most earnestly wish 
 you always to retain in your thoughts and observe in 5 
 your conduct. It is Suaviter in mo do, fortiter in re. 
 I do not know any one rule so unexceptionally useful 
 and necessary in every part of life. I shall therefore 
 take it for my text to-day; and as old men love 
 preaching, and I have some light to preach to you, 1 10 
 here present you with my sermon upon these words. 
 To proceed then regularly and pulpitically, I will first 
 show you, my beloved, the necessary connection of the 
 two members of my text, — Suaviter in modo: fortiter 
 in re. In the next place, I shall set forth the advan- 15 ~ 
 tages and utility resulting from a strict observance of 
 the precept contained in my text; and conclude with 
 an application of the whole. The suaviter in modo 
 alone w T ould degenerate and sink into a mean, timid 
 complaisance and passiveness, if not supported and 20 
 dignified by the fortiter in re, which would also run 
 
 2 A respectable Hottentot. This is supposed to refer to Dr. Samuel John- 
 son, whose manners, especially at table, must have been extremely repugnant to 
 Lord Chesterfield's sensibilities. See Macaulay's Essay on Johnson, Maynard's 
 English Classic Series, No. 178. 
 
 6 Suaviter in modo, fortiter in re. " Suave in manner, firm in act." "An 
 iron hand in a velvet glove." 
 
 12 Pulpitically. After the manner of the pulpit. Observe how, throughout 
 the letter, he imitates the style of a preacher. 
 
126 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 into impetuosity and brutality, if not tempered and 
 softened by the suaviter in mo do: however, they are 
 seldom united. The warm, choleric man with strong 
 animal spirits despises the suaviter in modo, and thinks 
 5 to carry all before him by the fortiter in re. He may 
 possibly, by great accident, now and then succeed, 
 when he has only weak and timid people to deal with; 
 but his general fate will be to shock, offend, be hated, 
 and fail. On the other hand, the cunning, crafty man 
 
 io thinks to gain all his ends by the suaviter in modo 
 only; lie becomes all things to all men; he seems to 
 have no opinion of his own, and servilely adopts the 
 present opinion of the present person; he insinuates 
 himself only into the esteem of fools, but is soon de- 
 
 15 tected, and surely despised by everybody else. The 
 wise man (who differs as much from the cunning as 
 from the choleric man) alone joins the suaviter in 
 modo with the fortiter in re. Now to the advantages 
 arising from the strict observance of this precept. If 
 
 20 you are in authority and have a right to command, 
 your commands delivered suaviter in modo will be 
 willingly, cheerfully, and consequently well obeyed; 
 whereas, if given only fortiter, that is brutally, they 
 will rather, as Tacitus says, be interrupted than exe- 
 
 25 cuted. For my own part, if I bid my footman bring 
 me a glass of wine in a rough, insulting manner, I 
 should expect that in obeying me he would contrive 
 to spill some of it upon me, and I am sure I should 
 deserve it. A cool, steady resolution should show 
 
 30 you that w r here you have a right to command you will 
 be obeyed, but at the same time a gentleness in the 
 manner of enforcing that obedience could make it a 
 
 11 All things to all men. A perversion of St. Paul's advice to Timothy. 
 
TO HIS SON 127 
 
 cheerful one, and soften as much as possible the 
 mortifying consciousness of inferiority. If you are to 
 ask a favor or even to solicit your due you must do it 
 suaviter in mo do or you will give those who have a 
 mind to refuse you either, a pretense to do it by resent- 5 
 ing the manner; but on the other hand you must by 
 a steady perseverance and decent tenaciousness show 
 the fortiter in re. The right motives are seldom the 
 true ones of men's actions, especially of kings, min- 
 isters, and people in high stations, who often give to 10 
 importunity and fear what they would refuse to 
 justice or to merit. By the suaviter in mo do engage 
 their hearts if you can: at least prevent the pretense 
 of offense: but take care to show enough of the 
 fortiter in re to extort from their love of ease or their 151 
 fear what you might in vain hope for from their jus- 
 tice or good nature. People in high life are har- 
 dened to the wants and distresses of mankind as 
 surgeons are to their bodily pains; they see and hear 
 of them all day long, and even of so many simulated 2c/ 
 ones that they do not know which are real and which 
 are not. Other sentiments are therefore to be ap- 
 plied to than those of mere justice and humanity. 
 Their favor must be captivated by the suaviter in 
 mode; their love of ease disturbed by unwearied 25 
 importunity; or their fears wrought upon by a decent 
 intimation of implacable cool resentment, — this is 
 the true fortiter in re. This precept is the only way 
 I know in the world of being loved without being 
 despised, and feared without being hated. It consti- 30 
 tutes the dignity of character which every wise man 
 must endeavor to establish. 
 
 81 Dignity of character. This should be dignity of manner^ which may be 
 
128 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 Now to apply what has been said, and so con- 
 clude. 
 
