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LORD CHESTERFIELD'S 
 WORLDLY WISDOM 
 
 G. B. HILL 
 
lonbon 
 HENRY FROWDE 
 
 Oxford University Press Warehouse 
 Amen Corner, E.G. 
 
Lord Chesterfield's 
 
 Worldly Wisdom 
 
 ^d^ctionc from ^i© BUUte an^ t^avackve 
 
 ARRANGED AND EDITED BY 
 
 GEORGE BIRKBECK HILL, D.C.L. 
 
 PEMBROKE COLLEGE, OXFORD 
 
 'Studious they appear 
 Of arts that pclish Ijfe.*, ^ > i > ^ 
 
 Oxford 
 
 AT THE CLARENDON PRESS 
 1891 
 
 S^All rights reserved 1 
 
©;cfotb 
 
 PRINTED AT THE CLARENDON PRESS 
 
 BY HORACE HART, PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 • • • I 
 
CZAi 
 
 imiAJ 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ''T^HE great secret of education/ says Adam Smith, *is to 
 JL direct vanity to proper objects ^' If this is the great 
 secret, then no man took more pains about it than the Earl of 
 Chesterfield. He did more than direct it; he nourished 
 and fanned its flame. Before the eyes of his son he dangled 
 the most dazzling prizes — prizes which could only be won 
 by a long and laborious course, in which no effort should 
 be relaxed and not a single moment wasted. The boy had 
 scarcely escaped from his cradle when his father placed him- 
 self by his side, and pointed out to him, up the long flight 
 of steep steps, the Temple of Perfection crowning the heights. 
 She was the goddess to whom all his vows were to be 
 addressed; hers the Temple, lofty but not inaccessible, to 
 which laboriously he must climb. Johnson's strong and in- 
 dignant saying, by its partial truthfulness, has obscured the 
 real nature of that long series of Letters in which Chesterfield 
 trained his son. They did much more than teach a harlot's 
 morals and a dancing-master's manners. In them we have 
 slowly unfolded the whole art of living as conceived by a 
 man of keen and polished intellect, who had not been idle 
 in his study, and who had played a considerable part on 
 
 ^ Theory of Moral ^^i'mefUsmQ<^ 1801, ii. 153. 
 
 .4. 4 1 -3 10 j^^ 
 
VI 
 
 Jnttobrxction. 
 
 the stage of the world. Horace Walpole describes them as 
 a code of laws in which the folly and worthlessness of the 
 age are reduced to a regular system. On the back of it 
 should be written, he says, T/ie Whole Duty of Man adapted 
 to the meanest Capacities'^. Johnson, sweeping though his 
 condemnation had at first been, yet admitted 'that they 
 might be made a very pretty book. Take out the immorality,' 
 he said, ' and it should be put into the hands of every young 
 gentleman,' for it would teach elegance of manners and easi- 
 ness of behaviour^. Neither he nor Horace Walpole seems 
 to have noticed that, much as Chesterfield dwelt on elegance 
 of manners, it formed only one part of his system of training. 
 Had he had a son who was naturally graceful and indolent 
 instead of one who w^s awkward and laborious, he would 
 have taken industry for his chief text ; to Minerva he would 
 have directed the lad to offer his chief sacrifices ; the altar 
 of the Graces he would have left in the background. 
 
 Much as he trusted to the art of pleasing, he was far too 
 able a man to think that the world, in England at all events, 
 was to be won by mere courtliness. The hateful powers of 
 favouritism were unhappily by no means worn out. He him- 
 self, it was said, had been baffled in his ambition through 
 the mistake he had made when he courted not the wife 
 but the mistress of the Prince who was afterwards to be 
 George H. Sir Robert Walpole, with keener insight, had dis- 
 covered that it would be with Queen Caroline and not with 
 Mrs. Howard that the power was lodged I In the reign 
 of George HI, the disgraceful ministry of the Earl of Bute, 
 and the influence which after his fall that worthless favourite 
 still possessed, when he was ' the something behind the throne 
 
 ^ Walpole's Letters, vi. 77. ^ ^o's>ys[^\ Johnson, ill. 53, 
 
 ^ Walpole's Letters, i. cxviii, 
 
 greater 
 
greater than the throne,' showed how powerful ' a King's 
 Friend ' could still be. Nevertheless, in spite of these 
 examples, it was in Parliament that the main battle was to 
 be fought; in Parliament that the victory was to be won. 
 Against the House of Commons even a favourite struggled 
 in vain. It was * the only road to figure and fortune in this 
 country/ said Chesterfield. * No man can be of consequence 
 who is not in Parliament \' This he had seen when he was 
 a mere lad, and for this from an early age he had trained 
 himself with the greatest care. If such efforts had been 
 needful for a man of his high rank and ancient lineage, how 
 much more needful were they for one on whom was cast the 
 reproach of illegitimacy ! Yet even by him the victory might 
 be won, if he would take the trouble to win it. * There is 
 nothing in the world but poetry that is not to be acquired by 
 application and care ^.' In these letters we have set down at 
 great length, and sometimes with tiresome iteration, those rules 
 of life which could secure success. They were not merely 
 precepts, but a system of strict discipline, drawn up with deli- 
 beration and steadily pursued till the child had grown into the 
 youth, the youth into the man, and guidance had henceforth 
 become impossible. Almost every other father, Chesterfield 
 said, and every mother without exception who had felt half the 
 love for their son which he had felt for his, would have ruined 
 him by their false tenderness ; ' whereas I,' as he boasted to 
 his boy with the proud satisfaction of a conscience at ease with 
 itself, * always made you feel the weight of my authority, that 
 you might one day know the force of my love ^.' From his 
 infancy he had been the object of his father's most serious 
 attention, and not his plaything. He had consulted his real 
 
 ^ Chesterfield's Letters to his Son, iv. 52, 273. ^ lb. iii. 24. 
 
 ^ lb, iii. 294, 368. 
 
 good 
 
VIU 
 
 ^nttobuction. 
 
 good and not his humours or fancies. He had indulged no 
 silly womanish fondness, had inflicted no tenderness upon him. 
 He had aimed at bringing him to the perfection of human 
 nature \ ' What depended upon me/ he said, when his son 
 had reached his twentieth year, ' is executed. The little that 
 remains undone depends singly upon you ^.' 
 
 George Fox, the man of the leather breeches, as he reviewed 
 his long ministry and proclaimed with dying voice, ' I am 
 clear, I am fully clear,' spoke with scarcely stronger confidence 
 than this great and fashionable nobleman. Chesterfield's aim, 
 measured by the standard of the world, had been high. For the 
 child he had conceived an affection so deep that we are startled 
 to find it in a man of whom it was said with not a little truth, that 
 ' he had so veneered his manners that though he lived on good 
 terms with everyone he had not a single friend ^.' His letters 
 abound in such passages as the following : — * You are the 
 principal object of all my cares, the only object of all my 
 hopes ^ ' ; ' My greatest joy is to consider the fair prospect 
 you have before you, and to hope and believe you will enjoy 
 it ^ ' ; < You will, I both hope and believe, be not only the 
 comfort but the pride of my age ; and I am sure I will be the 
 support, the friend, the guide of your youth ^ ' ; * As you 
 chiefly employ, or rather wholly engross my thoughts, I see 
 every day with increasing pleasure the fair prospect which you 
 have before you '^.' When his hearing failed him, and he 
 found his constitution declining day by day ; when he had no 
 longer health and spirit to carry on public business, and retire- 
 ment and quiet had become his only refuge, hope was still left 
 him. ' My only remaining ambition is to be the counsellor and 
 
 ^ Letters, i. 257; ii. 272 ; iii. 294. ^ lb. ill. 310. 
 
 ^ Prior's Life of Malone, ed. i860, p. 357. * Letters, ii. 307. 
 
 * lb. iii. 208. ® lb. iii. 231. "^ lb. iii. 359. 
 
 minister 
 
^ntxobtxction. ix 
 
 minister of your rising ambition. Let me see my own youth 
 revived in you \' When his son reached his eighteenth year, 
 he no longer addressed him as * Dear Boy/ but as ' My dear 
 Friend,' He bids him write to him * not as to a father, but 
 without reserve as to a friend ^.' * You know my tenderness,' 
 he writes on one occasion ; * yours most tenderly,' he signs 
 himself on another^. He spared himself no trouble in his 
 education. In letters written in French he gave him, when he 
 was a little child, not only instruction in that language, but 
 also in mythology, history and geography. Even when he 
 had been advanced to high offices of state he still found time 
 to write. Now and then he happily dropped the instructor, 
 and fell into playfulness. Thus when he was Lord-Lieutenant 
 of Ireland he wrote from Dublin Castle : — * You rebuke me 
 very severely for not knowing, or at least not remembering, 
 that you have been some time in the fifth form. Here, I 
 confess, I am at a loss what to say for myself; for on the one 
 hand I own it is not probable that you would not at the time 
 have communicated an event of that importance to me ; and 
 on the other hand it is not likely that, if you had informed 
 me of it, I could have forgotten it *.' As years went on, and 
 the young man returned from his travels, he kept him with 
 him for a few months, while he instructed him not only in 
 manners but in constitutional history, and in English literature 
 and composition. 
 
 In money matters he treated him with the greatest liberality. 
 When at the age of eighteen he dismissed his tutor, and 
 brought him out at Paris as a man of fashion, he gave him the 
 establishment of the heir of a nobleman. The young fellow 
 was to have his coach^ his valet de chambre, his footman, and 
 
 ^ Letters^ iv. 6r. ^ lb. ii. 306; ill. 100. 
 
 3 lb. ii. 352 ; iii. 229. * lb, i. 220. 
 
 his 
 
Jnttobuction. 
 
 his valet de place ; * which by the way,' his father adds, * is 
 one servant more than I had ^' Fourteen years later, on his 
 son's appointment as Minister at the Court of Dresden, Ches- 
 terfield wrote to say that he had paid his cashier £500 for his 
 use. ' I am very apt to think,' he adds, * that next Midsummer 
 Day he will have the same sum and for the same use consigned 
 to him.' Eighteen months later we find him sending him 
 £200 for his Christmas-box^. ' I have given him,' he wrote 
 to a friend, ' such an education that he may be of use to any 
 Court, and I will give him such a provision that he shall be a 
 burthen to none ^.' It was not till after his son's death that 
 he discovered that he had been for some years secretly married. 
 Many a man would have resented the concealment. Chester- 
 field showed great kindness for his two orphans. He took 
 their support and education entirely upon himself. In his will 
 he left them £100 a year each during their minority, and 
 in addition a sum of £10,000, which was to be invested for 
 their benefit and divided between them on their coming of 
 age *. His contemporaries seem to have been struck by the 
 tenderness which these letters revealed. * To my great sur- 
 prise,' wrote Horace Walpole, * they seem really written from 
 the heart, not for the honour of his head ^.' 
 
 The strong affection which Chesterfield showed for his son 
 was no doubt in great part due to the ordinary feehngs of 
 a father. His wife had brought him no children. To her he 
 was indifferent ; his brothers were childless, and he had no one 
 at home to love. But in addition to paternal love there was, 
 I have little doubt, a strong feeling of pride. The boy was to 
 
 ^ Letters, iii. 64. 2 j^^ jy^ 312, 236. 
 
 ^ Chesterfield's Miscellaneous Works ^ iv. 1 30. 
 
 * See The Gentle?7ian' s Magazine^ i773. P- 318, for an extract from 
 Chesterfield's will. 
 
 ^ Walpole's Letters^ vi. 74. 
 
 illustrate 
 
Jntxobuction. xi 
 
 illustrate the truth of his lordship's theory of education, for like 
 Milton and Locke he had his vision of 'a wonder-working 
 academy.' * I have often asserted,' he wrote to his son, ' that 
 the profoundest learning and the politest manners were by no 
 means incompatible, though so seldom found united in the 
 same person ; and I have engaged myself to exhibit you as a 
 proof of the truth of this assertion ^.' What he proposed to do 
 was * to unite in him all the knowledge of a scholar with the 
 manners of a courtier, and to join what is seldom joined in any 
 of our countrymen, books and the world I' Many men had 
 deep learning, but it was tainted by pedantry, or at least un- 
 adorned by manners ; many had polite manners and the turn 
 of the world, but they were unsupported by knowledge. Some 
 had both, but they had fallen short of perfection through the 
 unbridled passions of their youth ^. There was one man, not 
 as he had been in his stormy youth, but as he was in his old 
 age, who might well be taken as a model — *the all-accomplished 
 St. John.' In him the most elegant politeness and good- 
 breeding that ever adorned courtier and man of the world were 
 joined to the deepest erudition. * His address pre-engages, 
 his eloquence persuades, and his knowledge informs all who 
 approach him.' Yet with all his noble endowments he was 
 * a most mortifying instance of the violence of human passions, 
 and of the weakness of the most exalted human reason.' By 
 the licentiousness of his youth and the extravagance of his am- 
 bition he had impaired his constitution, his character, and his 
 fortune. Nevertheless, so splendid was the sunset of his days, 
 that nothing better could be wished for a young man than that 
 in time he should resemble that great man as he then was, 
 without being what he had formerly been *. 
 
 ^ Letters, 11. 263. ^ lb. i. 351. 
 
 ^ lb. ii. 207. * lb. ii. 264, 290. 
 
 To 
 
Xll 
 
 Jnttobxxction, 
 
 To attain this perfection, in which should be united virtue, 
 learning and politeness, was Chesterfield's whole scheme of 
 education, as thus laid down in one of his letters to his 
 son. 
 
 * From the time that you have had life it has been the prin- 
 cipal and favourite object of mine to make you as perfect as 
 the imperfections of human nature will allow ; in this view I 
 have grudged no pains nor expense in your education, con- 
 vinced that education more than nature is the cause of that 
 great difference which we see in the characters of men. While 
 you were a child I endeavoured to form your heart habitually 
 to virtue and honour, before your understanding was capable 
 of showing you their beauty and utility. Those principles, 
 which you then got like your grammar rules only by rote, are 
 now, I am persuaded, fixed and confirmed by reason. My next 
 object was sound and useful learning. My own care first, 
 Mr. Harte's afterwards, and of late (I will own it to your 
 praise) your own application, have more than answered my 
 expectations in that particular. All that remains for me then 
 to wish, to recommend, to inculcate, to order, and to insist 
 upon is good-breeding; without which all your other quali- 
 fications will be lame, unadorned, and to a certain degree, 
 unavaiUng \' 
 
 There were then three courses in the fair edifice which 
 Chesterfield hoped to raise — three courses which, for the most 
 part, were to be built at separate times. The foundation was 
 to be laid in virtue ; on it was slowly to be built up a solid pile 
 of learning, and then the graces were to be added. He 
 wished, as he more than once said, to see united two orders 
 of architecture. On a Tuscan base of virtue and learning was 
 to be reared a Corinthian edifice of the graces. The Tuscan 
 * Letters^ ii. 246. 
 
 column 
 
^nttobxxction. xiii 
 
 column by itself was coarse, clumsy and unpleasant, but it gave 
 strength and solidity ; the Corinthian was beautiful and at- 
 tractive, but without a solid. foundation it would soon come to 
 the ground. Let his son so build as to unite strength with 
 beauty, and thus make his fabric perfect^. The efforts re- 
 quired were long and severe, but when two-thirds of the 
 height had been climbed, then it was seen that the rest of the 
 course to the Temple of Perfection lay no longer up steep 
 flights of stone steps, but across a pleasant lawn shaded with 
 trees and sparkling with fountains and rivulets, where flowers 
 and luscious fruits wooed the delicate grasp, though they 
 shunned the rude and greedy clutch. Here the graces dwelt, 
 the graces 'who would speak in his favour to the hearts of 
 princes, ministers and mistresses,' the graces who were always 
 propitious to those who sacrificed to them ^. If they frowned 
 upon him, all his past labour was lost ; but if they crowned his 
 virtue and his learning, there was nothing beyond his aims and 
 his hopes. So admirably had he been trained up to this point, 
 that if only their favour was added, ' he was sure to make the 
 earliest figure and fortune in the world that ever man made.' 
 He alone among Englishmen * from the beginning had had his 
 education calculated for the department of foreign affairs. 
 He might make himself absolutely necessary to the Govern- 
 ment, and after having received orders as a Minister abroad, 
 might send orders in his turn as Secretary of State at home^.' 
 All that was needed was application — incessant application — 
 application to virtue, application to learning, application to 
 what was even greater than both, the great art of pleasing. 
 ' Any man of common understanding may by proper culture, 
 care, attention, and labour make himself whatever he pleases, 
 
 ^ Letters^ ii. 190, 262. ^ lb. ii. 159; iii. 208. 
 
 ^ lb. ii. 7, 215; iii. 103. 
 
 except 
 
XIV ^n(to^\xctioix. 
 
 except a good poet ^ ' — Marcel would have added, * and a good 
 dancing-master ^.' 
 
 Chesterfield's plan of education was perhaps suggested to him 
 by a passage in Shaftesbury's Characteristics — a book which 
 came out when he was at that age when fresh impressions are 
 easily taken. The author had lamented the difficulty that there 
 was in giving * ingenious and noble youths the full advantage 
 of a just and liberal education, by uniting the scholar part 
 with that of the real gentleman and man of breeding. They 
 seem to have their only chance between two widely different 
 roads ; either that of pedantry and school learning, which lies 
 amidst the dregs and most corrupt part of antient literature, or 
 that of the fashionable illiterate world, which aims merely at the 
 character of the fine gentleman, and takes up with the foppery 
 of modern languages and foreign wit.' Pedantry had so ruined 
 true learning, and given * so wrong a ground of education, that 
 there was need of redress and amendment from that excellent 
 school which we call the world. The mere amusements of 
 gentlemen are found more improving than the profound re- 
 searches of pedants^.' Chesterfield was bent on making his 
 son a scholar but not a pedant, a man of pleasure but not 
 a rake, a man of the world but not a fop. 
 
 In the strictness of the training which young Stanhope re- 
 ceived in the first part of his course, he scarcely came off better 
 than Frederick the Great or John Stuart Mill. The highest of 
 all pleasures he was taught was to excel others. Where would 
 he, a little boy of nine years old, run to hide himself, should 
 Master Onslow, his companion at Westminster School, de- 
 
 ^ Letters, i. 242. 
 
 2 Marcel was the famous dancing-master at Paris. Young Stanhope was 
 his pupil. 
 
 ^ Shaftesbury's Characteristics, ed. 1714, i. 333-5- 
 
 servedly 
 
Jnttobviction. xv 
 
 servedly obtain a place above him ? ' If/ his father adds, 
 *you have any regard for your own reputation, and a desire 
 to please me, see that by unremitting attention and labour you 
 may with justice be styled the /lead of the class. So may the 
 Almighty preserve you, and bestow upon you his choicest 
 blessings M ' So carefully had the boy been taught, almost 
 from the cradle, that, at the age of eight, * he had justly got the 
 reputation of knowing much more than others of his age^' 
 By the time he was eighteen he had a stock of knowledge 
 which in its variety was perhaps not surpassed by that of any 
 young Englishman of his time. Had he flourished in the days 
 of Competitive Examinations he would in all likelihood have 
 taken the highest place among the Indian Civilians. For 
 knowledge he had a natural love, and he learnt with ease. As 
 a mere youth he showed a taste for curious books and scarce 
 and valuable tracts. His father had to warn him * not to un- 
 derstand editions and title-pages too well. It always smells of 
 pedantry and not always of learning '.' In Greek and Latin, 
 in history and philosophy, he had been taught by a sound 
 scholar. French he had spoken from his earliest childhood. 
 He had moreover studied it, and German and Italian in addi- 
 tion, in the capitals of the countries where those languages are 
 spoken. He knew them in perfection, his father said ; who, if 
 he flattered other people, rarely flattered his son. At Leipzig 
 he attended at the University courses of lectures on Justinian 
 and Grotius. In each state where he resided he examined its 
 history and its constitution, the treaties which it had formed, 
 the administration of justice, the government of the Church, 
 the religious orders, the orders of Knighthood, the military 
 establishments, the marine, the revenue, its trade and 
 
 ^ Letters i i. 172, 237. 2 /^^ -^ jj^. 
 
 '' lb. ii. 112, 354. 
 
 commerce, 
 
xvi ^nttobviction. 
 
 commerce, and its coinage. He was not sent abroad to study 
 *the steeples, the market-places, and the signs.' These he 
 could well leave ' to the laborious and curious researches of 
 Dutch and German travellers.' Natural curiosities he might 
 observe if he pleased, but they were not to take up the room 
 of better things. ^The forms of government,' his father wrote, 
 the ' maxims of policy, the strength or weakness, the trade and 
 commerce of the several countries you see or hear of, are the 
 important objects which I recommend to your most minute 
 inquiries and most serious attention \' There was one part 
 of political knowledge which was only to be had by inquiry 
 and conversation. 'The present state of every power in 
 Europe, with regard to its strength, revenue and commerce, 
 could not be studied in books I' The ordinary traveller 
 could scarcely hope to attain to a clear knowledge of these 
 matters; but to young Stanhope, with the introductions 
 which he carried, the sources of information were open. 
 Everywhere he was to associate with those from whom he 
 could acquire information. At Rome he was to mix with the 
 Jesuits, who would both please him and improve him by 
 their learning and address. The Venetian ambassador he 
 was in every capital *to frequent, for he was always better 
 informed of the Court at which he resided than any other 
 Minister I' 
 
 Chesterfield stimulated his son's inquiries by the questions 
 which from time to time he put to him, not as an examiner, 
 but as one who sought for information. * Can the Elector of 
 Saxony (he asks) put any of his subjects to death for high 
 treason, without bringing them first to their trial in some 
 public Court of Justice ?' 
 
 ^ Letters, ii. 203, 239. 2 /^ \ ^25. 
 
 2 lb. ii. 144, 295. 
 
 *Are 
 
Jnttobxiction. 
 
 xvu 
 
 ' Are there any particular forms requisite for the election of 
 a King of the Romans different from those which are necessary 
 for the election of an Emperor ? ' With the lad's answers he 
 seems to have been generally satisfied. * I was very glad to 
 find,' he wrote, *by your letter of the 12th, that you had in- 
 formed yourself so well of the state of the French marine at 
 Toulon and of the commerce at Marseilles \' 
 
 To the study of such subjects young Stanhope was naturally 
 well inclined. For constitutional and political history he had, 
 according to his tutor, a peculiar turn, and his knowledge was 
 correct and extensive. In the midst of his pleasures at Paris 
 he begged for books relative to the laws and constitution, the 
 colonies and commerce of England, for he knew less of them 
 than of those of any other part of Europe^. On his first return 
 to England from the Continent, he pursued these studies so 
 eagerly under his father's guidance that his lordship wrote : — 
 * He labours most willingly, and is even for more of it than 
 I desire to give him ^.' 
 
 While in each country he studied the language spoken there, 
 he did not let slip from his memory those which he had 
 already acquired. Both in Italy and France his valet was a 
 German ; in Paris he kept up his knowledge of Italian by the 
 help of a master. Under his English tutor he everywhere 
 gave the morning of each day to Greek and Latin and the x 
 other branches of a learned education. ' Solid knowledge,' he 
 was often told, 'was to be the first and great foundation of 
 his future fortune and character *,' and solid knowledge he 
 certainly got. His day was all mapped out for him. ' I am 
 edified,' wrote his father, * with the allotment of your time at 
 
 ^ Letters, i. 330; iii. 79, no. 2 ji jij jqj^ jq^ 
 
 ^ Chesterfield's Misc. Works, iv. 104. Cf. Letters, iii. 232. 
 * Letters, ii. 21. 
 
 Leipzig ; 
 
XVIU 
 
 ^ntto^xxction. 
 
 Leipzig; which is so well employed from morning till night 
 that a fool would say you had none left for yourself ^' He had 
 exhorted him ' of all the troubles not to decline the trouble of 
 thinking ' ; but he left the poor lad no time for it — none at all 
 events for meditation. He robbed him of the careless and 
 happy freedom of youth. ' I do not suspect you,' he wrote, ' of 
 one single moment's idleness in the whole day. Idleness is 
 only the refuge of weak minds, and the holiday of fools. I do 
 not call good company and liberal pleasures idleness ; far from 
 it^.' But the good company he had to frequent and the 
 pleasures to partake of, not for their own sake, but for the 
 polish which they would give to his manners. Not for a single 
 moment was he to forget himself. He was always to keep his 
 reputation in view. His spare moments were to be * not only 
 attentively but greedily employed.' He was to give but little 
 time to repose. ' Six, or at most seven, hours' sleep is for a 
 constancy as much as you or anybody can want.' However 
 late he was in going to bed he was to rise early and at 
 the same hour. This his father had always done even in the 
 midst of the dissipations of his youth I At Leipzig the poor 
 boy was kept so constantly at his studies that Chesterfield 
 informed a friend that ' his tutor writes me word that he has 
 barely time to eat, drink, and sleep *.' No indulgence was 
 shown him when he was recovering from a severe illness. On 
 his way to Venice, where he was to have kept the Carnival, he 
 was attacked by a violent inflammation of the lungs, and 
 passed twelve days in great danger in a miserable post-house. 
 ' He is now recovering at Laubach,' Chesterfield wrote to a 
 friend, ^ and by this time, I hope, out of danger ^' A week 
 later he advised his son, as the state of his health might 
 ^ Letters f i. 304. ^ /^^ jj^ 186, 3 /^ jj ^jq^ ^26. 
 
 * Misc. Works J iv. 32. ^ lb. iv. 90. 
 
 not 
 
^nttobncdon. xix 
 
 not yet admit of his usual application to books, * to repair the 
 loss by useful conversations with Mr. Harte. You may for 
 example desire him to give you in conversation the outlines at 
 least of Mr. Locke's Logic^ a general notion of Ethics, and 
 a verbal epitome of Rhetoric' In the next letter he exhorts 
 him when he arrives at Venice to make himself master of its 
 intricate and singular form of government. * Read, ask and see 
 everything that is relative to it. Learn Italian as fast as ever 
 you can \' Three months later *he most earnestly desires 
 that for the next six months, at least six hours every morning 
 uninterruptedly may be inviolably sacred to his studies with 
 Mr. Harte.' He is pleased to learn at the beginning of the 
 following year that, if not six, at all events five hours had been 
 thus employed ^. That the lad should make himself a good 
 Greek scholar was one of his father's chief wishes. His tutor's 
 report that he had read Hesiod almost critically ' most extremely 
 pleased him,' he said. Two years later he writes : — * Let 
 Greek without fail share some part of every day. I do not 
 mean the Greek poets, the catches of Anacreon, or the tender 
 complaints of Theocritus, or even the porter-like language of 
 Homer's heroes, of whom all smatterers in Greek know a little, 
 quote often and talk always ; but I mean Plato, Aristoteles, 
 Demosthenes and Thucydides, whom none but adepts know. 
 It is Greek that must distinguish you in the learned world, 
 Latin alone will not. And Greek must be sought to be 
 retained, for it never occurs like Latin ^.' 
 
 With all his stores of knowledge how superior was young 
 Stanhope to the ordinary Englishman at the same age ! * You 
 are now but nineteen,' the proud father wrote, *an age at 
 which most of your countrymen are illiberally getting drunk 
 
 ^ Letters y ii. 175-8. 2 /^^ jj^ 208, 347. 
 
 ^ lb. ii. Ill ; iii. 70. 
 
XX 
 
 ^nttobxxction. 
 
 in port at the University. You have greatly got the start of 
 them in learning. They generally begin but to see the world 
 at one and twenty ; you will by that age have seen all Europe. 
 They set out upon their travels unlicked cubs; and in their 
 travels they only lick one another, for they seldom go into any 
 other company. The care which has been taken of you, and, 
 to do you justice, the care you have taken of yourself, has left 
 you, at the age of nineteen only, nothing to acquire but the 
 knowledge of the world, manners, address, and those exterior 
 accomplishments \' As he considered the plan which he had 
 formed for his son's education and the steadiness with which 
 he had pursued it, he once more broke forth into exultation 
 that he had not been as other parents are. He had neither 
 spoilt him by fondling, nor had he attended only to his 
 bodily health. He had not tried to reproduce in him all his 
 own favourite weaknesses and imperfections. ' I hope and 
 believe,' he wrote, ' that I have kept clear of all these errors in 
 the education which I have given you. No weaknesses of my 
 own have warped it, no parsimony has starved it, no rigour 
 has deformed it. Sound and extensive learning was the 
 foundation which I meant to lay ; I have laid it ^.' He sent 
 him what he calls his account, and rejoiced to see the balance 
 so much in the young man's favour. ' By way of debtor and 
 creditor it stands thus : — 
 
 Creditor : By French. Debtor : To English. 
 
 German. Enunciation. 
 
 Italian. Manners. 
 
 ^ Letters^ iv. i8. The letter in which this passage occurs is dated May 2 7, 
 1753, but it must have been written two or three years earlier. I have not 
 been able to ascertain the exact date of Philip Stanhope's birth. On 
 December 3, 1763, his father speaks of him as being thirty-two {ib. iv. 206). 
 He was born therefore either at the end of 1730 or in 1 731. 
 
 ^ Ib. iii. 307. 
 
 Creditor 
 
^ ^ntvobviction. xxi 
 
 V* 
 
 Creditor : By Latin. 
 Greek. 
 Logic. 
 Ethics. 
 History. 
 
 { Naturae. 
 Jus < Gentium. 
 ( Publicum. 
 
 'This, my dear friend, is a very true account, and a very 
 encouraging one for you \' 
 
 That young Stanhope should be debtor to English and 
 enunciation, followed almost as a certainty from the education 
 which he had received. During five of the most important 
 years of his Hfe he had been kept out of England. He left it 
 when he was not more than fifteen, and he returned when he 
 was about twenty. He was sent abroad ' to see the manners 
 and characters and learn the languages of foreign countries, 
 and not to converse with English in English, which would 
 defeat all those ends ^.' His tutor, we are told, * had an 
 unhappy impediment in his speech, joined to a total want of 
 ear,' while ' his style was execrable ; of a new and singular 
 kind, full of Latinisms, Gallicisms, Germanisms, and all isms 
 but Anglicisms ; in some places pompous, in others vulgar 
 and low^.' Gn Enghsh Chesterfield justly set the highest 
 value. His son's business was, he said, to be negotiation 
 abroad and oratory in the House of Commons. What figure, 
 his father asked, could he make in either case if his style were 
 inelegant ? ' His trade was to speak well both in public and 
 in private.' Nowhere was eloquence more needful than in 
 England. Without it neither a figure nor a fortune could be 
 made. In speakers and in writers too a pure and elegant 
 
 ^ Letters t iii. 47. ^ lb, ii. 295. 
 
 ^ lb. iv. 177, and Misc. Works , i. 314. 
 
 c style 
 
xxli ^nttobuction. 
 
 style covered a multitude of sins. Of the truth of statements 
 such as these, which Chesterfield is never tired of repeating, he 
 had, he says, become convinced in his youth \ Like Johnson, 
 * he had early laid it down as a fixed rule to do his best on 
 every occasion and in every company.' Eloquence, he boasted, 
 had become so habitual to him, that he would now have ' to 
 take some pains if he would express himself very inelegantly ^.' 
 How strange then was the ignorance of this practised and well- 
 graced speaker, who thought that in Lausanne, in Leipzig, in 
 Rome, in Turin, in Paris, a mastery could be gained over our 
 noble language ! Not even when the groundwork of his son's 
 education had been completed and the Tuscan courses laid, 
 did he allow him to stay in England more than a few months. 
 It was in France and Germany that he resided till, at the age 
 of three-and-twenty, he was summoned home to take his seat 
 in the House of Commons as member for Liskeard. It was 
 in vain that he had been urged * to tune his tongue early to 
 persuasion ^.' It is not by letters and exhortations that such a 
 tuning as that is accomplished. He succeeded no better than 
 the historian of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Efupire^ who, 
 twenty years later entering Parliament by the same little 
 Cornish borough, found himself ' condemned by prudence to 
 acquiesce in the humble station of a mute *.' He too had 
 long been caged abroad, and had learned to tune his throat 
 to other notes than ours. Young Stanhope, it has been said, 
 addressed the House for the first time on that famous night 
 when Single-speech Hamilton made his first speech, * and was 
 at once perfection ^.' This, however, is one of those inaccurate 
 
 ^ Letters, ii. 266, 269, 283 ; iii. 43, 146. 
 2 lb. iii. 146. ^ lb, ii. 293. 
 
 * Gibbon's Miscellaneous Works, ed. 181 4, i. 221. 
 ^ Horace Walpole's Letters^ ii. 484 note i. 
 
 statements 
 
statements which are made by over-hasty annotators. It was 
 in the same month, but in different years, that the two men 
 spoke \ It is true that Walpole mentions a Stanhope among 
 the eight speakers on the night of Hamilton's triumph, whom 
 he describes as ' very bad.' There was, however, more than one 
 member of that name in the House, and it is not known that 
 Lord Chesterfield's son ever made a second attempt ^ His 
 father encouraged him * to harden himself by degrees, by 
 using himself insensibly to the sound of his own voice, and to 
 the act (trifling as it seems) of rising up and sitting down 
 again ^' But the mortification which he had received was 
 apparently too severe. He lost his head in the midst of 
 his speech, and though he managed to make some kind of 
 conclusion, yet for a while he stood silent. 
 
 In following Philip Stanhope's career till it brought him to 
 the House of Commons, I have passed over the third and 
 crowning part of his education. I must now return to the 
 Corinthian temple which was so anxiously raised by the chief 
 architect on the solid foundations of virtue and learning. 
 Here it was that his most anxious care was employed, for 
 here he found his materials least fitted by nature for his work. 
 Here, too, it is that his scheme of education has caught the 
 attention of the world. It is as the High Priest and Lawgiver 
 of the Graces that his lordship is known. His virtues as 
 Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland are extolled by the historian ; his 
 witticisms are recounted by the collectors of anecdotes, but it 
 is as an expounder of morals and manners that his name lives. 
 The interest which we take in his system is greatly heightened 
 by the odd contrast which we find in his mind, the strange 
 
 ^ Stanhope spoke in November, 1754 {LeUers, iv. 80), and Hamilton in 
 November, 1755. 
 
 ^ Chesterfield's Misc. Works, i. 333. ^ Letters, iv. 80. 
 
 c 2 confusion 
 
xxiv ^nttobxxction. 
 
 confusion of right and wrong. His aim is surely high enough, 
 for it is * the perfection of human nature ^.' This perfection 
 he is never weary of dinning in his son's ears. It is attained 
 by him who is both respectable et aimable, whose character 
 commands respect and whose manners win affection. It is 
 more commonly found in France than in England. ' I have 
 often said and do think/ he writes, * that a Frenchman, who 
 with a fund of virtue, learning and good sense, has the ' / 
 manners and good breeding of his country, is the perfection of 
 human nature ^.' The need of virtue in the perfect character 
 is steadily maintained by him throughout, though his full 
 conception of what constitutes virtue, or at all events of what 
 is not inconsistent with it, is somewhat slowly unfolded. His 
 praises of virtue, if they were culled, would make almost as 
 pretty, though not so large, a book as his rules for elegance of 
 behaviour. There is no reason to suspect him of hypocrisy in 
 all this. That virtue which he understood, he wished his son 
 steadily to pursue. When he was a mere child he told him 
 that 'the quiet and satisfaction of the virtuous man's con- 
 science make him cheerful by day and sleep sound of nights ; 
 he can be alone with pleasure, and is not afraid of his own 
 thoughts ^' This lesson he often repeats. The only return 
 for all his fondness which he desires, is the boy's ' invariable 
 practice of virtue and indefatigable pursuit of knowledge.' 
 Neither was the practice of virtue difficult, for ' whoever knows 
 virtue must surely love it. It is in itself so beautiful, that it 
 charms us at first sight, and engages us more and more upon 
 further acquaintance.' Without it he will, he assures him, be 
 * most unhappy.' Writing to him at the end of the year he 
 says : — * Many New Years indeed you may see, but happy ones 
 you cannot see without deserving them. These virtue, honour 
 1 Letters, i. 257. ^ /^^ -^ 357 ; iii. 68. ^ lb. i. 166. 
 
 and 
 
^nitobvLction. xxv 
 
 and knowledge alone can merit, alone can procure.' Twelve 
 months later he says : — * My true tenderness for you makes 
 me think more of the manner than of the length of your life, 
 and forbids me to wish it prolonged by a single day that should 
 bring guilt, reproach, and shame upon you. Conscious virtue 
 is the only solid foundation of all happiness.' If the reward 
 that virtue gives is great, the sacrifice that she may demand is 
 still greater. *We must much rather die than do a base or 
 criminal action.' He supports his exhortations by appeals to 
 expediency. * There is nothing so delicate as your moral 
 character, and nothing which it is your interest so much to 
 preserve pure.' *For God's sake be scrupulously jealous of 
 the purity of your moral character ; keep it immaculate, un- 
 blemished, unsullied ; and it will be unsuspected.' ' Without 
 this purity, you can have no dignity of character ; and without 
 dignity of character it is impossible to rise in the world.' ' A 
 man's moral character once tainted is irreparably destroyed ^' 
 
 The whole bench of bishops could scarcely have spoken 
 better. Nevertheless we find Lord Eliot, who had travelled 
 with young Stanhope, wondering that Chesterfield * should 
 have endeavoured to make his son a rascal'; while Horace 
 Walpole described him as ' leaving a system of education to 
 poison youth from their nursery ^.' In truth, both the object 
 which he set before his son and many of the means by which 
 he was to attain it, were alike base. It was the favour of 
 kings and ministers which he was to win, and in winning it he 
 was not to hesitate to employ some of the lowest arts. He 
 had not the excuse of poverty, the temptation of a poor man 
 to send his lad to bow and wriggle himself into a competency. 
 He could have made ample provision for him had he chosen. 
 
 1 Id. i. 249, 301, 319 ; ii. 4, 71, 127, 307, 314, 317, 318 ; iii. loi. 
 
 2 BoswelV syoknson, iv. 333 ; Walpole's Letters^ vii. 143. 
 
 That 
 
xxvi ^ntvobuctxon. 
 
 That he chose for him a life of industry was no doubt so far 
 praiseworthy, but the industry should not have been polished 
 by vice and recommended by fawning. In his youth he had 
 fallen under the sway of a desire, which carried to excess is 
 most dangerous to truthfulness. To his * passionate desire of 
 pleasing universally,' he more than once told his son, he owed 
 whatever figure he had made in the world. * I began the 
 world,' he writes, ^not with a bare desire, but with an in- 
 satiable thirst, a rage of popularity, applause and admiration. 
 If this made me do some silly things on the one hand, it made 
 me on the other hand do almost all the right things I did : it 
 made me attentive and civil to the women I disliked, and to 
 the men I despised, in hopes of the applause of both \' How 
 little did Johnson know of this great nobleman's character 
 when he described him as ' the proudest man this day existing ' 
 — a man who among the right things which he had done in his 
 youth, reckoned in his old age his attention and civility to men 
 whom he despised in hopes of winning their worthless ap- 
 plause ! In his case no satirist was needed to * bare the mean 
 heart that lurks beneath a star.' He bared it himself. It was 
 this same desire, this love of winning applause by pleasing, that 
 led him to publish his gross and indelicate puffs of Johnson's 
 forthcoming Dictionary. But he mistook his man. He found 
 that flattery might turn upon him, and prove, like Love, * a native 
 of the rocks.' He builds up his reputation by the anxious and 
 minute labours of a life, and then comes a rough scholar 
 from his garret and shatters the column at a blow. So in the 
 play Death for a while suffered the monarch to keep up his 
 state, * infusing him with self and vain conceit ' ; but then — 
 
 ' Comes at the last, and with a little pin, 
 Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king ! ' 
 
 ^ Letters, iii. 217, 374. 
 
 Rarely 
 
^nttobtxction. 
 
 XXVll 
 
 Rarely has there been found a man more shamelessly to 
 avow his readiness to adopt the basest means, provided only 
 they would bring him to the coveted end. Power and ap- 
 plause are the chief aims of life, and they can only be won by 
 pleasing. 'To please is almost to prevail/ he said. 'Were I 
 in Africa,' he told his son, ' I would pay flattery to a negro 
 for his good-will.' At Turin he bids him 'speak advan- 
 tageously of those who are best at Court behind their backs, 
 in companies who you have reason to believe will tell them 
 again.' At Berlin 'he is to say des choses flatteuses of his 
 Prussian Majesty to those who are the most hke to repeat 
 them \' At Paris he is ' to frequent those good houses where 
 he had already a footing, and wriggle himself somehow or 
 other into every other.' At St. Cloud and Versailles he is ' to 
 insinuate and wriggle himself into favour.' Modesty is re- 
 commended ' as the only sure bait when you angle for praise ^.' 
 The aim of all Chesterfield's training is to enable his son to 
 deal not with men's virtues and nobler qualities, but with their 
 vices, weaknesses and meannesses. 
 
 ' The suaviter in modo was my Law and my Prophets,' he 
 says. ' The height of abilities is to have volto sciolto diadpensieri 
 stretti ', that is a frank, open and ingenuous exterior with a 
 prudent and reserved interior.' Every man is approached by 
 many avenues. ' When you cannot get at him through the 
 great one, try the serpentine ones, and you will arrive at last ^.' 
 When his son was still a boy at school he poisons his careless 
 childhood with his lessons of worldly wisdom. ' Wherever you 
 would persuade or prevail,' he tells him, ' address yourself to 
 the passions ; it is by them that mankind is to be taken.' On 
 
 1 Letters, i. 330; ii. 166; iii. 31, 357. 
 
 2 lb. iii. 20, 155, 213. 
 
 ^ lb. ii. 90, 298 ; iii. 130. 
 
 this 
 
XXVlll 
 
 Jnttobucdon. 
 
 this text he preaches many a sermon. He bids him pry into 
 the recesses of the heart ; to flatter people's vanity ; ' to find 
 out their predominant excellency, if they have one, and their 
 prevailing weakness, which everybody has, and do justice to 
 the one, and something more than justice to the other.' He 
 is first to engage the heart, and then he will easily dupe the 
 understanding. * Happy the man,' he exclaims, ' who, with a 
 certain fund of parts and knowledge, gets acquainted with the 
 world early enough to make it his bubble, at an age when most 
 people are the bubbles of the world.' Summing up his direc- 
 tions *for acquiring confidence by seeming frankness, and 
 profiting of it by silent skill,' he continues, * Above all, you 
 must gain and engage the heart to betray the understanding.' 
 And then with a shameless prostitution of the noble lines of 
 the great Roman poet he adds, 
 
 ^ Hae tibi enint artes ^' 
 That world which his son as he grew older was to make his 
 sole study could be learnt, he tells him, only in courts and 
 camps. What he thought of Courts he does not conceal from 
 him. In all alike ' you must expect to meet connections with- 
 out friendship, enmities without hatred, honour without virtue, 
 appearances saved and realities sacrificed ; good manners with 
 bad morals, and all vice and virtue so disguised that whoever 
 has only reasoned upon both would know neither when he first 
 met them at Court ^.' Here 'a slighted valet de chambre 
 might do you more hurt than ten men of merit would do you 
 good ; ' here ' a chamber-maid has caused revolutions ^.' He 
 who would make his way to favour should not give even a 
 Court dog or cat reason to dislike him. He must ever be on 
 the watch, ever be attentive to the smallest circumstances. 
 
 ^ Letters, i. 226, 240, 245, 283 ; ii. 258 ; ill. 153, 176. 
 ^ lb. i. 276 ; iii. 40. ^ /^^ jij^ 266, 325. 
 
 'The 
 
Jnttobnction. xxix 
 
 * The trade of a courtier is as much a trade as that of a shoe- 
 maker.' It was by practice and experience only that it could 
 be acquired ; but in the Maxims of La Rochefoucault, human 
 nature might be studied \ Not so thought that famous 
 writer's grandson, the virtuous and unhappy duke, one of the 
 early victims of the Revolution. To Adam Smith he pleaded, 
 as some apology for his grandfather's book, *that he had 
 formed his opinions of mankind in two of the worst situations 
 of life — a court and a camp ^.' 
 
 The splendour of the prize that may fall to the lot of the 
 successful courtier was shown in the career of Lord Albemarle, 
 'Colonel of a Regiment of Guards, Governor of Virginia, Groom 
 of the Stole, and Ambassador to Paris, amounting in all to 
 sixteen or seventeen thousand pounds a year. Was it his birth? 
 No ; a Dutch gentleman only. Was it his estate ? No ; he had 
 none. Was it his learning, his parts, his political abilities and 
 application ? You can answer these questions as easily and as 
 soon as I can ask them. What was it then ? It was his air, 
 his address, his manners and his graces. He pleased, and by 
 pleasing became a favourite ; and by becoming a favourite, 
 became all that he has been since ^' With such glorious 
 rewards for good breeding, who can wonder when Chesterfield 
 declares that ' the epithet which he should covet the most 
 next to that of Aristides, would be that of well-bred *.' That 
 he places this epithet second and not before *The Just,' is 
 perhaps only due to an excessive regard to appearances. 
 
 * There are some people,' said John Bright, ' who are willing to 
 go through dirt to dignities.' Chesterfield was one of them. 
 Nay, he was even worse ; for he was not only willing but 
 
 1 Letters, iii. 325, 327 ; iv. 54. 
 
 ^ Wealth of Nations y ed. 18 11, vol. i. preface, p. xxii. 
 
 ^ Letters^ iii. 309. * lb. ii. 248. 
 
 anxious 
 
XXX ^nttobucdon. 
 
 anxious that the same shameful path should be trodden by his 
 only son. Many a man who has been unscrupulous in his 
 pursuit of success, has nevertheless retained virtue enough 
 to make him unwilling that his children should stain them- 
 selves as he was stained. 
 
 There have been men who, after a long trial of Chesterfield's 
 world of courts and camps, 
 
 ' Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war/ 
 
 teach the young, like old Belarius, that the poor man's life of 
 
 quiet honesty 
 
 ' Is nobler than attending for a check, '''^ 
 
 Richer than doing nothing for a bauble, 
 Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk.' 
 
 ^ Not SO thought Chesterfield. George II he had known 
 intimately. ' For above thirty years,' he writes, ' I was always 
 near his person, and had constant opportunities of observing 
 him both in his regal robes and in his undress.' He describes 
 him as a man * in whose composition everything was little ; he 
 had all the weaknesses of a little mind without any of the 
 virtues, or even the vices, of a great one. Avarice, the meanest 
 of all passions, was his ruling one ; and I never knew him 
 deviate into any generous action \' Yet this was the man whose 
 favour young Philip Stanhope was meanly instructed how to 
 curry. ' At Hanover he was to remember to speak nothing but 
 German. He was to seem to prefer it to any other tongue ; 
 to call it his favourite language ^.' But he was to sink to even 
 lower depths than flattering George II, for he was to flatter 
 his Minister, the Duke of Newcastle. In the character which 
 Chesterfield drew of that ignoble nobleman, he describes 'him 
 at his levees as * making people of business wait two or three 
 
 ^ Misc. Works, iv. appendix, p. 3. 
 2 Letters, iii. 321, 335. 
 
 hours 
 
^nttobucdon, xxxi 
 
 hours in the ante-chamber, while he trifled away that time with 
 some insignificant favourites in his closet. When at last he 
 came into his levee-room, he accosted, hugged, embraced and 
 promised everybody with a seeming cordiality, but at the same 
 time with an illiberal and degrading familiarity ^' This 
 statesman and buffoon, whom Smollett has so happily ridiculed 
 in his Humphry Clinker^ as good luck would have it, was in 
 need of a favourite. *He loves to have a favourite, and 
 to open himself to that favourite ; he has now no such person 
 with him; the place is vacant, and if you have dexterity 
 you may fill it.' In the gross flattery by which this disgraceful 
 post is to be gained, Chesterfield carefully instructed his son I 
 He would have done well to warn him of the risks which 
 sycophancy runs ; how men may * get a kick for awkward 
 flattery.' He might have informed him of the ridiculous 
 distress into which he himself had once fallen. * On his being 
 made Secretary of State,' writes Horace Walpole, * he found a 
 fair young lad in the ante-chamber at St. James's, who seeming 
 much at home, the Earl concluding it was the son of Lady 
 Yarmouth, George II's mistress, was profuse of attentions to the 
 boy, and more prodigal still of his prodigious regard for his 
 mamma. The shrewd boy received all his Lordship's vows 
 with indulgence, and without betraying himself; at last he 
 said, " I suppose your Lordship takes me for Master Louis ; 
 but I am only Sir William Russel, one of the pages ^ ".' Well 
 acquainted though Chesterfield was with the mortifications to 
 which they are exposed who fawn and flatter, and conscious as 
 he must have been of the meanness of which they are guilty, 
 he nevertheless describes their longings to rise as * a right, a 
 generous ambition to make a figure in the world*.' As one of 
 
 ^ Misc. Works, iv. appendix, p. 57. ^ Letters, iii. 325, 351. 
 
 ^ Walpole's Letters, i. p. cxxxiv. * Letters, iv. 17. 
 
 the 
 
xxxii Jnttobtxction* 
 
 the means for more surely gratifying *that last infirmity of 
 noble mind,' the young man is urged to adopt an air that has 
 in it * a mixture of benevolence, affection and unction ^.' We 
 have some hope for him as we find that his father complains 
 that, though nature had given him a very pleasing countenance, 
 he would not accept it. The forbidding looks which he 
 assumed, were we trust due to the honest indignation of youth. 
 With whatever subtlety a man of the world may attempt ' to sap 
 the principles or taint the heart,' young men of any spirit will 
 still maintain, in spite of all his protests, ' that art is meanness, 
 and that versatility and complaisance are the refuge of 
 pusillanimity and weakness ^.' 
 
 No teacher was ever better satisfied with his system than 
 Chesterfield. In his youth he had, he owns, been under the 
 guidance of prejudice and authority, but for many years past 
 he had listened only to the voice of reason. He does not 
 openly lay claim to infallibility. ' I may possibly still retain 
 many errors,' he modestly admits. But later on he speaks with 
 greater confidence. * I cannot misguide you from ignorance, 
 and you are very sure I shall not from design ^.' Happily the 
 young man does not seem to have been inclined to take his 
 father's rules of conduct for his Law and his Prophets. On 
 the back of some observations on men and things which he 
 received from him, he wrote — 'Excellent maxims, but more 
 calculated for the meridian of France or Spain than of 
 England*.' In this he agreed with Johnson, who held that 
 * the supple Gaul was born a parasite,' and that ' his arts in 
 vain our rugged natives try.' The more convinced Chesterfield 
 was of his wisdom, and the more satisfied he was with the 
 course which he had laid down, the more anxious did he 
 
 ^ Letters^ iv. 25. 2 /^^ jji^ 284. 
 
 ^ lb. ii. 136; iv. 60. * Ih. iv. 307. 
 
 become 
 
JnttOhxXCtiOIX* xxxlii 
 
 become about its issue. After so long and arduous a voyage, 
 
 for the ship to be brought in safety to the very mouth of the 
 
 harbour, and then through mere carelessness to be swept past 
 
 the entrance, would be unspeakably bitter. As the time grew 
 
 nearer for his son's appearance upon the great stage of the 
 
 world, his anxiety increased. The first impressions that he 
 
 shall give of himself, he said, will be final. To a new actor 
 
 great indulgence is no doubt shown ; yet the audience at once 
 
 decides whether he will succeed or not. There is no appeal 
 
 for character^. While friends and correspondents pleased the 
 
 fond father by their reports of his son's diligence and learning, 
 
 when they were closely questioned they were forced to allow 
 
 that to the Graces his sacrifices had not been successful. If 
 
 he failed here, he failed everywhere. Along the whole line the 
 
 battle was lost. 
 
 To this, the weakest part in his son's attack on the posts and 
 
 dignities of the world, Chesterfield henceforth directs almost all 
 
 his attention. To strengthen it everything else must give way. 
 
 * Shut up your books as a business,' he wrote to him when he 
 
 had reached his nineteenth year, ' and open them only as a 
 
 pleasure ; but let the great book of the world be your serious 
 
 study ; read it over and over ; get it by heart, adopt its style, 
 
 and make it your own.' Happy the man who can unite the 
 
 solid and the ornamental; but if you must choose between 
 
 them, without hesitation, take the ornamental. * Make, my 
 
 dear child, I conjure you, good breeding the great object of 
 
 your thoughts and actions at least half the day. It is to all 
 
 worldly qualifications what charity is to all Christian virtues. 
 
 The dancing-master is at this time the man in all Europe of 
 
 the greatest importance to you. Learn to loll genteelly. 
 
 Learn even to compose your countenance occasionally to the 
 
 ^ LetterSy ii. 78, 93, 122 ; iii. 324. 
 
 respectful, 
 
xxxiv Jnttobuction. 
 
 respectful, the cheerful and the insinuating. If you would be 
 a great man in the world when you are old, shine and be 
 showish in it while you are young.' 
 
 Few more pitiable objects can be imagined than the master 
 of this ^ wonder-working academy ' just missing success by 
 the failure of his hopeful pupil in the noble art of lolling gen- 
 teelly. Nevertheless he had one consolation. There had been 
 no neglect on his part. The great doctrine of the Graces he 
 had preached in season and out of season. Not only had he 
 preached it, but he had practised it. The whole lore of the 
 art of pleasing *he taught, but first he followed it himself.' 
 His great scheme of perfection he had slowly and artfully un- 
 folded. As the boy grew nearer to manhood he had gradually 
 let him see that perfection can only be attained through polish, 
 and that polish is best given by pleasure. Pleasure therefore 
 became a great moral duty. To his pleasures, he tells him, he 
 must henceforth be as attentive as to his studies. * Pleasure is 
 now the principal remaining part of your education.' ' Pleasure 
 is now^, and ought to be, your business.' ' Be, and be reckoned, 
 a man of pleasure, as well as a man of business. Enjoy this 
 happy and giddy time of your life ; shine in the pleasures and 
 in the company of people of your own age. This is all to be 
 done, and indeed only can be done, without the least taint to 
 the purity of your moral character.' This highly-polished and 
 spotless character was not however easily attained ; for 'few 
 men can be men of pleasure, every man may be a- rake^' 
 Difficult though success was, this part of education was the 
 time rather of reward than of labour. The bargain was now to 
 be fulfilled which Chesterfield had made two years earlier. ' I 
 promise you, upon my word,' he had written, ' that if you will 
 
 ^ Letters, ii. 252 ; iii. 47, 100, 127, 172, 182. 
 ^ lb, i. 289 ; ii. 318 ; iii. 46, 68, 149. 
 
 do 
 
^nttobxxcdon. xxxv 
 
 do everything that I would have you do till you are eighteen, 
 I will do everything that you would have me do ever afterwards \' 
 The young man, at an age when youths nowadays have 
 scarcely entered the University, was turned loose in Paris, 
 ^ the seat of the Graces,' with the assurance that he should have 
 all the money that was ' necessary, not only for the figure, but 
 for the pleasures of a gentleman ^.' 
 
 At Paris, he was told, that the Graces would even court him, 
 .were he not too coy, but woman must lend her aid. Here we 
 come upon the second great quality of baseness in Chesterfield's 
 mind. His gospel of flattery was bad enough, but his gospel 
 of womanhood was even worse. He had been born in those 
 evil days which followed on the Restoration, when ' gaiety was 
 connected with vice, and easiness of manners with laxity of 
 principles.' Virtue had not been restored to its dignity, neither 
 had innocence been taught not to be ashamed ^. No image of 
 a perfect woman nobly planned had ever passed before his 
 eyes. With his blood, faith in womankind had never for one 
 moment beaten. Neither from mother nor wife had trust 
 in all things high come to him. He had read Shakespeare — 
 some of his plays at all events ; he had read Homer. Yet not 
 even from books had he learned that there are women such as 
 are not met with in the pages of Congreve, or in the Courts of 
 George II or Louis XV. He describes them as * only children 
 of a larger growth *. They have,' he goes on to say, ' an enter- 
 taining tattle, and sometimes wit ; but for solid, reasoning 
 good sense, I never in my life knew one that had it, or who 
 
 ^ Letters^ i. 298, 312. ^ lb. iii. 46, d^. 
 
