<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0128" id="link2H_4_0128"></SPAN></p>
<h2> 1751 </h2>
<p>LETTER CXXVI</p>
<p>LONDON, January 8, O.S. 1751</p>
<p>MY DEAR FRIEND: By your letter of the 5th, N. S., I find that your 'debut'
at Paris has been a good one; you are entered into good company, and I
dare say you will, not sink into bad. Frequent the houses where you have
been once invited, and have none of that shyness which makes most of your
countrymen strangers, where they might be intimate and domestic if they
pleased. Wherever you have a general invitation to sup when you please,
profit of it, with decency, and go every now and then. Lord Albemarle
will, I am sure, be extremely kind to you, but his house is only a dinner
house; and, as I am informed, frequented by no French people. Should he
happen to employ you in his bureau, which I much doubt, you must write a
better hand than your common one, or you will get no credit by your
manuscripts; for your hand is at present an illiberal one; it is neither a
hand of business nor of a gentleman, but the hand of a school-boy writing
his exercise, which he hopes will never be read.</p>
<p>Madame de Monconseil gives me a favorable account of you; and so do
Marquis de Matignon and Madame du Boccage; they all say that you desire to
please, and consequently promise me that you will; and they judge right;
for whoever really desires to please, and has (as you now have) the means
of learning how, certainly will please and that is the great point of
life; it makes all other things easy. Whenever you are with Madame de
Monconseil, Madame du Boccage, or other women of fashion, with whom you
are tolerably free, say frankly and naturally: "I know little of the
world; I am quite a novice in it; and although very desirous of pleasing,
I am at a loss for the means. Be so good, Madame, as to let me into your
secret of pleasing everybody. I shall owe my success to it, and you will
always have more than falls to your share." When, in consequence of this
request, they shall tell you of any little error, awkwardness, or
impropriety, you should not only feel, but express the warmest
acknowledgment. Though nature should suffer, and she will at first hearing
them, tell them, that you will look upon the most severe criticisms as the
greatest proof of their friendship. Madame du Boccage tells me,
particularly, to inform you: "I shall always, receive the honor of his
visits with pleasure; it is true, that at his age the pleasures of
conversation are cold; but I will endeavor to make him acquainted with
young people," etc.</p>
<p>Make use of this invitation, and as you live, in a manner, next door to
her, step in and out there frequently. Monsieur du Boccage will go with
you, he tells me, with great pleasure, to the plays, and point out to you
whatever deserves your knowing there. This is worth your acceptance too;
he has a very good taste. I have not yet heard from Lady Hervey upon your
subject; but as you inform me that you have already supped with her once,
I look upon you as adopted by her; consult her in all your little matters;
tell her any difficulties that may occur to you; ask her what you should
do or say in such or such cases; she has 'l'usage du monde en perfection',
and will help you to acquire it. Madame de Berkenrode 'est paitrie de
graces', and your quotation is very applicable to her. You may be there, I
dare say, as often as you please, and I would advise you to sup there once
a week.</p>
<p>You say, very justly, that as Mr. Harte is leaving you, you shall want
advice more than ever; you shall never want mine; and as you have already
had so much of it, I must rather repeat than add to what I have already
given you; but that I will do, and add to it occasionally, as
circumstances may require. At present I shall only remind you of your two
great objects, which you should always attend to; they are parliament and
foreign affairs. With regard to the former, you can do nothing while
abroad but attend carefully to the purity, correctness, and elegance of
your diction; the clearness and gracefulness of your utterance, in
whatever language you speak. As for the parliamentary knowledge, I will
take care of that when you come home. With regard to foreign affairs,
everything you do abroad may and ought to tend that way. Your reading
should be chiefly historical; I do not mean of remote, dark, and fabulous
history, still less of jimcrack natural history of fossils, minerals,
plants, etc., but I mean the useful, political, and constitutional history
of Europe, for these last three centuries and a half. The other thing
necessary for your foreign object, and not less necessary than either
ancient or modern knowledge, is a great knowledge of the world, manners,
politeness, address, and 'le ton de la bonne compagnie'. In that view,
keeping a great deal of good company, is the principal point to which you
are now to attend. It seems ridiculous to tell you, but it is most
certainly true, that your dancing-master is at this time the man in all
Europe of the greatest importance to you. You must dance well, in order to
sit, stand, and walk well; and you must do all these well in order to
please. What with your exercises, some reading, and a great deal of
company, your day is, I confess, extremely taken up; but the day, if well
employed, is long enough for everything; and I am sure you will not
slattern away one moment of it in inaction. At your age, people have
strong and active spirits, alacrity and vivacity in all they do; are
'impigri', indefatigable, and quick. The difference is, that a young
fellow of parts exerts all those happy dispositions in the pursuit of
proper objects; endeavors to excel in the solid, and in the showish parts
of life; whereas a silly puppy, or a dull rogue, throws away all his youth
and spirit upon trifles, where he is serious or upon disgraceful vices,
while he aims at pleasures. This I am sure will not be your case; your
good sense and your good conduct hitherto are your guarantees with me for
the future. Continue only at Paris as you have begun, and your stay there
will make you, what I have always wished you to be, as near perfection as
our nature permits.</p>
<p>Adieu, my dear; remember to write to me once a-week, not as to a father,
but, without reserve, as to a friend.</p>
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