 If you find that you have a hastiness in your tem- 
 per which unguardedly breaks out into indiscreet 
 5 sallies or rough expressions to either your superiors, 
 your equals, or your inferiors, watch it narrowly, 
 check it carefully, and call the suavitcr in mo do to your 
 assistance; at the first impulse of passion, be silent 
 till you can be soft. Labor even to get the command 
 
 io of your countenance so well that those emotions may 
 not be read in it, — a most unspeakable advantage in 
 business. On the other hand, let no complaisance, 
 no gentleness of temper, no weak desire of pleasing 
 on your part, no wheedling, coaxing, nor flattery on 
 
 15 other people's, make you recede one jot from any 
 point that reason and prudence have bid you pursue; 
 but return to the charge, persist, persevere, and you 
 will find most things attainable that are possible. A 
 yielding, timid meekness is always abused and in- 
 
 20 suited by the unjust and the unfeeling; but when 
 sustained by the fortitcr in re is always respected, 
 commonly successful. In your friendships and con- 
 nections, as well as in your enmities, this rule is par- 
 ticularly useful: let your firmness and vigor preserve 
 
 25 and invite attachments to you, but at the same time 
 let your manner hinder the enemies of your friends 
 and dependents from becoming yours; let your ene- 
 mies be disarmed by the gentleness of your manner, 
 but let them feel at the same time the steadiness of 
 
 30 your just resentment, — for there is a great difference 
 between bearing malice, which is always ungenerous, 
 
 the outward manifestation of dignity of character. Lord Chesterfield is prone to 
 emphasize externals to the neglect of true nobility of soul. 
 
TO HIS SON 129 
 
 and a resolute self-defense, which is always prudent 
 and justifiable. 
 
 Some people cannot gain upon themselves to be 
 easy and civil to those who are either their rivals, 
 competitors, or opposers, though, independently of 5 
 these accidental circumstances, they would like and 
 esteem them. They betray a shyness and an awk- 
 wardness in company w r ith them, and catch at any 
 little thing to expose them, and so from temporary 
 and only occasional opponents make them their per- 10 
 sonal enemies. This is exceedingly weak and detri- 
 mental, as indeed is all humor in business, which can 
 only be carried on successfully by unadulterated good 
 policy and right reasoning. In such situations I 
 would be more particularly and noblement civil, easy, 15 
 and frank with the man whose designs I traversed. 
 This is commonly called generosity and magnanimity, 
 but is in truth good sense and policy. The manner is 
 often as important as the matter, sometimes more so. 
 A favor may make an enemy and an injury may make 20 
 a friend, according to the different manner in which 
 they are severally done. The countenance, the ad- 
 dress, the w T ords, the enunciation, the Graces add 
 great efficacy to the suaviter in modo and great dig- 
 nity to the fortiter in re; and consequently they de-25 
 serve the utmost attention. 
 
 From what has been said, I conclude with this 
 observation, — that gentleness of manners with firm- 
 ness of mind is a short but full description of human 
 perfection on this side of religious and moral duties. 30 
 
 12 Humor. Ill temper. 
 15 Noblement. Nobly. 
 
130 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 That you may be seriously convinced of this truth 
 and show it in your life and conversation, is the most 
 sincere and ardent wish of Yours. 
 
 Letter XXXVIII 
 
 BUSINESS HABITS 
 
 London, Dec. the 19th, O. S. 1751. 
 
 5 My Dear Friend: You are now entered upon a 
 scene of business, where I hope you will one day 
 make a figure. Use does a great deal, but care and 
 attention must be joined to it. The first thing neces- 
 sary in writing letters of business, is extreme clear- 
 
 10 ness 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 in order to understand it. This neces- 
 sary clearness implies a correctness, without exclud- 
 
 15 ing an elegancy of style. Tropes, figures, antitheses, 
 epigrams, etc., would be as misplaced, and as imper- 
 tinent, in letters of business, as they are sometimes (if 
 judiciously used) proper and pleasing in familiar 
 letters, upon common and trite subjects. In busi- 
 
 20 ness, an elegant simplicity, the result of care, not of 
 labor, 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 
 
 25 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 
 
TO HIS SON 131 
 
 or ambiguity; be therefore exceedingly attentive to 
 them, and take care to mark out with precision their 
 particular relations. For example; Mr. Johnson ac- 
 quainted me, that he had seen Mr. Smith, who had 
 promised him to speak to Mr. Clarke, to return him 5 
 (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. 
 
 Business does not exclude (as possibly you wish it 10 
 did) the usual terms of politeness and good breeding; 
 but, on the contrary, strictly requires them: such as, 
 / have the honor to acquaint your Lordship; Permit me 
 to assure you; If I may be allozvcd to give my opinion, 
 etc. For the Minister abroad, who writes to the Min- 15 
 ister 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 skillful hand; they 20 
 must fit their place exactly. They must decently 
 adorn without encumbering, and modestly shine with- 
 out glaring. But as this is the utmost degree of per- 
 fection in letters of business, I would not advise you 
 to attempt those embellishments till you have first 25 
 laid your foundation well. 
 