 ^ Johnson's Works, ed. 1825, vii. 451. 
 * ' Men are but children of a larger growth, 
 
 Our appetite 's as apt to change as theirs, 
 And full as craving too, and full as vain.' 
 
 Dryden, All for Love^ act iv. 
 
 reasoned 
 
XXXVl 
 
 ^nttobuction. 
 
 reasoned or acted consequentially for four-and-twenty hours 
 together. A man of sense only trifles with them, plays with 
 them, humours and flatters them, as he does with a sprightly, 
 forward child. No flattery is either too high or too low for 
 them. They will greedily swallow the highest and gratefully 
 accept of the lowest \' When his son was but a boy of sixteen, 
 he told him in a long letter on the art of pleasing, among ' the 
 arcana necessary for his initiation in the great society of the 
 world,' that ' women have in general but one object, which is 
 their beauty ; upon which scarce any flattery is too gross 
 for them to swallow.' Writing at later dates he tell him that 
 ' the innocent but pleasing flattery of their persons, however 
 gross, is greedily swallowed and kindly digested. They are 
 to be talked to as below men and above children. They have 
 but two passions, vanity and love ; these are their universal 
 characteristics ^' 
 
 However contemptible might be the character of women, 
 yet their power was great, and great in three ways. They 
 can recommend, they can indirectly instruct, and they 
 can refine. From the weakness of men they have influence 
 in every Court. 'It is they who put a young fellow in 
 fashion even with the men. They absolutely stamp every 
 man's character in the l^eau monde, and make it either 
 current, or cry it down and stop it in payments.' He who 
 has learnt to win their favour has gone a great way in 
 learning how to win the favour of kings. * Princes in general 
 are about the pitch of women, bred up like them ; and are to 
 be addressed and gained in the same manner. They always 
 see, they seldom weigh.' It is by the same arts that mistresses 
 and courts are gained. It is in a man's pleasures that he 
 
 ^ Letters, ii. 56. 2 /^^ \^ 285 ; ii. 67, 173, 300. 
 
 learns 
 
Jnttobxxction. xxxvii 
 
 learns to become a successful negotiator \ It is by his plea- 
 sures, too, that he gains that polish, *that amiable and engaging 
 je ne sais quoi, which, as some philosophers have unintelligibly 
 enough said of the soul, is all in all, and all in every part ; it 
 should shed its influence over every word and action^.' Against 
 the girls of Corinth the athlete of old was warned, but no 
 perfect building of Chesterfield's Corinthian order could be 
 raised without the aid of women lost to virtue. The purity of 
 the moral character escaped however from the least taint so 
 long as it was with women of fashion that a young man sinned. 
 This precise father could not, he says, suppose his son capable 
 of conversing with any others ^. We call to mind the splendid 
 passage in which Pope celebrates the triumph of corruption, 
 and tells how 
 
 * Vice is undone, if she forgets her birth ; 
 And stoops from angels to the dregs of earth/ 
 
 The first hint of the great duty of licentiousness was given 
 by this perfection-loving but over-ambitious father, when his 
 son was about eighteen years of age. ^ There are some ex- " 
 pressions,' he writes, * both in French and English, and some 
 characters which have, I dare say, misled many young men to 
 their ruin. Une honnete debauche, unejolie debauche ; an agree- 
 able rake, a man of pleasure. Do not think that this means 
 debauchery and profligacy; nothing like it. It means, at 
 most, the accidental and unfrequent irregularities of youth 
 and vivacity, in opposition to dulness, formality, and want of 
 spirit. A commerce galant insensibly formed with a woman of 
 fashion \ a glass of wine or two too much, unwarily taken in 
 the warmth and joy of good company, or some innocent frolic 
 by which nobody is injured, are the utmost bounds of that life 
 
 ^ Letters^ ii. 17, 57, 260; iii. 227. ^ lb. iii. 185. 
 
 ^ lb. ii. 173. 
 
 d of 
 
XXXVlll 
 
 Jnttobuction. 
 
 of pleasure which a man of sense and decency, who has a 
 regard for his character, will allow himself, or be allowed by 
 others \' Having once started the subject, he never lets it drop 
 till the young man has fully graduated in the great University 
 of the world. Again and again he touches on the pleasures 
 d'un honnete homme. He sends him an extract from a letter 
 in French, which he had received, he said, from a lady in 
 Venice ; but which very likely he wrote himself in London. 
 That he did play on him tricks of this sort he himself avowed 
 in a letter to a friend ^. He makes this unknown corre- 
 spondent say : — ^ Un arrangement avec quelque femme de 
 condition et qui a du monde, quelque Madame de Lursay, 
 est prdcisdment ce qu'il lui faut "\' What he means by un 
 arrangement he explains a few months later. ' Un arrange- 
 ment, which is in plain English a gallantry, is at Paris a part 
 of a woman of fashion's establishment, as her house, table, 
 coach, &c. Un arrangement honnete sied bien a un galant 
 homme ^.' He recounts how he himself, in the awkwardness of 
 youth, with the rust of Cambridge still about him, had when 
 abroad been kindly taken in hand by a fine woman of fashion. 
 She had had pity on his timidity, and calling up some of her 
 friends had said : — ' Savez-vous que j'ai entrepris ce jeune 
 homme, et qu'il le faut rassurer ? II lui faut necessairement 
 une passion, et s'il ne m'en juge pas digne nous lui en cher- 
 cherons quelque autre.' He advises his son to consult 
 * veteran women of condition, who have generally been gallant, 
 but within certain decent bounds. Their gallantries have 
 
 ^ Letters, ii. 164. ^ Misc. Works, iii. 239. 
 
 ^ Letters, ii. 276; iii. 131 : 'Madame de Lursay is a character in Cre- 
 billon's Egarements du cceur et de Vesprit.' Mahon's Chesterfield Letters, 
 i. 365. Macaulay describes Crebillon as ' that abject thing, a scribbler as 
 licentious as Louvet and as dull as Rapin.' Essays, ed. 1874, ii. 108. 
 
 * Letters, iii. 28, 108. 
 
 taught 
 
Jnttobuction. xxxix 
 
 taught both them and their admirers good breeding ; without 
 which they could keep up no dignity \' 
 
 The full infamy of his advice is reached when he bids his son 
 attempt to corrupt a young lady who had lately been married. 
 * On m'assure que Madame de Blot, sans avoir des traits, est 
 jolie comme un coeur, et que nonobstant cela elle s'en est tenue 
 jusqu'ici scrupuleusement a son mari, quoiqu'il y ait deja plus 
 d'un an qu'elle est mariee. Elle n'y pense pas; il faut de- 
 crotter cette femme-la. D^crottez-vous done tous les deux 
 reciproquement^.' He returns frequently to this vile sugges- 
 tion, and others like it. The young man apparently pleaded 
 his want of impudence. 'What do you mean,' the father 
 replies, ' by your ' Si j'osais ? qu'est-ce qui vous empeche 
 d'oser ? Soyez convaincu que la femme la plus sage se trouve 
 flattee, bien loin d'etre offensee, par une declaration d'amour 
 faite avec politesse et agrement.' He points out the glorious 
 career of the Duke de Richelieu, * now Marechal^ Cordon bleu, 
 Gentilhomme de la Chambre, twice ambassador, &c.' His 
 success was altogether due to his early intrigues with women 
 of the first distinction, which gave him his manners, graces, 
 and address. ' Strip him of them, and he will be one of the 
 poorest men in Europe.' Chesterfield admits that 'the gal- 
 lantry of high life is not strictly justifiable ; nevertheless the 
 heart is not corrupted by it^' What a different lesson was 
 taught by the Scottish peasant, a man laid low and stained by 
 thoughtless follies, but nevertheless one by whom ' the native 
 
 ^ Letters, ii. 322, 324, 346. 
 
 ^ lb. iii. 159. Sir John Hawkins {^Life of Johnson, ed. 1787, p. 181) tells 
 how Chesterfield, once presuming to make love to a married lady of rank, 
 was ordered at once ' to quit her house, with this menace : '* Think yourself 
 well off, my lord, that for this affront I do not order my servants to push 
 you headlong out of doors." ' 
 
 ^ Letters, ii. 349; iii. 189, 309. 
 
 d 2 feelings 
 
xl Jnttobxxction. 
 
 feelings strong, the guileless ways ' were ever honoured. He 
 too addresses a young man who is about to try the world ; he 
 too considers the effect on the character of Chesterfield's 
 refining pleasures, and says : — 
 
 *I wave the quantum o' the sin, 
 
 The hazard of concealing ; 
 
 But, och ! it hardens a' within, 
 
 And petrifies the feeling.' 
 
 How wisely too does he oppose the whole aim of Chesterfield's 
 endeavours, not neglecting prudence, industry and thrift, but 
 directing them to their proper end. 
 
 *To catch dame Fortune's golden smile, 
 
 Assiduous wait upon her; 
 And gather gear by ev'ry wile 
 
 That's justified by honour : 
 Not for to hide it in a hedge. 
 
 Nor for a train-attendant; 
 But for the glorious privilege 
 
 Of being independent/ 
 
 However strongly we abhor one side of Chesterfield's 
 teaching, nevertheless we are touched at times by the restless 
 attention with which even in the smallest matters he directed 
 his son's education. * Where you are concerned,' he wrote to 
 him, * I am the insatiable man in Horace, who covets still a 
 little corner more to complete the figure of his field. I dread 
 every little corner that may deform mine, in which I would 
 have (if possible) no one defect \' His boy was to him what 
 a few years earlier the Prussian army had been to the father of 
 Frederick the Great. ^ The King,' writes Mr. Carlyle, * watched 
 over it like an Argus, with eyes that reached everywhere. 
 Discipline shall be as exact as Euclid — short of perfection we 
 do not stop. Discipline and ever better discipline; enforce- 
 
 ^ Letters^ ii. 107. 
 
 ment 
 
Jnttobtxcdon. xli 
 
 ment of the rule in all points, improvement of the rule itself 
 where possible, were the great Drill-sergeant's continual care. 
 Daily had some loop fallen, which might have gone ravelling 
 far enough ; but daily was he there to pick it up again, and 
 keep the web unrent and solidly progressive \' So, too, 
 Chesterfield was ever on the watch for the slightest failing, 
 and was ever trying, whenever he discovered one, to find for it 
 its proper remedy. 
 
 With the result of his anxious training of twenty years, it was 
 scarcely possible that he should not have been disappointed, 
 even if his son had been a far abler man than nature had made 
 him. He had pitched his hopes unreasonably high. There 
 were but two Secretaries of State, and he was bent on making 
 his boy one of them. His failure, great though it was com- 
 pared with his expectations, has been exaggerated, through the 
 delight which mankind takes in contrasts. Young Stanhope 
 has been represented as a cub who could not be licked into 
 any kind of shape. He had passed through the world, so far 
 as we know, undistinguished by peculiarities of any kind. In 
 all probability it was not till his father's letters were published 
 that anyone gave a thought to his manners. Then, no doubt, 
 everyone who had ever seen him at once began to measure 
 him in his memory, not by the standard of an ordinary English 
 gentleman, but of the Graces. The grossness of his manners 
 was called to mind. Horace Walpole has recorded a story of 
 his behaviour on his first return from France, which must be 
 untrue. Whatever credit I might have been inclined to give 
 it as coming from him, at once disappeared when I discovered 
 that he had copied it from the GentlemarCs Magazine, It was 
 one of those ' wandering lies ' which were sure to spring up, and 
 to be accepted as true, in spite of their inherent incredibility. 
 
 ^ Carlyle's Friedrich, ed. 1858, i. 577. 
 
 ' Lord 
 
xHi Jnttobnction. 
 
 ' Lord Chesterfield/ it was said, * had invited several of his 
 friends to dinner, with a view probably of displaying the ac- 
 complishments of his son. The youth was unfortunately so 
 delighted with a cherry tart, that after he had demolished the 
 crust and fruit, unwilling to lose any of the juice, he cleared 
 his plate by lapping or licking it up, so that the chin, mouth 
 and lips were besmeared. Never perhaps was his father more 
 mortified. He recovered himself, however, so far as to tell his 
 son's servant that his master wanted shaving ^' For some 
 years previously young Stanhope, in his residence abroad, had 
 mixed with the highest society in the various countries in 
 which he had stayed. The last seven months he had spent 
 in Paris, on terms of great intimacy with Lord Chesterfield's 
 friends. He had been the guest of some of the finest ladies, 
 and of the English ambassador. It is absurd to suppose that 
 a young man fresh from such society would lap up his sirup as 
 if he were a ploughboy. What he wanted was not the ordinary 
 decencies of life, but that easy and graceful manner which art 
 can improve, but which nature alone can give. That there was 
 nothing gross in his behaviour, is shown by the description 
 which his father gave of him at this time. ' My young man,' he 
 wrote to a friend, * has been with me here this fortnight, and in 
 most respects I am very well satisfied with him; his knowledge 
 is sound and extensive, and by all that I have yet observed his 
 heart is what I could wish it. But for his air and manners 
 Paris has still a great deal to do. He stoops excessively, which 
 I have known some very pretty fellows do, though he dances 
 very well ; and as to manners, the easy and genteel turn d^un 
 honnete homme is yet very much wanting ^.' To dance well in 
 those days implied a great deal. ^ Que de choses dans un me- 
 
 • Gentleman's Magazine^ I774j P- 320, and Philobiblon^ xi. 38. 
 ^ Misc, Works y iv. 353. 
 
 nuet !' 
 
^nttobuction. xHii 
 
 nuet ! ' had exclaimed his dancing-master in a transport of 
 enthusiasm. It was the famous Marcel under whom he had 
 studied that art — Marcel, who had said to one of his English 
 pupils, * Monsieur, on saute dans les autres pays; on ne danse 
 qu' a Paris \' If Stanhope danced well enough to win Lord 
 Chesterfield's praises, he could not have been remarkable for 
 his awkwardness. 
 
 Like his father, he had a short, thick clumsy figure ; perhaps 
 too he had his * shrill scream ^' Johnson, so the story ran, 
 seeing him in Dodsley's shop, * was so much struck with his 
 awkward manners and appearance, that he could not help 
 asking Mr. Dodsley who he was ^.' Boswell, who had met him 
 abroad, thus writes of him : — * He has been called dull, gross, 
 and awkward ; but I knew him at Dresden, when he was envoy 
 to that Court, and though he could not boast of the graces, he 
 was in truth a sensible, civil, well-behaved man *.' Though he 
 failed in Parliament, he was not unsuccessful as a diplomatist. 
 
 When he was resident at Hamburgh, he more than once won 
 the king's approval by his dispatches ^. He had risen to be 
 Envoy Extraordinary to Saxony when he was cut off by death 
 at the age of thirty-seven. Had he recovered from his illness 
 he would have received ^ the character and the pay of 
 Plenipotentiary^.' It is highly probable that his life was 
 shortened by his early training. In his boyhood, if he had 
 not been overworked, he had been robbed of that joyous free- 
 dom which is one of the foundations of health. He had had 
 a dangerous attack on the lungs, from which he had not long 
 
 ^ Mahon's Chesterfield's Letters, ii. 82. 
 
 ^ Lord Hervey's Memoirs of George II y i. 96, and Diary of Mary, 
 Countess Coivper, p. 145. 
 ^ Johnson's Works, ed. 1 787, xi. 209. 
 
 * Boswell'sy^/^^^j-^;/, i. 266. ^ Letters, iv. 89, 105, 118, 175. 
 
 * Supplement to Chesterfield's Z^^/^rj to his Son, p. 116. 
 
 recovered, 
 
xliv Jnttobviction. 
 
 recovered, when he was exhorted by the very man who should 
 have restrained him, to indulge freely in licentious pleasures. 
 At the age of twenty he was described by his father as a dissi- 
 pated young fellow ^ His health soon began to fail, and twice 
 at least Chesterfield wrote to urge him to be moderate in his 
 indulgences ^ He seems to have been too fond also of the 
 pleasures of the table, and was ' encumbered with flesh ^' He 
 suffered from asthma, and its common companion, gout. His 
 disorders ended in dropsy, which quickly carried him off. He 
 had been told to make pleasure his business ; he found out too 
 late that it is a business in which a man may become a poor 
 and broken bankrupt. He might perhaps have lived longer 
 had he been allowed to take part in those field-sports which 
 his father had heartily despised, 'as the resources of little 
 minds, who either do not think, or do not love to think, and 
 as infinitely below the honest and industrious professions of 
 a tailor and a shoemaker ^' 
 
 How deeply Lord Chesterfield was affected by his son's 
 death we do not know. There is no allusion to his loss in 
 his published letters. It had been a part of his philosophy, he 
 boasted, ' to make the best of the best, and to never make bad 
 worse by fretting. We have but a bad bargain, God knows, 
 of this life, and patience is the only way not to make bad 
 worse ^.' He had bodily sufferings of his own to bear, in 
 which would be lost much of the sorrow which might other- 
 wise have been felt. Writing to a friend, he said : — ' Nature 
 has laid very heavy taxes upon old age, and I must pay my 
 share of them, be it what it will I' Ten years before his son's 
 death, and fifteen years before his own, he was ' often wishing 
 
 ^ Misc. Works J iv. 127. ^ Letters , iv. 174, and Mahon's ed. v. 474. 
 
 ^ Hawkins's Life of Johnson, p. 181. * Letters, ii. 26, 154; iii. 220. 
 
 ^ Lb. iv. 180, 234. ^ Misc. Works, iv. 323. 
 
 for 
 
^nttobvLction. xlv 
 
 for the end of the wretched remnant of his Hfe ; that fag-end 
 from which he could expect no pleasure, and others no utility ^' 
 
 In the midst of his fine house and gardens at Blackheath, 
 *he was but the ghost of his former self, walking there in 
 silence and solitude as becomes a ghost.' By his deafness 
 he had long been cut off from social life, 'the only rational 
 pleasure which at his age he could have ; ' so that, he 
 continues, * I read my eyes out every day that I may not hang 
 myself^.' He was crippled with pains in all his limbs, and for 
 a time was troubled with the thought that it was a base 
 plebeian disorder which attacked him. ' I wish,' he wrote, * it 
 were a declared gout, which is the distemper of a gentleman ; 
 whereas the rheumatism is the distemper of a hackney-coach- 
 man or chairman, who are obliged to be out in all weathers 
 and at all hours.' He is too honest to fall foul of nature for 
 his sufferings. ' I cannot accuse her,' he said, ' for I abused 
 her ^.' He was not troubled in his conscience for his past hfe. 
 He had done nothmg unworthy of the perfection of human 
 nature, as he understood it. ' I do not regret,' he told his son, 
 * the time that I passed in pleasures ; they were seasonable, they 
 were the pleasures of youth, and I enjoyed them while young V 
 
 Besides his philosophy and his ailments, he had another and 
 a better support under the blow which had fallen upon him, in 
 the hopes which he had formed for the child who was to 
 succeed him in his title and estates. He began by his letters 
 to train him as he had trained his son, and he showed the 
 same kindliness and the same mixture of the knowledge and 
 ignorance of human nature. As he had chosen an awkward 
 pedant, a man who delighted in a pompous style, to prepare 
 his son for the hfe of a statesman, so he chose a licentious and 
 
 ^ Letters iv. 125, 155. ^ lb. iv. 182, 272. ^ lb. iv. 132, 233. 
 
 * lb, i. 315. 
 
 showy 
 
xlvi Jnttobxxction. 
 
 showy hypocrite to bring up his godson in a Hfe of virtue. 
 He would not put the child, he said, in a public school, * where 
 religious and moral obligations are never heard of nor thought 
 of;' so he placed him under the care of the notorious Dr. 
 Dodd, *a man,' as he described him, *of unexceptional 
 character and very great learning \' Here Chesterfield's life- 
 long insincerity bore its natural fruit ; he had so little cleared 
 his own mind of cant, that he could not detect the cant of 
 others. Had it come to him in the familiar shape of a 
 courtier he would, no doubt, have seen through it, but in a 
 new form it escaped his detection. It was in vain that Dodd 
 had sought for admission into the Literary Club. * He had 
 canted all his life,' said Johnson; the men of that Club, if 
 they had not ' pried into the recesses of the heart,' had quick 
 eyes and quick ears for cant. Among them was Dr. Douglas, 
 'the scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks,' and Oliver 
 Goldsmith, who had written of Douglas, 
 
 * But now he is gone, and we want a detector, 
 Our Dodds shall be pious, our Kenricks shall lecture^.' 
 
 How different was the choice which had been made only 
 three years earlier of a tutor for the young Duke of Buccleuch. 
 Charles Townshend, a greater wit than Chesterfield, a man who, 
 according to Hume, * passed for the cleverest man in England,' 
 *the most brilliant and versatile of mankind,' as Macaulay 
 describes him, was so struck with Adam Smith's Theory of 
 Moral Sentiments^ that he resolved to put the young nobleman 
 under the charge of that great philosopher. For three years 
 the master and pupil lived together abroad, and formed a 
 friendship which was only broken by death ^ Had Chesterfield 
 
 ^ Chesterfield's Letters to his Godson, 2nd ed. pp. 323, 363. 
 
 ^ BosweH'syi^/i^^i"^^, iii. 139, n, 4, 280. 
 
 2 Dugald Stewart's Life of Adam Smith, ed. i8n, pp. 58, 73. 
 
 known 
 
Jtitxobuction. xlvii 
 
 known mankind and not merely * the world,' he too might 
 have covered himself and his godson with honour by selecting 
 a man whose fame would have imparted radiance to their 
 ancient lineage. 
 
 How ignorant he was of that human nature which he pro- 
 fessed to have so deeply studied, he showed also in the kind 
 of instruction which he thought fit for a child. To his son, 
 a little boy of seven or eight years old, he had given some 
 verses to commit to memory about * ravished eyes ' and seeking 
 ' a nymph more kind.' To his godson, when he was not yet 
 six, he sent a copy of Dryden's noble lines on the vanity of life. 
 At an age when the child should have been singing of Jack 
 and Jill and Poor Cock Robin, he was bidden to get by heart 
 
 ' I'm tired of seeking for this chymick gold, 
 Which fools us young, and beggars us when old^' 
 
 Who can wonder that when he grew up to manhood his talk 
 
 was of bullocks ? 
 
 These letters come to a close when young Stanhope was but 
 
 fourteen. Had they been continued till he reached manhood, 
 
 in all likelihood we should have seen the whole scheme of 
 
 perfection once more unfolded ; for his godfather, with the 
 
 help of the learned and pious Dodd, was bent * on guiding 
 
 him to the highest pitch of perfection that imperfect human 
 
 nature will allow ^.' He strove to give him, as he had striven 
 
 to give his son, ^ learning enough to distinguish himself in 
 
 Parliament, and manners to shine in Courts.' As formerly 
 
 he had left the learning to Mr. Harte, so now he left it to 
 
 Dr. Dodd. * The manners,' he said, * I shall undertake myself, 
 
 from my long experience and knowledge of the ways of the 
 
 world ^' When the child was but nine years old, he began to 
 
 * * I'm tired wz^A waiting,^ &c. Aurengzebe^ act iv. sc. i. 
 ^ Chesterfield's Letters to his Godson^ pp. 263, 304. ^ lb. p. 259. 
 
 address 
 
xlviil Jnttohxxctxon. 
 
 address to him a series of fourteen letters * upon the Dufy^ the 
 Utility^ and the Means of pleasing/ These he was to read 
 twice over and to keep by him. He bids the little urchin, 
 whose mouth perhaps was smeared with toffee, ^ to have always, 
 as much as he could, that air de douceur and gentleness in his 
 countenance and abord, which never fails to make favourable 
 impressions.' He is told that * fools and knaves are too great 
 a majority to contend with, and that their numbers make them 
 formidable. Show them a reserved civility, and let them not 
 exist with regard to you.' He is * to aim at the best society — 
 those societies of men or women, or a mixture of both, where 
 great politeness, good breeding and decency, though perhaps 
 not always virtue, prevail. Women of fashion and character 
 (I do not mean absolutely unblemished) are a necessary 
 ingredient in the composition of good company.' * Every 
 woman is to be addressed with flattery. Make the dose 
 strong, it will be greedily swallowed.' The old receipt is 
 given for pleasing universally. ' Address yourself to the 
 passions and weaknesses of men and women, gain their hearts, 
 and then let their reason do its worst against you.' In what- 
 ever pleasures he engages, though perhaps not of a very 
 laudable kind, he is to take care to preserve a great personal 
 dignity. ' Let your moral character of honesty and honour be 
 unblemished, and even unsuspected; I have known some 
 people dignify even their vices, first by never boasting of 
 them, and next by not practising them in an illiberal and 
 indecent manner \' In the last of his letters he touches on 
 pleasure in just the same way that he had touched on it to 
 his son, when he was still a boy. To him he had written : — 
 ' Whatever your pleasures may be, I neither can nor shall 
 envy you them, as old people are sometimes suspected by 
 
 ^ Letters, pp. 165, 172, 173, 176, 183, 190. 
 
 young 
 
^nttobxxcdon. xlix 
 
 young people to do ; and I shall only lament if they should 
 prove such as are unbecoming a man of honour, or below 
 a man of sense ^.' In like manner he wrote to his godson : — 
 ' I would have you lead a youth of pleasures ; but then, for 
 your sake, I would have them elegant pleasures, becoming a 
 man of sense and a gentleman ; they will never sully nor 
 disgrace your character^.' Had he carried on the corre- 
 spondence a few years longer he would have shown, we may 
 well believe, that it is not unbecoming in a man of sense and 
 a gentleman to corrupt his neighbour's wife, provided that she 
 is a woman of fashion and he does it elegantly. 
 
 He had formed his scheme of the whole duty of man 
 deliberately. It was the combined result of his reading, of his 
 observations of life, and of his reflections. It was no specious 
 justification for pleasures which in his heart he felt to be 
 disgraceful. There is nothing to show that the approach of 
 death brought him nearer to the light. The closing years, with 
 their weaknesses and troubles, may soften a man who had 
 known the better path, but who had left it through passion, and 
 in his wanderings had become hardened. They leave him 
 untouched whose understanding has been at fault. They may 
 change the heart, but they can do nothing for the head. 
 
 Base though the purpose is which runs through his Letters 
 to his Son, they contain nevertheless many a lesson of shrewd- 
 ness and some even of wisdom. He is the Polonius, the 
 degenerate Polonius, of the eighteenth century — * a man bred in 
 Courts, exercised in business, stored with observation, confident 
 of his knowledge, and proud of his eloquence ^' With his 
 wisdom there is mingled so much that is mean, that among 
 young men the nobler minds would be apt to reject what 
 
 ^ Letters to his Son, i. 293. 2 Letters to his Godson, p. 308. 
 
 ^ Johnson's Shakespeare^ ed. 1765, viii. 183. 
 
 is 
 
Jnttobxxction. 
 
 is good in their scorn of what is bad. They would throw the 
 book from them in just indignation. Others, who kept a 
 weaker hold on truth, seduced by the splendid rewards which 
 attend on the noble art of universally pleasing, would be 
 tempted to sacrifice sincerity on the altar of the Graces. These 
 Letters^ therefore, are not likely to be studied with profit by the 
 young. Carlyle, who read them at the age of twenty, spoke 
 of them with great contempt. * This Lord's directions 
 concerning washing the face and paring the nails,' he said, 
 ' are indeed very praiseworthy ; but the flattery, the dissimula- 
 tion and paltry cunning that he is perpetually recommending, 
 leave one little room to regret that Chesterfield was not 
 his father ^.' Nevertheless there was in them a lesson of 
 conciliation, which, studied and mastered, would have rendered 
 life far happier both for Carlyle and for all about him. Of that 
 suaviter in modo which formed the text of many of his lordship's 
 sermons the rugged Scotchman knew nothing. 
 
 With men of riper years, who take a delight in the study of 
 character, and who have a lively perception of the excellencies 
 of style, Chesterfield is likely to be a favourite author. 
 Nevertheless it was maintained by Macaulay — no mean judge 
 of the merits of the writers of the eighteenth century — that 
 * the utmost that can be said of the letters is that they are the 
 letters of a cleverish man ; and there are not many which 
 are entitled even to that praise.' * Lord Chesterfield,' he 
 asserted on another occasion, * stands much lower in the 
 estimation of posterity than he would have done if they 
 had never been published ^.' Had they never been published 
 posterity, I believe, would have estimated him not by his 
 
 ^ Early Letters of Thomas Carlyle, ed. by C. E. Norton, i. 70. 
 2 Trevelyan's Life of Macaulay^ ed. 1877, i. 338 ; and Macaulay's j5'i"j"^7^, 
 ed. 1874, ii. 105. 
 
 reputation 
 
Jntxobxiction. 
 
 reputation as a statesman or an orator, or a wit, but by the 
 indelible marks set upon him by Johnson. He would have 
 been the wit among lords ; the patron who supplanted the 
 garret in a famous line ' — the patron who delayed his notice 
 till the uncourtly scholar was indifferent, and could not enjoy 
 it ; was solitary, and could not impart it ; was known, and did 
 not want it. What does posterity know of Lord Carteret? 
 Yet Chesterfield said of him, * When he dies the ablest head 
 in England dies too, take it for all in alP .' What does it know 
 of Charles Townshend, that luminary which arose while the 
 western horizon was in a blaze with the descending glory 
 of Chatham, and for his hour became lord of the ascendant ? ^ 
 That Chesterfield lives not merely in the pages of our histories, 
 but in our memory and our thoughts, is greatly due to these 
 letters. They are far more than the productions of a cleverish 
 man. However much they offend by their immorality, yet 
 surely they bear the certain marks of genius. Landor thought 
 him in point of style one of the best of our writers *. Voltaire 
 praised him for his gracefulness, in which quality, he said, 
 perhaps no Englishman surpassed him ^. 
 
 Without his Letters^ Lord Chesterfield's reputation as a 
 literary man would have rested on his fugitive pieces — those 
 
 ^ ' In the tenth satire, one of the couplets upon the vanity of wishes even 
 for literary distinction stood thus : — 
 
 " Yet think what ills the scholar's life assail, 
 Toil, envy, want, the garret, and the jail." 
 But after experiencing the uneasiness which Lord Chesterfield's fallacious 
 patronage made him feel, he dismissed the word garret from the sad group, 
 and in all the subsequent editions the line stands : — 
 
 •' Toil, envy, want, the Patron and the jail." ' 
 'SiO%yN€^'s> Johnson, i. 264. 
 ^ Letters, iv. 195. 
 
 ^ Burke's Speech on American Taxation, Clarendon Press edition, p. 146. 
 * Forster's Life of W, S. Landor, ed. 1874, i- 350- 
 ^ CEuvres de Voltaire, ed. 1821, Ixi. 175. 
 
 light 
 
Hi Jnttobxxction. 
 
 light and often frivolous essays which he contributed to the 
 World and other journals. They have long sunk into the 
 neglect which they deserved. He who would know him at his 
 best must read his Letters, and not be content with selections 
 from them. There is a charm in the epistolary style which is 
 lost in extracts. Nevertheless * a very pretty book,' it has been 
 thought, might be made by a judicious choice of the most 
 striking passages. This task I have taken in hand at the 
 request of the Delegates of the Clarendon Press. I have been 
 glad to have the opportunity of stating at some length the 
 views which I have formed of this famous nobleman, * the 
 undisputed sovereign of wit and fashion.' Much that I had 
 wished to say I have been forced to omit through fear of 
 unduly extending this Preface. I may perhaps in another 
 Essay take up the subject again, and complete my task. 
 
 G. B. H. 
 
 Oxford, July 9, 1890. 
 
LORD CHESTERFIELD, 
 
 [1694-1773.] 
 
 Absence of Mind. 
 
 No man is distrait with the man he fears, or the woman 
 he loves; which is a proof that every man can get the 
 better of that distraction^ when he thinks it worth his while 
 to do so ; and, take my word for it, it is always worth his 
 while. For my own part, I would rather be in company 
 with a dead man, than with an absent one ; for if the dead 
 man gives me no pleasure, at least he shows me no con- 
 tempt ; whereas the absent man, silently indeed, but very 
 plainly, tells me that he does not think me worth his 
 attention. Besides, can an absent man make any obser- 
 vations upon the characters, customs, and manners of the 
 company ? No. He may be in the best companies all his 
 life-time (if they will admit him, which, if I were they, I 
 would not) and never be one jot the wiser. I never will 
 converse with an absent man ; one may as well talk to a 
 deaf one. It is, in truth, a practical blunder, to address 
 ourselves to a man, who we see plainly, neither hears, 
 minds, nor understands us. Moreover, I aver that no man 
 
 B is, 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
;; : <E6sence of QtlinS* 
 
 is, in any degree, fit for either business or conversation, who 
 cannot, and does not, direct and command his attention to 
 the present object, be that what it will. 
 
 Letters to his Son, ii. 216. 
 
 • • 
 
 You have often seen, and I have as often made you 
 observe L . . . 's ^ distinguished inattention and awkward- 
 ness. Wrapped up, like a Laputan, in intense thought, and 
 possibly, sometimes, in no thought at all ; which, I believe, 
 is very often the case of absent people ; he does not know 
 his most intimate acquaintance by sight, or answers them as 
 if he were at cross-purposes. He leaves his hat in one 
 room, his sword in another, and would leave his shoes in a 
 third, if his buckles, though awry, did not save them : his 
 legs and arms, by his awkward management of them, seem 
 to have undergone the Question extraordinaire ; and his 
 head, always hanging upon one or other of his shoulders, 
 seems to have received the first stroke upon a block. I 
 sincerely value and esteem him for his parts, learning, and 
 virtue; but, for the soul of me, I cannot love him in 
 company. /3. h. 219. 
 
 Be minutely attentive to the circumstances of time, place, 
 and persons, or you may happen to offend where you intend 
 to please, for people in what touches themselves, make no 
 allowance for slips or inadvertencies. To be distrait in 
 company is unpardonable, and implies a contempt for it, and 
 is not less ridiculous than offensive. There is little dif- 
 ference between a dead man and a distrait. What difference 
 
 ^ See post^ under A Respectable Hottentot. 
 
 there 
 
cSffecfafiom 
 
 there is, is entirely to the advantage of the former, whose 
 insensibihty everybody sees is not voluntary. Some people 
 most absurdly affect Distraction as thinking that it implies 
 deep thought and superior wisdom, but they are greatly 
 mistaken, for everybody knows, that if natural it is a great 
 weakness of the mind, and an egregious folly if affected. A 
 wise man instead of not using the senses which he has, 
 would wish them all to be multiplied, in order to see 
 and hear at once whatever is said or done in company. 
 
 Letters to his Godson^ p. 170. 
 
 Actors. 
 
 What is the constant and just observation, as to all actors 
 upon the stage? Is it not, that those who have the best 
 sense always speak the best, though they may happen not 
 
 to have the best voices ? Letters to his Son, ii. IS. 
 
 Affectation. 
 
 Carefully avoid all affectation either of mind or body. 
 It is a very true and a very trite observation that no Man is 
 ridiculous for being what he really is, but for affecting to be 
 what he is not \ No Man is awkward by nature, but by 
 affecting to be genteel ; and I have known many a man of 
 common sense pass generally for a fool, because he affected 
 a degree of wit that God had denied him. 
 
 Letters to his Godson, p. 193. 
 
 ^ ' Monsieur de la Rochefoucanlt very justly observes that people are 
 never ridiculous from their real but from their affected characters/ 
 Chesterfield's Miscellaneous Works, ii. 87. 
 
 B2 The 
 
M^cctation. 
 
 The blockhead who affects wisdom because nature has 
 given him dulness, becomes ridiculous only by his adopted 
 character ; whereas he might have stagnated unobserved in 
 his native mud, or perhaps have engrossed deeds, collected 
 shells \ and studied heraldry or logic with some success. 
 
 Miscellaneous Works, ii. 276. 
 
 The Affectation of any Single Virtue. 
 
 Suspect, in general, those who remarkably affect any one 
 virtue; who raise it above all others, and who, in a manner, 
 intimate that they possess it exclusively. I say suspect 
 them ; for they are commonly impostors : but do not be 
 sure that they are always so ; for I have sometimes known 
 saints really religious, blusterers really brave, reformers of 
 manners really honest, and prudes really chaste. 
 
 Letters to his Son, ii. 301. 
 
 The Ancients. 
 
 Some men, to show their learning, or often from the pre- 
 judices of a school-education, where they hear of nothing 
 else, are always talking of the Ancients, as something more 
 than men, and of the Moderns as something less. They 
 are never without a Classic or two in their pockets ; they 
 
 ^ Johnson shared in this contempt for the collectors of natural 
 curiosities, though at the same time he admitted their usefulness. * Col- 
 lections of this kind,' he said, * are of use to the learned, as heaps of stones 
 and piles of timber are necessary to the architect. To mean understandings 
 it is sufficient honour to be numbered amongst the lowest labourers of 
 learning, but different abilities must find different tasks. To hew stone 
 would have been unworthy of Palladio, and to have rambled in search 
 of shells and flowers had but ill suited with the capacity of Newton.* 
 The Rambler^ No. 83. The days of Darwin were yet to come. 
 
 stick 
 
<2lpj)eatrance0* 
 
 stick to the old good sense ; they read none of the modern 
 trash ; and will 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 acquantance with the Ancients ; but still less would I 
 have you brag of an exclusive intimacy with them. Speak 
 of the Moderns without contempt, and of the Ancients 
 without idolatry ; judge them all by their merits, but not by 
 their ages : and, if you happen to have an Elzevir classic in 
 your pocket, neither show it nor mention it. 
 
 Letters to his Son, i. 320. 
 
 Appearances: men governed by them. 
 
 Mankind, as I have often told you, is more governed by 
 appearances, than by realities : and, with regard to opinion, 
 one had better be really rough and hard, with the appear- 
 ance of gentleness and softness, than just the reverse. Few 
 people have penetration enough to discover, attention enough 
 to observe, or even concern enough to examine, beyond the 
 exterior; they take their notions from the surface, and go 
 no deeper; they commend, as the gentlest and best-natured 
 man in the world, that man who has the most engaging 
 exterior manner, though possibly they have been but once 
 in his company. An air, a tone of voice, a composure 
 of countenance to mildness and softness, which are all 
 easily acquired, do the business; and without farther 
 examination, and possibly with the contrary qualities, that 
 man is reckoned the gentlest, the modestest, and the best- 
 natured man alive. Happy the man who, with a certain 
 fund of parts and knowledge, gets acquainted with the 
 world early enough to make it his bubble, at an age, when 
 
 most 
 
dElp}?eatrance0 of (^efigion* 
 
 most people are the bubbles of the world ! for that is the 
 common case of youth. They grow wiser, when it is too 
 late : and, ashamed and vexed at having been bubbles so 
 long, too often turn knaves at last. Do not therefore trust 
 to appearances and outside yourself, but pay other people 
 with them ; because you may be sure that nine in ten of 
 mankind do, and ever will, trust to them. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 175. 
 
 Appearances of Religion and Morality. 
 
 I shall confine myself, in this letter, to the decency, the 
 utihty, and the necessity, of scrupulously preserving the 
 appearances of religion and morality. When I say the 
 appearances of religion, I do not mean that you should talk 
 or act like a Missionary, or an Enthusiast, nor that you 
 should take up a controversial cudgel against whoever 
 attacks the sect you are of; this would be both useless, 
 and unbecoming your age : but I mean that you should by 
 no means seem to approve, encourage, or applaud, those 
 libertine notions, which strike at religions equally, and 
 which are the poor threadbare topics of half- Wits, and 
 minute Philosophers. Even those who are silly enough to 
 laugh at their jokes, are still wise enough to distrust and 
 detest their characters : for, putting moral virtues at the 
 highest, and religion at the lowest, religion must still be 
 allowed to be a collateral security, at least, to Virtue ; and 
 every prudent man will sooner trust to two securities than 
 to one. Whenever, therefore, you happen to be in company 
 with those pretended esprit s forts ^ or with thoughtless 
 libertines, who laugh at all religion, to show their wit, or 
 
 disclaim 
 
3S.)ppiicci(ion^ to Qtliniefetre* 
 
 disclaim it, to complete their riot ; let no word or look of 
 yours intimate the least approbation ; on the contrary, let a 
 silent gravity express your dislike : but enter not into the 
 subject, and decline such unprofitable and indecent contro- 
 versies. Depend upon this truth, that every man is the 
 worse looked upon, and the less trusted, for being thought 
 to have no religion ; in spite of all the pompous and specious 
 epithets he may assume, of esprit fort^ free-thinker, or moral 
 philosopher; and a wise atheist (if such a thing there is) 
 would, for his own interest, and character in this world, 
 pretend to some religion \ Letters to his Son, ii. 312. 
 
 Applications to Ministers. 
 
 Never apply for what you see very little probability of 
 obtaining ; for you will, by asking improper and unattainable 
 things, accustom the Ministers to refuse you so often, that 
 they will find it easy to refuse the properest, and most 
 reasonable ones. It is a common, but a most mistaken rule 
 at Court, to ask for every thing in order to get something : 
 you do get something by it, it is true ; but that something, 
 is, refusals and ridicule. ib. iv. 301. 
 
 Armies. 
 
 Armies, though always the supporters and tools of abso- 
 lute power for the time being, are always the destroyers of 
 
 1 Hume, being consulted about a young man who was ' a sort of 
 disciple ' of his own, but was thinking of taking orders in the English 
 Church, wrote back :— * If the thing were worthy being treated gravely, 
 I should tell him that the Pythian oracle, with the approbation of 
 Xenophon, advised everyone to worship the gods — vo/xa) iroXias, 
 I wish it were still in my power to be a hypocrite in this particular.' 
 Letters of Hume to W, Strahan^ p. 218. 
 
 it 
 
3R.((cn(ion. 
 
 it too; by frequently changing the hands in which they 
 
 think proper to lodge it. betters to Ms Son, iv. 38. 
 
 Assurance. 
 
 A steady assurance, with seeming modesty, is possibly 
 the most useful qualification that a man can have in every 
 part of life. n,. m. 61. 
 
 Attention. 
 
 Without attention nothing is to be done : want of atten- 
 tion, which is really want of thought, is either folly or mad- 
 ness. You should not only have attention to every thing, 
 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 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 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. 73. i. 181. 
 
 There is no surer sign in the world of a little, weak mind, 
 than inattention. Whatever is worth doing at all, is worth 
 doing well ; and nothing can be done well without attention. 
 It is the sure answer of a fool, when you ask him about any 
 thing that was said or done, where he was present, that, 
 
 ^ truly 
 
!a66fin5 Coun^enancee^ 
 
 ' truly he did not mind it.' And why did not the fool mind 
 it ? What had he else to do there, but to mind what was 
 doing? A man of sense, sees, hears, and retains, every 
 thing 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 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. Letters to his Son, i. 228. 
 
 Babbling Countenances. 
 
 People, unused to the world, have babbling counten- 
 ances ; and are unskilful enough to show, what they have 
 sense enough not to tell. In the course of the world, a 
 man must very often put on an easy, frank countenance, upon 
 very disagreeable occasions; he must seem pleased, when 
 he is very much otherwise ; he must be able to accost and 
 receive with smiles, those whom he would much rather 
 meet with swords. In Courts he must not turn himself 
 inside out. All this may, nay must be done, without 
 falsehood and treachery : for it must go no farther than 
 politeness and manners, and must stop short of assurances 
 and professions of simulated friendship. Good manners, to 
 those one does not love, are no more a breach of truth, than 
 ' your humble servant,' at the bottom of a challenge is ; 
 they are universally agreed upon, and understood, to be 
 things of course. They are necessary guards of the decency 
 and peace of society : they must only act defensively ; and 
 
 then 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
Be0 6ien0eance0. 
 
 then not with arms poisoned with perfidy. Truth, but not 
 the whole truth, must be the invariable principle of every 
 man, who hath either religion, honour, or prudence. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 298. 
 
 Les bienseances. 
 
 There is a bienseance with regard to people of the lowest 
 degree ; a gentleman observes it with his footman, even with 
 the beggar in the street. He considers them as objects 
 of compassion, not of insult ; he speaks to neither d'un ton 
 brusque^ but corrects the one coolly, and refuses the other 
 with humanity. There is no one occasion in the world, in 
 which le ton brusque is becoming a gentleman. In short, 
 les bienseances are another word for manners^ and extend to 
 every part of life. They are propriety ; the Graces should 
 attend in order to complete them : the Graces enable us to 
 do, genteelly and pleasingly, what les bienseances require to 
 be done at all. The latter are an obligation upon every 
 man ; the former are an infinite advantage and ornament to 
 any man. May you unite both ! n. m. 207. 
 
 Birth. 
 
 The vulgar distinction between people of birth and 
 people of NO BIRTH will probably puzzle the critics and 
 antiquaries of the thirtieth or fortieth centuries, when, in 
 their judicious or laborious researches into the customs and 
 manners of these present times, they shall have reason to 
 suppose, that in the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth 
 centuries, the island of Great Britain was inhabited by two 
 sorts of people, some born, but the much greater number 
 UNBORN. The fact will appear so incredible^ that it will 
 
 certainly 
 
)OOft0* 
 
 II 
 
 certainly be believed \ the only difficulty will be how to 
 account for it ; and that, as it commonly does, will engross 
 
 the attention of the learned. Miscellaneous Works, ii. 269. 
 
 Books. 
 
 Due attention to the inside of books, and due contempt 
 for the outside, is the proper relation between a man of 
 
 sense and his books. Letters to his Son, ii. 127. 
 
 Buy good books, and read them ; the best books are the 
 commonest, and the last editions are always the best, if the 
 editors are not blockheads ; for they may profit of the 
 former. But take care not to understand editions and title- 
 pages too well. It always smells of pedantry, and not always 
 of learning. ib, ii. 354- 
 
 • • 
 
 I read with more pleasure than ever ; perhaps, because it 
 is the only pleasure I have left. For, since I am struck out 
 of living company by my deafness, I have recourse to the 
 dead, whom alone I can hear ; and I have assigned them 
 their stated hours of audience '^o\\d folios are the people 
 of business, with whom I converse in the morning. Quartos 
 are the easier mixed company, with whom I sit after dinner ; 
 and I pass my evenings in the light, and often frivolous, 
 chit-chat of small octavos and duodecimos. 
 
 Miscellaneous Works, iv. 271. 
 
 If people bought no more books than they intended to 
 read, and no more swords than they intended to use, the two 
 
 worst 
 
 J 
 
(g»ooft0 Ani> tU (?E)o»^fJ>. 
 
 worst trades in Europe would be a bookseller's and a 
 sword-cutler's ; but luckily for both they are reckoned 
 
 genteel ornaments. Miscellaneous Works, iv. Appendix, p. 77. 
 
 Books and the World. 
 
 / A man, who, without a good fund of knowledge and 
 
 // parts, adopts a Court life, makes the most ridiculous figure 
 
 j] imaginable. He is a machine, little superior to the Court 
 
 / clock ; and, as this points out the hours, he points out the 
 
 • frivolous employment of them. He is, at most, a comment 
 
 upon the clock ; and, according to the hours that it strikes, 
 
 tells you, now it is levee, now dinner, now supper time, &c. 
 
 The end which I propose by your education is, to unite in 
 
 you all the knowledge of a Scholar, with the manners of 
 
 a Courtier ; and to join, what is seldom joined in any of my 
 
 countrymen, Books and the World. They are commonly 
 
 twenty years old before they have spoken to any body above 
 
 their Schoolmaster, and the Fellows of their college. If 
 
 they happen to have learning, it is only Greek and Latin ; 
 
 but not one word of Modern History, or Modern Languages. 
 
 Thus prepared, they go abroad, as they call it ; but, in 
 
 truth, they stay at home all that while ; for being very 
 
 awkward, confoundedly ashamed, and not speaking the 
 
 languages, they go into no foreign company, at least none 
 
 good; but dine and sup with one another only, at the 
 
 tavern. Letters to his SoJt, i. 351. 
 
 The Boundaries of Right. 
 
 The sure characteristic of a sound and strong mind, is, to 
 find, in every thing, those certain bounds, quos ultra citrave 
 
 nequit 
 
(^ucRe (xnb Q^fooie* 
 
 ^3 
 
 nequit consistere rectum'^. These boundaries are marked 
 out by a very fine line, which only good sense and attention 
 can discover ; it is much too fine for vulgar eyes. In 
 Manners, this line is Good-breeding ; beyond it, is trouble- 
 some ceremony ; short of it, is unbecommg negligence and 
 inattention. In Morals, it divides ostentatious Puritanism, 
 from criminal Relaxation. In Religion, Superstition from 
 Impiety ; and, in short, every virtue from its kindred vice or 
 weakness. I think you have sense enough to discover the 
 line : keep it always in your eye, and learn to walk upon it ; 
 rest upon Mr. Harte, he will poise you, till you are able to 
 go alone. By the way, there are fewer people who walk well 
 upon that line, than upon the slack rope ; and therefore, a 
 good performer shines so much the more. 
 
 Letters to his Son, ii. 130. 
 
 Bucks and Bloods. 
 
 There are now two sorts of young fellows about town, 
 who call themselves Bucks and Bloods, They are very like 
 one another, being equally the sons of riot, and ill manners. 
 They are perpetually engaged in scrapes, assaults and 
 batteries ; they frequent infamous houses, and often pass 
 their nights in the Round-house ^ The choicest figures of 
 their rhetoric are oaths and curses, and their favourite curse 
 is Damn you. All things whether animate or inanimate, 
 that they dislike are damned things. Who gave these 
 
 ^ 'quos ultra citraque,' &c. — Horace Sat. i. i. 107. 
 
 ^ * Dr. Johnson told me that one night he was attacked in the street by 
 four men to whom he would not yield, but kept them all at bay till the 
 watch came up, and carried both him and them to the Round-house' — 
 Boswell's Life of Johnson^ ii. 299. 
 
 puppies 
 
14 
 
 ^\x^xnctf0 anb (pfeaeutre* 
 
 puppies authority to damn anything but themselves, which 
 they are indeed in a fair way of doing ? So that their curses, 
 thank God, are as absurd as they are wicked. 
 
 Letters to his Godson, p. 289. 
 
 Bullying and Bubbling. 
 
 Few are mean enough to be bulKed, though most are 
 weak enough to be bubbled. Letters to his Son, m. 296. 
 
 Business and Pleasure. 
 
 The man who cannot join business^ and pleasure, is either 
 a formal coxcomb in the one, or a sensual beast in the 
 other. lb. ii. 157. 
 
 Business requires no conjuration nor supernatural talents, 
 as people unacquainted with it are apt to think. Method, 
 diligence, and discretion, will carry a man, of good strong 
 common sense, much higher than the finest parts, without 
 them, can do. Par negotiis^ neque supra'^^ is the true 
 character of a man of business : but then it implies ready 
 attention, and no absences ; and a flexibility and versatility 
 of attention from one object to another, without being en- 
 grossed by any one. 
 
 Be upon your guard against the pedantry and affectation 
 of business, which young people are apt to fall into, from 
 the pride of being concerned in it young. They look 
 
 ^ By * business ' Chesterfield generally means the business of a man in 
 public life. 
 
 ^ Tacitus. — Annals vi. 39. 
 
 thoughtful, 
 
Cetretnonj* 
 
 15 
 
 thoughtful, complain of the weight of business, throw out 
 mysterious hints, and seem big with secrets which they 
 do not know. Do you, on the contrary, never talk of busi- 
 ness, but to those with whom you are to transact it ; and 
 learn to seem vacuus^ and idle, when you have the most 
 
 DUSmeSS. Letters to his Son, iii. 237. 
 
 Capitals. 
 
 Every thing is best at Capitals ; the best masters, the 
 best companies, and the best manners. Many other places 
 are worth seeing, but Capitals only are worth residing at. 
 
 lb. ii. 232. 
 
 Ceremony. 
 
 It is respectful to bow to the King of England, it is 
 disrespectful to bow to the King of France ; it is the rule 
 to curtsy to the Emperor ; and the prostration of the 
 whole body is required by Eastern Monarchs. These are 
 established ceremonies, and must be complied with ; but 
 why they were established, I defy sense and reason to tell 
 us. It is the same among all ranks, where certain customs 
 are received, and must necessarily be complied with, though 
 by no means the result of sense and reason. As for instance, 
 the very absurd, though almost universal custom of drinking 
 people's healths. Can there be any thing in the world less 
 relative to any other man's health, than my drinking a glass 
 of wine ? Common sense, certainly, never pointed it out ; 
 but yet common sense tells me I must conform to it. Good 
 sense, bids one be civil, and endeavour to please ; though 
 nothing but experience and observation can teach one the 
 means, properly adapted to time, place, and persons. This 
 
 knowledge 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
i6 
 
 Cetremon^. 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 knowledge is the true object of a gentleman's travelling, 
 if he travels as he ought to do. By frequenting good 
 company in every country, he himself becomes of every 
 country ; he is no longer an Englishman, a Frenchman, or 
 an Italian ; but he is an European : he adopts, respectively, 
 the best manners of every country ; and is a Frenchman at 
 Paris, an Italian at Rome, an Englishman at London. 
 
 Letters to his Son^ iii. 353. 
 • * 
 
 All ceremonies are in themselves very silly things ; but 
 yet, a man of the world should know them. They are the 
 outworks of Manners and Decency, which would be too 
 often broken in upon, if it were not for that defence, which 
 keeps the enemy at a proper distance. It is for that reason 
 that I always treat fools and coxcombs with great ceremony ; 
 true good-breeding not being a sufficient barrier against 
 
 them. lb, iv. 337. 
 
 • 
 
 Civihty is often attended by a ceremoniousness, which 
 good-breeding corrects but will not quite abolish. A 
 certain degree of ceremony is a necessary outwork of 
 manners as well as of Religion. It keeps the forward and 
 petulant at a proper distance, and is a very small restraint to 
 the sensible and the well-bred part of the world. 
 
 Letters to his Godson, p. 169. 
 
 Chapter of Accidents. 
 
 The chapter of knowledge is a very short, but the 
 chapter of accidents is a very long one. I will keep dipping 
 in it, for sometimes a concurrence of unknown and unfore- 
 seen 
 
t^atactct* 
 
 17 
 
 seen circumstances in the medicine and the disease may 
 produce an unexpected and lucky hit.' 
 
 Miscellaneous IVorks, iv. 136. 
 
 Character. 
 
 There is nothing so dehcate as your moral character, and 
 nothing which it is your interest so much to preserve pure. 
 Should you be suspected of Injustice, Malignity, Perfidy, 
 Lying, &c., all the parts and knowledge in the world will 
 never procure you esteem, friendship, or respect. A strange 
 concurrence of circumstances has sometimes raised very 
 bad men to high stations ; but they have been raised like 
 criminals to a pillory, where their persons and their crimes, 
 by being more conspicuous, are only the more known, the 
 more detested, and the more pelted and insulted. If, in any 
 case whatsoever, affectation and ostentation are pardonable, 
 it is in the case of morality ; though, even there, I would 
 not advise you to a pharisaical pomp of virtue. But I will 
 recommend to you a most scrupulous tenderness for your 
 moral character, and the utmost care not to say or do the 
 least thing, that may, ever so slightly, taint it. Show your- 
 self, upon all occasions, the advocate, the friend, but not the 
 bully, of Virtue. Colonel Chartres ^, whom you have certainly 
 heard of, (who was, I believe, the most notorious blasted 
 rascal in the world, and who had, by all sorts of crimes, 
 amassed immense wealth) was so sensible of the disadvantage 
 
 ^ * Go dine with Chartres, in each vice out-do 
 K[innou]rs lew'd cargo, or Ty[rawle]y 'screw.' 
 