 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 30 
 labored; and let them not be too long, for that always 
 occasions a degree of obscurity. I should not men- 
 tion correct orthography, but that you very often fail 
 
I3 2 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 in that particular, which will bring ridicule upon you; 
 for no man is allowed to spell ill. I wish, too, that 
 your handwriting were much better: and I cannot 
 conceive why it is not, since every man may certainly 
 5 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 conse- 
 
 io quently 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 dex- 
 
 15 terity. Business requires no conjuration nor super- 
 natural 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 
 
 20 negotiis, ncquc 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 atten- 
 tion from one object to another, without being en- 
 grossed by any one. 
 
 25 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 
 
 30 seem big with secrets which they do not know. Do 
 you, on the contrary, never talk of business, but to 
 
 19 Par negotiis, neque supra. Tacitus. " Neither above nor below his 
 business." 
 
TO HIS SON 133 
 
 those with whom you are to transact it; and learn to 
 seem vacuus, and idle, when you have the most busi- 
 ness. Of all things the volto sciolto, and the pensieri 
 stretti, are necessary. Adieu. 
 
 Letter XXXIX 
 
 READING HISTORY 
 
 London, February the 14th, O. S. 1752. 5 
 My Dear Friend: 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 Boling- 
 broke's in two volumes octavo, Upon the Use of His- 
 tory; in several Letters to Lord Hyde, then Lord 10 
 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 Miinster, are touched upon, 
 accompanied by the most solid reflections, and 15 
 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 
 
 2 Vacuus. Empty. 
 
 3 Volto sciolto. Open countenance. II volto sciolto et i pensieri stretti is 
 an Italian proverb : Preserve an opeii countenance, but conceal your thoiights. 
 
 8 Lord Bolingbroke's. Henry St. John, Viscount Bolingbroke. (1678-1751.) 
 A handsome, brilliant, eloquent, licentious, and unprincipled politician. " Lord 
 Bolingbroke," said Aaron Hill, "was the finest gentleman I ever saw." "To 
 make St. John more polite," was a synonym for an impossibility. He was a mas- 
 ter of English style, and has been called " the Cicero of our tongue." Pitt said 
 " I would rather have a speech of Bolingbroke's than any of the lost treasures of 
 antiquity." 
 
 14 Treaty of Miinster. The treaty of Munster (or Westphalia), October 24, 
 1648, closed the Thirty Years' War, and became the basis of European interna- 
 tional law. 
 
134 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 falls short of him. I would advise you almost to get 
 this book by heart. I think you have a turn to his- 
 tory, you love it, and have a memory to retain it; 
 this book will teach you the proper use of it. Some 
 5 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 Boling- 
 broke's book, an infallible specific against that 
 
 io epidemical complaint. 
 
 I remember a gentleman, who had read History in 
 this thoughtless and undistinguishing manner, and 
 who, having traveled, had gone through the Valte- 
 line. He told me that it was a miserable, poor coun- 
 
 15 try, and therefore it w r as, 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 Minis- 
 
 20 ter was to reduce the power of the house of Austria; 
 and, in order to that, to cut off as much as he could 
 the communication between the several parts of their 
 extensive dominions; which reflections would have 
 justified the Cardinal to him in the affair of the 
 
 25 Valteline. But it was easier to him to remember 
 facts, than to combine and reflect. 
 
 13 Valteline. The upper valley of the Adda, in the extreme north of Italy. 
 Spelled, also, Valtelline and Valtellina. 
 
 16 Cardinal Richelieu. (1585-1642.) An able French statesman, prime min- 
 ister of Louis XIII., and virtual ruler of France from 1624 till his death. 
 
TO HIS SON 135 
 
 Letter XL 
 
 AIM AT PERFECTION 
 
 London, Feby. 20, O. S. 1752. 
 
 My Dear Friend: In all systems whatever, 
 whether of religion, government, morals, etc., per- 
 fection is the object always proposed, though 
 possibly unattainable, — hitherto at least certainly 5 
 unattained. However, those who aim carefully at 
 the mark itself will unquestionably come nearer to it 
 than those who from despair, negligence, or indolence 
 leave to chance the work of skill. This maxim holds 
 equally true in common life; those who aim at per- 10 
 fection will come infinitely nearer it than those 
 desponding or indolent spirits who foolishly say to 
 themselves, " Nobody is perfect ; perfection is un- 
 attainable; to attempt it is chimerical; I shall do as 
 well as others; why then should I give myself trouble 15 
 to be what I never can, and what according to the 
 common course of things I need not be, — perfect? " 
 
 I am very sure that I need not point out to you the 
 weakness and the folly of this reasoning. It would 
 discourage and put a stop to the exertion of any one 20 
 of our faculties. On the contrary, a man of sense 
 and spirit says to himself, " Though the point of per- 
 fection may (considering the imperfection of our 
 nature) be unattainable, my care, my endeavors, my 
 attention, shall not be wanting to get as near to it as 25 
 I can. I will approach it every day: possibly I may 
 arrive at it at last; at least — what I am sure is in my 
 own power — I will not be distanced." Many fools 
 
I3 6 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 (speaking of you) say to me, "What! would you 
 have him perfect?" I answer, Why not? What 
 hurt would it do to him or me? " Oh, but that is 
 impossible," say they; I reply, I am not sure of that: 
 5 perfection in the abstract I admit to be unattainable, 
 but what is commonly called perfection in a charac- 
 ter, I maintain to be attainable, and not onlv that, but 
 in every man's power. " He has," continue they, " a 
 good head, a good heart, a good fund of knowledge, 
 
 10 which would increase daily: what would you have 
 more?" Why, I would have everything more that 
 can adorn and complete a character. Will it do his 
 head, his heart, or his knowledge any harm to have 
 the utmost delicacy of manners, the most shining 
 
 15 advantages of air and address, the most endearing 
 attentions and the most engaging graces? " But as 
 he is," say they, 4i he is loved wherever he is known." 
 I am very glad of it, say I : but I would have him be 
 liked before he is known and loved afterward. I 
 
 20 would have him by his first abord and address, make 
 people wish to know him, and inclined to love him; 
 he will save a great deal of time by it. " Indeed," 
 reply they, " you are too nice, too exact, and lay too 
 much stress upon things that are of very little conse- 
 
 25 quence." Indeed, rejoin I, you know very little of 
 the nature of mankind, if you take these things to be 
 of little consequence; one cannot be too attentive to 
 them; it is they that always engage the heart, of which 
 the understanding is commonly the bubble. And I 
 
 30 would much rather that he erred in a point of gram- 
 mar, of history, of philosophy, etc., than in point of 
 manners and address. " But consider, he is very 
 young: all this will come in time." I hope so; but 
 
TO HIS SON 137 
 
 that time must be when he is young, or it will never 
 be at all; the right pli must be taken young, or it will 
 never be easy or seem natural. " Come, come," say 
 they (substituting as is frequently done, assertion 
 instead of argument), " depend upon it, he will do 5 
 very well; and you have a great deal of reason to be 
 satisfied with him." I hope and believe he will do 
 well, but I would have him do better than well. I 
 am very well pleased with him, but I would be 
 more, — I would be proud of him. I would have him 10 
 have luster as well as weight. k< Did you ever know 
 anybody that re-united all these talents?" Yes, I 
 did: Lord Bolingbroke joined all the politeness, the 
 manners, and the graces of a courtier to the solidity 
 of a statesman and to the learning of a pedant. He 15 
 was omnis homo; and pray what should hinder my 
 boy from being so too, if he has, as I think he has, 
 all the other qualifications that you allow him? 
 Nothing can hinder him but neglect of or inattention 
 to those objects which his own good sense must tell 20 
 him are of infinite consequence to him, and which 
 therefore I will not suppose him capable of either 
 neglecting or despising. 
 
 This (to tell you the whole truth) is the result of a 
 controversy that passed yesterday between Lady 25 
 Hervy and myself, upon your subject and almost in 
 the very w T ords. I submit the decision of it to your- 
 self; let your ow r n good sense determine it, and make 
 you act in consequence of that determination. The 
 receipt to make this composition is short and infal-30 
 lible; here I give it you: — 
 
 2 Pli. Bent, direction. 
 
 16 Omnis homo. " A man symmetrically developed in every faculty." 
 
138 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 Take variety of the best company wherever you are; 
 be minutely attentive to every word and action; imi- 
 tate respectively those whom you observe to be 
 distinguished and considered for any one accomplish- 
 5ment; then mix all those several accomplishments 
 together and serve them up yourself to others. 
 
 Letter XLI 
 
 health: time: idleness 
 
 London, March the 5th, O. S. 1752. 
 My Dear Friend: As I have received no letter 
 from you by the usual post, I am uneasy upon account 
 
 10 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 
 
 15 best and most robust health requires some degree of 
 attention 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 
 
 20 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, be- 
 fore it is too late, manage both with care and fru- 
 gality; and lay out neither, but upon good interest 
 
 25 and security. 
 
 I will now confine myself to the employment of 
 your time, which, though I have often touched upon 
 
TO HIS SON 139 
 
 formerly, is a subject that, from its importance, will 
 bear repetition. Ycu have, it is true, a great deal of 
 time before you; but, in this period of your life, one 
 hour usefully employed may be worth more than 
 four-and-twenty hereafter; a minute is precious to 5 
 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, 10 
 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 tout de suite Grotius de Jure Belli et Pacis, 
 translated by Barbeyrac, and Puffendorf's Jus Gen- 15 
 Hum, translated by the same hand. For accidental 
 quarters of hours, read works of invention, wit, and 
 humor, of the best, and not of trivial, authors, either 
 ancient or modern. 
 
 Whatever business you have, do it the first moment 20 
 you can; never by halves, but finish it without inter- 
 ruption, 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 25 
 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, pro- 30 
 
 14 Tout de suite. Immediately. 
 
 14 De Jure Belli et Pacis. On the Law of War and Peace. 
 
 15 Jus Gentium. The Law of Nations. 
 
14° LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 vided 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 
 5 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 your improvements: let every company you go 
 
 io into, either gratify your senses, extend your knowl- 
 edge, 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 
 
 15 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 atten- 
 
 20 tion is necessary. It is true, this is at first a dis- 
 agreeable 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. 
 