 Pope, Imitations of Horace ^ i Epistles vi. 120. 
 C of 
 
i8 
 
 t^atactct of TXxn^^. 
 
 of a bad character, that I heard him once say, in his im- 
 pudent, profligate manner, that, though he would not 
 give one farthing for Virtue, he would give ten thousand 
 pounds for a character ; because he should get a hundred 
 thousand pounds by it : whereas he was so blasted that he 
 had no longer an opportunity of cheating people. Is it 
 possible then that an honest man can neglect, what a wise 
 rogue would purchase so dear ? Letters to his son, n. 314. 
 
 I have known people slattern away their character, with- 
 out really polluting it ; the consequence of which has been, 
 that they have become innocently contemptible ; their merit 
 has been dimmed, their pretentions unregarded, and all their 
 views defeated. Character must be kept bright, as well as 
 clean. ib. n. 318. 
 
 The first impressions you give of yourself, at your first 
 entrance upon the great stage of life in your own country, 
 are of infinite consequence, and to a great degree decisive 
 of your future character. You will be tried first by the 
 grand jury of Middlesex, and if they find a Bill against 
 you, you must not expect a very favourable verdict from the 
 many petty juries who will try you again in Westminster. 
 
 Letters to his Godson^ p. 389. 
 
 Characters of Kings. 
 
 The characters of Kings and great men are only to be 
 learnt in conversation, for they are never fairly written 
 
 during their lives. Letters to his Sou, ii. 32. 
 
 Children 
 
tiviiit^. 
 
 Children and Subjects. 
 
 Children and subjects, though their obligations are 
 certainly the lesser of the two, are much seldomer in the 
 
 wrong than parents and Kings. Miscellaneous Works, iv. 247. 
 
 Civility. 
 
 Remember, there are but two procedes in the world 
 for a gentleman and a man of parts : either extreme 
 politeness, or knocking down. If a maii, notoriously and 
 designedly insults and affronts you, knock him down ; but 
 if he only injures you, your best revenge is to be extremely 
 civil to him in your outward behaviour, though at the same 
 time you counterwork him, and return him the compliment, 
 perhaps with interest. This is not perfidy nor dissimulation; 
 it would be so, if you were, at the same time, to make 
 professions of esteem and friendship to this man ; which I 
 by no means recommend, but, on the contrary, abhor. All 
 acts of civility are, by common consent, understood to be 
 no more than a conformity to custom, for the quiet and 
 conveniency of society, the agremens of which are not 
 to be disturbed by private dislikes and jealousies. Only 
 women and little minds pout and spar for the entertainment 
 of the company, that always laughs at, and never pities them. 
 For my own part, though I would by no means give up any 
 point to a competitor, yet I would pique myself upon 
 showing him rather more civility than to another man. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 367. 
 
 Clubs. 
 
 The object of all clubs is either drinking or gaming, but 
 commonly both. A sitting member of a drinking club is 
 
 c 2 
 
 not 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
tompan^. 
 
 not indeed always drunk, perhaps seldom quite so, but he 
 is certainly never quite sober, and is beclareted next morning 
 with the guzzle of the preceding evening. A member 
 of a gaming club should be a cheat or he will soon be 
 
 a beggar. Letters to his Godson, p. 392. 
 
 Company. 
 
 Talk often, but never long ; in that case, if you do not 
 please, at least you are sure not to tire your hearers. Pay 
 your own reckoning, but do not treat the whole company ; 
 this being one of the very few cases in which people do not 
 care to be treated, every one being fully convinced that he 
 has wherewithal to pay. 
 
 Tell stories very seldom, and absolutely never but where 
 they are very apt, and very short. Omit every circumstance 
 that is not material, and beware of digressions. To have 
 frequent recourse to narrative, betrays great want of imagin- 
 ation. 
 
 Never hold any body by the button, or the hand, in order 
 to be heard out ; for, if people are not willing to hear you, 
 you had much better hold your tongue than them. 
 
 Most long talkers single out some one unfortunate man in 
 company (commonly him whom they observe to be the most 
 silent, or their next neighbour) to whisper, or at least, in a 
 half voice, to convey a continuity of words to. This is ex- 
 cessively ill-bred, and, in some degree, a fraud ; conversation- 
 stock being a joint and common property. But, on the 
 other hand, if one of these unmerciful talkers lays hold of 
 you, hear him with patience, (and at least seeming attention) 
 
 if 
 
Company* 
 
 21 
 
 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 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 not, you had better 
 talk sillily upon a subject of other people's than of your own 
 
 choosing. Letters to his Son, ii. 85. 
 
 A man of sense soon discovers, because he carefully 
 observes, where, and how long, he is welcome ; and takes 
 care to leave the company, at least as soon as he is wished 
 out of it. Fools never perceive where they are either ill 
 timed or ill placed. /3. a. iss. 
 
 The most general rule that I can give you for the world, 
 and which your experience will convince you of the truth 
 of, is. Never to give the tone to the company, but to take it 
 from them ; and to labour more to put them in conceit with 
 themselves, than to make them admire you. Those whom 
 you can make like themselves better, will, I promise you, 
 like you very well. /^. m 51. 
 
 From the moment that you are dressed, and go out, 
 pocket all your knowledge with your watch, and never pull 
 it out in company unless desired : the producing of the one 
 unasked, iniplies that you are weary of the company ; and 
 
 the 
 
 / 
 
22 
 
 Company* 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 the producing of the other unrequired, will make the 
 company weary of you. Company is a republic too jealous 
 of its liberties, to suffer a dictator even for a quarter of an 
 hour ^ ; and yet in that, as in all republics, there are some 
 few who really govern ; but then it is by seeming to 
 disclaim, instead of attempting to usurp the power. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 60. 
 
 I could wish you to converse only with those, who, either 
 from their rank, their merit, or their beauty, require constant 
 attention ; for a young man can never improve in company, 
 where he thinks he may neglect himself. A new bow must 
 be constantly kept bent ; when it grows older, and has 
 taken the right turn, it may now and then be relaxed. 
 
 lb. iii. 173. 
 
 No young man can possibly improve in any company, for 
 which he has not respect enough to be under some degree 
 of restraint. /3. iv. 37. 
 
 Choose the company of your superiors, whenever you can 
 have it ; that is the right and true pride. The mistaken 
 -and silly pride, to primer among inferiors^. 73. iv. loi. 
 
 ^ ' One evening, in a circle of wits, Goldsmith found fault with me for 
 talking of Johnson as entitled to the honour of unquestionable superi- 
 ority. " Sir," said he, " you are for making a monarchy of what should 
 be a republic." ' — Boswell's Life of Johnson^ ii. 257. 
 
 ^ * In this liberal London, pitch your sphere one step lower than 
 yourself, and you can get what amount of flattery you will consent to.' 
 — Carlyle's Reminiscences , ed. 1881, 1. 230. 
 
 A man 
 
Con0ciou0ne00 of QUetri^* 
 
 A man may be too sober as well as too drunk to go into 
 company, and his philosophical reflections may be as 
 troublesome in one case as his extravagancy in the other. 
 
 Miscellaneous Works ^ iv. 170. 
 
 Consciousness of Merit. 
 
 The consciousness of merit makes a man of sense more 
 modest, though more firm. A man who displays his own 
 merit is a coxcomb, and a man who does not know it is a 
 fool. A man of sense knows it, exerts it, avails himself of 
 it, but never boasts of it ; and always seems rather to under 
 than over value it, though, in truth, he sets the right value 
 
 upon it. Letters to his Son, iii. 121. 
 
 Contempt. 
 
 There is nothing that people bear more impatiently, or 
 forgive less, than contempt : and an injury is much sooner 
 forgotten than an insult. If therefore you would rather 
 please than offend, rather be well than ill spoken of, rather 
 be loved than hated ; remember to have that constant atten- 
 tion about you, which flatters every man's little vanity ; and 
 the want of which, by mortifying his pride, never fails to 
 excite his resentment, or at least his ill-will. For instance ; 
 most people (I might say all people) have their weaknesses ; 
 they have their aversions and their likings, to such or such 
 things ; so that, if you were to laugh at a man for his 
 aversion to a cat, or cheese, (which are common antipa- 
 thies) or, by inattention and negligence, to let them come 
 in his way, where you could prevent it, he would, in the first 
 case, think himself insulted, and, in the second, slighted ; 
 
 and 
 
(Contempt 
 
 and would remember both. Whereas your care to procure 
 for him what he Hkes, and to remove from him what he 
 hates, shows him, that he is at least an object of your atten- 
 tion ; flatters his vanity, and makes him possibly more your 
 friend, than a more important service would have done. 
 
 Letters to his Son, i. 245. 
 
 Every man is not ambitious, or covetous, or passionate ; 
 but every man has pride enough in his composition to feel 
 and resent the least slight and contempt. Remember, there- 
 fore, most carefully to conceal your contempt, however just, 
 wherever you would not make an implacable enemy. Men 
 are much more unwilling to have their weaknesses and their 
 imperfections known, than their crimes ; and, if you hint to 
 a man, that you think him silly, ignorant, or even ill-bred, 
 or awkward, he will hate you more, and longer, than if you 
 tell him, plainly, that you think him a rogue. Never yield 
 to that temptation, which, to most young men, is very strong, 
 of exposing other people's weaknesses and infirmities, for the 
 sake either of diverting the company^ or of showing your 
 own superiority. You may get the laugh on your side by it, 
 for the present ; but you will make enemies by it for ever ; 
 and even those who laugh with you then, will, upon reflec- 
 tion, fear, and consequently hate you : besides that, it is ill- 
 natured ; and a good heart desires rather to conceal, than 
 expose other people's weaknesses or misfortunes. If you 
 have wit, use it to please, and not to hurt : you may shine, 
 like the sun in the temperate Zones, without scorching. 
 
 Here it is wished for ; under the Line it is dreaded. 
 
 lb. ii. 58. 
 
 Some 
 
Conversation. 
 
 Some men are more captious than others; some are 
 always wrong-headed : but every man Hving has such 
 a share of Vanity, as to be hurt by marks of slight and 
 contempt. Every man does not pretend to be a Poet, a 
 Mathematician, or a Statesman, and considered as such ; but 
 every man pretends to common sense, and to fill his place 
 in the world with common decency; and, consequently, 
 does not easily forgive those negligences, inattentions, and 
 slights, which seem to call in question, or utterly deny him 
 both these pretensions. Letters to his son, a, 301. 
 
 It is very often more necessary to conceal contempt than 
 resentment, the former being never forgiven, but the latter 
 sometimes forgot. /d. m. 56. 
 
 Avoid Contempt as you would Death, or rather more ; 
 hatred cannot be always avoided, for private pique, envy, 
 jealousy, and various passions excite it ; but a certain dig- 
 nity of character and manners, will eftectually and eternally 
 secure you against ridicule and contempt. 
 
 Letters to his Godson, p. 307. 
 
 Conversation. 
 
 Were you to converse wath a King, you ought to be 
 as easy and unembarrassed as with your own valet de 
 chambre : but yet every look, word, and action, should 
 
 imply 
 
Cont)er0afion* 
 
 imply the utmost respect ^ What would be proper and 
 well-bred with others, much your superiors, would be 
 absurd and ill-bred with one so very much so. You must 
 wait till you are spoken to : you must receive, not give, the 
 subject of conversation ; and you must even take care that 
 the given subject of such conversation do not lead you into 
 any impropriety. The art would be to carry it, if possible, 
 to some indirect flattery : such as commending those virtues 
 in some other person, in which that Prince either thinks 
 he does, or at least would be thought by others to excel. 
 Almost the same precautions are necessary to be used with 
 Ministers, Generals, &c. who expect to be treated with very 
 near the same respect as their masters, and commonly 
 deserve it better. There is however this difference, that 
 one may begin the conversation with them, if on their side 
 it should happen to drop, provided one does not carry it 
 to any subject, upon which it is improper either for them 
 to speak or be spoken to. In these two cases, certain 
 attitudes and actions would be extremely absurd, because 
 too easy, and consequently disrespectful. As for instance, 
 if you were to put your arms across in your bosom, twirl 
 your snuff-box, trample with your feet, scratch your head, 
 &c. it would be shockingly ill-bred in that company ; and, 
 indeed, not extremely well-bred in any other. The great 
 difficulty in those cases, though a very surmountable one by 
 
 ^ ' During the whole of his interview with the King, Dr. Johnson 
 talked to His Majesty with profound respect, but still in his firm manly 
 manner, with a sonorous voice, and never in that subdued tone which is 
 commonly used at the levee and in the drawing-room.' — Boswell's Life 
 of Johnson^ ii. 40. 
 
 attention 
 
Convert t^ation. 
 
 27 
 
 attention and custom, is to join perfect inward ease with 
 perfect outward respect. 
 
 In mixed companies with your equals (for in mixed 
 companies all people are to a certain degree equal) greater 
 ease and liberty are allowed ; but they too have their 
 bounds within bienseance. There is a social respect neces- 
 sary : you may start your own subject of conversation with 
 modesty, taking great care, however, de ne jamais parler 
 de cordes dans la maison d^un pendu. Your words, gestures, 
 and attitudes, have a greater degree of latitude, though by 
 no means an unbounded one. You may have your hands 
 in your pockets, take snuff, sit, stand, or occasionally walk, as 
 you like : but I believe you would not think it very bienseant to 
 whistle, put on your hat, loosen your garters or your buckles, 
 lie down upon a couch, or go to bed and welter in an easy 
 chair. These are negligences and freedoms which one can 
 only take when quite alone : they are injurious to superiors, 
 shocking and offensive to equals, brutal and insulting to 
 
 mieriors. Letters to his Son, iii. 203. 
 
 In conversing with those who are much your superiors, 
 however easy and familiar you may and ought to be with 
 them, preserve the respect that is due to them. Converse 
 with your equals, with an easy familiarity and at the same 
 time with great civility and decency. But too much famili- 
 arity, according to the old saying, often breeds contempt, 
 and sometimes quarrels ; and I know nothing more difficult 
 in common behaviour than to fix due bounds to familiarity ; 
 too little implies an unsociable formality, too much destroys 
 
 all 
 
28 
 
 €ourftetr0* 
 
 all friendly and social intercourse. The best rule I can 
 give you to manage familiarity is never to be more familiar 
 with anybody than you would be willing and even glad that 
 he should be with you ; on the other hand, avoid that un- 
 comfortable reserve and coldness which is generally the 
 shield of cunning, or the protection of dulness. The Italian 
 maxim is a wise one, Volto schiolto e pensieri stretti^ \ that is, 
 let your countenance be open and your thoughts be close. 
 To your inferiors you should use a hearty benevolence in 
 your words and actions instead of a refined politeness, which 
 would be apt to make them suspect that you rather laughed 
 at them. For example, you must show civility to a mere 
 Country Gentleman in a very different manner from what 
 you do to a Man of the world. Your reception of him 
 should seem hearty, and rather coarse, to relieve him from 
 the embarrassment of his own mauvaise honte. Have atten- 
 tion even in company of fools, for though they are fools, 
 they may perhaps drop, or repeat something worth your 
 knowing, and which you may profit by. 
 
 Letters to his Godson, p. 192. 
 
 Courtiers. 
 
 The trade of a Courtier is as much a trade, as that of a 
 shoemaker ; and he who applies himself the most, will work 
 the best : the only difficulty is to distinguish between the 
 right and proper qualifications and their kindred faults; 
 for there is but a line between every perfection and its 
 
 1 Chesterfield quotes this maxim eight times in the Letters to his Son 
 and twice at least in the Letters to his Godson. 
 
 neighbouring 
 
toutte. 
 
 29 
 
 neighbouring imperfection. As for example, you must be 
 extremely well-bred and polite, but without the trouble- 
 some forms and stiffness of ceremony. You must be re- 
 spectful and assenting, but without being servile and abject. 
 You must be frank, but without indiscretion, and close, 
 without being costive. You must keep up dignity of char- 
 acter, without the least pride of birth, or rank. You must 
 be gay, within all the bounds of decency and respect ; and 
 grave, without the affectation of wisdom, which does not 
 become the age of twenty. You must be essentially secret, 
 without being dark and mysterious. You must be firm, and 
 even bold, but with great seeming modesty. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 327. 
 
 Courts. 
 
 A mere Courtier, without parts or knowledge, is the most 
 frivolous and contemptible of all Beings ; as, on the other 
 hand, a man of parts and knowledge, who acquires the easy 
 and noble manners of a Court, is the most perfect. It is a 
 trite, common-place observation, that Courts are the seats 
 of falsehood and dissimulation. That, like many, I might 
 say most, common-place observations, is false. Falsehood 
 and dissimulation are certainly to be found at Courts ; but 
 where are they not to be found? Cottages have them, 
 as well as Courts ; only with worse manners. A couple of 
 neighbouring farmers, in a village, will contrive and practise 
 as many tricks, to over-reach each other at the next market, 
 or to supplant each other in the favour of the 'Squire, as 
 any two Courtiers can do to supplant each other in the 
 
 favour 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
€ u y f 0. 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 favour of their Prince^. Whatever Poets may write, or fools 
 beheve, of rural innocence and truth, and of the perfidy of 
 Courts, this is most undoubtedly true — that Shepherds and 
 Ministers are both men ; their nature and passions the same, 
 the modes of them only different^. Letters to his Son, i. 347. 
 
 Courts are, unquestionably, the seats of Politeness and 
 Good-breeding ; were they not so, they would be the seats 
 of slaughter and desolation. Those who now smile upon, 
 and embrace, would affront and stab each other, if Man- 
 ners did not interpose : but Ambition and Avarice, the two 
 prevailing passions at Courts, found Dissimulation more 
 effectual than Violence ; and Dissimulation introduced that 
 habit of Politeness, which distinguishes the Courtier from the 
 Country Gentleman. In the former case, the strongest body 
 would prevail ; in the latter, the strongest mind. 
 
 A man of parts and efficiency need not flatter every body 
 at Court ; but he must take great care to offend no body 
 personally ; it being in the power of very many to hurt him, 
 who cannot serve him. Homer supposes a chain let down 
 from Jupiter to the earth, to connect him with Mortals. 
 
 ^ ' Farmers, I think,' said Johnson, * are often worthless fellows. Few 
 lords will cheat ; and if they do, they'll be ashamed of it ; farmers cheat 
 and are not ashamed of it ; they have all the sensual vices, too, of the 
 nobility, with cheating into the bargain.' — Boswell's Life of Johnson, 
 
 iii. 353. 
 
 2 ' Mr Crabbe's sentiments as to the false notions of rustic happiness 
 and rustic virtue were quite congenial with his (Johnson's) own.' — lb. iv. 
 175. 
 
 There 
 
CoVLtte. 
 
 There is, at all Courts, a chain, which connects the Prince, 
 or the Minister, with the Page of the back-stairs, or the Cham- 
 bermaid. The King's Wife, or Mistress, has an influence 
 over him ; a Lover has an influence over her ; the Chamber- 
 maid, or the Valet de Chambre, has an influence over both ; 
 and so ad infinitum. You must, therefore, not break a link 
 of that chain, by which you hope to climb up to the Prince. 
 You must renounce Courts, if you will not connive at 
 Knaves, and tolerate Fools. Their number makes them 
 considerable. You should as little quarrel, as connect 
 
 yourself with either. Letters to his Son, ii. 199. 
 
 Though Monarchies may difler a good deal. Kings differ 
 very little. Those who are absolute desire to continue so, 
 and those who are not, endeavour to become so; hence, 
 the same maxims and manners almost in all Courts ; volup- 
 tuousness and profusion encouraged, the one to sink the 
 people into indolence, the other into poverty, consequently 
 into dependency. The Court is called the world here, as 
 well as at Paris ; and nothing more is meant, by saying that 
 a man knows the world, than that he knows Courts. In all 
 Courts you must expect to meet with connections without 
 friendship^ enmities without hatred^ honour without virtue^ 
 appearances saved, and realities sacrificed ; good manners, 
 with bad morals ; and all vice and virtue so disguised, that 
 whoever has only reasoned upon both, would know neither, 
 when he first met them at Court. It is well that you should 
 know the map of that Country, that when you come to 
 travel in it you may do it with greater safety. ib, m 40. 
 
 Mere 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
32 
 
 Couv(0, 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 Mere plain truth^ sense^ and knowledge^ will by no means 
 do alone in Courts ; art and ornaments must come to their 
 assistance. Humours must be flattered ; the mollia tempora 
 must be studied and known : confidence^ acquired by seem- 
 ing frankness^ and profited of by silent skill. And, above 
 all, you must gain and engage the heart, to betray the 
 understanding to you. Hcd tibi erunt artes. 
 
 Letters to his Son^ iii. 153. 
 
 The greatest favours may be done so awkwardly and 
 bunglingly as to offend; and disagreeable things may be 
 done so agreeably as almost to oblige. Endeavour to acquire 
 this great secret ; it exists, it is to be found, and is worth 
 a great deal more than the grand secret of the Alchemists 
 would be if it were, as it is not, to be found. This is only 
 to be learned in Courts, where clashing views, jarring 
 opinions, and cordial hatreds, are softened, and kept within 
 decent bounds, by politeness and manners. Frequent, 
 observe, and learn Courts. Are you free of that of St. 
 Cloud ? Are you often at Versailles ? Insinuate and wriggle 
 yourself into favour at those places. ib. m. 155. 
 
 Courts are the best keys to characters : there every passion 
 is busy, every art exerted, every character analysed : jealousy, 
 ever watchful, not only discovers, but exposes, the mysteries 
 of the trade, so that even by-standers y apprennent a deviner. 
 There too the great art of pleasing is practised, taught, and 
 learned, with all its graces and delicacies. It is the first 
 thing needful there : it is the absolutely necessary harbinger 
 
 of 
 
doutt^. 
 
 33 
 
 of merit and talents, let them be ever so great. There is 
 no advancing a step without it. Let misanthropes and 
 would-be philosophers declaim as much as they please 
 against the vices, the simulation, and dissimulation of 
 Courts ; those invectives are always the result of ignorance, 
 ill-humour, or envy. Let them show me a cottage, where 
 there are not the same vices of which they accuse Courts ; 
 with this difference only, that in a cottage they appear in 
 their native deformity, and that in Courts, manners and 
 good-breeding make them less shocking, and blunt their 
 edge. No, be convinced that the good-breeding, the tournure^ 
 la douceur dans les manttres^ which alone are to be acquired 
 at Courts, are not the showish trifles only which some people 
 call or think them : they are a solid good ; they prevent 
 a great deal of real mischief; they create, adorn, and 
 strengthen friendships : they keep hatred within bounds ; 
 they promote good-humour and good-will in families, where 
 the want of good-breeding and gentleness of manners is 
 commonly the original cause of discord. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 196. 
 
 In Courts, an universal gentleness and douceur dans les 
 manures is most absolutely necessary : an ofl^nded fool, or 
 a slighted valet de chambre^ may, very possibly, do you more 
 hurt at Court, than ten men of merit can do you good. 
 Fools, and low people, are always jealous of their dignity \ 
 and Yiever forget nor forgive what they reckon a slight. On 
 the other hand, they take civility, and a little attention, as 
 a favour ; remember, and acknowledge it : this, in my mind, 
 is buying them cheap ; and therefore, they are worth buying. 
 
 D The 
 
34 
 
 to\nvt0. 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 The Prince himself, who is rarely the shining genius of his 
 Court, esteems you only by hearsay, but likes you by his 
 senses ; that is, from your air, your pohteness, and your 
 manner of addressing him ; of which alone he is a judge. 
 There is a Court garment, as well as a wedding garment, 
 without which you will not be received. That garment is 
 the voUo sciolto^ \ an imposing air, an elegant politeness, 
 easy and engaging manners, universal attention, an insinu- 
 ating gentleness, and all those je ne sais quoi that compose 
 
 the Graces, Letters to his Son, iii. 266. 
 
 At Courts there will be always coldnesses, dislikes, jeal- 
 ousies, and hatred ; the harvest being but small, in proportion 
 to the number of labourers ; but then, as they arise often, 
 they die soon, unless they are perpetuated by the manner 
 in which they have been carried on, more than by the 
 matter which occasioned them. The turns and vicissitudes 
 of Courts frequently make friends of enemies, and enemies 
 of friends ; you must labour therefore^ to acquire that great 
 and uncommon talent, of hating with good-breeding, and 
 loving with prudence ; to make no quarrel irreconcileable, 
 by silly and unnecessary indications of anger ; and no friend- 
 ship dangerous, in case it breaks, by a wanton, indiscreet, 
 and unreserved confidence. ib. iii. 368. 
 
 I hope you frequent all the Courts ; a man should make 
 his face familiar there. Long habit produces favour in- 
 
 ^ See post^ under Volto sciolto. 
 
 sensibly 
 
^ancinc^. 
 
 35 
 
 sensibly : and acquaintance often does more than friend- 
 ship, in that climate, where /es beaux sentimens are not the 
 
 natural growth. Letters to his Son, iv. 86. 
 
 Flattery, though a base coin, is the necessary pocket- 
 money at Court; where, by custom and consent, it has 
 obtained such a currency, that it is no longer a fraudulent, 
 but a legal payment. 
 
 At Court, many more people can hurt, than can help you ; 
 please the former, but engage the latter. /^. iv. 303. 
 
 You will and ought to be in some employment at Court. 
 It is the best school for manners, and whatever ignorant 
 people may think or say of it, no more the seat of vice than 
 a village is ; human nature is the same everywhere, the 
 modes only are different. In the village they are coarse ; 
 in the Court they are polite; like the different clothes in 
 the two several places, frieze in the one and velvet in the 
 
 other. 
 
 Letters to his Godson^ p. 392. 
 
 Dancing. 
 
 Do you mind your dancing, while your dancing-master is 
 with you ? As you will be often under the necessity of 
 dancing a minuet, I would have you dance it very well. 
 Remember, that the graceful motion of the arms, the 
 giving your hand, and the putting-on and pulHng off your 
 hat genteelly, are the material parts of a gentleman's 
 dancing. But the greatest advantage, of dancing well, is, 
 that it necessarily teaches you to present yourself, to sit, 
 
 D 2 stand 
 
36 
 
 ^ciatin^. 
 
 stand, and walk genteelly; all of which are of real im- 
 portance to a man of fashion. j^etters to his Son, ii. 76. 
 
 Your daughter's dancing is not material : for no man in 
 his senses desires a dancing wife. 
 
 Letter to A. C. Stanhope. Letters to his Godson, p. 355. 
 
 Debating. 
 
 Seek for, and answer in your own mind, all the argu- 
 ments that can be urged on either side, and write them 
 down in an elegant style. This will prepare you for 
 debating, and give you an habitual eloquence ; for I would 
 not give a farthing for a mere holiday eloquence, displayed 
 once or twice in a session, in a set declamation; but I 
 want an every-day, ready, and habitual eloquence, to adorn 
 extempore^ and debating speeches ; to make business not 
 only clear but agreeable, and to please even those whom 
 you cannot inform, and who do not desire to be informed. 
 All this you may acquire, and make habitual to you, with 
 as little trouble as it cost you to dance a minuet as well as 
 you do. You now dance it mechanically, and well, without 
 
 thinking of it. Letters to his Son, iv. 75. 
 
 Defamation. 
 
 Defamation and calumny never attack where there is no 
 weak place ; they magnify, but they do not create. 
 
 lb. ii. 317. 
 
 Despised and hated. 
 
 The King of France is despised, and I do not wonder at 
 
 it; 
 
©iffetrencee of opinion. 
 
 it; but he has brought it about, to be hated at the same 
 time, which seldom happens to the same man ^ 
 
 Letters to his Son, iv. 38. 
 
 Differences of opinion. 
 
 A difference of opinion, though in the merest trifles, 
 alienates little minds, especially of high rank. It is full as 
 easy to commend as to blame a great man's cook, or his 
 tailor : it is shorter too ; and the objects are no more worth 
 disputing about, than the people are worth disputing with. 
 
 lb. iv. 302. 
 
 Dignifying vices. 
 
 I have known some people dignify even their vices, first, 
 by never boasting of them, and next by not practising them 
 in an illiberal and indecent manner. 
 
 Letters to his Godson, p. 184. 
 
 Disagreeable things. 
 
 Avoid disagreeable things, as much as, by dexterity, you 
 can ; but when they are unavoidable, do them with seeming 
 willingness and alacrity. Letters to his Soti, iv. 203. 
 
 Disputes. 
 
 Disputes upon any subject are a sort of trial of the 
 understanding, and must end in the mortification of one 
 
 or other of the disputants. Letters to his Godson, p. 173. 
 
 ^ Chesterfield expresses this thought more neatly in one of his letters 
 to Dayrolles. * The King is both hated and despised, which seldom 
 happens to the same man.' Miscellaneous Works, iv. 1 20. 
 
 Doing 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
©oing; (Uo^^tng^ 
 
 Doing Nothing. 
 
 Many people think that they are in pleasures, provided 
 they are neither in study nor in business. Nothing like it ; 
 they are doing nothing, and might just as well be asleep. 
 They contract habitudes from laziness, and they only frequent 
 those places where they are free from all restraints and 
 attentions. Be upon your guard against this idle profusion 
 of time ; and let every place you go to be either the scene 
 of quick and lively pleasures, or the school of your improve- 
 ments : let every company you go into, either gratify your 
 senses, extend your knowledge, or refine your manners. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 279. 
 
 Dress. 
 
 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 a very foolish thing for 
 a man not to be well dressed, according to his rank and way 
 of life ; and it is so far from being a disparagement to any 
 man's understanding, that it is rather a proof of it, to be as 
 well dressed as those whom he lives with : the difference in 
 this case, between a man of sense and a fop, is, that the 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 sense. Diogenes the Cynic was a wise man for 
 
 despising 
 
®re00* 
 
 39 
 
 despising them ; but a fool for showing it. Be wiser than 
 other people, if you can ; but do not tell them so. 
 
 Letters to his Son, i. 223. 
 
 Your dress (as insignificant a thing as dress is in itself) 
 is now become an object worthy of some attention ; for, I 
 confess, I cannot help forming some opinion of a man's sense 
 and character from his dress ; and, I believe, most people 
 do as well as myself. Any affectation whatsoever in dress, 
 implies, in my mind, a flaw in the understanding. Most of 
 our young fellows, here, display some character or other by 
 their dress ; some affect the tremendous, and wear a great and 
 fiercely cocked hat, an enormous sword, a short waistcoat, 
 and a black cravat : these I should be almost tempted to swear 
 the peace against, in my own defence, if I were not convinced 
 that they are but meek asses in lions' skins. Others go 
 in brown frocks, leather breeches, great oaken cudgels in 
 their hands, their hats uncocked, and their hair unpowdered ; 
 and imitate grooms, stage-coachmen, and country bumpkins, 
 so well, in their outsides, that I do not make the least doubt 
 of their resembling them equally in their insides. A man 
 of sense carefully avoids any particular character in his 
 dress ; he is accurately clean for his own sake ; but all the 
 rest is for other people's. He dresses as well, and in the 
 same manner, as the people of sense and fashion of the 
 place where he is.- If he dresses better, as he thinks, that is, 
 more than they, he is a fop ; if he dresses worse, he is 
 unpardonably negligent : but, of the two, I would rather 
 have a young fellow too much than too little dressed : the 
 excess on that side will wear off, with a little age and 
 
 reflection ; 
 
®tre00. 
 
 reflection ; but, if he is negligent at twenty, he will be a 
 sloven at forty, and stink at fifty years old. Dress yourself 
 fine^ where others are fine ; and plain, where others are 
 plain ; but take care, always, that your clothes are well made, 
 and fit you, for otherwise they will give you a very awkward 
 air. When you are once well dressed, for the day, think no 
 more of it afterwards ; and, without any stiffness for fear of 
 discomposing that dress, let all your motions be as easy and 
 natural as if you had no clothes on at all. So much for 
 dress, which I maintain to be a thing of consequence in the 
 
 polite world. Letters to his Son, ii. 123. 
 
 You are now of an age^ at which the adorning your 
 person is not only not ridiculous, but proper and becoming. 
 Negligence would imply, either an indifference about pleas- 
 ing, or else an insolent security of pleasing, without using 
 those means to which others are obliged to have recourse. 
 
 lb. ii. 182. 
 
 Next to clothes being fine, they should be well made, and 
 worn easily ; for a man is only the less genteel for a fine 
 coat, if in wearing it he shows a regard for it, and is not as 
 easy in it as if it were a plain one. 73, iii. 22. 
 
 You will possibly be surprised when I assert, (but, upon 
 my word, it is literally true) that to be very well dressed is 
 of much more importance to you, than all the Greek you 
 know will be of, these thirty years. Remember, the world, • 
 
®tre00* 
 
 41 
 
 is now your only business ; and you must adopt its customs 
 and manners, be they silly or be they not. To neglect your 
 dress, is an affront to all the women you keep company 
 with ; as it implies, that you do not think them worth that 
 attention which every body else doth ; they mind dress, and 
 you will never please them if you neglect yours ; and if you 
 do not please the women, you will not please half the men you 
 otherwise might. It is the women who put a young fellow in 
 fashion, even with the men. A young fellow ought to have a 
 certain fund of coquetry ; which should make him try all the 
 means of pleasing, as much as any coquette in Europe can do. 
 Old as I am, and little thinking of women, God knows, I 
 am very far from being negligent of my dress ; and why ? 
 From conformity to custom ; and out of decency to men, who 
 expect that degree of complaisance. I do not, indeed, wear 
 feathers and red heels ^ j which would ill suit my age ; but 
 I take care to have my clothes well made, my wig well 
 combed and powdered, my linen and person extremely 
 clearu I even allow my footmen forty shillings a year 
 extraordinary, that they may be spruce and neat 
 
 Letters to his Son^ iii. 226. 
 
 Never be the first nor the last in the fashion. Wear as 
 fine clothes as those of your rank commonly do, and rather 
 better than worse, and when you are well dressed once a 
 day, do not seem to know that you have any clothes on at all, 
 but let your carriage and motions be as easy as they could 
 
 ^ When Boswell in his boyhood was told that his father had been once 
 seen ' strutting abroad in red-heeled shoes and red stockings, he was 
 so much diverted that he could hardly sit on his chair for laughing.' 
 Scotland and Scotsmen of the Eighteenth Century^ i. 161. 
 
 be 
 
^tin&inc^. 
 
 be in your nightgown. A fop values himself upon his dress, 
 but a man of sense will not neglect it, in his youth at least. 
 The greatest fop I ever saw, was at the same time the 
 greatest sloven, for it is an affected singularity in dress, be 
 it of which side it will, that constitutes a fop, and everybody 
 will prefer an overdressed fop to a slovenly one. 
 
 Letters to his Godson^ p. 171. 
 
 Drinking. 
 
 Archbishop Tillotson asserts, and very truly, that no man 
 can plead, in defence of swearing, that he was born of a 
 swearing constitution. I believe the same thing may with 
 equal truth be affirmed of drinking. No man is born a 
 drinker. Drinking is an acquired, not a natural, vice. The 
 child, when he first tastes strong liquors, rejects them with 
 evident signs of disgust, but is insensibly brought first to 
 bear, and then perhaps to like, them, by the folly of his 
 parents, who promise them as an encouragement, and give 
 them as a reward. 
 
 When the coroner's inquest examines the body of one of 
 those unhappy wretches, who drown themselves in a pond 
 or river, with commonly a provision of lead in their 
 pockets to make the work the surer, the verdict is either 
 felo de se^ or lunatic. Is it then the water, or the sudden- 
 ness of the plunge, that constitutes either the madness or the 
 guilt of the act ? Is there any difference between a water 
 and a wine suicide ? If there be, it is evidently in favour 
 of the former, which is never so deliberate and premeditated 
 as the latter. The soaker jogs on with a gentler pace 
 indeed, but to as sure and certain destruction ; and, as a 
 
 proof 
 
©trinfting* 
 
 proof of his intention, would, I believe, upon examination, 
 be generally found to have a good deal of lead about him 
 
 too. Miscellaneous Works, ii. 221. 
 
 Drinking is a most beastly vice in every country, but it is 
 really a ruinous one to Ireland : nine gentlemen in ten in 
 Ireland are impoverished by the great quantity of claret, 
 which, from mistaken notions of hospitality and dignity, 
 they think it necessary should be drunk in their houses; 
 this expense leaves them no room to improve their estates, 
 by proper indulgence upon proper conditions to their tenants, 
 who must pay them to the full, and upon the very day, that 
 they may pay their wine-merchants. 
 
 There was a law in one of the ancient governments, I 
 have forgot which, that empowered a man to kill his wife if 
 she smelt of wine. I most sincerely wish that there were a 
 law in Ireland, and better executed than most laws are, to 
 empower the wives to kill their husbands in the like case ; 
 it would promote sobriety extremely, if the effects of 
 conjugal affection were fully considered. a. iv. 231. 
 
 If it would but please God, by his lightning, to blast all 
 the vines in the world, and by his thunder to turn all the 
 wines now in Ireland sour, as I most sincerely wish he 
 would, Ireland would enjoy a degree of quiet and plenty 
 that it has never yet known. By the way, I am not so 
 partial neither to Ireland, as not to pray for the same bless- 
 ing for this my native country ; notwithstanding the grief 
 and desolation which I know it would occasion in our two 
 
 learned 
 
(Kconom^* 
 
 learned universities, the body of our clergy, and among our 
 knights of shires, burgesses, &c., and in general among all 
 those worthy honest gentlemen^ who toast and are toasted. 
 
 Miscellaneous Works, iv. 359. 
 
 Economy. 
 
 A fool squanders away, without credit or advantage to 
 himself, more than a man of sense spends with both. The 
 latter employs his money as he does his time, and never 
 spends a shilling of the one, nor a minute of the other, but 
 in something that is either useful or rationally pleasing to 
 himself or others. The former buys whatever he does not 
 want, and does not pay for what he does want. He cannot 
 withstand the charms of a toy-shop; snuff-boxes, watches, 
 heads of canes, &c. are his destruction. His servants and 
 tradesmen conspire with his own indolence, to cheat him ; 
 and, in a very little time, he is astonished, in the midst of 
 all the ridiculous superfluities, to find himself in want of all 
 the real comforts and necessaries of life. Without care and 
 method, the largest fortune will not, and with them, almost 
 the smallest will, supply all necessary expenses. As far as 
 you can possibly, pay ready money for every thing you buy, 
 and avoid bills. Pay that money too, yourself, and not 
 through the hands of any servant, who always either stipu- 
 lates poundage, or requires a present for his good word, as 
 they call it. Where you must have bills (as for meat and 
 drink, clothes, &c.) pay them regularly every month, and 
 with your own hand. Never, from a mistaken economy, 
 buy a thing you do not want, because it is cheap ; or, from 
 a silly pride, because it is dear. Keep an account, in a book, 
 
 of 
 
^bviC(xtion. 
 
 45 
 
 of all that you receive, and of all that you pay ; for no man, 
 who knows what he receives, and what he pays, ever runs 
 out. I do not mean that you should keep an account of 
 the shillings and half-crowns which you may spend in chair- 
 hire, operas, &c. ; they are unworthy of the time, and of the 
 ink, that they would consume ; leave such minuties to dull, 
 penny-wise fellows ; but remember, in economy, as well as 
 in every other part of life, to have the proper attention to 
 proper objects, and the proper contempt for httle ones. 
 
 Letters to his Son, ii. 128. 
 
 It is very difficult to fix the particular point of economy ; 
 the best error of the two is on the parsimonious side. 
 That may be corrected, the other cannot. ib. iv. 306. 
 
 Education. 
 
 I am very sure that children are capable of a certain 
 degree of education long before they are commonly thought 
 to be so. At a year and a half old, I am persuaded that a 
 child might be made to comprehend the injustice of tortur- 
 ing flies and strangling birds ; whereas, they are commonly 
 encouraged in both, and their hearts hardened by habit. 
 
 Miscellaneous Works, iv. 124. 
 
 Pray let my god-son never know what a blow or a whip- 
 ping is, unless for those things for which, were he a man, 
 he would deserve them ; such as lying, cheating, making 
 mischief, and meditated malice. In any of those cases, 
 however young, let him be most severely whipped. But 
 
 either 
 
(Kfeganc^ of iSanguag^ 
 
 either to threaten or whip him, for falHng down, or not 
 standing still to have his head combed and his face washed, 
 is a most unjust and absurd severity ; and yet all these are 
 the common causes of whipping. This hardens them to 
 punishment, and confounds them as to the causes of it ; 
 for, if a poor child is to be whipped equally for telling a lie, 
 or for a dirty nose, he must of course think them equally 
 criminal. Reason him, by fair means, out of all those 
 things, for which he will not be the worse man ; and flog 
 him severely for those things only, for which the law would 
 
 punish him as a man. Miscellaneous Works, iv. 130. 
 
 Elegancy of Language. 
 
 Constant experience has shown me, that great purity and 
 elegance of style, with a graceful elocution, cover a multi- 
 tude of faults, in either a speaker or a writer. For my own 
 part, I confess (and I believe most people are of my mind) 
 that if a speaker should ungracefully mutter or stammer out 
 to me the sense of an angel, deformed by barbarisms and 
 solecisms, or larded with vulgarisms, he should never speak 
 to me a second time, if I could help it. Gain the heart, or 
 you gain nothing ; the eyes and the ears are the only roads 
 to the heart. Merit and knowledge will not gain hearts, 
 though they will secure them when gained. Pray have that 
 truth ever in your mind. Engage the eyes, by your 
 address, air, and motions ; soothe the ears, by the elegancy 
 and harmony of your diction : the heart will certainly 
 follow j and the whole man, or woman, will as certainly 
 
 follow the heart. Letters to his Son, XX. 269. 
 
 The 
 
(Bfeganc^ of iSanguage. 
 
 47 
 
 The nature of our constitution makes eloquence more 
 useful, and more necessary, in this country, than in any 
 other in Europe. A certain degree of good sense and know- 
 ledge is requisite for that, as well as for every thing else ; 
 but beyond that, the purity of diction, the elegancy of style, 
 the harmony of periods, a pleasing elocution, and a graceful 
 action, are the things which a public speaker should attend 
 to the most ; because his audience certainly does, and under- 
 stands them the best : or rather indeed understands little 
 
 else. Letters to his Son, ii. 279. 
 
 A man who is not born with a poetical genius can never be 
 a poet, or, at best, an extreme bad one : but every man, 
 who can speak at all, can speak elegantly and correctly, if 
 he pleases, by attending to the best authors and orators ; 
 and, indeed, I would advise those who do not speak 
 elegantly not to speak at all, for I am sure they will get 
 more by their silence than by their speech. /^ ii. 308. 
 
 I would wish you to be so attentive to this object, that I 
 would not have you to speak to your footman, but in the 
 very best words that the subject admits of, be the language 
 which it will. Think of your words, and of their arrange- 
 ment, before you speak ; choose the most elegant, and place 
 them in the best order. Consult your own ear to avoid 
 cacophony ; and what is very near as bad, monotony. Think 
 also of your gesture and looks, when you are speaking even 
 upon the most trifling subjects. The same things, differ- 
 ently expressed, looked, and delivered, cease to be the same 
 
 things 
 
(Bfeganc^ of iSanguage* 
 
 things. The most passionate lover in the world cannot 
 make a stronger declaration of love, than the Bourgeois 
 gentilhomme does in this happy form of words : Mourir 
 d^ amour me font belle Marquise vos beux yeux \ I defy any 
 body to say more ; and yet I would advise no body to say 
 that ; and I would recommend to you, rather to smother and 
 conceal your passion entirely, than to reveal it in these 
 words. Seriously, this holds in every thing, as well as in 
 that ludicrous instance. The French, to do them justice, 
 attend very minutely to the purity, the correctness, and the 
 elegancy of their style, in conversation, and in their letters. 
 Bien narrer is an object of their study ; and though they 
 sometimes carry it to affectation, they never sink into in- 
 elegancy, which is much the worst extreme of the two. 
 Observe them, and form your French style upon theirs ; for 
 elegancy in one language will re-produce itself in all. I 
 knew a young man, who, being just elected a member of 
 Parliament, was laughed at for being discovered, through the 
 key-hole of his chamber door, speaking to himself in the 
 glass, and forming his looks and gestures. I could not join 
 in that laugh; but, on the contrary, thought him much 
 wiser than those who laughed at him; for he knew the 
 importance of those little graces in a public assembly, and 
 
 they did not. Letters to his Son, iii. 126. 
 
 Englishmen abroad. 
 
 The well-bred man feels himself firm and easy in all 
 companies ; is modest without being bashful, and steady 
 
 ^ M. Jourdain is taught five ways in which this sentiment can be 
 expressed, but this is not one of them. Le Bourgeois Gentilhommey Act. 
 ii. sc. 6. 
 
 without 
 
(^ngfie^nten a6roa6* 
 
 49 
 
 without being impudent : if he is a stranger, he observes, 
 with care, the manners and ways of the people the most 
 esteemed at that place, and conforms to them with com- 
 plaisance. Instead of finding fault with the customs of that 
 place, and telhng the people that the English ones are a 
 thousand times better (as my countrymen are very apt to 
 do), he commends their table, 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 nor abject ; and it 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 to please them, so 
 cheaply, are, in my mind, weaker than they. 
 
 Letters to his Son, i. 234. 
 
 Ennui. 
 
 Whatever your amusements, or pleasures, may be at 
 Hamburgh, I dare say you taste them more sensibly than 
 ever you did in your life, now that you have business 
 enough to whet your appetite to them. Business, one half 
 of the day, is the best preparation for the pleasures of the 
 other half. I hope, and believe, that it will be with you as 
 it was with an apothecary whom I knew at Twickenham. A 
 considerable estate fell to him by an unexpected accident ; 
 upon which he thought it decent to leave off his business ; 
 accordingly, he generously gave up his shop and his stock 
 to his head man, set up his coach, and resolved to live like 
 a gentleman ; but, in less than a month, the man, used to 
 business, found that living like a gentleman was dying of 
 efinui'j upon which he bought his shop and stock, resumed 
 
 E his 
 
50 
 
 <En^5u0ia0nt* 
 
 his trade ; and lived very happily, after he had something 
 
 to QO . Miscellaneous Works, iv. 139. 
 
 Enthusiasm. 
 
 Consciousness of guilt, a fiery temper, and a wild imagin- 
 ation, are the common ingredients of enthusiasm. 
 
 lb. iii. 249. 
 
 Errors in opinion. 
 
 Errors and mistakes, however gross, in matters of opinion, 
 if they are sincere, are to be pitied ; but not punished, nor 
 laughed at. The blindness of the understanding is as much 
 to be pitied, as the blindness of the eyes ; and there is 
 neither jest nor guilt in a man's losing his way in either 
 case. Charity bids us set him right, if we can, by argu- 
 ments and persuasions ; but charity, at the same time, 
 forbids, either to punish or ridicule his misfortune. Every 
 man's reason is, and must be, his guide ; and I may as well 
 expect, that every man should be of my size and complexion, 
 as that he should reason just as I do. Every man seeks 
 for truth ; but God only knows who has found it. 
 
 lb. i. 272. 
 
 * * An eminent tallowchandlerin London/ said Johnson, * who had ac- 
 quired a considerable fortune, gave up the trade in favour of his foreman, 
 and went to live at a country-house near town. He soon grew weary, and 
 paid frequent visits to his old shop, where he desired they might let him 
 know their melting-days, and he would come and assist them ; which he 
 accordingly did.' — Boswell's Life of Johnson, \i. 337. 
 
 It 
 
<Bi?e¥^!!&a^ ^en0e0. 
 
 51 
 
 It is not to be conceived how many people, capable 
 of reasoning, if they would, live and die in a thousand errors, 
 from laziness ; they will rather adopt the prejudices of 
 others, than give themselves the trouble of forming opinions 
 of their own. They say things, at first, because other 
 people have said them, and then they persist in them, because 
 they have said them themselves. Letters to his son, ii. 62. 
 
 Everybody good for something. 
 
 There is hardly any body good for every thing, and 
 there is scarcely any body who is absolutely good for 
 nothing. A good chemist will extract some spirit or other out 
 of every substance ; and a man of parts will, by his dexterity 
 and management, elicit something, worth knowing, out of 
 every being he converses with. ib. \. 305. 
 
 Every-day senses. 
 
 I shall go to town in four or five days, and carry back 
 with me a little more hearing than I brought : but yet, not 
 half enough for common use. One wants ready pocket 
 money much oftener than one wants great sums; and, 
 to use a very odd expression, I want to hear at sight. I 
 love every-day senses, every-day wit and entertainment ; a 
 man who is only good on holidays, is good for very little. 
 
 Ib. iv. 4. 
 
 Expletives. 
 
 Upon these delicate occasions you must practise the 
 
 ministerial shrugs and persiflage ; for silent gesticulations, 
 
 which you would be most inclined to, would not be sufficient : 
 
 something must be said ; but that something, when analysed, 
 
 E 2 must 
 
52 
 
 ifae^ion. 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 must amount to nothing. As for instance, // est vrai qu'on 
 s'y perd^ mats que voulez-vous que je vous dise^ — ily a bien du 
 pour et du centre, un petit Resident ne voit gueres le fond du 
 sac, — II faut attendre, — Those sort of expletives are of in- 
 finite use ; and nine people in ten think they mean some- 
 mi ng . Letters to his Son, iv. 103. 
 
 Failings and weaknesses. 
 
 People in general will much better bear being told of 
 their vices or crimes, than of their little failings and weak- 
 nesses. They, in some degree, justify or excuse (as they 
 think) the former, by strong passions, seduction, and artifices 
 of others ; but to be told of, or to confess their little fail- 
 ings and weaknesses, implies an inferiority of parts, too 
 mortifying to that self-love and vanity, which are inseparable 
 from our natures. I have been intimate enough with 
 several people, to tell them, that they had said or done 
 a very criminal thing ; but I never was intimate enough 
 with any man, to tell him, very seriously, that he had said or 
 done a very foolish one. ij,. li. 272. 
 
 Fashion. 
 
 Fashion, which is always at first the offspring of little 
 minds, and the child of levity, gains strength and support 
 by the great number of its relations, till at length it is 
 received and adopted by better understandings, who either 
 
 1 Philip Stanhope was at this time (October, 1757) Resident at 
 Hamburgh. The Duke of Cumberland had given up his commission 
 of Captain- General and his regiment of Guards. 
 
 conform 
 
Sat^^te anb ^one. 
 
 conform to it to avoid singularity, or who are surprised into 
 it, from want of attention to an object which they look upon 
 as indiiferent in itself, and so dignify and establish the 
 
 tolly. Miscellaneous Works, ii. 139. 
 
 Fathers and Sons. 
 
 As fathers commonly go, it is seldom a misfortune to be 
 
 fatherless; and, considering the general run of sons, as 
 
 seldom a misfortune to be childless. Letters to his son, iii. 231. 
 
 • 
 • • 
 
 Few fathers care much for their sons, or, at least, most 
 of them care more for their money; and, consequently, 
 content themselves with giving them, at the cheapest rate, 
 the common run of education ; that is, a school till 
 eighteen ; the university till twenty ; and a couple of years 
 riding post through the several towns of Europe ; impatient 
 till their boobies come home to be married, and, as they 
 call it, settled. Of those who really love their sons, few 
 know how to do it. Some spoil them by fondling them, 
 while they are young, and then quarrel with them when 
 they are grown up, for having been spoiled; some love 
 them like mothers, and attend only to the bodily health 
 ' and strength of the hopes of their family, solemnize his 
 birthday, and rejoice, like the subjects of the Great Mogul, 
 at the increase of his bulk ^ : while others, minding, as they 
 
 ^ * Bernier informs us of a very extraordinary custom which prevails 
 to this day in the Empire of the Mogul. His Imperial Majesty is 
 annually weighed upon his birth-day ; and if it appears that since his 
 former weighing he has made any considerable acquisition of flesh, it is 
 matter of public rejoicings throughout his whole dominions.* — Chester- 
 field's Miscellaneous Works, ii. 37. 
 
 think 
 
54 
 
 ^icib ^potit^. 
 
 think, only essentials, take pains and pleasure to see in 
 their heir, all their favourite weaknesses and imperfections. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 306. 
 
 Field Sports. 
 
 Eat as much game as you please, but I hope you will 
 never kill any yourself; and indeed, I think you are above 
 any of those rustic illiberal sports, of guns, dogs, and 
 horses, which characterize our English bumpkin country 
 gentlemen ; who are the most unlicked creatures in the 
 world, unless sometimes by their hounds. 
 
 Letters to his Godson, p. 228. 
 
 I approve greatly of your father's method of shooting his 
 game with his pen only, and heartily wish that when you 
 have game of your own you may use no other. For my 
 part I never in my life killed my own meat, but left it to 
 the poulterer and butcher to do it for me. All those 
 country sports, as they are called, are the effects of the 
 ignorance and idleness of country esquires, who do not 
 know what to do with their time, but people of sense and 
 knowledge never give in to those illiberal amusements. 
 
 lb. p. 251. 
 
 The Fine Lady and the Fine Gentleman. 
 
 You will find, in every group of company, two principal 
 figures, viz. the fine lady and the fine gentleman; who 
 absolutely give the law of wit, language, fashion, and taste, 
 
 to 
 
§it0( a&6re00. 
 
 to the rest of that society. There is always a strict, and 
 often, for the time being, a tender alliance between these 
 two figures. The lady looks upon her empire as founded 
 upon the divine right of beauty, (and fuU as good a divine 
 right it is, as any King, Emperor, or Pope, can pretend to) ; 
 she requires, and commonly meets with, unlimited passive 
 obedience. And why should she not meet with it ? Her 
 demands go no higher, than to have her unquestioned pre- 
 eminence in beauty, wit, and fashion, firmly established. 
 Few Sovereigns (by the way) are so reasonable. The fine 
 gentleman's claims of right are, mutatis mutandis^ the same ; 
 and though, indeed, he is not always a wit de jure, yet, as 
 he is the wit de facto of that company, he is entitled to a 
 share of your allegiance ; and every body expects, at least, 
 as much as they are entitled to, if not something more. 
 Prudence bids you make your court to these joint Sove- 
 reigns ; and no duty, that I know of, forbids it. Rebellion, 
 here, is exceedingly dangerous, and inevitably punished by 
 banishment, and immediate forfeiture of all your wit, 
 manners, taste, and fashion : as, on the other hand, a 
 cheerful submission, not without some flattery, is sure to 
 procure you a strong recommendation, and most effectual 
 pass, throughout all their, and probably the neighbouring 
 
 dominions. Letters to his Son, ii. 97. 
 
 First address. 
 
 I have frequently known a man's fortune decided for 
 ever by his first address. If it is pleasing, people are 
 hurried involuntarily into a persuasion that he has a merit, 
 which possibly he has not ; as, on the other hand, if it is 
 
 ungraceful, 
 
fiatttt^. 
 
 ungraceful, they are immediately prejudiced against him; 
 and unwilling to allow him the merit which, it may be, he 
 
 *^^^» Letters to his Son, ii. 15. 
 
 Flattery. 
 
 A system-monger who, without knowing any thing of the 
 world by experience, has formed a system of it in his dusty 
 cell, lays it down, for example, that (from the general nature 
 of mankind) flattery is pleasing. He will therefore flatter. 
 But how? Why, indiscriminately. And, instead of re- 
 pairing and heightening the piece judiciously, with soft 
 colours, and a delicate pencil ; with a coarse brush, and a 
 great deal of white-wash, he daubs and besmears the piece 
 he means to adorn. His flattery offends even his patron ; 
 and is almost too gross for his mistress. A man of the 
 world knows the force of flattery as well as he does; but 
 then he knows how, when, and where to give it; he pro- 
 portions his dose to the constitution of the patient. He 
 flatters by application, by inference, by comparison, by 
 hint ; and seldom directly. 73. jij, ^j 
 
 Flexibility of attention. 
 