 25 Sloth, indolence, and mollesse are pernicious and 
 unbecoming a young fellow; let them be your res- 
 source 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 
 
 30 distinguished and fashionable company of the place 
 you are at, either for their rank, or for their learning, 
 
 25 Mollesse. Softness, effeminacy. 
 
 26 Ressource. Resource. 
 
TO HIS SON 141 
 
 or le bel esprit et le gout. This gives you credentials 
 to the best companies, wherever you go afterward. 
 Pray, therefore, no idolence, no laziness; but employ 
 every minute of your life in active pleasures or useful 
 employments. Address yourself to some woman of 5 
 fashion and beauty, wherever you are, and try how 
 far that will go. If the place be not secured before- 
 hand, 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 10 
 and applause, whether merited or not, you may be 
 sure of being welcome among les savants ct les beaux 
 esprits. There are but these three sorts of company 
 for a young fellow; there being neither pleasure nor 
 profit in any other. 15 
 
 Letter XLII 
 
 AVOIR DU MONDE 
 
 London, April the 30th, O. S. 1752. 
 My Dear Friend: Avoir die monde is, in my 
 opinion, a very just and happy expression, for hav- 
 ing address, manners, and for knowing how r to behave 
 properly in all companies; and it implies, very truly, 20 
 that a man that hath not these accomplishments 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 w T ell upon the 25 
 nature of man; will profoundly analyze the head, the 
 
 1 Le bel esprit, etc. Wit and style. 
 
 12 Les savants, etc. The wise and the witty. 
 
 17 Avoir du monde. To have a knowledge of the world. 
 
142 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 heart, the reason, the will, the passions, the senses, 
 the sentiments, and all those subdivisions of we know 
 not what; and yet, unfortunately, he knows nothing 
 of man: for he hath not lived with him; and is igno- 
 5 rant of all the various modes, habits, prejudices, and 
 tastes, that always influence, and often determine him. 
 He views man as he does colors in Sir Isaac Newton's 
 prism, where only the capital ones are seen; but an 
 experienced dyer knows all their various shades and 
 
 10 gradations, together with the result of their several 
 mixtures. Few men are of one plain, decided color; 
 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 
 
 15 knows all this from his own experience and observa- 
 tion: 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 has never seen others dance, 
 
 20 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, 
 
 25 and afterward improve, impressions in their favor. 
 Those impressions are much oftener owing to little 
 causes, than to intrinsic merit; which is less volatile, 
 and hath not so sudden an effect. Strong minds have 
 undoubtedly an ascendant over weak ones, as Galigai 
 
 30 Marechale d'Ancre very justly observed, when to the 
 
 14 Qui a du monde. Who has this knowledge of the world. 
 23 Qui ont, etc. Who have, etc. 
 
 29 Galigai. Leonora Galigai, wife of Concini, Marshal Ancre, was executed 
 as a sorceress in 1617. 
 
TO HIS SON 143 
 
 disgrace and reproach of those times, she was exe- 
 cuted for having governed Mary of Medicis by the 
 arts of witchcraft and magic. But the ascendant is 
 to be gained by degrees, and by those arts only which 
 experience and the knowledge of the world teaches: 5 
 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, 10 
 when those people of inferior parts have more worldly 
 dexterity and experience than those they govern. 
 They see the 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 15 
 desires to gain both, il fant 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 20 
 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 25 
 you, may one not apply to you the rusticus expectat 
 of Horace? 
 
 2 Mary of Medicis. Wife of Henry IV. of France, mother of Louis XIII., and 
 queen regent of France from the assassination of Henry IV. in 1610 to the accession 
 of Louis XIII. in 1614. 
 
 16 II faut du monde. You must know the world. 
 
 13 Ce monde. This (knowledge of the) world. 
 
 21 John Trott. The average Englishman. 
 
 26 Rusticus expectat, dum defluat amnis. Horace, Epistles, I. 2, 42. "The 
 countryman wai*" i r or the river to run dry." 
 
144 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 This knowledge of the world teaches us more par- 
 ticularly two things, both which are of infinite con- 
 sequence, and to neither of which nature inclines us; 
 I mean, the command of ur temper and of our 
 
 5 countenance. A man who has no mondc is inflamed 
 with anger, or annihilated with shame, at every dis- 
 agreeable 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 mondc seems not to understand 
 
 io what he cannot or ought not to resent. If he makes 
 a slip himself, he recoveps it by his coolness, instead 
 of plunging deeper by his confusion, like a stumbling 
 horse. He is firm, but gentle; and practices that 
 most excellent maxim, suaviter in modo, fortiter in re. 
 
 15 The other is the volto sciolto c pensieri strctti. People 
 unused to the world have babbling countenances; 
 and are unskillful 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 counte- 
 
 20 nance 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 
 whom he would much rather meet with swords. In 
 Courts he must not turn himself inside out. All this 
 
 25 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 
 
 30 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 neces- 
 sary guards of the decency and peace of society: they 
 
TO HIS SON 145 
 
 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, honor, or prudence. Those 
 who violate it may be cunning, but they are not able. 5 
 Lies and perfidy are the refuge of fools and cowards. 
 Adieu! 
 
 Letter XLIII 
 
 CIVILITY 
 
 London, May the nth, O. S. 1752. 
 
 My Dear Friend : I break my word by writing this 
 letter; but I break it on the allowable side, by doing 10 
 more than I promised. I have pleasure in writing to 
 you; and you may possibly have some profit in read- 
 ing what I write; either of the motives were sufficient 
 for me, both I cannot withstand. 
 
 Another thing, which I most earnestly recommend 15 
 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 20 
 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, 25 
 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 dis- 
 
146 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 covers 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 
 5 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 
 
 10 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 
 
 15 than any manifest mark of slight and contempt. Be 
 therefore, I beg of you, not only really, but seem- 
 ingly 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 
 
 20 the gay, and trifle with the triflers. In assuming 
 these various shapes, endeavor 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 knowledge of the 
 
 25 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 favorite 
 expression, and the absurd excuse of all fools and 
 
 30 blockheads; / 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. 
 
TO HIS SON 147 
 
 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 5 
 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 10 
 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, 15 
 and that an insignificant one, see, however, all that is 
 to be seen there; know as 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 20 
 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 distances; and the latter will 
 point out many things for you to see, that might 25 
 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 30 
 speed you; Felix faustumque sit! Adieu. 
 
 81 Felix faustumque sit. ' w May it [the journey] be pleasant and propitious." 
 
148 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 Letter XLIV 
 
 KNOWLEDGE OF BOOKS: IGNORANCE OF MEN 
 
 London, May the 27th, O. S. 1753. 
 My Dear Friend: I have this clay been tired, 
 jaded, nay, tormented, by the company of a most 
 worthy, sensible, and learned man, a near relation of 
 5 mine, who dined and passed the evening with me. 
 This seems a paradox, but it 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, 
 
 10 in general conversation, is ten times worse. He has 
 formed in his own closet, from books, certain systems 
 of everything, argues tenaciously upon those princi- 
 ples, and is both surprised and angry at whatever 
 deviates from them. His theories are good, but, 
 
 15 unfortunately, are all impractical. Why? Because 
 he has only read, and not conversed. He is 
 acquainted with books, and an absolute stranger to 
 men. Laboring with his matter, he is delivered of 
 it with pangs; he hesitates, stops in his utterance, 
 
 20 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 prepos- 
 
 25 terous 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 
 
TO HIS SON 149 
 
 deliberately, 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 general char- 
 acter, or the particular distinguishing circumstances 
 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 10. 
 and proper in one company, time, and place, are 
 exceedingly absurd in others. In short, a man who 
 has great knowledge, from experience and observa- 
 tion of the characters, customs, and manner^ of man- 
 kind, is a being as different from, and as superior to, 15 
 a man of mere book and systematical knowledge, as 
 a well-managed horse is to an ass. Study therefore, 
 cultivate, and frequent, men and women; not only 
 in their outward, and consequently guarded, but in 
 their interior, domestic, and consequently less dis- 20 
 guised, characters, 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 25 
 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 for two or three days at a 3° 
 time at Versailles, and improve and extend the 
 
 29 Orli. Perhaps Orly, a village near Versailles. 
 
 30 Reprises. Returns. 
 
15° LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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 
 5 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 cheerful and easy conformity to 
 
 io people's particular manners, habits, and even weak- 
 nesses; nothing (to use a vulgar expression) should 
 come amiss to a young fellow. He should be, for 
 good purposes, what Alcibiades was commonly for 
 bad ones, a Proteus, assuming with ease, and wearing 
 
 15 with cheerfulness, any shape. Heat, cold, luxury, 
 abstinence, gravity, gayety, ceremony, easiness, learn- 
 ing, 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 
 
 20 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, analyzing every character, and 
 insinuating yourself into the familiarity of various 
 acquaintance. A right, a generous ambition to make 
 
 25 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. 
 
 30 But without pleasing, without the Graces, as I have 
 
 13 Alcibiades. (b. c, 450-404.) An Athenian of remarkable abiiity and bad 
 morals. Socrates tried in vain to win him to a virtuous life. 
 
TO HIS SON 151 
 
 told you a thousand times ogni fatica e 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 starts 
 of them in the knowledge and manners of the world, 
 you may be 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. 10 
 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 Eng- 15 
 lish 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. The care which has been taken of you, 
 and (to do you justice) the care you have taken of 20 
 yourself, has left you, at the age of nineteen only, 
 nothing to acquire but the knowledge of the world, 
 manners, address, and those exterior accomplish- 
 ments. But they are great and necessary acquisitions 
 to those who have sense enough to know their true 25 
 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 contemporaries, that they cannot over- 
 take you; they must be distanced. 30 
 
 1 Ogni fatica e vana. Every effort is vain. 
 
152 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 Letter LXV 
 
 THE VALUE OF METHOD 
 
 London, February 26th, 1754. 
 My Dear Friend: 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 
 5 contributing more to facilitate and dispatch business 
 than method and order. Have order and method in 
 your accounts, in your reading, in the allotment of 
 your time, in short, in everything. You cannot con- 
 ceive how much time you will save by it, nor how 
 