 Sense must distinguish between what is impossible, and 
 what is only difficult ; and spirit and perseverance will get 
 the better of the latter. Every man is to be had one way 
 or another, and every woman almost any way. I must not 
 omit one thing, which is previously necessary to this, and 
 indeed to every thing else ; which is attention, a flexibility 
 of attention ; never to be wholly engrossed by any past or 
 future object, but instantly directed to the present one, be 
 it what it will. 73. iii. 30. 
 
 Fools. 
 
§ooit^. 
 
 Fools. 
 
 Never talk your best in the company of fools, for they 
 would not understand you, and would perhaps suspect that 
 you jeered them, as they commonly call it, but talk only 
 the plainest common-sense to them, and very gravely, for 
 there is no jesting, nor badinage with them \ 
 
 Letters to his Godson^ p. 193. 
 
 Foreign Fashions. 
 
 I must add, that if it be so genteel to copy the French, 
 even in their weaknesses, I should humbly hope it might 
 be thought still more so, to imitate them where they really 
 deserve imitation, which is, in preferring every thing of their 
 own to every thing of other people's. A Frenchman, who 
 happened to be in England at the time of the last total 
 eclipse of the sun, assured the people, whom he saw 
 looking at it with attention, that it was not to be compared 
 to a French eclipse : would some of our fine women emulate 
 that spirit, and assert, as they might do with much more 
 truth, that the foreign manufactures are not to be compared 
 to the English ; such a declaration would be worth two or 
 three hundred thousand pounds a year to the kingdom, and 
 operate more effectually than all the laws made for that 
 
 purpose. Miscellaneous Works, ii. 50. 
 
 * * It is related of the great Dr. Clarke that when in one of his leisure 
 hours he was unbending himself with a few friends, in the most playful 
 and frolicsome manner, he observed Beau Nash approaching; upon 
 which he suddenly stopped. ** My boys," said he ; '* let us be grave ; here 
 comes a fool.'" — Boswell's Life of Johnson y i. 3. 
 
 Foreign 
 
fotci^n (Wlini0(et0* 
 
 Foreign Ministers. 
 
 The art of pleasing is more particularly necessary in your 
 intended profession than perhaps in any other; it is, in 
 truth, the first half of your business ; for if you do not 
 please the Court you are sent to, you will be of very little 
 use to the Court you are sent from. Please the eyes and 
 the ears, they will introduce you to the heart ; and, nine 
 times in ten, the heart governs the understanding. Make 
 your court particularly, and show distinguished attentions, 
 to such men and women as are best at Court, highest in 
 the fashion, and in the opinion of the public; speak 
 advantageously of them behind their backs, in companies 
 who you have reason to beheve will tell them again. 
 Express your admiration of the many great men that the 
 House of Savoy has produced ^ ; observe, that nature, 
 instead of being exhausted by those efforts, seems to have 
 redoubled them, in the persons of the present King, and 
 the Duke of Savoy : wonder, at this rate, where it will 
 end ; and conclude that it must end in the government of 
 all Europe. Say this, likewise, where it will probably be 
 repeated; but say it unaffectedly, and, the last especially, 
 with a kind of enjouement. These little arts are very 
 allowable, and must be made use of in the course of the 
 world ; they are pleasing to one party, useful to the other, 
 
 and injurious to nobody. Letters to his Son, ii. i66. 
 
 • • 
 
 Your profession has this agreeable peculiarity in it, which 
 is, that it is connected with, and promoted by pleasures ; 
 
 Philip Stanhope was at this time at Turin. 
 
 and 
 
^otci^n Qtlinie^etre^ 
 
 and it is the only one in which a thorough knowledge of 
 the world, polite manners, and an engaging address, are 
 absolutely necessary. If a lawyer knows his law, a parson 
 his divinity, and a financier^ his calculations, each may 
 make a figure and a fortune in his profession, without great 
 knowledge of the world, and without the manners of 
 gentlemen. But your profession throws you into all the 
 intrigues, and cabals, as well as pleasures, of Courts : in 
 those windings and labyrinths, a knowledge of the world, a 
 discernment of characters, a suppleness and versatility of 
 mind, and an elegancy of manners, must be your clue : you 
 must know how to sooth and lull the monsters that guard, 
 and how to address and gain the fair that keep, the golden 
 fleece. These are the arts and the accomplishments ab- 
 solutely necessary for a foreign minister ; in which it must 
 be owned, to our shame, that most other nations out-do the 
 English ; and, cceteris paribus^ a French minister will get 
 the better of an English one, at any third Court in Europe. 
 The French have something more liant^ more insinuating 
 and engaging in their manner, than we have. An English 
 minister shall have resided seven years at a Court, without 
 having made any one personal connection there, or without 
 being intimate and domestic in any one house. He is 
 always the English minister, and never naturalized. He 
 receives his orders, demands an audience, writes an account 
 of it to his Court, and his business is done. A French 
 minister, on the contrary, has not been six weeks at a 
 
 * Chesterfield's italics seem to show that he is using a French word. 
 Financier is however in Johnson's Dictionary \ but no authority is 
 given for its use. 
 
 Court 
 
Sox^^\xn(cte. 
 
 Court, without having, by a thousand little attentions, 
 insinuated himself into some degree of favour with the 
 Prince, his wife, his mistress, his favourite, and his minister. 
 He has established himself upon a familiar and domestic 
 footing, in a dozen of the best houses of the place, where 
 he has accustomed the people to be not only easy, but 
 unguarded before him; he makes himself at home there, 
 and they think him so. By these means he knows the 
 interior of those Courts, and can almost write prophecies 
 to his own, from the knowledge he has of the characters, 
 the humours, the abilities, or the weaknesses, of the actors. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 151. 
 
 Fox-hunters. 
 
 The French manner of hunting is gentleman-like ; ours 
 is only for bumpkins and boobies. The poor beasts here 
 are pursued and run down by much greater beasts than 
 themselves ; and the true British fox-hunter is most un- 
 doubtedly a species appropriated and peculiar to this 
 country, which no other part of the globe produces. 
 
 lb. iii. 220. 
 
 Friends. 
 
 If a man, with whom you are but barely acquainted, 
 to whom you have made no offers, nor given any marks of 
 friendship, makes you, on a sudden, strong professions 
 of his, receive them with civility, but do not repay them 
 with confidence ; he certainly means to 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 
 
Sthtib^. 
 
 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 interested in making you believe it ; 
 or else he would not take so much pains. 
 
 Letters to his Son, i. 229. 
 
 Be upon your guard against those, who, upon very slight 
 acquaintance, obtrude their unasked and unmerited friend- 
 ship and confidence upon you ; for they probably cram you 
 with them only for their own eating : but, at the same time, 
 do not roughly reject them upon that general supposition. 
 Examine further, and see whether those unexpected oifers 
 flow from a warm heart and a silly head, or from a designing 
 head and a cold heart; for Knavery and Folly have often 
 the same symptoms. In the first case, there is no danger 
 in accepting them, valeant quantum valere possunt. In the 
 latter case, it may be useful to seem to accept them, and 
 artfully to turn the battery upon him who raised it. 
 
 There is an incontinency of friendship among young 
 fellows who are associated by their mutual pleasure only, 
 which has very frequently bad consequences. A parcel of 
 warm hearts and unexperienced heads, heated by convivial 
 mirth, and possibly a little too much wine, vow, and really 
 mean at the time, eternal friendships to each other, and 
 indiscreetly pour out their whole souls in common, and 
 without the least reserve. These confidences are as in- 
 discreetly repealed as they were made \ for new pleasures 
 and new places soon dissolve this ill-cemented connection ; 
 and then very ill uses are made of these rash confidences. 
 Bear your part, however, in young companies ; nay, excel, 
 
 if 
 
(Kenetraf (B^^ec^ion0* 
 
 if you can, in all the social and convivial joy and festivity 
 that become youth. Trust them with your love tales, if 
 you please ; but keep your serious views secret. Trust 
 those only to some tried friend, more experienced than 
 yourself, and who, being in a different walk of life from you, 
 is not likely to become your rival ; for I would not advise 
 you to depend so much upon the heroic virtue of mankind, 
 as to hope, or believe, that your competitor will ever be your 
 friend, as to the object of that competition. 
 
 Letters to his Son, ii. 302. 
 
 • 
 
 Those who in the common course of the world will call 
 themselves your friends, or whom, according to the common 
 notions of friendship, you may possibly think such, will 
 never tell you of your faults, still less of your weaknesses. 
 But on the contrary, more desirous to make you their friend, 
 than to prove themselves yours, they will flatter both, and, 
 in truth, not be sorry for either. Interiorly, most people 
 enjoy the inferiority of their best friends \ /^, \{\, 42. 
 
 General Reflections. 
 
 Before it is very long, I am of opinion, that you will both 
 think and speak more favourably of women than you do 
 now. You seem to think that, from Eve downwards, they 
 have done a great deal of mischief. As for that lady, I 
 give her up to you ; but, since her time, history will inform 
 you, that men have done much more mischief in the world 
 
 ^ * In the adversity of our best friends we always find something which 
 is not wholly displeasing to us.' — La Rochefoucauld. 
 
 than 
 
<Benero0if^. 
 
 63 
 
 than women ; and, to say the truth, I would not advise you 
 to trust either, more than is absolutely necessary. But this 
 I will advise you to, which is, never to attack whole bodies 
 of any kind ; for, besides that all general rules have their 
 exception, you unnecessarily make yourself a great number 
 of enemies, by attacking a corps collectively. Among 
 women, as among men, 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, 
 citizens, &c. They are all men, subject to the same passions 
 and sentiments, differing only in the manner, 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 they are extremely mistaken ; 
 since, in my opinion, parsons 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, thread-bare jokes of those who set up for wit 
 without 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. 
 
 Letters to his Son, i. 230. 
 
 Generosity. 
 
 The reputation of generosity is to be purchased pretty 
 cheap ; it does not depend so much upon a man's general 
 expense, as it does upon his giving handsomely where it> is 
 proper to give at all. A man, for instance, who should give 
 
 a servant 
 
 Lord Ches' 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
(Scniue^e. 
 
 a servant four shillings would pass for covetous, while he 
 who gave him a crown, would be reckoned generous : so 
 that the difference of those two opposite characters, turns 
 upon one shilling. A man's character, in that particular, 
 depends a great deal upon the report of his own servants ; 
 a mere trifle above comrnon wages, makes their report 
 
 favourable. Letters to his Son, iv. 306. 
 
 Geniuses. 
 
 A drayman is probably born with as good organs as 
 Milton, Locke, or Newton ; but, by culture, they are much 
 more above him than he is above his horse. Sometimes, 
 indeed, extraordinary geniuses have broken out by the force 
 of nature, without the assistance of education ; but those 
 instances are too rare for any body to trust to ; and even 
 they would make a much greater figure, if they had the 
 advantage of education into the bargain. If Shakespeare's 
 genius had been cultivated, those beauties, which we so 
 justly admire in him, would have been undisgraced by those 
 extravagancies, and that nonsense, with which they are 
 frequently accompanied. People are, in general, what 
 they are made, by education and company, from fifteen 
 to five-and-twenty. /3. i. 340. 
 
 Military men have commonly seen a great deal of the 
 world, and of Courts ; and nothing else can form a 
 gentleman, let people say what they will of sense and 
 learning : with both which a man may contrive to be a very 
 disagreeable companion. I dare say, there are very few 
 
 Captains 
 
<2l geit^eef carnage. 
 
 65 
 
 Captains of foot, who are not much better company than 
 Descartes or Sir Isaac Newton were. I honour and respect 
 such superior geniuses ; but I desire to converse with people 
 of this world, who bring into company their share, at least, 
 of cheerfulness, good-breeding, and knowledge of mankind. 
 In common life, one much oftener wants small money, and 
 silver, than gold. Give me a man who has ready cash about 
 him for present expenses ; sixpences, shillings, half-crowns, 
 and crowns, which circulate easily : but a man who has only 
 an ingot of gold about him, is much above common pur- 
 poses, and his riches are not handy nor convenient. Have 
 as much gold as you please in one pocket, but take care 
 always to keep change in the other; for you will much 
 oftener have occasion for a shilling than for a guinea. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 349. 
 
 A genteel carriage. 
 
 I am extremely glad to hear that you dance very genteelly; 
 for (by the maxim that omne majus continet in se minus) if 
 you dance genteelly, I presume you walk, sit, and stand 
 genteelly too ; things which are much more easy, though 
 much more necessary, than dancing well. I have known 
 many very genteel people, who could not dance well ; but I 
 never knew any body dance very well, who was not genteel 
 in other things. You will probably often have occasion to 
 stand in circles, at the levies of princes and ministers, when 
 it is very necessary, de payer de sa personne, et d'etre Hen 
 p/ante, with your feet not too near nor too distant from each 
 other. More people stand and walk, than sit genteelly. 
 Awkward, ill-bred people, being ashamed, commonly sit up 
 bolt upright, and stiff; others, too negligent and easy, se 
 
 F vautrent 
 
66 
 
 <B»en(0emen. 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 vautrent dans leur fauteuil^ ^ which is ungraceful and ill-bred, 
 unless where the familiarity is extreme ; but a man of 
 fashion makes himself easy, and appears so, by leaning 
 gracefully, instead of lolling supinely ; and by varying those 
 easy attitudes, instead of that stiff immobility of a bashful 
 booby. You cannot conceive, nor can I express, how 
 advantageous a good air, genteel motions, and engaging 
 address are, not only among women, but among men, and 
 even in the course of business ; they fascinate the affections, 
 they steal a preference, they play about the heart till they 
 engage it. I know a man, and so do you, who, without 
 a grain of merit, knowledge, or talents, has raised himself 
 millions of degrees above his level, singly by a good air, and 
 engaging manners ; insomuch that the very prince who 
 raised him so high, calls him, mon aimable vaurien ^. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 199. 
 
 Gentlemen. 
 
 A gentleman is every man, who with a tolerable suit 
 of clothes, a sword by his side, and a watch and snuff-box in 
 his pockets, asserts himself to be a gentleman, swears with 
 energy that he will be treated as such, and that he will cut 
 the throat of any man who presumes to say the contrary. 
 
 Miscellaneous Works, ii. 202. 
 
 The Golden Age. 
 
 People know very little of the world, and talk nonsense, 
 when they talk of plainness and solidity unadorned ; they 
 
 * Chesterfield, in another letter (iii. 204), translates this by * welter in 
 an easy chair.' Ante, p. 27. 
 ^ The Duke of Richelieu. 
 
 will 
 
<B»oo6*6ree>iit5. 
 
 67 
 
 will do in nothing : mankind has been long out of a state 
 of nature, and the golden age of native simplicity will never 
 return. Whether for the better or the worse, no matter ; 
 but we are refined ; and plain manners, plain dress, and 
 plain diction, would as little do in life, as acorns, herbage, 
 and the water of the neighbouring spring, ^vould do at 
 
 taDie. Letters to his Son, iv. 32. 
 
 Good-breeding. 
 
 A friend of yours and mine has very justly defined good- 
 breeding to be, ^Ae result of much good-sense^ some good-nature^ 
 and a little self-denial for the sake of others, and with a view 
 to obtain the same indulgence from them. Taking this for 
 granted (as I think it cannot be disputed), it is astonishing 
 to me that any body, who has good-sense and good-nature 
 (and I beheve you have both), can essentially fail in good- 
 breeding. As to the modes of it, indeed, they vary accord- 
 ing to persons, places, and circumstances ; and are only to 
 be acquired by observation and experience ; but the sub- 
 stance of it is everywhere and eternally the same. Good 
 manners are, to particular societies, what good morals are to 
 society in general ; their cement, and their security. And, 
 as laws are enacted to enforce good morals, or at least 
 to prevent the ill effects of bad ones ; so there are certain 
 rules of civility, universally implied and received, to enforce 
 good manners, and punish bad ones. And indeed there 
 seems to me to be less difference, both between the crimes 
 and punishments, than at first one would imagine. The im- 
 moral man, who invades another's property, is justly hanged 
 for it ; and the ill-bred man, who, by his ill-manners, invades 
 
 F 2 and 
 
(Koo^s^fitreeiing^ 
 
 and disturbs the quiet and comforts of private life, is by 
 common consent as justly banished society. Mutual com- 
 plaisances, attentions, and sacrifices of little conveniences, 
 are as natural an implied compact between civilized people, 
 as protection and obedience are between Kings and subjects : 
 whoever, in either case, violates that compact, justly forfeits 
 all advantages arising from it. For my own part, I really 
 think, that, next to the consciousness of doing a good ac- 
 tion, that of doing a civil one is the most pleasing : and the 
 epithet which I should covet the most, next to that of Aris- 
 tides, would be that of well-bred. Letters to his son, a. 247. 
 
 The most familiar and intimate habitudes, connections, 
 and friendships, require a degree of good-breeding, both to 
 preserve and cement them. If ever a man and his wife 
 absolutely lay aside all good-breeding, their intimacy will 
 soon degenerate into a coarse familiarity, infallibly produc- 
 tive of contempt or disgust. The best of us have our bad 
 sides ; and it is as imprudent, as it is ill-bred, to exhibit 
 them. ^3, ii. 251. 
 
 /I Good-breeding is to all worldly qualifications, what 
 tharity is to all Christian virtues. 73. n. 253. 
 
 There is a natural good-breeding, which occurs to every 
 man of common sense, and is practised by every man of com- 
 mon good-nature. This good-breeding is general, independent 
 of modes ; and consists in endeavours to please and oblige 
 
 our 
 
(Booi^Btreeiing. 
 
 69 
 
 our fellow-creatures by all good offices, short of moral duties. 
 This will be practised by a good-natured American savage, 
 as essentially as by the best-bred European. But then, I do 
 not take it to extend to the sacrifice of our own conveniences 
 for the sake of other people's. Utility introduced this sort 
 of good-breeding, as it introduced commerce; and esta- 
 blished a truck of the little agr^mens and pleasures of life. I 
 sacrifice such a conveniency to you, you sacrifice another to 
 me ; this commerce circulates, and every individual finds 
 his account in it upon the whole. The third sort of good- 
 breeding is local, and is variously modified, in not only dif- 
 ferent countries, but in different towns of the same country. 
 But it must be founded upon the two former sorts : they are 
 the matter ; to which, in this case, fashion and custom only 
 give the different shapes and impressions. Whoever has 
 the first two sorts, will easy acquire this third sort of good- 
 breeding, which depends singly upon attention and observa- 
 tion. It is, properly, the pohsh, the lustre, the last finishing 
 strokes, of good-breeding. It is to be found only in capitals, 
 and even there it varies : the good-breeding of Rome differ- 
 ing, in some things, from that of Paris ; that of Paris, in 
 others, from that of Madrid ; and that of Madrid, in many 
 things, from that of London. A man of sense, therefore, 
 carefully attends to the local manners of the respective 
 places where he is, and takes for his models those persons 
 whom he observes to be at the head of the fashion and 
 good-breeding. He watches how they address themselves to 
 their superiors, how they accost their equals, and how they 
 treat their inferiors ; and lets none of those little niceties 
 escape him ; which are to good-breeding, what the last 
 delicate and masterly touches are to a good picture ; and 
 
 which 
 
70 
 
 <Boo&^6ree6inoj;* 
 
 which the vulgar have no notion of, but by which good 
 judges distinguish the master. He attends even to their 
 air, dress, and motions, and imitates them, Hberally and not 
 servilely ; he copies, but does not mimic. These personal 
 graces are of very great consequence. They anticipate the 
 sentiments, before merit can engage the understanding ; 
 they captivate the heart, and gave rise, I believe, to the ex- 
 travagant notions of charms and philters. Their effects 
 were so surprising, that they were reckoned supernatural. 
 The most graceful and best-bred men, and the handsomest 
 and genteelest women, give the most philters ; and, as 
 I verily believe, without the least assistance of the devil. 
 
 Letters to his Son, ii. 253. 
 
 With weak people (and they undoubtedly are three 
 parts in four of mankind) good-breeding, address, and man- 
 ners, are every thing ; they can go no deeper : but let me 
 assure you, that they are a great deal even with people of 
 the best understanding. Where the eyes are not pleased, 
 and the heart is not flattered, the mind will be apt to stand 
 out. Be this right or wrong, I confess, I am so made my- 
 self. Awkwardness and ill-breeding shock me, to that de- 
 gree, that where I meet with them, I cannot find in my 
 heart to inquire into the intrinsic merit of that person ; 
 I hastily decide in myself, that he can have none ; and am 
 not sure, I should not even be sorry to know that he had 
 any. I often paint you in my imagination, in your present 
 lontananza ; and, while I view you in the light of ancient 
 and modern learning, useful and ornamental knowledge, I 
 am charmed with the prospect ; but when I view you in an- 
 other 
 
<Boo6 Company* 
 
 other light, and represent you awkward, ungraceful, ill-bred, 
 with vulgar air and manners, shambling towards me with in- 
 attention and distractions^ I shall not pretend to describe to 
 you what I feel ; but will do as a skilful painter did formerly, 
 draw a veil before the countenance of the Father. 
 
 Letters to his Son, ii. 261. 
 
 A man's own good-breeding is his best security against 
 other people's ill-manners. /^. iv. 304, 
 
 Good Company. 
 
 Good company is not what respective sets of company 
 are pleased either to call or think themselves ; but it is that 
 company which all the people of the place call, and acknow- 
 ledge to be good company, notwithstanding some objections 
 which they may form to some of the individuals who com- 
 pose it. It consists chiefly (but by no means without ex- 
 ception) of people of considerable birth, rank, and character : 
 for people of neither birth nor rank, are frequently, and very 
 justly, admitted into it, if distinguished by any peculiar 
 merit, or eminency in any liberal art or science. Nay, so 
 motley a thing is good company, that many people, without 
 birth, rank, or merit, intrude into it by their own forwardness, 
 and others slide into it by the protection of some considera- 
 ble person ; and some even of indifferent characters and 
 morals make part of it. But, in the main, the good part pre- 
 ponderates, and people of infamous and blasted characters 
 are never admitted. In this fashionable good company, 
 the best manners and the best language of the place are 
 
 most 
 
72 
 
 <Boo6 tnannetr04 
 
 most unquestionably to be learnt ; for they establish, and 
 give the tone to both, which are therefore called the lan- 
 guage and manners of good company ; there being no legal 
 tribunal to ascertain either. 
 
 A company consisting wholly of people of the first quality, 
 cannot, for that reason, be called good company, in the 
 common acceptation of the phrase, unless they are, into the 
 bargain, the fashionable and accredited company of the 
 place ; for people of the very first quality can be as silly, as 
 ill-bred^ and as worthless, as people of the meanest degree. 
 On the other hand, a company consisting entirely of people 
 of very low condition, whatever their merit or parts may be, 
 can never be called good company ; and consequently 
 should not be much frequented, though by no means despised. 
 
 Letters to his Son, ii. 79. 
 
 Good manners. 
 
 Good manners are the settled medium of social, as specie 
 is of commercial life ; returns are equally expected for both ; 
 and people will no more advance their civility to a bear, 
 than their money to a bankrupt. it. iv. 36. 
 
 A good name. 
 
 The good name that we leave behind at one place often 
 gets before us to another, and is of great use \ jb. h. 114. 
 
 ^ * Derrick,' said Johnson, * may do very well as long as he can out- 
 run his character ; but the moment his character gets up with him it is 
 
 all over.' — Boswell's Life of Johnson, i. 394. 
 
 The 
 
Z^c <B>trace0* 
 
 The Graces. 
 
 I must, from time to time, remind you of what I have 
 often recommended to you, and of what you cannot attend 
 to too much ; sacrifice to the Graces \ The different eifects 
 of the same things, said or done, when accompanied or 
 abandoned by them, is almost inconceivable. They prepare 
 the way to the heart ; and the heart has such an influence 
 over the understanding, that it is worth while to engage it 
 in our interest. It is the whole of women, who are guided 
 by nothing else ; and it has so much to say even with men, 
 and the ablest men too, that it commonly triumphs in every 
 struggle with the understanding. Letters to his son, i. 326. 
 
 Your sole business now is to shine, not to weigh. Weight 
 without lustre is lead. You had better talk trifles elegantly, 
 to the most trifling woman, than coarse inelegant sense to 
 the most solid man ; you had better return a dropped fan 
 genteelly, than give a thousand pounds awkwardly : and you 
 had better refuse a favour gracefully, than grant it clumsily. 
 Manner is all, in every thing : it is by manner only that you 
 can please, and consequently rise. All your Greek will 
 never advance you from secretary to envoy, or from envoy 
 
 ^ * Plato nsed to say to Xenocrates, the philosopher, who had a 
 morose and unpolished manner, " good Xenocrates, sacrifice to the 
 Graces."' — Plutarch's Lives, ed. 1809, iii. 63. 'Prince Maurice never 
 sacrificed to the Graces, nor conversed amongst men of quality, but had 
 most used the company of ordinary and inferior men, with whom he 
 loved to be very familiar.' — Clarendon's History of the Rebellion, ed. 
 1826, iv. 603. 
 
 to 
 
Z^t <Btrace0. 
 
 to ambassador ; but your address, your manner, your air, if 
 good, very probably may. Marcel, your dancing-master; can 
 be of much more use to you than Aristotle. I would, upon 
 my word, much rather you had Lord Bolingbroke's style and 
 eloquence, in speaking and writing, than all the learning of 
 the Academy of Sciences, the Royal Society, and the two 
 
 Universities united. Letters to his Son, iii. 146. 
 
 All these engaging and endearing accomplishments are 
 mechanical, and to be acquired by care and observation, as 
 easy as turning, or any mechanical trade. A common 
 country fellow taken from the plough, and enlisted in an old 
 corps, soon lays aside his shambling gait, his slouching air, 
 his clumsy and awkward motions ; and acquires the martial 
 air, the regular motions, and the whole exercise of the corps, 
 and particularly of his right and left hand man. How so ? 
 Not from his parts, which were just the same before as after 
 he was enlisted ; but either from a commendable ambition 
 of being like and equal to those he is to live with ; or else 
 from the fear of being punished for not being so. If then 
 both, or either of these motives, change such a fellow in 
 about six months time, to such a degree, as that he is not 
 to be known again, how much stronger should both these 
 motives be with you, to acquire, in the utmost perfection, the 
 whole exercise of the people of fashion, with whom you are 
 to live all your life ! Ambition should make you resolve to 
 be at least their equal in that exercise, as well as the fear of 
 punishment ; which most inevitably will attend the want of 
 it. By that exercise I mean the air, the manners, the graces, 
 and the style of people of fashion. ib. iii. 185. 
 
 Great 
 
(Brea^ men* 
 
 Great men. 
 
 Mr. Pitt's ruling passion was an unbounded ambition, 
 which, when supported by great abilities and crowned with 
 great success, makes what the world calls ' a great man.' 
 
 Miscellaneous Works, iv. App. p. 64. 
 
 The Head reached through the Heart. 
 
 He who addresses himself singly to another man's reason 
 without endeavouring to engage his heart in his interest also^ 
 is no more likely to succeed, than a man who should apply 
 only to a king's nominal minister, and neglect his favourite. 
 
 Letters to his Son, ii. 53. 
 
 Smooth your way to the head, through the heart. The 
 way of reason is a good one ; but it is commonly something 
 longer, and perhaps not so sure. ib. iv. 299. 
 
 Hearing ignorantly. 
 
 It is a great advantage for any man, to be able to talk or 
 to hear^ neither ignorantly nor absurdly, upon any subject ; 
 for I have known people, who have not said one word^ hear 
 ignorantly and absurdly ; it has appeared in their inattentive 
 and unmeaning faces. ib. Hi. 301. 
 
 History. 
 
 I look with some contempt upon those refining and 
 sagacious historians, who ascribe all, even the most 
 common events, to some deep political cause; whereas 
 mankind is made up of inconsistencies, and no man acts 
 
 invariably 
 
'^i^tot^f 
 
 invariably up to his predominant character. The wisest 
 man sometimes acts weakly, and the weakest sometimes 
 wisely. Our jarring passions, our variable humours, nay 
 our greater or lesser degree of health and spirits, produce 
 such contradictions in our conduct, that, I believe, those 
 are the oftenest mistaken, who ascribe our actions to the 
 most seemingly obvious motives : and I am convinced that 
 a light supper, a good night's sleep, and a fine morning, 
 have sometimes made a hero of the same man, who by an 
 indigestion, a restless night, and a rainy morning, would 
 have proved a coward. Our best conjectures, therefore, as 
 to the true springs of actions, are but very uncertain ; and 
 the actions themselves are all that we must pretend to know 
 from history. That Caesar was murdered by twenty-three 
 conspirators, I make no doubt ; but I very much doubt that 
 their love of liberty, and of their country, was their sole, or 
 even principal motive; and I dare say that, if the truth 
 were known, we should find that many other motives 
 at least concurred, even in the great Brutus himself ; such 
 as pride, envy, personal pique, and disappointment. Nay, 
 I cannot help carrying my pyrrhonism still further, and 
 extending it often to historical facts themselves, at least to 
 most of the circumstances with which they are related ; and 
 every day's experience confirms me in this historical in- 
 credulity. Do we ever hear the most recent fact related 
 exactly in the same way, by the several people who were at 
 the same time eye-witnesses of it? No. One mistakes, 
 another misrepresents ; and others warp it a little to their 
 own turn of mind, or private views. A man, who has been 
 concerned in the transaction, will not write it fairly ; and a 
 
 man who has not, cannot. Letters to his Son, i. 344. 
 
 The 
 
^itftov^. 
 
 77 
 
 The speculative, cloistered pedant, in his solitary cell, 
 forms systems of things as they should be, not as they are ; 
 and writes as decisively and absurdly upon war, politics, 
 manners, and characters, as that pedant talked who was so 
 kind as to instruct Hannibal in the art of war. Such closet 
 politicians never fail to assign the deepest motives for the 
 most trifling actions ; instead of often ascribing the greatest 
 actions to the most trifling causes, in which they would 
 be much seldomer mistaken. They read and write of 
 kings, heroes, and statesmen, as never doing any thing 
 but upon the deepest principles of sound policy. But those 
 who see and observe kings, heroes, and statesmen, dis- 
 cover that they have headaches, indigestions, humours, and 
 passions, just like other people ; every one of which, in 
 their turns, determine their wills, in defiance of their 
 
 reason. Letters to his Son, ii. 278. 
 
 I by no means advise you to throw away your time in 
 ransacking, like a dull antiquarian, the minute and unim- 
 portant parts of remote and fabulous times. Let blockheads 
 read what blockheads wrote. ib. iii. 57. 
 
 Voltaire's History of the Crusades shows, in a very 
 short and strong light, the most immoral and wicked scheme 
 that was ever contrived by knaves, and executed by madmen 
 and fools, against humanity. There is a strange, but never- 
 failing relation, between honest madmen and skilful knaves ; 
 and wherever one meets with collected numbers of the 
 former, one may be very sure that they are secretly directed 
 by the latter. The Popes, who have generally been both 
 
 the 
 
78 
 
 J5ou0e of Bovbe. 
 
 the ablest and the greatest knaves in Europe, wanted all the 
 power and money of the East : for they had all that was in 
 Europe already. The times and the minds favoured their 
 design, for they were dark and uninformed ; and Peter the 
 Hermit, at once a knave and a madman, was a fine papal 
 tool for so wild and wicked an undertaking. I wish we had 
 good histories of every part of Europe, and indeed of the 
 world, written upon the plan of Voltaire's de r Esprit humain ; 
 for, I own, I am provoked at the contempt which most 
 historians show for humanity in general; one would think 
 by them, that the whole human species consisted but of 
 about a hundred and fifty people, called and dignified 
 (commonly very undeservedly too) by the titles of emperors, 
 kings, popes, generals, and ministers. Letters to his Son, iv. 6. 
 
 House of Lords. 
 
 The nation looked upon Pulteney as a deserter, and he 
 shrunk into insignificancy and an earldom. He made 
 several attempts afterwards to retrieve the opportunity he 
 had lost, but in vain ; his situation would not allow it. He 
 was fixed in the House of Lords, that hospital of incurables, 
 and his retreat to popularity was cut off; for the confidence 
 of the public, when once great and once lost, is never to be 
 
 regainea. Miscellaneous Works, iv. App. p. 32. 
 
 Hurry. 
 
 Whoever is in a hurry, shows that the thing he is about 
 
 is too big for him. Letters to his Son, ii. 197. 
 
 Idleness. 
 
 Idleness is only the refuge of weak minds, and the holi- 
 day of fools. I do not call good company and liberal 
 
 pleasures 
 
Jgnotrance* 
 
 79 
 
 pleasures, idleness ; far from it : I recommend to you a good 
 
 share of both. Letters to his Son, ii. i86. 
 
 I have so little to do, that I am surprised how I can 
 find time to write to you so often. Do not stare at the 
 seeming paradox ; for it is an undoubted truth, That the less 
 one has to do, the less time one finds to do it in. One 
 yawns, one procrastinates ; one can do it when one will, and 
 therefore one seldom does it at all : whereas those who have 
 great deal of business, must (to use a vulgar expression) 
 buckle to it ; and then they always find time enough to do 
 it in. lb. iv. 95. 
 
 Ignorance. 
 
 I wish mankind would condescend to be respectfully 
 ignorant of many things, which it is impossible they can 
 ever know whilst in this world. But no, we must know 
 everything, and our pride will not let us own our ignorance. 
 
 Miscellaneotis Works, iv. 300. 
 
 Imitation. 
 
 We are, in truth, more than half what we are, by imitation. 
 The great point is, to choose good models, and to study 
 them with care. People insensibly contract, not only the 
 air, the manners, and the vices, of those with whom they 
 commonly converse, but their virtues too, and even their 
 way of thinking. This is so true, that I have known very 
 plain understandings catch a certain degree of wit, by con- 
 stantly conversing with those who had a great deal. Persist 
 therefore, in keeping the best company, and you will 
 insensibly become like them ; but if you add attention and 
 observation, you will very soon be one of them. This 
 
 inevitable 
 
So 
 
 ^nattcndon. 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 inevitable contagion of company shows you the necessity of 
 keeping the best, and avoiding all other ; for in every one, 
 something will stick. ^,^^,^, ^, ^,., ^on, a. 327. 
 
 Every man becomes, to a certain degree, what the people 
 he generally converses with are. He catches their air, their 
 manners, and even their way of thinking. If he observes 
 with attention, he will catch them soon, but if he does not, 
 he will at long run contract them insensibly. I know 
 nothing in the world but poetry, that is not to be acquired 
 by application and care. /3. iii. 24. 
 
 Inattention. 
 
 There is nothing so brutally shocking, nor so little for- 
 given, as a seeming inattention to the person who is 
 speaking to you ; and I have known many a man knocked 
 down, for (in my opinion) a much slighter provocation, than 
 that shocking inattention which I mean. I have seen many 
 people, who while you are speaking to them, instead of 
 looking at, and attending to you, fix their eyes upon the 
 ceiling, or some other part of the room, look out of the 
 window, play with a dog, or twirl their snuff-box. Nothing 
 discovers a little, futile, frivolous mind more than this, and 
 nothing is so offensively ill-bred : it is an explicit declara- 
 tion on your part, that every, the most trifling object, 
 deserves your attention more than all that can be said by 
 the person who is speaking to you. Judge of the sentiments 
 of hatred and resentment, which such treatment must excite^ 
 in every breast where any degree of self-love dwells ; and I 
 
Jniofence* 
 
 8i 
 
 am sure, I never yet met with that breast where there was 
 not a great deal. I repeat it again and again (for it is 
 highly necessary for you to remember it), that sort of 
 vanity and self-love is inseparable from human nature, what- 
 ever may be its rank or condition ; even your footman will 
 sooner forget and forgive a beating, than any manifest mark 
 
 of slight and contempt. Letters to his Son, iii. 303. 
 
 Indolence. 
 
 I look upon indolence as a sort of suicide ; for the man 
 is effectually destroyed, though the appetites of the brute 
 may survive. z^. iv. 62. 
 
 Invasions. 
 
 The French whisper in confidence, in order that it may be 
 the more known and the more credited, that they intend to 
 invade us this year, in no less than three places ; that is, 
 England, Scotland, and Ireland. Some of our great men, 
 like the devils, believe and tremble ; others, and one little 
 one, whom I know, laugh at it ; and, in general, it seems to 
 be a poor instead of a formidable scarecrow. While some- 
 body was at the head of a moderate army, and wanted (I 
 know why) to be at the head of a great one, intended 
 invasions were made an article of political faith ; and the 
 belief of them was required, as in the Church the belief of 
 some absurdities, and even impossibilities, is required, upon 
 pain of heresy, excommunication, and consequently damna- 
 tion, if they tend to the power and interest of the heads of 
 the Church. But now, there is a general toleration, and 
 the best subjects, as well as the best Christians, may believe 
 what their reason and their consciences suggest, it is gener- 
 
 G ally 
 
82 
 
 Jtrefani. 
 
 Lord Ches* 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 ally and rationally supposed, the French will threaten and 
 not strike, since we are so well prepared, by both armies 
 and fleets, to receive, and, I may add, to destroy them ^ 
 
 Letters to his Son, iv. 182. 
 
 Ireland. 
 
 I hear with great pleasure that Ireland improves daily, 
 and that a spirit of industry spreads itself, to the great 
 increase of trade and manufacturers. I think I interest 
 myself more in that country than in this ; this is past its 
 perfection, and seems gradually declining into weakness and 
 caducity ; that seems but tending to its vigour and perfection, 
 and engages one's expectations and hopes ; one loves a 
 promising youth, one only esteems an old man ; the former 
 is a much quicker sentiment than the latter ^. 
 
 Miscellaneous Works, iv. 238. 
 
 The Je ne sais quoi. 
 
 I dare say you have heard and read of they^ ne sais quoi, 
 both in French and English, for the expression is now 
 adopted in our language ; but I question whether you have 
 any clear idea of it, and indeed it is more easily felt than 
 
 ^ Horace Walpole, writing a fortnight later (June i, 1759), says: 'I 
 have not announced to you in form the invasion from France, of which 
 all our newspapers have been so full, nor do I tell you every time the 
 clock strikes. An invasion frightens one but once. I am grown to fear 
 no invasions but those we make. Yet I believe there are people really 
 afraid of this- I mean the new militia, who have received orders to 
 march.' — Walpole's Letters, iii. 227. 
 
 "^ Written in 1751. 
 
 defined 
 
■King©. 
 
 83 
 
 defined. It is a most inestimable quality, and adorns every 
 other. I will endeavour to give you a general notion of it, 
 though I cannot an exact one ; experience must teach it 
 you, and will, if you attend to it. It is in my opinion a 
 compound of all the agreeable qualities of body and mind, 
 in which no one of them predominates in such a manner 
 as to give exclusion to any other. It is not mere wit, mere 
 beauty, mere learning, nor indeed mere any one thing that 
 produces it, though they all contribute something towards 
 it. It is owing to this Je ne sais quoi that one takes a liking 
 to some one particular person at first rather than to another. 
 One feels oneself prepossessed in favour of that person with- 
 out being enough acquainted with him to judge of his 
 intrinsic merit or talents, and one finds oneself inclined to 
 suppose him to have good sense, good nature, and good 
 humour. A genteel address, graceful motions, a pleasing 
 elocution, and elegancy of style, are powerful ingredients in 
 this compound. It is in short an extract of all the Graces. 
 
 Letters to his Godson^ p. 262. 
 
 Kings. 
 
 The Emperor \ by your account, seems to be very well for 
 an Emperor ; who, by being above the other monarchs in 
 Europe, may justly be supposed to have had a proportion- 
 ably worse education. I find, by your account of him, that 
 he has been trained up to homicide, the only science in 
 which princes are ever instructed ; and with good reason, as 
 their greatness and glory singly depend upon the numbers 
 
 ^ Joseph II. 
 G 2 
 
 of 
 
84 
 
 'Knat^ee anb S^ofe* 
 
 of their fellow creatures, which their ambition exterminates. 
 If a sovereign should, by great accident^ deviate into 
 moderation, justice, and clemency, what a contemptible 
 figure would he make in the catalogue of princes ! I have 
 always owned a great regard for King Log. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iv. 242. 
 
 • • 
 
 As kings are begotten and born like other men, it is 
 to be presumed that they are of the human species ; and 
 perhaps, had they the same education, they might prove 
 like other men. But, flattered from their cradles, their 
 hearts are corrupted, and their heads are turned, so that 
 they seem to be a species by themselves. No king ever 
 said to himself. Homo sum, nihil humani a me alienum puto \ 
 Flattery cannot be too strong for them ; drunk with it from 
 their infancy, hke old drinkers, they require drams. They 
 prefer a personal attachment to a pubHc service, and reward 
 it better. They are vain and weak enough to look upon it 
 as a free-will offering to their merit, and not as a burnt- 
 sacrifice to their power. ib. iv. 301. 
 
 Knaves and Fools. 
 
 It is impossible for a man of sense not to have a contempt 
 for fools, and for a man of honour not to have an abhor- 
 rence of knaves ; but you must gain upon yourself so as not 
 to discover either, in their full extent. They are, I fear, too 
 great a majority to contend with, and their numbers make 
 them formidable, though not respectable. They commonly 
 hang together, for the mutual use they make of each other. 
 
 ^ Terence, Heaut. i. i. 25. 
 
 Show 
 
BavL^Un, 
 
 85 
 
 Show them a reserved civility, and let them not exist with 
 regard to you. Do not play off the fool, as is too commonly 
 done by would-be wits, nor shock the knave unnecessarily ; 
 but have as httle to do as is possible with either, and 
 remember always as an undoubted truth, that whoever 
 contracts a friendship with a knave or a fool, has something 
 
 bad to do or to conceal. Letters to his Godson, p. 173. 
 
 Knowledge and Manners. 
 
 Manners must adorn knowledge, and smooth its way 
 through the world. Like a great, rough diamond, it may do 
 very well in a closet, by way of curiosity, and also for its 
 intrinsic value ; but it will never be worn, nor shine, if it is 
 
 not polished. Letters to his Son, ii. 22. 
 
 Knowledge may give weight, but accomplishments only 
 give lustre \ and many more people see than weigh. 
 
 lb. iv. 304. 
 
 Laughter. 
 
 Having mentioned laughing, I must particularly warn you 
 against it : and I could heartily wish that you may often be 
 seen to smile, but never heard to laugh, while you live. 
 Frequent and loud laughter is the characteristic of folly and 
 ill manners : it is the manner in which the mob express their 
 silly joy, at silly things ; and they call it being merry. In 
 my mind, there is nothing so illiberal, and so ill-bred^ as 
 audible laughter. True wit, or sense, never yet made any 
 body laugh \ they are above it : they please the mind, and 
 give a cheerfulness to the countenance. But it is low 
 
 buffoonery, 
 
86 
 
 &a\xQ^(n. 
 
 buffoonery, or silly accidents, that always excite laughter; 
 and that is what people of sense and breeding should show 
 themselves above. A man's going to sit down, in the suppo- 
 sition that he has a chair behind him, and falling down upon 
 his back for want of one, sets a whole company a laughing, 
 when all the wit in the world would not do it ; a plain proof, 
 in my mind, how low and unbecoming a thing laughter is. 
 Not to mention the disagreeable noise that it makes, and 
 the shocking distortion of the face that it occasions. 
 Laughter is easily restrained by a very little reflection ; but, 
 as it is generally connected with the idea of gaiety, people 
 do not enough attend to its absurdity. I am neither of a 
 melancholy nor a cynical disposition ; and am as willing 
 and as apt to be pleased as anybody ; but I am sure that, 
 since I have had the full use of my reason, nobody has ever 
 
 heard me laugh\ Letters to his Son, i. 328. 
 
 Loud laughter is the mirth of the mob, who are only 
 pleased with silly things ; for true wit or good sense never ex- 
 cited 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. lb. ii. 92. 
 
 ^ Swift did not laugh. 'He had a countenance sour and severe, 
 which he seldom softened by any appearance of gaiety. He stubbornly 
 resisted any tendency to laughter.'— Johnson's Works ^ viii. 222. Neither 
 did Pope laugh. ' By no merriment, either of others or his own, was 
 he ever seen excited to laughter.' — lb. p. 312. Lord Froth, in Congreve's 
 Double Dealer, published the year before Chesterfield's birth, had said : 
 ' There is nothing more unbecoming a man of quality than to laugh, it 
 is such a vulgar expression of the passion. Everybody can laugh.' — Act 
 i. sc. I. 
 
 Lazy 
 
^entotree vititntte. 
 
 87 
 
 Lazy and Trifling Minds. 
 
 There are two sorts of understandings ; one of which 
 hinders a man from ever being considerable, and the other 
 commonly makes him ridiculous ; I mean the lazy mind, 
 and the trifling, frivolous mind. Yours, I hope, is neither. 
 The lazy mind will not take the trouble of going to the 
 bottom of any thing ; but, discouraged by the first difficulties 
 (and every thing worth knowing or having is attended with 
 some), stops short, contents itself with easy, and, conse- 
 quently, superficial knowledge, and prefers a great degree of 
 ignorance to a small degree of trouble. The trifling and 
 frivolous mind is always busied, but to little purpose ; it 
 takes little objects for great ones, and throws away upon 
 trifles that time and attention, which only important things 
 deserve. Knickknacks, butterflies, shells, insects, &c., are 
 the objects of their most serious researches. They contem- 
 plate the dress, not the characters, of the company they 
 keep. They attend more to the decorations of a play, than 
 to the sense of it ; and to the ceremonies of a Court, more 
 
 than to its politics. Letters to his Son, ii. 29, 31. 
 
 Leniores virtutes. 
 
 Great talents, and great virtues (if you should have them) 
 will procure you the respect and the admiration of mankind ; 
 but it is the lesser talents, the leniores virtutes^ which must 
 procure you their love and affection. The former, unassisted 
 and unadorned by the latter, will extort praise ; but will, at 
 the same time, excite both fear and envy ; two sentiments 
 absolutely incompatible with love and affection. a. h. 303. 
 
 We 
 
iSeniotee vittnU^. 
 
 We are all so formed that our understandings are generally 
 the dupes of our hearts, that is of our passions ; and the 
 surest way to the former, is through the latter, which must 
 be engaged by the leniores virtutes alone, and the manner 
 of exerting them. The insolent civility of a proud man, is 
 (for example), if possible, more shocking than his rudeness 
 could be ; because he shows you, by his manner, that he 
 thinks it mere condescension in him ; and that his good- 
 ness alone bestows upon you, what you have no pretence to 
 claim. He intimates his protection, instead of his friend- 
 ship, by a gracious nod, instead of an usual bow ; and rather 
 signifies his consent that you may, than his invitation that 
 you should, sit, walk, eat, or drink with him. 
 
 The costive liberality of a purse-proud man, insults the 
 distresses it sometimes relieves ; he takes care to make you 
 feel your own misfortunes, and the difference between your 
 situation and his ; both which he insinuates to be justly 
 merited: yours, by your folly, his, by his wisdom. The 
 arrogant pedant does not communicate, but promulgates his 
 knowledge. He does not give it you, but he inflicts it upon 
 you ; and is (if possible) more desirous to show you your own 
 ignorance, than his own learning. Such manners as these, not 
 only in the particular instances which I have mentioned, but 
 likewise in all others, shock and revolt that little pride and 
 vanity, which every man has in his heart ; and obliterate in 
 us the obligation for the favour conferred, by reminding us 
 of the motive which produced, and the manner which 
 
 accompanied it ^ Letters to his Son, ii. 304. 
 
 ^ ' Lord Orrery (said Johnson) was not dignified ; Lord Chesterfield 
 was; but he was insolent.' — Boswell's Life of Johnson, iv. 174. 
 
 Adorn 
 
i,tiUx^. 
 
 Adorn yourself with all those graces and accomplishments 
 which, without solidity, are frivolous ; but without which, 
 solidity is, to a great degree, useless. Take one man, with 
 a very moderate degree of knowledge, but with a pleasing 
 figure, a prepossessing address, graceful in all that he says 
 and does, polite, liant, and, in short, adorned with all the 
 lesser talents ; and take another man, with sound sense 
 and profound knowledge, but without the above-mentioned 
 advantages ; the former will not only get the better of the 
 latter, in every pursuit of every kind, but in truth there will 
 be no sort of competition between them. 
 
 Letters to his Son, ii. 325. 
 
 Letters. 
 
 Your letters, except when upon a given subject, are ex- 
 ceedingly laconic, and neither answer my desires, nor the 
 purpose of letters ; which should be familiar conversations 
 between absent friends. As I desire to live with you upon 
 the footing of an intimate friend, and not of a parent, I 
 could wish that your letters gave me more particular accounts 
 of yourself, and of your lesser transactions. When you 
 write to me, suppose yourself conversing freely with me by 
 the fire-side. In that case, you would naturally mention 
 the incidents of the day ; as, where you had been, who you 
 had seen, what you thought of them, &c. Do this in your 
 letters ; acquaint me sometimes with your studies, some- 
 times with your diversions ; tell me of any new persons and 
 characters that you meet with in company, and add your 
 own observations upon them : in shorty let me see more of 
 you in your letters. ib. ii. 75. 
 
 The 
 
B^tUte. 
 
 The first thing necessary in writing letters of business, is 
 extreme clearness and perspicuity ; every paragraph should 
 be so clear/ and unambiguous, that the dullest fellow in the 
 world may not be able to mistake it, nor obliged to read it 
 twice in order to understand it. This necessary clearness 
 implies a correctness, without excluding an elegancy of style. 
 Tropes, figures, antitheses, epigrams, &c., would be as mis- 
 placed, and as impertinent, in letters of business, as they 
 are sometimes (if judiciously used) proper and pleasing in 
 familiar letters, upon common and trite subjects. In busi- 
 ness, an elegant simplicity, the result of care, not of labour, 
 is required. Business must be well, not affectedly dressed ; 
 but by no means negligently. Let your first attention be to 
 clearness, and read every paragraph after you have written 
 it, in the critical view of discovering whether it is possible 
 that any one can mistake the true sense of it ; and correct 
 it accordingly. 
 
 Neatness in folding up, sealing, and directing your packets, 
 is by no means to be neglected : though, I dare say, you 
 think it is. But there is something in the exterior, even of 
 a packet, that may please or displease; and consequently 
 
 worth some attention. Letters to his son. Hi. 234-6. 
 
 Life. 
 
 Fontenelle's last words at a hundred were, Je souffre 
 d'ttre^. Deaf and infirm as I am, I can with truth say 
 
 ^ ' Drawing very near his end, he said, this is the first death I have ever 
 seen ; and his physician having asked him whether he was in pain, or 
 what he felt ; his answer was, I feel nothing but a difficulty of existing. 
 Je ne sens autre chose qu'une difficulte d'etre.' 
 
 the 
 
Bince of JSif^ 
 
 91 
 
 the same thing at sixty-three. In my mind, it is only the 
 strength of our passions, and the weakness of our reason, 
 that make us so fond of Hfe ; but, when the former subside 
 and give way to the latter, we grow weary of being, and 
 
 willing to withdraw. Miscellaneous Works, iv. iq4. 
 
 Lines of Life. 
 
 I entirely agree with you in your resolution of breeding up 
 all your sons to some profession or other, but, at the same 
 time, your usual vivacity carries you much too prematurely, 
 to fix their several destinations. You must not so much 
 consider what you would choose for them, as what they are 
 likely to succeed best in ; and that cannot be discovered 
 these seven or eight years. It is certain that, whether from 
 nature, or from early accidental impressions in their youth, 
 I will not say, it being very hard to distinguish, children, 
 after eight or ten years of age, often show a determined pre- 
 ference for some particular profession, which it would be 
 imprudent for their parents to oppose, because, in that case, 
 they would surely not succeed so well, or perhaps at all, in 
 any other. In the meantime, give them all eventually a 
 good education, so as to qualify them, to a certain degree, for 
 whatever profession you and they may hereafter agree upon ; 
 for I repeat it again, their approbation is full as necessary 
 as yours. These, however, are the general rules, by which 
 I would point out to them the professions which I should 
 severally wish them to apply to. I would recommend 
 the army, or the navy, to a boy of a warm .constitution, 
 strong animal spirits, and a cold genius ; to "l^ne of quick, 
 lively, and distinguishing parts, the law ; to % good, dull, 
 and decent boy, the church ; and trade to an acute, think- 
 ing, 
 
BiitU ZUn^e, 
 
 ing, and laborious one. I wish that my godson, for whom 
 you must allow me some degree of predilection, may take a 
 liking to the law, for that is the truly independent profes- 
 sion. People will only trust their property to the care of 
 the ablest lawyer, be he whig or tory, well or ill at Court. 
 
 Miscellaneous fVorks, iv. 187. 
 
 Little Things. 
 
 It is the character of an able man to despise little things 
 in great business ; but then he knows what things are little, 
 and what not. He does not suppose things little, because 
 they are commonly called so ; but by the consequences 
 that may or may not attend them. If gaining people's 
 affections, and interesting their hearts in your favour, be of 
 consequence, as it undoubtedly is, he knows very well that 
 a happy concurrence of all these^ commonly called little 
 things, manners, air, address, graces, &c., is of the utmost 
 consequence, and will never be at rest till he has acquired 
 them. The world is taken by the outside of things, and we 
 must take the world as it is ; you or I cannot set it right. 
 I know, at this time, a man of great quality and station, 
 who has not the parts of a porter ; but raised himself to the 
 station he is in, singly by having a graceful figure, polite 
 manners, and an engaging address : which^ by the way, he 
 only acquired by habit ; for he had not sense enough to get 
 them by reflection \ Leturs to Ms Son, ii. 277. 
 
 1 Chesterfield refers, I think, to the Duke of Richelieu. See ante, 
 p. 66. 
 
 Loving 
 
^T^inc^^ 
 
 93 
 
 Loving and Hating. 
 
 I have often thought, and still think, that there are few 
 things which people in general know less than how to love 
 and how to hate. They hurt those they love, by a mistaken 
 indulgence, by a blindness, nay, often a partiality to their 
 faults. Where they hate^ they hurt themselves, by ill-timed 
 
 passion and rage. Ze^^ers to Ms Son, ii. 271. 
 
 Lying. 
 
 The greatest fools are the greatest liars. For my own 
 part, I judge of every man's truth by his degree of under- 
 standing. 73. i. 274. 
 
 There are people who indulge themselves in a sort of 
 lying, which they reckon innocent, and which in one sense 
 is so ; for it hurts nobody but themselves. This sort of lying 
 is the spurious offspring of vanity, begotten upon folly : these 
 people deal in the marvellous ; they have seen some things 
 that never existed ; they have seen other things which they 
 never really saw, though they did exist, only because they were 
 thought worth seeing. Has anything remarkable been said 
 or done in any place, or in any company, they immediately 
 present and declare themselves eye or ear witnesses of it. 
 They have done feats themselves, unattempted, or at least 
 unperformed by others. They are always the heroes of 
 their own fables; and think that they gain consideration, 
 or at least present attention, by it. Whereas, in truth^ all 
 they get is ridicule and contempt, not without a good degree 
 of distrust : for one must naturally conclude, that he who 
 
 will 
 
94 (Wlam 
 
 will tell any lie from idle vanity, will not scruple telling a 
 greater for interest. Had I really seen anything so very 
 extraordinary as to be almost incredible, I would keep it to 
 myself, rather than, by telling it, give any one body room 
 to doubt for one minute of my veracity. 
 
 Letters to his Sotiy li. 316. 
 
 Man. 
 