 10 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 
 
 15 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 
 
 20 rudis indigcstaqne 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 
 
 25 I will venture to assure you that you will never neg- 
 lect them afterward, you will find such conveniency 
 
 20 Rudis .... chaos. Ovid, i, 7. k ' A shapeless, unformed mass which 
 we call chaos." 
 
TO HIS SON 153 
 
 &nd advantage arising from them. Method is the 
 great advantage that lawyers have over other people 
 in speaking in Parliament; for, as they must neces- 
 sarily observe it in their pleadings in the Courts of 
 Justice, it becomes habitual to them everywhere else. 5 
 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 charac- 10 
 ters, 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 traveler; 
 am well acquainted with all the by, as well as the 15 
 great, roads; I cannot misguide you from ignorance, 
 and you are very sure I shall not from design. 
 
 I can assure you that you will have no opportunity 
 of subscribing yourself, my Excellency's, etc. Re- 
 tirement and quiet were my choice some years ago, 20 
 while I had my senses, and health and spirits enough 
 to carry on business; but now I have lost my hear- 
 ing, 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 25 
 you), I know what I can, what I cannot, and con- 
 sequently what I ought to do. I ought not, and 
 therefore 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 30 
 and infirmities, I must necessarily make a different 
 figure from that which I once made there. My pride 
 would be too much mortified bv that difference. The 
 
154 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 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 
 5 perfection. It was the Duke of Dorset's not doing 
 the business himself, but giving it up to favorites, 
 that has occasioned all this confusion in Ireland; and 
 it was my doing the whole myself, without either 
 Favorite, Minister, or Mistress, that made my admin- 
 
 io istration so smooth and quiet. I remember, when I 
 named the late Mr. Liddel for my Secretary, every- 
 body 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; 
 
 15 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 business myself, and without even the 
 suspicion of having a Minister; which the Lord- 
 Lieutenant's Secretary, if he is a man of business, is 
 
 20 always supposed, and commonly with reason, to be. 
 Moreover, I look upon myself now 7 to be emeritus in 
 business, in which I have been near forty years 
 together; I give it up to you: apply yourself to it, as 
 I have done, for forty years, and then I consent to 
 
 25 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. 
 
 30 I retired in time, uti conviva satur; or, as Pope says, 
 still better, " Ere tittering youth shall shove you from 
 
 30 Uti conviva satur. Horace, Satires, I. 1, 119. " As a guest fully 
 satisfied." 
 
TO HIS SON 155 
 
 the stage." My only remaining ambition is to be 
 the Counselor 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, 5 
 on your part, activity and attention, and I will point 
 out to you the proper objects for them. I own 1 
 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 10 
 make you stagnate in a contemptible obscurity all 
 your life. It will hinder you from doing anything 
 that will deserve to be w r ritten, or from writing any- 
 thing that may deserve to be read; and yet one or 
 other of these two objects should be at least aimed 15 
 at by every rational being. I look upon indolence as 
 a sort of suicide; for the Man is effectively destroyed, 
 though the appetites of the Brute may survive. Busi- 
 ness by no means forbids pleasures; on the contrary, 
 they reciprocally season each other; and I will ven- 20 
 ture to affirm, that no man enjoys either in perfection 
 that does not join both. They whet the decire for 
 each other. Use yourself therefore, in time, to be alert 
 and diligent in your little concerns: never procrasti- 
 nate, never put off till to-morrow what you can do 25 
 to-day; and never do two things at a time: pursue 
 your object, be it what it will, steadily and indefati- 
 gably; and let any difficulties (if surmountable) rather 
 animate than slacken your endeavors. Perseverance 
 has surprising effects. 30 
 
 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 Eng- 
 
156 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 lish 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 
 5 will hardly leave you that quarter of an hour, the day 
 you receive it. So good-night. 
 
 Letter XLVI 
 
 EVERY MAN THE ARCHITECT OF HIS OWN FORTUNE * 
 
 Blackheath, Aug. 26, 1766. 
 My Dear Little Boy: Your French letter was a 
 very good one, considering how long you have been 
 
 10 disused to write in that language. There are indeed 
 some few faults in it, which I will show you when we 
 next meet, for I keep your letter by me for that pur- 
 pose. One cannot correct one's faults without know- 
 ing them, and I always looked upon those who told 
 
 15 me of mine as friends, instead of being displeased 
 or angry, as people in general are too apt to be. 
 
 You say that I laugh at you when I tell you that 
 you may very probably in time be Secretary of State. 
 No. I am very serious in saying that you may if 
 
 20 you please, if you take the proper methods to be so. 
 Writing well and speaking well in public are the 
 necessary qualifications for it, and they are very easily 
 acquired by attention and application. In all events, 
 
 * This and the following letter were written to his eleven-year-old godson and 
 adopted heir, Philip Stanhope, son of Arthur Charles Stanhope, a distant 
 relative. 
 
 15 As friends. " Faithful are the wounds of a friend." 
 
TO HIS SON 157 
 
 aim at it: and if you do not get it, let it be said of you 
 what was said of Phaethon, 
 
 44 Magnis tamen excidit ausis." 
 
 Every man of a generous, noble spirit desires first 
 to please and then to shine; Facere digna scribi vols 
 scribere digna legi. Fools and indolent people lay 
 all their disappointments to the charge of their ill 
 fortune, but there is no such thing as good or ill 
 fortune. Every man makes his own fortune in pro- 
 portion to his merit. An ancient author whom you 10 
 are not yet, but will in time be, acquainted with says 
 very justly, "Nullum numcn abcst si sit prudentia; 
 nos te Fortuna Beam facimus cccloqiw locamus." 
 Prudence there means those qualifications and that 
 conduct that will command fortune. Let that be your 15 
 motto and have it always in your mind. I was sure 
 that you would soon come to like voluntary study, 
 and I will appeal to yourself, could you employ that 
 hour more agreeably? And is it not better than what 
 thoughtless boys of your age commonly call play, 20 
 
 2 Phaethon. Tn Greek mythology, son of Helios and Clymene. His father per- 
 mitted him to attempt to drive the chariot of the sun across the heavens : but the 
 horses left their usual track ; and. to avoid damage to the earth, Zeus killed the 
 driver with a thunderbolt. 
 
 3 Magnis .... ausis. He perished in a great attempt. 
 
 4 Every man, etc. Many will take issue with this remark of Lord Chester- 
 field, which is not supported by the Latin quotation which follows 
 
 6 Facere .... legi. " To do things worthy to be recorded, or to record 
 things worthy to be read." 
 
 12 Nullum .... locamus. Juvenal, Satires, x. 365. " No power is want- 
 ing, if discretion be present : we make thee. Fortune, our Goddess, and place thee 
 in heaven." The word prndentia, which Lord Chesterfield translates in the lines 
 following this quotation, has an extended signification. Originally meaning 
 foresight, it also means knowledge, skill, sagacity, practical judgment, etc. 
 Numen is also a word of wide meaning, frequently containing the idea of divine 
 power, or of deity itself. 
 
I5 8 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS 
 
 which is running about without any object or design 
 and only pour tuer le temps? Faire des riens is the 
 most miserable abuse and loss of time that can pos- 
 sibly be imagined. You must know that I have in 
 3 the main a great opinion of you; therefore take great 
 care and pains not to forget it. And so God bless 
 you. Non progredi est regredi. 
 
 Letter XLVII 
 
 ATTENTION AND DILIGENCE 
 
 Blackheath, Oct. 4, 1766. 
 My Dear Little Boy: Amoto quccramus seria litdo. 
 
 10 I have often trifled with you in my letters, and there 
 is no harm in trifling sometimes. Dr. Swift used 
 often to say, " Vive la bagatelle/' but everything has 
 its proper season; and when I consider your age now, 
 it is proper, I think, to be sometimes serious. You 
 
 15 know I love you mightily, and I find but one single 
 fault with you. You are the best natured boy; you 
 have good parts and an excellent memory; but now 
 to your fault, which you may so easily correct that I 
 am astonished that your own good sense does not 
 
 20 make you do it. It is your giddiness and inattention 
 which you confessed to me. You know that without 
 a good stock of learning, you can never, whe.i you are 
 
 2 Pour tuer le temps. To kill time. 
 
 2 Faire des riens. To do nothing. 
 
 7 Non .... regredi. " Not to go forward is to go backward.'* 
 
 9 Amoto .... ludo. Let us lay aside our play, and talk seriously. 
 
 11 Dr. Swift. (1667-1745.) Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin, a noted political 
 writer, now best known by his " Gulliver's Travels." 
 
 12 Vive la bagatelle. Long live jesting. 
 
TO HIS SON- 159 
 
 a man, be received in good company; and the only 
 way to acquire that stock is to apply with attention 
 and diligence to whatever you are taught. The hoc 
 age is of the utmost consequence in every part of life. 
 No man can do or think of two things at a time to 5 
 any purpose, and whoever does two things at once 
 is sure to do them both ill. It is the characteristic of 
 a futile, frivolous man to be doing one thing and at 
 the same time thinking of another. Do not imagine 
 that I would have you plod and study all day long; 10 
 no, leave that to dull boys. On the contrary, I would 
 have you divert yourself and be as gay as ever you 
 please; but while you are learning, mind that only, 
 and think of nothing else; it will be the sooner over. 
 They tell an idle story of Julius Caesar that he dictated 15 
 to six secretaries at once and upon different busi- 
 nesses. This I am sure is as false as it is absurd, for 
 Caesar had too good sense to do any two things at 
 once. 
 
 I am sure that for the future you will attend dili- 20 
 gently to whatever you are doing, and that for two 
 reasons: the one is that your own good sense at 
 eleven years old will show you not only the utility but 
 the necessity of learning: the other is, that if you love 
 me as I believe you do, you will cheerfully do what 25 
 I so earnestly ask of you for your own sake only. 
 When I see you next, which shall not be very long, I 
 flatter myself that the Doctor will give me a very 
 good account of your close attention. Good-night. 
 
 8 Hoc age. Do this thing : give your undivided attention to the subject in 
 in hand. 
 28 The Doctor. His tutor.