 I have often told you (and it is most true) that, with 
 regard to mankind, we must not draw general conclusions 
 from certain particular principles, though, in the main, true 
 ones. We must not suppose that, because a man is a 
 rational animal, he will, therefore, always act rationally ; or, 
 because he has such or such a predominant passion, that 
 he will act invariably and consequentially in the pursuit of 
 it. No. We are complicated machines ; and though we 
 have one mainspring, that gives motion to the whole, we 
 have an infinity of little wheels, which, in their turns, retard, 
 precipitate, and sometimes stop that motion. Let us ex- 
 emplify. I will suppose ambition to be (as it commonly 
 is) the predominant passion of a Minister of State ; and 
 I will suppose that Minister to be an able one. Will 
 he, therefore, invariably pursue the object of that pre- 
 dominant passion ? May I be sure that he will do so and 
 so, because he ought? Nothing less. Sickness, or low 
 spirits, may damp this predominant passion; humour and 
 peevishness may triumph over it ; inferior passions may, at 
 times, surprise it, and prevail. Is this ambitious statesman 
 amorous ? Indiscreet and unguarded confidences, made in 
 tender moments, to his wife or his mistress, may defeat all 
 his schemes. Is he avaricious ? Some great lucrative object, 
 
 suddenly 
 
Qtlan* 
 
 95 
 
 suddenly presenting itself, may unravel all the work of his 
 ambition. Is he passionate ? Contradiction and provocation 
 (sometimes, it may be, too, artfully intended) may extort 
 rash and inconsiderate expressions, or actions, destructive 
 of his main object. Is he vain, and open to flattery ? An 
 artful, flattering favourite may mislead him; and even 
 laziness may, at certain moments, make him neglect or omit 
 the necessary steps to that height which he wants to arrive 
 at. Seek first, then, for the predominant passion of the 
 character which you mean to engage and influence, and 
 address yourself to it ; but without defying or despising the 
 inferior passions: get them in your interest too, for now 
 and then they will have their turns. In many cases you 
 may not have it in your power to contribute to the gratifica- 
 tion of the prevaiHng passion ; then take the next best to 
 your aid. There are many avenues to every man; and, 
 when you cannot get at him through the great one, try the 
 serpentine ones, and you will arrive at last. 
 
 Letters to his Son, ii. 297. 
 
 Though men are all of one composition, the several in- 
 gredients are so differently proportioned in each individual, 
 that no two are exactly alike ; and no one, at all times, like 
 himself. The ablest man will, sometimes, do weak things ; 
 the proudest man, mean things; the honestest man, 
 ill things; and the wickedest man, good ones. Study 
 individuals, then ; and if you take (as you ought to do) 
 their outlines from their prevailing passion, suspend your 
 last finishing strokes till you have attended to, and dis- 
 covered the operations of their inferior passions, appetites, 
 
 and 
 
96 
 
 Bt0 QHanieree (llofife©. 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 and humours. A man's general character may be that of 
 the honestest man of the world : do not dispute it ; you 
 might be thought envious or ill-natured : but, at the same 
 time, do not take this probity upon trust, to such a degree 
 as to put your life, fortune, or reputation, in his power. 
 This honest man may happen to be your rival in power, in 
 interest, or in love; three passions that often put honesty 
 to most severe trials, in which it is too often cast : but first 
 analyse this honest man yourself; and then, only, you will 
 be able to judge, how far you may, or may not, with safety, 
 
 trust him. Letters to his Son, ii. 300. 
 
 The mind of man is so variable, so different from itself in 
 prosperity and adversity, in sickness and in health, in high 
 or in low spirits, that I take the effects as I find them, with- 
 out presuming to trace them up to their true and secret 
 causes. I know by not knowing even myself how little I 
 know of that good, that bad, that knowing, that ignorant, 
 that reasoning and unreasonable creature, man. 
 
 Miscellaneous Works, iv. App. p. 17. 
 
 Les Mani^res Nobles. 
 
 What the French justly call les manures nobles, are only 
 to be acquired in the very best companies. They are the 
 distinguishing characteristics of men of fashion : people of 
 low education never wear them so close, but that some part 
 or other of the original vulgarism appears. Les manures 
 nobles equally forbid insolent contempt, or low envy and 
 jealousy. Low people, in good cirotfmstances, fine clothes, 
 and equipages, will insolently show contempt for all those 
 
 who 
 
QUatttter anb QUa^^etr. 
 
 97 
 
 who cannot afford as fine clothes, as good an equipage, and 
 who have not (as their term is) as much money in their 
 pockets : on the other hand, they are gnawed with envy, 
 and cannot help discovering it, of those who surpass them in 
 any of these articles, which are far from being sure criterions 
 of merit. They are, likewise, jealous of being slighted; 
 and consequently, suspicious and captious : they are eager 
 and hot about trifles ; because trifles were, at first, their 
 affairs of consequence. Les mam'eres nobles imply exactly 
 
 the reverse of all this. Letters to his Son, ii. 99. 
 
 Manner and Matter. 
 
 Surely, before the end of the world, people, and you in 
 particular, will discover, that the manner^ in everything, 
 is at least as important as the matter; and that the latter 
 never can please, without a good degree of elegancy in the 
 former. This holds true in everything in life : in writing, 
 conversing, business, the help of the Graces is absolutely 
 necessary ; and whoever vainly thinks himself above them, 
 will find he is mistaken, when it will be too late to court 
 them, for they will not come to strangers of an advanced 
 age. ih. iv. 177. 
 
 Marriage. 
 
 I have at last done the best office that can be done, to 
 most married people ; that is, I have fixed the separation 
 between my brother and his wife; and the definite treaty 
 of peace will be proclaimed in about a fortnight; for the 
 only solid and lasting pc^ce, between a man and his wife, 
 is, doubtless, a separation. /^. iv. 200. 
 
 H There 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
98 
 
 (nia0(et^ of t^c Z^mpct. 
 
 There are but two objects in marriage, love or money. 
 If you marry for love, you will certainly have some very 
 happy days, and probably many very uneasy ones ; if for 
 money, you will have no happy days and probably no uneasy 
 ones ; in this latter case let the woman at least be such a 
 one that you can live decently and amicably with, otherwise 
 
 it is a robbery. LeUers to his Godson, p. 390. 
 
 In matters of religion and matrimony I never give any 
 advice : because I will not have anybody's torments in this 
 world or the next laid to my charge. 
 
 Letter to A. C. Stanhope. lb. p. 367. 
 
 Mastery of the Temper. 
 
 I recommended to you, in my last, an innocent piece of 
 art ; that of flattering people behind their backs, in presence 
 of those, who, to make their own court, much more 
 than for your sake, will not fail to repeat, and even amplify 
 the praise to the party concerned. This is, of all flattery, 
 the most pleasing, and consequently the most effectual. 
 There are other, and many other inoffensive arts of this 
 kind, which are necessary in the course of the world, and 
 which he who practises the earliest, will please the most, 
 and rise the soonest. The spirits and vivacity of youth are 
 apt to neglect them as useless, or reject them as trouble- 
 some. But subsequent knowledge and experience of the 
 world remind us of their importance, commonly when it is 
 too late. The principal of these things, is the mastery of 
 one's temper, and that coolness of mind, and serenity of 
 
 countenance, 
 
QUa0^et^ of t^c temper. 
 
 99 
 
 countenance, which hinders us from discovering, by words, 
 actions, or even looks, those passions or sentiments by 
 which we are inwardly moved or agitated ; and the dis- 
 covery of which gives cooler and abler people such infinite 
 advantages over us, not only in great business, but in all 
 the most common occurrences of life. A man who does 
 not possess himself enough to hear disagreeable things, 
 without visible marks of anger and change of countenance, 
 or agreeable ones without sudden bursts of joy, and expan- 
 sion of countenance, is at the mercy of every artful knave, 
 or pert coxcomb : the former will provoke or please you 
 by design, to catch unguarded words or looks ; by which he 
 will easily decipher the secrets of your heart, of which you 
 should keep the key yourself, and trust it wdth no man 
 living. The latter will, by his absurdity, and without in- 
 tending it, produce the same discoveries, of which other 
 people will avail themselves. Letters to his son, ii. 167. 
 
 Measures not men. 
 
 I have opposed measures not men, and the change of 
 two or three men only is not a sufficient pledge to me that 
 
 measures will be changed ^ Miscellaneous Works, iv. 226. 
 
 Men of Fashion. 
 
 Your great point at present at Paris, to which all other 
 considerations must give way, is to become entirely a man 
 
 ^ The letter from which this passage is quoted is dated March 6, 
 1742. Goldsmith, in The Good-natured Man (1768), makes Lofty say: 
 * Measures not men have always been my mark ' (Act ii.) Burke, in his 
 Thoughts on the Cause of the Present Discontents (1770), attacks the 
 cant of not men but measures!' 
 
 H 2 of 
 
lOO 
 
 Qtlen of J^onour* 
 
 of fashion ; to be well bred without ceremony, easy without 
 negligence, steady and intrepid with modesty, genteel with- 
 out affectation, insinuating without meanness, cheerful 
 without being noisy, frank without indiscretion, and secret 
 without mysteriousness ; to know the proper time and place 
 for whatever you say or do, and to do it with an air of 
 condition : all this is not so soon nor so easily learned as 
 people imagine, but requires observation and time. The 
 world is an immense folio, which demands a great deal 
 of time and attention to be read and understood as it 
 
 ought to be. Letters to his Son, iii, 103. 
 
 Men of Honour. 
 
 A man of honour is one who peremptorily affirms himself 
 to be so, and who will cut anybody's throat that questions 
 it, though upon the best grounds. He is infinitely above 
 the restraints which the laws of God or man lay upon vulgar 
 minds, and knows no other ties but those of honour; of 
 which word he is to be the sole expounder. He must 
 strictly adhere to a party denomination, though he may be 
 utterly regardless of its principles. His expense should ex- 
 ceed his income considerably, not for the necessaries, but 
 for the superfluities of life, that the debts he contracts may 
 do him honour. There should be a haughtiness and in- 
 solence in his deportment which is supposed to result from 
 conscious honour. If he be choleric, and wrong-headed 
 into the bargain, with a good deal of animal courage, he 
 acquires the glorious character of a man of nice and jealous 
 honour : and, if all these qualifications are duly seasoned 
 with the genteelest vices, the man of honour is complete, 
 
 anything 
 
Qtlen of (pfeaeutre* 
 
 lOI 
 
 anything his wife, children, servants, or tradesmen may 
 think to the contrary, notwithstanding. 
 
 Miscellaneous Works, ii. 53. 
 
 To prevent mistakes, I must observe that there is a great 
 difference between a man of honour and a person of honour. 
 By persons of honour were meant, in the latter end of the 
 last century, bad authors and poets of noble birth, who 
 were but just not fools enough to prefix their names in 
 great letters to the prologues, epilogues, and sometimes 
 even the plays, with which they entertained the public. 
 But now that our nobility are too generous to interfere in 
 the trade of us poor professed authors, or to eclipse our 
 performances by the distinguished and superior excellency 
 and lustre of theirs, the meaning at present of a person of 
 honour is reduced to the simple idea of a person of illus- 
 trious birth. 7^.11205. 
 
 Men of pleasure. 
 
 The character which most young men first aim at is that 
 of a man of pleasure; but they generally take it upon 
 trust; and, instead of consulting their own taste and in- 
 clinations, they blindly adopt whatever those with whom 
 they chiefly converse are pleased to call by the name of 
 pleasure ; and a man of pleasure, in the vulgar acceptation 
 of that phrase, means only a beastly drunkard, an aban- 
 doned debauchee, and a profligate swearer and curser. As 
 it may be of use to you, I am not unwilling, though at the 
 same time ashamed, to own that the vices of my youth 
 proceeded much more from my silly resolution of being 
 
 what 
 
I02 
 
 Qtlen of (pfeaoutre^ 
 
 what I heard called a man of pleasure, than from my own 
 indinations. 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 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 I plunged into it with- 
 out desire, at first ; sacrificed a thousand real pleasures to 
 it ; and made myself solidly uneasy by it, for thirty the best 
 years of my life. 
 
 I was even absurd enough, for a little while, to swear, by 
 way of adorning and completing the shining character which 
 I affected ; but this folly I soon laid aside, upon finding 
 both the guilt and the indecency of it. 
 
 Thus seduced by fashion, and bhndly adopting nominal 
 pleasures, I lost real ones ; and my fortune impaired, and 
 my constitution shattered, are, I must confess, the just 
 punishment of my errors. Take warning then by them ; 
 choose your pleasures for yourself, and do not let them be 
 imposed upon you. Follow nature, and not fashion : weigh 
 the present enjoyment of your pleasures, against the ne- 
 cessary consequences of them, and then let your own com- 
 mon sense determine your choice. Letters to Ms Son, i. 258. 
 
 I hope you earn your pleasures, and consequently taste 
 them ; for, by the way, I know a great many men, who call 
 themselves men of pleasure, but who, in truth, have none. 
 
 They 
 
QUetri^* 
 
 lO^ 
 
 They adopt other people's indiscriminately, but without any 
 taste of their own. I have known them often inflict ex- 
 cesses upon themselves, because they thought them genteel ; 
 though they sat as awkwardly upon them as other people's 
 clothes would have done. Have no pleasures but your 
 own, and then you will shine in them. 
 
 Letters to his Son^ ii. 337. 
 
 Few men can be men of pleasure, every man may be 
 a rake. /^.iii.68. 
 
 Merit. 
 
 I have often heard and read of oppressed and unrewarded 
 merit, but I have oftener (I might say always) seen great merit 
 make its way, and meet with its reward, to a certain degree 
 at least, in spite of all difficulties. -^^- "• 4- 
 
 Metaphysics. 
 
 I look upon all metaphysics to be guesswork of imagina- 
 
 Miscellaneous Works^ iv. 217. 
 
 tion. 
 
 Method. 
 
 At your age you have no right nor claim to laziness; 
 I have, if I please, being emeritus. You are but just Hfted 
 in the world, and must be active, diligent, indefatigable. If 
 ever you propose commanding with dignity, you must serve 
 up to it with diligence. Never put oif till to-morrow what 
 you can do to-day. Despatch is the soul of business ; and 
 nothing contributes more to despatch than method. Lay 
 down a method for everything, and stick to it inviolably, as 
 
 far 
 
(Wlibbh cfa00* 
 
 far as unexpected incidents may allow. Fix one certain hour 
 and day in the week for your accompts, and keep them 
 together in their proper order ; by which means they will 
 require very little time, and you can never be much cheated. 
 Whatever letters and papers you keep, docket and tie them 
 up in their respective classes, so that you may instantly have 
 recourse to any one. Lay down a method also for your 
 reading, for which you allot a certain share of your mornings ; 
 let it be in a consistent and consecutive course, and not in 
 that desultory and immethodical manner, in which many 
 people read scraps of different authors, upon different 
 subjects. Keep a useful and short common-place book of 
 w^hat you read, to help your memory only, and not for 
 pedantic quotations. Never read history without having 
 maps, and a chronological book, or tables, lying by you, and 
 constantly recurred to; without which, history is only a 
 confused heap of facts. One method more I recommend 
 to you, by which I have found great benefit, even in the 
 most dissipated part of my life ; that is, to rise early, and 
 at the same hour every morning, how late soever you 
 may have sat up the night before. This secures you an 
 hour or two, at least, of reading or reflection, before the 
 common interruptions of the morning begin ; and it will 
 save your constitution, by forcing you to go to bed early at 
 least one night in three. Letters to Ms Son, ii. 335. 
 
 Middle class. 
 
 The middle class of people in this country, though 
 generally straining to imitate their betters, have not yet 
 shaken off the prejudices of their education ; very many of 
 them still believe in a supreme being, in a future state of 
 
 rewards 
 
QHitttict;^. 
 
 105 
 
 rewards and punishments, and retain some coarse, home- 
 spun notions of moral good and evil. The rational system 
 of materialism has not yet reached them, and, in my opinion, 
 it may be full as well it never should ; for, as I am not of 
 levelling principles, I am for preserving a due subordination 
 from inferiors to superiors, which an equality of profligacy 
 
 must totally destroy. Miscellaneous Works, ii. 301. 
 
 Mimicry. 
 
 Mimicry, which is the common and. favourite amuse- 
 ment of little, low minds, is in the utmost contempt with 
 great ones. It is the lowest and most illiberal of all 
 buffoonery. Pray, neither practise it yourself nor applaud it 
 in others. Besides that, the person mimicked is insulted ; 
 and, as I have often observed to you before, an insult is 
 
 never forgiven \ Letters to his Son, ii. 91. 
 
 Minuet time. 
 
 I will mention to you a trifling and perhaps, you will think, a 
 ridiculous receipt, toward checking the excess of passion, of 
 which I think that I have experienced the utility myself. Do 
 everything in minuet time, speak, think,. and move always in 
 that measure, equally free from the dullness of slow, or the 
 hurry and huddle of quick time. This movement, more- 
 over, will allow you some moments to think forwards, and the 
 Graces to accompany what you say or do, for they are never 
 
 ^ * Mimicry,' said Johnson, * is making a very mean use of a man's 
 powers. But to be a good mimic requires great powers ; great acute- 
 ness of observation, great retention of what is observed, and great 
 pliancy of organs to represent what is observed.' — Boswell's Life of 
 Johnson^ ii. 154. 
 
 represented 
 
io6 
 
 QUo^efe: ^ow to fie c^o^em 
 
 represented as either running or dozing. Observe a man in 
 a passion, see his eyes glaring, his face inflamed, his limbs 
 trembling, and his tongue stammering and faulting with 
 rage, and then ask yourself calmly whether you would upon 
 any account be that human wild beast. Such creatures are 
 hated and dreaded in all companies where they are let 
 loose, as people do not choose to be exposed to the disagree- 
 able necessity of either knocking down these brutes or being 
 knocked down by them. Do, on the contrary, endeavour to 
 be cool and steady upon all occasions. The advantages of 
 such a steady calmness are innumerable, and would be too 
 tedious to relate. It may be acquired by care and reflection. 
 If it could not, that reason which distinguishes men from 
 brutes, would be given us to very little purpose. As a proof 
 of this, I never saw, and scarcely ever heard, of a Quaker 
 in a passion. In truth, there is in that sect, a decorum, 
 decency, and an amiable simplicity, that I know in no 
 
 other. Letters to his Godson, p. 178. 
 
 Models: ho^v to be chosen. 
 
 Observe the shining part of every man of fashion, who is 
 liked and esteemed; attend to and imitate that particular 
 accomplishment for which you hear him chiefly celebrated 
 and distinguished : then collect those various parts, and 
 make yourself a mosaic of the whole. No one body 
 possesses every thing, and almost every body possesses some 
 one thing, worthy of imitation : only choose your models well ; 
 and in order to do so, choose by your ear more than by your 
 eye. The best model is always that which is most univer- 
 sally allowed to be the best, though in strictness it may 
 
 possibly 
 
QUoiee^^^ 
 
 107 
 
 possibly not be so. We must take most things as they are, 
 we cannot make them what we would, nor often what they 
 should be; and, where moral duties are not concerned, it is 
 more prudent to follow than to attempt to lead. 
 
 Letters to his Sony iv. 19. 
 
 Modesty. 
 
 Take this rule for granted as a never-failing one ;— that you 
 must never seem to affect the character in which you 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 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 great care to let nobody discover that you do 
 know your own value. Whatever real merit you have, other 
 people will discover ; and people always magnify their own 
 discoveries, as they lessen those of others. 
 
 lb. iii. 20. 
 
 Natural affection. 
 
 There is no such thing as natural affection ; for, if there 
 were, some inward sentiment must necessarily and recipro- 
 cally discover the parent to the child, and the child to the 
 parent, without any exterior indications, knowledge, or 
 acquaintance whatsoever ; which never happened, since the 
 creation of the world, whatever poets, romance or novel 
 writers, and such Sentiment-mongers, may be pleased to say 
 to the contrary. /^. i. 30^. 
 
 Natural 
 
 i/ 
 
Qta^uraf tic^^t^. 
 
 Natural rights. 
 
 Most men think that they have an equal natural right to 
 riches, and equal abilities to make the proper use of them ; 
 but not very many of them have the impudence to think 
 themselves qualified for power. 
 
 Miscellaneous Works, iv. App. p. 65. 
 
 Negotiations. 
 
 If two men of equal talents negotiate together, he who 
 best understands the language in which the negotiation is 
 carried on, will infallibly get the better of the other. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 17. 
 
 New Year's Day. 
 
 This is the season of well-bred hes indiscriminately told 
 by all to all; professions and wishes unfelt and unmeant, 
 degraded by use and profaned by falsehood, are lavished 
 
 with profusion. Miscellaneoiis Works, iv. 150. 
 
 Operas. 
 
 Signior Metastasio attempted some time ago a very 
 dangerous innovation. He tried gently to throw some 
 sense into his operas ; but it did not take : the consequences 
 were obvious ; and nobody knew where they would stop. 
 
 The whole skill and judgment of the poet now consists 
 in selecting about a hundred words, for the opera vocabu- 
 lary does not exceed that number, that terminate in liquids 
 and vowels, and rhyme to each other. These words excite 
 ideas in the hearer, though they were not the result of any 
 in the poet. Thus the word tortorella^ stretched out to a 
 quaver of a quarter of an hour, excites in us the ideas of 
 
 tender 
 
Z^c otrnanten^af anb t^e eoUb. 
 
 109 
 
 tender and faithful love ; but if it is succeeded by nam'ce//a, 
 that soothing idea gives way to the boisterous and horrid 
 one of a skiff, that is, a heart, tossed by the winds and waves 
 upon the main ocean of love. The handcuffs and fetters in 
 which the hero commonly appears, at the end of the second, 
 or beginning of the third act, indicate captivity ; and when 
 properly jingled to a pathetic piece of recitativo upon questi 
 ceppi^ are really very moving, and inspire a love of liberty. 
 
 Miscellaneous IVorks, ii. 228. 
 
 Whenever I go to an opera, I leave my sense and reason 
 at the door with my half guinea, and deliver myself up to 
 my eyes and my ears. Letters to kis Son, ui 257. 
 
 The ornamental and the solid. 
 
 I knew a young man, who being just elected a member 
 of Parliament, was laughed at for being discovered, through 
 the keyhole of his chamber door, speaking to himself in the 
 glass, and forming his looks and gestures. I could not join 
 in that laugh ; but, on the contrary, thought him much wiser 
 than those who laughed at him ; for he knew the import- 
 ance of those little graces in a public assembly, and they 
 did not. Your little person (which I am told by the way 
 is not ill turned), whether in a laced coat, or a blanket, is 
 specifically the same; but yet, I believe, you choose to 
 wear the former, and you are in the right, for the sake of 
 pleasing more. The worst-bred man in Europe, if a lady 
 let fall her fan, would certainly take it up and give it her ; 
 the best-bred man in Europe could do no more. The 
 difference, however, would be considerable ; the latter would 
 
 please 
 
no 
 
 (pat^affef caeee. 
 
 please by doing it gracefully ; the former would be laughed 
 at for doing it awkwardly. I repeat it, and repeat it again, 
 and shall never cease repeating it to you : air, manners, 
 graces, style, elegancy, and all those ornaments, must now 
 be the only objects of your attention ; it is now, or never, 
 that you must acquire them. Postpone, therefore, all other 
 considerations ; make them now your serious study ; you 
 have not one moment to lose. The soHd and the orna- 
 mental united are undoubtedly best ; but were I reduced 
 to make an option, I should without hesitation choose the 
 
 latter. Letters to hisSon^ iii. 127. 
 
 Parallel cases. 
 
 Some great scholars, most absurdly, draw all their maxims, 
 both for public and private life, from what they call parallel 
 cases in the ancient authors ; without considering that, in 
 the first place, there never were, since the creation of the 
 world, two cases exactly parallel : and, in the next place, that 
 there never was a case stated, or even known, by any historian, 
 with every one of its circumstances ; which, however, ought 
 to be known, in order to be reasoned from. 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, not as guides. We are really so prejudiced by our 
 educations, that, as the ancients deified their heroes, we 
 deify their madmen : of which, with all due regard to anti- 
 quity, I take Leonidas and Curtius to have been two distin- 
 guished ones. And yet a solid pedant would, in a speech 
 in Parliament, relative to a tax of two pence in the pound 
 
 upon 
 
(patrfiamenf* 
 
 III 
 
 upon some commodity or other, quote those two heroes, as 
 examples of what we ought to do, and suffer for our country. 
 I have known these absurdities carried so far, by people of 
 injudicious learning, that I should not be surprised if some 
 of them were to propose, while we are at war with the Gauls, 
 that a number of geese should be kept in the Tower, upon 
 account of the infinite advantage which Rome received, in a 
 parallel case, from a certain number of geese in the Capitol. 
 This way of reasoning, and this way of speaking, will always 
 form a poor politician, and a puerile declaimer. 
 
 Letters to his Son, i. 321. 
 
 Parliament. 
 
 It is now above forty years since I have never spoken nor 
 written one single word, without giving myself at least one 
 moment's time to consider whether it was a good one or a 
 bad one, and whether I could not find out a better in its 
 place. An unharmonious and rugged period, at this time, 
 shocks my ears ; and I, like all the rest of the world, will 
 willingly exchange, and give up some degree of rough sense, 
 for a good degree of pleasing sound. I will freely and 
 truly own to you, without either vanity or false modesty, that 
 whatever reputation I have acquired as a speaker, is more 
 owing to my constant attention to my diction, than to my 
 matter, which was necessarily just the same as other people's. 
 When you come into Parliament, your reputation as a 
 speaker will depend much more upon your words, and your 
 periods, than upon the subject. The same matter occurs 
 equally to everybody of common-sense, upon the same 
 question ; the dressing it well, is what excites the attention 
 and admiration of the audience. 
 
 The 
 
I 12 
 
 {pavUamtnt 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 The vulgar, who are always mistaken, look upon a speaker 
 and a comet with the same astonishment and admiration, 
 taking them both for preternatural phenomena. This error 
 discourages many young men from attempting that character ; 
 and good speakers are willing to have their talent considered 
 as something very extraordinary, if not a peculiar gift of God 
 to his elect. But let you and I ^ analyse and simplify this 
 good speaker ; let us strip him of those adventitious plumes, 
 with which his own pride and the ignorance of others have 
 decked him, and we shall find the true definition of him to 
 be no more than this : — A man of good common sense, who 
 reasons justly, and expresses himself elegantly on that sub- 
 ject upon which he speaks. There is, surely, no witchcraft 
 in this. A man of sense, without a superior and astonishing 
 degree of parts, will not talk nonsense upon any subject ; 
 nor will he, if he has the least taste or appHcation, talk in- 
 elegantly. What, then, does all this mighty art and mystery 
 of speaking in Parliament amount to ? Why, no more than 
 this, that the man who speaks in the House of Commons, 
 speaks in that House, and to four hundred people, that 
 opinion, upon a given subject, which he would make no 
 difficulty of speaking in any house in England, round the fire, 
 or at table, to any fourteen people whatsoever ; better judges, 
 perhaps, and severer critics of what he says, than any four- 
 teen gentlemen of the House of Commons. 
 
 I have spoken frequently in Parliament, and not always 
 without some applause ; and therefore I can assure you, from 
 my experience, that there is very little in it. The elegancy 
 
 ^ This error in grammar comes in curiously here. 
 
 of 
 
^(XtUam^nt 
 
 113 
 
 of the style, and the turn of the periods, make the chief im- 
 pression upon the hearers. Give them but one or two round 
 and harmonious periods in a speech, which they will retain 
 and repeat, and they will go home as well satisfied as people 
 do from an opera, humming all the way one or two favourite 
 tunes that have struck their ears and were easily caught. 
 Most people have ears, but few have judgment ; tickle those 
 ears, and, depend upon it, you will catch their judgments, 
 
 such as they are. Letters to Ms Son, u. 283. 
 
 Know that no man can make a figure in this country, but 
 by Parliament. Your fate depends upon your success there 
 as a speaker ; and, take my word for it, that success turns 
 much more upon manner than matter. Mr. Pitt, and Mr. 
 Murray \ the solicitor-general, are, beyond comparison, the 
 best speakers. Why ? Only because they are the best orators. 
 They alone can inflame or quiet the House ; they alone are 
 so attended to, in that numerous and noisy assembly, that 
 you might hear a pin fall while either of them is speaking. 
 Is it that their matter is better, or their arguments stronger, 
 than other people's ? Does the House expect extraordinary 
 informations from them ? Not in the least ; but the House 
 expects pleasure from them, and therefore attends ; finds 
 it, and therefore approves. Mr. Pitt, particularly, has very 
 little Parliamentary knowledge ; his matter is generally 
 flimsy, and his arguments often weak : but his eloquence 
 is superior, his action graceful, his enunciation just and 
 
 Afterwards Earl of Mansfield. 
 
 I harmonious ; 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
114 
 
 ^atUamtnt 
 
 harmonious ; his periods are well turned, and every word 
 he makes use of is the very best, and the most ex- 
 pressive, that can be used in that place. This, and not his 
 matter, made him pay-master, in spite of both king and 
 ministers. From this, draw the obvious conclusion. The 
 same thing holds full as true in conversation ; where even 
 trifles, elegantly expressed, well looked, and accompanied 
 with graceful action, will ever please, beyond all the home- 
 spun, unadorned sense in the world. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 124. 
 
 Every numerous assembly is mob^ let the individuals who 
 compose it be what they will. Mere reason and good sense 
 is never to be talked to a mob : their passions, their senti- 
 ments, their senses, and their seeming interests, are alone to 
 be applied to. Understanding they have collectively none ; 
 but they have ears and eyes, which must be flattered and 
 seduced ; and this can only be done by eloquence, tuneful 
 periods, graceful action, and all the various parts of oratory. 
 When you come into the House of Commons, if you imagine 
 that speaking plain and unadorned sense and reason will do 
 your business, you will find yourself mostly grossly mistaken. 
 As a speaker, you will be ranked only according to your 
 eloquence, and by no means according to your matter ; every- 
 body knows the matter almost alike, but few can adorn it^ 
 I was early convinced of the importance and powers of 
 eloquence ; and from that moment I applied myself to it. 
 I resolved not to utter one word, even in common conver- 
 sation, that should not be the most expressive, and the most 
 elegant, that the language could supply me with for that 
 
 purpose ; 
 
^AtUdmi^nt 
 
 115 
 
 purpose; by which means I have acquired such a certain 
 degree of habitual eloquence, that I must now really take 
 some pains, if I would express myself very inelegantly. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 145. 
 
 As the House of Commons is the theatre where you must 
 make your fortune and figure in the world, you must resolve 
 to be an actor, and not a persona muta, which is just equiva- 
 lent to a candle-snuffer upon other theatres. Whoever does 
 not shine there is obscure, insignificant, and contemptible ; 
 and you cannot conceive how easy it is, for a man of half 
 your sense and knowledge, to shine there if he pleases. The 
 receipt to make a speaker, and an applauded one too, is 
 short and easy. Take of common sense quantum sufficit, 
 add a little application to the rules and orders of the house, 
 throw obvious thoughts in a new light, and make up the 
 whole with a large quantity of purity, correctness, and ele- 
 gancy of style. Take it for granted, that by far the greatest 
 part of mankind do neither analyse nor search to the bottom ; 
 they are incapable of penetrating deeper than the surface. 
 All have senses to be gratified, very few have reason to be 
 applied to. Graceful utterance and action please their eyes, 
 elegant diction tickles their ears ; but strong reason would be 
 thrown away upon them. I am not only persuaded by theory, 
 but convinced by my experience, that (supposing a certain 
 degree of common sense) what is called a good speaker 
 is as much a mechanic as a good shoemaker ; and that the 
 two trades are equally to be learned by the' same degree of 
 application. Therefore, for God's sake, let this trade be the 
 principal object of your thoughts ; never lose sight of it. 
 
 I 2 Attend 
 
ii6 
 
 patUamcnt 
 
 Attend minutely to your style, whatever language you speak 
 or write in ; seek for the best words, and think of the best 
 turns. Whenever you doubt of the propriety or elegancy of 
 any word, search the dictionary, or some good author, for it, 
 or inquire of somebody who is master of that language; 
 and in a little time, propriety and elegancy of diction will 
 become so habitual to you that they will cost you no more 
 
 trouble. Letters to his Son, iv. 49. 
 
 When I first came into the House of Commons I respected 
 that assembly as a venerable one, and felt a certain awe 
 upon me : but, upon better acquaintance, that awe soon 
 vanished, and I discovered, that, of the five hundred and 
 sixty, not above thirty could understand reason, and that all 
 the rest were peuple ; that those thirty only required plain 
 common sense, dressed up in good language ; and that all 
 the others only required flowing and harmonious periods, 
 whether they conveyed any meaning or not, having ears to 
 hear, but not sense enough to judge. These considerations 
 made me speak with little concern the first time, with less 
 the second, and with none at all the third. I gave myself 
 no farther trouble about anything, except my elocution and 
 my style ; presuming, without much vanity, that I had com- 
 mon sense sufficient not to talk nonsense. Fix these three 
 truths strongly in your mind : first, that it is absolutely 
 necessary for you to speak in Parliament ; secondly, that it 
 only requires a little human attention, and no supernatural 
 gifts ; and, thirdly, that you have all the reason in the world 
 to think that you shall speak well. u. w. ss- 
 
 Parties. 
 
lattice. 
 
 Parties. 
 
 In all parties and bodies of men there have always been 
 found, and it has been always understood there are, men 
 whose virtue is too weak to stand the first shock either of 
 temptation or danger : when such men give way, they leave 
 a party stronger, because its rottenness is removed. 
 
 Miscellaneous Works ^ ii. 157. 
 
 Passionate people. 
 
 It is a vulgar notion, and worthy of the vulgar, for it is 
 both false and absurd, that passionate people are the best- 
 natured people in the world. They are a little hasty ^ it is 
 true ; a trifle will put them in a fury ; and^ while they are in 
 that fury, they neither know nor care what they say or do : 
 but then, as soon as it is over, they are extremely sorry and 
 penitent for any injury or mischief they did. This panegyric 
 of these choleric good-natured people, when examined and 
 simplified, amounts in plain common sense and EngKsh 
 to this : that they are good-natured when they are not ill- 
 natured \ and that when, in their fits of rage, they have said 
 or done things that have brought them to the gaol or the 
 gallows, they are extremely sorry for it. It is, indeed, highly 
 probable that they are ; but where is the reparation to those 
 whose reputations, limbs, or lives, they have either wounded 
 or destroyed ? This concern comes too late, and is only for 
 themselves. Self-love was the cause of the injury, and is the 
 only motive of the repentance. /3, n. 306. 
 
 The Passions. 
 
 Wherever you would persuade or prevail, address yourself 
 to the passions ; it is by them that mankind is to be taken. 
 
 Caesar 
 
ii8 
 
 ^adcnct. 
 
 Caesar bade his soldiers, at the battle of Pharsalia, aim at the 
 faces of Pompey's men ; they did so, and prevailed. I bid 
 you strike at the passions ; and if you do, you too will pre- 
 vail. If you can once engage people's pride, love, pity, 
 ambition (or whichever is their prevailing passion) on your 
 side, you need not fear what their reason can do against you. 
 
 Letters to his Son, i. 226. 
 
 Patience. 
 
 Patience is a most necessary qualification for business ^ ; 
 many a man would rather you heard his story, than granted 
 his request. jb. iv. 299. 
 
 Pedants. 
 
 There is another species of learned men who, though less 
 dogmatical and supercilious, are not less impertinent. These 
 are the communicative and shining pedants who adorn their 
 conversation^ even with women, by happy quotations of 
 Greek and Latin, and who have contracted such a familiarity 
 with the Greek and Roman authors, that they call them by 
 certain names or epithets denoting intimacy. As old Homer ; 
 that sty rogue Horace ; Maro, instead of Virgil ; and Naso, 
 instead of Ovid. These are often imitated by coxcombs, 
 who have no learning at all ; but who have got some names 
 and some scraps of ancient authors by heart, which they 
 improperly and impertinently retail in all companies, in 
 hopes of passing for scholars. If, therefore, you would 
 avoid the accusation of pedantry, on one hand, or the 
 
 ^ See ante p. 14, n. i. 
 
 suspicion 
 
^cbant0. 
 
 suspicion of ignorance, on the other, abstain from learned 
 ostentation. Speak the language of the company you 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 asked what o'clock it is, tell 
 it ; but do not proclaim it hourly and unasked^ like the 
 
 watchman. Letters to his Son, i. 322. 
 
 I have always observed that the most learned people^ 
 that is, those who have read the most Latin, write the worst ; 
 and this distinguishes the Latin of a gentleman scholar 
 from that of a pedant. A gentleman has, probably, read 
 no other Latin than that of the Augustan age, and there- 
 fore can write no other, whereas the pedant has read 
 much more bad Latin than good, and consequently writes 
 so too. He looks upon the best classical books as books 
 for school-boys, and consequently below him; but pores 
 over fragments of obscure authors, treasures up the obsolete 
 words which he meets with there, and uses' them, upon all 
 occasions, to show his reading, at the expense of his judg- 
 ment. Plautus is his favourite author, not for the sake of 
 the wit and the vis comica of his comedies ; but upon 
 account of the many obsolete words, and the cant of low 
 characters, which are to be met with nowhere else. He 
 will rather use olli than ////, optu7nl than optimt, and any 
 bad word, rather than any good one, provided he can but 
 prove that, strictly speaking, it is Latin ; that is, that 
 it was written by a Roman. By this rule, I might now 
 
 write 
 
T20 
 
 (pereecu^ion* 
 
 write to you in the language of Chaucer or Spenser, and 
 assert that I wrote EngHsh, because it was EngHsh in their 
 days ; but I should be a most affected puppy if I did so, 
 and you would not understand three words of my letter. 
 All these, and such-like affected peculiarities^ are the charac- 
 teristics of learned coxcombs and pedants, and are carefully 
 avoided by all men of sense. Letters to his son, ii. 69. 
 
 Persecution. 
 
 I would as soon murder a man for his estate as prosecute 
 him for his religious and speculative errors. 
 
 Miscellaneous Works, iv. 273. 
 
 Philosophy. 
 
 Do not think that all I have said is the consolation only 
 of an old philosophical fellow, almost insensible of pleasure 
 or pain, offered to a young fellow, who has quick sensations 
 of both. No, it is the rational philosophy taught me by 
 experience and knowledge of the world, and which I have 
 practised above thirty years. I always made the best of the 
 best, and never made bad worse by fretting ; this enabled 
 me to go through the various scenes of life, in which I have 
 been an actor, with more pleasure and less pain than most 
 people. You will say, perhaps, one cannot change one's 
 nature ; and that, if a person is born of a very sensible ^ 
 gloomy temper, and apt to see things in the worst light, they 
 
 ^ Chesterfield uses sensible where we should say sensitive. Johnson 
 says in his Dictionary that ' sensible in low conversation has sometimes 
 the sense of reasonable, judicious, wise' 
 
 cannot 
 
(P^iPoco^)^^. 
 
 cannot help it, nor new-make themselves. I will admit it, 
 to a certain degree, and but to a certain degree ; for though 
 we cannot totally change our nature, we may in a great 
 measure correct it, by reflection and philosophy ; and some 
 philosophy is a very necessary companion in this world, 
 where, even to the most fortunate, the chances are greatly 
 
 against happiness. Letters to Ms Son, iv. i8o. 
 
 I belong no more to social life, which, when I quitted 
 busy public life, I flattered myself would be the comfort of 
 my declining days ; but that, it seems, is not given me. I 
 neither murmur nor despair ; the lot of millions of my 
 fellow-creatures is still worse than mine. Exquisite pains of 
 the body, and still greater of the mind, conspire to torture 
 many of them. I thank God I am free from both; and 
 I look upon the privation of those ills as a real good. A 
 prouder being than I am, a lord, or, if you will, a stately 
 duke, of the whole creation, would place this singly to the 
 account of his reason ; but I am humble enough to allow my 
 constitution its share. I am naturally of a cheerful disposi- 
 tion. I view things in their most comfortable light, and I 
 unavailingly repine at nothing that cannot be retrieved. 
 
 Miscellaneous Works, iv. 247. 
 
 My deafness grows gradually worse, which in my mind 
 implies a total one before it be long. In this unhappy 
 situation, which I have reason to suppose will every day 
 grow worse, I still keep up my spirits tolerably ; that is, I 
 
122 
 
 cicaf ifee. 
 
 am free from melancholy^ which I think is all that can be 
 expected. This I impute to that degree of philosophy 
 which I have acquired by long experience of the world. I 
 have enjoyed all its pleasures, and consequently know their 
 futihty, and do not regret their loss. I appraise them at 
 their real value, which in truth is very low ; whereas those 
 who have not experienced always overrate them. They 
 only see their gay outside, and are dazzled with their glare ;. 
 but I have been behind the scenes. It is a common notion, 
 and like many common ones a very false one, that those 
 who have led a life of pleasure and business can never be 
 easy in retirement ; whereas I am persuaded that they are 
 the only people who can, if they have any sense and reflec- 
 tion. They can look back ociilo irretorto (without an evil 
 eye) upon w^hat they from knowledge despise ; others have 
 always a hankering after what they are not acquainted with. 
 I look upon all that has passed as one of those romantic 
 dreams that opium commonly occasions, and I do by no 
 means desire to repeat the nauseous dose for the sake 
 
 of the fugitive dream. Miscellaneous Works, iv. 255. 
 
 Physical ills. 
 
 Physical ills are the taxes laid upon this wretched life ; 
 some are taxed higher and some lower, but all pay some- 
 thing, lb. iv. 271. 
 
 The taxes that nature lays upon old age are very heavy, 
 and I would rather that death would distrain at once than 
 groan long under the burthen. ib. iv. 368. 
 
 Pleasing. 
 
fphaeinc^. 
 
 12' 
 
 Pleasing. 
 
 Pleasing in company is the only way of being pleased in 
 it yourself. Sense and knowledge are the first and necessary 
 foundations for pleasing in company ; but they will by no 
 means do alone, and they will never be perfectly welcome, 
 if they are not accompanied with manners and attentions. 
 
 Letters to his Son, ii. 52. 
 
 If you will please people, you must please them in their 
 own way ; and, as you cannot make them what they should 
 be, you must take them as they are. /3. ji. 282. 
 
 If you would either please in a private company, or per- 
 suade in a public assembly, air, looks, gestures, graces, 
 enunciation, proper accents, just emphasis, and tuneful 
 cadences, are full as necessary as the matter itself. Let 
 awkward, ungraceful, inelegant, and dull fellows, say what 
 they will in behalf of their solid matter and strong reason- 
 ings, and let them despise all those graces and ornaments 
 which engage the senses and captivate the heart, they will 
 find (though they will possibly wonder why) that their rough 
 unpolished matter, and their unadorned, coarse, but strong 
 arguments, will neither please nor persuade, but, on the 
 contrary, will tire out attention, and excite disgust. We are 
 so made, we love to be pleased, better than to be informed ; 
 information is, in a certain degree, mortifying, as it im- 
 plies our previous ignorance ; it must be sweetened to be 
 
 palatable. ib. iii. 124. 
 
 At 
 
^ha^xnc^. 
 
 At nineteen, I left the university of Cambridge, where I 
 was an absolute pedant : when I talked my best, I quoted 
 Horace ; when I aimed at being facetious, I quoted Martial ; 
 and when I had a mind to be a fine gentleman, I talked 
 Ovid. I was convinced that none but the ancients had 
 common sense ; that the classics contained everything that 
 was either necessary, useful, or ornamental to men ; and I 
 was not without thoughts of wearing the foga virilis of the 
 Romans, instead of the vulgar and illiberal dress of the 
 moderns. With these excellent notions, I went first to the 
 Hague, where, by the help of several letters of recommenda- 
 tion, I was soon introduced into all the best company, and 
 where I very soon discovered that I was totally mistaken in 
 almost every one notion I had entertained. Fortunately, I 
 had a strong desire to please (the mixed result of good- 
 nature, and a vanity by no means blameable), and was sen- 
 sible that I had nothing but the desire. I therefore resolved, 
 if possible, to acquire the means too. I studied attentively 
 and minutely the dress, the air, the manner, the address, 
 and the turn of conversation of all those whpm I found to be 
 the people in fashion, and most generally allowed to please. 
 I imitated them as well as I could : if I heard that one man 
 was reckoned remarkably genteel, I carefully watched his 
 dress, motions, and attitudes, and formed my own upon 
 them. When I heard of another whose conversation was 
 agreeable and engaging, I listened and attended to the turn 
 of it. I addressed myself, though de tres-mauvaise grace, to 
 all the most fashionable fine ladies ; confessed, and laughed 
 with them at my own awkwardness and rawness, recom- 
 mending myself as an object for them to try their skill 
 in forming. By these means, and with a passionate desire 
 
 of 
 
(pfeaeing. 
 
 of pleasing everybody, I came by degrees to please some ; 
 and, I can assure you, that what little figure I have made in 
 the world has been much more owing to that passionate 
 desire I had of pleasing universally, than to any intrinsic 
 merit or sound knowledge I might ever have been master of. 
 
 Letters to his Sony iii. 216. 
 
 • 
 
 It is only with women one loves, or men one respects, 
 that the desire of pleasing exerts itself; and w^ithout the 
 desire of pleasing, no man living can please. Let that 
 desire be the spring of all your words and actions. That 
 happy talent, the art of pleasing, which so few do, though 
 almost all might possess, is worth all your learning and 
 knowledge put together. The latter can never raise you 
 high, without the former ; but the former may carry you, as 
 it has carried thousands, a great way, without the latter. 
 
 lb. iii. 192. 
 
 Most arts require long study and application; but the 
 most useful art of all, that of pleasing, requires only the desire. 
 
 lb, iv. 304. 
 
 A man who despairs of pleasing will never please ; a man 
 who is sure that he shall always please, wherever he goes, 
 is a coxcomb ; but the man who hopes and endeavours to 
 please, and believes that he may, will most infallibly please. 
 
 Letters to his Godsotiy p. 186. 
 
 Perhaps you will say that it is impossible to please every- 
 body. I grant it ; but it does not follow that one should 
 
 not 
 
126 
 
 Qpfea0utre0* 
 
 not therefore endeavour to please as many as one can. 
 Nay, I will go farther, and admit that it is impossible for 
 any man not to have some enemies. But this truth from 
 long experience I assert, that he who has the most friends 
 and the fewest enemies is the strongest, will rise the 
 highest with the least envy, and fall, if he does fall, the 
 gentlest and the most pitied. 
 
 Stipplement to the Letters to his Son^ p. io6. 
 
 Could I revert to the age of twenty, and carry back with 
 me all the experience that forty years more have taught me, 
 I can assure you that I would employ much the greatest part 
 of my time in engaging the good will, and in insinuating my- 
 self into the predilection of people in general, instead of 
 directing my endeavours to please (as I was too apt to do) 
 the man whom I immediately wanted, exclusively of all 
 others. For if one happens (and it will sometimes happen 
 to the ablest man) to fail in his views with that man, one is 
 at a loss to know who \sic\ to address oneself to next, having 
 offended in general by that exclusive and distinguished 
 particular application. I would secure a general refuge in 
 the good will of the multitude, which is a great strength to 
 any man ; for both ministers and mistresses choose popular 
 and fashionable favourites. /^. p „2. 
 
 Pleasures. 
 
 Pleasures are, at proper times, necessary and useful: 
 they fashion and form you for the world; they teach you 
 characters, and show you the human heart in its unguarded 
 minutes. But then remember to make that use of them. 
 
 I have 
 
ea0ure0* 
 
 127 
 
 I have known many people, from laziness of mind, go 
 through both pleasure and business with equal inattention ; 
 neither enjoying the one, nor doing the other: thinking 
 themselves men of pleasure because they were mingled 
 with those who were, and men of business because they 
 had business to do, though they did not do it. 
 
 Letters to his Son, i. 316. 
 
 Enjoy pleasures, but let them be your own, and then you 
 will taste them : but adopt none ; trust to nature for 
 genuine ones. The pleasures that you would feel, you 
 must earn ; the man who gives himself up to all, feels none 
 sensibly. Sardanapalus, I am convinced, never in his life 
 felt any. Those only who join serious occupations with 
 pleasures, feel either as they should do. n,. wi 14. 
 
 Divide your time between useful occupations and elegant 
 pleasures. The morning seems to belong to study, business, 
 or serious conversations with men of learning and figure; 
 not that I exclude an occasional hour at a toilette. From 
 sitting down to dinner, the proper business of the day is 
 pleasure, unless real business, which must never be post- 
 poned for pleasure, happens accidentally to interfere. In 
 good company, the pleasures of the table are always carried 
 to a certain point of delicacy and gratification, but never to 
 excess and riot. Plays, operas, balls, suppers, gay con- 
 versations in polite and cheerful companies, properly con- 
 clude the evenings ; not to mention the tender looks that 
 you may direct, and the sighs that you may offer, upon 
 these several occasions, to some propitious or unpropitious 
 female deity; whose character and manners will neither 
 
 disgrace 
 
128 
 
 (pfea0utre0* 
 
 disgrace nor corrupt yours. This is the Hfe of a man of 
 real sense and pleasure ; and by this distribution of your 
 time, and choice of your pleasures, you will be equally 
 qualified for the busy, or the beau monde. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 15. 
 
 • 
 
 What a happy period of your life is this ! Pleasure is 
 now, and ought to be, your business. While you were 
 younger, dry rules, and unconnected words, were the un- 
 pleasant objects of your labours. When you grow older, 
 the anxiety, the vexations, the disappointments, inseparable 
 from public business, will require the greatest share of your 
 time and attention ; your pleasures may, indeed, conduce 
 to your business, and your business will quicken your 
 pleasures ; but still your time must, at least, be divided : 
 whereas now it is wholly your own, and cannot be so well 
 employed as in the pleasures of a gentleman. The world 
 is now the only book you want, and almost the only one 
 you ought to read : that necessary book can only be read 
 in company, in public places, at meals, and in ruelles. You 
 must be in the pleasures, in order to learn the manners of 
 good company. In premeditated, or in formal business, 
 people conceal, or at least endeavour to conceal, their 
 characters ; whereas pleasures discover them, and the heart 
 breaks out through the guard of the understanding. Those 
 are often propitious moments for skilful negotiators to 
 improve. In your destination particularly, the able con- 
 duct of pleasures is of infinite use : to keep a good table, 
 and to do the honours of it gracefully, and sur le ton de la 
 bonne compagnie^ is absolutely necessary for a foreign 
 minister. There is a certain light table chit-chat, useful to 
 
 keep 
 
^octe anb ^cbanttf. 
 
 129 
 
 keep off improper and too serious subjects, which is only to 
 be learned in the pleasures of good company. In truth, it 
 may be trifling ; but, trifling as it is, a man of parts, and 
 experience of the world, will give an agreeable turn to it. 
 Z'art de badiner agreablement is by no means to be 
 
 despised. Letters to his Son, iii. 149. 
 
 Poets and Pedants. 
 
 Let the pedants, whose business it is to believe lies, or 
 the poets, whose trade it is to invent them, match the King 
 of Prussia with a hero, in ancient or modern story, if they 
 can . /3. iv. 154. 
 
 Politicians. 
 
 Patience, to hear frivolous, impertinent, and unreasonable 
 applications, with address enough to refuse, without offend- 
 ing, or, by your manner of granting, to double the obhga- 
 tion : dexterity enough to conceal a truth, without telling a 
 lie : sagacity enough to read other people's countenances : 
 and serenity enough not to let them discover anything by 
 yours ; a seeming frankness, with a real reserve, are the 
 rudiments of a politician ; the world must be your 
 grammar. /^. i. 308. 
 
 Politeness. 
 
 Whoever keeps good company, and is not polite, must 
 have formed a resolution, and taken some pains not to be 
 
 ^ The news had reached London of Frederick the Great's victory over 
 the Russians at Zorndorf on August 25, 1758. Horace Walpole, writing 
 a day later than Chesterfield, says : — 'Well ! the king of Prussia is found 
 again — where do you think ? only in Poland, up to the chin in Russians. 
 Was ever such a man ! * — Walpole's Letters, iii. i68. 
 
 K so; 
 
I.^O 
 
 ^tactict anb (preaching. 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 so; Otherwise he would naturally and insensibly acquire 
 the air, the address, and the turn of those he converses 
 
 Wltll. Letters to his Son^ ii. 309. 
 
 Practice and Preaching. 
 
 Act wisely, upon solid principles, and from true motives, 
 but keep them to yourself, and never talk sententiously. 
 
 lb. iii. 8. 
 
 Act contrary to many Churchmen ; practise virtue, but do 
 not preach it whilst you are young. 
 
 Letters to his Godson ^ p. 393. 
 
 Praise. 
 
 Let me, as an old stager upon the theatre of the world, 
 suggest one consideration to you, which is, to extend your 
 desire of praise a little beyond the strictly praiseworthy, 
 or else you may be apt to discover too much contempt for 
 at least three parts in five of the world, who will never 
 forgive it you. In the mass of mankind, I fear, there is too 
 great a majority of fools and knaves, who, singly from their 
 number, must to a certain degree be respected, though they 
 are by no means respectable. And a man who will show 
 every knave or fool that he thinks him such will engage in 
 a most ruinous war, against numbers much superior to those 
 that he and his allies can bring into the field. Abhor 
 a knave, and pity a fool, in your heart ; but let neither of 
 them, unnecessarily, see that you do so. Some complais- 
 ance and attention to fools is prudent, and not mean : as a 
 silent abhorrence of individual knaves is often necessary, 
 
 and not criminal. Letters to his Son, ii. 120. 
 
 I never 
 
(ptreju6ice0* 
 
 131 
 
 I never knew any man deserve praise, who did not de- 
 sire It. Letter to A. C. Stanhope. Letters to his Godson, p. 361. 
 
 Prejudices. 
 
 Our prejudices are our mistresses : reason is at best our 
 wife, very often heard indeed, but seldom minded. 
 
 Letters to his Son^ iii. 290. 
 
 Princes. 
 
 The penetration of princes seldom goes deeper than the 
 surface. It is the exterior that always engages their hearts ; 
 and I would never advise you to give yourself much trouble 
 about their understandings. Princes in general (I mean 
 those porphyrogenets who are born and bred in purple^) 
 are about the pitch of women ; bred up like them, and are 
 to be addressed and gained in the same manner. They 
 always see, they seldom weigh. Your lustre, not your 
 solidity, must take them ; your inside will afterwards support 
 and secure what your outside has acquired. u, n. 260. 
 
 Resentment. 
 
 Let this be one invariable rule of your conduct, never 
 
 ^ * In the Greek language purple and porphyry are the same word ; 
 and as the colours of nature are invariable we may learn that a dark 
 deep red was the Tyrian dye which stained the purple of the ancients. 
 An apartment of the Byzantine palace was lined with porphyry ; it was 
 reserved for the use of the pregnant empresses, and the royal birth of 
 their children was expressed by the appellation of porphyrogenite, or 
 bom in the purple.' — Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, 
 ed. 1807, ix. 48. 
 
 K 2 to 
 
dB tre0|?ec^a6fe ^otUntot 
 
 to show the least symptom of resentment which you cannot, 
 to a certain degree, gratify ; but always to smile, where you 
 cannot strike. There would be no living in Courts, nor 
 indeed in the world, if one could not conceal, and even 
 dissemble, the just causes of resentment which one meets 
 with every day in active and busy life. Whoever cannot 
 master his humour enough., />our /aire bonne mine a mauvais 
 jeu, should leave the world, and retire to some hermitage 
 in an unfrequented desert. By showing an unavailing and 
 sullen resentment, you authorize the resentment of those 
 who can hurt you, and whom you cannot hurt ; and give 
 them that very pretence, which perhaps they wished for, 
 of breaking with and injuring you; whereas the contrary 
 behaviour would lay them under the restraints of decency, 
 at least, and either shackle or expose their malice. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iv. 73. 
 
 A respectable Hottentot. 
 
 This epigram in Martial, 
 
 JVon amo te, Sabidi, nee possum dicere quare. 
 Hoc tantum possum dicere, non amo te, 
 has puzzled a great many people; who cannot conceive 
 how it is possible not to love anybody, and yet not to know 
 the reason why. I think I conceive Martial's meaning 
 very clearly, though the nature of epigram, which is to be 
 short, 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 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 
 
dS xtepuiaUt 35«>^^^^^<5^« 
 
 ^33 
 
 are not aimable ; you have not those engaging manners^ those 
 pleasing attentions^ those graces, and that address, which are 
 absolutely necessary to please^ though impossible to define. I 
 cannot say it is this or that particular thing that hinders me 
 from loving you^ it is the whole together ; and upon the whole 
 you are not agreeable. How often have I, in the course of 
 my life, found myself in this situation, with regard to many 
 of my acquaintance, whom I have honoured and respected, 
 without being able to love ? I did not know why, because, 
 when one is young, one does not take the trouble, nor allow 
 oneself the time, to analyse one's sentiments, and to trace 
 them up to their source. But subsequent observation and 
 reflection have taught me why. There is a man whose 
 moral character, deep learning, and superior parts, I acknow- 
 ledge, admire, and respect; but whom it is so impossible 
 for me to love, that I am almost in a fever whenever I am 
 in his company. His figure (without being deformed) seems 
 made to disgrace or ridicule the common structure of the 
 human body. His legs and arms are never in the position 
 which, according to the situation of his body, they ought to 
 be in ; but constantly employed in committing acts of hos- 
 tility upon the graces. He throws anywhere but down his 
 throat whatever he means to drink, and only mangles 
 what he means to carve. Inattentive to all the regards of 
 social hfe, he mistimes or misplaces everything. He dis- 
 putes with heat, and indiscriminately, mindless of the rank, 
 character, and situation of those with whom he disputes, 
 absolutely ignorant of the several gradations of familiarity 
 or respect; he is exactly the same to his superiors, his 
 equals, and his inferiors, and therefore, by a necessary con- 
 sequence, absurd to two of the three. Is it possible to | 
 
 love 
 
134 
 
 (^iiicufe. 
 
 love such a man ? No. The utmost I can do for him, is 
 to consider him as a respectable Hottentot \ 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii, 128. 
 
 Ridicule. 
 
 There is nothing that a young fellow, at his first appear- 
 ance in the world, has more reason to dread, and, conse- 
 quently, should take more pains to avoid, than having any 
 ridicule fixed upon him. It degrades him with the most 
 reasonable part of mankind, but it ruins him with the rest ; 
 and I have known many a man undone by acquiring a 
 ridiculous nickname : I would not, for all the riches in 
 the world, that you should acquire one when you return to 
 England. Vices and crimes excite hatred and reproach; 
 failings, weaknesses, and awkwardnesses, excite ridicule ; 
 they are laid hold of by mimics, who, though very con- 
 temptible wretches themselves, often, by their buffoonery, 
 fix ridicule upon their betters. The little defects in man- 
 ners, elocution, address, and air (and even of figure, though 
 very unjustly) are the objects of ridicule, and the causes of 
 nicknames. You cannot imagine the grief it would give 
 
 ^ In my Dr. Johnson : His Friends mtd his Critics^ p. 214, and my 
 edition of Boswell's Life of Johnson , i. 267, I have proved that ' the 
 respectable Hottentot' was not Dr. Johnson. He was, I had little 
 doubt, one Mr. L., who is mentioned in two passages in Chesterfield^ s 
 Letters (vol. ii. pp. 219, 262). Mr. L., I conjectured, was Mr. (after- 
 wards Sir George, and subsequently Lord) Lyttelton. On lately 
 referring to Lord Mahon's edition of Chesterfield's Letters I was pleased 
 to find this conjecture confirmed. He had seen the originals of three 
 of the four volumes of the Letters^ and he states that in these two 
 passages L. was Lyttelton. Unfortunately to the originals of one 
 volume he had not access. He seems to be in error when he says that 
 this was the second, for in that volume he corrects many passages. 
 Mahon's edition of Chesterfield'' s Letters^ i. 317, 354; v. 465. 
 
 me, 
 
(Btiicufou0 peopfe. 
 
 me, and the prejudice it would do you, if, by way of distin- 
 guishing you from others of your name, you should happen 
 to be called Muttering Stanhope, Absent Stanhope, Ill-bred 
 Stanhope, or Awkward, Left-legged Stanhope : therefore, 
 take great care to put it out of the power of ridicule itself 
 to give you any of these ridiculous epithets j for, if you get 
 one, it will stick to you like the envenomed shirt. 
 
 Letters to his Son^ ii. 273. 
 
 It is commonly said, and more particularly by Lord 
 Shaftesbury, that ridicule is the best test of truth ^, for that 
 it will not stick where it is not just. I deny it. A truth 
 learned in a certain light, and attacked in certain words, by 
 men of wit and humour, may, and often doth, become 
 ridiculous, at least so far that the truth is only remembered 
 and repeated for the sake of the ridicule. The overturn of 
 Mary of Medicis into a river, where she was half drowned, 
 would never have been remembered if Madame de VerneuiP, 
 who saw it, had not said la Reine boit. 
 
 lb. iii. 260. 
 
 Ridiculous people. 
 
 No man whatsoever, be his pretensions what they will, 
 has a natural right to be ridiculous : it is an acquired right, 
 and not to be acquired without some industry, which perhaps 
 
 ^ Shaftesbnry's Characteristics, ed. 1 714, pp. 61, 73-4. See Johnson's 
 Life of Akenside for a criticism of* Shaftesbury's foolish assertion.' 
 
 ^ Mary of Medicis was the wife, and Madame de Vemeuil the 
 mistress, of Henry IV. In the Memoires de Sully (ed. 1788, vi. 226) 
 I find an account of the accident, but not of Madame de Vemeuil's 
 saying. 
 
 is 
 
136 
 
 (gt0in0 in t^i^ (pS)ot:f^. 
 
 is the reason why so many people are so jealous and 
 
 tenacious of it. Miscellaneous Works, ii. 275. 
 
 Rising in the World. 
 
 A calm serenity, negative merit and graces, do not 
 become your age. You should be alerte^ adroit^ vif\ be 
 wanted, talked of, impatiently expected, and unwillingly 
 parted with in company. I should be glad to hear half a 
 dozen women of fashion say. Oil est done le petit Stanhope ? 
 Que ne vtent-il? II faut avouer quHl est aimable. All this 
 I do not mean singly with regard to women as the principal 
 object ; but with regard to men, and with a view of your 
 making yourself considerable. For, with very small varia- 
 tions, the same things that please women please men : and 
 a man whose manners are softened and polished by women 
 of fashion, and who is formed by them to an habitual 
 attention and complaisance, will please, engage, and connect 
 men much easier and more than he would otherwise. 
 You must be sensible that you cannot rise in the world, 
 without forming connections, and engaging different 
 characters to conspire in your point. You must make them 
 your dependents, without their knowing it, and dictate to 
 them while you seem to be directed by them. Those 
 necessary connections can never be formed, or preserved, 
 but by an uninterrupted series of complaisance, attentions, 
 politeness, and some constraint. You must engage their 
 hearts, if you would have their support; you must watch 
 the mollia tempora^ and captivate them by the agremens and 
 charms of conversation. People will not be called out to 
 your service only when you want them ; and, if you expect 
 
 to 
 
(Sirxiino^ pat^eion. 
 
 137 
 
 to receive strength from them, they must receive either 
 pleasure or advantage from you. Letters to his Son, ii. 255. 
 
 Ruling passion. 
 
 Almost all people are born with all the passions, to a 
 certain degree ; but almost every man has a prevailing one, 
 to which the others are subordinate. Search every one for 
 that ruling passion ^ ; pry into the recesses of his heart, and 
 observe the diiferent workings of the same passion in 
 different people. And, when you have found out the pre- 
 vailing passion of any man, remember never to trust him 
 where that passion is concerned. Work upon him by it, if 
 you please ; but be upon your guard yourself against it, 
 whatever professions he may make you. jb. i. 240. 
 
 Rumours of a change of Ministry. 
 
 The wild conjectures of volunteer politicians, and the 
 ridiculous importance which, upon these occasions, block- 
 heads always endeavour to give themselves, by grave looks, 
 significant shrugs, and insignificant whispers, are very enter- 
 taining to a bystander, as, thank God, I now am. One 
 knows something, but is not yet at liberty to tell it ; another 
 has heard something from a very good hand ; a third 
 
 ^ ' Search then the ruling passion : there alone 
 The wild are constant, and the cunning known ; 
 The fool consistent, and the false sincere ; 
 Priests, princes, women, no dissemblers here. 
 This clew once found unravels all the rest, 
 The prospect clears and Wharton stands confess'd/ 
 
 Pope, Moral Essays y i. 1 74. 
 Johnson, in his Life of Pope, denies the existence of any such passion, 
 — Works, ed. 1825, viii. 293. 
 
 congratulates 
 
138 
 
 ^can^af. 
 
 congratulates himself upon a certain degree or intimacy 
 which he has long had with every one of the candidates, 
 though perhaps he has* never spoken twice to any one of 
 them. In short, in these sort of intervals, vanity, interest, 
 and absurdity, always display themselves in the most ridicu- 
 lous light. One who has been so long behind the scenes, as 
 I have, is much more diverted with the entertainment than 
 those can be who only see it from the pit and boxes. I 
 know the whole machinery of the interior, and can laugh 
 the better at the silly wonder and wild conjectures of the 
 
 uninformed spectators. Letters to his Son, iv. 64. 
 
 Scandal. 
 
 Neither retail nor receive scandal willingly ; for though 
 the defamation of others may, for the present, gratify the 
 malignity of 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 as bad as the thief. jd. a. 91. 
 
 Schools of Divinity. 
 
 Wild imaginations form systems, which weak minds adopt 
 implicitly, and which sense and reason oppose in vain ; their 
 voice is not strong enough to be heard in schools of 
 divinity. u. m. 248. 
 
 Secrets. 
 
 Little secrets are commonly told again, but great ones 
 generally kept. /^. n. 63. 
 
 A proper 
 
^ctmin^ ignorance* 
 
 A proper secrecy is the only mystery of able men; 
 mystery is the only secrecy of weak and cunning ones. A 
 man who tells nothing, or who tells all, will equally have 
 nothing told him. If a fool knows a secret, he tells it wher- 
 ever it is his interest to tell it. But women and young men 
 are very apt to tell what secrets they know from the vanity 
 of having been trusted. Trust none of these, whenever 
 
 you can help it. z^etters to his Son, iv. 298. 
 
 There are some occasions in which a man must tell half 
 his secret, in order to conceal the rest : but there is seldom 
 one in which a man should tell it all. Great skill is 
 necessary to know how far to go, and where to stop. 
 
 lb. iv. 303. 
 
 Seeing everything. 
 
 Seeing everything is the only way not to admire anything 
 too much. lb. i. 3x0. 
 
 Seeming ignorance. 
 
 A seeming ignorance is very often a most necessary part 
 of worldly knowledge. It is, for instance, commonly ad- 
 visable to seem ignorant of what people offer to tell you ; 
 and when they say, Have not you heard of such a thing ? to 
 answer. No, and to let them go on, though you know it al_ 
 ready. Some have a pleasure in telling it, because they think 
 that they tell it well ; others have a pride in it, as being the 
 sagacious discoverers ; and many have a vanity in showing that 
 
 they 
 
140 
 
 ^eff^cont?etr0a(ion0* 
 
 they have been, though very undeservedly, trusted ? all these 
 would be disappointed, and consequently displeased, if you 
 said, Yes. Seem always ignorant (unless to one most inti- 
 mate friend) of all matters of private scandal and defamation, 
 though you should hear them a thousand times, for the par- 
 ties affected always look upon the receiver to be almost as 
 bad as the thief: and, whenever they become the topic of 
 conversation, seem to be a sceptic, though you are really a 
 serious believer ; and always take the extenuating part. But 
 all this seeming ignorance should be joined to thorough and 
 extensive private informations : and, indeed, it is the best 
 method of procuring them ; for most people have such a 
 vanity in showing a superiority over others, though but for 
 a moment, and in the merest trifles, that they will tell you 
 what they should not, rather than not show that they can 
 tell what you did not know : besides that, such seeming 
 ignorance will make you pass for incurious, and consequently 
 undesigning. However, fish for facts, and take pains to be 
 well informed of everything that passes ; but fish judiciously, 
 and not always, nor indeed often, in the shape of direct 
 questions, which always put people upon their guard, and, 
 often repeated, grow tiresome. But sometimes take the 
 things that you would know for granted, upon which some- 
 body will kindly and officiously set you right : sometimes 
 say, that you have heard so and so ; and at other times seem 
 to know more than you do, in order to know all that you 
 want : but avoid direct questioning as much as you can. 
 
 Letters to his Son^ iv. 12. 
 
 Self-conversations. 
 
 The present inaction, I believe, gives you leisure enough 
 
 for 
 
^nvante. 
 
 141 
 
 for ennut] but it gives you time enough too for better things ; 
 I mean, reading useful books, and, what is still more useful, 
 conversing with yourself some part of every day. Lord 
 Shaftesbury recommends self-conversation to all authors ^ ; 
 and I would recommend it to all men ; they would be the 
 better for it. Some people have not time, and fewer have 
 inclination, to enter into that conversation ; nay, very many 
 dread it, and fly to the most trifling dissipations, in order to 
 avoid it ; but if a man would allot half an hour every night 
 for this self-conversation, and recapitulate with himself what- 
 ever he has done, right or wrong, in the course of the day, 
 he would be both the better and the wiser for it. 
 
 Letters to his Son^ iv. 201. 
 
 Servants. 
 
 Good breeding and a certain suavitas mof^m shines and 
 charms in every situation of life, with relation to all sorts 
 and ranks of people, as well the lowest as the highest. There 
 is a degree of good breeding towards those who are greatly 
 your inferiors, which is, in truth, common humanity and good 
 nature ; and yet I have known some persons, who in other 
 respects were well bred, brutal to their servants and depen- 
 dants. This is mean, and implies a hardness of heart, and 
 is what I am sure you never will be guilty of. When you 
 use the imperative mood to your servants or dependants, who 
 are your equals by nature (and only your inferiors by the 
 
 ^ See Shaftesbury's Characteristics, ed. 1714, i. 168. He uses the 
 words, ' self-examiner' (ib.) and * self- inspection ' (p. 196), but not, I 
 think, * self-conversation.* 
 
 malice 
 
142 
 
 ^etvanf^. 
 
 malice of their fortune) you will add some softening word, 
 such as pray do so and so, or / imsk you would do so. You 
 cannot conceive how much that suavity of manners will en- 
 dear you to everybody, even to those who have it not them- 
 selves. Letters to his Godson, p. 253. 
 
 Whenever you write to persons greatly your inferiors, and 
 by way of giving orders, let your letters speak, what I 
 hope in God you will always feel, the utmost gentleness and 
 humanity. If you happen to write to your valet de chambre, 
 or your bailiff, it is no great trouble to say. Fray, do such a 
 thing] it will be taken kindly, and your orders will be the 
 better executed for it. What good heart would roughly exert 
 the power and superiority which chance more than merit 
 has given him over many of his fellow-creatures ? 
 
 lb. p. 268. 
 
 It gave me great pleasure to observe the indignation which 
 you expressed at the brutality of the pacha you lately dined 
 with, to his servant, which I am sure you are and ever will 
 be incapable of. Those pachas seem to think that their 
 servants and themselves are not made of the same clay, but 
 that God has made by much the greatest part of mankind to 
 be the oppressed and abused slaves of the superior ranks. 
 Service is a mutual contract ; the master hires and pays his 
 servant, the servant is to do his master's business ; but each 
 is equally at liberty to be off of the engagement, upon due 
 warning. Servants are full as necessary to their masters, as 
 their masters are to them, and so in truth is the whole human 
 species to each other. jb. p. 287. 
 
 Showish 
 
§^owi^^ ^jeopfe* 
 
 14: 
 
 Sho^sh people. 
 
 Swallow all your learning in the morning, but digest it in 
 company in the evenings. The reading of ten new characters 
 is more your business now than the reading of twenty old 
 books ; showish and shining people always get the better of 
 all others, though ever so solid. If you would be a great 
 man in the world when you are old, shine and be showish 
 in it while you are young : know everybody, and endeavour 
 to please everybody, — I mean exteriorly, for fundamentally 
 
 it is impossible. z^^tt^rs to his Son, iii. 182. 
 
 • • 
 I cannot conclude this letter without returning again to the 
 showish, the ornamental, the shining parts of your character, 
 which, if you neglect, upon my word, you will render the 
 soHd ones absolutely useless : nay, such is the present turn 
 of the world, that some valuable qualities are even ridiculous, 
 if not accompanied by the genteeler accomplishments. 
 Plainness, simplicity, and Quakerism, either in dress or 
 manners, will by no means do ; they must both be laced and 
 embroidered : speaking, or writing sense, without elegancy 
 and turn, will be very little persuasive ; and the best figure in 
 the world, without air and address, will be very ineffectual. 
 Some pedants may have told you that sound sense and 
 learning stand in need of no ornaments ; and, to support 
 that assertion, elegantly quote the vulgar proverb, that good 
 wine needs no bush : but, surely, the little experience you have 
 already had of the world must have convinced you that the 
 contrary of that assertion is true. All those accomplish- 
 ments are now in your power ; think of them, and of them 
 only. lb, iii. 228. 
 
 Shyness. 
 
144 
 
 ^^t)ne00» 
 
 Shyness. 
 
 I remember that when with all the awkwardness and 
 rust of Cambridge about me, I was first introduced into 
 good company, I was frightened out of my wits. I was 
 determined to be what I thought civil; I made fine low 
 bows, and placed myself below everybody ; but when I 
 was spoken to, or attempted to speak myself, obstupui, 
 steteruntque comce^ et vox faucibus hcesit \ If I saw people 
 whisper, I was sure it was at me; and I thought myself 
 the sole object of either the ridicule or the censure of the 
 whole company, who, God knows, did not trouble their 
 heads about me. In this way I suffered, for some time, 
 like a criminal at the bar ; and should certainly have 
 renounced all polite company for ever, if I had not been 
 so convinced of the absolute necessity of forming my 
 manners upon those of the best companies, that I de- 
 termined to persevere, and suffer anything, or everything, 
 rather than not compass that point. Insensibly it grew 
 easier to me, and I began not to bow so ridiculously low, 
 and to answer questions without great hesitation or stam- 
 mering : if, now and ' then, some charitable people, seeing 
 my embarrassment, "and being desceuvre themselves, came 
 and spoke to me, I considered them as angels sent to 
 comfort me, and that gave me a little courage. I got more 
 soon afterwards, and was intrepid enough to go up to a 
 fine woman and tell her that I thought it a warm day ; she 
 answered me, very civilly, that she thought so too; upon 
 which the conversation ceased, on my part, for some time. 
 
 ^ ^neid ii. 774. 
 
 tm 
 
^ino^niatit^^ 
 
 145 
 
 till she, good-naturedly resuming it, spoke to me thus : * I 
 see your embarrassment, and I am sure that the few words 
 you said to me cost you a great deal ; but do not be dis- 
 couraged for that reason and avoid good company. We 
 see that you desire to please, and that is the main point ; 
 you want only the manner, and you think that you want it 
 still more than you do. You must go through your no- 
 viciate before you can profess good-breeding ; and, if you 
 will be my novice, I will present you to my acquaintance 
 
 as SUCn. Letters to his Son, ii. 320. 
 
 Singularity. 
 
 We think a difference of opinion, of conduct, of manners, 
 a tacit reproach, at least, upon our own ; we must therefore 
 use ourselves to a ready conformity to whatever is neither 
 criminal nor dishonourable. Whoever differs from any 
 general custom is supposed both to think and proclaim 
 himself wiser than the rest of the world ; which the rest of 
 the world cannot bear, especially in a young man \ A 
 young fellow is always forgiven, and often applauded, when 
 he carries a fashion to an excess ; but never if he stops 
 short of it. The first is ascribed to youth and fire; but 
 the latter is imputed to an affectation of singularity, or 
 superiority. At your age, one is allowed to outrer fashion, 
 dress, vivacity, gallantry, &c., but by no means to be behind 
 hand in any one of them. /3. iv. 23. 
 
 ^ ' Whatever Swift did, he seemed willing to do in a manner peculiar 
 to himself, without sufficiently considering that singularity, as it implies 
 a contempt of the general practice, is a kind of defiance which justly 
 provokes the hostility of ridicule.' — Johnson's Works ^ viii. 223. 
 
 L Slights. 
 
146 
 
 ^U^^tc, 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 Slights. 
 
 A well-bred man seldom thinks, but never seems to 
 think, himself slighted, undervalued, or laughed at in 
 company, unless where it is so plainly marked out that 
 his honour obliges him to resent it in a proper manner; 
 mat's les honnetes gens ne se boudent jamais, I will admit 
 that it is very difficult to command oneself enough to 
 behave with ease, frankness, and good-breeding towards 
 those who, one knows, dislike, slight, and injure one as far 
 as they can without personal consequences ; but I assert 
 that it is absolutely necessary to do it : you must embrace 
 the man you hate, if you cannot be justified in knocking 
 him down ; for otherwise you avow the injury which you 
 cannot revenge. Letters to his son, iv. n. 
 
 Small talk. 
 
 There is a sort of chit-chat, or small-talk^ which is the 
 general run of conversation at Courts, and in most mixed 
 companies. It is a sort of middhng conversation, neither 
 silly nor edifying ; but, however, very necessary for you to be 
 master of. It turns upon the public events of Europe, and 
 then is at its best ; very often upon the number, the good- 
 ness, or badness, the discipline, or the clothing, of the 
 troops of different princes ; sometimes upon the families, 
 the marriages, the relations of princes, and considerable 
 people; and, sometimes, sur la bonne chere, the magnifi- 
 cence of public entertainments, balls, masquerades, &c. I 
 would wish you to be able to talk upon all these things, 
 better, and with more knowledge than other people ; inso- 
 much 
 
^ovtow. 
 
 147 
 
 much that, upon those occasions, you should be appHed to, 
 and that people should say, / dare say Mr. Stanhope can 
 tell us. Second-rate knowledge, and middling talents, carry 
 a man farther at Courts, and in the busy part of the world, 
 than superior knowledge and shining parts. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 212. 
 
 There is a fashionable kind of small talk that you should 
 get, which, trifling as it is, is of use in mixed companies, 
 and at table, especially in your foreign department, where 
 it keeps off certain serious subjects, that might create 
 disputes, or at least coldness for a time; Upon such oc- 
 casions it is not amiss to know how to parler cuisine^ and to 
 be able to dissert upon the growth and flavour of wines. 
 These, it is true, are very little things ; but they are little 
 things that occur very often, and therefore should be said 
 avec gentillesse, et grace. I am sure they must fall often 
 in your way; pray take care to catch them. There is a 
 certain language of conversation, a fashionable diction, of 
 which every gentleman ought to be perfectly master, in 
 whatever language he speaks. The French attend to it 
 carefully, and with great reason ; and their language, which 
 is a language of phrases, helps them out exceedingly. 
 That delicacy of diction is characteristical of a man of 
 fashion and good company. /3. iii. 355. 
 
 Sorrow. 
 
 Wise people may say what they will, but one passion is 
 never cured but by another ; grief cannot be talked away, 
 
 L 2 but 
 
148 
 
 ^peafting; of oneeeff 
 
 but it may and will be insensibly removed by other objects 
 
 of one's attention ^. Miscellaneous Works, iv. 142. 
 
 Time and business are the only cure for real sorrow. 
 
 Letters to his Godson, p. 346. 
 
 Speaking of oneself. 
 
 I would allow no man to speak of himself, unless in a 
 Court of Justice, in his own defence, or as a witness. 
 Shall a man speak in his own praise, however justly ? No. 
 The hero of his own little tale always puzzles and disgusts 
 the company, who do not know what to say nor how to 
 look. Shall he blame himself? No. Vanity is as much 
 the motive of his self-condemnation as of his own 
 panegyric. I have known many people take shame to 
 themselves, and with a modest contrition confess them- 
 selves guilty of most of the cardinal virtues. They have 
 such a weakness in their nature, that they cannot help 
 being too much moved with the misfortunes and miseries 
 of their fellow-creatures, which they feel, perhaps more, but 
 at least as much, as they do their own. Their generosity, 
 they are sensible, is imprudence, for they are apt to carry it 
 too far, from the weak though irresistible beneficence of 
 their nature. They are, possibly, too jealous of their 
 honour, and too irascible whenever they think that it is 
 touched, and this proceeds from their unhappy, warm 
 constitution, which makes them too tender and sensible 
 
 ^ * The safe and general antidote against sorrow is employment. '- 
 The Ra7?iblery No, 47. 
 
 upon 
 
^peafttng anb pfeaeing* 
 
 upon that point. And so on, of all the virtues possible. 
 A poor trick, and a wretched instance of human vanity, 
 that defeats its own purpose. Do you be sure never to 
 speak of yourself, for yourself, nor against yourself; but let 
 your character speak for you. Whatever that says will be 
 believed, but whatever you say of it will not, and only make 
 
 OU odious or ridiculous \ Letters to his Godson, p. 189. 
 
 Speaking and pleasing. 
 
 Above all things aim at perfection in the two important 
 arts of speaking and pleasing ; without them, all your other 
 talents are maimed and crippled. They are the wings upon 
 which you must soar above other people ; without them you 
 will only crawl with the dull mass of mankind. Prepossess 
 by your air, address, and manners ; persuade by your 
 tongue; and you will easily execute what your head has 
 
 contrived. Letters to his Son, ii. 296. 
 
 Spirit. 
 
 In youth one thinks that everything is to be carried by 
 spirit and vigour ; that art is meanness, and that versatility 
 and complaisance are the refuge of pusillanimity and 
 
 ^ ' Dr. Johnson observed : " A man cannot with propriety speak of 
 himself except he relates simple facts, as, ' I was at Richmond ; ' or 
 what depends on mensuration, as, ' I am six feet high.' He is sure he 
 has been at Richmond ; he is sure he is six feet high ; but he cannot be 
 sure he is wise, or that he has any other excellence. Then, all censure 
 of a man's self is oblique praise. It is in order to show how much he 
 can spare. It has all the invidiousness of self-praise, and all the 
 reproach of falsehood." ' — Boswell's Life of Johnson, iir. 323. 
 
 weakness. 
 
I50 
 
 ^pitit 
 
 weakness. This most mistaken opinion gives an in- 
 delicacy, a brusquerie^ and a roughness, to the manners. 
 Fools, who can never be undeceived, retain them as long 
 as they live : reflection, with a little experience, makes men 
 of sense shake them off soon. When they come to be a 
 little better acquainted with themselves, and with their own 
 species, they discover that plain right reason is, nine times 
 in ten, the fettered and shackled attendant of the triumph 
 of the heart and the passions ; consequently, they address 
 themselves nine times in ten to the conqueror, not to the 
 conquered : and conquerors, you know, must be applied to 
 in the gentlest, the most engaging, and the most insinuating 
 manner. Have you found out that every woman is in- 
 fallibly to be gained by every sort of flattery, and every 
 man by one sort or other? Have you discovered what 
 variety of little things affect the heart, and how surely they 
 collectively gain it? If you have, you have made some 
 
 progress. Letters to his Son, iii. 284. 
 
 Young men are as apt to think themselves wise enough, 
 as drunken men are to think themselves sober enough. 
 They look upon spirit to be a much better thing than 
 experience, which they call coldness. They are but half 
 mistaken; for though spirit, without experience, is dan- 
 gerous, experience, without spirit, is languid and defective. 
 Their union, which is very rare, is perfection : you may join 
 them, if you please; for all my experience is at your 
 service, and I do not desire one grain of your spirit in 
 return. Use them both, and let them reciprocally animate 
 and check each other. I mean here, by the spirit of youth, 
 only the vivacity and presumption of youth, which hinder 
 
 them 
 
^(ati^mcn anb ^caxxtic^. 
 
 them from seeing the difficulties or dangers of an under- 
 taking; but I do not mean what the silly vulgar calls 
 spirit, by which they are captious, jealous of their rank, 
 suspicious of being undervalued, and tart (as they call it) 
 in their repartees, upon the slightest occasions. This is an 
 evil, and a very silly spirit, which should be driven out, and 
 transferred to an herd of swine. This is not the spirit of a 
 man of fashion, who has kept good company. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iv. lo. 
 
 Spirit is now a very fashionable word : to act with spirit, 
 to speak with spirit, means only, to act rashly and to talk 
 indiscreetly. An able man shows his spirit by gentle words 
 and resolute actions : he is neither hot nor timid. 
 
 Id. iv. 299. 
 
 Statesmen and Beauties. 
 
 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. id. w. 6u 
 
 Stewards. 
 
 Since you are your own steward do not cheat yourself, 
 for I have known many a man lose more by being his own 
 steward than he would have been robbed of by any other. 
 Tenants are always too hard for landlords, especially such 
 landlords as think they understand those matters and do 
 
 not . Miscellaneous Works, iv. 212. 
 
 * * Sir,' said Johnson, ' if a man is not of a sluggish mind he may be 
 his own steward.' — Bo^^vftWs Johnson, v. 56. 
 
 Style. 
 
152 
 
 ^(^h. 
 
 style. 
 
 Style is the dress of thoughts ; and let them be ever so 
 just, if your style is homely, coarse, and vulgar, they will ap- 
 pear 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 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 elegances of style, to the strongest 
 matter in the world, ill-worded and ill-delivered. 
 
 Letters to his Son, ii. 265. 
 
 Suaviter in modo, fortiter in re. 
 
 Aim at perfection in everything, though in most things it 
 is unattainable ; however, they who aim at it, and persevere, 
 will come much nearer it than those whose laziness and 
 despondency makes them give it up as unattainable. 
 Magnis tamen excidit ausis ^ is a degree of praise which will 
 always attend a noble and shining temerity, and a much 
 better sign in a young fellow than serpere humi^ tutus nimium 
 timidusque procellcd'^. For men^ as well as women, 
 
 * Bom to be controlled 
 Stoop to the forward and the bold.* 
 
 A man who sets out in the world with real timidity and 
 diffidence has not an equal chance in it; he will be dis- 
 couraged, put by, or trampled upon. But, to succeed. 
 
 ^ Ovid, Metamorphoses ii. 328. One of Chesterfield's favourite 
 quotations. 
 
 ^ Serpit humif &c. — Horace, Ars Poetica, 1. 28. 
 
 a man, 
 
^uat)t(er in tnoio, fovdttv in re. 
 
 15: 
 
 a man, especially a young one, should have inward firmness, 
 steadiness, and intrepidity ; with exterior modesty, and 
 seeming diffidence. He must modestly, but resolutely, 
 assert his own rights and privileges. Suaviter in modo, but 
 fortiter in re ^. He should have an apparent frankness and 
 openness, but with inward caution and closeness. All 
 these things will come to you by frequenting and observing 
 good company. And by good company, I mean that sort 
 of company which is called good company by everybody 
 
 of that place. Letters to his Son, iii. 26. 
 
 I remember that when I came from Cambridge I had 
 acquired, among the pedants of that illiberal seminary, a 
 sauciness of literature, a turn to satire and contempt, and a 
 strong tendency to argumentation and contradiction. But I 
 had been but a very little while in the world before I found 
 that this would by no means do, and I immediately 
 adopted the opposite character : I concealed what learning 
 I had ] I applauded often, without approving ; and I yielded 
 commonly, without conviction. Suaviter in modo was my 
 law and my prophets ; and if I pleased (between you and 
 me) it was much more owing to that, than to any superior 
 knowledge or merit of my own. n. iii. 130. 
 
 The suaviter in modo alone would degenerate and sink 
 into a mean, timid complaisance and passiveness, if not 
 
 ^ Chesterfield nine or ten times in his letters takes for his text the 
 suaviter in modo hvX fortiter in re. 
 
 supported 
 
154 
 
 ^uavitct in mo6o, fotdtct in tc. 
 
 supported and dignified by the fortiter in re ; which would 
 also run into impetuosity and brutality if not tempered and 
 softened by the suaviter in modo : however, they are seldom 
 united. The warm, choleric man, with strong animal 
 spirits, despises the suaviter in modo, and thinks 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, thinks to gain all his ends by 
 the suaviter in modo only ; he becomes all things to all inen ; 
 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 detected, 
 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 th^ fortiter in re. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 134. 
 
 If 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 interpreted than executed. For my own part, if I 
 bid my footman bring me a glass of wine in a rough, insult- 
 ing 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 that 
 where you have a right to command you will be obeyed ; 
 but, at the same time, a gentleness in the manner of enforc- 
 ing 
 
^uai;)i(etr in mobo^ fottit^v in tc. 
 
 155 
 
 ing that obedience should make it a cheerful one, and 
 soften, as much as possible, the mortifying consciousness of 
 inferiority. If you are to ask a favour, or even to solicit 
 your due, you must do it suaviter in modo, or you will give 
 those who have a mind to refuse you either a pretence to 
 do it, by resenting the manner ; but, on the other hand, you 
 must, by a steady perseverance and decent tenaciousness, 
 show ihefortiter in re. The right motives are seldom the 
 true ones of men's actions, especially of kings, ministers, 
 and people in high stations, who often give to importunity 
 and fear what they would refuse to justice or to merit. 
 By the suaviter in modo engage their hearts, if you can ; at 
 least, prevent the pretence of offence : but take care to show 
 enough of thtfortiter in re to extort from their love of ease, 
 or their fear, what you might in vain hope for from their 
 justice or good-nature. People in high life are hardened 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 ones, that they do not know 
 which are real, and which not. Other sentiments are 
 therefore to be applied to than those of mere justice and 
 humanity ; their favour must be captivated by the suaviter 
 in modo, their love of ease disturbed by unwearied impor- 
 tunity, 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 constitutes the dignity of character which every 
 wise man must endeavour to establish. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 135. 
 
 Gentleness 
 
156 
 
 ^U0piciou0ne00* 
 
 Gentleness of manners with firmness of mind is a short 
 but full description of human perfection on this side of 
 religious and moral duties. Letters to his Son, iii. 138. 
 
 Suspiciousness. 
 
 People of an ordinary, low education, when they happen 
 to fall into good company, imagine themselves the only 
 object of its attention ; if the company whispers, it is, to be 
 sure, concerning them ; if they laugh, it is at them ; and if 
 anything ambiguous, that by the most forced interpretation 
 can be applied to them, happens to be said, they are con- 
 vinced that it was meant at them ; upon which they grow 
 out of countenance first, and then angry. This mistake is 
 very well ridiculed in the Stratagem \ where Scrub says, I am 
 sure they talked of me^ for they laughed consumedly, 
 
 lb. iv. II. 
 
 Systematical men. 
 
 I have this day been tired, jaded, nay tormented, by the 
 company of a most worthy, sensible, and learned man, a 
 near relation of mine, who dined and passed the evening 
 with me. This seems a paradox, but 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, in 
 general conversation, is ten times worse. He has formed in 
 his own closet, from books, certain systems of everything. 
 
 ^ * I believe they talked/ &c. — Farquhar's Beaux Stratage?n, Act iii. 
 sc. I. 
 
 argues 
 
^^ettmaticAi men. 
 
 157 
 
 argues tenaciously upon those principles, and is both sur- 
 prised and angry at whatever deviates from them. His 
 theories are good, but, unfortunately, are all impracticable. 
 Why ? Because he has only read, and not conversed. He 
 is acquainted with books, and an absolute stranger to men. 
 Labouring with his matter, he is delivered of it with pangs ; 
 he hesitates, stops in his utterance, and always expresses 
 himself inelegantly. His actions are all ungraceful ; so that, 
 with all his merit and knowledge, I would rather converse 
 six hours with the most frivolous tittle-tattle woman, who 
 knew something of the world, than with him. The prepos- 
 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 deliberately, and 
 is very sure that he is in the right. Impropriety is a charac- 
 teristic, 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 character 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 and proper in one company, time, and 
 place, are exceedingly absurd in others. In short, a man 
 who has great knowledge, from experience and observation, 
 of the characters, customs, and manners of mankind, is 
 a being as different from, and as superior to, a man of mere 
 book and systematical knowledge, as a well-managed horse 
 
 is to an ass. 
 
 Letters to his Son^ Iv. 15. 
 
 Talk. 
 
158 
 
 ZaiL 
 
 Talk. 
 
 Remember that the wit, humour, and jokes of most 
 mixed companies are local. They thrive in that particular 
 soil, but will not often bear transplanting. Every company 
 is differently circumstanced, has its particular cant and 
 jargon, which may give occasion to wit and mirth within that 
 circle, but would seem flat and insipid in any other, and 
 therefore will not bear repeating. Nothing makes a man 
 look sillier than a pleasantry not relished or not under- 
 stood ; and if he meets with a profound silence, when he 
 expected a general applause, or, what is worse, if he is desired 
 to explain the i^on mot^ his awkward and embarrassed situa- 
 tion is easier imagined than described. A propos of repeat- 
 ing, take great care never to repeat (I do not mean here 
 the pleasantries) in one company what you hear in another. 
 Things seemingly indifferent may, by circulation, have much 
 graver consequences than you would imagine. Besides, 
 there is a general tacit trust in conversation, by which a man 
 is obliged not to report anything out of it, though he is not 
 immediately enjoined secrecy. A retailer of this kind is 
 sure to draw himself into a thousand scrapes and discussions, 
 and to be shyly and uncomfortably received, wherever he 
 
 goes. 
 
 Letters to his Son^ ii. 95. 
 
 Frequent les beaux esprits and be glad, but not proud, 
 of frequenting them : never boast of it as a proof of your 
 own merit, nor insult, in a manner, other companies, by 
 telling them affectedly what you, Montesquieu, and Fonte- 
 nelle were talking of the other day, as I have known many 
 people do here with regard to Pope and Swift, who had never 
 
 been 
 
^inte. 
 
 159 
 
 been twice in company with either ; nor carry into other 
 companies the tone of those meetings of beaux esprits. 
 Talk hterature, taste, philosophy, &c., with them, a la bonne 
 heure ; but then with the same ease, and more enjouement^ 
 \,2i\]fL pompons, moires, &c., with Madame de Blot, if she re- 
 quires it. Almost every subject in the world has its proper 
 time and place, in which no one is above or below discus- 
 sion. The point is, to talk well upon the subject you talk 
 upon ; and the most trifling frivolous subjects will still give 
 a man of parts an opportunity of showing them. L'usage 
 du grand monde can alone teach that. 
 
 Letters to his Son^ iii. 167. 
 
 • • 
 
 Great attention is to be had to times and seasons : for 
 example, at meals talk often but never long at a time ; for 
 the frivolous bustle of the servants, and often the more frivo- 
 lous conversation of the guests, which chiefly turns upon 
 kitchen-stuff and cellar-stuff*, will not bear any long reason- 
 ings or relations. Meals are and were always reckoned the 
 moments of relaxation of the mind, and sacred to easy mirth 
 
 and social cheerfulness. Letters to his Godson, p. 192. 
 
 Time. 
 
 I knew once a very covetous, sordid fellow \ who used 
 frequently to say, * Take care of the pence, for the pounds 
 will take care of themselves.' This was a just and sensible 
 reflection in a miser. I recommend you to take care of 
 minutes, for hours will take care of themselves. I am very 
 
 ^ * Old Mr. Lowndes, the famous Secretary of the Treasury in the 
 reigns of King William, Queen Anne, and King George I.' — Chester- 
 field's Letters to his Son, ii. 334. 
 
 sure 
 
i6o 
 
 Zi(h0, 
 
 sure that many people lose two or three hours every day 
 by not taking care of the minutes. Never think any portion 
 of time whatsoever too short to be employed ; something 
 or other may always be done in it. 
 
 Letters to his Son^ i. 291. 
 
 Take warning betimes, and enjoy every moment ; pleasures 
 do not commonly last so long as life, and therefore should 
 not be neglected, and the longest life is too short for know- 
 ledge ; consequently every moment is precious. 
 
 lb. iii. 317. 
 
 Titles. 
 
 The most absurd character that I know of in the world, 
 and the finest food for satire and ridicule, is a sublime and 
 stately man of quality, who, without one grain of any 
 merit, struts pompously in all the dignity of an ancient 
 descent /r<?;;/ a long restive race of droning kings^ ^ or more 
 probably derived to him from fool to fool. I could name 
 many men of great quality and fortune, who would pass 
 through the world quietly, unknown and unlaughed at, 
 were it not for those accidental advantages upon which they 
 value themselves, and treat their inferiors, as they call them, 
 with arrogance and contempt. But I never knew a man of 
 quahty and fortune respected upon those accounts, unless 
 he was humble with his title, and extensively generous and 
 
 'What have I lost by my forefathers' fault? 
 Why was I not the twentieth by descent 
 From a long restive race of droning kings?' 
 
 Dryden, quoted in Johnson's Dictionary. 
 beneficent 
 
ZtavdUn^. 
 
 i6i 
 
 beneficent with his fortune. My Lord is become a 
 ridiculous nickname for those proud fools \ see My Lord 
 comes ; there^s My Lord ; that is, in other words, see the 
 puppy ^ there is the Blockhead, I am sure you would by all 
 means avoid ridicule, for it sticks longer even than an injury, 
 and to avoid it wear your title as if you had it not ; but for 
 your estate, let distress and want, even without merit, feel 
 
 that you have one. Letters to his Godson, p. 258. 
 
 There is not, in my mind, a finer subject for ridicule than 
 a man who is proud of his birth, and jealous of his rank ; 
 his civility is an insolent protection, his walk is stately and 
 processional, and he calls his inferiors only fellows. I 
 remember a silly Lord of this kind who one day when the 
 house was up, came to the door in Palace Yard, and finding 
 none of his servants there, asked the people who stood at 
 the door, where are my fellows ; upon which one of them 
 answered him, your lordship has no fellow in the world. 
 All silly men are not proud, but I aver that all proud men 
 are silly without exception. Vanity is not always pride, 
 but pride is always a foolish ill-grounded vanity ^ 
 
 lb. p. 291. 
 
 Travelling. 
 
 Those who travel heedlessly from place to place, observing 
 only their distance from each other, and attending only to 
 
 ^ Dr. Adams insisted on Lord Chesterfield's general affability and 
 easiness of access, especially to literary men. * Sir,' said Johnson, 'that 
 is not Lord Chesterfield; he is the proudest man this day existing.' 
 * No,' said Dr. Adams, * there is one person, at least, as proud ; I think 
 by your own account you are the prouder man of the two.' * But 
 mine,' replied Johnson, * was defensive pride.' — Boswell's Life of 
 fohnson, i. 265. 
 
 M their 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield*s 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
l62 
 
 ZvifU0, 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 their accommodation at the inn at night, set out fools, and will 
 certainly return so. Those who only mind the raree-shows 
 of the places which they go through, such as steeples, clocks, 
 town-houses, &c., get so little by their travels that they 
 might as well stay at home. But those who observe, and 
 inquire into the situations, the strength, the weakness, the 
 trade, the manufactures, the government, and constitution 
 of every place they go to ; who frequent the best companies, 
 and attend to their several manners and characters ; those 
 alone travel with advantage : and as they set out wise, 
 
 return wiser \ Letters to his Son, i. 287. 
 
 Trifles. 
 
 Great merit, or great failings, will make you respected or 
 despised ; but trifles^ little attentions, mere nothings, either 
 done or neglected, will make you either liked or disliked 
 in the general run of the world. Examine yourself, why 
 you like such and such people, and dislike such and such 
 others; and you will find that those different sentiments 
 proceed from very slight causes. Moral virtues are the 
 foundation of society in general, and of friendship in 
 particular ; but attentions, manners, and graces both adorn 
 
 and strengthen them. /^. h. 184. 
 
 • 
 
 Observe and you will find, almost universally, that the 
 
 ^ ' Dr. Johnson said : As the Spanish proverb says, " He who would 
 bring home the wealth of the Indies must carry the wealth of the Indies 
 with him." So it is in travelling ; a man must carry knowledge with 
 him, if he would bring home knowledge.' — Boswell's Life of Joh?tson, 
 iii. 302. 
 
 least 
 
QJl0e^ 
 
 163 
 
 least things either please or displease most ; because they 
 necessarily imply, either a very strong desire of obliging, or 
 an unpardonable indifference about it. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 321. 
 
 Use, 
 
 I have known many people patronised, pushed up, and 
 preferred by those who could have given no other reason for 
 it than that they were used to them. /^. m 351. 
 
 Vanity. 
 
 Vanity, though not the best motive, is perhaps the surest 
 principle of the best human actions. It certainly makes 
 people desirous to shine, and to please in the world. 
 La Bruyere, in his Characters, says, ' On ne vaut dans ce 
 monde que ce que Pon veut bien valoir ^ ' ; and it is very true : 
 for a man had better overvalue than undervalue himself. 
 Mankind in general will take his own word for his own merit. 
 The only difficulty is to be enough of a coxcomb, and not 
 too much. 
 
 Letter to A. C. Stanhope. Letters to his Godson, p. 339, 
 
 Versatility. 
 
 A versatility of manners is as necessary in social as a ver- 
 satility of parts is in political life. One must often yield, in 
 order to prevail ; one must humble oneself, to be exalted ; 
 
 ^ This is one of Chesterfield's favourite quotations. He makes it at 
 least six times in the three series of letters. 
 
 M 2 
 
 one 
 
1 64 
 
 (^ct^atiUt^. 
 
 one must, like St. Paul, become all things to all men, to 
 gain some ^ ; and (by the way) men are taken by the same 
 means, mutatis mutandis^ that women are gained — by gen- 
 tleness, insinuation, and submission ; and these lines of Mr. 
 Dryden's will hold to a minister as well as to a mistress : 
 
 ' The prostrate lover, when he lowest lies, 
 But stoops to conquer, and but kneels to rise ^.* 
 
 In the course of the world, the qualifications of the came- 
 leon are often necessary ; nay, they must be carried a little 
 farther, and exerted a little sooner \ for you should, to a cer- 
 tain degree, take the hue of either the man or the woman 
 that you want, and wish to be upon terms with. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 131. 
 
 Whenever any private person of fashion invites you to 
 pass a few days at his country-house accept of the invitation. 
 This will necessarily give you a versatility of mind, and a 
 facility to adopt various manners and customs ; for every- 
 body 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 
 people's particular manners, habits, and even weaknesses ; 
 
 ^ * I am made all things to all men, that I might by all means save 
 some.* — I Corinthians ix. 22. 
 
 2 < Th' offending lover, when he lowest lies, 
 
 Submits to conquer, and but kneels to rise.' 
 
 Dryden, Amphitryon, Act iii. 
 Goldsmith's comedy no doubt took its name from this line. As it 
 was acted the year before Chesterfield's Letters were published, it would 
 seem to show that the version ' stoops to conquer ' was the one generally 
 known. 
 
 nothing 
 
(^icee. 
 
 165 
 
 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 with cheerfulness, any shape. Heat, 
 cold, luxury, abstinence, gravity, gaiety, ceremony, easiness, 
 learning, trifling, business, and pleasure, are modes which he 
 should be able to take, lay aside, or change occasionally, 
 with as much ease as he would take or lay aside his hat. All 
 this is only to be acquired by use and knowledge of the 
 world, by keeping a great deal of company, analysing every 
 character, and insinuating yourself into the familiarity of 
 various acquaintance. A right, a generous ambition to 
 make a figure in the world, necessarily gives the desire of 
 pleasing ; the desire of pleasing points out, to a great degree, 
 the means of doing it ; and the art of pleasing is, in truth, 
 the art of rising, of distinguishing oneself, of making a 
 figure and a fortune in the world. 
 
 Letters to his Son, iv. 17. 
 
 Vices, 
 
 I will hope, and believe, that you will have no vices ; but 
 if, unfortunately, you should have any, at least I beg of you 
 to be content with your own, and to adopt no other body's. 
 The adoption of vice has, I am convinced, ruined ten 
 times more young men, than natural inclinations. 
 
 lb. ii. 83. 
 
 If people had no vices but their own, few would have so 
 many as they have. For my own part, I would sooner wear 
 other people's clothes than their vices, and they would sit 
 upon me just as well. I hope you will have none ; but, if 
 ever you have, I beg, at least, they may be all your own. 
 
 Vices 
 
1 66 
 
 (^ivacit^. 
 
 Vices of adoption are, of all others, the most disgraceful and 
 unpardonable. Leturs to his Son, ii. 162. 
 
 People easily pardon, in young men, the common irregu- 
 larities 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 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 conscious- 
 ness of its folly as well as of its guilt, such a conversion 
 would only be thought prudential and political, but never 
 
 smcere. 
 
 lb. iii. 18. 
 
 Vivacity. 
 
 Your great vivacity, which I hear of from many people, 
 will be no hindrance to your pleasing in good company ; on 
 the contrary, will be of use to you, if tempered by good- 
 breeding, and accompanied by the graces. But then, I 
 suppose your vivacity to be a vivacity of parts, and not a 
 constitutional restlessness ; for the most disagreeable com- 
 position that I know in the world is that of strong animal 
 spirits, with a cold genius. Such a fellow is troublesomely 
 active, frivolously busy, foolishly lively; talks much, with 
 little meaning, and laughs more, with less reason : whereas, 
 in my opinion, a warm and lively genius, with a cool consti- 
 tution, is the perfection of human nature. ib. n. 125. 
 
 ^ ' I believe men may be generally observed to grow less tender as 
 they advance in age.' — The Rambler, No. 78. 
 
 Vocations. 
 
(Vocations* 
 
 167 
 
 Vocations. 
 
 It is very certain that no man is fit for everything ; but 
 it is almost as certain, too, that there is scarce any one man 
 who is not fit for something, which something nature plainly 
 points out to him by giving him a tendency and propensity 
 to it. I look upon common sense to be to the mind what 
 conscience is to the heart, the faithful and constant monitor 
 of what is right or wrong. And I am convinced that no 
 man commits either a crime or a folly but against the mani- 
 fest and sensible representations of the one or the other. 
 Every man finds in himself, either from nature or education, 
 for they are hard to distinguish, a peculiar bent and disposi- 
 tion to some particular character ; and his struggling against 
 it is the fruitless and endless labour of Sisyphus. Let him 
 follow and cultivate that vocation, he will succeed in it, and 
 be considerable in one way at least ; whereas, if he departs 
 from it, he will at best be inconsiderable, probably ridicu- 
 lous. Mankind, in general, have not the indulgence and 
 good-nature to save a whole city for the sake of five right- 
 eous, but are more inclined to condemn many righteous for 
 the sake of a few guilty. And a man may easily sink many 
 virtues by the weight of one folly, but will hardly be able to 
 protect many follies by the force of one virtue. 
 
 Miscellaneous Works ^ ii. 91. 
 
 Volto sciolto e pensieri stretti. 
 
 Take care never to seem dark and mysterious, which is 
 not only a very unamiable character, but a very suspicious 
 one too : if you seem mysterious with others, they will be 
 really so with you, and you will know nothing. The height 
 
 of 
 
i68 
 
 ^ufgatr men* 
 
 of abilities is, to have volto sciolto 2ccidi pensieri stretti^ ; that 
 is, a frank, open, and ingenuous exterior, with a prudent 
 and reserved interior: to be upon your own guard, and yet, 
 by a seeming natural openness, to put people off of theirs. 
 Depend upon it, nine in ten of every company you are in 
 will avail themselves of every indiscreet and unguarded ex- 
 pression of yours, if they can turn it to their own advantage. 
 A prudent reserve is therefore as necessary as a seeming 
 openness is prudent. Always look people in the face when 
 you speak to them; the not doing it is thought to imply 
 conscious guilt ; besides that, you lose the advantage of 
 observing by their countenances what impression your dis- 
 course makes upon them. In order to know people's real 
 sentiments, I trust much more to my eyes than to my ears ; 
 for they can say whatever they have a mind I should hear, 
 but they can seldom help looking what they have no inten- 
 tion that I should know. Letters to his Son, ii. 90. 
 
 Vulgar men. 
 
 A vulgar man is captious and jealous ; eager and im- 
 petuous about trifles. He suspects himself to be slighted ; 
 thinks everything that is said meant at him \ if the company 
 happens to laugh, he is persuaded they laugh at him : he 
 grows angry and testy, says something very impertinent, and 
 draws himself into a scrape by showing what he calls a 
 proper spirit and asserting himself. A man of fashion does 
 not suppose himself to be either the sole or principal object 
 of the thoughts, looks, or words of the company ; and never 
 suspects that he is either slighted or laughed at, unless he 
 
 ^ This is one of Chesterfield's favourite maxims. 
 
(Pufgatr men* 
 
 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 pence, unless the insult be so 
 gross and plain as to require satisfaction of another kind. 
 As he is above trifles, he is never vehement and eager about 
 them ; and, wherever they are concerned, rather acquiesces 
 than wrangles. A vulgar man's conversation always favours 
 strongly of the lowness of his education and company. It 
 turns chiefly upon his domestic affairs, his servants, the 
 excellent order he keeps in his own family, and the little 
 anecdotes of the neighbourhood ; all which he relates with 
 emphasis as interesting matters. He is a man gossip. 
 
 Letters to his Son, ii. 224. 
 
 A new-raised man is distinguished in a regiment by his 
 awkwardness ; but he must be impenetrably dull if, in a 
 month or two's time, he cannot perform at least the common 
 manual exercise, and look like a soldier. The very accoutre- 
 ments of a man of fashion are grievous incumbrances to a 
 vulgar man. He is at a loss what to do with his hat when 
 it is not upon his head ; his cane (if unfortunately he wears 
 one) is at perpetual war with every cup of tea or coffee he 
 drinks ; destroys them first, and then accompanies them in 
 their fall. His sword is formidable only to his own legs, 
 which would possibly carry him fast enough out of the way 
 of any sword but his own. His clothes fit him so ill, and 
 constrain him so much, that he seems rather their prisoner 
 than their proprietor. He presents himself in company 
 like a criminal in a court of justice ; his very air condemns 
 him ; and people of fashion will no more connect themselves 
 
 with 
 
lyo 
 
 ZH weaft 0i5e of mtn. 
 
 with the one than people of character will with the other. 
 This repulse drives and sinks him into low company; a 
 gulf from whence no man, after a certain age, ever emerged. 
 
 Letters to his Son, ii. 226. 
 
 The weak side of men. 
 
 Young people are very apt to overrate both men and 
 things from not being enough acquainted with them. In 
 proportion as you come to know them better you will 
 value them less. You will find that reason, which always 
 ought to direct mankind, seldom does; but that passions 
 and weaknesses commonly usurp its seat, and rule in its 
 stead. You will find that the ablest have their weak sides 
 too, and are only comparatively able, with regard to the still 
 weaker herd : having fewer weaknesses themselves, they are 
 able to avail themselves of the innumerable ones of the 
 generality of mankind : being more masters of themselves, 
 they become more easily masters of others. They address 
 themselves to their weaknesses, their senses, their passions ; 
 never to their reason; and consequently seldom fail of 
 success. /^. iv. 53. 
 
 When to do nothing. 
 
 When a man of sense happens to be in that disagreeable 
 situation in which he is obliged to ask himself more than 
 once, What shall I do? he will answer himself. Nothing. 
 
 lb. iv. 299. 
 
 Wise looks. 
 
 A young fellow ought to be wiser than he should seem 
 to be; and an old fellow ought to seem wise whether he 
 really be so or not. ib. m. 329. 
 
 Wit. 
 
(^i^. 
 
 171 
 
 Wit. 
 
 A wit is a very unpopular denomination, as it carries terror 
 along with it ; and people in general are as much afraid of a 
 live wit, in company, as a woman is of a gun, which she 
 thinks may go off of itself, and do her a mischief. 
 
 Letters to his Son, ii. 81. 
 
 • • 
 
 Ready wit may create many admirers, but, take my word 
 for it, it makes few friends. It shines and dazzles like the 
 noon-day sun, but, like that too, is very apt to scorch, and 
 therefore is always feared. The milder morning and even- 
 ing light and heat of that planet soothe and calm our minds. 
 Good sense, complaisance, gentleness of manners, attentions, 
 and graces, are the only things that truly engage and durably 
 keep the heart at long run. Never seek for wit ; if it pre- 
 sents itself, well and good ; but even in that case let your 
 judgment interpose, and take care that it be not at the 
 expense of anybody. jb. m. 337. 
 
 If God gives you wit, which I am not sure that I wish 
 you, unless he gives you at the same time an equal portion 
 at least of judgment to keep it in good order, wear it like 
 your sword in the scabbard, and do not brandish it to the 
 terror of the whole company. If you have real wit it will 
 flow spontaneously, and you need not aim at it, for in that 
 case the rule of the Gospel is reversed, and it will prove, seek 
 and you shall not find. Wit is so shining a quality that 
 everybody admires it, most people aim at it, all people fear 
 it, and few love it, unless in themselves. A man must have 
 a good share of wit himself to endure a great share of it in 
 
 another 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
172 
 
 (^it 
 
 another. When wit exerts itself in satire it is a most mahg- 
 nant distemper ; wit, it is true, may be shown in satire, but 
 satire does not constitute wit, as most fools imagine it does. 
 A man of real wit will find a thousand better occasions of 
 showing it. Abstain therefore most carefully from satire, 
 which, though it fall upon no particular person in company, 
 and momentarily, from the malignity of the human heart, 
 pleases all, upon reflection it frightens all too ; they think it 
 may be their turn next, and will hate you for what they find 
 you could say of them more than be obliged to you for what 
 you do not say. Fear and hatred are next door neighbours. 
 The more wit you have the more good-nature and politeness 
 you must show, to induce people to pardon your superiority, 
 for that is no easy matter. Learn to shrink yourself to the 
 size of the company you are in ; take their tone, whatever it 
 may be, and excel in it if you can ; but never pretend to give 
 the tone : a free conversation will no more bear a dictator 
 than a free government will \ Letters to his Godson, p. 180. 
 
 • • 
 
 A wise man will live at least as much within his wit as 
 within his income. ib. p. iSi. 
 
 • • 
 
 The injustice of a bad man is sooner forgiven than the 
 insult of a witty one. The former only hurts one's liberty or 
 property, but the latter hurts and mortifies that secret pride 
 which no human breast is free from. /^. p. 182. 
 
 • • 
 
 Wit, my Lords, is a sort of property : it is the property of 
 those who have it, and too often the only property they have 
 
 See ante p. 22. 
 
 to 
 
(^it^ttb QE)eaufie0. 
 
 173 
 
 to depend on. It is indeed but a precarious dependence. 
 Thank God ! we, my Lords, have a dependence of another 
 
 KinCl . Miscellaneous IVorks^ ii. 336. 
 
 Withered Beauties. 
 
 Canidia, withered by age, and shattered by infirmities, 
 totters under the load of her misplaced ornaments, and her 
 dress varies according to the freshest advices from Paris, 
 instead of conforming itself, as it ought, to the directions of 
 her undertaker. Her mind, as weak as her body, is ab- 
 surdly adorned : she talks politics and metaphysics, mangles 
 the terms of each, and, if there be sense in either, most 
 infallibly puzzles it ; adding intricacy to politics, and dark- 
 ness to mysteries, equally ridiculous in this world and the 
 next. 73. ii.97. 
 
 Women. 
 
 Women have great influence as to a man's fashionable 
 character, and an awkward man will never have their votes ; 
 which, by the way, are very numerous, and much oftener 
 
 counted than weighed. Letters to his Son, ii. 17. 
 
 • • 
 
 As women are a considerable, or at least a pretty numerous 
 part of company ; and as their suffrages go a great way 
 towards establishing a man's character in the fashionable 
 part of the world (which is of great importance to the fortune 
 and figure he proposes to make in it) it is necessary to please 
 them. I will therefore, upon this subject, let you into 
 
 ^ From Chesterfield's speech against the Act for Licensing Plays, 
 June 2, 1737. See Boswell's Life ofjohnson, i. 140. 
 
 certain 
 
174 
 
 (^omen. 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 certain Arcana that will be very useful for you to know, but 
 which you must, with the utmost care, conceal, and never 
 seem to know. Women, then, are only children of a larger 
 growth ^ ; they have an entertaining tattle, and sometimes 
 wit ; but for solid^ reasoning ^ood sense^ I never in my life 
 knew one that had it, or who reasoned or acted consequen- 
 tially for four -and -twenty hours together. Some little 
 passion or humour always breaks in upon their best resolu- 
 tions. Their beauty neglected or controverted, their age 
 increased, or their supposed understandings depreciated, 
 instantly kindles their little passions, and overturns any 
 system of consequential conduct, that in their most reason- 
 able moments they might have been capable of forming. 
 A man of sense only trifles with them, plays with them, 
 humours and flatters them, as he does with a sprightly, 
 forward child; but he neither consults them about, nor 
 trusts them with, serious matters, though he often makes 
 ^Hhem believe he does both ; which is the thing in the world 
 that they are proud of, for they love mightily to be dabbling 
 in business (which, by the way, they always spoil) ; and 
 being justly distrustful that men in general look upon them 
 in a trifling light, they almost adore that man, who talks 
 more seriously to them, and who seems to consult and trust 
 them : I say, who seems ; for weak men really do, but wise 
 ones only seem to do it. No flattery is either too high or too 
 low for them. They will greedily swallow the highest, and 
 gratefully accept of the lowest ; and you may safely flatter 
 any woman, from her understanding, down to the exquisite 
 
 ^ * Men are but children of a larger growth.' — Dryden, All for Love, 
 iv. I. 
 
 taste 
 
(PS)oMtett» 
 
 175 
 
 j taste of her fan. Women who are either indisputably 
 beautiful, or indisputably ugly, are best flattered upon the 
 score of their understandings : but those who are in a state 
 of mediocrity are best flattered upon their beauty, or at least 
 their graces ; for every woman who is not absolutely ugly 
 thinks herself handsome, but not hearing often that she is 
 \ so, is the more grateful and the more obliged to the few 
 Lwho tell her so : whereas a decided and conscious beauty 
 looks upon every tribute paid to her beauty only as her due, 
 but wants to shine and to be considered on the side of her 
 understanding : and a woman who is ugly enough to know 
 that she is so, knows that she has nothing left for it but her 
 understanding, which is, consequently (and probably in 
 more senses than one) her weak side. But these are secrets, 
 which you must keep inviolably, if you would not, like 
 Orpheus, be torn to pieces by the whole sex. On the 
 contrary, a man who thinks of living in the great world 
 must be gallant, poHte, and attentive to please the women. 
 They have, from the weakness of men, more or less influence 
 in all Courts : they absolutely stamp every man's character 
 in the beau monde, and make it either current, or cry it 
 down, and stop it in payments. It is, therefore, absolutely 
 necessary to manage, please, and flatter them, and never to 
 discover the least marks of contempt, which is what they 
 never forgive ; but in this they are not singular, for it is the 
 same with men, who will much sooner forgive an injustice 
 
 than an insult. betters to his Son, ii. 55. 
 
 Women are not so much taken by beauty as men are, 
 but prefer those men who show them the most attention. 
 
 lb. ii. 330. 
 
 Women 
 
176 
 
 (H)onten* 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 Women are never either good or bad by halves; their 
 passions are too strong, and their reason too weak, to do any- 
 thing with moderation. Letters to Ms Son, iv. 215. 
 
 In company every woman is every man's superior, and 
 must be addressed with respect, nay more with flattery, and 
 you need not fear making it too strong. Such flattery is 
 not mean on your part, nor pernicious to them, for it can 
 never give them a greater opinion of their beauty or their 
 sense than they had before. Therefore make the dose 
 strong ; it will be greedily swallowed. Women stamp 
 the fashionable or unfashionable character of all young men 
 at their first appearance in the world ; bribe them, then, with 
 minute attentions, good breeding and flattery, to make them 
 give their vote and interest in your favour. I have often 
 known their proclamation give a value and currency to base 
 coin enough, and consequently will add a lustre to the truest 
 sterling. Women, though otherwise called sensible, have all 
 of them, more or less, weaknesses, singularities, whims and 
 humours, especially vanity ; study attentively all these 
 failings, gratify them as far as you can, nay flatter them, and 
 sacrifice your own little humours to them. Young men are too 
 apt to show a dislike, not to say an aversion and contempt 
 for ugly and old women, which is both unpolite and injudi- 
 cious, for there is a respectful civility due to the whole sex ; 
 besides, the ugly and the old talk the most, having the least 
 to do themselves, are jealous of being despised, and never 
 
 forgive it. Letters to his Godson, p. 176. 
 
 Civility is particularly due to all women 3 and remember 
 
 that 
 
ZU (^ovib. 
 
 177 
 
 that no provocation whatsoever can justify any man in not 
 being civil to every woman ; and the greatest man in Eng- 
 land would justly be reckoned a brute if he were not civil to 
 the meanest woman. It is due to their sex, and is the only 
 protection they have against the superior strength of ours ; 
 nay, even a little flattery is allowable with women ; and a 
 man may without any meanness tell a woman that she is 
 either handsomer or wiser than she is. 
 
 Supplement to the Letters to his Son, p. 78. 
 
 Ugly women, who may more properly be called a third 
 sex than a part of the fair one, should publicly renounce all 
 thoughts of their persons and turn their minds another way ; 
 they should endeavour to be honest, good-humoured gentle- 
 men ; they may amuse themselves with field-sports, and 
 a cheerful glass, and, if they could get into Parliament, 
 I should, for my own part, have no objection to it. Should 
 I be asked how a woman shall know she is ugly, and take 
 her measures accordingly, I answer, that in order to judge 
 right, she must not believe her eyes, but her ears ; and, if 
 they have not heard very warm addresses and applications, 
 she may depend upon it, it was the deformity, and not the 
 severity of her countenance, that prevented them. 
 
 Miscellaneous Works, ii. 48. 
 
 The World. 
 
 The world is a country which nobody ever yet knew 
 by description ; one must travel through it oneself to be 
 acquainted with it. The scholar, who in the dust of his 
 closet talks or writes of the world, knows no more of it than 
 that orator did of war who judiciously endeavoured to 
 
 N instruct 
 
 Lord Ches- 
 terfield's 
 Worldly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 (/ 
 
178 
 
 ZH (^ovn. 
 
 instruct Hannibal in it. Courts and camps are the only 
 places to learn the world in. There alone all kinds of char- 
 acters resort, and human nature is seen in all the various 
 shapes and modes which education, custom, and habit give 
 it : whereas, in all other places, one local mode generally 
 prevails, and produces a seeming, though not a real, same- 
 ness of character. For example, one general mode distin- 
 guishes an university, another a trading town, a third a 
 sea-port town, and so on ; whereas at a capital, where the 
 prince or the supreme power resides, some of all these 
 various modes are to be seen, and seen in action too, ex- 
 erting their utmost skill in pursuit of their several objects. 
 Human nature is the same all over the world ; but its opera- 
 tions are so varied by education and habit that one must 
 see it in all its dresses in order to be intimately acquainted 
 with it. The passion of ambition, for instance, is the same 
 in a courtier, a soldier, or an ecclesiastic; but from their 
 different educations and habits they will take very different 
 methods to gratify it. Civility, which is a disposition to 
 accommodate and oblige others, is essentially the same in 
 every country ; but good-breeding, as it is called, which is 
 the manner of exerting that disposition, is different in almost 
 every country, and merely local; and every man of sense 
 imitates and conforms to that local good-breeding of the 
 
 place which he is at. Lexers to his Son, i. 275. 
 
 Let every other book give way to this great and necessary 
 book, the world ; of which there are so many various read- 
 ings, that it requires a great deal of time and attention to 
 understand it well. Contrary to all other books, you must 
 
 not 
 
ZH (^otib. 
 
 179 
 
 not stay at home, but go abroad to read it ; and, when you 
 seek it abroad, you will not find it in booksellers' shops and 
 stalls, but in courts, in /lofels ^ at entertainments, balls, assem- 
 blies, spectacles, &c. Put yourself upon the foot of an 
 easy, domestic, but polite familiarity and intimacy, in the 
 several French houses to which you have been introduced. 
 Cultivate them, frequent them, and show a desire of becom- 
 ing enfant de la maison. Get acquainted as much as you 
 can with les gens de cour : and observe, carefully, how politely 
 they can differ, and how civilly they can hate; how easy 
 and idle they can seem in the multipHcity of their business ; 
 and how they can lay hold of the proper moments to carry 
 it on, in the midst of their pleasures. Courts, alone, teach 
 versatility and politeness, for there is no living there with- 
 out them. Letters to his Son, iii. 150. 
 
 ^ Hdtel is no doubt used by Chesterfield in the sense in which it is 
 defined by Littre, as demeure so7nptueuse d'une personne eminente ou 
 riche. 
 
 N 2 
 
CHARACTERS 
 BY LORD CHESTERFIELD 
 
CHARACTERS 
 BY LORD CHESTERFIELD\ 
 
 George the First. 
 
 George the First was an honest, dull, German gentleman, 
 as unfit as unwilling to act the part of a king, which is to 
 shine and to oppress. Lazy and inactive even in his 
 pleasures, which were therefore lowly sensual. He was 
 coolly intrepid, and indolently benevolent. He was 
 diffident of his own parts, which made him speak little 
 in public, and prefer in his social, which were his favourite, 
 hours the company of wags and buffoons. Even his 
 mistress, the Duchess of Kendal, with whom he passed 
 
 ^ First published in the Appendix to the fourth volume of the Earl of 
 Chesterfield's Works. 
 
 One morning in 1737 Lord Hervey told George II that * he knew 
 three people that were now writing the History of his Majesty's Reign. 
 '*You mean," said the King, *' Lords Bolingbroke, Chesterfield, and 
 Carteret." " I do," replied Lord Hervey. " They will all three," said the 
 King, " have about as much truth in them as the Mille et Une Nuits. 
 Not but I shall like to read Bolingbroke's, who of all those rascals and 
 knaves that have been lying against me these ten years has certainly the 
 best parts and the most knowledge : he is a scoundrel, but he is a scoun- 
 drel of a higher class than Chesterfield. Chesterfield is a little tea-table 
 scoundrel, that tells little womanish lies to make quarrels in families ; and 
 
 most 
 
 Characters 
 by Lord 
 Chester- 
 field. 
 
 / 
 
.'(Seotrge f^e ^(tconb. 
 
 most of his time, and who had all influence over him, was 
 very little above an idiot \ 
 
 Importunity alone could make him act, and then only to 
 get rid of it. His views and affections were singly confined 
 to the narrow compass of his Electorate : England was too 
 big for him. If he had nothing great as a king, he had 
 nothing bad as a man ; and if he does not adorn, at least 
 he will not stain, the annals of this country. In private life 
 he would have been loved and esteemed as a good citizen, 
 a good friend, and a good neighbour. Happy were it for 
 Europe, happy for the world, if there were not greater kings 
 in it I 
 
 George the Second. 
 
 He had not better parts than his father, but much stronger 
 animal spirits, which made him produce and communicate 
 
 tries to make women lose their reputations, and make their husbands beat 
 them, without any object but to give himself airs ; as if anybody could 
 believe a w^oman could like a dwarf-baboon." The Queen said all these 
 three Histories would be three heaps of lies, but lies of very different 
 kinds ; she said Bolingbroke's would be great lies, Chesterfield's little 
 lies, and Carteret's lies of both sorts.' The editor points out that of the 
 three Memoirs we have nothing but these few Characters. — Lord Harvey's 
 Memoirs^ ii. 359. 
 
 ^ It was commonly believed that she was the mother by George I of 
 Chesterfield's wife. Horace Walpole wrote on May 1 2, 1 743 : — ' The 
 Duchess of Kendal is dead — eighty-five years old ; she was a j^ear older 
 than her late king. Her riches were immense ; but I believe my Lord 
 Chesterfield will get nothing by her death — but his wife.' Walpole's 
 Letters^ i. 245 ; vii. 141. See ib. i. ciii. for her belief that the soul of 
 her departed monarch had appeared in the shape of a large raven. 
 
 ^ * George I,' said Dr. Johnson, * knew nothing, and desired to know 
 nothing ; did nothing, and desired to do nothing.' — Boswell's Life of 
 Johnson^ ii. 342. 
 
 himself 
 
(Keorge t^t ^uonh* 
 
 185 
 
 himself more. Everything in his composition was little ; 
 and he had all the weaknesses of a little mind, without 
 any of the virtues, or even the vices, of a great one. He 
 loved to act the king, but mistook the part ; and the royal 
 dignity shrunk into the electoral pride. He was educated 
 upon that scale, and never enlarged its dimensions with his 
 dominions. As Elector of Hanover he thought himself 
 great; as King of Great Britain only rich. Avarice, the 
 meanest of all passions, was his ruling one ; and I never 
 knew him deviate into any generous action. 
 
 His first natural movements were always on the side of 
 justice and truth ; but they were often warped by ministerial 
 influence, or the secret twitches of avarice. He was gener- 
 ally reckoned ill-natured, which indeed he was not. He 
 had rather an unfeeling than a bad heart ^; but I never 
 observed any settled malevolence in him, though his sudden 
 passions, which were frequent, made him say things which, 
 in cooler moments, he would not have executed. His heart 
 always seemed to me to be in a state of perfect neutrality 
 between hardness and tenderness. In council he was 
 excessively timorous, and thought by many to be so 
 in person ; but of this I can say nothing on my own 
 knowledge. 
 
 In his dress and in his conversation he affected the hero 
 so much, that from thence only many called his courage in 
 
 ^ Johnson described him as * upon all occasions unrelenting and bar- 
 barous.' — Boswell's Johnson^ i. 147. Horace Walpole, however, says 
 that towards convicts under sentence of death ' his disposition in general 
 was merciful, if the offence was not murder.' — Memoirs of the Reign of 
 George II, i. 175. 
 
 question : 
 
(Beotrge t^c ^cconb. 
 
 question ^ : though, by the way, that is no certain rule to 
 judge by, since the bravest men, with weak understandings, 
 constantly fall into that error. Little things, as he has often 
 told me himself, affected him more than great ones ; and 
 this was so true, that I have often seen him put so much 
 out of humour at his private levee, by a mistake or blunder 
 of a vaki^ de chambre, that the gaping crowd admitted to his 
 public levee have, from his looks and silence, concluded 
 that he had just received some dreadful news. Tacitus 
 would always have been deceived by him. 
 
 Within certain bounds, but they were indeed narrow ones, 
 his understanding was clear, and his conception quick : and 
 I have generally observed, that he pronounced sensibly and 
 justly upon single propositions ;' but to analyse, separate, 
 combine, and reduce to a point, complicated ones, was 
 above his faculties. 
 
 He was thought to have a great opinion of his own 
 abilities ; but, on the contrary, I am very sure that he had 
 a great distrust of them in matters of State. He well knew 
 that he was governed by the Queen, while she lived ; and 
 that she was governed by Sir Robert Walpole : but he kept 
 that secret inviolably, and flattered himself that nobody had 
 discovered it ^. After their deaths, he was governed succes- 
 
 ^ Mr. Carlyle, writing of the battle of Dettingen, where the King 
 commanded, says : — * The English have one fine quality, and Britannic 
 George, like all his Welf race from Henry the Lion down to these days, 
 has it in an eminent degree : they are not easily put into flurry, into fear.' 
 — History of Friedrich II , ed. 1862, iii. 674. 
 
 2 ' Though his affection and confidence in the Queen were implicit, he 
 lived in dread of being supposed to be governed by her ; and that silly 
 parade was extended even to the most private moments of business with 
 
 sively 
 
(B^eorge t^c ^uonb. 
 
 187 
 
 sively by different ministers, according as they could engage 
 for a sufficient strength in the House of Commons ; for, as 
 avarice was his ruHng passion, he feared, hated, and courted, 
 that money-giving part of the legislature. 
 
 He was by no means formed for the pleasures of private 
 and social life, though sometimes he tried to supple himself 
 to them ; but he did it so ungracefully, that both he and 
 the company were mutual restraints upon each other, and 
 consequently soon grew weary of one another, A king 
 must be as great in mind as in rank, who can let himself 
 down with ease to the social level, and no lower \ 
 
 He had no favourites, and indeed no friends, having none 
 of that expansion of heart, none of those amiable connecting 
 talents, which are necessary for both. This, together with 
 the sterility of his conversation, made him prefer the com- 
 pany of women, with whom he rather sauntered away than 
 enjoyed his leisure hours. He was addicted to women, but 
 chiefly to such as required little attention and less pay. He 
 
 my father. Whenever he entered, the Queen rose, courtesied, and 
 retired, or offered to retire. Sometimes the King condescended to bid 
 her stay — on both occasions she and Sir Robert had previously settled 
 the business to be discussed.' — Walpole's Letters, i. cxxx. 
 
 ^ * Richard II,' writes Hume, ' forgot his rank by admitting all men to 
 his familiarity ; and he was not sensible that their acquaintance with the 
 qualities of his mind was not able to impress them with the respect 
 which he neglected to preserve from his birth and station.' — History of 
 England, ed. 1773, iii. 27. * Great kings,' said Johnson, ' have always 
 been social.' — Boswell'sZi/^ of Johnson, i. 442. Thomson has described 
 those 
 
 * Kings that the narrow joyless circle scorn.' — Liberty, v. 576. 
 
 * On ne pent pas etre toujours roi ; ' writes Voltaire ; * on serait trop a 
 plaindre.' — £loge Funlbre de Louis XV. 
 
i88 
 
 (Beotrge t^c ^econ6* 
 
 never had but two avowed mistresses of rank, the Countesses 
 of Suffolk ^ and Yarmouth ^. The former, though he passed 
 half his time with her, had no degree of influence, and but 
 a small one of profit ; the latter, being taken after the death 
 of the Queen, had more of both, but no extravagant share 
 of either. 
 
 He was very well-bred ; but it was in a stiff and formal 
 manner, and produced in others that restraint which they 
 saw he was under himself. He bestowed his favours so 
 coldly and ungraciously, that they excited no warm returns 
 in those who received them. They knew that they owed 
 them to the ministerial arrangements for the time being, 
 and not to his voluntary choice. He was extremely regular 
 and methodical in his hours, in his papers, and above all in 
 his private accounts; and would be very peevish if any 
 accident, or negligence in his ministers, broke in upon that 
 regular allotment of his time. 
 
 He had a very small degree of acquired knowledge : he 
 sometimes read history, and, as he had a very good memory, 
 was exceedingly correct in facts and dates. He spoke 
 French and Italian well, and English very properly, but 
 with something of a foreign accent ^ He had a contempt 
 
 ^ Mrs. Howard, Countess of Suffolk, who was present at Jeanie Deans*s 
 interview with the Queen as told in Tke Heart of Midlothian. 
 
 2 * Amelia Sophia, wife of the Baron de Walmoden, created Countess 
 of Yarmouth in 1739. She had much weight with the King ; but never 
 employed her credit but to assist his ministers, or to convert some 
 honours and favours to her own advantage.' — Walpole's Letters^ i. cxxxiv. 
 See ante^ Introduction, p. xxxi. 
 
 3 < The King, with a bluff Westphalian accent, spoke English cor- 
 rectly.' — Walpole's Letters^ i. cxxx. 
 
 for 
 
(B^eotrge ($e ^econ^* 
 
 189 
 
 for the belles lettres, which he called trifling ^. He troubled 
 himself little about religion, but jogged on quietly in that in 
 which he had been bred, without scruples, doubts, zeal, or 
 inquiry ^. He was extremely sober and temperate, which, 
 together with constant gentle exercise, prolonged his life 
 beyond what his natural constitution, which was but a weak 
 one, seemed to promise. He died of an apoplexy, after a 
 reign of three and thirty years ^. He died unlamented, 
 though not unpraised because he was dead. 
 
 Upon the whole, he was rather a weak than a bad man 
 or king. His government was mild as to prerogative, 
 but burthensome as to taxes, which he raised when and to 
 what degree he pleased, by corrupting the honesty, and not 
 by invading the privileges, of Parliament. I have dwelt the 
 longer upon this character, because I was so long and so 
 well acquainted with it ; for above thirty years I was always 
 near his person, and had constant opportunities of observing 
 
 ^ ' In truth, I believe King George would have preferred a guinea to 
 a composition as perfect as Alexanders Feast* — Walpole's Reign of 
 George II, iii. 304. Pope, in his Imitations of Horace, 2 Epis. i. 404, 
 addressing him, says : — 
 
 ' But verse, alas ! your majesty disdains.' 
 
 ^ * George II, no more addicted than his father to too much religious 
 credulity, had yet implicit faith in the German notion of vampires, and 
 has more than once been angry with my father for speaking irreverently 
 of those imaginary blood-suckers.' — Walpole's letters, i. ciii. 
 
 ^ Horace Walpole, writing three days after the King's death, says : — 
 ' The body has been opened ; the great ventricle of the heart had burst. 
 What an enviable death ! In the greatest period of the glory of this 
 country and of his reign, in perfect tranquillity at home, at seventy-seven, 
 growing blind and deaf, to die without a pang, before any reverse of 
 fortune, or any distasteful peace, nay, but two days before a ship-load of 
 bad news : could he have chosen such another moment ? ' — Walpole's 
 Letters ^ iii. 354. 
 
 him, 
 
I go 
 
 <!^\x^cn CatoUnc. 
 
 him, both in his regal robes and in his undress. I have 
 accompanied him in his pleasures, and been employed in 
 his business. I have, by turns, been as well and as ill with 
 him as any man in England. Impartial and unprejudiced, 
 I have drawn this character from the life, and after a forty 
 years' sitting. 
 
 Queen Caroline. 
 
 Queen Caroline had lively, pretty parts, a quick concep- 
 tion, and some degree of female knowledge ; and would 
 have been an agreeable woman in social, if she had not 
 aimed at being a great one in public life. She had the 
 graces that adorn the former, but neither the strength of 
 parts nor the judgment necessary for the latter. She 
 professed art, instead of concealing it, and valued herself 
 upon her skill in simulation and dissimulation, by which she 
 made herself many enemies, and not one friend, even 
 among the women the nearest to her person. 
 
 She loved money, but could occasionally part with it, 
 especially to men of learning, whose patronage she affected. 
 She often conversed with them, and bewildered herself in 
 their metaphysical disputes, which neither she nor they them- 
 selves understood. Cunning and perfidy were the means 
 she made use of in business, as all women do, for want of 
 better. She showed her art the most in her management 
 of the King, whom she governed absolutely, by a seem- 
 ing complaisance and obedience to all his humours; she 
 even favoured and promoted his gallantries ^ She had 
 
 * ' The King always made the Queen the confidante of his amours ; 
 which made Mrs. Selwyn once tell him, he should be the last man with 
 
 a dangerous 
 
Botb ^owne^en^^ 
 
 191 
 
 a dangerous ambition ; for it was attended with courage, 
 and, if she had lived much longer, might have proved fatal 
 either to herself or the Constitution. 
 
 After puzzling herself in all the whimsies and fantastical 
 speculations of different sects, she fixed herself ultimately 
 in deism, believing a future state. She died with great 
 resolution and intrepidity, of a very painful distemper, and 
 under some cruel operations. 
 
 Upon the whole, the agreeable woman was liked by most 
 people ; but the Queen was neither esteemed, beloved, nor 
 trusted by anybody but the King\ 
 
 Lord Townshendl 
 
 Lord Townshend, by very long experience and unwearied 
 application, was certainly an able man of business, which 
 
 whom she would have an intrigue, for she knew he would tell the Queen.' 
 — Walpole's Letters J i. cxxxiv. 
 
 ^ * Her understanding was uncommonly strong ; and so was her resolu- 
 tion. From their earliest connection she had determined to govern the 
 King, and deserved to do so. . . . She wished to be a patroness of 
 learned men .... Her generosity would have displayed itself, for she 
 valued money but as the instrument of her good purposes ; but the King 
 stinted her alike in almost all her passions. . . . Her learning was 
 superficial. Her chief study was divinity, and she had rather weakened 
 her faith than enlightened it. . . . At her death, when Archbishop Potter 
 was to administer the sacrament to her, she declined taking it. When 
 he retired, the courtiers in the ante-room crowded round him, crying, 
 " My Lord, has the Queen received ? " His Grace artfully eluded the 
 question, only saying most devoutly, " Her Majesty was in a heavenly 
 disposition." . . . Her greatest error was too high an opinion of her 
 own address and art ; she imagined that all who did not dare to contra- 
 dict her were imposed upon.' — lb. i. cxxix-cxxxi. 
 
 ^ Charles, second Viscount Townshend. Died 1738. He married 
 for his second wife a sister of Sir Robert Walpole. 
 
 was 
 
192 
 
 &oxb ^otvne^eni^ 
 
 was his only passion. His parts were neither above nor 
 below it j they were rather slow, a defect of the safer side. 
 He required time to form his opinion ; but when formed, 
 he adhered to it with invincible firmness, not to say ob- 
 stinacy, whether right or wrong, and was impatient of 
 contradiction. 
 
 He was a most ungraceful and confused speaker in the 
 House of Lords, inelegant in his language, perplexed in his 
 arguments, but always near the stress of the question \ 
 
 His manners were coarse, rustic, and seemingly brutal, 
 but his nature was by no means so; for he was a kind 
 husband to both his wives, a most indulgent father to all his 
 children, and a benevolent master to his servants; sure 
 tests of real good-nature; for no man can long together 
 simulate or dissimulate at home. 
 
 He was a warm friend and a warm enemy ; defects, if 
 defects they are, inseparable in human nature, and often 
 accompanying the most generous minds ^. 
 
 ^ 'Lord Townshend always spoke materially, with argument and 
 knowledge, but never pleased. Why ? His diction was not only inele- 
 gant, but frequently ungrammatical, always vulgar ; his cadences false, 
 his voice unharmonious, and his action ungraceful. Nobody heard him 
 with patience, and the young fellows used to joke upon him and repeat 
 his inaccuracies.' — Chesterfield's Letters to his Son, ii. 280. 
 
 ^ ' No man was ever a greater slave to his passions than Lord Towns- 
 hend ; few had ever less judgment to poise his passions ; none ever 
 listened less to that little they had. He was rash in his undertakings, 
 violent in his proceedings, haughty in his carriage, brutal in his expres- 
 sions, and cruel in his disposition ; impatient of the least contradiction , 
 and as slow to pardon as he was quick to resent. . . . He was much 
 more tenacious of his opinion than of his word ; for the one he never 
 gave up, and the other he seldom kept. ... It was as difficult to make 
 him just as to make him reasonable, and as hard to obtain anything of 
 him as to convince him.' — Lord Hervey's Memoirs, i. 108. 
 
 Never 
 
Botb ZotK^n^^cnb. 
 
 193 
 
 Never minister had cleaner hands than he had. Mere 
 domestic economy was his only care as to money, for 
 he did not add one acre to his estate, and left his younger 
 children very moderately provided for, though he had been 
 in considerable and lucrative employments near thirty 
 years. 
 
 As he only loved power for the sake of power, in order 
 to preserve it he was obliged to have a most unwarranta^ble 
 complaisance for the interests and even dictates of the 
 Electorate, which was the only way by which a British 
 minister could hold either favour or power during the reigns 
 of King George the First and Second. 
 
 The coarseness and imperiousness of his manners made 
 him disagreeable to Queen Caroline. 
 
 Lord Townshend was not of a temper to act a second part, 
 after having acted a first, as he did during the reign of King 
 George the First. He resolved therefore to make one 
 convulsive struggle to revive his expiring power, or, if that 
 did not succeed, to retire from business. He tried the 
 experiment upon the King, with whom he had a personal 
 interest. The experiment failed, as he might easily, and 
 ought to, have foreseen \ He retired to his seat in the 
 country, and in a few years died of an apoplexy. 
 
 * Sir Robert Walpole gave the following explanation of the disunion 
 between him and his brother-in-law : — ^ It is difficult to trace the causes 
 of a dispute between statesmen, but I will give you the history in a few 
 words ; as long as the firm of the house was Townshend and Walpole 
 the utmost harmony prevailed ; but it no sooner became Walpole and 
 Townshend than things went wrong, and a separation ensued.' — Coxe's 
 Memoirs of Walpole, ed. 1798, i. 339. Townshend tried to drive from 
 office his brother Secretary of State, the Duke of Newcastle, and give 
 
 O Having 
 
194 
 
 QUtr. ^ope. 
 
 Having thus mentioned the shght defects, as well as the 
 many valuable parts, of his character, I must declare that 
 I owed the former to truth, and the latter to gratitude and 
 friendship as well as to truth ; since, for some years 
 before he retired from business, we lived in the strictest 
 intimacy that the difference of our age and situations could 
 admit, during which time he gave me many unasked and 
 unequivocal proofs of his friendship. 
 
 Mr. Pope^ 
 
 Pope in conversation was below himself; he was seldom 
 easy and natural, and seemed afraid that the man should 
 degrade the poet, which made him always attempt wit and 
 humour, often unsuccessfully, and too often unseasonably I 
 I have been with him a week at a time at his house at 
 Twickenham, where I necessarily saw his mind in its undress, 
 when he was both an agreeable and instructive companion ^. 
 
 the place to Lord Chesterfield, at that time Ambassador at the Hague. 
 Chesterfield came over to London. * Walpole took him aside, and told 
 him : " I find you are come to be Secretary of State." " Not I," said 
 his Lordship, " I have as yet no pretensions, and wish for a place of 
 more ease. But I claim the Garter ; ... I am a man of pleasure, and 
 the blue ribband would add two inches to my size." " Then I see how 
 it is," replied Sir Robert ; *' it is Townshend's intrigue, in which you 
 have no share ; but it will be fruitless ; you cannot be Secretary of State ; 
 nor shall you be beholden for the gratification of your wishes to anybody 
 but myself" ' — lb. p. 336, and Chesterfield's JVorks, i. 112. 
 
 1 Alexander Pope. Born 1688, died 1744. 
 
 ^ ^ In familiar or convivial conversation it does not appear that Pope 
 excelled.' — Johnson's Works , viii. 311. 
 
 ^ A letter of Chesterfield to the Earl of Marchmont, dated Sept. 8, 
 1 742, speaks of his intention * to take up Pope at Twickenham and 
 carry him to the Duchess of Marlborough's at Windsor.' — Marchmont 
 Papers, ii. 281. I have not found any other account of his visiting Pope. 
 
 His 
 
QHr. ^opt. 
 
 195 
 
 His moral character has been warmly attacked, and but 
 weakly defended ; the natural consequence of his shining 
 turn to satire, of which many felt, and all feared, the smart. 
 It must be owned, that he was the most irritable of all the 
 genus irritabile vatum \ offended with trifles, and never for- 
 getting or forgiving them; but in this I really think that 
 the poet was more in fault than the man. He was as great 
 an instance as any he quotes of the contrarieties and incon- 
 sistencies of human nature ; for, notwithstanding the malig- 
 nancy of his satires, and some blameable passages of his life, 
 he was charitable to his power, active in doing good offices, 
 and piously attentive to an old bed-ridden mother, who died 
 but a little time before him ^. His poor, crazy, deformed 
 body was a mere Pandora's box, containing all the physical 
 ills that ever afflicted humanity ^. This, perhaps, whetted 
 the edge of his satire, and may in some degree excuse it. 
 
 I will say nothing of his works ; they speak sufficiently 
 for themselves ; they will live as long as letters and taste 
 
 Lord Somerville told Boswell ' that he had dined in company with Pope, 
 and that after dinner the little man, as he called him, drank his bottle of 
 Burgundy, and was exceedingly gay and entertaining.' — Boswell's Life of 
 Johnson^ iv. 50. 
 
 ^ Horace, 2 Epistles ii. 102, 'the fretful tribe of poets.' 
 "^ Johnson, speaking of Pope's parents, says : — 'The filial piety of Pope 
 was in the highest degree amiable and exemplary. . . . "Whatever was his 
 pride, to them he was obedient ; and whatever was his irritability, to 
 them he was gentle. Life has among its soothing and quiet comforts 
 few things better to give than such a son.' — Johnson's Works ^ viii. 281. 
 3 * The muse but serv'd to ease some friend, not wife, 
 To help me thro' this long disease, my life, 
 To second, Arbuthnot, thy art and care. 
 And teach the being you preserv'd to bear.' 
 
 Pope's Prologue to the Satires, 1. 131. 
 O 2 shall 
 
196 
 
 QUtr. ^ope. 
 
 shall remain in this country, and be more and more admired, 
 as envy and resentment shall subside. But I will venture 
 this piece of classical blasphemy, which is, that, however 
 he may be supposed to be obliged to Horace, Horace is 
 more obhged to him ^ 
 
 He was a deist beheving in a future state : this he has 
 often owned himself to me ; but when he died he sacrificed 
 a cock to ^sculapius, and suffered the priests who got 
 about him to perform all their absurd ceremonies upon his 
 body ^. 
 
 Having mentioned his being a deist, I cannot forbear 
 relating a singular anecdote, not quite foreign from the 
 purpose. I went to him one morning at Twickenham, and 
 found a large folio Bible, with gilt clasps, lying before him 
 upon his table ; and, as I knew his way of thinking upon 
 that book, I asked him jocosely. If he was going to write an 
 answer to it ? ' It is a present,' said he, * or rather a legacy, 
 from my old friend the Bishop of Rochester ^. I went to 
 
 ^ Chesterfield wrote to one of his friends : — ' J'ose meme dire, a la face 
 de tous les pedans de I'univers, que les epitres et les satires de Pope ont 
 tout le bon sens et toute la justesse, avec mille fois plus d'esprit, que 
 celles d'Horace.' — Works, iii. 389. 
 
 ^ ' Pope expressed undoubting confidence of a future state. Being 
 asked by his friend, Mr. Hooke, a Papist, whether he would not die like 
 his father and mother, and whether a priest should not be called, he 
 answered, " I do not think it essential, but it will be very right ; and I 
 thank you for putting me in mind of it." ' — Johnson's Works, viii. 305. 
 In this he reminded Chesterfield of Socrates, who, just before he passed 
 into a state of insensibility, said : — * Krito, we owe a cock to ^sculapius ; 
 discharge the debt, and by no means omit it.' 
 
 ^ Francis Atterbury, Pope's * mitred Rochester,' who in 1722 was sent 
 to the Tower on a charge of treasonable correspondence with the Pre- 
 tender. 
 
 take 
 
(nitr. (pope- 
 
 197 
 
 take my leave of him yesterday in the Tower, where I 
 saw this Bible upon his table. After the first compliments, 
 the Bishop said to me, " My friend Pope, considering your 
 infirmities, and my age and exile, it is not likely we should 
 ever meet again, and therefore I give you this legacy to 
 remember me by. Take it home with you, and let me 
 advise you to abide by it." — " Does your lordship abide by it 
 yourself?" — " I do." — " If you do, my lord, it is but lately. 
 May I beg to know what new lights or arguments have 
 prevailed with you now, to entertain an opinion so contrary 
 to that which you entertained of that book all the former 
 part of your life ?" The Bishop replied, " We have not time 
 to talk of these things ; but take home the book ; I will 
 abide by it, and I recommend to you to do so too ; and so 
 God bless you ^" ' 
 
 Was this hypocrisy; was it the effect of illness, mis- 
 
 1 The editor of Atterbury's Correspondence (11. 81) points out that on 
 July 27, 1722, before the Bishop was sent to the Tower, Pope wrote to 
 him : — ' I can only thank you, my Lord, for the kind transition you 
 make from common business to that which is the only real business of 
 every reasonable creature. ... I ought first to prepare my mind by a 
 better knowledge even of good prophane writers, especially the Moral- 
 ists, &c., before I can be worthy of tasting that supreme of books and 
 sublime of all writings.' — lb. i. 115. See also Pope's Letter to Blount, 
 of June 27, 1723, Pope's Works, ed. by Elwin and Courthope, vi. 382. 
 
 To what advantage Atterbury ' had tasted that supreme of books ' is 
 shown by Macaulay : — ' At parting he presented Pope with a Bible, 
 and said, with a disingenuousness of which no man who had studied the 
 Bible to much purpose would have been guilty, " If ever you learn that 
 I have any dealings with the Pretender, I give you leave to say my 
 punishment is just." — Macaulay 's Miscellaneous Writings, ed. 1871, 
 p. 351. Pope, in the Epilogue to the Satires, ii. 82, * has commemo- 
 rated in imperishable verse ' — 
 
 * How pleasing Atterbury's softer hour ! 
 How shin'd the soul, unconquer'd in the Tow'r!' 
 
 fortunes, 
 
Bovb (^ofingBtrofte. 
 
 fortunes, and disappointed views ; or was it late, very late, 
 conviction ? I will not take upon me even to conjecture. 
 The mind of man is so variable, so different from itself in 
 prosperity and adversity, in sickness and in health, in high 
 or in low spirits, that I take the effects as I find them, 
 without presuming to trace them up to their true and secret 
 causes^. I know, by not knowing even myself, how little 
 I know of that good, that bad, that knowing, that ignorant, 
 that reasoning, and unreasonable, creature, Man. 
 
 Lord Bolingbroke ^. 
 
 It is impossible to find lights and shades strong enough 
 to paint the character of Lord Bolingbroke, who was a most 
 mortifying instance of the violence of human passions, and 
 of the improved and exalted human reason ^. His virtues 
 and his vices, his reason and his passions, did not blend 
 themselves by a gradation of tints, but formed a shining 
 and sudden contrast. 
 
 Here the darkest, there the most splendid, colours ; and 
 both rendered more striking from their proximity. Im- 
 petuosity, excess, and almost extravagancy, characterised 
 not only his passions but even his senses. His youth was 
 
 ^ Johnson, after speculating on the causes of Dryden's conversion, 
 ends by saying : — ' But inquiries into the heart are not for man ; we 
 must now leave him to his Judge.' — Johnson's Works, vii. 279. 
 
 ^ Henry St. John, first Viscount Bolingbroke. Born 1678, died 1751. 
 Much of this character was written in Bolingbroke's lifetime, and in- 
 cluded in one of Chesterfield's Letters to his Son, vol. ii. p. 289. See 
 also ib. iii. 102, T13, 147, 264 ; iv. 43. 
 
 ^ In the Letters, ii. 290, this line runs as follows : — ' and of the weak- 
 ness of the most exalted human reason.' 
 
 distinguished 
 
&otb (|)ofin56trofte- 
 
 199 
 
 distinguished by all the tumult and storm of pleasures, in 
 which he licentiously triumphed, disdaining all decorum . . 
 . . his convivial joys were pushed to all the extravagancy of 
 frantic bacchanals \ These passions were never interrupted 
 . but by a stronger — ambition. The former impaired both 
 his constitution and his character ; but the latter destroyed 
 both his fortune and his reputation. 
 
 He engaged young, and distinguished himself, in business. 
 His penetration was almost intuition, and he adorned 
 whatever subject he either spoke or wrote upon by the 
 most splendid eloquence ; not a studied or laboured 
 eloquence, but by such a flowing happiness of diction, 
 which (from care perhaps at first) was become so habitual 
 to him, that even his most familiar conversations, if taken 
 down in writing, would have borne the press, without the 
 least correction, either as to method or style ^. He had 
 noble and generous sentiments, rather than fixed, reflected 
 principles of good-nature and friendship; but they were 
 
 ^ ' I have spoke to an old man/ writes Goldsmith, * who assured me 
 that he saw him and another of his companions run naked through the 
 Park in a fit of intoxication.' — Bolingbroke's Works, ed. 1809, vol. i. 
 Life, p. 6. 
 
 ^ The same was said of Atterbury and Johnson. Boswell's Life of 
 Johnson, ii. 95, ^- 2. Chesterfield wrote to his son : — ' I would upon my 
 word much rather that you had Lord Bolingbroke's style and eloquence 
 in speaking and writing than all the learning of the Academy of Sciences, 
 the Royal Society, and the two Universities united.' — Letters, iii. 147. 
 
 To Chesterfield in his admiration might be applied the words which 
 Mr. Carlyle applies to Voltaire : * Even Bolingbroke's high-lackered 
 brass is gold to this young French friend of his.' — History of Friedrich 
 II, ed. 1858, ii. 588. Horace Walpole, in 1780, speaks of ^ the falsely 
 boasted abilities of Bolingbroke, which now appear as moderate as his 
 character was in every light detestable.' — Letters, vii. 310. 
 
 more 
 
200 
 
 Both (^ofingfitrofte. 
 
 more violent than lasting, and suddenly and often varied 
 to their opposite extremes, with regard even to the same 
 persons. He received the common attentions of civility 
 as obligations, which he returned with interest; and 
 resented with passion the little inadvertencies of human 
 nature, which he repaid with interest too. Even a differ- 
 ence of opinion upon a philosophical subject would provoke, 
 and prove him no practical philosopher at least \ 
 
 Notwithstanding the dissipation of his youth, and the 
 tumultuous agitation of his middle age, he had an infinite 
 fund of various and almost universal knowledge, which from 
 the clearest and quickest conception, and the happiest 
 memory that ever man was blest with, he always carried 
 about him. It was his pocket-money, and he never had 
 occasion to draw upon a book for any sum ^. He excelled 
 more particularly in history, as his historical works plainly 
 prove. The relative political and commercial interests of 
 every country in Europe, particularly of his own, were 
 better known to him than perhaps to any man in it ; 
 but how steadily he pursued the latter in his public con- 
 duct, his enemies of all parties and denominations tell with 
 pleasure. 
 
 During his long exile in France, he applied himself to 
 study with his characteristical ardour ; and there he formed, 
 and chiefly executed, the plan of his great philosophical 
 
 ^ He was Pope's * guide, philosopher, and friend.' — Essay on Man, iv. 
 390. 
 
 2 In my edition of Boswell's Life of Johnson, ii. 256, n. 3, I have 
 given other ways in which this thought has been expressed by different 
 writers. 
 
 work. 
 
BotrJ) (^ofin^Btofte. 
 
 20I 
 
 work^ The common bounds of human knowledge were 
 too narrow for his warm and aspiring imagination ; he must 
 go extra flammantia moenia mundi'^, and explore the un- 
 known and unknowable regions of metaphysics, which 
 open an unbounded field for the excursions of an ardent 
 imagination, where endless conjectures supply the defect of 
 unattainable knowledge, and too often usurp both its name 
 and its influence^. 
 
 He had a very handsome person, with a most engaging 
 address in his air and manners; he had all the dignity 
 and good-breeding which a man of quality should or can 
 have, and which so few, in this country at least, really 
 have ^. 
 
 He professed himself a deist, believing in a general 
 Providence, but doubting of, though by no means rejecting 
 
 1 He left this work in his will to David Mallet to publish, which pro- 
 voked Johnson's rough saying : — ' Sir, he was a scoundrel, and a coward : 
 a scoundrel, for charging a blunderbuss against religion and morality ; a 
 coward, because he had not resolution to fire it off himself, but left half 
 a crown to a beggarly Scotchman, to draw the trigger after his death ! ' — 
 Boswell's Life of Johnson^ i. 268. In another passage Johnson accuses 
 him of 'contemptible arrogance and impious licentiousness.' — Works, 
 vi. 47. 
 
 ^ 'Ergo vivida vis animi pervicit, et extra 
 
 Processit longe flammantia moenia mundi.' — Lucretius, i. 72. 
 
 3 * Toute la metaphysique, a mon gre, contient deux choses : la pre- 
 miere, tout ce que les hommes de bon sens savent ; la seconde, ce qu'ils 
 ne sauront jamais.' — CEuvres de Voltaire, ed. 1819-25, lix. 76. 
 
 * Swift thus described him in 171 1 : — 'I think Mr. St. John the 
 greatest young man I ever knew, wit, capacity, beauty, quickness of 
 apprehension, good learning, and an excellent taste; the best orator in 
 the House of Commons, admirable conversation, good-nature, and 
 good-manners ; generous, and a despiser of monty J —Joui^nal to Stella, 
 Nov. 3, 1711. 
 
 (as 
 
202 
 
 (nir. ^ttf^ettep. 
 
 Characters 
 
 by Lord 
 
 Chester. 
 
 field. 
 
 (as is commonly supposed) the immortality of the soul, and 
 a future state. 
 
 He died of a cruel and shocking distemper, a cancer 
 in his face, which he endured with firmness \ A week 
 before he died, I took my last leave of him with grief; 
 and he returned me his last farewell with tenderness, and 
 said, * God, who placed me here, will do what he pleases 
 with me hereafter ; and he knows best what to do. May 
 he bless you ! ' 
 
 Upon the whole of this extraordinary character, what can 
 we say, but, alas ! poor human nature ! 
 
 Mr. Pulteneyl 
 
 Mr. Pulteney was formed by nature for social and 
 convivial pleasures. Resentment made him engage in 
 business. He had thought himself slighted by Sir Robert 
 Walpole, to whom he publicly avowed not only revenge, 
 but utter destruction^. He had lively and shining parts, 
 a surprising quickness of wit, and a happy turn to the most 
 amusing and entertaining kinds of poetry, as epigrams, 
 ballads, odes, &c. ; in all which he had an uncommon 
 
 ^ Horace Walpole wrote on Dec. 12, 1751 : — 'Lord Bolingbroke 
 is dead, or dying of a cancer, which was thought cured by a quack 
 plaster; but it is not everybody can be cured at seventy-five, like my 
 monstrous uncle.' — Letters, ii. 274. He died three days later. 
 
 2 William Pulteney, first Earl of Bath. Born 1682, died 1764. This 
 character was written in 1 763. 
 
 ^ * He became,' writes Macaulay, ' the greatest leader of Opposition 
 that the House of Commons had ever seen.' — Macaulay's ^jj"«_j/^, ed. 
 1874, ii. 152. It took him sixteen years to pull down Walpole. 
 
 facility. 
 
Qtltr. (puWene^. 
 
 20X 
 
 facility. His compositions in that way were sometimes 
 satirical, often licentious, but always full of wit ^. 
 
 He had a quick and clear conception of business, could 
 equally detect and practise sophistry ^. He could state and 
 explain the most intricate matters, even in figures, with the 
 utmost perspicuity. His parts were rather above business ; 
 and the warmth of his imagination, joined to the impetuosity 
 and restlessness of his temper, made him incapable of con- 
 ducting it long together with prudence and steadiness ^ 
 
 * Lord Campbell quotes the following stanza from his ballad on the 
 failure of the Attorney-General, Sir Philip Yorke (afterwards Lord 
 Hardwicke), in a prosecution for libel. 
 
 * For Sir Philip well knows, 
 That his inuendoes 
 Will serve him no longer 
 In verse or in prose ; 
 For twelve honest men have decided the cause. 
 Who are judges alike of the facts and the laws.' 
 
 Lives of the Chancellors, ed. 1846, v. 25. 
 Wit was not always on Pulteney's side, as the following lines on him 
 show : — 
 
 * Leave a blank here and there in each page 
 To enrol the fair deeds of his youth ! 
 When you mention the acts of his age, 
 Leave a blank for his honour and truth/ 
 
 From The Statesman, H. C. Williams's Odes^ p. 47. 
 ^ In a ballad written in 1 742 ' that weather-cock Pulteney ' is thus 
 described : — 
 
 ' And to cheat such a man demands all my arts. 
 For though he 's a fool, he 's a fool with great parts.' 
 
 Walpole's Letters, i. 209. 
 ^ Chesterfield wrote to Lyttelton on Nov. 15, 1737 : — 'It would be 
 endless to give you an account of the various sallies and extravagancies of 
 Pulteney, which change oftener than the wind ; his m'ain attention is to 
 pick up a few guineas at whisk ; he despises me too much to talk to me 
 about business, unless when some new-bom freak breaks out of him in- 
 voluntarily. But the only judgment I can form of him is that he will get 
 
 He 
 
204 
 
 QUv. (pttf^ene^. 
 
 Characters 
 by Lord 
 Chester- 
 field. 
 
 He was a most complete orator and debater in the House 
 of Commons ; eloquent, entertaining, persuasive, strong, 
 and pathetic, as occasion required ; for he had arguments, 
 wit, and tears, at his command. His breast was the seat of 
 all those passions which degrade our nature, and disturb 
 our reason. There they raged in perpetual conflict; but 
 avarice, the meanest of them all, generally triumphed, ruled 
 absolutely, and in many instances, which I forbear to 
 mention, most scandalously \ 
 
 His sudden passion was outrageous, but supported by 
 great personal courage. Nothing exceeded his ambition 
 but his avarice : they often accompany, and are frequently 
 and reciprocally the causes and the effects of each other ; 
 but the latter is always a clog upon the former. He 
 affected good-nature and compassion, and perhaps his 
 heart might feel the misfortunes and distresses of his 
 fellow-creatures, but his hand was seldom or never 
 stretched out to relieve them I Though he was an able 
 
 as much power and as much money as soon as he can and upon any 
 terms.' — Chesterfield's Works, ed. by Lord Mahon, v. 430. 
 
 ^ 'June 5, 1763. Lord Bath's extravagant avarice and unfeelingness 
 on his son's [his only son] death rather increases. Lord Pulteney left a 
 kind of will, saying he had nothing to give, but made it his request to his 
 father to give his post-chaise and one hundred pounds to his cousin 
 Colman [the play-writer] ; the same sum and his pictures to another 
 cousin. Lord Bath sent them word they might get their hundred pounds 
 as they could, and for the chaise and pictures they might buy them if 
 they pleased, for they would be sold for his son's debts.' — Walpole's 
 Letters J iv. 91. 
 
 ^ Chesterfield, writing to his son on July 20, 1764, after saying that 
 the Earl of Bath had left more than a million and a half in land and 
 money, continues : — * The legacies he has left are trifling, for, in truth, 
 he cared for nobody ; the words give and bequeath were too shocking to 
 
 actor 
 
(Ulr. (puf^ene^- 
 
 205 
 
 actor of truth and sincerity, he could occasionally lay them 
 aside, to serve the purposes of his ambition or avarice. 
 
 He was once in the greatest point of view that ever I 
 saw any subject in. When the Opposition, of which he was 
 the leader in the House of Commons, prevailed at last against 
 Sir Robert Walpole, he became the arbiter between the 
 Crown and the people : the former imploring his protection, 
 the latter his support. In that critical moment his various 
 jarring passions were in the highest ferment, and for a while 
 suspended his ruhng one. Sense of shame made him 
 hesitate at turning courtier on a sudden, after having 
 acted the patriot so long, and with so much applause^; 
 and his pride made him declare, that he would accept of 
 no place, vainly imagining that he could by such a 
 simulated and temporary self-denial preserve his popularity 
 with the public, and his power at Court. He was mistaken 
 in both. The King hated him almost as much for what he 
 might have done, as for what he had done ; and a motley 
 ministry was formed, which by no means desired his 
 company. The nation looked upon him as a deserter, and 
 he shrunk into insignificancy and an earldom ^. 
 
 him to repeat, and so he left all in one word to his brother.' — Letter Sy iv. 
 210. 
 
 ^ It was the conduct of him and of men like him which made Johnson 
 exclaim, ' Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.* Johnson, says 
 Hawkins, * had partaken of the short-lived joy that infatuated the public ' 
 when Walpole fell ; but a few days convinced him that the patriotism 
 of the Opposition had been either hatred or ambition.' — Boswell's Life 
 of Johnson, ii. 348, n. 2. ' Pulteney,' he said, * was as paltry a fellow as 
 could be.' — lb. v. 339. 
 
 ^ Johnson's Jacobite friend. Dr. King, says of Pulteney, on his being 
 made Earl of Bath : — * He deserted the cause of his country ; he betrayed 
 
 He 
 
206 
 
 §iv (^oUvt (^aepoee. 
 
 Characters 
 by Lord 
 Chester- 
 field. 
 
 He made several attempts afterwards to retrieve the 
 opportunity he had lost, but in vain; his situation would 
 not allow it. He was fixed in the House of Lords, that 
 hospital of incurables ; and his retreat to popularity was 
 cut off: for the confidence of the public, when once great 
 and once lost, is never to be regained. He lived after- 
 wards in retirement with the wretched comfort of Horace's 
 
 miser : 
 
 Populus me sibilat'^, &c. 
 
 I may, perhaps, be suspected to have given too strong 
 colouring to some features of this portrait ; but I solemnly 
 protest, that I have drawn it conscientiously, and to the 
 best of my knowledge, from a very long acquaintance with, 
 and observation of, the original. Nay, I have rather 
 softened than heightened the colouring I 
 
 Sir Robert Walpolel 
 
 I much question whether an impartial character of Sir 
 Robert Walpole will or can be transmitted to posterity; 
 for he governed this kingdom so long, that the various 
 
 his friends and adherents ; he ruined his character, and from a most 
 glorious eminence sunk down to a degree of contempt. The first time 
 Sir Robert (who was now Earl of Orford) met him in the House of Lords, 
 he threw out this reproach : — " My Lord Bath, you and I are now two 
 as insignificant men as any in England." ' — King's Anecdotes of his own 
 Times f P* 43' 
 ^ ' Populus me sibilat ; at mihi plaudo 
 
 Ipse domi, simul ac nummos contemplor in area.' 
 
 * ** Let them hiss on,*' he cries, 
 " While in my own opinion fully blest, 
 I count my money, and enjoy my chest."' 
 
 Francis, Horace, i Satires, i. (id, 
 
 2 ' Lord Chesterfield, with whom Mr. Pulteney lived in the most 
 seeming intimacy, he mortally hated.' — Lord Hervey's Meinoirs, i. lo. 
 
 3 First Earl of Orford. Bom 1676, died 1745. 
 
 passions 
 
§it (goUtt (ps)afpofe. 
 
 207 
 
 passions of mankind mingled, and in a manner incorporated 
 themselves, with everything that was said or written con- 
 cerning him. Never was man more flattered, nor more 
 abused ^ ; and his long power was probably the chief cause 
 of both. I was much acquainted with him both in his 
 public and his private life. I mean to do impartial justice 
 to his character; and therefore my picture of him will, 
 perhaps, be more like him, than it will be like any of the 
 other pictures drawn of him ^. 
 
 In private life he was good-natured, cheerful, social ^ ; 
 
 ^ Johnson, who had eagerly joined in the abuse, in later years said : — 
 ' He was the best minister this country ever had, as, if we would have let 
 him (he speaks of his own violent faction), he would have kept the coun- 
 try in perpetual peace.' — W. Seward's Biographiana^ p. 554. 
 
 2 Chesterfield was not likely to be an impartial judge, as he had been 
 one of Walpole's strongest opponents. According to Horace Walpole 
 he had paid his court to Mrs. Howard, the mistress of the Prince who 
 afterwards became George II, while Walpole, seeing where the power 
 would be lodged, had courted the wife. ' The Queen had an obscure 
 window at St. James's, that looked into a dark passage, lighted only by 
 a single lamp at night, which looked upon Mrs. Howard's apartment. 
 Lord Chesterfield, one Twelfth Night at Court, had won so large a sum 
 of money that he thought it impmdent to carry it home in the dark, and 
 deposited it with the mistress. Thence the Queen inferred great intimacy, 
 and thenceforwards he could obtain no favour from Court ; and finding 
 himself desperate went into Opposition. My father himself long after- 
 wards told me the story, and had become the principal object of the 
 peer's satiric wit, though he had not been the mover of his disgrace.' — 
 Walpole's Letters i i. cxix. 
 ^ Pope thus describes him : — 
 
 'Seen him I have, but in his happier hour 
 Of social pleasure, ill-exchang'd for pow'r ; 
 Seen him, uncumber'd with the venal tribe, 
 Smile without art, and win without a bribe.' 
 
 Epilogue to the Satires^ i. 29. 
 For the grossness of his talk and his justification for it, see Boswell's 
 Life of Johnson y iii. 57. 
 
 inelegant 
 
208 
 
 ^iv (BoUvt (Waipoh, 
 
 Characters 
 
 by Lord 
 
 Chester. 
 
 field. 
 
 inelegant in his manners, loose in his morals. He had a 
 coarse, strong wit, which he was too free of for a man in 
 his station, as it is always inconsistent with dignity. He 
 was very able as a minister, but without a certain elevation 
 of mind necessary for great good, or great mischief. Profuse 
 and appetent \ his ambition was subservient to his desire of 
 making a great fortune I He had more of the Mazarin 
 than of the Richelieu. He would do mean things for profit, 
 and never thought of doing great ones for glory ^. 
 
 He was both the best Parliament-man, and the ablest 
 manager of Parliament, that I believe ever lived. An 
 artful rather than an eloquent speaker; he saw, as by 
 intuition, the disposition of the House, and pressed or 
 receded accordingly. So clear in stating the most intricate 
 matters, especially in the finances, that, whilst he was 
 speaking, the most ignorant thought that they understood 
 what they really did not. Money, not prerogative, was the 
 chief engine of his administration ; and he employed it 
 
 ^ Appetent is not in Johnson's Dictionary, though the word is older 
 than his time. 
 
 2 ' He died £40,000 in debt. That was the wealth of a man that had 
 been taxed as the plunderer of his country. Yet with all my adoration 
 of my father I am just enough to own that it was his own fault if he died 
 so poor. . . . His fondness for his paternal seat and his boundless 
 generosity were too expensive for his fortune.' — Horace Walpole's 
 Letters, viii. 423. 
 
 ^ ' Avarice seems to have been the predominant passion in Cardinal 
 Mazarin, who did anything, submitted to anything, and forgave anything 
 for the sake of plunder. He loved and courted power like an usurer, 
 because it carried profit along with it. . . . On the contrary, Cardinal 
 Richelieu's prevailing passion seems to have been ambition, and his 
 immense riches only the natural consequences of that ambition gratified.' 
 — Chesterfield's Letters to his Son, ii. 299. 
 
 with 
 
^it (|to6er^ (^atpoh. 
 
 209 
 
 with a success which in a manner disgraced humanity* 
 He was not, it is true, the inventor of that shameful method 
 of governing which had been gaining ground insensibly 
 ever since Charles II \ but with uncommon skill and un- 
 bounded profusion he brought it to that perfection, which 
 at this time dishonours and distresses this country, and 
 which (if not checked, and God knows how it can be now 
 checked) must ruin it. 
 
 Besides this powerful engine of government, he had a 
 most extraordinary talent of persuading and working men 
 up to his purpose. A hearty kind of frankness, which 
 sometimes seemed impudence, made people think that he 
 let them into his secrets, whilst the impoliteness of his 
 manners seemed to attest his sincerity. When he found 
 anybody proof against pecuniary temptations, which, alas ! 
 was but seldom, he had recourse to a still worse art ; for 
 he laughed at and ridiculed all notions of public virtue, 
 and the love of one's country, calling them ' The chimerical 
 school-boy flights of classical learning ; ' declaring himself 
 at the same time, * No saint, no Spartan, no reformer.' He 
 
 ^ Burnet, writing of the year 1690, says that* by Sir John Trevor, the 
 Speaker of the House of Commons, began the practice of buying off 
 men.' — History of His Own Times, ed. 1818, iii. 46. According to 
 Macaulay, Clifford had begun the practice in the days of the Cabal. — 
 History of England, ed. 1874, v. 175. ' Quieta non movere was the 
 maxim of Sir Robert Walpole. . . . My Quiet Statesman was called the 
 Father of Corruption, though his political parents and children had been, 
 and have been, full of the same blood.' — Walpole's Letters, viii. 337. In 
 another letter, dated August 26, 1785, Horace Walpole, after mentioning 
 * the maxim ascribed to Sir Robert by his enemies, that every man has 
 his priced continues : — ' The tariff of every Parliament since has been 
 as well known as the price of beef and mutton.' — lb. ix. 10. 
 
 P would 
 
 Characters 
 by Lord 
 Chester- 
 field 
 
2IO 
 
 ^iv (^oUvt (^at^oU, 
 
 Characters 
 by Lord 
 Chester- 
 field. 
 
 would frequently ask young fellows, at their first appearance 
 in the world, while their honest hearts were yet untainted, 
 * Well, are you to be an old Roman ? a patriot ^ ? You will 
 soon come off of that, and grow wiser.' And thus he was 
 more dangerous to the morals than to the liberties of his 
 country, to which I am persuaded he meant no ill in his 
 heart. 
 
 He was the easy and profuse dupe of women, and in 
 some instances indecently so ^. He was excessively open 
 to flattery, even of the grossest kind, and from the coarsest 
 bunglers of that vile profession ; which engaged him to 
 pass most of his leisure and jovial hours with people whose 
 blasted characters reflected upon his own. He was loved 
 by many, but respected by none ; his familiar and illiberal 
 mirth and raillery leaving him no dignity. He was not 
 vindictive, but on the contrary very placable to those who 
 had injured him the most ^ His good-humour, good-nature. 
 
 ^ In a debate he once said : — ^ A patriot, Sir ! why patriots spring up 
 like mushrooms. I could raise fifty of them within the four-and-twenty 
 hours. I have raised many of them in one night. It is but refusing to 
 gratify an unreasonable or an insolent demand, and up starts a patriot. 
 I have never been afraid of making patriots ; but I disdain and despise 
 all their efforts.' — Coxe's Me77toirs of Walpole, i. 659. 
 
 The ' old Roman ' we find in the following lines of Pope : — 
 * How can I Pult'ney, Chesterfield forget, 
 While Roman spirit charms and Attic wit.' 
 
 Epilogue to the Satires, ii. 84. 
 ^ * Walpole's prevailing weakness was to be thought to have a polite 
 and happy turn to gallantry, of which he had undoubtedly less than any 
 man living ; it was his favourite and frequent subject of conversation ; 
 which proved to those who had any penetration that it was his prevailing 
 weakness. And they applied to it with success.' — Chesterfield's Letters 
 to his Son, i. 284. 
 
 3 In the full rage of party strife, Chesterfield wrote of Walpole 
 
 and 
 
Both ^tamoiih. 
 
 211 
 
 and beneficence, in the several relations of father, husband, 
 master, and friend, gained him the warmest affections of all 
 within that circle. 
 
 His name will not be recorded in history among the 
 * best men,' or the * best ministers ' ; but much less ought 
 it to be ranked among the worsts 
 
 Lord Granville I 
 
 Lord Granville had great parts, and a most uncommon 
 share of learning for a man of quality ^. He was one of the 
 
 (Feb. 13, 1740): — * He carries his resentment to the highest degree, 
 even against the memory of one who was but too long his friend, and 
 too little a while his enemy.' — Chesterfield's Works, iv. 223. ' Sir Robert 
 Walpole was the minister who gave to our government that character 
 of lenity which it has since generally preserved.' — Macaulay's Essays, 
 ed. 1874, ii. 119. 
 
 ^ ' Lord Chesterfield, one of his sharpest enemies, has not, with all 
 his prejudices, left a very unfavourable account of my father, and it 
 would alone be raised by a comparison of their two characters. Think 
 of one who calls Sir Robert the corrupter of youth leaving a system of 
 education to poison them from their nursery I Chesterfield, Pulteney, 
 and Bolingbroke were the saints that reviled my father.' — Walpole's 
 Letters, vii. 143. 'In twenty years he never attempted a stretch of 
 power, did nothing but the common business of administration, and by 
 that temperance and steady virtue, and unalterable good-humour and 
 superior wisdom, baffled all the efforts of faction.' — lb. p. 310. 
 
 2 John, Lord Carteret, afterwards Earl Granville. Eom 1690, died 1763. 
 
 3 Johnson, speaking of the necessity for a man who would write well 
 to begin to write soon, continued :— ' As a proof of the justness of this 
 remark, we may instance what is related of the great Lord Grnnville ; 
 that after he had written his letter, giving an account of the lattle of 
 Dettingen, he said, *' Here is a letter, expressed in terms not good 
 enough for a tallow-chandler to have used.'" — Boswell's Life of Johnson, 
 iv. 12. The letter, which is given in the Gent. Mag. 1743, p. 329, is 
 modestly written, with only a few lines given to the King's part in the 
 battle, and with no flattery. Horace Walpole, however, says that * his 
 express has been burlesqued a thousand vfBj?,.^— Letters j i. 256. 
 
 P 2 best 
 
212 
 
 Both (BvanvUh. 
 
 Characters 
 by Lord 
 Chester- 
 field 
 
 best speakers in the House of Lords, both in the declamatory 
 and the argumentative way ^ He had a wonderful quickness 
 and precision in seizing the stress of a question, which no 
 art, no sophistry, could disguise to him. In business he 
 was bold, enterprising, and overbearing. He had been 
 bred up in high monarchical, that is, tyrannical, principles 
 of government, which his ardent and imperious temper 
 made him think were the only rational and practicable 
 ones. He would have been a great first minister in France, 
 little inferior, perhaps, to Richelieu ; in this government, 
 which is yet free, he would have been a dangerous one, 
 little less so, perhaps, than Lord Strafford I He was neither 
 ill-natured nor vindictive, and had a great contempt for 
 money ^ His ideas were all above it. In social life he was 
 
 ^ ' His eloquence was at once rapid and pompous, and by the mixture 
 a little bombast. In one of his speeches upon Spain he said, " We were 
 entering upon a war that would be stained with the blood of kings, and 
 washed with the tears of queens." It was in ridicule of this rant that 
 Sir Charles Williams, in an unfinished poem called the Fandemomum, 
 where he introduced orations in the style of the chief speakers of the 
 Opposition, concluded Lord Granville's with the following line, at the 
 close of a prophetic view of the ravages of the war : — 
 
 *'And visiers' heads came rolling down Constantinople's streets."' 
 Walpole's Memoirs of George II, ed. 1822, i. 146. 
 
 ^ Carlyle describes him as if saying in his old age : ' A biggish life 
 once mine, all futile for want of this same kingship like Pitt's.' — Histoiy 
 of Friedrich II, ed. 1865, vi. 239. Earlier in the History he had written 
 of him : — * None say Carteret did not do his trade, whatever it was, 
 with a certain greatness, — at least, till habits of drinking rather took 
 him.'— /^. iii. 688. 
 
 ^ Chesterfield, in Old England (Feb. 5, 1743), had described him as 
 * possessing the lust of avarice without knowing the right use of power 
 and riches.' — Chesterfield's Works, ii. 158. 
 
Qtlr. ^ef^Aitt. 
 
 an agreeable, good-humoured, and instructive companion ; 
 a great but entertaining talker. 
 
 He degraded himself by the vice of drinking, which, 
 together with a great stock of Greek and Latin, he brought 
 away with him from Oxford, and retained and practised 
 ever afterwards \ By his own industry, he had made 
 himself master of all the modern languages, and had 
 acquired a great knowledge of the law. His political 
 knowledge of the interest of princes and of commerce was 
 extensive, and his notions were just and great. His charac- 
 ter may be summed up, in nice precision, quick decision, 
 and unbounded presumption 2. 
 
 Mr. Pelham^ 
 
 Mr. Pelham had good sense, without either shining parts 
 or any degree of literature. He had by no means an 
 
 * In * a once celebrated tract, An Apology for a Late Resignation ' 
 ( 1 748), in which Chesterfield is believed to have had a large share, Carteret 
 is attacked in the passage which speaks of " the wild and drunken 
 promise of a wild and drunken minister ".' — Chesterfield's Works ^ ed. by 
 Mahon, v. 65. Horace Walpole, writing on Jan. 9, 1752, speaking of a 
 christening, says that ' His Majesty and the Earl of \_sic\ Granville (if he 
 is able to stand) and the Duchess of Somerset are to be sponsors.' — 
 Letters^ ii. 275. See ib. p. 8, where Walpole speaks of the House of 
 Commons sending * his Lordship to the Tower till he was sober.' 
 Chesterfield speaks of * that beastly degrading vice of drinking as the 
 epidemical vice of colleges in general.' — WorJiS, iv. 290. 
 
 ^ Chesterfield wrote to his son on Dec. 13, 1762 : — * When Lord 
 Granville dies, the ablest head in England dies too, take it for all in all.' 
 — Letters, iv. 195. 
 
 3 Henry Pelham. Bom 1695, died 1754. Chesterfield wrote to his 
 son on March 8, 1754, a day or two after Pelham's death : — ' I regret 
 him as an old acquaintance, a pretty near relation, and a private man 
 with whom I have lived many years in a social and friendly way. He 
 
 elevated 
 
(mr. (pef^am. 
 
 elevated or enterprising genius, but had a more manly and 
 steady resolution than his brother the Duke of Newcastle. 
 He had a gentleman-like frankness in his behaviour, and 
 as great a point of honour as a minister can have, especially 
 a minister at the head of the treasury, where numberless 
 sturdy and indefatigable beggars of condition apply, who 
 cannot all be gratified, nor all with safety be refused. 
 
 He was a very inelegant speaker in Parliament, but spoke 
 with a certain candour and openness that made him be 
 well heard, and generally believed. 
 
 He wished well to the public, and managed the finances 
 with great care and personal purity. He was par negotiis 
 neque supra ^ : had many domestic virtues and no vices. 
 If his place, and the power that accompanies it, made him 
 some public enemies, his behaviour in both secured him 
 from personal and rancorous ones. Those who wished 
 him worst, only wished themselves in his place. 
 
 Upon the whole, he was an honourable man, and a well- 
 wishing ^ minister. 
 
 meaned well to the public, and was incorrupt in a post where corruption 
 is commonly contagious. If he was no shining, enterprising minister, he 
 was a safe one, which I like better.' — Letters to his Son, iv. 63. Horace 
 Walpole, writing a day earlier, said : — * Mr. Pelham is dead ! all that 
 calm, that supineness, of which I have lately talked to you so much, is 
 at an end ! there is no heir to such luck as his. The whole people of 
 England can never agree a second time upon the same person for the 
 residence of infallibility.' — Letters, ii. 373. ^ *' I shall now have no more 
 peace," the King said, with a sigh, being told of his minister's death.' — 
 Walpole's Reign of George LL, i. 378. 
 
 ^ See ante^ p. 14. 
 
 2 Well-wisher W2iS a common enough word at this time, but well- 
 wishing is, I think, uncommon. 
 
 Richard, 
 
(^ic$at6, (Barf of ^catrfiotoug^* 
 
 Richard, Earl of Scarborough \ 
 
 In drawing the character of Lord Scarborough, I will be 
 strictly upon my guard against the partiality of that intimate 
 and unreserved friendship, in which we lived for more than 
 twenty years ; to which friendship, as well as to the public 
 notoriety of it, I owe much more than my pride will let my 
 gratitude own. If this may be suspected to have biassed 
 my judgment, it must, at the same time, be allowed to have 
 informed it; for the most secret movements of his soul 
 were, without disguise, communicated to me only. However, 
 I will rather lower than heighten the colouring ; I will mark 
 the shades, and draw a credible rather than an exact like- 
 ness. 
 
 He had a very good person, rather above the middle 
 size; a handsome face, and, when he was cheerful, the 
 most engaging countenance imaginable ; when grave, which 
 
 ^ Richard Lumley, second Earl of Scarborough. Died 1 740. This 
 Character was written on August 29, 1759. Chesterfield wrote to Dr. 
 Chenevix on Feb. 15, 1740 : — 'We have both lost a good friend in 
 Scarborough ; nobody can replace him to me. I wish I could replace 
 him to you ; but, as things stand, I see no great hopes of it.' Lord 
 Mahon says in a note on this : — * Richard, second Earl of Scarborough, 
 had been called to the House of Lords by writ in 1715, during his father's 
 life, and appointed one of the Gentlemen of the Bedchamber to the Prince 
 of Wales, afterwards George II. On Jan. 29, 1740, in a moment of 
 mental alienation, he put a period to his own existence. \_Anglice : in a 
 fit of madness he made away with himself.] ' — Chesterfield's Works, ed. 
 1845, iii. 119. He was the son of Lord Lumley who commanded the 
 body of soldiers who seized the Duke of Monmouth after Sedgemoor, 
 and who three years later was one of the seven chiefs of the conspiracy 
 who signed in cipher the invitation to the Prince of Orange. — Macaulay's 
 History of England, ed. 1874, ii. 195 ; iii. 147. 
 
 he 
 
(^ic^at^, (Batrf of ^catrBotroug^. 
 
 he was oftenest, the most respectable one \ He had in the 
 highest degree the air, manners, and address of a man of 
 quahty ; poHteness with ease, and dignity without pride. 
 
 Bred in camps and courts, it cannot be supposed that 
 he was untainted with the fashionable vices of these warm 
 climates; but (if I may be allowed the expression) he 
 dignified them^, instead of their degrading him into any 
 mean or indecent action. He had a good degree of classical, 
 and a great one of modern, knowledge ; with a just, and, at 
 the same time, a dehcate taste. 
 
 In his common expenses he was liberal within bounds ; 
 but in his charities and bounties he had none. I have 
 known them put him to some present inconveniences. 
 
 He was a strong, but not an eloquent or florid, speaker 
 in Parliament. He spoke so unaffectedly the honest dic- 
 tates of his heart, that truth and virtue, which never want, 
 and seldom wear, ornaments, seemed only to borrow his 
 voice. This gave such ah astonishing weight to all he said, 
 that he more than once carried an unwilling majority after 
 him. Such is the authority of unsuspected virtue, that it 
 will sometimes shame vice into decency at least. 
 
 He was not only offered, but pressed to accept, the post 
 of Secretary of State ; but he constantly refused it. I once 
 tried to persuade him to accept it ; but he told me that 
 both the natural warmth and the melancholy of his temper 
 
 ^ Respectable meant ' venerable ; meriting respect,' and was at this time 
 a term of high praise. It is not in the early editions of Johnson's 
 Dictionary^ and had, I suppose, been only lately introduced from the 
 French. See Boswell's Life of Johnson, iii. 241, n. 2. 
 
 ^ See ante^ p. 37. 
 
 made 
 
(J^ic^avb, <&at£ of ^catrfiotoug^* 
 
 217 
 
 made him unfit for it ; and that, moreover, he knew very 
 well that, in those ministerial employments, the course of 
 business made it necessary to do many hard things, and 
 some unjust ones, which could only be authorised by the 
 Jesuitical casuistry of the direction of the intention ; a doc- 
 trine which he said he could not possibly adopt. Whether 
 he was the first that ever made that objection, I cannot 
 affirm ; but I suspect that he will be the last. 
 
 He was a true constitutional, and yet practicable ^, patriot ; 
 a sincere lover and a zealous assertor of the natural, the 
 civil, and the religious rights of his country. But he would 
 not quarrel with the Crown for some slight stretches of the 
 prerogative; nor with the people for some unwary ebulli- 
 tions of liberty ; nor with anyone for a difference of opinion 
 in speculative points. He considered the Constitution in 
 the aggregate, and only watched that no one part of it 
 should preponderate too much. 
 
 His moral character was so pure, that if one may say of 
 that imperfect creature man, what a celebrated historian 
 says of Scipio, m7 non laudandum aut dixit, aut fecit, aut 
 sensit, I sincerely think (I had almost said I know) one 
 might say it with great truth of him, one single instance 
 excepted, which shall be mentioned. 
 
 He joined to the noblest and strictest principles of 
 honour and generosity the tenderest sentiments of bene- 
 volence and compassion; and as he was naturally warm, 
 he could not even hear of an injustice or a baseness with- 
 out a sudden indignation; nor of the misfortunes or 
 
 ^ This use oi practicable is not in accordance with the definitions and 
 examples of it in Johnson's Dictionary. 
 
 miseries 
 
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2l8 
 
 (gic0ar6, ^(Xtt of ^caf6o»rottg$. 
 
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 miseries of a fellow-creature, without melting into softness, 
 and endeavouring to relieve them. This part of his cha- 
 racter was so universally known, that our best and most 
 satirical English poet says : 
 
 • When I confess, there is who feels for fame, 
 And melts to goodness, need I Scarborough name ^ ? ' 
 
 He had not the least pride of birth and rank, that com- 
 mon narrow notion of little minds, that wretched mistaken 
 succedaneum of merit; but he was jealous to anxiety of 
 his character, as all men are who deserve a good one. 
 And such was his diffidence upon that subject, that he never 
 could be persuaded that mankind really thought of him as 
 they did. For surely never man had a higher reputation, 
 and never man enjoyed a more universal esteem. Even 
 knaves respected him ; and fools thought they loved him. 
 If he had any enemies (for I protest I never knew one), 
 they could only be such as were weary of always hearing 
 of Aristides the Just. 
 
 He was too subject to sudden gusts of passion, but they 
 never hurried him into any illiberal or indecent expression 
 or action; so invincibly habitual to him were good-nature 
 and good-manners. But, if ever any word happened to 
 fall from him in warmth, which upon subsequent reflection 
 he himself thought too strong, he was never easy till he 
 had made more than a sufficient atonement for it. 
 
 He had a most unfortunate, I will call it a most fatal, 
 kind of melancholy in his nature, which often made him 
 
 ^ Epilogue to the Satires, ii. 65. The fact that Mr. Mark Pattison in 
 his excellent edition of the Satires passes over Lord Scarborough's name 
 without a note, shows how little is known of him. 
 
 both 
 
Botb '^(Xtbmc^c. 
 
 219 
 
 both absent and silent in company, but never morose or 
 sour. At other times he was a cheerful and agreeable 
 companion ; but, conscious that he was not always so, he 
 avoided company too much, and was too often alone, giving 
 way to a train of gloomy reflections. 
 
 His constitution, which was never robust, broke rapidly 
 at the latter end of his life. He had two severe strokes of 
 apoplexy or palsy, which considerably affected his body 
 and his mind. This, added to his natural melancholy, made 
 him put an end to himself in the year of his age. 
 
 I desire that this may not be looked upon as a full and 
 finished character, writ for the sake of writing it; but as 
 my solemn deposition of the truth to the best of my know- 
 ledge. I owed this small tribute of justice, such as it is, to 
 the memory of the best man I ever knew, and of the dearest 
 friend I ever had. 
 
 Lord Hardwicke ^ 
 
 Lord Hardwicke was, perhaps, the greatest magistrate 
 that this country ever had. He presided in the Court of 
 Chancery above twenty years, and in all that time none of 
 his decrees were reversed, nor the justness of them ever 
 questioned^. Though avarice was his ruhng passion, he 
 
 ^ Philip Yorke, first Earl of Hardwicke. Born 1690, died March 6, 
 1764. He was Lord Chancellor from February, 1737, to November, 
 1756. 
 
 '■^ ' We are now to see him in his glory as an Equity Judge. . . . 
 Viewed as a magistrate sitting on his tribunal to administer justice, I 
 believe that his fame has not been exceeded by that of any man in ancient 
 or modern times. ... I hardly think it worth while to mention the 
 statement which is so much harped upon by the common herd of Lord 
 Hardwicke's petty biographers, that only three of his decrees were 
 
 was 
 
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220 
 
 Botb %atbrt)xc&c. 
 
 Characters 
 by Lord 
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 was never in the least suspected of any kind of corruption : 
 a rare and meritorious instance of virtue and self-denial, 
 under the influence of such a craving, insatiable, and in- 
 creasing, passion. 
 
 He had great and clear parts ; understood, loved, and 
 cultivated, the de//es lettres. He was an agreeable, eloquent 
 speaker in Parliament, but not without some little tincture 
 of the pleader. 
 
 Men are apt to mistake, or at least to seem to mistake, 
 their own talents, in hopes, perhaps, of misleading others 
 to allow them that which they are conscious they do not 
 possess. Thus Lord Hardwicke valued himself more upon 
 being a great minister of State, which he certainly was not, 
 than upon being a great magistrate, which he certainly was\ 
 
 All his notions were clear, but none of them great. 
 Good order and domestic details^ were his proper depart- 
 ment. The great and shining parts of government, though 
 not above his parts to conceive, were above his timidity to 
 undertake. 
 
 appealed against, and that in each of these cases the decree was affirmed. 
 The truth is, that during the whole of his time, through management 
 which I shall afterwards have to consider, he was the sole Law Lord, and 
 substantially the Chancery was a Court of the last resort.' — Campbell's 
 Lives of the Chancellors, ed. 1846, v. 43, 49. 
 
 1 Horace Walpole in 1 742 quotes a ballad in which is the following 
 verse : — 
 
 * And as miser Hardwicke with all Courts will draw, 
 He too may remain, but shall stick to his law; 
 For of foreign affairs, when he talks like a fool, 
 I'll laugh in his face, and will cry " go to school." ' 
 
 Letters, i. 209. 
 ^ By domestic details he means, I conjecture, what we now call home 
 affairs in opposition io foreign affairs. 
 
 By 
 
Both ^avbt\>ic&€. 
 
 221 
 
 By great and lucrative employments, during the course 
 of thirty years, and by still greater parsimony, he acquired 
 an immense fortune, and established his numerous family 
 in advantageous posts and profitable alliances^. 
 
 Though he had been Solicitor and Attorney-General, he 
 was by no means what is called a prerogative lawyer. He 
 loved the Constitution, and maintained the just prerogative 
 of the Crown, but without stretching it to the oppression of 
 the people. 
 
 He was naturally humane, moderate, and decent; and 
 when by his former employments he was obliged to pro- 
 secute State criminals, he discharged that duty in a very 
 different manner from most of his predecessors, who were 
 too justly called the 'Blood-hounds of the Crown V 
 
 He was a cheerful and instructive companion, humane in 
 his nature, decent in his manners, unstained with any vice 
 (avarice excepted), a very great magistrate, but by no means 
 a great minister. 
 
 ^ Horace Walpole wrote soon after the trial of the rebel Scotch peers 
 in 1 746, at which Lord Hardwicke had presided : — * My Lord Chan- 
 cellor has had a thousand pounds in present for his High Stewardship, 
 and has got the reversion of Clerk of the Crown [^1200 a year] for his 
 second clerk. What a long time it will be before his posterity are 
 drove into rebellion for want, like Lord Kilmarnock.' — Letters, ii. 46. 
 On Nov. 4, 1760, he wrote : — ' King George II is dead, richer than Sir 
 Robert Brown, though perhaps not so rich as my Lord Hardwicke.' — 
 lb. iii. 358. * He had/ writes Lord Campbell, ' no retired allowance, but 
 besides his own immense fortune, not only his sons, but all his kith, 
 kin, and dependents were saturated with places, pensions, and rever- 
 sions.' — Lives of the Chancellors, ed. 1846, v. 139. 
 
 ^ He did not show the same humanity as Lord High Steward. ' To the 
 prisoners he was peevish; and instead of keeping up to the humane 
 dignity of the law of England, whose character it is to point out favour 
 to the criminal, he crossed them, and almost scolded at any offer they 
 
 Duke 
 
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222 
 
 ®ufte of Qlewcaeffe. 
 
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 Duke of Newcastle \ 
 
 The Duke of Newcastle will be so often mentioned in the 
 history of these times, and with so strong a bias either for 
 or against him, that I resolved, for the sake of truth, to 
 draw his character with my usual impartiality : for as he 
 had been a minister for above forty years together, and in 
 the last ten years of that period first minister, he had full 
 time to oblige one half of the nation, and to offend the 
 other. 
 
 We were co-temporaries, near relations, and familiar 
 acquaintances, sometimes well and sometimes ill together, 
 according to the several variations of political affairs, which 
 know no relations, friends, or acquaintances. 
 
 The public opinion put him below his level : for though 
 he had no superior parts, or eminent talents, he had a 
 most indefatigable industry, a perseverance, a Court craft, 
 and a servile compliance with the will of his Sovereign for 
 the time being ; which qualities, with only a common share 
 of common sense, will carry a man sooner and more safely 
 through the dark labyrinths of a Court, than the most 
 shining parts would do without those meaner talents^. 
 
 made towards defence.' — Walpole's Letters, ii. 39. Walpole describes 
 him and Lord Mansfield as * pleading against Admiral Byng in the 
 House of Lords like little attorneys, and doing all they could to stifle 
 truth.' — lb. iii. 65. He repeats these charges in his Memoirs of George 
 II, ed. 1822, i. 138. Lord Campbell says that the execution of 
 Charles Radcliffe in 1747, on a sentence passed against him in 1715, 
 'reflects great disgrace upon Lord Hardwicke.' — Lives of the Chancellors, 
 V. 108. 
 
 ^ Thomas Pelham Holies, Duke of Newcastle. Born 1693, died 1768. 
 This Character was written in the year 1763. 
 
 ^ Chesterfield wrote to his son on June 26, 1752: — 'Direct your 
 
 He 
 
©ufte of Qflewcae^fe^ 
 
 22 • 
 
 He was good-natured to a degree of weakness, even to 
 tears, upon the slightest occasions. Exceedingly timorous \ 
 both personally and politically, dreading the least innovation, 
 and keeping, with a scrupulous timidity, in the beaten 
 track of business as having the safest bottom. 
 
 I will mention one instance of this disposition, which I 
 think will set it in the strongest light. When I brought 
 the bill into the House of Lords, for correcting and amend- 
 ing the calendar^, I gave him previous notice of my inten- 
 tions. He was alarmed at so bold an undertaking, and 
 conjured me not to stir matters that had been long quiet ; 
 adding, that he did not love new-fangled things. I did not. 
 
 principal battery at Hanover at the Duke of Newcastle's ; there are 
 many very weak places in that citadel. ... In one thing alone do not 
 humour him; I mean drinking.' — Letters to his Son ^ iii. 325. 
 
 ^ ' Fear, a ridiculous fear, was predominant in him. He never lay in 
 a room alone ; when the Duchess was ill, his footman lay in a pallet 
 by him.' — Horace Walpole's Memoirs of George II, ed. 1822, i. 144. 
 Walpole in one of his Letters (iii. 66) calls him ' the aspen Duke of 
 Newcastle.' 
 
 ^ Chesterfield describes this bill in his Letter to his Son of Feb. 28, 
 March 18, 1751. He writes : — ' I determined, therefore, to attempt the 
 reformation ; I consulted the best lawyers, and the most skilful astrono- 
 mers, and we cooked up a bill for that purpose. But then my difficulty 
 began : I was to bring in this bill, which was necessarily composed of 
 law jargon and astronomical calculations, to both which I am an utter 
 stranger. However, it was absolutely necessary to make the House of 
 Lords think that I knew something of the matter, and also to make them 
 believe that they knew something of it themselves, which they do not . . . 
 I was particularly attentive to the choice of my words, to the harmony 
 and roundness of my periods, to my elocution, to my action. This 
 succeeded, and ever will succeed ; they thought I informed because I 
 pleased them ; and many of them said that I had made the whole very 
 clear to them ; when, God knows, I had not even attempted it.' — 
 Letters to his Son, iii. 144. 
 
 however, 
 
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224 
 
 ©ufte of {^twcaeih. 
 
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 however, yield to the cogency of these arguments, but 
 brought in the bill, and it passed unanimously. From such 
 weaknesses it necessarily follows that he could have no great 
 ideas, nor elevation of mind. 
 
 His ruling, or rather his only, passion was the agitation, 
 the bustle, and the hurry of business ; to which he had 
 been accustomed above forty years ; but he was as dilatory 
 in despatching it as he was eager to engage in it. He was 
 always in a hurry, never walked, but always ran ; insomuch 
 that I have sometimes told him, that by his fleetness one 
 should rather take him for the courier than the author of 
 the letters^. 
 
 >{< 5i« :i« :(: * * 
 
 His levees were his pleasure, and his triumph ; he loved 
 to have them crowded, and consequently they were so. 
 There he generally made people of business wait two or 
 three hours in the ante-chamber, while he trifled away that 
 time with some insignificant favourites in his closet. When 
 at last he came into his levee-room, he accosted, hugged, 
 embraced, and promised, everybody, with a seeming cordi- 
 ality, but at the same time with an illiberal and degrading 
 familiarity^. 
 
 ^ ^ The hurry and confusion of the Duke of Newcastle do not proceed 
 from his business, but from his want of method in it. Sir Robert 
 Walpole, who had ten times the business to do, was never seen in a 
 hurry, because he always did it with method.' — Letters to his Son, iv. 59. 
 Lord Hervey in his Memoirs (ii. 70) describes the Duke on one occasion as 
 ' more busily troublesome, more ministerially important, more haughtily 
 familiar, more oppressively talkative, and more noisily glad than even 
 he had ever before appeared upon any other occurrence.' 
 
 2 Horace Walpole thus describes his behaviour when, on the death of 
 his brother Henry Pelham, he was made Prime Minister : — 'On Friday 
 this august remnant of the Pelhams went to Court for the first time. At 
 
 He 
 
®ufte of (IXewcae^fe* 
 
 225 
 
 He was exceedingly disinterested, very profuse of his own 
 fortune, and abhorring all those means, too often used by 
 persons in his station, either to gratify their avarice, or to 
 supply their prodigality ; for he retired from business in the 
 year 1762, above four hundred thousand pounds poorer 
 than when he first engaged in it\ 
 
 the foot of the stairs he cried and sunk down ; the yeomen of the 
 guard were forced to drag him up under the arms. When the closet- 
 door opened, he flung himself at his length at the King's feet, sobbed, 
 and cried, " God bless your Majesty ! God preserve your Majesty ! " and 
 lay there howling and embracing the King's knees, with one foot so 
 extended that my Lord Coventry, who was luckily in waiting, and begged 
 the standers-by t^ retire, with " For God's sake, gentlemen, don't look at 
 a great man in distress," endeavouring to shut the door, caught his 
 Grace's foot, and made him roar out with pain.' — Letters, ii. 376. 
 Smollett, in Humphry Clinker, humorously ridicules the Duke at one 
 of his levees. * A door opening, he suddenly bolted out, with a shaving 
 cloth under his chin, his face frothed up to the eyes with soap-lather ; 
 and running up to the Algerine ambassador, grinned hideous in his face, 
 *' My dear Mahomet (said he), God love your long beard ; I hope the Dey 
 will make you a horse-tail at the next promotion, ha, ha, ha ! — Have but 
 a moment's patience, and I'll send to you in a twinkling." So saying he 
 retreated into his den, leaving the Turk in some confusion. After a short 
 pause, however, he said something to his interpreter, the meaning of 
 which I had great curiosity to know, as he turned up his eyes while he 
 spoke, expressing astonishment mixed with devotion. . . He had mistaken 
 his Grace for the minister's fool, but was no sooner undeceived by the 
 interpreter than he exclaimed to this effect : — " Holy prophet ! I don't 
 wonder that this nation prospers, seeing it is governed by the counsel 
 of idiots," a series of men whom all good Mussulmen revere as the 
 organs of immediate inspiration.' — Humphry Clinker, ed. 1792, i. 238. 
 * Walpole,' says Macaulay, ' played at cards with countesses and cor- 
 responded with ambassadors. Smollett passed his life surrounded by 
 printers' devils and famished scribblers. Yet Walpole's Duke and 
 Smollett's Duke are as like as if they were both from one hand.' — 
 Macaulay's Essays, ed. 1874, ii. 141. 
 
 ^ Chesterfield wrote on Nov. 21, 1768 :— 'My old kinsman and 
 contemporary is at last dead, and for the first time quiet. . . I own 
 
 Q Upon 
 
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226 
 
 ©ttfte of (^e?>forei. 
 
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 Upon the whole, he was a compound of most human 
 weaknesses, but untainted with any vice or crime. 
 
 Duke of Bedford \ 
 
 The Duke of Bedford was more considerable for his 
 rank and immense fortune, than for either his parts or his 
 virtues. 
 
 He had rather more than a common share of common- 
 sense, but with a head so wrong-turned, and so invincibly 
 obstinate, that the share of parts which he had was of little 
 use to him, and very troublesome to others. 
 
 He was passionate, though obstinate^; and, though both, 
 was always governed by some low dependants, who had art 
 enough to make him believe that he governed them^. 
 
 I feel for his death, not because it will be my turn next, but because I knew 
 him to be very good-natured, and his hands to be extremely clean, and 
 even too clean, if that were possible ; for after all the great offices which he 
 had held for fifty years, he died three hundred thousand pounds poorer than 
 he was when he first came into them. A very unministerial proceeding ! * 
 — Works y iv. 365. * There was no expense,' writes Horace Walpole, * to 
 which he was not addicted, but generosity. His house, gardens, table, 
 and equipage swallowed immense treasures ; the sums he owed were only 
 exceeded by those he wasted.' — Memoirs of George II, i. 144. 
 
 ^ John Russell, fourth Duke of Bedford. Bom 1710, died 1771. 
 
 * Chesterfield said that he was * too obstinate to forgive or forget the 
 least injury.' — Chesterfield's Works y ed. by Mahon, iii. 341. Horace 
 Walpole describes him as * bouncing like a rocket and firightening away 
 poor Sir George Lyttelton.' — letters, ii. 411. When in 1762 he was 
 sent to France as Ambassador Extraordinary, Walpole wrote : — * The 
 Duke of Bedford is gone in a fury to make peace, for he cannot be even 
 pacific with temper.' — lb. iv. 19. 
 . * For * the Bedfords, or, as they were called by their enemies, the 
 Bloomsbury gang,' see Macaulay's Essays, ed. 1874, iv. 265. 
 
 His 
 
(mr. Sox, 
 
 His manners and address were exceedingly illiberal ; he 
 had neither the talent nor the desire of pleasing. 
 
 In speaking in the House, he had an inelegant flow of 
 words, but not without some reasoning, matter, and method. 
 
 He had no amiable qualities ; but he had no vicious nor 
 criminal ones : he was much below shining, but above 
 contempt in any character. 
 
 In short, he was a Duke of a respectable family, and with 
 a very great estate \ 
 
 Mr. Fox I 
 
 Mr. Henry Fox was a younger brother of the lowest 
 extraction I His father. Sir Stephen Fox, made a consider- 
 
 ^ * He was a man of inflexible honesty and goodwill to his country ; 
 his great economy was called avarice ; if it was so, it was blended with 
 more generosity and goodness than that passion will commonly unite 
 with.' — Walpole's Memoirs of George II, i. 162. For respectable see 
 ante, p. 216, n. i. 
 
 2 Henry Fox, first Lord Holland. Born 1705, died 1774. 
 
 ^ We see in this insolent account of Fox's origin, how haughty 
 a man Chesterfield really was, in spite of his affected contempt of birth. 
 So early as 1655 Lord Clarendon praised Fox's father as 'very well 
 qualified with languages, and all other parts of clerkship, honesty, and 
 discretion that were necessary for the discharge of such a trust' as 
 managing the expenses of the exiled Court. — History of the Rebellion, 
 ed. 1826, vii. 89. In 1660 Pepys speaks of him as * a very fine gentle- 
 man.' — Pepys's Diary, ed. 1851, i. 91. Evelyn, writing of him 
 in 1680, says that ' he is generous, and lives very honourably, of a 
 sweet nature, well-spoken, well-bred, and is so highly in his Majesty's 
 esteem, and so useful, that being long since made a knight, he 
 is also advanced to be one of the Lords Commissioners of the 
 Treasury.' — Evelyn's Diary, ed. 1872, ii. 156. In 1697 the balance 
 long hung between him and Charles Montague as to which should be 
 First Lord of the Treasury. — Macaulay's History of England, ed. 1874, 
 vii. 412. Horace Walpole calls him ' a footman ' {letters, i. 303), but 
 Horace Walpole was as insolent as Chesterfield. According to Evelyn, 
 * he came first a poor boy from the choir of Salisbury.' 
 
 Q 2 able 
 
228 
 
 (ntf. fox- 
 
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 able fortune, somehow or other, and left him a fair younger 
 brother's portion, which he soon spent in the common vices 
 of youth, gaming included : this obliged him to travel for 
 
 some time. 
 
 ******* 
 
 When he returned, though by education a Jacobite, he 
 attached himself to Sir Robert Walpole, and was one of his 
 ablest eleves. He had no fixed principles either of religion 
 or morality, and was too unwary in ridiculing and exposing 
 them. 
 
 He had very great abilities and indefatigable industry in 
 business, great skill in managing, that is, in corrupting the 
 House of Commons, and a wonderful dexterity in attaching 
 individuals to himself. He promoted, encouraged, and 
 practised their vices ; he gratified their avarice, or supplied 
 their profusion. He wisely and punctually performed what- 
 ever he promised, and most liberally rewarded their attach- 
 ment and dependance. By these and all other means that 
 can be imagined, he made himself many personal friends 
 and political dependants. 
 
 He was a most disagreeable speaker in Parliament, 
 inelegant in his language, hesitating and ungraceful in his 
 elocution, but skilful in discerning the temper of the House, 
 and in knowing when and how to press, or to yield \ 
 
 ^ ' Fox, with a great hesitation in his elocution and a barrenness of 
 expression, had conquered these impediments and the prejudices they 
 had raised against his speaking, by a vehemence of reasoning and close- 
 ness of argument that beat all the orators of his time. His spirit, his 
 steadiness and humanity, procured him strong attachments. . . . Fox 
 always spoke to the question, Pitt to the passions ; Fox to carry the 
 question, Pitt to raise himself; Fox pointed out, Pitt lashed the errors 
 of his antagonists.' — Walpole's Memoirs of George II j i. 8i. 
 
 A constant 
 
Qtltr. fox. 
 
 229 
 
 A constant good-humour and seeming frankness made 
 him a welcome companion in social life, and in all domestic 
 relations he was good-natured. As he advanced in life, his 
 ambition became subservient to his avarice. His early 
 profusion and dissipation had made him feel the many 
 inconveniences of want, and, as it often happens, carried 
 him to the contrary and worse extreme of corruption and 
 rapine \ Rem^ quocunque modo rem'^, became his maxim, 
 which he observed (I will not say religiously and scrupu- 
 lously), but invariably and shamefully. 
 
 He had not the least notion of, or regard for, the public 
 good or the Constitution, but despised those cares as the 
 objects of narrow minds, or the pretences of interested 
 ones : and he lived, as Brutus died, calling virtue only a 
 namel 
 
 ^ According to Horace Walpole, though shortly before his death he 
 had given his son, the famous Charles Fox, a draft for £100,000 in pay- 
 ment of his debts, he left £10,000 a year to his eldest son, and large 
 legacies to his two other sons. — Walpole's Letters, vi. 24, 99. For 
 Macaulay's character of him see his Essays, ed. 1874, ii. 172. 
 
 "^ ' Isne tibi melius suadet qui " rem facias ; rem 
 Si possis recte ; si non, quocunque modo rem ? " ' 
 
 * Who counsels best ? who whispers, '^ Be but great, 
 With praise or infamy leave that to fate ; 
 Get place and wealth, if possible, with grace ; 
 If not, by any means get wealth and place. " ' 
 
 Horace, i Epist. i. 64. Pope, Imitations, 1. 10 1. 
 
 ^ ' Casting his eyes upon the heavens which were covered with stars, 
 Brutus repeated two verses, one of which (Volumnius informs us) was 
 this :— 
 
 " Forgive not, Jove, the cause of this distress.*' 
 
 The other, he says, had escaped his memory.' In a note it is said 
 that 'the verse forgotten was to the purport of Non in re, sed in 
 verba tantum, esse virtutem.^ — Langhome's Plutarch, ed. 1809, v. 468. 
 
 Mr. 
 
QUr. ^i(t 
 
 Mr. Pitt\ 
 
 Mr. Pitt owed his rise to the most considerable posts 
 and power in this kingdom singly to his own abilities. In 
 him they supplied the want of birth and fortune, which 
 latter in others too often supply the want of the former. 
 He was a younger brother of a very new family, and his 
 fortune only an annuity of one hundred pounds a year. 
 
 The army was his original destination, and a cornetcy of 
 horse his first and only commission in it. Thus unassisted 
 by favour or fortune, he had no powerful protector to intro- 
 duce him into business, and (if I may use that expression) 
 to do the honours of his parts ; but their own strength was 
 fully sufficient. 
 
 His constitution refused him the usual pleasures, and 
 his genius forbad him the idle dissipations, of youth ; for 
 so early as at the age of sixteen he was the martyr of an 
 hereditary gout. He therefore employed the leisure, which 
 that tedious and painful distemper either procured or 
 allowed him, in acquiring a great fund of premature and 
 useful knowledge. Thus, by the unaccountable relation of 
 causes and effects, what seemed the greatest misfortune of 
 his life was, perhaps, the principal cause of its splendour. 
 
 His private life was stained by no vices, nor sullied by 
 any meanness. All his sentiments were liberal and elevated. 
 His ruling passion was an unbounded ambition, which, 
 when supported by great abilities, and crowned with great 
 
 1 William Pitt, first Earl of Chatham. Bom 1708, died 1778. This 
 Character was written in 1762. 
 
 success, 
 
(Wlr. 0itt 
 
 success, make^ what the world calls 'a great man/ He 
 was haughty, imperious, impatient of contradiction, and 
 over-bearing ; qualities which too often accompany, but 
 always clog, great ones. 
 
 He had manners and address; but one might discern 
 through them too great a consciousness of his own superior 
 talents. He was a most agreeable and lively companion 
 in social life, and had such a versatility of wit, that he could 
 adapt it to all sorts of conversation^. He had also a most 
 happy turn to poetry^, but he seldom indulged, and seldom 
 avowed it. 
 
 He came young into Parliament, and upon that great 
 theatre soon equalled the oldest and the ablest actors. His 
 eloquence was of every kind, and he excelled in the argu- 
 mentative as well as in the declamatory way*. But his 
 invectives were terrible, and uttered with such energy of 
 diction, and stern dignity of action and countenance, that 
 he intimidated those who were the most willing and the 
 
 * Perhaps this error in grammar is due to the copyist or printer, but 
 Chesterfield is not always grammatical. 
 
 ^ * His conversation was affected and unnatural, his manner not 
 engaging, nor his talents adapted to a country where ministers must 
 court if they would be courted.' — Walpole's Memoirs of George 11, ed. 
 1822, i. 80. 
 
 ^ In the Garrick Correspondence , i. 459, is given a very poor copy of 
 verses addressed by him to Garrick. 
 
 * * Bitter satire was his fort ; when he attempted ridicule, which was 
 very seldom, he succeeded happily ; when he attempted to reason, 
 poorly. . . . Eloquence as an art was but little studied by Pitt ; the 
 beauties of language were a little, and but a little, more cultivated, 
 except by him and his family. Yet the grace and force of words were 
 so natural to him, that when he avoided them he almost lost all excel- 
 lence.' — Walpole's Memoirs of George II ^ i. 80, 486. 
 
 best 
 
232 
 
 (mr. ^itt 
 
 Characters 
 by Lord 
 Chester- 
 field. 
 
 best able to encounter him. Their arms fell out of their 
 hands, and they shrunk under the ascendant^ which his 
 genius gained over theirs. 
 
 In that assembly, where the public good is so much 
 talked of, and private interest singly pursued, he set out 
 with acting the patriot, and performed that part so nobly, 
 that he was adopted by the public as their chief, or rather 
 only unsuspected, champion^. 
 
 The weight of his popularity, and his universally ac- 
 knowledged abilities^ obtruded him upon King George II, 
 to whom he was personally obnoxious. He was made Secre- 
 tary of State : in this difficult and delicate situation, which 
 one would have thought must have reduced either the 
 patriot or the minister to a decisive option^ he managed 
 with such ability, that, while he served the King more effect- 
 ually, in his most unwarrantable Electoral views ^^ than 
 any former minister, however willing, had dared to do, 
 he still preserved all his credit and popularity with the 
 public ; whom he assured and convinced^ that the protection 
 and defence of Hanover, with an army of seventy-five thou- 
 sand men in British pay^ was the only possible method 
 
 ^ Burke makes use of this term of the astrologers in that splendid 
 passage in which he tells of the setting of Chatham and of the rise 
 of Charles Townshend. ' For even then, Sir, even before this splendid 
 orb was entirely set, and while the Western horizon was in a blaze 
 with his descending glory, on the opposite quarter of the heavens arose 
 another luminary, and, for his hour, became lord of the ascendant.' 
 — Burke's Works, ed. by E. J. Payne, i. 146. 
 
 ^ ' Under him for the first time administration and popularity were 
 seen united.' — Burke, in the Annual Register, 1761, i. 47. 
 
 ^ Views, that is to say, as Elector of Hanover. 
 
 of 
 
(mr. 0i(t 
 
 of securing our possessions or acquisitions in North 
 America \ So much easier is it to deceive than to undeceive 
 mankind. 
 
 His own disinterestedness, and even contempt of money, 
 smoothed his way to power, and prevented or silenced a 
 great share of that envy which commonly attends it. Most 
 men think that they have an equal natural right to riches, 
 and equal abilities to make the proper use of them ; but 
 not very many of them have the impudence to think them- 
 selves qualified for power. 
 
 Upon the whole, he will make a great and shining figure 
 in the annals of this country, notwithstanding the blot 
 which his acceptance of three thousand pounds J>er annum 
 pension for three lives, on his voluntary resignation of the 
 seals in the first year of the present King, must make in 
 his character, especially as to the disinterested part of it ^. 
 However, it must be acknowledged that he had those quali- 
 ties which none but a great man can have, with a mixture of 
 
 ^ ' Lord Chatham,' writes Walpole, ' boasted of having conquered 
 America in Germany.' — Walpole's Letters, vi. 319, /^. 2. It was from 
 the French that America was conquered, and this was done, Chatham 
 meant to say, by fighting them in Germany. 
 
 ^ Horace Walpole wrote on October 12, 1761, to his cousin, Henry 
 Conway : — ' I have been the dupe of Mr. Pitt's disinterestedness. Oh, 
 my dear Harry, I beg you on my knees, keep your virtue ; do not think 
 there is still one man upon earth who despises money. I wrote you an 
 account last week of his resignation. Could you have believed that in 
 four days he would have tumbled from the conquest of Spain to receiving 
 a quarter's pension from Mr. West [the Secretary to the Treasury] ? . . . 
 Delaval says if he had gone into the City, told them he had a poor wife 
 and children unprovided for, and had opened a subscription, he would 
 have got five hundred thousand pounds, instead of three thousand pounds 
 a ^^zx'-^ Letters, iii. 453. 
 
 those 
 
2 34 
 
 (mt, jpitt 
 
 Characters 
 by Lord 
 Chester- 
 field. 
 
 those failings which are the common lot of wretched and 
 imperfect human nature ^. 
 
 ^ Johnson, nine years after this Character was written, says of Chatham 
 that * it will be happy for him if the nation shall at last dismiss him to 
 nameless obscurity, with that equipoise of blame and praise which Cor- 
 neille allows to Richelieu.' — Johnson's Works, vi. 197. Hume, the same 
 year, wrote : — ' I think that Mr. Johnson is a great deal too favourable to 
 Pitt, in comparing him to Cardinal Richelieu. The Cardinal had cer- 
 tainly great talents besides his audacity ; the other is totally destitute of 
 literature, sense, or the knowledge of any one branch of public business. 
 What other talent, indeed, has he but that of reciting with tolerable action 
 and great impudence a long discourse in which there is neither argument, 
 order, instruction, propriety, or even grammar ? Not to mention that 
 the Cardinal, with his inveterate enmities, was also capable of friendship, 
 while our cut-throat never felt either the one sentiment or the other.' — 
 Hume's Letters to Straha7t, p. 185. ' The cut- throat' of Hume is the 
 • clarum et venerabile nomen ' of Burke ; who three years later, speak- 
 ing of Chatham, says : — * The venerable age of this great man, his 
 merited rank, his superior eloquence*, his splendid qualities, his eminent 
 services, the vast space he fills in the eye of mankind ; and, more than 
 all the rest, his fall from power, which, like death, canonizes and sanc- 
 tifies a great character, will not suffer me to censure any part of his 
 conduct.' — Burke's Works ^ ed. by E. J. Payne, i. 144. On the day of 
 his death Horace Walpole wrote : — * Well ! with all his defects Lord 
 Chatham will be a capital historic figure ; France dreaded his crutch to 
 this very moment.' — Letter, vii. 60. 
 
 * * Superior eloquence ' to our ear sounds weak, but Chesterfield uses 
 the same term in speaking of the same orator. — Ante, p. 113. 
 
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